William Forstchen - The Final Day

“For me as well, sir.”

The handshake turned into an embrace. Looking over Bob’s shoulder, John could see that the gathering outside the clubhouse stood silent, looking their way. John finally let go of the embrace, stepped back, came to attention, and saluted. Bob stiffened and returned the salute.

“God be with you, John.”

“And with you, sir.”

Bob started to turn away, hesitated, and then turned to face John again. “A word of warning: watch your back. Please watch your back every single minute until we meet again.”

Johnstood silent, parka hood back, hand up to shield his face from the stinging blast kicked up by the rotors as the Black Hawk lifted off. Fortunately, he could explain the tears clouding his vision as a reaction to the bitter cold.

“I think we’d better get the hell out of here!” Danny shouted as the chopper lifted heavenward. “I managed to get one of those guys a bit toasted; some of what he had to say doesn’t sound good. They’ve got four Apaches just on the other side of Linville. They can rip the shit out of us in five minutes.”

John nodded. “Order everyone to disperse, no vehicles. Just scatter out for an hour and see what happens. If we don’t get hit by then, we rendezvous and head back to Black Mountain. But it won’t happen now, today; I’m certain of that.”

“Why?”

“I trust him.”

“A general working for Bluemont?”

“No, because I trust him as a friend. He came here to warn us.”

“Of what?”

“That a war is coming.”

This is the BBC News. It is 3:00 Greenwich War Time.

As stated in prior broadcasts, all our correspondents have been ordered to leave their posts within the territories still controlled by the United States immediately. We can report that our correspondent who was briefly stationed in Bluemont was, this day, placed under arrest and is in detainment with the charge that he had disseminated false information harmful to the goal of completing the reunification of the United States east of the Mississippi River. We have no information at this time as to his safety or whereabouts.

It has been reported by other sources that the government’s efforts to regain control of territory along an east-west axis, Norfolk to Richmond and Roanoke, Virginia, has been completed with minimal loss to either side and that former local governments in the latter two areas have greeted the return of central authority. This same source that we are now relying upon added that the next step shall be establishment of a new zone of unification and security along an axis from Charleston, South Carolina, west to Atlanta and shall include urban areas amongst which are Raleigh, Charlotte, and Asheville, North Carolina. It is claimed that significant progress has already been made in those areas, though there are reports of significant resistance as well. It shall be recalled that in the spring, the central government faced a major setback in the Asheville area with the report that an entire battalion of ANR troops had been annihilated with no prisoners taken, though contacts in that region deny the reports of the refusal to take prisoners.

On other fronts, China has again issued a stern warning to Bluemont that it must regain secured control of any and all weapons of mass destruction or that China, in order to defend the security of the regions it has extended humanitarian aid to, will be forced to take, and I quote, “rapid and stern action.”

Itwas the first time John had actually been to Ernie’s house, located out on the edge of town above Ridgecrest. John could see that the well-concealed so-called Franklin Clan had built their mountain retreat with an eye toward security, though before the Day, to an untrained eye as it came into view, it would just appear to be yet another upscale mountain home built for its remarkable view of the Mount Mitchell range.

John was getting extremely weary of bouncing around in old open-air all-terrain vehicles, but today the journey was in Maury’s World War II–era jeep. It was open air, but given the history of the vehicle, it was a pleasure to experience a ride without racing to some confrontation—or, as happened in the spring, dodging the choppers that Fredericks used against the town. Nevertheless, it would eat up a couple of more gallons of their ever-diminishing gas supply. Just the day before, he had learned that the fuel within one of their remaining storage tanks had gone bad in the extremely cold weather for lack of the proper preservative. It meant that come spring planting, the few remaining functional tractors would have to burn some sort of recycled oil. He did have hopes that a team of old hobbyists living in Morganton were making progress in actually getting a couple of steam-powered machines up and running.

They turned onto Ernie’s steep driveway, Maury shifting into low four-gear drive, and ascended the short road with ease even though it was snow-covered. Ernie’s house was solidly built, most of it poured concrete, and John noted what looked like small bunkers flanking the driveway, covered by snow for now but that regardless provided clear fields of fire. The bunkers were assets that had saved Ernie’s home when the Posse had attempted to flank the town’s defenses two years ago and found themselves confronting a well-fortified position.

They pulled up to the front of the house, Ernie opening a garage door and beckoning for them to pull in and get out of the lightly falling snow.

As they climbed out of the jeep, John looked around with envy. Ernie had a full workshop in the basement garage, and not just the workshop of a casual handyman. There was arc-welding equipment, tool-and-die-making equipment, and a hoist for pulling an engine block out of a vehicle, and lining one wall were boxes of unopened rations.

Ernie noticed John looking around and smiled. “Were you a Boy Scout?” he asked.

“Yes, made Eagle.”

“Well, Boy Scout, remember, ‘Be prepared.’ My family and I took it seriously. If everyone had, we wouldn’t be in this damn mess now.”

Ernie led the way upstairs to a spacious two-story-high living room, a cheery fire roaring in the fireplace, radiating warmth. Ernie’s wife, Linda, was in the kitchen in the vast open room, looking up, smiling, and coming around the counter—carrying two cups of coffee, no less.

John sighed. “Why is it everyone seems to have a stockpile of coffee stashed away except me?”

“Again, Boy Scouts: ‘Be prepared.’”

John tried not to bristle. Ernie could be so darn annoying at times rubbing in these types of things, but on the other hand, whether the final incident with Fredericks had been a setup by Ernie or not, he had dropped the guy, and now he just might be on the verge of unlocking some deadly serious questions as a follow-up performance.

The rest of Ernie’s extended family came out from the far side of the house to meet them—his sons, grandchildren, and daughter and her reclusive author husband, the daughter offering to help John and Maury shuck off their parkas, scarves, and gloves.

Ernie produced a bottle of fine brandy from under the kitchen sink and offered to put something extra into their coffee, and though tempted, John declined. This was not a social visit; the business was dead serious, and he wanted a clear mind to evaluate why Ernie had so urgently requested his visiting the “Franklin Enclave,” as everyone now called it, a visit that few had been permitted to experience.

“Let’s head upstairs,” Linda announced without further ado and social small talk with the rest of the family. Linda had rarely attended community meetings, and John thought her to be somewhat standoffish, until Makala, after meeting her, told John she suspected Linda had Asperger’s. Unlike most, John knew what it meant, and for him it carried no negative stereotypes. An “Aspie,” John knew, might not be up to par on most social skills, especially the ability to wander a crowd, meet and greet, and engage in small talk hour after hour. They tended to be mono-focused at times to the point of absolute obsession. It might be something society might think inane—the history of pinball machines and how to repair them or nineteenth-century railroads and the hauling capability of every engine ever made back then. In fact, if he could find people with that knowledge, he would have embraced them and put them to work to actually make such a machine to use on the abandoned Norfolk and Southern rails.