Fire From The Sky | Book 9 | Brimstone

by Reed, N. C.

  “I am sorry, Lainie Harper,” Angela said firmly. “For anything I said or did that slighted you in any way, I apologize. Please try and remember that part of that was just wanting what was best for my son. And know that I can see, now, that you are absolutely the best thing that has ever happened to him,” she smiled. “You put a light in his eyes that he never had before, Lainie. All he could think about when he was a boy was leaving here. Seeing what was over the hill or around the corner. He came home changed, changed a great deal in fact, but still with no light shining where it should have been.” She paused for a minute, taking each of Lainie's hands in her own.

  “You did that,” she said simply. “By whatever fates brought the two of you together, you have made him better for it. I doubt that any woman, anywhere, could have done more for him than you have. So please accept my thanks for treating my son so well, and for loving him like you do.” She suddenly drew the younger woman into a fierce hug, both a shock and a surprise to Lainie, but after a moment of hesitation, she hugged Angela back, if not quite as firmly.

  “Know that I love you, too,” Angela said into Lainie's shoulder. “I know the two of you aren't married, but you live and love as if you are, and in these times that's worth more than any piece of paper.” She pulled back and gripped Lainie by the shoulders.

  “I love you, Lainie, for what you've done for my son, and for what you've done for my family. And, most of all, for who you are. You've made a place for yourself in this family and I am so glad to have you. So very glad.” She hugged Lainie again, much softer this time and very briefly.

  “Thank you for giving me the time to say all that,” Angela smiled. “And for walking with me, too. It helps me work through things when I walk.”

  “I understand,” Lainie spoke for the first time. “For me it was my car. I'd drive around Nashville, just circle the town on the interstate and think. It was a quiet time for me.”

  “Yes, I can see that,” Angela nodded slowly. “I'm sorry you've lost that. Maybe you can find something else to take the place of driving. I do so hope so. I doubt I've said this to you before, and that's to my shame, but welcome to the Sanders family, Lainie Harper,” she smiled brightly.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Sanders,” Lainie smiled brightly.

  “Just Angela,” the older woman shook her head. “Call me Angela.

  CHAPTER TWO

  -

  One of the duties that Greg Holloway had deemed important in his office of 'Community Marshal' was to make sure that no one was watching the farm. There had been several attempts to raid the ranch since things had gone so poorly, and nothing said there wouldn't be more. In fact, Greg was in no way trusting that someone or several someones from Jordan might be willing enough, or stupid enough, to at least try and steal from the ranch, if not outright attack them.

  Thus, Greg made a round of the ranch perimeter ever three days or so, checking everywhere that anyone might be able to lay hidden and spy on the farm. Today he was using a small battery powered golf cart rather than an ATV. It was dry enough that the cart was more than able to navigate the small trail that Greg had carved out for himself, and it had the added advantage of being fairly quiet, as well.

  Operations, as the radio room now wanted to called, knew where he was, and he was sure that Jody Thompson and Heath Kelly were also both aware of where he was, watching from their high perches around the farm. Kurtis Montana might be on the tower at the cabin area, as well. Greg hadn't checked the duty schedule before heading out, something he normally would have done.

  “Slipping in my old age,” Greg chuckled to himself aloud. At twenty-eight years old, old age was still a little ways away, though he hoped to make it one day. He slowed as he traveled the last little bit of fence line, checking for any sign that someone had been there. He found nothing out of the ordinary, though he had noted sign of several different animals. That was a welcome sight so far as he was concerned. After the monster wildfire back in the spring, there had been a complete absence of wildlife for some time. Now, it seemed, wildlife was making a comeback. By mutual agreement among the hunters of the farm, no hunting would be done for the time being. They had to give all the wildlife time to recover.

  Greg crossed the road, making for Building Three, where the cart was parked when not in use. As he approached the building, he saw the familiar figure of Talia Gray waiting at the back of the building. She approached him slowly as he checked to make sure the cart didn't require recharging.

  “Have a nice ride?” Gray asked, smiling.

  “I did, in fact,” Greg replied with a nod. “We are momentarily safe from poachers and voyeurs. Other threats I'm not so sure about,” he laughed.

  “I'm glad to hear that,” she nodded slightly.

  “How's training going?” Greg asked as he took his rifle and other gear from the cart.

  “It's brutal,” she admitted, absently rubbing her shoulder. “Like nothing I've ever encountered. If I wasn't already a runner, I'd probably have quit by now.”

  “Has anyone else quit?” Greg asked, curious.

  “No,” Gray shook her head adamantly. “Despite what I said, we all swore we'd stick it out. When someone lags behind, we all help out. Twice we've done something over rather than leave anyone behind.”

  “That's awesome,” Greg complimented. “And it will pay off in the field, too. When you can help your squad mates or they help you. It can be the difference between making it or not.”

  “We're going to make it,” Gray said firmly. “All of us. It may not be easy, and we may not impress you real soldiers, but we're going to finish it.”

  “Good,” Greg smiled. “So, what are you doing now? Don't all of you have some kind of limited duty after training each day?”

  “Today is my day off,” Gray smiled. “I guess I should say my late afternoon off, or something,” she shrugged. “I thought I'd see what you were doing.”

  “Well, now that my little patrol is over, I'm not doing anything unless there's an emergency. Which I fervently hope there isn't,” he added with a wry face.

  “Same here,” she nodded. “So, got anything you'd want to do?” she asked him.

  “I'm sure I can think of something,” Greg smiled. “Let’s see if we can grab a basket of food and a blanket first. Sound like a plan?”

  “It really does,” she nodded readily.

  “Then let’s go.”

  -

  “So, Ace, what's going on here?” Millie Long asked, crowding Leon ever so slightly since she knew it flustered him.

  “I'm trying to repair this drone's rotor,” Leon replied, sweat breaking out on his forehead as Millie pressed into his back. “And…there. Done.” He straightened up a bit, which just helped Millie fluster him that much more.

  “You're really good with your hands, Ace,” Millie murmured in his ear. “I like that in a man.”

  Before Leon could think of a response, the radio came to life.

  “Vehicle incoming from the highway,” Jody Thompson's voice was calm and cool. “One vehicle only. Looks like the HumVee that the mayor uses.”

  “They're expected,” Clay's voice was next across the radio waves. “We'll meet them on the pad.”

  “Roger that,” Jody replied, ending the discussion.

  “Wonder what that's all about?” Leon murmured. “I know we were thinking about trying to open trade with Jordan again, but I thought it was already worked out.”

  “Maybe this is something else,” Millie shrugged, then hugged Leon tightly to her.

  “We could always go try and eavesdrop,” she whispered. “See if we can figure out what's going on.”

  “Please,” Leon scoffed, waving a hand. “If I want to listen, I will. I've got a directional parabolic microphone with an amplifier.”

  “Where is it?” Millie asked, more than willing to try and hear what the news was.

  “I, uh, well, the thing is,” Leon stammered.

  “You don't know, do you?” Millie sm
irked.

  “Someone moved it,” Leon both looked and sounded indignant at her humor. “That's all.”

  “Maybe they were using it themselves?” Millie asked, eyebrows raised.

  “Maybe,” Leon shrugged. “Anyway, it'll turn up eventually. Things always do.”

  “Well, in the meantime, if you aren't busy, let’s go and try to be nosy,” Millie held out a hand. Smiling, Leon took it.

  “I've always got time for a beautiful woman,” Leon told her. The statement made her stumble just a bit, but she recovered nicely.

  “Do you speak Chinese?” she asked him. “Cantonese, or even Mandarin, maybe?”

  “No,” Leon shook his head. “Sorry. Leanne and I always meant to order a learning program for it, but then all this came up and we just sort of sidelined all of that. We had learned German and some Russian, and we've got a language pack around here somewhere for Farsi, but we hadn't gotten into it when all this started. And there's been no reason to, since.”

  “That's cool,” Millie shrugged. “Just wondering.” She tugged his hand to get him to follow her lead outdoors.

  “Why does it always make you stumble or stutter a bit when I call you beautiful,” Leon resisted her tugging just enough to hold them in place. “You have to know how pretty you are, Millie,” he told her, doing his best not to stammer even as his face turned red.

  Millie hesitated for a minute, clearly coming to some kind of private decision. Leon waited patiently, giving her the time she needed.

  “It's silly, really,” Millie said finally.

  “If you don't want to say, then don't,” Leon told her at once. “It was just something I was wondering about. And if you want me to stop-,”

  “I don't!” she interjected quickly, and maybe a bit too loud. “I just...in traditional Chinese, my name is Měilì de lóng,” she said softly. “It translates roughly to 'beautiful dragon',” her blush was almost glowing by now. “It was what my mother used to call me. Her beautiful dragon.”

  “Wow,” Leon almost whispered. “That is awesome!”

  She looked at him, studying him closely.

  “You really think so?” she asked, almost shyly.

  “Hell, yeah!” Leon was enthusiastic. “And it's fitting, too,” he added, smiling. “You are definitely a beautiful dragon so far as I'm concerned.”

  “Stop it,” Millie tried to shush him, her face feeling as if it were on fire. As she drew closer, Leon took advantage of it to do something he'd wanted to do for weeks. As soon as her lips were close enough, he kissed her.

  He could feel her surprise when his lips touched hers, and for a microsecond he feared he had made a mistake, but then he could feel her lose that tense stance of surprise as she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back. Thoroughly.

  Leon had never kissed a girl before, at least not like this. He had kissed Missy Ellison on the cheek in the 5th grade, but that was a long time and a world ago compared to this. He had never experienced anything like this. He let his hands roam over her just a little, but carefully, as he leaned into her presence. Finally, they were forced apart by the simple need for air.

  “Oh, wow,” Millie whispered. “I have wanted you to do that for so long,” her breath was hot on his cheek as she let her head lay on his shoulder. “You really are slow for a genius.”

  “I make up for it in other ways,” he smiled at her.

  “I'm going to hold you to that,” Millie warned, raising her head to look him in the eye.

  “You do that,” Leon had no idea where his bravado was coming from. “But I'd rather hold you to me,” he winked, and her face burned once more.

  “Do you still want to try and hear what's going on at the pad?” he asked her, grinning mischievously.

  “As long as you're with me, sure,” Millie smiled back. “C'mon, Ace. Let’s go get into trouble!”

  -

  Clay stood on the pad, waiting for the Hummer to ease down the drive. Behind him, His father, brother and brother-in-law were sitting at a picnic table, their backs to the building. Gary Meecham was with them to represent the people on the hill who had trades or skills that might be bargained for, such as his expertise on firearms or Darrell Goodrum's skill as a farrier and blacksmith.

  The Hummer stopped and Clay was surprised to see that Dawson was driving with Pickett in the seat beside him. A woman and another man sat in back. Dawson was first out and opened the rear door on the driver's side for the woman to exit.

  “Clay,” Dawson nodded. “How are you?”

  “Doing fine, so far,” Clay replied. “Lot o' daylight left, though.”

  “That is true,” Dawson laughed slightly. Pickett and the other man came around the front of the Hummer to join them.

  “Gordon Sanders, Robert Sanders, Ronny Tillman, and... Gary Meecham, isn't it? This is Doreen Milligan and Ben Draper,” Pickett introduced. “I think they know who Clayton is, but Clay this is Doreen and Ben,” the mayor added. “Doreen is helping organize a textile operation in town, while Ben is heading up our salvage teams,” he explained.

  “Y'all have a seat,” Gordon invited, pointing to the table, and to the chairs around it. “I take it by textiles, you mean clothing?” he asked Doreen.

  “Well, yes,” Milligan replied as she sat down. “But also, shoe repair and repurposed clothing, alterations and things like that. Using material that isn't suitable for much else to make scarves, for instance. Knitting, for those who still have yarn. And making gloves for the winter.”

  “That sounds like a huge job,” Gordon noted.

  “It is,” Milligan agreed. “Some days I wonder how we get anything done.”

  “Ben, it's good to see you upright and walking,” Gordon smiled at the man beside Milligan, offering his hand. “How are you and yours faring?”

  “We're getting by,” Draper was not quite as friendly as Gordon, but was at least neutral. “Not as good as you all, but we're making it.”

  “So, Mister Mayor,” Gordon decided not to pursue Draper's comment. “What is it we can do for you all today?”

  “We want to work on something Clay mentioned a while back,” Pickett told him, startling Clay just a bit. “He mentioned we should think about a trade day type of thing, where folks could trade and barter for things. Even services and the like. Thing is, we have to make sure that it's regulated to where people don't get cheated, but otherwise, let it be as open as possible.”

  “Sounds like a good idea,” Gordon nodded slowly, clearly thinking about it. “I take it you want to try and aim for people to start spending silver or gold coins and the like, as well?”

  “If they're of a mind to, sure,” Pickett shrugged. “Can't eat either one, though, and they won't keep you warm in the winter, so I don't know if people will want to do that, at least right away. And, if you can't spend that money to replenish your goods or materials, then it's no good to you, anyway.”

  “That is true,” Gordon agreed. “I've wondered what we could do about that, but other than planting a little cotton to see if we could spin it into material, we can't think of much else.” He held back the fact that they had also planted some flax seed. Flax was used to make linseed oil as well as linen, but it was usually grown in a cooler climate than middle Tennessee. If it grew here, and they could make something of it, then he would mention it, but not until then.

  “Cotton is a good idea,” Pickett nodded. “Might be we could trade for some seed next year?” he asked. “Growing cotton that we could spin into fabric would be a big help for us.”

  “I don't know how much seed we'll have, but I'm sure we make some kind of arrangement,” Gordon assured him. “A good deal of what we planted this year we hope to make into seed. We'll see how that goes.”

  “That's all well and good,” Doreen Milligan cleared her throat, “but we have troubles and problems much closer than next year. While it's pleasant today, winter will be upon us before you know it. We need to make preparations for that now.”


  “Not that it looks like you need much preparation here,” Draper mentioned. His tone indicated that he didn't like it much that the Sanders were better prepared than Jordan.

  “We need a lot of preparation,” Gordon shook his head. “We've got over a hundred people to feed, clothe and house. We've got to be able to put back enough food to get all of them through winter, and provide warm clothing for those who have to be out even on a bitter day. Farm work is hard on clothing, and so is most everything else we do here. Add in working hay and silage for the livestock and that just makes it harder, not to mention cutting cord after cord of wood.”

  “At least you've got it to do,” Draper shot back. “Some of us don't have anything.”

  “That's not my fault, Ben,” Gordon tried to be amicable. “It's not like I took what I have from others. We've worked generations to build this place.”

  That seemed to take the air from Draper as he let out a breath and nodded in silent agreement.

  “Anyway, I'd say Doreen has the right of it,” Gordon went on. “It's fine for us to plan for next year, but we have to get there in order to make those plans work out. So, you're organizing a trade day,” he looked at Pickett. “Will it be like a flea market or a street market?”

  “What do you mean?” Pickett asked, frowning.

  “Well, will it be only on certain days, or will it be open every day, all the time?” Gordon specified. “I assume that your constables will provide security for the vendors?” he added.

  “As to security, yes,” Dawson interjected. “Backed up by small militia patrols that work the edge of town.”

  “That sounds like a good idea,” Robert spoke for the first time.

  “For someone like me, it's even more important,” Gary was nodding, throwing his oar in the water for the first time as well. “There could be tools or firearms left in a stall I was using.”