Samuel and Sebastian had a difficult relationship, but when he heard of Sebastian’s demise, he felt horrible but knew the news would destroy Annaliese, which it did.
For a couple weeks she locked herself up, not talking or seeing anyone. She had fallen into a state of depression, lost and confused by how a God she had grown to revere and love could take away the man she loved so much. With her emotional state shattered, it would take something to snap her out of it, and one day that something happened when Hector was brought to the gates of the ranch.
Annaliese had many talents; one of those was her ability to nurse and care for people. Though she would never consider it a talent, it took someone special to have the patience, attention and tenderness to take care of the sick and needy.
Hector had been found in the desert northwest of them by a former ranch hand of Samuel’s. Unable to care for him, he took Hector to Samuel’s ranch in hopes they could help the man.
Samuel brought Hector in, but his skills were lacking, so he convinced Annaliese to help. Putting aside her pain, she went to ease Hector of his.
Hector had been the survivor of a horrible crash. One-third of his body was burned, with over half of his face receiving second-degree burns. Both his legs, one arm and countless other bones were broken or shattered. She had never encountered much less cared for anyone in this condition. It would be challenging, but Hector needed her. What she didn’t realize was she would also need him.
Weeks went by and Hector showed improvement. She tried her best to set his breaks, but without an X-ray and proper medical training, it was hard to determine if she had done a good job. As the weeks turned to months, his condition improved and there was no doubt he’d survive but would be disfigured and maybe unable to walk for the rest of his life.
She didn’t know much about him except his name. Apparently when Samuel’s ranch hand found him, he’d muttered Hector in a scratchy voice when asked his name. His lower jaw had been shattered, which reduced his ability to speak but didn’t mean he couldn’t. Samuel questioned if his throat had been scarred from severe smoke or fume inhalation from the fire he had been in. His communications primarily consisted of nods and head shakes. When he did speak, he gave garbled grunts that sounded like yeses and nos. She could see his effort to talk was painful. She did get some answers from him, like he was Mexican and had a family. When pressed, he just stopped responding. Annaliese knew how painful it was to discuss or talk about the past, so she eventually stopped her questions.
Annaliese didn’t mind Hector’s limited communication, she thought most people talked too much anyway. She also took advantage of his condition for selfish reasons; when she needed to talk and express her emotions over the loss of Sebastian, she’d break down to him. He never responded or moved but did look at her with his brown eyes showing her he was listening. She started thinking of him as her therapist; he was a safe place to go and talk.
After two and a half months, Hector was able to get around using a wheelchair.
She often would find him sitting out on the deck, looking towards the horizon. He would just do that for hours and it didn’t seem to bore him.
With Hector healed, she had time on her hands and discovered in the process that it gave her purpose. She convinced her Uncle Samuel to use one part of the barn on his ranch as a makeshift hospital for any person they encountered that required medical attention.
In a month’s time her hospital grew from a one-woman show to four people, one being a medically trained doctor and two registered nurses.
Her powers of persuasion extended beyond that, as she convinced Samuel to open up parts of his large ranch to refugees. Annaliese came to believe that in order for them to survive long term, they would have to create a community of like-minded people, but instead of seeking it out, why not create it.
It took some time, but Samuel relented, and soon they opened the old metal gates to those in need and looking for a home. Samuel was not blind to the fact that all those who came looking were not in need. The world was still violent and not void of bandits and marauders. Keeping that in mind, Samuel established an interview process. Slowly the community grew from them to thirty-three hardworking survivors, all giving and sharing. Gardens popped up and new structures were built to house everyone. Samuel had several wells on site, with each having their own separate twenty-thousand-gallon holding tanks. There was enough land and water, and at the rate they were growing food and with the livestock he had, the community began to flourish.
Word spread around the area to his neighbors, who thought them crazy for inviting in so many people and highlighting their location. Samuel began to worry about their security while Annaliese was not about to sit back and merely survive. Having lost Sebastian so easily changed her. At any moment they could fall victim to someone or something, so why not live, truly live, and create something great out of the chaos. The vision was bold but risky.
“Hector, are you hungry?” Annaliese asked, coming out to find him sitting in his typical spot on the porch, looking towards the western hills.
He craned his head and nodded.
“Great, I made a surprise for you,” she said, excited, and went back inside.
Hector turned his head back towards the hills and sat. His right eye had lost most of its vision due to the second-degree burns that side of his face had suffered. The black hair on the right side of his head had been burned off, with only patches growing back. Scars now covered that side of his head. The scars extended past his face to his neck and his shoulder, side and arm. Self-conscious, he wore long-sleeve shirts and baseball caps.
Annaliese opened the door and asked, “You want to eat out here? It’s getting chilly?”
“Yes.”
“I figured,” she said and fully came outside with a tray. On it was a plate of a Mexican specialty, chicken chilaquiles. Corn tortillas were cut into quarters then lightly fried, with a green salsa, pulled chicken and seasonings. Excited to present him with the meal, she placed it on a round glass table behind him.
The aroma of the rice and chicken hit his nostrils. His mouth watered and his stomach churned. He spun the wheelchair around and pulled it up to the table. With his eyes closed, he inhaled the steam coming off the hot food.
She was nervous, she guessed he was Mexican and had wanted to make him a meal he might find familiar. She had her arms crossed and bit her lip, waiting to see his response.
Hector didn’t need any explanation; he knew what she had done for him and found it special. He looked at her and said in his raspy voice, “Thank you.”
Her eyes widened hearing him say something more than yes or no. “I know it doesn’t have fresh onions or queso fresco, um, and it’s from a Betty Crocker recipe, so I don’t know if it will be hot enough; hence why I put some jalapenos on the side there,” she said, pointing to his plate. “They were canned and pickled, so again, probably not authentic.”
He again said, “Thank you.” He meant it and felt touched that she had done something so nice and random for him. He was impressed with her and her family. Never in his life had he seen such love. They had no reason to take him in, but they had. They asked for nothing in return and expected nothing from him. He looked back at the steaming food and swore that he’d pay them back; he would find a way to reward them for their unsolicited generosity.
“Go ahead, try it,” Annaliese said.
He picked up a fork but stopped. He pointed at the food then her.
“Oh no, I know how you like your privacy, and I already chatter away too much,” she replied.
He again pointed at the food then her and nodded firmly, signaling that he demanded she sit with him.
“You sure?” she asked.
He nodded.
“Okay,” she said and went to get a plate.
He sat and patiently waited.
She returned with a full plate and sat next to him. Still looking nervous, she said, “Please try it first. Let me know.”
He lifted his fork and dug in. With a heaping of the chilaquiles on the fork, he took a bite.
She watched him, anxious for his response.
He chewed several times and nodded. He then said, “Yes.”
“You like it?”
“Yes.”
“Is it kinda authentic?”
“Yes.”
“Yay,” she said, clapping. She quickly took her fork and began eating.
The two sat in silence, enjoying the food.
Annaliese was on top of the world, knowing that he liked it.
They finished their plates and sat without her saying a word. The happy look on her face suddenly changed.
He could see this shift and wondered what it was that plagued her mind.
“I know I bore you with my stories and babbling, but I’m going to bore you again.”
He didn’t speak; he just looked at her.
“I miss my husband. Sebastian was a good man. I feel cheated. We only had a short time together compared to so many other couples, but I don’t want to live in a place of regret. I appreciate my time with him and will forever cherish that. You know, I want to thank you.”
He pointed his index finger at himself.
“Yes, you, um, I saw you that day, the day you were brought here, and I thought this man needs help. He needs someone to care for him. I remember at first dismissing you and chalking you up as a casualty of this new world we live in, but I made a huge shift that day. I thought of Sebastian and if someone had stepped up to help him, he may not have been killed. That someone would have looked at him as a human being who had a family, a wife, and thought, ‘Hey, I’m going to help him find his way home.’ If someone had said that, then acted, he might be here today. I saw you, and let me tell you, you were in bad shape. But I told myself then that you might have a family somewhere, a wife maybe, a child, parents who love you, and I said I will help you, I will do my best to ensure you can see them again. You know, if more people acted this way, things probably wouldn’t have fallen apart. If we all came together, we wouldn’t have had a collapse. We would have worked together and made things come back much faster, but a lot of people aren’t built that way, and it’s sad. So you saved me as much as I saved you. You gave me hope, Hector; you made me not depressed. I’m still sad that I’ve lost so much, but having known those special people in my life like Sebastian makes my life that much better. We’re building a great thing here, and I hope it continues to flourish.”
All the words she said hit him hard. He thought about saying something but resisted just at the point of talking. He appreciated her words, and one day he might find the courage to speak and tell her how her kindness had changed him too.
A tear streamed down her cheek. She brushed it away and finished, “Sorry, I can get emotional easy. But I want to just say thank you, or gracias.”
He nodded.
Wishing to change the topic, she said, “I’ll take these plates inside. I wish I had some Mexican dessert to offer, but I don’t.”
He smiled.
She gathered the plates, put them on the tray and disappeared into the house.
Hector wheeled back from the table and assumed his usual spot. His family came to mind; he missed them and prayed they were safe. Maybe one day he’d see them again, maybe.
OCTOBER 29, 2015
“Only free men can negotiate. A prisoner cannot enter into contracts.” – Nelson Mandela
Mountain Home, Idaho, Republic of Cascadia
Gordon looked at his watch and grunted when he saw the time.
“The northern checkpoint just reported their chopper landed,” Jones reported.
“About damn time, I guess being fashionably late is still fashionable,” John quipped.
“You look antsy, Gordon, this must be someone important,” Jones said.
“I don’t like waiting, even if the person is important,” Gordon grumbled, deliberately not disclosing the secret arrival.
“Gordon, have you given more thought to Chenoweth’s request?” John asked.
“No,” Gordon quickly answered.
“Very well,” John replied.
“I received a communication from Top. His forces are pulling back; they expect to be back in defensive positions near McCall in a week,” Jones informed him.
“Good,” Gordon said. Impatient, he stood up from the vinyl office chair and began pacing the large conference room.
“Oh, the company commanders are asking what our next move will be,” John said.
Gordon stopped and said, “We press forward to the next objective.”
Jones looked at John and raised his eyebrows and said, “And what is that? Because I haven’t heard you mention it before. We put so much into this operation that we didn’t think past this.”
“You didn’t, but I did,” Gordon said, reminding him that he was the visionary.
“So what is it?” Jones asked.
“Cheyenne,” Gordon replied.
“We’ll never make it within a hundred miles of Cheyenne. Their air assets will destroy us. It’s their trump card, the eight-hundred-pound gorilla in the room that we haven’t factored in,” Jones challenged.
“You let me handle that. Just have the company commanders ready for new orders tomorrow,” Gordon said.
“Gordon, you’re a military man, you know our small army will get ravaged by his aircraft. To be quite honest, I don’t know why he hasn’t moved on us yet,” Jones confessed.
“It’s because they’re weak. They’re pulled in several directions with limited assets. The reason you’re confused is because you still think the world is somewhat the same, but it’s not.”
“That’s kinda harsh to say,” Jones complained.
Gordon walked over and patted Jones on the shoulder. “I don’t mean it like that. You still remember fighting wars and having everything at your disposal, you imagine a battlefield similar to that, but it’s changed. Conner is swamped with fighting on several fronts, and he has a worsening problem with refugees. This is not adding in the staggering death toll that’s occurred. The population is not what we’re used to. He lacks manpower, equipment, fuel, ammunition, food, you name it. He’s suffering like we are and doesn’t want to waste it until he believes he has to.”
“Then that brings me back to my point, how are we going to get within a hundred miles of Cheyenne?”
“Even with Conner’s issues, we are the ones at a disadvantage, it’s clear to anyone. So when you’re the underdog, you have to fight differently. Take, for instance, how we took this,” Gordon said, motioning his arms around the room. “You see, Jones, we have to fight creatively, and we may not be able to win just going at him. Yeah, I’ll talk shit and say we are, but I’m not a fool. We need to fight him using non-kinetic warfare.”
John looked up and asked, “I’m just a lawyer, what the hell is non-kinetic warfare?”
“I didn’t tell you?” Gordon asked, surprised he hadn’t shared his thoughts with John.
“You may have, but unless I was stone-cold drunk, I would remember.”
Gordon began to pace but kept talking. “We’re going to exploit the problems he has within Cheyenne by fostering discontent. Similar to what we did here, but we’re not going to move in and take it because, like you said, we won’t be able to get within a hundred miles. We’re going to keep sending teams masquerading as refugees. We’re going to get in there and stir the pot so much that all hell breaks loose. He’ll be so overwhelmed with that and the victories we do make from one city to another, he’ll realize he can’t win and sue for peace.”
“That’s a big gamble,” Jones said.
“War is a gamble. There are no guarantees except the fact that if we aren’t successful, we’ll most certainly die.”
“By the way, why is this meeting so hush-hush? Who exactly are we waiting for?” John asked.
“Soon,” Gordon said.
As if on cue, someone knocked loudly on the door.
&nb
sp; “Come in!” Jones hollered.
The door opened and in stepped four men. The man who led the way was a short and thin man. He wore faded tan cargo pants and a black sweater. He removed a black beanie from his head, exposing his balding scalp. “Which one of you is Gordon Van Zandt?” the man asked, his voice raspy with the tinge of an accent.
Gordon stepped over with his hand outstretched and replied, “That would be me.”
The man took Gordon’s hand and they shook firmly. “Nice to meet you finally.”
“Same here,” Gordon said, thinking that the man’s deep voice didn’t fit with his physique.
The man turned to Jones and put his hand out. “Nice to meet you.”
Jones took it and shook.
The man pivoted to John and did the same.
“Please take a seat,” Gordon said, motioning towards a chair.
The other three men found chairs and sat down.
“Thank you for coming. How was the flight?” Gordon asked.
“Boring, but I agreed with you. We needed to meet,” the man said.
An awkward silence filled the room as both parties sat not saying a word.
Jones got Gordon’s attention, raised his eyebrows and nodded his head to the men.
Breaking the silence, Gordon said, “You being here tells me you’re ready to make a deal.”
“I’ve been interested in discussing diplomatic ties since you contacted me two months ago, but I have to admit I was doubtful it was wise for our two parties to do so, and quite frankly, we weren’t getting anywhere with your counterparts in Olympia,” the man said.
Jones scratched his head, wondering who these men were.
“Well, you and I are similar—we’re not cut from political cloth; we are average men who want to make sure our new countries survive,” Gordon said.
“I agree,” the man said.
“So it’s settled?” Gordon asked.
Blood, Sweat & Tears: A Postapocalyptic Novel (The New World Series Book 5) Page 5