Glimmer of Hope: Book 1 of Post-Apocalyptic Series

by Ryan King

  Nathan walked over slowly and carefully picked the chair back up and slid it under the table. He patted the leather of the headrest and missed his friend.

  He then walked out of the room, turning off the lights.

  Chapter 9 – One Moon

  Conrad felt the cold wind from the north. It was only early autumn, but this winter promised to be bad. Especially with the electricity gone and the fuel on a ticking clock of diminishing usefulness. At least the cold weather should help keep the malaria in check, he thought.

  He had believed being a JP outsider would be a detriment when he took over command of the McCracken Regiment, but it had actually served him well. Someone else from the county would have been driven and pulled by family and community loyalties, whereas a commander from another county would have been looked upon with suspicion. His soldiers he had placed in leadership positions as officers were another matter, but the regiment was showing signs of recovery.

  He had worked with Carter to get the unit off punishment details and to start patrolling outside the wire in small elements. If there was a dangerous mission, Conrad volunteered for it and made sure his soldiers knew they were taking the most dangerous assignments. He hoped with time they would again regain their pride and could look at soldiers from other units without ducking their heads.

  It hadn’t been easy or without setbacks. There were still numerous disciplinary issues. Colonel Bowers obviously hadn’t believed in leading by example, and even before the attempted desertion, the regiment had been characterized by laziness, lack of discipline, slovenliness, and an inability to accomplish basic missions. Colonel Bowers had been chosen as a successor to the martyr Brazen and bragged about how he was going to bring a military mindset to the position. It was now obvious that Bowers had only sought to enrich himself and gather power in order to domineer others and make himself feel important.

  The local populace was another problem. At first, they had welcomed them as saviors from the brutal system of governance established by Vincent Lacert. Although the JP troops were under strict orders to treat civilians with courtesy and respect, given enough time, tempers and frustration had frayed at the fabric of questionable discipline. Looting was the most common infraction, but one man had killed a local while drunk and several others had teamed up to abduct and rape a woman. Carter had ordered them all shot.

  Conrad found that he spent most of his time dealing with such issues. The locals had learned that he cared enough to keep his people in line, which meant they came to him with constant complaints, all of which had to be investigated. Most of them were baseless, but on occasion, he was sorry to find out that war didn’t just bring out the best in people.

  Which was why he was going to see Carter. His quartermaster had been caught withholding supplies from the troops and selling them to the locals on the black market. Conrad would have likely never found out, except he had complained to Carter about the lack of supplies and was told to examine the books. That he should have enough of what he needed. What he had seen didn’t add up.

  He could have handled the situation on his own. The man had already been removed from his position, lost all rank, and been put into a line position where everyone knew what he had done, but Carter said to keep him informed of such issues. It was a shame that when their primary goal was to defeat Lacert’s forces, most of their efforts were on keeping control of their own troops.

  Walking into the headquarters, he saw that Carter was meeting with several of the Creek scouts. Carter had deep black circles under his eyes and his uniform appeared to hang on him like a trash bag. Conrad got himself a cup of horrendously bad chicory coffee and stepped over closer so he could hear some of the conversation.

  “What is that supposed to mean? One more moon?” Luke asked.

  “It means one month,” explained the Creek patiently. “The Creek will return north in one month, whether this is over or not.”

  “I met with Billy Fox myself,” Luke said. “He agreed to support us throughout the campaign.”

  “This comes from Billy Fox. He said this campaign has already gone on twice as long as expected. You can’t expect us to stay here indefinitely, not with winter coming on.”

  Luke took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “Listen, without the Creek, we can’t keep the Huntsville forces cut off. They can sneak out between our thin lines and get supplies. Hell, they might even be able to flank us. I understand where you’re coming from, but we just need a little more time.”

  “That’s what you’ve been saying for weeks.”

  “And this is a little more time,” said the other Creek. “One moon.”

  “Okay, I’m all ears,” Carter said. “You got any recommendations? Their defenses are too solid to take in an assault. What little artillery we have doesn’t have the range to do more than harass them, and we don’t have enough of that. We could probably starve them out, but the whole time they might be raining down rockets on all of us, including the Creek.”

  “They have no reason to bomb the Creek.”

  “Not until you went to war against them with their adversaries.”

  The Creek looked at each other and then back at Carter. “One moon.” They then turned and left.

  A gust of wind came into the room as the door opened, and a piece of paper flew around on the floor. Conrad stared at it, remembering the cold north wind that had been blowing for several days.

  Carter stared after them. “One moon indeed. Go take your damn moon and smoke it. Hell, smoke it in a sweat lodge or whatever the hell you do. I hope you choke on it.

  Conrad grinned. He had never seen Carter so flustered and knew the man had to be exhausted. “When’s the last time you slept?”

  The man turned slowly to look at him. “I can’t remember. I’m not sure it matters if we can’t crack those defenses or smoke them out into the open where we can fight them. Our supplies are going to start running out soon, especially if the Creek stop helping us.”

  “Wait a minute,” Conrad said, setting his cup down. “That might work.”

  Carter ran a hand through unruly hair. “Conrad, I don’t have time for games. What do you want?”

  “Smoke them out. You said it yourself. It might work.”

  “It was a turn of phrase,” Carter sighed. “What are we supposed to use to smoke them out?”

  “Smoke,” said Conrad, smiling.

  Carter just looked at him expressionlessly.

  Pointing outside, Conrad talked quickly. “That wind. It’s been blowing steadily south for days. We could build huge fires to the north and let the smoke play havoc with them. If nothing else, it might obscure a major assault if we wanted to make one.”

  “If the wind doesn’t stop or change direction,” Carter said. “It’s also going to take a ton of combustible material to make that much smoke, and green wood doesn’t burn readily. All that material has to be placed close to the walls to have any effect, and you’ll have to keep feeding it even if we’re lucky enough to keep a sustained wind in the right direction. The whole time those tending the fires will be getting shot at from the Huntsville forces.”

  “Sure, it won’t be easy, but give us the green light and we’ll make it happen. It’s not like there’s any better ideas floating around here.”

  “I don’t know,” Carter said, shaking his head. “That’s a lot of effort for something that might not even work and could get a bunch of people killed.”

  “You’re right. It was a dumb idea. We’ll go with your plan instead. What was your plan again, sir? I believe it’s the whole ‘wait and see’ strategy? I understand its showing some promise.”

  “Do not screw with me,” Carter warned with a pointed finger. “Not now.”

  “Just let me try it. I have everything I need…well, except for some trucks to transport the wood and maybe some tires, chainsaws, and a bunch of fuel to pour on the wood and to fuel the trucks. Other than that, I have everything I need.”

  Luke clos
ed his eyes and sighed. “Fine. Talk to the quartermaster. Tell her I said to give you everything you need. Let me know a few hours before you’re ready and I’ll get a couple of regiments to provide covering fire.”

  “Thanks,” said Conrad, turning to leave.

  “You better hope the wind doesn’t change direction,” said Luke, “or all that smoke will be blowing in on us and a bunch of pissed off civilians.”

  “We definitely don’t want that,” admitted Conrad.

  Chapter 10 – Condolences

  Ernest Givens found himself standing on the street staring at the Phillips’ house. He had started walking to clear his head, not really planning on going anywhere in particular.

  It’s a small town, he thought. You walk long enough and you pass by everywhere.

  Still, he wondered if maybe this wasn’t his destination all along.

  He could still see the trampled grass and flowers, although someone had picked up the trash and done their best to right the planters. Ernest wasn’t sure how long he stood there, but he finally heard someone ask, “Can I help you?”

  Startled, he looked up to see the small dark-haired woman who had given him a blanket on that terrible day.

  “Oh, it’s you,” she said with neither welcome nor rudeness.

  “Is Missus Phillips here?”

  The girl hesitated and then went inside. A few minutes later, she came out again. “She’s sitting around back in the garden. Go around the side.” The girl looked like she wanted to say something else, but went back inside. Ernest caught the glimpse of the man who had been setting up the radio that day looking through the curtains at him with the woman at his shoulder.

  Good, he thought. Reggie’s wife isn’t alone and she isn’t without those wanting to protect her.

  He walked around the side of the house and into the backyard. Janice sat in a lawn chair with a small table nearby. Her back was to him. Her crutch was on the ground, and the woman’s dark brown dress covered the leg stump from view. Without turning around, she said, “Pull up a chair and sit for awhile.”

  Ernest looked around and saw several worn chairs against the side of the house. He grabbed one and placed it near the woman, then sat carefully while studying her face.

  “This has been my home for nearly forty years,” she said abruptly. “Sure, we spent time in Frankfurt, and even some in DC, mores the pity, but this was always home. It’s been a good home, but it’s seen a great deal of violence.”

  “I’m very sorry for your loss, ma’am.”

  Janice went on as if she didn’t hear him. “That madman came to kill Reggie and ended up hurting me instead. Right over there.” She pointed towards the back porch. “That was how I lost my leg. Then not a few months later”—she chuckled—“would you believe my gentle Reggie near beat Ethan Schweitzer to death with a fire poker? You can still see the poker head stuck in the dining room ceiling. I suspect if it hadn’t come off, Reggie would have beaten him to death.”

  “I’m sorry,” Ernest mumbled, not sure what to say.

  “And now this. Some might make the conclusion that this house is cursed, but I don’t think that is the case. These are just troubled times, and Reggie chose to take on the mantle of responsibility. For him, there really was no other calling. If he hadn’t been the JP President, he would have been something else.”

  “I’ll be running for president,” Ernest said without thinking. “When they have elections again, that is.”

  She looked at him for the first time. “That’s good. Reggie always said this place needed good leaders, and that’s more true now with him gone.”

  “I mean, I was running for president…before. I was running against him.”

  The woman turned an amused smile his way. “I know. He told me all about you. There was little we didn’t share with each other.”

  Ernest was silent for a while. “What did he say about me?”

  She looked back ahead. “That you were a man seeking his place in the world. Someone who knew there was something more they were supposed to do, but wasn’t sure what it was.”

  “And he thought my place wasn’t as the JP President.”

  “He never said that. I could tell he liked and admired you a great deal.”

  Ernest shook his head. “I find that hard to believe.”

  “Why? Because you were adversaries in politics? Reggie didn’t want to be president. He would have welcomed someone to take over, someone worthy. The way he was worthy.” She turned to look at him again. “Is that you, Mister Givens? Are you worthy of that responsibility? The way my husband was?”

  He stared at her before turning away from her gaze. “Honestly, I don’t know.”

  She chuckled and looked back at the freshly turned earth at her feet. “That’s not the worst answer, I guess.”

  “You should know, I don’t agree with everything your husband did.”

  “Neither did I, but I trusted him. I trusted his intentions. They were always honorable. Time will identify mistakes and critics will pick over him like vultures on a carcass, but he gave his whole heart and soul to the people he served. He loved them.”

  “I don’t think that’s the sort of person I am.”

  “It could be.” She smiled. “You are who you want to be, not who you happen to be.”

  Ernest was silent.

  “You know he’s watching and listening to us now, don’t you?”

  Looking around, Ernest realized with a start that the freshly turned earth at her feet was in the dimensions of a grave. He resisted the temptation to stand up and move away. “Is that where he’s buried?”

  Janice nodded. “Seemed only right. I’m sure I’ll lie there beside him soon enough. I’ve seen enough for one lifetime and don’t care to experience too much more without my Reggie. I just wish I could see my boy and grandbabies again.”

  Ernest looked at her with concern. “You’re not planning on doing anything…”

  “Rash?” she asked. “No, nothing like that. The Good Lord will take me away when he’s ready to take me away, but I do pray that He hurries up about it.”

  He sat there silently for a few minutes before lifting himself out of the chair. “I guess I should be going.”

  “Tell me why I should vote for you, Mister Givens.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I still got a vote. Tell me why I should use it on you. My husband had to answer that question all the time.”

  “Because I’m the best man for the job,” Ernest stammered. “I’m highly qualified. I’ve got…”

  She waved a hand at him. “No, no, no. Not your resume. Why should I trust my life to you? Why should any of us trust our lives and the lives of our children to you? You do know that’s what it ultimately comes down to, don’t you?”

  Why? Ernest wondered. Why indeed. He thought of how he had ended up here and the things he had been through. All the good men and women he had known in his life. He thought of his home and the community he had grown up in.

  He looked off at the sky. “I don’t know if you should vote for me or not. I just know that this is my home and I don’t want anything bad to happen to it. I want what’s best for my neighbors and I want to do a good job.”

  “Not bad,” she admitted, pursing her lips.

  “Does that mean I have your vote?”

  “I haven’t decided yet”—she smiled—“but you will have my prayers.”

  Ernest stood there looking down at Reggie’s grave and thought of that madman, Spence. I didn’t cause this, he thought. I didn’t want him dead.

  “Goodbye, Mister Givens,” she said. “I wish you the best in the dark days ahead.”

  Ernest nodded and walked slowly out of the yard and back to his lonely home.

  Chapter 11 – Smoke and Fire

  Conrad looked at his watch nervously. Although he had consciously displayed outward confidence to his unit, underneath he feared failure could tear what little stitching that held the thin fabric of mora
le together loose.

  “Teams are in place, sir,” said a staff officer near Conrad who nodded while looking back over his shoulder. Hidden along streets were ten heavy dump trucks loaded with wood, tires, and other combustible material that would burn and smoke for days. These loads had been soaked in fuel to make them easier to light. The drivers and co-drivers for these vehicles had the most dangerous assignments despite the thick sheets of protective metal placed over their windows.

  “Inform HQ that we’re in place,” Conrad ordered, and the officer began cranking on an old TA-312 radio that operated without electricity. A thin wire ran from the end of the radio to a similar one in the headquarters nearly a mile away. “Wildcats in position,” the man said into the radio.

  Trailer’s mule had become the regiment’s unofficial mascot. Hard-working, never complaining, and oblivious to any abuse, the animal seemed to exemplify the regiment’s new mindset. Some of the soldiers had even taken to calling themselves Wildcats.

  Looking at his watch again, Conrad counted down the seconds and then peered up into the dark early morning sky. After a few seconds, he saw a flare rise up high into the air to illuminate the ground around the embattled Huntsville northern perimeter with dark shadows. The steady wind blew the flare away from them but not before concentrated JP mortar and artillery fire began to rain down near the walls and barricades facing them.

  The barrage only lasted a minute and a half, they didn’t have the shells to sustain a longer bombardment, but Conrad hoped it was enough to keep the defenders head’s down and, with any luck, it might have actually killed some of those stubborn bastards.

  “Covering fire,” Conrad yelled, and his regiment, along with three other regiments, began firing at the perimeter in front of them. Staring intently at his watch, Conrad counted off exactly sixty seconds. “Cease fire!” he ordered.

  The order was relayed, and the McCracken Regiment stopped firing at the enemy perimeter in front of them while the other three regiments kept up their sustained shooting along the edges of the objective.