Chapter 13

“Let’s all remember that it could have been far worse,” said Kara at the conclusion of the community meeting. “True, we still have a lot of clean-up work left to do before we fully put all of this behind us. But until then, let’s continue to pull together, as we always have.”

It was two weeks after the botched attack by the Huns. Noah’s latest long-range follow-up run – this one by airplane instead of helicopter – verified that the remaining Huns were indeed nearly all the way back to their home territory in the Appalachians. Even from the air, it was apparent that the Huns were disorganized, beaten, demoralized, and no longer a threat. Their leader, Dan Newman, had really been the glue that held them all together.

With the Huns out of the picture, the Patriots had taken full advantage. They had swept into Washington and occupied it, uncontested, claiming it as Patriot territory once and for all. The entire stretch of land from southern New Jersey to northern Virginia was now under Patriot control. All government operations were moved from Philadelphia to Washington, and Fern Parsons herself had already relocated. Unfortunately, they had discovered that the Oval Office and much of the presidential living quarters had been ransacked – probably by the Huns themselves – and rendered unlivable. Fern had been forced to settle for less luxurious accommodations on the White House grounds.

Although Fern had failed in not answering Kara’s pleas for help until the attack was blunted, she did in fact respond quickly with firefighting help. The fires did not spread further. The one affected warehouse and its contents, however, were a complete loss. That warehouse had contained their entire clothing inventory, as well as their supply of scavenged fabrics. During the meeting, Kara had urged everyone to take good care of the clothes they had. They would make an effort to find a source of clothes out in the wild, but everyone was aware that scavenging was becoming less and less productive as time went by.

The community pub, which was right next to the destroyed warehouse, was still standing but had sustained heavy smoke damage. It was closed for now, although Kara and the other leaders were hopeful it could be re-opened at some point in the not-too-distant future.

The torched greenhouse had also burned completely, although again, the blaze had not spread beyond that single unit, thanks to the firefighters from Philadelphia. That greenhouse had contained their supply of tomatoes, peppers, and some vegetables. However, the Fraggers had always been diligent about maintaining stocks of seeds. Space had been cleared in other greenhouses to re-grow the affected crops, so any loss would be temporary. In addition, Lars was already looking into the possibility of rebuilding the lost greenhouse.

What could not be rebuilt, unfortunately, was the control tower. They simply didn’t have the means and resources to consider that at present. It was this loss that crushed the Fraggers’ spirits the most. In many ways, it had become the symbol of their community, a depiction of their strength. Now, it had been reduced to a pile of charred rubble. There was a very practical aspect to this loss as well. The control tower had been their seemingly permanent eye in the sky. No longer did they have the panoramic view of their surroundings that the tower had afforded them. The guards manning the four perimeter bases would need to become even more diligent. Noah and the other pilots would have to make frequent use of the helicopter and airplanes for surveying purposes, bringing about more wear and tear on their aircraft.

Meanwhile, there was another threat hanging over Delmarva – the increasing likelihood of an Orval James presidency. As he’d threatened to do, Orval had pounced on the Hun attack and used it to greatly enhance his position. He’d figuratively pointed his finger at Fern, who he’d labeled as negligent and ineffective – which was true in large part.

Orval had also taken similar shots at Kara, whom he promised to remove from office and investigate once he was President. His next target was Noah, who he blamed for “putting a community visitor’s life in jeopardy by forcing her into a situation that led to her dangling helplessly at the end of a rope ladder.” He suggested that arrest and possible excommunication could be in store for Noah. Abby’s fierce defense of Noah’s actions had fallen on deaf ears. Orval had also been severely critical of Essence, who had blamed for “gunning down three unarmed people who were only trying to escape.” Of course, Terry’s group had been armed, and they had tossed firebombs at a Fragger greenhouse, but there were no witnesses other than Essence and her two squad members. And, of course, Terry, who no one was ever likely to question.

The Delmarva community, as a whole, continued to gamely hang on to the quality of life they’d tried so hard to maintain. But they’d suffered an enormous setback, and more challenges were likely in the near future.

The smell of coffee lingered in the air - strong, slightly burnt, exactly the way Jason liked it. The mug in Abby’s hand was chipped along the rim, the logo faded beyond recognition, probably something military. Everything in Jason’s place had that well-used charm ... solid, simple, dependable. The living room still bore traces of its past life as military family housing - low ceilings, beige walls, scuffed linoleum under the worn rug - but he’d made it his own. People at Delmarva were generally good at that. A few old photographs lined the shelf over the heater. A model aircraft sat on the windowsill. A battered bookshelf sagged under the weight of paperbacks that somehow hadn’t disintegrated over the years.

Jason settled into his old recliner with a soft grunt and sipped his coffee. Abby curled into the corner of the small couch, knees tucked under her, her own mug resting in both hands.

“You know,” Jason said, glancing at her over the rim of his mug, “back in ‘23, this is exactly how I imagined retirement would be. A quiet evening, strong coffee, and no one bugging me about my inbox.”

Abby laughed. “You dreamed of beige walls and half-warm coffee?”

“Better than dreaming about alien allergens and destroyed control towers,” he said with a sigh.

“Fair enough.” She swirled her drink. “I used to imagine I’d be in an apartment in Baltimore with floor-to-ceiling windows, a cat, and a shelf full of books I actually had time to read. Instead, I was in a trailer with a boyfriend who was addicted to his PlayStation and a friend who thought that reruns of The Kardashians were must-see TV.”

Jason grinned. “Ah, the American dream.”

Abby smirked. “I swear, 2023 was a weird mix of nostalgia and noise pollution.”

Jason chuckled, the sound gravelly and familiar. “You said it. I miss the smell of funnel cake. And ... sunscreen. That awful coconut kind everyone wore.”

Abby laughed. “Ugh, yeah. I remember one time I accidentally bought tanning lotion instead of sunscreen. I smelled like toasted coconut for a week. Got a sunburn and a lecture from my neighbor.”