Trowbridge blinked. Winters sighed. But it was Olivia who spoke. “You mean President Grant Maxwell is dead?” she asked.
Winters raised an eyebrow, while Hoyle smirked. But before anyone could reply, Judge Benton entered, in clean robes, but still smelling of oil.
“Let’s get this done, shall we?” Yoon said. “In the open air, perhaps.”
“Is that safe?” Trowbridge asked, his voice quavering.
“Yes, sir,” Yoon said. “I guarantee it.”
“Do you recognise him?” Pete whispered as they trailed outside, very much the last and least important of the group.
“I know the name,” Olivia hissed back. “He was secretary for housing. Don’t you remember him? Ten years ago, he was in Congress. He switched parties after he lost his seat, ran for governor, and lost. But then he set up that charity, housing former gang members.”
Despite the judge’s best efforts to inject some solemnity into the proceedings, the ceremony was brief and perfunctory.
After it was over, Yoon turned to Trowbridge. “Mr President, I have three helicopters on the ground, ready to take you west. From Vancouver, you can be taken to Guam, from where you can co-ordinate your nation’s part in the war effort.”
“No,” Winters said, not bothering to even look at Trowbridge, let alone consult him.
“You mean to stay here?” Yoon asked, also ignoring the newly sworn-in president. “I cannot guarantee his safety.”
“His safety is not your concern,” Winters said. “Considering what befell the vice president, we will drive rather than fly.”
“Drive to Vancouver? That would be considerably slower, considerably more dangerous,” Yoon said.
“There are other contingencies in place,” Winters said.
“Such as?” Yoon asked.
“I’m so sorry, General,” Winters said, “but you don’t have clearance.”
Yoon clearly didn’t care. “As you wish. Mr President.” She saluted, and stormed off.
Winters smiled, and went back inside. Her deputy, the woman called Hoyle, took the newly-sworn-in president’s arm and led him after her. The mixed group of soldiers followed. Pete watched them go, thinking maybe his earlier assumption wasn’t entirely wrong; Trowbridge looked more like a prisoner than a leader.
“That was something for the memoirs,” Judge Benton said cheerily. “Nice dog. A Great Dane, yes? I had one like him when I was much younger.”
“He’s really the president?” Pete asked.
“He is,” Judge Benton said. “The last time we worried about an invasion of Canada, it was by your people. More recently there were concerns about a Soviet invasion of your country. And it was from that time, that code, the sun rises in Denver, comes. The assumption was of an invasion from the south, and another in Alaska, but it was also assumed that Washington would be attacked.”
“With nuclear bombs?” Olivia asked.
“No, these plans come from a time before then. In the event of an invasion that cannot be immediately repulsed, and where our allies have been neutralised, a joint command shall be established in the North American continent. Civilians, where possible, shall be evacuated from the combat zone, thus reducing the number of hostages and slave workers. Slaves? Yes, these were very old plans, but they were correct in one thing. They assumed the crisis would begin in the United States. In Washington, rather than New York, but it makes little difference. The nuclear arms race brought very different concerns, and so these older plans were shelved, and became nothing more than training exercises at the war college, or so Jill tells me. General Yoon,” she clarified.
As interested as Pete was in how judge and general had become friends, he was more interested in something else the general had said. “The vice president is dead?”
“Yes,” Judge Benton said. “The U.S. chain of succession has been broken. There is no way of knowing who has survived, or which official has seniority. One day there might be a challenge to Trowbridge, but on that day, I shall rejoice, for it will mean that we’ve drawn back from the brink.”
“And you’re really a judge?” Olivia asked. “And a mechanic?”
“I find engines relaxing,” Benton said. “After spending my days sitting in judgement over the most depraved examples of our species, I find cogs and gears gratifyingly explicable. You came from Guam, how is it?”
“Not from Guam, from Australia,” Corrie said, and ran through the well-practiced story. “And here, what is it like?”
“Pandemonium,” Benton said. “Have you read Milton? Looking about me, I wish I had not.”
“The general is building an army?” Corrie asked.
“Yes, but slowly,” Benton said. “She has gathered all military units that made it north of the border. It is a small force, as of yet. More units are being created from among the refugees. Mobile castles are being created from construction equipment. Fields are being formed on land that was once ancient woodland. Our world is changing, and we must change, too, because in that lies our salvation. Speaking of changing, I must get out of these robes and back to my engines.”
Chapter 30 - Presidents and Prisoners
Wawa
“We just met the president,” Olivia said.
“A president,” Pete said. “But I don’t know why we were there.”
“General Yoon was making a point, but I’m not sure to whom,” Corrie said. “Guam, I suppose. Or Australia. If I had to put money on it, she doesn’t think we need politicians right now.”
“I agree with her,” Olivia said.
“How do you think the Veep died?” Pete asked. “That woman, Winters, said it was the reason why they wanted to fly.”
“It’s something to ask the judge,” Olivia said. “She seemed chatty, anyway. But the V.P. is dead. And we have a new president. Or America does. Which brings me to the more pressing question of what the three of us do now.”
Rufus yipped.
“The four of us,” Olivia said.
“We find food, a shower, a bed, some clean clothes, and not necessarily in that order,” Corrie said. “And I’d like to get some more information on this Trowbridge guy and the people with him. If we’re supposed to report what we saw to Canberra or Guam, I’d like more facts and less opinion.”
“That’s what we should do,” Olivia said. “We’ll become journalists. No, think about it, no one else is doing it. And the general actually wants us to. The woman in charge of this part of Canada actually wants us to tell people what we saw, right? Besides, there should be a record of moments like the general’s victory and the swearing in of a new president.”
“What about the execution of the infected?” Pete asked. “Because that’s something we should be talking about.”
“Yes, that too,” Olivia said. “Maybe especially that. Clearly, General Yoon had done it before. Would people want to discuss it? Would they even want to think about it? Maybe not now. Not yet. But it shouldn’t be hidden or forgotten. Somehow, we’re at the centre of events, and with access to the high command in the Pacific and North America. We have a duty to record everything, and one day, report it.”
“I’ll vote for that,” Corrie said. “We’ll set up a news agency. Pete?”
“I dunno. I thought we could head back to Vancouver, and then Australia. I kinda like the idea of getting out of here.” He looked down at Rufus. “Two to one. It’s down to you, Rufus. Rufus? Who’s a good boy? Come here, boy!” He knelt as he spoke.
Rufus took one look at his beckoning hand, and padded over to Olivia. She laughed.
Pete sighed. “Serves me right, I guess. Three to one. Journalists it is. We’ll need cameras, right? I’ll see if they have any more bodycams at that police station. Maybe see if I can speak to Trowbridge.”
“I’ll head up to the airport and borrow a laptop for storage,” Corrie said. “And maybe even a drone.”
“I’ll see if I can find us some more food and ammo,” Olivia said. “Whatever happens, I’ve go
t a feeling we’re going to need it. Meet back here in an hour?”
Pete strolled back towards the police station. Rufus, for reasons of his own, ambled along at his side.
“Do you think this is a good idea?” Pete asked the dog. “On the one hand, I like the idea of taking back a little control of my life. Battles like we fought outside the airport could happen anywhere, anytime. The zombies won’t stop if we stick a camera in their faces. We’ll be on the frontline, so we’ll be soldiers carrying cameras as well as weapons. So are we really in control of our future, or are we just kidding ourselves?”
Rufus yipped.
“Yep. That’s what I thought.”
The two Mounties were no longer outside the police station, though the U.S. flag still flew above. Inside, the booking hall was deserted, as was the bullpen behind. The office where Trowbridge had lurked, and which Hoyle had guarded, was open and empty.
Uncertain where to go, Pete tried a door behind the booking desk. With no power to the police station, the keypads were inoperative, and the electro-magnetic locks had disconnected. An old-fashioned bolt held the doors closed, but the key remained in the lock.
“What happened to the prisoners?” Pete murmured, his voice low.
He turned onto an empty corridor, uncertain where he was going, and feeling increasingly like a trespasser. The police station wasn’t large, but nor was it signposted. If you were authorised to be there, you were expected to know your way around. He took a random turn, then another. The third brought him to a barred holding cell. There was a key in the lock, but a trio of close-wrapped chains and padlocks seemed to be doing the lion’s share of securing the door. None of those had a key in the lock. Inside the cell, a figure lay on a bench with her face to the wall and her back to him.
Pete backed up a step, not wanting to disturb her, but Rufus had other ideas. He bounded to the cage, raised a paw, and pushed at the lowest of the chains. The coiled metal clinked. The woman stirred, rolled over, and swung herself up.
“Ah,” Lisa Kempton said. “Do I have visitors?” An eyebrow arched in puzzlement that was only a fraction of the stunned disbelief Pete felt. “Mr Guinn?” she said softly. “Of all the people in the world, I can say you are not whom I expected.” She walked over to the bars, looking up and down the corridor to confirm they were alone. “And you have a friend, I see. Wonderful. We should all be so fortunate.”
“Ms Kempton?” Pete said. “Why are you here?”
“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that question?” she replied.
“We flew here,” Pete said. “Well, to Vancouver. We’re gathering information on what things are like in America. For the Australian government.”
“You and your sister?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Good. And you gave her the message? She completed the task?” Kempton asked.
“What? Oh. Yeah, sure,” Pete said. He’d nearly forgotten that he’d been despatched to Australia to give his sister a phone. On the call, his sister had been given instructions to activate some code. He was still a little hazy about why, except it was connected to the collapse of satellite communications and aimed at preventing a pre-emptive nuclear war. “But you knew she activated the code, right?” he said. “And that code, it was just a con, a distraction?”
“Things have become a little complicated, as you can see,” Kempton said, tapping the bars. She bent down. “And what is your name?” she asked.
“Rufus,” Pete said, after he remembered the dog was unlikely to answer for himself.
“Everyone needs a friend, don’t they, Rufus? And it is good to see you again, Mr Guinn. However, I would suggest you leave before anyone finds you down here.”
“What are you doing down here?” he asked. “And locked up?”
“Reaping what I sowed,” Kempton asked. “It is a small comfort to know that Corrie is safe. And yourself, of course. A larger comfort comes from knowing Tamika is far, far away. What can you tell me about my pilots, Jackson and Rampton?”
“Sorry, they’re dead. Tortured. Murdered. I think Jackson was a spy for the cartel, but they were both murdered.”
“I see. Thank you. Now, please go, before you land yourself in further trouble.”
“But how come you’re here? Is Trowbridge holding you prisoner?” he asked.
Before Kempton could answer, the door opened and the woman who’d been guarding Trowbridge’s door, Hoyle, entered. Now she wore body armour and carried a shotgun.
“What are you doing here?” Hoyle demanded.
“Looking for bodycams,” Pete said quickly. “For General Yoon. Why’s she locked up?”
Hoyle shook her head. “Get outta here,” she growled, half raising the shotgun.
“Yeah, I was going anyway,” Pete muttered. He threw Kempton a glance, but said nothing, and nor did she. Pete made his way outside, Rufus at his heels.
“Lisa Kempton,” he finally said, when he stood close to the lonely flag fluttering from the pole. “Okay, Rufus, any ideas why she’s being held prisoner? No, me neither. I think we better go find Olivia and Corrie.”
Chapter 31 - Determining a Just Cause
Lake Wawa
“Are you sure it was Lisa Kempton?” Corrie asked. A cold wind whipped across the lake, snatching away their muted conversation. Having found them both, Pete had looked for somewhere secluded to talk, opting for an empty beach overlooking the lake.
“I spoke to her,” Pete said. “So yeah, I’m sure.”
“Why were they holding her prisoner?” Olivia asked. “Or, seeing as the they in question is the President of the United States, maybe we shouldn’t be asking any questions.”
“He’s not my president,” Pete said.
“And he’s certainly not mine,” Corrie said. “But the general recognises Trowbridge as president, and she’s probably the biggest authority that exists in Canada. Maybe she’s the most powerful authority this side of Guam.”
“And there’s the CIA,” Olivia added. “We spoke to some of the Canadian sentries, and boy did they want to speak back. Winters freaks them out. They say she’s CIA. Hoyle is, too. Or NSA, or something like that. They arrived with the prisoner, though the Canadians didn’t know who she was. Those four soldiers who were just inside the door, the four who actually looked like they were soldiers, they’re U.S. Marines the general assigned as a presidential protection detail. Everyone else is CIA.”
“Tell me about the cell,” Corrie said.
“What? Oh, it’s just a police cell,” Pete said.
“Spoken worryingly like someone familiar with them,” Olivia said.
“I mean it’s a holding cell, with open bars,” Pete said. “The electricity to the station has been cut so the electric locks don’t work. This cell, it was held closed with a trio of chains and padlocks.”
“Huh. And there was no guard?” Corrie asked.
“Not really, but that woman who was guarding Trowbridge, she found me talking to Kempton and threw me out.”
“Did she ask what you were doing?” Corrie asked.
“I said I was looking for bodycams,” Pete said.
“But she wasn’t actually guarding Kempton?” Corrie asked.
“Why does it matter?” Olivia asked.
“I’m just building up a picture,” Corrie said. She breathed out. “Okay. You two should go speak to the judge. She seemed approachable. See if she knows why Kempton is being held prisoner, or where she was captured, and why. Don’t say that we know her. We’re journalists now. Tell her that’s why you’re asking.”
“What are you going to do?” Pete asked.
“If I can, without being caught, I’m going to speak to Kempton,” Corrie said. “If I can’t…” She shook her head. “Meet back here in an hour.”
“I thought we were leaving the past behind when we left Australia,” Pete said, as he and Olivia walked through the town. The faces were gone from the windows, though the sentries were still present at the doors
, and it still had the air of a town ready to burst.
“Presidents, billionaires, the CIA? It makes you glad when it’s just zombies to be dealt with,” Olivia said.
When they reached the judge’s garage, they found a dozen tanks there, all newly returned from the battlefield, and the judge too busy to talk. Soon, so were they: holding, bracing, carrying during a frantically frenetic hour that ended with ten tanks back on the road and two stripped for parts. When the war machines were thundering towards the new frontline, they looked again for the judge, only to find she’d gone to shower and sleep, and so they returned to the beach.
They weren’t the only people there. The soldiers, returning from their victory in the forest, had descended on the beach. Sunset wasn’t far off, and the temperature was still closer to winter than spring, let alone summer, but some soldiers were swimming. A few more splashed in the shallows, bathing, or washing their gear. Someone, from somewhere, had found a bright yellow inflatable dinghy. Though anchored to the shore by a long length of rope, the craft now bobbed on the evening tide. Two people were aboard, fishing. In the trees, birds cawed, but wisely stayed away from the fires. Around those, people sat, watching, thinking, remembering, except around the largest blaze, where they were talking to Corrie. They were taking it in turns, addressing the phone on which she was recording.
Quietly, Olivia and Pete approached, and found they weren’t listening to a soldier’s account of today’s battle, but his recollection of the day he’d returned home after the outbreak. Having been trapped at work, a government office in Ottawa he cleaned, he’d finally returned home only to find his family gone. He’d been looking for them ever since.
Rufus padded over to the fire, and provided a distraction long enough for Corrie to slip away.
“Everyone’s keen to talk anyway,” Corrie said, tagging the clip she’d just recorded before slipping the phone into her pocket.
Surviving The Evacuation | Life Goes On (Book 2): No More News Page 25
