The Alpha Chronicles (6 page)

When he reached the bottom step, he didn’t pause, but just kept moving. The flames had actually died down in the kitchen, and Nick moved that direction thinking of the back door. Without the rolling billows of smoke, moving to the rear of the home was like entering the dark world of a blackened forest, simmering ripples of heat radiating from every direction. Nick’s mind conjured up visions of wolves with smoldering red eyes and fur of toxic fumes – the ferocious animals nipping at his heals with white-hot fangs. Like so many nightmares, he couldn’t outrun the beasts while carrying his heavy cargo.

A vision of the back door suddenly appeared in front of him, the threshold to life and cool air just a few feet away - but the path was blocked. Part of the second floor had collapsed, heaps of smoldering boards and drywall hanging at odd angles.

Nick didn’t care anymore - he couldn’t. He wasn’t going to die in this place. After all of the battles… all of the firefights… wounds and wars, there was no way he was going to burn alive.
Dig deep, you son of a bitch
, he thought.
Go down deep inside and live. Bring it all out and live. Leave any of it here - and die.

One boot lashed out against the blockage…and then another. Despite the two bodies on his shoulders, he threw everything he had left into the strikes. Timbers cracked with the impact, embers swirled around his legs. Another landed…
and then another… and then he arrived at the door. It was too late. Nick felt his knees buckling, the weight on his shoulders too much for his severely dehydrated frame. The poisonous smoke ached in his stomach, and his chest felt like it was in a vise.

Nick felt the hot floor on his knees, and realized his legs had given out. He sensed his upper body swaying and made a determined effort to fall backwards so his face wouldn’t burn on the floor.

And then hands were reaching for him - many hands, seemingly coming from every direction.
They’re
angels
, he imagined.
Angels coming to pull me from the burning pits of Hades.

The first sensation Nick noticed was of cold grass on the back of his neck. His next recognizable impression was the strong smell of rubber, competing with the odor of noxious smoke. The smoldering stench reminded his brain where he was, or at least where he’d been, and he attempted to sit up. Voices echoed in his ears…
voices that he couldn’t quite place, but knew he should recognize. Kevin! His son was here!

“Dad, stay right where you are. Just stay down.”

Nick opened his eyes for a moment and initially believed himself to be blind. Only small, hazy pinpoints of light in a coal-black background filled his vision. At the same time, the taste of new rubber grew in his throat. A few blinks later, he realized he was looking up into the night sky, the stars slightly obscured from the smoking ember remains of the house nearby. Kevin’s face appeared in his line of sight, the look of concern on the boy’s face changing to an expression of sheer joy over seeing his father’s eyes open.

The n
ew rubber belonged to the Ambu bag covering his face, the breathing balloon steadily pumped by Diana. Nick’s sudden spasm of coughing dictated the removal of the device.

After clearing what felt like several large hunks of steel wool from his chest, Nick managed to tilt his head slightly where he saw other people kneeling over the prone bodies of a woman and a small boy. Before he could ask any questions, Diana held a bottle of water to his lips while helping him lift his head.

“You scared the living shit out of me, mister,” she hissed. “If you ever…
ever
do anything like that… I’ll never speak to you again. God help me. I love you, Nick.”

The big man managed a smile and then nodded toward the other patients.

“The father is going to be okay. The last two are breathing on their own, but still out. You saved three lives, Nick. You ever pull a stunt like that again and I’ll….”

Diana’s pending threat was interrupted by a collapsing wall of the nearby home. Hot cinder fireflies danced skyward, quickly doused by a thick stream of water arching through the night. Nick could make out three men struggling with a large hose, spewing volumes of water onto what little remained of the structure.

Twenty minutes later, Diana and Kevin assisted a weak, wobbly Nick on the golf cart. His jeans and t-shirt smelled so strongly of scorched ash, the Deacon forbid him to enter the sanctuary, instead forcing him to undress and then shower in one of the auxiliary buildings. Kevin refused to leave his father’s side, closely observing his every move in case his dad became weak or dizzy again.

Two large containers of water and a double dose of aspirin later, Nick crawled into bed.

Early the next afternoon, a grumpy, aching, and slightly singed Nick finally joined the living. After brewing a cup of coffee and swallowing a couple of additional painkillers, the big, grouchy bear located Diana in her office. Three gentlemen occupied the visitors’ chairs facing the deacon’s desk. 

Nick’s foul mood was nothing compared to
Diana’s. The scowl on her face and tone of her voice warned the ex-Green Beret he was within range of a dangerous woman. He determined silence was the astute tactic of choice, even before he managed a seat on the couch.

“I want to know why the fire truck wasn’t a higher priority. I think the townspeople deserve an explanation from all of us, and I think they deserve it immediately,” Diana said in a serious tone.

“But… but Diana, we have so many projects going on, and our resources are tapped. The only fire engine we have left had its tank spiked to loot its fuel. No one has lubricated or maintained the equipment in months. The tires are flat, and the battery is dead. On top of all that, our welder – Alpha’s own ‘McGyver,’ has been overwhelmed by the volume of work required of him. I don’t know where we would be without his creative solutions, fixing machinery without the luxury of ordering parts over the internet. The fact is, Miss Brown, we just hadn’t gotten around to repairing the engine as other priorities took precedence.”

Diana sat her elbows on the desktop, both hands massaging her temples. “I know we’re all doing our best, but we’ve got to organize and do better. Last night’s fire could’ve turned into a complete disaster. We were lucky the wind was calm. We could have lost that whole side of town. Who knows how many bodies we would be burying this week if that had happened?”

“Deacon, everyone is working extra hard to get civilization back on track, but the priorities are difficult to determine and manage,” pleaded one of the gentlemen. “We’re working down our list, but people don’t always agree which is the most important task. It’s impossible to override the opinion of others when everyone is a volunteer, and there’s no structure or hierarchy of authority.”

Nodding at her visitors, Diana stood and moved around her desk – a signal the meeting was
over. “Okay, gentlemen, thank you for stopping by. I’ll not keep you any longer this afternoon. If anyone has any suggestions on how to improve our situation, please, please bring them to me.”

The three elders pushed back their chairs and executed the proper social amenities. Hands were shaken, Nick was robustly thanked for his heroism, and his health was verified.

Returning to his perch on the couch, Nick studied Diana as she escorted the three men from her office, trying to determine her frame of mind. Obviously, the pressure and workload of running a small town was an extreme burden, but he detected something deeper was troubling her.

The deacon-turned-city-mayor
returned, avoiding eye contact with Nick. She hurried past without a word, silently returning to her desk where she unfolded her laptop and focused on the display.

Nick let the tapping of Diana’s keystrokes dominate the room, sipping his coffee and staring at nothing. After a few minutes, he decided Diana needed solitude and rose to leave.

“We’ve got to change something. This isn’t working,” sounded a cold voice from behind the computer.

Nick paused mid-step, unsure of Diana’s meaning. “What isn’t working? Us? The town? Your computer?”

Pivoting to face the woman he loved, Nick’s face exposed more concern over the potential answer than he intended.

Diana reached up and closed the laptop’s cover, her eyes locking with his. “Oh, don’t be silly. I’m not talking about our relationship. Unless you’ve found some hero-groupie on the side, I’m as much in love with you as ever. I’m talking about the town…
our society… how we’re rebuilding Alpha.”

A sigh escaped the big man’s chest, his eyes mel
lowing. “You had me worried there for a sec. I thought you were still mad at me over last night.”

Grunting, Diana waved him off. “Oh, I am, but not super-duper mad.
That was a reckless stunt you pulled. It could’ve turned out badly. I’ve already lost my son and my father because of this mess – I’m running out of loved ones to donate to the cause.”

Diana sauntered over to Nick’s side of the room, extending her arms for an embrace. He welcomed the invitation, holding her close and relishing the moment. With her head against his chest, the deacon summed up her current municipal dilemma. “Everyone’s heart is in the right place, but we’ve got to change how we’re organized. There needs to be leadership, structure, and guidance.”

“Go on.”

Looking up, Diana continued. “The fire truck was listed as a critical project weeks ago. The reason why half the town almost burned down last night was that no one had the authority to follow up. No one pushed here and pulled there. Our volunteer force ultimately isn’t accountable to the town.”

“I don’t know about that. It looked like those three gentlemen were answering to you just a bit ago. They all left here with their tails between their legs; at least it looked that way to me.”

“That’s just the problem, Nick. I’m not officially in charge of anything
. I am just leadership by default. There are groups of people who are starting their own projects that the church elders and I don’t even know about them. There’s a vacuum of authority, and it’s going to keep hurting everyone until it’s filled.”

Base Hospital

Fort Bliss, Texas

Terri’s body couldn’t tolerate the bedside chair any longer. Being close to five months pregnant, her back and shoulders e
ventually demanded that she locate a more suitable place to rest. The couch in Bishop’s room was actually a luxury compared to both the hard-bottomed chair and her bunk back at the camper. She glanced longingly at the cushions.

The steady rhythm of the heart monitor provided a background of white noise. The constant tempo of the machine worked on the exhausted woman’s mind, a hypnotic effect similar to a train’s
clickity-clack wooing the weary passenger to sleep. The contraption’s beeping provided a secondary benefit as well; Terri could relax, comfortable in the knowledge that she would hear any change in Bishop’s condition.

Despite her fatigued state, Terri’s sleep had been troubled and restless the past few days.
Beyond obvious concern for her husband, the uncertainty of life without him weighed upon her. The brutal treatment she had received at the hands of her kidnapper added more insomnia-baggage. Terri suffered.

She
didn’t look up at first when the door to Bishop’s room opened. Nurses, the occasional doctor, or other medical professionals commonly plied the threshold, and she was too tired to care.