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

by G. Michael Hopf

  Gordon’s dark thoughts were interrupted when the drum began. About ten feet in front of the cross, one of Rahab’s followers banged a slow, rhythmic beat on a bongo-type drum.

  Up the long tarmac from the direction of the buildings came a small procession. The leader of the group held a large book; Gordon assumed it was a Bible. The second person was a woman. Her thin hands were bound by a bloodstained rope. Bruises covered her face, arms, and legs. Behind her came Rahab, adorned in a brown cloak. To Gordon he looked like a monk from the Middle Ages.

  Gordon wondered what that poor woman had done to deserve this. Did she say no to one of her rapists? Did she fight back? Did she attempt to escape? Whatever the “crime,” her punishment was to be extreme and unjust.

  She seemed at peace with what was about to transpire. She didn’t resist when they tied each arm and each leg to a corner of the large X. As Rahab read out her “crime,” which was “refusing to comply with the will of the Children of God,” Gordon just burned with hatred for him.

  Gordon’s position in the crowd allowed him to see her face. She was young, midtwenties, with shoulder-length, brown hair. Her face showed the abuse she had received from Rahab’s men. Stains from tears covered her bruised and swollen cheeks. But it was her eyes that were telling. They begged for it all to end. She kept her gaze toward the sky and didn’t say a word.

  Rahab finished his sermon and pulled out his long knife. He held it up in the air as if he was offering it to God. Taking the knife in his right hand, he brought his arm back slowly.

  The woman closed her eyes as tears flowed from them.

  Rahab lunged forward and drove the knife deep into the center of her chest.

  The young woman gasped loudly, and within seconds her head fell forward.

  No one in the crowd said a word. There was not even a gasp or whimper for this poor woman. All of them lived in fear that they’d be next.

  Gordon looked over at Hunter, who blankly stared at the woman.

  Rahab withdrew the knife, cleaned the blade, and sheathed it. When he finished, he spoke loudly. “Praise be to God, the cleanser of this impure world. We worship and give thanks to you. For in you is the true heaven. Please take this poor soul back. We have released her from her earthly pain. Praise be to you, God.”

  Gordon stared at the knife on Rahab’s belt. He determined then that one major part of his escape plan had to be killing this maniac.

  Coos Bay, Oregon

  “Sir, the chopper is ready to take you to Salem,” a young Marine told Barone.

  Barone had changed his mind and was going to meet the governor of Oregon today. His forward recon teams had reported that the governor was still alive. Raymond Pelsom had been a U.S. senator for several terms before winning the governorship two years before.

  Holstering his pistol, Barone grabbed his jacket and headed out the door to the flight deck. He was still on the ship with his family. Even though the port was safe for him, it lacked the amenities the ship had. His crews were working nonstop alongside civilian crews to get the port’s main equipment online. The heavy crane would be a big help in off-loading the two MPS ships. The crowds from town were getting larger by the hour. They peered through the makeshift fence line the Marines had set up. Barone’s plan to work closely with the local leadership had been paying off.

  Of course they had many questions about why Barone and his men were there and what the government was doing to help bring back the power. Unfortunately for them, Barone didn’t have many answers, and some of those he did have were flat-out lies. He explained to them that Washington, D.C., had been destroyed and that most of the federal government had been decimated. He neglected to mention that he had taken the ships and that he wasn’t there on official orders. Barone immediately ordered stockpiles of food to be distributed, but he knew he couldn’t feed the local population of more than twenty thousand for long.

  The cities of North Bend and Coos Bay had not experienced much violence. Yes, they’d had their problems with looters, and some of the people had mobbed the town hall asking for answers, but overall the troubles here were minimal compared to those of the larger cities. They had expanded their police force so they could close off the highways that led into town. This was done because after two weeks, roving gangs had attacked dozens of homes in search of food and resources. The local leadership had also imposed new laws right away, the first of which was a zero-tolerance law against looting. Anyone caught looting or robbing others was arrested and taken out of the town. They were never allowed to return. All violence was dealt with severely. When the local government said “zero tolerance,” they meant it.

  Barone was proud in many ways of how these Americans had pulled together. Again, nothing was perfect, but they were surviving. He thought how in some towns people must have come together, but in others they must have turned against each other. What was transpiring across the country wasn’t uniform. Reactions to the attack were all different. Barone had assumed that he’d pull into Coos Bay and see total chaos, but it wasn’t that way. He imagined the smaller the towns, the more manageable they were. Things had reversed; the large federal government had become ineffective while the small local governments could actually help the recovery in their specific areas.

  The cool breeze and the smell of the salty sea air was refreshing. The hum and chop of the rotors from the CH-53 always made Barone feel like he was about to go on an adventure. Before he stepped onto the chopper, he looked out at the town and the houses in the distance. If he didn’t know, he’d think that nothing had happened. The roofs of all the houses were unscathed. Smoke from dozens of chimneys drifted into the air. He saw children riding bikes and playing in the streets. These people had welcomed him and his Marines, but would that warm welcome remain if and when they found out what had happened? Barone intended to make sure it did by being the best guest he could be. Not wanting to delay his surprise visit to Governor Pelsom, he stepped onto the chopper.

  Salem, Oregon

  The flags that encircled the oval lawn outside the capital building flapped wildly as the chopper came in for a landing. His team on the ground was there to meet him, as were some representatives from the governor’s office.

  When the ramp lowered, Barone didn’t see the governor. He stepped out, and two aides for the governor approached him and put their hands out.

  “Welcome, General,” a middle-aged man said. He was wearing dark jeans and a brown pullover.

  The other aide was a woman; she was in her early fifties and attractive. She was short and had her dark brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. The ponytail was fast becoming the hairstyle for women in this post-attack world.

  “General, we weren’t expecting you for a couple of weeks,” she said.

  “Who are you?” Barone asked both of them.

  “I’m Jeanne, and this is my colleague Jason. We work for the governor.”

  “Where is the governor?”

  “Sorry, he couldn’t make it; he’s meeting with the city council and legislature about how we can facilitate you off-loading the supplies your ships have,” Jeanne said.

  “Supplies, yes, supplies,” Barone said, playing along. He looked over her shoulder at one of his MARSOC Marines, who nodded, signifying approval of Barone playing along.

  “I’d like to see the governor as soon as I can,” Barone said.

  “Yes, sir,” she answered.

  “Before I go, I want to talk with these Marines here,” Barone said. He stepped away from the aides and over to the two Marines who were part of the recon advance team.

  “So, what do you know?” he asked them.

  “Sir, we made liaison like you commanded. The governor welcomed us and was excited. He mentioned that we were weeks early. We didn’t want to contradict him, so we went with the story. You made it clear not to mention who we were.”

  “Okay, so there must be another Marine unit en route. This is good intel, very good intel. Good job, Marines,” Barone sa
id, patting them both on the shoulder. “Now things are going to go down a bit differently than I thought. I assumed he would have met me out here. Looks like we will have to do this inside. Where is rest of your team?”

  “Two more are near the front of the capital, and the other two are on the eastern lawn.”

  “Have them all meet us . . . Wait one minute.” Barone stopped to ask Jeanne a question. “Excuse me, where are we accessing the building?”

  Not thinking at all about the question, she quickly answered, “The west entrance will take us to the governor’s office; from there we will have an operational meeting with the legislative leaders and the mayor.”

  “Great, thank you,” Barone responded, then turned his attention back to his men. “You heard her; have them meet us there. Radio the strike teams back in Coos that we are a go.”

  “Roger that, sir.”

  “Good man; now let’s go see the governor.”

  San Diego, California

  Sebastian tried his best to help with the cleanup, but his leg was hurting badly and during the ruckus he had torn open his stitches.

  Annaliese attended to his leg while he sat on the front porch steps.

  “Ouch!” he yelped after she poured some antiseptic on the reopened wound.

  “Oh, you’ll live. I thought you were a tough Marine,” she quipped.

  “I think we need to get out of here, I don’t know how many of these mobs we can handle,” he said, looking at everyone working around him. The bodies were far more numerous than he had thought. He had never really seen how many were at the gate, but from the looks of the carnage inside the compound, there must have been almost forty people. “Where did they come from? Who were they?”

  “I don’t know most of them. I did recognize the woman I shot. She lives a few houses down on a small plot. I would guess that these were our neighbors,” she answered, looking up only briefly to gaze at the bodies.

  “How’s your father?” Sebastian asked.

  The question made her pause.

  “Hey, you okay?” he asked. Looking down, he saw she was weeping. “Hey, hey, it’s going to be alright. Your father seems like a tough guy.” Sebastian touched her shoulder, causing her to weep more.

  “Sorry, I just have never seen or been through anything like that before,” she said softly as she reached up and grabbed his hand.

  “There’s no reason to apologize. I’ve seen my fair share, but not like what happened today. I’ve never had to shoot, ah, people. My entire time in the Corps it was easy for me to kill the enemy. I know what we did was right today because if we don’t stand up for ourselves we’ll die, but it’s just so strange to shoot regular people. I know it all sounds weird, but I don’t know if I can get used to it.”

  “I don’t know what came over me. When they came into the house I was trying to hide the kids. They burst in and . . . My dad tried to stop them, but they just, like, ran over him. When one of them hit him in the head with the vase, I lost it. I just lost it. I had the shotgun and started shooting them. That’s all I remember. My dad fell and I started shooting them.”

  Sebastian gripped her hand tighter and reached over with his other hand to touch her face.

  She didn’t resist his affection but responded by gently rubbing her cheek against his palm and looking up at him.

  The front door bursting open cut off their brief intimate encounter.

  “Annaliese, hurry, it’s Dad!” Zach, her little brother, yelled.

  “I’m coming! What is it?”

  “I don’t know, but he’s having a convulsion or something. Hurry, please!”

  Unknown military installation

  “I know I asked before, but every night they go over to the women’s barracks?” Gordon asked after noticing the guard was not around to oversee the latrine working party.

  “Every night, like clockwork,” Derek answered as he pulled the first barrel out.

  “For us, that’s good. I think we have our window then,” Gordon noted, grabbing the handle on his side of the barrel.

  “What I’m thinking is we have the women help us out on the inside to stop the guards,” Derek mentioned.

  “How do we do that? We don’t have access to them.”

  “Let me figure that one out.”

  The two men talked quietly as they made their way to the ditch. The setting sun cast their shadows long against the black tarmac. When they walked past the crosses, Gordon spoke up.

  “We need to kill that son of a bitch.”

  “I agree. If ever a man deserved to die, it’s him. But trying to kill him could really jeopardize our escape,” said Derek.

  “Let me worry about him,” Gordon defiantly said.

  “Don’t be a fool!” Derek scolded. He stopped walking, causing the contents of the barrel to slosh and splatter onto Gordon’s pants.

  “What the fuck?” Gordon snapped.

  “Don’t be an idiot. Rahab has men around him all the time. Just getting into the building will be one thing, getting upstairs where he sleeps only adds to the complications. We risk the entire thing by doing that. We get your son and go, simple.”

  Gordon just stared at him; he liked to be in control and liked to be right. But he resisted saying anything. However, anger filled him; he was tired of taking orders from people. He just stared at Derek, his LED headlamp illuminating the deep wrinkles on his companion’s brow.

  An odd silence settled between them. Neither said anything. The cool desert breeze ruffled their hair. It felt good against Gordon’s throbbing temples.

  After what seemed like minutes, Derek broke the silence. “Are we good? I can see a troubling look in your eyes.”

  “Yeah, we’re good. Let’s finish this shitty job and call it a night,” Gordon answered stoically.

  Derek attempted more conversation as they delivered one barrel after another to the pit. But Gordon just gave him one-word answers.

  After they dumped the last barrel, Derek grabbed Gordon by the arm. “Hey, are we good?”

  “Yeah, we’re fine.”

  “You don’t seem good.”

  “Listen, Derek. I know you’ve spent a lot of time in politics and you think you run things, but in my group, I’m the leader. When we get out of here, you will have to follow my orders. I don’t run a democracy; I just want that to be clear.”

  Derek was surprised by Gordon’s response. Not wanting to get into another heated exchange, he just said, “Crystal.”

  “I’m tired and want to go to bed. We can discuss more of our plan tomorrow, but it needs to happen soon.”

  “Soon is great, but we should make sure we can do it.”

  “It needs to happen soon; my wife and daughter are out there. I know they’re looking for us, and if they come here, you know what will happen. I can’t risk that. We need to get down to brass tacks tomorrow night and start working on putting this into operation soon.”

  “I haven’t even found a woman yet; that will take time,” Derek urgently countered.

  “Like I said, let’s talk more tomorrow. I need to sleep on this,” Gordon said, then reached down for his end of the barrel.

  Their timing for ending the conversation was perfect as a large light burst across them.

  “You two, hurry up!” their guard yelled from about thirty feet away.

  “You think he heard anything?” Derek asked quietly.

  “I don’t think so, but if he did, we’re leaving tonight. Let me take the lead here. Grab your end, let’s go.”

  Derek’s stomach tightened as they drew closer to the guard, who hadn’t let them out of his flashlight’s beam since he first called to them.

  When they walked by him the guard asked, “What were you two arguing about?”

  “Oh, that. This asshole spilled some shit on me,” Gordon answered quickly.

  The guard didn’t answer, nor could they see his face.

  “Can I take a shower?” Gordon asked.

  “No. But you c
an leave your clothes outside and one of the women will wash them tomorrow.”

  “Okay, I’ll do that.”

  The guard walked behind them the entire way back. He had returned early from his nightly excursion in the women’s barracks.

  After they put the last barrel away, both Gordon and Derek were heading back to their barracks. The guard stopped Gordon.

  “One second.”

  “Me too?” Derek asked.

  “No, you go on ahead.”

  Derek walked on into the darkness. Gordon’s body was racked with anticipation of a fight. He clenched his fists, ready to strike.

  “Here. Brother Rahab said to give this to you.” The guard handed him a gallon-size zip-lock bag with Gordon’s personal effects.

  Seeing the bag dangle in the bluish light of his LED headlamp eased Gordon’s tension.

  He grabbed the bag and said, “Thanks.”

  Gordon emptied the bag’s two items on his rack. The one thing he most wanted was there: a letter he had written for Samantha. If something happened to him here, she’d never read it. Carrying a farewell letter was something he’d adopted as a Marine. It was important for him to control the last thoughts and words that his loved ones would read from him. The letters he’d carried with him in Iraq twice were written to Sebastian. Before they had left for Idaho almost ten days ago, he had written the letter he now had back. He hadn’t anticipated this type of problem. In fact, what he and Hunter were going through had never crossed his mind as a possibility. Eight weeks before, he and Samantha had been planning their trip to Idaho under different circumstances. If someone had told him then that he and Hunter would be prisoners of a religious zealot, he would have laughed at them.

  Rahab had also given Gordon his wedding band. He’d thought that would have been gone for good. Strange, he thought, that it was still there. Gordon rubbed the smooth sides of his platinum ring. Still wearing his headlamp, he could see the thousands of tiny scratches etched across the circumference. Each scratch represented a time and a place. Many of those came from times with his wife and his kids. He missed them so much. He was so worried about them. Rahab had threatened to go after them, but in some ways Gordon felt Rahab didn’t want the fight. Gordon couldn’t figure out Rahab’s long-term plan. Why had he chosen to set up on a military base? One good reason was it had supplies and resources, but didn’t they risk an attack from the main base close by? Was Fort Irwin still manned with a fighting force? Gordon assumed it was; he had seen sentries walking the perimeter. Maybe they were just hunkering down. This small base wasn’t an asset worth losing men or precious ammo over. Gordon’s mind raced through so many things: his family, escaping, the rest of the drive to Idaho. He didn’t often think about the status of the government. After spending so many years in the Marines, he knew that the government’s main priority would be to take care of itself until a plan could be formulated. His two tours in Iraq had shown him how great and how awful the government and military could be. The military and certain government personnel cared deeply about doing what was right, but the “machine” was a behemoth so large that the left hand didn’t know what the right hand was doing. So much waste and incompetence. With the chaos of the attack and the absence of any authority for the weeks afterward, he assumed the attack had left the government paralyzed. Once people knew no one was coming to help, the wheels had come off.