The Future Will Be BS Free Page 22

  “I have an idea for that.” A guy not much older than me stood, his hand in the air. “It’s got to be quick, so we identify, say, ten qualified candidates. We hold a televised debate with a truth app running in the corner of the screen, and right after the debate, people vote electronically. The tallies show up in real time. An hour later”—he snapped his fingers—“we have an interim president.”

  “How would that carry any legitimacy?” a gray-haired guy in a sweatshirt called. “Who are we to run a presidential election?”

  A woman in a charcoal suit stood. “Well, I’m a U.S. senator. Larissa Wasserman. There are at least two House members present as well—”

  A guy in the back of the theater leaped out of his seat. “Soldiers. Coming this way.”

  People headed for the exits, rushing, but not panicking.

  I bolted from the stage and huddled beside Rebe, who was on her phone. She brought up a live feed of soldiers packed into speeding transport vehicles.

  “Where is that?” Mom asked.

  “Six blocks from here.”

  Shrieks from the lobby pierced the air. It sounded like people in pain. We raced to the lobby as gunfire erupted outside. A dozen people were sitting on the floor, others kneeling beside them or standing over them.

  “Heat guns,” someone said.

  The gunfire went on. It sounded like it was coming from the roof, where some of the vets had taken up positions.

  “An advance force, to pin us down until the main force arrives,” Mom said. “We have to get out now.” The last few words were drowned by escalating automatic weapon fire outside.

  “We’re too late.” Mr. Chambliss was kneeling, peering through the bottom of a window. “Looks like a full battalion.”

  “What’s a full battalion?” I asked Mom.

  “Three to six hundred troops.” She raised her voice. “Do we know whose they are?”

  “Vitnik’s,” Rebe called over the gunfire.

  Mom pounded her forehead with the heel of her hand. “This was so stupid. Too many people knew about it. I should have turned us back as soon as I saw all these people.”

  Most of the gunfire stopped. A megaphone blared to life. “You are in violation of the ban on possession of lie detection devices. Exit the facility five at a time with your hands up.”

  “Don’t do it,” Mr. Chambliss said. “They’ll drag you away and shoot you.”

  Silhouette was beside me, her feed open, thousands of penny-sized screens swarming above her. Now that we’d been found, there was no need to maintain Internet silence.

  “If any of your followers happen to know General Austin, tell her it’s time to get her ass off the fence,” I said. “Either she’s okay with Vitnik slaughtering civilians, or she should get down here and stop it. We could use a little help.”

  “That’s for damned sure,” Silhouette said.

  “We could try to punch a hole in their perimeter, get the kids out,” I heard Beltane saying to Mom.

  “They’ll close ranks around us as soon as we’re outside,” Mom said.

  “Maybe use that against them? One group tries to punch through as a diversion, then another punches the kids through a thinned-out spot?” Beltane suggested.

  “Vitnik’s here,” Rebe said, eyes on her screen.

  Mom turned. “Where?”

  “A kid snapped a picture of her coming out of FBI headquarters two blocks away, and posted it to Patterlink.”

  “She wants to be here to gloat when they drag us out,” I said. They were going to broadcast our execution live on News America.

  Mom was staring into space with that unfocused look, her mouth a tight, angry line.

  “Mom?” I said.

  She snapped out of it, turned to Rebe. “I need a map of this area.”

  The map flashed to life. Rebe expanded it, rotated it to face Mom.

  “Beltane?” Mom pointed at the map as Beltane joined her. “We go roof to roof to the far end of the block. Then a fifty-four-foot jump over Ninth Street to the roof on the far side.”

  “Piece of cake,” Beltane said.

  “Drop to ground level on Eighth, circle around to the FBI building. Let’s assume they’re all in bulletproof gear, so we close and dispatch hand to hand.”

  I had to stifle the cry of hope rising in my throat. They were going to try to take Vitnik. Brilliant. My mother was brilliant.

  “Rebe, any updates to Vitnik’s location, send them immediately,” Mom said.

  “You got it.”

  “Hold them back, whatever it takes!” Mom shouted to Mr. Chambliss as she and Beltane headed for the stairwell.

  Outside, the guy with the megaphone had gone from barking orders to making threats. We had eight minutes to comply.

  “They’ve got a howitzer!” Mr. Chambliss shouted from the window. “If there’s a basement, everybody get in it.”

  People headed for the stairwell. We waited until most of them were down before following.

  The basement was a dingy, low-ceilinged space with a concrete floor and exposed two-by-fours. It was packed with people.

  “I’ve got live feed of Vitnik.” Rebe worked her phone. “I’m sending it to Melissa and Beltane.”

  The feed was being sent from a window maybe two blocks from Vitnik, who was standing in the street with the vice president, intently watching a feed of the assault on the theater. I counted six soldiers surrounding Vitnik and the VP, plus one Secret Service agent. The agent was Xavier Leaf. One of the soldiers had a grenade launcher mounted on his rifle. Their faces were framed in the tight hoods of bulletproof jumpsuits.

  All over the room, people watched the feed, silent.

  “Holy crap!” a girl’s voice cried over the feed.

  Mom and Beltane had gotten a long running start and were coming around the corner at a good forty miles per hour. Beltane was in the lead, holding a manhole cover in front of her face, with Mom drafting on her heels. They were an awesome sight. Holy crap was right.

  They got within fifty feet of the soldiers before anyone noticed. Two of the soldiers were quick enough to open fire before Beltane reached them, but the soldier with the grenade launcher wasn’t one of them. Beltane plowed into them with the manhole cover.

  It was a horrific sight. Beltane went straight at the soldier with the grenade launcher; the steel plate hit him face-first, and he went down like he’d been yanked. Beltane ran right over him and slammed into another soldier, who was thrown into yet another.

  Mom had broken off when they reached the soldiers. She’d taken one down while I was watching Beltane; he was writhing on the pavement. Mom kicked a second in the spine, then spun and threw a side kick to Xavier Leaf’s pelvis. Even with the microphone a good two hundred yards away, I thought I heard it snap.

  Mom got her hands up to cover her face just as one of the two soldiers still standing hit her point-blank with a burst from his assault rifle. I shouted as Mom fell backward and writhed on the ground as the bullets went on pelting her.

  Beltane’s fist came out of nowhere, landing right on the soldier’s face. He crumpled like a deflated doll.

  Beltane looked around, spotted Vitnik halfway down the block, heading toward the soldiers outside the theater. The president made it three more steps before Beltane tackled her from behind, taking her down hard.

  As a roar went through the room, all eyes on Beltane, I watched Mom in the foreground. Almost doubled over with pain, she was standing over Leaf. She said something, then stomped on his leg. Then she stomped the other one.

  I knew exactly what she’d just said: This is for Theo Harlow. And this is for Kelsey Cook.

  “Look out!” someone shouted.

  Soldiers had spotted Beltane and Vitnik. Dozens raced toward them, rifles raised. Except they couldn’t fire, because t
hey’d hit Vitnik.

  Beltane grabbed Vitnik around the neck and took off, dragging her down the street at thirty miles per hour. One of Vitnik’s shoes popped off and bounced after her before rolling to a stop. Mom led the way as they disappeared around the corner.

  Basquiat wrapped his right arm around my neck and drew me close to him. He had his left arm around Molly. I wrapped one arm around his waist and the other around Rebe’s as we formed a tight circle. What a beautiful day it had become. We might not be killed after all.

  A clacking sound rose in the stairwell—bladed feet coming down the steps. The door burst open. Mom stepped through and held it open for Beltane, who dragged Vitnik through, then dropped her like a sack in the center of the room. Vitnik thumped to the floor and immediately clutched her neck, gasping. Both of her shoes were missing; her heels were a raw, bloody mess from being dragged along rough pavement at high speed.

  Beltane bent and frisked the president. She pulled something from her jacket pocket and held it out.

  A pair of truth app rings.

  “We’re supposed to shoot you on sight for having these, isn’t that right?” Mom asked.

  Slowly, carefully, Vitnik sat up. “You can’t allow your enemy to have a tactical advantage. No matter how dangerous a weapon, if your enemy has it, you damned well better have it, too.” She looked right at me. “I warned you. I told you the world couldn’t handle these things.”

  “I don’t recall that. I was having some trouble with my hearing at the time.”

  “I’ll do whatever it takes to protect the American people.” Vitnik drew her knees up toward her chest, wincing as her heels left bloody skid marks across the tile. “You still don’t get that you are the bad guys here. You’re going to be remembered long after I’m forgotten. Whether as evil or just incredibly stupid, I don’t know.”

  The needle on the truth app didn’t budge. She really believed that.

  “Keep her here.” Doubled over, one arm pressed to her stomach, Mom headed for the stairwell. I caught up to her and helped her up the stairs.

  “Are you all right?”

  “My arm is broken. Some ribs.” Her breathing was sharp and shallow.

  At the ground floor I opened the door for her.

  Mr. Chambliss rushed over. “Are you all right?”

  “Nothing serious.”

  Mom headed for the front doors, pushed one open a foot, and shouted, “Move one step closer, and Vitnik dies!”

  No reply.

  “You’ve got five minutes to stand down. If you’re not out of my sight by then, we start pulling off her fingers and tossing them out to you.”

  The graphicness of the threat surprised me, but I was sure it was a bluff.

  “We’re sending a negotiator to you,” Megaphone Man said. “She is unarmed.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Mom let the door swing shut and sank to the floor.

  Mr. Chambliss sat beside her. “What are you thinking?”

  “They allow everyone to walk out. I stay behind with Vitnik. Once I get verbal confirmation from Sam that you’re free and clear, I execute Vitnik.”

  “Mom, no way.”

  Mom squeezed her eyes shut. She was completely spent. “She’s not leaving here alive.”

  “If you kill her, they kill you. It’s not worth it, just to get revenge.”

  “It’s not about revenge.” Mom’s voice was hoarse. “If she goes free, she’ll keep coming after you until she kills you. She has to stop you; it’s the only way she can change the narrative and retake power.”

  “Tanks!” Beltane called.

  Mr. Chambliss and I helped Mom up. A line of tanks were rolling down the street. They were shiny and black, bubble-topped.

  Mom looked like she might throw up. “They have to know we’ll kill Vitnik the second they start firing those.”

  “The VP got away. Maybe he’s giving the orders now,” Beltane suggested.

  Mom turned to Beltane. “Go downstairs. If they shell the building, put a bullet in Vitnik’s head immediately.”

  Beltane headed for the stairwell.

  Outside, the lead tank pulled to a stop. Its long turret rotated.

  Away from us.

  Toward Vitnik’s troops.

  The speaker in the lead tank was way louder than the guy with the megaphone. “Back off, sandbags, or we will turn you into airborne ground beef.”

  “Austin,” I said.

  “How do you know?” Mom asked.

  “I called her out on Silhouette’s feed. I wasn’t sure if she’d come, or whose side she’d be on if she did, but I figured it was worth a shot.”

  Mr. Chambliss grabbed my head in both hands, bent, and kissed my cheek. “Beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

  Mom pulled a handgun from her belt. “Beautiful is right.” She limped toward the stairwell.

  “Mom.” I knew exactly what she was planning to do. I had as much reason to hate Vitnik as she did, but the thought of executing Vitnik made my stomach churn. Here, of all places.

  I caught her halfway down the stairs. “Don’t do this. This isn’t who we are.”

  “Melissa, don’t,” Mr. Chambliss called after us.

  Mom pushed through the door, stumbled from the effort, and fell to one knee. She struggled to her feet and headed toward Vitnik, who was right where we’d left her on the floor.

  “We are not the Pilgrims of Truth. We’re not Vitnik.” I wrapped my arms around Mom’s waist and tried to stop her. She pulled me along effortlessly with her bionic legs until she was standing in front of Vitnik.

  Vitnik looked up at her.

  Mom spit on her, then turned away, into Mr. Chambliss’s arms. She pressed her face into his shoulder.

  “I think we’re safe,” I said loud enough for everyone to hear. “General Austin’s forces are outside—”

  The door swung open. Senator Wasserman came through, followed by General Austin in military dress uniform and flanked by two heavily armed soldiers.

  General Austin spotted Vitnik and strode over to her.

  “I never liked you. Even before the big revelation, I thought you were a histrionic clown,” Austin said.

  Vitnik didn’t look up. “I guess we’ll see if you can do any better.”

  “Me?” Austin chuckled. “You’re so obsessed with being important you can’t imagine someone being motivated by anything but power.” She turned to face me, gave me a knuckle-grinding handshake while looking me up and down.

  “My ass is not completely off the fence about this. You’re going to have to convince me.” General Austin looked around, then turned back to me. “Silhouette Lark said there’s some kind of a think tank going on here. Fill me in on what the tank is thinking.”

  I wasn’t nervous. I should have been, but I wasn’t. My friends didn’t look nervous, either, except for Boob, back from New City for the moment and sitting in the front row of Ford’s Theatre watching the rest of us prepare to moderate a debate that was hopefully going to stave off an apocalypse.

  Mr. Chambliss looked nervous. As I scanned the candidates, sitting in chairs we’d dragged onto the stage from various rooms, Mr. Chambliss caught my eye and glared.

  What the hell have you gotten me into? his eyes asked. Not just me. It had been my idea, but everyone had pressured him, especially Mom.

  Ten candidates. Ten people who had some sort of leadership experience and weren’t afraid to face the truth app while millions watched.

  Silhouette did the opening. Senator Wasserman had wanted her to read from a teleprompter; Silhouette responded by feigning sticking her finger down her throat. When she was finished explaining how this would work, and how viewers could vote afterward, she invited me to ask the first question.

  I stepped up to a candidate at random and looked for his n
ame on the note card I was holding. “Mr. Elling, are there things about you that you wouldn’t want anyone to know?”

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  “Can you tell us what those things are, please?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “All of them?”

  “Start with the worst. Ms. Lark will signal when your time is up.”

  As the congressman from North Carolina began confessing to a career built on doing favors for people with money, I checked Mr. Chambliss, who looked like he was getting ready to swallow a mouthful of bugs. He was right to be afraid. I wanted him to be chosen, but we’d go just as hard on him as we planned to on everyone else.

  Even assuming enough people are foolish enough to vote for an unemployed science teacher for president, why in the world would I want to be president of the United States of Titanic? he’d asked when I told him we wanted him to be one of the candidates.

  I understand you don’t want to do it, I’d shot back. That’s one of the reasons you’d be perfect.

  In the end, Mom had been the one who persuaded him.

  * * *

  —

  I stepped up to Mr. Chambliss. “You know the drill. Give us your worst.”

  Mr. Chambliss raised his eyebrows. “For starters, I was complicit in a scheme to rob veterans’ graves for parts.” He folded his arms across his chest. “I can probably stop there. That alone makes me unfit for this position.”

  “Maybe it does, and maybe it doesn’t. Go on.”

  Mr. Chambliss glared up at me through bushy white eyebrows. “You’re enjoying the hell out of this, aren’t you?”

  “No.” I wasn’t enjoying watching Mr. Chambliss squirm. I trusted him—I honestly thought he was the best chance we had. I waited.

  “Fine. Remember that picture I showed you, of me with my unit? They’re all dead. All my friends died, including my first wife. None of them made it home. Not one.”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand. Why is that second on your list? Why is that something you don’t want people to know?”