Sanctuary: A Postapocalyptic Novel (The New World Series) (15 page)

Lexi didn’t hesitate; she walked away, opened the door to the stairs, and disappeared.

“Rubio, how’s your ammo?” Gordon asked.

“All good, eight more mags. You?”

“About the same,” Gordon said hoarsely. He grimaced from the pain.

“Are you okay, buddy?” Rubio asked.

“I’ll be fine,” Gordon answered.

The two stood alert in the hallway, but minutes passed without sight of anyone. “Where is everyone?” Rubio hissed.

The men were facing opposite directions, watching for anyone to step into their kill zones.

“Are you sure he’s up here?” Rubio asked.

“No, I don’t know for sure, but if past behavior is an indicator of future performance, then we can be sure he’s around here.”

“Oh, great!” Rubio said sarcastically.

“Corporal, do you have a better place to be?” Gordon joked.

“Ah, no,” Rubio cracked. “Plus, it’s always fun shooting bad people.”

The stairwell door flew open and Lexi walked in with the little girl.

She grabbed her by the collar. “Where is his room?”

The girl was having a difficult time controlling her breathing. She was completely petrified.

“Where is he?” Lexi yelled at her.

The girl flinched but finally answered. She pointed down the hall to the left and said barely above a whisper, “Th-th-the one at the end.”

Gordon stood, petted the girl on the head, and said, “Thank you.” He felt bad that they had to drag a child into this—particularly one who was around his own daughter’s age—but in this situation, they needed to do what they could to move forward with their mission.

Lexi let go of her with a jolt and the girl took off, disappearing into the stairwell.

“Let’s line up,” Gordon ordered.

Gordon took point, with Lexi right behind him, and Rubio bringing up the rear.

Automatic gunfire could be heard outside now. This could only mean that Rahab’s other forces were coming.

They moved swiftly down the hall and took position around the door.

Rubio knelt at the door handle and applied a small explosive charge around it. Once detonated, this would blow off the handle and dead bolt and open the door.

“Done,” Rubio whispered.

Gordon and Lexi put their backs against the wall, anxiously waiting for Rubio to call out that the blast was coming. The nightmares, the daily thoughts of their murdered loved ones, were about to culminate in this one final confrontation with the man who had brought them together. Rahab’s cabal had destroyed many lives and had altered the lives of Gordon and Lexi forever. Even when this was all over the impact that he had on them would carry forward for the rest of their lives.

In the moments before the blast, Gordon felt his blood pumping, but a sense of calm overtook him. He glanced over at Lexi, who was fiercely concentrating on the door handle, as if she could will it off by looking at it alone. For the first time, she was scared. This was a moment she had been waiting for, been dreaming of, really, but without knowing what was behind that door, anxiety overwhelmed her.

“One, two, three, fire in the hole!” Rubio finally called out. The blast tore a hole in the door where the handle and dead bolt had been.

Moved to action, Gordon stepped up and kicked the door in.

They entered what appeared to be a large suite. A living room was the first space they walked into. Sofas and upholstered chairs occupied the area.

“Left!” Gordon cried out as he entered, indicating he was heading off in that direction. Rubio had gone right.

A wide-eyed woman ran out of an adjacent room and rushed toward Gordon with a knife in her hands. Gordon put the laser sight on her chest and squeezed off two rounds. She crashed into a glass coffee table.

The large square room had adjacent rooms coming from the right and left. They could hear children crying and whimpering in the room to the left.

“Room left, going in!” Gordon cried out.

“Room right!” Rubio then responded.

Gordon turned the corner and when the room came into view, there he was.

“He’s here! I got him!” Gordon yelled. At those words, Lexi rushed behind him.

Rahab stood with his arms wide open. About a dozen children were hovered around him at his feet. He was looking up, murmuring something. Rahab didn’t even seem to notice them; it was as if he was in a trance.

Gordon saw that Rahab didn’t have a weapon. Letting his two-point sling do its job, he let go of his rifle and pulled out Gunny’s knife.

Holding the knife tightly in his right hand, he shouted, “Rahab, you were right. Every time I looked in the mirror I thought of you and my son. After I kill you I’ll think about the moment I took your life!”

Startled, Rahab looked toward Gordon. “Who is that? Who are you?”

“It’s Gordon Van Zandt!”

Lexi stepped next to Gordon and placed the red dot from her sight on Rahab’s face.

“Gordon Van Zandt? I’m impressed.”

Gordon stepped in front of Lexi and farther into the sparsely lit and shadowy room where Rahab stood, but stopped when he saw the wire coming from his hand.

“Gordon, I am impressed that you found me. I applaud your persistence, but unless you want to die, you should leave now,” Rahab said, his thumb firmly pressed against the trigger of the device.

Gordon followed the wire from his hand as it traveled down his arm to his chest, then down to other smaller packages around the room.

“Lexi, you and Rubio need to clear out! He’s packed with explosives!”

“Fuck him!” she yelled out, ready to shoot.

“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!”

Lexi stepped out from behind Gordon and placed the red dot of her sight again on Rahab’s face.

“Who did you bring along with you to die?” Rahab laughed out.

“Your nemesis, bitch!” Lexi screamed and began to squeeze the trigger.

“No, he’s got a dead man’s trigger!” Gordon yelled.

“I don’t give a fuck!” Lexi yelled.

Rubio came up behind her and said, “You better fucking care, I don’t want to die right now.”

“Rahab, we’ll leave. Let us take the children and we’ll go!” Gordon said, attempting to prevent him from detonating the bombs.

“Let him go? We came all this way and now we’ll let him go?” Lexi challenged.

“Once his thumb leaves that trigger it’ll detonate the bombs. We don’t have a choice, and I’m with Rubio. I didn’t come here to die.”

“Listen to Gordon, Lexi,” Rubio urged.

“Rahab, we will leave. Let us take the children with us,” Gordon said.

“These are my children, they stay!” Rahab barked.

Gordon stepped back and away from Rahab. He knew that at any moment, Rahab could release the trigger and blow them and half the building up.

“I can’t believe this, I can’t believe we’re going to leave this man alive. He murdered your son, he murdered my sister!” Lexi screamed at Gordon.

“Who was your sister?” Rahab asked with a smile.

“Fuck you! You piece of shit!” Lexi yelled back.

Gordon sheathed the knife and asked, “Can I take the children, please!”

Rahab aggressively thrust the hand that held the trigger toward Gordon. “Leave!”

Gordon slowly stepped backward till he walked into Lexi. He turned to her and whispered, “This isn’t over, I promise. But this here, we can’t win. We can try to find him again, I swear.”

“Argh! This is such bullshit!” Lexi hollered.

The whimpering children ate at Gordon’s conscience, but there was nothing he could do.

“C’mon,” Rubio said.

They all started to back slowly away from the bedroom and into the living room of the suite.

Lexi was mumbling something under her breath, then darted back toward the bedroom.

“No!” Gordon screamed after her. He reached and managed to grab her by the collar of her tactical vest but not before she had squeezed off a couple of shots, hitting Rahab squarely in the chest.

Gordon dragged her from the room and into the hallway. Rubio was ahead of them, running toward the stairwell.

The impact from the bullets caused Rahab to fall backward and trip over the children. He held the detonator firmly, but then looked up and yelled, “Praise be to God!” and lifted his thumb off the trigger. Then everything went black.

 • • • 

“Never look back unless you are planning to go that way.”

—Henry David Thoreau

Cheyenne, Wyoming

C
onner exited the Humvee in front of Pat’s Coffee Shop. When he had heard that the coffee shop down the street from the capitol had stayed open and its owner had been instrumental in maintaining order, he made a point to pay a visit.

Pat’s Coffee Shop had been a local Wyoming spot for almost two decades. During the rise of Starbucks, Pat Coldwell, a former air force airman, opened it up. He had been stationed at F. E. Warren back in the 1990s as a security police officer, guarding the missile silos. At the end of his enlistment, Pat stayed in Cheyenne. He loved the people, the country, and most importantly the city. Cheyenne had become his new home. He was originally from Seattle but going home wasn’t an option for him. He took the idea of fine coffee and brought it to Cheyenne, where he saw success. When the lights went out, he decided to keep the place open. Even while initial panic set in, he refused to give in. When vandals began to descend on downtown, he and a few other business owners rallied and, with support of the government, squashed it. His perseverance paid off. Things had turned around for Cheyenne, and he was now being heralded as a local icon.

Conner walked into the shop and was greeted with a loud hello from behind the bar. The shop was being lit by generators that were powered by a wind turbine constructed on the roof of the building.

“Good morning! I hear this is the place to grab a hot cup of java,” Conner shouted out.

Pat was behind the counter pouring water into a small, stainless espresso maker. He looked up and saw Conner followed by a long line of armed men. He’d never seen this man before but the entourage told him this person was someone of importance.

“You heard right, sir. What can I get you?” Pat wiped his hands and walked to the counter.

“Just a coffee, large,” Conner said.

“You have a cup with you?” Pat asked.

“Ah, no, I don’t.”

“I don’t have many paper cups left, so that will be extra,” Pat said, holding up a white paper cup with plastic lid.

“Sure,” Conner answered.

Pat poured hot water from a kettle he had sitting on a Coleman stove into a French press and set it aside. “It will take a moment.”

“That’s fine. Pat, do you have a minute?” Conner asked.

Pat looked around and said, “Sure, I can spare a minute.”

Conner reached over the counter with his hand and said, “Pat, my name is Brad Conner. I’m the President of the United States.”

Pat looked shocked as he grabbed Conner’s hand and shook it vigorously. “Well, this is a surprise. Nice to meet you, sir.”

“I came in here because I heard about everything you did and I wanted to personally thank you. You are an example to other Americans,” Conner said. He looked around quickly, then turned back to him and finished by saying, “Keeping this shop open means a lot. It signifies hope.”

Pat couldn’t believe the president was standing in front of him, much less thanking him for doing what he thought anyone should do. “Sir, it just felt right. That’s all.”

“Well, we need more Americans like you. We have a tough road ahead of us, but with people like you, we can make it.”

Pat blushed from the praise. Nervously, he turned around and said, “Your coffee is ready.” He pushed down the screen and poured the coffee. “Room for cream?”

“Wow, you have cream?” Conner asked, surprised.

“Ahh, sorry, not real cream; I have some powdered over there,” he said, pointing to a small table against the wall. He handed Conner the coffee.

“Thank you. How much?”

“On the house, sir.”

“No, you made this and it has value. I insist on paying.”

“Well, things are a bit different. I can take an egg, a candy bar, something like that in exchange.”

Conner then realized he didn’t have a wallet anymore and, of course, didn’t have an egg or candy bar on his person. “You know, I’m sorry. I came in here with no way to pay for this.” He turned to one of his security, who shrugged. Cash money didn’t have value anymore.

“No worries, sir. Like I said at first, it’s on the house.”

“Pat, I’ll send one of my men back with payment. I’m a man of my word and I
will
pay for this. Thank you again. It was a pleasure to finally meet you.” Pat nodded in response, still shocked by the interaction.

Conner headed toward the door. Taking a sip, he turned and called over his shoulder, “This is a damn good cup of coffee.” Pat smiled.

Conner got into the Humvee. Dylan was sitting in the backseat, finishing up a call on his satellite phone.

“To the office,” Conner instructed.

Just as the vehicle began to move a few people rushed Conner’s side of Humvee.

“Mr. President, thank you. Thank you!” they yelled.

“Wait a minute. Stop!” Conner commanded.

Security poured out of the vehicle behind and came at the people with guns drawn.

Conner stepped out of the Humvee and said, “Hold on! Wait!”

In front of him were two men and a woman with a toddler. All looked weathered and tired.

The woman reached out and touched him. “Mr. President, thank you for coming to Cheyenne. You being here has given us hope!” The men spoke and expressed the same sentiment.

His team backed off and the people again stepped forward.

“What’s your name?” he asked the woman.

“My name is Belinda.”

“And yours, sweetheart?”

“I’m Faith,” the little girl said. Her blonde curls hung in her face.

“What a beautiful name for such a beautiful little girl,” Conner said, touching her hand.

Other people on the street began to gather. He now stood in front of a group of twenty or more. Seeing an opportunity, he bellowed out, “People of Cheyenne, I’m here to stay. Your country is still here and your government is still here. We will begin rebuilding this great country one brick at a time and this great city is where we will begin. Thank you for being strong during these tough times!”

The people cheered.

He finished by saying, “Please stay strong. I need each and every one of you to do that. We are in this together. Thank you!” He shook a few hands, then jumped back in the Humvee.

“Great job, sir,” Dylan said, smiling ear to ear. “That’s the Brad Conner I remember from Congress.”

“That felt really good. You know, Dylan, this was a smart move on many counts,” he said as he waved out the window, a grin on his face. “Oh, and get me some rations, and find me milk or cream. I’ll need it for tomorrow. Now, I’ve got a call to make.”

Coos Bay, Oregon

“We lost another councilor last night,” Roger Timms told Simpson.

“The colonel won’t like hearing that.”

“I don’t know what else to say—there’s no other way sugarcoat this. The mayor has managed to convince these people that having you leave is the right thing to do.”

Simpson looked down at his watch. “Sorry to make you wait, Roger, but he’s still on an important call.”

“A call?” Roger looked surprised when he heard that once-common phrase. It seemed like it had been years since he had used a telephone.

“Yes, he’s down at the CIC.”

“Who’s he talking to?” Roger asked curiously.

Simpson’s pleasant demeanor shifted. “Not for you to worry about.”

Feeling like a dog that was just scolded, Roger meekly peeped, “Sorry.”

The door burst open, and Barone energetically entered.

“Sorry to be late, but I had to deal with something,” Barone said as he walked over and sat down across from Roger.

“We have a real problem brewing.”

“Christ, do I ever get a break?” Barone blurted out.

“The mayor has convinced another councilor.”

“What am I going to do with her?” Barone asked bluntly. “She won’t meet with me. She says it’s no use.”

“We have another issue that I was hoping wouldn’t happen.”

“And that is?”

“She’s going forward with the joint town hall meeting this afternoon. She plans on presenting everything to the people and working on getting their support.”

Barone looked at Simpson with an air of disgust. “Fucking politicians, I can’t escape their bullshit!” he spat out.

Roger shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“Thanks for the information, Mr. Timms. I’ll see you later at the meeting.”

Roger looked at Barone curiously at the abrupt ending of the meeting. “I’ll see you there, thanks.” He stood and walked out.

Barone turned to Simpson and said, “Where to start?”

“What do you want to do about the mayor?”

“She’s the least of the issues I’m dealing with now. I just got off the phone with President Conner and he wants to make a deal.”

Simpson’s eyes widened with excitement. “A deal?”

“I have to laugh; I thought Cruz was the president. Everything is so fucked up; they’re holed up in the mountain. It appears that Cruz is the president but also the vice president? I’m confused about the whole thing. Anyway, Conner wants to have a treaty with us in exchange for us releasing Cruz and all his people. The treaty will give us a defined area that we can call the Pacific States.”

“That’s it?” Simpson asked.

“No, there’s more. He wants an alliance with us. He’ll let us establish a country out here. He pledges to leave us alone; what he wants is Cruz and an alliance to fight these savages from the south.”

“Hmm, interesting,” Simpson mused.

“It’s interesting for sure. I have to say, I think I’m for it. We just have to carve out the area we want to call home. We then need to coordinate a plan with them against the Pan-American Empire.”

“Pan-American Empire? What the fuck is that? Are we in some kind of medieval role-playing game?”

“Remember the cartel that we bombed in San Diego? It’s that group, but now they have the backing of the Venezuelans.” Simpson nodded as Barone continued on. “It’s all tied together. The Venezuelan infantry, the flagged vessels that the USS
Topeka
sank the other day. It’s all tied together”

“Now you can stop being pissed at White,” Simpson quipped.

Captain White and his crew of the USS
Topeka
had been patrolling the coastline of Oregon and California in his submarine. Barone was grateful for White and that he had at his disposal an attack submarine. Ever since they had met up with White in the middle of the Pacific weeks ago, his sub had been the tipping point more than once, first against the USS
Denver
, now against the Venezuelan ships.

“It turns out his assumptions were right. These must have been the amphib ships for these self-stylized conquistadors.”

“Shall I call a staff meeting?” Simpson asked.

“Yes, but there is something else that is seriously troubling that I wanted to discuss with you. Conner told me that five more nuclear devices were set off.”

“Oh my God, where?”

“He needs our help because five of the major bunker systems were destroyed.”

“Sir, do you think this is also tied to the Venezuelans or the cartel?”

“Could be. They were able to test the signatures from the bomb detonated outside Denver. They found out it was a Russian device.”

“So the Russians are involved?”

“I don’t think so; they didn’t get out of this whole mess unscathed, so I don’t think they had anything to do with it. Their government is too fractured, according to the Australians. I think whoever did this got their devices from Russia.”

“If the Venezuelans pulled this off, what a brilliant operation. How could they keep this quiet? I mean, this had to include many different players, rogue governments, terrorist organizations. Think of the structure of this plan. Unbelievable!” Simpson said incredulously. While the outcome was awful to him, he respected the ability to pull it off.

“It is unbelievable. What’s even more unbelievable is that we will soon be back in the good graces of the United States. Funny how things turn full circle.”

Simpson nodded and stood up from the table. “Sir, if that is all, I’ll go call the emergency staff meeting.”

“Very well. Let’s hold it here at fourteen thirty.”

“Roger that.”

“I almost forgot. I know you’ll cover this, but how’s the call back of our forces going?”

“Very good sir; all patrols are coming back. Nothing really to report.”

“Good. It’ll be nice to have all my men back.”

Simpson nodded and left.

A deep feeling of satisfaction filled Barone. He had made a bold move when he mutinied and now he had a way to get out of it with a country of his own. He just hoped Conner was a man of his word.

Sacramento, California

“I don’t have you here to complain! I have you here to tell me what we should do, not to tell me we can’t!” Pablo yelled at his commanders, his words bouncing off the walls of the Senate chamber.

Bad news kept pouring in for his army and his mission. They had lost all of their ships. Two of their patrols had come under attack from what they thought were U.S. military forces to the north. Civilian resistance had grown quickly in Sacramento. They had dealt with occasional resistance but this was more organized. In the past two days, their forces had been attacked almost a dozen times. These attacks weren’t just from random armed citizens; several of their convoys had been hit by IEDs. One of their camps had been assaulted by a large force armed with machine guns, rockets, and grenades. He knew they’d eventually encounter an insurgency, but now that it was upon them so quickly, he struggled to know how to best address it. His forces were conventional, and he knew that when dealing with guerrillas, it was necessary to shift tactics. Pablo liked to work with a well-defined plan; without one his mind would drift, overwhelmed. Outwardly, his confidence was still intact, but secretly, he was rattled by how quickly the tides had turned against him.

He was getting mixed messages from his commanders. General Pasqual and half of his staff believed that he needed to keep the momentum and move on to the next objective quickly. The other half believed in moving more diligently and carefully. Pasqual recommended that Pablo deal with the civilian resistance harshly, with suggestions of mass killings of everyone in an area, including women and children. The contrarian opinion believed that tactic would backfire and only cause further and deep-seated opposition.