In the chaos and noise surrounding the outbreak at the ranch, it wasn?t really a surprise that Senator Ryman?s selection of a running mate barely made anyone?s radar, save for the hardcore politicos who couldn?t care less that people were dead? and me. I wasn?t surprised, although I must admit that I was more than slightly disappointed when it was announced that Governor Tate would accompany Senator Ryman on the ballot. It was a good, balanced ticket; it would carry most of the country, and it stood a good chance of putting Senator Ryman in the White House. The tragedy at the ranch had already put him twenty points up on his opponent in the early polls. The Democratic candidate, Governor Frances Blackburn, was a solid politician with an excellent record of service, but she couldn?t compete with a teenage heroine who sacrificed herself to save her sisters. This early in the race, people weren?t voting for the candidate. They were voting for his daughter. And she was winning.
My team and I offered to head back to California until after the services. While our contract with the senator said ?constant access,? there?s a difference between honest reporting and playing the ghoul. Let the local news film the funeral. We?d do our laundry, give Buffy a chance to upgrade the equipment, and introduce Rick to the parents. Nothing says ?crash course in working as a team? like starting with a major political convention, then moving on to meeting my mother on her home turf. Shaun can seem like a minor natural disaster sometimes, but Mom?s always a seven point five on the Richter scale.
That plan was scotched on the drawing board by Senator Ryman, who took me aside the day after the convention and informed me that it would mean a great deal to everyone if we would attend?and cover?the funeral. Rebecca loved our coverage of the elections, and given his position as the Republican Party candidate, he knew there would be reporters trying to get in to report on the funeral. This way, he?d know the press was reputable.
What was I supposed to say? Buffy can order most of what she needs online, and they have Laundromats everywhere. The only thing that might have been a sticking point was Rick, since he was still moving his personal belongings out of the hotel that had been the base camp for the Wagman campaign, but I didn?t anticipate it being much of a problem. He?d been forced to hit the ground running, and he?d done it without a murmur of complaint. His footage of Senator Ryman?s acceptance speech was top-notch, especially after we had cut it with the video feed of the assault on the ranch. Our viewer numbers have jumped more than eighteen percent since the convention, and they?re still climbing; I attribute it partially to adding Rick to the team. No one else got an exclusive on the Wagman pullout. Add that to the acceptance and the tragedy, and well?
Sometimes in the news, ?luck? is just a matter of ?capitalizing on someone else?s pain.?
March in Wisconsin is very different from March in California. The day of the funeral was gray and cold, with patches of snow dotting the struggling lawn of the O?Neil family cemetery. Emily?s family had been in the area long enough to have their own graveyard. If the old zombie flicks had been right about the dead clawing their way out of the ground, the funeral would have been a blood bath.
Fortunately, that?s one detail the movies got wrong. The earth was smooth beneath its uneven blanket of snow, save for the darker, recently dug patches in front of three headstones near the west wall. Folding chairs were set up on the central green and people sat close together, steadfastly not looking toward the displaced ground. A woman who bore a vague resemblance to Peter?enough that I was willing to tentatively place her as a cousin, if not a sister?murmured to her companion, ?They?re so small.?
Of course. Cemeteries are an oddity in this modern world; since most bodies are cremated, there?s no need for them unless you?re fabulously wealthy, strongly religious, or clinging to tradition with both hands. When you do have an actual burial, you?re not looking at the iconic rectangles of disturbed earth that you find in pre-Rising movies. Modern graves are little circles in the grass, big enough to hold a handful of ash.
The mingled Ryman and O?Neil clans were dressed in the mourning editions of their Sunday best: all blacks and charcoal grays, with the occasional hint of off-white or cream in someone?s shirtfront or blouse. Even the little girls, Jeanne and Amber, were wearing black velvet. Shaun, Buffy, and I were the only attendees who weren?t related to the family; the senator?s security detail?a combination of the campaign agents and the new guys from the Secret Service?had stopped at the cemetery gates, guarding the perimeter without disturbing the ceremony. We were the privileged few, and everyone knew it. More than a few unpleasant looks had been tossed our way by the relatives as we moved into position.