Glimmer of Hope: Book 1 of Post-Apocalyptic Series

by Ryan King

  That was not the same Tim Reynolds he saw now.

  The man was pale and gaunt, even in the dim light of the lantern in the dark room. Most of his hair had turned white, and Reggie was shocked when he caught a glimpse of them both in a shattered wall mirror. Both appeared to be the same age, even though Tim was two decades younger. Reggie had heard how Schweitzer ordered Tim hunted down and arrested after his unauthorized news broadcasts, but he hadn’t fully understood the consequences.

  “I apologize, Mister President,” said Tim, fumbling with keyboard switches. His hands shook and recoiled from any surface they gingerly touched. It was obvious that the removed fingernails had not regrown properly and were a source of constant pain.

  “Please don’t apologize to me,” Reggie said, fighting to keep his voice even. “It is I who should apologize to you.”

  Tim looked up in genuine surprise. “Whatever for?”

  Reggie swallowed. “I believe I at least played a part in”—he pointed to the man’s hands—“what happened to you.”

  The gaunt man looked at his hands in surprise and laughed nervously. “This was the least of it, believe me.”

  “That doesn’t alleviate my guilt.”

  Tim nodded while looking at the floor. He was silent for a long time before looking back up. “It wasn’t in either of our natures to keep quiet in the face of wrong; you were just smarter about getting away. Let’s call that whole ordeal a learning experience for me.”

  “One you’d not like to repeat,” said Reggie with a hint of smile.

  Tim smiled back. “Nor talk about further if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course. I’m sorry.” Reggie drew himself up and looked around the studio. “Does this place even still work?”

  “Sure, it needs some TLC, but the important parts have been repaired and are in good working order.” Tim looked at his watch. “Let me go fire everything up, and we can get started at the top of the hour.”

  Reggie watched as the man slowly and carefully lifted himself out of the chair and walked out of the control room. He watched the man leave and then peered around at the small, shadowy space. Reggie had recognized and taken stock of people and things that had been lost, but he now realized there were likely many other rooms out there like this one and many other people like Tim. Those who had suffered the hardships of the past war and did what they could to carry the resultant scars with dignity.

  His thoughts were interrupted by the sudden burst of electricity that until recently he had taken for granted. Now it bordered on magical. Nearly everyone had gotten into the habit of throwing their breakers when not actually using electrical devices.

  Tim hobbled back in, and his appearance was even worse in the bright lights, something Reggie hadn’t thought possible. Tim carefully extinguished the lantern.

  “We can wait, you know. Are you sure you’re ready for this?” asked Reggie, placing his hand over Tim’s.

  The man jerked his hand back from Reggie’s with the speed of a startled animal. He panted with his hands held protectively near his chest. After a few seconds, he appeared to recover himself and attempted to smile.

  “Seriously. This can wait. There hasn’t been a broadcast in months. The people will wait another few days. More, I suspect.”

  Tim shook his head. “No. I thought about this in that dark, wet cell. All the things I would say and talk about once I got out. All the injustice I would expose and truth I would tell. That all seems so naive now. I’m just grateful to be here.”

  “I can understand where you are coming from. Things were pretty dark for a while.”

  “Yes, and this broadcast is redemption for you, Mister President. It tells the people that they do still have a say and it is their government.” Tim paused in thought. “Maybe it’s a redemption for all of us. At the very least, it signals a new start. I think what I’m trying to say is we all need this...even me.”

  “Then by all means”—Reggie nodded gravely—“ let us proceed.”

  Tim picked up a prepared script and looked again at his watch. “We are really close on time. I can try and run through these with you quickly if you want.”

  Reggie shook his head. “Let’s wing it. I trust you and believe we can play off each other. After all, this isn’t our first time doing this.”

  The man grinned weakly. He stared at his watch and reached out to pull the microphone close. His hand shook wildly, and he clenched it into a fist.

  “Are you sure?” asked Reggie.

  Tim nodded and then pulled the microphone closer, putting on headphones and motioning for Reggie to do the same. He hesitated for a second more and then flipped a few switches. The broadcast light turned from red to green, and there was a quick hiss of static in the headphones.

  The man sat frozen and silent.

  Reggie leaned forward about to speak, but Tim held a flat palm out towards him. Tim closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. He then opened his eyes, smiled, and moved his face near the microphone.

  “Good afternoon, citizens of the Jackson Purchase, West Tennessee Republic, Pennyrile Communities, and all you good people out there. This is Tim Reynolds of WKPO Radio, bringing you the Voice of the Jackson Purchase.”

  Reggie smiled and nodded to Tim approvingly.

  The man turned to Reggie. “We have the pleasure today to welcome the President of the JP, Reggie Phillips, a man I for one am extremely happy to have back in that position. Welcome, Mister President.”

  “Thank you, Tim, and please just call me Reggie.”

  “Reggie it is. Why don’t you start by giving the people a quick recap of what has happened over the last few months. Many of course know, but there are countless rumors and false stories floating around.”

  “Yes,” said Reggie, coughing to clear his throat. Here it was, the elephant in the room. “As you know by now, the Second KenTen War ended recently with the death of Ethan Schweitzer, a man who illegally usurped the position of JP President.”

  “Yes, we’re glad to see that bastard gone,” said Tim. “And by death, you do mean blown to smithereens with a nuclear bomb?”

  “It was a tactical nuclear device,” Reggie admitted. “In fact, it was one of the devices Schweitzer tried to infiltrate into the JP in order to destroy Kentucky Dam and deprive us of electricity.”

  “Well, I’m grateful he’s gone, but how do you respond to those who feel that David Taylor, the son of your Chief of Defense Nathan Taylor, sent his own son on a suicide mission? That seems pretty ruthless, even under the circumstances.”

  Reggie’s lips tightened over the memory of his friend’s grief. “Nathan Taylor had no knowledge of his son’s plans, I can assure you. He was as surprised as the rest of us.”

  “I see,” said Tim. “Some have said that David Taylor was out of control even before setting off the nuke, considering he was responsible for the Murray State bombing and even played a role in the Battle of Fulton Massacre. How can someone like that be invested with authority?”

  “I don’t believe he was out of control. I believe he was a man trying to do what was right. You could even consider his actions selfless. Making tough decisions for the good of all. Let me remind you and everyone else, there were no easy choices in any of those cases.”

  “But a tactical nuke?” Tim asked. “Doesn’t that seem extreme?”

  Reggie felt his heart racing in anger and had to force himself to calm down. “We were beat. I was in hiding. Our delegation was in Fulton to present our surrender. If there had been any other option, we would have considered it. If David hadn’t have done what he did, we would all still be under that madman’s rule.”

  Tim started to ask another question and stopped when the microphone was roughly pulled away from his face by Reggie. The two stared at each other, and comprehension seemed to dawn on Tim’s face. He reached out and pulled it back in front of him.

  “I’m sorry, Reggie,” Tim said more softly. “You are, of course, right, and I know t
hat as well as anyone else. You could even say David Taylor’s name should be added to that long list of honored dead who have fallen in the defense of this nation.”

  Reggie nodded. “I agree. I know people are upset about what he did, and frankly scared. We all lived through a nuclear apocalypse, and no one wants to ever experience that again. But David’s actions saved us. I stand by that.”

  “Very good,” said Tim. “Let’s shift gears a little bit and talk about the upcoming elections.”

  “Well, as you all know I am actually filling the position of Interim President. Paul Campbell was the last elected JP President. He resigned that post to Ethan Schweitzer, now deceased. As no one has been able to locate Paul Campbell, I was asked by the Executive Council to fill in until elections can be held next month.”

  “I’m assuming you will be running?”

  Reggie nodded. “I will. When I lost my last election, I had no intention of ever running again, but I still think there is work for me to do.”

  “It also does not appear anyone else is running against you,” chuckled Tim.

  “Currently, that is the situation, but there is still time for a candidate to add their name to the ballot.”

  Tim pulled out a piece of paper. “Even as Interim President, you have orchestrated an impressive series of actions: the Creek Nation Treaty, resettlement of Paducah, the agreement with the Pennyrile Communities, and the Fulton relief effort. And all of that during a particularly harsh winter that featured a number of electricity disruptions. I think you have done a particularly good job, but how would you respond to those critical of your executive order to grant full pardons to all those who collaborated under Ethan Schweitzer’s regime as well as citizens of the WTR?”

  “I believe in my heart that the vast majority of those people who were pardoned were not collaborators but victims. They were in a difficult position. To resist would have meant imprisonment or death for them and their families. The stories of those who passively resisted and helped our forces behind the scenes will in time become legend.”

  Tim looked troubled, and Reggie thought he was likely comparing his own recent circumstances with those who had not resisted or been imprisoned.

  Reggie continued, “We also need to move beyond neighbor fighting neighbor. It is time for us to pull together. I am particularly concerned with several increasingly bloody feuds that have erupted between a number of families. I urge everyone to continue to rely upon the rule of law to settle disputes and not resort to violence. We are all in this together.”

  “How do you plan to respond to the continued refugee crisis and the growing violence from gangs, not just inside our borders but from across the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers?”

  “It is all about defense,” answered Reggie. “Refugees have been a part of our lives from day one and will continue to be so as long as we have it better than everyone else. It’s a pretty good problem to have, and we should remember that we have benefited greatly by the influx of talents and knowledge that these refugees have brought. When refugees stop trying to get in, that’s when it will be time to worry.

  “Nathan Taylor, my Chief of Defense, has been working with the military forces and local sheriffs to try to curb violent gangs and brigands. We have a growing trade with our neighbors, but it cannot thrive until it is safe to travel the roads.

  “As far as outside influences, we are working on that issue. Most of you likely know of our recent successful military campaign against the operating base of a group that called itself the Pirates of the Mississippi. This group has been raiding, murdering, and pillaging up and down the river unchecked for months; it is now destroyed. We are working on similar plans to curtail various groups who periodically cross into our borders.”

  Tim looked at Reggie and tapped his watch. “We are almost out of time. Is there anything else you would like to tell our listening audience?”

  Reggie almost said ‘no,’ but the image of David Taylor came to mind. “Yes, I would. I would like to have a moment of silence for all of us to remember those who have fallen for our nation’s sake since N-Day. Men like Clarence Anderson, Butch Matthews, Harold Buchannan, Jim Meeks, Doctor James Bryant, Timothy Brazen Walker, Beau Myers, Pastor Gary Lancourt and...David Taylor. I would like us to remember all who have suffered, especially those at Fulton and Paducah. Everyone has lost someone. Everyone, and no one is to blame. The only way forward is forward. Let us honor their memory by remembering them and building again...as they would want.”

  The silence dragged on as Tim looked at him. Reggie realized that a minute of silence on the transmitter meant a minute of unused electricity not only for the radio station but also for thousands of radios among thousands of home. Valuable electricity just leaking uselessly out into the air.

  Not useless, thought Reggie. It is an offering. This moment of silence means even more because everyone recognizes the cost. Let us hope we can let go and move forward.

  Tim cleared his throat. “Thank you, Mister President, and thank you listeners for your time. Please check back this same time next week. Until then, stay strong, my friends.” He then flipped the broadcast switch, and the light went back to red. Tim immediately pulled the headphones off his head and walked out of the booth.

  Reggie followed him downstairs and outside where Tim stood with his eyes closed and the sun on his face.

  “You okay?” Reggie asked.

  “Just needed to get out of there for a minute. Some bad memories came bubbling up, and I’m not real fond of small spaces anymore.”

  Reggie looked at the man and wanted to comfort him somehow. If it were someone else who hadn’t endured such horrific abuse, he would have put an arm around them or at least given him a manly pat. It was hard for Reggie to stand there and do nothing.

  “Do you really think people can just let go and move on?” Tim asked.

  Reggie looked over and saw it wasn’t a rhetorical question. The man was sincerely curious, and his face looked even tighter than before. “I do. It is the only way forward. All other paths lead to destruction and more death, I’m afraid.”

  Tim nodded minutely.

  Reggie stepped around until he was in front of Tim. “You need to let go for your own sake, otherwise things are going to eat you up.”

  The man stared at him hard for several long seconds with hallow eyes. When he finally spoke, it was nearly a whisper.

  “I’m trying.”

  Tim turned his back on Reggie and walked back into the radio station.

  Chapter 4 - Tunica

  Simon made his way northeast along roads he knew well. He had traveled most of them on the way to Site Conway nearly two years before. He wasn’t sure how to get into the JP yet, but he had decided to start on familiar territory. When he had fled from his hometown of Tunica, Mississippi, its survivors had been like a warren of scared rabbits looking to the sky for the hawk. Simon wasn’t judging; he had been one of those rabbits.

  It had been easy for him to leave because there was nothing to keep him there anymore. He had in part at least left the army due to his ailing mother who died over a year before N-Day. Even if his mother had been as healthy as a goat, he knew he was not a good fit in the army. It had always been a means to an end. It had paid for his college degree in electronics engineering from Tulane University.

  His first days in the army had been rather overwhelming. Simon had barely made it through Signal Officer Basic Course, not because he couldn’t understand or grasp the concepts taught—there were plenty of others in that boat—no, he had almost been dismissed for his failure to bond with his fellow officers. Simon didn’t intentionally set out to keep himself removed; he had simply never seen the need to bond with others.

  Simon knew enough about psychological disorders to know he did not suffer from a psychopathy or some sort of disassociation disorder. He recognized and understood the feelings and worth of others. Simon did not believe himself some sort of superior being or want to harm others. He
just liked being alone, and he had discovered for the most part the world was kind enough to oblige him...except in the army.

  His first assignment had been in the 3rd Infantry Division at Fort Stewart, Georgia. As a signal officer, he was assigned to an infantry battalion where was incorrectly labeled as gay and correctly as antisocial. It hadn’t mattered that he was good at his job and did all that was required of him; he didn’t fit in and everyone could see it.

  So it was with relief that Simon was informed by his superior officer that he was beginning chapter paperwork to separate him from the military under the ambiguous “failure to adapt” clause. His commander had informed him of all his rights to fight this decision, but Simon had eagerly waived said rights. When asked why by those few who still talked to him, he told them it was because of his sick mother, but truth be told, he felt like he was escaping a prison.

  Simon froze on the highway. He thought he had heard something. After a tense minute, he realized it was just a rabbit in the brush. Several times during his journey, he had hidden along the side of the road as others passed. They may have been simply harmless travelers like himself, but even before N-Day, Simon would not have wanted to talk to them.

  As he looked both ways again, he saw the small, octagonal, blue decal on the back of a road marker nearby. He had followed signs like this all the way to Site Conway. Signs with secret messages hidden in plain sight. Messages that he understood. There were few who did.

  Simon had learned about the signs by happenstance. It was an annual army requirement that each combat brigade send one officer to the Continuity of Operations course at Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado. Since the course sounded lame and was classified so those that went could not talk about it, everyone assumed it was one of those meaningless military training requirements. Although Simon was getting out of the army, it took a few months to process his discharge, so his command decided to get some use out of him before then. Sending Simon kept them from having to lose one of their “real officers.”