“That might’a hit some of 1st platoon,” one of the Marines says, still hugging the ground.
Alex looks past his debris-sprayed vehicle to the canal. He sees one of the 1st Platoon radiomen give a “thumbs up” to the group.
“2nd squad just checked in. They got dusted good, but no injuries,” says a marine crouched down with a radio.
Alex considers their position in the open. This is not where he wants to be when the next round of artillery crashes in. He waves to Zombie Three Three. The vehicle immediately springs to life and rumbles toward them. Three is now the official medevac vehicle.
“Load all of the dead and wounded in that track, and get them back to the aid station!” Captain Fletcher says.
Captain Fletcher turns to Gunnery Sergeant Fitzgerald, a hulking black marine feared by every marine in Charlie Company, and Alex himself.
“Fitz, get ’em moving.”
“You heard the Captain, load ’em up and get back to your positions! Let’s go people!” Gunny Fitzgerald says and slaps one of the marine’s helmets.
Alex meets the AAV as it approaches and heads over to the right side of the vehicle. He bangs on armor and yells up at the vehicle commander, who leans down over the side to hear him. Bullets ping off the vehicles near Alex and crack overhead. He doesn’t flinch anymore.
“You’re the medevac track. Load them up, and get back over to the aid station.”
The vehicle commander nods, and Alex looks back at the marines helping their wrecked comrades. He sees a lone rocket-propelled grenade fly several feet above the marines and trail off north, heading toward nothing. He stares at the trail of white smoke, waiting for it to explode in the distance. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches another flash of smoke. He never really sees the rocket propelled grenade that strikes short of the AAV and detonates against the hard ground several feet in front of him.
Chunks of rock and steel slam into Captain Fletcher and hammer him against the side of the vehicle. For a few seconds, he feels like he’s been submerged underwater. Then nothing.
Chapter Forty-Four
Saturday, December 14, 2013
Captain Fletcher rose slowly and suddenly broke through the heavy surface sheet of unconsciousness, kicking his legs and straining against a weight on his chest. His eyes struggled to focus, but all he could see was a shaky, blinding light above him.
“Hold his legs down,” someone yelled.
He felt something heavy wrap around his legs.
“So much for that plan,” the same voice yelled.
“Alex? Alex? It’s Ed,” he heard.
He was confused. “I need a… corpsman?” he said doubtfully, suddenly aware that his request didn’t make sense given his surroundings.
“What are you doing?” he asked, looking up at a vaguely familiar man with a medical mask over his face.
“Alex, I’m Dr. Glassman, and I’m trying to remove the shotgun lead from your wounds, then I’m going to clean the wound and stitch it back up.”
“Without anesthesia?” Alex asked lucidly.
“He sounds like he’s back,” he heard his wife say.
He looked around him. He saw Kate holding his legs down with a strained smile. Ed loomed above him again, pinning his right arm and chest down on a hard surface. A thin towel or shirt rested under his head. He could tell that he was in someone’s formal dining room, but not his own, or Ed’s. A young, dark-haired woman stood next to Ed holding a bright flashlight.
“Alex, I can give you some Percocet for the pain, but it won’t kick in for a little while. I need to get you stitched up pretty quickly. You’ve lost a little more blood than I would have hoped.”
“How much would you have hoped for?” Alex asked and realized that he was fading again.
“Ah…I don’t know what…”
“He’s fucking with you, Ben,” Kate said.
“All right. Okay. He’s got a strange sense of humor,” Dr. Glassman whispered. “Okay, so we’ll give him the Percocet, and then I’ll start. Alex, this is going to hurt…I wish I had some anesthetic to give you, but obviously I don’t. I have to dig the pellets out and then close you up. Ten to fifteen minutes tops.”
“Sounds great,” Alex said. He stared straight up at the chandelier with hazy vision.
With any luck, I’ll be out for this.
He felt a warm hand take his right hand and squeeze gently. He tilted his head and saw Kate standing next to the doctor’s wife. She smiled and mouthed the words, “I love you.” He managed a smile and did the same, then leaned his head back down on the table and closed his eyes.
“Alex, I’m going to start by digging around. If I can get it all out that way, then I won’t have to cut—”
“You’re not going to announce every move like that, are you?” Alex asked.
Hannah Glassman started to laugh.
“Thanks, honey,” Dr. Glassman said.
“You do like to talk everything through,” she said, laughing louder now.
“You don’t want me to tell you what’s coming?” he asked impatiently.
“Not really,” Alex said.
“Okay,” he said, and the next thing Alex felt was an intense burning pain in his upper chest. He kept the screams inside as his face contorted. The pain jumped to the next level, and he mercifully passed out.
Chapter Forty-Five
Sunday, March 30, 2014
Alex lounged on the couch in the great room and inhaled the warm breeze blowing in from the open windows. The air smelled damp and slightly aromatic, and he closed his eyes to savor the pleasant current. The gust carried a sound he hadn’t heard since last November: the sound of children playing. He sat up and looked over the back of the couch to see outside.
He heard feet pounding the stairs and knew what was coming his way. The sharp sound of Max’s nails followed the kids on their way down. Alex expected that they were about to drop the highly anticipated bomb on them. Both kids rounded the corner and ran into the room.
“Mom, Dad, can we ride our bikes? All the Walker kids are out, a bunch of other kids. Everyone’s out playing,” they patched together.
Kate awakened quickly from what must have been a shallow sleep, something she had never experienced before Alex had nearly been killed in their backyard. She had taken over as the first line of defense and security in the Fletcher household, and had met the challenge well. Fortunately for all of them, Durham Road had fallen deathly quiet after the shootings. The remaining Mansons vanished after Alex was shot, leaving deep tire tracks in the snow as the only evidence of their hasty nighttime departure.
“What’s going on out there?” she asked as the kids rounded the couch.
“Everyone’s outside playing, even Chloe and Abigail,” Emily said.
“Daniel’s out, too, Dad. They’re all out front riding bikes. Can you get the bikes out of the basement?” Ryan added.
“Hold on a minute.”
He put his left hand on the back of the couch and pushed forward to sit up. His shoulder radiated a dull, painful ache that caused him to grunt. He stood up and tried for the thousandth time to stretch his left arm up and around in a circular motion, but he could barely lift it ten degrees above a parallel plane with the floor.
Ben Glassman had done the best job he could with the limited resources on hand. The surgery wasn’t pretty, and Alex had three nasty scars to prove it, but thanks to Dr. Glassman, there was never any doubt that Alex would survive the damage done by the shotgun blast.
“Can we go outside right now, Daddy? Please! Please!” Emily begged.
Kate answered without hesitation, “The CDC says it takes two weeks to build up a full immunity to the flu. For children it may be longer. We only have five more days…”
“I think they’ll be all right,” Alex said and wound his other arm in a full circle, purposely ignoring her glare.
“I don’t know. We’ve gone this far, this long. Another couple of days won’t kill them,” s
he said authoritatively.
“Aw, come on, Mom! Dad says it’s fine,” Ryan said.
“Take it easy, Ryan. Your mom’s right, plus a lot more than just the flu happened on this block. Things won’t be the same, and we need to be cautious.”
“Everything’s pretty much back to normal. The stores are open, cable works, the flu is pretty much gone…”
“That’s not what I’m talking about, and everything is far from normal. The electricity fails daily, and they're still rationing food at local distribution centers. We’re burning candles at night, if you haven’t noticed. Why don’t you guys head back upstairs and let your mother and I discuss it.”
“What is there to discuss?” Ryan countered.
“There won’t be anything to discuss if you keep up your tone. Get upstairs. We’ll call you down when we’re done,” Alex said, on the verge of yelling.
“Can we play in the backyard with the Walkers while you guys talk?” Ryan asked, insistent.
“How is that going to work if everyone else is out playing? Kids can walk right up into the yard?” Alex asked.
“I don’t think anyone’s ever going to walk right into our yard again, Dad,” Ryan said solemnly.
“Give us a couple minutes.”
“We promise we won’t go out front.”
“Just give your mom and me a few minutes to talk about it. All right?” he said again and glared at his son.
“Let’s go,” Emily said, tugging at Ryan’s arm.
“Five minutes and we’re coming back down,” Ryan said and started to walk away.
“You’ll come down when summoned,” Alex said in an outrageous Monty Python-like British accent, hoping to cut some of the tension.
“Oh God, all right, all right. No more. We’ll go.”
Both kids left the room, and he could hear them stomping up the stairs.
“They’re going crazy,” he said, walking over to the front windows.
“I know. Do you really think it’s all right for them to be out in the neighborhood?” Kate asked worriedly as Alex leaned toward one of the windows.
“Damn, the Walker kids are out in front. Getting ready for a bike ride, too. Are you still worried about the flu?” he said.
He didn’t see Ed or Sam.
“No, not really. Not at this point. I’m way more nervous about the neighborhood. I don’t think a few months are long enough to heal this neighborhood,” she said and got up to join him at the window.
“I don’t think it’ll ever be the same, or anywhere even close to the way it was before. We all turned on each other in some way,” he said.
“Don’t start up on that guilt trip again, honey. It doesn’t do either of us any good. We did what we did, and kept our family intact, helped plenty of others along the way. We just couldn't help them all.”
“I know,” he whispered.
He looked across the street and saw Derek and Ellen Sheppard playing in their backyard with their three boys. They were all kicking a soccer ball back and forth. Derek lightly kicked the ball to their five-year-old son, Gavin, who reached his foot out to tap the ball, but missed. He didn’t chase after the ball, but instead stood slightly slumped, fixed to the ground.
From this distance Alex couldn’t see the portable oxygen tank and nose tube that he’d be forced to wear for the rest of his shortened lifespan. The flu had devastated his pulmonary alveoli and his lungs’ capacity to transfer oxygen efficiently to his bloodstream. Derek had mentioned that he couldn’t live with the tank forever, and Alex hadn’t asked any more questions.
“Is that Gavin out with them?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Alex said.
She put her hand on his shoulder. “They’re lucky they get to spend this extra time with him. That’s how they look at it, and I think they’re right.”
“I know. It still makes me feel bad. I don’t know what to say when I see them,” he said.
“You don’t have to say anything. They don’t expect it. Hey, look, Jamie’s girls are heading across to the Walkers. I guess I feel all right about them being out front on our side of the street. I don’t want them riding out of sight. The bikes can wait,” she said.
“Sounds like a reasonable compromise. Want to call down the troops?” he asked.
He heard the kids suddenly descending the stairs.
“Wait up, Ryan!” Emily squeaked.
Ryan hit the landing and raced toward the front door.
“Hold on!” Alex said. “You understand the restrictions, right?”
“No bike riding. No going on the other side of the block,” Ryan said.
Emily eagerly joined Ryan on the landing, nodding her head in agreement.
“No going out of our sight,” Kate added.
“All right. No going out of sight of the house,” Ryan confirmed.
“Negative! You stay in our sight at all times. That’s where we start. Got it?” Alex asked.
“Got it. We promise. Let’s go,” Ryan said impatiently, flying out the storm door onto the front granite stoop.
The door flew back and almost knocked over Emily, who chased after him yelling. They both watched out of the window and listened to the excited babble of several kids gathered on the Walkers’ driveway.
“Beer?” Alex offered.
“Sure.”
He headed to the refrigerator and retrieved two pale ales, twisted open the caps, and walked to the front door.
“I’m gonna relax on the front stoop.”
“And spy on the kids?” she asked, taking one of the beers.
“Of course,” he replied.
Alex and Kate sat down on the cool granite, and from the porch, he saw signs of life everywhere. He looked up at the clear sky and saw one contrail heading south. One month ago, the skies were empty. Kate caught his eye.
“It’d be a lot easier on your parents if they would just fly over with your brother’s kids,” she said.
“My dad hates flying. He only flies to warmer weather, plus, the seats were like three grand a pop. They needed the SUV to fit all of the kids’ stuff anyway,” he said.
“We could’ve sent them the money and shipped all their stuff. It’s a long drive out.”
“I offered. They’ll be fine. They’re leaving tomorrow. Probably take them five or six days, tops. It’s perfectly safe,” he said.
“I know. It’s just a long trip for the kids. It’ll be nice having them here.”
“It’s going to be a major adjustment,” he said.
“It won’t be that bad. The kids really get along.”
“They did as cousins, but as brothers and sisters, all bets are off,” he said.
“True.”
Daniel and Karla had never identified godparents for their children, Ethan and Kevin, so custody fell upon his parents after Daniel died from a massive secondary pulmonary infection. Alex and Kate offered to adopt the kids, and a plan was hatched to deliver them once the pandemic situation cooled. His parents also hinted that they would use the trip to scope out the real estate situation in Maine. He wondered if they would ever drive back to Colorado.
He looked up the street toward the Walkers’ and saw Ed near the edge of the garage. He waved at Ed, who raised a dark-colored bottle of beer above his head.
“Look. Great minds think alike,” he said, and they raised their beers to acknowledge Ed.
“I could get used to this,” Kate sighed. “I can’t believe I agreed to head into work tomorrow.”
“You should hit them up for a raise.”
“I’m coming back as an equity partner, which will be a huge raise…if we can get the firm back on solid footing.”
“As long as there’s money, there’ll always be a need for accountants. Your firm will be up and running in no time. Statistically speaking, the firm only lost about twenty percent of its clients. The real problem is that most of your clients have probably lost all of their money. On paper at least.”
“I don’t even wan
t to think about it.”
“The money?” Alex asked.
“No. The twenty percent,” Kate said, taking a long drink from her bottle.
“Hey, look at the bright side,” he said, baiting her.
“I can’t wait to hear your interpretation of the bright side.”
“You’ll have a much more difficult time counting all of our money this year,” he laughed.
“I still can’t believe it.”
She was referring to Alex’s early November reallocation of the entire non-retirement portion of their Fidelity Account to gold-backed mutual funds. Their decision had been based on an economic study sponsored by the ISPAC, which painted a devastatingly bleak picture of a modern post-pandemic economy. A complete collapse of the international credit system, sparked by the default of nearly every major institutional and national loan, would change everything and force an international rewrite of economic rules, or worse.
ISPAC economists recommended a fifty percent reallocation to precious metal funds in the face of a serious pandemic threat, but Kate and Alex could only stomach thirty percent, even after Dr. Wright’s ominous midnight phone call. The non-401K portion of their portfolio was an easy target, since it equaled roughly one-third of their total assets.
“What was the last price?” Alex asked.
“Nearly $12,000 an ounce and rising.”
“Unbelievable. The only successful investment decision I have ever made,” he said.
“Well, if you had agreed to fifty percent, I wouldn’t have to go back to work.”
“Neither of us really has to go back to work,” Alex said and drained his beer.
“Biosphere is hiring. I saw four open positions in the paper.”
“In Portland?”
“Southern Maine,” she commented.
“I’d rather work for Al Qaeda.” He stood up to stretch.
“I don’t think Al Qaeda pays well.”
“Probably not, but the work environment might be a little friendlier. Take a look at that,” he said and nodded toward the top of the street.
A large, dark blue Ford F-150 pickup truck rounded the corner at the top of the loop and passed Todd and Jordan, who were standing in their driveways. Todd pulled his daughter in close as the truck continued past the Andersons’ and Walkers’. It slowed down in front of the Fletchers’. The powerful engine hummed as it passed. Alex saw two men in the front.
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