Sanctuary

FEBRUARY 23, 2015 ^{• • •}

Gordon woke abruptly. He had been sleeping on and off, watching over Brittany. His neck was cramping and his body was chilled. He rubbed his arms in an attempt to warm them. He looked at his watch. Five a.m.—he had only been asleep for a few hours. He heard someone rustle opposite him and looked over to discover Tyler lying on the floor next to his mother’s bed.

Encountering Gunny was a bittersweet reunion. They hadn’t seen each other since Iraq. Gunny was a corporal then, and to Gordon he was known as Smitty. Their chance meeting on that war-torn street in Fallujah was similar to their chance meeting in Klamath Falls, but this time Gunny was coming to Gordon’s aid. It was good to see a familiar face, but Gordon could tell from Gunny’s expression when they sat down over a drink that the news about Sebastian wasn’t good. Gunny carefully told Gordon the events that culminated in Sebastian being left in California. He said he wasn’t sure if Sebastian was dead or alive, as the chopper that took him had reported mechanical issues, then disappeared. When Gordon first heard this, he was shocked. The thought of Sebastian dead couldn’t have come at a worse time. After losing Hunter, the thought of losing Sebastian too was too much for him to process. He questioned Gunny vigorously to see if there was any clue at all. A deep emptiness filled him with each answer Gunny gave. Gordon’s desire for certainty couldn’t be satisfied. Sitting there in the darkness, he thought of his brother. If he was somehow alive, had Sebastian made it to his home and found the note? Was he already heading to Idaho? And, if he wasn’t alive… Gordon pushed that thought from his mind.

He watched Brittany’s chest slowly rise and fall. He was thankful that Gunny and the Marines had shown up when they did. Gordon had some confidence in his abilities to perform triage, but he didn’t have the necessary antibiotics if the wound festered and became infected. Gunny’s appearance was by coincidence; the Marines were running a patrol of the surrounding area and, ironically enough, they received a report that the man and woman that Gordon had killed were wanted in town for the murder of an elderly gentleman. The last report stated that they were heading out of town, hence why they were checking the highway.

A tinge of a mild headache struck Gordon. He rubbed his head and figured it was a combination of dehydration, alcohol, and lack of caffeine. The lack of caffeine in this new world had more than once proven to be a problem for him. He never had thought much of the addictive qualities of caffeine before, but when he didn’t get his fix the headaches were awful and sometimes distracting. Not wanting to spend his day feeling like crap, he left the room in search of water, then a cup of coffee if one could be had.

He carefully and quietly walked down the hall to the kitchen. Each step produced slight creaks as his feet touched the old wooden floors. The last thing he wanted to do was wake anyone up. He also wasn’t in a social mood and just wanted to get his water, coffee, and to relax. When he turned the corner he saw a light emanating from the bottom of the kitchen door.

“Aw, Van Zandt,” Gunny said. He was sitting at the table in the middle of the room. The flickering light from a kerosene lamp bounced dark shadows off of the white cabinets and floral-wallpapered room.

“Looks like I’m not the only one who can’t sleep,” Gordon quipped as he stepped into the room.

The aroma of fresh-brewed coffee filled his nostrils as he walked in.

“Just what I was looking for,” Gordon said, excited.

“Pour yourself a cup and give me another shot of the ol’ life juice,” Gunny said, holding up his mug.

Gordon and Gunny shared old war stories and a few laughs before more sensitive topics emerged in their conversation.

“Van Zandt, you never told me what you’re doing here. Who are the two you’re running with?”

“To say that it’s a long story would be an understatement. Where do I begin?”

“Listen, Van Zandt, you don’t have to pour out your soul to me. I’m not a therapist, but if you do have something to say, I won’t judge. By the condition I found you in and by the looks of your face I can tell you’ve had a rough go.”

“I’m looking for the man who killed my son,” Gordon said bluntly.

“Sorry to hear about your son.”

Gordon nodded. “I think he’s here in Oregon, but I’m not sure. Have you run across a man named Rahab?”

Gunny’s eyes widened when he heard the name. “No, we haven’t encountered him… but you’re not the only person looking for him.”

“What?”

“Yeah, we picked up this girl a week ago outside of a tiny logging town. She mentioned the same name.”

“Where, what town was it?” Gordon asked urgently.

“Shit, calm down. Let me think,” Gunny said, pausing. “Crescent. That’s it. A little shithole a few hours from here.”

With this new information, Gordon brightened. He could possibly have an opportunity to find Rahab. Plus, he could leave Brittany and Tyler here in good conscience.

“Gunny, can you do me a favor?”

“How is it that I’m always doing favors for you Van Zandts?” Gunny joked, taking a long sip of his coffee.

“Can you spare fuel, ammo, and food?”

“I’m assuming you want this to continue your hunt for this… Rahab guy?” Gunny asked.

“I simply can’t rest knowing this guy’s out there. I need to find him and—”

Gunny interrupted by finishing what Gordon was about to say. “And kill him.”

“Yes!”

Gunny smiled and said, “I can do better than just giving you some ammo and food. I think you’ll like what I can offer.”

“I’m all ears,” Gordon said, leaning in.

“How about all of that plus some muscle to get the job done right? I’ll give you a team of Marines to go with you.”

Gordon liked what he heard.

“When do you want to go?” Gunny asked.

“Yesterday! How soon can your team be ready?” Gordon asked.

“I can get a group assembled once everyone’s awake,” Gunny said. “What about your lady friend and the boy?”

“Could—”

Gunny raised his hand, gesturing Gordon to stop talking. “We’ll take care of them.”

“Thanks.”

“Wait a minute.” Gunny unbuckled his belt and handed Gordon a knife, a Randall Model 1.

“I can’t take that,” Gordon exclaimed when he looked at it.

“First thing, it’s not a gift. I expect to get it back when you come back. You do plan on coming back?”

Gordon took the knife and removed it from its weathered leather sheath. He gripped it and admired the weight and grip. “Your dad gave this to you when you joined the Corps, right?”

“Yeah, my old man was a jarhead too. He said every man needs a great fighting knife. He gave it to me right after I graduated boot camp.” Gunny smiled as he reminisced.

“I can’t take this,” Gordon said, starting to hand the knife back.

“What happened to your boy is tragic, it’s fucking downright horrible. I want you to take that knife and carve out that fucker’s eyes with it.”

Gordon thought for a moment, then accepted the gift. “Thank you.”

“Just bring it back. My old man would roll in his grave if I lost that,” Gunny joked.

“Smitty, my intentions are to come back, I’m not into the suicide-type thing. But I can’t guarantee anything anymore.”

Sleep had become impossible for Samantha. Nightmares greeted her every time she closed her eyes. The horror show that had become her life occupied her mind day and night, but in her dreams she couldn’t control it. Her nightmares were so disturbing that she resisted the urge to fall asleep when it came. The toll from a lack of proper rest was wearing on her health, both physically and mentally.

When they had first arrived in Idaho she attempted to find purpose in her daily tasks. She had found a friend in Scott’s wife, Lucy. Lucy would invite her and Haley over to their house often. There she taught Samantha, Haley, Beth Holloway, Melissa, and the other women in the community numerous homesteading skills. At first, Samantha was engaged, but eventually the dark shadow of depression overcame her and she stopped coming by altogether. She didn’t want to be around anyone, or make small talk, or pretend to be okay.

She knew the other women talked about how none of them could understand the pain she was feeling. How could any of them know how it felt to lose a child? She would not be lectured by anyone on the fact that she needed to be “strong.”

It was the stinging pain of hunger that forced her out of her room and down to the kitchen. The sun was already making its presence known outside. Samantha glanced outside and noticed a fresh layer of powdery snow on the porch.

“God, how I miss San Diego,” she murmured out loud.

As she rummaged through the pantry she heard the sliding door open behind her. Assuming it was Nelson, she kept looking for a bite to eat.

She grabbed a can of sardines and turned around to find a strange man looking at her from the other side of the kitchen island. He was tall with long brown hair pulled back and tucked under a badly stained ball cap. His face was covered with a thick, graying beard. An intense smell of alcohol came from him. Acting on instincts, she hurled the can of sardines at the man, hitting him in the face, then ran for the stairs. Nelson slept downstairs but she wasn’t sure if he was in the house. What she knew was Haley was upstairs in her room.

The man brushed off the hit and ran after her.

“Nelson! Nelson!” she screamed as she ran out of the kitchen.

The man was faster than her and tackled her at the base of the stairs.

She attempted to scramble up the stairs but he dragged her back down. She kicked and elbowed him in the face. This angered him; he drew back and punched her in the back of the head. The force of the punch drove her head into the wood stairs. She could taste blood in her mouth.

“Nelson!” she cried out.

The man began to pummel her with punches to the back of her head. She tried to crawl up the stairs but the force of his blows were too much to take.

“Nelson, help!” she again cried out. Where was he? Fear of dying was now coming into her thoughts as she kept getting clobbered with one punch after another. She looked up and saw Haley standing at the top of the stairs. The sight of her daughter prompted her to resist even more. The man turned her around and drew back to deliver another punch to her face when she kicked him in the crotch. He flinched and buckled over in pain at the kick. She kicked him again but this time in his stomach, forcing him to lose his balance and fall backward. Seizing the opportunity of not having his weight on top of her, she turned around and began to run up the stairs. As she climbed the stairs she didn’t see Haley anymore. She assumed she had gone back to her room. When she reached the top of the stairs, she hesitated for a split second. If she went left, she’d be able to go back to her room and get a gun. If she went right, she’d go to Haley’s room, where she’d be able to bunker down with her, but without any weapon to defend them. Time was running out for her, as the man had gotten back up and was barreling up the stairs after her. Samantha decided on turning left, hoping he’d follow after her. She ran into her room, where she encountered Haley, holding a pistol.

“Haley, give me the gun, hurry!”

Haley was shaking, her eyes wide. She held the pistol with a white-knuckled grip.

“Haley, give me the gun, now!” Samantha yelled.

The man’s heavy footsteps were coming down the hall toward them.

The door was still open and the man was coming down the hall fast. She turned and slammed and locked the door.

Haley still stood frozen in fear with the pistol in her hand.

Samantha snatched the pistol from Haley’s trembling hands just as the door burst open.

The man tumbled inside and ran right into Samantha, knocking the gun from her grip. They both fell to the ground with a loud thud. Samantha quickly scrambled from underneath him and looked for the gun. It was gone; it had seemingly disappeared.

The man reached for her but she resisted and kicked him in the face.

Thinking on her feet, Samantha eyed her basket of yarn and a crochet needle next to her bed. She crawled over to it and grabbed the needle.

The man lunged for her again, but this time his aggression was matched when she plunged the needle into his throat.

The man clutched his throat. Blood began to gush out from between his fingers and under his hands.

Samantha wasn’t done with him. She plunged the needle two more times. The second thrust hit his hands, and the third punctured his right cheek.

Wounded and in a full panic, he got up and ran out of the room.

“You come into my house and hurt me and terrorize my daughter!” she said as she chased him down the hall.

The man was leaving a trail of dark red blood as he stumbled toward the stairs. He coughed and spit out more thick, dark blood before he fell to his knees at the top of the stairs.

Samantha caught up to him and said, “You think you can just come into this house and hurt me? You think that you can take what you want?” She grabbed his hair, pulled back his head, and drove almost the full length of the needle into his right eye.

His body gave a shudder, then went limp.

A still-shocked Haley walked into the hallway just in time to see her mother’s brutal and deadly blow to the man.

Samantha didn’t notice her. Her focus was still on the man. With disgust, she let go of him and kicked his body down the stairs.

Gordon knelt down so he could look at Tyler eye to eye. He could see that the boy was upset at the news that Gordon was leaving them.

Tyler had overheard Gordon speaking with a Marine outside the bedroom about his departure. When Gordon had entered to get his belongings, Tyler confronted him.

“You’re leaving us?” Tyler asked, clearly hurt by the news.

Gordon looked over at the bed and saw that Brittany was still asleep. He didn’t want to have the conversation here but he couldn’t get Tyler to leave Brittany’s room.

“Tyler, I know you overheard that I’m leaving. I want to tell you that if all goes well for me, I’ll be coming back for you and your mother. I promised I was taking you to Idaho and I’ll honor that promise,” he said just above a whisper.

Tyler wouldn’t look at him.

“The Marines will take care of you. I know one of them very well; in fact he’s a friend of mine. Gunny Smith is his name. If you need anything at all, just ask him. You’re safe with them, I promise you,” Gordon said softly. Every time he attempted to make eye contact, Tyler would look away.

“Where are you going?” Tyler asked.

“I’m going to meet someone who might have some information for me.”

“About going to Idaho?” Tyler asked. He now nervously looked at Gordon.

The look in Tyler’s eyes tore him up inside. In so many ways, Tyler reminded him of his own son.

“I’m going to be honest with you. There’s something else I’ve needed to do before we go to Idaho. I can’t tell you exactly what, but I could be gone for a bit and it’s better that you and your mother aren’t with me.”

Tyler nodded.

“You can tell me,” Brittany said with a raspy voice.

Hearing her voice brought joy to Gordon’s ears. He stood up and went to her side. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m good. I kinda have an idea of what happened but it’s all a bit fuzzy,” she said as she struggled to sit up in the bed.

“Hey, just lie there, you shouldn’t be putting a lot of pressure on that shoulder.”

Struggling, she moved herself into a more comfortable position to talk. She asked, “So… are you getting ready to leave us?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it?”

Gordon knew that it was time to have the dreaded conversation he had put off for so long.

“Tyler, do you mind if I talk with your mother in private?”

“No, Tyler, you can stay,” she commanded him, then turned to Gordon and stated, “Whatever you tell me, he can hear.”

Gordon looked at her, then him, then back to her, and took a deep breath.

“I haven’t been totally honest. You see, I’m heading to Idaho but via Oregon,” he said, then stopped. “Can we please talk about this in private? Trust me, I don’t want him to hear some things.”

She looked at Gordon intently and nodded, resigned. “Okay.”

Surrendering to his mother’s wishes, Tyler grunted something unintelligible and left the room.

“Go ahead,” she said to Gordon.

“Just before I found you two, I had been held hostage by a group of people. They murdered my son and left me to die. I had a chance to meet back up with my wife and daughter but chose to go after this man instead.”

“Wait a minute. You have a wife and daughter and your son was murdered?”

Gordon looked at her. He felt like all the trust that had been built up between them over the past weeks was being destroyed in the matter of seconds.

“That’s exactly right. I have a wife and daughter who are still alive.”

“Where are they now?”

“By now they should be in Idaho.”

“Should be?”

“If I were to guess, they probably made it there by now.”

“If you were to guess?”

Gordon was feeling very nervous and even he knew the story he was telling just sounded bad. His own story, if being told to him by someone else, would have sounded like that of a man who had abandoned his family.

“I know this sounds bad in some ways.”

“So you abandoned your family to go get this man and now you’re abandoning us?”

Her point hit him like a ton of bricks.

“You don’t understand,” Gordon said defensively.

“Then make me understand.”

“I made some decisions. I put myself in the situation that resulted in being captured by this group. I attempted to escape but it wasn’t successful,” Gordon said somberly. He lowered his head and could feel emotions rising.

Brittany just looked at him. She wasn’t angry with him, nor was she disappointed. She just wanted to have him honestly explain himself.

“They tied me and Hunter to a cross.” Gordon paused. The vision of it was now front and center in his mind and the pain from that moment was fresh. “Ahh, they tied us each to these X’s, like this.” Gordon raised his arms in the shape of an X. “They tied our legs and arms. He was so scared and I couldn’t do anything to protect him. I couldn’t comfort him. It was my fault he was there. I made a stupid, stupid decision that got my son killed.”

Brittany could see the pain etched across Gordon’s face. She reached over and touched his hand, but he pulled away.

“The man I’m after murdered my son in cold blood. He took a knife and drove it into my son’s chest right in front of me. I watched the life drain from my boy and there wasn’t a goddamn thing I could do about it.” Tears welled up in his eyes. “This here was a parting gift so I’d never forget,” Gordon said, pointing to the bandage on his face.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so very sorry, Gordon,” Brittany said compassionately.

“My friend found me not long after. I was all set to go back with him but I couldn’t. I couldn’t face my wife. I had let my son down and I had failed her as a husband. I did stupid and foolish things that ended in getting people killed.” Gordon paused again. It was hard for him to express himself this way. “You see, I can’t go back until I have avenged the death of my son. I can’t go back to my family knowing that I’m a failure. It must sound crazy, but I need to go find and kill this man. Only then can I go back and look my wife in the eyes and ask for forgiveness.”

Brittany nodded. “Okay. So who is this man and how do you know he’s in Oregon?”

“Is that important for you to know?”

“Gordon, we’ve been together for weeks. Don’t you trust me? You even said I had a good sense about things. I just want to know what your plan is. I want to help if I can.”

Gordon smiled at her. He was relieved that she sounded supportive of his plan to go find Rahab. He assumed she’d be wary.

“You’re right about you having a good sense about things—up until the rest area, that is. Your sixth sense didn’t see that coming?” he joked.

They both discussed the plan he had for going to speak with the woman in Crescent to see what she knew about Rahab. They went back and forth on contingencies and possible scenarios. She lectured him on his tendency to make hasty decisions, and asked if he’d promise to be more thoughtful. He agreed.

As he got up to leave she grabbed his hand and held it.

“You know, I have something to confess too,” she said with a nervous grin.

“Oh, no, do I want to know?” he joked.

“This is serious, kinda.”

“Sorry, go ahead.”

“I noticed you had a wedding band on the first day we set off on our trip. Being that you never mentioned a wife, I assumed she must have died. I didn’t want to ask because, you know, who wants to talk about that stuff? Life is hard enough without having to relive it all the time in conversation. You see, when you mentioned that you did have a wife and a daughter and they’re alive, I was a bit disappointed.”

Gordon knew where this was going and it made him feel uncomfortable.

“I’ve really grown to like you, Gordon, and I, you know, thought that maybe, we…”

“I’m sorry. I should have been honest with you from the beginning.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” she said like a nervous schoolgirl. “I just think a lot of you and will miss you when you’re gone.”

“I’ll miss you too, you’re a good partner on the road. You are in good hands here and I will be back. I promised you and Tyler I’d take you to Idaho and that’s just what I’ll do.”

“Okay. Well, you better go.”

“You get well and I’ll see you later,” Gordon said, standing up and walking toward the door. He fought the urge to hug her, knowing it might be painful for her.

As he was opening the door, she blurted out, “Hey, Gordon.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re a good man. You really are. You’re not perfect, that’s for sure, but deep down you’re a solid guy. Thank you for everything.”

Gordon nodded and left. As the door closed, he wondered if he’d ever see her again.

Pablo looked through the T-72’s scope. The 125-millimeter cannon was pointed directly at the front of the California State Capitol. He was now only feet away from securing the capitol of California. From where his tank sat on Tenth Street and Capitol Mall, he had a clear shot of the front doors. Thick, black smoke billowed and poured out of broken windows and holes that punctured the building. Parts of the dome had collapsed and large craters dotted the grounds all around the building. The heavy artillery and mortar bombardment had been effective, but as most army textbooks teach, the only way to truly take something is to have boots on the ground.

“Is this loaded?” he asked the gunner sitting behind him.

“Yes, sir,” the young tank gunner answered.

“So, I just push this here and it will fire, correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

He placed his eye back on the scope and, using the handles, turned the turret so that the gun was pointed directly at the front of the building.

“What do you say when you set this off?”

“We say, ‘on the way,’ sir, when we fire the round.”

Pablo placed the crosshairs on the front. His excitement grew knowing he’d get a chance to fire the main gun. He’d seen his tanks in action, but being a part of the action made it more exhilarating. His heart rate had increased with the anticipation of firing the large round. He held the power to destroy and that was exactly what he was going to do.

As he was about to pull the trigger, several people came out of the building. They were coughing and seemed fatigued.

“Ahh, look at them, they look worn out,” he said sarcastically.

He placed the crosshairs on the person, an older woman, who stood closet to his original target and pulled the trigger.

“On the way!” Pablo yelled out.

The 125-millimeter cannon roared and the high explosive round exploded out of the barrel. Almost instantly it hit the woman. Her body was vaporized as the round passed through her to the primary target, the front doors of the building.

“Oh my God, did you see that? It’s like she vanished!” he laughed.

Pablo’s round initiated a volley of fire from the other tanks in the company he was commanding. In unison, the dozen tanks opened fire on the capitol with their main guns. After three volleys, Pablo ordered cease-fire. He looked through the scope and saw nothing but smoke.

The tank rounds had utterly destroyed the front of the building. When the smoke cleared, huge, jagged holes covered the facade.

“Look at that,” Pablo said.

He surveyed the damage and determined that it was a good time to move in and put the boots on the ground he needed to “take it.”

“Colonel Alvarez, move your troops in. You know the rules of engagement—no prisoners,” Pablo said into the radio handset.

A crackle was followed by “Yes, sir.”

Pablo wanted to get out of the tank and see the assault with his own eyes. He unlocked the hatch and climbed out. Dark smoke wafted over him, burning his eyes and filling his lungs.

A feeling of invincibility came over him as he jumped off the tank and began walking toward the capitol. As he marched toward the gaping hole of the building, belching smoke enveloped the area.

The rumble of the BTR-80 armored personnel carriers heightened his feeling of being godlike. For Pablo, it was a chorus in his concerto of destruction.

He thought of all those men he idolized from the past. He was now a conqueror too; his name would now be etched in history as the man who took California.

When the APCs reached the front steps, the side doors opened and men began to pour out. The soldiers advanced toward the opening of the building and disappeared into the darkness.

Pablo cleared the steps and made his way to the rotunda. When his eyes adjusted, the damage his attack had made became apparent. Large chunks of granite, glass, tile, marble, and paper were scattered and strewn all around. In the center of the rotunda, sunlight from a massive hole in the dome illuminated a large marble statue of Columbus appealing to Queen Isabella.

This intrigued Pablo. While he was a logical man, he believed in divine signs. The entire rotunda showed the ravages of war, but this statue was immaculate. He took a moment to read the plaque.

“Columbus. I know who you are,” he said. Pablo had learned about Christopher Columbus and his achievements, but had not spent much time in his childhood focused on the man. Now, for whatever reason, here was a statue of him, the explorer, or as some now believed, the conqueror. Despite different opinions on the man, one was universal: His epic adventure ushered in a new age of the Americas. Knowing this history of Columbus, Pablo now felt that his being there wasn’t an accident. He knew that he was meant to stand there.

He stepped up to the statue and touched it, running his hands across the smooth marble. But his focus on the statue was shattered when gunfire rang out.

He looked down the hallway that led to the senate chamber. More gunfire echoed, then screams followed.

His radio cracked. It was General Pasqual. “Emperor, this is General Pasqual, come in. Over.”

He pressed the handset that was attached to his shoulder and pressed the button. “Yes, General, what is it?”

“Sir, we have the lieutenant governor.”

The first thing Pablo saw when he entered the large room was a beautiful woman standing over a wounded man.

“Don’t hurt him! Please!” the woman pleaded.

Pablo rushed to the group standing around the man and woman. He pushed his way through his men until he was in front of the woman.

“Please don’t hurt him.”

Pablo’s eyes opened wide when he saw her up close. She was beautiful. Her long, straight black hair hung down to her shoulders. Her olive skin was smooth. As she pleaded for the man on the floor, Pablo could see the intensity projecting from her large brown eyes.

“Everyone put down your rifles!” Pablo barked.

All of the soldiers lowered their guns with total obedience.

The woman looked at Pablo, disgusted, and asked, “Why? Why did you have to do this?”

“What is your name?” Pablo asked.

The man on the floor began to cough up blood.

“Papa, no!” the woman said. She knelt down and held the man’s hand.

“You’re the daughter of Lieutenant Governor Aguilar?” Pablo asked, amused.

The woman was doing her best to make the lieutenant governor comfortable. He had been shot in the stomach and was bleeding badly.

“Since you won’t answer my questions, I’ll just proceed with your father’s execution,” Pablo said calmly.

His men raised their rifles.

“Isabelle, my name is Isabelle. Please don’t kill my father!” she begged.

“Why should I spare you and your father? When we met two days ago, he and the governor made it clear they weren’t surrendering.”

She naturally wanted to resist him but she couldn’t without running the risk of dying or seeing her father killed. With nothing at her disposal but her femininity, she gave him what many men like him want: recognition. “I know what you want,” she said.

Pablo looked at her quizzically and asked, “What is it that I want?”

“Respect.”

Her answer shocked him. It was as if she looked into his soul.

She looked up at him and said, “Men like you have been successful throughout history not only by showing your strength of arms, but also by showing your strength through mercy.”

She left her father’s side and crawled over to him. Grabbing his hand, she looked into his eyes and said, “Please, Emperor, show us mercy and we’ll forever be indebted to you.”

This woman’s boldness rendered him speechless. All eyes were trained on him.

Their lives were in the balance. He had the power to crush them or save them. Today had been a turning point for him. The moment he saw the statue he knew it was a sign, and this woman in front of him was another sign. Instead of Columbus at the feet of Queen Isabella, this was a woman named Isabelle at his feet. God was showing him all the signs he needed; God was showing him that he was on the correct path.

He took her hand and brought her up. He returned her deep look and said, “Isabelle, I pardon you and your father.” He raised his arms, then yelled out, “I’ll go further than that: I’ll pardon anyone we find here who is willing to join our cause.”

Barone wasn’t a fan of running, but he couldn’t find a better workout. What he liked most about it was that it cleared his mind. Each bead of sweat signified a release of stress.

One problem he couldn’t wrap his mind around was the lack of response from the U.S. government in regards to the prisoners he had taken. He knew they were aware of the situation, but there was no sign of the other Marine ARG coming to Portland. Captain White in the USS Topeka reported nothing. He had sailed as far south as Long Beach and spotted nothing on his instruments.

He knew in order for them to be successful, they would have to stay two steps ahead of Conner and the U.S. forces. Their silence did not indicate they were gone. They might be dealing with other problems but they would never leave him alone forever.

Barone had grown attached to this area and wanted to find a way to stay and make it work. The city council had not made a final decision, but it appeared it would end in his favor. From a preliminary vote, three members wanted them to leave. The other members knew that would result in utter chaos. The council wanted to present a unified decision to the towns. Having political disagreements in the past was fine, but now political disagreements could literally end in bloodshed. Those in favor wanted to spend a few days attempting to convince their colleagues to change their votes. Barone had also planned to take the time to speak with those people. He would go to each one and plead his case and see exactly what they wanted. If there was one thing he understood, it was how a politician thought.

When he came aboard the ship, the officer of the deck greeted him and informed him that Master Sergeant Simpson was looking for him. There was something important that he needed to relay to him.

Barone made his way down noticeably empty passageways. Many of the men were gone, either in town or deployed throughout Oregon and Northern California on long-range recon patrols. He missed the hustle and bustle of a full ship, but he gladly exchanged that for the knowledge that his men were accomplishing great things out among the people.

Simpson had requested that Barone meet him in the CIC upon his return to the ship. When he opened the door of the operations center, he walked into a flurry of activity.

“Colonel, back here, sir,” Simpson called out.

Barone still had sweat clinging to his skin and his clothes were soaked. When he stepped back into the briefing room he was greeted by his entire staff. All eyes locked on him as he wiped his face and took a seat. On the screen he saw a map of Northern California with two red areas circled.

“I see the map of NorCal up there. What happened?” Barone asked, cutting to the point.

“Sir, two of our LRRP patrols were attacked. One in the city of Eureka and the other near Redding,” Master Sergeant Simpson said.

“First question I have is what were our guys doing so far south?”

“Sir, that was my call. They called in permission to go down there,” Major Ashley said.

“Major Ashley, why didn’t you think that was important to tell me?” Barone asked, irritation creeping into his voice.

“Sir, our men have been encountering troubles here and there, but they have always been successful in setting up contact. I thought it wasn’t a request that needed your approval.”

“Major, I can’t stress enough the importance of chain of command. If it pertains to large-scale operational decisions, you must run it by me,” Barone chastised.

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, what do we have?”

“As you know we have had small engagements with civilian gangs throughout Oregon. What makes this different is they encountered another military force.”

“Marines, is it the other ARG?”

Ashley looked at the other men and Simpson, then turned to Barone and said, “No, sir, these are not Marines. These aren’t U.S. forces at all.”

“What happened to our men?”

“The patrol in Eureka was ambushed after meeting with the mayor there. We lost five men. Outside of Redding, our patrol came upon them along the side of the road. When our troops pulled up, this group opened fire. Our men returned fire and destroyed them. We know they’re not U.S. because this is what was transmitted back.” Ashley took the remote and clicked a button. The screen flipped from the map to a picture of a light utility vehicle with a machine mounted in the back.

“What is that?” Barone asked, leaning in to get a closer look.

“We didn’t know right away either, but we found out once we ran it through our database. It’s a Tiuna UR-53AR50.”

“Was that the only one?” Barone asked.

“Sir, we recovered everything from the engagement. This was a military recon patrol too. They had three vehicles, a dozen men, arms, et cetera.”

“Where the hell are they from?” Barone asked.

“They’re Venezuelan, sir.”

“I’m sorry, Annaliese. I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear, but I can’t have you go with me,” Sebastian said. He was sitting next to her on the bed. He reached over and grabbed her hand.

At first she flinched from his touch, but she gave in and took his hand. She looked at him and responded, “I know what you have to do. I’ve known from the first day I met you that you’d have to leave. I’m not arguing with you about your decision to go search for your family, I just want to come with you. You’re my husband now and I need to be by your side,” she said as a tear began to slide down her cheek.

“Oh, honey. Don’t cry.”

“You tell me you’re leaving and I don’t know when you’ll return. What do you expect me to do? I love you. I don’t want to lose you,” she said as more tears came.

“Come here,” he said as he leaned in to give her a hug.

“I’m sorry if I’m emotional. I need to be stronger, I know, but I just can’t imagine life without you. We have a good thing here. We’re safe and we have plenty of supplies to last for years.”

“If there was another way, I’d do it. I need to go find my brother.”

“I know, I know.” She wiped her cheeks and eyes and sat up straight.

“Your uncle is providing me with a tremendous amount of support. I’ll be fine. He gave me a handheld ham radio to communicate with you. I’ll check in daily to let you know my whereabouts.”

“I know you’ll check in, but I just know how bad it is out there. At least see if anyone wants to come with you.”

“This is my job. I need all the able-bodied men to be here, to protect you and your mother.”

“I can handle myself out there. I’ve proven that. Please, don’t leave me here,” she said, gripping his hand tighter and looking deep into his blue eyes.

“Your place is here. With your family.”

“You are my family. My place is by your side!” she said, more impassioned.

Sebastian let her last comment sit for a bit before he responded. He did believe that when a man and woman marry, they become family and go into the world together to forge a new life. But in this new world, the road was a dangerous and unpredictable place to be. He didn’t want to put his new wife in danger.

“Sebastian Van Zandt, I’m your wife. Wherever you go, I go. I’m not going to hear anything else about this,” she said defiantly, her posture stiffening.

This was the Annaliese that Sebastian knew and loved. She was tender but also tough; brilliant, but never tried to upstage anyone. She was beautiful but never flaunted it. She was just perfect.

“Anna, please don’t put me in this position,” he pleaded.

“What position is that? One where you stand up and insist to my mother and uncle that your wife goes with you, that one?” she said sarcastically.

“You know how they feel.”

“I don’t care how they feel. I’m not married to them and you’re not either. Listen, you can’t say that you’ll be safe, nor can you guarantee my safety here. You don’t know how long you’ll be gone. If you go by yourself, your odds of something bad happening increase. With me by your side, we can do anything.”

Sebastian couldn’t help but smile at her. He loved her spunky attitude.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, I just love you so much. You’re amazing. And you’re right, we can do anything together,” Sebastian said as he placed his hand on her face and leaned in to kiss her.

Smiling, she stopped him and said, “So, when are we leaving?”

Nelson finished up helping Eric with a patrol, and was walking up to the house. He was thinking about Samantha and Haley. Samantha was so difficult to talk to lately, and it was clear that Haley needed her mom’s attention. As he walked up to the back deck, he saw that the sliding back door was open. At first he thought nothing of it, but when he walked into the kitchen and saw the can of sardines on the floor and a trail of blood, he knew something was terribly wrong.

“Samantha! Haley!” he called out as he navigated from the kitchen into the living room. There, he ran into the body of the man who had attacked Samantha, a large pool of blood encircling his head. “Samantha! Haley!” he yelled out again.

From the position of the man’s dead body he could tell that he had fallen down the stairs. He ran up the stairs and went directly into Haley’s room. It was empty. Nelson was now in a full panic.

“Samantha! Haley!” he screamed as he bolted out of Haley’s room and down toward Samantha’s room. The bloody hallway directed him toward what he now knew had been a horrible confrontation. As he took the last step and entered the room he prayed that he would find them alive. His prayer was not answered as he found another empty room. “Damn it!” he yelled.

“Where could they be?” he asked out loud. Fear then gripped him as visions of them being taken filled his mind.

He ran as fast as he could out of the room and back down the stairs, over to where the body was lying. He turned the man onto his back, desperate for any clues. The stench of alcohol emanated from every pore on the man’s body. A thorough examination wasn’t needed. The crochet needle sticking out of the man’s head told him cause of death. Nelson checked all the pockets but all he found was a Swiss Army knife and lint. Nothing on the man identified who he was or where he came from.

Frustrated, he took off in a sprint toward Scott’s. The icy cold air filled his lungs. Fear and panic engulfed him. What was he going to do if he couldn’t find them?

He reached Scott’s front door, and before he could knock the door opened.

Scott gestured. “They’re inside.”

Nelson ran in and saw Samantha sitting in the kitchen, being treated by Lucy.

“Oh my God, Sam, you all right?”

Samantha looked weary and beaten, literally. “I’ll live.”

“Where’s Haley?” Nelson asked, concerned.

“She’s in shock. She won’t talk. She’s upstairs,” Samantha said, clearly dazed and in pain.

“Nelson, Nelson!” Haley squealed from the second-story landing that overlooked the kitchen and living room.

Haley ran down the stairs and straight into Nelson’s arms.

Nelson took her and held her tight. “Are you all right?”

“Where were you? We needed you,” she whimpered.

“I’m so sorry, honey. I was with Eric, we had some work to do,” Nelson said, swaying her back and forth.

Samantha felt a tinge of jealousy that her daughter was so receptive to Nelson while being so cold to her own mother. “Nelson, why didn’t you tell me you were gone?” Samantha asked in a chastising tone.

“I… I’m sorry. You’re right. I should have,” he answered. He wanted defend himself, but he knew the timing wasn’t right.

“And why did you leave the back sliding door unlocked?” she scolded him.

“I thought I locked it, but I can’t remember,” he answered.

“Sam, is this a good time for this?” Scott asked.

“We have to make sure this doesn’t happen again!” Samantha said harshly.

“Samantha, I agree with Scott. Let’s stay calm. Yelling at him doesn’t change the fact that the man got in,” Lucy said as she applied antiseptic to the abrasions on her face.

“Lucy, that man just walked in the house. He didn’t break in, he walked in because Nelson left the door unlocked!” Samantha exclaimed.

“Samantha, I’m sorry. I swear I locked it when I left,” Nelson defended himself.

“Well, it wasn’t Haley, and no one else is in our house, so it had to be you, because it wasn’t me!” Samantha now screamed.

“Well, no shit it wasn’t you because you don’t leave the house, not to mention your room, anymore!” Nelson volleyed her intensity. He had enough of being chastised. He knew he locked it and wasn’t going to be lectured. Did he feel bad about what happened? Yes. However, there was a better way to handle the situation.

“What did you say?” Samantha yelled back.

“Samantha, please!” Beth begged.

Samantha turned her attention to Beth and shouted, “This isn’t your business, Beth, stay out!”

“You two need to stop, now!” Lucy said, raising her voice.

Nelson and Samantha continued at each other. Neither heard her over their own voices as both exchanged insults.

“How dare you say that about me!” Samantha exclaimed. She brushed off Lucy and stood up. She marched over to Nelson and attempted to grab Haley.

Haley clung onto Nelson and wouldn’t let go.

“Come here, Haley. Come to Mommy.”

“No. Leave me alone. I want Nelson!” Haley said.

“You come here now!” Samantha yelled at her.

“Leave her alone, Sam, she’s upset,” Nelson reprimanded her.

“You’re not her parent, I am!”

“Then act like one!” Nelson yelled.

“Damn it! Haley, come here now!”

“That’s enough; I’m not having this in my house!” Lucy proclaimed loudly. “There’s a terrified little girl here and you both are acting like the babies. Did something go wrong? Yes, but you’re alive!” Lucy barked.

“I left the door unlocked,” Haley murmured.

“What was that?” Nelson asked her.

“I left it open, I’m sorry. It was my fault. I went down to check on Macintosh. I’m sorry. It’s my fault,” she said, beginning to cry.

“Oh, honey,” Nelson said and gave her a kiss on the head after she buried it in his chest.

Samantha didn’t know what to say or do. Deep down, she knew Nelson was right: She hadn’t been a parent to Haley in the past few weeks. During the search for her son and husband, she had drifted apart from Haley, consumed by the thoughts of the worst-case scenario. After Hunter’s body was brought back, she completely isolated herself. Nelson had filled that void and been supportive to Haley, but she was having a hard time admitting what was so evident to everyone else. Feeling uncomfortable, she walked briskly out of the room and headed for the door.

“Samantha! Don’t leave!” Lucy called out to her.

Samantha’s eyes were filling with tears as she slammed the door behind her. The frigid air felt good against her flushed skin. She started to walk toward her house but stopped when she remembered the man’s body was still there. She turned around and started for the barn. The tears began to come freely as she got farther away from the house. Her body began to tremble and she slipped on a patch of ice, collapsing into the fresh snow. She sobbed and cried. When she rolled onto her back she screamed out, “Where are you? Why did you leave us?”

Gordon couldn’t believe the gift that Gunny had given him—a fully loaded, armored Hummer mounted with an M240 machine gun and a team of Marines to assist him. The road to Crescent was bad in some spots, but the warmer temps that day had helped with opening up large swaths of it. The ninety-one-mile trip took them only five hours, so when they drove into Crescent there was enough daylight to take in the layout of the tiny lumber town. Gordon hoped this girl was still here and could provide him with some critical information.

“Any idea where she might be?” Gordon asked the three Marines in the vehicle.

Lance Corporal Jones answered him. “I talked with her myself, sir. She was staying in a storeroom in the back of a bar.”

“What’s her deal? Why was she staying there?”

“She’s a piece of work. A little rough around the edges. She had walked most of the way from somewhere in California, then managed to find a motorcycle. She was healing up after she laid the bike down just south of Crescent. We found her along the road. At first she didn’t want anything to do with us, but she eventually allowed us to help. We brought her into town and the bar owner gave her a place to shack up till she healed.”

“So how far till we reach the bar?” Gordon asked.

“Actually… we’re right here,” Jones said as he turned left into a gravel parking lot.

“Great. Let’s hope she’s still here,” Gordon said as he exited the Hummer. From the looks of it, the bar might have been a house at one time. According to the Marines, the patron, John Wilkes, had plenty of alcohol and saw no reason to shutter the place. The Mohawk had now become a central meeting place and refuge for the townspeople of Crescent.

Two of the Marines joined him, Jones and Corporal Rubio. The third Marine, Private First Class McCamey, stayed with the vehicle. Gordon, Jones, and Rubio walked up to the front door. A handwritten sign hung on the door read Open for the Apocalypse. Gordon chuckled and walked into the bar. A strong skunky smell mixed with stale smoke filled his nostrils as he entered. Scattered throughout the bar were small dining tables, and in the back, an old wooden bar stretched for twenty feet along the wall with a large mirror above it. Several beer signs and TVs were hung along the walls, their screens dark. To his right were several video games and pinball machines standing just as quiet. Everything in the bar that had hummed, chimed, rang, beeped, or been illuminated was now just a reminder of a day gone by.

The bar was exclusively lit by candles. It reminded Gordon of a restaurant he and Samantha would frequent in San Diego. The memories of his old life that would pop into his head were so odd sometimes. A melancholy feeling crept up in his chest, but was erased when the lance corporal spoke up.

“Right there, sir,” he said, pointing to the bar.

Gordon weaved his way through the small dinette tables to a small brunette woman sitting at the bar with a line of shot glasses in front of her. He strolled up to her and sat down in the chair next to her.

Before he could say a word she blurted out, “What do you fucking want?”

“Ha, that’s a nice greeting,” Gordon answered her.

She picked up a shot glass filled with whiskey and drank it down. Plunking the glass on the bar she said, “Are you here to hit on me or do you want something? I see you brought friends.” She turned and acknowledged the Marines in the room.

“My name is Gordon and—”

“I know you!” she shouted at the lance corporal. “You’re that jarhead that helped me out. Get over here; I’ll buy you a drink.” Her voice showed the telltale signs of being tipsy.

The lance corporal nodded but kept silent.

She then turned and faced Gordon again. “What did you say your name was again?”

“My name is Gordon Van Zandt. I hear you have—”

She again interrupted Gordon. “Wait a minute, I’ve heard of you,” she said, motioning to John to give her another drink.

Gordon leaned forward and put his hand over her shot glass and said, “Before you get too drunk, I have a few questions for you. When I’m done, you can get trashed.”

She looked at Gordon defiantly, then at the two Marines. She was assessing the situation and decided it wasn’t going to work out for her if she struck out at Gordon. “What do you want to know there, stud?”

“How do you know me?”

“My mother told me to be polite. Isn’t that funny coming from a woman who was the rudest bitch you’d ever meet,” she laughed. “Gordon Van Zandt, I’m Lexi Tolanus. Nice to meet you.”