And Thy Mother

by John Bromley

  “So, Mr. President,” Peter began without really knowing what to say next.

  “I like to be called William,” Thompson pointed out.

  “OK, Mr. Pres… Mr. William.” After a moment of awkward silence, Peter blurted out, “Do you like to play games?”

  “Yes… very much,” Thompson replied.

  Peter looked around the room, finally spotting something promising.

  “Do you like to play checkers, Mr. William?”

  The President’s face lit up like a child on Christmas morning.

  There were a few vehicles in the Ghetto which resembled golf carts. Most of them were for the use of the Secret Service, but Buck had liberated one of these from its previous owner, and placed it at the disposal of Jim and Angela so they could cover the territory more quickly.

  As they approached this cart, Angela spoke.

  “Jim, there's something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

  “Does it have anything to do with sex?” he asked half-jokingly, half-hopefully, reaching for her.

  “Good grief, I’ve created a sex fiend,” she laughed, playfully slapping his arm. Moving into his embrace, she added in a whisper, “Not that I mind...”

  After a lengthy embrace and several tender kisses, she backed away slightly.

  “Seriously... I was just wondering—when you came out of the tunnel yesterday, who were those two men with you—the ones who weren’t Army?”

  “You should have recognized at least one of them,” Jim replied.

  “I’m pretty sure I’ve seen one of them before,” Angela agreed.

  “The other guy, the ‘rookie’, if you will, was Mike Wilkins’ father. Kinda looks like an older version of Mike. He was here because yesterday was his day to ‘inducted’ into Stork. Mike and I decided that he’d be safer in here than anywhere else until this ‘thing’ is all over.”

  “Do you have an idea as to when that might be?”

  “If all goes according to ‘plan’, tonight,” Jim answered with as much certainty as he could make himself feel.

  “Let's hope you’re right, my love. But, what about the other man, the ‘non-rookie’?”

  Jim gave her a sidelong glance. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Why would I be kidding, Jim? I’ve seen him before, but—”

  “You told me yourself that you and Cynthia had been selected as his new personal ‘playthings’.”

  “You’re talking about the President, Jim. Yes, she and I were going to have that ‘honor’, if you can call it that, but—”

  Jim took her hand and led her up the steps and through the front door. They went down a hall until Jim stopped at a doorway. Looking into the room, they could see two men sitting on opposite sides of a checkerboard. Both men stared at the board, but neither one made a move during the entire time Jim and Angela observed them. From the intensity of their concentration and the sweat on their brows, one might think that the World Checkers Championship was on the line.

  “The man on the right is Peter,” Jim whispered, backing them away from the door so they would not be overheard.

  “I remember him,” Angela nodded. “Nice guy, but he strikes me as kind of...”

  “Slow, yes,” Jim acknowledged, “but he is a good guy.”

  “And… the other man?”

  Jim repeated his questioning glance.

  “The ‘other man’ is William Thompson the Third.”

  She arched her eyebrows, mirroring his expression.

  “That's the President,” he repeated.

  Angela snuck another peek into the room for confirmation, and turned back to Jim.

  “No, it's not.”

  CHAPTER 52

  When the train at Research Station 12 had reached the end of its line the previous day, and Major David Beretta had gotten his first glimpse of women, he did not even know where to begin asking questions. Human beings just like him—but not exactly like him, he quickly realized—living behind the Wall, in seeming contentment. The concept boggled his mind.

  His thoughts then turned to the practical. If they were people, they needed to eat. He had a trainload of food. Apparently, this had occurred to someone else previously; several of the women stood by near the tunnel exit, obviously ready to help unload the provisions.

  “You’re new here,” one of the women said by way of making conversation. Beretta liked the sound of her voice, mostly for the fact that it expressed no anger.

  “Yes, but I’m only here temporarily. My name’s… David.” He was somewhat surprised that he hadn’t introduced himself by his title; the use of his given name just seemed more natural.

  “Pleased to meet you, David. My name’s Kimberly.”

  She held out her hand, and he shook it, instinctively knowing not to squeeze it too hard. They have the same social customs we do, he noted.

  “What street do you live on?” she continued as she began removing cargo from the train.

  “I don’t live in here,” he replied.

  She regarded him as though he were speaking Martian.

  “I’m with the Army,” he tried again. “We’re taking over the stations at the other end of these tunnels.”

  That explained nothing, he realized. He could tell she was not playing games with him; she truly did not understand any of these concepts.

  “How long has this been going on?” he changed the subject as he pitched in to help unload the train.

  “How long has what been going on?” she asked.

  “This… bringing in food to you… people… from outside.”

  “This has always been the way it is done,” she answered. “And what do you mean, David, by…’Outside’?”

  “North America,” he answered carefully. He was trying his best not to confuse her. “The land out… there, beyond the Wall.”

  “The land of men?”

  “Yes.”

  A mental connection must have suddenly been made, for her eyes opened wide. She stepped back and regarded him almost in terror, as she whispered,

  “Are you a… man?”

  Unsure what the best response would be, he let the question linger in the air for a moment; then decided that the truth was best.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Are you going to… kill me?” she squeaked. She had inadvertently backed herself into a corner, and she sank down to the floor.

  “I’m too young to be killed!” she wailed. “I haven’t even had a chance to have a baby yet.” She covered her face with her hands and sobbed.

  Major Beretta realized that his rifle was still slung over his shoulder, and he quickly took it off and set it aside.

  “Look, uh… Kimberly” he sputtered, unsure how to address her other than by name.

  She moved one of her hands slightly and looked over her fingers at him through one tear-filled eye.

  “I put my gun down,” he told her, spreading his arms so that she could see that it truly was out of reach. “I wasn’t planning on killing you, or anyone else. I mean, really—would I bring you food if I planned to kill you? Why would you think that?”

  “That is what all the men that come in here do to us,” she replied, wiping her eyes.

  His questioning look prompted her to explain what she knew about the Secret Service “extermination squads” that patrolled the Ghetto, seeking out and killing women who were past their childbearing years and therefore “useless.” This was a shock to Beretta; his briefing for this mission had mentioned nothing about this.

  “Not all men are like that,” he tried to assure her.

  “Really?” she asked, but he could see that she really wanted to believe him.

  “Yes, definitely.”

  “Are you a… good and noble man?” she asked, with an almost childlike innocence.

  He smiled, having never heard himself described that way before.

  His smile seemed to set her mind at ease, and she continued, with excitement creeping into her voice. “Ever since I was
a child I’ve heard stories of mean and nasty men, and good and noble men, in a magical land beyond the Wall, but I always assumed they were… fairy tales.”

  This kind of makes sense, Beretta realized. If we know nothing about these people, why should I expect that they are going to know anything about us?

  “So, which are you?” she wanted to know.

  “Which ‘what’ am I?” It was his turn to be confused.

  “Are you a mean and nasty man, or a good and heroic one?”

  Major Beretta was no good judge of a woman’s age, since this was the first one he had ever seen, but it struck him that she was still very young.

  “How old are you, Kimberly?”

  “I just turned eighteen years old a few days ago.”

  “Well, Kimberly—”

  “Call me Kim, please.”

  “As you wish,” he said with a smile, which she returned. “Well, Kim, I like to think that I’m more ‘good and heroic’ than ‘mean and nasty’, but I guess that depends who you ask.” This made her laugh.

  “And the ‘land of men’, as you call it, is hardly magical. It is where I live, and it is where this trainload of food comes from. Didn’t you know that this food was from Outside?”

  “I guess I always assumed it was from another part of the compound. But never mind about that now,” she said, grabbing his arm enthusiastically, “tell me more stories about your world.”

  My ‘world’, he thought wryly. We share the same planet, the same continent. We’re separated by a Wall and a few miles of dirt, but for all we know of each other, it might as well be two different worlds.

  He agreed, but only if she would reciprocate and tell him something about her ‘world’. So, for the next hour as they unloaded the train, they traded stories about their respective homes and experiences. He found it tremendously enlightening, and hoped she felt the same.

  When the train was empty, he told her that he had to leave. She was crestfallen.

  “Do you really have to go so soon?” she whimpered.

  “Yes, Kim, but only because I want to get this train filled up again. There’s still more stuff back at the other end of the tunnel.”

  “Will you be back soon, David?”

  “We should be able to be back in about three hours. Why don’t you plan to come back here then? You have friends, don’t you?”

  “Yes, some.”

  “Why don’t you bring some of them with you? I can have some of the other men I work with come here, too. Then, we can all tell stories together.”

  “That sounds like fun, David,” she agreed.

  He boarded the train and ordered the SS man to take it back to its starting point for reloading. The Secret Service agent said that this had been their last scheduled trip for the day.

  “I’m not interested in your schedules,” Beretta informed his captive. “There’s more food back there, and we’re going to get it up here—now.”

  At the loading platform, the other SS men displayed similar resistance to the idea of another trip, until the soldiers and their rifles made them see things their way. Within the promised three hours, Beretta and his men were back in the Ghetto. As he had hoped, Kimberly was waiting for him with four of her friends, who ranged in age from eighteen to twenty-seven. Once the train was unloaded, the Army men and the girls adjourned to Kim’s house, where they spent the rest of the night telling stories and learning about each other.

  It was almost noon on Wednesday before Beretta announced that they had to return to duty. The girls moaned unhappily but, Beretta noted, Kim seemed especially disappointed to see him go.

  He started to board the train, but looked back at the girls.

  “You women—did I say that right?”

  “Close enough,” Kim responded.

  “Anyway, you have one advantage over us men.”

  “What’s that, David?”

  “At least you have ‘fairy tales’ about men. Out there,” he pointed abstractly, “we knew nothing about you. Until today.”

  CHAPTER 53

  “What do you mean, he’s not the President?” Jim asked. “Of course he is. I watched his inauguration on TV five years ago. I’ve seen him speak in public many times.”

  “Maybe I should rephrase that,” Angela said. “He’s not the man we know as the President. Yes, that man’s been here before, but to my knowledge he’s never participated in sex with any of the women. My friends tell me that when he’s here, he just likes to talk to the women and play games with them, nothing more. And, to be honest, most of them are glad of that. He's kind of... I don’t know... creepy.”

  “So, who is this ‘President’ that you know?” Jim wondered.

  “Whoever he is, he comes frequently. He’s always accompanied by that man in there, playing with Peter, but he’s always presented himself as ‘President Thompson’. That’s what all the women, myself included, have always considered him to be. Actually, he has a much more imposing presence than your President. He's a much more frightening man.”

  “I wish Sam were here,” Jim mused. “He’d probably have a better idea who this guy is. My only guess is that it’s this ‘Billings’ guy we've heard so much about lately.” To Angela's questioning look, he replied, “He’s the supreme commander of the Secret Service. We heard about him from Jared Thompson, the President's son—”

  A sudden revelation struck him.

  “You just said that the President – my President, the guy in there – has never had sex with any of the women, right?”

  “Not any of them that I know, but there could be some—”

  “No, you're probably right, Angela,” Jim interrupted, “and I agree with you—that Thompson is kind of creepy, even to me. So, if Jared is not that man's son...”

  “We’re quite sure he was the President’s son.” Jim stared and Angela continued. “The women are positive that this Jared is the son of the man we call ‘the President’.”

  “And if I’m right about the identity of ‘your’ President, that means Jared Thompson was the son of this Billings guy.”

  “‘Was’?”

  “Jared was executed as a prisoner of war just after my execution,” Jim explained. “The difference was that the firing squad shot blanks at me, but used real bullets on Jared. We practically promised Thompson and Billings that if I was shot, the boy would be, too. We used him to prove that we meant business.”

  “I’m not sure I totally approve of that, Jim,” Angela said. “It just doesn’t seem quite fair. I mean, you said you got a lot of information from the boy, so he probably didn't deserve to die.”

  “I’m afraid you’re not always going to approve of everything I do,” Jim responded grimly. “And, as I told Peter before, not everything is ‘fair’ in war. You can’t defeat a heartless enemy by always being the ‘nice guy’. And this Billings has shown himself to be just that. When we captured Jared, we let him call the White House and ask his father to do whatever it took to keep him alive. He got Billings on the phone, who told him point blank that both he and Thompson would do nothing to save him, and then he hung up on Jared. His exact word was that they considered Jared ‘expendable’. So, if Billings was the young man’s actual father, he sentenced his own son to death without batting an eye.”

  Angela was aghast. “I just don’t understand. How can anyone just... abandon their child like that? Not even offer him an apology, a small word of comfort... sympathy... something?”

  “I know,” Jim agreed, “I can’t comprehend it either.”

  Wednesday noon. “Rocko” Stanton sat in a bar just down the street from his network’s headquarters in New York. The “liquid lunch” was not normally Rocko’s style anymore, but the events of the last few days made him decide to revive an old habit.

  He was on his second Scotch when his cheeseburger and fries arrived. He looked around the bar for some ketchup to put on his fries. Spotting a bottle several seats away, he got up and retrieved it. He was only gone for about
ten seconds, but when he returned, he saw that an envelope had been placed under his Scotch glass. He looked around quickly, but no one was leaving, and all the other patrons were seated.

  He opened the envelope and read the short message in it. Eyes widening in surprise, he jumped off his stool, food and drink forgotten, and shouted to everyone in the bar, “It’s on! It’s on!” Racing out the door, he headed back to his office.

  No one knew what he meant until the bartender read the piece of paper Rocko had left behind. “He’s talking about Colonel Parker’s broadcast,” he told the other patrons. “It’s gonna be on tonight, after all.”

  When the customers left the bar, they told everyone they knew, and the news spread like wildfire.

  Late Wednesday afternoon. Bruised and dirty, tired and thirsty, Ted Billings finally reached the Ghetto end of the Stork tunnel, ascended the staircase, and stepped into the first sunlight he had seen in over eighteen hours. Sitting down at the top of the stairs, he opened his briefcase, pocketed his metal vial and took hold of his Uzi.

  Suddenly Ted heard Sam Swenson’s slight Southern drawl echoing throughout the tunnel entrance.

  “Glad you could make it, Ted,” the voice said. “Hope you don’t mind that we started without you.”

  Ted stood up and fired several shots in the direction of the sound. He succeeded in shattering the speaker and the motion detector that had set it off, but stopped shooting as he realized that the concrete walls of the tunnel were causing his bullets to ricochet dangerously close to him.

  It seems I am expected, he told himself.

  Despite their feeble attempts to save themselves, they know they cannot stop us.

  A blocked tunnel is no match for me.

  True heroism will always win the day.

  Time to ensure the future of the nation.

  The future… or lack thereof.

  CHAPTER 54

  Wednesday evening. The entire nation was on edge. Baseball games all over the country had been cancelled. Movie theaters closed for lack of business. Everywhere, friends were gathering at their favorite places to witness what they believed would be a momentous event.