by Kyle Pratt
“Goodbye, Ted.” Carol shook his hand and then climbed into the cab.
Franklin said his own goodbye, shut the tailgate, and drove the deuce away.
* * *
When everything from the truck had been moved into the new house, Franklin plopped onto the couch. They still had to decide where most things would go and what from the previous owner needed to be removed, but that could wait. Did any of the MREs he brought contain coffee? He would rest a few moments and then check. This certainly wasn’t the quiet weekend with family he wanted.
Carol walked into the living room and dropped beside him. “I hate moving.”
He hugged her. “Were you going to tell me about the murder near our home or the nightly shooting sprees?”
“Near the old house?” She turned just enough to look at him. “Darn Ted.” She sighed. “No, we had already moved when you returned. Why say—”
“I should know.”
“Telling you wouldn’t do any good. You know what the world is like now. You’ve seen worse.”
“I’m supposed to protect—”
“Yes, but when you’re out defending the world, I’m left to protect our boys and our home. And I try not to worry you during those times.”
“This is different.”
Carol nodded. “It is, but you’re still going to leave me behind and I’ll have to deal with home and family.”
They snuggled close. She had always been so strong and confident. He kissed her and she kissed him back.
A giggle erupted from the entrance to the room. Their youngest son disappeared down the hall.
Franklin grinned and kissed his wife again.
“We could go somewhere more private.” Carol smiled.
“I’ll need a raincheck on that. I’m going to see if I can get Ted some gas. I want to deliver it and be back here by lights out.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
* * *
“How much gasoline are we talking about?” General Sattler asked.
Franklin hesitated. With careful use, twenty or thirty gallons could last Ted and the other neighbors for several weeks, but no new fuel would be refined for years. Eventually, everyone would run out. How much could the base spare?
“Are you thinking a barrel … forty-two gallons?” the general asked.
“Yes, that’s about right. I know we can’t help everyone but—”
“Right now we have more supply than we can store or stabilize.”
Franklin cast him a confused glance.
“All the fuel that had been produced to run a modern economy is still sitting in tanks, but now there are only a few vehicles and generators running. So, take a barrel. I’ll write the order for the quartermaster.”
At the fuel depot, Franklin helped the private pump gasoline into a drum, spilling some on his sleeve and hands. Together they loaded the barrel into the back of the same deuce he had been driving all day.
Fumes irritated his nose as Franklin slowed to a stop at the gate next to the guard. In the direction of his old home, thick black smoke hung over the nearby buildings. He leaned out the window of the truck and pointed to the dark column. “Private, do you know what happened?”
“No, sir. But we’ve been seeing a lot of fires lately.”
Smoke masked the smell of fumes as Franklin raced the truck toward his previous house. Near the old neighborhood, dark billows rose as if from a volcano. When he turned onto the street, a fully engulfed home came into view. Cinders landed on the nearby homes.
Just ahead, the sprawled body of a man blocked his way. Several grills lay toppled on the pavement nearby. Franklin braked to a stop. A group of men he didn’t recognize stood at the far end of the street, staring at the truck.
Who were these men? How did the fire start? Where had everyone gone? Franklin unsnapped his holster and stepped out with the pistol in hand.
In the distance a woman screamed.
At a casual pace, the men disappeared into the swirling smoke.
“Hi, Dirk. You shouldn’t have come back.” Ted sat leaning against the rail of his front porch. A red stain ran from his abdomen to a puddle on the step.
Franklin grabbed a first-aid kit and ran to his neighbor. “What happened? No, don’t talk.” Franklin cut away the shirt and found a bullet wound with no exit.
“They smelled the food. Came like wolves. We tried to stop them.”
“Who attacked you?” Franklin asked as he cleaned the injury.
“I don’t know. A gang. Ten or twelve of them.”
Franklin bandaged and wrapped Ted’s wound. “Can you walk? I don’t think I can carry you to the truck.”
“Leave me.”
“No.” Franklin helped Ted to his feet, but then he collapsed, pulling them both to the ground. “Stay with me, Ted!” Franklin searched for a pulse.
He didn’t find one.
Day Eight
Portland, Oregon, Sunday, September 11th
Franklin watched Carol sleep as the morning sun warmed the room. Her mouth hung open and her hair splayed in every direction. He smiled. This moment of quiet peace, gazing at the woman he loved, was exactly what he needed.
He wanted to stroke her disheveled hair, hug and kiss her, but that would disturb this now-perfect moment that lingered between a traumatic past and uncertain future.
In the quiet of the morning, he heard his sons talking as they descended the stairs.
“Are Mom and Dad up?” Logan asked.
“I don’t think so,” James replied. “I heard Dad come in late last night.”
“What time is it?” Carol whispered with her eyes still closed.
“Early.” Franklin brushed her hair with his hand. “Just rest.”
Her tranquility lent peace to the morning as he continued to watch the gentle rise and fall of her breasts.
Westminster chimes from a nearby church rang out the hour.
Carol’s eyes fluttered open. “I should get up.”
“Or we could stay here—forever.” He leaned over and kissed her.
“Seven in the morning?”
“You counted the chimes?”
“Yes.” Carol sat up. “The boys need breakfast. We need to get more things from the old house.”
He clutched her hand. “We won’t be getting anything else from the other home.”
“What? Why?” Her eyes widened. “You were so late getting back last night. What happened?”
Franklin told her about bringing gasoline to Ted and finding a house at the end of the street ablaze. “A group of men stood in a cluster nearby.”
“Who were they?”
“I think they were part of a gang. Ted said they smelled the food and attacked like a pack of wolves.”
Carol gasped. “How is Ted and everyone else?”
He hesitated, trying to think of a good way to phrase his answer, but there wasn’t a good way. “He was shot during the confrontation.”
She covered her mouth with a hand.
“I tried to help him … but he died. The fire spread along the street, but I think everyone else had already fled.”
Carol sat on the edge of the bed. “I suggested the barbeque.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “It’s my fault Ted died. My fault … all of it.”
Franklin hugged her tight. “You’re a good person. It isn’t your fault that bad people do evil things.”
After the tears subsided, Carol wiped her eyes. “I’ve tried to be strong for you, but this has been a really hard week.”
“It’s been hard for everyone. The world is falling apart, but you’ve managed this family very well.”
Carol looked toward a window for a long moment. “Can we go to church?”
The idea caught Franklin off guard. Carol had attended church as a child, but he had rarely set foot in one. His surprise must have shown on his face.
“What else would we do this morning?” Carol shrugged her shoulders.
Franklin thought of many things he’
d rather do, but Carol needed comfort and so he smiled. “Sure, let’s go to church.”
She squeezed his hand. “You’re a good husband.”
Later, after an MRE breakfast of crackers, peanut butter, hashbrown potatoes, and fruit punch, Franklin announced, “We’re going to church.”
“Huh?” James’ eyes narrowed. “Is someone getting married?”
“Or did they die?” Logan’s eyes flared wide.
“Neither,” Carol replied. “Your father and I think it would be a good idea.”
“Why?” Logan protested.
“They’re afraid you’re going to hell.” James grinned at him.
“Watch your language.” Carol gave her son an annoyed stare.
“Come on.” James grabbed his brother’s arm. “Let’s get you dressed for eternity.”
“Huh?” Logan’s eyes narrowed in confusion as James led him away.
When they were alone, Franklin turned to his wife. “I expected more resistance from James.”
“Something is going on with him.” Carol shook her head. “But let’s get ready.”
Unsure what to wear, Franklin dressed in a business suit that seemed to fit better than the last time he wore it. Carol donned a green dress and heels. The boys tromped downstairs in slacks and collared shirts.
“Oh,” Carol gushed. “You both look so handsome.”
“James made me wear this.” Logan scowled.
Staring at them, Franklin asked, “Who are you and what have you done with my sons?”
“Very funny, Dad.” James continued toward the door. “Let’s go.”
Confused by his son’s hurry, Franklin cast his wife a questioning glance.
She shrugged.
Everyone seemed to be walking in the same direction and Franklin took interest in how everyone dressed as they strolled along the street and sidewalks toward the church three blocks away. Franklin recognized only a few of the men, but Carol waved and talked to many of the families.
“How do you know these people?” he asked.
“I go to the PTA meeting, attend the wives club, and help out with Cub Scouts and Boy Scouts.”
“Oh.” He nodded.
As they neared the church the homes were larger, with more spacious lawns and older, larger trees. Around the next corner, the church came into view. He had passed the old brick building countless times but, other than the park-like setting around it, had never given it much thought. Now he had many questions about the church and God, but Logan gave voice to the first.
“Did God break everything? Did he do this to us?”
“No,” Franklin replied as they climbed the steps to the entrance. “Of course not.”
“Then who did it?”
“I’ll explain later.” But the thought nagged at Franklin as he continued toward the large wooden front doors. Did you strike out at us, God?
James led the way across the large lawn. Four lancet-style stained glass windows brightened the side of the building. A wooden steeple rested on the top where the bell rang out the nine o’clock hour.
Franklin followed his son up ten stone steps and through large wooden doors into a lobby-like area. Beyond that, another set of wooden doors stood open to the sanctuary where a vaulted ceiling hung above white walls. The windows provided both color and ample illumination.
Franklin estimated that about a hundred people filled the majority of the pews. He would have been content to sit in one of the empty spots toward the rear, but the rest of the family followed James toward a half-empty row near the center. After everyone had slid into place, James gave a slight wave to a blonde-haired girl two rows ahead. She smiled and waved back.
The confusing behavior of their adolescent son snapped into clarity. The young lady must be Emma. Franklin turned to his wife with a grin and she smiled back at him.
A man in his mid-thirties, with brown hair, stood at the front of the church. “Hello everyone. I’m Steve Duncan, the lead pastor here. I recognize many of your faces, but if this isn’t your usual church, know that in these tumultuous times we are here for you and you are welcome in this house of God. Let’s stand and make a joyful noise to the Lord.”
They stood along with the choir and Carol handed Franklin a hymnal as he pretended to sing several unfamiliar hymns.
When the choir sat, Pastor Duncan approached the lectern. “Thomas Paine described the early days of the American revolution as ‘the times that try men’s souls.’ We are once again in such a time. All of us are confused and worried, but the Lord is our rock, our refuge. He knows that in this time of trouble, we are crying out to him. He does hear us and he will guide us.”
Franklin didn’t know what guidance God could or would provide. He had read only bits and pieces of the Bible and didn’t think he owned one.
“… is my rock, my fortress; in him I take refuge…”
Were these quotes from the Bible or merely pretty prose? Spotting a Bible on the back of the pew in front of him, Franklin grabbed it.
“The book of Zechariah was written during a time of despair …”
Carol flipped it open to the table of contents and pointed to Zechariah. Franklin found the book and began flipping through the pages.
“… Zechariah says the Lord will comfort us.”
Franklin couldn’t find what the pastor was quoting but discovered other verses in Zechariah.
And it shall come to pass in all the land, says the Lord, that two-thirds in it shall be cut off and die, but one-third shall be left in it: I will bring the one-third through the fire, will refine them as silver is refined, and test them as gold is tested.
A chill ran through Franklin as the implication of the words hit him. He knew that two-thirds of the population might die in the coming year through a combination of starvation, violence, and disease. Had the EMP been some sort of spiritual testing? Did the verses actually refer to that or was it mere coincidence? He didn’t know, and he hated not knowing.
“But until that time we need to focus on the important things: faith, family, and friends.” Pastor Duncan closed his Bible and ended with a prayer.
People around him stood and stepped from the pews.
Carol leaned over and smiled. “That was a very comforting sermon, don’t you think?”
Franklin forced a grin. “I’m glad we came.” He held on to the Bible as he left the pew. James held back, talking with the blonde girl.
As they departed, Carol shook the pastor’s hand. “Your sermon gave me comfort.”
“I’m glad.”
Holding out the Bible, Franklin asked, “May I borrow this?”
“Yes. Keep it. I wish more people would take them.”
An old man tapped Franklin on the shoulder. “Read it, young man. The Great Tribulation has arrived.”
* * *
Franklin sat on the front porch later that day, drinking a packet of MRE apple juice and reading the last chapter of Zechariah. In the distance, he heard the rumble of an engine.
The Humvee turned down his street.
Franklin swore and set the Bible on a table.
The Humvee stopped in front of his home and Sergeant Keller climbed out of the vehicle and saluted.
“I hope you’ve had a good weekend, sir.”
“I’ve enjoyed the time with my family.” Franklin knew the medical truck had returned from the armory with the wounded but hadn’t heard if they picked up Keller’s wife and child as planned. “Is your family well?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Great, but I don’t think you came here to discuss family morale. Is there a problem?”
“The general told me two things. He wants me to get the squads ready for another mission.”
Carol strolled from the house with a frown.
“What else did the general say?” Franklin asked.
“He wants to see you first thing in the morning for the pre-mission brief.”
Day Nine
Portland, Oregon, Monday, Septem
ber 12th
Franklin arrived early the next morning, entered the conference room, and flipped the light switch. As fluorescent bulbs flickered on, the rich aroma of coffee tickled his nose. Lights and coffee were such normal things, but yet now so unusual. He drew in a deep breath of familiar flavor as he filled a cup.
Steps drew closer behind him.
“Oh, good morning, sir.”
Franklin turned and greeted Lieutenant Poole. “Do you know what this meeting is about?”
“Yes.” Poole nodded. “Yesterday a civilian came to us with information on the location of several large warehouses of —”
Another man, dressed in a business suit and tie, entered the room. He stood off by himself and made no attempt at conversation. Both today and Sunday such formal civilian attire had struck him as unusual, even otherworldly.
Poole looked Franklin in the eye and gave a slight nod toward the door, indicating they should step out. Before they could, General Sattler strode into the conference room.
“Good, I’m glad you’re all here. Major, have you met our newest resident?”
“I was just about to,” Franklin said and held out his hand. “I’m Major Dirk Franklin.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Brad Burton with the Multnomah County Planning Department.”
“Let’s get this meeting started.” The general unfurled a large map of northern Oregon on the table. “Lieutenant, get me something to hold this down.”
Poole brought coffee mugs and when the map lay in place at one end of the table, the four looked on as the general continued. “Yesterday, Brad brought us information on five large warehouses outside of Portland. These buildings contain food and other supplies that we need. I’ve ordered the requisition of the supplies under the martial law decree. Platoons have already been dispatched to three of them.” He pointed to those locations on the map. “I need your platoon to secure this regional distribution center east of the city.”
“Do we have enough soldiers to adequately secure those locations and this base?” Franklin asked.
“No, but I don’t see that we have a choice.” Sattler shook his head. “The fresh and refrigerated food will have gone bad, but I want you to transport the rest here. With supplies from all five warehouses, we should have enough to survive and bring in others we need to establish a viable community.”
