explosions rocked the approaching force. Several of the aliens bounced into the air like rag dolls tossed by a child. More of that ungodly squealing noise.
'Do you need medical attention?'
The question came from a thirty-ish woman on horseback dressed in a rugged navy blue outfit straight from the Orvis catalog with her hair in a meticulously crafted bun. She projected a prim and proper manner. She also carried a high-powered hunting rifle.
While the sound of exploding mortar shells played in the background, she repeated, 'Do you require medical attention?'
'Um…'
'Yes,' Danny Washburn answered for Trevor. 'Yes, in fact, I do. Ouch.'
The woman’s soft voice morphed to a coarse yell: 'MEDIC!'
Two teenage sisters attended to Washburn with ointment and a bandage. Trevor and Nina drifted across the lot through puffs of smoke and around burning debris. Neither could believe the sight before them.
More rounds of mortar fire scored hits in the thick of the alien formation, inflicting heavy casualties to the point that the enemy called off their assault. The platypuses about-faced and backtracked in an orderly manner. The General decided not to let them withdraw so easily.
'Cease fire, Mr. Ross.'
'Mortar teams, HOLD YOUR FIRE!'
The General spoke to the boy at his side, 'Billy, sound the attack. Second brigade.'
He raised his trumpet and played a series of shaky bars followed by a ‘charge’ melody.
Ten of the horse-mounted fighters galloped forward and leaped the short ledge into the field. A thin black teenager rode in the lead brandishing a pistol and yelling…
…they all yelled…
Woh-who-ey! Woh-who-ey!
A rebel yell.
The screaming, shooting, charging cavalry turned the platypus' orderly retreat into a rout. The terrified aliens dispersed as they ran, separating into small groups.
Trevor and Nina watched the ‘Second Brigade’ finish off the aliens with small arms, circling and whooping and shouting as they slaughtered. A cloud of dust and the thunderous beat of hooves further demoralized the creatures who did not put up much of a fight.
The General’s forces re-grouped in the parking lot to the sound of the bugler-with-a-trumpet playing a rough rendition of Bonnie Blue Flag.
Mr. Ross walked to Trevor and stared silently. The General galloped to that position. Mr. Ross held his mount as he slid from the saddle.
Ross boomed, 'Three cheers for the General!'
The assembled cavalry whooped:
'Hoo-rah!
'Hoo-rah!
'Hoo-rah!'
The man in the Civil War era jacket approached Trevor’s trio. He removed his hat, swung it beneath him as he bowed respectfully, and announced, 'Garrett McAllister at your service.'
Ross shouted, 'Stonewall!'
The cavalry pumped their fists and cried, 'Hoo-rah!'
General Stonewall McAllister said, 'Pleased to make your acquaintance.'
Nina whispered, 'He thinks he’s Stonewall Jackson.'
'My lady, I am not deaf nor am I Stonewall Jackson. My name is Garrett McAllister.'
'Thank you,' Trevor said. 'You got us out of a real pinch.'
Ross’ deep voice told them, 'That’s what the General does best.'
'My name is Trevor Stone; these are my friends Nina Forest and Danny Washburn. What brings you to these parts?'
The General’s own ‘friends’ approached, including the soft speaking but loud-shouting woman wearing the Orvis outdoors getup, the Second Brigade's leader, and, of course, Mr. Ross.
'Protocol demands I introduce my officers: Kristy Kaufman, whom I believe you have met,' she smiled and waved politely. 'Dustin McBride,' the young black man smirked. 'And Mr. Woody Ross.' Ross bowed his head but his eyes never left Trevor.
Washburn pushed forward with one hand holding a bandage to his head.
'I know you. You’re Woody ‘Bear’ Ross. Linebacker for the ‘Skins.'
Ross said, 'We don’t play football n’more.'
These were survivors. Eccentric, sure, but survivors and Trevor already understood they had traveled a long way.
'General, I am in your debt. Allow me to repay that duty by extending an invitation to you and your troop to visit my homestead. I offer good chow and comfortable quarters.'
McAllister tipped his hat, 'You are a gentleman, Sir.'
Nina rolled her eyes.
'Alas, I am afraid we have pressing matters to which we must attend. Our journey nears its end and I feel we must push through.'
Nina’s annoyance carried in the tone of her voice: 'What's that supposed to mean?'
Garrett studied the three for a moment and then said, 'Perhaps you can be of some assistance. For nearly three months, I have searched for a special place. I can see it clearly in my mind…' his eyes glazed over as if having a vision. 'I see a lake surrounded by hills and homes. I see a gathering of soldiers preparing for the wars ahead. I see the place where we belong.'
Trevor’s mind raced. The Old Man had told him to search for survivors but never suggested they would come searching for him. No, this was not the Old Man’s doing. This Garrett McAllister either had an incredible sixth sense or constructed the perfect delusion.
'I know of this place,' Trevor said. 'A few miles from here, a great estate on the shores of a lake surrounded by mountains, exactly as in your vision. That place belongs to me, General, and it is where we will survive until the time is right to fight.'
General McAllister listened and with each word his eyes grew sharper. Trevor felt those eyes digging through his flesh and staring at the soul inside. At the same time, he saw the longing in McAllister's stare; he searched for something to believe in.
'I offer a purpose, General, for you and your gallant fighters. Come with me, see for yourself, and if it is to your liking be a part of the army I am forging.'
– 'I do not know if I was driven by divinity or derangement, but I have fought all the way from South Carolina to come to this place,' were the first words 'Stonewall' McAllister said as he stood on the front porch alongside Trevor after having toured the estate. Behind them, music drifted through the mansion from the welcoming party in full swing in the basement.
'It doesn't matter either way,' Trevor answered as the two men-one dressed in the garb of a soldier of the confederacy-watched nightfall over the lake.
'Given what I see here, I sense that you are driven too, Mr. Stone,' McAllister's eyes remained fixed on a trio of Doberman Pinschers trotting by on patrol.
'Oh, yes, well, a lot of people find the whole K9 thing a bit unsettling at first.'
'As people find my wardrobe rather curious. In both cases, our eccentricities are extensions of who we have become. In your case, these canines serve as your royal guards-the nucleus of what is to be. Not unlike the British Grenadier Guards. In this case, Trevor's Grenadier Guards. Much more flair than merely 'K9s'. Yes, I like that.'
'And you, General?'
McAllister smiled. The bars of his mustache nearly touched his ears.
'There is meaning in this uniform that I take to heart. Suffice to say, as long as I survive this new world I will conduct myself with honor, and never shy from battle no matter the odds.'
'The odds will be long, General.'
