Lisa got up to use the restroom, leaving Alex by himself.
Jenny was in the seat behind both of them teasing, "Alex and Lisa sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”
Steve laughed and joined in as she repeated the verse.
"Shut up," Alex said, but he couldn't help but smile.
"Hey, Alex, come here a sec. I gotta show you something.”
"Fine, but if you're going to draw a heart on the window I'm gonna kick your ass, cuz.”
"No, I'm serious. You too, Jenny, come to my side and check this out."
"What are we looking at?" she asked.
"Guess where we are, Alex."
"No freaking way! Is that Greene County?"
"Yup, and right over there is-"
"The Lodge! Hah! All those suckers who used to park there. You're dad always used to get the primo spots!"
Jenny scanned the massive forest below. "What’s Greene County?"
“A National Park. It's this place we used to hunt at with our cousins. My dad would take us there at least once a year and we would do this thing called ‘Crowning the King.’”
"It was this ceremony that we would have for the person who bagged the biggest deer. After, we would head back to Uncle Tom's place, and have Thanksgiving dinner with the rest of the fam. Damn, that feels like so long ago, Steve-O!"
"I know, can you believe it? And check this out, follow my finger."
Alex did, but he didn't say anything.
"What is it? Jenny asked. "I see a hill. Is that supposed to be something important?"
"Come on, Alex, I know you know what I'm pointing to."
Again there was no reply.
"Beggar's Mountain!" Steve said, finally turning his head, impatient.
Alex’s smile had morphed into a look of curiosity as his line of sight focused on the horizon.
"What's up, bro?"
"I-I thought I saw something out there."
"Like what?"
"I donno, it was small and fast. It was moving this way,” he said dragging his finger to the right. "Maybe I'm seeing things."
"What is everyone looking at?" asked Lisa.
"Nothing, except your sweet ass," Alex said, staring at her buttocks.
She punched Alex on the arm, but kissed him anyway.
Searching the skyline, Steve was ready to give up and go back to his story about Beggar’s Mountain, but then he saw it. It was just a glimpse, but enough for Steve to confirm.
"No," he mumbled. The happiness from the memories he had conjured seemed to flush away. "Move guys, move!"
"Rude.”
"Sorry, Jenny. Stay here and buckle up."
Hustling to the front, Steve shoved his way through the crowd, all of whom were busy arguing about the Secretary of Defense and his alleged involvement.
“Move! Please!” Steve implored, finally arriving at the cockpit, just in time to witness the event.
From the side of the Boeing C-40 came a bright flash, followed by a fireball and what seemed like fireworks shooting from the fuselage. Then, Air Force Two began a dive.
"Whoa!" Jones exclaimed, nearly jumping out of his seat. "What the hell just happened? It looked like their engine blew up!"
West picked up the mic and said, “Pilots of Air Force Two! Come in, over!" He tuned in to the emergency frequency and repeated himself. "We should be hearing a broadcast from this channel! I don't get it!"
“Here try this one! It’s the frequency for the tower at Clayton.”
West dialed up the military frequency and made multiple calls, but no reply came. "Get this plane down now! We have to help any survivors!"
"West-" Steve tried to interrupt, but Jones was given priority.
"Where do you want me to land?"
“Anywhere you can!” Sitting anxiously in the copilot's seat, West watched the C-40 dive faster. "Pilots of Air Force Two! Anyone, come in!"
"West!"
"Not now, Steve! U.S. Military this is Falcon Eight, Zero, Two. We need assistance over!”
But the airwaves remained statically unresponsive.
Jones tipped the jet’s nose down for a better view. It took only seconds for the C-40 to plummet five-thousand feet and crash land, taking out hundreds of trees in its path.
"West, West, WEST!"
“What, Steve?”
"The engine didn't blow up! It wasn't an accident! There do you see it! Look quick! Damnit! It just vanished!"
"Look at what? You’re not making any sense!”
“Jones, shut up. Steve, what do you mean it wasn't an accident?"
"They were attacked!"
"Attacked?" West repeated, shocked but not disbelieving.
"Air Force Two attacked? Who would attack them?"
Then, what didn’t make sense to Jones, came to West in a moment of shocking revelation. “The airwaves aren’t silent. They’re being blocked!”
"That!" Steve shouted, answering Jones.
The object made a pass in front of the Dassault Falcon and released something. Seconds after came a follow up explosion from the wreckage of Air Force Two.
“What is going on? Will someone explain? Jesus, did the fuel tanks just blow?” shouted Jones.
“No, that was not a secondary explosion from ruptured fuel tanks,” Steve answered, leaning over the instrumentation for a better view. “That was a follow up attack, calculated and intentional. To make sure no one survived the crash. That was-”
"Drones," West said under his breath. He looked at the altimeter.Three-thousand, three hundred feet, he thought then said, "Jones, get this plane down now or we all die! Steve, get everyone strapped in and tell them to hang on!"
Steve pivoted and faced the main cabin. His world slowed down.
Still in heavy debate, Shanna sat in an aisle seat with the Marines surrounding her.
Travis looked up at Steve and mouthed the words, “What’s up, hermano?”
Eddy, Dylan, Matty, and Charlie were fast asleep, heads nodding with the infrequent turbulence.
In the rear, Lisa and Alex sat cuddling next to one another, while Jenny poked fun at their young romance.
Then it was as though Steve’s reality fast forwarded into real time. He whistled, followed by the declaration, “Everyone, buckle-"
But he wasn't able to finish the last word before it happened.
First was a bright flash followed by a concussive blast.
Steve’s body was lifted up and thrown against the side, where his head smacked the wall.
Then everything went black.
Steve felt a cold rush of air that surged through the cabin. Face against the carpet, he stared at the legs of the chair in front of him.
Then he blinked.
When his eyelids opened, Steve watched a pair of arms buckle his seatbelt. His head lifted, and he saw the face of Staff Sergeant Fikejs. The Marine's voice was too muffled to make out, and Steve’s own brain was too jarred to put anything logical together.
Jenny...
Steve's head instinctively swiveled. Behind him, the chair holding Ringo had already been sucked out of the fuselage. Terrified, the surrounding people, whether strapped in or not, held on tightly to whatever they could, praying not to be sucked out next.
Steve gazed beyond them, beyond the flames and ripped open metal exterior. Somehow, his eyes managed to lock on to Jenny’s.
“Steve!” Jenny cried out, but her voice was muted. He saw the dread in her eyes as she clung tightly to the arm rests.
Steve wanted so badly to say something, but he wasn't able to put together the simple words. Then his head rolled against the neck rest until he was facing into the cockpit.
Oh no...
The last thing he tasted was warm, irony blood as it dribbled down from his head into his mouth.
The last thing he smelled was the burning electrical equipment, metal, and scorched exterior.
The last thing he saw was the ground as it seemed to move closer and closer.
Th
e last thing he felt was a severe pain in his neck as his head whiplashed forward, hitting his own kneecap.
The last thing he heard were the sounds of cacophony as the jet crashed into the tree covered forest.
LIFE Headquarters- Location Unknown
December 5, 2009
1703 hours
"And as you can see," Norman Chiller began, referring to the video feed streaming live, "anyone who could have possibly known about your company’s involvement is dead, and whoever was flying that second plane were the only witnesses, and as you can see, they will not be a factor."
In her command room, Liz looked pleasingly at the screen in front of her. Beside the headshot of Secretary of Defense were multiple video feeds from the drones as they circled the two downed aircraft.
She leaned back and smiled. This was the first, truly good accomplishment of recent days; the first thing that went right. And victory was sweet.
"Excellent."
"The other officials are on their way from around the country. They should be arriving in the next few days,” Norman continued. “I have already informed them about the unfortunate outbreak at Blue Springs that took the life of President Tufase-"
"And you remember what to tell them when they arrive?"
“Exactly as you suggested. That Simmons and his entourage were the victims of subsequent terrorist attacks. That members of Fareshtenagn-eh Marg had continued their campaign and assassinated the Vice President then blew up Air Force Two as it was en route here."
"Since no one knows what really happened, they will believe what we tell them,” Liz said, speaking to herself. “Because the remaining people who knew about President Tufase’s message and our involvement are dead, correct Mr. Hause?”
Dustin Hause cleared his throat, swallowed and adjusted his already loosened tie. “Correct, ma’am. I killed the VP and destroyed the evidence at the Fox Hole, and you, Mr. Secretary, eliminated the rest.”
MIA’s red image suddenly manifested. “Mr. Hause, are you well?”
Dustin’s reply was rushed. “Yes, why?”
“Because I am sensing an increased heat emanation from your face, elevated heart rate and perspiration which could suggest an immunological response. Am I incorrect in assuming illness as opposed to deception?”
“It’s just warm in here, and I am fatigued from travel and-”
Liz’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Mr. Hause, I believe you know my policy on forthrightness, so I will ask you directly, and I expect a response in kind. At the bunker, did you destroy the evidence and kill everyone who knew about our involvement?”
Dustin’s eyes did not shift from Liz’s when he responded, “Yes” with confidence.
"Good.”
“And Ms. Baron, if I may,” Dustin said, waiting for Liz’s permission to speak. “After reading the report you gave me, Sergeant Major Craig West and the ones Daytona failed to kill are the only loose ends remaining. What do you plan to do about them?”
“That man hunt is being coordinated by Mr. Brennamen. But I am not worried about West.”
“But why not? West is a huge liability.”
“Because once the new broadcast goes out, West and his compatriots will have no friends on the face of this earth. No matter where they surface, no matter who they encourage to believe in their cause, their credibility will be vanquished and they will be the most wanted men in the world...”
Liz did not realize she was smiling.
“Norman, how long until you will be ready?"
"You will be pleased to know that I have already drafted the speech, and I intend on broadcasting tomorrow."
"I commend you, Norman. You have done well."
"Thank you for the opportunity, Ms. Baron. I very much appreciate our relationship and the mutualunderstanding we have. Not many believe in what we do; where this world needs to be led."
“Sorry for interrupting, Ms. Baron,” spoke MIA, “but I have the others online, waiting for you."
“Mr. Hause, you are excused. Your flight will be leaving shortly. Tell Lizzy I expect an update as soon as possible.”
“Very well, Ms. Baron,” Dustin replied, exiting the room.
“MIA, you may put them on the screen.”
A second later, more than a dozen of the world’s leaders were captured in boxes, with the Secretary of Defense’s face larger and positioned in the middle.
“Gentlemen, after a year of waiting, the time has come. I would like to introduce you to the man with whom you will be rallying behind, the one who will lead you into the future. I would like to introduce you to the new President of the United States of America."
Norman Chiller straightened his posture and maintained a reserved appearance as he listened to the world leaders clap and devote their loyalties to him.
A faint smile passed over Liz’s lips. Despite the inconveniences and changes, her plans were unfolding to the desired end.
You are all mine, she thought.
Chapter 13
“The Homecoming”
December 11, 2009
0911 hours
A tremor surged through Steve's body, jolting him awake. He looked left, then right, blinking the blur away until life was in focus.
The sun filtered through the blinds. The air was still, save for dust particles that floated around the room; his room.
What the hell? Is this real?
The pictures, the furniture, the music and movie posters, the computer, everything was exactly as it had been.
Steve sighed. He smiled, lay back down, and thought,Everything was a dream…
Everything that had happened- from Thanksgiving dinner, hard months on the road, losing his brother and cousins, time spent at The Eye and Camp, Jimmy Sanchez and Sarah's death, the government conspiracy, the Preacher, reuniting with Alex- it all felt like a terrible nightmare.
Steve even heard voices coming from downstairs.
Must be Mike and Dad, frying up some bacon and eggs.
He pushed himself up against the wooden headboard. He felt weak, as though the dream took a physical toll on him.
Then he lifted a hand to brush the hair from his eyes but felt a snag. There was a needle inserted into his forearm and a line connecting to an IV bag.
Using his other hand, Steve touched his head, caressing the soft bandage that wrapped around it.
And in that moment, he realized all was not okay.
It wasn't a dream.
But how? How am I here? How am I home?
Then came the first of many fragmented flashbacks.
He remembered spotting the drone; the concussive feeling of the rocket hitting the engine; his body slamming against the cabin wall.
Then it was hazy.
Everyone was screaming, shouting; Jenny scared, Alex holding on to the girls.
He remembered the impact of the plane as it crashed into the woodlands.
What happened next?
Then another flash.
He remembered watching his feet as he was dragged from the wreckage. His rescuer unknown, but he did remember seeing bodies, living and recently deceased, scattered around the flaming crash site.
That was when the memories stopped.
Who else made it?
Steve pulled off the sheets, exposing the myriad of injuries that confirmed the morbid reality. His arms and legs were bruised, burned and cut up. The worst was a four inch gash on his leg clamped together by stitches.
He slid out the needle and dragged his legs off the bed. He sat there for a moment and cracked his neck and stretched his toes. His body pulsated with hurt but the pain was tolerable.
“Then who’s downstairs?” he mumbled.
The voices one floor below were very real, that much he confirmed. He rose and limped to the dresser. He pulled out the wooden drawer and threw on the first clothes he found.
Then he exited the room, opening and closing the door without making a sound. At the top of the stairs, he could discern three peop
le, none of whose voices he recognized.
Cautious, he took each step one at a time, using his good leg to support the majority of his weight. At the bottom, he peeked around the wall and observed.
Loitering in the kitchen were three people in total.
Closest was a Caucasian woman. She was small, tough looking, wore cargo pants and a long sleeve shirt. Her curly hair was tucked under a faded red hat with the word “Aces” embroidered on front.
Sipping on a mug of something hot was a younger man. He had a spotty brown beard and his wavy hair was held together by a rubber band. Wearing a Liverpool FC jersey, he rested a crude metal bar with spikes over his shoulder.
Both were young, closer to twenty than thirty.
Last was a middle-aged African-American man, standing in between the two. He was nodding his head to the conversation, and at one point smiled wide, exposing a mouthful of pearly white teeth.
Steve intended to check, quickly assess and pull his head back, but Pearly Whites spotted him.
Instantly, the kitchen conversation went silent. Pearly Whites nudged the other two and motioned over to Steve's position.
“Shit,” Steve mumbled.
Defenseless and identified, Steve curled his hands into fists and stepped out.
“Steve,” Pearly Whites said softly.
Right fist cocked back, ready to swing, Steve was taken aback. “Huh? How do you know my name?”
“Glad to see you’re finally awake. Your friends were worried.”
“Who are you? Why are you in my house? How did I get here? Where are my friends?”
He would have asked more, but Pearly Whites put up a hand and calmly said, “Whoa, whoa, hold up, son. No need to think violence. We’re friends.”
Shuffle to the table slowly, there’s a gun in the holster. You could get to it before Aces,he thought, then said, “I don't know you. You aren'tmy friends.”
As if they could hear Steve’s thoughts, Aces and Liverpool took a step forward to flank him.
Pearly Whites pacified his people with a hand to their shoulders. “Calm down, guys,” he said, approaching Steve by himself.
“You sure?” asked Liverpool.
“Looks like he wants to fight,” noted Aces.
“Yes, I’m sure. Steve, my name is Clark. This is TJ and Becca...”
The Longest Road (Book 3): The Other Side Page 67