The Last Stand (Book 3) (The Repentant Demon Trilogy)

by Samantha Johns

  “Surely they are in some kind of communication with each other,” said Nathan, “If we've cracked into their computers, can't they just trace their email correspondence?”

  “They’ve been pretty tricky about it,” answered Cal, “That's how we found the first three: Callaway in Missouri, which I actually discovered by accident. Then there’s Wolf Creek in Kansas, and Cooper in Nebraska. Then it's a dead end. They knew if we cracked into even one account, the whole daisy-chain would be exposed. So they are organized in groups of three or four using actual physical runners traveling between them. Human messengers carry their information leaving behind no trail for us to follow. But since we don't know how they are coming or from where they are coming, all we can do is beef up defenses at all thirty plants. In the mean time, I’m increasing my own defenses,” he said, holding up the rifle he had jut acquired from Agent Foley. “Turns out I’m a natural. At the range, I was told I’m a crack shot.”

  “We could stop all air traffic,” responded Nathan again, still thinking about the terrorist threat. “That would work. It might even discourage them enough to call the whole thing off. They'll know we're on to them, and they won't know to what extent. That only seems a logical first maneuver in my mind.”

  “Agent Foley would agree with you, and so would I,” answered Cal, “but the president emphatically refuses to stop all air traffic over the Christmas holiday, citing that it would be too disruptive.”

  “What?!” yelled practically everyone at once. “Is he an idiot?” argued Mike. “How disruptive will it be to have over thirty nuclear plants hit? He doesn't want to spoil Christmas for American families? What kind of celebration does he think this is going to turn out to be if we can’t stop this attack?”

  “He says we don't have enough solid evidence,” replied Cal, bemoaning along with them and agreeing with their point of view, “All we have is three university students, a list of nuclear sites that anybody could pull off the internet, and an audio translation done by someone who has no credentials whatsoever in speaking foreign languages.”

  “Did you happen to get a copy of that list, Cal?” asked Nathan. “I'm just curious.”

  Cal took a folded printout from his pocket and handed it to Nathan. He quickly read down the names of the thirty-three plants with their nearest cities.

  “Here in Wyoming, we are situated within a small circle of some seven states that they completely ignore,” he surmised. “We're right smack dab in the middle of this group. No wonder this place became Command Central. If you include Kansas, Nebraska, and Missouri, the ones whose plans we've aborted, it's about ten states that appear safe. We exist in an island of safety. They are hitting not only the whole east and Mid-Atlantic, but the west coast and the southern border along Mexico and the Gulf.”

  “Agent Foley thinks they have big plans for us, too,” said Cal, “We just don't know what they are yet.”

  The kids came rushing in with Angel, and they were all desperately thirsty. Sarge trailed in far behind and collapsed on the rug. Stephen gave him a drink from the bottle of water he had in his pocket. This scene created some welcome comic relief from their serious discussion, and everyone laughed at the slobbering mess the dog made as Stephen wiped his jaws with the edge of his shirt.

  “We've got soda in the fridge,” said Abigail. “Or milk, tea, water. Whatever you want them to have. I’m sure Stephen will want a new drink, too… if not a fresh shirt to put on.”

  “I think it's time our little battalion get settled in over at our compound,” joked Mike, trying to mimic the stern voice of Agent Foley. “We still have to set up our site, connect the utilities, and arrange everything for the night. We've got a dog who is completely exhausted, and I might end up having to carry him if he falls asleep. Sarge is a very sound sleeper. And this cold weather here is hard on him. He could easily run and frolic himself into a heart attack considering his age and the extra weight he is carrying.”

  Sarge pulled his hefty body out from under the table, having heard the sound of his name. He could tell by all the eyes upon him that he had become the topic of conversation. That thrilled his rumpled rolls of flesh with quivering jiggles of delight.

  The kids begged, insisting again that they were dying of thirst, so Abigail gave them all cans of soda to take with them. She also explained that they should pick up Sarge's droppings, warning them about the bears, wolves, and other dangers nearby. Abigail worried that a dog with such short legs and stubby body would not be able to outrun any kind of predator. Her second thought was that both she and Ruthie might likewise become physically challenged in the same way, only Ruthie was near the end of her time. Perhaps she was only travel weary, but her face looked like that of a woman ready to give birth any minute. It must have been so hard on her, leaving her doctor behind, as well as the hospital where she planned to give birth and probably a completely prepared baby nursery.

  As the crowd left, Abigail noticed that it was after five. They would soon be leaving to have chicken and dumplin's with the McFarlands. She realized too late that the Edwards family would probably have been happy to puppy-sit Angel. Mike was a dog-lover, they knew that. And they could always return the favor and take care of Sarge for them sometime. Tonight though, Angel would go with them on their dinner date. She was probably so worn out from playing with the kids, she'd sleep on someone's lap all evening. But Angel was not destined to have such a peaceful end to her day.

  * * *

  Chapter 3. Becoming a Family

  As Cal and Abigail entered the open doorway, both Uma and Brady McFarland were standing to greet them.

  “Welcome to the McFarland Lodge,” said Brady, as they entered. “That’s what it has affectionately been called by the families who have vacationed at the cabin over the years. We’ve also used our living room for community meetings involving both state and local agencies. We’re always happy to have company.” Brady had once been involved in local community work, especially anything that concerned environmental issues.

  The stone fireplace wall towered two stories high at the rear of the structure, while one side wall flanked an open second floor hallway to guest bedrooms. Everything was made of logs, natural woods, and rock from the area surroundings. The colors were dark, rich, and masculine—deep blues, greens, and maroons. The striking staircase was made completely from rough-hewn logs. A conversation area was formed from three large leather sofas circling a giant coffee table made from an enormous slice from a fallen tree which included roots that stood as support legs. An actual bearskin rug lay in front of the five-foot wide fireplace which glowed with warming lights that flickered against the pewter mugs lining the mantle.

  Cal and Abigail apologized for bringing their dog, and were quickly put at ease by the couple who had already been charmed by her sweet face during their encounter of the previous day when Brady had rescued her from her lonely crate. They cooed at the dog and promising a cup of broth for Angel, who was wiggling her tail joyously over seeing her new friends again so soon.

  “She does remind you of an angel,” said Brady, “her wispy, white fur kind of looks like feathers, and of course she has an angelic little face.”

  “That's what we thought, too,” said Abigail, reaching to take Uma's outstretched hand as a gesture of friendly welcome.

  When Uma finally met Abigail eye to eye, she froze dead in her tracks, obviously stunned looking into her face. It made Abigail more than a little uncomfortable. The woman turned white, as if she'd seen a ghost.

  “Never mind Uma's reaction,” explained Brady, “it's your green eyes. She does this every time we meet some young woman with green eyes. Luckily it doesn't happen often.”

  “I'm sorry if they're that alarming,” said Abigail, joking.

  “They're strikingly beautiful eyes,” said Uma. “just like my daughter's eyes.”

  “Uma lost a daughter a long time ago,” her husband apologized. “She's always looking for her.”

  “Oh, I'm sorry f
or your loss,” said Abigail, “and I'm sorry I had to remind you of her.”

  “It's something you never get over,” she said, “losing a child. It's affected my whole life, actually for the better, in the long run. So enough about that, let's sit down and eat. Hope you're starving because I don't know how to make a little bit of anything.”

  “Yep,” added Brady, “Uma's gone all out and made cheese biscuits, too. I hardly ever get those anymore.”

  “That's because you don't need them anymore,” teased Uma, “You know what the doctor said. He's a diabetic,” she explained. “Diabetics need to be extra careful about high cholesterol. He probably shouldn't be having the chicken n' dumplin's either. But this is a special occasion, meeting our new neighbors and all.”

  As they seated themselves at the small square wooden table, Uma and Abigail took one side, while Brady and Cal sat across from them. The two men stared at the two women facing them thinking the exact same thing. They turned toward each other in recognition of their shared thoughts, then looked back again at the women.

  “What's the matter with you two,” said Abigail. “Do we have smudges on our faces, or what?”

  “It's not just the eyes,” said Brady, “the two of you are different aged versions of each other. It's uncanny. Your jawbones, your noses, even your mouths are identical.”

  “He's right,” added Cal, “You've got the same-shaped eyebrows, the same cute, up-turned noses.”

  The two women looked at each other, seeing what had been so obvious to their husbands. Uma started to react very emotionally, crying into her napkin. Abigail felt very uncomfortable, hardly able to believe what she was thinking could possibly be true.

  “My biological mother's name was Uma,” she said quietly, beginning to show a sense of fearfulness and dread. “I never thought much about the coincidence, since I've already come across a connection to another Rayetta just today. It is an uncommon name, but you're from Wyoming. I've never lived outside Saint Louis.”

  “Abigail Rayetta Kennedy,” said Uma, her eyes filling with tears. “That was my daughter's name, though we called her Sunshine in the commune where we lived. I used to sing to her...”

  “You Are My Sunshine,” stated Abigail, not happily. “I remember that, and the name—which I hated, by the way. But your name is McFarland.”

  “Your father died in prison, dear,” said Uma. “I married Brady a few years after I did my time. And then I tried to find you, but I didn't have much money, and it was a closed adoption.”

  “I had a very good home,” said Abigail, implying that she was glad not to have been found by her birth mother. “The Fitzgerald’s were a wonderful family, and they gave me a stable life, raising me in the church, and that is the woman I will always think of as my mother.”

  “I understand that,” said Uma. “I'm relieved that you were loved. That's all I ever wanted to know, really. That's what's tortured me through the years… not knowing if you were all right. I could never hope that you would ever forgive me for what I did. I don't expect that.”

  “I'm sorry,” said Abigail, upset and overwhelmed by her emotions, “I have to go. This is too much for me to deal with right now.”

  Uma got up and ran to another room, while Brady got their coats and Abigail gathered Angel into her arms. She knew she was being rude, but she couldn't help herself.

  “I'm sorry,” said Cal, “maybe after a while, when she's had some time to think.”

  “I understand,” said Brady, “this has got to be hard. Just go home and take good care of her.”

  As they walked the quarter-mile path down to their cabin, Cal and Abigail did not talk, although it was obvious they were spewing over with things unsaid. It was too cold, and the wind urged them to take quick steps to get back into the warmth and peace of their new little home.

  “This is unbelievable,” Abigail fumed throwing her coat down on the chair, but being careful to place Angel gently on the floor. “Of all the places for me to end up. It's absolutely crazy that we are here right next door to the woman who is responsible for all the worst pain and suffering in my life.”

  “It is unbelievable,” said Cal, calmly rubbing her shoulders, “and just so crazy, that I don't see any way that it's an accident.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, turning to face him, “You think Agent Foley knew about this?”

  “No, that isn't what I meant,” he answered, “That would be pretty far-fetched, but with everything the way it is, who knows? What I was saying was that maybe God arranged this so that you could forgive your mother before she, or you, or all of us die in the Apocalypse that's about to befall this nation and this world.”

  “You're right,” she admitted thoughtfully, “I do need to forgive her. I thought I had, but I was kidding myself. That isn't how I felt when I recognized her. God, help me. What if I can't?”

  “You helped a demon to understand forgiveness,” he said, “Through you, God has done the impossible and forgiven a demon. So what you're asked to do now shouldn't be as hard as that.”

  “You're right again, Cal,” said Abigail, rushing to grab her coat and the dog. “Do you want to stay here with Angel? Or, I can take her with me.”

  “You're not walking up there by yourself,” he said, re-zipping his coat, “It's starting to get dark.”

  “I would be on a path,” she teased, implying he was being overprotective.

  “Right,” he teased back, “wolves and bears know to stay off the path. Maybe we should put a sign up just to be sure—Wild animals stay off the path—Humans only.”

  In a matter of five minutes, Abigail was knocking on the McFarlands' door. Brady answered, very surprised to see them back.

  “Did you forget something?” he asked politely.

  “Yes, I forgot my manners,” said Abigail, contritely, “Could we come in? I won't take long.”

  He opened the door wide and called for his wife to come back into the living room. When she cautiously appeared by her husband's side he put his arm around her. She had obviously been crying.

  “I was unforgivably rude just now,” said Abigail, with reserve, like a child being forced to apologize for breaking a treasured object. “I was shocked and surprised, but that is no excuse. My faith requires that I forgive you, and I want to… intend to. But I have to be honest and say that I'm not quite there yet. I hope you'll give me some time. And if you'd be willing to talk with me about it all, that might help. But I know that might be painful for both of us, so I understand if you don't want to do that.”

  “Abby… I heard Cal call you that. Is it okay for me to do so as well?” she asked, then proceeded as Abigail nodded affirmatively. “It is beyond my wildest dream that I would ever see you again. Even that is enough for me, so I don't even expect you to forgive me. If it would help you to talk, of course I am willing to do anything to make you feel better.”

  “You know, that pot of chicken n' dumplins' is still on the stove,” said Brady, “Anybody hungry?”

  “My stomach doesn't feel so good,” said Abigail, “I've had bouts with morning sickness at all hours, and being emotional like this doesn't help, I guess. But I'm sure Cal is starving. And I hate to admit it, but I love watching him eat.”

  “Well this is something I've never had before,” he admitted, “You know how I am all about new foods,” he hinted at Abigail, referring to his ambition to try every food in the world.

  “Would you like some crackers, Abby?” offered Uma. “That's supposed to help. However, I'm convinced that a little ginger ale works wonders, as it did for me when I was carrying you. Ginger is a natural stomach settler.”

  “I'll try that,” she replied, “Any advice is welcome. I hope this phase passes soon.”

  They sat back down at the little wooden table. Brady served up bowls of the hot cuisine, while Uma got drinks for everyone. Abigail sipped the ginger ale and seemed to feel better almost immediately.

  “I remember this,” she said, as if in a
reverie. “Not a scene, exactly, but I remember the smell. It's something from my past, something very unique.” She took the edge of Cal's bowl and pulled it in front of her, inhaling the aroma closer.

  “This is nothing like the typical recipe you would find in a restaurant, or worse, like from a can,” she said. “I remember the goodness of this. It was very special.”

  “I make the broth with lots of celery, but I strain it out because you never liked to bite into celery,” said Uma handing her a spoon, and Abigail took a sip. “And the most common dumplings are big puffy things, almost like biscuits. I make mine like thick, flat noodles.”

  “It's amazing,” said Abigail, closing her eyes and remembering, “The taste, the smell, the whole feeling. I remember eating this… and feeling loved.”