Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

“Okay, I guess,” said Andy. “You might want to pay special attention to Ry. He’s not gonna like the news.”

“I know.”

“He’s got a real soft spot for you, T. And he thinks Connor walks on water.”

“Yeah, that’s true. Well, Ryan’s just gonna have to face up to the fact that Connor’s not coming back.”

“Yeah.”

“Five years, Andy.”

“I know.”

“It’s obvious he’s not gonna be part of the future of this place.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Let me handle Ryan.”

“It’s not gonna be easy to convince him, T.”

“I know. He thinks Mac can walk on water.”

“Don’t hold that against him. I thought the same when I was his age. It’s funny, you know? It’s not hard to think of the bastard waltzing up to the fire at any moment.”

“You think so?” There was a hopeful lilt in her voice.

“No—it’s been too long. I do miss the sonofabitch.”

Terry slid closer to Andy, letting her hand fall to his inner thigh. She gave him a tender squeeze and faced him in the firelight, gray eyes shining. She giggled like a schoolgirl. “We’d certainly have some explaining to do if he ever came back, wouldn’t we?”

Andy smiled, sharing the terrible irony of the moment. He had given the matter some thought and he answered her in a serious tone. “I dunno, T, I think Mac might understand. It’s just that, c’mon, we’ve waited five years and it’s not like he doesn’t know where to find us. He’s the one who set up this contingency plan bullshit anyway. To my way of thinking, it’d be better if you ended up with me and not some complete stranger.” He rubbed his hands together and stood. He bent over and gently kissed her forehead, turned toward the cottage and took a step.

“Hey,” she said, stopping his progress. She quickly drained her glass and held it out to him. “How about bringing me another. There seems to be a hole in this glass.”

He laughed deeply, the rumbling sound speaking of happiness and a bright future. “It’ll be my pleasure, T.”

“Who the hell are you?” asked Major O’Malley. He had assumed a defensive position against the sidewall near the front doors of the Hall of Fame. Captain Daubney and three other men served as the major’s primary backup. Phoenix Justice and Larry Reed stood about twenty-five feet from the entrance, unimpressed by the weaponry aimed at them. About fifteen feet behind them, the horsebacked entourage held their positions; the horses impossibly still except for an occasional swish of a tail. The cavalry held their weapons loosely, the barrels pointing down.

“My name’s Phoenix Justice. I’m the governor of Ohio and Cleveland’s my town. The people of Ohio voted me into office. This is Larry Reed. He’s the sheriff of all territories under my jurisdiction.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes, that’s right,” answered Phoenix as if talking with a slow-witted child. “We’re unarmed, as you can see. We come in peace.”

Major O’Malley did not respond, waiting instead for additional input from Phoenix. He wasn’t disappointed.

“We’d like to determine who you are and what are your intentions,” offered Phoenix. He was a study in calm confidence, exuding a charismatic energy that demanded attention. It was difficult to ignore his curly red hair and bright green eyes. The man was well over six feet tall and had a broad muscular build that suggested a coiled power waiting to happen. He was young, probably closer to twenty-five than thirty, and he looked like the epitome of health.

“I see,” answered the major. Larry Reed matched the calm confidence of Phoenix. The major studied Larry Reed and thought he had the look of an ex-marine, maybe an MP. He noticed the natural athleticism of the man and the unmistakable bearing of a warrior. Reed was the type of person that the major had long ago discovered that you dealt with very carefully, that is, if you survived his initial onslaught. Reed kept in excellent shape and was fond of displaying his physique. For this occasion, he wore a bright white tank top and crisply ironed fatigue pants. He was around forty-five years old, but hadn’t lost any of the ropey muscles adorning his six-and-a-half foot 250-pound frame. His square face showed his age, wrinkles surrounding darkly hooded eyes that had seen their fair share of violence. Neither man appeared to be armed.

“My name is Major Michael O’Malley of the United States Army. I am under strict orders to take control of this building for the duration of our assignment. You are not yet welcome here, but I’ll give you an opportunity to vacate the premises. You have two minutes.”

“What is your assignment, major?”

“That, Mr. Justice, is on a need to know basis.”

“I see. And it’s Governor Justice. Who might be your superior officer?”

“That is also on a need to know basis.”

“C’mon, major! You can’t expect to waltz in here under the cover of darkness and take over a building in my state without me asking a few questions.”

“You now have less than a minute to vacate the premises, sir. It’s likely we may approach you at a later date if it’s determined we need your help.”

“How many men are with you, major? Where’d you come from? Are you military personnel? What are your intentions in my city?” Phoenix gave Larry Reed an almost imperceptible nod and Reed turned to his men as if to check on them. Major O’Malley noticed the subtle gestures and provided updates to his own men.

“Echo merge one. Alpha prep. Echo merge one. Alpha prep.”

Captain Daubney and his three men shifted weapons into a more aggressive attitude. Behind them, Colonel Starkes strolled calmly from the entrance to the Hall of Fame. When she spoke, her voice had the crisp edge and experience of comfortable command. “Thanks for the introduction, major. Right now, Phoenix, Cleveland’s under my jurisdiction. You’ll probably need to absorb that fact real quick.”

“Are you ready, Marty?”

“Almost, Mac. Give me a minute.”

“We’re moving out shortly.”

“Copy that.” Marty slipped another book into his backpack. He had found several in a small bookcase in the spare bedroom. He finished his packing and turned to glance toward the front of the house where Rhonda was looking out the door. He whispered to Connor. “You, know, Mac, that’s one fine-looking woman. I—”

“Leave it. That’s an order.”

Marty blinked away the dreaminess from his eyes and nodded. “Understood, Mac. Sorry… really, I am. It’s just that she has a certain something, doesn’t she? And it’s been awhile.”

“Yeah, Marty, I hear you.” Connor rolled his blanket and strapped it to his backpack.

Marty shouldered his pack, picked up his rifle, and headed for the front door, brushing gently past Rhonda. “Excuse me, ma’am.”

“Sure, Marty.”

He settled onto the porch steps and inspected his weapon for the fifth time that day. Unsatisfied, he pulled a blue cloth from his shirt pocket and wiped the invisible dust from the barrel.

Inside the house, Roger exited from the back bedroom, feeling surprisingly refreshed and strong even after a fitful night of sleep. He was wearing the same worn army pants that he wore the night before with a rugged brown sweatshirt with the sleeves ripped off. He calmly scanned the room and approached Rhonda who had turned to face him. He hugged her fiercely and made an exaggerated sniff in the air. “Do I smell breakfast?” he asked.

“Yeah, you do,” answered Rhonda. “Connor Mac was nice enough to make breakfast for everyone.”