The Last Stand (Book 3) (The Repentant Demon Trilogy) (18 page)

“We will continue to broadcast here for as long as we are able.  Of course, there is no national feed, so we can't give you anything from our network...” he cried.  “They are all dead out there, and we probably will be, too.  Soon.  All we can tell you is to stay inside.  Go to your basements, if possible.  Seal your doors and windows.  Do not go outside unless you have a hazmat suit in your closet and a gas mask.

“Our nation is in crisis, ladies and gentlemen.  We are at war.  We have been attacked in the worst of all possible ways, with nuclear bombs.  When all your stations are off the air, I would suggest trying radio or even ham operators in your area for news and information.  I have no idea how long the Internet might work.  It depends on how long the servers hold out.  There will be no IT guys to fix things.  We are on our own.  There really is no news to report.  Who knows if there will be ever again.  For whatever it's worth, there are two of us here.  We are alone.  May God help us.”

The group watched the screen as the man put down the microphone and walked away as the camera continued to show an empty chair behind an empty desk.  Then the screen went dark as the camera man obviously left his solitary post.  Brady switched through all the channels, but nothing but similar scenes were to be found. 

“What happened to the television?  Is it broke?” said Claudia, walking in with her basket of colored eggs.  She didn't understand them standing there mesmerized by a blank screen.

“There is no more television,” said her cousin Stephen, gently.  “But it doesn't matter.  It's been nothing but grown-up stuff for ages anyway, right?”

She nodded in agreement. “We've got DVDs to watch,” she said.

“That's a good idea,” said Brady, “You can eat your snacks and watch a movie.  We'll all watch.  How about a great funny movie?”

“I'll bet Uncle Brady remembers back to what people did before we even had television,” said Uma, joking.  She and the rest of the gang followed in right behind Claudia.

“Actually, I do,” he said enthusiastically, “My family was one of the last ones to get a television.  So we kids did a lot of things to have fun.  We played games.  We made things.  I don't think you kids will even hardly miss Spongebob that much.”

“Mommy thinks Spongebob is ugly,” laughed Claudia.  “I like him though.  We have one of his movies.  Can we watch it?”

“You bring it here, sweetie pie,” said Brady, “and we'll just cover your mom's eyes so she can't see it.”

“No way,” teased Ruthie, “I want to see Spongebob.  Just because he's ugly doesn't mean I don't like him.  Right Nathan?” she said to her husband. 

“That's right,” he said, “Look at me.  All red-headed and freckled.  But she fell madly in love with me.”

“Hey,” protested all the red-heads in the room, “There's nothing wrong with red hair.”

Nathan rode alongside Stephen on their bikes to go get the Spongebob movie.  It would have been too far for Claudia to go by herself under any circumstances, but now that the newcomers lived in the area ahead of the housing compound, no one felt completely safe anymore.  New shelters were being built, and hopefully things would be better for everyone when the living conditions were more equitable.  They approached the section where the three RV's were parked.

Near the outermost edge of the area stood a young boy about Stephen's age.  He played with a yo-yo then appeared startled to see them coming his way.  Turning, he looked toward the RV, started toward it, then spun around the other way, running as fast as he could.  Nathan was reminded of the young boys in Iraq who were used as scouts, decoys, and lookouts.  This boy had failed at his mission; obviously to provide warning if the residents came home.

“Stephen, listen to me carefully,” he said, bringing them to a stop, and grabbing his handlebars.  “You need to turn around and ride as fast as you can back to the McFarland cabin.  Tell Grandpa and Uncle Jerry that they need to come home—right now.”

“What's the matter, Dad,” he asked, looking alert.  “What's wrong?  Why can't we go into the house?”

“Just do exactly as I said, Stephen,” he emphasized clearly, speaking slowly.  “Somebody is in one of our houses, and you need to go tell the rest of the family.  I will be fine, but you need to hurry.  Tell them to bring their guns.”

He got it.  Stephen sped away as fast as his legs could pedal.  Nathan rode slowly and silently to the rear of the first RV and laid his bike on the grass.  He snuck up beside the first vehicle and put his ear to the metal siding.  Convinced that nothing was moving inside he skipped the middle RV because Sarge was inside.  He had been left behind this day since the egg hunting would have been too stressful for him, Mike had decided.   Nathan could faintly hear the dog's snoring even from outside.  His hearing wasn't so good anymore, or he would have known about the intruders next door.

They had to be in the rear one, he realized.  It was the one most hidden from passing traffic.  The spot he had picked for his trailer because it offered a view of the scenic hillside beyond.  But that was now gone due to the tent city that had been erected.  He crept up beside the rear door and opened it silently.  Climbing the two steps, he stood against the wall in the semi-darkness of the close quarters between the laundry room and the back bedroom doorway.  He heard them in the living room pulling things off the shelves and rustling through drawers.  They were probably looking for video games, he thought.  They already had a pillow case full of stuff.

Knowing they were going to bolt for the door as soon as his presence became known, he waited until they were both on the opposite side of the room.  He flipped the latch on the back door as he passed so that he could delay them as they tried to escape.  Then Nathan lunged like a tiger into the living room roaring a loud growling sound that scared the two boys nearly out of their skins.  In seconds he had one of them in an arm lock around the neck.

He picked up the boy as though he were a rag doll, throwing his lower body in a circle hitting the second boy in the chest with those heavy boots he was wearing like the Harley rider he pretended to be.  The wind was completely knocked out of the second boy, and he gasped in pain and fear on the floor near the built-in sofa. 

“Let me go, man,” pleaded the boy still held in his grasp. “I can't breathe.”

Using his knee, Nathan pushed at his back thrusting him forward into his buddy who was already standing there with his arms held up in surrender.  Under the couch, just a few feet away, he grabbed for his hidden but unloaded gun.  The boys did not know that, however.  As the two of them bolted for the back door, Nathan cocked the gun with a loud click and yelled, “Stop or you're dead—at least one of you will be.  Take your chances or stand still.”

He made the boys come into the living room and sat them down together as they waited for the others to arrive.  The boys tried to make excuses, but Nathan silenced them.  The one who had taken the hit in the chest began to cry.  Then Mike and Jerry entered the RV with their guns drawn.

“Holy shit,” whined the first boy, “What are you guys?  Cops or something?”

“As a matter of fact,” said Mike, “I am a Saint Louis police officer, and I've dealt with kids a lot worse than you on a daily basis.  Meet my son, the Iraq war veteran.  He's seen crap you'd never imagine in your worst nightmares.  My son-in-law, well, he's just a very good shot.  Did you pick the wrong house to rob, or what?”

“So what're you gonna do with us?” sobbed the smaller crying one.

Normally, Mike would play good cop/bad cop, only he didn't have his partner.  He winked to his son, hoping he got the signal.  Nathan just might make a perfect bad ass, he thought.

“I say we lock them up,” said Nathan.  “Under martial law, we can do whatever we want to protect the public from criminals like this.”

“What about our parents?” asked the taller one with the sore neck.  “Don't you need to tell them?”

“Let them wonder where you are,” snapped Nathan.  “Maybe they'll learn to raise their other kids better.  It's probably their fault you turned out to be such thieving scum.  Maybe they're trash just like you two.”

“No, sir, please,” pleased the crier, “They're good people.  And we lied to them about where we were going.  They think we're hiking near the lake.”

Mike opened the pillow-case bag they had filled.  Inside he found mostly food items.  A wrapped package of sliced turkey, a container of mashed potatoes with another that held the gravy, and an apple pie which had not been cut.

“How long have you guys been on the road?” asked Mike.

“Several weeks,” answered the older boy who was still rubbing his neck.  “We had about two months worth of food in the house.  When that ran out, my dad and I would go out each day looking for something to bring home.  There wasn't much we could find.  So we got in the car and left everything… our house, all our clothes, the furniture.  It's all gone now.  Maybe you should just take us to jail.  At least we'd get fed, and our parents wouldn't have to worry about us.”

“Let's take them home, Nathan,” said Mike.  “And you can have this food you took.  But we need to talk to your parents.”

Thomas and Jonathan Talbot revealed their names and directed the men to their tent.  It was not the kind you go camping in, but a much larger and sturdier military-style structure.  Inside were folding cots, an aluminum table and chairs, and metal trunks stacked sideways to act as make-shift kitchen cabinets.  It was clean and tidy, but a far cry from what you would consider a home.

Mr. and Mrs. Talbot invited them to sit at the table, while the boys sat on the nearby cot.  Their father eyed them with disappointment and a degree of temper, which the boys felt intently.  Nathan and Mike placed the pillow case onto the table in front of them and explained what had happened.  After introductions, they began the serious talk.

“It's my fault they did this,” said Jacob Talbot, “We've been stealing food for months now.  They've gotten the idea it's okay.  We can't teach them what's right, then turn around and do wrong, and not expect them to listen to what we say and not what we do.  We might as well all go to jail.”

“Nobody's going to jail,” said Mike, “we need to do something to make things better here for everyone.  We're all in the same boat, and we need to stick together.  Those of us that were here first… we all lost our homes, our jobs, lives we loved.  But we had prior knowledge of what was going to happen.  I don't know why the government didn't warn the public.  Maybe they didn't know for sure what was going to happen and didn't want to cause panic.  That's giving them the benefit of the doubt.  It's too horrible to think that they knew and did nothing, but it's almost as disturbing to think that they didn't know… that the enemy has completely outsmarted us.

“We need to survive this,” he continued.  “because we will be the future world that will be left at the end of this war.  I know they are building more homes.  The foundations look almost ready.  We watched the others go up, and it only took a day.  They came in by truckloads and went up very quickly.  If you guys can hold out a little longer, things will get better.  We need to figure out how to improve conditions however we can.  Food seems to be a problem.”

“We're getting government rations,” said Jacob Talbot, “and the dinners aren't bad.  But we haven't had real food in a long, long time.  It's been harder on the boys than I realized. They need to learn that desires are not as important as needs.”

“That lake is full of really great trout,” said Mike.  “We could scrounge up some poles and go fishing.  That's a forty-acre lake, and there are more ponds on the property.  We have a garden up behind the lodge, but it needs to be bigger.  Maybe with some added manpower we could enlarge it for next year,” he said, wondering if they'd even be there next year.

The boys watched as their circumstances seemed to change by the minute.  Instead of going to jail, they were going to go fishing.  And something inside them had changed as well.  They no longer wanted to steal anything, and they felt ashamed.  Too ashamed to eat the stolen booty on the table.

“We're really sorry,” said Thomas, the crier, “I promise never to steal again.”

“Please forgive us, sir,” said Jonathan, “and please take the food back.  We've lost our appetite anyway.”

“Nonsense,” said Mike, “Please, we want you to have this.  It's a gift.  Do you have a way to heat up the turkey and mashed potatoes?  And Ruthie makes the best apple pie in the world.  We'll show you where the apple trees are.  You boys can go pick a basketful, and she'll be happy to make some more for everybody.  This place is big—over seven thousand acres.  There's room for all of us.”