I had written to “Miss,” as we referred to the matron of the home, for years after leaving. We’d kept in touch until she died the previous year. The best thing was, she wrote back. She cared. I appreciated that.
There’d always been a rumor she was a direct descendent of the person who’d opened the place. Even her name was Liz, but she’d always be “Miss” to me. I’d gone off the rails for a while, as a lot of orphans do. I got in with the wrong crowd and was this close to ending up in prison, when she’d pulled me back.
She’d pointed me toward the armed services. Her son had served in Vietnam. She had a picture of him in a locket she kept on a silver chain around her neck. I never saw the photo closely, and never saw the one on the other side of the locket at all. Miss always carried an air of sadness around with her. More than the loss of her boy, I thought; the locket carried another memory.
***
I found my true family when I joined the US Marines as soon as I became eighteen, at the same time I got my nickname, Jaz.
My parents had named me Jason Zion Goldberg at my bris milah, the only gift of theirs I had left, besides the Timex watch I always wore. They’d been a good Jewish family, as my name avows, but this lasted less than a day in boot camp on Parris Island.
“What sorta mouthful of a name is that, son?” the tall, muscular red-head asked from the top bunk as I stowed my gear below him.
I cringed. My name was all that remained from my parents’ legacy, but it had been the brunt of many insults over the years.
He jumped down off the bunk and slapped me on the back, leaning close to speak soft enough so only I heard. “Jason, you and me are gonna be buddies; good buddies. I just know it.”
I don’t know why, but I believed him, and for the first time in years, I felt an unfamiliar feeling around someone I didn't know…trust.
“But that name is gonna get you a ton of grief in this shit hole.” He held his hand out. “I’m Johnnie. Pleased ta meet you, Jaz.”
I smiled, taking his proffered hand, gripping it firmly. Another younger man walked over from the direction of the toilet – head. I had no idea why they were called heads, of all things. He was a younger copy of Johnnie, and I blinked, surprised that would be permitted on “Paradise Island.”
Johnnie smiled. “Jaz, meet my younger brother, Ted. He’s a grumpy son-of-a-bitch, but he’ll shoot the nads off a gnat at twenty paces…if he doesn’t fuck it first.” He held his little pinkie up and wiggled it. “It probably even fits.”
Ted snorted. “Fuck you, asshole.” He reached over to shake hands. It was true. Even though clearly brothers, Ted’s face was set in a permanent glower, but there was humor in those deep eyes. “My brother here has a thing for goats. He’ll go down on anythin’ that tastes of cheese. Most neighbors’ daughters don’t even bother to wash anymore.”
Johnnie extended his middle finger, and we all laughed, me hiding a bit of chagrin. What would Miss think of this group of… friends?
We’d become family the moment they found out I had none of my own, so most of my liberty time was spent with their folks in South Dakota. Mama and Dad O'Reilly claimed me as another son on my first visit.
One of these times coincided with the most important moment of my life, when their kid sister, Sherri, was home from college. Cliché as it may have been, it was love at first sight, for me, at least.
Sherri? She took a little convincing, though not too much. Most of it was playing hard to get on her part. The most difficult thing had been sneaking around behind her brothers’ backs. I hated doing that, and the moment we decided to come clean couldn't have happened soon enough for me. Coming out had been…interesting.
“About time, bro,” Johnnie had smirked.
“You knew? All the time, you knew.”
The guffaws of Ted and kid brother, Bill, drowned out any response. I had been well and truly suckered. I was amused, but Sherri was furious.
She whirled on them and fixed each of them with a stare that cooled the merriment in two seconds flat. I can still remember her standing, eyes flashing and hands fisted on her hips. God, I loved her.
“John Patrick O’Reilly, I’m ashamed of you. How dare you embarrass Jaz like that? And just because you’re my big brother, don’t think I won’t whup your ass for this.”
Ted and Bill let out a, “Wow, I’m scared,” sound.
“And as for you two,” she continued, “At least, Jaz has a girlfriend; unlike you two goat- fuckers.” She turned her back on them in disgust, and I saw the brothers exchange guilty glances, at the same time I saw the glee in Sherri’s pale blue eyes. She was playing them hard. Either Johnnie’s sixth sense, or a slight reveal on my face, must have alerted him.
“Sherri, Jaz, we’re sorry.” Johnnie got up before the others. “I’m sorry for keepin’ it a secret, bro, but jeeze, you were hardly subtle about it. And if it counts for anything, I don’t think I’d rather have anyone else as a brother-in-law.”
That did it. Sherri rounded on him again. “Brother-in-law?” she gaped. I realized Johnnie was playing her now and I had trouble not laughing. “We’ve only been going out a few months, you asshole. It’s a bit early for that.”
Johnnie put his hand up to silence her, adopting his best redneck persona. He puffed his chest out as he hooked his thumbs under his belt. “Now, Sherri, you know the way it is up in these parts.” He winked at his brothers as Sherri’s face turned a dangerous shade of crimson at the patronization in his voice. He may as well have called her, “little lady.” “Once a man has submitted his intention to court a lady, and once the lady agrees…well, you’re officially engaged. Of course, Jaz will have to ask Pa’s permission and all.”
“Pa? When have you ever called Dad, Pa?” For a second, I thought Sherri might strike him as she walked quickly toward him, but at the last moment, she threw her arms around him. “God, you’re such an asshole, but that was one of the best rednecks you've ever done.”
It degenerated into laughter right away, the tension gone as if it hadn’t existed. That night, I asked Sherri to marry me, and she said yes. The next day, we had the last laugh on the brothers, and their befuddled expressions were priceless.
***
We got married and had a kid, Tommy. Sherri knew he was developmentally delayed from the beginning, but the doctors couldn't confirm it until he was almost eight months old, and it was another year and a half of hell until we got him into the Danish program and he thrived. Even as a four-year-old, Tommy was still wearing diapers and not quite verbal, but he knew some words, and in the areas in which he excelled, he was a bright, inquisitive kid. He loved gadgets; give him an old hand radio and a screwdriver and he'd spend hours in absolute fascination until that thing was in fifty different pieces. Most of the time, he could put it back together in forty.
Tommy’s death had almost been the end of us. Sherri said she didn’t blame me for leaving the gun; she said she blamed herself for keeping it in the bedside cabinet instead of locked away.
I knew, deep down, she thought it was my fault, and…way deeper than I'd ever admit, part of me thought it was hers.
It had been Johnnie who yet again saved us. Sherri was in bed, as usual. It worried me, not because she wasn't working – hell, she never had to work again if she didn't want to – but because of the toll this depression was taking on her.
Johnnie came around one day, about three months after the funeral. “Tommy is dead,” he’d said, his voice blunt and uncompromising, “and the way I see it, you guys have two choices.” He held up a finger. “One. You can part ways; get away from all the guilt and grief that each of you is holding. Oh, it’ll take a while. Dealing with grief on your own is no easy thing, but I could understand it if you chose that path.”
Sherri looked at me with tears in her eyes, and she silently mouthed, “No.” I squeezed her hand tightly.
“Number two. You can stay together, and stop all this blaming each other bullshit, and get on with your f
ucking lives.” The last two words were raised in volume, but Johnnie’s face was a mask of calm. Both of us were stunned.
Johnnie got up. “I’ve said my piece, but at the end of the day, it’s up to you guys to make up your minds.” He paused at the door, turning back to look both of us in the eye. “You know which one alla us want to happen.” Then, he was gone.
We sat there in stunned silence for a moment, before Sherri dragged me into her arms, whispering, “I’m sorry,” over and over. The same word flew from my lips as well, but after a while, Johnnie’s words struck home. We agreed to start over. We took a drive out to Tommy’s grave, putting fresh flowers on it, and finally, accepting his death. We knew he’d have wanted us to be happy.
We tried. We stepped on tiptoe around each other, we remembered the love we had felt for each other, and, slowly, we started to heal.
A month later, Sherri collapsed at work. Her friend, Joanne, called me from the hospital and I rushed right over. They did an MRI that same afternoon, which told me more than I was willing to know. A day later, the oncologist told us there was a tumor – a Glio, she called it, for glioblastoma – the size of a tennis ball in Sherri's brain. It was already stage IV, far too late for anything other than palliative treatment, and it was lodged into a section of the brain likely to leave her in a vegetative condition if we opted for surgical removal. My world fell apart twice, in what felt like a matter of moments.
It didn’t stop Sherri. She fought every step of the way, and I was there with her, holding her hand while she slept, comforting her during the breakthrough pain, and sometimes crying along with her.
She lasted a little over two months. I wondered what the boys would plan to distract me on that anniversary.
But now, in the present, I drank the beer and ate the fish. We burped and farted, and I had to admit, I was a lucky SOB to have such friends.
Chapter Two
Aftermath
Jennifer
“Dad, no!” I screamed. “You can’t go. Can’t you see what’s happening? It’s too late.” I pointed at the nightmarish scenes on the large screen plasma on the wall.
He kept gathering the end-of-the-month receipts and accounting paperwork, brushing me aside as he collected the documents. The parking lot was empty. When the first news reports had come up on the TV, our meager clientele on this Halloween night had departed, rushing home to their families in desperate hope.
“I have to try, Jenny. Your mom mentioned shelters being set up. Maybe they made it to one of them. She said the army was evacuating them, didn’t you hear her on the phone?” His eyes were wide and red-rimmed. He was in shock. Heck, I was in shock. I followed him back into the diner.
“I heard, Dad. Right before I heard the gunshots and those god-awful screams. Right before …” I couldn’t say the rest out loud. I’d heard my mom’s screams of terror before they’d abruptly been cut off. The phone line had stayed unmercifully live, and we heard shots, loud bangs that must have been some sort of explosions, and screams. Lots and lots of screams; and there was no way in the world all of them had been human.
“She and Jessica might have made it out,” he said, as he retrieved the shotgun he kept behind the counter. “Now, you stay here. Close the shutters and bar the door.” He took my hands, looking deep into my eyes. “Don’t open up for anyone…anyone, you understand, Jen?”
I grabbed tight. “Please, at least take me with you.” Tears streamed down my cheeks. I glanced at the TV, just in time to see a huge mushroom cloud blossom over what the subtitles said was Boston.
“Oh may God protect us, they’re nuking the cities…I have to go!” My dad hugged me tight, much tighter than usual, before pushing me away and running outside. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.” He waved at me. “Remember, nobody but me, okay?”
I watched as the taillights receded in the darkness. A sob caught in my throat as my eyes prickled. A cold lump formed in my heart. I knew I’d never see my father again, and I was pretty sure I wouldn't see my mom or Jessica or Mazie, either. I locked and barred the doors, and hit the switch to close the heavy shutters. The TV was replaying the horrors, but I’d had enough, so I turned it off. I grabbed an extra tablecloth from the storage closet and sat in one of the booths with my knees pulled up to my chest, wondering what would happen. Would the horrors from the TV get out this far, to our little family diner on a highway in the middle of nowhere?
I felt numb. A few hours earlier, I’d been looking forward to going home and going out trick-or-treating with Jessica, my nine-year-old sister. Now? I glanced back at the TV, grabbing the remote to turn it back on. Sleep wasn’t going to come any time soon. The screen remained dark. I selected another channel. Darkness again. Shit! What’s wrong with the TV? We had a dish on the roof. Maybe it’s been blown offline again? But no, it was calm outside, barely a breeze, and I’d been watching this channel only a few minutes ago.
I brought up the guide and selected one of the western networks, KGO-TV, in San Francisco. Ah, there we go. I wished I hadn’t. The male and female anchors looked haggard and terrified. The large screen behind them showed the sun going down behind the Golden Gate Bridge. San Francisco bay shimmered like blood with the sunset. I turned the sound up. I’d never seen this part happen, and I watched with morbid fascination.
The man shuffled some pages. “As you can see on the screen, the Army is on the streets of San Francisco for the first time in decades.” He glanced nervously at the woman. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have been assured by the authorities that because of the forewarning…” He widened his eyes at the auto-cued script. I saw his lip curl up, and he put the papers down. “I’m sorry, ladies and gentlemen. At this time, I refuse to pander to the government and give you false hope.”
The woman shifted uncomfortably in her chair. I half expected her to interrupt him, but instead, she reached across to pat him on the upper arm in a gesture of support.
He looked sideways and smiled before reaching up to take the offered hand. “We’ve all witnessed what the government refers to as ‘forewarning.’ It’s been nothing less than slaughter on an apocalyptic scale.” His face hardened and his voice was grim. “China, Australia, Russia, Europe, and the entire eastern United States have been decimated by these horrors, and I see no hope that we will find a different fate. I urge any and all that can, to get away from the major cities and towns. Find your loved ones and hold them tightly. If anyone is watching this, you may still have a few hours before the sun sets. It’s too late for us now.”
There was a disturbance off camera, and the two glanced furtively to one side. I heard shouts. The male anchor turned back to the camera, his eyes sparkling with unshed tears. “Julia, tell the boys I love them….” That was all he managed to get out before he was dragged off-screen.
The woman rose defiantly, speaking with urgency. “If you have somewhere to go, somewhere remote, go there now! By all reports, only the major cities are being hit by whatever this is, so far at least.” The camera swung wildly, and I caught a glance of a uniformed figure in camouflage gear, before it settled back on the desk. The two anchors were gone, but I heard them shouting, the woman screaming at someone to let her go.
The scene cut to an exterior camera. It looked like the view from a helicopter, and as I watched, the camera settled on a large, dark area. I assumed it was a park, but it was too dark to be sure.
I watched, mesmerized, as a glow grew in the middle of the darkness. Sound came back and I heard the frantic requests from the photographer or reporter, urging the pilot to get closer. Was he insane?
The glow shifted from a deep green to an angry red, and it seemed like molten lava was flowing across the grass. Blue flashing lights surrounded the park. Those, at least, were familiar.
The view shifted, and the reporter piped up. “As you can see, there are tanks converging on the…whatever the hell that is.” The camera zoomed in to show dozens of the heavily armored vehicles ripping up the tarmac and the gras
s as they swung into position ringing the portal. That’s what it was. I’d seen the same thing a dozen times tonight, but only after the fact, not the actual opening of one. It was sickly fascinating; the portal pulsed like a living thing. The track marks of the tanks across the greenery were illuminated by the glow now, which had deepened to a shade of blood.
I watched as all hell broke loose…literally. Hordes of dark shapes crawled out of the depths of the pit, while other winged figures leapt into the air. The dark shadow of a leathery wing was the last thing I saw before the screen went blank.
I turned it off. I’d already seen the aftermath. The British Army hadn’t stood a chance, and, from the looks of Boston, neither did the might of the US Armed Forces. As my ex-boyfriend used to say, “It’s time to put your head between your legs and kiss your ass goodbye.”
I huddled under the tablecloth as the tears finally came. I hugged my knees tighter as I shook. I’m not sure how long I lasted before I cried myself to sleep.
Chapter Three
The Return
Jaz
“You realize we ain’t seen a soul since we left the lodge?”
I smirked, even if I privately agreed with him. “Ted, we’re out in the middle of nowhere, it’s November, and it’s before nine in the morning.”
Ted harrumphed. “It’s been over an hour now. An hour of driving and not one single car. I’m tellin’ ya, Jaz, I have a bad feeling about this.”
I snorted. Ted had a bad feeling about everything. He was a worrywart; always had been. Two tours of Afghanistan, and one in Iraq before that, and there wasn’t a day went by he didn’t predict our grisly death in a shooting or IED attack. We’d survived, despite his doom-saying. The same couldn’t be said for a lot of our friends.
Treaters: Book One of the Divine Conflict. Page 2
