The Razor's Edge: A Postapocalytic Novel (The New World Book 6) (5 page)

Baxter let go of the handle and turned back around. “Damn it, man, what do you want?”

“I want you to become president, I do. However, I want you to know who put you there. Actually, we want you, I’m not acting alone.”

Baxter’s face tightened up as he clenched his jaw.

“You will do whatever we tell you,” Eli said and stood.

“I need you to leave,” Baxter said.

Eli walked around the desk and stopped inches from Baxter. “Tell me, how did Bethanny die? I heard she was found in an alley with a bullet to the head. I’ve also heard the bullet was recovered but somehow lost. And poor Pat, he ended up dead the same way. At first I thought you killed her but then I remembered how you’d look at her. You had a thing for Bethanny.”

“Out.”

“I’m leaving, don’t worry. Just make sure you put me on the list. I’ll be returning often once you occupy that office down the hall,” Eli said and exited.

When the door closed, Baxter sighed loudly. He thought he had covered his tracks, but his past had come back with a vengeance. Lamenting that he had ever joined their ranks, he sauntered to his chair and fell into it. He spun around and looked out the window. Several blocks away a black plume rose to the gray sky. When he had mentioned the word tragedy earlier, he meant it. He had never wanted any of this to happen. Back when he flirted with the resistance, he did so as a challenge to Conner’s increasing tyrannical moves. Now it appeared the very group he helped form had itself turned tyrannical and he was caught in their clutches.

A tap on the door brought him back from his dark thoughts.

“Yes.”

The door opened and Laura, Cruz’s executive assistant, leaned in. “General Baxter, I have Cheyenne Mountain on line three. It’s the president’s wife.”

Baxter pressed his eyes closed tight. He dreaded having the conversation he was about to have, but nonetheless it had to be done. He spun around, picked up the receiver, hit the glowing light, and said, “General Baxter here.”

“This is Mrs. Cruz.”

“Mrs. Cruz, good morning. I, um, I don’t know how to say this, but there was an attack here this morning, a bomb. St. Mary’s Church was the target.”

“Yes.”

“And it was during the Christmas Mass, ma’am.”

“Is Andrew dead?”

“We believe so, ma’am.”

Sandy, Utah

Pablo zipped up his coat and grabbed the crutches that leaned up against his dresser. He glanced up at the blank space where a mirror once hung. Not seeing it was a reminder, but what was worse was seeing his reflection. There was no escaping his injuries and maladies; they would be with him until he died.

Outside, Annaliese squealed with excitement.

He stepped over to the window and looked out just in time to see her embrace and kiss her mother on the head. A pleasant grin cracked his marred face.

“Hector!” she hollered. “Come see this!”

She still referred to him by that name though she knew his true name. He was accepting of her using Hector; in fact, there wasn’t anything she could do wrong according to him.

“Hector!” she again hollered.

He made his way out and said, “Here.” His voice was still thick and raspy.

She gleefully turned around and said, “You’re here. Come, stand by me. Mom just went inside. I’ll need some help with these birds.”

He stepped up beside her and leaned his weight on the crutches. He had continued to go through Annaliese’s physical therapy, but it was easier and less painful to use the crutches when he could.

“This morning was nice, wasn’t it?” she asked recalling the Christmas morning they had all shared.

“Yes.”

“I’m so happy you were here to partake.”

“Me too.”

She rambled on for a few minutes, and he gave his usual one- or two-word responses.

“I think they’re done,” she said then carefully pulled the two pheasants from the cast-iron drum that served as a deep fryer, being mindful of the few flames and hot coals of the pit beneath the caldron.

“Good,” Pablo said.

With a broad smile she spun around with the steaming pheasants laid out on a large platter. “I’ve had deep-fried turkey so why not pheasant?”

Pablo nodded.

She rushed towards the house. “Best to get these inside. It’s gotta be twenty-five degrees out.”

Right behind her, Pablo came. He had gotten very good at moving swiftly on crutches. He climbed the porch stairs and opened the door for her just in time.

She raced past him and into the kitchen.

Pablo didn’t follow; he shut the door and spun around.

Annaliese noticed his absence and stuck her head out the door. “Where you going? Don’t you want to help me carve them?”

He stopped and glanced back. “No.”

She was concerned only because he had been spending more and more time away from her and the house and with his men. She wasn’t fond of his soldiers and didn’t hesitate to let him know of her displeasure.

Not going back on his word to her, he had kept his men encamped outside the perimeters of the ranch. However, he enjoyed seeing his men and talking about their victories like old salty veterans.

“It’s cold out; come on inside. You and Uncle Samuel can pop open a bottle of wine and cozy next to the fire,” Annaliese said in a vain attempt to lure him inside.

“No, thank you,” Pablo replied. Like before, he kept his words short, as his throat and vocal cords were damaged, and any length of speech brought a searing pain.

“Okay, you’re missing out,” she said looking glum. “I’ll radio you when dinner is ready.”

He nodded and slowly stepped off the porch.

Annaliese watched him as he marched towards a Polaris Ranger, an all-terrain vehicle Samuel had given him so he could go back and forth on the compound. When she first discovered who he was, a wide range of emotions had struck her. Fear, doubt, and anger were the top three, but slowly she began to see him as the meek, sweet and tender Hector who had the heart and determination of a lion. She had heard the rumors of the great and terrible Emperor Pablo of the Pan American Empire but couldn’t believe that Hector and he could be the same person. She convinced herself that the helicopter crash had changed him. Like Saul transforming into Paul, Pablo had turned into Hector.

Disappointed that she wouldn’t be spending the predinner time with him, she went back inside and went to work.

Pablo felt a deep gratitude for Annaliese. She had taken him in and saved his life. There was no confusing that point. Annaliese had shown him there could be another way, but when he saw his men with their weapons of war and after spending time with them again, a tingling of the old Pablo reemerged.

He waved at the gate guard as he exited the ranch. He told Annaliese there wasn’t any need to still man the gate, as his men were just outside, but Samuel insisted.

Doubt about Pablo and his men concerned Samuel. Cautious by nature, Samuel couldn’t help but feel Pablo and his army of invaders were a threat and that soon he and the rest of the compound would get to meet the real Hector, as they all still called him.

Coming to a full stop a top a small rise, he looked down and smiled at the sight of his army. Like him, they were wounded and would never be the same. Their numbers were diminished but they still had power and were a force to reckon with.

Luis Dominguez heard the familiar sound of the Ranger and stepped outside of the large GP-style tent he now called home and waved. To his right the flag of the Pan American Empire flapped in the breeze alongside the battalion colors. Luis was a proud soldier and loyal, but his heart was still in Venezuela and he longed for home.

Pablo put the Ranger in gear and drove directly to Luis.

With his hands raised high and a toothy grin, Luis blared, “Emperor, Feliz Navidad!”

“Feliz Navidad, commander,” Pablo said with his now signature raspy voice.

Luis rushed to Pablo’s side and said, “Let me help you, sir.”

“No,” Pablo replied, pushing Luis aside as he stepped out without his cane. He steadied himself before taking his first step.

“Come, my tent is warm, and I have some vino—the men found a large stash,” Luis said motioning for Pablo to enter his tent.

Pablo walked diligently inside the tent and marveled at how warm it was. He saw a large chair and sat immediately.

Luis came in, secured the tent flap, and sat across from Pablo. He took a glass from a shelf behind him and poured from the already open bottle of wine. “It’s Caymus. I think you’ll enjoy it.”

Pablo watched as the glass filled. He enjoyed wine, especially good wine. In his right hand, he swished the wine, admiring the legs, and then put it to his nose. He inhaled deeply through his nose while simultaneously closing his eyes. “Ahh.”

“Wait until you taste it.”

Not opening his eyes, he put the glass to his lips and took a large sip. He let the wine sit on his tongue for a moment before swallowing.

Luis sat waiting patiently for Pablo to comment on the wine.

Pablo opened his eyes and said, “Good.”

“See, I told you, sir, it’s very good. I have thirty-seven cases; of course, they’re all yours if you want them.”

“Have you new information?” Pablo asked.

“Yes, but, sir, I have something for you, a gift for the holiday,” Luis said.

Pablo was impatient, but because it was Christmas, he would allow Luis this one indulgence on his time.

“The men found a museum. Yes, I know you’re thinking museum, who cares, but places like that hold treasures because they have gift shops full of food, water, batteries and so forth. But, that wasn’t the prize of this excursion; no, they found this,” Luis said as he held up a large feathered headdress.

Seeing the gift, Pablo sat up. He was intrigued. Being Mexican and, more importantly, being well educated in his native culture, he recognized it as an ancient Aztec headdress worn by the priests.

Luis carried it over and presented it to Pablo.

Pablo set his wine down and grabbed it. It was heavier than he imagined it would be. He examined with glee the painted feathers, gold and gems. “This is real,” Pablo said.

“Yes, sir, like I said it was a museum.”

“Thank you, General, thank you very much,” Pablo said with deep sincerity.

“You’re very welcome, Emperor, Merry Christmas.”

“Thank you,” Pablo said. He thought about putting it on but didn’t want to hurt or damage it.

A broad smile stretched across Luis’ face.

Pablo handed it back and said, “Keep it here; it’s safer here. Thank you, General, that’s a very nice gift.”

“Of course, sir, I’ll keep it in the command tent with me. It will be safe and secure here,” Luis said taking the headdress and placing it back on a pedestal near his cot. He turned back around and said, “Let me pour you some more wine. We should celebrate.”

“I don’t care about wine,” Pablo said, clearing his throat. Like the flip of a switch, Pablo was back to business.

“Of course you don’t; you want to know if we found anything out,” Luis said.

Pablo nodded.

“We captured a small detachment south of Cheyenne. Our team just arrived with them not long ago.”

“And?”

“They’re not talking. We’ve been applying some interrogation techniques that have proven to be effective, but these Americans are tough.”

“Where?”

“We have them housed at the far end of the camp.”

“Take me,” Pablo ordered. He tipped his glass back and drank the entire glass with two large gulps. Gently he set the glass down and with a smile said, “Very good.”

Luis followed his lead and finished his glass then said, “Follow me, sir.”

Back in the Ranger, Luis directed him to the tent that served as a makeshift cell.

Pablo exited and walked past the guards stationed outside the entrance.

Luis didn’t know what to expect from Pablo. He hadn’t met him until their first encounter in November outside the ranch gate, but he had heard many stories concerning how ruthless he was.

Inside the dimly lit tent, a strong odor of feces and urine greeted Pablo. He paused to take in the smell, look and feel. At the far end three shirtless men stood, their arms tied above their heads to a large metal support. Dried blood clung to their chests and arms.

One man lifted his weary head and looked at Pablo. With a sneer he asked, “Who’s the fucking gimp?”

Luis raced past Pablo and with an open hand smacked the man. “How dare you speak to our emperor that way.”

The man laughed and spit out a wad of blood. “Fuck you and fuck your emperor. We killed that fuck months ago.”

Luis raised his hand to strike the man again but was stopped when Pablo spoke up. “No.”

Stunned, Luis turned around and replied, “But, sir, he’s disrespecting you.”

“Move,” Pablo ordered waving his hand.

Luis did as he said.