An Undeclared War (Countdown to Armageddon Book 4) (7 page)

     Gonzalez had only minor shrapnel wounds. But he did h
ave an ugly abdominal wound from two .556 caliber rounds from the M-16.

     “Please. Get me to a hospital. I don’t want to die.”

     He sobbed like a little girl. He was a truly pathetic sight.

     But Randy wasn’t in a forgiving mood. He raised the rifle again and fired three rounds into the wounded man’s head.

     John caught his breath, stunned. But only for a moment, before he relaxed.

     Randy looked at his friend and said, “Did you see any wounded men out here?”

     John shook his head.

     “Nope. Just a couple of dead ones.”

     The war was over. Now it was time to account for the casualties.

-11-

     During the last few miles of their journey to the battle, as they started to hear voices on the radio, Scott and John both strained to hear those most familiar to them. John was desperate to hear that his wife and daughters were alive and uninjured.

     Scott was worried. Joyce was a
defacto leader of the group. Other than Tom, Scott expected to hear her voice the most, giving direction and support to the others. But he never heard her utter a single word.

     Perhaps he knew. Or at least had a strong suspicion. When he saw John and Randy walking out of the brush, upright, with no fear of being shot, he suspected it was finally over.

     But just in case, he asked Tom two questions.

     “Tom, are there any more of them?”

     “No. That’s all of them.”

     “Tom, how is Joyce?”

     Tom Haskins was a grizzled old Texas rancher. The last of a dying breed. He wasn’t fazed by much, and was afraid of nothing.

     But he’d rather walk through hot coals than have to answer Scott’s plaintive query.

     Tom’s hesitation gave Scott his answer before he ever heard the words. By the time the words came, he was so numb they barely registered.

     “I’m sorry, Scott. She’s gone.”

     John and Randy, walking toward them, had no idea what happened. They were still forty yards away, and broke into a full run when they saw Scott fall to his knees and scream at the sky.

     The three of them- John, Robbie and Randy, gathered around their friend and tried to comfort him.

     But they were pretty much helpless. They were men, and men are never as good at providing love and comfort to each other as women are. They clumsily tried. But the sad fact was, Scott had just lost the woman he loved. And nothing they could say or do would bring her back.

     Robbie fell to his knees in front of Scott and pulled Scott’s head into his shoulder. As Scott sobbed and soaked Robbie’s shirt, though, Robbie didn’t know how else he could help. He’d stay there as long as it took for Scott to finish
sobbing and then listen to whatever he had to say. Robbie would nod occasionally and try to find some sympathetic words. He knew it wouldn’t be enough to fix the situation. But it was all he knew to do.

     John had his own question to answer. As much as he agonized over Scott’s loss,
he had to know that his own family was okay.

     He picked up the radio from where Scott had thrown it onto the ground.

     “Hannah, please, tell me you and the girls are okay.”

     Hannah heard her husband’s voice and almost lost it. She choked up and was quite literally unable to talk for several seconds.

     It was an almost unbearable few seconds for John.

     Finally, Hannah answered.

     “The girls and I are fine, John. Joyce is the only one we lost. Linda is banged up pretty bad, and Tom has some cuts on his face. But we’ll all be okay. How is Scott doing?”

     “He’s in bad shape.”

     “Linda wants to know, if we open up the gate to the compound, can you come in?”

     “We’d love to, honey. But it wouldn’t be worth the risk. The plague is a respiratory infection. It’s spread just like the flu or the measles. If any of you get too close to any of us, it could take over your compound and make some of you very sick. It could even kill some of you.”

     “I thought since you had the plague and survived, that you were immune to it.”

     “I am immune to it. I’ll never catch it again. But I can still carry the virus. And I can pass it on to others. You all have been through enough. We can wait a few more months until the
CDC issues the all clear.”

     Hannah’s heart was breaking, and she wasn’t afraid to show it.

     “It’s just so unfair, John. This whole thing. This whole miserable world, and all the pain it shovels out. It’s just not fair.”

     In the basement, standing behind Sara, were John and Hannah’s two daughters.

     Rachel, the oldest, reached for the microphone and pressed the microphone.

     “I love you, Daddy.”

     Now John lost it too.

     Through tears, he blubbered, “I love you too, sweetheart.”

     Tom got on the radio. He’d heard enough.

     “Bull. You guys came all the way here to save our butts. We’re not letting you leave empty handed.

     “I’m coming downstairs to unlock the gate. Then I’ll back away. You guys come in and secure the gate behind you. Then hang out in the feed barn while we get everything ready.”

-12-

     Before Tom opened up the gate, he took a thermos of iced tea and a few plastic cups to the feed barn.

     He heard the four men outside the gate as he removed the slide bolt that secured it from the inside. They were still trying to console Scott, and still not having much luck.

     Tom backed away from the gate and walked to the back porch.

     “Okay,” he said. There’s fresh brewed tea in the barn. Lay across the hay bales and get comfortable. We’ll be out shortly.”

     Actually, it took longer than Tom thought. He and the girls swarmed over the kitchen, boiling ears of corn and frying a batch of chicken. Hannah and Linda were both preoccupied, Hannah stitching up Linda’s forehead and Linda bitching and complaining with every pull of the thread.

     She had good reason to complain, though. In the absence of
a good anesthetic, she had nothing to fend off the pain except several out of date ibuprofen tablets.

     And they just didn’t do the trick for getting stitches.

     “Would you stop wiggling?”

     “Hey, wiggling makes it hurt less. So does complaining, in case you’re wondering.”

     “Well, I don’t mind you complaining about the pain. I know it hurts like hell. But if you don’t stop wiggling, your stitches are going to be crooked. You’ll look like Frankenstein’s bride.”

     The two women had been through a lot together since Hannah came to stay at the compound. They’d grown quite close, and were more like sisters than friends. Hannah knew that the next few days would be among the roughest they’d faced.

     But she also knew they’d be up to the task.

     She finally finished the last stitch and applied a bandage.

     “Honestly,” Linda asked. “How bad does it look? Will Tom still love me?”

     “Tom will always love you, dear. And to answer your question, you’re still just as beautiful as you always were. It’ll leave a bit of a scar, but you’re still one hot mama. If Tom
doesn’t love you just as much as ever, then he’s a crazy old fool and I will personally kick his ass.”

     Linda managed a smile.

     Hannah continued, “Speaking of Tom, are you up to relieving him so the girls don’t burn the chicken? Send him up here to see me so I can start picking those glass shards out of his face. And, oh, by the way, if anybody needs to worry about losing any beauty in the deal, it’s Tom. It’s a good thing he was no Clark Gable to begin with.”

     “Hey, watch it. That’s my man you’re talking about.”

     “Well, what are you gonna do about it? I’m not afraid of you. You hit like a girl.”

     Linda suddenly grew serious.

     “Thank you for sewing me up. Why don’t you come downstairs? You can work on Tom in the dining room. The light’s better down there.”

     Hannah nodded at Joyce’s body, her head
now resting on a bed pillow and her hands folded across her midsection.

     “Thanks. But I don’t feel it would be right to leave her side. Not yet. I know we’ll have to soon enough. But I think she’d like it if we kept her company.”

     Linda didn’t argue.

     “Okay. I’ll send Tom up. And don’t tell him I cried and complained the whole time.”

     “Don’t worry. I’ll tell him you were a tough old bird. And I’ll tell him if he complains one little bit I’ll tell everyone in the compound he whines like a little sissy.”

     Linda went downstairs to help with the chicken.

     An hour later, the back yard was set up like a bizarre segregated banquet. Two picnic tables had been set up, thirty yards apart, and each had been covered with a variety of dishes. There were mashed potatoes and gravy and fried chicken, a fresh garden salad and a variety of sliced melons.

     There was a pall over the feast, of course. Everyone could see their loved ones at the other table. But not being able to reach out and touch them was maddeningly painful.

     Scott tried his best to eat, but couldn’t taste a thing. He only had one thing on his mind, and that was seeing Joyce.

     Sara volunteered to sit with her during the meal.
It was her that actually came up with the idea. She got on the radio and asked John, “This plague thingy… you said it was spread by close contact, like sneezing or coughing real close to others, right?”

     “Uh… yeah. And it is also possible to pass it by touching someone.”

     “So… if I went to the first aid kit and got a disposable mask and pair of latex gloves, and then walked outside and left them on the back porch, then…”

     Her words
clicked to everyone else on the radio. It was a brilliant idea.

     John picked up where Sara left off.

     “… then Scott could don the mask and gloves and go spend some time with his lady before he had to leave. Sara, you are my hero.”

     Scott picked up the radio. It was all he could do to muster three simple words: “Thank you, Sara.”

     Before she left the house, though, Sara went to the bathroom and got a wet washcloth and a hand towel. She’d never cleaned a dead body before. In fact, this was the first dead body she’d ever seen.

     But Sara wasn’t the timid little girl who’d come to the camp the year before. Maybe it was the group, challenging her to expand her comfort zone and try new things. Or maybe it was the pregnancy, and the responsibility of having and raising a baby.

     Whatever it was, she was no longer a child. She was wise beyond her eighteen years, and capable of darn near anything.

     She could do this.

     She didn’t want Scott’s last memory of Joyce to be a painful one. So she spent several minutes washing the dried blood from Joyce’s face and neck. Tenderly, as though Joyce could still feel pain, although she really knew better.

     When she was finished, she went into Joyce’s room and got her hairbrush.

     Joyce’s hair was long and thick. Covering up the bullet hole in her forehead was no problem, really. It took no time at all.

     When she was finished, she stood and stepped back a few steps.

     Under other circumstances, it would be easy to convince herself that Joyce was simply napping. She looked that peaceful.

     Two minutes later she was on the back porch, as promised. She laid a paper surgical mask and a pair of latex gloves on the top step, and walked over to the first picnic table. She sat next to Jordan, who was feeding little Chris. It wasn’t until she sat down that she finally allowed herself to cry.

     Scott waited until Sara was seated before he got up from his own table and walked over to the porch.

     He felt numb.

     This was something he didn’t want to do. No one ever wants to see a loved one like this.

     But he couldn’t go on without the chance to touch her once more. To see her face. To feel her skin.

     To tell her goodbye.

     He donned the mask first, then the gloves. Then he entered the house.

     The silence in the yard was deafening. No one said a word. No one made a sound, other than Sara’s gentle sobs. Most of the group, at both tables, had tears in their eyes or on their cheeks.