Fire From The Sky | Book 10 | Damned Nation

by Reed, N. C.

  “I’m glad to hear that, at least,” Robert admitted. “Jody was so respectful, Clay,” he blurted before Clay could continue. “He was respectful, polite, and seemed really interested in pursuing a relationship with her but wouldn’t do it until he checked with us first. I doubt anyone could find fault with his manners or his attitude. I certainly couldn’t.”

  “Jody’s a good man, Robert,” Clay agreed. “Quiet, respectful of others and their beliefs, always ready to lend a helping hand to those who need it. In many of the places we’ve been, he’s been the first to make headway in speaking to indigenous peoples, or even making friends among them. I’d put his ability in that category second only to Tandi, and Tandi had that whole Medicine Man thing going for him.”

  “I think it’s a shame,” Robert was shaking his head. “And a severe loss. She will regret this for years to come, Clay. I can feel it in my bones. I swear I can. She’ll regret this for the rest of her life.”

  “You may be right, Robert. I can’t say,” Clay patted his brother on the knee. Inwardly, he wondered how this would affect Jody. He also wondered if Jody would ever show it even if it did have an adverse effect on him.

  “You know, Clay,” Robert said suddenly, “I sometimes examine what I’ve done as a father and try to figure out what it is that I did, or didn’t do, that led her to be like that. Gordy certainly isn’t that way.”

  “No, he isn’t,” Clay agreed. “He’s as fine a kid as I’ve ever known, Robert, and I don’t say that as his uncle, but rather as his boss. Whatever else you did; you raised a fine son.”

  “Thank you, Clay,” Robert smiled. “I appreciate that.”

  “As to what you may have done wrong, probably nothing,” Clay shrugged. “Sometimes people have traits that they are born with, Robert. Stubbornness, temper issues, control freak, you can make a list as long as your imagination. I would guess we all have some kind of ingrained characteristics like that. We just don’t all have them quite as strong as a few seem to.”

  “Makes as much sense as anything I’ve come up with,” Robert nodded. “Anyway, that brings you as up-to-date as I am. I really am disappointed, but I can’t seem a damn thing I can do about it.” He got to his feet.

  “I think I may turn in a little early tonight, Clay,” he told his younger brother as he moved to the door. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Course not,” Clay shook his head as he got to his own feet. “I hope you can sleep well, Robert.”

  “Thanks, Clay. For everything.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Having more room to spread out and relax began to pay dividends almost immediately, Clay noted. Having been cramped up and crammed together for most of the summer, everyone was thoroughly enjoying having plenty of space of their own. That also translated into better rest, and ultimately to better attitudes all around.

  Aside from the normal security issues and other everyday chores for the farm, there were two main focuses among the residents for the moment. The group of women who were trying to teach themselves to use the spinning wheel and loom, and the group who were learning to ride and care for horses. The first group congregated in the area of Building One where Lainie had her ‘sewing shop’ set up. It was the ideal spot and kept everything of that nature in one place.

  The riding was somewhat different. There were different classes or groups of people among the riders. Some were still so scared of a horse that they needed one-on-one lessons. Others were able to ride well enough to join group lessons, but still not able to properly care for the horse when they were finished. Some couldn’t effectively saddle and outfit a horse well enough to get started and had to watch someone else do it for them.

  Those who had progressed beyond that were taken on longer rides. This was done by the simple expedient of turning those rides into fence checks and perimeter rides, killing two or even three birds with one stone, as an old saying went. Those longer rides acclimated the novice riders to the aches and pains that were commonplace with riding a horse for any appreciable distance, toughening them up for the longer rides to come.

  It also freed up others who would have otherwise been needed to make those same rides to check fences and examine the perimeter. That also left many of those same people with a little extra free time.

  -

  “Where did you get this?” Tandi Maseo almost whispered as he examined the katana that Greg Holloway had taken from the evidence vault.

  “Took it from a guy trying to kill a drug dealer with it,” Greg shrugged. “I assume it was stolen, to be honest. Once I figured out that it wasn’t a fake, anyway.”

  “No, it’s no fake,” Tandi agreed, running his hand along the blade. “It has been sorely abused and uncared for, but it is not a fake.” He set the blade on a table and began unwrapping the hilt.

  “What are you going to do?” Greg asked, curious.

  “I think this sword is probably a war prize from World War Two,” Tandi replied. “If I’m right, it is likely what’s known as a Shinshintō sword. I should be able to find the smith markings on the tang of the blade that will identify it, assuming I’m right and this is as old as I think it might be.” He worked quickly, stripping the cheap cloth away from the grip, exposing cheap, plastic pieces that had obviously not been made for the sword. Breaking them away from the blade, Tandi left the steel exposed to the light.

  He pulled the blade upright, edge to the sky, or ceiling in this case, and looked at the roughly hammered steel of the tang of the sword. Greg looked over his shoulder and could make out several symbols he recognized as Kanji, or traditional Japanese.

  “This sword was crafted in the Echigo Province in the fifth year of the reign of Emperor Osahito Komei, in the Month of Affection,” Tandi read. “Respectfully, by Tonohoi, apprentice and student of…Masama. Damn,” Tandi muttered, placing the blade down on the table. Greg didn’t bother the little medic as he watched him do some mental arithmetic.

  “This sword was completed in January of 1851,” he finally announced, shaking his head slowly. “This had to have been taken as a prize during the war. There is no way a westerner would have been allowed to leave Japan with something like this.” He lifted the blade again to examine it.

  “This was likely carried in battle as a gift from parents to son, or perhaps an uncle to a nephew. Probably a generational sword, being passed down until it was lost in the Pacific War. I’ve never heard of Masama, or Tonohoi, so neither were likely well known, but if this is an example of their work, then they were very good craftsmen. What a marvelous blade to find here, of all places.” He set the blade down again, stepped back from the table and looked at Greg.

  “Take good care of it, Greg,” he said solemnly. “It deserves it.”

  “I don’t see me knowing how to do any of that, Tandi,” Greg was shaking his head before the medic had finished. “I was thinking more along the lines of you keeping it, being as you know more about it. So, take it. It’s yours now.”

  Tandi looked at him, shocked at what he had heard.

  “Are you sure, man?” Tandi finally found his voice. “This is, this is a priceless thing, an heirloom of incredible value.”

  “To me, it was just evidence of a crime,” Greg explained. “If it’s that special, I’d prefer it be with someone who will know how to treat it with respect, and that’s you. Take it, man. It’s yours to do with as you please. The guy I took it from is probably dead, and even if he’s not, I’d wager my entire month’s salary he stole it. Even if he’s alive, he doesn’t deserve to get it back.”

  “I don’t…I don’t know what to say,” Tandi admitted.

  “’Thank you’ is customary at times like these,” Greg nudged him with a shoulder. “I hope you get enjoyment from it, man.”

  “Thank you.”

  -

  “I’m not saying we can’t fix it. I’m just saying I’d rather not mess with it right now.”

  Jake Sidell was standing with Sienna Newell, looking at the cripp
led Stryker field ambulance that her group had carried all the way from Fort Hood, chock full of medical supplies and equipment gathered by Captain Jaylyn Thatcher. The vehicle was down for maintenance at the time with a transmission problem but was still running and could move under its own power. It couldn’t shift out of second gear, however, so it’s top speed at the moment was ‘crawl’.

  “All we need to do is rebuild the transmission, Big Guy,” Sienna grinned up at him. “We’ve got the parts for it.”

  “I know what it needs, and that we have the parts for it,” he shot back. “I’d just rather do it later. We do have other work waiting. I do, anyway,” he added.

  “Hey, I have to pull my weight on security too, you know,” Sienna stuck her tongue out at him. “If someone is injured in the field, this thing is just the ticket to get to them and get them safely out of trouble. We need it to be operable, Jake. Seriously.”

  “Fine,” Jake sounded disgusted with himself for giving in. “Get it inside and let’s pull the tranny and take a look.” He turned and stomped through the rear shop door of Building Three, still grumbling under his breath. Sienna watched him go with a slow grin on her face. She loved to aggravate the big mechanic, and he loved to get even. Their relationship was slow, building and developing over time, which was fine with her. Jake had not had the best times in recent years, and he also had a little girl he had to think about. Jaqueline was a delightful child and Sienna enjoyed spending time with her. Sienna wanted to think that Jac, as she was known, enjoyed their time together as well. She ate with Jake and Jac, a phrase that always made her smile, at least twice a week, trying to slowly build a place for herself in the big mechanic’s life.

  As she clambered into the armored vehicle, she had a moment of doubt, thinking about that. What if she managed to ingrain herself in their lives only to be killed in action? Leaving the two of them alone yet again, to suffer through another loss. Was it fair to them for her to want to be part of their life?

  But then she thought about all the other soldiers on the farm who also had people in their lives that they cared about. They didn’t let the possibility of being killed stop them from enjoying every possible minute they could with their loved ones. It had to be worth the risk, right?

  “Well, are you gonna get that thing moving or just sit there all day, daydreaming?” Jake bellowed from the shop door, and another smile crossed her face.

  Yes, it was a risk. But all life was a risk, and it was too short to be alone and unhappy. Especially when the source of your happiness was right in front of you.

  “I’m coming, you big gorilla!” she shouted back.

  “That’s what she said!” Jake shot right back, making her laugh as she started the big engine and let it idle.

  She really did enjoy being with him.

  -

  “I’m glad you’re back in the Bunkhouse,” Marcy George told Titus Terry as the two lounged on a blanket behind the square, warming themselves in the autumn sun.

  “Me too,” Titus nodded, his eyes closed as he faced the sky. “Puts me closer to the girl’s dorm. I don’t have so far to-, ow!” he cut off as the back of her fist hit him square in the navel.

  “Oh, was that me?” she asked, never bothering to look. “I didn’t even realize. I kept hearing this obnoxious buzzing sound and thought it was a fly.”

  “You need to get a sense of humor, girl,” Titus told her, rubbing his stomach. “That was completely uncalled for. You know I’ve only got eyes for you and two other wom-, ow!”

  “Oh, did that happen again? It may be some kind of muscle cramp. Could even be sign of a seizure. I’ll need to have that checked,” Marcy still didn’t bother to look over at him. “I wouldn’t want to be sick or anything.”

  “No, we wouldn’t want that,” Titus chuckled, his hand finding hers in between them. “Wouldn’t want that at all.”

  -

  Dottie Greer treasured these small moments alone. She called them stolen moments. Tiny little bits of time when no one needed her to do something, usually when her kids were still in school.

  She had never had cause to regret moving to the Sanders’ Farm when Shane Golden had invited her. While she continued to hold out hope that her husband would find his way home, that hope was growing smaller with each day. James Greer had provided for his family very well as an over-the-road trucker, but that provision came at a price. The price of long absences and long miles apart. She had no idea where he might be other than somewhere between the spot she was standing on and California. That was assuming he was still alive, which these days was not a safe assumption.

  She and her two children had managed the winter, but only barely. Now, they were safe, even comfortable. Her children had other children to play with, and we even still going to school. She worked just as she always had, and things were as normal as they were ever likely to be ever again.

  So, these tiny moments she stole to herself to think about her husband, about her children, they were just special little moments to herself. She knew that her husband, if he was alive, would be worried sick about her and their children, and would be doing all he could to return to them, but in the world they lived in now that would be no easy task.

  She had not given up hope of seeing him again. Of her family being reunited with one another. But it was these little moments that she thought of him, that she remembered his voice, his laugh, his touch, his smile, these were the little moments that kept that hope alive.

  And thus, she would continue to steal these tiny little slivers of time, just for herself. To help her keep from breaking down completely. To help her stay sane in a world gone mad. To help her keep that tiny light of hope burning.

  -

  “Ow! Dammit!” Amy Mitchell cursed under her breath as she shook her finger before putting it in her mouth. She had pricked her index finger with a sewing needle.

  “Ain’t that the worst?” Lainie Harper offered her sympathy. “No matter how hard you try, it still happens once in a while, don’t it?”

  “Usually when I’m not paying attention,” Amy agreed. “I shouldn’t let my mind wander so much when I’m working.”

  “We all need to let ourselves wander away once in a while,” Lainie told her. “It don’t hurt anything to think about better things. Well, other than a prick to the finger sometimes,” she chuckled.

  “True that,” Amy laughed as well. “Sometimes I feel so old,” Amy said suddenly. “I had my daughter when I was nineteen. Had to drop out of college during the last half of my freshman year. My prick of a boyfriend…well, anyway,” she cut herself off with a shrug. “I just sometimes wonder where I would be if things had been different, that’s all.”

  “Honey I know all four verses of that song and the chorus besides,” Lainie promised. “You won’t ever hear criticism from me about thinking what better things you might have seen. But,” she held up her index finger, “remember this when you’re feeling down. Right now, you are in a lot better shape that most people in the world. Every little thing that happened to you that shaped your decisions and made you select the paths you did, led you to be here. I know you went through a terrible ordeal,” she lowered her voice. “I know something about that, too, though mine was different from yours. But you and that beautiful little girl of yours are safe, sheltered, have food on the table, and even have a little fun once in a while. There’s a whole little community around you that cares about you. Nowadays, that ain’t nothing to sneeze at.”

  “That is all true,” Amy nodded. “And I’ve thought that before myself, more than once. I agree, just so you know. Despite it all, even…even that, she and I are far better off than we would be under any other circumstances. It was a pure blessing that Clay and the others found me when they did. And even went and got my daughter.” She started to tear up at that and turned slightly away to wipe her eyes.

  “Don’t think you have to hide those tears, sweetie,” Lainie told her gently. She got to her feet and walked to whe
re Amy was sitting, enveloping the younger woman in a gentle hug.

  “You’re okay, Amy,” Lainie whispered softly. “I know it may not seem like it sometimes, but that’s just life trying to get you down. You’re okay. Just remember that and keep remembering it. And if you need reminding of it, you talk to me. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Amy nodded, her tears flowing freely now. “But only if you let me do the same for you.”

  “That’ll be fine, honey,” Lainie promised. “That’ll be just fine.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Sir, we’ve gotten a burst message from Officer Haywood,” Charlie the Aide reported, standing in the door to Cartwright’s office. “He estimates they will be on target in no more than three days.”

  “Sounds fine,” Cartwright nodded. “Did the shipment for Jasper get away on time?”

  “On time and with no problems, sir,” Charlie promised.

  “Good. Good. Alright, Charlie. Sounds like things are under control for the moment, eh?”

  “Indeed, sir. Will there be anything else?”

  “Not unless something else comes in, no,” Cartwright got to his feet. “Thank you, Charlie.”

  “Of course, sir.” The aide withdrew and closed the door. Cartwright turned to look out the window.

  Cartwright had been the assistant warden of the North Georgia Waycroft Prison Farm when the lights had gone out. Waycroft was a private firm that specialized in taking low risk inmates and using them as low paid labor doing farm work. In turn, the products from the farm were used to feed inmates at other Waycroft facilities and the excess sold to help pad the profits of the company. Under the table, inmate labor was hired out to other industries, where inmates were paid more than average but still less than comparative employees would have been paid. The result was that everyone involved made money, including the inmates.

  The warden had been away at a corporate meeting when the disaster struck, and while she might make it back from San Francisco at some point, Cartwright doubted it. In her absence he had taken over the eleven hundred inmate facility with an iron first sheathed in a velvet glove.