* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Different Circumstances: Part 14A of ? by Marzee Doats
Author's Note: I'm breaking my rule of having the next full post in the bank before I post, but it's been awhile since I updated and I have that rule for the sort of situation where I fall behind in writing which is the story of my summer. I got a new, anti-fanfic kitten (she sees me at the computer and immediately wants to cuddle), I took an actual vacation involving plane tickets, hotel rooms, time zone changes and everything, and I've been working on my joint projects with Penny Lane. So, just a warning, it will likely be longer than normal before I post again as I will be working on getting that full post in the bank before I post again. But never fear, I am not abandoning this story, I've just been slowed down a little.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Saturday, December 30, three months after the bombs
"You won't make it out of Kansas with the fuel you've got," Johnston argued to Ridley Cooper's back, frustration bleeding into his tone. But Ridley ignored the warning, continuing to check the ropes with which he'd tied, among other things, a queen size mattress and a couple of suitcases to the roof of his car. "You're not gonna find another drop out there," Johnston continued, somehow managing to keep himself from out and out yelling at the man.
"Well, the folks who left last week are probably in Arizona by now," Ridley countered, sparing Johnston a glance. Desperation and determination warred for control of the younger man's gaze, and Johnston had to swallow hard against the bile that rose to his throat. All around them, the members of Cooper's party were loading up their cars, saying their goodbyes, making last ditch efforts to convince friends to join the exodus, and otherwise preparing for the risky flight south.
"If they weren't murdered on the highway," Johnston barked out, making his own last effort to talk some sense into the former mine executive for - of all things - risk management. Under different circumstances, Johnston might have enjoyed the irony, but this was the life and death of another fifty some residents of Jericho. "It's suicide to leave, Ridley!"
Ridley's lips curled with a bitter smirk. "There's no food, no heat," he reminded, popping open the car's door and ducking his head inside. "I'm just gonna get with Dave so we can get going," he told his wife before closing the door against the cold. "There's nothin' left here," he declared, meeting Johnston's gaze for a moment, a defiant gleam in his eye, before shoving past the older man. "It's suicide if we stay."
Johnston's sick feeling grew as he watched Ridley hurry down the long line of cars to where his co-conspirator for this dangerous endeavor stood beside his own vehicle. Shaking his head, he turned around and took the three steps to where his daughter-in-law waited for him, her distressed expression reflecting everything that he was feeling. "C'mon, darlin'," he prompted, taking her arm, "Let's go."
"Those kids..." Heather murmured, eyes wide. "Their kids are so little," she protested, staring at the back window of the Coopers' car where their two toddlers could be seen, strapped into their car seats. "And, the - the Morrisons," she continued, rotating around to point at a mud covered Dodge pickup truck that had certainly seen better days. A little girl - likely one of Heather's former students, Johnston realized - scrambled into the cab, followed by her teenaged brother and then her mother. "I can't believe they're all just giving up... and - and going. What are they thinking?"
"That it's cold and it's still three months 'til spring, I guess," Johnston replied, heaving a tired sigh. Leading her over to the sidewalk, he shrugged, admitting, "I sure as hell don't know."
"I - I could understand the people who left last week," she continued, trying to make sense of the scene playing out before them, "Sort of, anyway. But we - we got the airdrop," Heather reminded unnecessarily as she pulled her coat tighter around herself.
There had been another airdrop, three days before, this time courtesy of the Italian people and government. Eric had burst through the door, bringing the news along with a couple of days' worth of rations a few hours after they had brought Jake home from the med center. "Aggiunga l'acqua," he'd read excitedly off the back of what seemed to be some sort of freeze dried, single serving meal. "L'acqua. Like agua. I think it says 'just add water'."
Although she'd already been to nursing school, Gail had gotten her bachelor's in French and Italian while Johnston had attended the University of Kansas on the GI Bill, taking a degree in History. She'd fallen in love with the languages and had maintained her fluency over the years, dreaming of the day they would make a grand tour of Europe. Joining Johnston and Eric as they had excitedly sorted through the packages of food, she'd mostly confirmed her son's guess, translating the package's directions as, "Add water. Heat. Serve." That night they had dined on canned chicken over spaghetti with a reconstituted creamy pesto sauce that tasted more of chalk than basil, garlic, pine nuts and parmesan cheese. And yet, the way they'd all carried on, sitting around the living room in front of the fire out of deference to the still recovering Jake, anyone would have thought that they had been dining on the most expensive dish at Roma Italia, Jericho's one and only Italian restaurant.
And, it wasn't just the airdrop, which overall was bigger than the one the town had received on Thanksgiving and which would easily keep the current population for another month. There were other, smaller successes that the hopeful among them were taking to mean that - maybe - the worst was behind them. On Wednesday, after the storm had blown through, a hunting party had shot a two hundred pound buck not a mile south of town. The next day, another party had gotten a smaller deer just east of the Tacoma River. Then, on Friday, Clyde Davis had organized a group of ten, including Johnston and Drake, to go out to Bass Lake for some ice fishing. The Davises were longtime proponents of ice fishing, and Johnston had been out with Clyde and his boys more than once in the prior decade, but before it had always been for fun rather than their survival. Late December was still a little early for ice fishing, but Clyde had thought it had been cold enough and that the ice would be thick enough, so they'd risked the gas to drive the fifteen miles out to the lake. In the end they had been amply rewarded, striper, walleye and white bass practically jumping out of the holes they'd cut into the frozen lake. Things were still tight, but their food situation certainly looked better now than it had a week before.
"Well, they were willing to leave for not even two weeks' worth of supplies from the airdrop and a tank of gas each," Johnston reminded Heather, holding onto her arm as they started up the short pathway leading to town hall, their ultimate destination this morning. Eric had explained the terms to him the evening before when he and Drake had returned from the lake. It was a good deal for the town, a good deal for Gray Anderson, but a desperate and - he thought - foolhardy gamble on the part of those who'd taken it. Johnston had hoped to talk Ridley out of going, out of leading those people more likely to their deaths than to their salvation, but the younger man had obviously made his choice. "Don't think there's any changin' his mind," he sighed, flashing his daughter-in-law a grim smile. "So we just hafta make sure nobody else gets the bright idea to follow his example."
* * * * *
Stanley Richmond stared at the chalkboard. He hated that chalkboard. "This - this is everything," he complained, shaking his head. He blinked hard, willing the data so carefully and - to his mind - gruesomely tracked to disappear or at least change. It didn't have to change much he thought, just a little. If only it could be just a little bit better, and a little less dire. But nothing changed, and so all he could do was glare at the offending figures. "I mean, it's every farm," he choked out, gesturing wildly at the board. "Now, and at least until the spring crops come in and - and that could take months!" he argued, throwing himself down into his chair next to Mimi's at the front of the room.
"And, what if we don't factor in the refugees?" Gray demanded from his seat across the aisle.
"They're a part of this town now," Roger Hammond snapped immediately.
"It's a lot of extra mouths to feed," Gray retorted, turning around to glare at the younger man. They - the town council, Gray, Roger, Johnston and Eric Green, and now Stanley Richmond on behalf of the farmers who lived in the surrounding area - had been meeting every day since the airdrop, trying to come to a fair allocation of those supplies along with every other resource they had on hand, and frankly they were getting nowhere. Secretly, Gray was starting to feel nostalgic for the few weeks when, on the brink of starvation, they had literally had nothing. Nothing was better than something when that something was still way too little. When they'd had nothing, at least the meetings had stopped.
"They've done their part, Gray," Roger reminded, his jaw tightening. Emily, sitting beside him a few rows back from Stanley and Mimi, squeezed his shoulder, though it was hard to say for sure that it was intended as a comforting gesture, rather than a cautioning one. But whatever message Emily meant to convey, her fiancé ignored it as he leaned forward in his seat, counting his points off on one hand. "They've helped hunt and cut firewood! And - and two of 'em went ice fishing yesterday!"
"Resources they use up five times faster than they supply," Gray contended, unmoved.
Roger took a deep breath and then began to argue from another angle. "Well, when the windmills come in from New Bern, most of our fuel issues will be solved."
There was real reason to believe this was true. Russell Steen, for all intents and purposes New Bern's agent, had been in town two weeks before. He'd brought along two men from their factory who'd met with Jericho's Energy Team for hours, working to hash through what they hoped were the last of the issues with their windmill design. The New Bern delegation had seemed hopeful and Russell, taking his leave of Gray, had promised that they would return soon, and that they wouldn't return empty handed.
Still, Gray had learned not to count his chickens before they hatched. "And, what about every day until then?" he demanded gruffly.
"Ridley and his group are about to leave." Johnston's announcement interrupted the discussion, saving Roger from having to defend his friends' and companions' place in Jericho for the umpteenth time. The meeting attendees all turned in their seats to look at Johnston and Heather, their expressions betraying in different proportions the sense of responsibility, frustration and exhaustion they were all feeling in spades these days as they argued about how to divide things up, about what was fair. The details changed somewhat, but the basic points of contention remained the same, and so they argued, argued, argued. Johnston had jumped at the chance to go ice fishing the day before mostly to avoid this never ending discussion, and from what he'd heard all the way at the other end of the hall, he hadn't missed anything by taking a day off from it.
"Well, if people wanna try and make it on their own," Gray defended, "That's their right."
Motioning Heather into the chair at the end of the first row, Johnston forced himself to take a breath before responding. Still, he could barely contain his feeling of disgust at Gray's hands off, 'not my problem' attitude. The man had wanted to be mayor so bad he probably would have killed for it - almost had, he thought, remembering how close Jonah Prowse had come to being executed - and now he just seemed relieved that there were going to be fifty less people he was responsible for. "You know as well as I do that come spring we'll find their bodies out there," Johnston ground out.
"Well, what do you want me to do, Johnston?" Gray snapped in return. Pulling himself up out of his chair he stomped toward the chalkboard, gesturing at it angrily. "What am I - what am I missing that's not on that board?" he demanded, turning to glare at his predecessor. "You find it for me," he challenged, "'Cause I don't see it. Without some 'X' factor, we're not gonna make it through the winter. Not all of us," Gray warned, glancing over the room. "We have to make some hard decisions," he decided, his gaze settling on Roger, "And I think the last ones in should be the first ones to go."
"What part of 'they're a part of this town' don't you get?" Roger barked, throwing his hands up in the air. "You can't just - just up and decide to kick people out!"
"Well, we didn't ask -"
"Nobody's kicking the refugees out," Ron Mortimer announced from his seat in the second row, just behind Gray. "The town council," he continued, catching Gray's eye, "Voted to allow the refugees to stay. That offer has not been rescinded -"
"It sure can be," Gray muttered, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at the councilman. "Somebody's gotta make the hard decisions."
Shaking his head, Ron removed his glasses, cleaning them absently on the end of his scarf. "The offer has not been rescinded," he repeated, "Nor has the council ceded its power to the mayor," he reminded, prompting Johnston, still standing at the back of the room, to let out a relieved sigh.
Ron, having been re-elected the previous month, was a twelve year veteran of the town council and the member most likely to try and rein Gray in. The new mayor, despite having regularly attended the weekly council meetings had not seemed to fully comprehend the limitations on the powers of his office or the ability of the rest of the council to stymie his efforts. So far he'd accepted, if somewhat churlishly, their opposition to some of his plans such as when the council had voted against continuing to power the generator at town hall. But Johnston could tell - as could Ron - that Gray was chafing under these constraints on his authority and they both worried about him making a play to disband the council.
"Now, we have the inventory of everything from the airdrop," Ron continued, "And we know that we can supply a ration of fifteen hundred calories per day, per person - including refugees - for four, maybe five weeks." It was the statistic they had been working with all week, unfortunately not getting much further. "And that doesn't include what we produce locally," Ron added, looking at Stanley.
"And still need to negotiate," Stanley added. "Those of us with farms are willing to do our parts," he frowned, "But we've only got so much to give and we're gonna need help with planting and -"
"We're sharing the airdrop supplies with the farmers," Gray reminded. "That's a down payment toward your spring crops."
"Sharing?" Stanley repeated, gaping at Gray. "Not to sound too much like Jonah Prowse, but he was right about one thing. The airdrop is for everybody, not just those who live in town."
"Don't worry, the farms and their residents were included when we figured the fifteen hundred calorie ration," Ron assured.
"Now, just wait a minute," Gray interjected, sitting up in his seat. "The farm families don't need full rations. You all have livestock and - and gardens!"
"That we care for on land we own," Stanley retorted. "So what, if I go hunting, you're gonna deduct what I get from my rations? You doin' that to everyone who lives in town, too?"
"I have a garden," Caroline Doyle, another member of the Jericho town council interjected. "In town. It's not much, but we're getting a few things still. The frost hasn't killed everything off yet," she sighed. "And, I don't think that should count against me, so I don't see how we can count it against the farmers, not all of it anyway."
"We've got a garden too," Heather added from her seat at the back of the room. She sat forward in her chair, her hands folded over her pregnant belly. "And chickens."
"Well, that's a good place to start," Johnston offered. "We can't punish people for supplementing their rations. Let's just take chickens," he suggested, glancing at his daughter-in-law. "How many in your flock, darlin'? How many eggs are we gettin' in a week?"
"Eight hens and a rooster," she answered, "Four or five eggs a day, sometimes six. So, three dozen eggs a week."
"Okay, so we've got eight in the house and eight hens. I'd call that strictly supplemental. Stanley, what do you have?" Johnston asked.
"A dozen hens and two roosters," the younger man admitted, obviously reluctant to do so.
"And that's what, five dozen eggs a week?" Ron guessed.
Stanley exchanged a quick look with Mimi, and then followed Ron with his eyes as the councilman got up from his seat and moved to the front of the room. "Yeah, probably a little more," he agreed, frowning softly.
"So, for keeping poultry, I move that four hens and a rooster per person in the household is supplemental," Ron declared, making a notation of this on the chalkboard. "Anyone keeping more than that will be expected to turn their excess over for distribution within the community and/or will face a reduction in their ration." He turned to face the room, his gaze settling on the other three council members present. "Someone willing to second the motion?" he requested.
"Now wait a -" Gray began only to be shouted down by two council members, Norm Trotter and Dick Kelley, as they both seconded the motion.
"And I think ten pounds of produce per person, per week, from a backyard garden is clearly supplemental," Caroline threw out. "Will you accept a friendly amendment, Ron?"
"Of course," he agreed, turning to add this information to the motion as recorded on the chalkboard. "Norm, Dick, is that agreeable?"
"Call the question," Gray grumbled, glaring at Ron. "I wanna vote on this now before you go and grandfather -"
But whatever else he was going to say was once again cut off when Jimmy Taylor burst through the door. "You gotta come now!" he shouted, clearly excited. "You're not gonna believe this! Outside!"
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Thursday, January 3, five years before the bombs
"Okay, this might just be the one thing wrong with first class," Jake complained, trying to pry up the console which separated his seat from Heather's. It didn't budge. "You're too far away," he grumbled, smacking the barrier with the palm of his hand.
Grinning, Heather twisted around so that she was sitting almost sideways in her seat and leaned over the offending slab of plastic. "I think we'll manage..." she laughed, puckering her lips in invitation. "Somehow," she whispered as he brushed his mouth across hers.
Heather had just undone her seatbelt - they had reached their cruising altitude and the pilot had turned off the seatbelt sign not two minutes before - and had lifted her knee, tucking it underneath herself to gain some additional leverage as she wrapped both arms around his neck, when from behind them they heard someone clear their throat and giggle. "Sorry to interrupt," the first class flight attendant chuckled. "I've got your coffee," she added as they broke apart. "Honeymooners?" she - Bev, according to her nametag - asked, passing a small, ceramic cup to Jake. "I can always spot the honeymooners," she laughed, handing Heather's cup to her.
"Not yet," Heather answered, balancing the cup in one hand as she reseated herself and then raised her tray, placing her coffee cup on it. She glanced over at Jake and then reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together. "We just got engaged a few days ago, and now I'm taking Jake home to meet my family."
"Well, engaged is just as good!" Bev declared brightly. She tucked her tray under her arm, gripping the back of the seat in front of Heather as the plane shuddered through a short pocket of turbulence. "Oh, was it a New Year's Eve proposal? Right at the stroke of midnight?"
"Uh -" Jake began, ready to confess for what seemed like the fiftieth time in two days that, no, he hadn't thought to propose at midnight, but rather nearly eight hours later.
Heather, though, cut him off. "Yes, he did. And, it was absolutely perfect," she answered, squeezing his hand.
"Okay now, let's see the ring!" Bev demanded. Laughing, Heather - who had gotten very used to this ritual over the preceding two days - held her hand up for inspection. "Oh my, that's beautiful, and so unusual," Bev declared seconds later. Waving the other first class flight attendant over, she threw Jake a smile. "You did good. Take a look at that, Julie," she gushed, yanking on Heather's hand so her co-worker could get a better look. "You hold out for something like this. Aaron's takin' his own sweet time, so you just hold out for the good stuff."
"It's a really pretty ring," Julie told Heather, ignoring the small barb directed at her boyfriend. "Congratulations," she sighed, letting go of Heather's hand. "Have you set a date yet?"
"They just got engaged," Bev answered for them. "New Year's Eve proposal."
"Midnight?" Julie smiled, "You must've felt like Cinderella at the ball."
"More like Rapunzel at the top of her tower," Heather laughed.
"Rapunzel?" Bev questioned, her expression confused. "Well, that's ... different."
"Sorry, inside joke," Heather dismissed. She glanced sideways at Jake, catching his eye. Pulling her hand loose from his, she reached up, cupping his chin, and then leaned over to press a quick kiss to his mouth.
"We'll just leave you two alone," Julie announced, chuckling. She waited a beat before adding, a knowing lilt in her voice, "Like you even care."
Blushing softly, her expression sheepish, Heather turned to face the two flight attendants, but they were already moving away and returning to their duties. She looked back at Jake. "You know, I really don't care," she admitted with a giggle.
"Good," Jake murmured, tugging on her hand until she took the hint and leaned over to kiss him once again. "Though I still say this thing's gonna annoy the hell outta me," he grumbled when they separated moments later, hitting the console with the heel of his hand.
"That's probably gonna keep us out of trouble," Heather countered quietly. She sat up in her seat and then lifted herself up so she could look around at their fellow first class passengers. They were in the last row with a bulkhead behind them, but the cabin was full, an older couple sitting in front of them and two business men - one reading the Wall Street Journal, the other tapping away at his laptop - across the aisle. Dropping back into her seat, Heather adjusted herself so that she was sitting diagonally, angled toward Jake. Cradling his hand in both of hers, she played with his fingers, not looking at him but leaning close so he could hear what she was saying. "Jake, uh," she began, coughing softly, "You know that - that at my Dad's, you're gonna be in the guest room, right?"
Extracting his hand from hers, Jake used one finger to lift her chin up until their eyes met and locked. "Yeah, I kinda assumed that," he smiled gently before adding, "Babe, it's okay. If we were at my parents', it'd be the same way. And let's not even talk about Gramps," he grumbled, making a face. "He's never gonna leave us alone at the ranch again."
She frowned sympathetically and then tilted her mouth toward his, kissing him. "Maybe not at the house," she agreed, giggling quietly, "But there's always the water tower and - I don't know - you've got haylofts, right?"
"Haylofts?" he chuckled in return, surprised - and yet somehow not - by her suggestion. Four of 'em," he confirmed with a grin. Catching her face in both his hands he planted a series of quick kisses on her mouth. "We'll hafta check 'em out," he murmured against her lips.
Jake had felt oddly like he was back in high school as he'd snuck into the ranch house at five the morning before. It had been easy enough to come in through the mudroom - though he'd had to quickly sneak Baron a doggy treat to keep him quiet - and then, taking off his boots and leaving them on top of the dryer, to creep through the house and up the stairs to his room. He'd fallen into bed and slept until ten, convinced that his grandfather was completely unaware of when he'd come home. That self-delusion had lasted until ten fifteen when he'd wandered down to get some coffee and had run into his grandfather, coming out of his study. "Don't bother telling me you just fell asleep," Grandpa had grumbled, his expression sour.
But it was the only comment he'd made about the situation, much to Jake's relief, not even saying anything when Jake had informed him that he and Heather would be going down to Wichita that evening, staying in a hotel, and then catching their flight out in the morning. Grandpa had simply allowed a soft sigh and then offered Jake the use of his truck. Jake had called Heather and confessed - as she had in return - to oversleeping, and then had promised to be at her house as soon as he'd showered and packed. They had left Jericho at four, stopping for dinner on the road and checking into the Airport Hilton just after eight.
"I'm gonna miss waking up with you tomorrow morning," Jake whispered, threading one hand through her hair. When the phone had rung with their wake up call at six that morning, his first impulse had been to chuck it out the nearest window, but then as he'd scrambled for the offending device he'd become very aware of their limbs tangled together, the press of her soft skin against his. Now, stroking the soft skin of her cheek with the back of his hand, Jake let out a sigh. "It's okay, babe. I want your Dad to like me, not wanna kill me. I can survive a coupl'a nights in the guest room."
Heather's smile was equal parts relief and regret. 'I'll miss waking up with you, too," she sighed, catching his hand in hers. She placed a quick kiss on his palm and then lacing their fingers together, rested their joined hand on the console between them. Leaning her head toward his, she began, "And when we get back -"
"Ladies and gentleman," Bev announced from the head of the small first class cabin. "We're going to get your breakfast served here in just a few minutes, I promise," she informed her passengers, starting to walk down the aisle. "But first, we have an engagement to celebrate." Stopping next to their seats, she smiled at Jake and Heather. "Just a few days ago, at the stroke of midnight on New Year's, Jake here asked -" She cut herself off, giggling. "Honey, I forgot to get your name," she admitted.
"Heather," Jake answered, squeezing his fiancée's hand as he enjoyed the rosy blush that was already spreading across he cheeks. He cleared his throat and spoke so the other passengers could hear. "I asked Heather to marry me, and she said yes." It wasn't the sort of thing he did normally. Having grown up in the spotlight so to speak - even if it was just the spotlight that came with being the mayor's son in Jericho, Kansas - he preferred to keep his personal life, private. But this wasn't the first time he'd done something differently because of Heather, and he knew it wouldn't be the last. A round of 'congratulations!' went up in the cabin, and Heather stretched toward him, leaning over the console that separated them until she could hide her face against his shoulder. Wrapping his arm somewhat awkwardly around her shoulders, Jake planted a kiss on the top of her head. "So, we're getting married," he concluded.
"Julie has mimosas for everyone," Bev declared. "Well, everyone but us. We're on duty after all," she joked. Julie quickly distributed the drinks and then Bev proposed a toast which was echoed by the other passengers. "May you have a long and happy life together. To Jake and Heather!"
Jake and Heather exchanged a kiss then, drawing sighs and indulgent smiles from the other passengers. "Thank you, everyone," Jake called out. "And thank you," He added, throwing Bev a quick smile.
"Yes, thank you so much," Heather echoed, "That was really sweet."
"You're quite welcome," Bev replied. "Now, time to get those breakfasts up. Can I get you more coffee? More orange juice? More champagne?"
"All three," Jake answered, catching Heather's eye. "You too, babe?" he asked, and she nodded. "For both of us," he told the flight attendant.
"So," the older woman in front of them asked, peering at them over the back of her seat. "How did you two meet?"
"Well, I had my tire blow out on me," Heather began, glancing quickly at Jake when he reached for her hand again, squeezing her fingers gently. "So I pulled off the highway, planning to change my tire, and then so did Jake. The rest is history."
"And they say chivalry's dead," the woman chuckled. "Sounds like you're both very lucky to have found one another."
"We sure are," Jake agreed, lifting Heather hand to his mouth, grazing her knuckles with a kiss. "I for sure know that I'm a lucky man," he told his fiancée, their gazes locked.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Saturday, December 30, three months after the bombs
"Hey, wait up," Stanley yelled as he pushed past Emily and Roger, pulling Mimi along with him. "Heather. Heather!" he called out. Eric had been directly on Jimmy's heels, also demanding that they come outside and claiming that help had arrived. Immediately, everyone had surged to their feet, pouring out of the council chambers, headed for the front entrance. "Heather," he repeated, finally catching up with her and Johnston. "How's Jake, how's he doin'?" he panted. "We were - were gonna come by later, check in."
Exchanging a quick look with her father-in-law, Heather exhaled softly before answering. "Grumpy. He's - he's weak still, tired, in a bad mood, and he's got cabin fever, all rolled up in one," she explained with a shrug.
"Heather, will you be okay if I...?" Johnston asked, letting go of her arm and pointing at Eric, who was saying something about a tank and soldiers and things that seemed very much beyond Heather's comprehension at this point.
"Yes, of course," she agreed, falling into step beside Stanley. Johnston and Eric moved a few steps ahead, both of them talking at once. "April made him promise to take it easy one more day," she added, flashing Stanley and Mimi a distracted smile and then glancing over her shoulder at Emily and Roger. "And the rest of us all decided it was a good day to get out of the house," she admitted with a somewhat embarrassed chuckle.
"Well, we'll stop by later, see if we can get his mind off things," Stanley promised, following Mimi and Heather out the main door and into the cold but bright winter day.
Out on the sidewalk they all stared, gaping and silent, as a tank rolled slowly down Main Street, its continuous track grinding and screeching on the wet and muddy pavement. A squad of soldiers dressed in camouflage and carrying machine guns marched alongside the tank which finally came to a stop in front of town hall. A somewhat husky man stepped forward, his eyes sweeping over the crowd. "Who's in charge here?" he boomed out.
Gray jogged down the short pathway, pushing past Roger and Emily and hurrying forward. "Uh, Gray Anderson," he introduced himself. "I'm the mayor of Jericho."
The soldier allowed a curt nod. "Glad to meet you, Mayor Anderson," he greeted. "I'm Gunnery Sergeant Hill. Fourth Mar Div, Fourth Tank Battalion, Charlie Company."
"So, you're...." Gray sounded stunned, unable to even complete the thought in case it wasn't true.
"Sir. We're the United States Marines, and we're here to help."
* * * * *
Without the modern conveniences of telephone, internet, or even the town's tornado warning sirens, word of the Marines arrival had still spread through Jericho seemingly at the speed of light - or at least at the speed of the fastest teenage boys. In just ten minutes, the crowd had tripled in size. Jericho's citizens milled around, talking in excited, hushed tones, telling the new arrivals that yes, these were the United States Marines. The families from Ridley Cooper's group were already laughing about their close call, all thoughts of leaving town now forgotten. Johnston, after making sure that Heather was safe with Stanley - not that he'd said anything, but the look that the younger man gave him had left no doubt that he knew, even if she didn't, that she was being left in his care - had started to move through the crowd, listening to what was being said and offering reassurances. Spotting his wife, followed closely by Jake and Michael, Johnston broke away from the McVeighs and strode toward his family.
"They sent the Marines?" Gail questioned, clearly not quite able to believe what she was seeing with her own, very wide eyes.
Nodding, Johnston wrapped his arm around her. Looking back over his shoulder at his son, he asked , "Are you okay to be out here?"
"I'm fine," Jake returned, his expression hardening. He seemed to sink back beneath the hood of his sweatshirt. "Don't - I'm fine."
"Okay," his father acknowledged, letting out a quiet breath. "If you say so. Heather's - she's over there," he added, pointing the two younger men toward the sidewalk in front of town hall. "With Stanley and Mimi."
Maneuvering his way through the crowd, Jake quickly spotted Heather standing next to Stanley, both hands resting on her middle as they always seemed to be these days. She was rubbing her mittened hands in circles across her belly, absently, as she listened to the Marine Sergeant. "Hey," he murmured, sidling up beside her, startling her.
"Jake, what are you doing here?" Heather whispered, frowning at him. "You're supposed to be taking it easy, April said."
"I'm pretty sure April wasn't counting on the Marines comin' to town," he countered quietly. "This is a little more important."
"Three days ago you could've died," she reminded, "I just think you should -"
"Sis, he's fine," Michael interjected, squeezing in behind his brother-in-law. "April's just being cautious."
Throwing them both a frustrated look, Heather shook her head. "Fine."
"Heather, c'mon," Jake grumbled softly. "I'm fine. And I'm not gonna sit at home -"
"Fine, I get it," she replied, refusing to meet his eye. "It's fine."
"Yeah, right," he muttered, earning him a look that spoke an earful though her lips were pressed tightly together.
Behind her, Stanley couldn't keep a smirk off his face. "So, uh, Jake," he threw out, clearing his throat. "You feel better? You look...better."
Rolling his eyes at his friend, Jake nudged Heather gently with his elbow. "Hey... truce?" he murmured near her ear.
Inhaling deeply, she glanced at him, nodding. "Yeah," she agreed, though there was still a hint of reservation in her voice. "Truce."
"Shh!" Mimi commanded, leaning over Stanley to shush them. "Listen!"
"....Now that we've won the war," Sergeant Hill shouted over the low noise of the crowd, "It's time to start rebuilding."
"What war?" Gray demanded.
Surprise was evident in Sergeant Hill's expression. "You - you didn't hear?"
"No," Gray confirmed.
"We lost all communications after the EMP," Eric called out.
"Well," Sergeant Hill nodded, taking this information in. "We nuked the hell outta North Korea and Iran."
The crowd buzzed with this news. "Oh my God," Heather gasped softly from beside Jake. Eyes wide, she looked up at him, and he reached for her hand, catching it clumsily in his own which was encased in a bulky glove.
"So, they were behind it?" Gray questioned, frowning.
"From what I hear," Sergeant Hill returned, clearing his throat, "Which isn't much, Iran financed it, and North Korea supplied the bombs. We've got troops all over the world, goin' after the terrorists who snuck 'em in, but at least we took out the big dogs."
"What happens now?" Eric questioned.
Sergeant Hill almost smiled as he announced, "Largest reconstruction effort in the history of the country."
"So there's somebody finally in charge?" Gray asked. Around him, the crowd pushed in, everyone jostling for a better position.
"Former Secretary of HHS is now the President," Sergeant Hill explained.
With his hood up - he was still cold and starting to wonder if he'd ever be warm again - Jake had to twist around to look his brother-in-law in the eye. Michael's expression was as dubious as his own. "Uh, we heard there were six guys from six different capitals claiming to be President," Jake shouted.
"Resolved!" Sergeant Hill declared, "Federal government is reunifying in Columbus, Ohio."
"How did they decide on Columbus?" Gray questioned.
"All I know is my orders are coming from the commanding officer of the Fourth Battalion," Sergeant Hill said, dismissing the mayor with a shrug. Turning in a circle, he scanned the crowd. "And those are," he continued, emphasizing each word, his voice getting louder, "To restore lights, power, and infrastructure to Kansas one town at a time!"
Immediately, the people of Jericho began to cheer, exchanging smiles and hugs with their family and friends. Gray, though, wasn't quite ready to celebrate. "Whoa, wait!" he interrupted, frowning. "When is that gonna happen?"
"You'll have shelves full of Oreos and Hot Pockets by Valentine's." Sergeant Hill assured, cracking an actual grin. "Welcome back to the grid, Jericho!"
The celebration swelled. Heather wrapped her arm around Jake's, resting her head against his shoulder. "Can you - can you believe it?" she asked, her voice cracking softly. Eyes glistening with happy tears, she smiled up at him as he pulled his arm loose from hers just long enough to wrap it around her, drawing her into a sideways embrace. "Jake ...."
"See, we're gonna be fine now," he muttered, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "We're gonna be just fine."
Next to them, Mimi and Stanley were kissing, locked in a clinch. Losing their balance, they stumbled into Jake and Heather who, giggling, extracted herself from her husband's embrace so she could offer her brother a hug. Jake found himself laughing too, and he gave Stanley a playful shove, complaining, "There are kids out here! Get a room!"
"It's over!" Stanley declared, pulling Jake into a one armed hug. Looking past his friend, he grinned at Heather. "Hey, Mama! It's over!"
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Thursday, January 3, five years before the bombs
"Mikey!" Heather called, "Earth to Mikey!" She and Jake were standing a mere five feet from her younger brother, who was leaning against a pillar his nose buried in what she recognized as the EMT exam study guide he'd been pouring over all of his winter break.
"Hey, Sis," Michael declared with a grin, snapping his book closed. "We just can't get rid of you, huh?" he teased, pulling her into a quick hug. "Now admit it, you missed me, didn't ya?"
Shaking her head and laughing, Heather took a half step away, bumping Jake, who immediately wrapped one arm around her. "Mikey this is -"
"Cowboy Jake," Michael filled in, holding his hand out to his future brother-in-law.
"Apparently," Jake returned drily, shaking Michael's hand. "It's good to finally meet you in person, Mike."
"You guys were quick," Michael observed, "Your plane landed like two minutes ago. Is this it?" he continued, pointing to Heather's rolling suitcase and the duffle bag at Jake's feet. "Or do we need to go to baggage claim?"
"No, this is it," Heather answered. She held her hand out to Jake who, after slinging his bag over his shoulder, laced their fingers together. "And being first off the plane is just one of the many bonuses of flying first class," she said, flashing a smile first at her brother and then at her fiancé.
"I had some awards to use up," Jake shrugged as they began to follow the signs toward the parking garage. "Figured it would be more fun with company," he added, winking at Heather.
"Oh man, Heth," Michael chortled, "Please, whatever you do, make sure I'm there when you tell Andy, Tommy and John that you guys flew first class. That's gonna be so classic, especially when Deb and Mandy hear about it. See...." He glanced sideways and then back over his shoulder, expecting them to be right behind him. "Oh, please," he grumbled as he finally located his sister and her fiancé, a good five feet back, exchanging a kiss.
Pulling away, Heather threw her brother a sheepish smile. "Sorry."
"Can we get going already?" he requested, impatiently. "Before I have to pay for the next half hour or fraction thereof."
"I'll cover your parking," Jake offered, letting go of Heather's hand and reaching around for her suitcase's handle.
"Oooh! And that way we can take all the time we want," she declared, brushing a kiss across Jake's mouth. Glancing over her shoulder, Heather laughed at the face her brother was making. "Oh stop," she giggled, warning, "Careful your face doesn't freeze that way," before kissing her fiancé one more time.
Five minutes later they were at Michael's car, a Geo Prizm that Jake argued was the exact same car that Heather drove (and which he loathed) though the Lisinski siblings went to great pains to explain that Heather's car was actually a later model Corolla. "They're made in the same assembly plant, same body and everything, but different cars technically," Michael argued, stowing their luggage around the ever present hockey bag in his trunk. "Plus, hers is a '90 and mine's an '87. And, we all just pretend that she's not Dad's favorite," he added, rolling his eyes, as he pushed the trunk lid closed.
"She's definitely my favorite," Jake declared, dropping an arm across Heather's shoulders.
"You're not so bad yourself," she grinned up at him. "And now, you know why I say my brothers would all kill for your car. Dad likes cars, likes working on cars, but he can be a little - "
"Not that we'd ever actually call Dad cheap," Michael interjected then, "But we are allowed to say he's thrifty."
"And we definitely do," Heather completed for her brother. Playing with the zipper on Jake's parka, she offered him a gentle smile, instructing, "You sit up front. In the back your knees'd be up to your chin." Nodding, he kissed her quickly before handing her into the back seat, both of them snorting at the strangled groan which had emanated from Michael.
"So, what's your car?" Michael asked, turning into the parking garage's exit lane.
Jake lifted himself up enough that he could extract his wallet from his back pocket. "Plymouth Roadrunner," he answered, handing Heather's brother a twenty. "Sixty-nine."
"Nice," Michael whistled, pulling up to the attendant's booth. He handed his ticket and the twenty to a bored looking young woman in her twenties who had - Jake counted - seven visible piercings. "Heather never got around to mentioning that. All we heard about was horses, and airplanes, and dates to other states, and diamond earrings."
"I really never mentioned it?" Heather questioned. "I thought I'd mentioned everything at least once," she giggled. "But, you know, I've never actually driven Jake's car, so maybe that's it."
"Boy, if that's not fishin'," her brother teased, transferring the change the attendant had given him from his left hand to his right. He held it out to Jake.
"Keep it for gas money," Jake said, waving him off. Michael smiled widely at that, rolling the money up before forcing it into a cup holder already packed with odds and ends. "And," Jake continued, looking over his shoulder at Heather and winking, "Babe, you can drive my car."
"Well, thank you," Heather returned, a soft blush coloring her cheeks as she leaned forward between the seats. "Sign me up," she murmured, their eyes locking. Jake took full advantage of the situation, pressing a kiss to her lips and prompting a screech from Michael.
"No kissing between the front and back seats!" he ordered. "New rule!" Michael glanced at her quickly. "And, put your seatbelt on!"
"Okay, fine," Heather grumbled, sitting back in her seat. "Oh, hey," she started again a beat later, "Turn on the radio, please. Tommy's show's on."
"Your brother the DJ?" Jake asked, pushing the 'on' button.
"It's sports radio," she answered, "And he prefers 'local radio personality'."
"He does the evening commute, three to seven," Michael added. "It's called the 'Home Run' show which we all think is incredibly cheesy."
Tommy was in fact just finishing a comprehensive run through of the coming weekend's local youth ice hockey schedule. "And, a special thanks to all the league secretaries out there who faxed those schedules in. We love all you team moms here at WSPB, Buffalo New York's premiere sports radio station. Team moms keep youth sports running smoothly so we dads can just have fun. Thank you, ladies!"
"Aw, that was sweet. Mandy write that for you?"
"She so did," Michael opined to the radio.
"That's Scott," Heather explained to Jake. "Tommy and Scott have been co-hosting for the last three years."
"Well... yeah," Tommy conceded reluctantly. "But I meant every word."
"Least that explains the pink heart-shaped note paper," Scott hooted, then called out, "Mandy, you know I love you.... Like a sister. Only better than my own sister, 'cause ya know -"
"She used to beat the snot outta ya," Tommy filled in. "Trina, you done good, girl."
And, speaking of sisters," Scott continued, ignoring the shout out to his older sibling, "What's this I hear about your baby sister getting engaged?" he demanded. "Since when do we even let Heather date? You never let me date Heather."
Throwing her head back so she hit it against the headrest, Heather yelped and then groaned. "I'm gonna kill him."
"I work with you five days a week, Scotty," Tommy reminded, "I don't need to see you at Sunday dinner, too. But, yeah, the big Lisinski family news is that Heather got engaged for New Year's," Tommy reported. "She's bringing the fiancé home for the weekend so we can all meet him. Actually, I think their plane's landing right about now."
"You guys have a plan, right?" Scott inquired conspiratorially. "I know you guys must have a plan!"
"Oh, we've got a plan all right," Tommy assured. "Can't let our little sister marry a cowboy without vetting him a little."
"He's dead," Heather declared, unbuckling her seatbelt in one quick, somewhat clumsy and clanging motion. Jake watched her over his shoulder, allowing a grin but refusing to laugh. This was a new side of his fiancée, not completely surprising and definitely amusing. Not even fifteen minutes in - and only having met Michael - he could tell this was going to be an interesting weekend. Sliding forward, Heather perched herself on the edge of the seat so she could pinch her brother's arm at the shoulder, though through his thick winter jacket, Jake doubted he felt it much. "Mikey!" she demanded, tightening her grip. "What are these plans?"
"Well, I expect a full report on Monday," Scott chortled from the radio. "Can't have little Heather marrying just any cowboy."
"I don't know, I swear," Michael insisted, easing the car to a stop for a red light. He glanced back, throwing her a look that was both annoyed and somewhat sympathetic. "They don't tell me anything," he reminded, "Because they know you'll just make me tell you. Besides, seriously, it's not like Dad'll let 'em get away with it. Well, much," he amended a second later.
"Babe, it's gonna be fine. I can handle a little interrogation," Jake said, catching Heather's hand in his.
"And, you know that most of that was probably just for the show," Michael argued, gesturing at the radio. "You know how they plan their on air banter."
Heather didn't look completely reassured, and Jake couldn't resist the impulse to try and kiss her frown away. Heedless of Michael's earlier declarations, he twisted around so he could brush his lips across hers, cajoling softly, "C'mon, babe. Don't worry so much."
"Yeah, Heth," Michael added, ignoring the flagrant violation of his latest 'car rule'. She sat back in her seat, slumping a little after she re-fastened her seatbelt. "Everything is gonna be just fine."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Saturday, December 30, three months after the bombs
"Heather!"
The five celebrating friends twisted around to see Harry Carmichael threading his way through the crowd toward them. Heather!" he called out again, breathlessly.
"Harry!" she returned with a smile. "Can - can you believe this? It's like a dream," she declared. "A really great dream."
"That it is," the engineer agreed, "And, it's probably silly to even worry about this now, but Brian Roth is pushing for us to do more switch grass research and wants to meet about it this morning - now, actually. I was hoping you could join us?"
"Go ahead," Jake urged, squeezing her arm. He cocked his head toward where his parents stood in the midst of the jostling throng of Jericho's celebrating citizenry, talking with the Marine Sergeant. "I'm gonna go listen in."
"Oh. Yeah, okay," Heather replied, frowning softly. She didn't really want to go, but she appreciated that Harry continued to include her and seek out her input even though she was no longer the head of the team. Leaning over to exchange a quick and perfunctory kiss with her husband, she let her hand rest on the zipper of his heavy sweatshirt for a moment. "I'll - I'll catch up with you later, or -"
"I'll come find you," Jake promised, stopping her long enough to tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. "No way your meeting's not longer than this," he reasoned, cocking his head toward the tank.
She groaned in acknowledgment. The technical solutions team had earned a reputation for its long, drawn out - Jake would say mind numbing - meetings. "Right."
"I'll come with you, Heth," Michael offered, reaching for her arm.
Jake watched as Michael and Harry escorted Heather up the town hall walkway, finally turning away when they reached the first step. Pushing his way through the throng, he came up behind his brother and Gray Anderson, and could hear the Gunnery Sergeant explaining what would happen now.
"... why don't you get a wish list of what you need, and I'll forward it onto HQ in Dodge City, start to get you back on your feet," Sergeant Hill instructed.
"Roger that," Johnston acknowledged, and Gray was all smiles as he inquired, "Well, just tell me how I can be of service."
"Uh, we're gonna need a command post," Sergeant Hill shrugged.
"Well, use the Sheriff's office," Gray offered quickly.
Sergeant Hill nodded. "Great."
"Excuse me," Mary said, appearing at the Gunnery Sergeant's elbow. "Uh, if you guys are gonna be here for awhile, why don't I take your men over to my tavern?"
Jake had to stifle a snort at the look of distaste which flashed on his mother's face. Her attitude toward Eric and Mary had softened some over the past month, especially as, facing starvation, they had needed to pull together as a family and work for all their survival, but she still wasn't happy with the situation and had a hard time checking her feelings. Eric seemed to notice her reaction too, and he threw Mary an encouraging look, saying, "Inside Bailey's you can almost forget what the world's like out here."
"It's not even noon," Gail grumbled, rolling her eyes.
"Well, they're welcome any time," Mary assured quickly. "Even if it's just to warm up in front of the fire for a bit."
"Thank you, ma'am, the troops could use it," Sergeant Hill replied, his gaze darting from Eric to Gail to Mary before he called over one of his men. "Ballmore! Front and center, move it, move it!" The young man appeared before him, clutching his rifle, his demeanor strangely twitchy. "Muster up and follow this young lady here," he ordered, pointing at Mary. "Liberty call, but remember," he cautioned, raising his voice so the other members of the squad could hear, "Everybody conduct yourself like Marines."
"Aye, sir," the Marine barked in return.
"Don't you 'sir' me, PFC," Sergeant Hill scowled. "I work for a living. Dismissed."
"Aye, aye, Gunnery Sergeant," the Marine returned before following after Mary who was beating a hasty retreat of her own.
"Couple of months ago I would have had that kid doing pushups 'til he puked," Sergeant Hill confided to Johnston and Gray, "But, uh, they've been through a lot."
"I understand," Johnston nodded. "Anything else we can do?" he asked, clearing his throat.
"Well, uh, Sergeant, one other thing.... Corporal Mullin," he yelled.
As if on cue, a Marine materialized out of the milling crowd, one who hadn't joined the group that had made a beeline for Bailey's. "Hi," she greeted, her voice giving away that she was in fact female and inviting them all to recognize the other signs that were there in her height, build and carriage. Her BDUs were a good disguise, but once they knew to suspect the difference, it was easy to see. "Uh, I'm looking to scavenge some replacement parts..." she explained, glancing at each of them in turn.
"Our radio took a coupl'a good hits," Sergeant Hill added.
"Do you have any idea where I could start?" the female Marine inquired quickly, leaving them no time to contemplate or question the source of those hits.
Jake stepped forward. "Maybe I could help?"
"Lance Corporal Mullin," she introduced herself, holding her hand out to him.
He accepted her hand, shaking it with his heavily gloved one. "Jake."
"Maggie," she replied, smiling. "So, you're the town's electronics expert?"
Next to him, Jake heard his mother make an amused noise in the back of her throat. Eric, Gail and Heather were the actual electronics experts in the family, the ones who set up stereo systems and laptops, and troubleshot printers for the rest of them. In fact, it had been awhile since Jake had needed to do anything more complicated than programming his cell phone, and that was only because his wife had held firm on her vow not to do that for him, not even when he'd tempted her with the chance to play with his newly issued DEA satellite phone. "No, I'm not an expert at anything," he admitted, holding up one hand in mock surrender. "But I can improvise," Jake assured, adding, "And I can get the expert if we need her."
"Speaking of, where's Heather?" Gail questioned frowning softly.
"Switch grass focus group," Jake shrugged. "Can't do anything with it 'til spring, but they're workin' on a plan." He returned his attention to Corporal Mullin, offering her a small grin. "I'm not the expert, but I'm here and I know where we can start lookin'."
"I'll take that," she smiled.
"Okay," he acknowledged, motioning for her to turn around and precede him through the crowd. "Let's see what we can find."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
To be continued in Different Circumstances, Part 14B.
The Geo Prizm / Toyota Corolla are "twin cars" that were assembled at the New United Motor Manufacturing Inc. plant in Fremont, CA. I worked there for a summer in the quality control department way back when and so in a fit of nostalgia gave both Heather and Mikey one of their cars. (Sadly, it looks like the plant is now closing and taking a lot of jobs with it.)
There is no WSPB radio station in Buffalo, but I needed a call sign and so I picked one that is now defunct from Florida.