The Final Day (After, #3)(71)

“He played it well,” Maury interjected. “There was nothing we could do in response, at least for now.”

“But—” Ernie started, and Linda cut him off.

“But what? A hundred, two hundred kids dead?”

“They’re not kids, Linda.”

“We’ve got grandchildren that will be in the militia units in another year, Ernie. To me, they’re kids.”

John caught her eye and nodded.

Strange, when his second lieutenant’s bars were pinned on him, he was twenty-one and felt he was indeed a man. His father had been flying combat missions at twenty-three, his grandfather at twenty-one. Of course he felt like a man then. But now, when there was an entire generational difference between him and those who were actually the ones who would carry the fight, it was all so different.

He recalled the old photo books of soldiers from World War II. The haunting image of a shell-shocked Marine covered in filth and blood, staring at the cameraman with vacant eyes. One had to look deep into that photograph to conjure out the realization that the frightfully aged Marine most likely was, in fact, not more than eighteen or nineteen years old.

Those whom he called kids, when looking up at the Apaches circling over the campus, were again ready to fight, but in their eyes they had as well that same haunting gaze. They were veterans of two major battles, and they knew the price and the loss even when they won. They were ready to fight even though with the pragmatic realism that only a veteran could gain, they knew without doubt the fight would most likely be futile.

Memory of his walk up to the campus of several weeks back came to him, the young amorous couple playing in the park. That should be their world, holding with it some hope of a future, not another fight to the death. And now one of them was indeed dead. The thought of that stabbed deep, but he had to push it aside for now.

Damn all that created this world for them, he thought bitterly as he nodded, still looking at Linda.

“You’re right, Linda; they’re still kids, or at least should be kids. I’m not going to spend their lives in some final gesture of defiance.”

And even as he spoke, the nightmare of what Bob said might happen—that Bluemont might unleash another EMP—hung over him. After what had happened just hours ago, he was no longer sure of Bob, though as emotions settled, he did want to believe him. Perhaps now the answer to it all was to find out, on their own, what the truth really was regarding Bluemont—and what was happening in this house might be the key.

He suddenly realized that he had been standing in quiet contemplation for several minutes while Ernie and Linda had launched into what he realized was something of a standard method of communication between the two. Ironic as he focused attention back on them. They obviously loved each other dearly, and yet they sure had a strange way of expressing it.

“All right, you two, let’s chill it.” It was Maury who finally interrupted the argument.

The two looked at him, and Linda smiled. “Thank you, Maury. Point taken. At least by me.”

Ernie said nothing and finally turned back to John. “Let’s answer the first question, then. If you are not shutting us down, why are you here?”

“I just want an update and to pass along a few suggestions. I want your team to lie low, but keep the kids working here on task 24-7.”

“So you are not this General Scales’s lackey?” Ernie quipped.

“You know, Ernie, someday when all of this is over, you and I are going to have a real serious discussion.”

“Just remember, Matherson, I saved your life. Fredericks was ready to shoot you in the back.”

“Yeah, right.”

Ernie smiled. “Well, some are whispering I just simply saved you from the dilemma of what to do with that son of a bitch by just shooting him and getting it over with. Either way, I did you a favor.”

John finally relented and nodded.

“This basement is freezing,” Linda announced. “Let’s go up to the Skunk Works.”

“The what?” John asked.

“That’s what we’re calling it now. The kids like the name, especially after I told them about a little side contract work we once did at the real Skunk Works Lockheed had.”

John smiled at that. Lockheed had been a prime contractor for highly specialized spy planes back during the Cold War, their secret R&D lab dubbed the “Skunk Works.” It fit for what they were doing now.

Linda led the way up to the main floor of their home, again cheerily warm thanks to the fireplace and the wood-fueled kitchen stove. She led them up to the second floor, moving a bit slowly, bracing her knee as she climbed the stairs, muttering that she wished she’d had the replacement knee surgery done before everything had hit the fan.

As they reached the top of the stairs, John looked up and grinned at the hand-drawn sign hanging in front of them: “Linda and Ernie’s Skunk Works.” Whoever had drawn it was indeed creative. Linda and Ernie caricatured as cartoon skunks, arguing with each other, with an array of $#*#%& erupting from the skunk image of Ernie’s mouth, even as they were holding hands.

The entire room was now cluttered with electronic equipment, most of it retro from the ’80s and ’90s but some of it looking fairly recent. The work crew had grown from the five he had seen last time to nine, hunched over screens, empty plates and cups strewn on the tables and floor. That alone made John wonder how many precious rations Linda had been lavishing on them. The mere sight of a half-eaten sandwich, packed with what look liked hamburger meat, by Samantha’s work area triggered hunger in John. A half-eaten sandwich remaining unconsumed was something he had not seen in a very long time in this starving world.