A New World 10 - Storm (27 page)

“Okay, that sounds good to me. Bannerman, you can scout out the distribution centers, but there’s no need to go into buildings there as yet. We’ll have plenty of supplies until we all get together again. And bring the ammo for the Spooky last. Who knows how much we’ll need in the coming weeks. I wish we had some MOABs available,” I comment.

“Aren’t those the 15,000 pound daisy cutters?” Frank asks.

“Well, those are the old ones and have been retired. I don’t think they have any live ones remaining,” I answer.

“Oh, yeah. I remember reading about a test they did down at Eglin AFB with some new ones. Perhaps they’re stored down there.”

“That would be beyond the eastern line we established, and we don’t know that they’re there. Besides, I would hazard a guess that no one here knows how to set them up or arm them. I know I don’t,” I say. “Do you think we should begin burning the areas around Denver like we did here? You’ll have days between deliveries.”

“I don’t know about that,” Frank states, pondering. “It may drive them into the countryside. That will happen eventually, but there’s no sense in rushing it. I think if we stick to the buildings within a ten-mile radius, it should do the trick. It will be easier to do than it is around here, as there are only farmhouses and a few other structures around the bunker.”

“Okay, we’ll start setting up the move immediately, gathering the vehicles and getting them loaded. Tomorrow, however, is a day off.” I smile at Lynn, who returns it.

The twinkle in her eyes sets my heart aflame. For the life of me, I still can’t figure out why me. She could have anyone she wanted. Granted, the options have slimmed down significantly, but I don’t know why she chose me…and continues to do so. I meant it when I told her that I’m the luckiest man alive. The stress of the situation has focused my attention on a myriad of other things, and at times I’ve been completely drained of life, but that aspect has never changed. I may not have shown it at times, but it’s always been there. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without her.

“The day after,” I continue, “the 130s will be busy if the weather clears as promised. Therefore, three days hence, we’ll be ready to make it rain day and night with the Spooky. Craig and Roger can take the 130 and begin ferry runs. And, hopefully, the first convoy can depart. Bannerman and Frank will keep things moving. Greg, you’ll be in charge of the teams here. Lynn and I will be busy with the Spooky up north. We need two weeks.”

Late in the afternoon, I speak with Leonard. They are still sailing for Hawaii and there’s not much news to share on his end, so I relay the information from Harold and have him contact the bunker to have the images transmitted. At the evening training session, Frank takes center stage.

“There have been rumors circulating, so tonight I’d like to either dispel or validate them, depending on which ones you’ve heard. First off, I’d like to offer congratulations to Lynn and Jack. Tomorrow will be a day off, as they’re tying the knot. For reasons unknown to anyone, Lynn said yes. Good luck to you, Lynn. You’ll need it,” Frank says, tipping an imaginary hat toward her. “After the ceremony, we’ll be gathering for a barbeque.”

“Now, for the other news,” Frank continues after a few yells and polite clapping. “As you know, the threat from the night runners to the north of us is a very real one. We have access to a bunker located a few miles northeast of Denver, which we believe will provide for a safer place. Given that, we’re planning to move. Bannerman will give you the details. Bannerman?”

Rising, he relates what we discussed in our meeting. There are many questions and concerns voiced, but by the time we finish, everyone seems satisfied.

The morning is a blustery one. A chill wind whips through the parking lot where we’ve gathered, rustling pant legs and sleeves alike. Gusts rifle through the huddled crowd, with sounds like a huge flag flapping. If I had long enough hair, I’m sure I’d look like that Maxell commercial. Driven by the strong wind, clouds scuttle across a low ceiling as if fleeing the devil himself.

Robert is my best man, with Greg, Frank, and Bannerman filling out the rest of the groomsmen. On the other side stand Bri, Gonzalez, Michelle, and my mother. I have to admit it’s a little uncomfortable having two of my exes in the crowd, but that’s just the way it is. Lynn approaches with her arm on Craig’s elbow. Her short, blond hair blows to the side as gusts sweep through, but never have I witnessed a more beautiful sight. We’re both in our fatigues, but that doesn’t matter.

It’s a simple ceremony but I barely hear a word of it, I just gaze into her blue eyes.

“Jack, I think your attention is wanted,” Lynn whispers.

I turn to see the minister looking at me. We exchange our vows and place rings on each other’s fingers. Somewhere, somehow, Bannerman managed to scrape two together; ones that even fit. With the ceremony completed, the barbeque begins. The weather forces us to cook under the entrance overhang and set up tables inside.

At a table with others, Lynn leans over and whispers: “Where are you taking me on our honeymoon?”

“You know, I’ve often had the thought of just packing you and the kids in a 130 and flying off to some island; just leaving this mess behind,” I answer.

“As wonderful as that sounds, you know we can’t.”

I sigh heavily. “I know.”

“However, Jack, when times get better, I’m holding you to it,” Lynn says with a smile.

As the day winds into the afternoon, the winds die down. Rays of sunlight stream down through breaks in the clouds, which begin to scatter. I pull Bannerman to the side, whispering a request into his ear.

“It’ll be in the back, and the vehicle ready out front. Just give me an hour,” he replies.

It’s still chilly out, and with late afternoon settling in, I take Lynn aside.

“Say your goodbyes, we’re leaving,” I say.

“Why, Jack? Where are we going?” she asks, eyeing me curiously.

“Out,” I reply.

She looks to the western sky, where the sun, partially shining behind a cloud, is settling toward the horizon. “It’s going to be dark soon.”

“Don’t make me kidnap you.”

She laughs heartily. “As if you could. But, okay, let’s go.”

“Your carriage awaits, my lady,” I say, gesturing toward a Humvee parked near the entrance.

“Okay, Jack. Where are we going? Again, we don’t have much time before dark,” Lynn asks, once we’re out of the compound and headed toward downtown Olympia.

“You’ll see.”

I can tell Lynn is eager to know where we’re going. Downtown is a ghost town. Shadows from the buildings stretch across the streets as I make my way through them. Sand and debris fill the doorways. The windows are covered with such thick coatings of dirt that nothing beyond them is visible. Several of the large panes of glass have been broken out, along with many of the doors.

Exiting the central part of downtown, I pull up to the marina.

“Wait here,” I say, exiting and proceeding out to the docks.

I pick one of the larger boats, noting its berth number. The main office door has been smashed in, and the radiant light filtering in makes it easy to find the boat keys. Returning, I remove blankets, sleeping bags, heavy jackets, and a marine battery from the rear of the Humvee. It takes a couple of trips but I deposit them on the boat, all the while Lynn watches from the passenger seat with a smile on her face.

“Okay, now I’m ready,” I say.

Hand-in-hand, we climb aboard the vessel. The boat cranks over after I replace the battery. I let it idle for a few minutes, worried that the fuel might be bad. It remains running and I back slowly out of the berth. The sun is visible through large breaks in the clouds, just touching the coastal mountains.

The boat handles the slight chop well as I motor us out of the marina and into the bay. The wind is only a gentle breeze but it’s still frigid. I ease the throttles back and drop anchor.

“This is perfect, Jack. Thank you,” Lynn says, wrapping a jacket around her shoulders and putting her legs into a sleeping bag.

“It is, but you make it that way,” I reply.

She smiles widely. Her face, usually lined with stress, brightens. My heart melts.

“I love you,” she says.

“I love you, too! Very much.”

I pull two bottles of wine out from my sleeping bag, courtesy of Bannerman, along with two plastic cups. The clouds scatter further, eventually leaving clear skies. The sun sinks below the hills, leaving behind a fiery glow. Lynn and I sit on the open deck, our arms wrapped around each other, warm and sipping wine. The gentle rocking of the boat adds to the peaceful feeling of contentment. Stars appear, twinkling brightly on a velvet background. For a night, all of our troubles lie far away. Tonight, we are the only ones in existence under the heavens.

With the sun rising on a clear sky, I motor the boat in. We dock and gather our supplies. The stress I have been carrying feels lighter. I’m sorry to see the night end; it was a moment of perfection.

“Back to the real world,” Lynn says with a sigh.

“No, the real world lies out there, rocking on the boat under the stars. We just have to form this one into that one,” I reply.

“That sounds wonderful, truly. But, for now, we have a flight to catch, if I’m not mistaken.”

Tossing the gear into the back of the Humvee, Lynn places her hand on my arm. “Jack, thank you.”

“For what?”

“For last night…for being you,” she answers.

“Lynn, I should be thanking you for putting up with me.”

We return and I privately thank Bannerman for all that he did to make the evening happen. The two of us may have started off badly, but that just goes to show you that first impressions aren’t right all of the time. Sometimes, it’s just that, well, things start off wrong. Bad day, sore foot, irritations at something, wrong color of socks, all of those can lead to a bad day, which in turn leads to a false impression. That’s a lesson I’ve learned all too well.

Calling Harold, I get the latest weather reports, which show clear weather over the western part of the country. Craig, Roger, and the teams going with him should have an easy time heading north as should Lynn, myself, and our teams as we head south.

“Is there any update on the group in northern California?” I ask Harold.

“Sorry, no. We haven’t had a pass over that area recently,” he answers.

Walking into the parking lot, I see that the whole camp is a hive of activity. Semis rumble through the lot, their throaty roars filling the air. Cranes add to the noise, lifting containers onto trailers. Things are in motion everywhere. People shout to be heard over the uproar as they run from one task to another, trying to get the first convoy ready to leave for the bunker tomorrow.

The small airfield is also busy. Crated supplies are being loaded into the 130 for the trip north. The Spooky, which we’ll be taking south, is armed, fueled, and ready to go. Craig and Roger stand by their aircraft.

“Good flight to you,” Craig says, extending his hand. “We’ll see you tonight.”

“You bet. And watch the winds up there. The last time, we encountered a low-level wind shear,” I reply, shaking his hand.

“Will do, Jack. You take care of my sister.”

“Always.”

With Black and Red Teams aboard, we line up with the runway just as they’re closing the ramp of Craig’s 130. Robert is in the co-pilot seat and Lynn sits at the nav stations. When we start our search, or if we should need the Spooky’s firepower for whatever reason, Robert will head into the back. Pushing the throttles up, we climb over the outer wall, leaving the controlled mayhem behind.

“The group we’re looking for was last spotted near a lake west of Sacramento,” I say as we climb. “That’s about a two-hour flight. We’ll start at the lake and conduct a widening, circular search pattern. Robert, look for hotspots. It’s cold enough below that they should show right up. Bri, watch our fuel.”

“Okay, Dad,” Bri replies.

Our flight path follows Interstate 5. To the east, the higher peaks of the Cascade Mountains have fresh dustings of snow from the last front. Soon, the cities that run through the Willamette Valley appear, from Portland down to Eugene.

Looking below, I remember the fun times I had on my motorcycles running the country roads. Passing Salem, I see the street, now mostly covered, where I ran by an unmarked police car. I was late returning from lunch, and the idiot in front of me was going too slowly – which, at that point in my life, probably meant somewhere around the speed limit. I gunned it around him and kept going, the throttle open. When I came to the next stop sign some distance away, I was waiting for a car to go through the intersection when I heard the distinctive chirp of a police car behind. Looking in my rearview, there was the red car I passed a few miles back…lights flashing on the dash. I just hung my head. Stepping out was a plainclothes policeman, with several of his buddies emerging from the passenger and rear doors. They were dressed in suits and all wore sunglasses. I was fucked. The driver walked up to me as I turned off the bike and removed my helmet.

“Son, do you know how fast you were going?” he asked.

I thought that it was kind of odd that he was laughing, but I was too scared to really notice. My heart was pounding. Knowing he must have clocked me, I knew I had to be honest if I was going to come away with anything left of my ass.