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

by Samantha Johns

  “I have phones for all of you, Ma'am,” he said, sticking his head inside, knowing he wasn't expected.

  Uma came forward to receive their phones, taking one for Brady who was out teaching Cal how to hunt and shoot. The young man explained that since no one had been home at the other cabin, they should take their phones as well, and he registered the numbers with the correct names onto a pile of papers on his clipboard.

  “They look almost like normal cell phones,” said Abigail with surprise, “I was expecting some big, clunky, box-like thing with wires hanging out of it.”

  “They are hardly normal,” beamed the officer proudly, “These are submergible, will withstand a fall onto concrete from a four-story height, and you can call anywhere in the world, all on the U.S. Government's dime.” the officer explained.

  “The number keys are a little wider apart,” Uma noticed.

  “That’s right,” replied the officer, “so you can dial wearing gloves. You can call from a mile underground, even from a submarine. So you can all talk to each other now. And you can order pizza… though no one will deliver this far. Believe me, I've tried.”

  Abigail already missed Imo's pizza. Imo’s had been her favorite back in Saint Louis. She also missed teaching, and wondered if she would ever again be able to go on archaeological excavations in the Middle East. If she took the time to make a list, there would be a long one of all the little things once taken for granted that would soon disappear forever. But now is the time to plan for a future with my husband and all these new people in my life, not dwell on the past, she told herself.

  As the officer left, Cal and Brady were coming back through the door carrying two dead rabbits. Abigail felt nauseated at the sight of them and ran to the bathroom covering her mouth.

  “Oops, I forgot about her sensitive condition,” apologized Brady, “I wanted to show off what a marksman her man had become in only one day. He just has a knack for it. Look here,” he said pointing to the cold, dazed face of the dead rabbit, “right through the skull. Dead center. It's like he's a born marksman.”

  “I'm sorry,” said Abigail, coming back into the room, “I thought I was about over all that since I've discovered ginger ale.”

  “I’ll take these outside and process them,” Brady said. “You tell her what we found out, Cal.”

  “There's a tower way up on the mountain,” said Cal, “and it wasn't there last year at this time. It's equipped with several dishes, probably for communications.” He nodded and smiled as Abigail held up their two new cell phones.

  “When he told me we could call anywhere in the world,” she said wistfully, “you know who I thought about calling? The Jabbar family. I wonder how they're doing.”

  “They didn't have a phone, did they?” asked Cal, not remembering if he noticed. Back then, he was a demon following Abigail around, and he noticed very little that didn't concern his mission.

  “I wonder if I'll ever see them again,” she mused. “Crazy as it seems, I'd like to see that little camel they named after me, Abba Gallal. And when I was shopping for the Christmas gifts, it reminded me of giving the Jabbar kids their presents.”

  “Do you ever think about Doug?” he asked somberly, referring to the man she almost married—Doug Anderson. The others stared at the two of them silently, not knowing about this man from her past.

  “I did, for a while,” she admitted, “but not with regrets. I'm glad for everything that has happened, but most of all that you came into my life, and that I have you now.”

  He started to hug her, then realized he had blood on the front of his jacket. Pointing to it, they gave each other a nod promising to save it for later. Then he went outside to help Brady clean the rabbits.

  “I overheard you talking about having some Arab friends,” said Uma. “I don't think it would be a good idea to call any Muslims right now. These cell phones are a gift from the government, remember? So they're probably bugged.”

  “These Arabs I knew in Iraq were Christians,” she said. “Secretly, of course. They lived in fear of persecution their whole lives. Did you know that over sixty per cent of Arab Americans are Christian? And most of them are Catholic.”

  “Well that's surprising,” said Uma, “So who are the ones attacking us?”

  “I don't know the answer to that,” said Abigail. “But apparently, their organization is much bigger and more sophisticated than we had ever imagined.”

  Brady came through the door announcing that their company had arrived. Jodie and little Claudia entered with faces flushed pink from the cold. Claudia could not contain her enthusiasm.

  “Wait till you see the baby,” she said, exploding with excitement. “She's so cute. The boys said she looks like an alien, but that's not true. She has a little bit of hair. Aliens don't have hair, and they're green.”

  “I'm dying to see her,” said Abigail, “but I wanted to give Ruthie time to rest.”

  As she spoke the words, who walked through the door but a rosy-cheeked Ruthie wearing a huge lump across her front. Cal, now out of his blood-soaked jacket, had finished with the rabbits and helped her out of her wraps.

  “Are you crazy, girl?” exclaimed Uma. “It's twenty degrees outside.”

  “She's all warm and snugly inside my parka next to my breast,” explained Ruthie, unwrapping herself to expose a soft, pink little bundle of human being. The ooh's and ahh's were simultaneously delivered by all the women present. Cal looked at the infant in amazement of how small she was, and how appealing. Babies had never interested him before, but now he had changed his mind about them. They didn't look nearly as raw and unfinished as he used to consider them; so much weaker and helpless than newborns of other species.

  “You rode a bicycle over two miles of gravel road after giving birth less than twenty-four hours ago?” said Abigail, reaching out as Ruthie handed the baby to her. “I definitely want you there when my baby is born. I would be too ashamed to make a single moan or groan in front of you.”

  “I've just been blessed with a hardy child-bearing constitution,” said Ruthie. “It runs in the family. My mother had eight, and all my ancestors had large families. Not everyone is so lucky. If you want to scream, then scream.”

  “She's perfect,” said Abigail, moving the blanket to see more of little Rayetta. “Look at that beautiful red hair, just like her daddy and her grandpa.”

  As she snuggled the sleepy baby, kissing her tiny hands, Angel came over and stood on her hind legs to sneak a peek as well. She wagged her tail and licked the baby’s bare toes before Abigail could push her away.

  “It's all right,” said Ruthie, “Let them get introduced to each other. All the kids are used to Sarge's kisses, and with all his slobber. That really takes some tolerance. Rayetta might as well learn right off the bat that dogs are family in this bunch. Oh, and the boys had red hair, too. But Stephen’s turned blonde by the time he was a year old. Mickey decided he wanted to look like his namesake. Of course, Grandpa Mike's is nearly all gray now.”

  “I wonder if little Jonah will look like me or like his daddy,” she mused. “I hope he has Cal's blue eyes.”

  The baby started to squeal, and Abigail handed her back to Ruthie, who was already opening her blouse, covering herself with a bib-type garment devised for preserving her modesty in public. They all laughed to hear the smacking sound as the baby latched on as soon as her head disappeared under the cloth. It hadn't taken her long to learn where the food was located.

  “Where are the boys?” asked Uma, showing Claudia all the candies and icings to use on the gingerbread men. “Did they think baking was too sissy for them?”

  “Mickey loves to help me with cooking,” answered Ruthie walking to a kitchen chair still nursing the baby without disturbing her. “But they are all in the barn today with the men. It's some kind of secret project.”

  “A project that involves cows, chickens, or goats?” asked Abigail. “I'm intrigued.”

  “I know what it is,” chimed
Claudia, “but I'm not telling. It's for Christmas.”

  Abigail noticed Cal staring thoughtfully into space from his seat in the living room by the television, still on but at low volume. She went over to him, gave him a hug, and asked what he was thinking about.

  “It's just amazing to me, how life goes on,” he said, low enough so that only she could hear. “The news is on in the background recounting nothing but disaster. Yet, you humans laugh, plan, and actually have fun. It's hard to understand how you do that. All I can think of is the war that's coming soon. I guess when the angel Ashriel gave me the option to fight for humanity, I took him literally. I feel an ever-present tenseness inside me, a need to prepare for war, though I don't know what I should be doing or how to do it.”

  “But he also told us we would be a new Adam and Eve,” she reminded him. “To do that, we must be destined to survive. I think our challenges in the distant future are going to be considerable, Cal. And I'm glad to have a fighter like you by my side, but I feel confident we will get through it all somehow.”

  The television made an alarming noise, and the newscaster proclaimed a late-breaking news announcement. Everyone stopped what they were doing except for Claudia who continued her artwork in sugar and colored candies.

  “The following is a message from the President of the United States,” announced a deep and serious voice, one almost unrecognizable as the usual one which roared with glorious introduction. The screen changed to an unfamiliar scene with a non-descript background. This was not in the rose garden or the oval office. Now the president spoke from some secret location and the sparse details were deliberately chosen to prevent its disclosure.”

  “My fellow Americans, I greet you in the wake of the tragedies faced by hundreds of families dealing with loss, with unimaginable fears, and with looming uncertainty of what the future may hold. At this point in time, there have been over six hundred deaths in more than thirty cities across our nation caused by the hands of terrorists who have secretly attacked the sacredness of our dinner tables where American families have grown accustomed to a sense of safety. Our hearts go out and our prayers are offered for those who have lost loved ones and for those still suffering the threats of the potential fatal affects from the poisons consumed days earlier.”

  He paused, not to glance at his notes or the teleprompter, but to swallow the lump in his throat and gather strength to proceed.

  “By executive order, I am announcing at this time that all restaurants and food service industries temporarily limit their menu choices until further notice. The CDC will be sending officials into every city that has been victimized in these outbreaks, and they will be conducting tests, collecting samples, and providing safety precautions to assure the future safety of customers. All food service businesses are asked to discard every kind of fresh food supplies in their stock. I repeat, use only canned and packaged food sources until further notice.

  “Several arrests have been made in connection with these assaults, and more are in process as this announcement is being made. I would like to assure the American people that this crisis is well in hand. And that very shortly, life, including the enjoyment of a meal out with the family will return to normal. Rest assured that we foresee no further dangers, and all Americans should continue with their regular activities knowing that law enforcement officials are acting courageously and efficiently in their interest.”

  The television screen quickly shifted back to the local stations where announcers stood stunned at the brevity and the unusual delivery of this message. They could not help but betray their feelings of uncertainty.

  “Notice there were no questions from reporters after the speech,” the announcer stammered after the video presentation concluded. “That's because none were present. This was a recorded message, transmitted by satellite, and one can only assume the reasons for that. This is truly a grave situation that faces our nation at this time. We do not know exactly where the president is and where this message was recorded. Obviously, this is very serious business and we need not tell you that we are in the midst of a national crisis regardless of the assurances just given by our president.”

  “No kidding, Chet,” snided Brady, “Now we get to hear an analysis of what we just heard, in case we're too stupid to know what the president just said. It's so aggravating.”

  “So they're not giving names of the arrested suspects,” said Uma “What do you want to bet that they're Arab names. I wonder how many were caught.”

  “More than likely,” added Cal, “those captured won't know any details. All they were probably told was to show up at a certain location and follow some simple instructions. The message was probably delivered by personal contact. This technique has been the most successful tactic they've come up with so far. They've been promising to do greater damage to us than 9-11, and the worst is yet to come. Even the nuclear plant attacks were referred to as an initial phase. I think we're in for something so big that we can't even imagine what it might be.”

  The next few days passed uneventfully as preparations continued for the Christmas Eve party at the McFarland's. These activities filled their minds and hearts, but just beneath the surface in everyone’s minds no one could forget that thirty nuclear plants were about to be turned into hydrogen bomb explosions.

  It was the children that kept people sane—all because of the children, for the sake of the children, and everything about the children. To some extent they had begun already to adapt their lifestyles to those of another era. Stringing popcorn garlands, making snow ice cream, and learning the old crafts of days gone by. It kept them busy enough to hardly notice they were living inside a prison. The abundant evergreen trees looked and smelled amazing, and just the presence of them amid drifts of glistening snow was a pleasant distraction for all who took the time to notice.

  No one was permitted to leave the compound, but it hadn't been long enough for them to have even an inkling of how it would feel to stay within those fences for long months and many seasons. Cal left for the facility almost every day to contribute his translating ability. Although the messages had been frequent, no further information had been forthcoming. He heard nearly constant strains of “Allah hu Akbar”, so much so that his services really wouldn't have been needed. Almost anyone knew what that meant and what was happening. This made his days stressful, and he counted the minutes until he could go home to their little cabin almost from the time he arrived.

  The McFarland homestead was filled with rustic holiday cheer. Red candles glowed from the mantle over the fireplace and flickered warmly against the pewter ware. Uma had cut up an old red suit and made stockings which were hung for the five children. She used some bleach and a Q-tip to whiten out their names, then she stuffed them to the brim with candies and home-made caramel popcorn balls. A large tree with a simple tin star and a quilt for a tree skirt was the centerpiece where stood a beautifully carved wooden set of nativity figures. They had chosen them years ago, not because of their beliefs, but because their hand-hewn simplicity added to the charming log cabin decor. And they were pleasing to visitors who frequented the lodge.

  When Christmas Eve arrived, the smells of sage-seasoned turkey roasting in the oven and the spices of gingerbread filled the air. The women arrived carrying side dishes prepared at home. Jodie had prepared glazed sweet potatoes as well as cranberry sauce. Ruthie brought her famous green bean casserole with its secret ingredients; not the one from the can label. Sandra baked loaves of Irish soda bread, a perfect addition to soak up all the turkey gravy.

  The women began bringing food to the table, now expanded with leaves to accommodate all fourteen. It was already covered with a red and green plaid woven cloth and place settings of dark holly green dishes. Abigail gave some humanly inedible turkey parts to Angel and Sarge which they shared by the hearth. The two canine guests did not understand the entire hullabaloo, but they appreciated any occasion that induced humans to part with luscious gizzards and poultry organs. T
he two loved each other at first sight, causing everyone to wonder what bull-angels would look like. It was only hypothetical, since both dogs had been neutered.

  The meal was prefaced by prayers led by Mike, accustomed to saying grace before eating, as were all partakers except for Uma and Brady who bowed their heads respectfully but did not join in reciting the words which everyone knew by heart. Eating did not take long because the men devoured the food like they were starving, and the children were too nervous to eat with all the excitement over the gifts they saw under the tree and the stockings bearing their names which they saw hanging from the mantle. The women were the ones to hold up the progression of the night's activities, eating slowly to enjoy the fruits of their labors. Men and children continued with polite conversation hoping the women would reach their fill eventually.

  “Claudia, you don't need to keep turning around,” corrected her mother, Jodie, “The presents aren't going anywhere, and you're not opening anything until you at least finish your vegetables.”

  Claudia started working seriously at the few green beans left in front of her. Ruthie's boys had cleaned their plates, but David, only seven, was having the same problem as his sister. Their mother motioned with her fingers from the food to his mouth. He took another mouthful, struggling to be obedient, and looking so pitiful he had all but convinced the women to give in.