“Liar!” the officer barked.
“I survived and I am here to lead you once more!”
The officer pointed the pistol but couldn’t get the nerve to squeeze the trigger. After Hector had made his declaration, he could see his strength and his courage—this man could only be his emperor.
Pablo looked at the officer and said, “Come, my brother, embrace your emperor.”
The man lowered his pistol; tears welled up in his eyes. He jumped off the tank and looked deep into Pablo’s eyes. “It is you.”
Pablo’s throat was on fire, seared by an intense pain, but he couldn’t stop now. “Lower your guns. These people are our friends.”
The soldiers did as he said.
Annaliese and Samuel stood frozen, unsure of what they should do.
Pablo turned around on his wobbly legs and said, “Anna, I want you to meet my family.”
Annaliese’s jaw hung open; she had nothing to say.
Pablo slowly and painfully walked to her, his men falling in behind him like water flowing back after a break. He stopped just feet from her and said, “Hola.”
“What is this, Hector?”
He nodded.
“I know you can talk, so talk,” she demanded.
“It hurts,” he said, then spit a large bloody mass onto the ground to give her a physical display.
“Talk.”
“These men belong to me.”
“Who are you?”
With his throat swelling, he waved for the officer to come forward. “Answer her.”
“This great man is Pablo Juarez, the emperor of the Pan-American Empire.”
“I thought you were all wiped out,” Samuel said, his memory recalling the nuclear blast that had destroyed Pablo’s northern army but not the one he had sent to the south.
“No, sir, the emperor in his wisdom split the army. We were directed south. After the blast killed our brothers to the north and word came that our emperor died in the blast too, we halted our march east. We found refuge in the mountains west of here. Slowly as the days turned to weeks then months, men left never to return. Our army dwindled and soon ran out of food and supplies.”
“So then you come and kill my people!” Samuel barked.
The officer looked sheepishly at Samuel, now knowing these people were friends of Pablo’s. “Had I known the emperor was here, I never would have.”
Pablo placed his right hand on the man’s shoulder and said, “You’re a survivor.”
“Si.”
“So are we, and you don’t see us murdering people,” Annaliese barked, challenging the excuse.
“Forgive me, forgive us,” the officer said, his head bowed.
Pablo reached out and took Annaliese’s hand, but she pulled away.
“I don’t even know who you are,” Annaliese said angrily.
“Yes, you do,” Pablo replied.
“No, I don’t.”
He swallowed hard and said, “You saved me more than once.”
“Where do we go from here?” Samuel asked, unsure of how they’d come to a resolution.
“Water,” Pablo said.
Several soldiers ran up, offering their canteens.
Pablo took one and drank. He looked at Annaliese and said, “You decide what happens.”
Stunned, she didn’t know how to respond.
“Think clearly, Anna,” Samuel said.
“These men,” Pablo said, then paused. He looked at the officer and asked, “How many?”
“Only one thousand eight hundred and seventy-nine left, sir.”
Pablo was amazed by how little remained of his army. “All of these men are yours now.”
“What am I suppose to do with an army?”
“Might I suggest?” Pablo asked.
“Sure.”
“I listened to you that night your cousin died. I heard your prayer to the Almighty,” Pablo said, he turned with his arm and finished, “I think God gave you his answer.”
Southern Checkpoint, Highway 55, Five Miles south of Cascade, Idaho, Republic of Cascadia
“My face is frozen,” Gordon mumbled loudly, the cold air whipping and swirling around him.
“Almost there, the south checkpoint is in view,” John replied.
They slowed down and pulled into the barricaded entrance of the checkpoint. The road was narrowed to a single lane with large concrete jersey walls on either side. A hundred feet ahead the lane ended at a crossbar with a small shed erected to the left. They crept along until they reached the shed.
“Where is everyone?” John asked, shocked that no one was there.
A pickup and one Humvee were parked just behind the shed.
The door of the shed opened up and three armed men wearing civilian clothes exited. On their upper sleeves they bore a patch that had a clenched fist emblazoned over a blue, white and green circle. This was the patch of the Cascadian Workers Army, a radical and militant left-wing group that Gordon despised but the committee used as their personal security force.
Neither John nor Gordon recognized them, and they wondered why they were there.
“Papers,” an older man asked, stepping up to the side of the Jeep.
John looked at Gordon and said, “What’s the CWA doing here? Why are they manning the checkpoints?” John looked back at the man and asked, “Where are the Marines?”
The man cocked his head and asked, “Who are you?”
A tingle shot up Gordon’s spine as his senses were screaming that this entire situation was wrong.
John stared at the man and asked again, “Where are the Marines?”
The tension rose after John’s stern question. The two other sentries gripped their rifles more firmly but hadn’t yet raised them.
Gordon slowly moved his hand towards his holstered pistol.
“Who are you?” the man asked again, this time louder and with an authority he thought he had.
“I’m not answering shit until you tell me what happened to the Marines who usually man this checkpoint,” John said.
The two sentries grew tenser and began to fidget.
“If you don’t provide me papers or tell me who you are, I’ll have to arrest you.”
Gordon could see how this could go very badly for them. They were hemmed in between two barriers, and neither had their weapons out. The two sentries were just a few inches from raising their semiautomatic Kalashnikov rifles and ending their lives. There wasn’t a scenario he played out that had them survive.
“Hold on, everyone chill out,” Gordon said, putting his left hand up and standing up in the Jeep.
“Sit down!” the man ordered.
“Calm down, we’re from the army. We survived; we’re just coming back is all,” Gordon said.
“Who are you?” the man once again asked.
Feeling that his name would benefit them, Gordon declared, “I’m Gordon Van Zandt, you might have heard of me.”
The two sentries had and responded accordingly by leveling their muzzles at Gordon and John. The older man stepped back, pulled out his pistol and barked, “You’re under arrest!”
“What the fuck, hold on!” Gordon yelled.
John went to move, but Gordon prevented him.
“Just sit tight, don’t,” Gordon urged.
“Get out of the vehicle and on the ground!” the old man ordered.
“On whose authority are you doing this?” Gordon asked.
“Chairman Chenoweth, now get out of the vehicle now!”
Cheyenne, Wyoming, United States
The main hall of the capital was filled to capacity, with many visitors standing to see the transfer of power from one president to another. What made this historical was it was the first of its kind in US history, and it showed the people of Cheyenne and the United States that peaceful transitions were still possible.
When the news broke in the city that Conner was resigning, a mixture of jubilance, anger and uncertainty reverberated. Those who sided wit
h Pat and opposed Conner took to the streets in violation of martial law and the anti-protest laws to celebrate. When Conner saw the swelling numbers, he knew how large his opposition really was. They had arrested many, but it proved that many sat in silence and objected to his leadership but were too afraid or too lazy to act. This silent majority symbolized an election loss had he ever run. He was now more than ever certain of his decision to vacate the office that had been thrust upon him. He would happily go into obscurity, but where that would be was still undecided.
The ceremony would be short, with him formally signing a document resigning the office. He wouldn’t give any speeches and would slip back to allow his friend to take the spot. Time was allocated for Cruz to give his first speech after he was officially sworn in.
A single table and chair sat in the middle of the large hall. This was to be the spot it would happen.
Waiting for his cue, he stood on the sidelines. To his right several people away, Major Schmidt stood, his dress uniform on. To his left, General Baxter proudly stood, his chest broad and his head held high. He wondered if Baxter had worked against him and assumed he had, but now none of it mattered. Soon all of it would be in Cruz’s lap. Thoughts again came of where he would go. He wasn’t so sure he’d stay in Cheyenne, but where should a retiring former president with low approval go? An island sounded good, an island in the South Pacific sounded really good. Thoughts of it all made it all more appealing. He was beginning to get intoxicated by the thoughts of not having to deal with the doubters, liars, backstabbers, whiners, complainers, the list could go on. He’d leave them all to go at each other while he went to go enjoy what days he had left. He recalled his conversation with Schmidt yesterday, he’d told him he’d come back if needed, but now he wasn’t so sure of that. Screw it. Many of his fellow countrymen seemed to dislike him, so why bother?
A well-dressed young beautiful woman came up to Conner and said, “Mr. President, it’s time.”
“Is it? Good,” Conner answered. He followed the woman to the table and took a seat.
In front of him was a single piece of paper and a pen.
“Just sign and it’s done, right?” Conner asked the woman. He was a bit nervous. This was it, he was about to end his career.
“Yes, sir.”
Conner picked up the pen and unscrewed the top. He glanced over the document. It was a boilerplate format for anyone resigning, with a few clauses concerning his security detail and the fact he’d have to remain silent and never disclose anything confidential. He hovered the pen over the place for his signature and paused.
“Murderer!” a voice boomed from the crowd.
Conner looked up and saw Pat, his eyes wide with crazed anger. He lunged from the crowd with a pistol in his hand. Conner sat and didn’t respond. It was almost comical that upon his day of resignation he’d finally be assassinated by a man he used to call friend.
“You’re a dictator. You murdered Bethanny!” Pat screamed as he sprinted towards Conner with the pistol out in front.
Several security officers were right behind Pat and tackled him to the ground.
Pat dropped the pistol and scrambled to pick it back up, but the security officers had him firmly in their grasp. “You’re a murderer!”
“Bethanny? You mean Secretary Wilbur?” Conner asked Pat from his perched position in the chair, the pen still in his unwavering hand.
“Yes! You executed her, shot her down in an alley and left her like a piece of garbage!” Pat screamed.
Pat was emotional, but his emotions told Conner of something more. It seemed that Pat was in love with her.
Schmidt came towards Pat, his fists clenched.
Following right behind was Baxter.
“You, you’re his henchman, a fucking butcher, curse you!” Pat yelled at Schmidt.
Baxter stepped around Schmidt and stood clearly in view.
Pat shifted his attention to Baxter and yelled, “And you, you—” Pat’s head snapped back, the side of it exploding from a single shot. His body went limp and fell into the arms of the security officers.
The crowd screamed in fear and surprise when the gun went off.
Schmidt jumped too; he wasn’t expecting to hear a gun fire with Pat being detained. He looked at Baxter and asked, “What the hell?”
Baxter lowered the semiautomatic pistol and said, “I thought he might get free. He looked like he was about to break free.”
“Yeah, right,” Schmidt said with a chuckle.
Cruz ran up to Conner’s side and asked, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I am,” Conner replied. He looked down at the paper, put the tip of the pen down and signed. He took a deep breath, exhaled, tossed the pen aside and stood. Motioning with his arms, he said, “This mess is all yours now.”
Lake Cascade, Idaho, Republic of Cascadia
The crack of gunfire startled Samantha. She raced to the window, but her view was of the old golf course, with the gunfire coming from the opposite side of the building.
“Haley, where are you?”
“In my room, Mommy.”
Another burst of gunfire sounded. This time it sounded like it was in the building.
Samantha opened a drawer and pulled out a Sig Sauer P239, Gordon’s favorite 9mm and now hers. By the weight she could tell it had a full magazine, but to ensure there was one in the chamber, she press checked it. Confirmed, the pistol was loaded and ready.
“Mommy, is someone shooting?” Haley asked. She had left her room and was standing just behind Samantha.
“Yes, go to your room and hide in that spot in your closet,” Samantha ordered.
“Okay, Mommy,” Haley said and ran off.
The spot Samantha was referring to was a small crawl space that led to an unimproved attic space behind the walls.
Samantha followed her and put Haley back there.
“Are you gonna hide with me?” Haley asked with fear in her eyes.
“I can’t really fit in there.”
“But I’m scared. Don’t leave me in here alone,” Haley pleaded.
Samantha hadn’t seen Haley this scared in a long time. “It will be fine, no, actually it may not be. But I need you to hide while I see what’s going on.”
“But, Mommy—”
“Please, Haley, just do what I ask. Trust me, I don’t want to leave you, but I have to. This little space will only hold you and Luke,” Samantha said, then realized Luke hadn’t come back from his training. Feeling hurried, she closed Haley in, leaving her a flashlight, food and water, and went to go find Luke.
She opened the front door to find several people she knew from town chattering about the gunfire that had now ceased.
“Samantha, what’s going on?” a woman asked, rushing up to her.
“I don’t know. Have you seen Luke?” Samantha asked.
“Sam, Sam, people are shooting. Are we under attack?” another woman about her age asked, jogging towards Samantha with her two young children in tow.
“Everyone, I don’t know what’s going on; I’m in the same boat as you. Has anyone seen Luke, or have they seen who might be shooting?” Samantha asked.
The first woman who approached Samantha said, “I saw some people out front. They had machine guns and approached the front. I didn’t see what happened, but I heard shooting.”
“What did they look like?” Samantha asked.
“Regular clothes,” the woman answered.
“Not uniforms?”
“No.”
A single gunshot sounded below them.
Several women screamed.
“Who has guns?” Samantha asked.
They all raised their hands.
“Go get them. I suggest you hide the little ones. Then meet me in the hall here. There’s only one way up here, and it’s that stairwell there,” Samantha said, pointing down the hall. “No one comes in unless we know them. If we don’t, then you know what I mean.”
“What’s going to happen?” th
e older woman asked.
“I know what’s not going to happen and that I’m not going out without a fight,” Samantha declared.
McCall, Idaho, Republic of Cascadia
“So the great Gordon Van Zandt lives,” Charles said as he pulled the hood off of Gordon.
Gordon shook his head and asked, “What the fuck is going on?”
“You’re my prisoner, or I should say you’ll soon be the prisoner of the United States. You see, I’ve made a deal, and I learned from you that I should make deals where I don’t need to consult with my partners. You’re a great teacher, Gordon; I’ve learned a lot from you. I made a deal with President Conner to spare my life and the lives of us from Olympia.”
“You’re making a big mistake, Charles. You can’t trust the president.”
“I believe I can.”
“You’re wrong. He’s just trying to divide us, nothing more,” Gordon insisted, not knowing the scope of the arrangement Charles and Conner had made.
“Gordon, we’ve lost the war because you were a piss-poor military commander. You went south and thought you could just roll in and take territory. I knew that plan was foolhardy and it cost us our army. When I asked for more troops to be stationed in Olympia, you disregarded me again and it resulted in Olympia being left practically defenseless, and now we both know what happened there,” Charles preached as he walked around Gordon, who was tied to a chair inside an empty bay inside the fire station.
Gordon looked around the empty bay. Only he and Charles were there. Outside he could hear laughter and talking from what sounded like a decent-sized crowd. The laughter was disarming because to him this was not a laughing matter.
“Where’s my family?” Gordon asked, his focus turning to them.
“We’re getting them right now, well, the rest of them. I brought your boy, though.”
“Where’s Luke?” Gordon asked.
“He’s fine, we have him with the others,” Charles said.
“Charles, please, what are you doing? This is foolish. The war is not lost, we just need to make a plan. They can’t win if we don’t quit,” Gordon stressed.
Blood, Sweat & Tears: A Postapocalyptic Novel (The New World Series Book 5) Page 20