Blood, Sweat & Tears: A Postapocalyptic Novel (The New World Series Book 5)

by G. Michael Hopf

  Nelson chuckled.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked.

  “Oh, nothing.”

  “No, what’s so funny?”

  “The world ends and women still find a way to be catty, just funny that’s all.”

  “At first I felt sorry for Joyce, but I can see why David left. She’s not a nice person. She pretends to be, but she has some real issues.”

  “We’re in the penthouse!” Haley squealed with excitement. She had been trying to be patient but couldn’t any longer.

  “Ooh-la-la.” Samantha laughed. She caressed Haley’s plump cheek and decided she didn’t want to discuss Joyce any longer. She needed to put her attention on her kids right now.

  Luke snatched the key from Haley’s hand and said, “I’ve never seen a penthouse. Let’s head up.”

  “Don’t be so excited, it’s a four-story climb up the stairs,” Nelson informed them.

  “Last one up is a rotten egg,” Luke yelled and sprinted towards the stairwell.

  Haley chased after him.

  “So are you going to do it?” Nelson asked, wanting to know the outcome of Charles’s request.

  Samantha shot him an irritated look and said, “I had no choice, he put a guilt trip on me. So I’m having her and the boys over for lunch tomorrow.”

  “If it helps, I’ll have Seneca stop by. She’s arriving here tonight, and we have a room just below you on the fourth floor.”

  “Say, what room are we in?” Samantha asked.

  “505,” Nelson answered.

  “Shit!” Samantha groaned.

  “What?”

  “We’re across the hall from Joyce.”

  Grandview, Idaho, United States

  Gordon reached the Snake River and with it a covered natural avenue for him to flee west. Disregarding his physical condition, he pushed west, stopping along the way to adjust his gear and take short breaks. Accustomed to the luxury of having a phone, he was distraught when he found his phone was broken, more than likely from the fall. Unable to communicate, tired, aching and hungry, he kept moving.

  With his hunger plaguing him, he stopped on the outskirts of the tiny town of Grandview. Being careful as usual, he surveyed the town and couldn’t see any movement. In fact, the little town looked abandoned. It was not unusual, considering the staggering death toll that had befallen the country since the lights went out back in early December last year. The estimates done before said ninety percent of the United States population would die, and from his experiences on the road, he could believe it. Each time recon teams would return to McCall, they would report finding fewer and fewer people, so finding a small town like this empty was not a surprise, but he didn’t just stroll into towns without at least surveying the area.

  Feeling confident the town looked clear, he headed in.

  To call the town small was an overstatement, Grandview was the proverbial ‘don’t blink or you’ll miss it’ kinda place. With his rifle at the ready, he left the cover of the riverbank and headed into town.

  He thought of finding a market or store, but that was a foolish idea. The supplies there would have been exhausted within days of the attack. Instead he chose the first house he came upon.

  He scaled the wood steps of the back deck and walked to the door. He peered through the grimy glass and saw no one. He stepped back, ready to kick the door in, when the simple idea of checking the doorknob popped in his head. Grabbing the cold bronze handle, he turned it and, click, found it unlocked. “What do you know?” He laughed. With a turn and a shove, he pushed the door open and was greeted with an intense pungent smell. After months of living in the new world, he recognized the smell as rotting flesh, not fresh but someone who had died a while ago. He recoiled and stepped back outside. The positive was the room he had stepped into was the kitchen, and it looked like it had never been ransacked; the negative was he’d have to deal with that smell. He tore off his pack, found a bandana and tied it around his face. Smelling his stale sweat was preferable to the grotesque aroma of human flesh past its expiration date.

  The kitchen was a gold mine. The cabinets and pantry were stuffed with canned foods, and on the floor of the pantry was a case of bottled water. With a vast selection of food, he found himself being a bit picky. His eyes lit up like a child when he found the Chef Boyardee spaghetti with meatballs. “Jackpot!” He opened his pack and began to stuff in those and other cans that looked appealing.

  Not one to just walk away from finding an untainted house, he decided to go look for other items of value, specifically more weapons, ammunition, batteries and medicine. He also needed a coat, the cold fall weather was getting to him.

  The living room was vacant. The thick layer of dust on the wood coffee table told him this place hadn’t been occupied for a long time. Off the living room, a hallway led down to four doors. Obviously these were bedrooms, and behind one or more he would find the source of the smell.

  Coming to the first, he tried the door. It was unlocked. He opened it and looked inside to find a child’s bedroom with Transformers posters, toys and model airplanes hanging from the ceiling. He noticed the bed was made; how odd, he thought. Knowing that room would hold no value, he moved on. The next door opened up to a bathroom. There he went looking for medicine and found Tylenol, Advil and cough medicine. He also took the toothpaste and unused toothbrushes. Maintaining proper dental hygiene was critical, as dentists weren’t available at every strip mall or medical office anymore. He stuffed all of it into his pack and moved on. The third door was another child’s bedroom, this one a girl’s and, by the type of toys and decorations, a girl around Haley’s age. Again the bed was made and the room tidy. The overall tidiness reminded him of Samantha; she would be that person who would make sure the rooms all looked good even if she was about to die. He summed it up to a compulsive disorder, but for them at home, her disorder kept the order around the house, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. The last door had to be the master bedroom and the location of the bodies. He tried the handle, but this time it was locked. He went to kick it but stopped short of doing so. What would he really find there of value? Did he really need to see what he already imagined he’d find, a small family huddled together on the bed, all victims of a murder-suicide? What possibly could he really need in there? Not needing to satisfy his curiosity and having seen enough death, he stepped away and exited the hallway into the living room. There he saw a small closet next to the front door; again he hit pay dirt. A men’s extra-large Gore-Tex coat hung there as if it had his name on it. Besides the negative of being on the run, his escape had worked out, as had his finding everything he would need for the long hike back home.

  After stuffing the coat in his pack, he looked up and saw several remote controls sitting on a side table. He pulled the back off the first, but the batteries had gone bad and leaked. He tossed the remote and pulled the back off the second to find four AAA batteries that looked good. He dumped them into his pack, and then did the same to the two other remotes. Batteries had become a currency in the new world, and leaving any behind would be like stepping over cash on the floor before the lights went out.

  Back in the kitchen, he went looking through the junk drawers for more batteries, flashlights and other smaller items of value. He came upon a roll of string, matches, a lighter, small sewing kit and toothpicks. Nothing was worse than having food stuck between your teeth. This thought made him think about brushing, something he hadn’t done in over a day.

  He had stuffed his pack with as much food and water as he could as well as stuffing his belly. He took some Advil, brushed his teeth and was about to head out when he spotted some writing on the back of the white pantry door. He looked closely and saw it was hash marks, names and dates. He knew what they were, and seeing it made him sad and homesick. It also reminded him that so many people had a lot more in common than not. This young family appeared to be loving and well taken care of, but for some reason the fear and uncertainty of the new world w
as too much. The father must have imagined his children and wife wouldn’t survive or could die a horrible death at the hands of a marauder or bandit, so instead he thought it best to kill them. Of course, this was all a guess, as he hadn’t seen what lay behind the door, but it made sense. He wondered how often this had played out across the country as some people gave up hope and took their own lives. This was something that never crossed his mind. His will to live and mind-set prevented that from ever happening, and surviving was all about mind-set above all else. Of course skills and resources were critical, but these people had resources and possibly could have had some skills, but it was the mind-set that said life wasn’t worth living without the luxuries and conveniences of modern society that led the father to take the lives of his innocent family.

  He reached out and touched the names. He could tell by the spelling that the children had written their own names. He imagined the little girl being Haley writing her name on the door, excited to have finally grown three feet.

  Yes, many people were similar, but there wasn’t enough similarity to keep the world from falling into chaos. If society could have come together, there wouldn’t have been a collapse. Of course, life would have changed drastically, but if people would have worked together, the apocalypse would never have happened. It wasn’t the EMP that wiped out society, society wiped itself out with the moral decay of society coupled with a lack of skills. Preparedness sprinkled with an appreciation for one’s neighbors would have prevented much of the death. When society became morally bankrupt with a focus towards one’s own well-being above the greater good and a desire for the hedonistic pleasures, how could it come together? We were doomed. It really didn’t matter if it was an EMP, financial collapse, nuclear war or pandemic, those were but the fuse.

  His homesick feelings turned to disgust as he processed all of it. Needing to get past this feeling, he slammed the pantry door, slung his pack and left the house to find a place to lay his head and get some real rest.

  Cheyenne, Wyoming, United States

  If there was one thing Conner enjoyed when he could, it was his nightly routine. When his schedule permitted, he’d fix a cup of red rooibus tea with fresh milk and settle in to read a book. Shortly after arriving in Cheyenne, Pat introduced him to the tea, and before long he was making a cup each night. The rich, subtly sweet and smooth tea was one of the best things he’d ever had, and when you added creamy milk, it was purely divine, or that’s how Pat would describe it.

  With his tea and book, he walked to his den and relaxed into the thick cushioned leather chair.

  Having to spend most of his time reading documents, memos, and reports, finding the time to escape in a book made for the best entertainment. Tonight’s read was a Louis L’Amour classic Western. He had only recently discovered L’Amour and found his books not overly complicated and verbose, just fun, exciting reads with plenty of action and set in an age when men were men.

  Sitting comfortably, he opened the worn paperback and flipped to chapter one.

  The phone next to him rang.

  He cut his eyes at the phone and questioned if he should answer it.

  The phone rang again.

  Having only read two sentences, he grunted and placed the book down. “This better be an emergency.” He grabbed the receiver and answered, “President Conner.”

  “Brad, it’s Andrew.”

  “Hey, is everything okay?” Conner asked his old friend and vice president.

  “Did I catch you at a good time?”

  “Just settling in for the night with what I hope will be a good book,” Conner replied. He was happy to hear his old friend’s voice. Their friendship spanned decades, from college to politics they remained tight and steadfast. From being in each other’s weddings to even having the honor of being godparents. Theirs was a rock-solid friendship.

  “I need to talk,” Cruz confessed.

  Conner sat up and said, “Sure, what is it? You sound upset. Is the family good?”

  “Yeah, the family is great. They’re a bit tired of living underground, or at least the wife is, but the kids are enjoying it.”

  “Good, good.”

  “Brad, it’s about the tactics being using against the secessionists.”

  “Oh no, not you too.” Conner sighed.

  “It’s a public relations disaster, and to be quite honest, your legacy in history might be tainted,” Cruz opined.

  “My legacy? I’m not even thinking about that just yet. One thing I don’t want on my legacy is I was the president who presided over the total collapse and breakup of the nation. I don’t want to be the last president of the United States.”

  “I know what you’re doing is in the best interests and I know you, but it’s troubling to some degree. Listen, Brad, these aren’t some rag head terrorists in Iraq, these are Americans, and they’re feeling disenchanted with our response. Now it’s not our fault entirely; they have a right to be angry.”

  “Andrew, I don’t treat them like Americans sometimes because they don’t consider themselves Americans. I have to do some heavy lifting here to make sure this thing doesn’t go under. We’re like sailors on a leaky ship; we’re constantly having to bail water out. These people don’t want to talk; they just want to make demands.”

  “Brad, I know it’s tough, but some of the things we’re doing might be making things worse. I know I haven’t been privy to many of the discussions and policy planning in regards to the conflicts, but I’d like to be. With Secretary Wilbur dead and Major Schmidt ill, I think it’s best I play a greater role.”

  Conner smirked and replied sternly, “We’re doing our best with what we have, and to date we’ve been successful. I think we need to look at the results before we criticize the actions.”

  “You know as well as I do how fluid these things can be, and when you take out one leader, another takes their place.”

  “Andrew, I appreciate the concern, but we have this handled. You’re doing a wonderful job managing the reconstruction. I need you focused on getting the grid back up. That is critical and I can’t have you dealing with this stuff.”

  “I spoke with the Australian Prime Minister today and even he mentioned how we’re conducting these operations. It’s becoming a bit controversial.”

  “We’re fighting little wars everywhere, Andrew. These aren’t protests, these are shooting wars. These people mean business and are willing to fight to separate. We can’t treat them like they’re common criminals, these are enemy combatants. Plus, you should know I’m doing my best to avoid civilian casualties. I know we’ve made some mistakes, but I’m fighting with one arm behind my back sometimes. After what Schmidt did in Idaho, I’ve heard nothing but heartburn from foreign leaders and from people in my cabinet. That was a mistake, we learned our lesson, but we can’t stop, we can’t let these people carve up what’s left of the country.”

  “I’m not saying we give up, I just think we need a more comprehensive approach. We need to find those leaders who are more moderate. Those who don’t wish to separate but have their needs met. A lot of this started because we didn’t respond fast enough. The people were left to fend for themselves. It’s natural for people to want independence or to separate when they’ve been taking care of themselves. Brad, I was there, sitting in this damn bunker months ago when we discussed these issues. We made the tough decision then to stop resupply. When the other bunkers were destroyed, we stopped sending out aid, we caused this. We all did. This is the chickens coming home to roost.”

  Conner held his comment and thought about that time when they decided to withhold aid to the states. At the time resources were limited and the priority was continuity of government. That policy proved effective, but it did leave millions of Americans in FEMA camps without support for months. They did abandon them for a period of time.

  “Brad, you there?” Cruz asked after waiting for a moment but getting no response.

  “I’m here, you just have me thinking is all.
”

  “Good, I want you to think.”

  “I think all the time, Andrew, that’s not a fair thing to say. I think every single day about how I can get this country back on its feet. I think of the two hundred and fifty million dead. It plagues me to a point because I can’t stay there; I can’t remain in that place that obsesses over those dead. I need to think of the future, and if we don’t stamp out these rebels, there will be no future. I know some of the tactics we’ve deployed have been rough, but I can’t tiptoe around sometimes. We don’t have the manpower or equipment we used to have; I have to use it wisely. I’m sorry if you don’t approve of how I’m running the wars, and I don’t give a fuck what the Prime Minister of Australia thinks. He has had the luck of not having to live in this environment. It’s so easy for him to sit in Canberra and toss around lofty principles when he doesn’t live under the threat of his country being broken up and destroyed; I do. And when it comes to my legacy, I don’t care if people say I was hard on some rebels here or there, I’ll ultimately be judged on if I kept us together as a nation, period.”

  Cruz sighed loudly. “Like I always say, I have your back, and everything you just said rings true for me, but I can’t help but think we’ve got to tone it down just a bit. Maybe arrest these rebel leaders, take them to trial. Instead of rushing in with tanks or troops, we rush in with supplies, food, and medicine. In the end the people of those states or cities will determine their own destinies. If we can show we’re the best show in town, they won’t leave us, they’ll throw out those leaders and stay with us. We just have to show that we’re worthy to stay with by proving we’re that same generous and lawful nation we once were.”

  “Were? Oh, c’mon, Andrew, you sound like a damn progressive. We are still generous, we are still lawful, it’s just that an omelet doesn’t get made unless you break some eggs.”