An Undeclared War (Countdown to Armageddon Book 4) by Darrell Maloney Page A

heard the four men outside the gate as he removed the slide bolt that secured it from the inside. They were still trying to console Scott, and still not having much luck.
         Tom backed away from the gate and walked to the back porch.
         “Okay,” he said. There’s fresh brewed tea in the barn. Lay across the hay bales and get comfortable. We’ll be out shortly.”
         Actually, it took longer than Tom thought. He and the girls swarmed over the kitchen, boiling ears of corn and frying a batch of chicken. Hannah and Linda were both preoccupied, Hannah stitching up Linda’s forehead and Linda bitching and complaining with every pull of the thread.
         She had good reason to complain, though. In the absence of a good anesthetic, she had nothing to fend off the pain except several out of date ibuprofen tablets.
         And they just didn’t do the trick for getting stitches.
         “Would you stop wiggling?”
         “Hey, wiggling makes it hurt less. So does complaining, in case you’re wondering.”
         “Well, I don’t mind you complaining about the pain. I know it hurts like hell. But if you don’t stop wiggling, your stitches are going to be crooked. You’ll look like Frankenstein’s bride.”
         The two women had been through a lot together since Hannah came to stay at the compound. They’d grown quite close, and were more like sisters than friends. Hannah knew that the next few days would be among the roughest they’d faced.
         But she also knew they’d be up to the task.
         She finally finished the last stitch and applied a bandage.
         “Honestly,” Linda asked. “How bad does it look? Will Tom still love me?”
         “Tom will always love you, dear. And to answer your question, you’re still just as beautiful as you always were. It’ll leave a bit of a scar, but you’re still one hot mama. If Tom doesn’t love you just as much as ever, then he’s a crazy old fool and I will personally kick his ass.”
         Linda managed a smile.
         Hannah continued, “Speaking of Tom, are you up to relieving him so the girls don’t burn the chicken? Send him up here to see me so I can start picking those glass shards out of his face. And, oh, by the way, if anybody needs to worry about losing any beauty in the deal, it’s Tom. It’s a good thing he was no Clark Gable to begin with.”
         “Hey, watch it. That’s my man you’re talking about.”
         “Well, what are you gonna do about it? I’m not afraid of you. You hit like a girl.”
         Linda suddenly grew serious.
         “Thank you for sewing me up. Why don’t you come downstairs? You can work on Tom in the dining room. The light’s better down there.”
         Hannah nodded at Joyce’s body, her head now resting on a bed pillow and her hands folded across her midsection.
         “Thanks. But I don’t feel it would be right to leave her side. Not yet. I know we’ll have to soon enough. But I think she’d like it if we kept her company.”
         Linda didn’t argue.
         “Okay. I’ll send Tom up. And don’t tell him I cried and complained the whole time.”
         “Don’t worry. I’ll tell him you were a tough old bird. And I’ll tell him if he complains one little bit I’ll tell everyone in the compound he whines like a little sissy.”
         Linda went downstairs to help with the chicken.
         An hour later, the back yard was set up like a bizarre segregated banquet. Two picnic tables had been set up, thirty yards apart, and each had been covered with a variety of dishes. There were mashed potatoes and gravy and fried chicken, a fresh garden salad and a variety of sliced melons.
         There was a pall over the feast, of course. Everyone could see their loved ones at the other table. But not being able to reach out and touch them was maddeningly painful.
         Scott tried his best to eat,