One of Our Own: Final Dawn: Book 11

by Darrell Maloney

  “None of the girls wanted to learn. And the boys, they weren’t very good at it.

  “Guns were always against the rules at Shady Rest. So only a few of the boys had actually even seen one. Mostly they were scared of them. A couple of the men made fun of them for that. They said the boys would never really be men until they could shoot a rabbit and chug a beer and… you know… be with a woman.

  “Still, they weren’t all that bad. Rude and sarcastic and maybe a little bit mean.

  “But then the sky smelled like dirt again and turned brown again. It went from hot weather to icy cold within a single day.

  “That’s when everything changed.

  “They decided there wasn’t enough food and fuel to keep everybody fed and warm. And they said that after a couple of the boys tried to stand up to them they could no longer trust them.

  “They killed them. All the staff and all the boys except for two.

  “They kept two of the boys… Mac and Robert, alive. They said they were the best behaved of the bunch. That they’d earned the right to live.

  “But it was all a trick.

  “They made Mac and Robert drag all the bodies outside, and to pour gasoline all over them and to burn them. It made a huge fire.

  “But they were just using them. Once they’d set the bodies on fire they shot them too. Then they threw their bodies into the flames with the others.

  “After that they argued among themselves. Some of them wanted to keep some of us around. They said to cook and clean for them and to play with.

  “Every time they said, ‘play with’ they laughed and made crude jokes. We knew what they meant.

  “The others said no, they could have all the women they wanted after the world got warm again. But if the women ate all the food they might not make it that long.

  “They… did bad things to several of the others. Then when they were finished they handed us the key to the van and told us to leave.

  “They told us we were lucky. That none of them had the heart to shoot women. And that they were getting low on ammunition anyway. They said they didn’t want to waste bullets on us, and that we were lucky because we got to leave.

  “We didn’t know where to go, so we turned in the direction of Eden. Most of us were familiar with it, because we used to go there occasionally to the library to check out books. We didn’t know what was in the other direction, and we didn’t know where else to go. So we headed toward Eden.”

  She seemed to be overwhelmed and stopped for a minute to compose herself.

  Marty took the opportunity to ask a couple of questions.

  “You keep referring to the Shady Rest. What is it, exactly? I’ve never heard of it.”

  “Shady Rest is… or was, I guess, a home for unwanted children. At least that’s what we all called it. It was a home for kids with no family, only it wasn’t run by the state. It was set up by a very rich woman before she died, and continued to run off her money after she was gone.”

  “Like an orphanage.”

  “Right. Except that very few of us ever got adopted. That’s why we called it a home for unwanted children. Some called it the island of misfit toys. We weren’t young enough or pretty enough or smart enough for anyone to want us, so we were just biding our time there until we turned eighteen and they set us free.

  “The reason you’ve never heard about it is because it was pretty isolated. I mean, we couldn’t even see the highway from the grounds, and there was a long and winding road we had to drive down to get to the highway. I guess they wanted to keep the misfits and ugly kids from the decent people of the world.”

  “You must have passed by the old prison. Why didn’t you stop for help?”

  “See, I was right. I told Melissa it used to be a prison, but she said it wasn’t. It doesn’t say prison on the sign anymore, but I was sure that was it. I remembered it from the field trips to Eden, when we used to drive past it.

  “Now the sign in front says Eden South or something…”

  “Yes. That’s it. We renovated it and made a shelter out of it. Why in the world didn’t you stop there for help?”

  “We did. That was the first place we stopped. They turned us away.”

  “What?”

  Marty was equal parts shocked and enraged.

  He brought the truck to a halt in the center of Highway 83 and turned to look at Art, who was sitting on the trucker’s bunk listening to the conversation.

  Art just shrugged. It was news to him as well.

  “Honey, who was it exactly who turned you away? Do you remember?”

  “I don’t know. He had on kind of a military uniform, but not quite. I mean, it was definitely a military uniform, but didn’t have any of the stripes or nametags or patches that regular military uniforms have.

  “And since he didn’t have on a nametag, I don’t know his name. I’m sorry.”

  “No, I’m sorry, honey. They should not have turned you away. We put a lot of work into that place for the purpose of helping people. Not to banish them to fend for themselves and to die in the cold.”

  “He said he didn’t want to send us away. But that he had to. He had his orders, he said.”

  “I don’t care. I promise you I’ll get to the bottom of this. I’ll find out who turned you away and I’ll make sure he’s punished.”

  Charlotte swallowed, and then stated the obvious.

  “That’s all well and good. But punishing him won’t bring my friends back to life.”

  -56-

  The scene at Joint Base Lackland was especially dim and dreary. A bitter wind had come in out of the north and was causing the loose snow to dance.

  Under other circumstances it might be considered rather pretty.

  But not here, not now.

  Not when the outside temperature was hovering around twenty degrees, the wind chill factor was around ten, and there were precious few places to hide from the conditions.

  As promised, the civil engineering squadron placed burn barrels here and there around the area where onlookers were keeping vigil over the bunker.

  The barrels were just empty fifty five gallon drums with their tops removed and holes cut on their sides to provide plenty of airflow.

  For generations, tens of thousands of young Air Force airmen completed basic training at the base.

  One of the requirements for graduation was that they complete a grueling half-mile long obstacle course in a heavily wooded area just east of the Wilford Hall Medical Center.

  The obstacle course was treacherous, consisting of monolithic obstacles which trainees had to climb over, swing over, crawl over… whatever they had to do to make it over the finish line in an acceptable time.

  Some of the obstacles were six or seven stories high, constructed with heavy timbers and hundreds of railroad ties.

  Airmen in general hated the obstacle course, known not-so-affectionately around the base as “the beast.”

  The beast hadn’t been used since the days just before Saris 7.

  Chances were it would never be used again.

  So the engineers decided to put it to use in another way.

  Selleck’s troops were climbing over the mammoth structures like so many ants, dismantling them piece by piece and dropping the pieces to the ground below.

  Different crews were loading the pieces of timber and railroad ties onto front end loaders, which were transporting their loads two miles overland to the bunker site.

  Still other crewmen were standing by with chainsaws to cut the wood into chunks, which were then tossed one at a time into the burn barrels.

  The burn barrels put out heat of several hundred degrees. It wasn’t quite enough to offset the bitter cold.

  But it sure took the edge off it.

  Those who were lucky enough to own recreational vehicles, or who had the guts to steal one from an area dealer, lined them up on one of the hillsides overlooking the bunker.

  Those who were in tents positioned their tents
in a circle around one of the barrels. Close enough to take advantage of the heat, yet far enough away to avoid an occasional ember.

  Between the barrel and the tents was a second circle, this one of lawn chairs, where spectators mingled, roasted marshmallows and hot dogs, and drank stale beer and fresh tequila shots.

  All the while waiting for the standoff to come to an end.

  No one knew how many people were in the bunker, or what its internal dimensions were.

  The only thing they knew for certain was that whoever was in there would need air to breathe.

  And that, their air supply blocked, they’d have to come out at some point.

  What happened after that was the subject of much speculation.

  Colonel Wilcox maintained that, since he was in charge, it would be a standard military operation. Those exiting the bunker would be taken prisoner and would stand trial for their crimes.

  However, there’d been wild rumors spreading through the camps that twenty or more armed onlookers were poised to stage a coup.

  That they would overrun Wilcox and his security policemen and take control of the operation.

  And would execute all the Washington politicians taking refuge in the concrete shelter.

  Nobody really knew how the situation was poised to play out.

  And truth be told, it probably wasn’t a good place to be if there was even a remote chance of gunfire breaking out.

  But people couldn’t help themselves.

  It was one of the peculiarities of human nature.

  They tend to place personal safety secondary when it comes to watching something big go down.

  Many a person has been buried after bragging they had the best seats.

  As darkness stretched into day, those who slept through the night started to stir, relieved that they hadn’t missed anything.

  Those who stayed up all night were exhausted and ready to hit the sack. But not before they got assurances from their friends that they’d be shaken awake if anything were to happen.

  Colonel Medley and Lieutenant Swank were exhausted as well.

  Medley was a doctor by trade. Swank was an administrative specialist who now served as the base commander’s executive officer.

  Neither of them had ever experienced anything like this before.

  It’s said the life of a soldier is waiting for hours on end being bored to death, then going through a few seconds or minutes of absolute terror. Then going back to waiting again.

  Medley and Swank had never been in real combat. But they could now imagine what it must be like.

  For hours they’d been watching the only door to the bunker, trying their best to stifle yawns and keep their eyes open.

  And knowing full well that at any second their quarry might burst out that door with automatic weapons, mowing down anyone in their sight.

  It was an unnerving thought.

  The pair spent the night in a command post vehicle they borrowed from the San Antonio Police Department.

  It was lightly armored; meaning the body of the vehicle would stop some types of small caliber bullets.

  But not anything meant to pierce armor or anything over a .45.

  And certainly not high caliber rifle shells.

  Both were relieved when Colonel Wilcox and Master Sergeant Selleck came in to relieve them at oh seven hundred hours.

  The military always does an outbrief at shift change. It’s the chance for the outgoing shift to tell their relief what they’ve been doing, what happened, what was about to happen.

  And any other pertinent information that needed to be carried over to the next shift for continuity purposes.

  In this case it didn’t take long.

  “No change since you left twelve hours ago. Nothing. Nada. It’s like you never left.”

  “Terrific.”

  Dining hall personnel had been up all night, preparing hamburgers and french fries by the hundreds, then bagging them all up and taking them to the site.

  Nobody asked them to do it. It was just their way of making their friends and neighbors as comfortable as possible for what could conceivably be a vigil which lasted for many more days.

  This morning they also brought donuts, which was a pleasant surprise for everyone.

  Colonel Wilcox, who wasn’t exactly known for his geniality, told the airman delivering the donuts, “I love you guys for doing this. I wish I could give you a medal.”

  It was the donut guy, looking over the colonel’s shoulder as they spoke, who said, “Hey! The door is opening.”

  Everything changed in a flash.

  Someone yelled, “Get down!”

  It was an unnecessary order, for everyone was already scrambling for cover.

  The heavily fortified concrete door weighed several tons and took at least two men to push open.

  Even with two men, it didn’t move quickly.

  In this case, it didn’t move far either.

  But then again, it didn’t need to. For it wasn’t being opened for anyone to come out.

  It opened only far enough for what appeared to be a broomstick to poke through.

  To the end of the broomstick was tied a simple white flag.

  Thank you for reading

  ONE OF OUR OWN

  Please enjoy this preview of the next installment in the series,

  Final Dawn Book 12:

  WHERE COULD HE BE?

  Frank Woodard had always been a rather affable guy.

  He had a reputation as someone who could get along with anyone, friend or foe.

  When he was a homicide detective he was able to solve even the toughest of cases because suspects and witnesses opened up to him. They saw him not as the big burly cop he was, but as a confidant. A big brother, if you will.

  He’d also used his personality as a tool to talk his way out of sticky situations on occasion.

  In the Super Foods Distribution Center he’d been trying to do the same thing.

  As he saw it, it was his best option for escape.

  He’d been at the center for several days now and was putting two completely different plans into effect.

  One was simply to be the wonderful guy everyone back home knew him to be. He’d be respectful to his captors. He’d kid around with them. Crack jokes. Help them with their problems. He’d try to amplify his relative worth in their minds by offering advice. Sharing all his talents with them.

  He’d tell them all he’d learned about being a prepper. He’d do more than his assigned chores.

  He’d make it very hard for them to find a reason to kill him.

  The other plan he was working on was his escape plan.

  His dynamic personality and jovial nature wouldn’t help him with that.

  But his excellent memory and keen analytical mind certainly would.

  Frank had a habit of taking tiny bits of information and filing them away in the recesses of his memory; information which he might be able to use to his advantage at a later date.

  He’d always done that, since he was a boy. It had helped him in his high school years because he was able to file away obscure bits of knowledge that sometimes made their way onto exams later.

  As a cop he remembered tiny details of cases that everyone else either didn’t notice or forgot. Sometimes he’d remember those bits of information and see their significance when others couldn’t. He cracked many cases by putting together obscure pieces of the puzzle that others didn’t even know existed.

  For example, when they arrived at the distribution center he was hustled out of the Humvee so quickly no one ever asked him what he did with the keys. No one saw him toss them beneath the driver’s seat.

  They were in such a hurry to get inside they simply forgot all about them.

  They took Frank out at gunpoint and shoved him toward the personnel door between loading docks 44 and 45; something else Frank committed to his memory.

  Frank knew several things. He knew that if he could somehow get loose for a
ny length of time, all he had to do was to make his way back to that doorway between docks 44 and 45.

  And that right outside his Hummer would be waiting, its keys still under the driver’s seat.

  He also knew that he’d have to make his move relatively quickly.

  The Hummer had been in the back of the mine for a long time. It had routine maintenance on it over the years, but Frank had no idea how old the battery was.

  If it was a fairly fresh battery it should be fine.

  But if it was an old battery it could be problematic.

  For older batteries were notorious for refusing to start under extremely cold conditions.

  And it was extremely cold outside.

  As Frank saw it, he needed to make his escape sooner than later. Within the next couple or three days.

  After that there was a good chance his Hummer wouldn’t start. Then he’d be afoot in a white winter nightmare that could kill him within hours unless he found shelter.

  And he had absolutely no idea where that shelter might be, if it was available at all.

  He learned just after his arrival that Justin and John never really had any plans to kill him during their journey. They’d planned to use him to drive them to the distribution center and then to do it.

  But as they drove along John had another idea.

  Everyone at the center had chores to do. And some were more disgusting than others.

  The pans beneath the two port-a-potties had to be removed and dumped outside every day to keep the potties from stinking up the place.

  Somebody had to go around with a mop and bucket and clean up after the two poodles Stacy had insisted on bringing in with her. Poodles she loved as much as her children but which everyone else thought were pains in the butt.

  And there were other chores which weren’t really disgusting but which everyone had tired of doing.

  Like boiling drinking water every day or two.

  And walking to the far reaches of the huge center to fetch things for meals.