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

by G. Michael Hopf

  The frantic woman jumped off the hood and dashed toward her daughter. When she reached them, she began to kick one man when the other man who had been in pursuit punched her in the face.

  Gordon had seen enough. He pulled to the side of the road and stepped out, his rifle at the ready. He just couldn’t allow this to happen. Getting involved could put things in jeopardy for him, but he couldn’t rest knowing he’d allowed these men to brutalize these women.

  “Get off the girl!” he ordered from across the narrow road.

  “Fuck off!” the man who had punched the woman barked. He proceeded to grab the woman by the hair and began to drag her back toward the saloon.

  Gordon calmly slid the two-point sling over his head and walked across the road.

  The young girl was wrestling under the weight of the man who had tackled her. She cried and begged, but he was now trying to pull her pants down.

  The two men seemed to be oblivious to Gordon’s steady approach. Either they didn’t care or were so blinded by their desire to hurt these women that they didn’t take notice when he walked up to them. Remaining quiet, he let the rifle hang and pulled out his pistol. He stepped up to the man who was hurting the teenage girl and said, “Hey!”

  The man looked up, his eyes red with rage and pure hatred. His leathery tanned skin was covered in an uneven and dirty beard that stretched from his face to his neck. The last thing the man saw was Gordon’s pistol in his face.

  Gordon didn’t seek this fight, but he also wasn’t about to get his hands dirty or risk going hand-to-hand. He was going to start and end this altercation quickly and efficiently. He looked into the man’s eyes and just squeezed the trigger.

  The back of the man’s head exploded. The force of the bullet ripping through his skull flung him back and off the girl.

  She wiggled away from him and Gordon in fear.

  The man who had been dragging the woman looked up in shock and fear after hearing the loud shot. He dropped the woman but Gordon dropped the hammer on him right after. A well-placed .45-caliber round hit him in the chest, forcing him to fall backward against the front door of the saloon. His body twitched but he wasn’t long for death as he breathed a few times then expired.

  The woman sprang up and ran toward her daughter, then embraced her tightly.

  Gordon holstered the pistol and turned to them. “You okay?”

  “Please help him, inside, please!” the woman begged.

  “Who’s inside?”

  “He’s a friend, they’ll kill him.”

  Gordon looked at them both and decided that he’d extend his aid by helping out the man inside.

  “How many are inside?”

  “Six . . . no, sorry, four, you killed two of them,” the woman said, clearly flustered from the ordeal.

  Gordon turned back and approached the front door. He stopped shy of opening it when he noticed a few windows. He stepped over and peeked inside the dark room. All he could see were shadows but he did hear men yelling. He walked back to the entrance, moved the dead body, and with one fluid motion flung open the door and stepped across the threshold with his pistol at the ready.

  Warren Air Force Base, Cheyenne, Wyoming

  The ground floor of the hospital was busy, and no one seemed to notice them as they walked in an odd, hurried but slow-paced walk. Annaliese was trying to move fast but the pain in her incision radiated from her lower abdomen throughout. She had reduced her pain medication a couple of days ago and now she wished she hadn’t.

  Frustrated by their slow speed, Sebastian saw a wheelchair, grabbed it, and put her in it. He then began to run down the hall. Nowhere did he see a sign or posting that directed him to the loading docks.

  He abruptly stopped at a nursing station and asked, “Where’s the loading dock?”

  The woman working at the desk looked at him strangely. “Is everything okay, sir?”

  “Where’s the loading dock?” he repeated.

  Her eyes were wide with surprise as she noticed that he was armed. “Ahh, down the hall, take a right, go through the door on the left. The stairs will take you down one level to the loading dock.”

  “Thanks!” Sebastian said and took off running.

  He made the right and sprinted down the last hallway, dodging and weaving around people, carts, wheelchairs, and beds. He slid to a stop at the end of that hallway and helped Annaliese up. He opened the door and they both began to descend when the door above him burst open. He craned his head but couldn’t see who it was from his vantage point. “Let’s hurry.”

  “I’m moving as fast as I can.”

  They reached the door at the bottom and opened it. Sebastian blinked a few times, adjusting his eyes to the bright light of day, and saw a parked Humvee. A man in plainclothes stepped out and waved to them.

  “That must be our ride,” Sebastian said.

  They scurried along the loading dock but they couldn’t move fast enough. Several uniformed soldiers appeared from the door they had just burst through.

  Sebastian looked over his shoulder and knew he had to engage them. “Help her!” he cried out to the man next to the Humvee.

  A door at the opposite end of the dock exploded open and more soldiers poured out, rifles at the ready.

  Sebastian knew the situation was quickly deteriorating, and to have a chance he’d either have to surrender or kill them all. The option for surrender was dashed because he knew that only meant possible torture and death anyway. So with the clarity that today might be his last day, he decided he’d go down in a fight. He let go of Annaliese’s arm, spun around with the pistol in hand, and began to shoot. His shots hit the men charging toward him. Schmidt, who had just emerged from the doorway, ducked back inside.

  Annaliese, taking her cues from Sebastian, held the Beretta out in front of her and started to shoot the half dozen soldiers who had appeared at the opposite end of the dock.

  The man from the Humvee reached Annaliese and pleaded, “Ma’am, we need to get out of here.”

  Annaliese nodded but kept shooting until the pistol’s slide locked to the rear. She jumped in the truck and yelled for Sebastian to do the same.

  Sebastian fired a few more rounds until his Sig P220 also ran out of bullets. Not having another magazine, he dropped the pistol and swung the rifle into his shoulder. With no more men coming from the door he had come from, he turned to engage the soldiers Annaliese had been shooting at. He couldn’t see them, as they had taken cover behind Dumpsters.

  She called out again. “Sebastian, hurry up!”

  The distance to the Humvee seemed much farther than the eighty feet he had to clear. He lowered the rifle and began to sprint toward her, his eyes locked on hers. The expression on her face dramatically changed as she screamed out, “Behind you!” Before he could react, he felt a searing pain in his left leg as a single bullet ripped through his thigh. His leg gave out as he fell to the ground hard. He looked up and saw the Humvee was only a few yards away. He struggled but stood and began to run again when another bullet clipped his right calf. He again fell to the ground. He cringed in pain but began to rise again as more and more men poured into the loading dock.

  Annaliese screamed and started to get out of the Humvee.

  “No! No! Take her away, get her out of here! Go!” Sebastian commanded the driver.

  “Sebastian, get up!”

  “Go!” he yelled.

  The man put the Humvee in gear and slammed on the accelerator.

  “Stop, no, stop! Sebastian!” she screamed out.

  Sebastian climbed back to his feet and brought the rifle up to his shoulder to engage the men when a boot to his lower back forced him to the ground again.

  Sebastian rolled over, still holding the rifle, but Schmidt slammed his arm down and pinned it.

  “Get it over with!” Sebastian barked.
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  “You’re no good to me dead, Van Zandt. I need you for something else.”

  Sumter, Oregon

  Gordon stepped into the dimly lit and musty barroom ready to fight but he found only a single man standing in the middle of the room. His sweat-soaked T-shirt was torn and bloody and he was panting heavily. Gordon scanned the room quickly but saw only turned-up tables, chairs, and smashed bottles and glass along the floor.

  He turned the pistol on the man and asked, “I assume you’re the guy I was sent in here to save?”

  “Save? I had this under control.”

  Gordon laughed at the man’s cockiness. He looked closer at the floor and saw pools of blood, and most bizarre of all, an ear. He looked back to the man, eyebrows raised.

  “It’s not mine,” the man said with a smile.

  The man was impressive in stature. He stood just shy of six feet but to Gordon the air he gave off made him look taller. His wide shoulders supported his large chest and two muscular arms. His thick black hair was slicked back and he sported a manicured goatee.

  “Are you going to shoot me? If not, please put that away,” the man said, his piercing brown eyes still focused on Gordon in a skeptical stare.

  “What happened?” Gordon asked as he holstered the pistol.

  “Let’s say it was a misunderstanding,” the man said as he turned away from Gordon and walked to the bar. He picked up a full shot glass and tossed it back; he looked behind the bar and pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, unscrewed the top, and began to drink directly from it.

  “Looks like I’m not needed. I’ll bid you farewell then,” Gordon said as he turned and made for the door.

  “Have a drink with me,” the man blurted out.

  “Normally I’d say yes, but I gotta get home.”

  “Where’s home?”

  Not wanting to answer him, Gordon just said, “Have a good day.”

  Outside, the woman and her daughter were gone. Gordon looked for them but they were nowhere to be seen. He strode across the street to his Humvee but stopped short when he considered the cars parked out front. He turned back around and looked at them. The temptation was there to see if he could take one, but he knew the men who had fled could be back and in greater numbers. Pushing the idea out of his mind he stowed his rifle and jumped in the Humvee.

  “Hey, where ya heading?” the man said, now standing in the parking lot, the bottle of Jack in his grip.

  “Listen, I don’t know you. I’m not going to tell you anything. This was just a chance encounter; I helped out when I saw the woman,” Gordon said.

  “I’m headed to McCall, Idaho, after a few more stops around these parts. You headed in that direction? I wouldn’t mind the company on the road.”

  The mention of McCall piqued Gordon’s interest. He laughed to himself when he thought about how strange it was that he’d encountered this man in the middle of nowhere and he was headed to the exact same place. Gordon lost his faith long ago in the war-torn streets of Fallujah but sometimes things like this made him reconsider that maybe somewhere there was a divine spirit looking over him. Either way, the coincidence was too much for Gordon to look past. He looked at the man and said, “What’s your name?”

  The man took a swig from the bottle and strutted across the street. He stuck out his hand and said, “Nicholas Knight. Nice to meet you.”

  “Nice to meet you too, Nicholas, but I like to travel alone.”

  “Your loss,” Nicholas smirked.

  “Maybe so. Safe travels—maybe we’ll meet again,” Gordon answered as he fired up the Humvee.

  Over the rumble of the engine, Nicholas asked, “What’s your name? I didn’t get it.”

  “I’m Gordon Van Zandt. Now, don’t get yourself into any more trouble,” Gordon said loudly.

  Nicholas nodded.

  Gordon gave a wave similar to a salute and punched the accelerator.

  Nicholas watched him drive off, took another long swig of whiskey, and said to himself, “Trouble—hell, that’s my middle name.”

  JULY 2, 2015

  “Power tends to corrupt and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Great men are almost always bad men.”

  —Lord Acton

  Twenty-five miles west of Salt Lake City, Utah

  Ever the believer in divine signs, Pablo couldn’t stop thinking about what his mother had shared with him. Pablo declared that he’d see the mission through and ensure the Pan-American Empire would succeed not only for his glory but for his father’s.

  The voice of the chopper pilot sounded in his headset.

  “Emperor, General Alejandro is on the command frequency. He is requesting to speak to you.”

  Talking into the microphone, Pablo said, “Of course.”

  The pilot turned the knob on the radio and gave Pablo a thumbs-up.

  “General Alejandro, how are you?” Pablo asked with a joy in his voice that was never present before.

  “Emperor, I wanted to check on your ETA. We are in place awaiting your arrival.”

  The pilot then pointed out to a spot in the far distance.

  Pablo leaned forward and looked until he saw tiny dots that stretched east to west for miles. “I think we see you, General.”

  The pilot held up his hand and flashed his open hand twice.

  “General, we will be landing in ten minutes.”

  “We still can’t see you, but your loyal soldiers look forward to the triumphant reunion with their emperor.”

  “I too look forward to seeing my men. Great things are coming for us, General, great things.”

  “Sir, I thought I should tell you that we have received an envoy from the United States.”

  “What are they doing here?”

  “I just received the call from our forces along the northern flank. They pulled up in a truck, white flag displayed.”

  “I don’t understand. Why would they come all the way here?”

  “The American says he has come on the behalf of President Conner.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “We cleared them through; they’re being escorted to me now.”

  “You cleared them through?” Pablo thundered. “This doesn’t make sense. Did anyone look in the truck?”

  A long pause preceded Alejandro’s response. “There wasn’t anything in the back, sir. The truck bed was empty.”

  Pablo thought about this unusual maneuver by Conner. Could his victory be at hand? Could Conner see the writing on the wall, and was he now willing to plead for peace?

  “Sir, I see your helicopter now. I look fo—”

  The radio went silent just as a bright flash painfully blinded Pablo. He jerked away from the haloing glow and cried out, “Argh!”

  The pilot flinched and turned his head away, causing the helicopter to drop suddenly.

  Pablo turned back and blinked his eyes repeated until his vision adjusted. What he saw now was awesome. A large mushroom cloud towered over the desert; the dots that had represented his army were lost in the immense and fast-moving debris cloud on the surface.

  “Turn now, get out of here!” Pablo yelled.

  The pilot followed his instructions but just as they turned, a violent shock wave hit the helicopter broadside. The force of the shock wave destabilized the chopper. Alarms sang out inside the cockpit as the pilot struggled to regain control. The helicopter soon began to spin rapidly.

  Pablo looked out the window to get his bearings but the intense spinning made it impossible. A feeling of vertigo overcame him as the helicopter spun hard and fast toward the ground.

  “Ahhhhh!” he cried out as he closed his eyes and prayed. This could not be how it all ended for him. How could this be, he thought, how? How could this be? He opened his eyes for the last time to see the brown and tan earthly tones of the ground bef
ore darkness enveloped him.

  Cheyenne, Wyoming

  Conner didn’t know when he’d get the word but each time the phone rang or someone knocked he expected it to be Dylan or Baxter there to tell him the exciting news.

  He neglected the pile of paperwork on his desk and instead spent the greater part of the day staring out his office window to the now bustling city streets of Cheyenne. He was proud of what he’d accomplished so far and now he had confidence that he could do the same for the rest of the country. For the first time in a long time, he felt true hope. His initial reluctance to deal with his domestic enemies had disappeared. He now questioned his previous mind-set that operated from a place of dialogue or open warfare. He had never thought of using deception and covert actions to tackle his problems, but in the span of a week, he had done away with Colonel Barone, the Republic of Lakotah, and soon the Pan-American Empire. He expected to get some pushback from some in his staff, but once his allies gave him their approval to do what he needed to do on his soil, his conscience would be clear. He knew Baxter would be upset by the secretive manner of the operation, but he always toed the line.

  The day before, he had been informed that their mission to Coos Bay had been successful. Timms, the new mayor of Coos Bay, had contacted Cheyenne to inform them of what had transpired and gave Conner the information that he and Schmidt had been curious about—whether Finley been successful. Apparently he had been, much to Conner’s relief.

  The phone’s loud ring made him jump. He hoped it brought news of another foe slain. He swung his chair around and looked at the second button glow and flash. An internal line. He reached out, picked up the receiver, and said, “President Conner.”

  “Sir, this is General Baxter.”

  Yes, this was the call. A smile stretched across his face as he knew what was coming next.

  “There’s been a nuclear detonation in the Utah desert. We don’t have any other reports, but it appears to have been set off approximately in the last location we had for the PAE army.”