by Hunt, James
Liz crawled over and straddled his waist as she climbed on top of him and gave him a kiss on the nose. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
“I know,” Charlie said.
Liz raised her eyebrows. “Do you?” She smirked. “Because right now you don’t look like a man who believes that.”
Charlie ran his fingertips down Liz’s sides, keeping quiet.
“Are you nervous about tomorrow?” Liz asked.
“Yeah.” Charlie spoke the words in a sigh.
The raid had provided Charlie the needed distraction from having to think about tomorrow’s ceremony. He’d been dreading it since his mother brought it up three months ago.
Martha Decker wanted a ceremony for her dead husband, Harold Decker, and she wanted the entire orchard to come and pay homage. She told Charlie that if it weren’t for his father that none of what they had here would even be possible. It wouldn’t have been so bad if his mother hadn’t requested he give a speech.
“Do you want me to go over it with you again?” Liz asked.
“No.” Charlie frowned, shaking his head. He’d already gone over it a hundred times, and reading the two pages he’d scribbled down was hardly going to make him feel better.
Liz pulled Charlie’s face toward him. “Hey. You’re going to do fine.”
“Thanks.”
But as Liz rested her head on Charlie’s chest, he couldn’t force himself to believe it. And as he drifted off to sleep, the nightmares returned.
Charlie was thrust back into the woods, running through the charred and smoking remains of the orchard the morning after the fire.
But this time when he made it out to the road and headed for Mayfield, there was no assistance from Dixon and getting a ride into town. He ran the entire trip, his feet pounding against the pavement. But no matter how fast he ran or how far, the road stretched to an endless horizon.
His sub-consciousness pushed his body past the point of fatigue, past the point of failure, but still his legs moved forward.
Muscles aching and his lungs burning, Charlie finally saw the sign for town, and above Mayfield were dark storm clouds. Lightning flashed and thunder rolled.
Charlie ran past the burnt wreckage of the town. Bodies lay in the street, disfigured and burned.
The hospital building towered up ahead, but there were no soldiers, no terrorists that surrounded the power plant as Charlie neared the ER’s entrance on the first floor.
“Dad!” His voice had reverted to when he was a little kid. The same fear and uncertainty that plagued him as a child returned to him in the nightmare.
Charlie stepped over slain bodies, tripping over legs and arms on his path toward the stairs. He screamed for his father the entire journey up, and the closer he moved toward the top floor, the worse that anxiety became.
But while he strived toward his father, unsure of what he would find, his body and muscles slowed the way they did in dreams sometimes. No matter how fast he tried to move, or how much effort he exerted, he couldn’t move faster than slow motion.
Finally, after the grueling snail’s pace, Charlie reached the top floor. He immediately spied the door where he remembered finding his father.
Charlie paused in the doorway, and he saw Harold Decker on his back, blood still pouring out of his stomach from the gunshot wound that killed him. He lay twisted and mangled, motionless. Charlie stepped toward him, and the tears began to fall.
He crouched by his father’s side, examining the fatal wound that killed him, and then picked up his father’s hand. It was still warm to the touch, and as Charlie sobbed, he struggled to speak.
“I’m so sorry, Dad,” Charlie said. “I should have been here with you. I should have listened to what you were trying to do. Because you were right. You can’t sit back and expect things to be taken care of for you. You have to do them yourself, or they won’t get done at all.”
Harold remained motionless, and then, slowly, he turned his head to face Charlie.
“You should have been here,” Harold said.
Charlie squeezed his father’s hand. “I’m sorry, I—”
“You were always weak. I tried to make you stronger, Charlie. I did. But I failed. You’re still weak. You’ll always be weak.” Harold pulled his hand away from Charlie’s grip. He stared at his son, but while he spoke and moved, there was no life in his eyes.
“Dad?” Charlie gently shook his father. “Dad!”
Harold remained unresponsive and motionless. He no longer looked at Charlie, his eyes staring off into some empty space in the corner of the room.
“I’m sorry!” Charlie sobbed, his cries intensifying. He clutched his father’s arm, squeezing tight, wanting another chance to right the wrongs, to make everything the way it was before. “Dad!”
But his nightmare wouldn’t afford him such luxuries, and he was forced to mourn his dead father. Again.
8
People had known about the ceremony to honor Charlie’s father for over a month. It was Liz who had done most of the preparation for the day, and Charlie helped where he could, but he distanced himself from the planning process.
From his position near the apple tree and the grave where his father was buried, Charlie had a clear view of the hundreds of people that had turned up. It was so packed that he couldn’t even see the back of the crowd.
Many of them had shown up in their normal work clothes, but Charlie saw combed hair and scrubbed hands and faces. Shirts that could be tucked in were done so willingly. Flowers, candles, drawings, whatever offerings they could give were brought to the grave.
Charlie held the piece of paper that comprised the speech he’d written down. It fit on a single sheet, and the loose paper buckled between his fingers from the steady breezing coming in from the east. He stood there, waiting for the last offerings to be given, and when everyone had a chance to pay their respects, it was Charlie’s turn to speak.
“Thank you,” Charlie said, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat then stared down at the paper, switching his glances between the crowd and his speech. “I didn’t expect this many people, but I know that me and my family appreciate your time, and your gifts.”
Smiles stretched the sun-soaked faces of the crowd. Every pair of eyes was concentrated on Charlie, and the longer he stood in front of their gaze, the more he sweated.
“My father grew up on this land,” Charlie said. “It was the only home he’d ever known. He told me stories about him and my grandfather. The long days, the trials that they faced to keep this place growing, to keep everyone alive.”
People nodded, the crowd leaning into his words.
“It’s a fight that continues today,” Charlie said.
A few grunts of affirmation accompanied curt nods. There wasn’t a face among them that wasn’t sun-soaked and lacking a few hours of sleep. And there wasn’t one among them that hadn’t experienced loss over the past year.
Charlie glanced down at his father’s grave. It was the first time he’d been back to visit since the funeral.
“I used to take for granted the promise of tomorrow,” Charlie said, his eyes lingering on the makeshift headstone that he and Mario had carved out on a slab of flat rock they found in the woods, then turned back toward the crowd. “We have new crops. We have food, water, shelter, we can protect ourselves from threats, but the only reason we’ve been able to do that is because we’ve done it together. And we’ll continue to do it together.”
Applause rippled through the crowd, and twice it looked like it was going to die out, only to be started up again with another raucous cheer that picked up the excitement like an earthquake rolling through the land. All save for one cheer.
Out of all the expressions Charlie would have expected to find on his mother’s face, disgust would have been the last one on the list. He knew that she hadn’t been happy with him for a long time, but he’d done exactly as she’d asked.
And still those hard lines were carved around her mo
uth and eyes, running along her forehead. It was hard to believe that she was the same woman who had raised him. The same woman who had always comforted him when he was scared, took care of him when he was sick, and was a patient and tentative ear whenever he needed someone to listen.
Charlie turned back to the crowd, unsure of how long his pause had lingered, lost in the order of his speech. He glanced back down at the paper, but the words might as well have been in a foreign language.
Mouth dry, Charlie glanced back up at the crowd and cleared his throat. “Anyway, I, um.” He scuffed his heel against the dirt and chewed on the inside of his cheek, then nodded to himself. “My father was never one for ceremony. He woke up before the sun, and he worked long after it went down. He was a man of repetition. He was a man of conviction. He was the strongest man I ever knew. So, thank you all for coming here today.” Charlie nodded. “Thank you very much.”
The second bout of gratitude was enough of a signal for the folks to recognize that his speech was over, and Charlie stepped off his soap box and walked back over to join Liz, Mario, and the other workers clapping him on the back and telling him that he did a good job.
“How are you feeling?” Liz asked, planting a kiss on his cheek and then rubbing his back.
“I’d take a raid over doing one of these speeches any damn day of the week.” Charlie plucked at his collar, sweat soaked through his shirt.
“I thought you were great!” Adelyn said, smiling up at him as she held Liz’s hand.
Charlie couldn’t help but return the kindness that the little girl had given him. “Thanks, kiddo.” He looked to his mother, wondering if she would say anything, but she kept her attention focused on the approaching crowd, then smiled pleasantly at every person that walked over and shook her hand.
“Thank you so much for coming,” Martha said.
And so it went for the next hour. Charlie, Liz, and Martha greeted the line of folks who had come to pay their individual respects to Harold Decker and his family.
By the time they reached the end, Charlie’s cheeks hurt from the smiling, and he massaged his mouth to loosen up the random spasms that plagued him when they finished.
After the last person, Martha turned to Liz.
“I’m going to take a walk by the river,” she said. “Thank you for your help this morning.”
“Of course,” Liz said. “Do you need anything?”
Martha smiled, shaking her hand as she hugged Liz. “No, my dear. You’ve done enough.” She broke off the hug and then cupped Liz’s face. “I just need some time alone.”
Liz nodded in understanding. “Of course.”
Charlie waited for his mother to finally acknowledge him, but she didn’t even look his way as she turned and walked toward the woods.
In addition to the ceremony, Charlie had instructed that everyone get a half day off, and people were already taking advantage of the opportunity. It was a rarity, and while Charlie didn’t like the lag in productivity, knowing that they were losing daylight, he understood the need for people to rest. It was why households received at least one leisure day a week. People needed time to reboot.
“Charlie.”
The sound of his name and the tone in which it was called forced Charlie to spin around quickly, and his sudden motion made Commander Dixon smile.
The pair of men shook hands, and Dixon then leaned over and gave Liz a kiss on the cheek. “How are you doing? It’s been a while since we’ve talked.”
“Been a while since you’ve visited,” Liz said, keeping Adelyn behind her.
“I was hoping you and I could talk, Charlie,” Dixon said.
Liz grabbed hold of Charlie’s arm. “Every time you come here, Dixon, Charlie ends up having to do something dangerous. So if that’s what you’re here to do today, on the day that is supposed to be reserved for honoring his father, I hope you’ll understand why we would decline.”
“Liz—”
“No.” The response was unwavering, and aside from stomping her foot in protest, Liz made her stance clear. “Not today, Charlie.” She stared at Dixon, but the commander simply raised his hands helplessly and then looked at Charlie.
“Whenever you’re ready,” Dixon said, then nodded to Liz. “I’m sorry.”
After Dixon walked away, Charlie took both of Liz’s hands in his own, though she kept trying to pull away. “It might be nothing.”
Liz picked Adelyn up off the ground, who had started to get upset, and locked eyes with him. “You’ve always been a bad liar, Charlie Decker.” Her expression softened, anger replaced with worry. “But I suppose that’s not a bad thing.” She kissed him softy, warmly, and then let him go. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Dixon was surrounded by the company of his advisers when Charlie approached. Each of them had their own personality quirks, and none of them were bad men. However, there were two of them that turned Charlie’s stomach sour every time they met.
The first was Sergeant Taylor Welkin. He was a tall man, thin and gaunt. Charlie wasn’t sure if he’d always been that way or if lean times had turned him into that, but either way, he always looked one stiff wind from toppling over. And he never smiled. Good news, bad news, he always reacted the same. And it was that lack of emotion that made Charlie nervous. The man was too calculated. He saw people as nothing more than chess pieces to use as he saw fit in whatever games he played in his mind.
The second was Lieutenant Colonel Lloyd Bartrum. Unlike Welkin, Bartrum was short, stalky, and more warthog than man. A thick, bushy unibrow crawled over the man’s eyes, which was always downturned in a frown. Charlie never knew what the man was concentrating so hard on, but he figured that it was nasty.
“Have you reconsidered giving us additional men?” Charlie asked, wanting to cut through the bullshit as quickly as possible. Bartrum and Welkin had an uncanny ability for bullshit, at least when Charlie was around.
Bartrum grunted. “I told you that’s what he’d think.”
“We need something from you,” Welkin added, that nasally tone giving him a stuck-up persona.
“I’m not talking to either of you,” Charlie said. “My question was directed to your commander.”
Dixon held up his hands before Welkin or Bartrum could respond. “Enough. From everyone.” He turned to Charlie and lowered his hand. “We need to talk. Privately.”
Charlie led them back toward his trailer, knowing that they wouldn’t be disturbed unless it was an emergency. Charlie wasn’t sure how that came to be, but he figured it was because the people that lived in The Orchard respected him. And to a certain extent, they feared him. Because he was the man at the controls, and at any time, Charlie could pull the lever or change direction and throw any one of them out in the cold.
It was a power that he’d had to wield only twice, and neither occasion went smoothly. But there needed to be law and order if they were going to rebuild. And if people got away with breaking the rules without consequences, then that order and control would be lost.
Charlie let Dixon in the trailer first, and then closed the door behind them. Charlie crossed his arms, staring at Dixon, who glanced around the small quarters.
“My grandfather lived in a mobile home,” Dixon said, spinning around and smiling. “I’d stay with him for a few weeks every summer. He took me all over the country. Saw a lot of places that kids my age never would have dreamed. He was ex-military.” He leaned against the pantry. “I think he’s a big reason why I joined up in the first place.”
“I’ve got a lot of items on my list today, and chatting with you wasn’t one of them,” Charlie said.
Dixon nodded. “We have a shipment coming in from Seattle. Computer chips. They’re the last pieces to bring the power plant back online. The transport is considered a high priority by us, and the enemy.”
When Dixon paused, Charlie shrugged his soldiers. “What does this have to do with me?”
“The intelligence you gave us ab
out the bombs, and those schematics…” Dixon pushed himself off the pantry and rubbed his jaw, which Charlie now noticed wasn’t shaven. “If they’d just approved my request for more men, then we wouldn’t even be in this situation in the first place.”
“What position?”
Dixon faced Charlie. “DC is aware of the threat that you found. It’s a coordinated attack that’s being planned at other utility installations around the country, though ours has the highest concentrated effort because the enemy knows how close we are to completion. The enemy wants to keep us in the dark. It’s the only play that they have left.”
Charlie stared at Dixon for a moment, mulling over the words, and then it started to hit him, and he chuckled. “You can’t spare the men for the pick-up, so you need an escort team.”
“I’m comfortable with you running the mission, Seattle command is comfortable with it, and so is DC,” Dixon said. “It’s already been approved. All we need is your cooperation.”
Charlie raised his eyebrows. “Cooperation? Is that what you’re calling it?” He tilted his head to the side. “And I suppose that if I were to turn down this offer, I’d suddenly find myself without any ammunition, weapons, and vehicles to help protect the orchard and the people who live here?”
Dixon’s expression didn’t change, and it told Charlie everything he needed to know. “We’ve worked well together for a long time now, Charlie. You do this, then I will ensure that your orchard gets your requested security upgrades.”
Charlie shook his head and then spun around, trying to wrap his head around the situation. “And I don’t suppose that Seattle command has a set route ready?”
Dixon hesitated. “They’re working on clearing a path—”
“Oh, bullshit, Dixon,” Charlie said, angrily spitting the words back at the commander. “Seattle is still a hotbed of terrorist activity, and the truth is you and the rest of your top brass bosom buddies have no idea how many hostiles you still have left in the city.” He pointed west. “Seattle is a ticking time bomb, and if you’re telling me that this transport run is considered high priority on both sides of the ball, then you can bet your ass that there will be trouble.”
