Fire From The Sky | Book 12 | Embers

by Reed, N. C.

  “Is she in the way?” Gordon asked. “Hindering you at all?”

  “No,” Patricia’s voice was kind. “She’s worried sick and dealing with it as best she can. She’s very young to be going through something like this, Dad.”

  “She is that,” he nodded. “Well, if she becomes a problem, let me know and I’ll take her home. Maybe to her grandmother. Either way, I’ll move her out of the way for a while. She looks like she needs some sleep, anyway.”

  “Almost certainly, but so do most of us after today,” Patricia agreed. “I’ll call if we need you.”

  “Take care of yourself, Pat,” Gordon encouraged before leaving.

  “Right,” her answer came after he had gone.

  -

  “Watches will be in two hour increments tonight,” Jose ordered. “Everyone is tired. We’ll double up on the patrol numbers as well. Stronger patrols and maybe add one as well. Reaction force can sleep, but only if they’re geared up. We’ll see what tomorrow brings before we change things back to normal. I want a Hummer and a Cougar four-wheel on the pad, ready to move, at all times. Questions?” There were none.

  “Let’s get separated into new watches, then, and get our game faces back on,” he ordered. “We’ve got people holding the line that haven’t had a break yet. Let’s get them relieved so they can get warm, rest and eat. Move out.”

  The meeting broke apart, leaving Jose alone for the moment. He was surprised to see Martina Sanchez, his significant other, coming his way with a food container.

  “Since Mohammed won’t come to the mountain,” she teased, handing him the dish. He removed the top and immediately began to eat.

  “It’s not going anywhere, Amanté,” she teased, smiling. “How are you faring, mi Vida?” her voice softened, and her facial expression grew more concerned.

  “About as well as I can,” he shrugged, slowing his ravenous eating. “I’ll miss him. It was good to have him back even for a little while.”

  “I am sorry, Jose,” she held his arm gently, resting her head on his shoulder. “He was a good man.”

  “He was at that,” Jose agreed. “One of the best.”

  Similar discussions were taking place all over the farm. They had lost more people today than had been lost in total since the beginning of the disaster that had been the Storm. This time, there would be many empty chairs. While life would continue for the rest, they would be poorer for the absences.

  Some emptiness could not be filled.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The farm remained busy through the night. Those not on watch tried to sleep a few hours or else worked to ready gear and equipment for another day of fighting should it happen. The clinic was a beehive of activity even after everyone had received initial treatments. Visitors came and went, people slipping in to see comrades or ask about their prognosis, but only as they had time from other duties. The medical staff slept in two-hour shifts, buoyed by the arrival of the medical personnel that had accompanied Flores. Their presence meant that the farm’s medical corps could actually sleep rather than just catnap.

  By sunup, everyone had been able to eat at least one hot meal, sleep at least two hours if not more, refill canteens and ammo pouches and warm up. Most took the time to change socks to protect their feet from the cold and wet conditions, but no one hit the showers. Returning to the cold with wet hair and damp skin and clothing was just asking for sickness and recovering from such things was no longer a matter of a shot or a round of antibiotics.

  Leon used one of his drones to recon the farm’s perimeter once the sun was above the horizon, giving him light to see. Clay watched silently over his nephew’s shoulder as the drone’s camera dutifully revealed what there was to see.

  Which was nothing. There was nothing to see. Whoever had been responsible for the attack had departed completely. The collection of vehicles and horses that Jose had reported were gone this morning, the road empty of any traffic or signs of life at all.

  “All clear, Uncle Clay,” Leon said finally, once he had made a circuit of the farm. “Might be a body or two in the shadows, of course, and maybe even someone alive for that matter, but the camera is pretty good, and I took the pass as low as I could. Whatever was left of them is gone.”

  “Good,” Clay said firmly. “Thanks, Leon.”

  “Hey, it’s what I do.”

  -

  “We appear to be in the clear for now,” Clay told the assembled officers and NCOs. “That may last for hours, days or forever for all I know, but right now we’re okay. Flores, I want you to get with Jose and plan a mission to return to your old HQ and pick up anything of value you had to leave. That includes vehicles. If you didn’t have fuel for them, take enough to get them back here. I want this mission done in one day, mind you. Leave early and back as soon as humanly possible.”

  “We’ll return to regular watches tomorrow,” he continued. “No sense in driving our people into the snow if we don’t have to. We’re going to have to do some building, but that’s going to have to wait for better weather. First thing going up will be the new towers. They would have been nice to have yesterday.” A chorus of ‘Amens’ agreed with him.

  “We’ll likely have to undergo a reorganization soon. We’ve got so many people gone or down, our old chart won’t work anymore. But we can make it with patchwork for a week or so, I think. I’d rather it not go much longer, though, since we’ll need to have new units training together. It was superior training and organization that got us through this with so few losses. I know it doesn’t seem like few to those of us who lost friends, but the people who have seen combat before know better. If we hadn’t had our people so well trained, we’d be dead or wishing we were by now. We will continue our training regimen without letup, other than the next five days or so while we work to get back on track. Everyone can use a little rest, I think, and time to get over the shock of battle. For some of us, yesterday was the first taste of combat. They’re likely to need help getting over that. Be sure they get it.”

  “That’s all I have. Jose will take over the meeting as head of security. Lieutenant Flores and I have to check on some other things. Good work, yesterday, everyone. Make sure you tell those assigned to you that, too.”

  -

  In the aftermath of the battle, Clay had not had the opportunity to meet the people who had arrived with Flores. He was taking the time to do that now, with each member of her group introducing themselves and explaining their specialty.

  “Staff Sergeant Chandler Smith, sir,” a beefy looking NCO said first. “31 Bravo.” The designation for Military Police officer. “Thirteen years, sir. All of it as an MP, and as a civilian LEO.” Smith stepped back and a tall black man stepped forward.

  “Corporal Emmett Beaumont, sir, also 31 Bravo. Originally from Louisiana, sir. My family moved to Nashville when I was ten. Three years and change in uniform, sir. Attending Tennessee Tech when the world went dark.” Beaumont stepped back into the line, replaced by another who was not quite as tall.

  “Corporal Dax Cooper, sir, and I’m also 31 Bravo. Five years in. From Springhill, Tennessee. Rutherford County S.O. in civilian life, and CJ major at MTSU.”

  “Corporal Ian Towner, sir,” the next man stated. “Medic. An EMT for Metro Nashville Fire Department, sir, in civilian life.”

  “Corporal Regina Braddock, sir,” a willowy brunette stepped forward. “Medic. RN student at Vanderbilt, sir.”

  “Lieutenant Candida Guerrero, sir,” a short Hispanic woman was next. “Physician Assistant. I was also a PA in the civilian world and worked in the campus medical office of MTSU.”

  “Lieutenant Krysten Sands, RN,” a statuesque blonde with a no-nonsense look about her stated next. “I am also an RN in civilian life, working as a Cardiac RN for a heart surgeon. I’m originally from Centerville, Tennessee, but was living in Nashville when the lights went out.”

  “Sergeant Nessa Winfield, Unit Supply Specialist,” an athletic looking black woman stepped
forward next. Clay estimated her to be late twenties to early thirties. She looked as if she had probably majored in every sport available in whatever college she had attended.

  “I’m from Smyrna, sir, and was working as a warehouse supervisor before the calamity unfolded.”

  “Jorie Sunday, sir, PFC. 12 M Firefighter, sir,” a very young man with near copper colored hair didn’t quite stammer. “I was from Nashville, sir, but grew up in foster care. I’m hoping…sorry, sir. I was hoping to make the Metro Fire Department with my training in the Guard.”

  “Sergeant Sara Yamaguchi,” a woman of Japanese descent went next. Probably in her early thirties, Clay guessed. “91 F. I’m a fully certified gunsmith, including the manufacture of firearms of any type and caliber. I’m also fully trained and experienced in artillery repair and all crew served heavy weapons.”

  “Sergeant Pacifico Aroha,” a tan skinned woman who was what Clay’s father would call sturdily built stepped forward. Her face, neck and arms were decorated with several tattoos that looked somewhat familiar. Clay had a feeling he knew where she was from.

  “I am a wheeled vehicle mechanic, 91 Bravo,” Aroha continued, her accent becoming clearer now. “As you may have guessed, I am not from these parts.” It came out as ‘paahts’. “My family moved to America after the Christchurch earthquake of 2011. My father was an engineer and we settled in Springhill when he went to work for GM. He and me mum died in a auto vehicle crash five years ago. I’ve no other family save in New Zealand. As for me, if it can be made to run, I can make it run.”

  Clay caught himself before he smiled as the confident young woman stepped back into line. He wondered what Jake was going to think about Pacifico Aroha.

  “Warrant Three Carl Ely,” a man who was obviously older than the rest stepped forward almost lazily. “Combat Engineer. Twenty-two years, twelve of that on active duty somewhere or another.” And that was all as Warrant Officer Ely returned to the line, clearly less than impressed with being there.

  “Sergeant First Class Charles Swift, sir,” the next man in line stepped forward. “Carpentry and Masonry Specialist, sir. Fourteen years’ experience in military and civilian life.” Swift was heavily muscled and had an air of competence about him that could only come from successful application of a chosen field. He would be a major asset to the farm. The last soldier, a Hispanic female, stepped forward.

  “Specialist Valentina Santiago, Interior Electrician, sir,” the young woman informed him. She was dressed in BDU pants and a t-shirt that said ‘Let Me Twist Your Wires’. There was look about her that spoke of a misspent youth and an attempt at a misspent adulthood. Clay liked her at once.

  “Let me welcome all of you to the Farm,” Clay told the assembled group. “I’m not going to lie; I’ve heard some specialties in here today that make me extremely happy. All of you have talents that we can sorely use and will greatly appreciate. We’re a bit rushed with everything right now, as you can see for yourself, so your welcome may leave a bit to be desired, but the houses are warm, the food is hot and filling, and we have hot water showers.” A ragged cheer went up from the group at that, making Flores smile.

  “I hope you all will enjoy being here as much as we will likely enjoy having you. If you have a question, just ask anyone in uniform. Our uniforms are black for the most part, though your fellows that were already here under Lieutenant Gillis are usually wearing digicams. But any of our uniformed personnel will be able to help you. I can’t promise you easy living, but compared to the rest of the world, we’re in an oasis. Protecting it is the rub, as you saw today. But we’re hopeful, and your arrival has added to that hope. I’ll get out of your way now, and let you get unpacked. Someone will be around tomorrow, probably, to introduce you to your opposite numbers here on the farm, assuming you have one. That is all,” he added to Flores.

  “Yes, sir,” she snapped to. “You heard the man, folks. We’re home! Go unpack and settle in. Tomorrow we go back to work.”

  -

  “Okay, kid?”

  Gordy Sanders was sitting atop a Hummer, having crawled out of the turret to get there. The vehicle was parked behind the buildings, facing north, away from everything. He was staring into the sky toward the horizon, occasionally taking a sip of clear liquid from a fruit jar.

  He turned to see Mitchell Nolan standing on the ground, looking up at him.

  “Fine,” Gordy nodded, turning back to his examination of the winter sky.

  “It’s perfectly okay not to be fine after something like this,” Mitchell told him. When Gordy didn’t answer, Mitchell climbed into the Hummer himself and was soon crawling out onto the roof to join the teen. He reached over and took the jar from Gordy’s unresisting hands and took a sip. He instantly regretted it.

  “Holy shit,” he gasped, shaking his head as his eyes watered and then closed. “Where in the hell did you get this shit? From a gas tank?”

  “Made it myself, thanks,” Gordy replied, taking the jar back. “Charcoal filtered and laced with peaches. That’s how I got that smooth, refined taste.”

  “That’s smooth? And refined?” Mitchell demanded. “You know, refined makes it sound like gasoline. Is that stuff supposed to be rocket fuel?”

  “It’s supposed to be sour mash,” Gordy took another sip, apparently unaffected by the high alcohol content. “Excellent sour mash, in fact, if I do say so myself.” He took yet another sip before sighing.

  “Me and Corey made it last year, after harvest,” he said finally. “Real bitch to find the sugar, too. Had to make it with sugar beets, which is not nearly as easy as using granulated sugar, by the way. Had to cook that down first, then the corn, then…well, you get the picture. Anyway, this was the last jug. We only made three gallons in the end. We were going to share this one on the Fourth of July this year. I decided that wasn’t going to work out and figured I’d just drink it myself.”

  “You know, kid, this ain’t-,” Mitchell began, only to be cut off.

  “Really don’t want to hear it,” Gordy said softly. “Really don’t. Heard it already and heard it all before.”

  “Understandable,” Mitchell nodded. He had been about to tell Gordy it wasn’t his fault that Corey was dead, and Heath was injured. Apparently, someone else had already done that.

  “Look, far be it from me to interrupt a man who’s celebrating a friend’s death,” Mitchell slipped back into the turret and stood there. “Just…know if you need to talk to someone who can understand, we’re all here for you. Okay?”

  “Thanks,” Gordy nodded, but didn’t look at him. “Keep it in mind.”

  “See you around, kid,” Mitchell patted Gordy’s leg and disappeared down the hatch.

  Gordy didn’t even notice the older man get down and walk away.

  -

  Heath Kelly felt as if he were floating in a sea of dark. Which was odd, since he’d never actually been near the sea. How would he know what it was like? Closest he had been was swimming in Wheeler Lake, or Lake Chickamauga. And they were nothing like big as the sea. Any sea.

  Yet, here he was, adrift in…nothing. And despite being adrift in that nothingness, he could almost swear he could hear Leanne Tillman’s voice. Calling him. Talking to him. He couldn’t quite make out the words, but he recognized her voice.

  He spent a minute trying to figure out how he had come to be in his present predicament, deciding that following his way back to the last thing he could remember might tell him something. He had to pause for a minute and think about that since he couldn’t seem to remember where he’d been. It had been cold, though. He remembered that very vividly. Cold and damp.

  Suddenly he remembered. He’d been on a baby-sitting job with Gordy, Corey and Kurtis. Watching over a training mission for the older teens that were learning new skills. He had thought it was a rough lesson at first, but Gordy had pointed out that if they had to do things in this weather during an emergency, then training in this weather would come in handy. Heath had to admit tha
t was true. It was still a hard lesson.

  But something had happened during that lesson, hadn’t it? He strained to remember and suddenly heard Leanne’s voice get a bit louder. Not clearer, just louder. He wondered sometimes how she could be so loud when she was so small.

  He had never asked her about it, however. That would be tantamount to suicide.

  Suddenly, in a rush of seconds, everything came back to him. Intercepting an attack on the farm, sending the ‘kids’ to the Plum Farm with Gordy, Corey getting-

  Heath’s eyes shot open.

  -

  “I know you can hear me, Heath,” Leanne wiped her boyfriend’s forehead with a cool cloth, wiping the sweat away. The clinic wasn’t overly warm, but he was under a heavy blanket so maybe that was it.

  “I know you can hear me, and I know you’re okay,” Leanne continued, wringing the cloth out and starting again. “I just won’t accept anything else. Do you hear? Jaylyn says if you wake up okay, then you’re out of the woods, so that means you have to wake up okay. Okay? For me, you have to-,”

  Leanne stopped short as she realized she was looking right into Heath Kelly’s eyes.

  “H-Heath!” she exclaimed suddenly. “You’re awake!”

  He opened his mouth as it to speak, but nothing came.

  “Oh! Oh, here!” Leanne fumbled with a cup and straw, almost forcing the straw into his mouth.

  “Leanne, don’t shove it up his nose, alright?” Kaitlin Caudell warned as she arrived to check on Leanne’s near yelling. “Well, look who’s awake, hey?” she smiled at Heath. The teen used the straw to pull deep on the water, drinking as if he’d never had water before. He choked slightly and began to cough, prompting Leanne to remove the straw from his mouth and then grab the washcloth to wipe his mouth and chin.

  “I’m sorry!” she exclaimed, wiping hurriedly at his face. “That was me! I’m sorry!”

  Heath tried to lift his left arm to stop her and found he couldn’t. Using his right to stop her motion and gently push her away, he looked down at his left arm to see it wrapped at an angle and strapped to his body.