Choose Freedom: A Post-Apocalyptic Fiction Series (The Boston Brahmin Book 6) Page 9

  “Secure these weapons and watch them,” said Drew as the women and children huddled over the dead bodies of their papis. Drew stopped to look through the windows at the wing of Terminal C occupied by the rest of MS-13. The T-shaped building had four jets parked on the tarmac. There were metal stairwells that led from the accordion jet bridge to the snow-covered runway below.

  “Let’s go,” said Drew to his partner. They ran back to the center of the terminal and joined the rest of the Mechanics.

  To get to the back section of the terminal, they would have to run against the side walls and use the shiny metal pillars as cover. They would be exposed. There was only one way for his men to make it down that walkway without taking heavy casualties. He had to scare the bejesus out of the enemy.

  He holstered his sidearm and switched to his prized DPMS AR-10. The booming 7.62-millimeter rounds should provide sufficient deterrent to any fool on the other end of the hallway. He grabbed two of his AR-15 teams and gave them instructions. Drew instructed them to fire down the right side of the hallway, blowing out the windows facing the runway. He would sprint down the left side, adding to the firepower until he could get close enough to lay down cover for the entire group to advance.

  This was about a four-hundred-foot shot, and not under the best of conditions considering the low-hanging directional signs. But the barrage of small-arms fire should cause the gangbangers to take cover while Drew sprinted forward for better positioning.

  “On my go,” said Drew. All of his men nodded confidently. He flipped off the safety, crouched down, and gave them the thumbs-up. “Go!”

  The noise was deafening as the AR-15s sent lead down the hallway and littered the tile floor with brass. As Drew sprinted from column to column on the left side, he saw bodies collapse into heaps, their blood draining out across the tile. Some MS-13 thugs scrambled to avoid the hail of gunfire and slipped in the blood of the dead. They were dispatched by bullets finding their marks and those that skipped off the slick tile floor—ricocheting into their flesh.

  Thus far, none of the Mechanics had been able to shoot out the windows, so he steadied his weapon as he ran to the next column and sent a round through the center of the plate glass. The explosion and the subsequent roar of wind and snow entering the terminal was deafening. It also had the desired effect. The return fire from the gangbangers stopped, and the sounds of screams, both male and female, joined the uproar.

  Drew reached the end of the hallway and took a look at the entire terminal from gate thirty-one to gate thirty-six. It was empty. There wasn’t anyone, yet he could still hear the women and children crying over the roar of the snowstorm, which was now providing a very wet surface on the tile.

  He saw a few men running across the tarmac in the snow, hustling to get away from the carnage. Drew decided they’d sealed their own fate in this weather. Then, he caught a glimpse of a child’s face looking at him from the window of a Jet Blue aircraft parked at the gate. The gangbangers and their families had sought cover in the aircraft. His teams would have to go into the airplanes one by one and dislodge the stowaways. He hoped they’d cooperate and lay down their arms. Otherwise, they’d have a bumpy flight.

  Chapter 18

  Saturday, December 24, 2016

  Christmas Eve

  8:00 p.m.

  1 PP

  Quabbin Reservoir, Massachusetts

  Sarge missed his study at 100 Beacon. He asked Brad and Drew to bring back a few things that he considered his pride and joy. Naturally, his nineteenth-century partner’s desk crafted from oak, with tooled leather inserts and decorated with brass appointments, was out of the question. The desk was a gift to Winthrop Sargent Gilman when he opened the banking house of Gilman, Son & Co. around the turn of the twentieth century. But his chair was easily loaded into a Humvee and now provided a comfortable seat to give his weekly address to all those who found a way to listen on the Digital Carrier Pigeon.

  While it was too early to declare the battle for Boston as mission accomplished, Brad and Drew had achieved both of their goals. East Boston was subdued and Logan Airport was being prepared to receive flights. The UN forces had lowered their white flag with a blue emblem from the pole in front of the John J. Moakley Federal Court House and replaced it with a white flag indicating their surrender. Two days ago, a message was delivered to Brad’s men via a flag-waving emissary. They would be leaving Boston by the end of the month.

  It was time to take the fight to restore the nation to a regional and national level. But tonight, Sarge didn’t think it was appropriate to tout their local accomplishments and deliver a call to arms. No. This needed to be a message of hope and faith. He began.

  “Merry Christmas, my fellow Americans. I want to sum up the tenor of life in America in this way. The famous author Charles Dickens once said, ‘It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.’ That is certainly true today. Our nation is experiencing an incomprehensible tragedy. Too many of our family, friends, and neighbors live in the shadow of destitution and under the thumb of tyranny. The world is full of peril, but it’s also full of promise.

  “As I speak with you this evening, America is on the precipice. We are a proud nation that hangs in the balance. As the American people struggle to survive, there are foreign soldiers on our land, intent upon using brute force, mass arrests, and the setting up of horrific FEMA camps designed to contain you while they take your property.

  “The target of this oppression is the freedom-loving patriot like yourself who is listening to this message. Millions of you across this great nation have joined our cause. You have learned of our successes. You see hope in joining our fight for freedom.

  “On this Christmas, we should recognize our freedom as the most sacred of all goals. I believe in the promise of America. All patriotic Americans have the inherent and acquired instincts to survive this calamity, as well as the power to rise to the occasion.

  “I believe in the spirit of Christmas. This unique day, filled with the love of family and friends, has not changed by virtue of our struggles. Lights, music, and presents are easily replaced with the happiness shown in children’s faces and hearts. Remain steadfast for our children.

  “I urge you to keep the faith. Both faith and freedom need care and attention. Rededicate your efforts to the preservation of the ideals we hold near and dear to our hearts, like our forefathers did before us.

  “Christmas is a time to treasure the sacrifices these brave men and women made to create the greatest nation on earth. Allow me to tell the story of one Christmas in particular. The year was 1776, our first as a nation.

  “The War for Independence had been going poorly. But General George Washington’s faith, courage, and leadership would inspire his men and turn the tide of history. On that fateful Christmas night, General Washington led a group of cold, weak, and ragged soldiers across the Delaware River through a driving snowstorm.

  “He planned to use the element of surprise and the cover of poor weather to attack a regiment of Hessians—German soldiers who were in the service of the British Empire. General Washington and his twenty-four hundred troops crossed the Delaware River and marched into Trenton, New Jersey, through the cold and wet snow. Some of the soldiers were barefoot, leaving bloody footprints along their route.

  “There were traitors in Washington’s ranks. Deserters who chose to abandon the cause of freedom in exchange for the offerings of gold and friendship from the enemy. The Hessians disregarded the traitors’ warnings. They had betrayed Washington for nothing.

  “As daylight came on the day after Christmas, Washington’s brave troops descended upon the unsuspecting and groggy Hessians. Within two hours, Washington’s men had overwhelmed the enemy and completely surrounded Trenton.

  “The victory was not particularly significant from a strategic point of view, but news of Washington’s accomplishments spread throughout the colonies, raising the spirits of those doubters who previously feared freedom from the bonds o
f tyranny was unattainable.

  “On this Christmas, I want you to remember the image of George Washington kneeling in prayer in the snow of Valley Forge before he led his men to victory. Washington personified the strength of a people who knew it was not enough to rely upon their courage and goodness. They must also seek help from God, their faith, and their desire to be free.

  “We are winning, my friends, make no mistake about that. I urge you to always choose freedom, my fellow Americans. Merry Christmas to you all, and God bless the United States of America.”

  Chapter 19

  Sunday, December 25, 2016

  Christmas Day

  10:00 a.m.

  1 PP

  Quabbin Reservoir, Massachusetts

  Susan was very conflicted on this Christmas morning. She and Donald had been blessed with so much in their lives. She tried to give back through her volunteer work or church activities. Now, there were people in need all over the country and she couldn’t reach out to them.

  In normal times, this morning would have been a big celebration featuring videocams and little girls giddy over their presents. Despite their good fortune, Susan was having difficulty expressing the joy of Christmas when there was so much suffering across the nation.

  Julia had relayed reports of children dying due to lack of doctors and medicines. Those who lived were malnourished and impoverished. They were forced to grow up in a world with little food, no schools, and the threat of violence.

  Many were held in the FEMA camps, while others were trapped in their homes, surrounded by warring gangs who commandeered food and other vital supplies for their own black market activities.

  The repercussions of the collapse were not only going to be physical, but also psychological for children as they grew up in a hostile environment filled with death. Despite their limited exposure to the assault from the Belchertown residents, Penny and Rebecca experienced nightmares and lived in constant fear of being attacked. Susan could only imagine what the children of the inner cities were encountering.

  Julia did provide Susan some hope. In areas of the Southeastern United States and New England, where families and neighbors had come together to rebuild our broken nation, women were becoming central contributors to the effort. Despite the continued dangers, women and children were helping others less fortunate to regain their dignity and respect.

  Random acts of kindness made a return to the American way of life. For that, Susan said a prayer and gave thanks to God.

  “Mommy!” shouted Penny, causing Susan to drop the kitchen towel and run into the dining area.

  “Penny! Are you okay?”

  “Mommy, Becca keeps messing up the place settings,” complained Penny.

  “No, I am not,” responded Rebecca definitively. “The little fork goes outside the big fork, right, Mommy?” Susan let out a sigh of relief. Perhaps it wasn’t just the children who had been impacted by the Belchertown raid.

  “No, it does not,” exclaimed Penny Emily Post Quinn. “We don’t have a salad, do we, Mom? That’s why I put it closer to the plate as the dessert fork.”

  “Come here, my little dumplings,” said Susan, inviting them with open arms for a hug. The girls grabbed their mom around the waist and squeezed tight.

  Penny broke away first. “Does that mean I was right?”

  Susan laughed at her now twelve-year-old, who had finally recovered from her timber rattlesnake bite. “You’re kinda both right. Becca is right that we don’t have any salad to serve today. Penny is correct that the fork will be used for dessert. However, the proper placement is right here.” Susan reached for the small fork and placed it sideways above the plate.

  “Hmmm,” said Rebecca, as if this was quite an interesting development. “Mommy, what time will the soldiers be here?”

  “Soon. Now, you two silly elves finish this up and then help me in the kitchen. The rest of our helpers will be here soon.”

  Rebecca gave her mom another hug and looked up. “Mom, this is the best Christmas ever.”

  “Yes. Yes, it is, my pretty baby.”

  *****

  Brad’s men shuffled into 1PP to the smiles and heartfelt thanks of the civilian population of Prescott Peninsula. Susan, Abbie, and Julia finished preparing Christmas dinner for their troops and protectors. The Boston Brahmin wives made sure the soldiers were welcomed and comfortable. The Quinn children provided comic relief and an occasional off-key Christmas carol.

  As dinner came to an end, Brad stood, and the Marines under this unusual command immediately became quiet. Brad started to speak.

  “Over the past twelve weeks, you have revealed some unmistakable facts. You’ve shown me that when you’re tested, you rise to meet the test. You’ve proven that the desire for freedom is more powerful than the intimidation of tyranny. You’ve shown me that there is no task too difficult for the United States Marines.”

  “Oorah!” shouted the Marines.

  “I want to thank you for making the decision to remain with me and serve under my command. Sometimes, in the scheme of things, it can be hard to tell when history is being made, especially when you’re in the middle of a firefight. What we’ve accomplished in the last three months is as important and every bit as courageous as what the colonists did during the Revolutionary War and our fellow Marines did in places like Normandy and Iwo Jima!”

  “Oorah!”

  “There will come a day, maybe when you’re grandparents, that young ladies like Rebecca and Penny will sit on your knee and say thank God you stood up to tyranny and chose freedom!

  “My fellow Marines, we’ve just begun our duty to save this great nation. There are others like us around the nation who have lost loved ones. There are children growing up without a mom or a dad. But one thing is certain. Our children will grow up to be freedom-loving Americans because of the sacrifices you’ve made!”

  “Oorah! Oorah!”

  “Marines, on this Christmas, I would rather be with the men and women of the United States Marine Corps than with anybody else. Thank you for serving the United States of America. God bless you. Merry Christmas. Oorah!”

  “Oorah!”

  Chapter 20

  Saturday, December 31, 2016

  4:00 p.m.

  Rooftop, 99 High Street

  Boston, Massachusetts

  The sun was dropping rapidly to their backs on what had been an absolutely gorgeous sunny day. Sarge thought it was apropos to meet here for this momentous occasion. Brad and Donald questioned the wisdom of all the Loyal Nine leaving the safety of Prescott Peninsula. But Sarge insisted that the symbolism of standing atop the headquarters of the Citizen Corps building was too good to pass up.

  “A toast,” started Donald. “To Steven.”

  “To Steven!”

  Everyone clinked glasses and enjoyed a sip of champagne. To show his support and forgiveness of Katie, Sarge took her hand and pulled her into a hug. He whispered into her ear, “My brother loved you, Katie. Thank you for making him happy.”

  Katie looked up to Sarge and began to shed a few tears. Katie had shown she was genuinely remorseful, and Sarge no longer doubted her loyalty and commitment.

  A gust of cold wind blew up the side of the building and over the parapet. It startled Donald, who spilled a little of his champagne.

  Katie had regained her composure and channeled Steven. “Party foul!” This produced laughter from everyone.

  “Do you guys remember that night in April when we were all together on the rooftop of 100 Beacon?” asked Julia.

  “Yeah, it was a heckuva lot warmer,” said Donald.

  Abbie filled in Drew on the circumstances. “We had the opportunity to be together for the first time in many months. The nation was declining rapidly, socially and economically. On the rooftop—sipping champs, I might add—we all made a commitment to preserving the work of our forefathers.”

  “We made that promise to the nation we love so much,” added Brad. “We also made a commitment
to each other. We became a family that night—a family whose ideals and goals were the same as those patriots who founded our nation.”

  “We suspected there would be challenges ahead,” said Sarge.

  “Yeah, who knew, right?” Donald laughed.

  Sarge continued. “We agreed that, like the original nine Bostonians who risked their lives to fight for freedom two hundred fifty years ago, when faced with the choice between compromising our principles and choosing freedom—we will always choose freedom.”

  “Choose freedom!”

  “Drew, my brother died for this ideal and for this country. He trusted you like a brother. That makes you my brother. And as the betrothed of Abbie, it makes you one of us. On behalf of all of us, I would like you to become a part of the Loyal Nine.”

  “Hear, hear!” said the group as they raised their glasses in the air to toast Drew Jackson, a fellow patriot in the fight to save America.

  Drew smiled and said, “I humbly accept.”

  Abbie gave him a big hug and Drew exchanged handshakes and hugs with the others. The sound of a ship’s horn in the Boston Channel captured their attention. As the last of the UN vessels headed out to sea, Sarge spoke first.

  “Boston is ours again, my friends.”

  Then a reflection off something metallic in the distance caught his eye. He turned to follow the setting sun. His attention snapped back to the east. There it was again. What was it?

  “Perfect timing,” said Donald as the first of many relief planes made its final approach into Logan Airport.

  “Happy New Year, my friends!” Sarge toasted.

  “Choose freedom!”

  PART THREE

  January–February 2017

  Chapter 21