by James Hunt
“You. Fucking. Bitch!” Terry said.
Brooke tilted her head up to see Terry with his left arm slack, blood pouring from his forehead, gripping the revolver he’d stolen from Brooke at the house with his good arm. He was covered in dust and debris. A bloodstain sopped his shirt. He stepped forward, limping from a twisted ankle.
Brooke forced herself to crawl forward as Terry pursued her. The thump of his boots grew louder until she felt the toe of a boot ram into her rib cage. Her body buckled from the blow. He repeated the vicious blows over and over until he became winded. Through her gasps of breath she could see the pistol hidden under a piece of the second-floor debris.
Get the gun.
Brooke continued to claw across the ground as Terry towered over her, spitting his curses and continuing the brutal assault on her body. A streak of blood trailed her with every inch she dragged herself forward.
“You think you’re going to get out of this alive?” Terry asked then smashed the heel of his boot into Brooke’s right ankle. The loud crack of bone sent a jolt through her body, stopping her dead in her tracks.
She lay there, body shaking, bleeding, with every cell in her being screaming from pain. Her arm slowly slid forward with her fingers trembling. She clawed into the floor, scraping her nails against the wood in her tireless pursuit to the pistol.
“You sniveling, whining BITCH!” Terry yelled, stomping on Brooke’s ankle again.
Brooke screamed. Every blood-curdling octave that left her throat was a condemnation of every moment since the exile. All the pain, loss, and suffering culminated in one piercing howl. It was more than just a cry of pain; it was one of determination, anger, and finality.
Terry ground his heel into Brooke’s ankle. The crunching of bone against bone and tissue was unbearable, but the moment he let his foot up, Brooke made one last drive toward the pistol.
“You’re dead. Your family’s dead. Everything you love is dead!” Terry said.
Brooke snatched the pistol, turned, and before Terry could raise his own gun, she emptied the magazine into his chest. Terry’s grip on the gun loosened and it hit the floor with a thud. He stumbled backward then collapsed.
What energy remained in Brooke immediately vaporized. Her head and arm hit the ground, her hand releasing her own grip on the pistol. The warm sensation the gunshot wound had given off earlier was being replaced by cold. Her whole body felt cold. She felt her eyelids become heavier. And in the night air, she could hear the faint wail of sirens.
Chapter 15
Smith’s knee bounced nervously. He couldn’t stop fidgeting in his chair. The president’s secretary kept giving him a kind smile, which he returned. He checked his watch for the twelfth time.
“I’m sure he’ll see you any minute, Congressman.”
Smith smiled. “Yes, I know he’s been busy lately.”
“And he’s not the only one,” she said, looking at him. “You’ve been in the headlines all week. You’re all anyone can talk about.”
“Yes, it’s all very flattering.”
The past week had gone by in a blur. All the meetings, news conferences, and interviews seemed to be one collective rush. But this meeting would be one he remembered.
“Congressman Smith?” the secretary asked. “The president will see you now.”
“Thank you.”
Smith buttoned the jacket of his suit, exhaled, and pushed through the door of the Oval Office. The president was alone, sitting behind his desk.
“Congressman Smith,” the president said. “So good to have you here.”
“Thank you, Mr. President.”
“Please, have a seat.”
Even with everything that had happened, the corrupt democracy, treason charges, and the negative media assault, Smith still couldn’t help but feel awed by the history that filled the room. Countless ambassadors and presidents had sat on the very same couch he sat on now.
“I have to say that your persistence has been admirable, Congressman. It’s good to know that we have politicians out there that will hold firm to the bedrock of our democracy.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Now, as you know, I’ll be signing your water bill into law this afternoon, but I wanted to speak with you privately before the media circus exploded. I’m sure you’re aware of the investigation of Congressman Jones?”
“Yes, although all that I know is from what I’ve seen on the news.”
“Ah, well, you know how the media is. Their business is just as much speculation as it is reporting the facts.”
The president gave a good-hearted laugh, which Smith didn’t return. Smith knew the president had a connection to Jones, and this was the president’s way of vetting him.
“Mr. President, I try not to speculate, so I’ll stick with the facts of what I know. Jones had deep financial ties with Strydent Chemical, which is now going to lose billions because of Dr. Carlson’s designs. I know that he had dirt and leverage on almost every official in government. And I know he was an avid supporter of your election two years ago,” Smith said.
The president dropped the pleasantries. “That sounds like speculation to me, Congressman.”
“Perhaps. But the good news is that the investigations across all branches of government will bring the facts to light soon enough.”
A pause lingered between the two of them before the president finally rose and extended his hand. “Thank you for stopping by, Congressman. I look forward to seeing you at the signing this evening. And I hope to see you at the National Mall for the Navy’s award ceremony after lunch.”
Smith shook his hand as the president quickly ushered him out of the Oval Office.
***
The National Mall hadn’t been this crowded in years. It’d been a while since the city had had anything to be proud of. Eager faces kept looking forward, trying to get a glimpse of the war heroes who had risked their lives to save the very country that had abandoned them.
A long line of Navy officers and seamen lined a makeshift stage, where the Secretary of the Navy was delivering a speech.
“In times of great danger, and despite the adversity and odds stacked against them, the men and women on this stage today represented the fighting spirit of the Navy. They proudly served their country with honor, courage, and commitment. And it is my honor to provide them with the Navy Cross.”
Captain Howard stood at attention toward the end of the line, and, standing next to him, his arm still in a sling and a shit-eating grin on his face, was Eric.
“I suppose flashing the Navy Cross is almost like a get-out-of-jail-free card to the brass,” Eric said.
“No, Lieutenant. That’s not what it’s for.”
“Well, I know that’s not its intended purpose. I’m just saying that it could be an alternative use.”
Howard shook his head, the lines on his face exuding the lack of excitement of being positioned next to the lieutenant.
“Does this come with any type of prize money?” Eric asked.
The Secretary of the Navy finally made it to Howard. He picked up the bronze piece of metal and pinned it to Captain Howard’s uniform.
“Herold, your fortitude and commitment to the Navy was exemplary. Congratulations,” the Secretary of the Navy said.
Howard saluted. “Thank you, sir.”
“And you, Lieutenant,” the Secretary of the Navy said, “your skill in combat saved the lives of thousands of Americans.”
“I guess that means I get a free pass on the jet I wrecked then, huh?” Eric said, saluting.
“I suppose it does,” the secretary answered.
Eric and Captain Howard stood side by side as the secretary continued his steady march down the line of soldiers who were receiving medals. Eric leaned into Captain Howard’s shoulder a bit.
“Your name is Herold Howard?”
“Shut up, Scratch.”
“Ouch. Low blow, Captain.”
***
A crowd of
workers stood behind Dr. Carlson, who stood at the control panel of the factory. Buttons, switches, and gauges lined the platform. Dr. Carlson paused before entering the final sequence to start the machine.
“Here we go.”
The turbines and engines inside the factory roared to life, and the massive pumps digging into the Atlantic Ocean began extracting the saltwater for purification.
“Gauges holding steady,” Dr. Carlson said. “We’re live.”
Claps and whistles erupted from the workers. Dr. Carlson let out a slight sigh of relief and then made his way past the engineers heading to their posts to ensure the rest of the process ran smoothly. He’d done everything he could. Now all that was left was to wait for the final product: fresh water.
“Well, I think the bet was ten days. I did it in nine,” Dr. Carlson said.
Beth didn’t look up from her phone. “I suppose that’s correct.”
“So?”
Beth lowered her phone with an exasperated sigh. “Fine. Friday evening works best for me.”
“I’ll pick you up at eight,” Dr. Carlson replied.
***
The first things Brooke saw when she opened her eyes were the smiling faces of John and Emily. Both of them rushed toward her, and Emily slammed her tiny body into Brooke’s side. Brooke winced.
“Whoa, easy, Em. Mom’s still recovering,” John said.
Brooke rubbed her side but immediately smiled. She held out her arm and pulled Emily close. “That’s okay. I’ll take that kind of beating any day.”
Her left arm was encased in a sling, and her ankle was wrapped in a large boot. Lines of tubing ran from her body to an array of machines watching her vitals and feeding her fluids.
“Are you guys okay?” Brooke asked.
“We’re fine, Mom,” John answered.
“Amy,” Brooke said, her eyes widening, “What about Amy and Gabby?”
“They’re safe. You did it, Mom,” John said.
“Yeah, Mom. You saved everyone!” Emily echoed.
“Let’s see… Reckless driving. Lethal discharge of a firearm. And enough property damage to make an insurance adjuster crap his pants. Yeah, I’d say you’ve graduated from the school of badass moms.”
Brooke looked over to see Eric in the doorway holding a batch of “Get well soon” balloons.
“Those for me?” Brooke asked.
“No, these are my balloons. I don’t know what happened to yours,” Eric answered.
“Eric!” Emily yelled.
“What? Don’t look at me, kid. It’s your fault you put me on balloon patrol,” Eric replied.
“Seems like you’re feeling better,” Brooke said.
Eric tied the balloon strings to the railing of Brooke’s hospital bed. He examined his arm and then pointed to Brooke’s shoulder. “Looks like we have matching injuries.”
“I couldn’t let you have all the fun,” Brooke said.
Before Eric had a chance to answer, Amy and Daniel rushed into her room. Amy practically shoved Eric into the wall then wrapped her sister in a hug.
“Thank God you’re all right,” Amy said. “How are you feeling? Oh, that’s a stupid question. You were shot, for Christ’s sake.”
“Amy, I’m fine.”
Daniel came to his wife’s side and rested his hand on Brooke’s leg. “Brooke, I can’t thank you
enough.”
Amy clasped her hands together in excitement. “Well, should you tell her or should I?”
Everyone in the room kept glancing at one another. Brooke rotated her head around, waiting for someone to speak up. “Tell me what?” Brooke asked.
Emily jumped on the side of her hospital bed. “We get to go home!”
“The Senate is voting on reinstating the exiled states this afternoon. It’s a little premature, but with everything that’s happened, we know it’ll pass,” Daniel said.
“And?” Amy asked, nudging Daniel with her elbow to get him to continue.
“And the fresh-water bill passed, allowing Dr. Carlson’s designs to be used. The first shipments should be arriving in the Southwest next week. Utility sites are already being scouted on the West Coast for more stations.”
“Then that means…” Brooke said.
“The drought’s over,” John replied.
Every face in the room was smiling. Brooke rested her head back on her pillow and closed her eyes. She felt lighter. The pain in her shoulder eased, and the faintest hint of life began to well up inside her. It started small and distant, but the longer she kept her eyes closed, the more she felt it grow. Her cheeks grew tight and red. She could feel her chest shaking, and when she opened her eyes and saw the reflection of the same laughter and joy that she was feeling, she thought it was a dream.
Amy squeezed her left hand, then John found her right, while Emily giggled around Brooke’s legs. Her family was alive. She was alive. And now they would get to go home.
“Guys, we should let her rest,” Amy said. “C’mon.”
John and Emily gave Brooke another hug each, followed by Daniel, then Amy. They left the room until Eric and Brooke were alone together.
“Well, you sure know how to show a guy a good time, Mrs. Fontanne,” Eric said.
“Thank you, Eric. For everything.”
“You’re welcome. And I guess I should just send all of my medical bills to you, then? Yeah?”
Brooke laughed. “How’s your friend doing?”
“Dave? Oh, he’s fine. Pissed and angry as hell at me, but he’s fine.”
“You know, he told me how you got your nickname.”
“Ah, shit. Look, I was a kid. I didn’t know any better.”
“I still don’t think you know any better.”
“I don’t.” Eric paused. “Well, I’ll let you rest.” He tapped the railing lightly with his knuckle and turned for the door.
“Jason would have been glad you helped,” Brooke called out. “And he wouldn’t want any type of debt hanging over your head. He wasn’t that type of man.”
Eric leaned up against the doorframe. “I know.” He smiled then disappeared.
***
News anchors filled the television screen in the living room. “Reports coming in today that two new water plants will be opening in Los Angeles and San Diego later this year.”
“That’s good news, Diane. Congress will be holding their final hearings on the impeachment of the president. The investigations from three months ago into the death of Congressman Jones lead to widespread allegations about the White House’s involvement with the passing of Jones’s bill, which exiled the southwestern United States from the rest of the union. Jones was also linked to providing the Mexican government with weapons through the diversion of secret funds in his role as chairman of the resource committee that didn’t have the approval of Congress. Experts are saying that while the president may continue to deny an association to those accusations, he will most likely not be in the Oval Office for much longer.”
“In financial news, the Strydent Chemical Company has declared bankruptcy in the wake of the Securities and Exchange Commission—”
The television screen went black, and Brooke tossed the remote on the couch. She opened the front door to the house and stepped onto the porch. The yard of dust and sand had been replaced by small tufts of green sprouting up from the dirt.
“John! Emily! Dinnertime!”
John scooped up the basketball he was dribbling, and Emily parked her bike. The two of them ran past Brooke into the house.
“Wash your hands before you sit down!” Brooke called after them.
The cool rush of air conditioning coming from the house clashed against the hot air outside. Brooke lingered there for a moment, listening to the sound of her children’s voices. A smile crept over her face, and she took a look at the construction crews working on the homes around her. The veins of life had made their way back to the area.
Brooke was home.
Distressed
Chapter 1 – Friday 6:00 p.m.
Salt water flung from the fishing line as it snapped taut. The clear nylon cord twisted left, the boat crew aboard the Wave Cutter scrambling to reel it in. “Fish on!” The soles of rubber boots squeaked against the wet deck, legs teetering back and forth as waves brought the bow of the ship up and down. The faces associated with the gloved hands reaching for the line were weathered, sundrenched, and cracked from the ocean air. Teeth chewed blistered lips as the crew clenched their jaws, pulling in the four-hundred-pound Bluefin tuna.