The Final Day (After, #3)(68)

Black went past John, knelt down by Makala’s side, and, taking her hand, whispered a brief prayer of thanks and then looked back at John.

“I got him on the phone, John. Pick up the line here.”

John nodded. “Did you tell him what happened?”

“I just did as you said—told him it was an emergency and to hold on the line.”

“John, don’t talk to him,” Makala said. “It will tell him you’re alive, and they’ll come back.”

His rage was nearly out of control. Hit him, that was part of it all, but to include his pregnant wife? For that matter, Elizabeth, her baby, and husband could have been in the house as well. The attack was not to just capture him; it was to kill him and anyone with him. He looked at the two girls tending to Makala and then at Kevin.

“As soon as you think it’s safe to move her, take her somewhere secure, and don’t tell me where it is until this is over with.”

She started to protest, but a sharp glance from him stilled her voice.

“It is about you and the baby now, not me,” John said sharply, and she did not reply.

He walked back to the desk and picked up the phone. “General Scales, are you on the line?”

“Yeah, John, what the hell is going on?”

“Perhaps you should tell me exactly what the hell is going on, you son of a bitch.”

“John?”

“Come after me, fine. That’s part of this game you’re playing, and I’ll accept that. But my pregnant wife?”

“John, in the name of God, what is going on up there?”

“You tell me,” John said again, uttering each word slowly and with unrestrained anger.

There was a long pause.

“John, whatever it is, tell me exactly what is going on.”

“Why don’t you come up here yourself and explain it”—he paused—“sir?”

Another long pause.

“John, just tell me, will you?”

“Fine then, play innocent. I trusted you, and less than an hour ago, eight of your storm troopers hit my house. If my people had not spotted them first and reacted, they would have killed my wife and the baby within her, and then me. That’s what happened up here.”

“God in heaven,” Bob whispered.

“Yeah, God in heaven, Bob.”

“Where are you, John?”

“Do you honestly think I’d tell you? Just know that wherever Makala is now, she is safely stashed away.”

There was another tap at the door, the person out in the corridor identifying herself as Grace. Yet again, it was Kevin who answered. He cracked the door open and, recognizing her, let her in.

“Don’t hang up, General Scales. I’ll be back.”

He put the phone down and looked at Grace. Her once beautiful hair was badly scorched, the right side of her face blistered. She tried to talk and began to cough.

“Young lady.” It was Makala. “You get that burn treated right now.”

“In a moment,” Grace replied, and then she looked back at John. “Seven accounted for, sir. We think one slipped through and is heading up toward Lookout Mountain. We’ve got a full platoon tracking him. He’s wounded and trailing blood.”

“Our side?” John asked, suddenly nervous. “How bad?”

She hesitated and then looked over at Kevin, who nodded.

“Five dead, twelve wounded at last count.”

“Who?”

She began to rattle off names, and John sagged with a sudden weariness. One was the girl he had seen running with her lover in the snow just days ago, another Jim Southerland, a beloved art teacher who had decided to live on campus and wasn’t even part of the militia but apparently had turned out with the others.

“Let the last bastard go,” John said, shaking his head. “These people were well trained. I don’t want anyone else hurt in this affair. You got that, Grace?”

“Yes, sir.”

But as she turned, John saw the exchange of glances with Kevin. They were out for vengeance and knew as well that as long as one of the hit squad was still alive, their beloved leader and his wife were not safe—at least for the moment.

Grace closed the door, and John picked the phone back up. “Bob, you still there?”

“John, I’ve ordered a chopper to start running up. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“General, you come up on a chopper, and I promise you, my people will shoot it down. They’re in a killing mood. Five of my students and friends died rescuing my wife and me.”

The enormity of their sacrifice hit him. It was amazing it was not five, even ten times that number given whom they went against.

“I got at least another dozen wounded. You fly up here, and you and your crew will be added to the list. Now, if you want to bomb the place, just go ahead, but this entire campus will be evacuated before you get here.”

“John, please listen to me. I don’t know what the hell you are talking about. Are you hearing me?”

“Yes, I’m listening.”

“Whoever it was, it was not me or anyone in my command.”

John sat down. Bob’s words were what he wanted to believe.

“Can we do this, John?”

“What, damn it?”