by Bobby Akart
Donna turned to watch as several people in the crowd began to shout and throw rocks at them. Tom plowed through the wet grass and steered back onto the road, where his tires grabbed the pavement, causing the top-heavy Yukon to shake back and forth as it gained traction.
“Are we clear?” He shouted his question.
“Yes! Slow down, please!”
“Not until we’re on the highway,” he responded under his breath. He weaved past several slow-moving cars and raced up the ramp on to I-85, looking in his rearview mirror the entire time. After a mile, he exhaled and removed his hands from the steering wheel, one at a time, to wipe the sweat off his palms.
“Tom, do you think they were protesting the martial law announcement?” asked Donna, who was remarkably calm.
Out of breath from the anxious moment, he replied, “Maybe, but that’s not what concerned me.”
“What was it?”
“Did you notice what was on the sheets they turned into signs?”
“No, what?” asked Donna in reply.
“A black rose held by a fist.”
Chapter 40
George Trowbridge’s Residence
Near Pine Orchard, Connecticut
Trowbridge was philosophical as he watched the events unfold from Mar-a-Lago. The president had formally declared martial law and, with a significant military presence protecting him, lifted off in Marine One, which had been transported from Washington to the Southern White House in Palm Beach, Florida. The fighter jets overhead were escorting the president and members of his family to Patrick Air Force Base in nearby Brevard, just north of Palm Beach.
“Harris, when you’re the leader of the free world, you’re bestowed with a tremendous amount of power. This president has been besieged from the day he was elected in 2016. The constant attacks by the media and the opposition party may have bruised him, but it strengthened his resolve. It also created a martyr, of sorts.”
“How so, sir?” asked Harris before adding, “Martyrs are typically deceased.”
Trowbridge managed a slight laugh. “Well, if you believe the media reports, this presidency was dead on arrival in Washington. That proved to be a continuous false narrative. His reelection confirmed that.”
“Sir, if the media couldn’t bring him down, either the Twenty-Fifth Amendment actions or promised impeachment proceedings will.”
“Maybe, maybe not. At least a third of the country, if not more, believe those political machinations are nothing more than revenge and sour grapes. Some have outright called these efforts a coup against the president.”
Harris pointed to the television. “Yet there he is. Still in charge.”
“Taking actions to safeguard the ideals he believes in,” said Trowbridge before taking a deep breath. “What we have initiated is not different, although many will question our methods. It’s been said that if there’s something wrong, those who are capable of taking action should take action. That’s what we have done. History may condemn our efforts, but the results will be warranted.”
Harris’s cell phone vibrated, and he quickly powered on the display to read a series of text messages. “Sir, there’s been a development.”
“Go ahead,” grumbled Trowbridge. He was in no mood for surprises.
“The Schwartz jet has been readied for takeoff.”
“Have they submitted a flight plan?”
“Not yet,” replied Harris. “However, they have circumvented FAA policy in the past when it suited Schwartz. His unexpected appearance at Davos the year you couldn’t attend is one such example. It enabled him to avoid media scrutiny and, frankly, was a blatant attempt to take advantage of your health issues.”
Trowbridge nodded. The World Economic Forum in Davos, Switzerland, was attended by world leaders, entrepreneurs, and wealthy financiers. Many deals were made, and alliances confirmed. It was during that January in 2019 that Trowbridge’s health took a turn for the worse, forcing him to ultimately be bedridden in his home.
When Trowbridge didn’t verbally respond, Harris tried to get his attention. “Sir? Is there anything you’d like me to do?”
Trowbridge rubbed his temples. If Schwartz fled the jurisdiction, the opportunity to use the martial law declaration to take him into custody would be lost. Once in custody, the Department of Justice could create any number of charges to hold him indefinitely, and well after martial law was lifted.
“Ground him!” he blurted out louder than either man expected. “This might work to our advantage. He is showing himself to be a flight risk in the eyes of a court. Attempting to leave the country without a filed flight plan is ample evidence of that. Between the inability to get bond and the suspension of habeas corpus, Schwartz may spend the rest of his life confined to a prison holding cell.”
“I’ll call our FBI contacts now,” said Harris as he scurried out of the bedroom.
Trowbridge leaned his head against his pillow and closed his eyes, but not to nap. The safety of his daughter and Cort wore heavily on his mind. He desperately wanted to make arrangements for military assets to surround the Haven.
But if he did, it would raise unnecessary suspicion and put them in danger. If he sent someone to pull them out and take them to a location he perceived to be safer, he ran the risk of alienating his daughter, which might also serve to push Cort away.
And that couldn’t happen, as Trowbridge had big plans for his son-in-law.
Chapter 41
Outside the Haven
Ethan was not an athletic kid, but fueled by adrenaline and excitement, he hustled through the woods of the Haven undetected and scaled the perimeter wall with the aid of a fallen tree. He cautiously made his way toward the farmhouse, using large oak trees and several outbuildings for cover. By the time he reached the side of the farmhouse, he was winded, but exhilarated.
He had been part of a car theft before. Well, in his mind, it wasn’t really something as dramatic as grand theft auto or anything like that. It was more of a joyride. He and some of his buddies from high school had been running around, smoking weed, when they came upon a van parked behind a strip center near their neighborhood.
The Sherwin-Williams paint store had used the van for delivering paint to contractors in the area during home construction and remodeling. It wasn’t fancy, but for the kids high on marijuana, it was that perfect storm in which stupidity and opportunity crossed paths.
The driver had forgotten to remove the keys from the Ford Econoline van, and much to the delight of the high teenage boys, the vehicle was unlocked. For the next three hours, they drove around town, visiting the favorite hangouts of their classmates and doing donuts in the front yards of some kids they disliked.
As their high wore off, reality sank in, and they thought it best to return the van to where they’d found it. In their mind, no harm, no foul. Ethan and the other boys didn’t get caught, so their success emboldened them to try more daring adventures.
Soon, breaking and entering became part of their nightly activities. Once they found several pawnshops that happily accepted certain types of stolen goods in exchange for cash, no questions asked, Ethan and his pals decided to form their own criminal enterprise.
All of which led to this moment that encouraged Ethan to return to his criminal roots and steal the old couple’s car. Now, as most criminals often do, Ethan rationalized his theft. It was necessary to protect his mom. They could drive the car back to the owners with a full tank of gas and maybe an anonymous thank-you note. Besides, old people shouldn’t be driving around in the middle of the apocalypse anyway. It was too dangerous. In his mind, he had the best of intentions. All he had to do was get the keys and he’d be on his way.
Ethan ran to the side of the car. Most people didn’t leave their keys in their vehicles, but neither did most paint store employees. Ethan had learned early in life that if something happened once, it could happen again.
And indeed it did. He eased his head over the passenger door to avoid being seen
by the old couple inside their house. He grinned as he saw the keys dangling from the ignition of the gold 2004 Oldsmobile Alero sedan. It wasn’t a sports car like he’d hoped for, but it wasn’t a Ford Econoline van full of paint buckets either.
Ethan quickly opened the door and slid into the passenger side of the Olds. He tossed the backpack in the backseat and then sat deathly still, waiting to see if he’d been noticed. When no one approached, he let out his breath and wiped the sweat off his brow.
He sat up and slid across the bench seat behind the steering wheel. Ethan was only fifteen, but his mom and Frankie had taught him the basics of driving. Ethan had enrolled in the Pennsylvania Graduated Driver Licensing program, having obtained his learner’s permit several months before.
He looked around and studied his surroundings. He didn’t have a map and wasn’t sure where to go. His first priority was to get off the farm undetected, and then he could make a run for it. The dirty gold sedan would easily blend in with traffic, and he’d be away from this backwoods hideout before anyone noticed.
Ethan fired the ignition and calmly backed the vehicle around the side of the house until he was pointed out toward the driveway. He glanced at the fuel gauge, which showed the fourteen-gallon tank of the Olds was full. Ethan smiled, thinking to himself that old people were responsible like that, although a little too trusting.
Back to the task at hand. He was careful not to gun the engine, hoping that the old people were hard of hearing or otherwise preoccupied. He gripped the wheel, ignoring his sweaty palms, which made it slippery. This was the moment of truth.
The Olds moved forward and he casually drove down the tree-canopied driveway as if he were going on a quick trip to the store. He kept his eye fixed on the rearview mirror, fully expecting the old guy to come chasing after him with a shovel or a gun.
None of those things materialized.
Ethan found his way to Costner Road and then followed it in an easterly direction, per the dash-mounted Ritchie compass. Before he knew it, he found another cross street that pointed him north and in view of a sign marking the entrance to Interstate 40.
His body awash with relief, Ethan began hootin’ and hollerin’ inside the Oldsmobile. He slapped his hands on the dashboard and picked up speed as he was eastbound and down on I-40. He fiddled with the radio and searched for some tunes.
Ethan Hightower was about to have the time of his short life. He was free and on a mission. And he’d be gone five hundred miles when his day was done.
Chapter 42
Front Gate
The Haven
Tom and Donna were filled with apprehension and excitement as they approached the front gate of the Haven. The sinister branches of the leafless trees hung over the dark entrance like guardians of an asylum. Beyond the iron gates, the main house could barely be seen, slightly obscured by the mist that filled the air. Prior to this time, the Sheltons had driven to the Haven on sunny days, intent on spending a rustic weekend away from their beloved Charleston, with the secondary intention of stocking up for the apocalypse that they feared would be upon them.
Tom had learned long ago to never underestimate the depravity of man. In a way, that was why he’d joined the Navy in the first place—to protect America from those who’d do her harm. The last few days had shown him that there were enemies within the nation’s borders as well. Combatants who’d stop at nothing to change the course of a nation’s history. The question he wrestled with was whether it was for the greater good.
He pulled the busted-up Yukon to a stop, immediately garnering the attention of several men, who took up defensive positions behind the HESCO barriers installed behind the gate. Their reaction alarmed Donna, who’d been on edge since Richmond.
They took nothing for granted as they made their way south toward Henry River Mill Village and the Haven. Every overpass was a cause for closer scrutiny. Each stranded motorist might have a weapon to ambush you. You just never know where the bend in the road might take you.
“Tom?” she asked uneasily.
“I’m not surprised, dear. I’ve felt like they do for hundreds of miles.”
Donna managed a laugh and nodded her head. “What should we do?”
“Let me reintroduce myself. Wait here.”
Tom stepped out of the Yukon and immediately raised his hands high over his head. He was still wearing his Navy cap. “I’m Commander Tom Shelton, U.S. Navy Retired. My wife and I—”
“Welcome home, Commander!” Alpha’s booming baritone voice was unmistakable.
“Alpha, I never thought I’d say it’s good to hear your voice.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment, Commander. Please, sir, lower your arms.” Alpha turned to his men and instructed them to lower their weapons and open the gates. He and Tom shook hands and shared a bro-hug, a friendly gesture signaling to Donna that it was safe to join them.
“Hello, Alpha,” she began. “You are a sight for sore eyes.”
“Well, two nice compliments in one day,” Alpha said with a laugh. “My sizable head might swell up a couple more notches.”
“We’ve had an interesting, but rough journey,” said Donna. She glanced back at the front of the Yukon. She hadn’t seen it from that perspective yet. The red paint on the hood looked like they’d plowed over half a dozen zombies on a country road.
“Apparently,” said Alpha. He took a moment to apologize and explain that his men needed to inspect their vehicle as part of the check-in process. While they did their due diligence, the conversation continued.
“How are things here?” asked Tom.
“Hittin’ on all cylinders,” Alpha replied. “People are still arriving, and we’ve added some new residents since you were here last. They’re all a nice fit for the Haven.”
“Are you keeping Ryan straight?” asked Tom.
“Oh, yeah. You know Mr. Smart, he’s all work and no play. I’ll say this, his due diligence and planning has paid off. From the moment they sensed trouble, every aspect of what we’d worked towards was set into motion. We established our security and had reached out to almost all of the property owners before dawn on New Year’s Day.”
Donna yawned and wrapped her arm through her husband’s to support her tired body. She addressed a concern of hers. “That’s good. Say, you mentioned some new folks. Are any of them medical personnel? I took a nasty tumble and hurt my ankle.”
“Yes, ma’am. Blair recruited a top-notch ER doc and her husband, a firefighter who’s also an EMT. They can fix you up.”
“Great,” said Donna. “Listen, where is their cabin located? I’d like to see her about something.”
Tom glanced over at his wife’s face and gave her a puzzled look. It appeared she was talking about something more than a simple sprained ankle.
Alpha responded, “Well, they’re actually not that far from you guys, but they’re not here yet.”
“Oh. Are they on their way?”
“I don’t know, honestly. I’ve been on the front gate for a few hours, and as of this morning, Blair hadn’t heard from them.”
“Okay,” said a dejected Donna. She turned to go back to the truck and then she stopped to ask, “Where are they coming from?”
“Richmond, I think,” replied Alpha.
The Sheltons exchanged looks and shook their heads. Alpha noticed the odd reaction, so he asked, “Is that bad?”
Tom kicked at the gravel and then stepped closer to Alpha. “Richmond is FUBAR. If they haven’t left yet, they’re probably up to their eyeballs.”
Chapter 43
X-Ray’s Cabin
The Haven
Ryan and Cort toured the entire perimeter of the Haven, reviewed several of the newer buildings, and discussed Cort’s role going forward. Cort was more than happy to stay out of Ryan’s relationship with the security team. Ryan had an excellent rapport with Alpha and the others, while Cort was not really a military type. Cort said that if anyone wanted to have a discussion about internatio
nal diplomacy, he was their guy. Otherwise, he’d leave the nuts and bolts of perimeter security to Ryan.
The two men strengthened their rapport, and by the end of the afternoon, they were discussing the residents. Ryan told Cort a little bit about their newest addition to the community, as well as the intrigue surrounding his background.
“Cort, I can tell you now that Blair and I didn’t just accept every applicant into the Haven, including your family. Most of the folks here don’t realize that we surreptitiously recruited them. When we developed the concept, we sat down and identified all our needs. Then we set about finding people who could fill them, and who were likely open to the concept. Frankly, you were one of the rare exceptions to that process. When you contacted us about the Haven, I was a little shocked considering your position in government. I thought you’d have contingency plans using military protection.”
Cort laughed a little. “Well, unfortunately, I’m one ladder rung below the top. If I were chief of staff to a cabinet member, then Meredith and I would be hunkered down in a bunker somewhere.”
“Or unemployed, right?” asked Ryan with a chuckle.
“That’s true. The bloodletting opened a lot of eyes, to be sure. Here’s the thing that everyone was reminded of after the president cleaned house. We all serve at the pleasure of the President of the United States. Cabinet members. Top military brass. Department heads. Even chiefs of staff, to an extent. The day of the bloodletting, I phoned Meredith and told her I was glad my boss didn’t take the Defense Secretary position he was offered after General Mad Dog Mattis resigned. Senator McNeil seriously considered the offer, but as chairman of the Senate Intelligence Committee, he was already one of the most influential politicians in Washington.”
Ryan was curious. “Why did you reach out to us?”
