The End (31 page)

The route to Peterson Air Force Base took them carefully across major roads; his security detail wanted to ensure they avoided residential areas. With starvation now taking hold of the civilian population, there was greater risk traveling across the residential surface streets.

As they carefully drove, weaving around abandoned cars and wandering people, Conner could see that the city itself looked dead. He saw no lights, no movement except for the occasional person looking up as they drove by quickly. Conner could see those weary people scavenging through abandoned vehicles; he noticed many of the storefronts had their windows smashed; the streets were covered with debris and garbage. There was an occasional car or truck driving but the freeways were now a graveyard for most cars.

Seeing a large group to his right he thought it odd. Looking closer, he saw they were chasing two women. The mob was sizeable, about twenty-plus people. He knew the situation was grave and that they should do something about it. When his convoy passed he saw the mob finally close in and catch them.

“I need you to get off at the next exit and go back,” he said, pointing back toward the mob of people.

“Sir, we are not to get off the highway for any reason. We must go directly to the base,” the young Air Force tech sergeant said.

“I'm the President of the United States, get off now!” Conner yelled at the young man.

“Yes, sir,” the tech sergeant replied, looking startled.

He veered quickly off the highway and away from convoy. It was mere seconds before the radio inside Conner's vehicle came alive.

“Sooner One, Sooner One, this is Sooner Command, over.”

“What should I say, sir?” the tech sergeant asked.

“Turn right, then straight,” Conner said, ignoring his driver and giving directions as best he could.

“Sooner One, this is Sooner Command vehicle, come in, over,” the voice over the radio repeated.

“Sir?”

“Hand me the radio,” Conner ordered.

Conner took the handset. “This is Conner. I ordered our vehicle off the highway. There are civilians that need our assistance.”

“What is your location, Sooner One?”

“We are on Cody and Bradley heading south.”

“Roger that, we are en route to provide support. Sooner Command, out.”

Conner tossed the handset down and went back to directing the tech sergeant. “Somewhere over there!”

Too busy looking to see where they needed to go, he hadn't seen the corpse hung from a telephone pole at the entrance of the community. Before the attacks, this neighborhood was a haven for middle-class families; now it looked like a war zone.

“Turn there!” Conner yelled.

The tech sergeant turned to the right abruptly. The tires on his Hummer squealed under the stress of the turn. After making the turn, Conner could see the mob of people ahead. They were ripping and tearing at the two women on the ground.

“Do you have another gun, sergeant?” Conner asked.

“Yes sir,” the tech sergeant said, handing Conner an M-9 Berretta 9 millimeter pistol.

“Stop here,” Conner ordered.

They stopped a comfortable thirty feet away from the crazed mob. Jumping out, Conner wasted no time; he held the pistol above his head and pulled the trigger. Seeing the mob rip and tear at the two was one thing, but when they stepped out of the Hummer the added dimension of hearing the women scream created a macabre scene.

The sound of the shot made everyone stop and turn around. The mob had been so focused on attacking and brutalizing the women they hadn't heard them pull up. With the mob silent and their attention now on Conner, the only sound was the moaning of the two women.

“Back away from them now!” Conner commanded, pointing the pistol at the mob.

No one moved, they just stared at Conner.

He shot again in the air and yelled, “Move away from them, now!”

Finally obeying his command, they slowly moved away from the women. Conner cautiously moved toward the two victims as the mob moved farther away. At first all he could see were two lifeless bodies on the ground. He could hear them moaning, but saw no movement. With each step the reality of the women's fate came into focus. They were lying in a large pool of blood with their clothes stripped from them. A few more steps closer he could see that the bloodthirsty mob hadn't just beaten them; they had literally ripped them apart. One woman's arm was severed from her body. The other had her abdomen torn open and parts of her intestines were strewn over the both of them. Seeing this shocked Conner to the point he had to turn his gaze away. It took every ounce of control for him not to throw up.

Conner knew there was nothing he could do for these women. He reclaimed his composure and without hesitation walked over and mercifully shot each woman in the head. He took a moment to look at them. He wondered who they were. Just five weeks ago their lives were so different.

He turned his attention to the mob and yelled, “What is wrong with you?” No response came from them, they just stared at him. “Why would you do this?” he asked.

“They stole food,” someone from the back of the group finally responded.

“They stole food? That was it, so you brutally beat them and tore them apart?” Conner screamed at them.

A shot cracked loudly behind him. Conner turned and saw the tech sergeant fall to the ground. Conner's initial shock was soon replaced with fear as he began to feel that he had made a big mistake by deviating from the plan to go play hero.

“Who are you to come here and so righteously condemn our laws!” a man said from a distance holding a hunting rifle. Working the bolt, he cleared an old casing and loaded a new bullet.

Conner squinted so he could see better. As the man came into focus, he saw what he was up against. The man was large in stature, bald, and there was something ominous about him. The man took long strides down the street toward him. Others armed with guns, bats, machetes, and various other weapons came out of the other homes. Conner saw movement in the corner of his eye and turned to look. The mob he had subdued now started to move toward him. Conner was in an impossible position and ran to his vehicle. His running prompted the mob to do the same as they rushed the vehicle. Making it just in time he was able to close and lock the door. He looked down to start the Hummer then realized he didn't know how to. The mob began to climb all over the vehicle. Fumbling at the controls, he was turning knobs and pushing buttons. Hummers were not like normal cars. There was no key or ignition switch on the steering column or anywhere on the console. Seeing a lever that said “On” to the left of the steering wheel, he turned it till a light appeared. The mob started to hit the vehicle with sticks, bats, and metal rods. Suddenly, in the chaos, he heard gunfire; the mob quickly leapt off the vehicle and ran. More automatic gunfire came as he saw many in the mob fall to the ground. The heaviness of the situation started to lift as he heard his convoy come to his rescue. He could not see what was happening, as the vehicle faced the wrong way. The battle outside sounded fierce, like things he'd only heard on television. Hundreds of bullets were being fired but as the seconds ticked away the gunfire lessened till there was only silence. He sat there waiting and listening.

“You're an idiot, Brad. What were you thinking?” he said to himself.

Closing his eyes and lowering his head, he prayed that everything was going to be okay. Never again would he go on a fool's errand, he promised himself. It had only taken him thirty minutes to break the promise he had made to Julia. A knock on the window startled him.

Feeling relieved that he'd be on his way out of this sad situation, he started to speak as he looked up. “I really need to learn how to start one of—” He stopped talking as soon as his eyes gazed upon who was standing there. Covered in blood and sweat, the large bald man with the rifle stood towering over the window. Conner's reaction was of absolute fear; he jumped out of the driver's seat and crawled over to the passenger side door. A blast from the man's rifle blew off the driver's side door handle. The man threw open the door and stopped Conner's attempt to escape. The man grabbed his ankle and with brute force pulled him from the vehicle.

“I am the President of the United States, I am the president!” Conner yelled as he was dragged out of the vehicle and onto the ground. Dozens gathered around him like locusts. He knew his fate would be that of the two women. “Wait, I am the President of the United States!”

“Do you think that means anything here?” replied the bald man with a deep and raspy voice as he leveled his rifle at Conner's face and pulled the trigger.

San Diego, California

Gordon, Samantha, Nelson, and Nelson's parents, who had arrived while Gordon had been out, had been packing the truck and trailer since the night before. Wishing they could have more privacy was impossible. Under the watchful eye of every neighbor they loaded box after box of supplies, food, water, medicines and gear. The next morning they would finally leave Rancho Valentino and head east to get as far away from major urban centers as possible. Knowing they could encounter “road agents” or bandits, they planned on traveling during the day.

They couldn't pack quickly enough, neighbors kept walking by and looking. The word had spread that they were leaving with Jimmy, Simone, and four other families, the Pomeroys, Thompsons, Behrenses, and Jerrod's wife and child. Gordon was also happy to have the two Marines, Sergeant Holloway and Lance Corporal Fowler, join their group. They had provided a lot of good information and had managed to secure two operational jeeps with trailers. Holloway also had a wife and little girl. One family notably missing was Eric's. They all had tried to convince her to come but she was staying. She believed Eric would return. The prospect of Eric returning was slim, as it had been a long time since his disappearance.

James, the elderly neighbor who lived a couple doors down, kept watching them. Others would walk by, whisper to each other, and point. Gordon didn't like it and made his displeasure known by asking them rhetorically, “What are you looking at?”

Gordon was back inside the house loading a box of canned food when the door opened and Nelson rushed in.

“Gordon, come outside quick!”

Stopping what he was doing he followed Nelson out into the garage, where he ran into a sweating and exhausted Jimmy.

“Jimmy, you okay? What's up?” Gordon asked, concerned.

He put his finger up to indicate he needed a second to catch his breath, then managed to say, “Eric's back.”

“What?”

“Damn, I thought losing a few pounds would make running easier. Yeah, he's back. Speaking of losing a few pounds, he lost some weight and he's tortured, but he's home.”

“Nelson, sorry to leave you with this, but I want to go see Eric.”

“No problem, you go. I got this,” Nelson said, looking around at all the boxes in the garage.

Gordon started running toward Eric's house. His injuries prevented him from keeping a good pace and a heavy feeling started to creep up on him. Not wanting to overdo it, he slowed down to a quick walk. He thought back to the day of the attack. He had been out for a run that day. That was the last day the neighborhood looked manicured. Most of the houses now looked like something out of an impoverished third world country; the hanging tarps and clothes, the strong smell of feces, the dead plants and grass, cars covered in a thick layer of dust. The clean and manicured feel of the community was gone. It had turned from a cute, beautiful family neighborhood to an unkempt, worn survival camp. Houses were no longer homes, they were shelters.

Gordon arrived at Eric's house and banged on the door for what seemed like minutes. Melissa finally answered and didn't look happy to see him.

“Gordon, hi.”

“Hi, Melissa; I just heard. Can I come in and see him?”

She didn't answer right away; she turned around and looked back into her house. Gordon could hear Eric say something but he couldn't make it out.

“Yes, come on in. He's in the kitchen.”

Gordon walked directly back to the kitchen. First seeing Eric was shocking. He had lost a lot of weight and his face and arms were covered in a mix of fresh and older wounds.

“Eric, I can't say how good it is to see you. I have to say when I woke up and heard you hadn't made it back, I feared the worst,” Gordon said.

“It's good to see you too. I feared the worst too,” Eric said slowly.

“Listen, I don't want to put pressure on you but I have to. We have to leave tomorrow. Everything has gone to shit here. It's too much to explain now, but we want you to go with us.”

“Okay, we can do that,” he said, looking at Gordon with his sunken eyes.

“You can ride with us, we have a camper trailer. I need you to pack up everything that is useful. We're never coming back.”

“Okay.”

“Gordon, can we wait a day or two? He needs to rest and get back on his feet. Look at him,” Melissa said, concerned for her husband. She walked over to Eric and put her arm around him.

“Melissa, we don't have time, we—” Gordon was saying when Eric interrupted him.

“Mel, he's right, we have to leave. Gordon I have some bad news. It's a big problem. The guys who attacked us, well, they captured me. I managed to escape a few days ago but had to live in the shadows to make it home.” Eric paused to take a drink of water and a breath. “Gordon, they know about our community and plan on coming here for our resources soon. I overheard someone when I was there. I think he's their leader, his name Pablo. They weren't happy about that day. They lost a lot of people.”

“How do they know where we are?” Gordon asked.

Eric looked at Gordon again with those dark sunken eyes.

“You don't have to say anything. Really, don't worry about it,” Gordon said, anticipating Eric's answer.