The Nightmare begins

Chapter Twenty-Three

"God, it's so green here," Samuel Chambers said, sitting on the small stone bench and looking at the profusion of camelias.

"East Texas by the Louisiana border here is green like this most of the time.

But I think it's time for the meeting to start now—Mr. President."

Chambers looked at the man, saying quickly, "Don't call me that yet, George. I'm secretary of communications, and that's it."

"But you're the only surviving man in the line of succession, sir—you are the president."

"I was up in Tyler last year in October for the Rose Festival—this just might be the prettiest part of the State of Texas—here, north of here and down south to the Gulf."

"Sir!"

"I'm coming, George—stop and smell the flowers, right?" Chambers stood up and reached into his shirt pocket, snatching a Pall Mall. He stared at the cigarette a moment, then said to his young executive assistant. "I wonder how I'll get these now—with the war?"

"I'm sure we can find enough to last a long time for you, sir," the young man Chambers had called George said reassuringly, walking toward Chambers and standing at his side as he passed, almost as if to keep the man from taking another tour of the garden.

Chambers turned as he reached the double french doors leading back from the walled garden to the library inside the nearly century-old stone house. He stared back into the garden, saying to George without looking at him, "I'm about to make history, George. When I walk into that room, if I reject the call to the presidency or if I accept it. And if I accept it, what will I be president of?

It's a wasteland out there beyond this garden—much of it is, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Pretty much of the whole West Coast is gone, New York was blown off the map.

What am I going to be offered the presidency of—a sore that isn't smart enough to know that it can't heal?"