by Javan Bonds
When the cousins ended their brief embrace, Jeff assured them, “The son of a bitch is dead!”
Hollis pumped his fists in the air as an affirmation, and the only response Jackson could make was a questioning “how?”
His father gestured in the direction of the porch behind him. “Well, I’m not sure how, but he escaped that grenade. When y’all left, he took a shot at us and hit our Humvee with a bazooka. I barely got the vehicle to the pawnshop while he chased us down in this four-wheeler. We went into the front of the store, and he obviously thought we had gone to hide in the safe room and must have thrown some grenades at the door.”
Although Jackson would have eventually asked about this, his original question was intended to be, “How the hell are you alive?”
But his father continued, apparently not even realizing his son thought the two had been lost in the explosion. “I guess there was a reason I left those sticks of dynamite in there.” Jeff chuckled and then added, “We doubled back to the church and saw him in the building right as it blew up.”
Redstone was just as shocked that they were alive and could only stand beside his friend, mouth agape.
Jackson finally mustered a sentence of more than one word. “But what about the static on the radio?”
“I left it in the Humvee and just grabbed the one I had behind the bar. But the batteries in it were low.” His father had not caught on that they had all thought he was dead, and he said, as if it were unimportant, “We doubled back to the church and were going to steal his little four-wheeler. I thought the first two explosions were gunshots—couldn’t really tell from behind the church. I guess he had been chucking grenades at the door, and one of them finally got through it. We weren’t expecting the building to blow up, and the explosion knocked us down, and my walkie-talkie broke when it hit the ground.” He casually added, “Oh, and the ATV didn’t have any kind of radio on it.”
He slowly began to understand why his son had seemed so worried. “Why does it matter? You thought…” Jeff chuckled and was joined by Redstone, who did not know what else to do but laugh. “You really think I’m stupid enough to corner myself underground without a back door?”
Jackson rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed to have made such a mistake; he should have known his father would never do anything without a backup plan.
Redstone felt he could now enter the conversation. “So ASS is really gone?”
Jeff turned to the redhead and explained how he had seen the SFC’s face just before he was engulfed in a fireball.
Redstone replied, “Hell yes! We got a bunch of his badass guns too.”
He gestured his chin to the rifles slung over his shoulders as the older man spoke.
“Yeah, might as well grab what you can while you can.” Jeff reached for one of the weapons Redstone was carrying and looked down the sights as the younger man pointed a thumb in the direction of his Humvee, and the entire group began moving in that direction. When they had made it to the rear of the vehicle, they opened the tailgate and gently laid the weapons inside the bloodstained interior.
Jeff remembered the sacrifice of the sergeant who had been laid in this vehicle for the trip home. “Did he make it?” He gestured at the bloody interior; they all knew who “he” was.
“Yeah. Mama said he has a good chance of pulling through.”
Redstone nodded in agreement as Jackson explained the rest to his father, who looked relieved.
He then asked about another compatriot. “Where’s Mr. Kennard?”
In response Jackson hooked his thumb over his shoulder, and Redstone added, “He’ll be out in a minute.”
After the miraculous survivors assisted in loading the hardware into the vehicle, Jeff walked over to the ATV, which was still parked in the road, and cranked it up to move it to the parking lot. He wasn’t worried about blocking traffic, since there had been absolutely none for weeks, and though he wasn’t seriously worried about the vehicle being stolen—even though it would be tempting for any teenager who came across it—he instinctively felt uncomfortable leaving a vehicle in the middle of a state right-of-way. Just as he pulled it into the parking lot and killed the roaring engine, Mr. Kennard exited the front door and secured it as best as he could before making his way to the assembly.
He spoke with certainty as he moved toward them. “I knew you two would make it here eventually.”
Jackson smiled and looked at Redstone, who raised one eyebrow at him. This proved Old Ben knew all along that Sherman would not be able to best Jeff Pike. The redhead admonished himself for doubting the Jedi Master’s abilities to see the future.
The elder man shook hands and exchanged greetings before agreeing they should return home. Old Ben then walked over and placed a hand on the shoulder of the teenager. “Young man, would you mind riding to the house with your cousin and the officer? Your uncle and I have some things to discuss.”
Hollis was glad and of course had no problem leaving them to speak privately, and he simply nodded his head. The entire group moved to their vehicles, and the elder Pike entered the truck, with Old Ben getting behind the steering wheel as the three juniors climbed into the Humvee. The truck backed out first and took the lead on the road, and when the small convoy braked at the nonfunctioning red light, Old Ben could be heard over the radio: “Mrs. Pike, there’s someone here who needs to talk to you.”
CHAPTER 36
July 26
“MRS. PIKE?” OLD Ben sounded over the radio, and at the apparently distraught yet controlled response of the newly made widow, the gentle voice of the Jedi Master continued. “There’s someone here who needs to speak with you.”
Denise did not know what he was doing. She could hear a slight smile in the old man’s voice, and her next statement came out as a question. “OK?” Her voice was still utterly heartbroken, and she was forcing back a sob.
The two victorious statesmen in the truck could not stop grinning. Old Ben was about to reunite Denise with her lifelong love, whom she was sure she had just violently lost, and Jeff was about to make up for every dumb mistake he had ever made by surprising his wife with a voice she never expected to hear again.
After an unbearable few seconds, the speaker crackled as someone drew in a breath. “Did you miss me?”
She was repulsed; this was the sickest joke on the worst day of her life that anyone could play, and Denise’s loss-driven mind wanted to scream several vulgar words at the older gentleman to whom she had opened up her house and whom she had made a part of the family. That sounded like her husband! But it couldn’t be; he had just been murdered. Before she could think of any obscene words, she realized the fatherly figure on the other end would not do such a thing; Mr. Kennard was incapable of doing such an inhumane thing to anyone.
“Jefferson?” Denise could afford only one word from her twisted throat.
She almost passed out at the response. “It’s me, babe.” A flash of anger came across her, and she wanted to rebuke him for scaring her but was so ecstatic at his apparent reincarnation that she could do nothing but look up to the heavens.
When she realized she had dropped the handset and the other end of the radio was silently waiting for a transmission, she mentally slapped herself, grabbed the handset, and said, overjoyed, “I’m so glad you’re OK. I love you.”
Jeff reciprocated in kind, and even though the conversation could be heard only faintly over the quieted radio, Jackson blushed at his parents’ display of affection. He strained to listen over the inane jabbering of his best friend and cousin. This followed the pattern of most conversations between his parents—a complicated series of questions that usually revolved around one question asked by his mother and a clipped, simplistic answer from his father.
“You got Hollis? Was he with you during the explosion? Did he make it?”
“Yeah, he’s OK, and he’s in the Humvee with Jackson.”
“Well, how did you survive? Clifford told us you were in the baseme
nt of the pawnshop when it was leveled.”
Jackson could tell by his mother’s voice that she was beginning to doubt Redstone’s claim and thought perhaps the explosion had not been as severe as he had originally estimated.
His father replied, with a hint of humor behind his words, “There’s nothing left of the pawnshop, but we weren’t in it when it blew up. We’re on our way home, and I’ll give you the details when we get there.”
Jackson knew that his father knew that his mother was lining up more questions, and his father could more easily answer them in person. This would satisfy her inquisitiveness for the time being.
His father really did not like to be overly emotional in the presence of others, but if she became distressed, he planned on this being the end of the conversation. But his wife’s voice broke with tears. “I thought you had left us when he radioed…”
Without a word Jackson leaned forward and switched the radio off. Not only was it embarrassing, but he felt his parents needed privacy for this conversation. And even though he knew Old Ben would be forced to hear every word as he was driving, Jackson would make the audience as small as possible.
Redstone turned to face him but did not ask why he had turned the radio off. Jackson was the only one listening to it anyway, and he nodded with unspoken knowledge.
Jackson caught his cousin’s eye in the rearview and received an affirmative nod when he asked, “Sherman busted you before you made it home, didn’t he?” Jackson had expected this answer and continued, “Daddy told you that your phone wasn’t import— ”Jackson raised his eyebrows as he realized something and held up a hand to halt the conversation.
With his other hand, he reached down to the radio and turned the volume back up. He paused before speaking but held the handset at the ready, listening to his father speaking. “And then Hollis and I stole Sherman’s four-wheeler and drove back up to the town hall, where we found Mr. Kennard and the rest of them.”
Jackson almost laughed. He knew that his father would tell the story as fast as he could and make it extremely short, at least until he could speak to his wife in private.
Before his mother could begin her line of questions, Jackson forced himself to break in. “Sorry to interrupt, but we ought to stop at the water board and pick up our trucks.”
Even before Jeff called, “Good idea,” Jackson had planned on the agreement of his father because Jeff would obviously opt to drive his own truck while old Ben remained in his current vehicle, so he could have a more private line to Denise.
As the small convoy slowed to enter the water board parking lot, Jackson said to the other two, “I still don’t think I should drive. You take my truck, and I think you can handle this beast.” He elbowed Redstone and eyed his cousin in the rearview mirror respectively.
Redstone thought about arguing and hesitated before grunting agreement while Hollis’s face lit up with excitement. He almost squealed in excitement at the prospect of driving a badass military vehicle. The three young men heard Jeff sign off with his wife, and Jackson cracked a smile as he dipped his head to his friend. “You know, if you get a scratch on my truck, I’m going to beat your ass.” He wasn’t so vain as to be upset by imperfections on his vehicle; it was covered in plenty of scratches and dents and now sported a few bullet holes.
Redstone sensed the joking in his friend’s voice and cracked a grin himself as he watched the truck in front of his own vehicle come to a stop. “Dammit, I guess that means I can’t key my signature on the hood.”
The elder men exited their truck and walked behind it to sit on the tailgate as Redstone stepped out of his vehicle. Before he had even fully made it out of his seat, the teenager behind him was climbing over to secure his role as the driver. Jackson opened the passenger door, once again feeling utterly exhausted.
The three standing men and the still-seated Jackson conversed with the young blond boy who sat behind the wheel, barely listening and mentally preparing himself to drive the Humvee.
Jeff nodded to Jackson. “Your mama says Sergeant Alvarez is actually conscious and talking.” The younger men were encouraged by this news.
Before Jackson could respond, Redstone cut in sarcastically. “About damn time.” He then added in a more serious tone, “I been meaning to have a talk with him.”
“Well, just wait till we get to the house. I suppose you’re taking Jackson’s truck, and I can already tell who’s driving the Humvee.” Jeff gestured to Redstone and then to the teenager in the driver’s seat and received a silent nod from the policeman.
Before all the drivers began walking to their vehicles, Jackson asked, “Oh, Mr. Kennard, why did you leave that dude in that little jail cell if you think they’re going to bomb the place?”
Old Ben smiled. “Because they aren’t going to.” He could see by the expressions on the young men’s faces that this would not be explanation enough, and he tacked on, “The American government won’t be sending anything to bother us for at least an extended period. I had a nice chat with a gentleman over one of the radios in the MCU, and he basically told me they didn’t want to start another civil war.”
Jackson would have questioned this information from anyone else but trusted that Old Ben would have used the Force to detect any deception from his source. He also knew the conversation Old Ben had had with this nameless government source had been in much greater detail than his short summary and planned to get the full picture when they had more time.
It was settled; there was no question from the assembled that things were working out. They started to their separate vehicles, and Hollis fired up the engine in the Humvee with a grin and got short chuckles from the others. The past couple of days seemed to have lasted for decades, and now, all at once, everything seemed to be calming down. A weight had visibly lifted from their shoulders, and as the now-doubled motorcade exited the parking lot, Jackson felt as if a chapter of a yet-to-be-written history book was coming to a close—the first chapter. Jeff suggested to his wife over the radio that they switch to an unused channel to retain a bit more privacy, and that was the final radio transmission the group heard on the trip home.
CHAPTER 37
July 26
THE LINE OF vehicles parked single file on the driveway in front of the house, with each driver door opening in relative unison, and they started forming a group at the middle of the line. Jackson’s injuries caused him to be a step slower. He was the last to limp to the small assembly, and he placed a hand on his cousin’s shoulder to steady himself.
The group was beginning to move as one to the house when Denise burst from the door and ran to them at a speed Jackson didn’t think possible for her. When she reached the group, she dove into the waiting arms of her husband, crying, kissing, and speaking softly to the man she thought she had lost—all the things men find embarrassing unless they are one of the participating parties.
The three younger men and even the gray-haired elder (who had been walking alongside Jeff at the front of the group before his wife had reached them and had now slowed to three paces behind the reunited couple) all seemed to find an interesting cloud in the sky or blade of grass or distant tree on which to focus. Their eyes were averted, but the men in the rear automatically assumed she was talking to them as she cleared her throat, spoke louder, and pulled her head away from Jeff.
“Boys, the sergeant should be awake, and though he’s still weak, he’s sitting up and asked to speak with you when you return.”
The men in the group breathed a collective sigh; they were all glad this hero was doing well, and Hollis wanted to thank the man who, his uncle had explained, had saved his life.
Jeff and Denise stopped at the foot of the steps, and the others slowed, not sure if the stop was something momentary. But when the two seemed to be waiting for privacy, the rest of the group hurried up the steps and through the side door. The injured sergeant lay on the kitchen table facing toward the window and away from them in the same position as when the rescue
rs had left, only now propped up and cushioned by several pillows.
Old Ben continued pressing on to the back of the house— Jackson wasn’t sure whether to the bathroom or the bunker. But when he glanced at his friend, Redstone already had a smirk forming on his face, and he knew that Redstone had thought of a comment about the elderly and weak bladders.
The three had stopped at the bar, unsure if Sergeant Alvarez was conscious. After a silent moment, the apparently conscious sergeant spoke to who he assumed was Jackson’s mother, not aware that the men had returned. “Mrs. Pike, could you get me a glass of water?”
Before the other two could respond, Redstone made an “mm-hmm” sound in a high tone, obviously attempting to impersonate Jackson’s mother, smiled maniacally, and raised a finger to his lips to silence the others before turning to travel the short distance to the refrigerator. He returned with a glass of cold water.
A redheaded figure instantaneously appeared in the sergeant’s blurry, pain-killer-filled vision, offering a sweating glass of cold water. It took a minute for his muddled mind to realize this wasn’t Mrs. Pike, and he attempted to shout but succeeded only in managing an excited whisper. “Dude!”
Redstone smiled and held the straw for Bol to get a drink. “I had to carry your fat ass. We thought you were going to die, man.”
“I’m not fat, and I’m tougher than I look,” the sergeant wanted to say, but he could muster the strength only to smile weakly and say, “Well, I made it.”
