William Forstchen - The Final Day

Of the thirty-five seats in the room, only a dozen were filled. He paused for a brief instant, taking that in, and he could not help but think that so much had been lost. Could they ever truly hope to recover?

One of the students, face creased by an ugly wound from the battle with the Posse, instinctively stood up and came to attention, the others following his lead. The man, for he was a man who was not even twenty yet, his childhood from a world that used to say, “Twenty-five is the new eighteen,” had been robbed of adolescence forever. Would there ever again be a childhood for this generation? He looked at the old-style mechanical clock on the classroom wall. It was noon. Three hundred and fifty miles away, a friend of his—some hailing him as a George Washington reborn, others denouncing him as nothing better than a dictator—was being sworn in as president of the United States.

But then again, had not the same been said of Washington in his day, the legend not yet formed and ahead yet more wars, strife, a civil war that came close to forever rendering the Union apart, and from there global wars and finally the war of this generation?

Such had it been, and whether with hope or fear, such it would always be. There had been a chance to have prevented it all, but all the voices who had warned of its coming had been ignored, the mute testament of that folly the fact that two out of every three chairs in this room were empty. So many ghosts he could see hovering about those chairs—not just Grace, who, at least for a while, would be remembered, until, like all heroes, memory would fade even for her. So many others already half-forgotten. Their memories for him the ultimate price of the folly of letting those who let the nightmare unfold so easily take power and wield it while with honeyed words dripped lies of assurance and reassurance that they would all be taken care of. Forgotten the prophetic words that the price of freedom is eternal vigilance.

He realized that he had been standing before the class for several minutes gazing at the room in silence. Several were in tears as they looked upon him, and he felt his throat tighten.

“Stand at ease and be seated, please,”

He looked around the room, smiled, and then as he once used to do at the start of every class, John Matherson asked a question:

“Now, where did we leave off?”

We Look Like Men of War

One Second After

Pillar to the Sky

One Year After

The Final Day

WILLIAM R. FORSTCHEN is the New York Times bestselling author of One Second After and One Year After . He holds a Ph.D. in history from Purdue University, with specializations in military history and the history of technology. Forstchen is currently a faculty fellow and professor of history at Montreat College, near Asheville, North Carolina. You can sign up for email updates here.

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This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

THE FINAL DAY

Copyright © 2016 by William R. Forstchen

All rights reserved.

Cover design by Faceout Studio, Charles Brock

Cover art by Trevillion and Thinkstock

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ISBN 978-0-7653-7673-2 (hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-4668-5190-0 (e-book)

e-ISBN 9781466851900

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First Edition: January 2017

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