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

by G. Michael Hopf

  His thoughts were disturbed by the loud snore of the man in the bunk next to his. Not wanting to listen to it, Gordon took his pillow and hit the man. He awoke briefly, shifted to his side, and fell back to sleep sans the snore.

  Samantha would have to do that to him sometimes, especially after a few drinks. He wondered again where his family was. He prayed that Samantha and Haley were safe. Regret filled his mind. He cursed himself for going on the recon mission with Holloway. If he hadn’t gone, he and Hunter would be with them and they’d be closer to Idaho and some sort of safety.

  Gordon thought about all the decisions he’d made after the lights went out. Some he thought were sound, others he now questioned. Running around half-cocked, as others said, was something he had always done. He wasn’t one to sit and ponder. If something was happening, he quickly assessed the situation and acted with what came first. In retrospect, he thought he should have just left for Idaho. He should have just found a camper and headed north with Jimmy. He couldn’t remember why he had stayed. Now it all seemed like a stupid plan. Jimmy would have done what he told him to, and if he had decided to go north, Jimmy, Simone, and Mason would still be alive.

  The regret kept coursing through his mind. Gordon hated regret, but he knew his impulsive and risky plans had gotten him and Hunter captured. The earlier conversation with Derek now came to the forefront of his mind. Even though it pained him to admit it, Derek was right. Trying to kill Rahab was stupid; he should just get Hunter and go.

  Feeling the fatigue creep up, Gordon turned off his light and tucked his letter under his pillow. He placed the ring back on his finger and rubbed it.

  He began to run through each detail of his escape plan. He envisioned entering the main building to get Hunter. Everything ran smoothly except when he saw Rahab in his mind’s eye. He again reminded himself that Derek was right he must stick to the plan. However, in Gordon’s dream plan, Rahab would make himself an easy target. With defiance Gordon convinced himself that only if Rahab made it easy would he take the chance to kill him.

  40 miles east of Barstow, California

  “It’s just so strange to see you here. I mean, what are the odds?” Nelson said to Seneca. He, Seneca, Mack, and Eric were sitting around a small fire.

  “I know. I didn’t think I’d see anyone I knew again,” she replied. She sat across from Nelson. The glow of the flames illuminated her olive-toned skin.

  Nelson couldn’t get over how much her look had changed. When they were engaged, years before, she’d worn her hair shoulder-length and blond. Now it was cut short and dyed black.

  After they had split up, she had explored one of her passions; motorcycles. Within six months of their breakup she had bought a classic Harley-Davidson, cut her hair, and worn the clothes of a biker whenever she could.

  “So how did you end up here?” he asked, motioning with his arm to their camp.

  “After we were run off from the house, we thought we should find another place to go. Mack has a cousin in Antelope, so we were heading that way when we pulled over to go to the bathroom. Mack said he saw something reflecting out here. We have been scavenging since everything happened, and we thought maybe there was something here. You know, some houses where we could find food, a safe place to sleep.”

  “You guys don’t have any food?” Eric asked.

  “We did, but we had to leave in a hurry,” Mack answered.

  Eric looked at Nelson.

  “To continue, we were driving down the dirt road a few hundred feet away when we saw your little camp. We thought we’d come over and see if we could barter for food,” she said.

  “Which way did you go to get here?” Nelson asked.

  “Through Barstow,” Mack answered. He was burly man, with short-cropped, graying hair. His skin was tan and leathery from a lifetime of being outside. His red nose, covered in small burst blood vessels, showed signs of countless years of drinking.

  “We tried to go through there, but we were attacked a few days ago. We lost a family and a car,” Eric said as he poked the fire with a large stick.

  “Really? We saw a burned-out car along the highway. Was that you?” Mack asked.

  “Sure was,” said Eric somberly.

  “What’s your plan going from here?” Nelson asked the question that all had been thinking about.

  Seneca looked at Mack, then answered, “Well, we were hoping we could stay with you.”

  “Um,” Nelson muttered.

  “I don’t know if that’s possible,” Eric spoke up.

  “Why?” Mack asked.

  “To be honest, Mack, we don’t know you, and our rule is to only take in people who have something to contribute,” said Eric. He was following Gordon’s selective recruitment plan.

  Nelson didn’t say a word. He let Eric take control of the conversation.

  “Can we do an exchange?” Seneca offered.

  “I don’t see why not,” Nelson quickly interjected. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her. He hadn’t really stopped loving her. Their breakup had not been a mutual decision; she had been the one to initiate the separation. Even though he never forgave her for that, he still loved her.

  Mack took notice of Nelson’s intent staring and drew closer to her.

  “Hey, Nelson. We can’t just change things. What would Gordon do?” Eric said.

  “I heard he’s been missing. I’m so sorry,” Seneca added. Upon her and Mack’s arrival, Nelson’s father and mother had told her everything about the group, including that Gordon and Hunter had gone missing.

  “We’ll find him, and I think Eric is right. I don’t know if we can spare food,” Nelson said.

  “So who’s in charge here, you or the Chink?” spewed Mack.

  “What did you call me?” Eric asked.

  “Mack, calm down,” Seneca begged. She held his arm tight.

  “I thought you were in charge, but it seems like this slant-eye is the one giving the orders.”

  “Really? Seriously, man, this is how you thank us for feeding you tonight and giving you shelter?” Eric said, almost shouting.

  “Get off of me,” Mack snapped at Seneca before he laid into Nelson. “So who’s in charge here? We have things to trade. We need food, and I think you’ll like what we have.”

  “After those bullshit comments, you’re not getting anything!” Eric said loudly.

  Nelson had to redirect this conversation. He still couldn’t stop looking at Seneca. The fire crackled and the flames kept highlighting her face, with its high cheekbones and blue eyes.

  “So the Chink is in charge and you sit there eye-fucking my girl!” Mack said, his voice now even louder.

  “Please, Mack, don’t do this,” Seneca pleaded.

  “Fuck them. If they don’t want to help us then they can go fuck themselves,” Mack screamed.

  “Calm down, buddy. I’m willing to see what you have,” Nelson interjected.

  “Nelson, we don’t have food to spare. We will need it all for the trip and the winter in Idaho,” Eric snapped.

  “We have guns, lots of them. We stumbled upon a vacant police station in Palm Springs,” Seneca said calmly and directly to Nelson and Eric.

  “Fuck them!” Mack exclaimed again.

  “Listen. We have kids here. We don’t need you yelling and screaming,” Eric scolded.

  “Fuck you, you fucking Chink,” Mack yelled. This time he stood up and pointed at Eric.

  Eric, not intimidated by Mack, stood too. Both started yelling at each other over the fire.

  Nelson knew he needed to stop this before it went too far. “Shut up! Everybody, just shut up!” he yelled.

  Neither man listened. Seneca was also standing now, with her arms crossed. Her attempts at calming Mack down were being ignored.

  Then Mack pulled a knife and threatened to cut Eric.

  Nelson had reached for his handgun when out of the darkness the barrel of a shotgun was placed against Mack’s head. “Put the knife down. Drop it now!”
Samantha commanded.

  The cold steel of the muzzle against his head said it all. Mack held his arms up and dropped the knife.

  “Now both of you. You too, Seneca. Go sit down over there.” Samantha pointed to a rock a couple feet away from Mack’s dropped knife. Both Mack and Seneca sat down.

  “Sam, I’m sorry. I really am,” Seneca said.

  “We have enough to worry about. We don’t need this type of behavior here. Every day we fight for our lives. If we have enough food, we will make a deal for your guns. And if you wish to join us, then we will take a vote on that. But no more of this. You hear me? No more racist name-calling or fighting or you’re both out.”

  Samantha had lowered the shotgun, but she still stood at the ready in case Mack had a change of heart.

  Nelson had never seen Samantha this way before. He was impressed. She was now fully adapting to the new world.

  Eric stood poised to attack Mack. His hand rested on the hilt of his knife.

  “Whatever you say, Sam, we’ll do,” Seneca answered with a consolatory tone.

  Mack had his arms folded and didn’t answer.

  “Mack, what about you?” Samantha asked him.

  He kept looking at the fire and not at her.

  “Answer her, Mack,” Seneca chided him.

  “Yes, okay,” he regretfully said to Samantha.

  “Good, now let’s take a look at the guns you have.”

  JANUARY 14, 2014

  “You can never plan the future by the past.”

  – Edmund Burke

  Salem, OR

  The Pioneer statue atop the Oregon Capitol looked out upon the city of Salem. It represented the pioneering spirit that had created the great state. For Barone it signified a time that was long gone, until now. He and his men were the new pioneers. Like he had told his men several times, their days of being subjects to the political class were over.

  A smile cracked his rugged and typically stoic face. He liked the new world they were living in. There was opportunity if one seized it, and that was exactly what he was doing.

  Smoke billowed out of the many windows and doors of the building. The dark soot stained the white sandstone walls of the impressive three-hundred-plus-foot structure. Barone stood outside watching his men gather up what legislature there was left. Those who resisted were shot; those who obeyed were sequestered in the upper chamber. He would interrogate them one by one to find where everything of value was.

  His original plan in coming to Salem had been to pay a visit to an old adversary and see if the city would be a good place to establish his government. But upon landing and hearing that more Marines were coming, he knew his days there were numbered. “Adapt and overcome” was one of Barone’s mantras, and whenever situations occurred, one needed to adapt or die. He had always adapted, so without much thought he changed his plan regardless of how it would go down. When his Marines landed and instructions were given, local law enforcement and the few Oregon National Guard troops could do little against his superior numbers and firepower.

  Changed was his plan to take the city. Flying over Salem, Barone saw it was too large for him to provide adequate support for the population. He would lose too many precious resources in an attempt to satiate the local civilians. His plan shifted to sacking and plundering what he could from the government stores.

  With the Capitol secure, he could now have the conversation he had been wanting to have with the governor.

  Barone thought the appropriate place to have this “meeting” was the governor’s ceremonial office. The colonel would forever cherish the look on Pelsom’s face when he saw it was him there.

  Barone settled into the large leather chair behind the oak desk. He kicked his feet up and relaxed while he waited for his men to bring the governor in.

  The large solid alder door creaked as it opened to show the man who had at one time pledged to end Barone’s career.

  When Pelsom had been a U.S. senator, he had maneuvered himself to chair several powerful committees, one of them being the Armed Services Committee. This was where Barone had met Pelsom. He was a thin man who didn’t stand taller than five feet five inches, and had thick, curly brown hair. His high-pitched, nasal voice was consistent with his small frame.

  Barone remembered the day, almost ten years ago, when he first saw Pelsom. It had been a beautiful spring day in Washington. Cherry blossoms adorned the trees along his walk toward the Dirksen Senate Office Building. The pundits were already saying that Barone would be the fall guy for what had happened in Iraq. Pelsom had personally declared that Barone should take full responsibility for what his Marines had done. Barone knew how to cope with stress, but what he called a political witch hunt forever seared in him a hatred for the political class.

  “Senator, oh, I’m sorry, Governor Pelsom. It’s a pleasure to see you again. Sorry we couldn’t catch up yesterday,” Barone said sarcastically.

  “When the president finds out what—”

  “I’ve already spoken with the president. I talked to him weeks ago. Let’s just say that we’re no longer on speaking terms,” Barone quipped. He took his feet off the desk and stood up. “Sit him right there,” he ordered his Marines.

  Pelsom looked smaller than he remembered.

  “What do you want, Colonel?”

  “That is a good question.” Barone continued with his mocking.

  “Let my staff go; don’t hurt them.”

  “I don’t plan on hurting anyone unless they fight back. I have given very loose rules of engagement to my Marines. Please share that with your people when you go back to your holding area.”

  “Just tell me what you want and then leave.”

  “Senator, you’re being very accommodating. Thank you. I want to know the locations of every emergency storage facility in the city and around the state.”

  “You can’t take all of our emergency stores; the people need them.”

  “My people need them too. We have the guns, and so we will take what we need,” Barone said as he walked around the large office. On the walls hung beautifully framed awards and certificates. He stopped and looked at each one as he talked.

  “Why are you doing this? Don’t you love your country anymore? Why would you steal ships, attack U.S. military bases . . . kill Americans?”

  “Because we have time, I will explain why, even though I don’t think you deserve the answer. When the attacks happened, I was serving my country in Afghanistan. On my third tour in nine years, mind you. When word came down that our country had been attacked, like many I was shocked, then angered. We were then given orders to float to the East Coast and support a recovery effort around D.C. Can you believe that? A recovery effort. It’s as if the leadership was treating the attack like a hurricane or some sort of natural disaster cleanup.

  “I wasn’t about to take orders that would result in more death, so I did what I thought best. I seized the ships and turned them around. What happened on Diego Garcia was out of my control; we had no intention of hurting anyone, but we will defend ourselves if we are attacked. I know this all doesn’t mean a thing to you, because you have lived a life of privilege. You bring in millions a year because of your influence as a politician. Heck, you went into politics an accountant making thirty-six K a year, and now you’re a multimillionaire, or I should say were. Did you earn that? No, you peddled influence and sold your vote to the highest bidder—”

  “That is a lie!” Pelsom fired back.

  “Hmm, a lie? I think not. I know you politicians. You like to say you’re in ‘public service.’ Since when did public service include getting rich? You whore yourself out and sell your votes, then buy votes to get elected by giving away welfare and freebies. It’s a vicious and corrupt system whose day has come and gone.”

  “I have faithfully and honestly—” Pelsom said quickly, before he was interrupted.

  Barone marched across the room and grabbed him by the throat. “Shut the fuck up! What is it you’d
say? ‘You’re out of order’?”

  Barone towered over Pelsom like a father does a child. He squeezed his hand tighter around the smaller man’s neck until Pelsom began to squirm and yelp with pain.

  “Raymond you’re going to tell me where every single warehouse and storage facility is located or I will slowly torture you and all of your people.”

  Pelsom, gripped with fear, started to nod.

  “Good, I’m glad we agree on something,” Barone said, then let him go.

  Coughing and hacking, Pelsom bent over to let the blood flow back into his head. He felt dizzy and foggy. Barone’s grip had almost caused him to black out.