“How about this, let’s say we stick to ‘Plan A’ with Lake Hope. If it becomes too much, we’ll circle back to plans ‘B’, ‘C’, and ‘D’ in Fox, Snowden, and Strouds later if the need arises.”
* * *
Dallas, Brent, and James dropped the stranded truckers off in Wytheville as promised. When Marie hopped out of the vehicle, James would have none of it. His scrawny friend took her aside and essentially translated for him. The man was still seemingly unable to form enough words to make a coherent sentence.
“Maria,” he explained. “I think what the big lug is trying to tell you, is that he would like you to continue on with us.”
“Why would I do that? He dragged me out of my truck by my hair!” she retorted. “He put a gun to my head! Brother’s best friend or not, people just don’t do that. That man needs help.”
“They all do, Maria. Every single one of those guys who went over there came back changed in some way or another,” Dallas replied compassionately. “To be honest, James still hasn’t made his peace with what happened to your step-brother. Being ordered to commit fratricide stays with a guy.”
Maria struck a less defiant pose at being reminded of the issue foremost in James’ mind.
“As to your other points, yes, he did do those things to you. We almost had to put him down because of it. Regardless of his actions, I know in my heart that he’s extremely repentant for that. I’m not quite sure you know just how much those two grew to depend on each other over there. When he gets control of his emotions, I can guarantee you that he will very eloquently state that because he was unable to protect Ernesto he feels honor bound to keep you out of harm’s way.”
Maria sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. “Where are you headed?”
“We own a Wilderness and Survival school out past Elk Creek, down along the New River. We’ll be picking up some cached supplies and heading to southeastern Ohio in just a few short days,” Dallas answered.
She continued to stand steadfast, but she didn’t rebuke his offer.
“How about this,” he pressed. “Why don’t you stay with us until we are ready to leave? You’ll be fed, sheltered, and protected. Decide then if you want to come back with us.”
Maria contemplated the request and then eventually nodded her agreement.
The four said their goodbyes to the Shag Dancers and the other hitchhikers they had accumulated along the way. When the truck rolled through Independence, Virginia, they were taken aback to see that the large plate glass windows for the bank were boarded up and black soot streaks were visible above each. Grocery stores were being guarded, as were the pharmacies. The burned out building was evidence that the townsfolk did not receive President Rayburn’s interrupted radio broadcast with open arms and a gracious heart.
Within twenty minutes of arriving at their property, the generator was humming along and Dallas’ stilted river front home was awash in lights as he began packing. Most of his hunting clothes were already in a go-bag, but he couldn’t just leave his fishing gear. His staging and continuous conversation with Maria was interrupted an hour later.
In a moment born out of habit, James had walked out onto his back deck and rang the cast iron bell signaling that dinner was ready. No sooner had he started the ringing, as he abruptly stopped and silenced the clapper. Idiot, he thought. This thing can be heard for miles.
For security, it was decided that the group would all stay in James’ home halfway between the valley floor and the ridgeline. Throughout the evening, the normally affable and gregarious man was unable to look at the other three. He had threatened to kill one while the other two were almost forced to do the same to him.
After dinner, the generator was shut down and the lanterns were extinguished to conserve fuel. With the exception of some slow burning nine hour candles, darkness blanketed the region. The lack of ambient light from the distant towns afforded the group with the ability to observe stars and planets that had previously only been seen in books and planetariums. Maria excused herself from the star gazing and headed to her room after only a few minutes.
“Listen, James,” Brent said. “I’m not going to sit here and pretend to know what’s it’s like to have to deal with Ernesto’s death. However, in spite of that, what I am going to tell you is that you need to get your head out of your ass, get in there, and make amends.”
The man shifted his gaze to his boots. “I don’t even know where to begin,” was all he replied.
“How about you start by saying you’re sorry and see where it goes from there,” Dallas offered.
James just nodded and turned to go inside. Eventually, he found himself standing in the darkened doorway of his guest room watching her read an old field manual by headlamp. After a few moments, he startled her when he quietly knocked on the partially closed door.
“Ma’am?” he asked.
Maria gasped at the sound and reflexively clapped the book shut.
“I’m sorry,” he offered. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
She reopened it and proclaimed, “We need to put a bell on you or something.” Eventually, her heart rate began decreasing.
“Occupational hazard, I guess. I’m used to trying to not be heard,” he replied as he pushed the door open and entered.
He slowly stepped forward and placed Ernesto’s letters on the bed. “Here,” he said. “You can have these back. I’ve finished reading them.”
“And?” Maria asked.
“And it seems that Ernesto cared very much for you and your father. I am truly and unequivocally sorry for my actions today. I have no excuse. It would seem that I have not moved on from the events surrounding his death.”
“Have a seat, James. Let’s talk about the man we both called our friend,” she answered as she accepted the olive branch.
The pair spent several hours crying, laughing, and recalling the life of Ernesto Mattone, their brother. At five the next morning, Dallas found the man sleeping on the floor under a blanket. Maria was on the edge of the bed under her own comforter. The two had fallen asleep holding each other’s hand.
Chapter 9
February 2023…
The day after the HANE, Samantha and the Springfield contingent returned with an extra truck and one added soul, Carlton Bloom. The giddiness with which Josh was approaching the creation of the communication centers was tempered by word of Aunt Jenny’s death. Upon their arrival and hearing the news, a brief service was held and led by Alysin. From that day forward, the oddest of the Tin Hatters was tasked with handling all religious matters at the farm.
When a ‘polar vortex’, formerly referred to as an ‘Alberta Clipper’, barreled its way into the Midwest from Canada that night, the group was unable to sit idly by when they knew scores of former neighbors were trekking towards them. All eight of the deuce’s were fired up and screamed up Route 33 looking for the refugee’s encampment.
Once located, the trucks hauled as many people and possessions as possible with each trip until all were squared away in the cabins of Lake Hope State Park. Food, water, and firewood were waiting for them when they arrived. Josh was informed that Tim and a handful of others had opted to stay and fight, or wait it out.
Several days later, the group from Elk Creek, Virginia showed up with two spare vehicles loaded to the gunnels and an old friend’s sister, Maria Sanchez, in tow. The Wilderness and Survival School was abandoned and staged as a secondary retreat should the need ever arise to relocate in a hurry. The belief was that if any form of a resistance movement against the occupiers came to fruition, it would definitely be needed.
Given Carlton’s medical background, and Maria’s Spanish speaking abilities, the pair was housed with the Martinez family. Jesus and Abelardo had grown accustomed to shifting bedrooms with all of the visitors of late, so to finally have a fairly permanent living arrangement where they would share a room was a welcome development.
All beds and rooms were accounted for in Josh’s cabin as
well. President Sarkes and Agent Monahan were in one with James and Dallas in another while Josh and Amanda enjoyed the spacious confines of the master bedroom. The basement was inhabited by Chester and Bryan. Given their night owl nature and similar skillsets, the two could prattle on down there until all hours undisturbed.
The Three Sisters farm house held the rest. Josh’s daughters took to racking together and wouldn’t have it any other way. That left Gregg, Emily, and baby Declan in one room, while Alysin, Lily, and Kristin took the other. Brent, along with Emily’s parents, was relegated to the basement. The arrangement couldn’t have made them happier. The old defense attorney and the retired General found kindred spirits with regard to Josh’s communication center. The pair could monitor the comings and goings around the country with Josh’s HAM radio setup and converse with Bryan and Chester when they got bored.
Gregg had taken to the habit of bringing Declan to the basement while he offered the infant his midnight feeding. Brent actually enjoyed the intrusions. He wasn’t home much when Jessica was that age so he became overly fascinated with the entire production. The new grandparents were all too happy to assist as well. With the baby in hand, the former operator and the Marine Corp General swapped stories throughout the nighttime hours. His in-laws were astounded at the lengths to which our soldiers went for love of country.
As the twenty-four to seventy-two hour window for egress closed, chaos filled the vacuum. Angry gangs of looters descended and began their rummaging for easy scores of food that made the ration riots look pale in comparison. Anyone with any sense got out of Dodge before the opportunity slammed shut. Those that remained quickly found themselves on the wrong end of hungry mobs looking for resources. Winter’s full effect killed hundreds of thousands from exposure as the unprepared attempted to flee the cities. Those that had become dependent on the government for assistance stayed in placed and waited for FEMA. That aid never came. Those that didn’t freeze when their wood ran out simply starved to death.
The battle plan for the UN forces was practically accomplished for them by the rampaging hordes. Affluent suburbs were pillaged, the men were shot, and the women were left raped and beaten to within an inch of life in the gutter. As the first month came to a close, there were just as many dead as were orphans.
Old scores were settled at the end of a barrel.
* * *
Barely a week had gone by when Josh was awoken by Gregg. He had opened his eyes with a start, but his mouth was immediately covered.
In a low whisper, he said, “Get dressed and come with me,” and then left the room as silently as he had entered it.
He quickly did as asked and met him on the porch.
While he gently closed the front door behind him, the part time interrogator stood and offered a steaming cup of coffee as he instructed, “Take a seat.”
“You better have one heck of a good reason for waking me up like that, brother,” Josh declared.
Before he was even fully seated, Gregg stated unemotionally, “Suhrab’s dead.”
“Oh,” he replied as he sat. “How’d that happen? You guys finally put him out of his misery? Frankly, I’m surprised it took this long. Rayburn authorized his execution days ago.”
“Nope. He didn’t die at our hands. I went to take him his breakfast and someone snuck up there during the night and shot him. Stuck one in his head, two in the heart. There are powder burns on his chest.”
Josh didn’t have a response. The two sat in silence sipping at their coffee and enjoying the coolness of the early winter morning. When the sun crested the ridgeline to the east twenty minutes later, he cleared his throat.
“How many people knew he was there?”
“I count nine. Only four had a legitimate ax to grind though.”
The former Marine arched his eyebrows at the last remark.
“Me, Em, Hoplite, and I hate to say it, but Sam as well.
“And the others?”
“You, Dallas, James, the Sheriff, and Brent,” he answered bluntly.
“Explain Hoplite.”
“He was the commanding officer for half the men killed on my transport. If rumors contain a kernel of truth, he didn’t take their deaths especially well. That was why he was looking at getting out and resigning his commission.”
“He told me. And Sam?”
“Aunt Jenny. The woman was old and frail and maybe she wouldn’t have lasted very long, but that wound is still fresh. You should have seen how distraught she was in Springfield.”
He contemplated the man’s responses and reasoning and could find no flaw. “What do you suggest?”
“Bury the body and let it fester in whoever did it. They’ll own up to it in time.”
“Just like that?”
“Yes, sir. Just like that,” Gregg replied and paused. “Oh, we could go on a witch hunt and start accusing people for sure. In my experience though, that’s counterproductive. They’ll fess up.”
“What then?”
“Then nothing. Give ‘em a friggin’ medal, I don’t care. The man was a terrorist and sociopath, pure and simple. You can call him an enemy combatant or whatever political buzzword fits these days if it makes you feel any better. He had an execution order on his head from the POTUS and that’s only because we couldn’t get to a black site. We damn sure weren’t gonna let him go.”
Gregg paused a few moments and then concluded, “He told us everything he knew anyway. As far as I’m concerned, this is a completed Op and I’m not losing anymore sleep over this guy.”
“True enough.”
When Josh offered no other response, he felt compelled to ask, “But?”
“I’m not inclined to let it fester, Gregg. We can’t have people running around executing prisoners.”
The new father sipped at his coffee and sighed.
“You can do whatever you want. I’m not going to try and stop you. I don’t care a single iota who did it, or why. I’ve put enough folks out of their misery. This is one that most definitely earned it, but it’s not on my conscience.”
* * *
“Do you have any idea what Josh wants to discuss, honey?”
“I do,” Gregg replied to his wife.
“That man sure does love his meetings,” Emily’s mother, Sonja, declared as she finished changing Declan’s diaper.
“Well there are a lot of things that need to be organized. Power’s not coming back for a couple years and people require direction,” her son-in-law rebutted.
Without skipping a beat, she turned her attention to her husband of four decades, “Emmitt, don’t you dare light that cigar in this house.”
“Does it really matter?” he asked as he gave his wife a ‘look’. Emily saw it, but said nothing.
“No, I guess it’s too late for you,” she answered with a sigh. “The rest of us would appreciate it if you didn’t stink up the house though. Go outside,” she ordered.
“Come on, son,” Emmitt decreed as he exercised his shoulder.
“You alright, Mr. Calhoun?” Gregg asked.
“My arm has a weird pain. Mustuv slept on it wrong,” he replied. “Hey, I’ve got an extra one for you if you want it,” Emily’s father concluded as he headed toward the porch.
His daughter watched as the pair exited the front door. When she heard it click shut, she turned to her mother. “I saw that,” she declared as she placed another log on the fire.
“What’s that, dear,” Sonja replied as she swaddled Declan in the hospital blanket.
“The look daddy gave you when he said it didn’t matter. What’s going on?” she asked as she poked the embers.
“Oh, sweetie. When you’ve been married as long as we have, sometimes that’s all you need,” her mother answered undeterred from that task at hand.
Something was up. Emily could feel it.
“So what was with the comment, ‘too late for you’? That mean nothing too?” she continued the interrogation as she placed the fireplace tool back in
its cradle.
Thinking quickly, realizing she had slipped up, Sonja offered a casual, “I just meant that he’s been chomping on those nasty cigars for so long there was no hope for him ever changing his habits. What’s with the twenty questions?” Redirecting her daughter, she asked, “Everything alright with you and Gregg?”
With a doubtful look on her face, Emily answered her mother. “Everything’s fine. Better than fine, actually. We talk a lot more than we ever used to.”
“That’s good. Communication is probably more important in a marriage than sex.”
“Mom!”
“What?” Sonja replied and realized she had embarrassed her daughter. “Oh, don’t be like that. What I mean is, intimacy is a key ingredient too, but do you really feel any kind of connection when you’re, you know, if the two of you aren’t in the same place mentally? That’s where the communication comes in.” As if a wave of nostalgia washed over her, she added an emphatic, “The stories I could tell you about me and your father!”
“No! Ewe! Gross! I don’t need to hear those, Mom! Like ever!”
Having successfully diverted her daughters questions, Sonja replied with a shrug. “Suit yourself. We better get going though. We don’t want to be the last ones to arrive.”
Twenty minutes later, the Calhoun’s and Chastain’s walked onto the front porch of Josh’s cabin. The Martinez’s were right behind them
“Emmitt, are you okay?” Basilia wondered as he ascended the steps. “You look pale.”
He waved her off, “Just tired is all. The little one has us working a lot of late nights.”
“Please have a seat,” Josh stated to the assembled group. “I’ve asked everyone here because we have an issue.” Now that he had everyone’s attention, he added, “It seems that someone has taken matters in to their own hands, Suhrab is dead.”
He paused to let that sink in. No one offered any comments.
“Ah, Señor,” Juan interjected. “Isn’t that a good thing?”
“Well, yes and no. He had an execution order from the POTUS, so that’s been fulfilled. Unfortunately, he didn’t meet his fate by any of those authorized to carry out the task.”
By the Dawn's Early Light Page 11
