The Dead Familiar

J.D. McKenna

Chapter 1: The Nurse

9:54pm

August 15th 2015

Minneapolis, Minnesota, USA

Jack Hightower sat in front of his computer. Alerts were screaming across the top of the screen, but he barely noticed them. He had been attempting to contact some friends he still had in the Department of Defense, but the flash bulletin changed things.

China declared on Japan. I'm out of time.

Jack had done his best to prepare, and now he would put his plans to the test. Accessing his custom program, Archangel, he let his fingers hover. The screen was black, a single red activation button in the center. It glowed with all the power of unalterable consequences that it contained. One push and everything his life had been would be over, never to return.

If he was wrong... I'm not. That’s the true issue. I've done the research, checked the likely outcomes, and followed the trends. This is our best hope. I'm not wrong. Forcing his doubts aside, his finger plunged to the keyboard, clicking Enter.

The final act of his old life now complete, he left his computer and began to gather what he needed for his new one. A heavy hiking bag, loaded in preparation of this moment had been left sitting next to his boots by the door. It contained water, food that was heavy in calories and essential nutrients, and ammunition.

Padding to the bedroom, he bent down and reached into the back of his closet. Nimble fingers felt along the baseboard until he found the small cut he had made several years prior. He reached in to remove the false panel, pushing it aside. When he straightened again, he held a long metal case in one hand, and an M16A4 assault rifle in the other. It was heavily modified, set to fire in either three round burst or on full automatic with the flick of a toggle. An ACOG scope sat atop the rail system, providing much improved accuracy at long range. The cool metal of the weapon was a poignant reminder of the seriousness of his cause. It’s weighty heft in his arms brought back memories from the battlefields of his previous life. 

Moving back to the door, he strapped on his gear. Boots were laced up, durable black fatigues tucked into the top of them. A nondescript black T-shirt fit snugly about his muscular frame. A darkly edged blade and sidearm were strapped to his utility belt, and he shrugged on a leather jacket to cover them up.

It was cut short and tight with a high collar. The coat provided warmth and added protection from the elements, but most importantly it didn't restrict his movement or access to his 9mm. Frowning, he shifted the combat knife to his boot and then straightened himself once more. Better to have at least one weapon hidden at all times, he reminded himself.

He was a tall, well built man. His body was hard, with no fat content to speak of. His arms and legs rippled with muscles, and appeared to have been carved from stone. He was handsome, with beautiful verdant eyes that usually garnered immediate attention. Long curly hair fell down nearly to his shoulders, loose dirty blond ringlets curling about his ears. 

A strong jaw and full pouty lips complemented his handsome figure and distracting eyes. His mouth pulled up at the corners a little when he smiled, though he wasn't given to a broad grin. All in all, he looked on the surface to be more suited to the runway than a battlefield, but such appearances were deeply misleading. He was a man of war, and the signs were evident in the way he carried himself, the bearing that was uniquely military. More obvious was the way his eyes roved, constantly aware of his surroundings, constantly assessing potential threats. Only a person trained for war could be so hyper-vigilant without constant effort.

Zipping the jacket up so that the collar nestled just under his chin, he pulled the bag onto his shoulders. The metal case from his hide-away had gone into the pack, and the rifle lay in his arms. Cradling the M16A4 in ready position, he put his hand on the doorknob, preparing to leave.

Realizing that he would never see this place again, Jack took one last look around the small cramped apartment he had been living in for the last 2 years. It had been the refuge he needed to prepare for this moment, but it had never been a true home. With a final nod goodbye, he pulled the door open and strode through, heading down the stairs to street level.

The whole way down he heard panicked, shouting voices.

They know. They don't want to believe it or fully admit it, but deep down, they have to know. This world is doomed, and even if they can't see all the signs, I'm sure they can feel it, he commented inwardly.

Jack traveled down the steps quickly until reaching the first floor. He paused there at the sight of an open door. Nicole and May... He wrestled internally, knowing that he didn't have time for side trips but unable to just walk away from faces he knew.

God, if only I could save them all. There’s just no way.... Still, these two at least, I might just be able to help.

Pushing the door open with the gun barrel, he moved slowly into the apartment. Furniture was strewn around the apartment, and he could tell there had been a fight. He suddenly heard the thud of meat hitting meat farther back, and he moved that way quickly, gun shouldered and eye sighting down its lethal barrel.

Hearing the grunts of a man and the muffled cries of a woman, he felt his temperature rise. If that son of a bitch is back...Stopping outside the closed door, he could tell the sounds came from within. With practiced surety, he booted the door in and yelled, "Hands up, now!"

Eyes checking the room, he logged the sight of Nicole Mathews laid out on the bed, her abusive ex-husband standing above her. He held a heavy colt revolver in his fat useless hand, and Jack was thankful for the absence of May Mathews, the daughter. Here, at the end of the world, the laws of a falling society no longer restricted Jack from taking the action he knew this man deserved.

Gun already raised, he squeezed the trigger. Two seconds from Jack entering the room, Pat Mathews was dead on the ground, a hole smoking between his eyes. The man was dead, but Jack felt no shame in the kill. It had been necessary to protect his own life, and was well deserved by the man's crimes. Shouldering the weapon, Jack quickly checked Nicole for signs of life. She stirred, coming awake.  Starting as she awoke, thinking he was Pat, she scurried back from Jack. He put his hands slowly out in front of him, reassuringly.

"It's okay, Nicole, its just me."

"Jack... what happened," she asked slowly.

"Pat was here. I saw the open door, and I came to investigate."

He looked around the room.

"Where is May? We need to leave here now, Nicole.”

Nicole's face drained at the remembrance of her 8-year-old baby girl.

"She ran out of the apartment after he broke in. He tried to grab her, but she slipped by. Oh, my God, where's my baby?"

Finally noticing the still warm body of Pat, she started, jumping back.

"Oh, my God, Jack, did you...?"

"Nicole, you need to look at me."

Drawing her eyes to his, he let her stare into their beautiful green depths deeply as he spoke to her.

"The old world is gone and Pat died with it. If you want to live to greet the new world, you must come with me. We will get your daughter, but then we MUST go. In this new world, men like Pat will be dealt with harshly, and I don't feel any guilt. Let me ask you, will you miss him?"

Nicole stared into his eyes, unable to comprehend his meaning, both frightened and reassured by his calm demeanor.

"What…I…what are you talking about?" she stuttered confusedly.

"There will be time enough to explain, but only if we leave here now. Will you come with me? Will you leave?"

Nicole closed her eyes, steeled herself, and then opened them again.

She answered, "We have to find May."

Jack grinned. She'll make it. Good, I need every win I can get tonight.

"I think I have a pretty good guess of where she is. Come on and follow me. Don't bother packing."

With that, Jack hustled her out of the apartment, stopping only to let her put on a pair of shoes. He brought the gun back up, sweeping corners as he went, taking care to keep her just behind him. Exiting the building, he moved quickly down the street, heading past her old Buick Regal and going to his own black Trailblazer. It was parked less than a block from the door, near the corner of the building.

"Jack! We can't leave without May," Nicole shouted, starting to back away.

"Nicole, relax."

Realizing that his vague reassurances were not helping very much, he let out a piercing whistle.  He then went to the back of the Trailblazer, opening the hatch and leaning against the frame to wait. A few moments later, May came running around the corner of the building. Her face was dirty, but it bore a warm smile. She had little blonde pigtails swinging about her head as she ran happily to her mother.

Nicole gasped as she saw her daughter, consumed with relief.  Then Nicole noticed a massive dark shadow next to her baby. The biggest animal that most of the local city dwellers had ever seen was escorting May. Many parents would have been frightened to have their children appear so vulnerable. Recognizing Fenrir, Jack's huge dog, Nicole instead felt a wave of loyalty for the loving animal.

She was able to put together what had happened with some surety upon seeing the pair together. Nicole figured that May had run to Jack's apartment when Pat showed up. When he didn't answer her knock, she went to Fenrir, his ferocious companion. Loyal and loving to all the children, and especially to May, Fenrir had let her crawl into his kennel with him. He had protected her till he heard Jack's all clear whistle. May and Fenrir had grown close since Jack moved in upstairs, the big animal often going so far as rolling over and letting the little girl rub and pat his soft underbelly.

Jack too had realized the likely timeline, and it brought a grimace to his face.

Crap, she must have come and knocked while I was in the bedroom pulling out my gear. That was close. If I'd been any later, Fen and I would be lugging along a traumatized orphan because I wasn't being observant.

Vowing to stay sharper from here on out, he turned to the mother and daughter.

"Okay, people, we gotta roll, so hop in."

Fenrir obediently jumped into the backseat, settling next to Jack’s bag before the door was shut behind him.

Nicole looked at him uncertainly.

"Jack, what are we running from? The police will understand. He had a gun. You were just protecting me...." she trailed off as she saw Jack shaking his head.

"Nicole, the police aren't the issue here."

Although that could change if they show before I'm gone I suppose.

Grimacing at the thought of being forced to shoot his way past well-meaning officers, he pushed on.

"By dawn, the whole world will have changed. I told you about the old world ending.  I know you don't understand, but I promise that by dawn, you will. Your choice comes now though. I can't come back for you. I won't have time later. I need you to trust me until morning. If you can do that, you and May will live. Please trust me, Nicole. The world is about to die, and poorly. Can you have faith in me for a night?"

He looked at her desperately, willing her to come, for her sake and that of her daughter. He knew he sounded a little crazy, but he couldn't help it. He was frantic to get everyone he cared about out of the city before the worst happened.

May tugged at her mother's arm. "Mommy, we have to go with Jack. He really wants us to, and he said please."

Nicole looked at her baby girl.

One night. He might be crazy, but then...he's always been good to us before.

"Okay, Jack, because I owe you, you get one night. Tomorrow, I go to the police and explain though."

"Great. Let’s go," he replied, breathing a sigh of relief.

With the girls decided, Jack hopped in the driver’s side, letting mother and daughter crowd into the backseat. Fenrir and his bag were still behind them in the trunk. Turning the key in the ignition, he gunned the Trailblazer, whipping an immediate U to head the wrong way on the one way.

Ignoring Nicole's stifled cries in the back, he shifted gears, screaming around the corner and driving as aggressively as he thought he could get away with. He set off down Franklin Street, heading west. The city was dark about him, quiet in these final hours.

Those who were out and about moved quickly, frightened of the shadows. As the economy had trickled to a halt, crime had risen sharply. Night wasn’t a safe time for people to be out in Minneapolis any time, much less the final night of a dying world. He pulled out his cell phone as he drove, dialing without taking his eyes from the road. Pinning it to his ear with a raised shoulder, he listened to it dialing.

A voice spoke, “Hello, Jack?"

"Gary, I'm glad I got you. Listen, I've initiated Archangel Protocol and the alerts are out. I'm on my way to my first pick-up. Are you at the place?" Jack asked.

"Close enough, I'm out by the first outpost. I’ve been laying cable to get it on the grid, which isn’t quite done yet. I'll head back in and start tracking events,” he said before pausing. “You sure about this?"

"Yeah, with them after the Japanese, the government won't feel it has any choice. This will start the final fires. I expect the first strikes to start landing within hours. Listen, who else is out there already?"

"Shit, not many, and nearly all incidentals. A number of the construction guys who have been building this place, but they don't know why. My assistant is up here, but I still haven't given her much information either. Her boyfriend is also up here, spending his leave with her. Damn, man, it's just me and the help really. What's your ETA?"

Jack thought, "Likely between 2 am and 4am. No way to make the window smaller. It will depend on events."

Greg was silent for a while. "Look Jack... hurry, okay. If you’re right...you have to get out of the city ASAP."

"I will, man, no worries on that front. Look, I gotta go. Communication may get tricky, so if you don't hear from me for a while, don't assume anything. I'll try to be there by 4am at the latest. You just be ready to lead these people when I get them there. They are going to need you, man."

"I understand. Between the two of us, we can protect them. Good luck, Jack."

Jack hung up his cell and tossed it in a coat pocket. He had been driving insanely fast for a little while, and was now approaching his destination. He wheeled the car into a quick stop, smacking the heavy-duty tires against the curb before quickly hopping out.

His target was the Starbucks at the corner of Franklin, and he made his way in that direction, stopping only to shut and lock the door behind him. Rifle left in the car, he still had his knife and 9mm. Surprised patrons and passers-by scattered in terror as he pulled the pistol out, moving determinedly forwards. He had considered going in holstered, but to his mind, leaving the rifle behind was nearly the same thing. No way was Jack Hightower walking into what he thought of as a military operation with a holstered weapon. All around him, people cried out or called for the police, unsure of what was going on.

He ignored them, moving forwards.

I can't save them all. I can't save them all. I can't save them all.

That thought kept replaying in his head as he walked by the throngs of people that he knew would soon be corpses. They just don't know it yet.

Hoping that Justin had received his Archangel alert and wasn't just sitting in his apartment, Jack headed in the front doors. He swung his head around, searching the store's interior.

Instructions were for Justin to get to the store and await pickup, avoiding the possibility of us getting caught in the apartment building if I was late...which I am.

Jack swung about, looking for his friend.

"Umm... Hey, buddy...what’s going on...?"

Relieved at the sound of Justin's voice emanating from the corner, he looked over to see the man stepping towards him. Justin was a skinny male of average height. He had long dark hair, streaked with blue highlights, and short muscular biker’s legs. He wasn't as strongly built as Jack, but he was still in incredibly good shape. He had found a much skinnier equilibrium than his more warlike friend had.

Justin had come to the shop dressed casually, wearing blue jeans, a pair of supple leather boots, and a graphic-T depicting one of his favorite bands; The Killers. His face bore an expression of barely contained fear as he spoke to his recently arrived friend.

"Jack, listen. You're scaring these people. Hell, you're scaring me a little bit. What's going on?"

"Justin, didn't you get your Archangel alert?"

Justin laughed, "Your crazy end of the world plan...?  I thought you were just drunk when you told me about that. But no, I didn't. My phone is in my room anyway."

Jack looked him dead in the eye. "Justin, we have to GO."

A young Somali man had been sneaking up behind Jack, but his presence was sensed as he closed the distance. Jack turned and shook his head at the man in a clear dismissal. The would-be hero responded by yelling at Jack to put the gun down and surrender. Jack’s response was to stare deadpan at the man for a moment before lifting his gun and firing a round into the ceiling.

Turning back to Justin, Jack muttered a terse, "Now."

Face paling, Justin put his hands up and started towards Jack shakily.

"Look, man, are you nutters or something? Just don't shoot me, remember we are friends..."

Rolling his eyes at his friend’s stubborn disbelief, Jack felt frustrated.

Am I going to have to convince every damn one of my pickups that this is for real? Probably for a while...until they can see shit falling apart around them at least.

Grabbing Justin by the shoulder, he marched him out to the car, pistol pressed into his back. Jack realized that the sight of him marching his buddy at gunpoint into the car wouldn't be too reassuring to Nicole, so he slid the gun away and just shoved Justin forwards in front of him.

"Get in the passenger seat," he barked.

Jack had to admit that while it had initially been frustrating, it was a little bit of fun to make his buddy sweat while he played the crazed gun-toting nut.

It's not like I'm actually going to shoot him, he thought.

His good nature fought the smile that his devilish side wanted to release, succeeding in restricting himself to a mere smirk at his friend’s expense.

Justin gulped audibly but did as he was told, climbing into the passenger seat.  Once he saw the two females in the back seat, he knew he had no choice but go along with Jack's wishes. He wanted to trust his friend, but some of the things he had been saying to him over the last few months were just too unreal.

Apparently, Jack was a believer though. He had even set up the Archangel Protocol, just as promised. Unwilling to leave the woman alone with his (probably) mad friend, Justin got in willingly, recognizing that he was along for the ride now.

Once he saw his semi-captive friend safely ensconced in the car, Jack climbed into the driver’s seat. He hesitated to drive off again without some explanation.

He thought to himself, this isn't going to work unless they trust me. I need to make the time to explain, or they'll just run off next time we stop.

Sighing, he reached under the heavily modified dash of his Jeep, tripping a hidden switch. With an audible click, a panel rolled back, revealing a file compartment stuffed with papers. Grabbing the files, he thrust them into Justin's hands.

"Read,” he said commandingly.

Information delivered, he started to drive back down Franklin, heading for the next stop on his little adventure while simultaneously praying that Cyrus would be ready. Turning to Justin again, he gave further direction.

"Check the stuff on China especially,” he said, pointing to the Top Secret files that were shuffled into the heavy index.

Raising an eyebrow at his friend, Justin was both impressed and confused. Jack doesn't have this kind of security clearance anymore. How did he get these?

In answer to Justin's unspoken question, Jack explained, "I have a friend, guy named Gary Scofield. Assuming everything goes right, you'll meet him tomorrow."

Raising his voice to include the now terrified Nicole and slightly oblivious May, he continued, "Okay, here is what you have to know. At ten pm tonight, China declared war on Japan. They launched a preemptive Reaper Strike on their mainland."

Nicole interrupted, "Reaper?! As in the virus? They're using that shit...That's pure genocide!"

Now it was Jack's turn to be surprised.

“You know about the Reaper Virus," he asked.

Nicole nodded in the back. "Yeah, some of the doctors I helped as a nurse were talking about it. I guess the Mayo was helping to try to find a cure for it."

His heart suddenly racing, Jack felt a quick candle of hope light in his chest.

"Do you know if they perfected one…?”

She spoke sadly, “They gave up. They thought there was something in the DNA sequencing, but it was a dead end. It was back to square one last I heard. CDC in Atlanta said they were farther along, but there was no vaccine there either."

Moment of hope banished, Jack nodded. My sources were right, the Archangel Protocol remains the only way I can keep these people safe.

Justin interrupted the two, speaking confusedly, "Wait a second, I don't know what this Reaper thing is." He looked askance at Nicole and Jack, waiting for one of them to fill him in. Nicole shook her head, nodding to May, signifying that she didn’t want to talk about it in front of her daughter. The two men nodded in understanding, and Jack grabbed the file specific to the disease for Justin to look over quietly.

Justin gasped a little as he finished reading, "Wait, they are USING this as a weapon..? Oh, my God, fucking biological warfare. That’s what they’re doing, isn’t it? And it's across the globe already? This stuff says it’s got a 97% lethality rate, and is highly contagious. Aren’t they worried about it spreading to their own people?"

Jack nodded, "In a word, no. We’re talking about the Chinese here. With democracy growing in their country, and over a billion citizens, they figure wiping out the world population is an effective way to maintain power. Even if they lose 97% of their population, they’ll still have plenty of people to rebuild with,” he explained with a sigh.

“Our government didn't want to tell anyone. With no cure or possible prevention, we are totally at Chinese mercy. To let the western hemisphere know about it, we would have torn ourselves apart. Hell, with the economy and the continuing war, we were about to anyway. Most of the world is already going dark, and only strict quarantine has kept it off North America, until now."

Justin looked a little confused. "How do you mean?"

Jack explained. "With the Reaper Strike on Japan, that leaves just the U.S., Canada, Mexico and China left in the fight. Or maybe left at all. They nuked London, then hit Europe and Africa with the virus. With the world dying, our government agreed to peace. China gets to occupy the rest of the world, we get North America, and Japan stays as a neutral arbiter for the future. But...with Japan being attacked, we can surmise that the Chinese just used the agreement as a stall in order to prep for invasion. Virus could be on the way, already here, or neither.”

He looked at the uneasy faces of his friends, wishing that he had something he could say to lessen their worries. The truth was, the world was about to die a brutal death, and there were no words to lessen that fact.

Jack spoke softly, “Either way, easy money says the U.S. tries to glass China. Hell, the only reason we haven't so far is a fear of infiltrators with the virus holding us hostage. Well that...and we don't really know if the earth can take it. After the Russian extremists glassed South America....let’s just say that Mother Earth is pretty fucked up and we are about to kick her while she's down."

Jack shrugged. "Archangel Protocol was designed by me and Gary. He's kind of a computer genius, not to mention being stupid wealthy. He used to design military tech among other things. I met him while my old recon squad was field-testing it for him,” Jack said with a smile, remembering old times.

“We ended up hitting it off and quickly became friends. Gary and I ran the numbers. We watched the trends and almost a year ago decided that this was the most likely outcome. We couldn't risk spreading the news, panic would have been just as bad, especially if we were wrong. So we did what we could. We prepared, and we set up the Archangel Protocol to preserve a small population."

Justin looked stunned. He’d been checking the files while Jack talked. Looking at Nicole in the mirror, "He's not joking. It's all in here. The government has been lying to us, faking broadcasts from around the world, using propaganda... I can't believe they got away with it for so long, but it's true. They've been keeping us in the dark about the war efforts, locking down news about the virus, all to keep the public from tearing the nation apart.”

Nicole started crying as Justin confirmed what Jack had been saying. With the flashing strobes of highway lights flickering by, she thought about her home: the Twin Cities. Would everyone be dead soon? Would she, or May?

Jack looked in the mirror, straight at Nicole. "The old world dies tonight, and it is going to be hard, Nicole, but the new world begins at dawn. We will survive. I swear I will save you and your daughter. If I could save them all, I would, but... there just isn’t any way." Jack too was crying, watching lights fly past, full with the knowledge that they would flicker off soon enough.

Chapter 2: The Mexicans

10:09pm

August 15th, 2015

Northwest Arizona, East of Mesquite

Rey Lorenzo wiped his sopping forehead. At forty-eight, Rey was well into middle age, and he could feel it catching up with him. Even so, the short, well-tanned man had maintained himself well. His dark skin was stretched taut and smooth over a thick layer of muscles, and his breath was strong.

Standing around five feet and five inches, he would never tower, but a naturally energetic personality lent him the inner fire to impress himself on those around him. Quick, dark eyes pierced out from under thick, heavy brows, his innate intelligence shining through in the way he noted and considered everything in his environs. His hair grew black and straight, falling across his forehead and over his ears.

He looked over to his Uncle Jose, peering through the flame burnt air above the campfire to see him sitting on the other side. His Uncle Jose was nearing seventy, and it had finally begun to show. Although he still possessed the slim, wiry frame he always had, a small paunch had begun at last to announce itself. His hair had gone almost completely grey, though it was still thick and full. 

Rey often caught his uncle grimacing in pain, a clear sign of his advanced arthritis. The man's shadowy brown eyes had lost none of their steel however. They bore the same mark of intelligence, but perhaps with a greater wisdom born of experience. No one who had talked with Jose could discount the man's knowledge. His aged, sun-lined face bore testament to a life spent attaining it.

Rey and Jose had left the city the prior evening. The bright lights and busy noise of Phoenix had faded behind them as Rey drove into the desert. The camping trip had been an annual ritual, ever since Rey was a kid. He still remembered their first trip vividly. It had all started when his parents died. Back then, he was just a happy eight-year-old kid.

Moving to America had seemed like a fresh start, a grand adventure. The Lorenzos had truly believed in the promise of the land, seeking to capture it for themselves. America had stripped the shine from their dreams however, showing them the ugly truth of the Mexican immigrant’s life. Disappointed, his parents stayed anyways, working hard to improve their situation. Working multiple jobs, living on a budget, they had still made time to shower Rey with love and affection.

He had been happy.

His happiness was short lived however. One night, late after dinner, the family took a wrong turn on their way home. Their path left them in the middle of disputed gang turf. When a turf war erupted, they were caught in the middle. Violent gunfire stole his parents from him that night. Rey had survived in the backseat of his parent’s old van, but the front took a brutal amount of lead. No one else made it through the onslaught alive.

He remembered the feeling of screaming, throat raw and raspy. The horrible sound of metal rending metal. Concussive blasts of air, sound, and light as the bullets tore through the sides of the vehicle. He didn't remember climbing to the front. Forgot shaking the bullet-ridden corpses there as he tried to wake his parents and to make them breathe. The next memory he had was of sitting on the side of the road, rocking back and forth, holding his head in shock. The flashing strobes of emergency lights dyed the scene in hues of red, blue, and yellow.

When Jose arrived to the scene, Rey still hadn't spoken a word to anyone. He just sat on the curb, rocking slowly back and forth. He looked up to his uncle, dry eyes glaring forth from a mask of shock.

Taking one look at the broken child, Jose made a decision. Picking Rey up, Jose carried him back to his truck. He waved off the officious patrolmen, the earnest paramedics, and the intrusive bystanders. He drove straight out of the city, heading for the desert... for solitude. Away from the lights and sounds of the modern world, they escaped. Rey refused to speak a word the whole time they drove, with Jose choosing to mirror the boy's silence.

Hours away from civilization, Jose pulled off the road and parked the truck. He had picked up Rey and taken him a few miles from the road, carrying him on his back, Rey’s thin arms hanging idly about his neck.  The star filled sky shone above them as they walked through a stark, muted world, silenced but for the dull, crunching footfalls of the older man.

When they came across a small trickling stream, Jose sat Rey down and went about setting up a camp. He made a fire, threw blankets to the ground, and settled the shock-laden child on the ground. The two had lain down, backs cushioned from the stony desert landscape by coarse, prickly blankets, knitted by Rey’s mother. They lay with faces turned to sky. 

After a while, Jose reached out and took his young nephew’s hand, tentatively as a silent show of his support. He didn’t want to push the young boy's processing faster than Rey could handle, and had resolved to let the boy speak first. He needn't have worried.

Once their hands touched, Rey felt himself crack, the world shifting beneath him. The foundation of his being was cast into ruin, and he felt as though time began to slip by once more. It was heartrending, painful, confusing...but it suddenly felt as though he were alive again. 

Feeling his uncle's callused, work-roughened hand squeeze his own gently had brought his mother and father's faces to mind at last. He was struck by the conflicting emotional realities of his utter aloneness and the familial bond he felt for his uncle. With his young eyes staring into the boundless heavens above, he had begun to weep long, wracking sobs. He let his pain flow out of him into the sand beneath him in his tears; carried up into the sky by his screams.

Rey never knew why his taciturn uncle had done it, how he had known to take the closed off boy to the desert, but it had been exactly what was needed. Rey had been able to cry out his loss that weekend, alone, with his uncle in the wilds. It kept him from bottling it up, from stunting his emotional evolution. Ever since that first night, the two had gone out into the desert at least once a year, sometimes more, but always on the anniversary. There had been hard times; spaces filled with grief and pain, but his uncle had always been there for him. With the memory of that night, Rey had been able to overcome the dark periods.

Over the years, the ritual had evolved into a way for the two to remember their loss, but also their bond.  It became more about tradition, and family, less about grieving and pain. They had learned survival skills together, finding out what was dangerous, what was safe to eat, and how to exist with nature in the harsh American Southwest. They had taught one another how to track, hunt, and hide. They learned how to find the direction and time by the position of the sun. It was all knowledge that they learned not for any purpose, but simply from a shared need to know things.

In regular life, Rey had moved in with his uncle, continuing his education. He was taken on as an apprentice Jose’s auto shop, given an opportunity to study machines and their inner workings at a very young age. His uncle taught him everything he knew about vehicles, which was a sizable amount. Uncle Jose had a knack for machinery. Anything with a gear, motor or wheels spoke to him. He could discover its ailments and remedy them. It was a genius that had often gone unnoticed by the arrogant educated folk who brought their cars into the shop, but it was there despite its obscurity.

Rey had used his own share of that innate understanding of mechanical working to become an engineer, graduating with honors from Arizona State University. He worked hard in school,  the scholarship they provided him had been returned a hundredfold when he began to make his fortune.

He worked at a successful engineering firm, becoming one of the fastest rising stars in the company. He had been promoted repeatedly and as a consequence, been given more and more interesting work.  After a few years, he had even begun doing work with the military. This work included training with the army corp of engineers, an opportunity for him to learn about modern construction methods, as well as how to work with military vehicles and equipment. His efforts at bringing these machines to greater levels of efficiency were well remarked upon by his peers, and it was through those interactions that had brought him to Gary Scofield's attention.

Gary was the son of a successful military contractor. He had inherited his father's skills, and the family fortune. At a young age he had shown a propensity for innovation that was unrivaled by anyone else in his field. He was adept with all forms of computer driven skill-sets, possessed excellent skills in the area of weapons technology, and was a driven businessman.

He had dabbled in renewable energy sourcing, helping the military try to find ways to reduce their dependence on oil based fuel. A billionaire jack-of-all-trades when it came to technology and military hardware, Gary found a kindred spirit in Rey, marveling at his peer’s agile mind. The two had bonded over the sharing of ideas and possibilities, and this friendship deepened over the years to become a bond as sure as blood.

This bond also led to Rey's inclusion in the Archangel Protocol. As Jack's partner in that effort, and the planned leader of the citadel, Gary felt that Rey was a friend that could not be left out in the cold. His keen mind and survivalist nature would make for wonderful assets to any group of survivors seeking to rebuild, including Winterhaven.  When the button was pressed, Gary received a data dump of his own, warning him to leave major population centers and to use ground based transport to try to get to Minnesota. While everyone involved knew that the chances for Rey to make the journey were minimal, the offer was still extended in the hope that he would be successful.

Rey's response to the message beeping on his phone was immediate. The combination of his work with the military and his friendship with Gary had given him a much better flow of information than the average citizen had. He took the warning seriously. He was well aware of the shape the world had found itself in, and it wasn’t an overly surprising development.

Because he and his uncle were already out camping, he knew that they would be relatively safe in the short-term. His worries were instead focused on how to explain the situation to his uncle, and how to affect a survivable journey to join Gary in Minnesota. It would be a two thousand mile trip. One that would have to be carefully plotted to avoid major population centers or other groups of people whenever possible. Even with the difficulties and dangers, it was a journey worth making. Rey knew of no one else who had prepared so completely, and it was the only real chance of survival that Rey and Jose had at their disposal.

First things first. I have to talk to Jose. Calling his uncle over, he sat him down and looked at him seriously.

"Tio, I have to tell you some things," Rey started before pausing to consider his words.  Jose simply returned his look, waiting. Rey continued, "We can't go back home. Bad things are going to happen soon. We don't want to be there when they do."

"You know this?" asked Jose.

"I do, Uncle. I have been told, and I trust those who have said it," he replied.

His uncle nodded. "Then we will not go home. Will we stay here, or must we go elsewhere?"

Rey was impressed anew by his uncle’s ability to handle any situation.

"We should be safe here for now, but over time, it will be difficult to survive here. There is a place that we have been offered, far to the north and east in Minnesota. It will be difficult and dangerous… but if we can make it there, it is the best place."

His uncle considered. "I have never left this part of America, not once since I moved here. Still... if you think we should go, we will go to Minnesota," Jose finished speaking and nodded, decided.

Rey patted the older man on the leg before standing up. His uncle followed him to his feet, and they packed camp quickly and efficiently. They would hike back to the road and their truck before driving north. Rey hoped to get as far as he could before the trouble started, making the overall journey that much less dangerous.

Grinding out their ashes, Rey dumped the rest of the coffee on it to avoid the risk of fire, an ever-present danger in the dry southwest. He looked about their campsite for a moment remembering all the times they had journeyed to this region. He felt his eyes drift skywards, searching for something. With Jose standing quietly nearby, Rey closed his eyes. He imagined his parents, far above him, watching down on him.  A brief smile tugged at his lips, and when he reopened his eyes, they were hard and determined. The two men hugged briefly, expressing their mutual respect and affection without words, and then the old uncle and nephew started to walk.

Chapter 3: The Yankees in Dixie

10: 34pm

August 15th, 2015

Memphis, Tennessee

“Olivia! Honey, come quickly,” John Xander shouted. He could hear his young wife climbing out of the shower upstairs. The small two story home they shared featured a bath and bedroom upstairs, with a kitchen and living room downstairs. It was simple, but it was all they had been able to afford as young newlyweds with teaching salaries. The two of them had married a few years before, moving south for a teaching program as soon as their honeymoon had ended. Money had been tight, but teaching the inner-city youth of Memphis, and doing it together… that had been wonderful.

“Olivia! Babe! Come down here,” John reiterated. He stood in the living room, hand flexing nervously. Waiting for his wife, John began to pace about the small room in thought. He was a tall, slender man. He had dark brown, nearly black hair. John ran his fingers through it as he paced, which was a habitual action when he was stressed. He dressed simply but fashionably, his wife’s hand clearly visible in the selection of his wardrobe. John was in excellent shape due to his past as a long-distance runner, his slim figure accentuated by sturdy musculature in his arms and abs.

He ceased pacing as his beautiful wife came down the stairs. She was wrapped in a white cotton towel, her hair wet and trailing down her back. As she appeared, she noticed his lack of attention to her appearance. After a couple years of marriage, John could still hardly control himself at the sight of his wife in a state of undress. For once, however, more pressing concerns drew thoughts of sexuality straight out of his mind, and the oddity struck Olivia as alarming. John hustled over to her, showing her the text message he had just received.

It was an Archangel Alert, containing links to further data online. He had started searching through some of it when he first called out to Olivia, and was fast approaching a state of shock. Sensing his state, she grabbed the phone from his hand and examined it herself, intelligent eyes poring over every line. She looked up at him, vulnerable, with concern in her eyes.

“John, what does it mean?” she asked, handing the phone back.

“It means...well, at the very least, it means that Jack thinks it’s the end. He told us about this, remember? When we were up to visit last year. He told us that something big was coming, that the world might change. We just laughed it off as whisky talk, but I always kind of wondered if maybe there wasn’t something more to it.” John paused, thinking his next words through carefully, “Olivia, baby. I think....” he trailed off, unable to finish.

She looked into his eyes, before reaching down to clutch his hand.

“You think we should take this seriously, don’t you, babe?” she asked.

John just nodded.

Olivia sighed, “Well, you’ve known Jack a long time. If you trust him, then I do too. So, what does he want us to do?” she asked.

“Well, look’s like he gives us the coordinates to a safe location,” John said while scrolling through the phone. “But it’s up in Minnesota...Oh wait, that’s just the generic information that everyone gets. That’s where he will be...” John continued to read the messages and information that the Archangel Protocol had dumped to his phone.

“Well, it seems to have been tracking where we are. It gives several alternative routes out of the city, as well as identifying possible dangers. It also warns that it cannot adjust to the changing situation. It says... Damn. It says Memphis has a forty-five percent chance of being nuked in the next day and a ninety-two percent chance of suffering some form of attack...” John looked up to see his wife nearly dressed.

She noticed his surprise, and told him, “Well if we are gonna run off somewhere, I’m not going to do it in a bath towel, am I?” She laughed at him as he jumped up and began to struggle on better clothing as well.

While he changed his pants, she took the phone and began perusing it.

”Honey, what’s this?” she asked, pointing to a glowing icon that had showed up on his phone’s built in map system.

John took a look while tightening his belt.

“Click it and see if it gives a description,” he suggested.

Doing just that, Olivia Xander was surprised when it popped up a dialogue box, informing her that the icon marked the location of Bug-Out Gear. It was a couple miles from their house, but not so far as to be out of their way. It seemed worth investigating. With the couple no longer busy dressing and packing, they were suddenly forced to realize the implications of everything. 

“Are we really going to leave our home because Jack sent us a text, hon?” John asked.

Olivia looked at her wonderful husband, and then around the home they had begun to build together. She thought about the secret she had been holding onto for the last few weeks. Then she answered him.

“If he’s wrong, then we haven’t lost anything. If he is right…” she trailed off.

John nodded in agreement. His wife was a levelheaded companion. He knew she was right.

“Alright then, I’ll get the lights. Why don’t you pull the car around,” he suggested.

Before he could start upstairs, Olivia ran over to him and gave him a hug. He wrapped his arms around her, feeling her warmth against him. The flutter in his heart reminded him of the first time they had met. When she disengaged, he smiled broadly at her.

“Let’s go have an adventure then,” John joked quietly.

Olivia ran out to get the car while John turned off all the lights. He slipped on his shoes and locked the door as he exited their home. Running down the sidewalk, he refused to look back. John was scared that he would lose his nerve if he saw the house standing empty, scared that he would be forced to admit that they would never return. A second later, Olivia pulled up in their beat up old Honda Civic. Hopping in the passenger seat, John told her to turn right at the next intersection. She drove while he navigated them towards the mysterious coordinates on his phone.

As they drove through the city, Olivia was struck by how lifeless it had become. In just the few short years they had lived here, the once thriving city had died. It was run down, deserted, left to the gangs and the criminals. It was rare to see people out and about in the evening, because it had become too dangerous. Crime had exploded since the Middle East incident a few years ago, but the real problem was the growing racial tension in the area.

When the Xanders first moved down, whites and blacks had been more or less ambivalent to one another. As the economic crisis hit certain areas worse than others, however, old tensions had sprung up anew, and the couple had been finding it more and more difficult to fit in with their more ethnic co-workers and students.

It had all been so slow and gradual that they hadn’t even noticed at first. One day, one of their African American friends had come into work with a broken nose, mentioning that a group of white gangbangers had accosted him. A few weeks later, some of their Latino students had failed to show up for school, and word filtered down that they were having difficulty crossing certain neighborhoods.

Both John and Olivia had been raised to respect quality, regardless of color or creed. Thanks to their liberal parents, they harbored no racism of their own. Still, as the situation had worsened, some teachers stopped being as cordial to them. The young couple had been forced to assume it had something to do with their race. They had discussed the matter at length before deciding that all they could do was continue teaching, keep trying to show that race didn’t define them or the people they chose to be connected to. The irony of their Caucasian heritage being a factor in their own persecution was not lost on them, however.

As they neared the marker, they were also driving into a predominantly black area. The few people out began to take a visible interest in the two whites driving through the neighborhood.

“Didn’t we see that guy a couple blocks back?” John asked his wife after spotting a young man in a red hoodie that seemed to be watching them pass.

“I don’t know, maybe. We did have to take the long route around, but why would he be following us?”

“I’m probably just imagining it, but let’s be careful,” John said.

After a few more minutes of driving, the map indicated that they had arrived at their destination. A tall, concrete building greeted them. Pulling up to the curb, John checked the map. It indicated a location in the basement, something far more complex than his smart phone should have been capable of. Whatever the archangel alert had been, it had clearly added some programing to his cell.

He looked at the building dubiously. “Okay, we drove all the way out here, so I guess I’ll run in and check it out. You better stay here in the car. Be ready to drive when I get out. I don’t like the look of this neighborhood.”

Leaning over, Olivia gave him a quick peck on the cheek before shooing him out of the car. He closed the door behind himself, more than a little relieved to see her lock it behind him.

Better safe than politically correct.

John walked tentatively to the buildings entrance, giving the door a push. It swung open easily, surprising John. Most people kept their doors locked around here. He walked into the poorly lit hallway, looking for a stairwell. Coming across a fire door, he pushed it open and found the path to the basement he had been expecting.

So far so good...

Swallowing, John climbed down the steps, his heart still worried about his wife out alone in the car. When he reached the bottom, he found that the lights were out. Looking about for a light switch, his hand came across something hard and cylindrical. Grasping it and feeling along its length, he discovered a switch, discerning it for a flashlight. Turning it on, he swung the light’s beam in a wide arc, looking for some sort of sign as to his next step.

He walked deeper into the inky black darkness, swinging the light back and forth. Growing frustrated, he turned to leave.

There’s nothing here. I don’t know why Jack sent us here, but I’m not gonna just hang out here for no reason.

As he walked back to the stairs, he noticed a slight depression just in front of his left shoe. Kneeling down, he ran his hand along the ground. John could just make out a slight seam running in front of him, forming a square box in the floor.

John pulled out his phone again, noticing that it now had him standing exactly at his destination. Smacking himself in the head lightly, he growled in frustration that he had forgotten to check the map in his moment of doubt.  John started looking for a way to open what he surmised was a trap door, leading to what he now suspected was a cache of goods or possibly even weapons. He traced his fingers around the seam, catching them on a slight lever protruding from the seam. Gripping it, he flipped the lever in the opposite direction. With a hiss, the floor right in front of him began to rise up.

A pneumatic press pushed up a meter square block of concrete, revealing a hidden chamber in the floor.

How in the hell did Jack manage to get this set up?

Reaching into the hollow storage space, John Xander felt a couple of straps. He grasped them tightly, heaving, and pulled out a heavy black duffel bag. Curious as to its contents, he unzipped it and shone his flashlight inside. He let out a low whistle.

Inside the bag were several boxes of MRE’s, or Meals Ready to Eat, a couple bottles of water, and some extra clothing. He was more interested in the bottom of the bag, however. Nestled there was the mother load; a small 9mm submachine gun, with modified stock attached; and a hefty combat shotgun outfitted to military specifications. There were several boxes of ammunition for the shotgun, as well as extra clips for the 9mm, and John took a moment to appreciate the dangerous lines of the violent tools Jack had left for them. A note was taped to the 9mm. He pulled it free and unfolded it, amused to see Jack’s slightly girlish handwriting.

Dear Xanders,

I know you are not gun people, but you will probably have to change that in the coming days. If it turns out, I was wrong, you can dump them here again, with none the wiser.  I doubt that will be the case however. The 9mm likes to climb when fired, but the stock should help with that. I put it in because it’s lower caliber and Olivia should be able to handle it. Besides, there is a ton of 9mm ammunition lying around. The shotgun has quite a kick, so be careful, John. Keep it braced when you fire, and only point it towards something that you really, really want to disappear. I can’t tell you how sad it makes me that you have to go through this alone, without my help, but hopefully you will make it here. I don’t know what the world will be like between you and Minnesota, but someday, hopefully, we will meet again. Until then, please, survive.

-Sincerely, Jack.

p.s. Olivia, sorry about making out with your sister at your wedding, I told you an open bar was a bad idea.

John stuffed the note back in the bag.

I knew it! He totally did make out with Alexis. Olivia is going to kill him!

Slinging the bag over his shoulder, John ran back up the steps, trotting through the building. He was in a hurry to get back to his wife, filled with worry for her safety. He failed to notice the sounds of shouting until he had already reached outside though, the chorus of angry voices sending a shiver of fear through his body.

As he exited the building, he saw that a group of men had encircled his car. With a cold sweat breaking out, he noticed that someone was pulling a kicking and screaming Olivia from the car. With a shout, he broke into a run, rushing to defend his wife.

He failed to see the man crouched behind the car, however, and as he ran headlong into the group of young men harassing his wife, the feeling of the wind being knocked from his body as his assailant powered his fist deep into his gut stunned him.

Falling to his knees, John felt dazed. He struggled, attempting to pull air into his body in order to recover. He felt powerless, the man who had knocked him down standing over him menacingly. 

“Well, well, what do we have here?” he said. “This your pretty little girl?” As he said it, he casually kicked John, knocking him onto his back.

“Don’t you worry. We’ll take good care of her, right boys?”

The other men responded with feral grins and shouts of glee. The big man, who John assumed to be the group’s leader looked back down at him.

”You, however, we won’t be needing.”

The horrendous brute reached into the back of his pants, pulling out a wicked looking knife before advancing on John where he lay on the ground. Some of the men started pawing at Olivia, pulling at her shirt roughly. John felt a hot rage encompass him. Scrambling back from the big man’s advance, his hand brushed against the bag he had so recently retrieved.

John Xander grabbed it, rolling away from his assailant’s clumsy lunge. He had the bag unzipped before the brute could close again, and without pausing to think, John withdrew the shotgun.

I really, really hope this is loaded.

As the would be murderer and rapist processed the change in his fortunes, John pumped the shotgun, bringing it to his shoulder as he had seen in the movies. With a shout, he pulled the trigger. The gun roared, bucking so hard that John nearly dropped it. From such close range, the blast nearly blew the man’s torso away, disintegrating the bastard’s body like so much papier-mâché in a tornado. 

The rest of recently deceased minions scattered at the sound of a gun at play. John continued to train the gun on their fleeing backs, but found he no longer had the strength to pull the trigger. Once the last of their number had disappeared into the surroundings, he let the gun slip from his fingers and he ran to his wife. Wrapping his arms around her, John held her tightly to his chest while she sobbed.

Is this how the world will be? I just killed a man, and the bombs haven’t even started dropping yet. How much worse will it get?

Gently, John guided his wife to the passenger side of the car. Belting her in, he ran back and collected the bag and gun with trembling hands. He tossed them in the backseat before climbing into the driver’s seat. Starting the car, he looked over to Olivia. She had begun to dry her eyes, recovering from the fright she had endured. Tenderly, she reached over to squeeze her husband’s hand.

“You had to do it, John. They would have killed us otherwise,” she reassured her husband.

He nodded, but said nothing. John wasn’t ready to talk yet. He had never imagined taking a life, and wasn’t sure how to reconcile the action with his own self-image. Shifting into gear, he pulled away from the scene, driving towards the countryside. They left the radio off, driving in a morose silence. It was half an hour before John realized that he hadn’t even considered calling the police. For better or worse, it appeared that he and Olivia were now fully committed to Jack’s plan.

Chapter 4: The Italian

11:04pm

August 15th, 2015

Minneapolis, MN, USA

Jack spun the wheel, cranking the fully laden SUV to a stop just in front of Cyrus's apartment door. Fenrir barked from the back, expressing his displeasure with the sudden maneuver. The rest of the car’s occupants sat in stunned silence, trying to reconcile with the end of their world.  Ignoring his loyal companion’s growl, Jack drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, his impatience showing as he worried about Cyrus. Jack dreaded going through the rigmarole of convincing yet another friend of the situation.

Come on...be ready... Ceasing his restless tapping, Jack narrowed his eyes into the darkness, certain that he had seen movement...There! Cracking the car door and whistling sharply, Jack signaled to the bent shadow hiding near the building’s corner. He watched as the figure sprinted towards the car, gaining form and substance until he could be recognized as his friend Cyrus Rovari.

A bartender, Cyrus worked with Jack at one of the local establishments, sometimes filling in as a bouncer there. He was a big man, with a sturdy frame and heavy, powerful movements. He lacked the muscular definition of his friend Jack, but the strength was there, hidden beneath a thin layer of pudgy. Where Jack was like a blade, dangerous and smooth, Cyrus was reminiscent of an old cannon. He was heavy, and destructive, but he lacked speed.

The comparison was particularly apt given his penchant for loud, boisterous conversation, akin to the thunder of a firing cannon. He was of clear Italian descent, though it was mixed with Scandinavian stock to give him his large size. The Mediterranean shone through in the olive tint of his skin and the rollicking black curls that topped his head. He wore a small goatee, carefully maintained to give him a more distinguished appearance than he might otherwise have attained.

Dressed simply in cargo shorts and a partially buttoned flannel top, Jack was relieved to see that he had at least changed out his habitual flip-flops for a pair of sneakers. They would allow him more versatility and better movement, something that he would likely need in the coming hours. Jack rolled down the passenger’s window to speak to his friend, but Cyrus beat him to the punch.

"This for real," Cyrus asked, looking Jack straight in the eyes. Cyrus had clearly taken the summons more seriously than Justin had.

Pleasantly surprised, Jack answered him, "Yeah, man, it’s time to bug out. You ready to roll?"

Cyrus looked at Jack. "Definitely. I'm not screwing around with the end of the world. If you’re nuts, then it’s no biggie. I'll laugh about it over a beer. If you're not…” Cyrus explained, letting the alternative hang in the air unsaid.

Jack warned his friend, "Fair enough. I promise a beer, but it may be some time before we find something to laugh about.” Cyrus nodded, fully convinced of the seriousness of Jack’s summons.

He looked around the vehicle before continuing to speak, "One question though, Jack. The text said you and Justin would be by to pick me up. It didn't mention the girls. Who are they?" He jerked his chin towards Nicole and May.

"Additions. I ran into them and couldn’t leave them behind. They have agreed to come with us though, so they’re in it as deep as the rest of us. This is my neighbor Nicole and her daughter, May. Ladies, this is Cyrus. He’s a friend of mine."

May waved to Cyrus, but Nicole just stared out the window, clearly still shocked by the reality of what Jack was asking her to believe in. Jack noted her silence, recognizing the future issues that could arise if she fell too far into shock, but chose to give her a chance of righting her own ship before he intervened. He looked back at Cyrus.

"Alright, the full vehicle changes things a little bit, but it’s nothing we can't handle,” Jack mused.

He pulled out his cell phone, checking to see if he had received any updates before speaking, "I had planned to just squeeze this first group in and go straight on, but the way things are going, I think I have a better idea."

Jack hopped out of the Trailblazer, motioning Cyrus to take his spot. Pulling his bag and M16A4 from the vehicle, he let Cyrus climb behind the wheel before sliding his 9mm from its spot on his belt. He flipped it around passed it over to Cyrus butt first.

"I'm going to find some transport. I want you to head to Gunderson's Armory on 5th, over in Dinkytown. Old Dax should be there somewhere, though you may have to knock pretty loud.”

“Dax, the happy hour guy, orders a beer and then cowboys it up with a shot of rye or Irish whisky,” Cyrus clarified.

“Yeah, that’s the guy. Tell him that I sent you, and that I will be along with a second wave of survivors soon. If he gives you any trouble, just tell him that I said I'd bring the Jameson. That should settle him down."

Sticking his head in, he looked past May and Nicole to catch a pair of glowing yellow eyes that peeked over the back seat. "Fenrir, stay and guard," he commanded. His companion gave a quick bark to show his acceptance, and then padded a few circles before lying back down. With Fenrir directed, Jack turned back once more to Cyrus, who had been waiting for his attention.

“Listen, Jack, I swear I’ve got this. I’ll get everyone to the Armory. Just make sure you get there safe and sound, alright?”

Jack nodded once and then gave the side of the door two quick hits. He moved back to let Cyrus maneuver the vehicle, watching as the SUV cruised away. Jack reasoned that they should be safe for another hour or so, but splitting up at this point certainly hadn’t been a part of the plan originally, and it made him a little uneasy. Catching himself filling with doubts, Jack shook it off.

They’ll be fine, and I will join them in just a few minutes anyway.

Alone now, Jack moved out of the street and lost himself in the shadows.

Wouldn't be good for people to see me armed up just yet. A few more hours and it won't matter, but for now, I'll keep this quiet.

He ran quickly, eyes alert, watching for movement and an opportunity to find some wheels. It didn’t take long before his eyes fell across a likely target. The vehicle in view sat kitty-corner from Cyrus’s building. It was covered in a thick layer of dust, as though it hadn’t been washed in some time. The wheels still seemed to have good pressure though, so it probably hadn’t been sitting parked for much time.

Maybe not the MOST practical apocalypse escaping vehicle...but damn if that isn't worth saving.

Jack was looking at a beautiful '69 Dodge Charger. Midnight black, with air scoops built into the hood and glossy silver trim, it was practically begging Jack to drive it. Glancing around quickly, he checked the street for signs of movement.

All clear.

He sprinted to the driver's door, pulling out his lock picks as he went. Shouldering his rifle so it rested behind him, Jack bent down to work the door. As he put his hand to the handle, however, he gave it a gentle pull, just in case. With a stroke of astounding luck, he discovered the door to be unlocked. He tossed his bag and rifle onto the passenger seat and then clambered into the driver’s seat.

Ohhhh...that feels nice. Leather seats. Comfort, style, and some nice American muscle may come in handy in the days to come, now if only...YES!

He reached up to flip open the sun visor, just on the off chance that the (former) owner of the car hadn’t watched enough car movies growing up. The car’s keys dropped onto his lap in the second massive stroke of luck to befall him.

Something has my back tonight. Let’s hope Lady Luck doesn’t do her fickle bitch routine any time soon.

Jack snatched the keys up and rammed them home, igniting the feral black beast. Engine roaring, he peeled out, putting as much distance from the scene of the crime as he could. Hopefully, he would be long gone before anyone thought to check on their ride. Maybe, by that point, the cops would just be too busy to worry about finding some stolen car.

The windows down, wind whipping through the car, Jack cruised towards Dinkytown. His hair floated about his head, lifted and blown about by the moving air. He let a small smirk appear on his face, enjoying the experience. A warm summer night, the feel of all those ponies beneath the hood. There would be too few of such pleasures in the coming days.

The sudden blare of a car horn snapped him back to reality. He focused his mind back on the tasks at hand: Meghan, Kate, and Bear.

Hopefully, Duke is headed to the Cove house already and I can roll up there next. I’ll grab these three, then meet Dax and everyone at the armory. We can either split up and I’ll meet them at Itasca after I hit the Cove’s, or we can all go together through Shoreview before continuing north. Hopefully.

Jack switched the radio on, listening to the local rock station as he tried to bleed some of his fear out. There wasn't room for fear or nerves. He had to get to his friends, and he had to make them safe. There would just have to be enough time. The plan called for him to have everyone gathered and out of the city before the shit really hit the fan. Pulling onto University Avenue, Jack headed through the heart of the Twin City’s campus.

Meghan should be near her apartment. I'll grab her and then we can go north to Kate and Bear's places. Thank God, they are so close. While a good plan, it couldn’t account for everything. He listened closely when he heard the dark refrains of Nirvana being replaced by an official sounding alert message.

"This is the emergency broadcast service. Please hold for a message from the President of the United States," said the official sounding voice on the radio.

Jack sat up straighter. Oh, shit...was his only thought. Public panic might seriously complicate his extraction plans. The radio suddenly filled with the slow steady words of the commander in chief.

"My fellow American's...My fellow humans... A dark day has come upon us, a day we thought never to see. The outbreak of war three years ago has bred new hatreds and dark new depths for mankind's depravities. Much of the world has fallen silent already. Our enemies have released horrors beyond reckoning and my duty now compels me to inform you that our armies have failed. Our military might has proven impotent. The outrages that our enemies have perpetrated on our allies will soon be in our homes as well. The Chinese have destroyed and conquered much of the old world, Africa lies in the throes of genocide and war, Asia is in their hands entirely, and Europe is silent and dark. Our allies are lost to us and we are alone. In this dark hour, we have made the weighty decision to strike out against them in whatever way we can,” the President said before pausing. The air crackled with static and the collected breaths of a listening nation.

“The use of nuclear weapons is something no President wishes to authorize, and I do so now for only one reason. I do not simply seek revenge, but instead, for some small hope of salvation. With the fall of our nation now imminent, I would not see our enemies appear with chains in hand on our shores. To halt their inevitable advance, we must fall to their level. We must seek not their defeat, but their utter destruction. Truly, they will know the rage of our nation, even as that nation fades into memory. I know not what response we will receive. I know only that it will be swift, and it will be heavy. The Chinese have weapons, both nuclear and biological, which they WILL use. I wish it were otherwise. I wish I could give you the comfort of hope. Of that tender quality however, I am now bereft. I urge you now, my patriots, and my brethren to survive. At any cost, you must survive and keep the dream of what this country once was alive. It is only through your efforts that we may someday rise again. Your government will seek to...pzzsshhttt."

The radio filled with static, breaking off the end of the President's address. Struggling with the dial for a moment, the horrible truth dawned on Jack. D.C., the nation’s capital, was probably gone. He held his breath for a few moments, hoping that the air would be filled again with the President’s voice, disproving his own morbid assumptions.

When several long minutes had passed without a resumption of the address, Jack flipped off the radio. Sadness filled his heart, his foreknowledge of this day proving little comfort now.

I wonder if Dad made it out?

Jack shook his head, knowing that his congressman father wouldn't have left if the President was still there. He was too brave and too much a patriot to abandon ship that way. Shaking the tears from his eyes, Jack pulled the car into his brother's girlfriend's apartment complex, losing himself in the task at hand. His grief would have to hold for now, fermenting. There just wasn’t time for it. Once they got to the compound, once Greg took charge, then he could shut down. Not before.

Meghan and Sam had been dating for several years. On their last hunting trip together, Sam confided that he was planning on asking her to marry him when they graduated. It had been one of happiest moments of his life: his brother Sam admitting the depths of his affection for the marvelous young woman. Jack was determined to make sure that it would be possible, apocalypse or not. Parking the car, Jack could hear the panicked shouts and screams of a public without hope.

They'll cry now. Cry and wail, and gnash their teeth even. Then they will get angry. There will be rioting soon, probably within the hour.

Rifle up, bag on, in case the car was gone when he got back, Jack headed out. Meghan wasn't at the pre-appointed meet up location, and the cell towers were suddenly jammed with calls. Without communications, he would just have to do a bit of searching. Slinking through the shadows, he approached the front entrance of Meghan's building in a quiet stalk. An angry chorus of male voices stilled him and left him crouched, searching for their location.

Certain that the angry mob was contained behind the building, he ran to the door, determined to make it before any of the angry voices came around a corner and spotted him. Reaching it, Jack mashed the buzzer for Meghan’s apartment. Standing in the tense evening cold, he waited, praying for a response. His long hair was unkempt, whispering about his face with the slight breeze of the cool evening. His breath came smoothly, unbothered by his exertions up to this point. Waiting in front of the door for a moment, Jack’s muscles tensed beneath the fit of his black T, muscle memory reminding him how bad of an idea it was to be stationary.

When no answer came, he went to plan B. Stepping back, Jack un-slung the rifle and raised it above his head.

This is gonna make some noise.

With a hefty swing, he brought the butt of his rifle down, shattering the pane. The crash of the door pane must have reached the group behind the building, because he could hear them moving towards him when the tinkle of glass ceased.

Not wanting to say hello, Jack sprinted up the stairs, heading for the third floor and hoping he'd be able to figure out an exfil on the fly.  He pounded out of the stairwell, wondering about the screams he heard. People were running for rooms in the hall, slamming doors as he went swiftly past them.

Oh, yeah, that's probably because of me and the big old gun.

He didn't have time to stop and explain himself or try to calm them though, so he continued on.  Reaching Meghan's apartment, Jack knocked loudly before identifying himself.

"Meghan, it's Jack, Sam's brother. Are you there?"

Inside, he thought he could hear muffled voices rising momentarily. Jack quickly hid the gun against the doorway to avoid making the inhabitants unduly nervous. He could positively identify the sounds of footsteps creeping up to the peephole, and endeavored to school his face into its most reassuring version. He waited a few seconds, gratified to hear the click of the door unlocking. It opened a sliver and Jack could just make out Meghan's fiery red hair and bright blue eyes through the crack of the door.

"Jack, is that really you?" she asked.

Instead of responding, he gently pushed the door wider, eager to get out of the hallway and the public eye. Inside the apartment, Jack immediately noticed the shadow of another person, as well as signs of hurried packing.

"Yeah, Meghan it's me. I'm here to get you to safety. Did you get my message?"

Megan replied anxiously, “Yeah, but I thought you were pulling a prank...until the President came on the TV and started talking...what's going to happen, Jack?"

She looked scared and worried. Jack's heart went out to the young girl, seeing her visible fear.

"I'm going to protect you, and we are going to be fine. Sam should be meeting us as soon as he can, and we are all going to be alright,” he said, glancing once more at the shadow he had seen. “Meghan, who else is hiding over there?"

The shadow stiffened at its mention. Caught, a beautiful woman came out from around the corner. Tall, with long flowing golden locks and bright, limpid blue eyes, she walked with a certain subtle sway.  Possessing jaw dropping curves and thin, well-formed legs that went on for miles, she was a remarkably gorgeous woman.

Jack realized he was staring.

With his mouth open.

The woman raised an eyebrow at his expression, all too aware of the cause. He blushed and hurried to return to business, looking at Meghan intently to hide his embarrassment. She blanched, looking around nervously.

"I know you said not to tell anyone, but Elizabeth is my roommate! She’s one of my best friends here too. She was over watching the game with me when the President came on and said those things. We can't just leave her, Jack,” she said with some steel in her voice. Megan was letting Jack know that even if he had been inclined to leave the leggy blonde behind, the two women were a package deal.

"Alright, alright; no arguments from me. The two of you, nobody else though. Are you packed, because we have to leave ASAP?" Jack glanced back at the door, considering his exit strategy, the voices from before still ringing in his mind.

Meghan and Elizabeth had gone back to packing when he finished speaking, hastily throwing clothes and books into their bags. Jack started to open his mouth and say they didn't really need to worry about fashion any longer, but then he took a closer look. The two girls were packing up all the medical books they had, as well as bandages and first aid gear. 

Not bad, those are some quick thinking ladies, they’ll do well.

He didn't have to wait long. Five minutes from originally entering the apartment, the girls were loaded and ready to head out. Jack had his rifle shouldered again, the two girls behind him, and he raised a finger to his lips. In near silence, the three people moved out in the hallway to a small alcove.

"Meghan, where are the back stairs to this building,” Jack asked. Meghan pointed to the left, and he headed there. Hopefully, any would be attackers would have concentrated around the front of the building where he had broken in. With any luck, he could lead the girls out the back door and through the shadowed trees to his car.

Upon reaching floor level, Jack eased the emergency exit door open, scouting for hostiles. His long hair floated in front of his face, and he swept it back while considering the way his brain was working. Hostiles? These are still just college kids. I gotta stay calm.

Trying to breathe normally, he kept himself from going into full marine mode and tried to remember his surroundings. No sense shooting a bunch of kids on impulse if they didn't force his hand.

Luckily, at the sound of the broken glass, the angry group of drunken frat boys had run to the front door. Unsure of what was going on, they grouped up around the door, waiting to ambush anyone who came out. No one thought to check the other exits and Jack was able to sneak the girls to the car without incident.

Relieved, Jack ushered the girls into the backseat before climbing back behind the wheel himself. He gripped it tightly, concentrating on his breathing as he sought to release the adrenaline built up inside of him. His hands were still, but eager. His eyes darted about, making the world appear slow moving to his sense. With his warrior self managed, Jack throttled up the car, gunning it away from campus and towards his friend Bear Bineau’s house.

Looking in the mirror, he caught Elizabeth looking at him curiously. Meghan was next to her trying to get a call through but having no luck. Jack drove fast, running red lights, taking alternate routes, anything to avoid stopping the vehicle. Groups of people had started gathering in the streets and at corners. They didn't all look very peaceable.

I was right about the rioting, but I think wrong about the time frame. It’ll start soon if it hasn’t already, and it will blow up quickly. Still feeling the blonde woman's gaze on the back of his head, Jack wasn't surprised when she spoke.

"So...who are you exactly," she asked in a curious tone.

"My name is Jack Hightower. Meghan's boyfriend Sam is my brother,” he replied.

"I gathered that much, but I mean, who ARE you? How come Meghan got a text message two hours before the President went on air, giving her information that no one else had. Not to mention...well, look at you! You’re out here with a rifle and gear, doing what appears to be a VIP pickup.  Are you with the government or something?" 

Jack grunted, and then replied, "I'm just someone who was prepared. Not government, not anymore. I was a Marine but that was a couple years ago though…. maybe you’re not asking me who I am as much as what my plan is?”

Elizabeth sat back in the seat and pondered.

"I guess I'm asking what comes next, and do I want to be here with you. Or would I be better off on my own,” she asked quietly.

Girl has sand and she ain't just a pretty face, Jack thought, peeking in the mirror to examine the strong gaze looking back at him from a finely featured visage.

"Truthfully, you want to be here. There will be other people who survive what's coming, but not many, and none of them had the chances or resources to prepare as effectively as I did."

Elizabeth looked uneasy at that, "What do you mean by that?"

Jack looked at both of the girls. Meghan’s long scarlet hair was pulled back in a ponytail, exposing the fear in her bright, luminous eyes. Elizabeth sat back, profile covered in a pool of shadow, briefly illuminated by the occasional strobe of a passing street light. She seemed collected, almost curious, but well under control.

"I mean that almost everyone at your school… all the people we just left… will be dead within the next few weeks. Many of them within days. I have a plan to survive and I have friends who have helped me to prepare for this. They don't. Even without any actual attack on the city, the infrastructure will likely fail when the country falls. There will be rioting, food and water shortages. Gas will run out and then food will stop coming at all. People will be starving, tearing each other apart trying to survive. Hell, that’s all assuming the best case scenario where the city isn't actually attacked but left to rot on its own.  Which isn’t that likely. So yeah, to answer your question, you want to be here. Meghan’s recommendation just bought you a golden pass to my own little Willy Wonka's survival factory, and it’s the only show worth seeing left."

He softened a little. "look, I'm sorry. I don't want to scare you, and I don't know who all you have out there. I'm just trying to be honest. If you have people that you want to go and take a shot with, that's fine too..." Jack said, trailing off to the sight of Elizabeth’s slowly shaking head.

"I'm an orphan, Mr. Hightower. I’ve no family, no boyfriend, and very few friends. If what you say is true, I'm also very grateful. Thank you, but I think I'll stay." She looked out the window, conversation ended, and he knew enough to leave her alone with her thoughts.

"Meghan, I sent word to your parents in Boston. They know to get out. If they listen, they’ll have a chance. They also know where we are going, and that I'm keeping you safe,” Jack explained. He looked at her reassuringly, trying to give her a sliver of hope to hold onto. She nodded through tear-filled eyes, too smart to believe much hope could exist for anyone on the eastern seaboard, but grateful for the effort. Jack drove on, feeling the dark hollow inside him grow.

No matter what I do now, I'll always remember the people I couldn't save.

Kate was ready and waiting, sitting on Bear's front steps. Her bag was in hand but tears streamed in rivulets down a fear-tarnished countenance. She had gone to school with Jack and Bear, fitting in as part of Jack’s close-knit circle of friends. They all stayed close over the years, growing into adulthood without losing that bond.

Kate’s Archangel data drop told her to head to Bear's and stay with him until Jack got there. She had run to the rendezvous after the President's address, too scared to doubt him anymore. Jack looked her over, as they drove up, transposing the girl he had grown up with the woman he saw before him. She was medium height, with brown hair and quick witted doe eyes. Cute, though not a standard looking beauty, Kate was irresistible once you got to know her. She had a personality that drew you in; making you feel like you could trust her with your secret self. It made a man want to love her. Her kind heart and ringing laugh were always on display when she was happy, and she was a ready shoulder for her friends in difficulties. Right now though, Jack just wanted to wrap his arms around her and tell her it would all be okay.

Kate ran out to the car when she recognized Jack, hopping into the passenger seat before slamming the door. She managed to control her sobs long enough to confirm his own fears.

Bear wasn't home.

Not just out, Bear had apparently left for a weekend rugby trip. He wasn’t due back until the next day, far too late for anything to be done for him. Kate had left a note on his door, telling him that she had gone with Jack, and for him to try to get out of the city if he could. It wasn’t likely to matter. He wouldn’t know where they had gone, and would probably be stranded in any case. Jack gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles going white as his eyes squeezed shut with the realization that barring a miracle, he had just lost his good friend Bear to an apocalypse that hadn’t even begun yet.

He barely kept himself free of the encroaching despair, remembering that the others were still counting on him.

I can't afford to lose it here. I have to get these girls to Dax and Cyrus, and then go after that last group. I'll grieve when this is all over, if there’s anything left of me anyway. Until then...I have to stay strong.

He closed off his heart, feeling himself go cold. 

Cold is good. Cold is reason, life, mission. Focus on the Mission. Jack repeated the words to himself silently, his mantra as he drove the girls towards Gunderson's Armory.

Chapter 5: The Confederate

7:10 PM

August 15th, 2015

Lucasville, Northwest Mississippi

George Robert Lucas III was a very, very wealthy man. His family history descended from antiquity. He was old money with all that such a heritage implied. The Lucas family had arrived soon after the first wave new world settlers, carving themselves a place in the new frontier. They had been an unimpressive bunch at the outset, working in menial labor as indentured servants, but had not remained so for long.

After the American Revolution, the Lucas clan moved south, migrating to western Mississippi. They founded the town of Lucasville, naming it for themselves and claiming thousands of acres of unspoiled natural territory as their own. Over the many intervening decades, the family had weathered a Civil War, economic recessions, carpet baggers, and cultural shifts; doing so without losing their power or prestige and strengthening their position along the way.

Growing wealthier with each succeeding generation, the Lucas family quietly became some of the richest citizens of the young nation. As plantation running slave owners, they had been among the first to push for independence, using their power in the state to force Mississippi to become the second state to secede officially. 

During the Civil War, they fought for independence from the north, sacrificing their lives and wealth with the rest of the southern patriots. In the last desperate months, sensing the end, they used their remaining connections in D.C. to negotiate private settlements. This spared them from the worst of the Reconstructions, allowing them to maintain their powerful position in the region.

G. R. himself was a student of history: both his own and that of mankind. He learned of his families exploits at a young age, fascinated by the historic nature of clan. He believed that there was nothing new under the sun. What was once a virtue, could become a sin, and then revert to a virtue once more if given time. This allowed him a certain moral flexibility. A flexibility that he used to his eternal benefit in a myriad of shady business ventures and scandalous actions.

He had been raised to put stock in no morality but the advancement of his family and himself. To be “good” was to help the Lucas clan, and to be evil was to hamper it. All other moral standards were subservient to that principle, and he relished the distorted ethical reality that he inhabited.

Physically, he was a handsome, albeit short, Caucasian male. He had short brown hair, with a genial smile that showed off his glowing white teeth. G.R.’s dark brown, gold-flecked eyes hid layers of machinations at all times, roving restlessly in a disturbing manner. They were the only visible indications of his darkened soul, leaving people feeling uncomfortable upon first introduction. 

George Robert Lucas III was always impeccably dressed, with well manicured fingernails and stylish footwear.  All in all, he presented the image of the perfect southern gentleman, embodying its ideal in his own form. Even so, spending any amount of time in his presence tended to leave an individual feeling...unclean. A casual observer would never be able to point out what exactly bothered them, but still, his behavior tended to be slightly off putting.

His family tree had been whittled down over the years, down to one sole remaining branch. He was its lone descendant, and carried the weight of the family name like the festering madness of his mind. With the responsibility of renewing its growth, he had also garnered all of the Lucas families’ wealth and influence. He maintained close relationships with members of government and industrial titans of the age. It was through those connections that G.R. had kept himself apprised of the true nature of the world’s conflict.

When his friends on the Hill first told him the state of things, G.R. hadn't believed them. To believe that the United States of America could fall… it was too much. As he became more accustomed to the idea though, he began to see the inherent possibilities. If a man were well prepared, he might not only survive the apocalypse, he might go on to thrive in the new world.

The more G.R. considered it, the more he grew excited at the prospect. He could take the Lucas family name to new heights; places unachievable under the old regime. Without the impediments of law and government, he could bring forth a new confederacy, his own dynasty at its head.

With a glowing vision of a resurgent south beneath his heel, George went to work. Over several months, he prepared for every conceivable eventuality. G.R. spent a fortune on improving his estate. He built walls, restored and renovated buildings and made it over into a well appointed fortress.

He had also gone about hiring an extensive security force, in order to provide the core for a future army. He was very selective. Only former military men who were from the south and of Caucasian descent were sought. He also made sure his recruits were married men, believing that if their families were to benefit in his new regime, they would be more loyal to him in the future. His men were outfitted extensively, given matching uniforms of dust grey and the most advanced weapons and armor that could be purchased. He stockpiled food, ammunition and fuel. With several hundred men gathered to him before the fall, and the equipment and materials to survive the immediate aftermath, G.R. was as ready as he could be.

On August 15th, he received one final call from his friend in congress. After hanging up, he summoned his officers. 

"Gentlemen, I have news. From my source in the government, I have been able to learn that our nation will most likely not survive until dawn." One man chuckled at this statement, sure that this employer was pulling his leg. Laughing along, G.R. put up his hands.

"I know, I know, it sounds ridiculous, but I assure you, I am serious. Sometime tonight, we believe that our government will authorize the use of nuclear weapons against the Chinese. The war we have been fighting over the last three years has been a losing one. They feel that in order to provide a future free of Chinese domination, we must strike first. Unfortunately, the Chinese will likely strike back, and through the course of the night, our world as we know it will be destroyed,” he explained with a disinterested tone.

No longer chuckling, his men looked at him in shock. Finally, one managed to ask him, "Sir, are you serious?"

George Robert Lucas III turned to look at the man.

"Deadly serious, son." He looked around the room, staring into each man's eyes to communicate the reality of their situation. Then he smiled, flashing his perfect white teeth at them.

"Okay, now for some good news. I have had months to plan for this moment, and using my extensive fortune, I’ve gotten ready. When the new day dawns, we will not find ourselves powerless, nor destroyed. I am prepared to offer you and your men a place in my new empire, but on one condition."

He stood, walking around to the front of his desk, staring imperiously at the frightened soldiers. "I will have your absolute allegiance. In exchange for your oaths of fealty, I will provide for you and yours. You will have security, wealth, and a place of honor in my new world. Can you give them?”

The men looked at each other nervously. Normally, there was no way that they would have considered giving their words of honor to a man like George. They had all heard the rumors, talk of the evil that hid beneath his bright exterior. He was a ruthless man, with no morality but his own advancement.

They had taken the job because he paid incredibly well, and he let them bring their families. Some of them also liked his ‘white only policies’ as it fit with their own sense of decorum, but to pledge loyalty to the man… that would have been an unthinkable step.

Sensing that they were unsure, he gave them some help, "Look, gentlemen, I know it's a hard thing to ask. I'm asking you to trust me, and to put your faith in me.” He looked about the room, making eye contact with each of his officers before continuing, “But let me be clear, out there..." he waved to the window, “Out there is going to be hell on earth in all its flaming wretched glory. I'm offering food, shelter, a future, and more importantly, power. If you stick with me, you’ll help to build something marvelous, You will be generals and governors. You will command thousands someday; hold sway over your own lands. Your wives will be esteemed ladies, ever grateful to you for their elevation. Men will want to be you. They will follow your orders, and heed your every word. This is what I am offering you few men. And all I ask in return is your loyalty. Is that so much?” he asked with a raised eyebrow, seeing the glint of greed light up in their eyes.

He had seduced them, filled their minds with thoughts of power and a bright new future. Together, the officers stood, saluting him as one. Together, they swore loyalty to George Robert Lucas III. They would follow him and his, for better or for worse.

With their oaths secured, he dismissed them, telling them to go spread the word to their men. It was time to make sure that everything was ready. In the morning, they would begin to conquer a new world.

Chapter 6: The Brother

10:05 pm

August 15th, 2015

Duluth, Minnesota

Sam Hightower knew his brother well. A few years apart in age, the pair had been rivals growing up, striving to outdo each other in everything they turned their hands towards. Jack had often leveraged his advantage as the older brother to win their sporting competitions, but Sam had always shown more promise in the athletic arts.

He had begun to outshine his older brother while in high school together, Sam as a freshman and Jack as a senior. Yet, what could have led to brotherly strife instead blossomed into closeness that most brothers struggle their whole lives to achieve. Always proud of his younger brother’s efforts, Jack had made no secret of his admiration; favoring Sam and making him feel welcome among Jack’s own peers. This loyalty had been well rewarded by Sam, who had honored his elder brother, grateful for the part he played in his own transition into high school. After Jack graduated, they stayed close, learning more of each other's strengths, discovering their own limitations in comparison.

Jack wasn't a bad athlete, he just didn't quite have the athletic prowess that his brother possessed. On the other hand, Sam would never have the same kind of killer instinct that made Jack such a capable soldier. He always proved a little less skilled in a fight. It wasn't that Sam was incapable, he just couldn't compare to Jack's peerless ability to deliver violence upon an enemy.

Sam was about an inch shorter than Jack was, but otherwise built very similarly. He had brown voluminous hair, grown just past his ears that habitually took on an attractive, casually mussed appearance. His eyes, unlike his brother, were sky blue. Light and clear, they reflected his genial nature and quick wit. He inherited his mother’s lips, slightly thinner than Jack’s, but gifting him with a natural, winning smile. Sam had an impressive physique, his constant training and exercise gifting him with powerful arms, and strong, statuesque legs. 

Intellectually, they had also found their own ways to shine. Jack was naturally more pensive, stronger in literature and writing, possessing more of an inclination towards the soft sciences then his brother. Sam was far more gifted in the areas of math and science than his inattentive older brother was. He was using those gifts to pursue a medical degree.

More outgoing than his older brother in some ways, Sam was the sort of man that people were drawn to be around, and he actively sought out opportunities to lead. Jack, on the other hand, never sought to be a leader. He was generally happy to let the masses do what they would, so long as he was left alone to his own devices.  He still often found people following in his footsteps, anxious to achieve the example he unwittingly set. In an emergency situation, however, no one was better at motivating and leading people than the cool-headed Jack.  It was the classic difference between people who sought the mantle of leadership, and those who had it thrust upon them, boiled down and distilled into the personalities of two brothers.

A complementary pair, they had been raised in a loving home. Their parents’ divorce had been acrimonious, but both their mother and their suddenly out-of-the-closet father had endeavored to keep the boys removed from the fighting. While each son had struggled in their own way to move past the divorce, the strife only strengthened their bond. A strong level of trust had developed between the two as they helped each other cope with the changes to their family narrative.

That trust was important now. When Sam's phone and inbox started lighting up with an Archangel Alert, he hadn't doubted their validity for a second. He knew his brother wouldn't be enacting his highly confidential Archangel Protocol on a whim. Because he believed that his brother was serious, Sam followed the instructions quickly.

The two brothers talked a lot about Jack's plans in the previous months, and Sam had gotten to hear a lot more details about the plan than anyone else not directly involved. He also had time to draw up a list of people that he wanted to bring with him if the worst happened. His brother had told him to identify strong-willed people who would be intrinsically driven to survive. Those sorts of people would make for strong allies in the event of a major disaster, the sort of allies who could be counted on to watch your back.

Sam's Archangel instructions called for him to round up as many people as he could safely manage, but without hindering his own escape. He was supposed to use his own vehicle, and any other transportation that he could find to make his way to a certain place on Lake Itasca where he would meet Jack. His brother had apologized for leaving him alone in such an event, but told him that if he were to wait for Jack to make it up from the city, he would be in more danger than by escaping on his own.

As long as he left within a few hours of the Alert, Jack promised that he would have a good chance of escaping to safety. This assertion was based on Jack's belief that Duluth would be less quick to panic, given its more remote location and relative safety from direct attack. It was also relatively close to Jack’s prepared haven.

As soon as Sam received his brother's alert, he went to his room and started packing. He threw on a pair of blue jeans, switched to a clean T-shirt, and pulled a sweatshirt on over it. Grabbing his school backpack, he upended it, emptying books and school supplies. He packed it full of the protein and energy bars that he always kept handy. They would provide excellent sources of nutrition in the short term, and ideally, he would be with his brother before he needed anything more permanent.

He also threw in the utility knife that his brother had given him for last Christmas, some rope, a change of clothes, and then zipped it closed. He hung a full Nalgene on the outside of the bag and then slung it over his shoulder. Grabbing the keys, Sam left, locking the door as went from force of habit. He left a note on the door, explaining that he was getting out of Duluth and going to Lake Itasca, just in case anyone came after him and needed to know where to go next.

With a good pair of tennis shoes on, he hurried down the stairs and to his car, pulling out his cell and dialing as he went. He called some of the other guys on the football team first; the ones who he thought were most likely to believe him. A lot of the guys were also out of town for the weekend, so the list was relatively short. After a few quick conversations, he had gotten a group of them to agree to a short notice camping trip.

It was something that they liked to do every once in awhile on their free weekends. They would just pack up, hop in their cars, and drive out of town for a while, spending it bonding, drinking and relaxing. He didn't tell the guys the truth, because he was worried they would scoff and refuse to go if they knew the real reason right away. Sam figured that he could always tell them later on, once things were obvious and they were more likely to believe him.

With the group of football players meeting him at the gym, Sam took a second to try calling his girlfriend. His brother had assured him that he would make sure Meghan got out of the city, but he wanted to call and make sure that she was taking the warnings seriously. Worried because it went straight to voicemail, he tried a couple more times before giving up and hoping that she would call him back. He planned to try her again once on his way out of town.

For now, he switched tactics and started calling other friends: girls that he knew from some of his classes, guys he had become friends with through intramural sports, anyone he could think of that might be in town. After half an hour of making phone calls, and just forty minutes since receiving his alert, Jack's intelligent and resourceful younger brother had gotten a group of about thirty other students to agree to his proposed camping trip. They started arriving at the gym and parking next to him, hopping out of cars and socializing with music blasting from their car speakers.

Sam decided once more that he would lie about the purpose of the trip. Depending on what news came down the radio, he figured that he might be able to get them all there before he had to inform them of the truth. Satisfied that he was prepared for either eventuality, he got out of his car and made his way over to his gathered friends.

"Hey, everybody, over here! Okay, here it is. I feel like getting the hell out of town for the weekend, how about you?" he asked loudly to the group. In reply, he received a chorus of laughs and a boisterous, "Hell yeah!" from the group.

"Well then, I’ve got some good news. My big brother has a kind of cabin/mansion out at Lake Itasca. He invited me and any of my friends to come join him for the weekend, and the word is that the kegs are cold, the food is great and the hot tub is huge. I think maybe we go have some fun in the woods," he shouted, hiding his fear deeply within himself. He had to make to make sure they wanted to go, had to get them to the compound Jack had built. Their lives depended on it.

With their enthusiastic cheers ringing in his ears, Sam returned to his car, telling the other drivers to follow him. As they pulled out of the parking lot, he cast a glance back at St. Scholastica, knowing that he would likely never return.

The school had been his home for the last couple of years, and he would miss it, as well as those he left behind. Unfortunately, he knew that there was no way he could convince everyone to leave, and he doubted that Jack could support them all anyway. With a heavy heart, he consigned himself to the guilt of abandoning his school, focusing on the lives he was still trying to save.

I'm sorry. I wish there was something I could do for you all. I just have to hope that some of you will survive...Someday. I’ll come back for you. Someday.

Chapter 7: The Armory

11:47 pm

August 15th 2015

NE Minneapolis Minnesota

The scene that confronted Jack when he arrived was not as expected. With a curse, he realized he should have known of the possibility, but he had hoped that the armory would remain unmolested until after his people were gone. He parked the car a few blocks away and tried to figure out what to do next, surveying the scene.

In the dark night, with the orange ruddy glow of freshly born fires raging, a riotous crowd stood gathered about the old warehouse. Their rage-filled cries filled the night, audible from blocks away as a dull roar of human anger. His trailblazer sat empty and abandoned by the front door, but there was no sign of Cyrus and his other friends.

Shit, someone decided that they should arm themselves apparently. Smart, but incredibly disruptive to our own plans.

Even as he thought this, Jack could see a couple of the men in the crowd trying to force their way in. They banged makeshift weapons against the door, the frame shaking beneath their blows. Evidently, the heavy door and barred windows held them out so far, but it was only a matter of time until they grew forceful enough to breach the makeshift fortress. Jack tried his phone once more, hoping to reach one of his people, but tossed it aside after a few moments. Unsurprisingly, service remained down.

He pounded the wheel in frustration and let out an angry breath with a long sigh. The girls looked at him questioningly.

Jack explained, "I need to get in there, but that crowd isn't going to make it easy."

Kate and Meghan looked at the crowd nervously, unsure of what to do. They would be of little help and Jack knew it, expecting no help from that quarter. Elizabeth had a more thoughtful look on her face, however, one that he was curious about. Jack turned to look at her questioningly.

"I might have an idea… maybe," she said without confidence. With a slight nod, Jack urged her forwards and Elizabeth quickly outlined her plan for Jack’s consideration.

Simple enough. I don't love leaving the girls alone, but I don't have anything better and we can't afford to just wait and hope they give up and leave.

Nodding once to her, he hopped out of the car and slammed the door. With a gasp, Elizabeth realized he had decided to enact her plan. She hastily climbed through the middle seat to take his recently vacated spot behind the wheel, finding him crouched by the driver's window.

"Put your window up, and once you're through, go a few blocks extra before looping around to the back of the store. There is a heavy garage door there, and you can pull in once I have it open. I don’t want them seeing you and following us in though, got it? Okay, then, good luck."

She grinned at him, "You too, Mr. Hightower."

He matched her expression, "I expect I'll need it. Miss..." He faltered as he realized that he didn't know her last name.

"Fel," she supplied before tossing him a wink.  She cranked the windows up before he could try to post a response.

He shook his head ruefully and sprinted over to the corner of the building, staying in the shadows and out of sight. The crowd was about twenty people strong, bunched up by the door and shouting to be let in. They obviously felt that they would be safer with firearms, and planned on getting them one way or another. Jack understood their desire, but he couldn't let them occupy the store until his own people had gotten safely away.

Elizabeth's plan had been simple enough. They didn't need to get all four people in at once. If they could make a window for Jack, he could sprint in quickly, hopefully, avoiding bloodshed. Once in, he could open up the back for the girls, and the crowd would be none the wiser. Ideally, they'd be gone before the crowd reformed and managed to break in.

Assuming that Dax knows I'm here and is on the ball, that is. If he’s not… well, this could descend into full FUBAR before I blink.

The plan was still risky because if the crowd reformed and Dax failed to let him in, he'd be trapped against the building with some very angry people surrounding him. He grimaced, hoping it didn't come to that. Counting silently in his head, he took a breath and straightened against the wall, prepared. A few blocks back, the Charger roared to life, pulling into the middle of the street. A couple of people from the crowd noticed and looked down the street at it, but most of the crowd stayed by the door.

Here goes nothing.

Jack stepped out from the corner and into plain sight. Gun up and at the ready, he loosed a burst over the crowd’s head. About half of the crowd ran off in fear, but a couple of the men just started his way menacingly.

"Cease and disperse. This is private property. Go back to your homes immediately," Jack ordered the crowd, hoping they would listen.

"Fuck you, man. I need a gun to protect what's mine, and this asshole has got plenty to spare! In fact, here’s a counter-offer, why don't you give us yours to start, and then I’ll let you be on your way. Unless you are gonna shoot us all now!"

An angry black man was shouting at him and the crowd had moved within a couple meters, emboldened by their makeshift leader’s confidence.

Not good...Hurry up, Elizabeth.

Jack backed up till he was near the corner of the building again. As the crowd stood, visibly deciding if they could jump him, the scream of tires drew attention. Elizabeth gunned the Charger straight at the group, coming full-tilt into its center at body crushing speed.

As the threat of a speeding mass of metal came crashing towards them, the crowd scattered away, sprinting from Jack and the door. He saw his moment and took it, running to the heavy metal door. Arriving just as the black beast went roaring off into the night, Jack spun and put his back against the wall, shouting for Dax as he moved.

The crowd dodged out of the way, but they were starting to pick themselves up and advance back on Jack and the door. If anything, the car’s passing had only enraged them further, and they all bore a murderous and twisted countenance as they advanced. Starting to worry, he slammed his gloved fist against the heavy door twice, hoping against hope.

As he waited, the crowd started running towards him, closing the gap quickly in their rage. Just as Jack was about to give up hope and start shooting, he felt a hand grab his shoulder, and then a jerk as he was pulled through the door.

Slamming the door and locking the bolts again, Dax stood up to glare at Jack, "You some kind of an idiot, boy?!"

Grinning in reply, Jack spoke, "Hell no, just a jarhead son-of-a-bitch, same as you."

Dax grunted and then broke out in a huge smile. "Damn right! Good to see you. I was worried you wouldn't stop by when you saw that crowd. Shoulda known better."

Getting serious again, Jack looked around, "Cyrus and the rest," he asked.

"In back, loading the trucks. What about the people in that car, they with you," Dax rejoined.

Jack nodded, "Yeah, we gotta pop that back door, is it clear?"

"Should be, none of that lot out front has thought to try it yet. They probably don’t even know it’s there. We'll get the car in quick and try to avoid letting them know about it."

Dax led him to the back where the group was loading up the trucks. He went to the controls for the garage door and Jack went to the small window looking on the alley, waiting to signal.

There!

"Open it," he yelled when he caught sight of the now familiar black car’s profile.

Dax complied and the door started sliding open. The Charger pulled in quickly and Dax reversed the door immediately, shutting it before anyone outside could have taken notice.

"Good thing you keep that greased up,” Jack said, referring to the door. “I think we got away with it. As long as we get out of here soon, we should have a clean getaway," Jack said to Dax.

He looked around the garage as the girls climbed out of the car. It was a big old mechanic’s garage attached to Dax's gun shop, built with high, darkened ceilings. The Charger sat idly by in one corner, dwarfed next to a pair of "Deuce and a half" M35's. Dax had spent a fortune on the mothballed vehicles, fixing them up himself so they purred like kittens. He had also mounted well-protected gun nests behind the cab on each M35.

The vehicles were his pride and joy. The careful reconstruction showed in the clean welding lines, and the extensive and unmarred paintwork. Cyrus was up in one gun nest, wrestling a highly illegal .50 caliber machine gun onto its placement while Justin directed him.

The trucks had been repainted a dull black that would blend into the dark night as well as a truck that size could possibly do. The cabs had armor plating along the doors and over the engine block, protecting the sides and motor from small arms fire. Bulletproof glass had gone in under Dax's paranoid supervision a year back, and the canvas tenting over the cargo area dropped to an armored floor and siding. Anyone inside the cargo could drop to the ground and be reasonably protected from fire while the gunners on top provided 300 degrees of coverage. The vehicle's rear was a blind spot for the nests, but could be protected by gunfire from within the cargo area. All in all, they were a magnificent pair of beasts, and a big part of why Gunderson's shop had been the next stop on Jack's itinerary.

Nicole and May were sitting and watching the work. May was trying to entertain her mother, but Nicole had clearly not come to grips with the situation yet. Jack shook his head and checked on the new arrivals. Kate and Meghan were already being put to work by Dax, and seemed happy to help. The old veteran had them loading up the last of the provisions in the trucks, stacking them to the ceiling with boxes of MREs, bottled water, and tons of ammunition.

There were also crates filled with rifles, all painted with U.S. Army stencils. Jack raised an eyebrow at Dax when he saw those. He had long suspected that the gunrunner had a few black market connections, but the crates were ample confirmation. Forget personal protection, they were now ready to outfit a small army, and to do it well.

Good thing, might not be too long before we need an army. Combined with what we have stocked away up north, we should be able to go way past simple defense. We’ll be able to project power quickly and effectively. The only thing holding us back is the lack of trained human resources, but we can change that too. Getting our armies out securing the area around us will do more then just make us safer; it will go a long way towards rebuilding the surrounding environs.

Jack found the metal case he had taken from his old apartment. Someone had remembered to grab it from the Trailblazer when they came in. He set it in the truck next to the rifles, patting it affectionately.

That might well come in handy someday too.

Still unwilling to demand anything else from Nicole, he motioned Elizabeth over. Pointing out Nicole to her, he asked if she could help get the woman moving. Jack was interested to see how well Elizabeth would respond to his orders, and also how valuable she make herself. She nodded and went to Nicole's side to introduce herself without hesitation, impressing Jack with her willingness.

With some prodding, she was able to get Nicole to start talking a little. Jack watched for a while, seeing Elizabeth coax Nicole out of her shell in just a few minutes. He was grateful as the two women started chatting, hoping a friendship might grow from the effort.

Those three weren't planned for, but Elizabeth at least seems like she may well be an asset. She's adjusting well, thinks on her feet, and is certainly handling Nicole nicely. Adding a nurse and another medical student will be of clear benefit to our group.

Turning from the ladies, he helped Dax wrestle the last few boxes up. Giving a whistle, he waited for Fenrir to hop out of one truck and pad over to him.

"How are you, boy, you keeping everyone safe?"

He reached down and scratched his pet’s ears. Unbeknown to the rest of the party, Fenrir wasn’t just a large dog, but a full blooded wolf that he rescued a few years back. His Recon squad had been on a training mission in Alaska and he had stumbled across the young wolf pup crying in the bushes. Fenrir’s mother lay a few meters away, shot and hung with the rest of the pack.

Hunters had probably been after the wolves for their pelts, and would likely be back for their trophies once the carcasses were finished bleeding out. This put the pup in immediate danger of discovery, and Jack's heart had wept for the orphan. He had picked him up, ignoring his little nips of fear, and carried him in his bag until they got back to camp.

Once there, he went straight to his C.O. and told him that he meant to keep the pup. Sgt. Bleisdorff thought about fighting him on it, but Jack was a good soldier. A soldier whose eyes held a plea that was hard to refuse. Those eyes showed Sarge the depth of Jack’s need to save a life, to have something tangible that he could point to as an act of redemption. The grizzled old sergeant had seen that look before, and he knew the toll that their line of work could take on a person. Ordering him to keep the pup in line, he acquiesced, letting Jack raise the wolf on base.

Fenrir had proven to be a loyal companion over the years. As he had grown, an almost unnatural connection with Jack had developed. Never having been formally trained, the wolf came to respond to Jack's commands as though it could understand English. Fenrir could be told to stand guard, watch Jack’s back, play sentry, hide and remain silent, or any number of other useful tricks, and he would do so with discipline.

Now a young adult, nearing the prime of his life, Fenrir weighed in at 170 pounds and stood at 3 feet or more. He was far larger than most of his wild brethren, reminiscent of legendary dire wolves, huge behemoths of mankind’s distant memory, monsters far removed from the gentle dog companions that humanity had come to rely on. Jack didn’t know where the size came from, but he knew that Fenrir loved him. The animal had been a warm and pleasant companion on many cold and lonely nights.

Jack straightened and motioned Fenrir back to the front of the shop. The wolf would keep an eye on the store and let Jack know if anyone managed to break in. With his six secured, Jack called the rest of his group together. It was time to inform them of his plans.

He waited while they circled, making sure he caught each individual's eyes. Justin seemed to have rebounded from his earlier shock and was now calm and ready. Cyrus was more relaxed than anyone else there, happy to have something to work on in the midst of a crisis. Elizabeth was still a mystery, her eye’s hiding what she was thinking better then Jack would have guessed possible. Still, Nicole and May stood next to her, relaxed and out of shock. He took that fact as a glowing recommendation of Miss Fel, not to mention her earlier quick wittedness in gaining entry to the armory.

Kate and Meghan both smiled at him, giving him quick little nods to show that they trusted him and were on board with whatever he had planned next. Dax stood just to his left and a little behind, and Jack could hear him grumbling under his breath about nothing important. Jack knew it was just because he liked to grumble and not because anything was actually wrong. The old man had been through enough shit in his life that he would remain solid through any crisis.

"Okay, guys, here's our situation. Outside of you lot, there's one other nearby group that should have received Archangel alerts. They should all be gathered in Shoreview by now. Unfortunately, there is no way to communicate with them, so I have to hope that they will hold there and trust that I'm coming. Now, clearly, we have some supplies here, but they won't be enough long term. That, I can promise you."

Reaching into his bag, Jack pulled out a map of Minnesota and unfurled it on the Charger's hood, motioning the group to gather round. There were a number of markings and lines drawn in by hand, showing routes, military bases and even the extraction points of the people he had already gathered. He pointed once, showing their current location. Then he pointed to where the second group was hopefully gathered.

"We have a few possible locations to hole up in. Our plan has been to take Fort Snelling if we get trapped in the city, use the walls and natural fortifications to try and hold out. The downsides to that plan are myriad, however, and by making it here and getting these trucks and supplies, we can probably nix that possibility and go with a better option."

Kate interrupted, "Why is Snelling so bad? I went there when I was a kid, and it seemed pretty cool. Actually, we went together with a field trip. I remember it as a decent fort, walls still built up, right by the river and airport. It seems like a good spot,” she pointed out.

Jack waited to see if anyone else would point out the issues, trying to get a measure of the group. Dax knew well enough why Snelling was a long shot placebo plan if everything went to hell, but the old vet kept his mouth shut. He also knew that Jack was gauging the group, looking for strengths, possible leaders.

After a couple of seconds, Elizabeth stepped up again, "Some of that is exactly what's wrong. It's near heavily populated places, right on the route out of town if people start leaving en masse. It's also well within the blast or fallout radius for any kind of strike,” she guessed, looking at Jack for confirmation. He nodded, impressed again by her knowledge.

"Basically, we don't know what is going to hit the Twin Cities, if anything. While they have plenty of Reaper Virus to spread around, that's just because it doesn't take much of it to knock out a population center. The Chinese nuclear arsenal is quite a bit smaller than ours, but still a threat. They also have some pretty advanced EMP weapons that we have seen them use elsewhere. Given the makeup of their arsenal, they will likely have to pick which higher priority targets take a direct nuke. A lot of cities will get hit with EMP's and Reaper Virus once the infrastructure is down, meaning after the first strikes. The numbers we ran generally showed them nuking our missile silos in the Dakotas, as well as Chicago and Detroit, and then either us, St. Louis, or Kansas City. Whoever doesn't get a direct strike will still suffer from some fallout, and likely suffer an EMP attack to cripple our ability to organize resistance, so keep that in mind. In other words, we could get anything from a nuclear warhead down to nothing at all dropped on the Twin Cities, but I suspect it will be an EMP device that takes down our communications and power. It would leave the buildings intact, but not much else,” he explained.

Jack clenched his fist, outraged by the very possibilities he was discussing. Forcing his jaw to keep working, he went on, “Regardless of what does or doesn't hit us, however, we don't want to be in major population centers if we can help it. People will go nuts once the structures of civilization are stripped from them. No water, no power, no food. They will be clawing their way over their neighbor’s carcasses just to survive, I promise you. Our upgraded mobility with these trucks lets us get out of the city with a lot more certainty, so we won’t have to rely on Snelling. That leaves us plans A and B."

He pointed to two more circled areas.

"B is Camp Ripley. It's far enough away to avoid direct attack, though maybe not fall out, and if the military keeps itself together, it will provide some added protection. I don't think they will be able to though, and the men at Ripley may become a threat instead of an asset. It depends on their leaders and some amount of luck, which I don’t want to rely on. Still, it’s better then staying in the city."

He tapped the map twice, "This is our best bet, Option A if you will. If we can get out of the city soon and travel through the night, we can be there by morning. We have been preparing this place. There is a compound here on Lake Itasca. I helped my friend Gary pick the site out, and using his considerable wealth, we have made it as safe as we can. It is fully sustainable, defensible, and built to handle a lot more people than we are bringing now. It will be able to provide us with a long term home, and a base of operations to expand from down the road. It's our best bet, and I want to get there if we can."

He paused before continuing, wondering which way the group would fall on his next question. 

"As I said, there is a second group, and I’m going to get them, which means you all have a decision to make. I can go alone and meet you at the compound, or you can come along with me. Leaving now increases the chances you'll be out of the city before anything hits us, and if you stay, we may see things start to deteriorate fast. Rioting, fighting, looting; all likely in the next few hours. Given those realities, I won't make you hang around with me if you don't want to at this point.”

He let them all think about it for a little bit, watching them for some hint of their feelings. He saw Nicole look to May and understood she was deciding what would be best for her daughter. Everyone else seemed a little bemused by his question, however, and he raised an eye at Cyrus, waiting for an explanation.

Happy to oblige, Cy Rovari explained, "I think I speak for just about everyone here in that we think it's kinda funny you think we might run. We would all be in our homes, unaware or scared shitless if it wasn't for you. Your Archangel alerts are the only reason any of us will likely make it out of the city at all. If you want to save a few more, we're coming with you. Convoy style." He looked about for confirmation and smiled as everyone else was nodding. "See, I told you," he smirked.

Jack checked back with Nicole but she nodded fiercely at him and he took that to mean she too preferred to stay with him.

"Okay then. The trailblazer is lost, I think. That crowd is still out there and our trick won't work twice. I don't really feel like killing people just for a vehicle, so we will do without it. That said, here are your vehicle assignments. Elizabeth, Nicole, May, you three and Fenrir are in the Charger. Miss Fel, you have the wheel. Be gentle though, because I want her back when this is done,” he joked.

"Justin and Cyrus, you're with Kate and Meghan respectively. Figure out who the better driver is per truck and don't be an ass about it. If the girls can drive, let them. I've got no time for macho bullshit. Me and Dax will ride over watch on the .50 calibers. Hopefully, we won't have to use them, but if we do, it’s best we have some experience up there. Any questions?"

Everyone nodded and he pushed onto the last piece. "Okay, last thing. I want more guns available if we DO end up in a fight. Who has used one before?” he asked.

Kate, Meghan and Elizabeth raised their hand, as did Cyrus. Only Justin and Nicole hadn't had any experience with firearms before. "Experience levels?" he asked.

"Hunting: shotguns and rifles," Kate answered. Meghan and Cyrus said the same.

"Pistol mostly, just shooting range stuff," explained Elizabeth.

"Okay, you four go find a weapon that suits you and you feel comfortable with. Grab some ammo while you're at it and then meet back here,” he ordered.

Walking over to a box he had left out, Jack pulled out the last surprise. Matching black combat gear. Durable fatigues like his, bulletproof vests, combat knives and tactical radios. He proceeded to pass out a set to everyone gathered.

"Everyone, wear your gear. The vests will protect you and we have to limit our vulnerability in whatever way we can. The radios will help us stay in touch, a highly valuable commodity in the next few hours. The ear bud is obvious, and the mike straps to your throat. It can pick up spoken words or sub-vocalizations if we have to be quiet, so there is no need to yell. I can teach you how to do that later, but for now, feel free to talk. The knives are for everything. Up close and personal fighting, utilities, whatever you need. Always carry a knife."

He looked at Justin and Nicole. "We'll get you trained in on firearms once we hit our destination, but I don't need to be worrying about rookies shooting me from behind tonight."

When he finished passing out the gear, Cyrus, Meghan and Kate wandered over to the gun racks. Meghan and Kate each selected semi-automatic hunting rifles with attached scopes and matching ammunition. Cyrus went in for a heavy duty, and highly illegal combat shotgun. It was fully automatic; firing multiple clips at a rapid pace, but requiring frequent reloads. Jack nodded Dax in Cyrus’s direction, and the old-timer hastened over to give Cyrus a quick overview of the weapon. Somehow, Jack’s 9mm ended up in Elizabeth’s hands, probably given to her by Cyrus, and she seemed comfortable with the weapon, strapping it to her vest with a practiced ease.

He looked at his group, armed and looking ready for battle. They were a far cry from ready for the rest of the night, but they were all more so than could have been expected, and he felt comfortable enough to take them with him.

With a grin, he yelled out, "Okay, everyone, saddle up!"

The group broke for their assigned positions, throwing packs into vehicles and roaring them to life. Jack walked over to the garage controls and slapped the open button. Door sliding up, he sprinted back to the rear truck, vaulted from the floor, and clambered up into the gun nest. Switching on his mike, he gave the order.

"Lead truck, head out. We'll fall in behind the Charger and protect its six. You driving up there, Kate?"

"You better believe it," came her response.

"Good, then you won't need directions to Liz Cove's place. We're gonna go get Duke, Liz and her family, and the Xanders.

Kate let out a laugh and gunned it, "So we're saving our exes in the face of the apocalypse. Fucking Beautiful."

The convoy rolled out, heading north.

Chapter 8: The Mother

10:04 pm

August 15th, 2015

Highway 59, Northwest Minnesota

Lynn Hightower had kept her husband’s name when they split. It was a difficult decision, but after some consideration, she had chosen to stick with it. It wasn't out of any loyalty to her homosexual ex-husband, the congressman, she was fresh out of that. Rather, she chose to keep the same name as her son’s name, providing a sense of continuity to her life.

She worried that by going back to her maiden name, she would be in some small way trying to erase the past twenty years of her life. Lynn felt that to do so would be a betrayal of who she had grown to become during that time.

Raised in a small town in northern Minnesota, she had grown up with a fairly limited world view and a closed perception of the options available to her. She had gone to a conservative Christian university, doing so because it fit with what she believed her role should be. As she grew, however, experiencing new things, her razor sharp intellect expanded right along with her world view.

The more she saw of the world, the more she came to expect of herself. After her sons were born, she had thrown herself into the role of mother and housewife to the exclusion of all else. While she didn't regret the time she was able to spend with her boys, she missed the opportunities she had denied herself by those decisions.

Once they were old enough not to need her constant supervision, Lynn felt herself being called to do more. Over the countless objections of her husband, she returned to school, pursuing her doctorate. While the husband hadn't lasted, her studies had, and by the time Jack and Sam graduated from high school, she had obtained a doctorate in the field of organizational development.

Her doctorate enabled her to work with corporations and large organizations, helping them fundamentally to alter the way they operated. It was a difficult job to explain to someone uninitiated in the mundane details of theoretical organization or corporate superstructures, but one she was excited to participate in.

This work gave her some keen insights into the way that humans interacted when they were working together, allowing her to see innovative new ways to organize groups of people. It also showed her the holes in the modern system that humanity lived by.

Lynn knew that the way different concepts of government and leadership had been designed doomed them to failure. They failed to account for basic fundamental aspects of human nature, tending to force groups into pyramidal hierarchies that failed to breed a culture of excellence. This shortsightedness doomed them to failure. With her training and education, she could help leaders find ways to fix those issues by altering the nature of the system they existed in.

When her Archangel alert arrived, she was traveling in northern Minnesota already. She had been in her hometown, helping a manufacturing company there alter their work schedules to improve efficiency and morale within the company. The company made glass windows for homes and buildings, and had done so for many years. She was brought in as an advisor to the company leadership, hoping she might help them revitalize their work force. Many of her suggestions had proven too radical for them, however, and they terminated her contract prematurely. While disheartening, it hadn’t dimmed her enthusiasm for her work, and she found herself renewed in her mission.

Her work as an advisor over, she was on the road when the alert arrived. Lynn had pulled over to give herself time to adjust to the news. Her son, Jack, had spent a good amount of time talking with her about the future, and she was one of the few confidants that he had chosen to share his full fears with. They had discussed the possible reactions of the current government to a variety of situations, and unbeknownst to her, he had used these conversations as the basis for some of the simulations that he and his partner in preparation, Greg Scofield, had run.

All that talk of the dire future had left her worried, but her own good natured spirit had hoped that her son was wrong. She had wanted to believe in the inherent goodness of humanity, that people couldn't make the mistakes that would lead them to the end of their world.

If her son had initiated his Archangel Protocol, then it meant that she had most likely been wrong. With her hands on the wheel, Lynn bent her head forwards and began to weep openly for the countless human lives that would soon be lost. She felt the dark foreboding of impending doom wrap itself around her like a shroud, threatening to consume her.

Tears dripped and fell on strong, gentle hands; the hands of a mother. Her manicured nails glistened white under the steady rain, sparkling with the reflected light of her vehicle’s interior. With a final sob, Lynn pulled herself upright, rejecting the encroaching despair. The world might burn, but her sons would survive, and she with them.

Stifling the screams and sobs that still sought to break free, she wiped her eyes before pulling onto the road once more. She wasn’t about to allow her sorrow to stand between her and her sons...nor any other impediment that the soon-destroyed world could summon. She set her vehicle south, driving with the violent abandon of a mother off to protect her children.

Chapter 9: The Crash

12:30 am

August 16th, 2015

Minneapolis, MN

Traffic on 35 West was a nightmare. Anyone able to was feeling the city, searching for someplace less likely to be attacked, less overpopulated. As word had spread through the nation, similar scenes were taking place in every major city. Crowds rioted, fighting with overwhelmed authorities. Police officers, paramedics, firemen all abandoned their posts to get home and protect their own loved ones, leaving the government underpowered in the face of the crisis.

While Jack couldn't blame the refugees, they were making his own journey more difficult. Perched at the gun atop the rear truck, he watched as Kate picked their little convoy through stop and go traffic, taking to the shoulder when she felt it was necessary. His heart was filled with pride at how well his little band had come together in the face of an uncertain future. They were adjusting to something that he had been given months to come to grips with, and they were doing it without taking time for a breather.

They are survivors.

The radio in his ear crackled as it came to life. Up in the lead truck, Dax was calling back to inform him of some possible issues ahead.

"We've got what looks like a crash up ahead, Jack. Traffic is coming to a halt in about a mile, and I don't think we want to stick around if emergency services somehow make it out."

He had a point. While Jack's convoy was well prepared for the days to come, at the moment, the rule of law and civilization still held nominal sway. Fully loaded .50 caliber machine guns and armored cargo vehicles might do more then just raise some eyebrows if the cops showed.

So far, the other civilians on the road had kept out of the way and left them alone, likely believing them to be a legitimate government operation. Police would be able to radio HQ and find out differently, causing problems that his convoy simply couldn’t afford at the moment. Jack made a mental map of the area, trying to consider his options. They were part way up 35 West, a few miles from the 694 connection. He had been planning to use the highway system longer, but from the way traffic was moving, side streets might be more efficient. He got on the comm.

"Dax, can you make out if the off-ramp for County Road E-2 accessible? We can skirt through the back streets and still make the next extraction point. Assuming we can get off this damn highway."

"Well, the traffic is backed up past it, but no, the crash is farther on. Still, there’s no way to get to that ramp that I can see."

"Shit."

Jack was pissed. The highways had been his call, and clearly it had been a mistake.

I should have known better. Of course, other people would be fleeing. I should have figured they would do the same thing as me, try to get out on the highways before everyone else, making sure that no one did by consequence. Damn it!

"Hold one. Kate's got an idea,” came the unexpected rejoinder from Dax.

Jack could just barely see the first truck from his vantage point. He saw Dax leaning down and yelling through the window to Kate. She was gesturing wildly, and he seemed to be shaking his head in reply. After a minute of the argumentative conversation, he shrugged and straightened back up. He called Jack on the radio a few seconds later.

"Gosh damn woman can't figure out the radios," Dax called, explaining why they had been yelling over the noise of traffic.

"What was she saying," asked Jack.

"Looks like she thinks she can drive across the embankment up ahead. Seems iffy as hell to me, but she’s pretty adamant about it. Unless you got a better idea, I guess we have to try.”

Jack considered, "Hell, It's better than just sitting here and waiting for a strike. Tell her if she leads, we'll follow." 

He called Elizabeth Fel in the Charger, "You hear that? We've got road stoppage ahead and don't feel like getting stuck, so we're getting out of here. Kate's gonna drive off the road in a little bit. See if you can follow her."

"Whatever you say, boss," Elizabeth called back.

Jack chuckled, catching the doubting tone in her voice and replying, "Hey, not my idea, but I'm banking on it working anyway."

He watched as Kate put her plan into action. Turning hard right, she first brought the ponderous M35 onto the shoulder, and then pointed its nose into the gully. Gunning it, she ran the truck down and out, pushing it to climb the small hill between the highway and the residential street now ahead of her. The city hadn't gotten around to putting up a soundproof wall yet, so the only barrier was the grassy hill. Jack held his breath as he watched the truck shudder and grind its way up. He let it out as he saw the truck crest, the Charger right behind.

A second later and it was his turn. He felt his stomach drop a little, as the truck went careening off road. He noted the torn up earth in front of the truck, marking the passage of the first two vehicles. It might lessen the traction and make their own attempt more difficult, but he hoped it wouldn’t prove to be too much. His worries were for naught, however. Cyrus navigated the big M35 up with ease.

The convoy pulled onto the street, parking for a moment as Kate tried to regain her bearings. Just as Jack was getting ready to call and see if she needed directions, the radio lit up with her voice. She had figured the radios were out, but she sounded worried.

"Jack, Duke just called me. I don't know how he got through, but it's good he did. They had to leave the Cove's house. I guess there was a fire or something. He was pretty garbled and I couldn't hear much, but he definitely said something about fire."

Jack's pulse quickened and he spoke quickly, "Did he say if the Xanders made it yet?"

"John's parents? No, he didn't mention it, but then again, the call didn't last long. The last thing he said sounded like The Ark. Although it was mixed with a lot of static, so I don't know..."

She sounded uncertain and worried. Kate and Duke had dated all through high school and much of college. They had been odds-on favorites to be the first couple married out of Jack's close-knit friend group, but at some point, their relationship had fallen apart. Jack never really asked what happened or why, not wanting to get into their business, but he could tell she still cared about him. 

Thinking through his options, he realized that he didn't have the luxury of certainty. The Coves and Duke sounded like they were in trouble, and he couldn't afford to go hunting around for the Xanders. He would just have to hope that they could find Duke while praying that John's parents had joined up with him already. But what did The Ark mean? He considered the geography of the area, trying to piece the puzzle together. Suddenly, an idea hit him.

"Kate, did it sound like he was on foot?" he asked.

She considered, "Well, it was loud, and he was breathing heavily. I didn't hear a radio or engine, but I can't be certain. Jack, is he okay?" Her tone begged for a promise that he couldn't give.

Following up on his idea, however, he took a chance. "I hope so, Kate. I think I know where they are going. There is a huge dog park near Liz's house, just a few blocks away. We used to go there to… well, anyways, if they're on foot and running from something, it’s got lots of woods and would make sense as a place to go and hide. I want you to keep trying to call him back. We'll head to the dog park and let’s hope I'm right."

He knew it was a lot of conjecture, all based on the possibility that Duke sounded out of breath, and that The Ark might have actually been the words dog park. However, he didn't have any other ideas and time was running out. Jumping down, he ordered Cyrus to the nest. Taking the wheel, he pulled the truck out, checking the mirror to make sure that the convoy re-formed behind him.

Driving fast, he headed down Lexington, desperately hoping that he wasn't making another mistake.

Chapter 10: The Ex's

12:11 am

August 16th

Shoreview, MN

Duke Sutherland had gotten lucky. When his phone beeped with an Archangel alert, he was already at Liz Cove's place. The two had gotten close over time, especially since Jack and Liz had split a few years back, and they spent quite a bit of time together these days. Duke was of average height, with sandy brown hair that was cut short and proper. A corporate employee of the Target Corporation, he was man confident in his future.

Duke had worked hard in school, always keeping the American dream front and center in his mind. Coming from money, he had gone to university at his father's alma mater. Graduated, with a good job, he knew he was at the cusp of a life well deserved. He had developed a slight beer paunch and had always proven to be a complicated friend to maintain.

While loyal and caring, Duke had a tendency to see social situations as a platform for his own advancement, rather than a way to strengthen real bonds. He often put networking opportunities ahead of chances to spend time with his old friends, and this led to some friction between him and Jack over the years. Even so, he had gotten Jack’s back when it counted, and was one of the young Mr. Hightower’s best friends.

Jack had never been much liked by Liz's parents. Duke, on the other hand, as a successful young man from a conservative family, was welcomed in the Cove home. Though he hadn't made time to see Jack in a few months, he made a habit of going over to have dinner with Liz and her family at least once a week, something that would have likely made Jack furious if he had known.

When Liz and Duke had received the alert, they laughed, ignoring it. Secure in their knowledge of American superiority and their own untouchable social status, the pair had gone on with dinner and assumed Jack was having a joke at their expense. It wasn't until the President's speech that Duke felt a cold sweat break out across his body. As the situation worsened, and the news outlets began to report looting and rioting in the area, he realized his fortuitousness. Had he been home, or worse, out with work friends, he wouldn't have been able to get to the Cove residence in time, thanks to his earlier dismissal. Without a way to contact Jack, the now clearly real rescue effort his friend was mounting would have missed him and he would have been left entirely on his own.

He looked over at Liz, wondering to himself at Jack's devotion to a woman that had broken it off with him years ago. Middle height, with slight hips and a slender bust that was accentuated by her fashion sense, her looks were slightly fae in nature. She tended to alter her hairstyle every few months, but just now, it was curled and bleached blonde.  Worn mussed and distressed, it was very Monroe-esque.

She was cute, with an endearing smile and smoky, come hither eyes, but not the drop dead model type.  Beyond her physical gifts, however, was something about her that drew men to her irresistibly. She always had a large circle of guy friends, and most of them had confessed to her over the years. She had actually grown to expect it with her male friends, handling it with a gentle touch developed with practice.

With a sharp tongue and some well maintained emotional walls, she kept most people at arm’s length. She had many friends, more admirers, but few confidants. It had taken Duke years of persistent effort to get as close to her as he had, but Jack still stood between them; the ghost of her past relationship and his dear friend.

Duke shook his head. It was hard NOT to fall in love with those dark blue eyes. They drew you in, promised to love you forever, and then danced away laughing when you fell into their depths. At the moment though, he could clearly see worry shining out of them. He cursed, knowing that Jack and not he could take away her fear. He wanted to help her relax, but didn't really know what to do. Carelessly, he walked to stand next to her, draping an arm about her shoulders.

"Don't worry, Liz, everything will be fine. Even if things get bad, we're safe here, we can hide out for the worst of it and then go back to work in a week or so," he blustered.

Liz looked at him uncertainly, wanting to believe him. Duke had been a friend for a long time, ever since Jack had introduced her to his group of friends back in high school. Unlike Jack, Duke had been able to intermingle with her own group of guy friends easily, proving to be the link between the two groups that Jack should have been. It had led to some strain in the relationship that her friends never accepted Jack, but she had used Duke to balance the two groups throughout her and Jack’s relationship. After that ended, their friendship remained, growing stronger due to Duke's continued efforts at staying close to her.

She shook her head, thinking about a night from a year ago. She had just moved back from New York to take a job in the Cities, feeling a bit depressed about the return to her hometown. Duke had offered to take her out as a welcome back treat, and they had gone downtown to drink and party. While they were out, they ended up at the bar Jack worked at, though they didn't know it at first.

Going up to order a round, she had been shocked to see him standing there, towel over his shoulder, cocktail shaker in his hand. He had simply nodded to her, sending someone else to take care of her order. She could still remember how the sight of him had drawn a thrill through her body. His tall frame covered in muscles that were barely hidden by a black V-necked work shirt, his long hair wisping across his handsome face.

More than anything though, it had still been his eyes that melted her. He had such brilliant green eyes, warm and intelligent. They had a way of lighting up, seeing straight into her heart and making her feel understood, known. The sight of him had made her knees wobble, exciting her as always, against her better judgment.

In the end, she had gotten drunk. Torn between her desire for him and the fear of letting him see it, she had ordered round after round of shots. Duke had kept pace, drinking until the bar closed with her. They had wandered out, arm in arm and ignoring Jack as he started clearing the bar silently.

They stood around outside, mingling with the crowd. When Duke had grabbed her and kissed her roughly, she had been surprised but willing. Drunk and curious, she’d returned the kiss, finding it a poor substitute. It wasn't until they broke that she had seen Jack flick his cigarette into the street and turn back into the bar. She had been horrified that he had seen them, but laughed it off and pretended like it was no big deal. Jack and she weren't even talking at the time, so she tried to believe that it wasn’t important.

Just a few months later, he had called her. She’d answered in a panic, confused and scared as to the purpose of his call. Surprisingly, he’d made no mention of the last time they had seen each other, only making an odd pronouncement. Jack told her that if the world ever ended, she should wait where she was, and he would come get her. After delivering this unasked for promise, he had said goodnight and hung up.

Over the intervening months, they had seen each other a few times, but always in social situations around mutual friends. Even that had ceased in June. He had disappeared from the social scene and quit his job. No one really knew what he was up to. She couldn't believe it when she got the alert. It was extensive, detailing what to do while she waited with her family. She hadn't even been able to believe that it was for real at first. Now that she saw how bad things were getting, she was shocked by how relieved she was that he was coming. It seemed like the sole fact keeping her from falling apart, a raft in the storm of her fear.

Dinner ruined by the President's aborted address, the group had moved to the living room where they now waited, watching the news. The news was bad. As Jack suspected, Washington D.C. was no more. Reports were coming in that seemed to suggest its demise had not been an isolated event, but the major networks were already struggling to stay on the air. Power grids were failing, emergency services overwhelmed in minutes, and panic setting in across the nation. Everyone was starting to realize that this was much worse than they had initially realized, but they still didn’t know how bad it would get.

Duke stood with his arm around Liz, painfully aware of his status as temporary replacement but relishing it nonetheless. Her parents were seated on the couch in front of them, sitting forward and leaning towards the faltering television set. The Coves were in their late forties now, but neither's appearance gave any hint of the fact. Belle Cove had always been a tiny woman, rarely weighing over a hundred pounds. In consequence, she still maintained a trim, attractive figure.

Brian Cove had always been the strong, manly sort, and had only grown more so with age. Tall, just an inch or two shorter then Jack, he had short brown hair, usually combed out of the way to look presentable. He was well muscled, with an appetite for physical activity. He often went running in the mornings before commuting into work downtown, and it had helped to keep him slim. When he got home, he liked to grab an import beer and watch college football or catch up on world news. A good man, he had been strict while Liz was growing up, but never harsh, and always fair. He sat with his arm around his wife now, trying to reassure her that everything was okay, but Liz could tell that his mind was considering everything he had been hearing on the news.

After a while, he looked over his shoulder to catch her eye, jerking his chin in the direction of the kitchen. She took the hint and the two of them adjourned to stand by the stove, leaving Duke and her mother Belle in the other room.

"Okay, Liz, so let's hear it. What's Jack up too, and what's the story with this Archangel Protocol that you and Duke mentioned?"

Brian Cove looked at his daughter patiently, looking for more information.

She bit her lip before looking at her dad and answering him, "I'm not really too sure, Dad..." She had told him about Jack's promise earlier, and both she and Duke had shown the messages they had received to her father, all too happy to let him take command of the situation.

"I don't know how he set up the messages. They didn't come from his number, but they had his name on them. Assuming they are for real, it seems like he is planning on getting out of the city and taking all of us with him, but I don't really know why or how. We haven't really talked in months, and even then, it was just surface friend stuff, nothing about all of...this,” she said, waving at the television and outside.

Brian thought about everything he was seeing and everything he knew. He thought about Jack as well. He had never really approved of Jack dating his daughter. It wasn't that he didn't like him, but he felt that the young man had a lot of demons to conquer and he hadn't wanted his daughter to be dragged along for that ride. He also had been all too aware of the difficulties that the pair's wildly different worldviews would have presented as they grew older. Still, he kept his peace, trusting their high school romance to burn out on its own.

For the most part, time had proven him right, and he had mostly forgotten about Jack. Now, here he was again, offering an escape that Brian didn't even know if his family needed. It was a lot to process. At the moment, he was leaning towards Duke's way of thinking. Wary of overreacting, he was considering telling Jack to leave when he got here, holing his family up in their home and waiting for any troubles to blow over.

Patting his daughter, he reassured her, “Don't worry, hon, I'm sure it will all be fine. We'll wait and see what happens. If Jack shows up, I'll talk to him then and find out more,” he reasoned aloud.

Drawing her into a hug, Brian kissed the top of his daughter’s head affectionately before ushering her back into the living room. He was still distracted though, inwardly debating what steps he should take to safeguard his home if they stayed. He thought of resources he would need as he followed his daughter back into the living room, making a mental checklist.

The doorbell rang a few minutes later, interrupting his thoughts. Duke was already answering before he could caution him not to open the door without seeing who it was. 

Fool boy, that could be anyone. It's not safe out there right now!

He went to stand behind Duke and meet their guests.

Standing in his doorway were two people, roughly the same age as he and Belle, clearly a couple. The man was shorter, stout, but with muscles rippling across his barrel chest and weighty arms. Next to him, and standing a few inches taller, was a slim blonde haired woman in glasses. Even as he stood there trying to sort out who they were, Duke's surprised greeting gave him his answer.

"Mr and Mrs. Xander! What are you doing here?"

In answer, Gretchen Xander held up her phone, showing the distinctive Archangel Protocol screen that each message appeared on.

"We were told to come join you all here, didn't you get word?" she asked inquisitively, peering at Duke before turning to Brian. "We were told you would be expecting us."

As she spoke, her husband stuck out his hand and the two men shook.

Mr. Xander picked up the conversation while shaking hands, "I’m Jeff Xander. Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Cove. I remember Jack talking about you some back when. He and my boy John were always close."

Brian blew out a snort of frustration, trying to sort out the new information.

So Jack sent more people here. He must be pretty serious about all this… what makes him so sure we have to leave the city?

Realizing he'd left the couple standing on his doorstep, he moved back, motioning them in.

"Please, join us. We're still trying to figure out what all is happening. We have been discussing Jack's plans, but don't entirely understand them. Still, it seems increasingly likely that he is on his way here, so I can talk to him when he arrives, I suppose,” he surmised, offering the pair seats before taking one himself.

Jeff looked at him quite seriously before speaking, "Mr. Cove, it's getting bad out there already. It's only been a few hours since the address, but people are panicking. The highways are bumper to bumper with cars trying to flee, and we saw groups of people running through the streets on our way here."

Gretchen jumped in, "There were a few fires as well. I think Jack's idea is quite right about one thing, whether or not his conclusions bear out over the long haul. It would be best to be somewhere other than the Twin Cities this week."

Brian filed away their words about the state of affairs outside for later consideration. He was more curious about Gretchen's talk of Jack's conclusions.

"It sounds like you have some idea what he is thinking, so perhaps you could share your perspective," he asked politely.

She thought for a moment before explaining, "Well, it wouldn't be right for me to presume too much, but based on our limited conversations, I have drawn some conclusions. I’ve known him a long time. He and my son John grew up together, you see. From what I’ve observed of him over the years, Jack is an incredibly loyal person, capable of great activity when he believes those he care about to be in danger. Furthermore, his time as a Marine seems to have sharpened his understanding of events and his desire to react to them proactively. He may also have sources of information that are not available to us, but I can not confirm that either way."

Brian was surprised, but sought to hide it. He hadn't known that Jack had joined the Corps, and reluctantly, he felt his estimation of his daughter's former suitor rise a few notches. He had always been a firm supporter of the military, and felt that anyone willing to put their life on the line for their countrymen’s sake deserved respect at the very least.

Gretchen Xander continued, "My best guess is that Jack doesn't believe this is a temporary situation. He seems to truly believe that we are seeing only the bare beginnings of a world-altering event, and furthermore, it seems that he has gone to great lengths to prepare for it. While I won't comment on the validity of his beliefs without more information, given my earlier assumptions about his character, and the depths of his belief, it is highly likely that his plans go far past just seeking short term safety."

She had explained all that she felt comfortable with and declined further comment, turning to watch the news with Duke and her husband. Brian felt a realization strike him.

Damn... Jack thinks this is the apocalypse, and he's trying to save us. Smiling ruefully, he had to agree with Mrs. Xander. He certainly is loyal.

Looking at his daughter, he wondered just how "over" their relationship really was. He hadn’t heard about Jack in years, but that didn’t mean it was impossible that they had rekindled the romance.  Although he was close with his daughter, he doubted that she told him absolutely everything, and he was fine with that fact.

I suppose I could just ask her, but I guess it doesn’t really matter at this point. Fact is, Jack’s coming for her. I’ll find out what their relationship is like when he does.

He was still considering his daughter's ex-boyfriend when he heard the dining room's glass window shatter inwards. While his daughter screamed, and Duke ducked behind the couch, Brian reacted quickly. Rushing to the hallway closet, he flung it open and pulled down his pistol. An old .357 revolver, the ammo was stored right next to it and he grabbed that too. Flipping it open, he shoved the speed re-loader down before slamming the chamber home. Now armed, he moved cautiously towards the source of the noise he had heard.

Glancing back once, he saw that Jeff Xander had placed the women behind him and grabbed an iron poker from the fireplace. Duke still crouched behind the couch, peering over in obvious fear. Satisfied that his family was safe for the moment, he swung into the hallway, revolver raised. Seeing no one, he pushed forwards into the dining room. Sweeping the barrel left and right, he cleared the room, standing in puzzlement by the broken window. There was no sign of the intruders and it mystified him.

A moment later, however, his confusion was ended by the sound of a scream from the living room.

Damn, they got around me the other way!

He rushed back, returning just in time to see Jeff swing his makeshift weapon at one of the assailants. The victim of his powerful strike crumpled to the ground in obvious pain, arm broken by the impact. Several other men still stood in Brian’s living room. Dressed poorly, they were covered in dirt, likely not originally from the area. Brian shouted at them, demanding they leave and raising the gun to make his point.

The sight of the pistol provoked some hesitation, along with the damage done to their compatriot. Brian thought for a moment that they might listen, but then he sensed movement to his rear. Just behind him, a large bald white man had snuck up and was stabbing at his back with a knife. Having sensed the attack, Brian jumped to the side, twisting as he fell. Reacting more to the mortal intent then his current danger, Brian fired, aiming for the man's chest. Unfortunately, in the midst of falling back and dodging the man's knife thrust, his shot climbed, missing over the man's head.

With no time to re-aim, Brian Cove rolled to his feet and darted left, thereby establishing himself next to Jeff and between his family and the intruders. He fired again as he went, this time striking the man in the chest and putting him down. That left two of the assailants on the ground, but it wasn’t looking like enough. The group of men had grown to seven, and instead of being frightened, they seemed enraged by the damage done to their compatriots.

Brian still had five shots left in his revolver, but there were more men entering the house, and already, he knew that if the intruders were determined enough, at least a few of them could get through to his family. At an impasse, he fought to find a solution.

The best we can do is put as many down and hope me and Jeff can fight off the rest hand-to-hand. I’ll have to tell the girls to run. Hopefully, they can get away in the confusion.

Unbeknownst to him, the responsibility of finding a solution had been taken from him. Smoke had begun filtering into the room during the brief struggle, but had gone unnoticed in the midst of the fight. Now that there was a moment of calm, it became clear that the Cove residence had somehow been set aflame. As everyone became simultaneously aware of this fact, the intruders began backing out. They moved warily, throwing murderous glances at the small group in front of them. They were forced to retreat by the fire and the threat of the man with the gun, but their eyes promised revenge.

As the last man left, Brian made some decisions. The men had gone out the back, and it seemed that the fire was also in that direction. They couldn't afford to stay where they were, so he would have to gamble that the men would just leave the house instead of waiting around for anyone to escape the burning structure. He helped his wife from the floor where she had been crouching with their daughter, and with a look at Jeff, led the little group out the front door.

Looking to the garage on his left, he could see that it was already in flames. Fighting off a string of expletives, he realized that they would have to leave on foot. The Xander's car was parked down the street, but there was a crowd that way and he couldn't be sure they weren't with the group that had invaded his home. Without transportation, they had to get somewhere within walking distance. Striking north, down the road and away from the last known direction of their would-be assailants, he led his small group out of the neighborhood.

Liz and Belle held each other as they walked, with Duke trailing dejectedly behind them. Gretchen Xander peered about herself owlishly, scanning the dark for further threats. The whole group moved as quickly as they could, too fearful to speak aloud.

Once they gained some distance, the origin of his home’s fire became much clearer. It had not been an isolated incident. Much of the neighborhood had been set ablaze, with many of the other houses catching fire behind them. Shaking his head in disbelief, Brian knew that they would have to get farther away. The fire department would be hard pressed to contain a blaze this big in the best of times, and he was already suspecting that these would prove to be far from that. Making a quick decision, he turned to Duke and Liz.

"Okay, you two, get on the phones. The towers aren't gone, just jammed with calls. I want you to keep trying to reach Jack or someone you think is with him until you get through. Let him know that we are leaving, to watch out for the fire, and that we are headed for the dog park. Let me know if you get him, but keep trying until you do."

Orders given, he took the lead, glad to see Jeff drift automatically into the trail position. Moving quickly, he led them on the mile or so journey to the big open land that had been designated as a dog park several years back. A decent sized stream fed into a small lake in the middle, and the tree cover was negligible. Mostly flat, with a couple hills sprinkled around the landscape, he knew just where he was headed. He only hoped that Jack would get the message and be there before any more trouble found them.

Guess we're with Jack now, for better or for worse.

Chapter 11: The Rescue

1:05 am

August 16th, 2015

St. Paul, MN

Jack pushed hard, racing down Lexington far faster than either of his big old military trucks had been designed for. It was dangerous to accelerate so much, putting a lot of strain on the inner workings, courtesy of the truck’s prodigious weight. He had faith in Dax's mechanic work however, and he trusted that the rebuilt engines would be able to handle the strain.

Far more worrying was the fate of his friends ahead of them. As soon as the convoy hit Lexington, they were able to see the ruddy glow of fire against the night sky. Half of Shoreview looked to be aflame. A chill in his heart, he wondered how he'd be able to deal with failure here.

I won't. That's the answer. If I can't save Liz and Duke, not to mention Liz and John's parents, then what was the point? I've already most likely lost Bear, and John is down in Memphis, lost to me and on his own. I may never even know if he and his wife survived.

He shook himself. He wanted to believe he'd be able to give into the despair. It would be easier than struggling on, but it wasn’t in his nature. Even if he was too late, Jack knew he would force himself to go on, locking the pain of losing his friends deeply inside himself. He wouldn't abandon the people he had with him now, couldn’t even contemplate it.

On the bright side, the fire confirmed one part of Duke's garbled message. Maybe he had been right about the second part. As they pulled into the dog park's small car lot, he was frantic with energy. He ordered the trucks to pin the Charger between them, keeping the occupants protected by the M35's armor. Hopping down from the truck, he called for Justin, Dax, and Cyrus.

"Justin, I want you driving this truck, because Meghan can't handle the stick. I'm going to look for the second group. If anything goes wrong, or if I don't make it back in an hour, I want you guys gone. Dax is in charge while I'm gone. Hopefully, I'll be back in a few minutes, but keep your eyes open until then.”

Jack looked around cautiously, searching the darkness for threats. He turned back to the anxious looking group, “Cyrus and Dax, stay on the guns. Make sure you keep any random stragglers away from the trucks. Kate will recognize our group if they come by, so gimme a squawk if we get that lucky and I'll double time it back. That's it, let’s do this and then get the hell out of here, agreed?"

He looked around, glad to see that there were no objections.

"Okay, good. See you in a few,” he promised.

With a low whistle, Jack summoned Fenrir.

"Okay, boy, follow me, watch my back,” he commanded.

The wolf gave him a quick affectionate growl, which Jack chose to interpret as an affirmative. Feeling better with the wolf watching his six, Jack moved off into the night. Wearing a Kevlar vest and tactical radio in addition to his black outfit, he was geared up and ready to fight. The pair moved through the woods cautiously, but saw no sign of movement for several long minutes.

Slinking through the inky darkness, however, Jack finally began to hear voices up ahead and headed in their direction. Too far away to make out any words, he could tell that a large group was gathered. Closing to a hundred yards, he dropped to the ground, preparing to sneak in the rest of the distance to avoid detection. Fenrir lay down next to him, well aware of the situation. The sudden eruption of gunfire canceled any thoughts of subtlety however, and the pair was up and running an instant later.

Throwing caution to the wind, Jack ran straight towards the sounds of fighting. They seemed to be emanating from over the crest of a hill directly ahead of him. Terrified of what he would find, Jack topped the hill and began searching the darkness. His well-trained eyes could pick out more in the dark than the average human could, but it was still a strain. After a moment, he managed to piece it all together into a coherent picture.

Along the base of the hill, he was now crouching on, a group of ten or so men had gathered. The few of them that had firearms were firing blindly up the adjacent hill towards a downed tree. He could make out a couple of figures crouched behind the tree, with one of them bouncing up to return fire occasionally in a haphazard manner.

As he watched, a majority of the men below broke off and began to circle around, trying to flank the group on the high ground. The few left were those with guns and they continued firing in order to keep the defenders pinned down behind their tree.

Jack automatically felt inclined to help the group at the top of the hill, but he couldn't afford to intervene unless he was sure it was his people. Going prone, he used the night vision on his ACOG scope to check. He couldn't get a good view because the figures were obscured by the fallen tree, but it looked like the right number of people. That is, it was the right number if the Xanders had made it.

Wait for it…there! That was Mr. Cove!

Jack was almost certain. It had been a long time since he had seen Liz's father, but he was relatively sure that the man jumping up to fire down the hill into the darkness was his ex-girlfriend’s dad. Even as he hesitated, Jack saw the man take a hit and go down behind the tree. The flankers noticed as well, giving up on the pretense of sneaking to go charging up the hill with throaty yells.

Decided, Jack went fully into fight mode. He gave a quick signal to Fenrir, and the big wolf drifted off into the darkness. He then braced the rifle against his shoulder, supporting the barrel with his free hand for stability. With a breath, he calmed his nerves and went to work.

His finger caressed the trigger. As the men charged the hill, he had a clear line of sight. Firing three-round bursts, he moved his muzzle slightly, targeting each individual man in turn. Within moments, all of them were down, most dead, others dying. Forewarned by their comrades’ demise, the men at the bottom of the hill turned and opened fire in his direction however. Bullets started to bury themselves in the ground below him, closing in on his position.

Rolling, he dropped back down below the crest of the hill and sprinted to the left. He inched his way back up the hill from his new position. The men were still firing blindly at where he had been, unaware of his movements. He sighted in and then waited. Coming from the darkness, ferocious as a hellhound, Fenrir tore into the last man on the line. The mighty wolf ripped the assailant’s throat out before dancing back into the darkness. Using the confusion his four-legged friend had caused, Jack struck once more.

From this distance, and at their flank, he was able to place highly accurate enfilading fire on their position. The deadly fusillade tore through them like so much wheat in a thresher. The last few men were down and dying just a minute after he saw Mr. Cove get hit.  

Satisfied that his enemies were vanquished, Jack trotted down the hill. He stepped through the bodies he had so recently dispatched, leery of any still clinging to life. Making his way to the people, he had so recently rescued, he called out, "Hullo! I'm Jack Hightower. I'm looking for some friends of mine, everyone okay up there?"

After a second, he heard Duke’s incredulous voice, "Jack? Is that really you?"

Jack felt huge waves of relief begin to crash over him as he heard his friend’s voice.

"Yeah, man, I'm coming up, so don't shoot me.”

He remembered Fenrir.  No one up there had met him yet and he cautioned, “Don't shoot my dog either."

Safe passage assured, Jack climbed the last few yards of the hill and jogged to the group. Looking around him, he quickly assessed the scene. Duke and Liz were crouched by Gretchen and Belle. Jeff was standing by the log, watching the bodies below. Belle held her husband in her arms, stroking his hair. He appeared to have been shot through the shoulder and wore a marked grimace, but remained conscious.

"Nothing too serious, Jack, mostly just a graze," Brian growled through clenched teeth, sighing before continuing, "I'm surprisingly happy to see you, Jack. Good timing."

Jack looked him over, uncertain about Brian's wounds. "Looks like maybe a bit more than a graze, Mr. Cove, but if you’re mobile, I've got a nurse back at the convoy. She can take a look and get you fixed up.”

"I'm fine to move, but we should get out of here. I don't know who exactly those men were, but they aren't the first group of hostile people we have seen tonight."

With a sigh of acceptance at the necessity of leaving Shoreview, Brian went on, "I don't know what you've got planned, but it can't be worse than this. Besides, you and your men just saved my family, which builds a lot of trust with me." Brian peered through the darkness. "Where are the rest of your men?"

Jack looked at him confused, worried that maybe the shock of his wound was getting to Mr. Cove.

"What men? It's just me and Fenrir out here right now. The rest of the group is back with the trucks."

Everyone stared at him, and Jack started to feel uncomfortable.

"What?" he asked uncertainly.

Finally, Jeff Xander said what everyone else had been thinking, "Jack, there must have been ten or more men down there, some of them armed. I know you were a marine, but I guess we thought there must have been more than just you out there to put them down so fast. Don’t get me wrong, son, we’re grateful, just surprised.”

Hiding his face, Jack turned from the group, uncomfortable with their attentions, “No, just me."

He was already struggling with a little guilt over his actions, and their surprise made it worse somehow. It wasn’t that the men he’d killed hadn’t deserved it, but the way it had been done had made it feel more like butchering animals than fighting. The villains simply hadn’t been trained or prepared to deal with a warrior of his caliber, and he had known it. That knowledge was the source of his guilt, and the group’s assumptions only underlined the disparity between him and the civilians who had attacked his friends.

Sensing his discomfort, Gretchen Xander went and patted his arm. "No matter, Jack, we're just glad you made it on time. We appreciate what you did for us. Those men had what they found them coming, I promise you."

Taking charge, she turned to the group, "Okay then. Duke, you help Brian there walk. Jeff, hon, why don't you bring up the rear and keep an eye out." She turned back to Jack, giving him another pat. "Lead on."

Giving Fenrir a quick hand signal, he sent the wolf behind them to check their back trail.

"Fenrir will make sure no one sneaks up behind us. It's only a few minutes walk, but there's no way to know who else is out there in the dark. Let’s go as fast as we can." He turned from the hill, thankful to be leading his friends back to the relative safety of his convoy. With Brian injured, the going was a little bit slower, but the older man was game and he pushed hard to avoid holding them back. They made it back to the convoy in just less than ten minutes, fifteen since Jack had left the convoy originally.

Dax challenged him as he came close, but a quick reply assured him that it was Jack returning with the second group and not an attack.  Using the radio, Dax called the Charger, asking Nicole to come out and deal with the wounded.

Nicole left May with Elizabeth. Grabbing her small emergency kit, she ran out to meet up with Jack and his new group of people. He introduced her to everyone while she went to work examining Brian. Nicole could tell immediately that the "graze" had actually gone straight through him. Luckily, it was a small caliber, and had missed anything vital, so the damage wasn’t as severe as it could have been. Using some of the medication and supplies that Meghan and Elizabeth had grabbed from their apartment, she cleaned the wound, bandaged it, and then made him swallow some antibiotics and a painkiller.

"Okay, it should heal up in time, but it will take a while. We'll have to change the bandage regularly to help keep it clean, but since it went right through without making too big a hole, I expect he'll make a full recovery."

Belle and Liz almost broke down with relief when they heard that Brian would be okay, hugging each other and touching him gently, trying to avoid causing him any pain. He cracked an eye at them and saw Jack standing just behind them.

"See, I told you it was just a flesh wound," he joked, chuckling slightly before grimacing as the laugh shook his wound.

Nicole broke in, "I gave you a mild sedative and painkiller for that. You'll be pretty out of it for a while, but it should help with the worst of the pain." Packing up her bag, she looked to Jack for his orders. Something that Mrs. Xander took quiet note of. Jack nodded to Nicole, thanking her and dismissing her to return to the Charger.

Using the radio, he talked to Dax again. “All right, we've got Brian stabilized. We need to get out of here. We may have to make some room since I'd planned on taking cars from their house, but that doesn't look to be an option any longer.  I guess we'll have to leave some of the gear from the trucks, put Brian in the Charger. Thoughts?"

Dax replied, "Actually, I think your boys have that covered. As soon as you got back, Cyrus and Justin lit out for that gas station a block back. I guess they saw a couple of vehicles just sitting there. Good initiative, glad you brought them.”

Jack looked up. Sure enough, Cyrus and Justin realized that they needed more room for everyone and decided to fix the problem themselves. They came cruising up in a pair of matching black Range Rovers. The man who owned the small shopping center next to the gas station had been caught at work when the riotous crowds had gone rampaging through. Jack wasn't sure what had happened to him, but he was grateful for the rides. The addition of the sturdy SUVs was a welcome one, and Jack gave Cyrus and Justin an approving nod for their quick thinking.

"Okay, guys, introductions will have to come later. We're heading out of town on the double, and we’re going north. Belle, Liz and Brian, take one of the Rovers. Duke, you're with the Xanders in the other. Trucks and Charger stay the same. Cyrus, you're back in the cab. I'm taking the gun again. Clear?”

Everyone was moving to their assigned locations and he gave a silent nod of approval, thankful yet again for his group’s trust. Later, when everyone was calmer and felt safer, he knew there would have to be a conversation about leadership. For now, though, they were all too shocked to be anything but eager to follow his lead. That was all he needed for the moment. With a sigh and a quick stretch, he clambered back up the truck to his gun nest. Pulling out, the convoy fell in behind him.

Only a few hours left now, but I think we're going to make it.

Jack permitted himself a small smile as they rolled north.

I know it.

Chapter 12: The Student Body

2:02 am

August 16th, 2015

Near Itasca State Park

"Look, Sam, if the world is going to hell, you know I'm down for a couple of brewskis to ease its passing… but some of the others, they have people to get to, man, ya know?"

Sam Hightower looked at his friend Dane, acknowledging his argument. His group had driven straight out from Duluth, cell phones made worthless by the remote location. It hadn't been until one of the car's radios had picked up the MN geological outpost's emergency broadcast that anyone had realized they weren’t in for a simple night of fun. Once word had spread through the convoy, he had been forced to halt before entering Itasca State Park. There would have to be a conversation before they continued, and he wasn’t looking forward to it.

Feeling stressed, Sam looked to the milling students, watching as they passed rumor and gossip between small cliques. Sighing, he gave a loud whistle.

"Alright, come on, circle up, guys," Sam commanded. People looked up at his whistle, and following instructions, they drifted over to huddle in a circle around him.

"So I know you guys have been hearing some stuff on the radios, and I assume you've all got some theories. Here's what I know. My brother used to be a marine. Some of you probably knew that. While he was in the Corps, he met some people, made some connections. About a year ago, a little after he retired, he called me up. Jack believed that things were going to get bad, really bad, so he made some plans."

Sam paused, making sure he had everyone's attention.

"While I don't know exactly what is happening out there, I do think that the radio broadcast we heard from the President was legit. I also didn't ask you guys to come out here with me by coincidence. Part of what Jack did in preparation was set up a program. Its purpose was to inform certain people that Jack thought we were near the end. It was supposed to track our whereabouts and deliver us a plan based on our location. That plan was designed to help us survive what Jack thought likely to be an extinction level event."

People started shouting at that, asking if his brother was nuts, and what the point of it all was. Sam raised his arms, gesturing for quiet.

"I'm not saying I agree, or that I know what he’s thinking. What I am saying is that he believes it, and he prepared for it as if it was likely. At around ten o'clock tonight, I received my message. It told me to get myself, and anyone else that was willing, away from population centers. It also held directions to the compound that he has been preparing. By compound, I mean the supposed cabin that I've been leading you too."

Sam sighed, "I don't know, guys. I don't know if the world is ending, if my brother is crazy, or if it’s something in between. I just know that I trust his instincts, and if the world goes in the shitter, I'll feel safer with him around. He invited you all to join, and we are almost there. I'm going, so you should all talk amongst yourselves and decide what you need to do. I leave in ten minutes, so anyone who wants to join me should be ready. That’s all I've got."

Speech delivered, Sam moved out of the circle and back to his car. He sat down with the door open and then closed his eyes. He heard the passenger door open, and felt the weight of another body settling into the vehicle. Cracking one eye, he saw Dane next to him. His friend gave him a small shrug before he mimicked Sam’s position, the two of them waiting to see who else would follow. They waited the full ten minutes before Sam swung himself out of the car again, leaning against it and looking to the rear. Four other cars sat behind him, loaded with people who were quietly waiting for his lead. Only two of the six vehicles that had originally left Duluth with him were flashing taillights. Shaking his head, Sam climbed back in and shut the door.

Dane looked at him nervously as he re-entered, "How bad is it?" he asked.

"Not as bad as it could have been. Looks like just two carloads split off. Either the rest don't want to drive anymore tonight, or they actually see the point. We'll find out their reasons in the morning."

"And what about the people who left?" Dane asked.

Sam blew out a breath of frustration, "I don't know, man. If Jack's wrong, they'll be at school when we get back, laughing at us. If not...they're on their own."

Sam hated how much like a death sentence that sounded, but he knew there was nothing else they could do. Turning the key, he shifted and gunned his little car down the hidden dirt road he had been told to look for. The four other cars followed closely behind, bumping along over the gravel road. Everyone was driving fairly carefully, worried about losing traction in the dark and somehow damaging their vehicles. It didn’t seem like AAA would be very likely to make it out in the case of an accident.

Sam had been driving for ten or fifteen minutes when he came upon a little cabin in the woods. The instructions said that his destination was farther ahead, but the cabin was positioned in such a way as to sit more or less in the middle of the path. The gravel drive actually curved around it to one side, with a gate lowered from a hinge next to the cabin blocking its path.

It’s a guardhouse...Sam realized as he sat staring.

He also noticed that there was a light on within. He wondered if he was supposed to wait for acknowledgment or go up and knock. Loathe to abandon the safety of his vehicle, he sat parked for a minute or two.

Jack didn’t mention a guardhouse, but this wasn’t just thrown together. It clearly was built along with this drive, so what does that mean?

When it became clear that no one was going to come out to greet them, Sam made a decision.

Ah, forget it. I’ll go have a look.

Telling Dane to slide into the driver seat and be ready to bolt if anything went wrong, Sam exited the vehicle and shut the door after him. Stretching slightly, he stuck his hands in his pockets and started sauntering over to the structure, trying to project an air of nonchalance.

Even if this is something other than the first part of the compound, I can just play it out as a group of lost college kids. There’s no reason I would be nervous, so I just have to play it cool and no one will suspect anything is wrong.

Stepping up on the porch, he gave the door a loud knock, calling out for anyone inside after a couple of seconds, he began to hear rustling sounds from within. Stepping back, just in case, he waited for someone to answer the door. As footsteps padded over inside, he felt his anxiety rising, fear starting to seep into him. 

Damn it, relax. It’s probably just some campers or a guard or something, damn.

As the door swung open, Sam was momentarily blinded by the light from within, obscuring his view of whoever had opened the door. Blinking the light away, he focused on the figure in front of him, fear still rising in the back of his throat.

“Sam!?” the figure asked.

“Gary...?!” Sam choked out, “Damn, man, you almost gave me a heart attack! God, is it good to see you! I take it this means we found the place?”

Sam felt cool relief wash over him as he realized that the sleepy looking man standing in front of him, dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt was none other than his brother’s friend, Gary Scofield. Sam met him a year or so back when his brother brought Gary to one of Sam’s football games. They had all gone out for a beer afterwards and hit it off splendidly. Looking the man over, Sam recognized how much the last year had worn on Gary. His eyes looked sunken, deep purple bags hanging underneath them. He had stress wrinkles forming across his face, and his short black hair looked greasy and unkempt. A few pimples had even sprung out on his face, probably from crappy food and a lack of sleep.

Keeping his observations to himself, Sam just pounded fists with Gary and went on. “So what, you didn’t notice the group of cars parked outside? Or maybe you just wanted me to do a quick Hills Have Eyes/Cabin In The Woods type of shit walking up here. Hell, man, don’t tell me you were asleep?” Sam guessed.

The blush spreading across Gary’s face was all the confirmation Sam needed to know that he had hit his mark. Gary had fallen asleep out here in the gatehouse, snoring right on through Sam and his friend’s appearance.

“So anyway, is this it?” Sam asked, looking around the spacious cabin/guard house. “I guess I thought it would be bigger. I brought some friends with me. Will there be space for everyone?” Sam asked quizzically.

Gary, recovering from his embarrassment, laughed at that. “Ha, yeah, there will be plenty of space, man. This isn’t the place, just an outlying guardhouse we established. Eventually, it will be staffed with a squad to let us know if anyone is coming our way, but for now, we’re a little undermanned. I was out here working earlier and told home base that I’d stay and keep an eye out for anyone showing up. The, ahh, sleeping… that part was an accident.” He shook his head, still embarrassed at his lack of attentiveness.

“Oh well man, no harm done. We’re here, want to ride back with us?” Sam asked.

“Sure, let me lock up quickly and then we can go,” Gary replied.

While Gary worked at closing up shop in the guardhouse, Sam started walking back to the car, smiling and waving to show everyone it was okay and that he knew Gary. The smile he wore froze and then faltered as his mind fought to process what he was seeing.

As it stumbled to create order from the picture it was seeing, he took a few more steps forwards, stopping just as his brain clicked with understanding. On the other side of the line of cars, just emerging from the trees, a line of violent looking men was trying to sneak up on the vehicles. They all wore matching D.O.C. uniforms, and Sam surmised that they must be recently escaped convicts.

Panicking, he started to sprint back towards the cars, waving his hands to get the driver’s attention and warn them to get the hell away from the encroaching mob of criminals. Following the line of Sam’s eyes, Dane was the first to notice the men about to attack his car. He responded quickly, slamming his foot down on the pedal. The car went roaring off and away, careening down the road.

Realizing they had been discovered, the attacking men gave up any pretense of stealth, opening up with shotguns and pistols at the line of cars. All four of the vehicles were able to drive off at first, but the bullets tearing through them took a toll. One of the car’s drivers must have been shot, because the vehicle suddenly skewed left and rammed itself into the side of the building. Sam waved Dane to keep going, simultaneously running to the car to check for survivors.

While all this had been happening, Gary ran inside and radioed home base in warning. That duty now accomplished, he joined Sam by the side of the wrecked vehicle, helping him wrench one of the twisted doors open. The driver was dead, as were two of the passengers. Only one of Sam’s teammates, a big offensive lineman who had been sitting shotgun seemed to still be breathing. He was fairly out of it, but didn’t have any obvious injuries.

Most likely a concussion.

Between the two of them, Gary and Sam were able to wrestle him out of the car, dragging his limp body around to the back of the building.

The convicts had made it to the building, and were noisily rooting through the vehicle for supplies. They had failed to notice Sam and Gary in the dark, the rescue having been obscured by the smoking car. Still, it was only a matter of time before they came around back and discovered the men. With the lineman still unconscious, they couldn’t escape by foot.

Desperately searching for options that didn’t involve abandoning his teammate Luke to the convicts, Sam knelt in a panic, coming up empty. He could feel sweat beading on his forehead, and fear had him by the throat. He fought it down, determined to stay calm in the face of danger. With no other options, he just decided to try and drag his teammate as far into the woods as he could and go to ground, hoping the convicts left.

The sound of a roaring engine put his plans on hold, and before he could believe his eyes, his buddy Dane drove his car right back through the fray. Dane pushed it through the dodging convicts, squealing to a stop next to the trio. He threw the doors open. Head down, with bullets now ripping overhead, Dane gave Sam a smirk.

“Need a lift?” he asked innocently.

Sam gaped at his friend for a moment before firing into motion. Throwing Luke in, he and Gary jumped in after, lying down to try and avoid fire. Dane kept his head down, peeking over the dashboard as he slithered the car over the gravel and down the road. They were running towards the compound ahead and leaving the convicts in their dust. Looking incredulously at his buddy, Sam finally found the words to speak.

“Did you just make a fucking joke...? With bullets flying, you find the time to come back and rescue us, but you do it with the perfect line? Oh, my God, I can’t believe you, man. That was fucking crazy!”

Laughing loudly with adrenaline, Sam clapped his buddy on the back, thrilled to be alive. He wasn’t mad at his friend, just shocked by Dane’s presence of mind in effecting a successful rescue while still delivering a calm joke in the middle of a firefight.

Caught up in the rush of surviving a near-death experience, neither Sam nor Dane noticed that Gary wasn’t joining in on the celebrations. They were almost a mile down the road before Sam turned to his friend and noticed the blood frothing up from between his lips and the stain soaking through his shirt.

“Shit! Gary’s been hit! Shit, shit, shit!” Sam cried in anguish. He quickly let his medical training take over, what little of it he had. Though still an undergraduate in pre-med, he had done the paramedic training and knew how to stabilize a patient for transport at least. Ripping off Gary’s shirt, he sought the entry wound.

Damn, that went right through his chest, possibly a lung. This is really bad. We have to get him back as fast as we can, or he won’t make it.

Putting pressure on the wound and trying to slow Gary’s blood loss, he urged Dane to hurry and then went about encouraging Gary to stay calm. In the dark woods, with dawn coming soon, the men drove for safety. Dane, gripping the wheel tightly, and Luke still passed out on the seat. Sam sat trying to keep Gary alive, but Gary was slowly, slowly bleeding away his life in the backseat of a Pontiac.

Chapter 13: The School Bus

3:37am

August 16th, 2015

2 miles out of St. Cloud

With a raised fist and click on the mic, Jack brought his convoy to a halt. He surveyed his band of survivors, noting the bleary-eyed gazes they returned. Many of them had gone at least twenty hours without sleep, engaged in more activity than they were generally used to. The stress was starting to show. They were growing irritable, with communication between the vehicles having ceased several hours earlier.

Luckily, the route out of the city had been clear enough to avoid any traffic snarls. They had been making pretty decent time. By sticking to side streets (and completely ignoring traffic laws), they had bypassed the worst groupings of other refugees. Without any major event having yet occurred, it seemed like power and emergency services were still nominally functional, though it wouldn’t last. Rioters and armed bands like the one they had crossed paths with in Shoreview were proliferating, but the state government had mobilized the national guard and were keeping things under wraps for the time being.

The battle between the authorities and armed citizens was breaking out in every major city. Jack knew that this semi-controlled peace would crumble when the bombs started dropping, but for now, it gave the illusion of control. His gut told him that it wouldn't be much longer before that illusion was stripped away. When that happened, people would find themselves truly alone.

He was therefore understandably eager to reach the compound that he and Gary had prepared. Now that he had gotten his followers out of the city and its associated dangers, they did have a little bit more flexibility in terms of their route. With St. Cloud just ahead, he was debating their course.

The convoy could probably drive through in safety, saving time and giving him an opportunity to pick up more followers, but it would be at a risk. There was no way to accurately know what waited for them in the city. They could run afoul of more rioters, or even law-enforcement, costing them time and trouble. Their heavily armed convoy would be seen as threat by either set of people and the last thing he wanted was to make targets of his friends.

The Archangel Protocol had been designed to rescue a select few people from the worst areas of disaster. These people were selected because of their importance to Jack or Gary, their value as potential survivors, and their ability to get to safe zones. Coordinates for the compound were included for all, though some received secondary locations if they were too far away to reach the compound realistically. A packet of all the information that had been gathered in relation to the government, possible threats to be faced, and survival information was also distributed to each recipient.

The goal for the local recipients was to extract them before anything actually occurred, making it easier and thereby assuring a higher success rate. However, Jack had always envisioned doing more. In his heart, he hoped to save as many people as possible, whether they were on the Archangel Protocol or not. That desire to rescue more people had to be balanced against the safety of his current followers however. Through the course of the night, everyone they had come across had either been actively hostile, or completely hiding out and unresponsive. This had left Jack without the opportunity to accomplish his secondary goal of attracting other survivors to join him. St. Cloud offered him another chance to do just that, but the reward had to be balanced against the risk for his people.

Looking down towards the city once more, Jack made his choice. The people of St. Cloud would have to survive on their own. He had to focus on the safety of those who already followed him.

Maybe I can come back, someday. I pray some of these poor souls will survive… though the odds are against them.

Communicating the new route to Cyrus, Jack braced himself as the trucks lurched forwards again, knowing that it would be difficult for him to watch the lights fade behind him. The near morning air went whipping through the length of his shaggy brown hair, flowing past his squinted eyes.

Should have brought goggles and Mad Maxed this shit. Oh well, next time, he thought with a melancholy chuckle, trying to distract himself with humor.

Deciding to check up, he grabbed hold of his mic and connected to the Cove vehicle, "How's your dad doing, Liz?" he asked.

"He's okay, pretty much asleep now. Mom’s been changing his bandages, but he hasn't really noticed. Whatever that woman gave him, it must have been pretty strong," she informed him.

"Okay, good, let me know if anything changes, alright?"

"Absolutely." She let static hang for a minute. "Look, Jack, I just wanted to say…thank you. If you hadn't come for us, we would probably be dead. It means a lot."

"Don't mention it, Liz. I could never have just left you. I'll check in with you later, but I gotta stay focused for now. Jack out," he said, signing off abruptly.

Liz was trouble. He didn't really know that he could still claim to be in love with her, and frankly, there was too much work still ahead to consider something like a relationship even if he were. Still, he couldn't deny the draw; the tug at his heart when he heard her voice. The same traits that made her such a captivating woman were still there, same as some of his former feelings.

Jack shook his head, determined to clear thoughts of her from his mind. He hadn't saved her in order to win her back. He just couldn't have borne the thought of leaving her while he went on and survived. He was determined however to make sure that he didn't use his rescue as emotional leverage, intentionally or not. It would be wrong, and would lead to nothing good. Mind back in the game, Jack looked down the road.

This far out of the city, the highways were clear. 94W curved and slid through the forested wild of West Minnesota, unencumbered by humanities’ presence. Animals could be seen in the flash of headlights on occasion, jumping away from his M35’s roaring engine sounds.

I wonder how the animals will fare once we are gone? A lot might get hunted as people starve in the next few months, but then there won’t be that many humans left. Will the wolves, deer, and bears run this place once we are gone, or will they go down with us?

His thoughts were interrupted by an annoying electronic beeping sound that it took him a while to place. Wait; is that my fucking cell phone? Pulling it from his pocket, he stared in marvel, shocked that it was still receiving a signal. The number came up as unknown, but Jack wasn't about to let this minor miracle pass without investigation. Tapping the touch screen, he answered, putting the phone to his ear.

"Hello?" he asked curiously.

"Jack! Holy shit, I can't believe I got through. I've been trying for hours, but it kept saying that all available lines were busy. My phone ended up dying so I tried one of the guys. Damn, it's good to hear your voice, man," came the reply.

"Bear...is that you?" Jack asked incredulously.

"Yeah, man! Listen, I got your message, but I was on a trip with the rugby team. We were out in South Dakota for the weekend but got eliminated early. Long story short, we were on our way back when the radio started picking up the news. We talked it over and decided against heading back to the city, just in case. I've been trying ever since to contact you to see what you knew," Bear replied.

Jack couldn't believe his luck. He had given up his friend as a loss. To discover the possibility of his survival invigorated Jack’s tired spirit.

"Bear, where are you right now?" he asked.

"St. Cloud, man. We got a couple rooms at the Hotel Six and decided to spend the night, see what we thought in the morning. The news is looking pretty bad. Minneapolis is rioting. The guard and police have it about half contained apparently. There's a big fire in the north suburbs, and people are being told to evacuate. St. Cloud is better for now. The soldiers from Ripley showed up a few hours ago, put down rioters, and declared martial law. Streets are quiet but we are pretty freaked out here. Hell, where are you?" Bear asked.

"Actually, we’re not very far, man." Jack thought for a minute. "Look, Bear, St. Cloud isn't going to be safe much longer and the city...well, it'll be a long time before it's safe to go back there. We are a few miles out of St. Cloud. What are the chances that you can come meet up with me?" Jack asked hopefully.

Bear sounded torn over the phone, "Well, I want to, man, but I don't know. I can't just leave my team and come meet up with you. These are my guys, and I wouldn't feel right abandoning them. Even if I could do it, I don’t know about sneaking out on the military. They might not take too kindly to it.”

Jack responded enthusiastically, "Hell, Bear, bring them! I've got space for everyone. Just make sure you get going now. As for the Martial Law, they don't have the numbers to actually enforce that. They are banking on the appearance of strength substituting for its actuality. All you have to do is make sure you let whatever patrols you’ve been seeing go by, then grab a vehicle and sprint for the edge of town. There just aren’t enough soldiers still stationed at Ripley for me to be wrong on this. I’ll hold the convoy at the next intersection, just to the west of town. Get to me as soon as you can?”

Bear warned him, "I'll talk to them, but there's no guarantee they will want to go, Jack, and I’m not leaving them."

Grimacing, Jack quickly outlined everything he knew and what he thought would likely be happening. By the time he was done, Bear had gone silent, shocked. After a few moments of unbroken airwaves, his answer was brief.

"Shit, I'll have them on the bus in ten minutes. See you in twenty,” he said.

With that, they broke the connection, and Jack passed out orders. They pulled off the side of the road and waited, eyes peeled for signs of Bear or the troops deployed in St. Cloud. The silence of an empty highway hung heavy over the convoy, stark reminders of the dire circumstances surrounding their journey.

Their vigilance was rewarded before long. Nineteen minutes after Bear hung up, Jack saw a large yellow school bus pulling up the road. Feeling confident and excited, he hopped down and waved it over. Standing by the side of the road, Jack let it pull up to him and clambered on board. Standing at the front of the bus, he spotted his buddy Bear Bineau immediately, relief washing over his entire body. Breaking into a smile, the big hairy monster came at him and wrapped Jack in a huge hug, lifting him off the ground completely for a moment.

Bear stood level with Jack, but where the latter was whipcord thin and built like a rapier, Bear appeared much akin to namesake. Massive, with strong powerful shoulders and thick trunk like legs. A powerful barrel chest and sinewy arms said he wasn't a man that many would be willing to trifle with. He was even bigger then Cyrus, containing a lot more speed and power then the big bartender.

Once he'd been set back to his feet, Jack took a quick look around and gave Bear one of his standard, eyebrow raised looks of inquiry. Putting up his hands in mock defense, Bear hurried to explain.

"Look, Jack, I know we only talked about the team, but we couldn't just leave the rest of them. We'd all been watching the news together in the lobby and when they saw us packing up to leave, they started asking questions. Pretty soon the whole hotel wanted to know what was going on, and where we were going. I just couldn't say no. What did you want me to do?" he asked the last part quietly, worried about letting the others hear Jack’s answer.

The first few rows of the bus were taken up by the members of Bear's rugby team, a group of fearsome looking men that had played with Bear for years. Behind the team was an assorted group of people, all looking fearfully at Jack, afraid of being sent back. They were a mixed group, containing families, lone travelers, a couple of younger people, even what looked to be a team of high school cheerleaders. Looking everyone over, Jack felt a deep sense of pride in his friend's instincts.

"You did exactly right, Bear. I'll take care of them, I promise. We’re happy to have them," Jack said.  He then turned to the bus and addressed the group as a whole.

"My name is Jack Hightower. I know some of you from the team, but a lot of you are new faces. I need to tell you a couple things, so listen up and try to suspend your cynical disbelief for a few minutes,” he said. Peering around the bus, he tried to drive his point home by making eye contact.

“In the next few hours, our world is going to change. You've seen its beginning... the rioting, the fires. These are some of the warning signs. Most of you have also probably heard about the President's address. I know a lot of you are scared, but I ask that you trust me. I’m going to take you all to a safe place,” he paused, letting his face grow more serious, “Life is going to be hard for a while, and I will expect everyone to pull their own weight. No free rides at Greg’s place. You are going to have to be okay with that and follow orders, or you will be sent packing.  All that being said, I’m glad you're here, and like I said, I promise that I will keep you safe. Sound good enough?”

Jack looked around, saw some nods, and a few confused faces. The occasional rebellious look told him that there might be some issues down the road, but all in all, they seemed willing to do as they were told. At least for the time being.

Message delivered to the crowd, he gave instructions to Bear before ordering the bus driver to follow behind the SUVs. Shaking Bear's hand, Jack hopped lightly to the ground, heading back to his position atop the trail M35. Once it was regained, he ordered the convoy onto the final leg of their journey.

Just as they started to pull out, Jack heard a strange, high-pitched whining sound. Looking up, he saw what appeared to be a black dot against the rising sun, falling towards the earth. He watched as it grew, slowly taking the shape of an airplane. As it came closer and closer, he noticed that there were no lights, finding the absence somewhat curious.

Finally, the awful reality clicked. The big jetliner was now falling freely from the sky. Even as that thought started to sink in, he saw another. As he watched jets drop from the heavens, he recognized the truth and felt its impact. Minnesota had taken an electromagnetic pulse detonation. The end war had finally come to his home. He stared, watching the first jet until it connected in a fiery reunion with the earth.

Inside, Jack felt a wrenching anguish. Watching the helpless death of hundreds stole his breath, leaving him hollow and hurting. Unable to take it any more, he turned his back on the tragic sight, keeping his gaze set firmly to the north. He had to focus on what he could protect; those that he had the power to save. There was nothing that he could do for the poor souls behind him, so he prayed that God would see to their needs.

Chapter 14: The Western Road

7:01am

August 16th 2015

Ashley National Forest, Northeast Utah

Rey and Jose Lorenzo had been traveling for hours. They had stayed off of major roads, avoided cities, only stopping once. They hit a small town market, buying up as much water and non-perishable food as they could lay hands on, though it garnered more than a few odd glances from the other patrons. Money would likely be nothing more than so much toilet paper in a few days, and they had no intention of saving it.

The truck had already been loaded with a pair of rifles, plenty of ammunition, a tent and limited supply of food. All the supplies they had brought for the aborted camping trip. As the radio started to fill with increasingly horrible news, they recognized that their travels might take them significantly longer than originally thought. This revelation had prompted the stock up, and Rey realized they had been none too soon to do so. The President’s address had come on just minutes after leaving the town, making their departure a timely escape indeed. Looking ahead, he realized that what had originally been a two or three day trip might just take a lot longer with the nation burning around them.

As they rolled up to the small town of Vernal in northeast Utah, Rey and Jose discussed their plans. They both agreed that it would be better to push through town before resting for the night. They could tent up near the Utah/Wyoming border, staying safely away from other people, keeping unwanted eyes from their backs. Not expecting trouble in such a small town, they weren't prepared for any and ended up taken by surprise.

As the truck crossed into the main square, gunfire erupted in a thunderous cacophony of destruction, startling the pair into a panic. The sounds of ammunition being expended surrounded the vehicle, forcing them down below the window in hopes of avoiding any particularly well aimed bullets.

Unable to see over the steering wheel, Rey was driving blind, hoping that he could push through town before someone got that lucky shot in. He kept his foot on the gas as their little red Chevy went running straight towards trouble; trouble he knew nothing of. Upon risking a quick peek over the dash to orient himself, Rey spotted a heavy coach bus that had been parked long ways across the street, forming an impressive roadblock. Yelling in alarm, he slammed his foot on the brake, bringing the truck to a stop, just feet from the barricade.

The townspeople quickly surrounded the truck, yanking the doors open. Strong hands gripped the two relatives, hauling them bodily from the vehicle before tossing them to the ground. Fearsome, bayoneted rifles angled sharply at pair, instilling a certain degree of obedience.

As Rey and Jose lay sweating, certain that they were about to be murdered, a voice boomed out, "Hold, men, hold!"

From the flat of his back, Rey sought out the commanding voice’s owner. It took him a few seconds to spot him where he made his way through the crowd, and he kept his eyes fixed as the man reached the center. Standing over them, a gigantic black man stared down at him and his uncle with a ferocious leer. He was nearly seven feet tall, with wide shoulders and huge, beefy arms. With his hair shaved in a Mohawk and his arms left bare beneath a leather vest, he bore a striking resemblance to Mr. T. Rey considered mentioning the comparison, but wisely decided against it, opting instead to keep his mouth very much shut. The giant sauntered closer, clearly the group’s leader.

"Now what brings you two little wetbacks through my town?" he asked with a growl.

Bristling at the racial slur, Old Jose tried to keep his tongue in check, aware that the man's orders were likely the only thing keeping them alive. His nephew, however, took a different approach.

"Just doing some sightseeing, you stupid damned gorilla," he challenged. "What made you want us so badly as your guests that you would be so FORCEFUL in your invitation?"

The hefty leader blinked, staring at the little Mexican-American’s courageous rejoinder. Then he started laughing. Big, booming, hearty laughter.

"Ha ha, damn amigo! You got some sand eh? HA! Juevos Grandes on that one I'd say!" Turning to his men, he gestured for them to relax their rifles. "Ahh hell, let 'em up. If we don't, that old one might have a heart attack and haunt me forever."

Grabbing Rey’s shoulder, he hauled him to his feet before briefly dusting him off.

"Look here, name is Theodore Roosevelt. Yeah, I know, bet you never knew the country's infamous roughrider had a black descendant,” he said. Theodore grinned at his own joke, waiting expectantly for the little man’s laughter. When none was forthcoming, he grimaced slightly before continuing, “Nah, I'm just playing with you. My old mother just had no sense of originality is all."

Rey stared at the man in confusion. "What the hell? One minute you're shooting at us, then you're making sure I'm clean enough? What's your game, asshole?"

Theodore had the common decency to look ashamed.

"Yeah, about that. We weren't really shooting at you, technically speaking." Grabbing one of his men's rifles, he aimed it at the man who had until recently held it. Suddenly, he jerked the trigger, rifle still pointed to his fellow’s chest.  Rey gasped, certain that this mad giant had just murdered one of his own men to make some sort of insane point. Once his shock wore off, however, he realized that the apparent victim was still standing there, grinning at Rey.

"Blanks," Theodore explained succinctly.

"Who the hell ARE you people?" Rey asked in astonishment.  He looked around at the group in confusion for a moment. Now that he took a second, he realized that everyone but Theodore was dressed in Union blue. That is to say, they wore the uniform of a civil-war era regiment from the north. Jose gave Rey a nudge and pointed to the bus/roadblock they had almost run into. Printed on the side were the words Roosevelt’s 1ST REGIMENT RE-ENACTORS, with an eagle flying over the letter W.

Rey looked at the men around him. "You’re fucking re-enactors? What the hell are you pulling over passing cars for? We thought you were trying to kill us!"

Theodore got serious. "Hell, we thought you were trying to kill US! About an hour ago, a couple of trucks came screaming through, guys in back shooting at anything that moved. We scattered and have been hiding out ever since, scared they'd be back. We figured you were them, so I told the boys to open up, see if we couldn't scare them off."

Jose raised an eyebrow. "Why the roadblock then?" He asked.

Theodore grimaced. "Not intentional. We were trying to pull the damn bus around and head back north when the engine died. Haven't got a fucking clue what's wrong with it, so it's just stuck like that. We were originally headed down south for a show when the radio started talking about nuclear explosions and such, so we figured we'd better be getting somewhere else. That was four hours ago. Now we're stuck in this God-forsaken ghost town, bus broken, with no way to get home."

Rey asked the obvious, "Where's home?"

"New York, New York, Mr. Mexican. Greatest city in the world," Theodore answered with pride.

Jose broke in again, "Where are the town’s people?"

Theodore shrugged, "No clue, hermano. Place was empty when we got here. We looked around, but all the cars are gone too. Looks like the town evacuated itself before we arrived."

Jose looked at his nephew, raising an eyebrow. Rey knew what he was asking, and thought about quickly. Decided, he nodded. With his permission, Jose trotted over to the bus and then climbed underneath it.

"What's the old guy up to?" George asked curiously.

Rey looked at him. "My uncle Jose is a genius when it comes to engines. Chances are good that he will at least be able to tell us what's wrong with it, maybe get it fixed." Sticking out his hand, he let the giant envelope it in his own. "I'm Rey, by the way. Next time, maybe don't shoot at random cars, blanks or otherwise?"

Theodore laughed and replied, "Hell, I can probably promise I won't be shooting at YOU anymore. You fella's get that old thing fixed up and I'll owe you big time. Where are you heading anyway, if you don't mind me asking?"

Rey shrugged, "Minnesota, there's a group of people up there who prepared for this. We are supposed to be joining them."

Theodore whistled, "Minnesota huh? I had a girlfriend from up around there once. They grow the bustiest, blonde haired, blue eyed girls. I'll tell you what,” he said. Theodore’s tone grew wistful as he imagined his old flame, “Couldn’t cook for a damn though, no sense of seasoning in her. She’d slap some butter on anything and call it done...Still...honkers on those white girls like you wouldn’t believe...”

He was stopped from elaborating on northern girl’s propensity for large breasts by the timely return of Jose.

"Spark plugs and a fuel line. I can fix it, no problem."

Terse message delivered, he went to the truck where he always kept some extra mechanical supplies. Rey and Theodore watched him return to the bus and start working.

"He doesn't talk all that much, does he?" asked Theodore.

"I don't know. He's known to do a bit of chatting after a couple of beers, but mostly he's the kind of man to let his actions speak for him. He's a good one though, raised me after my parents died."

"My condolences. When did you lose them?" Theodore inquired.

Rey shook his head, "None necessary. I lost them when I was just eight, so it's been a long time. Jose is the only parent I can really remember anymore."

He looked affectionately at his uncle as the older man came padding back over to them.

"She's good now," he said with a nod before moving to stand silently by his nephew, cleaning grease off his hands with an old rag.

Theodore whooped loudly and his men echoed the cry.

"That's some mighty fine news, Jose! I can't tell you how much that means to us." Theodore spoke with an expansive grin, mouth stretched wide over pearly white teeth.

"George...why don't you follow me over here for a second." Rey motioned to a few yards off, away from the other men. The two walked off a step, just out of earshot.

"Look, Theodore, what's your plan? I know you were saying you'd head home, but I have to tell you, it didn't sound like much of the Eastern Seaboard was left. The news made it sound like most everything from Virginia on North took a hell of a beating. I don't like to be the bearer of bad news, but I thought you ought to know..." He trailed off.

Theodore blew out a big breath, all laughter gone.

"I figured as much. I just didn't want the boys to know… not yet. Though I reckon they've started to figure it out. When we heard Los Angeles got hit, I kinda started wondering if it wasn't countrywide. Then the news about Dallas came over the radio… Well, I guess it just stands to reason that you don't hit Dallas and L.A., but leave D.C. or New York untouched," he said.

Theodore ran a massive paw over his head, bristling the short Mohawk.

"Hell, I don't know what else to do except head as far back towards home as we can. We don't really have anywhere else to go. I mean, we could stay here, or some small town like it, but how long would that work? We don't know the area, the people. We'd be a burden and I expect some wouldn't take too kindly to our presence."

Rey gave him an appraising look. He realized that the big giant with a bigger laugh concealed a good amount of intellect behind his affable nature. The next decision proved fairly easy for Rey.

"Well, how about you come with us?" The place we're headed was prepared, just for this. It's supposed to have plenty of room, and you'd be more than welcome, I'm sure," he said.

Rey knew he had just offered the man and his followers an incredible lifeline. It was now up to Theodore to seize it.

For his part, Theodore was considering the small man in front of him. He knew what the man was suggesting, but worried. What were the chances that this offer, which sounded too good to be true, really was just that? He hesitated, wavering and unsure. Sensing his difficulties, Rey helped him come to a decision.

"I get it. You’re worried this might be a dead end. Too good to be true," Rey stated.

Theodore nodded, relieved that the little Mexican American understood his doubts and wasn't offended.

"Listen, Theodore, you're right. Your men are going to figure it out soon. You know you have nowhere else to go, so why not come with us? You can check it out. It gives some hope for your men to hold onto, and if I'm wrong or lying, it's still heading mostly in the right direction. What have you got to lose?"

Theodore had to admit that Rey was talking sense, but it wasn't his decision alone.

"I'll talk to the boys, so give me a minute?" he requested.

Rey nodded. Theodore walked back to his actors, gathering them in close. Calmly, he began to explain what was probably happening in the world, and what had likely happened to their home. Some of the men started crying, some of them just nodded, already aware. He then went on to detail Rey's offer, suggesting that they put it to a vote.

After a few minutes to think about it, almost all the men voted to go with Rey and Jose. If they heard that New York was miraculously unscathed, they could still head home, but for now, it couldn't hurt to head northeast instead of straight east. It wouldn't cost them that much extra time, and if New York was gone, it was the best chance that they had of survival. With the men in agreement, Theodore gave the word to Rey, they would go to Minnesota. Rey shook his hand again, promising the big man that there would be a future waiting for them when they got there.

Destination set, Theodore's men began gathering whatever supplies they could find in the small town, loading the bus up with water and food. Once they ran out of space, they got the bus turned around and headed out of town. With Rey and Jose's little red Chevy truck leading the way, the group headed for Wyoming. They planned to break east once they were out of Utah. No one was sure what they would find once they got to Minnesota, not even Rey, but they had a sliver of hope at least. That's all anyone could ask for anymore.

Chapter 15: The Grey Men

8:00am

August 16th, 2015

Lucasville Estate, Mississippi

"Do you understand your orders?" George Roberts Lucas III asked without looking. Behind him stood his five highest ranking officers, standing at ramrod attention. He had called them to join him at the estate's drive earlier that morning, filling them in on the night’s events. Since the pledging of their loyalty just a few short hours ago, much had changed. During the night, the final exchange of fire between the United States and the Chinese had brought ruination to the world of men. It had been a furious onslaught, with each side seeking not victory, but sheer extermination. No one really knew what cost the Chinese had paid, but America had bled freely.

George's information had stayed accurate until the Internet fell with not enough servers remaining online to power it. With the loss of connection, he had also lost his ability to track events by satellite or receiving broadcasts from beyond the local area. He had learned much before that occurred however.

Both coasts had received extensive bombardments by Chinese nuclear submarines. On the west coast, Seattle, L. A., and San Diego were lost. Forest fires burned unchecked throughout the forests and scrublands, making escape even more difficult for any unfortunate survivors. On the East Coast, the entirety of New England and on down to Richmond was simply gone. The area would remain an apocalyptic wasteland for hundreds of years, irradiated and scorched.

There was little word of survivors out there. The attacks had been too well coordinated and too extensive for any to realistically have survived. Other notable sites of nuclear attacks were Chicago, St. Louis, New Orleans, and Denver, with large swathes of Texas put to the torch in the final moments as well. All told, well over fifty warheads had managed to detonate on American soil, mostly in major metropolitan areas.

Those cities that escaped nuclear attack were mainly smaller hubs, but they had received their own devastations. Smuggled or air dropped EMPs cut power from the grids, leaving their populations trapped in the darkness with nuclear fallout drifting on the wind. Sleeper agents had apparently appeared finally, detonating Reaper virus canisters in major population centers as well, with horrific casualties and infection rates. The only good news seemed to be that with the nuclear strikes so quickly following the biological attacks, some of the infected areas had been cauterized and contained. It remained to be seen how well the disease could spread in this new wasteland.

George had given all this information to his men in a calm, pragmatic tone. They listened in shocked horror, demanding proof. He provided images and satellite pictures of American cities burnt to ash; the drifting clouds of death falling over towns and ruined landscapes. He gave them time to digest the information, standing aside as they discussed the implications and wrestled with a new and horrific reality. Then, with a smile, he outlined his strategies for the future. Although they were uneasy with his orders, their loyalty, bought now with both power and life, was rock-solid. They would follow him in order to preserve themselves and their families.

Still standing at attention, they received the twitching, manic gaze of their leader with impassive masks. With hardened hearts, the men answered affirmatively. They knew their orders, and they would fulfill them.

Returning to their waiting squads of men, they issued the move out directives. Men jumped, shouldering rifles and hurrying to waiting trucks. Each man knew his destination and his mission. No man would risk losing the favor of their benefactor by disobeying those orders now.

George watched on silently, a small twist at the corner of his mouth resembling a smile. By tomorrow, I will have cleansed a fifty mile radius of all human filth. I will have claimed northwest Mississippi as my own, the seat of the confederacy and the home of the pure Americans. Degenerates, coloreds, aliens and the tainted stock will be removed, clearing the way for my people. Those we spare shall have a place however, a place more deserving of them.  I shall use the sweat of their backs to build this empire of mine. In time, they will understand that they have simply been returned to their rightful place. Perhaps they will even thank me for removing the unfair stresses of pretending equality. George chuckled at that last thought, knowing that even such filth believed themselves to be freemen, equal to even himself. Perhaps not, but in a few generations...they may come to understand. We shall see.

Settling the wide brimmed cavalrymen's hat over his ears, he climbed up in the lead jeep. An army of well-armed, grey clad men sat in trucks behind him. With a fearsome rebel yell, he moved his army out, off to claim his birthright.

Chapter 16: The Final Hurdle

5:14 am

A few miles into Lake Itasca State Forest.

Jack could tell that things were very, very wrong. Upon approaching the newly completed guard station, the devastation became apparent. A burning, crashed vehicle sat idly next to the bullet-pocked building. The scent of burnt hair and flesh wafted with the wind, drawing retches from some of the other travelers.

Jack halted the convoy a couple hundred meters away, eyeing the destruction ahead. He tried reaching the main stronghold on his radio, but was still outside of the maximum range. He received no reply, though it was possibly that they could hear him broadcasting and his handset simply lacked the power to get a response. Filled with rage at the unexpected attack, he issued terse commands to his followers.

“Ready up, something’s going on here and I don’t like it... Dax, what’s your take?” he asked.

“Well, from the looks of that car, someone got attacked here. No way to know if they were connected with us or just passing by, but either way, we had a fight here. Worse yet, the lack of dead make me think that whoever did the attacking is still around here,” the old soldier replied.

Jack found himself agreeing, “Yeah, I’d expect some kind of casualties if this had been a firefight, so either the winners didn’t get anyone other than those in the car, didn’t lose anyone themselves, or they policed the bodies. Whatever the case, there’s still some kind of force around here. This looks about an hour or two old. All-in-all it’s a good chance we have hostiles somewhere in the vicinity.”

“Yeah, look, what’s the plan? We could try to sneak a few guys to get a look up ahead, or just push through as a group. Way I see it, I’d like to have the information, but I don’t fancy splitting up our limited fighting force,” Dax said.

Jack considered, knowing that neither option was overly attractive.

“Fuck, we all go. If this base has been compromised, we are in serious shit. If not, we’ll need to get everyone inside quickly. Either way, we are too close to walk away. There’s something else, man,” Jack said quietly, with a tremor in his voice. “My little brother and Mom are supposed to be coming through here. They could already be ahead, or still en route. I gotta find out if they are safe, and if they haven’t gotten here yet, I have to make it safe or stay to warn them away.”

Dax grunted, not bothering to argue.

You don’t leave family.

Switching to the group-wide channel, Jack gave everyone the run down. “Okay, so obviously we had an attack here. Dax and I agree that there might still be hostile forces in the area, but given the overall situation, we have to push forwards. We go ahead, moving slow. There’s enough light starting to shine that we should be able to see anyone coming on the road, and we are within a few miles of safety. We’ll keep the same formation, but I need to switch up seating arrangements. Cyrus, I need you in the back of the truck, keeping an eye on my six. Justin, get over to the bus with a couple of weapons and find out if anyone knows how to use them. Put anyone who can shoot by the windows, eyes to the woods.”

Thinking further about the big lumbering school bus, “Get everyone else down in the center aisle. Tell them to pile their bags along the bus sides for added protection from small-arms fire,” he ordered.

Jack paused, considering the disposition of his forces. He felt a moment of panic rise as he realized that he was putting close friends into harm’s way. He was asking them to help him protect the convoy against an unknown enemy, but they weren’t trained warriors. It was dangerous, and he hated to ask them, but he had no other choice.

“Elizabeth, you can drive a stick, so you take Cyrus’s spot behind my M35’s wheel while Meghan takes yours. Kate, you can stay on the other one. Get a gun to Jeff and Duke, and put Duke in with the Coves. With Brian still out, I don’t want Liz or Belle responsible for protecting that vehicle.”

Dax jumped in, “Should we just abandon the SUVs and put everyone in the trucks and bus?” he asked.

Jack knew better. “No, it gives anyone attacking us an easy target to concentrate their fire on. This way, they have to choose what to shoot at, keeping the sum of their firepower more spread out. That should help us limit casualties and give everyone a better chance to run if shit goes south. That bus is done for if the convoy breaks, but there’s nothing we can really do about that. Our best bet remains staying out of trouble and getting to the base ahead.”

Dax grunted, won over by Jack’s logic. “Yeah, that sounds about right to me. You got anything else?”

“No, everyone should be in the best possible position to protect themselves. Now, we just hope that I’m over-reacting. Let’s roll on. When we get closer, I can contact the main base and get more information.”

Elizabeth and Cyrus had taken their new positions while Jack continued talking. Duke and the rest found their seats, and Justin distributed weapons throughout the bus. With his orders fulfilled, Jack moved the convoy out again, his truck moving to the rear of the formation. This position allowed him to cover its entire length from the gun nest of the M35, granting it added protection. They drove on through the woods, following the winding gravel drive. Jack kept one eye on the trees around him, the other on the road. He also kept trying to reach the base ahead via radio.

“Hello, this is Jack Hightower, calling for Gary Scofield. I am five miles out, but see signs of fighting. Can I get a sit-rep?” He continued to repeat the message as they drove, beginning to fear the worst when he received no reply. Finally, after the fifth or sixth iteration of his message, a broken, crackling response flushed through his earpiece.

“Jack! It’s Sam! We made it...attacked on....in...escaped convicts, they must have busted out when the power failed! They chased us...the gates, trying to get in! We’ve been holding them off…not very many of us inside...outnumbered...hundred of them out there...firearms. Where are you?”

“Damn it, Sam! Copy last, but I can barely make you out!” Jack shouted, desperate to get to his brother. From the sound of the message, it was clear that his little bro was inside the compound ahead, but fighting off an attacking force.

“Can...hear me? Mom...Gary is dead...Hurry!” came the reply.

Jack felt a hole open up in his gut and a lurch in his heart. Gary dead? No fucking way. No way he dies in the first night. We planned this whole thing together. I can’t do this without him. He was supposed to be our leader. I get ‘em here and he gives them a future. That was the deal.

Jack shook himself. There was no time for these thoughts now. His brother needed his help just a few miles ahead, and he could do no good distracted. He summoned the detached feeling that he used when he was in combat, settling into the cold, emotionless pit of his soldier self.

He tried the radio, but was greeted with silence all over again, probably due to the lingering effects of the earlier Chinese attacks. Giving up the effort at communication, Jack urged the convoy to push faster.

“It sounds like they are at the gates. I think it will be clear until we get there. Here is what we are going to do. I want everyone to pull off to the side in a mile and let the M35s get up ahead. Follow a half mile behind us and hold position at the tree line. We are going to blast a hole in their lines, secure the gate, and provide a window. Break for safety if the opportunity presents itself, but if it looks like the M35s are getting over-run, I want you all to get out of here. Try to find some other place to hole up in. Do you copy?” he asked.

“Aye aye!” came the resounding reply. Jack felt their fear through the radio, sensing it as everyone tensed for battle. He felt the familiar rush of adrenaline begin to flood his veins, preparing his body for the coming fight even as his mind shed itself of distractions and sped itself up for the coming fight.

With Elizabeth Fel driving and Cyrus in the back ready to fire to the rear, Jack’s truck came roaring out of the woods, ready for war. Jack’s quick eyes easily picked up the convict’s uniforms, prioritizing targets. Depressing the trigger, he fought the bucking .50 cal, forcing it to spew its deadly fire in the direction of his choosing. As he swept the gun left, he reduced a line of attackers to red mush and mist, chewing their bodies apart with multiple impacts that tore through bone and ligament alike in a deadly fusillade. Swinging back to the right, he did the same thing to a huddled bunch that had been trying to run along the walls at the gatehouse.

His deadly accurate fire quickly opened a lane, and Elizabeth drove the truck straight through it, Kate right on her heels. Cyrus braced himself against the jarring ride, firing shotgun blasts as enemies went running by his firing window. He watched in satisfaction as the heavy buckshot sent bodies spinning off their feet and to the ground, scarcely considering his actions.

As they neared the main gate, Elizabeth swung the truck around, turning it into a stationary placement on the right side of the door. Kate mirrored her movements, parking to the left. Cyrus hopped out and went right, holding the hole between the truck’s rear and the walls behind it while the .50s went to work. 

Jack and Dax flung deadly murder at the nearby criminals, clearing a twenty yard bubble of safety around the gate.

Alright, now we just have to hold, get the gate open, and rush the bus in. Assuming these bastards give us the time. Clearly, someone on the inside had the same idea. No sooner was the gate clear of convicts, than it began to creak open to permit entrance.

As soon as the hordes of hardened criminals saw the opening gate however, they rushed in, trying to overrun Jack’s firepower through sheer numbers. As they came sprinting towards the trucks, encroaching from all directions, Jack realized the reality of his situation.

No way we hold them. All it takes is a couple of them getting in too close, past our firing envelopes. Once we can’t use the fifties, we have to defend ourselves and let their comrades close or keep firing and get killed from short range. Either way, they’ll have us. I have to get that gate closed and us out of here. Maybe we can try again later, but at least the bus and SUVs can get away for now, though I doubt we can rush these trucks out as easily now that the element of surprise is gone.

Even as he finished his mental examination of the situation, the bus and other vehicles came roaring out of the woods. Against Jack’s orders, Bear had ordered the bus to push on, planning to run right through the enemy and reach the safety of the walls ahead. He had no intention of running away to the dubious safety of a dying nation while his friend fought a battle to the death behind him. With the bus leading and the charger and SUVs tight on its heels, the convoy came crashing on.

At the sight of the softer targets, convicts began shifting some of their fire, trying to bring down a vehicle. One downed vehicle could become a hostage or bargaining chip for them, and they knew it.

Jack saw the change in fire, realizing in an instant what the convicts were attempting. Shouting over the din of battle, he got Dax’s attention. Gesturing pointedly while staying as covered from his enemies return fire as he could, Jack made sure that the old man saw the bus coming.

Reaching the same conclusion as Jack had, Dax started clearing the path between the bus and gate, ignoring his left flank. Jack did the same thing, relying on Cyrus and Elizabeth to keep the enemy from getting up to the truck. The two ex-soldiers kept their guns trained ahead, aiming at anyone who got close to the slow-moving vehicle.

Without the .50 calibers helping, the fire from Elizabeth, Justin, Kate and Cyrus simply wasn’t cutting it. Convicts were quickly closing the distance, lying behind small grassy knolls to fire before sprinting forwards in a leapfrog maneuver. The attackers no longer had to accept the same casualty rate as when they were attempting to just overwhelm through human wave attacks, and they were using the distraction of the bus to their advantage. As he grabbed for shells to reload the spent shotgun, Cyrus was dropped to the ground by a bullet. Jack heard his groans, but didn’t have time to stop firing and check on his friend.

His problems were rapidly growing.

Cyrus is down, that bus is too damn slow on this off-road shit, and I have nothing left to throw into the fray. If I stop covering the bus, the enemy will get in close enough to overwhelm it or take the wheels off, but if I don’t stop covering them, we are about to lose this gate. Shit!

He was also running low on .50 cal ammunition and expected that Dax was in a similar position. The Cove SUV, outpacing the rest of the convoy, went shooting through the doors behind him. The Bus, Charger, and Xander SUV were about five hundred metres away and bouncing hurriedly over the rough terrain.

Sooo close....

Just then, he felt the sudden rush of an imminent attack from behind. Dropping the heavy machine gun, Jack ducked, letting a big knife go rustling through the air over his head. One of the convicts had made it atop the M35, trying to take control of its gun. Jack got his legs tangled as he tried to turn and defend himself, tumbling backwards into the gun nest. The bald, tattooed white supremacist that was attacking him grinned a toothy snarl before jumping forward at Jack. With nowhere to go and nothing to defend himself with, Jack prepared for the inevitable. Eyes open, he stared death in the eye, amazed as each microsecond stretched out into an infinity of time. Even as the knife began to plunge towards his chest, Jack saw its wielder shudder and grimace in a curious dance that ill befit the man’s coming victory.

Expecting death, Jack was confused as his attacker instead stumbled to the right, knife clattering to the floor of the gun nest with a noisy clang. In adrenaline-fused curiosity, Jack watched as the man slowly tipped farther to the right, falling off the side of the truck in comically slow-motioned fashion. Standing behind him, big .357 in his hand stood Duke Sutherland. His eyes were wide and his hand trembling, but he stood there bravely, nonetheless.

As soon as the SUV had made it through the gate, Duke jumped out, sprinting back to help Jack with the defense. He had seen the big white man climbing up the side and yelled to warn Jack, but his shouts hadn’t been able to travel the distance amid the crash of war. Gritting his teeth and steadying his nerve, Duke had run after the man, climbing up the truck and reaching its top just as the man was readying his kill strike. Without time to think, or to aim, Duke had snapped Brian Cove’s .357 revolver up and squeezed the trigger. The heavy round had ripped into the convict’s back, erupting out the chest before flying off harmlessly into the distance.

Even as Jack pieced together the reality of his salvation, he jumped back to the gun, pausing just long enough to shout his gratitude with the bloodthirsty laugh of the recently reprieved.  Duke had just saved his life, and he felt hope and excitement flood through his body once more.  Duke smiled back before kneeling to fire down at the masses of enemies that approached in the preceding moments. Together, the two friends renewed their fire, pushing the hardened criminals back from the gate once more.

The tide finally turned a few minutes later. After opening the gate, Sam gathered up a force of men inside the fortress. Consisting of construction workers, football players and the soldier boyfriend of Gary’s assistant, they came striding out the gate with guns blazing. It had taken time to arm them and formulate a rough plan, but they arrived just in the nick of time.

Just a few minutes after Duke plunged back into the fray, Sam led the more sizable contingent out the door. Armed with fully automatic rifles (although with no idea how to use them properly), the force took positions by the trucks, ten or so men per truck. The addition of their fire finally forced the convicts to retreat. The heavy losses and superior weapons of their intended victims had cost them severely. Whoever held control of the group pulled them back into the woods, and the bastards cut out in a full blown retreat.

Even with the slaughter that Jack’s group had perpetrated on the convicts, their numbers were still sizable. Jack counted almost a hundred men running back to the woods.

As the convicts gave up the fight, the school bus finally rumbled through the gate, followed closely by the second SUV and the Charger. With all of his people safely behind the walls, Jack ordered a full withdrawal. Those on foot turned and ran back through the gates, followed closely by the M35s.

The gate swung ponderously shut behind them, heavy reinforced steel doors nigh on impervious. At least to anything short of a tank. As they locked, Jack finally breathed a sigh of relief. He started checking for casualties as soon as his M35 was through the doors, and now knew them to be limited.

Other than Gary, only one of the construction workers had been unlucky enough to take a fatal wound. Dax had been grazed on the arm, but would be fine, and a bulletproof vest had protected Cyrus from the shot he’d taken. He would have a hefty bruise, but he would live. It seemed that the convicts had been completely unprepared for the unexpected attack from their rear.

We just got hellava lucky is all. That could easily have gone the other way.

Jack rotated his head, looking quickly around. He spotted his family just a few feet away and jogged over to them. He hugged his mother, Lynn, then turned to his brother and shook hands. With his casual smirk, Jack gave his brother some shit.

“Took you long enough, what, stopped for tea?” Jack asked innocently.

“Oh, shut it, you interrupted my nap, and you KNOW I hate to fight without a shower first,” Sam said grinning. Adrenaline coursing through his veins was keeping the reality of the situation at bay for the moment. Humor seemed the only possible response.

Jack grabbed his brother and pulled him in for a hug. Stepping back, he got more serious, looking at Sam and Lynn.

“You have no idea how glad I am to see you. I was so worried. I kept thinking about how you would make it, if you were on your way, already here... I don’t know what I would have done without you guys,” he said sincerely.

Lynn reached out to squeeze her eldest son’s hand. “You would have kept going on, for everyone. Thankfully, you don’t have to, everyone’s safe, thank the Lord. I came straight here and Sam showed up an hour or so later. We were both here when those men attacked us, well, mostly,” she said.

“They came upon us back at the guardhouse, attacked us while I was talking to Gary. Most of my group managed to get away, but I’m afraid they followed us back here,” Sam explained.

Jack stiffened in remembrance. “Oh, my God, Gary... I couldn’t hear you on the radio for shit, how is he?” Jack asked with bated breath.

Lynn and Sam looked at each other, and then back to Jack with pity in their eyes.

Lynn spoke first, “He didn’t make it, Jack.”

Sam continued, “I did everything that I could, but he got hit in the lung, with damage to the heart as well. He died in my arms, Jack. I’m so sorry,” Sam said, looking guiltily at his brother.

Jack drew a deep, shaky breath, unsure of what came next. He had lost a dear friend, but he had saved many others and he knew that Gary would expect him to put their needs ahead of his own grief. Jack tried to focus on the positives for the moment.

“It’s okay, Sam. It wasn’t your fault. I’m so sorry that you were alone when it happened. I should have been there. I know Gary wouldn’t want me to fall apart now, not after everything we did to make this place a reality. I’m going to miss him, and I don’t know who will lead us without him, but I’ll help. I have to,” Jack said with a slight shake of emotion in his voice.

Lynn looked her son in the eye, making sure he understood one thing, “Jack, YOU will lead them. This was just as much your work as it was Gary’s, and you saved these people. More will likely come, and you are the one most suited to defend and protect them. You have no choice, Jack. These people are now all your family,” she said.

“I know some of us will be able to help you, if you need it, but right now, you need to talk to these people. Help them. Just getting them here isn’t enough, Jack. You have to give them hope, and a future. Can you do that?” Lynn Hightower asked her eldest.

Jack was dumbfounded at first. It had never been the plan for him to take over leadership, had never even occurred to him. He didn’t know if he was up to the task. Taking responsibility for the lives of everyone who he had saved was a lot to ask. His friend had been the heart and soul of the plan, the one with hope for a future…

The hope. That was always the point, wasn’t it? Preserve something, not for its own sake, but as a foundation for a future… If I don’t step up, what will Winterhaven become?

He shook his head in solemn realization.

I am their leader, and I damn well better do a good job of it.

Determined, Jack climbed up into the M35s gun nest, trying to get to a high enough vantage point that everyone would be able to see him.

Jack stood quietly, counting his new family. The twenty or so men of the construction crews stood huddled around each other, watching the new arrivals. Sam walked with Lynn over to join the fifteen or so young college students. There was the group that had arrived with him, still clustered around their vehicles and Bear with his team and bus. All told, he had nearly one hundred and fifty survivors gathered, a daunting number of lives to protect.

The survivors were collected within the gate. The entire compound was ringed by a thick, thirty feet tall wall. It was built of stone and steel, intended to last. The massive wall was topped with a walkway, and regular towers to provide vantage points and protection. It was an unbroken circle but for the exception of the sturdy, steel gateway from which the survivors entered. The gate consisted of heavy swinging steel doors and a massive portcullis that slid down to reinforce it. Within the wall, several football fields’ worth of space were sheltered and protected.

The grounds held a barracks and armory to the left of the gate, and a garage to the right. In the back of the compound, several hundred meters from the gate, the most ambitious aspect of Gary’s vision stood imposingly.

The keep.

A towering replica of a medieval castle, it was large enough to house everyone assembled and two or three times more again.  A single footpath led from a car pad by the gate to the keep itself. From his vantage point atop the truck, Jack found himself staring down this path to behold the incredible fruits of Gary’s vision and wealth. It was awe-inspiring indeed.

With a quick intake of breath, Jack steadied himself to speak to the expectant mass.

“Hello! Let me introduce myself quickly before I lead you all inside for a tour and some explanations. I’m Jack Hightower, and I am so glad to have you all here, standing with me today. The actions of many of you were no less than heroic, and I can’t thank any of you enough for helping to defend our new home and family. Gary and I built this place together, and it was supposed to be he who stood here addressing you now. Many of you never got a chance to meet him, but I know he would have been so happy to see all of you safe and sound in the place that he helped create.”

Jack paused for a second, lost for words. He felt the emotion of his losses rising, strangling this heart in sorrow. His father, his friends and coworkers, the millions of human lives extinguished in a single night. It was too much to consider, and he shoved it down roughly. Collected, he went on.

“This place can be our salvation, but only if we work together. The coming days will be worse than anything we have yet seen. Worse than we could have imagined. Truthfully, keeping this many strangers together and safe, will be harder than surviving just by myself,” he said, noticing brief looks of panic spread among some of the strangers.

He hurried to calm them, “This place isn’t just about surviving though. It’s about rebuilding. It’s about preserving something and planning for the future of our people. That’s why we built it, Gary and me; to provide hope of a future.”

He hopped down from the truck, waving a hand to tell everyone to follow along behind him. He walked backwards, face to the crowd as he projected his voice to carry. Subtly, he urged Dax towards the wall. The old man and Fenrir would keep an eye on the woods, just in case. Defenses satisfied for the moment, Jack spoke loudly, “Let’s get everyone situated. Follow me and I’ll give you a little tour.”

He continued walking, leading the group down the small footpath towards the keep.

“This wall that you see is thick enough to survive an RPG, much less small arms fire. It will help protect us from our enemies in the future,” he said before pointing out other features of the compound. 

“To your right, the garages can fix up and house our vehicles for as long as we can keep them running. There’s a huge reservoir of gasoline underneath it, so we should be able to stay mobile for some time, as long as we’re careful,” he said. Nods and thoughtful glances were spared for the garage before he drew their attention on. “The Armory houses an extensive supply of ammunition and weaponry… enough to outfit every person here ten times over, in fact. We built secondary housing next to it, but the bunks there are a bit spartan.” In truth, the secondary housing was to serve as a barracks, but he didn’t feel the need to spook his new family with thoughts of a standing military just yet.

Jack led the group to the castle steps. He opened the doors, walking into the huge meeting space that lay beyond them. The room was cavernous, with high vaulted ceilings and lovely oaken beams and paneling that were offset by heavy tapestries and the warm light of burning torches.

Jack blinked.

Wait, torches? What the hell? This place should have electricity, with its own power supply. He shook his head. He could sort that out later. As the room filled, Jack continued to stride forwards. Gary had insisted on the next feature, and Jack finally understood why. A lengthy raised dais had been placed at the head of the room, with a massive fireplace sitting behind it. It gave anyone standing on it the ability to see out over the crowd while letting the entire room see him. It imparted a sense of authority that people naturally accepted, and that sense of authority was the key to leading them at this point.

Stepping up to the dais, Jack turned to face the crowd that had gathered around him. He sought to steady his nerves by seeking out familiar faces. Noting Cyrus’s goofy grin, his brother’s reassuring nod, and Liz’s hopeful eyes, Jack gathered the courage to speak.

“I want to explain a couple of things right away. They may be hard to hear, but I ask you to bear with me. This is no longer a democracy.” Worried sounds began to escape from the crowd, and Jack knew it would only get worse as he continued.

“Furthermore, we are no longer Americans. Our country, our world, and our society have failed us. The old laws are gone, the strictures of our dying society along with them. I know it sounds harsh, but those things must be left in the past. Our world died last night, and I’m hoping you all know what I mean by that. You may not yet understand the full ramifications of that truth, however.”

Outraged cries greeted this proclamation, and Jack grimaced. He knew it would be a difficult truth to swallow, but he felt it was important to set the groundwork now. Better than trying to change things later, when people were comfortable. He shouted to make himself heard over the cacophony.

“Listen! With the destruction that has been visited upon our former nation, the infrastructure and services that made our way of life possible will cease. There will be no more electricity, there will be no more running water, there will be no more food delivered to grocery stores, and there will be no more government. Gas will go bad and cars won’t run anymore because no one is making new gas. Winter will hit hard after all the nuclear warfare, but there will be no heat to keep warm,” he said, outlining the depths of the stark new reality.

“So, I say that at least for now, there is no more America. There can’t be, not if we want to survive. There are no nationalities, nothing beyond the clan, the family. We are just humans, all of us trying to make it through, with only ourselves to rely on.”

The outrage had faded when he cut them off, but a deathly pall had now replaced it. Many of the people gathered before him weren’t prepared for this world. Most of them hadn’t considered the logical consequences of the night’s events, not fully. Confronting the all-too-likely picture that he conjured had stilled their anger.

“Amidst these facts, there will be people. People struggling and failing to survive. They will be starving, freezing, fighting, but mostly just dying. People will KILL each other... for a morsel! No police to call, no laws to be upheld. Without these trappings of civilization, evil men and women will be free to perpetrate horrible degradations upon their fellow man. It will be like living in hell,” he said, shivering with the tragic truth of his own words.

“Any who make it through will be true survivors. They’ll be hardened, prepared to do anything to live. I brought you here to help you survive, but there are no guarantees past today, not without your help.”

Jack swung his gaze about the room, endeavoring to impress the seriousness of the situation on each and every survivor gathered before him. Mostly, they bore the dejected countenance of people struck by a horrifying and incomprehensible truth. Some of them however, bore signs of hope and determination. Jack took strength from those faces.

“The survival of this place will rely on all of our shoulders. We must all work hard, and we must work together if we are to make it more than a possibility. You will come to understand what I mean in the future, but right now, I need to ask you a question. You have all been welcomed here, and you always will be free to stay or to leave as you choose. What I need to ask is simple. Will you follow me?” Jack asked them, stunning some who had assumed he would simply demand their obedience. It was a risk, asking them, but he knew it was a necessary one.

“I will not be a despot. I was not meant to lead you, but the man who was is now dead. If you will allow me, I will protect us in his stead, but only if you are willing, here and now, to accept my leadership. I won’t do this if it means constantly politicking, fighting and cajoling you to do what is necessary. You must be willing to do what we must, as I see fit. I recognize that this is a very un-American proposition, unfamiliar to most of you, but it is the price I demand. Your loyalty for my leadership. Will you accept?”

After posing his unexpected question, Jack looked around intently, studying faces. He wondered if someone would rise up, try to take his place. He wondered if he even cared. It would be so easy to pass the burden on to another. He would even welcome it. For a few brief moments, silence reigned and Jack waited. Then, from the back of the room, Elizabeth Fel’s clear voice rang out.

“Jack, you are our leader. You saved us. You brought us here. It was you who built this place, even while we lived in ignorance. If you are not our leader, then who can be?” she asked. Jack nodded to her, acknowledging her words. He then shifted his gaze to his little brother.

“Sam, what about you and your friends? Can they accept this?” Jack asked.

Sam turned to look at those he had brought with him. They were tired. Some had been crying. Some simply stared grimly about them in shock. As beaten as they were, they still looked to him, nodding their acceptance.

Dane stepped toward Sam. He looked at Jack standing on the dais, dirtied by war, heavy bags beneath his eyes. He saw the resignation behind the man’s eyes. To his eye, this wasn’t a power-hungry despot. It was a man, desperately wishing there was someone else, but willing to do what he must.

He doesn’t want this, but that’s what makes him so suited for it. He doesn’t seek power, and will be less easily corrupted by it. God forgive us for forcing the burden to him, but we must in order to survive. Decided, Dane clapped Sam on the shoulder and nodded as well.

With his friend’s acceptance, Sam turned to his older brother and spoke, “We will follow you, Jack. We trust you.”

A quick nod from the construction crew told him everything he needed to know. He had already spoken to the men and women of Bear’s bus earlier, so with Sam’s acceptance, Jack felt the weight of their expectations settle around his shoulders. He knew that it would be far more difficult than even he could yet imagine leading these disparate people, but he would do his best.

I just hope my best is enough. If I fail these people, I will never forgive myself.

Jack spoke softly, “Thank you for your trust, everyone. I would like to welcome you home formally. We call this place Winterhaven. I’ve done more speaking than I’m comfortable with already, so let’s move towards getting settled. I need to see Sam, Bear, and someone who was working construction right away. Also, has anyone seen Jessica Riel? She is...was Gary’s assistant, and I need her as well,” he requested.

One of the men from the construction crews hurried off further into the keep to get Jessica. Noting that, Jack continued, “Everyone else, please give us a second. I need to make some arrangements before we can get you assigned to some rooms for some much deserved rest.”

Jack hopped off the dais, walking to the right of the fireplace and into a hallway off the Main Hall to wait. Sam and Bear reached him first, followed quickly by a third man. Extending his hand, Jack waited for the man to introduce himself.

“Shaun Brodinger. Foreman. How can I help, sir?” the man asked politely.

“I need to know the status of Winterhaven. I noticed the torches when I came in. Does this mean that we don’t have electricity?” Jack asked.

“No, Winterhaven’s fully operational. Construction is finished but we were just laying some cable and doing some finishing touches when everything went down. We haven’t brought the power online is all. We’ll need to initiate the wind turbines out back, and flip the switch but the grid is set. The solar batteries are fully charged and we’ve got a good supply for the steam generator as well, if it comes to that,” Shaun answered.

“Okay, good. Leave the turbines for now. I don’t want anyone going out past the walls until we’ve had a chance to secure the surroundings. Get the power online with the solar batteries though. Electricity and running water will go a long way towards helping these people feel more comfortable.” Jack finished giving orders just as Jessica Riel walked up.

She was a beautiful brunette. Tall and slim, with a moderate bust. She had vaguely elfin features courtesy of her bohemian ancestry, striking in their uniqueness. Red-rimmed eyes were evidence of sorrow, but her set jaw showed that she had her emotions in check, at least for the moment. Jack gave a nod to Shaun and he moved off to enact Jack’s orders. 

He turned to face the young woman. “Hello, Miss Riel, how are you holding up?” Jack asked sympathetically.

“I’m fine. It’s a hard day, but it’s certainly worse out there. I’m sorry about not being here right when you arrived. Gary’s death...was difficult for me to deal with. I’ve been trying to collect myself. I’ve also been tracking the news, or what’s still coming in anyway. It’s not looking good, sir.” Jessica sniffed quietly, still visibly shaken.

“I’ll want to know what you’ve heard, but later. For now, I need your help. I know the basic outline of Winterhaven, but I haven’t actually been here before. How are we situated on our stores? I’ll also need your help assigning rooms and getting everyone settled.”  Aware that Jessica had also just suffered loss, he softened his tone somewhat.

“Are you up too it?” he asked.

“I’ll be fine. Having something to do will help. As to your questions, we’re about halfway stocked. The last load of supplies was en route when everything went to hell, so we are not at maximum for our food supplies but we are close. We have all of our ammunition and firearms, and about 75% of the food stores that we had planned for. It should be enough, though we will have to ration somewhat to maintain our planned for five years of independence. Clothing, we got all of the uniforms and utility gear, but we never got around to shopping for other civilian clothing, so it’s gonna have to be whatever people brought for now,” she said.

Jessica pulled out a notebook from her back pocket, flipping to find the rest of her notes. Jack was impressed that she had retained the foresight to prepare an inventory for his perusal before coming to meet him. It was a welcome sign for the new leader of a new community.

Jessica continued, “As for Winterhaven itself, construction on the underground storage and Keep were first, so we’ve had a chance to furnish all the rooms. The west hallway leads to the quarters. We built a mixture of small apartments for families and barrack space for singles. I’ll need a list of the people here to properly assign spaces, but the room is more than sufficient, if a bit less lavish than some of them may be used to,” she said.

Jack considered the situation. He motioned to Sam and Bear, who had been waiting expectantly.

“I need you to go get a list of everyone here. Have Duke help you. He’s good with statistics. I need to know how many people are here with families as well as a count of single men and women. Include ages for the people as well,” he said.

As the two men moved off, another idea hit Jack,”Hold up, find out what everyone’s occupation was before all of this as well. It’ll be helpful to know how everyone may be able to contribute down the road. Okay, thanks guys. Go and get that back to me as quickly as possible,” he ordered. Sam and Bear left him alone with Jessica.

“Okay. I know some of what Gary wanted to include, but can you give me some idea of the floor plan here? I need to know what I’m working with,” Jack asked.

“Sure. Okay, the Keep is only accessible from the front. That door opens, obviously, onto the Main Hall. The Hall is configured to be used as a meeting place, banquet hall, or even as overflow quarters, though that would certainly be non-ideal. Two hallways extend from the Main Hall, one to the east and one to the west of the fireplace. The west hallway leads to the kitchens, public rooms and facilities. A separate hallway leads from the kitchens to the food storage below,” she said, using her notebook to sketch a map as she spoke.

“To the right, or east, lies the Armory, the Administration facilities, and your own quarters,” Jessica continued.

“My quarters?” Jack asked in surprise.

“Well, they were meant for Gary, but with you stepping into his role, they’ll be assigned to you instead,” she explained.

“I’m fine with a cot with the other men, Jessica. Use the rooms for someone else,” Jack demurred.

Shaking her head, Jessica countermanded him. “Jack, they are the leader’s quarters. They’re built next to the Admin and Armory for a reason. Besides, you need some privacy as the leader, trust me on that. More importantly, you need to be close to Winterhaven’s nerve center. I know it’s gonna feel a little weird, but Gary had never even moved in. They are all for you, Jack, and you’ll need them,” she said firmly, making it clear that she would brook no further argument on the subject.

Acquiescing, Jack moved on, “Fine. Administration center? What does that include?” he asked.

“Communications room with net, radio, and phone service. Although I expect that, the radio is about the only option still functioning. It also houses a conference room, a library, and a couple offices,” she answered.

“Okay, so basically, the Keep is a highly defensible apartment complex with a couple of offices and a communal kitchen?” Jack clarified.

“Correct. The walls are reinforced stone, same as the main encircling wall. There are no windows until the third floor to prevent weak points in its defensive abilities. The majority of the square footage is devoted to housing, with a massive storage area placed underground. The building itself is tall enough to provide a three hundred and sixty degree vantage point over the surrounding environment,” Jessica said.

Jack thanked her for the information just as Sam, Bear, and Duke came hurrying back.

Bear spoke first, “We have a list of everyone’s status: age, name and former occupation.”

He handed the extensive list to Jessica as Jack indicated he should.

Duke summarized, “Basically, it breaks down as follows. We have one hundred and thirteen survivors, all told. Three families, several couples, and the rest are single or their families aren’t here. Forty two of the survivors are female, with the rest male, excluding the nine children, that is.”

“Okay, and we have room for how many, Miss Riel?” Jack asked.

“Depends on how we organize ourselves. There’s room for forty out in the barracks on the grounds if we need it as well. There is a floor of ten matching apartments, each of them a two bedroom arrangement with a small living room. There is a communal bathroom on each floor, by the way. The apartments are on the top floor, next down is the floor of fifty rooms. They have no living space, but are private quarters meant for one person or a couple. The two floors beneath that contain hostel style rooms, with five beds per room. Each of those floors can hold one hundred people,” she outlined.

Jack thought quickly before speaking. I have to get everyone in, as comfortably as I can manage but with room for growth or change.

Decided, he explained, “Okay, here’s the plan. Put the long-term couples in the single bed quarters. That means any adults dating more than a couple months, not teenagers who think they are in love. The three families, the ones with children, can go in the apartments. Everyone else goes in the bottom two floors. Men on the bottom floor, women on the top.”

“Are you sure? That leaves several full apartments and a lot of private quarters unfilled,” Sam questioned.

“Yeah, but we will be adding more survivors in the future, and it’s a good idea to have space for them. More importantly, it’s fair. This way, no one gets special treatment. They get the same amount of relative space. I don’t care who is in what room, so Jessica, please handle assigning that. If anyone has a problem, you can send them to me, but to be honest, I suspect everyone is too tired to care at present,” he said. Without further questions, Jack dismissed the group.

Remembering suddenly, he caught the tall brunette’s attention, “Oh, Jessica, one more thing. I think I heard that your boyfriend is here and that he has military training?” he asked.

“Yes, his name is Parker. He was here on leave visiting me,” she replied.

“Okay, please send him to meet me on the walkway above the gate as soon as you can,” Jack ordered. Jessica nodded, before hurrying off to plan for assignments and find Parker. As she left, Jack turned and walked back down the hallway to the massed group of survivors.  Stepping back to the dais, he caught their attention.

“Listen up, people. We have discussed the facilities and Miss Riel will be assigning your quarters shortly. Keep in mind that we do have limited space, so you may have to become accustomed to less privacy than you were used to. I ask that you all make an effort to be patient and make it work as best as you are able,” he said, looking around seriously to leave no doubt that his suggestion to be patient was in fact an order.

“Once your rooms are assigned, I want you all to try to get some rest. Tomorrow, we will begin the business of organizing ourselves, but tonight, you have earned a respite. After you talk to Miss Riel, I need the following people to join me out by the gate. Dax Gunderson, Sam Hightower, Duke Sutherland, Bear Bineau, Justin Binz, Elizabeth Fel, and Jeff Xander. The rest of you, go to bed.”

Orders disseminated, Jack walked out of the Keep. Fenrir appeared from the darkness to fall in behind him. The rest of the survivors crowded around the recently re-appeared Miss Riel as she began to make her assignments.

Walking out into the afternoon air, Jack breathed deeply, settling his nerves. When they reached the gate, Jack paused to pet Fenrir before signaling for his loyal pet to stand guard by the gate. With a slight pout, Fenrir curled up in front of the gate and waited.

Leaving the wolf behind, Jack climbed the stairs to the top of the wall, pausing to check behind him. A small group of people was making its way across the grounds. Presumably it consisted of the people he had requested. That gave him a couple minutes alone to take the measure of the man who had been waiting for him.

Jessica’s boyfriend was a shorter man, though even stationary, he seemed to suggest an air of frenetic energy. He was dangerous looking, with dark brown eyes and close-cropped blond hair. He stood at attention as Jack moved over to him, his hand seeming to twitch towards a salute. Smiling at the man’s reaction, Jack went ahead and saluted him in response to the impulse. The young man grinned crookedly, relaxing at the familiar gesture.

“So you’re military, I hear. Which branch, and what rank?” Jack inquired.

“Sergeant Parker Johnson of the U.S. Army, Sir. I was part of the third mechanized, operating out of Virginia. I was on leave, visiting my girl when this went down. Doesn’t look like there’s anyway for me to reach my unit anymore, sir, so I suppose helping here is as close to fulfilling my duty as I can get,” he stated.

“Glad to hear it, soldier,” Jack replied.

Having another soldier will help. I’m going to be spread thin as it is. That is, assuming I can trust him. I’ll need to keep an eye on him, get his measure. Shaking himself, Jack nodded to Parker and then turned to face the group of people he had requested join him. They had just finished climbing the steps and stood arrayed about him patiently.

“Okay, the reason we are out here is simple. The world is still suffering some death spasms and things are only going to get more dangerous for the foreseeable future. If we want to make it until spring, we are going to need more than a wall and a handful of men. We need an army. I trust each and every one of you. Sergeant Parker here is military trained, as are Dax and I, so we do have some of the requisite seeds for such an endeavor.

It is my intention to begin training our survivors how to fight, how to defend themselves.” Jack paused to look into each person’s face, gauging them. He paused at Duke, inclining his head as permission for the man to speak.

“Look, Jack...I’ll be the first to admit that without you, I’d be dead. I guess I understand that things are going to be different now, but we just fought and killed a bunch of people. I killed people. I don’t know how to process that, much less start training to become a mindless killing machine.” At the casual slam against military personnel, Jack arched an eyebrow, and Duke had the good graces to blush before stammering on, “N..no offense. I mean...not that you guys are machines...I...” He glanced around helplessly, hoping that someone else would share his worries.

Some of the other civilians seemed to share Duke’s reservations, and Jack took a moment to survey them before responding directly to Duke.

“Listen, man, I understand how hard, and different this is. I really do. You have to understand something, though. Those convicts who attacked us are still out there, and they're not even the real issue. The problem is that there will be more of their ilk, and worse. This world just became one with too few resources for too many consumers. People are going to be starving, killing just to survive a few more hours. There will be monsters in the night now, Duke. Raiders, rapists and probably even cannibals. That’s just for the first few months to a year. After that, the real threats start,” he said. 

With a sigh, he went on, “Once the fall is finished and things have stabilized a little, that’s when it will get really bad. We are the most prepared group of survivors in our area, but there will be other groups. Some of them will be friendly. Some will just want to be left alone. Others, however, will want to dominate and conquer.  Groups and colonies that are willing to wage war to expand their control, to take what they need from others. If we are not prepared to counter that threat, we will lose everything.”

The group seemed to be wrestling with his words, each individual trying to determine if Jack’s proposed scenario was likely or not. One by one, they accepted it as truth, and he could see the terror in some of their eyes.

“So, to protect ourselves, to protect those we love, we are going to get stronger. We are going to train, and we are going to give ourselves the tools to fight.  That training is going to start with all of you, and it’s going to start tonight. Justin, Bear, Kate, and Parker. I want you four with Dax. You will all patrol the far approaches, keeping an eye to the lake. The rest of you are with me. We’ll be watching the gate tonight. Everyone take turns getting rest, operate in pairs, and keep a sharp eye. Get that rest though, because we all need to be prepared for the real work that starts in the morning.”

With a casual wave, Jack Hightower dismissed the group to their task. It was the final evening of innocence for his people, and it tore at him. The future was here, and it was anything but bright.

Epilogue: The New Arrivals

Lake Itasca State Park

What should have been a couple day's drive had turned into an arduous three week journey. Rey, Jose, Theodore Roosevelt and the other men had done their best to make good time, but it had been impossible. There was simply no way around it. The world had ended, and with it, modern travel.

Each town they came across was either burning, an armed camp, or at war with itself. As time went on, the sights became worse. They would cruise through towns, and spot human carcasses strewn about like so many dead leaves, no sign of what killed them. Any survivors were generally too scared to exit their bolt holes and basements, leaving the little caravan feeling isolated and cut off. When people did appear, they were most often hostile, attacking the men in order to drive them off or steal from them. It was a tiring existence, and a lonely one.

Furthermore, major cities were impassable. Huge clouds of debris rose into the air above each, visibly marking the graves of thousands or millions. The group found themselves skirting, backtracking, and generally meandering their way northeast; no direct routes left available.

Nearing the end of their odyssey through America’s death, the men were fading. They had traveled from the small town of Vernal in Utah, up into Wyoming, back west to Montana and then north again to the Canadian border. They had followed the old national boundary line until they were nearly through North Dakota, darting south again only when they approached Minnesota's border.

Forced to be constantly on guard, they slept in the bus together, cramped and uncomfortable. Sentries were posted outside, but in order to avoid detection, no fires were lit and the sentries froze nightly. Their food stores ran out, and so they found themselves subsisting on whatever they could scrounge from the passing wildlife or towns.

By the time they neared their destination, they were hungry, tired, and close to the breaking point. If the haven they had been promised failed to materialize, Rey knew that all hope might well be lost for these men.

It hadn’t taken them long before they stopped talking of returning to New York, recognizing the futility of such a journey. Now, all the men’s hopes lay in the promise of a nearly mythical retreat in Minnesota. One that none of the party had ever actually seen. It wasn’t a lot to base their hope on, and hope was the only thing that kept the group going most days.

When the bus finally entered the Itasca State Forest, approaching from the west, Rey woke his friends. He gathered them for a quick discussion.

"Alright, the hope is that we are about to find Greg's hideout, but what do we do if we can't?" asked Rey.

Theodore gave a start, "It has to be there, hermano. If it's not..." He shrugged, "If it's not, we might as well just start digging these men's graves. I can't lead them to some other promised land. They’re near enough to giving out as it is."

Rey gave him a piercing stare, "Just the men, or you as well?"

Theodore chuckled darkly before answering, "Truthfully, my little amigo, I'm a survivor, I'll do whatever I have to, but if I lose these men, their faces will haunt me for the rest of my life. I don’t really know how I would deal with that. Maybe it would be better to just dig my grave next to theirs and give up," he said, staring out the window as he spoke.

Jose broke in, "Theodore, if the men give up, they give up, But I don't believe that you have it in you to just accept death. Don't waste your time considering it," he said before nodding decisively, considering Theodore’s line of thinking effectively ended.

At the old man’s statement, Theodore turned to look at him, his gregarious face showing signs of anger at the old man. He seemed to be on the verge of a rather malicious retort, but was visibly suppressing the impulse.

In order to forestall further argument between the two, Rey spoke quickly, "Look, it's going to be there, it is. But, if it’s not, I say we head south. There's no time to find shelter up here before winter and we won't survive a northern one without it. I'm certain of that. So for now, we continue to hope we aren't being led astray, and south can be our contingency plan. Agreed?" he asked. He looked at both men, seeking their approval of his plan, desperate to know that if the worst happened, they could still look forward to some kind of hope.

With a sullen nod from Theodore, and a quiet one from Jose, Rey received the reassurance he needed. Settling back into his seat, he counted the minutes, knowing that it wouldn't be long until they arrived. The little red Chevy had been abandoned for lack of gas a few hundred miles ago, and now Rey and Jose rode the bus with everyone else.

Rey sat fiddling with the radio set they acquired, hoping to find some news or word of other survivors, trying to avoid the silent questions that the other men’s eyes seemed to be asking him.

I just don’t know if we can count on this. What happens if Gary failed, or if I was misled? What do I say to these men...?

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the squawk of the radio in his hand. He had been slowly cycling through stations without really looking, and he desperately tried to tune back to where the noise had been. After a few tense seconds, he found the right channel. Rey felt a slow grin beginning to envelope his dark skinned visage as heard the message.

“This is the Winterhaven encampment, calling for other survivors and communities.  We have food, rooms, and warmth here if you can make it. This is the Winterhaven encampment...” The message repeated, but Rey couldn’t hear it over the wild cheering of an entire coach bus full of people.

They were saved.

The End of Book One

Read on for a free sample of The Zombie Axiom

July 7

The lights of the small city dappled the smooth lake surface in liquid pools of color as night chased evening from the sky. From a distance, brief slips of movement occurred as car headlights peeked from between the comfortable houses and buildings that lined the shore as, far away or close by, a train announced itself with a deep, sonorous call. There was no real noise other than that. No honking of car horns. No yells of the drunks stumbling between the many bars that comprised most of the downtown. Distance created a buffer of peace. A tranquil haven away from the modern reality of small cities and all the amenities they provide. 

For this city, in particular, distance was both a blessing and a curse. As its name, Connisburgh, implies, it was once a military base. Far back in the revolutionary history of the American nation, it served as a lonesome post for a few hundred military personnel until British troops decided to head south from the more populace city of Montreal during the War of 1812. The battle that ensued happened in and around Connisburgh and the fame generated by the victorious Americans was still marketed two hundred years later. The city traded on that fame. Situated as it was with a lake on one side and miles upon miles of forested parkland all around, it needed a reason to draw some of the millions of consumers down from Canada to spend their earnings in the strip of megastores that congregated along Route 10. Not that the small yearly festival commemorating that battle was the only draw: The scenic lake helped a little with fishing tournaments and boat races. But not enough. And so it stretched out along the shores of the lake, bereft of the presence of the military that pulled the last of its troops from their airbase several years ago, and struggled with its identity… with distance.   

On this summer night, though, as small fiery rocks rained down upon the surface of the planet from amidst the clear, innocent stars scattered in the heavens, distance proved its worth.

July 8

The sudden blare of the digital clock shocked Virgil awake like a stinging slap. Eyes wild with fear, his right hand shot under his pillow and emerged gripping a loaded 9MM pistol. Sitting, gasping, the giant of a man cast about, searching for the ghosts that haunted his sleeping mind. But the weapon withheld its promise of violence when all that he could detect were motes of dust drifting in lazy swirls through the morning light of his bedroom. The gun slipped from his hand.   

“Nothing, nothing… nothing. Nothing’s there. Nothing,” he whispered to himself as his chin sank to his chest and his long brown hair slopped down to hide the blunt contours of his face. With his eyes squeezed shut he vigorously rubbed his temples and, like a man freshly pulled from the sea, deeply inhaled the stale air of his trailer. 

At length he pulled his heavily muscled frame upright and shut off the clock alarm. He threw on a pair of shorts and a folded T-shirt from the chair where he had set them aside the night before and wandered from his room and down a narrow hallway to the living room. Stifling a yawn, he maneuvered through an impressive collection of weightlifting equipment until he arrived in the kitchen, where he listlessly consumed a bowl of cold cereal while gazing at the pathetic patch of grass that comprised the front yard outside his home. 

And he tried not to think.

It didn’t work. Never did. His thoughts kept drifting back to the dark corners where the foul things lay... things he’d done, things he’d seen, things he… had….

He flipped the now empty plastic bowl into the sink with a snort of frustration and turned on his television for the noise, something to drive away the images, the memories. 

Didn’t work. Never did. So he did the one thing that always seemed to work. Walking over to his gym equipment, he hefted a forty-five pound weight and slammed it onto an Olympic weight bar that was perched on the uprights of a flat bench. Exhaustion would do the trick. Always did.

Two hours later, sweating in the heat of his home, Virgil stepped into the bright morning and squinted at the glare of a day that was promising only heat. Slipping on his dark sunglasses, he surveyed the scene around his house. It was a depressing sight for the most part. His dilapidated trailer was one among many such residences that were crammed on a strip of land that no one else would choose to inhabit other than those desperate enough for a home that was cheap. Situated as it was down a steep hill at the end of a dead-end street and with the river only two feet from flooding the entire area, which it regularly did, it was a wonder that the city hadn’t yet closed the place down. 

Noticing nothing out of place, no one watching, no one waiting for him to offer them a target when he turned his back, he locked both doors to his home and crunched across the gravel yard to his dust-coated Range Rover, which was already running, having been remotely started several minutes before. After one more surreptitious check of his surroundings, he unlocked the door to the vehicle and slipped into the air-conditioned interior. The cool air washed over him, drying the sweat from his skin. He closed his eyes, breathed deep. In this cocoon of processed air, of quietly murmuring vibration, he opened his eyes to see a fly making its ponderous way across the field of glass that was his windshield. It was of the large, hairy, slow variety… near the end of its life, but still crawling along like a ball at the end of its push. He sat transfixed, puzzled by its relentless march, its progression toward… something only it knew… or nothing at all.

Derek Haggel pulled into the Shop 4 More at five of ten in the morning. It was the exact same time he pulled in every day for the past four years. As he smoothly unfolded his tall, lean frame from the seat of his vehicle, he stooped to retrieve a coffee mug from its holder on the door and stopped, frowning, his long fingered hand poised to follow an act he had performed repetitively for months on end. 

“Is she working today?” He thought as the sun quietly baked the skin on his shaven head. “Today is Friday. Morning. Jesus, does she work Friday morning this week?” He closed the door, then, frustrated, opened it again to grab some change from its assigned place on the console. He fumbled, dropped it, snatched it up again, and headed inside to pick up the morning paper.

The small gas station and convenience store was busy with people headed to work. City workers, coffee and prepackaged, calorie-rich purchases in hand, stood in a group murmuring over workloads while waiting for the youngest of their number to clumsily finish arranging his breakfast. Other customers also milled about the counter, eager to do their business and be out the door. Derek took his place in line behind an old, disheveled man coughing out the awkward names of lottery tickets in a barely intelligible voice thick with phlegm. The time involved in this transaction was quite obviously frustrating the young, acne-flecked man at the counter as he watched the line of patrons steadily build behind his current charge. Derek smiled calmly at him and picked a hair off his white button-down oxford as he unobtrusively eavesdropped on snatches of conversation from the two women standing behind him. As their discussion drifted from the unexpected meteor shower last night to some rioting occurring in some city, the old man finally finished giving his money away and shambled off to scratch at his dreams of easy riches. 

“Hey”, the young clerk casually intoned as Derek stepped up, “Jus the paper?”

“Yup, just this.”

“No coffee?”

“No”, Derek said, his handsome, aquiline face breaking into a slight grin, “No coffee.”

“Got class this morning?”

“Yeah, at eleven. You thought any more of signing up?” Derek asked as he dropped his change into the offered palm.

“Yeah, thought about it… but, you know, all I got’s this job… an’, you know, it’s the money…”

“Yup, the two things that keep people from martial arts, not enough time or not enough money.”

The kid offered a grin, “Or both.”

“Yeah, or both. Have a good one,” Derek said as he turned for the exit, stuffing his paper under his arm.

Outside, he made his way to his car, a late model BMW, and was soon on the road leading downtown to his “work.” Which he didn’t really consider work. He spent the day as the chief instructor, or sensei, of his martial arts studio, which meant he took care of management duties and, as a fifth-degree black belt, taught people how to defend themselves using Aikido, a Japanese martial art. The day-to-day management of the place was a bit of a pain now and then, but the time on the mats, teaching everyone from young kids to older, retired people how to fall properly, to throw their attacker or pin him to the ground, was more fun than anything he could imagine. To watch self-confidence in his students grow as they mastered the techniques was an amazing thing and he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Now, though, his thoughts were far from the benefits of teaching martial arts. As he turned onto the side street next to his building to park, his eyes scanned the assortment of cars parked on the main street until he spotted an older, late-model station wagon parked in front of a coffee shop. Smiling, he pulled into a space and swung himself out of his car, empty mug and paper in hand. Whistling, he walked down the gum-flecked street and stopped at a despondent little hatchback whose wipers held a number of tickets against the windshield. With a shake of his head, he moved on to the glass side door of his corner building and noticed the lights on inside. He gave the door a slight tug and, finding it give slightly, went inside to his office where he turned up the air conditioner for the day and sat at his clean, rather efficiently organized desk to glance through the newspaper. 

Footsteps could be heard in the hallway and a male voice said, “Mornin’ Derek.”

“Hey Barry,” he replied lowering the tent of unfolded print as he sensed someone standing outside the door, “How’s it going?”

“Pretty good, pretty good,” Barry replied, leaning a shoulder on the doorframe.  He was a not an unhandsome young man of around twenty-five years of age with a shock of unruly, sawdust-colored hair that always looked as though he cut it himself while looking in a cracked and dirty mirror. Over his squat frame, he was wearing the traditional Aikido attire, which was basically the same as every other martial arts uniform, consisting of heavy weight white pants with a matching shirt. The only difference was a pair of dress-like black pants called a hakama, which were worn in addition to and over the white pants with the waist tucked into his black belt. 

“Hey, is that your car out there with all the tickets on it?”

“Ahh… yeah, that’s mine,” Barry replied, looking down at his feet.

“You know, they’re going to tow that thing if you don’t move it.”

“I know, I know, it’s just broke.  Something to do with the alternator.”

“Do you not have the money or…?”

“No I do, I just… guess I’m being lazy.”

Derek refolded the paper and stood, “Well, you’re going to ‘lazy’ yourself out of a car.  You want any coffee?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

“Back in a minute, then,” he said, hefting his coffee mug and heading for the door with an air of a man on a mission.

Out in the hot morning air once again, Derek crossed the narrow main street and made for the brightly painted entrance of the coffee shop. On the sidewalk outside, several patrons were sitting around small café tables, talking and drinking various caffeinated concoctions in the shade of two young poplars. Derek smiled and nodded at a group of them before stepping into the cool interior of the restaurant.

His blue-gray eyes went immediately to the slight young woman adjusting the dials on a cappuccino machine behind the counter. She had long, slightly curled, reddish brown hair that was currently held back in a tight ponytail that served to prominently display her slender neck and the delicately pale features of her face.

He was right, she was working. Like a fledgling teenager, he felt a flush of nervous anxiety flood his chest when her bright green eyes lifted to his and her frown of concentration fell away to be replaced by a dazzling smile of greeting. 

As Derek approached the counter, the bent and trembling old man in front of him stepped away with his drink and gingerly shuffled toward his tableful of friends already engaged in a laughing dialogue.

“Hey you,” she said, smiling.

“Hey, Corah.”

“I… ahh… I had a good time Wednesday night.”

“Yah, me too, I did too,” Derek said, eager apprehension tripping his words, “Listen… umm… you wanna do that again, I mean, go out again, like that? Maybe we could go to that Mexican place, what is it? Tortilla Grill?” he asked, kicking himself inside for sounding like a fumbling dolt.

“Yes, sure, I’d like that.”

“Great! Good, how about tonight? After I get done at the dojo.”

“That would be great. What time do you get done with class?”

“Nine, nine-thirty, let’s, umm, let’s say nine-thirty.”

“Should be good,” she said. Her eyes, her eyes, her so green eyes.

“Great, great… so I’ll see you then, at nine-thirty.”

“Okay”, she said, casting her gaze down at the blue expanse of counter between them.

Derek turned toward the door, a crooked grin breaking the sharp angles of his face, “Okay, see ya.”

“Bye.”

He made it out the door before realizing he hadn’t bought any coffee. He stopped, thought about it, weighed the pros and cons of heading back in and grabbing some, and decided against it. “Leave on a good note, that went well, leave it that way,” he thought and headed back to his studio, thinking about her as he walked. She was so different from his ex-wife, Barb. Of course, just about any woman he met who was equipped with a beating heart and a fully realized sense of self-worth was different from that particular piece of work. Maybe it was just that when he and Barb met, they were still just kids, or at least still kids at heart, or maybe they had just grown apart over their ten years of marriage, stopped caring. He didn’t know, he’d been over that ground so many times since their split two years ago that his feet wore a path straight to Just Don’t Think About It Anymore. But Corah was like no woman he had encountered in the two years since the divorce. She had energy, vitality, a free spirit, but most of all, and this was important, she didn’t seem to be needy. She rolled with the punches. Granted, they had only been on a handful of dates, but she really seemed like the type of person that was self-reliant, capable of taking care of herself. Time will tell, of course, and yet he was willing, anxious even, to spend that time finding out.        

Reaching the entrance to his studio, he stopped when he glanced down the side street and spied Barry’s car. He walked over and stood frowning down at its forlorn condition. It exuded an aura of rejection with its dust-coated, rusted paint and paper slips stuffed under the wipers like blisters of bad behavior. 

He looked back at the studio. 

At Barry, somewhere inside. 

At his cheap apartment.

At his secondhand furnishings found on the curb before the college kids could claim them.

At the same pair of clothes he wore for days on end.

Derek nodded to himself, walked around to the driver’s side and opened the door. The hot, stale air that issued from the interior told stories of leftover hamburgers and sweet-and-sour packets long since soured. He placed his coffee mug on the roof and reached under the dash to pop the hood with a quick tug on a latch that felt disturbingly warm and grimy to the touch. Creaking open the hood, his eyes scanned an engine that wore ten years of use like a sooty jacket thrown on a woodstove. He immediately identified the problem. The cavity where the battery for the car should be gaped empty and cataleptic, the twin wires meant to link the absent device to the vehicle hanging as useless as snub-nosed wood screws.  

He let the hood fall shut, closed the door, and retrieved his mug from its perch. Derek stood back and looked at the vehicle again as an idea took shape in his head. He nodded to himself when he reached a plan of action and turned toward his own vehicle, fishing his keys from his pocket as he walked and wondering where he could get a good cup of coffee.

She leaned her weight against the soft strength of her shoulder bag to keep her nurse’s scrubs and dark brown skin from touching the hot, rusted metal of the car as her fingers rifled through the monstrous set of keys held loosely in her palm. The heavy young woman wore her exhaustion like a thick coat of pain draped across her shoulders. Sagging. Wilting beneath the early morning sun.

“Sasha, you need to get yourself home, girl,” her friend, Dominique, said as she drifted between cars in the hospital parking lot. With a swift motion, she grabbed the keys from Sasha’s hand, flipped to the proper one, and stood with it grasped between her two slender fingers, business end to the sky. Dominique was, hands down, the best person Sasha knew in the world. Slender and athletic, she was perpetually in a good mood, always glowing, always having the right thing to say, and, like now, always there when you needed her. Strong. Dependable.

Presently, seeing her in clean crisp scrubs, standing poised with one hand on her hip and the other holding a prodigious set of keys chest high and dangling from their loop like a set of jewels, Sasha snorted out a laugh, turning her head and raising a hand to shield her teeth in a reflexive move she learned at a young age. Her outburst was contagious and soon they were both giggling as Sasha retrieved her keys and sighed, “I’m sorry Dom. I needed that!”

“Tired, huh? You work a double last night?” Dominique asked, touching her friends shoulder lightly.

“Mmhmm, a long one, too.”

Sasha’s fatigue melted away as she talked with her friend, bringing her up to speed on events in their workplace and her life. As Dominique drifted away, heading for her shift in the sprawling complex of buildings where they worked, Sasha turned to her car, unlocked it, and, with a squeal of elderly hinges, felt the trapped heat rush out when she opened the door. She paused in front of the portal, waving her hand ineffectually to clear the hot air from the interior until, defeated, she threw her bag on the threadbare passenger seat and slid inside the vehicle. 

It came back, then, the fatigue. In the heat, sitting comfortably, the exhaustion she felt after working those ridiculously long hours coiled itself up her legs and squatted comfortably behind her forehead, spreading its numbing tendrils down her spine. She closed her eyes. Why not? Her mind drifted as sleep played its game with her thoughts…

her bed, unmade, unwashed, sheets turned back…

home…

her…

husband.

Her eyes popped open. The thrill of uncomfortable emotions the thought of him dredged up chased sleep away in seconds. He was probably still home. Probably passed out on the couch, or the bed, or the floor. “Maybe he is awake, though,” she thought, “Maybe he is awake. Maybe he is in a really bad mood, the kind of bad mood from being hungover. From just being him. Maybe…” 

She glanced in the rearview mirror at the door to the hospital and the safety it offered. The respite. “No, I gotta get some sleep,” she said aloud to the torn fabric over her head, to the worn floormats, to the thought of Dominque. So strong, so dependable…. “So not me,” she thought bitterly, turning the keys in the ignition and pushing that thought down under layers of guilt and denial.

Her drive home was fairly quick. Ten minutes from starting her car, she was in the driveway of her apartment building, gathering her bag and heading up the back stairs.   

The door to her apartment was open a crack. She stopped before it, fear trickling through her like strong alcohol. There could be anything beyond that door. Sullen, angry pain... nothing… sleep… screaming tears… a fight... fists beating…. Her palms were sweating, her heart rate quickened as adrenaline leaked into her brain… she opened the door… and found nothing. He was gone. Not home. She walked in and stood in the kitchen, laying her bag on the cluttered table. She couldn’t see the rest of the apartment, but she knew he wasn’t there. The place felt different. The menacing cloud that followed him was lifted from the rooms. She could sense it. The relief that knowledge brought was tempered with the fact that even though he wasn’t here now, he would be back. And then that trapped animal feeling will return. And then….

She walked to the bathroom, turned on the shower, and as the small room filled with steam, she regarded her face in the mirror. Her thick, black hair was tightly coiled and held from her face in a long ponytail that reached down her back. She always felt it was her best feature, even more so now, with fatigue pulling at a visage that still held the firmness of youth but was padded with too many years of unhealthy food and too many years of fear. “Fat,” she thought angrily, turning from the mirror and undressing, “fat and ugly. Like a… what? Like a two-by-four. Fatty-fatty two-by-four, can’t get through the kitchen door. Isn’t that it? Isn’t that how it goes?” The frustrated emotions of a childhood filled with remembered taunts pushed her into the shower where the hot water performed its soothing magic and loosened the coils of pain from behind her eyes until, relaxed and drooping with needed sleep, she slipped from behind the shower curtain into her thick robe.

Not bothering to dry off, she walked to the bedroom, pushed a mound of clothes to the side, and, still wearing her robe, slid between the thin sheets. She was asleep in minutes. 

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