by Paul Kirk
“Yeah. Guess that was a silly question.”
"And you're done savoring the moment, I see."
In the darkness, Andy removed his clothes. He chose to ignore her last comment. Naked, he sniffed his shirt, smelling the full fragrance of smoke.
“I smell like smoke and fire.”
“So do I.”
“It’s kind of a good smell,” suggested Andy.
“We’ll see.” Terry shifted beneath the queen-sized bed covers, flipping a portion down for Andy’s entrance. In the moonlight streaming in from the master bedroom windows, the shiny fabric of her beige nightgown shimmered.
“I’m a bit nervous, T, if you must know.”
“So am I, Andy. C’mon in and just hold me for awhile, if that’s okay.”
“Yeah, sure. That sounds nice.”
Andy slipped beneath the covers, snuggling close. Terry had her back to him and Andy tentatively wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Unmoving, they stayed that way for a long time, comforted by the closeness and warmth. Gradually, the warmth increased and each made soft, quiet sounds and gentle, exploratory movements. Andy slid his hand softly across the silky curve of her hip and thigh. Terry turned to face him.
“I’m glad you’re here, Andy.”
“Me too.”
“Now, can you do me a small favor?” asked Terry.
“Sure. Name it.”
“How about you just lay back and relax while I show you what you got yourself into.”
“Oh, sweet Jesus.”
“Honey, you don’t know the half of it.”
SECTION 5: The Hall of Fame Awaits
CHAPTER 5.1-Getting Familiar
“John, this is Amanda. Amanda, I’d like you to meet John McLeod.”
McLeod extended his hand in greeting. “It’s nice to meet you, Amanda.”
“Same to you, John,” she answered, matching his grip. She glanced to her left where Marty and another man were deep into a loud and energetic conversation, complete with excited gesticulations. The two stopped abruptly when they sensed Amanda’s gaze. Marty’s new friend was tall and very fit, wearing a duster and well-worn combat boots.
“Snuff,” said Connor behind her, “John’s heading up this bunch. McLeod, how about introducing your men?”
“Sure thing, Connor Mac. Amanda, this is my son, Jason.”
“Hi, Amanda.”
“Hi, Jason,” she said, shaking his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Possibly unnerved by the touch of a beautiful woman, Jason remained silent.
“This is Jackson,” continued McLeod, “and this one’s Jude.”
Amanda waved at them from across the table. Each attempted to capture her interest with eye contact and engaging smiles. However, she was more interested in the resurgent conversation of Marty and BB.
“BB,” said McLeod, grabbing his attention. “This is Amanda. Amanda, I’d like you to meet BB.”
BB came over and shook her hand with a self-assured grin, perfect white teeth in a smile both inviting and attractive. His movements had a confident catlike quality and Amanda glanced guiltily at Connor, in non-verbal acknowledgement of her unbidden attraction to the newcomer. Connor’s amused grin conveyed recognition of her unwitting display.
“Oh,” she said softly, embarrassed by her unintended attraction.
Instinctively, BB stole a glance at Connor. He had learned long ago to be sensitive to his initial impact on women. He knew that his crystal blues eyes, up close, had that effect and he smiled at Amanda in a courteous and innocuous greeting. “Hello, Amanda. I’m Bobby Butkowski. My friends call me BB.”
She cleared her throat. “Hi...ahh...BB. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She shook his hand, perhaps maintaining contact a moment too long. Her hands slipped to her sides and she blushed lightly. She nodded at BB, not trusting her voice any further, and walked to Connor’s side, avoiding eye contact with her man. BB returned to speak with Marty.
The McIntyre family reemerged from the house and joined the festive atmosphere, quickly engaging the newcomers in conversation. Roger was surprised at the bizarre coincidence that had led BB and Marty to this farmhouse on this day by different routes. Jason entertained young Cody with slight-of-hand tricks using an old coin. He performed his tricks with the slim hope of impressing Amanda who looked on while Connor made general conversation with the elder McLeod. Rhonda sat next to Roger, listening to the men’s conversation and smiling politely at the appropriate moments. She excused herself after about ten minutes and entered the house. She returned quickly with her backpack and stood at the head of the table until noticed.
The conversation abated slowly, John McLeod the first to notice her sense of impending announcement. Rhonda's hands rested lightly on the backpack, as if protecting what was inside, and she waited patiently for everyone’s attention.
Connor and Amanda turned to face Rhonda and the abrupt ending of their conversation caught the attention of Jason and Cody. They turned to face Rhonda, glancing toward the loud and excited conversation of BB and Marty. BB was arguing with Marty about the name of a British sergeant in the Iraq War and Marty, aware of the growing quiet, jerked his head toward Rhonda, managing to divert BB’s attention in her direction. Roger followed her actions since she stepped from the front door.
“What’s up, Rhonda?” asked Connor.
The entire group sensed some high drama, but Rhonda was unhurried, letting the suspense build. She slowly removed a wooden box from her backpack and set it gently on the table, moving the backpack to the porch floor. Roger grinned, already understanding the implications of his wife’s actions. Rhonda surveyed the faces, each returning her gaze silently. She was convinced she had everyone’s attention.
“Gentlemen,” she said, “and lovely Amanda. A couple months ago, I found this box in a sealed plastic wrapper at a car dealership we searched. This box, and quite a few others were stashed in the back of a room—what did you call it Roger?”
“A humidor.”
“Yes, the boxes were in the back of a humidor. Now, me...I have no use for ‘em, but seeing you men together had me thinking that this’d be a good way to remove a big space hog in my pack. Roger told me that I should wait for a special occasion and when I asked him ‘like what?’, he said that I would know. I think this is it. It’s my way of saying ‘welcome to our house.’” She peeled the wrapper and opened the box and pulled out an A. Fuentes Spanish Longesdales 858 from the top row. Each cigar was individually wrapped and Rhonda let her long index finger slide across the top row, gently bumping each cigar. Connor and McLeod exchanged an appreciative glance, each wondering whether Rhonda realized that her actions were establishing future dynamics for this group and the position of any potential leader. The two men knew that the first cigar should go to the alpha male or, in more civilized times, the guest of honor. The second cigar would go to the true leader of the group.
“Whatta ya got there, Rhonda?” asked Marty.
She hesitated for a second. “Mr. McLeod,” she said, “would you care for a cigar?”
John McLeod visibly relaxed and Connor matched his smile. Both were keenly aware of the group dynamics, Connor from training and leading men; McLeod from his deep background in psychology. Roger was unaware of the underlying drama. Connor caught Rhonda’s eye and realized immediately that she was no stranger to group interactions—she knew what she was doing.
“Thank you, Rhonda,” said McLeod graciously. He had a definite twinkle of excitement in his eyes, smiling.
“Connor Mac, now that your guest of honor has a cigar, would you care for one?”
“Yes, Rhonda, thank you. Be sure to offer McLeod’s men a cigar as well as everyone in our crew.”
“Our crew’?” mocked McLeod, smiling.
Connor ignored the reference to their earlier discussions. Everyone took a cigar— Cody was not excluded and Connor sensed that some subtle exchange had occurred between the boy and his parents; one that suggested Cod
y was being promoted into adulthood.
BB was the first to remove the plastic cigar wrapper, thanking Rhonda effusively. He expertly nipped the end with his Sawback Bowie to prepare the stogie for smoking. Marty was not far behind, using his Kershaw switchblade.
Every person carried a lighter—it was a basic survival tool—and they began lighting their cigars, some heating the end while spinning the cigar before drawing on it and others puffing away with the lighter held at the end, creating a dancing flame. Amanda mimicked Connor's quick nip of the cigar end with his teeth and the slow way he lit the cigar, rolling it gently between his thumb and index finger. She was careful not to inhale, knowing she would cough and likely embarrass herself.
When conversation resumed among the group, the tones were more comfortable as if the cigar smoke mingled among them, somehow tying their lives together.
Connor and McLeod watched their crews get acquainted, enjoying the festive atmosphere. “Are you enjoying your cigar, McLeod?” he asked his new friend.
“It’s the best the cigar I’ve had in a long time.”
“When’s the last time you had a cigar?”
“I keep an eye out for them. But, about a year ago,” he answered with a grin. “Hey, Connor Mac? Where are you heading?”
Connor puffed slowly on his cigar, eyeing McLeod and ultimately deciding to trust the man. “We’re heading east, John—to Pennsylvania. A place in the mountains southeast of Pittsburgh. What about you?”
“We’re heading east, as well. The Big Apple for Jason and I. Baltimore for the others. We haven’t returned east in nearly eighteen months.”
“They’re heading the same way as you, Mr. Connor Mac,” said Cody, excitedly.
“Yeah, they are.” Connor smiled at his potential good fortune and studied the people who were no longer strangers. His eyes settled on the horses and the large packs carried by each animal. “So, John...what do you have to trade?”
CHAPTER 5.2-Eating the Ribs of Phoenix Justice
“What did you think of Phoenix, ma’am?” asked Major O’Malley.
“He wasn’t what I expected major. He has an aura of natural leadership that's very compelling in its own right.”
"Agreed."
They spoke between bites of baby-back ribs, a favorite meal for both, but one that neither had enjoyed since the onset of the Cuckoo Flu. The command center conference table was brimming with trays and two small wooden kegs of ale, tapped for the occasion. The crew ate heartily, four men rotating to guard duty every half hour to give each his share.
“I thought pigs were extinct, colonel,” said Captain Daubney. He had only asked for a half rack—he wasn’t partial to ribs though he didn’t dislike them.
“Apparently,” she answered, “some have survived the Sickness. And that, captain, is a very good thing.” She took another bite. Smiling, she licked her fingers in appreciation before taking a small swig of tasty light, pale ale. The hops content was excellent.
“Damn, major, these ribs are good,” said Lieutenant Edgars, "And, the ale ain't half bad." He hailed from Lexington, Kentucky, the product of a second-generation farmer and the daughter of the owner of a brewery in Cincinnati. “My momma used to make homemade barbecue sauce—it was better than this, but not much. Sir, could you pass me another half rack?” he asked Major O’Malley.
The major lifted his mug and drank a full measure of ale while he eyed the lieutenant. He stopped briefly, wiped his hands and face on his napkin, and removed a half rack of ribs with a pair of tongs. “The only person I serve in this man’s army,” he said, placing the ribs on a clean plate, “is Colonel Hannah Starkes.” He placed the plate in front of the colonel.
“Why, thank you, major.”
“You’re quite welcome, colonel,” he answered. “The rest of you assholes,” he continued, turning to the others, “can fend for yourselves.”
The laughter was intense, a release from the stress of their days away from Mt. Storm.
“Hey, major,” said Captain Daubney. “I saw you serving Nicole.”
“In case you missed the memo, Nicole's not part of this man’s army,” he answered quickly. “Besides, what red-blooded American could resist giving her anything her heart desired?”
The men greeted this comment with arm-pumps and Nicole blushed, but giggled at the display. CJ took notice of his mother's bubbly laugh from his makeshift highchair by her side. Messy but happy, he slobbered over a large rib bone, face smeared in tangy barbecue sauce.
Loudly, GT, Shamus, and Mickey began extolling the virtues of the meat, each citing experience and expertise in the critique of the ribs to support their opinions. Edgars pitched in occasionally between his prodigious consumption. To go with it, each enjoyed drinking the crisp pale ale that accompanied the meal.
When the table settled, Burroughs asked, “Whatcha think Phoenix is gonna do for this big dinner he’s planning for tomorrow night, colonel?”
Colonel Starkes slowly rested a half-eaten rib on her plate and took another sip of ale. She stood, her actions demanding the full attention of the men. She glanced around the table, gathering her thoughts and wiping her hands with her napkin. “I want you all to listen up.”
She waited for a moment to be sure she had everyone’s ear. “First of all, we all owe thanks to Lieutenant Burroughs for testing this meal we’re enjoying. At the risk of his own life, he ate these ribs and drank this ale four hours ago to determine if it there was tampering in any way. He might have died if that was what Phoenix had intended for us.” She waited while the men around the table offered their thanks to Lieutenant Burroughs. Many glanced at their ribs with a newfound appreciation.
“Don't forget, we took something of a risk in assuming that pig meat is safe from the H5N1 spectrum virus. Though, as an epidemiologist, I did run a few basic tests to clear the meat while we waited on the lieutenant's digestive reaction.
“I want to make myself perfectly clear, gentlemen,” she continued. “We will not lose sight of the fact that we’re in a combat situation. It’s also an unknown environment. Our primary goal here is the continued safety of Nicole and CJ. Our secondary goal is to find Colonel Connor MacMillen. Understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Understood, colonel.”
Everyone, including Nicole voiced consent and understanding.
The colonel studied their faces, ensuring they all understood the full import of her words. Satisfied, she sat and resumed eating and the men who weren’t finished did the same. When she finished, Colonel Starkes wiped her hands, refilled her glass and calmly left the table. At the door to her quarters, she turned and faced the table.
“Major?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
"You will select nine men to attend tomorrow’s dinner with you and I. It will not be necessary to notify Phoenix of this. The eleven of us will simply show up at the proper time. Nicole will not be one of your selections—this is not open for discussion. The remainder of the men will guard her and CJ as well as the bird. Full combat protocol and security alert measures remain in place and ‘shoot to kill’ is hereby sanctioned.”
Wiping CJ’s face with a warm wet towel when the colonel broke the news, Nicole hesitated. She wouldn’t be attending the dinner the following evening. About to protest vehemently, the major’s severe stare stopped her from objecting.
“Understood, ma’am,” he said.
The colonel nodded briskly, opened her door, and disappeared inside. There were several minutes of quiet before gentle conversation resumed.
CHAPTER 5.3-A Pressing Need
“Good morning, Liam,” said Terry.
“Morning,” he grumbled in answer, sweeping past her in the hallway. He headed for the kitchen.
His brusque manner confirmed that he hadn’t yet accepted his mother and Uncle Andy’s new relationship. Terry made a mental note to speak to him later in the day. Maybe a one-on-one conversation would help to take the sting out of what her son was feelin
g. She didn’t relish the confrontation, but resolved to handle it with control. “Crap,” she said, disappointed that her exceptionally good mood had turned bad so early in the day.
She entered the bathroom and removed her clothes. As she stretched for a towel on the top shelf of the linen cabinet, she discovered that her body had a pleasantly satisfying ache.
She turned the shower on and waited for the hot water, silently thanking Connor for his—what seemed at the time—insane desire to install secondary energy grid sources in the form of solar panels and a small windmill. She stepped into the warm spray of water, groaning with satisfaction. Her body and emotions felt alien to her and, with a jolt, she realized she was happy. For this moment in time, she felt as if she were a complete woman.
She quickly decided to hasten her shower—Andy was still sleeping and she felt a pressing need to wake him in just the right way.
CHAPTER 5.4-Telling a Story
“I have some ammo you might be interested in,” said McLeod. “Plenty of nines and some forty-fives. I can’t use them, but I carted them along hoping for trade.”
“I’ll take the nines, for sure,” said Connor. “Whatta you want in return?”
“I’ll give you twenty-five nines as payment for breakfast for me and my men. I'll part with another hundred if you want.”
“Thanks, John. What about the forty-fives?”
“Those are a little harder to come by. Are you carrying any vitamins, Connor Mac?”
“Yeah, we have some multi-vitamins and some fish oil. Not sure how much punch they pack now anyway, but I’m not sure I want to trade any of that, though.”
“How much might you part with?”
“It depends on what you have to trade.”
“I have seven packs of Marlboro Reds—still sealed. Of course, I can’t guarantee they’re not stale, but I keep ‘em in an airtight Ziploc along with a damp rag.”
“I might be talked into trading for some of that. I have about 600 multi-vitamins and 250 salmon oil pills.”