by Mel Odom
“I know,” she said to Nurse Lang, and she felt guilty at once. Before coming to the hospital, when she first heard that her father was in bad shape, she’d resented him all over again for disrupting her life. She’d been happy with Megan Gander at Fort Benning. While there, Jenny had found purpose in helping teens who had been left behind.
Now she was here in the hospital. Waiting for the worst like she’d been doing for years.
“As long as he’s hanging in there,” the nurse said, “you’ve got to do it too.”
“I know.”
The woman patted Jenny on the shoulder as she passed. For a few minutes, Jenny sat there and looked at her father. Then she spoke. “Dad, I don’t know if you can hear me or not, but I hope you can. I’m here for you. I’ve been here for you every day. But I’m getting tired. And maybe I’m getting a little scared. You know how I hate being scared. This is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”
The machines kept beeping and chirping. The ventilator pumped up and down, filling Jackson McGrath’s lungs with oxygen and emptying them again.
“What I need you to do,” Jenny said in a voice so thick with emotion she could barely get it out, “is come back to me. Everything you’ve done, we can fix it. Somehow. All you’ve got to do is come back.”
There was no response.
Gently, Jenny took her father’s free hand in both of hers. His flesh was cold and felt slightly stiff, but that might have been her imagination. She kissed the back of his hand and felt hot tears fill her eyes. She blinked them away with effort.
God, I know a lot of people don’t like my father, and I know he’s given them plenty of reasons not to, but he doesn’t deserve to die like this. And I don’t want to watch it happen.
Jackson McGrath’s thin chest rose and fell.
I’m not even sure what I’d say to him if he makes it back from this. We didn’t have a whole lot to talk about before. But he’s my father. I love him.
She massaged his hand, trying to put some warmth into it.
If Megan Gander is right-if these are the end times and we’re all going to be facing hell itself in the next seven years-I want my father to have a chance to know Your mercy. That’s what these times are about. Touch him, God. Heal him and make him whole. He’s not going to be able to do it on his own.
For a moment, Jenny thought about praying for herself. That felt foolish and selfish, though. Praying for her father was one thing, but she didn’t know how much she believed in God. God hadn’t ever been a big part of her life, and she saw no real reason to change that now. But since she couldn’t help her father herself, she knew she had to pray so she’d have at least something she felt she was contributing.
Silently, she lowered her head and prayed again for her father’s swift recovery. Then she placed his hand back on the bed and went to join Ester for breakfast.
Fort Benning, Georgia
Local Time 0731 Hours
“You mind having company, Joey?”
Seated at one of the long tables in the camp mess, Joey looked up and saw Heather Simpson standing across from him with a breakfast tray in her hands. She was sixteen, a year younger than he, with long brown hair and soft brown eyes. Freckles spattered her nose. She wore capris and a printed blouse.
Joey knew her from camp and from school. Her dad worked in the motor pool. He hadn’t exactly been friends with Heather, but he’d known her well enough to talk to her in the halls and in passing.
“I don’t mind,” Joey replied.
Heather sat at the table and picked up one of the waffle squares on her plate. Her nose wrinkled in disgust. “Was breakfast this bad before all this weirdness?”
“Don’t know. Mom always fixed breakfast.”
“Isn’t she fixing breakfast this morning?”
“Probably.” A twinge of guilt sped through Joey when he answered. He knew his mom would be expecting him there.
“So you chose this misery over your mom’s cooking?” Heather shook her head in disbelief.
“Kinda crowded at my house right now.”
“I heard.” Heather opened her carton of milk. “I thought about crashing breakfast some morning. People I talk to say your mom is great. That her breakfasts are great.”
Joey ran a spoon through the runny powdered eggs on his plate. “Yeah. She is. It is.”
“If you ask me, I’d have stood in line at your mom’s house and got a good breakfast.”
A spark of anger flared through Joey. “But nobody asked you, did they?”
“Nope. Somebody got up grouchy today, I see.”
Joey ran a hand through his hair. “What is it about girls that they think they have to ask questions about everything?”
“We’re girls. It’s our job. We allow people to get in touch with their feelings.”
“Maybe some of us don’t want to be in touch with our feelings.”
“Why is it boys never want to be in touch with their feelings?”
“I’m not a boy.”
“You’re not a man.”
“Close enough.”
“Okay. Men are even worse than boys.” Heather cut her waffles.
“Why did you come over here?”
“Because no one else seemed willing to brave the rancorous waves you’re giving off.”
Self-consciously, Joey looked around the mess hall. He was surprised to see familiar faces scattered around the room. He hadn’t noticed them till now. And no one had even bothered to make contact. Some of them were friends.
Joey swiveled his gaze back to Heather’s. “You’re sitting with me because you feel sorry for me?”
“Yep.”
“You know, there can be too much honesty in the world.”
“It helps combat denial.”
“So now I’m in denial?”
“Joey,” Heather said, “we’re all in denial. Look around at these people. The mess hall is only half-full. On a regular day, it would be crammed. I know because I eat here a lot since my dad has to be at work so early, and I’ll take powdered eggs over cooking for myself.”
Joey forked a syrup-drenched waffle piece into his mouth and chewed.
“Everybody thinks everything is going to go back the way it was,” Heather said. “They don’t get the fact that the world is ending. At least, this world is ending.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Have you been going to your mom’s classes on the Bible? on the end times?”
“Yeah. But I don’t buy into that.” Actually, what his mom had been talking about had been too scary to think about much. Joey had tuned it out, and lately there had been so many kids going to the meetings that it had been easy to duck out on them. His mom talked about that stuff at home, too, but all he had to do there was nod and keep his mouth shut.
“Your mom does.”
“My mom is looking for answers about why my little brother disappeared.” Joey was so mad that he didn’t realize how much that hurt to say until he’d already said it.
“Didn’t you hear about Gerry Fletcher? How he disappeared?”
Joey had.
“Your mom was trying to save him when he fell off a rooftop. He disappeared before he hit the ground. Only his clothes landed. There’s a tape and everything. The military put your mom on trial. Now the general has the tape locked away until the White House makes a decision about what to do with it.”
“I’ve heard about the tape,” Joey said. “I also know a lot of people are starting to say it was all faked.”
“Have you asked your mom about it?”
“No.”
“Maybe you should.”
Joey stood and picked up his tray. Even the little appetite he’d come into the mess hall with had disappeared. “I’ve got enough going on right now. Have you ever thought about that?” He turned and walked away before she could say anything.
Fort Benning, Georgia
Local Time 0749 Hours
Outside at the bike rack, anger
still gripped Joey. He worked the combination to his bike lock and opened the chain. Before he could get to his feet, someone roughly shoved him to the ground.
Joey pushed himself back up, instinctively sliding away from the shadow that fell across him. When he saw who’d shoved him, his heart momentarily stopped.
“Hey,” Bones said, grinning wildly. “We were wondering when we were going to run into you here.”
Backing away, Joey looked around nervously. Bones was tall and gangly. He looked like one of those old puppets Joey had played with in elementary school. His ears stuck out from his head and were made even more pronounced by his mullet. He wore a black gaming T-shirt and holey jeans.
He was one of the guys who hung with Zero, the guy who’d shot the old Asian man in the mall. Joey couldn’t believe Bones was there by himself.
“What are you doing here?” Joey asked.
Bones took out a stick of gum and shoved it into his mouth. “Looking for you. Zero has been wanting to let you know we were here, but you haven’t left mommy’s house.”
“You don’t belong here.”
Bones smiled, exposing crooked, yellow teeth. “Your buddy Derrick got us in. He talked to the guards, told them our families were all gone and that we really needed help and a safe place to be.”
Derrick’s father was stationed over in Germany. Derrick’s mom was one of those who had disappeared. When Joey had left the camp, he’d run into Derrick, and they’d hung out together until they joined up with Zero and his buddies at the video game arcade.
“Zero’s really looking forward to seeing you,” Bones said.
Joey almost threw up what little breakfast he’d managed to choke down. “We don’t have anything to talk about,” Joey said.
“Zero don’t see it that way. He wants to make sure you understand things.”
“The last time I saw Zero, he tried to kill me.”
Bones shrugged. “Yeah, well, he’s sorry about that.”
Sorry that he didn’t kill me? That was the only way Joey could see it. “There’s nothing to understand,” he said.
“Zero thinks there is. He wants to meet with you and explain how things are.”
“How are they?” Joey demanded.
“He don’t want you going to the police.”
“I haven’t.”
“ Ever going to the police.”
“I can’t,” Joey said. “I’ll be arrested and tried for murder too.”
Bones grinned. “Smart thinking. You keep thinking like that, you’re going to stay alive.”
That didn’t make Joey feel any more relaxed.
“Zero still wants to talk to you,” Bones said.
“I don’t want to talk to him.”
“Too bad. We’re gonna be outside the rec center here in camp at eight tonight.”
“I’m not coming.”
Bones frowned. “That would be stupid. If you don’t show up, Zero’s going to come looking for you. You don’t want any of your friends hurt, do you? Or your mom?”
Joey felt panic swell in his chest. His heart pounded, and he felt dizzy. Even if he knew what to say, he wasn’t sure he could speak. The nightmares he’d been having were coming true.
“Eight p.m.” Bones held up four extra-long, extra-skinny fingers on each hand. “Be there. Don’t make us come looking for you.” He turned and walked away.
Weak and dizzy, Joey leaned against the bike rack and tried to think. He didn’t know how everything had gotten so messed up. He closed his eyes and was once more in the trunk of the Cadillac Zero had stolen. They’d intended to take him back to one of the empty houses and kill him because they didn’t trust him. Joey had managed to escape, and they’d shot at him several times before he vanished into the night.
Now they were here, and he didn’t doubt they’d try to kill him again.
10
United States 75th Army Rangers Outpost
Harran
Sanliurfa Province, Turkey
Local Time 0543 Hours
“Sergeant Gander?”
Goose came awake instantly. He’d been dozing, not really sleeping. The army had taught him to do that. Soldiers rested when they could and slept when they were able. He’d woken at mess call and received a tray from the guards at his door.
“Yeah?” Goose swung his feet off the field cot and sat up. Lieutenant Swindoll hadn’t been any too generous with the accommodations of the house arrest Remington had imposed. The local warlords attacked on a regular basis, hoping to drive the entrenched American soldiers from the city so they could loot it at will. As a result, clean housing was at a premium. Goose occupied a cellar under a dilapidated house that looked ready to fall at any moment.
“Chaplain Miller. We’ve met.”
“Yes, sir.” Goose got to his feet. Miller was a captain.
“Might I have a word with you?”
“Of course, sir.”
Miller came down the steep stairs with a bright electric lantern fisted before him. The light hurt Goose’s eyes, and he looked away instinctively to preserve what night vision he could.
“Sorry.” Miller turned the lantern down to a dim glow. “I didn’t think about what that was going to do to you.”
“It’s all right, sir.” Goose saluted and stood at attention.
“At ease, Goose. This is just a visit.” Miller was in his fifties, a lifer in the Rangers who-scuttlebutt had it-just couldn’t step away from the military. He was thin and leathery, with a seamed, plain face, a hooked nose that looked like it had been broken in the past, and shaggy gray eyebrows over deep-set eyes.
Goose automatically dropped into parade rest.
“Take a load off, Sergeant. This is totally informal.”
“Yes, sir.” Goose hesitated. “There’s not much in the way of comfort, sir. I’m not exactly set up for guests here.”
Miller surveyed the small room. It stank of damp earth and was roughly seven feet cubed. The field cot took up one whole wall. Shelves containing canned goods took up another. Sacks of rotting potatoes sat on the floor. Bags of onions hung suspended from the low ceiling.
“This is ridiculous. Until I got here, I had no idea your quarters were this bad.”
“It’s dry.”
Miller shook his head. “I can’t believe Captain Remington has decided this is in the best interests of these men.” He breathed out heavily. “Scratch that. In the best interests of his command.”
“The captain has his own view of things, sir.” Goose felt strangely self-conscious of his surroundings, as if he were to blame for their meagerness and his inability to be more hospitable.
“He certainly does, and I must tell you, it’s not a popular view.” Miller hung the lantern from one of the hooks. The dim light chased most of the shadows from the room.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean several of the soldiers-men you came in with as well as soldiers on-site here-are starting to talk about liberating you.”
Goose shook his head. “That’s nonsense, sir. I’d appreciate if you’d give those men a message from me and let them know they need to stay out of this.”
“I’ll do that, but I don’t think it’ll do much good. I’ve already counseled against anything like that.”
“Tell them I fight my own battles.” Goose’s voice hardened. “Tell them if they come in here without me being relieved by the captain himself, that they’ll have to fight me too.”
Miller smiled ruefully. “They know that. They’ve talked about that among themselves. Truthfully, I think that’s the only thing keeping them out of here now.”
Wearily Goose wiped at his face with a hand. His beard stubble crackled against his rough hand. “Me and the captain, we’ve been crossways before. We’ve always seen it through all right.”
“Not to intrude into your personal business too much,” Miller said, “but you’ve never been under house arrest before.”
“No, sir, I reckon not.” Goose’s ch
eeks burned a little in embarrassment at that. During the seventeen years he’d been an army Ranger, he’d never once been called on the carpet like this.
“Why do you think Captain Remington acted the way he did?”
“I disobeyed a command. I was to stay with the convoy. I didn’t. Men were lost-good men.”
“You helped a village.”
“I fell for bait in a trap.”
“Have a seat.” Miller waved Goose to the cot, then pulled over a barrel from the shelves.
Reluctantly, Goose sat.
“We need to talk about what you’re going to do.” The electric lantern light softened Miller’s features and bleached them to almost the color of bone.
“I’m going to do whatever Captain Remington wants me to do.”
“Even if it’s wrong?”
Goose bristled a little at that. “Begging your pardon, sir, but I ain’t seen nothing Captain Remington has done wrong. I’d defend everything he’s done.”
“I know. But these times we’re in, Goose, these are perilous times. Men are going to be weighed and judged by the way they conduct themselves over these next few years.”
“I’m a soldier, sir. I’ve been a soldier most of my life. If things work out right, I’m going to retire as a soldier.”
“You have a young son, don’t you?”
A ball of pain suddenly knotted up in Goose’s throat. He tried to speak and couldn’t. He settled for a nod.
“Where is he now?” Miller’s gaze didn’t waver.
Goose kept his gaze level, but he felt tears burning his eyes. He wanted to speak, but he could barely breathe.
“All those children disappeared like that.” Miller’s voice grew soft and husky. “A miraculous thing by all accounts.”
Goose forced himself to sit with his forearms resting on his knees. His hands knotted before him, knuckles white.
“You talked to Joseph Baker about this, Goose. Before he was killed, he told me that the two of you had spoken.”
“We did.” Goose’s voice was a hollow whisper in the dank quiet of the cellar.