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

by G. Michael Hopf

  Sebastian’s hesitation to shoot these people now subsided. Finally, after seeing Annaliese, he knew this was about survival. The rules had changed, and he’d better change too. He stopped, raised his pistol, and shot a man coming near him. He then took aim on another, then another, then another.

  San Ysidro, California (10 miles south of San Diego)

  Pablo grabbed the man by his hair and lifted his head. He stared into the dark brown eyes of the man who once was a Villista comrade.

  Tears, sweat, and blood covered the man’s face. He attempted to say something, but his broken jaw distorted the words as they fell from his mouth.

  “I sent word days ago to stop the brutal attacks on civilians. I gave very, very specific instructions about how our people were to conduct themselves in my absence,” Pablo whispered loudly into the man’s ear.

  The man was one of five lieutenants Pablo had working for him in San Diego. Pablo had the Villistas grouped in five divisions by geography. Those divisions were then broken down into smaller and smaller units. For all intents and purposes, Pablo had created a chain of command with which to maintain control over his group. When his father called him back to Mexico, he had given detailed instructions that the harsh attacks, the murders, rapes, and other brutality the group had been carrying out had to cease.

  Pablo found it odd that his father had such criticism of his actions with the Villistas, as his father was not known to be easy on his opponents. However, his father believed in a code, and that meant innocents were not to be harmed. Your enemies, by contrast, played the game and knew the consequences.

  Pablo looked at the man he had just spent the last hour torturing and beating. This man played the game, so any treatment he received was to be expected.

  Gripping the man’s black, sweaty hair tightly, Pablo slammed his face into the table he was sitting in front of. The man let out a groan. Pablo let go of the man, who out of total exhaustion and pain slumped in his chair, blood oozing from his mouth and nose.

  Pablo grabbed a towel from the table and began to wipe off his hands. As he wiped he started to pace the room. A row of four other men stood a few feet away, their arms tied behind their backs. They were flanked by several armed men. Each man had the look of deeply held fear. They knew that they were about to experience what the man in front of them had just gone through.

  “I leave for a short period of time and when I’m gone you think you can defy my clear orders. You think that you can do what you want,” Pablo said loudly. He tossed the soiled towel back on the table and grabbed a bottle of water. “This torture business works up quite a thirst,” he said after taking a long drink. He stepped up slowly to the first man in the row and looked into his eyes.

  “José, I’ve known you for a long time. I trusted you, and this is how you repay me? You disobey me?”

  “Patrón, please. I’m sorry. I won’t . .”

  “Silence!” Pablo yelled at José. He then continued. “Timing and patience are essential in what we want to accomplish. You were all my trusted division leaders. I thought we would conquer this country together. But alas, I was wrong. What’s that stupid American saying, ‘When the cat’s away the mice will play.’ You played, but what you didn’t realize was that you were playing with your own lives.” Suddenly he stepped away from them, grabbed a machete lying on the table, and swung it at the man slumped in the chair. With precision and force, he cut off his head. The man’s head hit the floor with a loud thud and rolled so his lifeless face stared at Pablo.

  Two of the other men began to plead for their lives, another started throwing up, and the last man just stood stoically, seemingly reconciled to his fate. Pablo tossed the machete on the table, reached down, and picked up the man’s head. He walked over to the four others and said, “This is what happens to those who disobey! José, you’re next!”

  Two other guards firmly grabbed the lieutenant and placed him in another chair at the table.

  Pablo handed the head to one of his guards with instructions to not throw it away.

  When he walked up to José, he sniffed and cringed. “Did you shit yourself, José?” Turning to his guards, he laughed and said, “José shit his pants.” When he faced José again, the laughter left his face and he looked pointedly at him and said, “You piece of shit. Just for that, I’ll torture you slowly.”

  Pablo spent the next two hours torturing all four men before he beheaded them all the same as he had the first.

  Hygiene and cleanliness were important to Pablo, so after he had dealt with his division leaders he washed up and put on fresh clothes. He pulled a cigar out of his pocket and placed it under his nose. The strong aroma of the blend of tobaccos filled his nostrils. As he prepared the cigar to smoke, one of his guards approached from behind.

  “Patrón, what do you want us to do with the heads?”

  Pablo didn’t answer right away. He continued preparing his cigar by clipping off the butt end.

  The guard stood anxiously, awaiting his response.

  If fear was a goal of Pablo’s, it had worked. The guards all had fear seared into them.

  Pablo thought about the events that had just transpired. He liked those men he had killed, but if he’d done nothing then his position as their leader would have been weakened. The world they lived in now required direct action, deliberate and confident behavior, as well as the willingness to get your hands dirty. Respect and fear were closely linked, and for many they meant the same thing. The Villista movement was still strong but could not grow stronger if the men didn’t have structure and discipline. If he was going to create a new Mexican Empire, he had to know that his words would never disobeyed again, for he believed that he was the only one who had the clear vision needed to accomplish this.

  He spat out a few pieces of loose tobacco before he finally answered the guard. “Have each head transported back to the man’s division headquarters. Have it displayed on a spike for all to see. Do not remove it, ever. I want it there as a reminder of what happens to those who don’t listen.”

  40 miles east of Barstow, California

  Samantha couldn’t stop talking. Even though the rest of their search that day hadn’t given them another clue, she felt strangely comforted that the body wasn’t Gordon’s or Hunter’s. The whole ride back to camp she talked about how she believed they’d find them.

  Nelson now was the silent one. She had insisted on driving the rest of the day, so on their way back he just stared out the window. He thought about Gordon and Hunter. He didn’t know what to think in some ways, whether they were alive or not. Oddly, he began to think about the hundreds of thousands of people who were now just wanderers. They saw them on their drive through Palm Desert. People by the thousands had taken to the roads and were heading west. He could only imagine they thought the coast would be safer than the desert. Maybe they were right; come summer the desert heat would start to leave its deadly impression on those survivors. Electricity had enabled mankind to populate the desert by the millions. It brought not only light but precious water and air-conditioning. Without power the desert cities would all eventually be abandoned. He wondered what the people in the large desert cities, those in Phoenix or Las Vegas, were doing. Images of herds of people migrating to the coast or mountains came to mind.

  It all seemed unreal. The pace with which it all had collapsed was what shocked him. Once people became aware that the government was ineffective or nonexistent, panic set in; then fear rippled through a population totally unprepared to actually survive. He was a capable man, but he knew having a solid team that included Gordon would help ensure his longevity in this world.

  “Hey, are you listening to me?” Samantha lightly tapped his arm.

  “Ugh, sorry. I was in deep thought,” he answered.

  “I asked about which one of us is going to tell Beth about . . . ,” she said, motioning with her thumb to the bed of the truck.

  “Oh, aah, maybe you should. Maybe having a woman console her w
ould be the best idea.”

  “I was thinking you should, and if she needed a shoulder to cry on, then I can help.”

  “Sure, that’s fine. Poor guy. I liked him. I didn’t get a chance to really know him, but he seemed like a solid guy. It’s his kid I’m most worried about. Hell, it’s all of the kids I’m worried about. All this death. What kinda world have we given them?” Nelson was just rambling now.

  Samantha didn’t answer. Nelson talking about children touched a nerve with her. Her own children now consumed her thoughts.

  Nelson went back to staring out the window; he didn’t want to talk anyway. He couldn’t wait to get back to camp and just be by himself. A weird sense of doom had come over him. He wasn’t one for getting depressed, but how could one not have moments of dread living in the world he was now calling reality?

  When the camp came into view, something seemed out of place. Parked outside the circle was an old AMC Gremlin that had a small, uncovered U-Haul trailer attached to it. Nelson was a lover of old cars, but that one was a classic clunker and he couldn’t believe somebody had found one that still ran.

  “Ugh,” he muttered.

  “Yeah, I see them,” Samantha said. Her foot began to lessen its pressure on the accelerator.

  Nelson checked his handgun and had it at the ready.

  The truck slowly rolled to a stop thirty feet away from their camp. Both of them stared intently to see if everything was okay.

  Samantha could see the kids playing; seeing Haley chasing after a ball put her at ease.

  Nelson saw his father walking around with a rifle slung over his shoulder.

  No one seemed to notice them.

  “What do you think?” Samantha asked.

  “Everything seems fine, let’s head in.”

  They slowly approached and pulled the truck into the center of the circle of cars and trailers.

  Haley ran to the truck and cried out with joy, “Mommy, Mommy, yay, you’re back.”

  The sight of Haley happy almost brought tears to Samantha’s eyes. She quickly got out of the truck and hugged her.

  Haley gripped her tightly, then whispered, “Did you find Daddy and Hunter?”

  Samantha hated to say it, but she had to. “No, honey, Mommy didn’t find Daddy or Hunter. But we will, I promise.”

  “I miss Daddy,” Haley whimpered.

  “I know you do, honey,” Samantha said, tears welling up, but she fought them off. She knew the real difficult task was coming.

  Nelson was greeted by his father, who said, “How did it go, Son?”

  “Good or bad, depends on how you look at it. What’s the deal with the Gremlin?” Nelson asked, motioning to the car parked outside their camp. He was searching but couldn’t find anyone new.

  “Good or bad, depends on how you look at it,” his father quipped.

  “What . . . ?” Nelson began to ask. Then he spotted Beth Holloway coming toward them with her daughter in her arms. “Excuse me, Dad,” he said as he intercepted Beth before she reached the truck.

  “Hi, any clues today?” Beth asked. She looked flustered.

  Nelson couldn’t imagine the pain she must be going through not knowing. He only hoped having closure would be a consolation. “Beth, can we go back to your trailer?” he asked.

  “Why?” she responded, looking over his shoulder toward the truck.

  A few others had gathered near the truck like they did every night upon their return, but this time they were all remarking on something in the bed of the vehicle.

  “Can we please not do this here?” he pleaded.

  “Do what, Nelson? What are we getting ready to do?” Beth said, her voice starting to crack. She tried to step around him, but each time he blocked her.

  Nelson grew weary of the back-and-forth and reached out and held her still. He looked into her eyes and was about to tell her when she just fell to her knees.

  Gasps could be heard from their small group as all were now focused on them.

  Samantha put Haley down and ran over to Beth. She took her daughter, Presley, who was three years old, a sweet and gentle little girl who had long, straight black hair. “Sweetie, go play with Haley,” Samantha told her.

  Nelson couldn’t bear what he was seeing. Reassured that Samantha was taking control, he walked back to his father.

  Samantha carefully helped Beth up, and both of them walked back to her trailer so she could tell her friend in private what they had found.

  Nelson couldn’t shake the feeling he was having, but before he could rest he still had to remove and bury Holloway’s body. He also wanted the story on the Gremlin.

  That story revealed itself when two strangers appeared from behind one of the trailers. One was a man, middle-aged, long hair and a beard, the other a woman, average height with short, dark hair. He squinted hard because the woman looked familiar. He rubbed his eyes and looked again, thinking that somehow his vision was playing tricks on him.

  “Seneca?” Nelson asked.

  The woman walked up and hugged him. “Oh my God. It is so good to see you. When we came up to your group we didn’t know what to think, but we took a chance. We were running on fumes and had maybe a day’s worth of food.”

  Nelson was in complete shock at who was hugging him. He glanced toward his father, who shared his sense of humor.

  His father winked and shot him a shit-eating grin.

  “Well, aren’t you going to say anything?” the woman asked.

  “I can’t believe you’re here, sorry. It’s been a long day. Seeing you wasn’t something I thought would happen.”

  “Nelson, this is Mack. He’s a friend of mine. We got the hell outta town right away. We have been hiding out in Palm Springs. We kinda took over a house there, but that didn’t last long. The owners showed up, and needless to say, they weren’t too happy we were there.”

  “Mack, nice to meet you.” Nelson shook the other man’s hand. The thick calluses gave a clue of a man who had lived a hard life before the attacks.

  “Mack, this is Nelson, my former fiancé.”

  Unknown military installation

  Derek had been a wealth of information on Rahab and the base where they were being held. The entire day, Gordon had been committing to memory the guards’ rotations. He also was examining, as best he could, every building entrance, sidewalk, window, road, anything that could help to identify a way to get Hunter and safely escape. He looked at patterns of movements Rahab’s other people, especially his council, made.

  Today’s working party was the same as yesterday’s, filling and stacking sandbags at the entrance. This afforded Gordon the time to examine the perimeter as well. He studied everything he saw. He knew time was not on his side, and as soon as he could find a weak spot and exploit it, he would. While he was digging up sand for the bags, he spotted Rahab walking with two of his followers from the main building, where Hunter was being housed. Gordon wanted to talk to him again. He had a request that he hoped Rahab would grant him.

  “Brother Rahab! Brother Rahab!” Gordon yelled out.

  The guard watching over the working party instructed him to shut up.

  But Gordon persisted. “Brother Rahab! Please, this is Gordon. May I have a word with you?”

  Rahab looked over at Gordon and stopped. He addressed the two people he was with, and soon they moved on. “Brother Jonathon, please bring Brother Gordon here,” Rahab ordered.

  Jonathon obeyed without question and took Gordon to him.

  “Brother Rahab, thank you.”

  “Yes. How can I help you?”

  “When you brought me here, you stripped me of all my personal possessions. I was hoping I could have them back.”

  Rahab looked at Jonathon, who nodded.

  “May I ask what it is you want specifically?”

  “My watch, my wedding band, and I had a letter that I keep with me at all times.”

  “A letter?”

  “It’s a good-bye letter for my wife. With a
ll the uncertainty, I thought I should have something that expresses to my wife how I feel. You know, in case something happens to me.”

  “I don’t see why that should be a problem. Jonathon, make sure Gordon gets his things tonight after dinner. Now is that all?”

  “No. When can I see my son?”

  “We can arrange a supervised visit sometime this week. I’ll let one of the guards know when.”

  Gordon noticed a long-bladed sheath knife on Rahab’s hip. He had not seen it before. This, he thought, must be the infamous knife that had killed Derek’s friend.

  “Thank you, Brother Rahab,” Gordon said. He hated the way he had to express himself with this madman. He longed to reach out, strangle him, then plunge that knife into his chest.

  The double doors to the main building opened, and all the children came out in a single-file line. They were “marching” in lockstep toward the runway. Gordon’s attention had been so focused on the children that he didn’t notice Rahab had walked off.

  Jonathon reached out and pushed him back toward the working party.

  The shove pissed Gordon off. He snarled at Jonathon but returned to work.

  Gordon hadn’t been back at the sandbag wall for ten minutes when another guard approached and informed Jonathon that they all had to proceed to the cleansing cross.

  Everyone in the working party looked at each other. All had expressions of fear; they weren’t sure who was about to be put to death.

  Similarly to the children, the working party was marched over to the runway.

  Gordon couldn’t stop looking at Hunter, who stood with the children on the opposite side of the cross. His son now looked so frail. He wondered how he was doing. It took every ounce of strength Gordon had not to run over and grab him. The guard who looked over the children had features similar to those of Rahab. In fact, his hair and facial structure made him look almost like a younger Rahab. Then the light bulb went off in Gordon’s mind: This must be Rahab’s son. Whoever it was, Gordon didn’t like how he touched the children. With some he was rough, but others, including Hunter, he rubbed. The next thought that crossed Gordon’s mind made him see red: That son of a bitch better not be touching my boy.