It was the last Republican presidential debate before the primaries. Conner was up on stage for the sixth time this campaign season. He knew he wasn't doing well in the polls, and that his campaign was mirroring the failure of his last run for office. However, he hoped that he could somehow tug the rope and pull some voters away from the other candidates on the stage.
However, getting a zombie audience to cooperate wasn't all that easy. It was like herding cows across a field and into a pen alone and without a horse. If a person was going to stand a chance at herding them in at all, it was going to have to be one person at a time.
"We go live in 60 seconds everyone," the stage director notified the candidates and the audience behind the cameras. She turned her attention to the crowd. "When the applause sign goes on, everyone clap. I need not remind you to be respectful and civilized. Thank you for your cooperation."
She worked her way off of the stage and out of sight from the audience, but a simple turn of the neck and Conner spotted her talking to Jonathan Davis, his advisor. They shared a brief word, and she nodded, dismissing him like an annoying reminder. Conner knew what Jonathan was talking to her about—time. Out of all the candidates in the debate, it has been recorded that Conner gets the least amount of time to talk. Jonathan promised to have a word with both the producer and the stage manager about it, although he doubts either of them care. Their job was to give the viewers at home a show that they would want to see.
It was pathetic.
This was a debate, not some dramatic comedy. One of these four people up on this stage was going to have a real shot at becoming the President of the world's most powerful nation. That man or woman would have access to the world's strongest military along with a fully loaded arsenal of nuclear warheads, and economic and international responsibilities that will shape the country for years to come. This was not a show, this was real. It was a shame the country has downgraded itself from a nation of political geniuses who humiliated the mighty British, and crafted a Democratic-Republic—a government whose Constitution has withstood the aftermath of centuries of wars, revolutions, protests, and social turnovers without being severely altered itself—into a nation of zombies looking for some entertainment to feed on.
Conner was staring into the crowd of zombies. They surrounded him like the air around him. Even up on the stage there were zombies swarming around him. He stood amongst three other candidates. Above him in the polls was Martin Ferguson, an African American lawyer who was the attorney general under the previous president's administration, not the current one now. He had years of experience in the field, defending the nation in court, but was he able to defend the nation on the battlefield if a war were to erupt in Yemen? That remained to be seen, but the man was probably the least zombified—only his arm was corrupted, but the infection was spreading. He could hack it off and become like Conner, a one handed survivor trying to hold off against the horde; or he could let it be and turn into one of them. With the amount of money he was taking from super-PACs, he would soon become one of them.
Then there was Caroline Feral. Provided her last name doesn't give it away, the woman was crazy. Former CEO of a top electronics company, she fired half her workforce and made off with a three million dollar bonus. I'm not saying that's evil, but I'm pretty sure she did it to spite the current Democratic president, whom she loathes. The stuff she got away with on television was ridiculous. Her claims that the current president was not a legal citizen because he was Columbian was a bit much considering he has unveiled his birth certificate on numerous occasions, but she still found a way to doubt its authenticity (seeing is not believing).
Even her appearance was a bit much. Her wild brunette hair flopped around her head, her slim figure and six inch tall high heels made her look like a tall upside down mop. She was already a zombie. She recently turned on her own gender, saying how people can no longer trust pregnant women. Be that as it may, she was setting off alarms and infusing paranoia in a zombie audience that was disturbed by the slightest noise. Soon they'll attack pregnant women—just like they attacked the blacks in the 1960s, the Japanese in the 1940s, the Chinese in the 1880s....
Then there was the big guy, Harry Sayder. This man was the zombie king. He was patient zero—the infection started with him. He had garnered over 60% of the Republican vote, and he was converting more of the population to zombies than the influenza virus wished it had infected in its entire viral career. If Caroline could get away with 'bullshit,' then Harry Sayder could get away with murder—hell maybe even genocide.
"Welcome to the final Republican Debate for the 2024 election. I'm your host D.L. Dundly and you're watching this debate live on FNN."
Here came the boring introductions. Everyone gave a brief 30 second introduction that said the same message spread out over 30 seconds. "Vote for me, I'll make a good president." Conner had to admit, even he fell into this standard.
As they moved onto the first questions, the debate began with the recent terror attacks on a Chicago Hospital, a tourist destination in London, and a royal building in Madrid. The focus, of course, was on the attacks in Chicago, but one could not mention one without attaching the other two for extra emphasis. Emphasis on what? Fear. Terror. Terrorism.
"Harry, we'll start with you," Dundly noted with his pure white hair and blue eyes hiding behind giant round glasses that looked like he was looking through binoculars attached onto his face. "Overall, what's your feeling about the Baby Bomb Plot?"
Boy did these guys not fail to deliver a catchy title, Conner thought.
"Well, first off I want to say how deeply saddened I am by these attacks. I want to send out my prayers to the families and first responders who died in these tragic, horrible attacks. I also would want to say to the baddies that did this—you better run and hide because when I become president I will find you, and I will destroy you. You're lucky I wasn't president now, because if I was, I would've stopped those dirty women before they had a chance to kill anyone."
Cheers from the crowd—they like Harry's aggression. It was probably the ginger hair—it was like eye candy to the crowd, or maybe even a fire that resembled the fiery spirit within him.
But his ego will crash and burn soon, Conner thought.
"And you Ms. Feral?" Dundly asked.
Notice he said Ms. Feral, not Mrs. Feral. Caroline couldn't get a man to kiss her let alone marry her; but then again, who needs a man when you're a powerfully rich woman. The girl was sly, yet standing next to Harry, she seemed almost like a saint.
"Like Mr. Sayder, I too would like to express my deepest condolences for those who were murdered by these extremists who wish to see America burn. They will receive what's coming to them. But damnit, if we allow another Democrat into office, we might as well consider the people who did this pardoned."
Some cheers erupted from the crowd. These zombies hate half of their own countrymen as much as she does.
"And you Mr. Ferguson?"
"I too would like to say that I stand with those who mourn the loses of all the innocent victims to this horrendous tragedy. As attorney general I defended the nation against terrorists like these with the use of the law. Put me into the oval office and the law will render justice, and the men and women who are responsible for setting up this plot will be persecuted."
The crowd roared. Conner was pretty sure he meant to say "prosecuted" but the zombies love violence.
"Let us move into more specific details," Dundly said skipping over Conner.
Conner interrupted. "Now wait a minute. You gave everyone else here a say and completely skipped over me."
Dundly squinted his eyes with such a menace it looked almost like a deadly scowl a cockatrice would give to its victim. Then he sighed. "Ah yes, it seems I'm getting a little too old. Forgetfulness comes with old age."
He didn't cue Conner in like he did the rest, but Conner decided if he wanted to get any talking points today, he would have to fight for them. Who knows, maybe the zombie audience would get to see a gladiator fight after all.
"Condolences and prayers aren't enough. They will not bring back the nurses, doctors, children, first responders, and the other victims who had to endure such losses. What we need is to attack the problems that are causing such extremists to carry out these atrocities. This includes limiting our usage of drone strikes in foreign civilian areas. The more innocents we kill on their end, the more they will want to retaliate."
Harry interrupted. "So you're saying we should go soft on these guys? Are you kidding me? These guys just took out a whole bunch of us, and now you're saying to just back off? Folks this is why you can't vote this loser into office. A man who backs down from a fight is no man at all."
And let the battle begin.