by Lee Kerr
People keep shaking their heads and Larry knows why. Both forts were newly built strategic defence points. They were built on the same concept that is still holding Washington together, with several layers of high walls and many self-contained defence turrets, each of them fully equipped and self-sustained units that the soldiers can defend from. The military learned quite early on that these lurkers don’t stay in any sort of formation for long and although they turn up in packs they go off and do their own thing whenever there is a confrontation, much like the one that has followed Larry to the bunker. The majority of the defences in Washington DC are still holding but the odd beast gets through. Whether as part of a greater plan or not, no one is really sure, but this city is fast being named as the place that humanity will make its last stand. Sometimes others follow and join in the attack, and other times there is just a single lurker. When they are alone they tend to fail, because eventually a bullet or two manages to get through their thick, armour-like skin. The problem is that bullets don’t get through often enough – even though there are only an estimated hundred-or-so of the enemy across the world, that’s still too many.
‘I know you all feel that this world is just getting scarier by the minute but we have to remain strong. The enemy has now defeated 80% of our armed forces,’ Phillips says, looking around the room, trying to meet the eyes of as many people as possible. ‘But they haven’t won yet, and they haven’t found many of our secret weapons either.’
Lopez seems to look bored and eventually steps forward and stands in front of Phillips. She comes up shorter but no less formidable than him. He looks down at her but doesn’t say anything else; it’s as if he’s some sort of puppet on a string.
Larry really doesn’t like Lopez, so he’s surprised to find himself moving forward and approaching the centre of the room. He has never been someone who wants to stand out in a crowd, preferring to work quietly and efficiently in the background, letting someone else take all the glory. But this time he can’t be that person; he must stand up for what he believes in. He coughs, attracting all attention to him. ‘The human race needs not just to survive, but to win, and I think we need to start thinking about how we can help as many people as possible to do just that. Our military is virtually defeated, but if I’m reading this map correctly, there are still people spread across the United States, and all over the rest of the world. So, our real challenge is how can we help these people to get to places of safety, and set up effective communications, as well as gathering resources in order to survive for as long as possible.’
The room stays quiet as she seeks him out in the crowd, clearly having given no thought to where the president was actually standing when everyone was called together. When she finds him she takes slow and pronounced steps towards him, as a few people move out of the way, clearing a path for her. As she approaches he wants to remind her that he’s the president but he doesn’t think it will actually help. When she finally makes it to him she looks him up and down, her eyes probing his every move. ‘What?’
Larry looks back at her and wonders what she is asking him. He wants to answer her question with a question; he wants to ask why they aren’t already working on this. After only an hour down here he can see that they have been focusing only on the fight and not enough on the flight. If they cannot win then they need to survive, and since only 20% of the military is left he doesn’t see anything wrong with changing the strategy. A surge of confidence flows through him as he wonders if perhaps this is fate – perhaps he was meant to become president at this exact time. He would have made a rubbish military leader but remaining invisible and working hard are what he’s best at, and that’s exactly what humanity needs to do right now. He points to the map, picking out places he thinks would fit the bill. ‘Have we considered setting up a series of safe havens? Places with natural defences, such as Alaska, which is already proving that it can win the fight?’
She looks around the room and then back to Larry. ‘I’m sorry, but are you unhappy with our performance? Do you think we’ve been doing nothing down here, and don’t you think we haven’t already looked at every possible option available to the United States of America?’
He ignores her and walks closer to the large map, weaving through the various people and politely asking them to move. When he gets close enough he points to Iceland – that insignificant, little island that everyone wants to visit but where few chose to live. ‘Have they fared any better than us?’
He doesn’t get the response he was hoping for, as several gasps come from the crowd. People shake their heads and walk back to their stations, as a few of them look over at Larry, at the president, but none of them seem to want to give him an answer. That is everyone except Lopez: she glares at him as if she wants to burn her pure hatred into his brain so it stays there forever.
Larry isn't sure how, but Phillips suddenly pushes him forward, forcing him in front of Lopez sooner than he would have liked. He sees the general raise a hand in the direction of Flinch, who nods in return, presumably that it’s okay to lead Larry the lamb to the slaughter.
When he is finally facing her, he wonders if perhaps he has hit a nerve and that perhaps they could have done more. At the start of the attacks they focused solely on understanding and defeating the enemy, but Larry does remember a short time where they spent more time trying to ensure the human race survived, until another change of president brought with it a different set of orders to follow.
Lopez shakes her head. ‘Here you stand, the president of the world’s most powerful country. You’re such a small man to be responsible for so much, don’t you think?’
He doesn’t answer her but it’s not because he wants to disagree. He looks at the map and then back to both of them, knowing it doesn’t take a genius to realise that the end of the world has arrived. He doesn’t want to know any more than that but he has no choice. It’s a simple fact; the hardest to accept yet the easiest to see. He really wants to be at home, with David, as they prepare for this end together but he knows that’s not going to happen.
‘Every president wants something different,’ she says, still looking him up and down. ‘First we had the big fight, followed by an even bigger fight, and then we had to try to reason with them. Then we got a president who wanted revenge, which you can’t blame him for, especially when they killed so many of us in one night. Somewhere in the midst of all this we had a quiet voice, a lone president, who wanted to think about the people, about how we ensured the continuing survival of our species.’ She steps closer to him and leans in to his ear. ‘Let me tell you that there is no survival. You will be the president who reigns over the biggest cloud of dust and debris ever created, as the human race is pulled into a chasm of judgement that is has created. The only solace you can take from any of this is that there will be no one left alive to remember what you do, or don’t do, on this very pathetic night.’
Larry thinks for a moment as he shakes his head, trying to deny the things he doesn’t yet know he is capable of.
She walks past him, towards the general, clearly having nothing else to add. ‘Get him ready, because you and I both know the time is fast approaching,’ she says, as she continue to walk away, the taps of her shoes echoing throughout the bunker and signalling an end to any further debate, or any of the endless questions Larry has on this particular subject.
When she is gone Phillips looks at the president, and Larry looks at the general.
‘What happened to Iceland?’ Larry asks.
‘Iceland?’ Phillips says and shakes his head. ‘Well, it’s not really there anymore.’
He looks up at the map and then back to the general. ‘What do you mean it’s not there anymore?’
The general only seems able to mumble something as he looks to the floor. It’s too quiet, too vague for Larry to understand. Whatever Phillips means by this is not enough of an answer, and he decides that he will keep asking the question. ‘Iceland?’
‘You don’t
give in do you?’ Phillips says, smiling again. ‘We will need this attitude over the next few hours, I can promise you that.’
‘Iceland?’
‘Okay, I hear you!’ he says, as he leads Larry away from the group and towards his presidential chair. ‘So, Iceland’s not there anymore because we nuked ‘em.’
‘We did what?’ Larry says, as he absently follows the general.
‘It sounds bad, doesn’t it?’
‘If you’re telling me that we used nuclear weapons on an entire country then it is bad.’
Phillips sways on the spot, his arms moving up and down, as he tries to mentally balance just a couple of the many controversial decisions made in the last few days. ‘Well, we weren’t looking at it as a country, more of an island.’
He shakes his head. ‘That doesn’t make it any better.’
The General shakes his head in return, playing a game of ping-pong in his head with what is wrong and perhaps not quite as wrong. ‘We needed to see what happens to the beasts when we deploy a tactical nuclear deterrent. We thought that if they saw what we were capable of they might withdraw their attack, so when we found they were attacking Reykjavik, President Harris made the only real decision available at the time.’
‘What about the snow and the people? Some of them might have made it to the mountains and survived.’
The general shakes his head. ‘We didn’t know about the white back then and besides, no one survived it, and we wanted to show what kind of damage we could do.’ He keeps pushing him forwards, leading him to the chair where he is likely to be chained to all the future decisions he is yet to make. ‘Anyway, it was technically the British who fired the missiles, although we would have done it if they hadn’t.’ He looks at Larry now as he straightens his tie and stands up straight, his right foot hitting the floor as he makes a bold salute to the map. ‘God rest those bastards, they put up one hell of a fight. Talk about that British stiff upper lip – they held the line for days without the public knowing just how close the enemy was to London. Rumour even has it that when the lurkers got to Calais the Royal Marines went down the tunnel to greet them. I bet that was one welcome party they weren’t expecting.’
Larry examines the General’s face; the greasy folds in his skin bring him to life as he talks about the good fight. It makes him feel proud and utterly humbled that there are people all over the world doing all that they can. Not like the coward, Larry Brown, who was happy to be discharged from his office so he could cower at home and wait for someone else to win the war – or, more likely, for the beasts to turn up at their door and rip them to pieces. He wonders if David could really have done what he promised, to break Larry’s neck as they forced their way into their home – and if he did have the guts to do it, would he still have had the time to finish himself off before those same horrors made it upstairs?
Phillips lets out a long sigh. ‘The weapons worked but it didn’t stop them from continuing their attacks, and we know they won’t stop until we’re all dead, so now we have to decide if we die alone or if we take those bastards down to hell with us.’
Larry sits down, thinking about what Phillips is saying, about the reality of the situation they now face. He has completely forgotten how badly he needs to relieve himself: it’s too much to think about right now, and there is only one thing on his mind, only one decision he thinks he will not be able to make alone. He looks up to the general. ‘I really need to call David.’
****
‘Congratulations, Mr. President,’ Phillips says, standing up straight and making another salute, this time at Larry, with several other key military personnel doing the same.
The bunker has fallen silent again, just for a moment, so that they can acknowledge that Larry has been formally sworn in as the 56th president of the United States and, perhaps more appropriately, the 12th president since this whole thing began.
He looks around the room as he thanks everyone, although he’s not sure if that’s the appropriate response. He doesn’t feel he’s earned this position and it’s not one he ever wanted. Even so, he gets a lot of nods back. Perhaps his couple of sharp observations so far have earned him some respect, and maybe some people think they stand a chance with him around. Larry wonders about that for a moment and soon admits to himself that it’s much more likely that those in this bunker are worn out and know the end is coming, and perhaps they just want to get on with it. This thought makes him sit down in his chair, signalling for everyone else to go about their business and that he will do the same.
As everyone silently obeys, he looks over at the one person who has paid no attention to these short proceedings, and seems to have no interest in him or his new title. Lopez has spent her time wisely: she kept two men back from the ceremony and has been commanding them to tap things into their computer screens. It doesn’t take long for Larry to work out what she is doing, as every time she barks an order another line is drawn across the large map until it becomes a tapestry of doom covering the entire planet.
He doesn’t have time to ask the most obvious question he feels he must ask, and quickly finds himself surrounded by people, all wanting to speak to him. It seems as if he was invisible before and now this short, but symbolic meeting has given him a status he never wanted. Phillips steps forward first, probably assuming he is the logical starting point, holding a clipboard in his hand with many scribbled notes, clearly desperate to speak.
Larry quickly holds out a hand, politely asking him to wait. ‘Could I hear from Agent Flinch first, please?’
Phillips thinks for a moment, then nods and starts to shuffle on his feet, like a desperate child wanting to be noticed by their busy parents.
Flinch takes one look at the general and then calmly steps forward. ‘Mr. President, I’m afraid to report that we have been unable to get hold of your partner, David, on the phone and have been unable to deploy any local resource to find him. Although, even if we did, I’m not sure we would be able to get him into here, as the one beast has been joined by several more, making entry to this bunker now impossible.’
Larry nods back, all too quickly, all too accepting. He thinks that if he is going to do a good job as the President he will need to toughen up and be more demanding. He wants to be like this with Agent Flinch but one look into those eyes stops him making any further demands, or asking him to leave this place of safety and fight the many monsters outside. ‘Thank you, Agent Flinch. Please keep trying.’
Flinch nods back. ‘Of course, Mr President.’
‘And the security of this bunker?’ Larry asks, suddenly thinking that David might be safer outside this place than he could ever be inside, where the beasts will continue to hunt him and his newfound title.
Phillips steps forward again, unable to keep quiet any longer. ‘Our brave men and women are doing their best to hold them back, but I fear the main doors will not hold much longer. Once they are breached I give our defensive perimeter about ten minutes before they are defeated, and that’s only based on how many lurkers there are now. If more show up to the party then for every two extra that arrive you can knock a minute off that time.’
‘And then what will happen?’ Larry asks, feeling braver by the minute, finally brave enough to ask a question that – from the fate of his eleven predecessors as president – he already knows the answer to.
Phillips gives a solemn nod in return, almost knowing this question was coming, the answer seeming to live on the tip of his tongue. ‘Well, once they carve up our boys and turn over our tanks, then we only really have the white maze to protect us. They might not come near us and they certainly can’t dig this far down. There is a high chance that if they cannot come near the whiteness then they won’t be able to search for the lift shaft.’
‘And you’re sure it’s the colour white that they don’t like?’
Phillips looks around at the small crowd, his head tilted, like he wants to nod but he’s not quite sure he wants to do it alone. ‘They have wi
thdrawn from any snow-covered, mountainous region where people have been hiding, and since they can easily climb and jump, we have to assume it’s not the height that’s the issue – it’s either the snow or the colour.’
The admiral raises his hand, realising he finally has the chance to speak. ‘And since we know how well they can swim in any ocean, regardless of the temperature, then it’s safe to assume that it’s not the cold that repels them.’
Phillips nods to his counterpart. ‘Since we believe they come from the deepest part of the ocean, where there is nothing but darkness, then it’s logical to assume they are confused by the light colours, of which white is obviously the brightest.’
Larry nods back to both of them; it certainly makes sense. ‘So, if we believe that they will not be able to come down here, then why don’t we move those men and women from the perimeter into this bunker?’
The General stares back at him, not able to answer such a simple question.
Lopez suddenly appears, having crept up in the silence. She leans down and takes hold of Larry’s neck, her claw-like grip digging into his flesh like she’s trying to connect with him at the most primal level. ‘It is because they really are inconsequential to the bigger picture.’
‘No one is inconsequential, especially if I am to believe the calculations of how many human beings are left alive.’
She growls at him, her frustration at their contrasting views growing by the minute. She grabs his chair and turns it towards the main screens before grabbing his head, her sharp nails digging into his skin, as she forces him to look at all the skulls spread across the flattened view of planet Earth. ‘Don’t you see that we are nearly defeated, nearly destroyed? Everything we built, every human achievement, is slowly being torn down. Those people out there will die in a glorious but very short battle, as are many others around the world. They will die out there because we don’t have enough space down here, because they need to protect our lines of communication for as long as possible, and because you need to be focused on the bigger picture and not your precious David, or those dear little boys up above who are giving their lives to protect you.’
