The Dragons of Men (The Sons of Liberty Book 2) (14 page)

“I’m assuming you’ll be wanting to confiscate our guns before we enter?”

The man’s eyes narrowed, though he continued to force an awkward smile onto his face before laughing abruptly.

“Well, you’re not planning to raid us, are you? No, I don’t suppose you are. You’d be outnumbered a hundred to one if you were. But I tell you what. We like to think trust is still a valuable thing in this broken nation. You can keep your guns for now,” the man looked back at those at the gate before shifting his gaze to the trees at the side of the road, clearly giving away the hidden snipers they had in place, “and we’ll keep an eye on you. I’ll jump in a Jeep and lead the way.”

“Deal,” Gene said as he shook the man’s hand. Roger whistled loudly and motioned for the men at the gate to move their trucks. As the trucks parted, Roger jumped into a Jeep and led them through the entrance.

The eastern gate had been erected a couple of miles northeast of the town. Roger’s Jeep continued straight until they reached a barrier of parked cars that blocked the highway and forced them to take a right into town. They snaked their way across side streets, passing structures that looked like they had fallen to disrepair long before Lukas had destroyed the United States. After a couple minutes of driving, they passed over a bridge, waited for the final gate to open, and entered the town.

The town was a relic of typical main street America. The old brick buildings had people in coats and winter hats moving in and out of them, looking at the new vehicles, taking a moment before risking a longer glance at the armored Humvee. Steel drums burned trash on the sidewalks, the occasional man or woman warming their hands over yesterday’s refuse. Dogs barked at the rumbling vehicles while bored and dumfounded children stared at Gene with hollow eyes.

Gene loathed it all.

He hated the fact that this was what America had come to. It was a land where survival meant building up walls of defense around your town and not trusting anyone outside of your family and neighbor, and maybe not even then. And though a part of him wanted to see America revived, that wasn’t the mission that mattered most to him. For now, Gene wanted nothing more than to get what they came for and get out.

The Jeep came to a stop outside of a surprisingly large courthouse. A three-story façade made of white washed stone and intricate carvings dominated the front of the building. Two more large stone buildings faced the street in front of Gene’s truck. The government buildings gave Gene the impression that the town of Princeton had intended to be much larger than it had turned out to be, though most small American towns had been that way.

“Hold your gun like you know how to use it,” Gene said quietly, raising the radio as his truck came to a halt behind Roger’s Jeep. “Despite what they said at the gate, they still might try to confiscate anything we’ve got, but that doesn’t mean we can’t first convince them that we’re no lambs for the slaughter. And don’t let them see anything we don’t want them to see—especially the fuel under the tarp. There’s no telling what they’d do if they knew we had that much gas.”

“Copy that,” Marc replied.

“And by the way,” Gene began as he lowered the radio, speaking directly to Adam. “No more of that talk you had back there, you hear me? I don’t care if you want to die or not, I plan on breathin’ till Lukas ain’t.”

“Fine,” Adam replied coldly.

“Alright,” Gene said, opening the door. “Let’s move.”

Adam stepped out of the old truck and onto the cold street below. A dusting of snow drifted across the pavement, the wind it traveled on swirling around the front of the truck and filling Adam’s nostrils with an arctic chill. He tugged his coat tighter before readjusting the assault rifle that hung on his shoulder, making sure to ‘hold it like he knew how to use it,’ per Gene’s instructions.

As though I haven’t killed before,
Adam thought as he glanced sideways at Gene.

It felt oddly painful, how the path that had been moving him toward Christ had also led him to kill men. He thought back to his dream from almost two weeks ago and wondered if there was any way he could hang onto the light he had found while still fighting to survive. His family had been the largest part of what had guided him back to the faith. They had filled his heart to the brim with love but now, they were gone, leaving a cavernous void to inhabit his soul. Without them, a growing lust for vengeance had filled that vacuum, leaving little room for the God he had begun to rediscover. Adam tried to avoid that anger being directed at God, but still, it happened. It wasn’t like before with his brother’s death, when he had chosen to not believe. Rather, the hatred in his heart nearly outweighed his desire for Christ and Adam didn’t know if he could bear to continue fighting for the light that had started to grow inside him.

Roger walked back over to the vehicle as two more armed men approached.

“You’ll need to leave your guns inside of the truck,” Roger said.

“I thought you said we can keep them?” Gene replied quickly.

“I said we wouldn’t confiscate your weapons,” Roger replied. “No guns in the courthouse, period. That’s both you and us. It’s best that way for everyone. Too many people coming in and out. The boss is inside and said he wants to talk with you himself.”

Gene grunted, though Adam refrained from arguing. He handed Gene his rifle and handgun before walking back to the Humvee while Gene stashed the guns in the pickup.

“Keep an eye out,” Adam said once William rolled down the window. “We’ll be right back.”

Adam paused briefly to glance in the back of the Humvee. Despite the chill outside, sweat beaded Tanker’s forehead as he slumbered at the rear of the vehicle. Marc was crouching over Tanker’s pallet, taking the break to get more water in the man. Lev sat next to him, gazing at his tablet as he analyzed satellite images and data. William nodded back from the driver’s side, his right eye swollen and dark—one of many bruises courtesy of saving Adam’s life. Adam nodded as the bulletproof window began to roll back up and jogged to rejoin Gene.

Adam returned to Roger, his two men, and Gene on the path leading toward the courthouse. He passed a barren flag pole, the steel swaying slightly in the wind, and frowned. He figured that pole had likely flown the American flag since the day it had first been erected, only to lower the Stars and Stripes for fear of being associated with a dead nation. Adam shook his head silently, angry with the speed at which most Americans had been willing to jump ship. He knew Texas wouldn’t be any better, but he hoped it might be a place where he could forget about everything that had happened and find the peace he longed for. Still, if he ever did find a town or city that still flew the American Flag, he would gladly call that place home.

The interior of the building looked no different than most other small town government buildings, apart from a layer of sludge and grime that covered what had once been a polished marble floor. Well-lit hallways crisscrossed each other as the group of men walked toward the heart of the building. Adam looked around the interior, glancing nervously as a strange anxiety started to overcome him. He tried to locate the source of whatever was making him nervous, but he noticed nothing but the filthy floors, smudged walls, and worn-down men. Still, he couldn’t shake the fear that began to laugh at him. There
was
something unseen. Something dangerous that lay hidden around every corner, always ducking away when he turned. It was something he had not expected to see. Something….

He glanced down a hallway and watched his old friend David Malcovich take a bullet to the chest. The concussion of the rifle blast dwarfed those who sang America’s hymn in the massive room. As a second round struck David, it almost felt as though Adam was the one embracing a bullet to the heart. He could feel the black-clad soldier’s rage as he pulled the trigger again—he could almost taste the blood on his tongue as the bullets ripped holes through his lungs, leaving his cries of pain to become spurts of blood that traveled up his wind pipe and though his gnashing teeth. He could feel himself becoming David, falling to the ground as the light winked out of his….

Adam jumped as a hand grabbed his shoulder and he spun around, his eyes meeting Gene’s. Roger and the two armed guards stood fifteen feet down the hallway, looking back at Adam curiously. Gene gazed intently into Adam’s eyes, concern filling his own.

“I asked if you’re coming,” Gene said slowly.

“Yes,” Adam replied, wiping the sweat off his brow before glancing back down the hallway. There was nothing there but the grime and dirt. “Sorry, I was—”

“I know what you saw,” Gene said as he moved in close. “Every man who has gone through what you have comes out seeing the same thing. I can’t say that it will pass, but I can say you’ll get better at ignoring it.” Gene paused for another moment, his eyes narrowing before glancing back at the others. “Maybe you should get back to the others.”

Adam stared back at Gene quietly, eyes darting about and not sure how to respond. He had not considered that what happened in DC would come back to haunt him, but the first step he took into a similar setting had reached down and snatched that memory, dragging it up with a noose around its neck. He was glad he didn’t know how his family had died. He didn’t think he would be able to rid his mind of the images of his dead wife and children, twisted in a burning heap. Eva and Grace crying out as the bombs struck, sharp debris cascading into them like the jaws of a—

“No,” Adam said quickly, suppressing the images his imagination had been creating. “I’ll be fine.”

“Then let’s get what we need and get going.”

Adam apologized to Roger for the delay and they continued their walk. They walked to the second level and entered a large, open office. Roger shouted to four other men who had been talking on the other side of the room. The four men looked over at them and approached, three of them staying a step behind the man at the center. The lead man sported a black baseball cap and an inviting smile, his face clean of dirt and sporting a neatly trimmed beard. He stuck out his hand and spoke.

“So you’re the guys with the tank Roger was telling me about,” the man said as he shook Gene’s hand. “I’m Gary Sandusky, mayor of Princeton for the past thirty years.”

“The name’s Henry Harper,” Gene said, lying again about his name. “This here is my friend Jim O’Toole.”

“Well, Henry and Jim, welcome to our town. Please excuse the mess,” Gary said as he glanced around the office. Stacks of papers battled boxes of junk for floor space. “We’re more focused on feeding the townsfolk than cleaning up what others left behind.”

“No shame in that,” Gene replied. “We won’t tie up too much of your time and we don’t plan on taking anything we can’t make an even trade for.”

“Oh, no rush,” Gary replied kindly, motioning for Gene to take a seat as he turned to the man next to him. “Bring in another chair for Jim here to sit on.” The man nodded before moving toward the back door. “Roger tells me you two need some medication?”

“Not us, but our friend,” Gene replied as he took a seat. Adam walked over to the window, glancing back toward the street at the black Humvee. Lev was out of the armored SUV, small clouds of icy breath leaving his mouth as he chatted with a local man. A large cart of food sat next to the local man. Lev scanned over the food, taking a few loaves of bread and some meat.

“We don’t usually take in the sick, on account of no doctor and only a handful of nurses.” Gary rocked back and forth slowly, hands clasped behind his head while the office chair underneath him squeaked with a repetitive screech that demanded,
am I annoying you yet?
“I suppose you boys look honest enough. We had enough good men abandon this region after the food stopped coming and we’re hurting for help. We’ve got four hundred armed men between us and the towns of Bluefield and Beckley. So we’re pretty much it until help arrives.”

“I wouldn’t count on much help from the new guys out east,” Gene replied dryly. “Not unless you’re willing to sell your soul for a loaf of bread.”

“Yeah, I figure we’re either going to be forced to leave town, join ‘em, or fight ‘em,” Gary said with the shake of his head. “I never thought I’d see the day America collapsed under our feet. Well I guess we’re willing to fight anyone trying to take our freedoms if it comes to that.”

“And yet you’re willing to lower the flag out front less than two weeks after DC was lost,” Adam replied coldly, immediately regretting his words.

Gary’s mouth compressed before transforming into a forced smile. Gene shot Adam a challenging gaze and Adam cleared his throat.

“I apologize,” Adam said. “I shouldn’t have said that. The road can stretch a man.”

Gary’s smile became less forced and more natural as he nodded his head in approval.

“That’s quite alright. These days have strained us all. I think decades of entitlement and comfort are now coming back to bite the average man in the ass.”

“You got that right,” Gene said. “So Roger tells me you have some antibiotics you might be willing to trade.”

“That I do,” Gary said as he pulled out a drawer and black bag, handing it to Adam. “We confiscated some at the local hospital when things started to get bad. We’ve got more elsewhere in the town, but I can’t put all my cards on the table right now, if you know what I mean.”

“We don’t blame you,” Gene said as he grabbed the bag. “We’ve got some weapons in our vehicle and some ammo that we’re willing to—”