Expression set with grim determination. Gun already drawn and lifted toward the president.
Carson’s voice tears out of him.
“Gun! Gun! Get down!”
“Move!” Another voice shouts.
Carson lunges forward.
Lewis moves faster. One more step, and he presses the muzzle to the side of President Ludlow's head.
The shot cracks through the room.
One lone high-pitched scream rises above the rest as Carson is hit with warm spray across his face.
Blood.
Ludlow collapses before Carson can reach him.
Lewis swings the gun to the right.
Carson fires before he gets another round off. Two shots to the chest. One final one to the head—clean, controlled, instinctive.
Lewis drops.
Metal chairs scrape across the floor. Agents shout over one another. Members of the press scatter in every direction, some diving for cover, others rushing for the exits.
“Eagle is down. Repeat. Eagle is down.”
The words crackle through Carson's comms.
Nearby, a reporter's voice trembles.
“Oh, my God. The president. Yes, it was the president. He’s been shot. Yes. Yes, I believe so. He’s…he’s not getting up, and there’s…oh my God…there’s so much blood.”
Movement in Carson’s periphery. Light focuses on the horrific scene before him.
Another voice cuts in, steadier, somehow managing professionalism despite the horror.
“This is Tabitha Myers coming to you from a bunker in the White House. We believe the president of the United States has just been assassinated.”
The room blurs around Carson. He drops to his knees beside the president and presses a hand to Ludlow’s shoulder, not to save him—just to touch him. There’s no use checking for a pulse or breath. The wound is catastrophic.
For a moment, Carson can only stare.
Then he bows his head and whispers, “God help us.”
Deep down in his bones, he believes that without Ludlow’s leadership, this nation may not survive what’s coming.
Ellesmere Island Containment & Immunity Research Facility
Sublevel 7 – Restricted Medical Ward
The ward is quiet except for the usual sounds of the soft beeping of vital monitors, the slow pulse of the ventilation system, and the muffled hum of generators somewhere deep in the infrastructure. Sublevel 7 always feels colder than the others. Something about the way the ducts run down here. The air never fully warms, even under the LED lights.
Pauline checks the sedation rate on Patient 12. Young woman. Mid-twenties. Norwegian. The intake file said she was found wandering outside a burned-out shelter. Everyone else inside had been dead for days.
One of the few people immune to the new virus sweeping through populations and wiping out entire cities in days.
