by Connor Mccoy
“You know the rule, man.” Reg relocated the ornament to a sturdy branch. “We don’t take down the Christmas tree until New Year’s is over.”
“I would have kept it up until Arbor Day,” Nigel said as he approached the pair.
He looked at the top of the tree. This school gym had been heavily adorned with Christmas decorations. Green holly and garlands lined the walls. Wreaths coated the main entrance doors. The left- and right-hand walls each had its own Christmas tree. Tonight, a few hundred of Hooper City’s residents gathered here to ring in the new year.
“I hear you, Nigel.” Reg backed up a step. “The city really needed this.”
Nigel took a quick look around him. It was a testament to the efforts of Hooper City that people were provided for enough that they could spare the time to decorate the gym as well as other public places. He suspected the citizens were desperate for some kind of normalcy. True, electricity was not around to power Christmas lights, malls were not open to buy Christmas gifts, and no Christmas movies or television specials were available to watch.
But those things didn’t make Christmas anyway. Nigel chuckled to himself, recalling the famous Grinch story from Dr. Seuss from when he was a child. Who knew we’d actually live that tale? he thought.
“Hey.” Reg jabbed Nigel in the arm. “Take a look at that.”
Nigel turned to the row of drink tables on the other side. Lance, close to one of them, was sipping a cup of apple cider. A young lady, perhaps eighteen or nineteen, was strolling over to him, with Lance as oblivious as could be. Judging from her long blonde hair and lightly tanned cheeks, Nigel easily could tell it was Tracy Lynn sidling up to Lance.
Tracy tapped Lance on the shoulder. The young man jolted, spilling some of his drink onto the floor.
Nigel winced. “Good God, kid,” he said.
Lance turned around. Tracy laughed a little. Lance looked down, his cheeks reddening, then muttered something that Nigel and his friends couldn’t make out. But then the two started exchanging more and more conversation.
“I’d have thought those two would have joined up by now,” Nigel said.
“Speaking of joining up.” Jeff walked past Nigel to the other side of him. “You probably didn’t hear, but Carmen’s girl is pregnant.”
“That so?” Nigel thought about the young men in town, the ones with spouses and partners.
Since he had risen to the town leadership, he had gotten to know many of the young men. Especially since they had to till the fields and produce crops for those who couldn’t work, as well as help guard the harvests from thieves. And when he learned they were finding girlfriends, he began wondering about the possibility of new families in town. The aftermath of the solar event, plus the growing unease of the new military in the country, led a lot of people to opine that it was madness raising children in today’s world.
“Hey!” Jeff pointed to a large clock on the wall. It was an old, wooden wind-up clock placed there a few months ago. The minute hand was two minutes before midnight. The new year was soon upon them.
“Okay! Everybody get ready for the big countdown!” Nigel clapped his hands as he walked to the center of the room. Jeff followed with a bottle of beer and a clean glass. Reg followed with two empty glasses.
The crowd quieted down. Jeff filled the glass with drink, then handed it to Nigel. The bait store owner turned town leader looked at everyone, feeling a bit hesitant of what to say. Speeches were not his forte. He had rarely even given toasts. But the times had changed, and so had he.
Nigel raised his drink. “To absent friends and family. To the many, many people we lost through this horror. And…to the great hope we have for the future. If we make this work, if we live on and thrive, then we can say our tomorrow will be better than the yesterdays we endured. May God bless all of you!”
“Here! Here!” shouted many from the crowd as they raised their drinks in celebration.
Reg looked at the clock. “Almost time.”
Nigel waved his drink. “Start it up for us, Reg.”
Reg started the countdown. “Ten…nine…eight…seven…six…five…four…three…two…one!”
“Happy New Year!” shouted almost everyone in the hall. Many hugs and handshakes were exchanged. Before Lance could shake anyone’s hand, Tracy pulled him into her embrace and kissed him passionately.
Nigel caught sight of it and laughed. Then he quickly refilled his drink. “Hey, it’s an oldie, but I think the youngsters among us can follow.” He then started off with the opening lines of “Auld Lang Syne.”
The rest of the party joined in. And indeed, the rest of the night was just as merry.
Lance stirred.
He awoke in the attic in which he slept with a slightly aching head. He barely remembered walking here from the party at the gym. Beside him, Tracy slept soundly. Lance pulled his covers down but not enough to fully expose his partner. She was so quiet. What had awakened him?
The attic of this store came with a glass window. There was a noise beyond, like a scratching. Lance was so caught up in rushing to the window that he hadn’t thought to put on any clothes. Instead, he gazed out the window. But in the absence of any streetlights, he could make out nothing but the shadows of the nearby buildings. However, for a moment Lance thought he saw movement darting across the street.
Who could that be? Maybe one of the runners changing shifts? Even on New Year’s Eve, the city’s governing council insisted on some kind of watch patrol. It would make sense.
That must be it. Lance turned away, returning to the soft bed and the lovely woman sleeping there.
What Lance, or anyone else in Hooper City for that matter, didn’t know was that the shape he had seen darting across the street belonged to a man who wasn’t one of their own. Under the dark of night and while almost every soul in town slept soundlessly from a night of merrymaking, Sam crept out of Hooper City.
No one could have known Sam wasn’t one of them unless a longtime denizen of the community took notice. Sam Keller was dressed in a flannel shirt, blue overcoat, and jeans. He kept his head down, did work for the town, and said little.
But that was all over now. Sam had completed his task, and was ready to report what he had found.
The young man did not slow his pace once he reached the snowy forest beyond the city limits. Instead, he pushed on until he reached a point where a ditch cut through the trees. He climbed down the shallow hill, then, as his feet hit the ground, he pulled out a handheld radio and flipped the red switch.
“Nest, this is Sparrow. I’ve taken flight. Estimate three days back to Nest without extraction. Threat level is low. Don’t recommend extraction.”
He waited until the radio buzzed. “Roger that, Sparrow,” said a female voice, “Sum it up. How’s it look?”
“It’s better than we hoped,” Sam replied. “They actually gathered and saved enough crops for winter. I’ve also gathered intel on several local ranches. They run along State Roads 29, 25 and 22.”
“You know what to do from here on, Sparrow,” the female voice said.
“Copy that,” Sam said. He then switched off the radio.
He pulled out a notepad and a pen from his pocket. Making sure he chronicled all of his intelligence on paper was just as important as making it back to base. If something happened to him, at least there was a chance he could leave these notes on his person.
Chapter Twelve
Joanne Deaden flipped the radio switch off. Reclining in a folding chair, she stretched her arms. She almost had fallen asleep. However, receiving Sam’s report had revitalized her.
She gazed at the small tent around her. Nothing but her sleeping bag and a duffel bag. Deaden had cared little for possessions, except for what she needed to survive and fight in a world that bared its ugly fangs. She even had forgotten it was New Year’s Eve, except for the men outside expressing their wishes to make merry for the night.
Deaden stood up, then looked down at the green mi
litary uniform she had not yet changed out of. What was there to celebrate?
She yanked the tent flap open, exposing the world around her—a large camp of tents and flimsy metal sheds, with hundreds of civilians strewn about in sleeping bags or inside the shelters. Soldiers patrolled up and down aisles between the civilians, rifles carried openly, signs of tigers bearing their teeth.
Coughing and moaning cut through the air. The signs of the suffering. Yeah, what a time to celebrate, she thought bitterly.
“Move!” barked a familiar voice.
Deaden slowly turned her gaze to the path running up from the right-hand side. Gin approached, pointing his gun at a skinny man in dirty red and brown clothing. Matthew followed, wearing that same goofy-ass smile on his face as if the young, slender man had won a trip to Disney World. For his part, Gin remained the same movable mountain that he always was. The tall African man was rarely known to smile, yet Deaden never got the feeling he was brutish. Unfortunately, Deaden knew all too well that some of the soldiers under her command were less than gentlemanly. She had inflicted harsh punishment more than once because of it.
So, the question tonight was whether her troops had victimized this man, or was he actually the one doing the victimizing?
“Halt!” Gin shouted. The man in dirty clothing stopped, and then just as quickly tripped and fell to his knees.
“What’s this?” Deaden asked.
“New Year’s present, Cap!” Matthew said in his usual light French accent. The nearby portable light showed off his short blonde hair, even the red freckles on his cheeks, making him look more like a kid than ever.
Deaden’s face hardened. “Name, now, and what’s his offense?” She raised her chin. “Or is it his offense we’re talking about here?”
“Ira Shimkus. Resident of Redmond,” Gin said, “You interviewed him personally.”
Deaden turned to the trembling man. “Right. A mob operator, or so some of your fellow cohorts confessed.”
Ira coughed. “I didn’t do anything,” he said softly. Deaden suspected Ira’s men had gotten to this man first before he was brought to her for discipline.
“He got a little horny with a woman,” Matthew said with a toothy grin. “Everyone around heard ya. Six witnesses told us about it, saying the woman was there in the tent with her boobies hanging out.”
“Enough, Corporal,” Deaden said wearily. “Be professional when you speak.”
“The witnesses told the same story. We interviewed them separately,” Gin said, betraying not a hint of satisfaction or glee in his tone. “There is no question this man assaulted the woman.”
Deaden balled her right hand into a fist. “Well, it sounds like you’re every bit the scumbag that your so-called friends said you were.”
“Finks!” Ira said, quaking even more. “Damn them! You Nazis killed Laird, you tortured the rest!”
He was cut off when Matthew suddenly shoved the nose of his rifle inches from Ira’s face. “Hey. My great granddaddy died fightin’ the Nazis, buddy. You keep callin’ us that, and I’ll blow your brains all over the dirt.”
“Frankly, I don’t care much what you did before we met, provided you were willing to cooperate.” Deaden leaned a little closer, while digging through her right pants pocket. “It’s one hell of a problem when you disappoint me.”
Then she ripped her fist free of her pocket and slammed Ira in the face.
The former mob flunky hit the ground in a screaming fit. A tooth flew out and hit the ground nearby. Deaden raised her hand, which now was adorned with soft metal bracing. It wasn’t as hard as brass knuckles, but it provided Deaden’s punch with an added kick that would get across her point well enough.
Matthew let out a joyful holler. “Let me do the punishing, Captain.” He pointed his gun at the writhing Ira. “I’m going to blow off his balls.”
“Stow it, Corporal,” Deaden said. “I’m more old-fashioned. Gin, the chains.”
Gin nodded. He turned and barked to a pair of African men patrolling by Deaden’s tent, then spoke in a language Deaden wasn’t familiar with. Yet, within minutes, the two men returned with manacles and chains. Deaden was proud of the efficiency that Gin and the men directly under him had showed, even if only Gin spoke English adequately enough.
Ira looked up, blood trickling from his mouth and nose. “Wha?” he asked pathetically. He suddenly was assaulted by the two men, who bound his arms and legs with the manacles.
“I should execute you right here and now, but you have working hands and legs. That means you can push and pull, or dig and plant. So, consider yourself my personal slave. You’re going to work for us until you die, or I become merciful and reduce your sentence.” Deaden then paused for effect, to make Ira think about it. “I would not bet on the later.”
“You’re the Captain’s bitch,” one of Gin’s men said with a laugh.
Deaden scowled, but said nothing to rebuke him, feeling he would not understand her words anyway. Deaden had experienced enough trouble trying to pull this army together in a way in which those who understood English and their country’s native tongue could filter orders down to those soldiers who couldn’t speak more than a few English words. “Just get him away from me,” she said.
Gin translated for the two men. Then they seized Ira and dragged him away.
“Going soft, Captain.” Matthew chuckled. “These American assholes deserve some proper dis-uh-pleen.” He then raised his rifle at the departing Ira and made mock shooting sounds.
“American assholes?” Gin glowered at Matthew. “The captain is American. Many of the men are American.”
“Oh.” Matthew lowered his gun. “Sorry. Forgot myself for a moment.”
Forgot himself, Deaden thought with disdain. She also couldn’t forget that many of the foreign soldiers in her company had little respect for the land they now inhabited, or its people. They had been told that restoring America was essential to returning the world to a modicum of stability and modernity, yet some of them had no problems exploiting the country’s sorry state. Corporal Matthew Francois had not shown himself to be a discipline case, yet Deaden couldn’t shake her unease about the man.
One of these days I might find myself with a knife shoved in my back, she thought.
She sighed. “Reconvene the command staff at oh six hundred for deployment instructions.”
“We’re moving out?” Gin asked.
“Sam’s got valuable intel. He’s headed our way. I think we might finally solve some of our supply problems,” Deaden said, “You two get some rest. Your duty shift ended ten minutes ago.”
“Suits me.” Matthew yawned mockingly. “Time to hit the hay.” He rushed off down the dirt path, but then turned around and said, “Oh, Captain! Happy New Year.” Matthew snickered, then left.
Deaden shook her head. At least she was free of Matthew’s asshatery until morning. She turned to Gin and said, “Good night, Corporal.”
“Good night, Captain.” Gin nodded, then walked away.
As Deaden’s fingers grazed her tent flap, she stopped to watch Gin leave. “I wonder who the hell I can trust around here,” she whispered.
Liam let out a huff as he shut the door behind him. “Goodbye, Christmas. Finally!” he said with a laugh. The last of the Christmas garlands had been cleared out. “And it only took, what, until the end of January?” he asked himself.
He couldn’t blame everyone. It was hard to let go of the Christmas tree and the festive decorations, but eventually his dad put his foot down and told everyone it was time to clear out the living room. At first, Liam figured his father simply wanted to get things back to normal, but he also began wondering if the decorations distracted him. Since Liam started taking down the holly, the garlands and the ornaments, he noticed his dad withdrawing again. His mom also kept her distance more from her onetime husband.
He stepped through the living room. It’s like this isn’t a home so much anymore, he thought. It’s more like an apartme
nt where everyone just waves “Hi!” on the way to work. He frowned. He didn’t like it. Perhaps because he had lived so long without his dad, and then tasted having his family under one roof again, the added distance between his parents nagged at him.
That irritation only received a boost when his mother wandered into the living room. She walked slowly, and peeked around the corner before proceeding farther into the room. Liam’s skin itched. What was she doing?
“Hi Mom.” He spoke loudly, on purpose.
Sarah raised her head. “Oh! Liam!” She clutched her chest. “Wow, you gave me a scare. I didn’t know you were standing there.”
“I guess I’m a regular ninja,” Liam said, though he couldn’t smile at his own joke. “So, what are you doing? You look a little on edge.”
“I’m fine. Say, where’s your father?”
“Outside, doing exercises with Camilla.” Liam pointed his thumb to the closed front door. “He doesn’t expect to be back inside for most of the day.”
Sarah let out a soft breath. “Well, good for him. At his age, he needs all the exercise he can get.” She stretched her arms. “Now, when you say ‘exercises,’ do you mean jogging, or bike riding?”
“Well, I think running and ducking is part of it,” Liam said.
Sarah’s smile faded. “Ah. Guess by ‘exercise,’ Conrad means military exercises. Dodging gunfire, things like that.”
“You know what’s coming, Mom. Dad would be stupid not to get ready for it, especially after that nasty cold he had.”
Sarah turned away. “Your dad can’t expect anything but war, can he?”
Liam caught his mother before she wandered out of the room into the kitchen. “Mom, is there a problem with you and Dad?”
Sarah stopped and tilted her head back. “You mean the usual, or something new?” She sounded like she was joking, but Liam wasn’t buying it.
“C’mon Mom, this isn’t funny. You’re giving him a wide berth. What’s going on?”