The Final Day (After, #3)(67)

Coughing, gasping for air, Grace led them down the steps to the ground floor. The sunroom was engulfed in flames. Grace staggered from the blast of heat, and John, coming behind the two, shoved them forward and out the back door.

“I got them out!” Grace cried, and then she leaned over, retching and gasping for air.

John could hear shouts, and through watery eyes he saw Malady come up, weapon raised. He shoved John to the ground, another of his students shielding Makala with her body and more gently easing her down to the ground.

“Situation?” John gasped, looking up at Kevin.

“At least four got away!” Kevin shouted.

“One dead up on the second floor,” Grace gasped.

“At least three, then.”

Someone had peeled off a parka and was putting it over Makala, crouching down to help shield her. John started to come to his feet, but Kevin snapped for him to stay down; whoever was after him was still out there.

He looked back at the house. An upstairs window burst, flames licking out. All of it was going up. Whoever they were, they must have dropped thermite grenades to set it afire like that. Jen’s house was going … all of it going.

And then the thought hit. Someone was draping a parka over him. He pulled it off, held it to cover his face, and ran back into the burning house, tearing free from someone who was trying to hold him back.

“John!” It was Kevin coming up behind him, trying to pull him back.

“No!” John tore himself free and staggered into the sunroom. Nearly blinded by the smoke, he fumbled about on the windowsill, found what he was looking for, and crouching low, parka held up against the heat, he staggered back out. Once outside, he collapsed into Kevin’s arms.

He clutched Rabs tight to his chest. He would never let Rabs burn like that.

*

Sitting in President Hunt’s office, he gratefully took another sip of moonshine and looked over at Makala, who was resting on the sofa, two of the girls she had trained as nurses hovering over her. One of the girls looked back at John and smiled reassuringly.

“She’s okay, and so is the baby.”

He could barely see her smoke-smudged face looking toward him in the blacked-out room, curtains drawn.

She started to cough and then managed to clear her throat. “Moonshine is the last thing you should be drinking now, John Matherson,” she whispered, her voice husky.

“I know.”

“And damn it, if not for the baby, I’d join you,” came her reply.

A burst of gunfire echoed in the distance, and he could tell the difference of who was firing. Sustained bursts versus three-shot replies. Whoever they had cornered next to the cafeteria was firing back like a professional, conserving ammunition.

John stood up and went to the window to at least slip the curtain open to see what was happening, but Kevin reached out and blocked him.

“Their goal, sir, was to kill both of you. You’re staying here until this is over.”

“Those are”—he hesitated for a moment—“my kids out there doing my job.”

“They’re your troops doing the job you trained them for”—Kevin paused to add emphasis to his next word—“sir.”

There was a sudden explosion of gunfire—long, sustained bursts—and regardless of Kevin’s orders, he was not going to cower here, not after what they had done, and he carefully parted the curtain a few inches to look.

He could see the tracers snapping into the side of the cafeteria and what had once been a peaceful outdoor patio. Several dozen students had the area surrounded and were unleashing a fury of fire. One of their targets got up, trying to pull up someone else. John had ordered that if possible take them alive, but the rage unleashed by the assassination attempt could not be contained. In spite of body armor and helmet, their target’s legs and face were nevertheless exposed, and he was finally dropped. The other one, obviously wounded, tried to get up, and another explosion of fire took him down.

More shots continued to pour in until finally the cries went up to cease fire.

John started for the door, but Kevin blocked his way and made it clear by the way he stood in front of John that if need be, he’d physically take him down, something that Kevin was more than capable of doing.

“Let someone report in,” Kevin snapped.

“For once, John,” Makala whispered, “listen to someone else. He’s right.”

John simply nodded and then went over to his wife’s side, sat down on the floor by her side, and took her hand. “Are you really okay?”

“Just some smoke, John, that’s all.”

“The baby?” he asked nervously.

She tried to laugh but started to cough again. “Scared the shit out of the little bugger; he’s been squirming like a kickboxer ever since it started.” She paused. “Our baby is okay.”

She leaned over and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Why would your friend do this to us?” she asked. “You said he was honorable.”

“I don’t know,” John whispered. “I just don’t know.”

“Matherson.” It was a whisper from the corridor, followed by a knock. He recognized Reverend Black’s voice and started for the door, but Kevin stepped in front of him and opened it, shielding John.

It was indeed Reverend Black, and Kevin let him in.