“Hold on, I didn’t mean to say we were unlawful and not generous. Of course we still are, but we can be better. We have to show the people of these states that we can take care of them. Think of it this way, ninety-eight percent of those people only care about taking care of their families. They don’t care where the food comes from; they just want to feel safe and be able to provide. If we can do a better job than those who are calling for separation, we will win. Running in there and slaughtering people doesn’t win over their hearts and minds.”
“They’re traitors, and traitors have to be dealt with severely.”
“Of course they do, but let’s work with the locals to help get rid of them after we show we can provide the basic things they need. Going in there guns blazing and leaving a trail of death doesn’t feed the children, it doesn’t get the grid back up…” Cruz said then paused. “Does any of this make sense?”
Conner didn’t answer right away. He was feeling judged by his one true friend. His white-knuckled grip on the phone began to make his hand ache.
“I didn’t call you to bitch and complain. I want our great nation to prosper and remain intact, I just think there’s a more subtle way to go about doing it.”
“Okay.”
“Not every solution is a military one. These are Americans we’re talking about, not a group of Muslims. We share a culture with these people; we share a common bond and history. Our efforts years ago in the Middle East weren’t as successful as we hoped because those people don’t think like we do. That’s not the case here. Those people in Washington, Oregon, Idaho, Arizona, Georgia, all of them are Americans. We can keep them with us by showering them with resources not bombs.”
Conner’s gut twisted the more Cruz spoke. He couldn’t help but feel his best friend was harshly judging his efforts. This hurt him to feel this way.
“Are you hearing anything I’m saying?”
“Yes, loud and clear.”
“I know it’s getting late, so I’ll finish by saying let’s reexamine our approach, okay? And I want to be a part of future planning. I have the ear of those nations who are supporting us, and I believe I can get them to double or triple their supply shipments. If I can do that, we don’t have to conquer these people with tanks but with crates of MREs.”
“Okay,” Conner repeated. It was the only thing he could mutter without losing his temper.
“Okay, meaning I can help and be a part of future planning and policy?”
“Sure. Hey, I’m really tired, can we pick up the conversation again tomorrow?”
“I said what I wanted, but we should talk again tomorrow,” Cruz answered.
“Good, thank you for the call,” Conner said, faking a happy tone.
“Good night, Brad,” Cruz said and disconnected the phone.
Conner placed the receiver down and relaxed as best he could into the chair. He thought for a few seconds about the call and was left feeling angry, disappointed and deeply hurt. All he wanted was to see the country flourish, but every time he made a bold move to secure that, people complained. It was so easy for them; they ultimately didn’t hold the responsibility, he did. If it failed, Cruz wouldn’t stand up and take the bullet, so to speak. As Harry Truman said, ‘The buck stops here.’ That was truer now than ever before. His policy was working; the secessionists were being defeated, allowing him to focus the country’s energy and resources towards reconstruction. However, what vexed him was how everyone except for Schmidt didn’t see the big picture. They were more concerned with how things looked than what could be if he lost control and allowed these states to secede.
He heard every word Cruz said and he would allow him to participate in the debate, but he would keep pressing forward with his plan until every rebel secessionist was gone.
He took a deep breath and exhaled heavily. Needing a break from it all, he picked up his tea, took a large sip and thumbed the book to chapter one again. Tonight he’d let Cruz’s words marinate. He had been friends with this man a long time. He felt in his heart that he was right, but for this one time and because of its source, he’d sleep on it before making a decision that would change everything he’d put into place.
NOVEMBER 2, 2015
“Everyone is handed adversity in life. No one’s journey is easy. It’s how they handle it that makes people unique.” – Kevin Conroy
Grandview, Idaho, United States
Something wet and warm kept touching Gordon’s face. At first he thought it was a dream until he opened his eyes to discover a dog hovering over him. He pushed the dog away and sat up, but the enthusiastic hound came back for more licks.
Gordon put up his hands and said, “Easy, boy, easy.”
The dog, a large pit bull terrier, kept licking. The more Gordon resisted, the more the dog tried.
Giving in to the animal’s love and affection, Gordon smiled and said in a soft tone, “Hey, boy, nice to see you too.”
The dog began shaking its rear end and wagging its tail in excitement.
“Urgh, your breath stinks, but some doggie loving is not a bad way to wake up,” Gordon said, scratching the dog on the head.
The sun was up, and by its position, Gordon guessed it was early morning. He looked around the bedroom of the house he’d broken into and couldn’t figure out how the dog got in. He could have sworn he’d locked the bedroom door, and he definitely remembered securing all the doors of the house. But lo and behold, the bedroom door was cracked open. A tinge of fear hit him; he stood up and grabbed his pistol.
When he reached the bedroom door, the aroma of food cooking hit his nostrils.
Disturbed and somewhat freaked out, he went back to get his pack and rifle.
The dog wouldn’t stop poking his leg with his muzzle.
“Get away,” Gordon said, brushing the dog away.
Still the dog wouldn’t listen and kept right on trying to get attention.
He grabbed his pack, slung his rifle and went to the single window that overlooked the backyard. He glanced outside but didn’t see anyone. With a flip of the latch, he unlocked it and opened it. A screen was the next obstacle; instead of trying to remove it, he just cut it out. With the screen gone, he tossed his pack out and ducked to climb through.
Watching him, the dog got excited and barked several times.
“Sssh!” Gordon snapped.
The dog barked a few more times.
The window wasn’t large, and for him, a man whose muscular frame towered over six feet, it made the effort more difficult. His head, right leg and right shoulder were through, but as he went to touch the ground, the muzzle of his rifle got hung up.
The dog was now excited and wouldn’t stop barking.
“Goddamn it, shut up,” Gordon grumbled, trying to free the muzzle from the edge of the screen.
“Why are you running off?” a raspy male voice asked from the doorway.
The voice scared Gordon, who was in a compromised position. He turned to see who it was but lost his balance and fell out of the window. The rifle became unstuck as he went, allowing him to fall to the ground with all of his weight on his right side. He scrambled to get his pistol after hitting the hard ground.
“Gordon, stop freaking out,” the voice now said from the window.
Hearing his name, Gordon looked up to see John Steele.
“Your voice, I didn’t recognize it,” Gordon said, astonished to see his friend.
John touched his throat and said, “I think I have laryngitis or something, been like this since yesterday. Maybe it was all the screaming I was doing.”
“You fucking scared the shit out of me.” Gordon groaned, exhaling heavily. He sprawled out flat on the ground with his pistol still gripped in his hand.
“I tried to wake you, but you wouldn’t get up, so I just let you sleep,” John said.
The dog jumped up and looked out the window, its tongue hanging out.
Gordon lifted his head and asked, “What’s up with the hound?”
/> “She started following me yesterday afternoon,” John said, patting the dog on the head. “You hungry?”
“Yeah,” Gordon said, getting up.
Inside, Gordon sat at the dinette table in the kitchen. His heart had returned to its normal rhythm following his little scare. “How they hell did you find me?”
“Just chance,” John said, putting a plate of corned beef hash in front of Gordon. “I managed to escape the attack and headed west; I remembered the river. I thought it best to follow it.”
“That was my thought too,” Gordon said, shoveling a large forkful of hash into his mouth.
John put his index finger to his head and said, “Great minds think alike.”
“I’m so happy to see you,” Gordon said, stopping his eating to appreciate his friend.
“I was shocked when I broke into the house this morning and, voila, there you were sleeping in the fucking closet. I’ll tell you, man, you can’t sleep so deep, if I wasn’t your friend, you’d be dead.”
“My luck, I guess, it was you, but my body must have needed it,” Gordon said. The look on his face grew tenser and he continued, “I can’t believe the army is gone. It’s a real shocker.”
“A few of us got out. I was able to call back to McCall and let them know,” John said, sitting down across from Gordon with a full plate of hash.
“You have a phone? Great, let me see it,” Gordon said, excited about the prospect of calling home. He wiped his mouth and held out his hand.
“Phone’s dead.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah, sorry.”
“How many got out, that you saw?” Gordon asked.
“A couple dozen, I’m sure there were more. By the way, when I talked to Charles, he was in McCall with the committee. He told me they were going to evacuate all nonessentials.”
Hearing this made Gordon happy, as he didn’t know if Conner would bomb McCall. “Great, he finally did something worthy of applause.”
John laughed and said, “You really don’t like him, do you?”
“I like him, when he’s not around, unavailable, not in charge and just completely off my mind,” Gordon quipped.
“Ha, that’s funny. But he really pissed you off.”
“I’m just not a fan of people who deliberately undermine me and spread lies for their own benefit.”
“Who is?”
“Anyway, we need to get home.”
“Agreed.”
“So our next step is to find a car and get the hell out of here.”
Lake Cascade, Idaho, Republic of Cascadia
“Since I’m up, can I get you anything, a drink?” Samantha asked Joyce.
Joyce held her glass in the air and said, “I’ll never turn a drink down.”
Turning around, Samantha rolled her eyes and thought to herself that Charles flat out lied. She was still drinking, for one, and her kids still looked neglected. From the instant she showed up at her door minutes ago, she could tell Joyce had already been tipping the bottle back.
A tap on the door gave Samantha a reason to smile.
“Oh, someone else is coming over?” Joyce said, already slurring her speech.
Samantha ignored Joyce and opened the door to find Seneca there. “Hey, welcome.”
Seneca stepped in, gave Samantha a hug and looked around. “Wow, this place is great.” She scanned the large suite and was impressed by the twenty-foot ceilings and the far wall with its large windows that went from the floor to the eaves. She headed directly towards them, passing by Joyce. “You’ve got a great view.”
“It’s not bad for an evacuee shelter,” Samantha said.
“I thought my room was nice. I’m on the fourth floor.”
“Is it like this?” Samantha asked.
“God no, it’s like a large hotel room, not fancy like this.”
“Well, I’d trade it all in just to know if Gordon was safe, much less alive,” Samantha lamented as she walked into the living room.
Seneca raced to Samantha, took her hands in hers and said, “I’m so sorry, I’m such a fool, coming in here talking about rooms and views. I’m an idiot.”
“Yep, kinda,” Joyce blurted out.
Seneca shot Joyce a look and said, “Hi, Joyce, what a surprise to see you back in the area.”
Joyce didn’t reply; she raised her empty glass and pretended to cheer.
“No word?” Seneca asked.
“Nothing.”
“I’ve known Gordon for a while, I’m sure he’s fine. I bet he’s heading back here pronto.”
Not wanting to really discuss it beyond a mention, Samantha changed the subject. “I was just getting Joyce a drink, can I get you one as well?”
“Sure,” Seneca said.
Samantha went to the kitchen and brought back a bottle of hard cider and two glasses. She filled Joyce’s then topped off the other two.
Joyce took a sip quickly then offered, “Should we toast something?”
Looking uncomfortable, Samantha replied, “Nah, let’s just drink.”
“I’m fine with that,” Joyce said, taking a large swallow.
The afternoon was spent finishing off two bottles of cider, chatting and even gossiping.
Samantha found Joyce to be a bit more relaxed than before and actually funny. However, she still lacked any tact, and the more she drank, the more she talked, and everything she said wasn’t nice or appropriate.
“Sam, you have to see Olympia, it’s so nice. I mean, it’s not like a real city, but it beats this little shithole,” Joyce mumbled.
“I’ve never been, I suppose I’ll visit sometime in the future,” Samantha said.
“Me too, I guess I’ll have Nelson take me there sometime once this has all blown over,” Seneca said.
After her comment, Seneca realized it was not necessarily appropriate. “There I go again, saying something stupid.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Samantha said.
Joyce picked up the second bottle and turned it upside down, filling her glass to the top and empting the bottle. “You know, Seneca, I’m tired of self-censoring. If I have something to say, I say it. Fuck that PC bullshit,” Joyce said.
Haley came into the room and went directly to Samantha. She leaned in and whispered, “Mommy, one of the boys pooped his pants.”
Samantha leaned back and looked at Haley. “Who?”
Haley was acting embarrassed and didn’t want to say it loud, so she again leaned in and whispered, “The little one.”
“Are you sure?” Samantha asked, stunned to hear the complaint.
“Yes.”
“Are you sure he just didn’t, you know, pass gas?” Samantha asked.
Luke stormed into the room and blared, “Um, Joyce, your youngest took a crap in his pants then took them off and tossed it at me.”
Samantha shot to her feet and said, “He did what?”
Luke shivered, clearly grossed out. “Yeah, he crapped his pants then threw it at me. The boy is a little brat.”
“My boys are not brats!” Joyce declared. She stood up but needed to brace against the couch for fear of falling over.
“Excuse me, I’ll be right back,” Samantha said and headed towards Luke’s bedroom. When she was a few feet away from the open door, she could smell fecal matter. Laughter and chattering was coming from the room. Samantha looked in and saw exactly what Luke described, Joyce’s youngest had his pants off and a dark stain was present on the far wall. “Hey, Joyce, Luke wasn’t lying.”
Joyce pushed Samantha aside to enter the room. “I can’t believe you two, that’s disgusting.”
“I’ll get something to clean this up,” Samantha said and walked away.
“You come with me, and you, how could you let your little brother do that?” Joyce yelled, smacking her oldest in the face.
“I’m sorry, Momma,” the oldest boy said.
Samantha rushed back in with several rags and all-purpose cleaner.
“I thin
k its best I take these fucking animals home,” Joyce said, grabbing both of her children by their necks and pushing them out the door. The youngest boy whimpered as Joyce squeezed his neck hard. “You two fuck everything up all the time. I was just trying to relax, but no, you have to act out.”
Samantha watched in disgust as Joyce shoved and tormented the boys until she closed the door of her room behind her.
“Mommy, that was gross,” Haley said.
“You bet it was,” Seneca agreed.
Samantha slammed the door, turned and said, “That woman is never allowed over here again, ever.”
Cheyenne, Wyoming, United States
Conner had woken that morning feeling refreshed and his mind was clear. He attributed his clarity of purpose to Cruz’s late night phone call. He knew what he needed to do, and he was going to make sure it happened right away.
With confidence in his step he headed into the hallway from the elevator. He was quickly met by his executive assistant. “Mr. President, everyone is gathered in the conference room.”
“Excellent. Oh, go find me an egg sandwich,” Conner said cheerfully. He strutted into the conference room and closed the door.
Encircling the large table was his entire team of cabinet members and their aides. General Baxter sat at the far head of the table, with Schmidt sitting in the middle; his condition had definitely not improved.
Sitting in for Wilbur was Edward Williams, her undersecretary. He was an older man, in his late sixties, and had spent many years in public service.
Conner came in and took his seat at the other end of the table. He looked at each person, smiled and said, “Good morning, everyone.”
Everyone gave their greeting.
“Mr. Vice President, you on the line?” Conner asked.
Cruz was on speaker and replied, “I’m here.”
“Good. Everyone, I want to tell you that the vice president and I had a great conversation last night. He wants to play a greater role in counter-secessionist policy-making, and how could I say no? The more good minds we have working on this, the better. Now, let’s just jump right into this. We have several topics to discuss this morning. General Baxter, update us on Cascadia.”
Blood, Sweat & Tears: A Postapocalyptic Novel (The New World Series Book 5) Page 15