by Paul Kirk
“Then, Mr. Reed, for your safety and the safety of the men under your control, I suggest you take your boss and leave this area immediately. You can return when invited.”
Phoenix gritted his teeth. “Or what?” he asked scornfully. “Your little Superhawk and the men you carried in here will take over? You better have a bigger army than that.” He laughed, the sound bordering on maniacal and, though he didn’t see the concerned expression on Larry Reed’s face, Hannah Starkes did.
She smiled. “You’re out of your league, Phoenix. Do as you’re ordered. We can speak of your duties as governor of Ohio at a later date.”
“And if I don’t comply with your request?”
“Be prepared to suffer the consequences of your inflated ego, Phoenix.”
“It works for me, lady.” Phoenix turned and strolled toward the concrete barriers behind him. Colonel Starkes watched him go, not yet willing to bring her full military might into play. Larry Reed followed Phoenix, turning twice to glance at Colonel Starkes, as if her image might give him a clue about what was wrong. Her face and body offered nothing but resolve.
“Like I said, Phoenix, you’re outta your league. And Mr. Reed? You should know better.” The two men had nearly reached the cover of the concrete barriers. “Phoenix,” she called.
"I'm done talkin', lady!"
“What's coming is a small demonstration of superior operational control and command.”
“What?”
Deliberately, Colonel Starkes ran both her hands through her hair; she did it a second time. Nearby, Major O’Malley issued orders into his microphone.
“Phoenix, You’re in no position to negotiate with the President of the United States,” said Colonel Starkes.
"Oh, shit!" said Larry Reed. "Phoenix, I told you it was not stolen."
A single shot rang out. “One of your snipers just had his rifle stripped from his hands, Phoenix. Take note that it was damn gracious of me not killing your man.” Colonel Starkes turned and disappeared into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.
Gunfire erupted and everyone exposed sought cover.
CHAPTER 4.11-John McLeod
“Clue me in on who’s coming up the driveway, Snuff,” said Connor, nibbling at her neck just below her earlobe. “Don’t stare—keep your attention focused on me. Kiss me for real, woman. C’mon.” Amanda grabbed Connor’s face and forced his lips to hers. Their tongues met as they had often before, but this time with more urgency than she remembered.
“There’s nothing yet, Mac,” she said, gasping. He broke their kiss to nuzzle her neck again while cupping her breast with a gentle hand. She pulled his face back to hers, frustrated under these circumstances with his ability to increase her libido. “Oh, Mac! There’s two men. They’re coming down the driveway on horseback.”
“Stay calm, Snuff. That’s an order. Remember, we’re impassioned lovers, you and me. Let’s go through that same sequence—that was nice.”
“Mac, I can't! Impassioned lovers is an understatement. Damn, I’m gonna have to change my panties before we leave here.”
Amanda moaned at his touch. Connor slowed his hands, sliding them to her shoulders.
“Okay, you're doing great. But now, I want you to start laughing as if I’m tickling you and we’re gonna spin around on the swing so I can gain a visual. I’ll dump you on the floor when I discover their presence, okay?”
“Yeah, Mac, I’m ready,” she said. She giggled, shifting in his arms as if he were hitting a particularly ticklish spot.
Connor turned both of them on the swing, slowly gaining a visual on the approaching strangers. “You’re doing great, Snuff. Don’t move your head—I got a good visual.”
A deep voice from the driveway broke the silence, after an obvious throat clearing.
“Excuse me, sir...ma’am?”
Connor moved with the sudden speed of one surprised, but was still careful when he lowered Amanda to the porch floor, easing her down as much as possible while still maintaining the ruse of surprise. He snatched the M-4 from the swing and kept it horizontal, essentially hidden by the thickness of the top porch rail. Amanda gained her feet quickly and slid safely behind him, closer to the house’s entrance.
“What the hell are you doing, creeping up on us like that?” yelled Connor.
The stranger was surprised at Connor’s reaction. “I’m sorry, mister. We didn’t mean to startle...to disturb...your...ah...you.”
“Well, you did. What the hell you want?”
“May we visit for a moment?” asked the man as if that were the most natural thing in the world. “My name’s John McLeod and this is my son, Jason,” he said calmly, almost as if invited to a picnic and asked to bring a guest. “Is it okay if I come forward?” His voice was crisp, but in a soothing way. Both men held the horse reins casually, hands on the saddle pommel.
“What for? Like I asked before, what the hell do you want?”
McLeod licked his lips and brushed his hand across his mouth. He swallowed deeply, his Adam’s apple evident. He cleared his throat. “I have some ammo and a few other interesting items. I thought you might be up for a trade.”
“For what?” asked Connor.
“Well, maybe some food for starters.”
“Food?”
“Yeah, mister. Our cook died from snakebite about a week ago. We caught the smell of whatever’s in that pot for the last mile.”
“Is it just you two guys?”
“How many do you have on me?” asked McLeod.
Connor whispered to Amanda, “I’m gonna tell you to go inside. Slip out back and behind these guys.”
"Yep."
Connor slowly lifted his M-4 to chest level and both men tensed at the sight of the automatic weapon now in his hands. Nervous, Jason tightened his grip on the pommel while the elder McLeod gently waved his hand toward his son, took his hat off and wiped sweat from his brow with his shirtsleeve. Neither spoke.
“Go inside, love, and let the men talk,” said Connor. He gave her a rough push toward the door and Amanda disappeared inside the house. “McLeod? That’s your name?”
“Yes. What’s your name, mister?”
“I asked if it’s just the two of you.”
“Yeah, I know you did. And I asked how many you have.”
Connor studied the two men. The father appeared to be somewhere in his early forties. His light red beard was speckled with gray, hinting at the distinguished older gentleman he would become in another decade or two. His eyes sparkled with intelligence and a sense of impishness. His son was a study in nervousness. He was a young man, but barely beyond boyhood—Connor guessed his age at no more than twenty and probably closer to eighteen—and he had the same intelligent persona as his father without the veiled mischief. The two men sat astride horses that appeared to be well-tended and healthy animals, though Connor admittedly didn’t know much about horses.
“My name’s Connor Mac,” he said, moving slowly to the top of the porch steps. “Are you here peacefully, McLeod?”
“Of course, Connor Mac. Like I said, we’ve enjoyed the scent of your cooking for the last mile and I thought you might be open for a trade.”
Connor rested his M-4 against the porch railing and descended the stairs slowly. He was impressed by the unarmed man’s calm. “You know, McLeod, it takes some guts coming in here unarmed.”
“Less than you might think,” the man argued.
“You ever heard of surveillance or reconnaissance?”
“Sure. It has its uses.”
“But not now?” asked Connor.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I dunno. Maybe sometimes Jason and I simply like to stir things up a little. You know...for the pure entertainment value.”
“Is that a fact?”
“You’re grin tells me you might have some idea what I’m talking about, Connor Mac.”
Connor laughed as he reached the bottom of the stairs. “I am unarmed, McLeod. How a
bout you get off your horse and let me check you for weapons. Then, maybe we’ll shake hands and see where it goes from here. Jason, if you don’t mind, please do the same.”
CHAPTER 4.12-Invite to Dinner
“Phoenix! Cease-fire! Sergeant Reed, halt offensive actions! Hold fire! That’s an order!” yelled Major O'Malley from inside the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. His strong voice boomed off the walls, echoing.
Any man outside that took a shot toward the Hall of Fame was quickly dealt with in cold, crisp fashion. Three horses went down in quick succession as their riders took shots toward the Hall of Fame. One gunman, thinking he was safe to fire from behind a Volkswagen, ducked underneath when a barrage of bullets danced at his feet. Two of Phoenix's snipers on the warehouse roof across the street abandoned their weapons when targeted by multiple bullets piercing their rifle support bags. A shot across the bow, in sniper terms. Within seconds, the men near the entrance sensed they were not on solid offensive footing and sought cover.
A few final shots rang out to the right of the entrance. Phoenix's remaining men on horseback shifted. They sought defensive positions much further from the entrance and behind a rusting heap of a J. B. Hunt tractor-trailer. Three horses were down near Phoenix and Larry Reed, their riders scrambling behind cover of decorative planters and a small concrete fountain. Frantically, Larry Reed issued orders while Phoenix kept his head low and tight to the concrete abutment next to the entrance doors. Larry Reed spoke urgently into a handheld and Phoenix made abrupt, new hand movements to speed up the pace. The gunfire quickly ceased, aside from the lung-struck gasping of a horse near the concrete barriers.
“Madam President?” yelled Larry Reed.
Colonel Starkes along with the major’s team were tucked in optimal position near the stairwell ready for any assault, but Larry Reed’s voice carried.
“None of your men are dead yet, sergeant. She's here. What do you want?” asked Major O'Malley.
“Um, Governor Justice wishes to apologize sincerely for placing you in harm’s way. He asks that you agree to a complete cease fire so he might speak with you.”
“Agreed," said Major O'Malley, "Vacate immediately and reconvene at nine-thirty tomorrow morning. He may be able to speak with the president at that time. Understood?”
The murmurs of many voices beyond the entrance were trying to figure out what had just happened. Major O'Malley and Colonel Starkes approached the entrance for a better view. Larry Reed was speaking to Phoenix and shaking his head. Phoenix was not happy.
“Oh, and Sergeant Reed?”
Larry Reed stopped and turned, as did Phoenix.
“Yeah, major?”
“Make sure to bring both RPGs from your current assault teams to the meeting tomorrow and forgo any further assault plans. I can’t afford to have even one of my ‘copters shot down—I promise that our reaction to another assault will be deadly.”
“Yes, sir.”
The tactical chatter on the radio simmered down. Colonel Starkes relaxed, as did the major. Across the way, Larry Reed hesitated, before making his way back toward town with Phoenix. The radio chatter erupted as he left Phoenix's side and returned to within fifteen feet of the entrance. He was unarmed.
“Major?”
“Yes, Sergeant Reed?”
“As an expression of sincere apology, Governor Justice would like to invite the president, you and your men to a banquet tomorrow evening in her honor.”
“Huh. That’s very generous. Funny how he can’t talk.”
Phoenix heard the jibe and rushed to stand next to Larry Reed. He appeared no worse for wear.
“Madam President?”
“I'm speaking for her now, Mr. Justice. How can I help you?”
“Please call me Phoenix. And, I’d be honored if the president, you and your men would join me tomorrow. And again, I sincerely apologize for my actions. They were a bit premature and in bad taste.”
“Well, Phoenix, that's a very generous offer. I'll pass along your invitation to the president. We'll send someone with an answer later this evening pending any agenda changes that might occur.”
“Yes…sir,” said Phoenix. The struggle to mouth those two words was apparent.
"Dismissed."
"Um, yes...sir." Phoenix scanned the area around him and his eyes fell upon the dead horses. "I'll send some unarmed men back here to pick up this meat." Phoenix walked stiffly to the golf cart with Larry Reed at his heels. He left without looking back.
CHAPTER 4.13-Clan Notification
Kevin, Ryan, Sandy, and several other adult members of the MacMillen clan sat around the blazing fire with Andy and Terry. Everyone present was curious about the potential news that warranted the impromptu clan meeting. Most had been sleeping and were groggy, but despite their varying states of consciousness, each had remembered to exit the cottage with a weapon. Some had rifles, some shotguns, and others had handguns—there were enough weapons to repel a small army. The fire blazed brightly with random dancing reds and oranges compliments of Kevin’s careful tending. The children were safely sleeping inside while two adults, Cameron and Rossi, stood alert and armed with shotguns near the front and rear doors. As usual, Kirsten Huberman and Toby Geiser served as roaming perimeter sentries on the clan property from nine in the evening to five in the morning and were not present. The pair, rarely seen separated during the daytime, thrived in serving the clan as night watchers.
Terry and Andy sat on the wooden bench near the fire as the rest of the clan found comfortable spots. When all were settled, Terry motioned for attention. A clan meeting was convened.
“Okay. C’mon…official clan business. Let's get started. It’s about time I let you all in on a little secret.”
Officially in full charge of the clan since the beginning, nearly five years ago, Terry had their undivided attention. There was an obvious excitement in the air.
“Like we don’t already know,” murmured Allan to Nicky. His gravelly voice carried for all to hear.
At the comment, Terry studied the two lovebirds in the flickering light. Allan Waltman was a big-boned, attractive man who’d accidentally entered their cottage defenses three years ago hunting white-tailed deer. His sincerity, honesty and much-needed skillsets kept him alive after the clan council voted to give him a chance to live. Afterwards, he’d never left and beautiful Nicky was what kept him here. She also kept him in line with the stringent clan rules of behavior. Though quite surly and aggressive by nature, Allan had a good heart and felt it his duty to protect the cottage and its inhabitants. His close-combat skills were like none seen, though he was not yet ready to share where he’d obtained them. Even so, he’d protected the clan when it counted, as recently as last year, when twenty-four West Virginian marauders crossed the border into Pennsylvania and tried to take what was not rightfully theirs. As it stood, both Andy and Ryan considered him a man to watch their backs, and this was some serious high praise. Terry probed his comment to evaluate the general feeling and clan consensus. She’d used this technique many times in the past with good results.
“Allan?”
“Sorry, T. Go on now.”
“No, please. You’re not a man to hide behind formality. C’mon, what’s on your mind?”
Allan disengaged from Nicky’s soft embrace. Standing, he took a long pull from his mug, finishing with a loud satisfying lip smack. Obviously, he liked the extra attention and it was equally obvious that the remaining crew were comfortable with him as front man for what was, most likely, already on their minds. He stared directly at Andy and flicked a quick glance in Ryan’s direction. Andy smiled and laughed. Ryan kept his head down, staring into the fire.
Andy sipped from his mug, shaking his head in mild exasperation. “Go on man, say what you want to say.”
Allan looked over at Terry.
“T?”
“I already told you to speak your mind you big son-of-a-bitch. You deaf?”
“No.”
“Then hav
e at it.”
Allan sat down again next to Nicky, smiling broadly. Before speaking, he wrapped his arm around her and gave her a hard squeeze making sure to gauge her resistance.
“Okay, then. What I’m thinking is that you and Andy are ‘bout ready to do what you shoulda been doing probably two years ago the way I hear it.”
Inwardly, Terry smiled, flicking a quick glance toward Andy. Allan had pegged the course of the fire chat and clan business from step one.
“And what might that be, Allan?” asked Terry.
Allan’s crooked grin was contagious and most of the clan members smiled. With rising confidence, he gently stroked Nicky’s soft blond hair, leaning in to take a loud, proprietary sniff. He turned toward Terry, smiling.
“I’m thinking you two are about to let us all in on the fact that you’re going to officially hook up. That right?”
At the statement, Ryan rose, tumbling his bench backwards and, in a split second came a few, fast steps around the fire to stand in front of Allan. Almost expecting confrontation, Allan had stood immediately and was ready to meet any further charge. Neither man had drawn weapons, but it was clear violence was imminent. Ryan growled before his words were understood.
“How ‘bout we let T speak for herself, Allan? Huh? That okay with you?”
Ryan’s menacing tone was unmistakable. Both Andy and Terry had stood.
“Ry!” said Andy.
“Ryan!” said Terry.
Allan faced Ryan.
“I got no problem with you, Ry.”
“That right?”
“Unless you want one,” grumbled Allan. It was obvious he held no desire to continue the confrontation, but was not one to ever back down from a fight. After a few seconds in shock, Nicky jumped up, trying desperately to squeeze herself between the two men. Forcefully, she sought to drag Allan away, pushing hard into his chest to gain a few more feet of separation.
“C’mon, baby. You know you got no problem with Ryan...never have. C’mon now.”
“Yo, little brother, sit your ass back down on that bench!” yelled Andy. He hadn't moved, but his voice spoke of doing so. Ryan stole a glance at Andy. The firelight glimmering in Ryan's eyes was unnerving.