The New World

by Toby Neighbors

  They did learn two very important things, at least to Daniel’s way of thinking. First, the research team found no conflicting evidence about Operation Chimera. As unlikely as it seemed, the United States government apparently had no information about extraterrestrial life, or any solid information about the spheres. Secondly, Daniel learned that there was seemingly no decay in any of the plague victims. The head of disposal theorized that the plague had transformed the living tissue into a solid, rubber-like matter. He wondered if perhaps the atoms had ceased moving, or maybe the spheres had released a preservative, an advanced form of formaldehyde that perfectly preserved each person. What they couldn’t determine was why some people were immune.

  Each day more and more people arrived at the White House; they had quickly filled the bunker and had now begun filling the Hay-Adams hotel on Lafayette Square. People had also begun campaigning for the council positions, posting pictures and short bios to let people know who they were and why they should be on the council. A group had started taping a live nightly talk show, complete with jokes and guests, mainly different people running for council positions. They used the video equipment in the briefing room from the bunker, but had changed out the set from the presidential curtain and seal to a nicely furnished space, complete with a desk for the host and a mural of the D.C. skyline at night as the backdrop. The media group had managed to get the show broadcast locally, allowing those outside the bunker to enjoy the show, and Daniel had to admit that he was amazed at the creativity and ingenuity of these people. They had requested that he appear as the guest on the night before the election, which was set to take place from 9:00 a.m. – 10:00 a.m. in the morning. The new council and new president would be in place by noon, with an official swearing-in ceremony and parties scheduled in all the rooms on the first floor of the residence building.

  It was going to be a grand day and Daniel was looking forward to it, not for the festivities, or even for the transition of power, but because his dream would then be complete and he would be free to leave. He knew that people wouldn’t understand; almost everyone that was now in D.C. had come from somewhere else. They had come to make a new life, to be with people again, but Daniel was just the opposite. He had held the torch of hope here in the White House, not knowing what had happened to his friends and family. Now he wanted to stretch his legs, to soak in the solitude of a cross country trip. He wanted to go home, although he knew he had no home anymore. He told himself that he would get over Lana in time, that he would meet someone else, someone who made him feel the way Lana did, but deep in his heart he knew he was fooling himself.

  The night before the election, he arrived at the bunker in chinos and a navy blue blazer he had been fitted for by a lady on the media team. She had gone out and searched the looted retail stores until she found what he had asked for. He sat nervously in a little room watching the opening of the broadcast on a small television. The host was a short man, plump but jolly, who had a knack for comedy. He was still making wisecracks about life before the plague, and Daniel wondered briefly how long it would take before this new life was funny enough to laugh at.

  He sipped from a bottle of water and told himself that he was finally done, that he would oversee the election tomorrow and be finished. All he needed to do was endure this one final act of leadership and then he would be free. The host concluded his monologue and the broadcast broke into election commercials. A woman stepped into the room and told Daniel he would go on in a moment. He stood and tried to shake out his nerves, but nothing seemed to help. When the host called his name, “Hail to the Chief” was played. Daniel came out onto the little set and the audience, around one hundred and fifty people, all began to cheer wildly. He waved to the crowd, not because he had seen others do it, but because it seemed like the only thing to do. The host met him, shook his hand, and led him to a chair.

  The interview began with questions about Daniel’s life before the plague. After fifteen minutes or so, the host once again went to a commercial break. A makeup person hurried out and patted down their faces. The bright camera lighting was extremely hot, and Daniel was grateful that the sweat that had been forming on his face was being dealt with. When the show went live again, the host began asking questions about Daniel’s job, how the council operated, and what the most difficult aspect of running the interim government was. Then came the proverbial other shoe, it dropped right on Daniel’s forehead.

  “Now, I’ve got to ask you about this,” said the host, making Daniel nervous, “people are talking about writing your name into the ballet tomorrow for president, have you heard about this?”

  Daniel’s head spun a little, he wasn’t quite sure he had heard the host correctly. He understood the concept of writing in someone’s name on the ballet, basically casting a vote for someone who had not been able to be an official part of the election. He felt a lump begin to grow in his throat.

  “No,” he managed to say, “I hadn’t heard that.”

  “It’s not surprising, really,” said the host cheerfully, completely oblivious to Daniel’s discomfort. “A lot of people wanted you to run officially. Why did you decide not to do that?”

  Daniel cleared his throat, “I, huh…I never thought about it really—I mean, I’m only 28 years old, I’m not old enough to be president, for one thing.”

  “I’m not sure that age is a factor at this point in history, our options are limited. A lot of people are saying you are the glue that is holding this whole social experiment together.”

  “That’s just not true. I came to the White House because it was my first impulse. Many people did the same thing. It only makes sense that if our government was operating at any level, there would be something happening here in Washington. What is holding us together is our sense of what is right. The plague managed to wipe out a lot of things, but it couldn’t destroy basic human dignity. And that’s why this is working, because people are looking out for one another and coming together to accomplish something that’s bigger than any one of us.”

  “And that was your dream, your vision for our future. Wouldn’t you say you helped us get here?”

  “Well sure, but no more than anyone else; I mean, each and every person has worked hard to ensure that things get done.”

  “But you were the one to step up and put a plan into action,” the host paused as the audience cheered wildly. “I’d say you are probably a perfect choice to continue to lead us into the future.”

  Daniel shook his head and said no over and over, but he was drowned out by the audience. They had risen to their feet and were chanting his name. He felt his face flushing red, and sweat popped out once again on his forehead and upper lip.

  “Listen,” he said, once the crowd had quieted down. “I have been honored to lead these last two weeks, but I’m stepping down tomorrow. You have two fantastic choices running for president, both of them with more leadership under their belt than me. When the results come in tomorrow, I will move out of the way so that our new president can lead us forward.”

  The host circled around to the idea of writing in Daniel’s name a couple more times, and the crowd roared their approval. Daniel left the show more nervous than when he arrived. He couldn’t help but worry about what would happen if he was voted in tomorrow. He hurried back up to the second floor of the White House residence and found Scott sitting in the president’s living room watching the large screen television as the show officially ended. As Daniel walked in, Scott pointed the remote control at the screen and turned the television off.

  “I need a drink,” Daniel said, it was the first time he had wanted alcohol since he was in college.

  “There’s plenty in the wet bar,” Scott said from the couch where he was sitting and watching Daniel.

  The little bar was filled with bottles of liquor, none of which Daniel was very familiar with. He grabbed a bottle that said scotch and poured a little into a crystal tumbler. The amber colored liquid smelled foul to Daniel, but he to
ok a sip anyway, like a child forced to take cough medicine. The scotch tasted awful and burned his throat, but there was something satisfying about drinking the liquor, so he found a chair and dropped into it, intending to nurse the drink until he finished it.

  “Feel better?” Scott asked.

  “Why didn’t I know about this?” Daniel said, ignoring Scott’s question.

  “Because you’ve been busy,” said Jason, he entered the room with Dakota. They were holding hands and smiling.

  “I guess I’ve missed a lot of things around here,” Daniel said, thinking he hadn’t realized Jason had finally taken Dakota’s crush seriously. He felt a little like a father whose daughter had gone behind his back to date the school rebel, but pushed those feelings away. As he forced another sip of the scotch down his throat, he reminded himself they were consenting adults. It was none of his business who slept with whom.

  “But not the important things,” Scott said. “You’ve done a great job and people trust you. That’s a good thing.”

  “Not if I get voted in tomorrow.”

  “Why would that be bad?” Dakota asked; she was standing behind Jason, looking over his shoulder as he poured his own drink at the bar.

  “I’ve got plans,” Daniel said. “I don’t want to be the president.”

  “That’s what would make you a good one,” Jason said, smiling.

  “Oh, don’t give me that crap. If I had known what a pain in the ass this whole thing was going to turn out to be, I’d have left before anyone ever showed up.”

  “But you didn’t,” said Scott, “and you can’t just turn your back on everyone now.”

  “Why do I get the feeling the three of you are somehow behind all this?” Daniel said as he narrowed his eyes. He wanted to give them the evil eye, but his face felt hot and his head was light. It felt like his face was drooping in exhaustion instead of frowning in disapproval.

  “It’s not about who started it, what matters is that we make D.C. a place of safety and hope for everyone,” Dakota said.

  “You’re starting to sound like the president,” Jason joked.

  “Will both of you just be quiet?” Daniel said. “I’m trying to figure this thing out.”

  “What’s there to figure?” Scott said. “You’ve done a good job. If people want you to keep doing that good job, then they’ll vote for you tomorrow. If not, well, it was fun while it lasted.”

  “Fun for you maybe,” Daniel said. He had taken another sip and his thoughts were sluggish and his tongue felt heavy. “I’ve worked my butt off dealing with clueless whiners who want everything their own way.”

  “Isn’t that what you’re doing?” Jason mocked.

  “Oh, shut up, jarhead.”

  “Hey, I’m not a Marine, I’m in the Navy.”

  “Whatever, all I’m saying is that I don’t want to be president.”

  “It could be worse,” Scott said. “You could want to be president and maybe no one liked you. Or you could be almost fifty and have nothing to show for your life because you spent it earning money that is now totally worthless.”

  “See, whiners,” Daniel said and laughed at his own joke.

  “I take it you don’t drink much,” Scott said.

  “I can take a drink,” Daniel said, forcing the rest of the scotch down in one big gulp. The liquor had gone down easier the last few sips, but the gulp was too much for his throat to take. He choked and coughed as the liquid scorched its way down to his stomach.

  “I think you’ve had enough,” Jason said, his smile betraying how much he enjoyed seeing Daniel get drunk.

  “Well that’s too bad,” Daniel said very loudly. “I think I’ll have another.”

  He tried to stand up, but his legs were shaky and he fell back onto the chair. The room started spinning and Daniel’s stomach quivered, threatening to vomit the liquor. Daniel bowed his head and squeezed his eyes shut as if they controlled a valve to keep his stomach closed. The episode passed and Daniel slowly rose.

  “I guess after what you’ve done the last two weeks you deserve to get smashed a little,” Jason said.

  “I’m not smashed, just a little tipsy,” said Daniel.

  “We should probably get rid of the liquor if he gets elected,” Scott said.

  “I’m not going to be elected and I’ll drink if I want to.”

  Dakota laughed as Daniel slurred his words together. He was on his feet now and swaying. He stumbled toward the bar.

  “You want to give me a hand here?” Jason said to Scott. They took Daniel by the arms and led him out of the president’s living room and down the hall toward the Lincoln Bedroom. Daniel tried to fight them, but he couldn’t control his arms and legs very well. In his room, they pushed him onto his back in the bed. Scott pulled his shoes off and Jason tossed a blanket across him.

  “I really don’t want to be president,” Daniel said.

  “We know,” Jason said, as they backed out of the room.

  “Sleep well,” Scott said as he turned off the light.

  The room was dark, but Daniel could feel it spinning. He raised his hands and held his head. Part of him wanted to throw up, and part of him wanted to die. Luckily, sleep rose up around him like a warm bath. He stopped fighting it and relaxed, falling instantly to sleep.

  Chapter 21

  Drums, loud throbbing drums were beating somewhere. Daniel didn’t know where he was. His whole body felt heavy and tired, as if he had just done a full day’s work. He opened his eyes and the dim light was painful. Boom, boom, the drums thundered on; boom, boom. He looked at the ornate ceiling and recognized that he was in the Lincoln Bedroom. Now there was another sound, louder than the drums, but similar. Bang, bang, bang, like someone knocking on wood.

  “Daniel,” the voice was like red hot ice picks being stabbed into his brain. “Daniel are you up?”

  He groaned and the smell of liquor reminded him of the night before, and he remembered why he hated drinking.

  “Okay,” he groaned, “I’m getting up.”

  The door opened and Scott came in.

  “I had a feeling I’d find you like this. Come on,” he pulled Daniel out of the bed.

  Daniel groaned, his mouth felt sour, his head ached terribly, and he felt weak and shaky. Scott helped him into the bathroom and started the shower for him.

  “I’ll get you some coffee. Do you need help getting undressed?”

  Daniel shook his head, and Scott left him leaning against the counter. He was glad the hot water was steaming the mirror so he didn’t have to look at himself. He pulled his clothes off and stepped carefully into the shower. The hot water stung his skin, but it also cleared his head. He washed his hair and stood under the water, letting it wash the cobwebs from his mind. The fear was coming back as he considered the possibility that the people might elect him president. He washed his body, rinsed, then shut off the water. He wrapped the terrycloth robe around his wet body and hung the towel over his aching head, slowly rubbing the water away. When he opened the door, Scott was waiting with clothes laid out on the bed and a cup of hot coffee for Daniel in his hand.

  “What time is it?” Daniel asked.

  “A quarter till eight,” Scott said.

  “Alright,” he said, taking the coffee from his friend. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  The drums were actually the throbbing of blood through his brain. He would need some sort of headache medicine to deal with the hangover. He slowly dressed himself and tried to calm his nerves. He couldn’t tell how much of his anxiety was from the election, and how much was due to his hangover. Finally, after combing his hair slowly, being careful not press too hard against his aching head, he left his bedroom and headed for the kitchen. The coffee was hot, but weak, and his stomach was quivering, so he merely sipped at it.

  The smell of burnt toast had become familiar and, oddly enough, it lent Daniel a sense of well being and security. He realized as he eased himself into a chair that as much as he wanted to le
ave, he would miss his friends. Life in the last two weeks had been a whirlwind of work and change, but he had grown fond of the people who had helped him so much. He realized he was closer to these people than to anyone he had known since college.

  “Ready for the big day?” said Jason in a cheery voice. He entered the kitchen briskly, his morning energy and posture reminding Daniel of the soldier he had been.

  “I guess,” said Daniel. “Hey, do you know where I can find some headache medicine?”

  “Got a little hangover there?”

  “Not a little one,” Daniel sighed.

  Jason laughed and walked to the kitchen. Daniel heard Scott say something, but couldn’t make out the words. The door from the dining room to the small private kitchen reopened and Jason stepped through with a medicine bottle in one hand and a bottle of water in the other.

  “The label says to take two, but the way you hold your liquor…” He let his voice trail off, leaving the accusation hanging.

  “Just give me the pills!” Daniel said, hurting his own head with the volume of his voice.

  “Spoken like a true junkie,” Jason joked. “You’re acting like a Washington politician already.”

  “Ha, ha, that’s not going to happen.”

  Jason merely smiled and went back to the kitchen. Soon Scott reappeared with a plate of lightly buttered toast. He set the plate in front of Daniel and sat down.

  “Can I make a suggestion?” Scott asked.

  “Sure,” Daniel said, eyeing the toast with fear.