Trent Reedy - Divided We Fall

A woman sitting at the studio news desk appeared on-screen. “I’m sorry to interrupt you, Brian, but ABC News has just received official word from the White House that President Rodriguez is dead, and, as nearly everyone surmised, was killed instantly from three gunshot wounds. We are also told that Laura Griffith, appointed to the vice presidency in the wake of Aaron Henke’s resignation a little over a month ago, is safe aboard Air Force One. For security reasons, we are not being told the location or destination of the presidential aircraft, but we are told that the vice president has taken the oath of office of the president of the United States, and will be addressing the nation shortly.”

Everyone at the party had been watching mostly in silence. I took my comm from my pocket and shut off the living room screen. I hated that guy, but I didn’t want him dead. Now that he was, I knew there was about zero chance of Idaho and the Fed working out a deal.

The party tried to go on, but it seemed like everybody kind of felt more like I had been feeling all night. A bunch of people had their designated drivers take them home. I kept drinking with the few who were going to stay over.

Later that night, I staggered into my room. Someone helped me collapse across the bed instead of falling on the floor. Hands were on my ankles, straightening me out and then taking off my shoes.

“Cold’n here,” I mumbled.

“I know,” said a girl’s voice. “Here.” Blankets were pulled up to cover me. Then a gentle hand ran back from my forehead through my hair, again and again. “If you get sick, there’s a bucket here beside your bed. Go to sleep, Danny.”

“JoBell?”

“It’s me, Becca.”

“Where’sh J’Bell?”

“She had to go home. Her dad won’t let her stay over. You know that.”

“I do know that!” I shouted.

She laughed. “Shhh. Relax.”

“I don’ wanna dream,” I said. “Don’ wanna dream ’bout my mudder, ’bout Boise or nothin’.” Somehow I reached up and took hold of Becca’s hand. “So tired the dreams, Becca.” I was able to focus my eyes on her then. A little moonlight filtered in through the window. “You know what?”

“What?” she said, and I swear her hair sparkled in the moonlight. Maybe I was already dreaming.

I pushed out a single finger and lightly poked Becca in the arm. “Ya ev’n really here? Is any a dis ev’n real?”

She smiled, but somehow didn’t seem so happy. “It’s as real as you want it to be, Danny.”

Yes! This was one of those sweet dreams where I made it with the girl. I sat up. “Yer really pretty,” I said. My fingers traced her cheek, and she closed her eyes and leaned toward my touch. When I could focus my eyes, her lips looked so soft and warm. I slid my arms around her and drew her to me. “If I wasn’t wit’ J’Bell, I hope you ’n’ me—”

Her whole body tensed up, and she took me by the shoulders and gently pushed me back down to the bed. “Oh, Danny.” She leaned forward and kissed my forehead. “Go to sleep. We’ll be here for you in the morning.”

—• out of more than twenty presidential assassination attempts in our history, this is only the fifth time an assassin has succeeded. The previous four presidents killed while in office, Abraham Lincoln, James Garfield, William McKinley, and John F. Kennedy, were—”

“Dr. Langethol, I’m going to have to interrupt you there. Word has come into the CBS studio that the Secret Service has been involved in a shoot-out with a man who has not yet been identified, but who was killed in the firefight. The shooter was using a high-powered rifle. Experts have not had time to locate or analyze the bullets that killed President Rodriguez, but certainly it is possible that the president’s extreme wounds were caused by such a weapon. One would think it would have to have been a weapon of some considerable power. So at this hour, it is possible that the president’s assassin is already dead. Of course, none of that is confirmed yet. •—

—• President Griffith, who had been aboard the vice presidential plane on her way to visit her son, a third-year cadet at the Air Force Academy north of Colorado Springs, was in the air at the time of the assassination, and of course as she was sworn in, Air Force Two became Air Force One. We go now to President Griffith in the Air Force Academy Chapel.”

…

“My fellow Americans, today we are devastated by a national tragedy. I stand before you in this majestic chapel with a heavy heart. A broken heart. We all feel this sadness, suffering a loss that cannot be measured. I have lost a valued colleague and a personal friend tonight, but I know that the death of President Rodriguez is mourned around the world, and that people everywhere share a deep pain with and sympathy for Mrs. Rodriguez and her family. As your president, I promise to do my best. That is all anyone can do. I ask for your help. And now, if you’ll join me in a moment of silence…

…

…

“May God bless President Rodriguez, his family, and the United States of America. Thank you.” •—

The next two weeks were a blur of news and shows about the president. The guy who shot him was identified as Bob Latham Collinder. The bullets in his gun matched the ones that killed Rodriguez, and he left a letter in his Philadelphia apartment, rambling about how the president was destroying the country and how only he could save the world from Rodriguez. He was a world-class nutjob acting alone, but of course FriendStar and tons of other sites were full of people blaming it all on Idaho and Governor Montaine. The governor, for his part, gave a speech saying the assassination was a tragedy and that he appreciated a lot of what the president had done, especially his work in recent negotiations.

They had the funeral a few days after it happened. I didn’t watch it. Maybe I hadn’t wanted Rodriguez shot like that, and in my head I knew it was terrible he’d been murdered, but my heart wouldn’t let me be sad for that son of a bitch who had sent his soldiers to Idaho and gotten my mother killed. I heard Mr. Morgan had brought in grief counselors and everything to talk to everyone about their feelings. I was glad I wasn’t going to school anymore. I tried to avoid it all. Instead, after my hand healed, I worked long hours at the shop with Schmidty, making repairs to the Beast after she’d been hauled in on a flatbed trailer.

That Saturday, as I returned from a walk, I came into Sweeney’s living room, draped my coat over the back of the couch, and took in the scene. Sweeney was sitting back in his recliner. Cal was stretched out on the couch. JoBell… was pacing the living room with her arms folded.

Oh no. This was absolutely not what I was in the mood for.

“You’re not doing it! It’s insane! Look what happened—” JoBell saw me and dropped whatever she was about to say. She smiled. “Hey, babe.”

“Hey.”

“Hey, supper will be ready in about twenty minutes.” Becca came in through the archway between the living room and kitchen, but stopped when she saw me. Ever since the party on the night of the assassination, she had been acting really weird around me. I couldn’t quite explain it, but there was a definite tension. “Oh, hey, Danny. How was your walk?”

“It was… good. What’s going on here?”

“Burgers and fried potatoes tonight.” Then she went back into the kitchen.