Ten Days. John Sheppard

she once had a full-time maid for each of the two stories of the home, plus a full-time gardener, to help her maintain the property. There had even been a part-time cook. The families of the servants had all left the country or fled to the port city in the last year or so. Now she hired out the work to various locals or she and the children did it themselves.

      Minus the household staff, this summer had almost been like most summers before it. While there had been some shortages, the electric lines hadn’t been cut, and there was both oil and natural gas. She did miss the annual trip to the national forest. There had been no proof of the Enemy controlling it that she knew of, but the capital population had been advised not to enter. Tomorrow would be the farmers’ market, her favorite source for fresh fruit and vegetables. The trip to the market was another bit of order. She had gone with Mandy twice a week almost every summer and fall since they had moved in.

      3:26 PM

      Back in his townhouse, Stephen was reviewing the maps Billy had given him, alongside various forms of intelligence information. While there were faster methods to come to an initial assessment, he preferred to take it all in visually.

      The term “encircled” had been used to explain the current situation concerning the capital city, but it wasn’t totally true. The capital had been cut off on three sides: south, east, and west. Based upon the reports, the Enemy was within 15-25 miles of the outskirts of the city on the eastern side. The west-northwestern side of the city was about 10-20 miles from the start of the national forest, and the intelligence reports from there had been spotty. To the south, they could be closer, since they controlled the airport area 20 miles away.

      To the north, the capital was safe for about 40 miles. The flat plains were mostly farmland, from the capital to Stonecrest. Stephen fully expected that a major assault would come there soon. It was not only a major military facility, but also home of the national military academy. The loss of Stonecrest would leave the capital wide open. There was still a significant force in the port city, but they were bottled up and could not get to the capital in time to make a difference. Even if they could break through, there weren’t enough men to defend both the capital and the port city.

      It appeared that the military situation on every level was grim, but Stephen thought he saw a glimmer of hope. It wouldn’t necessarily save the capital, but might help at least some escape. He would know better after visiting the outposts.

      3:39 PM

      Sam gently rapped on Dr. Spencer’s office door. A gruff-sounding “Come in” was the response. While Dr. Spencer always sounded as if he was ready to disembowel someone, he was, in fact, one of the gentlest men Sam knew. He was at least fifteen years older than her father, maybe in his mid-eighties, but he reminded Sam of him in so many ways. It wasn’t in physical characteristics, but in mannerisms and personality. She had been amazed how often her childhood friends had been frightened of her dad, just because of the tone of his voice. Dr. Spencer’s voice had the same effect on adults.

      “Well, Ms. Samantha, what can I do for you? Please come, sit down.” Dr. Spencer offered her a comfortable chair directly across from his. His office had stacks of papers, and just plain stuff, everywhere. In that regards, he was nothing like her father. Her dad had been neat to a fault.

      “Today’s session really got to you, didn’t it?” he asked before she could even say anything. Without waiting for a reply, he said, in a very caring tone, “I could see it in your face during the meeting.” Dr Spencer could read her emotions at a glance, just like her father.

      “I know I shouldn’t let King Richard get to me like that.”

      “But he’s right, you know.” A look of surprise must have registered on Sam’s face, for Dr. Spencer went on. “At least, on a level. Your defense was weak. A poor-quality photograph and a questionable witness just won’t make it, Ms. Samantha.”

      “What will?” she pleaded.

      “Come on, now, you weren’t one of my top students at university asking questions like that. You know the answer.”

      Yes, she knew the answer: hours of mind-numbing research. It wasn’t like they had all the time in the world. It was just like Dr. Spencer to demand excellence, even in these difficult days. He had been a stickler for detail in college, and was even more so now. If anyone should find the vault a millennium from now, he couldn’t stand the thought that they might question his choices. Dr. Spencer also liked to quote that, “The winners write the history books.” While he didn’t know the source of the quote, he was hoping that some of his country’s history would survive, as told by the people of his country.

      “Do you have any suggestions, Dr. Spencer?”

      “Actually, I’ve been giving it a lot of thought. From what you’ve presented, it sounds as if you’ve spent much of your time in the public records, using research from others.”

      “Well, yes, I have,” responded Sam. “Where do you suggest I look?”

      He took a moment to reply, and then said, “I’d look at Mrs. Daniels’s letters, myself, and not rely on the research of others. Also, I’d see what I could find in terms of correspondence from foreign embassies or maybe purchases made by the official residence.”

      “So, you’d have me spend what could be the last days of my life getting papercuts from sales receipts?” asked Sam, smiling as she replied.

      The gallows humor wasn’t lost on Dr. Spencer and he responded with some of his own. “It’s not like you’ve got major travel plans.”

      4:18 PM

      What this place was and could have been, thought Dr. Carl Whitman as he headed to his office on the fifth floor of the Northeast wing of Hartman-State Hospital. The hospital had been state of the art for this region when it opened seventeen years before. Its floor plan was Y-shaped. The three wings, South, Northeast, and Northwest, connected by a mostly glass atrium in the center. The hospital was located in the far southeastern section of the city.

      Carl’s brief time of reflection was interrupted by Head Nurse Janet La Forrest. “Dr. Whitman, may we talk and walk?” While he and Jan were close friends, she always addressed him as Doctor in public, and Carl returned the professional respect.

      “Certainly, Nurse La Forrest. What’s on your mind?”

      “During the staff briefing this morning, you discussed the proposed timetable for reassigning patients. I was a little outspoken in my skepticism, and I’m sorry.”

      “No problem.”

      “I now think we can have it completed by sometime on Wednesday, Doctor.”

      “Just so I’m clear,” inquired Carl, “the military will all be moved to the South wing, and they will assume control of that wing.”

      “That’s correct, Doctor.”

      “Those patients who have signed release waivers to use the Option will be in the Northeast wing, and those who haven’t will be in the Northwest wing.”

      “Also correct.”

      “You’re finding this very difficult, aren’t you?” asked Carl, his eyes locking on Jan’s. He continued, “I know I am.”

      They had reached his office door. Jan stood for a moment. Her voice went very soft.

      “Yes, I never thought I’d practice medicine like this. I got into it to help heal, but give out pills to help people die?”

      “We are at least giving a choice, Jan.”

      “I know,” said Jan in a very despondent tone.

      “Do we know how the general population in the capital is responding to the Option?”

      “It’s hard to say. If I had to put a number