Jeff’s eyes fluttered. He felt lucky to see the world again. “How was your vacation?”
“We had a great time out at the Tooele Army Depot. Yep, they arrested us and put us in the stockade for a bit. I guess that’s what they do when you’re snooping around the ammo bunkers looking to steal from the Army. Then they let us out ’cause they ran out of chow. We literally ate our way out of jail.”
Jeff laughed. “We missed you here yesterday.”
“You didn’t miss us. Who do you think came galloping up those guys’ tailpipe with armored vehicles and belt-fed machine guns? Back door action, baby. Your favorite kind.”
“Explain.” Jeff wanted to know what had happened more than he wanted to joke.
“When they let us out of jail, we raided the military museum. Dude, we found some old British armor—you know, those Ferrets from the first Desert War, and those puppies run on unleaded gas. So we stole a couple of them, stole a bunch of belt-feds from the museum, and then we went back and stole a shit-ton of ammo from the ammo bunkers. We were like the Dirty Dozen, bro.”
“So the gangbangers didn’t get our belt-fed?”
“They sure as hell were trying to get it running when we pulled up. But, you know, we started punching holes in folks and they started running every which way. Then we rolled up the road with our armor, racking, stacking and packing ’em like gangbanger cordwood. We saved your ass.”
“I had everything under control,” Jeff smiled.
“I noticed that. That’s probably why you were taking a little nappy-nap in the middle of the street when I came up, right?”
Jeff laughed, sending lightning bolts of pain through his abdomen.
Nurse Alena walked into the room and shooed Evan out. “No more testosterone comedy hour. Go… How’re you feeling this morning, Mr. Kirkham?” She turned to Jeff.
“Like I got shot.”
“That’s because you got shot. Three times. And you undoubtedly have some more surgeries in your future. It’s going to take some work to clean up the mess in your upper G.I. tract.”
“How’s Leif doing?” Jeff could see his son, now sitting up on his gurney watching something on an iPad.
“He’s bouncing back fast. You’re one lucky man.”
Jeff looked at her, noticing something off in her tone. “How’s Robert?”
Alena busied herself checking Jeff’s PICC line. “My husband… actually, he died in the battle.” She looked away, struggling.
“Damnit. I’m so sorry, Alena. I’m so sorry.”
“It wasn’t your fault. I don’t blame you. He died the man he wanted to be. He protected his family.” A tear spilled down her cheek.
“He protected all our families,” Jeff added, then changed the subject, not sure how to navigate her grief. “Where’s my handgun?”
Alena pointed to a plastic table on the side of the room. “I put all your equipment over there.”
“Did I see you waving my gun around last night?”
“Oh, that.” She looked away. “I sort of used it to motivate Doctor Hodges.”
“Don’t go picking up guns until you know how to use them. Get me out of here and I’ll teach you.” Jeff shifted in his bed, trying to get comfortable.
“I believe I used your gun just fine, Mr. Kirkham.”
“I suppose you did,” Jeff agreed as a wave of exhaustion pulled him back toward sleep.
Chad, Pacheco, Audrey and Samantha hadn’t reached the Homestead until late in the afternoon—the battle long over. It had taken them hours to cross the perilous town on foot.
Chad sat in Jason’s office, his feet up on the desk, sipping the dark French Roast coffee that he and Jason traditionally shared first thing in the morning.
Jason worked the French press, depressing the plunger and squeezing the tawny oil from the last of his coffee. His head still throbbed like a son of a bitch. “I guess we won’t have this for much longer.”
“How much coffee did you squirrel away? How long’s it going to last?”
“That depends on whether or not we share it with anyone else.” Jason smiled. “We’re nearly out of the good stuff. One of the great tragedies of the Apocalypse: coffee doesn’t keep. We’ll need shipping from Central America to come back before we see fresh coffee again.”
Considering the hundreds of dead bodies being laid to rest, joking about coffee seemed inappropriate, even between friends. “I can’t believe you got in a shooting fight without me.” Chad turned the conversation to the thing weighing on both their hearts. “How’d you do? Your first combat experience?”
“Hmm.” Jason thought about how lucky he was to be alive, and he avoided Chad’s question. “We could’ve used you. It was a close thing.”
“When I flew overhead and saw the hordes coming up the road… I thought you guys would be ashes by the time we got here.”
“That was a distinct possibility,” Jason said somberly.
“But you didn’t answer my question. How did you do in combat? It’s a big deal. First blood. You know some things about yourself that you couldn’t have learned any other way. I’m asking you straight up: how did you do?”
Jason didn’t want to talk about it but, if he couldn’t talk to Chad right now, he would probably never speak of it. And it was rare for Chad to be so direct and garrulous.
“I killed a lot of guys. I almost got killed. I got angry and lost my temper and probably killed a bunch of guys that didn’t need to be killed. Then I had a hard time not falling to pieces. How’s that sound?” Jason had exhausted his words on the subject.
Chad looked him in the eye. “That sounds about right. So you’re not a pussy and you still have a soul. All the other stuff is par for the course. You won’t forget about the killing any time soon. You will lose some sleep. Get used to it.”
Jason sat in his chair, silent. He didn’t know what to do with his hands.
The office door burst open and Tommy Stewart, Jason’s brother-in-law, barged in. He must have been on guard duty because he wore full camo with armor plates and a Kevlar helmet. He and his family had arrived from Phoenix right behind the carnage left by the gangbangers. Tommy had wasted no time joining the corps of armed men protecting the neighborhood.
“Jason, there’s someone at the barricade named Sal, and he’s asking for you. He won’t tell me, but he says he knows something about my brother Cameron.”
Jason and Chad jumped up, snatching their coats and rifles from the silver coat hanger and headed out behind Tommy.
As soon as the OHVs rolled up to the barricade, Tommy jumped out, breech-checked his rifle, slung it, and made a beeline for a man wearing a California Angels cap.
“Jason, Chad. This is Sal.”
Sal shook Jason’s hand and then Chad’s. He reached into a backpack and pulled out a plastic gun case. “I believe this is yours.”
Jason recognized the Kimber .45 from his Las Vegas house. He popped the plastic case open and examined the handgun.
Jason looked up at Sal. “Where are Cameron, Anna and the kids? We haven’t heard from them in more than a week.”
Sal shifted his gaze down and to the right. It wasn’t going to be good news. “I saw them get shot outside Fredonia, Arizona by a band of polygamists. You know—those crazy fanatics from the reality TV show? Anna and the kids were alive last I saw. I circled back around on foot, and I watched the polygamists drag them back to town—Colorado City, I think.
“Your brother Cameron… he looked dead to me when they pulled him out of the driver’s seat. They were crucifying any man they found alive, so maybe it was a mercy he was dead.”
Tommy looked like he might throw up. He turned away, staring off in the distance, hands on his hips.