Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

“Thank you, major.”

Colonel Starkes assessed the room and spotted the pile of maps and papers resting on top of a filing cabinet. “Let’s study those maps again. Bring ’em over to the table.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“That’s what I’ll be doing when Phoenix and Reed enter. I’ll be actively engaged in conversation over that map, understood? You’ll make the introductions.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll pick up Phoenix and Reed outside the door after the captain brings them up.”

“Okay.”

The major exited the main hallway door, noting Chad and Burroughs standing guard. Down the hall, GT and Scott approached along with Captain Daubney. Shamus, at the far end, spoke to Edgars and Rice. Captain Daubney approached Major O’Malley.

“Major?”

“Yes, captain? We set?”

“All set, sir. Area is secure. Phoenix Justice and Larry Reed are at the front entrance.

“Bring ’em up, captain,” said Major O’Malley.

“Yes, sir.”

Captain Daubney left to gather the guests, bringing along Edgars and Rice. Chad and Burroughs met the stern gaze of Captain Daubney as he prepared to leave. They each knew the weight of protecting their colonel had fallen onto them at this juncture. And, if it was possible, they straightened their ramrod posture in preparation for the upcoming proceedings. Though admittedly, each felt uncomfortable without at least their sidearm.

“Major?” said the colonel in a raised voice to attract his attention.

Quickly Major O’Malley reentered the room and came to her side.

“Ma’am?”

“Has Nicole seen you in full uniform?” Colonel Starkes leaned in close so as not to be overheard.

“No, ma’am.”

“Make sure she does—later. I know how Nicole likes her men in uniform.”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am,” said Major O’Malley, blushing. He left to await the guests at the door.

“An excellent breakfast, Connor Mac.”

“Glad you like it, McLeod.”

“I discovered a serious hot kick to it that I certainly didn’t expect, but found worthwhile. I see you’re not shy ’bout eating goose eggs.”

“Yeah. A little bonus I discovered. Snuff likes it too.”

“Snuff?”

“My primary backup the past four months—can put a bullet up a gnat’s ass at 300 yards.”

“That right?”

“It is, John.”

Cautiously, Rhonda poked her head out the front door. Connor waved her over.

“Hey Rhonda. C’mon out, we’re good for the moment. Please leave your weapon on the table by the door.”

“Okay.”

She disappeared for a moment and returned, crossing the porch and striding up to Connor. She faced the new men and smiled.

“Rhonda, please say hello to John McLeod and his crew.”

John McLeod and Jason promptly stood at her approach. BB, Jude and Jackson were already standing near the porch table gathering breakfast from the pot. Connor made the introductions.

“Rhonda, this is John McLeod and that’s his son Jason. The big guy over there in the long coat is called BB. Next to ’im is Jude. The guy with the long hair is Jackson. We’re all just getting to know each other. Gentlemen, this is Rhonda McIntyre.”

Each man graciously acknowledged her presence, careful not to stare too long at both her beauty and bruises. She gave a gentle wave to each, smiling, while her eyes drifted toward the old Ford rusting in the yard. She relaxed at the sight of Roger exiting the vehicle. Sensing the slight sounds in the yard to the left, John McLeod and his men each took note of Roger’s movement, catching sight of the dark-haired man exiting with his weapon in a safe position.

“I knew it!” said McLeod, pleased.

With a gentle wave, Connor summoned them in. “Roger, we’re good. C’mon in and say hello.”

Once on the porch, Roger hugged Rhonda without losing sight of the new men.

“How ’bout you set the gun down inside, huh? You’re making McLeod and his men a bit nervous.”

“Oh, right. Yes, sir.” Roger rested his weapon near the front door.

“Guys, this is Roger McIntyre.”

The men shook hands by way of introduction. Roger returned to Rhonda’s side, they excused themselves, and reentered the house. The newcomers had noticed his fierce demeanor and protectiveness toward Rhonda. McLeod studied their retreating figures with interest.

“I see the rats were a little bit busy before they were taken care of, Connor Mac.”

Connor nodded. “Yeah, John. Their son Cody was about to take matters into his own hands when I found him. Helped them out a bit.”

“I see that you did.”

“Speak of the devil.”

Cody climbed the porch steps to stand by Connor. Wide-eyed, he shifted his gaze from the men to his parent’s entry into the home, and back to Connor. His weapon was held casually, non-threatening.

“Mr. Connor Mac, I saw your signal.”

“Um, yeah. Relax, Cody. We’re good. These guys just want to talk and maybe trade. Guys, this is Cody McIntyre.”

“Hi, Cody,” said John McLeod. The rest of his men nodded in greeting, but Cody wasn’t satisfied with that. He walked to each man, expecting a handshake as a more formal greeting.

BB smiled in Connor’s direction at the young boy’s effort.

“Cody, go inside and check in with your mom and dad,” said Connor.

“Okay, Mr. Connor Mac.”

John McLeod followed the conversation with interest.

“So, those three are brand new to your crew, Connor Mac? You really did just come upon them?”

Connor raised his eyebrows at the comment. “They’re not my crew.”

“It’s obvious they’ve not yet adapted to your full command structure based on their actions. Yeah, I’d say they’re very recent additions.”

“Again, McLeod, they’re not my crew.”

“Just an observation.”

“A rather military observation, in fact.”

“Maybe more just observational.”

“If you’re not military, what are you then, McLeod?”

“My dad’s a professor,” interrupted Jason. The evident pride and spontaneity was refreshing to hear.

“A what?”

“Professor. Doctorate. Psychology. NYU,” said John McLeod.

“No kidding?”

“Yeah, Connor Mac. If you can believe that. I did a good bit of psychological consulting for the DOD off and on for twelve years before the avian flu.”

“Wow. Department of Defense work, huh?”

“Yes. I’m probably still alive from of all those damn inoculations. Year after year, they kept sticking me with needles—they said to keep me safe from the diseases other men might harbor. I rather think they enjoyed sticking in those needles. Everyone in my family had to go through it, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Anyway, for the ten years before the Sickness, DOD had me in charge of team-building exercises—coursework or seminars on topics like military cohesion analysis and combat stress.”

“Pretty weird meeting someone like you nowadays, John.”

“Statistically, I’m not so sure how weird it really is. I’ve given it some thought. I think there’s a much higher survivor rate among soldiers or the inoculated, so that increases the likelihood I’m here to begin with.”

“I see. I’ve been wondering about that, too.”

“You know, one of the last courses I taught was called The Psychology of War . Pretty well read on the subject.” McLeod paused for a moment, considering what he had said earlier to Connor. “I’m sorry, Connor Mac, I probably shouldn’t have said anything about your crew you might have considered offensive.”

“Nah, that’s okay. And, c’mon John, they’re not my crew.”