The Dragons of Men (The Sons of Liberty Book 2) (25 page)

“Well, my love,” Maria said after a quiet pause, “Congratulations on your
different
meal. I’m not sure how that white crustacean of yours relates to a growing mass of men wanting to remove our heads from our shoulders. Perhaps you would elaborate?”

“An army that grows as it marches for us is not something I can ignore,” Lukas said in between bites. “I do not know who these men are or why they join Sigmund. Nor do I care. It is a problem with a simple solution. You see, I am the Sovereign, a man fated to unite the world behind the Imperium. There is nothing above me—no man, no creature, no nation, and certainly no army. We will grow our borders and we will defend them. We will control what was America and Europe before expanding into backyards of even the most forgotten tribes. One day, I
will
rule the world unopposed. Some may call that statement arrogant, but I call it a logical fact. And so, when I hear of an army of men marching to remove my head, as you kindly put it, I cannot help but look at them in the same light as this lobster. They are beneath me and I will have no remorse with what happens next.”

“And what does happen next, my love?” Maria asked.

Lukas smiled, dabbing the sides of his grin with his napkin before rising from his chair.

“Like the world, you will hear soon enough. Now, if you will excuse me, I must—”

“Am I not afforded the right to know your schemes, my love?” Maria asked, causing Lukas to pause and look back at her flatly. “Am I like every other simple lobster out there, discovering what the great and powerful Lukas Chambers does after he does it?”

Lukas stared back at Maria—glancing over to Jamie before moving his eyes back toward his wife. His smile, however, never faltered.

“I am leaving to give the order for the Imperium to meet Sigmund in battle,” Lukas replied. “We have recalled all field Yellow Jackets and by the time the sun rises tomorrow, my armies and the Patriarch’s armies will converge on Montgomery, Alabama. There, we will turn Sigmund back, begin a campaign to liberate this land from his foulness, and kill every man who stands against me.”

C
hapter
E
ight

The Color of Death

Gene Smith held the last slice of beef jerky in front of his hollow eyes, turning it over and examining it carefully before biting into the fibrous meat. Kernels of pepper and strands of tough beef filled his dry and tasteless mouth with flavor once again, descending his throat as it fell into a rumbling void of hunger.

Gene had been fortunate enough to be the first to find the unopened bag of seasoned bliss near the half-frozen corpse of a man who had set up camp near Watauga Lake, a mountain reservoir in northeast Tennessee. Months prior, about the time the food stopped shipping and Gene had begun to build up his now shattered army, the dead man—a man named Gordon P. Flowers—had decided solitude in the mountains would be better than partaking in the panic that had begun to sweep the nation. He had kept a journal, chronicling his escapades into the wild, though Gene and the others couldn’t help but chuckle at the man’s blatant stupidity.

Not sure if the water is good…looks fresh. If it’s good enough for deer, then it’s good enough for Gordon Flowers.

Or….

Located berries this morning. Didn’t know if they were okay so I boiled them in alkaline rich urine to kill the amoebas. Ain’t no fruit killing Gordon Flowers!

And Gene’s personal favorite, a surprisingly well drawn self-portrait of the man standing atop a mountain next to a roaring bear and a howling wolf—revolver in one hand and axe in the other with the following scribbled underneath:

When the dust settles and society rises, the world will stand in awe of the man who survived Watauga Lake. The world will learn of Gordon P. Flowers: Man of Beast and Mountain!

According to the man’s journal, he had read just about every post-apocalyptic novel and clearly thought himself to be a subject matter expert, pitching his tent on a limestone outcropping that overlooked a ravine and all possible approaches. But according to the man’s dead body at the base of the ravine and the awkward angle of his neck, he hadn’t thought through the possibility of rolling over in his sleep and therefore off of a cliff in the middle of the night.

Gordon P. Flowers, signing off.

The man’s bag had contained a handful of useful items, including a twenty-two revolver, a nine-millimeter carbine, a map of the surrounding countryside, a compass, and enough food for Gene and the others to hold complete starvation at bay until they reached Bryson City. While Gene wasn’t normally one to thank people for their stupidity, he looked back north as he chewed the last bite of beef, tipping his hat to the
Man of Beast and Mountain
.

Adam, Lev, and Edward crouched nearby in the wooded clearing. Their breath lingered on the air in front of them, failing to dissipate in the cold Appalachian winter. A frigid and perpetual fog had descended a few days ago, covering the valleys and mountains they traversed with a wet dew by day and a white frost by night.

They had initially hoped to steal the first vehicle they found, but one thing the men of Princeton hadn’t lied about was the complete lack of fuel. It was just as rare, if not more so, than food and ammo. Most electric and solar vehicles were biometrically secured and thus useless. Regardless, the older electrics and hybrids that didn’t have the electronic starters locked up were long gone. Most people had taken what they could weeks earlier and fled west or east, heading for the safety of the Imperium or risking a longer road for the newly formed Republic of Texas. Luckily, Gene had seen virtually no one else during their painstakingly slow trek across the mountains. The mass exodus had left the Appalachian Mountains remarkably empty of people, food, and life.

Still, even if they had found a working automobile, they wouldn’t have used it. A few days after they fled Princeton, they had watched from the shadows of the mountain woods as Imperium drones moved into an abandoned town, tagging every vehicle with a tracking device. From the little information Lev was able to gather with his half-broken tablet, the Imperium was tracking all motorized transportation that traveled west for more than ten miles. Once located, they’d send out drones, soldiers, or hired guns to investigate. It had been a cold and arduous three weeks of travel since the skirmish in the tunnel, leaving them with nothing more than a slow and dangerous journey of uncertainty.

“How long are we just going to sit here?” Edward Christoff asked, finally breaking the silence.

“Long enough to bury your ass if you don’t shut that big mouth of yours,” Gene replied angrily, picking a strand from his teeth.

“There’s not a soul out there,” Edward said as he turned to Adam. “They’ve all gone back east. We haven’t seen signs of anyone for days.”

“Better to err on the side of caution,” Adam replied calmly.

“Well, how long does it take to scout out one damn house?” Edward grumbled.

“I haven’t starved myself near death just to have some survivalist with a deer rifle and a twitching finger spill my blood,” Gene said. “But if you’d like to be the bait and run out in the open, don’t let me stop you.”

“Enough, Gene,” Adam broke in as he turned his head toward Edward. “You too. They’ll be back when they’re back.”

Edward muttered an unintelligible response under his breath, letting the grimace linger on his face before nodding his head grudgingly. Edward had proven to be quite the interesting traveling companion in the weeks since he had joined them. Gene wasn’t sure if he didn’t like Edward or flat out hated him. Edward had been a lively talker at first, spilling new fragments of his story at the most random times. He would be walking quietly, his hands tied before him and a bag containing the heavier portions of their supplies strapped to his back, when suddenly he’d laugh, clear his throat, and point out something that reminded him of days past.

Edward claimed he was raised in Virginia and had worked as a realtor in Richmond for years, though he didn’t care to talk much about the details of his upbringing. He had supposedly been staying with a military friend in Norfolk to survive ensuing the chaos when Lukas dissolved the United States. While Edward had begun to be accepted more and more by Adam as the days dragged on, something began to bug Gene about him that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Edward’s friend, evidently one of the men that Gene had shot dead outside of the tunnel, had served on an aircraft carrier before fleeing west with Edward to escape the Imperium. Edward had held no qualms about bringing up the death of his friend every day in an effort to constantly remind Gene of what he had done. Gene had taken it all quietly, his face an emotionless mask of iron every time Edward mentioned his friend. Gene didn’t care if the man was telling the truth or not; to Gene, he was a nuisance to watch closely and nothing more. William, however, had begun defending Gene anytime Edward spoke. Gene figured William was simply looking for any excuse to berate or kill him.

The approaching crunch of frozen twigs caused Gene to tense and raise his rifle. A few moments later, a gaunt looking William broke into the wooded clearing followed by an equally lean Marc. William nodded to Gene with a smile.

A good sign,
Gene thought.

“It’s empty,” William said. “There’s one chimney burning way off in the distance, but other than that it’s a ghost town. I’d be surprised if there were more than fifteen people trying to survive this winter in these mountains.”

“What about the house?” Adam said quickly. “Red door, blue shudders, two tall Willow trees out front. Did you find it?”

Gene grunted his frustration, but bit his tongue until Adam was done talking. Gene tried to give Adam a break, but it seemed that he tried to take charge of every conversation and decision. He didn’t even once mention that of the entire six-man group, three were under Gene’s command.

“I doubt he’d have come back smiling if he hadn’t,” Gene replied when Adam was finished.

William nodded to Gene. “We found it and no, it doesn’t look like anyone’s been there. There are chains on the front door.”

“It doesn’t matter if anyone searched the house,” Adam replied. “Elizabeth’s map was clear. It said there was a well-hidden basement accessible behind the kitchen pantry. That’s the only way to get to the lower level.”

“Then we’re wasting time sitting here,” Gene said. “The sun will be coming up in an hour. Despite your assurances that the town is empty, I want to be back with some guns and breakfast while it’s still dark.”

“Agreed,” Adam said as Gene’s stomach rumbled at the thought of breakfast. “Marc and William, lead the way. Lev and I will bring up the rear.”

“And where am I?” Edward asked.

“Next to me and never out of my sight,” Adam replied. “Jury’s still out about you, but I’m coming around and would hate to see you run off and prove me wrong. Besides, if you don’t stick with me, Gene and William might just bury you like they said and I’d hate to have your death nagging at me. Alright men, let’s go.”

Adam didn’t wait for the others as he moved toward the path William had come from. William and Marc looked to Gene, the expressions on their face flat and probing, like a child asking their father for permission to obey the neighbor’s parents. Gene gave them the nod, shaking his head as Marc and William jogged up ahead of Adam.

Gene’s eyes lingered on Adam as they broke free from the clearing. The ex-congressman had clearly continued to fight an inner battle ever since leaving Princeton. Adam had borderline changed from a man seeking peace to a man in search of revenge, though he seemed to have managed to hold those demons at bay. Gene knew Adam had held tightly to the good within by saving Edward’s life—one of the reasons Gene hadn’t yet slipped a bullet into Edward’s skull. Still, Gene could see the battle that waged inside Adam. He saw it in his eyes and heard it on his voice. Adam was a ship with a broken mast, fighting the wind as he tried to steer clear of the storms that churned the seas.

They passed abandoned homes as they began moving into the edge of town. The streets were eerily dark against the moonlit landscape. After about ten minutes of slowly snaking their way through the old houses that had dotted the small town for years, they arrived at a home nestled next to a large open field that had apparently been cleared for houses that were never built. William and Marc took up positions next to the front door, scanning the street and other homes across the meadow as Adam approached. Edward remained near Adam, holding nothing but a horrified look on his face as his white eyes darted around in the darkness. Gene handed Adam the bolt cutters and raised his rifle at the ready.

“It’ll be here,” Adam said quietly with a reassuring nod. “Trust me.”

“And what if it’s not?” Gene asked.

“Then you can say I told you so,” Adam replied after a pause.

Gene nodded back, though he figured they’d soon be too close to death to care if ever it did come to that.

Adam gritted his teeth as he pressed the two handles together, cutting through the steel chain with a metallic snap. He tucked the bolt cutters into a backpack on Edward’s back before looking to Gene and nodding his head.

“Three, two, one….”

Adam shoved the door open and raised his pistol as Gene flipped on his flashlight and moved inside, ignoring the knot that was twisting and grumbling within. Gene had endured thirty-six days of diminishing supplies since the battle of DC. Never before had he imagined that starvation could hurt so badly. Of course, never before had he been forced to flee across a wasteland with barely enough food to feed a dog, let alone a group of grown men. He prayed they wouldn’t run into others before leaving the town. He could barely keep his feet moving as it was, and if he found himself fighting for his life he might literally collapse from exhaustion.

Dust stirred across moonbeams that poured into the room. Gene’s flashlight moved across the walls, casting angular shadows across the tiny home’s interior. Two red velvet couches dominated the room, surrounded by furniture and trinkets straight out of the eighties. As Gene entered the living room, the others filed into the entryway one by one. William crept over to the large bay window as the other four slowly made their way toward the kitchen.

Gene kept his carbine raised as Adam made his way into the kitchen and found the pantry. Adam opened the pantry door and fell backward with a shout as two rats skirted away from the stinking and half eaten corpse of a third. Marc started chuckling, his French accent thick as he began to speak.

“Careful not to pass out,” Marc said as Adam caught his breath. “They may forget about their tiny friend in there and nibble on you while you sleep.”

“Screw you,” Adam said angrily.

“Monsieur Rat,” Marc continued mockingly as he laughed harder. “Do not bite! I have so very little meat on my bones.”

“Yeah?” Adam began. “Be glad they weren’t German rats.”

“And why is that?” Gene asked with a grin.

“Because our Frenchman here would be pissing his pants and waving a white flag instead of watching our backs.”

Gene laughed, happy that Adam had finally decided to join in on the battle of wits.

“As a Frenchman who values both the French language and the humor of his inferiors,” Marc said with a slight smile, “I must humbly say touché.”

Gene smiled before drawing his knife and tossing it across the room, skewering one of the living rats through the skull. Gene smiled as Adam looked at him puzzlingly.