by Hunt, Jack
“Speak to him.”
He let out an exasperated sigh. “And say what? I’ve already tried.” Miles cast a glance over his shoulder at his father who was laid up in bed.
“Try again. He’s your brother after all.”
“Until he can forgive himself, I’m not sure he’ll listen.”
His father sat up, his chest revealing the scars of war. “It’s a matter of perspective, Miles. He can’t change the bad things he’s done but he can be reminded of the good. Sometimes people just need to hear the good.”
“And the others?”
“I will speak to them.”
It was true, since he’d been back, those he’d inflicted punishment upon under the direction of Yong had made sure to remind him. They kept him in his place. Even when he saw a glimmer of the man he once was, Jake, Keith, Murphy wouldn’t let him have the peace he needed. Miles nodded and made his way to the door.
“Miles.”
“Yeah?”
“I love you, son.”
He smiled back, tapping the door frame with a finger before heading down. The home was a busy place, as was the once uninhabited village of Florida, Missouri. While many had returned to their towns and cities, hoping to rebuild, others had chosen to remain, to put down roots in a place that had been a haven in the time of war. Miles had considered going back to Camdenton but it held too many bad memories. With his father alive, and the country now faced with the task of rebuilding, he’d decided to start a home in one of the old houses in the village.
The smell of eggs cooking filled his nostrils as he passed through the kitchen. Gunnar sat around a long wooden table with Arianna, Zhang, Snow, Lucius, Charlie, Murphy, and Tex, shooting the breeze, discussing recent news of allied troops in America. “You want some breakfast, Miles?” Jenna asked, sliding out an egg onto a plate.
“No, I’m good. Maybe later.”
Gunnar caught the expression on his face and his smile faded. He’d become very in tune with his mood changes. “Everything okay, Miles?” The question drew curious expressions from them all.
He nodded and feigned a smile. “Yeah.”
Gunnar glanced at his watch. “Remember, the commander in chief will be here soon. You might want to take a shower, change out of those rags,” he said with a smirk on his face, making a joke of his fresh clothes, his clean-shaven face, and the cologne he was wearing.
Miles chuckled as he headed out.
The president had made plans to meet them in person. It had been all anyone had talked about since they got the news. It was mostly to thank him and the others for what they did in saving his daughter and the risk they’d taken throughout the war. No doubt he expected a long-winded speech, questions, a handshake, or a pat on the back and it would be over. It was nice but it would do little to bring back those he’d lost. No one would understand the long-term damage, to him, August, or any of them. That was the true cost and only those inflicted would understand.
A light, cold breeze blew against his skin. Winter was upon them and the ground was covered in a small amount of snow, the trees barren and the lake partially frozen around the edges. Miles zipped up his jacket and stuck his hands in his pockets as he made his way down to the shoreline.
August was having a joint to calm his nerves, the aroma was unmistakable, a pungent damp smell that was akin to a dead skunk. August didn’t turn as he sidled up beside him and stood there looking out. They said nothing to each other for a few minutes, both just taking in the sight of a gunmetal sky.
“So I guess they’ll be celebrating today,” August said, taking a toke and then handing it off to him. He took it and sucked on the end before giving it back.
White smoke came out of his nostrils as he spoke. “Yeah. They haven’t had much to celebrate in a long time.”
“No. I guess not,” he replied. “I think I might take off for a while.”
“And go where?”
“Maybe into Camdenton for a couple of days. Leave before the big chief arrives.”
Miles nodded, contemplating, searching for the words that might lift his spirit. He had nothing. What was he to say? Well done for killing Scarlett? Well done for helping the PLA destroy American lives? He knew if he was in August’s shoes, he would probably feel the same. A sense of not fitting in, feeling out of sorts, muddled in his mind. “He’d want to meet you.”
“Me?” August chuckled. “No. You. Yeah. Not me.”
Miles breathed in deeply. “August.”
“Don’t. I know what you’re going to say. Just don’t.”
“You need to…”
“Miles.” He turned to him, his face pained. “I have to live with my actions. That’s hard enough. What I did in Chicago was what I should have done all along. I didn’t. I believed them over you. I allowed grief to cloud my judgment and so, no… I don’t deserve or expect a pat on the back. Hell, I’m surprised they haven’t shot me in my sleep.”
Silence stretched between them.
“We’ve all made mistakes,” Miles said.
“Really? Have you shot someone you love? Have you sold American down the river, or watched entire families gunned down because of you?”
Miles felt uncomfortable answering that. “Can you change that?”
“No.”
“Exactly. So all you’re doing is beating yourself up. Tearing yourself down and neglecting to see what you did do. August, if this war has taught me anything, it’s not what we do in the early hours when chaos takes hold, though that does matter, it’s what we choose to do in the eleventh hour when hope is lost. In the moment when we are pushed into a corner, faced with surrender and defeat.” He paused, studying his friend, then placed a hand on his arm. August stiffened immediately as if unable to accept any form of acceptance. “The reason we are alive is because of you. Let that sink in. Hold on to that. It will carry you. It won’t be easy. You’ll have days you forget, you’ll have days you’ll beat yourself up, but when you do, I’ll be there to remind you of the good you’ve done.”
August smiled and dropped his head. “Why?”
“Because it’s true, and because you’re my brother, my friend… and family sticks together.”
August’s eyes welled up, multiple tears trailed down his cheeks as Miles hugged him. In all the years he’d known August, he’d never seen him cry. It was as if he was making up for all those years at once. He remained there for the better part of twenty minutes not saying anything, just letting August release the pain.
“Come on, let’s go have some breakfast.”
As they made their way back, August reached into his pocket and handed him a blacked-out American flag bandanna. “I believe this belongs to you.”
Miles gave a confused look. “Where did you get that?”
“You left it behind. I held on to it as a reminder. I don’t need it now.”
Miles took it and looked at it. “Thankfully, neither do I,” he said as he glanced up into the sky at the distant sound of a chopper approaching, bringing the president of the United States.
THANK YOU FOR READING
Please take a second now to leave a review on this book. Even a few words is really appreciated. Thanks kindly, Jack. If you enjoyed that series, you might also like Rules of Survival, All That Remains or Days of Panic
A Plea
Thank you for reading Havoc Endures: Outlaws of the Midwest Book 3. If you enjoyed the book, I would really appreciate it if you would consider leaving a review. Without reviews, an author’s books are virtually invisible on the retail sites. It also lets me know what you liked. It also motivates me to write more books. You can leave a review by visiting the book’s page. I would greatly appreciate it. It only takes a couple of seconds.
Thank you — Jack Hunt
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Jack Hunt is the International Bestselling Author of over forty novels. Jack lives on the East coast of North America. If you haven’t joined Jack Hunt’s Private Facebook Group you can request to join by clicking here now. This gives readers a way to chat with Jack, see cover reveals, enter contests and receive giveaways, and stay updated on upcoming releases. There is also his main facebook page below if you want to browse.
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