Punching Tickets: Book Five in The Mad Mick Series
Page 30
Conor stared at Wayne in shock, a million thoughts going through his head.
"After my people left, I was helping Johnny Jacks out around his place. He told me he'd promised to check in on the kids for you, but he wasn't feeling so hot, so I agreed to do it in his place. When I got here, I found a hole cut in the fence and your house broken into. The kids weren't here. I went looking for them and found them down at Ragus's house. They'd managed to escape but got caught by the monster who'd killed my people. I dealt with him, then I got Ragus and Shannon home. I treated their injuries and I've been here for a couple of days repairing the damage the man did."
"Damage?"
"He cut a hole in the fence and broke down a few doors. He thankfully didn't get into that vault you have with the fancy electronic lock on it, mostly he just made a mess."
Conor had a lot of questions. He rattled them off rapid-fire but Wayne held up a hand.
"You'll have to ask the kids about it, Conor. I don't have all the details. I let them talk when they needed to, but didn't ask a lot of questions. I didn't feel like it was my place."
Conor wouldn't get his answers tonight. It was going to be a long, miserable couple of days. It would take Shannon some time to heal, but it wouldn't be the type of wound that ever stayed shut. The girl had lost everyone and was trapped in a strange land with people she'd only known for a few months. The best thing he could do for her was to make certain she knew this was her home for as long as she wanted to be with them. He'd also need to move her into the house. There was no sense in her staying out there alone in the old cabin that she and Doc shared.
"Thanks, Wayne," Conor said. "I appreciate everything."
"I'll get out of your hair if you want. I'll be staying in Barb's old room at Johnny's house."
Conor held up an appeasing hand. "No hurry, my friend. You might as well stick around for the night. We can figure things out tomorrow."
With that, Conor pushed away from the table and went into the living room. Barb got up and let him take a seat beside Shannon. Conor wrapped an arm around her and she leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulders. He felt her warm tears seeping through his shirt. Soon his own came and they stayed like that for a long, long time.
58
Conor's Compound
Jewell Ridge, Virginia
For months, they healed.
Conor stretched daily and gradually got back to his normal workload, though it was several weeks before his spine could stand the jolting that came with riding a horse. Barb's splinted fingers mended, her bruises healed, and she quickly resumed her training regimen. She ran, lifted weights, and sparred with anyone who dared square off with her. She continued to train Shannon and Ragus, both of whom wanted to improve their grappling skills.
Barb and Wayne eventually came to an arrangement between themselves that they'd take turns staying with Johnny Jacks and helping out around his place. That schedule gave Barb the time away from the compound that she needed, although she felt like she needed it less than she had before. Something had changed inside her. Since working alongside her father, she'd shown a level of maturity and self-control Conor hadn't seen from her before.
On the weeks that she was at Johnny's place, Wayne would come stay at the compound. He'd compiled a list of projects that included maintaining existing structures as well as refining some of the improvements Conor had made. Conor realized that he enjoyed having Wayne around, working alongside someone he got along with. It made life feel a little more normal than it had been for some time.
Shannon struggled with her grief. She had good days and bad days, which came with the territory. There was no rushing it or fixing it. Hearts healed at their own pace and it was different for everyone. One day, to Conor and Barb's surprise, Ragus and Shannon approached them holding hands.
"We've decided we want to move into Shannon and Doc's old cabin," Ragus announced. "Would that be okay?"
Conor’s eyes went wide. "Well, if you've decided, you've decided. Why are you asking me?"
"It's your place," Shannon stated. "I guess what we're asking is if you'd be okay with the idea."
Conor nodded. "Things are different now. You have to take your happiness where you find it. If you're happy and this is what you want, you have my blessing."
They both smiled, hugging each other, then Conor. Ragus even started to hug Barb, then thought better of it. After watching him wrestle with the idea, Barb smiled and gave in, hugging him tightly. He was wary, expecting that any moment her show of affection would turn into a submission hold.
"You better not knock her up," Barb warned.
"Barb!"
The rebuke was a chorus of both Conor and Shannon's voices at the same time.
"What? I'm serious! There's no prenatal care and no hospitals right now. I'm not birthing a baby. Shannon, you seriously want my dad's arm all up in your business trying to drag out a screaming brat?"
Shannon's cringe was response enough.
"Your concerns are noted," Ragus said, trying to call a halt to the conversation. "We have work to do."
Shannon and Ragus hurried off before Barb could further traumatize them. By the end of the day, they'd moved into the small cabin Shannon once shared with her father.
Soon winter was gone and spring was upon them. They planted a garden and worked it through the summer. Months passed and little of consequence invaded their little world. Conor monitored his radio setup and followed the progress of attempts to restore power to the area. He picked up chopper traffic, flying engineers and crews to work on power plants. He kept track of the comfort camps opening around the country, some of which succeeded. Others were sabotaged or driven from the community by angry residents.
The only bit of excitement in Conor's region of Virginia bypassed him entirely. Apparently, there was a manhunt at one point for a local insurgent who'd destroyed a nearby power plant. Conor never heard how it ended, but he checked his phone each day, expecting to be called into work. The call never came.
With each bit of information he gleaned from the radio, Conor came to understand that his last mission had been a pointless failure. It had been a last-ditch effort of the Saint Macallan Collective to try to bring the comfort camp program to a stop. Conor chided himself for becoming too emotionally involved in the success of that mission. Over the years, he'd always left the plotting and planning to the people who hired him. Strategy and politics were above his pay grade.
"Mine is not to question why, mine is but to make them die," he reminded himself.
Each night he charged the satellite phone Billy Browning had given him and he carried it with him all day. For months it never rang.
Until it did.
It was late summer, perhaps six months after they'd returned from the Middle East. Conor was harvesting corn in the garden, tossing the ears into a wheelbarrow to be shucked on the porch that evening. When the phone began ringing, it took him by surprise. He extracted it from the pocket of his sweaty cargo pants and squinted at the grubby display. He didn't recognize the number.
Recalling the warning to not miss the call, he punched the button to accept it. "Conor Maguire."
"Glad you answered.” Browning's voice resonated in his ear. “My threat of a drone strike must have made an impression."
"What do you want, Browning?"
"It's time for your next assignment, Mad Mick. I'll be there tomorrow. Make sure you're home."
The call ended and Conor was left standing there in the high corn, sweat running down his back. He returned the phone to his pocket and waded out of the garden. He unclipped the radio from his belt and spoke into it. "Barb, Shannon, and Ragus, meet me at the porch. We need to talk."
He replaced the radio on his belt, took hold of the wheelbarrow handles, and headed for the house. With that call, Conor knew that life was once again about to change for them, but he had no idea how much.
The End
Franklin Horton, Punching Tickets: Book Five in The Mad Mick Series