by Lee Kerr
Someone finally steps out of the crowd. It’s another man in a black suit, with two others following him. Their once perfectly tailored, iconic outfits now look dusty and worn, their shirts stained, but still they come to work, still they do their duty. When this man eventually makes it to Larry he gestures to him to move away from the doors, which are somehow keeping out the raging monster. He looks Larry up and down, like he’s sizing him up for something, and then lets out a long sigh. ‘Mr President, welcome to the final bunker.’
*****
‘Come this way, Mr President,’ this new agent says, leading him towards a smaller door at the end of the large room.
Larry follows obediently. The other two men have taken up positions either side of him, each of them just half a step away. He looks around and realises that this place is big enough to be an aircraft hangar. He sees a separate door open at the other side of the structure and notices three large tanks coming through it. They comfort him, giving him some sort of hope that the American military machine can still be victorious against such a relentless foe.
‘I’m Agent Flinch, and the men behind you are Agent Reynolds and Agent Dash,’ the man in front says, still charging forward, utterly purposeful.
He looks at both of them and then forwards again, his eyes settling on the back of the agent. He wants to ask who is who again but he doubts he will remember, and besides, he has slightly bigger things on his mind. ‘Agent, ummm…’
‘Agent Flinch, Mr President.’
‘Yes, Agent Flinch. I have a couple of questions, if I may?’
Agent Flinch nods as he walks through the small door, then disappears around the corner for just a moment. Larry also turns, and at exactly the same moment, so do the other two. It’s as if they are gliding along, responding to his every movement. He notices they are now in a long, white corridor which stretches quite some way into the distance and which also seems to be angled slightly downwards. He follows, determined to keep up with him and not let these rather dedicated men down in any way. He wonders if they knew the people who have just been ripped apart and if there are actually many secret service agents left. The first 50 or so got carved up and eaten while trying to protect the first president, and he wonders how many more have died since that day.
‘What are your questions, Mr. President?’
Larry nods, trying to keep up and trying even harder to focus on the moment, the moment he never thought would come. ‘Why are you addressing me as “the president” and when can I call David?’
Agent Flinch seems to think for a moment as he keeps the small group moving forward, his neck repeatedly turning to the left and to the right as they pass doors with numbers but no names. He eventually lets out a small cough. ‘You will need to ask your first question to someone in a position of higher authority, and as for your second question, I don’t know any David, sir.’
Larry sighs, then nods again, trying to figure things out for himself. He never expected to find himself be here – wherever here is. He has a fairly good idea of what it is, but not its location. When he was expelled from his cabinet duties and told to go home and prepare for the likely end, in whatever way he thought appropriate, that’s exactly what he did. That was three days ago and as far as he could tell there was still a working government, one that was still putting up a good fight, and still had no need of his services. After all, at times like this you don’t really need to hear the views of the Secretary of Housing and Urban Development.
They reach a door at the end of the long corridor and Agent Flinch stops, standing very still and clearly waiting for something. After a minute or so he nods, happy with whatever is happening, and then turns around. Larry has waited for this moment, wanting to get a proper look at him, and now that he can he sees how young the agent is. He can’t be any more than 25, with broad shoulders that comfortably push against all that dark fabric of his suit. He also has the brightest blue eyes that he has ever seen, except perhaps for his David’s. Larry takes a deep breath, taking him all in, already forming a fondness for this young man who resembles a David of many decades ago, already praying he doesn’t get torn to pieces in the name of protecting him.
Agent Flinch nods back, perhaps as an acknowledgement that their fates are now inevitably sealed together, and that whatever happens to one will happen to the other, meaning that Larry’s safety will depend entirely upon him. Or perhaps he’s just filling in time, Larry can’t be sure. He suddenly turns around, just as some sort of mechanical clicking noise starts. ‘Stand still please, Mr. President,’ Agent Flinch says.
He does as he is told; remaining perfectly still and only twitching his neck so that he can see what is going on. He senses something closing behind him before he feels a jolt on the floor beneath them. He soon realises that they are moving downwards: the ceiling above him is moving further away and the white walls are turning into grey concrete slabs. He looks up to see something is closing across the gap above them, and as it shuts completely, it plunges them into darkness. He gasps as he feels the men either side of him taking hold of his shoulders, keeping him steady as this sort of lift starts to speed them downwards.
‘Nothing to worry about, Mr President,’ Agent Flinch says, his young voice still as calm as ever, even if Larry can’t see him. ‘We are travelling down several hundred metres to the most secure part of this facility. There is only one way in and out and that is via this lift. The creatures apparently hate the colour white, which we only learnt recently. They might be able to tear through metal and smash through concrete but they lose all sense of smell and direction when surrounded by white, hence the colour of the walls and no obvious sign of this lift from within the corridor.’
‘So even if they break through that barricade they won’t be able to get down here?’
‘That’s the idea, Mr. President.’
The lift eventually stops and light floods into the small space. Larry has to squint at first, his eyes struggling to make sense of anything. He can see figures in the distance and as soon as the door is fully open Agent Flinch leads the party forward, until they reach a small line of people, dressed in a mixture of suits and army uniforms. When they reach them Flinch steps aside, pushing Larry forward to greet all those who have been waiting.
A general steps forward first; he’s probably a little younger than Larry but still in his late fifties at least. He recognises this guy as one of the generals who was advising the third president in what he thinks was the fourth bunker, but most definitely not the one that led off from the White House or any of those top secret and heavily fortified military bases. ‘I’m General William Phillips and welcome to the final bunker, Mr. President,’ he says as he holds out a hand.
Larry shakes it, feeling the extra padding around this man’s hand, the added girth poking out of his uniform. It makes him wonder when Phillips last saw active duty; although right now it’s not worth pondering over, and it’s not worth mentioning that they have met before.
The introductions continue as he meets a couple of surviving junior officials, the sort who wouldn’t normally meet a president in any normal situation. He shakes hands with a few more army personnel, all of whom seem less senior than General Phillips. He also greets a few secret intelligence people, from the CIA and a couple of government branches he has never heard of. He moves on quickly from these particular gentlemen, remembering that before all of this he had spent many hours campaigning for their budgets to be reduced, so that he could spend their money on affordable housing projects across the country. At the end of the line he meets an admiral, an older man who still manages a smile, although he immediately feels sorry for him as there really isn’t much of a navy left to command.
General Phillips starts to lead them towards another door at the end of the corridor. Larry is flanked again by his agents, and when he looks around he sees that all of the walls in the corridor are being painted white. Everyone is chipping in, from men in proper overalls to the odd soldier with a
brush.
Phillips looks over at him. ‘I see that you’ve been introduced to your secret service detail. They are now the last three left in active duty but I’m sure you will be just fine.’ He smiles and winks at him, as if this were just a normal day in the presidential bunker. ‘Now, let’s get you sworn in and locked in the battle room and ready to do business.’
Larry doesn’t like the sound of any of this, especially because they keep going deeper and further away from the world above ground and the person he wants to be with most. ‘Look, I don’t know why you keep calling me president, and I really do need to phone David.’
The general doesn’t turn around as they keep walking towards a white door surrounded by white walls, presumably painted like this to confuse the beast, should it make it this far. He suddenly stops and looks at Larry, a big grin spread across his face. ‘I don’t know any David but I do know the president when I see him, and that person is you.’
‘I can’t be the president. Where is Evans? When I left a few days ago he was in charge and doing a good job under the circumstances.’
They continue walking through the door and stop in a small enclosure with a large metal door at one end – the sort you get in a bank vault. He really doesn’t want to go in there, mainly because he worries that he will never come out or even worse, that they will be trapped in a very big corner, waiting for the enemy to find its way in. If it does get in, then all it will need to do is get past a line of three secret service agents and one old sea dog before eating up poor old Larry.
General Phillips comes closer to him, his arms held as he politely pushes Agent Flinch out of the way. ‘You mean Evans, the Secretary for Agriculture?’
He nods, finding it surprising that this man cannot easily recall every member of the cabinet, even after all he’s been through in the last few weeks. Maybe previous titles don’t matter anymore, and the only thing that does is what you do with the badge you’re given.
The general nods back, almost immediately. ‘Yes, he was a nice guy, far better than I expected when we swore him in. After they got passed all the barricades at Fort Hood and ate up President Wilson, and then managed to sneak on-board Air Force One and threw President Harris out the window, we really thought we had got President Evans secured.’ He looks around, staring at the secret service guys and then over at the big, complicated bunker door. ‘It turns out that they’re cleverer than they look and we think they’re targeting world leaders deliberately.’
‘You mean President Evans is actually dead?’ he asks, struggling to keep up. ‘But he’s still on TV, still broadcasting speeches on the emergency channel. How can he be dead if he’s doing that? I mean, I saw him just this morning.’
General Phillips smiles and nods to some people in suits next to him, who pat each other on the back whilst smiling wildly. ‘I’m glad the pre-recordings are working. I mean, if you are falling for them and you know who he is, then the average Joe hauled up at home will definitely think it’s him.’
Larry suddenly falls down, his head dripping with sweat and his body going numb. ‘Evans is really dead? He was a great guy. I knew his wife and kids.’
His three protectors are soon around him, picking him up. Agent Flinch manoeuvres around them until he is in front of Larry, offering the calming gaze of David’s blue eyes, as if he knew that’s exactly what Larry needed. ‘You’re the president now, sir, and these people need to see you as a strong leader.’
General Phillips slaps him on the back. ‘He’s right, you know. Although for now it’s probably best the people think that Evans is still in charge. I think the people liked him, and besides we can’t keep telling the nation that the president is dead and another guy has been set up in his place.’ Phillips walks forward, leading them towards the door as it starts to open. ‘But don’t take it personally,’ he shouts back.
Larry has no choice but to move forward and follow the crowd. As they reach the door he sees a woman standing at the entrance. The background is full of large screens and world maps with red dots and other flashing images all over them. He thinks that he is probably going to end up looking at all of this in a lot of detail.
This woman looks at him but doesn’t offer any sign that she notices him. He admits that in any other situation he would barely have noticed her, but in this new world he knows exactly who she is. He’s seen her before, in various cabinet meetings and war room situations. Larry thinks he was lucky that he wasn’t with any of the presidents when they got attacked, which was more due to his insignificance and total lack of military usefulness than anything else. But with her he thinks it’s a different story, because many times he has seen her whispering in the ear of different presidents and yet she was never around when the worst happened.
She doesn’t move, doesn’t offer a hand as they reach the door; she simply looks him up and down. ‘So this is the great Larry Brown, Secretary for Housing and Urban Development, and now the President of the United States of America.’
General Phillips stands next to him, a grin across his face. ‘Twelve times lucky.’
She shakes her head and turns around, walking into the room as everyone else follows. ‘This isn’t a war that’s going well. I don’t expect you to understand anything that is happening, so as far as I am concerned you are here as a figurehead. Let us make the decisions and you focus on planning for what is likely to be a bleak future for mankind, to which your cabinet role would perhaps be most suitable for.’
He continues to follow as she carries on walking to the centre of the room. When he reaches a chair in the middle he stands still, wondering if this is where he should sit. His secret service trio suddenly leave his side, taking up flanking positions around the room, in places that they likely deem to be the most effective, but he thinks really are the only places not blocking some sort of flashing screen. The large, metal door starts to swing shut slowly but powerfully, just as doors in banks do, except those ones are sealing money in and not keeping monsters out. He hears a large hissing noise which he figures is the air getting sucked out, making the seal even tighter, and the room even more like a tomb.
He looks around as he tries to make sense of this place, seeing monitors lit up everywhere with satellite images and progress updates. It’s the world map that catches his attention the most and he stares at it with complete disregard for whatever this attractive, yet utterly miserable woman is saying. The map is really big and Larry can pick out many places he and David have travelled to. He wants to point, to make others feel envious of his globe-trotting – to ask David to get the albums out whilst he puts the coffee pot on. Of course they have them on the iPad, but there’s nothing better than the feel of the genuine photo and the smell of a dusty album. He believes it’s those memories we mustn’t forget; have no time to make more.
He turns to her now and sees that she is finally giving him some attention, as is everyone else in the room. He suddenly feels all these eyes on him, the unlikely president. She doesn’t say anything, just brushes back her dark fringe, her head tilted as she examines what has been brought before her.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she asks.
Larry looks at her and then back to the map. ‘Japan,’ he says, his right arm outstretched as he points to the map. ‘We never got to go there.’ He looks around at everyone else, taking time to find as many eyes as he can, hoping to get some understanding from somewhere in this room. He finally settles on Agent Flinch, who smiles back and nods, the only glimmer of approval anyone in this cavern of contempt has offered him. He eventually lowers his arms and stands still. ‘We planned to go there this year but I guess that won’t be happening now.’
She suddenly lets out a scream, aimed at the general, as she throws some sort of electronic device across the floor and points at him. ‘You believe this man will have the guts to do what must be done? Do you really think we can just keep appointing morons as our commander-in-chief?’
The general has his arms out
as he walks towards her, telling her to be quiet in the same way Larry used to tell their neighbours’ dog to give him the newspaper back. ‘Look, Lopez, we didn’t make the rules, did we? He is the twelfth in line to the presidency and we have reached that number. The remaining American people will want to know that we are holding true to the constitution.’ He looks at Larry then back to her. ‘So that means this guy is now the boss.’
She looks at Larry and then screams again, as he wonders if this is an appropriate moment when his secret service guys should be stepping in, before this hysterical woman yells the place down, alerting whatever is above to their presence.
The General moves closer to her, as does the Admiral and some other guy in a suit. They huddle together, trying to calm her down while whispering in code. He can’t hear everything they are saying but he can see that almost everyone else is watching him, apart from the ten or so people who are managing the information feeds and constant updates. He feels just a little bit alone now, standing near the map, away from everyone else. As the huddled group begin to talk louder, crazy Lopez gives him the odd sinister stare, and he thinks about asking his new protectors to come over and talk to him, just so he doesn’t feel so lonely.
Larry has never really had a secret service detail of his own before. Once he did need to go to a run-down part of Chicago – some back-of-beyond suburb that even the mayor wouldn’t visit – so that he could listen to the residents’ complaints that their neighbourhood was being destroyed to make way for a new shopping mall, residential village and luxury hotel. On the day he landed at the airport he got picked up in an SUV by two men in suits – mean-looking sort of guys – but then someone from the White House Press Office made him stop downtown so he could change into a taxi, because they thought it would make him look more down-to-earth and less like a government tool.
