Hopf G Michael
The End
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- Год печати: 2013
G. Michael Hopf
THE END
A POSTAPOCALYPTIC NOVEL
To Tahnee
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Everything in life starts out as an idea, but only through applying massive amounts of energy do those ideas manifest into reality. The journey from idea to reality is a part of the process and usually requires assistance and support from others. This book is not unlike that; it all began one day in my head then I took time to sit down and begin what you are now reading. I didn’t complete this without the love and support of the following.
Tahnee, your love, support and guidance helped from day one and continues till this day. You are always there for me with an encouraging word and sound advice. I love you. The day you entered my life it was destined to be blessed and enriched. Thank you.
Judy, you never waver in your support; you are always there to assist me in anything that I do. You have graced my life with your generous spirit and love. Thank you.
Mike Smith, you gave this book the polish and touch that all books need. Thank you for your valuable time and efforts. Now onto the screenplay!
Scott Wilson, your professional eye made the words go from manuscript to novel. Thank you, you’re the best!
Mom, Dad, John, Becky, Billy, Neal, Uncle Rod, Aunt Jeri, Travis, Steve, Nicole, Nick & Wags, thank you for your love and support through this journey.
OCTOBER 15, 2066
Olympia, Washington, Republic of Cascadia
Haley stood, staring through the thin pane of glass that separated the chilly sea air of the Puget Sound and the warmth of her living room. She looked at the capitol building in the distance. Its sandstone dome towered over the other buildings in the city, as it had for the past 138 years. At one time, it was the capitol of a single state; now it was the capitol of her country, a country born out of chaos and destruction.
She tore her gaze away from the distance and looked down at the photo she held in her hand. She touched the faces of the family depicted. Tears began to well up in her eyes as she passed her fingers across the photo. It contained four smiling faces; a portrait of a once-happy family, her family. More tears came as she thought back to the day the picture was taken. She remembered it vividly, as though it was that very morning. Haley closed her eyes and pressed the photo against her chest; the tears ran down her cheeks and hung from her chin. She remembered her father holding her tight as she sat on his knee; he kissed her many times on her head and told her how proud he was that she had tied her own shoes that day. She longed for that innocent time when she had no concerns or cares. She longed for the days when her family was together and happy. Not long after that photo was taken, her innocent world collided with the harsh realities of mass murder and apocalypse. Her family was to be ripped apart by this new reality, and what remained would never be the same.
A knock at her front door jolted her back to present. She quickly wiped the tears from her face and placed the photo in the pocket of her sweater. She walked toward the front door, but before she opened it, she turned to the mirror that hung on the wall in the foyer and looked at herself. She made sure she had wiped all the tears away and fixed her graying hair.
“You can do this Haley,” she said, attempting to reassure herself of the difficult task she had before her.
She turned and opened the door. On the porch before her were three people. The first was a man in his thirties, John, the lead reporter for the Cascadian Times. He was accompanied by two photographers, neither of whom could be more than 25 years old. They were all post-war babies; none of them knew the horror and brutality of the Great Civil War.
“Mrs. Rutledge?” John asked as he reached his hand