Last Call America- Last Call Before Darkness Falls

by Debra Tash

The Command Center where my mother had worked solo, and the larger storage area, were both crammed with people. Charon dominated the huge chamber beyond the glass partition, with its techs manning equipment and vid screens jury-rigged into the power supply. But the unit that had been housed at Hadley would be idle tonight. The large screens, one on each side of the space, displayed views from every angle of the fully operational facility at China Lake in California.

  I tried to adjust myself in the uncomfortable chair. My injuries still hurt, and the crowded conditions and stale air made it all the worse. Andrews kept his focus on the console in front of him, plump hands shaking as he worked. Sweat beaded on his brow despite the chill in the room.

  “Maybe you should take a break,” I suggested.

  “Countdown’s already started,” he said as he flipped a small switch. He spoke, his voice booming over loudspeakers, “Field units at ready, Commander.”

  “Regular issue and friendlies?” Jason asked, his question transmitted over the small communication device behind his ear.

  “Confirmed. Army and local militia,” Hernandez answered from his seat at another console not far from Andrews.

  Jason gave Deven Michaels a nod.

  The head of the Charon project cupped his ear and bent his head slightly as he said, “Begin grid interface.”

  The large monitors switched to a satellite image. Nighttime had fallen over the United States. Despite continued energy shortages, the cities were illuminated, more on the coasts, and a greater number of them on the eastern seaboard. A diagram superimposed on the image showed the country divided into thirds—west, east, and Texas.

  “What does that mean?” I asked, pointing to the screen.

  “The three electrical grids supplying power,” Andrews answered. “China Lake is going to hook into the western network. Only way to get enough juice.”

  Still uncertain what it all meant, I stared at the large monitor directly across from the Command Center. The image magnified, focusing on the western region. China Lake, California, out in the Mojave Desert, had its position marked, with a counter at the bottom of the screen tracking increased percentages to full power. Clusters of light—whole cities in the western grid’s southern section—began to flicker, then wink out as the counter went from fifty to seventy to finally reaching one hundred percent capacity.

  “China Lake at ready,” Michaels’ voice came over the speakers.

  “Deploy first wave,” Poole ordered.

  “Engage first wave,” Michaels directed.

  I glanced at Andrews’ monitor, seeing the videos marked militia feed, coming in from a position not far from the National Security Administration Data Center outside Bluffdale, Utah. A flash of blue started at one edge of the massive complex and ended at the other side. My attention shot back to the large screen across the chamber. Like it had been at Hadley, the weapon deployed in an ordered sequence, this time across Utah, the NSA center being hit first, then each DHS base in turn around the primary target.

  “First wave complete,” Michaels said.

  Jason sucked in a deep breath, put his shoulders back, and lifted his chin. “God help us. Deploy the second wave. Regular count.”

  Michaels relayed the directive to China Lake. My heart thudded as I watched the counter on the large screen mark off three minutes to death. A flawless executioner—the militia stationed outside the wire bore witness to its effectiveness through their video feed. It seemed to take longer, at least felt like it did, that bringer of death, a faceless killer that stopped living hearts, snuffed out life so easily, a machine without human regret.

  “Second wave complete,” Michaels confirmed.

  Poole pointed to Andrews. The doctor signaled the militia as Jason strode toward the Command Center. I got up from my seat and stepped aside. He gave me a quick pat on the shoulder as he passed, taking a place behind Hernandez. I sat and watched the feed on Andrews’ monitor.

  A joint operation with local militia and regular army, there were over a hundred men and women deployed. They moved quickly through the data center. A million square feet when first built, another half million had been added since. The details laid charges where the explosives would do the most damage. No resistance, with everyone who had manned the facility already dead. There had to be thousands, just in that one center. Again, time seemed to crawl, each moment taking far too long as a counter ticked down the remaining minutes until the center would come back online.

  “Running the clock,” Andrews muttered. They had only eight minutes left.

  “Commander, shouldn’t we order to clear?” the doctor asked.

  “Hernandez,” Jason said.

  The sergeant leaned forward and spoke into the com, relaying the order.

  The remaining troops hurried to evacuate the buildings and get clear of the complex. I watched dfferent video feeds, angles, positions, saw a few stragglers who lingered behind, checking the charges.

  “Order them to get the hell out of there!” Poole barked, his voice echoing in the closed space.

  The NSA center began to stir as lights flickered on.

  “The Feds are tapping into the center,” Andrews advised. He turned, looking at a small screen embedded in the console. “Incoming. Moving fast. Must have scrambled out of Nevada.”

  Jason took Hernandez’s place to give orders directly. “Poole here! Clear! Clear now!”

  The first incoming, a missile—blew! It hit our troops as they scrambled for cover outside the facility. I looked at another counter—my heart pounding fast again. This one marked time to denotation—if the place wasn’t brought down now, the Feds would have enough time to retrieve their data.

  A massive fireball, roiling skyward. Bright orange. Yellow. Black smoke. The sound of it—a terrible roar. I closed my eyes, said a prayer, not certain how many of those who had set those charges survived the blast.

  Fire from the ground, rocket launchers, and other defenses. Conventional warfare, or as conventional as warfare got now.

  Drones and manned craft alike, now targets for our ground forces as other installations, backup facilities for the NSA, were under attack from our side.

  I got to my feet. My head pounded as I walked over to Tina, still seated in the corner of the room. “Are you and Henry okay here?”

  “Yes.” Her brow furrowed with concern. “And you?”

  “I’m going to lie down for a while. You’re welcome to join me.”

  Tina shook her head and adjusted the small box on her lap. “I want to stay here with David.”

  “Okay, Tiny.” She was seated in a corner with a baby chick…but for my darling sister, that was as close to reality as she could bear. “But if you get tired, the door’s open.” I knew it would be a long night.

  I made my way to our private quarters, intent on taking some aspirin and going to sleep. The pocket door slid open and I stepped in, stopping when I saw the stars. They whorled overhead, danced, a whole galaxy in pinpoints of light that glimmered in the darkness of that small room. Deven Michaels lay on the bed, a tab in his hand as he carefully pecked away at its small screen. As I took a few steps more, the door automatically closed behind me. I could see the empty pill bottle discarded on the floor.

  “I’ll get help,” I said, intent on calling for a medic.

  “No!”

  “Why?”

  “Why here?” he asked in a strained whisper. “My apologies. I wanted a private place to die.”

  “No, why!”

  A small sphere floated above him, the projector that recreated the heavens. The glittering stars were reflected in the cold depths of his eyes. “Why? Because I’ve done everything they demanded of me. Now, Sanders, you and me, all the rest, witnessed justice. Meted out by that hideous thing I’d helped create. Nothing like the beauty of the stars. My creation….” He swallowed and gasped for air.
“My creation killed the people who stole my life.”

  I came to my knees beside the bed. “Please. Let me get help.”

  “No. But you fight them. Fight them and win, Sanders. I understand. There’s so much at stake. Still”—he turned his head to look at me—“beg Commander Poole. Beg him to never use Charon again. Destroy the damn thing.”

  “What if he has no choice?”

  He gazed at the stars again. “Genies never find their way back into their bottles, do they?” Michaels put his hand on that old satchel he’d rescued from Hadley. “Take care of this for me. Maybe…” He swallowed again. “Just maybe they’ll use it if they ever stop killing one another.” He pressed his eyes closed, took in a deep, shuddering breath, and opened them wide. “God forgive me. If there’s mercy…maybe I’ll finally get to explore the stars.”

  As for help…if I’d been honest, I’d have admitted this man was well beyond any the moment I walked into that room. I kept looking at his upturned eyes, the wisp of a smile seen by the faint glow playing across his face. With hushed reverence, I reached out and said, “To the stars,” as I closed his unseeing eyes.

  PART 3: SIEGE

  CHAPTER 25

  I walked through the barnyard with a heavy melancholy pressing down on me. It seemed like another century since that morning three and half years ago when Jason Poole first came to our diner. Maybe the war would soon be over. There were hundreds of thousands of dead on both sides. So much blood—men, women, children, innocents lost who were statistics instead of people to be mourned.

  We lived in the Texas hill country where Jason had grown up, one hundred acres of the old homestead returned to my husband by a grateful state government. Well, it was more like I lived there. Jason still battled in the field while I tended a barnyard.

  I tugged at my shirt collar. Blistering hot already and it wasn’t even past eight in the morning. I hated the Texas heat and the dusty vistas that were so different from the sultry early summers of Massachusetts with its verdant landscape. The air inside our fenced barnyard smelled earthy but not soured with animal waste. At least the ranch manager, along with our security detail, kept it clean.

  A shield protected us from detection. It locked out scans and would trigger an outer line of defenses if intruders tried to breach it. Thankfully, it let in the only thing I wanted from Texas, the touch of a warm breeze…the one Jason had spoken about so often. It sinks all the way down inside a person. I stopped to let that breeze play on my face, and inhaled it.

  The landscape beyond the white railing fence was covered with grasses dried to a light tan under the summer sun. The breeze at our compound’s perimeter danced through the scrub oak leaves and caused the branches of cedars to rise and dip. The end of the spring had taken the last of the bluebonnets. I’d become attached to those blooms. They were the only splash of color in all that dry countryside.

  Our two mares brayed as they bobbed their heads up and down. They seemed to sense I carried something for them in the straw basket draped over my arm. Jason had gotten the pair five months ago when the last of the compound was completed. He promised he’d teach me to ride. But that never happened. Jason hadn’t had the opportunity to come home until today…maybe.

  From the basket, I pulled out the two carrots I’d picked in our garden. I gave one to each mare, rubbing their soft muzzles as they chewed. We had a huge garden and grew enough to feed the twenty troops that made up our security detail, along with the ranch manger, my sister, and me. Inside the chicken coop, I scooped out eggs, some still warm in my hand. I placed them in the straw basket as I walked from nest to nest.

  The war haunted me in quiet moments like this.

  We’d gained control of most of the West Coast after Charon wiped out a large number of the DHS bases. Genies and their bottles—Deven Michaels’ words proved all too true. Yet conventional warfare proved even more savage than Michaels’ faceless killer. The state of Washington, out of China Lake’s range, erupted in violence shortly after Charon’s deployment. It took over a year of fighting for the local militias and regulars who’d defected to bring order there.

  It’d been a long and bloody three and a half years.

  Fourteen states stretching eastward from Michigan through Ohio and Pennsylvania and south all the way to Florida were still under the old regime. New York, Mississippi, Iowa, and others had become Border States to a hostile nation where the elites still ruled. Reports of suppression kept coming in, terror with DHS thugs acting as the Fed’s iron fist. And there were two states neither side could claim. Alaska had been taken over by the resurrected Soviet Union, while Hawaii had declared itself independent less than a year ago. If the Union survived, how much of it would be intact?

  I stepped out of the coop with my straw basket loaded with fresh eggs and started for the house. It’d been built to Jason’s specs, a replica of the dwelling he’d burned to the ground after authorities claimed his family’s homestead. With state and local governments forming in the free territories, their economies thrived with reopened distribution channels. There had been no end of help and construction materials for the residence, bunkhouse, and outbuildings. With my husband commanding in the field, it was left to me to complete the project, taking just over a month to execute. Jason had spent all of two days here when he’d come to see it finished.

  Two stories with light yellow siding and white trim, the main house had a second-story balcony in front. A porch wrapped around the first. An old-fashioned swing hung next to the screened front door. It had air conditioning, inter-web, an iron stove in the den, and four large bedrooms with their own baths. The basement was built with reinforced walls and outfitted as a secondary command center. Not an exact replica of his childhood home, but this place with its wood floors and throw rugs, down to the color of its walls, stood as a reminder, at least for Jason, of something lost.

  As I went inside and headed toward the kitchen, I called, “Tina! Henry laid another egg!” I put Henry’s egg, along with the rest, in a big ceramic bowl inside our refrigerator. We had a large flock, but Henry would always be special, even if she wasn’t a rooster.

  Married just over two years, my sister, with her hands planted on her lower back, waddled into the kitchen. Tina’s small body was swollen with life, eight months pregnant, and her doctor had advised her to undergo a C-section. The child, a girl, was already large, and my sister’s blood pressure had elevated to a dangerous level. The procedure was scheduled for tomorrow morning. My brother-in-law would be arriving at the compound today, along with Jason…hopefully. David planned to stay a week with his wife and firstborn child, but Jason wouldn’t commit. The situation in the field must be fluid. I hadn’t gotten a complete report in over ten days.

  I forced a smile and tried to put aside my dark mood. “The miracle rooster comes through again.”

  “You always say that,” Tina grumbled as she lowered herself into one of the bow-back chairs at the kitchen table.

  The last few months had seen Tina’s usually mellow temperament sizzle with irritation. It made my sister unpleasant company. I turned my back on her and busied myself at the sink. Seeing my sister like that brought home a bitter reminder. In over three years of marriage, Jason and I had no baby of our own.

  “Let me make you something,” I said. Tina hadn’t eaten anything at dinner and nothing at all this morning.

  “No.”

  I turned. “So you came here just to watch me clean?”

  “No. But you can’t cook.”

  “And you hardly eat. So how about one of Henry’s eggs? I can make an egg even if I am a culinary nincompoop.”

  She narrowed her eyes.

  “Over hard. With a side of wheat toast,” I coaxed.

  “Okay. But don’t expect a tip.”

  “Grouch.”

  She finally chuckled. That light airy sound always reminded me of how
much I loved her, even when she was being a bitch.

  Just as I walked to the refrigerator, the warning siren went off. The shrill whine signaled the shield had come down. We both stood at the kitchen window as the large transport helo landed on the pad just inside the wire. The siren sounded again to signal the shield had gone back up.

  “They’re home!” Tina shouted.

  We both hurried out the back door. As the blades slowed to a stop, our security detail formed two neat lines with ten men each. Standing at attention, they held their backs straight with rifles at their sides. The helo’s door swung open and stairs were lowered. Jason’s command staff and bodyguard exited first, then Dr. Andrews. No longer plump, his face was drawn and creased with deep wrinkles. The man had certainly not weathered the last five months well.

  David exited after the doctor. When he started down, Tina stretched out her arm and waved frantically. I knew she wanted to bolt, but time had taught my sister restraint. David crossed the distance, lovingly took his wife’s hand, and walked her to the house. Jason was last to disembark, aside from the flight crew, who saluted him as they stood inside the helo’s doorway.

  Jason Poole came up and slipped his arm around my waist. As we started toward the house, he leaned close and whispered in my ear, “It’s good to be home, Honey Beck.”

  We made love that afternoon, a long delightful embrace. When it was over, we snuggled close and slept. After a time, I woke up, rolled onto my back, and watched the overhead fan. It whirled quietly above the bed as it sent down wafts of warm air. Jason didn’t care for air conditioning. He still craved the Texas heat.

  I pulled back and studied his bare skin, searched for healing wounds, new fast grafts stitching together fresh injuries. There was one near his spine. The faint mesh covered a deep gash. I lightly touched it and felt its texture beneath my fingertip. He moved and arched his back with a long stretch. Jason turned on his side to face me.

  “Sure did appreciate your fine welcome home, ma’am,” he said with a wicked grin.