by Mel Odom
Brian had lived on his own for weeks. Megan had organized a search for children of military families who lived off-post. The provost marshal’s office had put the search teams together. They had most of the families squared away now, but new ones still came in every now and again.
“Good morning, Brian,” Megan said. “Did you get any sleep?”
“Some.” Brian’s fingers flew across the video game. He was ADHD, and Megan knew he often didn’t sleep well.
“Want to help me with breakfast?” Megan went to the pantry and peered in. Thankfully the military was bankrolling all the homes at this point. Especially the ones that had taken in stray teens whose families had gone missing.
“Girls’ work,” Brian replied scornfully.
“I’ll keep that in mind when it’s time to wash dishes and take out the trash. Even boys can do manual labor like that.”
Brian sighed theatrically. “Man, you’re tough.”
“Yep. Just be glad I don’t make you salute or drop and give me fifty every time you don’t ‘ma’am’ me.”
Brian paused his game and gazed at her. “Are you kidding me?”
“About the salute, the fifty, and the ‘ma’am-ing,’ sure. About having a choice between helping make breakfast or cleaning up after it, no.”
“The most I know about breakfast is pouring it out of a box and adding milk.”
That, Megan lamented, seemed to be the case with most of the kids she’d come in contact with. She took a magnetic Post-it pad from the front of the refrigerator, wrote COOKING LESSONS on it, and put it back.
“‘Cooking lessons’?” Brian asked. “For me?”
“For all of you. I’m quite sure the commissary could use the help, and you guys could definitely use lessons that will make you more autonomous.”
“What’s autonomous?”
“It means self-sufficient. Able to take care of your own needs.”
Megan took loaves of French bread from the pantry, cinnamon and powdered sugar from the spice rack, milk and eggs from the refrigerator, and sausage links from the freezer. “How do French toast and eggs sound this morning?”
“Great.”
“Good. Let’s try to keep the mess to a minimum.”
Local Time 0632 Hours
Preparing breakfast relaxed Megan as it always did. There was something about the simple task of making a meal for someone else to enjoy—although making breakfast for nearly thirty people was by no means simple—that grounded her. It was mindless labor, a series of movements that had been perfected over seventeen years of being a wife and mom.
God, thank You for this work right now. I don’t know how I’d keep it together if I didn’t have it.
As the kitchen filled with breakfast smells, teenagers started to pour from the bedrooms and game room like zombies in a horror film. Most of them weren’t verbally social in the mornings, but they liked to be around each other.
A few of the girls stepped in to help with the cooking. As they came on board, Megan fired up extra burners as well as three electric hot plates. Within minutes, the extra laborers had been absorbed into the process, and French toast started to pile up. That also signaled the feeding frenzy. Syrup flowed and smothered plates of powdered French toast.
Megan poured whole packages of sausage links into quart-size Dutch ovens full of water, brought them to a boil, and fished the sausages out. That way there wasn’t as much grease. Then she dumped the water and started all over.
“Everyone knows you have school today, right?” Megan asked.
A collective groan swelled up from the group.
“That’s what I thought,” Megan said. “Since this is Monday, a new chores list has gone up. Check it before you leave.”
That drew forth another groan.
The negative response actually made Megan feel better. If the teens were feeling good enough to complain about school and chores, they were getting closer to normal. At least, as normal as the world would ever be again.
For seven short years, Megan reminded herself. She looked around the group, suddenly realizing that Joey wasn’t among them. A wave of guilt washed over her. She was constantly overlooking him these days, it seemed, and she didn’t know why that was.
“Is Joey still asleep?” Megan asked.
The five boys who currently sacked out in Joey’s room shook their heads. “He wasn’t there when I got up, Mrs. G.,” one of them said.
“He was watching television this morning,” Snake said. He was the skater boy who’d turned up a few days ago. He still hadn’t told Megan what his real name was, and he didn’t have any ID on him. She was going to have to do some kind of paperwork on him eventually.
“Watching television?” Megan repeated.
“Yeah.” Snake shoved a triangle of syrup-covered French toast into his mouth, chewed briefly, and swallowed. Syrup ran down his chin, and he wiped it away on a sleeve.
“Ewww,” one of the girls said. “Maybe you want to chew your food next time.”
“What?” Snake asked in honest puzzlement.
“Joey,” Megan reminded.
Snake focused on her and nodded. “Yeah. Joey. Television.”
“What was he watching?”
“Surfing. Caught a little of the news. Saw a piece on there about your husband.”
Megan’s heart raced. She forced herself to be calm. “What about my husband?”
“He was in some kind of battle over there.” Snake shrugged.
One of the girls smacked Snake on the back of the head.
“Hey,” he protested.
“Maybe you could tell her what it said about her husband,” the girl said icily.
“He’s fine. He was running a supply route. Took some fire. They killed the bad guys. End of story.”
Megan breathed a sigh of relief, but she added another nugget of information to her cache about Snake. He was relaxed with the military-speak. Either he was a gamer or he had a parent involved in the armed forces.
“Probably catch it later, too,” Snake said. “That hot chick on OneWorld was covering the story.”
“We don’t refer to women as ‘hot chicks’ in my house,” Megan said.
“Yeah, well, if you saw this one, you might change your mind.” Snake colored. “I mean, if you were a guy.”
And he embarrasses easily, Megan noted. Maybe you’re not as tough as you act like you are, Snake.
“You are such a jerk,” Kendal said. She smacked the skater in the back of the head again.
“Hey,” Snake protested again and stepped to the side so he’d be out of reach. “Don’t be such a—” He brought himself up short. He’d already been warned about language.
“Neanderthal,” Kendal said, folding her arms and frowning with as much displeasure as a fifteen-year-old could muster. “Maybe you should find a cave to live in.”
“Enough,” Megan said, putting the teacher edge into her voice that she’d learned helped to keep order in her house.
The kids quieted. They kept passing food around.
“Joey was watching television,” Megan said. “Then what?”
Snake shrugged. “He blazed. Got up. Walked out. Sayonara, baby.”
“Did he say where he was going?” Megan didn’t feel good about Joey’s sudden departure. The last time he’d disappeared like that, he’d come back days later with his face a mass of bruises and afraid of his own shadow.
“I offered to go with him,” Snake said. “He told me no.”
“Did he say where he was going?” she repeated.
“No. He just left.”
“Was he upset?”
“I don’t know.”
“He knew Goose was all right?”
“Yeah. We talked about it.”
“What did he act like?”
“Like he wanted to go somewhere else. That’s why he left.”
Frustrated, Megan turned her attention back to the latest batch of French toast and barely managed to rescue i
t from burning. “Who has class with Joey?” she asked.
A few of the kids raised their hands. Most of the classes were a lot smaller these days. With none of the lower grades to teach, the teachers had divided up the rest of the students.
“If I haven’t heard from him before I leave, please let him know he’s supposed to call me. And make sure he does.”
They said they would.
This isn’t a problem, Megan told herself. God didn’t bring Joey back into your life just so you could worry about him all over again. God, please. My plate really isn’t big enough to handle this again.
But she kept thinking about the bruises on her son’s face and the fear in his eyes the night he’d returned to her.
8
United States of America
Fort Benning, Georgia
Local Time 0635 Hours
“Pull the bicycle over to the side and stand down,” one of the men in the jeep ordered.
Joey’s mouth went dry, and his first instinct was to flee. He just knew the soldiers were there because of what had happened at the mall. They were going to arrest him for murder. He didn’t know how his mom was going to deal with that.
Dawn was starting to light the eastern sky, but the soldiers still needed light to see well. The one in the passenger seat got out. He shined his flashlight in Joey’s eyes.
“You got ID, kid?” the soldier asked.
Joey calmed a little at that. If they didn’t know who he was, that was a good thing.
“Yeah,” he answered. He made sure to keep his hands where the soldiers could clearly see them. Goose had taught him that, saying that night patrols were often performed by young and inexperienced soldiers who could overreact. “My dog tags are under my shirt. I’ve got a driver’s license in my wallet.”
“Lemme see them.”
Joey caught the chain around his neck with a thumb and lifted the dog tags free. He remembered how cool he thought they were when he’d gotten them. Then they’d become something he had to have with him.
The guard checked the dog tags and the driver’s license.
“You know Sergeant Gander?” the guard asked.
“He’s my stepdad,” Joey said.
“He’s a good soldier.”
Joey didn’t know what to say to that, so he kept quiet.
“What are you doing out here, Joey?”
“Thought I’d clear my head.”
“We haven’t had any problems in the camp, but it might not be safe on the streets.”
“Don’t see why it wouldn’t be. You guys are out here.” Joey gave the guy a smile.
For a moment, the soldier held his expression; then he grinned too. “Yeah, we are. What do you have on your mind?” He handed Joey back his license.
“My mom is one of the camp counselors. She’s taken in a lot of kids.” Joey shrugged, borrowing one of the teen habits he knew adults attributed to kids. It was camouflage for the moment. “Kind of crowded at my house right now.”
“I bet. I heard your mom is doing really good things.”
Joey nodded, but he wanted to scream. “Just wanted to catch a breath of fresh air. Maybe ride down to the main gates and look out at the city.”
“There’s not much to see,” the soldier said. “Things there are still pretty confusing.”
“I know. I’ve seen it on television.”
“Just stay back from the gate. The guys there have jobs to do. The general has given orders that everyone’s to stay on post. If you leave, it’s going to be hard to get in again.”
“No plans on leaving,” Joey replied.
“Take care of yourself, Joey.” The soldier climbed into the jeep.
Joey waved, then got back on his bike.
Columbus, Georgia
St. Francis Hospital Chapel
Local Time 0641 Hours
“Miss McGrath?”
Jenny McGrath blinked her eyes awake. For just a second, panic filled her because she couldn’t remember where she was. Bright lights reflected off white walls. She felt stiff and uncomfortable, and she was aware that the back of her thighs had gone numb.
“Jenny?”
Someone shook Jenny’s shoulder. Instinctively, Jenny reached for the hand that held her, gripped two of the fingers, and prepared to pull the hand from her. She’d had to defend herself against unwanted attentions before. She was used to moving quickly.
She looked up into Ester Pryne’s face. A diminutive woman in her forties, Ester wasn’t at all a threatening figure. She was a nurse in the cardiac ward, where Jenny’s father was currently awaiting a miracle.
That’s what the doctor had finally come out and said a few days ago: that it would take a miracle for Jackson McGrath to recover from the car wreck he’d had a few weeks ago.
“Are you all right, child?” Ester wore granny glasses and kept her peroxide blonde hair short. Laugh lines—she refused to allow them to be called crow’s feet—surrounded her eyes and marked the corners of her mouth.
“My father,” Jenny said, because that was the first thought in her head every time someone woke her. Jackson McGrath hadn’t regained consciousness since the accident.
“Your father is still with us,” Ester said. “I’m worried about you, though.”
“I’m fine,” Jenny said. “Thank you.” Conscious of the slack way she was sitting in the church pew in the hospital’s chapel, she sat up straighter and felt for her backpack at her feet. Thankfully it was still there.
“I thought I might eat breakfast this morning after my shift. I’m off at seven. If you don’t mind, I could use the company.”
Ester’s ploy was so thinly disguised that Jenny thought she would have had to still be asleep to be taken in by it. Still, she felt grateful for the attention. “Don’t you think you’ve bought me enough breakfasts lately?” Jenny asked.
“No. I don’t think you’ve gained an ounce. In fact, I’m worried that you might have lost weight.”
Jenny knew that she had. Her jeans no longer fit her the way they had, and she’d needed to tighten her belt. Before the last few weeks, she’d always been in good shape. Working extra jobs to pick up the slack left by her father’s drinking had kept her fit.
“Let me buy breakfast today,” Jenny said. Three weeks ago, one of the hospital administrators had offered her a job in janitorial. With all the people who had gone missing, St. Francis was seriously understaffed. Jenny suspected the nurses had made the suggestion. Since then, she’d been working forty-hour weeks, and the hospital had turned a blind eye to the fact that she was sleeping in the waiting rooms and the chapel.
“Well, I appreciate the offer,” Ester said. “Do you want to come by the nurses’ station and get me?”
“Sure.” Jenny glanced at the clock on the wall. “Do I have time for a shower? And I want to go by and check on Dad.”
“You have plenty of time. I’ve got some paperwork I can noodle around with if you’re running late.” Ester held out a plastic bag. “I also brought you this.”
Jenny hesitated. Growing up as Jackson McGrath’s daughter had brought only two kinds of attention: scorn and pity. Over the years, she hadn’t cared for either of them.
“What is it?” Jenny asked.
“A gift. Something a few of us got together and wanted to give you.”
“Ester, I don’t want charity. I just—”
“This isn’t charity, child,” Ester interrupted. “It’s a gift. There’s not a nurse on this floor who hasn’t seen hard times. A lot of us learned not to believe in much outside our own skins, but we learned to accept small kindnesses that came our way. If we hadn’t gotten them, we might not have made it through those dark times. One thing we know: you don’t get through them alone.” She pushed the bag forward.
Reluctantly, Jenny took the bag and peered inside. A pair of jeans, khakis, and a handful of blouses were neatly folded inside.
“We know you’ve had to struggle to keep your clothes clean,” Ester
said. “We’ve seen you washing your clothes in the bathroom and drying them outside.”
Jenny’s face burned with embarrassment. She’d been doing all she could do to keep herself clean. She hadn’t wanted to get thrown out of the hospital, and being unclean would only have made her feel like everything she had to deal with was impossible.
“We had to guess at the sizes,” Ester said, “but most of us are pretty good at that. You’ll have to let us know how good we did.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Jenny whispered.
“You say, ‘Thank you.’ That’s all.”
“Thank you,” Jenny said. Surprising herself, she reached out and hugged the older woman.
“You’re welcome, child. You’re welcome.” Ester patted Jenny on the back and hugged her. “Now you get your shower. Both of us need to eat.”
Fort Benning, Georgia
Local Time 0649 Hours
Guards held the checkpoint with the barriers in place. There were more of them present than Joey had ever seen. On other occasions, before the disappearances, the guards had often laughed and joked, though they’d always been professional. There was no laughing and joking now. In fact, two jeeps filled with armed men sat farther back. Their presence was obvious and powerful.
Other guards, these with sentry dogs, walked the perimeter. The dogs moved effortlessly and remained ever watchful.
As he watched them, Joey felt more safe than he had in days. The nightmares about the mall shooting, about Zero and the others, had left him wrecked. He knew that. Seeing the guards at work helped him relax. As long as he didn’t leave the camp, he was safe.
Unless Zero or one of the others got picked up and busted for the murder of the old man. Then they could blame everything on Joey.
As soon as those thoughts crept into his mind, Joey felt sick with dread and fear all over again. His hands shook on the bike handles, and he thought he was going to be sick.
“Hey, kid.”
Joey looked over at the K-9 soldier and the German shepherd at his side. “Yeah?”
“Do you feel okay?” The soldier was older, probably Goose’s age, and he wore sergeant’s chevrons on his sleeves.