The Dragons of Men (The Sons of Liberty Book 2) (13 page)

The digital map in the center of the room and the dimmed lights overhead suddenly winked out, causing more than one person to jump. Warren grumbled, leaping from his seat and approaching the Point of Reference device.

“My apologies, everyone. I will—”

Warren fell back onto the floor from shock as a man wearing dark jeans, a white sweater, and a black scarf materialized in the darkness. Jamie gasped, General Kane cursed, and everyone else stiffened. Lukas’ eye began to twitch as he looked at the man who smiled back at him. A man he hated.

The man he feared.

“Hello, my old friends,” Sigmund said, a warm smile donning his face. “It is good to see you all again. I’ve enjoyed listening in on everything you’ve been up to since we last parted.”

“Shut it down, Warren!” Lukas bellowed.

“You always were the fearful one,” Sigmund said with a coy smile that infuriated Lukas. “I’d hate to scare you off before we even get a chance to catch up. It sounds as though you have a lot on your plate so I promise I will only take a moment of your time.”

“Scare me off,” Lukas said as he slowly stood, holding his hand out to Warren. “You think I am afraid of you?”

“No,” Sigmund said as he grinned, the apparition far too realistic for Lukas’ comfort. “I think you are terrified of me. I think you’ve been horrified the entirety of your wretched little life.”

Lukas began to quiver, shaking as a primal rage coursed through his veins. “You should be the one who is terrified, for I am going to find you. I will chase you down and every last Patriarch who still bends a knee to you. I will find you and I will drag you to the gates of hell and toss you into her fiery embrace. You think I felt pain? You will bathe in an eternal anguish, far worse than anything that anyone has ever known!”

“There it is,” Sigmund said, cocking his head back with a chuckle. “Your never-failing fault. Anger to always cloud your mind. I revel in your weakness.” Sigmund turned, the smile disappearing from his face as he stared at Jamie. “I must say, Jamie, I do not know what you see in the man. You were always so fond of him. Going on about Lukas Chambers, his power, and what was that you called it? Ah, yes, his intoxicating lure. It was almost as though you forgot he is a married man. Does Maria know how badly you desire him?”

Lukas glanced over at Jamie as Sigmund spoke. This time, the woman’s face did turn the color of her hair. Her eyes remained locked with Sigmund’s as tears began to well up inside them, though Lukas couldn’t tell if they were tears of indignation or shock.

“You’re going to die, Sigmund,” Lukas said, though he couldn’t withhold the soft tremble in his voice. “I will watch with pleasure as you beg for us to finish you.”

“Maybe one day, and maybe not. Death has always found us all, though I am close to changing that fact. Regardless, the time has come for me to leave. But before I go, I must say the one thing I came here to say.”

“Which is what?” Lukas asked.

“You see, you keep saying that you are going to embark on some grand quest to track me down. You speak as though you might find me hiding under some rock on the other side of the world, fearing for my life. But Lukas, my old friend, I suggest you heed the counsel of those around you and prepare yourself for invasion. For you might think you are coming for me, but you are wrong.” Sigmund leaned forward, his digital phantom close enough to make Lukas visibly shake. “It is I who am coming for you!”

Sigmund lunged forward, his body shifting into a monstrous demon whose sharp fangs and wicked claws snapped for Lukas’ throat. Lukas cried out and fell backward, landing in his soft chair with a grunt. The image of the demon winked out, though Sigmund’s cold laughter continued.

As Sigmund’s mirth faded, General Kane leapt to his feet, commanding Warren to isolate the signal and locate its origin. Maria ran to Lukas, bending close as she checked on him. Jamie had buried her face in her hands and shook lightly as she cried. All around the room, those who had been composed a few minutes before were in a frenzy.

Lukas, however, took a deep breath and lowered his eyes, trying and failing to shrug the sensation that arose from within. It was a subtle pain, barely detectible as it grew. He knew it wasn’t actually real—just like Sigmund or the creature he had become hadn’t actually been there in the room. Still, his mind made it real and he trembled as the slightest sensation of the hell he had once dwelled in returned.

C
hapter
F
our

Beneath the Highland Shadow

The old blue truck rumbled to a stop a few hundred feet back from a blockade that guarded the entrance to the small town of Princeton, West Virginia. Gene Smith peered through the hazy windshield, staring at the armed men who gazed back as snowflakes slowly drifted about outside. Six armed guards dressed in mismatched winter clothing protected the gate. Gene glanced over at Adam, the younger man’s face as unreadable as the strangers outside.

It had been twelve days since the Battle of DC and nine days since they set out from the abandoned home in northern Virginia to begin their slow westward journey. The highways and back roads they traveled had been eerily vacant. Gene figured most people had long ago abandoned the cold mountains for the security of lower elevation towns or the rapidly growing Imperium. Any unbiased information Lev was able to uncover about the battle was sketchy at best, but one bit of news had been clear.

The Sons of Liberty were scattered and being hunted down like wild dogs.

As furious as that news had made Gene, it was only the latest of Lukas’ countless crimes that had been enraging Gene for decades. Regardless, it was like throwing rocket fuel on a forest fire. No matter how hot his anger blazed, Gene had learned long ago that it could always burn hotter. The only hope he had to douse that inferno was to find his way back to Texas, gather up what support he could, and march east in force. But all that depended on him gathering and rebuilding his army as quickly as possible, and sadly, those he had saved in DC now only slowed him down.

Gene had wanted to leave the morning after the battle, but Tanker had continued to slip in and out of consciousness due to a high fever that wouldn’t go away. Though Marc had initially been concerned that bone marrow might have leaked into Tanker’s bloodstream, he had decided the likely case was that the deep gash on his thigh had become infected and was about to cause a life-threatening fever. Sure enough, Marc took Tanker’s temperature the next morning and it had been a brain-melting one hundred and four. They refrained from leaving for one more day while Marc did everything he could to keep Max’s temperature below the killing point.

The following night, they set out for Texas. Adam had insisted they first head southwest toward the small mountain town of Bryson City, North Carolina. Apparently, Elizabeth had informed him of a plethora of storehouses scattered across the States nearly a year ago when he first met her. He had memorized their locations and said the warehouse was in the basement of a vacant home, though he had never been there himself. It had supposedly been one of twelve supply depots she had confided to him. Adam claimed it held enough food, medicine, and weapons to arm a small army. It was all a lot of speculative talk and Gene had outright refused Adam’s request. Gene wanted to be over the mountains and heading west as soon as possible, not venturing deeper into the Appalachians. Adam had argued their desperate need for supplies but Gene’s opinion won out with the team in the end, though barely.

The current plan was to cross the West Virginia Mountains, travel the length of Kentucky and Missouri, and finally reach the current borders of the Republic of Texas within a month. Gene had hoped they would be able to put close to one hundred miles behind them every night, but driving strange roads in the dark, navigating by obscure maps, and facing the constant threat of running into the wrong crowd had proven more difficult than he had imagined. As they crossed into West Virginia, Tanker’s fever worsened. Marc tried everything he could to cool Tanker, but it was quite clear that without antibiotics, Max would soon die. That morning, a man who had traded them ammo for fuel told of a trading post a few hours away in Princeton. Despite Gene’s frustration with their slow pace, he knew they had to find medicine for Max or watch him pass away. As mission-focused as Gene was, even he couldn’t sit back and let the big guy die.

“What are you thinking?” Gene asked, breaking the silence in the pickup truck.

Adam looked back at Gene before refocusing his attention on the armed guards. He paused for a moment, scratching his thin beard as the calculated deadliness of a soldier ready to kill filled his eyes. Gene had known Adam for the better part of a year, living with him for weeks while they had hunkered down in Montana. Adam had always been slow to anger, the love for his family combatting his duty to America. However, with the death of his family and the destruction of his country, Gene had watched as the good man within Adam began to battle against an inner rage. Though it pained Gene to watch the man descend into an existence of hatred, he refrained from bringing it up. The world had shifted, leaving no room for the kind among the callous.

“I don’t like it,” Adam replied. “What you are you thinking?”

“I am what you’d call a night hound,” Gene answered with a grin. “I don’t like coming out of the shadows unless I’m on the hunt.”

“We are on the hunt,” Adam said. “We need those antibiotics.”

“Well, if we go in there, we risk the chance of becoming the prey.”

“Don’t you think the Humvee behind us will…discourage any trouble?” Adam replied, gesturing back to the armored SUV that rumbled behind their beat up pickup.

“I think it might encourage trouble if they decide they want it badly enough.”

“So you’re saying we should turn around and circle the town?” Adam asked.

Gene paused before shaking his head.

“You know that’s not an option, unless we’re fine with letting Max burn from the inside out.”

“Agreed,” Adam said.             

“But I’m not going to sit here and pretend this isn’t dangerous.”

“I’m not worried about danger,” Adam replied blankly “If I die, so be it.”

“Talk like that will kill a man and those around him quickly during war.”

“You think I’m afraid of death?” Adam responded coldly. “I lost my family, my nation, and my battle with the man who has taken it all away from me. I don’t think—”

“We’re not done fighting that battle,” Gene cut in quickly.

“Gene, I’m a broken man adrift in a changed world and all I see are two paths placed before me. I can choose to continue fighting Lukas Chambers; I can seek revenge, knowing that the hatred that swells inside of me every time I think of that bastard is going to one day engulf the good man I had once been. I can do that, or I can choose to simply search out peace, knowing that I’m nothing more than a dead man walking, hoping that something might breathe life back into me before the end.”

“You think you’ll have peace when Lukas is out there looking for you?”

“No,” Adam replied, looking back out the front window. “I think I’ll have peace the day I die and see my family again.”

Gene shook his head, unsure what else he could say, and decided to leave it be. He picked up his radio, calling back to the other vehicle just behind them.

“We’re going in,” Gene said. “Stay cool and stick to the story. Let me do the talking and we’ll be back on the road in less than an hour. Stay close and keep a Stonewall device running at all times. Not too large a charge, just enough to conceal your Humvee.  No need to let anyone broadcast an image of our trucks to unwanted eyes.”

“Will do,” Marc replied. “I’ve tied your radio’s signature to the device so only we can communicate. There’s another town on the map called Bluefield to the southwest. If they don’t have the meds here, we can try there.”

“Roger that,” Gene said before tucking his small radio into one of his front pockets and buttoning the top flap. “Let’s go.”

The truck rumbled forward as it slowly approached the entrance. As they neared the gate—a barrier that consisted of two large diesel trucks and a tall chain-link fence that walled off the entrance into the town—a man approached holding up a gloved hand for them to stop. Twenty-seven five-gallon canisters of fuel that were hidden underneath the tarp in the bed of the truck sloshed around as they slowed. The last thing Gene had wanted to do was let anyone in on their small stash of precious gasoline. Once Gene’s truck came to a halt, the man glanced down at the front plates before approaching Gene at the driver’s window.

“Virginia, huh? Welcome to Princeton, county seat for Mercer County and home to the ever-dying railroad business.” The armed guard grinned sarcastically, sporting a wide gap where teeth should have been. “Name’s Roger Bonnet.”

“Good to meet you, Mr. Bonnet,” Gene said. “The name’s Henry Harper.”

“Pleasure meeting you, Mr. Harper,” Roger said before glancing back at the massive Humvee behind them. “That’s quite the truck you boys got back there. I don’t suppose you’re planning on causing any ruckus, are ya’?”

“No sir,” Gene replied. “Our friend back in the Humvee has a wound that’s infected and we need antibiotics. We have some weapons and ammo on us for trade. We’ve also got a trained medical professional in the Humvee and a larger cache with a few hundred men back about ten miles. I was hoping we could make a trade for whatever you could spare.”

“Well you ain’t the first person that’s come to town offering two arms and a pair o’ legs for a fistful of drugs. Most people just want ‘em to get high, but you don’t look the type. Prolongin’ the inevitable, if you ask me. Might be best to just let your friend die—no offense of course. I lost a nephew a few weeks back. My brother had died years ago and I’d taken the boy in when he was young. He got the pneumonia back in November. I wanted to help, but it was either waste the good stuff on him without a guarantee that he’d make it or hold on to it so those of us who were healthy could use it or trade it.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Gene replied as cordially as possible, though inwardly he was wondering what kind of man would let his ailing nephew die.

“Well I appreciate that. I really do. It’s hard times we’re livin’ in, burying family and all. But stuff like that is pretty hard to come by nowadays and we can’t go wastin’ it on anybody. You say you got a doctor?”

“Yes, sir,” Gene replied, stretching the truth a bit. Marc might not be a full-fledged doctor, but he had trained as a medic early on in his military career before serving on the frontlines of war.

“Well, we could sure as hell use him,” Roger replied. “I’ll radio the boss in town and see if we can’t help you boys out.”

Gene nodded to the man, watching him quietly as he made his way back to the gate. A few moments of silence passed before Gene picked up the radio and called the other vehicle.

“They’re checking with the leader in town, but it sounds like they might let us in and exchange some meds for your expert medical services. You think you can convince them you’re a legitimate doc?”

“Oui,” Marc replied. “I’ve almost managed to convince myself.”

“Good,” Gene replied. “Tell Lev to charge the Pulsar on top of the Humvee.”

“Are you expecting drones?” Marc asked.

“No, but a shock from that weapon could persuade a few men to see things from our point of view.”

“Will do, General,” Marc replied.

“If any of you see something that doesn’t sit well,” Gene began, “the code word is Blackburn. If anyone says the word, then everyone get to the vehicles and follow my lead. I don’t care how you phrase it; you speak the word and we’re out of here. You never know when a stranger might try something.”

“They are…well, they
were
Americans,” Marc replied over the radio. “And as a Frenchman, I naturally am forced to think they have rabbits and all kinds of trickery hiding up sleeves.”

“He sure doesn’t let up with the American jokes,” Adam said, turning to Gene.

“He’s only being French,” Gene replied with a grin.

“Well, it’s getting old,” Adam said flatly. “Our country’s in ruins and all he wants to do is joke about it.”

Gene glanced sideways at Adam before raising the radio with a grin. “Adam says enough with American jokes.”

“Oh, forgive me, monsieur,” Marc replied sarcastically, his accent clearly thicker than usual. “I will try to remember that not all Americans are tough enough to take a joke. Nevertheless, do not let your little hearts be troubled, for it should not be too hard for me to cease my cold-hearted jesting. I once had to do the same thing with a sensitive niece of mine who liked to chase rainbows and dream of ponies.”

“Since when has the French President been your niece?” Gene asked with a smirk.

“Alas, I am at a loss for a suitable retort,” Marc replied after a pause. “Victory to the day’s battle of wits belongs to you.”

“You see,” Gene began after lowering the radio, “you just need to figure out how to push back.” Gene laughed and raised the radio once more. “Jokes aside Frenchman, you are right about one thing. They
were
Americans. They’ll be greedy and we can use that to our advantage. We play our cards right, they’ll want to know about everything we have and where it is before they try to take it.”

Another thirty seconds or so passed before Roger shouted something to his men standing next to the trucks blocking the entrance to the town. Roger jogged over to Gene’s truck, already out of breath by the time he finished his fifty-foot run.

“The boss said come on in,” Roger said before taking another breath. “Medication we got, but a doctor we don’t. We’ve got a stash of drugs—mostly the prescribed kind—but we might be able to make a deal with you.”