Maddox Caine looked up at the auburn sky and squinted his gray eyes. A whirlwind of dust roiled and kicked up from the earth, sending gusts of crimson sand battering against the convoys.
The trucks stretched as far as the eye could see, plowing through the uneven roads of what had previously been called Utah. Now well-equipped and stocked with provisions, the fleet of armed troops glistened under the blinding, summer daylight, and beads of perspiration dripped down Maddox’s forehead.
The sandstorm had left nothing in terms of habitation, though he was hardly surprised. Similar to the remaining states outside the Sanctuary City of Hope, Mother Nature had once again shown no mercy on the lands. The topsoil had been ripped from the earth, the vegetation destroyed, animals slaughtered, and any signs of human interaction—not already hidden—had been well disposed of.
Maddox despised venturing beyond his city walls. But with the unprecedented storm and subsequent landslide, his journey was necessary.
“And what of the survivors so far?” The interviewer tilted her gaze toward Maddox. “Governor Caine, as the commander of Sanctuary Hope, can you tell us what to expect with the crisis? This is the second sandstorm in a month, is it not?”
General Myka Wolfe, who sat beside Maddox in the overly spacious convoy truck, squirmed on his leather seat. Under normal circumstances, he was not one to enjoy the company of reporters. Especially not when they were accompanied by two cameramen—each of whom stared mutely for an answer.
Maddox dragged out an expertly rehearsed response. “The sand inhalation has been severe since the last crisis, so today we will be evacuating all of the survivors from the shelter and into Sanctuary Hope. With the number of disasters that are tearing through the wastelands now, we must take extra precautions to save our people. The only way to do that is to continuously upgrade our resources and amend any destruction caused to our defence mechanisms. Even if that happens to be outside my city walls.”
He turned his attention on the interviewer again, who sat between the rolling cameras, and pondered how young she was to be interviewing him. Certainly unlike any of the others sent from the Sanctuary City Council. A dainty, if not feeble-looking girl in her early twenties, she had slicked-back hair tied into a bun above her delicate, doe-eyed features; her hair had been tightened to such a sad degree that her skin pulled back, lifting her forehead like Botox. Though a subtle movement, she repeatedly tapped the heel of her stiletto against her seat and double-blinked her eyes.
Maddox indicated his companion. “The general and I have no doubt today’s operation will go as smoothly as the others.”
“Will the survivors be compliant with the evacuation process, Governor Caine?”
A pause. Compliant was not the word the governor of Sanctuary Hope would have used.
“They understand certain measures have to be taken to ensure their safety. It is a matter of urgency we evacuate them from the landslide wreckage. If they decide to come back, then so be it. I’m just relieved there were no fatal casualties.”
Wolfe tugged at his collar. “No. There were no fatal civilian casualties.”
“Most of the survivors were Opposers of your campaign, and it’s why they were hiding in Wastelands. Is that not true, Governor Caine?”
“It is.” Maddox inclined his head and a loose strand of silver hair to fall into his eyes. He tucked it back into place and cupped his hands neatly on top of his lap. “But that does not deter me from saving them. I vowed to rebuild our world. Politics, in actual fact, is irrelevant when it’s a matter of life and death. It matters not to me if they agree or disagree with my sponsorship program, or which part of Hope they wish to remain in. I vowed to protect them at any cost.”
“Thank you, Governor Caine.” The interviewer fixed her gaze on the general. “General Wolfe. With the sandstorm causing the landslide, how well were you able to contain its wrath?”
The wind rocked harder against the convoy, knocking the cameramen slightly out of place. The interviewer waited for the general’s response. Wolfe, however, was a hard-boiled military man who had the countenance of one teetering on the edge of swallowing her for lunch, then regurgitating her for dinner.
Putting her occupation aside, the interviewer had left a bad taste in the general’s mouth. Maddox could not blame him. There was nothing to be glorified about death and ruin. Catastrophic disasters were not headlines to paint the news with, or clickbait to supersede their weekly SCC targets. But unlike Maddox, the general wasn’t as skilled at putting on a face for the public eye. He had yet to master that.
“Going back to my previous question,” the girl began, but the general cut her off with a raised hand.
“What’s your name again, girl?”
She tugged at her frilly white blouse and blushed down to her neck. “It’s Jesen Anderson, General Wolfe, from the department of communications, the SCC’s Survivors Institute.” She pointed to the silver badge pinned to the front of her expensive suit, a black and white eagle representing balance and endurance. The SCC’s emblem. “Can you tell me more about the survivors of the landslide? How you managed to protect them with the storm wreaking havoc?”
A lengthy pause stretched between them. The general didn’t even so much as blink at the girl. When the silence grew uncomfortably long, and the general no less inclined to break it, Maddox prepared to speak. He was overridden by a sharp, scathing response from the general.
“Well, what would you like me to say? Since the world turned to shit, I’ve been delightfully tasked with looking after the Sanctuary City of Hope, including the remaining states who still refuse to evacuate. But as you very well know, we’re damn near hit with a disaster at least once a week, so that certainly makes my job all the more interesting and keeps my men on their toes. Sometimes, it’s easy pulling the civvies out from the wreckage, but other times, such as yesterday, Mother Nature decides to take a shit on us. So, in answer to your question, I managed to contain its wrath well enough. But at the cost of lives.”
Maddox’s jaw stiffened, and a slight twinge of displeasure flitted over his face. He side-eyed his subordinate carefully. Not only had Wolfe lied to Maddox, but his behaviour was hardly acceptable when every word was being documented on live television.
A simple narrowing of Maddox’s eyes conveyed his message to the general.
Mind your place.
Maddox cleared his throat. “I believe yesterday’s event was a rather horrific ordeal,” he began, “and so under the circumstances, I will excuse the general from this interview. You may direct the remainder of your questions to me.”
While she shuffled in her seat, one of the cameramen whispered into the girl’s ear.
She nodded. “Yes, Governor Caine; my apologies to the general. Perhaps you can tell us about the events of yesterday and how the survivors were treated.”
“Treated?” Maddox repeated, tilting his head ever so slightly.
“Excuse me. How the survivors were saved from the ruins,” the girl clarified. “What is Sanctuary Hope doing to help them after such a tragedy?”
Better, at least.
“The worst part of the crisis is always the aftermath,” Maddox explained calmly, his voice soft and concise for the microphone attached to his navy pinstripe suit. “Once the storm passed, I had the state of Utah and Arizona search for any more survivors. That is when my men stumbled upon the shelter. I am proud to say we managed to save at least twenty of the civilians who were trapped inside.”
More gusts of wind spat sand over the truck. If only there was a route through Sanctuary Hope instead of around. It would save Maddox at least half a day’s journey.
“How many survivors were there?”
“Around twenty-two,” the general answered, voice sharp. “It was hard to tell with the sand pissing on our faces.”
Maddox inclined his head, his eyes narrowing. “Indeed. It took General Wolfe and his men several hours to free them. By the time we constructed an entrance, the damage had already been committed to much of the survivors.”
“A miracle they survived the landslide at all,” the general said under his breath.
Tears filled the girl’s eyes. “Where are they now?”
Such was the sentimental kind.
Wolfe didn’t look at the girl. His attention seemed drawn to the outskirts of the wastelands, his thoughts losing him to contemplation. For his own sake, Maddox hoped he would not answer. He had been excused from the interview already.
The truck hit a rough patch of earth. The interviewer and cameraman grabbed onto the door handles for support. Since there were no labourers to maintain the roads, the Wastelands were often piles of debris and sand congealed together.
Wolfe’s response came back sharp. “We had them fed, watered, and sheltered in a nearby quarantine unit, where we kept them safe ‘til the storm hit. The children, especially, were terrorized by the time we hauled them out. It was like a bloodbath.” He stared hard at the interviewer, a warning glinting in his dark, pinched eyes. “You’ll be steering clear from their quarters, am I understood? Last thing they need is some journalist poking her nose in. You ain’t getting a foot near those kids. You or your groupies.”
The interviewer lowered her gaze, and the faint outline of a blush rose to her freckled cheeks.
“Of course, sir. We understand. Thank you for providing that information, General Wolfe. I’m sure I can speak for everyone when I say we’re merely delighted to know they’re safe.” After a moment, Jesen lifted her gaze from the laptop screen, and once again she met Maddox’s sharp, gray eyes. “Governor Caine”—the girl visibly shuddered, her breath hitching in her throat—“can you tell us why you wish to evacuate the Opposers of your campaign, despite their claims about you?”
Maddox shot the girl his calmest of stares. He was well acquainted with the media and how best to address them. Or to maintain that certain level of respect for them. Perhaps the general would learn a thing or two about decorum.
Eyes rooting the girl to the spot, Maddox answered, “Fear makes people do terrible things. When faced with it, even the strongest of leaders are capable of committing the most reckless of decisions. Deprive someone of resources, strip them of civilization for long periods of time, it is only natural they begin to question anything that poses a helping hand. Help becomes the unknown to them, and hope the bona fide enemy; there is no counteracting that fact. Yet I would be foolish to refuse aid to those who are blind to its existence. Opposers of my sponsorship program or not, they are still part of this country. They are my responsibility. After all, it is not their fault the world turned against them.”
Another well-executed response. The look in the general’s eyes told Maddox he stood in agreement with him. Maddox waited for the next question, keeping his expression calm and serene despite the chaos around him.
“Some would say the world’s disasters are a case of natural selection, and those who remain to live outside the Sanctuary Cities have chosen to die, yet you try to help them. What would you say to that?”
Maddox chuckled. “I’d say they are fools and ask them to join me on an expedition to the Middle East where the world’s natural selection is three times more severe.”
Jesen smiled faintly. “Thank you for that response, it…it is exactly what we have been eager to hear, Governor Caine.”
Maddox ignored the comment. He wasn’t there to impress them. He had other responsibilities, and the sooner the journalist left him, the quicker he could tend to them.
“One more question, if I may?”
“You may,” Maddox replied.
Jesen took a deep intake of breath. “Project Caine, the sponsorship program that not only provides humans with the vaccine to withstand common diseases, also ensures each person is given a sponsor to protect them. A guardian of sorts. Do you think the new residents will be willing to enlist in the program? And, if they do, is there enough sponsor to survivor ratio?”
“Enough of this nons—”
Maddox raised a hand to silence the general, who quickly held his tongue. He grimaced out the window, his thick eyebrows furrowed in contempt.
“Governor Caine?” the interviewer probed, her sapphire eyes beseeching.
Maddox fixed his attention on her. “I have worked many years ensuring every survivor within Sanctuary Hope will be looked after. My city is a place of refuge. I do not force people into my gates. I provide them with a sponsorship program that guarantees everyone is vaccinated accordingly and given a sponsor who will provide emotional and financial support. These people who come to us often have nothing. We, on the other hand, have everything. So, I ask of you, why keep the world to yourself when the earth begs you for flowers?”
Just as Maddox expected, Jesen didn’t appear to follow. At that moment, the truck entered smoother terrain and slowed. The wind and sand had lessened, although the clouds remained dusted in a vibrant shade of orange. At least the storm was clearing. Maddox hated to think how those poor civilians had been trapped inside the shelter for two days straight.
“Are we quite finished, Miss Anderson?” Maddox gestured an elegant, pale hand toward the window. “For if I am not mistaken, we have arrived at the crisis, and I have lives to save.”
The convoys hadn’t been pulled to a halt yet, and civilians swarmed around them. Hands groped at the truck windows, voices called out for help. The people had been taken care of as much as the general could manage, but to the survivors, the convoys were a beacon of hope. Transports from the Sanctuary Cities which had probably been lost to them since the chaos began.
“O-of course,” Jesen managed, shaking her head. Had she been transfixed by what Maddox said? The girl certainly looked like it. “Thank you for that, Governor Caine. I will gather the rest of the crew, and we will continue recording shortly.”
Maddox waited until the girl and cameramen had closed the door before he turned to the general.
“General Wolfe. You have been my loyal subordinate many years, which is why I shall let your outbursts slide. Say now what you wish to convey.”
Wolfe lifted his hands and ran them through his shorn, peppered hair. “You know what I think about all this media nonsense. It’s the representation of it, sir. These damn clowns, filming the crisis as though they’re on a movie set, while the civvies are out here dying… It repulses me.”
The general clenched his jaw as if the mere thought of the cameras truly sickened him. But they were inescapable. The life of a politician revolved around cameras. He had informed Wolfe of that the moment he’d appointed him.
“You said nobody died during the landslide, only injured,” Maddox countered, his voice deceptively calm. “Had you deceived me?”
Once the question was uttered, the general tugged at his collar again. He didn’t even have to confirm. Maddox could smell the general’s lie polluting the air like a foul odor.
“Where were you last night?” Maddox asked, his sharp canines glinting in the light.
Wolfe squirmed again. “Hunting,” he answered, his Adam’s apple deliciously trembling.
“Hunting?” Maddox repeated as though tasting the word. “I see. Care to explain why you neglected to inform me of that in your report, General? You know my rules and you disobeyed them still.”
“I… Well, I—”
“Any casualties must be reported to me. Inside, beyond my city walls, accidental or intentional, it matters not. Am I clear, General Wolfe?”
Wolfe opened his mouth to say something, then smacked his lips together again. After a moment, he replied, “Crystal, sir.”
“Then I shall deal with your subversion later.” Maddox pulled on his leather gloves and retrieved a pair of sunglasses from his inner top pocket. He slipped them onto his face and smiled. “For now, let us help my people. That is your duty.”
Viewed from the distance, the Sanctuary City of Hope sprawled endlessly beneath several multifaceted domes of glittering glass and steel. The backdrop of snow-capped mountains lined the horizon, overshadowing the city walls, and thin, rapier-like towers marked Hope’s city center.
Maddox hadn’t even stepped out of the vehicle when a sea of survivors engulfed them. Wolfe and his men closely supervised, guarding the governor, but Maddox hardly paid them any notice. His entire body itched to throw itself into the woes of despair and wreckage. It mattered not that those individuals lived outside of Hope. They were his civilians, and Maddox was one of few capable of saving them.
One who could offer them…hope.
The cameras rushed forward, troops dropped out of the convoys and began unloading the additional provisions. Maddox adjusted his tie, losing himself in the throng of people latching on to his every limb.
“Governor Caine! You came for us.”
“Thank you, God bless you, Governor Caine.”
“Bless you, General Wolfe.”
Maddox grasped the hands thrown to him, squeezing them and working his way through the crowd. Words of comfort had escaped him. Confronted with the faces of those he had vowed to protect—and had nearly been injured—quenched any words of comfort.
The general and a group of soldiers were tight at his heels, steering people so a path was made from the crowd and into the military base, where the survivors of the storm had been sheltered.
“Governor Caine, can we grab some shots with you and the survivors?”
Pausing, Maddox turned to see the interviewer, flushing and nearly half the height of him. She stood directly behind Maddox with the cameramen thrusting their equipment toward him. The general overshadowed them and signalled an officer from the guard station.
Maddox collected one of the boxes from the troops and handed it to the first civilian he could see. Shaking, the older man retrieved the box from his hands and bowed. He said nothing. Maddox clasped his shoulder softly, then he continued to hand boxes to anyone within sight. Not much inside of them in terms of exciting produce. It was more of a survival kit with addition toiletries, clothing, and protein snacks. Much better than the ones that were routinely delivered to them from headquarters.
Maddox’s heart tugged whenever he looked into the eyes of his people. Since the president’s death in Hurricane Louis six years ago, Maddox, one of seven leaders of the SCC, had been put in charge of North America. There was at least one sanctuary city on every continent, but those regions were not his concern. These were his people. And if it took his last breath, he would resurrect his world from the ashes.
“Mister…”
The voice, lost somewhere within the crowd, carried its way to the governor’s ears.
“Mister Caine… Mister, I am over here!”
“It’s Governor, Claire, Governor Caine.”
“Mister Govern…onor… Mister Caine!”
A small child tugged at Maddox’s suit. Beneath the child’s straggly, honey-blonde hair, a pair of colorless eyes stared blankly ahead, and a bandage had been wrapped around her forearm and leg. A young man in his late teens held on to the child’s shoulders, steadying her. A splash of blood dripped through the bandage wrapped around his forehead.
Maddox had not been informed that the ‘small portion’ of injured survivors were also invalids.
So the general had preyed on vulnerable creatures? How cunning of him.
Bile rose into Maddox’s stomach—red-hot fury at their needless suffering. His subordinates were commanded to protect all survivors across North America. Opposer or not, their duty was to follow his command at all times.
Maddox swallowed down his anger. “Hello there, little duck.”
He bent down to the child and gazed into her glassy blue eyes. Too much exposure to storms often caused blindness, and this child, it seemed, had spent her life in the open plains of the Wastelands. Not even a weather landslide would cause blindness.
If Maddox’s heart tugged a few moments ago, now it shattered.
She’s only a child!
“One of the Opposers, sir,” Wolfe confirmed into Maddox’s ear. “I… I was told they were to be guarded with the others. My apologies, sir, they shouldn’t be out here. I…”
“Later,” Maddox gritted through his teeth, not even sparing the general a glance.
Wolfe bowed and stepped back. Meanwhile, overhearing, the squawking news interviewer shouted through the crowd.
“Splendid! Guys, make sure you cover this. Are we filming…? Governor Caine, can you and the little girl please face the camera? General Wolfe, perhaps you can join them?”
Their instruction swept over Maddox’s head. Instead, he focused his attention entirely on the blind orphan.
“And how are you today?” he asked her.
The child paused, rotating her head for the boy behind her.
“I’m here, Claire Bear. Go on, talk to the governor.” Turning to Maddox, the boy said, “She’s been talking about meeting you ever since we arrived, sir.”
Maddox beamed at them. “Then how about you help me with this gift box, Claire? I could use an extra pair of hands. What do you say?”
Claire jumped from foot to foot, thrusting out her arms. “Yes, please! I would loves to do that, Mist…I mean, Govern-ah Caine!”
Maddox bent down and placed the child on his hip. He stepped backward to retrieve another package.
“Do you know what’s inside these boxes, Claire?” Maddox’s voice was soft and calm, like he was attempting to coax an injured bird into the hollow of his palm.
“Emory tells me there’s new toys and snacks in it for everyone, maybe even me. He says I might still gets one.” Claire blinked her eyes at him, her long, blonde eyelashes fluttering. “Is that…is that true, Mister Caine?”
“Yes. And inside this box…” Maddox cracked opened the box and pulled out the stuffed toy. A penguin with an orange bowtie. “Belongs to you. Doesn’t this little guy feel so soft? Here, take him. This penguin shall keep you safe always, especially at nighttime when you feel afraid or alone.”
The girl took the toy from him and crushed the object to her chest. “He’s so fluffy!”
“What will you name him? He belongs to you, Claire, no one else. He’ll even keep you safe from all the monsters in the world. Isn’t that amazing?”
The girl pondered for a moment, stuffing the penguin under her chin. She must’ve been no more than four years old, and so alone in such a horrible, distasteful world.
“Hmm… I would like to call him after you,” Claire announced, grinning at last. “Can I please call him that? Please, mister?”
“Of course you can!” Maddox placed her onto the ground, and looking into her eyes, he said, “And remember, I, and this little penguin here, will always look after you.”
“And me.” The boy gripped her shoulders again and squeezed. “You know I’ll always be here for you, Claire Bear.”
“Yes!” She rubbed her cheeks across the fur, squealing and jumping up and down. “My teddy and big brutha will look after me, won’t you, Emmy?”
“‘Course I will. Now, say thank you.”
“Oh! Thank you, mister… Thank you to the, umm…to the skies and back!”
“My pleasure, little duck.” He ruffled a hand through her hair, then fixed his eyes on the young boy. “And you, young man. What’s your name?”
“Emory,” the boy replied. “My name’s Emory Hudson.”