Sanctuary: A Postapocalyptic Novel (The New World Series) (23 page)

“The protest out front of the city hall has exploded into a riot. They’ve stormed the building looking for you. The report is they’re heading down to the ships.”

“Oh,
fantastic
,” he said dryly.

“There’s rumor that you had the vice president and the mayor’s aide killed,” Simpson added.

“What? Who’s saying that?” Barone asked, irritated by the reports.

“Mayor Brownstein is leading the riot, that is all I know.”

“Christ, really? I am so fucking sick of these people. We have things to fix, we don’t need our time and resources wasted because people want to be heard!” Barone yelled. “Call general quarters, get the men down along the docks in front of the ships. Let them know to prepare to restrain some rowdy civilians.”

“Roger that!” Simpson said and went back inside CIC.

...

Barone made his way to the flight deck to get a bird’s-eye view of everything.

Men were scurrying inside and outside the ship. Barone watched as the large protest made its way down the road. They were chanting and yelling. Many were holding up signs or banners.

“Seriously!” he said out loud to himself. “What do they think this is, a fucking college campus? Idiots!”

At the head of the group was Mayor Brownstein. She was walking hand in hand with the other councilors from both Coos Bay and North Bend.

Barone couldn’t resist getting involved. He exited the flight deck and jumped in with his men as they disembarked the ship.

NCOs and junior officers were organizing their men into riot formations around the side of the ships. The men were all wearing their tactical gear and helmets. Barone hadn’t issued an order for firearms but Simpson must have taken the lead.

The crowd of protestors had swelled to several thousand. It was the largest group he’d ever encountered and they looked ready to fight.

They continued to sing and march until they stopped just within a few feet of the line of armed Marines.

Mayor Brownstein turned around and began to yell to her people to quiet down. “Spread the word, please be quiet! I need to address the colonel. I need everyone to be quiet.”

Shouting and yelling cascaded down the ranks of the crowd until most were silent in anticipation of what was going to happen.

She turned around and faced the Marines. She pulled out a piece of paper and began to read it. “Marines and sailors, fellow Americans: Please lay down your arms and join us! We are here not as adversaries but as friends. We want to remain in the United States. We don’t choose to create a new country; we choose to stay with the land of our birth or, for some of us, the land we chose to immigrate to! We love you and appreciate all the sacrifices you men and women have done for us! But we cannot go along with Colonel Barone. He is a traitor who betrayed the very country he swore to defend. He has forsaken this country and brought you here against your will! We forgive you! We know you have to follow orders but now you must know that you don’t have to follow unjust orders! This man has perverted our system of separation of powers! He comes here like Julius Caesar, promising great things, but his intent is to conquer. He now has taken another step by having the vice president of the United States killed along with our very own Christopher Hicks. He is a traitor and outlaw and we people of Coos Bay, North Bend, and Coastal Oregon are here to arrest this man and bring him to justice!”

A loud cheer erupted following her speech, then the crowd started to chant “Traitor!” over and over.

The Marines in front of her looked stone-faced in front the people. Brownstein attempted again. “Marines, please lay down your arms and join us.”

Barone pushed his way to the front of his men and directly in front of Mayor Brownstein. “Madam Mayor! I have always been one who loved theater, and this is quite a show you have here.”

“This isn’t a show for your entertainment, but a show of force in the power of the people.”

“People? Why do civilians think they’re the only so-called ‘people’ but men in uniform are your instruments? These men, my men are also the ‘people.’ Enough of you and your ilk thinking you have a monopoly!”

“Lieutenant Colonel Barone, we are here to arrest you for the murder of Vice President Cruz and Christopher Hicks!” Brownstein yelled.

“Murder? They’re not dead!”

“We received information that they are dead. Based upon your past actions, we have to assume you had them killed. A fair trial will either find you innocent or guilty, but you will be tried!”

“Mayor Brownstein, we have much to do here. Enraging thousands of people with a lie, then coming down here saying you’re going to arrest me, is foolish. I’m not going anywhere, I have work to do!” Barone hollered out, then turned around.

As he walked past the first row of Marines, a bottle thrown from someone in the crowd smashed against his head.

The force jolted him, causing him to stumble. A Marine steadied him. He felt behind his head, and looking at his fingers, he saw blood. Angry, he turned around and walked back to confront Mayor Brownstein.

He held his bloody hand in her face and said, “This can go very bad for you unless you calm down this mob. You came here for my blood. Here. Now do you want to see theirs?” he asked, pointing at the crowd.

Brownstein heard his threat loud and clear. She was aware that by organizing such a large group that things could have the potential of getting violent, but she didn’t seek a conflict with him. Her hopes were that such a demonstration of strength would compel him to listen. That had worked. Now she was unclear about what she wanted the group to accomplish. Of course she’d be happy if he gave himself up to them but she knew that he was incapable of that.

More agitated yells came from the group.

She turned and yelled, “Everyone, please, we are a peaceful people. We are here to show the colonel that many are upset with him and don’t want him here. We are not here to fight these men!”

A few rocks came from the center of the group and bounced off the helmets of the Marines in the first row.

“Mayor, disband this mob and go home! If you want to talk we can do that, but not like this! If you want to talk to the president, I can have that arranged, but disband this mob now!’

The yelling had increased in volume and severity. More rocks and bottles were hurled at the Marines. The Marines held their line and didn’t budge or flinch.

Brownstein wasn’t focused on Barone. Her attention was now on controlling the crowd, which was getting more boisterous.

“Everyone, please calm down!”

Then a single gunshot changed everything.

People in the crowd scrambled in all directions after a man near the front of the group attempted to shoot Barone. His shot missed and had struck a Marine behind Barone in the neck.

Another gunshot cracked from a different direction.

This shot hit Barone in the shoulder, went clean through, and struck a Marine standing behind him.

The crowd was heaving and shifting. Some people had fallen and were being trampled on. Total pandemonium had broken out.

Brownstein was still yelling for control and order but it was too late.

Barone clutched his left shoulder and stepped back behind the front row of Marines.

Things were happening quickly and chaotically but the Marines were maintaining strict discipline under the pressure. They had their rifles targeted on the crowd but none could get off a shot at the two shooters, so they had held their fire.

Barone had made it back to the ship while a corpsman looked at his shoulder.

“Holy shit, Colonel!” Simpson bellowed as he came up alongside him.

“My men are good people, right?” Barone asked Simpson.

Simpson looked at him oddly. “Sure, they’re good people, but they’re fine Marines.”

“They are fine Marines,” Barone stated as he watched the crowd slowly disperse as the people ran back into town.

No one had seen enough of the two shooters in the crowd to identify them, but Barone knew that someone would come forward. He had stifled a strong temptation to order his Marines to kill everyone in the crowd. Killing innocents would not serve him, he recognized, but he wasn’t opposed to selectively choosing his targets.

Marines carrying stretchers came rushing by him with those who had been shot.

Barone looked at the first, who was grimacing in pain at the bullet wound in his arm. A second stretcher went by, the Marine’s face obscured by a poncho.

“Stop!” Barone commanded. He lifted up the poncho to reveal a young lance corporal, his eyes still open.

“There’s one of our finest right there,” Simpson declared.

“Yes, he was,” Barone said.

The crowd had almost entirely dispersed. Some were limping off, others were helping those who had fallen. Signs, trash, and other debris littered the dock.

Barone watched Brownstein, who was still visible from where he stood. She appeared lost, as if she didn’t know how her plan had gone wrong. He snarled and ordered, “Top, have her arrested.”

“Roger that, sir,” Simpson said with a smile.

“What’s the charge?”

“Inciting a riot.” He paused for a moment. “And murder.”

Mountain Home, Idaho

First the snowstorm slowed them, and now the highway was packed with thousands of people heading west in the bitter winter cold. Foot traffic was not a problem that Sebastian expected to encounter on their journey. He could only imagine how desperate those people must be to be out in the harsh weather conditions, vulnerable to whatever would come their way. The one thing Sebastian didn’t want to do was drive in among them. Fortunately, the terrain north of the highway was flat and only covered in small shrubs, plants, and only a few inches of snow, making it easy to go overland.

On the map, Annaliese had located a small road that could eventually lead them back to the interstate. She also spotted a large base on the map to the south and commented, “I think these people might be heading to this Air Force base.”

“What base is that?” Sebastian asked.

“Mountain Home.”

“I hope they find what they’re looking for there,” Sebastian said.

“Why don’t we go there?” Luke asked.

“Because we have a place to go to in McCall and my brother will be there,” Sebastian answered.

They continued driving overland until they would hit that road. Driving overland was a slow and bumpy process, so when they intersected with the dirt road that Annaliese had noticed, he was happy to be moving a bit faster. However, they were only about a quarter mile or so along when they noticed that something seemed wrong with the truck.

“Oh, no,” Sebastian said.

“What is it?” Annaliese asked. She now could feel that the right rear of the truck was at an angle.

“I think we have a flat tire,” Sebastian said as he stopped the truck. “Shit. I hope there’s a spare.”

When he got out of the truck his prediction was correct; the right rear tire was flat. A branch from one of the shrubs was sticking out of the sidewalls.

“Damn it!” he barked. He looked around to gauge their location. The dirt road ran parallel to the highway. To the west, about a mile away, he could see a few gas stations, restaurants, and other commercial businesses off the highway.

“Let’s see if old Samuel gave me a spare,” Sebastian said as he lay on the ground and looked under the truck. “Awesome, there it is!” He had half-expected that Samuel would purposely leave one off. However, his euphoria was short-lived. “Shit, shit, shit!”

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Annaliese asked. She was bundled up against the cold wind but was still shivering.

“We have a tire, just no jack.”

“Are you sure?”

The boys came out then. They both started going through the truck looking for the jack too, but there wasn’t one to be found.

“Shit. Well, we’re not far from what I guess are hundreds of abandoned cars over there. I’ll go there, get one, and come right back,” he said, pointing toward the gas stations and other buildings.

“You can’t go by yourself,” she urged.

“I won’t, I’ll take Luke with me.”

“Great, leave me with the devil,” she joked. He kissed her on the forehead.

...

Luke proved to be quick and responsive to everything Sebastian requested. They made it to the gas station in less than thirty minutes and found over a dozen cars sitting abandoned and ransacked. Sebastian went to the first truck, a Chevy Silverado, and in less than a minute had a jack. Thinking of the future, he took the spare tire from the truck too.

It was clear that Luke was feeling more and more confident. The pistol training and his natural marksmanship abilities had boosted his self-esteem. When Sebastian requested he join him on this adventure, he was excited and proved to be a good companion.

“Good job, Luke, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. It was fun,” Luke responded with a smile.

They both laughed and shared small talk as they strode back. The terrain sloped up slightly and below that small hill was the road where Annaliese and Brandon were.

The laughs and smiles turned to shock when they reached the top of the small rise and saw another vehicle behind theirs.

Sebastian dropped the tire, pulled out his pistol, and sprinted for the truck. Neither Annaliese nor Brandon were anywhere in sight.

Just twelve feet from the truck, an older man lifted his head and laughed openly. He was followed by Annaliese, who was also laughing.

Sebastian called out, “Annaliese, what’s going on?” He pointed his pistol at the man.

“Sebastian, no, it’s fine. He’s helping,” Annaliese cried, waving Sebastian back.

Sebastian kept the gun pointed at the man, who stood frozen with his arms up.

“I’m just here to help. My name is Jed, Jedediah Walton. I live on a ranch about a mile north. This road you’re on is mine. You’re on my property.”

Jedediah was a native Idahoan and his family had been potato farmers and ranchers for three generations. His thick gray hair was cut short and the deep wrinkles on his face were earned over his seventy-two years of life.

“Why would you help us?” Sebastian asked, squinting his eyes.