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

by G. Michael Hopf

  “Mrs. Conner. How are you today?”

  “I’m fine, Doctor. Just bored.”

  “Can I get you something?”

  “I already asked the nurse to find me something to read.”

  “Good, good. Let’s see here.” The doctor looked at her chart and then said, “As you know, everything came out okay. All we want to do now is monitor you for a day or so. Any questions?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll remind the nurse about finding you something to read,” the doctor said, then promptly left the room.

  When the door closed a second time, Julia said out loud, “Mr. Personality there.”

  Nurse Belicheck returned fifteen minutes later with a stack of magazines.

  “I scavenged and found these. I hope you’re fine with them?”

  “Oh, thank you so much. Hey, listen, I’m sorry about the questions earlier.”

  “Don’t be. I’m just upset about my family is all,” she said, looking sad. “If there’s anything else I can get you, let me know.”

  “Thank you.”

  Julia began looking at the magazines.

  “She really did scavenge for these,” Julia said out loud. There was a vast assortment here. She fingered through the pile and tossed out the ones she didn’t want. Aside went Men’s Health. Aside went Guns & Ammo. Aside went Wired. She stopped when she saw the cover of Time magazine. Her hand went to the picture of Brad on the cover. She looked at the date: July 8, 2013. Below his picture the line read, “Will 2016 be his year?”

  She chuckled to herself recalling the photo shoot and interview they both went through before the article was written. The camera crews, makeup people, and the pretentious writer who visited their Washington, D.C., home that day were torture. She took it all in stride, though, as it was part of the job. As she thumbed through the magazine to find the article, she passed over ads promoting health-care products, pet medicine, makeup, real estate in Tennessee, and insurance. The magazine was so full of advertising for things that everyday people thought were important then. So often people never think something bad can happen to them.

  She remembered how full-circle events went for Brad. He had always been very hawkish about defense. People think politicians don’t talk politics when they go home or go out, but they do. Many times Brad would want to discuss the happenings on Capitol Hill with her, but she refused to listen after a few years. She was so tired of the endless fighting and infighting, the petty politics and agendas. She played her part as the dutiful wife and was willing and ready to assume her role as the first lady if it ever came to that, but she never thought it would happen like it did.

  After September 11, Brad felt his worldview had been vindicated. He knew that something would happen stateside, and when it did he didn’t waste time pronouncing that he had predicted it. At that time he was only the majority whip, but his ambition was not short-lived. When his boss, Speaker Canning, retired, he ran and won the speakership. He held that position until the attacks came and washed him onto the shores of the presidency. It was something he had thought about, but he could never have even guessed it would have been through the line of presidential succession. The question about his running had come up in the interview that hot and humid July day, but it all seemed so weird now for her. It seemed like a different life, and in many ways it was.

  Julia wondered where all those people were who had put this magazine together. Where was the young writer / interviewer? Was she alive? Julia remembered that she lived in the D.C. metro area. Did she perish in the nuclear strike on the city? All those people in her house that day. She didn’t talk to most of them, and now many of them were probably dead. It felt so odd. The circumstances had taken them out of harm’s way and saved their lives. If Bobby hadn’t been in a car accident, then she and Brad would have died. It was as if Bobby dying had saved their lives.

  Julia was having the hardest time distracting herself from these dark thoughts. Wanting not to be reminded for a moment of her situation, she tossed the magazine aside and began to seek something that would feed her mind nothing but entertainment. But it was too hard; even when she picked up the People magazine and saw the photo of a celebrity couple and the headline about their most recent breakup, she couldn’t help but think of the event. Anything she picked up was a reminder of what was or what had been lost. Frustrated, she pushed all the magazines off the bed and lay back.

  “Where are you, Brad?” she asked out loud. Thoughts of where he might be ran through her mind. Are you wounded? Who has you? Why have they taken you? Then the thought that she kept at bay for so long crept back into her mind: Are you dead? If Brad truly was dead, then none of this made sense and her going on made no sense. If she were to get confirmation that he was dead, she wondered if she’d have the strength to end her own life.

  San Diego, California

  “How do you plan on getting to Zion?” Sebastian asked. He had been invited to eat breakfast with Sorenson and didn’t want to waste time with casual chitchat.

  “Ha! Why not at least take a bite of some of eggs and enjoy your breakfast before we get into the heavy conversation,” the bishop quipped.

  “Sorry. I have been waiting to ask you since we last talked. I hope you know I can help with the planning and route.”

  Not looking at Sebastian, Sorenson cut his fried eggs and began dipping his bacon in the runny yolk. Holding the dripping bacon, he answered, “I realize you’re an asset, and I would like to share with you our plan. Why don’t we sit down later today and go over it? I’m hoping you’ll give me some insight into what we should do.”

  Sebastian perked up with that comment. “Thank you. I look forward to it,” he replied. He’d just begun to dig into his food when the screen door opened and the two boys stepped in.

  Both continued to hang their heads low as they sat down at the large dinner table.

  “Good morning, boys,” Sorenson said cheerily.

  Both mumbled, “Morning,” as each took a seat.

  “Did you boys sleep well?” Sorenson asked. He was clearly attempting to engage them in conversation.

  “Yeah,” Brandon said.

  “Yes, sir,” Luke replied.

  Brandon picked up his fork and began to cut his eggs.

  “Uh, don’t you say grace before you eat?” Sorenson asked.

  His question made Brandon pause a moment, but then he continued cutting his eggs.

  Luke put his fork down and answered, “Yes, sir, we, aah, I mean I used to.”

  “Please go ahead,” Sorenson implored the boy.

  Luke looked nervous. He looked at Brandon, who had impolitely ignored the bishop. He then sheepishly looked at Sebastian, who raised his eyebrows then winked at him.

  “Um,” Luke blurted out, not knowing what to say.

  “Brandon, how about a little courtesy?” Sorenson reprimanded.

  Tossing his fork onto the now-empty plate, Brandon shot back, “I’m done anyway.” He stood quickly, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and left.

  Sorenson just watched Brandon. He wasn’t shocked by his behavior. He knew the boy had been through a lot and his actions were most likely the result of PTSD.

  Luke watched in fear as Brandon left the room. He again started his prayer but stopped.

  Sebastian could not only see but feel the awkwardness oozing out of the boy.

  Sorenson just waited for the boy to try again.

  Not wanting Luke to feel tortured anymore, Sebastian said a quick prayer. When he was done, Sorenson thanked him. Luke, feeling a weight lifted, began to eat his breakfast.

  “So, who do you think killed these people in your brother’s community?” Sorenson asked Sebastian.

  “Luke here has been a big help. He mentioned a group called the Villistas, some type of former Mexican drug cartel. Apparently they have been going from community to community, almost house to house, killing and looting. As we found, they are ruthless. This is one of the main reasons why I wanted to talk
about your route and about trying to expedite the trip. If we can, we need to leave ASAP.”

  “Villistas, huh? Mexican drug cartel? Well, I agree, Sebastian, we need to get going, but not before we’re ready.”

  “What are you waiting for?”

  “We need some more cars for the trip.”

  “I see. Well, what can I do to help?”

  “Not much on the outside with your bum leg, but we are close. We need three more cars; then we’ll have enough to caravan everyone out of here with all of our supplies.”

  “Can I suggest something? I know it might be kinda harsh and I’m guilty of it. That might be a bad word to use, but I did it as well. Stop taking in people,” Sebastian said. He took a moment to glance at Luke. His comment didn’t provoke a response.

  “I hear the earthly and pragmatic side of you coming out, but we will take more children in if God puts them in front of us.”

  “But with what I saw at my brother’s community, we may not have much time. We need to get those cars and go.”

  “Your urgency is noted and we are in agreement that it is now time to leave, but for the time being we must keep looking for more cars, and if other children in need show up, we will take them in.”

  Knowing that pressing the bishop wouldn’t work, Sebastian decided to drop the debate. “Can I help with the perimeter security? I used to be a sniper.”

  “I don’t see why not. I will have one of the men give you my old Winchester Model seventy. I think you’ll appreciate that,” Sorenson answered the eager Sebastian.

  The screen door sprang open and in came one of Sorenson’s men. He was sweating and out of breath.

  “Bishop, we have more people at the gate.”

  “How many?” Sorenson asked.

  “Too many to count.”

  Sorenson wiped his mouth off with a napkin and stood up.

  Sebastian followed, hobbling on one leg until he reached his crutches.

  Sorenson wasted no time leaving the house.

  Before he could follow, Sebastian turned to Luke and asked, “You want to come?”

  “Sure,” the boy said, jumping up.

  They both proceeded to the main gate.

  The sound of what must have been dozens of people resonated off the brick wall that lined the drive and the iron gate that stood between them and the outside world.

  Sebastian moved as fast as someone could on crutches. He cursed with each step, frustrated by his injury.

  Ahead of him Sorenson was standing on top of one of their trucks. It was parked behind the gate and provided a platform for him to see what was happening.

  The people outside were begging for him to open the gate and let them in. Even with all the death, there were still hundreds of thousands of San Diegans alive and on the hunt for more food and a safe place. During times like this, rumors were the only source of information. Rumors had spread that the Mormon community had plenty of food and other resources. The group now at the gate were people from the bishop’s surrounding area.

  Sebastian couldn’t make out the back-and-forth between the group and Sorenson until he reached the truck where the bishop stood.

  “People, everyone, please stop yelling!” Sorenson called back to the unruly group. With every surge the gate bowed in and hit the side of the truck Sorenson was perched on.

  “People, please calm down!” the bishop yelled.

  The only response he received was multiple people yelling, “Let us in! We know you have food! We are starving!”

  Sebastian knew what people were capable of when their only choices left were finding food or starving. This situation could easily escalate and spill over into their little sanctuary.

  He looked at the three armed guards present, all of them appearing apprehensive and unsure.

  Sorenson’s plea for calm wasn’t working. These people wanted in. They were hungry and desperate.

  With everyone’s focus on the gate, nobody saw a few in the group climb the fence about thirty feet away.

  “Help!” the wife of one of Sorenson’s followers screamed from the barn that sat adjacent to the fence.

  Sebastian turned and saw a man grabbing her and yelling, while two others ran into the barn.

  Sebastian was not fazed by the sight of chaos. After his several months in Afghanistan, his mind was sharp. He hopped over to one of the guards and demanded his handgun. The guard, a middle-aged man, complied without hesitation.

  Sebastian nestled the pistol in his waistband and moved as fast as his crutches would take him toward the barn.

  “Hey you, stop!” he yelled at the man who was shaking the woman.

  The man looked up, let the woman go, and ran into the barn.

  The barn was a single-story building with a high ceiling. It provided stalls for the few horses that Sorenson had. It now also served as a storage area for supplies his groups brought back from their runs outside.

  A crashing sound caught Sebastian’s attention to his right near the fence. Two more men had jumped over. One was heading toward the guesthouse and the other toward the main house. The situation was quickly deteriorating. Sorenson was still attempting to calm the group at the gate, and his guards were now nervously pointing their guns at them.

  Sebastian’s instincts told him to just start shooting these people, but his conscience wouldn’t allow him. Ignoring the two outsiders, he pressed on toward the barn. He needed to protect what supplies they had.

  The three men inside the dusty barn weren’t trying to be discreet; all were ripping apart packages and eating like wild animals. Their attention was only on the food in front of them; their hunger had transformed them into caricatures of human beings.

  Sebastian dropped his right crutch, grabbed the grip of the pistol in his waistband, and pulled it out. He pointed it at the unaware men and yelled, “Stop. Just stop what you’re doing and leave!”

  The men stopped instantly and focused on him. They all looked middle-aged. Smears of dirt covered their unshaven and darkly tanned faces.

  Time slowed down for Sebastian like it always did when he was faced with a life-or-death scenario. He had the gun trained on the man closest to him but was looking at each one carefully to see if any of them had a gun.

  The man furthest from him bolted toward the back of the barn. His quick movement startled Sebastian briefly.

  The other two men continued to stare at Sebastian; both were unsure what to do. The one closest to him finally spoke up. “Hey, listen, we’re hungry. You have plenty here.” He motioned with his arms to the large cache of food before them.

  “This is ours and you need to leave now,” Sebastian firmly ordered.

  The man who had spoken looked at the other. They locked eyes and then turned their attention back to Sebastian.

  Only ten feet at the most separated them from him. If they ran, Sebastian would let them go, but if they took a step toward him, he would have no choice but to shoot them.

  “Come on, man. Let us take some of this food with us to feed our families,” the other man said.

  “I can’t let you do that. I need you two to leave, now,” Sebastian said louder.

  The tension in the air was thick. The men’s hunger, coupled with their basic human instincts, was telling them not to move. What sat before them meant survival if they could keep it.

  The sounds from outside were giving Sebastian a picture that things were now collapsing. He needed to do something about these two so he could address the pandemonium in the compound.

  A shot cracked behind the men. Sebastian saw the telltale muzzle flash but couldn’t see who had shot. What he did see was the man closest to him clutch his chest. The bullet had entered his back and exited his sternum. He fell to the ground, dead.

  The other man, unsure of what to do, dropped to his knees and begged for his life. His pleas were short-lived as another shot silenced him forever. The bullet ripped a gaping hole in his head. The man fell face first into the boxes of food.
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br />   Sebastian still couldn’t see who was shooting, but because the two men were the targets, he assumed whoever it was was on his side.

  “Who’s there?” Sebastian called.

  Out of the shadows stepped Brandon, holding Sebastian’s M9 Beretta pistol.

  “Brandon?” Sebastian gasped.

  “I took care of what you couldn’t, obviously,” Brandon said as he stepped over the bodies and walked past Sebastian toward the front doors.

  Sebastian just stood in awe of what he had witnessed. He’d seen many things, but never had he seen a child act out in such a vicious way. It unnerved him.

  The scene outside the barn had turned tenuous. Sebastian no longer saw Sorenson. Only two guards were now occupying the main gate, which still held, but the numbers coming over the fence, men and women, were too many for Sorenson’s group to stop. Fortunately for them, none of the people coming over were armed. People were running everywhere. Up at the main house Sebastian could hear glass breaking and more screaming.

  To Sebastian’s left, about fifteen feet away, he saw Brandon walk toward the fence with the pistol and immediately shoot the woman who had just scaled it.

  The sound of the gunshot instantly escalated the chaos. The two guards on the gate, already tense and nervous, let off a volley of fire into the group.

  The yelling from the deranged group turned to screams of horror as the bullets rained down on them.

  Brandon was calmly and diligently walking up to each person who had breached the compound fence and shooting.

  Gunfire soon erupted from the main house, followed by harrowing screams.

  Panic now gripped those who had forced their way in as they realized that the death they were trying to avoid was happening.

  With the main house under siege, Sebastian’s concern for Annaliese spiked.

  “Fucking leg!” he yelled out as he moved as fast as he could.

  More gunfire came from the main house.

  The distance from the barn to the house seemed like a hundred miles.

  People he didn’t recognize came pouring out of the house with arms full of food, followed by Annaliese with a shotgun. She brought the shotgun up, placed it firmly in the pocket of her shoulder, and pulled the trigger. A man no older than twenty was struck in the back by the bird shot. He collapsed to the ground; the food he was carrying spilled out across the dead brown lawn. Annaliese pumped the action of the shotgun and shot again, this time hitting a woman in the back.