Midnight Surrender (Freedom Fighters Series Book 2) (23 page)

Static. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Déjà vu. The radio was as predictable as it was cold and unfeeling. I hated that sound. It never bore good news.

Static. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

A shrill blaring issued forth from the radio. It echoed loudly across the yard. Little Benjamin played next to me in the grass, vrooming little cars around the rocks.

“Breaking news! The militia is releasing an official press release.”

Static. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Breaking news! Please tune into your local television station.”

The message repeated every three minutes.

Anxiously I ran from the yard, scooping up little Benjamin and running into Sam and Carol’s house. Mal was right behind me. I felt his strong arms encircle me as Carol turned on the television monitor.

A militia reporter was spouting anti refugee propaganda. Why have everyone tune into the television for this? I almost left the house but decided to wait. The militia had a reason and I wanted to know what it was. The propaganda lasted for several minutes until a new message burst through.

Breaking news messages flashed on the screen. TV anchors turned to watch the drama as it unfolded. The camera panned back and forth from the studio and media to outside the station where protestors rioted. It was chaos. Pandemonium. Why were people rioting? What had caused such an uproar?

Militia soldiers arrived in trucks, spilling from the interior and pointing machine guns into the crowd. The mob seemed to move as one entity, shoving and pushing toward the militia headquarters. Guards raised their guns, causing fear and a stampede in the crowd. People were being injured. Any minute now the militia guards would start shooting into the crowd.

The monitor bleeped and the scenery changed. A man was seated in a chair, bound at the ankles and wrists. A hood had been hastily thrown over his head, hiding his identity.

He must have been escorted out when the camera was following the crowd. Militia soldiers gathered around him, pointing guns at his head and the crowd. Snipers perched from the roof. Something was familiar about that man. He looked exactly like…

Alec.

The second the thought entered my mind, a soldier yanked the hood from his head.

“Alec!” I screamed, shaking uncontrollably.

“Dada.” Little Benjamin observed.

“Get him out! Somebody help me get him out!” I screeched, losing my grip on reality.

“I will. Don’t worry!” Carol cried as she grabbed him and ran out the back door into the yard.

I was nearly hyperventilating. Oh God. What were they going to do?

At that moment I heard every sound in the room in slow motion. Mal yanked me back against his chest and held me close, a gasp issuing from his mouth. Several women in the room screamed. I heard Diva say something but I never registered what it was. Sam yelled. Gasps and cries of outrage were heard.

None of it mattered to me. All I saw was the beaten and battered face of my husband. Bloody and torn clothes covered his body. One eye was almost swollen shut.

All because of a traitor. All because of Donnovan.

I screamed again and covered my mouth with my hands. “Oh God, no.”

“The traitor known as The Reaper has been apprehended.”

The message flashed over and over on the screen, covering the bottom third portion of the picture.

General Haden appeared in front of the crowd. He raised his hands, asking the crowd for silence. All eyes turned to him as the flashing on the screen changed to live breaking news. The cameraman followed as he walked over to Alec and pointed in his direction.

“The criminal and murderer known as The Reaper has finally been apprehended. The Reaper’s involvement in the rebel raids and bombings have killed thousands of innocent people. Under his leadership the Freedom Fighters have waged war against the militia and the free people of our country. It is with great pleasure I issue the warrant for his arrest and subsequent indictment. He has been judged by a court of his peers and found guilty.”

The general could not continue. A roar arose from the crowd, anger and hatred for the militia bursting forth. Several men rushed the stage as militia guards opened fire. They were killed instantly. Screaming in the crowd drowned out the chaos on the stage.

Alec seemed to be struggling against his bonds. He would not want death and bloodshed on his account. Not for him. He would die for the cause he believed in but would not allow the butchering of his people.

The gunfire subdued the crowd temporarily and the general continued his speech.

“Alec Sheridan, aka The Reaper, aka the leader of the Freedom Fighters, aka rebel and enemy of the free people of the United States of America, we find you guilty of sedition, we find you guilty of desertion, we find you guilty of plotting and inciting rebellion against the government, we find you guilty of treason, we find you guilty of mass first degree murder, and we find you guilty of crimes against humanity.”

He walked up to Alec and slapped him across the face with a leather glove. Blood spurted from Alec’s mouth and he looked into the camera. He opened his mouth and said one word, barely audible, but I caught it as if it had been screamed.

“Lizzie.”

Then he mouthed “I love you.”

My heart wrenched and I collapsed to the ground, tears pouring from my eyes.

“No, no, no. Alec!” I screamed, vaguely aware of Mal still holding me tight.

Frightened and in shock, my whole body trembled in his arms. Sharp shooting lights filled my peripheral vision and I saw spots. Blackness hung around the edges. Panicking, I tried to take slower breaths but I could not.

It was all my fault. I was the one who trusted Donnovan. I was the one who insisted we help him escape the militia camp. I was the one who introduced him to Diva. All the blame lie with
me
.

I was devastated.

Betrayed.

Guilt ridden.

“For crimes during war, you are immediately sentenced to death. The verdict will be carried out swiftly: public execution by firing squad. You will be shot until you are dead,” General Haden announced with obvious glee. He had been waiting for this moment. He finally got to finish what was started so long ago. Haden was going to have Alec murdered, and nothing was going to stop him.

The crowd rose again in uproar, people pushing and shoving against militia soldiers. They barely maintained the order. Alec was untied from his chair and dragged across the grass to the solid brick wall facing the crowd. Militia guards lifted him to stand and backed away. Two rows of soldiers faced him, ten across, and raised their weapons. The first row knelt, and aimed their sites on Alec.

The camera panned and zoomed in for a close up.

Alec looked serene. There was no panic. No fear. Only acceptance. He held out his hand and I knew he was reaching for me.

I ran to the monitor, placing my hand on it.

“You never should have gone!” I screamed. “I told you not to go!”

I was sobbing and blubbering, my vision blurred by salty tears.

“Let me go.” He mouthed into the camera.

Stunned, I shook my head. “No Alec! NO!”

He smiled. “I love you.”

This time the camera picked it up and it was as clear as if he was standing right in front of me.

“I love you!” I shouted back. “I love you Alec.”

It was as if he heard me. His eyes closed. Peace crossed his features. He opened his arms wide and leaned back against the wall. He said his goodbye. Alec was ready to die.

“NO!” I screamed again.

Gunfire erupted on the screen, shaking the picture on the monitor, the sound reverberating and bouncing inside my skull. I vaguely registered my continued screams as they launched from my throat.

Terrified. Anguished. Heartbroken.

Trembling, I stared at the monitor, unable to look away. A horrible haunting black inched across the screen and then it turned a bright cold blue. Static appeared, the sound rushing straight into my heart, pelting it with fear.

I collapsed onto the floor in shock, vaguely aware of arms bracing my fall, fading into the dark night that engulfed me…

Thank you for reading!

If you enjoyed Alec and Lizzie’s story please leave a review to help others decide on the book.

Keep reading for a sample of Nikki Landis’
The Gift
, the first book in a new series.

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Freedom Fighters Series:

Refugee Road
(Book 1)

Available Now

Midnight Surrender
(Book 2)

Available Now

Crimson Dawn
(Book 3)

Coming late 2016

Into the Sunrise
(Book 4)

Coming 2017

Fight for Light Novels:

The
Guardian
(Book 1)

Available Now

The Harbinger
(Book 2)

Available September 2016

The Meridian
(Book 3)

Coming late 2016

The Imposition
(Book 4)

Coming 2017

The Revenant
(Book 5)

Coming 2017

The Reckoning
(Book 6)

Coming 2017

The Awakening
(Book 7)

Coming 2017

The Covenant
(Book 8)

Coming 2017

The NightWalkers Saga:

Dark Promise
(Book 1)

Available Now

Dark Vengeance
(Book 2)

Coming late 2016

Dark Persuasion
(Book 3)

Coming 2017

The Transitions Novels:

The Gift
(Book 1)

October 2016

Keep reading for a sample of
The Gift
by Nikki Landis.

Chapter One

Love is the greatest emotion in the universe. Enduring and irrational, love speaks to the soul, enveloping and consuming in entirety. Sometimes it grabs hold of a person’s aura and sinks its teeth in, so strong, and so deep, that nothing can pry it loose. Entrenched. Persistent. Unyielding. The poor soul whose heart is ensnared never has a chance. The fight is already lost.

A heart captured.

For all eternity.

It is perhaps these hearts, these forlorn and forsaken hearts, disconnected in obscurity, that linger the longest in death. If you listen, if you pay attention, if your heart is open enough, you can feel their presence. Even if only for a few fleeting seconds. They beckon you. There is no mistaking that call. Perhaps that is why I feel them. Why I can see them. Why I endeavor to help them.

I suffer no delusions of grandeur. I am not unique by any standards. I am not special. But I do have a gift. I see the dead. Or rather, I see their souls. Caught in the in between, the veil that separates life from death, these lost souls roam the earth. Seeking. Hurting. Longing. They linger in shadow and hide in mystery. Only those who are especially attuned to their frequency can ever offer any kind of hope.

I am a medium. A clairvoyant. A crosser of sorts. My job, my gift, my ability, is to help those unfortunate souls pass into the next phase. Some call it the light. Some call it heaven. Some have no idea that anything exists beyond the physical realm we reside in each day. But it
is
real.

I know it is real. I know beyond this life, when we shed our mortal flesh, the soul endures. It matters not if we are good or bad, if we are religious or unholy, if we help or hurt others because the body does not get to decide its fate. No, the spirit decides our fate. The soul. So simple. So easy. And yet so many deny the truth.

I have seen the impossible. I have reached out to the other realm, the beyond, and seen its splendor. It has cast its glorious brilliance upon my face. I have witnessed the joy and felt the spreading warmth as it tingled and danced upon my skin. I have been touched, however minimal, by a profoundly eternal and everlasting peace.

That peace has descended upon me, shattering my doubts and fears until they no longer exist. I can only hope that someday I will experience it for myself in complete freedom and utter delight. My soul will pass on…and I will be free.

I do not fear death. Nothing about death is scary, except perhaps the way in which your physical body dies. But we do not cease to exist. Oh no.

We only move on. To other experiences, to another dimension, to an eternal and final place where life continues beyond our comprehension. I
know
this. I yearn for it. I await that fateful day when I join the souls that have passed before me. Only then will I know true rest, the fulfillment of a life’s worth.

Peace is a fleeting concept in this world. It comes and goes, washing back and forth upon the tide of life. In our broken and imperfect forms here on this earth, we never quite grasp its fullness. Peace eludes us. Perhaps in our sinful bodies life cannot breathe that richness, or mold that sincere notion, unable to penetrate into an aging and broken body.

We are fallible. Beyond repair. Beautiful but not fully developed.

Until our last breath, when all is decided, in the blink of an eye.

All life is precious. If you believe, if you allow yourself to open up to the possibility, an acceptance of the truth is easy to comprehend. Life is precious because it is fleeting. Our time is limited. We do not know the day or the hour. No prediction or crystal ball will provide the date of our death. Nothing we can do will change that, and certainly nothing that we can say.

I have found that people often think erroneously regarding death. They bargain. They resist. They sometimes lie, to themselves, and to those that they love. They seek the unattainable. But the soul is smart. The soul always succumbs to the call.

Once you pass on, once your temporal body is gone, the flesh discarded, that is when your spirit succumbs to the inevitable truth. No one can deny it. No one ever has.

No matter how strong you are in life, in death you are always the inner soul that remains leftover. A shimmering light that reflects your aura. That small still voice, that little intimate part that hovers inside, ready and willing to break free.

This is where push comes to shove. Where the ultimate choice and sacrifice is revealed. One selection that decides the future. Decides everything. Will you cross that barrier into the beyond or will you linger and begin to decay, forever forgotten and discarded? Will you follow those who have gone before or fight the inevitable truth?

Souls are both light and dark. Not necessarily good or evil. That concept is decidedly human. Totally wrong and without substantial evidence. Religion teaches us that we can choose right or wrong and that is entirely correct but true evil is very rare.

The soul, the spirit, reflects the decisions we made in our earthly body. While on this earth we can choose the fruits of the spirit or deny them. We can be kind or mean, generous or selfish. Truthful or deceiving. Loving or hateful.

No evidence is brought forth of our corruption or our acquiescence. It is entirely entombed within us. We do not see it. We are unable to reach inside and touch it. But we feel it. We know, deep inside, in the recesses of our inner being, that we consist of light and dark.

All souls consist of both light and darkness. If we did not, we would be perfect, without sin, and therefore totally self-reliant. We would not need forgiveness. We would love with all of our hearts. There would be no crime. No hatred. No self-loathing. No one would hurt anyone else and no one would ever take their own life.

There would never be a need for heaven or hell. No need to cross over. No point in choosing right from wrong. Balance would always reign. And no one would ever need the touch or whisper of love because the hole in our beings would already be filled.

That hole, the one that exists in us all, most definitely is real. We are engineered to need community, to seek companionship, and to search for the fundamental truth.

We are lacking. Always less than our potential. Never fully reaching the goal. We cannot. It is not our destiny nor is it in our nature. We are made lonely and alone in order to obtain the ultimate conclusion, the hope that all life is precious, and to share in the unending and ultimate joy that awaits us at the final end of our long and arduous journey.

This is my burden. My crutch. I live with the knowledge. I
know
the truth.

I accept it.

Embrace it.

I have to believe it.

Everything I am, all that I have experienced, my fundamental and basic structure, my entire life, is based upon these principles. They guide me. Lead me. Challenge and equip me. Without these truths I am nothing. I do not exist.

I am who I am.

I have the gift.

My eyes raised slowly until they touched upon the low hanging moon in the endless sky. A full moon. Beautiful. Bright. Round. It lay, hovering, just above the horizon, in perfect reflection of the liquid silver surface of the water below it. I stood transfixed, in awe of its grace and luminous power.

My toes sank into the coarse sand beneath me. Each grain a rough and uneven part of a greater whole. Like souls. I crouched until my knees bent almost outward, dropping my hand onto the ground. Whoosh. I was caught off guard but not off balance.

The surf rushed into me, sending sprays of salty liquid into the air. It landed with dozens of small droplets onto my face and chest. And then suddenly it was gone.

I almost lamented the departure, only to be rewarded with its return. Frothy white caps of flowing water chased up the sand, high and higher, until it crashed into the rocky formation behind me. Splashing. Spraying.

Whoosh.

My fingers plunged into the gunky messy sand, granules clinging to my fingers, dripping with solid clumps onto the ground below as I raised my hand to my face. I wiggled my fingers, struck by the cool waves as they continued to crash upon the shore.

I lowered my fingers and lay back against the sand as the water receded. Whoosh. The water crashed and jumped across my body, leaving my skin tingling with rough scratches and sporadic granules. Rough textures floated across my skin.

I was never swept away. No matter how many waves pounded the beach and my limp body, I never got lost in the current. It was always the same.

My body would float upon the ground, carried by the merciless waves and steadfast consistent motion. When the waves receded again my body would rest on the sand, briefly, taking temporary solace, until I swept across the surface in another gentle glide. Over and over. Never ending.

I loved it.

My sanctuary. My personal happy place. I retreated to it when I felt overwhelmed or fatigued. It was my escape. The one place where no one could reach me.

I only visited in my dreams, yet I was able to find this beach whenever I desired. It was hidden to everyone but me. Few places in this world truly held mystery for me. This was one of them.

The air around me shifted. A cold chill ran across my skin, startling me from the joy of moments ago. I was being summoned. I sighed, riding one more wave across the sand, and closed my eyes.

The next moment I was blinking the sleep from my eyelids. I yawned and glanced around my bedroom. It was late, well into the early morning hours before dawn.

Spirits, lost souls, they lingered and hovered where the veil was the thinnest. Some refer to it as the witching hour. The time between dreaming and sleeping. The hours when most people are either at rest or at work but hardly ever home awake.

I was most often visited during these hours, roused from my slumber, awakening to the chilly and frozen air as the soul became transparent. Gossamer in its texture.

Light. Thin. Delicate.

In my youth I was often frightened by these apparitions. As a small child I used to hide under the covers and beg them to leave me alone. Shivering in terror, I would close my eyes and pretend I was alone. Perhaps that is how I first discovered my private beach. Why I sought the comfort of the waves to wash me away.

I failed back then to realize these beings were not fully conscious. They did not understand how their yearning came across. How their sorrow and confusion made them frightening. I knew the difference now, but it was always slightly jarring, like a sudden impact to my chest, leaving me breathless as I struggled to regain my composure.

Tonight was no exception. The blur of hazy white in my peripheral streaked across my room and left through the open doorway. I shivered under the covers, the cold seeping in and withdrawing any warmth. I had no choice but to follow.

I slid from the comfort of my warm bed and followed her. The girl was young, her wide and frightened eyes searching past my body, looking for a peace she had yet to acquire.

“How can I help you?” I asked gently, hoping I would not scare her further.

“You can see me?” She asked, surprise etched into her pale face.

“Yes,” I answered, taking a few steps closer. “You are lost. What is your name?” I almost always asked that question first.

She shook her head and started to back away. “I, I don’t remember.”

That was a common response in trauma related deaths. My heart sank. She was a victim. “It will come back. Your memories will return.” I hoped my confidence would bolster her courage.

She was like a frightened doe in the forest. Jumpy. Uncertain. Afraid.

“What?” She seemed confused. Too confused. What had happened to her?

“I can help you,” I smiled and held out my hand to her, “if you let me.”

Many souls latched onto my offer quickly. Some did not. Few refused and never returned. I mourned those souls the most. The ones that ended up lost forever. I held onto the hope that they could still be redeemed but I was not gifted with the knowledge or experience to know that for certain.

“I’m scared,” she whispered, turning abruptly toward the window. “Someone follows me.”

I heard this often. Victims of violence often felt their attacker closing in. They were unable to categorize reality. Life was a blur, a chaotic jumble of thoughts and feelings.

Time was the only answer. She would be calmer when she accepted the truth. When she had a chance to stop running and shoved the fear aside.

“You will not come to any harm here. I promise,” I reassured her.

Her round eyes searched mine. For a fraction of a second she looked relieved but the fear was quick to return. She shook her head. “I need to leave.”

I smiled again. “You may come back whenever you wish. I will not stop you from going or coming back.”

My words seemed to penetrate her confused mind. “All right.”

She was gone before I could ask any more questions but I knew I would see her soon. Her soul was in torment. They always returned to me, within days, these souls that suffered terrible pain and anguish. It radiated off this young girl in waves of tortuous agony. She was seeking, whether she knew it or not.