The Seventh Sons (Sycamore Moon Series Book 1)

by Domino Finn

  A smug look flashed across Angelica's face. She put her hands on her hips and stood with one leg shot out to the side. It was just as if she were having an argument with a high school friend. Somehow the presence of armed men didn't sway her, and it almost appeared as if she were looking for a fight.

  "Can you imagine?" asked Mom in disdain. "One of my own. A lesbian! Falling in love with this short thing? A cute smile and a full behind, and Melody was putty in her arms. Disgusting!"

  The biker saw Maxim's stern expression and realized the reason for it. The detective was unyielding to some extent, that was sure, but there was more here. Because of his wife, he'd had a relationship with Deborah. He knew her, maybe better than anyone here, even Doka. Maxim had probably known that they were dead men the moment she had stepped between the train cars and revealed herself.

  Now, with the revelation that Mom was planning to have Angelica killed all along, their fate was all but sealed. Conversation wasn't getting them out of this, and the marshal wasn't coming.

  Diego shied the high sun away with his arm. Doka stepped to the side and eclipsed the blinding light. His silhouette on top of the train car outlined a menacing figure. The rifle he held fired faster and had more bullets than the pistol in Diego's hand. Sure, he had silver and they didn't, but when did a copperhead ever lack efficacy against human flesh? The three of them weren't surviving a shootout.

  The sun caught his eyes again. Doka was shifting back and forth. The man was getting antsy. Something was making him restless. Mom, too, continued to pace in the courtyard.

  Aggressiveness, agitation, malcontent—those were all signs that Diego had been trained for years to look for. How long did they have?

  Like a man treading water with the final life of his muscles, Diego had to stall for time. It seemed futile to bargain for only a moment more of life, but Maxim had stayed Deborah's gun and the CDC woman was still alive. She might still end up dead, but other possibilities existed. That's all that mattered.

  And so Diego, too, began the dance.

  Deborah tilted her head to the sides as she stretched her neck muscles. Once again she raised the gun, only this time, it was pointed at Angelica.

  "You're focusing on the wrong person," said the biker. Diego readied his hand in case he needed to fire.

  Mom fluttered her eyelids dismissively. "Oh, I'm quite sure I want her dead."

  Diego took a step towards Doka's train car to diminish his firing angle. "Not death. I'm speaking of acceptance."

  Deborah wasn't comfortable. She was annoyed that she didn't know what he was talking about. "What?" she asked unceremoniously.

  "My sister has always had dangerous tastes—that's why she landed on the doorstep of your clubhouse—but no one is forcing you to accept her. The Seventh Sons don't need to vote her in. As president, you could guarantee that. Accepting Angelica was never your real concern."

  Diego looked to the Yavapai in the opposite corner. The man had a bead on Maxim, who was further out into the courtyard than Diego was. The detective was closer to Mom, and Doka had a clearer line of sight to him too. The biker shot Maxim a glare to give him a heads-up that it was almost time. He could only hope the man understood the message.

  Diego saw Mom watching him with a suspicious eye. "You asked the question," he said. "A long time ago, dedicated mothers and fathers, who would never otherwise have dreamt of hurting their children, hiked out into the unmapped woods and placed their babies in the grass. Boys would be abandoned simply for being a seventh son. These children were communally considered unlucky and were feared to be—"

  "Werewolves," finished Deborah, putting her gun at her hip and stepping closer to the biker. There was something curious about the way she studied him. "Are you a fan of historical mythology, Diego?"

  He raised an eyebrow and cocked his head. "It was never my best subject, but the Commissioned Corps maintained an active interest in such matters."

  Doka grumbled and Deborah's orange eyes lit up. "So you're an assassin?"

  "I didn't like the killing. I quit."

  "I see," said Mom with a scornful look. "So you're a killer who's studied your prey. It doesn't surprise me that you know the origins of our name."

  "I also know of the lesson."

  A spiteful grin consumed the president's face as she turned to share a laugh with Doka. But she nodded and agreed to humor the biker. "And what lesson, pray tell, is that?"

  Diego spoke earnestly. "Werewolves, seventh sons, were spurned by their loved ones and left out to die. They were and still are considered outcasts, but you and I know it doesn't need to be this way. My sister may rub you the wrong way, but the person that you really care about, the one who you must truly learn to accept, is Melody."

  Mom's head pulled back in disgust and Diego continued. "The girl is being treated as an outcast by you, and all this posturing and complaining is ignoring the root of your ire."

  Mom stared at the biker with wild eyes, perhaps struggling with a truth she must have already known. The woman was not accustomed to looking inward, Diego thought, and after her actions over the past two years, it would have been difficult to like what she saw. People usually didn't react wisely when their perceptions of themselves became disjointed.

  "A killer with a conscience," said Mom dryly, as if to write him off. She waved her pistol at his sister. "A slut with ambition. And," she said, giving Maxim a look of hatred, "a fool with a cause. All of you have proven to be dangerous."

  Maxim grunted in frustration. "You blame everybody but yourself!" Deborah raised her gun at the sudden outburst. "You turned Lola against me. I had my part, but you cultivated our split. You convinced Lola to turn. She had no dreams of becoming a wolf without you. She didn't even know who Nithya was; you were the one who Lola trusted. Silencing the people who remind you of your problems doesn't do anything to actually fix them."

  Aside from wood crackling in the fire, the train square was silent for what seemed like an eternity. Deborah stood defiant yet wounded, with watery eyes. Nithya was much worse, already broken. She stood in the sun yet her mind was in shadow, and she couldn't bear to look at anyone. Maxim was heaving, nearer to the two of them, carelessly putting himself at risk. The Yavapai in the distance was flexing his shoulders, and Doka continued shifting from his right leg to his left. And Angelica, without a care for the hardware or resentment they faced, puffed her chest out as if her confidence were weapon enough.

  All was serene for that moment until Diego heard Doka's rifle cock above his head. The biker didn't know if he was checking his weapon or if he had reloaded it, but Diego took a step closer to the base of the platform to break the foul man's line of sight.

  Mom gathered her thoughts enough to speak. "I intend to live, and I do apologize, but leaving you alive would lower those odds." Deborah looked to the sky even though the new moon wouldn't have been visible. "You know what time nears, assassin. Perhaps, had you remained in service, you would have been equipped with silver, but you and I both know that little gun of yours is useless now."

  Diego pulled the sunglasses from his face, sighed, and threw them to the dirt. Then he brought the weapon up a measure and made a show of examining it.

  "It's not my gun," he said plainly.

  Deborah cocked her head slightly. She jerked it to the side and looked at Nithya's bag, which was on the ground beside her. With a quickness Diego hadn't seen from her before, Mom spun around. "That's a CDC weapon!" she yelled to the others. She sprung away from Diego, running past the burning barrel, away from the two men. "They've got silver bullets! Kill them!"

  iv.

  Everything happened at once.

  As Deborah ran deeper into the courtyard, she pointed her pistol backwards and fired at the group. She was more concerned with not getting shot than hitting anything, however.

  Maxim, whether trying to suppress her or put her down, immediately raised his gun and fired a burst at her. She grunted as a round penetrated her shoulder. The
panicked woman stopped shooting and pressed to the edge of the opposite train car to exit the shootout. She was, however, the least of their concerns.

  The Yavapai behind the right rail car waited for Mom to clear his line of fire before sending a barrage of automatic rounds Maxim's way. The detective ran back and jumped onto the steps and into the half-open door of the train car they were standing next to. A quick succession of bullets panged against the thick steel of the wall, sending them ricocheting into the dirt and sky.

  Nithya Rao immediately dropped to the floor. She feebly covered her head for protection, scrambling to pick up her duffel bag and case of medicine.

  Diego's main concern was defense, not attack. He needed to get his sister out of the middle of this war zone. He thrust his arm straight up into the air and fired some silver shots at the looming figure of Doka as he pressed his body against the train car the Native American was standing on. Diego held his free hand toward Angelica, trying to pull her behind cover. She looked at him, her eyes shaking, for the first time understanding their predicament, and extended her arm to his.

  As she stood there in the sun, her frantic motion was reduced to a single moment where she appeared stationary. Her pose was mired in beauty and desperation as she reached out to her brother. The beam of light that fell across her face was cut out as a figure blocked the rays of the sun. Then the shots rang out.

  A quick series of bullets from above cut through Angelica's side, running up her thigh to her ribs. She hopped a step towards Diego before her body shut down, and she crumpled to the ground.

  "No!" yelled Diego, trying to jump up the side of the car and angling his pistol over the edge. He fired a few harried shots that almost certainly missed their mark. Flush with the surface of the steel, he could neither see Doka, nor was he exposed to his fire. Diego stared at his sister as she struggled to lift her head from the grass. She wouldn't make it long and he needed to kill Doka before he could attend to her. He needed to draw the man away.

  "Hold on," Diego whispered.

  The biker heard some loud steps on top of the car and looked up. Doka peeked over the edge. They both shot at the other, but Diego jumped away and retreated out of the square, taking cover behind the green train car that Maxim was inside. That wouldn't be far enough.

  He heard a solid crash as Doka jumped from one rail car to the other. An empty clip dropped on the floor next to him as the man above reloaded. Diego ran as fast as he could away from the courtyard.

  Automatic rifle fire opened up and trailed in the dirt behind the biker. As he reached an old rusted husk suspended on blocks, Diego slid into the gravel and slipped underneath the steel barrier to the other side. Gunfire rang out loudly against the metal—it jarred his senses but did not penetrate through to him.

  Diego picked himself up and stood with his back to the structure, against the supporting cinder blocks, breathing hard.

  He had succeeded in drawing Doka away from the square. Now what?

  v.

  Maxim hunched over his knees with his back to the wall. His second mag was empty. It had taken a lot of fire to suppress the Yavapai with the assault rifle.

  The detective patted at his chest and stomach under his jacket. Was he hit? Why hadn't he worn his vest today?

  He looked down. No blood. He had probably just landed on a rib when he dove to the floor.

  The detective quickly peeked his head around the doorway. The Indian was waiting in the same spot behind cover. He was leaning against the back side of the right train car, exposing only his head and right arm as the rifle rested on a metal railing.

  Maxim barely pulled back as bullets whizzed past his head and into a cabinet on the far wall. The Yavapai had a bead on his position. Maxim couldn't continue peeking out from the same spot.

  The detective reached for his belt and pulled out his remaining magazine. Fifteen silver rounds. If this was the last of his ammunition, he would need to be more accurate. The smooth metal of the cartridge slid into his Glock with a satisfying click.

  His only chance was the draw the man out. Maxim stood up and wondered how he would manage to escape the train car without getting hit. He needed to see into the courtyard first, to see what was out there. The open door was near the back of the train car, but he was standing on the left side of it. All he could see was the right train car that the Yavapai was behind.

  Maxim took a nervous breath and crossed the doorway to reach the back of the car. More shots butchered the cabinet but he was left untouched. Although Maxim didn't have a nook to tuck away in and was exposed to whatever was outside the door, the Yavapai's angle of fire had been cut off. He would need to step out into the courtyard to fire upon Maxim, and that's the spot he trained his gun on.

  In the meantime, Maxim could monitor the scene to the left of the doorway now, into the square. He saw Nithya crouching against the far train car, holding her bag, in the opposite corner he was in. She was petrified.

  He also saw Angelica's legs in the corner of his view. She was lying on the ground motionless, probably hit. Maxim would have needed to poke his head out to see more, and he couldn't afford to do that just yet.

  Where was Deborah? She had escaped to the far side somewhere. Surely she was close by, waiting to strike...

  The Yavapai stepped into Maxim's sight with his weapon raised. Maxim popped off five shots and at least two of them met the man before his opponent had managed to pull the trigger. The Indian buckled and carelessly fired the rifle towards the detective, before pulling back to his previous position. The man was hurt. Now Maxim could see what that silver was worth.

  Suddenly, Nithya screamed. Still in her heels, she ran clumsily, trying to get away from something. A wolf with brown and white markings trotted into view. The animal wasn't especially small or large, but it had a ferocity that was unmatched by normal wildlife.

  The beast leaped and landed on her. Nithya was tackled onto her chest as the animal bit down into the top of her shoulder, inches from her neck. The wolf shook her head violently back and forth, twisting Nithya like a rag doll.

  Maxim discharged his weapon. The wolf moved away, biting down with her teeth, dragging Nithya beneath her. It took three more shots before the wolf released her prey and bounded away.

  She slipped behind another train car—hiding like the rest of them. He thought it odd but he could've sworn that the wolf, running away, had no tail. No matter. Maxim didn't have time for such trivialities. He knew that the animal was just around corner, waiting.

  Nithya ripped her business jacket off. The top half of her white shirt was soaked in blood. As she awkwardly tried to sit up, she held the jacket against her wound to stop the bleeding.

  The detective picked up movement in the corner of his eye and looked to Angelica again. She wasn't there. It was quick, but it looked like she had been dragged away.

  Shit.

  The detective returned his attention to Nithya. The woman was giving herself a shot from a small syringe. The plastic case she had collected was sitting open next to her. What was she doing?

  Then Maxim saw the brown and white wolf reemerge from behind the distant rail car. He squared his pistol, taking careful aim, and released a round.

  The wolf's jaw clamped down on Nithya's hand and jerked her backwards.

  Suddenly, bullets whizzed by Maxim's head. The detective ducked and saw the Yavapai back in the open. Maxim ran to the left and fired two more shots to back the Indian off.

  Now, Nithya and Angelica were both missing.

  The detective huddled next to the doorway again and listened as Doka and Diego fired at each other in the distance. Yet his two foes remained silent.

  What was going on out there?

  Where was the marshal?

  And what could he do with only three bullets?

  vi.

  Diego knew Doka was back there. He could have been right around the corner. Ideally, he would have waited longer and let the man reveal himself by making a sound, bu
t Angelica didn't have that kind of time.

  The biker spun around the corner of the metal husk and brandished his pistol. Nothing. Diego pulled back around.

  Some automatic weapons fire emerged in the distance. It was followed by a shot from Maxim. Good—he was still alive.

  Diego ducked down and peeked under the train car, between the cinder blocks. He didn't see any movement, so he hopped lightly to the other corner.

  Suddenly, right next to him, Doka emerged at the end of the barrier. At point blank, Diego pulled his hand up and fired a shot. It penetrated the Yavapai's shoulder and the man screamed in pain.

  Instead of firing again, Diego saw Doka's rifle rotating towards him. He pressed both hands against it to hold it off. Doka discharged multiple rounds right next to the biker's face.

  Everything went quiet for a moment as the two became locked, pushing their metal together. Diego's ears rang loudly as his hearing returned, and he almost seemed to lose his balance under the force of the stronger man.

  Diego's pistol was pressed against the rifle—he couldn't pull it away or he'd be dead—but he tried to aim it at Doka as much as he could. He pulled the trigger and fired two shots.

  Doka bent away to the side to avoid the attack and tried to do the same. The automatic rifle clicked as it spent its remaining ammo.

  The two men look at each other as they quickly processed the new development.

  The biker pushed himself off the Indian and backed up a step, homing his pistol on the man's torso. A good central hit should weaken the man and suppress the wolf.