You can never plan the future by the past.
—Edmund Burke
Salem, Oregon
The Pioneer statue atop the Oregon Capitol looked out upon the city of Salem. It represented the pioneering spirit that had created the great state. For Barone it signified a time that was long gone, until now. He and his men were the new pioneers. Like he had told his men several times, their days of being subjects to the political class were over.
A smile cracked his rugged and typically stoic face. He liked the new world they were living in. There was opportunity if one seized it, and that was exactly what he was doing.
Smoke billowed out of the many windows and doors of the building. The dark soot stained the white sandstone walls of the impressive three-hundred-plus-foot structure. Barone stood outside watching his men gather up what legislature there was left. Those who resisted were shot; those who obeyed were sequestered in the upper chamber. He would interrogate them one by one to find where everything of value was.
His original plan in coming to Salem had been to pay a visit to an old adversary and see if the city would be a good place to establish his government. But upon landing and hearing that more Marines were coming, he knew his days there were numbered. “Adapt and overcome” was one of Barone’s mantras, and whenever situations occurred, one needed to adapt or die. He had always adapted, so without much thought he changed his plan regardless of how it would go down. When his Marines landed and instructions were given, local law enforcement and the few Oregon National Guard troops could do little against his superior numbers and firepower.
Changed was his plan to take the city. Flying over Salem, Barone saw it was too large for him to provide adequate support for the population. He would lose too many precious resources in an attempt to satiate the local civilians. His plan shifted to sacking and plundering what he could from the government stores.
With the Capitol secure, he could now have the conversation he had been wanting to have with the governor.
Barone thought the appropriate place to have this “meeting” was the governor’s ceremonial office. The colonel would forever cherish the look on Pelsom’s face when he saw it was him there.
Barone settled into the large leather chair behind the oak desk. He kicked his feet up and relaxed while he waited for his men to bring the governor in.
The large solid alder door creaked as it opened to show the man who had at one time pledged to end Barone’s career.
When Pelsom had been a U.S. senator, he had maneuvered himself to chair several powerful committees, one of them being the Armed Services Committee. This was where Barone had met Pelsom. He was a thin man who didn’t stand taller than five feet five inches, and had thick, curly brown hair. His high-pitched, nasal voice was consistent with his small frame.
Barone remembered the day, almost ten years ago, when he first saw Pelsom. It had been a beautiful spring day in Washington. Cherry blossoms adorned the trees along his walk toward the Dirksen Senate Office Building. The pundits were already saying that Barone would be the fall guy for what had happened in Iraq. Pelsom had personally declared that Barone should take full responsibility for what his Marines had done. Barone knew how to cope with stress, but what he called a political witch hunt forever seared in him a hatred for the political class.
“Senator, oh, I’m sorry, Governor Pelsom. It’s a pleasure to see you again. Sorry we couldn’t catch up yesterday,” Barone said sarcastically.
“When the president finds out what—”
“I’ve already spoken with the president. I talked to him weeks ago. Let’s just say that we’re no longer on speaking terms,” Barone quipped. He took his feet off the desk and stood up. “Sit him right there,” he ordered his Marines.
Pelsom looked smaller than he remembered.
“What do you want, Colonel?”
“That is a good question.” Barone continued with his mocking.
“Let my staff go; don’t hurt them.”
“I don’t plan on hurting anyone unless they fight back. I have given very loose rules of engagement to my Marines. Please share that with your people when you go back to your holding area.”
“Just tell me what you want and then leave.”
“Senator, you’re being very accommodating. Thank you. I want to know the locations of every emergency storage facility in the city and around the state.”
“You can’t take all of our emergency stores; the people need them.”
“My people need them too. We have the guns, and so we will take what we need,” Barone said as he walked around the large office. On the walls hung beautifully framed awards and certificates. He stopped and looked at each one as he talked.
“Why are you doing this? Don’t you love your country anymore? Why would you steal ships, attack U.S. military bases . . . kill Americans?”
“Because we have time, I will explain why, even though I don’t think you deserve the answer. When the attacks happened, I was serving my country in Afghanistan. On my third tour in nine years, mind you. When word came down that our country had been attacked, like many I was shocked, then angered. We were then given orders to float to the East Coast and support a recovery effort around D.C. Can you believe that? A recovery effort. It’s as if the leadership was treating the attack like a hurricane or some sort of natural disaster cleanup.
“I wasn’t about to take orders that would result in more death, so I did what I thought best. I seized the ships and turned them around. What happened on Diego Garcia was out of my control; we had no intention of hurting anyone, but we will defend ourselves if we are attacked. I know this all doesn’t mean a thing to you, because you have lived a life of privilege. You bring in millions a year because of your influence as a politician. Heck, you went into politics an accountant making thirty-six K a year, and now you’re a multimillionaire, or I should say were. Did you earn that? No, you peddled influence and sold your vote to the highest bidder—”
“That is a lie!” Pelsom fired back.
“Hmm, a lie? I think not. I know you politicians. You like to say you’re in ‘public service.’ Since when did public service include getting rich? You whore yourself out and sell your votes, then buy votes to get elected by giving away welfare and freebies. It’s a vicious and corrupt system whose day has come and gone.”
“I have faithfully and honestly—” Pelsom said quickly, before he was interrupted.
Barone marched across the room and grabbed him by the throat. “Shut the fuck up! What is it you’d say? ‘You’re out of order’?”
Barone towered over Pelsom like a father does a child. He squeezed his hand tighter around the smaller man’s neck until Pelsom began to squirm and yelp with pain.
“Raymond, you’re going to tell me where every single warehouse and storage facility is located or I will slowly torture you and all of your people.”
Pelsom, gripped with fear, started to nod.
“Good, I’m glad we agree on something,” Barone said, then let him go.
Coughing and hacking, Pelsom bent over to let the blood flow back into his head. He felt dizzy and foggy. Barone’s grip had almost caused him to black out.
Stepping away from Pelsom, Barone began to search the desk drawers for a pad of paper and pen.
“There’s nothing in this desk,” he said, frustrated.
“This is my ceremonial office; nothing is kept in here,” Pelsom answered, still rubbing his neck.
“Lance Corporal, get in here!” Barone hollered.
The heavy door opened and a young Marine came into the room.
“Go get me a pad of paper and a pen. Make it fast!” Barone barked.
The Marine turned and left the room.
“Colonel, I don’t know how you think you’ll get away with this. There’s a Marine detachment coming soon.”
“Tell me about this other Marine unit,” Barone queried.
“Whatever you have planned won’t work. Every active military unit is heading this way.”
“Tell me, why would they be coming here?” Barone was truly interested in what was happening. Since hearing about another Marine unit on its way, he had ordered Captain White to take the sub out as soon as they were able. If they were truly coming, he wanted to know more about them.
Pelsom, fearful for his life, told Barone about the president’s plan to establish the new U.S. capital in Portland. He hoped the revelation would strike fear in the colonel and force him to abandon Salem.
Barone listened intently to everything that Pelsom had to say. Intelligence was always valuable to a mission; this time it was critical. The new capital’s location concerned him. He also knew that Pelsom was probably overstating the president’s resources. His immediate internal reaction was to get what he could and flee Coos Bay in search of a new place. Then Pelsom gave him the biggest gift.
“Colonel, like I said before. You should just go. Go before they come. Go before the president comes.”
“Wait a minute. The president is coming here?”
“Yes, ah, no. He’s coming to Portland.”
“President Conner is going to Portland?” said Barone, his interest really piqued.
“Yes, he will be arriving within days. He’s personally going to oversee the recovery and establishment of the new capital. Don’t you see? You can’t win, Colonel. Just leave us. If you leave I won’t say anything to the president.”
“Now that is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“I promise. Just leave us,” Pelsom was begging.
“You know why it’s dumb? Because we just attacked your capital. How do you plan on keeping everyone quiet?”
“Only two people ever talk to the president or his people. That’s me and my lieutenant governor.”
Barone stared at Pelsom, covered in sweat and groveling. Nothing was more pathetic than a groveling man. He thought of the lance corporal he had executed days before; now that man had honor. Barone knew Pelsom was lying; the minute his men left he’d contact the president. Leverage was what he needed, and without his people there he didn’t have it. But then an idea flashed across Barone’s mind. It excited him so much that he stood again and walked to the door.
“Where the hell is that paper and pen?”
“Sorry, sir, coming now,” said another Marine who was standing guard outside.
Barone closed the door and thought about what he should do with this new information.
A knock at the door disturbed his thoughts.
The lance corporal stepped in and handed the paper and pen to Barone.
Still full of excitement about his new idea, Barone hurried back to Pelsom.
“Here, write down every location of stockpiled food, water, and supplies.”
The governor looked at Barone uneasily. His having been forthright with so much information didn’t seem to have dissuaded his old foe. Not wanting to get strangled again, he began to write.
Barone took the time to pace and think. He knew that one day they’d encounter more U.S. forces. However, he and his men had come far, too far to turn tail and run. Maybe this was what they needed: a fight. And if he was going to have one, he’d better be ready for it.
40 miles east of Barstow, California
Haley enjoyed watching the ants climb all over the piece of bread she had tossed on the ground. What had started out as only a few had turned into dozens. Their tiny bodies were picking apart bits three times their size and carrying them away. She decided she’d create obstacles for them, so she put rocks in the path the ants were taking. Adjusting quickly, the ants made their way around each rock. She picked up a stick and carved out a groove in the dirt. Again, the ants figured out a detour and kept going. Growing impatient with her inability to stop the ants, Haley started hitting them with the stick. She then took the tip of the stick and jammed it in the centers of some of the ants, separating their bodies. She marveled at how each part still moved. Laughter erupted from her when she began to smash each ant. She now turned hitting the scrambling ants into a game.
“Haley, stop that,” Samantha ordered after seeing what she was doing.
Samantha was having a hard time focusing on the map. She at first blamed it on Haley, but her lack of sleep probably also played a part. Beth Holloway’s crying had kept many up last night.
“Mommy, are Daddy and Hunter not coming back?” Haley asked, leaning up against Samantha.
“Of course they are, they’re just lost,” Samantha quickly answered. She felt bad having to hide the truth.
“Joey said they aren’t coming back,” Haley said sadly.
“Joey said that to you?”
“Yes, he said Daddy is probably dead,” Haley answered, now upset.
“What? When did he say that?” asked Samantha, her attention now focused on Haley. Holding her daughter tightly, she looked around for any member of the Thompson family. Seeing Joey’s father, she called out, “Mike, you got a minute?”
“Ah yeah, of course. What else do I have going on?”
Mike Thompson was very tall and very lean, almost six feet seven inches. His hair was black except for the gray coming in on the sides. He had a pleasant personality and was smart. It was hard to get to know him, because he didn’t talk much. Many had complained that getting him to talk was like pulling teeth. Gordon had selected Mike and his family to come for two reasons. Mike was a structural engineer, and his family was big in the prepping community. The entire back courtyard of their house in Rancho Valentino had been a hydroponics system.
Haley held to Samantha’s arm tightly as she walked over to talk with Mike.
“Good morning, Samantha. What can I help you with?” he asked.
“I’m troubled by something Joey said to Haley.”
“What’s that?”
“Apparently, Joey told Haley that Gordon and Hunter were probably dead. Where would he get that kind of notion?”
“Samantha, I’m sorry. He must have heard Sandy and me talking.”
“So is that what you believe?” asked Samantha, hurt.
“Hey, listen, it’s not what you think,” Mike said, attempting to backpedal.
“We’re going to stay here and keep looking for them. No matter how long it takes. My husband and son are out there; they aren’t dead. I would appreciate it if you kept any other thoughts to yourself!” barked Samantha.
When Samantha’s voice rose, Haley clung tighter to her leg.
“We didn’t mean for him to repeat what we said to Haley. Sorry.”
A voice in the distance bellowed something unintelligible, causing Samantha and Mike to look.
The zipper on Mike’s tent opened, and out came his wife, Sandy. They were an odd couple proportionally; while he was very tall, she was very short. She stood at five feet four inches with a stocky frame. Her light brown hair was cut just long enough to pull back into a small ponytail. As she came toward them, Samantha could tell where this was going by the sour look on her face.
“No way, Samantha. You don’t stand here and berate my husband for speaking the truth,” said Sandy.
The tension among them caused Haley to whimper and cling even tighter to her mother’s leg.
“How can you say that Gordon and Hunter are dead? If it were Mike and Joey, we’d be out there every day like we are now looking and we wouldn’t give up!”
“I don’t think so. I’ve gotten a chance to know Gordon, and I think he’d forget about us if he could.”
“That’s not true. He’d be out there looking, unlike your husband, who just sits around,” Samantha said, pointing at Mike, who stood, hands in pockets, silent.
“Mike stays busy here keeping the cars working so when the day comes and you finally realize that Gordon is not coming back, we can move on!”
Fury began to rise in Samantha. “Sandy, you’re unbelievable. Have you forgotten everything that Gordon did for everyone here? If you remember, he approached Mike about coming with us. He didn’t have to do that!”
The women’s yelling caught everyone’s attention. All eyes were now on them.
“We would have been fine.”
“How’s that possible? You didn’t have a car; Gordon let you take the second jeep after Fowler was killed! You know something, Sandy, this is bullshit. If you want to go, then go. I don’t know where you’ll go, but don’t bother going to Idaho. We don’t want you there!” Samantha screamed and walked off with Haley still clinging to her tightly.
“Mike, we don’t need them,” said Sandy loud enough for everyone to hear.
The heated exchange with Sandy and Mike started to sink in for Samantha. Coupled with the stress of Gordon and Hunter’s disappearance, it made her feel like she was on the verge of a breakdown. She reached her trailer but couldn’t steady her hand to open the door. She quickly sat in the chair next to the door and put Haley on her lap.
Haley too was feeling the bad energy from the argument. Sandy’s accusations filled her young mind with images of her dad and brother dead, their eyes staring out of lifeless skulls.
Not wanting to let Samantha be, Sandy fired off another cutting barrage, which she finished by saying, “Everyone here but Nelson and you thinks they’re dead. You’re delusional, Samantha, completely delusional!”
Unknown military installation
Gordon held Hunter close. By his smell and the condition of his clothes he could tell that his son had been getting washed and his clothes cleaned. Gordon wanted so much to be able to tell Hunter everything, but they were under a watchful eye.
“Dad, remember when I shot that man?”
Looking at Hunter oddly, Gordon said, “Yes, I remember.”
“Brother Jeremy agreed with you. He said it was a good thing I did that,” Hunter said, his eyes now on the man in the room with them.
“Did he now?” Gordon replied. He too glanced at the man in the room.
“Yes, he said I was doing God’s work by cleansing him.”
“Excuse me for a second, Hunter,” Gordon said, then stood up and approached the man. “Hi, I’m Gordon,” he said. “Who are you?”
“I’m Brother Jeremy. I have the honor of watching over the children.”
Brother Jeremy was the man Gordon had noticed the other day. Looking into his eyes, he could see the same insanity that plagued Rahab.
“Hey, sorry to ask. Are you related to Brother Rahab?”
“Yes, he is my father, but most important, he is my light to God’s truth,” Jeremy said. He was just as tall as his father, with the same dark hair and dark eyes. There was no mistaking they were related.
“I thought so. Um, so tell me. What goes on every day with the kids?”
“Why, we look after their entire well-being. We feed, clothe, and give them their spiritual nutrition through daily readings and exercises.”
“Exercises?” Gordon asked.
“We challenge the children to tap into the true meaning of sacrifice by doing role playing.”
“Role playing? Like what?” Gordon’s tone had shifted. He was getting upset as he had a dark vision of child abuse or molestation, but he wanted to hear Jeremy say it.
“We don’t divulge our ritualistic exercises to those who haven’t been baptized,” said Jeremy directly.
The blood was rushing to Gordon’s face. He could feel the anger building up, but he knew exploding at Jeremy wouldn’t work out for him. Quickly he was processing how he could kill Jeremy, snatch Hunter, and make a run for it. He couldn’t leave his son with these people anymore; he had to do something. The touch at his hand brought him back from the brink.
Hunter grabbed his hand and said, “It’s okay, Dad, I promise you. I’m a young man now, remember?”
Gordon knelt down and looked at him. “Of course I remember, but thanks for reminding me. Have I told you about the time you were born?”
“Only a hundred times,” Hunter said, rolling his eyes.
“Please indulge me,” said Gordon as he took his son to the chair and replayed his birth with him in detail. Gordon was thankful for Hunter’s ability to sense the situation was going out of control. He had proven he was a young man by interjecting himself.
After a few minutes of going down memory lane, Hunter’s laughter reappeared. It was so good for Gordon’s soul to hear him laugh. It had been too long since he had that experience.
“Dad, you remember when Haley and I colored your face with the markers?” Hunter asked with a slight giggle.
“Ah, yeah, I do. What I remember the most was that Haley used permanent markers. The worst part was I had to meet a client that afternoon,” said Gordon, playfully giving Hunter a stern look.
“That was so funny,” his son replied.
“I’m glad I’ve always been the one who gets laughed at or gets hurt by you kids.”
“Of course. You’re our dad.”
“Why does Haley think that hurting me is so funny?”
“Because it is. Remember when she threw the golf ball and hit you in the face? I’ve never seen her laugh so hard.”
“Yeah, that was so funny,” Gordon said sarcastically.
“Dad, I miss Mommy and Haley,” said Hunter as he took Gordon’s hand.
“I miss them too,” said Gordon, reaching out with his other hand and caressing his son’s face.
“Time is up.” Jeremy interrupted Gordon and Hunter’s moment.
“We’ve only had about twenty minutes. I want more time with him!” exclaimed Gordon.
“That is all the time you’ll get,” Jeremy shot back sternly. He knew he held the advantage.
Gordon stood up, his face flushed with anger. Before he could take his first step, Hunter grabbed his arm.
“No, Dad.”
As if a bus had hit him, Gordon stopped in his tracks. He looked down at his ever-maturing son, staring into his blue eyes. The strength that emanated out of them inspired him to keep his cool.
“Fine, let me say good-bye for now.”
Jeremy looked at Gordon, then focused on Hunter, then back on Gordon again. “Sure, one more minute. Then you need to go back to work.”
Gordon knelt and hugged Hunter. “I love you, Son. You definitely didn’t get your old man’s patience or lack of. You’re smart like your mom, thank God for that.”
“Here, Dad,” Hunter said in a whisper. He poked Gordon in the stomach with something hard.
Gordon glanced down to see his Spyderco folding knife. Shocked, he whispered back, “You’ve had it hidden?”
Aware that Jeremy was looking and might notice something, he whispered again, “Slip it into my front pocket when I hug you.”
Hunter gave a slight nod.
They embraced again. Hunter slyly slipped the four-inch knife into Gordon’s front pocket and whispered in his ear, “I love you, Dad.”
San Diego, California
Watching Annaliese wash and prepare Sorenson’s body for burial was something Sebastian had never experienced before. He remembered reading in history books about how the family took care of the corpse and then displayed it in their home. One amenity that modern society had long taken for granted was the coroner and funeral home system. Without them, the family of the deceased had to become the mortician and undertaker.
Annaliese’s eyes were red and swollen from the heavy tears that had flowed following Sorenson’s death.
The strike to his head with the vase had been fatal, causing massive brain injury, hemorrhaging, then death.
Sebastian almost felt like a voyeur watching her perform her daughterly tasks.
She took the warm washcloth and, as if she were caring for an infant, slowly and gently washed her father’s entire body. She then took his favorite cologne and applied it modestly. When she began dressing him in his favorite suit, she looked to Sebastian for help.
With much care and respect, he turned and lifted the fallen man’s lifeless body while she put on his clothes.
Sebastian knew that what had happened today was going to be the norm until the bloodletting stopped. He knew eventually it would come to an end, but before an equilibrium was established, millions more would die.
He excused himself when they were done and proceeded to the porch. His leg was hurting, and weariness was weighing heavily on him. He found the large rocker on the far end of the porch welcoming.
As he closed his eyes, a voice jolted him from his slumber.
“I heard what Brandon did,” said Luke, who towered over him.
“Ah. Yeah. Is he okay?”
“I think so. He’s in the guesthouse sleeping.”
“So can I help you? Not to be rude, but I’m really tired.”
“Sorry, I, ah, just wanted to ask you a question,” said Luke sheepishly.
Sebastian waited for the question, but when he noticed Luke wasn’t going to ask right away he said, “Spit it out, boy, I’m tired.”
“Ah, sorry. When are we leaving for Zion?”
“I don’t know if we’re going to Zion now. With the bishop and two others killed today, our plans might have changed. Plus, why are you asking me?”
“Because you seem like the most logical one to be in charge now.”
“Do I? Well, until someone pins that rank on me, I’ll just help out,” Sebastian said. He really didn’t want to have this conversation. Then an idea came to mind: If he could be in charge he’d take the spot, but he wasn’t going to force his way on the others. “Of course, I’d step up if they wanted me to.”
“I was talking with Jameson and Willis. They like you and trust you. I just think we need to go somewhere safe. All of this seems like we’re heading toward the same outcome as my family,” said Luke, pointing to the now-buried bodies of the attackers.
“You and I agree that we need to get out of here, but not until we bury the bishop and the other two. Then we can start talking about leaving.”
“Okay, sorry for bothering you. I’ll leave you be,” Luke said and turned around quickly.
“Wait a minute.”
“Yeah?”
“Where do you want to go?”
“Don’t matter to me, anywhere but here.”
Just then, gunfire cracked in the distance.
Sebastian sat up, his fatigue replaced by adrenaline.
“So who—”
“Ssshh,” Sebastian said.
More single-fire gunshots echoed in the distance.
“Sounds far away. Looks like we’re not the only ones having issues,” joked Sebastian.
“Hey, what are you going to do about Brandon?”
“Nothing. I’m not his parent, and looking back on yesterday, I have to say I think what he did was right.”
“But he’s only twelve years old,” said Luke, shocked by Sebastian’s cavalier attitude.
“Luke, I don’t know you, but I’ll open up a bit. What I’ve seen from almost day one after the attacks is people doing crazy things. I judged them for their lack of morality. I placed myself on this pedestal as some kind of moral authority. I’ve witnessed a lot of crazy shit in my day, but what happened yesterday was the most fucked-up shit I have ever seen. You know something? I froze yesterday. I found these men in the barn, I held them at gunpoint as if I was waiting for the police to come. I looked at these people as people. But what I have come to realize is that I’ve been the crazy one. I’ve been a fool. Brandon sees the world for what it’s become.
“If we think we can apply the same moral code we had almost two months ago, we will end up dead. Those people who came in here were once neighbors and acquaintances of the bishop’s. Something changed for them, though: They were hungry; they figured we had something and they were going to take it.” Sebastian paused for second to think about how he wanted to express himself, then continued.
“The lightbulb finally went off when I saw Annaliese step outside and start shooting. These weren’t her neighbors anymore, they were her adversaries. We have to pick sides in this long battle now. You, for one, have seen the horrors played out. I know you’re looking for structure and something to help explain this chaos. Why somebody attacked us weeks ago and caused all of this is unknown, and frankly it fucking doesn’t matter. What matters now is we have to protect our own. We have to fight and be willing to kill, like Brandon. You sounded shocked that I didn’t jump at scolding him. Hell, I kinda applaud him for taking the action I should have taken. He was able to see the trees through forest.”
Sebastian stopped again. He hated people who preached, and he knew that was exactly what he was doing now. Tiring of his own his voice, he finished by saying, “If I were to go back weeks ago, before all of this, I would agree with you. But I’m now awake. There’s no one coming to save us. It’s up to us, plain and simple.”
40 miles east of Barstow, California
“When were you going to tell me this is how everyone felt?” Samantha shouted at Nelson.
“Calm down, Samantha,” he pleaded.
“Don’t tell me to calm down. Don’t you dare! My husband and son are out there, and what you’re now telling me is everyone here wants to leave because they think I’m delusional, as Sandy said. What would you do? Huh? Would you leave your family, or would you search and search? I can’t give up, Nelson, and I won’t!” Samantha’s screaming had the entire group staring.
“Of course I don’t think we should stop. I’m with you,” he responded.
“Are you really?”
“Of course. I didn’t say anything because I knew it wouldn’t help. I know I needed to protect you from them. All you need to focus on is finding Gordon and Hunter.”
“What the hell are you looking at?” Samantha yelled at Sandy, Mike, and the others.
“Samantha, please calm down,” said Nelson. “We need to set out today. We’re losing daylight,” he went on, attempting to encourage her.
Samantha turned away from him and walked to the edge of the camp. She looked north toward the desert.
“My dad has volunteered to go with you,” Nelson suggested.
“Where are you going?” she asked, still looking toward the desert.
“I think we need to split up. We can cover more ground. I’ll head to the mountains, there,” said Nelson. He had stepped up beside her and was pointing to a range of mountains to the northeast.
“What am I supposed to do?”
“I’m not going to answer that question; you know I’m with you on this. If they want to go, fuck ’em. My dad and I are here, and we’ll help you and Haley.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m going to get geared up. I’ll see you later,” said Nelson, touching her arm.
She grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “Thank you again.”
“No problem. That’s what friends do, right?” Nelson walked away, leaving Samantha at the edge of the camp.
“Where are you? I can’t do this without you. Please, God, let me find them, please,” Samantha said, looking out toward the mountains.
Tijuana, Mexico
“Where have you been?” asked Alfredo angrily.
“I was taking care of issues on the northern route! So now you’re keeping tabs on me?” Pablo challenged.
“I have to. Ever since you’ve been playing around up north, you’ve been shirking your responsibilities to your family. I thought we’d had this conversation. Did I not impress it on you then? If not, let me tell you again but more clearly. Stop fucking around. Stop these games. We are running a business and we need to take advantage of the changes to our marketplace. I need your help. Does that make it clearer?” said Alfredo. He rarely yelled, but his son’s behavior and absence were frustrating him.
Pablo stood and walked to the bookshelf. He picked up a Waterford crystal vase and looked at it closely, admiring the rainbows it cast when the sunlight hit it. Placing it back down, he turned and finally addressed Alfredo. “Father, I’m sorry that you’re upset with me. I want nothing more than for you to be proud of me. However, this is not working for me.”
Alfredo asked, “What’s not working for you?”
“This, here, our relationship. I’m done taking orders from you. You see, Father, you’re a dinosaur. You’re incapable of seeing the future. You think that we can turn what has happened into a business. You’re wrong, Father. You don’t have a true grasp on what has happened. You’re thinking you can sell things. But where is your marketplace? Tell me. Our currency has collapsed. The American dollar is destroyed. Who’s going to buy your generators? With what money? You’re an old fool.”
“How dare you talk to me that way?” Alfredo screamed. His temper was building. No one talked to him that way, and if they did, they never left his office alive.
“I’m doing something that will truly change the world. I wanted you to be a part of it, but that’s not going to happen,” Pablo retorted.
“What are you talking about? You were always such a dreamer. Always gazing into the stars with fantasies. Wake up, Son,” said Alfredo, his tone softer now. He approached Pablo and stopped a foot in front of him. “Pablo, my boy. What are you doing? Oh, such a dreamer you are.” Alfredo reached out and tapped his cheek.
“Don’t patronize me,” snapped Pablo, slapping his hand away.
“My son, you’re so naïve. You can’t do anything without me.”
“Not true, Father. I’ve been planning this day for a while,” said Pablo, who then reached in his jacket and pulled out a handheld radio. “Andre, you can proceed.”
“What is this? Who are you talking to?” asked Alfredo, throwing his arms up in the air, frustrated.
Moments later the sound of automatic gunfire erupted throughout the house and outside.
Alfredo raced to his security cameras and adjusted them to see what was happening. On the monitors he saw in beautiful high definition his men being killed or executed by men he had never seen before.
“Pablo, what are you doing? My son, what are you doing?” asked Alfredo desperately. He reached into the top drawer and pulled out a small handgun. As he began to turn around, he felt the hard tip of Pablo’s gun against the back of his head.
“Put the gun down, Father. I don’t want to hurt you.”
His hands shaking, Alfredo dropped the pistol on the floor and turned to face his son.
“I’m sorry it had to be this way,” Pablo said.
Gunfire now rang out just outside the doors that led to his office. Alfredo jumped each time he heard a shot. “What have you done? What have you done?”
“Not to sound cliché, I’ve done what I had to. You made your decision. I presented to you numerous times the biggest opportunity the Juarez family would ever get and you scoffed at me. Your thinking is outdated. Now, please stand up. This meeting is over. I’m sorry, Father, but you’re now retired.”
Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado
Cruz was having a difficult time thinking with so much cross talk going on at the conference table. The communications coming in from the midwestern states were bad.
The governors of Nebraska, South Dakota, and Kansas were reporting hundreds of thousands of survivors entering their states. What tent cities they could muster weren’t enough. All the governors were requesting immediate assistance from the federal government.
“Everybody, be quiet,” Cruz loudly said to his assembled staff.
Around the table sat Baxter and Dylan, along with a few new to his advisory team.
Bethanny Wilbur, his new secretary of state, was a communications officer at Cheyenne Mountain. She had recently been assigned to the base after being promoted to major. Wilbur was a smart and savvy woman. Given her educational achievements, she could have gone anywhere to work. Upon graduating from Brown University with a master’s in global and transcultural communications, she chose a life as an Air Force officer. Her relationship with her father, a retired general, was the biggest influence for this decision. She was a steadfast believer in the government and the military as a force for good.
The other three people in the room were lower deputy secretaries for Baxter and Wilbur.
Like Conner, Cruz had not grown his cabinet to pre-attack size. Logic and need had won over. Conner had appointed only the secretary of defense, who now dealt with everything from domestic to foreign relations and defense. He had below him dozens working to handle physical defense, recovery, and rebuilding.
When Baxter replaced him, his first request was to separate out the foreign relations. Especially with the responses from many global leaders following the nuclear strikes, Cruz needed someone who could negotiate with them to provide aid.
Cruz had proven to be an effective politician while governor of Florida, but what he lacked was the presence that Conner had. Conner could command a room.
“Everyone, quiet!” yelled a flustered Cruz, after his first request failed.
The room fell silent, and all eyes turned to him.
“Now we have a major problem back east. I called this meeting to discuss our options. Obviously we don’t have a consensus. What I need are clear options. So, I will start with Baxter and go to each person. I want you to tell me what you think we should do, how you propose it be done, and why. No interrupting the speaker. Now, General, please start,” said Cruz, taking a seat at the head of the table.
“Thank you, Mr. Vice President. I will be blunt as you all already know my position. What I want to delve into is why,” said Baxter, walking to the map of the United States hanging on the wall behind Cruz. “A week ago we were receiving initial reports of large migrations. Obviously, those reports were accurate, but they did not really shed light on the human tragedy that is happening. The East is a total loss. We all agree on that.
“We all agreed that we would focus on providing aid to the midwestern states because they weren’t heavily affected by radioactive contamination. But here’s the reality. We cannot feed the numbers we are hearing about. In fact we can’t provide support to half. Many of you just found out about the government stockpiles of food, water, and other provisions we had positioned at strategic locations around the country. We hardened these underground bunkers against an EMP. Some of you want us to open those locations to the people. I disagree, and here’s why. We don’t have enough food. The sheer numbers coming into these states are just too overwhelming.
“I am not cruel. I know some of you think my proposal is inhumane. But we’re now at a place where we need to make a tough decision. Do we open these stores and deplete them? Without aid coming in from our allies, we won’t be able to replenish them. We have enough food to feed each one of these people for a couple days. Then what? It doesn’t do anything. We need to keep that food so we have a functioning government. This includes us, our military, and those governors and their staffs,” said Baxter, standing like a grounded statue at the head of the room. When he talked he used his hands to gesture.
“I promised to be blunt, and I will conclude with this. Mr. President, we have to face the facts that we cannot do anything for these people. Using what resources we have left will only leave us unable to proceed with Conner’s plan. I say we contact all the governors and tell them we can only provide enough provisions to take care of them, their staffs, and their families. We can do this by transporting them to these bunker locations. In a nutshell, I think we need to take everyone underground until the bulk of the deaths have ended. We need to keep our forces off the coast. Bringing them ashore risks them.”
“Mr. Vice President, this is insane!” bellowed Dylan.
“Quiet, Mr. McLatchy.”
“But, this is unspeakable!”
Cruz shot back, “Enough, Dylan. Be quiet and let the general speak. None of this is easy. I haven’t made my decision, but we can’t act immature and emotional. Now please keep your opinions to yourself till you’re called upon.”
Dylan sat quietly, but the rage inside him would have been deafening. His face was contorted and his posture stiff. Dylan was stressed, but most of his stress stemmed from not having done a thing to help find Conner. He had promised Julia, but since then he had only offered advice. Deep down he felt he needed to go out and help, but the fear of the outside world prevented him. Shame filled the reservoirs of his heart, but he masked it with anger.
“General, please proceed,” Cruz directed Baxter.
“Again, I promised to be blunt, so I will finish with this: What we must do is protect this government and our surrogates so that whoever survives the months ahead will have a system in place from which to rebuild.”
The weight of Baxter’s words was enough to keep everyone, including Dylan, silent. Many in the room didn’t even look up; they just stared at the papers laid before them. The others’ eyes were fixed on the general. Deep down, all knew that he was right. What he’d said struck at their deepest survival instincts.
Wilbur kept staring at the map. Not wanting to wait her turn, she chimed in. “Mr. Vice President. I disagree with Baxter, but not on the merits that Mr. McLatchy mentioned. If we are to have any success in getting our allies to come back to the table, we can’t be perceived to have abandoned our people. While I understand General Baxter’s reasoning, and I would add that it’s reasonable, I am making inroads with the Australians. However, it would be a one-two punch if we go forward with this plan. I suggest we determine what we have and divide up a percentage of it, leaving us and other government entities enough to live off for six months. I believe by then I will have secured an arrangement for aid.”
Cruz rocked in his chair, his face firmly planted in his hand. He stared at the secretary of state and didn’t respond right away. The silence was unsettling, as Cruz deliberated between the two different plans.
Dylan attempted to say something, but Cruz held up his index finger and shook his head.
“General Baxter, your plan has many merits, but I have to agree with Major Wilbur. We need the aid from Australia and others. We can’t do something that will isolate us any more. I realize it’s a risk, but we must try. General, please proceed with her plan. I want it implemented immediately. Please contact the ARG heading toward Portland and have it pull into the Gulf of Mexico. There we can use their aircraft for support.
“Major Wilbur, contact the governors of Hawaii and Alaska. Ask them what they can provide in the way of ships. Have those ships head to Portland to support our rebuilding. I know they are both seeking independence, but remind them that the equipment they have is the property of the United States. Strike a deal with them. We will officially recognize them as independent nations, but they need to support us,” said Cruz, speaking quickly.
He looked around the room and finished by saying, “People, this country is depending on us. We can’t let them down. Soon, some of us will be in Portland setting up a new capital and a new beginning for our country. I want to thank you all for everything that you have done to this point. No one knows how this all will end, but I am honored to be here beside you, as we set out to get the United States back on its feet.”