Apocalypse Dawn

by Mel Odom

  “It probably looks better than it is,” Goose said.

  “But you’re all right?”

  “Yes.” Goose shook his head, feeling the weight of everything that had happened. “I am. But there are a lot of guys over here, Meg, that aren’t all right.”

  “I know. I’ve been praying for all of you.”

  Goose took a deep breath, struggling to keep himself centered. “Bill—” His voice broke. “Something happened to Bill.”

  “Is he hurt?”

  Fatigue muddled Goose’s thoughts. He didn’t know how to explain what had happened. “He’s not hurt. At least, I don’t think he’s hurt. He—he disappeared, Meg. I was right there beside him. He was there, then he wasn’t. Nobody here knows what happened.”

  “I know,” Megan said. “It happened over here, too.”

  Goose tried to focus on what she had just said. “What happened?”

  “The disappearances,” Megan said. “The news is full of it.”

  The horror of a worldwide epidemic of disappearances surged through Goose. They still didn’t even know who had taken the missing men—or how. He’d heard pieces and fragments of conversations about people missing back in the United States, but he’d been too busy to follow up on the scuttlebutt. He did know that DEFCON-2 had been pushed back due to something that had happened in Washington, D.C., and for that he was grateful.

  “We haven’t got much access to the news here,” Goose said. “The disappearances have happened over there, too?”

  “Yes.”

  Goose thought about his dad and Megan’s parents. “Have you heard from your mom and dad?”

  “Yes. They’re fine. Just scared. The way most of us are. Nobody really understands what has been going on.”

  “It’s okay,” Goose said with more confidence than he felt. “We’ll find out. The captain tells me the military intelligence teams are working on it. They’ll find an answer. Maybe we can get those people back.”

  “I don’t think so, Goose. Really, I don’t.” Her voice broke again.

  “We’ll get through it, Meg,” Goose said. “I promise.”

  “We don’t have a choice. I know that. I just don’t understand why all the children had to be taken.” Her breath rattled as she inhaled deeply. “Well, I mean I do understand, but it’s just so hard to accept.”

  “What?” Panic exploded Goose’s heart. “What about the children?”

  Megan cried for a moment, then got herself together. “The children, Goose. All of the children are gone. Didn’t you know?”

  “Meg.” Goose’s voice faltered and he thought for a moment he was going to go insane. None of this made any sense. “Meg, there aren’t any children in the 75th.” Then he realized that he hadn’t seen any children in the city streets either. But that hadn’t been too surprising. Parents would keep their kids inside, especially with a foreign army occupying the city. “Where are Joey and Chris? Are they all right?”

  She was quiet too long.

  “Meg?” Asking again hurt him. Pain welled in his throat. Tears blurred his vision.

  “Joey’s here,” Meg answered. “It’s Chris, Goose. Chris is gone. Our baby is gone!”

  To Goose, it seemed like all the air in the room suddenly went away. Then his injured leg went out from under him. All of his reserves seemed to collapse and dwindle into the cold, hard center of himself that manifested.

  “Goose? Goose!”

  Hurt took away Goose’s voice. And even if he could have spoken, he didn’t know what he would have said. All he could think about was Chris, how he might never hold his son or speak to him again. Bill’s disappearance had seemed so grim, so final.

  And now Chris. God, what have You done? What have You done?

  United States of America

  Ft. Benning, Georgia

  Local Time 9:46 A.M.

  Megan dumped the dirty clothes into the washer, added detergent, then closed the lid and started the cycle. Doing ordinary things—cooking, cleaning, getting kids to bathe—all felt reassuring. While she was doing those things, she could pretend everything was all right in the world, that the stories of the mysterious disappearances and all the tragic deaths that had happened the night before were all fantasies and lies. Propaganda, even.

  Except that she knew it wasn’t.

  Even more upsetting, Joey hadn’t come home last night. Megan had no idea where her eldest son was. He’d talked with Jenny—argued actually, Megan knew, because she’d heard them—yesterday morning. He hadn’t come back since.

  She’d tried to find him. Megan had gone through the list of acquaintances she’d had for Joey. For the most part, she’d discovered that her son no longer hung out with the same kids. And how had she not known that? Guilt washed over her as she listened to the washer’s agitator kick to life and start whacking the laundry.

  “Megan?”

  Hearing Jenny’s voice, Megan looked up and saw the young woman standing in the utility room doorway. “Yes.”

  “Bathroom’s free,” Jenny said. “Your turn in the shower.”

  Jenny had stayed last night to help out with the kids that had had nowhere else on base to go. Megan had been in touch with some of the other counselors and the volunteer staff to establish a system to start taking care of all the kids that had been left bereft of parents, either through the disappearances or because their parents were away on military assignments and the guardians they’d had had disappeared. Keeping enough hot water in her household to meet the needs of all the kids she’d taken in was impossible. She’d set the washer for cold.

  “A shower, huh? Do we still have hot water?” Megan asked. She wanted a shower more than anything. She’d missed taking one last night with all the extra kids to care for.

  “Some,” Jenny answered. “If you make it quick, it might last.”

  Megan sighed and nodded. “I’ve got Kelly and Regan’s things about to come out of the dryer.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Jenny said.

  Megan nodded thanks, then headed back through the house. Kids were clustered around the table with Monopoly and Life. Board games helped give the younger teens focus. Others crowded around the television in the living room, watching the news from around the country.

  She wanted to pull them back from the television, because she knew the images of downed planes, wrecked cars, burning buildings, and riots in the larger metropolitan areas would live with them forever. But those images would be mixed with footage of the terrorist attack on the World Trade Center, people jumping from the top of the buildings, and the sight of the space shuttle Columbia breaking up over Texas. These kids weren’t completely unprepared for tragedy.

  The world had changed. It had changed during those events, and it had changed yet one more time.

  Megan couldn’t help wondering how many more changes were coming, but she knew they would be there. How long had it been, she wondered as she crossed the living room and gently removed Tabitha Welch’s feet from her couch, since there had been a true innocence in the world?

  Tabitha apologized and Megan felt guilty. She told the girl everything was all right. Tabitha hugged the throw pillow she was holding more tightly.

  The doorbell rang.

  Josh Webb, who had two parents overseas and his grandparents missing, answered the door. He talked for a moment, then looked at Megan. “Mrs. Gander, it’s for you.”

  Two uniformed MPs stood at the door. Both of them looked haggard and worn, much older than they should have.

  “Mrs. Gander,” one of them said.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve got a warrant here, ma’am.” He offered her a piece of paper.

  “A warrant?” Megan knew what the word meant, but she couldn’t make sense of it.

  “Yes, ma’am,” the MP said. “This was issued by the Provost’s office. Gives me the right to search the premises.”

  “Search for what?”

  The MP looked past her at the kids that had g
athered behind her. “I’m looking for Gerry Fletcher, ma’am.”

  This is insane, Megan thought. But she said, “Gerry isn’t here. He was one of the kids that disappeared last night.” God, how could she say that so off-handedly? Chris was one of those that disappeared. It wasn’t natural; she’d never accept it as natural even if, as Jenny suspected, God had had a hand in it.

  “Yes, ma’am.” The MP nodded. “You’re probably right, Mrs. Gander. But I was ordered to search the premises.”

  “My son.” Megan’s voice became a hoarse, tight whisper. “My son Chris was one of the children that disappeared.” She could still remember the deep sobs that had racked Goose at the other end of the phone connection. How could they be so far apart when there was so much to deal with? They needed each other. She knew that her husband needed her as much as she needed him.

  “Yes, ma’am,” the MP responded. “I know.” He looked upset and uncomfortable. “Mrs. Gander, I still have to look.”

  Wordlessly, Megan stepped back.

  The teenagers stepped back, too.

  The MPs filled the room. They looked big and alien and uninvited. The weapons they wore seemed threatening.

  “Any of you guys Gerry Fletcher?” the MP asked.

  A chorus of “nos” followed the question.

  “Well, then,” the MP said, “I’ll have to look around.”

  Unable to speak, Megan waved them on into her house. She couldn’t believe what was happening. She had tried to rescue Gerry Fletcher the night before last. Now she was being treated like a criminal.

  The search, thankfully, was thorough but brief. Jenny treated the men with icy, reproachful stares during the time they spent in the house.

  At the door again, the lead MP held out another piece of paper. “I was also ordered to give you this, Mrs. Gander.”

  Tears leaking down her cheeks, Megan took the paper with a shaking hand. “What is it?”

  “It’s a summons, ma’am. You’re being ordered to appear in the provost’s office.”

  “Why?”

  The MP shook his head. “I wouldn’t know, ma’am. That’s all I was told.”

  In disbelief, Megan opened the paper. There, in big bold letters, were the words ORDERED TO APPEAR and DERELICTION OF DUTY. She looked up.

  “Ma’am,” the MP said. He seemed hesitant. “I know your husband. I don’t know Goose well, but I know that he is a good man and he’s doing his job over there. I don’t know if you can get through to him about this, but if you’d like some advice …”

  “Yes, Corporal,” Megan said. “I’d very much like some advice.”

  “Get a lawyer, ma’am,” the MP said. “The military will probably give you one, but I’d hire an outside attorney to help represent you. The provost marshal, I don’t know what’s got him so hot on this, but from what I saw this morning, he’s going to be coming after you. And he’s going to try to nail you.”

  Oh, God, Megan thought, what else are You going to put my family through? She made herself nod. She made herself say, “Thank you, Corporal,” then she made herself close the door because she didn’t know anything else she could do.

  “Megan,” Jenny called.

  Unable to speak, Megan waved the young woman away. Aware of the teenagers staring at her, Megan went to her bedroom. She tried to gather clothes to take with her to the shower, but she couldn’t. She saw Chris’ pictures hanging on the wall, all the birthday pictures from age one through five, and knew there would be no picture for age six.

  Dereliction of duty.

  It didn’t make any sense. But she knew if she were found guilty she would be locked up. A sentence that could last for years.

  Was that what life—what God—had in store for her? Years spent in a military prison without her sons, without her husband?

  She knelt beside the bed and tried to pray. But she couldn’t. The words wouldn’t come and she felt horribly betrayed.

  United States 75th Army Rangers Temporary Post

  Sanliurfa, Turkey

  Local Time 1956 Hours

  Goose sat at the bar in a tavern that had been resurrected that afternoon. The furniture had been cobbled together from wreckage that had been nearer to ground zero of several SCUD strikes.

  Other men sat around him. Some of the men were military, from the US, from the UN, from the Turkish army, but others were citizens, displaced villagers, media personnel, and hucksters trying to make money. No one tried to sit with him. He’d claimed a small table as his own and every man there read the warning signs.

  Cigarette smoke hugged the dark ceiling where stains and residue from millions of other cigarettes had left permanent marks. The smell of beer and alcohol pervaded the tavern. The place felt like a thousand other places around the world that Goose had been in before he’d met Bill and Megan. It even reminded him of the beer halls his father had hung out in back in Waycross when Goose was a kid.

  Jeeps and Hummers and cargo trucks rolled by outside as the military continued putting down sandbags and shoring up defensive postures in case the Syrian military decided they felt lucky despite the turn of events on the mountain. Those soldiers worked by lanterns and Kleig lights now. The night had fallen nearly an hour ago. Or maybe it only seemed like an hour ago. Goose wasn’t sure.

  He turned his attention to the beer bottle sitting on the table in front of him. Then he looked at the picture of his family, taken only last summer at a backyard barbecue. Even though he wasn’t in the picture, Bill Townsend had been there. Bill had taken the picture.

  In the picture, Goose held Chris tightly in his arms. Chris loved being out in the sun, and his hair was bleached so blond it was almost white. Megan stood at Goose’s side with Joey next to her.

  Gone.

  The word hammered into Goose’s mind and sent a stake through his heart one more time. How could his son just be gone? How could Bill just be gone?

  Footsteps sounded behind Goose and he recognized the measured stride immediately. He would have recognized the stride in a parade march. He sat quietly, waiting.

  Remington came around the table.

  Reluctantly, Goose came to his feet and saluted, then stood at attention.

  “At ease, Sergeant,” Remington said. “This is a social call.”

  “Yes, sir.” But Goose knew that Remington had waited until he’d gotten to his feet and saluted before telling him that.

  “Sit down,” Remington said.

  Goose sat.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  “No, sir.”

  Remington hooked the chair on the other side of the table and sat. He folded his hands on the tabletop. “I heard about Chris.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Knock off the ‘sir’, Goose. This is me and you.”

  “All right.”

  Remington took a deep breath, looked away and let it out, then looked back at Goose. “I had to find out about it from someone else. I should have heard about it from you.”

  “You were busy.”

  “Not too busy for you, Goose,” Remington said. “I’m never too busy for you.”

  Goose knew that wasn’t true. There had been times in the past when he’d had to wait for Remington’s attention, sometimes for days.

  “How are you holding up?” Remington asked.

  “Not good,” Goose answered.

  “Can you do your job?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Remington’s voice crackled with authority. “That’s not the answer I was hoping for, Sergeant.”

  “No, sir, it’s probably not.”

  Anger darkened the captain’s features. “Don’t you sit there and feel sorry for yourself, Goose.”

  Goose held back an angry response, because Remington was a friend as well as a commanding officer.

  “What happened to Chris is a bad thing,” Remington said. “But, from what I understand, that happened to every kid out there.”

  Goose controlled himself with effort. Re
mington didn’t have kids.

  “I don’t know what you’re going through, Goose,” Remington said, “but if I could share part of the burden of it, I would.”

  Shame cracked Goose’s anger a little because he believed Remington might have tried. But in the end, all the same, he knew that Remington wouldn’t have been capable.

  “I don’t know what happened to those kids,” Remington said. “I don’t know what happened to those men everyone reported missing. But there are some things I do know.” He ticked points off on his fingers. “There’s an army waiting out there thinking they’re holding a sword to our bared throats. They’re waiting for us to make a mistake. They’re waiting to grow brave again. I’ve got busted rifle companies out there that are undermanned, under-equipped, and some of them scared out of their minds, scratching around in the dirt looking for Jesus to come bail them out.” The captain took a ragged breath. “I can’t have that, Goose. And you know I can’t have that.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Remington looked at him. “I need you, Goose. I need you to be strong.”

  Goose paused. “I don’t know if—”

  “Then you figure it out, mister!” Remington’s voice grew loud enough to quiet the men around them.

  Goose was conscious of the unwanted attention.

  “You’re a soldier, Goose,” Remington stated in a harsh voice. “You’re a sergeant. A leader of men. More than that, you’re my sergeant. You’ll get those Rangers up and running, and you’ll stand tall when I tell you to.”

  “Sir, yes, sir.” Goose’s response was automatic, ingrained by years of military training.

  Remington exhaled again and leaned back in his chair. “I shouldn’t even be having this talk with you, Goose.”

  “No, sir.”

  “You’ve been hurt before. You’ve been scared before. When those things happen, there’s one thing that you’ve always been able to hold fast to.”

  Goose remained silent.

  “You’re a soldier, Goose. You’ve always been a soldier. You were a soldier waiting to happen back in Waycross. You’re a soldier now. You’ll be a soldier the day you die.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Remington’s voice softened a little. “And when you die, Goose, you’re going to die standing tall, facing whatever enemy you’re up against that day, and you’re going to die believing that you’re doing all you can do.” He paused. “That’s all a professional soldier can ask for. And before you’re anything else, Goose, you’re a professional soldier. Probably the most professional soldier I’ve ever seen.”