Lee Kerr - Welcome to the Apocalypse

‘Agent Flinch, Mr President.’

‘Yes, Agent Flinch. I have a couple of questions, if I may?’

Agent Flinch nods as he walks through the small door, then disappears around the corner for just a moment. Larry also turns, and at exactly the same moment, so do the other two. It’s as if they are gliding along, responding to his every movement. He notices they are now in a long, white corridor which stretches quite some way into the distance and which also seems to be angled slightly downwards. He follows, determined to keep up with him and not let these rather dedicated men down in any way. He wonders if they knew the people who have just been ripped apart and if there are actually many secret service agents left. The first 50 or so got carved up and eaten while trying to protect the first president, and he wonders how many more have died since that day.

‘What are your questions, Mr. President?’

Larry nods, trying to keep up and trying even harder to focus on the moment, the moment he never thought would come. ‘Why are you addressing me as “the president” and when can I call David?’

Agent Flinch seems to think for a moment as he keeps the small group moving forward, his neck repeatedly turning to the left and to the right as they pass doors with numbers but no names. He eventually lets out a small cough. ‘You will need to ask your first question to someone in a position of higher authority, and as for your second question, I don’t know any David, sir.’

Larry sighs, then nods again, trying to figure things out for himself. He never expected to find himself be here – wherever here is. He has a fairly good idea of what it is, but not its location. When he was expelled from his cabinet duties and told to go home and prepare for the likely end, in whatever way he thought appropriate, that’s exactly what he did. That was three days ago and as far as he could tell there was still a working government, one that was still putting up a good fight, and still had no need of his services. After all, at times like this you don’t really need to hear the views of the Secretary of Housing and Urban Development.

They reach a door at the end of the long corridor and Agent Flinch stops, standing very still and clearly waiting for something. After a minute or so he nods, happy with whatever is happening, and then turns around. Larry has waited for this moment, wanting to get a proper look at him, and now that he can he sees how young the agent is. He can’t be any more than 25, with broad shoulders that comfortably push against all that dark fabric of his suit. He also has the brightest blue eyes that he has ever seen, except perhaps for his David’s. Larry takes a deep breath, taking him all in, already forming a fondness for this young man who resembles a David of many decades ago, already praying he doesn’t get torn to pieces in the name of protecting him.

Agent Flinch nods back, perhaps as an acknowledgement that their fates are now inevitably sealed together, and that whatever happens to one will happen to the other, meaning that Larry’s safety will depend entirely upon him. Or perhaps he’s just filling in time, Larry can’t be sure. He suddenly turns around, just as some sort of mechanical clicking noise starts. ‘Stand still please, Mr. President,’ Agent Flinch says.

He does as he is told; remaining perfectly still and only twitching his neck so that he can see what is going on. He senses something closing behind him before he feels a jolt on the floor beneath them. He soon realises that they are moving downwards: the ceiling above him is moving further away and the white walls are turning into grey concrete slabs. He looks up to see something is closing across the gap above them, and as it shuts completely, it plunges them into darkness. He gasps as he feels the men either side of him taking hold of his shoulders, keeping him steady as this sort of lift starts to speed them downwards.

‘Nothing to worry about, Mr President,’ Agent Flinch says, his young voice still as calm as ever, even if Larry can’t see him. ‘We are travelling down several hundred metres to the most secure part of this facility. There is only one way in and out and that is via this lift. The creatures apparently hate the colour white, which we only learnt recently. They might be able to tear through metal and smash through concrete but they lose all sense of smell and direction when surrounded by white, hence the colour of the walls and no obvious sign of this lift from within the corridor.’

‘So even if they break through that barricade they won’t be able to get down here?’

‘That’s the idea, Mr. President.’

The lift eventually stops and light floods into the small space. Larry has to squint at first, his eyes struggling to make sense of anything. He can see figures in the distance and as soon as the door is fully open Agent Flinch leads the party forward, until they reach a small line of people, dressed in a mixture of suits and army uniforms. When they reach them Flinch steps aside, pushing Larry forward to greet all those who have been waiting.

A general steps forward first; he’s probably a little younger than Larry but still in his late fifties at least. He recognises this guy as one of the generals who was advising the third president in what he thinks was the fourth bunker, but most definitely not the one that led off from the White House or any of those top secret and heavily fortified military bases. ‘I’m General William Phillips and welcome to the final bunker, Mr. President,’ he says as he holds out a hand.

Larry shakes it, feeling the extra padding around this man’s hand, the added girth poking out of his uniform. It makes him wonder when Phillips last saw active duty; although right now it’s not worth pondering over, and it’s not worth mentioning that they have met before.

The introductions continue as he meets a couple of surviving junior officials, the sort who wouldn’t normally meet a president in any normal situation. He shakes hands with a few more army personnel, all of whom seem less senior than General Phillips. He also greets a few secret intelligence people, from the CIA and a couple of government branches he has never heard of. He moves on quickly from these particular gentlemen, remembering that before all of this he had spent many hours campaigning for their budgets to be reduced, so that he could spend their money on affordable housing projects across the country. At the end of the line he meets an admiral, an older man who still manages a smile, although he immediately feels sorry for him as there really isn’t much of a navy left to command.

General Phillips starts to lead them towards another door at the end of the corridor. Larry is flanked again by his agents, and when he looks around he sees that all of the walls in the corridor are being painted white. Everyone is chipping in, from men in proper overalls to the odd soldier with a brush.

Phillips looks over at him. ‘I see that you’ve been introduced to your secret service detail. They are now the last three left in active duty but I’m sure you will be just fine.’ He smiles and winks at him, as if this were just a normal day in the presidential bunker. ‘Now, let’s get you sworn in and locked in the battle room and ready to do business.’

Larry doesn’t like the sound of any of this, especially because they keep going deeper and further away from the world above ground and the person he wants to be with most. ‘Look, I don’t know why you keep calling me president, and I really do need to phone David.’

The general doesn’t turn around as they keep walking towards a white door surrounded by white walls, presumably painted like this to confuse the beast, should it make it this far. He suddenly stops and looks at Larry, a big grin spread across his face. ‘I don’t know any David but I do know the president when I see him, and that person is you.’