Desolation

“Who’s on the western wall?” Frank asked Jeff, while attempting to make sense of the man’s mouth and hand movements.

Jeff stepped back, trying to avoid brushing against Frank’s grenade, and moved to the western facing belfry window to see for himself. Their lookout was crowded, just barely enough room for two adults. Until last week, its space had been occupied by the speakers for the electronic bell-like chimes. The real church bells had been done away with back in the ‘80s.

“Oh, that’s Morty, you know, the butcher. Oh shit, he’s saying something… Okay, he’s saying, there’s ten… no, twelve… Fifteen. He’s saying there are fifteen men outside our western wall. Oh shit—oh shit—oh shit—”

“Jeff, shut up and make the announcement about our visitors on the west wall.” Frank maintained his calm as he continued to follow the wall’s line southward.

Jeff took an enormous breath and blew their announcement, bearing a remarkable resemblance to a puffer fish.

At the southwestern corner, Frank could see the heads of more invaders hustling from the rail yard through the parking lot, just outside of the wall. He followed the southern wall, working his way east, until he came to the 5th Street gate. On top was Sandra also waving at him, her face wracked in distress. She held her palms out, and then pointed to what was approaching from her position.

“We have enemy at the southern gate too,” Frank informed Jeff, translating the hand signals he had set up for their sentries.

Her forefinger and middle finger, pointed downward, mimicked two legs walking on the palm of her other hand. Then she balled her hands into fists and shot out all ten fingers.

“There are ten men approaching our southern gate….”

She balled her hands into fists again and extended nine of her ten fingers, then pantomimed like she was holding a rifle and pointing it at Frank.

“…no, make that nineteen men, all with weapons…”

And then she thrust both hands and arms into the air. She was asking what she was supposed to do next.

“Make the announcement. We’re surrounded.” Frank dropped the binoculars, letting them hang from the strap around his neck, and exhaled as he hung his head.

~~~

A fourth long blast followed by ten short blasts echoed throughout the town, telling the occupants that they were surrounded. Most of them ran to their posts, some ran for cover, the remainder ran without purpose, having forgotten their training and not knowing what else to do.

“Mel, we don’t have two to three days left. Hook up the Executioner now,” Carrington called across their workshop, grabbing his and Melanie’s rifles.

“Damn straight. We can do it. Is your other project ready?” Melanie shouted from their bedroom, pulling a fresh shirt over her head and buckling her gun belt. The heavy silver revolver poking from the holster pulled at her rig as she caressed its wood handle, instantly bringing to mind the rapist she sent to hell another lifetime ago. She took a deep breath, readying herself to commit violence once again: whatever was necessary to protect Carrington and their new friends.

“I think so. Let’s go.” He handed Melanie her rifle at the door. A look passed between them, one of mutual concern and then much more. It was love. They stood transfixed by one another’s gaze for almost a minute of non-awkward silence. Carrington’s lips curled into a smile as he caressed her cheek. Then they each grew somber. Now their looks said “this may be goodbye.” She leaned forward, softly kissing his lips. Then she bolted down the street to where she had been working earlier. Only a few of her crew were there waiting.

Carrington ran in the opposite direction, down the middle of Grand, turning right at 1^st Street, into the entrance of a two-story, turn-of-the-century brick building known as the Johnsons’ hotel, before housing the watering hole, Lovejoy’s bar and restaurant. Now, it was home to his “other” project. He raced through the building to the stairwell leading to the roof, knowing time was not on his side to get Zeus working.

30. Making the Wright Choice

Wright Ranch, Illinois

“What the hell am I doing here?” Darla whispered to herself.

“Shh,” growled Joselin, only a couple of feet in front of her.

Darla and Joselin were kneeling beside a bubbling stream, just in front of a fence that separated them from a hill that rose on the other side, up to the house that they were supposed to storm the moment they heard the signal.