The Dying Time (Book 2): After The Dying Time (55 page)

We’re led by fools and lackeys

Cheats and liars get our votes

The press is run by patsy’s

and the truth is seldom spoke

Big business buys our government

Deep pockets pave the way

Constitutional Erosion

is the order of the day

Down in the audience Yuri leaned over and whispered in Angela’s ear, “Wow, those Troubled Land Band guys sure were skeptics.”

Angela nodded and said, “Well, according to my mom they had reason to be. Listen to them.”

“You’ve heard this song before?”

“Shhh!”

Bankers steal our houses

while they grow too big to fail

Our jobs are sent to China

and our dreams are sent to hell

Our schools teach propaganda

raise our children’s self esteem

But since kids learn by failing

they aren’t learning anything

They give our homes to Walmart

using eminent domain

It’s for the public good they say

but who believes that claim

They hand out corporate welfare

on the backbones of the poor

The middle class is failing

Still the government wants more

After several more verses Yuri whispered, “I’m glad we don’t live there.” Angela found his hand and gave it a squeeze.

At a different table, seated with her son, Tommy, General Alice Anderson wondered if the song was a not so subtle dig at her leadership. She shook her head. God, she was getting paranoid.

The Loonie Tunes shifted to timeless songs by the Moody Blues and the Eagles before moving to Country hits by Lady Antebellum and Alan Jackson, then Pop hits by MaDonna and Beyonce.

Three hours later the celebration wound down. Pauolo gave Linette a hand down from the stage, seated her in her golf cart, then hopped in to accompany her back to her quarters. Their plan included baby making even though it was against the rules.

Chapter 52: The Aftermath

On a ship bound for California, Private Greyson told and re-told the story of his revelation to an ever-increasing number of believers. His manner of speech and the fervor of his delivery as he described how God had sent a black angel of death to warn the righteous of impending doom swayed the hearts and minds of many King’s Army survivors to his Peace Cult.

Of course, Greyson had now managed to convince himself the angel had spoken to him, revealing that God was about to open the gates of hell and send a Great Flood to scour the King’s Army from the Earth. His message, offered as it was with evangelical intensity, was all the more effective because of his gaunt body and wide-eyed stare. Greyson claimed to have been touched by God and there was nothing in his appearance or demeanor to belie his statement. The fact that the few officers on the ship ignored the “sedition” he was spouting only increased his credibility.

Such was the mood of the men on the boat that not even Jamal Rashid dared speak against Greyson and his acolytes. He took names though; placing them inside his shirt next to the tapes of Sara Garcia’s interrogation, taking great care that no one saw those precious reels. Only the King would know.

*

Back in Deseret, Sara Garcia performed a successful surgical procedure on Ellen Whitebear’s spine to relieve the pressure. Over the course of the next few weeks, Ellen regained feeling in her legs and feet, as well as the ability to walk. Now she could, once again, concentrate on rebuilding.

As for Michael, he needed only a transfusion and time to recover completely. The bullet had gone cleanly through his chest, above his heart and below his shoulder, narrowly missing a lung, leaving yet another puckered scar on his body.

In the months that followed, the Mormons relocated in and around Nephi, where the provisions so generously abandoned by the King’s Army kept them through the ensuing winter. They had to relocate somewhere. Nothing was left of Provo and Orem. The Flood, as they called it, had stripped the land to bedrock.

Chris Herrera married Daniel Windwalker and joined his tribe. Thus the Cheyenne gained a valiant warrior to replace the loss of Mitchell Stonehand.

Susan Redfeather’s grief at the loss of Walt Beeman hardened her heart against Raymond Stormcloud’s less-than-well-timed advances. Raymond, hurt at first by the depth of her feelings for Walt, soon realized he would have to bide his time.

Faith Gilcrest began hanging around the newly promoted Major Parsons. Soon rumors were flying around Deseret that there would be another wedding.

*

The following Spring found Michael on the deck of his home performing his morning Tai-Chi exercises. As his body flowed through the graceful movements, his eyes wandered over the Valley of the Freeholds. In some of the fields winter wheat and cool season vegetables were greening up, while in others cover crops were being plowed under. In the greenhouses, warm weather crops were being planted. A rooster crowed from his chicken coop which reminded Michael to gather eggs before going back inside.

He was just thinking that things hadn’t changed as much as he feared they would when he saw a night patrol riding in. Some things had changed a lot. His son Steven, now sixteen, was leading it. While fighting had calmed down considerably, there were still occasional raids against outlying homesteads by marauders, many of whom were small remnants of the King’s Army who hadn’t been in Provo canyon and who had missed the last boat to California.

Ellen Whitebear walked out onto the deck and hugged him. She and the Youngs were meeting with other Allied leaders later in the year to discuss methods for eradicating bandits and bringing law and order to the area once and for all. They were also going to discuss the formation of a regional government. As always, Ellen had her sights set on restoring civilization.

A delegation of Cheyenne warriors was due within the week. Raymond Stormcloud, whose exploits in Nephi had earned him great honor among his people and the undying gratitude of both the Whitebears and Cantrells, would lead the warriors. The purpose of their visit was to trade fresh meat and other goods for some of the Freeholders’ surplus grain and to bring their hosts up to date on the shape of things out on the Great Plains.

Michael’s brow knitted slightly as he wondered what was happening in California. No one had yet heard from Jacques and Denise. That was cause for concern. Especially since there was one thing of which he was certain. The King wasn’t done with the Freeholds yet.

Ellen tugged Michael back inside the house and shoved him playfully onto their bed, diverting him to more pleasant concerns.

*

Bob Young took off his cowboy hat and wiped sweat from his forehead. The sun warmed his back right through his long-sleeved, green cotton shirt. Being down on his knees, planting rows of Wando peas wasn’t doing his lower back much good, but working the gardens with Betty was pure soul food.

“Taking a break already?”

He turned toward her and saw her old familiar smile, the one he’d feared gone forever after they lost their children. But after months of grim silences, Betty had come out of her shell--working long hours along side Bobbi and Marci Baker as nurses at the hospital and helping care for all the children when they were evacuated from Provo. Slowly, she’d regained her sense of humor. Slowly, she’d come back to him. He still saw shadows of grief lurking in her sky blue eyes, but often they gleamed.

“Just appreciating the view,” he said, staring directly at her.

She blushed and he chuckled, then ducked as she lobbed a soft clod at him. He overbalanced and heard her yelp as he fell face first into the garden soil. But when he looked up at her with dirt on his nose, her bubbling laughter lifted his heart and gave him hope life would return to normal.

*

In California, King Joseph was forced to absorb one shock after another. Half of his Royal Army had been destroyed. His Air Force was gone. From Jamal, he learned both his sons were killed by the same man: Michael Whitebear.

God had tested him severely, but Joseph would not be found wanting. He took the tapes from Jamal and turned them over to his scientists. Once he had The Weapon, nothing would stand in his way. The world would be his, and if that thought seemed somewhat hollow now that his sons were dead, he took consolation in the knowledge they hadn’t died for nothing.

He passed his days in meetings, listening without interest to reports of insurrections springing up, stalking the empty-seeming halls of the palace. Often he would retire to his throne room, where he would sit for hours on end, eyeing maps of Colorado and thinking about revenge.

The End

But keep reading for a free preview of book three in The Dying Time series

Greetings from the Author

Hello readers,

Raymond Dean White here, hoping you’ve enjoyed After The Dying Time because I need to ask you for a very important favor. Since Indie Authors live and die by reviews I’m asking you to please go to your favorite ebook retailer and leave a starred review.

I’d also like to invite you to visit me at my website:

http://www.RaymondDeanWhite.com

Your comments or critiques are welcome. Your input could help make my next book, or even this one, better, since revisions or updated versions are so easy with ebooks. And while you’re on my website sign up for my free newsletter.

For your convenience and information I’ve included a complete Cast of Characters, an Appendix laying out useful Prepper websites and items as well as a free preview of the third novel in The Dying Time series so keep reading.

Other Books by Raymond Dean White

“Tap Doubt: Your Next Glass of Water Could Kill You” (With co-author Duane Lindsay) Coming soon as an ebook.

Terrorists are poisoning Americas water supplies using an environmental cleanup firm acquired in a hostile takeover as cover for their activities. When ousted CEO Nick Kuiper hires a beautiful con artist and her legendary grifter father to get his company back they tumble to the plot and all hell breaks loose.

“American Jihad” (With co-author Duane Lindsay) Coming soon as an ebook.

When the towers fell on 9/11 American Arab Aden Saud lost his parents and was left with a piece of shrapnel in his head that made him unfit for military duty and left him with a burning desire to take the war to the terrorists--one bullet at a time. But can he and the CIA operative assigned to stop him prevent a new attack on American soil?

“How I Got Published: Famous Authors Tell You in Their Own Words” by Ray White and Duane Lindsay. Available at your favorite retailer.

Learn how some of your favorite authors (Clive Cussler, John Lescroart, Christopher Moore, Steven Coonts, David Morrell and many others) got published and the Ten Rules for how to get traditional publishers to publish your books.

“The Dying Time: Impact” Prequel to “After The Dying Time” and Book One of The Dying Time series. Available as an ebook from your favorite retailer or in print from CreateSpace.

When an asteroid impact destroyed civilization and re-sculpted the globe the only survivors were the hastily expanded crew of the International Space Station, who watched the devastation below with growing horror--while wondering if they would ever get to go home--a few Preppers whose stores of food and other commodities made them irresistible targets and the desperate hordes who would do anything--eat anyone--to live.

And now keep reading for a preview of Book Three in The Dying Time Trilogy.

THE DYING TIME REPRISED

Chapter 1: Revenge of the King

A bolt of brilliant, piercing, light speared down through the morning sky incinerating a homestead. The white-hot shaft slowly traced a path of destruction from the burning house across the meadow, across the dairy herd where animals exploded like popcorn. The column of death trailed fire back and forth across the valley. Men, women and children ran screaming, bursting into flames, melting into puddles like butter left out in the summer sun. Everywhere there was fire, death and devastation as the grasses, forests and people burned. It was a holocaust.

In the center of the valley a single homestead, though surrounded by flames, remained untouched. Michael and Ellen Whitebear knelt hopelessly, helplessly on the deck of their home, begging to be spared as the pillar of fire headed their way. There was a painful flash of light as the beam targeted them, then darkness.

Flap, flap, flap.

The loose end of the reel of film slapped repeatedly against the projector’s support arm. Nicolo Bonetti reached out with one hand and silenced it. With the other he turned up the lights. There was absolute quiet in the room that stretched unbearably. He had been very nervous at presenting this Hollywood-style fantasy to the King. He cleared his throat.

“That, or something very like it, is how the Freeholds and Michael Whitebear will die, Your Majesty.”

King Joseph Scarlatti, known in his younger days as Joey the Giant, stared at the blank screen, mesmerized by the vision he had just seen.

“When can I have it?” Joseph’s voice was hoarse with emotion. His ice blue eyes sought Nicolo and when he spoke again his voice was stronger, more demanding. “When can I have it?”

“A year at the outside, Your Majesty.”

One year. It had been almost that long since his army had been defeated, his sons killed. He could wait another year to destroy the Whitebears. He could almost hear their flesh sizzle.

“Excellent, Nicky my boy, most excellent; but let’s try for six months, shall we?” Joseph stood, towering over Nicolo’s six foot four inch frame. Back when he was a mob enforcer he hadn’t been called Joey the Giant for nothing.

“Of course, Sire.” Nicolo said. Nicky, he thought with a smile, he only calls me Nicky when he’s pleased and he’s never called me Nicky, my boy.

Nicolo Bonetti, Commander of the Royal Intelligence Service, the man entrusted by the King with bringing The Weapon into being, the man who now wore the accolade “my boy” like a medal, took the reel of film off the projector and headed for the lab. He’d even thought to tell the King it would take twice as long as the scientists said, knowing Joseph would ask for The Weapon to be completed ahead of schedule. He would reap great rewards for delivering the means for the King’s vengeance against the Freeholds. For once he was in such a good mood those he encountered did not have to fear crossing his path.

He was opening the door to the lab when the challenge rang out.

“Hey! Butt-boy!”

Bonetti stopped like his leash had been jerked, cringing at the admission the insult was meant for him. Laughter echoed down the hall, fueling Nicolo’s anger as he spun toward the voice, his good humor gone as if it had never been. He advanced menacingly on the man who had insulted him.

Jacques Lachelle, Minister of Arts, Culture and Information (read Propaganda) lounged against the wall, picking his fingernails with a stiletto. There was a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes as he watched Nicolo storm down the corridor toward him.

Behind Nicolo the door to the lab opened and a naked woman, a slave, slipped out. Irene glanced fearfully toward Nicolo’s back, caught Jacques’s eye and gave him a quick thumbs up before vanishing soundlessly down the hallway.

“You fucking nigger!” Nicolo began. “I’ve told you for the last time not to call me...” He froze. Sweat popped out on his brow and upper lip as Jacques’s stiletto pricked his jugular. He had forgotten how dangerous Jacques could be. He hadn’t even seen the man move.

“You bedder listen good, ass-lover,” Jacques hissed intimately into Nicolo’s ear. “I call you anyt’ing I please, anytime I choose. Not because I be a Minister, while you be staff; but ‘cos I be de bedder mon.” Jacques shifted his vantage point slightly so that he could look up into Bonetti’s eyes. “You, on de udder han’, not only do you insult me, you poach on my turf.”

Ah, Nicolo thought, so that’s what this is about. He’s pissed because I commandeered a few of his “special effects” men to do the film.

“De nex’ time you make a film, or put out a pamphlet, or broadcast anyt’ing, you clear it t’rough me. Understan’?” The knife pressed slightly harder against Nicky’s jugular, emphasizing the last word.

“Yes.” Nicolo rasped. His throat was dry with fear.

“I be watching to see dat you do,” Jacques said. He removed the knife from Bonetti’s throat, folded it and put it in a pocket.

Nicolo trembled as rage and relief warred within him.

“An’ Butt-Boy?”

Bonetti’s eyes locked savagely on Jacques.

“Eef you evair call me nigger again I cut off your head an’ use eet for a soccer ball.” Jacques’s dead-certain calm and his hard, unyielding eyes forced Nicolo look away.

“I’ll see you dead,” Nicolo blustered.

“Mebbe,” Jacques admitted with a grin. “But eet won’ be you who kill me.” With that, he turned his back in contempt and walked away.

Don’t be so sure, Nicolo thought, glaring murderously at the smaller man’s back. He recalled that the King had just called him “my boy.” There’s more than one way to skin a cat. He turned back to the lab. Time to light a fire under some underlings’ butts.

*

Jacques turned left down another hall, his boots clicking as he left the carpeted central hallway for one of its tiled offshoots. He had been trying to get information about a new weapon he’d heard was being developed and hoped that task was fulfilled when he distracted Bonetti and allowed Irene to escape. He was certain the reason he’d given Nicolo for the challenge was one the man would swallow hook, line and sinker. So why did he feel uneasy, paranoid? Occupational hazard.

His wife, Denise, stepped from the first door on his right and embraced him.

“You play a dangerous game, cheri,” she whispered as she hugged him.

“So do we all, mon coeur,” he said inhaling the fresh scent of her hair. “So do we all.” He kissed her on the cheek. “Now, we mus’ get Irene’s information to de Allies.”

*

The ISS

The red light flared as the alarm buzzed.

Commander Clark Kent tugged on his mustache and disabled the alarm.

Marissa Riley, their Australian computer engineer tucked a loose strand of her long, dark auburn hair up into a hair net and nodded at him, her emerald green eyes dark with concern.

He toggled the intercom link to General Anderson’s quarters and said, “They’re at it again.”

“Damn.” Alice Anderson rarely swore but this was terrible news. Someone in California had been pinging the Sunflower Laser repeatedly for almost two months now.

“Are they making progress?” She asked.

“Whoever programmed the control circuitry for that weapon did a good job,” Marissa said. “But I’m afraid if we don’t intervene they may gain control shortly.”

Alice Anderson’s shoulders slumped. This decision would add more gray to her hair. She didn’t want to destroy the Sunflower. Havoc’s Twin had passed apogee three years ago and was definitely on a collision course with Earth, but if she allowed ground-siders to gain control of the weapon it could be used against Luna City or targets on Earth as well as the oncoming asteroid. Given the state of affairs down below she couldn’t allow that.

“Clark, get Captains Dupree and Adams on the horn. Tell them to take an Aurora and place some explosives on that bird.” If anyone tried to use that weapon for anything other than destroying the asteroid she’d blow it up.

“General...Alice?” The doubt in Commander Kent’s voice seared her conscience.

“It’s a last resort, Clark,” she said. “First we’ll sever their comm link.”

“Then they’ll know we’re up here and that we have access to their precious laser.”

She shrugged, then realizing he couldn’t see her, said, “Then maybe it’s time we stopped hiding and picked a side.”

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