Jackie Whitman was a woman of routines. She always spent part of Monday morning planning her week, checking the family calendar, making lists of things to be done, and by the end of the week, everything on the lists was normally done. The entire family’s life was pretty much encompassed in her lists.
On this Monday morning, she sat on the living room couch, finishing her second cup of coffee and giving a final scan of her to-do list. Andy breezed through.
“Mom, I’m headed to Jimmy’s house. Then we’re going to hang out with Cody down near the square for a while. I’ll be home before dinner and—”
Jackie interrupted, “Listen for the sirens—.”
“I know, I know, Mom. If I hear the warning sirens, run home. I promise I will. Love you!” Then he disappeared out the front door.
What about that conversation was normal? thought Jackie. In how many households around the world were parents trying to raise their children in the midst of war? There wasn’t any book or set of guidelines to help a parent know what to do.
If the sirens should sound someday while Carl was at work, or Andy was out with his friends, how would she react? Could she actually give the girls the Option without Carl around? Would she go into a frantic search for Andy? A cold chill ran up her spine at the thought. As surreal as that all sounded, it was their world.
Home should be a safe place. Parents should be able to protect their children. With that, Jackie’s thoughts turned to her home and family. How she loved her home. It had been in her family for at least eight generations. She could trace a family line, and ownership of this home, almost back to the original European colonists.
The land on which the home sat had once been part of a family farm which included a couple of hundred acres and was only five miles from the center of the capital. As the city began to encroach on farmland, Jackie’s great-great-great-grandfather slowly sold off most of the land for housing tracts and other development. His decision to sell the land at a good price and overall good business sense had left the family very wealthy. Each generation which followed had only increased the family assets. In fact, the family’s wealth, and her mother living with them, had been a source of tension between her and Carl more than once.
The home now sat on a little more than three acres of land. The address of 718 Old Plank Road caused Jackie to explain more than once that, centuries ago, some roads were actually built of timber planks, hence the name. The address was the only thing about the home which was less than impressive. While the home was large, it had a simple elegance. She loved to say that some homes screamed money, hers whispered it.
As much as she loved her home, Jackie would trade it in a heartbeat in exchange for the safety of Carl and her three kids. There was Andrew, who had just turned seventeen in May. She hoped he would still be alive at eighteen. Would he live to see another two weeks?
Andrew was tall and beginning to leave the gangly early teen years behind. He was starting to take on many of his dad’s physical traits: jet black hair, cleft chin, and piercing hazel eyes. He loved challenges of all types, both mental and physical. If there was a negative trait about Andrew, it would be his “short fuse.” His temper could flair in a nanosecond.
Then there was eight-year-old Megan. Jackie and Carl thought she was their “surprise.” Born almost nine years after Andrew, Megan was pure joy. Her sweet disposition made her everyone’s favorite. Jackie could count on her for anything; she always wanted to please. Megan was a wonderful big sister to Kelly.
Many middle children resent losing their position as the baby in the family; it didn’t seem to faze Megan at all. She, of all of the children, looked the most like Jackie: straight chestnut brown hair, oval face, and long, slender fingers. Megan also shared Jackie’s passion for the piano. She had a natural gift for music. The two of them could play duets for hours on the family baby grand.
“Mommy,” Kelly called out as she reached the bottom of the stairs and headed toward Jackie. Closely held in Kelly’s right arm was Heddy. While the little bear was actually Teddy, Kelly had problems with “T” sounds when she first learned to speak. She could handle the name Teddy now, but Heddy was the name of choice, even among her siblings and parents. Kelly was a bouncing bundle of energy. She seemed to be everywhere at once, always smiling and laughing. Her joyous giggles could get the entire family to join in the laughter.
As Kelly ran to snuggle against her mommy on the couch, Jackie was reminded that Kelly had been the real surprise. Born a little over three years ago, she certainly hadn’t been planned. Some had questioned the wisdom of giving birth to a child in these terrible times. Mothers had always, as far as they knew, given birth to children in times of war. Jackie and Carl were on the same page, and they would love this child for as long as any of them had breath.
Jackie and Kelly had just gotten comfortable when there was a brief knock at the front door. Without waiting to be invited, Mandy Moore walked in.
“Hi, Jack. Good morning, Kelly. Can we get a cup of coffee?”
There was nothing new about Mandy coming into Jackie’s house without waiting for the door to be answered, or her expecting a cup of coffee. It had been the way their friendship had worked since Mandy, and her husband Glenn, moved in about fifteen years earlier. Glenn had been sent here as part of the US Embassy staff before that. They fell in love with the country and decided to stay.
What was different about today was the look on Mandy’s face. She looked like she was either going to explode or cry, maybe both. Jackie quickly surmised that this was going to be a “patio conversation.” They had talked out some of the most difficult issues in their lives on the patio.
“Hey, Meg,” Jackie called out. “Please come and play with Kelly for a while.”
“Okay, Mom,” Megan quickly responded from another room in the house.
“Kelly, Mommy and Mandy need to talk. We can snuggle more later, okay?”
Kelly nodded in approval. Megan entered the room and took her off for an adventure, like coloring in her big sister’s bedroom.
Mandy and Jackie headed for the patio via the kitchen, not talking to each other. Jackie poured coffee for Mandy and refilled her own cup. From the kitchen, they exited a back door onto the spacious patio. Jackie found a place to sit out of view of the main rooms of her home. They shared a large cushioned bench and turned to face each other. There was a protracted period of silence as they took a couple of sips of coffee.
Suddenly, Mandy’s hands were shaking to the point that she was almost spilling her drink. She seemed to be looking for a way to broach a painful subject. Finally, she blurted out, “What are you going to do?”
“Do? Do about what?” asked Jackie.
“You know, when they come?” Tears welled up in Mandy’s eyes, and Jackie, now understanding the question, fought tears herself. What would she and Carl do about the children when the Enemy came? The Enemy had shown no mercy, even to children, throughout this war. There was no reason to believe things would change if they overran the capital.
“Carl and I continue to hope that something changes, but we’ve had to be realistic. Right now, all we can think of is to use the Option.” Both she and Mandy fully understood what the “Option” was. It was a small package containing two pills. Each package was age and weight specific. The first was a sedative, meant to take the edge off the emotions. It was to be followed, quickly, by the second. Within less than thirty minutes this pill would slow, and then stop, the heart. There was even an attractive pamphlet instructing parents how to give the pills to their children.
“How can you? It’s barbaric!” cried Mandy.
“Mandy, what the Enemy did to the men, women, and children of Kirkmont, and have done to every town and village since then is barbaric,” sobbed Jackie. “I really want to believe this nightmare is something I can wake up from in a few minutes, and discover I’d eaten something I shouldn’t have