Choose Freedom: A Post-Apocalyptic Fiction Series (The Boston Brahmin Book 6) Page 2

  “I’ll help you, Mom,” said Drew as he gathered up Allie’s plate and some serving pieces. Drew addressed his brother and sister. “Jack and Allie, go and relieve the guys on the front gate for a while so they can get some dinner too. And, Jack, let’s organize a pickup football game with some of the boys. They could use the stress relief and, after all, it is Thanksgiving.”

  “Deal,” replied Jack. Drew’s siblings donned their jackets and grabbed their rifles as they left. Everyone left the house armed.

  Drew and his parents steadily removed the dishes into the farmhouse sink. The Jacksons had two wells on their property to provide fresh water. They didn’t waste fuel on running the generators to pump it into the kitchen, so they used buckets to fill the sink.

  “I’ll get this water boiling,” said Drew’s father. They would pour boiling water over the dishes and allow them to soak in soapy water. Later, the dishes would be scrubbed and rinsed. The entire process took two gallons of water. Drew was always amazed at how much energy and water was used in running a dishwasher. The same purpose could be accomplished with two gallons and some elbow grease.

  Janie removed her apron and dried her hands. Then she turned to Drew and looked him in the eye. “You’re gonna start talkin’, young man. Right now.”

  Drew had used a variety of interrogation methods in his career. Some detainees could withstand a lot of pressure, at which time Drew would turn the screws of pain until even the strongest man’s will was broken. But, without a doubt, no one could resist the questioning of Janie Jackson.

  Drew didn’t hold back. “Mom, I miss Abbie. I love her and I want to find her.” He waited for her reaction. Drew was afraid his mother would be heartbroken at the thought of him leaving.

  Janie took Drew’s face in her hands and looked up to him. “True love only comes around once. It will knock on the door of your heart until you let it in. It will speak to your soul until you allow it to sing to your heart.”

  “Mom, I want to go to her—in Boston. She doesn’t even know I’m alive. It’s been nearly three months. What if—”

  She cut him off. “Now, you listen to me, Drew Jackson. You find her. There are no woulda-shoulda-couldas in this family. Find Abbie and tell her how you feel.”

  “I think she does love me, Mom. I also think she and her friends need me.”

  Drew’s father had returned from the fire and overheard the conversation. “Last night’s broadcast over the shortwave revealed a lot,” said the Judge. “If you’re right and that is your friend’s brother, they intend to set this country on the right course. They’re patriots, like us.”

  “Dad, I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone,” said Drew.

  “You do what it takes to find your girl and put this nation back where it belongs.”

  “I will, Dad. I’m sure the broadcasts are coming from Sarge. Last night really struck a nerve. I need to see what I can do to help. Most importantly, I need to find Abbie.”

  “We’ll get you saddled up and ready to go at first light. But, son, there is one thing I want to say. I know you hold some resentment for John Morgan because of what happened that day. I want you to reconcile things with Abbie’s father. He was doing what was best for his daughter, his only child. You can’t begrudge him that. I would do the same for you or the twins.”

  “I understand, Dad. I’m alive. I love Abbie. I also love my country. I’ll head to Boston tomorrow.”

  The three of them hugged and shed tears of love. Prior to the collapse, Thanksgiving had become a day of overeating, football, and early bird shopping at Walmart. The concepts of thankfulness and gratitude had been replaced with indulgence and entitlement.

  Genuine gratitude required free will. Nobody could be coerced into being thankful, and no amount of incentives could manufacture gratitude. It was the perfect and complete obligation of the human spirit. Each of us was singularly responsible for whether or not we lived a life of gratitude. Regardless of circumstances, that freedom was available to all who chose to change their perception on life.

  Be thankful for what you have rather than bemoan what you don’t.

  PART ONE

  November 2016

  Two Weeks Earlier

  Chapter 1

  Wednesday, November 9, 2016

  9:00 a.m.

  The Miss Behavin’

  Marblehead, Massachusetts

  The gentle wind billowed the sails as the Miss Behavin’ skipped across the white-crested waves of the cold Atlantic Ocean. The forty-foot yacht bounced along the waves, sending cold spray onto the deck, invigorating Sarge as he thought about what his brother meant to him.

  Corporal Morrell deftly guided them through the wind-whipped water. Sarge was reflective. No one was actually dead until the waves they caused in the world returned to the sea. His brother had left his mark on the world, without a doubt.

  Sarge never liked sailing, yet sailing had been his brother’s life. Steven would talk about the sea, the sun, and the cry of the birds, but Sarge only pretended to be interested. He regretted so many things, and not sharing Steven’s love of sailing was one of them.

  Steven would describe sailing as flying over the water, clearing a path through the waves with the goal of leaving the duties of the world behind him. Sailing into the vast, blue ocean was freedom to him.

  “It’s better than sex,” Steven had once quipped, but then quickly added, “Nah, not really.” He’d said the water called to him like a hot chick would whisper into his ear. He’d joke about this often, but Sarge knew he was sincere. Steven sailed in this life, and he would sail in the next.

  “This is a good spot,” instructed Sarge to Corporal Morrell, who adjusted the sails and slowly brought the Miss Behavin’ to a slower pace within sight of nearby Bakers Island.

  It was on Bakers Island during a family outing when Sarge and Steven were boys that they first met John Morgan. Although their father and Morgan were close friends, the Sargent brothers weren’t around Morgan very often because the duties of politics kept him traveling abroad for many years as the two boys grew up. It was a weekend outing at the Bakers Island Light Station that set the course of the Sargent boys’ lives, they just didn’t know it.

  Sarge’s brother never talked about death despite the number of times he cheated it. Intuitively, Sarge knew Steven would want to be buried here so he could forever roam the ocean he loved so much.

  Burial at sea was a time-honored tradition. For a Navy SEAL, there was no more exalted option for their mortal remains than being returned to the ocean.

  The Miss Behavin’ gently rocked in the ripple of waves on the leeward side of the island as Sarge gathered himself to speak. He was alone except for Brad and two more security personnel. Julia demanded to come along, as did Katie, but Sarge didn’t want Julia to risk harm to their baby. As for Katie, they needed to have a talk.

  Sarge caught his breath, cleared his mind, and started. “Steven’s last words were ‘Karma is just a polite way of saying ha-ha, fuck you.’ This is how my brother lived his life—balls to the wall with no regrets.

  “Steven always said to me that a ship in the harbor may be safe, but that’s not what ships are for. They are made to sail—attack the waves and conquer the unknown. Steven lived his life in the same manner.

  “He was a warrior—made to protect and fight. For him, his death would not be a moment of sadness. Sadness comes from not living life to its fullest. The way of the warrior is the resolute acceptance of death. This was the way of my brother.

  “There are so many things left unsaid between us. Now is not the time. This is the time to honor my brother, the warrior. I found these words in Steven’s berth below. He lived by them, and he will be buried at sea with them.”

  Sarge wiped several tears mixed with sea spray from his face. As the seagulls cried above them and the surging waves washed onto the rocky shore, Sarge read the fitting tribute to Steven Sargent.

  “Make no mistake. I will defend my brothers
. I will defend the weak. I will defend our way of life. I will bring the fight to your home to keep you out of mine. I will pursue relentlessly all who threaten my family. I will sacrifice so that others may live. I am an American. I am a patriot. I am a sheepdog. If you strike me or those like me, you will lay upon the earth until you are buried in it.”

  Sarge, with the help of Brad and Corporal Morrell, reverently placed Steven’s weighted body into the Atlantic Ocean to seek its final resting place. As it slowly disappeared into the darkness below, Sarge said, “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. I love you, my brother. Godspeed.”

  Chapter 2

  Friday, November 11, 2016

  10:00 a.m.

  Prescott Peninsula, 1PP

  Quabbin Reservoir, Massachusetts

  Sarge joined Brad and Donald, who were waiting for him in the newly created war room located in the underground bunker of 1PP. When Donald had renovated the former astronomy complex over the summer, he’d fortified the bunker with a burster slab of concrete and steel. He’d also created an EMP-proof facility that included air filtration and blast doors. The facility was designed to withstand most explosive threats as well as biological attacks.

  One room that had been used as a library became a war room of sorts. Sarge and Donald adorned the walls with maps Sarge had retrieved from 100 Beacon yesterday. A variety of colored Post-it notes were spread about, delineating a local, regional, and national strategy envisioned by Sarge. Donald had secured all of the documents and computers containing the intricacies of the Boston Brahmin’s financial dealings inside the room as well.

  Sarge needed a place to work without prying ears and eyes. He also needed to discuss the future with his two most trusted friends, besides Julia, of course.

  Donald would become Sarge’s financial consigliere. The Italian term for chief advisor suited Donald’s role perfectly. The consigliere, although not officially part of the hierarchy of the Mafia, played an important role in a crime family. He was often the most trusted confidant of the family boss and typically the most knowledgeable of the Mafioso family’s financial affairs. The concept was a throwback to medieval times when the king would place his trust in an advisor who could be summoned for strategic counsel.

  Because virtually every decision, whether made by the king or the capo di tutti capi—the godfather of the Mafia—had a monetary aspect, the chief advisor was usually well versed in the organization’s monetary affairs.

  Brad was a brilliant military strategist who seemed to have a knack for dealing with this post-apocalyptic world. The rules of engagement were vastly different than the battlefields of the Middle East, where most modern commanders cut their teeth.

  Following the cyber attack, the streets of America became the theater of war. Most Americans were reluctant to think about the ramifications of war, especially since they were typically fought abroad. The prospect of destroying their fellow man was not part of their psyche. In this post-collapse America, survival meant killing. The war zone was now Main Street, USA.

  Brad, who was levelheaded except when he disliked someone, had a firm grasp on this concept. Politics was not his forte. It was Sarge’s.

  Sarge discussed the prospects of bringing Abbie into his inner circle of advisors. She was, after all, a sitting senator who just a few months ago was in line to become the next Vice President of the United States. However, her areas of expertise were grounded in the pre-collapse America. She was not cut out for the new normal, which required assassinations, insurgency operations, and attacks upon fellow Americans. Her time would come to lead if Sarge was successful in his strategy.

  “Hi, guys,” announced Sarge as he settled into a chair at the head of the table. He didn’t waste any time getting to the point. “My brother’s death leaves a huge hole in our hearts and our team. Allowing Steven to oversee the activities of the Mechanics freed up Brad to undertake more traditional military functions.”

  “I can handle both, Sarge, until we come up with a solution,” said Brad.

  Sarge had contemplated this and decided against it. The success of their future would depend upon political as well as military solutions. But politically, he couldn’t taint Brad’s stellar reputation among his peers nationwide by having him associated with the functions to be carried out by the Mechanics. These functions belonged in the world of black-ops, off-the-books operations.

  “I appreciate that, Brad,” said Sarge. “I can’t have your fingerprints on these things. You need to maintain that separation so you can have plausible deniability. For now, I’ll coordinate their efforts.”

  “No freakin’ way, Sarge!” protested Donald. “You can’t be out there risking your life.”

  Sarge started laughing, which enraged Donald more. His face turned red and he was about to let out another outburst when Sarge held his hands up to calm his dear friend.

  “Donald, no worries, old buddy. No Rambo shit for me. Steven did an excellent job setting up and establishing regions of responsibilities for his top lieutenants. In fact, several of them now occupy the condos at 100 Beacon. I’ll meet with them just like always, but only at the well-fortified 100 Beacon location.”

  “Sarge,” started Brad, “at least let me beef up the security around there with my men.”

  Donald continued to noticeably shake his head in disagreement. Sarge didn’t want to argue with his friend, especially when he knew Donald was right. But the group was already down one man and, as they were about to discuss, would be down another member as well.

  “Okay, I’m on board with that. The military presence will provide a deterrent effect for any local thugs who might have designs on testing us. But keep a wide perimeter. I don’t want to draw the attention of the UN forces unnecessarily.”

  “No problem,” said Brad.

  “Fine,” muttered Donald. Sarge let Donald have his opinion because it was voiced out of concern for his friend.

  “Okay. We’ll meet here every day as practicable. This will give us an opportunity to share information and stay on top of planning. Also, it will continue to be our duty to keep the Boston Brahmin informed during the lunch hour. I believe this practice has helped us keep everyone within our charge as calm as possible. As odd as it sounds, this diverse group has assimilated into our new lifestyle. Let’s not change things now because of recent adversity.”

  Sarge tried his best to discuss Steven’s death in an impersonal manner. He vowed to share his emotional feelings on the subject in private, only with Julia.

  “I agree,” said Donald. “If you need me to take on that role, just say the word.”

  “Thanks, buddy,” said Sarge, who turned his attention to Brad. “We need to contain the UN. What do you know about their casualties from Tuesday?”

  “They took a real hit,” replied Brad. “They lost quite a few men inside the State House during the firefight. But they sustained heavy losses of life and equipment around the perimeter they established. Steven was right. O’Brien and General Zhang planned an ambush and Steven sniffed it out. The Mechanics were very successful in taking out most of their units and confiscating weapons and vehicles.”

  “Good,” said Sarge as he was once again forced to recollect the death of his brother. “Do you have a feel for Zhang’s attitude. Did we kick a hornet’s nest?”

  “It’s too early to tell. Thus far, they haven’t undertaken any of their normal activities. My men entered the area after we deemed it secured and placed the dead in body bags. We returned the bodies of their deceased soldiers Wednesday afternoon. It was the right thing to do.”

  Sarge leaned back in his chair and quietly wished the humanitarian gesture by Brad’s men would diffuse the tense standoff between the so-called UN peacekeeping forces and the Marines. Time would tell.

  “If Zhang’s troops are not interested in conducting more raids and roadblocks, then we’ve accomplished more than just freeing Governor Baker and the rest of the Massachusetts legislators. We may have broken the UN’s spirit.�
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  “It’s possible,” added Donald. “Or they’re regrouping to come back with a vengeance.”

  “Very likely,” said Brad. “Do you want me to reach out to General Zhang? I could find a way to bypass O’Brien and open up a dialogue. You know, soldier to soldier.”

  Sarge liked the idea of diplomacy. General Zhang didn’t have a vested interest in this fight other than to achieve some type of accolades from his superiors.

  “It’s worth a try,” replied Sarge. “Besides, O’Brien is probably hiding under a rock somewhere.”

  “I can’t believe he got away,” said Donald.

  “Pure luck and an uncanny ability to take advantage of the chaos in the State House saved his dumb ass,” said Sarge. “One of the guys reported that O’Brien used a woman and child as a prop to provide a cover story. He was allowed to leave because none of our guys knew what he looked like. Julia found some images of him and this ass-clown Elkins to disseminate to the Mechanics. They all know what to look for now.”

  Sarge slid the images of the two men to Brad and Donald.

  “Well, O’Brien is a big one,” said Donald. “And you can barely see Elkins’s face behind that big schnoz. These two will stand out in a crowd next time.”

  “That brings us to the second order of business, which is finding O’Brien and that cockroach Elkins. I’m gonna meet with the Mechanics day after tomorrow to assign teams to search for O’Brien. As for Elkins, I have a specific plan.”

  “What do you have in mind?” asked Brad.

  “Katie.”

  Chapter 3

  Friday, November 11, 2016

  4:00 p.m.

  1 PP

  Quabbin Reservoir, Massachusetts