by Ryan Schow
With a serious look on his face, he listened intently to the person on the other end of the line, but then he started to speak and what he said shook Marley to the core.
“I heard it should be delivered in a couple of days, but it could be as early as today. It’s whatever they decide. No, I don’t know the size of the payload. Yeah, secure satellite system comms are set to fail this morning so whatever it is they’re going to do up there, they’ll be able to do it in about an hour from now.”
Her blood ran cold.
What was he talking about?
Killian paused, listened, and then he smiled a bit nervously. “Of course, I have a place I can go. No, it’s fully stocked and ready for me long-term. Yeah, she’s here. She’s hot as hell and I needed one last romp to hold me over. No, she won’t be a problem, trust me. She’s smitten, but she’s a throwaway.”
He paused again, listened.
“No, she’s in the shower. I already said I’m not taking her with me. You think I’m gonna let some groupie bitch eat her way through my food supply?”
She wrapped her arms around herself and started to feel sick. There was no way this was happening, was there? It was like she’d stepped into the Twilight Zone where she was the main character and bad things were about to happen.
Killian forced a laugh, but it sounded contrived. “I know she’s sexy, but with what’s coming, I’m not taking any chances. You know how women can turn on you, right? One minute she’s wrapped around your finger, the next minute she’s turning into the anti-Christ. And that’s on a regular day! Considering the days ahead, this isn’t even an option. I mean seriously, if we even survive this thing, girls are going to be the least of our concerns. If anything, they’ll be what we end up eating for dinner if things get too difficult.”
Killian listened for a few more minutes, then he responded with a hollow laugh at what sounded like a joke on the other end of the line.
Dread continued to course through her, a bitter chill hitting so hard it felt like she had ice water running through her veins, and not in a good way.
“I ended up getting that place in the hills of West Virginia,” he continued, unaware of her. “Yeah, Wardensville. Uh-huh. Twenty-two-and-a-half acres overlooking Warden Lake. Two years of food, a hand-pump well, plenty of wood for the winter. No, yeah, I know. Trust me, my friend, I’ve got all angles covered.”
He started to laugh again, but then he fell short and listened closely.
“I know, brother,” he continued after a minute. “The whole civilized world is gonna smell like a morgue with the lid pulled off. That’s cool, though. I won’t smell it from where I’m living. That’ll all clear up after a year, maybe a year and a half on the outset. By then, all the useless eaters will have died. Listen, I’ve got to go. She’ll be getting out any minute. I’ll see you at the rendezvous point when the S hits the F.”
Marley slipped into the steamy shower where she stood under the hot water and tried to still her beating heart. He would join her soon and she wasn’t sure she could be that carefree, smitten woman she’d been only moments ago, not after what she just heard.
Through the steamed glass, she watched the murky shadow of him appear. She wiped the glass and looked at him. He was naked, eager-looking, and smiling, as if he’d had a good conversation rather than…whatever the heck that was.
“Can I join you?” he asked as he opened the door and stepped in the shower.
“I’m nearly done,” she said.
“The call was cut short, and thank God, because…wow, Marley. Turn around, let me see that ass.”
“I think I started my period,” she said, trying to obviate whatever advances he may have in mind. “I don’t want to be gross, but if you had any blood on you last night…”
“I did, but I just thought—”
“I’m sorry, Killian,” she said, interrupting him, “I’m just feeling a little crampy all of a sudden. There’s still hot water for you if you want it.”
“Oh, okay,” he said, disappointed.
Marley stepped out of the scalding hot water and reached for the towel she’d draped over the glass. She got out of the shower and stood on the fluffy rug in front of the vanity. “Did your call go okay, other than you getting cut off?”
“I guess,” he said, standing under the water. “I was talking with an old friend. I wanted to ask him some advice. About you, actually.”
“Me?” she asked, sickened by the lie.
“I know a few weeks back that I said most relationships in D.C. are short and often sexual in nature, and that they are meant to both stimulate and satisfy our physical desires rather than our emotional needs.”
“You did say that,” she said, squeezing her hair with the towel.
All she could think of at that moment was his conversation and her leaving as quickly as possible. As angry as she was, as betrayed as she felt, fear was becoming a far greater factor. He’d used the word payload.
“I was wrong about the whole relationship thing,” Killian continued. “These last few weeks with you caught me off guard. I realize there’s been this prevailing emptiness in my life, an emptiness I assumed money, power, and a job title could fill. But when I measure these accomplishments against my time with you, even standing side-by-side with the President of the United States now pales in comparison. Do you feel like that, too?”
When she didn’t say anything, when she couldn’t get her mouth to move because she was doing everything she could to hold her stomach down, he wiped away a rectangle of moisture and looked at her through the glass.
“I guess,” she said, fussing with her hair.
“You don’t look so sure.”
She couldn’t look at him. She didn’t even want to think of him. He’d been talking about dead bodies, ninety percent of the nation dead, hiding out for years. And to think she had actually let herself dream of a life with this creep…
“I’d geared myself up to having an affair with you, nothing more,” she said, wanting to cut him with her words. “You were going to be my side treat, the thing no one knew anything about.”
“And now?” he asked.
“Now I think I want more side treats. You know, guys like you who like doing things like this.”
“Well that’s not very exciting for me,” he said with a frown.
“When you first proposed this idea of relationships without bonds, I was turned off, but after last night, I’m seriously considering trying this lifestyle on for size.”
“I want more with you, Marley,” he said. “Let me take you to lunch today, maybe make you dinner again.”
“I started my period, Killian,” she said, cold. This ungrateful pig actually referred to her on his call as a “throwaway” and a “groupie bitch.” She wasn’t sure which one of those labels hurt more.
“If it doesn’t bother you, it won’t bother me.”
“My period bothers me, Killian,” she said. “Besides, we should have already been on our way to work.”
“I told them I would be running late,” he said as he shut off the shower and grabbed a towel. “I said I’d be briefing you on tomorrow’s calls with Netanyahu and President Xi.”
“Still,” she said, “you’re going to make me late.”
“Relax, Marley, you’re with me now—”
“I’m not with you,” she said.
“What I meant was that, as your boss, I can cover for you. And as charming and intelligent as I am, I can usually talk my way out of a good reprimand should the situation call for it. Besides, we all know President Kennicot is about as vicious as a wart on a monkey’s dick. I don’t think I’ve seen her scold someone a single day in her life.”
What was in Wardensville, West Virginia? Marley wondered. A retreat, an escape, a hideout? In addition to talking about satellite comms, payloads, and getting to Wardensville, he was talking about the stink of rotting bodies and long-term survivability.
He walked out of the shower, drying him
self off completely. She refused to look at him, even though the more carnal part of her wanted otherwise. Instead, filling the empty space with small talk, she said, “I prefer to live under the illusion that government operates for and by the people. If you’ll let me indulge in that fantasy a little longer, I’d appreciate it.”
He gave a hearty laugh. “Talk about an illusion with a short shelf life! Trust me when I tell you, half of these soulless twats in office are puppets working toward someone else’s agenda, the President included.”
“What does that mean?” she asked as she pulled a hairdryer and a brush from one of the larger vanity drawers.
He wrapped his towel around his waist, slicked back his hair. “It means you could pretty much swing a dead cat in any direction and hit someone who’s on the take, but it would take a microscope and more time than any of us have to spot an honest politician within a half-mile radius of the White House. Have you heard that old saying about power?”
“Which one?” she asked, scared and ashamed.
“I believe it was Lord Acton in the late eighteen hundreds who said, ‘Power tends to corrupt and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Great men are almost always bad men.’”
“Or bad women, it would seem,” she said, referring to President Althea Kennicot.
He sat on the toilet like it was a chair and watched her. “Bad women are more fun,” he joked.
“The President is ice cold, I’ll give you that,” Marley replied, now just making conversation until she could get out of there, “but she seems like she cares about the people, and she seems to both know and abide by the Constitution. I mean, if that’s not a rarity in our profession these days, I don’t know what is.”
“Some snakes can convince you that they’re butterflies,” he said as his eyes slide down her lithe form, “while other butterflies end up turning into snakes.”
Isn’t that the truth, Marley thought as she turned on the blow dryer and prepared for the day.
Chapter Two
Marley McDaniel
Killian asked Marley why she didn’t want a ride into work. “I already texted Uber.” Still lying about her period, she said, “Besides, I have to pick up some tampons and get into a fresh pair of underwear.”
He stood and stretched. “You’d better be on time for the President. She may be above reprimanding the staff, but that’s not to say she won’t drive a knife in your back the moment you turn around.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” she said, pulling her hair into a ponytail. Her phone beeped. She looked down and said, “Looks like my ride’s here.”
He was dressed but not quite ready for the day. She moved much faster. “One for the road?” he asked. Presumably, he’d been referring to a kiss, or a hug.
Marley blew him a kiss despite the persisting revulsion. “See you at work.”
Downstairs, she got into the Uber, greeted her driver, then buckled up and held back the tears. The more she reflected on the conversation, the more she realized there was a major problem, a problem she definitely needed to address with someone of authority.
When she got to her apartment, she changed clothes. Before leaving the closet, the box in the corner caught her eye. It was from her uncle Walker. She opened it up, pulling out the fixed-blade knife and the neoprene ankle-wrap he’d sent her.
She knew her way around a weapon or two, growing up in the Kentucky countryside, but she was less proficient with a blade than she should be for living in the District of Criminals. Now, for whatever reason, she felt like she had to take it with her.
She was about to close the box, but stopped at the sight of the handwritten letter. Shaking her head, thinking of Walker, she muttered under her breath.
“Nut job,” she said.
By now, she had all but memorized his words having read the letter so many times. An unexpected wave of sadness washed over her. As much as she tried, she would never understand that man. Still, she missed him.
“Nut job,” she said again.
This time, she wasn’t sure if she was talking about her uncle or referring to herself.
Was she really going to take a knife to work? She put it back in the box, then closed it up and ordered another Uber.
As she waited for her ride, she reflected on the letter. It was both sweet and concerning. Walker said he wouldn’t be able to be around anymore. He told her he’d infiltrated a globally-funded organization working in conjunction with Marxist/Leninist extremists intent on bringing America into the bosom of Communism. At first, she thought he’d lost his mind. Then, she started to study the many insurgencies that had taken place in other countries. She knew enough about the history of these revolutionaries to know that propaganda, harassment, and violence tended to be the primary tools of their trade. Sadly, she’d witnessed this firsthand, as had most of the country by now.
But an insurgency?
She didn’t see it, not until now. Something nagged at her. Marley went back to the box Walker had sent her and took another look at the letter. She started reading in the middle of the page.
I never thought my group would do what they did. Our organization started as a means of domestically defending freedom, liberty, etc… But now, with these wolves, the only thing that matters is money and a seat at the table. I don’t want to get too deep into the woods here, but if they ever end up occupying or controlling the White House—if you ever feel like a target, or if anything ever kicks loose—take the knife and put it to good use. Don’t stay in the fight, though. Get out and get home. You need your family, Marley. Don’t be distant like me—they need you, too. Trust me when I tell you that the pain of not having family has been crushing. Being apart from them, from you, has been my greatest failure. Tell my brother I love him, that I love all of you. I’m sorry.
The first time she read the letter she sat back and wondered what it all meant. Like some of her family, she’d written her uncle off as having mental issues stemming from the war and his choice of employment. But now, the more she reflected upon his words, the sadder and more concerned she became.
Now that she knew most of the letter by heart, she didn’t cry over it as much. Instead, she prayed for his soul. She also prayed because she suspected Walker was right all along, and that maybe she and her family had been fools for not heeding his warnings.
Later that morning in the White House, Marley rendezvoused with her colleague, Isaiah Wright. Isaiah was a strong-willed black man with uncompromising morals, a work ethic that was second to none, and what she suspected was a tight-knit family from his home state of Virginia. That he confided in anyone was rare, for he was a private person and driven, but that he had confided in her was something she had come to cherish.
In a moment of weakness (as he now referred to it), Isaiah told her that—growing up—his brothers and sisters felt like Isaiah had the best chance of success in both college and life.
“They pooled what money they would have used for clothing, education, and a job, and they gave it to me,” he had said. “Two years ago, my mother died from COVID, which exacerbated her already dire physical situation.”
“What was wrong with her before COVID?” Marley had asked.
“Her age was against her, being in her early seventies, but she was diabetic, obese, and suffering from heart issues.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said.
“Then my younger brother was killed in a drive-by in Detroit. This made me mad enough to want to do something about the crime in America. I was already on this path, but now I had purpose, a clear and direct goal.”
Marley didn’t know what to say. She just listened to him, watching the sadness creep into what was usually a rather stoic expression.
“My youngest sister’s first child was delivered stillborn. Her fiancée promptly left her for another woman—a white woman to boot. Days later, she committed suicide.” Isaiah realized what he’d just said, then seemed to catch himself. “No offense to your skin color, but to be betrayed by this
man who once claimed to love my sister…I guess, God damn that boy…what he did to her, and what she did to us—” He wiped his eyes, looked away. “I am the way I am because I’m driven, angry, and sad.”
The anguish in his eyes had been distressing. She couldn’t imagine the depths of his depression. That kind of loss would have put her in a padded room for sure.
He finished the brief lunchtime conversation with this: “If you want to know anything about me, that’s it. That’s all you need to know. But if you want to keep me as a friend, you’ll never tell a soul what I just told you. Some matters are private and should stay that way.”
Marley knew there was more that drove Isaiah than just the tragedies in his family or the sacrifices they had made for him. For the life of her, though, she couldn’t figure out what this “extra something” was. At first she chalked it off as pride and determination; later she came to feel like it was more than that. Whatever truly drove the man would forever be his secret.
“You’re late, Marley,” Isaiah said.
“I know,” she responded.
“We have to go now,” he replied, irritated. “Put your things away, we’re going to the Oval.”
She dropped her things by her desk and followed Isaiah down the busy halls of the White House, heading straight to the Oval Office where they’d be meeting with the President of Ukraine and his ambassador.
Reportedly, the Ukrainian president was in America on a handshaking mission of sorts; conflicting intel told them another story. Russia had apparently infiltrated the country at the highest levels of government and was actively moving to subvert everything the new president had been doing to purify his corrupted cabinet.
With this intel, both Isaiah and Marley suspected the Ukrainian president was there seeking council from President Kennicot, for the White House had no shortage of glad-handing charlatans, backstabbing roaches, and traitors. To say America was experienced in the vile fraudulences of the bought-and-paid for political filth was an egregious understatement.
