Zombie-in-Chief

by Scott Kenemore

  A final turn involving a pious thought experiment was typical for Hogson, so nothing really seemed out of place in this response. But then something. Something at the very end of his answer made Jessica sit up and take notice. She backed up the recording at watched again.

  As Hogson spoke, the camera sometimes cut to the other candidates. The Tycoon, when he was shown, seemed only mildly annoyed with Hogson. Until, that was, he got to the border wall. Here, the Tycoon seemed to exude a hardly contained fury. The man positively seethed. Hogson seemed not to notice it until the very end of his response. Then Hogson looked down the row of podiums and saw something that made him dissemble.

  After spending a full minute reminding the audience of Jesus’s encouragements to help those in need, Hogson sputtered to a finish line: “Although the need to keep America safe is, um, foremost. All the candidates here have their hearts in the right place. All these men and women care deeply about keeping America safe. We all agree that, however we do it, safety is the most important thing. Thank you.”

  Hogson looked as though he had seen a ghost, but during the final part of his answer the camera had lingered only on him. Whatever he had glimpsed had not been shown.

  Jessica got online and sifted through web clips from the debate, looking for alternate camera angles. It didn’t take long for her to find what she was looking for. A political web forum had leaked amateur cellphone video taken from the audience. Probably shot by one of the Tycoon’s loyal supporters, it lingered exclusively on his face during Hogson’s answer. Jessica watched, riveted.

  As The Crisco Kid made an ecclesiastical case against the wall, the Tycoon grew annoyed and then downright angry. As Hogson hit his stride on his answer—right where the televised feed cut to a close up—this web video stayed on the Tycoon. After a few moments more of glowering and grimacing, the Tycoon stopped his gesticulations entirely. Then he simply leaned forward, over the front of his podium, turned straight to Hogson, and gnashed his teeth.

  He performed the action only once, but there was no mistaking it. A gnash. A gnash, and nothing else. And Hogson had seen it. Directly afterward, Hogson had begun his retreat from his position on the wall.

  Hogson’s answer was not remarked upon by any of the other candidates. Afterward, the Tycoon seemed to return to his typical self. (He rolled his eyes, cut people off, and made comments about the size of his hands—but there was no further gnashing of teeth in anyone’s direction.) Jessica watched the post-debate analysis by the television news crew. The gnashing was never mentioned. Hogson was only mentioned once, and that was to note that he was expected to drop out of the race later that week.

  Jessica closed her computer and thought.

  Chomping teeth was not typical debate behavior. But what made Jessica really pause was Hogson’s reaction. The man appeared to show actual fear.

  If you thought the Tycoon was just an expressive blowhard with no self control, an aggressive flash of his pearly-whites would hardly be notable. If anything, you would hope it made him look stupid. It might get used against him in an animated internet video.

  But if you thought the Tycoon was an undead monster who could literally eat your family?

  In that case, a well-timed gnash might send another message entirely.

  Jessica began to realize that her interview with Bob Hogson could hold more potential than she had first suspected. She opened her laptop back up and began researching the relationship between Hogson and the Tycoon. If she had only one chance to ask the man questions, she was going to be ready.

  A few hours later, Jessica found herself waiting inside a small media room for Bob Hogson to arrive. Her laptop was open, and her digital recorder was already in the center of the table. Hogson ran late. When he did arrive, he did not apologize for or even acknowledge his tardiness. Hogson wore a plaid shirt with suspenders. Buttons had been pinned to the suspenders. Most were political buttons supporting the Tycoon, but one said “Bass Players Do It Deeper.” Jessica shuddered inwardly.

  “Miss Jessica Smith,” Hogson said in a voice mellifluous with southern charm.

  Jessica offered her hand but immediately regretted it when Hogson appeared to consider kissing it. In the end, much to her relief, he merely gave it a polite shake.

  “Thank you for taking the time to speak with us,” Jessica said. “If you’d like to have a seat, we can begin.”

  “Of course,” said Hogson, squeezing into one of the media room chairs. “And may I say thank you for doing this interview. Your friend George seems to have it out for me. That is to say, the things he’s written about me in the past haven’t seemed fair. I hope you’ll be more evenhanded. You see, I’m here to express my support for our party’s candidate, and demonstrate the unity we’re all feeling right now. I hope that will come across in your article.”

  Jessica smiled politely to say it might be possible.

  Jessica began by noting that Hogson had been particularly hard on the Tycoon in his comments during the primaries, especially when it came to his tendency to belittle and use nicknames.

  Hogson smiled patiently, then responded: “Yes. I understand you have to bring that up. It was the primaries. This is politics. That’s how it works. He said some things, I said some things, but at the end of the day we are on the same team. I’m here for the good of the party, and I’m excited to talk about what we can do for America.”

  “Right, so, speaking of your party, the pundits aren’t giving your side much of a chance to win right now,” Jessica said. “Do you think anything that happens at this convention is going to change that?”

  “In sports-casting, they say: ‘There’s a reason we play the games,’” Hogson replied. “Well, there’s a reason we hold the elections. You never know what’s going to happen. Opinions change all the time, and polls can be wrong.”

  “You think that all the polls that show your candidate with almost no chance of winning are wrong?” Jessica interjected.

  “I said what I said,” Hogson replied, a little annoyed but not quite defensive. “Polls can be wrong. That’s objectively true. And when the American public learns a little more about our party during the convention this week—and sees all that we want to do for America—you’re going to have some serious adjustment to whatever polls you’re seeing now. I guarantee that.”

  Jessica nodded and—even though her recorder was capturing every word—took notes on her laptop. Hogson seemed to be working on autopilot, which was just what she’d hoped for. Her questions had been the ones he would have anticipated. She needed him feeling comfortable, sensing nothing amiss.

  With this in mind, she continued.

  “So you’ve talked a lot—here, and in other interviews I’ve seen—about how bygones are bygones. How everything that was said in the primaries was water under the bridge. If that’s the case, I wonder if you would tell me about the traits of your party’s presumptive nominee that you admire.”

  Hogson smiled.

  “Oh, Jessica,” he began. “I don’t think you’ve got enough tape in your recorder for me to do that.”

  “Actually, it’s digital,” she said.

  “Then simply for the sake of time I’ll give you the short version,” Hogson said. “I think he is a man who will keep America safe. He is a man who will put America first. A man who cares deeply for his family. He won’t get bogged down in political correctness. He rejects the false song of globalism. He will make America great again. Maybe greater than it’s ever been.”

  “Mmm,” Jessica said, nodding. “Yes. And how do you feel he’s handled the scandals so far?”

  “I don’t think there have been any scandals,” Hogson said icily. “I can’t think of one real, true scandal. But if you’d like to tell me what piece of slander you’re referring to, maybe I can respond to it.”

  “I’m referring to several things,” Jessica said. “There are the statements he has made about women. The fact that he’s had multiple wives, all of whom are still living
. There’s the history of the property management companies he owns pursuing a policy of not renting to certain racial groups. The allegations of cannibal behavior. The close connections to the Russian president.”

  It took a moment for this litany to register with Hogson. A creeping grimace overtook his face. His eyes scanned the corners of the room. He seemed equal parts furious … and concerned that he had not heard her right.

  “Excuse me. What did you just say?”

  “The Russian president,” Jessica clarified, as though nothing were out of the ordinary. “Rides around shirtless on a horse? Acts like a czar?”

  “Before that,” Hogson said intensely. “What did you just say before that?”

  “The, uh, cannibalism allegations?” Jessica said, pretending to scroll through notes on her laptop. “You know, the claims that he likes to take a bite out of people every now and again? There have been some blurry photos, too. They seem to show him eating body parts. The Obamas’ dog is on record as having bitten a White House guest, but we’ve never had a president actually bite someone personally. Though I guess it’s not entirely without precedent, if you look globally. Idi Amin liked to take bites of people. And the current president of Equatorial Guinea has eaten some of his opponents, allegedly.”

  Jessica raised her eyebrows to ask if he cared to comment.

  Hogson, for a moment, looked as though he might lose control. That he might slap her, storm out of the interview, or both. But then Jessica saw him glance down at the device on the desk. And then at the camera on the back of her laptop which—for all he knew—might also be recording. (You could never be too careful these days!) Hogson was a veteran politician who knew better than to lose his cool. He was also a man who still wanted things. Power for himself. Appointed office, if he could not have the elected kind. He was likely to secure a place for himself within the Tycoon’s administration if he played his cards right, and knew it.

  And so Jessica looked on as he endeavored to do so.

  “This really is disappointing to hear,” Hogson remarked in tones that said Jessica was a star pupil who had just been caught cheating. “I expect these kinds of questions from other news outlets. It’s such a shame that I’m hearing something like that from a newspaper of your pedigree, which claims not to be biased. I thought giving you this interview was the right decision. I see now that I was wrong. I’m very disappointed, Jessica. And before you ask, yes, I will have to tell your supervisors about this. Not a great start to a career, young lady. Not at all.”

  And with that, Hogson rose from his seat.

  Jessica, instinctively, rose too. Instead of shaking (or kissing) her hand, Hogson shook his head back and forth, and silently left the media room. As he passed through the doorway, he mumbled something under his breath about the questions being “outrageous.”

  Jessica watched him depart. Then she shut the door to the small interview room, sat down in her chair, and took a very deep breath.

  It was happening. This was real.

  The flash of recognition had been there. The fury and the astonishment too. Nobody reacted like that unless something hit home.

  If Jessica had asked Hogson to respond to new rumors that the Tycoon had two heads, Hogson would have been confused as to how she could have brought up something so demonstrably false. Then he would have laughed it off, and that would have been the end of it. But instead, she had seen fury in his eyes. Fury, and something else. Something like terror. Jessica thought again of the Tycoon’s toothy threat during the debate. It was as though he were warning Hogson very directly that if he kept it up, he (and perhaps those he loved) might get eaten.

  Jessica took out her phone and texted Tim two words: “Hogson knows.”

  Then she waited.

  THE FAKE NEWSMAN

  Tim’s phone buzzed, but he did not look at it immediately. He was too riveted by the one-line email message he’d just received from Tom Ellerman:

  Jay says when can you meet

  “Fuuuck,” said Ryan, chewing on something cream-filled and looking over Tim’s shoulder. “Jay McNelis took you seriously!”

  “Dammit man,” Tim said. “What did I tell you about reading over my shoulder? But yes, it sure looks that way.”

  “So that means he knows,” Dan stated more than asked.

  “It sure makes me liable to think he might,” said Tim.

  “Fuuuuuck,” Ryan said again. “This is crazy.”

  “Hey, you want to watch your language?” Tim said. “The Christian Bloggers Alliance is just two tables over, and they really don’t like it when…. fuuuuuck.”

  “But now you’re … now you’re …” Ryan tried to object between bites.

  “Shut up a second, Ryan,” Dan admonished. “What is it now?”

  “Jessica says that Hogson knows too,” Tim said, keeping his voice low enough that the Christian bloggers might not hear. “This is crazy.”

  “Bob Hogson?” Ryan said.

  Tim nodded.

  “About the thing that happened to you behind the bar today?” Ryan asked.

  “I don’t know if she means about that or about the nominee or what. I need to connect with Jessica and find out more. But Jesus, this is all happening so fast. Jesus.”

  There was a deliberate throat clearing from two tables away. Tim lowered his voice further.

  “I almost can’t believe this,” Tim said.

  “What are we going to do next?” Ryan asked.

  “I’m thinking,” said Tim. “We’ve got to be very careful.”

  Dan sat down in the chair closest to Tim. He pulled himself even closer. The light from the fixture above reflected off of his shiny bald head.

  “Before we do anything, I have something I want to run by you,” Dan said intensely.

  “Um, okay,” Tim replied.

  “Have you considered the possibility that this could be a false flag?” Dan said seriously.

  Ryan listened in, chewing thoughtfully.

  “A false flag?” said Tim. “Planted by who? Why?”

  Dan rolled his eyes as if to say Tim was missing the point. But Tim did not see what other point there could be.

  “Maybe some people would see an advantage to being perceived as a member of the walking dead,” Dan said.

  “Waaaaaait,” Ryan interjected. “You’re saying that maybe he—the nominee—is not a zombie, but he wants people to think he is?”

  “There are a lot of things intersecting here,” Dan continued. “I’m just trying to look at this from every angle. Could be we are playing right into somebody’s hands.”

  “Just when I thought this couldn’t get more confusing,” said Ryan.

  “Or maybe his political opponents,” Dan theorized. “The other party. What if they started this rumor? It’ll be so juicy, so difficult to ignore, that then we’ll spend all our time looking at him instead of looking at her.”

  “That kind of makes sense, I guess,” said Ryan. “She does have that email server thing.”

  “I don’t know,” Tim said, shaking his head. “We can’t think like that. We’ve got to follow the evidence and go where the leads take us.”

  “Then answer me this,” Dan said aggressively. “What are you working toward, eh? What are you trying to prove with these leads, with this evidence?”

  “If a major party candidate is a zombie, then people have the right to know that,” Tim said. “That’s what I’m working toward.”

  “So, proof?” Dan asked.

  Tim nodded.

  “What would that even look like?” asked Dan.

  Here, Ryan decided he could be helpful.

  “Ooh, you could ask him if he wants to eat somebody … and if he says yes? Boom! You’ve got him. At least, probably you do. Maybe he could say he was kidding though. I bet that’s what he would do … now that I think about it. Never mind.”

  “We don’t have to know exactly what is going on—or exactly who is a zombie—to report that a cover-up is happenin
g,” Tim said. “That might be enough to start with. A stepping-stone on the way to establishing he’s a zombie. The history of journalism is full of cases like that. First you get proof of the cover-up, and then you can get proof of what is being covered up.”

  “But there’s not been any talk of a cover-up so far,” Ryan pointed out.

  Tim nodded thoughtfully.

  “I have an idea,” he said. “I think we should talk to Jessica again.”

  “About what?” Ryan said. “Tell us.”

  “Well, if Hogson reports back—to someone like McNelis, say—that the mainstream media is asking about zombies, then Jessica’s sort of broken the seal already,” Tim said. “And maybe I have too, asking McNelis about the shooting. My idea is—and this kind of picks up from what Dan was saying before—what if we weren’t asking about certain politicians being zombies because we were looking to out them. What if we were asking because we wanted to help them keep the secrets? Maybe we can position ourselves as even more useful than we already are.”

  Ryan narrowed his eyes.

  “So we say, ‘We know you’re a zombie … and we’re down with that? We think it’s good’?”

  Tim nodded.

  “You know it could work,” Tim said confidently.

  Ryan and Dan did. TruthTeller wasn’t the largest or most influential outlet perceived to be on the Tycoon’s side, but it had always been a good soldier. Always fallen in line. That could mean something now. Tim reasoned that if details did emerge that characterized the Tycoon as somehow “zombish,” a trusted ally like TruthTeller could surely cast those traits in a positive light. They had already done it in other areas. The Tycoon was not poorly-spoken and habitually wrong, he was “folksy” and “genuine” and “talked like a real American.” He was no sinister objectifier of women, merely a relatable chum who engaged in “locker room talk” and said out loud what most men were thinking anyway. He was no upper-class twit with inherited wealth, rather he was “an entrepreneurial job creator.” (And when his projects went south? He wasn’t an incompetent bankrupt; he was a good American availing himself of the laws and protections due him.)