Lee Harden Series | Book 5 | Unbowed

by Molles, D. J.

  A cold, wet nose on his fingers. A warm tongue.

  Deuce, sensing Lee’s condition, was trying his best to render aide.

  Angela said his name again—actually shouted it. He could see the volume with which she’d expelled it, evident in the heave of her chest and the brief flash of savage lines on her face. The others seemed to jerk, eyes slashing around, first to Angela, and then to Lee.

  Angela stalked around the table and stood face to face with him.

  He couldn’t tell whether he actually heard her words, or if it was just that he could read her lips.

  “Lee, you with me?”

  “Um, yeah…” his own voice a distant hum in his head. “Ears are being wonky.” He glanced up self-consciously at the others. Saw the confusion on their faces. A flash of anger went through him. Like a deaf man, he spoke overly loud—he could feel the scrape of his words in his throat. “Could everyone just shut the fuck up for a minute?”

  Abe looked at him with a tilt of his head. More lip reading, but this time with a distant percussion of consonants: “You alright, man?”

  “I’m fucking fine,” Lee snapped. Defensive measures deploying in his brain. He didn’t want them to see him like this. One-eyed. Bum leg. Bum hand. Going deaf. God, when had he become so weak? He hated himself, and he hated them for seeing him like this. He responded to that self-loathing with anger. “I just can’t hear with all of you fucking shouting over each other!”

  Cass responded by doing more shouting. A slim note of hope: he could hear her shouts, the tinnitus starting to recede like the tide going out, though he still couldn’t make sense of the words themselves, and her mouth was all contorted, too wide as it shouted, too much fear in her eyes, too much panic—he couldn’t read what she was saying.

  Lee lurched to the table, seizing the edge of it, fully intending in that single moment of uncontrolled rage, to flip it over and send it crashing into Cass. He got the table legs about an inch off the ground before he clamped down on his animal instinct. He slammed the table back down.

  “Shut. Up.”

  Deuce barked. A single burst of noise that cut through the whining in his ears. If tinnitus was a fragile plate of glass covering his perception of sound, Deuce’s bark shattered it.

  He could hear his own breathing now, rushing in and out of his throat. He could hear Deuce’s worried panting. Lee issued an irritated grunt, as though to test his own hearing. He could hear the sound inside of his head, and through his ears. They were working again.

  He kept his hands clasped on the table edge. Didn’t dare release them, because then everyone present would see the violent tremor going through his limbs, like the shakes after a fever suddenly breaks.

  A tumult of thoughts. A torrent of words. Single sentences that battered his brain. Declarations, such as, “You can’t leave!” and “We can’t do this without you!” and “You can’t just cut and run the second shit gets tough!”

  He shook his head against them. They were all the wrong words. But he couldn’t for the life of him conjure up the right ones.

  Mixed in with all of this was the background concern of what all these people were thinking about him as they stared, watching, judging. Could they see his weakness? Could they smell it on him? Did they feel like he was already defeated? Did they have any faith in him whatsoever? If they had, he was destroying it right now. But did it matter? Could they even be convinced at this point in time?

  He clamped his mouth shut, breathing through his nose. The sound seemed overly-loud now. The tinnitus having released its grip on him, it seemed like every noise was turned up to ten. The rustle of clothing as Jonathan Reeves shifted position. The squeak of a boot as Abe fidgeted. The quiet sigh of Angela’s breath. Deuce’s panting.

  “Cass. Paul. Stephen.” Lee dragged his eyes from the maps—his jolt on the table had toppled all the chess pieces. He looked at each of them in turn. “If you leave right now, you’re not accomplishing anything. Cass, Vici’s already been torched. What the hell do you think you’re going to do by going back there?”

  She opened her mouth to respond, fire in her eyes, but Lee cut her off.

  “Fight, goddammit!” He snapped. “Fight so that this shit can never happen again! What’s done is done! If you leave right now, all you’re doing is surrendering. You’re giving up in the face of Greeley’s show of force. If you leave, they win.”

  “And what about Lakin?” Stephen said. “They haven’t reached Lakin yet. It’s not a lost cause.”

  “It is a lost cause, Stephen!” Lee shifted his weight off his trembling, aching left side. “What the hell do you think you’re going to do by going back? You gonna fight off the whole fucking army? No! You’re just going to die with the rest of them!”

  “Those are our families you’re talking about!”

  “Then fight for them! Take Greeley down like you said you would! Prevent this from happening again! You running back home doesn’t accomplish a damn thing. The problem will remain. At least right now we have a chance to stop it—to stop Briggs before he massacres any more towns out of spite!”

  Stephen looked incredulous. The cold, practical logic of it lost on him in his moment of emotion. “You’re asking us to just turn our back on our families. To sacrifice them. For what? For a chance? Admit it, Lee! You don’t even know if this plan to take Greeley is going to work! And what if it doesn’t? What if we get beat back when we try to invade them? Then all of our families will be dead! For fucking nothing!”

  It was the wrong thing to say, but Lee said it anyways: “Your families are fucked already. Can’t you see that? There’s nothing you can do. This army—they’re the same ones that railroaded Butler! And we had defenses, and a plan! What the fuck do you think you’re going to do?”

  “I don’t know!” Stephen shouted. “But I have to do something!”

  “If the sacrifice is going to be made anyways, wouldn’t you rather it be worth something?” Lee didn’t like the pleading in his voice. Like he knew he’d already lost. “At least if you stay and fight, there’ll be a chance that it will all mean something. If you leave, then it’s all for nothing.”

  It was wrong. It was all wrong. And there was nothing Lee could do to fix it.

  Stephen shook his head. “I’m not gonna sit here and listen to this shit.” He jabbed an elbow into his brother’s side. “Paul, let’s fucking go.”

  “No!” Lee shook the table.

  Stephen looked at him, his body already turned towards the door, his eyes saddened, terrified, mad. “What are you gonna do, Lee? Shoot me?”

  Lee actually considered it. His right hand twitched, still attached to the table. He sensed the tiny distance between his hand and the sidearm on his hip. He could snatch that pistol out and put a bullet through Stephen’s head…

  And accomplish what?

  Everything would devolve after that.

  The chaos of the moment would turn to absolute anarchy.

  Lee desperately wanted to gain back some semblance of control, but in that tiny moment, staring at Stephen, he knew that he couldn’t. This had fallen apart. It was beyond his command now.

  Stephen knew that he wouldn’t be stopped. And so he left. Without another word, he stalked out of the room, followed by his brother Paul.

  If you’re going to lose everyone anyways, then why not cap him in the back of the head?

  A voice from the past. Mr. Nobody speaking to him from the grave where Lee had buried him.

  He heard the sound of the door being thrust open, slamming back on its stopper like a gunshot.

  Cass jerked at the noise. Straightened. “We’re leaving too.”

  “Vici’s already burned,” Lee said, much quieter now.

  Cass stood there, facing the door, but still planted at the table for a long, protracted moment.

  “Cass,” Angela said from Lee’s side. “We need your help. I’m so sorry about your town. None of us wanted it to go this way. Make Greeley pay for what they
did. Make your town’s sacrifice mean something.”

  Cass bared her teeth at the reality crushing against her. The bottom of her eyes sparkled. She blinked rapidly to clear them. “We’ve gotta go,” she mumbled.

  Lee didn’t turn to watch them leave.

  The silence in the room was so big, so thick, that it threatened to spark off his tinnitus again. Lee could feel it pressing at his eardrums.

  A stir to his left brought sound back into the vacuum of the room.

  Jonathan Reeves cleared his throat. “Listen…”

  Lee shook his head. Looked at the man. “Don’t.”

  Jonathan’s face contorted through a mix of things, all flashing through like some nonsensical collage of emotions. Shame. Grief. Anger. Defensiveness. Anxiety.

  “This army is on the move,” Jonathan said, a slight tremor in his voice. “They’re following your trail. Which means it’s only a matter of the time before they show up here.”

  “Mr. Reeves,” Angela tried, but Jonathan snapped a hand up.

  “Lee. Angela.” His voice was stern, even as it shook. “You don’t fucking understand.”

  Lee finally raised himself off the table. The shaking in his limbs had gone. Now everything was heavy. His blood turned to lead. His muscles turned to stone. The breath in his lungs seemed depleted of oxygen. Everything was laborious.

  “I think,” Lee murmured. “That we understand better than most.”

  “Then you understand I have to do what’s best for my people.”

  “What’s best for your people is to give them a chance at a future.”

  “They won’t have a future if this maniac comes through and massacres them.” Jonathan’s eyes bounced back and forth between Lee, Brinly, Abe, and Angela.

  His wife did not seem as conflicted as he did. Tammy jutted her chin out in a stubborn, immovable manner. Stood tall and imperious. The queen of her little kingdom. “I think it would be best for everyone—safest—if you left. Immediately.”

  THIRTY-THREE

  ─▬▬▬─

  VENGEANCE

  Nolan stepped out of the apartment and into the bright, warm morning.

  Not early morning, mind you, but nine-fucking-thirty. On his leisurely way to report for his new ten-o’clock guard shift at the ration distribution site. It felt so damn good not to try to force himself to sleep while the sun was peering through every crack and crevice of their apartment. God, but he had hated third shift with a passion.

  His crew trundled out behind him, similarly self-satisfied.

  Nolan looked at his guys and smiled knowingly. He was tempted to say something along the lines of “See? Stick with me, boys. I’ll always find a way.” But they knew. No point in bragging too much about it.

  His self-control lasted for about a block before his smugness could be contained no longer.

  He sighed like a man sated by a hearty meal. Gestured out to the city of Greeley around them, the streets relatively quiet as most everyone had already reported to their shifts. “Just a stepping stone, gents. Yesterday, we were third shift assholes. Today we’re running the ration site. Tomorrow, maybe I’ll see if we can’t get off of this bitch duty and get assigned downtown. Better rations. More respect.”

  A few chuckles told Nolan that he had reinvigorated his crew’s respect for him. Hell, they didn’t have any room to doubt—it had only taken him a few weeks to take control of The Tank. But it was good to remind those under you that they owed you for the ease of their existence.

  Gabriella had made good on her word. Nolan had pointed her in the right direction for the people that he had already identified as, shall we say, less than loyal to Greeley. Not that he himself was loyal to anyone, but that was neither here nor there. He was loyal to himself, and currently, Greeley was the place to be.

  Gabriella had pulled the big red handle on one of those crews—that Sameer-hadji-wetback fuck that had waltzed into The Tank like he owned the place. Big fucking mistake, hadji.

  Of course, Nolan had heard the news. Everyone had at this point in time. And it was a bit hard to ignore the Cornerstone troops racing around like wasps defending their nest. Gabriella’s operation had gone to shit. But hey, that’s what you get when you send a woman to do a man’s job.

  But it didn’t really matter. Gabriella had secured Nolan and his crew the spot that they’d requested—a late morning shift guarding the ration site, so that they wouldn’t have to walk around the same damn handful of city blocks all night.

  As for the hadji and his little crew, word had it that a few of them had been killed, and the rest were in hiding. If the hadji had managed to survive—and Nolan had his doubts—then he wouldn’t last long. This place was crawling with soldiers looking for him.

  And in any case, it wasn’t Nolan’s concern anymore. He’d gotten what he wanted out of it, regardless of whether the operation had gone to shit. Always an ambitious individual, Nolan decided to put it out of his mind and start focusing on what was next.

  There had to be some dirt going on at the ration distribution. Food was the currency of Greeley, and so it stood to reason that the old adage “follow the money” would apply, only with rations. Someone who had control of the rations almost certainly would be using it in underhanded ways to get what they wanted from the people that needed the rations.

  Maybe it was a Cornerstone operator skimming off the top so he could use extra rations to buy himself other niceties. Maybe someone was giving extra rations to a hot bitch so that he could circle back around after dark and fuck her. The possibilities were limitless, really. All Nolan had to do was wait and watch, and once he had the dirt on someone, he could either use that against them to get what he wanted out of them, or he could out them to the higher ups in exchange for an even better position.

  And on the off-chance that everyone distributing rations was squeaky clean—which wasn’t likely in Nolan’s mind—then Nolan himself would just figure out a way to use the rations to get what he wanted. He’d spotted a few hot bitches himself that looked like they’d be willing to fuck their way into some extra meals. Especially the ones with little kids. Chicks with kids would suck a golf ball through a garden hose to get more food for their little rugrats.

  Yes, things were looking up for Nolan and his crew. It was just a matter of time before—

  The boom and the splatter of brains hit him at the same moment.

  He spun, eyes wide, not quite sure what the hell was happening, wondering if the hot wetness he’d felt on the back of his neck was his own blood…

  One of his crew pitched bonelessly right into Nolan, half his head gone. Nolan recoiled, jerking his hands back as the body left a streamer of fresh blood across his chest.

  BOOM BOOM BOOM

  He felt the rifle reports like slaps to his face. Saw the rapid-fire puffs of smoke. Saw the holes sprout in the chests of two more of his guys, their shocked expressions, like they couldn’t believe it.

  Nolan was so surprised by all of this that he never even thought to try to run, never thought to try to defend himself or to attack his attacker. When you’re always the predator, it’s just too damn much of a shift in reality to suddenly be the prey.

  A figure strode through the gunsmoke, rifle at the ready, swinging back and forth as it pumped rounds in a cacophony of death into the last of Nolan’s men still standing. That last man had managed to spin around and hold his hands up, issuing a weak cry for mercy.

  Nolan watched in fascination as the outstretched hands were shredded by a barrage of bullets, fingers flying off, meat scattering, the bullets punching clear through into the chest and neck of that last man, sending him sprawling backwards, trailing ribbons of red out of his neck.

  Nolan was so focused on watching his last friend die, that he only wrenched his gaze up to look at the attacker at the last moment. A tiny spark of recognition went through him.

  Striding through the blood spatter and the dead limbs of Nolan’s friend, rifle pointing right at him�
�

  It wasn’t Sameer. It was his mouthy-ass friend. The smart-aleck.

  “You sonofa—” Nolan issued in a wheeze of breath.

  This time he didn’t register the rifle reports, only the feeling of being slammed in the chest, like taking three major-league fast pitches all at once. There was a brief slice of time where he thought, Fuck you! I can survive this! I’ll fucking strangle the life out of you!

  He even managed to raise his hands, his fingers curled into claws like they were already around his attacker’s neck.

  But then he was falling backwards.

  How strange.

  Oh shit.

  He hit the ground, and all the breath went out of him. His head rebounded off the pavement, sending stars and sparklers skittering through his vision like a nightmarish Fourth of July display.

  When they cleared, the smart-aleck was standing over him.

  Smiling.

  “You fucked with the wrong folks,” the smart-aleck said.

  Nolan actually watched the smoke bloom from the muzzle—how fascinating—

  ***

  Gabriella didn’t particularly like what she’d done. But it was one of those duties that had to be taken care of, even if it didn’t leave you full of pride afterwards.

  The garbage still had to be taken out, whether or not you thought it was a glamorous job. No one wanted to handle garbage, but then again, no one wanted to live in filth either.

  She stood at her small kitchen table, in the single-family dwelling that had become hers. Many of Briggs’ most loyal Cornerstone operatives had received similar treatment. A house to call their own, in a quiet little neighborhood of small houses, just north of FOB Hampton, where it was easy to walk to work.

  No longer did she have to live, crammed in with others. Frankly, she’d grown so accustomed to it, that the little two bedroom house seemed cavernous. But she’d earned it. And she allowed herself to feel some pride for it, even if the quiet confines sometimes gave her the heebie-jeebies.

  On the table in front of her, beside a mug with the brown dregs of the morning’s “coffee” allowance—which was really chicory, which has no caffeine, and was therefore useless—lay the neatly organized folders of her remaining targets. This was, perhaps, what she had liked least about this entire operation.