by Roger Hayden
The ground was covered in bird droppings, and the smell that rose from the effects of guano having been baked in the sun for the past several weeks stung Daniel’s nostrils. Most of the building’s windows were broken, and he couldn’t help but think of the number of birds that might have gotten inside and the presents they’d left behind. Another car pulled up beside them, and Dr. Carlson went over to greet the new arrivals. Two men stepped out, one of them more excited to see Dr. Carlson than the other.
“Craig!” Dr. Carlson said, wrapping the man in a hug. “Thanks for coming, old friend.”
“Happy to be here.”
“Daniel, this is Dr. Craig Barley. One of the best structural engineers I’ve ever met. Craig, this is Congressman Daniel Hunter.”
Craig was a small man. Daniel had known shorter guys in college, but they had been fairly well-built men. Craig looked like a slight wind would knock him over.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Congressman,” Craig said, shaking Daniel’s hand enthusiastically.
“Likewise.”
The other man that got out of the car with Craig was the polar opposite. He was tall, wide around the waist, and sported a thick red beard and a pair of dark eyes that looked like they would set Dr. Carlson on fire if they could.
“And this is Dr. Frank Turney,” Dr. Carlson said. “One of the brightest physicists of the century.”
“Except for you. Right, Edwin?” Frank replied, deadpan.
“Too kind, Frank. You’re… too kind.”
Daniel didn’t bother extending his hand to Frank, who wore an expression that suggested he might not get it back if he did. Frank simply walked up to the gate and unlocked it.
“Are you the owner?” Daniel asked.
“No, but I know him. He’s willing to sell if the price is right,” Frank answered.
“Well, I hope he’s reasonable.”
The gate scraped across the bird shit, and Daniel took a hesitant first step onto the property. Frank took the lead, with the rest of them in tow.
Just as Daniel had predicted, the inside of the building was just as bad as the outside. The birds had had their way with everything, and most of the walls were stained with mold and mildew.
“I know it looks bad, but it meets all the requirements on our checklist. Size, structure, proximity to the ocean, and surrounding infrastructure,” Dr. Carlson said.
“And how much is this picture-perfect real estate going for?” Daniel asked.
“Well, that’s where it gets a little—”
“Four million,” Frank answered, cutting Dr. Carlson off.
“Excuse me?” Daniel asked.
“That’s the asking price,” Frank answered.
“No. I’m not pouring four million into this dump. I’d be willing to pay a tenth of that.”
“I’m afraid the price is nonnegotiable.”
“Then I’m afraid we’re going to look elsewhere.”
“Daniel, wait!” Dr. Carlson said running after him. Dr. Carlson grabbed his arm and jumped in front of him. “Listen. We need this spot.”
“Carlson, I don’t have that kind of money. And even if I did, we would be getting ripped off. And we would still need enough funds for materials. This just doesn’t make sense. We’ll find something else.”
“There isn’t anything else. I’ve looked. Every other spot either doesn’t have what we need, or they’re already running a lucrative business that they wouldn’t sell. We don’t have any other choices.”
“Then you better have your friend talk the owner down, because I can’t afford the asking price.”
“Frank! Could you come over here?”
The old factory’s smell was starting to make Daniel feel light-headed. If they were in there long enough, they might get high enough to strike a deal, although he wasn’t sure whose favor it would be in.
“Frank, the price is too much. I mean look at this place,” Dr. Carlson said.
“That’s the asking price,” Frank replied.
“Couldn’t you just try and talk to the owner? See if he’d be willing to come down at all?”
“No.”
It could have been the heat or the smell or the fact that his body was going through alcohol withdrawal after being soaked in whiskey for the past few days, but Daniel was losing his patience.
“Do you know what we’re trying to do? Did Dr. Carlson fill you in at all?” Daniel asked, taking over the conversation.
“I’m aware of the situation,” Frank answered.
“Then you know that if we don’t get this place up and running, this continent will dry up. Even your ice lakes will disappear. We’re running out of water, Dr. Turney, and there won’t be a soul left on this planet to purchase this shitty property if that happens. So why don’t you get on the phone with the owner, and tell him that if he wants to live, then he should bring down the asking price!”
Daniel was panting heavily and out of breath. The deep breaths he drew in just brought in more of the rancid fumes. He started to feel sick. He bent over with his hands on his knees, trying to calm his stomach and clear his head, but it did nothing. He ran out of the factory and moved as far away from it as he could. The more he separated himself from the stench of the factory, the better he felt. He looked behind him, and the factory was a few hundred yards in the distance. He closed his eyes, breathing in and out slowly through his nose and mouth.
This is too much. We can’t do this. Not here. This is too much.
A slight brush of sea air came over him, cooling the beads of sweat on his forehead. For a moment, he forgot where he was. The cool breeze brought him back to his childhood, when his parents would take him to the Carolina coast during the summer. He remembered the heat, the sand, the caked-on sunblock his mother would douse him with. It was the smell of the salt air that he remembered most. He loved that smell.
“Daniel?” Dr. Carlson asked, wheezing from his jog over.
Both Dr. Carlson and Frank had followed him. The two men wore faces of concern.
“I’m sorry, I just… the smell,” Daniel answered.
“You really think this will save us,” Frank said.
“Ask him,” Daniel said, motioning to Dr. Carlson.
“It will work, Frank.”
Frank paused. He took a moment to look back at the factory and then back to Daniel. “All right. Four hundred thousand. But I want profit sharing once everything’s operational.”
“Deal,” Daniel said.
13
The television in the living room had been on the same channel for the past three hours. The images that flashed on the screen alternated between the two empty podiums and the news anchors filling in the time with their own predictions of how the debate would occur.
Two men and two women, with enough makeup on to hide any sign of age or blemish, went back and forth on the issues at hand. A blonde woman whose hair remained in place no matter how she moved was arguing with an older gentleman whose teeth were as white as his hair.
“You really think that we can sustain a war right now on our own turf against an enemy that has nothing to lose?”
“We have to play to our strengths, and despite the decline in our military, we still have the best fighters in the world.”
“What about Brazil? Their water supplies have made them incredibly wealthy. They could start investing that money in weapons. And China has been a threat for years.”
“China’s massive population is causing too much of a problem for them to be able to focus on us. Their people are turning on them, and Brazil is a decade away from posing any kind of military threat. It would do us well to set up an alliance with the Brazilians now.”
The other male on the program chimed in. “You mentioned China’s population turning on its government. What’s to say that can’t happen here?”
The old man smiled. “Hasn’t it already? Have you not seen the news? The rioting about the exile of the Southwest? The water shortages? The war wit
h Mexico? I would say we’re already on the verge of that.”
The blonde woman shook her head. “Those are symptoms. Symptoms of a much larger problem. This debate tonight is not about water or the war or the exile. It’s about the fundamental process of what our country was built on and the preservation of that. Congressman Smith has done everything to try and bring us back from the edge, and all he’s gotten in return are ludicrous allegations of treason, which he was of course cleared of.”
The other woman on the program raised her hands, trying to bring the tension down. “All right, guys. We’re approaching the beginning of the debate. It’s time for predictions. Bob?”
The old man clapped his hands together and rubbed them thoroughly. “I think Smith has an uphill battle. The treason charges really worked against him, and I don’t know if the American people trust him anymore. I’m going Jones.”
“Tim?”
“Jones is too much of a seasoned veteran. He’s been around Washington for a very long time. This guy doesn’t lose.”
“Kathy?”
“Smith. I think he’ll be prepared, and the American people will forgive him once they see the type of plan he has laid out. Jones doesn’t stand a chance.”
“Well, there you have it. No matter who our experts are rooting for, it’s going to be a heated debate, and from what I’ve heard so far, it’s going to be close.”
The panel of experts was replaced by an advertisement that pictured a family picnicking in a green field of grass. The scene was sunny, with blue skies, and each face was smiling. In the center of the picnic sat a jug of water, from which the son of the make-believe family poured himself a crystal-clear glass. The boy took a sip and smiled. Then the words “Keeping your family’s water safe for over one hundred years” appeared on the screen. The logo of the Strydent Chemical Company flashed on the screen, then the television switched to another commercial.
All of the color from Amy’s face had drained away. Her hands wouldn’t stop fidgeting in her lap. Her eyes were glued to the television. Brooke took her hand and placed it over her sister’s. Amy looked up at her and tried to smile.
“Have you heard from Daniel?” Brooke asked.
“No.”
Amy spoke softly. Brooke thought that her sister’s voice would break if she spoke too loud. Brooke squeezed Amy’s hand.
“It’s going to be okay,” Brooke said. “Smith is going to wipe the floor with this guy, and afterward, everyone will see what this Jones character really is.”
“Right.”
A few thumps sounded from above, followed by laughs and giggles.
“Hey, be careful up there,” Brooke yelled.
A unified “sorry” echoed from Brooke and Amy’s daughters. Amy continued to watch the commercials with focused concentration.
“I’m going to check on the boys,” Brooke said.
Amy nodded, and Brooke gave her sister a kiss on the side of her head. “I love you.” The only response Brooke received was a faint sniffle. She walked toward the back of the house, where John and Kevin had disappeared. Through the back-door window, she could see the two of them in the yard with their backs turned to her. Both their heads were down, looking at something.
“Hey,” Brooke said, opening the door. “What are you two doing?”
John and Kevin turned around a little too quickly. John kept his hands behind his back.
“Nothing,” John answered.
“What do you have, John?” Brooke asked. The two of them looked like deer frozen in headlights. “C’mon. Give it here,” Brooke said.
John pulled his hand from behind his back and opened his palm, which held Brooke’s loaded revolver. Brooke stepped forward and grabbed the pistol carefully out of John’s hand.
“What are you doing with this?” Brooke asked harshly. “This isn’t a toy!”
“Kevin had never seen one. We weren’t going to shoot it,” John answered.
“Don’t tell my mom,” Kevin said, quickly.
“Your mother has enough on her plate without having to worry about this. Now go back inside and check on her. The debate’s starting soon anyway,” Brooke said.
Kevin headed back inside with his head down, shuffling his feet. John attempted to sneak away with him, but Brooke grabbed his arm. “You hold up a minute.”
“Mom, look, I’m sorry, okay? I told you we weren’t going to shoot it.”
“John, you shouldn’t have shown your cousin this.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s younger than you are, and he’s never had any firearm training. And you’re no expert yourself, either.”
“I know how to use it. You don’t think I can handle it? What have I been doing for the past week, Mom? Have I not been able to keep it together?”
John’s voice rose. His face flushed red. He seemed taller to Brooke. She hadn’t noticed it until now, but it seemed like he’d shot up a few inches out of nowhere. She felt like she was looking up at him.
“You’re right,” Brooke answered. “I’m sorry. It’s just… with everything that’s happened, I don’t want you to lose the part of yourself that is most important. You’ve grown up a lot, and I just don’t want it to happen too fast. You’ve got a lot ahead of you, so just cool it with the guns. Try talking about girls for a bit.”
“Mom,” John responded, a little exasperated.
Brooke laughed. “Go inside. Make sure Eric’s still alive.”
Brooke gave John a push as he headed back inside. She watched him disappear down the hallway through the back-door window and then turn to climb the stairs. Once John was out of sight, she looked back down at the revolver in her hand. Brooke knew things would be different moving forward, regardless of what happened with everything else. No matter what road they traveled down, she couldn’t make John unsee everything that had happened.
One of her biggest fears would be to have John experience the same foreign feeling that Brooke felt in that house. She didn’t want him to be like her. She didn’t want him to feel like there wasn’t any safe place left. She didn’t want him to have his guard up all the time. He needed to be a teenager, not a fugitive in hiding. Brooke just wasn’t sure if she’d be able to join her family in that normalcy.
Smith adjusted his tie in the mirror. He was clean, shaved, and dressed to the nines. The dressing room where he waited for the final call from the producers was small. The only other objects that joined him were the mirror, a desk, a chair, and a small couch behind him. He pulled his sleeve up to check his watch. The second hand seemed to stand still.
Beth had left him thirty minutes ago so he could be alone. It was their ritual before every debate he’d had. Beth would spend the morning quizzing him, testing him on the subject matter that could be brought up and any curve balls that would be thrown at him from either the moderator or his opponent.
Then, after he’d passed through the final gauntlet Beth made him run, he’d lock himself in solitude. He needed to be alone with his thoughts, undisturbed. He enjoyed the quiet before all the noise, the lights, and the tension. It was during these moments that he could see everything clearly.
But this time felt different. Smith wasn’t sure if he would get another chance like this. There was too much at stake. This would be the turning point of the country, where it would either continue down its path of destruction or begin heading down the road of recovery. Smith knew both roads were one-way streets.
“Congressman? We’re ready for you,” one of the producers came into say.
Smith nodded and followed the young man through the halls of the studio. Every person he passed stopped what they were doing to watch him walk by. Smith wasn’t the only one who knew the gravity of this debate.
The lights nearly blinded him when he stepped out on stage. Jones was already at his podium, looking over some of his notes. The moderator was in place, and the cameras were set. Behind the cameras, there was no audience, just a few other producers and stagehands.<
br />
“You can take your place right here, Congressman. And if you can put this mic on, we’ll get started.”
“Thank you,” Smith said, pinning the mic on his lapel.
“Congressmen,” the moderator said. “When I get the green light, the cameras will open up on me, and as I introduce you, the cameras will move to you. I know this isn’t the first time for either of you, so I’m sure this will go smoothly.”
The producer gave a thumbs up and started the countdown.
“Okay, and we’re on in five, four, three,” the producer held up his hands signaling two then one and pointed to the moderator as the lights flashed on.
“Good evening. Welcome to tonight’s debate between Congressman David Smith and Congressman Raymond Jones. Gentlemen, answers will be limited to two minutes, and rebuttals will be one minute. The timer will begin after the end of my questions. Congressman Jones, you will be receiving the first question. What does the United States have to gain with the war against Mexico?”
“Nothing. We have absolutely nothing to gain. It’s a waste of resources and we’re putting our soldiers at unnecessary risk. And I would dare to say that the president agrees with me. Just the other day, I was sent to Mexico City to discuss the terms of a cease-fire. I believe a final draft was just drawn up,” Jones answered.
The moderator turned to Smith, who was meticulously taking notes. “Congressman Smith, same question.”
“I would have to say I agree with Congressman Jones, but what Jones failed to mention was his prior involvement with the Mexican government in the first place. Congressman Jones has been back-channeling with Mexican officials to work on a military strike against the Brazilians. I think we would all like to know why Congressman Jones is trading one war for another—one that could put us at odds with the Chinese, who have developed a strong relationship with Brazil.”
“That’s quite a statement, Congressman Smith. What do you have to say to those allegations, Congressman Jones?”
“Well, Congressman Smith, yes, I have been doing some back-channeling, but it’s been to prevent war, not engage in it. All of my talks with the Mexican officials have been to help us come to an understanding of where our two nations exist. Talks of Brazil may have been brought up, but I think we would all agree that Brazil as an ally would be far better than an enemy.”
