by C A Bird
They turned the horse’s heads and made a wide arc around the carrier, as troops jumped out of the vehicle and started firing at them. The jeep was closing as the horses slowed down. Mark was surprised to see General Packer in the front passenger seat pointing toward the fleeing horses.
The amount of gunfire increased tremendously and Mark realized it was coming from both the north and south. He saw airmen fall as they ran into the ambush.
“Yahoo!” he shouted, “the cavalry has arrived.”
Jimbo pulled alongside Chief.
“Mark! Come on. Get on the bike. It’s faster,” he screamed out.
Leaning forward he shouted in Matthew’s ear, “I’m going with Jimbo. Veer right and get behind the townspeople’s firing line. And Matthew… see you in Farmington.” He didn’t wait for Matthew to respond as he slid backwards over Chief’s withers and splashed down in the bog.
It hurt. He rolled over and saw Jimbo siting on a stationary bike, firing at the jeep, and holding out his hand. Bullets hit the bog all around him, encouraging him to ignore the pain and jump on the bike behind Jimbo. The motorcycle slewed around and once again headed east.
Mark saw the horses heading south, as the townspeople moved forward toward the base. The sky was brighter and the sun rose into the sky over a full-scale battle. He almost fell off as the bike jounced over the terrain, which was quickly becoming firmer.
The jeep pursued him and it became obvious that it was him that General Packer was after. Jimbo gunned the engine as they suddenly slipped and slid up an embankment and came out on pavement.
The airport was a mile away.
The bike pulled ahead as they had firm footing and the jeep was still coming through the muck. “Hit it Jimbo,” he called out.
“This is all she’s got, buddy.”
They cut through a Home Depot parking lot and shot down the street and on to the airport frontage road. Cutting between two hangars they took the turn, passed several more hangars and skidded to a stop in front of a startled Lori.
She had the hangar door open.
He jumped off the bike as it screeched to a halt. “Jimbo, cover us! Lori, help me push it out to the taxiway.” Mark grabbed the chocks and flung them aside. They ran behind the plane, placed their hands on the back of the lower wing and easily shoved the lightweight plane out of the hangar.
“Get the kids in the plane. You get in the front seat with Ashley and put Kevin in the back. Be sure you use the seat belts.” As she climbed in, he leaned over her and flicked on the magnetos, set the mixture and throttle, and jumped down, running around to the front of the plane. He saw the jeep scream around the corner of the hangar.
“Stand on the brakes!”
He grabbed the prop and pulled. The engine sputtered and the prop kicked back, almost getting Mark. He grabbed and pulled again, as he heard Jimbo open fire. That’s it Jimbo, slow ‘em down.
The engine fired up as he jumped back out of the way. He climbed into the rear cockpit and taxied toward the runway. As soon as he passed Jimbo, the men in the jeep started firing at the plane. No time for a run-up, he prayed nothing would go wrong. The Stearman turned onto the runway and Mark eased the throttle to the firewall.
He yelled, “Kids! Keep your heads down,” but they couldn’t hear him for the wind. As the plane accelerated, he looked over and saw the jeep coming alongside. The two vehicles raced down the runway side by side. Lori had her Glock out, and started unloading the full magazine at the jeep. Her shots were all over the place. Jimbo was losing ground to the faster jeep.
“Come on , baby,” Mark murmured, “just a little faster.”
Packer pointed an assault rifle at Lori, just as a lucky shot from her Glock hit the driver right in the face. The jeep swerved away, flipped over, and burst in to a ball of flame, as the plane reached liftoff speed. Mark pulled back on the stick and the old, but powerful plane leaped into the air and slammed sideways as it flew through the blast from the explosion. He fought for control, and swung away from the jeep, climbing as quickly as he safely could, while avoiding stalling out.
At a thousand feet, he circled back over the field and saw Jimbo waving. The motorcycle sped away toward the battle. From this height it looked like the entire population of Lompoc had joined the fight. Although the military had better weapons, they were heavily outnumbered and it looked like they were retreating to the base.
He began to increase his altitude and was still flying toward the sea when he saw it.
0600.
A squiggly streak in the sky. Being from California, he’d seen many similar vapor trials like this in the past. It usually meant a missile had been fired from Vandenberg Air Force Base.
But not this time.
It came from further out at sea. Several miles out.
He held his breath and waited for additional contrails.
And waited…
Turning the stick, he pressed the rudder, smoothly pulling a one-eighty, and heading southeast toward Farmington… or maybe toward Eagle Nest.
There was only one missile.
A two in three chance that Eagle Nest had been spared.
37
“Hey Ashe, breakfast is ready.” Roger stood at the kitchen counter taking a pan of scrambled eggs off the propane stove. He spooned half of the eggs onto each of two plates and added some fried potatoes.
Ashe walked into the kitchen from the hallway. “I’m coming.” He stopped and stared at the plates. “We don’t have any of those sausages left? I saw Mariah wrapping some up two days ago, right after Chuck slaughtered that old sow.”
“We’ll get some today. This’ll have to do.”
Ashe loved to eat, and he’d already gained back a few pounds, spending his days sitting around teaching school. Roger, on the other hand, split his time between working in the fields and hunting. He started out thin, and was maintaining his weight with all the hard labor. Two glasses of water and eating utensils completed the table setting and they pulled up chairs. They used cloth napkins that could be washed.
“You can cook ‘em tomorrow when it’s your turn to fix breakfast.”
They dug in. “So I hear you’re getting some kids from town today. Your reputation as a professor extraordinaire has spread.”
“Yeah, With Mama’s grandkids, Smitty’s kids, and the new ones, I’ll have twenty seven. Good thing Geralyn was a teacher’s aide. She’s really been helping me.”
“Ashe, listen. I really like these people, but at some point I need to go back to Charleston to see if I can find my family.”
“Give it a rest, man. How many times do we need to go over this same terrain. You can’t go back. You’d just end up back in a camp and not help your family at all.”
“I can’t stay here and not try. How could I live with myself?”
“That guy who came through here last week said the government is growing. They have hundreds of new recruits and twice as many vehicles since we got away. He said they even have a plane. The guy snuck through town and saw bodies hanging on a gallows. They’d probably hang you too if they recognize you. Come on, let’s go to work.”
The house they lived in was a 50’s era, single-story, wood frame house. As they crossed the porch they waved at Essie Smith, Smitty’s wife. Arlen and Essie Smith had two children, Ginny, six and Mason, eight. The kids ran across the street to walk to the farm with the two men.
“Hi Mr. Compton.” Ginny took Ashe’s hand and skipped to keep up with his long strides.
It was 8:20 on a beautiful summer day. August 22nd.
“Oh my God, Roger. I just realized it’s the anniversary of the war. Two interminable years. Seems more like ten.”
Roger didn’t answer. The revelation just brought him more pain.
***
He’d only been working thirty minutes, and the sun was still low in the sky, but sweat already beaded on Roger’s brow and trickled down his neck, as he hoed weeds between the rows of carrots and radishes. It was a nev
er-ending battle. He laid down the hoe, wiping the sweat away with his left arm and stooped down to pick up the severed weeds, tossing them into the bucket that lay behind him.
Just visible under the drooping branches of a weeping willow, he could see a portion of the kids that made up Ashe’s elementary class. They sat on makeshift benches and chairs. Ashe was further under the tree, lecturing them on some subject, as if he were Socrates imparting his great wisdom in an idyllic setting. The older kids were in the farmhouse working on assignments Ashe had given them, and were watched over by Geralyn, Chuck’s wife.
Lynn brought him a bottle of water and took the bucket away to add the weeds to the compost pile. She was twelve years old, the same age as his daughter. She flipped her blonde hair to the side in a gesture that almost brought tears to his eyes, as he remembered that Amanda used to make the same gesture.
“Thanks, Lynn,” he called to her retreating back. He saw a lightning flash appear out of the clear blue sky.
“You’re welcome, Roger.” She giggled, and turning to wave at him, she froze, staring toward the northeast.
Roger glanced over his shoulder and a chill ran down his spine, as he saw what he prayed he would never see again. Behind the mountain range, a malignant, mushroom cloud was rising, churning and roiling, as it climbed higher into the sky.
“Ashe!” he screamed. “Get everyone under cover. It’s another attack.” Pushing Lynn ahead of him, he waved at the other men and women working in the field. “Come on, hurry.” He was pointing at the explosion when he heard the deep rumble, diminished by the distance. The others were heading for the willow, grabbing up the little ones as they ran.
Hitting the back door at full tilt, Roger was almost crushed as he managed to get the door open, and the workers and children spilled into the kitchen. As they all tumbled past him, Roger hesitated and looked outside for signs of additional bombs.
There didn’t seem to be any.
The family crowded down into the basement and waited for three days. Smitty and Essie showed up only minutes after the bomb had hit, wanting to be with their children. The basement had been kept stocked for this possibility and Roger couldn’t imagine how so many had stayed down here during the Great War.
Roger crept over to sit against the wall, next to Ashe. “What do you think is happening?”
“It’s Charleston, Roger. I’m real sorry. Somebody took out the government.”
“No. It can’t be.” He started to cry. “Maybe they took Jenn and the kids somewhere else. Maybe they weren’t in Charleston.” He looked at Ashe, hoping for confirmation.
“Maybe. If they are far enough from the blast and are west of Charleston, they could survive. A lot of folks were taken to Parkersburg. It’s like eighty miles north. They could be okay.”
Roger wiped away his tears and hung onto that possibility. It was the only thing that kept him going.
“Yeah, they could be.”
They exited three days later, on another beautiful day. The wind was blowing east as the family walked out into the fields.
“This is what happened last time,” Mama told him. “We didn’t have to stay down for too long. The wind doesn’t blow the other way. We never got sick.”
She gazed toward the northeast. The cloud was gone.
“Well, I don’t think Rissman will be coming for us,” she told Ashe.
“No, someone’s given us another chance at a new beginning.”
EPILOGUE
The big, buckskin gelding tirelessly covered the two hundred and sixty miles between Amarillo, Texas and Eagle Nest, New Mexico in a couple of weeks. The horse stood sixteen hands high, big enough to carry the large man sitting astride him. Two weeks in the saddle and the stranger was glad to reach his destination. 6’2”, with broad shoulders, lengthy, wavy, brown hair down to his shoulders, and a goatee, he looked every inch a burly, mountain man.
Except for his coat.
It was made from a patchwork of fabric in every color and design.
Riding through Eagle Nest he saw many signs of a thriving town. There were a few families, and several individuals, walking or bicycling down the center of Therma Way. Others rode horses, and there were two horse-drawn carriages next to a car parked in front of a restaurant. Everyone waved to him. All of them appeared armed, with the exception of very small children.
Continuing through town, he was passed by an ATV as he reached an intersection of Therma Way and a road going north. He pulled up the horse and stared at the runway of a small airport. It was a blocked off section of asphalt road, that used to be Willow Creek Rd. before the war. The numerals 37 had been painted on the road in white paint indicating the direction the runway faced. There were two metal, storage buildings on the west side of the road, the larger one serving as a hangar and a smaller one that looked like an office for the Fixed Base Operator. At the south end, two children played in a sandy area, fenced on the back and side.
A brilliant sun was directly overhead and the day was lazy, warm, with insects buzzing about in the yellow flowers that lined the building along its foundation. The sky was clear but clouds were forming on the horizon, gathering to bring the almost daily afternoon rain.
He rode forward to within sixty feet of the office building and sat and stared across the asphalt waiting for someone to show themselves. In most towns, people didn’t appreciate it if you came barging into town without giving them time to check you out.
He could feel eyes on him.
Sure enough, the front door of the office opened and a handsome man, looking to be in his late thirties, stepped through and paused to check him over. The man had a rag and was wiping grease off his hands. He wasn’t armed, but the stranger on the horse saw a woman behind the front window carrying an AR15 style rifle. The two children playing in the sand next to the building both drew handguns and nonchalantly stepped behind a large stack of rubber tires. The kids kept the guns pointed at the ground.
A smile played around his lips. Good Security, he thought. He knew there was someone else he couldn’t see, that also had him covered.
He raised a large mitt of a hand, “How you doing? Mind if we talk?”
“Come on in, you’re welcome here, stranger.” The man had long, black hair below his ears and it waved about as he gestured toward the inside with his head. The stranger dismounted. It wasn’t polite to ride up to the building above the folks on foot. It would give him an advantage.
“Can I help you with your horse?” the young girl asked him. “I like horses.” She had tucked the gun back into her holster. “I’ll tie him to the post over there.”
She looked to be about nine or ten and the boy a couple years younger. He still had his gun, a baby Glock, pointed at the ground. His eyes swept the land in the direction the stranger had come from.
“Yes, young lady, that would be fine.”
“I’m Ashley and he’s Kevin.” She took the reins. “What’s your name?”
“They call me what your dad called me… Stranger.”
She led the horse away, and giggled. “That’s a funny name.”
Mark had waited at the door. Stranger raised his arms and didn’t make any sudden moves as Mark patted him down.
“Left my piece in my saddlebag.”
“Sorry but we’ve learned you can’t be too careful until we know you.”
They walked into the office and Mark pointed at an old, reddish, leather chair angled in front of a metal desk. Stranger gratefully sank back into the chair. After weeks in the saddle it felt like heaven. The woman smiled and swooped up a baby that was crawling around on the unevenly cut piece of carpet, that covered the concrete floor in a ten by ten area beyond the desk.
“Can I get you some coffee?”
Stranger’s eyes lit up as though Mark had offered him the keys to Las Vegas. “That would be most appreciated.” It was polite to offer coffee or a drink, and it was okay to accept it. But it was also polite to turn down a second.
Ma
rk handed Stranger a cup and then sat on the edge of the desk. “I’m Mark Teller and this is my wife Lori. The little guy is our son, Will.” Stranger nodded at Lori and she moved to the far end of the room, where she propped the rifle in the corner. It was within easy reach.
“What brings you to Eagle Nest?”
“I’m looking for you.” He chuckled at the look of surprise on Mark’s face. “A guy named Matthew Pennington heard I was coming this way and told me to look you up.”
“Matthew? How’s he doing?” Lori left the rifle and walked over to sit on a couch under the window. If Matthew had sent this man, he was no danger.
“I saw him north of what’s left of Dallas. He and I spent some time together and he told me the story of what happened to y’all from his point of view. He’s a fine young man. Quiet and reserved with a touch of sadness to him.”
“The war dealt him a vicious blow,” Lori said.
“Yeah, he’s still trying to find his way,” Mark added.
“I was hoping to hear the rest of your story. You know, fill in the blanks from what Matthew told me. After all, I’m a Stranger.”
Mark looked up at Lori and shrugged. “I’m not sure what you mean. Is that a title?”
“There’s a score of us. Actually twenty three and growing. We love traveling and hearing the tales of what folks have been through. We put the stories to music.”
Lori clapped her hands delightedly. “You’re a Bard! Like in medieval days.”
He nodded in a bow. “Yes ma’am. You will know us by our coats. All of us are called Stranger and we mean to be the news-bearers. We meet every other year in Kansas City to swap tales and learn what’s happening throughout the country, so we can ride out and spread the word. We had the first Gathering just two months ago at the beginning of summer. I would be much obliged to hear your story and would love to perform for your community.”
