Loop Day - Chapter Three
Death By Death
Previously: In the Oval Office, President Tyrump fixates on news coverage of his insane plan to attack both Texas and Mexico. Showing off with his ancestral Bavarian sword, Tyrump stabs Navajo presidential aide Leif Oak in the back. Leif dies but is reborn into the same day by way of a mysterious time loop of which he is newly aware. An extinct giant teratorn haunts Leif in the Rose Garden. Leif and Leif’s lover, White House kitchen aide Dhyna Durango, both want to quit covert work for the socialist Resistance in the White House and go live a new life together as growers in Leif’s high desert home. The time loop thwarts that dream, trapping them in the day — the day the world ends. The loop must be broken to survive the day, to save the world, and to escape the Oval Office — unless another cataclysm and time loop forces the lovers to save the world over and over again without end.
LOOP DAY — A SERIALIZED NOVEL
In this partisan thriller novel, two low-level Oval Office aides relive the day of their deaths over and over again, in a doomsday time loop that will end only if they foil the plan to assassinate the President and save the world.
At the Resolute Desk in the Oval Office, Tyrump admires himself on the TV news and fondles his ancestral Bavarian sword lying on a huge map of Texas.
Wolfe News Moderator: “After last night’s bombing of the historic Alamo, President Tyrump is planning an invasion of both Texas and Mexico. Yes, you heard correctly. An invasion of the Lone Star state.”
“Is the Cabinet ready, Leif, goddamn it?!” shouts Tyrump.
“Please excuse me, Sir, I’m needed in the kitchenette for a moment.”
President Tyrump grabs the sword by the hilt and points the blade straight up at the Great Seal of the United States of America on the Oval Office ceiling. “You’re on the clock, Leif! Make it fast!”
“Thank you, Sir.”
Leif hustles into hallway where Cabinet officials gather near the Cabinet Room, many showing off spy devices and covert weapons to one another.
Leif hurries into the kitchenette where he brushes by Karen Green and Jean blue, administrative aides talking and walking, having watered a potted plant, a peace lily. They are on their way back to the office of the President’s secretary.
“Crazy day already, Leif,” says Jean Blue.
“Worst I’ve seen,” says Leif.
“Are we really going to invade Texas and Mexico?” says Karen Green.
“My own Navajo Nation was overrun years ago. Texas too. Fucking White Empire,” says Leif.
Jean’s eyes widen. Karen’s eyes narrow. They hurry out of the kitchenette.
Leif takes bottled water from refrigerator. Near the doorway he watches the Cabinet members in the hall as Dhyna walks President Tyrump’s cola past them into the Oval Office. Leif retreats into the kitchenette, sits at the small table, and wonders what it will take to escape the day.
Dhyna approaches the Resolute Desk in the Oval Office. President Tyrump fixates on her shape.
“Mr. President, your diet cola,” says Dhyna.
Dhyna sets the cola on the desk. Tyrump raises the cola, toasts Dhyna. He manages to look her in eye for a moment.
“Go find Loverboy, Dyna. Tell him I’m lonely. I’m sure he’s in the bathroom pumping himself and thinking of you. Tell him to get his happy ass back here.”
“Of course, Mr. President.”
In the hallway, male Cabinet members reach out to Dhyna with their hands and with their tried and trite attempts at flattery as they pop her with the male gaze and hope to converse. Several reach out to touch her hair and shoulders, back and butt. Dhyna plays them off and dodges and ducks into the kitchenette.
Leif gets up when Dhyna comes in. They clasp hands briefly, then sit at the counter.
“I’ve died repeatedly now,” says Leif.
“In my arms.”
“That too.”
“Slaughtered by White Empire, per usual, day in and day out,” says Dhyna.
“How often have you died, Dhyna? Not in my arms.”
“Every day. For months now. Or years, I can hardly tell anymore.”
“This place is a nut palace. The All-White House. We need to go. We need to get out.”
“We can’t escape the day without saving it.”
Leif nods to a glossy framed poster on the wall with pictures of every white male President, and one black male. “It’s over. I’m done,” says Leif.
“We change the day or we die, Leif. Get real. Nuclear missiles will hit the White House within hours. They already have. I lived it. And died it.”
“I’m taking the next bus out of here, Dhyna.”
“It will run you over, Leif. We need to get the President away from the Oval Office. We need to lock him in the supply room. Make everyone believe he left. He’s the target.”
“What do you know that I don’t?”
“The President put a target on his back when he announced the invasion of Texas and Mexico. He’s too stupid to know it. Or too fearless to feel it. Or maybe too far gone to care.”
“A nuclear civil war. I called it. I told him. He doesn’t care. He won’t think.”
“We need to go beyond what anyone believes is possible to stop him, Leif — to change the day. We need to go beyond what we ourselves think is possible.”
“Let’s just go,” says Leif.
“There’s no way. We need to get the President out of the Oval Office. I’m telling you. We need to take over. Now.”
Dhyna's deaths flash before her eyes. Chased and shot by police and federal agents, hit by vehicles on every street around the White House, slashed by the sword in the Oval Office, killed in mass shootings, fires, a broken elevator in freefall, a tornado, a lightning strike, and on and on and on. It feels as if something or someone is playing with her for their own barbaric pleasure, in her desperate fight to stay alive and defeat an unbearably cruel history.
Dhyna thinks of the teratorn and wonders — Why does it never die? Only her. And Leif. And the world.
Then she remembers: unlike herself and Leif and the world, the teratorn is already extinct.
“I remember each death as if it were today because it is today,” she tells Leif. “Yesterday is never far enough away.”
“The loop of eternal death,” says Leif.
“This barbaric day only looks like life and passing time. A single day of unending death. A day we die forever and ever again,” she says. “And yet this day of death is our only hope to survive.”
Dhyna gets all the way to the Bank of America on Pennsylvania Avenue, not for the first time. Originally, she had hoped to withdraw her life savings and buy her way out of the city. Never once worked. Today, half out of habit — she tries to think — she walks up to the nervous man hiding a gun as he stands outside the bank.
“Can I help? I know what you’re doing,” she says.
“I’m not doing anything,” says the man.
“You’re robbing this bank.”
“So?”
“You’ll be dead in five minutes. And so will I.” Dhyna walks away. “So won’t we all.”
The man shouts after her: “I’ve got nothing!”
Dhyna window shops. She goes into an expensive clothing store. Picks out the most pricey item she can quickly find. A young saleswoman watches her curiously.
“I’d like to buy this before I die.”
“You and me both, Girl.”
“I’ll take it.”
“It’s not even your size. Not even close.”
“Please hurry. I need—”
A nuclear explosion ends the world.
Dhyna reaches for Leif's hands on the counter in the kitchenette by the Oval Office.
“The farther away I got from the White House, the more prolonged and ghastly my death,” she tells him. “Almost made it to the beltway once, then got stuck in traffic. Boom. Nuclear. Before dying, I learned that multiple nations thought they too were under attack, including Russia. They launched their own missiles. America responded to what it started. The entire planet was destroyed. I lived the end of Earth. I died with Earth. We all did.”
“So this is the way the world ends.”
“It ends now. It's over. Unless we stop it. You and me.”
“No one else?”
“Look around. See the crazy. End Times.”
Leif stares at the Presidential Seal on a wall calendar.
He hears a dull thump in the Oval Office.
“What about the golden drone? They can't make it work? I thought Wikilooks would put that thing on the President to stop him from doing anything in secret ever again. When they get it going, we can quit babysitting the President ourselves.”
“What he does in public is bad enough. Anyway, the People’s Drone is not totally functional yet. They get some audio, no video.”
“Fuck.”
“We need to stop the Cabinet meeting. If it happens, it’s too late.”
Administrative Aide Jean Blue rushes into the kitchenette.
“The President needs his meds!”
Leif hurries into the Oval Office.
President Tyrump tries to pry his sword from a photo framed on the wall, where he slammed the sharp blade. The group photo includes Tyrump's Vice President Rob Loot Thief, whom he fixates on, screaming, “Loot Thief, Loot Thief, you traitor!”
“Okay! Mr. President! Time for your meds!”
“When I free this sword, Leif, I’m going to chop off your fucking head!”
“Been there, done that, Mr. President. Here we go.”
Leif taps keypad code on the side of the Resolute Desk, opens a compartment, selects a bottle.
At that moment, Tyrump gives another huge yank, the sword pops out of the photo frame, flies in a fast circle, and shears through Leif’s neck. Leif's head bumps to the floor.
“My med man! Medic!” screams Tyrump.
Leif dies.
The giant teratorn in the Rose Garden screams at Leif. Spreads its wings.
“Just another day outside all history,” says Leif, staring through the Oval Office window. “Red man scalped by white man.” Leif points at the teratorn. “Fuck you.”
The teratorn cocks its head as if its feelings are hurt.
“Leif!” shouts Tyrump, from behind, sitting at the Resolute Desk.
“Yes, Sir.”
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“I’m here for you, Sir.”
“So do something useful for a change, Leif. Kill Wolfe News. Get me Kand News.”
Leif takes a remote from the President's desk, mutes Wolfe News, and unmutes Kand News.
“Give it.” Tyrump extends his arm.
Leif hands the remote to the President.
“Mr. President, why did Mexico bomb the Alamo last night?” asks the Kand News moderator during an interview recorded the previous evening.
“They’ve done it before, why not again? There was local help too,” says Tyrump.
“How do you know, Sir?”
“NSA. CIA. FBI. Capiche? Lots of evidence. There’ll be Hell to pay, I promise you.”
“What evidence, Sir?”
“Don’t doubt me. I’m the President!”
Angrily, Tyrump mutes the interview.
“Stupid! Idiot! Losers! The illegals are killing us! I will make my America great again!” Tyrump pounds the map of Texas with the remote. “It’s destiny! Manifest! Whatever that means! There’s border land there, and I’m taking it all! Build a Great Wall of Texas and a border wall mall and casino resort. Never surrender! Remember the Alamo! I’ll line the Rio Grande with golf courses and Texas Hold ‘Em poker tables. I’ll build a brand new country: Tyrumplandia! Brand Tyrump! A great long land with the river all to itself, between Mexico renamed Tyrumpas and Texas renamed Texico!”
“Sir, Texas was taken years ago. The people who own that border land won’t give it up without a fight. I’m telling you, Sir. Not for a great wall, or a grand mall, or anything. Texas has lots of bombs. Big ones. Nuclear! What if they fight back?!”
“Then a fight they will get, Leif! I always win.”
“Native tribes along the border are dug in, Sir. Others have land rights going all the way back to Spain, the Spanish land grants.”
“So we bomb Spain too, big deal. Who cares if the Natives fight back. Natives are the biggest Losers in history. They can’t stop progress: my oil and gas pipelines in the Dakotas! My border wall in the Southwest! Gas fracking in my very own Empire State of New York?! The Natives fight and always lose. They are America’s first Losers! You’re Native, Leif. You adapted. Why don’t they?”
“There’s no fracking in New York state, Sir.”
“Only for the moment, Leif!”
“For years now, Mr. President. The people don’t always lose.”
“That’s why they must be overthrown! The Natives are fighting civilization tooth and nail! Babbling about their precious water rights, land, minerals! They’re uncivilized. Nothing like us. You should solve the problem, Leif, the Native problem!”
“The White Man problem. That’s how they see it. White Empire.”
“Whites are not the problem, Leif, don’t be stupid! Native Supremacy is the problem! And Black Supremacy! Brown Supremacy! Yellow Supremacy!”
“Yellow Supremacy, Mr. President?”
“Environmentalists! Nasty people. Always going on about the power of the sun. It gets fucking old.”
President Tyrump hears a slight humming sound and looks up. “Speak of the Devil! It’s back!” Tyrump points at a golden drone, a shimmering sphere, like a hologram, hovering near the ceiling. “Fuck you!”
Tyrump stands and throws the remote. It passes through the brilliant glowing sphere and ricochets off the ceiling and far wall.
“There's the enemy. That fucking thing. Where in Hell is my NSA, CIA, Cyber Command? This fucking thing monitors my every move. Follows me into the bathroom. Records my every shit. No peace, no privacy. No respect. No fucking respect.”
The golden drone disappears.
“Fucking disappears!” shouts Tyrump.
“That’s Wikilooks, Sir. They’ve got their eyes on you.”
“I know who the fuck it is! Fucking treasonous traitorous trespassers!”
“Why not call off the invasion of Texas and maybe cut a deal with Wikilooks, Sir?”
“Fuck you, Leif, get me Press Secretary Bullcrap! I picked him for the job myself. Bullcrap and I see eye to eye. He always says the right thing. He has to or he’s history. Don’t be history, Leif! Make history! History loves winners. History hates Losers. Losers are haters, Leif. So sick.”
“Mr. President—”
“Oh fuck off, Leif. Get me Wolfe news. Those fuckers. At least they have the common decency to kiss my ass night and day.”
“Nothing like common decency,” says Leif. He retrieves the remote, turns on the news, hands the remote back to Tyrump who powers up the volume.
Wolfe News Moderator: “This morning after a mysterious nighttime bombing of the historic Alamo in San Antonio, Texas, Mr. President, what do you say to the American people?”
“I demand total payback against Mexico and whoever else bombed the Alamo!”
Wolfe News Moderator: “Who, Sir?”
“There was local help. Texicans. We’re still getting the facts. This is a horrible crime against one of the most sacred monuments on American soil. The Alamo is one of our oldest churches. Mexico bombed a church! With the help of Texicans!”
“Mr. President, how will the US respond?”
“Total payback against Texas and Mexico. It’s a cross-border uprising. Taking Texas is a must. All options are on all tables. We’ll reclaim Texas, then Mexico.”
“You mean fight, Sir? Using the military.”
“Texas and Mexico brought the war to us. We can’t have these two outlaw states working together.”
Wolfe News Moderator: “Working to do what, Sir?”
“They bombed the Alamo! They send poison and criminals into our country! Drugs! Illegals!”
“And Texas?”
“Them too! Texas receives the drugs and criminals with open arms! Then exports them to America proper! Proper America invaded!”
“Sir, you’re telling all Americans that the United States of America is on the eve of war with—”
“They attacked us!”
“You must be receiving advice from the military, from Joint Chiefs of Staff Chairman, General Kilman.”
“Hell, no. The military takes orders from me, their Commander-in-Chief. The gun boys are team players, and they play for Team Tyrump. No one else.” President Tyrump mutes the TV and shouts at the screen: “You’re goddamned right they do! Leif, where’s Dhyna? I need my diet cola.”
“Sir, let me help.”
Leif taps code into the side of President Tyrump’s desk, opens a compartment, selects a small nasal spray inhaler.
“Sir, your meds.”
“Gimme that.” Tyrump grabs the inhaler and shoots it into each nostril. Then he throws the bottle across the room. It ricochets off three busts — Martin Luther King sandwiched between Robert E. Lee and Ulysses S. Grant — narrowly missing a display of Native American pottery.
Leif retrieves the spray bottle and returns it to the special compartment, closes the small door, locks it. Tyrump feels better, admires himself on TV again.
“My sword, Leif!”
“Sir?”
“Hand it to me.”
Leif lifts the sword from the desk. Gives it to the President.
“Leif, face the door.”
“Mr. President?”
“On the count of three, when I say, 'Go.' You go get the Cabinet. Do it, Leif. Now.”
“Sir, do you promise—”
“Oh, I do,” says President Tyrump.
Leif faces the door. He stares at the Native pottery and the busts of King, Lee, Grant. Tyrump swings the sword aimlessly behind Leif.
“History’s a bitch, Leif. So be it. Locker room talk, you understand. Ready, set—”
Tyrump swings the sword a few more times. Dhyna comes through the Oval Office door with Tyrump’s cola. She stops as Tyrump swings the sword again.
“You’re late, Dhyna!” screams Tyrump. “I’m dying of thirst, you lazy ungrateful—”
With surprising speed, jamming his sword into the top of the desk to propel himself up, Tyrump steps onto his chair and then onto the Resolute Desk. He lifts the sword and holds it high pointing to the Great Seal of the United States of America on the Oval Office ceiling.
“Mr. President, careful, no, no!” says Dhyna.
She runs toward Leif and the Resolute Desk. Leif holds out his hands to shield Dhyna from the President.
“No more Brown Supremacy, Leif! Remember the Alamo!” screams President Tyrump.
The President jumps, swings down the sword, splits Leif’s head, spears Dhyna, and falls on top of them.
Leif dies.
Leif rubs his head. The teratorn hulks in the Rose Garden.
“That one hurt more than most,” says Leif to the teratorn. “The President is a monster.”
The teratorn daggers Leif with red glowing eyes.
“He's not like you. He's batshit crazy.”
Leif and Dhyna sit at the counter holding hands in the kitchenette by the Oval Office.
“Remind me again,” says Leif. “How did this lunatic get elected President of America, twice?”
Dhyna smiles sadly. “You know the answer, Leif. The two rich parties have been smashing people in the face for decades: no guaranteed health care, and almost every other human right violated. No guaranteed income or decent wage, no guaranteed college or parental leave. Not enough sick leave and personal time. Dangerous jobs, toxic food, lethal environments. Crap, expensive, or unavailable housing and transportation. In the richest country in the world, with money overflowing everywhere except into the pockets and lives of the people. And the people have money extracted from them hourly like teeth at involuntary, mandatory dental appointments. And then a carnival barker like Con Don Tyrump buys his way into view and rages and pretends to be on the people’s side. Come election, Tyrump offers hate, the other side offers crumbs, and the people choose to hate the crumbs. The people always choose the rebel against the Empire, but they are only allowed to choose fake rebels, while the real rebels are demonetized and demonized and destroyed by every last force of Empire. So far. But you know this, Leif. It’s what we fight. It’s why we’re here. It’s the way of the world—”
Administrative Aide Jean Blue bursts into the kitchenette.
“The President needs his meds!”
Dhyna presses Leif’s hands between her own. “Fucking kill him if you need to, Leif. We can die another day.”
Jean Blue’s eyes go wide.
“Figure of speech,” Leif tells Jean Blue. “Dhyna's a pacifist.”
“No I am not,” says Dhyna.
Jean Blue touches Dhyna’s arm sympathetically. Leif goes out.
“We’re all underpaid, Sweetheart,” says Jean Blue.
“I’m a serial killer,” says Dhyna.
Jean Blue flinches and pulls back. Dhyna glares as if to acknowledge the evil.
“Here in the White House, brown people are very dangerous,” Dhyna tells Jean Blue. “Especially us women.”
Jean Blue crosses her arms on her chest and hugs herself.
Dhyna points to the massive poster with pictures of all the white male Presidents and one black male on the wall. “This is what has got to stop,” says Dhyna.
Jean Blue nods, now very afraid of Dhyna.
Dhyna thinks back.
Hand-in-hand, she leads President Tyrump to the White House main kitchen.
“Dhyna, you sneaky little Devil,” says Tyrump. “You don’t know how hard it was to lose the agents, even for a minute.”
“The police state never sleeps, Mr. President. You need to learn to duck it.”
In the middle of the empty kitchen, Dhyna stops and faces the President and strokes his suit and pretends she is about to enjoy offering herself to the most powerful man in the world. She lifts her arms and lays her hands on Tyrump as if she intends to kiss him — then she pushes away.
“Wait. I know a more private place.”
Dhyna takes Tyrump’s hand and leads him to the walk-in freezer. She opens the door. He hesitates. She shoves him inside and tries to close the door, but he grabs her and pulls her in with him. They struggle.
“Dhyna, you Devil! You little Devil!”
Tyrump slips and drags Dhyna down with his massive bulk. They fall hard onto the cement floor, banging their heads on metal shelves on the way down. Tyrump is knocked out.
“If the Texas secessionists don’t know where the President is, how can they nuke him?” says Dhyna to the motionless form beneath her.
Dhyna escapes and locks the freezer door.
Dizzy suddenly, she grabs the side of her head where it struck the shelf, and she staggers along the edge of the kitchen, then passes out in a semi-hidden corner behind a sink.
Dhyna hazily wakes. She finds herself face-to-face with scent dogs barking madly at her eyes and ears. Other dogs bark and paw at the freezer door. Secret Service agents break open the door and drag out the body of Tyrump, white-frosted and seemingly frozen solid.
And then suddenly the world goes white, as DC is nuked again.
Another day, another death.
Dhyna holds the ancient Bavarian sword high over President Tyrump and lifts up onto her toes behind his chair where he sits at the Resolute Desk in the Oval Office. Tyrump, oblivious, watches himself on TV.
“Sorry, Mr. President. I’ve tried everything else. Maybe if you’re dead, the Texas secessionists won’t nuke the city. Live by the sword—”
Tyrump hears without listening.
“Dhyna, shut up.” He pumps the volume on the remote and points at the TV. “I’m trying to watch myself. This is my glorious day.”
Dhyna hacks off his head.
“Live by it, die by it.”
Horrified and fearful of what she has done, Dhyna flees.
Dhyna Durango is a progressive populist, not a chaotic populist. She only means to save the day, not to attack it. And she is far from a fake populist like Tyrump. If the President is already dead, she thinks, then there is no reason for the Texas secessionists to launch the nukes that destroy DC and cause a chain reaction that obliterates the world.
She calmly gets outside. Then she races along a sidewalk to the streets. Capitol police officers and DC police are alerted by Secret Service and chase on foot. A malicious-looking agent calmly targets her with a rifle. He shoots. Dhyna is bullet-punched forward. She sprawls onto the pavement. She spits blood.
And the world goes white, as DC is nuked, as ever before. There is no time this time even to say, “Fuck!” Death has spoiled Dhyna’s day again.
In the Oval Office, Leif Oak finds Tyrump trying to pry his sword out of the portrait frame on the wall, where he slammed it.
“Okay, Sir, let me help with that!”
Leif muscles in on Tyrump and successfully wiggles the sword free.
“Shall I hang it up, Sir?”
You know I can have you killed anytime I like, Leif,” says President Tyrump.
“You would never do that, Sir.”
“Hand me the sword.”
Leif carefully gives the sword to Tyrump and steps far back.
Tyrump lifts the sword above his head and admires it.
“Beautiful.”
Tyrump looks out a window into the Rose Garden.
“Look, a bird! A bird!”
Startled, Leif walks toward the window to try to see what he assumes is the giant teratorn. Can the President possibly see the fearsome creature too?
Tyrump is bullshitting.
Tyrump leaps forward and swings the sword down onto Leif, chopping off one arm as Leif tries to get away.
Leif crumples to the floor. Tyrump stands over him.
“My meds. My med man! Agents!”
Military and Secret Service agents rush in. Tyrump points the sword at Leif on the floor clinging to life, his cell phone partly visible beneath his remaining hand.
“He attacked me,” screams President Tyrump. “That criminal attacked me!”
“Sir, yes, Sir!” says the nearest agent.
“Gun!” shouts President Tyrump. “Under his hand!”
A bit of phone is visible.
“Gun! Gun!” Tyrump screams.
“Gun?!” says the first agent.
“Gun?!” says the second.
The third agent mishears. “Gun! Gun!”
“Gun,” says Leif, fatalistic.
The Secret Service agents open fire. Leif is killed.
The teratorn in the Rose Garden stands with its wings crooked and bent to the taper of its back. The teratorn cocks its head to one side.
“Life in White Empire,” says Leif, staring out the window. “What can you say?”
The teratorn cocks its head to the other side.
“Another day, another dollar, another death.”
The teratorn cocks its head back the other way.
“This time I kill them all,” says Leif.
The teratorn screams, leaps up, shows it claws, thumps down.
Leif focuses on the sword on Tyrump’s desk.
Texas Governor Gassy “Tank” Wells glares at the TV news in his office with his Chief of Staff Petrol Geyser. Much speculation on TV about the invasion of Texas: bombing targets, attack routes, gas and oil takeovers. Governor Wells thumps a massive forearm and fist on his desk.
“President Tyrump will take my oil over my dead body! What do you say, Geyser?”
“Governor, the President deserves to burn. Bam is ready. Just say the word.”
“Tell Bam it’s a fucking ‘Go’!”
Chief of Staff Petrol Geyser taps his handheld.
Bam answers in a west Texas accent. “Yes, Sir, Mr. Geyser.”
Geyser hands the phone to the Governor.
“Bam, this is Texas Governor Gassy Tank Wells. It’s a fucking ‘Go’!”
“Sir, yes, Sir!” says Bam.
The Governor slams down the phone and glares at President Tyrump on TV.
“Let’s see how President Tyrump likes his own goddamn nuclear medicine, Geyser.”
Petrol Geyser nods. “Oh, I think he’ll glow.”
At the Resolute Desk, President Tyrump watches himself on TV. Fondles his sword.
Wolfe News Moderator: “After last night’s bombing of the historic Alamo, President Tyrump is planning an invasion of both Texas and Mexico. Yes, you heard correctly. An invasion of the Lone Star state.”
“Is the Cabinet ready, Leif, goddamn it?!”
“All too soon, Sir.”
“Did my Chief of Staff die, Leif?”
“It’s just you, Sir.”
“That’s good. All me.”
Tyrump watches Dhyna Durango approach, fixated on her shape.
“Mr. President, your diet cola.”
Dhyna sets the cola on the map of Texas on the Resolute Desk. President Tyrump raises the cola, toasts Dhyna. He manages to look her in the eyes for a moment.
“To my great and glorious day. ”
Tyrump watches himself swagger on TV. He toasts himself.
Dhyna glances quickly at Leif, then exits the Oval Office.
In the kitchenette, Leif and Dhyna sit at the table and consider options.
“What living Hell is this?” says Leif.
“The world as we know it. As it knows us.”
Dhyna takes Leif’s hand. He takes hers. Then they kiss.
Dhyna pushes away. “Listen. My plan. We get Tyrump into the supply room in his secretary’s office and lock the door. We tell everyone he left for Camp David. Let the Texans bomb there. It’s forest. It’s horrific. But it’s maybe thousands dead instead of millions.”
“We survive. Do you think we survive?”
“We do. Then we get lost in your homeland. The high desert. A high life. For a change.”
“We start a family.”
“We build a good civilization. And live. Live with the people, live like people live.”
“Away from the lunatics.”
“We can dream.”
“The Native Dream.”
Dhyna nods. “First we dream. Then we do. Then we live.”
“Does it need to be in that order, Dhyna?”
“I think it does now.”
Hands clasped, Leif Oak and Dhyna Durango discuss their plan to decoy the President.
Leif strides into the Oval Office from the kitchenette. He walks to the President’s desk, takes the sword off the desk.
“Leif! What the fuck are you doing?!”
“Mr. President, come with me. Sorry for the short notice. Photo op with the sword next door. ”
“What’s the big idea, Leif?!”
“Sorry, Sir, they want you brandishing a sword at the map of Texas. We have another map, Sir.”
“Let’s do it here!”
“It’s all set up next door. Come on, Sir.”
Angry, President Tyrump follows Leif into his secretary’s office.
Jean Blue and Karen Green are surprised to see Leif lead the President to the back of their office with the sword.
Leif opens the supply room door.
“Come on in, Mr. President. The photographer wants to do it here.”
“This will be a photo op for the ages, Leif, or I’ll use this sword on your head.”
“No doubt, Sir.”
President Tyrump enters the supply room. Leif follows, slams the door shut. With the sword, Leif smacks Tyrump broadside in the face and forces him to the floor. Leif kneels on the President’s back and presses the sword against the back of his neck.
“Do you see what I’m doing here, Mr. President? Not a peep. You peep, you die. I’ll cut off your fucking head. Don’t think I won’t. I’ve had practice.”
Leif duct tapes Tyrump’s mouth, hands, and ankles.
Then Leif exits the supply room with the sword. He holds it strong in front of him. He walks across the room and points it at Karen Green then at Jean Blue.
“I need you to announce to the Cabinet members that President Tyrump is not coming in today and that he has gone to Camp David instead. Not coming in. Gone to Camp David.”
Dhyna Durango walks into the office with a cloth bag. She pulls out a meat cleaver from within it. She brandishes the big sharp and shiny blade at Karen Green and Jean Blue.
“Fucking do it, Jean.”
Jean Blue is stricken. She goes into the hallway.
“Please! Please! Everyone!” Jean Blue announces to the Cabinet members gathered in the hallway. “I’m sorry to tell you that plans have changed. The President is not coming in today. He has gone to Camp David instead. I’m sorry. The meeting is canceled.”
Jean Blue steps into the Cabinet room as if to make the same announcement to the Cabinet members inside. Instead, she runs to General Krushin Karvin Kilman who is chatting with other armed officials.
“General! The President has been taken hostage in the supply room! Hostage, next door! In the office!”
Half in disbelief, half ballistic, the armed men rush to the office. There they find Leif and Dhyna holding the sword and cleaver to the throat of Karen Green.
“Where’s the President?!” shouts Joint Chiefs Chairman General Kilman.
“Fuck,” says Dhyna. She turns wearily to Leif. “We’ll get it right next time.” She shoves Karen Green to the side.
Then Leif and Dhyna raise their weapons and charge the officials and are shot dead.
The teratorn is pissed. It glares at Leif through an Oval Office window.
“Fuck you, Bird,” says Leif. “I don’t see you saving the day.”
The death-hook beak of the teratorn gapes, and the giant creature shrieks. The grinding and piercing sound seems to all but shatter the glass in the windows of the Oval Office.
Leif steps back. And he begins to think how fierce he will need to become to save and win the day.
