5 Years After (Book 2.5): Smoke & Mirrors

by Correll, Richard

  You figured that out did you? Maggie felt the blood rush of anger starting to flow. Crawl inside my motherfucking skin. See how long you stay fucking casual about how I feel.

  She returned her thoughts and attention to Captain Maggie Hunter’s reflection in the window. It’s just going to kill you isn’t it? Aaron’s hands will be all over you to the end of time. Maggie thought killing him would even the score, change the rules. It was something Maggie wouldn’t take back if she had the chance.

  I just didn’t know that the wounds would never heal, her gaze returned to the landscape.

  “Ma’am?”

  “Yes, Corporal,” Maggie tore herself away from the window and turned to see a young man with perfectly cut features saluting. He was unblemished, clean shaven. The world hasn’t crushed you yet, Maggie decided to hide the cynical thought.

  “The bus driver asked me to inform you that we would be dropping you off at Queen’s University.” The Corporal continued. “There are some people who want to meet with you.”

  “Very well, thank you Corporal.” Maggie nodded to the salute as the young man retreated. A meeting, what would they want?

  They’ve figured you out, someone found Jay’s body, Aaron Murphy’s death confirmed by the US Military. Don’t be stupid, Maggie took a breath. Chicago and Pearson have been over run. Besides, Jay’s body had been incinerated in the blast of the control tower. Murphy was practically eaten whole. Besides, she tried to calm her uneasiness. No one has time for singular murders in a time of slaughter.

  They turned off Princess and began to meander south on University. Strange thing about Kingston, the city blocks seemed more trapezoid shaped around Princess Street, like leaning squares.

  It made for awkward right turns. University Avenue was narrow with Victorian homes standing silent watch in various states of disrepair. Kingston was a rural community blessed with scenery, a tourist destination that had somehow maintained its class. The rusted, unused local transit signs bespoke the high price of gas. Manual labor was carting materials here and there. Everyone walking by had that new look, the furtive glance over the shoulder and to the right then left. We are animals staying aware of our surroundings. Maggie felt the bus tires mutter against the brick built roadway betraying their entrance into Queen’s University. On her left a portable sign announced a free jazz concert at Grant Hall.

  “She’s here.” The bus driver spoke into an old two way radio microphone as the bus slowed. He then nodded to Maggie and the bus door hissed open. The sound brought Maggie to Chicago with a chill that she pushed away by gripping the hand rails with white knuckle fury. Stop, she took a breath and carefully walked down the stairs. She crossed the street that was filling up with bicycles and made it to the other side. Among the collection of tired, nervous figures that moved about the sidewalk was a young man in grey pants, a sport jacket with a black tie. He turned toward Maggie and gave a wave before trotting her way.

  “Captain Hunter.” The boy could not have been more than sixteen, “I’m here to meet you.”

  “Okay, you lead, I’ll follow.”

  “May I take your bag, Ma’am?” He offered politely.

  “No,” Maggie gave a half smile in reply. “No, I’m good thanks.”

  “This way, please.” The young man directed her along the Professor’s walkway. A green field was on her right while stone buildings from the 19th century marked her passing on the left. After a few steps Maggie’s new guide turned his head and suddenly spoke: “May I say something?”

  “Sure.” Maggie decided to try and pull herself out of the dark place she had created on the bus with conversation. “Go ahead.”

  “I came from Ottawa with a lot of other people.” The young man’s voice was serious, his tone sincere. “I just wanted to say thank you.”

  “I’m sorry?” The sunshine and activity around them seemed to fade into a blur for a moment. Maggie listened carefully.

  “I was a page in a meeting about a week ago and I heard it was your ideas that helped get us all out. “ His eyes were sincere. “Thank you, it really worked.”

  Maggie had a moment where she was taking another walk with Tom Roberts, the notes that he was scribbling and the nodding of his head. My god, he was listening. Dumbfounded, Maggie could only smile stupidly and lower her eyes.

  “I’m glad you got out okay.” It was all she could think of saying.

  “We all did, thank you.” The Theological Hall began to loom in front of them. Like many other buildings at Queen’s it was made of stone and ancient. Ivy had grown up the façade to the roof.

  “Reg, I see you’ve found Captain Hunter.” It was Tom Roberts. He was dressed in a light colored suit to match the fall weather. There was a stack of papers under his right arm and some stress lines on his face. “Please take the Captain’s bag to the cloak room. The meeting starts in five.”

  “No problem.“ Maggie nodded as Reg extended his hand and this time took her bag and opened the oak door in an almost solemn, ritualistic style. Like any good page he was invisible in an instant.

  “You’ll need one of these,” Tom handed her a notepad with two pens. He paused after they entered. His voice fell to a whisper. “Let me fill you in.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Maggie accepted the notepad and slipped it under her left arm. She matched Tom’s volume of voice. The tone was perfect for the building. It was after all, a church.

  “Sorry,” he started with the standard Canadian apologies, Maggie tried hard not to role her eyes. “We only arrived a week or two ago, things are still pretty crazy.”

  “Not at all, sir.” Maggie recalled the bustle along the walkway and its occupants. “These people don’t look like students.”

  “There are few classes, Maggie.” Tom delivered the information like it was a defeat. “This is part of the government, now”

  “I see…..”

  “Government house and the offices are pretty crazy right now,” Tom continued. “Finding and setting up enough computers has been a zoo.”

  “It must be very challenging, sir.” Maggie followed along.

  “It is,” Tom seemed to pause for a second as a new idea struck him. “By the way, everything you suggested worked.”

  “Really….” Maggie again was taken aback.

  “That’s why we’re going to pick your brain a bit today.” He started to guide her into the main hall. It was flanked by two huge panes of glass that allowed sunlight to filter in to the almost Victorian surroundings. “Lets’ go in.”

  “The Prime Minister will be housed at the Secret Garden Inn,” a voice was reporting information in an almost monotone, plowing through facts like a snow shovel clearing a driveway. “The ministers with portfolio will be staying at the Queen’s inn……….”

  Maggie took a seat beside Tom in the lecture hall. It struck her for a second that there were far fewer lap tops than notepads. It was a noticeable regression, a step back by one generation. In the back, there were a few who were noticeably bored or sleep deprived. The ones in the middle seemed to take information like this in stride, a moment to relax the mind and prepare for the real information that would tax them.

  “Coffee or water, Maggie?” Tom whispered to her. Maggie looked up and found Reg with a bucket of water bottles and a carafe of coffee. Damn, he’s quick. Do they have tequila? She decided not to make that request.

  “Both please.” Maggie explained in a whisper. “I’m thirsty as hell and need some caffeine.”

  “Of course, ma’am.”

  Maggie took a sip of her coffee while the water was placed in a handy spot underneath her chair. The coffee was bold, bitter and nasty. It was perfect for the moment. She nodded to Reg and he did his vanishing act. It was time to take a breath and try to get an idea of what they wanted.

  “We’re on.” Tom whispered as he began to rise. Maggie then noticed a man in front of the room who had nodded to them. He was bespectacled, gray hair clung to the side of an aging cranium, Maggie
took note of his robes, they were black and ceremonial.

  “Mr. Speaker,” Tom began, addressing the man in front of the room. “I have taken the liberty of inviting Captain Hunter to join us today in our discussion about the Trans-Canada Highway.”

  The speaker nodded and a large, Caribbean man rose in a General’s uniform to her left and one row back and tapped Maggie on the shoulder. “I can fill you in, I’m General Clay Davidson.”

  “Sir…..” Maggie began to rise.

  “Stay seated and at ease, Captain.” The General’s tone was business. “We have a lot to cover.”

  “Yes sir.” It came out like one word.

  “We need to start addressing our supply situation out west, Captain.” Davidson’s voice easily carried the room. He was a man at home with giving orders. “We have been able to keep the Trans-Canada Highway open since the beginning. It has for a most part been cleared of wreckage and is relatively safe.”

  “Relatively safe?” Maggie asked for a clarification.

  “You should be okay as long as you don’t stop.” Davidson answered and explained until Maggie nodded her head. “Hostiles are everywhere, but I’m sure that’s not news to you.”

  “About three months ago, things changed.” Davidson continued, “Our deliveries to communities out west started getting intercepted.”

  Intercepted, Maggie looked up from her note taking and made eye contact with Davidson. Yes, that was the right word. There was a hush from other ministers in the room. There was an air of expectancy, urgency.

  “Where does this happen, sir?” Maggie leaned back and took a sip of coffee. The urge for caffeine still over powered her thirst.

  “Just inside the Saskatchewan border.” Davidson looked around for a second, “Do we have a map or something?” His reply was officious faces turning one way and then the other, even Reg seemed lost.

  “Guess we forgot to pack a map,” Tom filled in the embarrassing silence, there were a few nervous laughs among those gathered. Tom leaned over and whispered, “Sorry Captain.”

  “Not at all, sir,” Maggie was too busy trying to spell Saskatchewan to care. “I can get one later.”

  “Good,” Davidson nodded, clearly a little annoyed that all things were not in their place. “The attacks usually happen around the same area. “

  “It appears to be a case of local bandits.” Another voice offered. “Our militia out there has had no luck finding them.”

  “How do they attack?” Maggie raised the question.

  “They either block the road, or run us off the highway.” Davidson quickly referred to a note in front of him. “There have been a few drivers who have survived. They have little else to report.”

  “Wait a minute, sir.” Maggie raised her pen in the air. “They have vehicles? Like cars?”

  “At least one large truck and several smaller vehicles as well,” Davidson paused and watched Maggie’s face for a minute.

  “That many?” Maggie looked up and made eye contact with Davidson a second time. The rusted bus signs came back into full view from her trip. The town of Kingston can’t afford to gas up buses. How the fuck can these people have cars?

  “Yes.” Davidson nodded. He had eyes that were piercing brown. Maggie could feel him size her up.

  “Begging your pardon, General,” Maggie had already written the thought down. “Couldn’t we just use rail transport while our forces gather more intelligence?”

  “The Trans-Canada rail line was cut in three places about two months ago.” Davidson replied blandly, his hard stare was back. Maggie noted it while she reeled for a second at the information. There was a feeling she had just waded from the shallow part of the pool into the deep end. There was a lot more going on here. Of course there was, this is politics. Maggie made eye contact with Davidson again and nodded: “Thank you, sir.”

  “Can I get a map from you later?” Maggie turned and spoke to Tom. Her eye contact sent another message. Can we talk later?

  “Of course, Captain.” Tom nodded slowly nodded, understood.

  *

  Tom reclined on the double bed still wearing the suit he had worn all day. He had caught a quick dinner earlier but downtime was far from happening. He was staying at the Residence Inn at the Water’s Edge. The Prime Minister had insisted he be close by, the beds were comfortable and the staff was more than attentive. The hotel had earned its’ high rating. The rooms proved to be embarrassingly large for Tom, there was a sitting room that contained boxes of files and a few other things that were necessities but had yet to find an administrative home.

  Thank god the bed was big, files were piled six deep on four sections beside him. He had made these divisions in his mind. Read now, read when the read now pile was done, read later and finally, read much later. His mind was still a little tired from digesting dinner but he pushed his eyelids open. This was the first priority of the must read column.

  The Harris government had projected a population increase, GDP rise of %1 and hopefully a jump in the birthrate. Tom knew this was the message the Government wanted to stay on point about. Hell, he was the one who leaked the memos at the Prime Ministers request. There must be many more Canadians alive than we are estimating. They simply have been too busy picking up their lives to become part of the system again. The projection had been at least 16 to 17 million living Canadians. It was a safe number. The GDP was also considered a secure figure. Canada’s drop of %50 was numbing in the first year of the crisis. Economic figures afterwards were slowly inching toward acceptable loss, but it would be great to be in positive numbers again.

  Okay, he admitted to himself while his eyes scanned the page. Maybe we were dreaming on one per cent growth but we could get economists to argue in our favor if the number was half way decent. The figures that were staring back at him were bleak. The GDP was minus ten per cent again. The population figures were equally disturbing, Canadian population was just over 12 million now and worse, the birthrate was flat.

  He sighed, an attempt to release tension that proved to be in vain. How could we entice Canadians to have children when the world was unsafe? How could we possibly expect a mother to carry a child for nine months and bring them into this world? These were more than just numbers. They were an issuance of surrender. Why would they want to start life in a bleak future?

  Where was the tipping point? Tom mused silently as his eyes focused on an abstract painting on the wall. Where was the point of no return and how close were we?

  When all the food runs out? His eyes were just searching about the room now. When we are unable to contact parts of our country and we fear the worst? That was already happening. Sections of Northern Quebec were strangely quiet just like Ottawa. He inhaled slowly and tried to see something positive in what he was reading, it felt strange to be so fragile.

  “We need a win.” He whispered out loud. “We need a reason to believe.”

  Then do it, give them a reason to believe. He watched his pen draw a line through the census population figure and replace it. Sixteen point five million, he felt like an ancient ghost watching another man’s fingers perform larceny. Birthrate; 1.4 per cent, it’s a white lie, get over it. His conscience hardened at the thought. You need a win, make one. His pen hovered between the paper and the reality of what he was doing. GDP almost at O%, no loss, he swallowed slowly.

  Hey, you know what they say; it’s not illegal if you don’t get caught. Tom looked up at the ceiling for a long moment and wondered, is this how it starts?

  Probably, he felt oddly irritated and hesitant. How long before I can justify anything?

  He closed the folder and felt regret weigh down his shoulders. The synaptic beginnings of a headache started to make itself felt. How long before I can justify anything? The question began to sound sarcastic inside his head.

  But you need a win. Tom took a post it note and wrote see me about this and he then initialed the yellow square of paper and laid it aside. Stop thinking about it, he stared at
the folder on his bed for a minute. It’s just a white lie.

  Yeah, keep saying that, his conscience seemed to have a voice now. Maybe someday you’ll believe it. There was a knock at the door. Tom instinctively slipped the folder into one of the piles, hiding it from plain sight.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s Captain Hunter, sir.” Maggie’s voice was muffled through the door. “I was just wondering about that map.”

  “Oh, just hang on a second,” Tom stood up and caught his reflection in the dresser mirror. God, I look tired, he realized. Okay, at least straighten your tie. He quickly tightened the knot and buttoned his shirt before heading for the door. Something inside wanted to re check the safety of the census file. Tom tried to ignore his ethics while he grabbed his Blackberry and thumbed General Davidson’s number.

  “Davidson,”

  “She’s here, Clay.” Tom’s eyes averted to the file again. It was under a stack of other equally colored and sized folders. Still, it seemed overwhelmingly suspicious and obvious at the same time.

  “Good,” Clay replied, there were a few sounds of him picking up a few items on his way to the door. “I’ll be right there.”

  When he opened the door it again struck Tom that Maggie looked small but immensely powerful, like a coiled spring. It was the way she carried herself. When walking or standing her center of gravity appeared to be leaning forward, like an animal about to pounce. She was still dressed in the fatigues he had seen her wearing earlier. Birds of a feather, he had to smile at the thought.

  “Evening, Captain.” He felt a rush of wonderfully distracting positivity at mentioning her new rank. “Please come in.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Maggie stepped past him into the room and paused for a second at the piles of files. “Whoa.”

  “Just an average day at the office,” Tom closed the door as Maggie found a chair, her eyes still on the files, a little nervous? He could feel himself shake a bit.

  “Hey, I can come back if you’re too busy.” Maggie sat down. No, she was just being polite. Leaving was not on her mind.

  “No, please stay.” Tom waved her off and sat on the edge of the bed. “Most of this stuff is pretty dry. The foreign reports are helpful though.”