Sanctuary: A Postapocalyptic Novel (The New World Series) (16 page)

“Sir, we must show everyone we conquer that resistance will be met with severe consequences. If you show too much mercy, you only breed contempt and greater resistance,” Pasqual stated.

Colonel Gutierrez put down the cigar he had been smoking and responded, “General, you and I both learned in Academy the consequences of enraging the civilian population.”

“Colonel, hasn’t invading their nation already enraged them?” Pasqual shot back.

Both men went back and forth with snide comments. It was clear now to Pablo that these two didn’t like each other, both professionally and personally.

“Gentlemen, this is not a school yard. I need adults here presenting me with a road map to navigate through these challenges we have!” Pablo barked.

Pasqual and Gutierrez stopped talking and focused on their leader.

“I am a student of military strategy, but I’m also a student of history. We can use the American adventure in Iraq and Afghanistan to see what happens when military forces are dealing with a civilian population that begins to rise up against their rule. The Americans also had a civil war that we should look toward and learn from. The Union Army was losing the war until Ulysses S. Grant took command. He changed the policy of how civilians were classified. You see, he had smart council that I don’t seem to have here. His old friend and confidant by the name of Francis Lieber helped him draft a code to present to President Lincoln. In it, it gave him the authority to execute warfare against any civilian who contributed to the aid and comfort of the Confederate Army. Running supplies, assisting, feeding, et cetera, was considered tantamount to fighting on the battlefield.”

All the men at the table were staring, a look of surprise on some of their faces as Pablo continued with his history lesson. Like a professor lecturing his students, Pablo went into excruciating detail about the historical factors that led to Grant using the force he did against the Confederacy.

Pablo finished by saying firmly, “Gentlemen, the moral to the story is this: The only way Lincoln could win the war was to crush the spirit of the Confederacy. In order for us to win, we need to crush our enemies. We need to send the civilians this message: If you oppose us, we will kill you and all of your families. We will take Lieber’s Code and expand on it. Initially, I thought we needed to show a bit more mercy. And yes, we can extend mercy to those who are willing to help us. However, if someone lifts a finger against our crusade, we will exterminate them. This will send a clear message to all that opposition will be met with severe consequences. Unfortunately, in order to conduct this type of warfare, we must have the resources to do it. I want to resurrect my Villistas—they will be the ones to execute this plan. However, we will need more time in each area to train and equip them to do this. The question I have for all of you is: Are you willing to do whatever it takes to succeed?”

Some of the men’s faces couldn’t hide displeasure with Pablo’s new directive. All military men are trained and educated in the rules of war. What Pablo was suggesting was doing away with these guidelines. What he was proposing could lead to genocide.

Pablo took note of the initial reactions from each man. The last person he looked at was Pasqual.

Pasqual was born into the military; his father and grandfather were both officers. The first time he had heard that he and his army had been sold to Pablo, he was disgusted. But as the weeks progressed, he had grown to love the victories and intensity of combat more than anything. It had become a drug to him and he was now addicted. When he met Pablo’s gaze, he smiled.

“General, how long will it take to get a battalion of Villistas trained and ready to tackle the insurgency?”

“Sir, it will take at least sixty days to find enough men willing to join our cause and to get them outfitted. But as far as the training, that’s easy, I believe. Just give them orders to hunt down insurgents and let them do it. If the rules of engagement are that no quarter will be given, then there’s not too much to teach them.”

“Sixty days? I hate the thought of sitting here but . . .” Pablo said, then paused, thinking that it gave him time to court Isabelle. “Okay, General, take the time you need; if we’re going to do this, it should be done right.”

Others in the room kept their opinions quiet; they knew now that going up against Pablo and his directives was a death wish, and they didn’t dare to stray from his orders.

Helicopter over central Oregon

Gordon’s eyes burned as he opened them. The sunlight forced him to squint but the pain and burning sensation was something he’d felt before.
Fallujah
, he thought. The smoke from the blast and subsequent fires after Rahab blew up himself and the entire north end second floor had scorched his eyes.

He didn’t remember much after he had grabbed Lexi and pulled her out of the room. They had only managed to make it to the hallway when the blast went off. As his vision focused, he noticed he was no longer in the compound. In fact, from the noise he appeared to be in a chopper. He was confused, and tried to look around, but a wave of pain hit him.

He went to move but restraints on a backboard prevented him. He panicked a bit, not knowing who was transporting him or where he was going. Lifting his head farther, he saw someone who appeared to be the crew chief. Looking right, he saw a familiar face: the little girl from Rahab’s compound, sitting wrapped in a blanket next to a corpsman.

The corpsman saw Gordon’s movements and came to his side. “Sir, you need to be still.”

“Where are the people I was with?” Gordon asked as he grimaced in pain from moving his head.

“Sir, please lie flat. You might have sustained a spinal injury, we can’t risk . . .”

“My head is killing me, oh my God it hurts so fucking bad,” Gordon complained as he attempted to loosen himself from the straps.

“Sir, stop moving around,” the corpsman ordered with a gruff voice.

“Is Corporal Rubio here?”

The corpsman shook his head.

“A woman, did you find a woman near me? Her name is Lexi,” he asked, then grabbed his head. “Damn it! This pain is excruciating.”

“You and the little girl were the only ones our team pulled out alive.”

“What happened to Jones and McCamey?” Gordon was delirious.

“Sir, you really need to rest and you have to stop moving around. Please just rest.”

Gordon listened to the corpsman’s commands, defeated. He rested his weary head back on the thinly padded board. His mind raced as he attempted to remember the events that had occurred right after he grabbed Lexi and after the blast. He remembered grabbing her, that she resisted, and that a shot rang out. He pulled her out into the hallway. All he saw as he was pulling her was the door, walls, and floor. He didn’t remember seeing Rubio. He remembered the sheer violent force of the blast hitting him. Spotty memories came and went, and he attempted to decipher whether they were real memories or dreams. He remembered feeling a sensation of falling, not just to the ground, but far down. Had the building collapsed? Did he fall from the second to the first floor? Think, he told himself. Nothing came. The blast, then he was here on a chopper, headed to some unknown location.

Gordon drifted off to sleep. He awoke to the corpsman adjusting the straps on Gordon and examining him. Gordon grabbed his sleeve and asked, “Where are we going?”

“We’re heading back to Coos Bay.”

Eagle, Idaho

Samantha sat in the empty dining room attempting to enjoy a hot cup of tea when Nelson walked by on his way to his bedroom. He had just come back from his scheduled guard duty.

“If you have time, I’d like a bit of company. I have hot tea,” Samantha said sweetly.

Her proposition made him stop in his tracks. Samantha had been rather distant since her apology in the barn; not cold, but just as if she knew she’d overstepped her boundaries. He looked at her sitting there alone and said, “Sure, sounds nice. A good cup of hot tea will hit the spot right now.” He tore off his heavy coat and draped it over the chair.

Samantha poured him a cup and slid it across the table.

“You’ve really turned me into a tea drinker. As you know, I used to be quite the coffee drinker,” he said as he dumped in a spoonful of sugar.

“I have that effect on people. You might know this, but Gordon had never eaten sushi before he met me,” Samantha reminisced, a slight smile on her face.

“I didn’t know that. Us guys, or, I should say, guys like me, we don’t pay attention to that stuff. It’s funny, I grew up practically living on the water, surfing every day, but the reality of eating raw fish sounded repulsive.”

“It took some persuading but Gordon came around. He actually did that on a lot of things,” she said. Her voice had taken a more somber tone.

“You kinda saved Gordon. After spending time with you, he became a better man than the rough-and-tumble knucklehead I knew. Yeah, he was still an ass when he wanted to be, and yeah, he had a bit of hardness about him.” Nelson was smiling as he spoke fondly of his friend. “Then you came along and took those rough edges and polished them.”

Tears started to run down Samantha’s face as Nelson spoke. She wiped them away and said, “I’m sorry I’m such a mess. I can’t stop crying these days.”

Nelson reached over and took her hand. “Samantha, you have been through things I can’t fathom. You’ve lost so much.”

“I’m getting better. I know I haven’t been there for Haley, and after what happened the other day, I realize I don’t have the luxury of mourning. I have a responsibility to her and to the group. I’ve finally come to realize that people are going to die, people we love especially. I don’t why this has happened to any of us, but I promise you that the Samantha you’ve been dealing with over the past few weeks is gone.”

Nelson gripped her hand tighter and said, “I’m here to help and support you until Gordon returns.”

“Thanks, Nelson. He makes me so mad. If he were here right now, I’d smack him. But God, I love him so much. I know in his heart he is doing what’s right for us. I just wish he were here to explain what that was, exactly.”

Nelson sensed that the conversation was headed toward the questions he had wanted to avoid.

She looked at him and asked point blank, “What happened that day you found them?”

Nelson had spent hours thinking of how he would respond to this question from Samantha. He knew how he answered would make a huge impact on their lives.

“You want to know what I saw or just what he said?”

“Tell me everything. How did you find them? What happened?”

He took a long, deep breath and began his well-rehearsed answer. He started with finding Gordon on the cross, then finding Hunter almost immediately after. Nelson didn’t want to go into the gory details of her son’s death; he knew that would put any mother into a tailspin. Instead, he described Gordon’s condition, the large wound on his face, then went into great detail to describe Gordon’s emotional pain. He told her how Gordon held Hunter for the longest time. At that, her face tightened and she looked like she was going to cry again. But she swallowed hard and Nelson felt it was okay to continue. He went on to describe how Gordon had told him his plans for revenge.

“Did you challenge this plan?” Samantha asked, looking him directly in the eyes.

“Of course I did. I felt he wasn’t thinking straight. We went back and forth about his decision not to come back, but you know him. When he has his mind set, there’s no changing it.”

“Oh, I know. That damn stubborn Van Zandt blood.”

“He told me that the man who had killed Hunter was still out there and that he had a small group of people who wouldn’t stop killing. He came at this with two thoughts: He needed to stop this man, and he needed to exact revenge.”

“Didn’t you tell him we needed him here?”

“Of course I did,” Nelson said, a tad defensively.

“When you tell me his reasons, I hear the idealistic Gordon. I hear his head. Where was his heart in this?”

“My opinion is that he couldn’t face you. Deep down, he feels he failed you and Haley by getting captured, then by not being able to stop Hunter’s murder.”

“Gordon, Gordon, Gordon . . . he’s such a proud man. Part of that pride has been about his ability to protect us. This was the one time that he thinks he failed. He doesn’t know that more than anything . . .” She stopped, trying to hold back tears. “More than anything, Haley and I just need him here. We can’t
heal
without him.”

Nelson nodded. “So what happens when he returns?”

“I don’t know if he’ll return. How long has it been?” Samantha said with a note of resignation in her voice.

“He’ll come back.”

“It’s dangerous out there and he could get himself killed. But Gordon’s resourceful and capable—more than anyone I know. It’s not the world that will stop him from coming back. It’s Gordon himself.”

With that, she set down her cup of tea.

 • • • 

“The battlefield is a scene of constant chaos. The winner will be the one who controls that chaos, both his own and the enemies.”

—Napoléon Bonaparte

Coos Bay, Oregon

G
ordon finished packing what few things he had with him. The doctor had just given him a clean bill of health. He couldn’t wait to get off the ship.

The past couple of weeks had been very tough for him. When he arrived in Coos Bay, he was in a lot of pain. He had a small laundry list of ailments when he showed up in sick bay aboard the USS
Makin Island
. The terrible headache he had been suffering from was a severe blast-induced concussion. The other injuries included a minor tear of a ligament in his thigh where the bullet had hit, a sprained left ankle, and a dislocated shoulder.

He was still in need of physical therapy for his shoulder, but he would get that when he arrived in McCall. The thought of seeing Samantha and Haley thrilled him, but he was very anxious about how Samantha would treat him. He spent many hours thinking about what he would say to her, how he would make it up to her.

During his time in Coos Bay, he had seen some old faces. Colonel Barone paid a visit to him while he was recovering. He thanked the colonel for all his help, some of which the colonel was not aware he had provided. McCamey and Jones stopped by and paid a visit upon their return too. They sat down and spent hours detailing the events of the battle outside. None of Rahab’s followers made it out alive. They were in shock that Gordon had survived the explosion. The floor had collapsed and Rubio had been crushed under debris. Gordon had asked about Lexi, but they didn’t find a clue that she had even been there. Not a body part, not a scrap of clothing, nothing. It was a mystery. He then asked about the woman they had tied up. They reported that they found her dead, her throat slit. All Gordon could imagine was that Lexi must have done it right before they left but he thought he remembered seeing the woman alive as they drove off. It didn’t make any sense.

The third set of visitors who came after McCamey and Jones were Gunny, Brittany, and Tyler. Brittany’s wounds were healing nicely and Tyler was thrilled to see Gordon alive. Tyler couldn’t talk about anything else but going to Idaho. He was as excited as a child on Christmas morning.

The first thing that Gunny had asked for upon reaching his bed had been the Randall knife. He asked half jokingly, knowing Gordon’s injuries were severe. But to his surprise, it was still attached to his gear when they put him on the chopper. Gordon handed it over with gratitude in his voice. Though he hadn’t been able to use it on Rahab, he felt that it was a lucky talisman that kept him safe.

With the small pack on his shoulder, he looked around at the empty, drab berthing space and bid farewell. He stepped out and headed down the busy narrow passageways toward the quarterdeck. With everyone back from the patrols, the ship was alive again. The passageways served as the veins for the ship. The blood was its crew coursing through it.

He reached topside and stepped out into the midday sun and took a deep breath. The fresh air was a welcome treat compared to the stale air of the ship’s interior. Ever the Marine, he requested permission to depart the ship and exited when he was cleared. He was walking slowly and with great effort. Even after two weeks of much-needed rest and recovery, his body hurt.

The wound on his face no longer required a bandage. Black thread poked out of his face along a jagged thick scar that was forming. Rahab was right. Every time he saw or touched it, it reminded him of Hunter and the long road to avenge his son’s death.

When Barone had visited him earlier, he made Gordon promise to visit him before he left. Gordon wasn’t sure if the visit would be personal or if Barone had an agenda. All he wanted to do was get on the road and begin his trip to McCall. But if Barone had something for him to do, he couldn’t just leave. He owed Barone for the staunch defense he gave him those many years ago after the events in Fallujah. So if Barone were to ask him to jump, Gordon would feel obligated to ask how high.

He was impressed with the little town of Coos Bay. It was bustling with activity. Commerce had returned, shops and stores were open, markets were vibrant in the streets. Gordon was taking in all the sights, smells, and sounds the quaint little town offered. When he made the turn onto Commercial Avenue, the sound changed. He could hear chants and yelling echoing off the building a few blocks away.

He increased his pace so he could find out what was happening. When he made the last turn onto Fifth Street, a large crowd of several hundred people were protesting outside of city hall. They held up signs that read
GO AWAY!, WAR CRIMINAL
, and
TRAITOR
. Gordon assumed this was all directed at Barone and the Marines. He weaved his way in and around the crowd till he reached the entrance.

Two armed Marines stopped him.

“Hi, devil dogs. Colonel Barone wanted to see me,” Gordon said.

“What’s your name?” one asked.

“Sergeant Van Zandt,” Gordon answered. He decided to use his old rank because he thought it might help.

“Hold right here, Sergeant,” one of the Marines ordered.

The chanting and yelling from the crowd were very loud and distracting. While the Marine radioed in, Gordon turned to look at them. It was a mix of young and old, black and white, men and women. He caught the eye of a few, who returned a hard stare.

Gordon turned back and looked at the other Marine. “Looks like idiocy is alive and well.”

The Marine didn’t respond to his comment, though he did crack a smile.

The other Marine got off the radio and said, “Right this way.” He turned, opened the door, and let Gordon go through.

City Hall was abuzz. People hovered near windows looking at the scene outside, talking in hushed voices.

The Marine escorted him upstairs. On his way up, he ran into Gunny.

“Van Zandt, good to see you up and about,” Gunny said, patting him on the shoulder that had been dislocated.

“Ouch!” Gordon cried out.

“Don’t be a pussy, it’s a little dislocation. Since you’re well, let’s meet for a drink tonight.”

“Smitty, that’s not going to happen. I’m saying good-bye to the colonel, then I’m out. I need to get home.”

“So you planned on leaving without saying good-bye to me?” Gunny looked a bit hurt.

“Ahh, well . . . hey, don’t be a pussy,” Gordon joked.

“Then I guess this is good-bye.” Gunny held out his hand.

Gordon took it firmly and shook it. “Thank you for everything, Smitty. So hard to believe everything that’s happened to both of us since we met so many years ago in Fallujah.”

“Yep, a lot has happened. You take care of yourself. And if you ever find your brother, tell him I still think he’s a jackass.”

Gordon laughed and said, “Will do. Take care, my friend, and stay frosty.”

Gunny waved, cleared the last stairs, and disappeared.

Gordon finished the climb and found the seating area outside of Barone’s office. There was unintelligible yelling coming from behind the closed door, no doubt in relation to the protest outside.

The door swung open and several civilians came out, obviously upset.

“Get the fuck out! I’ll be damned if I’m going anywhere!” Barone screamed at them as they scurried away.

Master Sergeant Simpson went to close the door and saw Gordon sitting there.

“What can I do for you?” he asked Gordon, irritated to see another civilian.

“I’m Sergeant Van Zandt. The colonel requested to see me.”

“Oh, yeah, the rescue. One second.” Simpson stepped away.

“Bring him in, I absolutely want to see this Marine!” Barone bellowed.

Simpson brought Gordon into the room and left.

“Sergeant Van Zandt! So glad to see you’re among the living again. You know, you looked like the proverbial shit when you came in here.”

“Yes, sir. I got a bit messed up.”

Barone looked at Gordon’s grown-out hair, which was curling up all along the sides. “Van Zandt, you’re starting to look like a hippie. I should have had someone give you a buzz when you were in sick bay.”

Gordon touched his hair. He hadn’t had a haircut since November. After the Marines he kept his hair longer, but always neat. Now his curly brown hair looked unkempt and shaggy.

“Take a seat.” Barone pointed to a chair in front of his desk. “Can I offer you a drink? Whiskey?”

“Yes, sir, I’ll have a drink.”

Barone poured, then sat in the chair next to Gordon, rather than the one behind his desk. He didn’t want the conversation they were going to have to feel proper or official.

“Van Zandt, I’ll just come out and ask. What the hell happened?”

Gordon took a healthy swig and said, “How much time do you have?”

Gordon gave Barone an abridged version of his life after the Corps and everything that happened after the lights went out. Barone sat and listened intently, only offering apologies or sincere comments when appropriate. Gordon wrapped everything up with the attack on Rahab’s compound.

“After that story, I need another drink,” Barone joked. Grabbing Gordon’s empty glass, he poured more.

“I don’t think I’m the only one who had a lot go on. And by the way, Gunny Smith mentioned your son. I’m so sorry for your loss,” Gordon said.

“Thanks,” Barone replied. He swallowed hard. “Listen, you know my story and what I did. Now, I’m not going to justify it, but I did what I had to do for my family.”

Gordon could sense it coming. This meeting wasn’t about saying farewell. Barone wanted him to do something.

“I’ve had to do things that weren’t conventional, and let me tell you, they weren’t convenient.”

“Sir, I’m not here to judge. The world has changed. We’ve changed. I get it.”

“I know your brother didn’t agree with my position, and therefore, we had to let him go. We gave him a nice going-away gift, but I understand some things went wrong. I’m sorry.”

“Sir, if you’re worried that I hold a grievance against you for my brother, I don’t. I’m not happy it had to go that way, but I do understand. As for judgment about your actions with the ships and whatnot, let me say that I gave up on my country when it gave up on me. When I sacrificed everything to go serve and the thanks I got was a court martial for doing the right thing? Believe me, I don’t have sympathy for the government anymore. People can call me a cynic but I don’t know if they ever had our interests in mind. I’m sure many of them are bunkered down, living high off the hog right now, while the rest of us fight and scratch to survive.”

“I was there with you in Fallujah and went to bat for you later, but those assholes in Washington needed a scapegoat. They needed some red meat to feed the antiwar crowd. Unfortunately, you were the one on the menu. Let me say that a little payback was given recently,” Barone said, referring to his sacking the capitol in Salem and killing Governor Pelsom, who chaired the senate committee that sought Gordon’s court martial.

Gordon craned his neck and eyed Barone suspiciously and asked, “Payback?”

“Don’t worry about it. Listen. You and I have crossed paths again for a reason. We’re kindred spirits in many ways. We both loved the idea of what we thought our country was, we then both suffered the harsh fucking five a.m. wake-up call that it wasn’t what we thought. That it’s run by corrupt politicians who are self-serving and are only there to look out for themselves.” Barone began to get heated but calmed himself. “Forgive me, I digress.”

Gordon finished his second drink and started to feel the effects of the whiskey.

“Van Zandt, I brought you here to ask something of you. It’s not an easy job, but you’re the man for it.”

Gordon was right—he knew it was heading in this direction. But how could he refuse? Barone had done so much for him.

“I have a few packages that I need to have delivered. What I’ll give you in return for their delivery is your very own Humvee to keep with a trailer full of fuel, ammo, and rations to last your family a year, as well as equipment and whatever you need from our supplies.”

Gordon leaned back in his seat. “Wow, that’s quite an offering. But I don’t understand. Why don’t you deliver it yourself?”

“It’s a delicate matter. Let’s just say that the packages are alive. They’re people.”

“Sir, I’ll be honest. All I want to do is go home. My wife and daughter have been waiting for me for too long. I owe you and I understand that. But if I’m going to even think about doing this, I need all the information,” Gordon insisted.

Barone nodded and began to recount the latest developments. He told Gordon about holding Cruz and other staff from the United States as prisoners. He touched on the treaty that had been agreed to, but had not yet been formally signed. The one thing that stood in the way of signature was that Barone had to return Cruz and the secretary of state as a sign of good faith.

“I still don’t understand why I need to do it. You have thousands of Marines that can. Why me?”

“I can’t spare a man here. You’re heading in the general direction so I thought that if I sweetened the deal, you’d do it. I’m actually trying to help you,” Barone said.

“So where do I need to go?”

“Cheyenne, Wyoming.”

“Cheyenne? That’s way past McCall, plus—” Gordon began to argue but Barone interrupted him.

“Van Zandt! I helped you out, gave you men and equipment. Hell, your actions killed some of my men, and now you won’t help me? Unbelievable!” Barone barked.

The pleasant demeanor of the conversation was quickly deteriorating. Gordon understood why Barone would be incensed, and quickly decided that it was best for him to agree.

“Fine, I’ll do it. I just don’t understand why you can’t put them on a chopper and fly them there. Driving them there is an odd way to do it.”

“Let me explain a bit more. You saw that fucking crowd of do-gooders out there? They think they’re standing up for what is right. They think this is pre–December Fifth. They think that the old systems are still in place. They forget who protected and died for those systems. We did. You and I fought for those types out there and now they’re standing up saying they want me to leave. I, of course, refused. Now, this bitch of a mayor comes into my office saying that they will hold me accountable by indicting me for war crimes and treason. Just who does she think she is?” Barone stood up and started to pace the room. He was fired up from mentioning the situation. “You should have seen her eyes when I told her the President of the United States had made a treaty with us. Shit, she flipped out when I told her that! You are asking why I need you. I need someone I can trust. You’ll have one of her aides riding shotgun with you.”