by Ryan King
“Hold on,” said the voice. “Let me go get the shift commander.”
After several minutes of silence, a no-nonsense voice came back on the line. “This is Lieutenant Commander Porter. Who is this? And don’t give me any shit about Site Whatever or your identification code, this is a secure channel.”
“Uh, this is Simon Cushter. I’ve been communicating for the last couple of years with you by Morse Code.”
“Okay, so you must have found a way to fix the secure voice capability?”
“Yeah,” said Simon slowly, “that’s what happened.”
“So, I hear you were able to go up north and check things out for us?”
“Actually, I’m there now,” answered Simon, missing Nathan’s shaking head.
There was a long pause. “What do you mean? Aren’t you at Site Conway?”
“We had to abandon Site Conway,” said Simon. “The fuel was going bad and we were afraid we’d get trapped when the generators failed.”
“That’s already happened at a few locations,” said Porter.
“What?” said Simon. “And you didn’t think to tell us?”
“So where are you now?” asked Porter.
Nathan was motioning for Simon to let him speak.
Simon slowly slid away from the microphone.
“Hello?” asked Porter. “You still there?”
“Lieutenant Commander Porter, this is General Nathan Taylor. I am the Chief of Defense of the Jackson Purchase...nation, I guess you would call it. I understand you want to learn about us.”
Another long silence. “We’ve heard rumors of something like that. Several people have picked up your radio broadcasts and gossiped about them on the shortwave lines.”
“People always talk,” said Nathan.
“Tell me about the nuclear explosion,” said Porter.
“You first,” said Nathan. “Who are you and where are you?”
“That’s info you likely could have gotten from Simon there if you wanted it badly enough.”
Nathan frowned. “If you are implying we are torturing him to get his cooperation, you are mistaken. We have welcomed him into our community.”
“If that’s true, have Simon provide me with his pre-assigned safety code phrase.”
Simon looked confused as he leaned towards the microphone. “Uh, there was no safety code phrase.”
“Correct answer,” said Porter. “Which proves that you really are not under duress or that you’re an idiot not to make something up.”
“He’s not an idiot,” said Nathan, taking the microphone back. “So anyway, tell me a little about yourself.”
“I presume you actually are a military man and haven’t just taken on that title?” asked Porter.
“Yes,” said Nathan. “I was an active duty officer when it happened.”
“Okay, so you understand what I mean by Northern Command?”
“The major geographical combatant command responsible for North America.”
“Correct. NORTHCOM’s headquarters since the days of the Soviet Union has been in a secret location, which is designed to withstand a nuclear holocaust.”
“It’s not too secret,” said Nathan. “Everyone knows it’s at Cheyenne Mountain near Fort Carson, Colorado.”
“That’s classified…but correct,” admitted Porter.
Nathan laughed. “You’ll have to write us both up.”
“Anyway, we’re here. Doing what we can to ensure the survival of the United States.”
“And just how are you doing that from inside a mountain?”
“Communications like this mostly,” Porter answered. “We took three direct nuclear hits topside, so it’s still not safe to go outside, according to the radiation meters.”
“Who’s in charge there?” asked Nathan.
“I think it’s my turn to get an answer or two,” said Porter. “Tell me about the nuclear explosion.”
“It was from a low-yield tactical nuclear weapon.”
Porter sounded surprised. “And it was set off intentionally?”
“In a sense,” said Nathan. “Call it part of many smaller wars that happened after N-Day.”
“Are there more of these nukes out there?”
“You tell me,” said Nathan.
There was a pause. “Honestly, no one really knows for sure. Everyone has lost track of what was where. Most of the information we used before N-Day was either on the Internet or secure servers. Most of it is gone now. So, let me rephrase, do you have more nuclear weapons?”
“No,” said Nathan, feeling this was important somehow.
“Good,” said Porter. “Do you still profess loyalty to the United States of America?”
“What?” asked Nathan.
“It’s a simple question that as a military man I’m sure you understand.”
“There is no United States of America anymore,” said Nathan.
“Thankfully, you are wrong. It will take time, but the U.S. Government will reassert control. It starts with small pockets all over the country doing their part. Can we count on you?”
“Count on us to do what?” asked Nathan.
“Whatever we say, of course,” said Porter.
Nathan slowly reached over and cut the power on the radio.
They were all silent for a few seconds.
“What does it mean?” asked Jessica.
“It doesn’t mean anything,” said Nathan. “We’re not going to start taking orders from someone we don’t know that’s two thousand miles away and can’t even walk out their own front door.”
Nathan shook his head sadly. “It means that we’re on our own, same as before.”
Chapter 10 – The Alley
“Did they see us?” asked Joshua as they moved quickly away from the hill.
“They didn’t have to see us,” said Conrad. “All they need to do is look for a seven-foot-tall black guy.”
“And a bald-headed troll,” said Trailer.
“Let’s keep moving. Maybe we can get some distance from them,” said Joshua.
“But to where?” asked Trailer. “Are we looking to blend into crowds or find isolated locations where we can hide if need be?”
“Hey there!” said a voice behind them. “Stop! We want to talk to you.”
They looked back to see the two men in security uniforms and carrying batons coming down a side street after them.
“I think hiding is best at this point,” said Conrad. “We’re not going to blend in with someone chasing us.”
“Just keep walking fast,” said Joshua. “Don’t run yet. Maybe we can lose them.”
Turning down a narrow alleyway, they saw another smaller path at the end. They hurried down to the end and rounded the corner to find a blank wall. Looking around, they saw there was no exit. Nearby windows were boarded up. Only a small dumpster to one side provided any cover.
Conrad peeked back down the alley. “They’re coming this way,” he whispered.
“Stand over there,” Joshua told Trailer, pointing at the wall.
“Just out in the open?” he asked.
“Yes,” answered Joshua and turned to Conrad. “Get behind the dumpster here.”
Trailer shook his head, but backed up against the wall nevertheless. “I don’t think I like this plan.”
“Don’t worry,” whispered Conrad to Trailer. “Whatever happens to you, we’ll be fine.”
Trailer showed Conrad his extended middle finger.
There were voices from the alley, and then suddenly the two security personnel rounded the corner at the sight of Trailer.
“Howdy, boys,” Trailer said.
“There he is,” said one of the men.
Trailer smiled. “Here I am. What did you all want to talk about back there?”
“Where’s your two friends?”
“We split up,” said Trailer. “I don’t think they were as keen to talk to you as I was.”
“Let’s take this one in,” said one
of the men. “We’ll put the word out for the other two.”
His partner nodded. “Turn around, get on your knees with your hands interlocked behind your head and lean forward until your forehead is resting on the wall.”
“Come on now,” said Trailer, “is that really necessary?”
“It is,” said the first security personnel, pulling out a large pair of plastic flex-cuffs from his belt.
“Damn,” said Trailer, turning around and getting on his knees. “I hate this part.”
Both men walked forward, and one was about to reach out for Trailer when his partner happened to glance to the left and saw Conrad and Joshua crouched down. “What?”
Conrad launched himself forward at the nearest man, pinning him to the ground, while Joshua lunged at the man with the flex-cuffs.
He dropped the flex cuffs and swung the baton viciously at Joshua’s head.
Joshua jerked his head back and stepped out of the way. He felt the wind of the swing on the tip of his nose.
The man looked to swing back in the other direction, but found there was sudden resistance. He looked up to see that Trailer had stood and held the end of the baton securely in his massive hand.
Trailer pulled hard on the baton with one hand while punching forward at the man’s face with the other. The security man’s face made a sound like an omelet hitting the kitchen floor. He crumbled to the alley and didn’t move.
Conrad was rolling on the ground with the other security person, who evidently had some experience with wrestling. Although Conrad kept trying to use his superior size, the other man was using grappling techniques and nearly had Conrad pinned.
“Get the undercut,” encouraged Trailer. “No, the other side, get your arms under his.”
Joshua looked back and forth between the two men. “Shouldn’t we help him?”
Trailer shook his head. “No, he’s fine.” Looking back at Conrad, he said, “Come on now, you got this. Don’t gas yourself out. Breath.”
The man finally got Conrad on his back and put the big redhead in a chokehold. Conrad looked up with a red face. “Help, goddamnit!”
Trailer shook his head in dismay. “So embarrassing,” he said as he brought the baton back and then struck the man swiftly at the base of the skull.
The man collapsed and smacked his face on the pavement.
Panting, Conrad pushed the man off of him and slowly climbed to his feet.
“I’m not being critical,” said Trailer, “but maybe you need to work on that a little.”
Conrad took a wild swing at the big man, but missed and spun, losing his balance. Crashing loudly into the dumpster, he fell on his back and lay there panting.
“I stand corrected,” said Trailer, smiling, “you’re a freaking kung fu panda.”
“Can this wait?” hissed Joshua, looking back up the alley.
“Sure,” shrugged Trailer. “My time is your time, boss.”
“Asshole.” Conrad climbed gingerly to his feet.
“Okay,” said Joshua, peering down the alley and seeing no one. “Let’s take their uniforms. The smaller one should fit me and the bigger one should fit you, Conrad.”
“Uh, what about me?” asked Trailer.
“Go knock out a guard your size,” said Conrad. “We’ll wait here for you, promise.”
“Even if we did find you a uniform,” said Joshua, “it wouldn’t do any good. People who are seven feet stand out no matter how they’re dressed.”
“Sooooo, I just hide in the dumpster a few weeks until you come back with the cavalry?” asked Trailer.
Joshua looked at the small dumpster. “Wouldn’t be room. That’s where we’re going to put the knocked out guards.”
“I think I get it,” said Conrad, smiling. He began putting on the uniform over his other clothes and tossed the flex-cuffs to Trailer. “Put those on.”
Frowning, Trailer looked back and forth between both men. “Wait a minute. Are we seriously going to go all Star Wars here?”
“You got it, Chewbacca,” said Conrad.
Joshua nodded as he changed as well. “Hopefully, it will work as well. I’ll be Han Solo.”
“Bullshit you will,” said Conrad. “You’re the young wiper-snapper, Luke Skywalker. I’m Solo.”
“Fine,” said Joshua, “you can be Han.”
Trailer cinched the plastic cuffs on his wrists. “Something tells me I’m going to regret this.”
Chapter 11 – Sickbed Visitor
Reggie couldn’t stop shivering. The cold wind blasted across his body as he stumbled through knee-deep snow. There was nothing to hear but the howl of the wind, and he could see no more than a few feet in front of him through the driving snow.
Grandfather’s cabin must be up ahead. It was stupid to go hiking this time of year, but if I can just get back to shelter, it will be okay.
Reggie noticed that it was getting darker. Soon it would be night and nearly impossible to find his way. Looking down, Reggie realized he was in his slippers and robe.
No wonder I’m shivering, he thought.
Ahead, there was a banging noise. Maybe the cabin was close and someone was trying to guide him in by sound.
More banging and then voices. One of the voices was Brazen urging him to hurry. That time was running out.
With a sudden start, Reggie realized he was dreaming and struggled up out of the dream.
“He’s resting right now,” Janice told someone in her you-shall-not-pass voice.
“I need to talk to him, ma’am. When will he be awake?”
“I don’t know,” she answered. “When he wakes, if he’s better, I’ll give you a call at the police station.”
“It’s okay,” Reggie started to say loudly, but it came out in a whisper. It felt like there were fishhooks in his throat. Reaching over with a shaking hand, he took a long drink of water from the glass on the nightstand beside his bed.
“I’m awake,” he finally managed to call out, and the voices stopped.
“Congratulations,” Janice told the unknown someone. “You woke him up. He needs rest.”
“It’s okay, Janice,” said Reggie. “Go ahead and show them in.”
His wife walked in and placed her hand on his head, and he shivered. “You’ve still got a fever, even after taking the aspirin.”
A man in police uniform stood worriedly in the doorway. “I’m really sorry to bother you, sir.”
Janice turned and pointed a commanding finger at him. “Go make yourself conformable in the living room. I’ll call you in when he’s ready.”
The man vanished.
“As protective as ever.” Reggie smiled.
“I have to be,” she said, soaking a washcloth into a small bucket of water beside the bed. She wrung most of the water out and then laid the cool cloth across his forehead. “You don’t have to see him. He’ll come back later.”
“I got to get up to go pee anyway,” said Reggie. “You know how my prostate is.”
Janice held up a small bedpan. “We got this left over from when I was bedridden after...my leg.”
“No,” Reggie said, forcing himself to sit up, and he instantly felt a sensation of dizziness. “I’m not ready for that yet.”
“Suit your stubborn self,” she said, helping him to his feet and guiding him towards the bathroom. When he came out, he carefully made his way into the living room. As usual, he always looked up at the ceiling’s corner to see the iron poker head that was still imbedded there. If it hadn’t come off during one of his upswings, it would likely still be embedded in Ethan Schweitzer’s skull.
More the pity, he thought.
Reggie saw the man sitting nervously in the couch and recognized him now as the new Mayfield police chief. “You’re Norton, right? I’m sorry I don’t remember your first name.”
“Just Norton,” said the man rising. “That’s what everyone calls me.”
“Please sit,” said Reggie, waving him back down. Janice helped him into a cushi
oned armchair across from Norton. She then grabbed a blanket from the nearby quilt stand and bundled it around him.
Reggie smiled. “Janice, can you bring us some mint tea, please? I think my throat would appreciate it.”
“No problem, dear,” she said and then stepped out into the backyard to clip some mint from the garden.
“So what’s this about?” asked Reggie.
The man looked like he didn’t want to talk now that he was here. Finally, he sighed and said, “Ernest Givens.”
“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me. What’s he up to now?”
“He’s still campaigning heavily.”
“As he should,” said Reggie. “There’s an election coming up.”
Norton looked pained. “Yes, but he’s getting everyone all riled up. I have to devote most of my officers to keeping the peace during his daily speeches, and we have to ignore other more pressing matters. Even with the extra security, the crowds always get a little out of control.”
“How out of control?”
“Three hurt this morning. One of them a policeman who had his forearm broken by a thrown brick.”
Janice came back in and set two cups down with fresh cut mint sprigs covered in steaming hot water. “Here you go.”
“Thank you,” both men said in unison as she left the room.
Reggie took a careful sip of the hot drink and then set it back down. “Forgive me for asking the obvious, but have you requested that Mister Givens stop doing what he’s doing?”
The police chief nodded. “Says he’s not going to stop, no matter what I say.”
“That sort of stubbornness and determination is at times admirable. Maybe even the core trait responsible for allowing him to save so many people.”
“Maybe,” answered Norton.
“What did the mayor tell you to do?” asked Reggie. “I presume you went there first?”
Norton shook his head, frowning. “He told me to come ask you.”
“Of course he did,” smiled Reggie. “What do you recommend?”
Norton started to answer and then closed his mouth. He dropped his eyes and looked away. “I don’t know, sir.”
Reggie stared at the man for a few seconds and then set the hot cup down. “You know there are stories about Ernest Givens.”