[ WP ] `` Mr. President , if they want you dead , there 's no way we can stop them ''

Arthur buried his head in his hands. They were rough and wrinkled from years of toil outdoors. Once, a lifetime ago, Arthur Bundirn had been a farmer. 
 
 Now, from his office the fate of the free world was decided. At least, that's what the mob outside the White House gates believed. The media sold it as God's own truth that the President was the one to blame for the current crisis. 
 
 Arthur could n't begin to explain just how powerless he felt. 
 
 Chanting could be heard, even through the reinforced walls of the West Wing. There were four buildings on fire around Lafayette Square, where the peaceful demonstration had become a riot. Three dozen well-armed marines and a wrought-iron fence were all that stood between the President and his nation's fury. 
 
 Arthur wondered if the marines hated him, too. 
 
 He supposed they must. 
 
 `` I need to speak to them.'' The President said and looked up, his eyes were wet and red. 
 
 `` They wo n't listen.'' Mark replied. He paced nervously back and forth on the other side of the President's desk. 
 
 `` They lost their jobs when the recession hit.'' Mark continued. `` Then, Yellowstone was enough to cause mass panic. They're crazed, unwilling to hear reason.'' 
 
 `` Do n't I know it.'' The President sighed. 
 
 He turned in his chair and stared out the window. The White House fountain was choked with soot. The trees wore ash like it was new fashion. The sky was dark and brooding. 
 
 The ash still fell, like stained snowflakes, and darkened everything it touched. 
 
 *How could I have known? * Arthur wondered. *What could I have done? * 
 
 America was starving. Fourteen days of continuous eruption had cast enough material into the sky to blacken it for months. The crops had died. The rivers ran dark and toxic with debris. 
 
 Hospitals were full to the brim with asthmatic patients. 
 
 The President did n't know what to do. The most powerful nation in the world had been brought to its knees in just shy of a single year. Besides food aid, there was little the rest of the world could, or wanted, to do to help. 
 
 Some nations, like China and Russia had revved up their war machines, correctly guessing that the United States' counterbalancing force was now preoccupied. Five separate wars were being fought on various scales in Europe and Asia. And to think, there was a President who had run on the idea that it was time to move past strong-arm diplomacy. The media loved to run that clip on repeat. 
 
 The sad part was, Arthur still believed it. 
 
 The sharp stacatto of gunfire met the President's ears. The mob's chanting became a roar. It was as if some multi-mouthed monstrosity had come to gobble him up. Several other guns joined into a symphony. 
 
 The Oval Office's door burst open. 
 
 `` Mr. President, they've begun climbing the fence.'' A secret service agent said, his voice unnervingly calm. `` You and the Chief of Staff need to get into the bunker now.'' 
 
 `` I need to speak to them.'' Arthur said, softly. 
 
 `` Mr. President, if they want you dead, there's no way we can stop them.'' The agent commandingly. 
 
 The President nodded. 
 
 Then, Arthur stood and straightened his tie. He wondered briefly whether he should have ever left Ohio. If he had n't, he supposed, he might well be in that same crowd outside. 
 
 `` I have one last speech to give.'' He said. 
 
 Neither of the other two heard him. The sound of glass shattering suddenly increased the pitch of the roar to new heights. A scream of terror sounded somewhere in the building. 
 
 `` They're inside.'' The agent said and drew his gun. 
 
 `` One nation, under God, indivisible...'' The President began his final speech.
