The Kiss, Revisited

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Okay, I’ll admit it, I've been dying to revisit this. While I didn’t want to play ducks and drakes with the series canon, I imagined that there was a little more to this scene than we were given, starting at the end when Jake is looking after Heather. So here's how I wrote it, seen almost entirely from Heather’s perspective, with all of the dialogue from the original episode intact until my slightly alternative ending. I have saved this tale for last, since it was my hope to go out with a bang, or at least a kiss. With this story, I am going on hiatus. Clarke

DISCLAIMER: “Jericho” and all characters, storylines, and trademarks associated with the program are the intellectual property of Junction Entertainment, Fixed Mark Productions, CBS Paramount Television and/or CBS Studios, Inc. The following story is a work of fan fiction intended solely for the entertainment of the writer and a small circle of friends. No infringement of copyright is intended or should be implied. If anyone at CBS happens to read this, please permit me this brief sojourn in your sandbox. Thanks.


“THE KISS, REVISITED”


“I don’t think this is such a good idea,” Heather cautioned Jake as the two of them stood next to her old truck in the Jericho town square, outside Gracie’s supermarket. She had trouble deciding which she really meant: the ninety-mile trip to Rogue River, or using her truck to get there. Both, she thought.

“No choice,” Jake replied matter-of-factly, throwing his supplies into the back of the truck. He had to get the antibiotics for his father. Without them, he’d be dead before the day was gone.

“Well, then, at least let me do some work on the car,” Heather pleaded with him. She'd meant to say “truck,” but she wasn't thinking clearly. Her worries over Jake were flustering her.

“There’s no time,” Jake insisted. “I have to go now.”

He stopped for a second, considering her comments.

“What…wait. You said it was sturdy.”

Sturdy was one thing -- fast was another. Heather had done the best job she could refurbishing the truck, but she knew it wasn’t enough. The fact that it ran at all, after the EMP, was a miracle. Most of the other vehicles in Jericho had been turned into useless, sitting scrap metal.

“Well, sturdy, yeah…but what if you need to outrun something?”

“Why? How fast will it go?” Jake queried her.

She fudged. “I don't know. Thirty, maybe forty miles an hour -- best case, downhill -- and not for very long,” she added anxiously.

Jake ran his hand over his face. He hadn’t expected this.

Heather was almost apologetic.

“See, this is what I'm saying. Maybe you should go on horseback.”

“A horse is slower than that,” Jake told her.

“A horse is less likely to explode,” she said, seriously, in frustration, feeling like she was not being heard.

Jake glanced at her for a moment. “I’ll take my chances,” he decided, brandishing his gun as if to show that he was prepared. He turned and headed for the truck, apparently ready to leave.

Heather felt her heart climb into her throat. Things were already getting bad in Jericho. God only knew what it was like in Rogue River. If the truck broke down, or if he had to get out of harm's way in a hurry…

What if something happened to him, because of her?

She didn't want to think about that. In fact, she didn't want him to go at all. The look on her face escalated from worry to panic. She was scared. And she didn‘t scare easily.

Heather hurried after Jake, her increasing concern coming out in a torrent of pointless words.

“Okay, well, then, at least open her up easy -- make sure you have enough car left in case you need to ask for a lot in a hurry.” She really wasn’t herself; she’d said “car“ instead of “truck“ a second time. "And remember,“ she babbled, “the gas tank on the thing is on the left hand side, so if somebody decides to start shooting at you“ -- her anguish came through loud and clear -- “make sure it's not on that side!”

Jake was becoming impatient. He stared her down. “Anything else?”

The two looked at each other.

Oh, God, yes, thought Heather. Everything. And how can I tell you?

The look went on, endlessly.

Heather was frozen in place.

A little voice whispered to her: You may never see him alive again.

She argued with herself. For God’s sake, Heather, tell him how you feel! But words failed her. He’s going. It’s now or never. Do something. Do it!

She did.

Heather rushed to Jake, threw her arms around his neck, and poured all of her emotions into him with a passionate kiss he could never have expected.

She had never dared such a thing in her life.

And after a moment, the miracle happened.

He’s kissing me back, she realized. He didn’t pull away. He didn’t run off, or push me aside. Jake Green is kissing me back!

All of her lonely years -- there had been so many of them, starting in junior high school, almost as soon as she'd become interested in boys -- slipped away like a hated old cloak that, at long last, she'd been able to discard.

Heather abandoned herself entirely to him.

Her hands stirred, carefully, one around his neck, the other against his chest. She pressed her lips to his -- strong, tender, perfect. She suddenly felt his hands on her back, gentle, sensual, caressing her, embracing her, drawing her closer.

Bliss, Heather thought, melting in his arms.

She hadn’t even been sure Jake had such passion in him, let alone that he would share it with her. They’d barely known each other. Until now…

The world had long since stopped turning.

Fervent, smoldering, the kiss lingered, until Heather finally, reluctantly pulled away. Her forehead touched his for a tender moment. She was doe-eyed, totally lost in him. Jake bit his lower lip, showing just a hint of a smile, obviously pleasantly surprised by the whole thing.

My God, Heather thought, I’ve moved him. I got through. He knows I care.
He cares.

Her gamble had paid off.

She could barely breathe.

Heather looked up at him, misty, unable to say anything at all for a handful of seconds.

Finally, she found words.

“Come back in one piece,” she said to him in a half-whisper, her voice full of emotion.

Jake chuckled just a little.

“I will…I promise.”

Heather nodded at him as if to say, You will, won’t you?

Jake knowingly nodded back, slowly, gently, reassuringly.

They understood each other, now. Something had passed between them -- more than just a kiss. There were feelings here that would have to be discovered…later, she thought, when Jake came back from Rogue River and the crisis with Johnston was past. She would help his father in any way she could. Once he's gone, I'll go over to his house, she decided.

Heather couldn’t stop looking at Jake. She’d never been this close. His eyes were amazing -- dark and glistening, like sharp gemstones, with depths and facets that she desperately wanted to explore.

Her arms were still around him. She didn’t want to let go.

There was an awkward moment as she tried to find herself.

“I -- I thought you were going to go,” she stammered.

“I’m waiting on Eric,” Jake told her.

“Oh,” she said, with a nervous laugh.

She hadn’t known he wasn’t going to Rogue River by himself. That made her feel better, but it also made her feel silly for worrying so much. Eric would be riding shotgun. And she would feel even sillier if Eric saw her like this, in a clinch with his brother.

Heather slowly began to back away. She broke into a self-conscious smile.

“Um…watch out for giant irradiated ants out there,” she blurted out, thinking of the first thing that came to mind, an old science-fiction movie she’d watched before the bombs fell.

That amused Jake just a little. “Always do,” he smiled, turning to the truck.

Shut up, Heather!, she told herself.

“Ooo-kay,” she muttered under her breath, turning away, embarrassed. She started to walk toward the entrance to Gracie’s store.

Jake looked after her. He put his hands on the truck, shaking his head. What in the world was he getting into? She sure wasn’t anything like Emily. What kind of girl was this?

He liked her. He planned to find out.

Heather kept walking, her pace getting quicker. Damn it, Heather, she said to herself, you kissed him, and he kissed you back, and you haven’t felt this way this since Jason surprised you with that kiss at the Christmas party at teacher’s college five years ago, and you have to go and ruin it with some stupid comment about giant ants.

She thought she was going to cry, and wanted to be inside before she did.

Jake was still watching. Her gait spoke volumes -- she was almost running for cover. He thought he heard a sniffle. Was she suddenly upset, tearful?

He wasn’t about to leave her like that.

“Heather, wait a minute,” he called to her, leaving the truck to follow her.

Oh, don’t, Heather thought. Just leave me alone. She walked even faster.

“Heather,” Jake said again, finally catching up with her just before she entered Gracie‘s. He put a hand on her shoulder, then both hands, turning her around. Tears were beginning to roll down her cheeks.

Suddenly she was back in junior high school again, feeling terribly foolish. Now he’s going to tell me how stupid I've been, she thought. He’s going to tell me that what just happened didn’t really happen.

Heather braced herself.

She was in for a surprise.

“It’s okay,” Jake said to her, a little out of breath, in the sweetest voice she’d ever heard from him. “Really, it is. I never thought…”

Heather just looked at him, in sheer wonderment.

And then Jake leaned down and kissed her again.

Oh my God, she thought as she caught her breath.

It was a soft kiss, a kiss with sincerity, confidence. A kiss of consolation, but not a kiss for second place. A kiss meant to reassure her, to ease her pain.

It did.

It was much more than okay.

I’m dreaming all of this, Heather thought. I’m going to wake up at home, with my father knocking at the bedroom door, scolding me to get up and run some church errands for him.

But it was real. He was real.

It was making her head spin.

Jake gently pulled away, grasped her shoulders with a smile, and started to walk back toward the truck, where Eric had arrived and was waiting for him. Her eyes followed him, dreamily. He gave her that cocksure grin she had grown to love, the one she had seen that first day on the school bus, and at the mine when he’d returned to rescue her.

“I’ll be back,” he told her, with only the slightest hint of Arnold Schwarzenegger.

Heather couldn’t say a word. Smitten, she watched Jake and Eric hop into her old truck and go, headed down the dangerous interstate to whatever waited for them in Rogue River. Her hand went to her throat. Her feelings, her heart were following him.

She recalled what she had said, and meant:

Come back in one piece.

Whatever came, Heather would be waiting.

The Fifth Horseman

AUTHOR’S NOTE: What if Heather had accompanied Jake on his “Four Horsemen” road trip to Wichita after Emily reneged? I think that she would have, and perhaps she should have. Here’s what happened in an alternate “Jericho” universe where she did. This more or less follows the storyline of the episode, but the dialogue is slightly different, and I’ve tried to limit myself to the interaction between Jake and Heather rather than revisiting the entire story. (In other words, I’ve glossed over the parts you already know.) Clarke

DISCLAIMER: “Jericho” and all characters, storylines, and trademarks associated with the program are the intellectual property of Junction Entertainment, Fixed Mark Productions, CBS Paramount Television and/or CBS Studios, Inc. The following story is a work of fan fiction intended solely for the entertainment of the writer and a small circle of friends. No infringement of copyright is intended or should be implied. If anyone at CBS happens to read this, please permit me this brief sojourn in your sandbox. Thanks.


“THE FIFTH HORSEMAN”


Jake made tracks for his vehicle. Damn Emily, anyway. He was ready to head to Wichita to try to find her fiancé -- if he could -- and all of a sudden, she’d decided not to come with him.

They’d both seen the satellite broadcast at Bailey’s Tavern -- the strange Chinese map showing the U.S. cities that had apparently been attacked with nuclear devices. They knew it was more than just Denver and Atlanta, now. This was something nationwide, if the report was true.

Jake had seen no trace of Wichita on the map, but Emily thought she had seen it, and decided that her fiancé was dead. It brought to a head the tensions that had been building between the two of them since the events at the Richmond ranch.

You’re the one who should be dead, Emily had yelled at him. On this particular trip, she might just get her wish, he thought to himself.

Gail Green was standing by Jake’s car with a few things and some words of caution. He thanked her, kissed her, assured her that he’d be careful, that everything would be fine. They’d gone through this routine hundreds -- no, thousands of times. His mother knew the drill all too well. He had always come back in one piece, somehow.

She headed home to tend to Johnston, who still wasn’t feeling well.

Just then, Jake saw someone hurrying to him from outside Bailey’s.

“Jake,” said Heather, out of breath. “I heard what Emily said. She’s not going with you on the trip to Wichita…”

Jake shook his head as a confirmation.

“Let me come with you,” she pleaded.

“Heather -- “

“I want to help. I want to do something.” She thought about how she’d been unable to save Scott Rennie in the mine. She’d seen the Chinese broadcast -- the red concentric circles marking the attacked cities had sent chills up her spine. She was tired of feeling helpless, she wanted to take action, and above almost everything else, she wanted to be with Jake.

Jake tried to dissuade her. “Heather, it could be dangerous. God only knows what we’re going to find. It might be…brutal.”

“If Emily could handle it, so can I,” she told him evenly.

She had a point there, Jake thought.

“Please let me come,” Heather repeated softly. “Look, I don’t want you to be alone out there. If something should happen to you…”

She touched his hand, just as she had on the school bus, on the day they were headed for the fallout shelter.

Why was she so worried about him?

It moved Jake, despite himself. After what Emily had just said -- in the street, for everyone to hear -- this girl was like a breath of fresh air. She cleared his mind.

Jake looked at her for a long moment. On the school bus, in the shelter beneath Jericho Medical, and in the salt mine, she’d been more than helpful. In fact, she’d been calmer than he’d been at the time. She could keep her cool. She could handle herself in a crisis situation.

He took a deep breath, making his decision.

“Okay.”

Heather exhaled in relief. She almost broke into a smile.

“I’m going to load up with some supplies. If there’s a breakdown, or if we run into somebody, we might need them.” He walked in the direction of Gracie’s market. “Give me a few minutes.”.

She would have waited the whole day for him.


* * * * * * * * * *


The last sputter of static fell silent about forty miles from Jericho. “There goes the walkie-talkie,” Jake said, solemnly. The car radio was quiet as well -- no radio stations on the air.

Heather pulled out her cell phone and flipped it on. Not a trace of a signal.

They were alone.

Heather comforted herself with the knowledge that she and Jake were together. There was food and water and other necessities in the back of the vehicle, if anything happened. And surely God was up there, somewhere, watching over them -- she had little doubt of that.

They weren’t entirely alone, she decided.

The car sailed down Kansas 183, headed for Wichita. On any other day, this would have been a busy road, but they had not seen one other vehicle -- not even an abandoned one. The endless emptiness was eerie.

Coming around a bend, Jake spotted something large looming ahead. He slowed down.

It was a Boeing 757, smack in the middle of the highway. A juxtaposition of the absurd.

They stopped.

Heather hopped out of Jake’s vehicle, hurrying toward the plane. She’d seen smaller planes at the Jericho airfield ever since she was a child, but never something this big, this close. The mechanic in her was fascinated. More than that, she wanted to help anyone who might still be on board.

“Heather, be careful,” Jake called to her, getting out of the car, following behind.

She stopped about a hundred feet short when she saw that the plane’s emergency chutes had been deployed. All the passengers were gone.

Jake caught up with Heather, instinctively placing his hands on her shoulders. They both saw the same thing -- an airplane without any people.

“Where did they go?” she wondered aloud.

“They must have evacuated the plane and tried to walk to safety,” he assumed. Safety -- that was a relative thing in this new world, he thought.

“Should we go looking for them?”

“If the plane landed when the bombs went off,” Jake considered, “then they’ve been gone from here for a day or more. They could be anywhere. I don’t see the point of -- ”

“Oh my God, Jake,” Heather exclaimed. “Look.”

Behind the giant 757, in the distance, another plane, smaller. Unlike the jet, it had not made a successful landing. Smoke was still billowing from its crushed shell. And there was something on the ground, next to the plane, in a mass, almost unrecognizable.

Bodies.

“Oh my God,” she said again, her voice breaking.

Jake felt suddenly protective of Heather. He quickly turned her around and pressed her face to his chest.

“Don’t look, Heather. Don’t look at it.”

It was the first time he’d held her, and she was surprised by his sudden embrace. He was trying to protect her, to be sure, but there was a tenderness to his touch that she hadn’t imagined…his fingers in her hair…

Did Jake care about her, just as she cared for him?

She couldn’t be sure.

Heather allowed herself to hold on to him for a moment, his arms around her, in the middle of the highway. It felt like the two of them against the world.

To his surprise, she was unafraid, despite her shock.

“We have to do something, Jake,” she said, looking up at him. “We have to help them.”

That was pure Heather, he thought, wanting to help others.

Even at this distance, Jake could tell that there was nothing to be done. Not a sound came from the fallen plane. There was no movement among the apparent horror that lay on the ground…and had been there for more than a day.

He looked at her, shaking his head.

“I don’t think anyone but God can help them now.”.

Heather glanced again, reluctantly, and nodded back. He was right.

Jake peered down the road, past the planes, squinting at something.

“Look over there,” he said, pointing. “Smokey Hill Bridge is blocked. You can see it from here. There’s no way to get around that, even if we had enough fuel for a detour.” He let out a sigh. “We’re not going to make it to Wichita.”

Emily will be so disappointed, thought Heather. She didn’t want the long trip to be for nothing.

“Maybe we can take something back with us,” she suggested.

Jake gave her a curious look.

“The black boxes, on the planes,” she said, her voice rising. “Jake, we don’t know what’s going on in the rest of the world. We don’t even know why they landed here on the highway. Maybe the black boxes could tell us something.”

“If we can find a way to play them back.” Jake thought back to his five years of training. Perhaps he could.

“I don’t think we’ll be able to get the black box out of the jet,” he told her, not explaining how he knew that. “But maybe the passenger plane…”

Which meant navigating the tangled mass of bodies.

Jake was sorry he’d mentioned it. Heather caught his look, knowing exactly what he was thinking. He didn‘t want to subject her to this.

“I’ll deal with it, “Jake said to her, grabbing his tool box from out of the car.

He felt Heather gently take his hand.

“We’ll both deal with it,” she said, softly.

Jake grasped her hand tightly. Brave girl.

They walked toward the carnage at the downed airplane, still holding hands.


* * * * * * * * * *


Using Jake’s tools, Heather managed to remove the cockpit voice recorder from the commuter plane, intact. She went about her task with single-minded determination, but later, after they’d loaded the box into his vehicle and headed for home, Jake noticed her trembling, and reached over to comfort her.

This couldn’t have been easy for her, Jake thought, even as strong as she was.. He was glad that neither of them had been alone in this place, on this day. Her instincts had been right.

He held her hand for the rest of the return trip. Heather was more than grateful.

Less than an hour later, without incident, the two of them were back in Jericho.

At Town Hall, they heard the frightened voices of the two pilots talking about mushroom clouds at Denver and Kansas City and over Texas, the collapse of the entire air traffic control system -- leaving the planes essentially flying blind -- and their frantic attempts to land, anywhere, before their fuel ran out.

It shook Heather, even more so than what she had seen earlier in the day. It was the breakdown of society as she knew it. The scene repeated itself over and over in her mind, on a thousand different planes, in a thousand different locations. Ten thousand planes, Robert Hawkins had said, with no place to land. All facing the same fate. Some surviving, some not. There was no way to know…

There would be no more flights, not like there used to be, Heather pondered.. She thought, all too terribly, of her mother and sister in Los Angeles. My God, how would they ever get home?

And then the revelation, miraculously uncovered by Jake, that the airplane carrying Emily’s fiancé had touched down safely in a field north of Kansas. He was alive. For the first time since she’d seen the map of the attacked cities on the Chinese broadcast, Emily seemed like herself.

Heather clasped the hand of her best friend. She was glad for her.

But Heather had been handed an awful lot to think about this day.

She began to retreat into herself.


* * * * * * * * * *


That evening in the town square, Heather sat alone, her face emotionless. This was supposed to be a celebration -- the last of Jericho’s perishable meat being cooked for everyone to enjoy, and many of the townspeople happy for Emily’s news -- but Heather was numb.

The planes. The voice-recorder tapes. Scott Rennie. The day had profoundly affected her. She wanted to go home and sleep it off, but she knew she could not sleep, and tomorrow would never erase the events of today.

Suddenly, a plate of barbecued steak plunked itself down on the table in front of her, attached to the hand of the one person who could make her smile. Somehow, he did.

“Thank you,” she said to Jake, a little self-consciously.

He sat down at the table beside her.

“I’m sorry about your friend,” he said softly. “My dad told me.”

Heather whispered an almost inaudible thank-you.

Jake caught her distress. “Thinking about what we saw today?”

She nodded. All those dead bodies piled together, like the films she’d seen of the victims of the Nazi concentration camps in World War II. She didn’t want to linger on it, but it lingered just the same.

“You’ve never seen anything like that before…have you?”

She shook her head, not wanting to think about it any more.

Jake was reflective. His thoughts were suddenly far away.

“You never get used to it.”

His comment brought Heather back to herself. She saw the distant look in his eyes. Where had he been, and what had he been doing, for the past five years?

Better not to ask him that, she decided. Maybe she would find out in time, if she got to know him. God, she wanted to. Perhaps it could start here, now.

Heather reached out and took Jake’s hand, as she had before.

“Thanks for what you did today,” she said softly. “Thanks for letting me come along. Thanks for being there for me on the way home.”

“Seems to me I should be thanking you,” he told her gently.

There was a moment between them as their eyes met.

Jake allowed himself a good, long look at her. In the soft evening light, with the fire sparkling in her eyes, she was prettier than he’d imagined.

“Heather,” he said, trying not to stare, “you‘re really…helpful.” It wasn’t the word he wanted to say. “I mean…you’ve done an awful lot for this town since the bombs went off. I’m starting to think we’re not going to get along without you.”

That brought another smile.

“There’s a lot that’s going to have to be done if Jericho is going to make it, to survive whatever has happened out there. My Dad and I are working on some things…well…I could sure use your help.”

Help?

She’d give him the moon and the stars, if he asked her.

“Anything,” she said, with emotion, meaning the word.

Their hands were still together. Jake and Heather smiled at each other. Jericho might be isolated from the outside world, but they were not alone.

And there might just be a future after all.

Hard Feelings

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This isn't quite the tale I'd started out to tell, a Christmas story with Jake and Heather under the mistletoe. That scene still exists, but a lot follows it. In a different setting, this might have been a revisiting of the events at the end of episode eleven, but since we don't yet know the outcome of those events, that seemed a bit premature. So, here’s the tale as I tell it in my alternate "Jericho" universe. I hoped to write Emily more sympathetically, and I think I have, but she also gets something she deserves.


DISCLAIMER: “Jericho” and all characters, trademarks, and storylines associated with the program are the intellectual property of Junction Entertainment, Fixed Mark Productions, CBS Paramount Television and/or CBS Studios, Inc. The following story is a work of fan fiction intended solely for the entertainment of the writer and a small circle of friends. No infringement of copyright is intended or should be implied. If anyone at CBS happens to read this, please permit me this brief sojourn in your sandbox. Thanks. Clarke


“HARD FEELINGS”

Two weeks had passed at Jericho Medical, and Jake Green was nearly himself again. The physical therapy had helped, and so had Heather, who had hardly left his side.

April had watched as she’d tended to him, walking him up and down the halls of the clinic to bring his strength back, supporting his weight with hers, bringing him whatever he wanted, helping him get to the bathroom when he needed to, hours upon hours upon endless hours.

She thought she had never seen anyone so selfless.

Quite a woman you’ve got there, Jake, she smiled to herself, unknowingly echoing the thoughts of his mother. And it wasn’t lost on April how they looked at each other. Heather, in particular, had been all smiles and encouragement around Jake, and April thought it had played a major part in his recovery.

His wound was healing -- no infection, thank God, for there were no antibiotics left in town. Jake was still in a little pain, and April cautioned him against too much physical activity, but her prognosis was that, in time, he’d be fine. That, too, had brought a big smile to Heather’s face.

It was Jake’s last scheduled day at the clinic, and Heather was helping him along the hallways as part of his daily exercise regimen. He needed only the slightest support from her to steady his footsteps as he walked.

“You know, I can almost do this by myself,” Jake smiled at Heather. “Pretty soon, they’ll let me feed myself, too.”

“Baby food,” Heather teased him.

“Breast feeding,” Jake shot back.

That made Heather blush for a moment, but with Jake she had finally started to learn not to be self-conscious about her own modesty. They looked at each other, and laughed, and smiled.

April watched the pair making the rounds of the hallways, and thought back a decade, to when she and Eric had felt the same flush of first love.

She was glad for Jake and Heather, but it was going to be a cold holiday for her.


* * * * * * * * * *


Christmas had come and gone without much fanfare. With Jake in the hospital, and Eric with Mary instead of April, the Green house seemed empty. Johnston and Gail had waited for Heather to come home each night with the latest word on Jake's condition, even though they'd both visited him nearly every day.

They held off Christmas dinner until Jake’s homecoming, a few days past the holiday, not too long after the New Year. It was fair to say that everyone was wondering what kind of year it would be.

Stanley had taught himself a thing or two about shooting game since the Chinese food drop, and bagged a turkey the day before Jake arrived home. He donated it for his best friend. It was a good thing he had, or the Greens would have dined on rice cakes with soy sauce.

Heather roasted the turkey in the fireplace using a mechanical device of her own making, the likes of which the Greens had never seen, but it worked. She wanted the turkey to be perfectly done for Jake’s return. It was.

"I don't think anything has tasted that good in a long time," Johnston said after the meal, looking at Gail and Heather with a smile, grateful for their efforts.

“The world may not be the same," he said to everyone, "but we’ve still got a lot to be thankful for. We're alive, and we're together. We’ve got food on the table. And we have a couple of more or less new additions to our family.”

April knew they meant her, but she thought of the child within her.

Jake looked at Heather. She smiled.

“Excuse us,” she said to the others at the table. She got up and motioned to Jake, who followed.

“Come on,” Heather told him, taking him by the hand. “I want to show you something.”

She walked to the bottom of the stairs, and looked up, drawing his gaze there as well.

“You know what that is,“ Heather smiled.

“Uh-huh,” Jake threw her a half-smile. If Heather, all five feet of her, had hung it herself, she had definitely needed a ladder.

Heather looked again at the mistletoe dangling above the stairs, and without another word, put her arms around his neck, giving him a coy, girlish grin. She’s come a long way from the girl who couldn’t even look at me when I came out of the shower in a towel, Jake decided.

He bit his lower lip. “Well, I don’t think I’ve ever…properly…thanked you for saving my father’s life,” he managed.

“And I haven’t thanked you for saving mine,” she said softly.

“On the school bus? Your leg was broken, but I don’t think -- “

“No,” Heather said, looking down, “that’s not what I meant.”

When she looked up again, she was misty-eyed, sentimental.

“You saved me from a lifetime of loneliness,” she said to him.

Jake pondered that. “Somehow, I don’t think you would have spent the rest of your life alone if I hadn’t come along,” he told her.

“I do,” she replied, almost in a whisper.

Her words moved him. The two inched closer to each other. She was ready to kiss him when Jake -- out of the corner of his eye -- saw someone watching.

Emily.

She quickly turned away and walked into the kitchen. Jake turned back to Heather, her arms still around his neck, her eyes questioning him.

“Heather, give me a minute.”

Jake caught her disappointed look and interrupted whatever she was going to say.

“Look…I spent years with her. She’s having a tough time. I owe her something.”

Jake gave Heather a peck on the cheek.

She sighed. It wasn’t what she wanted.

He walked away, turned back to meet her gaze, and slowly raised his index finger.

“Hold that kiss,” he smiled.


* * * * * * * * * *


Emily stood in the kitchen, emotional, looking out the window at the darkness beyond. When Jake walked in, she turned to face him, her eyes suddenly alive.

“What is going on with you two?” she asked, for once uncertain of herself.

“She hasn’t told you?” Jake replied, disbelieving. “She’s your best friend.”

“I’m not so sure of that,” she said coldly.

Jake didn’t want this discussion to turn into an argument, but he had the certain feeling that it was about to become one.

“Emily, you know she’s been living here since her house burned down -- “

“So, is that how it started? Feeling sorry for her?

Jake paused. “Maybe,” he admitted, thinking of that first night. “But it’s more than that now. It’s become so much more,” he said with conviction.

“Must be convenient for you,” Emily said bitterly. “She’s right here in your house, you don’t have to ask her out or even go pick her up, the two of you can just -- “

Jake didn’t care for her insinuation. He grabbed Emily by the shoulders. “That’s not how it is,” he intoned.

“I know how it was with us,” she said, knowingly.

Jake couldn’t deny the truth. He took a deep breath. “That was a long time ago,” he reminded her. “My God, Em, we were sixteen. This is different. Heather is the kind of girl -- “

“She’s a virgin,” Emily interrupted. “Or, she was.”

Her last words made Jake angry enough to back Emily against the wall and press the cold steel of his eyes into hers. “If that’s what she was when she came here…then she still is,” he said to her evenly, under his breath, controlling his temper.

Emily hadn’t gotten used to him being like this, the man he had been trained to be during his five years in and out of San Diego -- hard as nails. She looked down, intimidated. Jake backed off, but his anger was still evident. He paced the room for a moment, turning to look at her.

“Damn it, Emily, what the hell is the matter with you? You tell me you don't want to see Heather get hurt, and then you pull that little scene over at Bailey’s. You question what Heather and I are doing together, and at the same time, Roger's back in town, and it seems to me that you ought to -- “

“I don’t know what to do about that,” she said nervously.

Jake watched her suddenly turn vulnerable in front of him.

“My God, Jake. He walked hundreds of miles to find me. It took weeks. And it changed him. He isn’t the man I was going to marry.” Emily’s defenses were crumbling. “He’s seen things I never thought could happen in this world. He’s told me about a few of them,” she shuddered. “He saw too much. He’s turned cold, withdrawn, gone inside himself. I can’t seem to pull him out.”

She chose her next words carefully, honestly.

“I don’t know if the man I loved is still there.”

Jake felt a sudden sympathy for her. He reached over and took Emily’s hand, feeling the ring on her third finger. He slowly lifted it up to eye level for both of them to see.

“You need to think about this,” he said. “It means something.”

She knew Jake was right, but her emotions spoke differently.

“Maybe he just needs a little more time,” he added.

Emily looked at Jake. “My father -- he told me you weren’t responsible for Chris’s death. He said he ordered you on that job. He took responsibility.”

Jake nodded. He’d known Jonah still had integrity somewhere, buried deep in the core of him. He was certain of it after their encounter with Ravenwood.

“For five years, I held it against you…"

“Forgiven,” Jake gently interrupted. “What I told you on the day I left town was the truth. I hoped someday you’d understand.”

Emily showed the faint beginnings of a smile.

“My father told me something else,” she told him. “He said, ‘That boy still loves you.’”

Those words, coming from the mouth of Jonah Prowse? Jake couldn‘t imagine it.

Emily was becoming tender, reflective. “I didn’t tell you about the night I spent at the church. It would have been my wedding day. You came and asked me what I really wanted.”

Jake was confused. “I never came to the church.”

“It was a dream,” Emily said softly. “But in its own way…it was real.” She moved closer. “It made me realize that...even after all these years…”

Emily was only a few inches away from him.

“Do you, Jake…do you still…”

Jake looked at her. He couldn’t deny that there was still something in his heart for her…even after all these years. She was an old flame that had never quite gone out.

And yet…and yet…there was a good and sweet and kind girl standing under the mistletoe in the living room, waiting for him. Someone he cared about very deeply.

He was not going to jeopardize Heather because of Emily.

And that was that.

“Emily, don’t do this,” he gently admonished her.

“I can see it in your eyes,” she said. “There’s something…”

“Em...“

In an instant, she leaned up and kissed him. Jake was even more surprised than he had been on the day when Heather had stolen a kiss from him, next to her truck.

He wasn’t the only one surprised. Jake heard something fall to the floor, and he and Emily turned to see what had caused the noise. They saw a small figure standing at the entrance to the kitchen.

It was Heather.

She’d been holding something in her hands -- a gift for Jake? -- but had dropped the package when she’d seen their kiss. Her face was full of shock and betrayal.

She turned and ran.

Jake followed hard after her. “Heather, wait. It’s not what you think -- “

But she wasn’t listening. She grabbed her coat, heading for the front door. Emily finally caught up with the two of them and tried to talk to her.

“Wait a minute, Heather. I can explain -- “

She never got the chance. Heather glared at Emily, and as her emotions continued to rise, slapped her hard across her face. Emily reached for her cheek, startled.

“You hated him for five long years. You wished him dead!” Heather cried at her, all of it pouring out. “I was there that day, remember? I heard it. Well, you almost got your wish. I nearly watched him die. And where were you? At home in bed, sleeping off another drunken morning!”

Jake and Emily stood there in stunned silence. Heather tried to contain herself. The only man she had ever really loved, the man she believed had loved her back…and now it was all falling to pieces in front of her. And Emily was watching. Worse yet, Emily was responsible.

“You were my best friend,” Heather said tearfully. “How could you?”

Emily couldn’t answer.

“And you,” Heather whispered at Jake.

She looked at him, and in that moment, the two of them glimpsed in each other’s eyes their future together -- what might have been. Discarded, shredded, gone.

Heather made her decision.

“I never want to see either of you again,” she said, as calmly as she could.

Then she turned and left, slamming the front door behind her, leaving Jake and Emily to stare at each other, mouths agape, struck dumb in the wake of Heather’s tempest.

They listened as her old truck pulled away into the darkness.


* * * * * * * *


Heather drove east for a few miles, oblivious. There was nothing she needed to take with her, save for a few clothes at Jake's house, and she had no plans to go back for those. Everything else had been lost in the fire. She could start over, if she chose to.

At the edge of town, she pulled over.

"Now Leaving Jericho," the sign said. "Come Back Again."

She wasn't sure she could do either of those things.

It had to be a mistake, she thought. All the times he'd told her there was nothing going on between him and Emily, and then…

Heather tried to clear her head. She couldn't turn to Jake or Emily for the solution -- they were the problem. She felt frustrated.

Maybe, she thought, just maybe, there was somebody who would know what to do. She'd passed their place on the way out of town.

Heather turned her truck around and headed back to the eastern edge of Jericho, just ahead of the bridge that the town had defended against Ravenwood.

One way or another, she was going to get some answers.


* * * * * * * * * *


It was late, and growing cold. Heather stood on the porch and knocked on the door of the old, big house. The person on the other side was more than a little surprised to see her, particularly at that hour of the night.

“Heather?” he asked.

“Hi,” she said, a little nervously.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” he said, with a little mock courtesy, but Heather was all seriousness.

“I need to talk to you.”

He pondered that for a second or two. “Well, come in,” he said, with a sweep of his hand.

She sat down with him at the living room table.

“It’s been a while,” he observed.

“I know. Since the harvest. And last summer, when I fixed your tractor.”

“It’s still working. I owe you for that.” Stanley Richmond grew earnest. “What’s on your mind? Something wrong?”

She gave him a look.

“Jake,” he surmised.

Heather looked down.

"You’re better off without him,” a husky voice rang out from the kitchen. “He’s trouble. I knew it from the beginning. Most men are.” Mimi poked her head into the living room, glanced at Stanley, and checked herself. “Present company excepted, of course," she said to him with a smile. She wandered back into the kitchen.

Heather took an immediate dislike to her.

“Look, “ she said to Stanley, “you’re his best friend. I thought you might he able to give me some advice.”

“About what?”

“Emily,” she sighed.

Stanley gave her a knowing nod.

“I saw them kissing -- in the kitchen,” she told him.

“Was there anything in the oven?” he deadpanned.

Heather didn’t laugh or even smile. This was serious business to her, Stanley decided. He stopped his attempts at humor.

“Look, Heather,” he said, “Jake may be my best friend, but he’s been gone for five years. I don’t know everything that’s going on with him, and I sure don’t know what's happening with him and Emily. Those two were together for a long time. We’ve only had a couple of conversations...“

There was a look in Stanley’s eyes. Did he know something?

“There are a lot of things about Jake I don’t know,” he said.

Emily had said that, too. You and me both, Heather thought.

“I really thought there was something between us,” she said. “Then, when I saw the two of them like that…well, I…” Heather grew emotional. Her words trailed off.

“You in love with him?” Stanley queried.

Heather looked away from him, nodding.

“Does he know that? Have you told him?”

She pondered that for a moment. “I think he does,” she finally said. “I don’t know if I’ve said the words -- well, except on a gift that I was going to give him.” Heather suddenly remembered that the gift had fallen on the kitchen floor, still sitting there, if no one had found it.

“The next question is harder,” Stanley said. “Does he love you?”

Heather remembered Jake’s words from his hospital bed.

“I thought he did,” she said sadly. “Now…I don’t know.”

Bonnie signed something to Stanley. Heather caught the gestures. She had learned American Sign Language as part of her teaching credentials, planning to work with hearing-impaired students, but instead had returned to Jericho where she was needed.

She understood Bonnie, or believed she did.

Say that again, she thought, so I can be sure.

Stanley signed back to Bonnie, who gestured once more. This time Heather saw it all. Got it, she smiled to herself.

There was a look of comprehension on her face. Stanley didn’t have to tell her anything. She had what she needed.

“Look, if there’s anything I can do -- “

“It’s okay,” Heather said with relief. “Forgive me,“ she told them, “I have to go. I need to stop at the Pines and apologize to somebody. And then I have to get back to the man who…”

Heather looked at Bonnie. Thank you, she signed to her.

Suddenly, Bonnie understood.


* * * * * * * * * *


At the Green house, Jake tossed another log into the fireplace. Winter had arrived in Jericho. It was cold, and with Heather gone -- possibly forever -- it seemed colder still.

Jake figured she was somewhere down the Interstate, putting Jericho behind her. He had a gallon or two of gas in his old muscle car, nothing more. He'd never be able to catch up with her.

He sat in front of the fire, and gently unwrapped the present Heather had dropped on the kitchen floor. It was something metal and cylindrical -- he didn’t recall seeing such a thing before. Jake looked at the outside of the piece and found an inscription. Knowing Heather’s experience with machine tools, he strongly suspected that she’d done the inscribing herself. The work was lovely.

It said:


To Jake
with all my love
Heather

Damn it, Jake thought. He resisted the urge to throw it across the room. It might well be the last thing he’d ever have from her. He kept it close to him.

Jake wrestled with his feelings.

I've got to let her go, he decided. If she loves me this much -- he ran his finger over the inscription on her gift -- she‘ll come back. If she doesn’t -- well, then I never had her heart to begin with.

If Emily was the fading ember of an old flame, then Heather was a freshly stoked fire, still growing. The last thing Jake wanted was to watch it die.

About that time, he heard the sound of a familiar engine in the driveway, and a truck door closing. There was a soft knock at the door. Jake rose to answer it.

It was Heather, looking profoundly apologetic.

“I don’t suppose you want to talk to me,” she said softly.

He recalled his own words from the night he thought he was headed to parts unknown.

“Of course I do,” he said, opening the door wide.

Heather followed him across the living room to the couch in front of the fireplace. Jake sat down and touched the seat beside him. She joined him.

“I thought you might drive away in your truck and never come back,” he said.

“I thought about it,” Heather answered, quietly.

They were having trouble looking at each other.

“Where would I go?” she sighed. “It’s ninety miles to Rogue River, another hundred or so to anywhere else. I hardly have enough gas left to get around town.” Heather looked thoughtful. "Besides...I had to know some things."

Jake was encouraged. At least she cared enough to try to learn the truth.

“I stopped at Emily’s house on the way here,” she said, “to apologize. She apologized, too. She told me that she was the one doing all the kissing, not you. That it was her idea…and probably not a very good one.”

Jake smiled, listening.

“She also told me,” Heather admitted sheepishly, “that she didn’t wish you were dead. What she said was, ’You’re the one who’s supposed to be dead’ -- because she thought you could have been, and was afraid you would be in the future. She couldn’t bear the idea of losing both you and Roger. She cares about you, Jake.”

“I know she does,” said Jake.

“And you…do you care…?”

Heather wasn’t sure she really wanted to hear the answer to that question.

There was a long silence.

“Yes, I do,” Jake finally said. “With Emily, there’s always going to be a pilot light on somewhere. I knew it when I saw her in the street on my first day back in town.” He sighed. “I guess those feelings will never go away.”

Heather swallowed it, remembering the day he’d left her to rescue Emily, abandoning her at the salt mine -- or so she’d felt at the time. He'd come back for her, she reminded herself.

“But I’m not in love with Emily,” he added. “We were in love when we were…teenagers. Things have changed. We’re different people.” He thought of his five years away, and how both he and Emily had grown apart and toughened during that time. “It’s not the same.”

She could live with that, she thought.

“I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with Emily. Heck, we both realized that in high school." His tone softened. “On the other hand, there’s someone else that…well, when I look at her…I find myself wondering…”

Their eyes locked in a long glance.

"I couldn't bear the thought of never seeing you again."

"Me neither."

They smiled. The tension was gone.

“So your conversation with Emily wasn’t the only thing that brought you back here,” Jake decided.

“It was Bonnie,” Heather told him.

Jake looked at her oddly. Bonnie?

“I went to the Richmond farm to talk to Stanley,” Heather sighed. “He‘s been your best friend for so many years -- I thought he might have some ideas about what to do. Bonnie signed something to him and I caught it. Something about how Stanley knew how much you loved me…and that he ought to tell me so.“

Jake opened his mouth to say something, but couldn’t. He remembered that conversation. It was the same day Stanley had told him about falling for Mimi. Stanley never would have said a word about it, but neither he nor Jake had counted on Bonnie reading his lips.

So…now she knew.

The room seemed suddenly warmer. Jake found himself at a loss for words.

“You…read…sign language?” he fumbled. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

“Yes,” said Heather. “I can’t seem to…well...I mean...you and I…we…” She tried again. “I can’t stop being jealous that Emily might take you away from me.”

“You saved my life,” Jake softly reminded her.

“That’s not enough,” she protested. “I don’t want you to be with me out of gratitude. I don’t want you to feel obligated."

“What do you want, Heather?”

They held each other’s gaze for a good five seconds.

And then Heather threw her arms around Jake and kissed him -- ten times the kiss he would have gotten under the mistletoe. Jake returned her kiss with the same passion.

They finally pulled away from each other.

“That’s the second time you’ve kissed me like that,” said Jake.

“It’s the second time I’ve kissed anyone like that,” she confessed.

Jake seemed surprised.

“I told you I was unpopular,” she shrugged.

He smiled at her. Not with me, he thought.

Heather shivered. “It’s cold in here.”

“It’s only going to get colder,” Jake commented. “There's no more heating oil, no electricity for the space heaters, no natural gas. The warmest place in the house is right here. That fireplace is the only heat we’ve got.”

Heather‘s eyes softened. She laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Not so much,” she said, hoping he would read her intentions.

He did.

Jake put his arms around her and took her in. Heather snuggled into him, grateful for his warmth, for his embrace, for…him.

She let down her guard.

“God, I love this,” she whispered to him.

They held each other. The fire crackled.

“What happens now, Jake?”

“You mean, the two of us?”

“No, I didn‘t mean it that way,” she said. “I mean…all of us. We can’t spend the whole winter in front of the fire -- and the food supply is almost gone.”

Jake wanted to reassure her. “Somehow, we’ve got to make it through this winter,” he said. “I’m not sure how. We've harvested everything we could from the garden. The rest is dead by now. Same for Stanley’s farm. We’re going to have to find supplies outside of Jericho in order to survive.”

“Will we survive, Jake?” she asked him, unsure.

He glanced at her. “You’re the one who said there’d be a next year.”

Heather nodded.

“Well, it’s here. We‘re going to have to deal with it as best we can.”

She leaned against him.

"There's a place Dad and I have heard about," he told her, "called Black Jack. Sort of a trading post. They've got supplies, equipment, some other stuff that isn’t quite so harmless. I think we're going to have to make a trip out there."

"I'll go with you," Heather volunteered.

"It's not safe," he told her.

"I don't care. I want to be with you."

Jake drew her closer, impressed by her courage. Whatever the New Year held for the two of them, they'd face it together.

“By the way,” he started, holding up the cylindrical metal object in his other hand, “thank you for this. What the hell is it?”

“Tire pressure gauge,” smiled Heather.

“Tire pres…”

“Betcha don’t have one, “ she grinned.

She was right.

"This doesn't look like any gauge I -- "

"I made it," she beamed.

Jake shook his head. “What in the…“

“Look, if you should ever have to drive to Rogue River again…especially in my old truck…“

“I should keep an eye on the tire pressure,” he finished for her.

“Yeah. Roadside assistance is getting a little rough these days.”

“Sure is.”

Jake couldn’t help his amusement. Leave it to Heather to be practical. Yet, she had tempered it with the expression of her love. He read the inscription again.

"Do I really have...all your love, Heather?”

Her voice grew softer. “If you want it…”

“I do,” he assured her.

Heather heard the words in an entirely different setting. That was down the road, she thought. Perhaps, one day…

“And you, Jake…do I have…“

He answered her with a kiss. She responded.

"Do you want to go upstairs?" she asked him.

Jake wasn't sure if she was asking him what he thought she was. He wondered if what Emily had told him was true. Either way, he wasn't quite ready to do anything about it. Perhaps, one day…

"I think it'll be warmer if we…stay right here.”

Heather lost herself in Jake’s dark eyes. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him again, the kiss escalating until the heat between them rivaled the blaze coming from the fireplace.

Suddenly, the New Year wasn’t quite so cold.

The Wounded

AUTHOR’S NOTE: The conclusion to the events of story number five -- a little Christmas present from me to you, and to Jake and Heather fans everywhere. Remember that I write in a universe where the series canon is not always observed, but I try to stay true to the characters. You might see the slightest hint of Scrooge and Marley in this episode. Merry Christmas to all -- and as Tiny Tim once said, God bless us, every one. Clarke


DISCLAIMER: “Jericho” and all characters, trademarks, and storylines associated with the program are the intellectual property of Junction Entertainment, Fixed Mark Productions, CBS Paramount Television and/or CBS Studios, Inc. The following story is a work of fan fiction intended solely for the entertainment of the writer and a small circle of friends. No infringement of copyright is intended or should be implied. If anyone at CBS happens to read this, please permit me this brief sojourn in your sandbox.

“THE WOUNDED”

The wind seemed to be blowing even harder than usual on the hillside on this cold Kansas day, the overcast skies as dark and gray as the feelings in Heather’s soul. She found herself wishing she’d worn something warmer, but she wasn’t sure that anything would truly warm her -- not on this particular day.

She looked over at Johnston and Gail Green, who had brought her here. They seemed to be talking, whispering about something. Every now and then, they looked at her. She didn’t like the implications of their look.

Others she knew were among the crowd: Bonnie, Stanley and Mimi, Dale and Skylar, even Robert Hawkins and his family. It seemed to her that half of the town of Jericho had come, but that was merely her imagination.

Her father, the minister, preached about something she wasn’t hearing.

Heather glanced at the stone again. Even now she could not believe it.


BELOVED SON
JOHNSTON JACOB GREEN, JR.
1974 - 2006
HERO TO THOSE
WHO TRULY KNEW HIM


It didn’t seem real. It couldn’t be real.

She looked at Emily, who had been so close to Jake across the years. To her, Emily was ice. Her cold eyes seemed to cast their glare over at Heather and accuse her.

You let him die, they said.

Had she?

If so, she had not only lost the man she loved, she had lost her best friend as well.

Cold comfort, on an already cold day.

The ceremony was over. Heather was numb. She took a single rose she’d held in her hands -- one she’d frantically looked for, surely the last fresh red rose in all of Jericho -- and laid it on Jake’s grave. She kneeled for a moment and kissed his headstone. Then she walked away, her tears building, and slowly climbed into the back seat of Johnston’s car. She sat there, empty, alone, desolate.

For her, the brief ride home was long and silent.


* * * * * * * * * *


Back at the Green house, Heather saw Gail approach as she sat on the couch.

“Honey,” Heather heard her say, “I’m sure you did everything you could.”

She nodded, unmoved.

Heather saw Johnston walk over to join his wife. “Jake and I talked about you -- more than once. He loved you. He would have married you, in time. I thought you’d want to know.”

She tried to smile, but couldn‘t. It’s a little late for that, she thought bitterly.

Johnston’s look seemed hard to Heather. Did he blame her, too, like Emily?

The feeling unsettled her.

“If you’ll excuse me,” she managed, “I think I’d like to be alone for a while.”

She walked up the stairs as if the weight of the world were on her shoulders.

The door closed softly behind her.


* * * * * * * * * *


Heather sat down on the bed, in the room that had been Jake’s, and now was hers. Even though she’d tried to make the room her own, remembrances of Jake lurked everywhere -- on the walls, in the closets, by the windows -- a million little things that seemed to take Heather back to a time she had never known.

She knew that she couldn’t stay here, in this house, even though she had nowhere else to go. The memories of Jake would, over time, tear her apart.

And yet, she had no desire to let go of him.

Heather looked around the room, seeing everything as if for the first time.

I barely knew him, she realized.

Her tears welled up again. We were only getting started, she thought. We hardly had the chance to know each other, love each other. We never even…

The thought made Heather close her eyes, regretfully.

I wish we had, she decided, breaking for a minute with her religious beliefs. I might have had his child. I could have brought a part of him into the world…kept him with me, in a way, always…

Now, that chance was gone. Everything she had hoped for with Jake, all that she had wanted, was lost. Irretrievably, forever. My life that might have been, she thought.

She put her face in her hands and wept, uncontrollably.

And suddenly Jake was there with her, as if in a dream.

“Heather,” he spoke.

She looked up, and saw him standing in front of her.

“How could you let this happen,” his lips said softly.

Tears streamed down Heather’s cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she cried. “I didn’t know what to do. I froze. I was scared. I -- I couldn’t save you by myself…“

“Couldn’t you?” he gently questioned.

It was more than Heather could bear. He was the one person who could bring her comfort, any comfort at all, but he offered her none. She broke down, her defenses gone.

“Forgive me, Jake,” she sobbed. “Dear God, please forgive me. I loved you so much. You know I loved you.”

Jake nodded, a little too calmly.

Heather’s eyes pleaded with him.

“I’d do anything, anything at all -- “

“Would you?” Jake asked.

His question startled her.

“You know you can,” he said.

Heather didn’t understand.

This time Jake leaned over.

“Heather, “ he whispered in her ear.

“Don’t let me die.”

The words were as real as if he had actually said them.

And, in that moment, Heather returned to herself.

She looked around. She was still laying on the pavement, with Jake. Heather wasn’t sure if minutes or hours had passed. She didn’t know if she’d been dreaming, or hallucinating, or if her sanity had indeed left her for a moment or two, as she had feared.

She knew only that this was real, and not a dream.

Heather leaned over Jake, looking for signs of life, any sign at all. Her own heart was pounding so hard that she couldn’t tell if he had a pulse. She laid her face close to his, and finally felt his faint breathing.

He was alive. Dear God, he was still alive. There was still time.

A still, small voice spoke to Heather: Bring your car over here.

She didn’t know if it was the voice of God -- her father would have called it the prompting of the Holy Spirit -- or some sort of common sense that had suddenly just come to her, but she arose, her clothes covered with blood, ran a hundred feet to her car, turned over the ignition, and rushed the vehicle over to where Jake lay, wounded.

Somehow, she lifted him -- nearly two hundred pounds, limp and unresponsive -- and pulled him to one of the rear passenger doors, then moved him as gently as she could into the back seat of her car. It joined the list of things covered with his blood.

Then she clambered into the driver‘s seat, and sped away, tires screeching, in the direction of Jericho Medical. Heather looked back at Jake. He was pale, but still among the living. She had to hurry.

She pressed her foot to the floor. Her old car moved at speeds that would have been almost unthinkable on any day before the apocalypse -- ninety, a hundred miles an hour, a hundred and ten.

If there had been any pedestrians, they would have been in mortal danger from the reckless girl in the big car, but it was a quiet day in Jericho. Heather made the trip from the forlorn patch of I-70 to the medical clinic in under five minutes. She checked again to make sure Jake was still breathing, then ran into the hospital, a shock to those who happened to see her.

“April!” she called, looking for the one person she believed could save his life. “April!” she yelled again, more like a scream, attracting the attention of everyone.

April Green was tending to a patient in one of the examining rooms when Heather found her. The minute April saw her, almost all thought for her patient vanished. If it had been anyone but Heather, she might have thought her to be a madwoman: bloody, disheveled, bordering on hysterical.

“April,” said Heather, trying to compose herself. “It’s Jake. Outside. In the back seat. He’s been shot…”

Heather didn’t need to say anything more; Jake’s name set April into action. She motioned one of her assistants to look after her patient, and headed towards the clinic entrance, waving for the volunteers to follow her. “Outside!” she told them. “Bring a stretcher!”

They moved like lightning to Heather’s vehicle, and opened the doors, easing Jake out onto the stretcher. April felt his wrist as Heather looked on, distraught.

“He’s got a pulse,” she spoke, half to Heather, half to the volunteers. “Let‘s get him inside.” There was no electricity, and not much else to work with. They wheeled him into what had been emergency surgery in the time before the bombs.

April ripped off his red, soaked shirt. Heather gasped when she saw the wound.

“He’s lost a lot of blood,” said April, as if that wasn’t obvious. She addressed the volunteers again. “Someone run to the Green house and get Gail or Eric or both of them. We need a match for his blood type, and fast. Johnston‘s been sick, we can‘t chance it.” She paused, thinking, and then said it. “If Eric isn’t there, you might want to check Bailey’s Tavern. Go!” They did.

Heather spoke up. “I’d like to help, too.”

April was solicitous of her. “Of course,” she said. “Grab that oxygen tank in the corner and bring it over here. It’s one of the last ones we have. Help me get a mask on him, and then we’ll send you down the hall for a blood test. For all we know, you might be a match.”

She did as April told her. If she’d been frozen before, now she would help Jake in any way she could, determined not to allow her hallucination to happen in real life.

April adjusted his oxygen mask. “His breathing is pretty shallow,” she said, trying not to sound too concerned, for Heather‘s sake. “It doesn’t look like any major organs were hit. We’ve got to get that bullet out…”

“Allow me,” a British-accented voice said from the doorway: Dr. Kenchy Duwalia, the most recent, and highly unofficial, addition to the clinic staff. Heather was more than glad to see him again, especially now.

“I am not a surgeon,” he added, “but I have had some recent experience with removing bullets.”

Ravenwood, April remembered. She was competent, but glad to turn Jake over to him. This sort of trauma was not her forte.

“Forceps,” Dr. Duwalia called. Heather handed them to him, and he perceived her obvious concern. “It is not as bad as it looks,” he reassured her, “but we have to close the wound, stop the bleeding, and give him a transfusion as soon as possible.”

He worked deftly with the forceps, reaching inside the wound in a knowing way, and it wasn’t long before he pulled the bullet from Jake’s bleeding chest. It made a metallic clank as he dropped it into the receptacle at his feet.

“We must sterilize and pack this wound,” he told April. “I need gauze. Do you have any alcohol? Antibiotics of any kind?”

“No,” she sighed. “Even the supplies we got from Rogue River are gone now.”

“You have a veterinary clinic in the back. I have seen it,” Dr. Duwalia said. “Is there any wound powder left in the infirmary?”

April thought for a moment. “Yes!” she said. “I’m sure there is.”

“Bring it,” Dr. Duwalia told her. “We will pack the wound with that, and the gauze, and then we will bandage him. That will have to do. As soon as one of his family members arrives, we will try for a match of his blood type.”

Heather recalled April’s earlier instructions. “Where do I go?”

“Down to the lab,” April pointed her. “After that,” she said, looking her up and down, “you probably should get cleaned up.”

One look in the mirror told Heather why. Jake’s blood was everywhere -- in her hair, on her face, her hands, her clothes, as if she were a refugee from some horror movie. She was, indeed, horrified by the sight of it.

“We still have water pressure,” said April. “You can take a shower in the back. Let me give you a hospital gown to wear. Best I can offer.”

Heather took the gown and a towel from her, but stood there, reluctant to leave. Her eyes were on Jake. She couldn‘t let go.

April laid a hand on her shoulder. “Heather, there’s nothing else you can do here. Go get tested, and then take care of yourself. We’ll take care of Jake. I promise.”

Again, Heather came back to herself. She nodded, gave April a nervous but hopeful smile, and headed down the hall.


* * * * * * * * * *


Heather luxuriated in the hot shower. The Green house no longer had running water, and she’d gotten used to sponge baths and an occasional long, lukewarm soak in the tub. It wasn’t enough. She let the warm rivulets run like a river down her body, scrubbing herself hard with the soap -- another little luxury -- like she might never have another chance, since she truly wasn’t sure when she would.

She looked at the pile of bloody clothes she’d left sitting on the floor. Jake’s blood.

If she lost him…

But she would not save such a terrible souvenir. She’d read in college about how someone had decided to keep Jacqueline Kennedy’s dress from the day her husband was shot, storing it in an attic somewhere. Heather had thought it was a horrible idea. She pulled a few things out of her pockets, gingerly picked up the clothes, and deposited them in a trash bin in the corner.

She tucked the hospital gown around her -- it tied in the back, and it was too big. Heather tied the knots tightly, thinking that the people in the clinic would get an eyeful if the gown slipped, since she had discarded her underclothes. She found herself blushing at the thought of wearing nothing underneath.

She felt half-dressed, almost naked. She felt vulnerable.

But most of all, she felt so helpless, worried about Jake.


* * * * * * * * * *


Heather wasn’t a match for Jake’s blood type -- though she’d hoped she was -- but Gail Green had been rushed to the clinic, and was a match, and the transfusion had immediately taken place. By the time Heather returned from her shower, Gail was sitting in a big chair, her feet up, recovering. Feeling awkward in her oversized gown and bare feet, as if she were at home walking around in her nightgown and pajamas, Heather sat down beside her.

“Hello, dear,” Gail smiled.

Heather was too self-conscious to answer.

“They told me that you brought him here after he’d been shot -- that if you hadn’t done what you did, he’d be dead.” Gail placed a hand on hers. “Thank you, sweetheart. For all of us.”

Heather smiled through her worry, remembering what she had dreamed earlier.

Gail’s eyes grew harder. “Who did this?”

“Mitch,” Heather said. “Mitch Cafferty.”

“Damn him,” cursed Gail, the first time Heather had heard her do it. “Damn him and Jonah. How Jonah Prowse could have brought such a sweet girl as Emily into the world, I have no idea.”

Heather didn’t reply. She was Emily’s best friend, but she knew enough about her dark side to realize that, in some ways, Emily was her father’s daughter. She wasn’t always sweet.

As if her thoughts had been a cue, another figure came running through the clinic’s entrance.

Emily.

Heather rose to her feet.

“I came as soon as I knew what was going on,” she said to Gail and Heather. “Someone came into Bailey’s, looking for Eric. He wasn’t there, but I heard…” She paused, thinking perhaps she shouldn’t have said it. Now they knew what she had been doing all morning.

She stared at Heather, wondering why she was wearing a hospital gown.

“What happened?” Emily asked her. “How is he?”

Heather, already highly emotional, finally lost her composure.

“Oh, God, Em…”

The two women held each other. Heather looked up in tears.

“Mitch Cafferty shot him. They took the bullet out, but…”

She lost herself for another moment.

“He’s unconscious. He lost a lot of blood,” Heather said, swallowing hard. “I don’t know if he’s going to be all right or not.”

Emily tried to reassure her. “I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

Heather thought there was something else Emily wanted to say, but the conversation stopped as April approached from the end of the hallway.

She watched April’s expression closely, looking for clues.

No bad news. Not yet, at least.

“We’ve done everything we can for him,” April told the three women. “We packed and bandaged the wound. Now we wait. He’s on oxygen -- that’s all we have to give him. Our medical equipment is no good with the power out. We don’t even have an extra person to stay with him and keep track of his vitals.”

“I will,” Heather volunteered without a moment’s thought, innocently pre-empting Emily.

“Okay,” April said. “We’ll need to take his pulse regularly. I’ll show you how to use the cuff for his blood pressure, and what to look for in his respiration. And we’ll need to take his temperature every hour, minimum. If there‘s an infection, it’ll start to rise. Come with me. I’ll show you what to do.”

Heather looked at Emily. “April…give us a minute, okay?”

April nodded to them, then slowly began to make her way back down the hall.

Emily turned to Heather. “Mitch Cafferty’s dead,” she said. “Dale Turner shot him -- or at least it looks that way. They‘ve taken Dale into custody for murder.”

The news startled Heather. Dale, the quiet, conscientious kid from Gracie‘s store? She had heard about what had happened to Gracie. For Jericho, it was the beginning of the end of its innocence.

At the same time, another feeling confronted Heather. I’m glad he’s dead after what he did to Jake, she thought. But she was ashamed of herself -- nobody deserved to die like that, not even someone like Mitch -- and she pushed the emotion aside.

“There’s something else I have to tell you,“ Emily continued, reluctantly. “I…I still have feelings for Jake. I know I told you it was a long time ago, and I thought they were gone, but he has a way of bringing them back.” She looked down. “You and Jake have something going on. I don’t know what it is. I don’t want to get in your way…”

She just had, Heather thought, probably without meaning to. This was the end of the world, or something close to it. Emily was turning inward, even backward, trying to recapture what she‘d had with Jake -- or so Heather thought. She didn’t blame her.

“I don’t have any exclusive claim on Jake,“ Heather said, wishing desperately that she did. “Not yet, anyway,” she added, just a little self-defensively.

She grasped Emily’s hand, putting on her best face. “Em, we’re friends. Best friends. No matter what. And we both care about him. That’s a good thing, not a problem. Okay?”

Emily gave Heather a smile. Heather truly was her best friend. She hoped that “no matter what” would never have to be put to the test. Certainly not here, not now.

“My place isn’t here,” Emily decided, turning to leave. “You’ll be with him. I’m going home to sleep off what I’ve been doing today. You’ll come and tell me if something happens? Anything?”

Heather nodded.

Emily walked out of the clinic, thoroughly disquieted. As Heather finally moved to follow April, Gail stopped her.

“Honey, I know how worried you must be,” she said softly, “and I‘m sure that conversation you just had with Emily didn‘t make things any better.“

She was right about that, Heather thought.

“Jake is strong, “ Gail said, with the conviction of someone who had watched him drive away a thousand times, never knowing his fate. “If anyone can make it through this, he will.”

Heather smiled at the reassurance.

“And I know my son pretty well. I’ve been watching him for these past few weeks. If it means anything -- I’m sure that he loves you.”

It meant everything. Gail’s words were like a gift from above. Heather leaned down and kissed her on the cheek, and it quickly turned into a hug.

“Go home and get some rest, whenever you feel up to it,” Heather told her. “I’ll stay with him.”

“Come on,” April called to Heather, from down the hall. “Time to turn you into a nurse’s aide.”


* * * * * * * * * *.


Being a teacher, Heather proved herself to be a quick student. She learned how to read Jake’s vital signs, and took his pulse, blood pressure and temperature well into the wee hours of the morning, when only the moonlight and a single candle saved the room from utter darkness.

Nothing had changed. He wasn’t any better, but he wasn’t any worse. He hadn’t yet returned from wherever Mitch Cafferty had sent him. He looked pale, almost like a corpse…

Don’t let me die, Jake had whispered from her subconscious.

She tried to make herself put away the thought. It had been a long day, starting with the encounter on the interstate. Heather was tired. She didn’t want it to turn into hopelessness.

April peeked into the room. “You okay?”

Heather nodded. “I’d like to stay with him overnight,” she said quietly, “in case he comes to, and he needs anything, or if he…” She tried to put away the thought again.

“We can pull in one of those big recliners for you to sleep in,” April said. “I’ll go take care of that right now.”

“Thanks,” Heather smiled at April.

She sat on the edge of the bed, holding Jake’s hand.

“I know you’re there,” she said. “You’re in there, somewhere. I know you can hear me.”

She wasn’t at all sure of that, but she had to try.

“Please come back, Jake,” she said softly. “I need you. We all need you. Even Emily. I bet you never thought you‘d hear that again.” She tried to deliver those last words with a smile, like a punch line, but her attempt at laughter began to turn into tears.

The words “if only” fluttered through her mind. If only he would come back even part of the way, as an invalid, in a wheelchair, even if he was no longer the hero he’d been -- just as long as she could love him, and he could love her in return, it would be all right. Even if he came back insensate, she decided, just staring out the window for the rest of his life, she would still show her love for him in any way she could -- for the rest of hers.

If only he would come back.

Heather started to cry. She laid her head on his chest, taking care not to touch his wound, thinking maybe she could reach him in a way other than words, as she had before.

“Come back to me, Jake,” she whispered, her face wet on his nightshirt. “Dear God, please come back…”

She felt the touch of a hand. Heather looked up, expecting to see April with the recliner, or Dr. Duwalia making another check on the two of them.

No.

It was Jake’s hand.

Reaching up to touch her.

Heather looked into his eyes. They were open.

She caught her breath.

“April!” she shouted.

The doctor was there in a moment. Heather looked up at her, eyes brimming, this time with tears of joy.

“He’s alive,” Heather breathed, then corrected herself. “He’s awake. Conscious. He’s…”

“Let me have a look,” April said to her. She peered into his eyes with one of the few instruments still at her disposal, at least until the batteries failed.

Heather, unnoticed, was offering a silent prayer of thanks.

Jake glanced at her. “You…” he started, unable to finish.

“She’s been here all day,” April told him. “She brought you here, and she’s been taking care of you ever since we took that bullet out of your chest.”

She put a hand on Heather’s shoulder, mildly aware of what had gone before.

“I’d say you’ve got him back,” she smiled.

“Please, find someone to go tell his parents,” Heather pleaded. “And Emily.”

April left the room. Jake, semi-conscious, gazed at Heather, freshly scrubbed, without makeup, still smelling of medical soap, wearing an old blue hospital gown.

She was the prettiest thing he had ever seen.

“You…” he tried again.

“Don’t worry about me,” she smiled, nearly laughing at him through her tears. She was utterly relieved. Her nightmare had not happened. The shadows of the things that could have been, had been dispelled.

“Here, drink something.”

She brought a cup of water to his lips. He took a sip, coughing a little.

“Cold,” Jake whispered.

She knew he didn’t mean the water, which was tepid at best. It was cold in the room. The heat in the hospital was no longer working, like so many other things in a world without electricity.

Heather was about to pull an extra blanket over him when she had a better idea. She gently climbed upon the bed and laid beside Jake, snuggling up to him, nestling her head against his arm, placing her hand on his chest. She would keep him warm -- now, and for the rest of the night.

She felt his arm cuddle around her.

“Heather…” Jake said.

It was all he could say.

She pressed her warmth against him, clutched his hand, and remembered a song, one that had been popular not long before the bombs fell:

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me
And just forget the world

Heather wanted to lay here and forget the world, this world after the bombs, but it occurred to her that if it hadn’t been for the attacks, that terrible first day on the school bus, she would never have met Jake Green.

Something to be thankful for, she thought, in the middle of the end of the world.

She held him closer. The song in her head continued to play.


I don't quite know
How to say
How I feel

Those three words
Are said too much
They're not enough

“Heather,” Jake tried again.

She looked up at him.

All that I am
All that I ever was
Is here in your perfect eyes
They're all I can see…

“Love…”

It was just above a whisper.

“Love…you,” he managed.

Heather smiled, tearfully.

The song was wrong, she decided.

It was enough.

* * * * * * * * * *

(Lyrics from “Chasing Cars” by Snow Patrol, from the CD “Eyes Open,” copyright 2006, all rights reserved.)

"After Rogue River"

AUTHOR’S NOTE: What might have happened at the end of episode eight, but didn’t -- an alternate take in which Emily leaves and Heather stays. Originally posted by me, as a much shorter version in screenplay format, on the Internet Movie Database (IMDb). Like “Tipsy,” this tale does not retcon neatly into any of my other stories, so please take it for what it is, a short but sweet stand-alone story about Jake and Heather -- and a tide-me-over until the conclusion of the cliffhanger in “Destiny.”


DISCLAIMER: “Jericho” and all characters, trademarks and storylines associated with the program are the intellectual property of Junction Entertainment, Fixed Mark Productions, CBS Paramount Television and/or CBS Studios, Inc. The following story is a work of fan fiction intended solely for the entertainment of the writer and a small circle of friends. No infringement of copyright is intended or should be implied. If anyone at CBS happens to read this, please permit me this brief sojourn in your sandbox. Author: Clarke

“AFTER ROGUE RIVER”


Johnston Green was going to live.

At least that was the prognosis from Dr. Kenchy Duwalia, the physician Jake and Eric had brought back from Rogue River, along with a fresh supply of antibiotics.

Heather had watched Jake rush into the house, carrying the medicine for his father. He’d run right past her on the stairs, without noticing, without even a word -- and she’d wanted so much to welcome him home -- but his actions were understandable. His father came first. She put away her selfish impulses.

Jake had come back in one piece. That was enough, for her, for now.

And she’d played a part in helping his father. The ice she’d made -- from a child’s science project, she thought, shaking her head -- had cooled Johnston’s fever and kept him alive long enough for help to arrive.

They were infusing the antibiotics into him now. He would be all right.

After what seemed like an eternity -- Heather could hear occasional snippets of conversation trickle down from the second floor -- Jake stumbled back downstairs and sat down at the bottom of the steps. He looked exhausted.

Emily and Heather stood next to him in the dim light. Jake looked at Heather as if for the first time.

“Thanks for staying with my Mom,” Jake told her.

“Glad to help,” Heather replied, quietly, sincerely.

“She’s being humble,” Emily told Jake, rather reluctantly. “She saved your father’s life.”

For the first time since he‘d returned, a light seemed to appear in Jake’s eyes. He reached over and touched Heather’s hand.

“Thank you,” he told her, earnestly.

Heather nodded.

She turned to leave, but Jake suddenly grasped her hand.

“I mean…for everything,” he said.

A sudden look passed between them. This was about more than saving his father’s life.

It was about the two of them.

He was thinking of her kiss, that morning, before he’d left for Rogue River. She caught it in his eyes. God, those eyes of his, she thought. Those marvelous eyes.

Heather smiled -- that shy, irresistible smile Jake had come to know. He’d seen it before, that day on the school bus, driving the residents of Jericho to the fallout shelter, when their eyes had met in the rear view mirror and she’d turned away, bashful. Jake had thought it was the cutest thing he’d ever seen.

They looked at each other for a long, tender moment.

Emily watched them, nonplussed, not sure what to think. There was something going on between Jake and Heather she didn’t know about, something strong, something more than friendship. It was more than she had with Jake, who was part of her past, or with Roger, who wasn’t there. She felt uncomfortable, and suddenly very alone.

It was her cue to leave. “Well, you guys get some sleep,” Emily said, making her way to the door of the Green house, wanting very much to get away from there as quickly as possible.

Heather remained. She was uncomfortable, too, nervous and self-conscious after the kiss she’d given Jake, wondering what he thought of her, but she wanted to be there for him, regardless of her own feelings.

She knelt down next to Jake and put her hand on his.

“What did you see out there?” she asked him, softly.

Jake was a million miles away.

She’d seen it before, what the military called the “thousand-yard stare,” the look of a man who had seen too much in too short a time. The haunted look in his eyes was almost more than Heather could bear. She had to do something. Surely he knew about her feelings, now; surely he was aware that she cared for him, after that kiss?

Heather decided to take the risk.

She sat down beside him on the stairs, reached over, and gently took his hand, looking at him with love and concern, trying to bring him back from wherever his trip to Rogue River had taken him.

Jake reacted to the touch of her hand, looking at her, but unable to make a sound. He was moved by her caring attention, he needed her comfort, but he was too far gone to ask for it.

Heather sensed this, somehow. She inched closer to him and laid her head on his shoulder, wrapping her arm around his. No words were necessary. Her tenderness spoke volumes.

She felt Jake‘s arm slowly reach around her.

He took in her sweetness, her kindness, her love, as if it were a balm for his wounded soul -- for indeed it was -- feeling the softness of her hair, her face, the fabric of her red sweater, the one she’d been wearing when he’d last seen her, and still was.

He pressed her body to his for a while.

And, finally, words came back to him.

“Hell,” he said.

“I saw hell out there.”

Heather put her arm around Jake and drew him a little closer to her.

“Ravenwood,” he told her.

She drew in a deep breath; she‘d heard of them. It made her shiver.

“I thought of you,” he confessed. “The whole time. It was the only thing that got me through.” His eyes softened. “That kiss…it was something to fight for, something to come back to.”

Heather smiled at him warmly, realizing that she’d been with him all along.

Jake turned to her. “They’ll be coming,” he said. “They know our address.”

She saw his alarm, but his concern was for her and his family. Not himself.

“It’s not safe for you here, Heather. You should go. Stay with Emily up at the Pines until this whole thing blows over.”

“No. Let me stay,” she said. “I’ll keep watch while you sleep.”

Sleep. The word sounded wonderful to Jake. He didn’t even know how many hours it had been. But he didn’t want to put Heather at risk for his own comfort.

“Do you know what they’ll do to you if they find you here? It’s just me and Eric now. We can’t hold them off by ourselves -- “

“Please let me stay,” she asked, “so you can sleep for a while.”

He looked at her, wearily but thankfully. She was a brave girl.

“Just lean on me,” she smiled, softly, as if she were a pillow on which he could rest his tired soul.

Jake cautioned her. “If you see or hear anything -- anything at all --”

“I’ll wake you up,” she promised.

Jake thought to himself, if there was going to be a future for Jericho, a future for mankind after the bombs, part of it was sitting right here, next to him.

He laid his head in her lap, at long last allowing himself to close his eyes, and let out a long sigh. Heather stroked his hair, and finally put her arms around him, protectively, almost possessively.

It was as safe as he’d felt since the bombs fell.

Her warmth lulled him toward sweet slumber.

“Heather…” he said as he faded.

“I’m here, Jake,” she whispered, “I’m here.”

She leaned down, and kissed him, tenderly.

“Welcome home.”

Destiny

DISCLAIMER: The name “Jericho” and all character names and trademarks associated with the television program are the intellectual property of Junction Entertainment, Fixed Mark Productions, CBS Paramount Television and/or CBS Studios, Inc. The following story is a work of fan fiction intended solely for the entertainment of the writer and a very small circle of friends. No infringement of copyright is intended or should be implied. If anyone at CBS happens to read this, please permit me this (very) brief sojourn in your sandbox. posted for Clarke.

“DESTINY”


Another day dawned in Jericho. Most of the days following the bombs had been the same, but this particular day was different for one person, and Jake Green was one of the handful of people who knew it. It was the day he would face his duty.

Five years had led him to this, half a decade of near-total secrecy, rugged training, and being alone as hell -- not being able to share what was happening in his life with anyone, although his Mom had figured it out. Mothers were odd that way; she‘d somehow had a sixth sense about what he was doing, and had become his confidante in the process. She was the only one.

Jake sure as hell hadn’t expected to deal with the aftermath of the apocalypse, but if this was the enemy, he would face it down, as he had all of the others. He was no longer the man who had left Jericho five years earlier. There would be no more running away.

Heather had packed a bag for him that morning, quietly, without him knowing. She’d found his dark greens and grays in the closet, thinking they were military, and tucked them all away in his big duffel bag along with the last of his toiletries, and a handwritten note of her love for him that she felt he might read, maybe even need, on the battlefield. When he’d walked upstairs that morning and been surprised by seeing his bag on the bed, ready to go, she’d given him a tearful look, rushed into his arms and held him, not saying a word, pressing all of her emotions into him with her tight embrace. He’d held her tenderly in return, cradling her head gently with his hands.

Jake recalled her words the previous evening, something about feeling like a war wife, and thought that she certainly seemed like one today. His feelings were achingly parallel.

She hadn’t been able to say much to Jake that morning, sitting across the table from him over what passed for breakfast. Heather had made her peace with it, as best as she could -- he’d made a promise, he had an obligation, he was going. She couldn’t talk him out of it, and she was trying hard not to think of herself, and especially of herself without him. It had left her choked her up, speechless, and there was so much she wanted to say. The inner conflict frustrated her nearly to tears.

She reached across the table, placed her hands on his, and looked at him. There were no words.

Jake caught her look, and it said all that needed to be said.

Do what you have to do, her eyes told him, and come back to me.


* * * * * * * * * *


Johnston Green was sitting in what was the mayor’s office these days -- his upstairs den, since the daily commute to Town Hall was proving to be entirely unworkable without transportation -- when Jake walked in. If he’d had a uniform other than his greens and grays, he would have worn it to this particular engagement.

“Dad,” he started. “You’ve heard the announcement on the radio ordering all military branches to service.”

“Yep,” Johnston said, not thinking much of it.

“It applies to me. I’m here to report for duty.”

So that’s what he’s been doing for the past five years, his father thought, something to do with the military. But then, why the long absence, the complete secrecy, the long, furtive looks between Jake and his mother whenever he did come home? There had to be something more he didn’t know about.

“Sit down,” Johnston ordered. He did.

He looked at Jake. “I knew you’d been somewhere. I didn’t know where, other than in San Diego. Now I know it was military. But I always got the impression that you had some kind of special training, covert operations, something secret, undercover, whatever the hell it was. Am I right?”

He nodded. Perhaps his Mom had hinted at things. The guess was close enough.

“You reporting specifically to me for a reason?”

“Dad, you’re the last authority left around here. The federal government is history.. The state isn’t functioning -- not yet, anyway. The county seat at Rogue River is a ghost town. San Diego is gone -- I probably couldn’t get there even if it wasn’t. When it comes down to who’s in charge here, you’re the end of the line. Did you expect me to report to the deputies?”

Johnston decided he had a point there.

“Jake, the National Guard units at Goodland and Great Bend, I haven’t had any contact with them at all. I suspect they’ve been fully deployed. Nobody home. Where they are and what they’re doing, I don’t know.”

Jake didn’t know, either. If it had been meant as a question, he didn’t have the answer. His dad went on.

“There haven’t been any other military contacts, no Army, no Navy, no Air Force, nothing. For all I know, there may be no more military, at least not the way it used to be. We’ve got a handful of deputies here in Jericho, some volunteers, and me. That’s about it.”

He got up and paced around the room a little.

“The world’s different now,” the mayor said. “If we were fighting a war overseas, an enemy we were sure of…” He turned. “We don’t know who caused these attacks, or if the second wave, the EMP, even came from the same place. We’re fighting blind, there. Some of our worst enemies are right here in the streets, creating havoc, vandalizing our town. They may not have started the war, if that’s what it is, but they may finish it -- or finish us.”

Johnston came to a decision.

“I think your place is here, right here,.” he told Jake. “If you’re expecting me to send you off to some distant shore, well, I can’t really see the point of that. Hell, I wouldn’t even know where to send you -- or how to get you there.”

Jake smiled inside. He’d thought of that problem, too.

“Shep never came back from Denver,” Johnston sighed. “You saw his truck. He’s probably dead. We’ve got refugees coming across the Colorado border -- walking, most of them, poor devils, until they drop. The medical clinic is being overwhelmed by the people that make it here. We don’t have enough medicine left to take care of them -- not even anything to kill the pain, most of the time. The Ravenwood boys and Jonah Prowse’s gang are going down I-70, taking what they want, doing what they damn well please.” He shook his head, feeling like he was presiding over anarchy.

“I’d seal off the borders if I could,” he said. “That’s impossible, but I need to know what’s coming our way. We‘ve been to the north, east, and south. West is our vulnerable direction now -- that’s where Ravenwood is coming from, and Jonah’s compound.. I’ve got no intelligence from over there. We need some short-range reconnaissance. Is that old boat of Heather’s still running?”

Jake nodded. Her car, an ancient Plymouth, hadn’t been affected much by the EMP; no electronic ignition, no computer chips. She’d replaced the spark plugs, some wiring, and a few other parts and it ran like new -- one of the handful of vehicles in Jericho that was running at all.

“You did a hell of a job in Rogue River, or so I’m told. Thanks to you, we have some antibiotics and another doctor in town. I’m not going to risk both of my sons again -- not at the same time. Eric has done something really stupid” -- Jake knew about that -- “but April is going to need him when that child comes due. I think he’ll do the right thing, when the time comes, and I don’t want to lose him. You seem to be the man for this job.”

Johnston paused. “That girl of yours. You’re obviously pretty important to her, and I know she’s pretty important to you. I also know she doesn‘t want you to leave.”

Jake nodded. He hadn’t expected his father to consider it, or even mention it.

“Are you up for this job?“ he asked him, hard. “Are you ready and willing to go?”

Jake thought of Heather and the look she had given him: Do what you have to do.

“I’m ready.”

“Will she let you have her vehicle?”

Jake said yes. He knew she would.

“All right, then,” Johnston sighed. “Take a full tank of gas from the fuel stores, and if I were you I’d throw a couple of extra gas cans in the trunk. You might need them if you run into trouble. Take your rifles and more than enough ammo -- I want you armed. Head five or ten miles down I-70 to the west and tell me what the hell is going on out there. I want you to head out first thing in the morning.”

Jake nodded his assent. He’d turned to walk out when he heard his father say one more thing.

“Son,” Johnston said, “Jericho’s lucky to have you back. You’ve already saved our ass more than once. And you’ve turned into one hell of a man.”

He looked at his prodigal boy, finally home.

“I’m proud of you, son.”


* * * * * * * * * *


The first thing Jake did was hurry home to tell Heather he wouldn’t be leaving Jericho, at least not very far or for very long. She was emotional, girlish, throwing her arms around his neck, resting her head on his chest, utterly contented. He wouldn’t be in Iraq or China or North Korea or somewhere across this devastated land, whatever was left of it. He’d be here. He’d be hers. She’d kept him.

She smiled at Jake, convinced that as long as he was with her, somehow he would never come to harm.

“Dad told me to head west down I-70 first thing in the morning,” he told her. “He wants to know what’s happening out there.”

“How far?” she asked.

“Couple of miles. Five or ten. Just far enough to see what’s heading our way.”

“Refugees…”

He nodded. “Probably, unless they’re all coming down the two-lane highways. It’s not safe on the interstate these days.”

“You’ll be careful,” she admonished him, tenderly.

He put his hands on her shoulders to reassure her. “I’m taking rifles and ammo, and I know how to take care of myself. San Diego taught me that. Heather,” he added, “I’m going to need a vehicle.”

She knew there was only one vehicle he could have meant.

“Aren’t they going to give you a police car or something?”

Jake shook his head. “They can’t. Bill and Jimmy have their hands full trying to keep up with the trouble in town and most of the police cars still aren’t running. The newer cars, the electronic ignition, the EMP fried them all. My car isn‘t running, either.” He looked at her.

“Heather,” he said reluctantly, “I need to borrow your car,” thinking it was a line straight out of an old sitcom like “Leave It to Beaver.”

She looked thoughtful. Jake thought he could see the gears of her mind turning

“You get my car on one condition and one condition only,” she told him evenly.

Jake gave her an exasperated look, waiting for what he knew was coming next.

“You’re taking me with you.”


* * * * * * * * * *


A few miles down I-70, with Heather riding shotgun, Jake knew that she had been right. If the car broke down, Jake might be able to monkey with it, but Heather knew it inside and out -- and they couldn’t exactly call Triple-A for a tow. Jake thought she could handle herself if anything went wrong. She was willing and able and capable. And, maybe most important of all, she was not afraid.

He took her hand and smiled at her. Heather smiled back. They were in agreement. By his side was where she wanted to be, and where he wanted her to be. Now, and always, as he had told her.

Jake hoped she’d be as handy with a rifle as she’d been with the spark plugs. She had never held a rifle in her life, and he’d only had time to give her the most basic of instructions.

The day was overcast and gloomy and they traveled down the dark, empty interstate as if they were the only vehicle on the road. They were. A few abandoned, overturned cars greeted them on the shoulder, mostly from the opposite direction -- people who had tried to get from Denver to Jericho, Oakley, Colby, anywhere -- fleeing from the nuclear nightmare. They’d gotten so far and then run out of gas, he figured, but the condition of some of the cars -- windows broken, tires removed, hoods up and engines stripped -- spoke of something more. Ravenwood, he thought to himself, or Jonah’s boys.

They rounded a turn -- and suddenly, unexpectedly, hit a roadblock. An old truck, blocking both lanes. Jake swerved, sideways, the car spinning to a stop. He got his bearings and looked at Heather, a probing look that needed no words. She nodded. She was shaken, but okay.

“Jake Green, you son of a bitch,” rang out a familiar voice.

It was Mitchell Cafferty, armed, staking out new territory.

Jake got out of the car, grabbing his rifle. Heather followed not far behind, also brandishing hers, but it was one on one. Jake and Mitch. As it had been before.

“And who gave you title and deed to the damn interstate,” Jake opened.

“No one. We just took it,” grinned Mitch, holding his rifle.

“I see you brought us a little present,” he added, looking squarely at Heather.

Jake turned, protective. If she was afraid of him, she wasn’t showing it. He hadn’t misjudged her at all -- unless he’d underestimated her strength of character.

“You’ll have her over my dead body,” he told Mitch.

“That could be arranged,” Mitch said coldly.

He sauntered up to Jake, both of them holding their rifles at the ready, but neither of them ready to fire on an old friend, even a former one. Not yet.

“Every now and again, a car comes down this road,” Mitch said, as if he were narrating a story for Jake‘s benefit. “I’ve been stopping them for the past couple of hours. Sometimes there’s worthwhile stuff in the back -- food, water, supplies. Sometimes nothing. But I’ve got a bundle in the back of my truck to take back to Jonah.”

“A regular Robin Hood, you are,” Jake spat at him. “Steal from the rich, give to the poor bastards at your compound.”

He glared at Jake. Jake returned the look.

“I could have killed you when I saw you hauling ass up the interstate, shot you dead, taken her -- he motioned at Heather -- “and whatever the hell else is in your car, and headed out, but I didn’t do that. I figured you and I owed each other a little something more.”

“You should have done it when you had the chance,” said Jake, fingering his rifle.

He thought he saw his old-friend-turned-enemy weaken, but only for a moment.

“Jonah wouldn’t like it,” Mitch said. “His daughter. He said she wants you alive.”

Emily, Jake thought. Maybe this time he actually had something to thank her for. Another debt he owed her -- as if he didn’t owe her enough already.

“What the hell do you want,” Jake said, impatiently.

“Here’s the deal, Jake,” Mitch ordered. “We’ve been living in that compound out on the fringes of Jericho for a long time now, kept out of town by people like your dad. That was fine when the world was civil and we could get by, but as you may have noticed, it’s not so damn civilized these days.” He spat on the ground.

“We’re moving into town. All of us. There’s plenty of space for our merry little band of patriots. You’ll welcome us into the community, give us food, water and shelter, and room to survive, or we’ll kick your asses into the next county and take whatever the hell we want anyway.”

“There are five thousand people in Jericho,” Jake intoned, “and they’re all against you.”

“They won’t fight,” countered Mitch. “They’ll let us in, rather than risk their own safety. All you have to fight with is a couple of Dukes of Hazzard deputies and your old man. You think they can stop us?”

He smiled -- that smarmy smile Jake had come to hate.

“Hell, you can help,” Mitch sarcastically added. “Tell the town to take us in. You‘re the big hero now. They‘ll listen to you. Negotiate. You did it before.”

Jake was growing angry, and showed it.

“You’re not welcome. You’ve been nothing but trouble, and you’re proving it again right now.”

“We’re going to own this little corner of the country, “ Mitch sneered.

“Like hell you are,” Jake growled, his eyes as hard as marble.

It was more than a promise.

That cinched it for Mitch. His anger got the better of him, and he hoisted his rifle and jammed it into Jake’s chin, knocking him to the ground. Jake’s rifle flew out of his hands, and Heather tensed as she saw it skid along the pavement. She felt her own rifle, still uncertain of herself.

Jake was stunned for a second, but quickly got back up and landed a roundhouse punch to Mitch’s jaw, and then a second. Mitch reeled, but held his ground. He pulled his rifle up into position, aimed it squarely at Jake, and cocked it. Heather looked on, frozen in place, horrified.

“Don’t make me do this, Jake,“ Mitch said. “We go back a long way.“

“You’ll never get a piece of Jericho,” Jake said icily, going for Mitch.

Mitch pulled the trigger.

Heather suddenly saw a part of Jake explode, and at that moment, something changed in her. She raised her rifle, and without more than a moment of thought, shot Mitch Cafferty squarely in the leg.

Only her religious upbringing stopped her from shooting him dead on the spot.

Mitch dropped to the ground, clutching his injured calf, the blood running through his fingers. He looked up at the girl -- this schoolmarm he‘d heard about -- not having expected anything like that from her. She still had the gun on him, and this time she wasn’t aiming at his leg.

“Get back in your truck, and get out of here,” Heather said, in the most menacing voice she could manage, a voice Jake never would have recognized. She kept her rifle trained on Mitch, who’d lost his when he fell -- he didn’t dare reach for it now. He continued to look at her, incredulous.

“Now!” Heather yelled, with an anger she didn’t think she owned.

He was dumbfounded and more than a little scared, but not because of Heather or the gun. He had shot Jake Green, and when Jonah found out, there would be hell to pay. He found himself hoping against his own wishes that Jake was still alive; if not, his own life was on the line.

Mitch got up, limped towards the truck, got in the vehicle, turned over the engine, and started back down the interstate toward the compound, near Jericho.

When he was out of sight, Heather dropped the rifle and fell to her knees, shaking, disbelieving all that she had seen and done, and thinking of one thing -- the only thing in the world that mattered to her at that moment.

Jake.

He was laying on the ground with a bullet in his chest. She could see the blood beginning to pour from his wound. Heather scrabbled over to him, still on the ground herself, trying to stand up and run but never entirely succeeding. At last she leaned over his bleeding body.

“Jake…oh my God, Jake…”

She couldn’t tell if he was dead or alive.

Her whole world hung in the balance for one eternal moment.

Then, Jake looked up at her through glazed eyes, half-conscious. Thank God, she whispered under her breath.

“Heather…try…stop the bleeding,” he said with an effort.

Think, Heather, think, she told herself. She’d had some basic medical training in college, in case it was needed in an emergency for her schoolchildren. She recalled the day Lucas had cut open his hand in class and she’d tended to him until April got there. But nothing in her experience had prepared her for anything as life-threatening as this.

There was no point in trying to remove the bullet; it would take a doctor or surgeon, and the two of them were laying on a stretch of interstate highway five miles from anywhere. She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket, pressed it tightly against his wound, and watched it quickly turn from white to red as it soaked up the lifeblood of the man she loved.

It was not enough, not nearly enough. She hurried to her car, opened the trunk, found some small towels she knew were tucked in the back, and ran back over to Jake. Again, she pressed hard against him. Again, the blood kept coming.

“Hospital,” said Jake, fading. “Got to get…”

But there’s no way for me to do that, Heather thought, panicking. She looked at her car, a hundred feet away. I can’t get you there by myself!

She suddenly realized -- to her horror -- that she could have forced Mitch Cafferty to drive Jake to the hospital at gunpoint, had she thought more clearly, but now it was too late. You stupid girl, she railed at herself, you’ve cost him his only chance. Tears welled in her eyes.

In desperation, she threw herself on top of him, pressing the already red-soaked cloths against him with all the strength she could muster. His blood stained her hands, her clothes. She was close enough to hear him faintly whisper her name.

“Heather…”

He placed a hand on hers, as if holding on to her was life itself.

Minister’s daughter or not, she would have traded her life for his, prostituted herself, sold her soul, anything -- anything at all, to keep him from heading into the abyss.

She felt his hand slip away.

“Jake,” she cried, hopelessly.

It all spilled out of her now, all the emotions she had been holding back, the things she’d wanted to say when he’d told her he planned to report for duty, the things she wished she’d told him that morning at the breakfast table -- all the things she felt, as if the words themselves could bring him back.

She prayed he could still hear her.

“I love you, Jake,” Heather sobbed. “I’ve never loved anyone else, not in my whole life, the way I love you. I need you, I need you here, with me, for the rest of my life…the rest of our lives, together…”

It was almost a supplication. “Jake, dear God, Jake, I’m not going to make it without you,“ and as strong a girl as she was, she spoke the truth. It might have started out as a crush, but Heather had grown a woman’s heart, and it was breaking.

“Jake, hang on,” she wept, her tears falling on his shirt.. “Hang on, please, for me…for us…”

But Jake had drifted into unconsciousness. How much of it he had heard, she could never know. Heather held him tightly, feeling him slip away from her, frantically trying to figure out what to do next.

Her resourcefulness failed her. She had no clue. No ideas at all.

For the first time in her life, she thought her sanity would leave her. She could hardly think, barely breathe, her heart pounding, the world spinning around in circles before her as they lay on the pavement.

Dear God in heaven, she whispered, half praying, half pleading.

Hang on…