The President smiled wide, a genuine expression of welcome and geniality that probably had helped him get elected. She’d always liked his smile, always felt it made him seem more real than the other candidates that year. She’d voted for him on his policies, but his charisma had been undeniable all through the campaign season.

  “Liz,” he said, as if doing so was a way of making a decision. Naming her his friend. He glanced around almost sheepishly. “Well, I’m Thomas Daniels. Sort of the Springfield walking welcome committee. Sorry I didn’t drop in before. I know you’ve been here a few days already. I had a bit of a backlog. A few refugees came in the week before you all arrived and were in pretty bad shape. But I’m here now, and I’d love to talk a bit if you have the time. Get to know you some.”

  Elizabeth had a million questions, immediately. How often did someone get to sit down and talk to the man who ran the country when the worst disaster in history happened? “I… sure,” she said at last. “You’re welcome to come in?”

  He glanced along the porch and took a step back. “It’s such a nice day. Why not get a little sunshine?”

  It took her a moment to realize he was joking. But it was at least a little warm out. Warmer than it had been since the impact, she thought. And a little time out in the relatively fresh air wasn’t a bad idea. “Sure.” She stepped out and pulled the door closed behind her. There were a couple of mismatched rocking chairs on the porch, both just a little dusty. “Let me just wipe these down.”

  She started to turn back inside to go collect a towel.

  “Oh, never mind it.” President Daniels waved the offer off as he strolled to one of the two chairs and eased himself down into it. “I think we’re all a little used to getting dirty at this point.”

  All the same, Elizabeth frowned at the chair as she sat down. President Daniels was sitting in dirt. Her dirt. “Mister President,” she started, “why—”

  President Daniels shook his head, holding up a hand. “Please,” he began, his tone suddenly serious, “just call me Thomas. Or better, Tom. I’d really appreciate it, Liz.”

  No, not just serious. Something else. He looked away from her, over the porch rail and out at Springfield, and she thought there was something like regret there. Sadness, even.

  “Okay… Tom,” she tried. It felt awkward. She’d never have considered herself overly patriotic. She loved her country, and voted, of course, but had never been one to idolize any politician. Still, this wasn’t some local senator, or a city council member. This was the President. Of the entire country. She sighed. “Can I just admit that it’s weird to call you that?”

  He flashed her a sad smile, chuckling softly. “I’ve heard that a few times,” he admitted. “If it helps, though, it does feel nice to just be ‘Tom’. Been a long time since anyone called me by my name. It’s a thing you don’t think you’ll miss until it’s gone.”

  Elizabeth leaned back in the chair, trying to relax a little. If only to make the President—no, Tom, she reminded herself—feel a little less… fish out of water? Aware of his former position?

  “When I had Lana, the nurses at the hospital stopped calling me Elizabeth, or Mrs. Machert. They started calling me ‘Mommy’.” She smiled at the memory of her baby girl when she was just a wiggly little prune. “At first, I didn’t mind or anything. I was happy. I was a mommy, finally. I was scared, too, of course, I think all new parents must be.

  “But then I went shopping for baby clothes a few days after we were discharged. The woman at the store called me ‘Mommy’, too. Then I tried this sort of post-natal yoga group—I was so embarrassed about the weight I’d put on while I was pregnant—and the teacher for this group called all of us ‘Mommy’. I got a lot of it, even at school, for a while, from co-workers, the staff. Even some of the kids.

  Elizabeth sighed. “It got to be annoying after a while. I even told Caleb to stop it—he’d make baby talk with Lana, and talk about me. Mommy needs some rest, or, Mommy’s got an upset tummy. I guess it just seemed like now that I had a child, I wasn’t Elizabeth, anymore, or even Mrs. Machert. Now, I was… Mommy. I was a role, instead of a person.”

  By the time she finished, Tom was watching her with interest, nodding slowly. “I suppose I never thought of it that way. Mothers, I mean. But… yes. It’s a bit like that. You take office, especially the one I held and pretty soon you’re not Tom. Not a person. You’re a role, a symbol. An effigy, sometimes, at least for half the country.”

  He rocked a bit in the chair. “I’m of course grateful to have had the honor of serving, even if it didn’t… turn out like I hoped. But I have to say, every time I hear my own name instead of ‘President Daniels’, or ‘Mister President’ or even ‘Sir’, it’s like I’m reminded more and more of who I actually am. Like I forgot, at some point in my career, and now I’m getting reacquainted with myself.”

  He sounded a lot less like a former President than he did a man who was still searching for himself. It was strange to see him so vulnerable. So human. Which, Elizabeth supposed, was sort of what he meant. And she understood. She held out a hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Tom.”

  The same serene smile returned to his face as he shook her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Liz.”

  They lapsed into silence and a million questions filled Elizabeth’s mind. When had he known about the asteroid? Why hadn’t there been an earlier evacuation from the coast? Where had he been afterward, and why wasn’t he still the President? Speaker Welcher was in office now, but was that his choice, or hers—was it a coup, or had he resigned? And if so, why, and what did it mean for the future?

  None of them were anything she could ask. Not after allowing him a chance to be Tom.

  But after a few moments, he gave a quiet, resigned sigh and slowly bobbed his head. “I know. You’ve got questions. Everyone does, I promise. If you want, you can ask me. I’ll answer honestly. I’d say there are some things that are classified but, well… hard to really believe that matters anymore. There’s no aliens in Area 51, if you’re curious. Or even a ship. Just some unintelligible message we haven’t translated yet.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes must have gone wide, because Tom glanced at her and then gave a quiet laugh. “Just kidding. But I have to admit, that one doesn’t get old.”

  She chuckled quietly at first, then began to really laugh. In a moment, she was nearly breathless with it. Once she recovered, she realized how good it felt. How at peace she suddenly was, just from that bit of levity in all this. “It’s not everyone who gets a special joke only they can tell. If I’d been President, it probably wouldn’t get old for me, either. Thank you for that. I needed it.”

  “My pleasure.” He sobered a bit. “I do know that you have questions, though. If I’m honest… part of my visits around Springfield are about being accountable. Whatever it is you want to know, I give you my word, I’ll be honest, and I won’t be hurt.”

  Elizabeth felt some of the tension return to her, though it wasn’t as bad now. A little laughter really had helped, she supposed. Such a little thing, but so much more powerful than she’d realized until all of this happened. She almost didn’t want to ask him anything at all. As if doing so would take some of his own peace from him, after he’d given her such a small but special gift. Still, the questions did burn in her.

  Or, at least one of them did. “The… the evacuation,” she began a bit cautiously, like the answer would inevitably be one she couldn’t handle. “It seemed like it started… late. Since the impact I… I guess I’ve wondered why? Why didn't we get more… warning.”

  Tom’s lips thinned slightly. He looked away from her and she had a strong urge to apologize for asking. Before she could give in to it, he answered her. “There was a plan.” His voice was calm and steady, but regretful. “A whole team of folks, from all over, came up with it. That’s their whole job, in fact. We—the US, and other countries, that is—we poured hundreds of millions a year into it. It was a good plan, too. Simulations all planned out.

  “Ever since technology existed to deal with something like this, we’ve been thinking about it, you see. Didn’t want to go the way of the dinosaurs if we could help it. When I first heard the news, my first instinct was to evacuate the east coast. All of it. Move everyone out. I gave the order, too.”

  He looked down at his hands. “Until my advisers and a couple of generals, and the director of FEMA laid out the reality for me. Moving that many people… no matter how much time you think you have, you can’t do it fast enough. One city? Sure, maybe. There are always some that get left behind, though.

  “The entire eastern seaboard, though?” He shook his head. “Projected casualties just from the evacuation effort were… astounding. We didn’t have the personnel, the resources. Lot of people would be on their own. So, I was told to choose.”

  He shifted. “Trust the plan, try and keep everyone calm… or open up Pandora’s Box, and see what shook out. If we’d been successful, the loss of life might have been zero. We’d have known where the smaller chunk was going to hit and could have cleared that area out in time. If instead I went ahead with the evacuation order, a lot of people would have died. I thought, at the time, that I was making the right decision. Saving as many lives as possible.”

  He closed his eyes, and for a moment, his lips moved so slightly Elizabeth almost missed it. A prayer, maybe. He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath before continuing. “I’m not making excuses. The choice was mine, at the end of the day. All those… all the lives that were lost. They’re on my conscience. I let fear worm its way into my heart. Let it take me over. I failed this country, failed the people I swore to serve.”

  “No,” Elizabeth started, whether it was true or not.

  But Tom shook his head, raising a hand to stall her. “It’s alright,” he assured her. “I’ve… had time to think about it. Accept it. I thought about it so much I froze. When I was asked to go before what’s left of Congress, I knew they were talking impeachment. Replacing me. And it felt like justice. It felt like I’d done enough damage.”

  “But… Welcher nuked St. Louis.”

  Tom sighed. “Yes. And even if I didn’t turn the key, I feel that on my conscience as well. I’m sorry, Liz. Truly. You’ll never know how deeply I mean it. I’m so, so sorry that I failed you, and everyone else.”

  Strong as the urge was to comfort the man, Elizabeth had a feeling there was no way to do that. None that would be meaningful, at least. She looked out at Springfield and imagined how many people had wanted to know the same thing. How many times he’d had to apologize personally.

  The man would live like that for the rest of his life. And he wasn’t even asking for forgiveness—it was a simple statement of fact. He bore the guilt of what happened. And still, he’d smiled at her, asked her to call him ‘Tom’, his name, instead of his title.

  There was something moving in that. Hopeful, even.

  “There are plenty of people still here. And there must be more places like this. I can’t say that things like Apex or a city getting… well, obviously, there are problems. But there always are, right? Seeing this place gives me hope. We’re not done yet. Not humanity, not the country. It feels like we’re just getting started again.”

  Tom leaned back in the chair more easily, his hands folding over his stomach. “That we are,” he agreed. “It’s the thing about this country I’ve always loved the most. The whole reason I went into politics to begin with. Resilience.

  “Ours is a history filled with the kind of constant change and upheaval that most of the old dogs across the world can’t manage anymore. America gets hit, and recovers. Gets hit, recovers. Even since I was a kid, there’s been so much change—political, social, economic, some for the better and some for the worse. Other countries collapse under that much change. But America?

  “Even if it doesn’t happen all at once, change itself is at the heart of what we are here. This is bad. Worst we’ve ever had to deal with, maybe. But at the end of the day, it’s just change. When that’s at the very core of what makes us who we are, then nothing can really change us. Not in the ways that count. Not Apex. Not Welcher. Not an asteroid hurtling out of space.”

  It was hard not to stare at the man. He did give a good speech. She’d heard them before, of course, but hearing it up close? Off the cuff, the way he spoke about this country like he really, truly loved it?

  Somehow, it made Elizabeth love it, too. Not in some abstract, rote way—years of being a child and saying the pledge of allegiance, of being told that she loved America, that everyone loved America. This was deeper. Like she could feel the soil under her feet, feel the people all around her, all working together. All trying to weather the change as neighbors, as family—as Americans.

  Her heart swelled with it, and she reached out to touch Tom’s arm, squeezing gently before she withdrew. “Thank you, Tom.” She meant it.

  Hope. Real, tangible, genuine hope.

  Not something distant, drawn from a higher power she desperately wanted to believe was there and merciful. Not something idealistic and possibly naive.

  This was different. It was hope that came from people. From Tom. From herself, even. Things she could see, feel, and touch. Springfield was a living example of exactly what he’d said.

  Even if it was hard, even if there were more deaths—and she knew there would be—even if the whole country had to shake free of something dark and dangerous like a corrupt administration or a hungry billionaire with a private army, that feeling inside her told her something that she hadn’t been able to really, truly believe since the asteroid struck.

  It wasn’t the slow end of everything they were going through.

  It was the beginning of everything else that came after.

  And whatever that was, it was going to be okay.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  LANA

  Springfield, CO

  Monday July 30th, 10:00 am MST

  “We are so, so screwed.” Derek stared at the bits of recovered data from the hacked laptop. “Are you sure that’s right? Not… corrupted or something?”

  The young guy Derek had tracked down was in his twenties, scrawny in a way that said he’d probably been that way for years, with an unkempt mop of black hair. Diego Marquez had the kind of energy that made Lana feel almost lazy.

  He’d jumped at the chance to ‘play around’ with the Apex laptop they’d stolen and after two days since Lana handed it over to him, had finally managed to crack whatever encryption it had going on. And more importantly, he’d done it without letting it onto the satellite network that would likely have given Apex the chance to wipe it.

  He looked up from the screen and nudged his heavily repaired, thick-rimmed black glasses up his nose. “If it was corrupted, it would be unreadable. The chances of that happening in a way that would lead to inaccurate but readable data in the files would be astronomical, like…”

  Derek’s eyes started to glaze. Diego had a habit of going on rambles that kind of reminded Lana of Jasper’s manic lectures when she made the amusing mistake of getting him excited about math. There was a lot about the guy that reminded her of Jasper, in fact. Including how he’d gone nearly two days without sleep to get into the device.

  “I don’t know about how accurate it is,” Diego admitted, “but it’s definitely the data that’s on the SSD. That’s the best I can say for now, until it’s all recovered. I’ve got a battery charging off the solar cells in case it starts to run out of juice before it finishes. This should take… I don’t know, a day? Depending on if there are other layers of encryption around certain protected files, but once I figured out the algorithm to dig out the first key, I can probably crack any others I come across…”

  Now Lana was starting to zone out. She gave the guy a nod and clapped his shoulder gently. “Whatever that is… I believe you.” She leaned over to stare at the screen. In one corner, Diego’s hack, or whatever, was running—a green progress bar in a black window, ticking up very, very slowly as, on the other side, some kind of spreadsheet was gradually getting longer as files were unlocked and organized into whatever set up he’d decided on.

  Two of those files were open as well. A coding guide for the user and a personnel summary.

  It was the second file that launched Derek into a slow pace across the cramped little tech nest assembled around Diego. And it was obvious what alarmed him. It was a database file, obviously meant to be accessed through whatever software was on the machine, which made looking at it raw a little difficult. It was dense. But not so obscured that she couldn’t gather the gist of it.

  “That… how is that possible?” Lana wondered. “A hundred thousand apex agents out there? How? How could they have put together that kind of a force since the impact?”

  Diego shook his head and enlarged the window before scrolling further to the right where various deployment dates were listed in neat columns. “Look, here.” He pointed to one of the earlier initial deployment dates. “This is like six months before the impact. I don’t think Apex came out of nowhere.”

  Lana straightened slowly, a chill running through her. “So… Trusk knew the impact was coming before everyone else?”

  “That,” Derek said from a few feet away, “or this Apex project was already under way.”

  “All of these different pieces of it…” Lana shook her head. “What is it supposed to be, really?”

  All three of them startled as the door to Diego’s shed creaked open. Lana snapped around, one hand dropping automatically to her rifle before she saw her father standing at the door. “Gosh, Dad…” She relaxed, marginally. The chances of an ambush in Springfield were low, but a tense nerve ran down her spine these days. Probably always would.