The Razor's Edge: A Postapocalytic Novel (The New World Book 6)

by G. Michael Hopf

“I’ll find a way,” Pablo said and stood up. He tossed back the wine and placed the glass back on the table. Seeing the bottle of wine, he grabbed it and exited the tent.

  Luis followed him. “Sir, anything else?”

  “If you come across American military, capture them, who knows.”

  “Yes, sir, who knows.”

  Pablo jumped into the Ranger and sped off.

  As Pablo raced back inside the compound gates, Luis exhaled heavily. It was always a sigh of relief when he left and you were still alive.

  Cheyenne, Wyoming, United States

  Baxter had kept the cabinet members waiting for hours. Back and forth he kept batting with what he’d say. Earlier he was confident, but since then he wasn’t so sure.

  Laura stepped into his office and said, “Secretary Baxter, the cabinet members are growing restless.”

  “Okay, I’m coming,” Baxter replied. He breathed in deeply and strutted out of the office and down the hall to the main conference room. Inside, he found some familiar and some new faces. The Christmas attack had taken out two critical cabinet positions, which he replaced with their deputies. One was an old friend, Colonel Donald Franklin, an Air Force officer who hailed from Arkansas.

  “What the hell?” Franklin blurted out with his Southern drawl.

  “Sorry, there’s much happening,” Baxter said, taking his seat at the head of the table.

  Everyone sat and faced Baxter in anticipation of the news.

  “I won’t keep you in suspense any longer; the president could be alive,” Baxter informed them.

  Gasps and chatter among the group erupted.

  “Everyone will have questions, but here’s what we know. During the sweep of the remains, nothing has come back that matches the president.”

  A woman, the interior secretary, asked, “Could the blast have incinerated him? You know, leaving nothing?”

  “While it could have, there would have been something, some piece, some fragment. So far no remains that have been recovered match his DNA.”

  The chatter and cross talk increased in volume.

  To counter their talk, Baxter grew louder. “Until we know what happened, I won’t officially be taking the office though I will have all powers given to me in accordance with former President Conner’s emergency plan he created after the attacks on December 5th. I will act as commander in chief but will not be sworn in officially. So I’ll have the power without the title until we know for sure if the president is dead or not.”

  Franklin asked the obvious question. “If he isn’t dead, where is he?”

  “Great question, if he isn’t dead, then he’s been abducted,” Baxter answered.

  “Why would you say that, and if so, by who?” Franklin asked.

  “Early this morning I received a call from the first lady concerning the president’s mother. She reported her missing. I have since confirmed that, and we have opened up an investigation. If Maria Cruz is missing and the president wasn’t at the church, then it’s logical to assume he too was abducted.”

  “What are we going to do?” Franklin asked.

  “We will keep the government running like we all know how to do. We will fulfill the responsibilities to the American people. They’re counting on us. We will investigate this, and if the president and his mother were abducted, we will find them and bring them home, hopefully safe and sound.”

  The room grew silent as the reality of it all began to settle in.

  “I’m sorry that I kept you so long, but I needed to get more information. This is a delicate situation, and I hope that all of you will hold this info tightly. Discretion is critical. This is classified, so no loose lips. We don’t need the resistance—”

  “Terrorists!” Franklin barked as he interrupted Baxter.

  “Yes, terrorists. We don’t want the terrorists to know; this must be kept quiet,” Baxter said agreeing with Franklin. He then thought that at one time he was a terrorist, if that was the correct label. He continued, “I’m increasing our efforts against the terrorists by conducting widespread searches throughout the camps. If they have weapons, we’re going to arrest them. If they have printed material that even hints at support of the terrorists, we’ll have them arrested. If they give us a bad look, I’ll have them arrested. Then we will begin a new registration for all refugees. We need to know who they are. This will take time but we need to weed out those hell-bent on inflicting harm. It’s become too easy to migrate here. I’m doubling the procedures to access the green zone, and I’m closing all applications on operating here until further notice.”

  No one argued or debated Baxter’s new antiterrorism policies.

  He continued, “We have to be vigilant. We are literally surrounded by threats. The enemies are not just at our gates, they’re inside the gates.”

  “Sir, if we discover these terrorists are tied to a larger group like the Cascadians or other separatist groups, what should be our response?” Franklin asked.

  Several others nodded and voiced their support of the question.

  Baxter paused and then replied, “If we discover this attack that killed our friends, neighbors and comrades was hatched or supported by anyone outside, we will rain justice down on them.”

  “Bravo,” Franklin said.

  Baxter hated this bravado, it sounded too much like Conner, but it was red meat for the hawks. He wasn’t going to bomb anyone because those who committed the attack were his former confederates. They were locals, and if he was to ever sleep peacefully again, he was going to have to kill them all.

  Banff, Alberta, Western Canada

  Gordon walked into the same large office, but this time, Jacques was waiting, and with him were others he’d never met before.

  “Take a seat, Mr. and Mrs. Van Zandt,” Jacques said, motioning for them to sit on the large sofa.

  Gordon and Samantha did as he said.

  Samantha leaned in close to Gordon and whispered, “Breathe in, now out. Keep your cool; think before you speak.”

  He shot her an annoyed look but did as she ordered.

  “Good, we’ve got this. Let him speak and ask questions. Don’t make statements. Remember you don’t have any leverage,” Samantha said.

  “Maybe you should be president,” Gordon joked.

  “There you go, a bit of humor during times of crisis, that’s the man I married,” Samantha said squeezing his leg. “I love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  The group that had been meeting with Jacques got up and headed for the large doors.

  “Tell the guards no one is to disturb us,” Jacques ordered as he made his way to the opposite couch.

  “Where’s President Cruz?” Gordon asked.

  “I’ve already had my meeting with him,” Jacques said taking a seat.

  “How did that go for you?” Gordon asked.

  “Very well, he agreed to all my demands. I was just meeting with my staff; we’re drafting the official treaty now, ceding those lands to us.”

  “Bullshit,” Gordon snapped.

  Samantha pinched Gordon’s leg.

  “Not bullshit, I can assure you. It took some persuasion, but he finally relented.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Gordon said.

  Jacques stood up and walked to a large window. “Come, let me show you.”

  Gordon got up and walked up next to Jacques.

  “Look, over there,” Jacques said, pointing down along the river.

  “I don’t see anything.”

  Jacques grabbed Gordon’s shoulders.

  Gordon shook him off. “Don’t touch me.”

  “I’m helping you, look down there.” Jacques again pointed.

  “Where?”

  “You see that large red spot?”

  Gordon squinted and saw what Jacques was referring to. “Yes, I see it.”

  “That’s blood.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I showed him I was a man of my word. I thought having fam
ily brought here was enough to have you see I meant what I said, but nope, he needed a bit more convincing.”

  “Do you really think that killing his mother will have him make a deal that will stick? He still has a country to convince. He’s not a dictator; they have a system. The same goes for me. You think that if I sign any deal that the council will comply? What are you going to do after you kill us, kill all of them?”

  Jacques leaned close to Gordon and said, “I’ll kill everyone as long as I get what is mine.”

  With Jacques a few inches from his face, Gordon had the strong desire to head butt him but restrained himself.

  “But that’s not necessary. You see, I didn’t kill his mother, I merely removed her hand. That alone sent the poor boy crying for his mother. He agreed, but you know something, I’m not about to send him back home without an incentive. He’ll go back to Cheyenne and I’ll keep her here until he fulfills the treaty and ensures it passes whatever procedures it has to. I’m not a fool, Mr. Van Zandt, I’ve thought this through.”

  “This won’t stand,” Gordon said.

  “Oh, it will, believe me. Now can we get down to business?”

  “I’m not agreeing to anything,” Gordon barked.

  “I know your lovely wife feels differently,” Jacques said, acknowledging their suspicions that the room was bugged.

  “What you didn’t hear was we are in this together,” Gordon said.

  “Samantha, how do you feel about this?” Jacques asked.

  “I’m with my husband,” Samantha said.

  “So no deal?” Jacques said and walked back to his desk. He picked up the phone and said, “Now.”

  All the doors burst open and in came dozens of armed men.

  Gordon raced towards Samantha but was stopped just shy of reaching her. He punched the first man who reached for him, hitting him squarely on the jaw. A second man came from his side. He kicked him in the knee then uppercut him. The man fell to the floor hard.

  Several men grabbed Samantha, but she wasn’t giving up without a fight either; however, her attempts were quickly stopped.

  Gordon kept his march towards her, but one after another men came until he was overwhelmed and on the floor, his arms behind his back. “Samantha! Fight, Sam, fight!”

  Jacques walked over to Samantha and asked, “What should I cut off your pretty little body? A hand or maybe a foot? Wait, I know, something that he values a lot, maybe one of your breasts,” he said, grabbing her chest.

  Samantha screamed as she struggled.

  “Take her away and tie her up along the river,” Jacques ordered.

  The men hauled a boisterous Samantha away.

  “Gordon!” Samantha screamed as she attempted to resist.

  “Samantha, Samantha!” Gordon cried out, his body restrained and unable to budge an inch.

  Jacques walked over and ordered, “Pick him up.”

  The guards lifted Gordon to his feet.

  Blood, sweat and tears covered Gordon’s face. He spat at Jacques and said, “I’ll fucking kill you, you hear me, when I’m free, I’ll fucking kill you.”

  “You won’t do anything remotely like that. Now do we have a deal, or do I need to cut off your beautiful wife’s breast?”

  Cheyenne, Wyoming, United States

  Baxter enjoyed a good glass of whiskey. He always savored the complexity especially when poured over a few ice cubes—water had a way of bringing out and highlighting the various flavors—but today he needed it more to take off the edge. He skipped the ice and poured it neatly into his glass four fingers deep. With a trembling hand he raised the glass and tossed it back with a single gulp. Immediately he poured another equally full glass and walked to his favorite chair and sat down. Normally he would sit here and ponder the world and even spend his time doing crosswords, but today his mind was plagued with dilemmas both personal and professional. His past actions had caught up to him and now jeopardized everything he had worked so hard for over his vast military and governmental career. It’s amazing, he thought, it took a lifetime to build a reputation but an instant to destroy it.

  Ferguson, the detail leader for his protection team, tapped on the door jamb and said, “Sir, your guest has arrived.”

  “Send him in, and please ensure his name is not marked on the visitor log,” Baxter ordered.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Seconds later Eli strutted into the room.

  Ferguson came in just behind him, closed the blinds to the study and promptly left, closing the door behind him.

  “Office still looks the same. I have to say, I love the rich hardwood and dark stain, very nice,” Eli said, mocking Baxter’s office.

  “If you want a drink, it’s self-serve. You know where the booze is,” Baxter said.

  Eli looked towards the small bar tucked in the corner and said, “I think I’ll partake; it’s not every day you get authentic alcohol. The rotgut people are making in the camps does the trick, but it tends to flare up my reflux.” Eli poured himself a whiskey and with the bottle in hand headed over to an empty chair next to Baxter. “I thought you might need some more.”

  “You’re so thoughtful,” Baxter quipped.

  “I heard through the grapevine about your emergency meeting today. I have to say, we’re not too pleased with you,” Eli said as he filled Baxter’s glass.

  “I’ve taken over and have the authority, just not the title.”

  “I heard, but that’s not why we’re concerned. Your new policies will hinder us. Do we have to assume you’re working against us now?”

  “I have to give the appearance that I’m doing something to find the perpetrators of the Christmas attack.”

  “So we don’t need to be concerned?” Eli asked.

  “Not at all, it’s all smoke and mirrors.”

  “And what of President Cruz, anything?”

  “Nothing, no remains, and now his mother is missing, presumed kidnapped,” Baxter replied.

  “If this is true, it can mean two things, there’s another player or Cruz knew what was about to happen and made sure he got out of town. He could be in a safe place now, just waiting for us to expose ourselves.”

  “And that’s why I’m taking careful steps here. You need to relax and let me do what I’m going to do.”

  Eli pulled a piece of paper from his jacket pocket and handed it to Baxter.

  “What’s this?” Baxter asked, unfolding it.

  “A list of people you need to arrest as terrorists and resistance sympathizers.”

  Baxter read the list and said, “There are members of the cabinet on here, good people.”

  “They’re not good people if they follow and believe in the old regime and their policies.”

  “What do you want?” Baxter asked firmly.

  “It’s no different than before. We want Congress restored, we want democracy restored, and we want the government to be responsive to the people and not concerned with conflicts and separatists.”

  “How can there be a country though if it all falls apart? Conner had some valid points.”

  “Let the people decide what’s important, not a tyrant,” Eli said.

  “This is about her, isn’t it? This is personal for you?” Baxter asked.

  Eli lifted his glass and took a small sip. He scrunched his face when he swallowed and replied, “I cared for her, I won’t lie, but she knew the risk. In the end, she wanted our democracy restored and she paid the price, the ultimate price.”

  “I cared for her too, and it wasn’t me, if you ever thought it was; it was Major Schmidt who killed her,” Baxter said.

  “Hmm, not surprising, that’s who I expected. He was always a mad dog that one.” Eli grunted as he swished his glass around.

  “Is there anything else, or did you just want to see me to rehash what you told me days ago?”

  Eli finished the whiskey and placed the glass down. He stood and replied, “They feel it’s important you’re constantly reminded.”


  “I know what’s on the line,” Baxter said.

  “Good, just remember, if we fail, so do you.”

  Eli walked to the door.

  “I still want to have that meeting,” Baxter said referring to his request to meet with all the resistance leadership.

  “Not going to happen. You lost that privilege when you turned your back on us,” Eli said.

  “Very well,” Baxter said with a grin that showed his irritation was growing with Eli and his pompous attitude.

  “I’ll be in touch. Please make yourself available,” Eli said and left.

  When the door closed, Baxter grabbed the bottle and poured another tall glass.

  Ferguson entered the room and asked, “What time should I have the chef prepare dinner?”

  “Later. I need you to put a team on that man who was just here; have him followed. I want to know everywhere he goes.”

  Banff, Alberta, Western Canada

  Gordon’s continued resistance led Jacques to having him tied to a chair, his mouth taped, and placed in front of the window so he could best view the horror that was about to happen to Samantha.

  Gordon’s eyes bulged when Samantha came into view. He watched her struggle but for naught.

  Jacques paced back and forth, a full toothy grin stretched across his face. Watching people suffer gave him joy. Gordon had walked into a trap within a trap; he was playing Jacques’ sick game and didn’t even know it. Jacques was going to win regardless. Gordon’s refusal to comply added to the entertainment value of the situation for Jacques, and for that he was happy.

  The guards secured Samantha to the post and radioed in.

  “She’s tied up.”

  Not giving Gordon a chance to surrender, Jacques tormented him. “Rip her clothes off.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Gordon strained to break free and he grunted loudly. When the men tore off Samantha’s shirt, Gordon’s temper reached a crescendo as he flexed every muscle he had to break away from the restraints.

  Jacques turned to a guard and said, “Give me a set of binoculars.”

  The guard quickly handed him a pair.

  Jacques peered through and cooed with excitement, “Look at those.”