Those Who Remain: A Postapocalyptic Novel (The New World Book 7) Page 2

  “Outside,” Gordon said.

  Hunter fully stepped inside and headed directly to the balcony. “Aren’t you cold?”

  “Nah,” Gordon replied.

  Seeing a chair next to Gordon, Hunter sat down.

  “You’re early,” Gordon said.

  “Mom always taught me being prompt was good, but being early was great,” Hunter said.

  “That sounds like your grandmother,” Gordon said.

  “What kinda woman was Grandma?” Hunter asked.

  The scowl on Gordon’s face melted away when Samantha’s name was mentioned. “Your grandma was an amazing woman, friend, mother and wife. She was so smart, much smarter than me. In fact, if it weren’t for her, I would’ve made even more dumb mistakes. She was also very brave and a fighter when she had to be, especially when you messed with her kids.”

  “I wish I would’ve met her,” Hunter lamented.

  “You missed out, she was the best. God doesn’t make many like her, a real gem.”

  “Grandad, what’s going to happen? I thought you were going to come out of hiding, but it now seems like you’ve changed your mind.”

  “I’m not as bullish as I was before,” Gordon replied.

  “You do plan on helping the president, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, I’ll help them, but their plan is shit, total shit.”

  “What would you do?” Hunter asked.

  Gordon looked up to the sky and said, “I hate that you can’t really see the stars here.”

  “We’re doing a good thing. At first I was thinking we were planning some kind of coup against our government or something illegal. Sorry for being a bit emotional at first.”

  “No need to apologize, that hot emotional blood is a Van Zandt thing, although I would recommend you keep it in check.”

  “Why are you upset?” Hunter asked.

  “Because I just witnessed a weak leader. Nothing is as bad as an insecure man or a weak leader, and they’re not mutually exclusive.”

  “President Shiver isn’t weak. He’s done a lot for Cascadia.”

  “He’s about to make a massive mistake with Coleman. You can’t arrest a man like that.”

  Hunter’s jaw dropped. “Are you suggesting you’d have him killed?”

  “Not just him but all his ilk.”

  “That’s murder.”

  “That’s how you maintain security.”

  “Then we’re no better than the enemies we profess are evil.” Hunter gasped.

  “Why do weak men make moral judgements?”

  “Granddad, did you just call me a weak man?” Hunter asked, a tinge of disappointment and shock in his voice.

  “It was a rhetorical question. The answer is because they know strong men will protect them,” Gordon asserted.

  Hunter sighed, a bit disturbed that Gordon might have referred to him as weak.

  Seeing the sour look on his face, Gordon followed up, “And no, I don’t think you’re weak, just a bit misguided.”

  “I went from weak to misguided, great.”

  “Misguided can be fixed if you just listen with your ears and not your mouth.”

  “Just because we’re not so hardcore or think differently doesn’t make us wrong. The times you went through were tough, and let’s all admit it, some bad things were done in our country’s name. We’re not living in those times, so we can do things differently now.”

  Gordon looked at Hunter and smiled before he said, “I’ve lived a long time and seen a lot of shit. In my latter years, I’ve become somewhat of a philosopher and this is one truth that is undisputable. Hard times create strong men, strong men create good times, good times create weak men, and weak men create hard times.”

  Hunter grunted and declared, “We are a nation of laws and we just can’t kill Coleman.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because that’s what dictators do.”

  “You know your grandma said I was better suited to be a dictator,” Gordon quipped.

  “You can’t truly believe that killing Coleman is better than bringing him to justice,” Hunter questioned.

  “Of course it is, it’s the very definition of it. By arresting and imprisoning him, we risk him using it as a PR stunt,” Gordon said.

  “But killing him can do the same thing; in fact, you’ll make him a martyr.”

  “Hunter, my boy, we don’t defeat our enemy by imprisoning them and giving them a platform to spread the very propaganda that they hope will defeat you. I know there’s all this talk about being able to express yourself, but you can only have freedom and liberty when others want that for you. When the other side only uses freedom with the hopes of destroying it later once they’re in charge, it’s time to shut them down. This isn’t a debate. They will use our constitution as long as they need to until they get the power; then watch them trash it. Don’t be foolish. You look at these socialists and think they’re just like you, that they want the same freedoms and your only differences concern how the government spends money. That’s a lie you’re telling yourself and now the administration has proof this party is working with a foreign government to overthrow us. Like I told the president, this situation doesn’t need a law enforcement solution but a military one. We need to demonstrate that we won’t tolerate this. We need to crush these people, eradicate them.”

  “Wow, eradicate?”

  Seeing that Hunter wasn’t going to fully understand and tired of debating, Gordon switched gears. He thought maybe he’d be able to convince Hunter by illustrating his form of justice. “Where did we finish off?”

  “On what?”

  “The past, where did I stop?”

  “When Jacques invaded Idaho.”

  “Yeah, yeah, that’s right. I had gotten a call from Gunny. How about we talk about that since it doesn’t appear we’re going to agree on this topic.”

  Hunter leaned back and said, “I’m all ears.”

  MARCH 3, 2016

  “War is cruelty. There is no use trying to reform it. The crueler it is, the sooner it will be over.” – William Tecumseh Sherman

  Sandpoint, Idaho, Occupied Cascadia

  Jacques tapped his fingers on the hardwood table. The veins in his temple pulsated and his nostrils flared with each breath.

  Standing at attention in front of him was Colonel Reginald Smith, he had been his most beloved military commander until the invasion of Idaho.

  “Sir, if I may explain—”

  Jacques raised his hand in a signal for him to remain quiet.

  Smith gulped hard and lowered his gaze.

  The large log home that was now Jacques’ base of operation in Northern Idaho overlooked Lake Pend Oreille, a massive natural lake that spanned miles. The deep blue-colored water lapped with small whitecaps as the strong winds whipped across its surface.

  Jacques used the huge great room of the house as his office. With its twenty-two-foot ceilings and large windows that spanned from the ground to the eaves, it was the perfect space that represented his personality.

  Smith had been called to discuss the latest issues with the war effort and, upon his arrival ten minutes ago, hadn’t been allowed to utter a word nor had Jacques offered any.

  Across the lake, a thick plume of smoke rose and contrasted against the intensely blue and cloudless sky.

  Jacques sat and stared at the smoke as his fingers continued to drum against the desk.

  Smith cleared his throat. He too was watching the smoke rise.

  “One month, right?” Jacques asked, his gaze still upon the smoke.

  “Sir?”

  “It’s been one month since we began our campaign of liberation.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And what do we have to show for it?” Jacques asked.

  “Sir, we now occupy a significant portion of the panhandle from Sandpoint north to the border,” Smith replied.

  “You’re right, but what do we really occupy? A small town and nothing but mountains and wate
r all covered over with a thick blanket of snow.”

  “But, sir, I fully—” Smith said before being cut off.

  “You ensured me that this tactic would work. You said a man like Van Zandt would not allow us to sit up here a week without bringing what forces he had to engage us,” Jacques said and spun his chair to finally face Smith. “It’s been a month now and no sign of Van Zandt or his army. In that time we’re spread out and our supply train is limited because of the weather. Up north what force we left there cannot come to our aid because Ottawa is coming.”

  “Sir, I don’t know why Van Zandt hasn’t moved north to expel us. Based upon his personality profile and his history, this was textbook.”

  “This is the problem I have with pseudo-intellectuals. You think you’re so much smarter than everyone else. You with your degrees from Harvard, you think that warfare is based upon personality profiles.”

  “But, sir, if I may explain.”

  “No, you can’t. Now we’re snowed in, our supplies are down, we have desertions and the local resistance is getting stronger by the day while we get weaker.”

  “Sir, if I may, I think it’s time we move south again, go to Lewiston, sack that city, and cause more pain for Van Zandt. That will certainly force him to come north.”

  “And spread our forces out even further?”

  “No, sir, we don’t leave anyone here, just advance. Our main objective is to defeat his main army and kill him. If we can do that, the rest will fall in line.”

  Jacques grunted and turned around to face the water again. He thought about everything that led up to this point and had just now concluded that the invasion was foolish. He wasn’t a military man; he wasn’t a man who waged conventional warfare. He was a guerilla of sorts. He only knew how to fight by manipulating his enemy but on a personal level. His attempt to secure Cascadia by coercion could have worked had Autry and a traitor in his own ranks not sabotaged his plan. After that failure, he allowed his anger to blind him and put men who used dated tactics to take over. Now he sat, his army, which was his one strength, was falling apart, and if he were to retreat, the optics would further erode the morale. Things needed to change and change quickly. Jacques had finally come to realize that Smith’s strategy had failed and he would need to take over and implement a plan.

  “Colonel, this strategy has failed and all you offer after a month of digging in and establishing hardened defensive positions is to abandon it and move further? I understand your need to have this strategy prevail, it’s not become about us, it’s become about you maintaining a shred of credibility.”

  “Sir, I know that we took a chance and it didn’t quite work out as we planned.”

  “I will not commit our army to another offensive against a small city with the hopes of drawing Van Zandt out to fight. You misjudged him. While we’ve been sitting here getting blown up almost daily,” Jacques said, pointing to the plume of smoke, “Van Zandt has been adding to his ranks. We’ve had some good fortune in that the United States hasn’t attacked us. Thank God we didn’t take your advice and send our other forces into Montana.”

  “If you just give me another chance, sir, I promise this will bring him to the field to fight.”

  “No, we’re not doing this your way anymore. Here is what we’re going to do. Send me twenty of your best fighters. They need to be men who aren’t afraid of death and who are willing to do anything for our cause. From here on out we will strike fear and terrorize the leadership of Cascadia.”

  MARCH 8, 2016

  “I must study politics and war that my sons may have liberty to study mathematics and philosophy.” – John Adams

  New Meadows, Idaho, Republic of Cascadia

  Gordon walked slowly past the bodies. They were laid in a row along the front of the farmhouse. Blood-soaked sheets covered the vicious wounds they had suffered at the hands of a rogue advance element from Jacques’ army.

  Seeing any of his people brutally murdered was hard on Gordon, but this attack was barbaric. Not only were the young children butchered, but per the first team that had shown up, they had also been raped.

  Who does that? Gordon asked himself as he thought about the poor innocent children being subjected to such horrific acts. The fear they must have felt, the helplessness and utter terror. These thoughts made his blood boil. He knew the second he heard about Jacques’ invasion that it would be a brutal conflict. Jacques wasn’t any foe, he was a butcher.

  A strong wind swept across the valley and blew the sheet off the body of a girl.

  At first Gordon cringed when he saw her naked, battered and bruised body. The gaping laceration on her neck was the final and fatal wound. He turned away but stopped himself and turned back to look at her. He needed to remember her face. This way she wouldn’t completely die if he still held her in his thoughts.

  He squatted down, pulled the sheet back over her and tucked it under her body. “I’ll not forget you.”

  “Gordon, we’ve found one,” John hollered from a small shed near the back of the property.

  Hearing this, Gordon jumped up and marched towards the backyard.

  John and two Marines pulled a young man from the weathered wood shed and threw him to the ground.

  “Fuck you!” the man yelled, defiant in his capture. His thick long hair hung over his face. He pushed it back and spit, “You all are gonna die, ha.”

  Gordon walked up to the man and, without saying a word, grabbed the man by his hair and dragged him towards the front.

  “Argh!” the man hollered.

  Gordon remained silent as he dragged the man hard across the frozen ground.

  “Fuck you, Jacques is gonna kill all of you!” the man cried out.

  Gordon stopped when he reached the row of bodies. He let the man go and asked, “You killed them, why?”

  The man laughed and said, “Yeah, so what?”

  Gordon saw red. He clenched his fist and punched the man squarely in the face.

  The man went reeling back and fell onto his back.

  Two trucks rumbled down the driveway.

  Gordon looked over his shoulder to see who it was.

  John stepped up and said, “Looks like Elizabeth’s security detail.”

  “Huh? What the hell is she doing here?” Gordon asked. “This is a secure military zone.”

  The trucks came to a stop.

  The rear passenger door of the first truck opened. Elizabeth Karen stepped out and gingerly walked over the crusty six-inch-deep snow.

  The man laughed and said, “I bet she hits harder than you.”

  Gordon cocked his head and leered at him. He turned back to Elizabeth and asked, “What are you doing here?”

  Elizabeth was a small woman, standing no taller than five foot two and very thin; she probably weighed no more than a hundred and five pounds. However, her small stature didn’t stop her from exerting great influence. From the start, she and Gordon clashed. It wasn’t just their styles in governing, it was their core beliefs that were opposite. She had been an ideological ally of Charles Chenoweth but wasn’t part of his movement. To assuage and bring unity, Michael Rutledge had convinced Gordon to allow diversity of opinion on the council. Gordon didn’t like it but left the politics to Michael. Within weeks, Elizabeth got herself appointed the chairwoman by flipping one of Michael’s friends to vote for her. Gordon wasn’t shocked and Michael was left in the minority on the council. From that day on, the council threw up one roadblock after another to any proposal by Gordon. However, Gordon wasn’t your typical leader, he cared less for protocol and politics, and he continued to be pragmatic and exercised his will so that things could be done swiftly.

  She walked up to Gordon, her face emotionless.

  Gordon faced her and asked, “What are you doing here? It’s not safe.”

  “I could say the same thing of you. You are the president and we can’t risk losing our leader.”

  “Well, I’m not a desk jockey. I prefer to lead from
the front.”

  She walked around him and looked down at the bodies. “I heard they were slaughtered and wanted to come see for myself.”

  Gordon was skeptical of her visit. He walked up beside her and said, “They even raped the children.”

  “Oh no,” she said placing her gloved hand over her mouth.

  “There’s more of that to come!” the man yelled.

  Elizabeth looked at the man who was still on the ground. A trickle of blood dripped down his chin from a split lip. “Is he…”

  “Yeah, he’s one of the bastards who did this,” Gordon confirmed.

  “Why, why would they do something like this?” Elizabeth asked. She turned away from the bodies and said, “This is war. This is murder.”

  “You’re wrong. This is war and therefore we need to crush them as soon as possible using everything we can. Because if we don’t, we’ll see more of this but on a larger scale,” Gordon said.

  “What’s to become of this man?” Elizabeth asked.

  “First I’m gonna question him; then—”

  “I ain’t sayin’ shit, fuck you!” the man barked.

  Elizabeth marched towards the man and stopped just a couple of feet away. She glared at him and asked, “Why did you do this?”

  “Because this is our land. We’ll do whatever we want,” he answered.

  “You’re despicable!” she barked.

  “We got another one!” a Marine yelled from a field off the back of the house.

  Everyone looked up and saw a lone man racing as best he could through the snow-covered field.

  A gunshot cracked.

  The shot struck the man in the ass causing him to tumble to the ground.

  Several Marines went after him and brought him back.

  Like his comrade, he was defiant and shouting obscenities.

  “You’re all dead, dead, you hear me!” the man said.

  Elizabeth asked him the same question she had posed to the first man, “Why would you do something like this?”