The Line of Departure: A Postapocalyptic Novel (The New World Series Book 4)

by G. Michael Hopf

  Once in the armored Humvee, he called Dylan on the secure phone and informed him of his destination. Looking out the window, he marveled at how the city was changing so quickly. Each day it grew more and more as migrants moved in from all parts of the United States. They came looking for hope and so far, he was giving it to them.

  At Pat’s, many regular patrons sat inside. He exchanged handshakes and hellos before reaching the counter. Pat was busy behind it.

  “Mr. President, good morning! The usual?” Pat asked.

  “Yes, sir. The place looks great. You can hardly tell there was a brawl here.”

  “Yeah, it was mostly turned-up tables and spilled drinks. Nothing that couldn’t be fixed.”

  “How are you?”

  “Fine,” Pat answered as he was pouring Conner a hot, steaming cup of coffee.

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. No use crying over spilled coffee.” Pat walked over with a paper cup filled to the top and handed it to him. “Here you go, sir.”

  Conner pulled out his wallet and removed a twenty-dollar bill.

  “Glad to hear you’re fine. Here,” Conner said as he handed the money to him.

  As Pat counted out his change, he clucked his tongue. “It’s so funny using money again. I have to admit that it’s been difficult to get people to use it.”

  “We have to start again somewhere, and what better place to start the use of a currency again than in the capital city? I realize it’s not going to be easy for people to trust it, but we can’t keep trading eggs and milk. Eventually we have to have an established and standardized currency to do trading and commerce with.”

  “Indeed. Your money is always good here,” Pat said with a broad smile.

  “Anything new going on here?”

  “Ha. Things do happen here. Sometimes I think I’ve created a monster with this place.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Oh, it’s nothing, but you know those guys, the Lakotahs. A few others came in this morning. I heard them mumbling about how their people were arrested the other night. After they left, I found some more flyers.”

  “Let me guess: pictures of me with a bull’s-eye on them?”

  “If it were I’d have it over there on the dartboard,” Pat said as he reached down the counter and handed the papers to Conner.

  Conner flipped through the sheets of paper. They were similar to those from the other night, but with some strikingly different language. What caught his eye were phrases like “tyrannical federal government,” “free our prisoners of war,” and “free the Lakotah people.” The bottom called for a march for “freedom” coming in two days.

  “Can I take these with me?” Conner asked.

  “Sure, I don’t need them; I was saving them for you anyway,” Pat said, then made his way back behind the bar.

  “I’ll catch you later, thanks,” Conner said, raising his cup. He stopped just before exiting and called out, “Can you contact me if these guys come back in?”

  “Sure thing,” Pat replied.

  “Cheers,” Conner said, and left. He walked out of the shop and jumped into the Humvee. “To the capitol,” he instructed the driver.

  As they sped off, he looked over the flyers again. He would have to stamp the Lakotahs out, but he wouldn’t go looking for them. He’d let them come to him.

  Warren Air Force Base, Cheyenne, Wyoming

  Sebastian couldn’t sleep. He had stayed awake all night as they ran test after test on Annaliese. Finally, the MRI showed the doctors what they needed to see. In her lower abdomen, a blood clot in an artery was cutting off blood flow to her lower intestine. Once they determined this, the doctors raced her off to have emergency surgery. The test result and surgery had happened so quickly that he hadn’t had a real chance to talk with her.

  One bad image after another kept coming into his mind. He pictured her on the operating room table covered in blood and the heart monitor flatlining. It took all he could to block those visions out of his mind. Never before was he so worried or had he felt such fear at the potential of losing someone. Having someone die close to him wasn’t foreign; when he was younger his parents died and even though it upset him then, the fear of losing his wife felt even more tremendous. The only thing he imagined could be worse was losing a child. He could not even fathom how difficult it must have been for Gordon and Samantha to lose Hunter. Seeing their pain affected his own willingness to have children.

  The yellowish glow of the fluorescent overhead lights and the roomful of empty chairs gave a feeling of dread. Sebastian was consumed with thoughts of his wife, his head in his hands. He didn’t even notice that someone had walked up to him.

  “Excuse me,” the woman said.

  Sebastian looked up, his vision a bit blurry from lack of sleep. After blinking a few times she came into focus. “Yes.”

  “Hi, Mr. Van Zandt, I’m Secretary of State Wilbur. I thought I’d stop by and say hello and check on you. I wanted to make sure that you and your wife were getting the best care possible.”

  He stood up promptly, rubbed his eyes, and said, “Ah, yes, everything has been good, very good.”

  “Is your wife doing well?”

  “I have to assume so, she’s still in surgery.”

  “I can assure you that we have the best available people taking care of her. She’s in good hands.”

  “Thank you. Everything has been great. Sorry if I seem a bit out of it, but I haven’t slept in over twenty-four hours and I’m nervous.”

  “I can understand.”

  “Any word on my brother, Gordon?”

  “The last I heard, he landed in Oregon. They haven’t made it to Coos Bay yet but are expected to arrive soon.”

  “They?”

  “He is being accompanied by a Staff Sergeant Finley.”

  Gordon hadn’t mentioned going with anyone else, but he really wasn’t apprised of the mission so he let it go.

  “I can’t thank you all enough. Bringing her here to get care was very generous.”

  “You’re welcome, Mr. Van Zandt.”

  “Please, call me Sebastian. Um, forgive me, but you look familiar. Have we met before?”

  “Yes, we have, in Idaho. Your brother escorted me and Vice President Cruz out of Coos Bay a few months ago.”

  “That’s it. I knew you looked familiar. I’m just so tired that I couldn’t place the face.”

  “Here,” she said, handing him a card.

  Sebastian looked at the business card, which was a bit wrinkled and worn looking.

  “Major?”

  “It’s an old card; my current contact information is on the back. If you need anything at all, please don’t hesitate to reach out. We want to make sure you and your wife are taken care of.”

  Sebastian flipped the card over and looked at the handwritten phone number. “I will. Thank you again.”

  A man dressed in blue scrubs walked into the waiting room and approached Sebastian. “Mr. Van Zandt.”

  An intensity gripped Sebastian’s face as he attempted to read the body language and tone in the surgeon’s voice. “How is she?”

  “She is doing very well. We were able to remove the clot with no complications. We will need to monitor her for a while to see why she had the clot to begin with.”

  Relief washed over him when he heard the words he had been praying for. “What do you think caused it?”

  “Right now we don’t know. Without knowing her history and based upon her age, we think she had acute intestinal ischemia.”

  “Acute intestinal ischemia?”

  “There are several types but the way you described her symptoms—the sudden-onset pain, bloody stool, painful bowel movements, et cetera—led us to believe it was acute versus chronic, but we will be able to determine more after fur
ther tests so we can prevent a clot from ever forming again. I’ll leave you with this: The worst is over. She will recover with no projected complications.”

  He let out a huge sigh. “Can I see her now?”

  “She’s in a surgical recovery room now but she’s still under. We are slowly bringing her out of anesthesia and when she’s fully awake, we’ll wheel her back to a hospital room where you can see her. I expect that to take about an hour. A nurse will come find you and show you to her room after she’s been transported there.”

  “Okay, thank you, doctor. Thank you so much.”

  “You’re welcome,” the doctor said, and walked away.

  Wilbur had remained but had taken a few steps back during the conversation. “I know you must feel like a ton of bricks have been lifted.”

  Sebastian had forgotten Wilbur was even standing there, he was so dazed with the news. “Yes, something to celebrate for sure. Can you do something for me?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Have word sent to my brother.”

  “I will. If there isn’t anything else I can do, I’ll leave you to soak up this great news.”

  “Thank you very much.”

  Wilbur put her hand out and Sebastian shook it.

  “Don’t forget to contact me if you need anything.”

  “I won’t forget. In fact you might regret giving me your number,” Sebastian joked, the previous tension clearly gone.

  Wilbur smiled, turned, and left. She had only visited out of a professional courtesy. She had been tempted to reveal her displeasure with Gordon to Sebastian but didn’t think the timing was appropriate. After meeting Sebastian, she could see a family resemblance but that was where their similarities stopped for her. She found him easier to talk to and much more charming than his older brother.

  With renewed hope for Annaliese, Sebastian began to pace the room. His excitement made it impossible for him to sit. He knew she wasn’t completely out of the woods, as he was a realist, but he chose not to entertain any dark thoughts. With a heart filled with gratitude, he looked forward to seeing his beautiful wife.

  Coos Bay, Oregon, Pacific States of America

  Gordon’s memory from his last time in Coos Bay proved to be correct. The first checkpoint they came upon was near the intersection of U.S. 101 and the Route 42, exactly where he said it would be. It was set up like many he had seen in Iraq, with barriers and Jersey walls channeling all traffic into one curved lane that led to the guard shack covered with sand bags. Two LAV-25 light-armored vehicles sat to either side of and behind the guard shack, their 25-millimeter Bushmaster cannons pointed down the controlled access. One armored Humvee mounted with a .50-caliber machine gun sat in a position in front of the shack.

  They weaved left and right through the access until they reached two armed Marines at the guard shack.

  Gordon pulled up first and took off his helmet. “Hi, my name is Gordon Van Zandt. I’m here to see Lieutenant Colonel Barone.”

  A Marine corporal looked at him, then looked at Finley behind him and asked, “What’s your reason?”

  “I transported the vice president a few months ago, and I’m here to talk to him about that.”

  “Who’s with you?”

  “That’s my associate, Chuck.”

  “Do you have any ID?”

  Gordon cocked his head and quipped, “Really? Who the hell carries an ID anymore?”

  “I don’t know who you are and without something proving you are who you say you are, I’m not letting you in,” the corporal said defensively.

  “Do me a favor; jump on your radio and contact Colonel Barone and tell him that Sergeant Van Zandt is here. I’m a good friend of his and when he finds out you refused me access, he’ll be up your ass,” Gordon said, hoping to intimidate the Marine.

  “Wait right here.” The corporal took a few steps back, clicked his radio receiver, and called in for instructions.

  Approximately ten minutes went by before an officer instructed the guard to turn away the two men.

  “Sorry, no access. If you need to get something to someone, let me know, I can do it for you.”

  Gordon was nervous. He was afraid if he pressed it too much it could cause a scene and the entire mission would be jeopardized. He turned and looked at Finley, who returned his look with a wink.

  “Can you please contact Colonel Barone directly with that radio?”

  “No, sir, we can’t. We have our own chain of command and he is refusing you access.”

  Gordon thought about what to do. He decided he’d try one more time and if that failed, he and Finley would have to sneak in. “Corporal, please contact your commanding officer, tell him I’m Sergeant Gordon Van Zandt, here to see Colonel Barone at his request. Also add that I was the Marine who escorted the vice president out of here.”

  “Sorry, sir, turn around,” the corporal instructed.

  “Please, Corporal, one more try, contact Master Sergeant Simpson too. He’ll verify my identity,” Gordon pleaded.

  The corporal looked at him, and then looked at Finley. “Okay, one more time. Wait here.”

  Gordon took the moment to look around; there was no getting past these LAVs and Humvee. If they attempted to force their way in, they’d lose.

  The corporal approached Gordon and asked, “You’re cleared to proceed to the second checkpoint about a mile or so down the road. Thank you for your patience. I’ll radio ahead to inform them you’re good to go.”

  “Thank you, Corporal,” Gordon said. Putting his helmet back on, he turned to Finley and gave him a thumbs-up.

  They drove on through the remaining parts of the checkpoint and soon were on open road again. The second checkpoint came into view after the last turn to the left. This one had even more vehicles and personnel. They pulled in and stopped just outside the door of the guard shack.

  “I need you two to stay put. Someone is coming out to meet you,” a Marine sergeant said.

  Gordon had thought they were in, but his assumptions were premature. His plan was to tell them a bullshit story of information he had about the United States. Without any other options, that was the best he could do.

  “Who’s coming out?” Gordon asked.

  “Just hold tight, sir,” the Marine responded.

  “How long do we have to wait?” Finley hollered from behind.

  Gordon grew increasingly worried that things would not go how he had planned. So much was on the line. There was no way he’d be able to pull out and flee without causing the situation to go completely out of control or turning violent. He could tell that things were on edge since his last time there.

  The Marine guard kept his eyes on Gordon and Finley, his hand on the pistol grip of his rifle. Minutes went by until the rumble of a Humvee could be heard

  The Humvee stopped a few feet from the rear of the guard shack. The passenger side door opened up and an older Marine exited and walked up to the guard. They talked quietly and then the older one walked up to Gordon.

  “Sergeant Van Zandt, I’m Staff Sergeant Phillips. I work for Master Sergeant Simpson. He sent me to come escort you in.”

  “Thank you, Staff Sergeant,” Gordon said, the tension eased now.

  “Who is your companion?” Phillips asked, pointing toward Finley.

  “Finley—he’s my partner and ex-army doggie,” Gordon lied.

  “I’m slumming it, hanging with the jarhead here,” Finley chimed in.

  Phillips grinned slightly and said, “He’s a comedian too, I see.”

  “The real joke is he thinks that wearing a beret makes you look tough,” Gordon joked.

  Finley raised his middle finger at Gordon, and then blew him a kiss.

  “All right, you two, follow us into downtown. Don’t veer off, you might not like where you end up,” Phillips ordered, jumping ba
ck into the Humvee.

  Relief washed over Gordon. He had passed his first test, but what was coming was unknown. He put down his visor, started the bike, and followed Phillips.

  As they passed each street on their way into Coos Bay, Gordon saw a once beautiful town turned into a battlefield. Passing a small community on his right, he saw what looked like two infantry platoons entering a series of homes. Civilians had gathered near them and were shouting. He could only assume they were in opposition to the raid.

  The highway led them to just outside the main part of downtown and to a final checkpoint. This one was manned with tanks, light-armored vehicles, and endless strands of razor wire, barricades, and Jersey walls. Sandbagged bunkers flanked them as they proceeded through.

  Inside town, the streets were covered in debris, trash, and abandoned cars. Signs of past fights were evident everywhere, as most of the buildings were riddled with bullet holes.

  Gordon shuddered, thinking to himself, What have you done, Barone?

  Phillips led them down to the USS Makin Island. Gordon never imagined he’d lay his eyes on the ship again, but here it was, towering over the dock.

  Phillips walked up to him and said, “We’ll find you and your friend a berthing spot shortly. We have plenty now.”

  Gordon took this opportunity to gather some needed information. “What happened here? It’s not the same town I left three months ago.”

  “We’ve had a bit of trouble with the indigenous people, you could say.”

  Gordon found it strange to hear Phillips refer to the local people as “indigenous.” It was very strange, as if he were treating them as though they were lesser than. But then again, he remembered, in the psychology of killing it’s easier to kill and mistreat people when you don’t equate them as equals or even humans.

  Phillips escorted them onboard and into the bowels of the ship. As they made their way through the tight passageways and down ladder wells, he recalled Sebastian’s last moments on the ship. Sebastian detailed how Gunny had escorted him through these very passageways to the flight deck. Gunny then was completely in league with Barone; Gordon chuckled when he thought of the irony that Gunny was now with them in Idaho. How quickly things could change and alliances shift.