The Long Road

JANUARY 9, 2014

San Diego, CA

The slight breeze felt good on Sebastian’s face. The noise of the wood blinds banging against the windowsill had awakened him. His vision was blurry, so he blinked repeatedly in an attempt to focus. He gazed around the quaintly decorated room. Little tchotchkes adorned the small shelves and tops of all the furniture. Reproductions of well-known oil paintings hung on all the walls. In the air was a faint smell of lavender. When he adjusted himself in the bed, a sharp pain emanated from his right leg. He tossed off the blanket and looked at a tight bandage. He ran his hands across the textured fabric until he found the center of the pain. Exhaling deeply, he tried to recall how he had arrived where he was. He remembered the chopper crash but not much after. An image of a young woman came to him, then flashes of blood, lots of blood. He must have blacked out again after that, because he couldn’t remember anything else. He glanced around the room looking for his clothes but saw nothing. The shorts he had on were not his, and by the way his wound had been treated and the condition of the room, he assumed those who had rescued him were good people.

The door opening startled him. He adjusted himself, preparing to meet whoever had rescued him. The door had slowly creaked open not more than nine inches when a child’s head appeared from around it. The boy saw Sebastian awake and staring at him. Shyly, he tucked his head back. Sebastian could hear unintelligible whispering followed by a woman’s voice.

“You two close that door this minute and get back to your chores.”

The children listened to the unseen woman and scurried away without closing the door.

Sebastian sat farther up in the bed and said, “Hello?”

The door opened fully to reveal the woman; he recognized her face. She was the young blond woman he remembered from the crash site. Now able to see her clearly, he was drawn in by her beauty. She was average height, he guessed around five feet five inches, and slender. Her facial features had a cuteness that he was attracted to. Her long, straight hair was pulled back in a ponytail, revealing her full cheeks, small nose, and pouty lips.

She stepped into the room and said, “You’re awake. How are you feeling?”

“Good, good,” he replied. He felt nervous for a reason he could only assume was his attraction to her.

“Are you hungry?” she asked. She stood at the foot of the bed. She was dressed plainly; a buttoned-up white shirt was tucked into faded jeans.

“Actually, I am.”

“Good, I’ll go get some food,” she said, then turned around.

“Wait, don’t go just yet. I have questions, a lot of questions.”

“Let’s answer your questions after you get fed, okay?”

“Sure, that’s fine.”

Before she left, she approached the bed, put out her hand, and said, “I’m Annaliese.”

Sebastian took her hand and shook it “I’m—”

“Corporal Sebastian Van Zandt. I know,” she answered confidently.

He looked oddly at her, not knowing how she knew his name.

Pointing at his chest, she said, “Your dog tags.”

“Of course.”

“Unless you need something else besides your questions answered, I’ll go and get your food.”

He found her abundance of confidence and maturity attractive. She didn’t look as if she could be any older than twenty-five, but he could tell by their minimal conversation that she was wiser than her peers.

As she stepped toward the door he said, “I know you’ll answer my questions later, but where am I?”

“You’re in Bishop Sorenson’s house.”

“Who’s Bishop Sorenson?”

“He’s my father, and you’ll meet him very soon.”

40 miles east of Barstow, California

“Here, take this,” Gordon said to Hunter, handing him a small .38-caliber revolver.

Hunter looked stunned. He hadn’t expected this when his father pulled him aside to talk.

Gordon and the group had awakened early to start their journey east toward Las Vegas. He strove to stay far away from major cities, but the best improved route took them very close to Vegas. While they were deciding the route, Gordon had spotted Fort Irwin on the map. Thinking they might find something worth value if the base was accessible, he planned to recon it. Nelson disagreed with this approach, thinking they needed to keep heading toward Idaho. Nelson argued that they had plenty of food, water, ammunition, and weapons to make the trip. But Gordon had an ally in Holloway, who helped him outvote Nelson. Making it a point never to leave anything behind of value, he had gone back and stripped his attackers from yesterday.

The handgun he was giving Hunter came from one of those men.

Hunter looked at the gun he was now holding. Even though it was a compact model, it appeared large in his hands. He flipped the gun back and forth, looking nervous. He knew how strict his dad was about gun handling.

“It’s a revolver, so all you have to do is point and squeeze the trigger. If for some reason it doesn’t shoot, squeeze the trigger again,” Gordon instructed him.

“I want a gun like yours,” Hunter said, pointing at Gordon’s holstered handgun.

“Later, once you have more training. Revolvers are simple. If you had to troubleshoot a malfunction with a semiauto, you could get into trouble. For right now, this will do,” Gordon said, tussling Hunter’s hair.

“Thanks, Dad,” Hunter said. He then pointed the gun toward the open desert and closed his left eye. He took aim at an abandoned car and pretended to shoot it.

“Hunter, having this is a big responsibility. Do you understand?”

Nodding, Hunter replied, “Yes.”

Gordon squatted down so he could look his son in the eyes. He grabbed both shoulders and said, “Things are different now; this isn’t the world of almost seven weeks ago. In this world we can’t play games anymore. You’re now a man, and you need to act like one. I need you to truly understand this.”

“I do, Dad.”

“Listen, Son, you need to always look after your little sister. I don’t know what the future holds, but if something happens to me, you become the man of the family. The toys need to be put away. I will be giving you responsibilities within our group, okay?”

“I understand, and I’ll make you proud of me.”

Gordon looked into his son’s eyes. He could remember the day he was born. Hunter was always so alert, even at birth. He wasn’t seconds old and Gordon remembered him looking out of his swaddling clothes with fascination in his eyes. Of course, this was how Gordon remembered it, and a parent’s love for his children always makes them seem more than they might actually be. Gordon brought him in closer and hugged him tightly.

“I love you, Hunter.”

“I love you too, Dad.”

Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado

Cruz placed the receiver down on the phone’s base and stared at it. Thoughts were pulsating so rapidly through his mind that he didn’t move except for the blinking of his eyes and the throbbing of his temple. He was alone in the command post briefing room. Like Conner before him, he hadn’t asked for this job, it was thrust upon him. The events that had led him to this once-coveted position now grew darker and more complex.

All decisions have consequences, and the decisions that Conner had made as president were coming back to haunt him. Conner’s nuclear strikes across the globe had finally come home to roost. First, they were starting to register environmental issues. Higher levels of radiation had been showing up in the rains that fell across the country. The estimates from some were that the blasts from D.C., New York, and now the more than a dozen large nuclear strikes would make global temperatures drop by two degrees centigrade. This could be enough to cause further degradation to any crops that the survivors would be planting. They had stopped global warming with a small nuclear winter.

The second issue Cruz was facing was abandonment by all nations that had previously pledged their support. The last to drop its support was Australia. He had resorted to begging the prime minister, but nothing would work. The overall consensus from the nations not affected by the EMPs was to pull all support to the United States. As if scripted, they all expressed dismay that Conner would unilaterally attack all of those countries with massive nuclear strikes without regard for civilians. Conner had briefed all leaders of state but only after the weapons had reached their targets. He felt he couldn’t trust anyone after New York had been struck.

Cruz’s feelings were mixed; he’d supported Conner’s decision then, especially after the incident with Griswald, but had reservations he hadn’t shared with his old friend. Cruz only now appreciated the pressure that Conner was under. It’s easy to judge and second-guess those in charge, but when the ball stops with you, the responsibility can become overwhelming. The situation the country found itself in now was hard for him to get his arms around. He didn’t know where to start. Conner was gone, most likely dead, but a body hadn’t been found. The limited number of troops they had made a search for him impossible. Cruz believed that Conner had been right about setting up a new capital to show the American people that the country was rebuilding, but he couldn’t decide if he should do it now or wait to find out the true fate of the president.

Everything was a mess, but he had found good counsel in the new secretary of defense, General Samuel Baxter, the commanding officer of Cheyenne Mountain. Baxter was the typical career officer. He was a graduate of the Air Force Academy, smart, quick-witted, and honest in his assessments. This honesty had cost him some positions. The command of Cheyenne Mountain was actually considered a demotion for him. Since the end of the Cold War, Cheyenne Mountain had been considered a relic that still received funding only because some of the “old dogs” in Washington insisted. Now it was the de facto capital of the United States and sanctuary for what was left of the centralized command and control.

Picking up the phone again, Cruz dialed and sat patiently waiting for the person on the other end to answer.

“General, I need you and the rest of the staff to report to the briefing room ASAP.”

Cruz relaxed into the leather chair and looked at the walls. He spun around and faced a map of the United States, staring at the red lines drawn around parts of the country. These lines represented areas now considered contaminated. The red lines on the right side of the map connected and overlapped. From east of the Mississippi, many regions fell into contaminated areas. With the two nuclear strikes and dozens of meltdowns from Florida to New Hampshire, this part of the country was now being considered a total loss.

To the right of the map hung a large dry-erase board. On it were more than fifty evenly spaced columns, each with a total at the bottom. The number Cruz could not tear his gaze from was the one circled on the far right bottom: 13,152,891. That number was too impossible to believe. After almost seven weeks, they estimated that more than 13 million Americans were dead. The initial day had killed hundreds of thousands, then those in need of urgent medical care had followed in the tens of thousands over the next few days. Civil unrest took thousands more in the first days. Starvation began to take those weak, young, and old by more tens of thousands. If they didn’t have the SIPRNet, they wouldn’t have been able to communicate with anyone outside Cheyenne Mountain.

The news was sobering, but information was critical. With each relay from those outside, the picture came to seem insurmountable. There were large riots, murders, mass executions, starvation, rapes, and total chaos in the bigger cities. If that wasn’t enough, the nuclear plants began to melt down, causing mass radiation sickness. This was followed by the nuclear strike on New York, which killed millions. They truly didn’t know how many were dead; the numbers were just good guesses. But judging by what they saw on some of their patrols and from reports across the country, they were probably right.

Some of the latest troubling news concerned the sighting of mass migrations out of the East. Hundreds of thousands were heading west. Some word must have spread that the government planned to focus the recovery efforts in the West first. The densely populated Eastern Seaboard had turned into a bloody grinder. Streets were covered by starving bands of people fighting for what few scraps of food they could find. Murder was now commonplace. Strewn along with the trash were bodies of those who had either been killed or starved to death. The stench on many streets in the big cities was unbearable. Even if no one had told them to leave, many knew the cities were now death traps and if they had a chance for survival it was not to be found there. Many saw the West as wide open and rich with natural resources.

Cruz knew these mass migrations were going to cause problems for his government. With no support coming now from their former allies, he needed to make a plan for their survival.

The door opened and General Baxter stepped in with purpose. He was a man who always walked around looking like he had somewhere to go. He had a stack of binders tucked under his arm. The other staff, including Dylan, followed.

“Good morning, General, everyone,” Cruz said after turning around and facing the front of the room. He motioned for Baxter to take a seat next to him.

“Thank you, sir,” Baxter said, sitting down and spreading the binders in front of him.

“I called you because I just got off the phone with the Australian prime minister and the news isn’t good.”

“Okay,” Baxter said, anxiously awaiting the news.

Everyone else suspected what Cruz would say, but they were just as anxious as the general.

“They have dropped all support for us, citing the Christmas strikes.”

“I think we kinda saw that coming, didn’t we?” Baxter replied.

“Yes, we did. So we need to lay out a plan for reconstruction that doesn’t include support from anyone. Let’s go over everything. I need to get it all straight in my head,” Cruz said, looking exhausted.

Baxter opened up the first binder and said, “Sir, there isn’t much we can do in the East. I think we need to pull our assets out. My recommendations are to have both groups get as many troops as possible from those bases there and then set sail for the West Coast. There we can start to redeploy those assets to our new capital.”

“You have my attention; go ahead,” Cruz said, sitting back in his chair.

“I know we touched on this briefly yesterday; but we need to just abandon any efforts back east. Look at the map behind you, sir. It’s a loss. With everything that has happened back there and with what limited assets we have, we really can’t do anything for those people. We need to set up a new capital, work on repairing our relations with our allies, and then after we get our own infrastructure back up, we can start to think about anything back east.”

“That’s it, just abandon it? General, you sound like that rogue colonel,” Cruz said sarcastically.

“Mr. Vice President, when you asked me to be the secretary of defense, you told me to be honest, and sir, I’m being honest. I don’t agree with the colonel; however, I can’t help it if we share some beliefs. In the end it is your decision. If you want us to stay back east and continue to salvage what we can, then I’m with you. If you don’t, then I’m with you. I’m a loyal soldier,” Baxter said defensively.

“Sorry, General, it’s just that what you’re suggesting is unthinkable in some ways.”

“But necessary, sir. If we are to help them, anyone, we must help ourselves first. Especially with the loss of resupply and equipment from our allies, it’s just impossible. We need to target and focus what we do have to make sure we have a government.”

Cruz looked at all present and asked for a yea or nay on the topic of abandoning the East Coast.

Remembering the incident with Griswald, many looked around the room for affirmation before they answered. One by one, each person agreed with Baxter. Taking this all in, Cruz came to a decision.

“General, give our troops back east the command to evacuate all bases and to coordinate with the command elements of both groups. Let’s get those men and women to the West Coast.”

Baxter just nodded his acknowledgment of the new order. He then stood and approached the map. Taking a green marker, he started to draw a line down the map. Beginning on the border of North Dakota and Minnesota, he moved down South Dakota to Nebraska; he then cut off the eastern part of Nebraska and went straight down to the border of Oklahoma and Texas, then took his marker west all the way to Nevada, then north along the Nevada-California border to Oregon and back west to the ocean. Then he turned and said, “Mr. Vice President, the area I just outlined is the area we need to secure, protect, and consider the new United States.”

Some cross talk began after Baxter made his declaration . Cruz hushed the group and said to the general, “I see the red areas, so I know why you’re marking this territory.”

“The contamination from all the meltdowns is too much for us to deal with. It would be an impossible task if we had everything at our disposal. It’s just too much to overcome. These are the new boundaries that I propose we defend. We need to contact the governors of these states to inform them that we aim to take care of them. We need them to put what assets they can along their borders to stop others from migrating into their states. Not all of the migrants will make it, but a majority will, and the sheer numbers will overwhelm them.” Baxter spoke while pointing at the states that bordered the red-outlined states to the east.

Others at the table began to whisper to each other. Cruz sat looking at the map. He stared for what seemed like minutes; then he spoke.

“Okay, General, I agree with you on what boundaries we need to defend. However, I will not abandon Americans who seek sanctuary. This is their country, and we will do what we can for them. Inform the governors to establish tent cities, if they can, of course, and to supply what they can as far as food or water for these areas. What we will need to do is get those two naval groups to the West Coast as soon as possible. When they arrive we will set up a tight perimeter around Portland. We then will start building up the new capital, but we will have to make it secure, so we will limit access. That is as far as I will go in restricting Americans’ free access. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Baxter replied.

“What is the update on reinforcements?”

“Arriving late today, sir.”

“Good, get them here, fed and outfitted. We need to send several teams back out to look for Conner,” Cruz said as he stood.

“Sir, we have made several attempts and you know the results,” Baxter reminded Cruz.

“I’m quite aware of the difficulties. Until we know for sure the president’s fate, I will assume he’s alive.”

“Yes, sir,” Baxter answered; he knew debating with Cruz was hopeless. If Conner was still alive and they could bring him back, that would give people hope.

Cruz rose and walked to the map. He stood looking at the line that created a new border for his country.

“I noticed you bypassed Texas and California,” Cruz stated.

“Yes, sir. The Texas legislature was able to get a quorum, and their decision was to exercise what they believe is their right to leave the union. I spoke with the Texas governor early this morning, and they overwhelmingly decided to break away. They acknowledged this might cause some issues with us but felt they could handle the situation themselves. They will work on a draft agreement that formalizes a treaty with the U.S. and get it to me soon,”

“Unbelievable. That quickly they decided to jump ship,” Cruz said.

“You know those Texans. They’ve always had an independent streak in them,” Baxter joked.

“As far as California goes, I disagree with you; we can’t let her go. California is rich in natural resources. I see the red lines designating the hot spots, but the state is big. I want California under our wing. Anything new from Sacramento?”

“Nothing new since we talked with the governor two days ago. The legislature there is in disarray. The civil unrest has been crippling for them at the capital and all around the state. They are having issues with the militarization of the drug cartels in the southern part of the state. That group called the Villistas has secured many strategic parts of San Diego County and shows no signs of stopping. Our rogue colonel helped us a bit out there.”

“How’s that?” Cruz said, sitting back down and looking interested. He hadn’t heard about Colonel Barone in a while.

“It appears his ARG attacked many of the Villistas’ positions throughout the county. While this set them back, the cartel is a threat we will eventually have to deal with.”

“Well, bravo, Colonel. As far as he goes, though, we can’t deal with him right now. We have bigger fish to fry. Fortunately for us, most of our armed forces have stuck with us.”

“Agreed, sir, we need to allocate our resources to getting our infrastructure back up.”

Raising his hand, Dylan asked, “Excuse me, Mr. Vice President, but can we go back to the map?”

“Sure, what’s on your mind?” Cruz asked.

“Sir, I agree, we need to ‘allocate,’ in the word the general used, to areas where we have to get our infrastructure back up, but I don’t think we should be announcing any type of abandonment of the East, at least formally. We should put a happy face on everything and do what we can when we can back there. While I agree the East has troubles, it still has many things we can use. I suggest we don’t signal our hand to the world that we’re giving up.”

Dylan’s statement was heartfelt and prudent, and all in the room were quiet. Cruz sat and looked at his adviser. He rocked back in his chair a few times before directly answering him. “You know, Dylan, you’re right. We can’t go on record as having ‘abandoned’ the East. What we should do is inform those governors in the border states that they need to be prepared for many refugees from the other states and that we’ll support them in those efforts. If we make a formal announcement, it will cause more problems for those states than they can handle. We will go back and start rebuilding later, but for now let’s just focus on Portland and build out from there.”

Baxter nodded his approval of Cruz’s comments.

“Now let’s cover a time line for Portland,” Cruz said, looking at Baxter.

The general opened another binder, but just before he could begin talking about the contents, a knock on the door disturbed them.

The door opened, and a young officer stepped in and walked to Baxter. He bent over and whispered into his ear. The look on Baxter’s face told everyone that the news was shocking.

“Thank you,” Baxter told the officer. The man briskly left the room.

As soon as the door closed, Cruz asked, “So, General, what’s the scoop?”

“Good news, sir. The special ops team we sent out to find President Conner has come back. They just cleared the main gates and will be in a debriefing room soon.”

“Well, anything?” Cruz asked, excited.

“Sir, I suggest we end this meeting and go meet them now,” Baxter said, closing his binder.

“What else do you know, General?” Cruz asked, feeling that Baxter was holding something back.

“Sir, it would be better if we discussed this in a more private setting.”

“Private? You and everyone else here are my most trusted advisers, we don’t need privacy. What else do you know?” Cruz exclaimed.

“The team found President Conner…”

“Really? That’s good news,” Cruz said, jumping out of his chair and making his way toward the door.

“Mr. Vice President. Mr. Vice President, please stop!” Baxter said loudly.

“I have to go see him. How is he?”

“Sir, you didn’t let me finish,” Baxter said in a pleading tone.

A cold chill came over Cruz as he stopped and turned to face Baxter and said, “Go ahead.”

“Sir, they found a body.”

San Diego, California

“That was one of the best lunches I’ve ever had. How do you prepare beef Stroganoff in these conditions?” Sebastian asked after wiping his face and mouth with a paper towel.

“Freeze-dried,” Annaliese said, picking up the tray from his bed.

“Freeze-dried?”

“Yes, now if you’re up to it, my father wants to talk with you.”

“Uh, sure,”

“Good, I’ll be right back,” Annaliese said as she walked out of the room with the tray.

She left the door open, giving Sebastian the ability to hear murmurs down the hall. He couldn’t quite make out what the people were saying, but it didn’t make much difference as within moments of her departure a man stepped into the room. He was tall, white-haired, clean-shaven, handsome. If Sebastian was to guess, he’d say he was in his midsixties. The man walked to the chair that sat next to the window. He grabbed it and positioned it closer to the side of the bed. Sebastian just stared nervously at him. After the man sat down, he smoothed out his trousers and crossed his legs. Placing his hands on his knee, he cleared his throat and looked at Sebastian.

“Hello, sir,” Sebastian greeted the man.

“Hello, Corporal Van Zandt,” the man said.

“I want to thank you for rescuing me from the chopper and taking—”

“No need to thank us, it’s what we do,” the man interrupted.

“Okay,” Sebastian said and then shut up. He didn’t know what to say. The man made him feel apprehensive.

“Corporal, we have some questions for you, so I’ll just begin. We have had someone out near the crash site since the helicopter went down, but no rescue team has come for you, why?”

“Uh, well; that’s a tricky one,” Sebastian said, sitting up farther.

“Go ahead.”

Sebastian paused for a moment. His instinct was to be open and honest, but doing so could jeopardize his recovery. Sebastian’s recent experiences with “being honest” had put him where he was now. He looked at the man sitting next to him. He was dressed in jeans and a buttoned-up collared shirt. His clothes were clean, but his jeans showed the stains of work. Sebastian studied his hands and saw that they too showed the marks of labor. His knuckles looked rough, and some fresh scratches were visible. At one time this man had worked behind a desk, but now he used his hands. Sebastian didn’t quite know which direction to go in, but his instincts won over and he opened up. “I don’t think you’ll see a rescue team. They probably just assume that if the bird went down we were all killed. I mean, who the hell survives a chopper crash?”

“Well, you did, God willing. Unfortunately, your comrades all perished,” the man said, confirming the outcome of everyone else on the chopper.

“You see, the unit I was with is not your run-of-the-mill group of Marines.” Sebastian paused; he didn’t know how to put it.

“Go ahead, Corporal, I’m all ears.”

“The unit I was with mutinied and took control of the ship I was on. I was being dropped off because I didn’t agree with what they were doing. They don’t plan on helping anyone here. They were just dropping people like me off and picking up others who wish to join them. I couldn’t in good conscience follow along.” Sebastian quickly spat the words out.

“Interesting. Well, I am impressed to hear that you’re a principled man. We might be able to use someone like you here, and with your skills you might be useful.”

“Excuse me, but after I’m healed up I need to go find my brother and his family.”

“Where is your brother?”

“Not far from where we crashed, maybe five miles. He lives near the Carmel Valley area.”

“Well, Corporal—”

“Please call me Sebastian. I’m no longer a Marine. I was discharged, so to speak, yesterday,” Sebastian interrupted.

“Well, Sebastian. You broke your leg badly. You’re not going anywhere anytime soon,” the man said, pointing at his leg.

“Who are you?”

“Sorry, very rude of me. I’m Bishop Sorenson,” the man said, reaching out a hand to Sebastian.

Taking his hand and shaking it firmly, Sebastian asked, “Bishop of what?”

“I’m bishop of the Encinitas First Ward of the Church of Latter-day Saints.”

“Why am I here?”

“We saw your helicopter crash, and knowing it was military, we went to your aid.

“That’s it, nothing more,” Sorenson said flatly.

“Like I said before, not much we or the Marines can offer. My old unit probably already left.”

“Where were they going?”

“I heard they were headed to Oregon.”

Sorenson just sat for an uncomfortable period of time before he said anything else. Sebastian didn’t know how to size him up. He seemed like a pleasant enough man, but Sebastian just wasn’t sure.

“I’ll let you get back to resting, you need it,” Sorenson said, standing up and putting the chair back.

“Wait, um. Can someone go see if my brother is okay? Can you send someone to get them, maybe? He’s a good man, he has the same skills I have, and if I know my brother, he’ll have supplies and his family will be an asset,” Sebastian hurriedly said.

“We have enough supplies and more than enough people at the moment, but I will consider it. Right now you need to rest and we need to continue our preparations.”

“Preparations for what?”

“We’re leaving, Sebastian. San Diego is not a safe place and it’s now time to go home.”

“Where’s that?” Sebastian asked curiously.

“Zion.”

40 miles east of Barstow, California

Per Nelson’s request, the group had gathered to discuss Gordon’s plan to scavenge near Fort Irwin. Nelson felt the plan was shortsighted and unnecessary. Huddled in a circle, minus Holloway, who was on lookout, the group discussed the new plan. For protection they had tucked the convoy behind a small mountain a couple miles off of Interstate 15. Each person in the group showed the weariness of the previous seven weeks. The weight of the struggle had affected them all in similar ways. Collectively they wanted to get to Idaho, but they also trusted Gordon.

When Gordon had heard about the meeting, his initial reaction was frustration. He hated having to explain himself to everyone. Not really having a choice in the matter, he would do his best to convince them. But in the end, even if they decided against it, he was going.

“By now you know why we’ve been sitting in the desert for hours,” Nelson stated as he started the discussion. “I thought everyone should have a voice in Gordon’s plans as they affect us all.” Nelson turned to Gordon, who was not sitting; he stood with his arms crossed. “Gordon, I’m sorry, but I disagree with this plan. It’s important for us to keep heading north. I think we have enough supplies, and the more time we’re on the open road the greater the chance we have of being attacked. Yesterday was an example.”

Unfolding his arms and pointing at Nelson, Gordon answered, “I appreciate a good debate, so thank you, Nelson, for bringing everyone together. Before I get started on why I think it’s important for me and Holloway to go scavenge the nearby base, I wanted to remind everyone of something.” Gordon paused and looked around. “We have gotten this far because we have the resources and the skills. Yes, while it seems we have a lot of supplies now, they will eventually dry up. The troubles we encountered on the road yesterday are something we may well encounter again. Plus, think about this. Once we arrive in Idaho and settle down, we will most likely have to defend ourselves from raiding parties. We will need not just food but lots of ammunition and heavier firepower. Yesterday that .fifty-cal saved us. We need more weapons like that and more ammunition for them. This base might have those things.” Gordon paused again and pointed in the direction of Fort Irwin.

Melissa, who was normally quiet, spoke up. “Gordon, I trust you, but I have to agree with Nelson here. Let’s just get going. I feel very vulnerable on the road. I want to get to Idaho so we can get our life going.”

Following on Melissa’s comment was Eric. “Sorry, Gordon, but I agree. You know I always have your back, but let’s not stop, let’s keep going.”

More in the group spoke up, and all agreed with Nelson.

“Okay, I hear you!” Gordon exclaimed, clearly flabbergasted by the opposition to his plan. “Does anyone agree with me?” he asked, looking around. What surprised him most was that Samantha didn’t raise her hand; in fact no one did.

“Honey, sorry. Yesterday proved to me that we need to keep driving,” Samantha replied to Gordon’s hard stare.

Everyone in the group felt the awkwardness, and all fell silent.

Gordon just looked at each person; even Holloway’s wife was opposed. He couldn’t believe it. He didn’t know how to deal with this situation. Everyone’s comments were against the plan, but no one told him he couldn’t do it. He struggled with how to respond. His thoughts were conflicted because he felt the need to go but knew the importance of having a connected and cohesive group. The seconds passed like hours as everyone remained quiet, waiting for Gordon to respond.

“Dad’s right,” Hunter spoke up.

All in the group turned to see Hunter standing on the edge of the group near his trailer. He looked different now; it wasn’t his clothes, but his demeanor was different.

He took a step forward into the circle and repeated his comment. “Dad’s right, we will need bigger guns to defend ourselves.”

Gordon was taken aback by his son’s forcefulness. He was proud and shaken. He had never seem Hunter act like this; it was if he had morphed into a small man.

“Thank you, Son,” Gordon said, looking at Hunter proudly.

Hunter just nodded and stepped over to Gordon’s side.

“Everyone, I heard you and I agree, we need to keep pressing forward, but we also have to get those things we’ll need to protect us. Here is what we will do. Holloway and I will set out in a few hours to recon the base. We will return in the morning. Upon our return we will head north again. It’s starting to get dark, and you know we don’t move in the darkness. I hope this satisfies everyone; look at it as a win-win.”

There was some slight cross chatter, and then everyone agreed to the plan. One by one they all got up and went back to their vehicles until only Samantha, Hunter, and Gordon were left.

Samantha walked over to Hunter; she looked at him, then looked at Gordon. “What is this?” she asked, pointing at the revolver holstered on Hunter’s hip.

“I gave it to him this morning, he needs it. If he’d had it yesterday, things would have been different,” Gordon responded.

“He’s a boy, Gordon! Have you even showed him how to shoot it?”

“I know how to shoot it, Mom. I’m a man now,” Hunter interjected.

“No you’re not, you’re still a boy, you only just turned eight and your father is crazy for giving this to you!” Samantha replied.

“Now I’m crazy! The world is crazy, Sam, and you better get used to this because he needs to protect himself and Haley. You know better than me, this isn’t the world of birthday parties and Disney Junior. He knows how to use it and knows not to treat it like a toy,” Gordon answered her defensively.

“If you weren’t constantly going off leaving us, maybe he wouldn’t need it! I can’t believe you’re taking off to go to that base. What if something happens to you? We need you here!”

Gordon didn’t answer because he didn’t know how to without upsetting her. He just stood there staring at her.

“Never mind; you’re too stubborn and always have been!” Samantha exclaimed. She stormed off.

“Dad, can I go with you and Mr. Holloway?”

“Absolutely not. I need you here in my place while I’m gone,” Gordon said, looking down on his son.

“Please, I can help,” Hunter pleaded.

“No way, I need you here; plus your mother would skin me alive,” Gordon said lightheartedly. He tussled his son’s hair and finished by saying, “Let’s go eat, we all have a big night ahead of us.”

Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado

Julia’s heart was pounding hard in her chest. She felt almost faint after hearing the news that one of the search teams had returned and had information about Brad.

When she awoke that morning she’d been greeted with her first bout of morning sickness. She had laughed to herself earlier that all the discomforts of pregnancy are wiped from your memory after you have a baby. The nausea she was experiencing was not unlike her first time, almost twenty years before. After spending most of her morning lying down, she remembered how much she disliked the pregnancy part. She recalled the conversations with her mommy friends then and how she’d said, “Never again.” Her pregnancy with Bobby had been tough for her; the first trimester had been one day after another of horrible nausea and a total feeling of malaise. The second trimester gave her some reprieve, but it soon was replaced with constant back pain and overall discomfort.

One other thing she lost during pregnancy was the concern for what others thought of her. She quickly put on a robe, pulled her hair back, slipped on her slippers, and exited her room. The vacant hallways would soon welcome more men and women from bases around the country, and she looked forward to it. The base itself could handle thousands more. It was currently understaffed at less than a thousand, which was only 5 percent of capacity. Brad had often told her how wasteful the government was with its money, but now she was happy they spent lavishly. She was now the beneficiary of that government spending.

She didn’t know what to expect when she reached the briefing room door. When she touched the door handle, she said a little prayer and took a deep breath, then opened the door. Sitting around a small table in this stale gray room were Cruz, Dylan, Baxter, and two men she’d never seen before. They were young men; stubble and dirt covered their faces.

It was apparent to her that these men had just arrived. They hadn’t even been given the chance to take a shower. The one man she was hoping to see when she opened the door was not sitting there. The expression on each person’s face told her the answer to a question she had been asking since she first heard of Brad’s disappearance.

“Hi, Julia, please sit down,” Cruz said in a relaxed tone. He stood and pulled out a chair next to his.

She just stared at them all and said, “No, no. This is how you do it? This is how you tell me? You bring me down here? I thought that you wouldn’t be so cruel. I thought that when you wanted me to come down here it was good news because no one with a heart would bring someone down to a dark, small room to be told her husband is dead.”

“Please sit,” Cruz said again. He stepped toward her, but she recoiled.

“How dare you, Andrew? If you wanted to tell me my husband was dead, you should have come to my room!” Julia said loudly, tears starting to well up in her eyes.

“Mrs. Conner, we don’t know if the president is dead,” Baxter blurted out.

Cruz snapped his head in the general’s direction in surprise.

“What do you mean, General?” Julia said. Her hands were shaking as she dabbed the tears around her eyes.

“These two men here found what they think was his body, but they didn’t bring anything back with them to verify it was his.”

“Yes, ma’am, we found several charred bodies,” one of the special operations men said, but Julia interrupted him.

“So why do you think he was one of them?” she asked, then slowly walked to the chair and sat down. The combination of the pregnancy and the stressful news made her feel weak.

“Ma’am, we discovered a pile of clothes in the same room, and this was in the jacket pocket,” the man said, tossing a wallet on the table.

Julia recognized it as Brad’s. She grabbed it and opened it just to make sure.

“We examined the corpses, but it was impossible to ID any of them. That was all we could get before we were forced to vacate the area under threat of force,” one of the men said, pointing to the wallet in Julia’s hands.

Taking a series of deep breaths to calm herself, Julia felt relieved by the news in some way. The wallet only proved he had been there, it didn’t prove that one of the bodies was his.

“So what happens next, gentlemen? We send more teams back in?”

“This is something else we needed to talk with you about,” Cruz said as he sat back down.

Not letting Cruz finish, Baxter interjected, “Yes, we send more teams.”

Cruz again craned his head in Baxter’s direction; this was the second time he’d just blurted out something.

“Actually…”

“Actually, what, Andrew?” Julia asked.

“What I’m going to say is that we are beefing up the searches while simultaneously we will start executing the president’s plan of setting up the government in Portland.”

“And we’ll have the manpower to do both?” Julia asked, looking a bit concerned that the search for Brad could be jeopardized by going to Portland.

“Julia, Brad would want it this way. We need to start executing his plan for Portland. We have the manpower and will continue looking for him while I go to Portland and get the government established there for his return.”

Julia looked deeply into Cruz’s eyes, then brought her attention to Baxter. She was seeking to be reassured. She understood what Cruz was doing and knew that what he said about Brad wanting him to move forward with the Portland plan was correct.

“Who will be in charge of Brad’s search party?”

“Mrs. Conner, I will be in charge here and in overseeing the operation for the president,” Baxter said.

“Good. I’m glad to hear that the search will continue and that Brad’s plans are still going forward. You are right, Andrew, he would want that. Now, if there is nothing more, I will excuse myself. I don’t feel all that well,” she said. She then slowly lifted herself from her chair. Cruz stood quickly and assisted her.

After the door closed behind her, she felt the tears coming. She dabbed her eyes again and began her walk back to her room. She walked slowly and deliberately through the hallways, stopping frequently to take breaks. She started to experience cramping in her lower abdomen, so painful that it took her breath away. Grimacing in pain, she felt a sensation of vertigo. She attempted to steady herself by placing both hands on the wall, but the vertigo and the light-headedness that followed were too much to bear. She looked down the hall hoping to see someone, but, as usual, the hall was vacant. The vertigo intensified in tandem with the pain. She tried to take a step, but her legs gave out and she collapsed to the floor with a thud, unconscious.

Tijuana, Mexico

The exhaust from the trucks was too much for Pablo. He handed the clipboard to a man next to him and left the warehouse. The cool night air felt good. He looked up at the stars and was impressed how bright they were now that the city lights were not there to mask them. He thought of the days his father would take him to Loreto Bay. They’d lie on the beach at night and his father would show him all the constellations. Those years were innocent for him; he knew nothing about what his father or family did.

His father hadn’t always been a cartel boss, but he had been involved in crime from a young age. His father grew up like many in Mexico, in a poor but proud family. His grandfather worked one labor job after another. Lacking a real education or any connections, which are important in Mexico, he never could get a job that could elevate him or his family. Alfredo was smart and wise at even a young age and saw his father’s failings. He swore to himself that he would never be poor; he would rise out of the squalor of poverty. This opportunity presented itself when a thug not much older than Alfredo at the time needed someone to “run” something. Alfredo never looked back, and within two years he had his own runners. Heroin was the drug of choice, and the buyers were mainly American. Alfredo’s operation grew beyond drugs and into smuggling anything that could make money. He soon became the go-to person for anything in Tijuana.

He leveraged this distinction to connect with the right people. He found that the politicians, celebrities, and big business types were not unlike anyone else. They had their fetishes, desires, and needs. Alfredo built his business by being the man who could get it for them. Within six years, he ran the largest cartel in Baja California. This level of success didn’t come without incident, but he proved to be resilient. By the time he was lying on the beach with his young son, Pablo, in Loreto Bay, he had grown to be one of the top cartel heads in all of Mexico. Within twenty years he was one of the richest and most powerful men in the country.

He did what he could to keep his children out of the business, but Pablo was persistent, so Alfredo made him a deal. Finish college, and then, if you want to go into the “business,” it’s yours. Pablo graduated from Harvard with honors, and while his father was celebrating his son’s achievement, Pablo pulled him aside and told him that he wanted in. Alfredo’s cartel ran like a multinational corporation, with Pablo his chief operating officer. Pablo oversaw a lot of the operations from the ground and reported directly to Alfredo. When the lights went out, everything changed. No longer were cocaine and marijuana the cash crops. Food, water, and energy were now prized possessions and commodities.

Mexico City had been untouched by the North American EMP; however, the northern half of Mexico was not so lucky. The Mexican government was doing all it could to support the north, but getting needed supplies to the people was impossible. Convoys of food, water, and equipment heading north along the western coast soon found their way into Alfredo’s warehouses in Baja. Alfredo saw the new marketplace, but Pablo’s plans were bigger, much bigger.

Pablo spun around, finding every constellation he knew. He then wondered if his heroes throughout history had stared into the starry sky like he did. His thoughts then shifted quickly to visions of empire. Schooling had taught him about the greatest leaders in history. Alexander, Caesar, Peter the Great, Napoleon, Charlemagne, these men had become his heroes. They had created true legacies, and he wanted that kind of power the way his father had wanted to achieve wealth. Pablo longed for a place alongside those men. This desire had been dreams and fantasies, but now the world had been shaken like a large snow globe and all the flakes were still floating in the air. If he executed his plan correctly, he could be among those revered names in history. The only thing that stood in his way was his father.

He pulled a small cigar out of his jacket pocket and lit it. The glow of the flame lit his face, showing a serious expression. As he watched the flame dance off of the tip of the cigar, he thought of his next steps in this game. He needed to get back north again and regroup his men. This time, though, he would do things differently; he needed some support. As he took a long drag, the cigar’s tip illuminated his smiling face. He knew who he’d call. His father’s influence had reached across countries and continents. His next call would be to a family friend in Caracas. This friend could get him what he needed: an army.