by Kate Morris
“And the other groups?” Simon questions. “Where are they going?”
His brother and Derek both make eye contact and then look away.
“What is it?” Cory asks.
“We don’t know,” Derek says. “The last we heard from him was an hour ago. I can’t reach him. He’s either been compromised, or he’s lost his signal.”
Cory knows that ‘compromised’ means that he was caught and probably killed. “I should head up there.”
“No, we can’t afford that right now,” Kelly says, stopping him.
“I’ve got other men going there,” Derek informs them. “If they’re moving in a large group, and they are, they’ll be easy to find.”
“Not unless they’re killed like the other tracker watching them,” Simon points out.
“They may be moving to set up a permanent camp,” Derek says. “We don’t know. We need to wait and see. Be patient. As soon as they set eyes on them again, he’ll call it in.”
“In the meantime,” John says as he joins their conversation, “be on alert. Be ready. Stay frosty.”
Time ticks by slowly as they wait for the drones or the men on the ground out there looking for them to spot something. They continue to do their rounds, walk the beat, and wait.
“Sir!” one of the sheriff’s men calls out to Derek. “I’ve got radio contact.”
“They’re coming,” the man on the other end says to Derek, who is controlling the radio now. “They’re about two miles from our town.”
“Roger,” Derek says calmly. “Bring your men. Fall back and get back to the town.”
Within an hour or so, the town is surrounded by thousands of men, about two thousand from what has been scouted and seen by the drones. They do not advance or make contact. They are sitting about a hundred yards out from them. Just parked there not moving as if they are waiting for something.
“Son of a bitch,” his brother says beside him on the wall. “The President isn’t here. He’s gone somewhere else. He may have gone to our farm looking for Robert. These men are awaiting his orders to attack.”
“Oh, my God,” Simon says on Cory’s other side.
There are no words that Cory can say that would properly express his fear.
Chapter Thirty-five
Reagan
“Just play with Ari, sweetie,” she tells Jacob for the third time. He keeps asking to play outside. He’s only a little boy. He doesn’t understand that there could be danger out there somewhere. It was decided that the children would play indoors today. It’s hard for them. Winter is nearly over. The sun is out. They want to be, too.
“Any news?” Paige asks as she comes into Grandpa’s office and joins them.
“Nothing yet,” Reagan answers.
“It’s still early,” Grandpa says. “Not even eight.”
Sue has been pacing all morning, going up and down the long hall that stretches from the front door to the kitchen door. When the men left, Reagan and Sam packed boxes and bags of emergency provisions into the back of the Suburban and the remaining CNG truck in case they need to flee if the town falls and the men don’t return. If the men don’t return. Reagan can’t even comprehend this. The idea of John not coming home makes her sick.
“Should we check in with them?” Paige asks.
Grandpa rests his hand on her shoulder for a second, “Let’s keep the lines open. Just in case we need to communicate.”
Gretchen has been sitting with her knees drawn up to her chest on the leather sofa in the same position for over an hour. She has bitten her black painted thumbnail down to a nub. She is also dressed and ready to go. She hadn’t even removed her jacket or shoes since she arrived. Her backpack is strapped on and full of whatever she packed into it. She was pissed when she arrived with her mother, who is helping Hannah in the music room keep the children calm and entertained. But Reagan could immediately tell that G hadn’t wanted to come to the farm. She knows the girl just didn’t want to be separated from her brother. Although Reagan found it in her heart to forgive her father, she’s not so sure about G. She is definitely not in mourning, either. She just seems angry, angrier than normal. Reagan knows that feeling so well. It has been her constant companion for over a decade when her father left them. Someday she is hopeful that G will find a way to forgive their father for the wrongdoing he did to her, too.
“Screw this. I’ve gotta get some fresh air,” G says and leaves, and Reagan hears the front door open and close.
“She shouldn’t be outside right now,” Reagan notes as she peers through the window to find G lighting a cigarette, something she probably lifted while at the fort.
Grandpa runs a hand through his hair and puffs on his pipe, “Let her go. She’ll be alright.”
She nods but isn’t so sure.
Reagan is also dressed and ready to go, too. She’s wearing black jeans, her Converse, her black Metallica t-shirt- the one her husband often wears and she now wears because she wanted his scent on her if it’s the last time she’ll ever carry it with her. Her pack is already in the truck, as well as, her children’s and her sister’s. The hardest part about making an escape if they must will be getting Grandpa to agree to leave. This is his home. It’s his family’s farm. The land is a part of his very soul. It’s a part of all of them. The idea of leaving it makes her feel almost as sick as losing John.
“Anyone want something to eat?” Sue asks from the door.
A resounding ‘no’ is her answer.
“Yeah, me, neither,” her sister admits. “I just can’t stand this! I need…”
Her words are cut off as a loud explosion rocks the hardwood floor beneath their feet. Her eyes dart to her grandfather’s. He gives her a firm nod, but Reagan can see the fear hiding there.
“Everyone, get ready,” he says. “It looks like we were wrong after all.”
“Shit,” Reagan remarks and slings her rifle right as one of their trips in the woods is hit and causes another explosion. Sam is already picking up her rifle.
“Is that them? Are they here?” Gretchen asks as she blasts into the office, blowing smoke out of her mouth. She rushes over and stamps out her cigarette in one of Grandpa’s pipe ashtrays.
“Yes,” Reagan answers with honesty.
“He’s surrounding the farm,” Grandpa says. “Get the children to the basement. There’s no time to run. We’re going to have to hold them off until the men get here.”
He’s on the radio in the next instant calling Derek, who picks up quickly. Their exchange is a calm one, even though Reagan is ready to lose her shit.
“We’re already moving,” Derek says. “We had to sneak out. They’ve surrounded the town. We’ll be there in ten.”
They cut the transmission, and Grandpa turns to her as she’s the only one left in the room other than Samantha.
“I’m going!” Sam yells, rushing out of the room. She is to take up a position in the top of the barn.
“Go!” Reagan cries out to her friend, her beloved little sister.
“Reagan, we have to hold the line until they get here,” Grandpa says.
She nods vigorously. “I’m going to the front porch. G’s on her way up to my room. Sue will use the music room.”
“I’ll use the back porch,” he confirms their plan and crosses the room and takes her hands in his. He closes his eyes and bows his head, “Lord, be with our family. Watch over us and give us the strength to defeat our enemy. Make our shots accurate if they are needed. Keep our children safe.”
He ends his quick prayer and kisses her cheek, then pulls her in for a strong hug. “Go now.”
She doesn’t need to be told twice. On the way out of the room, she takes a last glance over her shoulder at him. He is standing in a stream of sunshine coming through the big windows, dust particles sparkling and landing on him like a blessing from God. She prays that’s what it means, that God will watch over him today. Her grandfather is gripping the high back of a tufted armchair and is in quiet reflection. She
hopes if either of them dies today, it’s her. The family needs him more than anyone else. He’s their rock, their comfort, their strength, the center of their universe.
Reagan pauses another second and goes out the front door, but before she does so, she can hear Hannah in the basement praying with the children. Lucy must still be with her. Good. At least her sister won’t be alone. Surely they won’t kill a blind woman and children. She hopes it’s true but fears the worst. She also picks up her ammo can with the extra mags for the M16. Her Remington 700 is what she’ll start with to pick off men. When they get too close, she’ll switch to the lighter rifle.
She can hear them moving through the woods around the farm. They are making no pretense at being quiet. With the amount of noise they are making, it sounds like a large group. She can only hope some were injured or killed in the explosions. Reagan takes up her spot behind the reinforced railing. After the Target creeps attacked the farm that time, the men rebuilt some of the porch railings. Now, they may not be quite as aesthetically accurate to the old farmhouse, but they have solid sheets of steel behind the spindles for just this reason.
Unless they move the tangled trees of the abatisse on the main road in, they won’t be coming in that way. She can hear vehicles, though, somewhere. It sounds like tanks or something just as loud and heavy. She’s glad Hannah is in the basement with the children. They may need all the protection they can get if they are about to be mortared on.
Above her in the trees, tiny sparrows tweet and chirp as if nothing is afoot. It reminds her of the song her grandfather used to listen to by Dolly Parton called Little Sparrow. It had a backwoods, mountain Tennessee acapella folk song sound to it. She can just hear that now echoing through this valley, hear the old-world cadence of Dolly’s delicate voice crying out the sad notes. The mournful tune fits her mood as they are about to fight to defend this valley to their dying breaths. This valley in Tennessee holds all the secrets and history of her family. This land isn’t just her grandfather’s. It belongs to her, and her children, and their children, and every McClane child thereafter. She isn’t about to end her family’s history here today. At least not without a fight.
Reagan squats on one knee and pushes her rifle barrel through the slats, resting it on the steel slab. Then she takes a second to offer up her own prayer in a whisper. “If blood is about to be spilled on this land today, dear God, let it be our enemy’s.”
A bead of sweat rolls down her forehead as she spies the first vehicle breaking through the horizon coming from the path behind the Johnson farm, a path the President would’ve needed to be told of. Parker’s handiwork, no doubt. She now wishes he hadn’t been given such a swift death by Simon. Any man who would lead men to a farm where children and women are being spared from the atrocities of what the world has become is a demon, not a man at all.
The huge truck coming toward them is some sort of armored vehicle. Men are standing in the bed of it. They are all armed. A .50 cal is mounted in the back. A black sedan pulls ahead of it, passing the truck and leading the way. Three more trucks jammed full of men pull forward and spread out across their field. Then she sees what is coming behind them. Probably a thousand or more men on foot are marching and spreading out, as well.
“Jesus,” she swears under her breath.
By the time they come to a stop, they are less than fifty yards out from the house. She doesn’t have enough ammo to take out everyone, but she’ll do what she can when her grandfather calls for it.
After they have extended out probably five hundred yards in single file, the lead car stops, which causes the others to do the same thing. Reagan tightens the strap of her Kevlar vest, needing to feel the heavy steel plates just a bit closer to her chest.
She tries to control her breathing. She needs to make every shot count. There can be no misses or non-fatal wound shots. These men have not come here to talk. They are here to annihilate them.
A man steps out of the back seat of the black sedan. He is tall, wearing Kevlar of his own, but also wears an air of authority. She spies him through the scope of her rifle. It’s the President. She recognizes him from when he used to be the Vice President. It’s him. He is not carrying a rifle. When he steps forward, the whole line of soldiers moves, as well. The vehicles also keep pace. This is it.
“Come on, Grandpa,” she says to herself nervously. They need to start sniping them. They have to push them back. They have to buy them some time until the men come from town with their own army. But his orders were to wait for him to take the first shot. “Come on. Come on.”
The President and his army continue to advance, sending Reagan’s heart racing. She takes a deep breath and taps her finger nervously on the trigger.
Then she catches movement out of the corner of her eye. It’s her grandfather. He’s off the back porch and walking across the yard toward them. He’s holding a stick with a white t-shirt tied to the end as if he is offering a peace truce.
“Damn it!” she hisses and grabs the M16, slinging it onto her back. She hops the railing and lands on her feet in the yard. Then she jogs toward him.
The kitchen door slams shut. Reagan turns to see Hannah coming out carrying Mary.
“What the…? Hannah, get back!”
She can’t think about Hannie right now. Reagan has to get Grandpa back first.
“Grandpa!” she hisses, drawing his attention.
He turns and says, “Wait by the edge of the garage.”
She gives him a look that should clearly show him her disapproval. He indicates over his shoulder that she should listen to him. Then he spots Hannah within ten feet of him. He calmly walks over to her and takes her hand.
“Fuck!” Reagan whispers vehemently and rushes to a position behind the cement block wall where she raises her rifle to spot them. This is not the plan at all. Derek said this man has not come to talk and make friends. He’s a threat. He’s more than that. He brought a whole damn army to wipe them out.
Grandpa walks to the edge of the yard and stops, probably twenty or so feet from her. At least he isn’t continuing on. Reagan looks across the pasture and sees that the President has stopped, too. One of the men beside him is speaking to him. Then he continues walking and leaves everyone but two men, one on either side of him. Her heart is pounding so hard in her chest. Should she shoot him? Will it cause the rest of his people to flee? Or would it make them retaliate and kill all of the McClanes?
“Reagan, get your sister out of here if he shoots me,” her grandfather calmly tells her without turning his head.
“Yes, sir,” she says back. What else can she say? Argue with him? He’s already made up his mind to do this, whatever this is. And she wouldn’t be surprised if Hannie wasn’t behind this, as well.
Someone touches her shoulder, which scares the hell out of her. Reagan turns, ready to fight. It’s only John, Cory close behind.
“Oh, John!” she cries softly and hugs him around the neck with her free arm.
“What’s he doing?” her husband asks. “Cor, get into position.”
Cory jogs away. Then she sees the other men in the family taking up tactically smart positions. They are not trying to be subtle or sneaky, either. It is probably by design, by Derek’s design. He likely wants them to see that they are not just attacking women and children. Men, heavily armed men, their McClane men and men she recognizes from Dave’s camp including Dave, are running furtively across the yard and crouching behind strategically smart fighting positions and cover. Dave sends his knife hand slicing through the air, and another dozen come out from behind the house and move forward in a show of force and take positions, as well. She does not, however, see Kelly, who will lose his mind when he spots his wife waiting out in the middle of the yard in her long white lawn dress, pale pink cardigan, and huge pregnant belly with Grandpa, both targets ripe for the picking and also holding little Mary.
“I don’t know,” she says. “This isn’t what we were going to do. I was on the front
porch. That’s where he wanted me. Then I looked over, and there he goes. And then Hannah, too. She’s got Mary out there.”
Her husband scowls deeply and nods. “Go to a one-kneed position, babe, so I can shoot over you.”
She does as he says, preferring this position anyway. She can lean her shoulder against the building and being on one knee gives her more stability in holding the rifle. This could be a trickier shot now. She needs all the help she can get.
“Professor, if this sets off, take out the one on the right,” John says into his throat mic.
Dozens of footsteps pound the ground behind her. Risking a quick glance away, Reagan looks over her shoulder to find hundreds of their allies lining up just like the President’s men. Her former admirer and now good friend, Chet Reynolds sends her a wink and a nod. She returns the nod. Many of their neighbors, K-Dog and his men, Henry and many of his men that she recognizes, and some of their trusted friends from town have arrived. At least it feels like a much fairer fight now. She still doesn’t like her grandfather out there with Hannie and Mary.
The President comes within ten feet of her grandfather and stops to remove his pistol from his hip and hold it out slowly and lower it to the ground. It’s a good idea on his part. He has about a hundred barrels pointed at his head, and he knows it.
“I presume you are Herbert McClane, sir?” he asks Grandpa.
“Yes, and I presume you are the man who is now calling himself the new President of our great country?”
Reagan’s eyes widen. Her grandfather isn’t pulling any punches. Instead of being offended, the man sighs.
“Yes, by unanimous vote, I’m afraid,” he answers. He extends a hand to shake her grandfather’s. “Ezra Hofstetter, sir.”
“It would seem you have come an awful long way for this confrontation, Mr. Hofstetter.”
“Yes, sir,” he answers honestly. “My men and I are sleep-deprived and exhausted. We’d like to get this over with as quickly as possible. But we certainly don’t want to do anything with a pregnant woman and toddler in the middle of it, sir.”