by Alan Janney
“Uh, yes…yes sir,” I stammered, staring around. Where the heck do I look?? He’s in a computer screen. Where’s the camera?
“I’m a long-time admirer of yours, young man. I’m glad to finally pass along my appreciation face-to-face. So to speak.”
“Oh…well…thanks.”
“I look forward to hearing your report on last night’s traumatic events.”
“Yes sir.”
A lady across the table frowned at me. “I thought you’d be taller.”
“And older.”
“So,” the President mused to himself, leaning back in a chair. “You’re at the Air Force Base in Los Angeles. Not a very isolated location for such a wanted man.”
Suddenly, I knew. I knew without a shred of uncertainty that Blue-Eyes was in the room with him, eavesdropping on the video conference. His body betrayed her. He smiled too big. Kept glancing off screen. He was nervous. This was a performance. She controlled him. My hackles rose.
He continued, “I just watched one of the Lopez videos. Has everyone seen those things? Outstanding. Just outstanding. Is she at the Air Force base too?”
“Lopez videos?” I wondered out loud. “What Lopez videos?”
The Secretary of State, a stern women with brown hair piled atop her head, said, “The Katie Clips. They’re fantastic. I applaud her efforts.”
“The Katie Clips??” I cried. I looked to Samantha for help but she shrugged.
The room laughed at me, and then took turns explaining. Katie Lopez had over two million followers on Instagram. Two million!? Her followers had grown steadily since she appeared in People magazine. Beginning last month, she had been posting short videos on her Twitter and Instagram accounts, in which she discussed what to do in emergency situations, explained how teenagers could help their country and families, and read short excerpts from famous patriotic poems and essay. Her favorite was Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Her common-sense suggestions presented with humor, encouragement, and hope, from the girl who had survived everything, were viral gold. The videos were aimed at young girls, but she was so pretty and likable that her popularity grew.
The Secretary of State sighed, “Of course her followers tripled yesterday when the Chemist released his Outlaw bounty. I’d like to meet her.”
Major General Roberts chuckled, “Her recent video is about how to kill time while your boyfriend is trying to save the world and you’re worried about him. I loved it. I know the youngsters loved it. She’s upstairs right now, filming PSAs with the Navy, accompanied by guards I trust. She’s going to Stanford?”
I nodded, a little numb. I’m the worst boyfriend in the world. How could she not tell me about this? Better question, how could I not notice?
The Secretary of Defense, a stern man with hollow cheeks, spoke up. Anderson trusted him. “Let’s begin the meeting, if we can. Special Agent in Charge, you’re the director of the Hyper Humanity Terrorism Joint Task Force. Why don’t you guide us through this circus?”
“Certainly,” Isaac said and he stood up, clearing his throat. “First, a preliminary clarification. We have two civilians in attendance. For legal and protocol reasons, we are awarding military rank to Chase Jackson and Samantha Gear. Effective immediately, they are designated as GS-12, or the equivalent of a military O-4 rank, with all due benefits and security clearances.” He glanced at us and winked. “Congratulations, you two. You just became majors in the military. Only, don’t try to pull rank. It won’t go over well.”
“Okay,” I said, dumbfounded and confused. Did I outrank my dad, now? Samantha didn’t seem to care.
The President said, “Bravo!”
“I hope you’ve all had a chance to review my debriefing and the footage from last night. If not, here’s a quick summary. Thanks to NSA intelligence, we identified a high-profile target within enemy occupied territory. Specifically, inside the Gas Tower downtown.”
On the big screen, silent night-vision and infrared videos of the rooftop battle played. I watched with interest.
He continued, “We scrambled a squad of Navy SEALs with orders to capture or kill the target, and also authorized Chase Jackson and Samantha Gear, codenamed Outlaw and Shooter, to accompany. The mission was not a success. The target, who we believed was the Chemist, escaped. We brought home nine hostages and lost five Navy SEALs.”
“Not a success,” the President repeated.
We sat silently and watched the mayhem, culminating in the Pave Hawk’s ferocious attack, which was blinding when viewed with night vision.
The Secretary of Defense asked, “Incredible footage. Special Agent, can you describe the combat? And the enemy?”
“Yes sir. Same as previous engagements. He deployed an army of untrained civilians with guns, often displaying evidence of drug use. And of course, hundreds of Hyper Humans who are too fast for us. We’d have died in minutes without the Outlaw and Shooter.”
“The enemy appears to…fare poorly against the Outlaw and the Shooter.”
“Yes sir,” he laughed without mirth. “The enemy is not too fast for them. The enemy dies. Or runs away.”
Everyone at the table scrutinized us, looking for clues. So did the people on camera. Samantha rolled her eyes.
The Secretary of State cleared her throat on screen and said, “Well, I have a stupid question, and I’m not even sure how to phrase it, but how do they…do you…the Outlaw and-and the Shooter…why are they able to…how do they do that?”
Everyone at the table nodded in complete understanding of her inability to articulate the question.
“We have an illness, ma’am,” I shrugged. “The same as the enemy.”
Samantha shouted at the screen, “We’re just better at it.”
The Director of the CIA flipped through several sheets of paper. He said, “Mr. Jackson and Ms. Gear, Special Agent Anderson’s report mentioned new hand-to-hand weapons wielded by the enemy. Several varieties, including electroshock. Did you encounter these?”
“Damn right, we did,” Samantha said. “Almost cut me in half. Took out your SEALs, too.”
“The weapons are new,” I confirmed. “Infected often fight at close range. These gadgets are designed with that in mind.”
The Secretary of State cleared her throat again and said, “Mr. Carter never mentioned the weapons.”
I asked, “Mr. Carter?”
“Yes. Your colleague, the bald man known as Carter.” She took a deep, unhappy breath and said, “We’ve met his demands, against my better judgement, and he’s consulting on this new threat.”
The President sat up straighter and yelped, “He is??”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“I did not authorize this.” He was looking above and beyond his camera now, watching something off screen. Watching Mary, the Blue Eyed Witch. My blood boiled.
The Secretary of Defense, the stern and irritated and trustworthy man, said, “I made the decision to work with Carter, after consulting with the Joint Chiefs.”
The Director of the CIA said, “I thought it wise, too.”
“That decision was ill advised,” the President said, shifting in his chair. He shook his finger at the monitor. “You should have consulted with me. Effective immediately, you are to cease communication with him.”
“Mr. President-”
“Or! An even better idea. I’d like to meet with him. What is his location?”
I slammed my hands on the table and shouted, “Enough!” Everyone jumped except Samantha, who snickered. The table cracked. I stood up and stalked towards his monitor. “Put Blue-Eyes on screen.”
Behind the President’s reading glasses, his eyes bulged. “I beg your pardon?”
“Mary. You might call her Mary. I want to speak with her. Now.” I stood in front of his screen, fists on hips, glaring. I wanted to crawl through the camera.
“Young man, perhaps you forget who-”
“I know she’s listening. MARY!” I bellowed. The room shook. Several of the roo
m’s occupants cried out in alarm. I can yell loudly. A hearing aid squealed. “Blue-Eyed Witch, I know you can hear me, get yourself in front of the camera.”
The room rang with my voice. All listeners had been stunned into silence. No one could’ve stopped me if they wanted. Who spoke to the President like this?! He appeared to have been electrocuted or frozen. His face turned white and beads of sweat formed at his hairline. Only his eyes moved.
After a long, tense moment, a girl slid into his lap and smirked at the screen. She was gorgeous and could have been on the cover of any lingerie or swimsuit catalog. Blonde hair, heart-shaped face, intense blue eyes, she was so pretty it hurt to look at her. Her shirt was low cut and belonged in a casino lounge, not the Oval Office.
“Hello, darling,” she cooed at me. With one finger she tapped her lips. With her other hand, she stroked the President’s face. “You’ve grown even more…masculine since we last met. I think about our encounter often, you know.”
The President’s romantic fling with a gorgeous blonde was a poorly kept secret among political circles. It was a shameful and embarrassing affair for America. But allowing her to be in the room and listen to classified conference calls was tantamount to treason. A low buzz of shock came from our audience. I pointed at her and addressed our listeners, “Our President’s girlfriend is Infected. A cohort of the Chemist.”
“Oh, my love,” she purred, stretching out like a cat. “That’s quite an accusation. Have you any proof?”
I said, “She holds powerful influence over the men she attracts. She bends them to her will.”
Samantha barked, “She’s a shoot on-sight target, in my opinion.”
“Well, if it isn’t the gun-toting tomboy. You’ve also grown more masculine, I believe, yes? Sweetie, you must come visit. We’ll find you a push-up and mascara, and finally the boys will realize you aren’t one.”
“The disease enhances her charms,” I told the men and women ogling her. “The same way it enhances my strength and Samantha’s coordination.”
“So it’s my fault for being born lovable?” She shrugged and pouted. “Outlaw, I want so badly for us to be friends.”
I broke eye contact with her and faced the others. Even at this distance through a monitor, she was clouding my judgement. Against reason, my pulse sped at the thought of being with her. I said, “The President is essentially a hostage. If you’ve noticed a change in him recently, it’s because of Blue-Eyes. She is powerful. He isn’t our enemy; she is.”
“Well, handsome boys, this has been fun,” she laughed, an inviting, intoxicating sound. “But the President and I have a date. Don’t we, dear?”
“You can’t hide there forever,” I said, turning to stare at her again.
“I’ll trade you,” she winked. “I’ll trade his body for yours. Alive. You and I would have so…much…fun.”
“Let him go,” I seethed.
“Your powers over the weak-minded will not work on me through this technology,” she cackled. “Just like mine do not appear to affect you. Pity.”
The President jerked spasmodically. He gasped and slapped the computer he’d been using. Their video feed died instantly.
Outrage burst into the room. The President was a stooge for the Infected?? What could be done? Couldn’t arrest the President’s girlfriend without hard evidence. Had she broken any laws? Had he? I stalked around the room, waiting for my anger to burn off. There’s no way to determine how long her effects take to deteriorate?? The Secret Service was loyal to the President. It would be hard to pry her fingers off him. But the SS couldn’t be happy about his new girlfriend, right?
“They’re in love with her too, probably,” Samantha grumbled. “No man around her is safe. And maybe no woman either. I won’t let Chase near her, if I can help it.”
“Anybody who goes into the Oval Office is compromised,” I said. “And can no longer be trusted.”
The Secretary of Defense, clearly disturbed, said, “Anderson, I’m starting to understand why you don’t release the names of your covert task force.”
“Yes sir. I trust very few of you.”
The Secretary of State, the lady with brown hair messily piled in a bun, said, “I’ve been in that office multiple times and met that girl. Does this mean I’m not to be trusted?”
“All due respect, Madam Secretary,” Isaac said, “but I wouldn’t trust you to tie my shoes. Much less with sensitive information. I have multiple photos of you with Blue-Eyes.”
“Careful who you make enemies with, Special Agent.”
“Couldn’t have said it better myself, Madam Secretary.”
“This country is in a hell of a lot of trouble,” she snapped and turned off her video screen.
The Director of the CIA scrubbed a hand through his sandy hair and said, “She’s not going to be happy with me. We took the photos.”
“Those two,” Isaac Anderson announced, pointing at the blank screens of the President and Secretary of State, “are the two I worry most about. And the Vice President. Now you can see what we’re up against. I essentially trust no one in Washington. The girl has tentacles everywhere.”
The Secretary of Defense, looking more and more irritated, grouched, “This is why the individual states need to declare emergencies and marshal their reserves. Our military is receiving conflicting leadership from federal sources.”
“The President will never approve of Governors breaking off.”
“Well, Christ, the President won’t have a say-so before long,” the Joint Chief on screen said, speaking for the first time. “These mutants are spilling into nearby cities and towns, leaking out of Houston and Seattle and Los Angeles, according to reports. And the federal government just…watches. More and more cities burn.”
Major General Roberts said, “What do you mean, the President won’t have a say-so?”
He grumbled, “States and cities have already begun circumventing his authority. And our authority, though I can’t blame them. Sheriff offices and State Police are tripling their forces without authorization, taking on volunteers. Essentially forming illegal militias. Portland is under Martial Law.”
Roberts said, “We’re spread too thin. Air Force is pulling out of the Middle East.”
“So is Navy. And Army.”
“We need more military bodies in America, but the Middle East is going to implode. Evil is going to fill the power vacuum.”
The gloom and doom talk continued. Stock market crashing. Oil prices at an all-time high, and Russia threatening to cease exports. China crashing as a result. Military bases abandoned. American forces clashing with each other.
“I don’t get it,” I said after absorbing as much pessimism as I could bear. I still paced. “We’ve lost one city. Los Angeles. Seattle and Houston still exist, right? Why is the world collapsing?”
“Seattle and Houston still exist, but essentially do not function. Other American cities are panicking. They believe the vampire and zombie rumors.”
Samantha snorted.
Major General Roberts said, “Much of the world flowed through Los Angeles, in some form or another. It’s loss disrupted the planet to the scale of trillions.”
“Young man, fear of the unknown changes everything. And the Chemist expands unchecked like…like Hitler once did, and he’s doing so on the home turf of the most powerful nation on the planet.”
Isaac clicked his pen over and over, flexing his jaw. “America is heading towards another civil war, because of Blue-Eyes. We’re fighting each other AND a terrorist organization.”
I said, “Okay, but-”
“In very simple barbaric terms, we could shoot the Nazis. We can shoot Al-Qaeda. We can shoot ISIS soldiers. But we can’t shoot these damn Chosen freaks. They’re too fast, and too imbedded among the hostages to use larger ordnance.”
The Director of the CIA rubbed his eyes and mumbled, “It’s been a hard two months for America. And this past week was even worse. But we should all keep it
in perspective. We’ll survive this. We can rant and moan like this in private. Once. But then we need to return to work with heads high. We need to project optimism. And to believe it, ourselves.”
Roberts chuckled, “We need more Katie Clips.”
“I’m watching one now,” Samantha said absently, staring at her phone. “I hate Katie. She’s so pretty.”
The Director of the CIA said, “Mr. Jackson, did you know the Andy Babington character?”
I blinked, confused and surprised. Andy’s name felt so out of place in this room that it took me several seconds to place it. “Andy? Sure. I know him. Why?”
Samantha looked up in surprise. “Did he know him? Don’t you mean, Do we know him? Something happen to that little prick?”
He answered, “Andy Babington recorded several Periscope videos, bragging about his friendship with the Outlaw. Essentially, he leveraged his relationship with you into a higher celebrity status. The Chemist saw it. The final Periscope video was interrupted by Chosen. He was abducted live, while thousands watched.”
My blood ran cold and I collapsed into the chair. Andy and I weren’t friends, but he didn’t deserve to be kidnapped. There was no predicting what the Chemist would do with him. “The Chemist used the videos to locate him?”
“That’s the way it appears,” he nodded grimly. “Happened last night. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”
Under her breath, Samantha grunted, “Got what he deserved.”
“Isaac, I have two other friends that might be in danger,” I said, suddenly terrified at the thought. “You know Cory and Lee, right?”
“Of course,” he said, already dialing his phone. “I’ll send a car for them immediately. They should be in protective custody.” He walked to the corner of the room, one hand on his hip, and spoke quietly into the receiver.
I said loudly into the room, “Puck, are you listening?”
A voice boomed out of the speakers, “Of course, dummy.”
Gasps. Shocked expressions. Who was this?? Who could possibly eavesdrop? I waved off their questions in a reassuring manner.
