truck; two elderly men embroiled in a tabletop game on a porch; a mother humming a soothing tune to an infant.
The activity slowed and then stopped as Trevor and his party strolled along the main path. The newcomer grabbed their attention. Or perhaps the rumors of the invitation had already begun to spread.
A tall man of the darkest complexion emerged from the town hall with the note in hand and approached Trevor, eyeing him through wise eyes that had shepherded a village during years of uncertainty and peril. On his tunic he wore the stars of a general, but the way the villagers regarded him told Trevor this man was more than a warrior; he was a leader.
The general stopped in front of Trevor and studied the visitor.
Trevor raised his arm in a rigid, proper salute; a salute for a soldier who had demonstrated his valor by the evidence of success displayed in the thriving village. The gesture of respect struck the right chord and the general returned the salute with equal precision.
As their hands left their foreheads they reached out and grasped in a firm shake. The man wearing general’s stars smiled as the crowd gathered to hear the news.
Trevor leaned against a corner at the rear of the school room next to Rick Hauser and watched the last stages of the process, as did dozens of onlookers in seats, from the hall, and through windows along the wall.
The general sat at the teacher’s desk overseeing the counting of ballots. The blackboard kept score with strokes of chalk. As the last slip of paper was pulled from the wooden box, the general marked the final tally.
A middle-aged woman with braided hair gasped and raised her hands to her mouth in a vain attempt to suppress glee. The trio of losing candidates grimaced for a moment and then congratulated her with hugs and smiles.
She controlled her enthusiasm as the general approached. Then, in a rare display of affection, he let his stoic guard drop and embraced the moment as he embraced her.
Children conveyed the last of her luggage as well as jugs of water to the convoy of Rovers parked outside the town hall. The braided-hair woman’s husband slipped into the lead vehicle’s rear seat alongside Trevor Stone.
She waved to the crowd of well-wishers one last time and then joined the other passengers. The convoy drove away from the village and across the savannah.
One mid-May afternoon a young barefoot boy with a Mediterranean complexion ran as fast as his small legs could carry along the jetty stretching out on a bed of rocks from the charred remains of Palermo. He joined the gathering of curious children at the end of the pier in time to add his voice to the chorus of “Arrivederci! Arrivederci!”.
The boys and girls offered their farewells to a 300-foot luxury yacht and a salvaged corvette of the Italian navy breaking port.
The convoy that had scoured Africa for months returned north to make final preparations. They crossed from Morocco to the Iberian Peninsula on a series of helicopters.
Dozens of persons from dozens of enclaves of African survivors exited the choppers alongside Trevor in the shadow of the giant rock of Gibraltar. A face Trevor had not seen since last fall waited to greet him: Alexander.
The two spoke on the grounds of a long-abandoned Royal Navy base that recently found new purpose.
After exchanging pleasantries, Trevor dove straight into the matter, “We’re getting near the deadline.”
“Yes,” Alexander agreed as they walked toward the ocean side of the base. “I have received word that many of the others have already departed for the rendezvous.”
“What about the round table at Camelot?”
Alexander assured in a light-hearted tone that belied his usually serious personality, “I told you last year that everyone would accept the proposal. You need to learn to relax.”
Stone stopped walking, considered, and said, “You know what? In a way this part scares me more than the fighting did. There is an opportunity here, Alexander. I don’t want to blow it. But yeah, once all this is done I’ll relax.”
“Do not get your hopes up. I know human nature. If you’re looking for a storybook ending, you are likely to be disappointed. Besides, nothing ever really ends. Things simply move to a new stage.”
Trevor realized that therein lay the difference between himself and Alexander. He-Trevor-felt born for Armageddon. The three gifts-his sense of responsibility-his very genetics-all groomed for this one fight. Alexander came from a different breed. More pragmatic, perhaps. Not as hasty. Not as driven. Better suited for the long haul.
The world will belong to people like him, now.
Trevor asked, “Where is Armand? Is he coming with us?”
“No. He and Cai are getting married and taking care of southern France for the meantime.”
“Good for him. Do you think he can make the switch back to being ‘just a guy’?”
After a laugh Alexander answered, “I do not think Armand was ever ‘just a guy’. Besides, there is much work left to be done. Lots of nasty things out there that will need to be hunted down, even after the main forces have departed. Voggoth’s pets, the Witiko bases-much more blood will be shed for years to come.”
“Alexander, are you trying to cheer me up?”
The Englishman grunted at Trevor’s sarcasm.
The sight at the docks changed the conversation.
Alexander told Trevor, “About half of the original crew remains onboard. They helped us keep lines of communication open between England and the continent during the worst of times. The remaining officers and surviving sailors of your submarine-the Newport News — have volunteered to serve onboard for the return journey.”
Trevor eyed the magnificent ship from stem to stern. As he did, a stalwart British Captain descended the gang plank. Trevor saw this veteran of the sea as a spiritual brother to Farway; the man who had brought him to Europe a year before and whose sacrifice had bought vital time.
The Captain acknowledged Alexander with a nod and then spoke to Trevor, “It would be an honor, sir.”
“The honor will be all mine.”
Enthusiasm and energy returned to the lakeside estate. Vehicles drove the perimeter road; administrative personnel walked the grounds-even a handful of young K9s served human masters again.
An Eagle transport left the landing pad, ferrying away a Hivvan representative under the escort of Internal security.
In the basement of the mansion at the conference table surrounded by televisions and communications gear, Jon met with Jerry Shepherd, Gordon Knox, and Eva Rheimmer on the topic of logistics: the logistics of transportation and seed corn for the families returning to their homes west of the Mississippi; the logistics of aviation fuel and rail lines for the alien passengers traversing the land in search of the way home; the logistics of bullets and guns for the highly-active Hunter-Killer teams taking to the wilderness in search of monsters.
Jon rubbed his eyes and answered Gordon Knox yet again, “It has been eight months since we saw any sign of a farm or any of The Order’s organized facilities.”
“We have to be sure. You heard the lizard-“
“Hivvan,” Jon corrected as he fought the daily battle of hearts and minds.
“You heard the Hivvan,” Gordon sneered as he accepted Jon’s correction. “One of their air patrols saw a Goat Walker in St. Thomas.”
Shepherd chimed in, “Them things sure ain’t a picnic, but they’re not exactly what I’d call organized forces. The way Anita has it figured, they’re just animals from some older race that got warped into Voggoth’s pets when he got the better of em’. We’re going to be finding them for a long time, but they can’t reproduce so there’s only so many out there.”
“We have to be sure,” Gordon insisted as he did at each meeting, albeit with a little less urgency each time. “It only takes one farm for Voggoth to start building an army again.”
“Gordon, we will never be sure, unless we find something. Until then, we keep our guard up. Omar’s re- starting the dreadnought program and we’ve got a shitload of intel from the other races.”
“One big happy family,” Gordon said with a sardonic smile. “Of course, tell that to the Centurian officer and his regiment that has refused to surrender. Then there’s that group of Duass who slaughtered their Internal Security escort and disappeared into the Louisiana swamps. Like I said, one big happy-“
