The Nation Chronicles: Book Two (The Nation Chronicles Trilogy 2)

by Wendell Sweet

  "Damn," Delbert said, "makes a man wish he could get shot everyday so he could have two pretty women fussing over him," a small smile appeared over the tight set of his teeth.

  Joe smiled back, surprised that he could, but a glance over at the covered form of Bill's body quickly wiped away the smile. "I'm getting us another truck," he stated, as he turned and walked over to the small pile of keys, and not from the back either, he told himself. He searched until he found the set of keys to the green Durango that Delbert had said was out in front, and then headed toward the front of the lot. He could still hear the other truck idling in the ditch, but all else was quiet and he saw no one at all.

  This Durango was another stripped down model, with a bare interior, and aggressively tread tires. He thanked God mentally, got in, started it, and pulled over to the wrecked Suburban. Fifteen minutes later the contents of the Suburban were loaded into the rear of the Durango. The Durango was smaller, but he managed to make it all fit, and when he was finished he pulled the truck up next to the side doors, glancing at the gas gauge as he shut it off, which was resting between half and full, at three quarters of a tank. "Thank you God," he said aloud, as he exited the truck and walked back into the showroom.

  Delbert was sitting up, resting against the bumper of one of the cars in the showroom. "How're you feeling?" Joe asked, as he looked over the bandaged leg.

  "Not bad, and I'm about to feel a whole lot better," he said, raising a small pint of whiskey, "Becky found this in one of the managers drawers. I think it'll do the trick just fine."

  Joe smiled, "Damn, Dell, I had no intention of getting you shot, I'm sorry, Dell, truly I am."

  "What the hell are you apologizing for?" Delbert asked, his voice serious. "That ain't no way to lead, Joe. You did the best you could, we're all damn lucky to be alive, so don't go beating yourself over the head about it. You ain't got nothin' to apologize for, far as I'm concerned."

  "Joe, I need to see your face," Becky said walking up, "now hold still, this is gonna hurt." He gritted his teeth as she first cleaned and then poured peroxide directly over the wound. When she was done with that, she taped it up as best she could, and kissed him. "Don't leave me, Joe," she said.

  "Wouldn't, and couldn't," he replied, "and don't want to either." He turned to Delbert and helped him to his feet as the four of them walked to the Durango. None of them spoke of leaving Bill behind. They didn't like it, but they all realized they had no choice.

  Joe turned the truck around and eased up onto the roadway. It was clear in both directions, and his eyes swept over the drying smear of blood in the road, that was now drawing flies, as he turned right and headed out of Gothenburg.

  By the time they were under way again, it was late afternoon. The road ahead was clear, and after several miles of checking the rear-view mirror and seeing nothing, Joe began to relax a small amount. The mood in the truck, however, was somber, and no one seemed to be able to strike up any conversation and keep it going for more than a minute or two, before it fizzled.

  ~ 3 ~

  By night fall, when they had reached a small forest preserve outside of Grand Island, the two women had somehow managed to overcome the mood, and were talking excitedly about stopping and being able to get out of the truck. Their mood helped to swing Joe's mood around, and Delbert, who had more than a mild buzz from the whiskey, was sleeping with his head in Peggy's lap.

  Joe pulled the Durango into the park, and drove down next to a small stream and parked. Becky and Peggy began to search for wood to build a fire as Joe helped Delbert from the truck.

  "How are you feeling, Dell?" Joe asked.

  "No brain no pain," Delbert responded, "but I 'spect I'll have a hangover tomorrow."

  "Well go ahead and have one," Joe said, "long as that helps you get through the night," he said pointing at the bottle. "But make sure it's a small one, Dell, because tomorrow I need you wide eyed and bushy tailed, there's no telling what's ahead."

  "Yeah, today was sure fun," he said glumly.

  Joe helped him sit down at an old green picnic table, before he went back to the truck and unloaded the camping gear.

  They had picked up two additional tents, and he debated about whether or not to set up the third one. Peggy settled it when she walked over, by telling him not to bother. "I'd prefer to have Dell next to me," she said slightly embarrassed, "well, in case he wakes up in the night, or his leg bothers him," she finished.

  She breathed a sigh of relief when she realized that neither Joe nor Becky intended to make any objections.

  Peggy had met Delbert back in Texas the day after the bombs fell, almost at the same time she had met Bill. She and Delbert had just been drawn to each other, there was no other way to put it, and although their age difference was vast, it didn't bother either one of them. It had bothered Bill a great deal however. He had been of the opinion that since he had found her first, she belonged to him. It pissed her off, and the tension between them had been growing steadily.

  She was sorry that Bill had died, and had at first even felt guilty about it, but she didn't now. It could have been any of them, she realized, it could have been Dell.

  She was through making pretensions about how she felt too, she realized. She had been embarrassed, not only because she was afraid Becky and Joe would disapprove, that was only a small part. The big part was Bill. She had become accustomed to his cutting remarks, and had braced herself for one, before she had realized it wouldn't, and couldn't, come. She walked over and squatted down beside Delbert.

  "How do you feel, Dell?" she asked.

  "I'll live, Hon, you worry too much," he said smiling. She kissed him quickly, and then straightened up. "I'm going to help Becky with dinner then. If you need me say so, okay?" Delbert nodded his head and smiled once more to reassure her, and she turned and walked away.

  Joe walked over, handed Delbert a cup of coffee, and then sat down next to him.

  "You know much about Nebraska?" Joe asked, once he sat down.

  "Not a lot," Delbert replied, "came through a few years back driving truck, what's on your mind, Joe?"

  "Well, how big are some of the other cities we have to pass through, for starters, and, I guess, what do you think our chances are of getting into Iowa in one piece?"

  "Probably ought to stay away from the cities," Delbert answered. "Even if it takes longer. I know a couple of ways around, cheat routes I used a couple of times when I knew I was too heavy for the scales. If we're careful, real careful, we should be able to do it, but I ain't about to drop my guard none, none at all," he finished.

  "Me either," Joe said, "me either, not one bit."

  "How'd that gal of yours learn to shoot that way?" Delbert asked, "I never seen somebody react so fast in my life."

  "Rough life," Joe said, "I imagine she'll tell you someday. I'm damn glad she can though...Looks like Peggy can handle herself pretty damn well too, Dell," he finished.

  "Oh yeah, Bill was about to find out how well, I think." He continued with no further explanation. "I think she probably had a pretty damn rough life too, Joe," he said. "It made her one fine woman though."

  They sat and sipped quietly at the hot coffee in silence for a few minutes before Joe spoke.

  "Well, all we can do is try our best, Dell, just that, and nothing more...How about we go get some food, what do you say?"

  "Smells damn good, don't it?" Delbert asked, as Joe helped him to his feet. They both walked off toward the small fire where the two women sat quietly talking.

  EIGHT

  ~ 1 ~

  Frank's mind kept returning to the conversation he'd had with Ira Pratt two days before. He walked quietly beside Gary as he replayed it not really ignoring what Gary was saying, but not entirely tuned into it either.

  "Frank, you're spacing out again," Gary said.

  "Sorry," Frank replied, "thinking about that Ira guy again. I never saw a picture of Cora's husband... Sort of wish I had though. Can you believe, or I should say
, do you believe what he said about being her husband?"

  "Well, I'll tell you, it ain't as far-fetched to me as it is to you, Frank. I ain't so sure that there's much of anything I could consider far-fetched anymore... I guess if you've read your Bible, and I suppose you have, there's Lazarus. He got raised from the dead, although he was a pretty odd fella after that. I don't know, honest and truly I just don't, but I can't rule it out. Nothin's normal anymore, Frank, nothin' at all. You still gonna talk to him again?"

  "Yeah," Frank answered, "feel like I have to. He said if I was interested in talking he could prove it to me, and I guess I'd like to see him put his money where his mouth is. I don't know what the hell he could possibly do to prove it, but... hell, it can't hurt to listen, right?"

  "Nope," Gary replied, "it can't."

  They walked toward the War Memorial as they talked. It had become a gathering spot of sorts, for the better than three thousand people that had arrived on this side of the city so far. It was the largest place they could all gather together in at one time, and it was also serving as a command post of sorts.

  Two days earlier they had become aware of the broadcasts from Watertown. It had been an accident actually. Jimmy Johnson, who was now running the command post set up in the War Memorial, had suggested that it might be a good idea to keep an eye on the various stations to see if maybe anything was coming through.

  The idea of monitoring for broadcasts paralleled another one of their own, only in reverse. One of the other ex-police officers had come up with the idea of broadcasting from the NBC affiliate that was situated downtown. They had begun to transmit, and almost simultaneously had begun to pick up the signals from Watertown.

  It was a never ending barrage of the same thirty or forty minutes of video, showing what appeared to be actual executions. That was followed by a brief message from a young dark-haired man who smilingly advised them to surrender, or face the same consequences the people on the tape had. At that point the recorded executions would begin to play once more.

  The broadcasts had an unsettling effect on the people in Rochester. As, Jimmy had pointed out, they were probably intended to do, and had left quite a few of them wondering just what the hell was going on over on the north side. The silence from the north side, and the transmissions from Watertown, seemed somehow connected. It also ended the speculation, as to whether or not the underground facility had survived the blast.

  They were continuing with their own broadcasts, but reluctantly they were also keeping track of the broadcasts from Watertown. Jimmy had reasoned that they might eventually gain some insight into what was going on, on the north side of Rochester. So far however, the broadcast had not deviated from the video, and short speech routine, and the north side of the city was ominously silent.

  "Are you pretty sure about them missiles, Frank?" Gary asked as they walked along.

  Frank had filled Gary in about what he had learned from old man Peters, AKA David Black, back at the house in Fort Drum. Gary had agreed, that at least for the time being, it was best to keep that information to themselves. It would serve no useful purpose to terrorize everyone with the information.

  "Dead nut's positive," Frank replied, "and you can bet I wish I weren't."

  "Wonder if that crazy bastard in Watertown knows about it?" Gary wondered.

  "No telling, Gary, but I wouldn't doubt it. Could be that's why he's telling us to surrender. He'd have to be a frigging fruit-cake though, to believe it wouldn't wipe him out too if he launched them," Frank said.

  "Unless...Well, unless he ain't human," Gary said calmly.

  Frank stopped on the Street and stared at Gary. "What the hell do you mean by that, Gary?" he asked angrily.

  "Calm down, Frank, I'm on your side. I can tell just by the way you reacted that you been thinking the same frigging thing. If Ira has his God, then it's possible that there's a Satan, or Devil, or some equivalent somewhere," Gary finished, and deliberately began walking again.

  "For Christ's sake, Gary," Frank said catching up to him, "what the hell are you getting at, you believe that shit? I mean really?"

  "Exactly," Gary said, "I guess I do. I'm an old man, Frank, too frigging old to be goin' through this nonsense. But if I gotta go through it I'm going through it on the right side. Full steam ahead, nothin' else for it, and yeah, maybe it is for Christ's sake just like you just said. You didn't mean it that way, but maybe you should've."

  He paused, and both men walked in silence for a few minutes.

  "Look, Frank," Gary said in a calmer tone of voice, "maybe that makes you think I'm cracked, or gone over the edge, or whatever. It don't matter, it don't even matter if you don't respect my opinion any more. But I wouldn't have stuck my neck out and said it, if I didn't believe it. Consider that, Frank, before you judge me for what I said."

  Both men walked along in silence, Frank finally broke it.

  "Gary," Frank said, "it wouldn't change a damn thing about the way I think of you at all. You're smart, Gary, a hell-of-a-lot smarter than you let on even...What it does change is the way I'm going to look at it. If you believe it, it isn't going to make me believe it, but it is going to make me look at it a lot closer."

  They both fell silent once again, thinking, and once again Frank spoke.

  "Hey, if I acted like a jerk back there it's only because I am. Hell I've known for a long time that I needed to change, Gary, way before this happened." He swept his hands around in an arc to include everything within sight. "It's time for me to change."

  "I got a little testy too, Frank," Gary said, "and I'm sorry for that, but not for the way I feel. I really think we need to pull together, Frank... If we don't, it sure as hell ain't gonna help us, and we need all the help we can get."

  "Let’s go do it then, Gary," Frank said calmly, "let’s go find Ira, and I'll listen, and not with a closed mind either."

  Gary smiled. "Next time do I have to hold you down and beat on you to get you to do what's right?"

  "Just try it," Frank said and laughed. "Of course I've been sitting behind a desk for better than twenty years, and you been working in a gravel pit... on second thought I'll pass, old or not you'll probably kick my butt."

  They both laughed at that, and continued to laugh as they walked down the Street.

  The War Memorial was packed when they arrived, and the minute they entered they could tell that something had happened. Jimmy, looking harried, waved them over and through the crowd to where he was standing with Ira Pratt.

  "Big trouble, Guys," he said, once they were at his side, "that whacko in Watertown... well, come on, I'll show you."

  Gary looked at Frank with a what-the-hell-now sort of look, Frank shrugged his shoulders. "Beats me," he said, as he turned to Ira. "Ira, how are you?"

  "Been better, been worse," Ira answered, "you look a bit on the beat side, pulled a double guard duty I heard."

  "Yeah, for all the good it did, didn't see much of anything...Actually that made me sort of nervous. They didn't come around at all, not even to toss insults like they were."

  "When you see the latest recording I think you'll be able to figure that out," Ira responded.

  Now it was Gary's turn to shrug his shoulders as Frank looked at him with a puzzled expression.

  "You bein' secretive for a reason, Ira?" Gary asked.

  "No, not a bit, I just figure the recording can explain a whole lot better than I kin is all," Ira answered.

  Jimmy had an office in the back of what had been a small sound room, and as he walked in, and held the door, the three men followed him.

  "Not everyone knows this," Jimmy said as he shut the door, "we managed to cut the transmission after only a few seconds." He walked to a small television set with a built in recorder, picking up a disc as he passed his desk, and inserted it into the machine. "Problem is, what they did see is all over the place now."

  The television flickered then the tail end of the execution tape began to play.

  "We alread
y saw this..." Frank started.

  Jimmy cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Watch, it's coming up." Almost as soon as he had spoken the execution recording ended, and the dark-haired young man appeared. Frank was about to object once more. He hated the recording, and didn't want to watch it, but he realized that this time the speech from the dark-haired young man was different. Jimmy turned up the volume as all four men watched...

  "Howdy," the black-haired young man said with a wave of his hand, and a smile, "we are coming to you live from our newly decorated offices here in the former military headquarters of project Bluechip. Don't know what that is?" the young man asked sarcastically, although still holding the smile. "Well I wouldn't expect a bunch of hicks like you to understand that. First I would like to show you how well we have re-decorated."

  The camera panned jerkily around the interior of a small room. On one wall a bank of video monitors showed various scenes of buildings, and Frank suddenly realized that the buildings were in Rochester, specifically the downtown area. He could make out people coming and going from the War Memorial building, as well as several other buildings.

  "What the hell?" Frank started.

  Jimmy quieted him with a wave of his hand and said. "This is where we cut the transmission, Frank, watch."

  The young mans voice could be heard in the background narrating. They all tuned into the voice...

  "Yes, as you morons can see, we are keeping track of you on a daily basis. We have our helpers among you," he giggled before he continued. "Ron, shall we show them how well we re-decorated?"

  The camera moved from the wall of monitors and continued to sweep to the left. It came upon the body of a young girl, hanging suspended from a pair of eye hooks on another wall. She had obviously been tortured and beaten.

  "That sick bastard," Gary breathed.

  The voice continued to narrate..."This little bitch was one of your spies," the young man said, "I just wanted you to get a good look at what we do with spies... Ron?"