Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

“Yes. What’s your name, mister?”

“I asked if it’s just the two of you.”

“Yeah, I know you did. And I asked how many you have.”

Connor studied the two men. The father appeared to be somewhere in his early forties. His light red beard was speckled with gray, hinting at the distinguished older gentleman he would become in another decade or two. His eyes sparkled with intelligence and a sense of impishness. His son was a study in nervousness. He was a young man, but barely beyond boyhood—Connor guessed his age at no more than twenty and probably closer to eighteen—and he had the same intelligent persona as his father without the veiled mischief. The two men sat astride horses that appeared to be well-tended and healthy animals, though Connor admittedly didn’t know much about horses.

“My name’s Connor Mac,” he said, moving slowly to the top of the porch steps. “Are you here peacefully, McLeod?”

“Of course, Connor Mac. Like I said, we’ve enjoyed the scent of your cooking for the last mile and I thought you might be open for a trade.”

Connor rested his M-4 against the porch railing and descended the stairs slowly. He was impressed by the unarmed man’s calm. “You know, McLeod, it takes some guts coming in here unarmed.”

“Less than you might think,” the man argued.

“You ever heard of surveillance or reconnaissance?”

“Sure. It has its uses.”

“But not now?” asked Connor.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I dunno. Maybe sometimes Jason and I simply like to stir things up a little. You know… for the pure entertainment value.”

“Is that a fact?”

“You’re grin tells me you might have some idea what I’m talking about, Connor Mac.”

Connor laughed as he reached the bottom of the stairs. “I am unarmed, McLeod. How about you get off your horse and let me check you for weapons. Then, maybe we’ll shake hands and see where it goes from here. Jason, if you don’t mind, please do the same.”

“Phoenix! Cease-fire! Sergeant Reed, halt offensive actions! Hold fire! That’s an order!” yelled Major O’Malley from inside the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. His strong voice boomed off the walls, echoing.

Any man outside that took a shot toward the Hall of Fame was quickly dealt with in cold, crisp fashion. Three horses went down in quick succession as their riders took shots toward the Hall of Fame. One gunman, thinking he was safe to fire from behind a Volkswagen, ducked underneath when a barrage of bullets danced at his feet. Two of Phoenix’s snipers on the warehouse roof across the street abandoned their weapons when targeted by multiple bullets piercing their rifle support bags. A shot across the bow, in sniper terms. Within seconds, the men near the entrance sensed they were not on solid offensive footing and sought cover.

A few final shots rang out to the right of the entrance. Phoenix’s remaining men on horseback shifted. They sought defensive positions much further from the entrance and behind a rusting heap of a J. B. Hunt tractor-trailer. Three horses were down near Phoenix and Larry Reed, their riders scrambling behind cover of decorative planters and a small concrete fountain. Frantically, Larry Reed issued orders while Phoenix kept his head low and tight to the concrete abutment next to the entrance doors. Larry Reed spoke urgently into a handheld and Phoenix made abrupt, new hand movements to speed up the pace. The gunfire quickly ceased, aside from the lung-struck gasping of a horse near the concrete barriers.

“Madam President?” yelled Larry Reed.

Colonel Starkes along with the major’s team were tucked in optimal position near the stairwell ready for any assault, but Larry Reed’s voice carried.

“None of your men are dead yet, sergeant. She’s here. What do you want?” asked Major O’Malley.

“Um, Governor Justice wishes to apologize sincerely for placing you in harm’s way. He asks that you agree to a complete cease fire so he might speak with you.”

“Agreed,” said Major O’Malley, “Vacate immediately and reconvene at nine-thirty tomorrow morning. He may be able to speak with the president at that time. Understood?”

The murmurs of many voices beyond the entrance were trying to figure out what had just happened. Major O’Malley and Colonel Starkes approached the entrance for a better view. Larry Reed was speaking to Phoenix and shaking his head. Phoenix was not happy.

“Oh, and Sergeant Reed?”

Larry Reed stopped and turned, as did Phoenix.

“Yeah, major?”

“Make sure to bring both RPGs from your current assault teams to the meeting tomorrow and forgo any further assault plans. I can’t afford to have even one of my ’copters shot down—I promise that our reaction to another assault will be deadly.”

“Yes, sir.”

The tactical chatter on the radio simmered down. Colonel Starkes relaxed, as did the major. Across the way, Larry Reed hesitated, before making his way back toward town with Phoenix. The radio chatter erupted as he left Phoenix’s side and returned to within fifteen feet of the entrance. He was unarmed.

“Major?”

“Yes, Sergeant Reed?”

“As an expression of sincere apology, Governor Justice would like to invite the president, you and your men to a banquet tomorrow evening in her honor.”

“Huh. That’s very generous. Funny how he can’t talk.”

Phoenix heard the jibe and rushed to stand next to Larry Reed. He appeared no worse for wear.

“Madam President?”

“I’m speaking for her now, Mr. Justice. How can I help you?”

“Please call me Phoenix. And, I’d be honored if the president, you and your men would join me tomorrow. And again, I sincerely apologize for my actions. They were a bit premature and in bad taste.”

“Well, Phoenix, that’s a very generous offer. I’ll pass along your invitation to the president. We’ll send someone with an answer later this evening pending any agenda changes that might occur.”

“Yes… sir,” said Phoenix. The struggle to mouth those two words was apparent.

“Dismissed.”

“Um, yes… sir.” Phoenix scanned the area around him and his eyes fell upon the dead horses. “I’ll send some unarmed men back here to pick up this meat.” Phoenix walked stiffly to the golf cart with Larry Reed at his heels. He left without looking back.

Kevin, Ryan, Sandy, and several other adult members of the MacMillen clan sat around the blazing fire with Andy and Terry. Everyone present was curious about the potential news that warranted the impromptu clan meeting. Most had been sleeping and were groggy, but despite their varying states of consciousness, each had remembered to exit the cottage with a weapon. Some had rifles, some shotguns, and others had handguns—there were enough weapons to repel a small army. The fire blazed brightly with random dancing reds and oranges compliments of Kevin’s careful tending. The children were safely sleeping inside while two adults, Cameron and Rossi, stood alert and armed with shotguns near the front and rear doors. As usual, Kirsten Huberman and Toby Geiser served as roaming perimeter sentries on the clan property from nine in the evening to five in the morning and were not present. The pair, rarely seen separated during the daytime, thrived in serving the clan as night watchers.

Terry and Andy sat on the wooden bench near the fire as the rest of the clan found comfortable spots. When all were settled, Terry motioned for attention. A clan meeting was convened.

“Okay. C’mon… official clan business. Let’s get started. It’s about time I let you all in on a little secret.”