Sanctuary: A Post Apocalyptic Dystopian Thriller (Surrender the Sun Book 2)

by A. R. Shaw

  “You too, Geller.”

  “I’m not armed.”

  Bishop nearly smiled. “Everyone’s armed. Keep your hands up.”

  Easing the pilot and then the old man out of the cockpit, Bishop led them out the side door; that’s when he slipped in the blood of the men he’d killed in order to save those he loved.

  Chapter Eleven

  The first thing Bishop noticed when he exited the craft behind his two prisoners was the utter lack of noise. They were not winning the war when he entered the craft. His only consolation was to kill as many as he could and hope to gain control of the craft and somehow negotiate the rest. Looking out over the ice now, he could see why. Intermingled with the bodies, twice as many men stood next to their snowmobiles. The people of Rockford Bay had answered a distress call, or they saw the plane and showed up on their own. They came to help from across the frozen lake. He’d never thought there was enough time to call for their assistance, but perhaps someone sent word. There were a lot more bodies lying on the ice than there were men standing as is the aftermath of war.

  They stood staring at him in silence, and then Bishop raised his knife above his head; likewise, the men surrounding him raised their rifles and screamed out in victory. It seemed a corny reaction…like out of a movie even, but it was also appropriate…somehow a release of energy in triumph when they thought all was lost.

  Moments later, a few men wandered from body to body, checking for a pulse if they were a friend or sending a mercy shot through those who were not. It was a massacre by any measure. So stunned was Bishop that he failed to see Mr. Geller raise his leg to kick Bishop in his injured thigh again as he reached for his weapon. The effort would have worked had a single gunshot to Geller’s head not stopped him first.

  Bishop lay on the ground then. A hand reached for him. A familiar hand. Jax’s hand.

  “Guess I got here just in time.”

  “That you did, Jax. Thanks.”

  The pilot before them knelt on the ice with his hands behind his head. He wanted no part in the dying, it seemed.

  “Looks like you got a new bird?” Jax asked as he got Bishop back into a standing position.

  Bishop peeled back the fabric on his stab wound in the thigh from which oozed quite a lot of blood, as were the other various cuts he’d sustained in the fight for the Osprey. “Yeah,” he said to Jax, “we couldn’t let it go.”

  Jax regarded him and all the blood covering nearly his whole body. “Nearly cost you enough.”

  “Just enough,” Bishop said and then suddenly noticed a black cat running away from Jax toward the hotel. He was about to say something of the odd appearance, when he saw Austin appear in the distance. His father lay in a pool of blood before him. He wasn’t sure how the boy would take the death.

  Watching for a reaction, Bishop saw that Austin saw his father lying there on the ground, his eyes transfixed on the body. He stopped and stared, his MP7 slung over his shoulder still. Austin lifted his eyes a bit dazed and said, “We’re clear. I think we got them all.”

  Bishop was a little relieved, but he knew the boy would grieve soon—maybe not right now but soon. In his mind there was no scenario where Geller lived. Not for long anyway.

  “You’re injured,” Austin said. “Let’s get you taken care of.”

  Noticing that he was beginning to get the shakes from the cold and adrenaline rush, he shook his head. “Can’t. Got to go get Maeve first.”

  “I can do that,” Jax said. “In the storage unit?”

  “She won’t open the door for anyone but me.”

  “She’ll do it for me,” Austin said.

  Trembling, Bishop had the fleeting thought he’d lost more blood now than he’d realized. Whatever was happening, he doubted he’d get to the hideout on his own. Part of the trembling was coming off the adrenaline still rushing through his veins.

  “I’ll get Jake,” Austin suggested.

  “No!” Bishop said but wished he hadn’t yelled so harshly. The effort cost him. And then everything seemed a little darker than it had before—the sky more bleak, the blood on the ice darker; then his vision blackened in from the sides and then disappeared altogether.

  Chapter Twelve

  The shots ended, the shouting subsided, and then there was silence. A deafening silence. Carrying the weight of the sleeping child in her arms, she laid Louna down on a stack of blankets that Ben had set up for her. They made each move mutely, more to keep their hearing hypervigilant than to give their position away, although that was intended too. When Maeve detected a crunching in the snow, she looked to Ben.

  His eyes widened as he shook his head as if to say, I didn’t make that sound.

  The sound came again and then repeated at slight intervals.

  She knew what she must do then and so did Ben. He pulled his rifle out before him and nodded at her. Such a courageous boy. She’d seen that brave resolve in her son a lot lately. It was a remarkable thing to witness in your own child—the appearance of courage in one so young.

  Steps coming closer, she stepped outside of the barricade and closed them inside together and hurried to the hidden exit door at the back—a recent addition Bishop put in the unit in the last two weeks. The door opened at a rise to accommodate the accumulating snow and ice. Peeking around the corner, she saw no one coming nor any footsteps from her vantage point. She listened again intently. The silence ringing in her ears, she decided whoever it was had stopped. She knew better to think he was gone for good.

  Inching her way out of the doorframe, the subtle noise of her own movement prompted a response from the mystery footman. He or she began to run toward her. Maeve hurried around the side, careless now of the noises she made.

  “Maeve? Maeve, are you there?”

  She knew that voice. It wasn’t Bishop, though. “Austin?”

  “Oh, thank God!” Austin said, and she ran around the front of the storage unit to see him standing there shaken and watching the pool of blood seeping from underneath the doorway.

  “Austin?”

  She swallowed hard. Why was he here and not Bishop?

  “Where’s Bishop, Austin?”

  “He’s fine. Well, I mean he fainted or something, but he’s not dead.”

  “What?”

  “He’s injured, but the guy in the furs said it wasn’t life threatening.”

  “The guy in the furs?”

  “Yeah, Jack? I didn’t really catch his name.”

  “You mean, Jax? He’s here? Let me get the kids.”

  She turned to go back through the side entrance when Austin said, “Maeve?” She turned, and he pointed to the blood trail in the snow.

  Sighing, she said, “It was Cora. She didn’t make it.”

  “Oh jeez, I’m so sorry.”

  “I’ve got to pull her out of there.”

  “Look, let me take care of her. Get the kids, and get back to Bishop. He was worried about you. He wanted to come, but we wouldn’t let him.”

  “The fighting…it’s over, right?”

  “Yeah. The cavalry came in from Rockford Bay just in time. We lost a lot of people, but Bishop got us through.”

  “That man in the lobby…he was your father, right?”

  Austin didn’t answer right away. His blue eyes bored into her. Clearing his throat he said, “Yeah, he’s dead now.”

  “Austin, I’m sorry.”

  He shook his head. “Can’t think about that right now. Go get the kids,” he said and waved her off.

  She didn’t waste time. Thankful for the offer, she ran back to the secure room. She carried Louna the whole way back, her body vibrating with each movement. The girl probably fell to sleep in shock, but there was nothing to do about it now. She needed to get them back and warmed up. The whole disaster caused all of them too much energy; losing your body heat in this type of environment could kill quickly.

  The last she saw of Austin was him wrapping Cora’s body in a heavy woolen blanket. There was n
o burying the dead right now. They couldn’t even reach the ground for all the frozen ice atop. No, they were either burned or wrapped in blankets and piled up with as much dignity as possible. This was a life she wished on no one.

  By the time she made the trip back to the hotel, she was exhausted, and Ben’s jaw chattered. “Come on, let’s get inside, son.”

  One of the guards saw her coming and ran out to help her with the child she carried. He ushered them into the lobby, where hot coffee and tea was available for those who really needed it. At that point she was ready to drink even hot water if that was the only thing available—getting anything warm into your body was the best option. As the others cared for Louna, Maeve took Ben’s ice-covered gloves off and rubbed his bare hands with her own by the fireplace. “Come on, sweetie, drink the tea.”

  “I’m all right, Mom.”

  “I know…just let me be a mom,” she said and hugged her son to her side.

  “Where’s Bishop?” Ben asked.

  “That’s what I’m about to find out,” she said and stopped a lady they called Cook, who brought her the drinks and managed the kitchen like a drill sergeant.

  “He’s in the conference room,” Cook replied. Her lips formed a straight line. “That guy is taking care of him. He won’t let the rest of us inside.”

  “Jax, you mean.”

  “I don’t know who he thinks he is, but he orders us around, and he isn’t very nice.”

  “That’s Jax all right. Bring us to him.”

  “Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. I have two girls hiding in the kitchen in tears already because of him.”

  “You’re lucky he hasn’t put you all to sleep yet,” she mumbled, and Cook looked at her curiously. Maeve shook her head with a little smile. This was going to be fun. She knew Jax was difficult to deal with, but his skills were what they needed, and having him around was going to be both a blessing and a troublesome curse.

  “He’s in there. Good luck.” Cook didn’t stay around to help, neither attempted to open the door for them.

  Maeve smiled at Ben and then knocked briefly before entering. When she did, she heard an abrupt “Who the hell is it now?”

  “It’s us,” she said when she entered. Bishop was there, lying on blankets atop the long conference table. Blood soaked into the sheets. “Is he…is he all right?” Maeve asked, her voice in a high pitch.

  “Bishop?” she said, running to his side; her heart pounded out of her chest. Bishop lay there helpless, his body exposed except for his underwear. There were blood-soaked bandages all over his arms and a ghastly one over his right thigh. She’d never seen him so vulnerable. With his eyes closed, his expression looked peaceful. She pressed her fingers to his neck, checking for his pulse.

  She shook her head. “What…?”

  Jax let out a frustrated bark, “He’s fine, lady. He lost a lot of blood. I put him to sleep so his body would help heal the wounds. He was exhausted. He lost consciousness, and then when we got him in here, I patched him up. He woke up when I was stitching the thigh wound. So I put him back to sleep. That’s all he needs now. He’ll wake up in the morning.”

  That was the most she’d ever heard Jax say at once, and it looked like it cost him. He kept glancing at Ben and her. Assessing them somehow, she suspected. That’s when her eye caught on something dark jetting by along the wall. Ben yelled “Jet?” and ran after the cat.

  “You found him?” Maeve looked dumbfounded at Jax and glanced at her son petting the cat.

  With a stern expression, Jax said, “I found him roaming around your burned-out house. He started following me around.” Jax found something on his arm to pick at. “I couldn’t just leave him there,” he barked.

  Smiling at the man, he diverted her attention by saying, “Where’s the girl?”

  Surprised he cared, she said, “She’s in the lobby. Someone attacked us on our way to safety, and her mother was killed while we tried to get away.”

  “Goddammit, where is she?”

  “She’s in the lobby. Like I said, she may be in shock.”

  Jax wore an old gray Henley and had some kind of suede leather style of pants on. They looked homemade but comfortable. He wrapped one of his furs around his shoulders and brushed past them. Catching a whiff of severe body odor, she crinkled her nose as he left the conference room.

  “Is Bishop going to be okay, Mom?”

  Her son tentatively touched Bishop’s shoulder. She watched as Bishop’s chest rose with each breath. “I think so, baby.”

  She didn’t want to give her son false hope. He’d lost one father already, and what a cruelty it would be to do that to him again.

  As she ran her fingers through Bishop’s hair to get the locks out of his face, she pulled her son to her side and kissed the top of his head.

  That’s when she jumped when she heard a woman shriek and went quickly to the door to see what the commotion was all about.

  “You can’t just take her! Put her down!” Cook yelled.

  And then the sound of a shotgun pump brought Maeve out into the hallway quickly.

  When she got there, Cook held Jax at gunpoint as he held Louna in his arms.

  “It’s okay!” Maeve said with her hands up in the air. “He’s only trying to help her.”

  “Put her down!” Cook yelled again. “I’m warning you!”

  There was one thing she’d learned from Cook: you didn’t want to cross her—especially when she was pissed.

  “Cook!” Maeve yelled and walked quickly to wedge herself between Jax and the woman with the shotgun.

  “I swear he’s just going to help her. I know he’s an ornery cuss, but, please, let him help her.”

  Cook looked betrayed. Her eyes cut into Maeve. “Only because it’s you, Maeve. You stay with him, though, and keep him out of my sight!”

  She acquiesced. “I’ll do that. Come on, Jax, let’s get back.”

  They walked away, and as Jax brought Louna into the conference room, Maeve glanced back at Cook, who was steaming mad, just barely lowering the shotgun. For a fleeting moment, she thought maybe Jax had met his match with Cook.

  “Damn woman. Friend of yours?” Jax muttered.

  Seeing her son standing in the hallway with Jet by his ankles, she realized he was torn between going with his mother and staying behind with Bishop. Even these small separations resulted in anxiety or in Ben’s case that pensive look he got when he chewed on his left index finger.

  “It’s okay, buddy,” she said as Jax swung his large frame carrying the tiny girl into the room.

  He put her down on the surface of a small credenza. She watched Jax as he assessed her. Putting his ear to her chest, he listened.

  “She…” Maeve began, but he put up an arm to silence her words.

  Maeve made a face to her son, who raised his eyebrows.

  Jax said, “Lungs aren’t as bad as they were, but her pulse is slow. Did you say her mother was shot?”

  “Yes, she died.”

  “Did the girl see this happen?”

  “I’m afraid she did.”

  Jax nodded. “She’s in shock, and in her condition, that’s not good,” he said and began digging in his pack, pulling out random items, one of which, when he twisted off the lid, smelled awful, but she knew that smell. He’d used that concoction before.

  “See if that…woman can boil a kettle of water—if she’s capable,” Jax ordered with a sideways glance at them.

  “If I didn’t know better, Jax, I’d say you liked her.”

  The piercing glare he shot back at her made her take her son’s hand and leave the room quickly.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The cries came in waves, men in agony calling out, begging for death’s swift breach. There was nothing he could do for them now. Pinned in, the Chinese had them cornered. Nearly out of ammo, he searched the darkened area around him for more from his fallen comrades using his NVGs. The night brought horrors, more so than any nightmare. T
he air was so thick with the smell of gunpowder that it was like a cold winter’s day with too much creosote to breathe in comfortably. It pained your lungs in time.

  Then blinded by the light of an arsenal exploding, Bishop threw off the goggles, and the blackness brought about terrors of the unseen. There was no winning in war, only surviving. Finally, he felt around where he’d last seen the soldier’s body nearby and grabbed the magazine from his side waist. Nothing was ever easy. He had to painstakingly free debris by brushing away the mud collected around the equipment inside and then slide the magazine into the rifle. All the while, dead men were now calling out for their mothers. That’s when he knew their lives were almost over. Once they beckoned for her, they knew time was lost to them, only regretting her broken heart in the end.

  He was saddened by the ensuing silence and angry he couldn’t save them. The helplessness forbade him from having mercy. Without a second thought, from somewhere deep inside, he refused to be pinned in no more. Bishop tore from his space and slaughtered all the enemy he could find, without any remorse or conscious human effort. Even the very young soldiers aiming at him, he ripped through them—if not by gunfire, then by blade. Some of the faces he saw were no more than twelve years old. He didn’t see them then, but he would see them in his dreams every night since.

  “Bishop?”

  A dim ray of light came with the voice. The voice he recognized as Maeve’s. She became the only light he would reach for. If it weren’t for her now, he’d continue the slaughter in his nightmares.

  With effort, the darkness crumpled around him. His eyes fluttered open a small crescent. She stood above him, her red hair cascading down around her face. “Hi,” he said. Then panicked, he asked, “Where’s Ben?”

  She smiled. He thought she might cry.

  “He’s fine. He’s asleep. I hear you won the war.”

  Confused for a second if she meant the nightmare he’d just awakened from, he chuckled. “I can’t take credit for that. It was a group effort.”