Ben’s tie hung loose around his neck, the bottom end of the tie curving off to the right and exposing the buttons on his shirt. Circles under his eyes indicated a lack of sleep. In between emergency meetings with President Zedekiah, he had rushed between Jeremiah’s known hangouts in a desperate attempt to find him. At noon on the second day of Jeremiah’s disappearance, Zedekiah banned his advisors from abandoning their posts. The tightness in Ben’s chest increased with each hour.
“You haven’t heard from him either?”
Mel watched his friend shift his eyes up and down the hall. “I still haven’t, Ben. When I do, I’ll let you know.”
“He can’t be out there now.”
“I know. But you need to concentrate on the situation at hand. Zedekiah’s expecting you in five minutes. Clean yourself up and do what you’re supposed to do. I’ll put out some more feelers to see what I can come up with.”
“You’re a good friend,” Ben said. “To both of us.”
“Yeah.” Mel nodded not out of agreement but to get Ben to hurry up. “Now, go.”
Ben stopped by the restroom to wash his face before hustling to the conference room. Zedekiah’s two top generals huddled around the table. Maraina stood off to the side.
“Sir,” Ben said as he stepped inside.
Zedekiah motioned towards a seat next to him. A map of the city and its surroundings lay on the table. General Arnholtz pointed at Andrews Air Force Base.
“They’ve breached the perimeter here and here. Forty tanks, by the last count, ready to enter. The Russians also stationed their full 3rd Division in an arc around the northeast corner. They’re hitting us in waves. We’ve detected a couple battalions moving to the southeast and expect them to strike there soon.”
“What’s the projection?” Zedekiah asked.
“We don’t even have a full battalion of soldiers there. The wall was supposed to protect us, along with our anti-missile system. When those went down, we didn’t stand a chance.”
“Could you be a little clearer?” Zedekiah’s agitation showed.
“They’re sitting ducks. We can hold out an hour, maybe two. By nightfall, the base will be lost.”
“Do you have anyone you can send to extract any of the soldiers?”
General Boswell cleared his throat. “Um … sir … the orders are to stay and fight. We need them to protect the aircraft until they can be flown to our makeshift base in Fort Lincoln. We got half of them out already. Every extra one we get will make a big difference.”
“Why the hell didn’t you send them south?” Zedekiah shouted. “They’re in range of artillery at Fort Lincoln. We’ll lose most of them by daybreak.”
“We didn’t have a choice,” General Boswell said. “Our fuel reserves are running low. Sending them to Fredericksburg, our other viable option, would unnecessarily waste our reserves, something we can’t afford to do. We have bunkers in place to protect most of the aircraft. Only a direct hit from their largest shells will have an effect.”
“Which is why we’ve been hearing explosions from the northeast,” Ben offered as half a question and half an explanation.
General Arnholtz confirmed. “Yeah. They know we’re sending the planes there.”
Fires burned on the live feed from the base. Orange flames topped with brown smoke unfurled like a giant flag from the control tower windows. A lone shadow dashed inside the flames before curling into a corner.
White sparks dotted the screen while men and machinery moved in and out of the camera’s eye. Hundreds, thousands of men running in patterns only they could determine. Muzzle flashes, sparklers proclaiming a somber Independence Day, flared and vanished, fireflies in the evening air. Ben could almost hear the screams, smell the odor of burnt flesh and metal. Feel the rush of adrenaline course through his veins as though he had returned to the battlefield himself. A soldier raised his rifle above a barricade and collapsed to the ground, the contents of his helmet lying beside him. Ben looked away.
“Call the Chinese premier,” Zedekiah said. “We need them to send support. Tell them we’ll give them whatever they ask.”
General Boswell glanced at his colleague before turning to President Zedekiah. “Sir. We’ve tried. They won’t. Or can’t.”
“Try again!” Zedekiah yelled.
General Boswell licked the corner of his mouth. “Sir. It may be time to consider another option.”
Zedekiah’s eyes burned as bright as the fires from the base. His jaws shook as his fury formed into words. “Don’t,” was all he said.
A large boom echoed through the conference room. Even the air seemed to shake. Mel Ebed burst through the door and took Zedekiah by the arm.
“It’s time to go,” he said.
“Where?” Zedekiah asked.
“To the bunker. Our missile defenses are failing. We need to get moving.”
“What will the people think if they see me leading the nation from a bunker?”
“My concern right now is your safety,” Mel replied, nearly lifting the president in his haste.
Zedekiah hesitated. “They’ll see me. They’ll rebel and go over to the Russians.” A fog fell over his countenance.
“I’ll take care of it,” Maraina said. “Let me make a few phone calls, and I’ll meet you in the bunker in a few minutes.”
“Sir?” Mel said when Zedekiah didn’t answer.
“Yeah.” Zedekiah came out of his haze and nodded towards Maraina. “Do it.”
Ben hurried behind the president, past the portraits of Josiah and Jehoiakim, down the long halls he had walked so many times. Strange how he noticed them now, in this situation, where on a normal day he would have walked by the portraits without giving them a second thought. Not so strange was the other thought which occupied his attention. At the entrance to the bunker, he pulled Mel aside.
“Did you find Jeremiah?” Ben asked.
Mel shook his head.
“Find him,” Ben said and slid behind the closing door.
Mel blinked hard and let out a long, low sigh. He leaned against the wall for a moment and yawned.
“Mel. Take a break. I’ll relieve you for a while.”
Mel looked at his best friend in the secret service and did his best to acknowledge his presence.
“Go. You’ve been on duty for thirty-six hours. Get some rest. I’ll have someone come get you in a couple hours.”
“I can’t leave my post,” Mel said.
“You can and you need to. Besides, the fighting’s stopped. If there’s any time to get some rest, it’s now.”
“Yeah. Alright.”
Mel headed away from the bunker and stopped by the break room. A pair of agents held a conversation in the corner as a television displayed updates from the local news. Mel found a spot on a couch and sunk in. Tired hands rubbed a creased face. Sleep wouldn’t come. Not that he couldn’t sleep but that he wouldn’t allow himself to do so in this situation. The anchor spoke in a voice that was both reassuring and menacing. Mel turned his attention to her.
“President Zedekiah has proclaimed victory for the Atlantic States,” the news anchor said. “His press secretary, Maraina Sanju, released the following statement.”
Mel tuned her out. He had no time for spin and rhetoric when he knew the truth. Only when he heard a name, or thought he had, did his interest return to the television. As the anchor spoke, the view cut away to an open field in the middle of abandoned buildings. Mounds of dirt rose around empty wells dug into the field. Mel knew the place. The southern tip of the island at the confluence of the Potomac and Anacostia Rivers. They had so much hope they’d find water if they dug there. Millions of dollars wasted before they gave up the project and left the unfinished wells like craters on a barren moonscape.
“… where he will be held until his trial,” the news anchor continued. Jeremiah’s photo appeared on the screen. “President Zedekiah has ordered that anyone else speaking out against the government, inciting people to surrender to the Russian criminals, or committing treason in any other manner against the Atlantic States will be held there as well.”
Mel ran out of the break room and headed back to the bunker. Ben heard the intercom and answered. The door opened and Mel ran to Zedekiah’s side. Maraina’s expression wavered between irritated and scared.
“What is it, Mel?”
“Jeremiah,” Mel said, worry taking away his breath.
“What about him?”
“He’s in a pit.” Mel’s huffing made the already nonsensical statement even less understandable.
“OK,” Zedekiah said. “Have him get out.”
“You put him there. Why?”
Zedekiah pulled back and frowned at the agent. “Number one. I don’t answer to you. Number two. What are you talking about?”
“Jeremiah. You had him thrown in a well near Hains Point.”
Ben laid some papers on the table and turned to give Mel his full attention. Maraina’s expression took a turn for the worse.
“Why would I do that? He’s an irritant, nothing more. If you didn’t realize, I have more important concerns to deal with.”
“It was on the news, sir.”
“And?”
“If you didn’t order it, then someone else did.”
Zedekiah addressed his press secretary. “Maraina?”
“Um … yes, sir. I believe we had him thrown in the well.”
“You got a reason for it?”
“He was inciting people to defect to the Russians.”
Zedekiah set his jaw. Nostrils flared in rhythm with his agitated breathing. “In that case, leave him there.”
“I can’t do that, sir,” Mel said.
“You don’t have a choice.”
“Sir,” Mel said. “You can do what you want to me when I get back, but I’m going to get him out. I’m not letting an innocent man die for the sins of your press secretary, and you certainly don’t want his blood on your hands.”
Ben stood up, unsure as to why. Maybe to protest with his friend. Maybe simply to fight. Either way, the blood pumped through his veins as though it would burst through his skin. Maraina stood up with him to protest.
“He’s a traitor and so is Agent Ebed if he goes against your wishes,” she said.
“Miss Sanju is full of crap,” Mel said. “And as I stated, I’m going.”
Mel left the room, nearly sprinting down the hall.
“You’re not going to let him go, are you?” Maraina asked. “He’s refusing to obey a direct order.”
“One I didn’t actually give,” Zedekiah said.
“He’s a traitor.”
“Mel?” Zedekiah said. “Maybe, maybe not. It’s not my concern right now. By the way, how long ago did you throw Jeremiah in the well?”
“Three days.”
“I see,” Zedekiah said. “Did I give that order as well?”
“Um … no, sir.”
“Yeah.” Zedekiah stared at the wall ahead and fell silent. A minute later, he raised his eyebrows and let out a snort. “Three days. He’s probably dead by now anyway. If he is, we’ll know he’s a traitor, won’t we?”
Ben knew the comment was directed at him.
“If, on the other hand, he is somehow alive,” Zedekiah continued, “maybe there is a God looking out for him.
Maraina’s face blushed and buried her nose in the papers in front of her. Ben did the same but not before offering up a prayer.
The failing light cast shadows on the mouth of the well. Echoes of the river, memories from when the Potomac was more than a trickle, played across the screen in Jeremiah’s mind. Distant explosions, white and red, lit up the background.
His third day passed in a haze fading to oblivion. Sounds, voices, hallucinations swirled around the silo which entombed him. A cold, different than any other he had ever felt, swathed his body. He had no idea why he was still alive nor did he care. Nor did any thought cross the threshold into reality.
Each moment measured a breath, each breath the ticking of a grandfather clock slowly winding down. His chest rose and fell one last time.
Jeremiah’s spirit began to soar as though a weight had been lifted from his being. Higher and higher he climbed, swirling around the silo with the voices and the dark and the stench of death. The light drew closer as the walls of the well floated by. A rush of wind dipped down to embrace him, cool, like a dip in the lake on a hot summer day. He had often imagined what it would be to cross from life to death to life. Now, he didn’t imagine. He just felt. And rested. And cried.
“You alright?”
Jeremiah tried to raise his head, but it flopped to the side.
“Jer. You alright?”
Fingers tapped lightly on his face.
“Lift his head. Gently.”
A bottle pressed on his lips.
“Small sips. Good. Like that.”
The water stopped flowing. The large man kneeling next to him stood up, lifting Jeremiah’s body as he did. Jeremiah used his remaining strength to deliver a smile.
The man yelled into the face of the well. “Kevin? You alright down there?”
A voice answered from the pit. “Yep.”
“Can you climb back out, or do you need some help?”
“I got it.”
The man placed his arm beneath Jeremiah’s and helped him walk across the desolate landscape. A single light streaked across the heavens, placed there by God himself. Jeremiah watched as it slid through the gray sky.
“Mel,” he said as the light disappeared into the horizon.
“Yeah, bud.”
“Can you do me a favor?”
“Anything.”
“I could really go for a cheeseburger.”
Jeremiah closed his eyes and inhaled the fresh air.