But they wouldn't be for long.
Dream or not, she knew something was calling to her from the Black Pool. She had to go back to Mount Laguna.
Chapter 37
Angie stood before the elders of the We Clan, four men and three women who had survived the battle with the Savage Sons. The early-morning sun was already turning the day warm, but the elders sat cross-legged under the shade of trees. Despite his youth, Sandman sat among them. He wore his own clothing again, and Silver Katana had given Angie her own clothing: hand-stitched leather pants and a sleeveless fur-lined vest. On her feet, she wore short, handcrafted leather boots that were so soft they felt almost as good as old combat boots. Nightfall was thrust through a leather belt.
She considered the stoic faces of the elders, knowing that if she wanted to return to Mount Laguna, she’d need their help. From what she understood, the Aztalan army now controlled the countryside, and they were rounding up everyone they could for their unholy sacrifices. She might make it on her own—especially now, with the Shade King’s help—but it would be a risk.
And she felt she owed these people something … anything.
They were all in their fifties or sixties—and one was almost certainly in his eighties—which meant they had been born before the Awakening and would remember the old world, a world in which they didn't have to live like wild animals. Their skin was like worn leather, their postures stooped, but their eyes shone with intelligence—and more than a trace of suspicion.
They have every right to their suspicion. For years, we’ve treated them like animals. Because there was no room for them within our walled cities. Because they didn’t have skills that people like Marshal felt were needed. Because they were just more mouths to feed.
Because we didn’t want them.
Her face grew hot with shame under their eyes. We hunted them, treated them like beasts, and killed them every chance we had. But they attacked us as well. Maybe they weren't all cannibals—weren’t all like the Savage Sons—but they weren’t entirely blameless either. Maybe it's time for a new beginning.
She cleared her throat. "I need your help." She paused, meeting their gaze. "Actually, I think we can help each other. A clean start in this new Awakened world."
The grizzled octogenarian snorted. He was bald, his round skull covered with age spots, his ears and nose too large. A long gray beard fanned out across his frail chest, and his thin fingers shook as he pointed his hand at her. "Name's Earl, Missy," he said in a voice like sandpaper. "Seems like you and yours have done enough evil since the world fell apart." He turned and spat, some of the spittle falling short and landing in his beard. He didn't seem to notice or care.
A shocked murmur rose among the others.
"She ain't no angel!" Earl railed, glaring goggle-eyed at them. His chin rose in defiance, and his eyes blazed with anger. "She's just another shaman, what the wallies call a mage, no different from him and the others." With that, Earl tossed his head at Sandman. "She brought monsters to us, that big ol' fuck-off bird-thing and..." He paused, his face going pale with fear. "That … other, the fiend from hell." His head whipped about. "Tell me it ain't! I know what I saw."
"You're not wrong," Angie said. "It was a demon. And you're right about another thing. I'm not an angel. But neither am I just another mage."
"Well, Missy, what are you then?" Earl asked, squinting.
"Something new."
His smile was gap-toothed and insincere. "Your walled cities are something new, and you and your kind been killing us like animals. Well ... that ain't all that new, truth be told. Them with guns kill them without. Always been like that. Even when we thought we were civilized. You say you're new, different, but I don't see it."
"The world changed on A-Day," she said. "I didn't make that change. Blame the dragons if you want, but the world changed, and we changed with it. Not for the better, I guess. We put up walls. Forced you into the wilderness. We didn't share what we had. I won't offer an opinion on whether there was ever enough to go around or if everyone would have starved had we tried to share. We didn't share, and that's that." Some bobbed their heads. "We hunted you, but you attacked us. Doesn't much matter who did what first."
Their postures stiffened, and more than a few faces darkened with anger.
"She's right," Sandman said. "We all know what the Savage Sons did. How they survived the first few winters. It wasn’t a secret. We knew they were heels, but we just looked the other way."
Angry protestations passed among them, but Earl sighed and ran his fingers over his face, stretching the wrinkled skin. "Weren't right what they did. Even if they believed they had cause. Those early winters ... when the dead lay in mounds, they were starvin' years, hard times, but it weren't right." He spat once more, shaking his head. "Kept doin' it, too, even years later, when there were plenty of animals to hunt. I think ... I think maybe they hated you wallies so much they couldn't stop. 'Cause you had so much and wouldn't share. Or maybe ’cause you reminded 'em of the old world."
"Savage Sons are gone now," Sandman said. "Those that survived the fighting last night have run. And good gone I say."
The elders found cause for agreement, even Earl. "Good gone," they repeated.
"But it ain't sunny times now either. These new ones, the ones from the south with all the guns and soldiers, they're killin' us too," Earl said, glaring at Angie as if it were her doing. "An' they ain't just killin', they're cutting out hearts. We all saw the bodies they left behind. Who does that? Just as rotten as the Savage Sons. How many of the We Clan they took already? How many they be takin' afore they're done?"
And now we come to it, Angie thought, common cause, her only chance. "You're right. The Aztalan Empire is worse than the Savage Sons, much worse. If they aren't stopped, they'll kill everyone, all the We Clan, us wallies, the farming communities, everyone." She shivered, seeing again her dream of the mountain of corpses.
"Seems to me," said Earl slowly, "that you wallies deserve a bit of an ass-kicking. What goes around comes around."
"But it won't stop with us," Angie said. "They want human sacrifices—the Nortenos, the Commonwealth ... you."
The elders exchanged worried looks.
"But if you help me, then maybe we can help each other. You can stop hiding."
"Hidin’, Missy," said Earl in a weary voice, "is how there’s so many of us still alive so many years after A-Day. We move about. We hunt. We never stay too long in one place. We don't plant nothin’—much as we may want to—’cause when we do, you and your friends come flying in with your quiet choppers and start tossing rockets at us. Every. Single. Time." He spat once more, this time hitting the ground in front of her feet.
She locked her gaze on his. "If you want a permanent home, you need to fight for it. Nobody is gonna give it to you."
"Angie," said Sandman softly. "It isn't about courage. We're not afraid to fight. We just don't have enough weapons, and there’s hardly any ammo. There's so little left in the cities now. We can't fight guns and helicopters with spears."
"You don’t need to worry about helicopters, not anymore. They’re all destroyed now."
"Saw one the other night," said Earl simply.
"That’s not possible."
Earl shrugged, but Angie let it go. "I can get you all the guns and bullets you could ever want, as well as a new home, someplace you can put down roots."
"Where?" Earl demanded.
She pointed behind him, to the rising peak of Mount Laguna. "Everything you need to start over: guns, ammo, medicine, food. And no one's even using it."
Earl's mouth opened, and the elders looked to one another. Earl climbed to his feet and approached Angie. "What of our people? The ones what the southerners took? They have so many of our people prisoner in their camps."
Angie placed a hand on the old man's shoulder. "You get me to Mount Laguna, and I’ll get you the guns you need to get them back. I promise."
Long moments passed. Final
ly, Earl spat into his palm and held it out for Angie. "You might be a heel, ain't sure yet, but you sure ’nuff are a pretty lil’ thing for a wallie. Reckon we can take a chance."
She spat into her own palm and took his hand, finding it surprisingly firm.
Chapter 38
Erin was in the bunker's hangar with Casey, working on the UH-60 Blackhawk's damned troublesome coupling for the damned troublesome rear rotors, when the two-toned alarm sounded. Brother and sister froze, their gazes snapping to one another. Grease streaked Casey's face, running into his bushy red beard. His sub-gun was close at hand, as was hers. Despite the protection afforded by Tec's bunker, Rowan insisted they never be more than a step away from a firearm.
"Who's on perimeter watch?" Casey asked as he picked up both sub-guns and handed one to her.
"Jay."
"Azzie patrol, maybe?"
"Don't know. Jay wouldn't have hit the alarm if it wasn't something big."
In the weeks they had been here, they had yet to see a single soul but knew the Aztalan military was out there, rounding up captives. No one else knew of the secret bunker’s existence but Tavi, and while she might have told someone since flying to Sanwa City, it was unlikely the Norties would risk coming back here, especially with the Aztalan military in the way. There might have been a warehouse of weapons and ammo in this bunker but none of it was any use to the dead.
Casey sighed, glancing at the helicopter they had been working on. "It was a nice enough dream, if only for a bit. Well, if the Azzies have finally found us, they're gonna wish they hadn't."
"Beat feet," she said before bolting out of the hangar.
Casey followed, more than content to let her make the calls. He and Jay were doing that more and more these days, waiting for her to decide. They must have picked up on Rowan’s not-so-subtle grooming. Rowan had been right; Casey might have been older, but he wasn’t interested in being in charge.
As they sprinted through the bunker, climbing up stairs and running past storerooms, she prayed Casey was right about the Azzies. Rowan had supervised a hardening of the bunker's defenses. They had found a command post within the bunker in which Tec had installed video displays from the many cameras and other electronic surveillance gear he had hidden around the bunker's perimeter. The Seagraves had added a lethal aspect to the surveillance. Now there were dozens of Claymore directional mines set in the woods on either side of the twisting mountain road that led to the old USAF ruins. They could detonate each of them, or all of them, within a hundred-meter stretch of the road.
If the Azzies were desperate enough to keep coming, they’d find that the Seagraves had hauled the wreckage about in the ruins, creating natural-appearing gaps that actually funneled attackers into kill zones. Erin and her brothers had buried explosive charges anywhere that looked appealing to someone trying to find cover. If any attackers survived the explosive carnage, the Seagraves had positioned a pair of heavy machine guns just beside the bunker's hidden entrance. The guns had a commanding field of fire over open ground and would chew up bad guys.
If the attackers managed to force their way to the guns, the Seagraves would bolt back inside the bunker, lock the entrance, and wait. There was no amount of explosive that could get through the vault-like doors ... probably. But there remained other contingencies. She and the others had combed through every corner of the bunker, finding three more hidden vault doors, all closed and locked but easy enough to open from within.
And then there was the vehicle hangar with its large entrance that came out within the ruins of a warehouse. The vehicle doors were closed, but they could be opened in moments, and then the Seagraves could drive out in one of the remaining three armored vehicles, using the remote turret-mounted machine gun and grenade launcher to either mop up or escape.
No, attacking this place was a bad idea. Eventually, someone would get in, but not before she and her family had destroyed the place. All that ammunition would make a hell of a fire, and there was no way they were leaving anything for the Azzies.
They’ll pry this bunker from our cold, dead fingers.
She and Casey burst into the command post to find Jay and Rowan staring at one of the television monitors, the one with the camera over the mountain road. Coffee, real honest-to-god coffee, sat in a pot on a table against the concrete wall. The smell of the fresh brew was every bit as wonderful now as it had been the first few dozen times that someone had made a pot. Even in the Home Guard’s bunker, there had only been coffee on special occasions. This place literally had everything.
"What is it?" she asked.
"Azzies?" Casey asked, a trace of eagerness in his voice. "Let's light those fuckers up."
"Not Azzies," Rowan said. He looked over his shoulder and met Erin's eyes. His expression was unreadable, which usually meant something bothered him. "Come tell me what you think."
She wedged between Rowan and Jay, peering at the camera feed. There must have been hundreds of troops moving up the twisting mountain road, coming for the bunker. No, not troops, she realized a moment later, her eyes narrowing in confusion. "Those are..."
"Ferals," Jay answered. "The cannibals are coming to dinner." Jay gripped the clacker, the main switch to which all the roadside Claymores had been slaved. He could detonate all of them with a single button.
"There's women and children," she said as she took the clacker from his hands.
"God damn," Jay whispered, leaning forward. His face twisted into a knot of confusion, and he jabbed a finger at the screen. "What the fuck is that, a lion?"
Erin stared at the screen. Walking in front of the Ferals was a massive beast with the head of an eagle, wings, and the body of a lion. "It's a griffin," she whispered; it could only be the mythical creature. In her lifetime, she had learned she and her brothers were werewolves, dragons and Fey were real, and magic was a thing. Why not a griffin? A single person, a small woman with long dark hair, walked alongside the griffin, using what looked like a giant spear as a walking stick. She wore a sword thrust through her belt.
Erin gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.
"What?" Rowan asked, squinting at the monitor.
She carefully set the clacker down, happiness blossoming through her. "Stand down," she whispered, nearly breathless with excitement.
"It's ... they're not enemies?" Casey asked in disappointment.
She sobbed in joy, shaking her head. "No. It's Angie."
Angie led the We Clan through the broken gates of the old USAF site, the dangling sign proclaiming THE MOUNT LAGUNA JOINT SURVEILLANCE SYSTEM. She saw right away that the rubble had been moved since she had last been here, and her concern spiked. She held her hand out, stopping the long procession behind her. Moonwing's head darted about, his golden eyes scanning the surroundings.
"What is it?" Sandman asked. Miss Fortune stood at his side, with Silver Katana just a few feet away.
"Something's wrong." Angie gripped Lodin's spear tightly.
DANGER, the Shade King warned. She saw flashes of sparks rise into the air from the trees on either side of the road, as well as from among the rubble farther inside the ruins.
Angie peered into the bushes and trees along which they walked. There—carefully hidden away and only visible now because of the Shade King's magic—was an M18 Claymore antipersonnel mine. We're already in a kill zone, she realized in horror.
"Angie!" a female voice yelled from up ahead.
Angie knew that voice. Her fear vanished, replaced by unexpected joy. A moment later, Erin Seagrave, her long red hair streaming behind her, appeared from the rubble ahead of them, running toward Angie, her teeth flashing in a wide smile. Her brothers followed her: Casey, Jay, and Rowan. Angie stared in disbelief. They're still here? She had been convinced they had moved north weeks ago to find a new home. She had never dared hope—
Moonwing raised his head, squawking with menace. Angie rushed in front of the beast, placing her hand on his chest. "Friends. They're friends." Moonwing’
s posture remained only slightly less threatening. She turned and faced the We Clan, yelling so they could hear. "They're friends. It's okay." She turned about and rushed forward, dropping the spear to embrace Erin, who almost knocked her over when she ran into her.
It took several moments before either woman could speak, their eyes glistening with tears. "You didn't go north," Angie finally managed, holding Erin by the arms, certain she wore a goofy grin on her face.
Erin, beautiful and radiant as a wildflower, smiled back. "And you didn't die."
"You told me not to, remember?"
"I also told you to come here after three days." Erin's smile slipped. "You never came."
"No," Angie said sadly, "I couldn’t … the Aztalans attacked Coronado."
Erin must have heard the anguish in Angie's voice because she hugged her once more, near crushing her this time. "Tec?" she whispered into Angie's ear.
"Alive, I think, but Queen Elenaril is dead. The elves have fled Coronado. The Aztalan army has attacked Sanwa City."
"Where’s Tavi?" Jay asked in alarm. "If she’s still in Sanwa City…"
Rowan placed a hand on Jay’s shoulder, his gaze taking in the griffin and throngs of clansmen and -women. "You've some new friends, Angie. What's going on?"
"I'm glad you're here, Rowan. I need a fighting man, someone who understands tactics. We have a lot to discuss. I'm going back to Sanwa City."
Rowan and Erin watched her in silence for long moments. Finally, Erin slipped an arm around Angie's back. "We're going back to Sanwa City."
"God damned right we are," Jay said.
Angie's throat tightened with gratitude.
Rowan sighed. "I did tell you to start making more decisions." He used his thumb and forefinger to smooth the ends of his mustache, his gaze taking in the long line of men, women, and children, the entire We Clan. "Guess we're gonna need to make more coffee."
"Hey, Angie," Jay said as he stared wide-eyed at Moonwing. "When'd you get a cat … bird ... dog … thing?"
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