The Long Road - A Post Apocalyptic Novel (The New World)

by G. Michael Hopf

  “Lieutenant Wasserman, we’re being shot at, go higher!” Sebastian yelled again.

  No response again, but Wasserman did what Sebastian said. Still looking down, Sebastian could see what appeared to be more men and more flashes, followed by loud panging on the upper fuselage. They kept going higher and higher until the chopper shuddered and dropped, causing a feeling of weightlessness. Sebastian was pushed into the ceiling and hit his head. The chopper regained power and stopped its fall for only a moment before he heard the engine winding down.

  Lying on his back, Sebastian had an uneasy feeling, which grew worse when black smoke entered the chopper from outside. He got to his knees but was thrown down again when the chopper banked hard to the left. He rolled across the floor and slammed into the webbing. He reached out and grabbed it to hold himself; the chopper was now on its side and falling out of the sky. He could see the ground through the open window.

  More shuddering and the engine fired up again; he could hear the blades start to spin. The chopper stabilized but was not far off the ground. He crawled up onto the webbing and looked out the window. They couldn’t be more than two hundred feet from the ground. Fear had gripped Sebastian. He thought that after all the fighting to get home, this was how he would die, and only a few miles from Gordon’s house. He looked outside but did not know where they were.

  “Sir, what’s our game plan?” Sebastian asked.

  “No time to chat, Corporal. We need to try to get this bird back to the Makin Island.”

  “What about me?”

  “Sorry, Corporal. I need to get back if I can.”

  Just then the chopper banked to the left and started to head north.

  Sebastian tore the headset off and tossed it in anger. He lay back against the wall and yelled, “Damn it!”

  They hadn’t flown for two minutes before the same violent shuddering returned. Again, black smoke poured in and the props stopped. Gravity took over, and the chopper dropped. Sebastian held on to his seat and looked at the crew chief, who was busily strapping himself down. Sebastian knew the ground was coming fast, and the anticipation of impact was intense. He wondered how it would feel. He wondered if he would die. Of course, he thought. How many people fall out of the sky in a huge helicopter and walk away?

  The first impact stopped his thoughts. Whatever they hit forced the chopper to turn 120 degrees and jarred Sebastian. He lost his grip and flew to the other side of the chopper. The second impact tipped the rear end up. Sebastian slid across the deck and slammed into the front wall. All he could think they were hitting was large trees; that meant the ground and final impact were close. Dazed, he scrambled to find something stable to hold on to, but his search was futile. The helicopter slammed nose-first into the ground, tipping over onto its back before settling on its side. Remarkably, the chopper was almost intact; the propellers had been sheared off and the fuselage crushed, but it didn’t break in two despite the multiple collisions.

  Sebastian awoke to an unfamiliar face. His vision was blurry, so making out clearly who it was was impossible. A sharp pain shot up from his right leg. He knew he was not okay, but at least he was alive. He blinked repeatedly in the hope that his vision would clear, but it didn’t work.

  “This one is alive!” the person yelled.

  Sebastian tried to speak but couldn’t. He then attempted to move but was met with severe pain. He winced and stopped his attempts at talking and moving.

  “Over here, he needs help, now!” the person said, squatting down next to him.

  Opening his eyes again, Sebastian noticed it was a young woman, her light blond hair pulled back into a long ponytail. He reached toward her face, but she grabbed his hand and brought it back down.

  “Just rest, we’ll take care of you,” she reassured him.

  Sebastian felt safe, but then again, there wasn’t much he could do. He closed his eyes and passed out.

  Barstow, California

  “You can’t be the one who always runs off and does everything! We needed you here. Hunter and Haley needed you!” Samantha screamed at Gordon.

  They were in their trailer; the kids were both lying in bed resting from the earlier ordeal. Gordon had led the convoy farther up the road, then headed across the desert away from the town of Barstow. Adhering to their plan, they circled the vehicles at night. Moving under the cover of darkness might be beneficial, but Gordon felt it was too risky. Even though the attack today had been conducted during daylight hours, traveling during the day allowed them at least the chance to see an ambush or questionable situation. The darkness provided too much cover for those who wished to do harm.

  “Sam, we were being shot at. I saw the machine gun and did what needed to be done. We needed to confirm they were dead.”

  “I understand. But this time, we needed you and you weren’t there. Plus, why did you have them hide in the culvert? Why not take shelter in the trailer with me?”

  “The trailer didn’t provide real protection. In case you didn’t notice, they were showering bullets down on us. I felt the culvert was safe. I obviously didn’t know this group had people hiding in the desert to our right,” Gordon said defensively.

  “All I am saying is that you don’t always have to be the one. What if one of them was killed?”

  “You’re being ridiculous, Sam. If I didn’t do something, more of us might have died. We lost an entire family today, burned alive in their car. I’ll tell you this, I won’t let Hunter go unprotected again,” Gordon said, pacing the short distance in the trailer.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means from now on he will have the tools necessary to defend himself and whoever.”

  “He’s a boy, Gordon!”

  “Not anymore! That is a twentieth-century invention. He’s now a young man and needs to step up!”

  Putting her hand up in a motion to indicate she was done hearing from Gordon, Samantha opened the door and left.

  Gordon just watched her as she slammed the door. He shook his head and tossed the water bottle he had in his hand.

  “Dada?” Haley whispered from her bed.

  Hearing her sweet little voice brought Gordon back from his thoughts. He quickly walked to the rear of trailer and sat on the edge of the bed. Haley sat up, rubbed her eyes, and hugged him.

  “Hi, honey,” he said softly, kissing the top of her head.

  “Can you cuddle me, Dada?”

  “Sure, sweetie” He looked over at Hunter, who was still sleeping. Gordon lay next to Haley and cradled her small body. He kissed her head and rubbed her arms till he could hear the heavier breathing indicating she had fallen back asleep. He then thought about the events of the day. He replayed them over and over. It haunted him that the kids had been directly attacked. He tried to convince himself that he was right, but Samantha’s voice kept echoing in his head. Maybe she was right, he thought. Then again, maybe she was being too impractical. One thing he didn’t want to do was ponder what to do when the shit was hitting the fan. His instincts had gotten them this far. Many conflicting thoughts battled in his mind, but one was constant and nagged him more than anything . . . the thought that he alone couldn’t keep his children safe anymore.

  JANUARY 9, 2014

  “Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.”

  – Khalil Gibran

  San Diego, CA

  The slight breeze felt good on Sebastian’s face. The noise of the wood blinds banging against the windowsill had awakened him. His vision was blurry, so he blinked repeatedly in an attempt to focus. He gazed around the quaintly decorated room. Little tchotchkes adorned the small shelves and tops of all the furniture. Reproductions of well-known oil paintings hung on all the walls. In the air was a faint smell of lavender. When he adjusted himself in the bed, a sharp pain emanated from his right leg. He tossed off the blanket and looked at a tight bandage. He ran his hands across the textured fabric until he found the center of
the pain. Exhaling deeply, he tried to recall how he had arrived where he was. He remembered the chopper crash but not much after. An image of a young woman came to him, then flashes of blood, lots of blood. He must have blacked out again after that, because he couldn’t remember anything else. He glanced around the room looking for his clothes but saw nothing. The shorts he had on were not his, and by the way his wound had been treated and the condition of the room, he assumed those who had rescued him were good people.

  The door opening startled him. He adjusted himself, preparing to meet whoever had rescued him. The door had slowly creaked open not more than nine inches when a child’s head appeared from around it. The boy saw Sebastian awake and staring at him. Shyly, he tucked his head back. Sebastian could hear unintelligible whispering followed by a woman’s voice.

  “You two close that door this minute and get back to your chores.”

  The children listened to the unseen woman and scurried away without closing the door.

  Sebastian sat farther up in the bed and said, “Hello?”

  The door opened fully to reveal the woman; he recognized her face. She was the young blond woman he remembered from the crash site. Now able to see her clearly, he was drawn in by her beauty. She was average height, he guessed around five feet five inches, and slender. Her facial features had a cuteness that he was attracted to. Her long, straight hair was pulled back in a ponytail, revealing her full cheeks, small nose, and pouty lips.

  She stepped into the room and said, “You’re awake. How are you feeling?”

  “Good, good,” he replied. He felt nervous for a reason he could only assume was his attraction to her.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked. She stood at the foot of the bed. She was dressed plainly; a buttoned-up white shirt was tucked into faded jeans.

  “Actually, I am.”

  “Good, I’ll go get some food,” she said, then turned around.

  “Wait, don’t go just yet. I have questions, a lot of questions.”

  “Let’s answer your questions after you get fed, okay?”

  “Sure, that’s fine.”

  Before she left, she approached the bed, put out her hand, and said, “I’m Annaliese.”

  Sebastian took her hand and shook it “I’m—”

  “Corporal Sebastian Van Zandt. I know,” she answered confidently.

  He looked oddly at her, not knowing how she knew his name.

  Pointing at his chest, she said, “Your dog tags.”

  “Of course.”

  “Unless you need something else besides your questions answered, I’ll go and get your food.”

  He found her abundance of confidence and maturity attractive. She didn’t look as if she could be any older than twenty-five, but he could tell by their minimal conversation that she was wiser than her peers.

  As she stepped toward the door he said, “I know you’ll answer my questions later, but where am I?”

  “You’re in Bishop Sorenson’s house.”

  “Who’s Bishop Sorenson?”

  “He’s my father, and you’ll meet him very soon.”

  40 miles east of Barstow, California

  “Here, take this,” Gordon said to Hunter, handing him a small .38-caliber revolver.

  Hunter looked stunned. He hadn’t expected this when his father pulled him aside to talk.

  Gordon and the group had awakened early to start their journey east toward Las Vegas. He strove to stay far away from major cities, but the best improved route took them very close to Vegas. While they were deciding the route, Gordon had spotted Fort Irwin on the map. Thinking they might find something worth value if the base was accessible, he planned to recon it. Nelson disagreed with this approach, thinking they needed to keep heading toward Idaho. Nelson argued that they had plenty of food, water, ammunition, and weapons to make the trip. But Gordon had an ally in Holloway, who helped him outvote Nelson. Making it a point never to leave anything behind of value, he had gone back and stripped his attackers from yesterday.

  The handgun he was giving Hunter came from one of those men.

  Hunter looked at the gun he was now holding. Even though it was a compact model, it appeared large in his hands. He flipped the gun back and forth, looking nervous. He knew how strict his dad was about gun handling.

  “It’s a revolver, so all you have to do is point and squeeze the trigger. If for some reason it doesn’t shoot, squeeze the trigger again,” Gordon instructed him.

  “I want a gun like yours,” Hunter said, pointing at Gordon’s holstered handgun.

  “Later, once you have more training. Revolvers are simple. If you had to troubleshoot a malfunction with a semiauto, you could get into trouble. For right now, this will do,” Gordon said, tussling Hunter’s hair.

  “Thanks, Dad,” Hunter said. He then pointed the gun toward the open desert and closed his left eye. He took aim at an abandoned car and pretended to shoot it.

  “Hunter, having this is a big responsibility. Do you understand?”

  Nodding, Hunter replied, “Yes.”

  Gordon squatted down so he could look his son in the eyes. He grabbed both shoulders and said, “Things are different now; this isn’t the world of almost seven weeks ago. In this world we can’t play games anymore. You’re now a man, and you need to act like one. I need you to truly understand this.”

  “I do, Dad.”

  “Listen, Son, you need to always look after your little sister. I don’t know what the future holds, but if something happens to me, you become the man of the family. The toys need to be put away. I will be giving you responsibilities within our group, okay?”

  “I understand, and I’ll make you proud of me.”

  Gordon looked into his son’s eyes. He could remember the day he was born. Hunter was always so alert, even at birth. He wasn’t seconds old and Gordon remembered him looking out of his swaddling clothes with fascination in his eyes. Of course, this was how Gordon remembered it, and a parent’s love for his children always makes them seem more than they might actually be. Gordon brought him in closer and hugged him tightly.

  “I love you, Hunter.”

  “I love you too, Dad.”

  Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado

  Cruz placed the receiver down on the phone’s base and stared at it. Thoughts were pulsating so rapidly through his mind that he didn’t move except for the blinking of his eyes and the throbbing of his temple. He was alone in the command post briefing room. Like Conner before him, he hadn’t asked for this job, it was thrust upon him. The events that had led him to this once-coveted position now grew darker and more complex.

  All decisions have consequences, and the decisions that Conner had made as president were coming back to haunt him. Conner’s nuclear strikes across the globe had finally come home to roost. First, they were starting to register environmental issues. Higher levels of radiation had been showing up in the rains that fell across the country. The estimates from some were that the blasts from D.C., New York, and now the more than a dozen large nuclear strikes would make global temperatures drop by two degrees centigrade. This could be enough to cause further degradation to any crops that the survivors would be planting. They had stopped global warming with a small nuclear winter.

  The second issue Cruz was facing was abandonment by all nations that had previously pledged their support. The last to drop its support was Australia. He had resorted to begging the prime minister, but nothing would work. The overall consensus from the nations not affected by the EMPs was to pull all support to the United States. As if scripted, they all expressed dismay that Conner would unilaterally attack all of those countries with massive nuclear strikes without regard for civilians. Conner had briefed all leaders of state but only after the weapons had reached their targets. He felt he couldn’t trust anyone after New York had been struck.

  Cruz’s feelings were mixed; he’d supported Conner’s decision then, especially after the incident with Griswald, but had reservations he hadn’t s
hared with his old friend. Cruz only now appreciated the pressure that Conner was under. It’s easy to judge and second-guess those in charge, but when the ball stops with you, the responsibility can become overwhelming. The situation the country found itself in now was hard for him to get his arms around. He didn’t know where to start. Conner was gone, most likely dead, but a body hadn’t been found. The limited number of troops they had made a search for him impossible. Cruz believed that Conner had been right about setting up a new capital to show the American people that the country was rebuilding, but he couldn’t decide if he should do it now or wait to find out the true fate of the president.

  Everything was a mess, but he had found good counsel in the new secretary of defense, General Samuel Baxter, the commanding officer of Cheyenne Mountain. Baxter was the typical career officer. He was a graduate of the Air Force Academy, smart, quick-witted, and honest in his assessments. This honesty had cost him some positions. The command of Cheyenne Mountain was actually considered a demotion for him. Since the end of the Cold War, Cheyenne Mountain had been considered a relic that still received funding only because some of the “old dogs” in Washington insisted. Now it was the de facto capital of the United States and sanctuary for what was left of the centralized command and control.

  Picking up the phone again, Cruz dialed and sat patiently waiting for the person on the other end to answer.

  “General, I need you and the rest of the staff to report to the briefing room ASAP.”

  Cruz relaxed into the leather chair and looked at the walls. He spun around and faced a map of the United States, staring at the red lines drawn around parts of the country. These lines represented areas now considered contaminated. The red lines on the right side of the map connected and overlapped. From east of the Mississippi, many regions fell into contaminated areas. With the two nuclear strikes and dozens of meltdowns from Florida to New Hampshire, this part of the country was now being considered a total loss.