Senator Ryman looked uncertain. Then, slowly, he nodded and rose, moving to put his arm around his wifes shoulders. David, Im afraid Im going to have to vote with Emily on this one. I very much want them all to stay.
Well, Senator, I said, I think our partnership is still good.
Good, he replied. Reaching out, he took my hand and shook it.
* * *
The trouble with the news is simple: People, especially ones on the ends of the power spectrum, like it when youre afraid. The people who have the power want you scared. They want you walking around paralyzed by the notion that you could die at any moment. Theres always something to be afraid of. It used to be terrorists. Now its zombies.
What does this have to do with the news? This: The truth isnt scary. Not when you understand it, not when you understand the repercussions of it, and not when you arent worried that somethings being kept from you. The truth is only scary when you think part of it might be missing. And those people? They like it when youre scared. So they do their best to sit on the truth, to sensationalize the truth, to filter the truth in ways that make it something you can be afraid of.
If we didnt have to fear the truths we didnt hear, wed lose the need to fear the ones we did. People should consider that.
From Images May Disturb You,
the blog of Georgia Mason, April 2, 2040
Seventeen
We spent three weeks in Parrish before it was time for the campaign to get back on the road. The voters would forgive the senator taking time to mourn for his daughter, but unless he got out there and made sure people remembered him as more than the victim of a senseless tragedy, hed never make up the ground he was already losing. Voters are a fickle bunch, and Rebecca Rymans heroic death was already yesterdays news. Instead, the news was buzzing with Governor Blackburns exciting plans for heath-care reform, her suggestions for increasing school security, and her proposed alterations to the animal husbandry and care laws. In some ways, her campaign was using Rebecca as much as the senators was, because when she said tougher restrictions on keeping large animals, it was Rebeccas face people saw. The senator needed to get rolling or there wouldnt be anywhere for him to roll to.
Unfortunately, our swift departure from Oklahoma City left the convoy of RVs and equipment trucks wed been depending on to get us across the country several states behind us. This became an issue as we were preparing to set out from Wisconsin, especially since our newly tightened schedule didnt leave time to go back and get them. How were we supposed to get ourselves, the senator, his staff, the security detail, and the equipmentsome of which was new to the campaign, having joined us with Governor Tateto our destination when we didnt have a means of protected travel?
The answer was simple: We werent. Instead, the senator, his wife, the governor, their respective campaign managers, and the bulk of the staff flew ahead to our next stop in Houston, Texas, where they could meet up with the convoy and really get things started. The rest of us were left with the exciting task of getting ourselves and the equipment that hadnt been abandoned in Oklahoma to Texas via the overland express. There was no train from Parrish to Houston large enough to haul the additional equipment, but that worked out since Shaun and I were unwilling to abandon our vehicles. One way or another, we were driving it.
We initially planned to make the drive alone: just the After the End Times crew, reconnecting with one another through the time-honored ritual of the road trip. This plan got shouted down on all fronts, starting with Senator Ryman and moving down the chain to Steve. The argument that wed travel faster without a bunch of extra bodies didnt hold water where they were concerned, but we managed to find a compromise after three days of shouting. Wed take a security team. We were exhausted enough after that fight to give in on the matter of Chuck, who needed to monitor the transportation of some of the more sensitive equipment. Besides, his presence might keep Buffy a little calmer, and we needed all the help we could get in that regard.
The tension between Buffy and the rest of us had been getting worse since our meeting with the Rymans and Governor Tate. None of us had expected her to endorse the idea that we should walk away. It was a betrayal of everything we worked for, and it came out of nowhere. Rick took it hardest. As far as I knew, he hadnt spoken to Buffy since we got back to the hotel. Buffy looked at him sorrowfully, like a dog that knew it had done something wrong, and went back to the task of getting our equipment ready for the road. By the time we were ready to roll, I think shed rebuilt every piece of camera equipment we owned at least twice, in addition to upgrading our computers and replacing the memory chips in my PDA.
Shaun and I didnt have anything that practical to concern ourselves with. I managed to stay distracted by conducting remote interviews with every politician I could get my hands on, working with Mahir to update our merchandising, and cleaning up the message boards. Shaun lacked those outlets. The government had banned him from going back to the ranch during the investigation, and Parrish was otherwise short of things for him to poke at. He was restless, unhappy, and making me insane. Shaun doesnt handle idleness well. Make him sit still too long, and he winds up silent, sullen, and, above all, touchy as hell.
Shauns crankiness, combined with everything else, was the reason for our caravan traveling arrangements. Rick was in his little blue armadillo with the barn cat, which hed named Lois after it received a clean bill of health from the Ryman family veterinarian. Shaun was in our van, blasting heavy metal and brooding, while Buffy was riding with Chuck in the equipment truck at the rear of the convoy.