The Razor's Edge: A Postapocalytic Novel (The New World Book 6) (16 page)

“Sir—”

Baxter jammed the pen into the agent’s throat with his left hand and grabbed his pistol with his right.

The agent gagged and coughed, blood spewing from his throat.

The pen hit exactly where it needed to go, the agent’s artery.

The driver looked into the rearview mirror and saw the muzzle of the pistol was pointed at him.

Baxter discharged a round, striking the driver in the back of the head, instantly killing him.

Ferguson pulled his weapon and turned to engage Baxter, who was now turning to face him.

Both men stared at each other and applied pressure to their triggers when the vehicle slammed into a parked car.

The force of the collision sent Ferguson through the windshield.

Baxter’s body hit the back of the front seats with full force. He fell between the seats and was lying in a pool of the agent’s blood.

Steam poured from the engine compartment. Some onlookers came running to help.

Knowing he needed to ensure Ferguson was dead, Baxter climbed over the console and exited through the front passenger side.

Several bystanders gasped when they saw him.

Baxter stumbled to the front, looking for Ferguson.

“He’s got a gun!” an onlooker screamed.

To his left, Baxter saw Ferguson lying on the ground. His face was lacerated and bleeding heavily but in his right hand he held his pistol and had it leveled at Baxter. Seeing his fate was sealed, Baxter just stood and readied himself to die. A thought entered his mind that even though he was about to die, he would go out fighting, like a warrior.

Ferguson squeezed the trigger but nothing happened.

Hearing the metallic click of the firing pin, Baxter felt like a guardian angel had just showed him mercy. He lifted his pistol and said, “I’m sorry.” He squeezed the trigger and put a bullet in Ferguson’s head.

West of Joseph, Oregon, Republic of Cascadia

Nicholas rubbed his head. “God, my head is pounding.”

Lexi glanced at him and said, “Stop whining. I gave you Advil and water last night. If you chose not to take it, that’s your problem.”

“I’ll admit I’m an idiot, but at least have a tiny bit of sympathy,” Nicholas replied, his head propped in his hands.

The two were in the kitchen at the table. Lexi had a map of the area laid out with the houses and the spot where she helped him pinpointed on it.

“You said the slavers were a couple miles north; where exactly?” Lexi asked.

“You’re really gonna attack these guys? Did I mention this is a huge mistake?”

“Where are they?”

Seeing she was dead serious, he got so too. He leaned over the map and said, “They picked Steph and I up here and took us to a house here; actually, it was a farm. There was the main house, a barn and several outbuildings. It’s right off this road here,” he said and placed his finger down on the map.

“Next to where this road tees?” Lexi asked.

“Yes, just on the west side of it.”

“What’s the terrain like?”

“Open fields mainly, some tree cover to the west, if I remember, but it’s mainly wide open.”

“How did you escape?” Lexi asked.

He leaned back in his chair, took a swig of water, and replied, “They picked us up and took us there. As soon as I saw what was going on, I didn’t wait to see what would happen to us. I managed to get control of the truck we were in and drove us out of there. We made it maybe a quarter or half mile down the road before I crashed the truck in the ditch,” Nicholas said, his eyes looking at the wall but his mind remembering the details of that day. “I’m actually a great driver; they must have hit the tire. All I know is I lost control of the truck and next thing we’re in the ditch. I was out for a minute or so.” He paused to collect his thoughts. “Then I came to, Steph was screaming, those men were screaming, fuck, everyone was screaming but me. We got out of the truck and ran.” Again, Nicholas paused and thought.

“How was it you were behind them?” Lexi asked.

“There was another farm, several large properties actually; we ran into a house and hid. I put her in a root cellar and went to go find a weapon. Next thing I know they’re on top of us. I must have lost track of time, but I heard Steph screaming. I was upstairs looking in a closet for a gun, a rifle, something—most people leave their guns in the master bedroom closet or under a mattress. I needed something to fight back with. I heard her scream. I looked out the window and saw her running again, headed south. I came back downstairs, but they were now behind her. Next thing I know I’m in a field, I’m fighting them, I hear you shoot and then I meet you.”

Lexi could see the deep emotional loss on his face as he retold the story. His eyes darted back and forth as he described Stephanie running and screaming. There was a sense of helplessness in his tone, not unlike hers when she’d recount the loss of Carey.

“Did you get a count of how many people there?”

“No.”

“Nothing?”

“I was only there for a second!” he snapped then continued. “As soon as they pulled in, I knew this was a fucking horror movie getting ready to be played out. I know they were slavers because the guys who picked us up radioed in and they mentioned how much they’d get for us.”

“Do you remember how the farm was laid out, like the house in relation to the barn and other buildings?”

Nicholas grabbed a notebook Lexi had and pulled out a pen. He drafted the layout of the farm to the best of his knowledge. “Here,” he said and handed it back.

She looked and nodded. “This will help.” She walked away, grabbed her vest and did a check.

Seeing her ready her gear, Beau jumped up and wagged his tail.

Nicholas stood and approached, making sure not to enter her personal space. “Do you have an extra gun?”

“You’ll be fine here,” Lexi said.

“I’m not staying here.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re leaving now? Heading to McCall?” she asked as she put on her vest.

“No, I’m going with you.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

“I do better solo,” Lexi declared.

“I can come with you and we can work together or I’ll just follow you. Either way, I’m going.”

She sighed and put her hands on her hips.

“Let me help. Let’s work together,” he said.

Lexi shook her head. “Nope.” She reached in her pocket and pulled out a rubber band and used it to hold her hair back in a ponytail. “Like I said, I operate alone.”

“They killed my sister. I want revenge.”

Lexi slung her rifle and headed for the door with Beau on her heels. She opened the door but paused. “Do you know how to handle a Glock?”

“You bet, I can shoot anything,” Nicholas chirped.

“Your wound, it’s not going to hold you up?”

“No.”

She sighed loudly and said, “In my pack, I have an extra Glock; it’s yours.” She turned around, looked at her watch and continued, “You have five minutes. Go get changed and meet me outside.”

Nicholas took off for his bedroom.

Lexi looked down at Beau and said, “Bite me really hard if this turns out to be a mistake.”

Banff, Alberta, Western Canada

“You’re coming with me and that’s final,” Gordon said to a reluctant Samantha.

“I don’t think going out and playing in the snow is appropriate. What are you thinking?” Samantha scolded.

“You act as if I have a choice. I don’t, you don’t, and I don’t know why he’d want to take us skiing. It’s weird,” Gordon said.

Jacques had sent word earlier for Gordon and Samantha to join him on the ski slopes. It was an odd request, but one Gordon couldn’t refuse.

“This isn’t a vacation,” Samantha said.

Gordon came up to her and whispered, “Any time we’re outside of this room is an opportunity to escape. Look at it that way.”

“And escape to where?” she whispered back.

“One problem at a time, Sam, one problem at a time.”

***

Two guards arrived to escort Gordon and Samantha down to a vehicle that would ferry them off to the slopes.

With Jacques’ invitation, he had also supplied them both with the clothing they would need.

Sporting a perfectly fitted Spyder ski coat and pants, Gordon walked hand in hand with Samantha down the hall. Like other trips through the hotel, they weaved down halls and stairwells until they reached the lobby level. This time, though, they headed for the main entrance instead of the large conference rooms.

The warm light of day splashed through the doors and lobby. Before the lights went out, this space would be bustling with tourists; now it sat silent.

The front doors opened and in came a small group of people. They were laughing and talking.

Gordon looked at them, and for a second thought he recognized someone. He looked more closely at the man as their group came closer. There was something very familiar about him, but he was having a difficult time putting a name to the face.

The man talked loudly as they passed Gordon and Samantha.

“I know him,” Gordon said and stopped.

The guards leading Gordon and Samantha turned and ordered, “Please, sir, let’s keep moving.”

“I know him,” Gordon again said and began to follow the other group.

“President Van Zandt, you’re going the wrong way,” a guard hollered.

“Gordon, where are you going?” Samantha called after him.

“Hey, stop!” Gordon yelled at the group.

The group kept moving towards the conference rooms.

“STOP!” Gordon yelled, his voice echoing off the granite and marble floors.

The group grew silent and stopped; several turned around and looked at Gordon, who was coming towards them.

“I know you,” Gordon said, his finger pointing at the man he recognized.

“Me?” the man said with a Texas drawl.

“Autry?” Gordon asked, walking up to him.

The man was a towering figure. He stood six feet four inches, with a lean muscular build. His hair was cut as if he had just been to a barber. What was most striking was his friendly muttonchops, which were groomed perfectly. “Is that you, Gordon?” the man asked.

Several men, most likely protection, stood between Gordon and the man.

“Oh, my God, it is you, Autry,” Gordon said gleefully.

Samantha came up behind Gordon quickly and put her arm around his waist. “Gordon, come on.”

“Sam, it’s Autry. Remember, my client from Texas, the baseball player,” Gordon said.

“Yes, I remember,” Samantha said.

“President Van Zandt, the prime minister is waiting for you. Please come,” one of Gordon’s guards ordered.

“What are you doing here?” Gordon asked.

“Here to meet with the prime minister,” Autry replied.

“Of your own free will?” Gordon asked.

“Um, yes, that’s an odd question,” Autry said.

“It’s time to go,” a guard said coming up behind Gordon.

“Oh, did I hear them say president?” Autry asked.

“Yeah, looks as if I’m a bigwig like you now,” Gordon answered. He liked Autry. The two of them had spent hours on the phone with countless emails and text messages two years before. Autry had contracted Gordon’s website design services from a referral, and before long the two had a friendship. When Autry would visit San Diego, the two would spend nights out drinking whiskey and solving the world’s problems.

Autry was a Texas native and, after retirement from professional baseball, moved back to his home state. It was during his retirement years that Autry became a believer in the biblical end of times prophecy. He prepared himself and his family for what he believed would be Armageddon and God’s final judgment. When the lights went out, he was ready and kept his family safe initially on their three-hundred-acre ranch; however, tragedy did find him. Four months after the attacks, on a day he’d never forget, his life was altered. Under a clear blue sky, death came to his picturesque and secluded ranch and snatched his wife and youngest child away. He and his oldest son were herding some cattle on the opposite side of his ranch when a band of loyalists opposed to Texas independence raided. They found his wife, Barbara and youngest son, Jackson, alone. Barbara fought back and barricaded herself in the house. Undeterred, the loyalists set the house on fire, killing them both inside. When Autry returned, he found his house burnt to the ground and half of his beloved family gone. This attack initiated a chain reaction of emotions in him, culminating in his belief that in order for him to protect what was left and to create a legacy he would have to be active. No longer could he be a bystander hoping that peace and security would be there; he knew he had to fight for it. With no home, he and his oldest son, Jason, traveled to Austin, looking for purpose, and found it working for the new Texas president as a diplomatic attaché, which placed him now in Banff and right in front of Gordon.