The lakeside estate came first, packed with survival gear and weapons. This had been his home during the early months. Eventually it morphed into the center point for rebuilding civilization.
His second gift proved more unusual: the ability to communicate with dogs, although he preferred to call them K9s or even “Grenadiers” as Stonewall McAllister nicknamed them.
Even after five years he did not fully understand how the communication worked, but it involved a combination of sound and mental projection.
Nonetheless, they were obedient, fearless, and ruthless; an extension of Trevor’s will. They never questioned his orders, argued morals, or hesitated to obey.
As the number of human survivors grew, the importance of K9s in pitched battles diminished. They transitioned from front line fighting to rooting out alien predators as well as security, although more than a few Hivvans met their fate in the jaws of Trevor’s Grenadiers.
As far as anyone could tell, Trevor remained the only human who could communicate thoroughly with the K9s. Nonetheless, the dogs were born with an instinct for human commands.
The K9s numbered in the tens of thousands throughout the new civilization and provided basic perimeter and patrol security for almost every human community. While certainly intimidating to newcomers, people slept better knowing Grenadiers patrolled the streets.
His third gift proved the most puzzling of all, at least to those who had known him before Armageddon. Trevor’s close friends-like Jon Brewer and Dante Jones-could not understand how Stone knew how to fly helicopters or repair complicated equipment. How had he learned to be a good marksman or understand the tactics of war as well as any General?
He told them he had just “picked it up.” They never questioned further.
A collection of human genetic memories, this third gift remained stored in a secret room in an underground chamber beneath the mansion; a chamber only he could access using a key that was always around his neck but only visible when he needed it.
Those memories served as a library of knowledge and with that knowledge Trevor gained the courage and self-confidence to become the leader mankind needed.
Yet he did not completely understand the gift. Among those genetic memories came the know-how to fly the “Eagle” ships stolen from the Redcoat aliens. That information should not be accessible to him, not through his network of human memories; human genes.
It seemed the more Trevor learned about the new world the more mysteries he found.
In any case, as his Eagle approached the mansion, the deceleration woke Stone. With no windows inside the passenger compartment, he activated a view screen to look outside the craft.
Each time he saw ‘home’ he felt relieved; a part of him feared finding nothing but ruins overrun by hostiles; a fear that was a part of the responsibility he carried on his shoulders.
Surrounded by a tall black iron fence, the mansion sat isolated except for two neighbors: a silent A-frame on one side, a small white church fifty yards in the other direction.
A driveway climbed a slight grade toward the east-facing main house through a perfectly manicured lawn dotted with ornamental trees. A six-car garage with apartments on top rested in the northern quadrant of the grounds. Other, smaller buildings hid among the trees on the back half of the lot in the shadow of a mountain, including a barn that had been the original home for Trevor’s first army of dogs.
Standing two stories tall, the architecture suggested Victorian roots but lacked heavy gothic flavor. Thick pillars lined a big front porch while a second-floor balcony overlooked the front grounds with a breathtaking view of the lake.
The Eagle airship slowed to a stop in mid air and then descended onto a concrete helicopter pad built in the front yard.
Trevor pulled the sheets to his son’s chin. It was August, it was warm, but tucking Jorge in always meant literally tucking him in. No doubt Jorgie would soon toss and twist those sheets but Trevor followed the routine step by step.
“Tell me again, how fast did the Hivvans run?”
Trevor smiled at his boy’s desire to know about the world he would someday inherit. For such a young child he held an unusual grasp of the situation.
“They ran like a boy from a Jaw-Wolf,” he tickled JB’s nose. “Maybe even faster.”
“That’s pretty fast,” JB giggled. “I’m glad you’re home, father. Mommy is glad you’re home, too.”
Trevor kissed his boy on the forehead.
“Could you wrap bunny up?” JB asked before his father left.
‘Bunny’ was a fuzzy yellow rabbit given to the boy by Jon Brewer last Easter. JB had a small white and red blanket that always stayed with Bunny; the plush rabbit’s version of the covers Trevor pulled tight over his son at night.
Bunny always went to bed with JB and often times accompanied the boy on long trips. Most important, however, Bunny required wrapping, too.
When he finished, Trevor handed the bundle to his son who accepted it with a warm hug. Daddy then pulled those bed sheets snug again to his son’s chin.
“Sweet dreams, Jorge.”
Jorge, with his eyes closed, repeated, “…like a boy from a Jaw-Wolf…”
Trevor turned off the lamp on the nightstand and tip toed into the hallway. Ashley stood there with crossed arms.
“Like a boy from a Jaw-Wolf? Are you trying to give him nightmares?”
Trevor gently closed the door, but not quite all the way.
“I don’t think he gets nightmares.”
“Hmmm…” Ashley tried-unconvincingly-to sound annoyed.
They walked along the hall toward what had once been the second-floor ‘Command Center‘. Now it served as Trevor’s personal office. The majority of official business and meetings took place in the basement conference room.
“So things went well?” Ashley asked.
“The bad guys are on the run.”
“You were victorious,” she said in a funny tone.
“Huh?”
“Nothing. Forget it.”
The sliding doors to the balcony stood open and a soft breeze blew in. Outside, over the lake, an Eagle patrol ship flew through the night sky with spotlights searching the waters below and its running lights flashing like big fireflies.
He stood at the balcony and watched. The image of the ship floating over the waters with its lights flashing resembled a special effects shot from a movie; surreal.
In truth, so much of what happened at the mansion seemed surreal any more. He and Ashley, for instance. Their relationship felt more like a stage play. They never actually went through with the wedding they had been planning before the world fell apart. All the seating chart strategies and finely planned details were now faded memories of a dream life.
In truth, few people formally married in the post-Armageddon world. Those of strong religious beliefs went to clergy and received the blessings of their preferred church, but Trevor’s bureaucracy offered no official sanction of ‘marriage.’
Appointed regional judges settled “legal” disputes between people but had no time to stamp marriage licenses. More important issues-from food to alien monsters-vied for ‘government’ attention.
To Trevor, finding Ashley covered in the green goo four years before had been a surprise, but not a shock. Some how it seemed to fit. Of course. He could not be with Nina because he was supposed to be with Ashley. Why?
She was no fighter. Ashley had been somewhat of a whiny princess in the old days. Not a survivor at all. Ah, but what better reason for her to have been chosen to ‘ride the ark’?
Yet for her, no time had elapsed. She spoke to her fiance in one breath, then gasped for air in the next as
