Rubio came up behind Gordon and touched his shoulder to signal that he was going around him and into the stairwell. Lexi followed close behind, vanishing into the darkness of the stairwell.
Gordon wiped his face with his sleeve and spit a few times to get the metallic taste of the dead man’s blood out of his mouth. Gordon had a strong constitution, but he had to stop from gagging. The blood in his mouth was too much.
Suddenly the door behind him opened up and the little girl they had seen before stepped into the hallway with a glass in her hand. Gordon froze. He couldn’t run or hide quickly enough.
The girl stopped instantly when she saw him standing there. His presence startled her so much that she dropped the glass of water and beamed her flashlight into his eyes.
The light hit his night-vision goggles and blinded him for a moment. “Argh!” he yelled out as he ripped them off his face.
The girl, who was no more than eight, screamed.
Gordon spun around, ran into the stairwell, and began his ascent up the darkened stairs.
Lexi and Rubio both stopped once they heard the girl scream. Seconds later, Gordon sprinted past them on the stairs and reached the second floor. They ran up after him.
“Okay, Lexi, this is how Marines do it!” Rubio said excitedly as he pulled a grenade loose and held it up. The stalking was over; now it was time to smart smashing and blowing things up.
Gordon placed his hand on top of his and said, “Rubio, we can’t. There are kids here. We need a new plan. I’m going left, Rubio, you go right. Lexi, you’ll go . . . wherever you go, anyway.”
The girl was still screaming and crying down below. The sounds of people yelling and running made it clear that their fight was coming sooner than expected. Once they opened the door to the second floor, all bets were off. They didn’t know what to expect on the other side.
Gordon placed his hand on Lexi’s shoulder and said, “Let’s do this. Lexi, on three open the door. One, two . . .”
Willard Bay Reservoir, Utah
“Your damn uncle must have contacted all of these people on his ham radio chain,” Sebastian said bitterly as he crumpled up the paper that Samuel had given him. The first location they attempted to visit in Ogden had turned them away when they approached. Sebastian tried to reason with the group, but it was hard to have a conversation when a shotgun was being pointed at his face.
“You don’t know Uncle Samuel did that,” Annaliese challenged him.
“Then I guess it was purely a coincidence,” Sebastian mocked her. He rubbed his leg. It was healing, but all the activity was causing it to hurt.
Tensions were growing high between them. Though Annaliese had forgiven Sebastian, her exhaustion had made her snippy. And it didn’t help that Brandon was still acting up.
Failing to find a warm, safe place to sleep after the confrontation in Ogden, Sebastian had driven them off road to the north end of Willard Bay Reservoir, where they found an isolated spot to camp out. Sebastian was beyond frustrated with how this trip was progressing. It was not the simple, fast-paced journey he had had imagined. He knew that this was partly his fault, which only made him angrier. Had he not lashed out at Samuel, they at least would have a warm place to stay
“Brandon, Luke, break down your tent. We need to get on the road!” he commanded the boys. They were busy tossing rocks into the water.
Brandon grumbled, as expected. Luke got right up, brushing off his pants, and headed over to the tent.
“C’mon, Brandon, I need your help,” Luke said.
“One sec. I need to go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”
Luke rolled his eyes and continued breaking down the tent. Luke was growing weary of Brandon and his attitude. The temptation to say something often popped into his head but he would stop short because Brandon intimidated him.
Sebastian had loaded everything and saw that Luke was now in the truck.
“Where’s Brandon?” he asked Luke.
“I don’t know. He never came back to help me after he went to the bathroom,” Luke mumbled.
A look of irritation came over Sebastian’s face. “Why didn’t you say anything?” Sebastian scolded.
“Go look for him, Sebastian,” Annaliese ordered.
Sebastian shot her a look and said, “Remember what he did yesterday? We don’t have time for this.” With a huff, he jumped out of the car and headed in the direction that Brandon had wandered off.
The terrain was mostly flat and treeless, making it easy to spot anyone. He walked along the shoreline and saw a few buildings located on the state park.
“Where the hell is he?” Sebastian muttered.
A cry from someone that sounded like Brandon came from one of the buildings he had seen.
Sebastian didn’t know whether to be concerned or whether he should chalk this up to Brandon playing a trick on him again, but he didn’t want to take a chance just in case. Ignoring his leg, he took off in a sprint, pistol drawn, and kicked the door in. He heard a door in the rear exit of the building slam closed. There he saw Brandon on the floor with his pants down, with several cuts to his face. Sebastian ran over to him and asked, “Shit, Brandon, are you okay?”
Brandon sat up. His nose was bleeding and his lip was cut. “Yeah.”
Sebastian helped him to his feet and asked, “What happened?”
Brandon shrugged off his grip and said, “Nothing, don’t worry about it.” He pulled up his pants and wiped the blood from his face.
“Don’t tell me that. What happened?”
“I went to go take a shit and wanted some privacy so I came over here. All I know is some sick fuck came at me when I had my pants down, that’s it!”
“Are you hurt?” Sebastian asked, concerned.
“I’m fine. If you’re wondering if he raped me, no he didn’t. I fought him off. Now leave me alone!” Brandon yelled. He stormed out of the building.
Sebastian walked around the perimeter in search of whoever had approached Brandon, but he couldn’t find evidence of where this person had run to. Not wanting to stall their trip any longer, and knowing that Brandon was safe, he headed back to the car. It wasn’t even noon, and he was already exhausted. It was bad enough that he had to watch out for himself and for his wife, but the quasi-parental role that he was filling was taxing on him. In so many ways, his life was easier when he was a sniper in the Marines.
Cheyenne, Wyoming
Neither Conner nor Baxter had done anything about the Cruz situation. He had been Barone’s prisoner for weeks, with no word on his condition.
This was all part of Conner’s strategy, the typical “we don’t negotiate with terrorists” doctrine used so often in the past. Conner had a hunch that Barone would treat Cruz with dignity and wouldn’t harm him or his people. He calculated that Barone’s intention was to leverage the U.S. in exchange for his release. Conner wanted Barone to sweat a bit thinking that his plan wouldn’t work. But now it was time to open up the lines of communication.
Everything was going smoothly in Cheyenne, so much so that Conner had ordered most of the reserve staff at Cheyenne Mountain to join him. Conner was very impressed with how the governor and command leadership from F. E. Warren had prevented a societal meltdown. Conner had reassimilated into the leadership role seamlessly, and now, with a full team at his command, he could focus some of his attention to Barone and to the Pan-American Empire. The report he received yesterday troubled him—it seemed that this was the first legitimate threat from the PAE, so he wanted to address it immediately.
Conner was fully aware of the limited military resources at his disposal. The Marine ARG that had been stationed on the East Coast was now in port in Houston. The alliance with the Republic of Texas was working well and he didn’t want to pull them out of there. Hawaii hadn’t been successful in keeping all the military assets stationed there l
oyal to them. He was disappointed, but there wasn’t enough time or resources to address this issue now. Meanwhile, the Third Marine Regiment stationed on Oahu had boarded ships and were in route to Portland when they were ordered to stop after Cruz’s capture. Since then, they had been floating around off the coast of Washington State.
The PAE’s force was sizeable, and Conner needed as many troops as possible to confront them. Even with a combined effort of the ARG and the Third Marine Regiment he needed more troops. As for a leveraging point, Barone could be the force that would tip the scales in their favor.
“Dylan, come in here please,” he ordered.
Dylan had re-established his role with Conner and had now taken over as his chief of staff. Though he was relatively young and inexperienced, Conner trusted him completely. What he lacked in experience he made up for in loyalty.
Dylan came in armed with a pad of paper and sat down.
Conner sat back in his chair and gave him a punch list of tasks that needed to be tackled. Dylan took notes diligently as Conner rattled off one item after another.
“That it’s. But before you go, I saved the last task as the most important. Touch base with General Baxter. Have him contact Barone in whatever little hole he’s hiding. I need to speak with him about Cruz. It’s time for us to negotiate.”
Dylan stopped writing and looked up.
“I got your attention, didn’t I?” Conner joked.
“Yes, it’s just that I was thinking about the vice president this morning, and it’s coincidental that now you mentioned him.”
“He’s been on my mind daily. I just couldn’t do anything about him until the entire situation was assessed and I determined the appropriate way to bargain with Barone. But now I think I have the deal that could set him free.”
“I hope so,” Dylan responded.
“That is it, hop to it. Oh, and please call General Vincent from Warren; we need to discuss the status of our nukes.” The mention of nuclear weapons made Dylan pause.
Conner noticed this and chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’m not about to push the button on anyone. I just haven’t had a full briefing on how the weapons are being maintained. We already have issues with some of our nuclear power plants. I don’t need a nuclear disaster in my own backyard.”
Dylan noticeably exhaled, satisfied with that answer. “Sounds good, sir,” Dylan said. He stood and left the room.
When the doors closed Conner spun around in his chair to look out the window. He began to strum his fingers on the armrest. The thud of his ring grabbed his attention. He looked at the gold band. This was the ring that Julia had bet her life on. If she had only waited a day, she’d be alive. Frustrated, he pried the ring off his swollen finger and held it in his hand. He didn’t want this grim reminder sitting on his hand any longer. “Good-bye, Julia,” he said as he placed the ring in a drawer and closed it.
Eagle, Idaho
A high-pressure system had been hanging over the region for days. It brought with it bitter cold but thankfully no new precipitation. This made it easy to track Raymond’s movements, which had remained etched into the ground like fossils. Nelson, Mack, and Scott had decided that they better track where they led so they could determine where the group came from.
Raymond’s frozen footprints led from the back deck and headed north. Just thirty feet from the deck, Nelson, Mack, and Scott came upon a startling discovery. A large area had been stamped down behind a pine tree.
“Look at that,” Mack commented, pointing at the area.
“Yeah, looks like our friend used this as a hiding spot,” Scott then said.
“That pervert was stalking Samantha, scoping out her bedroom window, I bet,” Nelson added with an edge to his voice. Just thinking about how this man had camped out just yards away from their home made him feel uneasy, even if he was dead.
The men moved on. They weren’t sure how far Raymond had come and they didn’t want to be gone when night fell. Their absence left the community vulnerable, but it was a risk Nelson thought was justified. He brought Scott and Mack along only because he thought they needed to see with their own eyes what they might be up against.
As they climbed and descended the hills, all the men began to complain.
“Holy shit, that drunk fuck went this far to get a glimpse of ass?” Mack panted as he bent over.
“I was in better shape before the apocalypse,” Nelson chimed in.
“Guys, this is a better workout than I ever got before the apocalypse. Woo!” Scott said as he blew out hard.
“Look at you, Scott, am I steaming too?” Nelson asked.
“Yes, sir, you are,” Scott answered.
Mack opened his mouth to make another crack, but stopped short when they crested over the top of the hill.
“Guys, this might be it,” Mack said, crouching down on the hard, frozen ground.
Scott and Nelson jogged the rest of the distance and crawled up alongside Mack.
Nelson pulled out his binoculars and began to survey a small group of buildings. About a half mile down the hill sat a large house with barns and one single-wide trailer.
“Is this it?” Scott asked.
Nelson found the tracks with his binoculars and followed them right up to the front door of the house. “I’d say yes. The tracks lead to the front door.”
Mack handed Scott his binos. “They don’t seem to have much. I wouldn’t be that concerned with these guys,” he commented.
“Maybe so. Let’s get a count for anything here that might tell us something,” Nelson said.
“Look, look. Someone’s coming out of the trailer,” Mack said.
The front door of the old trailer opened. One of the scraggly-haired men from the other day stepped out. From his swagger, it was clear that he was intoxicated. He slipped on the snowy ground and landed on his hip, yelling out something unintelligible. Picking himself off the ground, he raised his middle finger to the trailer.
The door opened again and a woman who was wearing nothing more than a towel tossed out his jacket. She too yelled something, then slammed the door.
The man walked back, picked up his jacket, then walked back over to the trailer, unzipped his pants, and began to urinate on the side of the trailer.
“Who needs TV? This looks like one of those reality shows you used to be able to watch,” Mack joked.
The woman opened the door again but this time she threw what appeared to be empty beer bottles at him. The two exchanged loud words, then she slammed the door shut. The man then stumbled up to the main house and knocked. Truman opened the door a crack. The two men talked for a second before Truman opened the door fully and allowed the other man to come in.
“Nelson, these guys don’t look like much of a threat. They look like a bunch of drunks,” Scott quipped.
“Maybe you’re right,” Nelson responded. He surveyed the property and saw several trucks, but they seemed like they hadn’t been driven in months, covered with garbage and snow. From the looks of it, these people didn’t have any form of transportation beyond their own two feet.
“Well, I’ve seen enough,” Scott said, then scooted away from the top of the hill.
Mack followed suit and asked Nelson, “You coming?”
“You guys go on ahead, I’m going to stay for a bit longer to see if we might have missed something.”
“Suit yourself, man,” Mack said. “Just watch your back.” He and Scott soon took off down the hill and were gone.
Nelson was shivering now. He disliked the Idaho winters, with their cold and very short days. The sun was already making its approach toward the western horizon, and it was only a little after three p.m. The frozen ground was sucking what warmth he had out of his body, and his damp clothes were starting to freeze over. But he had a gut feeling that there was something more to this group, something more insidious.
Truman’s words sat uncomfortably with him—it seemed more like a promise for revenge than the hollow threat that Mack and Scott had assumed it was. He couldn’t sleep well at night knowing these guys were over here, and so he wanted to gather as much information as possible. Unfortunately, even with the extra time, nothing significant happened. He could see movement inside the house, but nothing telling. He stayed for as long as he could, but when he started to shake, he knew it was time to go. He inched his way down the hill, stood up, and made his way back.
On his long trek back to the community, Nelson dwelled some more on the situation. If they didn’t have operational vehicles, they soon would be limited by how far they could go and would run low on supplies. If he were Truman, he thought, he would look at Eagle’s Nest as a nice place to get resupplied and to steal a vehicle or two. Nelson thought that would be the way to convince the others that an attack would be necessary. It was better to be safe than sorry, in his eyes.
As he walked back, the chill in his body became increasingly worse and he feared he was experiencing the beginning stages of hypothermia. He tried to keep his mind occupied with thoughts about a potential attack.
At one point, deep in the thought about the logistics of his plan, he laughed aloud. It hit him just how strange everything was now. If he had a time machine and went back only a few months ago and told himself that he’d be living in Idaho, looking after his best friend’s wife and kid, and that he would soon be leading an assault with the intent of killing people, he’d tell himself to go fuck off. Hell, if he had a time machine, he’d even probably even punch his future self because he would have mistaken himself for a crazed bum, what with his shaggy hair and unshaved face.
He stopped at the hill where Raymond used to do his peeping-tom act and watch Samantha. It was a perfect view of their house, and the thought of this creep peering in filled him with a new rage. He thought of Gordon and how he would react if he knew some guy had been staring at his wife that way, and laughed at the thought. He knew Gordon, and, to put it mildly, he would not tolerate that sort of behavior.
Sanctuary: A Postapocalyptic Novel (The New World Series) Page 13