The Journal: Fault Line (The Journal Book 5) (31 page)

“What else?”

“The rest is for the guards and offices,”
Jake answered.

“Yes, but what
else
? What is missing?”
John pushed.

Austin shook his head, confused.

“Women, Austin. There are no women
‘detainees’ here,” John stated. “This is a well-controlled, well
thought out complex. By housing any women in a different location,
they reduce any problems by a large margin. This place and likely
all the other ones like it, have someone very smart at the
top.”

***

“Hey, pretty boy, I like your jacket. Give it
to me!” a gruff voice sounded in the early morning light.

John rolled slightly to see what was going on
below him. Three men were addressing Austin and they each carried a
rod or stick of some sort.

“No, it’s mine and its cold in here,” Austin
protested, and the men laughed. John swung his feet off the bunk
and jumped down in one swift move, landing in front of the
agitator.

“Pick on someone your own size, bud.” John’s
voice was cool and menacing, his anger at being confined boiling
just below the surface.

“Oh, is this your bitch?” the leader laughed
and turned his head toward his followers to make sure they were
laughing too. John’s fist met with one jaw and then another, the
third guy backed away.

“Thanks, John,” Austin said.

“Hey, what’s going on here?” the guard asked,
coming up on the scene. “Oh, it’s you. I’ve been warned you’re a
troublemaker. Come with me.”

“No!” Austin protested. “Those three were
trying to steal my jacket and John stopped them, that’s all.
They
started it.”

The guard looked at all the participants and
said, “Get back to your bunks, all of you. Breakfast is in
forty-five minutes.” And he walked away.

Jonas, the ringleader, looked at John and
said with a sneer. “I like your jacket, too.” He walked away
rubbing his jaw.

***

“Austin, that Jonas is going to cause trouble
and there’s only one way to stop a bully: hit them first and where
it hurts the most,” John said to his new friend and bunk mate. “I
want you to take the top bunk for a few nights, and wear my jacket.
I’m a light sleeper and I’ll be ready for when he comes back.”

“Won’t he be going after the guy in the top
bunk?” Austin asked nervously.

“Yes, but I’ll be able to surprise him and
hit him where it will do the most damage,” John reassured Jake.

The next night the attack came. As Jonas
reached for the sleeper in the top bunk, John struck out at his
vulnerable mid-section with a fist to the groin; the guy went down
with a groan.

While Austin stood on one of his hands and
John knelt on the other, Jonas’ eyes fluttered open. John had taken
the knife from his boot that had been missed during the initial
search and held it to the attacker’s groin. When Jonas was fully
conscious, John brought the knife up to his eyes so he knew what
had been pressing on the most sensitive part of his anatomy.

“I don’t want to see you even looking in this
direction again, Jonas. Is that clear?” John said calmly.

***

During the second week of his internment, a
sergeant stood at the front of the common room and called out a
list of names, including John’s. One by one, they were led to
another room where three officers were seated.

“Mr. Tiggs, it says here you were picked up
carrying a weapon,” the middle officer read from a file. “Is this
true?”

“Yes, sir, it is. I was at the mall to do
some grocery shop—”

“I don’t need to hear the excuses or reasons
you broke the law, Mr. Tiggs. This report also says you broke out
of your cuffs and assaulted a member of the military. Is this
true?”

“Yes, I broke out of the cuffs. No, I did not
assault anyone. I was Tasered and fell against the young man,” John
answered. “Does that report mention what happened to my money?
Twenty-five hundred dollars.”

“The report says your pockets were empty
except for your car keys.”

John huffed and knowingly grinned.

The three huddled and spoke in low tones for
a few minutes. Then they resumed their seats.

“Mr. Tiggs, although we are well within our
rights under Martial Law to detain you for as long as we see fit,
you have a clean record and certain
talents
that may be
useful to us. So we’re going to make you an offer: Work
release.”

“What talents and doing what?” John asked,
although being out of this hell-hole would be worth any kind of
work.

“Last week, on August 24
^th
,
Florida was rocked with two earthquakes, a 7.8 followed by an 8.2.
The southern half of Florida is now under water. We need relief
workers, and your explosives background might well be needed. If
you agree to work, doing whatever is needed, for the next six
months,
minimum
, you will be set free.”

John sighed and thought,
Six months before
I can head back to Michigan and to Allexa. Six months to purge my
anger and guilt. Six months to forget that Christine doesn’t need
me anymore. Six months, maybe longer
.

“I’ll do it.” John said, “You can either have
a body that needs to be told what to do all the time, or a willing
volunteer but I have conditions.”

“What are your conditions?”

“First, I want to talk to my daughter, so she
doesn’t worry,” John said. “Next, the young man I was housed with,
Austin, was picked up outside of his own house only a few minutes
past curfew, and that’s just not right. I want him returned to his
family.”

“I think those are reasonable conditions, Mr.
Tiggs. And for this you will be cooperative and use your background
to assist FEMA?”

“Yes,” John replied, stone faced.

“Then I think we have a deal.”

***

“Hello?” Christine hesitantly answered the
phone. The phone number that was displayed was from out of state
and not at all familiar.

“Hey, baby girl,” John said, smiling when he
heard his daughter’s voice.

“Daddy!” she said with glee. “Are you back in
Michigan?”

“No, baby, I’ve decided to go to Florida
first and do some rescue work for a while and work a few things out
in my head, ya know?”

“That’s very generous of you, Dad. Are you
okay? You sound a bit off.”

“Just stressed, that’s all. I’ll be fine,”
John assured her. “How are you and Trevor?”

“We’ve both recovered, although Trev is still
having headaches. My limping is getting better,” she said. “Oh, and
Daddy… we’re going to have a baby!”

“I’m going to be a grandpa? That is wonderful
news, Christine, just wonderful!” John was delighted with the
announcement. “When I’m done in Florida in about six months, I’ll
come and see you before I head to Michigan.”

He hung up the phone they had let him use. He
was still under supervision of course. He gazed at the three men
watching him. “Okay, when do we leave?”

I must thank my editor, Felicia Sullivan
first. She guided me through the change of style I used in this
book, and hopefully I learned enough to make it easier on her when
she got the final copy.

I could never forget to thank my three beta
readers: my friend Sherry F. (maybe someday we can actually meet);
my brother Tom for his somewhat slanted view on life which matches
my own; and my son Eric, for his youthful view of what could unfold
and for keeping me straight on all things military - and for
getting me into an NG compound so I could climb inside a real
Humvee!

My readers and fans are the best! They have
supported and encouraged me to keep going when I was ready to end
the series and I thank you for that.

And my final thank you is to my publisher,
Michael Wilson at Permuted Press, for his faith in me.

I’ve had many ask about the poems at the
beginning of each book. These are all original poems, written by
me, throughout my life, some going back fifty years. They have all
been written to mark something important in my life, and have
little or no relevance to the story that follows.

Deborah Moore is single and lives a quiet
life in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan with her cat, Tufts. She
was born and raised in Detroit, the kid of a cop, and moved to a
small town to raise her two young sons, then moved to an even
smaller town to pursue her dreams of being self-sufficient and to
explore her love of writing.

Her first published novel,
The Journal:
Cracked Earth
, made the Best Seller’s list in just six weeks,
and was followed by
Ash Fall
,
Crimson Skies
and
Raging Tides
.