by Bobby Akart
“He started having complications in his bones and joints,” replied La Rue. “I guess some of the deep burns limited his ability to move his legs. Something about scar tissue shortening his muscles and tendons.”
“So he can’t walk?” asked O’Brien.
“Right. He requires a wheelchair. Ordinarily, he would be sent to a rehab center where they would take care of him, but there’s nothing like that anymore.”
“Well, provide him all the rehab he needs,” said O’Brien. “The boys with us are stout. They’ll carry the man out of here. How much can he weigh if he got burned up, right?”
La Rue shook his head and motioned to a door at the top floor of the stairwell. All of the men were breathing heavily. Somehow, during the first ninety days of the collapse, they’d managed to remain overweight. They stopped to catch their breath. O’Brien relaxed and then placed his right hand on his old friend’s shoulder.
“Marion, there are people who are trying to take me out. They sent hired guns after me! I need insurance, and this professor may be the means to keep me alive another day, or even get my job back.”
“Pearson said the President was done with—” started La Rue before O’Brien snapped back.
“I don’t give a fuck what Pearson says. He’s run off anyway. I have a feeling this professor fuck is my ticket back to runnin’ things. Now, let’s quit talkin’ and lead the way.”
The top floor was deserted, as it was reserved for patients in some form of rehabilitation. La Rue hadn’t checked on the status of Professor Andrew Lau in over a week, but based upon his last report, he assured O’Brien that the man was still there.
La Rue approached the nurses’ station and asked about the location of Lau’s room. The nurse immediately protested La Rue’s presence in the hospital at the early hour and demanded that he leave. In turn, La Rue pulled a revolver out of his coat pocket and pointed it at the nurse’s head. He demanded answers and she quickly complied.
While O’Brien’s men tied the nurse up in a linen closet, he and La Rue found Lau sleeping alone in a room near the far end of the hallway. La Rue took the lead and approached Lau’s bed. He placed his meaty hand over Lau’s mouth and then pointed the revolver at his face. Lau awoke with a jolt and his eyes got big when he saw the gun. He thrashed for a moment until La Rue spoke.
“Professor, we’re not here to hurt you. Do you understand?”
Lau nodded his head affirmatively.
La Rue quickly concocted a lie. “This gentlemen with me is Governor James O’Brien. We have information that leads us to believe that your life is in danger. Do you understand what I’m saying, Professor Lau?”
Again, Lau nodded his head and his eyes darted from O’Brien to La Rue.
“If I remove my hand, will you remain quiet so we can get you to safety?”
Lau once again nodded his head, indicating yes. Once La Rue moved his hand, Lau said, “Thank you for coming. I have seen the man responsible for this. I’ve been afraid ever since.”
O’Brien’s men entered the room and one of them whispered in his ear. O’Brien turned his attention to La Rue and Lau. “Marion, we have to go. It’s almost six a.m. There might be a shift change or something.”
“Okay, pick him up, fellows. Let’s find this patient a new place to rehab.”
Chapter 9
Wednesday, November 23, 2016
8:00 p.m.
Prescott Peninsula, 1PP
Quabbin Reservoir, Massachusetts
Thanksgiving was a uniquely American tradition since the beginning of the republic when President George Washington declared the fourth Thursday in November as a day of public thanksgiving and prayer. It was a holiday based upon America’s founding as a Christian nation.
After the date was established by President Abraham Lincoln’s proclamation during the Civil War, Thanksgiving Day was designed to transcend the political quarrels over the role of religion in the governance of our nation. While the Constitution might formally separate church and state, religion and politics, by their nature, propped each other up.
On this evening before Thanksgiving, Sarge reflected on his new role as head of the Boston Brahmin. He was uniquely situated to have an impact on the course of America in matters of significant importance like national security and global economics. He also hoped to change the course of those societal issues that some might consider insignificant.
At Harvard, and in his New York Times bestselling book—Choose Freedom or Capitulation: America’s Sovereignty Crisis, Sarge frequently discussed the decline of social morals and values and the impact it had on the nation’s future. He pointed to history, as depicted by his beloved series of paintings created by Thomas Cole called The Course of Empire. He would draw parallels between the rise and fall of the Roman Empire and the United States.
Despite America’s incredible advancements in knowledge and technology, it was actually a nation in decline morally. Just like the early stages of the collapse of the Roman Empire, which most historians attributed to the decline in the Romans’ morals and values, Sarge believed America was suffering a similar fate.
One such example was the celebration of Thanksgiving. The common story of Thanksgiving, celebrated in elementary schools across the country, was a tale of the perseverance of Pilgrims and of cooperation and common thanks between two different peoples who had been, until the early 1600s, worlds apart. It was one of the stories that defined us as Americans. Sarge believed civilizations needed accounts of historical significance to serve as a connective tissue, helping the successes of our Founding Fathers endure.
Over the past fifty years, Thanksgiving had diminished in importance as Christmas commercialism had expanded. Since the early 1960s, Christmas media programming had steadily expanded into November. Soon, Black Friday became the most celebrated day of the year as shoppers across the country flooded the malls in search of sales, sometimes as early as 4:00 a.m.
But even that wasn’t good enough for the consumers who demanded bargains. Their zest for a deal encouraged large retailers to open their doors on Thanksgiving Day. While Sarge knew that American capitalism would always be blamed for this expansion of the Christmas shopping season, he always reminded people that capitalism, by its nature, was a stimulated response to consumer demand. The American consumer insisted upon earlier and earlier shopping, and capitalism delivered.
The meaning of Thanksgiving and its diminished role as a revered holiday in America was responsible in part for Americans’ willingness to forego giving thanks for what they had in exchange for what they wanted. The history of Thanksgiving was gradually rewritten by an increasingly liberal public school system.
The story of the immigrant Pilgrims and the native Indians who came together from two different cultures to give thanks was abandoned. Immigrant Pilgrims, as a historical fact, was replaced with a description of genocidal, white Europeans who ravaged the pristine lands of North America. The term Indians was no longer politically correct, and Native Americans was considered appropriate for the victims of the evil white Europeans who invited these people to dinner and then killed them before stealing their land, as pop-culture icon Jon Stewart once said.
Just as Thanksgiving Day became inundated with televised football games, the concept of the holiday as a day to give thanks became a political football. Thanksgiving was no longer a day when the American people came together and gratefully acknowledged their health and opportunities with one heart and one voice.
Sarge hoped to change that, among other things. At precisely 8:00 p.m., Sarge addressed the nation via the Digital Carrier Pigeon, the network of ham radios and repeaters that carried his message of hope and renewal throughout the nation.
“My fellow Americans, I’m speaking with you on this eve of the first Thanksgiving of this nation’s troubled times. All of us have lost loved ones and family, including myself. Our hopes and dreams have been dashed. Our resolve has been challenged. But if you are hearing my voice, you’re
a survivor.
“As survivors, it is time for us to come together in the spirit of cooperation and thanks indicative of those first Thanksgiving meals between our ancestors and the early inhabitants of America. All of us have it within ourselves to survive and help our fellow man at the same time.
“This spirit of giving has been ingrained in the American psyche from the days of the Pilgrims until today. Thanksgiving has always been a day when Americans extend a helping hand to the less fortunate. Americans have always understood that one must give in order to receive. That is who we are as a nation.
“In these frightening and trying times, we should all search our hearts and we should reflect on what we can do to demonstrate our thanks and give back to our nation. My brother made the ultimate sacrifice for the freedoms we enjoy, and soon, I will call on you to consider the same.
“I have always believed that America is set apart from other nations in an uncommon way. I believe a divine plan was in mind for our great country and all of us who have a special love for freedom.
“The challenges we face are many, and the choices we have are few. Push negativity and strife out of your minds. I ask all of you to give thanks for your life, the love of your family, and the opportunities we have ahead as a freedom-loving country.”
Sarge became emotional as he continued. Damn it, we will return this country to its glory.
“Join me, fellow patriots, with gratitude and thanksgiving in your hearts, and join me in repeating these moving lines from ‘America the Beautiful.’”
He softly sang the song, which was written atop the pinnacle of Pikes Peak in 1893 by Katharine Lee Bates. Despite the tragedy inflicted upon her, America was still beautiful and worthy of these words.
O beautiful for spacious skies,
For amber waves of grain,
For purple mountain majesties
Above the fruited plain!
America! America!
God shed His grace on thee
And crown thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea!
“Choose freedom, my friends, and God bless America! Happy Thanksgiving!”
Chapter 10
Thanksgiving Day
Thursday, November 24, 2016
Noon
Prescott Peninsula, 1PP
Quabbin Reservoir, Massachusetts
“Sarge, your speech last evening was simply wonderful,” said Julia’s aunt, Stella Peabody, as she stretched her tiny frame to receive a kiss on the cheek from a puzzled Sarge.
“Wait, you heard it?” asked Sarge.
“We all did,” chimed in Constance Lowell, who surrounded Sarge with her friends Millicent Winthrop and Mary Cabot.
Julia stood quietly to the side and tried to imagine the day when she would be an old biddy.
“How were you guys listening in?” asked Sarge as he scanned the room, obviously looking for Julia. He didn’t think to look behind him, where she proudly enjoyed the interaction.
“Julia recorded it,” replied Mary Cabot. “We played it this morning as we started preparing the Thanksgiving meal. It was very moving, young man.”
“Thank you, ladies. I appreciate your kind words, but I spoke from the heart. My singing voice probably could be improved upon.”
Constance Lowell gave Sarge an impromptu hug. Initially, the days at 1PP were difficult for her. Sarge’s suspicions regarding Mrs. Lowell’s prior knowledge of the cyber attack were true. It was a challenge for her to transition from the wealthiest woman in Boston to the resident of a small bungalow in the middle of nowhere. However, the feeling of safety she enjoyed and the constant companionship of her husband, Lawrence, seemed to help her overcome any resentment she fostered.
“Come along, Constance,” started Mary Cabot. “I see a lot of hungry faces in here ready for their Thanksgiving dinner.”
Sarge accepted a couple of additional hugs and then was left alone, until Julia reached around his waist and surprised him.
“There you are,” said Sarge as he turned to embrace her. “I was looking for you.”
“I know,” said Julia. “I was right behind you the whole time. I see you have some admirers.”
Sarge laughed and kissed her. “Apparently so. At least four anyway. Although I think my singing career is over before it started.”
“Um, yeah. Good thing too. Maybe, at the Christmas address, you can skip the carols, okay?”
Sarge brushed Julia’s hair behind her ear and she leaned her cheek into his hand. She loved his gentle touch with her. He touched her stomach and smiled.
“How is this entire department doing today?” he asked, referring to the baby and her morning sickness.
The smell of cooking filled the air. Thank goodness her morning sickness had begun to taper off in the last week or so. By her estimates, she was now ten to eleven weeks pregnant. She considered herself lucky.
Julia had successfully hidden her pregnancy from everyone. Donald and Susan knew, as well as J.J., her Armageddon obstetrician. Susan was giddy with excitement and was constantly doting over Julia. Because they wanted to wait to tell everyone, Julia tried to tamp down Susan’s enthusiasm somewhat.
In reality, Susan was a huge help. She set aside all of the healthy fruit juices in their food pantry. Because fresh milk was not available, she substituted powdered milk and protein shakes. Of course, Julia drank lots of water. Susan established a diet designed to supplement Julia with the proper vitamins and minerals. Since Julia had confided in her, Susan had become Julia’s constant companion. She was more like a sister than ever before.
“The good thing is the morning sickness seems to have run its course. The baby, however, seems to be up to something. I can feel a fluttering in my stomach from time to time.”
“Maybe it’s flying.”
Julia playfully gave Sarge a couple of double-fisted slugs to the chest. “Our child will not have wings, nor will it ever fly anywhere.”
“Whadya gonna do, tie it to a tree?”
“Henry Sargent,” whispered Julia, partially growling under her breath, “I’m pregnant, somewhat emotional, but at times capable of extreme volatility. Do not test me, mister.”
Donald and J.J. entered through the front doors, carrying platters of deer and turkey meat, which had been cooked over an open flame. Julia turned her attention to them, sparing Sarge from her further admonishments.
“Wow, look at all of this,” said Sarge hungrily. “You did all of this over the fire?”
“Absolutely,” replied Donald. “Better than a caveman could do, I might add. Of course, I had the assistance of my renowned surgeon, who expertly prepared the meats for easier cooking.”
Sarge patted J.J. on the back. “Well done, Dr. Warren.”
“Not quite. I’d say its more like medium well.”
The group laughed. Donald went on to explain how they prepared the turkey. J.J. and Donald had created a meat rub made up of a variety of seasonings, keeping Julia’s pregnancy in mind, of course. They’d covered the skin with olive oil, the seasonings, and then filled the turkey with boxed stuffing stored as part of their preparedness activities last summer.
As part of his preps, Donald had purchased cheesecloth for a variety of purposes. The primary reason was for water filtration. 1PP had a gutter and downspout system that emptied into large barrels positioned at each corner of the building. Before the rainwater reached the barrel, it was strained to remove any debris by the cheesecloth.
Cheesecloth also had a variety of medicinal uses, and it could be incorporated into camo netting, assist in insect prevention, and used for fishing.
In addition to sealing in the moisture of the turkey with the cheesecloth, Donald had wrapped the meat in several layers of heavy-duty aluminum foil. This protected the turkey as it cooked on top of the hot coals.
“Donald, we’re ready for you,” shouted Aunt Stella from the kitchen.
“Duty calls,” said Donald as he and J.J. proceeded with the gue
sts of honor to join the rest of the Thanksgiving fixin’s.
Julia noticed that Abbie was standing alone, staring out the window. Julia had a hunch and decided to speak with her.
“Honey,” she said to Sarge, gently patting him on the chest, “why don’t you join the boys and enjoy a glass of wine. I’ll catch up in a minute.”
Sarge kissed her again and whispered in Julia’s ear, “I love you.”
“I love you back.”
Julia approached Abbie, being careful not to startle her. She appeared deep in thought.
“Abbie,” said Julia quietly with the intention of announcing herself, “you know, it’s too early to start watching for Santa Claus to arrive.”
Abbie started laughing as she turned to Julia. She quickly wiped the tears from her eyes and sniffled a little.
“Oh, honey, what’s wrong?” asked Julia.
Abbie chuckled and wiped a few more tears. “I’m gonna miss Black Friday.”
Julia laughed out loud. “The shoe department at Saks Fifth Avenue.”
“We’re gonna miss Jimmy Choo and Christian Louboutin,” said Abbie.
“And Prada,” added Julia, who began to shed a few tears in solidarity.
The two women, who’d both loved Sarge in their lifetimes, were having a moment and hugged each other. Jealousy over Abbie’s past relationship with Sarge never crossed Julia’s mind. She and Abbie had become closer after the cyber attack.
“How absurd were we?” asked Abbie rhetorically. “I would trade all the shoes in my closet and all the stupid Black Friday shopping expeditions for just one thing.”
“What’s that?” asked Julia.
“Oh, Julia,” she started to reply, “the one thing I can’t have—Drew.”
Julia didn’t know what to say. The uncertainty surrounding the events at Camp Blanding had weighed on Abbie’s mind for weeks. When she finally realized that Drew was warning her about Morgan’s involvement in the cyber attack, she was crushed.
