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Independence Day
BECAUSE OF THE HOLIDAY, I had the day off, and Malware canceled our regular Wednesday evening class. That meant Zander and I had the entire day—and the evening—to spend with Abe and Emilio. I was so ready for the fun ahead of us!
The four of us grabbed an early breakfast at a pancake joint and made it to the nearest Metro station by eight. Like Chantelle had warned us, the Metro was jammed with tourists and vacationers bent on celebrating Independence Day in D.C. At each subsequent stop, a new crowd boarded—or tried to. At some point, the train was too full to handle all the onboarding passengers, forcing them to wait for the next D.C.-bound train.
Emilio insisted on sitting next to me—which I didn’t mind a bit—but his attention was elsewhere. Everywhere. He was soaking it all up, and I was soaking him up.
Across from us, Zander grinned. I grinned back.
Perfect moment. Perfect day.
We exited the Metro at the Federal Triangle Station and hiked down 12th to Constitution Avenue. Traffic had been blocked off Constitution from east of the Capitol Building to west of the Ellipse. Loads of other people had gotten to the parade route before us, but we eventually planted ourselves on a waist-high brick wall where, if the crush of parade watchers in front of us sat down, we’d be able to see into the street. If they stood, so would we.
The parade was awesome. Zander bought little American flags on sticks for the four of us from a vendor. Our flags were but grains of sand compared to the numerous and huge Stars and Stripes in the parade. We waved our little flags anyway—at every marching band, float, and military unit that marched by. We waved at contingencies of Marines, Air Force, Navy, Army, Coast Guard, and various state National Guards. When the Revolutionary War marchers came through, I thought Emilio was going to lose his mind.
He pointed and shouted in my ear, “Jayda! Look! Look! They’s from the Civil War!”
When my ear stopped reverberating, I shouted back, “I think you mean the War of Independence.”
“Is that a different war?”
Good grief, what were they teaching kids in school?
“Yes. Eighty-some years apart.”
“Oh.” He didn’t care. He was having a grand time.
***
PRESIDENT JACKSON, Maddie Jackson, Senator Delancey, and his wife Winnie observed the festivities through the thick glass of the Oval Office out onto the White House’s south lawn. The crowd of White House staffers and their families were enjoying the food and games of the White House Independence Day Reception. A select group of media representatives mingled among the guests, shooting video and still photos, doing short stand-up pieces with the gathering in the background.
“I love seeing children playing on the White House lawn,” Maddie murmured to Mrs. Delancey.
Winnie Delancey was a diminutive woman compared to her husband, and at least ten years younger than him. She nodded her agreement with Maddie’s comment, then glanced up and smiled into her husband’s face.
The four of them saw when the event organizers informed the guests that the President was about to speak. The crowd began to move toward the small platform and podium outside the West Wing’s gardens.
Jackson’s Chief of Staff asked, “Are you ready, Mr. President?”
Jackson nodded to Kennedy and Marcus Park. He and the First Lady strode from the Oval Office to the podium. Senator and Mrs. Delancey, moving a little slower, followed behind them.
A cheer rose from the reception guests as the First Couple mounted the platform. The Jacksons waved and smiled to ongoing applause until the President stepped to the microphone.
“Thank you. Thank you all. Ladies, gentlemen, children, and members of the media, today we celebrate the birthday of our nation. Maddie and I count ourselves blessed to have you and your precious families as our guests on this Independence Day. We are even more honored at the service you render our nation and this administration on a daily basis.”
Shouts, whistles, and more applause interrupted Jackson. He smiled and saluted the kids who were waving furiously at him. Then he motioned again for silence.
“I felt that today was the perfect day to make an important announcement. Senator Delancey? Will you join me on the platform?”
Delancey assisted Maddie Jackson to step down from the platform before he climbed up and stood beside the President.
“Senator Delancey stands here with me. He needs no introduction, but I will elaborate on his patriotism and service to our country: Devoted husband; Viet Nam War veteran who, as a downed fighter pilot, spent nearly three years as a prisoner of war; respected attorney and lawmaker in the capital of his home state of Alabama, now close to completing seven terms representing his state in the U.S. Senate—and the devoted husband of Winnie.
“Honored guests, I wished for you to be the first to know: Today I officially nominate Simon Delancey to serve as my Vice President. Senator Delancey, I hope to welcome you soon to the West Wing.”
Jackson and Delancey smiled and shook hands, while around them a frenzy of applause and photography erupted at the announcement.
***
WHEN THE PARADE ENDED, we made our way toward the National Mall. Zander, Abe, and Emilio had spent most of Tuesday at the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum—Zander and I actually had spent eight hours wandering through that place on a particularly rainy day—but I was eager to show Emilio all of the large D.C. landmarks—the Lincoln, Jefferson, and Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorials; the Washington Monument; the war memorials; and the White House.
The White House. As much as I wanted to tell him we’d been in the White House as guests of the President, I kept that bit of information to myself.
Jayda Cruz, we are picking up a breaking news story you will find of interest.
“Oh? What is it?”
President Jackson has announced his vice-presidential nominee, Senator Delancey of Alabama.
“Wow! That’s great. I’m sure glad he found someone he could trust.”
Senator Delancey has a distinguished record.
“You’ve looked into him?”
Yes, Jayda Cruz.
“Good to know.”
The four of us climbed the steps to the Lincoln Memorial and sat down for a while, just enjoying the awareness of history surrounding us and the view down the reflecting pool. Emilio sat between Zander and me. He grabbed Zander’s hand and laid his head on my arm.
“This is a cool place, Jayda.”
“I think so, too.”
Other tourists sat on the steps or wandered up and down. Kids shouted and ran around, jumping from step to step, chasing each other. The Fourth was one of the busiest days in D.C., and it felt to me like we were part of something wonderful, something the other visitors knew and appreciated in the same way we did.
My husband—my wonderful, gorgeous man—smiled at me over our boy’s head.
His face seemed to reflect what I was thinking: What a perfect day! What a treasure, Lord. I’m so content in this moment, so—
“Death to America! Death to this city, the Seat of Satan!”
I couldn’t see what was happening through the streams of tourists, but within microseconds, the crowd parted—and the running, screaming, stumbling, and trampling began.
We were only yards from the hole opening in the crowd.
Not far enough away to avoid what was coming.
I scrambled to my feet and sprinted toward the sound of that voice, against the flow of people lurching and running to escape death and dismemberment.
“Jayda! No!”
I shoved flailing bodies out of my way and pressed ahead until I glimpsed him only feet away—a small man, bearded, wild-eyed—willing and ready to immolate himself and others—but in my mind, it was Cushing. Cushing and Genie and Jake all over again.
“No!” I screamed. I threw my hands up and pushed all the current I could marshal at him. Into him. The man staggered and dropped his hands to the steps to keep his balance.
“Nano! Now!”
Two bolts as narrow as my wrist whooshed from my palms, converged, and blasted into the man’s legs. The blast flipped him high in the air, threw him in a complete somersault, and slammed him onto his back. The man’s head smacked the granite with a sick kind of thump.
He did not move.
I stood only feet from him, chest heaving. I surrounded the prostrate form with a bubble that would protect myself and others nearby—except the man himself—should the explosive vest detonate. However, the nanomites inside the bubble were busy lasering through the wires on the man’s vest.
People were still running and shrieking. They didn’t know the danger was past.
Park rangers and Capitol Police rushed up the steps to the supine figure. They paid me no mind, and I suddenly realized I was invisible—and had been invisible since I charged the terrorist. If I couldn’t be seen, I wondered how the tourists would report what had taken place.
Jayda Cruz, Zander is asking you to return to him.
“Is everything under control, Nano?”
Yes, Jayda Cruz. The subject is unconscious, and we have defused the bomb.
Numb. I was numb and shaking. I looked around for Zander. For Emilio. For Abe. I couldn’t see; my eyes weren’t working right. I was weeping. I had been terrified out of my mind that someone would hurt those I love. I stumbled blindly away from the terrorist. The nanomites steered me to Zander.
When I touched Zander, he put his arm around me and pulled me farther from the commotion. “C’mon, Jayda. You did it; you saved us and all these people. I’ll yell at you later for risking your life.”
I must still have been invisible, because no one paid Zander any mind. All eyes were focused on the scene on the steps. He drew me down the stairs and off to the left of the memorial, where we found Abe, his usually glossy complexion a pasty gray, and a wide-eyed Emilio.
He crashed into me, his arms like steel bands around my waist.
Guess I was visible again.
“Jayda! I thought you was gonna die!” Now that he could see me again, see that I was okay, he sobbed into my shirt.
“I couldn’t let that man hurt you, Emilio.”
Zander urged us to keep moving. “Lots of people had their phones out when that guy started shouting. Someone had to have caught you in action.”
“The nanomites made me invisible.”
“Yeah, but your actions weren’t invisible.” He complained further in Spanish, occasionally throwing in an English word, like “electricity,” “bubble,” and “lightning bolts.”
I was more concerned with leading headlines such as, “Terrorist Flies into Air and Flips a 360.” A hysterical giggle burst from my chest. I couldn’t stop it.
Zander Cruz, we deleted images and footage from as many cell phones as we could reach.
We both heard the nanomites. “Even one or two will create a stir, Nano,” Zander replied.
The mites didn’t answer.
When we reached the trees on the back side of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, I refused to go any farther. I collapsed onto a bench, and Emilio sat with me.
Zander, his hands on his hips, stared into the distance. He was upset, but I knew he would come around.
Abe tipped his head at me. “That was a brave thing you did, Jayda. Your fast acting saved our lives and saved a lot of families a world of grief.”
I nodded. Maybe I did save other families, but my family had been my only concern when I acted. I suppose that was understandable.
We rested there for a while, keeping tabs on the busy scene over at the Lincoln Memorial. Emilio recovered his equilibrium first.
“I smell hot dogs.”
Jayda Cruz, we detect no restaurants nearby.
I laughed under my breath. “Nano, I think Emilio can smell food a mile away.”
I got up. “Come on. Let’s head down the mall. I think there are food trucks on the other side.”
We found a truck that had hot dogs and bought seven—one for Abe and two each for the rest of us.
As the sun started to go down, we (and everyone else) headed toward the Reflecting Pool, looking for a plot of grass to claim as our own for the fireworks.
It was a beautiful display, but I didn’t enjoy it as much as I might have before the attempted terrorist attack. I sat between Zander’s legs and Emilio sat between mine. Emilio leaned back on me, and I held him close.
Lord, please help us finish this assignment. I want to go home.
~~**~~
