Apocalypse unleashed lb-4

by Mel Odom

  “Sergeant Samuel Adams Gander, known to many of you through these reports simply as Goose,” Danielle said, “was leading a resupply convoy to one of the outposts overlooking the Turkish-Syrian border. Things have gotten desperate here, but the men of the United States Army’s 75th Rangers are persevering.”

  The television cut to a close-up with a young soldier. Bruises and cuts showed on his face.

  “I gotta tell you, ma’am,” the soldier said, “things here are mighty bad. Syria isn’t letting up, and they’d like to sweep on into this area and take over. There’s generations of bad blood between most of the people here, and those soldiers aren’t afraid of spilling any of it.”

  The camera’s eye swept over a scene of the running gunfight. Joey stared at the images intently, trying to figure out which one was Goose. They all looked the same to Joey. His inability to see Goose frustrated him, making him angry and scared all at the same time.

  Would Goose understand what had happened at the mall that night? Joey wasn’t sure. As much as he wanted Goose there, he was also terrified of telling his stepfather what he’d done.

  “It was a close thing out here tonight,” the soldier went on. A caption identified him as Private First Class Mike Dunney. “But Goose- Sergeant Gander, I mean-he pulled us through it all right. He’s a good soldier. The best the army has to offer, if you ask me.”

  Pride flushed through Joey.

  “That’s your dad, isn’t it?” the kid on the couch asked.

  “Yeah.” Joey was surprised at how choked his voice was. Goose had been more of a dad than Joey’s biological father had ever been.

  “Must be scary. Him being over there, I mean.”

  Joey wanted to be angry with the kid, but he couldn’t. It felt good to talk about Goose. “It is. I think Mom’s really scared.”

  “Yeah. I get that.” The kid hesitated. “I don’t know where my dad is. Don’t know where my mom is either. I got up one morning; they were gone. I was all alone in the house.”

  “Scary,” Joey commented.

  “Yeah.”

  “That was here at the post?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Your dad’s army?”

  “My mom. First lieutenant. Dad taught high school. Physics.”

  “Never cared much for physics,” Joey said.

  “Me neither. But Dad would talk about it all the time.” The kid sat up on the couch and wrapped the blanket around him, though it wasn’t really cold. Not like it would be in another month. “I kind of tuned him out when he’d talk about stuff. Wish I hadn’t done that now.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  They were silent for a moment, watching as Danielle Vinchenzo ran another of the pieces on Goose.

  “Seems like that reporter has a thing for your stepdad,” the kid said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “She’s always talking about him.”

  “I don’t think it’s that,” Joey replied.

  “Then what?”

  Joey thought about it for a moment. “I think she sees Goose as kind of every soldier over there. Goose is just… a soldier, you know. Just the kind every guy over there is like.”

  “She talks about him like he’s a hero.”

  “I guess he is.” Joey thought it was strange that he hadn’t thought of Goose that way before. Goose had always been there for him. Always been such a… dad. A lump formed in the back of Joey’s throat. If I told you about this-about what happened at the mall-would you understand, Goose?

  Thankfully, according to the news report, Goose was all right. Joey let out a tense breath as the news program shifted to a speech Nicolae Carpathia was going to deliver to the United Nations later that day.

  “Is anything else on besides the news?” the kid asked.

  “Like what?”

  “Cartoons. Something like that.”

  Giving in to the inevitable, knowing the kid wasn’t going to shut up, Joey tossed him the television remote control. “Knock yourself out.”

  “Thanks.”

  Joey stood.

  “Leaving?” the kid asked.

  “Yeah. Gotta go walk.”

  “Want company?” The kid reached for his shoes.

  “No.” Joey started for the door, not giving the kid the chance to catch up to him.

  Local Time 0611 Hours

  Joey took his old ten-speed from the garage out back. He’d helped Goose build that garage, along with the fort that Chris had played in. For a while after Chris was born, Joey had been small enough to swing in the swings with his little brother. That had changed pretty quickly.

  He made himself stop thinking about Goose and Chris as he swung aboard the ten-speed. He pedaled by memory, trying hard not to give any thought to where he was going.

  Fort Benning seemed deserted. According to the news, at least a third of the people around the world had vanished. Numbers were still coming in every day. Those numbers could change. Military bases had been really hard hit, as had the police forces, fire departments, and emergency medical services.

  Military jeeps with armed soldiers riding shotgun patrolled the camp housing. After the disappearances, a lot of soldiers and their families living outside the fort had moved back inside the perimeter. When it got dark, though, everyone went inside. The camp was still on alert, and the nocturnal hours were carefully watched.

  Joey loved the feel of the breeze in his face. For a few moments, he could pretend that he was younger, that he was just a kid again. But as soon as the military jeep sped up behind him and switched on its lights, that feeling went away.

  7

  United States of America

  Fort Benning, Georgia

  Local Time 0617 Hours

  The alarm clock woke Megan Gander. She shot out a hand and silenced it before the second offensive bleat could sound. She lay quietly on the camp cot in her bedroom and listened to the snores of the girls sleeping in her bed.

  It was the most peaceful sound in the world right now. At least in this corner of the world, people were safe and well cared for.

  As always, her first thoughts and prayers were for Chris. Though she felt certain in light of everything she’d come to understand about events in the world that Chris was in a far better place, her son’s absence remained difficult to deal with.

  She missed Chris terribly. Some nights, when Goose was away in the field, as he was now, Megan would let Chris watch cartoons and share her bed. She’d done the same thing with Joey. Especially after the divorce from her first husband.

  They’d both been lonely, and the apartment she was renting at that time had only a single bedroom. She hadn’t wanted Joey sleeping on the couch all the time. As soon as she was able, she’d gotten a two-bedroom apartment.

  Her cell phone vibrated in the pocket of the flannel pajama pants she wore. Reluctantly, she pulled it from her pocket, checked caller ID, and pushed herself from the cot.

  The number came from the fort’s hospital. That couldn’t mean good news. Not this early.

  “Megan,” she answered in a whisper.

  “Did I wake you?” Aisha Waller asked. She was the night supervisor at the hospital.

  “No. The alarm did a few minutes before you called.” Megan looked at the girls sleeping in her bedroom. All seven of them, three on the bed and four in sleeping bags on the floor, were between thirteen and sixteen. All of them had lost their parents and siblings in the rapture.

  “I wanted to let you know that Lindsey Perlman got admitted a couple hours ago,” Aisha said.

  “What happened?”

  “She tried to commit suicide. Took a straight razor to her wrists.”

  The announcement hurt and scared Megan. The Tribulation had already manifested all around the world. The next seven years would be the most trying and terrifying mankind had ever seen. People who failed to find Jesus during these times ran the risk of being lost forever.

  “How is she?” Megan went to her closet and t
ook out pearl gray slacks, a midnight blue blouse, and fresh underwear.

  “The docs got her leveled off,” Aisha answered, “but it was a near thing.”

  “You could have called me earlier.”

  “And let you miss out on sleep? Sure. But that wouldn’t have helped the kids you’ve got to counsel today, would it?”

  Megan made herself relax and breathe out. “No.”

  “All you could have done was the same thing I was already doing: pray for that girl. I promise, I was doing enough for both of us.”

  “I know.”

  “Even had a couple of MPs in here helping. Between us, we got it all done.”

  “You’re right.”

  “Just because I called doesn’t mean I’m in a hurry to see you in here. I know you usually get up about this time, and I didn’t want you finding out about Lindsey from anyone else.”

  “Thank you for that.”

  “You’re welcome. The docs say she’s going to be sedated most of the day. They don’t want to run the risk of her fighting to get out of bed and tearing open everything they had to do to save her. When you get rested, and when Lindsey gets rested, then we can see about you talking to her.”

  “All right.”

  “So my advice, girlfriend, is just do whatever you had planned to do today. Then come in for your regular schedule. It’s going to be a long day.”

  Local Time 0624 Hours

  After a quick shower instead of the bath she craved-with a house full of teens, hot water would be at a premium-Megan dressed, prayed for Goose, and went into the kitchen. She’d planned to make breakfast at home this morning, and she didn’t want to change that. With everything else that had gone awry in the world, she needed simple household chores as a touchstone.

  “Hey, Mrs. G.” Gangly Brian Wright sat at the kitchen table with a PSP in his hands. He was thirteen and obsessed with video games. A mop of brown hair hung in his eyes.

  He was a recent addition to the Gander home, brought in from his parents’ house only a few days ago. His dad was in eastern Europe at the moment, and his mom-one of the best women Megan had known-had disappeared in the rapture.

  Brian had lived on his own for weeks. Megan had organized a search for children of military families who lived off-post. The provost marshal’s office had put the search teams together. They had most of the families squared away now, but new ones still came in every now and again.

  “Good morning, Brian,” Megan said. “Did you get any sleep?”

  “Some.” Brian’s fingers flew across the video game. He was ADHD, and Megan knew he often didn’t sleep well.

  “Want to help me with breakfast?” Megan went to the pantry and peered in. Thankfully the military was bankrolling all the homes at this point. Especially the ones that had taken in stray teens whose families had gone missing.

  “Girls’ work,” Brian replied scornfully.

  “I’ll keep that in mind when it’s time to wash dishes and take out the trash. Even boys can do manual labor like that.”

  Brian sighed theatrically. “Man, you’re tough.”

  “Yep. Just be glad I don’t make you salute or drop and give me fifty every time you don’t ‘ma’am’ me.”

  Brian paused his game and gazed at her. “Are you kidding me?”

  “About the salute, the fifty, and the ‘ma’am-ing,’ sure. About having a choice between helping make breakfast or cleaning up after it, no.”

  “The most I know about breakfast is pouring it out of a box and adding milk.”

  That, Megan lamented, seemed to be the case with most of the kids she’d come in contact with. She took a magnetic Post-it pad from the front of the refrigerator, wrote COOKING LESSONS on it, and put it back.

  “‘Cooking lessons’?” Brian asked. “For me?”

  “For all of you. I’m quite sure the commissary could use the help, and you guys could definitely use lessons that will make you more autonomous.”

  “What’s autonomous?”

  “It means self-sufficient. Able to take care of your own needs.”

  Megan took loaves of French bread from the pantry, cinnamon and powdered sugar from the spice rack, milk and eggs from the refrigerator, and sausage links from the freezer. “How do French toast and eggs sound this morning?”

  “Great.”

  “Good. Let’s try to keep the mess to a minimum.”

  Local Time 0632 Hours

  Preparing breakfast relaxed Megan as it always did. There was something about the simple task of making a meal for someone else to enjoy-although making breakfast for nearly thirty people was by no means simple-that grounded her. It was mindless labor, a series of movements that had been perfected over seventeen years of being a wife and mom.

  God, thank You for this work right now. I don’t know how I’d keep it together if I didn’t have it.

  As the kitchen filled with breakfast smells, teenagers started to pour from the bedrooms and game room like zombies in a horror film. Most of them weren’t verbally social in the mornings, but they liked to be around each other.

  A few of the girls stepped in to help with the cooking. As they came on board, Megan fired up extra burners as well as three electric hot plates. Within minutes, the extra laborers had been absorbed into the process, and French toast started to pile up. That also signaled the feeding frenzy. Syrup flowed and smothered plates of powdered French toast.

  Megan poured whole packages of sausage links into quart-size Dutch ovens full of water, brought them to a boil, and fished the sausages out. That way there wasn’t as much grease. Then she dumped the water and started all over.

  “Everyone knows you have school today, right?” Megan asked.

  A collective groan swelled up from the group.

  “That’s what I thought,” Megan said. “Since this is Monday, a new chores list has gone up. Check it before you leave.”

  That drew forth another groan.

  The negative response actually made Megan feel better. If the teens were feeling good enough to complain about school and chores, they were getting closer to normal. At least, as normal as the world would ever be again.

  For seven short years, Megan reminded herself. She looked around the group, suddenly realizing that Joey wasn’t among them. A wave of guilt washed over her. She was constantly overlooking him these days, it seemed, and she didn’t know why that was.

  “Is Joey still asleep?” Megan asked.

  The five boys who currently sacked out in Joey’s room shook their heads. “He wasn’t there when I got up, Mrs. G.,” one of them said.

  “He was watching television this morning,” Snake said. He was the skater boy who’d turned up a few days ago. He still hadn’t told Megan what his real name was, and he didn’t have any ID on him. She was going to have to do some kind of paperwork on him eventually.

  “Watching television?” Megan repeated.

  “Yeah.” Snake shoved a triangle of syrup-covered French toast into his mouth, chewed briefly, and swallowed. Syrup ran down his chin, and he wiped it away on a sleeve.

  “Ewww,” one of the girls said. “Maybe you want to chew your food next time.”

  “What?” Snake asked in honest puzzlement.

  “Joey,” Megan reminded.

  Snake focused on her and nodded. “Yeah. Joey. Television.”

  “What was he watching?”

  “Surfing. Caught a little of the news. Saw a piece on there about your husband.”

  Megan’s heart raced. She forced herself to be calm. “What about my husband?”

  “He was in some kind of battle over there.” Snake shrugged.

  One of the girls smacked Snake on the back of the head.

  “Hey,” he protested.

  “Maybe you could tell her what it said about her husband,” the girl said icily.

  “He’s fine. He was running a supply route. Took some fire. They killed the bad guys. End of story.”

  Megan breathed a sigh of relief, but
she added another nugget of information to her cache about Snake. He was relaxed with the military-speak. Either he was a gamer or he had a parent involved in the armed forces.

  “Probably catch it later, too,” Snake said. “That hot chick on OneWorld was covering the story.”

  “We don’t refer to women as ‘hot chicks’ in my house,” Megan said.

  “Yeah, well, if you saw this one, you might change your mind.” Snake colored. “I mean, if you were a guy.”

  And he embarrasses easily, Megan noted. Maybe you’re not as tough as you act like you are, Snake.

  “You are such a jerk,” Kendal said. She smacked the skater in the back of the head again.

  “Hey,” Snake protested again and stepped to the side so he’d be out of reach. “Don’t be such a-” He brought himself up short. He’d already been warned about language.

  “Neanderthal,” Kendal said, folding her arms and frowning with as much displeasure as a fifteen-year-old could muster. “Maybe you should find a cave to live in.”

  “Enough,” Megan said, putting the teacher edge into her voice that she’d learned helped to keep order in her house.

  The kids quieted. They kept passing food around.

  “Joey was watching television,” Megan said. “Then what?”

  Snake shrugged. “He blazed. Got up. Walked out. Sayonara, baby.”

  “Did he say where he was going?” Megan didn’t feel good about Joey’s sudden departure. The last time he’d disappeared like that, he’d come back days later with his face a mass of bruises and afraid of his own shadow.

  “I offered to go with him,” Snake said. “He told me no.”

  “Did he say where he was going?” she repeated.

  “No. He just left.”

  “Was he upset?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “He knew Goose was all right?”

  “Yeah. We talked about it.”

  “What did he act like?”

  “Like he wanted to go somewhere else. That’s why he left.”

  Frustrated, Megan turned her attention back to the latest batch of French toast and barely managed to rescue it from burning. “Who has class with Joey?” she asked.