THE NEXT DAY THEY ride on, but Hope speaks to no one. Not to Book, not to Diana, not to anyone. She’s not in the mood for talking. It’s not just that the woman who came up with the Final Solution will soon be running the country. It’s also her father. Why was he considered the Butcher of the West? Was he in some way responsible for all of this?
The landscape flattens and irons itself out. Six days after leaving the others, they ride to the top of a low ridge and draw their horses to a stop. Mud as far as they can see. All the snow has seeped into the prairie, creating an enormous puddle of brownish-black muck, stretching from one horizon to the other. Far to the south is a river snaking through the prairie. Flowing into that is another, smaller river.
Mired in the swampy landscape in the V of these two rivers is a vast array of mud-splattered tents, sprawling from riverbank to riverbank.
“Welcome to New Washington,” Goodman Dougherty says. “The capital of the Republic of the True America.” He hawks up a ball of phlegm and plants it in the mud.
The sight is utterly dreary. People going about their daily chores, walking through the slop, passing between tents that are smeared top to bottom with mud, mud, and more mud. This is the capital city of what was once the greatest country on earth? Hope wonders.
They sit atop their horses and take it all in. Just knowing that Chancellor Maddox is down there somewhere makes Hope’s blood run fast.
“What’re we waiting for?” she says impatiently. “Let’s get going.”
“Hold on a sec, Annie Oakley,” Dougherty says. “Before we go stormin’ in there, guns a-blazin’, let’s remember we’ve got two weeks till the inauguration. It might be worth coming up with a strategy.”
Hope sighs noisily but knows he’s right.
After an hour of conversation and debate, it’s decided that she, Book, and Cat will sneak into the capital. The rest will wait out of sight.
“You sure about this?” Dougherty asks. “You might need another hand.”
She’s insistent that it’s just the three of them. “You being a Skully and all, they’d take you for the enemy right off. Besides, less noticeable if there’s just a handful of us.” What she doesn’t say is, This is my battle. My fight.
“Any final words of advice?” Book asks Goodman Dougherty.
“Yeah, don’t piss anyone off.”
As the three ease down the muddy slope, Hope silently promises to sacrifice her own life if that’s what it takes to end the lives of Maddox and Gallingham. That realization strikes a chord of emotion.
She runs a hand through her hair and pushes feelings to the side. No time for those now.
Live today, tears tomorrow.
Assuming there is a tomorrow.
They creep to the edge of the makeshift city, hiding behind tents. If their first impression of New Washington was like looking down at a muddy ocean, now they’re in the midst of its swelling seas. There are people everywhere—squishing through the mud, rolling carts, selling goods, yelling, trading, bartering. A swarm of humanity going about their daily lives and tramping through the muck like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
But there’s something else that Hope notices—a quality she’s not witnessed before. Despite the mud and dreary appearance, the people project a kind of contentment. Like they’ve survived the worst of it and now they’re looking boldly to the future. Hope’s never seen that kind of optimism before.
If only the people knew the truth about their new leader.
The trio figure it’s in their best interest to remain “invisible,” so when they actually enter the city, they walk separately, hands thrust into pockets, each person concealed by the shadows of hats or hoodies.
They pass through the residential section of New Washington, where the people sleep and eat, cooking up their meals atop the small campfires before their tents. Next they come to an enormous field set aside for soldiers. Brown Shirts drill, perform calisthenics, practice with guns—going through the motions of becoming better soldiers.
Finally they reach the business section of town—open-air markets, blacksmiths, laundry services. A chaos of activity. Hope doesn’t know what she was expecting when she pictured the nation’s capital, but it definitely wasn’t this. It seems so temporary. So primitive. So muddy.
What they don’t see and can’t find is the president’s headquarters. Their hope is to speak to him, just as Book had a private conversation with the Chief Justice at the Compound. But how do they ask to speak to the leader of the Republic without calling attention to themselves?
Hope notices a tent where an older woman with a ratty cardigan sells soap. The woman has only one good eye; the other veers off blankly toward the sky.
“Yes?” the woman asks when Hope approaches her. There is a certain wariness in the woman’s voice, and Hope can’t blame her. The last time Hope encountered soap was months ago, when they all doused themselves with car wash shampoo.
“I’m wondering if you can help me out,” Hope says. Even though there’s a swarm of humanity just outside the tent, Hope keeps her voice lowered.
“Depends,” the woman says.
“I want to know where the president’s office is.”
“The president?”
“That’s right.”
“The president of the Republic of the True America?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You want to talk to him or somethin’?”
Yes, Hope wants to say. That’s exactly what I want. Instead, her face burns red and she lowers her eyes.
“If you could just point me in that direction, I’d really appreciate it.”
“What is this, a prank?” the woman says.
“No, ma’am.”
“You really want to know where the president is?”
“I do.”
“Well, twenty years ago I wanted to date Channing Tatum, but it wasn’t gonna happen.” The soap seller breaks into a fit of laughter. “The president,” she says. “That’s a good one.”
Hope realizes there’s no point staying there, so she quickly backs out of the tent, even as the soap seller turns to a woman in an adjoining tent.
“This girl wants to talk to the president!”
“Who, her?”
And then there are two women laughing, filling the air with their husky cackles.
Hope hurries away, with Book and Cat keeping their distance but trailing behind her. The three zigzag through the maze of tents until they’re far from the one-eyed soap seller. They march to the top of a small knoll and find a scraggly elm tree. Cat has no difficulty climbing it, even with just one good arm. He makes it up several branches and points, taking Hope’s gaze to a sprawling collection of adjoining tents, all surrounded by flagpoles.
They start making their way in that direction.
What no one says is how they’re going to get access to the president, because no one knows that answer. But the woman’s laughter made it obvious: Why will the president agree to see the three of them?