Tim Washburn: Powerless

He takes her elbow and steers her toward the opposing sofas. President Harris sits and she cozies up next to him.

“When are we leaving for Camp David?”

“Tomorrow night. We have to slink out of town under the cover of darkness.” There’s lingering bitterness in his voice.

Katherine scoots up to the edge of the sofa and turns to face her husband. “Paul, I know we’ve had numerous discussions on the topic, but I want you to send someone to retrieve Juliette and David.”

“I thought we decided not to intervene.”

“Lord knows our daughter is strong willed, but I can’t stop worrying about her. And I love our son-in-law to death, but I don’t know how resourceful he is.”

“Not being able to put together a bookcase from IKEA doesn’t mean he’s not handy.”

“David is about as handy as a toadstool.”

They both chuckle.

The President grasps one of his wife’s hands. “What happens if they’ve left their condo? They could be anywhere in Southern California.”

“Where would they go?” Katherine asks. “I could maybe see them camping along the beach, but I have a feeling they haven’t gone too far astray. Call it mother’s instinct.”

President Harris stands and begins pacing, his hand on his chin. “It could take weeks to find them.”

“I don’t care. I want our only child here with us.”

“What if they refuse to come?”

“For all of her independence, I’m betting a week without running water and minimal food has changed her outlook.”

The President stops pacing and turns to face his wife. “Your instincts are well honed.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I have a small squad of soldiers from the California National Guard keeping an eye on them. Juliette and David are camped in a park down the block from their condo building.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“One, I know they’re fine. And two, I wanted to see how long your resolve held.”

“Damn it, Paul. Just because you’re the President doesn’t give you the right to withhold family secrets from me.” She stands from the sofa and walks to her husband. “Are you going to bring them home?”

“There are some logistics to work out. And there are some political issues we need to overcome. I don’t want to be accused of using scarce resources for personal matters.”

Katherine’s cheeks turn red. “I don’t give a damn about politics. I want—” Her tirade is interrupted by a soft knock on the door to the study. They both turn in that direction.

Chief of Staff Scott Alexander steps into the room. The First Lady takes three angry steps in his direction and raises her finger to his chest. “Out, right this damn minute, Scott.”

A voice behind the door speaks. “Wow, Mom, glad to see you haven’t lost your spunk.” Her daughter walks into the room, followed closely by her husband.

Katherine turns to her husband. “Asshole.”

Those in the room erupt with laughter.

The Peterson home

Anight disrupted by gunfire and death ended with the most passionate lovemaking Zeke had ever experienced. He stirs awake before the sun breaks on the horizon. One more grim job weighs on his mind. He slides from beneath the covers and slips on his clothes and carries his boots in hand as he tiptoes from the room. He eases open the door to the second bedroom and pads across the floor to stir Carl awake. While Carl dresses, Zeke pulls on his boots and steps outside to stir the coals in the fire pit.

He avoids looking at the dead man lying in the yard.

After adding a couple of logs to the fire, he pours water into the coffeepot and sets it next to the coals to warm. Carl pushes through the screen door and eases it closed. He turns and brakes to a halt when he spies the body.

Zeke approaches and says in a whisper, “They need to be gone before the kids get up.”

Carl nods, his head still wrapped in the sling.

He takes Carl by the elbow and propels him past the body, where they huddle close together.

“I’m open to suggestions,” Zeke says.

Carl pantomimes a digging motion.

“Digging a grave big enough for three bodies will take us most of the day.”

Carl shrugs. “I’m new to all this, Zeke,” he manages to say.

“I hate like hell to disrespect the dead, even if I’m the one who did the killing. But we need a speedier solution. I’m thinking of tying them together and using Murphy to drag them as far away as possible.”

“Whatever,” Carl mumbles, not meeting Zeke’s eye. It comes out “wha-evuh.”

“Look at me, Carl.”

Carl slowly looks up to meet Zeke’s stare.

“I need you to be okay with this because I can’t do it alone.”

Carl nods, but then he’s overcome by an intense anger, thinking about what might have happened. “Fuck ’em.” It comes out “fa ’em.”

Zeke says no more as they head toward the barn. He slips the bit into Murphy’s mouth and throws on the saddle blanket. Carl tosses on the saddle and Zeke cinches it tight. They scour the barn for available rope and find enough to do the job. Zeke leads Murphy from the barn and stops near the two men he killed. The horse balks at the coppery scent of the blood that has soaked into the earth. Zeke strokes the horse’s withers and whispers softly to him. He hands the reins to Carl and rolls the two dead men together.

Carl does his best not to look, but he does. He sees two unrecognizable faces. He whips the sling from his head and vomits onto the grass.

“Coyotes,” Zeke says. He lashes the ankles together and ties the rope off on the saddle horn. He takes the reins and leads Murphy over to the third man. Zeke quickly lashes the ringleader to his sons.

With a cluck of his tongue and a gentle pull of the reins, Murphy lurches forward. The three men are heavy and the horse strains to get the three bodies moving. Zeke leads him around the barn and he tells Carl to run ahead and open the gate so that the horse won’t have to stop. Murphy drags the bodies down the ridge and through the grove of oak trees at a slow walk until they arrive at another fence.

Zeke stops and looks back toward the house. “See if you can find a gate, Carl. We need to move them as far as we can.”

Carl walks along the fence line, searching. Midway down he finds an old barbed wire gate held up by wooden poles. He unties the baling wire holding the near post and pulls the gate open. Zeke restarts the horse.

They traverse another hill and at the bottom Zeke spots a thicket of persimmon bushes and steers Murphy that way. At the brush line he has to tug on the reins to get the horse to step through the brush. When they’re deep enough in, Zeke halts the horse and unties the rope from the saddle horn.

Carl makes a coiling motion with his hands. “Rope?”

“Leave it.” He goads Murphy back through the thick brush and they begin the return journey to the house. Carl turns to glance back, but Zeke walks steadily forward.

They spend four more days at Summer’s home. Zeke bagged a deer on the third day and they feasted for a third night, another night where everyone went to bed with full stomachs. On the fifth morning, Zeke’s up early to prepare the horses for travel. No doubt his parents are beside themselves with worry. The only way they’ll know the rest of their family is safe is by Zeke and the rest showing up at their door.

His emotions are all over the place. Summer and he experienced some very tender, exquisite moments—moments Zeke hasn’t had in his life in a long, long time. Maybe never. He continues to beg Summer to come with them, but her fear of abandoning her daughter is insurmountable. With sadness, he finishes saddling and leads all three horses up to the house.