Blood, Sweat & Tears: A Postapocalyptic Novel (The New World Series Book 5)
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A series of larger and louder blasts hit close by, shaking the officers’ quarters.
“We have to get you below,” Jones said.
“Where?”
“There’s an underground parking lot,” Jones said.
“I thought you said there was a bunker on site?” Gordon asked.
“Too far away, we need to get you and whoever’s in here down in the garage now,” Jones said, grabbing Gordon by the arm.
Gordon pulled back and said, “I’m coming. Let me grab some things.”
“Come on, Van Zandt!”
“Fucking go. I’ll meet you down there!” Gordon ordered.
Another series of explosions lit the sky; the concussion blew out the glass in the window of his room. Gordon fell to the ground, cursing and praying at the same time. He got to his feet and grabbed his vest, rifle and personal effects, including items from Haley and Samantha. Having those meant a lot to him, and those little trinkets had seen him through darker times, so he wasn’t about to leave them behind.
With everything in hand, he raced for the door, but a direct hit on the quarters threw him to the floor.
Screams and yelling from inside the building told him the strike had been fatal for some.
Gordon got to his feet and ran towards the stairwell.
A myriad of flashlight beams darted off the walls of the hallway, as everyone on his floor was doing the same as him.
Thoughts of Samantha and Haley came to him as he prayed he’d make the stairs and get to safety.
A massive blast hit the far end of the hallway.
The sheer force of the blast tossed Gordon and the others like rag dolls. Flames jetted down the hall, barely missing him but catching others on fire.
Gordon looked up and saw the men frantically running around, their bodies engulfed in flames. A gaping hole replaced the far end as smoke and flames found an escape. Fear suddenly gripped Gordon when he realized the stairwell was where the hole now was. Needing a way out, he got back on his feet and headed towards his room. His only avenue of escape now was out the window and down the three stories to the ground.
The yells and screams were muted because his eardrums had been perforated from the intense concussion. Blood trickled out of his ears and down his cheeks.
Back in his room he hastily tied the sheets and blankets end to end and secured one end to the bed frame then tossed the other through the open window.
The ferocity of the aerial attack was now at its worst as the night sky was constantly lit by one explosion after another.
He donned all of his equipment, grabbed the makeshift rope, and stepped out of the window. He slowly lowered himself one floor, then another, and was only fifteen feet from the ground when a missile struck the top floor of the building. The subsequent explosion caused him to lose his grip and fall to the ground hard with the back of his head smacking the edge of a concrete sidewalk.
He opened his eyes to see debris raining down on him. He thought about moving, but a darkness he was familiar with was coming and there wasn’t anything he could do. Relenting to his fate, he closed his eyes and blacked out.
McCall, Idaho, Republic of Cascadia
Sleeping in was something Samantha liked to do on the weekend, and knowing that her day would be long due to it being Halloween and they had a house party to attend, she wanted the extra sleep, but whoever was banging on the door wouldn’t allow that to happen.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” she said, rubbing her eyes and catching a glimpse of the dimly lit morning.
Whoever was knocking began to bang louder.
“Hold on!” Samantha called out, wishing they would stop so as not to wake the kids. She unlocked the series of deadbolts and opened the door to find Charles, Michael Rutledge, Nelson and Seneca. Seeing all of them sent shivers down her spine and a cold chill across her body. “Oh no, what happened?”
“There’s been an incident,” Charles said then continued, “A horrible incident.”
Samantha put her shaking hand over her mouth and could feel her legs wobble.
Seneca pushed her way past Charles and embraced Samantha.
The worst imaginable images flashed before her eyes. “Is he dead?”
Charles didn’t answer. He looked at the others then back to Samantha and asked, “Can we come in?”
“Answer me,” Samantha declared.
“We don’t know,” Charles answered then stepped inside uninvited, followed by Nelson and Michael, who closed the door behind them.
Seneca walked Samantha to the couch and sat her down.
“What does that mean? What’s happened?” Samantha asked.
“Early this morning Gordon’s army came under attack, a fierce aerial and missile bombardment,” Charles explained. “All we know right now is our forces have suffered greatly; to say they’ve been decimated would be the most accurate way of explaining it.”
Samantha held her hand to her mouth and her stomach tightened. A strong sensation of nausea swept over her.
“The survivors are working to find other survivors and get an accurate accounting of all who have died,” Michael added.
“It’s a mess, a total disaster,” Charles lamented.
Nelson sat next to Samantha and took her hand.
“How is it that you don’t know if Gordon is alive or not?” Samantha asked.
Charles looked at Michael and Nelson before replying, “The building where he was last seen was destroyed. We don’t know because we can’t find him or a body.”
“Oh my God, no, please, no,” Samantha cried. Tears burst from her eyes and she began to breathe fast and heavy.
“What’s going on?” Luke asked, stepping into the great room.
“It’s nothing,” Nelson said.
“No, I promised I’d tell him. Come here, Luke.” Samantha beckoned, her shaking hand outstretched.
Luke approached and took it. He looked into her swollen red eyes and asked, “Is he dead?”
“They don’t know, but the army he was leading has suffered greatly. It’s not just us that might be suffering. We must think of everyone, all the others who also might have lost someone today.”
Haley then appeared; she yawned and rubbed her eyes. “Mommy, you don’t need to cry.”
“Come here, baby,” Samantha called.
Haley jogged over and jumped into her open arms. She wiped Samantha’s tears away, leaned in and whispered, “Don’t cry, Mommy.”
“I can’t help it, I’m just scared.”
“Daddy will be fine.”
“Oh, baby, I love your optimism,” Samantha cried.
“I just know it, he’s fine.”
Samantha pulled Luke down to her and embraced him with her open arm. She then squeezed both kids tightly.
“We didn’t mean to cause stress or alarm, but we thought it best to come over as soon as we heard of the attack,” Michael said.
“It’s fine, I want to know. What happens now?” Samantha asked.
Charles was still standing. He was too tense to even think about sitting much less relaxing. “We bring the survivors home and just pray that we can come back from this.”
Cheyenne, Wyoming, United States
Conner had taken a break from the hectic war room to get a drink in his office. He asked Schmidt to join him because they had much to celebrate.
“Major, you are the best, and I don’t throw that word around lightly. What you pulled off yesterday was perfection,” Conner jubilantly said.
Schmidt coughed and replied, “Thank you, but that was all my guys. They deserve the praise not me. Hell, I wasn’t even there, and for that I am deeply sorry.”
Conner raced over to Schmidt’s side and said, “Are you kidding me? I had the doctor give you that. I didn’t want you there because I didn’t want someone to implicate you. If you were passed out from medicine, then in no way could Wilbur say your men did anything. I just didn’t know that traitorous bitch would skip out.”
“She must have gotten Pat out too,” Conner theorized.
“She acted quickly following the explosions. She knew you’d come down hot and heavy. I just don’t know how she got past my guys.”
“Do you suppose she knew we were onto her?” Schmidt asked.
“I doubt it. She just figured we’d put the screws to Pat or some of her compatriots and they’d squeal.”
“She’ll get hers out there.”
“What if she didn’t leave, what if she and Pat are still here?” Conner suggested.
“They could be hiding somewhere, and if she is, we’ll find her just like we found Saddam Hussein years ago, quivering in a hole.”
“Triple your teams; no, put all of your assets to finding them.”
“Yes, sir,” Schmidt said and coughed loudly. He recoiled and hid his hand when he saw blood.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s just a virus, that’s what the doctor thinks.”
“Major, don’t lie to me. I’ve spoken with him. You can be honest with me, I’m the one friend you have here, and you’re mine now,” Conner said with a sentimental tone. He walked back and poured a fresh glass of scotch for him and one for Schmidt. He walked it over and said, “Take it.”
“No, sir,” Schmidt said, waving his hand.
“Take it, that’s a damn order,” Conner insisted.
Schmidt reached up with his weak and shaky hand and took the drink. “Thank you.”
Conner tapped the glass and cheerfully said, “Cheers and congratulations on a perfectly executed operation.”
Both men took a sip.
“What’s the next play, sir?”
“Well, the reports from our surveillance drones say we’ve destroyed Van Zandt’s army. I think we need to focus on finishing this. What would make me the happiest person on Earth right now is if we could bring him back here to stand trial. I’d say we send a few teams, but I don’t want to risk losing them. Closely monitor the situation and find out if he’s alive or not.”
“No, sir, I say we go in and finish this up. Let’s send some gunships followed by strike teams and kill them all, except, of course, for Van Zandt if we find him alive.”
“You think we can do this and not lose too many?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then send some drones out first thing in the morning to get solid intel before sending your teams out.”
“Yes, sir,” Schmidt said, then took a sip of scotch.
Conner’s phone rang.
“One sec,” Conner said, picking up the phone. “Yes.”
“Mr. President, General Baxter here. We found Wilbur.”
Sandy, Utah
Annaliese bounded down the stairs into the living room of the house. She had just changed her clothes after having gotten dirty helping build the parallel bars for Hector. She’d bypassed Samuel by going to visit Marcus, a young man who now called the ranch home. He was in his mid-thirties and had been a general contractor before the lights went out. She discussed the project with him, and he informed her they’d take only a few hours to build once he did some quick measurements and gathered the materials. With Annaliese’s help, the bars went up just as Marcus had said.
Hector did his best to contribute to building the bars and tried to focus on what work he could do, but his mind wandered to the conversation last night over dinner. Samuel was right; the two men who showed up weren’t there to find a new home but to scout the property. He knew they’d be back, and he needed to prepare them without giving away how he knew this.
“What are you doing sitting here?” Annaliese asked Hector, finding him in the living room. He was facing the stairs as if waiting for her.
He held out a semiautomatic pistol.
“What’s this?” she asked, looking at the firearm.
He nudged it towards her.
“I have one upstairs, I just forgot to put it on.”
He again motioned with his arm by waving the pistol.
She stepped forward and took it.
“Is something wrong with it?”
“No,” he answered, then pointed to her.
“I have one,” she again reminded him.
He pushed it at her one more time but harder.
“Okay, I’ll take it,” she reluctantly said.
He then handed her a shoulder holster.
“Really?”
He nodded.
“Fine,” she said, taking the holster.
He motioned for her to put it on.
She grunted but complied with his request.
“Where’s yours?” she asked.
He leaned to one side, showing he had not one, but two pistols tucked in between his right leg and the wheelchair.
“Good, I wasn’t about to take yours, but I see you’re prepared. Did what Samuel said last night concern you?”
He nodded.
“We’ll be fine; we’ve got a good number of people guarding the place.”
He shook his head, protesting her last comment.
“Don’t worry too much, we have a good system here, and we even have the bunker to fall back to.”
He shook his head.
“Listen, I have to go help at the hospital. Are you coming over today?” Annaliese asked.
Hector nodded slightly.
“You want to come with me?”
“No.”
“Okay, I’ll see you over there,” Annaliese said and walked off.
His eyes drooped. If these men did come back, the bunker would be worthless for two reasons: it couldn’t hold everyone, and second, they’d come back with the means to breach it.
McCall, Idaho, Republic of Cascadia
When Samantha heard the knock, she prayed the news was good, but she braced for the worst. She hurried to the door, holding a lantern to light the way, and opened it to find only Nelson this time. The look on his face was somber and instantly told her no good news was to come.
“It’s been all day and nothing new. What’s going on?” she asked, grabbing and pulling him in.
He kicked his boots free of fresh powdery snow but stopped short of pulling his boots off.
She could see he looked defeated.
“Just tell me,” she blurted out.
“Nothing new about Gordon, that’s what has me upset. I wanted to come here and give you something, but I can’t. It’s a damn mess. Those who survived are working frantically to find others that might be trapped in the rubble of buildings. It’s just a fucking disaster.”
Seeing Nelson was suffering emotionally from the tragedy, she brought him over to the kitchen bar and sat him down on a stool.
“Let me get you something to drink,” Samantha said.
“Wait, this is ass backwards. I should be taking care of you,” Nelson protested.
“We’re both suffering, and would you believe that giving love and caring to others is therapeutic?”
“I would believe that.”
“I’m actually getting myself a drink, so I’ll just pour an extra one,” Samantha said, walking into the kitchen and pulling the cork on a bottle of homemade hard cider.
“You like Phyllis’s special brew?” Samantha asked.
“It will do, thank you,” Nelson replied, looking around the dimly lit space. “Where are the kids?”
“Luke is entertaining Haley by reading her some books, unless he’s fallen asleep. He’s really tired after some tactical training he received today from Lance Corporal Sanchez.”
“Tactical training?”
“Long story, but it’s keeping him busy and his mind focused.”
“But his arm.” Nelson groaned.
“He’ll be fine; I’m more worried about his state of mind than his arm right now.”
Nelson shrugged his shoulders, dismissing it all, and took a long drink of the cool cider. “Yum, it’s nice and cold.”
“That’s the one blessing of it being cold outside; the cider is always the perfect temp.”
“How are you holding up?” Nelson asked.
“Better since my meltdown this morning.”
“It’s okay to be upset.”
“I can’t afford to be upset all day. The last time I was, it affected Haley strongly, and until I know for sure what’s happened to Gordon, I’ll just be optimistic.”
“You’re a good woman, Sam, you really are.”
“Speaking of good women, when are you going to make an honest one out of Seneca? What are you waiting for?” Samantha asked.
Nelson looked down at his drink, not wishing to discuss such topics. “I don’t know.”
Samantha brushed the long hair from his eyes and said, “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“After what she did last time to me, I just have a hard time…trusting her.”
“That was another time, another world, another Seneca; things are so different now.”
“I know, but I just can’t seem to get that out of my mind.” Nelson explained his thoughts on how Seneca had dumped him at the last minute, ending their engagement and disappearing from his life years ago.
“Just put that out of your mind, please. She hasn’t said anything to me or anyone that I know of, but she’s waiting. Ask her to marry you. She needs that commitment, I know she does. Get married, have babies.”
Nelson looked up and said, “I love her, I do, I just wish that had never happened.”
“It did, it happened, but that was years ago. Now put your big-boy pants on and nail that girl down.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Don’t think. In fact, stop thinking, get out of your head, and act using your heart. Nelson, I want you to hear me, are you listening?” Samantha said, grabbing his arm.
“I’m listening.”
“The old world is gone. It died a while ago. This world holds no guarantees, nor does it ensure the grass is greener somewhere else. Look at what happened today. Enjoy your life. Live, love and procreate. Have a legacy.”
“But what legacy do I give my future children? One that lives under tyranny and fear? I’m not sure if I want children; I would be terrified of what could happen to them every day.”