“I disagree, and when I got that call from President Conner, I knew that was the deal to make.”
“But why?”
“Because I don’t want to die, okay. I want to live, I want to see another sunrise.”
“So all this talk about freedom and having your own country was bullshit? You didn’t really mean it. Yeah, you were willing to have it given to you, but when it came time to fight and die for it, you stopped short there.”
“Fuck you, Gordon. The dream of Cascadia was mine from the start. I have always wanted it, but the cause is lost. It’s futile to fight for something when we’ve clearly lost,” Charles barked.
“But we haven’t. Let me go and I’ll detail for you how we can win. It doesn’t have to be this way. Look at what you’re doing now. You’ve fallen into a trap made by Conner. He’s now divided us and we’re fighting against one another. You had one chance to have a new country, but you’re now ensuring that will never happen again. No one east of central Washington will listen to you if you live and want to do this again. This is your one and only chance. Let me go; we’ll move past this and reorganize,” Gordon pleaded, pulling out all the arguments he could think of.
Charles stopped his pacing and thought about what Gordon had said. It would be the end of the dream he’d had since being a young man, and there wouldn’t be a chance to resurrect it. It would be gone forever, but one thing that was for sure was he’d be alive. “I’m sorry, but my life is now more important than being free. I choose to live under a man like Conner rather than have my own country.”
“Then you have lost, but I haven’t. I will keep fighting,” Gordon bellowed.
“Actually, that’s not going to happen either. You see, the deal requires I gather all of you up and turn you over to US authorities. They wish to try you for treason. Unfortunately, Gordon, your fate as well as your compatriots’ and your family’s is sealed.”
Gordon’s anger rose. He struggled with the bindings that held him, flexing his muscles and straining to break free.
“But what is important before you go is to have a trial here for you and the others. You are not only a traitor to the United States, but many of us from the west believe you’re a traitor too. Before we turn you over, you will be tried here too.”
Lake Cascade, Idaho, Republic of Cascadia
The women on the fifth floor established a defensive position by placing furniture in the hall, and barricaded themselves behind it.
Yells and screams from the lower floors created fear, but none panicked. They had everything to fight for, and the thought of allowing whoever was coming for them to get their children was not an option. The saying that a woman is the fiercest fighter when her children are threatened had been tested before and proven; now the men who were coming for them would soon have firsthand knowledge.
“Okay, ladies, when that door opens, just point, shoot and don’t stop until they’re dead,” Samantha ordered.
Several gunshots rang out one floor below.
“They’re coming,” a young woman named Alice said. Her hands and lip were quivering with fear. She had never been in a fight and the thought alone of a gunfight terrified her.
Samantha looked down the line and was proud of the eight strong women who were willing to stand their ground. She didn’t know the outcome but was happy to be in the company of these ladies.
Automatic gunfire erupted outside followed by yelling. This time the shooting was off the large deck that overlooked the golf course.
“I’ll be right back,” Samantha said and raced to see who might be fighting over there. She ran into her room and to the large window. Looking down, she saw nothing.
More automatic gunfire sounded but deeper in the building and coming from the first or second floor.
She ran back into the dimly lit hallway and alerted the women. “I think someone is here to help. I think the gunshots I just heard are our people.”
“God, I hope so,” Alice said.
“Screw them, I want to shoot someone. How dare they come here and mess with us,” an older woman name Francine barked.
“I’m with you, Francine,” Samantha said.
“Are you crazy?” Alice asked.
A volley of gunfire sounded in the lower floors; it sounded like a gun battle.
This gave Samantha hope.
Standing in a line, their weapons extended, the women waited nervously as the endless volley of gunfire mixed with screaming came from below. They knew someone would finally reach their floor; they just didn’t know who it might be.
Then as quickly as it had erupted, the gunfire suddenly stopped. Cries and yelling came after, which turned into an eerie silence.
“What do you think is going on?” Alice asked.
“I think someone won. I just hope it was the good guys,” Samantha replied.
The stairwell door suddenly opened and a voice called out, “Anyone up here?”
Samantha remained silent, but Alice couldn’t refrain from responding, “We have guns. We’ll shoot you!”
“It’s okay, we’re Marines,” the voice answered.
“Is that you, Lance Corporal Sanchez?” Samantha asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” Sanchez replied.
“Thank God.” Samantha sighed.
“Are we clear to come up? Getting shot by friendly fire isn’t on my to-do list for today,” he joked.
“Lower your guns, ladies,” Samantha ordered.
The women did as she said, and with that their tension and fear went too.
“All clear!” Samantha yelled.
“Okay,” Sanchez replied and stepped from the darkened stairwell into the hazy light. Following him were several other Marines and three local militia. He marched towards them and said, “Sorry we’re late. Is everyone okay up here?”
“Just frightened is all.”
“Are the kids safe?” Sanchez asked Samantha.
“Haley’s fine, but Luke’s not with you?”
“No, he never showed up for training, and then this all started and we were pulled away to address an attack near the cottages just south of here. We had no idea they were coming after everyone.”
“Where’s Luke?” Samantha asked, her voice stressed.
“I don’t know,” Sanchez replied.
“We have to find him. Who were these men, and what were they doing here?” she asked.
“They were CWA and they weren’t here to kill but to capture you all; that’s the most we’ve gotten so far. We have one downstairs now,” Sanchez reported.
Samantha climbed over the barricade and pushed past Sanchez. “Take me to him now.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Samantha stopped and looked to Francine. “Fran, go get Haley from the closet. Tell her I’ll be back soon.”
Francine stood tall and said, “We’ve got your back, Sam. Go get your boy.”
Samantha raced down the darkened stairwell, occasionally stepping over bodies until they reached the first floor.
Sanchez led her through the lobby and outside through the shattered front doors.
Bullet holes, debris, blood and bodies were everywhere.
Under the porte cochere a man in civilian clothes was sitting with his arms bound behind him. His face was covered in blood and his bare arms had cuts, with a gunshot wound in his right forearm.
“That’s him right there,” Sanchez said, pointing to the man.
She stomped over and stood directly in front of him. Her meager five-foot-three-inch stature seemed greater due to her anger and determination. “Where have you taken everyone?”
“I’ve answered all I’m going to answer,” the man said, coughing up a little blood and spitting it out.
“What were you doing here and why?”
“Fuck you, I’m not saying another word. I already told these goons that we were sent to arrest you all. I’m not saying another word.”
“Yes, you will,” Samantha barked, her hands on her hips.
“Why—”
“I told you,” he interrupted.
“No, why do you think you don’t have to talk? Do you think there will be some sort of settlement or that we won’t torture you to get what we want because we’re afraid of whoever you work for? You’re wrong. I will torture you myself until you tell me every last thing I want to know.”
“Ha.”
Samantha grabbed him by his long greasy black hair and punched him in the face. “Tell me who sent you and where you’ve taken those you’ve captured?”
“No.”
Samantha reached back and punched him again, but this time she hurt her hand.
“Ha, ha.” The man laughed, spitting out more blood.
Sanchez handed her a blackjack, a small leather-covered piece of steel used as a club.
“What’s this?” Samantha asked.
“My old man was a cop in San Juan. He called it the persuader.”
Samantha took it and examined the small but surprisingly heavy club. “It’s lady sized.”
“It might be small, but it packs a huge punch.”
The man widened his eyes when he saw the weapon.
Samantha wrapped the leather strap around her hand and laid the club in her hand. The weight felt good.
“You hold it like that and…” Sanchez said in an attempt to describe the best way to use it.
Samantha reached back and came down hard on the man’s boney shoulder.
“Do that,” Sanchez quipped, appreciating that she didn’t have trouble figuring out the best way to use it.
“Arghh!” the man cried out.
She only paused to get better footing. She’d wait to ask again, she wanted him to feel pain. She held the club over her head and came down again on his collarbone.
The man wailed in pain and bent over.
“Hold him up. I’m going to break his fucking shoulder,” Samantha barked at the Marines.
The other Marines standing there looked oddly at her but didn’t move.
“You heard the woman, hold him up,” Sanchez said. “Don’t you know who this is? It’s Samantha Van Zandt.”
The Marines stepped forward and grabbed the man, who was in agonizing pain from the hit to his collarbone.
“Wait, no, wait!”
Samantha didn’t wait; she came back down again on his collarbone.
“Argh! No! Please! I’ll talk!” the man cried out.
“No, I don’t need to hear you talk. You pissed me off, I think I’m going to beat you for a bit.”
“No, please. You said you’re Samantha Van Zandt? We have your husband, Gordon, we have him. I know where he is.”
Samantha had raised the blackjack above her head but stopped when he mentioned Gordon. “You have Gordon?”
The man was weeping. “Yeah, we have him. We arrested him this morning.”
“Where are you holding him? Where are you holding everyone you’ve arrested?” Samantha asked.
“We have him at the firehouse. Everyone else is being housed at the ice rink.”
Samantha looked at Sanchez, who replied, “Got it. We’ll rally up to head that way.”
“Who are you working for?” Samantha asked.
“Chairman Chenoweth, he ordered all those aligned with the Van Zandts and Rutledges to be arrested.”
Samantha grabbed him by his hair and lifted his face to hers. “Why?”
“He made a deal with the United States. He’s surrendered, but one condition was to turn over you all.”
Disgusted by his answers, she pushed his head down and stewed on everything he said.
“Come on, boys, let’s load up,” Sanchez barked to a group of Marines and militia.
“Don’t leave without me,” Samantha ordered Sanchez.
“Roger that, ma’am. I’d say take your time, but I don’t think we have that.”
“I’m almost done.” She turned and glared at the man. “How dare you.”
“Please don’t hurt me.”
“Why is it those who hurt others always beg not to be hurt themselves?” Samantha said and smacked him hard on top of his head.
The man’s eyes rolled back in his head and he fell to the ground face first.
Samantha turned around, walked up to Sanchez and handed him the blackjack. “Your dad was right, it is the persuader.”
McCall, Idaho, Republic of Cascadia
Gordon continued to struggle with his restraints, but there wasn’t any chance he’d break free. The positive for him, if there was one, was he wasn’t alone anymore. Charles had his CWA bring in John, Michael, Nelson, and Chief Rainey, the McCall police chief, and tied them all to chairs like Gordon. He then brought in a table and folding chairs and placed them in front of them.
Gordon watched this and couldn’t help but be reminded of other times he was on trial for trumped-up things. His memory went back to his court-martial in the Marine Corps and the time Mindy, the HOA president from Rancho Valentino, had him brought before the board. All were equally stupid, but none were as potentially fatal as this one. The stakes were high, and this trial would eventually lead to Cheyenne and with no doubt his execution.
Charles called the loyal remaining members of the committee forward. They walked in and took seats behind the table.
With the committee seated, Charles ordered the two large firehouse garage doors opened up so the few townspeople who followed him along with the other prisoners could watch. His goal for doing this was to humiliate Gordon as much as he could before having him sent to the airport and picked up by the United States.
Unable to wait, Gordon spoke up. “You won’t be successful. Once Top and Gunny Smith hear what you’ve done, they’ll come for you.”
Charles laughed and replied, “That’s not going to happen. Soon they’ll be gone too. I hate to lose them, but Conner wouldn’t allow us to keep any military forces. I gave their coordinates to him, and soon they’ll be destroyed.”
“You’re a fucking bastard!” Gordon yelled.
“Believe me when I say it pained me to do it, but there was no other choice.”
Gordon shook his head in anger.
John Steele was sitting to Gordon’s right. He cocked his head and said to Gordon, “Have you told him yet?”
“Huh?” Gordon shrugged, not knowing what John was talking about.
“Would the prisoners be quiet,” Charles ordered.
“You haven’t told him, have you?” John said, being deliberately vague.
“Tell him what?” Gordon asked.
“Be quiet!” Charles barked. He pointed at two CWA guards, who headed towards John and Gordon.
Knowing that he was about to be silenced, John turned to Charles and said loudly, “I was just asking Gordon here if he had mentioned that we’re going to fucking kill you!”
“Silence that man!” Charles barked.
“Now you did it,” Gordon said.
One guard grabbed John while the other punched him in the face.
“We won’t tolerate this type of behavior,” Charles declared.
“Why are you holding this kangaroo court for a government that no longer exists? Are we role-playing now, huh, is that what we’re doing?” Gordon said, mocking Charles and the committee.
The guards turned their attention on Gordon now and did exactly to him what they had done to John.
Gordon shook his head, the punch had hurt and made him see stars, but he wasn’t about to show that to Charles. He looked at John and joked, “These little commie leftists hit like the pussies they are.”
Gordon took another punch from the guard.
Again he mocked them, “Let me help you out, if you stuck to a real diet instead of your organic wheat grass and spelt bread, you’d have a bit more muscle and it might just hurt.”
“Oh no, you didn’t!” John laughed.
Together the men were having fun mocking Charles an
d his people. It came at a price, but if he and John were going out, they weren’t going to go quietly.
More members of the CWA came forward and took punches and jabs at the men.
Charles allowed the punishment to go on for a minute before he called the trial to order. “Enough, leave them be. I need them alive.”
A cut below Gordon’s eye bled and ran down his face.
John’s nose appeared to be broken and his lower lip was split.
Even though they had suffered, they weren’t deterred.
“Where’s your fucking beret?” Gordon asked Charles.
Charles shook his head in frustration but refused to allow the men to further disturb the trial. “Duct tape their damn mouths.”
The guards did as ordered.
“Now we can begin without further delay,” Charles said.
The whole time Gordon and John were causing trouble, Luke was watching from the crowd of detainees. At first hearing Gordon was alive and back filled him with hope until he saw him bound and being beaten. He slowly inched his way to the front of the group and was only twenty feet from the back of Gordon and the others. Charles hadn’t hurt him, and when he delivered him to the holding facility, all they took was his backpack and neglected to search him. What they didn’t know was he was carrying the Glock that Sanchez had given him. When he was first dropped off, he was tempted to pull it out so he could escape, but his fear was too great. As each minute passed, he further pushed away the idea of using it for fear of getting killed. Now he was watching the man he considered a father figure be tried with his fate eventually being death. Losing Gordon was something he couldn’t bear. He had already lost his biological mother and father; then Sebastian and Annaliese were taken from him. How could he sit back and watch Gordon get taken from him too?
Charles convened the trial and swiftly read the charges. He turned to the committee members and asked them to raise their hands if they agreed to the charges and if the punishment should be deportation to the US authorities. In unison they put their arms up, signaling their support.
Just like that the trial was over. It was short and sweet. No cross-examination, just a reading of the charges with examples about each man and what they did to warrant the charges. It wasn’t a trial, it was a sentencing. They were convicted before the trial began. There wouldn’t be a chance to dispute the charges or request an appeal. They had been tried and sentenced to be turned over to the United States.
Blood, Sweat & Tears: A Postapocalyptic Novel (The New World Series Book 5) Page 21