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

THE RAZOR'S EDGE

A POSTAPOCALYPTIC NOVEL

BOOK 6

THE NEW WORLD SERIES

G. MICHAEL HOPF

Copyright © 2016 G. Michael Hopf

No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

For information contact:

[email protected]

www.gmichaelhopf.com

All rights reserved
.

ISBN: 10: 
1530992222
 

ISBN-13:
978-
1530992225

DEDICATION

TO ALL MY FRIENDS, YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE

“
Friends are the siblings God never gave us.” Mencius
   
 

PROLOGUE

October 20, 2066

McCall, Idaho, Republic of Cascadia

Gordon didn’t enjoy waking early every day, but since he had been unable to get adequate sleep for years, he decided to find the positive in it.

When his feet touched the cold tile floors, a chill shot up his spine and goose bumps rose on his arms. He lumbered slowly to the bathroom and stopped when the full moon caught his eye. He looked at it and appreciated its beauty and felt a gratitude for the influence the heavenly body had on Earth.

Before the lights went out, Gordon found enjoyment in the multitude of television shows and movies. He had a weakness for action and science-fiction movies specifically. One pleasure he indulged in when the power returned was the occasional movie. He didn’t care much for the new things being produced; hell, he didn’t care much for anything that came out of Olympia these days. In fact, it was the dysfunction in Olympia that made his sleep restless. With his family all gathered under one roof, he thought it best to make the big announcement, but not until he had his cup of coffee.

He made his way to the kitchen to start his morning coffee but found he wasn’t the only person awake.

“Good morning,” Haley said softly so as not to wake up Hunter and Sebastian.

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” Gordon replied. He gave Haley a warm hug and kissed her on the head. “Did you sleep well?”

“I did until my insomnia kicked in,” Haley answered.

“Me too, I haven’t been able to sleep since December 5, 2014,” he joked.

Gordon slowly walked into the kitchen to find Haley already had the teapot heating up and the French press on the counter filled with coffee grounds. “Well, you definitely remember your way around the old place.”

“Yeah, it’s a good old place, many memories here,” Haley said, a smile creasing her face.

“When your mother and I first found this house, I knew it had good bones.”

“You’ve kept it in good shape, although you could use a maid. The dust on the shelves over there is three inches deep,” she joked.

“I don’t get many visitors, and I was never one for cleaning.”

“Mom used to complain you left stuff lying around,” Haley said, reminiscing.

“I wasn’t a messy person; I left stuff here and there. Your mother was just strict; she ran a tight ship.”

“That’s true.”

The kettle whistled.

Gordon and Haley both went to retrieve it, but Gordon got there first.

“I’ve got it. You sit down. You’re my guest,” he said.

“No, Dad, you should be resting,” Haley insisted as she stood behind him, watching his shaking hands grab the handle of the kettle.

“Resting? I’m not sick and I’m certainly not dying, at least not at this moment.”

“No, please, let me take care of you,” Haley again insisted. She blocked him from turning around.

“I can handle pouring hot water,” Gordon challenged. He lifted the kettle off the stove and waited for her to move.

Haley shot him a look and stepped aside.

Gordon poured the steaming water into the press and let it sit.

She watched him move back and forth and prepare the coffee.

He caught her staring and said, “I’m old, I shake, it’s what old people do.”

“Let me help you.”

He held up his hand and said, “I’m just old, not dying. Plus, I’ve been doing this all by myself for quite some time. I know your mother thought I was incompetent in the kitchen, but she had high standards.”

“I miss Mom,” Haley sighed.

Gordon paused and said, “Me too, sweetie, me too.” He pushed the press plunger down and poured the coffee into two cups. “Cream or sugar?”

“Sure.”

Gordon set a creamer on the kitchen bar counter along with a bowl of sugar and a spoon. He walked around and took a seat on a barstool.

Haley joined him. She took a sip and cooed, “So good.”

“It is good. You know I would’ve killed for a good cup of java during the war,” Gordon mused and took a drink.

“I thought you did,” Haley teased, referencing all the false stories of his past that had been making the news lately.

“Ha, I’m sure those revisionist assholes in Olympia have created such a horror story about me. They’ll do or say anything to turn me into a monster.”

“No one has accused you of killing for coffee, but your reputation and legacy are definitely under assault.”

Gordon shook his head and grumbled, “Lazy, entitled brats who never lifted a finger now want to demean all we did during the war. If we didn’t have our allies in Olympia, they’d tear down all the monuments and remove us from the history books.”

“The people won’t stand for it. There are many that remember the dark days that followed when the lights went out. They also remember what all of you did to ensure we’d live free,” Haley said reminding him that many in Cascadia still appreciated all he’d done and sacrificed.

“It’s only a matter of time. Just remember this, we’re always one generation away from losing our freedom, and with all the socialist bullshit flying around in the west, we may have to fight another rebellion,” Gordon said, reminding her that the political divisions that existed in the republic’s infancy were still present.

The people who lived in the eastern part of Cascadia were more conservative and libertarian in their values while those in the west, specifically along the coast, were left of center with many having strong socialist sympathies. This ideological difference hadn’t changed, it had only solidified.

The socialist faction was an offshoot of Charles’ original Western Cascadia Movement. In fact Charles had had a resurgence of popularity with the youth today, and his death at Gordon’s hands now made him a martyr. On college campuses and in many coffee shops or cafes in Olympia, T-shirts, posters and stickers with his image emblazoned on them were popping up.

It was the politics that frustrated Gordon. He despised it, yet he had to play the game. He wasn’t a politician; he was a leader and a warrior.

Haley shook her head and said, “I used to think that couldn’t be, that people couldn’t forget, but I see it now.”

“This is why I’m glad you’re here and the boys too,” Gordon said. “It’s time we do something before we have to go to war again.”

“Oh, Dad, it’s not that bad,” Haley said in a weak attempt to brush it off, however, deep down she felt he might be right.

“Cascadia is going to shit; it’s truly only a matter of time before those bastards are in power and tear down everything we fought for. Unless we stop them.”

“What are you saying?” Haley asked.

“Yeah, what are you saying?” Hunter asked from the loft above them.

Gordon and Haley snapped their heads around and looked up.

Hunter dashed down the stairs and into the kitchen. “Who are we going to stop?”

Gordon grinned and took a sip of coffee.

“We were just chatting,” Haley replied.

“No, tell me.”

Gordon looked at Haley, grinned and nodded. He put his gaze on Hunter and said, “There’s a political movement in the west that if left unchecked, will topple the republic. They have to be dealt with now or we’re destined to lose the country we fought so hard to get.”

Hunter pulled up a stool and sat. He was anxious to hear what Gordon had to say.

“Let me pour you a cup of coffee,” Haley said, doting on Hunter.

“I don’t have to tell you there’s chatter in the east to separate from the west, but you’re probably not aware that it’s reaching a fever pitch in some quarters,” Gordon said.

“Those separatists have been around since the formation of the republic,” Hunter replied, acknowledging a small group that had been seeking separation since not long after the great compromise that swept Gordon into power as president and soothed the talks of another rebellion.

“But it’s getting worse. Politics today are different. People will rise up and fight; we’ve done it before and we will do it again,” Gordon asserted.

“We?” Hunter asked.

“I believe it was Thomas Jefferson who coined the saying, ‘The tree of liberty needs to be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants. It is its natural manure.”

“It’s not that bad,” Haley said.

“So what are you proposing?” Hunter asked.

“Our allies have the reins of power in Olympia now, but it’s only a matter of time before demographics and the ineptitude of our own leaders give everything we worked so hard for away,” Gordon said.

Hunter leaned in and asked again, “What are you proposing?”

“A revolution,” Gordon answered.

“Oh, Dad, you’re being a bit dramatic,” Haley said.

“A revolution?” Hunter asked.

Gordon stood up and walked to the sliding door that overlooked the deck. He put the steaming cup of coffee to his lips and took a generous sip.

“Mom, what’s he talking about?” Hunter asked.

Haley leaned close to Hunter and whispered, “I think your grandfather is getting senile.”

Gordon let out a hearty chuckle and said, “I’m not getting senile, quite the contrary.” He turned around and continued, “When your mother passed, I promised I’d continue to watch over you and your boys. Now that was a problem with me being dead, but I still have my close friends, and they’ve done a wonderful job. Now the forces of tyranny are rising again, but now they’re wearing the mask of tolerance, political correctness, and income equality with a large central government to ensure those things are achieved. I call it soft tyranny, but we can see some of their followers already willing to exercise violence against those they disagree with. Look at what happened to those farmers in central Washington. They had their crops destroyed along with their livelihood when they protested the Land Equality Act put forth last year.”

“That bill was nothing more…” Haley said in a weak attempt to brush off the controversial legislation that almost became law. If it had, it would have restricted private land ownership to only ten acres per person.

“Haley, my sweet girl, you’re wrong; that bill is the future of our republic. I fear we tossed off the chains of one oppressor years ago only to voluntarily bind ourselves to a worse tyrant when we negotiated the alliance with Charles’ radical faction. I made a mistake, I saw it right in front of me, but I was tired, I wanted it all to end. The collapse along with the war had taken a toll on me, on us. Our family suffered greatly, and I thought, I just thought I could manage them, but I was wrong and it cost me my life, so to speak.”

“What happened? Why did you fake your death?” Hunter asked.