by Schism
A little voice from the back of Jon’s mind said, Keep telling yourself that. Must be nice to have someone to take orders from again.
Brewer ran a hand over his eyes. That little voice inside his head grew louder every day.
General Hoth raised his hand like a school boy in class.
Brewer nodded and Hoth asked, “I need to understand exactly what that means. Are you telling us that we ultimately report to Dante Jones”
Sometimes dealing with Hoth drove Jon crazy. The man had a streak of lawyer in him. He not only lived by the book; he ate, slept, and shit by the book, too. He thrived on order and the chain of command, the types of things that were not so clear cut in the new world, even more so in the midst of the current power transfer.
Jon, however, told him what he felt to be true: “Yes, in the sense that Dante Jones speaks on behalf of the President. We all report to the President, now.”
Casey Fink blurted, “That does not make me feel so good.”
“I’m sorry about your feelings, Casey, but things have changed. We have to give this time, got it”
“Easy, Jon, we’re all giving it time,” Shep said. “But it seems to me there are a lot of people sitting at this table who don’t have fond feelings toward our new President. That’s going to take some time getting used to.”
Jon heard, you gave in too quick; you handed it all over without thinking it through.
“These are tough times,” Jon said with a tremble of defensiveness in his voice as he paraphrased Evan Godfrey’s words. “What the people out there need now are institutions and things, not just personalities and Generals. You can see it already; a bunch of labor problems that were driving us nuts just two weeks ago have gone away. We have to give this time.”
“Does that mean we’re not going to invade Mexico” asked Kristy Kaufman over the speaker phone.
Jon raised his voice, “We’re going to wait and let the new government settle in. We’re going to concentrate on defense for a bit. Once all is said and done, I expect the war to continue. But we can’t rush things. I’m asking for patience, people. Just give this a chance.”
* * *
The short gray-haired I.S. officer named Tucker repeated to Ashley, “Man, we’ve talked about this for two days now. It’s time to go. I have orders to follow.”
Ashley stood in Trevor’s old office on the second floor shaking in one part anger and one part fear.
“And I told you two days ago that I don’t want to leave here. This is my home.”
JB ran out from the master bedroom to his mother.
Tucker spoke to the boy, “Hey kid, why don’t you tell your mom how much you’re looking forward to going to the beach Didn’t you spend summers with your dad down there”
Jorge Benjamin Stone stuck out his lower lip, narrowed his eyes, and told the man now in charge of their security, “You mean my father Yes. Every summer. I expect we’ll go again soon. How is the arm, Tucker”
Tucker instinctively looked at his forearm. “Hey, it’s fine I-what do you mean”
“Listen,” Ashley said to the brute who inherited Ray Roos’ job. “I do not see why President Godfrey cares where we spend the summer.”
Jon Brewer and General Jerry Shepherd walked into the room.
As had been the case ever since Evan had ascended to the Presidency nine days ago, Brewer refused to look Ashley in the eye. She, however, always searched for his. She knew that Jon Brewer held a lot more power than he realized. She knew that if any hope remained for Trevor’s vision, it remained with Jon, especially now that Gordon Knox had died in a house fire.
“What’s the problem” Brewer asked as JB ran to Jon’s leg and gave him a hug.
“Sir, I have orders to transport Mrs. Stone and her child to their summer vacation home.”
Shepherd cocked an eye and asked, “Now why is that”
Tucker answered, “Death threats, General. Apparently there are some people out there who want to hurt Trevor’s family.”
The last part of Tucker’s answer played sourly on JB’s ears. He glared at the I.S. man, pulled away from Brewer, and retreated to his mother’s shadow.
“Death threats” Shep scratched his head. “Well, now, that surprises the heck out of me.”
Jon gently waved his hand as if to calm the situation and turned his attention to Ashley, still not quite looking her straight in the eye.
“Is there really a problem with going I mean, maybe it’d be for the best. There isn’t going to be much security around here now that everything important is moving down to D.C.”
JB asserted, “But you’ll still be here, won’t you Uncle Jon”
After a pause he answered, “Well, I’ll be working out of my house for a while and with Omar in his work shop. Then, I guess, I’ll be headed down to D.C., too, to work in the Pentagon.”
“Jon, this isn’t about security,” Ashley said. “This is about Evan Godfrey hiding away any reminders of the way things used to be. He wants people to forget about this estate. He wants people to forget about me and you too, Jon.”
“Ashley, we just have to give this time.”
She stared at him for several seconds, but Jon refused to look back at her. Ashley then let out a frustrated huff and said, “Okay then, we’ll go. I’ll take my son and we’ll disappear down to the shore. Just like you, Jon, but you’re going to disappear right here under a mountain of filing and busywork while Evan Godfrey turns Washington into everything we hated about the old world. I suppose I can’t stop that, but maybe someday you’ll wake up and realize that you’ve created a real problem, and you’re the only one able to solve it.”
“Ashley, please,” Jon nearly pleaded. “I’m trying to do the right thing here.”
Before the conversation could progress, Tucker jumped in, “Your things are already packed, Ma’am, and the car is waiting.”
Ashley took a big, angry step toward the door but before she stormed out she stopped, turned, and gave Jerry Shepherd a big hug.
“I’ll miss you, Jerry,” she said loud enough for everyone to hear. Her warmth and familiarity surprised him most of all.
As she hugged him tight, Ashley placed her lips to his ear.
“Send Nina Forest to see me, quietly.”
His expression wavered for a moment but as she drew away he smiled and nodded.
“Yeah, I’ll miss you too, Ashley. But I reckon we’ll see each other around soon ‘nuff.”
JB grabbed his mother’s hand and, after stopping to gather a stuffed bunny and blanket from the boy’s bedroom, they left the mansion.
* * *
The trees of the Medicine Bow forests had once been favorites of the Arapaho and Cheyenne for crafting bows. In the post-Armageddon world the jagged mountains, deep woods, and myriad of lakes and ponds throughout the Medicine Bow wilderness of Wyoming provided sustenance and cover for another tribe who felt at one with nature, albeit one from another world.
Captain Dustin McBride spent three months searching for the elusive band of alien “Red Hand” warriors, finding dead campfires, garbage pits, and animal carcasses but unable to engage.
In fairness, weather and the turbulent events of recent months forced numerous delays upon the 1st Cavalry. From bad April snow to General Stonewall McAllister’s death to the assassination of Emperor Trevor Stone, Dustin’s pursuit stopped as often as it started.
Nonetheless, Dustin begrudgingly gave the enemy his due. The Red Hands/Feranites lacked fire arms and body armor, moved almost exclusively on foot, and used only the most primitive of tools. Yet for all they lacked, they easily outclassed humanity when it came to living, moving, and hiding in the wild.
However, for the first time Dustin felt the quarry within reach. In fact, the Feranites must have sensed the pursuit, as evidenced by the ambush party left behind to delay Dustin’s force.
Captain McBride stood on a rocky slope gazing across Lake Marie at the Snowy Range Mountains with the red sash around his gr
ay uniform fluttering in the wind and a Stetson sitting half-tilted on his head. Those mountains across the way offered a magnificent, foreboding sight: walls of gray rock that could have passed for the battlements of God’s castle.
The main body of the Feranite tribe he followed waited somewhere on the far side, after having sacrificed several dozen of their number to delay the pursuit.
“What you wanna do with these fellas”
Corporal Brown’s lazy drawl pulled Dustin’s attention from the mountains to the bullet-ridden alien bodies on the rocky mountainside.
The pale-skinned warriors with the ivory eyes had surprised McBride’s lead riders with bows, arrows, and spears, killing four of Dustin’s men in a close-quarters battle.
“Huh What’s that, Agarn”
“Whaz wrong, did I talk to the wrong ear”
Brown could get away with jokes about Dustin’s missing ear because he had saved his ass more than once. Of course, the Corporal’s joke also served to distract Dustin from the casualties suffered. Agarn seemed well-tuned to his commander’s state of mind.
After responding with his middle finger, Dustin answered, “We’ll toss the Reds in the lake. Shit, let the fishes have em’. Our boys, well, I think this ridge makes a good resting place.”
Brown pulled one of his hand-rolled cigarettes from a pocket in his uniform, struck a match, and cupped the flame as he lit the smoke.
“I reckon so, yeah. What then”
A trio of dismounted soldiers trotted by leading their horses by the reigns as they descended the steep incline. Supplies dangling from the mounts jingled and clanged.
“What do you mean, ‘what then’ You wanna give up, is that it”
“Gee, Cap, and give up all this fun Seems to me this more a vacation than workin’.”
Dustin returned his eyes to the scenic vista surrounding the lake and explained, “We keep going, Agarn.” McBride’s voice softened and he spoke as much to the ghost of his beloved friend Stonewall McAllister as to the Corporal. “I can feel them out there. We’re getting real close.”
* * *
Shep blew his nose into a handkerchief and, at the same time, felt a rough scratch across his throat. He could no longer ignore the fact that he had caught a cold.
Nothing worse than a summer cold. Sneezing in June That just isn’t fair.
Fair or not, Shep dealt with the burgeoning aches and pains as best he could as he walked toward the landing pad at the estate. With the meetings closed and plans made-or, rather, a lack of plans made-the time came for him to return to his duties, such as writing readiness reports and re-organizing his units in California.
Things certainly had changed drastically in only a few months. First Garrett McAllister, then Trevor, and now Gordon Knox dead when a gas leak destroyed his house.
Shep felt that the lakeside estate that had served as the heart of humanity’s comeback would soon be an empty hall. That thought added a new misery to his stuffy nose and scratchy throat; a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
An Eagle transport waited on the landing pad for the General. A vaguely familiar face waited at the open door above the entry ramp.
“Evening, General, sir. You need a ride”
Shep squinted and tried to recall the pilot’s name. The blonde-haired man wore glasses, which probably made for a devil of a time with the navigation goggles.
“Sure do,” the General walked inside the passenger compartment where he saw computers, specialized communications gear, and electronic warfare goodies as well as a collection of weapons ranging from the mundane to the exotic including a very familiar sword.
“What a sec, this is Eagle One. That makes you, um, Hauser, right”
“Yes, sir. Captain Rick Hauser. And actually, sir, I think the official designation is EC-CM one double-oh seven. ‘Eagle One’ was really just a call sign.”
Shep translated: Eagle Class Command Module operating number 1007. On paper the shuttle appeared exactly the same as several dozen others, the difference being that EC-CM 1007 had spent the bulk of its service time as Trevor Stone’s personal ride.
“Now don’t take this the wrong way, son, but what the heck are you doing playing taxi You’ve got a Hell of a reputation as a flyer and this ain’t no ordinary bird.”
The passenger compartment door slid shut. Shep realized he had the ship to himself.
“Well, General, I think I got lost in the cracks. My assignment hasn’t changed from the estate and I don’t think many people know exactly how modified this thing is. Besides, I get the feeling the new President doesn’t much care for Eagles. He likes old-world stuff.”
“So you’re just passing time shuttling folks from here to air ports and whatnot”
“Yes sir. Been kind of dull since…since.” The pilot fought back a swell of emotion. Shep guessed few people had spent more time with Trevor than his personal pilot, Hauser.
Shep put an arm on the man’s shoulder and said, “Sounds to me like you’re going to waste considering that pretty soon this old house isn’t going to be a lick more than a museum. How about you join up with First Corp. I could use a pilot like you.”
Hauser grinned, “I’ll fly rings around anyone, sir. Me and number one here.”
Shep paused as the tickle of a sneeze built.built.and released in a messy expulsion safely covered by a quickly drawn handkerchief.
“Bless you.”
“Thanks. Anyway, good. Let’s high-tail it.”
“I understand you’re catching a military flight out of Philly. That still the plan, sir”
Shep thought about that. He thought about Ashley whispering a request to meet with Nina Forest. Now what could that be about Still, no loyal follower of Trevor Stone could ignore a request from Ashley. Hell, even without Trevor, Shep figured few folks could resist Miss Ashley; she had a dignified way about her. Royalty, in fact.
“Get me a radio so I can assign you to me lickity split, then you won’t have to worry about orders from anyone but me.”
“Sounds like you’ve got something in mind. A little side trip”
Shep figured Nina, like Hauser, waited in Annapolis with nothing but time on her hands.
“Yeah, a little side trip.”
* * *
Ashley had fallen in love with the stucco, contemporary beach house along the Wildwood, New Jersey shore the first time Trevor brought her there. That had been five years ago, back when their relationship had been cold but, at least, there had been a ‘relationship.’
Every summer they spent at least two weeks there. JB loved the boardwalk with its amusement rides, cheesy games of chance, and the yellow Tram Car with its recorded voice constantly warning, “Watch the Tram Car, please.” Of course, half the rides did not run and the summer vacation season brought a few thousand-not hundreds of thousands-of visitors each year. Even during the heart of summer the resort town felt more like a ghost town.
Still, Trevor would jog the quarter-mile-wide beach with Tyr at his side and they would spend nights cooking flounder in lemon juice or scallops with butter and garlic.
As for Ashley, she enjoyed the ambiance of the place. She could lose herself in a good book out on the deck or just lay in bed watching the ceiling fan spin while listening to the distant, repeating drone of white caps breaking on the sand.
Those summer weeks were the only times when-for a few days-she could convince herself they were a normal family. This trip felt much different.
Tucker and his security team ushered Ashley, JB and Grandpa away from the estate on Thursday, June 19th, the day after a gas explosion turned Gordon Knox’s private residence into a pile of embers. Everyone assumed Gordon to be dead, the result of an accident that-according to a statement from President Godfrey-“could not come at a worse time for our nation.”
A constant drizzle kept Ashley and her son inside that first night. JB spent the evening glued to a second floor window gazing south toward the boardwalk. From his room he saw the li
ghts of a huge Ferris wheel and the rolling humps of a rollercoaster. The echo of voices and rumble of rides joined the constant in-rush of the ocean creating a melody of summer sounds that wrapped around the boy and his mother like a comfortable blanket of feelings and memories.
Clouds remained on the second day. Ashley took JB (and their security detail) to the distribution center for food and supplies. Mundane tasks often provided an illusion of normalcy.
On Saturday a warm front pushed off the dreary weather and brought sunshine to the shore. The two spent most of the day on the beach. An influx of jellyfish captured JB’s attention.
On Sunday, JB got his chance to visit the boardwalk. Tucker managed to get Morey’s Pier sealed off for two hours, making Ashley, JB, the security team, and a flock of seagulls the only souls on the big wharf full of rides and games. JB loved it, but to Ashley it felt sad, especially with the scent of fresh roasted peanuts and scraps of napkins and discarded tickets drifting among the amusements and kiosks.
She took him round and round the carousel, and on the kiddy train, and watched him zip up and down in a miniature airplane. Her son enjoyed the rides, but not in the same way other children might. From the saddle on the merry-go-round, JB shouted fantasies of riding with the cavalry. On the train he imagined himself escorting a supply convoy to isolated colonies out west. From the cockpit of the mini plane he shot Hivvan Screamers from the sky.
Near the end of their day, mom and son entered a fun house. Once inside they moved along a passage through a slowly-turning tube that played havoc with their sense of up and down. They wobbled across a rope-bridge above paper alligators in a phony river made from blue streamers. Further along, crazy inflatable clowns burst from barrels with synthesized chuckles.
Near the end of the attraction they came to a hall of mirrors that absolutely fascinated Jorge. He ran to one in particular that warped his already small body even smaller, as if he were a soda can crunched at both ends.