Sanctuary

FEBRUARY 22, 2015 ^{• • •}

“Damn it!” Gordon barked.

Snow was coming down heavily. Visibility was becoming impossible and the car he was driving was not equipped to handle the conditions. He knew he had to get off the road and find a place for them to camp out.

Brittany shot him a sideways glance. “How about you slow down, Gordon? No use in rushing in this weather.”

Gordon shot her an irritated glance but it soon melted away.

He thought many times of that day weeks ago when he heard Tyler scream for help. His initial urge was to move on, but after what had happened to Hunter he couldn’t walk away from a child in need. Gordon and Brittany both had their own selfish reasons for partnering up. She had an operational vehicle, and he could find a safe place for her and Tyler. This partnership became more than just a simple arrangement after they’d spent weeks on the road together. They truly cared for each other. Being put in a life-or-death situation could elicit those feelings in people.

Each day on the road brought challenges, and Gordon saw she was capable of doing what was needed, when needed. He saw a glimpse of that resilience when she didn’t hesitate to kill the man threatening Tyler, and every day that resilience was proven. He was glad he trusted his instincts in allowing them to come along. Not only was she great with the basics of survival—turning scraps of food into edible meals, knowing how to shoot a gun—but Brittany had proven to be a great companion. She was smart and even-tempered, with a keen ability to look at a situation and quickly asset it. And most importantly, she was good at managing his sometimes erratic behavior.

“We need to find a place to camp out,” Gordon said flatly.

“I saw a sign about a mile back. There’s a rest area up ahead,” Brittany said.

“Rest area? Hmm,” Gordon answered. He kept his speed very slow as he considered the options. “Well, we have to get off the road. The thought of a rest area makes me uneasy, though.”

“We can’t sleep in the car again. Plus, there might be food there,” Brittany pointed out.

She was right. The past few nights had been spent in the small car. A night of sleeping stretched out could be beneficial, he thought.

Gordon looked in the rearview mirror and saw Tyler staring out the window, chewing on his fingernails. Tyler was a quiet boy who did what his mother told him without question. He was a little older than Hunter was, and even though Gordon tried to keep his distance, he found himself talking to Tyler like a father would to a son.

“Hey, buddy, if you’re hungry we got a granola bar you can have,” Gordon joked.

Tyler quickly pulled his hand away from his mouth and looked at Gordon’s eyes in the mirror. He gave a brief smile and shrugged.

“He’s nervous. He always does that when he’s nervous,” Brittany said, a bit defensively.

“It’s okay, I used to do it a lot when I was younger. Bad habit I had. Hey, Tyler, sorry, I wasn’t trying to embarrass you.” Before Tyler could respond, Brittany rapped her knuckles against the windows. “The exit’s right there! Do you see it?” she asked excitedly.

Gordon leaned closer to the windshield and squinted. Through the fast-beating blades, he could just barely make it out. He took his foot off the accelerator and slowed the car down to a crawl. As they made their way down the exit ramp, they noticed a large tractor trailer blocking the entrance to the buildings.

“You know how I feel about these types of situations,” Gordon said.

“I’m well aware. But have I been wrong so far on this trip?”

“Nope, no you haven’t. That’s why it’s worth a look.”

Brittany smiled.

Between the heavy snow and the tractor trailer, Gordon couldn’t see well enough to know if anyone was already shacked up in the buildings. He had only one way to determine it was safe. Pulling the car around, he parked with the front end facing the road, just in case they needed to make a quick exit.

“Brittany, I need you to take the wheel. Set your watch for fifteen minutes,” Gordon instructed her. “If I’m not…”

“I got it, I got it. If you’re not here, hit the road. Just go, go, go, it’s cold,” Brittany said, motioning for him to close the door.

Brittany scooted over behind the steering wheel. She pulled out a semiautomatic handgun and press-checked it just like Gordon had shown her. She re-holstered it and sat pensively.

“Mom, how long is it going to take to get to Idaho?”

She turned around and answered him. “As long as it takes, Ty.”

Gordon edged up to the front of the tractor trailer and peered around it. He could see three small buildings. The parking lot in front of it had a handful of cars, all later-model vehicles. He tried to scope out the buildings as best he could. No one in sight, no movement from anything.

With his Sig Sauer drawn, he ran toward the center building, which appeared to be a visitor’s center.

The only way into the building was through two glass doors. He could feel the ice-cold wall through his jacket as he pressed himself against it. It sent a chill up his spine and goose bumps rose across his skin. He leaned and looked inside. Nothing. He pushed open the door and slid in with his gun drawn. No flashlights washed over him and no shooting—a good first sign upon entering the building. With his pistol in his right hand and his flashlight in his left, he was able to get a sense of the room. It was empty, and from the look of it, no one had been inside it since the attacks. That was good news for them, especially when the light of his flashlight splashed across the two vending machines opposite him.

He marched over to them without hesitation. Inside, behind the thick glass on the snack machine, a bag of Doritos tempted him. He couldn’t wait to go back and tell them what he had found. He smiled when he thought that this stop was Brittany’s plan. She seemed to have an intuition about whether a place would be safe or not—and if it wasn’t, she knew how to react. An idea then came to mind. He holstered his pistol and pulled out his expandable ASP baton.

Brittany kept looking at her watch as it ticked down closer and closer to fifteen minutes. She knew what she had to do if time ran out, but the thought of leaving Gordon tore her up inside.

“Where is he, Mom?” Tyler asked nervously.

“He’s coming,” she said, again looking down at her watch.

Darkness was coming fast, with the snow falling heavier by the minute. Her visibility would be next to nothing if they had to flee.

“Come on, Gordon,” Brittany whispered to herself as she used her arm to wipe away condensation from the window. As it cleared up, she saw two headlights coming their way.

The headlights came from a 1990s-model Ford truck.

“Duck down!” she ordered Tyler.

As the truck neared, they both lowered themselves down out of sight of the windows. Brittany’s heart was pounding in her chest. Every vehicle or person posed an unknown threat. She closed her eyes and prayed it would just drive by.

The truck passed slowly. She breathed a tiny sigh of relief, then suddenly the truck turned, pulling alongside their car. Lying on her back facing the driver’s side window, she held the pistol out, ready to use it if necessary.

One truck door opened and closed, then a second.

She could hear what sounded like a man and a woman talking. One laughed, a deep throaty laugh, then all fell silent outside as they walked up to the car. Tyler’s rapid and heavy breathing was making it hard for her focus.

Suddenly she thought of the back doors. Her eyes widened when she turned and saw that Tyler’s door was unlocked.

“Ty, lock your door,” she said, just above a whisper.

“Mom, I can’t, I’m scared,” he whispered back.

She could hear ice crunching as one of the people walked up to the rear passenger side of the car. Knowing they were mere steps away, she sprang up and lunged to start the car. But before she could, Tyler’s door was ripped open.

“Look what we have here!” said a man, grabbing Tyler by the shoulders, trying to pull him out of the car.

“Get your hands off of him!” Brittany screamed. She turned with her pistol but she couldn’t get a clear shot, not with him holding Tyler against his body. Her car window suddenly exploded with a crack, glass pelting the side of her face. Stunned, she turned and came face to face with the barrel of a shotgun. On the other end of it was a woman. Her face was gaunt and filthy. Her long, oily hair dangled from below the dirty wool hat she wore. When she opened her mouth, she revealed stained teeth with pieces of food stuck in between.

“Put your gun down and get the fuck out of the car!” the woman yelled.

Gordon looked down at the bag of Doritos in his hand, his mouth watering in anticipation of the cheesy, crunchy taste of the tortilla chip. He couldn’t remember the last time he had one. As he gathered an armful of candy bars and bags of chips, Gordon reflected on his time with his travel partners. Looking back, he was glad he decided to go against his nature and help Brittany and Tyler. If he hadn’t, they would have died, and he wouldn’t have found a trusted partner to come along during his search for Rahab—even if they didn’t know exactly what they were in for.

Gordon was having his doubts now about his new mission. He was missing Samantha and Haley deeply and with each passing day he was growing less and less certain that this plan was the right one. He also felt guilty that he hadn’t told Brittany where he was actually taking them. He didn’t exactly lie to Brittany, but he didn’t exactly tell the truth—they were heading to Idaho, to safety, but first he was going to find and kill Rahab. While Brittany was forthright and opinionated, she didn’t ask too many questions, inherently trusting Gordon. But she was a smart woman, and he knew the moment was coming soon when she would want to know why they were heading west, rather than north toward Idaho. He had replayed his excuses in his head, but now they sounded empty. He knew it wasn’t fair to drag them into his plans for revenge, but he didn’t know any other way around it.

When he stepped out of the building, he was greeted with larger snowflakes and a colder wind. He chuckled to himself as he walked back toward the car, thinking of the many conversations and debates he had over the years concerning what-if scenarios about the apocalypse. Who would guess that he’d be willing to take on a former waitress and her young son in his path for survival? So often, he would lament those desk jockeys or paper pushers as the future victims of a world that he now lived in. He took rightful pride in his abilities, but he now knew that surviving was about more than just a skill set or how many resources you had. There was a mental element to survival that was often overlooked, and that’s because it was too hard to train or prepare for. It was what distinguished the survivors from the victims. Brittany was one of those mentally strong types—a cool, level-headed person in any situation.

Before the lights went out, Brittany was a stay-at-home mother and before that, her only professional experience was waitressing. Her deceased husband had been a truck driver. They had lived paycheck to paycheck, and when they did have extra money, he put it into the car they were now driving. Without training and without resources, Brittany had survived so far. Of course her luck was about to run out when those men had come for the car and for her those many weeks ago, but in the past few weeks Gordon had been continually impressed by her survival skills. When she was given the opportunity to “show up,” she delivered time after time, proving that she was capable and smart. She balanced him, not unlike Samantha did. Brittany was deliberate, intuitive, and when trouble presented itself, she acted.

In Gordon’s eyes, there were three different types of people in the world: the helpers, the freezers, and the runners. Whenever something traumatic happened, the helpers would run toward the danger, the freezers just stood, and the runners would sprint in the opposite direction as fast as they could. Brittany had proven to be a helper. Even though she lacked training, she was not afraid to put herself into harm’s way. He respected that, and after spending weeks with her, he could now say he trusted her with his life.

Brittany also proved to be an adept nurse. The cut on his face that Rahab had given him was still healing, and Brittany took care to make sure it healed as best as it could. Nelson’s stitching had been good but the wound had gotten infected. She had cleaned the wound and replaced the stitches. When it finally healed there would be a large, thick scar, a constant reminder of that traumatic event. To Brittany’s credit, she didn’t even ask about the source of it. And Gordon didn’t volunteer the information, trying to avoid reliving that terrible time.

The wind was now gusting so hard that Gordon had to point his head toward the ground as he walked. He lifted his head when he thought he heard a scream mixed in with the sounds of the wind. He paused. A second scream confirmed his suspicions.

Gordon dropped the armful of candy and chips and ran toward the car. When he cleared the tractor trailer he could make out a truck, the car, and four people. He charged toward them with his pistol drawn.

The man and woman didn’t notice Gordon until he was ten feet away. The man looked stunned when Gordon ran up. He pulled Tyler closer to him and placed a revolver against his temple. The woman leveled the shotgun at Brittany’s back.

Gordon quickly measured up the scene and came to the conclusion that these two people weren’t part of a gang and probably didn’t have backup on the way. He looked at Tyler, whose green eyes were full of fear.

If these people wanted Tyler and Brittany dead, they would have killed them by that point. He determined that they likely weren’t killers by nature, but they would kill if they had to. In these desperate times, the need for food, shelter, or a vehicle could turn someone into a murderer.

Gordon didn’t have many choices. His instinct told him to shoot the man first, and if his guess was right, the woman would hesitate, giving him time to shoot her too. Doubt filled him—an unfamiliar feeling for someone who was decisive to a fault. What if he shot the man, but the woman was committed and pulled the trigger on Brittany?

“Put the guns down! I won’t kill you if you just put your guns down. We both can go our way,” Gordon yelled out.

“You put your gun down!” the man yelled back.

“Yeah! There’s two of us. I’ll kill this bitch!” the woman yelled.

Taking a slight risk, Gordon moved a couple of steps closer to gauge their behavior.

The man reacted by tightening his grasp on Tyler. The woman’s eyes widened when Gordon took those few steps. She wasn’t sure of what to expect from him.

Those reactions told Gordon what he needed to know. He took his final risk and began to squeeze the trigger.

The crack of the pistol sounded almost muffled against the heavy snow and wind that engulfed them. Gordon placed one well-aimed shot at the man, the bullet hitting him directly below the nose. The man dropped quickly, blood pouring out of the back of his head, darkening the pristine white snow.

The woman let out a loud yelp, as if she herself had been shot. “You bastard!” she yelled at Gordon.

Brittany sensed her opportunity. She quickly stepped away from the woman and pivoted around, simultaneously grabbing the barrel of the shotgun, a trick that Gordon had taught her.

Gordon took aim on the woman and squeezed a shot off, missing her.

The woman lunged, wrestling with Brittany for the shotgun.

Gordon ran toward the two women. “If you drop the shotgun, we’ll let you go!” he yelled.

The woman pulled hard and broke Brittany’s grasp on the barrel.

Gordon took aim again, quickly pulling the trigger twice. This time the bullets hit her, one in the chest and the other in her stomach. She groaned and fell backward from the impact, hitting the truck. The force of the blows caused her to pull the trigger on the shotgun, which was pointed directly at Brittany.

Brittany yelled out in pain and fell to the ground. Gordon ran to her and knelt by her side, his face twisted in anguish. Tyler stood where he had been, frozen in shock.

Brittany was breathing very heavily. Blood poured freely from the large wound. She stared blankly into the gray sky above her.

“I’ve got you! You’re going to be okay, I promise!” Gordon exclaimed. He examined her wound and discovered that most of the blast hit her in the upper shoulder, although she had some small pockmarks in her neck, right arm, and chest.

She had been hit with number-7 birdshot, but at close range, the spread of the shot was concentrated. The damage to her right shoulder was severe but survivable, if she could be treated quickly.

“Tyler,” she whispered. The pain was evident in her trembling tone.

Gordon looked over his should and saw him still frozen in his spot.

“Tyler, I need you! Come over here. We need to get your mother inside so I can treat this!”

Tyler just stood staring over Gordon’s shoulder.

“Please take care of my boy,” Brittany whispered.

“Shh! You’re going to be fine. I just need to get you inside,” Gordon said to her softly. He was applying pressure to the wound with his left hand. Looking back toward Tyler he yelled, “Tyler! Get over here!” He then saw that Tyler was pointing at something down the road, his hand shaking.

Gordon swiftly turned to face the direction Tyler was pointing down. “Shit!” he yelled out once he saw the sets of headlights coming their way. He pulled Brittany up by the shoulders and began to drag her toward the car.

Brittany began crying out in pain as he pulled her.

“Tyler, come on! Open the door!”

Tyler finally responded, running over and opening the rear car door. But before they could even lift her in, three vehicles surrounded them and men poured out of the doors. One of the men hollered out, “Put down your gun, we are Marines!”

Sebastian stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Having hot showers every few days was a luxury few knew anymore, and he was grateful for the chance. He ran his hand over the thickening beard he was growing. Even though he had the supplies to shave, he opted to groom his facial hair with scissors. Plus, Annaliese liked his beard, and to him that was more important than any other reason. As his fingers rubbed his face, the gold wedding band on his left hand glimmered in the bathroom light.

The past weeks since their arrival in Utah had been very eventful. He and Annaliese finally admitted their love for one another and he proposed to her. Her uncle Samuel wasn’t in support of the marriage, and at first neither was her mother. Eventually her mother did come around, and was able to convince Samuel that Sebastian, though not a Mormon, was a responsible man. Their engagement was short compared to engagements before, but these were not normal times. Not knowing what tomorrow could bring, they decided to get married right away. Samuel agreed to officiate the wedding even though Sebastian refused to convert. This refusal by Sebastian expanded the rift between both men.

Annaliese had spent a lot of time trying to convince Samuel that her love for Sebastian was more than a young girl’s urges, as he had put it initially. She was physically attracted to Sebastian, but their love was sincere and intense. They had been through a lot together in such a short period of time. In so many ways they had lived many lives. The events they had journeyed through together had shown her the kind of man he was. She could trust him not only with her safety but her heart. Sebastian had shown her that he was a man who could keep his humanity in this new world. That was an important trait. So many were abandoning it, but he had proven he was a man who she wanted to be with.

Before the lights went out, Annaliese never would have met, much less fallen in love with, a man like Sebastian. The realities of the outside world changed her outlook and challenged her faith. While others ran toward religion for an answer as to why their world had collapsed, she began to believe that God had abandoned his people. She had not given up on God per se; she had given up on the dogmatic beliefs of a religion that in many ways had already acknowledged a God that was hands-off.

Sebastian was taking his time in the bathroom, soaking up the warmth of the steam from his shower and the feeling of being clean. Soon he’d be back on the road to find his brother. He and Annaliese had many conversations about his departure. While she wanted him to stay, she knew he was determined to reunite with his family. The past few weeks at Uncle Samuel’s compound provided him the time he needed for his leg to heal enough so he could walk without the aid of crutches. The leg was still bandaged and would be for another six weeks, but he couldn’t wait around anymore.

She had argued to go with him, but he didn’t want to risk bringing her on the road. This was the only thing that he and her uncle agreed on. But Annaliese was strong willed, and continued daily to press the subject about her going. However, Sebastian was not easily swayed and he flat-out refused to put his new wife in imminent danger.

Sebastian hadn’t been outside the compound since his arrival weeks ago, but he heard reports coming in via Samuel’s ham radio. The reports coming in from all over the country painted a bleak picture. Many of the massive migrations from the east were being corralled in large FEMA camps. However, the survivors soon realized that they weren’t safe zones, but death traps. The government had quickly run out of supplies, so those encamped turned on each other and what government forces were there. The government’s response was weak or nonexistent. Every time a glimmer of hope was broadcast, it was quickly dashed with another report of mass riots and killings. Pestilence and disease were also starting to occur in towns and cities throughout the country. Sebastian lay in bed each night wondering when the bad news would stop.

The information that Sebastian heard daily expedited his decision to leave as soon as possible. His plan was simple: head north to Idaho, find Gordon, then come back to her. He just needed to know that Gordon and his family was safe, but he didn’t want to risk her on a first-time journey. Samuel had set up checkpoints along the route; each checkpoint represented a friendly group that could be trusted. They’d make sure Sebastian would make it and provide support if he needed it. Though thorough, the coverage wasn’t complete and there would be many miles without a friendly person nearby. Thinking about this, he began to nervously turn the gold band on his finger. The ring had been Bishop Sorenson’s; it was a gift to him from Annaliese’s mother, Sariah. Though she only tepidly supported their marriage, she was grateful that Sebastian had saved their lives, and that kept things friendly enough between them.

The knock on the door shuttered his thoughts about his journey.

“Yes?” he called out.

“Can I come in?” Annaliese asked.

“Sure.”

The door creaked open and Annaliese stepped inside and closed it. She was wearing a long nightgown.

Sebastian watched her come up behind him in the reflection of the mirror. He smiled ear to ear as she embraced him from behind.

“You smell… clean,” she said as she began to kiss his neck and right shoulder.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said. The smile on his face vanished.

“You’re always thinking,” she snickered as she continued to kiss him.

Her comment brought back the smile to his face. “I’ve been thinking that I want…”

She turned him around so they were looking at each other face-to-face. “Shh,” she said, putting her index finger to his lips. With her other hand she pulled off his towel and let it fall to the floor. “All I want you to think about is this,” she said as she pressed her warm body against his.

Sebastian gave in to her desires and kissed her passionately. He could think about logistics later—all he wanted to do now was enjoy the company of his beautiful wife.

“No, no, no!” Haley screamed. She turned away from Samantha and slammed the door of her bedroom.

Samantha stood staring at the closed door. She didn’t know what to do with Haley. It wasn’t long after they had arrived in Idaho that she had begun to act out. Without her father there, Samantha had felt alone in her ability to parent. Nelson and a few of the others in their caravan had helped, but nothing could take away the pain of Haley losing a brother, then her father.

After burying Hunter, their group had proceeded toward their destination, Idaho. When they crossed over the state boundary from Utah, others cheered and celebrated. For Samantha, there was no longer a cause for celebration. Her only son was gone and her grieving was made all the more difficult by Gordon’s inexplicable abandonment of the family. She had been with him long enough to know that he was a helper, not a runner, during a time of crisis. She oscillated between feeling sympathy and anger toward her husband. She was angry with him for not coming back when she and Haley needed him. But during the sleepless nights, her anger would melt to empathy. Did he witness what happened to Hunter? Her mind constantly filled with horrific visions of Gordon being forced to watch the murder of their beloved son. She imagined that he found himself responsible for Hunter’s death, and that he probably felt he could not face her until he served justice for Hunter. That was Gordon’s way. But above anything, though, she wanted him to be there, with her and Haley.

The group had made it to Idaho, but not to their planned destination of McCall. The snowy mountain roads caused them to stay put in the town of Eagle, at the base of the mountains. Without maintenance services to clear the roads, they wouldn’t be able to continue toward her cabin until late spring. Samantha had worried that if Gordon was on his way back to his family, he wouldn’t be able to find them. This thought only added to her depression.

Nelson had taken charge of the group for their journey, and for that, everyone was grateful. He was a calm leader, and full of good humor. When they realized they couldn’t move on to McCall, he quickly set out with Eric to identify a spot in Eagle for them to stay. Fortunately for them, they found a group living in a small community who were willing to take them in. The leader of Eagle’s Nest, Scott Welk, encountered Nelson and Eric looking around the community fence line. After a brief, tense moment, they were able to convince Scott of their intentions, leaving him feeling confident that they weren’t a dangerous group. Nothing came without cost, though—some of their ammunition, food, and Nelson’s medical skills were bartered in exchange for a home to squat in.

Only a dozen homes were inside the gates of Eagle’s Nest, half of them vacant. Scott let them come in and take over two houses. The integration had proven to be a success, and besides some minor personality conflicts, no problems had arisen between the two groups. The biggest conflict that was noticeable, though, was between Samantha and Haley. Nelson, who shared a house with Samantha and her daughter, bore the brunt of this tension. He understood that Samantha was grieving, but her short temper with Haley and her subsequent depressive moods often put him in an awkward position. Haley would often gravitate toward Nelson, which only seemed to irritate Samantha more. Such was the case now, as Samantha attempted to get Haley out of the room.

Samantha stood staring at the thick alder door; Haley’s screams reverberated through it. A touch on the arm jolted Samantha.

“Is everything okay?” Nelson asked.

Samantha snapped at him and said, “Does it sound like it’s okay?” Frustrated, she turned on her heels and went into her room.

Nelson walked up and placed his ear against the door. Haley’s screams had given way to sobbing. Nelson knocked.

“Go away!” she screamed.

“Haley, it’s Nelson. Can I come in?”

“Leave me alone!”

“I’m coming in, but don’t throw anything at me,” Nelson said, then slowly opened the door.

Haley was curled up in a ball on her bed, crying. Nelson walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. Haley kicked at him and yelled, “Leave me alone!”

“Haley, I’m here because I need your help.”

Her crying had subsided but her face was still buried in her pillow.

“Macintosh needs you.”

Macintosh, a palomino quarter horse, lived in the barn of the house they occupied. Haley had grown attached to the horse and spent every day caring for him. But now Macintosh was sick; he had developed an abscess in his left front hoof.

Haley lifted her head out of the pillow and looked at Nelson. Her eyes were swollen and red from the crying. She wiped away the tears with her hand and used her sleeve to wipe her runny nose. The mention of Macintosh broke her tantrum. “Is he all right?”

“He’ll be fine, but he and I both need you to help me. I’m going down there now and I can’t do it without you,” Nelson said gently.

With purpose in her eyes, Haley jumped out of the bed and ran out of the room. Watching her take off, Nelson smiled.

“Here, take this,” Nelson ordered Haley, handing her a bag of Epsom salt. “Dump in few scoops’ worth.”

Nelson was preparing a salt bath for Macintosh’s hoof. Scott told him this would help draw out the abscess. Haley carefully and diligently did what he ordered.

“Good, that’s enough. Now let’s get Big Mac,” he said to Haley.

She unlocked the stall and opened it. “Hi, boy,” Haley said to Macintosh.

Nelson got Macintosh up and placed his hoof in the tub of water. “Thank you for helping,” Nelson said.

Haley petted Macintosh softly. “Everything will be fine, we’re taking care of you,” she whispered to him.

Nelson watched their interaction. He was happy she decided to come down. He wasn’t sure if what they were doing would help Macintosh—he was just doing what Scott had recommended. Having never cared for a horse before, he was skeptical. He wasn’t a religious man, but he prayed that Macintosh healed. If what he and Haley did became instrumental in his rehabilitation, she would have a renewed confidence.

“Nelson, do you think my daddy will come back?”

Struck by the question, he answered carefully. “Of course he’ll come back. He’s out taking care of all of us right now.”

“I don’t know if he will,” she said flatly, still giving Macintosh her attention.

“I know he’ll come back. He just has to finish up some things.”

She looked up at him. “You said that Hunter was coming back. And he died.”

“So, what are we doing?” Conner asked calmly.

Baxter and the other officials in the room watched him with uneasiness.

Conner had only recently come from his own self-imposed sequestration. After his return from captivity, he was met with the news of the suicide of his beloved wife, Julia. He had only survived his ordeal at the hands of the rogue group by staying strong with the hope he’d see his wife and new child someday. When Baxter broke the news, he locked himself in his quarters and didn’t come out for two weeks.

After he emerged, he was ready to get back to work. He was presented with endless reports of mass deaths, more nuclear attacks, utter chaos, and an almost complete unraveling of any governmental control on all levels. The news of Cruz being held captive specifically hit home. It seemed to him that all the people he cared about were being taken away from him.

There was no doubt in Baxter’s mind that Conner was suffering from depression and post-traumatic stress disorder. He had been through a terrible ordeal while being held hostage, and upon his miraculous return, he was welcomed with so much bad news, it would have been understandable if Conner hadn’t come out of his room again. Baxter had taken command and accomplished what he could. Negotiations with Australia had progressed, but they hadn’t yet committed to assisting the U.S., plus what they could offer would be scarce now, as they were providing assistance to so many other nations affected by the EMPs. There was so much to do, and Baxter was feeling overwhelmed. Now that Conner was back, Baxter hoped that they could start moving in a positive direction.

“General, I need to know! What are we doing? What can we do? How do we take care of over three hundred million people?” Conner said with an edge in his voice.

“Sir, should we take a break?” Baxter asked, with a hint of concern in his voice. “We’ve thrown a lot of information at you.”

Conner looked at all the faces around the room. He then shifted to a softer tone. “People, I understand that I’ve been gone. A lot has happened to me. Hell, a lot has happened to all of us. We want the best for our country, but I don’t know what we can do. The situation out there has taken on a life of its own. I spent weeks out there. I have seen with my own eyes what is happening. We have been put in an untenable position.” Conner leaned back in deep thought.

“Sir, we’re here to do what we can to help the U.S. get back up,” Dylan said in answer to Conner’s first question.

“Yes, but what if we can’t? What if it’s just too much?” Conner shot back.

“Mr. President, not all of our efforts have been failures. We have seen success—” Baxter started, but was cut off.

“Define success. If a man is having a heart attack and falls into thorny shrubs, pulling out thorns will not save his life. He’s still dying from a heart attack,” Conner exclaimed. “Since my disappearance, things have only gotten worse. Most of our underground facilities have been destroyed by an unknown force, we have had issues with nuclear power plants, our cities have collapsed into chaos, the camps we’ve set up have all been turned into death camps because we don’t have the resources to property supply and man them. The vice president has been taken hostage by a rogue colonel, an army has landed in Southern California and is marching north, and the only positive development? Australia is closer to making a decision in our favor to send food and equipment.” He slammed his fist on the table.

“What are you saying we do, then, give up?” Baxter asked, clearly upset.

“We don’t give up, but we’re spinning our wheels here. You were on to something when you drafted this map,” Conner said, pointing at the map showing the new borders of the United States. Conner stood and walked over to it. “What has developed here?”

“That plan was made so that Portland would become the new capital,” Baxter said.

Conner stood in front of the map and looked at it. “We have to realize that the United States as we knew it is gone. Texas is gone, Alaska is gone, Hawaii is gone, Barone is claiming these states as his,” Conner said, pointing to each location as he named it. “What we can do is create a new country, founded on the principles of the old. We need to find a place to call home ourselves. We can’t spend what little resources we have left on attempting to take back what is now gone.”

“Excuse me, sir, but that sounds like surrender,” Baxter said pointedly.

“On the contrary. We will deal with Barone, the Pan-American Army, and others out there, but let’s first secure a spot. Create green zones we can operate from.”

“How is that any different from us operating from here?” Dylan asked. Others sitting at the table were looking back and forth, exchanging nervous glances.

“We will continue with the plan you and Cruz had established, but pick a city where we can get it up and running with minimum resistance,” Conner said. He looked at everyone and could see their confusion. “Look, I’m embracing the plan, but the previous plan didn’t anticipate Barone or the Pan-American group. We know the mountain and central U.S. is still solidly in our camp. Let’s find a place to call home. Let’s plant our flag there, bring all resources to bear, let the world see what we are doing. We will fight if we have to defend ourselves. We are not surrendering but shifting.”

“Where should we go?” Baxter asked.

Conner turned back to the map and pointed. “General, put me in contact with the governor of Wyoming. We’re heading to Cheyenne!”

“Please calm down. I can’t address your concerns if you won’t allow me the chance to respond. Now, please, one at a time,” Barone barked at the group comprised of the mayors, city managers, and councilors from Coos Bay and North Bend.

“Colonel, we are hearing reports that the United States government is still operating. This runs contrary to what you told us,” stated Cynthia Brownstein, the mayor of Coos Bay.

“I’ve heard the same thing,” Roger Timms, the Coos Bay city manager, said.

The room burst back into loud chatter, harsh questions and accusations being hurled at Barone.

Upon his arrival, he told the people that the United States government had collapsed under the weight of the attacks. He told them nothing of his mutiny and the ongoing battles between his forces and what was left of the United States. He knew his story was weak and that soon he’d have to face the day he’d be challenged. The buildup toward this confrontation had started a week ago when two sailors had come forward to tell the truth to whoever would listen.

Barone suppressed his desire to stand up and tell them all to go to hell. He knew if he wanted to build a new country and have loyal citizens, he would have to win their hearts and minds.

Master Sergeant Simpson yelled, “People, enough! Be quiet so the colonel can answer your questions. He called this council meeting so he could address these false reports!”

Barone raised his hand toward Simpson. “Master Sergeant, it’s fine.”

Silence took hold only when Barone stood from his chair and walked from behind his desk to sit at the table facing the group of civilian leaders.

“Let me again thank you for coming. I want to answer every question you have but I need to have time without interruption to do so. Will you grant me that?” Barone asked calmly.

“Colonel, I’ve heard some very bad rumors. You need to come clean with us about why you’re here!” exclaimed Barry Milford, a councilor from North Bend.

Two more people in the room shot questions at Barone without giving him the chance to answer. The tempo and chatter again picked up.

“Why are you here?” a voice yelled from the back.

“Is it true, did you and your Marines mutiny?” another person yelled out.

“Yes! Yes, we did!” Barone bellowed.

His answer finally silenced the room.

“If you want the truth, then I need the chance to explain everything. I’ll tell you all I know. I hope you’re prepared, because it’s ugly.”

No one answered him; the vocal group was now shocked into silence.

“We came here seeking refuge. We came here seeking a new place to call home. We’ve been here for weeks now and we’ve done nothing but provide assistance and support. We’re not here to harm anyone.”

“Why did you lie to us?” Brownstein asked.

“If I had pulled our ships in here and said, please let us help us in exchange for you helping you, and oh, by the way, we mutinied against the old United States, I don’t think that would’ve gone over so well,” Barone answered her.

“Why did you mutiny?” Barry asked.

“I told you a half truth. The truth is, the United States has been effectively destroyed. Washington, D.C., is gone, New York City is gone, the U.N. is gone, and the president and Congress are all dead. It is true that the devices that destroyed our infrastructure were detonated over Europe and Asia. Australia is the only country besides nations in South America and Africa that were left untouched. What you have experienced here has happened across the entire nation. Many cities have fallen into chaos. I haven’t embellished or misrepresented those facts.”

“How can we trust you?” a voice called from the room.

Barone put his hand up, gesturing for patience, and continued, “I’m not going to bullshit you anymore. I’ll tell you everything. If you want us to leave, we will do that, but let me explain myself first.” He was prepared to handle the consequences and he now felt that if he was able to present his case to the people, he’d win. When he and his group had arrived, the towns of Coos Bay and North Bend were faring well, considering the circumstances, but they were not without challenges. What his group offered them was security and hope. He knew he had leverage just by threatening to leave.

Crosstalk and chatter began to rise in volume.

Roger Timms stood and faced the group. “The colonel has proved to be helpful to our communities, and I say we hear him out. We can convene later about this. Let’s show him the respect he deserves.” He turned back toward Barone. “Go ahead, colonel.”

“Thank you, Roger,” Barone said with a slight smile on his face. He then began to explain everything, starting from when he was first informed of the attacks while he was stationed in Afghanistan. From there, he took them to the shores of Southern California and described what his men discovered there. He went into the conversations he’d had with leadership elements of the United States, including his conversation with Conner. He left nothing out, except what happened in Salem and in Portland. He knew that would not fit into the narrative he was creating. He wanted to showcase himself as a leader who was willing to buck the system to protect his family and other Americans at the risk of losing it all. When he brought up the choice to come to Coos Bay, he emphasized that there were other places outside the United States they had looked at but it was his devotion to America that made him settle there. He finished his lengthy monologue by saying, “I appreciate you all listening while I droned on. My people and I want nothing more than to continue working together to make a new place to call home. We have something to offer, and you have something to offer. We need each other in order to survive this, so please keep this in mind when you all meet later.”

Most in the room nodded when he finished. Roger stood again and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s meet at the Coos Bay City Hall to discuss this.”

Everyone stood up and left. A few walked up to Barone and shook his hand.

With the room vacant except for Barone, Simpson, and Roger Timms, Roger took the moment to say something to Barone personally.

“Colonel, thank you for your candor and honesty. I wish you had been honest with us from the beginning, but now, having heard what you went through, I can understand why you weren’t. I wanted to again express gratitude for all of the support you’ve shown us here. Regardless of what happened in the past, I want to continue our partnership. I’ll do whatever I can to make sure this is managed properly.”

“Thank you, Roger. It’s good to know that I have a friend here.”

“You do,” Roger said, then put out his hand. They shook, and Roger turned and left.

When the door shut Barone turned to Simpson and asked, “So, Top, what do ya think?”

“I wish you would have told me you were going to tell the truth. I don’t know where this goes from here. I don’t think they’ll tell us to leave, but if they do, I don’t think we can just pack up and go without having issues within our ranks again. A lot of our men have found a place to call home.”

“You’re right. This isn’t easy. We have assimilated quite well—that’s why we have to make this work,” Barone said, pulling up a chair to the table where Simpson was sitting.

“Top, you’re a good observer. Out of that group, who do you think we can trust? And more importantly, who can’t we?”

“Good question, sir. If there was one I’d keep my eye on, it’s Barry Milford.”

“Why do you say that?”

“As soon as we arrived, he was the guy giving us a hard time. I swear that jackass was knocking on my door every day.”

“Hmm. He sounds like he’s a busybody. I don’t know if he can cause us any trouble,” Barone said, somewhat dismissively.

“And I’d watch Brownstein. She’s a real firecracker. I’ll keep my ears open, and pay special attention to any suspicious behavior.”

“Do that. Now, how are the long-range recon patrols going?”

“Good so far. We’ve had some incidents, minor stuff. Overall, we’ve been well received in many towns. The joint civilian/Marine patrols have worked very well. It further integrates us into this area and will make it harder for them to challenge us.”

“All good news. Keep it up,” Barone said, standing up.

As Barone was leaving, Simpson called out, “Sir, I almost forgot. Cruz is refusing to eat again.”

“You know what to do. Force-feed him. We can’t afford to lose him,” Barone answered smugly.

As the door was closing, Simpson said, “Roger that!”

Pablo was enjoying watching his forces destroy the last remaining bridge that led into Sacramento. Sitting atop his T-72 tank, he felt like a warrior leading his men into battle. As he viewed the demolition through his binoculars, a smile cracked his handsome face. With the destruction of the Interstate-5 bridge, he now controlled all routes in and out of the city. His forces had now encircled the entire city, poised to attack.

Atop the tank, he had a panoramic view of the downtown skyline. The setting sun’s rays were casting shadows on the buildings. It was quiet; so quiet that he could hear the breeze carry dried leaves across the road. He took a moment to appreciate the solitude, for soon the peaceful quiet would be shattered by his artillery and mortars. He had attempted to negotiate with the governor but those negotiations broke down two days ago. Since then, he had ordered his men to set up checkpoints and close down all roads that led in and out of the city.

He was shocked by how far his army had traveled in the few weeks since their arrival. San Diego was the first city to fall, but there wasn’t much to taking it since his Villistas had already been terrorizing the population. It was more of a symbolic takeover than a tactical one. He had sent recon teams into Los Angeles but that proved to be impossible to take so far. The gangs that had plagued law enforcement before the lights went out had turned into a force to reckon with after. They were organized and knew how to communicate and maintain structure without modern technology. Only one of Pablo’s recon team had returned, and given the information they came back with, he knew that Los Angeles was a target that would have to wait. The smaller cities along the way fell easily. Local law enforcement or small detachments of the National Guard were no match against his fully armored and equipped army of twenty-five thousand men. That’s what you get when Venezuela sells you their 2nd Infantry Division for $20 billion in gold, he chuckled to himself.

Pablo looked down at his watch and saw the time was nearing.

“General Pasqual! Come here!” he called out to his second in command.

“Yes, sir.” General Pasqual ran up to his tank and saluted.

“Is everything ready for the barrage?”

“Yes, sir. All artillery and mortar units are in place with coordinates.”

“Good. Let me know when—I want to give the order to begin fire,” Pablo said, waving General Pasqual away.

As he sat back against the turret of the tank he thought to himself about how everything in his plan so far had worked out almost too easily. He knew that eventually he’d be put to the test against a real American military unit. His visions of conquest saw the Pan-American Empire stretching from the southern tip of Panama to the southern borders of Oregon and east toward Oklahoma and Texas. He was a realist, though, and knew that would take a huge army and a great deal of time. His primary goals now were to take the American Southwest, then march on Mexico and liberate his people with the promise of a new era.

Before he knew it, Pasqual was back. “Emperor, it is time, sir.”

Pablo sat up and stretched. He again took in the view before ordering, “Radio!”

General Pasqual stepped up on the tank and held out a handheld radio.

Without saying a word, Pablo snatched the radio. He reflected for a brief moment about what he was about to do. This was to be his first full-scale attack on a city, a turning point for him. He smiled. He was about to order the attack on the capital of California.

“Who would have thought that I’d be sitting here six months ago?” Pablo asked smugly.

General Pasqual just smiled and nodded.

“Here, take my picture, I want to remember this moment,” Pablo said, handing General Pasqual a small camera.

Pablo posed with the radio and pointed toward the skyline of Sacramento.

“How does it look? Let me see.” Pablo examined the photo. “Good picture! Okay, let’s begin,” he said, pressing the button on the radio. “All units, this is your Emperor. Begin the attack.”

“Sir, drop the weapon!” one of the Marines ordered.

Gordon didn’t know what to do. Being surrounded by a Marine unit in the middle of Oregon was not something he expected to happen.

“Goddamn it, son, put down the gun or we’ll put you down!” an older Marine hollered as he exited the Humvee.

For a second, he thought he recognized this older man. He blinked fast and squinted to see if the Marine’s face would focus in the swirling snow.

“Put the gun down so that we can help with the injured woman!” the older Marine yelled.

Gordon looked down at Brittany, who was curled up at his feet in a bloody ball. He knew he couldn’t win this gunfight, but his distrust for all people made it hard to comply.

“Are you really going to make us shoot your dumb ass? Because we will, it’s fucking cold out here,” the older Marine yelled sarcastically.

It clicked. Gordon knew that voice.

The older Marine stepped out from the shadows and his face finally came into clear view.

“Smitty?” Gordon asked.

The old man walked up to within ten feet of Gordon and stopped. “Who are you?”

“Smitty!” Gordon said again, this time expressing happy surprise at this strange coincidence.

“Well, you seem to know my name. Now, who the hell are you?”

“Van Zandt. Sergeant Van Zandt,” Gordon answered as he lowered his pistol.

“Van Zandt? What the hell! You’re the last person I’d expect to see out here.”

The snowstorm had increased in severity. The large thick flakes were now covering Brittany as she lay motionless on the ground. Tyler was at her side, holding her head. “Momma, Momma. Stay awake,” he pleaded.

Gordon was jolted back to reality. “Smitty, she needs help. She’s been hit in the shoulder with a shotgun.”

“Marines! Get her in the back of my vehicle and take her back to town,” Gunny barked. Several Marines came immediately to her side and picked her up. She moaned loudly when they lifted her limp body.

“Momma!” Tyler said, holding her hand as the Marines carried her back to Gunny’s vehicle. He followed them into the Humvee.

Gunny could see the concern in Gordon’s eyes. “She’ll be fine, we’ll take good care of her,” he said.

Gordon nodded.

“This is all so surreal. What are you doing in Oregon?”

“I could ask the same of you. How about we discuss all of this over a drink back in town?”

When Gunny turned around he saw the Humvee turn around and speed off without him.

“Well… looks like I need a ride,” Gunny said with a grin.

“Let’s take my chariot,” Gordon cracked.

“We have a lot of catching up to do,” Gunny said, patting Gordon on his shoulder.