43
Press Conference
…these dead shall not have died in vain…
—ABRAHAM LINCOLN, GETTYSBURG ADDRESS
You’ll stay by me for the press conference, do you understand?” Williams said in the seat beside me.
“Yes, you’ve only said it twenty times,” I muttered.
The plane bumped over some rough air, and I gripped my armrests, only to wince as the healing wounds in my hands sparked with pain.
Williams patted my knee and smiled to herself. “How does it feel to be the face of our cause?”
“Like my life’s greatest tragedy is being used for your political gain.”
Her smile tightened. “Enjoy your reward, Sophia. You helped save our country from a dictator. You should be proud.”
Pride was not how I’d classify my feelings.
Relief, maybe. Betrayed, definitely.
Mostly, I just felt empty.
A week had passed since news arrived of Commander Haynes’s death, and Williams hadn’t let me leave her side. Once New York City had been destroyed and Haynes repealed his Security Restoration Campaign, Williams capitalized on the human interest side of my interview. She’d wielded me and my heartbreaking tale as a rallying cry, then used the subsequent interviews to bolster it.
And it worked.
Backup from Canada and the European Union fortified the Defiance forces, and Theo carried through with Lucas’s assassination plan without him. Leaderless, the NAO caved to the Defiance. Pockets of rebellion were swiftly throttled.
And just like that, it was over.
General Harrison won the war, and Nia Williams stood at the helm.
For the past several days, I hovered in corners while she became the de facto president of the reestablished United States. She gave interviews and speeches to cameras, always surrounded by a team of guards and aides. She discussed her plans to repeal the National Stability Act, to reinstate Congress and ratify a new and better Constitution. She met with the Canadian prime minister and secretary-general of the UN.
I was the pet she took everywhere, the rescue dog she’d groomed for everyone to see.
See how I saved her? I’m such a good person. Our new country will do right by people like her.
Strangers watched me with pity and kindness, their intrusive gazes catching on the gold band around my finger. A few braver souls offered their condolences.
“I’d been rooting for you,” one elderly woman murmured to me. It was dinner the night before we were meant to leave for DC, and Williams was mingling with the Canadian andEuropean bigwigs. “I was so sad to hear your fella was killed in action.”
Killed in action.
Such a harmless phrase.
As far as I knew, he’d been stabbed in the chest and left to burn in a flaming building.
But sure. Killed in action was one way to put it.
“Do you mind if I ask,” the woman continued in a low voice, “do you still have the note?”
Her clear blue eyes gazed upon me with nothing but kindness, and I found myself reaching into the neck of the gown Williams made me wear, pulling out the ragged note.
I unfolded it and showed her Lucas’s words.
