Eric walked over to the bed and gently hugged Cory, who then leaned back into the bed, looked at Horace, and said, “you did it. Thank you.”
“We did it.” Horace shook the bony hand offered to him and smiled. “I guess I have some more to write later today.”
“Eric, go over to the closet and get the flag. Give it to Horace.” Eric strode to the closet and removed a wooden box and handed it to Horace. “That’s the flag we raised in the plaza on the day we ended the war with Mexico.” Horace stared at the box with a glazed expression. “I want you to give that to the governor and tell him to use it at the flag-raising ceremony. It’s planned for tomorrow at sunrise.”
“How do you know that? Horace asked. “They haven’t announced anything yet,”
“The governor called me last night and told me that if it passed, the ceremony would be tomorrow morning.”
“Of course,” Horace sighed, before taking the flag from Cory and leaving the room.
The following morning, the three men assembled in Cory’s room. Eric opened the window so nothing would obstruct their view of the ceremony. The plaza below them was filled to capacity. As the governor’s limousine pulled into the square, the crowd erupted with cheers. People waved small American flags and hugged each other as the governor moved to the flagpole, brought down the territorial flag, attached the Star and Stripes, and slowly hoisted it up the pole. Cory cried the entire time, tears flowing over his wrinkled cheeks and dripping off his chin. Eric and Horace both welled up, but fought off the urge to weep openly.
“This flag was given to me personally by Governor Cory Redding,” the governor announced through a bullhorn. “He wants you to know that despite the tattered appearance of the flag, it was the one he put up the day we threw the Mexicans out of the Territory and became free people again.” The cheering in the plaza grew to an ear-splitting volume as the crowd began to move toward the flagpole.
“I finally made right the last thing I had to make right,” Cory whispered. “I’m pretty tired. Could hardly sleep last night. Would you mind heading down to the plaza and joining the celebration while I take a nap?”
“Not at all,” Horace said. “I need to get a quote from the governor anyway.” The two men left the room, exited the hospital, and started walking to the plaza.
“You know, we’ll probably never see him again,” Eric said sadly.
“I know,” Horace replied in a whisper.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
EMP PLUS 39 YEARS, 21 DAYS
THE RANCH OUTSIDE PRESCOTT, ARIZONA
Eric leaned his backpack against the wall of what had been Don’s ranch home. It was the original safe haven for the group of preppers that later became Cory’s family. He squinted against the sun as he watched Horace approach. It was a clear day with a powerful sun that etched shadows on the Bradshaw Mountains, away in the distance, but plainly visible in the clear mountain air.
“Morning,” Horace said as he got out of the car and walked over to where Cory stood. The men shook hands and then stared down at Cory’s grave, right where it was supposed to be.
“That took some doing,” Eric said.
“The governor came around when I showed him the letter and the article I was going to publish. He pushed hard to have Cory buried in the state cemetery, but compromised with me. So he got a public ceremony in town, but Cory got buried here. ”
“Did you go to the ceremony yesterday?” Eric asked.
“I had to go. I had to cover it for the newspaper.” Horace paused for a moment, then added, “I didn’t really want to go.” He shrugged once and stood silently for a long moment.
“What was it like?”
“There were thousands of people there. They strung loud-speakers all over the place and transmitted the ceremony on all the television stations.”
“The hearse delivered the casket yesterday afternoon and they dug the grave. I filled it in after they left.”
“What’s with the backpack?” Horace asked.
“I’m heading up into the mountains when we’re done here.”
“What are we doing here?” Horace thought. He wanted to ask about the meeting Eric requested over the phone when they spoke that morning, but decided to wait.
“Take this.” Eric handed a thick manila envelope to Horace. “It’s a deed to this ranch.”
“You own this?”
“Cory deeded it to me four years ago when he went into the home.”
“So, Kate gave it to Cory?”
“That’s right.”
“Who are you deeding it to?”
“The state. But two conditions have to be met before the deed can transfer. It requires the state to make a museum out of the place, and it requires that you have a final say in all matters concerning the museum.”
“He’ll never agree to that.”
“Yes, he will,” Eric assured him.
“How do you know?”
“Because he’s been after us to put a museum here since Cory moved back to town.”
“I’ll try,” Horace agreed.
“Good. I have some things to show you before I leave. Follow me.” Cory walked across the yard and stopped in front of the dilapidated barn. He spun the dial on a large combination lock that secured the side door, opened it, turned on the light, and motioned for Horace to follow. Crossing the interior of the barn, he stopped at a large safe, spun the dial, and opened it. Eric reached in and pulled out a pile of composition notebooks held together by a large rubber band.
“There are seven of these,” Eric said as he placed them on a workbench. He removed the rubber band and handed the first notebook to Horace. “That’s Don’s journal. It begins a year before the EMP and ends at the time of his death.” Horace gaped down at the journal in disbelief. Eric picked up the next two notebooks and handed them over. “Those are my journals, and they start at the time I moved to the ranch and end last week.”
“My God! This is treasure!” Horace exclaimed, his face glowing with excitement.
“I’ve saved the best for last.”
“It gets better?”
“These last four are Kate’s journals, and they begin around the time the EMP happened and end at her death. I’ve read all of them, and I can tell you these are the most complete. If you really want to know what these people were like, what they feared and wanted, how they worked together, and the rest, these are the journals to read.”
“What makes them special?”
“Like we said before, Kate was the glue that held everything together. She had a remarkable eye for people and motives, and she was an unusually gifted writer. She was extraordinary in every way, and I never really understood how incredible she was until I read her journals.”
“Thank you,” Horace whispered, his face still filled with wonder as he stared at the journals.
“One more thing. Everything that the group used is in this barn. When the war ended, Cory and I took everything apart and placed it in those boxes. It’s all there. The drones, the spare weapons, the sensors, cameras, and all the things they made to survive.”
“My God! This is everything we need for the museum.”
“It is,” Eric agreed. The two men stood in an awkward silence for a moment.
“So when are you coming back?” Horace asked.
“I don’t really know.”
“Can you tell me why you’re leaving?”
“Same reason as Cory. My responsibilities are done, just like when he left office. I never wanted to be his caretaker. But I did it because it was my duty. Now that Cory’s gone, I’m free to go back and live as I did before he resurfaced. I love the forest and would rather be there any day.”
“But there’s work left to do. The museum. Don’t you want to see that?”
“I just passed the mantle to you in case you didn’t notice. And there are many things in those journals that people today will see as harsh, even brutal. You make sure you put the context around what those things meant
at the time. These were not people who sought out trouble, but they were people who knew how to respond to it.” Eric paused for a moment, then added, “we all did things that would look horrible today in the world we live in. At the time, they were just what we did to survive. I’m really worried that people who read these journals, or what you write, will think we were monsters. Please use this very carefully, and remember, you weren’t there, and you have no idea how bad it was. That’s all I ask.”
I’ll do my best.”
“People need to know about this, Horace. They need to understand how terrible it all was. How hard it was to survive. They need to understand what made these people fight back after the EMP and during the war. You have to bring this to life so it will never happens again.”
“You know you can’t stop man from destroying everything that is good. It’s his nature.”
“I know you’re right. But maybe we can slow them down some. If that’s all we get out of all of this, I will be a happy man.”
“I’ll do my best,” he repeated.
“I’ll be back from time to time. If you need to ask me questions, leave a note by Cory’s grave and I’ll come find you.” Eric offered his hand, shook firmly, and walked out of the barn. After touching each headstone and bowing his head, he hoisted his pack and settled it on his back, picked up his old .308, and moved toward the forest.
Horace put the journals in the front seat of his car and turned to see Eric striding into the forest. He watched until he was no longer visible, glanced again at the gravesite, and began to plan the museum as he drove back to town. He had stories to tell; many stories to tell.
Eric turned around and watched the car leave the ranch. He placed his rifle on the ground, took off the backpack, and again looked at the graveyard. “One story ends, and another begins,” he whispered to himself.
The End
* * *
[MLF1]??
Prepper's Crucible - Volume Six: The End Page 8