Untitled – Page 4
The second soldier started his patrol, equipped with an automatic rifle with silencer, his night vision glasses, and the go ahead to shoot at any movement. His earpiece beeped, and he touched the sensor to allow communication.
“Yes?” he answered as he completed his first lap around the capitol.
“Set your weapon down. Take off your glasses. Put your hands on your head. We have the capitol surrounded. Your only chance of survival is to do exactly as I have said,” the female voice said in barely more than a whisper.
“PRIVATE MARSHALL DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPON!” came the voice of his commander, “Figure out where they are, now!” he heard him yell to the other soldiers in the headquarters.
“You have until the count of three, Marshall,” came the female voice again. “One.” The soldier quickly scanned the surrounding area. “Two.” His breath came faster. His heart pounding. He would not die for this administration. They could force him to join, but they couldn’t force him to willingly give up his life. His only hope was that whoever this woman was that she would find him before his commanding officer. He threw down his gun, ripped his glasses off, and put his hands on his head. He walked backward to the bench and sat when he felt the it against the back of his knees.
Clayton could not remember the news station like this. People were literally running from desk to desk and down the halls. Cell phones and tablets in hand; everyone talking, shouting back and forth. He could hear phones ringing in offices. “Can you believe this?” Corinne, his co-anchor during the noon broadcast, asked as she slid up beside him, handing him a coffee.
“How’d you know?” he took the coffee and took a small sip.
“I had a tiny hunch you may need it. I stayed up until 2 hoping someone would come on and say ‘April Fools’! You?”
He shook his head, “I don’t think I slept. Went to the gym this morning to wake up. Not sure how much it helped. Make-up is going to have fun with me later,” he laughed a little.
She sighed heavily, turning her back to much of the chaos in the news room full of reporters and interns, facing him, “Clay, this is not good. His platform. He’s practically anti-anyone not white. He’s got crazy religious beliefs. Someone had to have tampered with the results. I cannot believe that I live in a country where the majority of the people would support this!”
He met her eyes and couldn’t help but feel the range of emotions building up inside of him: anger, disgust, disbelief, and fear. He saw that last emotion in Corinne’s dark eyes, too. They had worked together for nearly ten years. She and her husband had been there for Clayton when Christine died five years ago. Multiple times a week inviting him to dinner, showing up at his house with take out and wine. Stan started picking him up and taking him to the gym every morning. Turns out working out was a great stress reliever for Clayton. Corinne and Stan were even great on the days when he didn’t think he could make it alone. Gentle reminders that Eric still needed him (they really needed each other), and simply sitting with him while he grieved. They were beyond just co-workers, co-anchors; they were family. “I don’t have an answer. I don’t have an answer at all.”