SANCTUARY OF SECRETS: THE SURVIVOR AND THE FUGITIVE

 

Sara to skip SONA, names self ‘designated survivor’ – Philstar.com

P10M bounty offered for info on Quiboloy”– GMA Network

’Secret’: Duterte says he knows where Quiboloy is hiding – ABS-CBN News

Top headline reactions:

"VP Sara’s ‘designated survivor’ remark should be taken lightly" – Esperon

"Sara Duterte as ‘designated survivor’? She must be ‘delulu’" (slang for delusional) – Kabataan Partylist

"Dismiss VP Sara’s ‘designated survivor’ remarks" – Senators

Neither will I dismiss Sara's "designated survivor" remarks outright nor deem of her as delusional. Instead, I thought of just taking it lightly by writing a fictional short story nudged by the essence of the following words of Helen Benedict, a Columbia University journalism professor and author:

“I believed [fiction] could get me nearer to the truth… It is the substance of what happens to people not just on the outside, but within…”

><><

Prologue

In a fractured socio-political landscape, where power struggles and hidden agendas dictated the nation’s course, where the once stable economic ground beneath people’s feet faltered, trust had become a rare and precious commodity. It was in this tumultuous time that Madam Sadie found herself thrust into a role she had no choice but to accept -- the designated survivor.

The Bunker

Madam Sadie thought twice as she approached the bunker doorway, her heart pounding with unease and a sinking feeling. The steel door loomed before her, a sentinel to a world unknown. As she keyed in the access code, a chill ran down her spine, a foreboding sense that her life was to change forever. The door hissed open, revealing the dimly lit interior of the bunker.

Stepping inside, Madam Sadie paused to scan her surroundings. The bunker was meticulously designed, every inch of it optimized for survival. Stocked with provisions to last years, rows of shelves lined the walls that bore faded posters – reminders of a world left behind. Stay calm. Trust the process. The words mocked her. The air was filtered through state-of-the-art purification systems, and security gadgets blinked and whirred, creating a symphony of technology that underscored the gravity of her situation.

She moved deeper into the bunker, her eyes sharp and her senses keen. The main living area was modest but well-equipped, a haven in a society gone haywire. As she entered the sleeping chamber, her eyes widened, Oddly cozy, the room’s inner recesses caught her off guard. There, sprawled on the bed, was a man. His presence was as baffling as it was alarming.

Mr. Quigley

Madam Sadie, on the spot, recognized him: the notorious fugitive. He was a figure of infamy, hunted for non-bailable crimes. Yet, here he was, in her father’s bunker, of all places.

His face was partially obscured by the shadows, but there was no mistaking the sharp features – the same ones that had graced countless wanted posters. His dark hair spilled across the pillows, and his chest rose rhythmically. The bounty on his head was staggering enough to tempt even the most loyal of his followers.

Madam Sadie’s heart raced. Why was he here? How had he infiltrated this secure sanctuary?

Mr. Quigley stirred, sensing her presence. He opened his eyes, and their gazes locked, a shared history flashing between them.

“Madam Sadie,” a voice drawled from the bed. 

“Why are you here?” Mr. Quigley asked, his voice a mix of curiosity and wariness.

Madam Sadie crossed her arms, and clenched her fists, her eyes narrowing.

“Why are you here, Mr. Quigley?”

Old Acquaintances

They knew each other -- more than that, they were old acquaintances. Before their political world fractured, they had shared secrets, laughter, and late-night chitchats. But that was before the dark side of the cult was unveiled, before the darkness consumed him.

They stood silently, the weight of the past and present hanging heavy in the air. Mr. Quigley was the first to break the silence.

“You should be in the designated survivor’s government bunker,” Mr. Quigley said, propping himself up on an elbow, his eyes glinted in the dim light. 

Madam Sadie shook her head, her expression hardening.

“I can’t trust anyone anymore. I could either be a survivor or thrown under the bus for being a threat. Again, Mr. Quigley, why are you here?”

Mr. Quigley chuckled.

“This is your father’s bunker. You know full well your father and I are close buddies,” he said, sighing, while running a hand through his unkempt hair.

The revelation hung between them, a reminder of the tangled web of alliances and betrayals that defined their world. Neither knew what the future held, but for now, they were bound by circumstance.

Madam Sadie sank onto the edge of the bed.

“What do you want, Mr. Quigley?”

He sat up, his gaze piercing.

“Answers. Redemption, perhaps. Or maybe just a chance to live alongside you.”

Both of them were fugitives now – she from a government she broke away from, he from justice. They were two sides of a fractured coin, each with their faults and regrets.

Endgame

“You’re not the only one who can’t trust,” Madam Sadie said. 

“But what’s our endgame? What’s waiting for us beyond these walls?” 

Mr. Quigley shrugged. 

“Maybe freedom. Maybe oblivion. But for now, let’s be blessed with the irony of fate -- the designated survivor and the fugitive on a bed.”

Madam Sadie quickly stood up, rolling her eyes, and cut in.

“Don’t get any naughty idea.”

All of a sudden, the TV mounted on the wall flickered to life, a breaking news bulletin interrupting the tense silence, “An explosion takes place…” the anchor began, but Madam Sadie lunged for the remote, quickly turned off the TV, her face set in a grimace.

“I hate fireworks,” she muttered. 

Mr. Quigley grinned.

“You take the couch,” she said.

Mr. Quigley nodded, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

“No prob. Good night!”

“Good night,” she replied, her voice softer.

As they settled into their makeshift roles – survivor and fugitive -- the bunker became a sanctuary of uncertainty. Both knew their paths were fraught with danger and decisions that could alter the course of their lives. But for tonight, they found solace in the shadows of survival, their fates intertwined in a world where trust was as elusive as safety.

Content put together in collaboration with ChatGPT

Head collage photos courtesy of plough managro, Wikipedia, Pic Click Au, & Rappler