The Line of Departure: A Postapocalyptic Novel (The New World Series Book 4) (22 page)

Blood dripped from Ironside’s chin and nose. “We will not surrender, we will fight for our freedom,” he spat at Conner.

Schmidt struck Ironside on the head with the butt of the baton.

Conner wiped off his face and smiled. “You are no different than the other opportunists who seek to destroy our great country while we’re in a weakened state. I will not allow it.”

“We will never surrender, never!” Ironside declared, his voice garbled as blood filled his mouth.

Conner leaned in and stared into his dark brown eyes. “You’ve already lost. Right now, we are sending teams to clean homes out, and we are not stopping there. We will arrest anyone who proclaims allegiance to your group. We will try them and if they are found guilty we will execute them for treason.”

Ironside’s eyes ballooned.

“I got your attention, didn’t I? Just remember that this is of your doing, not mine. Major, take him away from me,” Conner ordered.

Schmidt forcibly took him to a truck and loaded him onboard with others from his group, many of whom couldn’t walk. Their limp bodies were being carried and tossed in the truck.

Baxter walked up behind Conner. “So, this is the new strategy?” he asked angrily.

Conner pivoted and answered him. “Not by choice but by necessity.”

Schmidt ran up and said, “What are your orders, sir?”

Conner patted him on the shoulder. “Great job today, Major. Great job!”

“Yes, sir. Your orders?”

“Just clean up. I trust you have it under control,” Conner responded.

Baxter looked on as both men talked. Now more than ever, he was feeling isolated from how things were being conducted. He wasn’t sure how to process his emotions but he felt jealous of Schmidt. Conner had without a doubt taken a liking to the young officer and was now confiding in him. Baxter never thought of himself as an envious man but for a multitude of reasons this emotion was overtaking him and he didn’t like it.

Schmidt saluted, turned, and walked off.

“General, you look . . . shocked.”

“Actually I am, sir. I don’t think this operation with Major Schmidt was a coincidence. This was coordinated.”

Conner took a step toward him and placed his hand on his shoulder. “Today we took a stand against the enemies of the United States. You may not agree with some of my tactics or even the strategy, but what happened here today was necessary.”

“I thought you were going to include us in these decisions,” Baxter said, reminding Conner of his earlier pledge.

“General Baxter, you’re just going to have to trust me.”

“Yes, sir. Sir, if you’ll excuse me, I want to go help Major Schmidt process our new prisoners.”

“Good man, go do that. I think I’m going to go back and—” Conner said, then stopped himself short when he saw Pat in the distance.

Pat was staring in his direction, and when they locked eyes on each other, his face expressed disappointment. Conner thought about speaking to him, but he hesitated. He wasn’t in the mood to hear objections, even from a friend. He wanted to keep the high he was riding for as long as possible. He raised his arm and gave a slight wave, then turned and headed back to the capitol flanked by his security detail.

Coos Bay, Oregon, Pacific States of America

Gordon and Finley sat pensively as the armored Humvee wound its way through the lifeless streets of Coos Bay. Samantha and Haley had been on Gordon’s mind more and more. He hoped that soon he’d be on his way back to McCall. Each day that passed added to the pain he felt being separated from them.

“Is the phone turned on?” Gordon asked.

“Yeah, don’t worry, Prince Charming, it’s on. If we have coverage and she calls, it’ll ring,” Finley sneered.

Gordon ignored Finley’s comment and stared out the window as they passed one empty house after another. After clearing the last checkpoint, the activity on the streets went from barely detectable to nothing. His assumption was that they were in a secure area, meaning that Barone must be close by.

“What are you going to do if it rings while you’re talking with the good ol’ colonel and it’s your wife?” Finley asked.

“You’re going to give me the phone is what’s going to happen,” Gordon said.

“Ha. You know something? I’m going to be a nice guy today. Here, take it,” Finley said as he offered the phone to Gordon with a broad smile stretched across his face.

“Serious?”

“Yeah, take it. Don’t ever say I never gave you anything.”

Gordon took the phone. He immediately looked to confirm it was turned on. He unbuttoned the top pocket of his long-sleeved shirt and slipped the phone in.

 • • • 

The Humvee pulled up to a small white house with black shutters at the end of a cul-de-sac. Two armed Marine guards approached and escorted Gordon and Finley to the front door. There they were told to leave all weapons and then were frisked to ensure they didn’t carry any guns. The guard frisking Gordon felt the phone and took it out.

“Sorry, no weapons, phones, or recording devices.”

Just as the Marine reached for the phone, it rang.

The wrenching feeling in Gordon’s gut was gone and replaced with excitement.

“Samantha?” Gordon asked into the phone.

“Gordon, oh my God. I . . . believe . . .” Samantha said, her voice breaking up.

“Sam, you there?”

“. . . ordon, it’s Hal . . .”

“What’s wrong, Sam, you’re breaking up!” Gordon spoke loudly into the phone; he could hear the urgency in Samantha’s broken voice.

The phone suddenly went dead; he looked at it and pressed the button to redial.

“Sergeant Van Zandt, you need to go, the colonel is waiting.”

“Hold on, I need to try and reach her,” Gordon answered. Frustration built in him as the call wouldn’t connect.

“That beep means no signal, boss,” Finley said.

“Damn it!” Gordon exclaimed.

“Sir, the colonel is waiting,” the Marine said firmly with his hand out.

“But I need . . . this call is important,” Gordon pleaded.

Finley stepped in and said, “Really, Van Zandt? I’ll go in first.”

Gordon pushed the concern out of his mind, knowing that getting the meeting over with Barone was critical to completing the mission. He could not allow Finley to go in first; he needed to explain to Barone who Finley was. “No, I’ll go. Here,” he said, handing the phone to Finley. “If she calls, find out what’s going on, please.”

Gordon turned to the guard and held up a bottle of scotch. “Is this fine to bring in?”

The guard grabbed the bottle and examined it, then handed it back. “Sure.” He hollered to his colleague. “He’s clear.”

Another Marine came out and escorted Gordon inside. He looked around and was surprised to see the small living room was empty except for two lawn chairs. The only light emanated from underneath a door at the end of a long hallway. The guard stopped him just before he entered the hallway. He was surprised that with all the troubles, Barone didn’t have more men guarding him.

“Go ahead, it’s the door at the end of the hall,” the guard instructed.

Gordon nodded and walked the remaining distance down the creaking wooden hall until he reached the door. He paused a moment before he knocked. He wasn’t sure what he’d be encountering on the other side but he needed this meeting to be successful. With his nerves calm, he tapped on the door.

“Yes, come in!”

Gordon recognized the raspy voice; he grabbed the cold brass handle and opened the door. There in a queen-sized bed, Colonel Barone was sitting up, with half a dozen pillows stuffed behind him. He was wearing only a green T-shirt with matching green shorts. His leg was wrapped with a thick bandage. Papers, binders, and books were spread across the bed. The nightstand was overburdened with half-empty glasses, medicine bottles, tissues, bandages, and a Beretta M9 pistol.

Barone looked up from a pad of paper he was drawing on and said, “Come in. Sit down over there.” He squinted and then added, “Van Zandt, what the fuck!”

“Hi, Colonel, good to see you,” Gordon said, still standing.

“Close the fucking door and take a seat,” Barone barked.

Gordon did as he said and sat down in a small chair against the wall. He surveyed the room, which resembled any ordinary bedroom. Chest of drawers and a dresser against the walls, small runner carpets at the foot of the bed. The most important thing he studied was Barone’s leg.

“Did you trip?” Gordon joked.

“Motherfuckers were lucky last night. I took a round, but it will take more than this to stop me. You should’ve seen me. I kept fighting like a good Marine,” Barone said proudly.

“Is it bad?”

Barone rubbed the bandage and answered, “Nah, stings a little but the meds help with that.”

“This might help too,” Gordon said, holding up the bottle of scotch.

Barone was clearly in need of bifocals, as he held the bottle at arm’s length and read the label. “This is a very nice bottle of scotch. You’re a good man and this is another example of that.” Barone opened the bottle. He grabbed the half-full glass on the nightstand, took the last gulp, and filled it with his new gift.

“Sir, you know why I’m here. Meaning why I’m in Coos Bay.”

“Out fucking standing, that is top notch!” Barone yelped after taking a long drink, ignoring Gordon’s comment.

Gordon watched him in amazement. It appeared that the man just didn’t give a shit about anything.

“I was sent here by President Conner. He wants to know what’s happening with you. I wouldn’t have done it if my brother and his wife hadn’t needed medical care that could only be provided in Cheyenne,” Gordon said. His voice cracked a bit; he couldn’t help his nerves.

Barone finished the glass of scotch and returned it to the nightstand. In one quick motion, he picked up a pistol and pointed it at Gordon.

Gordon jerked in his chair as he stared down the muzzle of the handgun.

“What are you doing here, Van Zandt? Are you here to betray me too?” Barone bellowed.

Gordon held his hands high and said, “Colonel, if you shoot me, you’ll never know why I’m here and what’s going on.”

Barone didn’t flinch.

“Please put the gun down,” Gordon pleaded.

“Ha, ha, ha, I’m fucking with you, Van Zandt,” he said, laughing, then tossed the pistol onto the bed.

Gordon exhaled heavily and relaxed into the chair.

“You don’t have to tell me what’s going on, I already know,” Barone said.

Gordon raised his eyebrows, surprised by Barone’s admission that he was fully aware of Gordon’s mission.

“What do you know?” Gordon queried, curious as to what Barone might divulge.

“That split tail. You’re here for that woman.”

Gordon was shocked by the remark and thought about Barone’s assumption for his visit to Coos Bay. Not knowing how to answer or remark, he kept quiet.

“She is a good-looking woman, I will say that,” Barone joked.

Seizing on his assumptions, Gordon asked, “Can you release her to me?”

“Van Zandt, I like you, always have. I still remember the day you came into my hooch after the shooting in the mosque. I looked into your eyes and saw a strong man, a determined man. You were deliberate then and you’re deliberate now. I respect that about you. There needs to be more men like you.”

“Thank you.”

“How’s your family holding up?”

Gordon was taken aback by such a personal question and the fact that Barone ignored his request about Brittany. But Gordon wasn’t going to press too hard. Barone made him feel uneasy and he didn’t want to set him off.

“Good, I think.”

“You think? What the hell kind of answer is that?”

“You know how it is, sir, being out of touch with them. You have to assume they’re fine.”

Barone chewed on that and said, “I guess you’re right. Mine left me. My wife and daughter just packed up and left me.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“What’s all of this about, huh? I mean, why do us men do the things we do?”

Gordon didn’t answer, as it seemed like Barone was mostly posing the question to himself.

Barone reached over and grabbed the bottle of scotch and his glass and filled it again. He glanced over at Gordon and asked, “You want a taste?”

“No, sir, I’m trying to keep my wits about me.”

“Good for me, now I have more to myself,” he chuckled.

“Sir, can—”

“Everything I did, the mutiny, everything, was to make sure I could rescue my wife and daughter from harm’s way and what do they do? They leave me just when I need them the most. That’s fucking gratitude for you,” Barone barked. He took another large gulp and said, “It’s a tough world out there, especially when you can’t even trust your own family. It’s a real motherfucker. So now I sit here, bullet in my leg, war waging in the streets, and I have to ask myself, what’s it all for? I’m just fighting to fight now because I don’t know what else to do. You know that I was offered a way out? Yep! Old Timms came to me and said they would be willing to stop if I would leave. Here’s the kicker: I honestly considered it.”

Gordon was mesmerized. Here was the mighty Colonel Barone, the Butcher of Coos Bay, opening himself up to him. Without a doubt, this confirmed to Gordon that Barone just didn’t give a shit anymore.

“I honestly tried to imagine myself up in the woods somewhere, retired, big fat belly and long hair. Can you see me like that?” he asked Gordon.

“Actually, sir, I can’t.”

“Ha, right answer. I can’t see myself like that either. I am a fucking warrior, a Marine!” He finished the glass and poured more scotch.

“Sir, I’m here with another man—”

“I remember you telling me about your son being murdered. That’s some shitty luck. You know we have that in common,” Barone said, interrupting Gordon.

Gordon nodded. “I’m just trying to do the best for my daughter now.”

“Van Zandt, we can only do what we can do. Just remember, the most important thing for you to do is keep them safe. That’s your responsibility, period. There’s no one out there who will do it for you. I tried myself to be a good parent, but being a career Marine made that hard. I gave my life, my soul, to the Corps and the country. Many say I’m a traitor, but I’m happy with the decision I made. How many who proclaim patriotic purity would have allowed their wife and daughter to be left to the mobs and criminals? If they did, I would say they were traitors in their own right. The most difficult thing for me to deal with is that after all I gave, after all I sacrificed, they abandoned me.” Barone poured more scotch into the glass and shot it back.