The Last Stand (Book 3) (The Repentant Demon Trilogy) (22 page)

“I'll see what I can do about that,” he said smiling.

Ruthie slipped away and went back to her family to relate all the details about little Jonah's birth, whether they wanted to hear it or not.  She, herself, did not understand people who did not find every aspect of childbirth fascinating.

* * *

The dormitory room held thirty rows of one hundred beds, each with a low chest beside it and storage bins beneath.  It was efficient and clean, but sterile.  By the time Ruthie had returned, people had re-arranged the beds into family groups.  Since there were two thousand people amongst a sea of three thousand beds, they decided to make an empty space in the middle for the smaller kids to play within view of nearby adults.  They removed mattresses from the unused beds to make a tumbling area.  The stacked cots were used to make partitions for more private bedroom areas which also relieved congestion in the restrooms offering another place to change clothing, etc.  Adaptation—that was a virtue that had helped humans survive throughout the ages.  It would help them to do so here as well.

A long side corridor provided a restaurant style vending area where milk, coffee, tea, and juices were available around the clock at stainless steel fountains with ice and paper cups with lids and straws.  Microwaves, hot plates, bottle warmers, and refrigerators held snacks like fresh fruit, wrapped sandwiches, and cellophane-wrapped salads.  All of this was in addition to the dining hall beyond the double doors where three meals a day were served cafeteria style.  Beyond the dining area, another set of double doors led to a recreation room divided into seating arrangements with comfortable couches in an open concept style for playing games, reading, or watching television; which was pointless since no stations operated anymore.  Video games were available, as were computers, music, and lots of movies on DVD.

Through the recreation area a stairway allowed access to the floor below where a gym was available and a large indoor pool as was a locker room with showers, freshly stacked towels, and another vending area which supplied various sizes of male and female swim suits—all in a nice military-styled khaki brown.  Lounge chairs surrounded the pool and above it were bright skylights which provided real sunlight.  It was done through a system of tubing and mirrors that actually transmitted filtered light and air from outside.  The place was like a resort, but it was also like a prison.  They could not have left if they so desired.  In time, they would desire this.

The following day, Abigail passed her physical examination, as did little Jonah, and they were permitted to join the larger group.  Dr. Cory offered an option for the two of them to stay in the birthing suite for as long as they liked, but they opted to be with family over the comfortably furnished accommodations and welcomed privacy.  The nurses packed them a goody bag full of baby supplies, diapers, blankets, and sleeping outfits which were stamped “Property of the U.S. Government.”

Abigail asked if it were possible for her to use cloth diapers, almost fearing to make any request of the same woman who had tried to refuse Ruthie's attendance at the birth.  The response surprised her.

“How wonderful that you want to use cloth,” she exclaimed.  “Maybe I'm a little old-fashioned, but I think they're best for the baby.  We have tons of them upstairs.  Most people don't want to deal with washing them and choose disposable.  I'll get them for you and a diaper pail.  Leave it by the elevator every day, and we'll wash them in the hospital laundry.”

She apologized profusely for their misunderstanding the other day, saying that she'd been very stressed over everything happening in the world.  After wishing Abigail the best of luck with her new job as mother, she left to get the diapers and told her to ask if there was anything she could do to help. 

The hospital even provided Abigail with one of the rolling bassinets, which was nice because it provided storage in drawers built into the base.  Just like in a regular hospital, they insisted that Abigail be rolled down to her floor in a wheelchair.  As the elevator doors opened, the little family was greeted with cheers from the whole population of Willow Creek in exile. 

Something about the birth of a new baby amidst the horrors of what they faced filled the entire community with hope.  They clamored for a glimpse of him, somehow needing to see his tiny face as if the mere sight of his beauty and innocence would make things better.  Cal took the infant, removed his blanket, and held him high supporting his head and bottom with his strong grip.  Jonah's infant eyes gazed upon the gathering, seeing his new world for the first time.

Cal was able to spend these first few days with his wife and child in relative peace.  After the authorities saw what the people had done to make partitions, they understood.  They brought six-foot high office cubicle partitions and erected them according to the people's wishes.  Cal and Abby then had their own bedroom and baby nursery where they spent many hours of quiet intimate time during the afternoons when most of the others had gone to the recreation areas.  They introduced Angel to her baby brother, and she curled next to him between Cal and Abby on the large bed they made by pushing three cots together.  On July 3rd Cal was called back into service.

A transmission had been forwarded from the U.S. Coast Guard in a language they did not recognize.  It was in Syriac, and Cal being the only one in the world beside the terrorists who knew the ancient language, Agent Foley texted him to come upstairs immediately.  He included apologies for disturbing his time with his new son.  To Cal, that meant the old guy was softening up toward him.  He never would have expressed such sentiments before their confidential chat about Cal's true identity.  That didn't mean he believed him.  He might very well consider him sincere but deluded.  There was never a time when Foley would not have acted to save Cal's life, but that was his duty.  Actually liking him was not required.

“The message is naming their targets, Sir,” said Cal, “They are attacking with fighter jets filled with ricin powder.  They will hit with nuclear missiles, then if they are shot down, the poison will explode into the atmosphere.  They are coming from Mexico heading northeast.  The translation of the names is tricky.  They are in code, obviously.  Place names do not translate into Syriac, and they're afraid that would alert us as to the names of the targets.”

“What are the code names, Cal?” he said, “and stop calling me
sir
, we're past that now.”

“Mr. Foley...” he began again.

“No,” he protested. “Rick.  Just call me Rick, Cal.  What are the names?”

“Solitary Star, Not Later, Farm Lotion, Hippy Flowers, and Dead Presidents,” he said.

“This is easy,” said Agent Foley, “The Lone Star state is Texas.  Cornhusker would be the lotion, probably that's Nebraska, the Cornhusker state.  Not Later is the Sooner state, Oklahoma.  The Hippy Flower one gave him a little trouble, then he realized it was Peace Garden, North Dakota.”

He paused over the final one, saying, “Well, looking at the map, only South Dakota is left, and the Mount Rushmore monument is there.” 

He was thoughtful over the fact that Cal knew nothing about this famous place.  “That's the place where giant heads of our past presidents are carved into the mountain, Cal,” he said, considering to himself that the man truly seemed to be from another world. 

“I have a suggestion, Rick,” Cal said, almost forgetting to not say
sir
, “They are expecting those bases to fire on them.  It looks to me like over a hundred planes will be on their way tomorrow, July 4
th
.  If we could send our forces in the sky fast enough, from a direction they wouldn't expect, we could shoot them down while most of them are still over areas that have already been destroyed by the nuclear plant explosions.”

“Which bases do you mean?” asked Agent Foley.

“We have four in New Mexico, five in Arizona, and twenty-three in California,” said Cal, “although not all are fully functional.  “If you added a few more from along the Gulf Coast states, they would surely be overwhelmed, especially since they can't imagine we're on to them.  They may think all our bases to the east are destroyed already.  But there was probably limited physical destruction.  They may have knocked out their power, but military bases have back up sources. They dropped poison gas and contaminated our food and water, but the military have bio-hazard suits and their own food supply as well as underground safety.  It may not be as expansive or elaborate as ours, but I'm sure every military base has a minimum defense force.  Enough to leave them capable of striking within an hour if given the order.”

“I'll get through to the President right away,” said Agent Foley with excitement.  He even hi-fived Cal like they were long-time buddies.

“Surely, you're not going to do that, Rick,” Cal said in disbelief.  Rick looked into Cal's face, seeing his expression of horror.  Cal looked as if he had been stabbed in the heart by a loved one.

“What you're suggesting is treasonous, Cal,” he said, almost holding his breath.  “I agreed with you and your friends theoretically, and that we needed to prepare, to train, and to be ready to fight.  When it comes to actually disregarding protocol, that's another thing altogether.  You want me to order military action, send in troops, without going through the proper chain of command?  They won't obey those orders anyway unless they have originated from the Commander in Chief of this nation.”

“Yes, sir.  I mean Rick,” he said gulping with a nervous feeling in his stomach.  He suddenly realized he could probably be put in jail for what he had just asked Rick to do.

“I can't do it,” Rick said, pleading for Cal's understanding.  “What you are saying makes sense to me, Cal.  I've almost thought the same thing.  But my whole life has been based on an oath I took to serve this nation.  I can't do what you want.  If I could give orders to my own men, I would do it.  But unless established chain of command is followed, it's just not going to happen.  I hate this, too, Cal.  What else can I do?”

Agent Foley walked away, whether to think or to call the President, Cal did not know.  This part of the plan, he had not understood.  He thought Foley had the authority to command strikes, but he did not.  He wanted to call each of the commanders on the list of military bases himself and explain the situation, plead with them.  Perhaps they would believe him, but probably not.  They didn't know him from Adam.  Funny, he thought, coming from the “new” Adam.  Perhaps they were as frustrated as he was.  If only Agent Foley would make those calls, there was a chance to put their plan into action.  Since he wouldn't act, it was hopeless.

He went back to his computer and looked at the map.  It made him angry that all these people would die because of regulations, because of hierarchy, because of respecting an office when the man holding that office was worse than corrupt, worse than a traitor, worse than most would believe.  This man was the anti-Christ—the enemy not only of Christianity but of all humanity.  And thinking through all of this, he realized that no commanders were going to believe him, even if he were able to contact them.

There was no point in telling the others about any of this.  Agent Rick Foley was going to inform the President and that would prove disastrous for them.   What good would there be in telling anyone, he thought.  It would upset them to no purpose.  He silently tip-toed toward the bed where Abby lie nursing their son.  He did not want the burdens on his mind to disturb her when all she needed to be concerned with was mastering the womanly art of breastfeeding.

* * *

In early morning, July Fourth came and the Willow Creek Ranch community slept soundly in their exile except for Cal.  He quietly eased from the bed where Abby tried to sleep for a few hours before the baby wakened for his next feeding.  Using his key card, he went up the elevator and to the computer floor where a round-the-clock staff monitored the vast network of military operations—from supply line accommodations to nuclear war.  He watched surveillance video from the thirteen bases in Texas on multiple split screens as explosions began erupting in El Paso, Del Rio, and Abilene.  He heard the bombs blasting and clicked off the sound, unable to bear it.  He viewed an obscured screen as the dust covered every lens of the surveillance cameras.  It seemed to never settle.  It wouldn't for days, as the ricin powder permeated the air killing whatever managed to escape death from the nuclear blasts or the radioactive fallout. 

Losing the sound didn't matter, he still heard the horror of it all expressed through the moans and gasps of the men and women in their cubicles who watched from their own monitors.  It should be clear now to Agent Rick Foley that his President was an enemy of his beloved nation; regardless of whether or not he could also accept that he was, indeed, the anti-Christ.