by Bobby Akart
As they waited to be cleared for entry, the group stopped to admire the ten-foot-tall, eight-hundred-pound granite tablet with the Ten Commandments engraved on it. The owner of the mall, Jack Huntsman, had erected similar monuments in his businesses located around Texas. In an interview with the Dallas Morning News, he was quoted as saying, “In times of turbulence in the world, this is our way of sharing peace and the Lord’s love. We all need more of that.”
Major grimaced as the group was led past the tablet. He wished Huntsman had erected more of his tablets in places that really mattered, like Congress and the White House, not in front of shopping malls.
Entering the mall, they were struck with the downfall of humanity. All of the mall businesses had rolled down their steel security screens, which prevented the refugees from entering the now-closed businesses. People were packed in like sardines, most lying in rows on the floor sleeping. Many others stood along the rails of the mall’s second level, staring at the crowds below them. To say that Refugee Center Number One was full to capacity would be an understatement.
“This way, please. Flores is one of our inmate food servers,” said the deputy who’d escorted them from the detention center. “Because he’s a short-timer, he was allowed to remain in this facility instead of the jail. Each day, he assists with meal distribution, after which he is allowed to roam freely throughout the mall. He gets fed better than the others, so he reports for duty like clockwork.”
Major took Little John by the hand as they pushed through a crowd of new refugees being processed. Each person received a blanket, a ziplock bag of basic toiletries, and a Gideons Bible.
“Is my daddy here with all these people?” asked Little John.
“Yes, little man,” replied Riley. “They’re going to find him now and bring him to you.”
The entourage stood off to the side near the glass elevator and waited as instructed. Little John stood by the rail overlooking the ground floor, where people milled about as they began to form their lines for the six o’clock dinner serving. It was only two fifteen.
With his hands and face pressed against the glass, his eyes scanned the mass of people bouncing off one another as they positioned themselves to form a line. When the elevator started to rise from the lower floor, Little John’s eyes grew wider, and then he began to cry from excitement.
His father walked back and forth in the slow-moving elevator like a caged animal looking for a means of escape. He was nervously looking for his only son. When they made eye contact, Major became emotional as he recalled the feeling on Christmas Eve when he first saw his three youngest, and then Duncan, the day they returned to the ranch. Deep down, he’d had faith they’d make it home safely, but a lingering doubt regarding their return had nagged at him that he’d hidden from Lucy and Preacher.
Little John broke away from the group and politely pushed his way through the sea of adults. He made his way to the elevator and stood next to the doors as they slowly opened. His father never made it out of the elevator cab. The young man ran into his father’s legs, crashing them both backwards into the elevator.
Major fought back tears as the reunion not only touched his heart, but everyone within the mall who could see into the glass elevator. Nobody knew the story, but they certainly appreciated the reunion. Father and son were together again.
As Major regained his composure in order to tell Mr. Flores the further good news of his sentence commutation and that he was a free man once again, he also gathered the courage to deliver the bad news about his missing wife. Major tried his best to offer words of hope and strength, but both men were realistic.
Further, Little John and his father would not be invited to Armstrong Ranch. Regrettably, the risk of the unknown was too great to expose Major’s family to these strangers. It was a tough decision to make, especially under the circumstances of the tearful reunion between the two, but it was one of those difficult choices Major would have to make many times during the apocalypse.
Chapter 18
December 31
Carlsbad Caverns National Forest
Holloway was growing impatient and was anxious to move forward with his own agenda. He stood by patiently as Lee gave Holloway’s men a pep talk about avenging Dear Leader and advancing the goals of the DPRK. He didn’t care about any of that, and he knew his men didn’t either. Nonetheless, as soon as they were on the trail to the Texas border, he planned on speaking with his team at the first opportunity to confirm their allegiance to him, and their self-interested goals. If he was unsure of someone within his ranks, he’d shoot them on the spot. He doubted it would come to that.
They started out on foot, as planned, along the trails and gravel roads of the Carlsbad Caverns National Park. Lee’s own scouts made trips several times a day to the Texas border where the roads passed into the former state. Security had been beefed up, and the roads were becoming clogged with refugees. His commandos and Holloway’s team would only have one means of access—through the mountainous, tree-covered terrain. Holloway considered the logistics of sneaking Lee’s men into the state over the winding, treacherous path. He made a mental note to find a better alternative, once again proving his worth to the new general.
They began the twenty-mile trek after Lee’s final words of wisdom were imparted upon them. The men, all of whom stayed in good physical shape despite their penchant for partying, walked at a steady, fifteen-minute-mile pace as they followed a trail map taken from the Carlsbad Caverns tourist center.
They utilized a compass to keep them on a due south direction, which would hopefully allow them to enter Texas unimpeded through the park. If they were greeted with any resistance, well, that was what their newly acquired M16s were for. Holloway, while utilizing the raid upon the armory in Roswell to gain the respect of Lee, also made sure his team would be well equipped.
When Lee advised Holloway that his team would only be allowed one weapon per man because of their shortages, he made sure to assign all of them 1911-style, .45-caliber sidearms. The stopping power of the .45s would be a perfect complement to the stash of twenty M16s he’d tucked away in the woods as they’d driven up the side of the mountain to the caverns. Retrieving the weapons and ammo delayed their route south by an hour, but the reward was well worth the effort.
As the men found the trail headed due south into Texas, Holloway walked along with different groups to gauge their attitudes and levels of commitment. He told them they were headed into battle, one which might result in their deaths. But he promised them a far greater reward than the pride of fighting for their Dear Leader, who was holed up deep underground nice and safe with his beautiful concubine wives.
His men would get to keep the fruits of their labor. They would fight to kill, but also to keep what they fought for. Like any conquering army, he told his elite group of killers, to the victor go the spoils. He’d fought for his country and watched his brothers-in-arms die or get maimed for their efforts. He reminded his new brothers that he’d never abandon his men like his country had abandoned him. Holloway promised them a better life, one with riches and women and land in the wide-open countryside of Texas.
Man by man, he received their loyalty, not knowing that he’d soon put their levels of commitment to the test against their own.
Chapter 19
December 31
Carlsbad Caverns National Forest
Lonesome Ridge
Near the Texas Border
Holloway took the lead as the team made their way to a canyon overlook that rose several thousand feet above the dry riverbed below. They would now begin their winding descent along a trail that had been used by smugglers for decades.
Before the border wall was built between Texas and Mexico, illegal aliens snuck into the state to the east of El Paso and made their way into the Guadalupe Mountains where the border patrol didn’t conduct searches. The well-worn path could be seen making its way down to the bottom of McKittrick Canyon. The footing was treacherous, and Ho
lloway debated whether to make the trip in the darkness.
He scanned the trail with his binoculars and determined they could reach the bottom before darkness took over. Advising the men of the task, they picked up the pace and followed him down the winding trail.
An hour later, Holloway brought his men to an abrupt halt. He heard voices up ahead. He lowered himself to a crouch and advised his men to pass the word up the trail. They needed to create a kill zone, one in which his men held the high ground and the low ground, forcing the approaching group into a space where there was no escape from their fire.
His instructions were succinct. Kill everyone without hesitation, but not each other by accident. Friendly fire was a problem in warfare.
Holloway took up a position above the trail behind a rock outcropping. He would allow the approaching group plenty of time to fall within the middle of his team. He would watch for additional people below this group, or for any who might try to escape.
He positioned himself where he was fairly well hidden, and he studied the approaching group through his binoculars. He passed the word to his top lieutenant, who carefully worked his way through the trees to pass along the instructions.
Five men. All armed. Terminate.
What he didn’t point out was that three of the men were fellow members of the Lightning Death Squads. Like their Mexican escorts, they wore drab khaki-colored pullover tunics, sombreros, and dark-colored pants. Their faces, however, were unmistakably Korean.
Holloway wanted the men dead because he wanted what they were hauling on the back of two burros—weapons, and lots of them. They were destined for Carlsbad Caverns, but Lee’s attitude about equipping Holloway’s men still angered him. As a result, three commandos would have to be sacrificed for the benefit of his crew.
The M16s, which were stolen from the armory, were not equipped with optics. Therefore, they would not have the benefit of identifying their targets as Koreans, only men moving along the trail. The M16 had two adjustable sights, front and rear. He had not taken the time to train his men on sight adjustments, as he planned to do that after they arrived in Texas. He hoped that twenty rifles could take down five unsuspecting targets with ease.
The air was still as the group of three commandos chatted among themselves. They reached a particularly steep incline, and the commandos moved slightly ahead of the two Mexicans, who focused on urging their burros forward.
The explosion of gunfire in the direction of the trail caught Holloway by surprise, resulting in his dropping the binoculars to the rocky surface below him and shattering the left lens. The gunfire stopped as soon as it started. He quickly grabbed up the field glasses and saw the damage.
“Big deal. I only need one side anyway.” He laughed to himself after making reference to the open eye socket where his left eye once resided. He looked through the binoculars and saw the three commandos lying in a heap on the side of the trail. Their bodies were riddled with bullets.
The Mexican men were standing between the burros with their hands raised. Because of their short stature, they were protected from the gunfire unless his men let loose and killed the pack animals too.
“Hold fire! Hold fire!” Holloway yelled. He realized the two Mexican smugglers might have valuable experience to help them on their journey.
Holloway hustled down the side of the mountain, kicking rocks and debris as he made his way to the trail. His men closed on the two frightened Mexicans, one of whom had wet his pants.
With their hands high in the air, they trembled as they begged for their lives.
Holloway knew a little Spanish, just enough to be dangerous, as he often joked. Not that he needed his little knowledge of Spanish to be dangerous.
“Tranquilo! Siéntate!” hollered Holloway.
The two men immediately complied, closing their mouths and dropping to the ground on their butts.
“So what do we have here?” he mumbled as he approached the burros. “Somebody unpack these animals and show me what we’ve got for our trouble.”
Four of his men quickly approached the stoic animals and began to unload the contents of the burlap sacks. Holloway’s grin expanded from ear to ear as the loot was displayed on the ground. He began to reel off the inventory aloud.
“Fifty cal—check. A half-dozen AK-47s, ammo, and lots of magazines—check, check. AR-15s and more ammo—double check. Hey, what’s that?”
Slowly, one of his men began to pull the last weapon out of the stash.
“Gimme that!” shouted Holloway.
He was handed a grenade launcher and three Type 69 rocket-propelled grenades. The Chinese copy of the original Russian RPG-7s was more advanced and designed as a modern, shoulder-launched, antitank weapon. Holloway used to call the weapon pocket artillery because of its ease of use and significant firepower.
He hadn’t held one since Afghanistan, and the feel of the weapon in his hands made him smile. He turned and walked away from the burros as he thought of the possibilities when he was interrupted.
“Sir,” one of his men said, interrupting his thoughts, “the three men who were killed were ours. They are North Koreans.”
Holloway turned and glared at the man with his only eye. “That’s a shame. Please dispose of their bodies by throwing them over the edge into the canyon.”
“Yes, sir,” said the young soldier.
Holloway turned away, shrugged, and chuckled. “Sucks for them.”
PART TWO
Chapter 20
January 1, 2023
New Year’s Day
The Armstrong Ranch
Borden County, Texas
Lucy, like most of us, had her rituals on certain special days of the year. Birthdays were most important to her. As she put it, your birthday was the one day of the year that you were allowed to make it all about you. She and Major had never been New Year’s Eve revelers. Even in their younger days, the biggest party night on the planet in their remote part of West Texas involved staying up late, enjoying hot chocolate in front of the fire, and watching Dick Clark do the countdown in New York’s Times Square. They got older, the luster of ringing in the New Year wore off, and Dick Clark was replaced with Kathy Griffin, an entertainer whose name was synonymous with vile, in Lucy’s opinion.
New Year’s Day morning was typically an opportunity for Lucy to reflect on her life and on those she loved. She’d get up early, allowing her husband a rare opportunity to sleep in, and start the coffee. A fire was next on the agenda, and then she’d make a batch of monkey bread, a marvelous concoction made up of sweet, gooey, sinful cinnamon sugar together with walnuts poured atop chunks of biscuit dough baked in an upside-down Bundt pan.
Most years, her mind was consumed with what was in store for her children. Matters of school, coming of age, and unfortunately, fears associated with two young men who chose to fight for their country. On this morn, for the first time in her adult life, she was unable to visualize what a year in the life of an Armstrong looked like.
New Year’s Day 2023 was a blank page in an empty three-hundred-sixty-five-page book. Visions of proms, graduations, rodeos, and life on the ranch were replaced with concerns about food shortages, security, and an uncertainty she’d never felt before.
By the end of her second cup of coffee and another helping of monkey bread, Lucy Armstrong became determined to write one page of this year’s story at a time. She smiled, thanked God, and prayed for the protection of every living soul within her charge. Then she channeled the great authors she’d read.
A change in the year brings a change in the weather. There is nothing we can do about it but hope the nastiness passes and sunnier days are ahead.
“Happy New Year, Momma,” announced Duncan cheerfully as he was the first to enter the kitchen. “I smelled the monkey bread, and it reminded me I was at home.”
“Honey, you’ve been home for a week,” Lucy reminded her oldest.
“I know, but I’ve been consumed with getting settled and going
to Austin and, you know, transitioning from one life to another. When I smelled the coffee and the monkey bread, it reminded me of years ago before I went into the service. Well, like I said, it reminded me I was home.”
Lucy fixed him a plate of the delectable pastry and started on another batch. There were many mouths to feed under her roof, the most since Duncan had left for basic training. Lucy grinned as she reminded herself that Riley had grown up to account for half a dozen of said mouths.
“Duncan, you and I haven’t talked much about what your plans are. Your dad has relayed to me some of your conversations, but he seems to adhere to some kind of code of silence with you better than the other kids.”
Duncan laughed as he took his first bite of monkey bread. He closed his eyes and shook his head in euphoria. He didn’t have to say a word for his mother to know he approved.
“It’s called bro code. You know, like you guys have girl code.”
Lucy washed her hands in the sink and looked out the window as the sun began to peek over the horizon. A stiff, cold wind shook the house, causing her to shiver.
“Girls always break girl code,” she replied with a chuckle. “It’s the dumbest code ever created.”
“Dad and I are different, I guess. We’ve always managed to hold the code pretty well, unless he spilled the beans on something he shouldn’t have.”
Duncan was studying Lucy, so she couldn’t lie. He had his father’s knack for seeing inside someone’s head.
“He told me the details of your observations on your trip home. He also revealed your reaction to meeting our new vice president.”
“I suppose those are minor infractions, in bro-code speak,” said Duncan as he rose to pour himself another cup of coffee. He’d grown up drinking it black and had retained that habit throughout his military career.