After the Day- Red Tide Page 13

“Bob, dead, George the big guy with the limp, dead, his wife too, blown up believe it or not…” The list went on. Once in a while the response would be, “Oh Phil, yeah, he’s still around, stuck around with my group for a while, settled in a little town a few miles south of here.”

  Fatima and John put the plates together. Herb crusted bass with fresh salad and smashed potatoes.

  Fatima sat with the kids, little John and their youngest addition Wasimah.

  “Wasimah? What does that mean? Nine months in Iraq you think I would have picked up on some of this.” Chris said.

  “It means pretty or beautiful.” Fatima said putting some smashed potatoes into Wasimah’s mouth.

  John asked Chris how he ended up being the leader of a group.

  “It’s weird. So, the Reverend.” Chris stopped; he noticed that Fatima appeared suddenly uncomfortable after dropping her spoon. “That idiot piece of crap. He takes us to this neighborhood where three of our guys were killed searching for supplies. He takes it as a sign from God there must be supplies there worth protecting. So he split’s the whole group into four teams and orders us to attack. Before my group is a block in, a bomb goes off, and then gunfire, then another bomb and another. Before I knew it my group was the only one left and it looked like the Reverend was dead. So I said to heck with it and walked away. Next thing I know the whole group is following me asking what to do next.”

  “You did say you were done taking orders from stupid.” John reminded Chris, they laughed about it.

  “I did say that didn’t I? I have to say leading isn’t easy but at least I had people’s best interest in mind.” Chris said.

  “That’s already a big improvement from what we had before.”

  “I know!” Chris laughed.

  John stood up and grabbed a bottle from a cabinet in the kitchen. He also brought three glasses with him. Chris gave him a look, and then looked at Fatima’s belly.

  “It’s ok; a glass at dinner doesn’t hurt anybody.” Fatima said patting her belly.

  “So you are? I didn’t want to assume. I know it’s rude.” Chris said.

  “Yeah, number three on the way.” All three of them laughed. “No TV,” the laughing continued.

  John poured three glasses of a golden colored liquid. Chris smelled it and couldn’t place what it was.

  “It hasn’t been that long. I can’t place it.” Chris said continuing to smell the liquor.

  “It’s mead that a man at the market makes. He says that his bee hives have multiplied and that he gets more honey now than he knows what to do with.”

  Chris took a sip, then a larger swig.

  “Yeah, that will work. It‘s from the guy that makes dandelion wine?” Chris asked.

  “Yeah, Odin. He’s probably the most popular man around town.” John added.

  The two of them continued talking for a while, bullshitting. After Fatima left the table with the kids John finally sought some answers.

  “Why are you here Chris?” John asked.

  Chris exhaled, took a sip of the mead, then put the glass down.

  “There is a war taking place, right now. We are looking for men, experienced.”

  “I’m not getting involved in any religious, territorial bullshit. I’m done.” John said.

  “It’s not that kind of war. It’s about everyone.” Chris said.

  “That’s what they all say.”

  Chris reached into his coat and pulled a piece of cloth out. It was a green hat. Chris turned it around. John noticed the digital pattern in the fabric and thought at first it was U.S. Army issued. As Chris finished turning it around a red star was pinned to the front of the hat.

  “The Chinese?” John asked.

  “They came to shore in L.A., Seattle, Portland and San Francisco.”

  “And?” John said.

  “They aren’t stopping. It looks like the plan is to march all the way to the east coast. They are killing everybody. Word is they came as a peacekeeping force, giving food and supplies and then they started taking over and kicking people out of houses. Before anyone knew it there were mass graves and bodies piling up. It wasn’t long before we started fighting back but they already had a foot hold in the country.”

  John turned around and looked at his kids. Odds were they would all be killed if he didn’t go. Fatima would be upset, but she would understand if he was protecting her and the kids. It would be hard news to take and he couldn’t promise if he would come home.

  John looked at his M4 that still rested above the fireplace.

  “You see that? The last time I killed a man with that gun was a group of cannibals who threatened my family and friends. I told myself I was done. I couldn’t do it anymore. Having said that, I’ll go for the sake of my family, however… if I leave here and I find out that what you said is a lie, or that it puts my family in jeopardy… the next person who will be on the receiving end of that rifle will be you.”

  The table was silent for a second.

  “I’m ok with that.” Chris said shrugging his shoulders and finishing the mead in his glass. “Can I have some more? It’s been a while.”

  That night after the kids were asleep John told Fatima what was happening. Chris went over the information and answered any questions that she had. There were things that couldn’t be answered, not a surprise in the world that they lived in today. It frustrated her. For a while she was back to before The Day thinking, wanting everything now. Her husband was going to war and she couldn’t get all the answers that she wanted. Her life was being turned upside down again. At least her children were safe. Chris slept on the couch by the fireplace. It was the best bed he had slept on in months.

  The next morning John woke up to Fatima looking at him. Her face was beautiful as always but she wore a look of worry.

  “Tell me you will come home.” she said.

  “I promise.” He knew he shouldn’t have but if it got her through the hardest of days than he would say it. He dreaded the notion of someone coming back to the cabin with a message of his death. He did promise. He would do anything in his power to make sure that day would never happen.

  After breakfast Fatima packed his bag and made sure he had everything he would need. John opened his trunk and pulled out his old flack vest and his uniform. John cleaned his Glock and packed all the ammo he had for it. He did the same with his M4 and packed all the magazines and ammo he had for that as well. He checked his knife and saw that the blade was still oiled and sharp.

  Fatima brought John the old Russian bolt action that he had used during the fight at the cannibal camp.

  “I want you to keep that here.” John said to her.

  “But it’s good for long distance.” she said trying to remind him.

  “I’m better with my M4.”

  “Take both.” she insisted.

  “Fatima,” he spoke the rest in Farsi. “I love you. I know you want me to stay as far away from these men as I can. Trust me. I know how to send those men back into the sea where they should have stayed. Nobody is going to stop me from coming home to you.”

  Tears grew in her eyes.

  “Keep it above the fireplace, loaded. If things get bad or you have a bad feeling, grab the rifle. I‘d rather you had it and not need it than need it and not have it.”

  Fatima nodded. She hugged him and he held her tight. Little John joined in hugging his parents legs. John bent down and kissed him on the head.

  “Take care of your mom and sis.” John told his son. “You’re the man of the house while I’m gone.”

  John kissed Wasimah, still sleeping in her crib. John kissed Fatima one last time, long and sensual on the lips. She stole his breathe and he had trouble keeping himself together. He grabbed his backpack and the duffle bag. Outside, Chris and John loaded the bags on the horse’s back and walked out down the trail to town.

  “So what’s the plan from here?” John asked.

  “There is a man waiting in town for recruits. Private Brown.
Young guy. Not too smart but takes orders. By the way, the militia wanted you to have this.” Chris handed a gold oak leaf to John.

  “Major?” John said. “Haven’t joined yet and I’m already promoted.”

  “Former military immediately receive rank.” Chris said.

  “Retirement plans?” John asked.

  They both laughed as they walked their way to town.

  The town was empty. John hadn’t been here except for market day. The streets were always crowded and filled with people carrying bags and baskets of food and other goods. Parked by the market sat a spray painted camouflage Bronco SUV. John couldn’t believe his eyes. He hadn’t seen a running vehicle in years.

  “Tell me that runs.” John said to Chris.

  “It runs, didn’t think we were going to walk all the way there did you?” Chris said.

  “I was wondering.”

  As they approached the Bronco they noticed it was left by itself. John looked around and then checked out the Bronco. He opened the door and saw a Punisher logo seat covers and floor mats. The black fabric and white skull symbol reminded him of the popular design that was all over the bases in Iraq. Brought over by the Americans, it was a notion they were punishing terrorists for attacking the U.S. Now the symbol was here, it could have been the inside of any Hummer he rode in during the war. Now it was a make shift military vehicle on his home turf.

  “Hey,” a voice called from the distance.

  John pulled his Glock out and aimed it at the man approaching them.

  “Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!” a young guy in a mix of desert camouflage pants, French jungle jacket and black tank top, put his hands up and continued to walk toward Chris and John.

  “That’s him. Brown.” Chris said.

  “More like brown eye. What the hell you thinking hollering at people like that?” John shouted.

  “Why are you messing with my truck?” Brown asked. As Brown approached he saw the oak leaves on John’s shirt. “Shit, don’t tell me those are real, man.”

  “It’s sir,” John said.

  “And they are real.” Chris added.

  Brown kept his mouth shut. He moved around waiting to hear what was to come next.

  “When do we head out?” John asked.

  “Whenever you want, sir.” Brown said.

  “Good. Open the back and load up my gear.”

  “Yes sir.” he responded moving to the horse.

  John looked in the area Brown had come from. There were a series of buildings.

  “Where did you come from just now?” John asked.

  Brown debated answering the question.

  “Um, the liquor man. Locals told me to go there for a drink.” Brown answered honestly.

  “Well, at least you were honest with me. Wait here.” John walked to the buildings and looked for the makeshift signs that would direct him to Odin‘s.

  Walking down the street he saw a building with a carved sign with nothing but a beer bottle on it.

  He walked into the building where a bell hit the door as the doorbell. The inside smelled of fermenting brew. The smell of doughy yeast and herbs was overwhelming but also intoxicating. For a second he could smell the mead he always picked up at the market.

  “Can I help you, John?” Odin asked.

  He was shaggy, bearded, and wore overall’s. He looked like the stereotypical moonshiner. He nose was red and enlarged. An old scar showed on his forehead hidden by some of his hair. It had been a few days since his last bath. John now wondered about the sanitation of his mead.

  “Yeah, I was hoping you could help me.” John said.

  “Really, well get on with it, I ain’t got all day.”

  John thought that was funny. Without jobs it seemed like people had a surplus of time.

  “Do you know where I can get some books?”

  “What kind of books?” Odin asked.

  “Military history, Civil War, Revolutionary War, 1812.” John asked.

  “1812?” the man looked like he was deep in thought. “I know a place.”

  Then Odin pulled a piece of paper out from the counter and wrote on it. John watched the scribbling.

  “Take this paper to the address on it. If anybody has what you are looking for, it will be this guy.”

  John thanked him.

  “I’m heading out of town but Fatima will still be here on market day. Keep an eye on her for me will you?” John said.

  “You bet, always a pleasure to have her in here.” Odin said. “And John, take care of yourself.”

  Going back to the Bronco John saw Brown in the driver’s seat and Chris with the horse.

  “Coming with us?” John asked Chris.

  “No, I have more recruiting to do.” Chris said.

  “I don’t think there are too many other people around here that fit what you’re looking for.” John said.

  “Doesn’t matter if they can carry a gun…” Chris said.

  “Understood.” John said shaking Chris’s hand. “Good luck.”

  “You too.”

  When John asked to see the librarian he didn’t know what to expect. It had been five years since the day in Washington D.C. and the first few years he watched as people burned books in the winter to stay warm. Now, he was in search of knowledge that he hoped would not have been destroyed out of desperation.

  Driving through the city John scanned the streets for any signs of trouble. They were in a safe area, one that had been marked as homeland on their maps. What set it apart was that the Chinese forces had not reached it yet. Pulling up to the warehouse John stepped out of the spray painted Bronco and knocked on the door. He stepped back and looked at the size of the building.

  “Hard to believe this is what a library has turned to.” John said to his driver, Private Brown of the new American Army.

  “I wonder if he has anything good to check out.” Brown said as they waited.

  John knocked again. He thought about trying the door but didn’t want to lose any trust by invading somebody else’s space.

  Then the door opened. A man answered with a bushy red beard. He appeared tall and slim.

  “Can I help you?” the man asked.

  “We are looking for the librarian.” John said.

  “Oh! This sounds like a quest. I love quest.” the man said. “Come in come in.”

  Stepping into the warehouse John looked around to see a maze of bookshelves. He didn’t know if there was any kind of order to them or how many there were. It was the most he had seen since before The Day. Suddenly, he felt like he should ask if there were any books in Arabic or Farsi for his wife, Fatima.

  “What exactly are you looking for?” the man asked.

  “I need books on military strategy, specifically pertaining to the United States.” John said.

  “Oh, are you in for a treat. But first, a drink.” the man said. The tall man pulled a bottle and two glasses out of a cabinet and poured what appeared to be scotch. He handed John the second glass. “Cheers!” the tall man said tapping the glasses together and taking a sip.

  The liquid was warm and burned as it went down.

  “Do I get one?” Brown asked as he walked by the door.

  The librarian laughed and turned back to John.

  “Come with me.”

  John tried to stay behind the man but found his stride fast and fluid.

  “A few weeks back a man came in with a collection he found in a Civil War re-enactor’s house. It was a fascinating collection. Not only of the Civil War but the man had branched out into the Revolutionary War, and of course all the great conflicts up to the start of the Cold War.”

  The man turned around and noticed he had lost John at one of the turns he made through the shelves. He went back and found John looking at a shelf then looking at him.

  “Well now, come on then.” the man said. “Like I was saying, the collection was great and was still in good shape. No water damage or signs of wear. The sad thing is that also means that he
never read them. It’s always sad to see that. You remember those people that used to say that they had their books in case the world ends, and then they would have time to read them. Well, I guess most of those people were taken out by the flu or the famine. Of course, I was one of those people who said that and now I get to read all of their books!” The librarian laughed

  The man turned a corner and stopped.

  “Here we are.” the librarian said.

  “Oh crap,” John said looking at the four level bookshelf in front of him.

  There might have been a hundred books altogether. John found it to be on the Vietnam War.

  “These are about Nam,” John pointed out.

  “Yes, I’m sorry this is the history section of the library. Over here.” The man took John a few shelves over and finally they were in the World War II section. “World War II happens to be the largest part of the war section. To be fair, it was one of the better documented conflicts in history. Oh, right, here we are. The Civil War to the Revolutionary War, ends down there.” the librarian pointed to his left.

  John looked four shelves away.

  “That’s got to be hundreds of books.” John said. “How many books are in this place?”

  “I have no idea. If I tried to find out I would go nuts.” the man said. “I’ll go back to my study. If you have a problem just holler. Voices echo through this place.”

  “Wait, what do I call you?” John said.

  “The Librarian, what else?” The librarian turned around and walked back to his study.

  John wondered for a minute if he would be able to remember how to get back but then figured that he could holler if he became lost.

  Brown was sitting in the study looking at an old copy of Popular Mechanics when the Librarian came back.

  “Oh I see that you found the periodicals.” the librarian stated.

  “Yeah, it’s ok.” Much of the material was above Brown’s head even before The Day. “I have to ask.” Brown leaned over from his chair. “Where do you keep the good magazines? Hell, I would kill for an old copy of Maxim these days.”

  “Oh, the adult material. You would be surprised how much of that survived. I think that women are more likely to burn a collection of Shakespeare than a copy of Fifty Shades of Grey. Come with me.” the librarian turned around and Brown followed him immediately.