Hardesty, Oklahoma
Cool water lapped at her feet as Ann dipped them down into the lake that the wooden pier hung across. A shadow crossed over her and she looked up, her eyes protected from the sun by her aviator sunglasses, and watched a heron swoop down and snatch a still wriggling fish from the lake waters.
“Huh,” Gregory grunted next to her. “I didn’t know there was fish in this lake.”
She swished her feet around before responding, “Yeah. Maybe one of us should get a pole. It would be nice to provide for ourselves for once.”
“I’ll probably end up getting the hook caught in my ear.”
“But you would look good with an earring,” She jeered.
Gregory smiled at her and splashed her feet. She retaliated by splashing back.
After Washington fell, what felt like a lifetime ago already, the Air Force was told to scatter to the wind and lay low. What planes could be landed on carriers did so and joined the Presidents fleet; but their A-10’s needed a full mile long runway for take-offs and landings so they were among those who scattered. Most of them got out okay, probably because the Druidth were too busy securing the city than to worry about a handful of planes escaping. Planes that were not attacking, didn’t have anywhere to go, and it was likely that other Druidth forces were going to capture or destroy them in a few days anyway.
This line of thinking held true for many as one by one they were either blotted from the sky or caught on the ground by foot soldiers. But not for the Asp team. The pair had made an effort not to fly too close to heavily populated centers; landing only at municipal airports when they needed fuel, food, or rest. Until they came upon an airfield ran by a farmer’s co-op in Hardesty. There they found a potato barn where they could hide their aircraft. A nice farmer by the name of O’Donnell and his family took them in and sheltered them for the past three weeks in exchange for extra help on the farm. Half the country was starving thanks to interruptions of the rail lines and highways, to speak nothing of the fuel shortages, but here they were eating well every night.
Today though… today was their day.
“Hey,” Gregory asked. “Do you know what day it is?”
“July…something.”
“Screw it. Not important anyway.”
Settling into a comfortable silence, the two pilots sat next to each other on the pier and enjoyed the cool shade of the hot day. Ann couldn’t help but notice how quiet it was these days without the noise of the highway, or jets passing over. The nights were unbelievably clear as well thanks to the lack of light pollution from the cities that mostly went dark. She bet the heat was unbearable there, but knew winters were going to be unnaturally harsh.
When the sun dipped below the horizon, Gregory collected the handful of empty beer bottles to be reused later on as Ann folded the blanket.
On the way back to the house, Gregory held up a full bottle. “One left, you want to share it?”
She grabbed the bottle, slick with condensation, and popped the cork. Taking a hearty swig of the home brew, she swallowed and handed it back. One thing people were going to do, no matter the situation, was get drunk. Since the panhandle of Oklahoma was almost entirely farming there was a surplus of grain and corn with which to make alcohol. A few farmers even took to growing hops and barely just for their beers which, in Ann’s opinion, were far better than anything you would find in stores before the war. This one was extra smooth and full bodied.
Kerosene lanterns lit the front porch in the darkness and showed them the way back. Larry O’Donnell, the eldest of the family, sat in the dim light, whittling a block of wood. He looked up and nodded as Ann and Gregory climbed the three steps, his sawed off double barrel shotgun sat just within reach and propped against the side of his chair. When they had passed he turned his head and spit a wad of tobacco juice into the darkness. In the daylight you could see a rock stained brown from years of spitting.
In the large family room just to the right of the door the rest of the O’Donnell’s played a bored game in the faint light of the lanterns. The two daughters and eldest son sat around a wooden coffee table and played while Julie, the matriarch, worked on a needlepoint and Lucas, the patriarch, read the locally printed paper which contained this week’s almanacs. Truly a picture out of the turn of the last century.
“Y’all can leave those bottles in the kitchen. I’ll get to them in the morning,” Julie said with a smile.
Gregory carried them off while Ann said, “Thanks, Julie.”
“Don’t forget tomorrow’s Monday,” Lucas announced from behind the paper. “The corn should be coming in any time now and it’ll be all hands when it does.”
“Yes, Sir. I’ll be sure to finish fixing the wagon tomorrow.” Gregory, it turns out, was quite the mechanic. All Ann was useful for was an extra pair of hands.
Together they bid their hosts ‘Good Night’ and headed down the hallway to the back room they shared. Again, lit with only a kerosene lantern, the room was decorated with a bed and dresser. A small bathroom, which ran off the large cistern Larry, Lucas, and Gregory rigged up on the roof, cut into the wall completed the guest room.
Ann stepped into the bathroom and disrobed, using a washcloth to wipe herself down before redressing in an unflattering flannel nightgown. When she returned Gregory was already under the covers. It was unusual, probably illegal, for a flight team to be involved romantically but Ann’s heart fluttered when she saw his bare back in the flickering light.
Sliding under the blankets herself she was surprised when Gregory, not her, slid closer to her. Wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders, he responded by laying his head on her collarbone, his hair tickling her chin.
It was well into their second week on the run when their relationship went from professional to personal. Huddling in an equipment shed from a massive thunderstorm that almost made her crash, Gregory was the first to put his arms around her. Undoubtedly it was to keep her warm because she was soaked from the deluge but Ann felt something change between them. The next time they landed she made the effort to snuggle up against him and by the time the landed in Hardesty they were already sleeping together.
Perhaps it was because they were both alone in the world, or maybe there were genuine feelings there. Ann didn’t care, she loved him.
As if he was reading her mind, Gregory leaned up and kissed her on the lips. Warm and soft, she leaned into it. When it was over she replaced her arms and soon she felt the steady rhythm of Gregory’s breathing as he fell asleep.
Nights were quiet here, warm but comfortable. Work was hard but satisfying. And the food was fantastic, especially when it was grown with her own hands.
Soon, she drifted off into a comfortable sleep herself. Her last thoughts of the night went to her plane and at that moment she didn’t care if it ever flew again.
Frederick, Colorado
Grateful for the chance to finally shower, James turned off the tap when the timer rang after the five minutes allotted had expired. Barely long enough to scrub the slick dried sweat from his skin, time being a soldier had trained him to put in shampoo and rub it in before he got in. His scalp stung a bit but felt a lot better after weeks of sweat and dead skin build up were finally scrubbed away.
Dying off with a towel, he had enough time to scrub his armpits and crotch twice, James contemplated turning the water back on for a few minutes but someone coughing outside the stall alerted him that others were waiting; and he did not fancy being drug out of the stall by the MP’s that stood waiting for someone who broke the rules. It had happened a few times already and everyone knew selfishness would get them nowhere.
He parted the curtain and walked past the waiting line of boys who just returned from Loveland to his gym locker where a clean uniform waited from him. After dressing he made his way to the cafeteria to grab something to eat, steering far away from the science labs in the back of the school were serving as infirmary. When the school was quiet enough screams could be heard coming from that way. Screams that haunted his dreams.
One place you definitely didn’t want to go was the dirt parking lot across from the school that the town had bought from a farmer a few years ago when the incoming students didn’t have enough parking spaces. The barren dirt lot was now serving as a grave yard and was quickly filling up with wooden Crosses and a handful of Stars of David. Douglas was out there now, killed in the last attack in Loveland that finally pushed the 33rd out of the city.
Now it was only a matter of time before the Druidth either came North from Denver or South from Loveland to finish them off — everyone knew it and James could feel it in the tension in the air.
Getting his food and sitting down across from Emily and Nick at the same time that Adam sat down. James tucked in as Adam grimaced.
“Chili and Cornbread again,” He groaned. “Why is it always chili and cornbread?”
“Well, this area of Colorado is suited to growing either beef or corn,” Nick answered. “Cornbread needs cornmeal, a leavening, milk, and eggs. A lot less than regular bread.”
“The beans and spices come from around here too,” James continued with a mouth of the slightly spicy stew. “They use what they can get these days.” Even if chili and cornbread is all they ate a week before they left and all they ate since they returned.
Near the office O’Quinn could be seen arguing with Knudson. About what James couldn’t tell.
“So, anyone got plans tonight?” Adam asked as he, begrudgingly, ate.
“I’m going home to see my Mom,” Nick announced.
Emily said, “Same. James?”
“No clue. But remember we’re on duty tomorrow morning.” James’ night looked to be, appreciatively, boring. Perhaps he would grab a book from the library. Or maybe he would go see Candace as well.
Dinner came and went and, after the rest of the team left, James found himself doing just what he thought he would do: feet propped up on a couch reading a book in the still calm library. Here Mr. Freeman, the aging Hippy librarian, still maintained the place in his colorful tie-dye shirts. A shock of white hair and white soul patch were all that remained of his wilder youth. James liked him; Freeman’s friendly, patient pacifism was always a breath of fresh air and he was always one the students could count on to talk to without fear of repercussions like with the councilors.
“Here ya’ go,” Freeman said to someone. “The best camera we have. It’s a little heavy but that means it’s just more durable. I expect that durability would be a selling point for you.”
“Thanks,” A familiar, female, voice said. “And extra memory sticks?”
Looking up from his book, a collection of pictures of exotic locales around the world, to see Rebecca come walking out of the AV room as Freeman handed her a cloth zip-up pouch full of memory sticks; her signature red hair giving her away before she even turned around. She held a grey camera with a wide lens and a boom microphone jutting from the front.
She turned around and bounced in place upon seeing him stretched out on the couch. “James!” Her lips pulled into a smile that reached her eyes and he couldn’t help but smiling back. “What are you doing here?”
Silently, he held up the book.
“Ooh, mind if I join you?” Rebecca didn’t wait for an answer and dropped into one of the armchairs across from him. “So it’s nice to see you without a gun in your hands.”
“Yeah, I’m kind of hiding out. I saw O’Quinn arguing with Knudson and if he saw me not doing anything he would ‘volunteer’ me for something unpleasant.”
“Oh? Still?”
“Yeah. Any idea what they were arguing about?”
She extended a solitary finger and dramatically pointed it at herself. “Bingo.”
“You?” He asked incredulously. “Why?”
Rebecca squirmed in her seat and fiddled with her camera before answering. Shyly, she said, “Because I talked to the Colonel about joining the unit as a reporter…” When James just stared at her, she continued. “Okay technically the proper term is ‘War Correspondent’ but it’s the same thing, really. And I wanted to help out, do something besides sit around and make cornbread.”
“Rebecca, it’s not fun out there. You know this. You were in Loveland with us.”
“Yeah, I know—”
His book forgotten, he leaned forward. “What good could you do?”
“A lot of people still have radios, and some places still have TV’s and the Internet. There’s Radio Free America and all that.” She looked down and picked at a bandage wrapped around her thumb. “I just thought that if I could show people that someone was still fighting, that not everyone had given up, maybe I could make a difference.”
“A difference,” James mimed and shook his head. “There’s no making a difference. Not against the Drids.”
A silent moment passed while James refused to look her in the eye.
Finally, when the silence was too heavy, it was Rebecca who broke it. “I would say that’s pretty pessimistic for a soldier. But given everything you’ve been through, I could see why you feel that way.” He snapped his head around in the blink of an eye and stared her down. “Yeah,” She said with a shrug. “I know. Both of your parents, your girlfriend, and several other friends too.”
All he could manage was a dry, “How?”
“I’m hot,” She said with another shrug — but only in a way that said she knew, not that it had gone to her head. “And people like to talk. ‘Hey, look at James. He’s a sad sack, wanna’ sleep with me’?”
“Who said that?”
Her face scrunched up in thought. “Ray. The short guy with an attitude problem.”
“Right…” Fury boiled up from deep within.
Sensing something was amiss Rebecca lifted her camera and aimed it at James. “So, Private First Class James Cook, what can you tell me about…anything?”
Looking away he said, “Not now.”
“C’mon. Tell me, in your own words, what happened.” She smiled again from behind the camera, this time it was soft and sweet. Trusting.
He caved. He caved and told her everything, speaking not to the camera but to Rebecca, the camera just capturing his words. Starting from the first attack when his parents died through when Kelsey died when the Druidth returned and finishing with his reasons for enlisting after Nick got his draft notice. Rebecca listened to it all, only asking questions to keep him going.
When he was through, she lowered the camera and looked at him with her blue eyes. Words escaped her and all she could do was watch him, wishing she could do something to comfort him.
Instead, James felt his eyes get heavy and noticed he had been talking longer than he thought. Standing he bid Rebecca a good night and went to his squads barracks in one of the converted classrooms.
Lying down on the firm mattress that was supplied by the Army, sleep raced to him. Before it took him, his last thought was of Rebecca Norris.
Frederick, Colorado
By the time the sun rose and blessed the planet with its warm light the next morning Rebecca had all but decided what she should do. Actually… it was more about what she had to do.
Rolling off the couch in the naturally dark AV room she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and pulled the chair out from under the door knob that acted as a sort of lock. No, it wouldn’t deter a group but it would certainly stop one or two; and she was not going to be caught alone in a dark room again. Last time she had Griffin to save her.
The smell of weak coffee hit her nose had she saw a pot brewing at the front desk where the books were checked out; probably made from recycled grounds. Filling a styrofoam cup she took a sip and winced at the bitter liquid, half patting herself on the back for knowing it was weak and half wishing for cream and sugar.
Let’s wish for iced cappuccino while we’re at it.
Grabbing her new camera and throwing the strap of her yellow messenger bag over her shoulder she stepping into the main hall that bisected the school, leading from the cafeteria/commons room down past the two gymnasiums and ending at the science rooms. The smell of breakfast cooking made her stomach rumble but soon plummeted as she rounded the corner and saw the line of dozens of uniformed soldiers standing in line.
A pair of boys, probably Middle School kids, turned and winked at her. She scanned the room searching for the familiar faces of third platoon, James’ platoon, but couldn’t find any. Downing her coffee and dropping the cup in a trash can that was lacking a bag, Rebecca followed the hallway around to the athletic fields expecting them to be running drills.
Walking past the floor to ceiling length windows which magnified the sun and heated the hallway to outside temperatures so she was ready for the heat as soon as she stepped outside. Maybe it was a little cooler outside than in the hallway.
Rounding the portable classroom trailers she found part of the answer to her question: most of the 33rd Colorado was on the field, digging up the dirt and filling sandbags which were loaded onto the back of pickup trucks and driven off, always in the same direction. Those that weren’t filling sand bags were stripping down and cleaning large weapons or loading magazines with loose ammunition. All of this under hundreds of square feet of camouflage netting strung across most of the field. Down on the far end twenty or so kids, literally kids no older than ten or twelve, wore brightly colored shirts and played soccer.
“Excuse me,” She asked one of the soldiers, a fair skinned Mexican man who was probably a senior. “Do you know where third platoon is?”
“Which one?” He asked, stacking a pair of sandbags on a nearly full truck. She gave James’ unit and he shook his head. “They’re out on Twenty-Five; all of Jackal Company is out there. Along with Hotel, India, and… Golf I think.”
“Doing what?” She blinked into the bright sunlight that came through the netting.
“Putting these in place,” He slapped down another sandbag and closed the tailgate. “Other than that, I couldn’t tell you.”
Rebecca thanked him and ran around to the front, asking a ride from the driver who let her ride in the passenger seat of the newish Ford single cab. The battery was charged by inertia from the tires which allowed them to run the air conditioner without extra fuel consumption. The sweat on her forehead had just finished drying by the time they stopped at the unloading point near the overpass that lead away from Highway Twenty-Five to Frederick.
A truck stop and diner sat on the far side with a handful of derelict semi-trucks that made her depressed to look at in the parking lot. Soldiers came forward and started to unload the sandbags as she got out and looked around. Teams of men were breaking holes in the asphalt with pickaxes at even, checker pattern, intervals. Behind them more soldiers placed round objects in the holes and covered them carefully with sand which someone else came by and spray painted black.
Still more stacked the sandbags along the lip of the bridge to form a chest high barrier, under the bridge in a high wall with parapets, along the on and off ramps in waves and in the hills on both sides. There she saw James and Nick consulting a piece of paper and pointing a group carrying weapons and ammunition canisters, like the ones she was stacking when she first officially met him, onto the bridge.
Rebecca knew what was happing was important so she raised her camera and began filming starting with James and working outward, capturing everything. Across the bridge were a half dozen metal tubes on stands with a group of three by each, one standing up and looking through something while the others worked knobs based on what he, or in one case she, said.
M2 Browning Machine Guns were attached at the crests of the ramps along with canisters for them.
She panned the lens out when it was suddenly snatched from her hand. Rebecca jumped and saw Sergeant O’Quinn standing over her, a grimace filling his face. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Filming,” She replied. “I thought that it might be important to capture this… What is this anyway?”
“Preparations,” His thick accent rolled his R’s. “You’re not supposed to be here. And don’t tell me you’re attached to the 33rd, I would have been notified.”
Excuses escaped her and all she could must was an unsure, “Uhm…”
O’Quinn handed her camera back. “Welcome to Jackal. I’ll inform the Colonel of your decision.”
“Sergeant, preparations for what?” She called after him.
O’Quinn turned and said, “War.”