The Defiant: An Unbeaten Path

by John W. Vance

  “Take a seat, Michael,” Anatoly instructed.

  Michael did as he asked. It felt good to sit, but he couldn’t relax.

  Karina walked in then and closed the door.

  Michael took note along his walk that he didn’t see anyone else. The only people he had seen since being at the bunker was Anatoly, Karina and the nurse. The bunker felt large, but it seemed empty.

  Karina took a seat next to Michael and placed a large file in front of him. “This might help jog your memory.”

  Michael went to open up the file but stopped when Anatoly spoke. “Before you do that, let’s get to the heart of the matter. I have to admit that I thought you were lying about your memory loss, but it appears you have truly suffered from your injuries. Our doctors tell us that your memory will come back. The issue we have is limited time, and if we fail, the world will be lost.”

  Michael cracked a smile and joked, “I think the world is already lost.”

  Anatoly ignored him and continued, “Viktor is part of a group that is bent on world domination, and the only way he believes he can do that is by being in possession of what you’ll see in that folder.”

  Michael again went to open it but was stopped once more.

  “Before you open it, I want to impress upon you that with your memory loss, what you’re about to see and hear will confuse you. You might even think we’re crazy, but I can assure you that the Michael we knew before was fully committed to our task.”

  “Anatoly, I wish I could remember what this is all about,” Michael replied. He turned to Karina and said, “And I wish I could remember us, I do vaguely and I know we had something, but it’s the strangest thing to have bits of memory but also feel I’m looking at a stranger.” Michael looked back at Anatoly and continued, “Whatever you’re about to share with me, I will listen and I pray it will bring the man I was back. You said there isn’t time to waste, so let’s do this.”

  Anatoly was about to speak but Michael interrupted. “And please don’t drug me again. I’m here and I want to help,” he said, but in his heart he was still wary, and as his memory returned, he would be open with prejudice.

  What Michael said made Anatoly crack a smile, which was unusual for him. “Viktor is the head of a group called the Union of Salvation. They were a defunct group that had been instrumental in Russian politics and affairs for over two hundred years. In fact, some claim they were the ones who sowed the seeds of revolution before the Bolsheviks. They now have been resurrected by Viktor and their aims are greater. They wish to dominate the world and create some sort of utopia. The problem we have is their utopian visions require a drastic reduction in the world’s population. What you’ve seen happen has been all of their making, but they feel in order to control the world, they need one item, and this is where you come in. Open the folder.”

  Michael did and the first thing he discovered was group of photographs, most of them old. He picked them up and began to shuffle through them.

  Anatoly remained quiet and watched him process the images.

  “These aren’t stirring anything in my mind. Um, this thing Viktor is after, it looks like a relic. What is it?”

  Anatoly frowned at Karina and answered, “That, my friend, is the Spear of Destiny. It goes by other names like the Holy Lance, the Holy Spear, the Lance of Longinus or the Spear of Longinus, but fact is, those photos are of a replica that is housed in Austria.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t recall any of this,” Michael lamented.

  “It will come back,” Karina said as she touched his leg.

  “What is it?”

  “The Spear of Destiny is the name given to the lance that pierced the side of Jesus as he hung on the cross.”

  “I really hate that I don’t recall this, but it does seem familiar. I don’t understand; why would Viktor and his Union of Salvation want a relic?”

  Karina stepped in and answered, “Because it holds powers. Those who are in possession of the spear will have total power and be able to control their destinies.”

  “I’m sorry, but this is a joke, right?” Michael asked.

  “No, Michael it’s not a joke, it’s very real. Many have sought after its power and many have held it in their hands. Men like Constantine, Charlemagne, Frederick Barbarossa the First, Herod the Great, Maurice the Manichean, Theodosius, Alaric, Theodoric, Justinian, Charles Martel, Heinrich the First, and Adolf Hitler.”

  Michael was feeling a bit overwhelmed by the story and was beginning to wonder if Anatoly and Karina were crazy and members of the tinfoil-hat club. He then began to become concerned about his own sanity, as apparently he believed in this. He then looked at the world around him and decided that it couldn’t be any crazier than what was happening to everything.

  “I do know how hearing this sounds, but you hold the key to all of it,” Anatoly flatly said.

  “The coordinates?”

  “Yes, Michael, you are the only living person who knows the whereabouts of this powerful relic.”

  Michael looked at both of them and asked, “How is it that I’m the only person?”

  Anatoly looked at Karina and said, “Tell him.”

  “You have nothing to fear, trust me.”

  “Tell me.”

  “We had them all killed. You, however, did something that no one else had done before. You had it inscribed on something, and only you know where that item is.”

  “How is it that I’m a party to this whole thing? I’m a CIA agent.”

  “Michael, you’re much more than that, my friend, much more.”

  Vista, CA

  The first thing that hit Vincent was the smell of what could only be described as death. He’d encountered the smell before in hospitals and overseas in triage facilities. Then he saw Bridgette’s husband, Ron. He wasn’t sure if the smell added to the overall feel, but once he laid eyes on him, all Vincent could think was that he was looking at a dead man.

  Ron was covered in a sticky sweat that clung to his ashen skin. The pajamas he was wearing were soiled with blood, vomit and old sweat. The bedroom itself was large and beautifully decorated. Vincent could tell at one time they had money and spent it on lavish furnishings. He couldn’t tell if they were ever neat and orderly people, but they definitely weren’t now. A large pile of soiled sheets sat in the far corner, but the floor was relatively free of debris as if someone was attempting to maintain some cleanliness. A large, eight-foot-tall set of French doors sat opposite the king-sized master bed and were open to allow fresh air to come in, but even with that the smell was intense.

  Bridgette hurried to Ron’s side and took his hand. He was shaking from what was most likely a fever brought on by infection. The severity of the fever was so high he could barely open his eyes to acknowledge her presence.

  Upon entering the house and making his way to the upstairs bedroom, Vincent took notice that Noah was nowhere to be seen. This didn’t alarm him, as the house was large, but he made a mental note.

  “Honey, I have a man here that might be able to help,” Bridgette said to Ron in a whisper.

  Ron didn’t open his eyes, but he did hear her. He opened his mouth and unintelligible sounds came out.

  She turned to Vincent, who was still standing in shock at the scene in front of him. He didn’t know what he could do. During his time in the Marine Corps he’d had advanced first-aid training, but Ron’s condition was past his skill set.

  “Can you help him?”

  “I, ah, I can see what is wrong,” Vincent said as he hobbled over next to her.

  “His wound has become very infected, see,” she said, lifting up his pajama top to show a blackened hole in his lower abdomen. His belly had swollen in the area surrounding the wound, with reddish string-like tentacles coming from it. “He went into the half-conscious state last night.”

  Vincent leaned over to get a better look and said, “It’s obviously infected. Um, what was he shot with?”

  “A handgun.”

 
Vincent searched his mind for questions that might help. “Did the bullet pass through?”

  “No, it’s still in there.”

  “The bullet is still in there?” Vincent asked, astonished by this and factored that this could have helped create the environment for the infection to take hold.

  “You have to get it out,” Vincent said with urgency.

  “I thought about that, but I don’t know how to perform surgery. I tried to find a doctor at the hospital and—” she said but purposely cut herself off.

  Vincent could tell there was more to the hospital story but didn’t want to explore it just yet. He wondered if he could perform the surgery.

  She looked up at him, tears forming in her green eyes, and asked, “Can you do it? Please save him.”

  “I’m not a surgeon, I know first aid, but—” he replied but was interrupted.

  “Please.”

  “Please, mister, help us,” Noah said from the doorway.

  Vincent looked at him and didn’t know how he could say no. He just needed to feel confident that if he failed, they wouldn’t hold it against him. “I’ll try to remove it, but…” He stopped short of saying it in front of Noah. “Can we talk in private?”

  She nodded and took him to a large walk-in closet.

  He closed the door and said, “Listen, I’m not a doctor. I just want to make myself clear on this. I’ll go in and remove the bullet and do what I can, but I want to make it very clear that I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  “I understand.”

  Vincent’s breathing had increased and he became blunt, “I could kill him.”

  “If I do nothing, he’s going to die anyway, I fear, and if this helps save him, then I have to risk it.”

  He could see the pain in her eyes, and again this might be his new mission. “I’ll do it.”

  Wellsville, Utah

  The short drive from the clinic to the city offices was pleasant, and if you had just been plopped down without any knowledge, you’d think the world was the same.

  Nicholas marveled at how everything seemed so normal. People walked with strollers down the streets, and in the park across from the city offices, children played. He found it all so odd and in some ways unsettling. He asked himself how this little place had become an oasis in the madness that had taken over the world. He planned on asking the question, because from appearances, they had done something he hadn’t seen in any municipality or urban center since leaving San Diego.

  When they stopped in front of the small single-level building that fronted the appropriately named Main Street, several armed men stepped out and met them.

  Nicholas recognized one of them as Brock. “Hi, Brock, good to see you.”

  “Same, Mr. McNeil.”

  “Just call me Nic. I’m sure this is a stupid question, but no reports from your patrols about my two friends?”

  “No, sir. Right this way,” Brock said, motioning towards the front doors.

  Inside, Nicholas found it exactly how he’d imagined it would look. The floors were covered in a worn carpet. The walls were painted a neutral tan and adorned with framed images and paintings of mountain landscapes. Above him, a white drop ceiling made him feel a bit crowded as the height was just shy of eight feet.

  Brock took him down the hall and into a large boardroom. The far walls had windows that spanned the length, but the light of day was blocked with thick metal blinds.

  Seated at the long twenty-foot wood-laminate table were seven people, five men and two women, all white. All were middle-aged except for one man and one woman.

  The man at the far head of the table motioned him to come in further and said, “Welcome, welcome to Wellsville.” He was average height, older, balding, and was seated in a wheelchair.

  “Hi,” Nicholas replied as he slowly stepped into the room. He could feel pain emanating from his side and then remembered that he hadn’t taken any pain medication.

  At Nicholas’ request, Colin joined him. When Colin’s towering stature entered the room, Nicholas noticed several people react. He imagined they weren’t used to seeing such a large black man in this part of the world. He remembered the demographics for small mountain towns were primarily white, to the point of being almost homogeneous.

  “My name is Nicholas McNeil, and this is my friend and partner, Colin Somerville.”

  Colin grinned with his typical toothy grin and waved. “Hi, ya’ll.”

  “Please, gentlemen, take a seat,” the man in the wheelchair said. Right after Nicholas and Colin sat, the man introduced himself, “My name is Chad Smith, I’m the mayor of Wellsville, and to my right is Sally Braithwaite, my secretary, going down and around we have Deborah Shumway, John Christiansen, Thomas Fielding, Jason Bagley and Chuck Summers. They are the council people of our great town.”

  “Nice to meet you. I want to first thank you for saving my life. I have to admit your generosity and hospitality was welcome and unexpected.”

  “Unexpected?” Chad asked.

  Nicholas looked at Colin, then answered, “Yes, every town we’ve encountered has been either a threat because they’ve collapsed into mob rule, or we were turned away with the threat of violence if we came anywhere near it.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that so many towns and cities haven’t been able to manage this crisis,” Chad lamented.

  “From what I’ve seen, you have something special, and while I thank you, I’d suggest you need to be more careful who you allow in here. Not everyone will be as nice as we are.”

  “We have turned our fair share away. Let’s just say we profile who comes through, and we do monitor their presence while they are here. We trust to a degree then verify. We’re nice but not fools, Mr. McNeil.”

  “I wasn’t saying you were fools.”

  “I know, so let’s talk about why we wanted to see you. I know Brock told you we also wanted to talk with you.”

  “Yes,” Nicholas replied. He wanted to get to the topic of what he wanted to ask but found himself obligated to let Chad speak first.

  “A thriving town can only remain so if it has rules or laws. It must be administered fairly within the rule of law by an executive and an elected body of the citizenry. That’s the first component; secondly, it must have able-bodied citizens who work actively on its behalf. It is this second half that is why I have asked to speak with you. You see, we have lost people, a large number have left, others have died and some have been killed. In order for us to a have a thriving and functional city, we must have people. We have a small population. Before the war we had about thirty-five hundred people, we’re now down to half that. Our council has adapted to this crisis by having the town pull together. As a people we’ve always been prepared for such emergencies, but we believe this crisis won’t be fixed for a very long time if at all. Because of our belief that this crisis won’t end anytime soon, we immediately went to work creating an infrastructure for our town’s survival, but those plans and that infrastructure requires manpower,” Chad said and cleared his throat, he then continued. “I’ll be blunt, Mr. McNeil; we’d like you and your group to stay. I don’t know what your plans were or where you were headed, but we can offer a stable and safe environment.”

  Nicholas was floored by the proposition. It came at him out of left field, but it stirred something in him. He looked at Colin, whose only response was a raised eyebrow. He thought for a few seconds and replied, “Mr. Mayor, I don’t know how to respond. I wasn’t expecting you to say this. In fact, I had no idea what you’d ask of us.”

  “What does your gut say? I’m a believer in following your instincts,” Chad said.

  “To be quite frank, I like the idea, but I also have a skeptical side to me that says, no, do your due diligence. We’ve been through a lot to get here, and like I mentioned earlier, the world has really gotten bad.”

  “I can assure you, if we were bad people up to nefarious things, we wouldn’t have allowed you here much less given you the care you’ve
just experienced.”

  Nicholas nodded after Chad said that. It didn’t make sense for people to save you and care for you with the eventual goal of killing you. “I have to say, I’m intrigued by the offer, but I can’t make this decision myself. It wouldn’t be fair.”

  “You sure you don’t want to? Look what happened last time you put it to a vote,” Colin said half-jokingly, reminding him of the fateful decision that found them now in Wellsville.

  Nicholas glared at Colin and put his attention back on Chad. “I really need to ask my group, so I hope you don’t need my decision right this second.”

  “No, please take some time to think about it and discuss it with your people. I also understand that two in your group are missing,” Chad said.

  “Correct, that’s why I wanted to talk with you. I’d like request some help looking for them, if you could spare some people.”

  “I already instructed Brock to do whatever was necessary to locate them. Brock is the head of our security patrols. He’s doubled them and had them searching.”

  Again Nicholas found himself shocked. Is there no end to these people’s kindness? he thought. “You are on top of everything here. Very impressive.”

  “It’s our responsibility to help one another, even strangers.”

  “I have another request. One in our group was killed. We’d like your permission to bury him here.”

  “Of course,” Chad said. He looked at Sally and continued, “Sally, take care of the arrangements and make sure there are flowers.” He looked back at Nicholas and offered, “Do you need a clergyman to officiate a religious service?”

  “Let me check.”

  “One last item, where can we park our trailer and camp?” Nicholas asked.

  “No need to camp, I’ve arranged for several vacant houses to be made available for your stay. No need to be roughing it,” Chad replied, smiling.