One Year After: A Novel by William R. Forstchen
Authors: William R. Forstchen
Tags: thriller, Science-Fiction
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at the head of the grave in memory of Ginger, whom Jennifer had loved with all her heart and whom John had actually killed the day after Jennifer died in order to feed Elizabeth, struggling with her pregnancy. That memory nearly choked him up again.
It was all too much. He stood up, stepping back into the sunroom to place Rabs on his perch where he kept watch over Jennifer. Makala followed him.
“I just don’t know,” John whispered. He looked appealingly at Makala. “Give me a couple of days to sort this one out. See what Fredericks comes back with. Okay?”
His tone indicated he was worn down with the conversation and needed some what he called “introvert time,” to just think things through. She kissed him on the cheek, whispered a good night, and left his side.
He returned to the sitting room and sat down at the old rolltop desk that had once belonged to his father-in-law. Mounted to one side was a true luxury.
One of the ham operators had shown up at his doorstep several weeks earlier with a small multiband shortwave from the 1960s dug out of an abandoned antique store. He also gave John a solar-powered battery charger, and though the batteries were wearing down after hundreds of recharges, they did allow him to tune in for a half hour or so before having to charge them back up again. He settled down by the radio and clicked it on, the old-fashioned analog dial glowing and fine-tuned into a familiar voice … the BBC. The timing was good—late in the evening here, three in the morning over there. There was the familiar, comforting chime of Big Ben marking three and the always-so-well-modulated voice of the news broadcaster.
It is 3:00 a.m., Greenwich War Time, and this is the news of the hour.
Heavy fighting was reported today in Chicago, Illinois; Indianapolis, Indiana; and Fort Wayne, Indiana. The American government in Bluemont announced an offensive against a gang controlling that region, deploying troops from the newly formed Army of National Recovery, or ANR. The government spokesperson stated that the offensive is a clear first step to eliminate lawlessness and restore national unity. There is an unconfirmed report, transmitted by a former BBC correspondent in Ottawa, that American federal forces have taken heavy casualties not only in this action but in others in Cleveland and other cities bordering Canada along the Great Lakes.
The federal government also announced that it will bring whatever forces, and I quote, “up to strategic level if need be into this fight to bring about unification,” end quote. There was no specific answer as to what is implied by this statement when asked about the definition of “strategic level.”
A message now for our friends in Quebec: “The chair is against the door.” I repeat, “The chair is against the door.”
Here in England, the government announced that, contrary to earlier promises, the rationing of petrol must continue for the foreseeable future. The prime minister stated …
Strategic forces? He shook his head. Surely that did not mean what he feared. “Damn it.” He sighed, putting his head down on the desk and closing his eyes.
CHAPTER FOUR
DAY 731
John was still in his office, having dozed off at his desk, when the piercing jangle of the old rotary phone snapped him awake.
The windows facing Jennifer’s grave were open, and between the insistent ringing of the phone, he thought he heard something else … gunfire.
He looked at the luminescent face of his old-style windup wristwatch; it was just after three o’clock, local time. He felt absolutely drained with exhaustion as he picked up the phone.
“John, it’s Richard Black down at the town hall. We just got a report phoned in from our watch station up by the North Fork Reservoir. A firefight.”
John stifled a yawn, trying to focus. “Okay. I’m coming down to the office. Call Maury Hurt; ask him to roll out his Jeep and wake up the reaction team.”
The team, a squad
It was all too much. He stood up, stepping back into the sunroom to place Rabs on his perch where he kept watch over Jennifer. Makala followed him.
“I just don’t know,” John whispered. He looked appealingly at Makala. “Give me a couple of days to sort this one out. See what Fredericks comes back with. Okay?”
His tone indicated he was worn down with the conversation and needed some what he called “introvert time,” to just think things through. She kissed him on the cheek, whispered a good night, and left his side.
He returned to the sitting room and sat down at the old rolltop desk that had once belonged to his father-in-law. Mounted to one side was a true luxury.
One of the ham operators had shown up at his doorstep several weeks earlier with a small multiband shortwave from the 1960s dug out of an abandoned antique store. He also gave John a solar-powered battery charger, and though the batteries were wearing down after hundreds of recharges, they did allow him to tune in for a half hour or so before having to charge them back up again. He settled down by the radio and clicked it on, the old-fashioned analog dial glowing and fine-tuned into a familiar voice … the BBC. The timing was good—late in the evening here, three in the morning over there. There was the familiar, comforting chime of Big Ben marking three and the always-so-well-modulated voice of the news broadcaster.
It is 3:00 a.m., Greenwich War Time, and this is the news of the hour.
Heavy fighting was reported today in Chicago, Illinois; Indianapolis, Indiana; and Fort Wayne, Indiana. The American government in Bluemont announced an offensive against a gang controlling that region, deploying troops from the newly formed Army of National Recovery, or ANR. The government spokesperson stated that the offensive is a clear first step to eliminate lawlessness and restore national unity. There is an unconfirmed report, transmitted by a former BBC correspondent in Ottawa, that American federal forces have taken heavy casualties not only in this action but in others in Cleveland and other cities bordering Canada along the Great Lakes.
The federal government also announced that it will bring whatever forces, and I quote, “up to strategic level if need be into this fight to bring about unification,” end quote. There was no specific answer as to what is implied by this statement when asked about the definition of “strategic level.”
A message now for our friends in Quebec: “The chair is against the door.” I repeat, “The chair is against the door.”
Here in England, the government announced that, contrary to earlier promises, the rationing of petrol must continue for the foreseeable future. The prime minister stated …
Strategic forces? He shook his head. Surely that did not mean what he feared. “Damn it.” He sighed, putting his head down on the desk and closing his eyes.
CHAPTER FOUR
DAY 731
John was still in his office, having dozed off at his desk, when the piercing jangle of the old rotary phone snapped him awake.
The windows facing Jennifer’s grave were open, and between the insistent ringing of the phone, he thought he heard something else … gunfire.
He looked at the luminescent face of his old-style windup wristwatch; it was just after three o’clock, local time. He felt absolutely drained with exhaustion as he picked up the phone.
“John, it’s Richard Black down at the town hall. We just got a report phoned in from our watch station up by the North Fork Reservoir. A firefight.”
John stifled a yawn, trying to focus. “Okay. I’m coming down to the office. Call Maury Hurt; ask him to roll out his Jeep and wake up the reaction team.”
The team, a squad
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