THE LEGION
Book Two of the Legacy Trilogy
MELISSA DELPORT
First published by Melissa Delport, 2013
This edition published by Tracey McDonald Publishers, 2014
Office: 5 Quelea Street, Fourways, Johannesburg, South Africa, 2191
www.traceymcdonaldpublishers.com
Copyright text © Melissa Delport 2014
All rights reserved
The moral right of the author has been asserted
ISBN 978-0-620-59641-1
e-ISBN (ePUB) 978-0-620-59640-4
e-ISBN (PDF) 978-0-620-59639-8
Text design and typesetting by Reneé Naudé
Cover design by Wendy Bow
Printed and bound by Pinetown Printers (Pty) Ltd
Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
For my babies, my three beautiful children who are by far my greatest achievement – Mama’s done it again!
Acknowledgements
This book wouldn’t have been possible without the unwavering support of my amazing husband Murray who is truly my biggest fan, although he has never read a page of my work.
My special girlfriends – Annamarie Gey van Pittius and Wendy Bow – who have been my biggest support team, and have not once let me consider that my books would be anything less than a huge success. Here’s to Malibu, ladies . . . one day! Wendy, for all your hard work: cover design, proofreading, and above all your astounding honesty – only a true friend would tell you that a scene is awful and needs to be removed in its entirety. No, not edited; removed.
My beta reader Norma Neill, so much gratitude!
Clinton Green – my “pro bono” website administrator, for keeping me out of trouble.
Pam Thornley, “editor extraordinaire”, who has more talent in her little finger than I could ever dream of. Without you, I would never learn.
Tracey McDonald, my publisher – there are truly not enough words in my head to express my gratitude for your support and encouragement.
And finally – to everyone who read The Legacy and hounded me for the sequel which pressured me into producing it in record time, thank you so much for all your words of encouragement and for being my ambassadors. I hope you enjoy!
leg·ion
A large military unit trained for combat; an army.
“I know not with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones.”
Albert Einstein
Prologue
It had been four months since the battle that was supposed to change our world. Four months since I murdered my husband Eric Dane, and I still cannot believe that nothing has changed. If anything, things have become worse.
After the nuclear holocaust of 2016, mankind faced extinction. It was never determined who detonated the first nuclear bomb, which country had been responsible for the destruction of our world, but it no longer mattered. The few who survived the war lived through the bleakest of winters; a primal existence became the new order, and the little that remained of our humanity hung in the balance. Until Eric Dane, who became President of the New United States of America (NUSA) in 2039, restored order. He shepherded a select few into ten of the Mid-Western States and erected the boundary fences to keep us safe. He rebuilt the cities; and technology, particularly in the fields of biotechnology, nanotechnology and genetic engineering, advanced far beyond anything we could have dreamed of before the war. Eric focused on what he needed to retain his supreme power and enhancement of human abilities was at the forefront of that priority. Research on brain-and-body-alteration technologies accelerated under his rule, enabling him to create an army of ‘super-soldiers’ so that no one could oppose him. Guns and traditional weapons were destroyed and all weapons engineering was abolished, supposedly to prevent us from ever repeating the bloody mistakes of our past but, in reality, to ensure that Eric’s army remained uncontested.
His obsession with genetic engineering resulted in other important fields of technology being neglected. Satellite communications, for example, were limited to within a few hundred miles of the States. We did not know what had become of the rest of the world, if there were others out there like us, if anyone else survived. We may never know. The New United States was our only continent, our only home. We were prohibited from entering the wastelands outside the fences for our own safety, due to the high level of radioactivity and the deranged inhabitants who posed a danger to our society. At least that was what we were told.
I was born in 2017 in Michigan. Michigan is one of the ten NUSA states, along with Indiana, Illinois, Missouri, Iowa, Wisconsin, Minnesota, Nebraska and both North and South Dakota. I was raised by my mother Cara, my aunt Jessie and Jonathan Moore. Jonathan lost his wife in the mayhem that reigned shortly after the war and he stumbled across my family’s hiding place a few months later. He and his young son Aidan became firm members of our family.
I grew up oblivious to the truth. I believed, as did everyone else, that Eric Dane was the hero of our time, the man who had saved us from our own demise. That is, until my biological father found me when I was nineteen years old and enlightened me to the truth. He informed me that the sterilisation programme, border control and curfew laws were not acceptable, were not normal. That thousands had been abandoned in the wilderness where they fought to survive, while in the safety of the States we had more than enough food and water to go around. Beyond the borders, the Resistance grew and began to fight for freedom from the oppression that Eric Dane had foisted upon us.
The genetic procedures that enabled mankind to create super-soldiers were pioneered by my own father, Jeffrey Davis. I had believed him dead; a casualty of the holocaust, but he had survived in a fallout shelter at the Pentagon in Arlington County. When he emerged, along with Vice-President Kenneth Williams, they joined forces with General Harrison Ross and together these three men founded the Resistance, with the aim of restoring democracy.
My father had gone to work for Eric Dane in order to feed back information to the Resistance. He was a vital asset for the up-and-coming leader of our nation. It was his research and expertise that finally enabled Eric to eliminate the physical barriers and bridge the gap between human and post-human; man and ‘super’ man. Using a highly complex procedure involving vectors and the direct manipulation of the human genome, people could be “Gifted” with one of three abilities – speed, strength or the ability to heal. The procedures were very risky, the mortality rate high and so the super-soldiers were only ever Gifted with one ability, colloquially known as the Law of One. Speed or strength were by far the most common abilities given to soldiers. The gift of healing was rarer and usually reserved for people with intellectual capabilities considered crucial, those whose presence was imperative. They did not fight, but they could not easily be killed.
As far as I knew there had only ever been three exceptions to the Law of One. Only three people who defied the odds and survived three gruelling procedures to become the ultimate weapons in the war that was coming. Eric’s general Nina Lee was one, but she was killed in the final battle four months ago. Reed McCoy, my second-in-command, was another. He was a force to be reckoned with, possibly the most lethal man on the planet. I was the third exception. My name is Rebecca Davis. I am twenty-six years old and the leader of the Legion, super-soldier, mother, fr
iend. More importantly, I am a woman who will not stop until this war is finally, truly over.
I sacrificed so much to the cause, to overthrowing Eric’s tyrannical rule and it seemed it was all for nothing. On the day of the final battle between the Dane Army and the members of my own army, the Legion, many lives were lost, people I cared about, people I loved. This war took from me the only real father I had ever known, Jonathan Moore, and the man that I loved, his son Aidan. Aidan was my best friend and the father of my child. I had loved him all my life, but I had left him to fight for the Resistance, a decision that had cost me dearly. I had married my enemy, and in doing so, I had sold my soul to the devil. All in the hope of a better world, a better future for my son Alex and countless other Americans who deserved their freedom, their right to live as they chose. When my husband Eric discovered my duplicity I fled into the barren lands, the home of the Rebels, and for one brief moment I believed that I might regain Aidan’s love and affection, that we might one day be together in a changed world, a world filled with hope. But that was not to be. It was too little, too late. Eric captured and tortured Aidan, and then he made me watch him die.
I got my revenge. Eric died by my hand. We overcame his army, and fleetingly believed that our mission was over, that freedom was finally within our grasp. Our victory, however, was short-lived. We had not even recovered from the loss of casualties in the final battle when the boundary fences were suddenly and inexplicably manned by countless NUSA soldiers, hundreds of warriors all genetically enhanced with the ability of speed or strength.
Unable to overcome such a force, we retreated into the barren lands to lick our wounds and try to figure out what had happened. We went home, to Las Vegas, Nevada, the headquarters of the Resistance.
Now we faced a new danger, one without a face, without a name. An unknown enemy who was far more dangerous than Eric Dane. I have to find the strength to go on. I will not stop until this is over. I owe it to myself, my son, my family, friends and all those who have lost their lives to the cause, to those who continued to follow me, who believed that I could bring about the change that we longed for. My father was missing. Aidan was gone. Those of us left behind live to fight another day.
The year is 2044, and although we may have won the battle, the war is far from over.
Chapter 1
I can feel the others only a few paces behind me and I force my body to push even harder, my legs pumping so fast that they are a blur beneath me. I cannot get the thought of my father out of my mind. I have spent four months obsessing about whether or not he is alive and how to find him. On the day of the final battle, he and Vice-President Kenneth Williams entered the city of Chicago in the aftermath to deal with the shaken, confused citizens. By the time we realised back at the Toledo, Ohio, camp that they had not returned, the boundary fences were swarming with guards and we could not get back into Illinois. I can only hope that wherever he is, my father is alive and well.
Running at this speed, the city comes into view a lot quicker than one would anticipate and I immediately slow down so as not to alarm the scouts. Reed McCoy and Michael Kelly, my running partners, rocket past me, only noticing a few strides later that I have decreased my pace to a jog.
“I almost had you!” Michael pants, slowing to a walk. His cheeks are red with exertion, his blond hair damp with sweat.
“Sure you did, kid,” Reed drawls from my other side and Michael’s chest swells with indignation.
“You can’t catch her,” Reed says, oblivious of the dark scowl on the younger man’s face, “she’s the fastest thing on the planet. Even I can’t catch her,” he continues, as though that settles it.
Michael looks petulant for only a moment, and then his natural good nature gets the better of him.
“I wonder if Morgan’s up?” he calls, picking up the pace and heading for the city.
“Not too fast!” I yell after him and, heeding the warning, he reduces his speed slightly so that the scouts will be able to identify him as he approaches.
“I doubt it,” I mumble under my breath. I am walking now and enjoying the view. “That girl couldn’t get up early if her life depended on it.” Reed walks alongside me, humming to himself.
The Las Vegas Valley is impressive, even by post-apocalyptic standards. The sheer number of buildings and structures is mind-blowing. Prior to the war of 2016, over two million people resided in the Vegas Valley, a 600 square mile basin surrounded by mountains. This is one of the reasons that Las Vegas was chosen as the home of the Rebels – why it is the only permanent residence the Resistance has established. It is far enough away from the Capital in Chicago, Illinois, and there are enough buildings and accommodation to house the almost two thousand people who are currently living here. It is also easy enough to monitor if anyone is approaching the city. We have scouts all around the valley who, from their vantage points up in the mountains, know well in advance if anyone is in the area.
Closer now, the passage of time and the lack of upkeep is far more noticeable. Many of the buildings are in desperate need of maintenance; peeling paint and plaster is commonplace. The roads are so bad that in some places potholes span the entire width of the two lanes.
“I’m sick of this place,” Reed comments, as we make for The Strip where our Rebel headquarters are situated. I choose to ignore his negativity – I know that there is more to his bad mood than the location.
“I’d rather be out here than back in Chicago,” I reply lightly, knowing in my heart that it is the truth. Chicago replaced Washington DC as the capital after the war and life there is easy. Living in the Rebeldom is far from it. There are only a few bathrooms with running water which, in itself, is a massive achievement considering the lack of funds and infrastructure. There is no electricity, only gas, and there are no luxuries. It is a far cry from the opulence I enjoyed as the First Lady during my three-year marriage to Eric Dane. Even growing up in Michigan within the boundary fences was nothing like this. I had taken for granted how much rebuilding had taken place since the war, only really appreciating it now that I am out in the wastelands where rebuilding is near impossible.
Even so, I would not trade this life for that one. I spent three years in a loveless marriage, living in a gilded cage, desperate to break free. I would never go back to that life, no matter how hard this one is, no matter how difficult. I have grown stronger and more appreciative of the simple things. Time spent with my son, for example, is worth far more than all the money and power in the world. Being surrounded by people who care about me, who I care for; being able to be myself, to be Rebecca Davis again, after so many years of wearing a mask – living a lie – is like coming up for air after being underwater for too long. I no longer feel stifled, trapped, helpless. Now, I feel liberated, satisfied, powerful, as if the world is alive with possibility. I would never trade that for anything.
“It’s going to be a scorcher,” Reed observes, his eyes on the horizon, where a haze glimmers as the heat rises off the ground.
“Well, it is Nevada after all,” I comment drily as I break into a comfortable run.
Nevada is a desert region. It is dry and hot. The arid climate does not allow for much farming or agriculture and water is scarce. There are a few cattle farms, a dairy, and we have a fair production of potatoes and onions. Key to our survival are the greenhouses and the vertical farming which yield our fresh vegetables, and without which we would not survive. Sustainability of the Nevada population, however, is heavily reliant on our largest water sources, the Colorado River and the nearby Lake Mead. All in all, it is not the best site for our largest population, but that very reason, and the fact that it is far enough away from the States, makes it the ideal place to hide, to protect our people.
I go at once to the Gold Room which is an old casino conference room adorned with faded gold curtains and a massive boardroom table. The carpets have long since disintegrated and huge patches
of concrete show through the threadbare covering. The room is kept as clean as possible, but dark stains mar the walls and the paint is peeling.
Reed follows only a few steps behind me, eventually sitting down on one of the chairs on the far side of the room. As far away from me as possible, I notice. Things have been strained between us ever since that kiss. Since before that really, although I was far too preoccupied at the time to notice. Aidan’s death has changed me, has changed everything, and Reed cannot fight a ghost.
Determined to brazen it out, I cock my head to one side.
“Do I smell, Cowboy?”
“It was a long run, Rebecca,” he answers drily and I smile despite myself.
“They should be here by now,” he muses, deliberately changing the subject.
As if on cue, the double doors open and General Harrison Ross enters, followed by his two personal security guards, Peter Smith and Frank Wakeford. The other members of the council file in behind them. Kwan Lee gives me a brief nod of greeting before taking a seat. Reed uncurls his tall frame, stretches languorously, and goes to sit beside him. Morgan Kelly stalks past me, her curly blonde hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. Michael bounds alongside her, giving me a dazzling smile. He pulls out his chair with a hair-raising screech against the concrete, which earns him a disapproving glare from the General, who has taken his position opposite me at the other end of the rectangular table. Michael, being underage, is not technically a member of the council, but he and Morgan are kind of a pair; where you find one, you’ll always find the other, and I do not have the heart to ban him from the meetings, particularly as I have already banned him from active duty. Also, he saved my son’s life; I owe him. David Riley, bespectacled father of two, gives me a wink before he sits down, and Veronica Jones, a pretty young woman who takes the minutes and always looks slightly bewildered, as though she is not quite sure how she ended up in these meetings, gives me a timid wave before sinking down in her seat.
The Legion Page 1
