The Line of Departure: A Postapocalyptic Novel (The New World Series Book 4) (5 page)

“Well, we have seven Marines, two sailors, and three civilians.”

“We’ll make it work. I promise,” Gordon pledged, his thoughts still swimming with images of Brittany and Tyler. He needed to see if he could contact them but he didn’t know how. Then, an idea came to mind. “Gunny, do you happen to have a sat phone?”

“Of course. If I’m anything, it’s prepared,” Gunny answered with a broad smile.

“Perfect, I need it.”

“Who the hell are you thinking about calling? I don’t think Colonel Barone has the time to take calls,” Sebastian joked.

“Not him, someone who won’t hesitate to help me,” Gordon replied.

“Who’s that?” Sebastian asked, his arms crossed.

“The Vice President of the United States.”

Coos Bay, Oregon, Pacific States of America

The infighting and armed resistance Barone had been experiencing since the day he ordered the civilian massacre had taken its toll on his forces and on him personally. The last count he had that morning was that one-third of his men had taken up arms against him. The fighting had been brutal: Marines fighting Marines, sailors fighting sailors. Not a day had gone by since the massacre that shooting wasn’t heard in the streets. Directly after the massacre, he locked the city down and implemented martial law. No one was allowed to leave or come in. He was determined to flesh out those who opposed him and finish them off. He had lost control of the town of North Bend, but Coos Bay was firmly under his will. After a few weeks of bitter fighting, he had proposed a cease-fire, but the resistance group refused to meet with him. Without the ability to quell the uprising diplomatically, the only course of action for him was to crush them militarily.

The rebellion in Coos Bay had also forced him to break his treaty with Conner and the United States. He feared that if he told Conner, the United States would take advantage of his bad situation, so he had ceased all communication. He couldn’t worry about it now—he had to win this fight or die.

Against his better judgment, he had taken to drinking heavily. What had been an occasional indulgence now happened almost every night. Tonight was one of those nights. As he paced his office in city hall, he mumbled loudly, railing against “the traitors.” The almost incoherent comments were directed at those Marines and sailors who he claimed had enjoyed the fruits of his decision to mutiny, but now had turned against him in open and armed rebellion. Clearly overlooking his own indiscretions, he held a deep-seated resentment toward them. His resentment manifested in the treatment these men received after they were captured. The rules of warfare he had lived under a lifetime were gone. Simpson couldn’t have been more right that day months ago when he told him that there was no turning back. Barone may have regretted his actions, but now he was committed to his cause, rightful or not.

Exhausted and drunk, he plopped himself on the couch that sat against the far wall. The sofa now served as his bed most nights. Relations with his wife and daughter paralleled everything else in his life—they had soured and he wasn’t ready to face them. He sat staring at the wall covered in maps. His eyes followed the red lines that designated the secure boundaries of Coos Bay. As he traced the map lines, his eyes grew heavy and he slouched further into the comfort of the sofa. He turned his weary head and saw a framed picture of his son, Billy. Barone still hadn’t recovered from the death of Billy those many months ago. He directed his blame at his foes but on nights like this, he would lay it all at his feet. Only to himself did he regret the decision he made in Afghanistan. If he hadn’t mutinied, Billy would still be here.

He drifted off into a fitful sleep, but what seemed like moments later, he was jolted awake by a loud explosion. He sprang up, glass still in his hand. Within seconds, the roar of machine gun fire erupted outside on the street in front of city hall. He bolted to the windows in his office that overlooked the fiery scene below. Large flood lights illuminated the entire front of the building and the surrounding fenced perimeter. He watched Marines as they raced toward a plume of smoke and fired near a checkpoint not a hundred yards away.

“Goddamn bastards!” Barone barked as he tossed the half-empty glass of whiskey against the wall. He marched away from the windows just as several bullets penetrated the glass. He dropped to his knees to take cover. “Damn it!”

Barone crawled away from the windows toward the side table where his holstered pistol sat. He grabbed it and made for the door. The two Marines who typically guarded him were gone, another one of his poor commands influenced by alcohol. He scanned both ways down the hall but saw no one. He was in a vulnerable position and knew it. If city hall was under assault and they managed to breach the perimeter defenses, he wouldn’t have a chance to stop them. He rushed down to the first floor, where he saw his Marines moving in earnest to address the assault. In the darkness beyond the fence he saw muzzle flashes, but still no sight of anyone from the resistance.

Barone opened the doors and walked out. He could hear the gunfire from the resistance fighters rattle off the building and felt a rush of adrenaline. Unafraid, he unholstered and began to march toward the smoldering checkpoint.

Another large explosion shook the ground; a fiery plume of black smoke and flames licked the sky. The intense light from the initial blast blinded him for a moment. When he turned back, he saw an armored Humvee on fire, the gunner now dead, lying atop the machine gun. The anger was building up in him; all he wanted to do was end the resistance and deal a final blow. Tonight would not be that night, but he’d kill as many as he could. When he resumed his march, someone grabbed him from behind. Barone swiftly turned and pointed his pistol at Simpson.

“Colonel Barone, we have to get you out of here, now!” Simpson pleaded.

“No!”

“Sir, they’ve got superior numbers here. We have reinforcements coming but we need to take you to a secure location!”

“I’m not leaving these men behind!” Barone barked, shrugging off Simpson’s grasp.

“Sir, please, let’s go! Fight another day!”

Barone jerked away from Simpson and continued toward the center of the fighting.

As he watched him go, all Simpson could think was that Barone was now a man who didn’t care whether he lived or died. Knowing that his fortunes were forever tied to Barone, Simpson, armed with an M16 rifle, followed him toward the hellfire.

“People are like dirt. They can either nourish you and help you grow as a person or they can stunt your growth and make you wilt and die.”

—Plato

McCall, Idaho

G
ordon had split up Gunny’s group, half staying at his house and the rest at Sebastian’s. With Rainey’s approval for them to stay, the next step would be to find them permanent homes. All night Gordon tossed and turned, thinking about the unstable situation in Coos Bay. He worried about Brittany and Tyler; he couldn’t understand why she would risk everything and work with the resistance. None of it made sense to him, but then again the world didn’t make sense anymore.

As soon as the sun made its appearance, he was up and ready to make the call via Gunny’s satellite phone. With Cruz’s promise to help him in the future, he hoped this was a way to check on Brittany without inserting himself into the situation too much.

“You do know I could have used this on my trip with the vice president,” Gordon chided Gunny.

Both men were outside enjoying the crisp Idaho summer morning, the sun’s warm rays providing a contrast to the dry, cool air.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I gave specific instructions to put one in your vehicle before you left Coos Bay back then,” Gunny said defensively.

“Well, my friend, there wasn’t one in the vehicle or trailer. Believe me, I’ve turned this thing inside out making sure I got everything out that was useful,” Gordon commented as he pointed at the Humvee he had taken on that trip.

“Sorry, Van Zandt, I swear I ordered it to be in there.”

“It’s all right; I know you can’t control everything.”

“Here,” Gunny said, handing him the phone. “The coverage can be spotty; we lost some of the communication satellites in the EMP attacks.”

Gordon took the phone, reached in his pocket, and pulled out a small green notepad. He flipped through the pages till he reached the one where Cruz had written down his number. Gordon didn’t know where the number went, but Cruz told him that if he ever needed anything to call him. He carefully entered the nine-digit number and placed the phone to his ear. The first few seconds was dead air, then a series of clicks followed by a ring tone that sounded distant. He raised his eyebrows and winked at Gunny when the connection was made. Knowing that was a cue to leave, Gunny patted Gordon on the shoulder and walked back into the house.

By the eighth ring, Gordon was growing skeptical that anyone would even answer. The initial excitement when he heard the connection and ring was vanishing quickly. By the twelfth ring, he became weary. He was pacing the gravel driveway, kicking rocks. He imagined a phone in some far-off corner office ringing with not a soul around to answer. In frustration, he hung up the phone and put it in his pocket. His mind contemplated what move, if he had any, he should make. How on earth could he find out if Brittany and Tyler were safe? The only solution that came to mind was driving the three-plus hours to Mountain Home Air Force base; there he knew he’d be able to reach Cruz. But he couldn’t think of any rational explanation to tell Samantha. He could send someone in his stead but even then, what would be the justification for risking someone’s life on a trip that long? With no answers apparent except to try again later, he headed back toward the house.

As he did, a car horn blared in the distance. Gordon walked down the long drive to see an old Dodge truck with Michael Rutledge behind the wheel, a load of wood in the truck bed. He unlocked the metal gate and swung it open.

As Michael drove inside, Gordon saw that he was accompanied by his young son, Austin, who was just seven months older than Haley. He and Haley had grown fond of each other, and their time together was enjoyable to watch. Austin paid close attention to Haley and made sure she never was hurt, while Haley would dote on him. The two were inseparable, and for Gordon it was nice to see Haley so happy after all she had been through.

Michael Rutledge was a few years younger than Gordon. He was tall and lean, standing at six feet, with a full head of dark black hair. Michael wasn’t a native Idahoan, but had relocated to the area six years prior, just after Austin was born. He had run a successful dental practice in Lowell, Massachusetts, but fortunes aligned for him and Tiffany when a practice became available in McCall. They both wanted out of Massachusetts for many reasons, one being the quality of life. They had always dreamed of raising their children in a small mountain town, and Idaho had been a part of their lives in the past as they were both avid skiers. With the purchase of the practice in McCall and the quick sale of his practice in Lowell, their dreams became reality when they finalized the move to McCall in 2009.

Michael wasn’t shy about sharing his libertarian political views with anyone, especially his controversial belief that the United States was ripe for separation. Many years before the attacks, he had predicted that the country wouldn’t hold together if a major event occurred. To date, his predication had come true. He often would comment that it seemed impossible for a large central government thousands of miles away to tell someone living in the mountains of Idaho how to live. He looked at how the country was already divided along red and blue states and how varied the lifestyles and culture were in different areas. Besides language, there wasn’t much that someone in the Bronx had in common with someone in McCall. After the attacks, he began to meet with others locally to push the idea of separating from the United States and forming a country called Cascadia. At first many scoffed at him, but as the days turned to weeks then to months without a government response, the idea began to take hold. The founding principles of Cascadia would be a respect for liberty, human rights, and sustainable existence with regard to the biodiverse region. The basic tenets resonated with many locals, and with the absence of any federal government, a majority of people in McCall became receptive to the idea of Cascadia. Whenever he was with Gordon, Michael would attempt to recruit him as he had already recruited Sebastian; he wanted both brothers on his side. Not one for playing politics, Gordon would laugh and wave him off. This was not to say that Gordon wasn’t curious. He had even attended a couple of meetings with Sebastian before, but in the end he thought the reality of creating a nation out of the states of Idaho, Oregon, and Washington would be an extremely difficult task, if not impossible. The governments of Idaho and Washington were operating to a certain degree and Oregon was not under any central control. When Gordon would raise these inconvenient truths, Michael would smile and tell him that he was too pessimistic.

Michael parked the truck next to the garage. Before he could turn the engine off, Austin was out and running toward the front door to see Haley.

“Those kids sure do like each other,” Gordon said with a smile.

“Yeah, they do, it’s nice. So, here’s your wood. Where do you want it?”

“Right there, thanks,” Gordon said, pointing to the side of the garage.

As the men were off-loading the wood, Michael took notice that Gordon was deep in thought.

“Everything okay?” Michael asked.

“Ah, yeah, a lot has been going on, that’s all.”

“I heard about the Marines arriving. They’re friends of yours?” Michael asked.

“Ha. I imagine there’s a lot of rumors flying around in town,” Gordon said with a smirk, dodging the question.

“Yeah, you could say that. It’s not every day a small convoy of Humvees comes rolling into town. The sight of the Marines got everyone excited. The talk was that the army was coming to help us. I, of course, knew that wasn’t the case,” Michael said.

“When did you get the word of our new neighbors?” Gordon asked.

“I’d guess around nine thirty. You won’t believe it, or maybe you will. Joyce, our neighbor, came banging on our door, screaming that the army had come. I don’t know what was worse, watching her make a fool out of herself or that she dragged her kids along, soiled pajamas and all.”

“I’ve heard she’s quite the drinker.”

“More like a lush. And her poor boys. She still has the four-year-old in diapers. Tiffany doesn’t know if she should feel sorry for her or slap her silly. The woman is the most negative person I’ve ever met.”

“I’m not going to sit in judgment. She’s been through a lot, I heard, with her husband leaving,” Gordon said, attempting to stay above the gossipy talk.

Sweat was now streaming down Gordon’s face. He wiped it away with his sleeve and leaned against the truck. “I guess we should have some sympathy for her. I’m sure she’s not an evil person, just one who has made some poor choices.”

“Are you sure you don’t have any interest in politics?” Michael quipped.

“Trust me, never. I hate politics and I especially don’t have a fondness for politicians.”

“So you won’t like me when I’m the president of Cascadia?”

“Oh, no, here we go.”

“You mean to tell me you can just keep yourself neutral? I see you active with helping the mayor and Chief Rainey.”

“Michael, all joking aside, I am intrigued by the idea. I used to be big into following politics, but I was naïve then. I just don’t know if starting a new government is as easy as you think it is. You do realize there’s this thing called a bureaucracy you’ll have to create, right? I think the concept is easy but then there’s the reality of the logistics. Listen, locally, I can effect change, but on a national level, it’s another can of worms.”

“Just come with me to this next meeting. A couple of Cascadians from Olympia just arrived. We are working together to make sure we can have both of our groups operate as one and have a common focus.”

“I have to laugh. Your country hasn’t even birthed and you have differences.”

“Like anything, people have a common idea but different ways of approaching it.”

“This sounds a little like the beginning of political parties, and
that
, my friend, can be a death knell from the very start.”

“I’m forever the optimist; we can work through these differences to have our common dream of a free nation realized. I just need people like you to be on our team. So you’ll come to the next one? I want you to meet Charles, the leader of the Olympia group.”

“Sure, I can do that,” Gordon said. He was agreeing because he wanted to be a supportive friend and because he did have a nagging curiosity. If Cascadia ever were to become a reality, he might need to be close to it. Like Samantha reminded him yesterday, he could help his family by having a part in how things worked, and being a part of Cascadia might be the ticket. The Cascadian influence had grown a lot locally and he did agree with the basic premise of liberty and human rights.

“So, these Marines, you must know them—unless you picked up two extra Humvees at the car lot in Cascade.”

“Yeah, well, not all of them. I know three of them. The other nine, I don’t know at all.”

“So what’s their story?”

“They came in from Coos Bay, Oregon. There’s a couple Marine units there now.”

Michael completely stopped working. Gordon’s mention of the Marines in Oregon piqued his curiosity.

“Why are there Marines in Oregon?”

“That is a very long story and one best told over a few drinks,” Gordon said. He had kept most of his recent past secret. He felt that no one needed to know details, and he also feared people’s judgments. McCall was supposed to be a new start. Having people judge him for his past decisions could do more harm than good.

“I’ll second that.”

“Thanks again for the wood; I can’t say enough about how much this helps me out.”

“Not a problem, just share some of your venison jerky with me when you have it.”

“That is a guarantee, and it reminds me—I’m going hunting tomorrow. . . .”

The phone in Gordon’s pocket began to ring. The men looked at each other. The once familiar sound of a mobile phone now sounded out of place.

“Your cell phone is working?” Michael asked with a shocked look on his face.

Gordon quickly reached into his pocket and pulled out the ringing phone. One the screen he saw the number calling was the same he had called earlier. His heart jumped into his throat as he clicked the receive button and said, “Hello?”

“Hello, who is this?” the voice asked.

“This is Gordon Van Zandt. I called earlier; I’m trying to reach Vice President Cruz.”

“Gordon Van Zandt, who are you? How do you have this number?”

“I escorted Vice President Cruz from Coos Bay to Idaho last March. He gave me this number and said I could call it if I needed anything. Well, I need something.”

The mention of the vice president quickly superseded Michael’s interest in the fact that Gordon had a working cell phone. Gordon looked at Michael and held up his index finger, indicating he needed a moment alone. He then stepped away from the truck.

“Mr. Van Zandt, let me put you on hold.”

“Please don’t hang up.”

“One second, sir.”

Gordon could hear the man talking to someone. He tried to understand what they were saying but it was unintelligible.

“Mr. Van Zandt, do you have something to write with?” the man asked.

Gordon ran back up to Michael. “Do you have a pen and paper?

Michael quickly rummaged through the glove box and pulled out an old pencil and registration papers and handed them to Gordon.

“Yes, I do,” Gordon said to the man on the phone.

“Call this number back in five minutes,” the man said, then proceeded to give Gordon a different nine-digit number.

Gordon hung up and looked at his watch.

“Who was that?” Michael asked, stunned by what he had heard.

“Um, I’ll explain later, over those drinks,” Gordon responded as he paced back and forth with excitement.

“I can’t wait to hear.”

Gordon stopped his pacing and looked at Michael. “Let’s just say a lot happened on the way to McCall.”

Cheyenne, Wyoming

Dylan, the chief of staff, came into the conference room with the same exuberant look on his face as the day he had confirmed Cruz’s location.

“Take a seat, we’re about to begin,” Conner instructed him.