William Forstchen - The Final Day

There was a side to John that only those close to him really knew how to read; at heart, he was an introvert. If given the preference for an ideal day, it would be to just spend it with family, maybe a friend or two dropping over, and then plenty of time in the evening to curl up with a good book about history. During his years as an officer, when in direct command of a platoon and then a company, he’d had to force himself to be out there, to be patient and listen, to learn how to work with others rather than just be the type to issue orders and expect others to instantly obey, even when he knew he was right.

He had walked backward into his entire role as leader of his community, never wishing it. It was why friends like Lee Robinson, Maury, and others said that he was actually highly efficient, because at heart he did not want a role that others would have greedily grabbed on to and never want to relinquish.

He had to play the role now, enduring more than one handshake that turned into an embrace of gratitude from someone who had not bathed since winter set in.

Paul and Becka had already placed the twins in the back of the Edsel, Becka claiming they were tired and that it was nap time. It finally served as an excuse for John to disenthrall from the enthusiastic crowd. He did not want them to think he was rude or standoffish—he definitely was not—but now he doubted the wisdom of agreeing to get Makala out of the house for a while in her eighth month of pregnancy with a potentially icy drive back up the mountain.

Paul and Becka were already in the backseat, huddled over their precious cargo as John helped Makala into the old Edsel after passing the word to Bradley to give a call up to the town hall at the campus to let them know they were leaving. It was a safety gesture that if they did not get back within the hour, it meant they were stuck, and it was also a holdover from not all that long ago whenever venturing out of Black Mountain, because there were still the occasional marauders lurking along the roads, ever ready to jump on a lone traveler in a highly prized functional car.

He did not add that if they were still singled out as a target there was little that could be done, and now that worry was hitting him hard. Going out on his own in a different car was one thing. Doing it this way in light of what happened was a show of courage that he had to do, but he was putting those whom he loved at risk and now just wanted to get back home.

He absolutely refused Kevin and Lee’s demand that he travel with a well-armed escort. Long before the Day, he had come to disdain the near-absurd lengths that security teams went to around even the most minor of officials after 9/11, and he refused to bow to that level.

Strange world, he thought as he reached the interstate and swung onto the opposite side of the road since on the way down it appeared to be clearer. Strange as well that though he had an extremely pregnant wife in the front seat and parents in the back with twins nestled between them, all four adults were armed, Paul and Becka each carrying sawed-off shotguns and Makala, like him, armed with a .45 Glock.

A couple of times up the long climbing slope, the Edsel fishtailed a bit. John was glad that they had left while the sun was still high in the sky for this time of year; the temperature was beginning to drop, and a breeze was picking up, with a thickening spread of clouds drifting in from the west. At such moments, the four did what people nearly always do: speculated about the approaching weather.

“John, look up to your right!” Paul suddenly cried, breaking the relaxed and friendly conversation.

John leaned forward at the wheel and saw a Black Hawk crossing up high over the ridgeline to their right, swinging about in an arcing turn, and then diving back down and disappearing from view up toward the top of the crest.

John hit the gas as much as he dared, the Edsel fishtailing even more until the chained tires dug into the slush and propelled them forward, blue exhaust swirling out behind them.

“Are they after us?” Makala asked nervously.

“Doubt it,” he said, trying to reassure her.

“If they wanted to arrest you, John, this would be the convenient place to do it, away from the town.” She didn’t add that killing them would be all so easy now.

If that was indeed the intent, he thought, then he truly was a fool for leaving the security of the campus and partially trusting Bob’s words.

Coming around the last bend in the road, he saw that the Black Hawk was going into a hover at the top of the pass at the long-abandoned truck stop, the place of a major battle and executions.

“Back it around!” Paul shouted. “Head back down to Old Fort.”

John wearily shook his head. “Whatever is about to happen, they have us.” He sighed. “Keep your weapons down and out of sight.”

John slowed the Edsel and stopped fifty yards out, turning the Edsel sideways by the exit ramp of the truck stop.

“If it goes bad,” he said, looking over at Makala, “take the wheel and try to make a run for it.”

Her arms were around him, hugging him fiercely.

He forced a reassuring smile. “The baby comes first, lover. Don’t worry—if they wanted us dead, it already would have happened.”

He carefully got out of the Edsel, made a show of holding up his Glock by the grip and then placing it back into the vehicle, and walked toward the Black Hawk with hands out to his sides and clearly showing he was unarmed. The chopper’s rotors slowed to a stop as he approached, the side door sliding open, and Bob Scales got out, doing the same as John, arms extended out, showing he was unarmed.

The two approached each other cautiously. Behind Bob, John could see that there was a door gunner at the ready, weapon not pointed directly at him but ready to be swung around.

“Hell of a way to meet, General!” John shouted over the whine of the Black Hawk’s turbines, which had not been shut down.

“Yeah, hell of a world, John,” Bob replied as he slowed and came to a relaxed attitude of attention.

John did the same and finally raised his right hand in a salute, which Bob returned.

“We have to talk,” Bob announced.

“I was hoping that was all. Just as long as you leave my family and friends out of it.”

Bob looked past John to the wreckage scattered about the truck stop, the horizontal pole where frayed ropes swung slowly back and forth in the increasing breeze from what appeared to be an approaching storm.

“So this is where you held the Posse off?”

“Yes.”

“Exceptional choice of ground. I heard how they nearly succeeded in flanking you from over there to the north.” As he spoke, he pointed to the deep ravine of Mill Creek.

“Something like that.”

“I just took a look over there and saw something interesting, John.”

He did not reply.

“You should tell whoever is over there that the white camouflage netting was fine right after the snow fell, but those antennas kind of stick out clearly now.”

Again John did not reply.

“It was spotted yesterday, John. Actually, I don’t mind, but I am curious as to who you are eavesdropping on over there.”

“Why don’t you go ask yourself?”

“I was thinking just that, but didn’t want some sort of misunderstanding if I or some of my people just showed up unannounced.”

“Is that the reason you flew all the way over here?” John asked.

“One of several,” he replied, and John sensed the tension in Bob’s voice.

He said no more and continued to look around, gazing again at the ropes, the only evidence left of the mass hangings that had taken place here at John’s orders.

“You did what you had to do here,” Bob finally said, “but knowing you, dealing out justice summarily must have been tough.”