Digital Winter (33 page)

Barlow nodded. “Are you praying for us, Jeremy?”

Jeremy blinked and cocked his head. “Sir?”

“You're probably the most spiritual man in the mountain. I sensed that when you performed the memorial service for Baker. I don't think I ever thanked you for that. If I haven't, then thank you.”

“I am happy to help any way I can.”

“Good. Now answer the question.”

“Yes, sir. I pray for our country and I pray for you. Daily.”

“Good,” Barlow said softly. “Very good.” He seemed lost in thought. A moment later, “I have been too. God hasn't heard from me very often, so He may not be taking my calls.”

“I'm sure you have His ear, sir.”

“If things don't improve soon, many of our people are going to be living like they did in the first century. Water treatment plants are off-line, and so are sewage plants. Medicines have run out, and producing new ones is impossible without all the tech we've come to depend on. What was the life expectancy back then?”

“Much of it depended on what one did for a living. Priests and scholars often lived longer than those in farming and trades. Call it forty or so.”

Barlow thought for a few moments. “Jeremy, I've been a marginal Christian all my life. Like many politicians, it served me to speak of my belief in God and my commitment to Christ. Somehow, that seems inadequate now.”

“It sounds like your thinking has changed, sir.”

“I suppose it has. Well, not my thinking, but the way I look at faith.” He looked Jeremy square in the eye. “I know American history back and forth, but I know very little about biblical history or the Bible for that matter. Does the Bible describe what we're going through?”

Another surprise question. “Yes, sir. It does. The more I know, the more I've come to believe that this might be in keeping with biblical prophecy.”

“When you get back, I want to hear about it.”

“Get back, sir?”

Barlow took another deep breath. More rattles. His skin paled. “I've…I've made a car available to you and a driver too. Go get your wife. And the boy. They…they tell me there's a boy somehow involved. Bring them both.”

“Sir, the boy is not family—”

“Enough of that noise, General. Bring them both, and if anyone complains, send them to me.” He grimaced.

“Sir, are you okay?”

Nathan Barlow groaned. Raised his right hand to his chest. “Oh, no…”

The president of the United States slipped from the bench and fell to the floor.

Liam Burr watched the sunset. Normally he would pause to appreciate the beauty of the daily event, but his mind could concentrate only on what had taken place a short time ago. Had it been real? It must have been. The man calling himself Fred Pierce sat in one of the French chairs, his legs crossed, staring at Liam.

“Who are you?”

“I've already told you, Mr. Burr, my name is Fred Pierce.”

“I didn't ask your name. I asked who you are.” Liam sat up. The room began to spin.

“You'll want to take it easy, sir. You've had quite the fright.”

“That's one way of putting it. What a dream. I must have passed out and—”

“No, sir. It was no dream. You have been called to change the world. Of course, as I understand it, you already had that on your agenda. It's why you were chosen.”

“Chosen? I must admit, I didn't like the recruitment technique.”

“I don't imagine you did, but you need to take this seriously. Shade is not a being to mess with.”

“Odd choice of words.” Liam rubbed his eyes, hoping they would clear. They hurt from the frost that had coated them… how long ago? The sun was setting. He had been out for at least two hours.

“Odd? I suppose, but would you call Shade a man? No, siree. He's much more than that.”

“Where is Benito? Where is my aide?”

“Dead, I suspect. That's how Shade works.”

“No. I don't believe that. Benito doesn't die easily…” After what he just experienced the statement seemed foolish. “I have to find him.”

“You won't. If Shade follows course, your man is nowhere to be found. Don't ask. I have no idea. I've just seen his work before.”

The thought of Benito lying dead in some snowy field tugged at his normally icy heart. “Back to the question, Pierce. Who are you and what do you have to do with me?”

“I'm your new assistant. I'm here to help you achieve your goals—well, achieve Eli Shade's goals. I specialize in communication, speech writing…that sort of thing. My job is to make you lovable and trustworthy.”

“And to make sure I cooperate.”

“No. Shade will do that. I'm just a humble wordsmith, among other things.”

“What things.”

“I'm pretty good with technology. That doesn't matter now. What does matter is that you understand what has just happened.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Sure.” Pierce leaned back in the chair and recrossed his legs. “You are dead to all your previous plans. Give up any idea of calling the shots. Sorry, does my American colloquialism confuse you?”

“I speak English and understand American.”

“Cute. My point is that you are now in the employ of Eli Shade. Cooperate, and you'll have more wealth and power than you thought possible. Refuse, and Shade will make you sorry for it. Trust me on this.”

“You've experienced this?”

“You don't want to know.”

Liam leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “I must be dreaming. Things like this don't happen in the real world.”

“Look out the window.”

Liam did.

The shadow faces were back, so many of them he couldn't see the sky behind them. He shot to his feet and backed to the wall. “I—I've lost my mind. This can't be. No, I refuse to believe it.”

Pierce sighed loudly like a parent making a point and rose. He walked to the office door, unlocked it, and flung it open. “Look.”

“No. I can't.”

“LOOK!”

When Liam refused to budge, Pierce took three long steps his direction, seized the front of his shirt and pulled him to the door. Liam was helpless to resist.

They were there. Eyeless but seeing. They filled the doorway and the hall outside. Gravity had no power on them. Some hovered upside down like tethered astronauts or sideways like lizards clinging to the wall.

“No. I refuse to believe.”

Pierce moved Liam closer.

“Please, no more. I believe. I believe. No closer, please.”

Pierce released Liam and closed the door, twisting the lock. “You should probably sit down again. You look a little pale. Not that I blame you. I soiled myself the first time.”

“You're not one of them?”

“I'm one of you, if you catch my drift. I'm just a little more adaptive than you. You'll get used to the idea. You won't like it, but you'll get used to it.”

“What's to become of us?”

Pierce shrugged. “As I understand it, fame, fortune, and world domination. After that, I don't know. Sooner or later we die, but that's true for everyone. What matters now is surviving one more day. Right?”

Liam gave a slight, slow nod.

“Okay, you're the boss. Or about to be the boss. I'll take care of my part; you take care of yours. I'm the behind-the-scenes guy. Your new advisor, aide, whatever. Make up a title. The important thing is that you appear in control of everything.”

The lights brightened. Pierce raised an eyebrow. “And so it begins. The building now has power.”

“How?”

“I have no idea. I gave up trying to figure that out. Here's what I know. Do as you're told, and you see the sunrise. Don't, and you'll be taking a dirt nap.”

“You American's have a way with words. Not a good way. Just a way.”

“I can open the door again.”

“NO—please don't.”

Pierce smiled, but Liam saw no real joy in it. Deep in the man's eyes, he saw terror.

T
o Jeremy's surprise, the facility doctor and nurses didn't take the president to the infirmary but to his apartment. He noticed that medical staff loaded the president on a gurney, covered him from foot to chin with a white sheet, and covered his eyes with a towel. It took a moment to realize they were doing their best to conceal his identity.

“We'll take care of it from here, General.” The doctor said the words as if they were an order. The medic tried to sound in control, but majors seldom gave orders to generals, even new generals.

“I stay with him. At least for now.”

The doctor said nothing, but his expression made a speech.

They covered the distance from the common area to the president's suite in short order. They didn't run. That would bring more attention. Instead, they walked at a brisk pace.

Katey Barlow waited with the door open. She looked ghostly: eyes red, face pale, tremulous hand to her lips. She stepped aside as the medical team entered. A muffled, “I'm fine, baby,” came from the man on the gurney.

“You'd better be.” Her words were saturated with tears.

Jeremy followed the medical team to the bedroom door and stopped at the threshold. He knew his limits. Inside the room was a simple bed, a pair of nightstands and—to Jeremy's surprise—an oxygen bottle, heart monitor, and an IV stand. A table to the side held several instruments, including something that looked like an EKG machine.

It made sense. The facility was meant to house hundreds, including the president. Electronic medical equipment had survived in the hardened structure. Jeremy couldn't imagine doing this kind of medical work without the proper instruments. Then he thought of Roni. She had done plenty of that.

He heard a sniff behind him and turned to see Katey standing in the middle of the small living room. “He's talking. That has to be good.”

“He always talks. He jokes that after he dies he'll still be making speeches.”

“Here, sit. The doctor will let us know what's going on soon. I'll stay with you.”

She sat. “I've called the kids. They'll be here any minute. They'll want to know what happened.”

As she finished the sentence, there came a knock on the door. “I'll get it.” The president's two children waited on the other side of the threshold. Teddy Barlow was two inches taller than his father but had more resemblance than difference. He looked as his father must have in his early thirties. Abigail Barlow-Tate was shorter than her mother and looked half the weight. At first, Jeremy thought he was looking at a teenage girl, but then he saw the lines around the woman's eyes and mouth. He stepped aside. The two went to their mother's side. She hugged them both.

Jeremy closed the door and took a seat in a side chair.

“They're in there with Dad now.” Katey sniffed, nodding at the closed bedroom door. “I don't know how bad it is. General Matisse was with him.”

He inched forward on the seat and told what little he knew.

“He just collapsed?” Teddy looked like a man who couldn't decide between anger and heartbreaking sobs.

“Yes, sir. We were walking and talking. We sat on a bench in the common area. He said, ‘Oh, no,' and then fell forward. I broke his fall and sent for the doctor.”

“He was…I mean…” Abigail's lip trembled.

“Yes. He was alive and semiconscious. By the time the doctor arrived he was fully awake again.”

“Was he…is he in pain?” Teddy pressed.

“Some, and he was breathing on his own. I can't tell you what's wrong.” He looked at Katey. “I assume you know more than me.”