The Last Full Measure

by Trent Reedy

  “Pretty cool, huh, Wright?” TJ said.

  “Is that a snow joke?” I said. TJ’s smile fell. “I’m just messing with you.”

  “Hey, you pussies!” Cal yelled from the floor above us.

  “Cal, do you really think that top level is gonna hold up your fat ass?” TJ answered.

  “Hell yeah it will! Because …” He drew out the last word. “Because I’m king of this damned mountain, and none of y’all can unthrone me!”

  “Cal, the only throne you’ll ever sit on is the toilet,” I said. I’m not gonna lie. It felt good to joke.

  “Bring it, bitch!” Cal said.

  “I thought you said I was only supposed to come out and look at the place,” I said.

  “Well, if you want to see the top floor here, you’ll have to take me down.”

  I looked at TJ and Jaclyn, who smiled and nodded. “Let’s beat that smug bastard.”

  Becca and Sweeney hurried up to join us. “Not without us,” Becca said.

  “You two were down there for a long time.” Jaclyn gave Becca a little shove.

  Becca looked at me nervously for a moment, but then went on, “Yeah, well, we were trying to keep warm.”

  “You guy-ys!” Cal called out in a singsong voice. “I’m getting bored up here.”

  “Becca and Jackie, take the stairs,” Sweeney said. “We’ll go up the slide. But give us a head start. It’s hard to climb up that thing.”

  Sweeney led us out to a snow slide that sloped down pretty sharp as it curved around the outside of the tower. Still, the snow was a little wet, so we could dig into its outside edges with our fingers and make our way up.

  “I hope you like that slide, boys,” Cal said above us. “ ’Cause I’m gonna knock your asses back down it.”

  “Charge!” Becca shouted before we’d reached the top. We could see her and Jaclyn grab Cal and shove him hard down the slide. He laughed as he knocked into us, sending us guys down the snow chute as well. We all collapsed on the ground at the bottom of the slide. “Sorry, Jackie,” Becca said from above us. Jaclyn came tumbling down the slide too. “Nothing personal,” Becca called, holding her hands up in the air. “New game! Queen of the mountain.”

  “That was a short reign, Cal,” Sweeney said.

  Jaclyn laughed. “You’ll pay for your treachery, false queen Becca!”

  “False queen?” Becca said. “I’m right here. Where are you, my servants?”

  “Are we gonna stand for this, you guys?” TJ was on his feet. He laughed as he ran back into the bottom room. “I’ll take the place myself!”

  Cal was right behind him. “You’ll never make it up before me.”

  Sweeney leaned closer and put his hand on my good shoulder. “Stupid and childish.” He tipped his head toward the snow fort. “But fun, right?”

  “It’s not that fun,” I said sadly.

  “What?” said Sweeney.

  “You okay, Danny?” Becca called down.

  Shooting my foot behind Sweeney, I pushed him back to trip him. Then I threw Jaclyn to the snow in the same way and ran for the snow fort. “That was fun!”

  We battled for control of that stupid snow fort until it got dark. If we’d had moonlight, we would have kept going. It was the first outright fun I’d had since JoBell died, the first laughter, the first time — the guilt flooded in as soon as the thought hit me — the first time I’d been able to do something without her on my mind. Is this what Jaclyn had been saying about living for others? Forgetting the woman who was almost my wife?

  Those kinds of thoughts cut through my mind during chow. Afterward, me and my friends went to the library, where all guards coming on shift were supposed to report before going to their positions. The fireplace was kept burning, and coffee was on all night. It had become the place where my group all hung out. Usually I only stopped in right before I went on duty. I hadn’t been in the mood for fun and joking around.

  Now it was just my group, plus Tim Macer, Brad Robinson, and Samantha Monohan, sitting in a semicircle in front of the fireplace. I sat on one end of the couch with Jaclyn next to me and Sweeney and Becca on the other side of her. Cal and TJ each had one of the two big, comfortable chairs. Sam sat on Cal’s lap. The rest had pulled up business chairs from the council table, where Lieutenant Griffith sat reading a book.

  “Dude, it’s seriously great to have you with us again,” Sweeney said to me. “It’s good to see you have some fun. And since we’re actually off the guard duty rotation tonight, I have a surprise for you.” He got up and pulled some books from one of the shelves.

  “You know I’m not a big reader,” I said.

  Sweeney flashed a grin that, except for the burn scar on his cheek and neck, was just like his old I’m-up-to-something-type smile. He reached back behind some books and pulled out a flat, wide bottle of brown liquid. He held it up like a trophy. “I found this on one of our scavenging missions. I know we’re supposed to share everything, but I was saving it for a special occasion.” From the way his eyes fell, I figured the occasion he was talking about was me and JoBell’s wedding. “But since … Well, since you’re back with us now, I think that calls for a celebration.”

  “Hell yeah!” Tim Macer said.

  “Who says you’re getting any?” Cal said. “You’re just a sophomore.”

  Tim’s mouth dropped open a little. It was one of those expressions where you could tell someone was hurt, but he was trying to act like everything was cool.

  Sweeney burst out laughing. Cal joined him. “Macer, I was just giving you shit. You better have some of this.”

  Samantha laughed and kissed Cal’s cheek. “You guys are so mean to him.”

  “Gee, Eric.” Becca spoke in an exaggerated acting voice. “If only you had little cups so we could all have some together.”

  Sweeney leaned his head against the bookshelves like he was sad. “I know. I’m a failure.” He looked up. “Unless … Wait a minute. What is this?” He reached back between some books and pulled out a plastic sleeve of little wax paper Dixie cups. “Would you believe these were back there the whole time?”

  Jaclyn laughed. “No, I wouldn’t believe it. Now would you pass the cups and pour us some of that already?”

  Sweeney bowed. “Yes, my lady.”

  “Hey, I was the last queen of the mountain,” Becca said.

  Sweeney passed out the cups and then filled them. “Yeah, we’re all going to get at least three big shots out of this bottle.”

  Lieutenant Griffith pulled a chair up to our circle. “Do you mind if I have some? Maybe pour one for Chris Stone, around the corner in Crocker’s room?”

  “Make that two and a half shots.” Sweeney poured some for Griffith and Stone.

  “I don’t know if you officer types can handle it, sir,” I said.

  Everybody whooped at that. The lieutenant smiled. The whole thing felt so normal. And underneath it all, I couldn’t shake the feeling that normal was wrong.

  When Griffith came back with a smiling Chris Stone, Sweeney tapped his cane on the floor to shut everyone up. He raised his cup, and we all did the same. He looked us all over and nodded. “To the best of friends.”

  “Hell with that.” Cal held his cup high. “To family.”

  “To surviving,” Griffith added.

  “Amen,” said Stone.

  We all knocked back our drinks, and then came the usual wow! whoo! strong stuff! and gasping after a round of shots.

  “Hey, none of you are underage, right?” Lieutenant Griffith smiled and pointed at us with his cup. “ ’Cause I could tell my mom on you.”

  “I swear, sir,” said Becca, holding up her hands in surrender. “This is the one and only time I’ve broken the law.”

  We laughed again, and this time Sweeney passed the bottle around for people to pour their own. “Don’t be hogs, everybody. About an inch should do it.”

  Brad Robinson laughed. “So fill it about as high as your dick is long.” Sweeney flipped him
off. Stone filled his cup again and nodded to all of us before he went back to his radios.

  “I can’t believe we’re drinking with the son of the president of the United States,” Jaclyn said when the bottle got to Griffith.

  The lieutenant filled his glass and raised it at Jaclyn. “I can’t believe I’m alive and free to drink this because I was rescued by the US’s number-one most wanted rebel insurgents.”

  I took another shot, and then opened my mouth to blow out the heat. “We ain’t insurgents. We gave up on the war. Now there’s just …” What? What was left after JoBell was gone?

  “Staying alive,” Samantha said.

  We went on like that, sitting in front of the fireplace, drinking and joking, for a few hours. Kemp came in after a while, the flickering light from the flames making weird shadows dance on his black eye patch.

  “Sergeant Kemp!” Cal held up the bottle of bourbon, sloshing around what little was left in the bottom. “Polish ’er off fer us, wouldja?”

  Kemp raised his eyebrows, took the bottle, and downed the rest, closing his eyes and taking a sharp breath in through the nose to savor the burn. “Thanks. Hey, you guys might want to hear this. All that work Stone’s been doing to our radio and antenna system seems like it paid off. He’s got something on speaker in Crocker’s room.”

  We made our way to our feet, if a little shakily. Cal reached over to Macer, who was nearly passed out. “Shtop. Wait minute.” He grabbed Tim’s cup. “Masher’s cup. Shtill some liquor in it.” He held it up. “To Sergeant Crocker. Helluva man.”

  He drank the bourbon that was left in the cup, and we went to the next room, the radio room we’d named in honor of Sergeant Anthony Crocker.

  Stone smiled as we came in. “You all ever hear about this guy called the Cliffhanger?”

  “We’ve listened to him sometimes,” I said. I thought about how JoBell had loved that show. Always JoBell.

  “That dude supposedly’s been all over Pan America —” TJ started.

  “He did go all over. There’s nowhere he wouldn’t go,” said Stone.

  “Broadcasting about peace and stuff, like out of the back of a van or something,” Sweeney said. “Everybody else is locked in a war, and all he’s worried about is radio.”

  “Pretty gutsy,” Becca said.

  Stone nodded. “Not only radio, but he also got his message out by Internet, TV transmitters, podcast, and even paper flyers he’d leave around town. He must be transmitting from a real commercial radio station tonight, must have the transmitter power as high as she’ll go, because it is coming in crystal.”

  “In almost every city in the Pan American territory, you’ll find message boards, scraps of paper tacked to walls, bits of hope carrying messages to loved ones. The Cliffhanger always tries to get these messages on the air. And you know, I can read the writing on the wall. I’ve found more than a few notes thanking the Cliffhanger for helping to reunite lovers, families, friends.

  “Anne Chambers has left a message, dated today, in Caldwell, Idaho, for her family. ‘I’ve gone to Twin Falls looking for you. I have a motorcycle and a shotgun. If you make it back here, stay here. I’ll be back in two weeks.’

  “Ca-aldwell is just outside of Boise,” I said quietly, my head spinning in booze. “Place’sh taken pounding. Fed soldiers come in from Oregon. They fought it out there couple times.”

  Two days ago in Boise, Evangeline Jennings posted a photograph on the wall of a bombed-out coffee shop near what’s left of the Idaho capitol building. She asks, ‘Has anyone seen my baby girl? Charlotte Jennings, four years old, went missing last night. Police can’t help. She also goes by the name “Charlie.” I will check back here every day at noon. If you know where she is, please help. I’ll pay anything. Do anything. I need my daughter back.’

  “You know, listeners, I see more and more of these missing persons notes everywhere I go. Too often, it’s a young child, a teenage girl. A fractured nation hangs on the edge of a chasm, and in those dark depths is a nightmare reality in which women and girls are sold for the use of their bodies, in which others are sold into the bondage of slavery.

  “No, I’m not reading some old book from before our first Civil War. I’m talking about what we’ve come to now, in our time. A lot of the Pan American territory is ruled, not by one of the fourteen governments who claim legitimacy through votes or force, but by fear, as people live in terror of ruthless criminal gangs and brutal warlords. One such dangerous militia rules in northern Idaho and eastern Washington. The Brotherhood of the White Eagle proclaims itself to be the protector of all people, a force for freedom, but the Cliffhanger has seen the truth! The Brotherhood seizes what they want for themselves by force, playing the part of the merciful protector when they allow their allies and supporters a few scraps from their feast. The Brotherhood is, in fact, a dangerous white supremacist organization, the leadership of which is far more organized and cunning than the dregs of our former society who populated the Ku Klux Klan or the Aryan Nations. What is more, the government of the Northwest Alliance works openly with the Brotherhood, relying on them for security in the region, so busy in their war against the United States that they are unable — or unwilling — to put a stop to the atrocities committed by the Brotherhood. What atrocities? Murder! Extortion! Arson! Theft! Rape! Slavery!

  “You may not believe me, but truly, the Cliffhanger came back to Idaho after hearing a tip on the location of one of my closest friends. He’s a technical whiz who helped keep the voice of truth coming to you over the airwaves night after night. And he was captured, chained up, and made a slave by the Brotherhood of the White Eagle, until his camp was liberated back in September.”

  We all looked at Stone, who backed up in the rolling office chair a little and shrugged.

  “You know the Cliffhanger?” Becca asked. “You worked with him?”

  “It’s not easy rigging all those transmitters and the generators to power them,” Stone said.

  “And I have more news for you, my friends. The Brotherhood of the White Eagle and the Northwest Alliance have been generating sympathy, drawing people to their twisted banner, with the sad story of how the United States killed PFC Daniel Wright and his friends, how Wright died fighting for the Brotherhood. It is a lie! Daniel Wright was alive as recently as last September when he fought to liberate the slave camp that held my friend. He fought against the Brotherhood! He helped rescue almost fifty people!”

  “Oh shit,” Sweeney said, grabbing my shoulder to steady himself.

  “I wish he wouldn’t have said that,” Kemp said. “It was better, safer, when nobody knew you were alive. We left no Brotherhood survivors, so until now, they couldn’t have known you were involved in wrecking their camp.”

  “The Cliffhanger doesn’t hold back the truth,” Stone said. “But this also shows that at least some of the people from the camp who went on the road survived long enough to spread the word about how they got out. They might have told people about this school.”

  “We don’t know that,” Jaclyn said.

  “Shtill.” I shook my head against the booze. I needed to dry out. “I better tell da council. We gotta be ready in case da Brotherhood comes for us now. For me.”

  “The Brotherhood and other groups have been hunting for me, offering rewards for my capture or for even a snippet of information about who I am. Well, tonight I will tell them, tell everyone, the exact truth of the identity of the Cliffhanger.

  “The Cliffhanger is a mother in Kentucky who goes without food for days so that her children can eat. The Cliffhanger is the tornado victim in Nebraska who has lost his home, when there are no insurance companies to help him rebuild, no materials on the market with which to rebuild, and no disaster relief agency to assist him in his time of need. The Cliffhanger is the exhausted soldier, the people on the run from bullets or bombings, the grandmother crying in the street because she has outlived her children and her children’s children. The Cliffhanger is the family huddled i
n the dark basement where they thank God they’ve made it through another day, the laborer with no work, the child with no food, refugees with no home! The Cliffhanger is an entire generation of people holding on to the edge of hope and humanity with their last … sliver … of strength.

  “This war isn’t about freedom, democracy, or security. It’s no longer even about a handful of opportunists who will do anything to take what they want from this world. It’s about death, suffering, indignity, and the collapse of our civilization. The Cliffhanger is everywhere, and calls upon people everywhere with one question. Where does it end? If we continue to trade an eye for an eye, a life for a life, we will grind our society into dust. We will drive our species toward extinction. Have hope, my friends. True justice is not a futile quest to balance a scale. It isn’t a scale at all. It is a book, the pages of which are not yet written. We must make the right choice for the next chapter in our shared story. What will you do to throw away the scale, and make sure the story of us continues with hope?”

  The Cliffhanger went on longer like that, but I sort of stopped listening. That last bit stuck with me, and it took the party spirit out of me so that I didn’t hang around down there much longer but went up to my room. I lay awake in my empty bed until long after Sweeney and Cal had hit the rack. The Cliffhanger’s words wouldn’t leave me alone.

  * * *

  That night I walked out into the bite of the cold night air, my boots crunching on the hard-packed snow of the empty path. A light breeze whispered through the needles of the trees overhead, like the whispers of the ghosts of everyone who’d died in the war. If the people who’d died at the Battle of Boise could make their voices heard right now, what would they say? If Lieutenant McFee were here, what orders would he give? If the wind carried the wishes of Staff Sergeants Kirklin and Donshel, Sergeant Ribbon, PFC Nelson, and Specialist Stein, what would they tell me? If Herbokowitz, Bagley, and Luchen could speak again, what would they offer? I closed my eyes. What would my mother say?

  I slid down a frozen rocky slope into the sad little valley where our people had buried our dead. Moonlight glinted on the snow that covered the gravestones. It was older snow, and heavy. I brushed off one of the markers to reveal her name.