To the right of the map hung a large dry-erase board. On it were more than fifty evenly spaced columns, each with a total at the bottom. The number Cruz could not tear his gaze from was the one circled on the far right bottom: 13,152,891. That number was too impossible to believe. After almost seven weeks, they estimated that more than 13 million Americans were dead. The initial day had killed hundreds of thousands, then those in need of urgent medical care had followed in the tens of thousands over the next few days. Civil unrest took thousands more in the first days. Starvation began to take those weak, young, and old by more tens of thousands. If they didn’t have the SIPRNet, they wouldn’t have been able to communicate with anyone outside Cheyenne Mountain.
The news was sobering, but information was critical. With each relay from those outside, the picture came to seem insurmountable. There were large riots, murders, mass executions, starvation, rapes, and total chaos in the bigger cities. If that wasn’t enough, the nuclear plants began to melt down, causing mass radiation sickness. This was followed by the nuclear strike on New York, which killed millions. They truly didn’t know how many were dead; the numbers were just good guesses. But judging by what they saw on some of their patrols and from reports across the country, they were probably right.
Some of the latest troubling news concerned the sighting of mass migrations out of the East. Hundreds of thousands were heading west. Some word must have spread that the government planned to focus the recovery efforts in the West first. The densely populated Eastern Seaboard had turned into a bloody grinder. Streets were covered by starving bands of people fighting for what few scraps of food they could find. Murder was now commonplace. Strewn along with the trash were bodies of those who had either been killed or starved to death. The stench on many streets in the big cities was unbearable. Even if no one had told them to leave, many knew the cities were now death traps and if they had a chance for survival it was not to be found there. Many saw the West as wide open and rich with natural resources.
Cruz knew these mass migrations were going to cause problems for his government. With no support coming now from their former allies, he needed to make a plan for their survival.
The door opened and General Baxter stepped in with purpose. He was a man who always walked around looking like he had somewhere to go. He had a stack of binders tucked under his arm. The other staff, including Dylan, followed.
“Good morning, General, everyone,” Cruz said after turning around and facing the front of the room. He motioned for Baxter to take a seat next to him.
“Thank you, sir,” Baxter said, sitting down and spreading the binders in front of him.
“I called you because I just got off the phone with the Australian prime minister and the news isn’t good.”
“Okay,” Baxter said, anxiously awaiting the news.
Everyone else suspected what Cruz would say, but they were just as anxious as the general.
“They have dropped all support for us, citing the Christmas strikes.”
“I think we kinda saw that coming, didn’t we?” Baxter replied.
“Yes, we did. So we need to lay out a plan for reconstruction that doesn’t include support from anyone. Let’s go over everything. I need to get it all straight in my head,” Cruz said, looking exhausted.
Baxter opened up the first binder and said, “Sir, there isn’t much we can do in the East. I think we need to pull our assets out. My recommendations are to have both groups get as many troops as possible from those bases there and then set sail for the West Coast. There we can start to redeploy those assets to our new capital.”
“You have my attention; go ahead,” Cruz said, sitting back in his chair.
“I know we touched on this briefly yesterday; but we need to just abandon any efforts back east. Look at the map behind you, sir. It’s a loss. With everything that has happened back there and with what limited assets we have, we really can’t do anything for those people. We need to set up a new capital, work on repairing our relations with our allies, and then after we get our own infrastructure back up, we can start to think about anything back east.”
“That’s it, just abandon it? General, you sound like that rogue colonel,” Cruz said sarcastically.
“Mr. Vice President, when you asked me to be the secretary of defense, you told me to be honest, and sir, I’m being honest. I don’t agree with the colonel; however, I can’t help it if we share some beliefs. In the end it is your decision. If you want us to stay back east and continue to salvage what we can, then I’m with you. If you don’t, then I’m with you. I’m a loyal soldier,” Baxter said defensively.
“Sorry, General, it’s just that what you’re suggesting is unthinkable in some ways.”
“But necessary, sir. If we are to help them, anyone, we must help ourselves first. Especially with the loss of resupply and equipment from our allies, it’s just impossible. We need to target and focus what we do have to make sure we have a government.”
Cruz looked at all present and asked for a yea or nay on the topic of abandoning the East Coast.
Remembering the incident with Griswald, many looked around the room for affirmation before they answered. One by one, each person agreed with Baxter. Taking this all in, Cruz came to a decision.
“General, give our troops back east the command to evacuate all bases and to coordinate with the command elements of both groups. Let’s get those men and women to the West Coast.”
Baxter just nodded his acknowledgment of the new order. He then stood and approached the map. Taking a green marker, he started to draw a line down the map. Beginning on the border of North Dakota and Minnesota, he moved down South Dakota to Nebraska; he then cut off the eastern part of Nebraska and went straight down to the border of Oklahoma and Texas, then took his marker west all the way to Nevada, then north along the Nevada-California border to Oregon and back west to the ocean. Then he turned and said, “Mr. Vice President, the area I just outlined is the area we need to secure, protect, and consider the new United States.”
Some cross talk began after Baxter made his declaration . Cruz hushed the group and said to the general, “I see the red areas, so I know why you’re marking this territory.”
“The contamination from all the meltdowns is too much for us to deal with. It would be an impossible task if we had everything at our disposal. It’s just too much to overcome. These are the new boundaries that I propose we defend. We need to contact the governors of these states to inform them that we aim to take care of them. We need them to put what assets they can along their borders to stop others from migrating into their states. Not all of the migrants will make it, but a majority will, and the sheer numbers will overwhelm them.” Baxter spoke while pointing at the states that bordered the red-outlined states to the east.
Others at the table began to whisper to each other. Cruz sat looking at the map. He stared for what seemed like minutes; then he spoke.
“Okay, General, I agree with you on what boundaries we need to defend. However, I will not abandon Americans who seek sanctuary. This is their country, and we will do what we can for them. Inform the governors to establish tent cities, if they can, of course, and to supply what they can as far as food or water for these areas. What we will need to do is get those two naval groups to the West Coast as soon as possible. When they arrive we will set up a tight perimeter around Portland. We then will start building up the new capital, but we will have to make it secure, so we will limit access. That is as far as I will go in restricting Americans’ free access. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Baxter replied.
“What is the update on reinforcements?”
“Arriving late today, sir.”
“Good, get them here, fed and outfitted. We need to send several teams back out to look for Conner,” Cruz said as he stood.
“Sir, we have made several attempts and you know the results,” Baxter reminded Cruz.
“I’m quite aware of the difficulties. Unti
l we know for sure the president’s fate, I will assume he’s alive.”
“Yes, sir,” Baxter answered; he knew debating with Cruz was hopeless. If Conner was still alive and they could bring him back, that would give people hope.
Cruz rose and walked to the map. He stood looking at the line that created a new border for his country.
“I noticed you bypassed Texas and California,” Cruz stated.
“Yes, sir. The Texas legislature was able to get a quorum, and their decision was to exercise what they believe is their right to leave the union. I spoke with the Texas governor early this morning, and they overwhelmingly decided to break away. They acknowledged this might cause some issues with us but felt they could handle the situation themselves. They will work on a draft agreement that formalizes a treaty with the U.S. and get it to me soon,”
“Unbelievable. That quickly they decided to jump ship,” Cruz said.
“You know those Texans. They’ve always had an independent streak in them,” Baxter joked.
“As far as California goes, I disagree with you; we can’t let her go. California is rich in natural resources. I see the red lines designating the hot spots, but the state is big. I want California under our wing. Anything new from Sacramento?”
“Nothing new since we talked with the governor two days ago. The legislature there is in disarray. The civil unrest has been crippling for them at the capital and all around the state. They are having issues with the militarization of the drug cartels in the southern part of the state. That group called the Villistas has secured many strategic parts of San Diego County and shows no signs of stopping. Our rogue colonel helped us a bit out there.”
“How’s that?” Cruz said, sitting back down and looking interested. He hadn’t heard about Colonel Barone in a while.
“It appears his ARG attacked many of the Villistas’ positions throughout the county. While this set them back, the cartel is a threat we will eventually have to deal with.”
“Well, bravo, Colonel. As far as he goes, though, we can’t deal with him right now. We have bigger fish to fry. Fortunately for us, most of our armed forces have stuck with us.”
“Agreed, sir, we need to allocate our resources to getting our infrastructure back up.”
Raising his hand, Dylan asked, “Excuse me, Mr. Vice President, but can we go back to the map?”
“Sure, what’s on your mind?” Cruz asked.
“Sir, I agree, we need to ‘allocate,’ in the word the general used, to areas where we have to get our infrastructure back up, but I don’t think we should be announcing any type of abandonment of the East, at least formally. We should put a happy face on everything and do what we can when we can back there. While I agree the East has troubles, it still has many things we can use. I suggest we don’t signal our hand to the world that we’re giving up.”
Dylan’s statement was heartfelt and prudent, and all in the room were quiet. Cruz sat and looked at his adviser. He rocked back in his chair a few times before directly answering him. “You know, Dylan, you’re right. We can’t go on record as having ‘abandoned’ the East. What we should do is inform those governors in the border states that they need to be prepared for many refugees from the other states and that we’ll support them in those efforts. If we make a formal announcement, it will cause more problems for those states than they can handle. We will go back and start rebuilding later, but for now let’s just focus on Portland and build out from there.”
Baxter nodded his approval of Cruz’s comments.
“Now let’s cover a time line for Portland,” Cruz said, looking at Baxter.
The general opened another binder, but just before he could begin talking about the contents, a knock on the door disturbed them.
The door opened, and a young officer stepped in and walked to Baxter. He bent over and whispered into his ear. The look on Baxter’s face told everyone that the news was shocking.
“Thank you,” Baxter told the officer. The man briskly left the room.
As soon as the door closed, Cruz asked, “So, General, what’s the scoop?”
“Good news, sir. The special ops team we sent out to find President Conner has come back. They just cleared the main gates and will be in a debriefing room soon.”
“Well, anything?” Cruz asked, excited.
“Sir, I suggest we end this meeting and go meet them now,” Baxter said, closing his binder.
“What else do you know, General?” Cruz asked, feeling that Baxter was holding something back.
“Sir, it would be better if we discussed this in a more private setting.”
“Private? You and everyone else here are my most trusted advisers, we don’t need privacy. What else do you know?” Cruz exclaimed.
“The team found President Conner . . .”
“Really? That’s good news,” Cruz said, jumping out of his chair and making his way toward the door.
“Mr. Vice President. Mr. Vice President, please stop!” Baxter said loudly.
“I have to go see him. How is he?”
“Sir, you didn’t let me finish,” Baxter said in a pleading tone.
A cold chill came over Cruz as he stopped and turned to face Baxter and said, “Go ahead.”
“Sir, they found a body.”
San Diego, California
“That was one of the best lunches I’ve ever had. How do you prepare beef Stroganoff in these conditions?” Sebastian asked after wiping his face and mouth with a paper towel.
“Freeze-dried,” Annaliese said, picking up the tray from his bed.
“Freeze-dried?”
“Yes, now if you’re up to it, my father wants to talk with you.”
“Uh, sure,”
“Good, I’ll be right back,” Annaliese said as she walked out of the room with the tray.
She left the door open, giving Sebastian the ability to hear murmurs down the hall. He couldn’t quite make out what the people were saying, but it didn’t make much difference as within moments of her departure a man stepped into the room. He was tall, white-haired, clean-shaven, handsome. If Sebastian was to guess, he’d say he was in his midsixties. The man walked to the chair that sat next to the window. He grabbed it and positioned it closer to the side of the bed. Sebastian just stared nervously at him. After the man sat down, he smoothed out his trousers and crossed his legs. Placing his hands on his knee, he cleared his throat and looked at Sebastian.
“Hello, sir,” Sebastian greeted the man.
“Hello, Corporal Van Zandt,” the man said.
“I want to thank you for rescuing me from the chopper and taking—”
“No need to thank us, it’s what we do,” the man interrupted.
“Okay,” Sebastian said and then shut up. He didn’t know what to say. The man made him feel apprehensive.
“Corporal, we have some questions for you, so I’ll just begin. We have had someone out near the crash site since the helicopter went down, but no rescue team has come for you, why?”
“Uh, well; that’s a tricky one,” Sebastian said, sitting up farther.
“Go ahead.”
Sebastian paused for a moment. His instinct was to be open and honest, but doing so could jeopardize his recovery. Sebastian’s recent experiences with “being honest” had put him where he was now. He looked at the man sitting next to him. He was dressed in jeans and a buttoned-up collared shirt. His clothes were clean, but his jeans showed the stains of work. Sebastian studied his hands and saw that they too showed the marks of labor. His knuckles looked rough, and some fresh scratches were visible. At one time this man had worked behind a desk, but now he used his hands. Sebastian didn’t quite know which direction to go in, but his instincts won over and he opened up. “I don’t think you’ll see a rescue team. They probably just assume that if the bird went down we were all killed. I mean, who the hell survives a chopper crash?”
“Well, you did, God willing. Unfortunately, your comrades all perished,” the man said, con
firming the outcome of everyone else on the chopper.
“You see, the unit I was with is not your run-of-the-mill group of Marines.” Sebastian paused; he didn’t know how to put it.
“Go ahead, Corporal, I’m all ears.”
“The unit I was with mutinied and took control of the ship I was on. I was being dropped off because I didn’t agree with what they were doing. They don’t plan on helping anyone here. They were just dropping people like me off and picking up others who wish to join them. I couldn’t in good conscience follow along.” Sebastian quickly spat the words out.
“Interesting. Well, I am impressed to hear that you’re a principled man. We might be able to use someone like you here, and with your skills you might be useful.”
“Excuse me, but after I’m healed up I need to go find my brother and his family.”
“Where is your brother?”
“Not far from where we crashed, maybe five miles. He lives near the Carmel Valley area.”
“Well, Corporal—”
“Please call me Sebastian. I’m no longer a Marine. I was discharged, so to speak, yesterday,” Sebastian interrupted.
“Well, Sebastian. You broke your leg badly. You’re not going anywhere anytime soon,” the man said, pointing at his leg.
“Who are you?”
“Sorry, very rude of me. I’m Bishop Sorenson,” the man said, reaching out a hand to Sebastian.
Taking his hand and shaking it firmly, Sebastian asked, “Bishop of what?”
“I’m bishop of the Encinitas First Ward of the Church of Latter-day Saints.”
“Why am I here?”
“We saw your helicopter crash, and knowing it was military, we went to your aid.
“That’s it, nothing more,” Sorenson said flatly.
“Like I said before, not much we or the Marines can offer. My old unit probably already left.”
“Where were they going?”
“I heard they were headed to Oregon.”
Sorenson just sat for an uncomfortable period of time before he said anything else. Sebastian didn’t know how to size him up. He seemed like a pleasant enough man, but Sebastian just wasn’t sure.
The Long Road - A Post Apocalyptic Novel (The New World) Page 4