The Razor's Edge: A Postapocalytic Novel (The New World Book 6) (33 page)

Gordon was riding the razor’s edge. On one side was total defeat, and the other was victory at all costs. He would have to not only beat Jacques and his army; he would have to decimate them. He would have to show others that might be out there that coming to Cascadia was a death sentence. No quarter would be granted.

He typed in a number and clicked connect. He put the phone to his ear and patiently waited as the phone dialed the number.

“Gordon, it’s early. What’s going on?”
Cruz said with a groggy tone.

“It’s time. It’s time for us to come together and fight.”

“What’s happened?”
Cruz asked.

“The war has started. Jacque has invaded Idaho.”

EPILOGUE

October 20, 2066

Olympia, Washington, Republic of Cascadia

“Looks exactly the same,” Gordon said, looking out the window as the jet taxied down the tarmac.

Haley came over and with one arm wrapped around his shoulders said, “Welcome back.”

“Ha, I had hoped I’d never see this place again. Too many bad memories here,” Gordon said, his tone glum.

“That was a long time ago. Perk up, we have a town to shake up,” Haley said with a perky attitude.

The copilot unlocked and lowered the door. He stepped into the seating area and announced, “Welcome to Olympia, ladies and gentlemen.”

Hunter jumped up first and got off, followed by Sebastian and John.

Gordon sat. The idea of coming seemed great, but now he was a bit apprehensive only because the second he came out and interjected himself back into the politics of Olympia, he’d be putting targets on his family.

“You seem like you’re in deep thought,” Haley said.

“I am. Once I step off this plane, everything changes. I’m just reconsidering is all.”

“When you said we were coming back together, I was a bit shocked, but this place could use a good housecleaning. I’m really more worried about you, though. Once they find out you’re alive, they’ll be relentless.”

“I can handle those assholes. They were pussies back then and they’re pussies now,” Gordon said with a tinge of bravado.

“You know better than to underestimate them, Dad.”

Gordon sighed.

“We can turn this thing around and take you home,” Haley said as she rubbed his shoulders.

“No, they’re destroying everything we worked so hard for. We risked our lives so many times I can barely count. I won’t let them take it away without a fight. Cascadia was a dream that we manifested into reality. Those elitists in power now are perverting it. The corruption, graft and quid pro quo needs to end. No one is above the law in this republic.,” Gordon declared. He stood up proud and headed for the door.

The pilot stepped out of the cockpit and put his hand out. “President Van Zandt, nice to meet you.”

Gordon took the man’s hand and shook it firmly. “Thank you for a safe flight.”

“It’s an honor, sir, a true privilege to have flown you.”

“No need for that.”

“But I’m a bit confused, sir. Aren’t you supposed to be dead?” the pilot asked.

“I came back to life, voila,” Gordon said, snapping his fingers.

“Looks like the cat is already out of the bag,” Haley quipped upon hearing the pilot.

“If there’s anything we can do for you, my name is Kevin and my copilot is Scott.”

“I’m good, thank you,” Gordon replied.

“Oh, I almost forgot, I was supposed to give something to you,” Kevin said reaching into the cockpit. He returned with a white letter-sized envelope and handed it to Gordon.

“Who is this from?” Gordon asked.

“I don’t know, sir.”

Gordon looked at the envelope. There was nothing on it that identified where it came from. He held it in his hand and stepped off the jet.

Haley came down and locked her arm with his. “Aren’t you going to read it?”

Gordon took a few more steps and stopped. He tore the envelope open and pulled out a single sheet of paper. As he read it, his eyes widened.

“What does it say?” Haley asked.

Gordon’s heart rate jumped when he read the last line. He folded it up and shoved it in his coat pocket.

“Dad, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“It’s nothing.”

“I know when you’re lying.”

“It’s nothing that concerns us here or what we have planned. It’s just a letter about someone from the past is all. It doesn’t have any bearing on what we’re about to do. I just wasn’t expecting to get that today. I’m just surprised is all.”

“Tell me,” Haley urged, nudging his arm.

“It’s nothing, I promise you,” Gordon insisted.

A long SUV pulled up alongside them.

Gordon looked at Haley and said, “Before I used to think we were lucky because we survived all of that, but now as I look back, I wonder if the lucky ones were those who died.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Just that things are always a struggle. I’m tired of the conflict; I was those many years ago.”

“You’re a Van Zandt, you don’t quit.”

“Hold on, I didn’t say I was quitting. I was just telling you that I’m tired of having to do this. After the war, we all swore we’d never have to rise up again. We put a system into place that would prevent that, where the rule of law was equal for all. We even erected that monument, remember that?”

“Of course I remember it.” Haley smiled. “Those who remain leave for the next generations a government built on the foundation that—”

“Yep, that one. You know I wrote that?” Gordon said, interrupting Haley.

“I knew that.”

Gordon looked at the others waiting in the SUV. “Shall we?”

“Yes.”

With arms locked together, they stepped forward.

Gordon opened the rear door, and just as Haley stepped in he said to her, “Don’t you worry. I’ve got one more good fight left in me.”

THE END

THOSE WHO REMAIN

A POSTAPOCALYPTIC NOVEL

THE FINAL BOOK IN THE NEW WORLD SERIES

COMING EARLY 2017

READ AN EXCERPT OF THE NEW G. MICHAEL HOPF BOOK AVAILABLE NOW

NEMESIS: INCEPTION

_________________

February 22, 2015

“The two most important days in your life are the day you are born and the day you find out why.” – Mark Twain

Crescent, Oregon

“Lexi…Lexi…WAKE UP!” the reoccurring voice from her dreams shouted.

She sat up quickly, her heart racing as a cold sweat clung to her skin. She wiped the sweat with her shaking hands and blinked in an effort to clear her eyes, but it did no good in the pitch-black space. Fumbling, she found a glow stick, cracked it and shook vigorously. Soon a yellow glow lit the dark crevasses of the room. Her vision adjusted, but the room offered nothing for her champagne-colored eyes to feast upon. The walls were lined with boxes, and at her feet, a large metal shelf held cans and bottles. The smell of the room at first was off-putting, but she soon didn’t notice the mix of dust, cardboard and stale beer. The damp back storeroom of The Mohawk Bar and Grill wasn’t luxury accommodations, but having a relatively safe place to rest your head from the winter cold and dangers of the road came pretty close. At first she had refused the offer for shelter, only accepting it when she realized the place was full of provisions and an older single man who she sized up as beatable in a fight. After surviving for two months in the new world, her situational awareness was always on. She chalked it up as one of the primary reasons she was still alive.

Lexi rubbed her eyes and grunted in frustration when the nightly dream that prevented her from getting the rest she needed popped in her mind. She had grown weary from her inability to sleep soundly. Before the collapse, sleeping had been one of her best friends. Not a weekend morning went by where she’d be awake by eleven, and her weekday mornings were a struggle to rise, each morning a repeat of the last as she hit the snooze button a dozen times. Now her sleep, if one could call it that, was punctuated with night terrors and restlessness.

A knock at the door startled her. She reached under the pillow and grabbed her pistol, a Glock 17 9mm semiautomatic.

“Lexi? Are you all right? I heard you scream,” the voice said from behind the door.

She looked and saw a dark shadow blocking the dim light from underneath the door. She didn’t know John, much less completely trust him. She had only met him a week before.

After her narrow escape from a small band of marauders, she had crashed the motorcycle she had stolen along the highway south of town. A small detachment of Marines had found her and offered assistance.

Not having a place to call home, the Marines took her to the Mohawk. The Marines had created a relationship with John not long after arriving in town. Crescent was a small town, and with no other business operating besides the Mohawk, it provided a place for what remained of the community to gather. John had no family and nothing else, so keeping his only love, the Mohawk, open was a natural decision for him. He quickly ran out of perishable foods, but his supply of alcohol was abundant and part of his plan was to use it as currency. John was a large burly man, his black hair now streaked with silver. His wife had left him years ago and, with no children, the townspeople were family.

During her stay, she had spent her time working out and training out back with her long sheath knives. Then she would find an excuse, any would do, to find adequate time to drink.

John found himself watching her and was impressed with her skills. In fact, he was curious who he had staying in his back room. Today he made it a point to find out.

“Lexi, you in there?” he asked again, this time trying the knob. The door was locked.

Lexi looked at the door; her instincts born out of the chaos of the new world told her not to open it. Not truly knowing John and with her numerous negative experiences, she remained hesitant to trust anyone. Then her reasonable and pragmatic side won out. She didn’t have a place to go and he had supplies she could use on her hunt for Rahab.

“I’m fine!” she called out. She walked to the door, unlocked it and quickly stepped back.

John opened the door slowly and gently poked his head in. The light from his lantern cast a yellowish glow across the storeroom.

“I heard screaming. I was worried,” John said, looking around the space.

Lexi had taken a seat back on the floor again, her pistol tucked in her lap. “It’s all right.”

“I’ll let you get back to sleep, then,” John said with a smile.

As the door was closing, Lexi called out, “Hold on!”

John craned his head back in. “Yeah.”

“Ah, what time is it?”

“Oh, um, it’s around five in the morning.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“You hungry? I can whip up something?”

“Actually, I’m thirsty.”

“There’s some water over in the corner, help yourself,” John answered. He now half stood in the room. He pointed to a stack of bottled water.

“I was thinking of something a bit harder,” Lexi said, a smile now stretching across her face.

A big drinker himself, John thought for a moment then opened the door fully. “It’s noon somewhere, right?”

Lexi took the shot glass in her hand. The sides of it were slick from the over pour. One thing that hadn’t changed since the lights went out was her love of partying and drinking alcohol. Before, hard alcohol wasn’t her forte, but without ice and mixers, her favorites were no longer available. Determined to get the effect alcohol generously gave, she took to drinking whatever she could get her hands on. She looked at the bottle of Grey Goose and chuckled to herself. Before arriving in Crescent, she’d come upon a family. They had been welcoming even to the point of sharing their home-distilled spirits. The taste was repulsive, but she drank it anyway. She had never drunk paint remover before but only imagined that was what it tasted like.

She held it up and said, “What are we toasting to now?”

“Gosh, I don’t know, what haven’t we toasted to yet?” John asked, referring to the half-dozen shots they had already taken.

“I got one!” she said as she held her glass higher. “Death to all scumbags! May they die a slow and painful death!”

John raised his eyebrows in astonishment. He wasn’t prudish, but Lexi’s crude mouth and seemingly ruthless belief system did shock him.

She put the glass to her lips and with one gulp drank the vodka. “Ahh, that was good!” she said with excitement as she slammed the glass onto the bar.

John hesitated but soon followed and swallowed his shot of vodka.

“Hit me up, bartender,” Lexi stated, sliding her glass towards John.

Ignoring her, he finally asked her an intimate and personal question, “Lexi, what happened to you?”

She leered at him and didn’t answer.

“Why are you…so angry?”

“Is that a serious question? Really? Look the fuck around. Who wouldn’t be angry?”

“I’m not.”

“Then you’re an idiot!” she snapped at him.

“Ha, I think you’re cut off,” John said, taking her glass.

“Wait, wait, wait, I’m sorry. That came off too…”

“Too angry,” John quipped.

John walked away with the glass and placed it along with the bottle of vodka at the back of the bar.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. You’re not an idiot, I am. I just don’t want to talk about…this,” she said, motioning with her arms referencing the surroundings.