"Ashley, we just have to give this time."
She stared at him for several seconds, but Jon refused to look back at her. Ashley then let out a frustrated huff and said, "Okay then, we'll go. I'll take my son and we'll disappear down to the shore. Just like you, Jon, but you're going to disappear right here under a mountain of filing and busywork while Evan Godfrey turns Washington into everything we hated about the old world. I suppose I can't stop that, but maybe someday you'll wake up and realize that you've created a real problem, and you're the only one able to solve it."
"Ashley, please," Jon nearly pleaded. "I'm trying to do the right thing here."
Before the conversation could progress, Tucker jumped in, "Your things are already packed, Ma'am, and the car is waiting."
Ashley took a big, angry step toward the door but before she stormed out she stopped, turned, and gave Jerry Shepherd a big hug.
"I'll miss you, Jerry," she said loud enough for everyone to hear. Her warmth and familiarity surprised him most of all. As she hugged him tight, Ashley placed her lips to his ear. "Send Nina Forest to see me, quietly." His expression wavered for a moment but as she drew away he smiled and nodded. "Yeah, I'll miss you too, Ashley. But I reckon we'll see each other around soon 'nuff."
JB grabbed his mother's hand and, after stopping to gather a stuffed bunny and blanket from the boy's bedroom, they left the mansion.
– The trees of the Medicine Bow forests had once been favorites of the Arapaho and Cheyenne for crafting bows. In the post-Armageddon world the jagged mountains, deep woods, and myriad of lakes and ponds throughout the Medicine Bow wilderness of Wyoming provided sustenance and cover for another tribe who felt at one with nature, albeit one from another world.
Captain Dustin McBride spent three months searching for the elusive band of alien "Red Hand" warriors, finding dead campfires, garbage pits, and animal carcasses but unable to engage.
In fairness, weather and the turbulent events of recent months forced numerous delays upon the 1 ^ st Cavalry. From bad April snow to General Stonewall McAllister's death to the assassination of Emperor Trevor Stone, Dustin's pursuit stopped as often as it started.
Nonetheless, Dustin begrudgingly gave the enemy his due. The Red Hands/Feranites lacked fire arms and body armor, moved almost exclusively on foot, and used only the most primitive of tools. Yet for all they lacked, they easily outclassed humanity when it came to living, moving, and hiding in the wild.
However, for the first time Dustin felt the quarry within reach. In fact, the Feranites must have sensed the pursuit, as evidenced by the ambush party left behind to delay Dustin's force.
Captain McBride stood on a rocky slope gazing across Lake Marie at the Snowy Range Mountains with the red sash around his gray uniform fluttering in the wind and a Stetson sitting half-tilted on his head. Those mountains across the way offered a magnificent, foreboding sight: walls of gray rock that could have passed for the battlements of God's castle.
The main body of the Feranite tribe he followed waited somewhere on the far side, after having sacrificed several dozen of their number to delay the pursuit.
"What you wanna do with these fellas?"
Corporal Brown's lazy drawl pulled Dustin's attention from the mountains to the bullet-ridden alien bodies on the rocky mountainside.
The pale-skinned warriors with the ivory eyes had surprised McBride's lead riders with bows, arrows, and spears, killing four of Dustin's men in a close-quarters battle.
"Huh? What's that, Agarn?"
"Whaz wrong, did I talk to the wrong ear?"
Brown could get away with jokes about Dustin's missing ear because he had saved his ass more than once. Of course, the Corporal's joke also served to distract Dustin from the casualties suffered. Agarn seemed well-tuned to his commander's state of mind.
After responding with his middle finger, Dustin answered, "We'll toss the Reds in the lake. Shit, let the fishes have em'. Our boys, well, I think this ridge makes a good resting place."
Brown pulled one of his hand-rolled cigarettes from a pocket in his uniform, struck a match, and cupped the flame as he lit the smoke.
"I reckon so, yeah. What then?"
A trio of dismounted soldiers trotted by leading their horses by the reigns as they descended the steep incline. Supplies dangling from the mounts jingled and clanged.
"What do you mean, 'what then'? You wanna give up, is that it?"
"Gee, Cap, and give up all this fun? Seems to me this more a vacation than workin'."
Dustin returned his eyes to the scenic vista surrounding the lake and explained, "We keep going, Agarn." McBride's voice softened and he spoke as much to the ghost of his beloved friend Stonewall McAllister as to the Corporal. "I can feel them out there. We're getting real close."
– Shep blew his nose into a handkerchief and, at the same time, felt a rough scratch across his throat. He could no longer ignore the fact that he had caught a cold.
Nothing worse than a summer cold. Sneezing in June? That just isn't fair.
Fair or not, Shep dealt with the burgeoning aches and pains as best he could as he walked toward the landing pad at the estate. With the meetings closed and plans made-or, rather, a lack of plans made-the time came for him to return to his duties, such as writing readiness reports and re-organizing his units in California.
Things certainly had changed drastically in only a few months. First Garrett McAllister, then Trevor, and now Gordon Knox dead when a gas leak destroyed his house.
Shep felt that the lakeside estate that had served as the heart of humanity's comeback would soon be an empty hall. That thought added a new misery to his stuffy nose and scratchy throat; a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
An Eagle transport waited on the landing pad for the General. A vaguely familiar face waited at the open door above the entry ramp.
"Evening, General, sir. You need a ride?"
Shep squinted and tried to recall the pilot's name. The blonde-haired man wore glasses, which probably made for a devil of a time with the navigation goggles.
"Sure do," the General walked inside the passenger compartment where he saw computers, specialized communications gear, and electronic warfare goodies as well as a collection of weapons ranging from the mundane to the exotic including a very familiar sword.
"What a sec, this is Eagle One. That makes you, um, Hauser, right?"
"Yes, sir. Captain Rick Hauser. And actually, sir, I think the official designation is EC–CM one double-oh seven. 'Eagle One' was really just a call sign."
Shep translated: Eagle Class Command Module operating number 1007. On paper the shuttle appeared exactly the same as several dozen others, the difference being that EC–CM 1007 had spent the bulk of its service time as Trevor Stone's personal ride.
"Now don't take this the wrong way, son, but what the heck are you doing playing taxi? You've got a Hell of a reputation as a flyer and this ain't no ordinary bird."
The passenger compartment door slid shut. Shep realized he had the ship to himself.
"Well, General, I think I got lost in the cracks. My assignment hasn't changed from the estate and I don't think many people know exactly how modified this thing is. Besides, I get the feeling the new President doesn't much care for Eagles. He likes old-world stuff."
"So you're just passing time shuttling folks from here to air ports and whatnot?"
"Yes sir. Been kind of dull since…since…" The pilot fought back a swell of emotion. Shep guessed few people had spent more time with Trevor than his personal pilot, Hauser.
Shep put an arm on the man's shoulder and said, "Sounds to me like you're going to waste considering that pretty soon this old house isn't going to be a lick more than a museum. How about you join up with First Corp. I could use a pilot like you."