The President's Shadow (30 page)

M
arshall, I know you have a gun,” Ezra says, cocky as ever.

Marshall stays quiet, hands still in the air as he slowly limps backward, next to me. He’s on my left, looking like he’s about to collapse. Nico and Clemmi are on my right.

“You really do look terrible,” Ezra adds, his antique pistol still pointed at Marshall’s chest. “Now toss me your gun, or you can have a far messier problem. I’m counting to two. One…”

“…two, three, four, five,” Nico whispers, confused. He’s on Planet Nico, barely noticing Ezra’s gun.

Marshall still doesn’t move. I know his gun’s in the back waistband of his pants.

Ezra rolls his eyes and pulls the trigger.

Blam!

There’s a black puff of smoke from the old pistol. Blood explodes from Marshall’s good shoulder. He crashes back into the brick and lets out a grunt that sounds like a wounded animal. But somehow, he’s still on his feet.

“
Marsh…!
” Clementine shouts, starting to run, then stopping as Ezra points the gun at her, then at Nico, then back at me. What catches my eye, though, is the way Ezra keeps staring at Nico, like he’s a Hollywood star.

“Beecher, put the stupid oxygen tank down,” Ezra warns. “Same with the shovel, Nico.”

I lower the tank to the ground. Nico whispers something else to himself and does the same with the shovel. The metal clangs against the brick.

I can’t stop staring at Mina’s backpa
ck. If Ezra hurt her—

“You, I’m pissed at,” Ezra says to Clementine. And
you
…” he says, turning back to Marshall. “You really should’ve taken me up on my offer. Now. For the last time: your gun.”

From the back of his pants, Marshall pulls out his gun and tosses it to Ezra. It skips across the brick, stopping just shy of Ezra’s feet.

“The pain must be unbearable at this point, huh?” Ezra asks as he picks up the gun. “And when you add that to the bullet from yesterday… I assume you know about the poison, yes?”

Breathing hard though clenched teeth, Marshall doesn’t answer.

“To be honest, I’m amazed you’re still with us. According to the Knights’ diaries…”

“
Knights?
” Nico asks, startled awake.

“…it really does a number on you,” Ezra says, still locked on Marshall. “In fact, if you weren’t covered in those burns, you’d see that your skin was slowly turning yellow. Know what that means? You’re in liver failure, Marshall. But maybe that’s the one benefit of being such an ugly mess. Your body’s too stubborn to realize you’re already dead.”

“
I-I’m…going…to…murder you
,” Marshall warns, sagging down till his ass hits the ground. Clementine wants to run to him. Nico again whispers something to his imaginary friend. They’re having a full conversation.

“See, that’s why I wanted you to join me, Marshall. You would’ve made my grandfather proud.”

“
Your
grandfather? You mean the
real
Ezra’s grandfather?” I jump in. “You realize how sick you are, Kingston?”

He doesn’t even react as I say his real name.

“You hear what I said? We know you killed Ezra and took his li—”

“Oh, will you please stop with the righteousness?” Ezra asks, stealing another quick glance at Nico, whose whispering is still going. “You think a name matters? Ezra had all the money and toys he’d ever need in his life, and he didn’t appreciate any of it. Last year, yo
u
should’ve seen the fit he threw when he realized his new car didn’t come with seat warmers. And when it came to his heritage—to what his grandfather left him—he didn’t understand the mission. He didn’t see the potential. He saw it as an embarrassment! An
embarrassment
! Can you imagine, Beecher!? All that history—all those years of keeping the country safe—and he wanted to throw it in the trash.”

“So instead you killed him.”

“No, I did what the mission required—what the Knights have always required. If you want to keep this country safe, hard choices must be made,” Ezra says. “And Nico, if you don’t stop with the mumbling, I’m going to shoot your daughter in the face!”

I wait for Nico to attack. Instead, he’
s
listening intently, and not to Ezra. Whatever his imaginary friend is saying, it’s wrecking him. I’ve never seen him scared before.

“Do you even realize how little sense you’re making?” I ask Ezra. “You keep talking about this grand mission, but how does sneaking into the White House and threatening the President keep this country safe?”

Ezra’s eyes roll sideways, away from Nico and back to me. “
Threatening
the President?” Ezra laughs at that, a deep
rat-a-tat-tat
laugh that cuts like a childhood taunt. “Beecher, the only reason I was at the White House was to show President Wallace how vulnerable he is. And more important, to tell him we can help.”

Help?
I look over at Marshall. He’s still down on the ground, clutching his shoulder. But he’s just as confused.

“You really are lost, aren’t you, Beecher?” Ezra asks.

“I thought— For you to chase us here…to be searching for my father’s files…?”

Ezra smiles, his laugh long gone. “Why would I want your dead father’s files? I told you before, for centuries, the mission of the Knights has never changed: We keep this country safe. So ask yourself the question: When it comes to that safety, who’s the one walking time bomb who wants to slaughter the President and put us all at risk?”

Oh, God.

On my right,
I
finally make out what Nico’s whispering. “
I’m the sinner… I’m the sinner.
”

Ezra points his gun at his real target. “This isn’t about the Ring, Beecher. Or even about
you
.”

Without another wor
d
, Ezra takes aim at Nico Hadrian. And pulls the trigger.

D
on’t…!”

Too late. Ezra’s finger squeezes the trigger.

Diving to my right, I’m still in mid-syllable as I grab the scuba tank of oxygen and leap in front of Nico. I hold the tank to my chest and shut my eyes.

Tot, I’m sorry I won’t be there for you.

Afraid to hit the scuba tank, Ezra jerks the pistol upward just as the gunshot goes off. There’s a black puff of smoke and a sulfurous smell. The musket ball whizzes above us, hitting with a deafening
crack
. Shards of shattered brick rain down on our heads. The brickwork is so old and damaged, half the ceiling comes with it, drizzling pieces on all of us.

“Are you that much of a moron?” Ezra growls. “Get out of the way, Beecher.” He aims his gun straight at me. I’m still standing directly in front of Nico.

“You know what happens if you do it,” I warn, holding the oxygen tank at my chest.

“That’s who you want to protect? Nico? The poster boy for lunatics who’s been on a murdering tour all week? Did Clementine tell you? He killed a retired colonel! Pulled the skin from his fingers! You think he’s not taking another shot at the President? Ask him yourself. Nico, do you want President Wallace dead?”

Behind me, Nico’
s
blinking brick dust from his eyes. As Clementine rubs his back, he’s staring down at the floor, muttering to himself. “
…ere should just be four. Always four. Take the sinner away…that’ll leave four.
”

“Are you even hearing him right now?” I ask Ezra. “There’s a reason we have courts. And insane asylums. Nico may be crazy, but he has rights.”

“That’s what you want for him? He’ll get his day in court and then
what
? Escape again?”

“So you should shoot him in the head? That’s your solution?”

“I’m not having a morality debate about our judicial system, Beecher. In the Knight
s
, we have one way to deal with things. The Culper Ring has another. But I promise you this, from Nazi scientists to Lee Harvey Oswald, the world is a far safer place with us in it.”

“Then take your shot,” I challenge, still holding the oxygen tank at my chest.

Ezra’s jaw shifts to the side. “In the movies, when you puncture an oxygen tank, it explodes. But in real life, it’s not a bomb—it just lets out a hiss.”

“All I know is that at the end of
Jaws
, this is what they used to take out the big shark. So I don’t care how much
MythBusters
you watch, I got faith in Spielberg. Take your damn shot.”

“You think I won’t?”

“I know you won’t. And y’know why? Because if you were all about keeping America safe, you’d have already risked your life and pulled the trigger. But Ezra…or Kingston…or whatever the hell your name is now…you’re not in this for safety. You’re in it for
glory
. That’s your flaw. This isn’t about the good of the country, or doing what’s right. You crave status. That’s why you thought your roommate’s life was so great. That’s why you wanted his dead, rich grandfather for your own. And that’s why you carry that dumb photo in your wallet that Clementine told us about. You’re as shallow as any other spoiled shit who thinks that a photo with the President means that you’re a member of the private club. So know this: The Knights of the Golden Circle weren’t hunted for their philosophy. They were hunted because they’re selfish elitists who think they know how to run the world better than the rest of us. And that’s why you’ll always lose. You’re not fighting for what’s
right
. You’re fighting for
yourself
.”

Ezra presses his lips together into a thin line. “You done yet?”

“I think so.”

Cocking his head to the side, Ezra lowers his gun, aims at my leg, and pulls the trigger. A puff of smoke erupts from the pistol. A bee sting bites my thigh. I see the hole—the size of a quarter—before I register the pain. Blood, charred skin, and bits of my pants run down into it. In shock, I stick my finger in it. There’s a hole.
He shot me
, I think as time unlocks and starts rolling forward.

“
Fuuuh…!
” I shout, grabbing my thigh.

“
—
eecher! Beecher!
” Marshall shouts, still down on the ground, trying to get my attention. He points to the scuba tank. “Don’t let go of the—!”

Too late. My leg’s on fire. I crumple in pain. The oxygen tank tumbles from my hands.

No. It’s
pulled
from my hands. I’m hunched forward, in mid-fall. Next to m
e
, Clementine’s just a blur. In one fluid movement, she races in, rips the scuba tank out of my hands, and heads straight for her target: straight at Ezra
.

Clemmi, don’t!
I shout in my head.

Nico grabs at her arm, trying to hold her back.

She’s already moving too fast. Barreling toward Ezra, she holds the oxygen tank out in front of her like a shield.

Enraged and without even hesitating, Ezra raises his gun, points it at her, and again pulls the trigger.

There’s another puff of black smoke as the musket ball hurtles directly at the scuba tank.

The impact isn’t loud. But it is devastating.

T
here’s a vicious pop. By the time I hear it, the punctured oxygen tank is already at lift-off, the sudden release of pressure turning it into a steel-plated bottle rocket that erupts upward.

I try to yell something. Clementine and Ezra are knocked backward, floating in mid-air.

It all happens so violently and so fast. With the dungeon’s low ceiling, the scuba tank has nowhere to go. In an eyeblink, i
t
pummels into the roof, then ricochets and reverses course, pulverizing the ground, then rising back up again, zigzagging with reckless ferocity.

Zuung…zuung…zuung…

I was wrong before; it isn’t a bottle rocket. It’s a thrashing, tumbling missile. Ceiling, floor, ceiling. Each impact hits like a wrecking ball that’s whipped back and forth. Up above, the ceiling ruptures and gravity does the rest. Bricks vomit from above, followed by jagged hunks of sandstone and two hundred years of dust.

Down below, it’s even worse. The scuba tank hammers the limestone floor with a thunderclap, and the whole room shakes. Before I even know what’s happening, the ground tilts, and Clementine and Ezra start to tumble. I hear Clementine screaming, Nico too. He’s yelling, still reaching out for her, but I can’t see anything. The sand and soot are too thick as they rain down from above. For half a second, the world turns ash gray. Then, in the same half-second, it’s over.

Across the room, th
e
metal scuba tank lies there, lifeless.

Up above, the ceiling continues to spew a few thin waterfalls of dust and debris that rain like
an hourglass.

What the hell was—?

“
Where’d they go?
” Marshall calls out, covered in dust and coughing uncontrollably. Still on the ground, he points across the room. Clementine and Ezra are…
Where are they?

Ignoring the heartbeat that’s throbbing in my leg, I climb to my feet. As I blink through the dust cloud, I start running toward—

“Clemmi…?”

At first,
I
thought she was just knocked over. But as I reach ground zero, she and Ezra… They’re not there. I wave my hand, fanning the dust. In the ground… There’s a jagged hole the size of a bathtub, filled with bricks, debris, and—

“
Beecher…? Beecher, I’m here!
” Clementine coughs, her voice faint and far away. “
Down here.
”

Squinting through the dust, I can barely see. The limestone floor is cracked open. I follow Clementine’s voice. One of the wide slabs of limestone is snapped and broken away, revealing what looks like a shallow room underneath.

“Clemmi, listen to me. Tell me what you see!”

“
I-It looks like a tunnel
,” she calls back.

Of course. I almost forgot where we were. Two hundred years ago, this was the dungeon. Some of the prisoners must’ve burrowed underneath to make their escape, all of it hidden under the slab of rock.

“
I can’t feel my leg! There’s something wrong with my leg!
” she yells, clearly in pain. She’s lisping more than ever, like the impact took the rest of her teeth.

“We need to get her out of there,” Marshall insists, fighting to his own feet. He can barely stand. The blood from his newest wound soaks the side of his shirt.

I look at Nico, the only one of us who wasn’t knocked over
. H
e
doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even acknowledge I’m there. But within seconds, he’
s
by my side, grabbing shattered bricks and chunks of rock from the pile.

“
Here.
I think she’s here,” I tell Marshall and Nico, pointing to the far right side of the hole.

“
Beecher, you need to hurry! Ezra’s up…he’s up and moving!
” Clementine yells. She’s breathing heavily, like her lungs don’t work. “
I can…I can see him moving! He’s crawling down the tunnel…trying to get away!
”

We all furiously start trying to dig her out. Marshall races to the opposite side of the hole, using his good arm to move a hunk of the brick ceiling that’s still stuck in place. His own blood drips onto the floor. As we lift the bricks away, I hear a soft clicking. Something skitters from the hole. I see the thick tail first, then shiny black eyes. There’re two…three… No. There’re dozens of them: fat black rats.

“
There’s something else in here, Beecher! Something’s touching me!
” Clementine shouts.

“It’s a rat, just a little one,” I tell her as a dozen of them swarm to the surface, making the whole floor look like it’s moving. I jump and high-step as they scurry past us, racing out of the dungeon. Nico and Marshall barely react.

“
Ezra’s still crawling! He’s getting away!
” Clementine shouts.

We yank at another layer of bricks.

“
No! Not like that! It won’t work!
” she screams.

We quickly see why. Underneath the bricks, there’
s
a massive slab of sandstone—like a serrated surfboard—that’s slicing diagonally down the hole. It plummeted from the ceiling, and no question, it’s what’s pinning Clementine in place. I give it a shove. It weighs a ton. Won’t budge.

“
You’re not moving it!
” she scolds.

By now, the dust is settling. I again peer into the hole, noticing the putrid smell of sulfur. I can’t see all of Clementine—chunks of floor and layers of rubble form a maze of debris with no clear view—but as we tug another chunk of limestone out of the way, I see just her face. She’s at least six feet down, looking up at me.

Her mouth wilts open. Her teeth are gone. It doesn’t look like a single tooth is left after the explosion and the fall. Her face is black, and two streams of blood form a Y from her nostrils. But what undoes me is that look in her eyes. I’ve known Clementine since grade school. I’ve seen her giddy and excited, angry and enraged, shocked and surprised. I’ve seen the way her eyelids get heavy when you kiss her. And the way they’d screw tight, like the aperture of a camera, when she knew her mother was drunk. But I’ve never seen her defeated. Until now.

Her ginger brown eyes stay wide, trying to sell me calm. It’s not working. “You need to…you need to find Marshall’s gun,” she tells me, fighting for each breath.

“What’re you—?”

“Just find it!” she insists. “When we were falling…I saw Ezra drop it. Look around!”

Marshall, Nico, and I all glance to different parts of the room. It’s a chaotic wreck, filled with loose bricks, chunks of rocks, and piles of dirt. But that means shiny metal weapons stand out even more.

There.

“I see it! I got it!” I call back, scooping the gun up and heading back to the hole. “You want me to lower it down there?”

“There’s no time. You need to…you need to stop Ezra.
Point it here and shoot!
”

“Wha? I can’t even see him. How can I—?”

“Just shoot, Beecher! Point and shoot!”

Confused, I squint deep into the hole. Her weight shifts and the floor seems to shift with her. Underneath the slab of limestone, she’s covered in what looks like black sand. It’s all over her, filling most of the jagged hol
e that connects with the tunne
l
. The sulfur smell. I finally place it.

“Gunpowder,” Marshall says.

I nod. They used to store it in the bastions all around the island. Over the years, it must’ve seeped down to the tunnel. She’s swimming in gunpowder.

I start putting the rest together. If I fire the gun, when the bullet hits the ground and sparks, all that gunpowder will—

Clementine looks up from the hole, taking a long, labored breath that sounds like her last. “I know what I’m doing, Beecher.”

Further down the tunnel, I hear Ezra scrambling, scratching through the dirt and sand.

“He’s…he’s already around the corner,” she adds. “If this leads to the beach— It’s the only way to stop him.”

“By starting a firestorm? All that gunpowder in a contained space… When you light it, that whole tunnel will turn into a cannon. You’ll be—”

“I’ll be in the exact same place where we all know I’m headed,” she lisps, her voice cracking. She’s wheezing now, starting to fade. With her free hand, she pulls her wig from her head. “Look at me. Look at what little is left.”

I stare down at her toothless mouth and her sweaty bald head. It looks extra pale—and even more like a cancer patient’s—thanks to the blood and dirt on her face. She doesn’t look like she’s dying. She looks like she’s already dead. “We can still get you out of there.”

“No, Beecher…you can’t,” she wheezes. “Not this time. You rescued me enough. Now please…for once…let me do right by you. We’re running out of time.”

I don’t move. If I’ve learned one thing over the years, it’s that every person you encounter brings out a different part of you. From youth to adulthood, even when she was hurting me, Clementine brought out my best. Whether I liked it or not.

“I know you can’t do this,” she says. “Give the gun…give the gun to Marshall.”

“But if we—”

“
Give the gun to Marshall!
” she screams, tears pouring from her eyes and a blood bubble popping from her nose.

Before I can say a word, Marshall tugs the pistol from my hand, staring down at Clementine. As they exchange a glance, Clementine nods, fighting for another breath. She doesn’t have long.

Marshall’s plastic face is unreadable as ever, frozen by his scars. But some things don’t need to be seen; they can be felt. When they rode down here on that train, something happened between them.

“You don’t need to do this,” he says.

“I do. You saved me for a reason. Here’s your reason,” she insists, more demanding than ever. “This is your chance. If you don’t stop Ezra now, he’ll…he’ll keep coming for you, hunting you.”

“I can protect myself,” Marshall says.

“And who’ll protect Beecher?”

“I don’t need protection!” I insist.

“And what about my dad? Who’ll protect him?” she adds, glancing at Nico, who’s still hopelessly pulling bricks from the hole. As Clementine’s voice again gives way, it’s the first time I realize she’s not just fighting for us. She’s fighting for
him
. “When they lock Nico back up in that mental hospital, you think…you think anyone will argue when Ezra comes knocking? They’ll be happy to see him dead,” she says. “He’s my dad. Please…if I do nothing else…let me save my father.”

Marshall stands there, his gun still flat at his side. “You’re making a rash decision.”

“I’m making the only decision I have left! The sole reason…
ahuuh
…the sole reason I came to your place was because I knew my life was over. I know I won’t have years in the future. I don’t even have weeks! I just want the time that I did have to count for something. Is that so bad? To want to count for something?”

Marshall still doesn’t move.

She doesn’t let up. “I…
ahuuh
…I know you understand, Marshall. I know you’ve been here—and I know that after all the burn treatments, and the fighting, and the pain—I know that all you really want, even now, is
peace
,” she lisps, rubbing her hand over her own bald head. “Let me have my peace. Please. It’s my time. If we stop him now, think of how many people you’ll be saving from pain.”

Marshall’s posture shifts just slightly. It’s the one thing he understands better than anyone. Pain.

“You’re sure you know what you’re doing?” he asks.

Clementine takes a labored breath. She forces a weak smile. “We all have a
before
and
after
to one moment,” she says. “Let this be yours.”

Marshall takes two steps back. Thanks to the rocks that cover Clementine, the blast should go out toward Ezra, but now Marshall has a safer angle in case some of it goes up. We still hear Ezra crawling and scratching in the tunnel. Marshall’s out of time. So is Clemmi.

Marshall’s hand is shaking as he raises the gun. He points it down the hole, toward the gunpowder-filled tunnel. Six feet below us, Clementine shuts her eyes. Marshall’s finger curls around the trigger and—

Nothing.

“I can’t. If I do it— I can’t put you through those burns,” Marshall says, lowering the gun.

“
You have to! He’s getting away!
” Clementine pleads. “
Don’t deny me this!
”

I still hear Ezra crawling, but the sound is starting to fade.

In a blur, th
e
gun is ripped from Marshall’s hands. Holding it tight, Nico points the pistol down, aiming toward his daughter.

The rest happens within seconds. For a moment, Clementin
e
almost looks relieved. Tears flood her eyes. Nico’s too. He’s bobbing his head, muttering something to his imaginary friend.

“
No, I know… And this will leave three…not four
,” he whispers. His chin starts to quiver. On his free hand, his thumb taps against each of his fingers, from pointer-finger to pinkie, like he’s counting.
One…two…three…four…
No question, it’s ripping Nico apart. But that won’t stop him from doing it.

Nico doesn’t say a word to her. Clementine says nothing back. They don’t need to.

Nico tries to keep his head up, but it keeps falling, like his chin is being pulled by the gravity of his crumbling body. His features contort as he asks his daughter a final silent question.

Fighting to hold it together, Clementine clenches her jaw, nodding over and over. The way she’s looking up, the tears run from her eyes, to her temples, then down to the back of her bald head. She’s not
asking
anymore. She’s begging.

“I love you,” Nico says, his voice breaking as he raises the gun.

“I love you too, Dad,” she replies, the words strangled by her tears.

That’s all he needs. His thumb taps each of his fingers one last time.
Four…three…two…one…

Pulling hard, Nico squeezes the trigger.

Even before the gun lets out its muted pop, Marshall’s running. He grabs me by the shoulder, spinning me to follow. We’re both sprinting full speed toward the exit, trying to leave the dungeon through the open archway. The bullet whizzes down toward hundreds of pounds of packed gunpowder. Behind us, Nic
o
starts running too.