Vendetta Nation (Enigma Black Trilogy #2)

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and unintentional.

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"All tyranny needs to gain a foothold is for people of good conscience to remain silent."

–Thomas Jefferson

Death. Before the age of seventeen, it had been nothing but a word to me; before The Man in Black, its meaning hadn’t ingrained itself into my being. But since that bitter December day, over a decade ago, it has been in the forefront of my mind. I’d experienced its devastating touch with the deaths of my father, mother and brother; and since, with the deaths of my former partner and best friend. Now, I was experiencing it for myself, firsthand.

I lay on the sidewalk where Ian had left me, bleeding. A few feet away, I could hear the sound of glass breaking. What was he doing? As much as I wanted to find out, I had no strength to move, only to lie there and hope that I still had enough blood left in my body to keep my heart beating. Perhaps it was a good thing I couldn’t move. With soldiers patrolling the streets in full force, the last thing we needed was to draw attention to ourselves, but I suppose that was the least of my concerns right now.

Seconds later, I felt my body being lifted gently off the ground as pressure was placed on the gunshot wound that had torn a hole in my chest. With what little strength I could muster, I opened my eyes in slits—the furthest they would open. Ian was holding me in his arms while he packed gauze and other bandaging over the wound, taping it securely in place with materials he’d stolen from the drug store that now appeared in my field of vision. Glass littered the ground outside the store’s empty window frame.

I shivered uncontrollably, unsure of whether it was due to the cold April rain, falling in endless sheets from the night sky, or whether it was from the sheer loss of blood from the gunshot wound. Either way, I was slipping away, and fast. It was my fault I was dying, really. If only I’d been more careful.

“Stay with me,” Ian pleaded as he stood up and ran down the street with my limp body teetering on the brink of life and death in his arms. “Don’t close your eyes. Stay awake. We’re almost there. Just a little further and we’ll be at the car, and then we’ll be back at The Epicenter where the doctors…they’ll…they’ll treat you, and you’ll be fine. You’ll see. You’ll be fine.”

I wasn’t going to be fine. I began to lose consciousness, my head falling from Ian’s shoulder. If this was death, it seemed surprisingly peaceful.

When the bullet had first pierced my flesh, it was as if someone had punched me, and I hadn’t immediately grasped the gravity of the situation. Curiously, the throbbing pain hadn’t presented itself until after I looked down and realized just what had happened. It had been brief, the pain, and had soon been replaced by a strange, soothing numbness. But now, as death slowly drew nearer, I felt as though my body were floating in air. I had no cares, no worries left in the world other than the pressing thought that this must be what it had been like for my family those many years ago.

*****

In my passage from my earthly life into pseudo consciousness, a field appeared around me. A field filled with grass as tall as my waist, adorned with the occasional yellow, orange or purple flower. In the middle of this field stood a solitary tree with leaves of white that glittered in the sun shining down from the ethereal sky. Something drew me to that tree; someone wanted me to join them there. And as I ran through the field to heed its call, my feet seemingly left the ground, giving me the sensation of flying through the air. The wind carried me like a wayward leaf, lightly caressing my skin and making the pale yellow dress I wore billow in the breeze like rays of sunlight. Halfway through the field, I drifted back to the ground again. As soon as my feet hit the soil, I ran toward the beckoning tree. But even as I was running, stretching my legs as far as they would allow with each bound, it still felt as though I were gliding through the air.

The closer I came to the tree, the more of its trunk was revealed through the depths of the tall grass, and I saw the reason for my summoning. Walking around its massive circumference was a sight I’d only been able to see in my dreams.

“Jake!” I exclaimed. My legs moved as fast as humanly possible to reach my little brother. He watched me approaching him, and a familiar smile creased his face; a face that hadn’t aged beyond adolescence. I would finally be going home.

*****

Ian jerked the car door open, setting me down gently in the front seat. Without removing his hand from the bandages that were effectively slowing the blood flow from my chest, he lowered the seat, raising my legs up onto the dashboard. We weren’t allowed to seek medical treatment, nor could we now that soldiers were blocking all of the hospital entrances in response to the coup attempted by the rebels, so he had to treat me himself. If he hadn’t, I would have been dead already. Instead, my death had been prolonged, leaving me to my subconscious field of dreams from which I was periodically jostled back to partial consciousness. Fastening my seatbelt, Ian hurriedly removed his hand from my wound, shut the door, and hopped into his side of the car, where he removed his helmet, immediately resting his hand back on my chest as though his mere touch was capable of a miracle. Perhaps he was just doing it to assure himself that my heart was still beating, or that my body was still taking in air. Whatever his reasons, it felt reassuring that I wouldn’t die alone.

*****

Back in my state of limbo, I remained running to my brother, whose touch I hadn’t felt in a lifetime. I was so close to him now; close enough to see strands of his hair blowing ever so slightly in the breeze. He was wearing the same clothes he had on the day he died. His usual blue jeans, filthy from his shenanigans, were no cleaner even in death.

It was a strange thing, being in a pseudo conscious state, stranded halfway between life and death. Not only did I know exactly what was going on before me, but I also knew exactly what was going on around my near lifeless body. It was as though my mind were taking a vacation without putting my body on notice. I heard the squeal of the tires as Ian peeled out onto the roadway, attempting to save my delicate life. I heard Kara’s frantic voice over the intercom in the car, urging Ian to go faster, promising him that Dr. Harris and Dr. Martin would be there to greet him in the garage. But, most of all, I heard Chase.

When I came within feet of embracing my little brother, Chase appeared before me, causing me to skid to a stop in shock. I never imagined that it would be possible to improve upon perfection, but this state of limbo proved to be full of the impossible. I stood, looking at him, my dying heart all but speeding up as I stared into his deep blue eyes. Reaching out to him, I stole a glance over his shoulder, seeing Jake still standing behind him.

“Oh, Jake,” I called, walking towards him again. He said nothing, only replying with a shake of his head and a parting wave just before he disappeared behind the tree.

“Celaine,” Chase called my name.

I turned away from the tree to see Chase’s outstretched hand, instantly grabbing me. He pulled me into his waiting arms, holding me like he used to when we were together.

“Chase,” I cried.

“Shh.” He ran his hand through my hair, holding my body tightly to his. “It’s going to be okay. I won’t ever let it not be okay.” He’d frequently uttered this phrase to me on my particularly difficult days. He was my protector, my personal superhero. “I love you, Celaine.”

“I love you, too,” I said before I drifted further away into oblivion for what may be the last time.

*****

Ian drove down the highway at speeds that made even him cringe. Back at The Epicenter, they were assembling, waiting to take her from him, and even at the speed he was going, he couldn’t get there fast enough. He felt his arm begin to go numb from its steadfast position on her chest, where her heart was barely beating. At the moment, his heart was working enough for the both of them.

“We’re almost there,” he told her. “Just about another mile and then you’ll be okay. We’ll be back out there taking care of The Man in Black and Brooks in no time. Just hang in there, Celaine. Please, hang in there for me.” His voice shook as he attempted to locate her wayward pulse. “I need you to be there for me,” he pleaded. “I need you to be with me.” He hesitated, wondering if he should utter the words that had been on his mind; the words he always told himself he’d never be able to say. “Celaine, I think I might… I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Do you have identification on you, sir?” Reaching into his pocket for the second time in six blocks, Chase Matthews sighed, handing the laminated card to the officer. The man, clad in a ridiculous amount of Kevlar, inspected it thoughtfully before giving it back to him. “Where are you off to?” he asked, obviously bored.

“Pawn shop…down the next block.” Chase nodded down the crumbling street in the shop’s general direction. “You know, tough times and all,” he said, attempting to deter the officer’s intimidating stare.

“Very well. Carry on.” He nodded and recommenced his patrol of the street, leaving Chase to wonder when he would be pulled aside again.

If the institution of the curfew and the presence of The Man in Black helped to dig the grave, the declaration of martial law had put the final nail in the coffin. Patrols were increased across the country. And because of the Spanish Inquisition scouring the streets, looking for insubordinate villains, the already sparsely trod sidewalks had been rendered absolutely barren, even with curfew still several hours away.
Because true evil would unmask itself so readily to justify all of this nonsense
, Chase thought, irritated as he made the trek the rest of the way to the pawn shop.

At the door to Shaun’s Pawn, he paused, taking in the refreshingly warm, early spring air. Resting barely noticeable in his pocket was the ring he’d spent months picking out. In his head, he recounted the argument he’d had with Paige the night before—the only argument he’d had with her in their eight months together. She’d found the ring resting atop his dresser and immediately jumped to the ecstatic conclusion that he was ready to pop the question—a fact that puzzled him. After explaining to her that, no, he would not be proposing—throwing in a yet in his explanation—she’d understandably jumped to the next obvious question: “Whose ring is it?” Dredging up the pain of the events of the last summer, he told her. Needless to say, she’d been none too happy that he still held onto the relics of a past relationship so steadfastly.