“I ran for Congress and won,” she said. “It wasn’t even close.”

“On an antiwar platform, I presume.”

“You presume wrong,” Victoria said. “I ran on a kill-the-bastards-or-leave platform. Both ends of Pennsylvania Avenue are populated with eunuchs who can’t seem to grasp that their indecisions—not their decisions to fight, but their indecisions on how to fight politely—kill and maim very real people that they must rarely interact with. If we’re going to fight, then we need to fight.”

“Well, given the events of last night . . .” McCrea didn’t finish the thought.

“No, the events of last night were the very opposite of what I’ve been fighting for in Congress. Whatever devastation has befallen us is the result of showing weakness, not fighting hard. Helen Blanton never should have been elected president. Her presidency is a temper tantrum against the previous administration. She was simply too afraid to say no to Israel. That’s the problem with political hacks. They are incapable of dynamic analysis. They never consider the moves that the other team might make.”

McCrea would be the last person on earth to argue. “It’s not just politicians,” he said. “I’ve known a few flag officers who suffer from the same malady.”

“Aren’t flag officers just politicians with a smaller audience? Clowns in a different circus?”

McCrea laughed. “I’m still an active-duty soldier, ma’am. I can’t use the C-word to describe my bosses. Some of them are really on the ball. But your point is well taken.”

“And, so, here we are.”

“At least we’re here.” McCrea had a question he needed to ask, and he wasn’t sure how to go about it. “About being here. About the future. I don’t want you to take offense.”

“Thicker skin than mine is hard to find. I’ll let you know if you cross a line.”

“You talked earlier about mobs. I expect there’ll be a lot of moblike confrontations in coming days and weeks,” McCrea said.

“Without a doubt,” Victoria agreed. “From here on out, we need to think of every encounter as predatory. In a few days, the frenzy will start. The weak will be preyed upon by the strong.”

“So you’ve thought about this,” McCrea said. He sounded surprised.

“We’ve trained for it. Planned for it. I wonder how long it will be before we devolve to the point when people start looking at their neighbors as sources of protein.”

“There’s a scary thought,” McCrea said. “That’d put kids and old folks in particular peril. They’ll be perceived as weak. Which brings me to my question.”

“You don’t have to worry about my kids,” Victoria said, stealing his thunder. “I’ve trained them to be tough.”

“Good for you. For them. But I hope they don’t surprise you.”

Victoria waited for the rest.