Me: Does she know you’re safe?
Jake: Well, I wouldn’t say safe-
Me: Why not?
Jake: There are soldiers walking around the streets, watching from the tops of buildings; it’s like one big security team. And while I trust them, I don’t trust whatever it is they’re looking for.
Me: Oh, wow. Yeah, I would hesitate to trust the soldiers too, if I’m being honest. Tensions are too high. Avoid trusting anyone if they’re emotionally unstable. Take the long way home if you have to. Craziness gets multiplied, not added. Add in guns and testosterone, so those men are ticking time bombs.
Jake: Geez, man. I didn’t think of it like that.
Me: I’ve heard enough about our military to know, they’re temperamental. But let’s move on, sorry for digressing. The American public has only rumors about the housing quarters people in your situation have been dealing with. What’s it like?
Jake: Well, I don’t have my bed anymore. So that’s frustrating. Other than that, I’m currently staying at a Blue Tree Hotel on the government’s dime. It’s not quite the Grand American, but it’s been fine. The continental breakfast has come in handy.
Me: What do you do all day?
Jake: All of us, I like to say Refugees don’t have most of our old jobs anymore. It’s now all about skills and labor. Which, for those of us who don’t have any real life skills, we’re asked to stay out of the way. My day typically consists of writing sprinkled with an hour at the gym.
Me: You’re a writer?
Jake: I’ve written two mildly-successful screenplays.
Me: Let’s talk more about that off the record? Shall we? Tell me about the evacuation.
Jake: Where do I start? I went to bed early on the twelfth, but I remember how bright the night sky was. I just figured it was a full moon, so it didn’t slow me down from falling fast asleep. I woke up at 6:30 am, saw my wife’s Honey, I’ve landed text, grabbed a bottle of water, and sat down to start writing. I usually don’t get up from my desk until I’ve composed over a thousand words; I write all my first drafts freehand. No computer, no type-writer. So after my phone buzzes in the morning, I don’t use electronics until late-morning. Even then, I prefer to take a little walk after writing. I was busy putting pen to paper when someone knocked at the door. It was still a little dark outside, so it couldn’t have been much later than 7:00. It wasn’t like when the Jehovah’s Witnesses come knocking; it was aggressive, forced.
Me: Who was it?
Jake: A soldier. He let me know I needed to pack up clothes and any valuables into a suitcase. One suitcase per person. In ten minutes, I needed to be packed and standing at my mailbox. Pets were to be fed and left at home. The soldier wouldn’t take questions. When a man with a gun tells you what to do, you just listen. At least, that’s what I did.
Me: So, all you have at the Blue Tree is one suitcase?
Jake: I’m a writer, man. I don’t wear more than two outfits anyways. Unless I’m out to dinner with my wife. But yes, for some people it’s been very frustrating to have only a few change of clothes. But rules are rules.
Me: After you packed, what then?
Jake: I stood out by the mailbox, like the soldier said. Right on time, two school buses came down the street. The first bus was for luggage. The second cleared out the neighborhood. No one resisted. Now that I think back, it’s amazing there was no backlash. At least not on my block. We listened to our orders and stopped asking questions. I’ve heard some stories about other evacuations going south, but my experience was painless.
Me: When did you find out why this was happening?
Jake: Ha! I still don’t know why it’s happening! The why is too far out of reach. However, the situations’s severity stuck out when we hit the freeway. The only vehicles on the road were other school buses.
Me: Where did they take you?
Jake: First stop was a high school for physical evaluations. This was the first time the soldiers gave us any inclination about the fires and the potential spread of an airborne threat. Once again, our group was as calm as Hindu cows. I don’t know how the other buses were doing, but we got off the bus and didn’t put up a fight.
Me: Describe the high school and the physical evaluations.
Jake: The main lobby was empty. Passengers were unloaded and directed to a specific classroom to wait for individual physicals. By this point, my group became restless and a few of us began to demand answers. The soldiers stayed consistent, and were surprisingly friendly about the whole thing. They didn’t answer anything, but they weren’t jerks about it either. They were apologetic, very honest about not knowing answers. They were just following orders. So that’s what we did too. They said we would have a chance to ask as many questions as possible once we passed the exam.
Me: How long did they make you wait?
Jake: Not long, actually. I was the second or third person selected, and I don’t think I was in the classroom for more than 20 minutes. The experience itself wasn’t too bad either. They checked my lungs; apparently there was a severe risk of an airborne disease or fungus. The doctors answered every question with a lot of detail. More detail than what you would expect from a government official who just took you out of your home.
Me: What did the doctor say?
Jake: They believed it was an attack. Terrorists. The threat scared everyone. The possibility of this being the first layer of a tiered assault was even more frightening. They needed to make sure to run blood tests, as well as interview each person from a neighboring city. They took no chances with people who could blow up the city and, and, shut down the entire satellite operating system.
A long silence. Maybe twenty seconds, but it felt longer.
Me: Jake? Are you there? Hey, what happened?
Jake: Sorry about that. Needed to clear something up with our chaperone. No worries. Where was I? So yeah, the doctor was subtly interrogating me while checking vitals to find potential snakes in the grass. Mind you, as I am talking to my doctor, this is when I found out about the explosions in Salt Lake City. I wasn’t much of a person to cross-examine after that, they let me go and I waited on the next bus.
Me: Wait, so the doctor admitted this was terrorism?
Jake: All but put it in writing, man. The evals were nothing more than a preventative measure. I guess that’s what happened when you have an old war hero for a President.
Me: So the evacuations were preventative measures?
Jake: Sure, and it makes perfect sense, too. Whether we’re preventing terrorism or preventing casualties from a wildfire or preventing airborne diseases. The government was quick to protect its citizens before anything else went wrong.
Me: So you’re okay with all of this?
Jake: I’m not really the kind of guy to complain. I miss my wife. I really can’t wait until the communication embargo gets lifted and the background checks are finished. These things take time. I want to be with Elizabeth, but I want us to be safe, too. I would rather sleep in my own bed, but between the fires, which are still burning, and any other threats, I respect it. I’m not a spoiled brat. Freedom isn’t free. If there’s a danger out there, I want to be protected.
Me: And you believe that’s what’s happening?
Jake: I do.
Me: I wasn’t expecting that.
Jake: No one would be. Here’s the reality; our living conditions are fine. We’ve all been staying at hotels and have been given quite respectable, sometimes royal, treatment. We’re well-fed, well-bed, and I haven’t been able to write this freely in years. The fires are real, the clouds are still brewing down south. Someday, we’ll look back at this inconvenient time when Watt was an overbearing parent.
Me: I appreciate the perspective, Jake. This is, to say the least, surprising.
Jake: I just miss my wife, man. Other than that, I don’t mind the loss of freedoms and can handle the disruption of my normal life.
Me: So what’s…
Jake: Oh and, sorry to
interrupt you, the ash from the fires is starting to make its way up here. It’s like a-
Another long silence. Jake gets cut off.
Jake: Hopefully we will be going home soon. I don’t really know the timeline on it, but I’m ready. Maybe we can do this again after this is all over to talk more.
Me: I think it’s a great idea. Thank you so much for your time, Mr. Oberhausen. You’ve been informative, to say the least.
Jake: Wish you the best with your website, buddy. I’m a huge fan.
Me: I’ll relay the message to your wife! Thank you for your time.
Check back tomorrow for more details. Thanks guys for your time and post questions in the comments!
Be Radical.
-Bc
*******
Conrad Greene
0656 (Eastern time)
Washington, DC
“Sorry for the delay, Greeny. I’ll remind Arthur about playing nice with others. Unfortunately, I can’t quite convince him I’m no longer Secretary General John Watt’s adorable son. I’m the leader of the free world and I’m more than capable of telling my friends when I’m too busy to meet. He’s got a bug up his rear-end over the impending statement from Ugo Ban at the UN Summit tomorrow. But I’m not too busy for a debriefing. Must I remind you of the potential of uninvited listeners?” President Watt relaxed into the off-white velvet couch.
Conrad looked around the room, as if he were inspecting for a poorly hidden camera, as if Uriah wouldn’t have already found anything misplaced in his bunker. President Watt had an eye for irregularities, but he wasn’t too prideful to admit the possibility of intrusion by someone smarter than he. Add that to the list of qualities Conrad admired about him.
“No sir. No need to discuss anything that never happened.” Conrad replied.
“Are we here to discuss the possibility of a presidential candidacy? I will offer my support right now, and you’ll be the prime candidate. Our party will not have another option. It’s about time to take Vice President Johnson off his high horse.” President Watt cracked a smile. The Vice President was a career politician; his alliance was a strategic move rather than an actual alignment of beliefs. He was a means to an end. Voter support. But it wasn’t hard to figure out that he was not the President’s choice of successor.
“No sir. I don’t see that in my future, despite constant prodding from the most powerful man in the world.”
“The most powerful man in the world? Ha! Don’t you pander me, General. The most powerful man in the world is going to be given an enema by the press for keeping the theory of terrorist activity in Salt Lake City as a secret. And then another enema for not bringing it up during my morning statement to the press. They’re going to rip me apart as soon as they see Chapman’s article.” Watt laughed and continued, “I’ve gone down in approval rating by four percent since the Salt Lake City attack. How will the public react when Bryce Chapman tells his willy-nilly story about my reckless desire to keep threats as a secret and then poking the poor neighbors of Salt Lake City out of harm’s way without disclosure of information? I don’t know how many times I will have to apologize for the greater good, but I’m ready for my term to end.”
Conrad had never heard President Watt speak this way, not even when he was a diligent military general leading against overwhelming odds. Under even the most stressful of circumstances, Uriah remained positive and focused on the goal. A white-lie shouldn’t create a crisis of conscience.
This was the first Conrad was hearing about Bryce Chapman’s article, but he even agreed with this. The internet writer couldn’t write one positive thing about him. If anyone would be perfect for leaking confidential information, it would be him. Chapman would play Uriah’s game without knowing he was playing.
However, the elaborate nature of manipulating the public shouldn’t have made him ready for his term to end, either. It would have for Conrad, but President Watt was arguably American History’s finest president. He pulled more strings in secret than any two politicians leading the country before him. He was Washington with Lincoln’s ability to read people. FDR with Reagan’s charisma. This wasn’t the time for doubt.
“You made the right decision, sir.”
The President shot a knowing look. They wouldn’t speak directly about Operation Red Wave, but the mutual understanding about handling the threat in Salt Lake City was relayed. Conrad didn’t mind lying to the nation about the dangerousness of the world, or about the dangers within US borders. No one wanted to hear about the United States harboring more known anti-American extremists or child-traffickers than any two other nations combined. Would the American public rather know the truth? The truth about the Subas, as Uriah originally called them, only created rumors.
Rumors only create paranoia.
Paranoia will tear a nation, or tribe, apart,
“Sir, I won’t take too much of your time, but I had hoped to speak about one of our operators in a recent mission and ask you to speak with him directly.”
“Reyes? He’s come a long way, hasn’t he? I remember when he was a guppy swimming with the sharks. No one would have known he could pilot as well as he can point and pull.”
“Sir, he has. But I’m not talking about Reyes.”
“Oh? How did the golden boy do?”
Now was the time for Conrad to speak carefully about Gathe. President Watt needed to know about the issues Conrad found with Gathe’s satellite-reconnaissance readings and reports. He covered his tracks, but not enough. Conrad validated the accusation made by Reyes. President Watt hand-picked this golden boy based on the sincere recommendation of Sergeant General Paul Marshall. A man incapable of sincerity. Breaking orders and disobeying authority seemed to branch out from Marshall’s tree of soldiers. Conrad hoped his influence wouldn’t rub off on Reyes.
“He did fine, sir. I wanted you to take a look at his sat-reads, I’ve brought three for your review. I think you’ll find his work inspiring and definitely worth a more detailed followup, as well as a pat on the back to his superior,” Conrad said, handing over a manila folder.
“Wow. These are… impressive.” Uriah said.
“I thought you would want to see them first hand, sir. Could you please let me know when you’ve spoken with both men?”
“Since when do you go over sat-reads after an operation?”
“Reyes came away impressed with his contemporary, sir. He didn’t want good deeds to go unnoticed.”
President Watt placed the papers back in the folder and handed it to Conrad. He held on to it for an extra moment before letting go. “Don’t worry, Greeny, I’ll make sure to spend some time with them.”
“Thank you sir. By the way, why is Marshall commanding Reyes on his next mission?”
*******
Jake Oberhausen
7:25 a.m. (Mountain time)
Blue Tree Hotel - Brigham City, UT
Jake Oberhausen lumbered down the stairs of the Blue Tree Hotel following the smell of freshly cooked bacon and today’s egg special. It was early by Jake’s standards; seven in the morning was too early for more than water and typing, typically, but Jake couldn’t find the mental capacity to begin writing. There hasn’t been one word on paper since he arrived at the Blue Tree.
Not because he’s been uprooted by his safety net of a home. He preferred to write in hotel rooms over his office. Something about the foreign experience gave him a rush of productivity. Anytime he was dealing with a deadline, he and Elizabeth would take a small trip to Park City or Vegas giving him the opportunity to write like a madman and her the freedom to shop until she maxed out a credit card. She was an equal opportunity shopper, Jake usually ended up with as many outfits as she did. Even though he never found dress pants comfortable and he wore the same four t-shirts since becoming a writer.
Jake couldn’t write because Jake missed his wife. He missed her laugh. He missed her smile. He missed her smell. It wasn’t as delicious as the bacon, though. Elizabeth did to his hear
t what the bacon did to his belly. Jake wasn’t a sappy guy, but being forced to be away from his wife brought emotions unknown.
For instance, last night, Jake sat and watched a movie about a brilliant wife who framed her husband for murder. It was some of the most interesting, beautiful storytelling Jake had ever experienced, yet he was brought to tears because the main actress also starred in a cheesy romantic-comedy Jake and Elizabeth watched in the theater. They didn’t even finish the movie, Elizabeth was sick after some discount sushi. Jake remembered the actress though, and the memory led him down a path of missing, no, yearning, for his wife.
Life didn’t have the same qualities when she was on the other side of the newly formed Utah wall. This some-parts-visible-some-invisible barrier was hopefully going to be lifted soon, but Jake couldn’t accept the light at the end of the tunnel until he saw it. All he pictured was his wife, alone in a crappy hotel room. She wasn’t incapable without him, but she would feel like she was. The poor girl couldn’t handle calling the repairman without Jake. How would she fair if the media started hassling her about her husband?
Hopefully, news would be coming of the first steps in letting the Utah border open and giving Jake the chance to see her. If not, hopefully there was some way he could at least call her. Anything would be better than being in the dark. Anything was better than turning into the kind of man who stares at the moon and cries at the thought of his wife looking at the same giant block of cheese.
Jake sat down at the dinner table after fixing himself a plate. He wasn’t as cordial as normal; it was hard to have a personality when he felt like part of his soul is missing. He tried to pretend to be his normal self, but the hotel employees were not fooled.
Even Chef John noticed he was broken in half. “I’ll be cooking spicy Italian meatballs tonight, Jay,” he said, with a concerned stare before walking through the swinging doors to the kitchen. It was the third time in four days they were having Italian meatballs for dinner; apparently Chef John Charles was adding something spicy to the mix. Jake enjoyed them the first night, and the second wasn’t ideal but it was fine, too. But three meatball meals in less than a week? Jake was liable to burn the whole building down if they didn’t start serving some variety.
Shadow and Shine (Book 2): Dark Divide Page 3
