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Post by kaijafon on Jul 6, 2016 19:46:25 GMT -6
oh NOES!!!!! a cliff!!!!!! ugh!! thanks!
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Post by 9idrr on Jul 6, 2016 21:04:52 GMT -6
Sounds as though there're others enjoyin' this as much as I am, so it looks as though you're gonna have to keep posting at this pace 'til this one's done. And then, of course, it's on to the next story, right? BTW, my commo time was with the 30th Arty. on Okinawa, so long ago that it was on Hawk sites. I finished my oversea time there, as they didn't have any use for an ol', broke-down 11Bravo.
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Post by ydderf on Jul 6, 2016 21:14:55 GMT -6
HELLLOOO Cliff. Thanks for the updates. Im looking forward to more. Fred
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Post by brucearmstrong65 on Jul 6, 2016 21:55:58 GMT -6
Sounds as though there're others enjoyin' this as much as I am, so it looks as though you're gonna have to keep posting at this pace 'til this one's done. And then, of course, it's on to the next story, right? BTW, my commo time was with the 30th Arty. on Okinawa, so long ago that it was on Hawk sites. I finished my oversea time there, as they didn't have any use for an ol', broke-down 11Bravo. My dad was on Okinawa for a time, but a few years before you - 1945, to be exact. Too damn hot for his liking (in a lot of ways).
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Post by brucearmstrong65 on Jul 6, 2016 22:09:09 GMT -6
A Difference of Opinion – Chapter 11
Tuesday, December 19th – Just before 9 AM
Frank dropped the perfume on the dressing table and ran for the door. He fumbled with the knob for half a second and then was in the hall, just as Dave charged through Jillian’s door, shotgun at the ready. Frank would later recollect that his first coherent thought was, Man, that sucker’s fast!
Either the security shutters hadn’t closed properly, or Frank and Dave had forgotten to close this section when they were checking for radiation earlier. Regardless, the security shutters outside Jillian’s window were open. She had gotten some clothes and a few books and whatnot when she realized the shutters were open and pulled aside her curtains to look outside.
Frank wrapped his arms around her in a protective bear hug and asked her what happened.
It was practically impossible to understand her panicked, sobbing voice. Frank led her into the hallway and tried to calm her down. Dave glanced out the window and understood immediately what she was screaming about. From her bedroom window, Jillian could see Tollhouse Road (Highway 168) from the intersection with Academy on the west, and a good half-mile to the east.
The roadway was packed solidly with cars. At some point on that terrible Saturday, after Dave and Frank and Jillian had gotten home, people had started using both lanes of 168 to head east. Even the south shoulder had become a lane, for a time. Now the road for as far as they could see was a parking lot – a graveyard for people as well as cars.
Dave crossed himself and pulled the curtains closed. He ran down to the security panel and cycled the control for those shutters. When he returned a few moments later, the shutters were closed. Dave picked up the items Jillian had set aside on the bed and came out into the hallway, closing the bedroom door behind him.
Frank had gotten Jillian to sit down on a small settee in the hallway near the staircase, and was trying with little success to calm her down. He looked up at Dave’s pale and sweaty face. “Dear God, what was it, Dave?”
Glancing at Jillian’s shaking, sobbing form, Dave only said one word: “Later.”
Dave shifted the bundle from his left arm to his right (which also held the shotgun) and put his hand on Jillian’s shoulder. “C’mon J, let’s go back down below.”
Jillian stood; rather, she pulled herself to her feet while hanging on to her Dad and Dave. With slow, almost baby steps, she followed Dave down the stairs, clutching tightly to her dad’s arm. The sobbing and screaming had died off, to be replaced by a near total silence. Dave would later confide to Frank that the silence was worse, for him, than the screaming.
Dave opened the basement door and led the threesome down the stairs and back into the shelter, pausing only so that Frank could secure the doors.
The threesome paused inside the entrance to the shelter, and Dave put the shotguns away in the gun cabinet. Frank and Jillian sat down on a sofa – Frank with his arm wrapped around his daughter and Jillian, still silent, staring at her feet. Dave took his bundle into Jillian’s bedroom and sat it on the end of the bed. He extracted one item before closing the bedroom door and going back into the main shelter area.
The item Dave had removed from the bundle was a stuffed animal Westie, from Build-a-Bear Workshop. Dave and Alice had had a Westie named J.J. that Jillian had absolutely adored. Sadly, J.J. had passed away the previous year. Alice had found the stuffed dog in a catalog and ordered two identical ones, one for herself and one for Jillian for Christmas. Shortly afterwards, Alice had passed away suddenly from a stroke. Dave had given one of the stuffed Westies to Jillian for Christmas, as Alice had planned to do; the other one was placed inside Alice’s coffin the day of her funeral.
Silently and gently, Dave placed the stuffed Westie in Jillian’s hands. Wordlessly, she clutched the toy dog to her chest and rocked back and forth.
Dave got Frank’s attention and motioned with his head towards the kitchen area. Frank carefully stood up, gently caressed Jillian’s head with his hand, and walked woodenly over to Dave.
“Dear God, man, what happened in there?” Frank said, trying with only moderate success to keep his voice down.
Dave told Frank the whole story – the dust-covered cars jamming the road, their occupants still inside. Dave nearly broke down a couple of times as he described the scene.
“Those cars were packed on 168 like sardines, man. Bumper to bumper, door to door, three cars across.” Dave shook his head. “Maybe people thought the cars would protect them, and didn’t realize their mistake until they started getting sick. Maybe some just gave up and died.”
“Didn’t anybody try to get away by foot when the roads locked up?” Frank wondered out loud.
“A few car doors were open, so maybe some did. Or maybe they opened the doors to get sick.” Dave glanced over at Jillian and then continued. “There were a lot of bodies visible, Frank. On the side of the road, leaning against cars or where they collapsed. If I never see a horror like that again, it’ll be too damn soon.”
Frank opened a kitchen cupboard, withdrew a bottle of Jack Daniels, and poured each of them a shot. He handed one to Dave and without a word tossed his back. Dave did the same.
Dave and Frank walked back to the sofa and sat down on either side of Jillian. She felt the movement and looked up, first at Dave and then at her dad. She had stopped rocking and wasn’t crying anyone, but the tear tracks were still clearly visible on her cheeks.
Dave spoke first. “I’m sorry, J, Frank. I think I forgot to close that last section of security shutters when we were checking rad levels. You didn’t need to see that.”
Frank shook his head. “Not your fault, Dave. If you hadn’t built this place so well, we wouldn’t have survived.”
“We’ll be seeing that a lot, won’t we, Dad?” Jillian’s soft, almost indiscernible voice, startled both men.
Frank couldn’t lie to her; she’d seen too much. “I’m afraid so, darling. I think a lot of people weren’t able to get to shelter in time.”
The three sat quietly for a few minutes. Jillian fell asleep on Frank’s shoulder. Moving carefully, Dave stood, picked up an afghan from a nearby chair, and draped it over Jillian and Frank, who nodded his thanks without a word.
Quietly, Dave went into the storage area and opened one of his bags, withdrawing a portable handheld CB unit. Inserting fresh batteries, he switched it on, turned the control to Channel 18, and depressed the push-to-talk button.
“Dave to Bruce, Dave to Bruce. If you’re receiving, switch to Channel 21. Do not acknowledge.”
Dave released the button and changed to Channel 21. Bruce was already there.
“Bruce to Dave, Bruce to Dave. What’s going on?”
Dave took a deep breath and spoke, without interruption, for the next 10 minutes.
“Mother of God, Dave. How many dead?”
“Somewhere between 500 and a thousand, Bruce, depending on how many were in each car. Three lanes, bumper to bumper, plus walkers.”
“Horror upon horrors. How’s Jillian taking it?”
“About like you’d expect. She finally fell asleep on the sofa with Frank holding her.”
“Don’t mean to be disrespectful but what were your rad readings like?”
“Nothing above 1.2 and that was right against window glass with the security shutters open. We picked up” - Dave paused and checked his dosimeter - “less than 1 R.”
“Okay, Dave. I’ll let you go now. Sounds like you all could use some rest, and a stiff belt if you’ve got some handy.”
“Already taken care of the second, Bruce. As for sleep? I’m not sure if I’ll ever sleep again.”
“You will, Dave, all of you will. Look, skip the radio check-ins for the rest of the day. I’ll call you folks on 18 if anything changes. You’re a good man, Dave. Don’t ever forget that. Bruce out.”
Am I? Dave wondered. I may have just driven my best friend’s daughter over the edge because I forgot to flip a switch. Without consciously thinking about it, Dave turned off the handheld unit, removed the batteries, and put everything back in his duffel bag. He went back out to the main area, stretched out in an easy chair, and stared at the ceiling for a very long time.
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Post by pbbrown0 on Jul 6, 2016 23:44:59 GMT -6
Great story, Bruce.
Regarding editing, I have learned the hard way not to trust spell checkers. They sometimes "auto-magically" correct a misspelling to the correct spelling of the wrong word, or allow a word where a one letter typo results in the wrong word in your sentence.
Looking forward to more of your work.
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Post by brucearmstrong65 on Jul 7, 2016 11:26:47 GMT -6
A Difference of Opinion – Chapter 12
Tuesday, December 19th – Midday
Dave woke up with a start, not understanding for a moment where he was or why, after looking at his watch, he was sleeping in the middle of the day. He stood up from the easy chair and saw Frank on the couch with Jillian, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, an Afghan tossed over them. Suddenly it all came back to Dave – the trip upstairs, the scream, the “Highway of Death” outside the bedroom window. Dave hadn’t thought of the “Highway of Death” from the First Iraq War since he’d seen it in person with the 1st Infantry Division; now it was yards away, outside his home.
Dave had moved as quietly as possible, but a creak from the chair had woken Frank up as well. Moving as gently as possible, Frank eased off the couch, leaving the afghan in place over the sleeping Jillian. Dave motioned Frank over to the shelter entrance to try and keep from waking Jillian up.
Dave told Frank about his conversation with Bruce on the radio, and that regular radio check-ins were off for the day, at Bruce’s suggestion. He also apologized again to Frank for Jillian’s trauma.
“Dave, it’s not your fault. I didn’t think to check the control panel either. Maybe it wasn’t us at all – maybe that blind just stuck on something, I don’t know. In any case, she’d have seen it at some point. Maybe it was best to get it out of the way now...” Frank’s voice trailed off.
“Frank, you know eventually we’re going to have to do something about it. Having that many decaying remains essentially in our backyard is going to smell, not to mention be a health hazard – not like we need any more of those now.”
Frank nodded his head. “All I can figure is a pit-type communal grave, the other side of the 168. But that’s not all, you know. The highway will have to be cleared, at least one lane. There’s probably stuff that can and should be salvaged, too – tires and batteries if nothing else.”
“But not for a while. Even 1 R is too high for that kind of long-term project.”
A voice called from the other side of the shelter. “Dad? Mr. Powers?”
The two men practically got jammed in the doorway trying to get back to Jillian.
Jillian was sitting up, the afghan tossed aside but the stuffed Westie still clutched to her chest.
Frank spoke first. “We went upstairs to look around, hon.”
“I remember that, Dad. We took the radiation readings and then I went upstairs to my room … oh, that’s when I saw the cars...” Her voice trembled, but she didn’t sob. “So many people...”
“Well, after that, it was time to come back down anyway. We all just kind of crashed down here for a while.” Frank walked over and took her hand. “Pretty terrible, wasn’t it?” There was no way to soft-pedal seeing a thousand people dead, Frank thought. You dealt with it head-on or you went quietly insane.
“We’ll be seeing a lot more of that, won’t we?” Jillian asked quietly, looking up at her dad and then at Dave.
“We probably will, J,” Dave affirmed. “People who couldn’t or didn’t get to shelter, people who just gave up...”
“So what do we do about it?” The question surprised both men.
“For the moment, Jillian, nothing,” her dad answered. “The radiation is still too high to be outside for any appreciable amount of time. I figure in a day or two, maybe we can walk over and see the Jacks for a few minutes.”
“Wearing this stuff?” Jillian asked, looking down at the Tyvek suit and gear she still wore.
“Not the latest in fashion, is it, J?” Dave said, and got a slight smile from Jillian in return.
“We’ll have to get used to things being a lot different for a long time, Jillian,” Frank said. “The important thing is we’re alive, and we’re together. Now, let’s get out of this gear and get it put away. After that, we ought to think about lunch.”
The three carefully removed the Tyvek suits and other gear, and Dave hung them up in the entryway of the shelter. Typically, they wouldn’t have worn any of the gear back into the shelter after being outside, but the morning had certainly not been typical, and they hadn’t been outside the house to pick up any contamination.
Nobody felt particularly hungry after the morning’s events, so lunch was a pretty simple affair – a Cup of Noodles each and some saltines. Frank thought it might settle their stomachs a bit; he knew his was still unsettled from the morning’s events.
Later that afternoon
Frank, Dave and Jillian tried to keep themselves busy that afternoon; they had dispensed with their normal shelter routine of firearms training and the like.
Frank zeroed out and recharged the dosimeters after recording the (thankfully) minimal readings on a laptop spreadsheet to track their long-term exposure. He cleaned and put the spare survey meter away in the equipment room and checked the Tyvek suits and other protective clothing for damage and, finding none, left it hung up in the anteroom.
Dave sat at the breakfast nook, reading Dickens’ “A Tale of Two Cities” on his iPad – or at least that’s what he told Jillian. When she wasn’t around him, he was reading some old civil defense and prepper publications on decontamination procedures. Frank and I can’t protect her from reality, he thought, but we don’t have to bash her over the head with it.
Jillian did some laundry and put away the items she had brought from upstairs. After that, she came out to the kitchen and started working on an idea she had for dinner.
Frank came into the shelter from the equipment area after servicing the generator and air filtration system, and washed his hands at the kitchen sink.
“Are you working on dinner, hon?” Frank protested. “Dave or I can do that.”
“Dad, I’m not a complete cripple,” Jillian said as she rolled her eyes, reminding Frank that, whatever she had been through, she was still a typical teenage girl.
“Fair enough,” said Frank as he dried his hands. “Need any help?”
“Actually, I do,” she said, to Frank’s mild surprise. “Do you have any bell pepper or onion in that freeze-dried stuff? We used up the fresh stuff and I need those for dinner.”
“I think so, hon. Let me check the inventory,” he said as he reached for a slim 3-ring binder sitting atop the refrigerator. “What do you need it for?”
“We’re having meatloaf for dinner, Mom’s recipe, IF we have diced bell pepper and onion in storage,” she said with a smile.
Frank flipped a page, then another, and ran his finger down the third. “Ah, here we go! Yep, we’ve got both hon. I’ll get them out of storage.”
Frank caught Dave’s eye as Jillian turned back to the kitchen counter and gestured with his thumb toward her. Dave held up his hands and shrugged in a Who knows gesture.
Frank retrieved the containers of bell pepper and onion from the storage area and opened them for Jillian, after which he was promptly shooed out of the kitchen. Needing a boost, he got a Coke from the refrigerator and sat down next to Dave.
“What do you think brought on the Julia Child routine?” Frank asked Dave quietly.
Dave replied without looking up from the iPad. “Remember the dreams? May this is her way of looking after us for Nancy.”
An hour or so later, Jillian told the two men to go wash up and get ready for dinner.
When they returned a few minutes later, Jillian had their places set at the breakfast nook with placemats, napkins, silverware and a glass of water. As the men sat down, Jillian put a plate down at each setting – meatloaf, mashed potatoes, gravy on both, and French-cut green beans.
Frank looked in in amazement at the feast before him. “What brought all this about, hon? Not that I’m complaining, mind you, but after today, well...” The rest was left unsaid.
“I grabbed mom’s old cookbook, the one she said your mom gave her when you two had just gotten married.” Frank hadn’t thought of the old Good Housekeeping book for years. Nancy had been quite a cook in the early years of their marriage – before she changed, Frank thought.
“But why meatloaf?” Frank said, through a mouthful of the extremely good dinner.
“That’s where the cookbook fell open to. Judging by the stains on the page and the binding crack there, I guess she made it a lot,” Jillian said with a smile.
“That she did, hon. We had it at least once a week, as I recall. Then I got busy with work, and your mom kinda lost interest in cooking...”
“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Frank,” Dave said in mock admonishment. “Just be quiet and enjoy. This is excellent, J. You did your mom proud with this.”
The beaming smile Dave got in return was bright enough to light up the shelter.
Frank and Dave insisted on doing the dishes while Jillian wiped down the counter. “Sorry there’s no peach cobbler to go with it,” Jillian said as she hung up the dishtowel, “but there is some ice cream left in the freezer. Anyone interested?”’
Both Frank and Dave shook their heads no as they poured coffee and sat down in the living area. Jillian got a Coke and joined them, curling her legs under her on one end of the sofa.
“That was perfect, Jillian. Hit the spot after a bad day. Thank you,” said Frank. Dave echoed the sentiments.
“Back to normal tomorrow, Dad?”
“I sure hope so, hon. I’ll talk to Bruce on the CB tomorrow morning, see if they want to come over here. We don’t want to be outside too much for a while, even if the radiation is low. It adds up.”
“Cumulative dose, you mean, Dad?”
Frank was surprised. “How do you know about that, hon?”
“Because I can read upside down, and Dave didn’t hide his iPad screen well enough,” she replied with a smile.
Dave felt his face flush. “Was I that obvious, J?” She nodded her head. “I wanted to review the information I had about radiation, and I didn’t want to upset you anymore after today.”
“I can handle it, Dave.” She paused. “Um, is it okay if I go back to calling you Mr. Powers? It doesn’t seem right to call you Dave.”
“J, call me anything you’re comfortable with, just don’t call me late for dinner, especially if it’s as good as tonight’s,” Dave said playfully.
“Thanks, Mr. Powers. For everything.”
Dave blushed again. “You’re very welcome, J.” He stood up and stretched, holding his now-empty cup. “Well, I’m going to give Bruce a quick call on the CB, let him know all’s well, and then I’m going to call it an early night.”
Frank and Jillian rinsed out the coffee cups and put everything away in the kitchen. As Frank closed a cupboard, he turned to his daughter. “Hon, I don’t say it enough, but I’m proud of you. Especially after today.”
It was Jillian’s turn to blush. “Thanks, Dad. Maybe I’m making up for lost time. Mom and I kind of lived our own lives for a while, didn’t we?”
Startled at her perception, Frank nodded head in agreement. “I think we all did, honey. Not just you or your mom. It was easier than arguing, but not better.”
The two stood silently in the kitchen, thinking about their changing lives in a much-changed world. Eventually, they went their separate ways to bed, both wondering – but not saying to the other – if Nancy would visit them tonight.
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Post by ss1442 on Jul 7, 2016 12:02:44 GMT -6
Good stuff!
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Post by kaijafon on Jul 7, 2016 15:04:14 GMT -6
Thank you!
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Post by 9idrr on Jul 7, 2016 16:02:35 GMT -6
Thank you, sir. Nice change of pace.
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Post by pbbrown0 on Jul 7, 2016 16:20:57 GMT -6
I really like your writing, Bruce. Lariat Advance was good, but for some reason I am enjoying this story even more.
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Post by brucearmstrong65 on Jul 7, 2016 16:26:14 GMT -6
oh NOES!!!!! a cliff!!!!!! ugh!! thanks! Two stories in and I think I should change my name to Cliff Hanger.
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Post by brucearmstrong65 on Jul 7, 2016 16:28:07 GMT -6
I really like your writing, Bruce. Lariat Advance was good, but for some reason I am enjoying this story even more. Thanks - I must admit, I'm enjoying A Difference of Opinion better, too - both writing it and re-reading it. Maybe because I live within a few miles of the area the story is taking place, or just cause the first one is the toughest. Just FYI: I'm revising Lariat Advance as we speak, correcting some of the inconsistencies in the early chapters (the ones written before I worked out the timelines and details of the main characters).
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Post by brucearmstrong65 on Jul 8, 2016 15:12:19 GMT -6
A Difference of Opinion – Chapter 13
Sunday, December 24th
Life in the Simonians’ shelter started to return to normal in the wake of their traumatic first trip after two weeks of confinement. Frank and Dave’s work routine resumed the following day, as did Jillian’s training in weapons, first aid, shelter operations, and the like.
Bruce and Suzy Jacks came over on the following morning (Wednesday the 20th) and stayed for lunch. That afternoon, Dave made a trip to his house and brought a few things over, which he put in the garage and refused to tell either Frank or Jillian about. Each day brought another trip and another refusal to reveal what he had been doing.
Frank was on the verge of putting his foot down and demanding the truth about what Dave came over to the radio desk after lunch and asked for Frank’s help in the basement, outside the anteroom.
Jillian had gone into her bedroom to lay down for a while after lunch, and had closed the door. Quietly, Frank and Dave walked through the shelter doors and into the basement.
As soon as they were in the basement proper, Frank turned to face Dave. “Okay man, what’s going on? You’ve gone outside every afternoon for four days with a word. What’s the deal, man?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t clue you in, but that might’ve spoiled the surprise, Frank.”
“Surprise? What surprise, Dave?”
“This one, for Jillian,” Dave said, motioning to an out-of-the-way corner of the basement.
To Frank’s amazement, there was an artificial white Christmas tree, fully assembled, with several boxes of decorations. Next to the tree were several wrapped presents. “How … what … when?”
Dave smiled. “Alice always trained me to buy early for Christmas. She used to buy things all year round and put them away for Christmas. I’ve done the same thing, even since I’ve lost her. I brought the Christmas tree over and assembled Wednesday, wrapped the presents Thursday, brought them and the decorations over Saturday, and here we are.”
“You risked your life for Christmas, Dave?”
Dave shook his head. “I was careful to move quickly when outside, decontaminate both here and at home, and to limit my exposure. I zeroed the dosimeter Wednesday afternoon, and since then I’ve gotten” - he held it up to the light - “just over 1 R cumulative. No risk to life or limb.”
“Thank you, Dave. Jillian will be just absolutely thrilled. Say, she’s taking a nap right now. Want to get everything in place before she wakes up?”
“Out-standing idea, my friend. Tree first, then presents, then the decorations. Let’s save that part and she can help us with that,” Dave suggested. “What do you say?”
“I say, what’re we waiting for? She’ll be thrilled.”
An hour later
The tree was in place, the presents arranged beneath it, and the decorations neatly stacked beside the tree. Once they were done, Dave and Frank were like two little boys on Christmas morning, nearly shivering with anticipation. When they heard Jillian moving around, they tried to look innocent. Frank sat on the sofa reading while Dave was at the radio desk pretending to do something.
Jillian’s door opened and she stepped out, looking half-asleep and rubbing her eyes. When she saw the tree and the presents, she stopped dead in her tracks. She rubbed her eyes again and then pinched her arm to be sure she was awake.
“DAD! When … what … how did this happen?” Jillian exclaimed, her mouth open in surprise.
“When did what happen, Jillian?” Frank asked innocently, turning a page of the book he was pretending to read.
“Only thing that’s happened is you finally getting out of bed after your long nap, sleepyhead,” Dave remarked, concentrating intently on the radios (which were, incidentally, all off).
Jillian shook her head in mock exasperation as she stood at the foot of the tree, gazing at the presents and the tree. “You two … the Christmas tree!”
“Say, Dave,” Frank remarked, deciding to pull Jillian’s leg just a little bit more, “do you see a Christmas tree around?”
“Sure, Frank, but it’s Christmas Eve – when else would you expect to see one?”
Frank started to open his mouth but was nearly knocked off the sofa by his daughter flying across the room and putting him in either a bear hug or a full-body tackle, depending on your point of view.
Dave braced himself for the oncoming onslaught and didn’t get knocked out of his chair. “Merry Christmas, J. I thought you deserved something extra-special this year, or at least as special as we could make it.”
“It’s beautiful! Where did you get it? And the presents?”
“That’s where I’ve been going each afternoon – over to my house – an hour a day. Wrapping the gifts was the hardest part, but I’m a man, so what do you expect?”
“I love it! Say dad, can we invite the Jacks’ over tonight for Christmas eve?”
“I think we can do that, honey. Let’s take a quick walk over, and if they can make it, we’ll have them help with the tree trimming, how’s that sound?”
“That would be great, Dad! I’ve got to find something to wear, do something with my hair, figure out what to do for dinner...” Jillian continued to chatter as she ran down the hallway and into her bedroom.
“Frank,” Dave said quietly, “I think we may have created a monster.”
“Oh, I’m sure we have, Dave,” he replied. “Well worth it though, isn’t it?”
The two men looked at each other with silly grins and shook hands.
Later that evening
Dinner was a big affair that evening, at least as big as the five participants could make it. Bruce and Suzy Jacks brought over a bottle of wine and a cake with green and red frosting. Dave made up a batch of non-alcohol eggnog. Dinner was a turkey roll from Frank’s freezer, along with mashed potatoes, Stove Top stuffing, and gravy. Frank explained that he had a turkey in the freezer but it wouldn’t be defrosted much before New Year’s Day. Nobody complained.
Dinner over, Jillian and Suzy got started decorating the tree, while Dave and Frank were cleaning up and putting away what leftovers there were. Bruce helped clear the table and spoke quietly to Dave and Frank in the kitchen.
“I didn’t want to say anything on the radio, or at dinner, but we’ve got a problem. The Andersons and the Coopers. The Andersons made it in about a half hour after you folks. I hadn’t heard anything from them, so I checked their house yesterday morning. All dead, presumably from radiation. I’d guess about a week. On the way back home, I saw the Coopers’ Mercedes SUV in their driveway. Parked crooked with all four doors open. Found the same thing in the basement. All dead.”
“Does Suzy know?” Dave asked quietly.
“She does, but we agreed not to say anything in Jillian’s hearing, after what happened Tuesday.”
“Do you know what happened to them?” Dave pressed. “Didn’t they take shelter?”
Bruce nodded. “They did, but they both have the big round staircase from the ground floor to the basement. No way to close it off completely. They didn’t have the security shutters or air filtration, any of the stuff that we did. The Andersons tried to rig up a shelter in one corner of the basement, but it wasn’t enough. The Coopers didn’t do anything except go into the basement. No food or water left.”
Dave’s face was red. “Dammit, I tried to convince them to go with the shelter option when they bought into the development, but they weren’t interested. Eight more people dead, because they wouldn’t listen or I couldn’t convince them.” The dinner plate in Dave’s hand literally snapped into, making a loud sound.
Both Jillian and Suzy stopped and looked over. “You guys okay over there? What happened?”
Dave breathed deep and thought fast. “We’re fine. I got sloppy and broke a plate against the faucet. No harm done … well, except to the plate.”
Everyone laughed and Jillian turned back to the tree. Suzy and Bruce locked eyes for a moment, and Bruce gave a slight nod, indicating he’d told them the news. Suzy rejoined Jillian in working on the tree.
“Their choice, Dave,” Frank said quietly. “They were good families, good neighbors, but they just didn’t think like we do.”
“I think I’m going to go over to the Andersons’ on Tuesday morning and start cleaning up,” Bruce said, getting a glass of eggnog from the bowl on the kitchen counter. “Where should we put the … remains?”
“Bury them in their backyards?” Frank suggested.
Dave shook his head. “We’re going to have to work on burying some of those bodies out on 168 and clearing the road, eventually. Why not get the remains from both houses and start a graveyard across the highway? We can dig trenches or whatever when we can work outside more in a few weeks.”
“Sounds like a better solution, guys. It’d seem kind of creepy having bodies buried in the neighborhood, to be honest,” Bruce commented.
“I’d prefer we didn’t let Jillian know for now,” Frank said. “I’ll tell her Tuesday morning before I come out to help you guys.”
“We’re finished!” Jillian called out from the Christmas tree as Suzy stacked the empty ornament boxes to one side.
“A sight to behold, J! You and Suzy did yourselves proud!” Dave exclaimed. Frank and Bruce chimed in to agree.
“Just one more ornament and we’re finished,” Jillian said, revealing an angel topper from behind her back.
Frank was flabbergasted. “Is that…?” He couldn’t finish the sentence.
Jillian nodded, her eyes glistening. “This is the first ornament you and Mom bought together, the first Christmas you two were married.” No matter how many differences of opinion they’d had that year, Nancy had always insisted that the angel topper be the last ornament placed on the tree, and always by Frank.
Frank took the ornament in a trembling hand, got as close to the tree as he could and, with both Dave and Jillian helping his balance, stretched up on his tip-toes and got the angel topper in place, first try.
Everyone clapped and cheered. Even under the circumstances, it was a very merry Christmas eve.
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Post by 9idrr on Jul 8, 2016 17:17:02 GMT -6
Some traditions should live on.
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Post by kaijafon on Jul 8, 2016 19:23:40 GMT -6
thank you!! not sure how they are going to clean up and bury all those bodies though.... whew!
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Post by brucearmstrong65 on Jul 8, 2016 20:20:43 GMT -6
A Difference of Opinion – Chapter 14
Monday, December 25th
In a reverse of the usual occurrence with kids on Christmas Day, Frank and Dave were up early and Jillian slept in. Frank and Dave took advantage of the unexpected quiet time to make a few plans for laying the Andersons and the Coopers to rest the following day.
Jillian didn’t join the two men until nearly 8 AM, by which time they had finished breakfast and were getting ready for their normal daily tasks.
“Well, Sleepyhead, nice of you to join us!” Frank teased.
Jillian blushed as she got herself a cup of coffee (or, as Dave called it, J’s Half & Half Splash – half milk, half sugar with just a splash of coffee for color).
“Morning, Dad. I don’t suppose you’d believe if I said I forgot it was Christmas Day?” Jillian asked as she sat down on the sofa.
“Honey, I’d believe anything after the past three weeks,” Frank said, coming over to give her a hug. “But Merry Christmas anyway, daughter o’ mine.”
Dave came in from the storage area carrying a backpack. “Frank, I’ve got all the gear we’ll … oh, hi J! Merry Christmas!”
“Merry Christmas, Mr. Powers. What’s in the backpack?”
Dave cast a deer-in-the-headlights look at Frank. “Oh, just a couple things I’ll need for some chores, later on. Want anything for breakfast?”
Jillian may have been only thirteen, but she wasn’t born yesterday, either. “Dad? What going on? What does Mr. Powers need a backpack full of stuff for?”
Frank sighed deeply and sat down on the sofa next to Jillian. “I wasn’t going to tell you about this until tomorrow, try to give you one happy day amidst so much sadness. Bruce told us last night that he’d gone over to the Andersons’ and the Coopers’ homes day before yesterday. They were dead.”
Jillian’s eyes went wide. “All of them, Dad? What happened?”
Frank nodded. “We think they died from radiation sickness. They didn’t have enough protection, even down in their basements. No air filters, not enough shielding, very little water or food. Bruce said he thought they’d been dead for – well, a while.”
Jillian put two and two together faster than either man thought she would. “And you’re going over to … take care of them tomorrow?”
Dave spoke up. “That’s right, J. That’s why all the stuff in the backpack – Tyvek suits, goggles, masks, gloves, whatnot.” He chose not to mention the trash bags and duct tape which would serve as body bags, nor the plans to bury them in a common grave on the other side of the 168.
Jillian sat silently for a few minutes. “I liked them. They were nice people.”
“They were that, Jillian,” Dave agreed. “Anyway, that’s the plan for tomorrow. Me and your dad and Bruce are going to take care of them. Respectfully.”
“I want to go with you,” Jillian said quietly.
“Absolutely not,” Frank said emphatically. “You can stay here by yourself or go over and stay with Suzy Jacks, but you will not go with us.”
“Dad, with all due respect, I think I should. They deserve a proper burial. We owe them that.”
“You know, these won’t be the first dead bodies we’ll have to deal with. Plus, you know them. Went to school with the kids, had dinner with them on occasion. You were on soccer with the Cooper girls, weren’t you?” Dave asked.
Jillian nodded. “Dayna and Donna, the twins. A year older than me but we were on the same team.” She smiled. “Confused the heck out of the coaches the first year.”
Frank thought for a moment, then spoke softly. “You know, we’ll have to go down into their basements to bring them out. It … well, it won’t be pretty.”
“I know, Dad,” Jillian replied. “But I’ll have to face seeing bodies eventually, handling them too. It’s either now or when we start cleaning up Tollhouse Road outside.”
“Mr. Powers, you don’t speak as quietly as you think you do. I heard you talking with my dad and Mr. Jacks last night – not the details about the Andersons & the Coopers, but about taking care of the people on the 168.”
“Like your dad said, it won’t be pretty. If you start with us, you’ll have to finish the job. No quitting in the middle. You understand, J?” Dave asked.
Jillian nodded her head. “I’ll be ready, Mr. Powers, Dad. I promise.”
Dave nodded. Frank wasn’t yet ready to concede the point. “I don’t think your mom would approve, Jillian. And I agree with her. No little girl should have to see that kind of horror, let alone work in the middle of it.”
“No men’s jobs or women’s work anymore, dad. And Mom was best friends with Mrs. Cooper and Mrs. Anderson. I don’t think Mom would forgive me if I didn’t help you two lay them to rest.”
Frank sat silently for a few moments. “I still don’t like it, Jillian, not one damn bit. But I won’t stop you.”
Jillian smiled sadly. “Thanks, Dad. What’s the plan for tomorrow?”
“We’ll start early around 7:30 AM. I think we’ll start at the Coopers’ and, depending on how long things take, we’ll take care of the Andersons’ next. We were going to use Bruce’s pickup and take them to the field across the 168. Put them in a communal grave. When we start working on Tollhouse Road, we’ll bury the people from the cars over there in other communal graves.”
Jillian nodded and sipped her Half n Half Splash. “Won’t the city of Clovis or Fresno County be out clearing the highways and taking care of bodies? Shouldn’t we try to contact them?”
Dave answered her. “We haven’t heard anything from the authorities since that first Emergency Alert broadcast the day of the attack. We don’t know if any of the government entities are even in existence anymore, J, much less how to get hold of them.”
“What about calling them with the CB? Isn’t there an emergency channel truckers use to report accidents and things?” Jillian asked.
Frank and Dave looked dumbstruck. “Frank, is your daughter a genius or are we complete idiots?”
“Could be both, Dave,” Frank replied, smiling at Jillian. “I know she’s a genius, I’m just not sure about us. Let’s try Channel 9 and see what happens.”
What happened next, everyone later agreed, was a Christmas miracle.
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Post by misterjimbo on Jul 8, 2016 20:50:33 GMT -6
Thank you very much for an interesting story. Makes me think of what the writers in the 1950's used to write about. After-the-bomb stories were great science fiction. Now I will go back and read your other story.
Did they take their iodide tablets?
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Post by brucearmstrong65 on Jul 8, 2016 20:53:32 GMT -6
Thank you very much for an interesting story. Makes me think of what the writers in the 1950's used to write about. After-the-bomb stories were great science fiction. Now I will go back and read your other story. Did they take their iodide tablets? Good question - but I'm sure they will when I revise the story, once it's finished!
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Post by brucearmstrong65 on Jul 9, 2016 16:56:46 GMT -6
A Difference of Opinion – Chapter 15
Monday, December 25th – 10:00 AM
Dave sat down at the radio desk, switched the CB to channel 9 and picked up the microphone. Glancing over his shoulder at Frank and Jillian anxiously waiting behind him, he shrugged and said, “Well, here goes nothing.” He depressed the mic button and spoke
“Breaker Niner, Breaker Niner, this is Delta Pappa calling for any Clovis authorities. Any Clovis authorities, come back, over.”
He waited for about fifteen seconds and repeated the call.
“Breaker Niner, Breaker Niner, this is Delta Pappa calling for any Clovis authorities. Any Clovis authorities, come back, over.”
“Delta Pappa, Delta Pappa, this is Clovis Fire Department, Station 5, near Temperance and 168. We read you five by five. Go ahead. Over.”
Frank yelled, Jillian squealed, and both shook Dave until he nearly fell out of his chair. Dave held up his hands for silence and replied to the radio call.
“Clovis Fire 5, this is Delta Pappa, near Tollhouse and Academy. Reading you five by five as well.”
“Delta Pappa, this is Clovis Fire 5. Glad to hear you. How’re things with you? Over.”
“Clovis Fire 5, this is Delta Poppa. All okay here. Wanted to know status of clearing Tollhouse Road, over.”
“What needs to be cleared, Delta Poppa?”
“Jesus, Dave, they don’t know,” Frank whispered. “Heaven help us.”
“Clovis Fire 5, be advised that Tollhouse Road is solidly blocked from at least Shepherd on the west to at least Mendocino Road on the east, possibly farther on both ends. At least 250 cars, apparently with occupants, all traffic headed eastbound. Probably there since the evening of the attack. Over.”
“Sweet Jesus!” The voice broke, then firmed up. “Delta Poppa, confirm two hundred fifty – two five zero – vehicles blocking Tollhouse between Shepherd and Mendocino. Over.”
“That’s affirmative, Clovis Fire 5. Both lanes and the south shoulder packed with cars, all eastbound.”
A difference voice came through the radio.
“Delta Poppa, this is Deputy Chief Wilson. Message understood. We will investigate and contact you on this channel when in area. Is everyone at your location okay? Over.”
“Clovis Fire 5, this is Delta Poppa. Two homes with five persons all okay. Two other homes, total eight occupants, all deceased. Request instructions. Should we remove bodies? What about burial? Over.”
“Delta Poppa, it’d help if you would clear the two homes, provided radiation allows you to do so safely. Postpone burial until we determine what the Tollhouse Road situation is. Do you have radiation equipment? If so, what are your readings? Over.”
“Clovis Fire 5, this is Delta Poppa. That is affirmative. Our peak reading was one-five-zero R the morning after the attack. We were averaging 1 R indoors ground floor yesterday. Over.”
“Good deal, Delta Poppa. That matches our numbers here. We’re just starting to get out and around now. Okay if we see you in person when we’ve checked out Tollhouse? Over.”
Dave glanced at Frank and got a nod. “Fine with us, Chief. We’re at Midway Estates. Park at front gate and hail us by loudspeaker or this channel. Any timeframe? Over.”
“Delta Poppa, I’m checking with Clovis PD now. Wait one.”
Dave leaned back in the chair. “Well, at least somebody’s working. We’ll just have to see what they can do.”
“Delta Poppa, this is Wilson. Clovis PD will send motorcycle unit eastbound on 168 from Temperance to see how far we can get. We will approach from Herndon and Academy to your front. Leaving immediately, ETA dependent on road conditions. Put the coffee on for us, OK? Clovis Fire 5, out.”
“We copy, Clovis Fire 5. Delta Poppa out.”
Dave switched to Channel 25. “Bruce, this is Dave. Did you copy that transmission?”
“Sure did, Mister Delta Poppa. Great news! I’ll keep a sharp eye on the gate and buzz you when I see a vehicle approach.”
“Sounds good, Bruce. I don’t envy Clovis Fire that job, but better them than us. Out.”
Dave set the microphone down and leaned back in the desk chair.
“Well, Frank, J, that puts a new spin on things. At least we’ve got some local government getting off the dime. That’s a start.”
“And my little girl – well, my young lady – got the ball rolling,” Frank said, hugging Jillian and beaming almost as much as his daughter.
A few hours later
Frank, Dave and Jillian lazed about until noontime when they had turkey sandwiches for lunch. After what cleanup there was, the three checked their gear and made sure they were ready when they heard from the Clovis Fire or Police Departments, which they did just after 1 PM.
“Delta Poppa, this is Deputy Chief Wilson, Clovis Fire. Over.”
“This is Delta Poppa. Go ahead, Chief.”
“We’re at your front gate and we have news.”
“Good deal, Chief. We’ll be out shortly. Delta Poppa out.”
The three practically ran to the shelter door.
“Hold on just a second, folks,” Frank said with a raised hand. “Let’s not get sloppy at this point. Dave, we’ll take our shotguns but have them slung. Dosimeters for everyone. Jillian, will you carry the survey meter, please? Okay, now we’re ready.”
The stairs were climbed once again, and for the first time since December 2nd, Dave, Frank and Jillian opened the door and walked outside together.
The sky was cloudy and greyish, not abnormally so for a winter day in the Central Valley. Everything seemed dirty and dingy which, considering no sprinklers had run or cars been washed for three weeks and change, it probably was.
A Clovis Fire Department pickup truck and a Clovis Police Department motorcycle were at the gates of Midway Estates. The police officer was wearing a jumpsuit of some sort, with his Sam Browne belt and gear on the outside of the suit. He had his helmet off and was rinsing his mouth out with a bottle of water. Two figures in turnout gear and helmets were standing on either side of the officer. Dave saw that one figure was wearing a white helmet and assumed he was the deputy chief. He was correct when the white-hatted figure waved. Bruce was already at the front gate, talking to the three men.
“Hi there, I’m Deputy Chief Jack Wilson. This is Battalion Chief MacArthur and the officer is Sergeant Terry Scortia from Clovis PD. He was able to make it up to – well, I’ll let you tell him that story later.”
“Hello chiefs, sergeant, I’m Dave Powers and helped build and develop this place. This is my next-door neighbor and best friend, Frank Simonian, and this is his daughter Jillian. It was her idea to use Channel 9 on the CB. You’ve already met Bruce Jacks and his wife, Suzy.” Bruce had already manually unlocked the gate, and Dave, Frank and Jillian came outside to join the others. Handshakes and greeting were exchanged all around.
Frank asked, “So how bad was Tollhouse and the 168, Sergeant?”
Sergeant Scortia spit a mouthful of water onto the ground and took a drink before answering. “Worse than I ever hope to see, Dave. I started finding cars with bodies just this side of Owens Mountain Parkway, and things just got worse from there. Traffic gridlocked about a quarter-mile the far side of the Shepherd and 168 junction. I used farm roads and a little cross-country work north of the 168. The jam-up was caused by a multi-vehicle accident about a half-mile past Mendocino Ave. Big rig on its side across all lanes, looks like a couple of cars hit it. A horribly effective roadblock.”
Sergeant Scortia paused for another drink of water and Frank spoke up. “So you’re saying there are three lanes of traffic backed up for, what, five miles?”
“Closer to five and a half miles, sir. Not always three lanes – people tried the shoulders and got stuck or wrecked with someone more impatient than them. But yeah, a five-mile traffic jam of at least two lanes, and everyone dead.”
The group stood silently for a time, everyone doing the math in their head.
Deputy Chief Wilson finally spoke. “We’ve got limited communications within the valley – agencies as far north as Sacramento and as far south as Bakersfield. This is the worst jam-up so far, though I suspect if we ever get news out of the old Ridge Route area north of LA, that’ll be worse.”
“So what do we do now, Chief?” Dave asked quietly.
“We start wherever we are, one day at a time, one step at a time. Like right here. The Fire Chief gave me blanket authority to work on this situation. I figured on a couple mass graves north of the 168, and a mass vehicle area on that huge triangle of land bounded by Tollhouse, Academy and the Canal. We can’t do too much heavy work until the radiation dies down some more, probably the end of March. But we can be ready when it’s time.”
“What about the Andersons and the Coopers?”
“Oh, the two families here that didn’t make it. Eight people, wasn’t it?” Dave nodded. “I can have a couple of firemen come out and give you a hand tomorrow. We have body bags available. I’ll have the remains brought in to our temporary mortuary facility at Herndon and DeWolf.”
“Thanks Chief. We better get in. We’ve been outside for almost an hour.”
“Thank you, Dave. And the rest of you. We’ll be working hard for a long time. I’m glad you all are here to help. Call us on Channel 9 if you have any problems.”
“Will do, Chief. Thanks. Gentlemen,” Dave said with a wave. The two vehicles headed back to town, leaving the survivors of Midway Estates to contemplate the tremendous task that lay before them.
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Post by kaijafon on Jul 9, 2016 23:14:22 GMT -6
thank you! I was worried there for a bit thinking that someone was pretending to be "in charge" and was gonna kill them and take Jillian!!! horrible ....
but glad they are ok.
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Post by brucearmstrong65 on Jul 10, 2016 10:35:18 GMT -6
A Difference of Opinion – Chapter 16
Monday, December 25th – Evening
Dinner was finished and Dave, Frank and Jillian were stretched out on sofas in the living area, watching a DVD of “Scrooge” featuring George C. Scott. As the movie ended, with Scrooge and Tiny Team walking away hand-in-hand, Dave suddenly spoke up. “The presents! We got hold of the fire department this morning and got so excited, we forgot all about the presents!”
Dave got up from the sofa and walked over to the tree, as did Jillian and Frank.
“Okay, we’ve got one for Frank here,” Dave said, handing Frank a medium-sized wrapped package, “and one – no, two! - for Jillian, right here,” handing her two smaller packages.
“But Mr. Powers,” Jillian cried out, almost in tears, “we didn’t get you anything!”
Dave’s face grew serious for just a moment. “Seeing you happy at times like these is the perfect gift. I can’t take all responsibility for these, either.”
“What do you mean, Dave?” Frank asked.
“Remember before when I said Alice liked to shop for Christmas all year round? Last year, just before -” Dave cleared his throat - “just before we lost her, she was already thinking about this Christmas, even though we hadn’t celebrated last Christmas yet. She found these items for you two and had them set aside in her ‘present closet,’ as she called it. I found them in there when I was getting the Christmas decorations and stuff out. Go on, open them up, you two!”
Jillian started to open her gifts even before Dave finished speaking. The first package, about 6 inches long and an inch wide, was a simple but very pretty wristwatch, a gold housing with a matching band which had alternating gold and silver accents. Jillian slipped it on her left wrist and turned to the other package. It was a thin gold-and-silver necklace which matched the accenting on the wristband of the watch. Her dad helped her with the clasp and soon had it in place.
“Mr. Powers, thank you! They’re beautiful! I wish Mrs. Powers was here so I...” Jillian stopped in mid-sentence as she realized what she was saying. “I’m sorry, I meant...”
Dave held up a hand to stop her. “Nothing to be sorry for, J. I wish she was here too sometimes. C'mon, Frank, you’re holding up the parade here! Open yours.”
Frank’s present was about six or seven inches long, and about three inches wide, and wasn’t in a box, judging by the soft sides. Undoing the ribbon and tearing the paper open revealed a set of handkerchiefs, bearing his initials in one corner, surrounded by an intricate embroidered design that circled the initials and ran around the border of each.
“These are beautiful, Dave! Where on earth did you and Alice find these?”
“Alice found them down at Macy’s but thought they were too plain, so she embroidered the design on each one, by hand. She was going to give them to you for your birthday last January but, well, you know...”
“But that still leaves you without anything, Mr. Powers!” Jillian exclaimed.
Ah, not so, young lady! Would you pick up the last two boxes and bring them over there? Your dad can give you a hand with the one if need be.”
Jillian picked up a box about one by three foot, and fairly thin, with a label in Alice’s handwriting that simply said “For my dearest,” and handed it to Dave.
“This was in the back of the present closet, already wrapped up. I never noticed it with all the other packages and wrapping until a couple days ago. I think it was supposed to be for my birthday.” Dave undid the wrapping and opened the box, which contained a beautiful brown leather bomber jacket with patches on the front and a silk flag with Chinese writing on the back.
“I don’t recognize the flag, Mr. Powers. Where is it from?”
Dave had trouble speaking for a moment, and cleared his throat a couple of times. “China, J. This is a replica World War II-era jacket from the Flying Tigers that flew in China. That’s the flying tiger patch of the 14th Air Force on the one side, and an Army Air Corps patch on the other. And on the back is what was known as a ‘blood chit’. The Chinese characters identified the bearer as a friend who was helping the Chinese people fight the Japanese invaders. Usually it was sewn inside the lining, but after the war, many survivors had them sewn on the back of their flight jackets as souvenirs, and the reproductions were all made that way.”
“You see,” Dave continued, “Alice knew I was a big fan of the John Wayne movie ‘Flying Tigers’ and always wanted one of the old-style flight jackets. I’m surprised she was able to keep the secret and not give it to me right away.”
The room fell silent at the thought of Alice and indeed of the friends and neighbors all of them were missing.
"What about the other box, Mr. Powers?" Jillian asked.
"Well, that's not really a present from anybody, though I guess it would be from your dad for all of us."
Frank looked thoroughly confused at this point. "I didn't get anything for..." he started to say, then stopped when Dave held up his hand.
"Frank, remember our drive up to North Fork on... well, that day?" Frank nodded head, still not really understanding.
"You won something at the Christmas bazaar, didn't you?" Dave prodded.
"Yeah, I won the big Christmas bask... I forgot all about that! Is everything still good in it?"
"Sure looked okay, Frank. Nothing perishable in it, and it was in the garage the whole time. J, why don't you give him a hand opening it?"
Jill and Frank tore the paper off the box and opened the top. Frank reached in and pulled out a beautiful hand-made basket filled with jellies, jams, candies, cookies, and different handmade Christmas items.
"You won this, Dad? Wow! Look at all this stuff!" Jillian exclaimed. "And you WON this, Dad? YOU?" Jillian knew of her father's propensity for buying losing raffle tickets.
"I'd forgotten all about this. I won this in the last raffle, right before Dave and I came home and... well, everything that happened that day," Frank said, as he undid the plastic outer wrapping. Well if this doesn't beat all!"
The three were once again quiet, enjoying the warm glow of friendship and giving.
Finally, Frank spoke up and reminded them of the busy day tomorrow, and suggested that they clean up the remains of the wrapping paper and packages and head to bed.
When Frank knocked on Dave’s door at 6 AM, the jacket was draped over Dave’s torso like an extra blanket.
Tuesday, December 26th – 9 AM
A large Clovis Fire Department pickup truck with two firefighters, and driven by Deputy Chief Wilson, pulled up to the front gate of Midway Estates just before 9 AM and was let in by Bruce Jacks. After manually operating the gate, Bruce stood on the running board and directed the firemen to the Andersons’ residence. They were joined there by the other four surviving residents of the community.
The firemen, including Deputy Chief Wilson, were clad in standard turnout gear. As Dave, Frank and Jillian approached on foot, they were pulling on their air tanks and protective masks.
“Thanks for coming out Chief, guys,” Dave said as hands were shaken all around. “We were going to get started on this today, but we didn’t know much about how to do it properly.”
“Well, sadly, we’re going to get a lot of experience in the coming weeks,” Deputy Chief Wilson remarked. “The plan right now is to get the bodies off the streets, out of cars and whatnot. The next step will be going door to door with police and explorer help, determine where bodies inside homes and buildings are, and marking them for pickup.”
“Any idea how many bodies you’re talking, Chief?” Frank asked.
“In the thousands in Clovis, tens of thousands in Fresno, probably.” Wilson shook his head. “Worst mass casualty I ever had to deal with was the Wesson killings back in 2004, when I was still with Fresno Fire. Nine bodies – one adult, eight children – ranging in age from 1 to 25. I still have bad dreams of that one. This -” gesturing vaguely towards the 168/Tollhouse Road - “frankly, I don’t know how any of us will get over it.”
“We’re ready, Chief,” one of the firefighters said.
“Okay, make your reconnaissance and report in. I’ll bring in the body bags at that point and we’ll go from there.”
Both firemen raised a hand in acknowledgment and headed up the paving-stone walkway toward the front door. The front door was unlocked, and the two firemen entered. About 10 minutes later, the chief’s handi-talkie crackled.
“Chief, we’ve finished a walkthrough of the house. All clear except for the basement. Four adults, no children, one dog.”
“Understand, I’ll bring five bags in.”
Wilson picked up five zippered body bags and started for the Andersons’ front door.
“Chief, do you need a hand?” Dave asked as he stepped forward, pulling on his gloves.
“We can handle it, but another set of hands would surely help.”
“Okay, let’s go then.” Dave pulled on his mask and walked up to and through the front door with Wilson.
It was close to twenty minutes before Deputy Chief Wilson and Dave came through the front door, carrying two body bags, one atop the other. They were followed soon after by the two firefighters, carrying two more body bags in the same manner. The four body bags were placed carefully in the back of the fire department truck. The two firefighters went back inside for the last bag while Dave and Deputy Chief Wilson removed their gear and stood with Frank and the others.
“Bad?” Frank asked.
Dave just shook his head. Wilson said quietly, “Yeah, bad. They had a makeshift shelter on the far side of the basement, but it wasn’t enough. That, or they picked up some fallout before they got home. We opened up the ground floor windows, try to air the place out.”
“Your guys need a break, Chief?,” Suzy Jacks asked. “We’ve got water and Gatorade right here.”
“I think we’re okay, thanks,” Wilson responded. “I think we’d just like to get this over with as quickly as we can.”
“Well,” Dave responded, “the Coopers’ place is two doors down. We can just walk down if one of your men will bring the truck.”
“Okay guys, move the truck down two houses, where the black Mercedes SUV is. One more house to go.”
One firefighter waved in acknowledgment and both climbed into the truck, moving it as the chief directed, while the others walked to the Coopers’ front lawn.
“Bruce, how many in the Cooper family?”
“Four, Chief – husband, wife, two twin daughters, a year older than Jillian.”
The two firemen walked over and stood by Wilson. “We’re ready, Chief.”
The instructions were the same as before: do a recon of the home and report in. Ten minutes later the report: “Reconnaissance complete. Four deceased, all in basement.”
“Roger, I’ll be in with the bags momentarily.”
“Chief,” Frank stepped forward, I’ll come down this time to lend a hand.”
“Me too,” Jillian said quietly.
“Sorry, young lady – Jillian was it?” Wilson asked. “I can’t allow any minors to participate in this kind of operation. You knew the twin daughters, didn’t you?” Jillian nodded her head.
“I'm sorry. Look, I hate to ask this of you, but would you be able to tell us which girl is which? We’re trying to keep some kind of records to identify the deceased.”
Jillian swallowed once and nodded her head. “I’ll do it, sir.”
“Thank you, Jillian. Okay Frank, let’s get this taken care of.” The two men walked towards the front door, adjusting their masks and gear.
The chief spoke quietly as they entered the front door. “Sorry to have to ask that of your daughter, Frank, but it’s necessary.”
Frank nodded. “It has to be done, Chief. Besides, they were her friends.”
Twenty minutes later, the two firefighters carried two body bags out and placed them in the back of the truck. Jillian started to walk over, but one firefighter shook his head and held up his hand, as they headed back into the house.
Five minutes later, the two firefighters carried out a third body bag, followed closely by Deputy Chief Wilson and Frank carrying a fourth bag. The firefighters carefully placed the bag on the ground next to the truck and stepped back as Wilson and Frank placed the fourth body next to it. Jillian, with Dave’s hand on her shoulder and Suzy Jacks’ arm around her waist, walked over to the two bodies.
Deputy Chief Wilson knelt and unzipped the two bags just far enough so that Jillian could see their faces. She gasped as she saw first Dayna and then Donna Cooper, looking gray and emaciated.
“Do you recognize which one is which, J?” Dave asked as he stood beside her, looking at the two teenage girls.
“That’s Dayna, on the left,” Jillian said, a catch in her voice. “She had that little scar on her forehead, from when she walked into a locker door at school back in September.”
Deputy Chief Wilson made a note on two cards and tied one to each bag. He zipped up the body bags and nodded to the two firefighters, who carefully placed each bag in the back of the truck. They removed their respirators and placed them in an equipment rack behind the truck cab.
“Thank you, Jillian. Oh, there’s one more thing.” Wilson reached into the pocket of his turnout coat and removed an envelope. “We found this in Dayna’s hand, Jillian. It was addressed to you.” He held out the envelope.
A single sob escaped Jillian’s throat as she reached a trembling hand forward to take the envelope.
“Dave, Frank, Bruce – thanks for your help this morning. We’ll take -” Deputy Chief Wilson almost said the bodies “- the Andersons and the Coopers to our temporary facility down at Herndon and DeWolf. We’re not issuing certificates but if there’s a legal question, a will or estate or whatever, contact the city and they’ll issue the paperwork.”
“Thank you, Chief, and your men,” Dave said as Frank walked over to Jillian and put an arm around her, as she continued to stare at the envelope with Dayna’s writing on it. “Let us know if we can help with that other project,” as he inclined his head toward the roadway.
“I’ll talk to you about that later in the week, Dave.” Wilson motioned towards Jillian with his head and said quietly, “Keep an eye on her. Tough for any girl to lose her mom and two friends this way.”
Wilson climbed in behind the wheel, and Bruce stepped up on the running board as the truck started and drove slowly to the gate, where Bruce let them out and secured the gate behind them, as the truck headed slowly away, taking friends and neighbors away from Midway Estates for the last time.
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Post by 9idrr on Jul 10, 2016 14:25:08 GMT -6
Thanks for posting another chapter, Bruce. I think the folks are handling this better than I could. This kind of thing was never mentioned during our CBR training.
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Post by kaijafon on Jul 10, 2016 15:46:22 GMT -6
harsh.
thank you.
don't know if I could do that
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Post by brucearmstrong65 on Jul 10, 2016 17:04:07 GMT -6
A Difference of Opinion – Chapter 17
Tuesday, December 26th - Noon
Jillian sat on the edge of the sofa, staring at the envelope with her name on it. Dayna’s handwriting was worse than usual, a kind of thin, spidery, shaky writing in bigger-than-normal letters. It must have been difficult for Dayna to write at the end, Jillian thought.
The three had shed their outer garments on the front porch where they had been washed down with a garden hose and left hanging to dry. Jillian had opened the front door and tossed Dayna’s letter on the hall table so there wouldn’t be any chance of it getting wet. She practically jumped out of her Tyvek suit and ran inside.
Once Frank and Dave finished the decontamination work, they went in the front door; Frank started to go down to the shelter and Jillian, but Dave touched his arm, shook his head, and pointed to the kitchen table.
“Maybe we should give her some time, Frank,” Dave said quietly. “Let her read the note through a couple of times. She’ll tell us what it says when she’s ready.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right, Dave. The last thing she needs is two old men looking over her shoulder.”
The two men sat quietly for a few minutes, saying nothing but both with an ear half-listening for any sound from the shelter.
Down below, Jillian reached forward and picked up the note. She carefully opened the pale blue envelope and opened the single sheet of matching notepaper inside. Taking a deep breath, she began to read.
December 15th
Jillian:
If you are reading this, it means that you survived the war, and for that I am thankful. It also means that we did not.
We were down in Richgrove attending my aunt Ethel’s funeral that Saturday when the bombs went off.
We had a full tank of gas so Dad decided to make a run for home the back way, up through Porterville and Exeter. The traffic was insane everywhere, lots of accidents.
It was after 9 PM before we got home. The last couple hours, we could see the fallout on the windshield. Dad stopped outside the gate and switched seats with Mom. He told her to drive straight to the house as fast as she could, and that we should run inside when we got there. Dad closed the gate and ran home.
Mom and Dad cleaned out the refrigerator and kitchen while Donna and I grabbed some blankets. It was midnight before we were down in the basement.
We started getting sick the next day. Dad first, then the rest of us. We were pretty ill for a day or two and then we all started feeling better. That lasted until Wednesday. We got sicker and sicker.
Dad died ten days after the attack, on Tuesday the 12th. Mom went the next day. Donna and I made it a couple more days. By then we were running out of food and water, though we had no appetite in any case. We decided to take some of Mom’s sleeping pills with what water we had left.
Donna and I will miss you. You will always be our best friend.
Until we meet again,
(Signed) Dayna
Jillian carefully re-folded the pages and placed them back in the envelope, then laid the envelope down on the coffee table and sat staring at the wall.
When Frank and Dave came down an hour later, Jillian hadn’t moved.
“Jillian?” Frank asked tentatively, almost in a whisper. No response.
He stepped closer, and knelt by her feet. Looking into her face, Frank again whispered, “Jillian?”
Her eyes blinked and she shook her head as if coming out of a daze.
“Dad? What time is it?”
“It’s almost 1:30, Jillian. Did you … you know?” Frank gestured toward the envelope.
Jillian nodded her head, without speaking.
“Forgive me for asking, but what happened, hon?”
She reached forward, picked up the envelope and handed it to her father. “Go ahead, Dad. It’s okay. You too, Mr. Powers. It’s all right to read it.”
Frank sat on the edge of the couch and gently removed the pages. Dave stood behind the couch and read over Frank’s shoulder. They read the letter through, Frank gasping at the final lines and Dave dropping to his knees, resting his forehead on the edge of the sofa. Tears were streaming from both men’s eyes.
As if performing delicate surgery, Frank replaced the letter in the envelope and carefully laid it back on the coffee table.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Frank said quietly.
“Me too, J,” Dave added.
“Dad, you went down there with the firemen. How … bad was it in the basement?”
Frank thought briefly about feeding her a line, trying to soften the blow, but he thought that would be more cruel than the truth, albeit the truth gently presented.
“About as bad as the letter said, hon,” Frank answered honestly if gingerly. “Dayna’s mom and dad were together in one corner with a quilt over them. Dayna and Donna were next to them. Like the chief said, the letter was in Dayna’s hand.”
“It was brave of Dayna to write that for you, J. You must’ve been very good friends,” Dave said quietly as he stood up.
“A couple of their other friends didn’t like me, I guess because I was a year younger. Didn’t want me hanging around. Dayna and Donna cut them loose and told me not to worry. Said I was their friend and that was that.” Jillian stood up. “Dad, could you do me a favor?”
“Of course, Jillian, anything. What is it?” Frank asked.
“Would you scan the letter onto the laptop and print out a copy? I don’t want to lose the original or damage it by reading it over and over.”
“I’ll do it right now, hon. I’ll put the original in one of the drawers in the gun safe. Nothing’ll happen to it there,” Frank assured her.
“Thanks, dad.” Jillian kissed her dad on the cheek. “I’m going to lay down for a bit. I’m not really in the mood for lunch today.” She walked into her bedroom and closed the door behind her.
“I’ll do that for you, Frank, if you’d like,” Dave offered.
“I appreciate that, Dave, but I told Jillian that I’d do it, so that’s that.” Dave detected just the slightest bit of an edge in Frank’s voice and decided not to press the point.
“How bad was it in there, Frank? The whole truth.”
Frank paused, glanced toward the closed bedroom door, and spoke quietly. “It was hell on earth, Dave. The worst thing I’ve ever seen up close. Back in my Navy days, we lost two men in a chopper crash and fire. I was part of the recovery team for the remains. The Coopers’ basement was worse than that.” He stood up and walked to the computer. “I better get this done for Jillian. I promised.”
It took Frank a few minutes to scan the letter and envelope. He printed two copies; one went into a desk drawer, the other on the counter for Jillian. The original went into a quart Ziploc bag, which Frank put into a small compartment in the gun safe.
Dave, unable to help Frank or his daughter, retrieved the Jack Daniels’ bottle from the kitchen, poured and drank a shot, and sat down at the breakfast counter, resting his head on the countertop.
It was very quiet in the shelter for a very long time.
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