Apocalypse Before Finals, Julie Steimle [black authors fiction txt] 📗

everything, Aaron nodded. But Eric shook his head, almost rooted to his spot in protest. So she looked to Jeff to see which direction he was inclined. He just ran his fingers through his hair and stared at the floor, thinking hard. If she had been on her own, she would have just left. But she had committed to the rebellion, and they were the ones who knew where escape spacecraft were located.

"Jafarr?"

He looked up, not quite focused on her at first. But when he did see her, he cringed as all his plans were falling apart. "Go back? Now? I dunno. Let me think."

"Ugh!" Zormna marched to him and crouched near to look at his face to urge a response. What they did was his decision in the end. The others would abide by whatever he said, despite what 'Uncle Orren' had said before. They all understood that Jeff had more foresight than anyone they knew, and his word was the one everyone truly was waiting for. And she would also follow it no matter how much she might disagree. 

Jeff stopped scratching his head and looked up into her eyes. Grimacing, he shook his head. "It's too early. I can't tell yet."

Zormna glared at him. "When can you tell?"

"I think..." He shook his head, knowing she was going to hate this. "It is best if Orrlar, Eergvin and Azdrov evacuate with Malia. I think Al, you and I should stay here and keep watch like we planned. Al and I can talk with Brian and maybe hang out at his place after school. Hopefully the P.M.s won't find us."

"Hopefully?" Zormna echoed in exasperation. She pulled back from him. "Jafarr, I don't want to get the Hendersons involved in this. They're decent people."

"Look. The United States is a gigantic place. Hopefully the PMs haven't traced the signal to the town. Hopefully, we'll finish out this year here and the rebellion will remerge ready to fight," he said, looking at her straight. "We made promises, Zormna. You to Brian. Me to Joy. It would absolutely kill them if we broke those promises now."

Zormna emitted an irritable groan as she stood up. "If some PMs found you at the Hendersons', they might kill them."

Jeff paled. He looked to the floor.

"Jafarr, when are you going to see that it is time to go Home?" Zormna said.

Jeff closed his eyes. He knew she wanted to leave this very second. No more school. No more waiting. But in his gut he knew it was not yet time. He just did not know how to express it. Lifting his eyes to hers, he said, "I will say it is time to go Home when either the PMs come here after us or when the FBI has decided to lock us up. No later and no sooner."

Frowning, she turned away.

Jeff went after her, taking hold of her arm. "Zormna, I have sworn to protect you. That means keeping you out of the fight as long as I can."

She shook him off, scowling. Her jaw tightened.

"Besides," he added. "I think it wouldn't serve our side well if we came back in the middle of battle. If we did, we would be making ourselves targets, and that is something I won't do."

Averting her eyes to the floor, Zormna bitterly muttered, "I just don't think it's fair."

He knew what she meant by that, feeling her grief ripple through him. Wrapping his arms around her, he held her tight.

She started to sob again. "I didn't want to be the last."

"I know," Jeff whispered.

The two men with them in the room exchanged a look then quickly hurried out of there with what things they could grab.

Their time was over, and they felt as if they were intruding on something extremely private. Yet before Eric stepped out, he paused with a glance back at the two. He had always been amazed by Jeff. And though he hardly knew Zormna, he realized in that moment that as dangerous as she was, she was also fragile. The prophecy had said that the last Tarrn would be a warrior, a soldier of the finest skill - and never had a soldier like Alea Zormna Clendar ever lived before. She was the one. Jeff just wanted to save her the agony of fighting for the last minute. Not logical exactly, since Jeff truly believed that she would turn the tide of the revolution - and they needed that help now.

Chapter Six: One More Day

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

          

 

Although there may be reasons to be cynical it never helps to correct the situation - anon -

 

Wednesday.

Jeff had taken Zormna home the night before. The FBI could see that she had been crying, and Jeff looked distracted. Zormna had locked all her doors and windows, checking her security system like always. Jeff watched her throughout this process from his motorcycle until she had finished. He then cast one small glance at the nearby FBI car before he rode back to his home at the end of the suburb. The two men stationed outside Jeff's house reported his arrival to the higher ups, then settled for a long night to make sure no one snuck out.

The night grew long and late. At midnight, two other operatives replaced the agents outside Jeff's house, one carrying coffee and a packet of doughnuts, the other holding one of those take-away type Styrofoam containers used at restaurants. The thinner agent ate the doughnuts. They watched and listened until their eyes grew sore. Their thermal scan indicated that one man was up, sitting in a room where the residents often congregated at night - what they guessed to be security detail. The rest were sleeping, or seemed to be. Once or twice the thermal figure that was Jeff rose from his bed, and looked like he was holding his head. They had observed this habit of his when the Boy was stressed. He had been doing that a lot recently. At around one o'clock, the person in the spare room (as the FBI called it since their singular invited visit that last November), stood up and seemed to be moving something heavy. The boy, Jeff, had lain down again and appeared to be was sleeping at last. The other human shapes shifted a little. One man in the upstairs suddenly arose from his bed and walked down the back stairs and down the hall, joining the man in the spare room. They switched places. The other went out and up to the loft apartment above the garage, lying down for a rest.

"Shift change. On schedule," the man with the doughnuts remarked.

The other agent nodded. They watched the new body sit at the table in the secret room, resuming the position of the first.

Thing was, the radio had long been dismantled. There was no work to be done in that room. However, Jeff had long figured the FBI had managed to circumvent their security measures and were watching them without sound. So it was up to them to put on a shadow play for their observers...to make their watchers feel like things were flowing as normal. Because of that, when they went about that night it was not because they had something to do, it was to look like they were keeping to routine. Aaron and Eric took their regular shifts, yet they were merely sitting at the drafting table writing notes for Jeff and Zormna for when they were gone - though Aaron spent more of his time doodling on paper, thinking about what he was going to do when he returned Home. But all of it to the watching FBI car looked like the same old thing.

Even with all the shadow play, the FBI did figure out one thing that they had not known before they arranged the thermal scans. They learned that Jeff had a disproportionately large influence in that house - more so than they had seen before the Hard Watch. People acted brisker when Jeff spoke to them, as if obeying orders. Even Zormna deferred to him, which she hadn't done months earlier.

It was two o'clock in the morning when the person in the secret room went to bed. By three a.m., the FBI agents kept records of the occupants sleeping without stirring. And at four a.m. the agents were helping themselves to another cup of instant coffee from their thermos while warming their hands on their heater vent. All was kosher in the house. No sneaking in or out. And live bodies were in each of the beds.

At five a.m. the man called Uncle Orren got out of bed, stretched and headed for the bathroom. His wife rolled over and slept for ten more minutes before getting up. The agents watched the heat signatures of this man and his wife shower, get dressed and enter the kitchen for their early breakfast. The FBI had regularly tracked the so-called uncle to the city office where he worked full shifts and was well-liked by his coworkers. The man had a clean work record and did everything promptly and succinctly. It didn't look at all like he was using his workplace as part of their underground organization, but merely as a source of real income, which is why the FBI had initially thought he was just a put-upon American being manipulated by Jeff and his cohorts. They now learned that Uncle Orren usually got off work early, at about one in the afternoon, to perform work in the 'spare room' until someone retuned to take over his shift. His wife usually stayed home with a day shift in the spare room, except when she went out shopping. And she rarely did that except when someone else was home. The house was seldom left empty. And the household almost never varied from this routine.

At five-thirty, one of the collage-aged boarders (either Aaron or Eric as they were known) woke early and started a morning shower in their small bath area. The other slept in to six o'clock.

At six am, when the sun was rising, the FBI agents in the car were reaching then end of their shift, ready and waiting for the others to take over. At this critical point the other two individuals in the house sleeping on the ground floor awoke. The college-aged man still slept, reaching up occasionally to lift the clock on his bedside, while his companion trudged down the stairs to the kitchen. By this time the uncle had left the house for work and the aunt had returned to her room to gather things for laundry.

The taller teenager (the one known as Alex) walked directly to the kitchen and helped himself to breakfast. The shorter stretched and walked to the bathroom on the ground floor. That was Jeff. The awake college-aged man was sitting in the dining room, staring into a bowl of something - not quite eating, yet sitting there as if he had intended to. They watched this for a while.

By seven a.m., both Jeff and the red haired one known as Eric left the house. Eric took his small hatchback car, still wearing his pajamas and house slippers. The FBI reported his activity to another car stationed around the