Next World Series (Vol. 3): Families First [Second Wind]

by Ewing, Lance K.

  * * * *

  Mac and Cory headed up the mountain to talk to the Miller boy and found him walking the road with his dogs.

  “All right, son,” said Mac, cutting his motor. “We don’t have any extra room at the moment, but you can help out on security in exchange for food and general provisions. You will need to be present for all security meetings and carry this radio at all times,” he added, handing him a bright red walkie-talkie.

  “Yes, sir. You can count on me to do whatever needs done, plus I can’t be no worse than your two guys last night.”

  “How did you know about that?” asked Cory, surprised by the remark.

  “I don’t sleep good…never have. So I wander at night—without my dogs, though,” the boy replied.

  “Well, that settles it,” said Mac. “You’ll officially be added to the night crew. You’ll have to pull a three- to four-night-per-week shift, if you can handle that?”

  “Only need Sunday off,” the boy replied. “It says in the Bible it’s a day of rest. I’m good for the other six, though. That’s for sure.”

  “All right! Just keep your radio close, and we’ll replace the batteries as needed,” said Mac.

  As they rode back down the mountain, pausing just before the cattle-guard at the end of the

  road, Mac commented to Cory, “That’s a kid who’s trying to earn a security position.”

  “I’m just glad he’s on our side now,” replied Cory.

  * * * *

  Mac called an all-valley security meeting at 11 a.m. Physical attendance was mandatory, with the exception of Jimmy and the border crews, all listening in by radio. With everyone in attendance, he began.

  “This here is Garret Miller from up on Green Mountain. His father, as some of you may know, used to work under Cory in the Loveland Police Department. He will be competing for a security detail position over the next week, as will each of you.”

  Pausing for a minute, he and Cory listened to the grumbling and whispers among the group, exactly as they expected.

  “Who has a question?” Mac asked, wanting to know who would step up and ask the obvious.

  “Why do we have to compete for a job we already have?” asked the man wearing the headphones last night.

  Mac couldn’t believe what he was hearing and looked at Cory, shaking his head.

  “Would you mind taking this one?” asked Mac in a near-whisper, doing his best to hide his anger at the man’s question.

  “Speaking with Mac earlier about this very subject,” said Cory, “we realized that most of you were chosen for this position early on, without being asked if you felt confident in your ability to uphold the responsibilities of this most important job.

  “Two of our men, only days after an eight-hour training course, were not able to perform even the basic tasks of security last evening and had to be relieved of their posts by our leader, Mac, who had the night off.”

  He paused, letting the men talk amongst themselves.

  “We have three of my former officers from Loveland, who should be here in a couple of days, two males and one female. They, too, will be competing for their positions. Unlike our beloved Denver Broncos—man, I’m going to miss football,” he joked—“who only have a limited number of

  positions open each season, we have enough for any man or woman who works hard and earns their spot.”

  “Mistakes will happen,” chimed in Mac. “But anyone falling asleep or listening to music while on duty, as we saw last night, will only be given one chance to reverse course. Our fellow community citizens across the valley deserve to sleep each night peacefully, just as we all

  did for decades before, when our strong and capable military kept bad things outside our borders.

  “Every able-bodied adult in the valley has a job. If you feel another calling more suitable to your talents, now is the time to look into that. Current shifts will remain unchanged until training begins in a couple of days. That’s all for now. Enjoy your lunch.

  “Thanks, Cory, for taking over; I was about to go off on the music guy,” said Mac.

  “No worries, boss. He would have had it coming, for sure.”

  “‘Mac,’ just ‘Mac.’ None of the ‘boss’ stuff, please?”

  “Sure thing, new friend.”

  “Let’s grab Cameron and get some lunch,” suggested Mac.

  The lunch menu today read: “Pacific Northwest Krab Cakes, paired with Turnip Blossoms and a loaded Garden Salad.”

  “They misspelled crab,” said Cameron, pointing to the menu.

  Rico was excited to have Patty and her son, Joshua, up for lunch today. He couldn’t wait to see what she said about the menu.

  Greeting them at the front door of the Pavilion, he tried hard to keep a straight face as she read today’s menu.

  She paused, saying each line out loud.

  “Sounds good,” she finally said. “Where do we start?”

  Rico was taken aback that she hadn’t mentioned anything about trying to pass fake Krab off as the real thing.

  Did she even notice? he began to wonder, as they sat down with other diners at a communal table.

  Taking a small bite of her meal, Patty said, “Mmm. This is wonderful, Chef Rico! Where ever did you find authentic crab for this most special lunch? It must be a secret family recipe.”

  All at the table agreed, with “Hear! Hear!”

  Leaning over and whispering into his ear, she said, “It’s killing you to know what I really think about your Krab with a K, isn’t it?”

  “Yes!” He smiled, covering his mouth to contain a childlike fit of laughter. “I’m dying over here, wondering if you didn’t get it.”

  “Did you know,” she said to Joshua quietly, so only he and Rico could hear, “that Surimi is the art of disguising one type of fish for another and dates all the way back to the 12th century in Japanese culture? The cheaper white fish is ground and molded with paste to resemble real crab legs. Both Alaska and Oregon were large producers of Krab, spelled with a K, for the last at least 20 years.

  “Mmm, just incredible!” she said aloud, taking another small bite and winking at Rico.

  Rico was grinning from ear to ear, now confident he had finally found the perfect blend of beauty, intelligence and sarcasm he had been looking for all these years.

  “You haven’t touched your Krab cakes, Chef. Is everything OK?” she asked loudly so several tables could hear.

  “Oh yes! Everything is fine,” he said, taking a large bite and nearly choking with laughter, turning most heads at the remaining tables.

  “I told you I’m not the same snobby guy from the old-world,” he said, so only she could hear.

  Clanking spoons on glassware, as was the norm, quieted the lunchroom. Today’s prayer was offered by an elder woman of the council.

  Lord, we thank you for this bountiful land we have been given to watch over and ask you for the safety of our fellow countrymen across this great land. We also ask you to continue healing our dear friends Jimmy and John, and we thank you for this most excellent meal that is almost as good as the real thing. It’s in your name we pray. Amen.

  “The jig is up,” whispered Patty.

  * * * *

  “Mac,” came over the radio. “It’s Sarah. I need you down here right now.”

  There was sadness in her voice—not panic or fear but the absolute opposite of happiness.

  He responded to a dead radio, walking quickly out of the Pavilion, waving at Cory to follow.

  * * * * * * *

  Chapter Eight

  Raton Pass, New Mexico

  “Where are they now?” I asked Jim.

  “Well, the scouts are here, as you know, and some even further ahead, near Trinidad. The main body is held up in the Comanche Grassland, on the southeastern tip of Colorado.”

  “That’s interesting,” I said, calling Lonnie, Steve, Jake, David, Mel and Mike on the radio to come over.

  “Let’s wait a few minutes for the
rest to make it over,” I suggested. “Can I see your map?”

  “Sure,” replied Jim. “They are right here.” He pointed out a small section of the large grassland area.

  “I was there a long time ago as a kid,” I said. “I think it’s a few hundred thousand acres or more, if I remember correctly.”

  Each man showed up, with a groggy Mike taking up the rear.

  “OK, guys,” I started. “Jim here has news on the Topeka group and says they are currently held up right here,” pointing on the map at the Comanche National Grassland. “It’s in southeastern Colorado. That’s all I know so far, so I’ll let him finish.”

  “Well, we now know more, thanks to Mike’s guy from the bridge the other day. They are working with Ronna. The interesting part is that the two leaders have never met. Ronna’s group is also growing, although not quite as fast as the other.

  “The Topeka group is led by a man calling himself Colonel Baker, and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t hold that rank—or any other, for that matter. Baker, as I’ll call him, is headed to Capulin, New Mexico. That’s the same place we stopped for the night. They should arrive there in about five days.

  “As for Ronna’s group, they pretty much followed our path to a T, and they should be there in a day or two at the most. After that, it’s straight through Raton and right up I-25 to we all know where!”

  “This could get very interesting before they even get close to here,” I said.

  “How so?” asked Jake.

  “We’ve got two new leaders, both as crazy as they come and power-hungry. They’ve never met, yet they are already working with each other so closely? With that many people, there can only be one leader.

  “Do they draw straws, fight it out bare-knuckle style? Maybe the Baker guy gets it automatically since he has more followers, or perhaps it’s a setup of one side or the other.”

  “One way or the other, though, they will all be right past this property in two weeks or less,” said Lonnie.

  “I have something to show you guys in my tent,” interrupted Mike, “and then I need to get some sleep.”

  “Is Sheila OK?” I asked.

  “Yeah, she’s fine. It’s something else.”

  “You didn’t get a pet turtle, did you?” joked Lonnie.

  “No, not that either. Wait here a minute, guys,” he said, as he poked his head into the tent. Everyone was awake and dressed.

  “I’ve got some people for you to meet. OK?” said Mike to those in the tent.

  “Are they good like you and Ms. Sheila?” asked Jonah, speaking for the very first time since they met.

  Mike opened the tent wide.

  “Whoa!” said Lonnie. “Those are not pet turtles!”

  “This is Katie and her brother, Jonah, from across the bridge,” said Mike.

  He then spoke to the children. “This is Lonnie, Lance, Steve, David, Mel, and last but not least, Jake.”

  “Hello, kids,” we all said, not sure how this all happened.

  “Give me a couple of hours’ sleep, Lonnie, and I’ll fill all of you in on the details,” added Mike, zipping the tent from the inside without another word.

  “Where did they come from?” asked Jake aloud as we walked back to Beatrice’s house.

  “I don’t know,” replied Lonnie, “but I’ll bet they know what’s going on across the bridge.”

  “Should Mike be trusted around kids?” asked Steve.

  “I’m not sure there is a choice now; but I, for one, have no concerns about him around women or children. It’s only the men I’m concerned about,” I spoke up.

  I got a “Second that” from Lonnie, but that was it. “We’re putting the cart before the horse anyway,” he added.

  Lunch was fried-egg sandwiches with mayonnaise on Beatrice’s homemade bread, along with canned sliced pickles.

  Sheila came out for four plates, engaging more with the other ladies but not talking about the new additions to their tent.

  Near two o’clock, Mike met us back up at the radio station that Mark was now manning.

  “The kids,” he started, “are Katie and Jonah, ages 13 and 6. They came out of the woods on my perimeter shift last night around 2 a.m. They are from the other side of the bridge and told of what happened to their parents.”

  He relayed the rest of the story as Katie had told it, leaving out the part about him messing with the tents.

  Only Tom knew anything about that, and of course Soldier 449, located somewhere down river, and maybe even miles away by now.

  “They do not want to go back and, as far as I can tell, the other group doesn’t know where they are.”

  “So, what now?” asked Lonnie. “You and Sheila adopt two orphans and call them your own?”

  “No, no. Hold on now. All I did was give them a place to sleep and some lunch. I never said anything about adopting them… Besides, I don’t know the first thing about kids.”

  “You did a good job with my Hendrix,” I said, loud enough for all to hear. “You were calm and confident, and he really likes you now.”

  “There’s a big difference in helping a kid out of a jam and taking on the responsibility for them until they are grown!” Mike replied defensively.

  “Yes, there is,” I replied. “But it’s not that much of a stretch to make it happen. You just agree to love them and help them out of jams from time to time, until they tell you they’ve got this. Then you’re there when they need you.”

  “I don’t want to send them back, but I can’t do it,” said Mike. “I just can’t.”

  “Just can’t what, Michael?” came a voice from behind, catching us all off-guard.

  Turning to face Sheila, with the kids on each side of her, Mike turned red.

  “Sheila, I didn’t see you there,” said Mike, fumbling.

  “I know. You were too busy finding one excuse after another not to step up and do the right thing.”

  We all froze in awkward silence, like when a couple argues at a family gathering.

  * * * * * * *

  Chapter Nine

  Raton Pass, New Mexico

  “So, you don’t want us,” said Katie. “Is that what this is about?”

  I felt bad that he was getting it from both sides, but I knew they were right. When Joy and I found out we were having twins, we stepped up, put our adult pants on, and bought two of everything.

  Others, hearing the commotion, gathered around with Tammy, now standing next to Mel. She whispered in his ear, and he blurted out, “We’ll take them!”

  “Now, wait just a minute,” called out Sheila. “We found them first.”

  It was the strangest thing I had seen in this next-world, and that was saying a lot.

  “OK, that’s enough,” intervened Lonnie before it went any further.

  “Mel, you and Tammy wait over here in those two chairs. Mike, you and Sheila over there,” pointing across the dirt road, “and I’ll talk with everyone in due time.”

  “Lance, you’re with me,” called Lonnie, without asking.

  We started with the kids, as Lonnie asked a series of cop-type questions, not far off from those Mike had asked Hendrix in the valley. After hearing their story firsthand, we both agreed they had to stay.

  “There seems to be more than one couple interested in caring for you, but I will talk with both of them first,” spoke Lonnie. “Without telling you who is from where, I will say that one part of the group is staying on this mountain, and the other is moving to Northern Colorado in a few weeks.”

  “I hate it here,” screamed Katie, crying. “All I have is bad memories of my mother being hurt and my father not being able to help her. Then both of them were killed like animals by those bastards.”

  “There’s another boy my age still there,” said Jonah quietly. “They took his mother to their leader to marry but left him.”

  “We tried to bring him with us, but he was too scared to run,” added Katie, starting to calm down now.

  “What’s hi
s name?” I asked.

  “It’s Javier, but he goes by Javi,” said Katie. “He’s so sweet, but he’s scared all the time. I want to be as far away from here as we can get,” she added.

  “It’s OK, Sissy,” said Jonah, hugging her. “It’s OK.”

  “I was not expecting this today,” Lonnie told me, as we headed to Mel and Tammy.