Rebels & Lies (Rebels & Lies Trilogy Book 1)

by Cotton, Brian

  They carried five shells, six if Wilcox kept one in the chamber. Kaspar decided to play it safe and assumed that there would be six shells. He reached up with his left arm this time then sent five more rounds in Wilcox’s direction.

  “Come on out and fight, pussy!” Wilcox cried.

  Kaspar scooted left to the hole close to him. He peered his masked eyes through it. He had to get a good read on Wilcox’s location. Just as he saw the turned over table he hit the deck. Wilcox sent a flurry of buckshot his way. It created a new hole in the couch…just above Kaspar’s head. Six. Now was the perfect opportunity to make his move.

  The Agent pulled at the trigger again at the sight of the masked man. The trigger stuck. Wilcox moved low to the kitchen. He rested behind the waist high bar and pulled more shells from his pocket. Kaspar moved in with caution. He pointed both guns forward. He could hear the sound of the shells being slammed into the gun. He reached the bar. At the same moment, Wilcox shot up with a small revolver in his hand. The two killers stood face to face, each with a gun pointed at his head. A small grin crept across Wilcox’s lips.

  “What’s it gonna be now?” he asked.

  Kaspar slammed his injured left arm across Wilcox’s. Three rounds from the six shooter flew harmless through the house. Kaspar reached up with his right arm and sent four rounds through the Agent’s stomach. Wilcox began to stumble backwards. With quickness, Kaspar aimed both Glocks at his target’s head. He pulled each trigger once. He stood for a moment, both guns still drawn, and he could feel his hands start to tremble. He then looked down at the yellow fabric attached to his flak jacket.

  Blood was smeared on it.

  Fifty-Two

  Kaspar arrived at the last house on the list. This house was dramatically different from the others. Instead of a modest one story home, this was a gargantuan two story home on the rich side of town. This William Sullivan character must have been the man in charge. He easily made the most credits from any of the other Agents. Good, it was always better to save the best for last. He put the SUV in park then stepped out. Loud cracks of thunder filled his covered ears while he studied it. He moved himself across the wet front lawn to the porch. He reached for the golden handle of the front door and turned. To his amazement, the door was left unlocked. He drew one of the Glocks and moved in.

  To his relief, the floors inside were brand new. There were no loose boards to alert those inside of his presence. The home was dark on the inside. He looked around and found the stairs to his right. He slowly walked up them with his pistol still drawn. When he reached the top, he saw a cracked door with light coming out of it. He moved towards it with deliberate steps. When he reached it, there was no hesitation. He had already killed two of the three. Kaspar just wanted to get this over with. He slammed his shoulder into the cracked door and ran inside.

  He saw Sullivan sitting on the bed, his back propped up against the head board. Sullivan looked up from his picture album, tears in his eyes, and threw the album to the floor. Kaspar could see the sadness in his final target’s eyes. The only problem being that he didn’t give a shit what Sullivan cried over.

  “William Sullivan?” Kaspar asked.

  Sullivan raised both hands in the air. He nodded his head yes and began to look around the room. His bottom lip trembled. He moved his right hand to wipe the tears which prompted a warning from the intruder.

  “Who are you?” Sullivan wondered.

  “That’s not important.”

  “You’ve just broken into my home. You’ve got a gun pointed at my head. I’d say it’s very important who you are.”

  Kaspar kept the gun trained at the head. He thought for a moment. Perhaps it would be much better if he explained to Sullivan the exact reason why he was going to kill him. At least then, he would know that Mother’s death would not go unpunished.

  “Does the name Jenna Kaspar mean anything to you?” Kaspar demanded.

  “Jenna…who, you say?”

  “Kaspar! Jenna Kaspar!”

  In the heat of the moment, Sullivan’s mind went blank. He searched it but nothing came to it. Just then, a light bulb went off…Jenna Kaspar, suspected aid to the resistance…

  “Who are you?” Sullivan asked once more.

  “I’m the son…of the mother you killed.”

  “Listen…”

  “Did you really think you would get away with it?”

  “It was part of my…”

  Kaspar persisted. “Did you think nobody would come looking for you?”

  “If I hadn’t done it…”

  “Shut the fuck up.”

  “They would have taken my family!” Sullivan cried out. “They would have killed me!”

  “What do you think I’m going to do?”

  Kaspar’s grip on the pistol grew tighter inside his gloved hands. He continued to look into the eyes of his enemy, unfazed by the fear he saw in them. There was no guilt or negative feeling about killing this man. He wondered if Mother had that same look of fear on her face before…

  “You’re a member of the resistance aren’t you?” Sullivan asked, he noticed the American flag patch on Kaspar’s right arm.

  No answer came.

  Sullivan’s demeanor changed. “You guys must’ve thought I was getting really close, right?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “That’s why you bastards poisoned my wife! Just tell me the poison was meant for me, okay?”

  “You have no idea what’s really going on, do you?”

  “I think I have a very clear idea…”

  “That’s enough,” Kaspar interrupted. “No more talking now.”

  Sullivan shut his eyes and awaited the gunshot that would ascend him to nothingness. No gunshot came.

  Kaspar kept his gun trained on the head. Self-doubt started to creep in again. He knew that, deep down, he was not a killer. Was this really the right thing to do? He already killed two of Mother’s killers. Why not just let this one go? Sullivan had no idea who he was…he would get away scot free and escape with Krys.

  He shook off his conscience’s attempt at reason and readied himself to shoot once more. His conscience would have to take the night off. Sullivan was high up in the ranks, Kaspar knew. He could not let him go. He must have been the leader behind the whole thing.

  A sound came from behind. With his bloodied left arm, Kaspar quickly drew the second Glock and pointed it at the door. It was a little boy. No older than six from what he could tell. His mind raced back to the little girl who had died in his arms.

  “You don’t point that gun at my son!” Sullivan yelled from the bed.

  Kaspar shook his head and focused his attention back to Sullivan. Just pull the trigger…come on. Pull! Pull!

  “Daddy!” Davie cried. He ran for the king sized bed and hopped on.

  “No,” Sullivan ordered. Tears flowed free again. “You have to let Daddy deal with this man. Go back to your room and lock the door. Don’t come out for anything.”

  “I’m scared…” Davie replied.

  “I am too, son. But, you have to go to your room, okay?”

  Davie looked up to Kaspar. “What did he do to you?”

  Kaspar stared at the father and son on the bed. No answer came from his mouth. He looked straight into the little boy who looked straight into him. Kaspar kept his gun trained on Sullivan, awaiting the right moment to pull the trigger. The boy was not in line with the shot, but there could be no chances. The little boy had played no part in this madness. He should be in his room playing, not witnessing his father’s murder.

  He could feel tears flow down his own eyes now. The moisture began to soak through his mask. He tried to shake away the thoughts inside that told him to leave now. Kaspar knew that he had to deliver justice. Sullivan could not be allowed to walk away free from what he had done…what he had taken away.

  The trigger finger froze. He couldn’t do it. It was the little boy. Kaspar remembered how he felt when he saw Mother l
ying dead on the couch. The eyes that were wide open despite the owner of them being dead. Could he do that to Sullivan’s son? The kid would have to grow up, never forgetting his father being killed in front of him. He would never relinquish his blood lust to find the man who did it. What kind of justice would be brought by creating another fatherless son? Kaspar knew the feeling…only his father choose not to be around. He saw on that bed the kind of love Sullivan had for his son, the kind of love that was missing from Kaspar’s life.

  He dropped the gun in his bloodied left hand. The loud crash fell on deaf ears. He raised his left index finger to his lips and started to lower the gun in his right hand down. He reached for the holster…

  BANG! BANG! BANG!

  Kasar could see the Agent reaching for something underneath his pillow. The rebel fired the three shots as a warning. The rounds tore through the drywall behind Sullivan’s bed. Sullivan began to aim his .38 Special at the intruder. Kaspar turned and made a run for the door.

  The Agent threw the covers off of himself and ran in pursuit. When he reached the bedroom door he made his way through the dark hallway. As he heard Sullivan making his move, Kaspar, three quarters down the steps, blind fired four more warning shots upward. Sullivan hit the deck and fired two rounds from his small revolver. He heard the man running and Sullivan tried to stand up. His son, with a loud cry that rang the ears, jumped on top of him.

  The front door slammed shut behind Kaspar. Just in case his would be target made it there already, Kaspar fired three rounds into the door. He nearly stumbled on the porch steps as he ran for the black SUV that still had the motor running. He jumped in, threw the vehicle’s automatic transmission into drive, and pressed his foot on the gas. The SUV rocketed forward.

  There were tears in his eyes as he made his way out of the neighborhood and onto the freeway. He felt unable to breath, so he ripped the mask off of his face. He paid little attention to the road in front. His thoughts were squarely on Mother. He swore to her that he would avenge her death. He had failed because of the little boy. He hoped that she would forgive him.

  Somewhere, deep inside, he knew that she would.

  ***

  Krys reached up to wipe away the tears that ran down her cheeks. She looked down at her watch to read the time once more: 10:54. She kept trying to tell herself that he was just running late. Any moment now she would feel him get on the back of the dirt bike. A little late…that was over an hour ago. The dread she felt that her lover was not coming started to fill her mind. It took her a moment to accept it.

  She revved the loud engine of the dirt bike she found stashed away at the safe house. She adjusted her dark sunglasses then looked around for Agents that might be on patrol in the area. She was now out well past curfew and needed to move fast. She reached down for her cell phone and typed in seven numbers. It rang twice.

  “Yeah,” Clarke’s voice said.

  “It’s Krys. Do you have everything ready?”

  “Our broadcast will be played over the morning news.”

  Krys allowed a smile. “Good work, Robbie. You take care, you hear?”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to spread the word. Inform as many people as I can.”

  “How are you feeling?” Clarke asked.

  She sighed and looked down at her stomach. “I can almost feel that poison eating away at me.”

  “I see…well, if I don’t see you again, it was an honor.”

  “You, too.”

  She pressed END and took one last glance backward. She hoped to see Kaspar’s figure move in close from the distance; ready to take the ride along with her. She never saw him. Another tear rolled down her cheek and she wiped it away.

  The time for grieving over lost friends had…

  The sound of a vehicle’s engine running shook her back to the present. As she looked back, she saw a figure struggle out of it and move towards her. Krys gripped her sunglasses and pulled them away from her eyes. Could it be?

  She felt a wave of excitement as she recognized the man who approached was Kaspar. She killed the bike’s engine and ran towards him. Kaspar winced in pain as she squeezed. She backed away, looked down, and saw the cause of it.

  “What happened to your arm…why are you so late…did you really do it?” Krys blurted out.

  Kaspar held up his hands. “Woah, woah, take it easy. Some dog bit my arm. It took me a while to find what I was looking for.”

  “Is your mother smiling down on you?”

  Kaspar knew what she meant. He shrugged his shoulders. “What’s done…is done.”

  “So, where do we go from here?”

  “You care to ditch that piece of shit over there and take a ride with me?”

  The two laughed together. Kaspar saw that smile, he felt that warm feeling, and once more, everything in that moment was right with the world. He began to fall in love with that feeling, and with her. She went in for another hug, only she was more careful this time. She buried her head in his chest. As Kaspar ran his fingers through her soft, black hair, he didn’t know what would come next. All he knew was the he felt something inside that he had never felt before. Hope.

  “Ryan…” Krys asked as she pulled herself away.

  “What?” Kaspar replied. He used his thumb to wipe away a tear from her cheek.

  “You know that I don’t have much time left, right? You really don’t have to…”

  Kaspar had about enough talk. He pulled himself in close and pressed his lips against hers, interrupting what she was about to say. The two embraced each other with a long kiss before any more words were spoken.

  As their lips caressed against one another, Kaspar suddenly no long cared about revenge. His Mother, no matter how many Agents he killed, would never be back in this world. He only hoped that, if there was an afterlife, he would meet her there. For now, he knew that she would want this for him. For him to be happy, that’s all she ever wanted for him. He remembered her telling him, the night before she died, that he needed to find someone special. Krys…she was special, all right, and there was nobody else he’d rather be with at this very moment than her.

  “I don’t know the future,” Kaspar said as they pulled away. “We’ve got to live in the present. We’ve got to present our evidence to those people out there. Don’t you worry. I’ll be with you…until the end.”

  “We’d better get moving then, soldier.”

  Kaspar smiled. “After you.”

  Epilogue

  The bright morning sun began to shine through the living room windows of the Sullivan residence. There were Agents all around the house, dusting for prints, and examining the numerous bullet holes in the walls. Sullivan stood in the living room, with little Davie at his side. Fitzpatrick had tagged along with the search team. He walked in front of Sullivan, obscuring his view of the morning news on the television.

  “Let me get this straight,” Fitzpatrick said. “He just let you go?”

  “That’s right. He barged into my room, ready to kill me, and then when my boy ran in, he just left.” Sullivan replied.

  “I always knew your son would do great things. What about the bullet holes littered everywhere?”

  “He fired at me as he made his escape. I don’t think he was trying to hit me, more like warning shots so I wouldn’t pursue. Then he vanished.”

  “And, you didn’t get any good looks at him, right?”

  “Just like all the other resistance members, he wore a mask, but he did have some nasty gashes on his arm like an animal attacked him.”

  “Now things are starting to make a little more sense.” Fitzpatrick said, scratching at his head.

  “What do you mean?” Sullivan wondered.

  “You heard about your two partners, right?”

  Sullivan fought back a smile. “Sure did.”

  “Well, Demarcus had a large dog who had its brains blown out.”

  “So, he was going after all three of us, then?”


  “Sounds like it. I’m going to go upstairs, help those fellas out. Let me know if you need anything.”

  “Will do.”

  Sullivan turned his attention back to the television screen. The picture started to get fuzzy then went completely black. When the picture returned, it was not the USR news. Instead it was a picture of a waving American flag. After the flag faded away, there sat a man with white, scraggly hair and thick glasses behind a desk.

  “Citizens of the USR, this is the resistance…”

  THE ACTION CONTINUES IN:

  PATRIOTS & TYRANTS

  LOOK FOR IT NOW ON KINDLE!

  Acknowledgments

  Though writing in itself is a very solitary act, the novel you have just read (and, hopefully enjoyed!) would not have been possible without the encouragement and support from several people. To my parents, who have always supported this crazy dream of mine to write a novel. Thank you for your constant support and for instilling in me a never say die attitude. Despite all the disappointments, getting my hopes up with partial requests, and self-doubt, you never let me quit. To my buddy Billy who read not one, but two completed drafts, which was more than I could ever ask for. Thank you for your time, encouragement, and feedback. To my wife and editor, Chrissy, thank you for putting up with me through all the long hours it took to get this thing done. Thank you for your support, kind words of encouragement, not laughing at me for my silly grammatical errors, and for being the best wife ever! I love you. Big thanks to my sister-in-law Charity for the various connections she helped me make. Thanks to Greg Dejaynes for the awesome cover art. And, last but certainly not least, to my friend Dani, who always wanted to see her name written in a book. There you go.

  About the Author

  Brian Cotton grew up in many parts of the country, but calls Springfield, OH home. Rebels & Lies is his first novel. When not writing, he can be found reading, gaming, or standing and cheering for the Carolina Panthers on NFL Sundays (Keep Pounding!). He lives with his wife and pets in Kentucky.