CHAPTER 34

OCTOBER 25TH, 1:30 A.M.

72 HOURS TO INVASION

FRANK

Blue Pacific water flowed through the river. Frank stared down upon a quiet stream, sitting on a stone rainbow bridge over top of a man-made waterway flowing through St. Grad. The scattered reflection of the moon stared back at him. The night was long, so long it had become morning. But so were the times. After a hectic day in the NLV, a sudden escape, and a midnight battle, he finally had a moment of peace. Sleep could wait. The relief he experienced once he stepped foot inside the walls, the relief from the tension, stress, exertion, he wanted to feel it for just a little longer.

The river led out to the coast. The water in the vast ocean cascaded and fell in on itself, contrasting the smooth flow in the city. Refugees began to fill the streets, with waves more joining by the minute. By the look on their faces, they could relate to how Frank felt right now.

He did good today. They all did. There’s no telling what might have happened to these people if they hadn’t helped. They could have very easily ignored the fight in Los Angeles. Not risked sticking their neck out, especially with Rayshe behind them. They could have done what was best for themselves and took off for St. Grad, stopping for nothing and nobody. But that’s not who Frank was. That’s not who Leo, Laurel, or Tommy was. That’s not who Boone is either. Despite his untimely departure. Frank held sympathy for his friend. He is going through a tough time, and he is not handling it well. It is unfortunate this had to happen in the midst of a civil war. There is no rhyme or reason to why some things happen or when they happen. We just have to take what life gives us and keep going.

Frank remembers perfectly what that was like. What Boone is experiencing. Losing someone you love. In an instant, your family is shattered, and you have to learn how to reconnect the dots without them. No one will stop and wait for you. The path forward becomes muddled. What is left for someone without this person? What is life supposed to be without them? There is no bigger picture to keep sight of because the bigger picture is your family.

That’s where Frank grew the most as a person. Sienna was the bigger picture. She may have passed on to the next life, but her spirit is still with Frank. The picture never went away. It became clearer than ever. Her memory is what kept him going. To continuously strive to be a better person and make her proud. No parent should ever have to bury their child. But if you do, best make it mean something.

Frank wished he could say this to his friend. Maybe if he hadn’t taken off so suddenly, he could have given him the advice that he needed. It’s not a wife that Frank lost, but a loved one all the same. Perhaps the message would translate properly. Or perhaps he does not want advice and must process it on his own. In that case, all Frank can do is pray Boone draws the right conclusions.

In light of recent events, Frank felt whole again. Truly calm, he was still working on. But whole he was surely. This is what he was searching for. What he envisioned when he visited her gravestone. When he had that phone call with Tommy. To find a reason to pull himself out from the dark place he was mired in and past his guilt from Sienna’s death.

The answer was simple. He was longing for a way to make it up to her. To himself. To find a way to redeem himself. But that’s not the way. What he needed was a new direction. To take the lesson’s learned and to make the most of it. Reinvent himself and do good in her name. Their name. Not to be bogged down by your own failure, acting out of desperation for a way to put her soul to rest.

Sienna was at peace. Frank was not to blame for her death. Those conclusions changed everything. A new perspective, not chasing redemption but creating a new purpose. One that would make her proud, not because it’s what will ‘make it up to her’. It’s because this new purpose is one that takes a step forward. Making her proud through moving on and being better, not held back by them but lifted ahead. Hopefully Boone can reach Frank’s level of the healing process soon. They still need him.

He reached into his pocket, pulling out his worn, leather backed journal. Frank kept it close by everyday since Sienna passed away. It was his way of breaking down his feelings, his way of understanding what it all meant. But finally, he felt he didn’t need it. He had all the answers he was looking for. But still, he wasn’t ready to let it go. Something still scratched at his mind, urging him to crack it open and scribble all he could muster onto the pages. Perhaps it was closure he sought. One more entry, then he’ll be free.

The pages unfolded, fluttering rapidly as the backing was stretched flat. Brief flashes of his troubled mind from months past flew by. A perspective on how far he’s come. Frank turned until he reached a blank page. A clean canvas ready for one last message:

I have learned a lot from my travels. I have deepened bonds with close friends and made new ones. My journey has faced me with some adversity I did expect, and some I did not. It has shown me a greater perspective on the world, which has given me a greater perspective on myself. This was exactly what I was looking for. I feel unburdened by my past mistakes. Instead, I feel uplifted by them. My life is a collective of experiences, each one a lesson, shaping me into who I am today. I am proud of who I am. I know you would be too Sienna. Father misses you.

I feel as though my journey is coming to an end. Thankfully, I fulfilled my personal quest when I had the chance. Now I can face what is approaching without regret. A great threat is looming. I do not know what it may entail, but I know it will not be good. I dislike pessimism, but one cannot resist thinking about reality. There may come a time when I must pay the ultimate price.

I am ready. That, I am sure. I will see you soon, my beloved daughter.

Frank stared at the blank page. Words were never written. A pen never touched his hand. His mind logged his thoughts without his hand to translate. All the same to him now.

The leather backing smacked shut. The journal departed his hand, splashing into the river below him. It was time to move on from his personal exposition. His story was told.

He strolled through St. Grad. The stone brick roads were different from the typical American city. It was pleasant for him, feeling as though he was exploring a new locale. Refugees passed by, moving along towards a place to sleep, eat, or both. Frank smiled at those that made eye contact with him, taking his time as he walked to meet up with the team.

Frank opened a wooden door, entering it what looked like a medieval tavern in appearance. Except for the lights, air conditioning, among other things. The inside was glowing with a warm, orange light. A fireplace cackled softly, heating the guests from the chilly air. It smelled of good food and cinnamon. Very inviting in every way. His friends, minus one, sat together at a long wood table, with one bench on each side spanning the whole length. Leo and Laurel sat together on one side, with Tommy alone on the other. Frank accompanied his metal friend, balancing the gathering.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“Hey Frankie,” Tommy greeted.

“Good morning,” he replied sarcastically.

“How are you holding up? Hurt anywhere?” Tommy asked.

“I am fine, thank you my friend.” He turned to the sorceress. “How is your hand.” She held it out for him to see.

“Leo bandaged it up for me.”

“It’ll heal well,” he added.

“We’ll grow you a new one when this is over,” Tommy remarked.

“Why don’t you lend me one of yours for the time being?”

“I would if I could sister.”

A server came by with a tray of food, setting it down before the team.

“Compliments of the Lieutenant.”

They had been pushing on one meager meal a day for a while, mostly because of time constraints. A plate of grilled chicken breast and potatoes steamed before him. Suddenly, he’s never felt so hungry. He dug in without a word, as did the others. Tommy had his own plate of food as well, but for obvious reasons, pushed it to the middle of the table for the others.

“Do you know where Boone went?” Frank asked. He knew the answer already but was hoping to be proved wrong.

“Chicago.” Tommy confirmed his belief. “To be with the wife.”

“She’s not dead, is she?” Laurel’s question made them go quiet.

“The chances do not bode well,” Frank responded.

“The Lieutenant told me Chicago’s got it the worst,” Tommy added. “A complete warzone over there.”

Everyone understood the situation now. If her illness didn’t take her, the fighting did.

“I hope he comes back,” the robot continued. “We had an argument before he left. I was pissed off, told him don’t bother coming back. Didn’t mean it. I hope he sees that I didn’t.”

“I think he will,” the sorceress said optimistically. “He knows we’re his friends. And that we’re here for him.”

“I hope you’re right. For now, we have to plan without him.”

They paused their conversation to satiate their hunger. Laurel sawed at her chicken, trying her best to break off a piece using only one hand. Leo stabbed her food with his own fork, allowing her the stability needed to cut off a slice.

The way they practically inhaled the food made Tommy almost feel left out in a way. He sat with his arms crossed, watching his human friends consume their sustenance.

“It can’t possibly be that good,” he remarked.

“Mm, but it is,” Laurel said through a mouthful.

“What’s the word from Reeves, anyway?” Leo asked after a hefty bite of food.

“Nothing good,” Tommy answered.

“How so?”

“I thought we were receiving reinforcements?” Frank added.

“We did,” Tommy clarified. “Survivors have us surrounded. They didn’t pull back; they just formed a perimeter. No chance another rebel battalion gets in. No chance we sneak out either.”

“What about the port?” Leo mentioned.

“There are ships on the way from the Pacific, but they’re about 72 hours out. Regardless, we can’t leave anyways. Out in the open, Rayshe would swarm us immediately and we lose The Pieces along with our lives.”

“And so do the refugees,” Laurel realized.

“Would he even care for this place if we’re not here?” Leo asked.

“St. Grad is the capital of the rebellion now. It’s on his bucket list for sure.”

“With the artifact here, he will not risk reckless annihilation,” Frank concluded.

“Exactly. The Pieces are our bargaining chip. We both understand each other’s strategy here. Running is out of the question. With this place surrounded and eyes on every square inch, we’ll get spotted. We get overrun and St. Grad goes up in smoke. With no portals, there’s no way to sneak out.”

Laurel mulled her teeth. She feels as though she’s somewhat to blame for their situation. Frank hopes she knows that none of them see it that way.

“Staying here keeps us safe and the refugees,” Tommy continued. “In Rayshe’s mind, if the refugees are killed then we have no reason to keep The Pieces. Meaning he can’t level this place. Too much risk with both the artifact integrity and civilian casualties. Not that he cares about that, but we do. And right now, we control the object of his desires, so he needs to play by our rules.

“Would we?”

“Would we what?”

“Destroy the artifact?”

Tommy paused. “We still need a way to kill Rayshe. Right now, it’s our best option. We aren’t going to destroy it, but we can’t let him know that. At the same time, if we did, he has no reason to hold back on the city anymore. St. Grad handicap’s his options, giving us the best chance to fight him, while also reducing the risk on the refugees. I know it doesn’t seem that way with an army at the doorstep, but it’s true. We need the city’s defenses, but it also leaves us boxed in. I preferred the times when he didn’t know where we were, but beggars can’t be choosers.”

“And you’re sure he sees it that way?” Leo questioned.

“I do. He’s a psycho but he’s smart. He also would have never sent this if he didn’t.”

Tommy set a letter down on the table. Signed and sealed by the president himself. It read:

To the militia of St. Grad,

In your walls, you harbor four traitors, who are in possession of stolen items of value to the President. We understand your devotion to protect the innocent that you have granted asylum in your fortress. We propose a deal: If the four traitors, TOM3-E7, Laurel Morgan, Laeotel, and Francis Tolomongo turn themselves in, along with the precious cargo, we will guarantee the safety of the refugees, and grant pardons to any rebellious armed forces. You have seventy-two hours to respond. Rejection, or failure to respond to this letter, and we will launch an invasion. Consider your options carefully.

President Rayshe Hall

“Lieutenant Reeves gave this to me,” Tommy said.

“I wouldn’t blame them for taking the deal,” Leo said.

“Neither would I. Problem is, no one believes a word from Rayshe mouth. Or hands. Reeves rejected the offer. He gave it to me for a final decision.”

“Rayshe is desperate,” Frank commented on the letter. “He still has a civil war to fight. St. Grad would be crushed. Made into an example.”

“I know,” Tommy said. “Which is why we’re not agreeing to it. But it does give us a timer now. Seventy-two hours until they attack. Plenty of time to prepare.”

“Plenty of time for them to prepare too,” Laurel pointed out.

“I’d rather not think of it like that.”

They cleared their plates, evident by the clinking of silverware against the porcelain, scrapping up every last bit. A second round of food came around, which they happily accepted. Tommy received another plate as well, which he again pushed into the middle.

“What about the refugees?” Leo asked. “Can we figure out a way to get them out of here when the fighting starts?”

“Carriers are also seventy-two hours away, so it’ll be a tight window,” Tommy answered. “When they get here, we can load up the refugees on board and evacuate them if it gets bad enough. It’s a whole fleet of some of the biggest and best ships in the world. They should be able to protect themselves. I hope.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, focusing on their meals. Frank gestured to Tommy’s extra plates in the middle, to which the others denied any claim. He happily took one and began working on thirds. Leo and Laurel pushed their empty plates to the side, sitting quietly with dark circles around their eyes.

“You guys should get some sleep,” Tommy said. “Reeves got us suites in the inner city. I’ll stay on the wall. Keep watch.”

Laurel agreed without any objections. She stood up from the bench, Leo doing the same.

“You too, Frank.”

“I shall stay a while longer,” he replied between bites. “Do not worry about me, my friend.”

“What about the letter?” Leo mentioned.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Tommy eased. “I’ll make sure they get an answer.”

SEVERAL HOURS LATER

“Mr. President?”

“What?” Rayshe replied, annoyed by the sudden disturbance. He was just finally about to get some sleep, sitting in a chair by the window. The burning of Los Angeles was to be his lullaby. Leslie came by with a letter. His letter.

“We got a response back from St. Grad. No one has opened it yet.”

Rayshe delicately unfolded the paper. His hopes weren’t high that they would agree to the terms, but some part of him had a belief.

The paper flattened out by his fingers. On the bottom, beneath the printed message of his proposed deal, a response was written in sloppy handwriting, with… green crayon?

Go fuck yourself.

Tommy