Sanctuary: A Postapocalyptic Novel (The New World Series)

by G. Michael Hopf

  Nelson gripped her hand tighter and said, “I’m here to help and support you until Gordon returns.”

  “Thanks, Nelson. He makes me so mad. If he were here right now, I’d smack him. But God, I love him so much. I know in his heart he is doing what’s right for us. I just wish he were here to explain what that was, exactly.”

  Nelson sensed that the conversation was headed toward the questions he had wanted to avoid.

  She looked at him and asked point blank, “What happened that day you found them?”

  Nelson had spent hours thinking of how he would respond to this question from Samantha. He knew how he answered would make a huge impact on their lives.

  “You want to know what I saw or just what he said?”

  “Tell me everything. How did you find them? What happened?”

  He took a long, deep breath and began his well-rehearsed answer. He started with finding Gordon on the cross, then finding Hunter almost immediately after. Nelson didn’t want to go into the gory details of her son’s death; he knew that would put any mother into a tailspin. Instead, he described Gordon’s condition, the large wound on his face, then went into great detail to describe Gordon’s emotional pain. He told her how Gordon held Hunter for the longest time. At that, her face tightened and she looked like she was going to cry again. But she swallowed hard and Nelson felt it was okay to continue. He went on to describe how Gordon had told him his plans for revenge.

  “Did you challenge this plan?” Samantha asked, looking him directly in the eyes.

  “Of course I did. I felt he wasn’t thinking straight. We went back and forth about his decision not to come back, but you know him. When he has his mind set, there’s no changing it.”

  “Oh, I know. That damn stubborn Van Zandt blood.”

  “He told me that the man who had killed Hunter was still out there and that he had a small group of people who wouldn’t stop killing. He came at this with two thoughts: He needed to stop this man, and he needed to exact revenge.”

  “Didn’t you tell him we needed him here?”

  “Of course I did,” Nelson said, a tad defensively.

  “When you tell me his reasons, I hear the idealistic Gordon. I hear his head. Where was his heart in this?”

  “My opinion is that he couldn’t face you. Deep down, he feels he failed you and Haley by getting captured, then by not being able to stop Hunter’s murder.”

  “Gordon, Gordon, Gordon . . . he’s such a proud man. Part of that pride has been about his ability to protect us. This was the one time that he thinks he failed. He doesn’t know that more than anything . . .” She stopped, trying to hold back tears. “More than anything, Haley and I just need him here. We can’t heal without him.”

  Nelson nodded. “So what happens when he returns?”

  “I don’t know if he’ll return. How long has it been?” Samantha said with a note of resignation in her voice.

  “He’ll come back.”

  “It’s dangerous out there and he could get himself killed. But Gordon’s resourceful and capable—more than anyone I know. It’s not the world that will stop him from coming back. It’s Gordon himself.”

  With that, she set down her cup of tea.

  MARCH 13, 2015

  • • •

  “The battlefield is a scene of constant chaos. The winner will be the one who controls that chaos, both his own and the enemies.”

  —Napoléon Bonaparte

  Coos Bay, Oregon

  Gordon finished packing what few things he had with him. The doctor had just given him a clean bill of health. He couldn’t wait to get off the ship.

  The past couple of weeks had been very tough for him. When he arrived in Coos Bay, he was in a lot of pain. He had a small laundry list of ailments when he showed up in sick bay aboard the USS Makin Island. The terrible headache he had been suffering from was a severe blast-induced concussion. The other injuries included a minor tear of a ligament in his thigh where the bullet had hit, a sprained left ankle, and a dislocated shoulder.

  He was still in need of physical therapy for his shoulder, but he would get that when he arrived in McCall. The thought of seeing Samantha and Haley thrilled him, but he was very anxious about how Samantha would treat him. He spent many hours thinking about what he would say to her, how he would make it up to her.

  During his time in Coos Bay, he had seen some old faces. Colonel Barone paid a visit to him while he was recovering. He thanked the colonel for all his help, some of which the colonel was not aware he had provided. McCamey and Jones stopped by and paid a visit upon their return too. They sat down and spent hours detailing the events of the battle outside. None of Rahab’s followers made it out alive. They were in shock that Gordon had survived the explosion. The floor had collapsed and Rubio had been crushed under debris. Gordon had asked about Lexi, but they didn’t find a clue that she had even been there. Not a body part, not a scrap of clothing, nothing. It was a mystery. He then asked about the woman they had tied up. They reported that they found her dead, her throat slit. All Gordon could imagine was that Lexi must have done it right before they left but he thought he remembered seeing the woman alive as they drove off. It didn’t make any sense.

  The third set of visitors who came after McCamey and Jones were Gunny, Brittany, and Tyler. Brittany’s wounds were healing nicely and Tyler was thrilled to see Gordon alive. Tyler couldn’t talk about anything else but going to Idaho. He was as excited as a child on Christmas morning.

  The first thing that Gunny had asked for upon reaching his bed had been the Randall knife. He asked half jokingly, knowing Gordon’s injuries were severe. But to his surprise, it was still attached to his gear when they put him on the chopper. Gordon handed it over with gratitude in his voice. Though he hadn’t been able to use it on Rahab, he felt that it was a lucky talisman that kept him safe.

  With the small pack on his shoulder, he looked around at the empty, drab berthing space and bid farewell. He stepped out and headed down the busy narrow passageways toward the quarterdeck. With everyone back from the patrols, the ship was alive again. The passageways served as the veins for the ship. The blood was its crew coursing through it.

  He reached topside and stepped out into the midday sun and took a deep breath. The fresh air was a welcome treat compared to the stale air of the ship’s interior. Ever the Marine, he requested permission to depart the ship and exited when he was cleared. He was walking slowly and with great effort. Even after two weeks of much-needed rest and recovery, his body hurt.

  The wound on his face no longer required a bandage. Black thread poked out of his face along a jagged thick scar that was forming. Rahab was right. Every time he saw or touched it, it reminded him of Hunter and the long road to avenge his son’s death.

  When Barone had visited him earlier, he made Gordon promise to visit him before he left. Gordon wasn’t sure if the visit would be personal or if Barone had an agenda. All he wanted to do was get on the road and begin his trip to McCall. But if Barone had something for him to do, he couldn’t just leave. He owed Barone for the staunch defense he gave him those many years ago after the events in Fallujah. So if Barone were to ask him to jump, Gordon would feel obligated to ask how high.

  He was impressed with the little town of Coos Bay. It was bustling with activity. Commerce had returned, shops and stores were open, markets were vibrant in the streets. Gordon was taking in all the sights, smells, and sounds the quaint little town offered. When he made the turn onto Commercial Avenue, the sound changed. He could hear chants and yelling echoing off the building a few blocks away.

  He increased his pace so he could find out what was happening. When he made the last turn onto Fifth Street, a large crowd of several hundred people were protesting outside of city hall. They held up signs that read GO AWAY!, WAR CRIMINAL, and TRAITOR. Gordon assumed this was all directed at Barone and the
Marines. He weaved his way in and around the crowd till he reached the entrance.

  Two armed Marines stopped him.

  “Hi, devil dogs. Colonel Barone wanted to see me,” Gordon said.

  “What’s your name?” one asked.

  “Sergeant Van Zandt,” Gordon answered. He decided to use his old rank because he thought it might help.

  “Hold right here, Sergeant,” one of the Marines ordered.

  The chanting and yelling from the crowd were very loud and distracting. While the Marine radioed in, Gordon turned to look at them. It was a mix of young and old, black and white, men and women. He caught the eye of a few, who returned a hard stare.

  Gordon turned back and looked at the other Marine. “Looks like idiocy is alive and well.”

  The Marine didn’t respond to his comment, though he did crack a smile.

  The other Marine got off the radio and said, “Right this way.” He turned, opened the door, and let Gordon go through.

  City Hall was abuzz. People hovered near windows looking at the scene outside, talking in hushed voices.

  The Marine escorted him upstairs. On his way up, he ran into Gunny.

  “Van Zandt, good to see you up and about,” Gunny said, patting him on the shoulder that had been dislocated.

  “Ouch!” Gordon cried out.

  “Don’t be a pussy, it’s a little dislocation. Since you’re well, let’s meet for a drink tonight.”

  “Smitty, that’s not going to happen. I’m saying good-bye to the colonel, then I’m out. I need to get home.”

  “So you planned on leaving without saying good-bye to me?” Gunny looked a bit hurt.

  “Ahh, well . . . hey, don’t be a pussy,” Gordon joked.

  “Then I guess this is good-bye.” Gunny held out his hand.

  Gordon took it firmly and shook it. “Thank you for everything, Smitty. So hard to believe everything that’s happened to both of us since we met so many years ago in Fallujah.”

  “Yep, a lot has happened. You take care of yourself. And if you ever find your brother, tell him I still think he’s a jackass.”

  Gordon laughed and said, “Will do. Take care, my friend, and stay frosty.”

  Gunny waved, cleared the last stairs, and disappeared.

  Gordon finished the climb and found the seating area outside of Barone’s office. There was unintelligible yelling coming from behind the closed door, no doubt in relation to the protest outside.

  The door swung open and several civilians came out, obviously upset.

  “Get the fuck out! I’ll be damned if I’m going anywhere!” Barone screamed at them as they scurried away.

  Master Sergeant Simpson went to close the door and saw Gordon sitting there.

  “What can I do for you?” he asked Gordon, irritated to see another civilian.

  “I’m Sergeant Van Zandt. The colonel requested to see me.”

  “Oh, yeah, the rescue. One second.” Simpson stepped away.

  “Bring him in, I absolutely want to see this Marine!” Barone bellowed.

  Simpson brought Gordon into the room and left.

  “Sergeant Van Zandt! So glad to see you’re among the living again. You know, you looked like the proverbial shit when you came in here.”

  “Yes, sir. I got a bit messed up.”

  Barone looked at Gordon’s grown-out hair, which was curling up all along the sides. “Van Zandt, you’re starting to look like a hippie. I should have had someone give you a buzz when you were in sick bay.”

  Gordon touched his hair. He hadn’t had a haircut since November. After the Marines he kept his hair longer, but always neat. Now his curly brown hair looked unkempt and shaggy.

  “Take a seat.” Barone pointed to a chair in front of his desk. “Can I offer you a drink? Whiskey?”

  “Yes, sir, I’ll have a drink.”

  Barone poured, then sat in the chair next to Gordon, rather than the one behind his desk. He didn’t want the conversation they were going to have to feel proper or official.

  “Van Zandt, I’ll just come out and ask. What the hell happened?”

  Gordon took a healthy swig and said, “How much time do you have?”

  Gordon gave Barone an abridged version of his life after the Corps and everything that happened after the lights went out. Barone sat and listened intently, only offering apologies or sincere comments when appropriate. Gordon wrapped everything up with the attack on Rahab’s compound.

  “After that story, I need another drink,” Barone joked. Grabbing Gordon’s empty glass, he poured more.

  “I don’t think I’m the only one who had a lot go on. And by the way, Gunny Smith mentioned your son. I’m so sorry for your loss,” Gordon said.

  “Thanks,” Barone replied. He swallowed hard. “Listen, you know my story and what I did. Now, I’m not going to justify it, but I did what I had to do for my family.”

  Gordon could sense it coming. This meeting wasn’t about saying farewell. Barone wanted him to do something.

  “I’ve had to do things that weren’t conventional, and let me tell you, they weren’t convenient.”

  “Sir, I’m not here to judge. The world has changed. We’ve changed. I get it.”

  “I know your brother didn’t agree with my position, and therefore, we had to let him go. We gave him a nice going-away gift, but I understand some things went wrong. I’m sorry.”

  “Sir, if you’re worried that I hold a grievance against you for my brother, I don’t. I’m not happy it had to go that way, but I do understand. As for judgment about your actions with the ships and whatnot, let me say that I gave up on my country when it gave up on me. When I sacrificed everything to go serve and the thanks I got was a court martial for doing the right thing? Believe me, I don’t have sympathy for the government anymore. People can call me a cynic but I don’t know if they ever had our interests in mind. I’m sure many of them are bunkered down, living high off the hog right now, while the rest of us fight and scratch to survive.”

  “I was there with you in Fallujah and went to bat for you later, but those assholes in Washington needed a scapegoat. They needed some red meat to feed the antiwar crowd. Unfortunately, you were the one on the menu. Let me say that a little payback was given recently,” Barone said, referring to his sacking the capitol in Salem and killing Governor Pelsom, who chaired the senate committee that sought Gordon’s court martial.

  Gordon craned his neck and eyed Barone suspiciously and asked, “Payback?”

  “Don’t worry about it. Listen. You and I have crossed paths again for a reason. We’re kindred spirits in many ways. We both loved the idea of what we thought our country was, we then both suffered the harsh fucking five a.m. wake-up call that it wasn’t what we thought. That it’s run by corrupt politicians who are self-serving and are only there to look out for themselves.” Barone began to get heated but calmed himself. “Forgive me, I digress.”

  Gordon finished his second drink and started to feel the effects of the whiskey.

  “Van Zandt, I brought you here to ask something of you. It’s not an easy job, but you’re the man for it.”

  Gordon was right—he knew it was heading in this direction. But how could he refuse? Barone had done so much for him.

  “I have a few packages that I need to have delivered. What I’ll give you in return for their delivery is your very own Humvee to keep with a trailer full of fuel, ammo, and rations to last your family a year, as well as equipment and whatever you need from our supplies.”

  Gordon leaned back in his seat. “Wow, that’s quite an offering. But I don’t understand. Why don’t you deliver it yourself?”

  “It’s a delicate matter. Let’s just say that the packages are alive. They’re people.”

  “Sir, I’ll be honest. All I want to do is go home. My wife and daugh
ter have been waiting for me for too long. I owe you and I understand that. But if I’m going to even think about doing this, I need all the information,” Gordon insisted.

  Barone nodded and began to recount the latest developments. He told Gordon about holding Cruz and other staff from the United States as prisoners. He touched on the treaty that had been agreed to, but had not yet been formally signed. The one thing that stood in the way of signature was that Barone had to return Cruz and the secretary of state as a sign of good faith.

  “I still don’t understand why I need to do it. You have thousands of Marines that can. Why me?”

  “I can’t spare a man here. You’re heading in the general direction so I thought that if I sweetened the deal, you’d do it. I’m actually trying to help you,” Barone said.

  “So where do I need to go?”

  “Cheyenne, Wyoming.”

  “Cheyenne? That’s way past McCall, plus—” Gordon began to argue but Barone interrupted him.

  “Van Zandt! I helped you out, gave you men and equipment. Hell, your actions killed some of my men, and now you won’t help me? Unbelievable!” Barone barked.

  The pleasant demeanor of the conversation was quickly deteriorating. Gordon understood why Barone would be incensed, and quickly decided that it was best for him to agree.

  “Fine, I’ll do it. I just don’t understand why you can’t put them on a chopper and fly them there. Driving them there is an odd way to do it.”

  “Let me explain a bit more. You saw that fucking crowd of do-gooders out there? They think they’re standing up for what is right. They think this is pre–December Fifth. They think that the old systems are still in place. They forget who protected and died for those systems. We did. You and I fought for those types out there and now they’re standing up saying they want me to leave. I, of course, refused. Now, this bitch of a mayor comes into my office saying that they will hold me accountable by indicting me for war crimes and treason. Just who does she think she is?” Barone stood up and started to pace the room. He was fired up from mentioning the situation. “You should have seen her eyes when I told her the President of the United States had made a treaty with us. Shit, she flipped out when I told her that! You are asking why I need you. I need someone I can trust. You’ll have one of her aides riding shotgun with you.”