The Final Day

by William R. Forstchen

  He said no more and continued to look around, gazing again at the ropes, the only evidence left of the mass hangings that had taken place here at John’s orders.

  “You did what you had to do here,” Bob finally said, “but knowing you, dealing out justice summarily must have been tough.”

  John looked up at the ropes, remembering the insane gibberish the leader of the Posse was screaming in his final seconds before being hoisted aloft to slowly die of strangulation. The hysterical pleas of the others with him as one by one they were hoisted aloft or taken to the edge of the ravine and shot in the back of the head until he finally relented and let the last few survivors of that murderous gang go to spread word of what would happen to any who dared to approach again.

  “They were cannibals. There was nothing else I could have done.”

  Bob looked over at him.

  “When you’ve seen too much, sir, strange how all higher emotions can just drain away. I’m haunted by other things now, but not this.”

  “I know.”

  John looked up again at the ropes, and he suddenly felt a strange sense of detachment—no fear, no desire to try to flee. He looked back at the Edsel, where Makala had slipped over to get behind the wheel.

  “Whatever it is, you’re leaving her out of this, aren’t you?”

  “Of course, John.”

  “You’ve orders to take me to Bluemont that you can no longer dodge around, is that it?”

  Bob did not reply.

  “Bob, I prefer a bullet. I remember a class with you once about George Washington, how he had to handle the Major André case, even though every judge of his court-martial appealed for mercy, or at least a bullet rather than the rope.”

  “I remember that,” Bob said softly.

  There was a moment of silence, and Bob looked at the Edsel. “You know, John, I think that is one of the ugliest cars ever made.”

  It broke the tension for a moment as John smiled and explained how it had belonged to Mary’s mother, the old oversized machine impervious to the effects of an EMP.

  “And that is your wife down there?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “May I say hello? I’d like to meet her.”

  “Of course. But if I am being arrested, I’d prefer no word. We have a baby due in a few weeks; I don’t want anything to upset her.”

  “Of course.”

  “All of them are armed,” John said softly as Bob started down to meet them, “and more than a bit nervous as well.”

  “I understand.”

  Bob approached the driver’s side of the car. Makala opened the door and started to get out, Bob smiling and telling her to stay inside where it was warm. She rolled down the window.

  “Ma’am, I wished we had met under better circumstances,” Bob said gracefully.

  “So do I.” Her voice was anything but friendly.

  “John said you two are expecting.” He continued to smile and leaned in slightly. “And excuse me, ma’am, but you look like it will be any day now.”

  “Yes, any day now, and I expect my husband to be by my side.”

  “Of course. I understand.”

  One of the twins in the back of the car began to fuss, and Bob turned his attention to the backseat.

  “Now there’s a lovely package.”

  John offered quick introductions, Paul and Becka looking up at Bob warily and not offering any reply other than curt hellos.

  “I wish I had more time to meet all of you properly and someplace warm where we could sit and get acquainted. I can guess you want to get those two little ones safely home. You can pull around the chopper and go on your way.”

  “With my husband?” Makala asked sharply.

  “We need to chat for a while, ma’am.”

  “But he’ll be home directly afterward?”

  “All will work out just fine,” Bob said smoothly.

  “I see,” was all she said back, her gaze now fixed on John.

  John offered a smile of reassurance. “I’ll be along shortly, sweetheart. Why don’t you get the Hawkinses and their babies settled in and stay with them until I get home? Okay?”

  Makala had the uncanny ability to know when he was holding something back or lying, and he knew she sensed it now.

  “John?” She started to crack the door open.

  He stepped forward, leaned into the car, and kissed her. “Baby comes first,” John whispered even as he kissed her again. “Get home safe, sweetheart. I love you both. Please do that now.”

  She began to sob, arms reaching out to hug him, to somehow pull him into the car, but he broke free of her embrace, pushing the door closed as she tried to open it again.

  “Now, Makala, please. Do it for me. Get the Hawkinses safely home.”

  Unable to hide her sobs, she shifted the car into gear, rear wheels spinning as she hit the gas, swung the old vehicle out onto the road, and floored it, tires spinning in the slush and then gaining traction. She swung around the tail rotor of the Black Hawk and disappeared from view, John’s gaze on them until out of sight.

  “A beautiful woman, John. Lots of guts. Can see why you fell in love with her.”

  “Thank you for playing your part, Bob. But she knows.”

  “Yeah, I could see that. What loving wife wouldn’t see through it?”

  There was a moment of silence between the two.

  Bob put a reassuring hand on John’s shoulders. Now that they were gone and he no longer had to playact, emotion was hitting him. “I hope you two have a daughter on the way. I always feared that Jennifer wouldn’t make it through the times after the attack. I remember how aggressive her diabetes was. Is it any help to you now that I prayed for her every day, even tried to figure out how to get through to you with some insulin? But it was impossible. You know that.”

  “It wouldn’t have made any difference. A few extra shots, six months’ worth, her fate was sealed along with so many other kids like her on that day. We both know that.”

  “Nevertheless, it haunted me. Same as my Linda and so many others.”

  John could hear the emotion in his voice, and then there was silence between them as they walked back up the slope to the helicopter and climbed aboard, the gunner offering each of them a hand as they stepped up and strapped in.

  “So this is it?” John asked as the rotors began to turn.

  “Not quite yet. I’m sorry, but we’ve got to take down your eavesdropping as well. One of your ham operators screwed up, put it out on the air that you and your people were listening in and suspected that Bluemont was plotting some sort of attack. Sorry, John; I got direct orders to take it off-line.”

  John wearily shook his head. It was the age-old bane of any secured operation. All it took was one loudmouth and all cover was blown.

  “Only one of two ways I could see of doing that. We hover over the building, half a dozen of my troopers rappel down on to the roof, and chances are a lot of people—yours and mine—get shot, or you just walk in with me and we peacefully take it off-line. It’s your call.”

  “We walk in,” John replied. “One question, though. How did you know where to find us?”

  “There are spies, and then there are other spies, John. I think you were bloody insane for driving down to Old Fort after what happened last week. But in my case, it made it easy to pick you up without any fuss and take care of your listening post at the same time.”

  “Just great.” John sighed.

  “Maybe you should count yourself lucky.”

  * * *

  The walk from the Ridgecrest conference center up to the Franklins’ steep driveway was just a short distance but damned tiring as they slogged up through the slushy snow. A couple of times John came to a stop so Bob could catch his breath, and there was even a bit of tension-breaking joking about how both of them were getting too old for this type of hike. As they rounded the last turn in the driveway, John came to a sudden stop as four figures rose up from concealment—Ernie’s son
s, daughter, and her husband, all of them pointing weapons at them.

  John held his hands up, whispering for Bob to do the same as John identified himself. Weapons were lowered but still casually held in their general direction as they ascended the last fifty yards to the garage entrance, where Ernie awaited them, arms folded in his usual defiant gesture.

  “I suspect this is not a friendly visit,” Ernie announced without offering any kind of welcome. “We saw the chopper circling earlier and heard it land at Ridgecrest. One hovered above us for a few minutes last evening as well.”

  John tried to make formal introductions, but Ernie cut him off. “So, we’ve been found out, and your friend decided to come here personally to have a look-see before shutting us down. Is that it?”

  “Let’s not go off half-cocked, Ernie,” John replied.

  “Half-cocked? Let’s look at this from a different light, John. So this your legendary friend Bob Scales?”

  John nodded.

  “And our new military dictator. At least he looks a damn sight more official than that damn Fredericks that I put a bullet into.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Ernie, can we just mellow out for a moment?”

  “So you’re the one that shot Fredericks?” Bob interjected.

  “Yeah. You got an issue with that? The bastard was about to shoot my foolish friend here in the back, so I gave it to him first.”

  “From what I heard of everything that happened here”—he paused—“can’t say I blame you. And if you saved John’s life in the process, I thank you.”

  “Just great, I feel exonerated,” Ernie replied. “So now that I’ve confessed, am I on the arrest list too?”

  “No.”

  “But my friend here is?”

  Bob was silent.

  “Tell you what. A quid pro quo. You let him go, we let you go. You hold him, we hold you. You execute him, we execute you. How’s that sound?”

  “Damn it, Ernie, stop being an ass,” John snapped. “One volley from an Apache will take this place apart—you, your entire family, all the kids you got upstairs. I won’t be part of that.”

  “Thank you, John,” Bob said softly, still forcing a disarming smile. “Mr. Franklin, I respect your loyalty to our friend John. I feel the same way about him. But to try to hold me—actually, I’m okay with it, but some of my people would not be—they’d try a rescue and evac the moment they heard I was being held, and a lot of innocent people on both sides would get hurt. We don’t want that. I know John doesn’t want it either.”

  John nodded.

  “Well, maybe I’m willing to take the risk.”

  “Ernie, go upstairs and ask Linda what she thinks.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, John, don’t pull that card on me.”

  “Smart decision, husband,” Linda announced from the landing of the stairs that led up to the first floor. “Now will you invite our guests in?”

  John looked up at her, smiled, and could see the look of worry clouding her features.

  Ernie relented, motioned for them to go up, while behind them, his sons, daughter, and son-in-law were taking off their camouflage smocks and stacking arms.

  As they reached the first floor, Bob breathed in deeply, smiled, complimented Linda on whatever was simmering atop the woodstove in the kitchen, and then went over to the fireplace in the living room, extending his hands to warm them. John joined him, and looking up to the second-floor balcony, he could see nearly a dozen anxious faces peering over the railing and looking down at them. He motioned for them to disappear, but they did not comply.

  Linda came over, helping John and Bob to take off their parkas while the daughter approached the two with steaming mugs of broth, which both gladly took.

  It was all so surreal for John, as if he and an old comrade from his army days were paying a friendly visit. But he could not help but notice the sea of cold, decidedly unfriendly gazes from Ernie’s family who were gathered in the kitchen and leaning over the balcony railing.

  Bob could not help but notice as well, and after taking several long sips of the warming broth and thanking their daughter, he turned to face the assembly. “Can I ask that all of you join me down here by the fire?”

  There was an initial reluctance, no one moving.

  “Please. It’s okay. Let’s gather round,” John said, and the tense spell was broken for a moment.

  The students came down from the second floor, family members coming out from the back rooms of the first floor, filing into the spacious living room. As almost twenty of them gathered in, John could see just how much the Franklin Clan had been putting out to support their Skunk Works. Even though the house was large, it had become decidedly crowded. Rations that had been long ago planned for eight or ten to survive for a couple of years were now being doled out at what must be a prodigious rate. He figured Ernie must have been using either gas or propane to at least power the well to keep a cistern filled. How much more was that taking now?

  With two surviving sons—a third had been killed in the fight with the Posse—a daughter who now appeared to be pregnant and her husband, four grandchildren, and nine students, the strain of supporting all of it must certainly be telling. He could see Linda was the matriarch of the entire arrangement and could sense her near-infinite weariness with all that she had to see to as she continued beyond that to be something of a project manager as well. But it was all now coming to an end, the future indeed uncertain and most likely dark.

  Bob put the mug of broth down, looked around at the gathering, and offered a somewhat military “Let’s all just stand at ease and relax” opening statement.

  But no one did relax; the tension was palatable.

  “I’m sorry, truly sorry, to tell you that whatever it is all of you are engaged in, I have received orders to shut it down.”

  “From who? Why, damn it?” a chorus of protest rose up.

  Bob extended his hands in a calming gesture, but it did no good, anger rising by the second.

  “Damn it, everyone shut the hell up!” John snapped out sharply, and the room did fall silent in response to his outburst.

  “Listen up. What General Scales is saying here is the way it’s got to be. I don’t like it any more than you do. I came here with him with an understanding. No harm was to come to him, and realize he’s made one hell of a personal gesture of his showing his character by doing this personally rather than sending some underling to do it. He put his life on the line to deliver this message.”

  No one said anything, but John could still sense the righteous anger.

  “Look, it is the way it is, and I don’t like it any more than you. Either we shut it down and start disassembling it now, today, or I know for a fact that come tomorrow, his people will be back and do it for us.”

  “Let them try it!” Samantha cried, voice near to breaking. “We haven’t busted our asses for weeks without sleep just to have it come to this.”

  “I know how you feel. Remember I was the one who first said go ahead with it when Ernie and Paul Hawkins figured out we could get computers back up and running and use them for what you’ve been doing. Please listen to me. We don’t agree, you try to put up a fight, and thirty seconds of an Apache helicopter hovering over this place will end it anyhow. There is no arguing with that. Most of you saw what an Apache can do when we faced off against Fredericks back in the spring.”

  “So we surrender to another Fredericks, is that it?” Samantha pressed. “Go ahead and try, damn it. We can haul this stuff out of here before you hit and hide it in the woods, and then try to find it all.”

  Bob edged past John and looked straight at Samantha. “I admire your courage, young lady. Yes, you can do that. If I were you, that would be my first reaction. But please think. If forced to act rather than resolving this peacefully, this house is gone. If forced to, your power station—which you need to run things here—is gone. Then what? You are dead, and a lot of young men and women about your age are gone as well. Plea
se, I do not want that, but the orders are firm. This operation shuts down today. I’m asking your help to ensure it happens without anyone getting hurt. If I didn’t care about that, I just would have sent an attack helicopter in and not put myself here in front of you.”

  John looked over at his old commander and actually did feel a surge of emotion. His words, his caring, hit hard. Fredericks, and so many others like him, would have hit first, and those killed on both sides not a concern.

  There was a long moment of silence broken only by whispers back and forth between those assembled.

  “He’s right,” Linda finally interjected, breaking the tension. “All right, General, we shut it down, but before we do so, I want you to look at a few things and answer a few questions. Can you agree to do that first?”

  “Of course, ma’am.”

  “It’s Linda.”

  “All right.” Bob hesitated, some emotion showing. “My wife was named Linda as well.”

  Linda looked back at the gathering around them. “Why don’t you kids relax for a while? You all look pasty faced as zombies. Get some coats on, go out, and enjoy the air and a bit of sunshine before that next storm rolls in. Now get going.”

  She shooed them out of the living room like a protective hen, the group breaking up, but it was obvious that none of them were pleased.

  “How about we go upstairs to talk?” she offered. “Ernie, time for some cigars and brandy.”

  “Share a cigar with him?” Ernie growled, nodding toward Bob. “And Matherson doesn’t smoke.”

  “I’ll sit next to you and inhale deeply,” John said, trying to smile and break the tension.

  * * *

  Once into his office, Ernie opened the cigar humidor, and there were only two left within.

  “These are my last two Cubans, and don’t ask how I got them before the Day,” he announced sadly as he held one up and sniffed it. “My homegrown stuff tastes like shit, but at least it is something after you two are gone.”

  Bob actually smiled and nodded a thanks as Ernie clipped off the ends, offered one to Bob, struck a match, and held it for Bob as he puffed his cigar to life. Ernie hoarded the precious friction match, managing to light his own cigar as well before tossing the match down to the tile floor.