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

Mac was left by John, Bill, Samuel and the Council to make the final call and was given two hours to officially do so. A late afternoon call to Samuel from the Colonel sealed the deal.

“They are coming at first light,” the Colonel said soberly.

“Where are you now?” asked Samuel calmly.

“Close, so close I could knock on your front door in a matter of minutes. But they are here too. Not Baker’s group but his ‘handlers,’ you could call them.”

“And Ronna?” asked Samuel, remembering the Colonel had a man who was following Baker’s group across the country, typically only one day behind.

“They will be here in time. Inform your people on the front lines and those of the Ranch to stay low, fight hard and watch out for friendly fire.”

“Anything else?” asked Samuel.

“Yes, say a prayer for all of us.”

* * * *

Dinner was served in both the Ranch’s and The West’s dining rooms at 6 p.m., with clear instructions by both leaders that each family would be underground by 8 p.m. this night.

“Please do not bring anything you cannot fit in a small backpack, as we are short on room,” both men told their nervous members. “All food, water, and anything else needed for basic eating and sanitation will be provided,” they added. “We anticipate you all being inside for a day at a bare minimum, to a few days tops. A few Council members will stay, providing support,” said John, “and nobody is to leave the shelter for any reason until it is safe to do so. It’s important that Mac, our head of security, and everyone on the front lines not be concerned with people running around the Ranch while they are defending our Valley. We will have help from Samuel’s good friend, a Colonel, and his soldiers. You will likely hear gunfire, helicopters, and even artillery fire, but please remain calm and inside. Chef Rico and half of his team have been working all day on a week’s worth of provisions for everyone and are just now finishing stocking the shelters. You will each find a one-page instruction paper on the front table as you exit here, explaining the next steps—one per family, please. There are cots, sleeping bags, and enough blankets for everyone. Please arrive no later than 7:45 p.m. tonight, so we have an accurate headcount. Let’s pray.

“Lord, these are trying times, and we trust in your plan for all of us residing in this Valley you have entrusted to us for the past 70 years. We ask that you watch over us, instilling calmness in our hearts and forgiveness for those who seek to bring harm to our Valley. We will fight in your name, Lord, and with your guidance we will prevail. In your name, we pray. Amen.”

The Ranch was a buzz of activity. Mac and Sarah would disagree on where she would be during the heat of battle. He wanted her on the Ranch and in the shelter with people he knew well, and she was determined to stay at The West, not in the shelter but in the hospital for “the inevitable incoming,” as she put it, that they would see almost immediately. Mac lost the battle and was resigned to putting extra armed security from the Ranch side around the hospital.

Hanson and the two brothers geared up to fly two planes and one helicopter, as they did final tests on the equipment. Vlad gathered a few to run Bert around the property after a quick training session earlier in the day.

I said good-bye to Joy and our boys. Ringo and Mini were too much to be cramped in a basement with dozens of people. They would be our eyes and ears and would stay on our side if my prayers were answered. I had so many requests out now, I swore I wouldn’t ask for anything else for a very long time if they were granted.

“That’s not how it works,” Joy had reminded me.

I shrugged it off, focusing on what I could control, checking our gas cans across the bottom of the Rimrock.

My mom had told me she would let me know when it was time. Given her sense of feeling things most others didn’t, and knowing how close she was to Mabel, I felt the message of what and when would come if needed. I was in bed by midnight, with no sleep to be had this night. If the fight lasted more than a day or two, I wasn’t sure how I would hold up. I had comfort—if it can even be called that—knowing everyone on both sides would likely not be sleeping this night. The hours dragged on, and it was the first night I had slept away from my wife and boys since it all started.

The plan was for everyone doing the dirty work to meet at 4 a.m. by the machine shop. Every vehicle had been gassed up and tested. There was one stretch of road free of power lines, long enough for a small plane to take off and land—for an expert pilot only.

* * * *

I sat outside at 1 a.m., smelling the smoke of the mountain fire somewhere up by Estes Park, or closer if I were a betting man. The irony, I thought, would be defeating Baker and his soulless fighters, only to be run over by a forest fire, hours or days later. I resigned myself to not play the what-if game tonight. There were just too many opportunities to go off in another direction, and I was reminded of a saying, or was it a song, suggesting that most things we are concerned about never happen anyway.

I hummed the tunes from my favorite singer I