“I’ll do it,” I say without hesitating.
“No. You don’t have to,” Henry insists. “Especially after today. I want you to feel like you at least have a choice. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. You’re a Culling candidate, not an interrogator. The Culling is hard enough without adding that to your plate. We are all required to observe interrogations, but you are definitely not required to lead them. ”
“I don’t have to, but I will,” I argue, thinking aloud. “I started it and I want to finish it. I’m not afraid of Samson either. And now more than ever we need to know as much information as we can. We needed to know yesterday if Williams is for sure the drifter. I don’t know which outcome I prefer, that he is and that makes Hadenfelt dirty, or he isn’t and Hadenfelt is just even more evil. Either way, he needs dealt with. We can’t deal with an outside threat if we have an internal one.”
Taggert smiles. “I really should think about recruiting women from Omaha for interrogations. You are one smart cookie.”
I feel myself blush. “Thanks.”
The President claps his hands together and smiles excitedly. “So now that’s all settled. This smell! What are you making me for dinner this time, Lyncoln, my boy?”
****
Later that evening, after the most amazing pasta I have ever eaten, I play cards with the President as Henry and Lyncoln take a turn in a meeting of sorts with Taggert. Apparently, there is a full conference room just one floor below us within the Presidential Suite so they don’t have to go far. They’ll conference in with the others back at DIA. I find I don’t mind the meeting because I know that other than myself, Henry and Lyncoln are the two people I know of that most want Hadenfelt gone. The more of us that are pushing for him to be removed, the better.
Afterward, Henry and I talk in his room on the ginormous couch.
“Pancakes or waffles?” Henry asks. Playing This or That has become our ritual.
“Waffles,” I respond without hesitation.
“Books or movies?” he asks.
“Books.”
“Rain or snow?”
I groan. “Neither with where I’m from since we have to work in it. But probably rain.”
He shakes his head. “I disagree. I like the snow. Alien take-over or zombies?”
I laugh out loud, which is the last thing I expected to be doing today. “How about aliens deliver zombies as a means to take over our world?”
“God, I love you,” he grins, not at all seeming to notice how easily he says those words to me. “I think I know this one, sweet or salty?”
“Is that even a real question?” I laugh. “But you like salty things better right?”
He nods and grins again, then stops after a moment. “Would it help if I offered to just run away with you?” he asks with a worried expression.
“What?”
“We can go wherever you want. Omaha. Here. Live like the banished. I don’t care.” He shrugs and rubs my arm with one hand, while the other lazily holds his chin over the back of the couch.
“What are you talking about?” I shake my head confused.
“I used to want to do this for Dad’s legacy. He worked so hard and because of this huge mess with the drifters, the country is still in a fragile state. I’m starting to believe that there isn’t much I can do about that; there isn’t a quick fix. Now that you’re in the picture, all I can think about is how to keep you safe. Do you realize that for the last two years, my dad hasn’t left here much? Sure, to make his appearances, but the cabinet even meets here or he videos in. Remember the room we were in on the night of the attack?” he asks.
I nod.
“There is a room like that within these walls. His office, the bedrooms, and bathrooms are all bullet-proof and blast-proof. So when things got more intense with the drifters, he was confined here,” he explains then adds, “And I don’t want that life for you. I don’t want you to feel like the only place you are safe is up here. I want you to be able to get some fresh air without fearing for your life. And I’d drop out of the Culling in a heartbeat if you wanted to. I’d do anything for you.”
I sigh and bring a hand to his cheek, “I love you for that, but I would fear for my life even in Omaha. Now that I know what is going on, I won’t be able to let go of it until I know it’s handled. I’m a problem solver and have just been handed this huge problem to fix. I fear for my family every day, but I know that the best way to protect them is to stay here and figure out a way to end this war that never seems to stop.”
“You do know that could take years, right?” Henry asks sadly. “Decades?”
“Yes,” I answer confidently.
“And you know it isn’t your responsibility, right?” he adds.
“Yes,” I answer again.
He sighs but still smiles, leaning in to give me a kiss on the cheek. “That’s what I was afraid you would say.”
****
The next day, I convince Taggert to let me take Samson outside for some fresh air. At first he called me crazy since Williams is still on the loose. I assured him we could take as many guards as he wanted and Samson could stay tied up. I’m not sure if I pushed it so hard for Samson’s sake or my own, but with the help of the men in my life, I got my way. We walk around in the same open field from when we had our paintball competition. At least ten guards are with us even though DIA sets right there in the background.
I wear my heavy jacket and gloves as the weather in Denver is turning quite cold. A November day like this makes me wonder what my parents are up to. Is harvest over or just beginning? Are they beginning working in the greenhouses? This morning there is enough moisture in the air and it is cold enough that I can see my breath when I talk. I know there would be leaves all over the ground at home that would crunch beneath your feet when you walk, much like here.
“So,” Samson says quietly. He is also wearing a jacket. His feet are removed from their ties, but not his hands which are down at his sides both cuffed and roped. We walked an entire lap of the field in silence before he spoke first.
Jamie is right beside me and seems to be on pins and needles. He feels somewhat responsible for what happened with Isabella even though I have assured him he isn’t. Needless to say, he will be present for every second of all interrogations now. He doesn’t trust Samson at all. Oddly enough, I do. He isn’t a monster like she was. I can’t explain it. If anything, I trust Samson even more now.
“So.” I nod once. I’m not even in the mood to talk much because I’m in my own head right now. My deadline is tomorrow and then there is the immediate matter at hand. Was Williams for sure the other drifter? He had to be if he felt comfortable just leaving Denver like that. Right?
“So are you ever going to tell me why your neck is red and why I was tortured by that sadistic jerk yesterday before a bunch of guys came in and removed him?” he asks, straight to the point.
He tried asking me the same thing earlier this morning, but I wasn’t ready to talk about it and kind of just ignored him. Our interrogation session didn’t get very far or last very long. Maybe all of ten minutes before I needed to bail before having a panic attack about having killed Isabella. Then I had the idea of coming outside just like I did with Sarge the night Marcia left the Culling. I just simply needed the fresh air. It’s almost lunch time now, but I still thought a shorter session out here might help.
“I was with Isabella.” I stop to rephrase. “Correction. I was manipulated into going to interrogate Isabella,” I explain.
“And the other guy?”
“Is an idiot,” I say like it’s the most obvious explanation in the world.
“Wasn’t she tied down?” he asks confused as his eyes rest on my jacket where my neck is hidden.
“Mysteriously one hand was free,” I say pointedly and feel Jamie tense beside me as I bring it up. I look at him and shake my head as if to tell him to stop blaming himself. He was knocked unconscious. There was nothing he could do.
“I bet she will pay for that,” Samson says with a shake of his head.
“She did. With her life. Williams left me alone in the room with her and knocked my guard unconscious, evidently hoping that I would be killed. When she wouldn’t let go and I was running out of air, I had no other choice but to pull out my pistol and shoot her,” I say the words bitterly. I’m not sure if I’m bitter at Isabella for putting me in such a situation, or bitter at myself for shooting to kill. I take a deep breath and remind myself that she did kill Oliver. These “what ifs” will drive me bonkers.
“Wow.” Samson lets out a deep breath.
“So, like I said, I need to know right now if Williams is for sure the other drifter here. If he is, why didn’t he just free Isabella instead of having her try to kill me? He could have taken her with him. It must mean he has a plan with Hadenfelt or that the drifters wanted me dead. And if he isn’t the drifter, Hadenfelt is to blame. At this point, we are pretty sure he isn’t a drifter, just a naturally evil man. So which is it?” I demand.
“Look. I never thought not telling you would put your life at risk,” he says apologetically.
“And yours too.” I stare him down waiting for an answer.
He finally sighs in surrender. “Yeah, Williams was a drifter, although that isn’t his real name of course.”
It’s my turn to sigh, with frustration. In his position, Williams could have freed Isabella, and Samson too even, and made a break for it. But, he specifically wanted me out of the picture, or in the very least wanted to scare me. Why? Was it under the orders from the drifters or Hadenfelt himself? Or did he just think that it would be harder for more than one person to disappear and took the chance he had while he had it?
“Is Hadenfelt?” I wonder aloud even though I’m pretty sure I already know the answer.
“Heck no,” he says confidently.
Okay, well, that doesn’t exactly mean he’s loyal to the State either. It seems the only thing Hadenfelt is loyal to, is his position of power. So did he make the call to have me killed? Or was he really just as innocent in this as I was and just wanted to rattle me by having me interrogate Isabella? I have a hard time believing that. When pigs fly, as we say in Omaha.
He interrupts my thinking and adds, “You, specifically, were never on our agenda. And to my knowledge, Williams was supposed to stay here as long as possible.”
“Are there any others?” I ask, wondering when I will get to stop living my life in constant fear that someone I love, or myself, is in danger.
He shakes his head. “Not that I know of, but…”
“But?”
“I know that Williams was part of our plan, and a backup to our plan with Isabella. Williams would be killed if he returned on his own will after not following through with his mission. That must mean there is a backup to the backup, or…”
“Or something has changed,” I finish for him.
He nods and gestures with his tied together hands. “There is always a backup, usually three. I wouldn’t be surprised in this case if there were more.”
“Great,” I say sarcastically.
“So what was Williams’ mission?” I ask.
“I’m not completely sure. I only knew of his part in our attack plan and in ensuring Isabella’s safety and cover for the Culling. I’m sure he had multiple scenarios based on how our attack went. He’s been here for years.” He shrugs and then adds, “I never liked him. From what I know the guy is a sadist too, much like your Hadenfelt.”
“I never did like either of them,” I say honestly and think of Williams and Lyncoln’s fight. At the moment, I wish I could take a swing at Williams. At least Lyncoln gave him a black eye though. There is that.
“Now what?” he asks and I know he is referring to his well-being. What are we going to do with him?
“Now you help me figure it out. You won’t lead us to their location, correct?” I ask since this is one of the main topics Taggert has asked me to push.
“No. And since it changes often, they would know you were with me before we got there anyway. It would be suicide.” He shrugs.
“And you don’t want anything to do with the State?”
“No. I understand now that not all of you are evil and had no idea what was going on all those years ago. I just can’t help you destroy everyone I’ve ever known. We have good people too.”
I nod in understanding. “So that leaves it as you helping us figure out what their game plan is. For now,” I offer.
“Okay,” he nods in agreement although he doesn’t have a choice in the matter.
“Are there others like you?” I ask randomly as an afterthought as we head back toward DIA.
“What do you mean?”
“Are there more of you that don’t like the leadership of some of the drifters and are just choosing what they believe is the lesser of two evils?”
“Yeah, I mean, just like this Hadenfelt dude is pure evil, we have our own like that.”
“Interesting,” I say as a plan starts to wiggle its way into my brain.
****
After dinner that evening, I am with Dougall about to get started on interview prep, when a guard I have never seen walks in interrupting.
“Ms. Scott?” he asks.
“Yes? Is everything okay?” My heart begins rapidly thumping in my chest as I wonder who got hurt or what a drifter did this time.
“Yes. Quite okay. I have orders to show you something,” he says with a tight smile and stands at attention, waiting for my move.
“Can this wait? I rarely get enough time with her as it is. The first interview is tomorrow evening for God’s sake,” Dougall says with an annoyed gesture.
“I’m afraid not. Direct orders, Professor Dougall.” The guard stands firm.
“And who am I going to have to argue with about this later?” she asks, clearly annoyed.
“Uh. The former Madam President, ma’am.” He nods and stands his ground again.
“What?” Dougall and I say at the same time. Then Dougall nods to me, “You better go.”
I try to ask the guard what he is talking about on the way to the elevator, but all he says is, “You’ll see.”
Whatever that means. I’m pleasantly surprised I get to get away from Dougall though. I was fully prepared to get reamed for not having made my decision yet. I’m hours away from the hardest thing I am ever going to have to do. My deadline is tomorrow. And I didn’t do it early like she asked either. I was busy with Isabella and the ramifications of our showdown. So this interruption, whatever it is, is welcomed. I don’t need Dougall to remind me tomorrow is my deadline. I’ve been counting down days and hours since she gave it to me.
I’m even more surprised by this whole thing when the guard takes me up to the Presidential Suite. I’m not taken to Henry’s wing but to a different room with a huge couch and television and none other than President Maxwell sitting on the couch. No Henry in sight.
“Honestly, Fredericks, this couldn’t wait?” President Maxwell asks more annoyed than I think I’ve ever seen him.
The guard evidently named Fredericks moves to the TV and is pushing buttons and connecting a computer to the TV with a cord.
“This has got to be the oddest thing I have seen this week and that is saying something,” the President says to me warmly with a smile.
“You don’t know what this is about?” I ask.
“No. Apparently you don’t either.”
I shake my head. “No, sir.”
Before Fredericks has a chance to explain, I hear a lovely voice say, “Are we rolling? Okay, good.”
The President catches his breath, snaps his head to the screen, and cannot peel his eyes away. If I hadn’t been given the clue earlier, I would have most definitely figured out that the woman before me is his late wife. She looks old, very thin, and sick. Her skin is pale and she wears a scarf around her head because I assume she has little to no hair. Although she looks frail, she still has so
me life in her eyes. Her facial features are soft and she has a caring look about her, like she was the best mom in the world.
“Hello,” she says smiling to the camera. “I want to say how happy I am to meet you, well kind of. If you are watching this, it is because you have made it to the final four couples in the Culling with my son.” She smiles bigger then looks almost sad as she adds, “And I am no longer there to meet you personally.
I catch my breath and sit down on the couch. Holy crap! She left this for me?
“I know you are an amazing and strong woman, and I know that my son would do anything in the world for you.” I can see tears fill her eyes with love for her son. “I want nothing but the best for both of you, and I love you, my future daughter-in-law, already.
“I am leaving you this message though, to be given to you upon making the final four, so that you really consider what I am about to say. First off, I love my husband more than I can express. Max, you are my one and only. You are stubborn and strong and a big pain in my butt,” she laughs as she wipes at a few tears that threaten to spill over. She pauses and smiles again, getting control of her emotions.
“This job, the presidency, is messy. I’m sure it hasn’t been long since my passing for the Culling to be called because I know Max was ready to be done long before I got sick. This job is just...” she takes a deep breath and sighs, “messy.”
“I want you to understand that it almost ate my husband alive. The decisions you have to make gnaw at you as you wonder if you made the right choices, especially now as we continue to try to take down our enemy. You absolutely can do this if you want to. You can make it work. You can be there for one another just as we were. But, I also want you to know, that you don’t have to. It isn’t your personal responsibility to fix things because quite honestly, like us, you could live your whole life and still not see them fixed. It is beyond exhausting.
“I raised three children and feared for their lives every day. They were mostly kept locked up here because of that. That is no way to have a childhood and as scary as it is knowing your husband is constantly risking his life by running the country, it is a hundred times worse when it is your own children at risk.” She stops a moment and brings a tissue to the tip of her nose.
The Culling: Book 1 (The Culling Series) Page 49
