Gods Of New York (The Forgotten Gods Series Book 5)

by ST Branton

  “Jules.” I kept my voice low, so as not to disturb either mother or child.

  She glanced up and smiled widely. “Hey, Vic! You’re back.”

  “Yeah.” I motioned behind me toward the door. “Can I borrow you for a few minutes? We’re strategizing.”

  “Oh, sure.” Jules scooted over and gently nudged the woman on the mattress, who opened her eyes and gave us a timid smile. “I need to go with her.” Jules pointed at me. “I’ll be back in a little bit, okay?” She stood up and pulled the blanket up over the mom’s shoulders. We tiptoed out of there.

  “I’m really glad you’re here, Jules,” I told her once we’d made it into the hall. “You’re so much better at this than I would be.”

  She shrugged modestly. “I’m not much of a fighter, so I’m helping however I can. I just wish I could be in more than one place at a time. Everyone here could use a friendly face. And a babysitter.”

  “Got you covered there.” I waved to Frank, who freed himself from his flock of new admirers and lumbered toward us. He no longer had my cat in his arms, but I could see her being cooed over by starry-eyed kids.

  “That guy doesn’t look so good, Vic,” Jules murmured.

  “Don’t worry. It’s a long story, but he’s on our side.” On the other end of the room, we met up with Deacon and Maya. Frank sort of wedged himself into the background, pulling his hat over his face. I spotted Trent’s lanky form leaning against the windowsill, his back to the blacked-out windows. He’d turned up after all. I resisted the urge to ask where the hell he’d been for so long. Deacon trusted him, and I trusted Deacon. The thought became a mantra in my head.

  “Keep close to the window,” Deacon said. “We’ll have a little bit of privacy if we keep the volume down. No one wants to come over here if they can help it because they don’t want to be seen.” He nodded toward the audience surrounding the television. “And they’ve been hypnotized by the news. Not sure if that’s good or bad.”

  I couldn’t believe there were people out there still managing to broadcast anything, but at least there wasn’t a total media blackout.

  “All right guys, here’s the deal.” We pulled into a loose huddle, and I explained the situation as briefly and logically as I could. “There are three main players right now: Beleza, the naked dude with the army of muscle heads; Rocca, the commander of the demons and centaurs—basically anything with a chain tattoo; and Tahn, the ringleader. Marcus says Tahn is the one we really need to watch out for.”

  That is correct. If we do not keep a close watch upon her, Tahn will wreak havoc upon the mortal realm even more so than she has already done.

  “Okay, but Beleza is the one all over the air.” Jules pointed at the TV just as a clip of the bronzed god parading down the street came up on the screen. This was followed by much darker, shakier footage from a handheld device, showing him perched inside a palanquin borne by a legion of his men. Without even getting down from his mobile throne, he swung out a huge fist and socked a dent in a statue. As the torso crumbled off into chunks, a swarm of Beleza’s lackeys moved in to finish tearing it down.

  “What the—” The camera panned up and out, across what I recognized as the Upper Bay. It stopped as the Statue of Liberty came into view. A murmur flew through the TV viewers that rapidly escalated into a low roar of indignation. My jaw dropped open. “Holy shit! Are they… reworking her?”

  Several of Beleza’s soldiers had already scaled the statue and were beginning to work on her crown, dismantling the radiant spikes. Others worked on the shape of her face, her features, her stance. It was clear whose image they sought to replicate.

  The newscaster spoke over the video. “What you’re watching now is footage shot minutes ago by a civilian passerby in Lower Manhattan. We are witnessing the defacing of an icon of the human race, the erasure of what we stand for as Americans. This, ladies and gentlemen, is why I’m still out here, weathering the storm. This is something you need to see. My name is Steve Stephenson, formerly of Channel 2 WCBS, and I’ll continue to be your eyewitness news source for as long as I’m able.”

  The audio cut out after that, and a moment later, so did the video feed. I stared at the muddled screen. “Did he say his name was Steve Stephenson?”

  Jules pursed her lips. “I think I might have seen him doing a feature once or twice. Heaven knows he’ll never make anchor with a name like that.”

  “We should be grateful for it,” Deacon said. “That’s probably the only reason he was able to fly under the radar enough to get his hands on a camera.” He glanced at me. “Where’s your head at on this, Vic? I gotta say, it’s not looking good out there.”

  “Looks damn near hopeless to me.” Trent spoke up for the first time, arms folded across his chest, staring stone-faced at the floor. “They’re taking over. “

  I scowled at him, not bothering to hide my distaste. “Don’t talk like we’re finished already. The gods haven’t won yet.”

  “And how do you know that’s what they are?” He fixed me with a piercing look. “You seem to have an awful lot of information for someone who’s just a civilian with a fancy weapon.”

  “Back off, Trent.” Deacon spoke sharply, holding up his hand. “Now’s not the time to be picking fights. What’s with you?”

  Trent resumed both his sullen silence and his staring at the floor. A beat of tense quiet passed, during which I attempted to grasp exactly what was happening. I had thought Trent and I were on relatively good terms, and now this? A bad feeling curled its way into the pit of my stomach.

  Focus your mind, Victoria. This insolence can be dealt with in due time.

  “There’s no way we can stay in this building,” Maya said, redirecting my attention. “Not if the gods are this close. It’s only a matter of time before they start demolishing these residential blocks, isn’t it? He probably wants to rearrange the whole damn city to look like him.”

  Beleza is obsessed with that which he considers beautiful, Marcus added. Even if his goal were not to raze this metropolis completely, an older, more run-down place like this is sure to be eliminated.

  “Shit.” My mind raced. Moving a horde of displaced refugees seemed like a bad idea of staggering proportions, but I knew Maya and Marcus were right. I was determined not to leave New York to burn, but we couldn’t stay where we were. Where the hell could I put everyone that I knew they’d be safe?

  That was the billion-dollar question, wasn’t it?

  “He’s back!” someone shouted from in front of the television. All of us pivoted as the screen cleared, showing Steve Stephenson disembarking from a painted news van. He was pointing the camera at himself and glancing off at something we couldn’t see. The jostling of his movement made the image jumpy.

  “What’s he doing?” I wondered. “He wouldn’t just get out if he didn’t see something.”

  Is this man a soldier? His actions during this time of crisis are both noble and courageous. Perhaps we should seek to recruit him.

  I shook my head. “He’s a reporter. He needs to be out there, doing exactly what he’s doing right now. I agree he’s got some massive balls, though.”

  Stephenson bent over, and the feed stabilized. He backed up a few steps until he was totally in the frame.

  “Steve Stephenson here again. I really, really hope someone’s watching.” His clothes were stained with soot and dirt. He’d lost his tie. “I’m standing here in Lower Manhattan, if you can believe that.” The scene behind him was eerie, silent. Almost every light was out—Stephenson himself stood in the light of the camera’s built-in lamp. He gestured behind him at the same moment that a brief scream pierced the darkness at his back. Stephenson jumped. He peered into the shadows for a few long moments before slowly returning to face the camera. “It’s grim out here, folks. If you’re safe, and I sincerely hope you are, please stay put. We have to believe that a rescue is…” The reporter trailed off, watching something offscreen. “What’s that? Hold on.” He ran forward
, snatching up his recording apparatus. The jumbled noise of running overtook the speakers.

  “I’ll be honest,” I said, tearing my gaze away from the screen. “I have no clue how we’re going to get this many people down the fire escape, let alone through that apocalyptic hell.”

  Maya grabbed my hand. “Come on, Vic. We don’t have another choice. If Beleza comes here while we’re inside, we’re all going to die.”

  “I know.” I ran my fingers through my hair, trying not to let the frustration show. “I just don’t want to lose anyone during the transport.”

  Maya grew quiet. “Neither do I.” The gears turned in her head so intensely that she furrowed her brow with the effort. “I’d like to get somewhere I can make a call. Remember Smitty and Amber? They could be a huge help… if they can get here.”

  An image of the old blacksmith and his fiery granddaughter flashed in my mind. We had left them 2500 miles behind in the Washington country, but if anyone knew how to find a way to get across the country, it would be Amber for sure. I highly doubted that a lack of airplanes would stop her. “Not a bad idea. We need all the help we can get. Even if it’s on the other coast right now.” If nothing else, it was a place to start.

  “Maybe they know a little more about what’s going on outside. The news is helpful, but it’s all New York, all the time.” Maya surveyed the population of the safehouse. Her frown deepened. “I shouldn’t have brought everyone up here. It seemed like a good idea at the time—good point of view, easily defensible entrance—but getting out is going to be a nightmare.”

  “Maya, shush.” I squeezed her hand. “You’ve done an amazing job. There are going to be a lot of challenges, no matter what we do. We’ll get through.”

  “Cell service is still awful,” Jules said. “Sometimes, I can get signal for like five seconds, but then it’s out again.”

  Frank moved forward. “I can get ‘em down, Vic. I’ll carry whoever you want. Piece of cake.” As if to illustrate the truth of his statement, he patted his upper arms.

  “You nearly coughed out a lung just getting yourself up here,” I reminded him. “Still, I appreciate it. You’d be good at the bottom, helping people off the ladder.”

  “Some of the kids were scared to come up,” Maya said. “They like him, so maybe they’ll have an easier time climbing down if they see he’s on the ground.”

  Frank nodded, beaming. “See? They love old Uncle Frank. I’ll have the cat with me. They can’t resist it.”

  Trent suddenly shoved himself upright, turning his head away. “This is fucking insane,” he muttered.

  I chose to ignore him. All things considered, it didn’t sound like too bad a plan. We’d just have to move fast and avoid a traffic jam on either end.

  “Uh…” one of the refugees closest to us cut in, jerking his thumb at the TV. “You guys might want to see this.” I stepped closer to try and get a better look.

  Stephenson stood on the street. Whether it was the same one or different, I couldn’t tell. His partly combed dark hair blended into the night, and so did the man who stood beside him, except for a stern, impassive face and a white shirt. The new guy was dressed kind of like Deacon usually was, and he was surrounded by others in the background. A wired earpiece tracked down into his jacket.

  “I’m standing with Agent Gardner of the Federal Catastrophe Division. He has a message for any survivors. Please listen carefully, and do your best to comply. This is a critical situation. We are trying to save your lives.” Stephenson held the microphone out to the suited man, who took it from him.

  “Do you know this guy?” I asked Deacon. He shook his head. Trent didn’t react at all.

  “First and foremost,” the suit was saying, “do not panic. An evacuation point is being set up at Madison Square Garden. You are strongly encouraged to move to that location if at all possible. Law enforcement and medical staff are on standby as the military is being brought in to handle this situation. Extreme caution should be exercised in transit.”

  Maya caught my eye somewhat pleadingly. “Let’s go, Vic. They already have things in place. They’re expecting us.”

  “That’s the problem.” Something about this arrangement struck me as fishy. I didn’t like the look of this man, given what Deacon and I had experienced at the FBI building, and I didn’t like that Deacon didn’t know him. “I think it might be a trap.” To Deacon, I asked, “What’s the Federal Catastrophe Division?”

  “I don’t know for sure, but that doesn’t mean it’s not a real thing.” Deacon pinched the bridge of his nose. “The Bureau was making tons of specialized task forces before things went south, like the group I was with out in Washington. They compartmentalized the shit out of it. We only knew what we needed to know to do what we were told. And I wasn’t even close to the highest security level, which means there was definitely other stuff I had no clue about. Makes sense in practice, but it sure is frustrating under the current circumstances.” He sighed. “At least they’re finally calling in the big guns. That much, I think is the right thing to do.”

  “Vic, please,” Maya persisted. “We’re backed into a corner. These people have to go somewhere.”

  The refugees were starting to tune into our discussion. I looked up to see a multitude of eyes turned toward me, expectant, waiting. Talk began to buzz within the room, low at first, but climbing. “This is bullshit! We can’t just sit here!”

  “We’ll be fish in a barrel if we go there. Why don’t they just package us up and hand us over?”

  “Mama, I’m scared. I don’t want to go out there again.”

  The time for deliberation amongst ourselves had just come to a screeching halt.

  Be cautious, Victoria. The masses are not known for their level temperament.

  Solid counsel from the resident Roman ghost, but things couldn’t be helped. The refugees had voices, and obviously, they had opinions, too. The worst thing for all of us would be a wholesale mutiny. It was time to open the forum to the public—whether we liked it or not.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I moved toward the front of the room, aiming to position myself as close to the TV as possible. Deacon stepped in to help clear a path. Every second, I felt the unrest in the room grow deeper. Raised voices emanated from somewhere in the back. A woman started to cry, and then so did a baby.

  “Hold on!” I called out as soon as I turned to face the group. “Stay calm. We’re not going to get anywhere if we fall apart now.”

  “Who’re you?” someone asked. The group pushed a little closer to me.

  “My name is Vic. If we move, I’ll be leading us. For now, I want to know what you guys think. I don’t expect you to just blindly follow me into potential danger.” They looked at each other and back at me. The snippets of conversation fell away. “Come on. I’m serious. Let me hear it.”

  “There’s not that much room in there,” someone said. “Eight million people in New York, and the government wants to put us in an arena that’s only got twenty thousand seats, tops. Typical.” His remarks were met with a few murmurs of agreement. “How do we know it’s not already full up? That jerk coulda gotten on camera just to save face. I bet they turn us away when we get there.”

  “You’d rather stay here, then?” someone shot back. “Hiding in a two-bedroom deathtrap with no outside light and no security? At least we’ll be protected there.”

  “Twenty thousand is a skewed number anyway,” said a third voice. “That’s just the number of tickets they sell, and it’s just to fill the outer rim. They’re gonna be packing the middle, and if they do that, maybe they can fit way more. Fifty thousand? Sixty? Who knows? Seems like it’s worth a shot to me.”

  I did my best to match faces to voices during this back-and-forth. All the inhabitants of the safehouse were battered and bedraggled, but the debate sparked fire in at least some of their eyes. That was heartening to see.

  “Don’t shoot the messenger, but even fifty thousand is a fraction of the num
bers who could still be here.” Frank’s gruff, slightly hoarse voice stuck out like a sore thumb. “Three million is my estimate, and that’s bein’ conservative. A lotta bodies are going to be shut out of the MSG no matter what. No two ways around it.”

  “All the more reason we should leave right now!” This woman wavered on the edge of hysteria. “I have two babies. I’ll do anything to keep them safe!” She promptly burst into tears, but she kept talking. “If they have a better chance somewhere else, that’s where we’re going. I just want them to live through this.”

  Her kids clung to their mother as she spoke. They looked like twins, moon faced, with huge dark eyes. I saw Maya cover her mouth, her shoulders slumping. Jules put an arm around her.

  “What happens when we bring our kids back on the street?” someone asked. “We were lucky to get out of the other place. We were lucky to make it here. How much longer can that luck hold out? I don’t know, but I’d rather risk my life trying! We’re sittin’ ducks here! The lady’s just thinking about her kids, for Pete’s sake.”

  “And someone said we’ll be fish in a barrel there!” another voice shouted.

  “Screwed if we do, screwed if we don’t, so I say we do it. We ain’t got that much to lose.”

  I rubbed my palm down the length of my face, groaning. “Maybe this was a bad idea. I could’ve tried to herd them like sheep.”

  Nonsense, Victoria. We both know you possess too much honor to simply move human beings like cattle. And if these people are anything like you are, they would have defied you anyway. Who knows how many you could have lost then? At least they have a chance to arrive at a shared conclusion this way.

  “Right, but I feel like the clock is ticking. If we all die shouting at each other, none of this is going to make a difference.”

  Tell me your opinion, as frankly, it is the one I hold in the highest esteem. And then I will tell you mine, and we will see where we stand. There is a solution. I am sure of it.