Dante asked her, "Hey, you okay?"
She sniffled, nodded, and guessed they wanted, "Two more?"
"Yeah…please," Richard dared answer for them both.
"And keep them coming," Dante added.
She walked away between rows of crowded tables, her head still low.
…BRITISH GOVERNMENT DENIES THAT SECURITY AT BUCKINGHAM PALACE WAS BREACHED BY A ‘MONSTER’ LAST NIGHT AS REPORTED BY A MEMBER OF THE PALACE’S SERVICE STAFF… NATIONAL CONSTITUTION MUSEUM IN PHILADELPHIA REMAINS CLOSED AFTER INCIDENT YESTERDAY INVOLVING A WILD ‘ANIMAL’ THAT KILLED SEVERAL PEOPLE INCLUDING TWO POLICE OFFICERS…
Richard pondered, "First the disappearances, now people seeing things."
"People? You mean people like you?"
"I guess so."
"Watch your back. When things start going bad, it’s not just the weird stuff you got to worry about, you know?"
Rich did not know.
Dante explained, "Other people, man. Did you ever stop to think about what would happen if there weren’t any cops on the streets? What happens when people start turning on their televisions and get nothing but static? You think it’s bad when we’re getting all the news? Think about what’s going to happen when people don’t get any of it; when all they get is dead air."
"You think it’s going to come to that?"
"Man, I’ll tell you what I would do if I were you," Dante leaned forward. "I’d go and get your honey and find somewhere to lay low for a couple of days to see where all this is heading."
Richard shook his head.
"I can’t do that. I’ve got work tomorrow. I’ve got things I got to do."
"Work? Are you kidding me? Work? The world is falling apart and you’re going to sell cars?"
"Dante, it’s my job. Are you walking away from your job? What if all this blows over?"
Jones threw his hands up in exasperation.
"Have you been watching the news?"
…SECRETARY OF STATE URGES AMERICANS TO CANCEL OVERSEAS TRAVEL PLANS UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE…NYSE HALTS TRADING AFTER RECORD DROP IN THE SIX MINUTES FOLLOWING THE REPORTED MASS DISAPPEARANCE AT WRIGLEY FIELD…
"I hear it. I’m scared. But I’ve got a wedding coming up."
"Man, you better start changing the way you think," Dante warned.
Rich said, "I’m trying to deal with reality here. And the reality is that I’ve got responsibilities and bills."
Dante grinned and shook his head in a familiar manner; a manner suggesting he heard words so moronic he could only laugh.
"I think we’re about to find out that our cars and our big cities and our complicated tax code and must-see TV is all a fantasy. I think reality is coming right at us. I don’t think we’re going to like it."
---
Ashley paced from one end of the porch to the other, weaving between the wicker chair and glider. She barely noticed Dick’s Malibu as it stopped in front of the house.
Rich jogged to the stairs then hopped on to the porch in two bounds. Ashley paced over to him, threw her arms around her future husband and buried her head into his chest.
"Tell me it’s going to be okay."
Rich’s mouth opened and wavered.
A late afternoon breeze punctuated his silence, blowing lazily across the porch. Sounds rode the wind: horns and rumbling traffic, music from car stereos and shouts across playgrounds. All those sounds had traveled far to find their ears. Ashley’s neighborhood seemed an isolated enclave separate from the rest of the world. Rich imagined the porch a theater and those distant noises playing on a back stage phonograph.
She pleaded, "Tell me this is all one big bad dream and that everything will be all right and the wedding will go on like we planned."
Rich shook away thoughts of theaters and phony soundtracks to focus on reality. Yes, reality, no matter what Dante said. He pulled her away from his chest to search her eyes. He found more red than green.
"Everything will be fine. Our wedding is going to be perfect. Your cousins aren’t going to fight and your dad is going to dance with you at the reception. It’s going to be beautiful and you’re going to be the most beautiful bride, ever. Period."
Ashley sobbed softly.
"All…those…people…"
The front door creaked as it swung open. Rich nodded a polite hello to Mr. Trump.
"Well that about does it," Ashley’s dad informed. "The President says not to panic so I sure ain’t panicking."
"What else did he say?"
"All military leave has been cancelled and the President is on his way to a ‘secure’ location—probably Cheyenne Mountain I expect. He's upped the alert status of all military forces and slapped price freezes on gasoline and food."
Rich sneered, "Glad to see no one is panicking."
"Gotta take precautions ‘course."
"Of course…" Stone chewed on an idea. "Ashley, why don’t you get some things together and come stay at my parents’ house? Out there, away from town, might be a little safer, you know?"
She pulled away and gaped at him.
"You can stay in one of the guest rooms. Your parents could come, too, there’s plenty of room."
"No, Sir," Benjamin Trump left no room for misunderstanding. "My home is my castle. You’ll understand that when you have your own home someday."
Richard felt a vibration in his front pocket from his cell phone.
"Dad’s right," Ashley agreed because her dad’s presence allowed nothing else. "I’ll stay here. It wouldn’t be right—so close to our wedding day—to be sleeping under the same roof."
"I can take care of my family, young man," Trump insisted.
The vibration of his phone changed to an annoying loud buzz.
Rich tried, "Don’t you think--"
"It’s about standing your ground. About doing the right thing."
Richard tried to ignore his phone but both Benjamin and Ashley glared, as if asking, well are you going to answer that?
Dick reluctantly opened his flip phone.
"Hello…hey. Hi, Lori…"
Ashley grunted. Of course, Lori—an old friend of Dick’s—would interrupt their important conversation.
"He what? When? You’re kidding me. I’ll be there in twenty minutes; I’m at Ashley’s right now. Okay. Bye."
Richard closed his phone and explained, "I’ve got to go. Jon just--"
Ashley waived her hand dismissing his explanation. "Go ahead if you have to. I don’t care." She turned fast and stomped inside.
"She’s upset," Benjamin Trump stated the obvious. "I’ll calm her down. You go take care of whatever is more important right now."
Rich nodded, skipped down the front stairs, then stopped. He swiveled about and addressed his future father-in-law.
"One thing I’ve always wanted to ask you, Mr. Trump."
"What’s that, Dick?"
"The fourth biggest fence company in the county, right?"
Trump smirked smugly and nodded.
Dick questioned, "So why didn’t you ever build a fence around your own home?"
---
Jon and Lori Brewer lived in the same ‘boonies’ the Stones called home, albeit along a different path through those non-distinct country roads.
The front of their home faced the snaking pavement of a rural route while the tall grass and rampant wild flowers of their back yard bordered thick wilderness. The quaint old cottage home oozed country charm as thick as molasses with potted plants and wind chimes dangling from the covered stoop.
Rich’s tires raised dust as he pulled into the small patch of dirt that served as both the Brewers’ driveway. He parked next to their white Explorer. Dick suspected Jon had purposely chosen a Ford over a Chevy, just for spite.
He rapped on the front door then walked inside without waiting for an invitation: knocking served merely a ceremonial purpose to the Brewers.
Lori paced with her arms crossed moving in and out of the early evening sunbeams streaming throug
h the kitchen window. Rich gave her credit for not smoking a cigarette. His friend had kicked the habit a year ago but that day’s stress made a relapse understandable, maybe even expected.
Still, he should know better than to doubt her willpower. If she decided to stop smoking, then she would stop smoking. Of course, if she decided to give you a piece of her mind, you got it full bore. The word ‘subtle’ had no listing in Lori Brewer’s personal lexicon. Often times that attitude rubbed folks the wrong way. Occasionally she did so purposely to illicit a reaction. Probably not the best trait for a counselor.
Or was it?
Lori swiveled her head in his direction, rustling her shoulder-length brown hair.
"Oh great, well you got here in time to say good bye."
"I came as fast as I could."
Lori coated her words in frost as she said, "I’m sure the little princess was happy to see you come running over here."
"Whoa. Slow down. What's going on? You said Jon is getting called up? I thought he just got back from drills."
Jon Brewer—crew cut in place—marched across the adjacent living room. He heard their conversation easily.
"This isn't a drill," Jon told them both without looking as he searched behind the sofa. "In an emergency like this they can call us up real fast."
Stone recognized the stiff lip and wide eyes on Lori’s face, a combination of anger and disgust. He had seen the expression many times stretching all the way back to elementary school. She reserved the expression almost exclusively for her husband or parents although Rich had been on the receiving end on occasion, usually in regards to Ashley.
Lori’s next words explained her frustration.
"But you haven’t been called up yet, have you?"
Jon, hopping as he jammed a heavy work shoe on his left foot, peeked through the archway into the kitchen.
"I told you, my cousin heard the Governor has already made the decision to issue a full call-up. I might as well bug out instead of waiting around for the phone call, right?"
That, Rich knew, typified Jon Brewer: No waiting for things to happen; he lived by the doctrine of preemption.
Jon's cousin had been the subject of many late night beer-spiced conversations. That cousin worked as a civilian contractor in the Pentagon. Jon knew his direct line.
Richard asked, "Where are you going? Indiantown Gap?"
"Yes," Jon answered as he went searching for the second shoe.
"When do you leave?" Rich drifted to the archway between the kitchen and the living room where he watched Jon toss couch cushions.
Lori answered for him, "He doesn’t have to leave at all!"
"I’m going right away. I want to get down there to help organize the call-ups."
Jon found his other shoe and hopped again.
"That’s my hero," Lori spiked her words with sarcastic venom.
"Wait a second." Rich sensed a hidden motivation in Jon’s urgency. His question eased out slow with suspicion dripping from every syllable, "What did your cousin tell you?"
"Just keep watching the news," Jon said as he finished the second shoe.
Anger broiled inside Richard at the tease.
"What? What is going to be on the news?"
Jon—who at nearly six-nine stood almost a foot taller than Richard—came to the kitchen and hovered over his wife’s friend.
"West Point—poof! The Citadel—poof!"
"What?"
Lori cut in, "Everyone at West Point and the Citadel vanished two hours ago."
Jon clarified in forced flippancy, "Abracadabra! Just like I-80; just like Wrigley field. Poof."
Mr. Brewer watched with mild amusement as Richard digested that revelation.
Lori said, "So my soldier-boy-husband figures he needs to get a jump on the call up orders that his cousin tells him are coming. What if those orders don’t come?"
Jon ignored her.
Richard, in a daze, asked, "What does your cousin say about all this?"
The national guardsman savored his role as expert.
"It’s a military strike."
"What makes you say that?"
Jon rolled his eyes at the newbie.
"West Point and The Citadel? Military schools. The teachers are some of the smartest fighting guys on the globe. Not to mention the students and cadets. We’re only lucky that it’s summer recess and there were a lot less people on campus."
"No, no," Richard did not buy it. "Just a coincidence. Norwegians, baseball fans, and traffic on a highway have no military value."
Jon threw an arm around Richard and walked the two of them toward his wife.
"This is how they got it figured. It’s like artillery. First, you fire a round and see how close you come to the target. Then you walk-in your fire, probably from spotters. Something like that."
Richard deduced, "They figure all those people are dead?"
"Wow, yeah, vaporized. Some sort of weapon that fried their bodies. They took out a bunch of civvies along the way until they finally found their range. Now they’ll start zeroing in on important things, like bases and stuff."
Lori Brewer’s words carried more venom as she said, "And my idiot husband is driving down to the Gap to be a part of a big military group. Nice target."
Jon frowned.
"Someone has to be ready to fight. Sooner or later, they’re going to stick their heads up. That’s when we’ll pay them back."
Richard asked the obvious question: "Who?"
Jon normally offered an answer for everything. He could take wild ass guesses and make them sound reasoned and logical.
This time, Jon Brewer had no answer at all.
3. Chaos
"Wait a sec," Rich whispered in Ashley’s ear.
She groaned and opened her eyes.
"What?"
"I think I heard something. I think your dad got out of bed."
Ashley grew frustrated. She was almost where she needed to be and he went and stopped. His weight already felt heavy and it was too hot to have his sticky, naked body lying on her any longer than necessary, especially with the extra ten pounds he carried.
"Who cares? He’s probably going to the bathroom. They never come down stairs."
Still, Dick did not start again. He cocked an ear toward the ceiling.
The flickering glow from the television danced across the couch and their intertwined bodies. That TV relayed the same news over and over: disappearances at West Point, the Citadel, and Naval Academy. Overseas, the Russians admitted that the better part of an infantry division had gone missing and they had lost contact with hundreds of small communities along the Ural Mountains.
"Yeah, well if he does come down stairs you’re not the one he’s going to kill," Rich said.
"Are you kidding?" she giggled. "The sight of you screwing his little girl would give him a heart attack."
"Is that part of the fun? Is that why--"
"Listen, I had something good coming along and I’m about to lose it if you don’t get the show on the road again. That is…unless you really want to stop…?"
She stroked a finger along his chin, batted her eyes bashfully, and stuck out her lower lip. The well-orchestrated expression served as much a seduction as a pout.
He lost concern for the upstairs footfalls. He could not resist. For a girl as beautiful as Ashley to want him…how could he resist?
And-oh-how the last few weeks had been a paradise for Rich’s libido: sex nearly every night, perhaps her way of releasing the tension surrounding the wedding. Whatever the reason, he approved.
Dick started again.
Soon she bit her lip to muffle her noise but Rich suspected Ashley really wanted to wail the loudest, window-rattling moan she could conjure…if only to be heard upstairs.
When he finished, she wiggled away and ran to the bathroom. A few minutes later, they shared hugs and whispers. She cuddled against his chest and accepted his assurances that the world and the wedding would be all right. Rich
found satisfaction in comforting her, even if he did not believe his own words.
Sometimes she could be that little princess Lori Brewer thought Ashley to be, but that night Ashley was a scared human being watching her world unravel.
Dante had suggested that television and ball games and their daily routines had been fantasy and that a new reality waited on the doorstep. Richard wondered if Ashley could live in a world without shopping trips, American Idol, or VH-1. Then again, he doubted he could, either.
He was a mediocre car salesman.
He had never been a good student.
He could not fix a leaky toilet on his own nor do his taxes without an accountant.
Convincing such a tender creature as Ashley to marry him ranked as Richard’s most noteworthy accomplishment in twenty-three years of life.
Nevertheless, the delusion remained; the feeling that his life waited on hold, like a flower preparing to bloom.
The time came for him to leave.
"Rich," she said as they stood on the porch. "I know everything is going to be all right." A tremble in her voice suggested otherwise. "But just in case…you know…you know I love you, right? I mean, I can be a real--"
He silenced her with a kiss on the forehead.
"I know. And I love you, too…Mrs. Stone."
Rich hopped down the stairs, walked across the driveway, and entered his car. He started the engine, waved, and drove off.
Ashley watched from her porch until the Malibu’s taillights faded from sight.
---
Another late night drive; another bout of weirdness on the radio.
This time he listened not to an AM talk show host handling conspiracy theorists, religious zealots, and other assorted shut-ins but, instead, twenty-four hour continuous live network coverage.
Scientific ‘experts’ replaced the conspiracy theorists. Respected clergy replaced the religious zealots. Military and political analysts now played the role of the assorted shut-ins.
Richard Trevor Stone grew convinced that the new voices on the radio did not know any more than the old voices.
Beyond Armageddon: Book 01 - Disintegration Page 3
