“Pretty sure we’re supposed to call him ‘Mr. Vice President’ now, but yeah, that’s him.” Becks was already with the After the End times when Rick joined us, but they’d only met once, at Georgia’s funeral. Rick had just been asked to stand with Ryman. He’d been in shock, and so had the rest of us.
Becks looked at him critically, finally saying, “I could take him.”
“And I could take you,” said Steve. “Let’s not get into a pissing contest. We both know who’d come out the winner, so there’s no point.”
“Sometimes the contest is the point,” said Becks piously.
Rick pushed George out to arm’s length, eyes avidly scanning her face. That was going to keep him distracted for a few more seconds at least. The fact that George hadn’t pulled away from him yet meant she wanted us to be studying something else—namely, our surroundings.
I turned to look around, not bothering to be subtle about it. Let Alaric and Becks be subtle; I’d play the happy buffoon, a role I’ve been practicing since I was a kid. People underestimate you if they think your only interests in life involve poking zombies with sticks and getting that perfect camera angle.
We were in an underground garage. There was a row of SUVs identical to the one that drove us from the airfield parked nearby, presumably waiting to be needed. The lights were smooth and clear, and the doors weren’t just gated; they were sealed with metal sheeting that looked almost like blast protection. This place was locked down tighter than a bank vault.
Oh. Crap. Feeling like an idiot, I turned to Steve and said, “I’ve never been to the White House before. Do you think we’ll get some of those cool souvenir key chains before we leave? I’ve wanted one of those ever since I saw a video of this one dude from Newfoundland using his to pop a zombie’s eye out.”
Spreading it a little thick, don’t you think? asked Georgia.
I forced myself to ignore it and keep on smiling. Crazy doesn’t go away overnight. Especially not crazy you’ve watered and tended yourself. But wow was this not the time to have an incident.
“I don’t think this is a souvenir key chain kind of visit, but man, it’s good to see you,” said Rick. I turned to see him walking toward me, leaving George behind. He kept talking as he stuck out his right hand, clearly expecting me to shake it. “There were a few points where you went quiet, and I was afraid—let’s just say I’ve had reasons to be worried about your welfare.”
“Really?” I took his hand, squeezing his fingers until that big politician’s smile he’d acquired somewhere started to look strained. “Because it seems to me that if you knew we were having problems, you could maybe have answered your fucking e-mail and helped us.”
“No. I couldn’t have.” His smile died as he pulled his hand away. “And just so you’re aware, if it were up to me, I would have stuck a bow on her and delivered her to your doorstep on your birthday. I never wanted things to be this way.”
Dr. Wynne. Buffy. Rick. How many of the people we considered allies were never allies at all? “But they are,” I said.
Rick sighed. “True enough.” He turned, starting toward the sealed blast doors behind him. His Secret Servicemen continued facing forward, watching us with what I could only describe as suspicion. They were waiting for one of us to do something.
Instead, we just stood there. Finally, Alaric asked, “Are we supposed to go with you?”
“What? Oh. Yes.” Rick waved for us to follow him. “Right this way.”
“Blood tests…?” asked Becks.
“We don’t bother with the security theater here,” said Steve. There was a deep disdain in his voice—less, I thought, for the lack of security in this garage, and more for the idea that the security everywhere else in the world was flawed.
And it was flawed. I used to believe in that level of security, in blood tests every ten minutes and checking your reflexes and response rates constantly. Even as an Irwin, I swore by following the rules. And then I met Dr. Abbey, who maintained the absolute minimum where security was concerned, and I learned that half the tests we take on a daily basis are useless. If you haven’t been exposed or gone outside, what’s the point of sticking another needle in your finger? Those tests didn’t tell us anything we didn’t already know… but they reinforced the idea that we had to be afraid, always, that our humanity was fleeting, maintained only by a constant web of government oversight.
Rick tapped out a code on the keypad by the blast doors and they slid open, revealing a hall that could have belonged in any government building I’ve ever seen. I’m not sure what it is that identifies their hallways, but there’s something in the inevitable combination of beige, white, and green that just screams “seat of power.” Mind, the Presidential Seal etched on the sliding glass doors that had been concealed behind the blast doors didn’t hurt.