Chapter Fifteen #3
“Your folks are coming soon. We should get out of here,” I finally say, and Everett nods quickly.
I give up my hunt for Area 51 information and help him gather what he wants to take as evidence of our country’s bullshit.
There is interesting information on the virus itself, though neither of us has the knowledge to parse through the scientific data collected on it.
And, strangely enough, patents for complex chemical compounds that are hundreds of pages long. “Maybe it’s for a cure?” I offer.
“Maybe. Gemma will know,” Everett says.
A not-so-secret door is hidden in the Oval Office’s wall, its outline demarcated in the wallpaper. “I’m going to the bathroom first,” I say, rising to my feet. “The president probably has a good toilet, right?”
Everett glances up from his pile. “Do you want me to come with you?”
Normally the answer would be yes, since the majority of zombies died and reanimated on a toilet, but not a single sensor has tripped or alarm sounded since we’ve been inside the White House.
Our own personal zombie alarm is curled up yawning on the presidential couch right now.
I grab my Taser and salute him with it. “Not necessary, sir.”
He smiles absently, then returns to gathering up documents.
I try the doorknob to what must be the president’s bathroom—there’s just no way the leader of the free world walks more than ten feet to pee—but it’s stuck.
It doesn’t feel locked per se, just stuck.
I try again, then brace one foot on the president’s hideous wallpaper, which is the pale yellow of sweat-stained wifebeaters, and yank.
The door breaks free suddenly, and I lose balance, falling backward on my ass.
The first thing I notice is the strange darkness within, as if there are no windows, or they’ve been locked down and blacked out.
The second thing I notice is the saggy gray neck of the president, flapping wide open like a flag, as he lunges through the doorway for fresh human meat.
Chicken yowls somewhere behind me.
A little late, bitch!
“Maaaaghhhk,” it groans, because the president’s absolutely an it now, and I don’t even think about it.
I send the Fun & Stun sparking blue fire straight into that villain’s heart.
Because when it was a he, he sold out our whole country, then left us behind to pay for his cruel administration’s idiocy with our lives.
I’m glad this asshole spent his last hours gripped by Butt-COVID.
I’m glad someone trapped him behind to pay for his crimes alone.
And I’m glad that I’m here now, able to zap him back to death before he can do any more harm to us or our country.
Everett, however, is more concerned.
“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” he chants, palms pressed against his cheeks. “You just killed the president—”
“—the zombie president—” I cut in.
“Of the—”
“—Zombie United States,” I finish. “And is it really killing if he’s already died once?”
Everett stares at me, his eyes perfect wide moons behind his glasses.
“What—you didn’t vote for him, did you?”
“God, no!” Everett spits. “I’m not a racist, bigoted, narcissistic, evil fascist Nazi-lover!”
“Good,” I say simply. “Now the president isn’t one, either.”
Everett watches slack-jawed as I flip the light switch on in the dark room, revealing a wide-open trapdoor with a stainless-steel staircase below in the president’s bathroom.
Moaning rises, deep and bloodcurdling, from below.
“Guess we found the secret tunnel to the underground,” I venture, then kick the door until it slams shut, severing the moans with a loud reverberating clang.
“And the rest of the government. Now, do you mind turning around? I really have to pee.”
He does as I ask, then shakes his head slowly.
“What?”
“Just when I think you can’t get any more badass, you go and assassinate the zombie president and redefine the term all over again.”
I smile, his words blooming in my chest.
After we grab all our things, plus the papers, space suits, and foodstuffs we decided to take, too, we exit the West Wing to the employee parking lot and the beautiful, sunny morning beyond.
We have a little less than thirty minutes until I need to drive Everett over to the South Lawn helipad before his parents arrive. My throat has gone strangely tight.
I hoist the box of food higher in my arms, finally daring to ask what I’ve been wanting to since I realized that whatever we have between us isn’t just an arrangement.
It’s something more. Inside my pocket is a note with a frequency I picked out, just for us.
His military family surely has a ham radio setup.
Maybe after the dust settles, we could find each other again. “Listen, Everett. I was wondering—”
Something foul and chemical is pressed hard against my nose and mouth, and the last thing I see is Everett’s body dropping beside me before a black, scratchy darkness is pulled over my head, the sound of dry beans pattering around us like rain.