Will to Survive (32 page)

Brett moved toward Herb. And then I saw Brett smile.

I brought up my rifle and aimed, but before I could get a shot off, Brett whipped out a pistol from behind his back. As if from far away, I heard the sound of the shot. Then my finger moved and I pulled the trigger. Brett spun violently, staggered to the side, and then toppled over. I barely registered that the whole top of his head was gone.
He
was gone. Dead. But then my gaze turned to Herb, who lay on the pavement, blood pouring from his chest.

 

32

“Hello, Adam.”

Reluctantly I looked up. It was Dr. Morgan standing above me.

“How are you doing?” he asked.

I wanted to give no answer or just tell him whatever he needed to hear so that he would leave me alone. But, really, what was the point of lying? Here I was sitting on the highway with my back against the wall, the evening dark becoming deeper as the sun disappeared below the horizon.

“I've been better,” I admitted.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked.

I shrugged. “It's a big wall.”

He sat down on the pavement beside me. As we sat there a mother and daughter walked up and placed a bouquet of wildflowers on the ground. Their bouquet joined hundreds and hundreds of others that had been placed there over the past three days to mark the spot where Herb had died.

He was dead.

I'd seen it with my own eyes, but I still didn't believe it. I'd thought he was dead before, yet he'd risen as if from the grave. Part of me still expected him to saunter up, talk to me, and explain what the next move was going to be. There was nobody to do that. Not for me and not for anybody else. All of us were now alone together.

“I was glad when things went well at the follow-up on Brett's compound. Nobody wounded on either side,” Dr. Morgan said.

“That ended better than anybody could have expected,” I agreed.

I had been not on the ground but up in the air in the Cessna with my father, along with the two Mustangs. The hero of the day had been Quinn. I'd been told that he'd calmly taken the rifle off his shoulder and the pistol out of his holster, put his hands in the air, and walked into the compound. He had convinced the fifty men who remained—some of whom he knew—that we'd treat them fairly. That combined with the massive show of force—over four hundred armed people surrounding their position and the planes in the air—convinced them to surrender without a shot being fired.

There were also almost forty men, women, and children—people held as slaves—who had been rescued when the compound was captured. It was a collection of people who had skills the doodlebug crew needed, including eight people who were mechanics. They'd been the ones who had made the massive fleet of go-carts. All of the prisoners were offered the choice of simply going free or joining one of our neighborhoods. All who chose to join would make us stronger.

And we'd be stronger in other ways as well.

Going through the remains of the attack and then the stored supplies at the compound, we had gained over four hundred guns, close to seventy-five RPGs, and almost a hundred thousand rounds of ammunition—not to mention food, supplies, and the go-carts that were spared or could be salvaged. The spoils had been split between the different neighborhoods that had participated, but the vast majority stayed with us.

Still to be decided was what would happen to all of the captured members of the Division. They were going to be interviewed one by one about the role each had played and what they might be likely to do from here. Some would simply be released outside the neighborhood, while others would be granted amnesty and allowed to join us if they chose. Others were going to have to be imprisoned—or worse. I wouldn't be part of any of those decisions, even if I was a member of the committee. They'd go before the courts we'd established and be tried by a jury of their peers, innocent until proven guilty, the way it had been before and would be again.

“I'm just glad it ended when it did. I don't know how we would have dealt with more wounded if there had been another battle,” Dr. Morgan said.

“You already have enough casualties to deal with,” I said.

“I guess it's better to tend to the wounded than to bury the dead. Even if they are the enemy … or were the enemy,” he said.

“We just have to make sure that that's the end of the Division.”

“It's gone. No head, no body, and no base,” Dr. Morgan said.

“That's what my mother said as well.”

“That's who I got that line from.” He smiled. “Had Brett managed to break through the walls, he would have left a trail of death and destruction throughout the neighborhood. I can't even imagine the carnage he had planned.”

I could imagine it. I'd seen it months ago at Olde Burnham.

“I wonder what Herb would have said about all of this? I suppose he'd have come up with something reassuring and a little bit mystic,” Dr. Morgan said.

I laughed, and that surprised me, but Dr. Morgan was right—it would have been both.

“You know you had no choice, killing Brett.”

“I know.”

“You can't have any regrets,” he said.

“I just regret I hadn't been smart enough to do it one second earlier. If I had, then Herb would still be—”

“Don't even say that!” Dr. Morgan said, cutting me off. “There were hundreds of people watching, all of them with guns, and nobody saw it coming.”

“I should have. I should have shot him as he walked toward Herb.”

“Shot him before he pulled the gun? Shot him in cold blood?” Dr. Morgan asked.

I shook my head. “My blood wasn't cold.”

“And neither was your heart.”

“I should have killed him. As soon as he stood up I should have pulled the trigger.”

“That's not who you are. That's not who
we
are, what we stand for, and you know that.”

I did know it, but that didn't change the way I was feeling, and I didn't think I'd ever feel any different no matter how long I lived.

“Your parents are worried about you,” he said.

“That's what parents do.”

“Everybody is worried about you.”

“I don't want to worry anybody.”

“It's more than that. With Herb gone, you're needed even more.”

“Needed?”

“Yes. Everybody knows what you've done; everybody knows that none of this would have been possible without you. There's not a person in this neighborhood who isn't grateful, who doesn't owe you a debt that can never be repaid.”

“That debt was to Herb. We survived because of him.”

“I think if Herb were here he'd disagree with you, but you probably don't believe that.” Dr. Morgan groaned as he got to his feet. “I have something for you.” He pulled an envelope out of his pocket. “It's from Herb.”

I looked at the envelope. My name was on the front in his handwriting. For a split second, for just that instant, I thought Herb was still alive.

“He gave it to me two weeks ago. He told me to give it to you after he died.”

“But he couldn't have known he was going to die.”

“He did, though. He knew, because I was the one who told him,” Dr. Morgan said. “I made the diagnosis. He was dying.”

“Dying from what?”

“Cancer. It was aggressive and inoperable. I couldn't have saved him even if I'd had the full resources available from before the blackout.”

“Did he have long?” I asked.

“It's hard to say … two months, maybe six. When you're dealing with somebody that stubborn…”

Dr. Morgan trailed off, and the two of us remained there in silence for a long time.

I hadn't understood why Herb had gone out to face Brett in the open. I'd kept going over it in my mind. Walking by himself toward all of those people with guns, having no backup plan. He
always
had a backup plan.

Now it made sense. Getting killed
was
his backup plan.

“I knew he wasn't well … the shaking hands … the tiredness … but I never imagined he was dying.”

“He didn't want anybody to know, and I had to respect his wishes. He said that it would have been a distraction and that people needed to be focused, to be confident.”

That sounded like Herb.

“I don't know how he could go on the way he did,” Dr. Morgan continued. “He wouldn't even take medication to control the pain. He said he needed his mind to be sharp, his thoughts clear.”

That sounded even
more
like Herb.

“I've got to get back to the clinic to do rounds with the wounded,” Dr. Morgan said. “By the way, I haven't read the letter, because it was meant for you … I just hope it brings you comfort.”

Dr. Morgan walked away, leaving me alone with the letter. I turned it over in my hands, knowing what I should do but unsure if I could do it. Maybe it would be better to go home and open it with my mother and father there, or even have Todd or Lori with me. It would be good just to have somebody there.

Ironically, if I could have chosen anybody to be by my side when something like this had to be done, it would have been Herb. And I guess, in a way, he
was
with me, right there in my hands. I turned the envelope over, opened the flap, and pulled out the letter. It was one sheet, folded over. I unfolded it.

Adam,

If you are reading this, it means that I'm dead. Not “gone” or “lost” or “off to a better place.” I always hate when people talk like that. I'm dead. Simple as that. I don't know the specifics of my death, but I know that it was fast and clean whether it was because of an accident, by the hand of another, or by my own hand. I wasn't going to allow this illness to rob me of my dignity. In the end, however it happened, it was my choice. I knew that I was never going to live long enough to see the sun coming up again on the country that I devoted my life to, but in this I was going to have some control.

Life always seemed to hand me something that I was supposed to be doing. And those things put me in a position where I didn't have the time to settle down with a wife and raise kids. It wouldn't have been fair of me to expect anyone else to have shared my life in that way. If I ever had had a son, though, I could have only hoped he would have been like you—except maybe a little better-looking.

I broke up laughing.

Make sure you tell that joke to Todd. I still think the poor lad is afraid I'm going to yell at him to get off my grass. You tell him he's free to go on my front lawn—or what's left of it—anytime he wants.

The thing I admired most about you was your sense of honor and fairness. You got that from your parents. They are about the best people I've ever met. You all have to stand tall and stand together. You need them and they need you. The whole neighborhood, and beyond, needs your family and what you stand for.

The dim rays of the sun still filtering over the horizon were fading fast, and I had to angle the letter to get enough light to keep reading
.

Our enemies—known and unknown, people like Brett—would believe that our greatest weakness was our humanity. It isn't. It's our greatest strength. It is the glue that holds us together, the rock on which we stand. Thank you for helping me to understand that. Thank you for helping me to believe in the future even when I had nothing to go on but your faith.

I have a little secret to tell you. I suspected that Brett was planning to attack the neighborhood after distracting us with the food exchange. I would have said something if I'd had to, but I was waiting for you to figure it out for yourself. And you did. I knew you would. You proved to me and to others that you have what it takes to be a leader. I hope you proved that to yourself, too.

I don't want you to grieve for me. There's no time for sadness. Even if you're feeling it, you have to put it away. People need you to be a leader today and—more important—tomorrow. But right now, you need to go and find that girlfriend of yours, give her a hug, and take her out on a date. Bring her some more flowers like I told you to. Tell her how you feel about her. Among all that's going on, it's not just okay to feel love and hope for the future, it's essential.

With great respect, hope, and love,
Herb

My whole body shuddered and I felt the tears start to form in my eyes. All I wanted was the chance to thank him, tell him how much he meant to me, how much I was going to miss him, too. He had been like a second father to me, especially when my own father had been on the outside, walking back across the country to his family.

Folding the letter back into the envelope, I had a sudden urge to get back to my house, to be with my parents. But before I could do anything more, I heard a gigantic gasp from the guards and other people nearby.

I jumped to my feet trying to see in the dusk what had happened, find the danger, and then I realized what had happened: I was bathed in light.

The lights on the highway had come to life. All along the highway as far as I could see, the giant lights hanging from their tall poles were shining bright, and we were caught in their glow. People all around me stood with their mouths open, silently staring. Somehow, somewhere, somebody had done something to make this happen.

I was mesmerized by the yellow glow. It was amazing, beyond words. I heard some people laugh, and there were a few shouts of joy, and then another gasp as the lights flickered and went off.

A collective moan rose around me, but I felt like laughing instead. It was going to be okay. Somehow the lights had come back on for a few seconds. Someday the lights were going to come back on for good. There was always hope. Life would find a way.

 

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