Sanctuary: A Postapocalyptic Novel (The New World Series) (2 page)

“I’m glad I’m providing you with a good interview,” Haley answered.

“This isn’t just any interview, this is a gift to the people of Cascadia. It’s what they need to hear.”

“Good. They need to know the truth, all of it. The good and the bad,” she said, then paused. She cleared her throat and continued, “Delivering a functional government, a government established on rule of law, is not easy. So many take it for granted. Once things fell apart after the attacks and the United States federal government was incapable of handling the situation, a power vacuum appeared. Many different players rushed in to fill that void created by the collapse of our former central government. As we know, those groups eventually clashed in the Great Civil War. But very few people know that our victory was forged not just out of force and tactics on the battlefield but from a strategy that included compromise and diplomacy.” She paused. “The history that our children learn talks mostly about Pablo and the Pan-American Empire versus the United States. But no one really knows all the people involved and how it all came to be.”

“I agree, that’s why I’m so excited about your perspective. I do have some questions I’d like to ask before we get back to where we left off, if you don’t mind,” John said as he was fumbling with his digital recorder.

Haley was amazed by how he had changed since Friday morning. The formerly confident reporter seemed a little less smug, and much more hesitant. She believed that this story needed to be told, but she knew that as a reporter, he had selfish reasons. This story—her story—would sell a lot of newspapers. Waiting for him to get ready, she glanced out the large picture window. Winter appeared to be making an early arrival as she watched snow flurries fall from the gray sky.

“It’s snowing,” Haley said.

“What?” John asked, his head down as he was reading over his questions.

“I didn’t know it was going to snow today,” Haley said.

“Yeah, it was in the forecast today and tomorrow. This is supposed to be a big storm.”

“Hmm, well what do you know. I’m ready when you are,” Haley said, her attention now back on John.

“Sure, okay. I hope this doesn’t come off as an odd question, but as I was listening to Friday’s interview something rather important struck me,” John said. He lifted his head from his notes and eyed her curiously. “How do you know all of these details? More specifically, how do you know the details about Pablo and Colonel Barone or even Brad Conner?”

Haley didn’t flinch or blink an eye to the question. Others might have thought it questioned her integrity, but she did not.

Haley smiled. “I’m sorry if my smile seems out of place, but I was just talking with someone about this. Many years ago, my father sat me down and told me his story. At the time, I wasn’t sure why he chose to share these things. But I now know why he did so those many years ago, why he exposed me to some very difficult, very gritty things. It’s as if he wanted me to be his messenger.”

John cocked his head, squinting.

“Over time, many have become indifferent to how our country came to be.” Haley said. “Peace and prosperity don’t spring forth naturally out of chaos. Good people sometimes must use violence to secure a stable existence; they sometimes have to be as violent and ruthless as those wishing to impose the chains of slavery and servitude. We hear theories of how we can negotiate with groups or individuals who understand nothing but evil.” Haley paused again. She understood that her father did things that some considered no different than what they were fighting against.

“It’s so easy for you and others who question my father’s actions,” Haley said, her tone turning accusatory.

“Excuse me?” John asked. He was taken aback.

“My father told me his story because he knew people would judge him. You asked how I know all of this? It’s because my father knew or met all of the people we have talked about so far. He collected these stories himself along the way. A man doesn’t ascend to the presidency of the Republic by mistake. My father wasn’t perfect by any means, but he sacrificed dearly so that you and I could have what we have.” She raised her eyebrows.

“Haley, I never meant to offend you. I never . . .”

She interrupted him. “I don’t mean to point you out specifically. But many people cast judgment. It’s the power of hindsight. Even today, we live under a threat that could destroy what we have built. There are some people out there who think if we just talk out issues, we can resolve them. Let me tell you from experience: If your opponent is willing to brutally murder thousands of men, women, and children, with their end goal being conquest, you
can’t
negotiate with them.” Haley’s voice was getting increasingly angry, her face now flushed.

“Haley, if I said something that has upset you, please accept my apology,” John said urgently, concerned that the interview was heading in a different direction than he intended.

“I need to get this out. I’ve held this in for so long. I read and listen to this almost every day now. Daddy told me a quote from George Orwell long ago: ‘People sleep quietly in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence in their names.’ This is how it has always been. Our generation gave you a land, a republic from which to live a peaceful existence. A place from where all are created equal and all have opportunity. Then many in your generation question how it came to be because some of the actions along the way didn’t fit nicely and neatly into a box of morality. You only have the opportunity to
have
this type of morality because you’ve never had to truly fight for it. You never had to make a truly tough decision, one where people could actually die.”

“I’m sorry to sound ignorant, but where is this coming from?” John was shocked that the mild-mannered woman he met with last week could be whipped into such a fury.

Haley took a deep breath. “I’ve sat in the shadows for a
long
time. Now, thanks to you, I can express how and why this republic was formed. You want to know it all? I will tell you every dirty detail. All of your readers will know many bled to give birth to this land we now call our home. I first lost my innocence, I then lost my brother, but that was just the beginning.” Haley stood and walked to the large picture window, staring out at the swirling snow.

John sat frozen, unsure of how to proceed. He looked down at his recorder to ensure it had been on during her long monologues. Seeing the bright red light on his recorder, he breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

“John, I’m not sorry for getting . . . vocal. I just felt . . .”

“It’s okay, Haley. I know this has to be tough,” John said. He fought back the urge to question her outburst. In some ways, he felt like her diatribe was a personal attack against him. After all, he wrote a column for the
Cascadian Times
and had penned a few Op-ed pieces over the years that questioned some of the tactics deployed during the Great Civil War, specifically those used by Gordon Van Zandt. He suspected that what he just witnessed was Haley’s response to those pieces.

Haley turned and looked at John squarely. “Thank you, John. Thank you for giving me the platform to tell this story.”

“You’re welcome, really.”

“I’m sure you’re ready for me to quit all of this bloviating and to get back to the story,” Haley said with a slight grin.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

Haley walked back to her chair and sat down. She smoothed out the creases in her skirt and said, “I think we left off with my father finding . . .”

John interrupted her. “Yes, the woman and her son.”

“Oh, yes, they were traveling together. That day was not unlike today, snowing so hard that Daddy couldn’t see the road ahead of him.”

“When was this?” John asked, leaning forward.

“February twenty-second, 2015. What happened that day changed everything.”

 • • • 

“He who does not know how to look back at where he came from will never get to his destination.”

—
José Rizal

Klamath Falls, Oregon

“D
amn it!” Gordon barked.

Snow was coming down heavily. Visibility was becoming impossible and the car he was driving was not equipped to handle the conditions. He knew he had to get off the road and find a place for them to camp out.

Brittany shot him a sideways glance. “How about you slow down, Gordon? No use in rushing in this weather.”

Gordon shot her an irritated glance but it soon melted away.

He thought many times of that day weeks ago when he heard Tyler scream for help. His initial urge was to move on, but after what had happened to Hunter he couldn’t walk away from a child in need. Gordon and Brittany both had their own selfish reasons for partnering up. She had an operational vehicle, and he could find a safe place for her and Tyler. This partnership became more than just a simple arrangement after they’d spent weeks on the road together. They truly cared for each other. Being put in a life-or-death situation could elicit those feelings in people.

Each day on the road brought challenges, and Gordon saw she was capable of doing what was needed, when needed. He saw a glimpse of that resilience when she didn’t hesitate to kill the man threatening Tyler, and every day that resilience was proven. He was glad he trusted his instincts in allowing them to come along. Not only was she great with the basics of survival—turning scraps of food into edible meals, knowing how to shoot a gun—but Brittany had proven to be a great companion. She was smart and even-tempered, with a keen ability to look at a situation and quickly asset it. And most importantly, she was good at managing his sometimes erratic behavior.

“We need to find a place to camp out,” Gordon said flatly.

“I saw a sign about a mile back. There’s a rest area up ahead,” Brittany said.

“Rest area? Hmm,” Gordon answered. He kept his speed very slow as he considered the options. “Well, we have to get off the road. The thought of a rest area makes me uneasy, though.”

“We can’t sleep in the car again. Plus, there might be food there,” Brittany pointed out.

She was right. The past few nights had been spent in the small car. A night of sleeping stretched out could be beneficial, he thought.

Gordon looked in the rearview mirror and saw Tyler staring out the window, chewing on his fingernails. Tyler was a quiet boy who did what his mother told him without question. He was a little older than Hunter was, and even though Gordon tried to keep his distance, he found himself talking to Tyler like a father would to a son.

“Hey, buddy, if you’re hungry we got a granola bar you can have,” Gordon joked.

Tyler quickly pulled his hand away from his mouth and looked at Gordon’s eyes in the mirror. He gave a brief smile and shrugged.

“He’s nervous. He always does that when he’s nervous,” Brittany said, a bit defensively.

“It’s okay, I used to do it a lot when I was younger. Bad habit I had. Hey, Tyler, sorry, I wasn’t trying to embarrass you.” Before Tyler could respond, Brittany rapped her knuckles against the windows. “The exit’s right there! Do you see it?” she asked excitedly.

Gordon leaned closer to the windshield and squinted. Through the fast-beating blades, he could just barely make it out. He took his foot off the accelerator and slowed the car down to a crawl. As they made their way down the exit ramp, they noticed a large tractor trailer blocking the entrance to the buildings.

“You know how I feel about these types of situations,” Gordon said.

“I’m well aware. But have I been wrong so far on this trip?”

“Nope, no you haven’t. That’s why it’s worth a look.”

Brittany smiled.

Between the heavy snow and the tractor trailer, Gordon couldn’t see well enough to know if anyone was already shacked up in the buildings. He had only one way to determine it was safe. Pulling the car around, he parked with the front end facing the road, just in case they needed to make a quick exit.

“Brittany, I need you to take the wheel. Set your watch for fifteen minutes,” Gordon instructed her. “If I’m not . . .”

“I got it, I got it. If you’re not here, hit the road. Just go, go, go, it’s cold,” Brittany said, motioning for him to close the door.

Brittany scooted over behind the steering wheel. She pulled out a semiautomatic handgun and press-checked it just like Gordon had shown her. She re-holstered it and sat pensively.

“Mom, how long is it going to take to get to Idaho?”

She turned around and answered him. “As long as it takes, Ty.”

...

Gordon edged up to the front of the tractor trailer and peered around it. He could see three small buildings. The parking lot in front of it had a handful of cars, all later-model vehicles. He tried to scope out the buildings as best he could. No one in sight, no movement from anything.

With his Sig Sauer drawn, he ran toward the center building, which appeared to be a visitor’s center.

The only way into the building was through two glass doors. He could feel the ice-cold wall through his jacket as he pressed himself against it. It sent a chill up his spine and goose bumps rose across his skin. He leaned and looked inside. Nothing. He pushed open the door and slid in with his gun drawn. No flashlights washed over him and no shooting—a good first sign upon entering the building. With his pistol in his right hand and his flashlight in his left, he was able to get a sense of the room. It was empty, and from the look of it, no one had been inside it since the attacks. That was good news for them, especially when the light of his flashlight splashed across the two vending machines opposite him.

He marched over to them without hesitation. Inside, behind the thick glass on the snack machine, a bag of Doritos tempted him. He couldn’t wait to go back and tell them what he had found. He smiled when he thought that this stop was Brittany’s plan. She seemed to have an intuition about whether a place would be safe or not—and if it wasn’t, she knew how to react. An idea then came to mind. He holstered his pistol and pulled out his expandable ASP baton.

...

Brittany kept looking at her watch as it ticked down closer and closer to fifteen minutes. She knew what she had to do if time ran out, but the thought of leaving Gordon tore her up inside.

“Where is he, Mom?” Tyler asked nervously.

“He’s coming,” she said, again looking down at her watch.

Darkness was coming fast, with the snow falling heavier by the minute. Her visibility would be next to nothing if they had to flee.

“Come on, Gordon,” Brittany whispered to herself as she used her arm to wipe away condensation from the window. As it cleared up, she saw two headlights coming their way.

The headlights came from a 1990s-model Ford truck.

“Duck down!” she ordered Tyler.

As the truck neared, they both lowered themselves down out of sight of the windows. Brittany’s heart was pounding in her chest. Every vehicle or person posed an unknown threat. She closed her eyes and prayed it would just drive by.

The truck passed slowly. She breathed a tiny sigh of relief, then suddenly the truck turned, pulling alongside their car. Lying on her back facing the driver’s side window, she held the pistol out, ready to use it if necessary.

One truck door opened and closed, then a second.

She could hear what sounded like a man and a woman talking. One laughed, a deep throaty laugh, then all fell silent outside as they walked up to the car. Tyler’s rapid and heavy breathing was making it hard for her focus.

Suddenly she thought of the back doors. Her eyes widened when she turned and saw that Tyler’s door was unlocked.

“Ty, lock your door,” she said, just above a whisper.

“Mom, I can’t, I’m scared,” he whispered back.

She could hear ice crunching as one of the people walked up to the rear passenger side of the car. Knowing they were mere steps away, she sprang up and lunged to start the car. But before she could, Tyler’s door was ripped open.

“Look what we have here!” said a man, grabbing Tyler by the shoulders, trying to pull him out of the car.

“Get your hands off of him!” Brittany screamed. She turned with her pistol but she couldn’t get a clear shot, not with him holding Tyler against his body. Her car window suddenly exploded with a crack, glass pelting the side of her face. Stunned, she turned and came face to face with the barrel of a shotgun. On the other end of it was a woman. Her face was gaunt and filthy. Her long, oily hair dangled from below the dirty wool hat she wore. When she opened her mouth, she revealed stained teeth with pieces of food stuck in between.

“Put your gun down and get the fuck out of the car!” the woman yelled.

...

Gordon looked down at the bag of Doritos in his hand, his mouth watering in anticipation of the cheesy, crunchy taste of the tortilla chip. He couldn’t remember the last time he had one. As he gathered an armful of candy bars and bags of chips, Gordon reflected on his time with his travel partners. Looking back, he was glad he decided to go against his nature and help Brittany and Tyler. If he hadn’t, they would have died, and he wouldn’t have found a trusted partner to come along during his search for Rahab—even if they didn’t know exactly what they were in for.

Gordon was having his doubts now about his new mission. He was missing Samantha and Haley deeply and with each passing day he was growing less and less certain that this plan was the right one. He also felt guilty that he hadn’t told Brittany where he was actually taking them. He didn’t exactly lie to Brittany, but he didn’t exactly tell the truth—they were heading to Idaho, to safety, but first he was going to find and kill Rahab. While Brittany was forthright and opinionated, she didn’t ask too many questions, inherently trusting Gordon. But she was a smart woman, and he knew the moment was coming soon when she would want to know why they were heading west, rather than north toward Idaho. He had replayed his excuses in his head, but now they sounded empty. He knew it wasn’t fair to drag them into his plans for revenge, but he didn’t know any other way around it.

When he stepped out of the building, he was greeted with larger snowflakes and a colder wind. He chuckled to himself as he walked back toward the car, thinking of the many conversations and debates he had over the years concerning what-if scenarios about the apocalypse. Who would guess that he’d be willing to take on a former waitress and her young son in his path for survival? So often, he would lament those desk jockeys or paper pushers as the future victims of a world that he now lived in. He took rightful pride in his abilities, but he now knew that surviving was about more than just a skill set or how many resources you had. There was a mental element to survival that was often overlooked, and that’s because it was too hard to train or prepare for. It was what distinguished the survivors from the victims. Brittany was one of those mentally strong types—a cool, level-headed person in any situation.

Before the lights went out, Brittany was a stay-at-home mother and before that, her only professional experience was waitressing. Her deceased husband had been a truck driver. They had lived paycheck to paycheck, and when they did have extra money, he put it into the car they were now driving. Without training and without resources, Brittany had survived so far. Of course her luck was about to run out when those men had come for the car and for her those many weeks ago, but in the past few weeks Gordon had been continually impressed by her survival skills. When she was given the opportunity to “show up,” she delivered time after time, proving that she was capable and smart. She balanced him, not unlike Samantha did. Brittany was deliberate, intuitive, and when trouble presented itself, she acted.

In Gordon’s eyes, there were three different types of people in the world: the helpers, the freezers, and the runners. Whenever something traumatic happened, the helpers would run toward the danger, the freezers just stood, and the runners would sprint in the opposite direction as fast as they could. Brittany had proven to be a helper. Even though she lacked training, she was not afraid to put herself into harm’s way. He respected that, and after spending weeks with her, he could now say he trusted her with his life.

Brittany also proved to be an adept nurse. The cut on his face that Rahab had given him was still healing, and Brittany took care to make sure it healed as best as it could. Nelson’s stitching had been good but the wound had gotten infected. She had cleaned the wound and replaced the stitches. When it finally healed there would be a large, thick scar, a constant reminder of that traumatic event. To Brittany’s credit, she didn’t even ask about the source of it. And Gordon didn’t volunteer the information, trying to avoid reliving that terrible time.

The wind was now gusting so hard that Gordon had to point his head toward the ground as he walked. He lifted his head when he thought he heard a scream mixed in with the sounds of the wind. He paused. A second scream confirmed his suspicions.

Gordon dropped the armful of candy and chips and ran toward the car. When he cleared the tractor trailer he could make out a truck, the car, and four people. He charged toward them with his pistol drawn.

The man and woman didn’t notice Gordon until he was ten feet away. The man looked stunned when Gordon ran up. He pulled Tyler closer to him and placed a revolver against his temple. The woman leveled the shotgun at Brittany’s back.

Gordon quickly measured up the scene and came to the conclusion that these two people weren’t part of a gang and probably didn’t have backup on the way. He looked at Tyler, whose green eyes were full of fear.

If these people wanted Tyler and Brittany dead, they would have killed them by that point. He determined that they likely weren’t killers by nature, but they would kill if they had to. In these desperate times, the need for food, shelter, or a vehicle could turn someone into a murderer.

Gordon didn’t have many choices. His instinct told him to shoot the man first, and if his guess was right, the woman would hesitate, giving him time to shoot her too. Doubt filled him—an unfamiliar feeling for someone who was decisive to a fault. What if he shot the man, but the woman was committed and pulled the trigger on Brittany?