G Hopf - Sanctuary

“San Diego is just one of many cities that we’ve lost control of,” Wilbur added.

“So, Secretary of State, what happened to the federal government’s response to this?” Gordon asked.

“Where do I begin? It’s just been very overwhelming. I don’t know how anyone could tackle something this huge,” she said. She went on to detail some of what she knew about the recent efforts without jeopardizing anything classified. She covered her life at Cheyenne Mountain, Conner’s nuclear strikes, the coup attempt, then his disappearance. She told them about the struggles for the federal government to get a handle on the rampant chaos, the mass migrations, mass starvation, and the numerous nuclear plant accidents.

Gordon was impressed by her candor. It wasn’t what he expected from a government official, and he respected her more for it. He and Christopher posed many questions, which she answered to the best of her ability.

She explained that a decision had been made to abandon the east and that new boundaries had been established for federal control. When she told them about the secession of Texas, Alaska, and Hawaii, they both gasped in disbelief. All the news was just too incredible to believe.

She then brought them up to date on how she happened to be there, from the nuclear detonations on the other federal bunkers to how she and Cruz were captured in Portland.

Gordon had assumed the rest of the country was in an unmanageable condition but he didn’t know it was this bad. He now knew without a doubt that the old world, the old way of life, were gone forever. He wanted to tell Wilbur that what they were trying to do was honorable but almost impossible. Normalcy, as they had experienced it in the past, could not be restored.

“And now I’m here with you two,” she said at the end of her long story.

“My story isn’t as exciting as that,” Christopher uttered.

“Don’t wish for the excitement, trust me,” Gordon quipped.

“I actually agree with you on something!” she said with a smile.

“Hey, I’m sorry if I was rude before. These times are really wearing on me,” Gordon said with real sincerity.

“That’s okay. I started it, I apologize too. We’ve all been through a lot. Tempers flare up. I understand,” she said.

With tension broken, they all started to swap stories of the good old days. Christopher in particular had some that were just unbelievably funny. Their laughter reverberated off of the steel warehouse walls. It was the first time that Gordon could remember laughing this hard in a long time.

“Come on, tell us your story. How did you get that gnarly scar on your face? Shark bite your face, California boy?” Christopher urged.

The jovial mood collapsed with that innocent question. Gordon didn’t answer. He just stared at the ground.

Sensing the mood shift, Christopher said, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up something difficult.”

“It’s okay. We should check on the vice president,” Gordon recommended.

Wilbur nodded, then stood and walked away.

Gordon too stood up. “Can you stand watch for a bit? I’m going to look around the grounds some more.”

“Sure thing,” Christopher answered.

Gordon stepped away to explore their refuge.

The building appeared to have been a manufacturing plant at one time. Yellow hash marks outlined the empty equipment spaces. On the walls signage still hung; one said, NUMBER OF DAYS WITHOUT AN ACCIDENT. In the blank a large zero was written. Below it was a handwritten note that read, No more accidents and no more jobs. Thank you China and Corporate America.

He followed an arrow that led him to the floor manager’s office. He opened the door to find trash, papers, and an old metal desk. Tucked in behind it was a large cushioned chair. He stepped over and sat down.

He needed to rest and this just might be the place to do it. He placed his rifle against the wall behind him, kicked his legs up on the table, and closed his eyes.

“Sir, there’s a man here to see you. He says it’s urgent,” a guard said, interrupting Pablo and Isabelle’s dinner.

“Who is it?”

The guard looked nervous. He had forgotten to ask for the man’s name. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know, sir. He insists that it’s very important.”

“Does anyone know how to do their jobs?” Pablo groaned. Upset about being disturbed, he wiped his face and stood up from the table. “Excuse me, my love.”

He marched out of the room and walked with the guard to the foyer of the mansion. Like the rest of the mansion, the foyer was lit like a Christmas tree. Pablo had seen that his needs came before others and had generators operating twenty-four hours a day to keep power and electricity available for himself.

When he walked in he saw the informant who was tasked with daily updates about Pasqual’s coming and goings. His eyes widened with surprise, which soon gave way to anger.

“Leave us!” he snapped at the guard. Walking over to the man, he grabbed his arm and dragged him forcibly down the hallway and into a small parlor room.

“Emperor, I have some very important information that I thought you’d want to know about urgently!” the man exclaimed.

“I told you to never come here at night, never! We are to meet every day at the same time in the garden. You never come inside!”

“Sir, I-I-I know who the general is seeing. I-I-I have a n-n-name!”

Pablo was still holding him but finally let go. “Go ahead!”

“I saw a woman, sh-sh-she’s about his age, oh, and sh-sh-she looks Mexican.”

“So, old General Pasqual is meeting a woman. That’s it. He’s having an affair!”

“N-n-no, sir. There was also a man. Ah, ah, he’s younger.”

“So what, probably her son.” Pablo stepped away from the man and paced the room, laughing. “So, the general is running around for a piece of tail.”

“N-n-no, sir. The younger m-m-man was wearing a uniform.”

“A uniform? One of ours?”

“N-no, sir.”

“You mentioned a name. What’s the name?”

“J. Ortiz.”

“Did you get an address too this time?”

“Y-y-yes.”

Pablo walked to a small end table where he saw a pencil and paper. “What are you doing? Write down the name again and the address.”

The man did what he ordered.

Pablo asked if there was other pertinent information. He told him there wasn’t anything else. Changing his tone, Pablo then thanked him, before reminding him to never come to the house at night again. The man nodded and rushed out.

Pablo looked at the paper. J. Ortiz, 5632 Cloverfield Dr., Folsom. He placed the paper in his pocket.

Back at the dinner table, after a few minutes, Isabelle asked, “Is everything okay? You’ve been quiet and haven’t eaten since your visitor left.”

“I’m just not hungry. This chicken is dry.”

“Was it General Pasqual coming here with another ‘urgent’ message?” Isabelle joked.

Pablo slammed his fist onto the table. “Shut up! Mind your business! What I do and who I meet is none of your business!” He stood up quickly, causing his chair to fall backward. Not saying another word, he stormed out of the dining room.

“He’s improving. His fever is gone but he’s still feeling—” Wilbur said before Cruz cut her off.

“Like shit,” Cruz stated flatly. He took a sip of water and a labored breath. Even the effort of sitting up was tough for him.