"Yes, adrenaline. I understand. It does incredible things, really incredible. But, Dan, how did you get down here? How did you find me?"
"Protect you. My mission is to."
The poor guy sounded like Yoda from Star Wars, but the President understood his meaning.
"Take a deep breath," he had said as feeling returned to his numb limbs. "Calm down. Tell me what the heck's going on. The last thing I remember is Air Force One going down. Then I sorta blacked out. "
"We survived."
"You mean I survived. You weren't aboard."
"Surviving is the most important element in survival. To survive is to survive. To have survived is to be in existence."
"Yeah, I think I get your drift," the President had said, patting his Vice-President on one nerve-rigid shoulder. The poor fella was really rattled. He looked around the dim cabin for something cool to drink, possibly to throw over the Vice-President. He looked really overheated, despite his fixed, too-perfect smile. Not only that, but his suit didn't match. He was wearing a brown coat over navy-blue slacks. He also sported the worst haircut this side of Borneo. Perhaps it was the Vice-President's attempt at being incognito, he mused.
Then the President of the United States noticed the bodies.
"Oh, my God."
The kaffiyehs were all the President needed to see to know that they were Middle Eastern terrorists of some sort. In a way, it was a relief. Middle Eastern terrorists had never directly threatened a United States President. Colombian narco-terrorists, on the other hand, were capable of anything. Most of them used their own product.
"What happened to these guys?" the President croaked.
"They threatened our survival. Their survival became a threat to your survival. Their survival was interrupted. "
The Vice-President lifted a driver from the golf bag that, for the first time, the President noticed slung over his shoulder.
"You took them out with a driver?" he asked, incredulous.
"Was it the correct tool?"
"To tee off, yeah, but for this . . ." The President looked around the shack. It had been a long time since he had seen dead bodies. Not since World War II.
" I am very creative," the Vice-President said simply.
"Where exactly am I?" the President asked suddenly.
"With me. With you I always am. With you I will always be." The Vice-President replaced the driver like Conan the Barbarian holstering an over-the-back broadsword.
The President put both hands on the Vice-President's shoulders, once again amazed by the unyielding hardness of his musculature.
"That's a really, really noble sentiment, and I appreciate it. I really do."
"The task of serving the President is a task," the Vice-President said with all the warmth of a Swiss watch ticking.
"Right," the President remarked. "That's fine. You take another deep breath. I want to look around a bit."
A sudden hand stopped the President. It was the Vice-President.
"There is no time," he said in a mechanical monotone. "Must escape. Must survive. If you survive, I will continue to survive. Separated, must not be. We."
The President took in that unalterable fixed smile and decided to say yes. It could be the Vice-President was verging on hysteria. His eyes were definitely glassy, and instead of making sense, he was babbling more and more.
"Whatever you say. I trust you."
"Trust," the Vice-President repeated. "We cannot trust anyone until we are reunited."
" I miss my family too. Whatever you say."
" I say we go. Must return to the United States, your home."
"okay," the President said slowly. "Let's go. "
Only then did the too-firm hand release the President's windbreaker sleeve.
The President stepped into the sunlight first, the Vice-President walking closely behind, like a child pretending to be his shadow. He was met by a bleak brown expanse of desert and distant mountains.
"Looks like we got a long walk," the President said unhappily.
They had not gone more than a quarter-mile when the clatter of a distant helicopter came from the nearby mountains.
The President lifted waving arms. "Hey!" he called.
Without warning, the Vice-President pushed him down behind a great spike-leaved ground plant that resembled a giant artichoke. His hands squeezed off his cries for help. He kept him pressed to the ground until the clatter dissipated.
Only then did the Vice-President's heavy hand leave the small of his back.
Getting to his feet, the President dusted off his windbreaker, saying, "I appreciate what you're doing for me, but not so rough next time. Okay?"
"There will be more machines. Hurry we must."
"Gee, I don't know. Maybe they're friendly."
"They threaten our mutual survival."
The President's face twisted in concern. "More terrorists?"
"We must reach optimum position of safety. Come."
They trudged on. The sun climbed in the sky. The cool morning air warmed. The President grew parched and hungry.
The Vice-President found solutions to both of those problems. He uprooted a rubbery plant with his bare hands and squeezed precious drops of water into the President's eager mouth as if from a sponge.
Then he stalked a rattlesnake with a putter, decapitating it with one swift, sure blow. He broke off the head, and then skinned the snake by pulling on the skin with one hand and on the exposed neck meat with the other. The snake came apart like an entwined rope.
The President declined the raw meat with a polite, "No. You go ahead."