This book is currently unavailable as a collection of Children of the Dawn AND Seven Fires combined. All apologies as contracts are negotiated. Thanks for your understanding.
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Part One
Children of the Dawn
Chapter One
Inside a White House being quickly abandoned The President stood looking at an oil painting with deliberate patience, his hands interlocked behind the small of his back. The painting has hung where it is for as long as he had been a resident and long before.
“Mister President, we have to leave sir,” a man in a suit insisted a small bead of perspiration developing on his face.
The President didn’t turn to look at the man, and continued studying the painting.
“Do you suppose we knew what we were doing then?” President Franklin Deleanor Lenning asked continuing to stare at the painting of Thomas Jefferson, a portrait created during his tenure. “Do you suppose we know what we are doing now?” he asked, turning and facing the man in charge of his personal security. The question unanswered The President once again turned and continued examining the painting.
“I like to think so sir,” the man replied, his voice both calm and urgent.
“The thing about oil painting is that it is all in the details, the smallest brush stroke, a precise blending of colors, depictions and placement. Did you know that?” The President asked.
“I wouldn’t know sir,” the man replied, urgency now unmistakable in his tone.
“Yes, it is true,” The President resumed. “An artist can look into a project with a keen eye creative whit and, despite their best effort utter the words ‘my god what have I done?’ Their entire painting destroyed in but a single stroke,” The President said turning and facing the man.
“Yes sir. We need to go sir,” the man said.
The President nodded, sighed and began toward the awaiting helicopter in the Rose Garden.
Chapter Two
Welcome to my country. Welcome to my home- Robbie Robertson
Roman Eaglewalk stood slightly hunched, loaded bow and arrow in hand in the brisk early morning. Ahead of him, further up a gentle slope and upwind stood a magnificent moose grazing at the edge of the forest merged with a bog. Roman moved closer his footsteps barely audible whispers on the leaf covered earth. Songbirds sing greeting the day as a pair of squirrels race across the trunk of a fair pine in spirals chasing one another in play.
Roman moves ever closer toward the massive creature. He had brought his longbow and was nearly in range for a shot. A few more steps and Roman would have only to wait for the moose to turn to get a clear shot at the animals’ heart. Roman knew the patience required for a good hunt, an efficient stalking often taking an entire day. He continued forward, his moccasins as one with the familiar ground. He blew into the conical birch bark moose call twice before dipping it into the water and filling it. He emptied it slowly into the water, the sound of a female urinating. The moose jerked its head upward ears perked by both the call and the spilling of water, its jaws pausing with a mouthful of sweet grass, fixated.
Within easy range Roman settled on one knee to wait for the bull to turn. Alarmed, the moose turned its head to face another direction before darting.
Behind him Roman heard the reckless crackle of small fallen tree limbs, turning to see what he believed he already knew. Muwin he thought, a black bear, and this one in the company of a pair of season-old cubs approached with the confidence found in an apex predator.
The bears were downwind.
Roman knew only a fool would climb a tree to try to escape one of these large cousins to the espons, the raccoon. He looked right and left exploring his options. He could take her life but was unwilling to make orphans of her young.
Slinging his bow across his back and sliding the arrow soundlessly into the quiver
Roman got into a position similar to a sprinter as the bears drew ever nearer.
Running directly at her and screaming he charged the bear.
Instincts piqued the bear rose to stand a full six foot tall.
Roman continued toward it as the bear snarled focusing on him as timid cubs scurry behind their mother.
Still screaming Roman ran to within a few steps of the bear. The bear roared, challenging. The cubs peered nervously around their mother.
Roman darted left skirting the animal and continuing past it down the hill leaving the bear standing undecided.
Roman continued well beyond the encounter running as fast as his legs would carry him turning at last to discover his plan had worked. The bear chose to remain with its cubs to ensure their safety rather than pursue him. Leaning his hands on his knees and catching his breath Roman managed an easy smile, grateful that the forest had breathed vibrant life into him yet again. He would go home empty-handed this day but that was alright…
Roman loved these woods.
Chapter Three
Jeff Meserve could not understand his throbbing big toe. He made the rounds at the powwow greeting people and rendering assistance erecting booths, hanging signs and paintings and helping people identify the allocated location of their particular booth. It was an annual ritual for Jeff and one he enjoyed. Many of his people relied upon this as a major source of their annual income and all were grateful to share Indian customs with Non-Indian people for sake of introducing their proud traditions. Jeff saw a man he recognized but seldom saw. It was Roman Eaglewalk, a traditionalist in every sense of the word. Roman isolated himself and his clan with few exceptions, this particular event among their brief exceptions. Roman rarely emerged from the woods, perceived by many as a caveman in a changing world, never evolving beyond where the Indian people had been prior to any settlers arriving. Even his own people, The Passamaquoddy Tribal Council, though respectful of his traditional intentions occasionally discussed him with ridicule, speaking behind closed doors and sometimes in whispers wondering if the madman in the forest would ever evolve into modern times. Jeff and Roman were somewhat acquainted and had a few friendly exchanges over the years, including an open ended invitation for Jeff to join Roman and his clan in the woods. After enduring extensive attempts to convince him, Jeff had politely declined. Roman had warned Jeff to return to the ways of his ancestral heritage and to forget the new, compromised ways the Indian people had adopted, advising him to return to the forest. Roman had then pointed out the seven fires prophecies, foreboding predictions of the end of the world, declared five hundred years earlier. Jeff agreed a number of foretold events associated with such forebodings had already come to pass. Despite this he respectfully declined. Thereafter Jeff had always smiled when Roman had offered this well-intended advice but had more than once stated that Roman Eaglewalk might consider changing his name to Roman Chicken Little as he continued announcing “the sky is falling, the sky is falling,” and get it over with. Jeff shot him a friendly nod and kept going, not in the mood for discussion about such forebodings. Later Jeff would make a collective trip into town on behalf of the vendors and pick up whatever supplies they may need to replenish at the local grocery store. There he might also get aspirin for his throbbing toe.
Chapter Six
Roman walked in a hurried manner. His wife Mary along with many others behind him, Roman approached the entrance and looked out at the world. They stared; all taking in the sights of their village, breathing in what they knew would be the last crisp air they would breathe for some time to come. Snow began to fall and Roman looked all around to see if any others were coming at this eleventh hour, carefully surveying everywhere, willing to wait even for a single soul.
There were none.
“Ready?” he asked, looking at his wife, and then turning to the others. Tears began to fill even the eyes of the men. Roman stood another brief moment, hoping in the depth of his heart that none of this was true. Pressing a single button, the massive steel door folded, closing with a resounding echo, a sound that would later be remembered in many dreams.
“Mercy,” Mary said.
Chapter Eight
Roman and his clan began their first day in the secluded shelter. Conversation was limited, and eyes shifted about, each hoping another could offer something resembling solace, answers to questions none seemed willing to ask. As such it was. Roman intended to keep a journal and had asked all others to dutifully keep one of their own, explaining that every individual perspective offered educational insight into what had happened here when viewed in the future. Roman looked about at fear filled eyes, and found in return only an occasional strained smile. None wrote with enthusiasm, documentation of recent events as yet too close at hand, like a still bleeding untreated wound. He knew they would have a difficult time concentrating to write anything enduring such preliminary onslaught, or to hold even an ordinary conversation for Roman felt the same. Things would change eventually as people find a way to adapt, overcome their fears and resume the business of living. That is what people do. Today however was day one, the very first day of a whole new journey, as if all were set adrift upon a boat not yet deemed seaworthy. Roman felt a reinforced sense of loss as he thought about the timing of this phenomenon. This was the sunset of a long season for humanity, ending in October. This month was what his people called Amilkahtin, meaning Harvest moon. It was the time when all that was sown…
Was now reaped.
Chapter Nine
Amidst a room fully illuminated by radar, computers and various electronic devices The President took his place at a console, remaining on his feet as the main door of the facility began to close. He stared after the cloud littered sky, his gaze holding the outside world for as long as he could before the door closed with a deep baritone seal.
“They have begun to make contact sir,” one soldier announced. “New York City and London have been annihilated,” the surveillance technician went on to say.
The President interrupted him. “Just stick with protocol son and keep communications open wherever possible. I do not need a play by play. And another thing, something I want to convey to all of you. I want to make a reasonable request under the circumstances. Whomever you place your faith in, now is the time to send up your prayers. Pray for your families, your friends and your loved ones,” he said pausing briefly. “Pray for humanity. It is a staunch suggestion, for we need all the assistance any deity might offer,” he said before summoning his Chief of Staff. “General Banks, you are with me,” The President said, making his way toward the situation room.
A score of monitors revealed an array of nuclear weapons in the air toward the United States, falling off the screen one by one as they dropped directly onto major cities. Miami, Ft. Lauderdale, Orlando, Daytona and Tallahassee were among the first targeted from the south. Other missiles arrived from the north, an arsenal destined toward Maine, points in New Hampshire and on to obliterate Boston before making The Big Apple into The Big Rubble. Not to be left out Montpelier, Vermont received but a single, ten mega-ton gift from the heavens.
Weather Mountain was on full alert, scrambling in preparation as the devastation unfolded, taking millions of lives in explosive milliseconds. Silent prayers wafted skyward as each watched the screens in a horror none dared whisper.
Hit hard by the political statement of over a dozen missiles Washington DC’s numerous statues of former Presidents and political celebrity fell into crumbs of concrete and bronze. The White House and Pentagon were reduced to indiscernible piles of fragmented building materials. The head from the Lincoln Memorial was severed from its broad shoulders, bouncing once off the throne before tumbling down the stairs as if assassinated yet again, this time in effigy.
The statue of the late President Abraham Lincoln stared upward at an unyielding sky.
Chapter Ten
Dennis was hitting the beer hard and heavy, simultaneously winning at poker. Of course he didn’t realize that Roger had secretly suggested to Jeff earlier when Dennis had gotten up to relieve himself that Jeff allow him to win, that under the circumstances Dennis needed all the positive psychological reinforcement gambling winnings could buy. Without asking Jeff understood that when this was all over he would be reimbursed by the store under the direction of Roger who was looking out for the best interests of security by keeping the peace, albeit in an unorthodox manner.
Jeff remained cooperative yet skeptical, and increasingly so as his money began to thin. He continued nonetheless and secretly wished Dennis would finally pass out from drinking so much beer. Jeff counted two empty twelve packs, and Dennis was still drinking. Guys an animal he thought while sipping on only the third beer of his own. Jeff was an occasional, and light drinker and knew all too well about alcohol. He had seen many of his people battle with it, a high percentage of whom had completely succumb, drinking their way into an early grave after a long drawn out battle that left them completely in debt, many owing their entire check to their local liquor store each month clearly demonstrated in a town known as White Clay. Jeff reviewed numerous statistics and drew a lot of conclusions, theorizing that many Native people found themselves drinking for a commonly shared reason. Where once their days had been filled with activities such as the hunting of food, gathering herbs and medicines to sustain their way of life, these things were now gone. Such activities that had once fulfilled their lives and occupied their time no longer existed. Without these important parts of their culture to complete their sense of purpose, many became overwhelmed with boredom, succumbing to a life of idle emptiness, complacency cultivated within defeat. Once noble people were repudiated and left with a diminished sense of purpose. Such dignities were replaced with malicious sentiments oppressing their essence. Alcohol often filled the void in the process destroying their minds, bodies and spirits, creating hardship in its wake to be endured within the hearts of loved ones left helpless to assist. Misery replaced harmony leaving them unable to feel the sanctity and comfort of mother earth. Jeff seldom drank alcohol knowing that it cultivated the fruit of such bitter truths.
Mattie produced a trashcan and placed it beside Dennis for him to throw his empties into, rolling the Rubbermaid can along on its wheels and putting a fresh Hefty bag into it. She kept also a tab on the beer consumption, adding it to the list along with the already consumed chicken and a bag of Rold Gold pretzels Dennis had earlier taken off the shelf. If Dennis continued on as he was, Mattie figured he might just be in need of those poker winnings to later pay his store debt. Whenever that is she thought looking up and around at the snow that now completely blocked the upper windowpanes. She shook her head. This made no sense. There was simply too much snow falling, and too quickly. She made her way to the cash register retrieving most of the cash and slipping it into the floor safe before closing it and spinning the combination dial. That, she thought made sense.
Roger was searching the radio waves, rolling the small plastic wheel from one end of the dial to the other, switching from AM to FM and back again. He was unable to find anything other than the occasional burst of static. Even Sirius evaded his search. He kept the volume low and acted as nonchalantly as possible well aware of the potential implications of empty airwaves. He concluded it was a reception problem and that the snow had blanketed them so thoroughly that the radio signal couldn’t pass through. If they had all been trapped here, then radio disc jockeys had likely been stranded as well. It only stands to reason he thought mustering optimism.
Abigail took a break from reading, rubbing her eyes and focusing on Father Peabody.
He looked at her and smiled.
“What do you make of this Father?” she asked.
The Priest raised one eyebrow, tilted his head and shrugged. “I think it is but a test of faith,” he replied. “And patience,” he added with a wink.
Abigail smiled. “Yes, it does look that way, doesn’t it,” she returned, glancing outside. She was surprised at herself, the mild but escalating exhilaration she felt as a result of their situation. It left her tingling inside. It was true adventure, and for the first time in her life that she could recall. She found with some surprise she wasn’t concerned about any of it. The food supply would be good for months, and there didn’t really seem to be any serious issues developing between the mixtures of people here. Dennis seemed to be coming a little unraveled and the situation was stressing Mattie out but overall it seemed all were putting whatever differences they might otherwise have had aside cooperating for the greater good. It was rather novel she thought continuing her silent observations. Under different circumstances any one of these people would likely behave quite differently toward the others. That was something she had found to be typical among people, pulling together in a time of crisis, unity found walking exclusively along a tightrope of imbalance or as if a bouquet emerging in a puddle of mud.
Although timid by nature Abigail had majored in Sociology in college and found this to be a truly interesting development, a near perfect control group set up for evaluation, a cast of character’s caught in a mixing bowl of circumstances to evolve into…? Well, she didn’t know, and that was part of the exhilaration. Why, it was just like reading a book for the first time wasn’t it? And in this story there was no way to know what chapter they were into or how many there would be. She felt optimistic about the outcome and that as time allows the store would be dug out and they would all return to their lives, each possessing a unique memory, perhaps a story to tell to their children or grandchildren, and all would live happily ever after, the end. Right? Well it was correct, insofar as she knew but Abigail became at once melancholy about the fact that she had no children, and therefore might never experience the joy of being a grandparent. She had always been too busy, too caught up in her own world to pursue a man, marriage. Time had slipped away at a maniacal pace accelerating each year, leaving only her books to console, a confidant found only in text.
The unexpected loud creak of the straining roof drew everyone’s attention redirecting their thoughts and giving birth to a wave of silence.
The audible crow flew to a different rafter.
“Please oh lord,” Father Peabody whispered.
“It’s gonna cave,” Dennis said looking up and speaking through slurred words before falling shit-faced onto a cardboard boat of leftover fried chicken.
“Wow,” Abigail said looking up and around.
Roger was grateful for the timing of Dennis passing out. He believed Dennis might otherwise be getting a bit irrational about now.
Mattie ran into the back room and hid beneath a sturdy steel office desk curling into a fetal position. Her eyes darted back and forth, back and forth.
The crow began an incessant cawing, scrambling about from one rafter to the next, its keen eye and the vibration levels felt in its talons summoning instincts directing it to safety.
The snow continued to fall.
Chapter Twelve
Jeff, Roger and Father Peabody stood evaluating the situation contemplating their options. Ultimately the snow had to be removed from the roof, or collapse seemed inevitable. As was the case with every other entryway, the steel door to the roof was burdened under the weight of the snow.
Abigail sat in the back talking to Mattie who had a phobia about internment. Such confinement was felt as intensely by Mattie as a deadly spider creeping slowly across her face. Abigail did her best to console such harsh sentiments assuring her they would figure something out and that it would be all right.
The radio had been spurting out random bursts of static, as if someone were trying to get through but failed to be heard. The static became a chronic reminder of their predicament underscoring the tension, increasingly escalating the saturating stress that nipped at the heels of panic. Abigail got up and turned it off with discretion deliberately looking away from Mattie as she did so. The groaning roof was beginning to take its toll on her as well, though not nearly as intensely as it was affecting Mattie.
Roger thought turning the heat up to full might help melt the snow on the roof. Although all were in agreement it might help everyone knew that at best, doing so might do nothing more than buy a brief morsel of time. One thing for sure: this building was well insulated. Their discussion about a resolution continued.
“We have to cut a hole in the roof and get up there and shovel it off,” Jeff proclaimed.
“Yes, but if we cut a hole it may well assist the collapse of the roof, compromise the structural integrity.” Roger asserted revealing yet another dead-end in the path of their quest for a resolution. The roof groaned yet again, this time bowing and shifting noticeably. A single rafter support popped off its brace with an audible snap. It rested nearly a foot from its former place along the edge of the wall, broken at the weld to become an ominous lance.
The dark bird uttered a brief murmur, a suitable spokesman for all.
Silence fell in line, an empty sound filled with countless words that made hearts race in a stampede of reality.
Even the pompous crow became at once silent, as if contemplating.
For a few moments, other than the fearful, full panicked cries of Mattie who was being held closely by Abigail, only the whisper of prayer spoken by Father Peabody could be heard.
His prayers were answered as the generator failed.
Chapter Thirteen
The missiles mercifully stopped and the situation room fell silent for an extended time as all eyes stared unblinking at the numerous monitors. The President, standing motionless with one arm crossed over his chest and his other hand placed over his mouth reviewed each monitor tediously.
“Major,” he began at last, and with much relief to General Banks, “Do whatever you have to do to set up open communication with Pyongyang and Tehran. I don’t care if you have to send them a helium balloon and a note we need to have communications open, ASAP. General Banks dispatch whatever U2’s, SR-71 Blackbirds and all available satellites to recon and assess the damage. Then I want our own silos to get busy here and abroad, rearmed and prepared to pull no punches. Gentlemen, this is to become our greatest hour. The rest of you organize amongst yourselves and contact every military base. I want to know where we stand down to the last man and hell, down to the last bullet. It’s time to earn your pay people. General Banks, you and the Chiefs of Staff discuss all available options, and most especially where we stand with China. Roll up your sleeves.”
Chapter Fifteen
Mary coached a woman in labor while Doc Kitchen assisted in the birth. Mary let the woman squeeze her hand, enduring the pain as tears streamed down the woman’s face. Doctor Tom Kitchen busied his hands, reaching for the head of the child, casting a look Mary fully understood.
“Push,” Mary said, “C’mon, one more big push.”
The woman took a deep breath and strained. None spoke aloud offering instead a barrage of prayers wafting heaven bound as the tears of women rolled down distraught cheeks.
Roman stood in the near distance running his forefinger across his lower lip. Further away in another area one of the pair of Eagles they had captured let out a shriek no one was sure how to interpret, although unanimously perceived as an omen and without a word spoken. Eyes shifted about, people looking to others-anyone for something resembling an answer.
The laboring woman let out a maniacal scream and Doctor Kitchen slid the infant into a shadowed new world. He held it up, grabbing the newborn firmly by its ankles and holding it immediately upside down. Fluid ran onto the ground and everyone watched in riveted silence.
The child never drew a breath.
Chapter Sixteen
The following day, eight hours of digging gained them a mere four foot tunnel, and with no ceiling in sight. So dense was the snow that they had to use the outer wall of the building to determine if they were going up at all, the absolute white vexing their ability to determine direction. It looked the same in every way, and one was virtually on their stomach in the snow whether climbing up, or across. There was simply no bearing, their hole in the snow dug in near darkness, a flashlight directed by another that stood below the person digging offering little assistance, shadowed from the body of the digger. Additionally, the combination of the effort and the cold was taking its toll on everyone, the painstakingly dug hole removed mostly by hand as there was simply no room to maneuver a shovel in the tight confines of the narrow tunnel. Unanimously they decided to break on the digging until the next day.
While the others had been digging and carrying buckets of snow Abigail and Mattie prepared a fantastic dinner. A fresh salad preceded the meal, a combination of crisp green lettuce and spinach leaves mixed with shredded cheese. Tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers and Spanish onions were available in separate bowls, for each individual’s preference. This was topped with shrimp. Using the half dozen lobsters remaining in the tank while the creatures still lived, the ladies offered them with steamed asparagus. These were served along with fresh baked and still warm French bread. Abigail insisted on candles and all sat around a checkered tablecloth spread out on a folding display table. All had wine except Dennis, who preferred beer.
There was little said at this dinner, an occasional compliment to the cooks emerging. Everyone had an appetite, for it had indeed been a long day. Mattie was concentrating on coping with the situation by reaching out for every possible opportunity to be in control of as many reminders of normality as she could. She clung to bits of her routine (an environment Abigail had coaxed circumstances to adhere to), pausing for a moment before she began to eat her food, calculating a tally of the price, a morsel of the past.
“What the hell,” she said, stabbing a fork into the lobster tail, anchoring it. Under the current conditions all of the perishables would soon spoil, and it was best the food be eaten as opposed to thrown out. Dipping a piece of lobster into the liquefied Land O’ Lakes butter Mattie labored to forget store debts and all manner of company business.
Roger rose from the table and made his way into the deli without a word. He turned on the water in the sink and returned to the table, leaving the water to flow.
Father Peabody realized what he was doing and, looking Roger in the eye pointed to him, then his own temple and nodded. “Very good idea,” he said. “You may have just intercepted what could become a big problem.”
Roger continued to eat his food in resolute silence. He hoped that running the water would be enough to prevent the pipes from freezing, and consequently bursting. Despite the gesture, he remained skeptical.
“Should have thought of that sooner,” he said matter-of-factly before sipping his wine.
Dennis looked around the table, his eyes pausing on Father Peabody. He despised priests and everything they represented. To him Father Peabody only served as a constant reminder of death, a walking gloom and doom beacon whose purpose in life was to let people know that he knew the way into the afterlife, some perceived paradise. “This is kind of like the last supper to you, eh,” Dennis said, looking at Father Peabody.
Jeff stood in resentment toppling his chair. “You have a big mouth, Dennis. What kind of thing is that to say?” he asked, leaning in Dennis face.
Roger rose to his feet on the opposite side of the table and put one hand on Jeff’s shoulder, settling him.
“I hope this isn’t the last meal,” Father Peabody said holding a single spear of asparagus aloft on the tip of his plastic fork. “This is good, and I should like to do it again sometime. Of course, different conditions would be preferable,” he said with a smile, and shot Mattie a wink. With efficient discretion Father Peabody had been watching Mattie. He knew the strain this situation was putting on her, could see it in her eyes. Abigail understood as well, effectively keeping Mattie busy with tedious conversation, meticulous details intended to preoccupy her mind. That was a good thing for her to do but Dennis’ comment didn’t help.
Father Peabody couldn’t help but wonder if Dennis was well on his way to going off the deep end, his remark a strong indication that death was weighing heavily on Dennis’ mind. He looked at Roger, who was still standing and saw the pistol in its holster on his hip. He offered a brief and silent prayer hoping it wouldn’t come to that, popping the last piece of asparagus into his mouth. He watched Mattie cut her few remaining morsels of lobster into pieces obsessively small noticing they were considerably more dissected than they had been prior to Dennis’ all-too-uncalled for and obnoxious comment. He presumed it was a direct result of accelerated nervous energy, further denial of their predicament as she kept herself preoccupied. He remembered seeing her in church years before attending faithfully every Sunday her husband at her side and knew she had not attended since his funeral. Her husband died a slow, painful death from lung cancer and he believed she had lost her faith because of it, that perhaps she had become resentful toward God, angry at his timing of taking her husband. Such resentment was commonplace although he remained in disagreement of such sentiment. It had been painful for him to witness the deterioration of a man, a marriage and such dramatic change in an otherwise fruitful life. He offered silent prayers for strength to help dig them out of here in the morning, to offer Mattie hope, perhaps even a restoration of faith. He took a small sip of wine and watched in silence as Jeff and Roger returned to their respective seats.
Like Jeff, Roger was annoyed by Dennis comment. He had been weighing the odds of getting out of here before the air supply became a potential problem, uncertain whether that may become a concern and resented not only Dennis comment, but also the timing of the unnecessary vernacular. He wondered also what they might find when they managed to surface through the snow the next day, if they in fact succeeded. Roger believed that may indeed be a very big if, and part of an extensive list of unanswered inquiries.
If they got out of here.
If the roof didn’t collapse.
If they didn’t run out of air.
If it wasn’t still snowing…
If.
He stood and excused himself lighting a cigarette, watching the smoke rise into the shadowed building to disappear into the emerging darkness. We’re gonna get out of here, he thought in defiance and despite if. He looked around as his confidence waxed and waned. Would they be defeated as a result of their circumstances?
He didn’t know
