Families First: A Post-Apocalyptic Next-World Series Volume 6 Battle Grounds by Lance Ewing (best non fiction books of all time txt) 📗

“I’m with Saddle Ranch,” he said. “Have you heard of it?”

“My name is Lance. My dad is Bill, and Sharon is my mother. I lived here nearly my entire childhood.”

“Let me see your convoy,” he said, and I walked fifty yards back, motioning for them to come close.

“Hold on,” he commanded, ducking behind a few of his men, talking on a walkie-talkie.

“Here,” was all he said a minute later, handing me the radio.

“Lance, you’re here?!” I heard on the other end.

“Yes, Mom! It’s the group I was telling you about and me. We made it!”

“Oh, son, we knew you would get here eventually. I am so thankful. How are Joy and the boys?”

“Damaged but healing and alive,” I responded, not knowing what else to say.

“Dad and Karl?” I asked.

“Good, honey. We are all great.”

“Can we come up?” I asked.

“Of course, but I am getting one question from the Council. Hold on just a minute.”

The radio crackled, and muffled voices could be heard in the background.

I waited, trying not to stare at the guards—instead scanning the Valley where I grew up and reliving short memories of days gone by.

“Lance, are you there? Welcome home!” said Bill.

“Sure, Dad! I think Mom had a question from the Council.”

“They want to know why you have a tank!” he replied.

“I figured that, and his name is Bert, just for the record. Bert is an equalizer—‘an attitude adjuster,’ they used to say. He cost us a pretty penny, and we only purchased him because of what we heard was coming here. Has that changed?”

“No, it’s the same. We got confirmation just yesterday on it. We are so happy that you made it here safely.”

“Well, maybe we should come up,” I said. “You have ten guards down here, giving me questioning looks.”

“North Barricade! Let them through, the whole lot,” Bill authorized.

* * * *

I handed the radio back to the guard and motioned Lonnie to pull up and through the barricade.

“Once everyone is through, wait for me before going up the road,” I told him.

“Sure thing. I may just have you ride on the hood for protection!” he joked.

“It’s no joke, but a great idea! Hold on,” I added, as I shimmied up the truck’s front and on to the hood. “Let’s take it slow, though,” I called out. “I already have one bad leg.”

“I’ll trade you,” called out Vlad—“your bad one for my missing one!”

I knew he was joking but he put it into perspective, and I vowed to pray in thanks for what I did have, moving forward.

I asked Lonnie to stop, so I could bring Joy and our children up front. They hopped on the hood with ease—the kids, that is—and a few of the ladies helped push Joy up as I grabbed her arm for the last bit of the ride.

* * * *

Lately I had this recurring dream of arriving here with our whole family on the bow of a ship. It didn’t make sense since we were landlocked, but now it sorta did. We were sailing a hostile no-man’s-land of an ocean, including forests, deserts and plains, to arrive leading an impressive convoy of battle-hardened but God-fearing people who only wanted their children to grow up in peace and harmony and would fight until their last breath to ensure it.

A large group awaited us, and the children were getting a closer look at their new playmates. I was always in awe of how quickly children could make a friend with someone near their own age. They were just kids, playing games. “You-be-nice-to-me, and I’ll-be-nice-to-you” style.

Bill, Sharon and John stood at the side of the main entrance to Saddle Ranch. Our boys waved and smiled; we all did, for we were embarking on a new adventure with only one thing certain. We were home with family and not leaving anytime soon.

I greeted my family, David and the Council, and was told that Samuel, who I had only met two times before, and briefly at that, would be up soon. My brother, Karl, was the man of the day, getting squeals out of our boys—each asking for an on-the-shoulder ride Uncle Karl was famous for. Mini joined in, dancing around like a puppy will, with a tired but very much alive Ringo looking on from atop the trailer. I looked around at many familiar faces, some who had been there my entire childhood, and I truly felt we had made it.

After 800 grueling miles, I was at home with my family in tow, and it felt good—better than good—but I was keenly aware that my old friends and fellow travelers I now called friends were not sure of their next steps.

We were introduced to Mac and Cory, both of whom I hadn’t met before but I felt immediate respect.

“Let’s meet tomorrow,” said Mac. “John has set aside enough apartments to accommodate you all, and I have to know the story behind that tank!”

I promised him we would meet for breakfast, and I would hand-select a small group of us to speak for the others.

* * * *

Our first evening would be hard to top, and I slept like a baby this night—not like a one-month-old waking every hour but like a six-month-old who has lucky parents and sleeps through the night. Waking twice in a panic that I missed my guard duty and finally realizing where I was, I vowed to volunteer for it first thing in the morning.

The boys all slept in our room, scattered across a king-sized bed I hadn’t slept in since leaving our home in McKinney. I must have ignored elbows and knees digging into my ribs, like it was an everyday event.

* * * *