The Line of Departure

Book 4: The New World Series

by G. Michael Hopf

Genres: Sci-fi Action & Adventure; Apocalyptic

Synopsis

A gripping new novel from one of the best-known names in survivalist fiction.

Former Marine-turned-author, G. Michael Hopf grabs readers from page one with his breathtaking blend of action, adventure, and political intrigue. The End-the first book in Hopf 's New World series-has sold more than 50,000 copies, and word of mouth is quickly building on the series as a whole. In the fourth book, The Line of Departure, the United States is on the brink of total anarchy in the wake of a super-EMP attack. Gordon Van Zandt and his family have managed to beat the odds so far, but can they survive once war erupts?


From the Trade Paperback edition.

Release date: June 2, 2015

Publisher: Plume

Print pages: 352

Sample

SPARKPIX

CONTENTS

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

As I have mentioned in earlier acknowledgments, writing a novel is something an author doesn’t do completely alone. Yes, the author sits behind the glow of the screen tapping away for what seems like endless hours creating the characters, plot, and story that will eventually become the book. But once that first draft is complete, an author, if he’s doing it correctly, will send it off to a trusted confidante and, in many ways, collaborator: the editor. I have had the honor and great fortune to be surrounded by an incredible editorial team at Plume. I don’t know all of their individual names, but the one person who has worked with me to ensure that my novels have been readable, richer, and top-notch has been Kate Napolitano, editor at Plume. Her careful eye and attention to detail has aided me in making The Line of Departure the great book it is. She worked closely with me, pushing and encouraging me as I went through the most extensive rewrite I’ve ever done in my life. It was her insistence and vision that the book could be better that led to the book you’re about to read. When I turned it in originally, it was a totally different book. I want to thank her from the bottom of my heart for being open, honest, and professional, as an editor should be.

I am often asked for advice by aspiring writers. Besides my typical response of “Just write,” I now follow up by saying, “Get an editor—they’re a priceless asset to your team.”

Thank you, Kate, and thank you, editorial staff at Plume.

PROLOGUE

OCTOBER 19, 2066

 • • • 

McCall, Idaho, Republic of Cascadia

Hunter Rutledge exited the warmth of the aircraft only to be greeted by a brisk wind. He lifted the collar on his thick wool peacoat and headed toward the lobby of the small airport. He took a deep breath and tried to prepare himself for the unknown. McCall had played a large part in his family’s history, but this was the first time he had stepped foot here. There was nothing like the promise that something “life changing” had happened to encourage him to seek out his roots, and that’s exactly what had been promised to him by his brother, Sebastian. Even after badgering him for more information about what possibly could be in McCall that needed his immediate attention, Sebastian stood firm and said it would be better for Hunter to come see himself. How could anyone turn down an invite promising something so profound? Curiosity got the best of him, and so he soon found himself on a small plane, unsure of what to expect.

As he strode toward the terminal building, the first thing that struck him was how small a place it was. It surprised him, especially considering what he had seen on his flight. As his plane made its approach, he had peered out the window like a small child, eager for the view. He marveled at the size of Long Valley, how it stretched north for miles on end. An early dusting of snow capped the exposed granite tops of the two mountain ranges on either side; the white transitioning to the deep green of the pines, then segueing into the patchwork of browns, tans, and greens of the valley floor. He took in every mountain, road, and building he could until they landed just south of town.

Hunter was the deputy chief of mission for the embassy, a busy man whose schedule was dictated by political turmoil—and in this day and age, there seemed to be a nonstop supply. If he didn’t have such a great relationship with the ambassador, he wouldn’t have been able to make the trip to McCall. His original itinerary took him back to Austin, Texas, today, but when he asked for some leave due to personal family issues, the ambassador granted it without discussion. Hunter was a consummate professional, never one to take a day off, so for him to ask for leave meant that it was something serious. It was just too bad that he didn’t know what this serious thing could be.

Just a few feet shy of the entrance he stopped and took in his surroundings. “So this is the fabled McCall,” he said to himself.

A large man wearing an orange vest opened the door and said cheerfully, “Welcome to McCall! What brings you here?”

Hunter looked around the sparse lobby of the terminal. Small red leather-bound chairs lined the walls, interrupted every few feet by tiny tables covered with magazines and newspapers. In the corner of the room was a counter with old computer monitors and behind it a board listed arrivals and departures. He took notice that the board only listed one other arrival coming in later in the day, and the only departing flight was for tomorrow morning.

Realizing that he hadn’t promptly answered the man’s question, he said, “Sorry, I was expecting to meet someone here.”

“No one here but us,” the man said, shrugging his shoulders.

Hunter shook his head, exasperated. Sebastian told him he’d be there upon his arrival, but being typical Sebastian, he was late.

 • • • 

Hunter looked at his watch and grimaced. Sebastian was now two hours late. He couldn’t wait any longer, not when he was this anxious. After asking for directions, he departed the terminal and headed toward town. He chuckled to himself when he saw the street sign for Van Zandt Boulevard. His own family namesake, emblazoned for all to see.

As he walked, the occasional truck or car drove past, but as a whole, the town seemed sleepy and quiet. Large ponderosa pine trees towered over the houses and small commercial spaces that fronted the street. He had heard so many stories about McCall over the years—it had given his mother a place to call home as a child and was the birthplace of their republic. It was hard for him now to see how this tiny mountain town could have been so instrumental in the beginnings of a new country. The town had a population of less than seven thousand people, but those people had the vision and drive to be independent from the tyrannical forces that collided during the Great Civil War. McCall may not have started as a unique place, but it became pivotal because of one person: his grandfather, Gordon Van Zandt.

Hunter inhaled deeply through his nose. The fresh smell of the alpine air invigorated him. He strode closer to the lake, taking mental notes on restaurants and bars he saw along the way. He wasn’t sure how long he’d be in town, and knowing where to eat and, more specifically, where to grab a drink was a priority.

The blare of a truck’s horn startled him and brought him to the present. He turned in the direction of the sound and saw an old Ford coming his way. Its side panels were decayed from rust, its blue paint faded to the point that primer now showed. The years of being subjected to the harsh conditions of the mountains had taken its toll on the truck, clearly.

“Bro, I’m so sorry. I’m such an ass. I was tied up!” Sebastian hollered out from the cab.

Hunter peered at his baby brother’s beard-covered face. “You are an ass. And a late one at that.”

Sebastian leaned over and unlocked the passenger-side door. Hunter tossed his duffel into the bed and got in. “So. I’m here. What the hell is up?”

“Nice to see you too,” Sebastian joked, making a U-turn in the road and heading south out of town.

“I’m starving. If you’re not going to tell me what’s up, can we at least stop and get something to eat?” Hunter said.

“No time! Where we’re going there’s plenty of food,” Sebastian said happily.

Hunter rolled his eyes. As much as he loved his brother, they were very different people. Sebastian took after his grandfather in his demeanor and thirst for adventure. He loved life and wanted nothing more than to see the world. As soon as he was of age he had left home and never looked back. Now in his mid-twenties, he had finally taken interest in his roots, and this desire for knowledge had taken him to McCall. Hunter was the polar opposite—steadfast, reliable, and grounded. He knew every detail about the Van Zandt and Rutledge families. It was a priority for him to maintain the reputation the name gave him. He was proud of his family’s history, regardless of current revisionism taking place in the media.

“So, where the hell have you been?” Hunter asked.

“Everywhere!”

“I just saw Mom and she’s worried about you. You need to call her,” Hunter chided.

Sebastian cut him a look and answered, “I love Mom, but”—he paused, clearly trying to figure out how to present the information—“it’s just . . . she hasn’t been honest with us. That’s part of the reason why I asked you to come here.”

“What are you talking about?”

“What she told us about Grandma and Granddad were not true. To be blunt, I now question everything she ever told us.”

Hunter pursed his lips. “Mom’s been through a lot. I don’t know what you’re talking about, but right now she’s being interviewed by the paper about the family, about everything.”

“Really? I wonder if she’ll tell the truth.”

Sebastian took a left off the highway and headed east. The one-lane county road was paved but the lack of maintenance made for a bumpy ride. The towering ponderosa pines were now gone, replaced by the tall grasses and small shrubbery of the open valley.

“If you’re not telling me what we’re doing, can you at least tell me where we’re going?”

“Almost there, calm down! You’re going to love it here. McCall is a great place—I can’t believe it’s taken me so long to get here. I’ve learned so much about the family since I’ve been here.”

“Since when have you given two hoots about the family?” Hunter asked, an edge in his tone.

“I know I’ve not been the best brother or son, but when I was in New Zealand a few months back, I had a chance encounter with this woman—”

“How surprising,” Hunter interjected. Sebastian had a reputation for being a playboy.

“It’s not like that. She was an older woman, and she knew the family. She had known Granddad, Hunter.”

“Really?”

“I knew that would pique your interest.”

“I hope it’s not another person claiming how bad he was. I’m sick of hearing that side of the story.”

“I’ve heard the stories. But what if I was to tell you there’s a different perspective?” Sebastian said as the truck slowed and pulled into a gravel driveway.

Sebastian stopped the truck in front of a metal gate and got out to unlock it, hollering at Hunter to drive the truck in. Once the gate was secure again, Sebastian jumped into the passenger side and instructed him to drive.

Hunter paused. He trusted his brother but the entire situation made him uneasy. He peered down the long drive; mature groves of aspen trees to either side gave it an ominous look.

“C’mon, let’s go. You’re hungry and I got to use the bathroom,” Sebastian urged.

Hunter put the truck in gear and drove down the driveway. After a quarter mile, the green metal roof of a house came in view. His curiosity was at a high. He leaned in and stared as more and more of the house came into view. It looked very familiar.

“Is this Mom’s old house?”

“Yep.”

“I thought . . . I thought Mom said this was gone, that they had sold it.”

“That’s the first lie,” Sebastian blurted out.

Sebastian’s excitement for what Hunter was about to see couldn’t be contained. “C’mon!” he yelled, and jogged to a side door next to the garage. He pulled out a key and unlocked the door. When the final click of the last tumbler fell on the lock, a bark from a large dog sounded out.

Sebastian grabbed the handle and opened the door slowly so as not to let the dog, a pit bull, out. “Oh, who’s a good boy?” Sebastian said to the dog. The dog wiggled with excitement and licked Sebastian’s hand intensely. The dog’s friendly behavior was the antithesis of its appearance.

“This is Irish,” Sebastian told Hunter.

“Hi, Irish,” Hunter said, just standing behind his brother. He wasn’t much of a dog lover and didn’t have too much experience with them, as their mother, Haley, never allowed them when they grew up.

“It’s Sebastian!” Sebastian called out.

They entered a small mudroom. The only furniture in the small space was a bench, coatrack, and baskets with boots and shoes. Irish bolted ahead of them into the main part of the house. Both men took off their shoes and followed him. The next room they walked into was a large kitchen. The appliances in it were at least fifty years old, but what stuck out was how clean everything was. Whoever lived there took great care to keep it that way. The kitchen opened up to a large great room with twenty-five-foot ceilings. A large rock fireplace and chimney spanned the distance from the ground to the wood-beamed ceiling. From this room, one could sit on the large sectional sofa and overlook the valley and a creek that was a hundred yards off the back of the house. Jug Handle Mountain stood prominently in the distance.

Hunter was captivated by the view and approached the windows to get a better look. It was stunningly beautiful. He was starting to understand what his grandparents saw in this part of Idaho. His awe was shattered when the realities of the years before came crashing down. Off in the distance, under a large pine tree, sat a gated graveyard. The site of graveyards in this age was common. After the lights went out, the luxury of having funeral homes and municipal graveyards disappeared. If someone died in your family they’d have to prepare the body and bury it themselves. But knowing what those graves meant—the history behind them—took Hunter’s breath away.

“Mom said this was a cabin, not a compound,” Hunter remarked.

“I know.”

“This house is huge. What do you think, three-thousand-plus square feet?” Hunter asked out loud.

“More like four thousand,” a voice echoed from the hall beyond.

Hunter turned around quickly. The hallway was dark, but in the shadows a person moved slowly toward them.

Hunter’s heart pounded with anticipation as an elderly man with a cane appeared. The man walked up to Hunter and outstretched his hand.

Hunter was confused; there was something about his weathered face that seemed so familiar. When his eyes fell on a scar on the man’s right cheek, his stomach dropped. It can’t be, he thought to himself. He was dead. His mother had told him he had died years before. History books had talked about his demise. There had been a state funeral. His mother told him about how sad the republic had been when one of its founding fathers had passed. So many questions came rushing at him; he was overwhelmed with confusion.

“Granddad?”

“Hi, Hunter.”

“Granddad, it can’t be you. You’re supposed to be dead!” Hunter exclaimed in disbelief.

“You can’t always believe what you read,” Gordon said.

Hunter was in shock, but he extended his hand to his grandfather’s and shook it. Gordon gripped it tightly.

“Let’s go sit in my office,” Gordon recommended. He led them down the hallway to a set of large double doors that opened to a dimly lit space. The smell of cigar smoke wafted over Hunter. In the room were two large leather chairs with matching leather ottomans. Both were positioned in front of another fireplace, this one made of river rock. Against the wall across from the chairs was a leather love seat. It looked like a museum. As Hunter’s eyes scanned the space, he saw pictures of his family and relics of days gone by; men in uniform, flags and medals now encased in shadow boxes. Above the fireplace hung an M4 rifle. Hunter remembered seeing the many pictures of his grandfather during the Great Civil War, always with a rifle in his grip.

“Take a seat,” Gordon said, motioning to a chair. “Sebastian, come in here and turn these around to face the love seat.”

Sebastian jumped at his command and turned the chairs around.

Gordon plopped himself in one of the chairs and Hunter took the other. Sebastian sat across from them. At first an unnerving silence separated them all.

Sebastian finally broke it by saying, “Granddad, I told you he’d come.”

Gordon nodded at Sebastian and turned his attention to Hunter. “Hunter, I’m sorry this is how you had to meet me. And I’m even more sorry that you had to go through your life so far thinking I was dead.”

“I don’t understand. What’s going on?”

“I will answer everything in time. I will tell you everything, like I told your mother many years ago.”

Hunter was dizzy from this revelation. His mind couldn’t grasp the enormity of it all.

“Why would everyone think you’re dead? Even Mom thinks you’re dead.”

“Everyone thinks I’m dead, except for a few chosen individuals who know the truth. Your mother is one of them,” Gordon said.

“Why would she lie to us?”

“Because I asked her to. We had to . . .”

“Had to?” Hunter replied, anger rising in his voice.

“I learned a long time ago that life is full of choices. I made the choice to do it this way, and for good reason. You shouldn’t be angry with your mother,” Gordon said.

“Why, what happened that made you do such a thing?” Hunter asked.

“It’s not a short or easy story, but let me first share with you that I’ve been watching and looking out for you all of your life. I never intended for us to ever meet because . . . well, it could be dangerous for you to know the truth, but two weeks ago a knock at my door led to this meeting. Your brother found me. He’s a good detective, I must say,” Gordon said with a smile.

Sebastian returned the smile; a sense of pride filled him to have his famous grandfather give him praise. “I’ll say it wasn’t easy but it kind of fell into my lap, the knowledge that you were even alive.”

“There’s an old saying: ‘Three can keep a secret if two of them are dead.’” Gordon grinned.

Hunter looked at Sebastian intently and asked, “Who was it? The woman in New Zealand?”

“Yes, a woman named Brittany. I was working this shitty landscaping job at a nursery home to make a few dollars and she asked me if I was Sebastian Rutledge. Just like that, she came up to me out of the blue. I don’t know how she knew who I was. It really doesn’t matter to me. But the conversation went from there; she eventually told me that Granddad was still alive.”

“Who’s Brittany?” Hunter asked, his focus now back on Gordon.

Gordon, lost in thought, didn’t answer.

“Granddad?” Hunter pressed. “Who was she?”

“Someone I knew many years ago. But she’s not important to the fact that you’re here. I’m so happy that Sebastian found me and that you’re now here. We have much to catch up on.”

“To say that we have some catching up to do is an understatement.”

“Come with me,” Gordon said, slowly standing up.

The brothers followed him out into the cold chill of the early afternoon. Hunter watched his grandfather take labored steps toward the small graveyard behind the house. Nine gravestones stood like monuments behind the wrought iron fence.

“This is why I had to fake my death those many years ago.” Gordon pointed toward the largest gravestone.

Hunter leaned in and read name on the gravestone. Samantha Van Zandt.

“I don’t understand this at all. Grandma died years after your supposed death. Unless—is she alive too?” Hunter exclaimed.

Gordon’s eyes grew hazy for a moment. “Unfortunately, she is not. Not a minute goes by that she doesn’t cross my mind. I loved her deeply. She was a fine woman. I hope you boys find a good woman like your grandmother.”

“But I don’t understand—how does our grandmother’s death relate to why you faked your own?”

“I made her a promise right there almost fifty-one years ago,” Gordon said, now pointing to an old paver stone patio just off the main deck of the house. “I’m happy that you boys are here for many reasons but one is to impart some knowledge and wisdom that I have had to learn the hard way. So often history tends to repeat itself because people forget the lessons of what happened before.”

“Then please tell us, please explain to us. Many out there praise you, but others curse you,” Hunter said.

“I’ve never worried about those who criticize. I learned a long time ago that some people just need to do that. But I do owe it to you to explain why I had to make that choice to exit the world. However, I need to start with the promise I made to your grandmother those many years ago so that it will give my decision context.”

“I’m all ears,” Hunter said.

Gordon shivered from the cold. His gray, thin hair was waving in the cool breeze. He looked at Hunter. Gordon saw his blood and his legacy in those green eyes. Ready to explain his side of his life, he said, “Let’s go back inside, grab a drink, and I’ll tell you both how it all went down.”

JUNE 24, 2015

“The promises of this world are, for the most part, vain phantoms . . .”

—Michelangelo

McCall, Idaho, United States

Both Gordon and Samantha smiled as they looked upon a hard day’s work. Just off the back of their house now stood freshly tilled earth—the beginnings of their garden. Close by, their daughter, Haley, was playing in a sandpit that Gordon had made her after they had settled into their new life in McCall. The deep and rich smell of the upturned dirt filled the air as they shared this moment of contentment and pride.

The roads had cleared enough by early May that the group set out from Eagle to complete their journey from San Diego. Almost five months to the date they had set out to make the trip, they had arrived. When they left San Diego, their group was comprised of six families, but the harshness of the trip and rash decisions of some members reduced that number to three by the time they reached McCall. They had lost many along the way, including those near and dear, but also gained some, including Gordon’s brother, Sebastian, Annaliese, and Luke. When they arrived at the first checkpoint in McCall, the celebration was bittersweet. The loss of their son, Hunter, Frank, Mack, and Holloway hung heavily on the group, but they were determined to make something out of their new home.

So much horror and loss had occurred on the long road, but now the hope was that McCall would be their sanctuary from the new world. There they could rebuild and reconnect with each other, and for Gordon and Samantha, that was of greatest interest to them. The traumas they both experienced had taken a severe toll on them personally, and their relationship had taken some hits. They both recognized the importance of mending those differences, not just for their own sake, but for Haley’s. Deep down their relationship had a solid foundation built on love, but it was cracked.

Samantha wanted to immediately forgive Gordon for leaving them after Hunter’s death, but she couldn’t. Gordon had painstakingly explained his position and she could understand why he would want to avenge Hunter, but she still felt deeply that his departure jeopardized her and Haley. Finally he broke down one night, his tough veneer melting away to show her a man ashamed of putting his son in the position to get captured and killed. He acknowledged that some of his reasoning for not being able to come back right away was due to his utter inability to face her. He felt he had let her down, that his decisions had cost them their only son. He explained what little peace of mind they could ever have would come knowing that Rahab was dead and could never harm anyone else again.

Even with his impassioned explanation, Samantha still felt hurt. She didn’t look at the world the way Gordon did, but then again she knew that was why their relationship worked. They shared similar values, but their approach to things was different. After his breakdown and tear-ridden confession, she decided that she had to forgive him completely if they were going to move on with their lives. Someone had once told her that no one can heal if the wound is left to bleed, and with that in mind, she decided that they couldn’t dwell on the past any longer.

“I forgot to tell you, Michael Rutledge has enough wood for us to build that smokehouse you wanted. He should be stopping by tomorrow sometime,” Gordon said.

“That’s great news. I like the Rutledges,” Samantha replied with a smile.

“Yeah, they’re good people. I’ve noticed that you and Tiffany are BFFs,” Gordon joked.

Samantha shot him a look, “BFF? I haven’t heard that phrase in a long time. Gosh, seems like yesterday that was so important.”

“Friends are important.”

“I know friends are important, it’s just that I was so focused on having quote-unquote friends and doing the mommy stuff with the ladies back in San Diego that I kinda lost sight of what a real friend is. You know, play dates, dinner dates, and mommy nights out, blah, blah, blah. Keeping up with everyone else distracts you from the important things.”

“I wonder what happened to all of them.”

“Well, I’m sure Marilyn and Irene didn’t make it out alive.”

“Irene, maybe—she’d eat her own young to stay alive! Actually the best thing she could have done was knock off her drunk loser of a husband first; that probably would have given her and her pack of wild children a fighting chance.” Samantha laughed.

“Oh, and Marilyn, that snob and her ‘look at me and how nice all my stuff is.’ I just loved her ‘brand name this or that’ attitude. I hope that Versace bag kept the Villistas away because her husband, ‘the man who hated guns,’ wasn’t about to do anything,” Gordon said.

“Anyway, enough about them. I am just grateful for the good friends we’ve had and the new ones we’ve met.”

“I like Michael a lot, but he drones on about politics all the time,” Gordon said.

“Don’t kid yourself, I know you love to talk politics.”

“What? I hate politics!”

“Yeah, right. You hate politicians but you’ve never walked away from a good old political debate.”

Gordon cracked a large smiled and said, “You’re right, but can he talk about anything other than Casadonia?”

“Cascadia, not Casadonia.”

“Whatever. I’m not the biggest fan of how the U.S. was run before, but at least I know some of the people who run it now. Trying to secede and break away will only bring bad things.”

“Wait a minute, didn’t you tell me other states had seceded without issue?” Samantha asked.

“Yes, but I can’t believe President Conner’s going to let it keep happening. Also, what do Michael or the other Cascadians know about governing?”

“Michael must have some sway—he’s convinced Sebastian to join his cause.”

“Don’t remind me,” Gordon lamented. He had been to a couple Cascadian Independence meetings. He listened to what they had to say and liked most of it, but he just couldn’t get his mind around pushing for secession, especially since he had allies in Cheyenne. For him it didn’t make practical sense, but Sebastian was a convert, and a proud one at that.

“Whatever you do, don’t be an ass to Michael. I like him and Tiffany.”

“What you’re asking me is to not piss him off by saying something like, ‘Michael, please shut the fuck up about the Republic of Casadonia’