The Safety Zone

By M. Susan Thuillard and Afton Corbett

The Safety Zone is an intriguing saga of a family living in war-torn North America in a future time. Read the adventures of Jennifer Dillon and how her mothers courage during the war influenced Jennifers own life. Will Jennifer find her way back to her family or bring the wrath of one Commander upon them all? Will she overcome shame and find true love? How can her family accept the stranger within their gates? Ms. Thuillards novel is another of her cant-put-it-down, must-read adventures. The reader will be enthralled from beginning to end.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 9, 2007
• ISBN: 9781463460945

M. Susan Thuillard

M. Susan Thuillard is a native to Indiana. Although she has lived in many parts of the nation, home is where she was born and raised. Susan has 9 children and over 30 grandchildren. She is most interested in golf, fishing, hunting, gardening, and good family-centered values. From a variety of experiences all over the North American Continent, Susan has gathered information and impressions that have become important details in her many books.

Book preview

THE   SAFETY

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ZONE

written by

M. Susan Thuillard

illustrations and cover picture by

Afton Corbett

music composed and arranged by

Connie Jo Ziegler

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© 2007 M. Susan Thuillard. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 1/29/2007

ISBN: 978-1-4259-8982-8 (sc)

ISBN: 9781463460945 (ebk)

Printed in the United States of America

Bloomington, Indiana

Contents

Prelude

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Prelude

From the Journal of Mary M. Dillon

April

The ground beneath my feet shook with the blasts of enemy fire. There were sirens wailing mixed with screams of fear, and the pounding of feet as we all ran to be free of the mounting dust and debris. That is, most people were running for freedom. I was running toward the center of the city. Another blast shook the ground and caused buildings to crumble. I fell to my knees on the sidewalk and covered my head with my arms. Dust and debris choked the air causing me to crouch beside an abandoned vehicle for a few moments, where I covered my head with the hood of my sweatshirt. As the worst of the dust settled, I continued on, ducking around those running away, nearly being bowled over by a large man with a briefcase. His head was down and he was rushing through the crowd, running into everyone. But, then, I was the only one who was going into the city. Some people yelled at me to turn back, but I relentlessly pushed on. One woman grabbed me by the shoulders and screamed into my face, but her hysteria was wasted on me. I had to find my husband and let him know where I was taking the children. The phones had been out of order for days and now, even cell phones weren’t working. As I rounded a corner, I suddenly stopped in my tracks. There was nothing left of the city core. Parts of buildings sat in the settling of dust and rubble. I stared at first, my mind not comprehending that I was seeing nothing recognizable. There were no buildings left standing intact. I stared in the most awful wonder, there was just nothing left. The thought pierced my brain like a hot brand. Dazed, I looked around me. It was some time before I realized that I was alone, there was no more sound of running feet, and the bombing had also stopped. All I heard now was falling dross from the ruined buildings. Everything was covered with a thick layer of chalky dust. Somewhere water was gushing from a broken main. Woodenly, I turned around and walked back the way I had come. Thoughts flooded my mind as I first trotted, then ran faster to my car parked over a mile away. Where had everyone gone? Where was John? Hopefully, he wasn’t at the office. I was just going to leave him a message, anyway. I didn’t really expect to see him. I stopped and looked back. Although the street was littered and empty of life, the city looked relatively normal from where I stood, the still existing buildings blocked out the horror just beyond them. I began walking again, quickly now to my car. I got inside and started the engine. The gas gauge was almost on empty. Like me, I thought. If John is gone, then what will I do? I pounded on the steering wheel and cried, calling out his name.

Lady! Lady! You gotta get this car outta here! Someone was yelling. I looked up at a guardsman slapping against my window. C’mon, Lady! Get your car outta here! I nodded, as I fumbled with the gear shift and finally got the car moving. He watched me turn around in the middle of the street, then I lost sight of him in my rearview mirror as I turned a corner and drove away. The tires of the car crunched over rubble in the streets. I made my way around abandoned vehicles and emergency vehicles, being directed first one way and then another until I was away from the city and driving through the suburbs. All ramps to the freeways were blocked by barricades. All the service stations were closed. I finally stopped at one gas station and tried my bank card. It worked and I filled my car’s tank. I wondered how it could still be working, but didn’t really care. A full tank of gas would take us a long ways away. Numbly, I thought of the bank building laying in a heap in the inner city. I wondered once again how my bank card could work.

When I returned to my car, I consulted a city map, then I wound around through several side streets until I finally came to a road leading away from the city, back to the safety of our little country village. I’ve got to plan, I said to the windshield. I’ve got to get the children away from the war. It was hard to imagine war in our own country. We always went to war in foreign lands. But, this war had been brought to us here, on American soil. I shook my head in disbelief. The world and the structures of government we had come to know and love had been crumbling for many years. It was just so hard to believe that it was all over. The land of plenty was now a land of chaos. "I’ve got to protect the children! I said hotly. Oh, John, what do I do? Where do I go? How will you ever find us?" Fresh tears burned their way down my soiled cheeks. I was covered with chalky dust but, it didn’t matter, I just had to get home. I’d left my fifteen year old son, Alma watching after his brothers, Peter and John, Jr., and their baby sister, Jennifer.

The forty mile drive seemed to take forever. But, I finally did arrive in our small town. The quiet streets looked so normal in the early morning air. Because of the early hour, the scene was one of pastoral quietness, most people still in bed or maybe just beginning their morning. I drove through town and out to the small farm where we lived. The quarter mile driveway never seemed longer. I sat for a long time in the car, staring at our garage door. A plan was forming. We’ll take the truck, filling the back with our supplies. We have a tent and food and clothes. Maybe, Alma and Peter can siphon gas from the car’s tank and put it into the truck. The car won’t help us now. I know there are refugee camps somewhere out in the country, away from the awful devastation of the cities and towns. We’ll go there and wait for John to come to us. My mind made up, I took a deep breath and opened the car door. The walk up to my own door seemed to take an eternity.

Power’s out, Alma greeted me at the door.

I nodded.

Wow! What happened to you? Peter asked from the livingroom.

I looked down at my dusty clothes, then back up at the children and smiled slightly. Guess I need a bath, huh?

Yeah, but the power’s out, Mom, Alma reminded me.

I laid a hand along his cheek. Thanks, Son. Go get me a bottle of water from the storage room. I walked to the bathroom and changed into a robe. I threw my dirty clothes into the tub, then took a sponge bath from the sink with the water my son brought me. It was almost impossible to get my hair clean. Thank goodness I’d done the laundry yesterday and had fresh clothes to put on.

What’re we going to do? Alma asked the moment I stepped out of the bathroom.

Heavily, I sat at the kitchen table. Pack up the truck with our supplies and leave. I said.

He nodded and started for the garage door.

How much gas is in the truck, Alma? I asked.

I dunno, he answered. I’ll look. He grabbed the keys from the rack by the door and went into the garage. I waited quietly for his return. It’s almost full, he reported.

Really?

Yeah, Dad filled it up last time he was home and we’ve only used it a couple of times, I think.

Can you and Peter siphon gas out of the car? I asked.

He began shaking his head. I don’t think so. It’s not like the old truck, Mom. I don’t think we can, but we’ll try if you want.

No, I answered. Maybe we can get some. I just don’t like leaving the car’s tank full. I don’t know why I filled it. I shook my head, then smiled ruefully. But, I know my bank card still works.

Cool!

I smiled. Okay. Get all the emergency packs in the truck. Then you and Peter get extra clothes, like you were going on a camping trip or to scout camp, okay? Use suitcases and duffle bags, but don’t take too much.

Sure. He ran toward the storage room. Peter! He yelled as he went. Come and help me!

I took John, Jr. and Jennifer with me to get extra clothes for the three of us. As an after thought, I also grabbed some of John’s civilian clothes. I fingered his military fatigues, but decided he could make do with what he had with him in that department. If he’s still alive, came the unbidden thought. A sob caught in my throat. I closed my eyes and willed myself not to cry in front of the children. They needed to feel as safe and secure as possible. I put our bags by the garage door, then went upstairs to the storage room. I surveyed the neat rows of food, water, and camping supplies. What will we really need, I mumbled.

Food, Mommy, John, Jr. answered, looking solemnly up at me.

Here, play with your sister for a minute, I smiled at him as I handed him the baby. She was almost more than he could handle, but he carried her to the corner and sat her on the floor. There, he plopped himself next to her and began rolling cans of food back and forth to her.

I sighed deeply. Children are amazing survivors. Alma and Peter joined me after only a few moments. I put some bags at the back door, I commented.

Already in the truck, Alma reported. Do you want this stuff in the hallway to go?

Yes, it’s the camping gear. We’ll need that.

There’s camp fuel, lanterns, and the ax in the garage, do you want them, too?

Yes. Oh, and the tool box from the bench.

Okay.

In the end, we were able to get everything from the storage room into the back of the old farm truck. It amazed me how much it would carry. I filled two coolers with meat from the freezer while Alma got some tarps and rope from the barn. Then we covered the box of the truck, tying it down tightly. Strapped to the back were two metal cans. I looked questioningly at Alma.

He shrugged. We were able to get a little gas out of the car, he said sheepishly.

I tousled his hair and smiled. Are we ready?

He nodded. We got the children around and filled a picnic basket with everything useful from the refrigerator. Each child had a special backpack with things from their rooms they especially wanted and things to keep them busy. Peter handed me my sewing basket. It was filled with a jumble of thread and needles, paper and pens, art supplies, and anything else that could be crammed into it for me to keep busy, too. You have to smile at such thoughtful children.

We clambered into the truck. We don’t have car seats, observed John, Jr.

You’re right. I nodded. Just get Jenny’s, I said to Alma, who was already heading for the car. I backed the truck carefully out next to the car while he retrieved the seat.

Anything else we need? He yelled.

Get the maps! And, and anything that’s in the glove box. We fastened the car seat onto the back seat of the truck. Alma, drive the car into the garage and shut the door, I said. I ran into the house and made sure all the windows and doors were locked. With one last look at our home, I returned to my family, backed the truck around into the yard, and drove away.

Where’re we going? Alma asked.

I’m not sure. I think out around the Great Lakes is one of those refugee camps. Maybe we should go there.

The Safety Zone? He asked. I nodded. Mom, you have to have permission to go there. They taught us that in school.

Where do you get permission? I frowned.

The government office, I guess.

I sat a long time at a stop sign. There are no more government offices in the city, Alma.

Why?

They’ve all been destroyed. The war has found its way into the heart of the city. I shook my head, my hands clenched around the steering wheel.

Didn’t you leave a note for Dad? Didn’t you see him?

I shook my head, not able to speak without crying. Tears were threatening to spill over my cheeks anyway.

Well, maybe we can just go there and tell them that, offered Peter from the back seat. Maybe they’ll be nice and let us live there, anyway.

I wiped at my face and smoothed back my hair. Clearing my throat, I answered. Maybe you’re right. I nodded my decision. I think I might have an idea, though.

Do you have our identity papers, Mom? That might be all we need, I’m not sure. Alma asked.

Yes, I nodded again.

No, I mean the ones Dad made for us. He was staring hard at me.

Yes, Alma. I assured him. I have the proper documents. He sat back and seemed to relax for the first time. I started the truck rolling and we began our trip.

We had only traveled for a few miles, when I turned around, heading back toward the city. Where’re we going, Mom? Alma asked in confusion and a little alarm.

To the base, I answered quietly, heading for the military base nearby.

Will Dad be there?

I don’t know, but, we’re known there, and I’ll get instructions. Maybe General Trask is there and can help us, if Dad is away somewhere. Or already dead, my distraught mind added.

I don’t like him.

I know, I soothed. But, he’s the only contact I can think of right now.

There was a line a mile long at the gate to the military compound. I pulled into line behind several camouflaged vehicles. In time, a soldier with an MP arm band approached us.

Ma’am, we’re at war, so I’ll have to ask you to leave. Go home and wait for instructions on your radio. Or, there may be Civil Defense people who will instruct you in a few days.

I handed the young man my military ID card. Thank you. I must see General John Dillion or Commander Dean Trask, if at all possible. I smiled and nodded, as though there were nothing at all wrong.

He looked at the card and at each of us in the vehicle. A pained expression filled his young face.

I’m sorry, Ma’am. My orders are to turn back any civilians.

I understand, I answered. But, do you have a way to contact the General, or Commander Trask and ask for special permission? I tried not to let my fear and anxiety show. Hopefully, this young man would respond to confidence.

From the back seat, the small voice of my three-year-old son wafted clear and strong. Yeah, we need to see our Daddy.

For me, tears threatened instantly. So much for the show of confidence, I thought as I smiled at the soldier and shrugged my shoulders. He looked into the back seat of the truck, then stepped away from the vehicle, my card still clenched in his hand. I’ll be a moment or two. He said and hurried away to the guard shack.

You need to be quiet, John! Alma burst upon his little brother.

I laid a hand on Alma’s arm. It’s okay, I reassured him. I think he actually helped.

We sat in our old truck for over an hour. The military vehicles moved on into the confines of the base. We moved up to the gate and were instructed to pull off to the side. More vehicles approached the gate for clearance. None of them were civilians. I was beginning to doubt my course of action as another hour dragged by. The baby fussed for a little while, but finally went to sleep, sucking her thumb. Normally, I discouraged her doing that, but today I didn’t have the heart. It was warm in the truck even with the windows down and John and Peter argued in the back seat, but hushed when I admonished them. Finally, a car approached from inside the gate. The soldier driving the vehicle talked to the gate keepers for a few moments. It was obvious they were discussing us. I began to feel even more uncomfortable.

Maybe we should just leave, offered Alma.

He still has my ID, Alma.

Yes, but you have the others, right?

I looked hard at my oldest son. Perhaps I should pay more attention to this boy, I thought. A soldier was walking toward us. He pointed at the car backing around inside the gate.

Follow him, he said.

Thank you, I answered. Could I have my ID card back, please?

He looked sternly at me. This man was older than the other gate soldier. I stared back at him, not letting his piercing gaze intimidate me. Jackson! He shouted, not taking his eyes off me. I couldn’t help but jump a little at the sound of his voice. Where’s her ID card?

The driver has it, Sir! Shouted the man named Jackson.

Proceed! He ordered.

I put the truck in gear and followed the lead car. We wound around the base to one of the many office buildings. It wasn’t John’s building, so I assumed I would have to talk to Dean Trask. Oh, that will be pleasant! I thought sarcastically. We parked and I stepped out of the truck. The driver of the car motioned for me to follow him into the building. I turned to look at Alma.

We’ll be all right, Mama, he said. Go on. We’ll be all right.

I nodded, then followed the soldier to the office of Commander Trask, where he was waiting at the door. I couldn’t help but notice how he had let himself go in recent years. He had always been a man of large stature, but now he was fat. His jowls were hanging over the collar of his crisp uniform, as was his belly over his belt. His hair had turned completely gray and was thinning rapidly on top. His eyes were almost hidden in the folds of skin around them. Mary, Mary! He gushed.

I cringed inwardly at the sound of his oily voice, steeling myself for his over-friendly embrace. Hello, Dean, I managed to choke out.

Come in! Sit here, sit here, he indicated a plush sofa where he plopped himself next to me. He took my limp hand into his cold, clammy ones. What can I do for you, Mary, My Dear?

First of all, I said calmly, belying my inward repulsion, and pulling my hand gently from his. I need to get a message to John. Can you do that?

He frowned. John? He asked as though trying to think of whom I spoke.

Yes, I nodded.

I don’t know, he wiped a hand over his ample chin. We’re at war, Mary… He started thoughtfully, then rushed on. Oh, I know it might not seem like it in your little town, but we truly are at war. Why, in the city this morning…

I know, I cut into his speech. I was there.

He stared at me. You were where? He asked, his frown almost swallowing his eyes entirely.

In the city, I replied.

Mary, that’s impossible! He