Phil rubbed the back of Kandy’s hand with his thumb. She pulled his hand into her lap as she’d done earlier.
“Already the disease has reached the people’s house, my temporary home,” said the president. “I’m allowed to share with you my chief of staff is ill. Three members of the White House communications team have the disease. The Secretary of Veterans Affairs is sick. And, my friends, two of my three children are suffering its effects. They are bedridden. My wife is with them as I speak with you. When I finish our talk, I’ll be headed upstairs to join her.”
The president’s eyes glistened. His chin trembled. He took a beat to steel himself against the emotion, cleared his throat, and wiped the corners of his eyes with an index finger.
“I assure you, we are doing everything we can to fight this disease. There are teams of scientists all over the world working to isolate the pathogens responsible for what can best be described as a modern plague.”
Phil inched closer to Kandy. He was warmer than her. His body ran hot, almost. It was comforting to have him close to her.
“As a result of the ongoing threat to our safety and security,” said the president, “I am exercising the suspension clause of the United States Constitution. In layman’s terms, I am declaring martial law.”
Phil gasped. He cursed. It was the first Kandy had ever heard him use foul language. She was acutely aware of his body language. He shifted away from her, his hand left hers, and he folded his arms across his chest.
“Before speaking with you tonight, I spoke with the leaders of both houses of Congress and told them of my decision. I then held a conference call with the governors of all fifty states and the leaders of our various territories. I’ve asked all states to deploy their respective National Guards as peacekeeping forces. All but one complied. The governor of Texas declined, suggesting his people were able to police and protect themselves, and he was not willing to turn the military on his own citizens.”
“Damn right,” said Phil. “Do you know what this means?”
Kandy wasn’t sure if Phil’s question was rhetorical or condescending. She chose to give him the benefit of the doubt and not answer. He put his hand on her back, his fingers spread wide, and he turned toward her. His face bore a pained expression, like a child aggrieved.
“This is awful,” he said to her. “He’s suspending our rights. We could be arrested, your house searched without cause. I don’t think he’s aware of what he’s doing.”
Kandy understood the ramifications of this move. As a reporter, her job was to have what she called a cocktail party understanding of every subject imaginable. That meant she could have an intelligent conversation at a cocktail party with anyone about anything. From politics, to art, to crime, to the latest social media craze, Kandy knew enough to be dangerous. And as a reporter, she understood her rights. Still, she sat silent, hoping the president would explain himself and assuage her boyfriend’s visceral reaction.
“I understand and respect the governor’s choices,” said the president, “and I pray he is right. He certainly knows the people of Texas better than I do. That said, it is my job as this nation’s top executive and its commander in chief to do what I believe is necessary for the continuity of government and the security of the people with whom I’m charged to protect.”
“It’s a power grab,” said Phil. “Good for Texas for saying no to this.”
He said this knowing that Kandy was a native Texan, a graduate of the University of Houston, and had family living along the Texas Gulf Coast.
“They’re not saying no to martial law,” said Kandy, correcting him. “They’re just refusing to deploy the National Guard.”
Phil frowned. “I guess so. Still, I’m glad one governor had the guts to say no.”
The president took a cleansing breath and sighed. Perspiration glistened on his forehead. “I have asked for the National Guard deployments as a stopgap until Congress can convene and authorize the suspension of the Posse Comitatus Act. That would allow for our military to enforce laws.”
“He’s creating a military state,” said Phil. “This is absurd.”
Kandy was beginning to agree with him. This was heading down a dangerous path.
“I know this is bothersome to you. I understand your apprehension. A president has not declared martial law since President Abraham Lincoln did so in July of 1861. That, as you likely know, was in the early phases of the American Civil War. We are not at war, but we are, as a nation, vulnerable to civil unrest that threatens the foundations of our democracy. That brings me to the final decision I need to share with you tonight.”
“Great,” said Phil. “There’s more.”
“I have spoken tonight with my friend and political opponent, Kyle McCarthy. Our campaigns have had discussions about the planned debates and the election a month from now. We have agreed to cancel the debates and we are jointly requesting the responsible agencies in each state to indefinitely suspend the election date.”
Phil sat slack-jawed next to Kandy. Kandy’s stomach tightened. Her mouth was dry. This directive meant rebellion. People were more likely to cause problems in protest than they might have had the president done nothing.
Phil was probably right that the governor of Texas knew what he was doing. His people might behave themselves without any government interference. But the minute Texans thought their rights were being suspended, violated, trampled, they were likely to employ that mantra from the Battle of Goliad and cry from the rooftops, “Come and take it!”
“As the president, I have no authority to suspend or cancel elections and neither does Congress. That is a power each state holds individually. Senator McCarthy and I both know that our states will do the right thing. We both believe that holding an election in the midst of this crisis is not in the best interest of our country. It poses a health risk for voters, and asking Americans to line up in crowded polling places where they might be exposed to a deadly disease is harmful. We are asking, jointly, that the election is postponed until January first. By then, we expect to have a much better understanding of the disease and, hopefully, we can reinstate habeas corpus and withdraw our military forces.”
The president cleared his throat again. He ran his hands along the sides of the lectern and maintained his stare into the camera.
“I ask that you keep my family in your prayers, as I will keep yours in mine. God bless you all and God bless the United States of America. Good night.”
The president stood at the lectern for another few moments, nodded, and mouthed “thank you” before he spun on his heel and walked away from the camera. He strode less confidently than he’d approached and was halfway down the hall when the screen turned blue and the ear-splitting tone of the emergency alert filled the room.
Phil muted the television and stood. He paced in front of the sofa, wringing his hands. Kandy let him work out his thoughts without interruption until he stopped and turned to her.
“You’re not going to work, are you?”
That caught Kandy off guard and she laughed. Of all the things she imagined running through Phil’s head, whether or not she was going to work wasn’t among them.
“What’s funny?” he asked.
“I’m not laughing at you,” Kandy said. “I just figured that given everything we just heard from the president, you’d be thinking about that.”
Phil folded his arms across his chest. He was standing directly in front of the television. The blue glow from the screen cast an odd outline around his body, highlighting the edges of his physique. He was cute when he was mad.
Was he mad? Was he worried? Kandy thought it might be a mixture of the two. She’d never seen him exhibit either of those emotions before, and it reminded her of the freshness of their relationship. How well did she know him?
“Of course I’m thinking about you,” he said, his tone pricked with defensiveness. “Why wouldn’t I be thinking about you? I don’t want you leaving right now. I’m putting
all of this together in my head. I worry about you going out there and doing whatever it is they’ll ask you to do. It’s probably not safe and—”
Kandy held up both her hands, palms out, to stop his diatribe. “Stop,” she said sternly. She didn’t mean for it to sound as harsh as it did, but he was rambling and sounded more fatherly than she liked.
He stood there with his mouth open for a moment then closed it. His jaw muscles flexed and his posture stiffened.
She smiled to ease the building tension. “Just hold on a second, Phil. I appreciate your concern. I love that you’re thinking about me. But you need to understand something. My job is more than what I do. It’s who I am.”
Kandy surprised herself by saying that aloud. It was something she’d always known about herself, that she needed to be on television. It was as important as breathing and eating.
To say it aloud, though, was admitting it to someone else. It made it real. It was an admission as much as it was a resignation. Allowing her job to be more than a paycheck at this point in her career was somehow sad. It told the world that she was missing something in her life.
Phil appeared to see this too. A sudden sadness fell across his face. There was a pity in his expression that Kandy didn’t like. “Who you are?” he said softly.
Kandy looked down at the table in front of her. Her eyes landed on the half-eaten cheese sandwiches, which she imagined were cold. She studied the crinkles on the fries, focusing on parts that were darker than the rest. The unopened bottles of water had long ago stopped sweating. Puddles of condensation encircled their bases on the stone surface of the table.
She swallowed. Somehow this conversation had taken an unexpected turn, from the president’s decree and the dangers of it to her psychology. Kandy didn’t like this, but she’d opened this can of worms.
“I didn’t mean it that way,” she said. “I meant… I don’t know what I meant.”
Of course she did. So did Phil.
“I think you do,” he said. “And I guess that answers my question. You’re going into work, aren’t you? Despite all of the warnings from our esteemed president, you’re leaving the safety of the house. You’re leaving me. You’re risking your life for your job.”
Phil understood her, but he didn’t get it. How could he? He wasn’t a television reporter. He didn’t work in the business. He couldn’t understand and she couldn’t make him.
Kandy lifted her chin and looked up at Phil. He wasn’t looking at her. His chin was dropped to his chest. His fingers were scratching his arms. His shoulders drooped.
“I have to go,” she said. “If they don’t need me, I can come right back. You could stay. We could finish our dinner, watch a movie?”
Now it was Phil who laughed. It was a humorless laugh. “Funny. You’re joking, right? You know as well as I do that when you get to the station, they’ll use you. They won’t send you home. Have they ever sent you home when you volunteer to work? Ever?”
He was right. They didn’t do that.
“I don’t know if I’ll be here when you get back,” he said.
That stung. Kandy’s throat tightened and she tensed. It was if he’d slapped her across the face. She looked at him, trying to hold his gaze.
“Why?”
“I don’t know when you’ll be back. If you’ll be back at all,” he said. “And if you do come back, will you be infected? I mean, I was already a little worried when you told me you’d hung out at the hospital today. This, though. You going into the fray after what the president just announced? That’s too much for me.”
This reminded Kandy why it was so hard for her to have relationships. She always put her job first. It was her first love. It was an enduring love. She’d just said it. Being a television reporter was more than what she did, it was who she was. Men could never compete with that.
Kandy wanted to plead with him to change his mind. She wanted to stand up, move to him, wrap her arms around his warm body, and put her lips on his. She wanted to whisper in his ear about the ways she might convince him to stay. Instead she sat on the sofa, her fingertips rubbing the microfiber. Tears welled in her eyes, pooling in the corners.
“I understand,” she said.
The night had begun with such promise. The newness of their relationship, of their budding romance, hung in the air between them. It was a magnet that drew them together, that pulled from them the butterflies and joy of adult puppy love.
Now it was spoiled. It wasn’t the plague’s fault. It wasn’t Phil’s fault. It was hers.
Phil was a keeper. She wasn’t. That was the truth of it. Nine dates was a record. Now she’d have to start over. The tears rolled down her cheeks. She didn’t do anything to wipe them away.
Phil frowned and his posture softened. He moved back over to the sofa and sat next to her. He put his hand on her thigh. Then he touched her chin and pulled her eyes to his. He thumbed away the tears on one side of her face.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have reacted that way. I shouldn’t have raised my voice.”
Kandy lifted her hand to touch his. She sniffed and shook her head. “No, I understand. I do. And you didn’t raise your voice. You’re worried about me. I get it.”
She took his hand and lowered it to her lap, where she held it with both of her hands. His body was turned toward hers.
Phil’s eyes glistened too. “Look, I know this is corny, and we’ve only been dating for six weeks or whatever, but I like you, Kandy. I’m probably overstepping here…”
He looked down at their hands. His lips curled inward as he contemplated what words to choose.
“Go ahead,” she said, prompting him.
He looked up. “I see a future with you. I’m not saying moving in together or marriage. Nothing like that yet. I’m only saying I see us together. It’s easy with you. We can talk about anything. We have similar interests but have our own things too.”
This was a lot to process. The world was ending, it seemed. The nation was under martial law and the National Guard was about to deploy onto streets from her neighborhood to Ocoee, from Apopka to Claremont, from Pensacola to Key West. And her boyfriend, if that was what he was, was telling her he wanted a future with her.
This was the kind of juxtaposition she’d read about in dime-store novels but never imagined could happen in real life. Or better yet, one begat the other. He saw the storm was coming and had to drop anchor.
“Look,” he said, filling the silence between them, “at the risk of sounding like a complete asshat—”
She laughed. “Asshat? I haven’t heard that one in…well…forever.”
Phil grinned. “Okay. At the risk of sounding like a jerk—”
“Better.”
“I know you said that being a reporter is who you are,” he said. “That it’s more than what you do. That’s fine if you think that. I don’t though. I think you’re so much more than a television reporter. If you chose to give it up, to find some other way to define yourself, I wouldn’t like you any less.”
She wasn’t sure how to take that. “Would you like me more?”
His mouth twisted to the side as he considered her question. “I can’t answer that. My hope is that no matter what our future is, I’ll like you more tomorrow than I do today and that it grows every day after that.”
She was suddenly skeptical. What was Phil saying? Men didn’t say nice things without an ulterior motive. At least not in her experience. Her eyes narrowed and she shifted her body away from his, letting go of his hands.
“Are you asking me to stay here with you? Are you saying these things to keep me from going to work?”
Phil’s brow furrowed. “No, I’m not.”
Kandy sat there silently. Her experience interviewing people taught her that people don’t like silence. If she stayed quiet long enough, he’d be compelled to say something to erase the growing discomfort. It worked.
“Would I like you to stay?” he asked. “Yes, of course
. Am I worried about you out there? Yes, of course. But would I ever tell you not to go? No. I don’t have that right. I would never have that right, no matter what. You’re an adult. You make your own decisions. I respect that.”
Kandy resisted the urge to kiss him, to wrap her arms around him, and tell him how long she’d waited for someone to say those words to her. Not those exact words, but for a man to respect her for who she was and who she could be, how she could define herself apart from him, was breathtaking.
His timing sucked though. She played it as cool as she could.
“I’m going to work,” she said. “I have to go. But I can’t find the words to tell you how much I want you to be here when I get back.”
Their eyes connected. They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, yet still not long enough. Then Phil’s eyes went wide. A grin broadened on his face. It made him look boyish. She loved that look.
“What is it? You’re going to stay?” she asked.
“Better,” he said. “I’m coming with you.”
She laughed. “You can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Station won’t allow you to ride with me.”
“I’m not riding with you, I’ll follow you. I’ll keep my eye on you. I’ll keep a safe distance. But if anything happens, I’ll be there.”
“You don’t think I can take care of myself?”
“Of course I do,” he said with a wink. “I don’t want to be left here alone without you to take care of me.”
He was probably right. Having him follow her was no different than having hired security guards follow her when she covered looting post-hurricanes.
“Okay,” she said. “We go together.”
CHAPTER 18
OCTOBER 3, 2032
SCOURGE + 1 DAY
LAKE MARY, FLORIDA
The apartment was dark except for the bluish flicker from the television. Mike reached inside the front door and felt for the light switch, flipped it up, and the room filled with the dim yellow glow of an LED overhead lamp.
The Scourge (Book 1): Unprepared Page 19
