A whisper, the sharp shock of electricity, snapped through the line of black suits and black shades. Kate kept her eyes fixed on the President at the front of the classroom. Little pink mouths rounded out little pink sounds, like bubblegum stuck between the children's lips. There were teeth by her ear.
"As soon as the president makes his speech, we board Air Force One and return to D. C." The man nudged her to pass the message along. Butterflies with razor wings fluttered in her stomach as she digested the change. It was too sudden, too quick. It was bad.
A man approached the president, leaned to pass his words. Face became stony, wrinkles chiseled hard into his skin. He stayed.
Still.
Silent.
Her fingers curled, white molars gnashing her palms. Reporters began to murmur, like a breeze through tall grass as news was delivered to them. There was no excitement for a hot story. It was bad.
The rosy cheeks stopped puffing; the words ceased huffing from their tiny throats. The suits filed out. Their pace picked up as the president and escorts stormed to a room with urgency trying to hide. The wings thumped hard in her chest as she trotted.
SLAM.
"What? What? What is it?" The question flitted quietly across their faces. No reply. The president scribbled furiously on a sheet of paper. It was bad.
They walked out into an auditorium filled with clapping parents. White on wood, small cough.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is a difficult moment for America." Thump, thump. "I, unfortunately, will be going back to Washington after my remarks. Secretary Rod Paige and Lt. Governor will take the podium and discuss education. I do want to thank the folks here at - at Booker Elementary School for their hospitality.
Today, we've had a national tragedy. Two airplanes have crashed into the World Trade Center in an apparent terrorist attack on our country." White noise. The rest of his speech passed in a garbled blur. There was an iron clamp around her torso, squeezing, squeezing. She couldn't breathe. Her eyes stretched, her bones felt like lead grinding against each other in her body, churning, churning. There was a blaze in her veins, the burning poison of adrenalin rushing through.
"A moment of silence." Agony. Anxious, jittery agony. Then he was walking out. Then they were sprinting. They tore through the halls, jumping into the cars and smashing down the highway. Black tarmac stretched before them and her bones were churning as they ran to the plane. Up, up in the air. Up, up and away.
There was a flurry of movement on the plane. No one quite knew what to do. They circled like scared, lost toddlers.
Kate didn't know how long they were in the air. She followed the president, fingers twitching with adrenalin, hovering just above her gun. They couldn't go back, not under attack when they didn't know what was happening. That was the worst—not knowing. They didn't know anything. Not a who, why, how, or really even a what. It was chaos, madness, Alice in Wonderland. The flickering images of the television became a Cheshire cat, grinning with bright, fiery fangs. They couldn't get much as they jumped in and out of stations' ranges. The zip and roar and rumble of fighter jets alongside them permeated every sound. DAMMIT, why couldn't they get a signal? Her palms were hot, her lips were tight with fury. She watched, fixated, as images flashed by.
A chalky plume of smoke rolled across the streets of New York. "Like a warzone" a reporter shouted. People screamed, ran covered in ash like there was no tomorrow. She thought there might very well not be.
Static.
Once white buildings smoldered with a wicked brand of fire. Smoke billowed up in dark columns—not enough to obscure, but frame.
Static.
Wailing, wailing, the rushing sirens of fire trucks and police cars mimicked the people's terrified cries. They were going towards it. They were trying to help.
Static.
Uniforms ran in and out of the building, paramedics dashed from body to body. Cinders coated everything. Kate was reminded of a grainy, old film; the scene felt about as real. But all the people were the same shade of gray. Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.
Static.
"Show it again." On swift wings, the shadowed white belly of a plane disappeared into the second tower. It crumbled like a stack of cards, consumed by a single match. Darkness exploded, wrapping tentacles around the entire scene. A terror she had never known gripped her. It was a giant hook in her rib cage, darts coated in acid ripping through every cell in her body. She was paralyzed, every muscle contracting and crunching her bones between.
Static.
A view of the Pentagon filled the screen. Shit. The plane looked so elegant as it swan-dived down, skidding across the ground before it nosed the Pentagon. The wall ruptured, gutted like a fish. She would have screamed, if her throat hadn't been so dry and swollen.
Static.
Horrible groaning split the air as the head of a tower twisted and collapsed. It was crashing down, down down. She choked, gulped like a fish out of water.
Static.
"Up there!" A dark shape plummeted to the ground, colliding with a sickening crack. The scarred remains of a human face stared at the camera with scorched eyes. Kate crumpled, clutching a trash can just as she vomited. She remained crouched over it, dry heaving even when there was nothing left. Violent gasping seized her between sobs and she shook uncontrollably. Her lungs were drowning in terror and pain and she could not expel it. There was too much commotion in the hall for anyone to notice.
Static.
They hopped off the plane in Louisiana, weaving in and out of bombers. A drill, she was told. The president took the podium and recorded his address to the nation. She didn't hear a word. Paranoia buzzed in her brain like a hoard of wasps, stinging relentlessly. Her eyes probed every person she could see, fingers tugging at the trigger. Anyone that so much as leaned forward with a menacing look would be gunned down.
They were back on board, zooming through the skies. Not a plane left but Air Force One and fighter jets. Everyone was grounded, everyone was frozen in place. The fear had consumed the country and they could no longer move.
The television seemed to laugh maliciously, belching new footage. A fiery plane was entrenched in a Pennsylvania field. Such stark contrast was struck between the searing oranges and the cool greens. Sinking into a chair, she watched with trembling breath and wet cheeks for the blow that would end everything and make the world go dark. It was the same images. More smoke clouded their vision. A woman holding a baby fell to the ground on the streets of New York. Two men held her, tried to keep her from hurting herself.
"I can't stand, I can't stand." She sputtered, tears streaming down her face.
"Don't let go of the baby. Don't let go." One of the men told her.
Reports flew in and were falsified just as quickly. Car bombs and fires were said to be starting all over the country. Mass evacuation began in New York and D.C. The Pentagon was collapsing. Her world was in shambles.
They landed in Nebraska and rushed to a command center. The agents stood by while the brass works. Kate felt as though a chasm had been ripped open in her chest, a black hole sucking her in. Her ribs were like interlocked fingers, squeezing her insides as tight as they can.
Hours passed. The higher-ups shouted, argued, commanded, called, while the agents stood in crackling silence. How fitting, that they be the men in black.
They boarded Air Force One again. Night has cloaked the world but that fire burned bright in everyone's mind. The smoke that suffocated them was thick and dark and deep. She wasn't sure how long she could hold out. All she wanted to do was hug her knees to her chest and weep. Her face was pale and drawn with terror. They all looked like ghosts.
Arriving in D.C., they sped to the white house. It seemed to have grown calmer, the horror of the day ebbing away, if only to make way for the nightmarish ghouls of night. The hurricane had passed, only destruction and panicked people left. At least they were left. In the white house, they returned to their regular posts. Even the slight comfort of familiarity was such a welcome thought. Just as the adrenaline was beginning to sift out of her blood, the air became charged again.
"Aircraft heading for the white house!" Her legs burned as the agents circled the president, tearing towards the bunker with speed previously beyond their reach. No, the terrorists could not have this victory. They still had their leader. Her mind's eye narrowed in on the singular goal of reaching the bunker. This was her last mission, the final fulfillment. The day could not end with failure. Her heart pumped with one last burst of energy, one last moment of unbridled rage, terror, and pain that fueled her.
"False alarm!" They halted, retreated. The strength dropped from her limbs, leaving her as limp as a ragdoll. Still, she carried herself tall and resumed her post. Within a few minutes, it was signaled they could leave. Fresh agents would protect the president. Ten of them peeled away, trudging with heavy step and heart. They walked in silence, too weary to speak. Bloodshot eyes travelled over the ground and shoulders stooped. At last, the end of those moments of the most wretched terror to ever touch their hearts, unspeakable between men. Before they parted ways, each to their separate corner of darkness, one called for them to stop. Voiceless, expressionless they turned. The agent turned towards the Washington monument and placed his hand over his heart.
"I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America," She lifted her hand, stood tall and proud, spoke for the first time since early morning. They all joined. "And to the republic for which it stands, one nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all." They nodded to each other, a solemn gesture. They would not forget. They would not let go. They would fight. Liberty had been wounded but liberty had not been killed.
She didn't bother to turn on the lights in her apartment. Changing as quickly as possible, she slipped under the covers and begged her mind to succumb to sleep. Yet in her isolation, the tears broke the barriers and stampeded down her face, the glassy pebbles dimpling her skin.
"Please, please." Kate cried in hoarse voice. Shudders began to rack her body. With sudden fervency, she leapt out of bed and snatched the rosary off her nightstand. Bowing her head before God, she murmured through the unrelenting sobs.
"Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.
Blessed are thou amongst women
And blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.
Holy Mary, mother of God,
Pray for us sinners,
Now and at the hour of our death.
Amen."