“Take these men to the trucks for immediate deportation,” Charles ordered.
Luke began to shake. What should he do? Should he do something? He needed to act.
The guards freed Gordon and the others from the chairs.
When Gordon turned, he saw Luke. He couldn’t smile because of the tape but signaled to him that he cared by winking.
Luke continued to shake. He reached under his sweater and felt the cold grip of the pistol. All he had to do was pull it out and begin shooting the guards. An internal struggle took place as his fear was telling him no but his love was telling him yes.
Gordon too was thinking of a way to combat the situation, but with his hands tied behind his back, he was limited. However, getting in the back of the truck wasn’t an option. He began to run through scenarios and where he was; right there and then was most likely the best place to resist. Once he was on the truck, he could possibly be restrained to it, and once he was in the hands of the US forces, he’d be screwed.
The truck was backed up to the open door.
He was now fifteen feet from the truck and needed to come up with a solution. He couldn’t allow himself to get on that truck. Fourteen feet, thirteen, twelve, eleven, he was getting closer. He counted the number of armed guards to equal seven. Should he just make a run for it? If he acted, would the others follow? Ten feet, nine, eight.
“Fuck it,” Gordon said and turned.
As if choreographed and perfectly executed, a gun fired, hitting the guard that he himself was about to kick.
The bullet ripped through the guard’s throat. Blood squirted all over Gordon and splattered on the floor. He grabbed at the wound and fell to the floor, gagging.
Shocked by the surprise shooting, Gordon paused for a second, but suddenly realized this was his moment and there was no better time than now. He charged at the next guard he saw and kicked him in the crotch, dropping the man to his knees. Once there, Gordon planted his size twelve boot in his face. The guard fell backwards, dropping his gun.
Three more shots rang out.
John, Nelson and Rainey sprang into action as well. They each went after guards.
Rainey knocked one to the ground, but when the guard hit the ground, he leveled his rifle and shot the police chief in the gut.
Gordon grabbed a knife from the dead guard and cut his restraints. With his hands free, he picked up the man’s rifle, turned and shot the guard he had knocked to the ground. He swiftly targeted the next guard he saw and shot him. He turned when he heard gunfire behind him. His eyes widened when he saw the shooter was Luke.
Single-handedly, Luke had shot three men and had advanced on the hapless committee, who sat frozen in fear.
The last guard turned his rifle on Luke, but Gordon shot him first.
Luke approached the table and one by one shot the committee members.
Gordon watched Luke’s rampage with shock. He never would have imagined this boy was capable of such ruthless efficiency.
With precision Luke finished the committee members. Blood was splattered and pooled across the table and floor.
Gordon then noticed that Charles was missing. He looked for the man who had now become his archenemy, but he was nowhere to be found.
The truck and the crowd of Charles’s supporters were gone, fled for their own protection.
The detainees, feeling the timing was right because it was safer, came forward to help.
“Where is he?” Gordon hollered.
The floor was covered in blood and bodies.
Michael freed himself then attended to Nelson and John. When they saw Rainey was down, they went to his side and found him dead.
A rumble of vehicles turned their attention outside.
Sanchez’s Humvee led the way. He pulled up, and before it stopped, Samantha jumped out, her trusty Sig in her hand. She spotted Gordon right away and ran to him.
The two embraced.
“Where’s Haley?” Gordon asked.
“Safe, she’s safe,” Samantha replied, happy to be in Gordon’s arms. “God, I’ve missed you. I was so worried.”
“Me too,” Gordon admitted.
Luke stood, with the Glock still firmly in his grip. He watched the blood drip from the table onto the floor. He had acted decisively; he had saved Gordon.
Sanchez rushed in and went directly to Luke. “Hey, little man, you good?”
“Ahh, yeah, I think so,” Luke answered, his body rigid.
“Did you do that?” Sanchez asked, nodding towards the table.
“Um, yeah, and that and that and him too,” Luke said, pointing to all the people he had killed.
Sanchez placed his hand on his shoulder and said, “You’re a natural.”
Luke shrugged his hand off and said, “Don’t touch me.”
“It’s cool, I understand. If you ever want to talk about it, you know where to find me.”
Gordon watched Luke interact with Sanchez. He could see the boy was shell-shocked, what child his age wouldn’t be? “He saved me,” Gordon told Samantha.
“He did?”
“Yeah, if it wasn’t for him…he showed great courage.”
“He’s becoming a man.”
“But I know he doesn’t feel that way. He’s confused,” Gordon said.
“We got him, we got him!” a militia member shouted, running into the station. Right behind him a Marine and another member of the McCall militia escorted Charles in.
The Marine held up a satellite phone and said, “He was on this calling someone when we found him.”
“Oh shit, that reminds me, Sanchez, get on the horn, contact Master Sergeant Simpson. Tell him to disperse, hide, take cover, just be on the alert. US aircraft are headed their way.”
“Roger that, sir,” Sanchez said and ran to the Humvee.
Gordon walked over to Charles and stood smiling. He took the phone and hit the redial button. The phone clicked and seconds later a loud tone sounded. He put it to his ear and waited for an answer.
“President Cruz’s office,” a woman answered. It was Heather, the presidential executive assistant.
“President Cruz?” Gordon asked, not expecting to hear that name.
“Can I help you, sir?”
“Yes, can I speak with the president?”
“The president is busy, but I can take a message. Can I ask who’s calling?”
“Yeah, tell him that it’s Gordon Van Zandt,” Gordon said, leveling his pistol at Charles.
Charles flinched and began to weep loudly.
“Is that it, sir?”
“No, tell him the deal is off. We’ll never surrender,” Gordon finished, then squeezed the trigger.
Cheyenne, Wyoming, United States
“I don’t know yet. I’ve narrowed it down to two people,” Cruz said, replying to a question from Baxter concerning a new vice president.
“What kind of vetting shall I do?”
“Vetting? Oh, I’m not too concerned about these people. I just need to speak with them then sleep on it.”
“Have you given thought to the former governor of Texas? Having her could form a much stronger alliance.”
“I’ll consider her too, but…”
A knock on the door forced Cruz to pause.
“Yes!” Cruz hollered.
The door opened and Heather stepped in and said in a congenial tone, “I know you didn’t want to be disturbed, but you’ve had two strange calls.”
“Fine, come in,” Cruz said, waving her in.
Heather looked at her notepad and read what she had written. “The first call was from a Charles Chenoweth. He said he needed an emergency evacuation and that things had gone wrong. He was about to tell me where he was before something happened, I heard some commotion, then the phone went dead. He sounded scared, like he was in trouble.”
Cruz lowered his head and sighed. “And the second call.”
“Another man then called minutes later, same line, he said his name was Gordon
—”
“Van Zandt,” Baxter blurted out.
“Yes, Gordon Van Zandt,” Heather confirmed.
“And what did he say?” Cruz asked.
“He said that the deal was off and that they weren’t surrendering,” Heather read.
“Shit!” Cruz said.
“We’ve got aircraft headed there now,” Baxter informed Cruz.
“I know, I know.”
“Um, sir, I thought I should tell you that before Mr. Van Zandt hung up, I heard what sounded like a gunshot.”
“Okay, thank you, Heather, is that all?” Cruz asked.
“Yes, that’s it.”
“Oh, and if Mr. Van Zandt calls back, ever, please patch it through.”
“Yes, sir,” Heather replied and left.
“What now?” Baxter asked.
“Recall the jets and the teams that were sent to pick them up. I need to think about this,” Cruz ordered.
“Yes, sir,” Baxter said, picking up the desk phone and calling out.
Cruz spun around and looked out the window. How was he going to deal with Gordon and his Cascadians? He thought Conner’s plan was perfect, but he should have known that nothing goes as planned. He promised himself and the people of the United States that he would lead differently than Conner and would tackle things in a more comprehensive manner. He stood up and walked to the window. Staring out, he saw the people of Cheyenne moving about, living their lives unaware and probably unconcerned of the events in Idaho. A name etched in the wooden windowsill caught his attention. He looked more closely and saw it read Julia. Hmm, apparently Conner spent a lot of time in the same spot looking out and pondering the next steps he would make. He promised that he’d be different than his predecessor on policy, but when it came to the arduous task of being a leader, they had a bond, and for the first time he found himself feeling sorry for Conner and the burden he had carried.
Warren Air Force Base, Wyoming, United States
Schmidt exited his quarters, and with two large duffels, a rifle and tactical gear slung over his shoulder, he walked to the convoy of vehicles that were parked at the curb.
He didn’t know exactly why he had been asked to go, but he didn’t have anything else to do now. He was a man without purpose and a man with little time left.
He opened the rear right door and peered in. “Mr. President?”
“Yes, c’mon, toss your gear in the back,” Conner said.
Schmidt did as he said and threw all of his stuff in the back of the Humvee. He got in and closed the door. “Sir, I just have to say thank you for thinking of me. It’s an honor that you’d—”
“Schmidt, just shut up, enough of the pomp and bullshit, we’re both civilians now,” Conner said, handing Schmidt a flask.
“What is it?”
“Does it really matter? Drink up.”
Schmidt hesitated.
“It’s not like you have to worry about getting cirrhosis or something, drink up,” Conner insisted and pushed the flask into his hand.
Schmidt took it and drank. “Whiskey.”
“Yes, and the good stuff, a great rye whiskey from back east.”
Liking the smooth taste, he tipped the flask again.
“There you go,” Conner said excitedly.
Schmidt handed the flask back and asked, “Why did you ask me to go with you?”
“Two reasons, or maybe three. I like you, yes, can you believe someone would like a big knucklehead like you? Well, I do. Two, you’re loyal, finally someone who thinks like me that I can trust, and three, I don’t have any friends but you. Yeah, Andrew is a friend, but he’s a bit tied up for a while.”
“I like you too, sir.”
“I order you not to say sir ever again.”
“Yes…okay.”
“I hope you packed for a long trip,” Conner said.
“Where are we going?”
“Houston, we’re headed to Houston.”
“Texas, hmm, it will be interesting to see how they’re doing,” Schmidt said.
“And there, we’ll catch a ship.”
“To where?”
“Where would you like to go? Ever had a place you always wanted to visit, a place on the bucket list?”
“I never much thought of it. I’ve always been a military man and it was my life.”
Conner patted Schmidt on the leg and laughed. “Well, those days are over.”
“I know.”
“So once we hit Houston, where do you want to go?”
“You secured a ship?”
“Yep.”
“I guess I’d want to go where it’s not been affected, South America maybe or Australia.”
“Fuck those Aussies, damn arrogant bunch now with all their demands. You know I was thinking of Buenos Aires. I hear it’s beautiful and the women are gorgeous. Maybe we can go to Santiago, Chile, from there.”
“Sounds good, wherever.”
“Let’s go, airman, drive us to the plane.”
“Yes, sir.” The driver put the Humvee in gear and sped off.
Conner took the flask, took a swig and smiled. “South America is a good choice for men like us.”
“Why’s that?”
“They like dictators there."
NOVEMBER 9, 2015
“A plan without a backup plan and without a backup of the backup plan is not a plan at all.” – G. Michael Hopf
McCall, Idaho, Republic of Cascadia
Days after Charles’s uprising, Gordon had received a call from Cruz offering a plan similar to what had been offered before, but Gordon refused. Surrendering was not the answer for him and the people of Cascadia. Rumors began to spread that Cruz was only negotiating from a place of weakness. Gordon knew that wasn’t the case. He had met Cruz and saw him as a reasonable man. At any moment he could send in jets and destroy them, but he didn’t, but that wasn’t to say it wasn’t part of a contingency if he couldn’t convince Gordon into some settlement.
The republic was a mess. They still had an army, but it was much smaller. Olympia was still occupied, and the bad blood between the two factions made it impossible to talk or make a cohesive plan.
Gordon was confused and disliked the new role of chairman that had been thrust upon him. First, he disliked the name, which he promptly discarded and replaced with president, and he was offended by the instant political maneuvering that took place the second he took the position. His place was on the battlefield, but that wasn’t where he was needed.
He needed a plan B, he needed an alternative to the status quo. The stalemate between him and Cruz would only last so long. Eventually, Cruz would have his hand forced and they’d take action. This put Gordon in the unfortunate position to make the first move, a move that could backfire like before. Like a coach that needed a miracle play to win the game, he needed that one thing that could change everything, he needed a game changer. But where would that come from? What could that be?
Vexed, he spent days pacing the back deck of his house.
Samantha, Michael, John and Nelson all gave counsel, but no one had the answer he needed. All eyes and hopes were on him. He had never felt more alone than now, a man adrift with the dreams of a nation on his shoulders. Many times he found doubt enter his mind. Should he just give in? Should he settle and hope that Cruz would honor his word? His past experiences told him no, they weren’t trustworthy. Shouldn’t he lean on his experiences for guidance? Of course, he thought.
The sliding door opened and Samantha stepped out. “Are you hungry?”
“No.”
She hurried over and gave him a hug. “Oh my God, come inside, it’s so cold.”
“No, I like it out here,” Gordon said.
The cool crisp midday air felt good. He especially loved how it smelled. Yes, it did smell different; all the seasons did in Idaho.
“You’re so stressed, I can feel it,” Samantha said, squeezing him.
“That’s not stress, I think I’m frozen,” Gordon jok
ed.
She kissed him on the cheek and said, “Please come in and take a break. Your family misses you.”
“I’ll be in soon.”
Someone tapped on the glass behind them.
Gordon turned to see Haley standing with a book in her hands. She pointed at it and mouthed, ‘Read this to me.’
“You keep doing what you’re doing. I’ll go read to her,” Samantha said, walking away.
Gordon watched Samantha take Haley by the hand.
Haley pulled away and pointed to Gordon.
Seeing this made his heart hurt. Haley needed him. He had been gone for so long, and even though he was home now, he was still not present.
Samantha tugged and pulled her away.
The scene upset him. He loved his family and longed to spend the time with them he knew was critical, but how could one lead a nation and a war and still be that family guy? He had come a long way from the website designer in San Diego. In eleven months he was now the leader of a fledgling new country. The irony of it all was he was skilled at designing websites, not at leading a country. Everyone talked about what they would do if they were in charge, but theorizing and doing were two different things. He had a taste of it as a military leader; now he had to set the course for the entire country.
Gordon didn’t pray often. He liked to say that he and God had a falling out after Hunter’s death. But an urge came over him, he looked up, closed his eyes and prayed out loud, “God, I don’t talk to you much, but of course you know that already, you’re God, right? Um, I need help, I’m lost and I don’t know what I should do next. Everyone is counting on me to pull this off, but more importantly, my family is looking to me to keep them safe. How do I do that? What should I do? Please, help me. I’m sure you’ve been busy these days with everyone’s prayers, but you’re God, so you can handle it.” Gordon paused. “This is so stupid,” he continued, then paused again. “No, sorry, it’s not stupid, I apologize. Um, God, I need help, my family and my country need help. Please give me a sign, show me something that will give me the answer.” He opened his eyes and looked towards the majestic mountains. The beauty of the land was sometimes breathtaking; only human beings had the means of tainting such a pristine thing, he thought. After waiting several minutes with no signs, he turned to go inside when his phone rang. He picked it up and looked at the number calling but didn’t know it. He then wondered if this was his sign. He hit the talk button, put the phone to his ear and said, “Hello.”
Blood, Sweat & Tears: A Postapocalyptic Novel (The New World Series Book 5) Page 22