“Liar!” another person cried out.
“Now please, be respectful to those around you. If you intend on disrupting this speech, I will have you removed.”
“Murderer!” screamed a woman from the far back.
Feigning irritation, Conner decided to use their outbursts to frame what was about to happen. “People, please. Show some respect. I know you dislike me and my policies and have even called for violence against the government, but I pray, I beg you not to resort to such tactics and to allow me to give my speech and allow those who came to listen without spewing your hate!”
A group of a half-dozen people raised a banner and began to chant, “Dictator, dictator, dictator!”
Those who had come to listen without interruption turned their own irritation towards the protestors. “Shut up, let the man speak!”
“Now is not a time to be disruptive, but a time to listen!” Conner called out, his voice booming over the large speakers.
“Dictator, dictator, dictator!” the group chanted, the cries being picked up by others through the crowd.
Conner could see the soldiers and security communicating and motioning towards the protestors. He tried to see if he could find Schmidt’s men; he wondered if some of them were the protestors.
From his left a brick smacked the Plexiglas and bounced off. Conner recoiled and felt a sudden sense of excitement surge through his body. The brick was followed by a can of red paint and sticks.
He thought those must be Schmidt’s men; this was perfect.
The crowd began to heave and push as the many innocents started to fear a riot was about to break out. The sound of the thousands crying, yelling and screaming began to drown out the chanting protestors.
The moment was coming, Conner knew it. Playing into the scene, he said, “Please, everyone, calm down!”
The cries and screams intensified as people tried to leave, but the sheer number of people made it impossible as people pushed and shoved against each other.
The intensity of the scene below kept building like a crescendo until the sound came Conner had wanted to hear.
BOOM!
A massive explosion erupted off to his right about two hundred feet out. The concussion from the blast was so powerful he fell to the ground.
The cries and screams turned to wails and moans of terror as the crowd tried to run. People trampled over others in their rush to escape.
BOOM!
Another blast equal in force to the first erupted from Conner’s left. He pivoted his head to see, but the red paint that had splattered the Plexiglas prevented him from seeing.
The volume of terrorized civilians was deafening.
Conner scurried to his feet to get a view of what was happening. He jumped behind the microphone, but before he could speak, his security grabbed him forcefully and pulled him away. They huddled over him and raced back towards the government office building. Conner craned his head around to get one last look and saw thick black smoke billowing. Shrieks and wails of horror echoed everywhere. Pandemonium and terror filled the streets. The plan had been executed beautifully; now he needed to close the deal.
McCall, Idaho, Republic of Cascadia
Samantha cradled Haley in her arms as she walked into the house.
Luke was close behind, his arm snug against his chest and his head hung low.
“Sweetheart, can you please turn down Haley’s bed for me?” Samantha asked Luke.
“Can I turn on some lights first?” Luke grumbled. He still hadn’t gotten out of his funk since the fight at school. He wandered to various tables and lit the kerosene lanterns that sat on top of them.
The lanterns bathed the mocha-colored walls of the great room and hallway in a warm orange glow.
Luke grabbed one and took it with him down the hall to Haley’s bedroom.
Samantha grunted as she followed him. “Gosh, she’s getting heavy.”
Haley had fallen asleep on the drive back from the party, and once Haley passed out, she wasn’t easy to wake up.
Luke did as requested and pulled the blanket and sheet down on Haley’s bed.
Samantha plopped Haley into the bed and carefully removed her costume.
Not saying a word, Luke left the lantern and exited the room.
Finished with putting Haley to bed, Samantha went directly to Luke’s bedroom. She found the door closed, so she knocked. Just above a whisper she asked, “Are you asleep?”
“No.”
Samantha cracked the door and said, “Can I come in for a moment?”
“Sure.”
She stepped in and walked to the side of the bed.
Luke was tucked in with his head propped up on two pillows.
“I wanted again to reiterate what I said earlier…”
“Are you going to chew my ass again?”
“Chew your ass? Why would you say that?”
“Well, you did.”
“No, why would you say it like that?”
Luke looked away and replied, “No reason.”
Samantha could see her goal of making things right was already going sideways, so she stopped her brief interrogation. “Um, I just wanted to say that I’m proud of you. You stuck up for our family and that is more important than ever. As you know, things are difficult with Gordon gone and the war. I know you’ll hear lots of rumors and some might scare you, so I want to make you a deal. Come talk to me, ask me anything, and I’ll be perfectly honest. I won’t mince words, I’ll tell you if they’re true or not.”
Liking what he was hearing, Luke turned and faced her. “Okay.”
Samantha reached and touched his arm. “The thing is I need you to be strong. We both need to be strong for Haley and for each other. Family is all we have in this crazy world.”
“I know.”
“Please know that I love you and that I consider you a son. Your place is here with us.”
Keeping with his minimal replies, he said, “Okay.”
“Just so you know, Lance Corporal Sanchez spoke with me about the conversation he and you had earlier.”
Luke’s eyes lit up.
“He asked me if it would be okay if he taught you some tactical training.”
Luke sat up; his head perked, anticipating the completion of her statement.
“And I said it was a great idea.”
“YES!” Luke exclaimed.
“Here’s what I expect out of you, though…”
“I know, make sure I do my homework first.”
“No, this is just as important as homework. Heck, it’s more important than learning algebra. I want you to take this seriously, train hard. I know your arm is broken, but I want you to dig deep, work around it. I want you to be the best because the Van Zandt family needs more warriors and little Haley needs a champion.”
Thrilled, Luke lunged and gave Samantha a big hug. “Thank you.”
She returned his embrace and kissed him on the head. “You’re welcome.”
“Ah, I hate to ask,” Luke mumbled.
“What is it?”
“My birthday is in two weeks.”
“Oh my God, your birthday. I’m such a klutz, with all the craziness I never…”
“It’s okay, I understand, but do you mind if I can have a cake?” Luke sheepishly asked.
“Of course, of course, I’ll have Phyllis make one up.”
“I was thinking you could do it. My mom used to make my cakes before and I’d help; it was something we’d do together.”
She lowered her head to hide the tears that formed in her eyes. “I’ll make the cake if you want, but I can’t promise it will be good.”
“Thank you.”
“No, thank you,” Samantha replied.
“For what?”
“For making me feel special,” Samantha answered.
Cheyenne, Wyoming, United States
“What’s the body count?” Conner asked, pacing the large conference room of the new fortified bunker located in
the subterranean floors of the governmental office building.
“Last report was over thirteen hundred,” Baxter replied.
The room was packed with Conner’s inner circle and their subordinates. Immediately after the explosions, Conner’s security detail brought him to the bunker, and shortly after his staff began to arrive. Conner didn’t wait for advice but re-implemented martial law and put emergency procedures in place. He called out the local militia supervised by regular army soldiers. He wasn’t wasting any time rounding up the opposition.
Looking around the table, two people were noticeably missing, Wilbur and Schmidt.
“Where’s Secretary Wilbur?” Conner asked.
An aide to Wilbur answered, “We’ve been trying to reach her but no reply.”
Conner looked at Baxter and cocked his head.
Baxter shrugged his shoulders.
“Is it possible she was a casualty?” an older air force officer suggested.
The door of the conference room opened. All eyes turned to see a weary Schmidt.
“Sorry I’m late, Mr. President. The doctor gave me something for the pain, and it put me to sleep.”
“It’s fine, Major, but you have some explaining to do,” Conner said, feigning an irritated tone.
Schmidt hurried to a vacant seat and sat down.
“Let’s bring Major Schmidt up to speed,” Conner said.
Baxter looked at Schmidt and said, “Just shortly after the president took to the podium, insurgents began to protest by chanting then throwing objects in the direction of the president. Moments later two large bombs were detonated, resulting in mass casualties. The crowd panicked and fled, resulting in further fatalities.”
“Do we know who’s responsible?” Schmidt asked.
Conner barked, “Of course we know who’s responsible. It’s Pat’s people and his little army of terrorists.”
“What are we doing right now?” Schmidt asked, rubbing his face.
“I’ve declared martial law again and called up the militia to arrest all suspected terrorists and anyone associated with them,” Conner said.
“Good, about time.” Schmidt smiled.
The door opened briskly and a young enlisted soldier raced in and handed Baxter a piece of paper.
Baxter studied it. His eyes grew wide as he read further towards the bottom.
“What is it?” Conner asked.
“We’ve found evidence that Pat and Van Zandt’s Cascadians might have worked together in this attack.”
“Those bastards,” Conner said.
Cross talk erupted in the room following Baxter’s announcement.
“If we find that’s the case, what do we do?” Schmidt asked.
Conner increased his pace and circled the large table twice before responding, “I want Pat and all of his followers arrested. I want them interrogated; get everything you can out of them. Squeeze them like a damn sponge for every drop of information.”
“What about the Cascadians? If they’re behind this, we must answer with something substantial,” Schmidt mentioned.
Conner stopped, put his focus on Schmidt and replied, “We have to hammer them. We have to show the people of the United States and Cheyenne that we will respond harshly to any attacks against our civilian population.”
“What does that mean?” Baxter asked.
The room drew quiet as all eyes were glued on Conner, waiting for his response.
“General Baxter, ready the bombers.”
Sandy, Utah
The first time Annaliese asked if Hector could stay in the main house, Samuel was against it, but once again her persuasion had won out. For Samuel, he allowed Annaliese to get away with more than he used to because he felt guilty about Sebastian. He couldn’t help but feel somewhat responsible. If he hadn’t been so resistant to him but made him feel more at home, just maybe he would have stayed longer or never left at all. The thought of what happened to him and what could have happened to Annaliese made him feel horrible. He wasn’t going to have a repeat of that, so he let her leverage him for much of what she wanted.
Hector now was considered a part of the family. He ate most meals with them at the main table and had his own room downstairs.
Like Annaliese, Samuel also enjoyed that Hector didn’t talk much, but his reasons were different. The requirement for people to stay in their new community was directly linked to contribution and value. Hector didn’t provide anything that Samuel saw, but Annaliese had taken to him, so he never questioned his being there. However, his interview process was hard and he had turned many people away. One of those interactions had occurred earlier that day.
“So I talked to a couple guys who came to the main gate. They wanted in, but something about them turned me off,” Samuel said, taking a scoop of pasta from the casserole dish.
“Did they have that typical marauder look?” Annaliese joked.
“And what’s that look?” Samuel asked.
“The Mad Max look with long dreadlocked hair, or bald, the bald thing Mad Maxey, with leather pants and a leather vest, lots of tattoos and body piercings everywhere,” she joked.
Samuel raised a single eyebrow and asked, “What’s Mad Max?”
“That movie, you know, with Mel Gibson.”
“Nope, never saw it. I work for a living, remember.”
“Uncle Samuel, that movie came out twenty plus years ago.”
“I’ve always worked and had no time for silly movies like that,” he insisted, taking a bit more pasta.
Hector sat watching the two chat. His eyes darted back and forth like a spectator watching a tennis match.
The LED lantern in the center of the table began to dim. Samuel reached out and tapped it. The lantern grew brighter.
“Time to pull another from the shed,” Annaliese said.
“No, this will do, just quirky,” Samuel said. He missed having power and he missed his solar generators. After the lights went out, he got the ranch up and running off the generators. When the hospital came on line, he dedicated them to it.
Annaliese took a bite and asked, “So what was wrong with those guys?”
“I can tell you they weren’t dressed like the people from the Mad Max movie. If only it was that easy to discern who is good or bad.”
“Right, if people could wear badges saying good or bad, it would make it easier,” she joked.
Samuel finally picked up that she was unusually happy. “So what’s with you?”
“What? Nothing.”
“You seem extra happy.”
“Nothing new, really, except I did want to ask if you could ask one of the guys to build Hector parallel bars out back by the swings.”
“Parallel bars, for what, is he becoming a gymnast?” Samuel cracked with his snarky form of humor.
“No, he’s going to learn to walk.”
“Good, then he can start helping around here a bit,” Samuel said with a tinge of contempt in his tone.
“You’ve never commented on that before. I thought you could see he’s a bit disabled,” Annaliese said.
Hector watched the back and forth, growing annoyed.
“He was in the hospital earlier today helping out. It’s just taken him a while,” Annaliese said.
Samuel looked at Hector and said, “Glad to hear it.”
“Can you get one of the guys on it tomorrow?” Annaliese asked.
“Maybe, but we’re constructing a new shed. How about next week?”
“Can’t be earlier?”
“No, it can’t. The shed is critical; the bars aren’t.”
Hector caught Samuel’s gaze, blinked and nodded, signaling he was fine with the time frame.
“Anyway, I need you to start carrying around the place; you too, Hector. These two guys that showed up seemed shady and beyond that. They had some type of military uniform on, nothing like I’d ever seen before.”
“Maybe they were wearing stuff they found at a surplus store,” Annaliese suggested
.
The mention of the uniform caught Hector’s attention.
“I guess that’s possible, but something about the uniforms seemed like they were legit, like they were in the army or something, but not our army.”
Hector suspected who these men were but remained silent.
“What did they say?”
“That’s just it, what struck me above all else was they didn’t speak English well,” Samuel said.
“They were foreigners?”
“Ah, yeah, they were,” Samuel said and glanced over at Hector. “They sounded Mexican, you know, Hispanic. Their English was broken and they asked a lot of questions.”
Hector looked down at his plate.
“What happened?” Annaliese asked.
“I told them to go away, and they did, but something told me these guys might be back, and they might bring some buddies with them.”
OCTOBER 31, 2015
“Trick or treat.”
Mountain Home, Idaho, Republic of Cascadia
Gordon shot up and looked around when the first blast rocked his quarters. He sprang from his bed, grabbed his trousers, and quickly put them on. He pivoted to grab his boots but jammed his toes against the chair. “Fuck, ouch!” he yelled. The room was pitch black and it was impossible to see. Having adapted to the new world, his instinct was to find his flashlight. His tactical vest was slung over the same chair; he ran his fingers over it and found his flashlight. He pulled it out and clicked it on.
Several more explosions shook the ground. Out the window, bright flashes lit the darkened sky.
Yelling came from the hallway and outside.
Seconds later someone began to bang on his door. “Van Zandt, we’re under attack!”
Gordon shoved his feet into his boots and ran to the door; he flung it open and found Jones standing there. “Any idea where it’s coming from?”
“It’s aircraft.”
Unable to combat jets, Gordon knew there wasn’t much he or his forces could do but take cover.
“Have everyone find adequate cover to ride this out!” Gordon ordered.
Blood, Sweat & Tears: A Postapocalyptic Novel (The New World Series Book 5) Page 10