TOP TEN RESOLUTIONS OF THE APOCALYPSE
 
            It’s the end of another year and time for the tradition of setting a whole new batch of resolutions that will most likely be forgotten in another two weeks. Have you ever wonder what sort of resolutions you would make once you were in the middle of the apocalypse? I guarantee they would vary a great deal from the ones you currently are planning for the upcoming year. Here’s my stab at a list of the ten best resolutions for the apocalypse.
 
10. Cancel my cable subscription.
 
9. Learn how to cook over a campfire.
 
8. Convince myself that my clothes aren’t dirty—they just conform to the currently popular back-to-nature fad.
 
7. Practice movie lines that intimidated bullies.
 
6. Learn to like hot summers and cold winters.
 
5. Make a list of acceptable substitutions for toilet paper.
 
4. Expand my portable entertainment library from a single book to two.
 
3. Make friends with a big, powerful, and benevolent warlord.
 
2. Write down all the survival tips from when I played Fallout.
 
1. Improve my personal relationship with God.
 
 

            John finished his patrol of the camp perimeter and returned to the front gate. Since he was on foot he could have squeezed through the fence anywhere he wanted, but he enjoyed the extended walk. When he reached the gate his jaw nearly dropped to his chest. Christmas decorations hung from the community center and a pine tree that hadn’t been there a couple of hours ago was in the process of being decorated.
            Becky had told him she planned to organize a Decorations Committee; comprised of the children in the camp. The decorations looked pretty nice considering they were made from cardboard boxes, used year’s supply containers, and even the twigs and flower that grew in the area. Cut into Christmas shapes and painted they added a festive look to the camp.
            The children were working on decorating the tree. Bill Summers stood nearby with a huge grin, watching the excited actions of the children. It figured that Bill would find a way to provide the community with a Christmas tree. The man was resourceful.
            “What do you think?” asked Bill.
            “Amazing,” said John.
            “Just wait until you see the feast they have nearly ready inside,” said Bill, pointing to the kitchen area. A comforting assortment of delicious smells drifted on the cold December air.
            “I think I’ll go check it out,” said John. His stomach grumbled even as he thought about the turkeys that were roasting inside. Getting those turkeys was a miracle of itself; Bill had managed to find a poultry farmer and then bartered some of the wheat and vegetables grown at the camp for the holiday birds.
            John strolled through the kitchen area—under the pretense of a security sweep. The assortment of holiday foods that had been created from year’s supply items and the vegetables grown at the camp astonished him. According to the chalkboard menu on the wall the mean included turkey, mashed potatoes with gravy, biscuits, refried bean soup, vegetable soup, wheat-berry salad, banana oat crumb cake, strawberry-banana-peach cobbler, and Muddy Buddies—whatever they were.
            Even though the dinner crew was slaving away in preparation of the Christmas Eve meal everyone had a smile on their face and the kitchen was filled with the excited buzz of conversation. If he didn’t know better, John wouldn’t be able to tell this gathering from a church Christmas party back home.
            “No way,” said Becky.
            “What?” John asked.
            “I know that look and you are not going to sample the food.” She wagged a finger in his direction. “You can march right out of here and save the ‘Just making sure it’s not poisoned’ routine for someone who’ll believe it.”
            Becky ushered him outside and gave him a kiss on the cheek before closing the door on John. A burst of laughter from the people inside informed John that the incident had not gone unnoticed. He grinned. Of all the things he had worried about when he was the camp director morale had been on the top of the list. How do you keep a group of people happy who have left their homes and most of their possessions behind? He still wasn’t sure, but somehow they had managed it.
            “Visitors,” a voice shouted from the front gate.
            John’s heart sank. Most of the time visitors meant trouble. He braced himself for trouble and marched to the camp entrance, wondering what sort of setback, misfortune, or disaster was headed his way.
            He spotted the sheriff’s car and a pickup driving along the dirt road to the camp. At least if the sheriff was involved he could expect some sort of support in figuring out how to handle the situation.
            Sheriff McKinney stopped in front of the gate and climbed out of his patrol car. A big smile occupied his face. He pulled off his sunglasses and walked to the back of the car. “I have something for you, John.”
            “For me or for the camp?” asked John.
            “Both.”
            John opened the gate and then strolled over to see what was in the trunk—boxes. Four cardboard boxes, sealed shut with packing tape, and addressed to John Williams at Camp Valiant. Sheriff McKinney handed him a letter. The return address listed the sender as Sierra Weintraub. John vaguely remembered the name. He opened the letter and read it.

            Mr. Williams,
            I doubt you remember me. Robert and I dated before he joined the army. My family has had to make room for my brother and his wife to move back home. During the process we ended up with several boxes of toys. I can’t imagine why you might want used items at Christmas, but I had strong feeling that I should send them to you. If I’ve learned anything from my association with Robert it has been to trust the spirit when it speaks to me. Anyway, I hope sending these old toys was a prompting of the spirit and not some defective thinking on my part. Please forgive me if sending used items is inappropriate.
            And in case you haven’t heard from him, Robert is alive and seemed in good spirits when I talked to him. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.
            Sierra
           
            John’s first reaction was to wonder why Robert had called Sierra instead of the family. Then John thought about it for a moment and decided that in the same situation he’d rather call a pretty girl than a gruff old man. But this also meant that Robert’s relationship with Sierra was serious.
            “I hope that was good news,” said Sheriff McKinney.
            The statement brought John out of his thoughts. He grabbed one of the boxes in the trunk and then looked over at the pickup truck. The driver and passenger had moved to the back and let down the tailgate. “How many boxes did she send?”
            “Only four,” said McKinney. “The rest are from the people in Greenville.”
            Even though the relationship between the people in Camp Valiant and the residents of Greenville had improved over the last few months the announcement surprised John. “What?”
            “Last week,” said Sheriff McKinney, “Helena Reidhead brought your teenagers to town to carol. I think that touched a few hearts. Quite a few of the folks in town had commented on how the Christmas spirit seemed to be missing this year; with the war in Europe and all. Those young people taking the time to sing Christmas songs really improved the mood in town. Doctor Whitton figured you might be a bit short on presents this year and conducted a toy drive for the kids.”
            “I don’t know what to say,” said John.
            “How about, ‘Merry Christmas?’” 
            John laughed. “Merry Christmas to you and to everyone in Greenville.”
            Bill Summers showed up with a couple of the work crew members and helped carry the boxes into the warehouse, working right along-side the two Greenville citizens. The scene showed just how much the relationship with the town had changed in the last six months.
            Becky invited the sheriff to stay for some hot cocoa, but he begged off, stating that he had plenty of sheriff things to do back in town. They climbed back into their vehicles and drove off towards town.
            As he watched them leave, John couldn’t shake the sappy feeling that this was the best Christmas ever. Not because they received all the presents they wanted, not because they watched all their favorite Christmas movies, and not because Santa was coming to town. This was the best because the parts of what makes Christmas what it is had more meaning this year than they ever had before. It took the apocalypse to strip away the commercialism attached to the holiday and celebrate with true Christmas spirit.
 
            Merry Christmas everyone.

            Sierra sighed as she turned off the radio. Was a little Christmas music too much to expect this time of year? It was bad enough the economy had forced her family to all live under one roof again, but listening to all the gory details of the latest school massacre wasn’t helping her mood.
            At least most of her stuff was already packed and stored in the garage from her move back home earlier in the year. Now, they just had to make room for her brothers, Dale and Hunter, and Hunter’s wife. Six adults in a three-bedroom house; things were going to be cramped until their economic situation improved.
            She took the baseball and gloves from on top of the dresser and placed them in a box along with the rest of her brother’s toys that Mom had kept around in anticipation of visits from grandchildren. Of course, that hadn’t happened yet. The room had remained relatively unchanged since Dale and Hunter had both moved out as adults.
            This Christmas season should feel like old times with everyone reunited in the family home, but it didn’t. Hunter was sleeping on the couch and shared a dresser with Sierra. Both of those facts of life were continuing reminders that all was not well with the world. It was even worse when Sierra went to work. Her coworkers and the customers seldom smiled and none of them sang or whistled Christmas tunes. The war in Europe, the assassination of the President, and even the horrible weather all conspired to make this a Christmas to file away under bad memories, like the blind date she had with Cory Keats in tenth-grade.
            The last of her brother’s childhood toys were boxed in preparation of Dale and Stacy’s arrival later in the week. If Sierra could only figure out what to do with them. The garage was nearly full and still had to hold the stuff Dale and Stacy planned to. Maybe she could find out where the nearest Goodwill store was located and drop off all the boxes the family had sorted into the can-do-without category.
            The phone rang in the kitchen. As soon as she heard the ring she had the feeling that the call was for her. It was weird how that happened—you sensed a call was for you and then it turned out that it was. Sierra couldn’t image who might be calling since she didn’t really know anyone in the area. She raced out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, snagging the phone just as her mother reached for the receiver.
            “Hello,” she said, giving her mother a big you’re-too-slow smile.
            “Could I speak with Sierra, please?”
            “Robert?” It sounded like Robert. Sierra hoped that she wasn’t imagining it sounded like Robert because she missed him so much. It’d been weeks since his last letter. She cried at night, worried he died during the big battle in Italy. Voice trembling and unable to breathe, she asked, “Is that you, Robert?”
            “Wow,” said Robert. “It feels great to hear your voice.”
            Tears flowed down Sierra’s cheeks. Robert was alive. Between sobs of joy she said, “I’m . . . so . . . . glad . . . you called.”
            “Are you kidding? I had to wish my girl a Merry Christmas.”
            “Merry Christmas.” Sierra wiped tears from her face. She had dozens of questions for him and hung on his every answer, trying to picture herself with Robert as he described what had happened to him in Europe. A short ten-minutes later Robert announced that he needed to end the call. Visiting hours were over and Gil, whose phone Robert was using, had to leave. They told each other goodbye and the line went dead.
            “Sweetie, can you help me move some of the boxes around in the garage?” Sierra’s mother asked.
            It took over an hour for her mother to decided which boxes she wanted stacked on top of what other boxes, but Sierra didn’t mind. She hummed Christmas carols as she worked. Then as she carried the box of toys from her brother’s old room an idea popped into her head.
            After making sure her mother didn’t need anything else reorganized, Sierra grabbed the items the family planned to discard and drove to the post office. She labeled the boxes and used the last of the available money in her checking account to pay the postage to ship them to Camp Valiant.
            As the postal workers prepared to seal the boxes with packaging tape, Sierra scribbled a quick letter to Robert’s father. Boxes sealed and postage paid, the woman behind the counter used a handcart to roll the packages to the back of the post office. A sense of peace washed over Sierra as she watched the packages start their journey.
            Sierra didn’t know how the children at Camp Valiant would react to receiving used toys, but at least she knew how it made her feel to send them. It felt like Christmas.

            Sounds of pain and discomfort filled the medical ward. Robert wondered if he’d ever be able to watch A Christmas Carol again without the moaning and wailing of Jacob Marley reminding him of his holiday stay in a military hospital. At least he was still alive and in one piece. Many of his fellow soldiers had lost limbs or even now clung to life. Robert offered a silent prayer of thanks that his wounds weren’t any worse than what he had suffered.
            War continued to rage across Europe, expanding from the Russian drive on Italy to several smaller conflicts between countries that had a grievance of one sort or another with a neighbor. The daily news reports were hard pressed to keep up with the casualty lists. North Korea threatened to invade South Korea. Hostilities continued to escalate in the Middle-East, where Israel faced the combined wrath of several Arab nations.
            “This is one lousy way to spend Christmas,” said Jim, the soldier in the bed next to Robert.
            “I find it hard to believe that you don’t like the smell of freshly sprayed antiseptic,” said Robert. “Or the festive use of red and green Jello as part of our holiday dining experience.”
            “You forgot to mention the seasonal chill of these rooms.” Jim chuckled—then stopped as he doubled over in pain.
            “Sorry,” said Robert. “I’ll do my best avoid making you laugh.”
            “That’d be much appreciated.”
            “What is it you miss most about Christmas?” Robert asked.
            “Easy, Christmas dinner.” Jim’s eyes had a far-away look as he talked. “My brother and I used to both head over to our folk’s house. Mom cooks a ham and a turkey because her and Dad have never been able to agree on which one is the most traditional. Cranberry and walnut dressing, sweet potato casserole, and deviled eggs. That’s Christmas to me.”
            “Deviled eggs?” Robert arched his eyebrows. “Isn’t that an Easter thing?”
            “Hey,” Jim pointed a finger at Robert. “You eat what you like and I’ll eat what I like. As far as I’m concerned it isn’t a holiday—any holiday—without deviled eggs. You have something against them?”
            “Nothing,” said Robert, “as long as you like demonic foods.”
            “Are you serious?” Jim sat up straight in his bed and then grimaced in pain.
            “I was just kidding,” said Robert.
            A scream sounded from the section of the medical ward where the more seriously wounded had been located. Robert looked in that direction even though he had no chance of actually seeing the person. Each time a person screamed it reminded him of how lucky he had been.
            “What about you?” asked Jim. “What is it that you miss the most?”
            “Singing,” Robert answered absent-mindedly, his thoughts still on the sounds of distress elsewhere in the hospital. It was hard to think about anything else with the constant reminders of loss and misery that surrounded him.
            “Seein’ as we don’t have anywhere to go you have plenty of time to develop that into a full sentence. I’ll even help you. I like singing at Christmas because . . .”
            “Singing always makes me feel good inside. When I was younger, my parents used to take all of us caroling in the neighborhood. Mom would make plates full of cookies. We took turns handing the goodies to the neighbors. And then we sang.
            “That combination of service and music celebrating the birth of Christ always gave me a warm, glowing sense that I associate with Christmas. Now, when I hear any of those same carols a bit of that feeling comes back.”
            “If you were hoping that’d convince me to sing to you.” Jim blew a raspberry. “Not a chance. But it was a nice story.”
            Memories of past holidays with his family crowded his mind until all other thoughts were pushed out. Each memory brought a brief flicker of happiness and then set him into an even deeper depression. He hadn’t ever felt this lonely before. Even on his mission in Italy he had been surrounded by the new friends he had made there and people celebrating the holiday with the traditions of their culture.
            “How long do you plan to milk that wound for attention?” The familiar voice of Gilbert Feldstein came from the foot of Robert’s bed. 
            “Gil?” The shock at seeing his friend prevented Robert from saying more.
            “I hope that’s not a sign of amnesia?”
            “How did you get in here?”
            Gil held up his left arm. Bandages covered it from wrist to elbow. “I kept telling them it was just a scratch, but they sent me here anyways. Good thing too. We can’t have the hero of Adige Valley forgetting his best friend.”
            Jim’s gaze slowly passed from Gil to Robert. “You guys fought at Adige Valley?”
            “Do you really not know who is sitting in the bed next to you?” asked Gil. “This is Robert Williams; the engineer who came up with the plan to stop the Russians. He did more than any other single person to win that battle.”
            Jim stared at Robert, a look of disbelief firmly planted on the soldier’s face.
            “It figures he didn’t tell anyone about the suicide mission he managed to involve me with. Or the recommendation for the Medal of Honor made by his commanding officer.”  
            Robert waved off the comments made by Gil. “He’s exaggerating. We fought just like everyone else in the unit. The only difference is that we were lucky and survived. Let’s talk about something else—like you being here.”
            “Alright,” said Gil, “I do happen to have a reason for stopping by. A letter from your family arrived after they carted you off for medical treatment. I thought I’d give to you before they send me back for reassignment.”
            Robert took the letter from Gil, handling it as if it were a fragile artifact. The address on the envelope had been written in green crayon. Even without looking at the name on the return address Robert knew this letter was from Cody.
            Hands shaking, Robert tore open the envelope and pulled out the single piece of paper inside. A picture filled most of the page. In crayon, Cody had drawn an image of the family holding hands in a circle. Everyone wore Santa hats. In the center of the circle stood Robert. Below the picture Cody had written, “Since you are far we think of you all the time.”
            Robert tried to push down a sob that threatened to burst out of his chest. His eyes watered and a tear rolled down his cheek. He’d been wrong. Even though his family was halfway across the world Robert wasn’t alone. No matter the circumstances no one who is loved is ever truly alone.
            “You okay?” asked Gil.
            Robert nodded, unable to speak.
            “Is there anything I can do for you?”
            This is plenty. What else could I need?
            With a single act of service Gil had turned Robert’s mood around. It reminded him of the caroling his family had done at Christmas time. Then a thought crossed Robert’s mind. “Yeah, do you have a phone I can use?”          

           My mind ponders many ideas dealing with the apocalypse. Most of them do not end up in my novels. I just happened to be thinking about what an apocalyptic Christmas would be like and had the inspiration to write something on the topic. This four-part story takes place two months after then Call to Arms: Nations Fall. For those of you who are anxiously awaiting the third book in the series - maybe this will help you bide your time until it's finished. 
          I hope everyone enjoys the story and that it stimulates your minds to what an apocalyptic Christmas would really be like.
 

                                                         A CHRISTMAS GATHERING
                                                                            PART ONE

            Snow still blanketed the ground from the storm earlier in the year, giving Camp Valiant a Christmas look and feel John had never experienced back home. He rested his arms on the top of the front gate and stared out at the wintry scene. The blanket of white looked soft and cozy like a carpet of cotton.
            Did it really take an apocalypse for me to appreciate the pure and pristine beauty of the snow and how appropriate it was for the holiday celebrating the Savior’s birth?
            “Will Santa find us?”
            John jumped at the sound of a voice behind him. He’d been so focused on the picture perfect landscape in front of him that his youngest son, Cody, had approached undetected. Clutching his chest, John turned around and tried to smile as he waited for his heartbeat to return to normal. “Sorry, what did you say?”
            “Is Santa Claus going to be able to find us?” asked Cody. “There’s no addresses on any of the buildings. Most of the people still live in tents. And we don’t have any chimneys for Santa to slide down.”
            John struggled to keep a smile off his face. With all of the problems the members of the camp had encountered so far it was comforting to deal with the matter of whether Santa could find them. It gave him a sense of normalcy he hadn’t felt in a long time.
            “That is a good question,” John said, stalling for time.
            Cody stood there, looking up at John. An expression of concern occupied his son’s features. This was obviously a serious problem for the boy.
            John kneeled down to talk with Cody. “Do you remember the family discussion we had about all of the wars, disasters, and civic unrest going on in the world?”
            “Sure.” Cody nodded. “Mommy cried, Robert joined the army, Sarah ran away, and then we moved here.”
            Sarah hadn’t run away, but John didn’t feel it was the right time to argue the point with his son. He placed a hand on Cody’s shoulder. “How did you feel when those things happened?”
            “Sad . . . and mad.” Cody scrunched his face in concentration. “Mostly sad.”
            “That’s how the rest of us feel.” John waved his arm in a sweeping motion that indicated Camp Valiant. “All of us have given up comfortable homes and many of the items that are important to us.”
            “What does that have to do with Santa?”
            “Well . . . what do you think it’s like for Santa with so many people fighting?”
            Cody gave John a wary look. “Santa lives in the North Pole. Nobody’s fighting with him. That’d be stupid. If they declared war on Santa they wouldn’t get any presents.”
            “Alright,” said John. “No one is fighting Santa. That doesn’t mean the situation around the world doesn’t affect him. He has a big enough job visiting everyone on Christmas Eve in order to give them presents. Can you imagine how Santa feels about all of the children—and adults—who need help?”
            “I guess it makes him sad,” said Cody, his mood subdued. “Maybe he should deliver food and medicine instead.”
            “That’s a lot to expect from one person.”
            “Santa’s not a person,” said Cody. “He’s Santa. He has Christmas spirit, holiday elves, and magic reindeer. He can do it.”
            “I’m pretty sure there’s too much to do—even for Santa.” John let go of Cody’s shoulder and stood.
            A determined look spread across Cody’s face. He looked up at John and said, “Don’t worry, Dad. I can help Santa.”
            Then Cody marched off in the direction of the warehouse.
            John wasn’t sure if that solved the problem, but he was proud of the way his son acted. Not many people would offer to help Grandfather Christmas. Most would just dwell on their misfortunes.
            That’s my boy.
            Now, all John had to do was figure out how to handle the long series of Christmas disappointments he expected to plague the camp. John’s feet crunched in the snow as he strolled over to the community kitchen. Thoughts about an apocalyptic Christmas bounced around inside his head. It sounded like something out of a science-fiction novel.
            Who really had time to turn their thoughts to celebrating the birth of the Savior when they were busy staying alive? Christmas marked the celebration of Jesus arriving on Earth—the first time. The events currently plaguing mankind sent a clear message that Jesus was about to return. Would future generations celebrate the second arrival of the Savior?
            John spent a few minutes trying to imagine what sort of activities and traditions would be part of the Jesus Returns holiday? How similar would it be to Christmas? What would everyone call it? The Homecoming? The Peace Launch? Or maybe Day One?
            Attempting to invent a new holiday gave John a headache. He decided to leave the task to the holiday experts and fiction writers. Stomping his feet on an improvised doormat, he opened the door to the kitchen and stepped inside. Becky was gathered with a few of the other members of the kitchen staff. Bill Summers and Wayne Crawford stood nearby.
            “What do all you think about having a camp Christmas party?” John asked.
            “Would that involve more singing?” Wayne Crawford spit out the question like a grape gone sour.
            “I suspect it would,” said John.
            “Figures.” Wayne crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall behind him. “Mormons have an unhealthy obsession with signing. When they’re happy they sing. When they’re sad they sing. When someone is born they sing. When someone dies they sing. I’m surprised they don’t sing about singing.”
            “Are you forgetting that you’re Mormon too?” asked Becky.
            “No,” said Wayne firmly, “but I’m not obsessed with singing.”
            The rest of the group laughed.
            “A Christmas celebration sounds like a good idea,” said Bill Summers. “I can get some of the construction crew to put up a few decorations around the Community Center.”
            “I suppose that leaves me with the task of finding a way to turn our food storage into something that resembles a Christmas dinner,” said Becky.
            “That just leaves you Wayne,” said John. “I don’t suppose you want to be in charge of the musical portion of the celebration—do you?”
            Wayne glared at him, but did say anything.
            “I guess I can find someone else to do that,” said John, doing his best not to laugh.
            Becky and the kitchen staff studied the boxes of food stacked against one of the walls, obviously looking for inspiration. Bill put on his coat and headed for the door. John joined him. They were about half way across the compound when Cody came running up and handed John an envelope.
            “What’s this?” asked John.
            “It’s a letter to Robert,” said Cody, with a great deal of excitement. “I know it will take awhile to reach him so I wanted to do that first. Can you drive that into town tomorrow and make sure it gets in the mail?”
            John nodded. A trip into Greenville would give him a chance to visit with Sheriff McKinney and see how the town was holding up during the recession. He planned to ask if there was anything Camp Valiant could do for them.
            “Thanks.” Cody ran off toward the security office.
            “What are you doing?” asked John.
            “I can’t stop and talk now, Dad. Santa really needs my help so I have a lot to do.”
            John watched his son run off. He couldn’t help wondering if he had just witnessed the start of something big and wonderful.