by Paul Kirk
“Phoenix,” she said, dipping her head slightly.
“You and your men are most welcome here as my guests of honor.”
“Thank you, Phoenix.”
“You’re welcome. Thank you, Monica. I’ll take it from here.”
“Okay, Phoenix,” she said nervously. “Madam President, please let me know if you need anything. You can ask any of the servers to find me.” She spun on her stilettoes and made her way to the kitchen.
“A nice girl, Phoenix,” said the colonel, watching Monica walk across the large dining room.
“Are you referring to Monica?”
“Yes, Phoenix, I'm referring to Monica.”
“She comes with the hotel.”
“I’ll bet.”
Phoenix led the group to two tables in the center of the room, obviously the places of honor. “Colonel? I notice that your group only includes about half your men. Am I correct in assuming the remainder will be attending to matters elsewhere?”
“Yes, Phoenix, that’s correct.”
“I guess my luck’s holding, colonel. I only have place settings for—well, it seems like I’ve guessed correctly.” She studied the two tables and realized immediately that the number of place settings was equal to the number of her men. A small woman dressed in a server’s uniform, newly pressed and perfectly fitted, was setting a short flower arrangement in the center of a table.
Colonel Starkes smiled at Phoenix and he returned her smile smugly. Irritated, she felt an intense flash of anger and sought to wipe the smug smile off his face. “Keeping a safe reserve is standard protocol in a hostile or an unknown environment, Phoenix. I imagine any civilian can muster up that amount of strategy. But, don’t think you’ve done anything special. And, don’t you ever think you can outguess my next move.”
“Pardon me?”
Surprised at the intensity felt in her gut, she was barely able to contain her anger. “Phoenix, you and I are not in the same ballpark.”
Phoenix’s smile quickly evaporated and his face showed a flash of anger. He smiled again and held out his hand in the direction of their assigned seating.
“I’m perfectly capable of finding my own seat,” she said acidly.
Major O’Malley brushed past Phoenix, detecting the man’s discomfort, and sat next to the colonel. The rest of the men took their seats around the two tables. All kept quiet, feeling the tension. After a brief delay, Phoenix approached the table.
“Madam President,” said Phoenix, “It was never my intent to upset you in any way. And, I thought it might be presumptuous of me to join you at your table of honor. I’ll be dining over there.” He pointed to a smaller table nearby. “I would like to discuss a few concerns after dinner, if that’s okay with you. But, for now, I hope you enjoy your meal.”
“Thank you, Phoenix,” she said, seeking to find a calmness and failing to acquiesce to his request for an after-dinner meeting.
“It’s a pretty big crowd,” mumbled Burroughs, sitting next to the major. It was a large crowd, somewhere around two hundred people, all surprisingly well dressed and each one trying their best not to stare their way. There were at least fifty waiters and waitresses circling the tables, refilling water glasses and delivering what appeared to be alcoholic beverages.
The colonel surveyed the room while Phoenix pondered his next response. She was impressed with the coordination of the event, organized in a relatively short time. Feeling the intense energy emanating from Phoenix standing nearby, she wondered at the level of her intense animosity toward him. She began to critically re-evaluate her behavior. Phoenix recovered from her earlier outburst, and quickly sought to place her at ease.
“I’ve taken the liberty of placing you and your men together instead of spread around. I hope this meets with your approval, colonel.”
“Yes, Phoenix, it’s fine. Thank you.”
“One of my men said that there was another woman in your group. Was that inaccurate, ma’am?”
“Do you see another woman here, Phoenix?” Her intuition was trying to tell her something, but it eluded her.
“No, colonel, of course I don’t see another woman. Maybe she’s with those of your group that you didn’t bring.”
“What exactly is your interest, Phoenix?”
“Only to make your stay in Cleveland as memorable as possible, colonel.”
The colonel turned her attention back to the room, studying the attendees, categorizing each with a photographic memory and filing away the contents for later review. “Keep at it, Phoenix. So far, you’re doing a damn fine job.”
He accepted the compliment graciously, bowing slightly. He turned and walked to a small platform to the side of the room where there stood a microphone. He tapped it gently to verify it was working.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, his voice booming throughout the spacious room. “Can I have your attention, please?” He waited a moment for the conversation to die down. “We have the distinct honor of being in the presence of the President of the United States.” Those sitting rose to their feet and joined in the applause.
The colonel’s men also stood and applauded. “All eyes on you, ma’am,” said Major O’Malley, grinning.
She remained sitting for a moment, but it was clear that the applause was not going to stop until she did more. Slowly, she stood, hoping she looked presidential. She gave a calm and measured wave to the crowd. Phoenix smiled in her direction, his position by the microphone brightly lit by two strong floodlights. Colonel Starkes wondered where he secured the electric power for all the lights in the dining room and made a mental note to ask him for the details of this minor miracle.
“Maybe Madam President will give us an update on the state of the Union after dinner,” said Phoenix. This statement was met with additional applause. Colonel Starkes admired how all attention turned to Phoenix when he spoke. The charisma of his voice carried an alluring power and confidence. He was born with the natural ability—it wasn’t something that was easily acquired. She nodded briefly to the crowd her willingness to comply with Phoenix’s request and they rewarded her with renewed applause.
“I hope everyone enjoys tonight’s meal,” continued Phoenix. “I would like to thank Leslie for organizing this event on such short notice. Thank you, Leslie—I’m sure you’ve outdone yourself.”
A four-man band played light jazz on a corner stage, the low volume conducive to dinner conversation. The server’s activity increased greatly, a steady swarm of men and women ran into and out of the kitchen. The colonel and her men were the first to be served, their two tables attended to by six servers. A plate of canapés was placed in front of each diner.
“What’s this?” asked Burroughs.
“It’s cucumber canapés,” whispered Colonel Starkes. “If any of you men are afraid of playing the fool, just follow what I do.”
“Sure, colonel,” agreed Burroughs.
The men grinned at his discomfort, yet watched the colonel carefully, themselves concerned about potential embarrassment. They tasted their canapés after the colonel had taken a bite and were greatly surprised at the vivid burst of flavor. The empty plates were removed and replaced with piping-hot bowls of French onion soup. Two baskets brimming with fresh rolls were set on each table accompanied by a small plate, loaded with silky olive oil and laced with a coarse pepper.
The men tried gallantly to ignore the freshness of the bread and the aromatic soup as they waited patiently for the colonel to take her first bite. The conversation remained light while the diners enjoyed their soup. Colonel Starkes and her men pointedly ignored the curious glances of the other guests.
“That soup was excellent,” said the major, absorbing the last bit of broth with a piece of bread.
A poultry bouchee was served next, the ingredients mixed to a light perfection. Servers refilled water glasses and brought more bread.
“This is some real good shit, ma’am.”
“I’m glad you like it Edgars,�
�� said the colonel, chuckling at the man’s inability to express himself a little more gently. “You may want to consider a more refined choice of words if you decide to compliment the chef.”
The next course was a quarter pound of glazed walleye, served on a small bed of rice. It was expertly prepared and Colonel Starkes closed her eyes, savoring the subtly sweet flavor of the glaze.
A small deer fillet was served next, followed by a light tasting speckled trout served with a spoonful of risotto. Everything was expertly prepared, served hot in an aesthetically pleasing arrangement. Sautéed mushrooms, a favorite of the colonel’s, came next, its smell of garlic unmistakable.
The next course made the colonel think of her dad—it was rabbit, a dish her father prepared a hundred times and while she refused to admit that this was better than her dad’s, it was damn close. She was sure that the rabbit had been marinated—it was as tender as it would ever get—and she knew how much work went into the preparation of this course. She was determined to seek out the chef after the meal to offer a personal compliment.
There wasn’t much conversation throughout the room—the guests were too immersed in the food. A German chocolate cake laced with caramel and topped with fresh strawberries was served as desert. A small aperitif of almond schnapps accompanied it.
“I can’t remember the last time I had such a meal,” commented Edgars.
“An army succeeds based on the contents of its stomach,” said the major.
“If you’re quoting Napoleon, major, he said that ‘an army marches on its stomach.’ Keep your eyes sharp, Edgars. Keep up your guard until you know who your true friends are.” She met the eyes of each man around the table.
“Of course, ma’am,” said Edgars.
CHAPTER 5.7-Joining the Team
“I was talking with my family, Connor Mac,” said Roger. “We all agree that we’d like to travel with you and Marty and Amanda—if that’s all right with you.”
“Have a seat, Roger,” said Connor, indicating a large flat stone next to the pond. “Why didn't you bring a rod?”
“Well—”
“You shoulda brought one from the shed,” he said, reeling in his line, readjusting the bobber height, and reloading the hook with a fat nightcrawler. Roger settled comfortably on the rock and Connor cast again, eyeing the bobber for a telltale dip indicating a bite. He was enjoying himself immensely—the only thing missing was a cold beer. It was early dawn and he waited a moment for Roger to make his intent known.
They had spent three days at this location and Connor, usually one who wanted to be on the move, enjoyed the brief respite. “You’re welcome to travel with us, but why the change of heart, Roger? I thought you were taking your family west.”
“Percentages,” Roger answered.
“I’m not sure I follow you,” said Connor. The abundance of game, wild vegetables, and fruit in and around the house had produced a flurry of activity. Rhonda and Jackson showed an expertise in the art of food preservation and they both were exceptionally busy the last two days.
“The way I figure it,” explained Roger, “the likelihood that my parents or Rhonda’s mom are still alive is slim to none. Dad’s seventy-six and Mom’s seventy-four—neither one of them was in great shape the last time we visited. And, Rhonda’s mom is seventy-two and insulin dependent.”
“Oh, my.”
“Yeah. Rhonda and I were talking about it last night. We figured that their age, the Cuckoo Flu, human predators, animal predators, and their medical conditions all add up to a disappointing ending.”
“That had to be a tough decision, Roger.”
Roger picked up a flat pebble at his feet and prepared to launch it across the pond. Realizing at the last minute that it might disrupt the fish, he hesitated and took a moment before speaking any further.
“I hate to sound callous, Connor Mac, but it wasn’t terribly difficult. I did the hard percentages. We had a serious wake-up call a few days ago when those scumbags caught me out—if it hadn’t been for you guys, I would’ve had a bullet in the head and Rhonda—well, I don’t like to think of that.”
Connor stood and offered his hand to Roger who stood immediately. “We’d be happy to have you and your family, Roger.”
Roger’s shy intensity suggested he wasn’t accustomed to asking for anything. “Thank you, Connor Mac. I know Cody will be thrilled. I’m sure you’ve noticed that he has a huge crush on Amanda.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” said Connor dryly. They laughed together at the boy’s infatuation. Connor slowly reeled a few yards of line in.
“I understand from Jackson that McLeod and his men are joining you for their return east.”
“That’s right,” answered Connor.
“You’re in charge?”
“Yep.”
“And McLeod’s okay with that?”
“We've hammered it out.”
“It sounds like it was easy.”
“I dunno,” said Connor, thinking about it. “Maybe it became easier after Snuff and Surf Boy told them who I am. I know that BB and Marty spent some time talking about it—they didn't have any problems. And I get the impression that McLeod’s boy figures that my rank as a full bird earns me the right to lead if I know what I’m doing.”
The two men tracked a half dozen geese landing in the center of the pond. “There’s a boatload of geese around here—we could live for months just from the meat landing on this pond,” said Roger.
“Yeah. Most people haven’t figured out that they’re okay to eat. And, that’s not any news that we should spread around.” The bobber dipped slightly and Connor tensed, waiting for the right moment to set the hook, but whatever was nibbling became disinterested. He resisted the urge to reel in and check his bait. “Do you have any problems with me leading this group, Roger?”
“I talked with Rhonda about that, too, Connor Mac. We agree that you're probably an excellent leader. As far as we’re concerned, you’re in command, period.”
“You don’t owe me anything, Roger.”
“I know you say that, sir, but I feel differently. Let’s just say our decision to join up with you has nothing to do with what happened a few days ago.”
“Okay, I see.”
“Plus, I have a feeling that hanging with you might lead to some very interesting times.”
“Is that right?”
“Ronnie...Rhonda thinks you’re something special—I’ve learned to trust her judgment when it comes to gauging people’s character.”
“She’s an intriguing woman, Roger. I’d like the opportunity to get to know her better.”
“The better you know her, the better you’ll like her.”
“That’s already true,” agreed Connor.
“And Cody’s sure excited about the prospect of joining up with you—he already looks up to you.”
Connor nodded. “Okay, Roger, welcome aboard,” he said, reeling in his line. “We leave in three days.”
“Okay.”
“It’s good to have you along, Roger. I'm sure I’m gonna need your help before this trip is over.”
“Why’s that?”
“I don’t know how, but it’s just a feeling. I’ve learned not to ignore that feeling.”
“What kinda feeling?”
“It’s just a feeling that you and your family might prove useful to me and the team in the future.” The fishhook was empty and Connor had no more worms. He clapped Roger on the back. “Welcome to the team, Roger.”
“Thank you, sir.”
CHAPTER 5.8-Burying the Dead
“Why do we have to bury ‘em, Mom?” asked Liam. “They were gonna kill us—just let the rats and coyotes have ‘em. They're garbage.”
Terry climbed out of the freshly dug grave, her pink t-shirt streaked with sweat and dirt in the fierce August heat. She laid the shovel next to the hole and removed her leather gloves. There were forty-two bodies buried in this unofficial cemetery. It was a burial ground for those who c
ame here with malice in their hearts and they added plenty of bodies to it for the past five years. Indeed, protecting their home turf became a full time job since the Sickness; human predators had only become more creative and sly with each passing year.
“Liam,” she said, exasperated with the boy, “we bury 'em 'cause we’re not animals. Humans bury their dead when they can. Any dead.”
"Yeah, right. They're garbage, you said so yourself."
"Yeah, Liam, I did say that. That's true. But that's because of their behavior. They were trying to take what was not theirs with plans to use violence and intent to kill—but, they're still human beings."
"So which is it then, mom?"
Anger building, Terry worried about his petulant attitude—perhaps he was whining so she would dismiss him from the gruesome task of grave digging. That wasn’t going to happen. Informal clan rules were clear that those who were involved in the kill helped bury the dead. Today, Liam was brought along for the first time to familiarize him with the repugnant task. “Liam, jump down in there and dig another six inches outta that grave.”
Taking the shovel gently slammed into the chest, Liam dropped into the hole, knowing he had pushed his mother too far. But it was too late now, she was on a roll. “Are you too young to remember the horrid smell when we first got here? Are you? We buried over one hundred corpses—it was damn near impossible to breath within a two-mile radius of this place until we put ‘em in the ground. Do you have any idea the number of diseases rats carry? That’s what we need—an infestation of rats!”
Ryan was digging in the next grave a few feet away, his bare back glistening with sweat, and Andy was a few feet beyond him, his blue t-shirt dark with perspiration. Toby and Kristen were digging deep in their own hole nearby, each having shed all but boots, pants and a t-shirt. The three graves were progressing, but the hard clay at the four-foot mark in this section of the cemetery was becoming troublesome. It would take some time to finish the graves to the customary six-foot mark.