Dans cite entrer exercit desniee,
Duc entrera par persuasion,
Aux foibles portes clam armee amenee,
Mettront feu, mort, de sang effusion.
The army denied entry to the city,
The Duke will enter through persuasion:
The army led secretly to the weak gates,
They will put it to fire and sword, effusion of blood.
We still had eight tankers in town. The USR amp;D team confiscated half of our sixteen trucks, so the others had been busy for the last two days moving our gasoline and diesel supply back into some of the gas stations in nearby towns. Seventy-five percent of the food stockpile was now hidden in attics, buried in backyards, or otherwise stashed away. Many of our general supplies were cached as well. When our visitors arrived, no one would have any reason to suspect that we had any more than a modest surplus of anything.
So Thursday morning saw most of the people of Rejas lining Main Street as if in anticipation of a parade. I stood with several of the ad hoc committee heads in front of City Hall, all of us decked out in our Sunday best.
Of course, hard work and hard times had reshaped most of us so our Sunday best hung off of us in places where they had once been tight and fit snugly in places where they had previously been loose. The so-called honor guard for the visiting representatives of the reviving U.S. looked more like a group of cleaned-up hobos than official representatives.
The tension poured through the crowd as word radioed in from the roadblock stations. The convoy was headed into town. It was strange, the disparity of emotions I felt at the sight of all of those military vehicles and uniforms. After all the time I’d spent wondering what was going on with the rest of the country, there was a feeling of relief in knowing that at least a fragment of our government had survived and was struggling back to life. Many of the townspeople must have felt it as well, for as those Humvees rolled down Main Street, they cheered and clapped. American flags appeared in the hands of many.
I smiled with the others, but my smile was strained, as were those of many of the committee members. We were the few people in whom the mayor had entrusted the knowledge of how much the government’s struggling reemergence was likely to cost us, if they got their way. And from the looks of things, they had enough troops and hardware to make sure they got their way.
As the Humvees pulled up to the steps of City Hall, Mayor Kelland stepped down to make nice to the muckety-mucks unloading from the first vehicle. I had never been good with uniforms. Belt rankings, I understood, but chevrons and pips were foreign to me. So I strained to hear the introductions as “Captain Brady” shook hands with Mayor Kelland. Brady stood a lanky four inches over six feet and, judging from the way his uniform hung on him, he had been through some pretty lean times recently. Looking around, I noted that none of the other uniforms fit any better. I heard a distinct Boston accent when he introduced himself as the personal aide for “the general.”
It seemed a tank had broken down on the way into town, and the general had elected to oversee the repairs personally, but would follow at his earliest opportunity.
“Meanwhile,” the captain said, “I assume the ladies and gentlemen standing so patiently behind you are persons of some importance, or they would be out with the rest of the crowd.” The man was smooth, a born diplomat.
“’Course, Captain, I’d like to introduce you to my emergency committee heads, and chief aides.” Jim led the way over to us. I noticed how he exaggerated his country accent, playing the bumpkin. “If it weren’t for these people, Rejas would prolly be a town full o’ dead n’ dyin’.”
It was Captain Brady’s turn to make nice; he shook hands with each of us. As he introduced us, Kelland had a little comment about the individual contributions we had made. “This here’s Leeland Dawcett. We didn’t exactly see eye to eye when he first got here, but he’s shaped up real good. He’s a survivalist and has helped us hang on by the skin of our teeth.”
Captain Brady’s eyes seemed to bore into mine for a moment, staring intently, as if trying to memorize my features. “Mr. Dawcett. Your name sounds familiar. Ah, yes! One of the truckers last week mentioned you in relation to… town security, was it?”
“No sir,” I replied. His question seemed ingenuous enough, but his gaze made me uneasy. Up close, he reminded me less of a diplomat and more of a bureaucrat, a definite step down on Darwin’s ladder. “Well, not exactly. I’m an aide to Ken Simms, who is in charge of town security.”
His brow furrowed as if he were trying to recall the conversation. Finally, he shrugged apologetically. “That must be it.” He looked at me for another second, as if he wanted to say something more, but evidently changed his mind. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Mr. Dawcett.” And the mayor moved him on down the line, leaving me to wonder what was going on.
After the final introductions, Jim turned to the captain. “If you like, Cap’n, folks have put together a little spread in your honor. I’m sorry there ain’t enough for all o’ your boys at the table, but we have got a bunch o’ volunteers that’d be proud to feed one or two of the good ol’ U.S.A.’s fightin’ men.”
“That sounds very generous, Mayor. Thank you very much. Just let me return to my vehicle for a moment, and I’ll tell my men.”
“Sure thing, Cap’n. How many men do I need to make arrangements for?”
“Two thousand, nine hundred, seventy-six, when the general gets here with the rest of the troops.”
Jim stood silent for a second, astonished into rigidity. Then he nearly fell down the steps as he rushed to catch Captain Brady. “Twenty-nine hundred? You’re bringin’ twenty-nine hundred troops into town?”
Brady turned back to the mayor. “Closer to three thousand, actually. Is that a problem? I’ve got more than fifteen hundred with me now. The rest will be here within a few hours.”
Our intrepid mayor stammered as the rest of us tried to decide whether to be shocked at the number of armed troops coming into town, or amused at the stunned look on Kelland’s face as he rapidly scanned the large number of Humvees, trucks, and armored personnel carriers he had allowed into Rejas.
Finally, though, Jim managed to regain his composure. “Well, honestly, Cap’n, I hadn’t expected that many mouths. I’m a little embarrassed to admit it, but I don’t think we’ve got enough to feed that many.”
Captain Brady laughed and clapped Jim on the back. “Not to worry, Mayor. My troops all carry their own rations. All we ask is a roof and some civil company.”
The mayor managed to look relieved and nodded. “I think we can manage that much at least.”
“Well, then, on behalf of my men and the general, I thank you, Mayor.”
Brady went back to his vehicle and got on the radio. A few seconds later, men began pouring out of the vehicles.
The men were divided into pairs, two soldiers to each of four hundred fifty families, with the remaining troops stuck watching the convoy and supplies. Our dinner proceeded as planned. Brady and his aide joined the “Emergency Committee” heads for a dinner in the City Hall cafeteria-barbecued chicken, egg salad, squash and eggplant casserole, sliced tomatoes and cucumbers, sweet potatoes, and acorn bread with butter.
Captain Brady eyed the food with a smile. “I see you folks are doing well. I haven’t seen a spread like this in quite some time.”
We had anticipated his reaction, had in fact debated on the idea of fixing such a meal. Many felt we should present a more poverty-stricken appearance, but the majority had argued that it would seem more suspicious if we didn’t try to make a good impression to the first sign in two years that the U.S. still existed. Each item on the menu had been carefully planned.
Kelland launched into his explanation of the food. “Yes, sir. We found out that chickens don’t seem to get radiation sickness as easy as other animals. ’Course you have ta cook ‘em a might, to make sure you kill the salmonella.”
Captain Brady blanched a bit at that, but Jim continued as if he hadn’t noticed. “An’ when you got chickens, you got eggs for egg salad. Different folks around town got a few gardens for veggies, and one of the hunter’s wives came up with this acorn bread. Here, try some.” Projecting the image of a country bumpkin trying to impress a superior, he pulled a piece off of the end of a loaf and handed it eagerly to the captain.
“Yep,” he drawled, “we pulled out all the stops fer y’all’s visit.” The act was perfect. His apparent pride in the food made it seem that the meal was something extraordinary.
Brady’s smile diminished, even more so when he bit into the bread and discovered just how bitter acorn bread tasted. “Delicious,” he lied. “Is the rest of the food so good?”
“Well…” The mayor hesitated. “I’ll admit it ain’t all that good, but then again, some of it’s even better!”
I noticed that Brady’s smile suddenly seemed more forced than it had been.
The meal went fairly well, with all of us eating dry, stringy chicken slathered with spicy barbecue sauce. “My own recipe,” Jim bragged as Brady gasped and downed half a glass of blackberry mint tea. There was overcooked squash and eggplant, mealy tomatoes, and overripe cucumbers. The hard part lay in convincing Captain Brady that this was a special treat-without any of us getting ill in the process.
After sampling a little of the food, Brady soon contented himself with shoving it around with his fork and engaging in small talk. It became apparent that he was attempting to gather information about our resources. Watching the verbal sparring between our mayor and the captain was the best entertainment I’d had in months.
It ended somewhat more abruptly than we expected. Brady and Kelland were discussing the advantages of having so many freshwater springs in the area and ideas for the USR amp;D group’s distribution of the water to other parts, when the sound of an explosion interrupted them. As we all jumped to our feet, Brady’s aide calmly drew his pistol and pointed it at Jim. Everyone froze.
Shouting and sporadic gunfire suddenly erupted from various locations in the streets around Rejas. That seemed to surprise Brady more than the explosion, but he quickly recovered his composure. To everyone’s further surprise, the captain then drew his own weapon and pointed it at me!
“Well, gentlemen, the dinner was delicious, but the general has arrived with our tanks, and we must get on with the business at hand. Mr. Dawcett,” he gestured with his pistol as he spoke, waving me toward the main doors of the dining room. “The general will soon be waiting outside, and during the last few months of my acquaintance with him, he has repeatedly expressed an intense desire to see you again. Please, let’s not keep him waiting.”
I was thoroughly confused. It was obvious that I was on someone’s list, but an Army general? What was going on? Playing for time, I asked, “What does a general want with me? I’ve never even met any generals!”
“But of course you have.” He calmly reached for the radio on his belt as he chuckled. “General Lawrence Troutman.”
For the life of me, I honestly didn’t recognize the name at first. Then it hit me as he thumbed on the transmitter. Larry was alive. And he was evidently still pretty pissed off at me.
“Brady here, General. I have the Council with me here in City Hall.”
Pissed enough to come after me with a tank.
“And I am happy to report that I have a pleasant surprise for you, sir.”
My fears were confirmed as the radio squawked a reply. The reception wasn’t great, and I hadn’t heard that voice in two years, but it still chilled my blood instantly. “Yes, Captain?”
I probably wouldn’t survive thirty seconds past the trip out the front door with Brady-time to do something unexpected.
I turned to Jim. “You idiot! I thought you told me Larry was dead!” I launched myself at him, all the while hoping Brady wouldn’t shoot me in the back as I vaulted the dinner table.
Instant bedlam ensued. Everyone must have thought I’d lost my mind as I scrambled across the tabletop. Poor Jim couldn’t have had any idea what was going on when I punched him in the cheek and followed him to the floor. Brady shuffled around trying to stuff the radio back in its pouch with his left hand and keep me in his sights with his right, all the while yelling at everyone else to get out of his way and screaming for me to get up before he shot me.
“You stupid bastard!” I yelled into the mayor’s face. Then I slipped the small push-dagger out of my belt buckle and pressed it into his hand. I hissed, “Use it!”
Pulling him to his feet, I shoved him into his guard, knocking them both into the wall. James Kelland may not have been one of the many martial arts students in Rejas, but he was a street cop from way back. As he hit the captain’s aide, he grabbed on and spun so that his body blocked Brady’s view of the little three-inch blade slamming into the aide’s chest.
The soldier spasmed, fingers convulsing on the trigger of his pistol, which blew a hole in the wall next to Jim. At the sound of the gunshot, Brady swung his gun around to cover Jim. I immediately took advantage of his distraction. Dropping the flat throwing knife out of my sleeve, I hurled it at my target. It was the first time I had ever used a throwing knife on a live target, and I made a nearly fatal mistake. I forgot that, unlike my wooden targets, people move.
I’d practiced for years, and never once did a target move when I threw at it. But I neglected to tell Brady that, and so he reacted naturally. He dodged.
I, on the other hand, didn’t. I threw my knife and stood there like an idiot, waiting for Brady to oblige me and fall down dead. I realized my mistake during the half-second flight of the knife blade, but by then it was too late.
Brady must have seen me from the corner of his eye because he stepped forward and began to shift his aim back toward me. The knife hit him chest high, pommel first. Luckily, it hit hard enough to spoil his aim, and the table beside me sprouted splinters.
Ken tackled Brady from behind before he could get off a second shot. Three seconds of Brady’s skull bouncing on the floor took the last of the fight out of him.
As Ken finished basketball practice, I scooped my knife off the floor and ran to the front window to peek through the closed blinds. I quickly discovered that knowing there was a tank aimed and ready to introduce you to your maker and actually seeing the huge muzzle of the cannon staring back at you were two very different things.
As that first tank rolled down Main Street toward City Hall, I saw the night sky aglow behind it, the fire from the burning high school silhouetting its ominous shape. Larry had obviously chosen to come in with a full demonstration of the power at his command, destroying the school in an attempt to nip any resistance before it occurred, and simultaneously signaling his arrival to his troops. We had obligingly invited his men into the homes of our townspeople, and now they were attempting to force them out of those homes and into the streets. The sound of gunfire was everywhere, as were the screams and shouts of open conflict. Larry had evidently counted on surprising a quiet little town of meek, complacent survivors. I was gratified to see that the people of Rejas no longer fit that description. They fought back. Unfortunately, we were sorely outgunned since Rejas had stockpiled and hidden much of its weaponry.
Brady’s radio came to life with Larry Troutman’s voice, reminding me of the situation at hand. “Surprise, Captain?”
I realized that less than a minute had passed since Brady’s last transmission.
“Everybody out!” Jim held the dead guard’s pistol and waved it toward the receiving door in the back of the tiny complex. None of us questioned his order. We ran for our lives through the exit and into the violence of the night.
The chatter of gunfire surrounded us as we rushed down the block, keeping City Hall between ourselves and the tanks rumbling down the street. We rounded the corner and ran into a nearby abandoned storefront.
“Everyone all right?” Ken asked.
I could see the others nodding and panting in the darkness. Jim handed me the tiny push dagger that went in my belt buckle. “Thanks,” he said. “Guess I’ll have to get you to make me one of those things.”
“Once we get out of this.” I slapped him on the back. “Anybody see how many tanks he’s got?”
“I saw six,” Ken replied. “Could be more, but I don’t think so.”
“Six tanks!” Jim spat. “What the hell can we do against tanks? We got handguns and deer rifles! What good are they?”
“I learned a little about them back when I was in the service. These are Abrams. They’re tough, no doubt about it, but I think those are A1s, and I know some of their strengths and weaknesses. We might still have a chance.”
The mayor didn’t seem convinced, but evidently decided this wasn’t the time to discuss it. Instead, he simply ignored Ken and turned to do a quick headcount while we caught our breath. “Okay, looks like everyone made it out all right. So, now what?”
I looked up to find him staring at me, waiting for an answer. “Me? No way, Jim, you’re the mayor!”
“That may be, but you seem to be the one at the middle of all this. It’s you they want, and if I understood things right, it’s you that might have a little previous experience with the head honcho. So I need to hear your take on the situation.”
Anything I might have said at that point was forgotten as my heart jumped into my throat at the sound of Larry’s voice coming from behind Ken. “Brady, report!”
I went for my knife, desperately searching past Ken’s shoulder for my target when Ken grinned and reached behind him for the two-way. He had taken it from Brady and tucked it in his own belt before our flight from City Hall. “Captain Brady, please report your situation.”
“I take it that’s the guy you told us about, the guy that tried to hijack you on D-day?” Ken asked.
I nodded.
The radio squawked again. “Brady!”
I shoved my fear back into its little corner and motioned to Ken for the radio. He handed it to me without question.
“Brady, get on the radio, now!”
I keyed the transmitter. “Sorry, Larry, Brady’s a bit tied up at the moment.” Suddenly, a thought came to me. “That’s something you should be able to relate to, isn’t it, Larry? I seem to recall the last time I saw you, you were tied up, too. As a matter of fact, I was told there was a body out there where I left you, a body with a broken knee and a hole in his shoulder. How’d you manage that one?”
There was a noticeable pause before he replied, “Dawcett? Is that really you?” He laughed. “How wonderful! I’ve finally found you. Too bad Frank isn’t still alive to share in our joyous reunion, but I’m afraid it was his body in the clearing. I’d had quite enough of his incompetence.”
“So you killed him and made the wounds match yours. That way anyone I told about you would find the body and report you dead.” I shook my head in disbelief. Troutman was unbelievably callous.
“Yes. It took me several months to heal.” He paused a moment. “But that’s behind us now, Leeland. I’ve spent quite some time searching for you. You promised me that you would be waiting for me in Shreveport.” I could almost hear that frown of his. “You lied to me again, Leeland. This seems to be a recurring flaw in your character. Tsk, tsk.”
“’Tsk yourself, Larry. Remember the other promise I made? It had to do with what we agreed would happen if we ever met again. Remember? Just before I scared the piss out of you back at the cabin?”
The pause was longer this time. Finally, anger clipping his speech, he replied, “Yes, Leeland, I remember. I remember quite well. We agreed that one of us wouldn’t walk away from that meeting.”
Ken arched an eyebrow. I hadn’t ever told that to anyone. Larry continued before anyone else could say anything. “And unlike you, Mr. Dawcett, I keep my promises.”
I was just about to taunt him again when City Hall unexpectedly exploded behind us in a deafening roar. Flaming debris showered the streets, adding the noise of a lumberyard falling from the sky.
I stared for a moment, realizing that Larry thought we were all still in there. Then my anger flared, and I thumbed the radio back to life. “That’s not quite what I meant when I said one of us wouldn’t walk away, Larry. I seem to recall there being something about us meeting face to face. What’s the matter, General? Too frightened to face me?”
“I should have known it wouldn’t be that easy, Leeland. You do seem to have the devil’s own luck, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do. Unfortunately, your Captain Brady doesn’t. He was still inside that building. He and his driver.”
“How unfortunate for them.”
“I take it that doesn’t bother you too much?”
“You should know better than that, Leeland.”
His cold-heartedness never ceased to amaze me. As it occurred to me that Larry was probably straddling the fence between genius and insanity, the shouts and sounds of the battle for Rejas intruded. “Sorry, Larry, I don’t have time for another debate. It seems my friends here are in the middle of a fight. You’ll just have to wait.”
“Leeland!” He practically screamed in to the radio. “So help me-”
I clicked off the power in mid-threat. “Okay, Jim, you wanted my advice?” I turned to face him. “The guy’s a nutcase. You can’t reason with him, so don’t bother trying. I say we split up and gather as many of our people as we can. We’ll meet at our place as quickly as possible. Larry’s bound to find out where it is sooner or later, but by then we should be long gone.”
“Why your place?” he asked. “I can think of a dozen places a lot closer.”
“You remember that stash I showed you?” He nodded. “That wasn’t the only one.”
“What?”
I grinned. “Better to have it and not need it-”
“Yeah, yeah,” he interrupted. “I’ve heard it before. Save it.” He turned to the others. “Everyone know where Amber Peddy’s place is?” Everybody nodded.
“All right, get as many people together as you can find and meet there in…” He turned back to me. “How long?”
I gave it my best guesstimation, “Three hours should give us enough time to gather people, spread the word, and get through the woods to Amber’s.”
“Okay. Eleven o’clock, no later than midnight. Let’s go!”
We scattered, each of us rushing to get to as many Rejans as we could. With an ulterior motive, I ran south, down a fire-lit Main Street. I knew Megan was eating with the Petry’s tonight, and that they had planned to volunteer to feed some of the visiting “soldiers.” That was my first destination.
I stuck to the flickering shadows, running in darkened doorways and alleys. It got easier as I got further from the twin conflagrations that had been, mere minutes before, Rejas High School and the City Hall. Turning left on Madison, I soon found that those weren’t the only fires in Rejas, only the most obvious. As I headed into the residential area of town, I found several homes ablaze. In front of one, I saw two of Troutman’s men using an abandoned car for cover as they pinned a family inside the burning building with gunfire. I drew my knives and took them from behind before they ever knew I was there. Yelling to the people in the house that it was safe, I grabbed the soldiers’ weapons.
As the family emerged, I recognized the man, though I couldn’t recall his name. Tossing him one of the soldiers’ rifles, I told them about the proposed meeting at Amber’s. They headed north, and I continued further south. Two blocks down, I turned right onto Dowling, the Petry’s street, and spotted bodies lying in several of the yards. This was one of the nicer sections of town, and many of the townspeople had moved into the suddenly abundant empty homes after D-day, making it one of the most densely populated neighborhoods in Rejas. Tonight it looked like a war zone.
Three houses on the street were aflame, illuminating the macabre scene, and while I saw no signs of life, there must have been thirty bodies visible by the flickering light. I was relieved to see that the vast majority of them wore uniforms-Larry’s men. I also noted with approval that none of the corpses still had their weapons. That meant several armed citizens were in the streets nearby. All I had to do was find them without getting myself shot by friendly fire.
An abrupt volley of gunfire punctuated the night, and I instinctively ducked behind a tree before I realized the sounds had come from several blocks north. Checking for any signs of life, I scanned the other houses. Nothing. No movement anywhere. Were they hiding nearby, waiting to shoot the first thing that moved? Or had they moved on to another location? The Petry home was three doors down on the right, but I hesitated at the thought of making myself visible. Instead, I went to the back of the nearest home and began scaling fences until I reached the backyard. Inching my way up to the kitchen window, I peeked inside.
“No!!” I screamed, and threw myself to the ground just as the window exploded above me, and the relative quiet was shattered by the sound of a shotgun blast. Glass shards rained down on me as I tried to identify myself.
“Wait! Eric, it’s Leeland!!” I rolled to the side of the window in case Eric Petry hadn’t heard me before correcting his aim. During that panicked moment, I heard the elder Petry pump the shotgun once more before my words must have registered.
While I was trying to do a belly-crawl through the broken glass at the speed of a desert jackrabbit, I heard his hesitant call. “Leeland? Lee, is that you?”
“Unless you fire that next round, it is! Jesus H., Eric. You nearly blew my head off!” Panting, I rolled onto my back and stared up at the beautiful trail of the Milky Way above. As my heart tried to burst through my rib cage, it occurred to me just how close I had come to never seeing those stars again.
“Lee?” Eric’s voice was above me, concerned, perhaps a little frightened. I looked up and saw his face, upside down from my perspective, as I lay there in the grass… and the glass. “Lee, did I hurt…? Aw, hell, did I shoot you? Are you shot?”
“No,” I gasped. “But not for lack of trying. Oh God, Eric!” I nearly laughed, I was so giddy with relief. Then the pain hit me. “Jeez, I think my arms are cut up from crawling through what’s left of your window.” Raising my arms, I saw that the cuts were all superficial-painful, but far from dangerous.
Megan’s future father-in-law reached down through the empty window frame and offered me a hand. “Better get in here before the shot attracts attention.”
“Yeah.” I groaned as he helped me through the window. “Everyone all right?”
“No.” He turned and walked back into the kitchen. As I followed him in, I saw the blood. God, there was blood everywhere! On the walls, the floor, Eric, and splattered on the food at the table. Smeared, bloody footprints were all over the place. A uniformed man sat in a pool of blood in the far corner, staring down through sightless eyes at the steak knife protruding from his chest. It had been done right, shoved in and twisted, maximizing the damage beyond what the little knife would normally do. The man had probably gone into shock immediately.
“Megan got him.” Petry explained. “She was faster than the rest of us.” He shook his head. “Me and Andrew just sat and stared when they went for their guns. But not Megan.”
My heart jumped into my throat. “Where is she?”
“We realized what was going on then, and we jumped after the other guy.” He nodded to another body, fallen behind the dinner table. “But he had his pistol out by that time. Andrew got to ’im first, and then me, and by God, Leeland, Megan was right there with us. She was so freakin’ fast!” He began to sob. “She just wasn’t quite fast enough. None of us were.”
I was frantic. “Eric, where is she?”
Eyes filled with tears, he pointed upstairs. “I don’t even remember hearing the pistol go off. She tried, Leeland. God in Heaven, I never saw nobody try so hard!” His emotions finally got the better of him, and he sobbed out the rest. “She just wasn’t quite fast enough.”
I tore up the stairs, following a trail of blood so solid it looked as if someone had painted it on the carpet-a trail that led to Megan. She was sitting on the floor of a bedroom with her eyes closed, leaning back against the wall. Her shirt was nearly solid red, covered with blood, her face and hands coated as well. I wanted to scream, but my voice caught, trapped behind the constricting of my throat. My daughter… my baby!
Then she opened her eyes, and I did scream as I stumbled back against the doorframe. “Dad?” she sobbed. “Daddy?” She staggered to her feet, and I barely caught her as she fell against me. It took a moment for me to comprehend what she was saying as she sobbed against my chest. At the sight of Andrew’s body lying on the bed, I finally understood.
“They killed him. They killed him.” She kept repeating it, her personal mantra, her litany of anguish.
“She wouldn’t leave him.” Eric’s voice behind me gave me a start. “How could I do less? The others in the neighborhood left a few minutes ago, but Megan wouldn’t go until we got him up here and laid him out proper. She wanted a few minutes alone with him, so I went downstairs. When I heard you comin’ over the fence… well, you know the rest.”
I suddenly felt self-conscious, holding my daughter in front of Eric, while just a few feet away, his son lay dead. I knew how he must be feeling since I had just run that gamut of emotions myself. But mainly I was just grateful that it wasn’t Megan lying on that bed.
He didn’t seem to notice, though. He stared sightlessly at Andrew’s body.
“Where were the others going, Eric?”
“Big Cypress Creek.” His voice was as distant as his sight. “Said they’d wait there for a little while ’til they could figure out what to do next.”
“How many of them?”
He finally pulled his eyes away from Andrew’s body and turned to me. “’Bout fifty, I guess. But a few of ‘em were hurt pretty bad, so there might be some that didn’t make it.”
“Can you show me the way? I’m supposed to help gather folks up and get them to Amber Peddy’s place as soon as I can.”
Eric nodded. “Go on downstairs. Give me a minute with Andrew.”
Megan sobbed as I half-carried her out of the room and down the stairs. We waited by the front door until Eric came and led us out without a word. As we left the street, I looked back to see the house aflame, burning from the upstairs bedroom down. Turning to Eric, I saw tears and anguish, but mostly I saw hatred-raw, burning hatred for those who had taken his son. I never once saw him look back.
We made it to the creek with no trouble and found the impromptu meeting place where Eric’s neighbors, along with others, had gathered. More than a hundred people were assembled trying to cope with the fact that their lives had just been irrevocably altered in the last hours as much as they had been on D-day.
I sat Megan at the edge of the water and began to clean the blood off of her while listening to the frightened whispers of the crowd. Megan was in shock, unresisting, but not helping either, so it took me a few minutes. As I finished, I scanned the faces around us.
It was immediately evident that these people had absolutely no idea of what to do next, so it took little coaxing to convince them to accompany me to the rendezvous at Amber’s. We broke into three groups, and each took a different route to gather as many people as possible along the way.
A ragtag parade of Rejas refugees, our group skirted the town, gathering others before making it to my home just before the appointed time. When I got there, I had to push my way through a crowd to make it to the house. People milled about, crowded together like the proverbial sardines in a can.
Finally reaching the back door, Megan and I entered to find the inside even more chaotic than the yard. Debra, Cindy, and Zachary, as well as several others I didn’t know, were busy tending the more seriously wounded. Debra saw us as we came in and ran to help as I led Megan inside.
“What happened?” Her voice shook, and she was obviously fighting to keep control. “Oh, my God! Is this blood on her? Her whole shirt is…” she trailed off and frantically began to unbutton Megan’s shirt. I closed the door behind me to preserve my daughter’s modesty.
“She’s not hurt, Deb.” Debra didn’t stop until she had confirmed it for herself. Then she turned frightened eyes to me.
I hesitated, not wanting to mention what had happened in front of Megan. But then I thought that any reaction was better than the stupor she’d been in since I took her out of the Petry’s house. “They got Andrew.”
“Oh, God…” She put her arms around her daughter.
“Zachary,” I jerked his attention away from the blood on his sister. “Go get Megan another shirt from her closet.” He ran.
I turned back to Debra. “It all happened right in front of her.” I studied Megan’s face as I spoke, hoping to see some reaction, but she just stared at the floor.
“Where’s Amber?” I wanted her to have a look at Megan to make sure there wasn’t anything wrong with her beyond the emotional shock of losing her fiance.
“I think she’s still at the hospital.” Her voice quavered a bit as she continued, “I haven’t heard from her since she left this morning, anyway.”
It made sense. Amber wouldn’t leave with people still under her care.
Zach returned with one of his sister’s shirts and handed it to Debra.
“Is Ken back yet?” I asked.
Cindy had come over by then, and she answered, “He’s out at the number three stash.”
That was about a half-mile into the woods to the south of the house. “Okay, I’ve got to talk to him and find out where we stand. If anything happens while I’m out-” I stopped, realizing that I had no idea what to do if we were attacked here and now. “I guess we play that one by ear,” I finished lamely, and ducked out the door to find Ken and Jim.
It was a fight to shove my way through the massive crowd in the back yard. People milling, moaning, sitting, standing, staring… but nowhere did I see anyone who appeared to know what they were doing. Most had a bewildered look in their eyes. It was a look I could relate to, for though all of us had become accustomed to the idea that violence was more prevalent now than it had ever been before D-day, only Ken and a few other veterans had ever seen the kind of destruction we had just witnessed.
Rejas was at war. Only now could I really begin to understand what that meant.
I found Ken and Jim, as well as most of the other committee heads, coming back toward the house through the woods. Ken squeezed my shoulder and smiled wearily. “Good to see you made it.”
I simply nodded. Maybe I was still a little shocked at everything I had seen, but I just didn’t know what to say.
“I’ll second that.” Jim clapped me on the back hard enough to stagger me for a second. “I still need to pick your brain about this General Troutman o’ yours.”
Turning to walk back with them, I rubbed my aching neck. My mind struggled for a moment, trying to come up with something to say. “Did you get all the supplies passed out?”
“Yeah. It took less than twenty minutes to empty all three caches.”
I blinked. “But there were hundreds of guns. There was food, and tools, and…”
“I know,” Ken interrupted, “but have you looked at how many people there are out there?”
We stopped as we re-entered the clearing at the back of the house.
“Take a look for a minute,” Jim advised, waiting beside Ken as I scanned the area. Amber’s was a huge backyard by the standards that I had been used to in the Houston suburbs. Nearly three acres of cleared land. I tried counting the number of people in an area roughly equivalent to a tenth of the yard-just over two hundred. Multiplied by ten, that gave us more than two thousand people.
“Good Lord! So many people-” I stopped when I saw Jim shaking his head. “What?”
“Rejas had nearly seven thousand people this mornin’.” His words put the crowd in proper perspective. “This ain’t near crowded enough for my likin’.”
Undoubtedly, hundreds, possibly even thousands, were still scattered throughout the woods, unaware of our grouping at the homestead. But as much as I might wish otherwise, I couldn’t believe that more than four thousand of our people were wandering around out there. Our dead must number in the hundreds, at least. The rest had to still be in town, either fighting, or captured if Larry’s army had been instructed to take prisoners.
“Oh, my God.” I turned to Ken. “We’ve got to go back. There are too many still back there.”
The faint sounds of gunfire from the direction of town punctuated my words, but Ken shook his head. “With what? We’ve got a couple of thousand people. Some are wounded; some are kids. Altogether, I’d guess we have about seventeen hundred, at the most. Seventeen hundred civilians with whatever guns and ammunition we could give them. A few had time to bring their own or take weapons off of the soldiers they killed. But still, I estimate that less than half of us have any kind of firearm.”
I looked again and saw that he was right. We had concentrated on hiding most of our weapons and supplies before Larry’s troops got into town. “We’ve still got to do something! Send back small armed groups to help gather more of our people.”
Bowing to his experience as a vet, Jim turned to Ken. “Would that work?”
Ken shrugged. “It’s a gamble. We could just as easily end up losing whoever goes back, and their equipment, and still not get anyone out of town.”
“What if we send out some groups to help get people out, and others to get to some of the stashes where we hid guns and supplies? At least some of them are bound to get through! And we’d be bringing back enough supplies to make it worth the risk.” I was nearly pleading.
Jim turned from me to Ken, and back again. “I don’t know. I don’t like leavin’ folks in town any more than you do, Leeland. But I got a bunch of ‘em here an’ now that I’m responsible for, too.”
Afraid he was going to waffle, I made a stand. “I’m going back. If I have to do it alone, I will, but I’m going back. There are too many people back there.”
The mayor opened his mouth to protest, but stopped when he realized there really wasn’t anything he could do to stop me.
Ken made it worse. “I guess you’ll need someone to show you the back trails again.” He looked at Jim. “I’m going with him.”
Mayor Kelland’s brows tried to reach his hairline. “But I thought you were the one that was against all this!”
“I just said it was a gamble.” He paused as if to gather his thoughts. “I figure our people’s lives are worth the risk.”
Jim blew out a deep breath. “Okay. Ya’ll gather up as many as you think you’ll need. I’m gonna get the rest of these folks deeper into the woods.” He turned back to me. “Nice as this place may be, it’s just too close to town. Sooner or later that bunch’ll find it, an’ I’d rather not be here when they do.”
“Where are you headed?”
He turned to Ken. “You know the old Vogler fertilizer plant?”
“Yeah. That’s a bit of a walk, isn’t it?”
“Yep. But it’s also on the other side of Cypress Creek and the reservoir. I’d like to see ‘em try to get a tank in there if we rig the bridge with some of that dynamite ya’ll had stashed out back.” He grabbed my arm. “I ain’t gonna complain about you not sharin’ that before now, since it all works out in our favor this time around. But you ain’t got nothin’ else like that hidden around here, do ya?”
“Sorry,” I told him, “you got it all this time.”
“Well, it was worth askin’.” He looked disappointed. “Don’t guess it matters that much, I understand that you can do some real nasty things with fertilizer, if you know how to mix the ingredients right.”
I snapped my fingers as an idea formed. “Did Wayne Kelley make it out?”
Ken nodded. “I think so. I’m pretty sure I saw him helping with the wounded.”
The mayor chuckled. “Yeah, I guess a chemistry teacher might come in handy, huh?”
“Especially with some of the recipes I have in my library. Give me a couple of minutes to get the right books, and he ought to be able to mix up enough mayhem to… well, enough to stop a tank!”
“By damn, that’s the best news I heard all night!” Jim headed to the house at a brisk pace. “C’mon, fellas, we got things to do.”