The State by G. Allen Mercer Page B

older tee shirts; the shirt was large on her.
    “Hey, what’s up,” she said, still trying to clear her eyes. 
    “You’re up?” Grace asked surprised.
    “Dad told me you two relieved him early, so I thought I would do the same for you,” she said, with a motherly tone.
    “Thanks.  Okay,” Grace shifted gears.  “Joshua and I heard something outside of the back of the stable, so we thought we’d check it out.  He thinks there are one, if not two people between the back of the barn and the ridge top.”
    Leah looked over Grace’s shoulder to Joshua.  She had only known the boy for two days, but she had observed that his instincts were precise, and his ability to assess a situation had been spot on.  In short, if Joshua thinks there are people on the ridge, then, there are people on the ridge.
    “Okay, wake the others.  Let’s see what we’re dealing with,” she ordered.
    Grace pulled off the windbreaker that Joshua had giver her and started to unstrap the bulletproof vest.
    “No,” Leah said, putting her hand on her daughter’s shoulder.  “I want you to wear it.”
    “But, it’s your vest,” she protested.
    “Not any more,” she said, kissing the forehead of her daughter.
    “Thanks, Mom,”
    “You bet,” Leah said, turning back into her room to wake her husband.
    Ian met her at the door.  “I heard the tone of your voice and decided to get up,” he said pulling a shirt over his chest.  “What’s up?”
    “The kids thought they saw people on the ridge a few minutes ago,” Leah reported as she strapped on her weaponry. 
    “Roger that,” Ian said.  “Are they waking the others?”
    “Yes.”
    Ian stepped to the side of one of the windows, mindful that someone was probably peering at the house through binoculars or worse, a riflescope.  He then gently lifted one of the blinds to see what he could see. “I think this is going to be a long day,” he said, seeing nothing but the first rays of the morning sun blotting out the darkness of the blue and black sky.
    Ten minutes later, the group was dressed, armed and nervous.  They filled the Tiller family’s living room, sitting where they could, or using walls to prop themselves up. Ian took a moment to survey the group of soldiers. This would be their first engagement as a collective, and he was the defacto leader.
    Grace sat to one side of the family couch.  She was gently scratching behind Daisy’s ears.  The dog had been given permission to curl up on the dark leather couch and seemed to love the attention and the leather.  As far as Daisy was concerned, everyone was there to see her.
    Grace’s adrenalin level was still peaked from the earlier encounter.  The dog was helping her settle down, and so was the water she was sipping on, in between ear scratches to the dog.  Grace anchored one hand on the neck of the bulletproof vest that she was wearing in an attempt to keep it from riding up on her throat.  It looked uncomfortable, but she wasn’t complaining.
    Joshua stood behind the couch, in a spot close to Grace.  There was calmness about his mood.  Ian watched him watching the others.  The collective nervousness did not seem to faze the boy.  His rifle was slung across his back, barrel pointed down, and his arms were crossed.  He looked ready to execute any order handed down without question.  Ian respected that; it was the type of approach that he looked for from his field officers.
    Mary stood by the door, a place that she often found herself.  Since the plane crash and the Airstream, Ian had noted that she would often scope out the exits of any room she walked into.  Seemingly pleased with her escape route close by, she was typically quiet except for the fact that she kept bouncing her fingers off of her leg like she was playing air-drums to a RUSH song.  Ian looked at her eyes, but she was staring off into the distance and did not meet his glance.  Her mind seemed to be somewhere else as her head bobbed