Three tables to his left, Kyle heard a man griping about the food. He had hornlike patches of gray hair at the temple, a dark bushy mustache, and drooping jowls; features that created the aura of a senile bulldog.
“You think they’re eating this slop on that side of the fence?” the man shouted, thrusting an accusing finger toward the military base. “And what if I don’t want to go to Texas?”
Murmurs swirled underscoring the tension. A Military Policeman nervously scanned the room, speaking into his radio.
“I say no!” The Bulldog hurled his bowl of soup against the canvas wall of the tent then leapt onto the tabletop. “No to eating slop! No to slaving in some Texas factory!” He paced, arms swooping upward like a crazed musical conductor. “Just say no!”
Kyle’s restraint splintered. Climbing onto his own table, he shouted, “If my sixteen-year-old daughter can grab a rifle to defend this nation, you can work to make sure she has bullets!”
“I say no to the draft!”
“And yes to the terrorists? Mister, you’d better get clear on who the enemy is ... because it is not the Army, Navy, Air Force, or Marines!”
People began to clap and cheer.
A half dozen MPs were encircling the Bulldog. He kicked and spat at them, screaming, “What happened to free speech?” He attempted to instigate a chant, unsuccessfully, and once he had been handcuffed, two MPs started toward Kyle.
“If you want your life back,” Kyle shouted at the crowd, “you’d better get off your asses and fight for it! Because the military can’t do this alone. Right now, you have the power to make or break this country. Which side are you on?”
Face flushed, mouth dry as sawdust, Kyle stepped down and swiped his water bottle from the table. Nikki was gawking at him. Billy was wide-eyed, on the verge of tears.
“Sir, you need to come with us,” a Military Policeman bellowed above boisterous chants of, “U-S-A!”
Knowing he had done nothing wrong, Kyle grasped both children by the hand and followed the MPs along the outer wall of the tent. An officer with a mosaic of ribbons on his uniform waited outside the doorway.
“Captain Carlos Rodriguez,” he said, offering a hand. His gaze felt like a silent cross-examination, probing and intimidating. “That was quite a speech, Mister ... ?”
“Murphy. Kyle Murphy.”
The Soldier’s face spread into a strange smile as if they were old friends. “So you’re the infamous Rambo?”
Taken aback, Kyle’s eyes narrowed. “What do you want, Captain?”
“I’ve been looking for a civilian leader,” Rodriguez told him. “Someone who can motivate and organize people to rebuild society. Mr. Murphy, I think you’re the guy.”
198D
Monday, March 17th
BRADLEY WAS AT THE main gate when the draftees emerged, forty-nine glum faces and one glowing like sunshine. Dressed in an Army PT uniform, Abby jogged toward him, her blonde hair sheared off at chin level, bouncing as she moved.
“They cut your hair?” he asked, fingers combing the loose waves that framed her face. He wanted to remember the silky feel.
“No, I did.” She presented him with a five-inch braid of hair, fastened with rubber bands at both ends. “I have your ring. I wanted you to have something.”
Bradley clutched the braid in his left hand and pulled her against him.
Kissing his cheek, Abby whispered, “How’d it go with Captain Rodriguez?”
“No charges, no court-martial.”
“Thank God he wasn’t as bad as Ryan made him out to be.”
“I think he feels guilty for ignoring Ryan’s warning about Al-Zahrani. He transferred both of us to a new branch of the military called TEradS, so we’ll be hunting down savages here, in the U.S. And Rodriguez said that if you excel in Basic Training, he’ll recommend you for Scout Sniper School.”
“You told him about me?” Abby stepped back, excitement glimmering in her eyes. “That’s awesome!”
Bradley didn’t mention that as an underage draftee, she couldn’t be assigned combat duty without parental consent. The government—anticipating that ninety percent of the U.S. population would perish within a year—had begun inducting sixteen- and seventeen-year-olds in an effort to keep them alive and preserve the country’s future Soldiers. Bradley grinned, thinking the situation couldn’t have worked out better. Abby would have all the protection of the military—food, shelter, and security—without the risk. At least for the next two years.
He could hear the bus approaching. Its tires crunched and popped against the gravel road surface, and he felt like the steel-belted treads were rolling over his chest.
“Thanks, Bradley ... I know it wasn’t easy for you to subdue those overprotective instincts.”
Offering an innocent smile, he said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
A Private with a clipboard exited the bus and began calling out names, an alphabetical countdown that made Bradley ache. Caressing Abby’s cheek, he drew her closer. He wanted to compress everything he felt for her into a single kiss, and sear it into her memory. He wanted the bond between them to strengthen her, to carry her through the difficult days ahead.
Names zipped past, and he held her tighter, not wanting to let go.
“Webber?” the Private shouted.
Not acclimated to her “married name,” Abby didn’t react; and Bradley pulled back, grinning at her.
“Webber, Abigail?” the Private repeated.
“Oh, that’s me.” A rosy hue seeped into her cheeks.
“Saying good-bye sucks even more than I thought it would,” Bradley said, his voice thick with emotion.
“But this is something I really want to do.”
Was that supposed to make it easier? It didn’t, but he knew he had to let go.
Bradley watched her walk toward the bus, feeling as if his heart was being wrenched from his chest, then he shouted, “I love you, Squirt!”
Abby glanced over her shoulder and flashed that adorable, pissed-off pout, the one that always made him smile. “I love you more, Sexy!”
Then a bizarre feeling of calm spread through him.
We will be together again, Bradley decided. Because the good Lord always provides.
* * Change of Heart(5D)? * *
YES ... Back to Moral Dilemma 5D
NO ... This is the End of Book One
WARNING: Paging forward will take you into a different story path.
The Powerless Series continues:
EMPowered: America Re-Energized
Power Play: America’s Fate
Mind Power: America Awakens
( ( ( PATH 106E ) ) )
106E
BRADLEY COULD SEE THE indecision building in Kyle’s expression like a brewing storm.
“I don’t want to choose who lives and dies,” he moaned, burying his face in his hands. “I wish we’d never stumbled across them.”
Bradley frowned, watching the father grill hunks of flesh that could have passed for chicken. “Even if you were blissfully unaware of the cannibals, the danger would still exist.”
Kyle’s mouth dropped open as if to speak, venting only an anguished sigh.
“You can’t wish it away, and you can’t ignore it,” Bradley told him. “And the truth is, you’re gonna have blood on your hands no matter what you do. Your only choice is whose blood. The cannibals? Or all their future victims?”
Indecision gave way to resentment, and through gritted teeth, Kyle said, “This is not my job, so stop trying to coronate me as judge, jury, and executioner.” Then using a tree to steady himself, he stood and lumbered away.
Bradley trailed ten yards behind him until they reached the western shore of Lake Apopka. A belt of saw grass straddled the boundary between land and water, swishing softly like whispering voices at a wake, and he sat down behind a cluster of wild bushes.
“You think I made the wrong call, don’t you?” Kyle demanded.
“I
never said that.”
“You don’t have to. It’s written all over your face.”
Bradley removed a bottle of water from his backpack, guzzled half, then offered it to Kyle. He declined with a head shake.
“I think we need to monitor those cannibals until we’re sure they’ve moved on. Until they’re no longer a threat to Abby.”
The words fell in a downpour then mutely sunk in, penetrating imperceptibly like a puddle seeping into earth.
Did I just say a threat to Abby? Instead of a threat to your family?
Inexplicably, Kyle began to laugh, an unnerving, inappropriate cackle that made Bradley nervous.
“I ... am such ... an idiot,” Kyle mumbled. “My daughter is surrounded by sharks, and I’m worried about the lifeguard.” He paused to draw in a deep breath. “Girls Abby’s age are being raped on playgrounds; cannibals are butchering people; and I’m worried about my daughter sleeping with you.”
Bradley’s emotions ricocheted like a pinball caught between celebration and apprehension. He wanted to say something, to change the subject, but his words dispersed like jackrabbits spooked by a predator.
“I overreacted when you kissed Abby.” Kyle cleared his throat, magnifying the tension. “Do you love my daughter?”
The question hung thick in the air, an asphyxiating invisible haze. There was no way out, no way around, only through. “Look, Kyle, I didn’t want to. I tried not to. But ... Yeah.”
“And if anything happens to me, you’ll look out for her?”
“Of course,” Bradley said. Hadn’t he been doing that for the past two weeks?
Kyle’s thumb and index finger massaged his closed eyelids then pinched together at the bridge of his nose. “This ... relationship needs to progress on Abby’s timetable—not yours.”
“That goes without saying.” The phrase take advantage was buzzing like a housefly trapped within his skull.
“I know you’re a good man, Bradley. And someday, when you’re a father, you’ll understand.” Kyle hesitated as two sandhill cranes glided gracefully over the lake.
Bradley sighed, sensing the conversation was not finished. The respite was like the eye of a hurricane, a few peaceful seconds before it battered him again.
“I want your word,” Kyle said, attention swooping from the birds back to Bradley, “that you won’t make me a grandfather.”
Air rushed from Bradley’s lungs, and the resulting sound was a Frankensteinlike synthesis of a cough, a groan, and a laugh. “Sir, I will not let that happen.”
“And I don’t want to see any more amorous displays. Use a little discretion.”
“Understood.”
“Then consider this resolved. But you damned well better keep your zipper up ... until she yanks it down.”
Bradley suffocated a smirk generated by the memory of Abby’s probing fingers dragging him into the pool.
“And I don’t care if you are a Marine Corps Sniper,” Kyle told him. “I’ll find some way to kick your ass. Or at least die trying.”
107E SKIPPED
108E
WHEN KYLE RETURNED home, Jessie was in the yard hunched over another of her projects, and the sight of her near the lake inflamed the worry smoldering inside him. He began scanning the hills, suddenly aware that a gunman could be lurking behind any tree.
Did I do the right thing, leaving those cannibals alive? Are they really a threat to my family?
“Hey, Beautiful.” He squatted beside her, and with a curled index finger, guided her chin upward for a kiss. “Ready to go inside?”
“No, I’ve got more work to do on my sun oven.”
She had countersunk a wall oven into the ground, replaced its door with glass from their shower enclosure, and contoured sand around it to support four medicine-cabinet mirrors, each tilted to concentrate rays of sunlight into the insulated metal box.
Kyle’s gaze swept the hills again while uncertainty and fear roiled inside him. “You can finish it, tomorrow. Let’s go inside,” he said in a jittery tone that betrayed his emotions.
“Okay, Kyle, what’s wrong? You’re acting strange.”
Realizing his mistake, he flashed a seductive smile and said, “Maybe I just want to spend a little time alone with my wife.”
“In that case, give me five minutes to get cleaned up.”
“You got it.” Ushering her up the stairs, he asked, “Do you know what Abby’s up to? We need to have a little chat”
“She’s in the lanai, cleaning her rifle, but Kyle ... Backing a stubborn person into a corner never ends well.”
“Stubborn? Where do you suppose she got that from?” he asked, teasing his wife.
“I’ll cop to stubborn, if you’ll claim the uncensored mouth.”
“No way. I blame that on her namesake, Great-Grandma Abigail.”
Kyle pulled open the door to the screened room for Jessie, and as she entered the master bedroom, relief gushed through him.
Abby was sitting at the table, aligning the upper and lower receivers of her rifle.
“Hey, Sweetie-pie.”
She pushed the locking pins into position, yanked the charging handle, and dry fired, testing the rifle with an empty chamber; then her eyes met his, icy and laced with indignation. “I really hate it when you call me that. Why do you always treat me like I’m five years old?”
He flashed a crooked smile and said, “I think that assessment is a little harsh ... Although, I did overreact when you kissed Bradley.”
Seemingly caught off guard, Abby studied him for a beat. “I’m sorry for antagonizing you this morning. In retrospect, I guess my impulsive reaction wasn’t the most mature way to handle things.”
Kyle opened his arms to her, an invitation eagerly accepted. “I’m sorry too. I guess a part of me just doesn’t want to let you grow up.”
( ( ( 55% Complete ) ) )
( ( ( DAY 16E ) ) )
Saturday, March 1st
109E
JUST AFTER SUNRISE, JESSIE hurried down the hill from overwatch, anxious to get to the bathroom. That six-hour shift was taxing her bladder; and unlike Kyle, she wasn’t about to relieve herself behind a tree.
As Jessie reached for the retractable screen on the front door, her heart caromed into her throat, trapping a scream, and she nearly wet herself.
Two figures stood in the shadows of the family room. A forearm was wrapped around Abby’s neck. A handgun was pressed against her temple.
Memories of the intruder rushed back.
The raw fear.
The helplessness.
Then Jessie realized Bradley was holding the gun.
What the hell?
Before she could finish the thought, Abby whirled and grabbed the barrel, forcing it away. She leaned left, downward, using her body weight to twist the gun, and knocked Bradley off balance. He tripped over her outstretched leg, tumbled onto a layer of couch cushions, and Abby emerged with the gun trained on him, backing up.
It’s just a self-defense lesson, Jessie thought. Thank God Kyle can’t see this from overwatch.
Bradley was back on his feet, facing Abby, the weapon trained on her chest. This time, Abby’s movements were so fast that Jessie couldn’t discern how she had managed to strip the weapon from his hand.
The lesson devolved into a playful wrestling match. Jessie watched them rolling across the family room floor, laughing as if the entire world hadn’t collapsed around them. She smiled, grateful that in this dangerous new reality, her daughter had managed to find a little happiness.
110E
CAPTAIN RODRIGUEZ continued paging through a file, perusing documents like a speed-reader the entire time Ryan was speaking. The man was an unproven quantity, a baby-faced fortysomething with deep bronze skin, humorless dark eyes, and a reputation as a stickler.
“That’s a serious accusation you’ve leveled against the Corporal,” Rodriguez finally said.
Standing at attention, Ryan felt the first trickle of sweat along hi
s neck, like an advance guard of scouting ants clearing the way for a battalion.
“Look, Staff Sergeant, I would love to prevent another insider attack, but the man is innocent until proven guilty. I can’t ruin his career based solely on your suspicions. Maybe he’s just an unemotional guy.”
Unlike Zugarra, Rodriguez’ features provided no barometer of anger, no indication where his personal red zone began, and Ryan pressed on. “Sir, he wasn’t unemotional over the dead jihadists in Astatula. And the traitorous drone Pilot who attacked Camp Sunshine and facilitated the Patriot battery theft is his cousin. I’m just asking for an investigation—”
“De-nied. Guilt by association is not evidence. And neither is a suspicion based on his Muslim faith.” Rodriguez’ right hand slapped an open personnel file on his desk—Ryan’s file. “I understand there’s some history between you and Dia Jawad Al-Zahrani. Is that what this is? Retribution?”
Ryan’s fingers ground into his palms as if crushing the ridiculous question. “No, sir, and with all due respect, I’ve already lost two of my guys through insider attacks. I would be remiss in not reporting my suspicions—”
“Duly noted. Dismissed.”
“You’re not going to investigate a potential traitor, sir?”
“Investigate what?” Rodriguez demanded. “Your perception of the man who reported your insubordination, resulting in your demotion? I will not accuse a man of being a traitor without evidence. Dis-missed.”
111E SKIPPED
112E
MAURICE ROSHAN AL-KAHTANI catapulted off the flight deck of the U.S.S. Ramer in an F-22 Raptor. He looked down onto the inky black ocean which merged seamlessly into the night sky, clusters of starlight the only visual indicators distinguishing up from down.
He would not falter like his brother, Omar, who had failed to neutralize the desalination system aboard the U.S.S. Axelson. Despite rumors implicating Navy SEALs in his murder, Maurice knew that Omar had nobly ended his own life in order to protect the identities of the special forces of jihad.
Powerless- America Unplugged Page 104
