The Glass Mountains: The Saboteur Chronicles Book 2

by J. V. Roberts

  “I’ll make it simple for you, there’s a war going on,” Dan said.

  “Yes, sir, I believe that. That’s what I was telling Loviatar, that it sounded like a damned war was going on up there,” Buddy’s attempt at a smile looked more like a silent scream. His eyes fell across the two dead soldiers, floating limply in growing pools of blood.

  “The thing with a war, Buddy, is that you’ve got to pick sides.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  A great chasm of tension fueled silence opened between their two groups. Buddy stood there, chewing his tongue, his head on a swivel, intricate streams of sweat navigating the scabbed skin beneath the hair of his chest and belly.

  “Are you waiting for something, Buddy? Would a bullet in the kneecap set the wheels to spinning?” Caldwell lowered his aim to illustrate the point.

  Dan reached over and pushed the rifle back into place. “I don’t think that’s necessary, Captain. Buddy, it’s decision time.”

  “I don’t even know who y’all are fighting against.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “Oh…I see. You’re going after the big guy. That’s a hell of a fight.”

  “You let us worry about that.”

  “What will me and Loviatar be doing?”

  Dan smiled. “You’ll be alive. And if the next sentence out of your mouth isn’t a decision, well, you won’t be.”

  “When it comes to picking sides, I’ve always found it smart to go with the guys pointing the guns. What do you say, Loviatar?”

  “Grnngh!”

  “Will there be heads for him to hammer?”

  “It’s a possibility.” Dan would have preferred to put the beast down. He was a wild card, with no discernible loyalty or purpose beyond keeping his hammer coated in blood. “The good news for you is that you’ll no longer be stuck down here.”

  “Wait, what?” Buddy looked like cornered prey. He grabbed the keys from his waist and tucked them away behind his back. “I ain’t been up on the surface in…well, I already told you, I don’t know how long. This is my home.”

  “Not anymore,” Caldwell said harshly.

  “Listen,” Dan swung the rifle away, over his shoulder, and approached Buddy with open arms, “we’re all experiencing change right now. It’s not easy on any of us. But we need you up there.”

  “I’m no good with a gun.”

  “That’s okay. You don’t have to do any shooting. You and Loviatar can watch over the lobby.” Dan looked up at Loviatar’s leather clad face and felt ice begin to form in his veins. It was as if the behemoth didn’t even know he existed, he just stood there, his bulging eyes fixed on the shadows beneath the stairs. He was a ghoulish statue, features twisted by some mad artist, his shallow breaths and the resulting rise of his shoulders barely registered as a movement.

  “We could just watch over the dungeon for you.”

  “That’s not really convenient. I’d feel more comfortable with you two up there. Hand them over,” Dan said, presenting an open palm.

  Buddy relinquished the keys with a shaky hand, deflating as he watched Dan’s fingers close around the precious metal as if his heart had just been ripped from his chest.

  “Good boy.” Dan turned to Caldwell and his men. “Show our new allies to the lobby.”

  “What about you?” Caldwell asked.

  “I’ve got some business I need to take care of first.”

  “Business?”

  “I’d like to have a little chat with our guest, the Saboteur.”

  Caldwell lowered his gaze. “Don’t you think that’s a little too personal? If you’ve got questions, perhaps someone else should break words on your behalf.”

  “I wasn’t asking for your permission, Captain.”

  “Understood.” Caldwell’s tone was hollow…cold…a man acting out of duty alone.

  The three soldiers began filing up the stairs, followed by Buddy and Loviatar, with Caldwell taking up the rear.

  Dan waited until his men were out of sight. Until the only evidence of their existence was the echo of their footsteps. He turned on his heels, whistling and twirling the ring of keys around his index finger. He’d taken prisoners, but he’d never been responsible for keeping them. He felt a little rush of excitement. There was something exhilarating about holding another man’s freedom in his hands. He passed through jagged columns of light, cast off by the weak flames of the torches attached to the water stained walls. How many remained in the dungeon? Hause’s recent purge had certainly caused the number to dwindle. It didn’t matter; he wasn’t concerned about the many, just the one.

  Dominic.

  The Saboteur.

  The last man to see his daughter alive.

  He moved up the row of cells, his fingers caressing the cool iron of the doors to his left and right. Whispers sang out at him through the barred windows as he passed.

  “Hey, mister, let me out of here.”

  “How about using them keys for some good, I got me a family out there.”

  Dan stopped and turned. The rage filled eyes that greeted him through the bars were familiar. They’d haunted his sleeping and waking hours in equal measure, for the man behind them held the answer to the only question that mattered. “Hello, Dominic. Where the fuck is my daughter?”

  10

  The pressure was building in Lerah’s head. The blood pounded in her ears. The world around her began to drift into shadow. Any moment and it would all be over; the pain, the suffering.

  The rope left her throat.

  She sucked a mouthful of oxygen into her lungs and immediately coughed it back out, spitting and gagging.

  Silas’ face swam into view. “There now, Miss Adams. Pace yourself, it doesn’t get any easier.” He nodded to the man standing behind her and the rope appeared once more, jerking her back against the post and closing her airway. The struggle was involuntary. She wanted to die, but her body wanted to fight. Her legs flailed, her ass came up off the ground, her tongue swelled between her teeth as if trying to lick the oxygen from the air. Silas leaned in close, studying her face. “Enough.” She was being held upright against her will by the ropes binding her hands behind the pole.

  “It’s exhilarating, isn’t it?”

  She looked sideways at him, still folded at the waist, a string of drool dangling from the corner of her mouth.

  “Pain and pleasure, it’s a potent cocktail, the essence of life.” Silas sniffed the tips of his fingers and smiled. “We endure the boredom of the hunt for the excitement of the kill, the monotony of courtship for the thrill of the fuck, the struggle of life for the sweet release of death. You feel it, don’t you? I could see it on your face as the rope tightened, death was knocking and you were there, standing on the precipice, ready to give yourself over.”

  The burning in her chest had begun to subside and she was no longer hyperventilating. She remained hunched forward, keeping herself as far away from the man with the rope as possible.

  “Unfortunately for you, Miss Adams, it won’t be as simple as answering the door. Make no mistake, you will find yourself in the arms of death, but you will not walk gently into his embrace. I will be the one to place you there, one piece at a time.”

  She recognized some of the men from yesterday, sitting on the south side of the beach near the tents, gathered around a small cook fire, gnawing on charred pieces of meat, watching her with greasy grins. The rest of the encampment had become indifferent to her plight. Children kicked stones near the water, women moved past her in small groups, chatting and laughing, not at her, but in spite of her; it was as if she was seeing the world through a one-way mirror.

  “There is something different about you, Miss Adams.”

  “What’s that?” she asked, still panting slightly.

  “Your clothes, I remember you being a bit more…exposed, yesterday.”

  She was surprised he hadn’t mentioned it earlier.

  “It was Hawthorne, wasn’t it? Oh, my nephew, what am I goi
ng to do with that boy?” Silas shouted at the men around the cook fire. “Go find Hawthorne, bring him here!”

  Lerah couldn’t stand the discomfort any longer. Her wrists were raw, her back ached, and she couldn’t draw a full breath. There was no point in trying to avoid the rope. The bastards were going to do what they were going to do. She relaxed against the pole and took a moment to close her eyes and savor the relief that flooded her body.

  “I blame his momma.” He took off his shades and stared up at the sky as if checking for signs of the sun; there were none. He replaced the glasses, stuck one hand in his pocket, and wrapped the other around the hilt of the knife at his waist. “I suppose there’s a bit of blame on me as well. The boy has been in my care for some time and I haven’t really taken the whip to him like I probably should have. But I didn’t want to shake him, you know? Life was already hard enough for him, losing his folks and all.”

  She kept her eyes closed, letting her mind wander; Silas’ voice slowly becoming nothing more than ceaseless droning.

  “You cunt!” Silas kicked her in the ribs.

  Something cracked and shifted. She screamed and almost threw up.

  “That’s better. Now, where was I? Oh yes, Hawthorne. He’s had it rough. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but he’s not all there. I think life just sort of picked pieces out of him. He lost his daddy to the war. Lost his momma to the sickness. That’s a lot of loss for a boy. It’s one thing when you’re older; loss is just something you come to expect, your mind can handle it at that age. But when you’re younger, it can mess you up, stunt your growth.”

  Yeah, something was definitely broken; something sharp was scraping up and down against the wall of her chest. She banged her head against the post. “Kill me! Just fucking kill me!”

  “Whoa, hang on now, Miss Adams.” He rushed to her side and cushioned her head with the back of his hand. “We’ll get to that. Don’t go getting ahead of me, alright?”

  She glared at him from the corners of her eyes. His rancid breath was beating hot against the side of her face. She peeled her lips back across her teeth and growled, “I will come for you, in this life or the next, and I will cut your fucking head off!”

  “That’s the spirit! Give me more of that from now on, keep things interesting.”

  Hawthorne was being escorted towards them, hands folded at his waist, head down, dejected, a man holding him under each arm, pushing and pulling him along.

  “And here comes my nephew, the picture of weakness. And he wonders why I don’t let him fight. If the Union saw something like that coming towards them, it’d be liable to give them a morale boost. It just won’t do.” Silas pushed off her head as he stood. “Hawthorne, my boy, you’ve got the look of a man that’s just taken a mouthful of sour cock. What’s troubling you on this fine day?” Silas wrapped the boy in a tight hug.

  Hawthorne just stood, dangling in his grasp, refusing to hug him back.

  “I don’t want to be here, Uncle Silas,” Hawthorne said, his face squished against Silas’ shoulder.

  “Boy, I don’t get you.” Silas pushed him back, holding him by his biceps. “What’s your obsession with this little slice of pie? What did I tell you? If she was given half a chance, she’d cut your throat.”

  “That’s bullshit, Hawthorne! Don’t listen to him! You know I wouldn’t!” Lerah was still raging; she saw images of herself driving a blade through Silas’ back.

  “Glaspell, shut her up.”

  She leaned away and pulled her legs in, trying to shield herself. The heel of his boot connected squarely with the side of her face. It didn’t hurt as much as it should have; the pain in her ribs was competing for her attention. She spit blood and fixed Silas with a defiant glare.

  “You want to fuck her? Is that it? You got the itch? It’s about time, let me tell you. I was beginning to worry that you flew crooked. Go ahead, have at her. I’ll have the boys hold her down.”

  Hawthorne shook his head, his hair springing back and forth across his face. “No! And I don’t want them touching her no more either!” Hawthorne crossed his arms, his chin trembling.

  “Oh, come on now, boy! Didn’t we already have this conversation? What aren’t you getting, you simple bastard?”

  “She didn’t kill Uncle Monte! I don’t believe you! I don’t believe any of you!” Hawthorne wailed.

  “Do you need to see the bodies of our people before this shit is real to you? Do you need to see your daddy all blown apart before you feel some sort of obligation to your own?”

  “She’s good! She’s nice! I want all of you to leave her alone!”

  Silas struck Hawthorne with an open hand. The sound cracked the air like a gunshot and all other activity instantly ceased; the children stopped kicking their rocks and the women stopped laughing.

  Hawthorne was on his knees, mouth wide with shock, the red imprint of his uncle’s hand pulsing against his pale skin.

  “I told you that if you interfered again, there’d be blood. Didn’t I tell you that? This should have come a lot sooner, boy.” Silas slammed the sole of his boot into the center of Hawthorne’s back, pressing him down and grinding him against the razor-sharp beach.

  “No, Uncle, stop!” Hawthorne pleaded as he was ripped up by his hair and dragged towards Lerah.

  “I take responsibility for this. You were never taught any better. But it’s time to toughen you up. It’s time for you to become one of us.”

  “Uncle, I’m sorry!” Hawthorne’s face was a bloody mess, impaled by bits of black rock; his cheek and nose were missing large patches of skin. He was being pulled across the ground on his stomach, slapping at his uncle’s hand fruitlessly, his legs limply trailing behind him.

  “You sonofabitch! Let him go!” Glaspell’s boot caught her below the cheekbone this time. She could feel the swelling, the heat, the skin going taut.

  Silas dropped Hawthorne beside Lerah and pressed his knees into the backs of his thighs, pinning him there. “Take it,” Silas commanded, removing his blade from its sheath and forcing it into Hawthorne’s grasp.

  “I don’t want—”

  “Take the goddamn thing!” Silas manipulated Hawthorne’s fingers, wrapping them around the hilt and clamping them in place with the heels of his palms.

  Hawthorne was hiccupping and blowing snot everywhere as he flailed beneath his uncle’s power. “Don’t make me hurt her…she’s nice, she ain’t done nothing!”

  “Cut her! You cut her or I will! I’ll saw her head off right in front of you! You know the rule!”

  Hawthorne, realizing the struggle was fruitless, curled his unencumbered arm around the top of his head and continued to cry.

  “Glaspell, remind Hawthorne of the rule.”

  “Once the blade comes out, it doesn’t go back in until it has tasted blood.”

  “Please…don’t…make…me…”

  “It’s okay, Hawthorne. Do it.” Lerah knew that she was going to bleed. She just figured she wouldn’t bleed as much if Hawthorne was the one doing the cutting.

  Hawthorne peered up over the top of his arm; the white’s of his eyes burning red. “Ma’am, I don’t have no interest in hurting you.”

  “I know you don’t, but it’s what’s best. You take that blade and you do as you’re told. I want you to.”

  Silas grabbed the bottom of her face, squeezing so hard she thought her jaw might splinter. “Say another word to him and I’ll remove your tongue.”

  “I’ll do it,” Hawthorne squealed.

  “What was that?”

  “I said I’ll do it…get off me.”

  Silas released him and stepped back.

  Hawthorne came to his knees beside Lerah, the blade shaking in his grasp.

  “Get to it, boy!” Silas reached down and slapped Hawthorne across the back of the head.

  “Um, where do you want me to…start?” Hawthorne wept softly.

  “I’ll leave that up to you.”

  Lerah closed her eyes
and sat her head back against the post, holding her breath as Hawthorne began cutting into her belly.

  11

  The cell door hung open. Dominic faced Dan. Nothing stood between them except air and shadow. He kept a careful eye on Dan’s gun hand, watching for his finger to make the slightest twitch towards the leather on his hip.

  “Where the fuck is my daughter?”

  Dominic let the question hang for a few seconds, sliding his jaw back and forth. “She’s beyond the Glass Mountains. Beyond the unknown settlements.”

  Dan didn’t say anything. He knew what that meant. She may as well have been on the moon.

  “So now what?” Dominic was resting on the balls of his feet.

  “What do you think, Saboteur? A bullet to the brain? Maybe one to the belly, let you bleed out slow and painful? What punishment should befall the man that placed my daughter in Rebel hands, the man that slaughtered our men like pigs?”

  “Save the self-righteous bullshit. You and Hause sent those men to burn my people out of their homes. Lerah and me gave your boys every chance to back down and walk away.”

  Dan took a step forward, his toes just crossing the barrier into the cell. “You had no right!”

  Dominic met his aggression, swelling his chest. “I had the only right! Beyond the Towers, it’s my world! You play by my rules! You kill one of us and we kill ten of you! Raise a gun, expect two more to be pointing back!” Dominic took a deep breath and lowered his voice slightly. “As far as your daughter goes, you should be taking that up with Hause, it was his mission.”

  “Oh, trust me,” Dan paused, allowing a chorus of gunfire to swim down from the lobby and make his point, “I am.”

  It took Dominic a moment to process what Dan was saying. “Those aren’t Rebels you’re fighting?”

  “Afraid not.”

  “Those are Union boys shooting each other?”

  “That give you some sort of hard on?”

  Dominic shrugged. “The more bullets you use on each other, the less you have to use on me.”

  “Don’t get too excited, once we’re finished here, we’ll get to you.”