6:46 PM April 15, 2054 (GMT-5)
Arlington Nationwide Cemetery
That night, Julia Hunt ordered sushi in her condominium and watched protection of Slake’s botched press convention on the lounge sofa. Days later, Slake’s panicked responses to questions on Castro’s demise hung within the air, showing even worse on the information.
Hunt held a bit of salmon sashimi between two chopsticks as she learn the chyron for the next story: Castro Post-mortem Leaked on Frequent Sense Confirms White Home Foul Play and Lies. She dropped the fish on her lap.
Information of the withheld post-mortem exploded. On every channel, the prime-time anchors flashed printed copies of the report back to the digital camera. They learn complete sections, describing the size of the marble mass of cells that was inexplicably lodged in Castro’s aorta, and the excerpt from the post-mortem itself, during which the chief internist concluded, “This can’t be the identical coronary heart.”
Inside an hour, Truthers flooded the streets of cities throughout the nation. As Hunt scrolled via the channels, a information crew in Lafayette Park carried out interviews with the rising crowd of protesters, one among whom she acknowledged; it was the person within the wheelchair she met on the subway. She had thought of him typically. Now she found his identification: retired Sergeant Joseph William Sherman III. Under his identify on the display screen had been the phrases Truther Volunteer Organizer. She put his identify right into a search engine and found that he had misplaced his legs within the Spratly Islands and that the Chinese language nuclear assault on San Diego had killed his spouse and three daughters, who had lived at close by Camp Pendleton. Hunt may hear in Sherman’s voice how a lot he resented a president who, whereas nonetheless alive, flaunted constitutional norms by clinging to energy for a fourth time period and whose successor, Smith, now as soon as once more flaunted norms by withholding an post-mortem and refusing to be clear concerning the demise of his predecessor. .
“Level your digital camera over right here,” Sherman mentioned, pointing to his lacking legs. “I sacrificed this for my nation, and you are going to misinform me… you are going to misinform everybody us.” He gestured extensively to a gaggle of Truthers who had positioned him of their midst, most of them veterans, wearing previous army uniforms adorned with medals dangling from their breast pockets. “It is a lie that Smith is the professional president when he so clearly had a hand in Castro’s assassination. Is that this what America has change into? Dreamers drank in energy led by a dictator president. Lies to many so long as it provides energy to the few.” Sherman held the digital camera’s focus together with his piercing blue eyes.
His tone was so decided that the correspondent felt compelled to reply him. In a low voice she mentioned, “I do not know.”
“In fact not.” Sherman leaned towards the digital camera. “President Smith,” he started, “you’re unlawful. You will see that that extraordinary People – we patriots who demand the reality about your crimes and the excesses of the Dreamers – is not going to be led by a thief, by somebody who stole the presidency. We’ve served our nation earlier than, and we are going to serve it once more. And do not even take into consideration attempting to put your pastor on the hallowed floor of Arlington.” Sherman circled, turned his again to the digital camera and drove away.
The information is proscribed to business.
Julia Hunt rested her head towards the armrest of her sofa, her eyes nonetheless glued to the display screen. Weeks of exhaustion overwhelmed her. As she waited for this system to return, she fell right into a black waste of sleep. Deep on this sleep, within the early morning hours, she started to dream: right here, within the dream, she sleeps in her woman’s room and is woke up earlier than daybreak by a sound, the sound of one thing falling to the ground. Her environment are acquainted: the adobe ranch in New Mexico the place Sarah Hunt raised her. Sporting her nightgown, she fastidiously closes the door behind her and steps into the darkish hallway. On the far finish, a single band of sunshine escapes from the underside of one other door. She begins strolling down the hallway. The tiles are cool below her naked toes. As she will get nearer, she hears what feels like a wrestle.