Strengthen What Remains (Book 2): A Time to Endure (22 page)

He
pulled into the parking lot and thought for several minutes.
I have two choices, somehow steal the
weapons, or go convince Hoover to help me.
Two lousy options.
His stomach was a churning vat of worry.
With all the soldiers gone I don’t think there are twenty rifles in the
vault for me to steal.
One lousy option.
Zach
turned the car around and headed for the sheriff’s office.

What else can I do to
rescue DeLynn?
He
racked his brain for another plan, but every time it came down to steal the
guns or get help.
I’m not going to give
them guns. They’ll kill me and DeLynn—just like they did Bo.

By
the time he bottomed out the car on a speed bump coming into the sheriff’s
office parking lot, he was convinced this was his only option. Parking across
two spaces he flung the rifle on his back and ran into the building. “I’ve got
to see Sheriff Hoover.”

The
startled deputy just inside pulled his gun and shouted, “Drop the rifle! Get
down on the ground!”

Inching
his hands up, Zach shook his head. “No, you don’t understand.”

With
his free hand the deputy fingered something under the counter.

A
moment later another deputy raced from the office, followed by Hoover. Both had
guns pointed at him.

“Down
on the ground. Spread your arms—now,” the sheriff commanded.

Zach
fell to his knees and then forward onto the ground.

The
sheriff kept his pistol pointed while the other two removed the rifle,
handcuffed Zach and dragged him to his feet.

The
sheriff nonchalantly holstered his gun, then the two locked eyes. “Zach
Brennon, you are under arrest for the murder of Robert Bo Hendricks.”

The
sun hung low in the sky as Caden’s Humvee approached the base after the battle
with the terrorists.

“Well,
look at that,” Corporal Tyler said.

On
the corner facing them was a large wooden sign painted with wavy stripes of red,
white and blue, along with the words, “Camp Victory.”

When
the Humvee turned the corner, Caden saw a huge American flag flying on the roof
of the five-story building.

The
battle, the huge flag and the time of day all brought to Caden’s mind the words
of the anthem, “What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming.” He
smiled and said, “It’s good to see that the banner yet waves.”

“Over
the land of the free and the home of the brave,” Tyler added.

The
corporal stopped in front of the main building. Caden jumped out and hurried
inside. General Harwich was waiting.

After
salutes, Caden said, “With your permission General, I’d like to check on my
wounded men that were brought in earlier and brief you later?”

“Three
of them were treated and sent on to the army hospital. They’re doing okay. The
fourth man didn’t make it.” The general set his hand on Caden’s shoulder. “I’m
sorry. Get some rest. We’ll talk tomorrow at 0900.”

Alone
in the room that was both his office and sleeping quarters, Caden sighed
deeply, walked to the desk and sat with a thud. As he did, he heard a crinkling
sound and, from his pocket, retrieved a plastic bag.

 
He hadn’t forgotten about what he pulled from
Peter’s dead hand. He couldn’t forget such a thing. It had just been a busy
day.

Childhood
memories of Peter and family flitted through his mind. He didn’t know how long
he stared into the air thinking of the brother he would never again see, but
when he became aware of his surroundings, the sun barely peeked over the
horizon.

He
turned on the desk lamp and opened the bag. Inside, a sheet of paper was folded
around an envelope. On the paper was a handwritten note. Caden took a slow,
deep breath and read.

To whoever finds
this;

My name is Peter
Westmore. I am a sergeant with the Renton Police Department assisting the
Seattle P.D. with the evacuation before the blast. We didn’t know where or when
the bomb would go off, but when it did I knew immediately that I was too close.
The roads were clogged before the blast. The growing mushroom cloud, storm of
dust and snow-like fallout only made it worse.

The doctor at the
medical station told me what I already know; the dose of radiation I received is
lethal. They wanted to keep me at the medical facility, but I didn’t want to
die there. I needed to find my wife and make sure she is safe.

By the time I reached
the house it was deserted and I am too weak to go on. Please, whoever finds
this,
get the enclosed letter to my family in Hansen. The
address is on the envelope.

Peter Westmore

Caden
unfolded the envelope. It was addressed to Sue. He stared at it and hoped there
were words of comfort in it for her and perhaps a message for the rest of the
family. Carefully he refolded the letter and returned it to the bag.

He
wiped his eyes. How many loved ones had he lost this year? How many tears had
he shed? How much pain was there left to endure?

The terrorists killed
my brother, killed Private Conner, and six…no seven, others today. They killed
Maria’s entire family, Adam’s mother and millions of others I never knew.

He
thought of his men, wounded during the fight earlier in the day, and the scars
they would carry.
Millions of others were
burned in the blast, scared by violence or traumatized.
He thought of the
two girls that ran to the base.
Amy and
Beth will carry the pain of their ordeal to the grave.
 

Terrorists, Jihadists,
Islamists, Communists in China and North Korea, or gang members it didn’t
matter what they called themselves, it was evil, soul-rotting evil.
He struggled to
understand how it happened that evil men from around the globe had united to
destroy the nation he loved.
How could
evil be so logical, so strategic?

He
had no answers.

The
sun succumbed to the night, leaving only the feeble glow of his desk lamp to
push back the gloom. Darkness ruled his world and, like a contagion, infected
him.

He
recalled the dead suicidal terrorists who set off the Seattle bomb and the
others who died earlier that day.

I hate them—all of
them. I’m glad I killed a few today.

*
              
*
              
*

As
a bugler sounded reveille, Caden rolled to a sitting position in his bunk and
wondered when he went to bed. He had no duties until the briefing with the
general and so, after a minute, plopped back on his pillow.

When
he next opened his eyes, the morning sun poured through the window. He checked
his watch. It was still early. Dressed in socks and underwear, he moved his
desk chair near the window, sat, and let the sun’s warmth sink deeply into him.

For
nearly a half hour he remained there, writing a citation for bravery for
Private Conner, and a letter to Maria.
 

As
he washed and dressed, he recalled the anger of the night before. There was
still a great sadness in him for the friends and loved ones who had died, but a
good night’s sleep and a warm sun had driven the foul mood from him. Instead of
hate he was filled with resolve. His mother would say, ‘hate the sin, but love
the sinner.’ He couldn’t bring himself to love the terrorists but, in the light
of day, he knew it was evil that he hated—and he would work to ensure that
brooding malevolence didn’t hurt anyone else he cared for.

It
was still early, so Caden decided to take in the sun and view from the roof.
Walking along the parapet, he noticed a line of people coming through a
makeshift gate in a sandbag wall. Some of the civilians carried suitcases. One
man pushed a wheelbarrow with kids and clothes in it. Others had nothing but
the clothes they wore.

Caden
turned to a nearby soldier. “What’s going on over there?”

“They’re
refugees coming in from the city.”

“I
didn’t realize that many people still remained in the area.”
  

“You
weren’t here yesterday, were you, sir?”

Caden
shook his head. “I had business off base.”

“Well
sir, a unit from here and another from the JBLM fought some of the remaining
terrorists. You could hear the shooting from where we’re standing.”

“You
could?”

“Yes,
sir. And I guess a lot of people decided that was the time to leave because
several hundred came in during the battle.”

“I
wish I could have been here to see that.” Caden said with a facetious
grin.
 

“There
aren’t as many refugees as yesterday, but since dawn they have been trickling
in. I guess it’s still too dangerous to move around at night, but that may
change soon.”

Caden
cocked an eyebrow. “What have you heard?”

“They’re
working to restore power and the state patrol and local police are back in the
area.”

Caden
recalled a verse he had been taught in Sunday school, “God commanded the light
to shine out of darkness.” Darkness had spread across the land, but the light
was pushing back.

As
he leaned against the parapet and watched the people coming, he recalled again
the words of the chaplain. “We’re like Nehemiah on the wall. Behind us is
justice, order and democracy, and in front of you, what we keep out is the enemy—ignorance,
tyranny and chaos.”

He
chuckled.
It’s not even Sunday and I’m
getting all spiritual and philosophical.
Despite his attempt to dismiss it,
the snippets kept coming.
Where there is
no vision, the people perish. Who will stand in the gap?
In their own way,
both his church pastor and the chaplain had spoken of strengthening what
remained of the spirit and ideals that made the country strong.

He
shook his head.
Why am I thinking about
all of this today?
He felt like a pendulum that had swung from the darkness
of last night into the light of the morning sun. Right now his disposition was
fine, but he didn’t want to swing back.

Then
he knew, with a certainty he didn’t understand, that he wouldn’t swing into
darkness. He was where he needed to be, doing what needed to be done. As a
younger man he had left home and not looked back, but with the first attack,
like a moth to light, he had been drawn toward Hansen.
Perhaps all of us are right where God needs us.
Images of Peter,
alive and dead, flashed through his mind.
Was
Peter where God needed him? Were the soldiers that died yesterday where they
needed to be?

He
didn’t know. Perhaps it was unknowable.
 

A
glance at his watch revealed he had been pondering his role in the universe,
watching the flow of refugees and the coming and going of soldiers for nearly
an hour.
Almost late
for the briefing.
He jogged back into the building and to his
meeting.

When
Caden completed his brief, the general frowned. “Why were you on the recon
mission? Why didn’t you stay with the main unit and send someone else to
command the recon?”

Because I wanted to
check my brother’s house.
Caden tried to think of something witty or
inspired, but finally said, “It seemed right at the time.”

“General,
do you think we got all the terrorists?” Fletcher asked.

 
“No, but between you and the army Stryker
brigade, we believe you got most of them.”

Thankful
that Fletcher had changed the topic, Caden took a long sip of coffee.

The
general studied a paper on his desk. “The army found three wounded jihadists
after the battle. The rest were dead. The few that may have escaped are combat
ineffective. The State Patrol and other guard units hit the other gangs hard
yesterday and will again today.

“South
of here, we’re restoring power block-by-block and clearing hot spots. Once
we’ve removed the lawless elements from this area, we can begin those tasks
here, and move people back. All of Tacoma should have power and water by
summer. Who knows, in a few years it may be the state’s largest city. Because
of the radiation, this base will be the northern limit of habitation, for now.”

“What
about the Chinese in the port of Tacoma?” Caden took another sip.
 

The
general smiled. “They’ve been very quiet. We still have army units around them
and we’ve been flying drones over the port. Now that the gangs and terrorists
the PLA used are destroyed, we’re hoping they decide to leave the northwest.
That would free up the army units for the fight against Durant.”

“What
is next for us?” Caden asked.
 

“I
know you’ve taken the brunt of this action. I plan to keep you out of the
fighting, but I want you available for a couple of days, just in case. I think
we can rotate you back to Hansen on Monday.”

Caden
leaned back in the chair and savored the smell rising from his cup.
We left on Monday and we’ll head home on
this coming Monday. Eight days.
“Thank you, sir.”

Later,
when he was alone, Caden was tempted to share the news with Maria, but he knew
such information was classified. Still, he could tell her that he was okay and
find out how things were in Hansen. Retrieving his phone from the nightstand he
pressed the numbers.
No service?
He
frowned remembering that the building he was in had power because they hooked
up generators. He looked out the window at the dark city.
Cell towers for miles around don’t have power.

He
wanted to talk to Maria, to know the news from Hansen. He had been so close to
them all, so involved in the struggles of life and his hometown. He sighed and
consoled himself with the knowledge that he would be home on Monday.
That will be soon enough.

*
              
*
              
*

“Where
is my daughter?”

Zach,
in handcuffs, stared across the table at Mr. Hollister. “Like I’ve been telling
everyone, MS-13 has her.”

“Because
of you!” He spat the word like venom.

Like
some soul-killing poison, guilt flowed through Zach. His gaze dropped to the
floor. “I…I tried….” His head shot up and he locked eyes with the older man.
“No! I avoided Bo and his gangster friends. It was only after the gang shot Bo
and took DeLynn that I followed and talked with them. That is what gave me time
to do something to save her, but we only have until Sunday—and no will listen
to me.”