The next night the attack came. As Jonas reached for the sleeper in the top bunk, John struck out at his vulnerable mid-section with a fist to the groin; the guy went down with a groan.
While Austin stood on one of his hands and John knelt on the other, Jonas’ eyes fluttered open. John had taken the knife from his boot that had been missed during the initial search and held it to the attacker’s groin. When Jonas was fully conscious, John brought the knife up to his eyes so he knew what had been pressing on the most sensitive part of his anatomy.
“I don’t want to see you even looking in this direction again, Jonas. Is that clear?” John said calmly.
***
During the second week of his internment, a sergeant stood at the front of the common room and called out a list of names, including John’s. One by one, they were led to another room where three officers were seated.
“Mr. Tiggs, it says here you were picked up carrying a weapon,” the middle officer read from a file. “Is this true?”
“Yes, sir, it is. I was at the mall to do some grocery shop—”
“I don’t need to hear the excuses or reasons you broke the law, Mr. Tiggs. This report also says you broke out of your cuffs and assaulted a member of the military. Is this true?”
“Yes, I broke out of the cuffs. No, I did not assault anyone. I was Tasered and fell against the young man,” John answered. “Does that report mention what happened to my money? Twenty-five hundred dollars.”
“The report says your pockets were empty except for your car keys.”
John huffed and knowingly grinned.
The three huddled and spoke in low tones for a few minutes. Then they resumed their seats.
“Mr. Tiggs, although we are well within our rights under Martial Law to detain you for as long as we see fit, you have a clean record and certain talents that may be useful to us. So we’re going to make you an offer: Work release.”
“What talents and doing what?” John asked, although being out of this hell-hole would be worth any kind of work.
“Last week, on August 24th, Florida was rocked with two earthquakes, a 7.8 followed by an 8.2. The southern half of Florida is now under water. We need relief workers, and your explosives background might well be needed. If you agree to work, doing whatever is needed, for the next six months, minimum, you will be set free.”
John sighed and thought, Six months before I can head back to Michigan and to Allexa. Six months to purge my anger and guilt. Six months to forget that Christine doesn’t need me anymore. Six months, maybe longer.
“I’ll do it.” John said, “You can either have a body that needs to be told what to do all the time, or a willing volunteer but I have conditions.”
“What are your conditions?”
“First, I want to talk to my daughter, so she doesn’t worry,” John said. “Next, the young man I was housed with, Austin, was picked up outside of his own house only a few minutes past curfew, and that’s just not right. I want him returned to his family.”
“I think those are reasonable conditions, Mr. Tiggs. And for this you will be cooperative and use your background to assist FEMA?”
“Yes,” John replied, stone faced.
“Then I think we have a deal.”
***
“Hello?” Christine hesitantly answered the phone. The phone number that was displayed was from out of state and not at all familiar.
“Hey, baby girl,” John said, smiling when he heard his daughter’s voice.
“Daddy!” she said with glee. “Are you back in Michigan?”
“No, baby, I’ve decided to go to Florida first and do some rescue work for a while and work a few things out in my head, ya know?”
“That’s very generous of you, Dad. Are you okay? You sound a bit off.”
“Just stressed, that’s all. I’ll be fine,” John assured her. “How are you and Trevor?”
“We’ve both recovered, although Trev is still having headaches. My limping is getting better,” she said. “Oh, and Daddy… we’re going to have a baby!”
“I’m going to be a grandpa? That is wonderful news, Christine, just wonderful!” John was delighted with the announcement. “When I’m done in Florida in about six months, I’ll come and see you before I head to Michigan.”
He hung up the phone they had let him use. He was still under supervision of course. He gazed at the three men watching him. “Okay, when do we leave?”
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I must thank my editor, Felicia Sullivan first. She guided me through the change of style I used in this book, and hopefully I learned enough to make it easier on her when she got the final copy.
I could never forget to thank my three beta readers: my friend Sherry F. (maybe someday we can actually meet); my brother Tom for his somewhat slanted view on life which matches my own; and my son Eric, for his youthful view of what could unfold and for keeping me straight on all things military - and for getting me into an NG compound so I could climb inside a real Humvee!
My readers and fans are the best! They have supported and encouraged me to keep going when I was ready to end the series and I thank you for that.
And my final thank you is to my publisher, Michael Wilson at Permuted Press, for his faith in me.
I’ve had many ask about the poems at the beginning of each book. These are all original poems, written by me, throughout my life, some going back fifty years. They have all been written to mark something important in my life, and have little or no relevance to the story that follows.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Deborah Moore is single and lives a quiet life in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan with her cat, Tufts. She was born and raised in Detroit, the kid of a cop, and moved to a small town to raise her two young sons, then moved to an even smaller town to pursue her dreams of being self-sufficient and to explore her love of writing.
Her first published novel, The Journal: Cracked Earth, made the Best Seller’s list in just six weeks, and was followed by Ash Fall, Crimson Skies and Raging Tides.
The Journal: Fault Line (The Journal Book 5) Page 24
