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

by G. Michael Hopf

  “Everyone has a natural arc of movement, it kinda flows like a figure eight. What I want you to do is relax just a bit, that doesn’t mean you hold the pistol like a dead fish. Firmly grip it, not too hard, kinda like a handshake—not too soft that you look like a pussy and not so hard you’re trying to crush the person’s hand, just firm. Raise the pistol and just look down the barrel towards the target. Once you do that, apply the steady pressure. Yeah, the sights will move around, but keep applying the steady pressure and focus. When the pistol fires, it should surprise you.”

  Luke did exactly as he said. His instruction reminded him of Sebastian and the time they spent on the road from San Diego. He missed Sebastian and Annaliese and had wanted them to be his new parents, but the new world never brought guarantees. He had grown to love Samantha, Haley and Gordon in the meantime, and losing them wasn’t an option. He didn’t want to be alone again.

  The pistol fired and the bottle shattered.

  “Great shot,” Sanchez said.

  “I did it,” Luke exclaimed with joy.

  “Good, now do it again.”

  “Yes, sir,” Luke said, raising the pistol.

  “And, kid, don’t call me sir, I work for a living,” Sanchez joked.

  With range time over, Luke felt very proud. Again he had showed he had proficiency with firearms; now he just needed to go from that to mastery.

  “Can you get me my own pistol?” Luke asked Sanchez as they walked through the forest, heading back to the lodge.

  “You want that one?” Sanchez asked.

  “Ah, no.”

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  “The handle.”

  “We call it a grip, proper nomenclature, remember?”

  “The grip is too big for my hand,” Luke confessed.

  Sanchez grabbed Luke’s right hand and examined it. “Well, if you didn’t have girlie hands, maybe you could handle a man’s gun.”

  “I don’t have girlie hands,” Luke protested.

  “I’m just busting your balls, it’s something you’ll have to get used to. For some odd reason us men like to do that. I can’t explain why, but we do and we enjoy it.”

  “Where’s your family?” Luke asked.

  “All back in Puerto Rico.”

  “You’re from Puerto Rico? Cool.”

  “Yeah, my momma, papa and two brothers are there.”

  “Are they fine?”

  “I’m not sure,” Sanchez admitted.

  “Why not go back there?”

  “That’s my plan, but it seems every time I think about doing it, something more fun happens.”

  “This is fun?” Luke asked, confused by his response.

  “Look, kid, I’m young, dumb and full of…” Sanchez said but stopped short of completing the phrase. “I’m not having a party here, but I have to admit the apocalypse is kind of a thrill ride and I’m with my brothers.”

  “I thought you said your brothers were in Puerto Rico.”

  “No, my brothers in arms, the guys in my unit, they’re my brothers. I’ve done more with them and know those guys more than I’ll know anyone. We’ve seen so much shit, sorry, stuff together that I can’t imagine not being with them. These guys get me, where my family at home doesn’t.”

  “I don’t understand, your family at home probably needs you.”

  “Maybe, but my dad and my brothers are some tough dudes. I’m not too concerned for them.”

  “But they’re your family.”

  Sanchez stopped Luke and looked at him squarely in the eyes. “Listen, little dude, family is a versatile word. You don’t have to be blood with someone to love them as much as someone who has your blood running through them. I love the guys in my unit and they love me. We’re cut from the same cloth; I know how they think and they know how I think. The bond I have with them is stronger than what I had with my own flesh and blood at home. If I left to go home, I’d be leaving the only real family I’ve ever had to go back to a house and to people who don’t truly know who I am. So I ask you to open your eyes and understand that family is a bigger word than, say, your biological parents or siblings. It’s those people who will do anything for you, who are there for you and you for them. They are the ones who choose to be in your life and aren’t obligated by blood.”

  Flurries began to fall.

  Sanchez looked up and said, “Growing up in San Juan, we never had snow; in fact, the first time I ever saw it was in Big Bear when I was nineteen. I thought I’d hate it, coming from a tropical island, but I can honestly say I really love it.”

  Luke didn’t know how to respond to Sanchez’s speech on family. His mind swam with thoughts and emotions.

  Sanchez finally realized Luke wasn’t following him. He stopped and turned around. “Come on, let’s get you back. Samantha’s probably getting worried.”

  Luke ran up beside him.

  Sanchez pulled out a Glock 27 .40 caliber, dropped the magazine and cleared the receiver. With the slide back, he handed it to Luke. “How about this size?”

  Luke took the pistol and held it. The size was much better. “I like it.”

  “Good, now I just need to ask Samantha if you can have it.”

  “Um, no.”

  “Sorry, I need to ask her.”

  “I mean, don’t call her that, call her my mother.”

  Cheyenne, Wyoming, United States

  One by one cabinet members and distinguished officials took time to visit Conner privately. Some had a genuine concern for how the transition would go while others only cared about their own well-being and wanted Conner to put a good word in with Cruz.

  Baxter exited Conner’s office to find Schmidt sitting and waiting. He stepped over to him and with a crooked grin said, “I’m sure you’re not happy about this.”

  “I’m a survivor. I’ll be just fine,” Schmidt replied as he stood up.

  “Well, I thought I should tell you that we pulled a fingerprint from a piece of casing from one of those bombs. The lab is working right now to see who it belongs to. Once we have that, we’ll know exactly who was behind the bombings,” Baxter warned, clearly making a subtle accusation that he suspected Schmidt and his men.

  Schmidt stepped closer to Baxter and said, “That’s good news, it really is. Getting all the facts is so important. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to speak with the president.”

  Baxter stepped aside and motioned with his arm for Schmidt to pass by.

  Schmidt slowly walked past him but couldn’t let Baxter’s veiled threat go unanswered. “Oh, General, I didn’t tell you, but my team was investigating Secretary Wilbur before her unfortunate murder and has found some curious intel on other accomplices. In fact, one of the prisoners they interrogated yesterday said she would give us all the names in exchange for immunity.”

  The veins in Baxter’s neck flared. “You have no authority to be interrogating anyone. This is my investigation.”

  “Not entirely, the president wanted to ensure it was done properly, so he had me put together a special unit. I’m about to get permission now from him concerning this woman.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Don’t you fret about it, General, you’ll find out soon enough,” Schmidt concluded and entered Conner’s office. When he closed the door, a broad and toothy grin graced his face. Of course, all of it was a lie; he didn’t have a woman. He’d only wanted the general to get worked up because it was his investigation, but seeing his response made Schmidt suddenly suspicious that Baxter might somehow be involved.

  “Major Schmidt, my most loyal and trustworthy of officers,” Conner bellowed from across the room.

  “I think I just might be that,” Schmidt replied.

  “What’s that?”

  “I think you’re right, I just might be your most loyal and trustworthy,” Schmidt answered, taking a seat in his usual chair in front of Conner’s desk.

  “Now I know my announcement came as a shock, and I’m sure you’re wondering wh
at the hell I’m doing. And you’re probably concerned about your safety and so forth.”

  Schmidt raised his arm and said, “It was a shock, sir, but my safety no longer concerns me. I’m a dead man walking now.”

  “Yeah, that is a problem.”

  “That is reality,” Schmidt said, referencing the final diagnosis that came back—he had stage four non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Pardon my language, sir, but like shit.”

  “I’m sorry, shall I get you set up with my doctor for some strong drugs, you know, for the pain?”

  “I’ll be fine, sir.”

  “Okay, well, I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to explain what I’m doing because you might be thinking it all doesn’t make sense. I could practically hear your thoughts screaming at me earlier. Like why would I have you set those bombs only to retire days later?”

  “The thought did cross my mind.”

  “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tired of all the bullshit and constant second-guessing from everyone. But I did mean what I said in there. I think the country has become so jaded and so polarized that I could give them exactly what they want and they’d still be pissed. For all of those on the other side, I can’t do anything right. I normally would just blow it off, but when Cruz called and expressed his own personal concern, he sounded like them. I then knew that if my oldest friend was against me, my days were numbered. So I’m going to give them what they want, I’m going to let them lead this rambling wreck of a country. I’m going to give them the keys and watch them crash this thing into the ground, and when everything is smoldering, they’ll be begging for me to come back and right the ship. I know you’re thinking it’s a big risk, but I have you and your men.”

  “Sir, sorry to interrupt, but General Baxter just informed me—”

  “I know, he told me he has a fingerprint.”

  “But if it comes back positive for one of my men?”

  “Then I know you’ll take care of it.”

  “That’s not a plan, sir, we need to get in front of this.”

  “Do you know what man it might be?”

  “It could be one of two,” Schmidt admitted.

  “Then get rid of those two,” Conner coldly said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Anything from the silos?” Conner asked, just thinking about Pat.

  “No, sir, it will take a while. There’s a lot of ground to cover.”

  “Anyway, don’t stress. I know I’m taking a big risk here, but I don’t think I can lose. You see, I’m so tired of all this bickering and whining; it would be nice to just do nothing. I’ve made my mark and I personally don’t care about my legacy,” Conner said, although the last part was a lie he was saying more to convince himself.

  “Sir, I’m here to do what you want. I have always been here to serve. I don’t think I have long to go, but if you’re ready to wash your hands of all of it, then so be it.”

  “I am, but I’m not. If this thing goes sideways, which it might, trust me, I’ll come back with a vengeance. What I need you to do is clean up our tracks; make sure there’s nothing that links us to the bombings or anything else we’ve done over the past few months.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then that’s it, Major, my door is always open anytime you want to come over,” Conner said, then stood up with his hand outstretched.

  Schmidt stood, took his hand and shook it. “Thank you for the privilege, sir.”

  “You know, once I go, I’d recommend you retire too. Go out on your terms.”

  “Are you saying they won’t keep me?” Schmidt asked.

  “Do I have to answer that?” Conner said.

  “I suspect not,” Schmidt said.

  “Go tidy things up and make sure you’re here tomorrow bright and early for the ceremony.”

  “Yes, sir,” Schmidt said and left.

  After each conversation, Conner felt confident about his decision. He was actually looking forward to being retired. The overall good spirits everyone seemed to be displaying, minus a few, was contagious. It showed him just how much his presence and leadership was divisive and stressful to his staff. Something in him wanted Cruz to be successful in his alternate policies, but something also didn’t. If Cruz was successful, it would make his actions invalid.

  Conner thought about this and began to contemplate a bold and unpredictable move that could blunt Cruz and bolster his legacy.

  Grandview, Idaho, United States

  The sun had just fallen behind the mountains in the west and cold air was descending from the north. Gordon could see the dark clouds to the north and said, “I think that’s a storm.”

  “Maybe so, but one thing is for certain, it’s going to be cold as hell driving this north with no top,” John said, referring to the Jeep lacking a top or cover. The two worn-out bucket seats were the only things inside the old Jeep unless you counted the stick shifter. The Jeep was bare bones, small, and it promised to be a slow and cold ride in it.

  “I grabbed a stack of blankets,” Gordon said.

  “And I found these,” John said, holding up two balaclavas.

  “That was a score.” Gordon laughed.

  “I don’t think we can load more shit on this old rig,” John said, looking at the stacks of food, water, fuel and boxes of assorted but critical items like toilet paper, soap, lighters, duct tape, Kleenex, aluminum foil, alcohol, condiments, candy, lotion, Ziploc bags, sunscreen, feminine products, cotton balls, salt and even condoms. Getting pregnant, while wonderful, was also more fatal without modern medicine, and bringing a new child into the world wasn’t something either man wanted right now.

  “Come on, girl, get in,” Gordon said, then whistled.

  The dog jumped into the passenger seat, slid into the back and lay on a makeshift bed that John had made.

  “I hate driving at night,” John said.

  “Me too, but I want to get home, and if all goes well, we’ll be home before the sun rises,” Gordon said.

  John got behind the wheel and turned the Jeep over. Its old four-cylinder engine rumbled and popped.

  “High performance, huh?” Gordon joked.

  “Bundle up,” John said as they pulled out of the garage and headed northwest along Highway 78.

  Sandy, Utah

  Annaliese wasn’t expecting a visitor, so when someone tapped on her bedroom door, she was surprised. She got up and opened the door to find Samuel and her mother standing there. The dour looks on their faces told her something horrible had happened.

  “What’s happened?” she asked.

  “It’s about your cousin Blake,” Samuel said.

  Blake was a second cousin, but nevertheless they had been close during her childhood. Blake’s parents had lived in San Diego when they were younger. Being close in age, they spent most weekends and all holidays together. Annaliese had enjoyed her time with Blake, and when they moved away to Wyoming, she cried for days. The two stayed in contact through texts and social media, but it wasn’t the same. Occasionally they saw each other at a random Christmas or family get-together, and when that happened, it was like they hadn’t missed a day.

  “He’s dead, isn’t he?” Annaliese asked.

  Her mother replied, “Yes, the poor soul was killed the other day in Cheyenne.”

  “How?”

  “The reports, well, you know how sketchy news is, but it seems he was shot. I guess he attended a protest and things turned ugly. There were some explosions, just craziness, and he got caught in the middle.”

  “Who shot him?”

  “US soldiers,” Samuel said.

  Hearing this ripped at her. For the second time, someone she loved was shot by the very people who were supposed to protect them. She walked away from the door and sat on the bed.

  Her mother rushed in and began to comfort her.

  Samuel didn’t know what else to say, and not being one who was good at the comforting thing, he said his
goodbyes and left.

  “Is it ever going to stop?” Annaliese asked.

  “I don’t think so, that’s why we have to have faith,” her mother said.

  “Faith? I have faith in the knowledge that the people I love will continuously be killed. I have faith in that fact.”

  “I know you’re angry, but things happen. We must find strength and solace in God right now.”

  Annaliese turned to her, a tear streaking down her face, and said, “I’m having a hard time with that. I can go out there every day and take care of people, but guess what, more will come. Why? Where is God? I’ve heard you say there are miracles, but healing one child isn’t a miracle if you let millions of people die. I want that explained. Can you explain it to me, please?”

  “You’re just upset,” her mother said.

  “You’re damn right I’m upset. I want this to end, but it won’t. We have to stop it, and we’re doing that now one day at a time, but let’s really examine what we’re doing here. We’re treating the symptoms not the disease. We need to find a way to kill the disease.”

  “I don’t know what that means, but I know everything you’re doing here is God’s work.”

  “Really? Last time I checked, I put this together with your help and Samuel’s help, not God. He’s nowhere to be found except when one random person needs to be saved from drowning, then voila, he provides a miracle,” Annaliese said loudly.

  “You’re upset, and now you’re saying mean and hurtful things,” her mother said, getting up from the bed.

  “Hurtful to God or you, Mother?”

  “You’re in pain. God forgives you,” her mother said and left the room.

  Annaliese lay back on the bed and began to sob. Memories of her and Blake came rushing towards her.

  She opened her swollen eyes and declared, “God, if you do exist, do something to stop this. Give me something that I can use to put an end to the madness.”

  One floor below her, Hector lay listening, the entire conversation coming through the old ventilation ducts. He knew what he’d do if he had the power he once had. He added to the pledge he had silently made to her. If he ever gained the power and influence he once held, he’d give it to her so she could avenge the ones she had lost.