April 2076
Oakvale, Pacific Territory
United States of America

Alex stared at his reflection in the mirror as he dressed himself for his parents’ funeral. His straw colored hair had been trimmed back from its usual shaggy appearance to something a little closer to respectable. His usual skin tan was starting to fade as the sun waned into winter and the storm clouds began to gather. He studied the black suit he wore. It had been his father’s, when he had been Alex’s age. While the suit was a conservative one, he had chosen a garish, green tie to match his brightly colored eyes. 

“Mom would have hated that tie,” Rachel said.

Alex turned to regard his sister. She had always been one of those rare girls who didn’t take five hours to get ready to go out. She was dressed in a simple black dress. It hung in a flattering way on her 23 year-old figure, but in a way that even their mother couldn’t have objected to. Like her brother, she sported a small, brightly colored garment. Hers was a handkerchief she had tied around her wrist. It was green with white threading around the edges. 

“Yeah, but green was their favorite color, miss Rachel Clover Samuelson,” he said, the little tease at his sister’s middle name the only form of sibling rivalry he had left in him. 

Rachel smiled and then smirked knowingly at him. She didn’t even have to say his full name. 

Alex Sage Samuelson, he thought to himself as he joined in the silent laugh. 

His parents wanted to give both their children middle names that stood for their favorite color, the color of the fields and woods the surrounded their lives. 

Unfortunately, Mom and Dad seemed to miss the acronym of my initials. 

A-S-S was a point that had frequently been reinforced by his peers in school. But as he stood in his room, sharing a smile with his sister, it all seemed to fall away. 

That isn’t something important enough right now, he resolved to himself.

“Come on, dweeb. Mom and Dad are waiting,” she said, still smiling, though a bit sadly, Alex thought. He nodded and checked himself in the mirror one last time as his sister’s heels clopped down the wooden stairs. He secretly wished that the mirror in his room was like the magical one in those old books, where the boy could see his parents standing behind him. Then he shook his head. No, this was real life, not some fantastic story.  

My parents are dead. I’ll never see them again, he thought sadly as he left the room and followed his sister down the stairs.

Leaving the house, Alex forced himself not to look around the side of the yard. The crime scene tape had been removed, the bodies carried away. The barn had burned down almost to its foundation before the fire department even arrived at the house. As Alex walked toward the waiting car, images seemed to overlap his vision, transparent memories playing back over and over what had happened in the aftermath of the attack on his family. He could see the sheriff, who had been consoling Alex, turn at the sound of a car skidding to a halt on the gravel of the front drive. A tall woman in a khaki sport coat and slacks climbed out of her Mercedes. She looked as if she were going to ask the Sheriff what was going on when she saw Forrest’s body lying on the ground, his blood caked around him on the grass. 

“They killed my baby!” she had screamed through teary eyes. The sheriff moved to console her, but she swatted his hands out of the way. “Who is responsible for this? Where is the murderer?”

“Mayor Hawthorne, I’m going to have to ask you step back. This is still a crime scene and we have witnesses to take statements from,” Sheriff Daniels said. Alex had felt her heartbroken and angry eyes flit toward their little group, first at the still groggy form of Rachel as she was revived by the medical technicians, and then to the sitting forms of Alex and Rourke. Both still had their rifles in hand and he could see understanding dawning on her quickly. Rage flared in her eyes as she realized what had happened.

“I want those two arrested! Now!” she had screamed, pointing in their direction. Alex saw two of the deputies check with the sheriff, even as Rourke placed a protective arm in front of Alex. Sheriff Daniels shook his head at the two, then nodded for them to continue gathering evidence.

“That young man was just protecting his family,” the Sheriff hissed through clenched teeth, clearly angry that she was making demands on him. “I’m the Sheriff here, madam Mayor, and I intend to do my job. You’ll have a report of the incident on your desk by Monday and I’ll be stopping by to give my condolences to your family.”

“You dare defy my orders, Sheriff?” Hawthorne said, practically gaping at the Sheriff as she asked.

“With all due respect, I don’t take orders from you, ma’am. We’re both elected officials. I take my orders from God and the people of this Territory. I am truly sorry for your loss, but at this point in the investigation, I really can’t have you on my crime scene,” responded the Sheriff evenly. Hawthorne just glared at him, as fire wreathed her irises. “Go home, Mrs. Hawthorne. We’ll handle the rest from here. I’ll notify you when you can pick up your son.” 

With that, the Sheriff had turned from the hysterical woman and continued directing the investigation, a note of severe strain obvious on his face. He nodded to one of the deputies who moved to escort her back to her car. He was shrugged off as she turned to retreat to the vehicle herself.

 Alex still remembered that look on her face as he trudged out to the waiting car. It was pure rage, pure hatred, that radiated from the woman toward not just Alex and Rourke, but towards Rachel as well. He was glad Rachel didn’t remember much. She had remembered enough to give a statement that Forrest had assaulted her, but she fainted before any of the violence took place. She still didn’t believe Alex had killed Forrest and Bryan, or maybe she just didn’t want to believe it. 

Didn’t matter much that the Sheriff didn’t arrest me right then, anyways, he thought, remembering when the police had come to take him in for the trial. The experience had left him feeling dirty, even though he had been proclaimed innocent. 

The drive to the cemetery seemed to stretch on and on. Alex was vaguely aware of Rachel as she and Rourke chatted. Rourke had rented them a limousine, though Alex had no idea where he had that kind of money stashed away. Alex had barely noticed the finely tooled leather seats or the built-in refrigerator, but Rachel positively glowed at the chance to ride in the car, despite the sad circumstances. She had pretty well recovered from the trauma, at least to the point where she could mask any emotions she had and keep her panic attacks from starting up in public places. Alex had not fared so well. He had been withdrawn since the events of the past two weeks, even to the point where he noticed it himself.

It didn’t help that he hadn’t seen Cassie since the trial, for reasons he was positive he knew why.

“Alex? Hey, you in there, Alex?” he heard Rourke ask, startling him out of his reverie. The trees and farmland flashed by outside the windows, a soothing combination of colors, but Alex forced himself back to the conversation. 

“Sorry, Mr. Rourke, I was just thinking,” Alex mumbled.

“No problem, Alex, but we’re coming up on the cemetery,” Rourke said. 

Alex could see a trace of concern in the older man’s eyes. Rourke had even taken to calling Alex and Rachel by their proper names, rather than “Miss Samuelson” and “kid”. 

The car pulled into the cemetery, which was settled on top of a hill overlooking the famous mountain range that sheltered Oakvale. The town, or city really, stood nestled against the great mountains that created the western edge of the Sierra Nevada range. It had been a modest sized place for years, through the turn of the century. 

After the Greater Depression shook the American economy in the 2030’s, droves of migrants leaving the bigger cities had settled in the more rural parts of the country, hoping to find new employment as thousands of companies, and their jobs, simply disappeared as they went bankrupt almost overnight. The actual city of Oakvale now boasted a population of over 200,000, with another 60,000 spread across the countryside on the thousands of farms and homesteads that dotted the landscape. It was the largest population center for 50 miles around and had grown more when it was apparent the city would become a vital shipping lane for the west coast and mountain Territories of the country.

“Alex, Rachel, come on over here,” Rourke yelled to the two siblings, who had been looking off into the distance. “I wanted to show you two what your father and I saw when we moved here to settle.” 

Alex looked at Rachel with a questioning look and she shook her head back. Their parents had never expressed any close relationship with Rourke. But they did as they were bid and moved over to stand along the hillside with Rourke, looking down onto the part of the valley where they’d spent most of their young lives.

“Mr. Rourke, I never thought you and my parents were close,” Rachel asked, looking slightly up and to her right at him. Alex simply nodded agreement at the sentiment.

“Ah, your father and I were very close once. We both served in the same company in the Northern Wars. We came here together after our discharge,” he said quietly. Alex had heard his father talk about his military time, but it usually was as a lesson when they were shooting or hunting. “Came here about thirty-odd years ago. He was from here and my folks died during the cholera outbreaks when I was about your age, out east in Georgia. He and I set ourselves up here, two soldiers trying to fit into civilian life.”

“We didn’t know,” Alex said quietly. “I mean, Dad never said anything mean, but he never said you two were friends.”

“I don’t imagine he would have. We were like brothers once, but as time passed, we grew apart. After a while, there were more differences between us than similarities. We just drifted apart,” Rourke said. Alex could hear the grief in Rourke’s voice and knew everything he was saying was true. “Well, might as well quit dawdling. The rest of the family’s waiting for you.”

Rachel patted Rourke lightly on the arm, as if to say sorry for his loss. Neither she nor Alex was particularly close to the man, but they knew now that he shared their pain, at least to some degree. As he made to follow his sister, Alex felt Rourke’s hand on his shoulder.

“Just a moment, Alex. Your father wanted me to give this to you when he passed,” he said as he pressed a small, brass key into Alex’s hand. 

“What’s it open?” Alex said as he examined the key. It was about the size of the key that opened their front door at home, but was made from hefty metal, rather than the poly-carbon composites used by modern locksmiths.

“You’ll know, when you find it,” Rourke said. Then he turned and slowly walked up the hill toward the burial site, leaving Alex staring at the key. Alex thought a moment if anything in the house would likely use the key, but nothing came to mind. He slipped the key into his pocket and ran to catch up with the two figures moving up the hill. He would have plenty of time to find out what the key was for later, he was sure.

The funeral seemed to flash by. Though it lasted nearly an hour, it seemed only minutes to Alex. He was vaguely aware of people offering their condolences as they passed the casket. He knew Rachel was putting on a good smile for everyone and hoped she could overcompensate for his obvious lack of focus. When everyone had said their goodbyes, Alex and Rachel turned to regard their parents. 

“They look so peaceful,” Rachel whispered.

“At least they are together, right?” Alex said, a faint trace of a smile on the corners of his lips.

“Yeah, together forever,” Rachel replied, putting her arm round Alex. 

The two stood in front of the graves and watched as the caskets were lowered into the ground. Rourke came to stand by the graves, two roses in his hands. He gently dropped one onto each casket, along with a handful of dirt. He said something to himself at each grave, so quiet Alex and Rachel couldn’t hear. Then he nodded at the two and began making his way down to the small country house that would be serving as the reception area for the funeral guests.

“Guess we better get back, people will probably be expecting us,” Rachel said, turning to head down herself. “You coming?”

“I’ll be in in a few. I just need a moment,” Alex replied over his shoulder. Rachel nodded understanding, then plodded slowly down the hill. Alone, or as much as he could be given that a few others remained behind, perhaps to visit other lost family members among the gravestones, Alex sank slowly to his knees. Tears came unbidden, held in for so long as he had tried to be strong for Rachel. He wept silently for a while, letting his tears fall onto the freshly turned earth that now separated him from his parents. 

“I don’t know what to do now. Where do I go from here?” he whispered to them. “Rachel will go out and do great things in the world, we always knew that. But I don’t know what I should do. I miss you guys so much.” He put his hands in his pockets as he sat. He felt the key Rourke had given him and pulled it out. “And now I have this key and I don’t know what to do with it.” 

“I might be able to help you with that,” said an unfamiliar voice behind him. Alex jerked his head around with a start. He quickly wiped away the tears with his sleeve as he stood to greet whoever had approached him. The man in question was tall and muscled. His skin was weathered with age and time spent outdoors and his hair was white, shaved almost completely to the scalp but for a thin thatching on top. “I’m sorry to disturb you, I didn’t mean to listen in on your talk with your folks,” he said, hands held up with palms out apologetically.

“Not much of a conversation. I was doing most of the talking anyway, Mr. …,” Alex said, hesitating a moment.

“Blake, my apologies again. My name is Darren Blake, I was a friend of your father’s during the Northern Wars,” the newcomer replied. He held out his hand and Alex took it. Blake had a strong grip and Alex did his best to return it. He felt compelled to impress the man for some reason.

“Seems like everyone knew my dad in those wars,” Alex replied, still confused by what Blake wanted. “Is there something I can help you with? The reception is down in the house if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“Ah, no, I don’t think I’ll be staying for the reception. I came to give you something,” Blake said. Only then did Alex notice Blake was carrying a briefcase. He handed it to Alex. “This is some stuff your father wanted me to give you, when you were of age. Seeing as how he’s gone now, I think it’s appropriate for you to have it.”

“What’s in it?” asked Alex as he inspected the case. There was a small lock on the front, but one that used a key, not a code.

“I’ve never looked inside. Didn’t have the key,” Blake said, as if he had read Alex’s mind. Then he reached his hand into his jacket and withdrew a business card. “I heard about what you did. Impressive shooting for someone so young. I owed your father a lot from the wars. I run a, company, shall we say, and I’m always looking for people who handle stressful situations well. If you decide that running the family farm isn’t for you, look me up.” 

Handing it to Alex, Blake gave him a stiff nod then turned and walked purposefully down the hill towards the parking lot.

* * *

Alex stared at the briefcase on the coffee table in front of him. It was worn, wrapped in oiled, brown leather with a black, metal trip around the edges. The handle was attached to the top of the case by two bands of metal plated with the same black surfacing as the rest of the case. To either side of the handle were two key slots. Alex pulled the key Rourke had given him and slowly pushed it into the first lock. The key slid in and Alex turned it to the right. He heard a faint click and quickly withdrew the key, unlocking the second lock. 

The top of the briefcase opened without so much as a creak, despite the apparent age of the case. Alex examined the contents. An envelope held a small stack of pictures. They seemed to be mostly of Alex’s father during his time in the military. Alex recognized both Blake and Rourke in one photo, the two of them leaning on a tank while Alex’s father waved his beret from inside the gunner seat. A few other men and women stood around the trio. They looked thoroughly intimidating, Alex thought, something he had never thought about his father. He flipped it over, looking for a date. But instead of a anything resembling a date, Alex found two words neatly printed in black, capital letters.

OPERATION ANGELFIRE, Alex read silently.

He put the photo aside and shuffled through a few more until he came to one that really caught his eye. The photo showed his father and Rourke standing behind and to either side of a young woman. Alex realized it was his mother, though she looked quite different from the woman who had raised him. Both men were looking at her, rather than the camera and Alex suddenly understood why Rourke had taken Alex’s parents’ death so hard. He understood it, and it alarmed him. He pushed away the thoughts and packed up the photos carefully back into the envelope.

One other item remained beneath the photos.  

It was a box, nearly as long as the full width of the briefcase, made of polished mahogany. It seemed to shine like metal as light filtering through the blinds reflected off its surface. Here, too, he found an inscription, again in Latin, but one familiar to him.

“Semper Fidelis,” he whispered, the motto of the United States Marine Corps. “Always Faithful.” 

He gently pulled the box from the briefcase and set it on his lap. A small brass clamp held the box tightly shut and Alex carefully clicked it open. Spring-loaded joints pushed the lid up and Alex’s eyes widened at the sight before him. The box had opened to reveal itself as another case, this one cradling a beautiful rifle scope. Alex didn’t know what kind of metal it was fashioned from, but it felt extremely light in his hand as he lifted it out of the case. He couldn’t imagine it altering the weight of any weapon it was attached to, something highly desirable for a marksman. The metal was of a dark color, gunmetal or nearly so, and had been burnished to break up the solid hues, like a natural camouflage. 

Alex rose from his spot on the couch and slowly walked to the other side of the room. He lifted the scope experimentally and held to up to his eyes, looking out the windows. He was astonished at the range and the sharpness of the focus. He knew he was seeing things, gophers in the field, ears of corn waving in wind, that were hundreds of yards away, but they looked as if he could reach out and grab them from where he stood. Alex opened his other eye and saw elevation and wind dials along the shaft of the scope, but decided not to change anything until he had some time to inspect it on a weapon. His father had left things very orderly, it seemed, and it felt wrong to start altering he had obviously prized highly enough to leave as a legacy to his son. As Alex returned to his position on the couch, he set the scope back into the case and closed the lid. 

He closed the briefcase and locked it. Then he put the key back in his pocket. As the key slipped in, he felt his fingers brush paper and realized he still had Mr. Blake’s business card. He pulled the small card out and examined it. 

“Darren Blake, CEO, Lionheart Security,” he read aloud. 

The card indicated Lionheart Security, whatever kind of business it was, was located in Monterey, a city on the west coast of the territory that was the center of American Naval military power in the Pacific. Alex settled back into the couch, clutching the card in his hand as he thought about his life and all the changes that had coming rushing through in recent days past. He knew he couldn’t stay on the farm, even if he wanted to. That part of his life was over. He had to choose a new path. 

He gazed down at the photo of his father with the rest of the military team once more, before nodding to himself. It was as if his father were willing him towards something, giving him the push he needed.

“Really only one thing to do.”

Next Chapter: Ch. 5 - Roads