Prologue
The man in the pressed suit finds him sitting in a rocking chair on the front porch of an imposing three-story ranch house outside of Redding, two big, ugly grey dogs with mismatched eyes lying at his feet. There's a cold Nuka Cola in his hand and an open book facedown on his lap. The man in the suit stops a few feet shy of the weathered wooden steps, hat in his hand. The sun is in his eyes; he's squinting, and a fat drop of sweat is trickling down from his temple towards his chin, leaving a crooked, shining track in the dust on his face. He wipes it away as the man in the rocking chair stands up.
Up close and standing, the man he's come to find is bigger than he thought at first, and the hands holding the book and the sweating drink are gnarled and battered. There's a long scar running down his face from left cheekbone to jawline, and his nose has been broken more than once.
"Guess I've been expecting you," says the man on the porch. "When did it happen?"
The man in the suit looks confused. "Sir?"
The man on the porch doesn't say anything.
"When did what happen, sir?"
No response. The man in the suit speaks quickly, rushing ahead. "My name is Weiss, sir – Henry Weiss. I'm from the government, sir."
"I can see that," says the man on the porch. Somewhere beyond the treeline, they can hear a crow cawing. The silence stretches out between them.
Henry follows the other man's eyes to the hat in his hands, and understanding dawns across his features. "Oh, sir, you must think I'm from the war department. No sir, I'm not here for that at all. I'm sure your son or daughter is fine. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean…" He looks around, but there's no yellow ribbon to be seen, not on the lamppost out front, or on the pillars of the porch, and he looks uncertain again.
After a moment, the man on the porch exhales, slowly. "How about you come inside and tell me what this is about?" he says.
He waits while the sweating man climbs the steps and passes through the door into the front hall. Out of sight of the man in the suit, he puts the book down on the seat of the rocking chair.
His hand shake, just a little. He wipes his forehead, takes a deep breath.
"Dogs, stay," he says. One dog cocks an eyebrow at him, the other doesn't bother to move. He pauses in the doorway for a moment. He can hear his wife inside as Weiss introduces himself.
She offers him a drink, and asks him his business.
"Ma'am, your country needs your husband's help…"
This is what he should have expected all along, he knows. They do this every couple of years. This time, he thinks, he'll do what they ask, whatever it is. He needs to get out of this house, away from the dogs, and the dust, and the waiting. He looks out at the road one more time, and then he goes into the house and shuts the door. He's got responsibilities, and obligations to fulfill.
He's the chosen one, after all. It's what he does.
Author's note: this was originally going to be a huge sprawling epic, but I got bogged down in it months ago. Rather than abandon it completely, I'm going to try to scope it back and publish what I have. In case anyone's curious, this is set in the same universe as "Whiskey Rose." Just a little earlier in the story.