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

by G. Michael Hopf

“Sam, you can’t do that, you can’t risk getting sick,” he admonished her.

  “It’s the only thing I can do. You said there’s no cure so all I can do is ease their symptoms, and one of those is emotional stress. They need me and I need to be there for them.”

  He sighed. “I can’t argue with you on that. So, how are they?”

  “Haley has gotten worse; she now has diarrhea and her cough is bad. I can actually hear the mucus in her lungs. Luke seems to have stabilized, though. I don’t know if it’s something to celebrate yet but I’m thankful he’s not worse. His temperature hasn’t gone above 103.”

  “That’s good news.”

  “Let’s go into the great room. It’s so dark in the hallway and with you looking the way you do I feel like I’m in a horror movie.”

  They both made their way into the room. The sun’s morning light cascaded through the massive east-facing windows. It was the views out those windows that sold the property for her years before. Standing in the orange light was Seneca; she had become inseparable from Nelson ever since the outbreak.

  “Hi. I didn’t know you were here,” Samantha said.

  Like Nelson, she too was adorned with protective gear and clothing. “Hi, Sam.”

  “I’d give you a hug but something tells me you wouldn’t appreciate it,” Samantha joked.

  “Ha, no thanks,” Seneca cracked.

  Samantha walked passed them both and into the kitchen; she took off her gloves and removed the mask she had been wearing. She poured water from a pitcher over her hands and applied soap and began scrubbing her hands and forearms.

  “I haven’t totally abandoned your advice,” she said, lightly mocking.

  “You wouldn’t be laughing if you got this,” Nelson said with a serious tone.

  “Anything new since I saw you last?” Samantha asked, now toweling her hands and arms dry.

  “I stopped by and saw Chief Rainey on my way over this morning. The government rep from Boise died late last night.” Nelson’s schedule had turned into a routine of seeing Rainey in the morning, followed by Samantha, and then in the evening he repeated the process, if possible. He felt it important to bring Samantha the most up-to-date information as possible before making his visits.

  “Oh my God.”

  She sat back on a tufted ottoman. The lack of sleep showed on her face. Her eyes were bloodshot with dark bags under them.

  “I want to ask you about any possible natural remedies or holistic medicines we should try.”

  “Sam, we’re not going to cure this with oregano or any other essential oils. This is serious. If it was so easy to cure MERS, SARS, or any other type of coronavirus it would have been done by now,” Nelson said in a condescending tone.

  “How do you know that?”

  “Samantha, I never figured you for one of those types,” Seneca quipped, trying to lighten the mood.

  “What type is that? The one doing whatever she can do to keep those two kids alive in there?”

  “Are we going to have this conversation? The best thing we can do now is hope that Boise can come up with something or you can reach Gordon and he can get direct help from Cheyenne,” Nelson chimed in.

  “I can’t sit here and put the fate of Haley and Luke in someone else’s hands. I need to try something, anything, that can at least alleviate the symptoms so it doesn’t progress to pneumonia or any of the other complications. I have to try.”

  “While you’re trying with those natural remedies, please keep trying Gordon. I think you have a better shot there.”

  “I’m not giving up on hoping he can help with Cheyenne, but in the meantime I’m going to talk with some of the ladies at the auxiliary, put our heads together.”

  “You do that.”

  She ignored his sarcasm. “Can you both do me a favor?”

  “Anything.”

  “I need you to watch the kids later when I do meet with them.”

  Nelson didn’t hesitate. “Of course, not a problem.”

  Loud coughing erupted from Luke’s bedroom followed by a bellow. “Aunt Samantha, help!”

  Samantha and Nelson ran down the hall and into his room. She approached the bed but Nelson held her arm. She turned and shot him a look.

  “Put this on. Humor me, please. You’re no good to anyone if you get sick,” he pleaded.

  Knowing he was right, she quickly put on her masks and latex gloves.

  Luke coughed several times. His entire body shook when he did. Both she and Nelson could hear the large volume of mucus in his lungs.

  There wasn’t much Samantha could do other than provide comfort. She rubbed his back and whispered something unintelligible.

  Taking a deep breath, he looked at her, tears in his eyes. He held up the hand he had been coughing in.

  Samantha’s eyes grew wide.

  “Nelson, he’s coughing up blood!”

  Cheyenne, Wyoming

  Dylan rarely showed anger, much less contempt, but after Conner told him the plan to restore the legislative and judicial branches of the government would be put off indefinitely he had to tell Conner exactly how he felt.

  “Sir, you promised. You not only promised everyone on your staff but you promised the people that you’d bring back the two other branches.”

  “There’s no time for it.”

  “Yes, there is. You don’t have to be involved in the process. In fact, sir, you don’t need to involve yourself in every detail about everything. Delegate and let your staff do these things,” Dylan said, his voice elevated.

  “Dylan, I don’t have time for debate on every issue. Now is not the time to have a legislature sit around and possibly block or slow down what I’m trying to do. What I’m doing is too important.”

  “Sir, all I hear is I and me. This isn’t about you, this is about providing a sense of stability to the people.”

  “I am providing them stability, and that stability will increase if we stick to my plan.”

  The door to his office flew open. An excited Baxter walked in.

  Conner and Dylan looked up, startled by Baxter’s unannounced entrance.

  “What the hell?” Conner shouted out.

  “Sorry, sir, no time for pleasantries,” Baxter said.

  “Dylan, please leave,” Conner said.

  Dylan walked out quickly.

  “What’s wrong with you? You barreling in here surely gives people pause that something’s going on. Next time, be more tactful.”

  “I tried to call, but these damn phones keep failing. Our friends from the Republic of Lakotah are holding a large rally, and I mean large.”

  Conner looked at his watch then said with a slight smile, “Perfect, right on time.”

  “They managed to organize inside the green zone and are heading here, toward the capitol.”

  Conner opened his desk drawer, pulling out a small pistol. He tucked it in the waistband in the small of his back.

  Baxter looked confused. “What’s that for? I’ve never seen you carry. You’re not thinking of going down there, are you?”

  Conner ignored his question and picked up the phone. The phones were dead. He placed the receiver down and picked up a handheld radio.

  “Major Schmidt, this is President Conner.”

  After a few moments of silence the radio crackled to life.

  “This is Schmidt, go ahead, sir.”

  “Our guests have arrived.”

  “Roger that, sir.”

  Conner pocketed the radio and began to make his way to the door.

  “Sir, you can’t go down there. This group might be looking for a fight.”

  “General, if it’s a fight they want, we’ll give it to them.”

  “Please, sir, it’s too risky.”

  “General, you can’t lead a country
sitting behind a goddamn desk!”

  Tijuana, Mexico

  The move to the beach house was successful, while unadvisable by the physicians. Pablo’s father had now fallen into a coma, and the conversation about him shifted from his quality of life if he awoke to how best to let him go. So many family memories had been created at this house over the years. One of the first things Pablo did after arriving late in the night was to walk along the beach. Along his walk he thought about his life and how in an odd way he had been blessed. It was his own prodding that forced his father to include him in the “family business.” So often his father told him he wanted to see Pablo live an ordinary life. He had created wealth, not ordinary wealth but true generational wealth. Pablo could have done whatever he chose to do. He could have followed his father’s wishes and gone on to do something legitimate and safe, but his own desire for approval went beyond a father’s recognition for simple accomplishments. Built upon a deep-seated insecurity, and to show his father that he could be a “greater” man, he went in the direction that led him to the battlefields of America.

  As he walked the beach, he wondered for just a moment what it would feel like to walk away from it all. To live an easier life. To live by the ocean, spend his days relaxing rather than planning for battle. He picked up a handful of sand and let it fall through his fingers. But he reminded himself that the easy path was not the best one. He was on a path that he couldn’t turn back from now. He didn’t have the luxury to doubt himself—not now. He wiped his hands off and went back to make the final arrangements for his father and his army.

  • • •

  Walking into his casita, he discovered that the cool ocean air had blown through like a whirlwind, tossing papers and flipping pages on books he had opened. He closed the doors, arranged the papers on his desk, and noticed the red blinking light on his phone. He called the last number that had called him, and the familiar voice of General Alejandro answered.

  “Emperor, hello.”

  “You called?”

  “Yes, sir. Bad news. We lost contact with our team headed to Cheyenne.”

  Pablo clenched his jaw. “Is this confirmed?”

  “No, sir, but it’s been a long time since we’ve heard from them.”

  “What does that mean, a long time?”

  “We lost contact with them weeks ago.”

  “Weeks ago! Why am I just hearing about this now? I was told the weapon was in place in Cheyenne!”

  “I just found out myself. Captain Garcia, the officer in charge, didn’t want to say anything for fear of being reprimanded. He sent several teams out looking for them. This happened without anyone’s approval and they’ve returned with no new information.”

  Pablo bit his lip. “I need you to turn those teams around and send them back out. Am I making myself clear? We must find them.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “As far as our other forces, have you brought them inside Elko?”

  “Yes, sir, and that appears to be stopping the U.S. Air Force from striking. They’re afraid of collateral damage and civilian deaths.”

  “How are our forces to the south?”

  “Good, sir. The United States hasn’t struck them. In fact, it appears they’re not aware that we split off units.”

  “That won’t last. General, we need to move on Salt Lake City now. We can’t wait for the Villistas to get up and running. Elko is not a strategic location. How many days do you estimate it will take us to get to the outskirts of Salt Lake?”

  “Three days, sir.”

  “Three days?”

  “That’s the estimate for the entire army, including our forces to the south. That takes into account mobilizing the army to move.”

  “Understood. I’ll meet the army outside the city. Do not move on the city till I arrive.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good-bye, General.”

  “Good-bye, Emperor.”

  Pablo hung up the phone. Even though it didn’t have the bravado of his original plan, the move on Salt Lake was important—strategically, his army could find safety there. He would use the city to shield his army from the American airstrikes. This would provide him time to get the support he needed.

  The loss of the Cheyenne team with the nuclear weapon was troubling to him, but if the Americans had it, he doubted they would use it if they hadn’t already. They already had thousands of others weapons at their disposal and his instinct was that they were shy on the nuclear front after their massive bombardment abroad. He just didn’t want it in the hands of someone who would use it, specifically against him. With marching orders in place, he now faced the more difficult task: saying good-bye to his father.

  McCall, Idaho

  Nelson didn’t like bringing Luke to the hospital, because the care and attention he’d get would be limited, but once he started coughing up blood, he knew the illness had taken a turn beyond what his own care could provide. He didn’t fault the competence of the hospital staff and doctors, because he knew the outbreak had overwhelmed them. Determined not to allow Luke to go without attention, he pledged to stay with him and oversee his care personally when the staff wasn’t available. He had begged Samantha to stay at home with Haley but she wanted to accompany Luke. She knew how lonely and scared he might be and while Luke knew Nelson, he wasn’t family. Seneca offered to stay with Haley, and Samantha knew she was in good hands with her.

  A familiar voice echoed from a room a few doors down. Nelson walked out into the hallway and saw Charles Chenoweth talking urgently to a nurse, pointing to a gravely ill middle-aged man. Nelson presumed this was Preston, Charles’s colleague from Olympia.

  “Charles, it’s Nelson.”

  Charles stopped and turned to face him. “Do I know you?”

  “Yes, I met you at the bistro.”

  Charles remained quiet for a moment, then like a light turning on, he replied, “Oh, yeah. I remember you.”

  Charles put his hand out to shake but Nelson didn’t take it.

  “Sorry,” Nelson responded.

  “You’re smart. I should be more careful too.”

  “Your friend in there, how’s he doing?”

  “Not good. I feel so bad for him; he has a wife and kid back in Olympia.”

  “Hi, I’m Samantha Van Zandt,” Samantha said, interjecting herself into the conversation.

  “Oh, hi, I’m Charles Chenoweth with the Cascadian Independence Movement.”

  “Nice to meet you, Charles. I heard you were in town.”

  “Van Zandt, how do I know that name?” Charles asked.

  “Maybe my husband, Gordon Van Zandt—he’s good friends . . .”

  “With Michael Rutledge, yes, yes, I remember now. Sorry he couldn’t make it the other night.”

  “I don’t mean to pry, but you seem to be in a hurry. Are you leaving?” Nelson asked.

  “Yes, I need to go back to Olympia.”

  “I can understand your urgency. Who wants to stay around here with everyone getting sick?”

  “I’m not leaving because of that. I’m leaving because I know someone who might be able to help.”

  “Help, like medically help?”

  “I hope so.”

  “There’s no known cure or vaccine for MERS or the other coronaviruses, so I don’t know what you can do,” Nelson commented with skepticism.

  “I don’t know either, but we should try and I intend on doing that,” Charles said. “That man in there is a friend, a dear friend, and I can’t just give up. I won’t just let him die without trying everything in my power.”

  “I agree with you a thousand percent,” Samantha said.

  “So what or who is in Olympia?” Nelson asked.

  “My sister, and she might have a vaccine for MERS.”

  “How can she have a cure?” Nelson asked.<
br />
  “My sister, Elle, works—or I should say used to work—for a lab. One of the projects she had been working on for years now was finding a vaccine for MERS. I remember her telling me this last Thanksgiving.” He went on to explain how his sister was considered by many to be a prodigy. She had graduated high school at the age of fifteen and secured her doctorate in pathobiology from Johns Hopkins University by twenty-five. She was quickly recruited by Kimpter Laboratory in Seattle, where her focus was on finding a vaccine for coronaviruses, specifically SARS and MERS. It was this background that gave Charles the hope that if anyone would have a cure, it was his intensely bright little sister.

  “If that is true we need to make sure you get there and back safely,” Samantha said, excitement building in her voice.

  “Got something in mind, Sam?” Nelson asked.

  “Charles, you’re not leaving here by yourself. It’s far too dangerous out there.”

  “I agree that it’s dangerous, but I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

  Samantha’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “How do you feel about traveling with a team of heavily armed Marines?”

  Cheyenne, Wyoming

  Conner was shocked by the size of the rally. By his estimate, there appeared to be close to five hundred people on the capitol grounds. Many protestors held signs and chanted at the soldiers who stood watch at the checkpoint. They were demanding access to go petition the government.

  “What do you think, General?” Conner asked.

  “I can’t allow you to go out there, it’s too dangerous,” Baxter answered.

  “General, how many times have I said this isn’t the old government? Neither you nor my protection detail has the authority to stop me, but you must support me.”

  The roar of the crowd made it difficult for Baxter and Conner to hear their conversation. Soon it was drowned out by an even louder commotion: the squeal of tank tracks and the rumble of engines.

  “Major, thank you,” Conner said, looking up to Schmidt.

  “Of course, Mr. President,” Schmidt said, getting out of the turret and jumping off the tank.

  This tank was exactly what he needed. He would drive up to the west gate where the protestors were and then emerge from the tank. The effect would be perfect.