She brushed by them both and headed toward Haley’s room.
Nelson turned to Seneca. “Did you not hear me this morning when I asked you to keep my opinions to yourself? This doesn’t help. I realize that we all need to deal with possibilities, but let me deal with those, not Samantha. She needs to stay upbeat and hopeful because she needs to believe that the kids will get better,” he chided.
“But—”
Nelson cut her off, “There’s no buts. From now stop being the town crier. It’s hard enough for her without Gordon here. She can’t be focused on those issues; that’s for us to worry about. Let her worry about it when we know it’s a reality, not a theory.”
Seneca nodded her agreement and acknowledgment.
“Let’s go before we fuck anything else up.”
Coos Bay, Oregon
“If I live long enough, I think my entire body will be covered in scars by the time I’m fifty,” Gordon commented as he rubbed his hand across the thick gauze bandage taped to his side.
“You’re lucky the blade didn’t hit anything,” the corpsman replied.
“I can tell you this—it hurt like a motherfucker.”
“I bet it did. Okay, you’re all done. Here is another dose of pain meds,” the corpsman, said handing him a small white envelope.
Gordon took it and said, “Let me guess: Motrin. Don’t you have anything else?”
“Motrin is standard issue, and we reserve our hardier pain management drugs for other real wounds.”
“I guess you’re right, it’s just a flesh wound,” Gordon quipped as he put his shirt on.
Gordon finished gathering his stuff and left the clinic, heading toward city hall. The only thing on his mind now was getting home. Of course with everything that had happened, he wasn’t sure how he’d be getting there. He had the motorcycle but not enough fuel. He needed to convince Simpson to give him another Hummer. Hell, he’d take a lift on a chopper if that was offered.
The grounds of city hall were not like they were the last time he was there. It reminded him of scenes from Iraq during the height of the war in 2004, litter and debris everywhere. With each footfall he heard the sound of crunching glass against pavement. The face of the building was covered in large black pockmarks and bullet holes; not a window was left untouched. Large boards with cutout gun ports covered the gaping holes where the windows once sat. Like birds in their nests, teams of Marines sat behind sandbagged positions manning machine guns. It no longer looked like an administrative building; it looked like a war-torn fortress.
Once he was inside, the place hummed like it did when he was there before. Marines, civilians, and sailors went about their tasks of operating the besieged city. He strode easily but focused down the hall till he came to Simpson’s office. Standing outside the large oak door were two Marine guards who immediately stopped him upon his approach.
“What can we help you with?” a Marine asked.
“I need to see Master Sergeant Simpson.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“Yeah, I do.”
The large door flew open and there in front of him stood a captain and gunnery sergeant, neither he recognized, both in a hurry. Gordon got a quick glance inside and saw Simpson packing.
“Master Sergeant, it’s Gordon Van Zandt.”
Simpson looked up quickly and barked, “Get your ass in here.”
Gordon squeezed by the men exiting and the guards and stepped into the office. With the windows boarded up, the only light in the room came from several portable lanterns.
“Want a drink?” Simpson asked.
“No, thank you. Um, I’m glad you wanted to see me. I have something to ask.”
“Go ahead.”
“I need some transport back to Idaho. I was hoping you could help in that department.”
“I don’t see why not. After all you helped us.”
Gordon didn’t know what that comment meant, but he continued, “A Hummer would be great, with enough fuel to make the distance.”
“Done.”
A knock on the door made Gordon jump. A slight panic ran through his body as he imagined a scene like yesterday happening again.
“Come on in!” Simpson hollered.
The door swung open and there stood Timms. A smile stretched across his face as he strode in and walked up to Simpson. “Master Sergeant, glad to see you.”
“Good to see you too, Mr. Timms,” Simpson responded. The men shook each other’s hand.
“So, is this the man here?” Timms asked Simpson.
“Yes, it is, Mr. Timms, this is Gordon Van Zandt.”
Gordon adjusted in his chair, unaware of what was happening.
“Mr. Van Zandt, nice to meet you, I’m—”
“Van Zandt, this is the new mayor of Coos Bay. He’s taking over and putting this whole mess behind us.”
Timms stepped over to Gordon, stuck out his hand, and said, “From the good people of Coos Bay, thank you.”
Gordon looked at him then shot a look at Simpson. “What’s going on?”
“I know this is going to come as strange but you and your friend did us all a favor.”
“Favor?”
“Yes, you brought down the Butcher of Coos Bay, allowing us to restore order. You see, Mr. Timms and I were working behind the scenes to overthrow the colonel. The issue we were having was one of logistics. I mean, we could do it, but could we do it without causing further upheaval? We thought not, but we were willing to remove him. Then you and your friend showed up. You gave us the opportunity to have him killed without us actually pulling the trigger. We can say he was killed by men from the United States. This story works the best. Those hardcore followers will feel defeated and leave or we will mop them up.”
“Don’t be so sure of yourself,” Gordon challenged.
“We are sure of ourselves; we have been planning this for some time and have identified a solid number of those in Barone’s high command who were only following him out of fear. We know this to be the same within the enlisted ranks. People weren’t following him out of respect.”
“So you used me and Finley?”
“Don’t look at it that way,” Timms said as he sat down next to Gordon.
“You seem somehow disappointed or upset,” Simpson said.
“No, I’m not, I just was worried all along and you knew, you knew Finley was here to kill him and you let it happen.”
“Yes, I knew something was odd when you showed up with another person. That’s why we bugged your berthing space and monitored your movements.”
Gordon was in shock by this revelation and didn’t know what to say. In many ways, it didn’t matter. Barone, a man who factored heavily into his life in the Corps and out, was dead, and he was free to go home.
“What happens now? I see you packing,” Gordon queried.
“Time for me and many of my men to leave and go find a new home.”
“Why?”
“Let’s just say that they can’t stay here. Too many raw emotions. It will be hard to have them stay and get things back in order.”
“Where will you go?” Gordon asked. A thought came to mind of asking them to come to McCall, but he didn’t know if he could trust them. These Marines had once sided with a man who was a mass murderer and had committed heinous crimes against civilians. However, he knew how valuable in this upside-down world a small army of warriors could be.
“Not sure, but we’ll soon march out of here. Probably head somewhere north, maybe the panhandle of Idaho.”
“I wish we could find a way to have them stay, but this was the deal we struck with the resistance leaders and civilian leaders, and they thought it best they all go,” Timms added.
“I can understand,” Gordon said.
“What’re your plans, Mr. Van Zandt?
” Timms asked.
“Heading home as soon as I can get a vehicle to take me.”
“Let me work on that for you,” Simpson chimed in.
“Thank you.”
“Give me an hour. I’ll have a vehicle for you then.”
“Now, for the matter of Brittany McCallister. Where can I find her?”
“The jail where you met her the other day, you’ll find her there,” Simpson answered, then looked at his watch. “In fact she might have already been released.”
“If you have nothing else, I’m going to go down and see to her,” Gordon said as he stood.
“Very well, see you back here in an hour.”
“Nice meeting you,” Timms said as he and Gordon shook hands.
Gordon couldn’t leave quickly enough. The entire conspiracy was so odd to him. He never saw it coming, but how could he? He wondered if Barone had any inkling, or whether he was so consumed with hate and anger that he never saw the betrayal playing out behind the scenes.
Once outside he pulled the phone out. He had tried all night to contact Samantha but no connection could be made. This time, the screen showed a strong signal. He closed his eyes, said a short prayer, and hit the green dial button. After a series of clicks the phone began to ring. Hearing this made his heart skip a beat.
“Please answer, please answer,” he said to himself as he made his way through the mostly deserted streets.
“Hello.”
When he heard her voice he almost cried, he was so worried and had missed them dearly. “Sam, oh my God, it’s so good to hear your voice.”
“Gordon, are you there, hello?” she said.
“Sam, can you hear me?” he asked as he looked at the screen again. He saw he had the signal strength, but her responses indicated otherwise.
“Gordon, hello?”
“I’m here, Sam, can you hear me?”
“I can’t hear you, Gordon, but I know it’s you. If you’re there please hurry home. Haley is sick. There’s some type of pandemic, some sickness has swept through. She’s not doing well, she needs you, please come home.”
“Sam, can you hear me, Sam!” He now spoke loudly into the phone.
“Gordon, I hear you, but it’s very faint.”
He had now stopped his march toward the jail and focused on the phone. “Sam, what’s wrong with Haley?”
“She’s very sick; so is Luke. We are doing the best we can do, but you need to come home.”
The thought of losing his little girl sent fear down his spine.
“Sam, I’m coming home soon. I’m leaving in about an hour. It will take me a day or so and I’ll be there!”
“Where are they dropping you off?”
“I’m driving back.”
“Why? Why are you driving?”
“Long story, everything is fine on my end. I’ll be home soon.”
“There’s something else too,” Samantha said.
Gordon could hear more concern in her voice. “What is it?”
“The government in Cheyenne is sending help, but Nelson and others don’t think they’re coming to help, so to speak.”
“What do they think?”
“That they’re coming to quarantine us.”
“Honey, everything will be fine, I’ll be home soon. I love you,” Gordon said, his answer different from the concerned thoughts spinning around in his head.
“I love you too. Please hurry back.”
“I will. Tell Haley I love her,” he finished, and hung up. Then the reality of everything he had to accomplish before he could leave hit him like a ton of bricks. He pocketed the phone and took off running as fast as he could, considering his wounds, heading for the jail.
Warren Air Force Base, Cheyenne, Wyoming
A light tap on the door halted the debate Annaliese and Sebastian had been having about her ability to get up and move. She insisted she was fine, while he wouldn’t allow it. He believed she needed more time to rest.
“Come in,” Sebastian called out.
The door opened and Wilbur stepped in.
“Secretary Wilbur, what a surprise to see you here,” Sebastian said.
“I’ve been meaning to stop by to check on you. How are you doing, Annaliese?”
“I’m good, thank you.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve actually met. I’m Secretary of State Wilbur, but please just call me Bethanny,” Wilbur said, holding her hand up in an awkward wave.
“Hi,” Annaliese said, looking at this relatively young and attractive woman. Few people would have thought Wilbur attractive, but Annaliese could see it. Wilbur hid her beauty behind stiff clothes, pulled-back hair, and relatively no makeup.
“You’re the person I wanted to talk to. The timing of your visit is uncanny,” Sebastian said.
“Oh, is it?” Wilbur responded.
A nervous undertone to her voice told Sebastian that something was wrong.
“Mr. Van Zandt, can I speak to you in private?”
“No, whatever he knows, I know; we make decisions together,” Annaliese said defiantly.
Wilbur looked at her then back to Sebastian, who nodded his approval.
“The mission in Coos Bay has gone horribly wrong.”
Fear traveled down Sebastian’s spine upon hearing that.
“We sent one of our men with your brother, and apparently your brother killed him.”
“What? I’m sure Gordon had good reason if he did. Believe me, he wouldn’t have otherwise,” Sebastian said, quick to his brother’s defense.
“What has happened there has consequences here. I’m concerned for your safety. I would suggest you don’t go out again like you did the other night, and if you do, stay away from Pat’s. You don’t need any more altercations with Major Schmidt.”
“What altercation?” Annaliese asked.
“It’s nothing, I’ll explain later,” Sebastian replied.
“I have credible word that Major Schmidt wants you both arrested. I’m concerned for you both. I’ve asked for greater security here. I spoke to your doctors and once you’re able, I’ve arranged safe passage to anywhere you want to go.”
Annaliese was scared by the things Wilbur was telling them. She reached over and took Sebastian’s arm.
“Who is this Major Schmidt?” Annaliese asked.
Wilbur just looked at Annaliese. She wanted to spew out everything she disliked and distrusted about him, but she knew that wasn’t the smart thing to do.
“Mr. Van Zandt, just please stay put. No more trips until the one that takes you both away.”
“Okay, but what about my brother? Any more news, anything?”
“No, but I can tell you that the administration is not happy. That’s why it’s important for you both to just lay low until I can get you out.”
“Why are you doing this?” Annaliese asked.
Wilbur took a deep breath. “We made you both a promise to take care of you. I don’t know what happened in Coos Bay but you’re not a party to it. You came here seeking help and I will honor our country’s pledge to do that. If I can do anything in my position I will make sure that we keep the mantle of hope and freedom over one of fear and tyranny.”
Sebastian and Annaliese could see the passion in Wilbur’s face.
“I’ll leave you two. Thank you for listening, and please, I cannot stress this enough—stay close to the phone. If I call and say it’s time to go, don’t hesitate,” Wilbur said. She then turned and exited.
Sebastian rushed to follow her into the hallway. “Madam Secretary.”
“Yes.”
“You’re not telling us everything. What is it?”
“I’m worried about you two.”
“Why? Because of Gordon? Or Schmidt?”
Looking straig
ht and hard into Sebastian’s eyes, she said, “Government has the capacity to do wonderful things and can be an instrument for good, but it can also be an instrument for evil if left in the wrong hands.”
Coos Bay, Oregon
As Gordon drew closer to the jail it became apparent that word of Barone’s death must have leaked, as he saw groups of Marines and others loading vehicles. The streets were still vacant but soon he knew the word would spread to the people; they’d be out too. Some would merely come out to survey the area, but others would be seeking retribution.
He reached for the handle on the front door of the police station when it burst open. Several Marines brushed past him, loaded down with boxes and arms. Their focus was on getting what they could and not on him.
Aside from the men he encountered on the way out, the place was empty. He meandered down the debris-covered hallway toward the holding cells. At the end of the long hallway stood a massive metal door with a small window. He peered through the thick glass and saw people in cells but couldn’t make out any of them. The only way to find out if Brittany was in there was to get inside.
Next to the door was a sliding window and control station for the cells. Before he entered the cell block he picked up a set of larger-than-average-sized keys; he hoped these would be useful. A strong smell of fecal matter and urine overcame him as he entered; placing his arm over his nose and mouth only slightly alleviated the grotesque odor.
“Brittany! Brittany, where are you?” he yelled out.
People began to stir and respond after they heard his calls.
Each cell he looked into housed numerous people, their arms dangling between the bars in a desperate attempt to grab him. Pleas for help and release followed him as he quickly strode down the passageway.
“Brittany!” he called out again.
“Down here, last cell on the right!” she responded frantically, waving her arms.
He jogged the remaining few feet to her and grabbed her hand. “Glad I found you. Are you okay?”
“I’ll be better once I get out of here,” she replied.
He fumbled with the keys, trying several until he found the one that turned the tumblers hard to the right. With a loud clank, the lock unhinged and he swung the door open.
The Line of Departure: A Postapocalyptic Novel (The New World Series Book 4) Page 24
