“What, John?” Wright said, his right hand coming out from behind the door, revealing a beer he’d been concealing. “The fact that you’re so perfect that you never make a mistake?”
“Wrong there again. You’re two for two, James. I fail more than I succeed. Not sure if you know that. Every victory is a battlefield littered with defeats. But the truth is, no one’s counting. No one who matters anyway, ’cause it isn’t how many times you lose, but whether you can pick yourself up off the ground.”
“Is that why you came by, John, to gloat and shower me with your pearls of wisdom?”
John paused. “The truth is I came by because we’re friends and friends help one another.”
Wright was shaking his head.
“I also came by to offer you a job, James. And by the looks of things, you could really use one. But I didn’t get back on my feet all alone. Not even Diane could help me with that. Judging by your current living conditions, we might be suffering from the same thing.”
“Really? And what’s that?”
“PTSD, James. Didn’t even realize I had a problem myself until I was too drunk to walk through my own front door. When your elderly neighbor and your wife have got you propped up, you know something isn’t right. But it was the thought of losing my kids, imagining the crushed looks on their faces when Diane packed them up and left for good, that’s what pushed me to start seeing a counsellor.”
“Oh, I don’t believe this,” Wright began. “You come here feeding me this Sigmund Freud routine about how you started talking about your feelings. You’re a coward, John. We’re soldiers. That’s what we were trained to do. Kill people. You go through a thousand military manuals and you’ll probably never find the word kill, did you know that? The military’s come up with a million ways to avoid saying the word, but when you boil it down, that’s what we do. We’re trained to take another man’s life. Snuff it out without giving it a second thought. And if you’re too weak to take that like a man, then you can step off my property and never come back.”
John’s chest was tight as Wright’s hands clenched into fists, his face turning purple. He took a deep breath and spun on his heel to leave. Wright was still watching him, his chest heaving as John began to walk away. A second later John stopped and turned around. “A real man faces his demons head on,” John said in a low voice. “The coward in me wanted to run and hide. Hide in a bottle of booze, hide by pushing everyone close to me away. Admitting I needed help and facing those dark memories was the toughest battle I’ve ever fought and I came a hair’s breadth from losing.”
The shift in Wright’s eyes was subtle, but it was there.
“It’s not too late to get it all back, James. Your wife, the kids, even this dump you call a house. You can have it again if you’ve got the guts to reach out and take an outstretched hand.” John stood, staring at his friend for a moment before he turned to leave for good. Perhaps this was a lost cause. You can’t save people from themselves. His mother used to tell him that and now he was beginning to understand how true those words were.
“I don’t know, John. I see it’s gotten you back on your feet, but I don’t even have a car right now and…”
John dug into his pocket, produced the keys to his truck and rattled them in the air. “Don’t worry. We’ll go together.”
Chapter 62
Three months after the battle
A thin layer of snow blanketed the top of Owens Ridge as John and Moss stood wrapped in warm parkas, chatting to one another. Behind them loomed the new Mack and Appleby family cabin, built with a helping hand from the entire community—a gesture of goodwill and appreciation.
“Mayor Moss,” John said, letting the words roll off his tongue. “It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
“I think it’s more responsibility than I thought it would be,” Moss replied, and pulled up his pant leg to reveal his prosthetic leg. “And getting around on this thing isn’t making it any easier.”
John laughed, marvelling at how much about the man was different now. Even his trademark mohawk had disappeared in favor of a brush cut. “You’re still wondering what to do about Ray Gruber, aren’t you?”
“The council isn’t sure whether he deserves a medal or a hangman’s noose.”
“A decision I don’t envy them having to make,” John admitted. “How’s Henry doing as vice mayor?”
Moss blew in his cupped hands and jabbed them in his pockets. “I couldn’t be happier with the choice. I’m glad he wasn’t hurt that I’d asked Reese first.”
“I’m sure he wasn’t, but we all knew Reese would never stay.”
“He found himself a motorhome and says he’s heading west. Has some personal business out there. But you’re right, a guy like that can’t stay in one place for too long.” Moss kicked at a loose rock with his good foot. “I’m guessing you heard the latest from the front?”
John shook his head. “I’ve been too busy prepping for winter to think much about it. Brandon, Gregory and I have already chopped two cords of wood with plenty more ahead of us.”
“We’ve broken through the enemy stronghold along the Rocky Mountains,” Moss told him. “Some are saying come spring they’ll be pushing all the way to the Pacific.”
“And after that?” John asked, wondering where it would all end.
“Who knows? But there’s already talk about electing General Dempsey president. He says his first order of business would be getting the lights back on.”
As more and more American territory was liberated, communities all over had begun following Oneida’s example and addressing their own power needs.
“I think Dempsey will make a fine president,” John said, staring down at the town below them and the hundreds of residents working feverishly to get things back to the way they used to be. It would take time, but John was sure under Moss’ watchful eye they would get there eventually.
The two men soon parted and John went around back to the small shed they’d built for George. The small structure even included a small wood-burning stove to keep him and his new companion warm through the cold winter months. John found Brandon and Gregory inside feeding them grass.
“Have you come up with a name for her yet?” he asked the boys.
A devilish grin appeared on Gregory’s face. “I was thinking of Marilyn.”
John couldn’t hold back a burst of laughter. “As in Marilyn Monroe?”
“Yeah,” Brandon said, tossing in a handful of grass. “Somehow those white feathers always make me think of that famous skirt scene.”
Diane came up behind them, wrapped in a blanket. “Sounds like you boys are having too much fun out here.”
“We were just discussing George and Marilyn,” John told her.
“Marilyn?” She tilted her head. “They do look happy together, don’t they? I wonder how long before we have a row of baby Georges to deal with.”
John turned to Diane. “Where’s Emma?”
“Inside.”
“She still working on the war memorial?”
Diane nodded. “The town council voted to have it started in the spring and she wants to make sure it’s perfect.”
“Figures. She won’t show it to me,” John said. “Like it’s top secret or something.”
The boys both complained they hadn’t seen it either.
“She’s taking great care to get everything right, John. I’ve only seen some rough sketches, but it tells the entire story. It’s quite stunning. You know that all she wants is for you to be proud of her.”
“I am already,” he said without reservation. “Of all my children. I hope each of you knows that.”
Brandon and Gregory looked away, embarrassed, and John was glad that through all of the horror, they’d managed to retain at least some of their youthful innocence.
For many others, the EMP and the war that followed had stripped them of the very faith that made innocence possible. Faith in the government, faith in our fellow
man and, for some, faith in a higher power. John couldn’t help but feel that the country’s struggle for survival had offered a unique opportunity for a fresh start, an opportunity to move away from political games and showboating and back toward the founding principles which had once made this nation great.
Diane wrapped an arm around him. “A penny for your thoughts?”
John smiled and kissed her gently. “That one’s just for me.”
Some Final Thoughts
Given that this is the final book in the Last Stand series, I felt it only right that I say a few words. Part of my goal in telling the Mack family story was to showcase how easily the safe and predictable world we know can be plunged into chaos. Spin a globe and press your finger down and it’s likely to land on a country where danger, corruption and oppression are the norm. The savage realities of living in a city like Mogadishu, for example, might be foreign to many in the Western world, but I believe it’s precisely the type of existence we’d face in the event of a massive social collapse.
And yet the amazing thing is that through all of that chaos and killing, it’s still possible to find good, honest people who are willing to stick their necks out for others. In many of my email correspondences with readers this topic has often come up. It seems the prevailing prepper mentality nowadays is to shoot first and ask questions later when I think the opposite is what’s needed most. Just as they say it takes a community to raise a child, I think it takes a tightly knit community to ensure a sustainable future.
I also wanted to provide a brief insight into how I approached the prepper tips in the books. Some have commented that after book two, the story stopped being about survival and became a military series. While this is true in part, each of the stories was designed to impart different kinds of survival lessons. Book one focused on urban survival. In book two the emphasis shifted toward outdoor tips. Book three examined how to fortify and defend a small town against a military attack, while book four looked at some of the considerations when operating an insurgency. Our soldiers fought insurgents in countries like Iraq, but God forbid, one day we may be forced to become insurgents ourselves.
If I haven’t put you to sleep already, then I’ll end with a confession. Between books three and four, I decided to take a small break and work on an altogether different kind of prepper story. Frankly, I wasn’t sure fans of the Last Stand series would appreciate what I had written since it wasn’t laced with prepper tips and featured a cast of rather colorful characters (without the colorful language, that is). As a result, I made the difficult decision of publishing it under a pen name. I’m sure many of you will spot the similar writing styles. All that is to say, if you’re looking for something to pass the time as you wait for the next William Weber story, then this might be as good a place to start as any.
It’s called Long Road to Survival: The Prepper Series and if you give it a shot, I hope you enjoy it just as much as you’ve enjoyed my other work.
Respectfully,
William H. Weber
Thank you for reading
Last Stand: Turning the Tide!
I’m always grateful for a review. Any thoughts, comments or feedback can be sent to my email: [email protected]
Other books by William H. Weber
Long Road to Survival (Book 1)
Long Road to Survival (Book 2)
Last Stand: Surviving America’s Collapse (Book 1)
Last Stand: Patriots (Book 2)
Last Stand: Warlords (Book 3)
Last Stand: Turning the Tide (Book 4)
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Last Stand: Turning the Tide (Book 4) Page 21
