Last Call America- Last Call Before Darkness Falls

by Debra Tash

  Tears slipped from my eyes now. “The baby?”

  “Is fine.”

  The news I ached to hear, and yet I couldn’t stop myself. It came in a wave, the crying. He got up from the chair, sat on the bed, and put his arms around me. Jason kissed my cheeks, each one in turn. “You should have told me.” He kissed my mouth. “You should have, Honey Beck.”

  I realized he was weeping as well, renewed tears from his own eyes, salty tears that anointed me and the baby that I carried as his family. After a few moments, his hold eased as the back of his hand pressed softly to my wet cheek. I touched his face, felt the bristles against my fingertips. “Would you have sent me back to Texas?”

  “Yes.”

  “Back to our home,” I murmured.

  Someone cleared their throat and muttered, “Excuse me, Commander.”

  We both looked at the doctor, one hand in the pocket of his lab coat, the other raised, his finger pointed at my husband’s boots atop the white sheets. Jason unlaced the pair and slipped them off, letting the boots fall to the tiled floor.

  “It’s good to see you awake, Mrs. Poole,” the doctor said as he stepped to the bed. “You’ve been in and out of consciousness since being brought in.”

  “Where am I?”

  “Arlington. Virginia Hospital Center. Just outside of DC.” The physician’s gaze slipped to Jason. “We weren’t situated where the fighting was, but close enough to tend the wounded.”

  “Was I wounded?”

  “No, Mrs. Poole. But you almost lost your baby. Someone with you made certain you got medical attention.”

  “Bradley,” Jason said. “She raised the base. We sent a helo for your team.”

  The doctor looked over his shoulder and called, “Nurse.”

  A man walking by in the hall stopped, nodded, and entered my room.

  “Do you mind, Commander?” the doctor asked as he pointed once more, this time to Jason’s hand resting atop my belly.

  My husband shook his head and retook his seat.

  The doctor didn’t pull down the sheet, or do an actual physical exam. Instead, with the nurse working at a small console, the doctor used a slim handheld sensor and swept it slowly over my abdomen. He smiled. “Strong. Very strong. Signs are all good. Yours and the baby’s.”

  He nodded to the nurse, who turned the monitor with the tip of his finger.

  I exhaled, “Our baby.”

  There on the screen was a small human being, the outline of a head, and a body with all the extremities. It was a crystal-perfect image, arms and legs, its tiny heart pumping so fast.

  “Well, will you look at that,” Jason said as he swiped away his tears.

  The image was so much better than the old-style ultrasounds. “Is that what I think it is?” my husband asked as he did some pointing himself this time.

  “Still early, but I’d say, probably, yes. From the image.” The doctor smiled. “A definite yes from the DNA we did this morning.”

  Again I whispered, this time my own prayer. “A boy, Jason…who’ll be just like you.”

  In a few days’ time, I was discharged from the hospital. My doctor shook Jason’s hand as a nurse helped me settle into the wheelchair. The doctor reminded me to take my vitamins and that he would come and see me in a week for a quick checkup.

  The nurse pushed the wheelchair down the hall as Jason walked beside it. We entered the elevator and rode it to the roof where a helo waited on the landing pad. Jason didn’t tell me specifically where we were headed. For that matter, neither did anyone else. All I cared about was that I was leaving that hospital in my husband’s company.

  When we got to the helo, I lifted myself up from the chair, refusing help. I climbed into the chopper with Jason right behind me. We pulled out the harnesses and strapped ourselves in, my husband giving mine an extra tug just to make certain it was secure.

  The helo lifted, banking toward the river. Within minutes, we swept over the Potomac. Now I could see the carnage, the rumble where the Capitol had stood, the Washington Monument, toppled completely to become a broken relic. Only the Lincoln Memorial stood unscathed. As the helo swung around it, I could see the seated likeness of our 16th president carved in stone. So much destruction, so many losses. There had been so much rebuilding after the Civil War and yet the Union had survived, the Republic saved. Maybe it would take longer, but we would rise out of the ashes. Beneath us were knots of people, some military, some civilians, gathered near supply trucks. People who would, like others before them, be tasked with reclaiming our freedom.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and I took my husband’s hand.

  We flew near the White House. It, too, had survived the war intact. A few scars from direct hits, but nothing to damage it beyond easy repair. The iron fence in front was still in place. A large crowd had gathered outside that fence. They raised their arms almost in unison as we flew over. Though I couldn’t hear a thing, it almost seemed as if they were cheering, those arms waving wildly in greeting, hundreds, maybe thousands of them.

  “For you?” I shouted above the engine noise.

  “For all of us!” he yelled

  The helo started to descend. It set down on a large expanse of untended grass behind the building. The engine wound down as I said in disbelief, “The White House?”

  “It ain’t Texas, but it’ll be home for now.” Jason turned to me. “The states we just liberated. It’s all a mess. It won’t be easy.”

  “Nothing’s been easy since the day I met you.” I kissed him.

  Something that no one had seen in years, news crews—real news crews—jostled for position, competitive…definitely not state media. I recognized some of them from past encounters, underground citizen reporters who’d risked a great deal to get the truth out through networks like my mother had been in contact with, all brave souls.

  As the blades wound down, we climbed out of the helo, heads bent as Jason helped me navigate the stairs.

  David strode over and greeted us. “So, I’m going to be an uncle.”

  “You know?”

  “The whole damn country knows.” Jason pointed in the direction of the news corps. “Free press, and they’re as nosy as hell.”

  I laughed.

  The three of us walked away from the helo, shortening the distance to the eager press. That’s when I caught sight of my team, Tao, Lois Bradley, and the rest who had survived, all waiting.

  “Why are they here?”

  “Why?” David seemed perplexed by my reaction. “So Jason can shake their hands and honor them. People consider them heroes.”

  A quiver shot through my spine. Lois looked different, her wild hair tamed, the smile meek, her gaze softened, my neighbor from Farmsworth once more.

  “Come on, Beck, the press won’t bite,” Jason chided. I hadn’t realized my gait had slowed.

  “You finally know, Commander,” Lois said as Jason held out his hand to her. “Congratulations.”

  Her mouth pressed into a thin line, eyes narrowing, as she pulled out a small pistol that had been tucked away in her waistband and pointed it straight at me.

  “No!” I screamed just as Jason shoved me clear.

  Knocked off my feet, I tumbled backward, hearing a single gunshot when Lois fired the pistol. The shot hit Jason square. She looked surprised, her gaze catching mine for a moment as she aimed that pistol at my belly again. Her body exploded with red. A strange smile replaced that grim determination she’d just displayed. Lois Bradley, my one-time neighbor, seemed to surrender to the gunfire that blew her life away.

  In all the commotion, Jason had managed to reach hold of my hand. His grip stayed strong as he lay there, gaze fixed on me as I knelt beside him.

  “Hang on,” I cried. “Dear God, hang on.”

  But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. Even as he looked at me.
His gaze was earnest with a yearning to live. But he couldn’t stay. His grip loosened, his head rolling to one side as his soul released. My blood should have flowed, not his painting my hands red. That was her intent. Bradley wanted to steal that moment from him. Break him by killing his little boy. That bullet had been meant for me. My husband died protecting his family.

  EPILOGUE

  Frosted crystals collected on the window. They were perfect specks of ice sticking to the slick surface before melting into tiny droplets that would slip free and disappear. A guest in this house, I’d stayed up all night watching the world outside the window, remembering another snowy evening, and being so afraid. The eve of the revolution, the cusp of one world’s end and another’s beginning, over thirteen years ago in Farmsworth.

  “Mom!”

  I turned and saw Jason standing in the open doorway. He was almost ten years old, his dark hair disheveled, eyes gray and intense at the moment—his father’s eyes.

  “Aunt Tina wants to know if you’re ready to come to breakfast.”

  I stood and spread my arms. “I’m dressed.”

  “Looks like you never went to bed, Mom. Or slept in your clothes.” Blunt, and at times, what a mouth on him, and still I loved him more than my life, just like I loved his father.

  “Same goes for you,” I taunted. “Did you even try to comb your hair?”

  “Mom,” he huffed. “I don’t have to go. So why do I need to comb my hair?”

  “Just comb it,” I huffed back at him, trying to suppress a smile. “And go tell Aunt Tina I’ll be there in a minute.

  “Comb my hair,” he mumbled. “It isn’t even Uncle David’s inoculation.”

  “Inauguration,” I corrected.

  He chuckled, knowing he’d successfully teased me, revenge for my goading him. His expression soured. “You didn’t make me comb my hair before.”

  As if he would remember the two times his uncle had been sworn into office. I put my hands on my hips. “Junior.” He hated being called that even more than combing his hair.

  Jason huffed again. But he had no choice.

  Soon I was ready, makeup and dress suit all in order.

  Tina was in the breakfast room, still seated at the table while her son and daughter played with Jason. The kids squealed as they huddled together in one corner. Vera Margarete, older than Jason by a little more than nine months, had always been so much more mature. She watched over her little five-year-old brother, especially when the boy was in Jason’s company. Somehow the two of them managed to get into trouble, my son always being the instigator in whatever mischief they cooked up.

  My sister looked at me, her eyes wide and sparkling as if she were devising her own mischievous deed.

  “Something up?” I asked as the maid set a steaming cup of coffee in front of me. I inhaled, savoring the rich aroma.

  My sister shook her head. The children giggled and resumed their whispered huddle. Tina wore her mother’s old cable knit sweater. The yarn showed its age, frayed around the bottom despite the loving care given to its preservation.

  David came into the room. Dressed in a black suit and matching black tie contrasting his blue shirt, he smiled and nodded to me. The years were mapped across his face with deepening wrinkles, and his dark hair was speckled silver-gray. It hadn’t been easy, just as Jason had foretold that day in the helo.

  He kissed Tina on the cheek. “It’s time to go.” Tina looked to me.

  “It’s okay,” I said, taking one last sip of the hot coffee. “This is all I want.”

  The maid had Tina’s suit jacket. My sister slipped off the cable knit sweater, took the jacket in one hand, and gently turned the sweater over to the maid’s care.

  There were tears in the servant’s eyes. “I’ll miss you.”

  “Carol, please.” Tina placed her hands atop the maid’s and smiled. “I’m sure the next First Family will be wonderful. And I told you how much you’ve become a part of ours. You can always come and visit us as our guest. I’m not a bad cook. Ask my sister.”

  I put up my hand and gave the “okay” sign.

  “It’s moving day!” one of the children shouted.

  David pointed to them. “You behave while we’re gone.”

  “We always do, Father,” Vera said, acting the young lady. David swung his finger to Jason. “And especially you.”

  My son got up on his knees and put both hands over his heart. “Sure thing,” he pledged, then fell backward, landing on top of his cousin.

  The younger boy giggled and shouted, “Help!”

  David groaned.

  “He’s Jason,” I offered.

  David smiled, more wistful than sad. “That he is.”

  We walked down the hall side by side, Tina’s arm looped in her husband’s. She had been such a fine First Lady with her quiet strength and tender grace. The hallway was lined with staff, most as teary-eyed as the maid. I stopped when I saw Adam Tao. He’d been one of David’s top aides.

  “I hear you’re staying on,” I said.

  The tech looked weathered by the years as well, his black hair grayed at the temples, despite him being only in his mid-thirties. The creases around his eyes deepened as he smiled. “I love punishment.”

  We shared a chuckle. “One thing I’ve always wanted to ask you. My spiel in the Archives…the one about the Constitution…people say it convinced you to switch sides and help us. Did it really?”

  “The legend? The truth?” Tao leaned forward and whispered, “I could see which side had the best chance of winning.”

  Now I laughed out laugh.

  “Rib!” my sister called, waving me over.

  I gave Adam a pat on the arm. “Coming, Tiny!”

  We settled into the limo for the ride to the new Capitol building. Driving down Pennsylvania Ave., I could see the outline of the Lincoln Memorial. I recalled my brother-in-law giving a speech from the steps shortly after Jason had been killed. Still in shock, I’d been admitted back into the hospital because of the fear I’d lose our baby. I had to watch David on the vid. He urged us to pull together. To no longer stand divided. To heal a battered country just as the nation had done after the Civil War. We would go on…free.

  Now, I felt chilled even with the heat blasting from the vents. I drew my wool coat about me.

  “You really that cold?” my sister asked, slipping off a glove as she prepared to give the pair to me.

  Maybe it was those memories. Maybe not. I shrugged. “Guess I just got thin-skinned living in Texas.”

  “Never gets cold in the hill country,” Tina said, a skeptical eyebrow raised. “I remember that one visit to the ranch. We got snowed in along with our whole detail.”

  “That you did.” I took her gloves and put them on. “Y’all nearly plum ate us out of house and home.”

  I looked through the car window again. So many people were already gathered outside the Capitol building for today’s inauguration.

  Again the memories. There had been so much disorder in the newly liberated states. To bring peace, some harsh measures were taken, but only against the last of the old guard who had refused to let go of power. There were trials, open and for all to see, recounting the most heinous crimes against the American people, the days of want, of government control, countless citizens murdered. No, it hadn’t been easy at all to rebuild what had been lost.

  We parked in a secure area behind the Capitol. An agent opened my door. I looked up at the rebuilt structure as the Secret Service surrounded us. For me, it was a ghostly reminder of the past, an exact duplicate of its predecessor. It had gone up in less than two years after that fateful day, just in time for the Article 5 Convention of the States. I attended that, though I did my best to stay out of the public eye as much as possible. It had been a historic moment, with all the representatives from the reorganized stat
e legislatures. They peeled away amendments and voted on new ones, restoring the Constitution and the Republic. They gave the power back to its rightful owners, the people of the United States.

  When we walked inside, we were greeted by representatives and senators and the newly elected president and her family. I looked at the domed ceiling, then down at the statues that had been recreated of Washington and Lincoln, and another one that had been dedicated just before the Convention—my husband’s. All three men had been turned to stone. Men like Jason who were flawed, in doubt at times, and imperfect. Human. Now they would be forever remembered for the outcome of their struggles and not the pain of their mistakes.

  I begged a moment and walked over to it alone. Life-sized, the likeness was perfect. Washington and Lincoln were immortalized in the finery of their day, tailored coats, dress suits. But not Jason, with his rumpled uniform, tousled hair, his eyes set ahead, his gaze intense, his jaw set.

  I raised my trembling hand and set it on his, touched the cold fingers of polished marble. “We’re okay,” I whispered. “Me and Jason. Doing fine.”

  Jason’s body rested with his parents, three simple graves on the family ranch in Texas. My home now, our son’s inheritance, his father’s land. I’d come to love the place, could never live anywhere else. Those dusty hillsides, and the bluebonnets in the spring, had become my soul. We raised quarter horses, trained, and sold them. My stock was in demand…perhaps more for the breeder, JP Ranches, than anything else. Still, it was a living. I never demanded anything from the government. The state of Texas had returned all of the Poole family land, five hundred acres, without our petition. The house had been built out of gratitude for Jason even before his death. The only continuing consideration I didn’t refuse from the government was the security detail assigned to us, a safeguard for our son.

  I studied the marble face in front of me, its outlines and unseeing eyes. Deven Michaels, my mother, Doctor Andrews, and even Lois Bradley, people of their times, wounded and broken yet still a part of history. Lois—I hung my head—even her. She had acted out of pain, out of the need to strike one last blow against the brutality that had destroyed her life. I understood her completely, and had long since found my own way to forgive her.