Cooper roused from his stupor, “I’d be surprised. They sent a squad at us earlier and that didn’t work. He’s low on manpower. The city’s in chaos. He’s got a lot of problems. If he had extra men, I think we would have seen them at Mitchell’s. He doesn’t have a platoon to send our way.”
Dranko nodded, “True. But, next week may be a different story. He may get more men. He may…”
Cooper raised his hand dismissively, “Not now.”
Dranko stopped and smiled to himself, “Sure, brother. Not now.”
When he returned home, Lisa met him at the door with open arms and excitedly told him that Jake’s fever had broken. She was confident he would soon recover. Cooper collapsed onto his knees from sheer joy. Tears streamed down his face unabashedly. Minutes later, he looked in on Jake, but he was fast asleep. He watched him for a while, kissed him on the forehead, and quietly left the room. He knew had one more thing to do this night.
He found Dranko at home and asked to use his computer, since he had a functioning generator.
“What are you gonna do, brother?”
“I don’t know yet.”
He sat down in front of the computer with a heavy heart and a jumbled mind. As he thought about what to do, the past and the future collided furiously. His thoughts swirled back and forth between what lies had done to his father and what future might await his son.
Finally, he shook his head to clear his thoughts and began to write a message to the world. He wrote about truth. His words recalled the value of democracy. He railed about the need for accountability to one’s actions. But, he also pleaded for the world’s forgiveness. Mostly, he wrote about forgiveness for a sin he had not himself committed.
In the background, the radio was frantic with unconfirmed reports that the planes carrying Chinese policemen and medical personnel carried soldiers instead. Rumors swirled that such planes had landed at several airports across the western United States. He bolted upright when the announcer said, “Portland…Oregon” while reciting the list of cities.
He continued writing as the first rays of morning sunlight streaked through Dranko’s basement windows.
He looked at what he had written, satisfied.
He had included every major newspaper, radio, television, and online news outlets he could think of across America and from around the world in the email message.
He hit send and walked upstairs.
Dranko looked at him and saw how his friend had seemed to age a decade in the past few hours, “So, what’d you do?”
“I did what any father would do. I did my best to make sure my boy grows up in a world that values the truth and believes in democracy. If it’s a harsher world, so be it. I watched lies destroy my father’s life. I won’t watch them soil my life, my son’s, or my country’s.”
He walked out of Dranko’s home and returned to his own. Angela was seated at the table, cleaning the rifle. She looked up with uncertain eyes when he came in. He nodded once at her. She understood. She rose and took several steps toward him. He saw a deep reservoir of comfort in her eyes. He waited, thinking. Then, he walked towards Jake’s room.
As he stepped past her, he clasped her fingers for a moment. They gazed at each other, smiles creeping onto their faces. The electricity of the unknown passed between them. He let her fingers go and continued onward.
His thoughts drifted to Julianne, trying to understand why he couldn’t hate her for what she had done. The answers that came troubled him, so he deliberately pushed them aside.
He collapsed into bed next to Jake, despite the unmistakable sounds of small arms fire coming from the direction of the airport. Within minutes, he was fast asleep, breathing in rhythm with his son.
Copyright
Brushfire Plague
ISBN 978-0615645643
Copyright © 2012 by R.P. Ruggiero
All rights reserved.
Printed in the United States of America.
Prepper Press Trade Paperback Edition: July 2012
Prepper Press is a division of Northern House Media, LLC