The Last Stand (Book 3) (The Repentant Demon Trilogy) Page 3

  “Abby thinks I should wait until the U.S. Government issues me a gun and teaches me how to use it,” said Cal, in obvious disagreement, “I think I might need to protect my family from a bear or a buffalo, and I want one now.”

  “You two come up to the house tomorrow for dinner,” McFarland said, getting ready to leave, “Uma's making chicken and dumplin's. She's looking forward to meeting you. And I'll give you one of my guns to take home with you. And I’ll show you how to use it, too. Come around six.”

  When he was gone, Cal and Abigail faced a mess of moving boxes, unpacked groceries, and a whole lot of baby equipment. None of which seemed to have anyplace to go. The two of them heaved a big sigh and began putting away things. They ended up packing the nursery items in the back of Abigail's car, lowering the rear seat for more cargo room. These were things they wouldn't need for many months, and they couldn’t help hanging on to a tiny thread of hope that they could just keep them there until it was time to head home again. They actually had very little reason to think they would ever go home again.

  * * *

  Chapter 2. Preparations

  The windows were rattling as Cal was preparing breakfast the next morning. It was their military neighbors again, either building something or destroying something farther down the road near the lake. Curiosity led Abigail to take Angel out for a quick walk, and Cal followed them onto the porch with binoculars. In the distance, they saw a cloud of red dust billowing from beyond a caravan of heavy equipment and trucks coursing toward the lake. They startled to see Brady McFarland in his jeep barreling past them toward the direction of all the commotion.

  “I know you want to go over there,” said Abigail, “but your eggs will get cold. I have a feeling whatever it is will still be there after breakfast.”

  Cal nodded in agreement and smiled at the realization of how well she knew him. They hadn't even been together for six months and already she could read him like a book. It was a comforting feeling for him, having someone beside him… someone who knew him and cared for him. It is so much better being human than I ever could have imagined, he thought. Neither angels nor demons required personal relationships.

  Turning to come back inside, Abigail and Cal recognized the sound of Agent Foley's SUV coming toward them on the gravel road. This was quickly becoming a morning with an unusual amount of traffic for such a desolate location. They awaited his approach up the porch steps, hoping his visit would be brief.

  “Are you ready to go to work?” he asked, trying to be jovial. “We've got translating to do. They've started using cell phones again. That's normal when the target date gets near.”

  “We were just about to have breakfast,” said Abigail. “Will he have time for that? You are welcome to join us?”

  “Thanks. I've already eaten,” he answered, giving her a sense of relief. “I'll just wait out here. Take your time eating. You can follow me to the site. That way you won't need me to bring you back.”

  Then Foley noticed the damage to the front of the van.

  “What happened to the vehicle?” he asked, calmly but with curiosity, “Still having trouble judging your distance?”

  Cal had only recently learned to drive, and when Agent Foley noticed the cracked front grill and hanging headlight, he assumed Cal had been responsible.

  After explaining the buffalo incident, Cal took the opportunity to say that he needed a gun, as well as a little instruction on how to use it.

  “Absolutely, you need weaponry,” Agent Foley agreed. “You've only been here one night so far. I have every intention of preparing you for life in this part of the country. You can pick a couple of guns before you come home today, and get some practice at the firing range. I'd say you need both a pistol and a rifle for now.”

  “Sure you wouldn’t like to come in for some coffee?” Cal asked.

  “I'd actually like to explain about what's going on over by the lake,” he said, following them into the cabin. “I'm sure you probably assumed that the military families were moving in. We are also planning for eventual expansion as refuges arrive from nearby towns.”

  Agent Foley sat comfortably at the table with them, drinking his steaming cup of coffee. Even Angel seemed to like him better than she had the day before when she had actually snapped at him. It may have been first day anxiety that had set her on edge, or it could have been the intensity of their discussion. She was very protective of her family despite her small size. Now she stood before him wagging her tail and begging to be petted. He scratched her behind the ears, and the dog seemed to fall in love with him. She was an absolute sucker for ear scratching.

  “This isn't the kind of dog you usually find out here,” Foley commented. “She's a little out of her element, I think. There are a number of predatory animals that have been known to find their way down this far, especially when the severe winter weather hits and their food sources get scarce. You should pick up her doo-doo and don't let her bark too much.”

  “Brady McFarland already warned us about that,” said Abigail, not offering any more about their lengthy conversation. She was warming to him, too, now that Angel seemed to like him. And she thought it was so funny for a man like him to use the word “doo doo.”

  “Oh, so you've met the McFarlands,” said Agent Foley, a little exasperated. “They don't like me much. And I'm sure you share their opinion, not that I blame you. I'd feel the same way if I were in your shoes. But just try to remember that I'm only here doing my job, part of which is to protect your lives. That's all that matters to me. I'm not trying to win any popularity contests.”

  “Actually, we met Brady McFarland, but not his wife,” said Abigail. “We are going to have dinner with them both tonight. Will Cal be back in time?”

  “He should be finished by early afternoon,” said Foley, “Try to understand that I'll always tell you what you need to know, maybe not everything you want to know. And some things I just can't tell you at all. It's not personal.”

  “So you were saying that living quarters are being built down at the lake area,” said Cal.

  “Yes, for both military personnel and possible refugees,” he repeated simply. “They will be digging for septic tanks, running utilities in, and even expanding the McFarland's livestock barns. We will be raising chickens for eggs and meat, dairy goats, some cattle, and next spring we will construct a large greenhouse. A new well is almost ready that should provide enough clean water for all of us and even as many as three thousand people. It won't take long for the families to arrive. They're on their way. We expect refugees in a matter of days or weeks after Christmas, depending on how bad the infrastructure is damaged and what kind of emergency preparations they have in their homes.”

  Cal left with Agent Foley, kissing Abigail good-bye as if he were an ordinary husband going off to an ordinary job. They all knew it wouldn't stay this way for long, but it seemed important to make the most of this brief time before the dreaded events began. Abigail went about her regular chores, cleaning up the dishes from breakfast then attacking some more unopened boxes. She managed to pack up several containers of summer things, as well as household decorative items that could go into the barn storage.

  But she refused to part with her books, or her amulet—the Egyptian artifact of Bes Pataikoi. She placed it on a shelf to display it prominently. Ample bookcases had been built onto both sides of the fireplace wall, and she planned to fill them up. Just seeing her books would make the place feel homier.

  Suddenly there arose a huge commotion outside; honking horns, yelling and sirens. Abigail ran to the porch to witness three RV's roaring toward her cabin with military vehicles in fast pursuit. They came to a screeching halt at the foot of her front porch steps.

  The three drivers sat with arms raised in surrender as armed servicemen pointed guns at them through closed windows. Abigail watched from the relative safety of her porch as the drivers slowly exited their vehicles crossing their arms behind their heads as soldiers shouted orde
rs at them. One of them she recognized immediately as their old friend.

  “Officer Mike!” yelled Abigail, flying down the steps, only to stop dead in her tracks as one of the gunmen swerved sharply pointing his firearm at her. “This is my friend,” she explained angrily, “Why are you treating him and his family like criminals?”

  “Our orders are to direct all incoming traffic to the compound,” said the young serviceman dressed in fatigues, lowering his gun. “These people refused.”

  “We were given directions to the cabin,” explained Mike Edwards, showing his ID. “Check with Agent Rick Foley,” he added. “We were following his orders. It was my understanding that he is in charge of this operation. He told us to come days ago, but it isn't easy traveling with a bunch of women and children.”

  “Sorry, sir,” said another uniformed soldier, walking toward them while motioning for the other men to lower their weapons. “It was probably a misunderstanding. He should have told you that's where we have prepared spaces for you to hook up your electricity and plumbing. We've been expecting you.”

  “Well we'd like to visit for a while,” said Abigail to the waiting military escort as a whole, “Couldn’t they drive down there later?” She waved to the families peering through kid-smudged windows that they should come inside. The doors flew open like flood-gates and a deluge of men, women, and children. Even a large bulldog poured into a cabin that didn't seem nearly large enough to hold them all. Like clowns exiting a circus car, it looked as though they must have been impossibly cramped inside for such a very lengthy road trip.

  As they filed past Abigail, Officer Mike attempted to introduce them all, and also suggested that it was time they stop referring to him as “Officer” Mike, since he was not serving in that capacity in this situation. “This is my son Nathan, the red-headed one,” he said, pointing, “and his wife Ruthie, the pregnant one. Then there are their two sons, Mickey, the red-headed eight-year-old and Stephen, their oldest, who is ten.”

  “Hi,” they all said at once, and Ruthie added, “We're having a girl this time,” pointing to her enormous baby bump. “Rayetta is due Christmas Day.”

  “That's my middle name,” gasped Abigail, “I've never met anyone else with that name.”

  “I thought it was pretty,” explained Mike, “so I mentioned it when they were trying to decide, after they found out it was a girl. I hope you don't mind.”

  “Mind?” she exclaimed, “I love it! What an honor, really. I'm having a boy, otherwise I might have wanted to use the name myself.”

  “I didn't know,” said Mike, “Congratulations! You aren't showing yet, I see.”

  “No,” Abigail answered, “I'm still at the morning sickness stage. That's going to keep me from gaining any weight for a while.”

  “As for the next faction of the clan,” Mike continued, “This is my daughter, Jodie, and her husband Jerry Decker, their son David, seven, and their daughter, Claudia, who is five. You know me,” he laughed, “and this is my lovely wife, Sandra.”

  Sandra was a tall blond woman, explaining a lot of the diversity in hair color among the family. Jodie had long blond hair like her mother, only it fell in waves, not like Sandra's straight thick pony tail. Little Claudia had the same blond curls as her mother. The children were mixed blonds, brunettes, and red-heads. It was like a living rainbow of children.

  “We're not going to stay long,” assured Sandra, noticing the size of the crowd inside the little cabin, “but we wanted to get acquainted, and also move around a little bit.”

  “Can we play with your dog?” asked Claudia, who seemed to be the youngest so far.

  “Yes, she loves kids,” said Abigail, “or so I was told. There hasn't been any around to test that theory. She loves to play ball. You can take her outside as long as you don't go near the woods.”

  “Can we?” the three younger ones begged. “We'll stay right out front. Promise.”

  Given the OK signal, three of the kids rushed outside with Angel hopping at their feet, and the bulldog, Sarge, ambled after them all. The oldest boy, Stephen seemed too mature for that kind of play, but offered to stay on the porch and keep an eye on everyone.

  “It's amazing how all of you could just pick up and leave everything behind,” said Abigail. “I assume the kids are on Christmas break, but I'm sure you all have jobs, houses, and all kinds of arrangements to be made on very short notice.”

  “It's not like we had much of a choice,” said Jodie, “Dad told us what was happening. We don't want to be stuck in the city when the power goes off and the food runs out. We locked up our houses and can only hope they'll still be there if and when we can ever come back. Jerry and Nathan were able to take vacation leave without arousing any suspicion. Lots of people take time off during Christmas. Since both Ruthie and I are stay-at-home moms who are home-schooling, we needed permission from no one.”

  “When things start happening,” said Nathan, “our employers, if they're alive, will understand if we can't get back. I expect most businesses will be unable to operate at all. We've cashed out all our accounts already, but even that might be meaningless when it's all over.”

  “Once our whole monetary system collapses,” added Jerry, “nothing is going to matter. It will be a matter of surviving with what we have. The kids know a little bit about why we’re here. They know we came to be safe, and that something bad is about to happen. But we haven't told them a lot of details.”

  “I was wondering about that,” said Abigail. “They seem so happy and excited.”

  “To them,” added Sandra, Mike's wife, “it's just like all the other times we've gone on vacation together. They love camping, and I'm thankful for that. The only one I worry about is Ruthie. That baby could come any day. None of mine were on time.”

  “I was told by Agent Foley,” assured Abigail, “that there is an excellent medical facility here, though I don't really know where it is exactly. He's pretty secretive, I guess because of the nature of his work.”

  Mike asked about where Cal was, and Abigail explained his job mentioning the secret location to where he had been taken earlier that morning.

  “It's obviously inside the mountain,” said Jerry, “I got a pretty good view of the landscape coming in. There doesn't seem to be any other place big enough to house the kind of military force I’m imagining. I'm an engineer, so I notice structures. Who lives in the big house up on the hill?”

  “That's the McFarland place,” Abigail explained. “They are, or were, the owners of this ranch. Can you believe they weren't told what's going on? Just that it was a national security issue. I've only met Brady, and he seems very nice.”

  Just then, Cal came bursting through the door, excited to see everyone. They went through introductions all over again. Abigail apologized for not offering drinks to everyone sooner, but all refused anyway, saying they had plenty to drink while on the road. Everyone wanted to hear about this place Cal had seen. The mysterious facility inside the mountain.

  “It's unbelievable,” he related to a mesmerized audience, “We went through an immense thick metal door built right into the side of the mountain. It must be fifty feet high. Inside were parked dozens of F-15 fighter jets and other aircraft. I could see rows and rows of various kinds of trucks, and even some tanks. We went down an elevator to the fourth level computer room floor where I transcribed the audio files. I noticed eight numbered floor buttons in the elevator.

  “It turned out to be more than just cell phone chatter they wanted me to translate,” Cal explained, “They covertly retrieved some files off one of the Saint Louis based terrorist's computers. Emir Shakosh apparently deleted some files that our intelligence experts were able to re-construct by sending malware into his hard drive while he was online completely unaware of what was happening. I think they said he was intently working at the New York Times crossword puzzle. They found lists and charts also written in ancient Syriac. Putting it all together, we now know exactly which thirty-three nucle
ar plants have been targeted.”

  “Thank God,” sighed Abigail, “so it's all over.”

  “Not exactly,” said Cal, “Each site has been notified of a credible threat on or about Christmas Day. But as it turns out they are being hit in twelve successive events to correlate with the twelve days of Christmas. Only they will be happening minutes apart instead of days—all on December 25 at Callaway. As we already know, those suspects are going to be arrested at the airport and will never make it to their destination. We still don't know the identities of the other terrorists. We don't even know where they are now, although it is assumed they are living in cities near the nuclear plants they plan to hit. They could be registered as students at local universities or working at regular jobs. That is a lot of territory to cover in the next ten days. Saint Louis is over a hundred miles from the Callaway plant. All of them could be that far from their targets. And they aren't all using planes. Some are entering the plants as small-armed bandits, others have procured jobs actually within the plants themselves and are using covert methods of sabotage. We have a lot of work to do and only a short time to succeed at finding these guys.”