Ava's Crucible- The Complete series Box Set

by Mark Goodwin

  She looked at her father then stood up, “I actually go by Adams now, but yes, that’s me.”

  “Oh, sorry. You actually came to be something of a hero around here when the regime was hunting down Ava Wilson. So please don’t be offended if I’m not the last person on the base to call you Ms. Wilson.”

  Ulysses smirked. “Don’t get used to it. She’ll be going by Mrs. Mitchem soon enough.”

  She smiled politely at the doctor. “I’m flattered, but Ava is fine. Any news on Foley Mitchem?”

  “Yes, ma’am. His condition is stable, for now.”

  “For now?”

  “It seems he was shot four days ago and never received the proper medical attention. His infection is bad. We’re pumping him full of antibiotics which is pretty tough on his system. But it’s the only chance we have of saving him. We’re going to have to keep him sedated for at least twenty-four hours. After that, we’ll know more about how his body is reacting to the antibiotics.”

  “But he’s going to live, right?”

  The doctor paused and took a long breath. “We’re doing all we can.”

  “Please, doctor, don’t sugarcoat it. What are his odds of survival?”

  “For most people, I’d say not good. But I can tell he’s a fighter. I’d give him a fifty-fifty shot.”

  Ava nodded optimistically. The answer was by no means what she’d hoped to hear, but it could have been worse.

  The doctor continued speaking, “But, if we’re able to control the infection and get him stabilized, we’ll probably have to take the leg where he was shot. We can only expect so much from antibiotics. The tissue around the wound is severely damaged.”

  Ava bit her finger and looked down at the concrete floor. She imagined growing old with Foley, waiting on him in his wheelchair. As long as God would allow him to live, she’d take it. She glanced back up at the doctor and nodded. “I understand. Thank you for your efforts. I really appreciate it.”

  The doctor turned to the soldier behind him. “This is Sergeant Griffith. He’ll escort you and your father to one of the furnished guest houses on the base. It should be stocked with towels, toiletries, snacks, and all the basics.

  “Like I said, you’re a hero around here, so if you need anything, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask. It is our honor to serve you in any way that we can.

  “Sergeant Griffith will give you some passes which will get you in the dining facility, commissary, or most anywhere else you want to go around the base. If you don’t feel like being around people, the sergeant will bring your meals to you. I believe you have coffee, tea, milk, and cereal in the house. We want you to be comfortable while we take care of your friend. And we want you to rest up from the gunfight you were just in. I hear it was a rough one.”

  Ulysses spun the wheelchair around to face the doctor. “How many survivors were you able to save from the injured Oklahoma Militia members?”

  “They brought in fourteen. One died on the flight here. We lost two on the table. Three others are touch and go. The other eight should be released to go home in the morning.”

  “Thank you.” Ulysses looked pensively at his bandaged leg.

  “I have a van parked in front of the hangar. I can give you a lift over to the guest house whenever you are ready,” said Sergeant Griffith.

  Ava looked at the doctor. “Can I see Foley? I’d at least like to say good night.”

  His face reflected his empathy. “He’s in the ICU. We’re not really allowed to have visitors in there.”

  She pushed her hands into her jean pockets, glanced down then back up at his eyes. “I promise I’ll never play the hero-card again, but could you make an exception for me? Just this once?”

  The doctor exhaled, then nodded softly. “Just this once; for you. But we have to make it quick.”

  “Thanks.” She smiled then said to Ulysses, “I’ll be right back, Dad.”

  “I’ll be here with the sergeant. Take your time.”

  Ava followed the doctor to the Intensive Care Unit. She walked past the other three militia members who’d been injured in the battle. They were all heavily bandaged and attached to various cords and machines which beeped, displaying lights and numbers.

  She came to Foley’s bedside. Ava barely recognized him. He looked so vulnerable, the mighty warrior who’d saved her from the first Antifa attack at her church before she’d even known his name. He lay in a hospital bed on the precipice of death. Breathing tubes were in his nose. An IV dripped fluids and antibiotics through a long plastic tube and into a needle inserted into his arm. She took his hand, held it for a moment before the rush of emotions overflowed and the tears began to streak down the sides of her face. Her mouth frowned and she gasped for air over the strong wave of sorrow. “Please don’t leave me,” she whispered through the sobs.

  But Foley couldn’t hear her. And for the most part, that choice was not up to him. She dried her eyes and looked up to the One who could affect the outcome of this situation. “Please, God! You know how much I love him. Please don’t let him die. Heal his infection, give him strength to fight this. Bring him back from the edge.”

  She paused for a moment to hold Foley’s hand, then said, “But if you have to take him home, please, Lord, let him go in peace and comfort. Thy will be done.”

  The doctor put his hand on her shoulder. “We need to be going.”

  She nodded, then bent down to kiss Foley softly on his lips. “Sweet dreams, my love. I’ll be praying for you.”

  She followed the doctor back to the waiting area.

  CHAPTER 4

  Wherefore hear the word of the Lord, ye scornful men, that rule this people which is in Jerusalem. Because ye have said, We have made a covenant with death, and with hell are we at agreement; when the overflowing scourge shall pass through, it shall not come unto us: for we have made lies our refuge, and under falsehood have we hid ourselves.

  Isaiah 28:14-15

  Ava awoke to the sound of her father knocking on the bedroom door of the guest house.

  “The sergeant is on the phone. He’s asking if you’d like him to bring breakfast. They’ll make anything you want, but the dining facility will be closing soon. They need to start prepping for lunch.”

  She couldn’t remember falling asleep. She’d tossed and turned all night, thinking only the worst of Foley’s precarious condition. Ava had tried so hard to have faith, to stay vigilant in prayer all night, but her imagination had gotten the best of her. Yet she purposed in her very soul to maintain her fast until his infection improved or until God called him home. “No, thanks.”

  She heard Ulysses’ muffled voice placing an order over the phone. A few minutes later, he returned to her door. “How about some coffee?”

  “Maybe later. I think I just need to be quiet for a while before I get up.”

  “I’ll see you when I see you, then.” Ulysses' voice faded as he moved away from the door.

  Ava heard him clunking about on the crutches which he’d requested from Sergeant Griffith—against the doctor’s orders to stay in the wheelchair for at least seventy-two hours.

  Ava spent the next hour praying, begging God to heal Foley. Once she felt she’d wrung her soul out completely, she got out of bed, got dressed and walked out into the living room.

  The base guest house was very nice but nothing extraordinarily fancy. The sergeant had told her it was typically reserved for visiting colonels and above. The three-bedroom home was exceptionally clean if nothing else. The kitchen had granite counters and stainless-steel appliances but wasn’t over the top. Her room was spacious, and the bed was very comfortable. Large, navy-blue, overstuffed couches with ottomans flanked a high-end media center with a giant-screen television.

  Ulysses sat on the couch watching TV with his bandaged leg elevated on one of the ottomans. He placed his coffee cup on a coaster atop the end table.

  “Good morning,” she said. Despite Foley’s desperate circumstances, Ava was exce
edingly happy that her father had not been killed in the previous day’s action.

  “Good afternoon,” he replied with a smile.

  Ava looked at the clock on the microwave. “Afternoon?”

  “Relax, we’ve got nothing else to do today except take it easy. No use getting an early start on that.”

  “I know, but I need to call Charity and let her know we’re okay. She must be worried sick.”

  Ulysses lowered the volume of the television. “Could you send her a text instead?”

  “We’ve got burner phones. Why can’t I call her?”

  “Stingrays.”

  “Stingrays are local. We’re in Alliance territory. So is Charity. Besides, if they’ve intercepted our phones, they could get the text just the same as a voice call.”

  “Enemy agents could set up Stingray devices inside Oklahoma or any other Alliance State. Intercepted calls could be passed through NSA’s voice recognition system. Once they identify your voice, then they’ll have your phone. Texting doesn’t have that vulnerability.”

  “Okay.” Ava pulled out her phone.

  “And keep it short. No names, no places. You could say, I’m good, Dad is good, boyfriend is sick but stable. Be home in a few days. That’s really all she needs to know, and you’re not tipping your hand by giving out too much information.”

  Ava nodded and sent the abbreviated text.

  Seconds later, she chuckled at the reply.

  “What did she say?”

  “She’s trying to one-up me on the whole short-and-sweet thing.” Ava read the response. “K. Dog miss u. I miss u.”

  Ulysses smiled. “I had the sergeant bring you some ham and biscuits. I figured if you got some good news about Foley and wanted to break your fast, it would be here. If not, I’ll eat them.”

  Ava poured herself a cup of coffee and came to sit down next to her father. “I don’t guess you’ve heard from the doctor?”

  Ulysses shook his head. “I know it’s tough, but he said they wouldn’t know anything for at least twenty-four hours.”

  “But what if he takes a turn for the worse? Do you think the doctor will call me?”

  “You’re a superstar around here. I’m sure he’ll let you know.”

  “I’m going to call him—on the house’s landline.” She stood up and walked to the kitchen. She called Sergeant Griffith first. In her dismay the evening before, she’d completely forgotten to get the doctor’s name, much less his contact information. The sergeant informed her that the doctor was Captain Murphy and passed along his personal cell number.

  Ava dialed the number. “Captain Murphy? Hi, it’s Ava. I know you’re busy but I just wanted to see if anything had changed with Foley.”

  “He’s still stable, which is good news. The fact that he didn’t take a turn for the worse overnight is very promising, but we still need some more time.”

  “So, if that’s good news, could you reevaluate his odds?”

  The doctor sighed. “Odds are very speculative. Once we feel like we’ve got him where he has a decent chance of making it through surgery, we’ll still have that hurdle to cross.”

  “But what would you put his chances of survival at—right now, I mean?”

  He paused for a moment. “I could say sixty percent since we got through the night. But realize that it’s little more than an arbitrary number. A lot of things could still go wrong. I don’t want you to get your hopes too high.”

  “I understand, Captain. But it’s something—for me anyway. I really needed to hear that.”

  “I’m glad I could give you a positive report. I’ll call you if anything changes.”

  “Thanks again, bye.” She placed the phone on the receiver.

  Ulysses patted the couch cushion next to where he was sitting. Ava plopped down beside him. “What are you watching?”

  “The regime news. They’re reporting on the incident yesterday.”

  “Turn it up. I’d like to hear their spin on it.”

  Carter Lellouche, the afternoon anchor for the mainstream news network, was interviewing the new White House Press Secretary, Mary Snow.

  Snow said, “Carter, the administration has been as tolerant as possible, but our restraint has been met with belligerence and violence at every step of the way. Turner Blackwell hasn’t even been elected president of his so-called Alliance States, yet he refers to himself as the commander- in-chief. All the while, accusing President Markovich of being a dictator.

  “Yesterday's actions can only be described as an act of war. Blackwell sent F-16s to shoot down four United States helicopters, which were only there to watch over a small foot patrol who were trying to defend Texas from an influx of weapons from Oklahoma.”

  Carter shook his head as if perplexed. “On Christmas Day, no less. I don’t understand how Blackwell and these, these, these zealots have been allowed to take this thing so far. We all appreciate that our good leader is trying to avoid a bloody conflict, but a rogue extremist faction is essentially holding nine states hostage. I can’t believe the inhabitants of these states actually want this, but the heads of this movement are largely people they’ve elected.”

  Snow pursed her lips. “Carter, these states are vast territories of tiny remote towns and isolated communities. Many of these people are disconnected from the rest of America. They haven’t engaged with popular culture and have allowed themselves to be left behind by forward thinking. In some ways, they are to be pitied. But you’re right. We can’t allow the desire of a few, who want to wallow in ignorance, to bring down the entire country.

  “For now, President Markovich is firming up the borders of the majority states who are in compliance with the new firearms laws. Many of the compliant states still have a high percentage of residents who subscribe to these superstitions about religion. They hold radical ideologies and are easily manipulated into being domestic terrorists by people like Blackwell. We can’t allow firearms to move freely across the borders and enable them to kill or injure law-abiding citizens.

  “However, I can assure you, President Markovich, Defense Secretary Coleman, and DHS Secretary Douglas are designing strategies to put an end to the madness. When they do, it will be absolute, and we’ll no longer be two Americas.”

  Lellouche quizzed her further. “Can you elaborate on those strategies?”

  “I think you know that I can’t, Carter. But I understand that you had to ask.”

  “I respect your answer. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for compromising those plans, but you’re right, I had to ask,” he said with a wink.

  “What I can tell you, Carter, is that acts of aggression like we saw yesterday will not be tolerated. From this moment forward, force will be met with force.”

  “Press Secretary Mary Snow, thank you so much for making time for us.”

  “Thank you, Carter.”

  The split screen vanished and the camera panned in for a close up of Lellouche. “Up next, Shane Lawrence will be with us to discuss the situation around the country. He’s hinted at how the new Social Justice Legion will help to winnow the wheat from the chaff, but when we come back, he’ll lay out the plan in detail. You won’t want to miss this next segment, so stay tuned!”

  Ava finished her coffee. “Always the victims. They’ll never admit that they were the ones who started it.”

  Ulysses shook his head. “Oh no, they’ll never admit that.”

  The commercial, which was a highly-stylized call for leftist youth to join the military, finally ended, and Carter Lellouche’s show continued. “Thank you for staying with us. As I promised, Shane Lawrence is in the studio with us today.”

  The camera panned out to include Lawrence in the shot. “Shane, thanks for being with us.”

  “I’m delighted to be here,” Lawrence gave a devilish smile.

  Carter placed his finger on his lip. “You were on Ophelia’s show not long ago, and you mentioned that the Social Justice Legion would be going through social media posts
to determine who was a friend of America and who was a potential foe. I understand the system is set up and will begin assessments this week. I don’t mean to steal your thunder, why don’t I let you tell us about it?”

  Lawrence chuckled. “Yeah, thanks. It’s called the Social Value Audit, and it’s a collective effort, Carter. This is everyone’s program. We have to get rid of this notion of private ownership and private recognition. We’ve tried that system, and it has failed miserably.

  “Citizens will be graded on a sliding scale, from one to ten. We initially developed the program to assess active military personnel, but the president liked it so much that he’s asked George and myself to roll it out for the entire population.”

  “Have I been audited yet?” Carter asked.

  Lawrence smiled sheepishly, as if the interview weren’t totally scripted and he wasn’t expecting such a direct inquiry about the program. “Yes, you have. You got a ten.”

  Carter feigned a look of concern. “And that’s good—I hope?”

  Lawrence laughed. “Yes, Carter. It’s the highest ranking. A ten is considered most-highly favored citizen status. It means you would be welcomed into any government service field you want.”

  Ava huffed. “As if this network weren’t a proxy of the Markovich regime.”

  “I’m flattered!” Carter held his hand to his chest. “So, like what? The military? The Social Justice Legion? Could I be an auditor for the Social Value Audit program?”

  “Anything you want. But I’ll have to admit, I’d miss hearing you deliver the afternoon news.”

  Carter chortled. “You are kind to say so. Thank you. But seriously, what about a person who scores a nine?”

  “A nine is good. Very good in fact. That person is still a fantastic candidate for military service and many government jobs.”

  “But not the SVA program?”

  Lawrence grinned. “Citizens who score a ten have displayed that they have an acute understanding of the values we cherish. So they make the best applicants for the Social Value Audit program.”