The Last Stand (Book 3) (The Repentant Demon Trilogy)

by Samantha Johns

  The Repentant Demon

  Book 3: The Last Stand

  Samantha Johns

  Copyright 2012

  Copyright 2012. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons either living or dead, as well as any events or locations is entirely coincidental.

  In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, any means of reproduction, either electronic or physical, of any part of this book, without written permission is unlawful piracy and deemed a theft of the author's intellectual property. You may use the material from this book for review purposes only. Any other use requires written permission from the author or publisher.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1. Settling In

  Chapter 2. Preparations

  Chapter 3. Becoming a Family

  Chapter 4. Christmas Plans

  Chapter 5. Surprises—Good and Bad

  Chapter 6. It Happens

  Chapter 7. The Plan

  Chapter 8. The Last Stand

  The Repentant Demon Trilogy

  Author Info

  Chapter 1. Settling In

  Abigail hadn't had many great Christmases that she could remember. Those few good years with her adopted family, from ages ten to fifteen were almost forgotten in the wake of the tragedy of losing them all. But now, viewing the beautiful snow-laden mountains as she made her approach into Wyoming, she felt encouraged to anticipate a white Christmas with the man she loved beside her. That vision might even have been possible if not for the things that would happen on this coming Christmas day; events that might destroy the future for herself and her beloved country, if not the whole world.

  She saw the runway, surely built recently, as this hadn't normally been a place frequented by air traffic. The advertisement for the sale of the 7,000 acre ranch had not described such a feature. Homeland Security, no doubt, had installed this improvement in anticipation not only for her use, but of the military's needs as well. Her hopes for a quiet few days alone with her new husband were quickly being dashed as she spied some tanks near the edge of the woodland growth. They could only be seen as she was landing. This should have made her feel safe, but it did not.

  “Welcome to Willow Creek Ranch,” Rick Foley said, greeting them pleasantly as Abigail and Cal climbed from the plane. “You will be staying in the guest cabin. It's just downhill from the main lodge. There is over seven thousand acres of woodlands, mountains, and lakes surrounding you, so be careful not to get lost. A gravel road leads directly to the front door. I wouldn't recommend wandering far from it. You are welcome to use the government van which should arrive soon with your packed belongings from Saint Louis. You have a forty-acre lake for fishing, a view of the Wind River Mountain Range, and access to hunting, if you like that sort of thing. We want you to make yourselves at home.” He sounded more like a tour guide than a federal agent who more or less had them in his custody.

  “It sounds like a paradise, though it might not seem like one once the war begins. And that's in less than two weeks from now,” Abigail reminded them. “I hope we do get to enjoy some of this beautiful area… for a little while anyway. Are we free to come and go as we please? As long as we're careful about not getting lost?”

  “Well, sort of,” said their old Homeland Security colleague, “You can go wherever you like until December 24. Drive into town, see the sights, and shop to your heart's desire. But once the first strikes occur, you will need to stay put indefinitely within the compound for your own safety.”

  “What about the couple that owns this place?” Cal asked, “Are they still in the main house? What were they told about us being here?”

  “They are still here, but you needn’t be concerned about them,” said Rick Foley, a little irritated.

  “I'm getting a little tired of our arrangement, Mr. Foley,” said Cal, “You trust me to translate all your highly classified intercepted material. You wouldn't even know about this plot against our country if not for me, yet you can't be straight with us about anything.”

  “Things are kept from you only for your own protection,” said the officer. “It's standard operating procedure in our agency. Everyone is always treated on a need to know basis, Cal. It's nothing personal.”

  “Well maybe we might need to know what the owners were told,” said Abigail, “so that we can keep the story straight in case we run into them. What if we're fishing together or run into them in town? We could say something wrong if we don't know what they've been told about us, or about what's happening.”

  “You're not going to like it,” he said, “So let's drive over to your cabin. I'll explain everything there. It's too cold to talk out here in the freezing temperatures.”

  Rick Foley drove them in his black SUV over the gravel road through a wooded area to the small cabin which would be their home indefinitely. They passed construction crews installing surveillance equipment to twelve-foot high security fencing; another improvement courtesy of the U.S. government. Perhaps all of this will be reassuring once the battle begins, Abigail thought. But right now it just seemed like a big prison to her. A very big prison.

  “I think you should know that we are expecting a baby in July,” said Abigail. “Of course, I hope this will all be over by then.”

  “We know about your pregnancy,” said Rick Foley, “and we have a doctor as part of our team, along with some other medical professionals for emergencies of any kind.”

  “You knew?” she said, shocked and angered. “How could you know? I haven't even seen a doctor yet. We only know because of the test kit I bought. Did you actually watch me peeing in the cup? I don't know how much of this I can take.”

  “We need to know everything about you,” he answered. “That is our job. Like it or not, we are looking out for your best interests. And no, your apartment was not bugged. We were listening to you at the dinner you almost had to celebrate getting your pilot's license combined with the new baby announcement. That's how we found out.”

  Cal was relieved to know the government must not have overheard the visit in their bedroom from the angel Ashriel, although it wouldn't have surprised him if they had. That, to him, was much more private than peeing in a cup. So that secret pen-shaped listening device has not only been used on the Syriac-speaking Islamists who plan to destroy our world… they had also used it on the two of them.

  The quaint log cabin would have made a sweet romantic getaway for them under different circumstances. Abigail carried their little white dog, Angel, to the side of the house so she could relieve herself before going inside. The woods and mountains beyond seemed immense, and she feared for such a small defenseless creature in this environment. She couldn't even imagine what an acre was, much less seven thousand of them. They were city people. And this was a city dog.

  “Even though it seems pretty peaceful out here,” warned Rick Foley, waiting patiently as Angel sniffed out the perfect spot. “I would keep that dog on a leash. She could get lost, and there are wolves, bobcats, and bears nearby. Besides the all of Willow Creek Ranch, this land is surrounded by national forest, making over a million acres of unending wilderness. Please, don't take my warnings lightly.”

  Once they were inside, the room seemed a little chilly for an indoor space. Cal read her expression and inspected the fireplace, wondering how to use it. Abigail had at least be
en camping as a child; he knew nothing of the outdoors.

  “Let me show you how to turn on the heat and hot water,” said Agent Foley, “I apologize for not having someone do that ahead of your arrival. You're on propane power for cooking and heating. Your electricity is from a gas-powered generator. There is enough stored in the shed to last over a year. If you want to use the fireplace there is plenty of firewood stacked out back. Just open the damper so you don't end up with soot pouring out all over everything. It can even seep into your closets and soil your clothes. During blackouts, if we have any, you shouldn't use the fireplace because of the chimney smoke.

  “Your refrigerator and pantry are stocked,” he continued, “but it may not be to your tastes. If you want anything else, here's a credit card to use. We don't expect you to pay for anything while we're here. This is all courtesy of Uncle Sam. Cal will receive a generous stipend for his consulting work, and it will include back pay for your time in Saint Louis.”

  “I just hope we all survive this,” sighed Abigail, “so we can return to Saint Louis. We've lost the lease on our apartment, but I still want to go back there. That's the place we call home. Maybe we've seemed a bit irritable, Agent Foley, but it's not personal. We know none of this is your fault. It's the damn terrorists' fault.”

  “I do understand,” he said graciously, “I need to tell you how everything works. And you're right about the McFarlands. You need to know about them.”

  They followed him to the kitchen table located in the corner of an L-shaped open room that comprised the living room on one end and the kitchen at the other end of the L. A bedroom and bathroom opened from a door to the rear of the living room. It was a comfortable and quaint guest cottage decorated in typical northwestern style that included a lot of log furniture, antlers on the wall, and a red Coleman-style lantern light fixture over the dining table. An old roll-top oak desk sat between two windows framed with red and blue plaid curtains to match the upholstery on the sofa and lounge chair.

  “Will we have Internet?” Abigail asked, taking her seat. “I mean, for a while anyway?”

  “You are hooked up to our satellite,” said Agent Foley, “and that's about as reliable as it gets. You can’t beat the feds on communications systems. There should be no interruption in service no matter what happens. I can't guarantee what television stations you'll be able to get after Christmas. It depends on which stations are destroyed, when and if they are, and which might be operable.

  “If the terrorists succeed in even half their targets,” he continued, “we face the possibility of fifteen meltdowns, with potentially that many nuclear plants turned into hydrogen bombs. All are in the eastern half of the country, but the affects on communications and transportation could be devastating. Not to mention what that will do to the economy. There could be radiation danger as well, depending on the wind direction. We have sirens, and you are to go into the basement if you hear them, or to the large underground facility. There is food, shelter, and a make-shift toilet in the basement that should be survivable for up to two weeks, though it won't be a pleasant time. We have a flashing light on the wall to signal an all-clear down there, so you'll know when it's okay to come out.

  A make-shift toilet, thought Cal. What could that possibly be?

  “Military complexes,” Agent Foley continued, “are located in secret bunkers throughout the mountain ranges from Colorado up through Montana and into Canada. There could be intense fighting. That is why we need you to stay put after December 24. And we need you to stay silent about all this until then.”

  “This is so wrong,” exclaimed Abigail, “You should be warning people so they could escape or set up shelters for survival. Like we have here. Why are we the lucky ones?”

  “We don't know which cities are the targets,” he said. “You can't evacuate half of the country. Or in the amount of time we have. The chaos would cause even more death.”

  “Oh, and there won't be any chaotic situations when it hits, I suppose?” she disagreed vehemently. “And how will you tell people where they should go when communications networks will be gone?”

  “We have ways,” he said, “Trust me, there are evacuation plans in every city. They will be guided by local law enforcement agencies with the help of the National Guard.”

  “And what if people come right to our gates?” asked Cal. “Are we going to let them in?”

  “Of course, all will be admitted once they've been identified by the guards,” he said, realizing he'd slipped up and revealed too much. “That's our purpose here—to save lives.”

  “Identified? How can they be identified?” said Cal, remembering his own ID's were fake.

  “Because we already have facial recognition software for every man, woman, and child in the United States, legal or illegal. It's not science fiction. It's real,” he stated firmly, hoping that would be the end of the discussion which was getting testy.

  “Look,” he added, “we can have a nice philosophical discussion about the ethics and morals of this practice some other time. It's out there, it's done, whether you like it or not. I'm telling you that our intention is to protect people, not to snoop around for the fun of it.”

  “And the owners of this place… are they going to be kept in the dark until December 24? Or, will you just wait for all hell to break loose?” asked Abigail. “Will you tell them the day before? Five minutes before?”

  “Maybe all hell won't break loose,” he said in reply.

  “Oh, it's breaking loose all right,” stated Cal, with a knowing tone. This is what the angel Ashriel said would happen.

  “We tried to buy the place from the McFarlands,” Foley blurted out, “but they wouldn't make a deal for the price we offered. They were asking way above what the market will allow, since their loan is under water. They wanted thirteen million. Besides, they're better off here than wherever they would have gone if the sale had closed. We had to confiscate it from them by right of eminent domain. This is a national security issue, and it couldn't be done any other way. Needless to say, they're pissed.”

  “Imagine that, not liking the government taking your property and setting up a war zone on it,” said Abigail snidely.

  “I'd be careful talking to them,” warned Foley, “because they're assuming you people are agents, too. There isn't any other explanation for you guys moving in here.”

  “Explanation? Why not just tell them the truth?” complained Abigail. “Maybe if they knew what was going to happen... Oh, I get it, they don’t need to know. Well I think they have a right.”

  “No they don't have a right,” shouted Agent Foley, losing his patience with Abigail's attitude, no matter how well he understood it. “The only right any of you have is a right to life, as far as I'm concerned. And if I can manage somehow to save your asses, then maybe you can have a shot at liberty and the pursuit of happiness along with it. But right to know, that's not even in the Constitution. Look it up, while we've still got an Internet.”

  “Well maybe now would be the time to inform you that we've already told someone the whole story, and he's headed here shortly with his whole family,” said Abigail, defiantly.

  “Oh, you must mean Officer Mike Edwards?” Foley spat back at her. “You really think you are capable of pulling one over on U.S. Military Intelligence? That’s what I was before Homeland Security came into existence.”

  Abigail and Cal stared at him in shock and disbelief, and perhaps more than a little fear. They had only discussed this in their apartment, which he claimed had not been bugged, and in the outdoor market area of the Delmar Loop where they often met with their police friend whom they loved dearly. He had been with them from the beginning. He knew of Cal's miraculous rebirth in the alley from that of a repentant demon to one of being fully human. He had been the witness at their private wedding with Father Andrews in the church rectory. He had accepted the role as Cal's baptismal sponsor on that same day, essentially becoming his godfather. They had no desire to build a ne
w world without Officer Mike in it.

  “You forget that Mike Edwards was an old buddy of mine,” said Foley, a little calmer. “How do you think it was that he called me when you confided in him about the terrorist plot you overheard in the library that day? He told me about your plan to save him and his two adult children along with their families. Mike's a good guy, and I personally gave him directions how to get here. So you won't need to text him as you had undoubtedly planned. He and his family are arriving shortly in two mobile homes and a smaller travel trailer. They will become your new neighbors.”

  As if to signal the end of their conversation, a government van drove up pulling a small enclosed cargo trailer hitched to the back. It carried all of Cal and Abigail's personal belongings. They had sold or donated their furniture. With Abigail's car on a dolly behind it all, they must have looked like a small caravan driving along the highway. The two drivers helped them carry in the neatly taped boxes, and in less than one hour they had unloaded everything into a big pile in their living room.

  The men left the van behind for their personal use, going back to wherever they came from in Agent Foley's black SUV. Abigail and Cal didn't ask where they specifically went, assuming that they didn’t have a need to know. They just waved good-bye, as Cal held Angel in his arms.