Her eyes narrowed. “You’re a stellar Marine, Sergeant. I’m not going to lose you to something stupid like a last stand.”
“You can’t carry all the explosives by yourself.”
“There isn’t much left without the front sled. I’ll get as far south as we dare to go and head back to Butler’s.” She could feel the eyes of her fellow Marines upon her. There was admiration in them, respect, and a bit of fear.
“I will disobey your orders, ma’am.” Riddle’s nose flared at the end of his last word. His loyalty and dedication were admirable and exhausting at the same time.
“You will not. This is a single Marine mission. It will be me. I only need you to clear the way to the river. Then we will part.” With fierce eyes, she dared any of them to suggest otherwise.
The Marine sergeant shook his head in disgust.
She ignored him. “Foster and Finch. You will be responsible for carrying Sergeant Riddle. Do not take him anywhere other than Captain Butler’s base. The rest of you are to cover them while they move. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Foster and Finch said in reluctant unison.
“We got your back, Major,” said O’Bannon. The tall Marine looked down on her. His features had thawed in the relative warmth of the office but only a sliver.
“You will follow orders.”
“We follow you, ma’am,” said Johnson. The thick-bodied African-American Marine met her gaze steady, unafraid of her mission.
“Sergeant, I blame you for their brazen disregard of my orders.”
“Ma’am, you should blame yourself. They follow you into the jaws of death out of respect, not disrespect.”
“I will not risk the lives of Marines over another mile of river.”
Riddle’s wide jaw worked as he clenched it. “Major, by asking these men to not accompany you into the hornet’s nest, you put their integrity as Marines on the line and those of the Marines that have gone before. Give them that honor.”
She growled, shaking her head. They were stubborn and tough, and as much as their insubordination irked her, their tenacity gave her hope. Hope that could only be gained by having a squad of ornery Marines at your back. “You Marines are why I love the Corps. Like a pack of cornered dogs, you are going to follow me onto that ice no matter what I say. I can see it in your eyes.” She stopped taking them in. She knew they weren’t fearless.
All men and women knew the darkness of fear. But these Marines would fight, and that was the spark that burned in their eyes. A fire that overcame the cavernous depths of terror to confront death face-to-face.
“Affirmative. Finch and Foster are still on the hook for Riddle. I will not leave you to die for nothing.” The muscles in her face quivered as if she were asking them to perform a task so alien they wouldn’t know how to do it. The smallest of grins spread across her lips.
Finch pointed at her. “Did she just smile?”
Her Marines looked at one another in amazement.
Johnson shook his head, his voice rumbling. “No way. She was baring her teeth like a pit bull before they attack.”
Rasmussen cough-laughed. “Like a badger or something.”
Riddle matched her smile. “That was the first and last time any of you will see a smile out of the major. Remember where you were.”
A small chuckle snuck from her throat. “You’re correct, Sergeant.” Expressing joy wasn’t her strong suit. It hadn’t been even when she was young. She’d been serious about her schoolwork and sports, always striving to reach the next level. Now she was freezing to death in Wisconsin with a handful of Marines, and she chose this place to make herself vulnerable to these men, no, these Marines. After so much death and adversity, what difference was a joyful crack in her persona going to make?
Her close-lipped grin faded. “When I said we’ll be running, I wasn’t kidding. At most, we will have a minute between blasts. If we time it right, we can be almost through before we attract even more attention from the dead. I will plant. The rest of you are pulling security. Understood?”
“Yes, Major,” they said.
“We keep moving on this one. There’ll not be time to clear the blast radius.” She didn’t want to say it, but she wanted her orders clear-cut. “If you fall, we move on.”
Riddle’s lips tightened knowing that his survival earlier was a calculation against the odds of completing the mission.
“Hello?” a voice whispered outside the room.
Guns pointed toward the door.
A soft knock sounded off the door. She nodded to Finch and sidestepped so that when the door was opened, she’d have an angle on shooting offset and not directly in the fatal funnel, dead center of the doorway.
The Marine twisted the doorknob and took a step back along the wall. Weapons were aimed in that direction, fingers resting silently on triggers.
“Don’t shoot,” the man called out. The African-American man in camouflage held up his hands.
She recognized him immediately. “Odom?”
“Reporting for duty.”
“How?”
The Marine walked inside rubbing his hands together. His dark skin had a bluish tinge to it.
“Gave them the slip.” Odom blew on his hands, nodding his head as if distracting and leading a horde of the dead was an easy feat.
“Welcome back, Lance Corporal. Give him a blanket.”
Odom slapped hands with his fellow Marines but only briefly as he hunched over, trying to keep in his warmth. His body visibly shook. Foster unzipped a pack and pulled a foil blanket. It wouldn’t do much, but at least they could offer him a chance to warm up. Exhausted, he took a seat next to Riddle.
“You all right, Sarge?”
“Bum leg. How’d you find us?”
“When the river blew, I was circling back down this bank. River ice broke even farther than we’d planted. Enough to make it unstable. If enough of them get on it, it’ll go.” He looked like a man wearing a crinkly tin spaceman poncho. “I followed the broken river until I got to the point where it wasn’t. Saw the sled still out there. Figured you couldn’t be far. Came in here.”
Alvarado’s gut jumped. “The sled’s still out there? It wasn’t blown?”
Odom nodded. “Yes, ma’am. It’s about five feet from the edge of the ice, but it doesn’t look stable. I wouldn’t trust it.”
A smile tinged on her lips again, but she held it in this time. She didn’t want her reputation being spoiled for Odom or any other Marines in her command. If the rumor got out she was going soft, it would take years to pummel that mushy image back into the mean-spirited major she was today.
“Best news I’ve heard all day.”
The best news she had all day was that an improvised sled of explosives teetered on the edge of the ice, and she was going to lead a handful of Marines in a running battle to retrieve and use them. Like any true Devil Dog, inwardly she beamed with morbid delight.
THE PASTOR
Camp Forge, IA
The pastor trudged carefully across the crisp white ground, his stride taking him far with each step. “Imbecile,” he said to himself. “He is unfit to lead these people. His mercy will be the end of him.”
He followed a worn path of brown frozen mud. He circled through cabins, the musky wood-fire smoke dominating the air. Pushing on a door, he entered his cabin. Most of his disciples waited for him. They all shared his domicile, always wanting to be closer to him to share in his holiness by proximity.
In an instant, Peter was by his side, taking his coat. “Father, how was your meeting?” He hung the garment near the fireplace.
The pastor stood in front of the fire for a moment, warming his long fingers. “It’s just as I thought. The man is weak. Even with the planted evidence, he is still indecisive about the Red Stripes’ fate.”
“Father, we’ve gotten the signal.”
The pastor smiled, watching the flames dance. “Ahead of schedule. Well done.”
“Why don
’t we move on him now?” Luke asked.
The pastor turned around, putting his back to the warmth.
Luke licked his lips, salivating at the thought.
“Patience, young Luke.” The long-haired man had always been rash and violent, an unpredictable follower at best, but savage men had their purposes if corralled properly. “We put nothing to chance. The timing must be perfect and the surprise ultimate.”
“Yes, Father,” Luke bowed his head.
The pastor tapped his chin as he thought. “Mr. Steele is getting married. I believe this to be the sign that we’ve been waiting for.”
“At his wedding?” Peter asked. Discontent shown in his eyes. “There will be much innocent blood spent.”
“No, no,” the pastor said with a shake of his head. He eyed his lieutenant for a moment. Is he lacking in faith? Peter lowered his eyes, knowing his place. “As God’s instruments, he would not have us interfere with their matrimony, but they will surely be drinking all night long on Christmas Eve.” He regarded his followers. “A most foul sacrilege when time would be better spent on holy reflection.”
Matthew ducked his head. “Amen.”
Peter mumbled an, “Amen.”
The fire leapt in his eyes, engulfing a burning farmhouse, the crackling and surrender of wood to the flame chimed in his ears, and he could taste the ash in his mouth. He blinked, his eyes coming back to his world inside the cabin.
All eyes were upon him. Eager eyes. Eyes willing to drink in whatever potion he gave or follow wherever he may lead. There would be no deviation or contradiction from them. They were loyal to the core. He need not inspire because God led him, and therefore, his men would follow him without asking. Faith was a powerful tool.
“Steele has it all wrong. He’s grasping for any way to keep his people together when the answer has been clear the entire time. He needs God but refuses him in the same breath. It’s the only thing that will triumph over the dead. Not guns or tanks or bombs, but God and faith.” He made sure to finish his sentence with eyes on Peter. His big lieutenant dipped his head under his gaze.
His disciples nodded their heads in assertion. The answers were clear and easy in all their eyes.
“This camp was built on a weak structure for no foundation can be set without faith in God to keep it strong.”
He stroked the head of his carpenter’s hammer, feeling the roughness of the rusted surface. “So we must knock this hollow structure from underneath him and build anew an edifice founded on God’s love and his power.”
“Yes, Father. We shall rise,” Luke proclaimed.
“The Red Stripes are imprisoned. Steele’s forces are spread out and weak. They will be hungover and tired the day after the wedding.” He unfurled his arms wide over his people. “We shall be victorious.”
“Should we commit such violence on Christmas?” Peter asked.
Voicing your dissent? “Do you disagree?”
“No, Father. I only wish the Lord’s will be done.”
Or are you denying God’s will?
“We have no place for doubt.” He stepped forward and placed a finger underneath Peter’s chin, raising it. “This is God’s will.”
Hard eyes stared at him. “Yes, Father.”
“It will be the birth of a new order just as we celebrate the nativity of our Lord. God’s Kingdom will be built upon their flesh and blood, and they will embrace God in death. We shall see to this.”
GWEN
Camp Forge, IA
A man coughed a crackling wet hack in the crowd. The savory smell of roasting pig and campfire dominated Camp Forge. Rough, dry hands held her white gloved ones. She peered up into his eyes, drinking in his steel blue orbs that were wide with glee. A smile spread beneath his groomed beard. Becky had gone to town on it the night prior, brushing and chopping and picking at the poor man to ensure he was somewhat presentable for today’s event.
His hair was brushed to the side, covering the scar and parting his hair along the top of his skull. The bones in his cheeks stuck out farther than she ever remembered, but there was joy in his eyes and sadness almost as if he’d foreseen all their deaths and knew that this moment here and now would never last.
Her grandfather cleared his throat. “We’ve gathered here today to celebrate one of life’s greatest moments, the union of two souls as one.” Despite the cold winter air, he wore a fine camel-colored sport coat that was too large for him. What few strands of hair he had atop his head were brushed to the side.
Mark grinned at her. She beamed back. Her insides glowed and her heart soared. She had waited for this day. It was hard to imagine it would be like this, here while surrounded by all these misplaced people. But one thing was real: this man here with her now.
“Marriage is many things, but its foundation is built on love and in trust, to know in your hearts that you want only the best for each other. It takes dedication to stay open to one another, to learn and grow even when it is difficult to do so.” Her grandfather turned toward Mark.
“Do you have the ring?”
“I do,” he said.
“Not yet, son,” Pa said.
The people in attendance let out a chuckle. Smiling, Mark nodded. He took one of her grandmother’s rings from his pocket. It was a simple design. A gold band with three humble diamonds along the top.
She held out her hand and found herself shaking not with fear but with excitement.
Her grandfather peered down at his notes. “Do you promise to love Gwen and respect her, to share your life and your dreams, to build with her a home that is a place of love, happiness, commitment, and growth?”
Mark’s voice boomed. “I do.”
“Do you promise to cherish and protect her?”
“I do.”
“You may place the ring on her finger.”
The small metal circle slipped over her knuckles all the way to the base of her finger next to the engagement ring.
She took out his ring.
“Now, Gwen, my girl, do you promise to love Mark and respect him, to share your life and your dreams, to build with him a home that is a place of love, happiness, commitment, and growth?”
“I do.”
“Do you promise to cherish and protect him?”
“I do.”
“You may place the ring on his hand.” She slid the ring on his finger, and she could see the emotion rising in his chest.
“Before I pronounce you man and wife, let me remind you of these things. Love is not a wall; it is a bridge. Love does not confine; it sets you free. It leads as a pathway, winding to places unknown and mysterious. With love to light the way, you can meet any challenge together.”
Becky and her grandmother sobbed softly from the front row. Seated nearby were Jake and Haley. He didn’t look pleased, but he didn’t look upset either, more of a general disappointment.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife. Mark and Gwen, you may kiss.”
Everything was happening so fast. Her day was a blur, and this was one of the only days she wanted to crawl along. She felt his hand land on her hip and the other rest on her side. Her baby bump separated them, but it only made him lean in farther. His mustache and beard prickled her lips, and with a kiss that she could never forget, they became one before a camp of refugees and soldiers.
Uproarious clapping filled the air, and for a moment, she had forgotten the hundreds of people that had come to watch their wedding at the center of the base. Pa clapped Mark on the back.
“Atta boy, son.” Pa held up his hand. “I just have a final word.” He short-coughed and situated his paper near his face so he could read it better.
“This is a difficult world in which you go forth but do so with the knowledge that with this marriage rests the hopes and blessing of all these people.” His voice cracked. “You give us hope that love may yet save us from despair.” The old farmer smiled. “We got three pigs cooking and ready to be served in the barn over there. Merry Christmas, eve
ryone.”
Jerry Jessup started in on his fiddle, and Nowlton Gebert followed him by strumming a tune on his banjo. Gwen felt her hand be taken by Mark, and he led her into the throng of friends.
Harriet was there with Char and Freddy. The little boy hugged Gwen while Steele shook hands with Frank from the Iron Drakes. The people swarmed them with an almost forgotten happiness, smiles upon their faces. The DeVaults brought enough milk to drown them all. The Fogertys gifted them loaves of crusty brown bread for the feast. Tess hugged Mark then slugged him in the shoulder and wagging her finger at him while Gregor bear-hugged Gwen off her feet. Even the Chosen were among them. Down the line, hundreds of well-wishers came, but it was those that weren’t there that chipped away at her soul.
“May your marriage be blessed,” the pastor said to her. He patted her hand in his.
“Congratulations,” Peter said, but his words did not match his sullen demeanor.
Luke gave her a nasty grin. “Many blessings have been bestowed to you. Enjoy them.”
“Thank you,” Gwen said, a fraction of confusion spreading on her face. She didn’t expect the Chosen to be so friendly, but they were off-putting nonetheless.
For every person that passed by, it was painfully obvious all that were missing. While she held joy from her marriage, she also experienced deep sadness at the same time. She realized that the more people she knew, the more people that she knew were going to die. Someday they would be gone, every single one. Probably even sooner given the current state of the world.
She embraced and tried to understand that her sorrow wasn’t going to go away and she would carry it with her throughout the rest of her life, long or short. Sadness at the loss of Steele’s mother. The loss of Lucia and Lindsay. The loss of Kevin and Ahmed. The unknown whereabouts of her parents. Max and Bengy. Jarl and Ben. Her list went on as she hugged these people and received their love. She knew that they too would end up just like the others, gone and dead, missing from the living, vanished into memories.
She glanced at Mark for a moment. He smiled on the outside and clapped backs and shook hands and gave hugs, but his eyes still held a bit of anguish. She understood him, but she also accepted that this was a part of life. Joy and sadness in tandem and the acceptance that there would never be a time when they wouldn’t balance each other.
The End Time Saga (Book 5): The Holding Page 28