Thy Eternal Summer (12/15)

He awoke with tears rolling down his face. He wiped them away viciously, and stood up. He paused a minute, but he knew he would not sleep if he lay back down. He ventured out into the hallway.1

He approached Jezebel's room, asking himself with each step what he was doing, where he thought he was going. But he put his thoughts aside, and trusted whatever was leading him in this direction. He got close to her door, and heard muffled sobbing from the room within. He pushed it open quietly, and stepped into the room.2

“Hey,” he said softly. She looked up at him and smiled, a ridiculous act with tears running down her face. He sat on the bed and she sat up next to him. He put his arm cautiously around her, and she laid her head on his shoulder, and wept a little while longer. Then she raised her head, and wiped the tears from her cheeks. He helped her.3

“You have to go to her,” she said. She looked at him, wide eyed. “Don't you?”4

Jack nodded, sadly. “I... love you. I love everyone in your family. I love all of you, and I don't want to leave you.”5

“Nothing is forever,” she said. “Everything passes away. I love you too, and I would our parting were much longer delayed. But such is the way of the world, ever and unto eternity.”6

Jack started to get up.7

“But you need not leave this instant,” she said. “You sit against that wall, and I shall return to my bed, and we will be out of arms' reach. And we will talk.” They rearranged themselves as she said. “So,” Jezebel said. “Tell me about this girl.”8

Jack was going to announce himself at breakfast the next morning, but he looked out the window and saw the ground blanketed by snow, and realized that he would get nowhere at this time of year. His quest would have to wait, as the knights of old, for spring.9

Just before lunch, as they were scrubbing up, Jack and Eric were left alone in the mud room together.10

“Eric, um, sir,” Jack said. 11

Eric turned on him with a smile. “Yes,” he said. “You had an inquiry?”12

“Yes,” said Jack. “The missiles fell on the suburbs, did they not?”13

“They did,” he said. “As far as I could tell, covered them nearly as well as they did the cities.”14

Something in Jack flinched, and he struggled to keep it from showing on his face. “What of the survivors? Were there any survivors from those areas?”15

“Ah,” said Eric. “I expected you to ask me this long ago. The Coalition had actual orders on this, and they fulfilled them, back when they were still following their orders. The suburban survivors were rounded up and herded toward the cities, there to be used for... Well, who knows what? Probably chattel, as was the case with the survivors of the cities themselves.”16

Jack nodded. “Thank you.”17

“You're welcome,” he said, cordially. “If you don't mind my asking, do you have someone special back in your suburban home? A sweetheart, perhaps?”18

Jack hesitated. “Yes,” he said. “I do.”19

“Do you have any inkling whether she survived?” he asked.20

Jack hesitated again. “No,” he said. “I don't.”21

Eric fixed him with a skeptical look. “Really,” was all he said.22

It was a week before Christmas when the attack came. They had spent a day cutting the tree, and putting up decorations on it and elsewhere around the house. Jack helped Will put up the crèche, and Will explained what it meant.23

Then the attack came.24

Jack was awakened in the early morning—his internal body clock had become fairly accurate, and it told him that it was slightly earlier than he usually woke up—by the sound of shouting, and of crashing machinery. He looked out across the farm yard toward the machine shed. He saw several figures hovering around it, some of them bearing torches.25

He grabbed the rifle from beneath the window and loaded it, and keeping the safety on he ran to Peter and Agatha's room and banged on the door, then ran down the hall banging the other doors. They all opened in quick succession, and Jack found himself at the end of the hall being stared at by several sleepy faces. 26

“There are people at the machine shed!” he exclaimed, and everybody leapt into action.27

A few minutes later, Peter burst out the front door, flanked by Blake and Jack, Will bringing up the rear. Eric stayed at the house with Agatha and Jezebel, in case it needed defending. 28

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” shouted Peter, starting things off cordially.29

A wild eyed man with clothing that looked like a ragged mockery of city clothing approached, taking long vehement strides and clutching a long barreled rifle. “We're taking your machines, and there's nothing you can do about it!” he yelled.30

“You leave my property alone,” growled Peter, standing face to face with the man now. “Or I'll kill you.”31

The man stepped quickly backwards, pulling a pistol. Peter realized too late what the other was doing. He jerked backwards, but the shot was fired. The report echoed through the valley. Peter's chest erupted in a fountain of blood. 32

Blake was the first to react, filling the man with a stream of lead. The others, who had been mucking about in the machine shed, had of course noticed by this time, and began firing at them. Jack and Blake immediately retreated, but Will rushed to his brother and began dragging him through the dirt. In a rain of fire, Jack and Blake went and helped him. Soon three streams of fire began from the direction of the house, providing them some cover.33

The three of them burst in through the front door, the light harsh after the dark of the moonlit night. They dropped Peter's body on the kitchen table and Jezebel and Agatha immediately set to work on him. The three men returned to the front of the house, which was resounding with the impacts of gunfire. Eric was outside somewhere, blazing away.34

They lay in the best cover they could, allowing the front of the house to be riddled with bullets and returning fire occasionally. 35

“We're safe for now,” said Will. “When they come up here, that's another story.36

Blake ran upstairs. From what must have been one of the upstairs windows came the sound of three gunshots in quick succession: Blake was alerting the neighbors, if they needed alerting at this point. A cluster of gunfire concentrated itself around that window as Blake came back downstairs.37

The firing from the north side heated up, and Jack saw figures moving forward through the moonlight. One fell, and ceased to move.38

Then from behind them came the sound of crashing windows. Jack spun in his crouch, and dove for the hallway between the living room and kitchen. He heard bullets hitting unresisting flesh, and realized someone was shooting through the window and hitting Peter's body. Angry, Jack fired out at the enemy. 39

Jezebel and Agatha were crouched below the windows. Jack hurried forward, staying crouched. A face appeared at the window; Jack shot it. More faces appeared, and their owners started to climb inside. Jack lunged forward across the kitchen table, knocking Peter's body to the floor, and fired at one enemy and smashed the other with the butt of his gun. 40

There was a yell for help from the living room, and Agatha got up and ran, rifle under one arm. A gunshot sounded next to Jack's ear, and the old lady crumpled, seeming to fold in on herself and fade to dust, curled around her gun. Jack roared his pain and fury and smashed mercilessly the head of the man who had fired the shot.41

There was a crash from the north end of the house. Eric had smashed his way through a window, followed closely by a pair of enemies. He fired his automatic into both of them, and they spattered themselves all over the wall before slumping to the ground. Jack caught a glimpse of Eric, frozen in the harsh electric light: he stood tall, his shirt torn, blood streaming from a thousand wounds. He howled his fury and fired his gun out the windows.42

A crash from behind Jack, then—they were coming through the pantry window. He turned and fired, and a man went down, scattering cans and cartons everywhere. Return fire came through the clouded air, and Jack turned the table over in front of himself, providing a barrier at least. One of the enemies vaulted over the table, and Jack filled him with bullets, blowing him backward through the air. Another came over, his flailing leg knocking Jack's gun out of his hands.43

Jack reached up and grabbed the man's leg, pulling him down on top of himself. He tried to roll the other off, but his opponent was too strong. Jack struggled, but he was pinned to the floorboards. The man had a pistol in one hand, but it was useless in the hand pinning Jack's hands behind his head. Jack spat in the man's face, but the spittle came back to his own; half blind, now, he flailed about more, and was more useless.44

A streak came in from his left, and Jezebel's voice sounded in his ear. The weight suddenly off him, Jack sat up and wiped the spittle from his eyes. He heard the pistol go off. He looked to his left; Jezebel was on top of the man who had been on Jack. She was driving a kitchen knife into the man's chest, but her stomach was a gaping wound that leaked blood. She was still trying to drive the knife in, but it was off center. She tore through the man's chest, and he shook and quivered and spewed blood everywhere. 45

She slid off to the left, and Jack lunged for her and caught her in his arms. She was cold and limp, but her mouth was still moving. There was a tearing in his chest, a burning. He pressed her mouth to his, and kissed her cold lips hard. He laid her down, then. Her eyes were closed, and she seemed at peace. 46

A clattering in the hallway between the kitchen and living room, now. Jack pulled his gun up, but found himself aiming at Blake, stepping over his mother's body.47

Blake looked at him, and opened his mouth. He stopped, and lunged for the sink. After a few minutes there, he came back to Jack, who was still on the floor, in a mist of grief and shock. He should have felt his stomach boiling inside him, he thought, but instead he felt... nothing.48

“Will...” Blake shook his head. “Right next to me...” He stopped, composing himself. “They're going to be mad at us. We'd better get out of here.” He gestured to the front of the house. “They're already starting the place on fire.”49

He pulled a bag from under the sink—one of Peter's “bug-out bags”—and tore for the back door. Jack followed, reloading his gun. 50

The night was black, which gave them the advantage—they knew every inch of this yard, could have navigated it blindfolded, where the enemy had to feel his way on unfamiliar ground. They made for the garage and went in the back door. The yard, as far as Jack could see, was less full of figures than it had been, but it was still more than Jack wanted to take on. 51

Blake dumped the bag in the four square's compartment under its seat, and closed the seat. He got on. Jack climbed on behind him, and Blake keyed in the door code. The door rose silently, squeaking once, which set Jack's heart fluttering. Blake glanced back at him.52

“Say a prayer, and hold on tight,” he said.53

Jack did both.54

They streaked out across the night, and the shouts and curses of the enemy sounded all around them. Guns were fired, bullets whizzing far too close to them to be comfortable. Blake rode the four square like a wild animal, yanking the handlebars almost at random, but managing to keep them upright and alive. He seemed to be navigating blindly, to be navigating on faith. 55

They got out of sight of the farm, and Blake slowed. Gunshots rose behind them—the reinforcements had arrived at last, far too late. Jack realized they were setting off south along what had been the main highway, away from the rest of the farms.56

“We're not going back?” Jack said. He felt a sudden urge to go back, to finish what he had started. Why had he let Blake make him run away?57

“No,” said Blake. He twisted a little in his seat to look at Jack. “My sister... my sister told me. About... about the dreams, or visions, or whatever they were, that you two had. I promised her I'd help you, when the time came.”58

“I don't care any more,” said Jack, low, but distinctly enough for Blake to hear him.59

Blake cut the engine then. Jack thought this was prompted by his outburst at first, but he realized they were next to an overhang in the ground that would make a good camp spot. Blake and Jack hopped off the four square. Blake took out the bag, and withdrew two pairs of thermal clothing. He handed one to Jack.60

“Primitive, compared to the city kind,” he said. “But it will keep you warm.” They dressed in silence, and the warmth did feel good, despite the bulkiness of the suit itself.61

“Now,” said Blake. “What is this about you don't care any more?”62

“It's...” Jack started, but had to stop. A torrent of images and thoughts and feelings, which he had been holding in while he had to, finally came pouring across his mind's eye. Jack found himself bent double, with rage and grief and pain. “It's your sister!” he exclaimed finally.63

“What?” said Blake finally. “You loved her? When she's gone you can't go on?”64

“No...” said Jack. “Well, yes. I loved her, as I loved your father and mother and Will and Eric... and they are all gone.”65

Blake bowed his head.66

“But... but even that's not it,” Jack said, calming down a little. “She... she died. She died to save me,” he said. “She... that shouldn't happen!” He dropped to his knees, and lowered his head. The tears would not come.67

Blake went to him and clapped him on the shoulder. “That is the way of the world, little knight,” he said. “You received an education in literature, I imagine, against the will of your elders. And it is always, is it not, that the knight sacrifices for the lady? Is this not the universal rule that has been violated this night?”68

Jack nodded. 69

“And is this not the way it should be? Should the knight not sacrifice for the lady? Is that not what happens, in the romances you so hold to?”70

Jack nodded again. “It is, and it is the way it should be.”71

“But what are those,” said Blake. “But stories? And are stories not simply the way things ought to be, the way we would have them if we could order events?”72

“They... They are...” said Jack.73

“Again I say, this is the way of the world. The story does not come true, its precepts are violated, our gods are naught but so much stone and carven wood. The story is there for a purpose, little knight, but you must not give up hope if it does not turn out as it is supposed to. Take heart.”