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

by G. Michael Hopf

  Knowing there wouldn’t be a response, he called out anyway, “Gordon!”

  Jameson came in behind him, stopped, and said, “I’ll head upstairs.”

  Sebastian just nodded and continued to walk through the lower part of the house. The floor was covered with smashed decorative items; candles, toys, dishes, and glass was everywhere. One thing specifically caught his eye, and he hobbled over to it; seeing it upset him more than he’d been in a long time. He grunted as he bent down and picked up the paper. His eyes filled when he saw the handwriting was Haley’s. Tears ran down his face and dripped onto the coloring page when he read that it was “to uncle seebastan, from haley.”

  He remembered she gave him this the last time he was there. She ran to him, like she always did, so happy, so full of life. He reflected on how he was proud of her, but he also remembered rushing off to say hello to Gordon. How foolish he felt now. If he could be there again, he would hold her and kiss her and tell her she was the best. He thought of how we take things for granted; just the pure gift of love from a child is amazing. Children want to give you the most precious thing that life has, and that is time. The tears kept coming, he couldn’t control them. He didn’t want to take another step; he was afraid of what he’d find.

  “Sebastian!” Jameson called out from upstairs.

  He turned and shook his head. “No, no, please, God, don’t do this,” he softly said to himself.

  “Sebastian!”

  “Yeah,” he answered, clearing his throat. He wiped the tears, folded the coloring page, and put it into his cargo pocket.

  “Nothing up here, sorry.”

  “Okay.”

  Taking a moment to get his head straight, Sebastian headed farther into the home. Nothing but overturned furniture and debris. Finally he found himself in Gordon’s office. The room was a mess. Papers were all over; the drawers of the desk had been removed and emptied onto the floor. He took one of the ends of a crutch and attempted to sort through the inch-deep stack of papers and other items. Frustrated, he asked, Where are you?

  Jameson’s loud footsteps caught his attention; Sebastian stepped out of the office and ran into him.

  “Hey, I saw two people outside, down the street, looked like kids.”

  Jameson rushed toward the front door. Sebastian was close behind him doing the best he could do on crutches.

  “Did you see anyone?” Jameson asked Willis upon exiting the house.

  “No.”

  Sebastian came out and asked, “Where did you see them?”

  “That way,” Jameson responded, pointing to their right. “They were running in the direction we came in.”

  “Jump in,” Sebastian ordered.

  They turned the truck around and headed toward the kids.

  After spending almost twenty minutes looking for any signs of the kids or anyone else left in the community, the men were about to give up when Jameson yelled out, “Over there, to our right. I saw them. They’re running toward the large park.”

  Willis sped up and took a hard right turn in front of the large central park.

  “Straight ahead,” Jameson screamed.

  From behind a row of parked cars two kids started running toward the park. Their clothes were tattered and hung from their lean bodies.

  “Stop the truck!” Sebastian commanded.

  “Why?” Willis asked.

  “Stop the truck!” he yelled again.

  Willis slammed on the brakes, causing Jameson to hit his head against the rear window.

  “The kids are running because they’re obviously scared. Look around you, no one is here. Everyone left, and somehow they were left behind. They must have seen what happened here. They probably think we’re bad guys,” Sebastian explained.

  “You’re right,” Willis admitted.

  Sebastian opened the door and stepped out. He walked to the edge of the expansive park and hollered, “We won’t hurt you! I’m a Marine. Everything is fine now, we’re here to help.”

  No response.

  “My name is Corporal Van Zandt with the Marine Corps, and we’re here to help. Everything will be okay. I promise we won’t hurt you,” he pleaded. He scanned the area. It was hard to know where the children had gone. The park was the size of three football fields. Large eucalyptus trees shaded the edges; tucked in each corner were tables and barbecues, and a single playground lay silent in the corner closest to Sebastian.

  Jameson came up alongside Sebastian rubbing his head. “We’re going to have to leave soon,” he said.

  Looking up at the darkening sky, Sebastian responded, “I know, but we should try to help those kids. Go that way and I’ll go this way. I saw them last over there, so cut through the park and I’ll walk alongside the edge, near the road,” Sebastian said pointing.

  Jameson acknowledged and started walking briskly across the dead grass in the direction of the large pile of debris.

  Sebastian hobbled along on the edge and kept hollering out to the kids. His arms were beginning to feel the fatigue and pain of walking with crutches. The wind had changed, and the smell of the smoldering pile wafted over him. When it first hit him, he thought it was odd; his nostrils filled with the stench of burnt meat.

  “Sebastian! Sebastian!” Jameson screamed.

  Sebastian pivoted and looked at Jameson, who was standing near the pile. “What is it?”

  “I think I found everybody!”

  A look of utter shock washed over Sebastian as he realized that the fifteen-foot-high, thirty-foot-long pile was what was left of the residents of Rancho Valentino.

  Tijuana, Mexico

  “How do I know you’ll honor our arrangement?” Pablo asked the unknown voice on the satellite phone. He was pacing the large parlor of his father’s house. Beads of sweat rolled down his temples. He had conducted many deals in his life but not one this large. “I know we’ve known each other for a long time, but . . . Yes, I know. I will have the gold when you arrive. What would the time frame be for arrival?”

  The heavy brass door handle on the main door always made a mechanical sound when turned. That sound now echoed into the room.

  Pablo turned nervously to see who was coming.

  In stepped an older but finely dressed woman. She was short, no more than five foot two, with black hair that was pulled back and pinned up. Long golden earrings dangled from her ears, and a large diamond ring adorned the index finger of her petite left hand.

  “Excuse me,” she softly said to Pablo after noticing he was on the phone.

  As she was retreating, he waved her to come back in. “Everything sounds in order. I’ll expect to see you in two weeks’ time then. Thank you.” He touched a button on the phone and placed it into his pocket. “Good evening, Mother, please come sit with me,” Pablo said, pointing to a large sofa in the center of the room. He walked over and sat down.

  “Are you sure? You look busy,” she asked, hesitant.

  “All done. Please, come sit with me. I don’t get to see you much,” he begged, tapping the seat on the sofa next to him.

  “If you insist. I just know how busy you and your father can be,” she said as she walked over.

  “How has Father been? He and I don’t talk much. What I mean is we don’t talk about personal things much. I’m worried about him, he looks stressed.”

  “You know your father, all business. He’s been that way since the day I met him.”

  “Yes, I know. Ever since I can remember he was always working and always on the phone.”

  “Not unlike you, though, I would say,” she quipped. She reached over and patted his leg.

  “Like father, like son, they say.” He smiled. “I just worry about him, all this stress and at his age. It can’t be good.”

  “Ha, listen, Pablo. Your father will die with a phone in this hand, a glass of scotch in this hand, and a cigar in his mouth. If you’re insinuating that he should retire, it won’t happen. The only one he’ll listen to about retiring will be the good
Lord,” she joked. “You know what’s funny? Even when he’s standing at the pearly gates with Saint Peter, he’ll ask for a phone.”

  “What’s happened, all of this that has happened around the world. This is above Father’s head.” Pablo’s tone changed. He sat up and turned to face his mother. “I’m worried that he doesn’t understand the opportunity we have, the responsibility we have as a ruling family to change the course of events.”

  His mother cocked her head and listened to him intently.

  “I see this new world and our place in it. What Father sees is the old world. Instead of stepping out of the shadows and taking our place as a leader, he still operates behind the scenes, making backroom deals to have the electricity restored. There is more out there; now is the time to take control, real control.”

  “Sweetheart, you have always been a dreamer. You are the passionate one who looked up in awe at the stars and asked why. Your father is not that man; it is because he was born with nothing. I will defend him by saying this: What you have around you is because of him. You had the privilege of looking up at the stars; you had no concerns as a boy growing up. He didn’t have that; he had to fight for everything.

  “You might be right that this is a new world and things have changed, but I still trust that your father will know how to take care of this family. I’m sorry if what I’m telling you isn’t what you wanted to hear, but it’s true. Go, talk to him. Tell him what you see. He’s a smart man. If you can convince him that our place as a family is somewhere else, then he will do it. I have known him for thirty years; there is one thing your father is not, and that is a fool. He calculates everything and doesn’t make rash decisions. Take your time and present to him your plan,” she said pointedly. She reached over to touch his hand, but Pablo pulled it away.

  This had been the second time in three days that he had presented his case, and both times it had been rejected. His mother didn’t even want to know what his plan was. Just knowing that Alfredo wasn’t interested was enough for her to side with him. Pablo stood up and walked toward the large window.

  “I see that I’ve upset you, and for that, I’m sorry. It was not my intention to hurt you, but I have to agree with whatever your father says. He has given me so much. I lived a life of poverty not unlike his. I knew what it meant to be truly hungry. When he looked into my eyes and promised me that I’d never know poverty again, he kept that promise. I want you two to work together, but I won’t have you make me take sides against my husband,” she finished. She stood and walked up behind Pablo.

  He didn’t turn around or respond to what she’d said. He just looked out the window.

  She placed her hand gently on his shoulder and rubbed his back.

  A moment of uncomfortable silence fell between them.

  Finally realizing he was being immature and impatient with his mother, Pablo reached back and grabbed her hand with a gentle firmness. He turned toward her and said, “I know Father is a good and wise man. I will do my part as a dutiful son and support what he needs. I will be more patient, and if I have ideas, I will strive to ensure those plans don’t collide with the overall goal for our family. Thank you,” he said, then placed his hand on her face and kissed her forehead. “I now need to go, I have things to do.”

  She embraced him and kissed his cheek. “Go about your day.”

  After their embrace Pablo immediately marched toward the door and left the room. He pulled the phone out of his pocket and hit the redial button.

  Moments later the unknown voice answered, “Hello.”

  Pablo didn’t respond. He paused as his attention was drawn to a portrait of Porfirio Díaz, the Mexican president from 1876 to 1911.

  During President Díaz’s tenure, Mexico had realized what some called its Golden Age. It prospered and was an economic superpower that rivaled European nations. His presidency didn’t go without criticism, as he is also known as a dictator who imprisoned his political foes and kept a tight noose on the electoral process. But Pablo respected him and saw in himself the same talents, abilities, and aspirations.

  “Hello?” the voice on the phone asked again.

  “Yes, sorry. I will increase the amount by twenty percent if you can deliver a week early. Can that be done?”

  “We can do that.”

  “Great, and I’ll make sure my father is there when you arrive. I want him to see the surprise I have for him,” Pablo said, then hung up the phone.

  JANUARY 12, 2014

  “The pessimist complains about the wind, the optimist expects it to change; the realist adjusts his sails.”

  – William Arthur Ward

  Cheyenne Mountain, CO

  Cruz quickly glanced into Julia’s room through the small window in the door. She lay silent, her back toward him. He couldn’t tell if she was asleep or not.

  “Excuse me, sir,” Weatherby said, after clearing his throat.

  “Ah, yes. Thank you for coming down,” Cruz said, quickly turning around. He felt a bit like he had just been caught peeping on someone.

  “No, thank you, sir. You obviously received my message.”

  “Yes, yes, I did. So, she still hasn’t given approval for the procedure?”

  “No, sir, and now it’s critical we do something about this or she risks dying. I can’t stress—”

  “I understand, Doctor. Let me see if I can convince her,” Cruz said, cutting off Weatherby.

  “Please, inform her this is now a critical time.”

  “I will, Doctor, thank you.” Cruz stood with his hands on his hips. He turned and knocked on the door. He again glanced through the window; still no movement from the first lady. Not wanting to waste time, he opened the door and walked in. The air in the room was warm and had a strong medicinal smell. Cruz disliked hospitals. For him they represented death. His first childhood memories of hospitals were of visiting his dying grandparents. Between the ages of eight and sixteen, he had helped take three of his grandparents to the hospital but never took them home. Even when he was with his wife at the birth of his children, he always had a bad feeling. Somewhere, whether down the hall or from outside, he’d hear the sounds of sirens or doctors being summoned to care for a person who was near death. He thought that even now, he was about to convince his best friend’s wife to undergo an emergency surgery or face death.

  “Julia, are you awake?” he asked softly. He could see her body move ever so slightly from her breathing. When he reached the side of the bed and looked down, he saw that she was awake. Her eyes were wide open; she was just blankly staring at the far wall. He extended his arm to touch her, but just before he could she turned her head.

  “Hi, Andrew. I know why you’re here.” Her face was pale, almost lifeless. “You don’t need to come convince me. I’ve already made the decision.”

  “I’m so glad to hear. We should get you in right away.”

  “Not yet. Please sit down.”

  Cruz looked around for a chair, then grabbed it and pulled it over next to the bed. “How are you?” he asked, then shook his head. “Sorry, that’s a stupid question. This whole thing is horrible.”

  Her frail hand reached out and touched his arm. She gently squeezed it.

  Their eyes locked. He had not seen her in this condition before. She had been through so much since the attacks almost seven weeks ago. First she lost her son, then lived through the turmoil of the attacks, Brad’s disappearance, and now this, the loss of her unborn baby.

  “Andrew, please be honest with me. Do you think Brad is dead?”

  The question shocked him. Because he was a politician, many ways to answer her ran through his mind. He just stared at her, not knowing how to respond. Deep down he held out hope, but he felt that Brad was probably gone for good. If he told her this now, how would she receive it? Was she just looking for a bit of good or inspiring news to keep her spirits up?

  She noticed his hesitation and reassured him by again squeezing his arm. “Andrew, just tell me. I’m aski
ng because I want to go into this procedure knowing if you think my husband is dead. I am owed that at least. Please.”

  “Julia, things don’t look good; but I still hold out hope. The news we received from the special ops team did discourage me, I won’t lie. I promise you again, I will still keep looking.”

  “Once a politician, always a politician. You guys just can’t give a straight answer. For God’s sakes, Andrew. I asked you a simple question. Never mind, please leave me alone.” Julia rolled back onto her side, facing away from him.

  Cruz knew he was attempting to walk a fine line in his answer. He knew what he thought, but expressing that could mean the difference between her having hope and just giving up on everything, including herself. The struggle to open up to her was difficult. He then asked himself if he couldn’t have the strength to talk openly with a friend, how could he lead a country. “Julia, I’m sorry. I know you need a straight answer. Yes, I think he’s alive. I’m not hoping. I know he’s out there, and I won’t rest till I find him and bring him home.”

  A moment passed before she rolled back to face him and said, “You really think so?”

  He reached out and touched her hand and said, “Yes, I do.”

  A tear formed in her left eye and slid down the side of her face. “Thank you, Andrew. Please go tell the doctor I’m ready when he is for the operation.”

  Cruz stood without hesitation and left the room. After the door closed, he leaned his full weight against it. Fatigued from his brief conversation, he reflected. He admired those who could be open and honest without a second thought. Deep down it was something he knew was right, but it wasn’t something he could do with her. His political career was not unlike others, all politicians had an unspoken rule: “The truth, while preferable, always takes second place to getting what you want.”

  San Diego, California

  The failure to find Gordon and his family was at the forefront of Sebastian’s mind. Visions of them being burned along with the others haunted his thoughts. He refused to believe they’d perished; he knew Gordon was too smart and would have left before that had happened. The discovery of the remains was frightening nonetheless. Each body was stacked on top of the others like wood. The fire that had consumed them must have been intense because the flesh was burned off and only bones remained.