HOME
We made it home where more family waited. This time there was a meal prepared, and although people asked questions, they were from family. They mostly wanted to see that the twins were okay. No one could believe how big they’d gotten. Last time we were home, they were only a year old. Now at six, they were like little adults. They both had scars on their arms. Charles had one on his face that would be there forever. He’d fallen through a sticker bush while picking berries. It would have been fine, but he kept picking at it, saying that it itched.
There was nothing that compared to my mother-in-law’s cooking. We ate far too much, until I was almost sick. The twins controlled themselves, surprisingly. Their diet had been so limited that they liked more bland cooking. Moose and canned green beans, four-year-old rice cooked in a pot on the wood-burning stove.
Every meal was a feast back then. It was just us. No distractions. I wondered about getting another cell phone. I brought my old one out of Alaska, but it would no longer hold a charge. Now I’d be able to download all the pictures I’d taken. Thousands of them, of us, the city, our home, and of the Community at Chena Hot Springs.
We met our new nephew. He was two and what a blast he was. He was completely unafraid of our dogs. The twins liked him right away. He was their only cousin.
They’d named him after my wife and me. Maddie Charles wasn’t a usual name, but after meeting him, we had no doubt he’d make it work.
We were happy when everyone left. I knew we needed help to manage our lives, so I called an old friend from the Marine Corps who’d moved into public relations after he retired. We hired him as our agent. He said he’d drop everything and meet us the next day.
We strolled outside. The weather was nice enough that a flock of turkeys made the mistake of venturing into my mother-in-law’s yard. Phyllis and Husky went after them with a vengeance. They’d learned to hunt ptarmigan to help put food on the table. The two dogs treated the turkeys like a future meal. We didn’t stop them as they each caught and killed a wild turkey. The dogs happily brought them to the house. I asked Madison’s mother for knives so we could clean the birds. They’d make for a great meal. It was nice to have spices again.
My mother-in-law was shocked, but when Madison shrugged then nodded, she understood that we didn’t want the turkeys to go to waste. Wishing she hadn’t seen it wouldn’t make them any less dead. We rewarded the dogs with Milk Bones. It had been a while since they’d gotten such treats. They might never get moose again, so Milk Bones it was.
My friend, and now our agent, made sure we didn’t get any more surprises like the mayor had given us. We could live our lives on our terms, while fulfilling our duties to a grateful nation.
As it turned out, everyone was overjoyed that a group of survivors made it out three years after the DMZ had been supposedly vacated. Although the Lower 48 wasn’t at war, in their minds, anything that showed the Russians to be liars was embraced fully. Especially since we were proof they tried to bomb us instead of evacuate us. That violated terms of some agreement somewhere that people trotted out when it suited them. It meant nothing to me.
We had an agent. I shook my head after getting off the phone with the President of the United States. Another politician, but this was the same guy who’d abandoned us, then declared victory by keeping the war away from the continental United States. I thought it looked like lipstick on a pig. The President, however, said something that caught my ear and made me think. He mentioned that in the next phase of the treaty, Alaska needed settlers to establish a new foundation from which America could regain ownership of the contested land. I wanted to know more, but he offered that we talk in the private setting of the Oval Office.
Our agent arranged everything. All we had to do was show up at the gate. My friend also took care of things to ensure we made enough money in our fifteen minutes of fame that we’d never have to work again. The money people were throwing at us for this or that was obscene. I was offered millions for my memoir, as an example.
We also had the power of the White House to clarify that issue where my retirement pay had been stopped when we were declared dead just after Fairbanks was nuked. They owed me a great deal of back pay. Our life insurance policies had both paid my mother-in-law. She was happy to give us all the money, but the insurance companies were making noise about getting their money back.
Our agent took care of that, too. We kept the money, and all we had to do was a thirty-second commercial.
There was plenty of time for us to be alone and enjoy the company of my wife’s family. My parents had both passed away in the last four years. I called my siblings, but didn’t make any plans for a visit. I didn’t feel like traveling. My friend was a godsend. We did plenty of interviews, but from a local studio that was video-conferenced with places like the Today Show out of New York City. They pushed hard for us to travel, but our agent shut them down.
We also called our fellows from the Community. Everyone was getting more attention than they wanted. We were of a like mind that our privacy was paramount. Those faring the best were still in Dawson City. They had joined a new Community, bigger than ours, but it felt about the same size. People kept to themselves.
I was surprised to hear that Chris and Colleen’s baby had not yet been born. We wished them well as we always did, and gave Colleen our best. Madison and I could both see her smile as she thanked us for our sentiments. The twins missed the Community. They were the only family the two had known, and they were comforted by what the others would do for them. Maybe they got that from me. It took a long time before I gave anyone my full trust. I was open with everyone, ready to shake a hand, but my pistol was always within reach.
Although we wouldn’t take it to Washington D.C. They frowned on armed patriots showing up on their doorstep, bizarrely enough.
THE WHITE HOUSE
My friend and agent accompanied us on our visit to the President. We spent some time talking over ways I could avoid showing my disdain for the man. Whatever we wanted to get from the exchange would have to be done with tact and grace.
That caused me some anxiety. I had to treat it like a stage production where I played a role. I spent half the five-hour drive trying to get into character. A nice guy, appreciative of everything the government had done for us.
I felt sick to my stomach. I must have turned pale, because Madison put a hand on my back and told me put my head between my knees. I was pleased that I didn’t have to drive, as we were riding in another limousine. I’d quickly gotten used to getting chauffeured, probably too quickly.
I was better driving my snow machine or even a dog team. I was more me because I had time to think. The so-called “normal” world moved too fast for us. I wondered how long it would be before it came crashing down around our heads.
All we had to do was survive our fifteen minutes of fame, and then maybe people would leave us alone.
We met the Press Secretary at the back gate to the White House and he escorted us in. We passed through a metal detector and everything we carried was X-rayed. It made sense to me that we could have been a threat to the President, but he invited us, which made it worse to get checked as if we were vagrants off the street.
We had to wait in an outer office until we were appropriately summoned. We should have been flattered, but we weren’t. I could feel my blood starting to boil. I felt like a bad kid waiting outside the principal’s office while he talked with my parents. And then I looked at our two six-year-olds. They stood there in their new clothes, looking proper. They had more patience than any first grader I’d ever met. They were far more mature than they should have been. The trial of our lives made them grow up. Too fast? No. They grew as fast as they needed to, as fast as they wanted to.
The door opened and the President walked out, which seemed to take the Press Secretary by surprise.
He greeted us warmly and apol
ogized for the delay. He was much taller than me and cut an imposing figure. The President used to be the most powerful man in the world, but that was before this one lost American territory to an enemy. I shoved that thought to the back of my mind as we took our seats on the couches in front of the President’s desk.
“First, Chuck and Madison, Charles and Aeryn, I want to welcome you to the White House. And second, I want to apologize on behalf of the United States for your hardships in Alaska. The attack came as a surprise, the destruction so complete that few survived and most of those suffered from radiation sickness. We will get Alaska back. Our flag has fifty stars because there are fifty states.” The President ended his short speech with a nod as he looked at each of us. The twins sat patiently, but none of it meant anything to them.
To us, it meant a great deal. “Thank you, Mr. President. We needed to hear that, and it was best hearing it from you,” Madison said. I looked at her in surprise. She was an academic and could readily speak to any audience. She had prepared herself better than I had. I let emotion cloud my words, and I didn’t bother trying to hide my feelings.
You can always learn something. I gave her hand a squeeze. I couldn’t have been more proud.
“Thank you, Mr. President. I know we have some things we need to talk about that you mentioned on the phone, but first, would you be so kind as to let Aeryn and Charles tell you what it’s like to mush a six-dog team across Alaska?” The President snickered. He’d had small children once and appreciated their candor. He asked the twins to teach him how they did it.
The two stood up, which we weren’t prepared for, and adjusted the coffee table as if it were the sled. Then they put people in each of the positions, lead dogs, swing dogs, and wheel dogs. They explained that the six-dog team didn’t have any team dogs, but Abigail had promised them twelve-dog teams upon their return, and then they’d have two or four team dogs. The President and I were the lead dogs, which was odd since all of the lead dogs on the twins’ teams were females. They must have understood innately how politics worked.
The President’s photographer snapped a number of pictures and the most popular in the next day’s papers was one where the President and I were laughing as we crouched forward to lead the “team” deeper into the snow of the Great White North. The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs and the Secretary of Defense were the swing dogs and Madison and the Press Secretary were the wheel dogs. It was a good picture and one that we’d keep with us forever.
After the twins ran through the demo, they went on a private tour of the White House with the Press Secretary. I asked if a Marine could accompany them as that was the level of protection they were used to. The President appreciated my position and asked a Marine in Dress Blues to make it happen. He saluted smartly and followed the group out, returning shortly after making the arrangements. He nodded to me with a tight-lipped smile.
I hoped that I’d get a chance to talk with him and other guards before leaving.
“I’ll get right to it. If we leave those two kids of yours alone for too long, they’ll take over the world,” the President said with a smile. “One clause we worked into the treaty with Russia is the reestablishment of American settlers in Alaska. We figure that the Russians want the oil-rich north slope, but it is barely habitable.
“If you didn’t know, they dropped a nuke in Prudhoe, so the pumping station and much of the pipe is gone. It would be an extensive effort to bring it back on line for even a fraction of the oil it used to pump. We think they have something in mind, but we’re sure they won’t be successful. That leaves the rest of the state. If we can colonize it with more people faster, when the final count comes we’ll get to retain possession. And I agree, we shouldn’t have to work the angles to keep something that is ours. But resettling puts the UN behind us. Although this is a UNSC issue, we’ve both agreed to waive our veto authority in this regard. We have the votes, as long as we have the people settled.
“And that’s what we want from you, your Community, and anyone else we can get who wants to live a subsistence lifestyle. There is the one catch. The settlers cannot receive any governmental assistance. They have to make it on their own. This is why we know the Russians won’t be able to recover oil on the Slope. They can’t do that with what they can carry on their backs while trying to survive inside the Arctic Circle. We’ll catch them cheating and we’ll present that evidence to the UN.
“Are you in?”
I looked at my wife. She smiled and nodded. “It’s hard to say no to that.” I stood and offered my hand.
As he took it, he said, “There’s one more thing. We’ve made some progress in stem cell research. If you stop by Johns Hopkins this afternoon, they’ll be waiting for you. How’d you like to breathe again?”
I was shocked. I stepped back and looked up at the man. What had he just said?
“The doctors pulled your records from the VA and they think they can get you back to seventy-five or eighty percent lung capacity. Does that sound like something you’d be interested in?” the President asked.
“I, I don’t know what to say,” was the best I could come up with. I hoped that meant I wouldn’t need to take medications anymore or at least fewer of them. It sounded like we had to go with what we could carry. “Of course we’ll stop by Johns Hopkins.
“I have something,” the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs said.
I interrupted him, “What could be more than that?”
“We’re recalling you to active duty and promoting you to colonel.” The Chairman smiled broadly as he delivered the news. He held out his hand.
I looked at him stupidly. “Say what?”
EXPERIMENTAL PROCEDURE
The Chairman explained that I didn’t need to do anything while we were still in the Lower 48, but that being active duty was a way for me to draw full pay and be the head of any military operations in Alaska. He didn’t elaborate, saying that I’d get briefed at the Pentagon over the next couple days while I was undergoing the stem cell procedure.
Madison was not good with my return to active duty. I promised her that I wouldn’t put on the uniform. To maintain our neutrality as settlers, I didn’t think I could be active duty, but that was for the bureaucrats to figure out. The way I saw it, I was going to get paid for doing what I was going to do anyway.
And if they could repair my lungs, I’d get on my hands and knees and kiss their feet if they asked for it.
The five of us arrived together at Johns Hopkins and, as promised, they were waiting for me. My friend and agent, Frank, said he’d take the twins sightseeing while Madison and I stayed at the hospital. Today’s part of the procedure would only take a couple hours. Tomorrow would be an hour, with an hour every two days after that, but the follow-up procedures would be done at the VA hospital in Pittsburgh.
I cleaned up as if I was going into surgery. I had to scrub my body down with antiseptic and put on the funky blue gown that was open in the back. As usual, I had to ask myself, what’s up with that?
They explained that the procedure involved taking stem cells from my bone marrow, which meant inserting a needle through into the larger bones in my arms and legs, the femur and humerus. I understood there would be some pain, but nothing prepared me for it.
Getting a needle as big a soda straw jammed into your leg and through the bone about made me bite through my lip. I sweated profusely and hyperventilated, solely because of the pain. It was only one needle, yet the pain extended through my whole body. Finally, one down and three to go.
They gave me oxygen and an IV with saline solution. I’d get antibiotics and pain medicine once the procedure was complete. I urged them to hurry.
They had to pound on my other leg as I had tensed up to the point of cramping in anticipation. The needle went in and sweat or tears ran down my face. I didn’t care which. I had my eyes closed, and I could hear Madison’s voice, seemingly com
ing from far away. When they pulled the needle from my leg, I howled in agony. My back hurt from arching against the pain.
When they inserted the needle into my arm, that’s the last I remember of the procedure. They complimented me afterwards, telling me that most people passed out before then. They’d never had anyone remain conscious through the whole bone marrow extraction.
The doctor announced that he had enough stem cells. I would not have to get violated by any more pencil-sized needles.
Once it was over, I was in a much better mood, but I needed a shower. I was soaked in sweat. We called Frank on my new iPhone that AT&T provided as part of a short commercial we did for them, along with a significant sum of money as we showed some of the pictures I’d taken using the old phone. The screen wasn’t even cracked. AT&T’s byline was that their phone survived a nuclear attack. Buy AT&T. I reminded them that we hadn’t had service the past four years, but their marketers said that didn’t matter. It worked for us.
Frank didn’t care where or how we got our phone. He said that he’d be right back with the children, and then he’d take us where we were staying. After he became our agent, we were taken care of without having to worry about any of the details. We didn’t know where we were staying, but we expected something nice. We didn’t think we deserved it, but that’s beside the point.
Frank directed our driver back to the White House where we were set up in the Lincoln Bedroom.
That was a treat. Too bad I had to leave early the next morning for briefings at the Pentagon. Madison and the twins enjoyed breakfast with the First Lady while Frank gave me a muffin after he picked me up. I had to admit that the coffee in the White House would spoil anyone. We had coffee the entire time in Alaska, except for a few days while mushing for our lives. Even then, whenever we entered a house or business, they almost always had coffee. You know what’s better than nothing? Four-year-old stale coffee.
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