The Last Stand (Book 3) (The Repentant Demon Trilogy) (5 page)

“Well we'd like to visit for a while,” said Abigail to the waiting military escort as a whole, “Could
n’t
they drive down there later?”  She waved to the families peering through kid-smudged windows that they should come inside.  The doors
flew open like
flood-gates and a deluge of men, women, and children.  Even a large bulldog
poured
into a cabin that didn't seem
nearly large enough to
hold them all.  Like clowns exiting a circus car, it looked as though they must have been impossibly cramped inside
for such a very lengthy road trip.

As they filed past Abigail, Officer Mike attempted to introduce them all, and also suggested that it was time they stop referring to him as “Officer” Mike, since he was not serving in that capacity in this situation.  “This is my son Nathan, the red-headed one,” he said, pointing, “and his wife Ruthie, the pregnant one.  Then there are their two sons, Mickey, the red-headed eight-year-old and Stephen, their oldest, who is ten.”

“Hi,” they all said at once,
and
Ruthie added, “We're having a girl this time,” pointing to her enormous baby bump.  “Rayetta is due Christmas Day.”

“That's my middle name,” gasped Abigail, “I've never met anyone else with that name.”

“I thought it was pretty,” explained Mike, “so I mentioned it when they were trying to decide, after they found out it was a girl.  I hope you don't mind.”

“Mind?” she exclaimed, “I love it!  What an honor, really.  I'm having a boy, otherwise I might have wanted to use the name myself.”

“I didn't know,” said Mike, “Congratulations!  You aren't showing yet, I see.”

“No,” Abigail answered, “I'm still at the morning sickness stage.  That's going to keep me from gaining any weight for a while.”

“A
s
for the next faction of the clan,” Mike continued, “This is my daughter, Jodie, and her husband Jerry Decker, their son David, seven, and their daughter, Claudia, who is five.  You know me,” he laughed, “and this is my lovely wife, Sandra.”

Sandra was a tall blond woman, explaining a lot of the diversity in hair color among the family.  Jodie had long blond hair like her mother, only it fell in waves, not like Sandra's straight thick pony tail.  Little Claudia had the same blond curls as her mother.  The children were mixed blonds, brunettes, and red-heads.  It was like a living rainbow of children.

“We're not going to stay long,” assured Sandra, noticing the size of the crowd inside the little cabin, “but we wanted to get acquainted, and also move around a little bit.”

“Can we play with your dog?” asked Claudia, who seemed to be the youngest so far.

“Yes, she loves kids,” said Abigail, “or so I was told.  There hasn't been any around to test that theory.  She loves to play ball.  You can take her outside as long as you don't go near the woods.”

“Can we?” the three younger ones begged. “We'll stay right out front.  Promise.”

Given the
OK
signal, three of the kids rushed outside with Angel hopping at their feet, and the bulldog, Sarge, ambled after them all.  The oldest boy, Stephen seemed too mature for that kind of play, but offered to stay on the porch and keep an eye on everyone.

“It's amazing how all of you could just pick up and leave everything behind,” said Abigail.  “I
assume
the kids are on Christmas break, but I'm sure you
all
have jobs, houses, and all kinds of arrangements to be made on very short notice.”

“It's not like we had much of a choice,” said Jodie, “Dad told us what was happening.  We don't want to be stuck in the city when the power goes off and the food runs out.  We locked up our houses and can only hope they'll still be there if and when we can ever come back.  Jerry and Nathan were able to take vacation leave without arousing any suspicion.  Lots of people take time off during Christmas.  Since both Ruthie and I are stay-at-home moms who are home-schooling, we needed permission from no one.”

“When things start happening,” said Nathan, “our employers, if they're alive, will understand if we can't get back.  I expect most businesses will be unable to operate at all.  We've cashed out all our accounts already, but even
that
might be meaningless when it's all over.”

“Once our whole monetary system collapses,” added Jerry, “nothing is going to matter.  It will be a matter of surviving with what we have.  The kids know a little bit about
why we’re here.
  They know we came to be safe, and that something bad is about to happen.   But we haven't told them a lot of details.”

“I was wondering about that,” said Abigail.  “They seem so happy and excited.”

“To them,” added Sandra, Mike's wife, “it's just like all the other times we've gone on vacation together.  They love camping, and I'm thankful for that.  The only one I worry about is Ruthie.  That baby could come any day.  None of mine were on time.”

“I was told by Agent Foley,” assured Abigail, “that there is
an excellent medical facility
here, though I don't really know where it is exactly.  He's pretty secretive, I guess because of the nature of his work.”

Mike asked about where Cal was, and Abigail explained his job mentioning the secret location to where he had been taken earlier that morning.

“It's obviously inside the mountain,” said Jerry, “I got a pretty good view of the landscape coming in.  There doesn't seem to be any
other
place big enough to house
the
kind of military force
I’m imagining
.  I'm an engineer, so I notice
structures.
Who lives in the big house up on the hill?”

“That's the
McFarland place
,” Abigail explained.  “They are, or were, the owners of this ranch.  Can you believe they weren't told what's going on?  Just that it was a national security issue.  I've only met Brady, and he seems very nice.”

Just then, Cal came bursting through the door, excited to see everyone.  They went through introductions all over again.  Abigail apologized for not offering drinks to everyone sooner, but all refused
anyway,
saying they had plenty to drink while on the road.  Everyone wanted to hear about this place Cal had seen.  The mysterious facility inside the mountain.

“It's unbelievable,” he related to a mesmerized audience, “We went through an immense thick metal door built right into the side of the mountain.  It must be fifty feet high.  Inside were parked dozens of F-15 fighter jets and other aircraft.  I could see rows and rows of various kinds of trucks, and even some tanks.  We went down an elevator to the fourth level computer room floor where I transcribed the audio files.  I noticed eight numbered floor buttons in the elevator.

“It turned out to be more than just cell phone chatter
they wanted me to translate,
” Cal explained, “They covertly retrieved some files off one of the Saint Louis based terrorist's computers.  Emir Shakosh apparently deleted some files that our intelligence experts were able to re-construct by sending malware into his hard drive while he was online completely unaware of what was happening.  I think they said he was
intently working at
the New York Times crossword puzzle.  They found lists and charts also written in ancient Syriac.  Putting it all together, we now know exactly which thirty-three nuclear plants have been targeted.”

“Thank God,” sighed Abigail, “so it's all over.”

“Not exactly,” said Cal, “Each site has been notified of a credible threat on or about Christmas Day.  But as it turns out they are being hit in twelve successive events
to correlate with
the twelve days of Christmas.  O
nly they will be happening minutes apart instead of days—all on December
25 at Callaway.  As we already know, those suspects are going to be arrested at the airport and will never make it
to their destination
.  We still don't know the identities of the other terrorists.  We don't even know where they are now, although it is assumed they are living in cities near
the nuclear plants they plan to hit.  They could be
registered as students at local universities or working at regular jobs.  That is a lot of territory to cover in the next ten days.  Saint Louis is over a hundred miles from the Callaway plant.  All of them could be that far from their targets.  And they aren't all using planes.   Some are entering the plants as small-armed bandits, others have procured jobs actually within the plants themselves and are using covert methods of sabotage. 
We have a lot of work to do and only a short time to succeed at finding these guys.”

“Surely they are in some kind of communication with each other,” said Nathan, “If we've cracked into their computers, can't they just trace their email correspondence?”

“
They’ve been
pretty tricky about it,” answered Cal, “That's how
we
found the first three: Callaway in Missouri
, which I actually discovered by accident.  Then there’s
Wolf Creek in Kansas, and Cooper in Nebraska.  Then it's a dead end.  They knew if we cracked into even one account, the whole daisy-chain would be exposed.  So they are organized in groups of three
or four
using actual physical runners traveling between them.  Human messengers carry their information leaving behind no trail for us to follow. 
B
ut since we don't know how they are coming or from where they are coming, all we can do is beef up defenses at all thirty plants. 
In the mean time, I’m increasing my own defenses,” he said, holding up the rifle he had jut acquired from Agent Foley.  “Turns out I’m a natural.  At the range, I was told I’m a crack shot.”

“We could stop all air traffic,” responded Nathan
again, still thinking about the terrorist threat.
  “That would
work.
  It might even
discourage
them enough to call the whole thing off.  They'll know we're on to them,
and
they won't know to what extent. That only seems a logical first maneuver in my mind.”

“Agent Foley would agree with you, and so would I,” answered Cal, “but the president
emphatically
refuses to stop all air traffic over the Christmas holiday, citing that it would be too disruptive.”

“What?!” yelled practically everyone at once.  “Is he an idiot?” argued Mike.  “How disruptive will it be to have
over
thirty nuclear plants hit?  He doesn't want to spoil Christmas for American families?  What kind of celebration
does he
think this is going to turn out to be
if we can’t stop this attack?”

“He says we don't have enough solid evidence,” replied Cal, bemoaning along with them and agreeing with their point of view, “All we have is three university students, a list of nuclear sites that anybody could pull off the internet, and an audio translation done by someone who has no credentials whatsoever in speaking foreign languages.”

“Did you happen to get a copy of that list, Cal?” asked Nathan.  “I'm just curious.”

Cal took a folded printout from his pocket and handed it to Nathan.  He quickly read down the names of the thirty-three plants with their nearest cities.

“Here in Wyoming, we are situated within a small circle of some seven states
that they completely ignore
,” he surmised.  “We're right smack dab in the middle of
this group.
  No wonder this place became Command Central.  If
you include Kansas, Nebraska, and Missouri, the ones whose plans
we've
aborted
, it's about ten states
that appear safe.
  We exist in an island of safety.  They are
hitting
not only the whole east and Mid-Atlantic, but the west coast and the southern border along Mexico and the Gulf.”

“Agent Foley thinks they have big plans for us, too,” said Cal, “We just don't know what they are yet.”

The kids came rushing in with Angel, and they were all desperately thirsty.  Sarge trailed in far behind and collapsed on the rug.  Stephen gave him a drink from the bottle of water he had in his pocket. 
This scene created some welcome comic relief from their serious discussion, and everyone laughed at the slobbering mess the dog made as Stephen wiped his jaws with the edge of his shirt.