The Line of Departure: A Postapocalyptic Novel (The New World Series Book 4) (21 page)

“What does that mean, a long time?”

“We lost contact with them weeks ago.”

“Weeks ago! Why am I just hearing about this now? I was told the weapon was in place in Cheyenne!”

“I just found out myself. Captain Garcia, the officer in charge, didn’t want to say anything for fear of being reprimanded. He sent several teams out looking for them. This happened without anyone’s approval and they’ve returned with no new information.”

Pablo bit his lip. “I need you to turn those teams around and send them back out. Am I making myself clear? We must find them.”

“Yes, sir.”

“As far as our other forces, have you brought them inside Elko?”

“Yes, sir, and that appears to be stopping the U.S. Air Force from striking. They’re afraid of collateral damage and civilian deaths.”

“How are our forces to the south?”

“Good, sir. The United States hasn’t struck them. In fact, it appears they’re not aware that we split off units.”

“That won’t last. General, we need to move on Salt Lake City now. We can’t wait for the Villistas to get up and running. Elko is not a strategic location. How many days do you estimate it will take us to get to the outskirts of Salt Lake?”

“Three days, sir.”

“Three days?”

“That’s the estimate for the entire army, including our forces to the south. That takes into account mobilizing the army to move.”

“Understood. I’ll meet the army outside the city. Do not move on the city till I arrive.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good-bye, General.”

“Good-bye, Emperor.”

Pablo hung up the phone. Even though it didn’t have the bravado of his original plan, the move on Salt Lake was important—strategically, his army could find safety there. He would use the city to shield his army from the American airstrikes. This would provide him time to get the support he needed.

The loss of the Cheyenne team with the nuclear weapon was troubling to him, but if the Americans had it, he doubted they would use it if they hadn’t already. They already had thousands of others weapons at their disposal and his instinct was that they were shy on the nuclear front after their massive bombardment abroad. He just didn’t want it in the hands of someone who would use it, specifically against him. With marching orders in place, he now faced the more difficult task: saying good-bye to his father.

McCall, Idaho

Nelson didn’t like bringing Luke to the hospital, because the care and attention he’d get would be limited, but once he started coughing up blood, he knew the illness had taken a turn beyond what his own care could provide. He didn’t fault the competence of the hospital staff and doctors, because he knew the outbreak had overwhelmed them. Determined not to allow Luke to go without attention, he pledged to stay with him and oversee his care personally when the staff wasn’t available. He had begged Samantha to stay at home with Haley but she wanted to accompany Luke. She knew how lonely and scared he might be and while Luke knew Nelson, he wasn’t family. Seneca offered to stay with Haley, and Samantha knew she was in good hands with her.

A familiar voice echoed from a room a few doors down. Nelson walked out into the hallway and saw Charles Chenoweth talking urgently to a nurse, pointing to a gravely ill middle-aged man. Nelson presumed this was Preston, Charles’s colleague from Olympia.

“Charles, it’s Nelson.”

Charles stopped and turned to face him. “Do I know you?”

“Yes, I met you at the bistro.”

Charles remained quiet for a moment, then like a light turning on, he replied, “Oh, yeah. I remember you.”

Charles put his hand out to shake but Nelson didn’t take it.

“Sorry,” Nelson responded.

“You’re smart. I should be more careful too.”

“Your friend in there, how’s he doing?”

“Not good. I feel so bad for him; he has a wife and kid back in Olympia.”

“Hi, I’m Samantha Van Zandt,” Samantha said, interjecting herself into the conversation.

“Oh, hi, I’m Charles Chenoweth with the Cascadian Independence Movement.”

“Nice to meet you, Charles. I heard you were in town.”

“Van Zandt, how do I know that name?” Charles asked.

“Maybe my husband, Gordon Van Zandt—he’s good friends . . .”

“With Michael Rutledge, yes, yes, I remember now. Sorry he couldn’t make it the other night.”

“I don’t mean to pry, but you seem to be in a hurry. Are you leaving?” Nelson asked.

“Yes, I need to go back to Olympia.”

“I can understand your urgency. Who wants to stay around here with everyone getting sick?”

“I’m not leaving because of that. I’m leaving because I know someone who might be able to help.”

“Help, like medically help?”

“I hope so.”

“There’s no known cure or vaccine for MERS or the other coronaviruses, so I don’t know what you can do,” Nelson commented with skepticism.

“I don’t know either, but we should try and I intend on doing that,” Charles said. “That man in there is a friend, a dear friend, and I can’t just give up. I won’t just let him die without trying everything in my power.”

“I agree with you a thousand percent,” Samantha said.

“So what or who is in Olympia?” Nelson asked.

“My sister, and she might have a vaccine for MERS.”

“How can she have a cure?” Nelson asked.

“My sister, Elle, works—or I should say used to work—for a lab. One of the projects she had been working on for years now was finding a vaccine for MERS. I remember her telling me this last Thanksgiving.” He went on to explain how his sister was considered by many to be a prodigy. She had graduated high school at the age of fifteen and secured her doctorate in pathobiology from Johns Hopkins University by twenty-five. She was quickly recruited by Kimpter Laboratory in Seattle, where her focus was on finding a vaccine for coronaviruses, specifically SARS and MERS. It was this background that gave Charles the hope that if anyone would have a cure, it was his intensely bright little sister.

“If that is true we need to make sure you get there and back safely,” Samantha said, excitement building in her voice.

“Got something in mind, Sam?” Nelson asked.

“Charles, you’re not leaving here by yourself. It’s far too dangerous out there.”

“I agree that it’s dangerous, but I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

Samantha’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “How do you feel about traveling with a team of heavily armed Marines?”

Cheyenne, Wyoming

Conner was shocked by the size of the rally. By his estimate, there appeared to be close to five hundred people on the capitol grounds. Many protestors held signs and chanted at the soldiers who stood watch at the checkpoint. They were demanding access to go petition the government.

“What do you think, General?” Conner asked.

“I can’t allow you to go out there, it’s too dangerous,” Baxter answered.

“General, how many times have I said this isn’t the old government? Neither you nor my protection detail has the authority to stop me, but you must support me.”

The roar of the crowd made it difficult for Baxter and Conner to hear their conversation. Soon it was drowned out by an even louder commotion: the squeal of tank tracks and the rumble of engines.

“Major, thank you,” Conner said, looking up to Schmidt.

“Of course, Mr. President,” Schmidt said, getting out of the turret and jumping off the tank.

This tank was exactly what he needed. He would drive up to the west gate where the protestors were and then emerge from the tank. The effect would be perfect.

Conner climbed up and took Schmidt’s spot in the turret. “Let’s go, drive forward,” he barked.

Baxter looked at the tank with Conner riding high and shook his head at the bravado that Conner was displaying.

When the crowd saw the massive tank, fear and disbelief spread through their ranks. Many stopped chanting and yelling as they started to step away from the gate.

The tanks lumbered toward them, through the heavily guarded and barricaded checkpoint, then stopped with a jerk. Conner’s protective detail came running alongside the tank and stood ready.

Inside, Conner took a breath, closed his eyes in preparation for the tense exchange he was about to have with the group. When he was ready, he climbed out of the turret and stood upon the top of the tank.

Gasps and chatter erupted from the crowd as many recognized Conner.

Standing like a giant, he bellowed, “I’m Brad Conner, President of the United States! Who’s the leader of this mob?”

Heads turned and the chatter grew louder after Conner’s question. An uncomfortable moment passed before a man raised his arm. “Here, I represent the Republic of Lakotah!”

“What is your name?”

“My name is Mark Ironside; I’m a facilitator for the government of the Republic of Lakotah!” shouted the elderly man of Native American decent.

“Mr. Ironside, there is no government of the Republic of Lakotah, because no such country exists!”

“President Conner, we don’t need you to validate our existence.”

“No such country exists and this mob needs to disband immediately!”

“We are here today to formally present our declaration of independence. Today we declare ourselves a free people once again. The United States invaded our lands many years ago, and through force, we had treaties thrust upon us. Your government violated those treaties, which make your claims over our lands null and void. We are here today to tell you to leave our lands and to fully recognize us as a free and independent state!”

Conner smiled, his confidence buoyed by the platform he was speaking from. “Mr. Ironside, the country you speak of does not exist; we will not recognize your secession. I am now asking you again to disband this mob immediately.”

Almost on cue, the rumble of tanks was heard behind the crowd.

Conner looked up and saw a dozen M60 tanks heading down the road toward them, flanked by hundreds of armed men. The show of force was incredible. He looked down at Major Schmidt and winked.

Schmidt’s tanks and men spread out behind the crowd, effectively boxing them in.

Ironside whipped around and watched in fear as the tanks lined up behind his people. The anxiety in the crowd intensified as they began to stir, and the pitch of conversation escalated.

“Mr. Ironside, you have one chance to go in peace. We do not wish for this to become something that cannot be reversed.”

Baxter couldn’t believe the direction this was going. Conner told him he was only coming down here to talk, but clearly he had other ideas about how to handle this. By the look of the crowd there was a mix of what looked like fighters and non-fighters. He wasn’t concerned that they’d lose a physical fight; he was concerned they might lose the political one if there was bloodshed.

“President Conner, we are not going to leave! We will not until you free those you have imprisoned and formally recognize us!” Ironside yelled. A few dozen in the crowd cheered.

“I don’t know where all of you come from, but I am asking you to disband and go home. Do not be a part of this, you can’t win. If you don’t leave, I can’t promise your safety!” Conner yelled.

“We will fight if need be!” Ironside yelled.

Conner again ignored him and hollered, “Please open up to allow those who seek peace with us to freely go home!” he yelled out to Schmidt’s men.

Baxter stepped closer to the tank and said, “Mr. President, what are you doing?”

Conner looked down and replied, “Taking our country back.”

“Sir, what are you prepared to do to those who don’t leave?” Baxter asked, clearly concerned.

Conner didn’t answer Baxter; he didn’t have time for a debate on the matter.

Ironside turned to his people and yelled, “Do not leave! We can do this. We can’t let them run over us like they did when they first invaded our lands!” His words were falling on deaf ears as droves of people in his group began to leave.

Conner watched the group’s size melt away to no more than a hundred. He looked out on those hardliners who remained and knew that he had to go forward on his threat and take direct action.

“This is the last warning. You have thirty seconds to disperse or else!”

“Why won’t you talk with us? Why are you resorting to violence so quickly?” Ironside yelled at Conner. He turned to those who remained and commanded them to lock arms.

“Your movement is violent in and of itself. Your desire to break away from the United States is a direct threat to its security and therefore must be dealt with harshly. Movements like yours weaken our nation and we will not negotiate with the likes of you. Like we did in Montana, we are taking a stand against all separatists!” Conner bellowed.

Unmoved, the group sat down and began to chant, “Lakotah, Lakotah, Lakotah!”
over and over.

Conner was fully committed now to doing what he had to do. A burning desire now raged within him to crush those opposed to the United States. For too long he had used the strong opposition to his nuclear strikes to temper his responses to those he perceived as a threat, but seeing these people before him, daring to challenge him, that temperament disappeared. Unfortunately for the Lakotah, they had picked the wrong time to make a stand. Today was Conner’s reemergence as a decisive and firm leader.

With a nod to Schmidt, soldiers marched on the Lakotah protestors. Those who had stood with Ironside rose with makeshift weapons and began to fight.

Conner watched with a glimmer in his eye as the soldiers and Lakotah clashed violently.

“Sir, we should go!” Baxter hollered.

“I won’t retreat to the comfort of my office. This is where I belong.”

The fighting was brutal but it took only a few minutes for Schmidt’s men to subdue the Lakotah.

Schmidt walked into the fray with a collapsible baton extended and began to hit some of the protestors. Whoever got in the way of his reaching the leader, he struck. When he reached the old man, now cowering on the ground, he bent down, grabbed him by his bloodied T-shirt, and pulled him to his feet. Schmidt dragged him to the tank where Conner stood overseeing the fight.

Conner looked down on Ironside and smiled. He jumped off the tank. “I gave you a warning and you didn’t heed it. You had your chance. I’m a fair and equitable man. I gave you a choice,” Conner said, and snatched Ironside by the collar and turned him to face the aftermath. “You see what you caused? It didn’t have to be this way.”