He’d read somewhere that public speaking was a fear greater than death for most people. In this moment, that felt about right.
It seemed that the entire population of the state was now arrayed before him. The people lining the streets of downtown Indianapolis stretched as far as the eye could see. Compounding his tension, to the other side of him were rows of men and women with guns—a few he knew, yet most were total strangers. Nolan had no idea what orders they’d been given about who to shoot and who not to shoot, but a man standing atop the barricade calling for sedition against their standing orders sure seemed like a good candidate to get popped.
Nolan was risking everything that he had, and he knew it.
From his earliest days of basketball stardom, Nolan had been acutely aware that he was a rare fish that swam in an even rarer slipstream—the sort of slipstream that only happened when all the city fathers (and mothers) smiled upon you. His entire adult life, he had been a star. And not just any star. He was the kind of star that people in power liked. That politicians and corporate CEOs wanted to be seen with. That advertisers wanted to hold their products. So doors had been opened for him. Opportunities had always been provided. And his failures—such as they were—had always been hushed-up as much as possible.
To challenge the city fathers publicly was to risk throwing this away. To leave the slipstream and swim under his own power, whatever that might be. He was risking it all.
Some part of Nolan’s brain had whispered that his plan would never work. That the National Guard troops would see him approaching with the bikers and shoot him where he stood (or at least tell him to shove off).
Instead, it had been like the old days. Nolan had removed his sunglasses (which helped keep folks from recognizing him). He had shouted his own name to the skinny kids in the Indiana National Guard uniforms working the barricade. And he had seen the wonder in their eyes. They knew him. Or at least knew of him. The crowd had seen it too. Their cheers and cries of recognition had become a force. A power. Something you could almost feel in a tactile way. He had become who he once was. Who, perhaps, he always had been . . . and yet never had been. Moments later, the troops at the barricade had helped him up on the barrier and told him to say what he had to say.
Now he had reached the end of his speech, and he’d be damned if it didn’t look like it was going to work. The crowd of refugees seemed to understand that nonviolent entry was their shared goal. The soldiers and police did not look like they were going to stop anybody who wanted to walk between the tangle of vehicles that formed the barricade. The snipers on the walkway above had set down their guns; they sat on the edge of the roof, their legs dangling from the overhang, leaning in to get a closer view of Nolan.
To one side of the barricade, the Inlaws stood with their arms crossed. Big Red, who hunkered beside a nervous-looking Drextel Washington, gave Nolan a thumbs-up.
Then—just as it seemed the soldiers would part and the crowd begin filing peacefully into the Green Zone—there came a loud scuffling sound at the rear of the personnel carrier.
A familiar voice said, “Little help?”
Nolan turned back toward the capitol and saw the governor of Indiana trying to pull himself onto the carrier. After a moment’s hesitation, Nolan extended two giant arms and pulled Burleson up next to him.
The crowd—most of whom had not seen hide nor hair of the governor since the start of the outbreak—burst into applause. Before Nolan realized what was happening, the governor grabbed one of Nolan’s hands and held it up like they were politicians at a rally.
“Don’t worry, James!” the governor said from out of the side of his mouth. “It’s all under control.”
Nolan looked over to the Inlaws. Big Red telegraphed concern. What was this treachery? What had happened?
For his part, Nolan hoped that his words had convinced the governor to remove the barricades. Perhaps Burleson would say that it had been his own idea to remove them. (The governor often took credit for things that people liked, whether or not he’d had any part in them. That would be okay. Nolan understood that his boss liked the limelight. For all of Burleson’s flaws, Nolan could not bring himself to feel any real ire toward the man. Perhaps he sometimes made choices that Nolan himself would not have made, but he still seemed to try to do his best for the state. And he had done so much for Nolan in the past . . . )
“Thank you, James!” the governor boomed as the crowd finally quieted. “Thank you very much for your concern and your care. This man is a true hero of the state. A treasure! A Sagamore of the Wabash, if ever there was one!”
The governor indicated Nolan with a broad gesture, and the crowd applauded once more.
“Now, we’re all doing our best in a very difficult situation,” Burleson said. “Very difficult. I know that the hardest thing right now is communication. I know I miss my cell phone, just like y’all do.”
There was a little polite laughter.
“But here’s the thing . . .” the governor began.
Suddenly, Nolan saw a familiar face push her way to the front of the barricade. He pivoted and looked more closely. It was Kesha Washington! She was still alive, and in Indianapolis somehow! Emerging from the crowd behind her was Steven Hipwell, the carnival worker with the burned leg. And on his shoulders sat a familiar-looking young woman with a broken ankle.
Nolan waved down at Kesha. She enthusiastically waved back. Nolan pointed over toward where Kesha’s father stood beside the biker gang. Kesha’s eyes found her father, and her face lit up with delight.
Beside Nolan, the governor continued to speak. So in shock was Nolan that it took him a moment to begin following the governor’s words.
“The thing my friend James doesn’t know is that I sent the National Guard to take care of those zombies a few hours ago. I’m pleased to report that the threat has been entirely eliminated. Entirely! From what I hear, it was a hard go. But our brave men and women were up to the challenge. The group of zombies James is talking about was destroyed before the sun was up this morning.”
The audience sat in silence for a moment. It was good news . . . but a bit anticlimactic. They began to applaud—not like they had for Nolan; this was more of a polite patter.
“Thanks for all your efforts, kid,” Burleson said to Nolan under the applause. “Leave it to my top man to find the same threat I did. Well done.”
“Some bikers pointed it out to me,” Nolan said. “Did you really have all those zombies taken care of in the last couple of hours? I was down on Southeastern before, and I didn’t hear gunshots or anything.”
“Totally taken care of, champ,” the governor said. “You can rest easy.”
He put his hand on Nolan’s towering shoulder.
Nolan smiled weakly. It all left him with a strange, empty feeling. Could it be that simple? Could the governor possibly be right?
But of course he was. He was the governor of the damn state. Of course he was, thought Nolan.
He was always right.
30
Kesha stood at the front of the crowd and looked over at her father. Improbably, the slight, bookish man was framed by a pack of mean-looking bikers. They seemed to regard him almost as one of their own.
Kesha did not stop to wonder what had brought him here. Her lone, ecstatic thought was that her father was alive and nearby. She’d been so afraid she would never see him again. And yet here he was. Apparently safe and sound, and with some burly new friends.
Her father did not yet see her. Kesha wanted to cry out, but did not want to interrupt the governor. Or Nolan. Nolan! What was he doing here? Standing on the barricade making some sort of speech about zombies south of the city? Zombies that had, according to the governor, now been eliminated. It was all so fantastic. All so unexpected.
It also dawned on Kesha that Madison was now within a few feet of her father. Whatever she had needed to do—or to stop him from doing—now, presumably, could happen.
Kesha felt she might swoon from the i
ncredibleness of it all (that, and the lack of food and sleep). Then she heard Madison’s voice like ice in her ear.
“He’s lying!”
“What?” Kesha said.
“My dad is lying,” Madison said. “Whatever his basketball-playing policeman just said about zombies heading for the city; it’s still true.”
Kesha ripped her eyes from her father and looked back up at the improvised stage where the governor stood next to Nolan. All at once, she knew that Madison was right. The governor was saying something about the National Guard having eliminated a zombie threat south of the city. Next, he started explaining why the barricades needed to stay up as a security measure.
Kesha saw Nolan nodding as if he agreed. But he’d just been saying something to the contrary. He’d said that zombies were headed this way, and that people needed to come inside of the barricade.
“I can tell when my dad is lying,” Madison said. “I’ve watched him do it for years.”
Kesha looked back at Nolan. He was still nodding along. Whenever the governor stopped for applause, he leaned in and joked with Nolan.
Kesha took a step forward, then stopped. What was she about to do?
Here she was—back in Indianapolis, where she had always wanted to be. Her father was fifty feet away. She was surrounded by people and there were a bunch of Army men with guns. For the moment she appeared to be safe. Wasn’t this what she had been working toward the whole time?
Yet something told her that this was not success. That she still needed to act. That James Nolan was a good man . . . but a good man who did not know the truth.
Kesha took another step forward, then another.
She cupped her hands to her mouth and shouted, “James!”
Nolan saw her and waved, a goofy smile on his face.
A National Guard soldier stepped up to keep Kesha away from the personnel carrier.
“Let her through,” called Nolan. “It’s all right.”
The National Guard soldier looked surprised and backed away from Kesha. Nolan’s word was law in this situation. Better than law.
Kesha scuttled up to the personnel carrier. James knelt down to speak with her.
“Kesha!” he said. “You got here! I’m so glad! I ran into your father at the cabin. He’s over there with Big Red.”
“James, listen . . .” Kesha cried. “The governor is lying. He’s not telling you the truth. That’s his daughter, Madison, over there on Steven’s shoulders. She knows.”
“This just keeps getting better,” Nolan said.
“Yeah,” Kesha said. “But listen to me. Burleson’s not telling the truth.”
Kesha watched as Nolan looked over to where the governor was still bloviating. Kesha realized that Nolan was afraid Burleson would hear her.
“Why would you say that?” Nolan said.
“Those zombies south of the city? They’re still coming. The governor didn’t do anything about it. He’s lying.”
Nolan contorted his face as though he smelled a bad smell. He shook his head. Kesha understood instantly. Something in Nolan did not want to believe.
Nolan looked back at the governor and shifted his weight like he might stand back up. But Kesha had come this far. It was time to go for broke.
“You were never in that car!” Kesha screamed as loud as she could.
For the first time, the governor appeared to notice the teenage girl at the foot of their improvised stage. A number of soldiers were looking at her as well. But she was only looking up at Nolan.
The giant policeman’s face seemed to lose all expression.
Nolan said, “What?”
“You were never in that car,” Kesha said more quietly. “That night that the accident happened when you were in college? You were a pedestrian. You were walking down the side of the road. The car hit you as it ran into the tree.”
Nolan knit his brow.
“But . . . no. I was in the car.”
“Do you remember being in the car?” Kesha asked.
She realized that the governor had stopped speaking, and was now staring directly at her.
“I . . .” Nolan stammered. “No. I mean, none of us did. We all had memory loss. The doctors said that was normal. I was in the car.”
“How do you know?” Kesha asked. “Was it because the mayor of Muncie, Hank Burleson, told you so? Or the police chief appointed by the mayor? Or maybe the policemen who reported to the police chief?”
“I was in the car,” Nolan said again. “You’re wrong, Kesha.”
“Young lady, please step away from the barricade,” Burleson barked.
He got a guardsman’s attention and pointed to Kesha as if to say, “Deal with that.”
The guardsman stepped forward and began to push at Kesha with the butt of his gun.
“No!” shouted Nolan. “Leave her alone!”
The guardsman looked back and forth between the governor and the giant policeman. Then he stepped back from the teenager.
“I was in the car,” Nolan said to Kesha. “Where did you get the idea that I wasn’t? Where is this coming from?”
“She got it from me!”
Kesha saw Madison urging her gangly steed forward. Madison had screamed the words like a battle cry. Burleson was agog and aghast.
“Madison!” the governor cried. “You’re . . . you’re . . .”
“Not going to take your bullshit anymore!” Madison shouted.
“What?” Burleson said.
“I’ve heard my father talking about the accident for years, and I know the truth!” Madison called.
“Madison . . . be quiet!” the governor hissed, suddenly remembering that he was in front of a crowd.
The governor took a step across the improvised stage toward his daughter. Without turning his head, Nolan extended an arm to the governor’s chest, stopping him mid-stride.
Everyone on both sides of the barrier was listening now. Nobody moved.
Madison opened her mouth to speak, but Kesha cast a look that said: “No. He needs to hear this from me.”
“You were never in the car,” Kesha repeated. “Three other boys were. You knew them, but you hadn’t been out with them that night. They hit you when they went off the road. Afterwards, it became clear that nobody would have a solid memory of what had happened. The mayor saw a chance to take advantage of the situation. If you were just a pedestrian who got hit, then you were worth nothing to him. A sad story. But if you had been driving, and then he covered that up . . . then he had made a powerful friend for life. A friend who would be famous and popular throughout Indiana. So he told you that you had been driving the car . . . but he would hide the truth. He would tell the press you had been a passenger. His police force would back him up and alter the evidence accordingly, he said. You thought Burleson was taking an enormous risk on your behalf. In fact, he was only taking advantage of you. Making you something that would serve him in the future.”
“Be quiet, whoever you are!” Burleson roared. He pushed hard against Nolan’s arm, but it was like a ten-year-old rushing an adult.
“You know it’s true, Dad!” Madison shouted up at the improvised stage. “I’ve heard you brag about it on the phone when you’re drunk! Don’t lie!”
Kesha could see the gears turning inside Nolan’s head. She could also see that this was very, very painful for him. Nolan was a good man. He wanted to believe the best about people. That was the essence of who he was.
“Listen, you’re still a good person,” Kesha said—feeling as though her words were entirely out of bounds for a teenager, but going for it anyway. “In the last day and a half I’ve seen you do . . . amazing things. Brave things. Things most people could never do. It’s just . . . sometimes you could stand to be a little more cynical, you know?”
Nolan nodded.
And it might have stopped there, had Madison Burleson been in a better mood. But the most popular girl in the state missed her nice, soft, memory foam bed, missed her menagerie
of stuffed animals, and, above all, missed her mother. Her neglected, mistreated, trophy wife of a mother who had been driven into the arms of the gardener, and then the tennis coach, and then a series of others . . . by this man on the stage next to Nolan. Madison wanted her mommy, and fresh clothes, and a good night’s sleep on a bed. And—true to Burleson form—she was ready to spew hot fury over anyone who denied her what she wanted.
“You also talk about the stuff in the water!” Madison cried. “I know about that, too! Tell them about that!”
From her perch atop Steven’s shoulders, Madison could see all the way to the capitol building. There were three giant tankers with Burundi Petroleum logos parked right in front of it.
“See, right there!” Madison said, pointing wildly. “Why are there BP trucks in front of your office? Explain that!”
Suddenly, Nolan reared up and turned to the governor. The consternation and discomfort were still all over his face, but there was something else, too. To Kesha, it looked like something inside the giant man was awakening.
“The water!” Nolan cried, pointing a meaty finger at the governor’s chest. “A new mystery chemical making dead flesh move around. That was you?”
“It’s him and BP,” Madison called. “He lets them do anything they want. That’s all he cares about . . . keeping BP happy.”
Nolan turned and looked down the street to the capitol building. He saw the BP trucks, clear as day. Then he turned back to the governor.
“What did you do?” Nolan cried, gripping the governor by the front of his jacket.
Burleson, alarmed, writhed like a fish pulled out of the water. In a few seconds, he had twisted out of his jacket entirely. Nolan was left holding the empty garment, which he threw to the ground.
Burleson retreated to the far edge of the personnel carrier. He looked into the faces of the crowd. They were utterly enraptured by the drama unfolding before them. Burleson looked back at the police and soldiers. Nobody was springing to his aid. Nobody was stepping between him and James Nolan. Their faces made it clear. He was on his own.
“How dare you!” Burleson cried.
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