The Homecoming: Countdown to Armageddon: Book 5

by Darrell Maloney

  Sure, they’d grown to like Scott and accept him as one of their own. But it just wouldn’t do for such manly men to profess that they would miss another officer under any circumstances.

  So instead, they expressed their sorrow in other ways.

  “It was nice working with you, even though you’re the biggest screw-up the department ever had.”

  “Too bad you’re leaving. You were the only guy in the department who’s uglier than I am.”

  “Good riddance to you, Scott. Now that the Chief’s golden boy is leaving, maybe some of the rest of us can get some of the cushy assignments.”

  Of course, Scott and everyone else saw through the insults to see the genuine sorrow they tried to cover. Scott Harter was universally liked and respected by all, and he’d leave a hole in the San Antonio Police Department that would be hard to fill.

  At Santa Rosa Hospital, tears flowed freely and openly. Becky, too, was universally loved.

  Becky had been afraid that some would resent her, secretly, anyway, for getting out while most others couldn’t. Especially as overworked as they were already, and knowing they’d have to work even harder in her absence.

  But she saw no signs of that. What she saw in her fellow nurses’ eyes was gratitude, and hope.

  There was gratitude for all the work she’d done, all the times she’d gone the extra mile to help others, to pull extra shifts when other nurses weren’t feeling well. To help them grieve when they lost someone close. To serve as a punching bag when someone needed to lash out.

  Lastly, there was gratitude for Becky’s willingness to take on a new job that would finally provide additional nurses. Nurses that would soon augment their ranks, and ease the burden on everyone.

  All of the other nurses and aides knew that training such nurses, especially without a background in education, wouldn’t be easy. It was something none of them were willing to take on.

  But they knew that Becky would do a great job, and because of her efforts, brand new nurses would soon be showing up to ease their workload.

  The hope they felt upon Becky’s leaving was more personal. They’d all lost loved ones. Most were completely alone in the world, save their coworkers and friends.

  Young girls dream of finding their Prince Charming and moving to a better land far, far away.

  Seeing Becky and Scott fall in love over recent months gave Becky’s coworkers a chance to dream again.

  She’d found her Prince Charming, who rescued her from the numbing routine of her daily existence.

  If Becky could find love and a future in a dark and dismal place such as this, perhaps they could too.

  In Becky’s last days in San Antonio, a steady stream of people dropped by to see her.

  There were former patients who, like her Scott, she’d pulled back from the brink and nursed back to health.

  Then there were her former colleagues, many of whom she hadn’t seen in months or years, who’d gone on to other hospitals and clinics to put their talents to good use.

  One of the most touching visitors was a grizzled old nurse named Jenny, pushing seventy and living in a body ravaged by diabetes. Now confined to a wheelchair, but still caring for patients, it was hard for her to get in and out of police cars and fire trucks, which were the only two forms of transportation the city had running.

  When Jenny showed up at Santa Rosa Hospital three days prior to Becky’s departure, Becky was aghast.

  “I was going to come to see you in the morning to say my goodbyes. How in the world did you get here, all the way from St. Vincent’s?”

  Jenny seemed proud of her accomplishment.

  “I rolled, honey. Four miles, much of it a little uphill. But I’d have rolled through hell itself and kicked the devil out of my way for the chance to see you again before you left. And to thank you for all you’ve done for me.”

  “All I’ve done for you? Jenny, all I did was train you to be a fine nurse. That and love you and be a friend for you. You’ve done everything else yourself.”

  “You’re wrong, dear. You gave me so much more than training on how to be a nurse. You quite literally saved my life. Did you really not know that?”

  Becky, taken aback, managed a weak, “No. How so?”

  “When you met me I’d just lost my husband and last daughter to marauders. I’d already lost my two sons and their children to suicide. There was no one left. I was on the edge. I’d have committed suicide myself within days if you hadn’t come along. You convinced me that there was some good use left in this washed up and crippled old woman. That I could help others, so their family members wouldn’t go through the same kind of pain by losing them.

  “Even in my dreadful state of despair, your words sank in. And they gave me a purpose. I remember sitting down one night with a bottle of pain pills I’d been saving. Just in case.

  “And I remember thinking, I could take the easy way out. Or, I could follow your example and try to spare others what I’d been going through. I looked up at the heavens and asked God which way I should go.”

  “Obviously you know His answer. I’m still here, and still pushing this damned wheelchair from room to room each day, treating my patients as best I can.

  “And hopefully I’m still making a difference.”

  “You are, honey. You’re saving lives and providing hope every single day.”

  “Good. Then I’m repaying my debt after all.”

  “Thank you for coming all this way to see me. Let me know when you’re ready to go back to St. Vincent’s.”

  “Nope. If I tell you when I’m done, you’re going to have a couple of your police friends pick me up and place me kicking and screaming into their patrol car for a ride back.”

  She winked before she continued.

  “And although being manhandled by a couple of handsome men might not be a bad thing, I’m quite capable of rolling myself back to my own hospital.”

  “Jenny, you’re wrong. I was just thinking what a nice day it is outside, and what a great time to take a walk. A nice long walk to say, I don’t know… maybe St. Vincent’s Hospital.”

  She smiled and hugged her friend, happy to have seen her, yet not knowing if she’d ever see her again. She’d been hearing rumors that Jenny had been getting weaker in recent weeks, and might be hiding a serious medical problem.

  “Well, if that’s the case, then I’m ready whenever you are. Just promise not to roll me over any potholes or curbs.”

  “Trust me. You’re much too precious to me. Now, if I accidentally let you get away on a steep hill or roll you off an overpass, then that’ll just be an accident. An honest ‘oops.’ And I promise I’ll pick up the pieces and glue you back together, just like they did Humpty Dumpty.”

  “You inspire such confidence, my dear.”

  Becky enjoyed the bright and sunny day, and the chance to make a lasting memory with a good friend. She waited until they were several blocks from Santa Rosa Hospital before she revealed her second motive for the walk.

  “So, I want you to put all the bullshit aside and tell me, honestly. What are these rumors I’m hearing that you might have cancer and are too damn stubborn to have yourself tested?”

  With any luck, she might be able to save her friend a second time.

  -43-

  “Dad, where in the heck are you taking me?”

  “Patience isn’t one of your better virtues, is it, son?”

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind. It just means you’re an impatient guy.”

  “Well, hey, you can’t blame me. I mean, you woke me up at the crack of dawn and told me to get dressed, that I was going to work with you. Since then you’ve been pretty much quiet, like you’re up to something.”

  “This is my policeman’s face, Zach. I don’t talk much when I’m on patrol. I spend most of my time watching, and listening.”

  “Watching and listening for what?”

  “Watching for signs of people in distress. Or people trying
to flag me down, because they’re hurt, or hungry, or afraid. Sometimes they try to wave me down from quite a distance away, because they don’t hear me coming soon enough to get closer. I make a point to look down all the alleys, all the side streets, behind all the parked cars.”

  “Why do people have to flag you down when they need you? Can’t they just call 9-11?”

  Scott braked the slow-moving car so he could look directly at his son.

  But he didn’t say a word.

  Zachary saw the folly in his own words and said, “Uh… yeah. I guess that was kind of a dumb question, huh?”

  “No, son. There’s no such thing as a dumb question.”

  He paused a second before going on.

  “There are, however, some questions that come incredibly close.”

  Zachary sat back in his seat and sulked, but only for a moment.

  “You said you listen too. What exactly do you listen for?”

  “Gunshots mostly. We still hear them periodically around the city. Most of the marauders are gone now, and most of the gunshots are either suicides or an occasional hunter. But if we hear them and can tell where they came from, we always investigate.”

  “It’s legal to hunt in the city limits?”

  “Well, no. But these days there’s not much to hunt. And it’s such a long walk or ride on horseback to get outside the city where the game is. So most hunters will take advantage of our good nature when they happen across a squirrel or rabbit inside the city limits.

  “As for us, we tend to look the other way as long as they were careful and made sure there was no one in the bullet’s path who could get hurt. We generally chew them out and give them a warning, and let them go. We recognize that people have to feed their families, and that meat is damn scarce out there.”

  “What else do you listen for?”

  “Anything that might indicate there’s someone in need of help, or hurt. A scream. A yell. Someone pounding on metal or breaking a window as they see us drive by.”

  “And that’s why you cruise around with all the windows down?”

  “Yep. That’s exactly why.”

  “I thought it was because you’d never heard of this new thing they invented, called ‘air conditioning.’”

  “Actually, smart guy, the air conditioner works quite well on this car. But if we’re going to serve and protect the people, we have to be able to hear them when they call out to us.”

  They were downtown now, and pulled up next to a majestic triangle-shaped skyscraper across the street from the Alamo.

  “What’s this, Dad?”

  “This used to be the Emily Morgan Hotel, one of the finest in the city. Actually, I guess technically it still is, although they closed down with all the other hotels right after the blackout.”

  “And we’re here… why, exactly?”

  “Because I want to show you something really cool.”

  They walked into the old hotel and saw several people milling about. Some of them recognized Scott and greeted him warmly. Word had gotten around that Scott would soon be moving away, and a couple of them wished him well.

  As they walked through the lobby and toward the staircase, Scott explained.

  “Only the first seven floors are occupied. That’s because even though the city is able to provide electricity now, it’s still very iffy. Temporary blackouts happen several times a day, and no one wants to get stuck on an elevator for several hours. That, plus the elevators haven’t been serviced since the blackout and it appears that no once proficient in elevator maintenance has survived. So nobody wants to ride them anymore. People only live as high as the number of stairs they’re willing to climb. For most of the high-rises, that’s six or seven stories. And the people who live on the seventh floor are the ones in the best shape. That’s where we’re going.”

  He looked at his son and smiled.

  “I hope you had your Wheaties this morning.”

  Zachary returned the look with a puzzled gaze.

  “Huh?”

  “I said I hope you had your Wheaties.”

  “Dad, who or what is a Wheatie, and why in the world would I have any of them?”

  Scott chuckled.

  “It’s from an old commercial, and it’s a breakfast cereal… Oh, never mind, I guess you had to be there then to understand it.”

  “Yeah, I guess. You have to be very old, apparently, to understand it. So why are we going to the seventh floor again?”

  “I want to show you something very cool.”

  They exited the stairwell on the seventh floor, a bit winded, and peered out of a hallway window onto the city below.

  “Do you know what that is across the street?”

  “Yes. That’s the Alamo compound, isn’t it?”

  “Exactly. Can you tell me which building, specifically, is what people consider the Alamo?”

  I’m pretty sure it’s that small building in the center, with stone walkways on one side and green grass and trees on the other side.”

  “Very good. Technically, the entire compound is all part of the Alamo, but that small building in the center is the one people associate with the name. It’s actually the chapel that was in the center of a huge compound that once covered a good portion of the downtown area. There were artillery emplacements, parade grounds, even picnic and market areas. It was once quite a place.”

  “I thought you were gonna show me something cool.”

  “You sure are an impatient guy. No wonder your mother slaps you around so much.”

  “Mom never slaps me around. Oh, wait. You’re kidding, right?”

  “Yes. Maybe she should. But yes, I’m kidding. Anyway, find that building in the center of the compound. The one everyone has always considered the Alamo and posed for photos in front of. Remember how I said that was actually the Alamo compound’s chapel?”

  “Yes. So?”

  “Look at it closely and tell me what you see.”

  “Wow, that really is cool. It’s an old chapel, and it’s in the shape of a cross.”

  “Exactly. I went in that building easily twenty times over the years and never realized its shape, until one day I saw it from above. And I’ve mentioned to a lot of people since then that it’s in the shape of a perfect cross, and almost no one else knew it either. Now you have an interesting bit of trivia you can share with your friends.”

  “Okay, cool. Can we go now?”

  “Nope. I want you to look down into the Alamo compound now. The space between the buildings. Tell me what you see.”

  This one took Zach a little bit longer.

  “Gee, I don’t know. Other than a bunch of kids running around, nothing.”

  “See any adults?”

  “Now that you mention it… no. Why?”

  “Camp Alamo is one of the largest youth camps in the city, run entirely by kids. They’re all orphans, or runaways who claim to be. They’ve boarded up the chapel out of respect for the dead, but they use all the other buildings… the long barracks, the administrative buildings, the old gift shop… as their living quarters. They hold school and church services outdoors, under a hundred year old oak tree. And they grow their own chickens, pigs, fruits and vegetables on the grounds as well.”

  “Wow. Can we go visit it?”

  “Yes, that’s our next stop. I just wanted to give you an overview first. Now look out this other window, off to the northeast. See that patch of green between all the other buildings?”

  “Yes. Is that a park?”

  “No, that’s Camp Alamo’s wheat and corn fields on Brooklyn Avenue. They spent months tearing down two city blocks full of abandoned houses. Tore them right down to their foundations, and carted everything away with wheelbarrows. Then they broke the foundations into pieces with sledge hammers, and hauled that rubble away too. When they were done, they had two city blocks with nothing left but rocky dirt.

  “They talked the city into bringing in topsoil with the very first dump truck they got runn
ing. Since then they’ve been able to grow two crops a year of corn, and two crops a year of wheat. They have the strength and stamina of youth, and they’ve developed a sense of teamwork that’s pretty impressive.”

  “Wow! What do they do with all that food?”

  “Well, they eat the bulk of it. With the strength and stamina of youth, remember, comes very healthy appetites. But they trade or give a lot of it away, too. They feed a lot of people from the neighborhoods around here. Anyone who’s hungry need just knock on their door. They’ll fill water bottles from the natural well they’ve got on the grounds, and send people away with something to eat as well.

  “It’s because of their generosity that no one steals from them.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Their corn and wheat crops on Brooklyn Avenue are never pilfered. Never. They’ve got signs on each end of them, saying they are maintained by Camp Alamo. And no one touches the crops, not even to steal an ear of corn. They’re the only subsistence crops I know of in the city where that’s the case. The locals respect the crops because they know that’s where the food comes from if they’re ever hungry and need to knock on the Alamo’s doors.

  “Word has gotten around to the transients and the few marauders who are left to stay away from the crops too. They know that the local residents will beat the hell out of any outsider who steals from them.”

  “Wow, that’s pretty cool. Can we go over there now?”

  Scott laughed at his son’s continued impatience. But he had nothing left to show him from above street level.

  “Sure. Why not?”

  The pair trudged back down seven flights of stairs, and Zachary had to wait while his father quelled a domestic dispute in the lobby.

  When he was finished, Zachary asked what it was all about.

  “They were fighting over ownership of a coffee cup.”

  “A coffee cup? Seriously? Who in the world would fight over a coffee cup?”

  “Hey, in a world where you have very few possessions left, you tend to guard them like they were gold.”

  “How did you settle it?”

  “I told them if they couldn’t stop fighting, I’d take it into custody and book it as evidence. And the first one who wanted to walk twenty seven blocks to Police Headquarters to claim it could have it. They looked at each other and decided to share it.”