Devastation

by Paul Kirk

  “Hmm,” said McLeod, thinking hard, “Dropped from above? Interesting thought…”

  Connor turned toward Rhonda, continuing their conversation.

  “Rhonda, please remind me to find out what the hell you did before the Sickness, would ya? And, yeah I can see your reasoning, but damn it, I have no clue why they’d be making the effort.”

  “Think on it, Mac. C’mon, you'll figured out why,” suggested McLeod. When no immediate solution was put forth, the crew began to disassemble, each lost in their interpretations of the strange letter’s impact. They knew at least some decision would be made once all avenues and options were fully explored. That is, until Amanda jumped off the porch railing demanding their attention.

  “Hold on, guys! Hold up! I think I know why they’re coming after ya, Mac.”

  “Snuff?”

  Gathering around, the crew watched Amanda. She walked to Connor, slipping her arms around his neck, before hugging him fiercely. The crew waited. Turning to face them, she softly slid her hand across her belly.

  “Everybody knows that I’m pregnant. So, I’m thinking they want Connor Mac, because he can still make babies.”

  “You're, right!” said McLeod. He immediately grasped the feasibility of Amanda’s crazy suggestion. Jason jumped into the conversation.

  “Yeah! Now that you mention it, that would make some sense. That's right! I’ve not seen any young kids running around the past four or five years. And, we’ve seen plenty of the country and tons of people in our travels, haven’t we, Dad? Remember? We even talked about that same thing a few months back.”

  “Yeah, Jason, I remember…hmm.”

  “Oh,” said Connor.

  “You may have hit on something requiring consideration,” said McLeod.

  Rhonda jumped in immediately.

  “You know, I’ve wondered about that myself the past few years, never seeing a baby… or anything younger than when the Flu hit.”

  “But, that means…umm, that means,” mumbled Connor.

  Rhonda gently approached Connor, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

  “Yeah,” said Rhonda, “Connor Mac, you think you can tell us a little bit about the last few women you’ve spent some time with during the past year or two?”

  “Aw, no shit.”

  CHAPTER 5.13-The Innocent School Girl Look

  “I don’t trust him,” said Colonel Starkes, deep in thought.

  Absently, she stared out the front doors of the Hall of Fame, standing at the escalators on the second floor.

  “Care to elaborate, ma’am?”

  It was early morning, September first, and seven days had passed since the dinner extravaganza put on at the Hilton. Presently, their daily breakfast was arriving up the entrance walkway delivered by a small, gas powered golf cart, and compliments of Phoenix. The slow, puttering of the golf cart engine had become a familiar sound at six o’clock each morning; something the men had grown quite accustomed to during the past week. From a distance of thirty feet or so, the colonel swore she smelled the cinnamon coming off the hot buns stored beneath the blanketed baskets. She walked down the escalators and through the main doors into the fresh air. Mouth watering in spite of herself, she made the effort to maintain a clear, objective analysis of the current circumstances.

  “Are you seeing all this fuckin' crap, Mike?”

  Beside her, Major O’Malley took immediate note of the informal use of his name and atypical use of profanity, ignoring the breakfast wagon. The colonel had only used his first name a handful of times during the past few years. He shifted into high mental gear, alert and prepared.

  “Ma’am? Care to elaborate?”

  The major had come to recognize that now was probably one of those times when the colonel was expending a great deal of energy trying to refine military tactics or strategy. He knew she needed to express her convictions in the open air; it was times like these that he’d had learned to cherish, both for the sense of being her confidante, and for the intricate mentoring it gave him in the finer arts of military strategy.

  “Yeah, major, I’ll fill you in, but only after sweet little Suzie there is finished doling out breakfast biscuits, flirting cute as hell.”

  “Yes, ma'am.”

  “Wow! What is it with men and the innocent school-girl look?”

  The colonel shook her head in dismay. Major O’Malley knew no response was required and they both took to studying the effect the gorgeous nineteen-year-old, clad in a short plaid skirt and white blouse, had on the eager men gathering around the cart. Her giggling had the men smiling.

  “Hmm,” said Major O’Malley.

  “Go help ‘em out, major. Though, I might suggest you keep an eye on Suzie and the subtle questions she keeps asking everyday about our tactical and operational status.”

  “Sure thing.”

  The colonel grabbed his arm lightly, stopping his stride, lowering her voice.

  “And take note at how well she scans the grounds, the men, and their weapons. The woman’s a well-trained Nikon camera. Come get me when you’re done.”

  “Is this why you’ve stood here every morning?” whispered Major O’Malley. He was beginning to change perspective on the morning meal. Smiling, Colonel Starkes politely waved at Suzie and purposefully ignored the major, before reentering the building. Twenty minutes later, Major O’Malley returned to the command post to find the colonel reviewing the early morning reconnaissance report prepared by the night patrol of Edgars and Rice. An hour before, he’d read the same nighttime activity report with the colonel, familiar with the contents. Careful not to interrupt her intense concentration, he sat in a nearby chair, waiting. Finally, the wait was unbearable.

  “Ma’am?”

  Thinking back on the report, he’d not found anything particularly disturbing, but he wondered if he’d missed something. The colonel spoke, her eyes not rising from the report.

  “Rice says he sensed someone was in the ball bearing warehouse 200 clicks southeast.”

  Major O’Malley sighed at the comment. Rice was known for ‘seeing things’ that were usually not there, though admittedly, in a few cases, his intuition had saved them an ambush or two through the years. Most often, it simply caused the major and his men to waste time searching for ghosts.

  “Rice has been known to see a ghost or two, especially at night, ma’am.”

  “I reassessed the windows of that warehouse again this morning.”

  “When?” asked Major O’Malley. He sensed the colonel’s unease.

  “Twenty minutes ago.”

  “So?”

  “C’mon. Follow me.”

  All business, Colonel Starkes carried a huge pair of Zeiss binoculars, leading him to the rooftop. Exiting onto the roof, she nodded to Lieutenants Donnie Winters and Tim McDonald standing guard.

  “Back again, ma’am? Something we should know about?” asked Lieutenant Winters.

  “Not yet, lieutenant.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The colonel walked a few feet with the major, before she stopped and turned. She studied Lieutenant McDonald.

  “Oh, and Lieutenant McDonald?”

  Tim McDonald stood straighter at the mention of his name. Though by far the youngest member of their unit, he was brought along for his uncanny sniper skills.

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “I want you stay extra sharp this next week.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I will.”

  “Bring your ‘A’ game. Am I clear?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "That goes for you too, Donnie."

  "Always, ma'am."

  The colonel handed the binoculars to her second-in-command while the two lieutenants stared after the pair. The colonel and major settled on the southern corner of the roof near a non-functioning air conditioning unit.

  “Take a gander, major.”

  Colonel Starkes handed the binoculars to the major who scanned the three-story warehouse, seeing nothing unusual. An
other scan complete, he lowered the binoculars.

  “Yeah, so. Nothing’s out of the ordinary. No one’s there.”

  “Top floors. See the window four across from the left? See the missing windowpane?”

  Analyzing the building, he discovered the missing windowpane. He glanced at the colonel and felt her fierce stare. Quickly, she snatched the binoculars from his hands and returned to studying the warehouse. Concerned, the major wondered if the colonel was shifting into some level of abnormal paranoia. Perhaps, he should recommend that she pay better attention to her sleep regime. He knew, from several men guarding her room each night that she was not sleeping well, since settling in at the Hall of Fame.

  “Yeah, so? There are at least thirty broken windows on that side of the building. You know we’ve gone and checked out that building twice in the past week on your orders. Last night was the third.”

  "Take another look, major," said Colonel Starkes, slapping the binoculars at his chest.

  "Okay, ma'am."

  “That busted window’s new, major. I’ve kept track using the drawing right here in my pocket. That window was busted out for optimal viewing of this building last night, but with easy access to the internal stairwell should it be required to leave in a damn hurry.”

  “Huh.”

  “I'm tellin' you that window was removed last night. Sergeant Rice was correct in sensing the presence of someone in that building.”

  Immediately trusting the veracity, Major O’Malley reminded himself of the intense commitment the colonel had in ensuring their safety during their stay. What he’d thought of as, perhaps, a rising paranoia, he began to see as a finer assessment of new incoming data. That is, for those who paid attention to such. He chided himself severely for not providing better support. Clearly, he needed to get back into the game.

  “Colonel, that view, with a good scope, would give Phoenix and this Cleveland bunch excellent access on intel. Hell, they might even be able to watch Nicole and CJ strolling around inside, right?”

  “Agreed.”

  “So, you’re thinking Phoenix is not Mr. Nice Guy, after all?”

  Colonel Starkes took her time before responding. As a surprise, she smiled before speaking.

  “He’s good, Mike. Real good. But, as my dad would say, the young man’s too big for his britches,”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, he has some solid charisma and talent at subversion, persuasion, manipulation, strategy and control—you don’t control a Cleveland crowd such as this without it, but he’s not yet come across someone trained in the finer art of military strategy. Plus, Phoenix just doesn’t have the damn experience.”

  “I’m not sure I’m following you, colonel.”

  “The art of war, major. Everything he’s doing, thus far, can be interpreted on many levels. War and control is one of them. As it happens, the military mindset will always be my ‘default’ position, probably for the rest of my life. And, I must admit, I’m told I have some skills in the area.”

  “Granted. So, what’s he doing?”

  “I’m surprised, major, that you’re asking that question, given that you and Captain Daubney were the ones to suggest his likely response.”

  “Suggest what?”

  “Remember what you said about coming to Cleveland? Remember your and Daubney’s concerns?”

  “Sure. That they might see you as…ah, something less than the president?”

  “Right. And, Phoenix’s doing just that. I think he’s going after the woman and the power. But, in this case it’s not me. It’s…Nicole. Or, so he thinks.”

  “Nicole?”

  “I think the man’s sharp. Perhaps extraordinarily so, to have achieved so much control in so little time since the Sickness. That said, I think he’s managed to figure out that Nicole and CJ are the main reason we’re not sitting on our butts in Mt. Storm or DC right now.”

  “Ma'am, you mean you think Phoenix knows about them and is planning on taking ‘em from us at some point?”

  “C’mon, major. The man’s has more on the ball than that.”

  “He’s going to try to take us all down?”

  “Bingo. Give the man a cigar!”

  “Huh!”

  Colonel Starkes smiled and touched the major gently on his sleeve.

  “Major, Phoenix’s the type to take what he wants. He’s simply waiting for the right moment. And, he’s patient…I’ll give him that.”

  Colonel Starkes laughed gently. “Luckily, he’s still slightly intimidated by me and wants to be sure he has the upper hand before making his move.”

  Major O’Malley raised the binoculars for another view of the warehouse before weighing in with a comment. “You know, Suzie was asking how the men slept, where they slept, and if they needed any pillows or…maybe something…else to help ‘em sleep. All innocent with some nice sexual undertones. She was flirting quite a bit on the subject, especially with Mickey, who’s quite infatuated with her.

  “I’ll bet. He'd certainly be one to disarm.”

  “You know, Mickey’s hardly talked about anything else since breakfast started comin’ compliments of Phoenix.”

  “That’d be part of any disruptive strategy. Phoenix’s plan, major.”

  “Colonel, if I may speak freely…”

  “Cut the crap! You know better than to take that stance with me!”

  Bristling with anger at himself, the major realized he’d been lulled into a false sense of security by Phoenix’s fine ministrations. Grumbling, he was pissed at his lapse in judgment.

  “Okay, then! Can I ask why you’ve taken seven days to let me in on your interpretation of these events?”

  Colonel Starkes grinned ear to ear before gently snatching the binoculars from his hands. The satisfaction on her face suggested she’d achieved a worthy objective.

  “I know men, major.”

  “What?”

  “I said I know men. And, I know you especially. That’s why I depend on you so much.”

  “So? You're not tellin' me anything—”

  “And, I’ve found you, Major Mike O'Malley, do your best work when you’ve realized you’re just about to get severely and negatively fucked.”

  Major O’Malley stared, shocked at her bluntness, but sensing her excitement and anticipation. With conviction, he knew he would not disappoint her.

  “I’ll bury that fuckin' prick bastard he tries to come at us.”

  Satisfied, Colonel Starkes stood, turning to leave. Gently, she placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

  “That’s where you need to be major. Please see to it.”

  “Damn right I will...ma'am.”

  CHAPTER 5.14-A Homemade Merlot

  “So, Mac. What’s the plan?”

  “C’mon, McLeod, sit down. Take a load off. What's that?”

  John settled onto the creaking patio chair in the gentle, afternoon sun. It was late August, a day since discovery of the president’s letter. He handed a bottle of wine to Connor for inspection.

  “Found this one and ten others on a bottom shelf in the basement. Hidden behind some old knick-knacks and coffee cans. We missed it the first time through.”

  Connor read the handwritten label.

  “Merlot. A homemade merlot? Wow.”

  “Yep. Made by a guy named Hugo Kingman. See here? Signed each label.”

  “Huh. How about that.”

  “Let’s hope the guy knew what the hell he was doing. Rhonda and Amanda already snatched up the rest of the batch. They’re planning on preparing a special meal tonight to go along with it.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “I just hope the wine doesn’t disappoint.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Damn right. BB and Marty snagged two fat turkeys this morning and Cody and Amanda brought in ten plump turtles ‘bout an hour ago. And, from what I’m told, Roger makes a seriously delectable turtle soup. I expect dinner this evening will surpass expectations.”

 
; “Good deal.”

  “Right now most of our crew are out searching for soup vegetables while you’re sitting brooding here all by yourself.”

  “I’m not brooding.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  McLeod placed two crystal wine glasses on the patio table, closer to Connor, tossing down a corkscrew. Understanding his role, Connor grabbed the corkscrew and slowly uncorked the wine, sniffing the cork.

  “Smells right.”

  “Well, that’s good to know. How about you pour some you insufferable prick?”

  Grinning at the unusual use of profanity, Connor filled both glasses almost full, and McLeod reached and took one, raising it in toast.

  “To the big unknown, Mac. May it keep our times interesting for at least a few more years.”

  “I’ll drink to that.”

  Sampling the wine, they were quite pleased with the taste. Together, they leisurely studied the farmhouse, tracking Amanda’s exit and her stroll fifty yards away toward the large pond and barn sixty yards out. Sensing their gaze, she waved and they waved back.

  “There’s a big batch of scallions seventy-five feet off the back left corner of the barn, if you’re looking for any,” said Connor. His voice carried easily when he slipped into a command tone.

  “Thanks!” yelled Amanda, veering slightly.

  John and Connor sipped the wine, surprised at the fine quality.

  “You a wine connoisseur, McLeod?”

  “Not at all, you?”

  “No, but this is good.”

  “I have to agree. It is that.”

  After acknowledging their find, they settled comfortably for what was obviously going to be more than a two-minute conversation. Eventually, Connor broke the comfortable silence.

  “So you really think that’s it, John. This letter from the president is all about babies?”

  “I dunno know. It’s a viable hypothesis until we can come up with a better one. But, I’ll admit, it does kinda fit.”

  “Yeah, maybe. But, umm, that means I came through this thing different than you and the rest of the men? It means…oh, hell, that’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

  Connor stared after Amanda, lost in thought. After a moment, McLeod spoke.