Free The Last President by John Barnes

gives any of the enemy a chance to surrender.”
    Abby shook her head. “You spent too many years hanging out with the boys, Captain. This is a woman kind of fight—if you’re going to kill each other,
kill
each other, no good-sport bullshit like it’s a football game or a deer hunt.” Among the smears of soot on her face, a toothy grin glinted in the dim light. “Besides, you haven’t seen yourself yet, but you’ve been wiping that cutlass on your pants, and your shirt’s got so much black-powder smoke and blood on it, you look like something straight out of hell. At least wash up before you try to teach the kids about the Geneva Conventions.”
    As she walked back to the main house, Highbotham noticed Jebby Surdyke holding her hand. “I waan learn dat Ge-ne-va Con-vic-tion,” she said, “if you waan me a learn.”
    Highbotham smiled. “Later, honey, but you’ll learn it, I promise. It’s part of that civilization thing we’re working on bringing back. And speaking of civilization, we all need some breakfast and cleanup. Shouldn’t you be with Squad Nine?”
    â€œThey don gimme no squad so I go wid yah.” Jebby’s hand closed on hers a little tighter.
    Highbotham thought,
Well, I’m not going to scold a first-rate bodyguard for not following procedure. Some parts of civilization can wait.
    3 HOURS LATER. PUEBLO. ABOUT 6:30 AM MOUNTAIN TIME. FRIDAY, JANUARY 9, 2026.
    When James Hendrix heard the knock at the door, he had just pulled two trays of muffins from the oven.
Patrick and Ntale, of course.
Lately Patrick had been teasing him every day with
Don’t shoot, it’s me, oh wait, where’s your gun?
so this time he carefully took his pistol from its rack by the door, pointed to the side to avoid accidents, and opened the door.
    Patrick grinned at seeing the pistol. “Hey, Ms. O’Grainne was right, Mister Hendrix, we’re finally getting you trained.”
    James racked the pistol again. “Enter, my young trainer.”
    â€œLock that door,” Ntale said, following her brother in. “If tribals barge in here and kill us all, no more muffins.”
    â€œExcellent point,” James said.
Back before I was always a little intimidated by how fast kids picked up new technology; now it’s the same thing with security.
“Nothing new this time,” he said, apologetically, “just oat-and-corn muffins with some dried apple again, and some leftover elk stew.”
    Patrick, tall for fifteen and seeming to be mostly head and feet, laughed. “Mister Hendrix, it’s
hot breakfast
.”
    â€œ
And
help on the homework,” Ntale added.
    While the brother and sister ate, James scanned through the overnight dispatches; the excuse for Patrick and Ntale to come here every morning was to deliver the first package of received radio messages from Incoming Crypto.
Besides, nothing is better for a cook’s ego than a teenage appetite,
he thought, watching the food vanish into the kids.
    First item on the top priority list: the moon gun had fired again. Word would already be going out everywhere to prepare for an EMP sometime Monday, and normally it would have been no more than a small nuisance to think about, but Captain Highbotham’s note made him stop and think; there weren’t any big stationary radio stations anymore. What the hell had they shot at?
    Red Dog, in Athens, reported that Jenny Whilmire Grayson was clearly siding with her husband and against her father, and people had overheard her quarreling with Reverend Whilmire in public. James rated that a plus; if the Army won its struggle with the Church, Constitutional restoration became easier.
    White Fang in Manbrookstat had details about the Commandant’s deal granting away everything from Cape Cod to Niagara to Halifax to the Irish. The Commandant’s handpicked judge had refused habeas corpus for a jailed opposition