The Journal: Crimson Skies: (The Journal Book 3) (25 page)

They both assured me their families were on
the bus yesterday. All I could do was take their names and keep
searching our records.

Tom had a small group of the remaining horde
enter the office and take numbers. One young man swaggered up to my
desk.

“What a pretty cougar,” he leered at me,
leaning across my paperwork where I got a good look at the tattoo
on the side of his neck that disappeared down into his shirt. “I
really get off on powerful women.”

I was speechless.

Eric immediately stepped in between us. “Back
off, sonny.”

He smirked. “Oh, is she yours, soldier
boy?”

“This ‘cougar’ is my
mother
,” Eric
replied, his voice turning to ice.

“And
my wife,
” Mark said, stepping
forward protectively.

The young man straightened up, looking
guilty.

“I suggest you have a seat and wait for your
number to be called,” I said politely. I’m not likely to forget
that face.

Four women approached my desk.

“We need to be housed together,” one of them
stated simply.

“Your names?” I asked, a bit taken back by
the abruptness.

“I’m Sister Agnes, this is Sister Margaret,
Sister Doris, and Sister Lynn,” she replied.

“Nuns?” I was astonished. They were dressed
in jeans and sweaters, not even the casual short shirt habits I’d
seen before.

“Yes, and I suppose our attire is misleading.
However, we felt these garments were more practical and more
suitable for the… occasion. We do have our habits packed in our
suitcases,” Sister Agnes gave me a smile that lit her makeup-less
face.

“Somewhere around here is Father Constantine.
He’s always wandering off talking to someone,” Sister Margaret
commented.

“A priest,” I stated, stunned. “Excuse me a
moment. I’ll be right back.” I needed some privacy. I went out the
maintenance service door that led to the grassy courtyard behind
the offices. I felt the tears burning behind my eyes as I lifted my
face to the morning sun.

“Oh, Carolyn, I don’t know if you would
approve or not, but I do know you would understand, and if you
don’t approve, forgive me anyway.” I wiped my eyes with my cloth
hanky and went back inside and sat down at my desk.

“Sisters, I know just the place for you. It’s
a large house, right next door to the church, and it even has a
separate apartment over the garage for Father Constantine. I hope
he’s able to negotiate the stairs.”

They all smiled at me, Sister Lynn giggled.
At that moment a young blond man of about thirty, maybe
thirty-five, joined the group. Although he too was dressed in jeans
and a sweater, he also wore a clerical collar. If this was the
priest, he certainly wouldn’t be having an issue with the stairs.
He looked very fit, possibly a runner.

“Sorry, Sisters, I got distracted,” Father
Constantine said, giving me a beatific smile that reminded me much
of Pastor Carolyn. “I overheard you say the house was next door to
a church. Is it the Catholic church?”

“Yes, it is, Father, although I have no idea
what kind of congregation you may be having, if any.”

“It matters not. God’s word is God’s word. In
fact, I’ve always wanted to try non-denominational services, and it
might even be wise considering our circumstances.” He radiated
kindness, and I knew I was making the right decision in housing
them in Pastor Carolyn’s former residence.

“If you don’t mind waiting, I’ll find someone
to take you there. Meanwhile, help yourself to some coffee or tea.
Soup will be available at the Inn after noon. They’ll be feeding
the children first.”

~~~

It felt like we had barely put a dent in the
parking lot numbers after three hours. Tom asked for a short
conference.

“We still have maybe a hundred to go and I
doubt we will finish today. All of you know this town better than I
do - any suggestions?”

“We could drop off six or eight to each empty
house and hope for the best,” Ken said.

“What about Camp Tamarack?” Jason
suggested.

“What’s that?” Tom asked.

“It’s a summer camp for underprivileged
children,” Jason said. “There are maybe twenty cabins that sleep
four to eight each. The cabins are only used for six to eight weeks
in the summer, so might be a bit rough. The men could stay there
until more permanent houses are assigned. ”

“There are less than twenty women left. They
shouldn’t be difficult to relocate,” I said, thinking out loud
again. “Tom, you need housing too,” I told my friend. “I think you
should have Bob and Kathy’s house. It’s central and you could walk
here.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, knowing it was one
of the places I had set aside.

“Absolutely sure, because
you
are
going to run this town, not me, and you need to be available to the
people. I’ll help, but this group needs a man at the helm. You are
by far more qualified for the job than I am. Why don’t you come
home with us for dinner tonight and we’ll talk about it.”

“Thanks, I might even take you up on that
drink. Do you have enough?”

“You have no idea,” I laughed, thinking of
the van in our driveway.

~~~

I took the package of thawed venison out of
the refrigerator and browned the meat in a large pot along with a
chopped onion. After I snipped off the piece of nylon that
contained the onion, I stuffed it into the top of the hanging
pantyhose. Some day we will make a washable toy with those
scraps.

I added a minced clove of garlic to the pot,
then a jar of canned peas and a few dried herbs. While all of that
simmered I made a paste of flour and water to thicken the juices
into gravy. Mom always served this over mashed potatoes, with us
making a “volcano” with the gravy ladle. Potatoes were too few
right now, so I made a small batch of pasta and a larger batch of
rice so the guys could have a choice.

Mark and Tom went out to the Christmas van
and brought in a case of mixed liquor and a case of red wine.

“I propose we toast to Colonel James Andrews,
for being thoughtful and generous in leaving this gift for us,”
Mark said. We were all in a good mood and a bit distracted, so when
the vehicle with a very large trailer pulled in the drive, it
startled us.

A much disheveled colonel stepped down from
the Hummer and we all rushed outside.

“Jim! I thought you were going to the Soo?”
Tom greeted his friend. “Have things been delayed?”

“No, everyone is on their way,” Jim sighed.
“Can we open some of that Gray Goose?”

“With or without ice?” I asked, smiling as we
went back indoors. It was really good to see him.

“With, please. We haven’t had ice in a week,”
he replied.

I poured him two inches in an Old Fashioned
glass, and added a couple of cubes to chill his drink.

“Not that we’re complaining, Jim, but why are
you here?” Mark asked.

The colonel sipped his drink and closed his
eyes for a moment. “Would you mind if I washed up first? It’s been
a long and harrowing drive.”

We waited patiently while Jim washed soot off
of his hands and face. Meanwhile, I set another place and put the
steaming food on the table.

Once everyone had food on their plate and a
slice of buttered bread, Jim told his story.

“All of the semi-trucks, tankers, and vans
had taken up positions on the west side of town where the fires
were the least. They each had their instructions and directions and
were only waiting for the school buses and other vehicles to show
up so they could leave. While they were waiting, they had to move
the tankers even further out when it started getting really hot,”
he paused for another forkful of rice and meat.

“I went back to the sports arena to hustle
the buses and military transports. It was even hotter there – the
air temperature was getting close to a hundred and ten degrees.
Everyone was finally on the road that skirts town to the north,
Fleet Street, and I knew they would meet up with their convoys
within the half hour.

“It took me about ten more minutes to do one
final sweep of the arena to make sure no one was left behind. I
shut the big gennie down and attached it to the Hummer to take it
to the new base at the Soo. That’s when I heard the explosion. The
power plant on the corner of Fleet and Alabaster blew. I was
completely cut off from our escape route with fires burning all
around me. There wasn’t any way I could get through on Fleet. Even
the pavement was burning, but there was a small break on 695. I had
thought of trying to find another route south or east, then I
remembered the munitions going off at the dam. I had less than five
minutes to make it over the bridge before the water hit, maybe
less. I had to make a choice, so I came here.” He paused to take a
drink. “It was less. When I crossed the bridge, the water was
rising, and fast. I don’t know if the bridge is still there – I
never looked back.”

The three of us stopped eating.

“Are you alright though, Jim? Did you get
burned or anything?” Mark asked, concerned.

“No, I’m not hurt, though I think my tires
are shot. Rubber doesn’t stand up well to burning asphalt. I think
some fresh air will help clear the smoke I inhaled.”

“I don’t know what to say, Jim,” I said.
“Your command and counsel to your men will be greatly missed by
them, but at the same time, their loss is our gain. I’m so pleased
to have you join us.”

“Well, thank you, Allexa. If I had to be
stranded, I couldn’t have picked a better group to spend my life
with.” We all raised a glass. “The group going to Sault St. Marie
has some good leaders; they will be fine.” He helped himself to
another slice of bread.

The four of us took a walk down to the end of
my road as dusk settled fully in. In the distance we could see the
crimson sky over Marquette. The darker the night became, the redder
the sky. It was a very sobering reminder of our new and complete
isolation.

“I think you should take this case of Gray
Goose with you, Jim,” Mark suggested when Jim and Tom got ready to
leave.

“Thanks, I think I will,” Jim replied. “I’ll
stay the night at Tom’s new barracks, and find something else
tomorrow. It’s been a long day and I’m exhausted. Thank you again
for the dinner, Allex, it was great.”

October 26

When we arrived at the township office at
nine o’clock, the place was in chaos.

“What’s the matter with you people?” Jim
Andrews bellowed, barely heard above the roar of the crowd.

Mark parked the car across the road at the
clinic and we waited. With all the yelling going on, I couldn’t
hear what this group was so upset about.

“We need to get over there, Mark!” I said,
and started to leave. Mark grabbed my arm to stop me.

“Let’s wait a minute or two. I don’t want you
getting hurt.”

While we waited a safe distance away, I could
see Eric, Rayn, and Frank at the front door, rifles at the ready.
How did this happen? Yesterday all was quiet.

I saw the group of five making their way
toward the front of the crowd. The priest and his nuns!

“Come on, Mark, I think
someone
is
about to get hurt,” I said and bolted across the road. Eric saw us
coming and fired a shot well over the heads of the crowd. That gave
us enough time to make it through the mass of angry people and
reach the doors.

A moment later that arrogant young man that
had called me a cougar went nose to nose with the priest.

“You pussy, get out of my way!” he sneered at
Father Constantine, who calmly smiled back at him.

“You’re a very troubled young man,” the
priest said. “These good people are only trying to help us. What is
your complaint this morning?”

“There’s no food and we’re all hungry!” he
shouted. “We were supposed to be fed last night and we weren’t!
Nobody brought us anything over at that rat trap they’re making us
stay in!” Which got several affirmative yells from the crowd.

“You were supposed to go to the Inn on your
own for dinner. It’s only a short walk,” I remarked.

“Shut up, bitch!” he screamed at me.

Father Constantine stepped up to the young
man and told him to apologize to me.

“You gonna make me, pussy?”

Father Constantine smiled. “If need be,
yes.”

“Well, well, maybe you got some balls after
all, padre. Let’s go a round, see how you feel with a few loose
teeth!”

The crowd backed up, creating a circle.

I could hear the nuns behind me, whispering
to each other. “Oh, I don’t think he wants to do that,” Sister
Agnes was saying.

“Can you stop him?” I asked Sister Agnes. “I
don’t want to see the Father hurt.”

Sister Lynn started giggling again. “Don’t
worry about Father Constantine; you need to pray for that poor
boy!”

“What do you mean?”

“Father Constantine not only was a champion
boxer in college, he grew up on the south side of Chicago, and is
very street smart,” Sister Doris said matter-of-factly. “That young
man picked the wrong guy to challenge and is about to get his butt
kicked.”

Someone standing close to us heard the
conversation. “I’ll still lay odds on Marlow. He learned to fight
on the inside.”

“Who?” I asked, alarmed.

“Kenny Marlow,” the guy repeated. “His uncle
was some big shot general until he was railroaded or
something.”

I know I paled.

Father Constantine walked over to the nuns
and handed Sister Agnes his collar. “Will you hold this for me
please?” He turned in time to duck a sucker punch from Marlow, and
the fight was on.

It was impressive to watch this young priest
fight. He avoided all of Kenny’s punches, making the punk angrier
as he landed hit after hit. He finally ended it with a well-placed
uppercut, sending Marlow to the pavement.