The Razor's Edge: A Postapocalytic Novel (The New World Book 6) (13 page)

“I heard, but that’s not why we’re concerned. Your new policies will hinder us. Do we have to assume you’re working against us now?”

“I have to give the appearance that I’m doing something to find the perpetrators of the Christmas attack.”

“So we don’t need to be concerned?” Eli asked.

“Not at all, it’s all smoke and mirrors.”

“And what of President Cruz, anything?”

“Nothing, no remains, and now his mother is missing, presumed kidnapped,” Baxter replied.

“If this is true, it can mean two things, there’s another player or Cruz knew what was about to happen and made sure he got out of town. He could be in a safe place now, just waiting for us to expose ourselves.”

“And that’s why I’m taking careful steps here. You need to relax and let me do what I’m going to do.”

Eli pulled a piece of paper from his jacket pocket and handed it to Baxter.

“What’s this?” Baxter asked, unfolding it.

“A list of people you need to arrest as terrorists and resistance sympathizers.”

Baxter read the list and said, “There are members of the cabinet on here, good people.”

“They’re not good people if they follow and believe in the old regime and their policies.”

“What do you want?” Baxter asked firmly.

“It’s no different than before. We want Congress restored, we want democracy restored, and we want the government to be responsive to the people and not concerned with conflicts and separatists.”

“How can there be a country though if it all falls apart? Conner had some valid points.”

“Let the people decide what’s important, not a tyrant,” Eli said.

“This is about her, isn’t it? This is personal for you?” Baxter asked.

Eli lifted his glass and took a small sip. He scrunched his face when he swallowed and replied, “I cared for her, I won’t lie, but she knew the risk. In the end, she wanted our democracy restored and she paid the price, the ultimate price.”

“I cared for her too, and it wasn’t me, if you ever thought it was; it was Major Schmidt who killed her,” Baxter said.

“Hmm, not surprising, that’s who I expected. He was always a mad dog that one.” Eli grunted as he swished his glass around.

“Is there anything else, or did you just want to see me to rehash what you told me days ago?”

Eli finished the whiskey and placed the glass down. He stood and replied, “They feel it’s important you’re constantly reminded.”

“I know what’s on the line,” Baxter said.

“Good, just remember, if we fail, so do you.”

Eli walked to the door.

“I still want to have that meeting,” Baxter said referring to his request to meet with all the resistance leadership.

“Not going to happen. You lost that privilege when you turned your back on us,” Eli said.

“Very well,” Baxter said with a grin that showed his irritation was growing with Eli and his pompous attitude.

“I’ll be in touch. Please make yourself available,” Eli said and left.

When the door closed, Baxter grabbed the bottle and poured another tall glass.

Ferguson entered the room and asked, “What time should I have the chef prepare dinner?”

“Later. I need you to put a team on that man who was just here; have him followed. I want to know everywhere he goes.”

Banff, Alberta, Western Canada

Gordon’s continued resistance led Jacques to having him tied to a chair, his mouth taped, and placed in front of the window so he could best view the horror that was about to happen to Samantha.

Gordon’s eyes bulged when Samantha came into view. He watched her struggle but for naught.

Jacques paced back and forth, a full toothy grin stretched across his face. Watching people suffer gave him joy. Gordon had walked into a trap within a trap; he was playing Jacques’ sick game and didn’t even know it. Jacques was going to win regardless. Gordon’s refusal to comply added to the entertainment value of the situation for Jacques, and for that he was happy.

The guards secured Samantha to the post and radioed in.

“She’s tied up.”

Not giving Gordon a chance to surrender, Jacques tormented him. “Rip her clothes off.”

“Yes, sir.”

Gordon strained to break free and he grunted loudly. When the men tore off Samantha’s shirt, Gordon’s temper reached a crescendo as he flexed every muscle he had to break away from the restraints.

Jacques turned to a guard and said, “Give me a set of binoculars.”

The guard quickly handed him a pair.

Jacques peered through and cooed with excitement, “Look at those.”

Gordon continued to strain and groan.

“Here, look at your beautiful wife,” Jacques said as he placed the binoculars to Gordon’s face.

Gordon looked and was horrified by what he saw. The feelings of hopelessness he felt with Hunter came rushing back. Around Samantha the snow was soaked red with blood. Jacques would do it; he was mad and would mutilate his beloved wife. He couldn’t allow this to happen; he had to relent. He grunted, “Stop, please.”

“What did you say?” Jacques asked.

“Stop, I’ll do it, I’ll do it,” Gordon grunted.

“I’m sorry, I can’t understand you,” Jacques said fully knowing what Gordon was attempting to say but couldn’t clearly due to the gag. He enjoyed the torment and meant to squeeze out every ounce he could. He raised the handheld radio and ordered, “Put the blade to her left breast.”

“No, no, I’ll do it, I’ll do it!” Gordon grunted as he began to bounce up and down in the chair.

Terror gripped Gordon’s face as one of the guards placed a long blade against Samantha’s bare skin and held it there, waiting for the order to cut.

Jacques looked down at Gordon. He stepped out in front of him, clicked the radio and brought it to his mouth.

Gordon kept grunting, “I’ll do it, I’ll do it!”

Jacques lowered the radio and asked, “What?”

“I’ll do it.” Gordon groaned.

“Remove the gag,” Jacques ordered.

A guard ripped the duct tape from Gordon’s face.

“I’ll do it, I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t hurt her, don’t harm her. I’ll do anything,” Gordon begged.

“I thought I made myself clear. How do I know you will take me seriously?” Jacques asked as he raised the radio once again.

“I’ll give you Cascadia. You can have it, all of it, just give me my wife back unharmed.”

“You’ll sign a treaty acknowledging the area now claimed as Cascadia as Western Canada and you’ll support that claim by getting your council to approve?” Jacques asked.

“Yes.”

Jacques keyed the radio and said, “Cut her down from the post. He’s agreed to the deal.”

Gordon looked past Jacques and watched as they removed Samantha unharmed.

“I want to see her,” Gordon said.

“Of course, I’m a man of my word,” Jacques said.

The guards removed the restraints that bound Gordon to the chair but kept his arms tied together. They lifted him up and stood him in front of Jacques.

Jacques could see he was defeated; Gordon’s eyes said everything. He had broken Gordon and won. “Take him back to his room.”

The guards dragged a weary Gordon away.

Jacques joyfully said, “A family can always be leveraged to bring the greatest man down.”

Gordon’s anger shifted to despair as he wept.

“Get a good night’s sleep, Gordon; I’ll need you fresh for the signing tomorrow.”

West of Joseph, Oregon, Republic of Cascadia

Lexi stopped short of opening the side door to the house. She had deliberately taken longer to conduct her patrol so as not to have to deal with Nicholas. Just as she was warming to the thought of having him around and with the coincidence of them being from the same town, she began to feel that uneasy feeling return. Having people around her was dangerous, not for her physically, but emotionally. Growing an attachment to someone in this world would only lead to disappointment or suffering.

The sun had set an hour before and the full moon was riding high in the sky. She loved the muted glow the full moon cast. It gave enough light to make out where you were going but still provided cover if you needed it.

Beau was reliable as ever; he sat patiently at the door, waiting for her to open it up.

She knew he had to be hungry, but still she hesitated. Would she find him passed out? Or wide awake in a drunken stupor, which she imagined would be worse. If he was anything like her when drunk then he was probably roaming the house, mumbling and passionately replaying all the tragedies in his life. This was something she didn’t want to experience.

She peeked through a small pane of glass on the door but couldn’t see anything inside. Maybe he was asleep, she thought.

Beau whined when she touched the knob.

“Ssh, be quiet. I don’t want to wake him,” she whispered as she turned the knob and opened the door.

Stealthily she stepped inside and closed the door.

The moonlight shined through the windows, lighting a path that led through the kitchen and into the living room, where she had left him. When she entered the living room, she found the recliner empty.

Beau stopped at his bowl of water in the kitchen and with ravenous thirst lapped at the water.

Lexi unslung her rifle and set it next to the bay window, removed the pistol from the holster on her tactical vest, and shoved it into the belt on her pants then took off the heavy vest. She stretched and rubbed her shoulders. It felt good to be free of her gear.

Beau sauntered up and put his wet muzzle against her dangling hand.

“You hungry?” Lexi whispered.

“Yep!” Nicholas said loudly from the hallway.

“Shit,” Lexi said under her breath. She could tell by his tone he was drunk.

Nicholas stumbled into the room and plopped down on the recliner. “That was some patrol you went on. Did you go to Portland and back?” he mumbled.

She ignored him and took a step to go back into the kitchen when her foot kicked something on the floor. She looked down to see it was the bottle of Jim Beam but it was empty. She picked it up and said, “I see you stayed busy.”

“I don’t feel any pain, I’ll say that,” Nicholas replied.

Disgusted, Lexi went into the kitchen and opened a cabinet where she remembered seeing some canned food. She pulled out several cans of Kipper Snacks and tossed them on the counter.

Nicholas got up and stumbled into the kitchen. “What’s for din din?”

“Fish.”

“Yummy.”

Lexi peeled the lid off the first one and was greeted with the familiar strong fish odor.

Beau whimpered and panted with excitement.

Lexi dished the fish into a bowl for him.

“That smells awful. There has to be something else,” Nicholas said as he turned and opened cabinets.

Lexi shook her head at his behavior; she opened a can for herself and quickly left the kitchen to get away from him.

Nicholas found an unopened bag of oyster crackers and said, “I love these things.” He ripped the bag open, spilling many of the small crackers onto the floor. He stumbled back into the living room and headed for Lexi, who was perched on a chair next to the window. “Want some,” he said as he stuck his arm out almost hitting her in the face.

She brushed his hand away and said, “No, thanks.”

“More for me,” he said as he took several uneasy steps and fell into the recliner.

Lexi stuffed the fish into her mouth and finished it off by drinking the cottonseed oil.

“Now that’s fucking gross,” Nicholas said.

“You have to appreciate each calorie. I take nothing for granted.”

Nicholas stuffed a handful of crackers into his mouth and chewed with his mouth open.

“It appears there’s no one else within miles of us,” Lexi said. She wanted to give him an update and get the conversation onto something more serious.

“People who live in bum fuck call this bum fuck.” Nicholas laughed.

“I tried to find those people you talked about, the ones who had Stephanie,” Lexi said.

“Oh, you don’t want to find them, they’re bad news. You might think you’re tough, but you’re not that tough,” Nicholas said.

She ignored his condescending comment and said, “Where are they?”

“Why?”

“I want to know.”

He shoved another handful of crackers into his mouth and answered, “About two miles north of where you met me.”

“Okay.”

“What are you thinking? I hope it’s not something stupid.”

“You said the people were slavers. Did they capture you both?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Lexi wanted to know, so she pressed him, “Why did you say they were slavers?”

“Because they fucking were. I know fucking slavers when I see them.”