by Angela White
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Note from the Author
Dear Reader,
Life After war is a story that I’ve carried around in my mind for decades. It’s an honor to finally be able to share it with you. Thank you for giving me a chance.
I’m on Facebook for any number of reasons these days, so if you’d like to check out my wall, you’ll find the url on the very last page of this book. I often talk with readers there. I also communicate with Betas and conduct some work-related business, meaning you’ll get to watch parts of the process and maybe even help me pick things--like new covers! I always listen to advice.
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Waving,
Angela White
Deleted Scenes from Books 1-3
Deleted Scene #1
12/21/2012
Granite Mountains Complex
Stunned, Press Secretary Pat Michaels sat in the rear of the large, crowded room that was embedded under a dank maze of tunnels. Half a mile beneath a secret military base, the compound was now being overrun with terrified citizens demanding the protection they knew the Essex could (but would not) provide.
The limestone command center was thick with smoke and people, some of them in on the original testing of these weapons. Pat hoped his own punishment would not be as harsh as theirs would. After all, they had known firsthand what a horrible thing had been created. It was so powerful, so unstoppable, that the America above them was about to be destroyed, and a new, hostile land would take its place.
The slyest of presidential defenders since Nixon’s well used man–Pat Michaels, former press secretary–was useless, forgotten in the chaos and not even sure he should be here. His family had been in New Jersey... Someone had been with him when he got the news, had brought him along when they had evacuated from the Las Vegas convention hall, although he wasn’t sure who it had been. Amanda, the kids! How would he go on? How would anyone?
Panic was rampant. Voices barked orders, people scrambled to get information, papers floated through the humid air, and satellite phones rang continuously, annoyingly. Thanks to an EMP and a lucky shot from a disgruntled citizen with a grenade launcher, the vice president was dead. The Speaker of the House was now the legal recipient of the highest seat in the land, but she wasn’t here and neither was the new Secretary of State. No one had discovered where they’d been evacuated to, or even if they were still alive. Those jobs were no longer in demand, and the result was chaos, fear in control. Maybe that would change later, if they survived the missile headed for Montana.
Deep and sturdy, this complex had been built secretly during the 1990’s and not only was untested, it was less than one hundred miles from what was about to be a direct hit. Pat shuddered. They would probably feel it.
Lurking near the back wall of air vents and panels, the press secretary broke into a light sweat as one of the remaining clocks on the cold, sterile walls around him neared and then passed the five minute mark.
Washington, New York, and most of the east coast had already been destroyed. Of the seven warheads that the long-denied Star Wars program hadn’t been able to deflect, three were definitely going to find US targets, and maybe two others that they had lost radar on would as well. Their own warheads had decimated countries around the globe, and now, America would pay the price.
The huge, multi-picture screen in the front of the crowded room changed when the next clock hit four minutes, flashing to a satellite view of the incoming missile careening toward the Sunshine State.
Pat found he couldn’t look away. Why, in God’s name, had the former president done this? And who had given the technology-challenged man the disk that would allow him such unforgiving control? Surely, this was a bad dream? If not, millions more were going to die in only…
03:45
03:44
03:43
The computer switched to full alert, alarms all over the vast compound warning of the impending arrival. The press secretary’s stomach churned as the ceiling lights flickered a hazy red.
America was in the same panicky state as this room, thanks to the convoys of soldiers taking all males, ages ten to sixty. The soldiers had been told to get a full truck of warm bodies any way they had to and be back within eight hours, and gunfire was filling town after town. They had reports of it in nearly every major city across the country: soldier and civilian wars over their sons and husbands and over remaining food and weapons. The end was close and everyone felt it.
02:50
02:49
02:48
Would mankind survive? Had they really blown themselves up? How much of this new hell was he personally responsible for? Millions of lives were already gone… So many cultures and their history!
01:20
01:19
01:18
Pat cringed at a fresh braying siren from the front of the loud, crowded, tactical room. They’d destroyed the world. Was that the red stain on his hands that refused to wash off?
00:40
00:39
00:38
When was my last orgasm? he wondered suddenly, too scared to recall what it had felt like or what the intern’s name had been. Greg? Gary?
00:25
00:24
00:23
When was my last confession? Pat struggled to remember. Did I mean it? Is it too late?
00:15
00:14
00:13
He shut his eyes and began the comforting, useless litany from his seat, still unable to make himself get on his knees even though the true hour of judgment had come.
“Please forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”
00:02
00:01
00:00
“I did it for my country...”
Deleted Scene #2
1
“Everyone shooting must sign in. Only people that have passed the gun class can enter. Shooters will stay in front of the gate, everyone else behind. Sign in folks, and let’s get started.”
Jeremy was the MC tonight, Neil’s second Eagle, and as Adrian stepped by, he again caught a whiff of perfume that he now recognized as Cynthia’s, but he said nothing. Adrian wasn’t worried the Eagle would slip with anything he shouldn’t. Before the war, Jeremy had been a devout Catholic, quiet and observant. He knew the meaning of secrecy, and he’d found his place here, something the ch
urch had been unable to provide. The guard would be careful with it.
There was standing-room-only in the bleachers, and a large crowd lined the gate as the shooters signed in and checked their weapons. Adrian was glad to discover no real fear, no desperation in the faces of his people. The crowd talked loudly, betting on their favorites as they sat in chairs in the sand or on thick blankets. The men shooting waited behind the gate, eager to start.
“Okay. We have twenty-nine shooters tonight,” Jeremy announced.
Adrian picked up the clipboard on the bales of hay. “Make that thirty.”
The crowd cheered loudly, and the other shooters groaned as Adrian signed up.
“First, Kenn Harrison.”
The sun was gone, the night dark and gritty, but the moon’s outline, while not clear, gave some light and made people feel better to be able to glance up and finally find it in the sky. It was something they hadn’t seen much of for almost a hundred days.
The area was still dim, but spotlights on top of the trucks lit up the ball field and roller-bound targets. The ones set at thirty and fifty feet were hardly a challenge to the men watching Kenn get set, but the ones at one hundred and one hundred twenty-five were difficult, and all the contestants knew they would likely be gone before round seven. Adrian and Kenn had dueled it out last time, easily leaving everyone else behind. When they were shooting, no one else stood a chance.
“As many direct hits as you can, any target. On your mark.”
Kenn held the gun steady against the gusty wind, accounting for it, and then fired smoothly.
The crowd cheered when the call came, and the guards on the perimeter stayed alert, knowing the noise would carry.
“Eight bulls-eyes! Next, Adrian Mitchel.”
The leader checked his weapon and then put it into his holster, letting his hand hang loosely like an Old-West gunslinger.
The newer people, who hadn’t yet observed him shoot, were nervous; sure he would miss and prove he was as fallible as the rest of those who had tried to lead.
Adrian’s hand was a blur as he drew and fired, fired, fired. He twirled the black 9mm a single time and slid it neatly into the holster on his hip.
“Eight bulls-eyes!”
The crowd roared, and Jeremy had to shout to be heard as Adrian grinned and joined Kenn.
“Next, Kyle Reece.”
2
No one missed a shot until the end of the round. Mary and Heather, two females Adrian had sent to the class for matchmaking purposes, didn’t get bulls-eyes, but Adrian was pleased that they had hit anything at all. For the women here, that was definite progress.
The third woman, Lexa, was a gun shop owner from Los Angeles. Short, with a big chest and a long, brown ponytail, she hit half the targets, making Adrian wish he could add her to his list for the next Level One Eagles. Her draw was beautiful, almost a perfect copy of his, and with a little instruction, it would become as natural to her as breathing.
Adrian wondered if he would ever get his Eagles to accept women on the teams. He needed one of these shell-shocked females to be a warrior in disguise that could hold her own among his army and make the rest of the camp accept it too. For now, though, it looked like Lexa was eliminated.
“Last shooter. Rebecca Ann.”
The cute teenager strolled casually to the line, and Adrian frowned as the crowd cheered and catcalled. Had she made it through the gun class somehow without him knowing it? There was always a wait because he hand filled over half the seats. Adrian was almost certain she hadn’t, but instead of immediately calling her on it, the leader let her have one try, thinking again of how much he needed one of these timid homemakers to secretly be Xena, the warrior princess.
Becky was innocent, sexy, playful, and many of his men were watching the slender girl, waiting for her sixteenth birthday in October, when it would be legal to ask her out. That included Kenn, but Adrian thought she had a thing for one of his other top guards. Either way, the girl would be something here. What, was up to her.
Rebecca’s reddish blond hair was wild with frizzy curls, and she brushed them back impatiently as she took her place, knowing she would only have this one chance to get noticed, to show these men she was useful. She’d almost swallowed her tongue when Adrian signed in, sure he would single her out.
“Any time you’re ready, shooter,” Jeremy encouraged, eager to get the next round going.
The nervous girl nodded. She was ready now, and she wanted them to know, needed Adrian to know.
Feeling the magic, the confidence of holding a gun she knew she could use, Becky pulled the trigger gently. The light recoil was well controlled, and she was smiling as she aimed and pulled, lined it up and pulled again.
The bullets dug into the targets, and she turned her attention to the frowning blond man moving her way while the crowd waited for the call.
“Eight hits, five bulls-eyes!”
They were as loud for her as they had been for Kenn, and Becky grinned in satisfaction as Adrian stopped next to her, impressed and displeased at the same time.
“That’s some impressive shooting.”
Her countenance lit up at his words, and then she dropped her head, remorseful. She hadn’t broken his rules lightly. Now, she would pay the price.
“I’m sorry.” She moved toward Jeremy without being told. “I have to withdraw.”
The Level Two Eagle frowned as the crowd muttered, and those who knew she hadn’t taken the class waited to discover if Adrian would let her ruin her own chances here by owning up to it. If she admitted she cheated, it would be a label that she’d carry forever.
“Why?” Jeremy questioned.
“Because I–”
“She forgot she has a shift with the vet. Right now, we’ll go on to the next round since we’re losing a shooter.”
Adrian’s calm words weren’t doubted, and his men were pleased. If Becky had ruined herself tonight, they couldn’t have shown any interest in her, not without losing their place by Adrian, and that was now something most of these men would never jeopardize.
“Rebecca is eliminated. Kenn will start round two.”
Becky smiled gratefully at Adrian as she left, thankful he’d chosen to stop her admission. His men weren’t the only ones who were aware of all she had just risked to be noticed.
“Three shots this time, and only those beyond twenty-five feet count. Bottom two will be eliminated.” Jeremy looked at Kenn. “You ready?”
The Marine opened fire in answer.
Deleted Scene #3
1
Adrian and Kenn reached the dust-covered farmhouse at the same time, both easily avoiding the Level Ones who were clustered behind the big barn. Daryl was nowhere in sight as the small group of men talked for a minute–Neil clearly refusing leadership, as instructed. When the rookies advanced, Adrian saw it was Seth who led them.
The small team slowly swept the barn and shed but avoided the house, as Adrian had known they would. When they disappeared inside the barn, he and Kenn moved to the long porch of the farmhouse to enjoy the show.
This was a draft area, with wrecked army trucks, uniformed dead already stripped of their weapons, and doors kicked in, but there were no longer dried bloodstains, only charred frames in the distance, now mostly covered in sand. Thanks to the slight sloping hill, the camp’s view was blocked, but Adrian hated it even as he used it. To be out of sight, was to feel out of control.
As he and Kenn watched, a black-clad shadow with hardware on his back slid down a tree near the barn’s blind side. Daryl edged silently around the corner to the front doors and picked up a two-by-four from a tall stack that lay alongside the faded red cowshed. He slid it in the front door handles, quietly blocking an easy escape route without drawing any attention.
Those inside were peering out of the single window of the second floor loft, unable to view anything directly below the overhang, and without sentries posted, Daryl had full access.
Daryl unsl
ung and hefted the grenade launcher to his shoulder in one smooth movement, entering their line of sight as he aimed at the window.
Faces ducked, and men yelled a late warning as he fired.
“Incoming!”
“Get down!”
Glass shattered, and a loud hiss of smoke echoed as the canister exploded in a huge cloud of tear gas. Everyone bolted for the blocked doors, shoving and throwing themselves against wood that wasn’t quite rotten enough to break.
Hearing panic and leadership, Adrian and Kenn joined Daryl in front of the barn as thick, gray smoke roll out of the broken window and from under the molding boards.
“Door’s blocked!”
“Shoot us out!”
“Can’t see!”
“Someone light a flare, and do it now! Everyone else, shut up!”
There was immediate silence and then that same last, assertive voice, “There. Up and out the window. Move! Alex, Jack, you two go first and provide cover.”
The men were climbing out seconds later, dropping from the loft’s overhang into the thick sand, and everyone had a laugh at the sight of Adrian holding up his watch.
“That beats the last time. New record! Gather around,” Adrian lit a cigarette, noting that Seth was already the center of his team. Good.
“Eagle Four is due through here in about thirty minutes. Your mission is to keep all of them away from me. I’ll be somewhere in the house. Daryl is your hostage. He goes in a chair in the middle of the road. Set the rest of it up as you will. When the vest goes off, you’re out. Questions?”
There was none.
That’s a mistake they won’t make next time, he thought, turning to Neil. “Who took charge after the smoker?”
“Seth.”
Adrian nodded, eyeing Neil’s hat. It was clear now that he’d never get the trooper to wear any cover but that Arizona Gray. Adrian had decided that was all right. It showed the men that they could be his and their own, at the same time.