Through Many Fires (Strengthen What Remains)

by Kyle Pratt

  “So, you think the people here are safe?” Brooks asked. “They won’t be attacked?”

  “I think it’s unlikely Durant’s forces will come this way, but we need to be ready.” Caden looked at the clock on the wall. Why do all my meetings end so late? He moved the cups and office equipment off the map. Glancing at Brooks he asked, “Before I head home is there anything I should be updated on?”

  “Well…power in the town is up and stable. One generator at the coal power plant is operating. Unfortunately we had to cannibalize the second generator to get it running. However with the one operating generator and the hydroelectric dam, we have enough power for the town and surrounding community.”

  Lifting his cup, Caden took a big gulp of lukewarm coffee. Despite the taste, he smiled. “I’m glad to hear that.”

  “We’ve added more soldiers,” Fletcher said.

  Caden raised an eyebrow.

  “Our muster is now sixty-three. A few are stragglers just now getting here. Others were on leave and can’t get back to their regular units so they came here, and two guys enlisted before the attacks, but hadn’t yet reported, so they asked if they could report with us.”

  “Thank you both for that good news.” If war doesn’t come, we might just make it through this crisis. He rolled up the map and secured it with a rubber band. “Start drilling the men on the rifle range early tomorrow and make a list of necessary supplies. I need to talk to the sheriff, so I’ll be in late.”

  The next morning as the smell of breakfast drifted upstairs, Caden stumbled down dressed in his uniform. The world was still dark, but a light was on in the kitchen. The radio on the window sill, told of relief supplies from Canada being distributed in Hansen.

  Sitting on the far side of the table feeding Adam, Maria looked his uniform up and down. “You do know it’s Saturday, right?”

  “The military isn’t really a Monday through Friday job.” He sat across from her. “I’ve got to talk to the sheriff.”

  She frowned. “At least call and make sure he’s there before you go.”

  Pouring coffee he nodded. “Good idea.”

  The man who answered the non-emergency line assured him Hoover was in. “Do you want to hold?”

  “No, I’ll talk to him in person. Just tell him I’m coming.” After a quick breakfast he went straight to the sheriff’s office, but once inside was told Hoover went to the hospital. Caden was startled. “I just called. They said he was here. Is he okay?”

  “Hoover’s fine. It’s his Mom.” The deputy shook his head. “She’s not doing well.”

  He hurried out of the building. This is not a great time to be adding worries. Is there a good time? As he slid into the driver’s seat, Caden knew he had to warn the sheriff that war was possible.

  Driving toward the facility he pondered the name, Hansen General. A month ago he lived in metro Washington D.C., home of giant world-class hospitals such as Walter Reed and Georgetown University. Since a high school skiing accident, he had not been to the old brick building that served as the community medical facility. He had no idea how many beds were in the place, but he was certain he could count them on his fingers.

  A few blocks down he turned the corner and was immediately confused by several modern buildings. A drugstore, a clinic, a medical professional building…where is the…. Then he saw another structure partially hidden behind the others and a line of cedar trees. Ahead a sign read, ‘hospital parking.’ He pulled into a surprisingly full lot.

  A tent village existed along one edge of the parking area. Campers, RVs and cars filled about half of it. Inside a group of people huddled around the front desk where a harried worker tried to answer questions. A deputy stood to one side.

  “Where’s Sheriff Hoover?” Caden asked.

  “I saw him come in a little bit ago.” The deputy pointed right. “He went that way, but I’m not sure where.”

  Caden walked in that direction and was soon lost in a maze of pastel blue passageways. The rooms were filled and nurses hurriedly wove around cots that dotted the halls. He would need more than fingers and toes to count the beds. Ahead he saw a familiar face and called out. “Dr. Scott!”

  “Hello. How are your injuries?” The doctor asked as she approached. “I meant to get back over and see you but,” she glanced around the ward, “it’s been hectic.”

  “I can see you’re busy. The leg is fine.” Itches once in a while, but if I say that you might want to examine it.

  “And your head? Any double vision…headaches.”

  “No. I’m fine,” He looked at the beds scattered about the hall. “Were this many people from the area hurt?”

  “Many are locals who were injured during the panic and looting along the freeway and in town before the blockade. Some have chronic illnesses like diabetes and HIV. They can’t get medicine now, so they come here. Others drove away from Seattle looking for medical care and found this place. We’re overwhelmed, but we try and help.”

  A nurse called to her.

  “I’ve got to go.”

  “Oh, before you do. I need to find Sheriff Hoover. Do you know….”

  She pointed. “Down this hallway and take the first left. Ask at the nurse’s station.”

  As soon as he turned the corner, Caden saw the sheriff’s tan uniform at the end of the hall. As he approached he saw Hoover staring through a large window into a room. Inside a gray-haired woman lay in a bed surrounded by people. “They told me you were here to see your mother. Is she okay?”

  Hoover glanced in Caden’s direction, shook his head, then returned his gaze to the room. “She had a heart attack the day of the Seattle blast and has barely hung on since. Some people have lost the will to live. I’m afraid she is one of them. Half of those in the senior home are dead from shock, stroke, heart attack, neglect or….” He shrugged.

  “Your mom isn’t that old and she has family.” He gestured toward those in the room and was suddenly embarrassed. Hoover knew his relatives, but Caden wasn’t sure who these people were. “They’re family—right?”

  “Yeah,” he pointed, “Dad, my uncle Jim, Aunt Carrie and,” he gestured toward a woman coming down the hall, “you remember my sister.”

  Caden turned. “Debra?” It had been ten years since he had last seen her, but instead of the slender high school girl he remembered, a much heavier woman stood before him. But the surprise came from more than that. There was too much makeup, too much jewelry, and way too much cheap perfume.

  “Well, hello,” she said and popped her gum. “I heard you were back in town.”

  Caden smiled. “Hello, it’s nice to see you again.” He glanced at the sheriff and knew there would never be a way to express it, but he was now, and would forever be, grateful that Hoover had arrested them that night at the graduation party before anything happened.

  Small talk ensued for a minute then Caden said to the sheriff, “I need to discuss something with you. Together they moved to a corner next to a storage closet.

  “There is no easy way to say this so here it is, I think civil war is coming to America.”

  Hoover blinked and stared off into the distance for several moments. “Does this have to do with the Chinese and that treaty? I heard about that on the radio.”

  “Yes, and the fight might come to Hansen.”

  The sheriff banged his fist on the wall, and cursed. “Aren’t there enough problems?”

  “We don’t want this fight. Durant is the one forcing it.”

  “Tell me Mr. Military, what is going to happen here if your war breaks out?”

  “It’s not my war. Hansen might be fine—I don’t know, but I’ve been ordered to stop any units loyal to Durant.”

  Hoover shook his head. “And just how do you plan on doing that?”

  A nurse hurried by.

  “I can’t provide details here. Come up to the armory this afternoon and I’ll explain what I can.”

  * * *

  Three vehicles pulled to a
stop in front of a small diner on a quiet Olympia street. Stepping from the middle vehicle Caden thought about home. Considering that a war might be coming, be grateful that I had a few hours off. That was what he had told Maria when, right after church, he had left for the armory and then straight on to Olympia, but the look on her face was not one of gratefulness.

  “I’m surprised there are any restaurants open in Olympia,” General Collins said.

  “Aren’t there any around the joint base?” Governor Monroe asked.

  “One, but you pay a first-rate price for a third-rate meal and I have no idea where they get their food.”

  A guard hurried from the lead jeep and opened the door as the trailing vehicle parked behind.

  Stepping in, the Governor said, “This will be a decent meal for a five-star price. The family that runs this place purchases their food from local farms. They’re still able to do that, but they tell me that the cost is steep and rising.”

  Caden noticed David Weston seated at a long table near the rear of the diner. He still had a bandage across his nose and bruises under his eyes, but thanks to the video and two area TV stations getting back on the air, he was now a local celebrity.

  Three men sat across from David. When they turned, he recognized the state treasurer, secretary of state and the chief of the state patrol. After everyone shook hands, Governor Monroe sat next to Weston. Generals Collins and Harwich sat across from each other with Caden at the end of the table between them.

  The restaurant was empty except for a man in a business suit sitting in the corner. His hair was dark with silver sprinkled throughout. Caden thought he might be part of the protection for the governor, but within moments of their arrival, he paid his bill and departed.

  The waiter was soon at their table.

  “Do you have coffee?” Weston asked.

  “No, sorry, we ran out a few days ago.”

  Recalling that he had some with breakfast Saturday, Caden wondered how much his dad had stashed away.

  The waiter put on a big smile. Tonight we have chicken roasted with Herbs de Provence, garlic, onions and olive oil….”

  Chicken or nothing. Well, it sounds like they tried to do something nice with it.

  “…and we have new potatoes steamed with mint.”

  Good.

  “For vegetables,” he said in an excited voice, “we have corn or broccoli.”

  Caden recalled how President Bush had banned broccoli from the White House. He had similar feelings. Corn it is. I’ll bet it’s canned. He was amused that despite the limited options it took longer for orders to be decided. He knew he was one of the lucky ones. Early on he had been able to buy enough food, water and gas. Now he lived on a farm surrounded by other farms. Selection might be limited, but he and his family would eat.

  While the discussion continued, two of the soldiers came in and sat at a table near the door. One had a pistol and the other an M4. Caden assumed the other two were with the jeeps outside. He patted his holster. No one expected trouble tonight, but caution was prudent.

  When the waiter had everyone’s order, Governor Monroe pointed to the soldiers by the door. “Get them whatever they would like.”

  For the next hour, over a simple meal of chicken, corn and potatoes at a nondescript diner they discussed the likelihood of war and the future of the country.

  As long as the discussion had been on policy and relief efforts Caden was engaged, but the subject had turned to the economy. He pushed his plate back as his eyes drifted to the soldiers by the door and their quiet discussion. The artwork on the walls and thoughts of home danced through Caden’s mind.

  Weston’s phone chimed and he quickly pulled it from a pocket.

  “That phone is official business,” Governor Monroe said to those around the table. Then in a hushed voice he added, “I think he keeps it on even when he showers.”

  Everyone laughed.

  “Huh?” Weston said slipping the phone back in his pocket.

  “I’ll explain later,” the governor said. “What was the call?”

  He shrugged. “The screen said it was the Emergency Operations Center, but the call dropped before I heard anyone.”

  “I’ll go by the EOC when we’re done,” General Harwich said.

  Dropped calls were too common to be of concern.

  The governor nodded. “We’re nearly done.”

  The treasurer continued a discussion of currency issues.

  Caden continued his contemplation of restaurant artwork until a familiar engine sound focused his attention. His eyes locked on the street. The two soldiers by the door stopped talking as a Stryker vehicle lumbered past. Caden turned to General Collins. “Was that from your base?”

  The general’s eyes narrowed. “It must be.” He stood and walked toward the door.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Caden watched General Collins march from the diner and go left, in the direction the Stryker had gone. Caden followed him, but hesitated just outside the door.

  The glow from streetlights and a few windows cast long sinister shadows as Collins walked along the middle of the empty road toward the vehicle parked at the corner. The gunner had the M2 machine gun pointed at the diner.

  Instincts that had served Caden well in combat now roared again to life. He looked back up the street and, as he expected, another Stryker was parked at that corner. A squad of soldiers and two civilians stood nearby.

  One of the guards from inside the restaurant joined Caden on the sidewalk. “What’s going on?”

  Caden whispered, “Find a way out the back and get everyone to safety.” Where ever that might be. He stepped inside with the soldier and, looking at the group of civilians said, “Everyone needs to go—now.” He felt like a mouse sniffing cheese at the edge of a trap. Any second now this thing will spring on me. But he needed to assist the general and give the governor and others more time to get away. He sighed, tapped his holster, and joined General Collins down the street.

  Looking up at the young soldier behind the M2 in the turret, the general demanded, “On whose authority are you here?”

  “I don’t know sir.”

  “Then get me someone who does—now!”

  A young lieutenant stepped out. “Sir, we were ordered to provide protection for the U.S. Marshals.”

  “Lieutenant that is not what I asked. I can see what your orders are; I want to know who gave them to you.”

  Footsteps clicked on the pavement behind him. He turned.

  “U.S. Marshals.” The man held up his badge.

  It was the restaurant customer with salt and pepper hair. He was followed by another man in a business suit.

  “I’m Deputy Marshal Reid, this is Deputy Marshal Smith.”

  Caden grinned inwardly. Why didn’t I see it before? Reid looks like one of the Men in Black. Actually both of them look like movie federal agents.

  Reid continued. “At our request Colonel Shaw ordered them to assist us with the arrest of Governor Daniel Monroe. Both of you need to leave the area immediately.”

  The General turned from the Marshal back to the lieutenant. “Stand down and return to JBLM.”

  “Yes sir.” The young officer took two steps backward toward the Stryker.

  Reid demanded, “He is not going anywhere until we have....”

  Two shots rang.

  Everyone flinched.

  The Marshals and Caden went for their guns.

  Caden was quickest. As he moved the pistol slightly to cover the two marshals he was certain the shots came from behind the diner. The others must have left the diner and ran into trouble. “Actually, I think it is time for the General and me to leave.”

  Soldiers ran down the street.

  Collins nodded. “A change of plans lieutenant, the Major and I will be joining you, but we aren’t going back to base.” He, Caden, and the befuddled young lieutenant, hurried up the ramp into the Stryker as more lights came on up and down the street.

 
; The lieutenant climbed into the driver’s seat.

  “Go to the parking area behind the diner,” Collins ordered.

  Caden and the General sat on opposite benches in the cramped rear of the vehicle. More shots rang out.

  A bullet ricocheted off the vehicle with a loud ping as they bumped over the curb and into the lot.

  Looking back the lieutenant said, “Several civilians are pinned down behind a dumpster.”

  That must be the governor and the others.

  “Pull up beside it and open the back,” Collins commanded the lieutenant, and then turned to Caden. “If those are our people get them in here.”

  Caden jumped out as the two federal marshals rounded the corner and shot at him. He leapt behind a car. The turret gunner provided cover fire, pinning the marshals down. There was no time to think about the wisdom of shooting at federal agents or why army units were now involved. Caden was functioning on well-honed combat instincts. He returned fire.

  “Get in the vehicle now!” The god-like voice of General Collins commanded over the Stryker loudspeaker.

  Both the turret gunner and Caden provided cover as several civilians ran up the ramp. The treasurer, secretary of state…there goes the highway patrol chief…and Governor Monroe. The soldiers, Weston, are they already inside? He squinted into the dark as the last three came into view. Weston and a soldier carried the other man into the vehicle.

  Caden ran in as the ramp lifted. With a roar from the engine the vehicle headed off.

  The wounded comrade lay in the middle of the small compartment. His trouser leg was torn and blood soaked. Someone used a belt as a tourniquet.

  Caden felt for a pulse, but found none. Only as he looked up did he see that the governor staring at the floor in bloody clothes. He held a pistol by three shaky fingers.

  “Governor, are you all right?”

  He looked up. The color was gone from his face. His eyes unseeing.

  The other soldier covered his fallen friend. “We couldn’t stop the bleeding.” With a tilt of the head toward Monroe, the soldier added. “He tried to help…pulled off his belt and wrapped it around the leg. Then he grabbed the pistol and shot one of the civilians shooting at us. I saw the guy drop.”