“Daddy?”
Jack looked down, and his heart melted at the sight of his little girl, her hair windswept and her grubby cheeks streaked with tears. He swept her from her feet, and she clung onto him so tight it hurt. He didn’t care. He’d never let her go again.
“We were in an airplane, daddy,” Emily said, her voice muffled as she buried her face in his chest, “but we fell out.”
“I saw it, pumpkin,” Jack smiled. “I watched you float all the way down.”
Emily pulled away and shook her head, her eyes wide. “I didn't like it. Daddy. Can we go home now?”
Jack nodded firmly, sniffing away a tear, and he gave Karen a hopeful look. “Yeah, I think we should all go home.”
Karen shook her head, and Jack's heart sank. For a moment he thought she'd pull Emily away. He thought maybe he'd misunderstood. Maybe she didn't want him back after all, but then she spoke. “We can't go home yet. It's not over.”
“It is,” Jack assured her. “It's OK, they shot down the plane. There are no more bombs.”
“No,” Karen insisted. “That's not what I mean.” She looked over Jack's shoulder at the colonel, narrowing her eyes. “Do you trust him?” she whispered, leaning in to Jack’s shoulder.
“What? Trust who?”
“The guy behind you. Can we trust him?”
Jack nodded without hesitation. He’d never forgive MacAuliffe for ordering the missile strike, but he’d trust him to the ends of the earth. “Yeah, we can. Why?”
Karen pulled away, reached beneath her harness and slipped out the envelope. “Because,” she said, “there’s one more thing we have to do. Then we can go home.”
΅
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
WEATHER, THEN SPORTS
BEALE AIR FORCE Base hummed with activity. Just a few hours earlier it had been almost deserted, a skeleton staff keeping the lights on while everyone else decamped to the safe zone, but now…
Tens of thousands of survivors milled around outside the administration building and vehicle bay, hiding in whatever shade they could find while volunteers and enlisted men wheeled out a seemingly endless supply of water bottles and MREs. Hundreds more refugees had been crowded into the base housing, mostly children, the elderly and the injured, shielded from the searing California sun.
Every few minutes the roar of a newly arrived cargo plane droned overhead, and soldiers and airmen ran back and forth like workers in an ant colony, each of them on a desperately important assignment that gave them license to shove their way rudely through the crowds.
Jack, Karen and Emily sat in a corner of the mess hall, where they jealously guarded the few square feet they’d managed to grab as hundreds of civilians crowded in. They’d been dumped there by MacAuliffe the moment they’d returned from Nellis in the Chinook, and – for now, at least – it seemed they were surplus to requirements. From the moment Karen had handed over the envelope to the major general they’d been demoted to bit players in the drama. Nobody bothered to keep them up to date after that, and when the Chinook was refueled and ready to return they'd been bundled aboard like so much ballast.
Jack didn’t care. He had everything he needed right there in the mess hall. As far as he was concerned the world could go hang as long as he kept hold of his little patch of real estate, and as long as Karen and Emily were in it. He leaned against the wall, his arm draped over Karen’s shoulder, and he listened with a blissful smile as Emily excitedly brought him up to date on everything that had happened to her over the past couple of days.
He couldn’t even begin to keep up with the story. There was news of a scary man in a tunnel who squeezed her too tight, and another scary man with a baseball bat. Doctor Ramos was a big kid who liked fast cars, but mommy was the real racing driver. The way Emily told it she’d launched a car all the way across the Bay Bridge as it collapsed around them. Jack raised a doubtful eyebrow.
“I’ll tell you later,” Karen laughed, shaking her head.
“And then we went in the helicopter!” Karen squealed, imitating the sound of the rotors. “But then there was this big flash and the driver shouted for us all to hold on tight and we all started going round and round until I felt like I was gonna get sick, but I didn’t, and then the helicopter hit the floor and we all had to jump out real quick.” Emily took her first breath for what seemed like five minutes. “Daddy, do you like my thing?” She grabbed hold of her red tie. “The bus driver lady gave it to me.”
“It’s beautiful, pumpkin. Now, how about we—”
“But that was before she jumped out of the thing with Doctor Ramos, and she rolled and rolled on the floor until she—”
“Hey, pumpkin?” Jack interrupted, grabbing her around the waist and pulling her to the ground between him and Karen. “How about we save the rest of the story for later, huh? I think we all need to get a little rest, OK?”
“But daddy,” she complained, “I haven’t told you about the airplane yet!”
“OK,” he laughed, admitting defeat. “Why don’t you tell us all about the airplane?”
Before she had the chance to start speaking again, Karen leaped to her feet with a yelp. At the entrance to the mess a familiar figure stepped in, limping on a fresh cast and a pair of crutches.
“Doc!” Karen jumped up and waved in the air until Ramos noticed her, and as Valerie appeared behind him he powered through the crowds, pushing aside stray legs that got in the way of his crutches.
“Coming through, folks. Move it or lose it.” When he finally reached the far corner he braced himself for Karen’s hug, splaying out his crutches to avoid falling over. “Told you I’d take care of them, Jack,” he grinned, before the smile faltered a little. “Well, until I fell out of the truck, anyway.”
Jack pulled himself to his feet and slapped Ramos on the back. “Close enough, Ram,” he laughed. “Close enough.”
“That was my fault.” Beside Ramos Valerie grinned sheepishly, cradling her arm in a sling. “Sorry about that. Cesar just can’t help himself when he sees me in trouble.” She reached over and hugged Karen with her good arm. “Hey, it’s Jack, right?”
Jack nodded as Emily tugged at his leg. “It’s the bus driver lady, daddy.”
Valerie smiled down at the little girl, and then back to Jack. “There's a guy out in the hallway yelling your name. British guy, kinda snooty. Anyone you know?”
“Doug!” Jack scanned around the canteen, hoping to see him, but there was no sign. He looked at the thronged crowd between him and the door, and rather than force his way through he cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled at the top of his voice.
“Doug! Douglas Garside!”
The mess hall fell silent as everyone turned to stare, but Jack didn't give a damn. A broad smile crept to his lips at the sound of an echoing bark, and a moment later Boomer came bounding through the door and made a beeline for Jack, racing through a forest of legs as Garside struggled to catch up.
“Boomer!” Jack dropped into a crouch and braced himself as the dog leaped excitedly into his arms. “I'm so glad to see you, girl.”
Boomer slobbered cheerfully over Jack as Emily's eyes lit up with excitement. “She's just like Custard!” she squealed, wrapping her arms around the hyperactive dog.
“Custard?”
“My mom's new dog,” Karen explained. “Emily's crazy for him.”
“Ah,” Jack nodded. He tilted his head and gave Karen a look, silently posing a question in the language that develops between husband and wife over many years.
Can we keep her?
Karen thought about it for a moment, raised an eyebrow, and then nodded with a smile.
Garside finally pushed his way through the mass of people, stumbling out beside Ramos with a flustered look and pink cheeks. “Good Lord, it's like Waitrose on Christmas Eve in here.”
Jack grinned, stepped over Boomer and grabbed Garside in a bear hug. “Good to see you again, old man.”
Garside stiffly return
ed the hug, patting Jack once on the back before pulling away with an embarrassed expression. “Just a flying visit,” he said. “Cathy and I have been searching high and low for you. I wanted to catch you before I leave.”
“You're leaving?”
Garside pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and smiled. “Yes, there's a plane leaving for somewhere called Barstow in about twenty minutes. Apparently there's a refugee camp down there, and according to the pilot who just flew from there there's a furious English woman with very bad sunburn complaining about the accommodation.”
It took Jack a moment to make the connection. “Brenda? They found Brenda?”
Garside grinned and nodded. “Nobody complains like my Brenda. She'll be running the place by the time I get there.” He chuckled and lowered himself to a knee, taking Boomer by the collar. “It was nice getting to know you, girl,” he said, ruffling the chubby folds of her neck. “Thanks for keeping me company.”
Boomer licked Garside's face, and Emily leaned in shyly.
“I really like your dog, mister.”
Garside looked up with surprise, and before he answered he looked up at Jack. “Well, actually,” he said, brushing dander from his jacket, “I believe she's your dog.”
Emily's eyes grew wide as saucers. “Really? Is it true, daddy?”
Jack nodded, grinning. “Well, she's yours if you want her.”
“Yes!” Emily yelled out without a pause. “I love her so much!” She threw her arms around the chocolate lab, nuzzling her neck as Boomer basked in the attention.
“I must say,” Garside sighed, ruffling Boomer's fur, “I'll miss her when I'm gone.”
“Maybe you and Brenda can get a dog of your own when you get home,” Jack suggested. “And you're more than welcome to drop in for a visit any time you want to catch up with Boomer.” Jack was just being polite, but as he spoke he realized he really would welcome a visit. Somehow the cranky, irascible Brit had gotten under his skin on the road from Oregon.
“I might just take you up on that, Jack,” Garside smiled. “I'm afraid I've grown rather attached. Well, I'll see you when I see you, Boomer.” With a final scratch behind her ear he reluctantly pushed himself to his feet, and he turned away embarrassed when Jack noticed his eyes welling. “Little dusty in here,” he muttered, coughing awkwardly as he blinked away the tears.
Jack nodded and gave him a knowing smile. “Yeah, that dust'll get you, Doug.”
Garside laughed, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, and when he caught a flicker high on the wall he welcomed the distraction. A TV screen that had been broadcasting static suddenly resolved into an image.
“Oh, looks like they got the TV signal back.”
As soon as he saw it Jack stepped over Boomer, stretched up and cranked up the volume. “Hey, everyone! Quiet! The news is on.”
On screen a polished, glossy haired anchorman in a sharp suit looked flustered and red faced as he held his hand to his ear. The crowd in the mess fell silent as his voice rang out.
“… breaking now. We don’t have all the details yet, but in a stunning development we hear that new evidence received by the White House suggests that the attacks may have been an act of domestic terrorism, and not as previously reported a strike by a foreign power. We’re getting…” He looked off screen. “Phil, do we have a shot?” In the corner of the screen a photograph of a military man appeared, gray haired and decked out with an array of medals on his chest.
“We're getting word that Brigadier General Harlan Thomas Bailey, a Marine Corps officer who until recently was posted at Parris Island, South Carolina, was killed today in an apparent military strike over the skies of Nevada. This is still coming in as we report, but it’s believed that General Bailey has connections to the Year Zero group, an extremist organization that authorities now suggest may be linked to a previously unreported 2016 theft of nuclear weapons from a military base overseas.”
A murmur passed through the crowd as the anchorman continued.
“Sources at the Pentagon tell us that following a covert military operation in the skies west of Las Vegas the President has ordered the armed forces to stand down from DEFCON 1, and contact has been made with world leaders to assure them that there are no plans to launch retaliatory attacks.”
Jack sighed, feeling the stress flow from his body as the anchor continued to speak. He looked at Karen and found her smiling.
“We did it,” she whispered, a tear rolling down her cheek. “It’s over.”
Jack nodded, pulling her in and holding her close. All around them the crowd of refugees stared up at the screen, transfixed.
“We’ll be following this story as it comes in,” the anchor went on, “and I’m sure there will be plenty of developments throughout the coming days and weeks. You can stay with CNN for all the breaking updates as the day goes on, and we'll be bringing you the President's address live in about an hour, but for now we’ll go to Connie with the weather, and then Todd with sports.”
The anchorman flashed a dazzling smile into the camera. “Connie?”
THE END
΅
Thank you for reading Year Zero, the final novel in the Jack Archer post-apocalyptic survival trilogy. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Before you move on (I hope) to my next novel I'd really appreciate it if you'd take a moment to post a review of this book on Amazon. Authors live on caffeine and reviews, and while I'm all set for coffee I have to rely on my readers for the rest.
P.S. If I've ever blown up your home town in one of my stories I'm very sorry. If I've ever not blown up your home town in one of my stories I take requests.
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Jack Archer (Book 3): Year Zero Page 19