by David Lucin
A burst of energy hit Gary, as if he’d had a shot of espresso. With all the work being done to prepare the Skydome for a siege, he’d almost forgotten that Jordan had promised to lend his aid. “Should we tell him to meet us here, or do you have other plans for him?” he asked Liam.
“Nope, I was thinking he could help you and Chief Morrison in preparing defenses for the Skydome.” He pushed himself up, wincing as he put weight on his left leg. “Nielsen, please send word to our team at the roadblock that they are to escort Sheriff Wilson here immediately.”
“Yes, sir.” Terrence slipped out of the office, shutting the door behind him.
Liam gathered his radio and the electric lantern, then fetched the pistol off the shelf. “Let’s go see what the sheriff’s brought us, shall we?”
They left the office. In the Lumberjacks’ locker room, a few flashlights glowed white, illuminating bags, blankets, and cots covering almost every square foot of the floor. A half platoon of Militia troops milled about, either in the changing stalls along the walls or in their makeshift beds. Some chatted, but most, Gary noticed, were sleeping. He even heard a few snores.
To avoid the field, Liam led Gary up a service stairwell that took them to the main concourse. There, uniformed police officers and civilian volunteers erected barricades made of turned-over tables and chairs, stacks of firewood, janitorial carts, anything they could find. In most cases, the material wouldn’t stop bullets, but it would conceal the defenders.
As they passed, Gary and Liam received nods and nervous glances, particularly from the younger officers. Closer to the main entrance, ten or twelve civilians in jeans, boots, and winter coats formed a semicircle around a woman Gary recognized as Officer Ross, one of the two who stopped him, Jenn, and Sam a lifetime ago while they walked home from Carla’s pharmacy. A number of the civilians carried rifles. Others held revolvers and semiautomatic handguns. Ross had all three: an old bolt-action rifle slung across her back, a revolver strapped to her hip, and a Glock in her hand.
“To reload,” she began, “first release the magazine. It’ll be a little bit different for every gun, but there should be a button somewhere near the top of the handle. Press it, and the magazine will drop.” Those with pistols inspected their weapons and did their best to follow Ross’s instructions.
The sight of so many residents willing to put their lives at risk to defend this town caused an explosion of pride in Gary’s chest. Admittedly, his opinion on some in Flagstaff had worsened during the first few months after the bombs. A sizeable proportion did little to contribute, merely collected their rations and lay low in the faint hope that help was on its way. The coming of winter changed all that. It hardened people by forcing them to live and work together for survival. Flagstaff became smaller, closer. No longer were individual families responsible for themselves and no one else. There were still some holdouts, and reports of households refusing to evacuate to the Skydome bothered Gary a great deal, but by and large, for most folks, the safety of the community as a whole had become the priority. Today, he needn’t look far to find evidence of this shift in mentality.
Outside, the morning sunlight made him squint. By the front entrance, a group of Beaumont staff hurriedly unloaded jugs of water from the beds of two pickup trucks while a trio of police officers guided a stream of civilians into the building. Most of them stopped in place when a line of eighteen vans and trucks turned off San Francisco Street and into the Skydome’s parking lot. The lead vehicle, a Tesla pickup, belonged to the Militia. Following it was a white SUV with YAVAPAI COUNTY SHERIFF painted across the side. It came to a stop not far from the Beaumont crew, and a man with a familiar gray beard stepped out.
“Mayor Ruiz,” Jordan Wilson called out, his N95 mask hanging around his neck. “Your reinforcements have arrived.”
A lump formed in Gary’s throat. Not only was Flagstaff coming together, but Jordan had delivered on his promise at the eleventh hour. Gary envisioned a future in which Flagstaff and Prescott collaborated more closely; the two towns could share a defensive force, coordinate food production, and even develop some semblance of a common government. He was putting the cart ten miles in front of the horse, but he couldn’t help himself. There were still good people in this world, and despite the White Horde, the past few days had done wonders to restore his confidence in mankind.
“Sheriff, it’s great to see you.” New River flu be damned, Gary extended his hand for a shake; they both wore gloves, so he didn’t see the harm.
Jordan secured his mask over his mouth and nose and firmly grasped Gary’s proffered hand, then Liam’s. “Likewise, gentlemen. I was starting to worry I’d missed the party. Sorry I wasn’t here earlier.”
“Not a problem,” Gary said. “The horde’s still in Holbrook, and we expect it to stay there until tomorrow morning.”
“Sounds like we’re just in time, then.” Jordan angled his head toward the vehicles behind him. No fewer than forty armed men and women had already climbed out. Some wore neon-green high-vis jackets, Chief Amelia Stewart among them. “We’ve got 112 volunteers, myself and the police chief included. I know it ain’t much when we’re facing down a thousand, but we’re here to give it our all.”
Gary clapped the man on the shoulder. “It’s plenty. Thank you again.”
“Don’t mention it.” Jordan ducked into his SUV and took out a backpack. He unzipped the main pocket, reached inside, and pulled out a bottle of red wine, an elegant castle on the label. “Our reward, but only once the Great Khan is dead or in our custody. And do your best not to spill the beans about it, would you? It’s my last bottle, and I don’t feel like sharing more than I have to.”
“We’ll keep quiet,” Liam said. “You bring any roast lamb this time?”
“No roast lamb, but I promise you’ll enjoy it. Even you, Mr. Mayor.” He returned the bottle to his backpack and zipped it up. “So what’s the plan here? A very nice young lady at your roadblock told me the town’s hunkering down in the football field. We’ll be making our last stand in there?”
“That’s right,” Gary said. “Commander Kipling also has plans to engage the horde in the open, but if worse comes to worst, we’ll fight in the Skydome.”
“Outstanding.” Jordan hefted on his backpack and retrieved a shotgun from inside his vehicle. “Shall we get to work? Consider me and my people to be at your disposal.”
* * *
Jenn’s tank top stuck to her sweaty back as she pulled it on.
From somewhere on her left, there was a bang, followed by Sam crying, “Ouch!”
“Are you okay?”
Her flashlight lay on the floor, illuminating a sink, racks of cleaning supplies, a broom, and a shirtless Sam massaging his shin, pants around his ankles. The smell of mold, concrete, and bleach tickled her nose, making her want to sneeze.
“Yeah, yeah. I bumped into that mop bucket again.”
She stifled a laugh. A janitor’s closet was decidedly not the best place for an impromptu romantic engagement, but it might be the only unoccupied room in the entire Walkup Skydome.
For the past day, First Platoon had been helping evacuate winter shelters throughout town. About twenty thousand were estimated to have now taken refuge here. Her unit also received a crash course in how to use the new pipe bombs. An hour ago, around 3:00 p.m., Liam finally briefed the officers and NCOs on his plan to confront the White Horde. The Militia was then ordered to rest. At midnight, both companies would take up defensive positions on I-40; after spending a full day in Holbrook, the Khan’s convoy was expected to approach Flagstaff at sunrise.
As soon as she was dismissed, Jenn found Sam and brought him to this closet. With the threat of death approaching from the east, she had to be with her fiancé, had to feel him and be felt in return. The moment was perfect, intense but tender and loving. She only wished it had lasted more than a few minutes.
He managed to finish with his pants while she fetched the flashlight and searched for her jea
ns and jacket. She found the jeans in the corner, next to a bottle of chemicals, and the jacket halfway in the mop bucket. She ignored both for now and sat with Sam against the wall. Together, they caught their breath, hearts beating rapidly and in tandem.
“That was . . . unexpected,” he said. “But also amazing. Mostly amazing.”
She thumbed her ring as he ran his fingers through her hair and massaged her scalp. Craving his touch, his warmth, she nestled herself into the crook of his arm, and before she realized she was speaking, she heard herself say, “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” His fingers ceased their massage. “Are you crying?”
“Crying? Huh?” Only then did she notice the moisture on her cheeks.
“Hey,” he said and pulled her closer. “It’s okay. Everything will be all right.”
A potent cocktail of hormones floated freely through her brain, sabotaging her defenses. Not that she needed defenses around Sam. With him, she could be truly open and completely vulnerable. “I’m afraid I’ll leave later and never see you again, that something’s going to happen to one of us. Or both of us.”
His proposal flashed in her mind. That morning, he’d asked her to go for a walk to the Lowell Observatory. She’d said no, thinking a hike was silly; neither of them had the calories to spare on something so unproductive. But he insisted, and she finally relented, oblivious to what he had planned. At the overlook point by the main gate, with a snowy Flagstaff as their backdrop, he lowered himself onto one knee and held out her ring. She shouted “yes” at him before he could even ask the question.
“I’m not ready to lose you,” she continued. “I feel like we’re just getting started.”
He sat her upright and cupped her cheek with one hand. In her lap, the flashlight drew sharp shadows across his face. He wore a stern yet soft expression. “You’re not going to lose me. Nothing will happen to us. Liam has a plan, doesn’t he?”
“Yeah, he said something about trying to make it our Thermo . . . Thermopo . . .”
“Thermopylae?”
“I think so. Is that a famous battle?”
“I guess you could call it that.” Sam winced, but she wasn’t sure why. Then his hand moved to the base of her skull, and he rested his forehead against hers. He didn’t say anything. His touch was enough. Through it, she could feel his reassurance, his confidence. The fear remained, and she couldn’t bury the morbid idea that these were their last few hours together, but she felt more in control of her destiny. After all, she’d drawn first blood on the White Horde. Soon, hopefully, she would help bleed it to death.
“It’s not too late to volunteer for the Militia,” she said, only half joking. “You could ask to be put in my squad.”
He made a sound with his nose. It wasn’t quite a laugh. “I’ve come a long way since I was afraid of guns, but I’m still completely out of my element when it comes to being a soldier. If I was in your unit, I’d distract you from doing your job. I’m better off here with my parents and Maria.”
She maneuvered herself back into the crook of his arm. “I know. You’ll have Espinosa, just in case.”
He returned to massaging her scalp, so she shut her eyes and enjoyed the pleasant tingles running down the length of her spine. Absently, she fiddled with her ring, spinning it around and around on her finger. While the White Horde represented a threat to tens of thousands of lives, above all else, she feared the Great Khan would rob her of a life with Sam. They’d had a mere two years together. She wanted sixty. She wanted to have a family, wanted to see a piece of her and a piece of him in a child of their own. She wanted to have petty arguments about dishes or laundry just so they could apologize to each other and make up. She wanted to hear him call her beautiful when she turned old, gray, and wrinkly. In every vision of her future, she saw Sam, like the two of them had become one.
Yet she’d chosen to put that future on hold until spring. For what? To give her a light at the end of the tunnel? Sam was her light. In this bleak, dark world, he kept her going. Without him, she’d have given up long ago. Yes, she fought for Gary and Maria and everyone else, but ultimately, every hardship endured, every sacrifice made, and every life taken had been for Sam, for them as a couple.
She sat up, angling the flashlight so she could see his face, then said on a whim, “Let’s just do it. Get married. As soon as this is over.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “I thought you wanted to wait. Do I need to remind you that waiting was your idea, not mine?”
“No, yeah, I know it was, but I changed my mind.”
“Sorry, did I hear that right? Jenn Jansen . . . changed her mind?” His eyebrow rose even higher. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Excitement tickled her belly. She took both of his hands in hers. Before today, she hadn’t given more than a few seconds of thought to the wedding itself, the actual event, but now she couldn’t stop imagining dresses, cakes, white flowers, and sparkling wine. God, could she find a wedding dress in Flag? And what would Sam wear? A suit? She pictured him in a perfectly tailored black tux, beard neatly trimmed and hair cut short. Wow.
She pushed aside the fantasies, filing them away for later. “If this whole White Horde incident has taught me anything, it’s that we don’t know what’s going to happen next. One day, things were fine. Well, not fine. But they were okay. And then, out of nowhere, everything changed. I know I said I wanted to wait so we had something to look forward to in spring, but it’s dangerous out there, Sam. Nobody knows if we’ll make it that far.”
“Jenn, we will. You can’t—”
Shushing him, she put a finger to his lips. “I know, I know. Think positive. What I’m saying is, I don’t want to take this”—she motioned between them with her hand—“for granted anymore. Plus, ‘fiancé’ sounds so pretentious and stuck up. I’d way rather just call you my husband. What do you say?”
He moved a strand of hair away from her face. The corners of his mouth twitched a few times. Then his lips parted into a wide smile, white teeth showing through. “If you want, we could do it this afternoon.”
Her heart stopped. When it began beating again, she thought it might thump out of her chest. “You’re joking, right? How would we . . .” The light bulb flicked on. “Are you talking about Ed?”
“Exactly. He offered to do the wedding for us, and he’s probably outside helping Sophie and the farm crew unload water. I’m sure he’d be happy to make it official. Or as official as it can get.”
“What about your mom? We’d have to find her, and Allison was going to be my maid-of-honor and I haven’t talked to her about it yet. I have no idea where Gary is, either. Or Kevin. Plus, you haven’t decided on a best man.” She hadn’t inhaled in what felt like minutes, so she took in a conscious lungful of air and forced herself to calm down. As much as she wanted to marry Sam now, they didn’t have enough time to organize even a tiny, spur-of-the-moment wedding.
His grin faded, and his eyes grew serious. “I don’t care about any of that. I care about you. We don’t have to tell anyone, if you don’t want to. It’ll be our secret. Then, later, we can go through the motions again for their sake.”
Now Jenn thought her heart might burst. People had always accused her of being impulsive, and she wouldn’t disagree. Often, she spoke her mind, and until recently, she had a terrible habit of acting without thinking. To this day, her outburst at Minute Tire remained the single most embarrassing episode of her life. In the months since, she’d become more deliberate, more thoughtful, at least when it came to dangerous or life-threatening situations. But here in this closet, while she sat on the floor half naked and sweaty, every instinct in her body screamed, Do it! You love him, and he loves you. What are you waiting for?
With more energy than she’d had in weeks, she shot up and began pulling on her jeans.
“What are you doing?” Sam asked. “You aren’t leaving, are you? Did I say something wrong? Is everything all right?”
“Everything’s fin
e. Better than fine.” Her hands shook with anticipation as she fought with her fly. Finally, she zipped it up, so she leaned down and planted her lips against Sam’s. “If I’m not going to be wearing a dress at our wedding, the least I can do is put on pants.”
17
“He’s probably over there,” Sam said and pointed toward the Skydome’s parking lot.
Jenn made out Sophie among a cluster of trucks, some of them branded with YAVAPAI COUNTY SHERIFF. A hand on her hip, she watched her crew unload multi-gallon plastic jugs of water. Carter Petrovski, an absolute bear of a man, hefted them like they were soda cans.
Sam led Jenn down the shoveled pathway, past Louie the Lumberjack. Butterflies had taken flight in her stomach, and her lungs were tight with anticipation. Her legs tried to skip, but she managed to rein them in and continue at a quick walk. A line of residents passed on their way into the stadium, and she almost shouted at them, We’re getting married!
Sophie noticed them approaching. “If you’ve decided at the last minute to switch careers and ask to work for me again, Jansen, you should know I’m not hiring.”
“Funny,” Jenn said. “We’re actually here to see Ed. Is he around?”
“Over here,” came Ed’s voice from the truck. The driver’s side window had been rolled down, and Ed sat behind the wheel. His salt-and-pepper hair and beard were mostly salt these days, and the wrinkles flanking his eyes had deepened and multiplied.
In the box, Carter, his beard bushy and black, called out, “Sam! Jansen!”
He rushed toward the open tailgate, but Sophie held up a hand, saying, “Vladdy! Keep working. You’re the only one who can lift these things on his own and we’re running behind. There’ll be time for chitchat once we’re finished.”
The big man deflated and grumbled but did as he was told, but not before waving enthusiastically at Jenn and Sam. She returned the wave, finding it hard to believe she and Carter at one point didn’t get along.
