The President's Shadow (31 page)

The world goes silent, like we’re all underwater. Still running, I don’t hear the explosion or the deafening boom. A burning, scalding heat screams up from the hole and sears the back of my neck. The sheer force shoves me so hard from behind, my feet leave the ground.

The last thing I see is the look on Marshall’s face as he glances at what’s behind him.

N
ico’s the one who finds her body.

He’s dealing with his own burns as he sees her. His neck and arms are swollen and blistered. The hair on the back of his head is singed away. But that doesn’t stop him from going back into the room, crawling down into the hole and cradling his daughter in his arms.

He doesn’t cry as he holds her. He sits there mutely, looking straight ahead—staring at nothing—as he pulls her close. Clementine’s charred body is still pinned by the slab of limestone. Her jawbone’s gone, so are her ears, and most of her left hand was burned so bad, all that’s left are ashes. But he still holds tight, his posture back to its stiff perfection.

Next to me, Marshal
l
can’t stand anymore. His face is yellow and puffy. He keeps looking down into the hole, then has to turn away just as fast. At first,
I
assume it’s because of her burns. He can stomach anything, but he can’t stomach that. Yet rather than lying down or waiting out on the beach until the medicine he needs arrives, he stays where he is, never getting too far and always glancing back at her body.

He did the same thing with his mother’s coffin when we were little. Marshall can play as tough as he wants. Of all the wounds he wears, this one’s cutting deep.

The Plankholder files are burned and gone. Even the ones in the backpack. The explosion took care of that—and also shook Mina awake, rousing her from where Ezra had knocked her unconscious in the storage room. Nursing the blow at the back of her head, she’s standing in the archway, still refusing to step in this room.

As for Ezra’s body, the other side of the tunnel leads to a massive outcropping of rocks along the beach. When the gunpowder erupted, the entire underground tunnel was turned into the barrel of a gun, shooting everything in it out to sea. Our seaplane captain is dead—Ezra shot him for putting up a fight when he first arrived—but thanks to a radio on his plane, we called the coast guard, who are on their way. It’ll take a while, but they’ll find Ezra’s body eventually.

Beyond that, there’s nothing to do but wait. Nico knows that if he wants to escape, this is his chance. He told us he had parked a small stolen motorboat on the opposite side of the island. Truth is, if he ran, I’m not sure I’d try to stop him. Or that I could, considering how my leg is aching and how nauseous I’m feeling. But instead, Nic
o
stays where he is, down in the hole, staring at the charred walls of the tunnel and rocking back and forth as he cradles his daughter.

Every few minute
s
, he whispers something into Clementine’s burned-off ear. And then, out of nowhere, he stops.

“Agreed,” he whispers, his head turned slightly to the side, toward his imaginary friend. He blinks a few times, his close-together eyes now keenly focused. “I know. I will.”

Gently putting Clemmi’s body aside, Nico stands up perfectly straight and climbs from the hole.

“Nico, you okay?” I ask.

It’s like I’m not even there.

“You’re probably still in shock,” I tell him.

He doesn’t care. He heads calmly, silently toward the back wall—the wall he was ramming with a shovel when I first found him down here. For a few seconds, he looks around. The shovel’s wooden shaft is burned away. All that’s left is the metal blade, buried in the corner in a pile of ash.

Doesn’t seem to matter. Nico stares hard at the wall. All the brick is burnt blac
k
. Hunks of mortar are missing, leaving gaps between sections of the brick. For a full ten seconds, h
e
just stands there, studying it.

“They’re going to take me back to St. Elizabeths, aren’t they, Benjamin?” he finally asks.

“I don’t think they have a choice.”

“I want you to bury her near the hospital. So I can visit her,” he blurts, eyes still on the wall. “There’s a cemetery nearby. They let patients go there for visits.”

I nod, watching him carefully. “I think she’d like that.”

Stepping closer to the wall, he slides his bent pointer-finger into one of the gaps where there’s no mortar. He slides it sideways, like he’s cleaning it out.

“I only wanted to help her. That’s the only reason I hurt those—” He slides his finger into another open gap. Then another. He’s searching for something. “She’s my daughter, Benjamin. I was only trying to save her.”

“She knew that. She told us that when we—”

In the wal
l
, his finger catches on something. He stops, sticking two fingers into the gap and tweezing out whatever it is. It’s something small. As he studies it in his palm, I can’t see it, but he definitely—

“Nico, what’d you find?”

He turns away slightly, whispering something to his imaginary friend.

“Nico, did you hear what I said?”

He continues to whisper, still lost in his own world. His head starts bobbing. That means he’s praying.
Fourteen…fifteen…
it bobs sixteen times, just as always. “Amen,” he says.

“If you found something, I need to know what it is!” I demand, surprised by my own outburst. My body’s buzzing. I’m still in shock too.

His left hand stays closed as he turns back toward me. Usually, hi
s
dark eyes flick back and forth. For once, they’r
e
focused perfectly on me. I get the same feeling I had earlier in the hurricane shelter, like my dad’s ghost has returned.

“You came here for a reason, Benjamin. Do you want to know how your father died?”

S
ome people think they know when they’re going to die. Alby White was one of them. His whole lif
e
, he’d thought he’d die young. Tonight, he’
d
know the pain of being right.

He’d been sleeping poorly as usual. Then, for no reason, he was awake. Sometimes, your body just knows when it’s the middle of the night. A gob of sleep-drool soaked his cheek.

Blinking out at the darkness, Alby looked through the bars of his cell, noticing the rats were gone. Nothing else moved. Nothing made a sound. The tall American flag stood there, imperceptibly swaying.

“
Nico, that you?
” Alby called out toward the room’s entrance.

There was no answer.

“I know it’s you. I know you’re out there, Nico.”

Still nothing.

“If you’re here, you know something’s wrong. You can feel it, right?” Alby asked, his voice hoarse from dehydration. “You need to hear what they did. The plane crash… Julian…it’s all fake…!
Julian’s alive!
”

Alby let that one hang in the air. But again, still nothing. Until…

A shadow shifted. Tiny chunks of brick popped and cracked. “How do you know that?” Nico asked, slowly turning the corner.

Alby shot upright, the chain that bolted his wrist to the wall sounding like a tambourine. He hadn’t seen a fellow Plankholder in over a week. But even as Alby got up, he was careful to make sure he felt the plastic spoon he’d tucked into the back of his underwear. Two days ago, Alb
y
had palmed the spoon, which was the only utensil they were giving him these days.

“How do you know about the plane crash…and Julian?” Nico repeated, entering the room and so focused on Alby, he nearly tripped on the halogen lamp’s long cord.

“I-I saw him…and the files,” Alby explained. “From the start, they were— Everything they do, it’s all bullshit! It’s all a test.”

Nico blinked a few times, more than he usually did. As he got closer to the cell, Alby saw there was something in his hand. Something in a baggie. “They had peach cobbler for dessert. I know you like peach cobbler,” he said.

Alby offered a silent thank-you, stretching the chain so he could reach through the bars. Nico put the baggie of mushed peach cobbler on the floor, just outside the cell. Alby smelled the sugar and caramel. He wanted it so badly. But as he reached for it, he stopped himself.

“You think I put something in it?” Nico asked.

“That’s what I’d do if I were them. Send a friend. I bet they put stuff in our food since the first moment we were here,” Alby said, swatting at imaginary mosquitoes.

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” Nico insisted, blinking over and over. “You can trust me.”

“Why should I—?”

“I know about the spoon you’re hiding,” Nico insisted. “I was here late yesterday…and the day before that. I saw you using it to dig the mortar from between the bricks. You should look for the tunnel. In Dr. Mudd’s book, he talks of a hidden tunnel that they dug to get out of here.”

“There’s no tunnel.”

“Maybe you haven’t found it yet. Either way, what you were doing… I didn’t tell anyone. Not anyone.”

“And that’s supposed to prove your loyalty?”

“What other proof do you need?”

“Let me out.”

“Alby…”

“Why’d you bring me peach cobbler, Nico? If you really want to absolve yourself of guilt, get me out of these shackles, out of this cell. Moorcraft keeps the key in the middle drawer,” Alby said, pointing toward the wooden desk.

“He hides the key right
here
?” Nico asked.

“Just for the shackles. The lock for the cell, he keeps with him. But at least I’ll be able to move…to climb…to do something next time they come in to give me another injection.”

Nico glanced over at the desk, locking on the tall American flag. Years from now, this would be the moment he’d forever regret. “You said the middle drawer?” Nico asked. He shoved the desk chair aside as the leg of the chair caught on the halogen lamp cord.

“
The lamp…!
” Alby called out.

Nico caught it easily, grabbing the lamp mid-fall and setting it upright. Staying focused on the desk, Nico tugged the center drawer open and quickly flipped through some papers until…

Nico pulled out an old, rusted barrel key with a tooth that was shaped like the letter E.

Inside the cell, Alb
y
raced forward and stuck his free hand through the bars, stretching the chain as far as it would go.

Outside the cell, Nic
o
held the key high, out of Alby’s reach. “Promise me you won’t hurt the colonel,” Nico said.

“I don’t wanna hurt anyone.”

“Just promise me. You can escape…you can run…do whatever you want. But he’s still— You can’t hurt him.”

Down the hallway, there was a clicking sound, like someone was coming.

“Nico, I swear on my kids. I just want out of here.”

Blinking twice in quick succession, Nico let go of the key, dropping it in Alby’s open palm. In a blur, Alb
y
raced back to the wall, stuffing it into the lock at the base of his wrist.

“Does it fit?” Nico asked, slowly stepping backward.

Alby didn’t answer, still fighting the lock. Behind the
m
, the clicking got louder.

“You need to hurry,” Nico added.

“I’m trying!”

As Nico backed away from the cell, something tugged at his foot. The cord from the halogen light… His heel kicked it. Like a cleaved tree, the lamp fell fast, right at him. Nico tried to hunch forward as it crashed into his shoulder. At the impact, the lamp bounced sideways, hitting the American flag and smashing into the brick wall, where it—

Fwoosh!

The halogen bulb exploded. A burst of white light blinded them. Within second
s
, the American flag was on fire, kicking embers in every direction, toward the desk, toward the chair. But what froze Nico midstep was the way the fire instantly spread out in two zigzagging tendrils. One tendril crawled along the stone floor; the other climbed the wall, popping and sparking as it snaked almost purposely toward the prison cell.

“Alby, move!”

The flames zigzagged across the wall, like the handwriting of God. Stray gunpowder had seeped down from the rooms above and was sprinkled along the bricks.

Alby twisted the key. The shackle clicked and unlocked.

“
Let’s go! Kick it open!
” Nico shouted, gripping the rusted bars and tugging on the door in hopes of letting Alby out.

For a moment, Alb
y
was ready to run free from the shackles. They still had to figure out how to open the jail door. But as Alby turned and saw the flames slowly engulfing his cell…as the black smoke took his lungs and he began to cough… It was just like—

The airplane. This was the exact same setup as the airplane.

Alby stood there a moment, frozen in his cell. Without a wor
d
, he grabbed the arm shackle and threaded his hand through it. He squeezed the shackle hard. It clicked and locked around his wrist, like a handcuff.

“
Wh-What’re you doing!?
” Nico yelled from outside the cell. The door was still locked.

“You think I’m stupid? Don’t you see? It’s another test…like the plane.”

“Alby, this isn’t a test!”

“They didn’t even tell
you
, did they?” With a smile on his face, Alby took the key and headed for the narrow window.

“Nonono! Don’t…!”

With a flick of his wrist, Alby tossed the key out the window. As it hit the moat water, it made an unheard
plink
.

“
Someone help! We need help!
” Nico screamed up the main hallway. The wooden desk was on fire, flames dancing along the top. Nico could’ve left, could’ve run, but instead— Outside the ce
ll
,
Nico pulled out all the drawers, looking for something…anything to pry open the jail door and free Alby.

Inside the cell, chained to the wall, Alby refused to move. The fire continued to spread. He was still trying to smile, but the smoke was getting to him. “You’ll see. They’re just—
Kafff…kafff…
They’re doing it again. Another fake fire to see if they can make us…make us…
I know what you’re doing! I’m done being your guinea pig!
” he shouted at the sky. He sat down on the ground, arms crossed at his chest.

“Alby, please… You have to get out of here!”

“No. You’ll see. This is what they do. Just like they did with the elderly couple…and with Julian. Watch… Go get the colonel. They’re not letting me die.”

The flames were tall now, crawling up the walls toward the ceiling. The wooden pole holding the American flag snapped in two. The flag was gone now, consumed. Outside, Nico grabbed what was left of the lower half of the pole and tugged it from its base. Racing to the door of the cell, he wedged it between the bars, a makeshift wooden lever.

“
HEEELP! SOMEONE HELP ME GET HIM OUT!
” Nico screamed, getting ready to ram his shoulder into the lever. “
Alby, get up! Please! You need to fight!
”

“And prove them right? Prove that they can fool us again? Someone needs to stand against them!” Alby said, coughing through smoke that was so thick he could barely see. All the walls were on fire. The heat seared against his face, his arms, his ankles. “
They’re not gonna let us die
,” he cried as the room began to shake.

At full speed, Nic
o
rammed his shoulder at the bars. The wooden pole was so thin, it snapped in two. It was no use. The only way to open the door…

“
Timothy! I can get Timothy to pick the lock!
” Nico shouted, though Alby wasn’t listening.

“
That’s right, Colonel! Make it as hot as you want!
” Alby shouted as the fire began to roar. “
You’ll see, Nico. They have hoses! They’ll come racing in! You’ll see!
” he snarled. He was in pain now. The heat was unbearable. A stray ember popped from the wall and hit his neck, just behind his ear. Another hit the back of his hand. His skin bubbled and blistered. He refused to yell, refused to give in.

“
I’m not leaving you! I’m getting Timothy! I swear I’ll be back!
” Nico shouted, starting to run.

“
You don’t need to! You’ll see…
” Alby coughed, the smoke burning his lungs. The pain in his throat, it was just…just like the airplane, he told himself. Exactly like the airplane. “
You’ll see…they won’t let us die!
”

Nico was gone now. By the time he got back, it would all be over.

Swatting smoke and imaginary mosquitoes from his face, Alby could no longer open his eyes. He smelled his own burn
t
hair before he felt the pain or even realized his skull was on fire.

“
Do your worst! I can take it!
” he shouted again, the last few syllables shifting into an animal wail. “
I can!
” he howled, still refusing to get up, though he couldn’t have even if he’d wanted to.

His whole life, Alb
y
thought he knew when he was going to die. He thought it’d be when he was young. But as always, just because you know something’s coming, doesn’t mean you’re prepared for it.

“
I know you hear me, Colonel! You can
—
You can
—
” A high-pitched hum filled the air. The mosquitoes were gone. So was the knot in his neck. For Alby White, the worst part wasn’t the pain. It was the speed with which the realization hit. Life takes time. Death, however, reveals itself in an instant.

As his skin melted to the stone floor, Alby was done yelling, done making predictions. In the end, all he had left were apologies.

I’m sorry
, he thought, picturing his wife…his girls…and his little newborn, his only son.
I’m sorry I failed you, Beecher.