The Long Road

JANUARY 13, 2014

40 miles east of Barstow, CA

Nelson tapped on his watch to make sure it was working. He even brought it to his ear. It was ticking. He looked over at the door of Samantha’s trailer. Any moment she’d come out and be ready for another day of searching. The past two days had been unfruitful. They had driven morning to night. Slowly they were marking off the grids on her map. Today they were planning to go near Fort Irwin. Because of the discontent and the disagreement the group had with Gordon and Holloway, Gordon hadn’t felt the need to leave a clue about where they were actually going. All everyone knew was he was going to the base.

Nelson looked at his watch again. Samantha was running ten minutes late. Assumptions ran through his mind—she must have overslept. He knew how important this was to her, so he walked to the door and tapped twice on the glass window.

Movement inside let him know she was there. The door creaked open, and out stepped Samantha. Her eyes were puffy from crying.

“Just give me a minute to get Haley ready,” she said, softly wiping tears off of her cheeks.

“Sure, take your time,” Nelson answered. He thought about asking her if she was okay but stopped short. He knew why she was crying; he already knew she wasn’t okay.

Samantha stepped back in and closed the door. Inside he could hear movement and murmuring. Moments later the door opened again and Samantha stepped out holding a tired and clingy Haley. She was wrapped in her blanket and was resisting Samantha’s requests to wake up.

“Just give me a minute to drop her off,” Samantha said, walking toward another trailer.

Nelson watched her. He couldn’t imagine what she was feeling. He didn’t have children, much less a spouse. Gordon had opened his home to him and his parents, and for that he was eternally grateful. It had been only three days, but a couple of people were already asking him how long they were going to sit around. He knew the grumbling would grow the longer they sat. Without a single sign of what had happened and knowing Gordon’s prowess, Nelson himself was coming to the regretful conclusion that his friend might be dead. He hoped today was the day they’d find them or find a clue as to where they might be. That way he could keep the search going.

“I suggest we go near the south gate of the base and work our way around to the east, then north along the perimeter,” Samantha said, focused on the map in her lap. She traced her suggested route with her right index finger while she held a lensatic compass in her left hand.

“Okay, so which way do I go?” Nelson asked, peering out through the bug-covered windshield.

“Just keep heading straight.”

They drove without a word save for Samantha’s directions. Nelson had attempted to start a conversation, but Samantha’s monosyllabic responses told him she didn’t want to talk.

“At the top of the rise, stop,” she said.

Nelson followed her instructions and stopped just short of the skyline. They both got out and crouched until they reached a spot to lie down and survey the valley that stretched out before them to the north. With binoculars, they looked for any sign that might help. Two to three miles away, they could see the southern fence line of the base. Nelson panned his field of view to his right. There he saw a circling flock of birds.

“Samantha, hey, I think I might have something. Look that way,” he said, pointing east.

She trained her binoculars on the birds, then strained to see what they were circling: something large—large enough to be a person.

She jumped up without concern for skylining herself and ran to the truck. Nelson was right behind her. She had gotten behind the wheel and started the engine. Nelson could see the determination on her face.

Her forehead wrinkled, and the crow’s-feet around her eyes became more prominent as she focused on the task. She put the truck into gear before Nelson had a chance to close the passenger door. The truck spun out and threw dirt and rocks as she accelerated east along the ridgeline.

The silence between them continued, now brought on by the fact that both of them thought the worst.

She turned the wheel to the right and went down a dirt road. The road crested the hill and doglegged down the opposite side to the valley floor. The truck whined with each abrupt turn. Samantha barely slowed to compensate for the turns. Nelson’s body was tense, and he gripped the armrest tightly with each anticipated turn. The desert dust was filling the cab with a brown haze.

Samantha prayed: Please, God, don’t let it be Hunter or Gordon, please.

They both knew they’d find a body; whose it was, was the question.

Samantha slammed down on the accelerator once they cleared the dogleg and entered the straight, flat valley floor. Both were bouncing up and down in the truck as they raced over each mound and hole.

She slammed on the brakes just short of the body. The turkey vultures that were picking at it flew off with haste, their loose feathers floating through the air.

Samantha opened the door, stepped out, then paused.

The body that lay before them was that of an adult. This gave her some conciliation that it wasn’t Hunter. The horrible condition of the body—from the severe bloating to the dry, bloodied tissues left hanging by the scavengers—made it impossible to identify from their perspective.

Nelson climbed out of the cab and carefully approached the body, acting as if might explode. With each reluctant step he too prayed that it wasn’t Gordon.

“Is it him?” Samantha yelled from behind the truck door, as if the door shielded her from the reality of what was lying dead out there.

Nelson drew closer. The body was that of a man, left to rot on his stomach. The clothes he was wearing were ripped and torn from claws and teeth.

Nelson knew Gordon had similar clothes, so they didn’t rule him out. He stepped over the body. Judging by the degree of decomposition, the man had been dead for a few days. Nelson went to grab the body and turn it over when he saw a sign he had wanted to see. Above the right rear pocket on the pants was a name tag—it read “Holloway.”

“Sam, Sam it’s not Gordon! It’s Holloway!”

Not able to answer, she fell to her knees and began to sob. Looking up to the sky, she quietly said, “Thank you, God.”

Nelson did a quick examination of the body to see if he could find the cause of death. But the vultures and Mother Nature had made it impossible.

“I don’t know how he died, but I think this might be a good sign for Gordon and Hunter.”

Pulling herself together, Samantha stood up and sat back in the truck.

Nelson walked over and said, “Let’s put his body in the truck and continue to look.”

“One sec,” she said. The tears had stopped flowing, but her nose was congested by the crying.

“Take your time.”

“Sorry, as soon as you told me it wasn’t Gordon I felt such relief but I also felt helpless. Where is he? Something bad has happened to them. Look! Holloway is dead and Gordon and Hunter are missing. Hell, I don’t even know if Hunter was with them. We’ve been looking for days, and the first sign is a dead body. Where are they, Nelson?”

“I don’t know, but today we know we are on their trail. I don’t know what happened here, but not finding Gordon alongside Holloway tells me that he just might be alive somewhere. I think the next place we need to go is right there.” Nelson pointed in the direction of the base.

Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado

Julia kept touching the stitches on her belly. The nurse had already told her not to do it, but she couldn’t help it. The little one-inch incision was all it took to remove her baby. How sad, she thought. When Brad returned, she hoped he’d understand. It wasn’t her choice; for whatever reason they weren’t meant to have the baby. She did intend on trying again after he came back. But when would that be? She felt so lost without him. She needed something to take her mind off of what had happened. The doctor had told her she’d have to stay under their care for another day or two. Typically after laparoscopic surgery she would have been able to go home within two to four hours, but not having anyone to care for her, she’d have to stay there.

She decided she would take this time to reflect on everything. So often in her life she had tried so hard to control every little aspect of things. Her focus so often in the early part of Brad’s career as a congressman was ensuring that everything looked “just right.” This tight control put her at odds with her son, Bobby. She felt it important to be a member of any number of charitable groups. The salary Brad made along with the benefits gave her the ability not to work, but she felt she couldn’t just sit at home. It was the job of the wife of an up-and-coming congressman to be active, so she set to it. Even with the cries of her toddler son to stay at home and play with him, she had places to go. She now wished she could go back and change it all. “The things we think are important truly aren’t,” she thought and laughed to herself. All her baby Bobby wanted was her time, but she couldn’t give that to him.

Regrets, so many regrets. Why does it take the loss of someone you love to awaken you to what is important in life? Again, she laughed to herself, thinking that it was a cruel joke by God. She didn’t have the courage to tell Brad her regrets about Bobby. Now Bobby was dead and Brad was missing, possibly dead.

She put that out of her mind. Every time the thought that he’d never return came creeping in, she quickly vanquished it.

Maybe God killed my baby because I’m not a good mother, she thought. Again, she rid her mind of those negative ruminations. How can there be a God? she then asked herself. How can God allow what happened seven weeks ago to happen? So many thoughts passed across her mind. She now didn’t feel alone; she knew many others were having the same doubts and questioning it all. To what purpose? Why? Who did it?

Not being able to stop the thoughts, she hit the call button. She needed a distraction.

A moment later the door opened and a young nurse came in. “Yes, Mrs. Conner? Is everything alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Actually, I’m bored. Do you have anything to read?”

“Aah, let me go see.”

“Wait a minute. Come sit down for a moment,” Julia beckoned.

The nurse looked apprehensive but obliged her. She pulled the chair from against the wall and sat down.

“So tell me your name,” Julia asked.

“I’m Nurse Belicheck,” she said. Her hands were clasped in her lap.

“No, what’s your first name?”

“Oh, my name is Stacy.”

“Where are you from, Stacy?”

“I’m from Sioux Falls, South Dakota, ma’am.”

“Don’t call me ma’am, my name is Julia. Please call me Julia.”

“Okay,” Stacy answered, clearly feeling uncomfortable.

“Is that where your family is?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Have you heard from them since the attack?”

Stacy looked down at her hands. She began to fidget with the waist string that hung from her pants.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked you that,” Julia said. She now felt foolish asking this young nurse these questions.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work.” Stacy stood up quickly, placed the chair back, and left the room.

When the large, heavy door closed, Julia let out a huge sigh.

The door opened again, but this time it was the surgeon.

“Mrs. Conner. How are you today?”

“I’m fine, Doctor. Just bored.”

“Can I get you something?”

“I already asked the nurse to find me something to read.”

“Good, good. Let’s see here.” The doctor looked at her chart and then said, “As you know, everything came out okay. All we want to do now is monitor you for a day or so. Any questions?”

“No.”

“I’ll remind the nurse about finding you something to read,” the doctor said, then promptly left the room.

When the door closed a second time, Julia said out loud, “Mr. Personality there.”

Nurse Belicheck returned fifteen minutes later with a stack of magazines.

“I scavenged and found these. I hope you’re fine with them?”

“Oh, thank you so much. Hey, listen, I’m sorry about the questions earlier.”

“Don’t be. I’m just upset about my family is all,” she said, looking sad. “If there’s anything else I can get you, let me know.”

“Thank you.”

Julia began looking at the magazines.

“She really did scavenge for these,” Julia said out loud. There was a vast assortment here. She fingered through the pile and tossed out the ones she didn’t want. Aside went Men’s Health. Aside went Guns & Ammo. Aside went Wired. She stopped when she saw the cover of Time magazine. Her hand went to the picture of Brad on the cover. She looked at the date: July 8, 2013. Below his picture the line read, “Will 2016 be his year?”

She chuckled to herself recalling the photo shoot and interview they both went through before the article was written. The camera crews, makeup people, and the pretentious writer who visited their Washington, D.C., home that day were torture. She took it all in stride, though, as it was part of the job. As she thumbed through the magazine to find the article, she passed over ads promoting health-care products, pet medicine, makeup, real estate in Tennessee, and insurance. The magazine was so full of advertising for things that everyday people thought were important then. So often people never think something bad can happen to them.

She remembered how full-circle events went for Brad. He had always been very hawkish about defense. People think politicians don’t talk politics when they go home or go out, but they do. Many times Brad would want to discuss the happenings on Capitol Hill with her, but she refused to listen after a few years. She was so tired of the endless fighting and infighting, the petty politics and agendas. She played her part as the dutiful wife and was willing and ready to assume her role as the first lady if it ever came to that, but she never thought it would happen like it did.

After September 11, Brad felt his worldview had been vindicated. He knew that something would happen stateside, and when it did he didn’t waste time pronouncing that he had predicted it. At that time he was only the majority whip, but his ambition was not short-lived. When his boss, Speaker Canning, retired, he ran and won the speakership. He held that position until the attacks came and washed him onto the shores of the presidency. It was something he had thought about, but he could never have even guessed it would have been through the line of presidential succession. The question about his running had come up in the interview that hot and humid July day, but it all seemed so weird now for her. It seemed like a different life, and in many ways it was.

Julia wondered where all those people were who had put this magazine together. Where was the young writer / interviewer? Was she alive? Julia remembered that she lived in the D.C. metro area. Did she perish in the nuclear strike on the city? All those people in her house that day. She didn’t talk to most of them, and now many of them were probably dead. It felt so odd. The circumstances had taken them out of harm’s way and saved their lives. If Bobby hadn’t been in a car accident, then she and Brad would have died. It was as if Bobby dying had saved their lives.

Julia was having the hardest time distracting herself from these dark thoughts. Wanting not to be reminded for a moment of her situation, she tossed the magazine aside and began to seek something that would feed her mind nothing but entertainment. But it was too hard; even when she picked up the People magazine and saw the photo of a celebrity couple and the headline about their most recent breakup, she couldn’t help but think of the event. Anything she picked up was a reminder of what was or what had been lost. Frustrated, she pushed all the magazines off the bed and lay back.

“Where are you, Brad?” she asked out loud. Thoughts of where he might be ran through her mind. Are you wounded? Who has you? Why have they taken you? Then the thought that she kept at bay for so long crept back into her mind: Are you dead? If Brad truly was dead, then none of this made sense and her going on made no sense. If she were to get confirmation that he was dead, she wondered if she’d have the strength to end her own life.

San Diego, California

“How do you plan on getting to Zion?” Sebastian asked. He had been invited to eat breakfast with Sorenson and didn’t want to waste time with casual chitchat.

“Ha! Why not at least take a bite of some of eggs and enjoy your breakfast before we get into the heavy conversation,” the bishop quipped.

“Sorry. I have been waiting to ask you since we last talked. I hope you know I can help with the planning and route.”

Not looking at Sebastian, Sorenson cut his fried eggs and began dipping his bacon in the runny yolk. Holding the dripping bacon, he answered, “I realize you’re an asset, and I would like to share with you our plan. Why don’t we sit down later today and go over it? I’m hoping you’ll give me some insight into what we should do.”

Sebastian perked up with that comment. “Thank you. I look forward to it,” he replied. He’d just begun to dig into his food when the screen door opened and the two boys stepped in.

Both continued to hang their heads low as they sat down at the large dinner table.

“Good morning, boys,” Sorenson said cheerily.

Both mumbled, “Morning,” as each took a seat.

“Did you boys sleep well?” Sorenson asked. He was clearly attempting to engage them in conversation.

“Yeah,” Brandon said.

“Yes, sir,” Luke replied.

Brandon picked up his fork and began to cut his eggs.

“Uh, don’t you say grace before you eat?” Sorenson asked.

His question made Brandon pause a moment, but then he continued cutting his eggs.

Luke put his fork down and answered, “Yes, sir, we, aah, I mean I used to.”

“Please go ahead,” Sorenson implored the boy.

Luke looked nervous. He looked at Brandon, who had impolitely ignored the bishop. He then sheepishly looked at Sebastian, who raised his eyebrows then winked at him.

“Um,” Luke blurted out, not knowing what to say.

“Brandon, how about a little courtesy?” Sorenson reprimanded.

Tossing his fork onto the now-empty plate, Brandon shot back, “I’m done anyway.” He stood quickly, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and left.

Sorenson just watched Brandon. He wasn’t shocked by his behavior. He knew the boy had been through a lot and his actions were most likely the result of PTSD.

Luke watched in fear as Brandon left the room. He again started his prayer but stopped.

Sebastian could not only see but feel the awkwardness oozing out of the boy.

Sorenson just waited for the boy to try again.

Not wanting Luke to feel tortured anymore, Sebastian said a quick prayer. When he was done, Sorenson thanked him. Luke, feeling a weight lifted, began to eat his breakfast.

“So, who do you think killed these people in your brother’s community?” Sorenson asked Sebastian.

“Luke here has been a big help. He mentioned a group called the Villistas, some type of former Mexican drug cartel. Apparently they have been going from community to community, almost house to house, killing and looting. As we found, they are ruthless. This is one of the main reasons why I wanted to talk about your route and about trying to expedite the trip. If we can, we need to leave ASAP.”

“Villistas, huh? Mexican drug cartel? Well, I agree, Sebastian, we need to get going, but not before we’re ready.”

“What are you waiting for?”

“We need some more cars for the trip.”

“I see. Well, what can I do to help?”

“Not much on the outside with your bum leg, but we are close. We need three more cars; then we’ll have enough to caravan everyone out of here with all of our supplies.”

“Can I suggest something? I know it might be kinda harsh and I’m guilty of it. That might be a bad word to use, but I did it as well. Stop taking in people,” Sebastian said. He took a moment to glance at Luke. His comment didn’t provoke a response.

“I hear the earthly and pragmatic side of you coming out, but we will take more children in if God puts them in front of us.”

“But with what I saw at my brother’s community, we may not have much time. We need to get those cars and go.”

“Your urgency is noted and we are in agreement that it is now time to leave, but for the time being we must keep looking for more cars, and if other children in need show up, we will take them in.”

Knowing that pressing the bishop wouldn’t work, Sebastian decided to drop the debate. “Can I help with the perimeter security? I used to be a sniper.”

“I don’t see why not. I will have one of the men give you my old Winchester Model seventy. I think you’ll appreciate that,” Sorenson answered the eager Sebastian.

The screen door sprang open and in came one of Sorenson’s men. He was sweating and out of breath.

“Bishop, we have more people at the gate.”

“How many?” Sorenson asked.

“Too many to count.”

Sorenson wiped his mouth off with a napkin and stood up.

Sebastian followed, hobbling on one leg until he reached his crutches.

Sorenson wasted no time leaving the house.

Before he could follow, Sebastian turned to Luke and asked, “You want to come?”

“Sure,” the boy said, jumping up.

They both proceeded to the main gate.

The sound of what must have been dozens of people resonated off the brick wall that lined the drive and the iron gate that stood between them and the outside world.

Sebastian moved as fast as someone could on crutches. He cursed with each step, frustrated by his injury.

Ahead of him Sorenson was standing on top of one of their trucks. It was parked behind the gate and provided a platform for him to see what was happening.

The people outside were begging for him to open the gate and let them in. Even with all the death, there were still hundreds of thousands of San Diegans alive and on the hunt for more food and a safe place. During times like this, rumors were the only source of information. Rumors had spread that the Mormon community had plenty of food and other resources. The group now at the gate were people from the bishop’s surrounding area.

Sebastian couldn’t make out the back-and-forth between the group and Sorenson until he reached the truck where the bishop stood.

“People, everyone, please stop yelling!” Sorenson called back to the unruly group. With every surge the gate bowed in and hit the side of the truck Sorenson was perched on.

“People, please calm down!” the bishop yelled.

The only response he received was multiple people yelling, “Let us in! We know you have food! We are starving!”

Sebastian knew what people were capable of when their only choices left were finding food or starving. This situation could easily escalate and spill over into their little sanctuary.

He looked at the three armed guards present, all of them appearing apprehensive and unsure.

Sorenson’s plea for calm wasn’t working. These people wanted in. They were hungry and desperate.

With everyone’s focus on the gate, nobody saw a few in the group climb the fence about thirty feet away.

“Help!” the wife of one of Sorenson’s followers screamed from the barn that sat adjacent to the fence.

Sebastian turned and saw a man grabbing her and yelling, while two others ran into the barn.

Sebastian was not fazed by the sight of chaos. After his several months in Afghanistan, his mind was sharp. He hopped over to one of the guards and demanded his handgun. The guard, a middle-aged man, complied without hesitation.

Sebastian nestled the pistol in his waistband and moved as fast as his crutches would take him toward the barn.

“Hey you, stop!” he yelled at the man who was shaking the woman.

The man looked up, let the woman go, and ran into the barn.

The barn was a single-story building with a high ceiling. It provided stalls for the few horses that Sorenson had. It now also served as a storage area for supplies his groups brought back from their runs outside.

A crashing sound caught Sebastian’s attention to his right near the fence. Two more men had jumped over. One was heading toward the guesthouse and the other toward the main house. The situation was quickly deteriorating. Sorenson was still attempting to calm the group at the gate, and his guards were now nervously pointing their guns at them.

Sebastian’s instincts told him to just start shooting these people, but his conscience wouldn’t allow him. Ignoring the two outsiders, he pressed on toward the barn. He needed to protect what supplies they had.

The three men inside the dusty barn weren’t trying to be discreet; all were ripping apart packages and eating like wild animals. Their attention was only on the food in front of them; their hunger had transformed them into caricatures of human beings.

Sebastian dropped his right crutch, grabbed the grip of the pistol in his waistband, and pulled it out. He pointed it at the unaware men and yelled, “Stop. Just stop what you’re doing and leave!”

The men stopped instantly and focused on him. They all looked middle-aged. Smears of dirt covered their unshaven and darkly tanned faces.

Time slowed down for Sebastian like it always did when he was faced with a life-or-death scenario. He had the gun trained on the man closest to him but was looking at each one carefully to see if any of them had a gun.

The man furthest from him bolted toward the back of the barn. His quick movement startled Sebastian briefly.

The other two men continued to stare at Sebastian; both were unsure what to do. The one closest to him finally spoke up. “Hey, listen, we’re hungry. You have plenty here.” He motioned with his arms to the large cache of food before them.

“This is ours and you need to leave now,” Sebastian firmly ordered.

The man who had spoken looked at the other. They locked eyes and then turned their attention back to Sebastian.

Only ten feet at the most separated them from him. If they ran, Sebastian would let them go, but if they took a step toward him, he would have no choice but to shoot them.

“Come on, man. Let us take some of this food with us to feed our families,” the other man said.

“I can’t let you do that. I need you two to leave, now,” Sebastian said louder.

The tension in the air was thick. The men’s hunger, coupled with their basic human instincts, was telling them not to move. What sat before them meant survival if they could keep it.

The sounds from outside were giving Sebastian a picture that things were now collapsing. He needed to do something about these two so he could address the pandemonium in the compound.

A shot cracked behind the men. Sebastian saw the telltale muzzle flash but couldn’t see who had shot. What he did see was the man closest to him clutch his chest. The bullet had entered his back and exited his sternum. He fell to the ground, dead.

The other man, unsure of what to do, dropped to his knees and begged for his life. His pleas were short-lived as another shot silenced him forever. The bullet ripped a gaping hole in his head. The man fell face first into the boxes of food.

Sebastian still couldn’t see who was shooting, but because the two men were the targets, he assumed whoever it was was on his side.

“Who’s there?” Sebastian called.

Out of the shadows stepped Brandon, holding Sebastian’s M9 Beretta pistol.

“Brandon?” Sebastian gasped.

“I took care of what you couldn’t, obviously,” Brandon said as he stepped over the bodies and walked past Sebastian toward the front doors.

Sebastian just stood in awe of what he had witnessed. He’d seen many things, but never had he seen a child act out in such a vicious way. It unnerved him.

The scene outside the barn had turned tenuous. Sebastian no longer saw Sorenson. Only two guards were now occupying the main gate, which still held, but the numbers coming over the fence, men and women, were too many for Sorenson’s group to stop. Fortunately for them, none of the people coming over were armed. People were running everywhere. Up at the main house Sebastian could hear glass breaking and more screaming.

To Sebastian’s left, about fifteen feet away, he saw Brandon walk toward the fence with the pistol and immediately shoot the woman who had just scaled it.

The sound of the gunshot instantly escalated the chaos. The two guards on the gate, already tense and nervous, let off a volley of fire into the group.

The yelling from the deranged group turned to screams of horror as the bullets rained down on them.

Brandon was calmly and diligently walking up to each person who had breached the compound fence and shooting.

Gunfire soon erupted from the main house, followed by harrowing screams.

Panic now gripped those who had forced their way in as they realized that the death they were trying to avoid was happening.

With the main house under siege, Sebastian’s concern for Annaliese spiked.

“Fucking leg!” he yelled out as he moved as fast as he could.

More gunfire came from the main house.

The distance from the barn to the house seemed like a hundred miles.

People he didn’t recognize came pouring out of the house with arms full of food, followed by Annaliese with a shotgun. She brought the shotgun up, placed it firmly in the pocket of her shoulder, and pulled the trigger. A man no older than twenty was struck in the back by the bird shot. He collapsed to the ground; the food he was carrying spilled out across the dead brown lawn. Annaliese pumped the action of the shotgun and shot again, this time hitting a woman in the back.

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 would 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 all 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.

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 said, 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 can 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.

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.”