“Ben. I’d like to speak with you.”
Ben stood up as fast as his old legs would allow. Both knees popped in defiance. President Zedekiah motioned for him to follow.
“It looks like the attack has ended,” Zedekiah said, “but I’ll need you to look over a few things before I let you go.”
“I’d rather stay here,” Ben said.
“You’ve been here a week. Go home and get some rest. If there is a home to go to,” Zedekiah added. “And take your friend with you. I’ve done just about all I can do for him. I hope he appreciates it.”
Maraina watched through the blinds, nervous like a squirrel ready to scurry around the side of a tree.
“He does,” Ben said.
“Good. Any word he can give before he leaves?”
Ben shrugged. “I’m sure it will be the same he always gives.”
“We’re not surrendering,” Zedekiah said.
“It’s just a matter of time, sir. I really think you should listen ….”
“We’re not surrendering,” Zedekiah repeated. “We’ll make it out of here.”
Ben didn’t like the way that sounded. Maraina shut the blinds.
“Sir ….”
Zedekiah cut him off. “I’m sending my car around to get you, so you and Jeremiah don’t have to walk. I’ll let you know if I need you back here tomorrow. Otherwise, assume you have the day off.”
“Yes, sir.” Ben walked towards Jeremiah. “You heard him,” Ben said. “We’re going home in style.”
The only sound in the elevator was the drone of the wheels as they rose along the cable. Ben removed his tie completely, folded it, and stuffed it in a pocket. Jeremiah let out a sigh and leaned against the wall. The secret service agent accompanying them shifted his eyes from one person to the next.
Even before the elevator opened, the smell of charred rubble and flesh hit them. Jeremiah cleared his throat and buried his nose in his sleeve. A short jerk as the elevator stopped. Mel Ebed pushed a button to unlock the doors.
“You can make your way out,” he said as a comment more than a command.
“I hope Zed lets you off soon,” Jeremiah said. “You could use a little rest.”
“Do I look that bad?” Mel let loose one of his trademark smiles.
“No worse than usual, corporal,” Ben said.
“That’s sergeant to you, lieutenant,” Mel retorted. His expression grew serious. “Hey, be safe out there.”
“Haven’t you heard?” Ben said. “The war’s over.”
“Yeah,” Mel said. “The war’s over and we’re the winners.” His eyebrows arched for a moment. “Anyway guys, I’ve gotta head to the bunker. Take care of yourselves, OK?”
“We’ll be seeing you soon,” Ben said.
Mel made a face as though to say, ‘Maybe not.’ Ben read the expression perfectly.
“One way or another,” Ben said.
“OK.” Mel gave Ben the manliest hug he could muster and entered the elevator.
“Ready?” Ben asked Jeremiah.
The two headed down the remnants of a corridor. A few fires smoldered, but the rest had gone out a while back. Most of what could burn had. Paintings, sculptures, papers, chairs, desks, memories releasing a sickly, pungent incense rising a few feet into the air and falling into pillars of salty ash. Lot’s wife a witness against the presidential palace.
They found the hall leading to the main entrance clogged with debris. Ben clambered over the wreckage only to come back a minute later shaking his head.
“We can’t get out through there,” he said.
“What then?” Jeremiah asked.
“That way,” Ben said, pointing up.
Jeremiah stared at the mountain of rubble. Picking his way carefully, he started to climb. Ben stayed behind to catch him if he fell. Grasping steel bars and handfuls of cement, Jeremiah pulled himself upwards. Each footstep precarious. Each breath more dust than air. His calves began to cramp, forcing a few unplanned rests.
By the time they reached the top, Jeremiah’s shirt clung to his ribs. Sweat dripped off his fingers onto the clutter below. He sat down and rested his feet on a half-buried boulder.
“We can climb down through there,” Ben said, nodding to his right. “It’s almost like steps.”
“Give me a second,” Jeremiah said.
“Sure thing, bud.” Ben patted his friend on the shoulder.
Jeremiah surveyed the scene. Less than half of the presidential palace remained standing. Broken columns, defeated marble soldiers, leaned against each other or lay exhausted on the ground. Bullet holes the size of grapefruit punctured the steel-reinforced walls. Craters large enough to swim in littered the yard. By the driveway, a leg rested on a chunk of marble, the rest of the body missing.
The nausea swelled up in his stomach, caused more by hunger than anything. His head went light, and he planted his arms to steady himself.
“We best get going,” Ben said. “It’ll be dark soon, and you never know what’s going to come out at night.”
“I’ll think I’ll walk it,” Jeremiah said.
“You sure about that? C’mon now. We’ll stop by a place I know where we can still get a drink. On me.”
“Another night. I’ll walk you to the car, though.”
Below, a limo crept around fallen trees and burnt-out cars on a zig-zag course towards the side entrance. Its lights cast phantoms which floated along the western wall. Reaching the curve at the end of the driveway, the car turned off the lights and let the motor idle.
As Ben had determined, the path to safety was little more than a descent down a cluttered staircase. This time, Ben led the way. The final golden rays protruded from the yellow sun. Sooner than later, it would perform its chameleon act, yellow becoming orange turning to red then a soft purple. A show, a reminder, the God of the universe put on each evening for a mankind that no longer noticed.
Ben arrived at the limo and held the door open. One last offer of a ride went rebuffed. The door closed, and the limo made a new, painfully slow course through the maze of broken pieces. Twice, the car stopped to remove an obstacle from the path, each time Ben stepping out to give the driver a hand. Each time waving at Jeremiah who continued on well ahead.
The rumble of distant thunder reached Jeremiah. How long had it been since rain had touched the city? Jeremiah searched the sky for a raincloud. The thunder seemed to echo all around before dissipating. He shook his head and chastised his imagination.
Sore feet renewed their weary march. A couple blocks away from the Presidential Palace, a man stood beneath a billboard talking to himself. Everything felt so familiar as though he had lived this before, as though the Lord was speaking to him, but the cares of the world and the discouragement of his soul had blocked out the voice.
A few more steps and he paused. Hands went to hips. Eyes narrowed as his head turned slightly to the side. He grabbed his bottom lip and pulled. Thunder rumbled again, low and steady.
His eyes grew wide. Feet pivoted and carried him back to the palace. Slowly at first then faster. Heels driving into the ground, pace quickening. Legs stretching out until they hit a full gallop.
One block away. The limo sat by the exit. Ben stood beside the front tire, bent over to inspect it. Jeremiah’s arms rose above his head and flailed at the air. His mouth opened. He heard the screams as though they came from someone else, as if watching a movie in a dream.
The sky rumbled. Waves beat down on him in thunderous pulses. A rush of wind, a flaming dart, raced overhead. Hissing, spitting, smoke trailing behind.
The white-hot blast flung him off his feet. He staggered to one knee, got his balance, and took off again. The helicopter’s rotors beat at the air, making a wide arc, and disappeared into the fading light.
Thick, noxious smoke climbed out the top of the limo. An orange glow surrounded a black figure in the driver’s seat, his hands still wrapped around the steering wheel. Thirty feet from the side of the car, a tall, broken figure lay on the pavement. Jeremiah knelt beside him. His arms pulled the body close. A horrid, wheezing sound, like the gasps of a condemned man as gas fills the chamber, forced itself from dying lungs.
Jeremiah brushed the hair out of Ben’s face. Dark eyes stared at nothing. The mouth opened and shut, opened and shut, words spilling out with his last breaths.
“Jeremiah. Jeremiah. Is that you?”
“I’m here, Ben.” Gentle hands caressed a friend’s blackened cheeks.
A smile formed. “Jeremiah, do me a favor.”
“Yes, Ben. Anything.”
“Bury me beside my Victoria.”
Jeremiah nodded and rocked back and forth.
“And …”
The words stopped. One last breath. Ben’s body relaxed. Jeremiah fell on top of his friend and cried.