Pedestals of Ash

by Joe Nobody

  Bishop started to call out to her, but stopped. His voice would give away his position to anyone nearby, and there was still a lot of craziness in the streets of Alpha. He decided to venture closer before announcing himself. He wanted to see the look on his wife’s face anyway.

  Bishop was about 20 feet behind Terri and the president, when movement to his right caught his eye. There, in the fading light of dusk was a man with an AK47.

  Smokey had never been shot before. In addition to his left arm being burned by the fire, he had taken a bullet to the shoulder and another to the thigh. The smell of Hawk’s burning body and the smoke from the burning papers had given him a surge of adrenaline that prompted him to get up and out of the school. His mind was clogged with emotions of anger and revenge. Hawk had been a good man and close friend. They had had a good thing going in Alpha before this guy Bishop and that bitch at the church had fucked it all up. Smokey knew that without serious medical care, he was done. The chance of infection from two bullet wounds and some bad burns was high. The chance of his dying in the desert without food or water was even higher.

  The realization that he was out of options made his mind snap. Smokey transformed from a reasoning, sentient human being to a biological machine programed for a single purpose – revenge. He ignored the pain spreading throughout his body and moved toward the church compound where he sensed the target of his wrath would go. He didn’t even notice the blood filling his boot or the skin starting to peel from his burned arm. He could only think of killing Bishop and Deacon Brown.

  Smokey managed to cross the park at a reasonable pace. He recognized the same group of people as Bishop and started moving to intercept them. Despite his injuries, he closed the gap because he wasn’t worried about being exposed. He simply wanted to kill those responsible for his failure. The dying man was hiding behind the hulk of a burned out car as Nick’s men crossed a street just a few feet away. He was watching each face, looking for either Deacon Brown or Bishop. A woman’s voice, speaking in low tones gave him one final surge of energy. He rose up, sweeping his rifle in a wide arch and began pulling the trigger.

  Bishop was moving, but the world seemed to be going in slow motion. He was trying to command his legs, throat, and arms all at once, and nothing was working fast enough. The warning trying to reach his throat wasn’t going to be heard in time. His arms couldn’t bring up his rifle fast enough. The only thing that was responding to the desperate commands being issued by his brain was his legs. Bishop’s focus was split between Terri and the man with the rifle. His wife was walking beside the president, talking in a low voice while looking up at the taller man. The guy with the rifle was looking right at her, swinging the weapon around.

  Bishop sensed, more than felt, his foot land on the second stride. His muscles strained while his heart pumped loudly in his ears. His right foot landed at the same time he detected the shooter’s arm muscles flexing his trigger finger. He could see the index finger start to pull back. Bishop’s mind made a calculation. He could save either the president or Terri, not both. Bishop’s left foot hit the ground, and he strained with every ounce of power he could muster. His boot rocked from heel to toe, and he launched himself into a full forward dive. He had just become airborne when the AK barked its deadly blast.

  The round snapped the air behind Terri’s head and hit the wall of the building beside her. So close and so loud was the noise, she froze in mid-stride. The second shot was igniting in the Russian weapon’s chamber when Bishop’s arms extended around his wife’s shoulders. He was practically flying horizontally through the air when he grabbed Terri, rolling to his side so as not to land on top of her. The second AK bullet grazed Bishop’s side right above the hip and slammed into the President of the United States. Terri and Bishop were just striking the ground when the third shot hit the older man in the chest.

  Bishop and Terri hit the pavement hard, and before the momentum had bled off, Bishop was trying to roll on top of the stunned woman to protect her. His head turned to look at the threat, and he watched, fascinated, as the man’s body jerked spastically like he was being hit with a surge of electric current. The sound of multiple rifle shots reached Bishop’s ears, as did the screaming of several people, including his wife. The shooter’s rifle pointed skyward, as clouds of red mist appeared in the air around his body. The AK never fired again, and its owner fell face forward onto the sidewalk, the rifle adding a weak rattling aftermath as it bounced free of the dead man’s hand.

  Bishop’s head turned to the president, and he watched in horror as the man went to his knees, staring down at his chest. The chief executive fell to his side and rolled onto his back almost instantly, his eyes exposing the pain and fear that was racing through his mind.

  Bishop was completely surrounded by chaos. There were dozens of voices screaming from every direction. Running boots were rushing past on both sides, as people seemed to be coming out of nowhere. Suddenly, Bishop was pulled off Terri by rough hands. His arms were pulled back and someone reached around and unhooked his rifle while his pistol was yanked from its holster. Before Bishop could react, he was on his knees with both arms pinned to his sides by two burly soldiers. He looked up to see Agent Powell staring down at him. Anger came boiling out of Secret Service man’s mouth. “I saw that! You could have saved the man. I saw you let the president get shot.”

  Powell’s attention was drawn to the president. Bishop glanced over and noticed two army medics huddled over the injured man rendering aid. Powell hurried to his boss’s side, trying to ascertain the extent of the man’s wounds without getting in the way.

  Bishop detected a shadow in front of him and looked up to see Nick. He tilted his head in surprise, and then grumbled, “I would offer to shake hands, my old friend, but these two young men probably don’t care about social amenities.”

  Nick shook his head, “Always the smart ass, ain’t ya, buddy?” He then refocused his attention on Bishop’s two guards, and his voice became frosty cold. “I’d be extra nice to your prisoner, fellas. He’s a friend of mine.”

  About then, Terri managed to make it to one elbow and glanced at Bishop. “Well, hello there my love. You sure do know how to make an entrance.”

  Bishop looked at Terri with adoring eyes, “I love you, baby. You okay?”

  Terri stood and started brushing herself off. She nodded at Bishop that she was fine, and then noticed he was bleeding. She started to go to his side, but a soldier blocked her path. “He’s under arrest ma’am.”

  Terri’s mind was on cognitive overload, her brain struggling to process all that was happening around her. “He’s bleeding. Why is he under arrest? Let me help him. What are the charges? Don’t you provide medical attention to prisoners anyway?”

  The lieutenant completed his call for the helicopters to land at the park. The first priority was to get the president back to Bliss and the medical facilities there. He walked over and tried to calm Terri. “Ma’am, he is accused of kidnapping and several other charges. But I’ll have his injuries checked as soon as the medical personnel are finished with the president.”

  Terri looked up at the tall, young officer with anger all over her face. “Kidnapping! Are you shitting me, young man? He saved that man’s life…. The president told me so himself. Go ask him if Bishop didn’t save his life. Nobody kidnapped anyone. This is bullshit!”

  The officer was slightly taken aback by Terri’s temper. He started to stammer something about “just following orders,” when Agent Powell appeared.

  The Secret Service man didn’t care about Terri’s outrage. “I ordered the arrest. I can’t even begin to list the crimes your husband has committed. We are going to take him back to Fort Bliss and…”

  Powell was interrupted by one of the medics, “Sir, the president wants to speak with you and that man.” The medic pointed at Bishop.

  Powell nodded at the two soldiers standing on either side of Bishop. They allowed the prisoner to stand, and one of the medics mo
ved aside. The Commander in Chief was lying on his back, his army fatigues covered in blood, bandage wrappers, and assorted medical refuse. There was an IV tube in his arm, and cut-away scraps of his uniform blouse were lying all around. The man was desperately fighting for each breath and looked pale and white against the concrete backdrop of the sidewalk. Bishop took a knee, and gently cradled the dying man’s hand. The president’s voice was broken and weak, “Is your wife okay, young man?”

  Bishop replied, “Yes sir, she’s fine. Don’t worry about anything but yourself, sir. Use all of your energy to stay with us. Help is on the way.”

  The president gasped and coughed, “No, I don’t think I’m going to make it through this one, son.” He paused, then managed a few more raspy breaths and continued, “I wanted to thank you for helping me understand my people. I should have done something like this a long time ago…. The rabbit was excellent, by the way.” The man smiled up at Bishop and started coughing again.

  Bishop smiled back and watched as the president waved Agent Powell down beside him. The chief executive reached up and pulled Powell close, whispering something in his ear. Powell pulled back and asked, “Are you sure, sir?” The president nodded, coughed, and then his eyes rolled back in his head and his breathing stopped.

  The two medics pushed their way in and started working furiously on their Commander in Chief. Bishop knew their efforts were in vain. The man was gone. He took a step back, and again his arms were pinned to his side by the two guards. Powell looked up and instructed them, “The president has pardoned this man. It was his final order. Release him – he’s free to go.”

  Chapter 18 – The After-Alpha-math

  In a few minutes, the helicopters started landing in the park. Nick’s people were informed they were free to go. Bishop and Terri were “asked” to accompany Agent Powell to Fort Bliss and make statements. Agent Powell, ever the loyal government employee and a sworn law enforcement officer, wanted the coup attempt thoroughly documented. At first, Terri was reluctant to go, but when Bishop mentioned the hot shower and shampoo, her heart was set on Bliss. Besides, she had never ridden in a whirlybird.

  The army medics looked at Bishop’s wound and determined not only would the wound be fine, but he would have a great scar to show his grandchildren. The round had barely grazed his side and required a single butterfly bandage and some antibiotic cream. Bishop tried to milk it for all it was worth, informing Terri that the medics advised he take it easy and stay off his feet for a few months. Terri didn’t buy it for one second, but replied that she would be happy to wait on him hand and foot - for a while. After all, she reasoned, her pregnancy was bound to require the same treatment in reverse. Bishop realized, yet again, his cause was lost.

  An emotional farewell was exchanged between Terri, Bishop, and Nick, with promises of “See you soon,” and “We’ll stop by the church on the way back to Meraton.” Bishop and Terri boarded the last Blackhawk with Agent Powell and the president’s body.

  Talking was next to impossible on the flight to Bliss. Terri and Bishop satisfied themselves with holding hands and looking at each other. At one point, Terri managed enough volume to overcome the noise and said, “You’re not leaving me again, Bishop. Never again. I want you right beside me until the day I die.”

  Bishop responded, “You got that right. Wild horses baby…wild horses.” His eyes told Terri he meant it.

  Agent Powell, ever the observer, sat opposite of the couple without comment. Deep down inside, he realized a feeling of envy at what these two people shared. His college sweetheart had divorced him years ago, unable to handle the long hours and constant danger involved with the job. He wondered for a moment how she was doing, and had secretly hoped they could rekindle their romance when he retired.

  The Secret Service agent also had to admit his anger with Bishop was misplaced. In reality, he was angry with himself. Even that emotion began to fade as the flight wore on. No protector ever wants harm to come to his charge, yet as Powell replayed the events of the last 12 hours, he had trouble finding fault with his actions. He remembered reading the memoirs and reports of the men charged with protecting Kennedy. They had all experienced issues with misdirected anger, followed by guilt. The best, he observed, bury themselves so deeply in the job it is difficult to handle failure. He couldn’t blame Bishop for saving his wife instead of the president. After watching their interaction, he might have done the same had he been in Bishop’s shoes.

  Agent Powell remembered the president’s last words. “He’s a man of honor. He did the right thing. I would’ve given my life to save that woman, too. They are the future; make sure they are left alone to realize it. He has my pardon.”

  Powell thought about those words and concluded the president was right. It was the people like the couple across from him that were going to rebuild the nation, not the high and mighty. The solution had to come from the ground up. He thought about apologizing to Bishop. Two or three times during the flight, he cleared his throat to issue the words, but stopped. He eventually excused his inability to speak, convincing himself the man sitting across from him didn’t really care and was completely focused on being with his mate.

  They landed at Bliss to a waiting line of Humvees. Bishop and Terri were escorted to the same room Bishop had used before, holding hands and making eyes at each other while strolling across the parade grounds. Terri called shotgun on the shower, while Bishop enjoyed a cup of coffee.

  After both of them had bathed and eaten, they realized neither had gotten much sleep for days. The aftermath of a hot shower and full meal had both of them yawning and looking longingly at the bed.

  Nick watched the Blackhawks carrying Bishop and Terri disappear. He gathered his men, and they carefully worked their way the last few blocks to the church’s compound. After the appropriate signals were exchanged, the excited, but tired group of men was met by eager family members watching every face as it came into the yard.

  Nick saw Kevin approaching with a look of relief, but before the boy could reach his father, Deacon Brown appeared out of nowhere and pulled Nick close in a tight embrace. Nick wasn’t sure, but felt like the hug was a little more than just a casual “Glad you’re home.” Diana looked up at the big man, and her eyes said it all. “Welcome home, soldier. I’m glad you made it back in one piece.”

  Nick looked around at the gathering and smiled. He’d brought back all of his men. Not every mission ended that way, but today had been a good day. “We all made it home, Diana. That’s the best part of the whole enchilada. I’m also happy to report that the skinnies are no longer a force. Their leadership is dead, and their ranks have been scattered. Tomorrow, the good people of this church can retake Alpha. You can finally start to rebuild, Diana.” Nick looked back down into her eyes and added, “And I would like to stay and help, if I haven’t worn out my welcome.”

  Diana’s pulled away, and her expression becoming serious. “Before we talk about your sticking around, I’m a little curious about what took you so long? I mean, I know you’re not a Navy SEAL or anything, but…”

  Nick was taken aback by the comment and didn’t know if the woman were joking or what. He started a comeback, “A SEAL? Did I just hear you compare me to a SEAL?” He looked at Kevin as if to verify what his ears had just taken in, but the boy just shrugged his shoulders.

  Diana didn’t let up, “I had always heard you army Special Forces types were high speed, low drag individuals. I guess you can’t trust the rumor mill, can ya?”

  Nick still didn’t know where this was coming from, but he wasn’t going to let it go. “Look lady, the SEALS are good…damn good…but let’s not be comparing apples to …”

  Again, Diana cut him off, “Nick, don’t take offense. I was just a little surprised I had to send Terri and her team out to rescue you." Without missing a beat, Diana planted her hands on her hip bones in an apparent sign of disgust. "Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone that a girl, sorry, a pregnant girl, had to go hel
p you back to camp.”

  Diana held her composure for a few seconds more while father and son stood silently, facing her. Nick was digesting Diana's words and had just begun to take in a deep breath when she busted out laughing. Kevin couldn’t hold his pokerface either, started with a snicker and soon was laughing so hard he could hardly breathe, bent at the waist and holding his ribs. Nick, realizing he had been had, joined in the joke.

  After everyone had recovered, Diana put her hand on Nick’s shoulder and apologized. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist. This has been such a tense day, I thought we could use a little comic relief. I was so happy to see you bringing all of the men-folk home. I turned to Kevin and asked him how your sense of humor was these days, and he told me to go for it.”

  Kevin, receiving a dirty look from his dad, decided to count branches on a nearby tree just at that moment. Nick couldn’t remember the lad ever having a more innocent, angelic look on this face and made a mental note that it wasn’t going to do the boy a bit of good when he issued a payback.

  Nick shook his head, “You really had me going there for a minute. Now, back to the issue of my wearing out my welcome?”

  Diana’s face changed to a look of pure joy. She smiled and looked around to make sure none of the congregation was within earshot. She gave Nick the killer combination of a serious look and then a wink, “You’re more than welcome to stay – I’m really happy you want to be here. I have to warn you though; some of those stories about the preacher’s daughter have truth to them.”

  Nick portrayed pure gentlemanly innocence, “Why Ms. Brown, I have no idea what you’re talking about. What stories would those be?”