by Jordan Ervin
“Next time?” Gene said as he punched Derrick, snapping his jaw. Gene reached forward, seizing him by his fractured face as he roared. “There is no next time. Now look at me!” Gene kneed Derrick in between the legs, causing the man to double over and cough with agony. “I’m going to castrate you, cut out your tongue, gouge out your eyes, and gag you. Then, I’m going to press this button. I’m going to cross that river and get whatever supplies I need to keep you alive for weeks. I’m thinking a slow drip IV and a canister of air. I’m then going to come back here and bury you alive, making sure no one finds you before we’ve taken this city! And when we cross this river and kill every last one of your friends, I’m going to set up shifts. We’re going to take turns keeping you alive, making sure you die decades from now due to old age and—”
Adam bellowed as he plunged the knife into Derrick’s heart. Derrick gasped, arching his back and closing his eyes tight with pain. His body remained suspended for two seconds before he slumped to the ground, his life fleeing him. Gene fell back, stunned as he glanced from the knife up to Adam. As his eyes narrowed, hatred as fierce as the sun bore into Adam.
“You son of a bitch,” Gene growled. “You asshole!” He stood, towering over Derrick’s corpse and Adam, his hand on his pistol.
“I’m not going to sit here and let you torture anyone,” Adam said. “It’s over.”
“You bastard,” Gene snarled. “You stole my revenge! Why? In God’s name, why?”
“Because I’m not one of them!” Adam replied back as he stood. “Because I still hope God’s name is something I can call upon before I die.”
“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit,” Gene roared. “Your God’s not here. Your God is dead!”
“Don’t say that,” Adam replied. “God’s not dead. We made it this far and that’s proof enough.”
Gene stood there silently before shaking his head with a laugh as he mumbled under his breath.
“What’s that?” Adam asked.
“I said we didn’t all make it,” Gene replied, glancing down at Lev. “I should have never come here to get you. I should have let you rot in a cell, you worthless piece of shit.” Gene turned and motioned to the others. “For now, I need you to get ready. We’ll continue this conversation once we’re across the river. Marc, hide the bodies. We’ll bury Lev after we’ve taken the city. Pack up, we’re out in—”
“I’m not going,” Adam said.
Gene turned around, confusion masking his face.
“What the hell did you say?” Gene asked, stepping closer.
“I’m going north,” Adam replied.
Gene stared back at Adam, bewilderment in his eyes. He eventually shook his head and glanced over at the others. “Did I stutter? I said pack up!” He glanced back at Adam and slowly approached like a lion on the hunt. “What do you mean you’re going north?”
“There’s an outpost up north called Fort Harding,” Adam replied as the others bustled about. “They’re American, Gene. It doesn’t sound like a small community either. It sounds like a place we can start to rebuild what was broken. Derrick said the Patriarchs were either crossing the river to hit Texas or going north to attack Fort Harding. Gene…we have to go warn them.”
“Derrick said that?” Gene said. “You mean the same lying pile of shit that plunged a knife into my friend’s chest?”
“Don’t twist my words.”
“Facts are facts,” Gene replied, spitting his disgust on the ground. “There ain’t no way I’m trusting anything that came out of that murderer’s mouth.”
“But they’re American, Gene,” Adam argued. “Perhaps the last Americans. He said they’ve got armor and—”
“I don’t give a shit if they’re the last Americans alive!” Gene shouted, stepping closer to Adam. “I don’t give a shit about you and I don’t give a shit about America!”
“You don’t mean that,” Adam said after a pause.
“I’m done wasting my life fighting for a failed dream,” Gene replied, shaking his head. “I’m going to help the Republic of Texas take the battle to the Imperium. All I’m doing here is wasting time saving your pathetic ass while I watch my real friends die. My fight was never for America. It is and always has been a battle against Lukas Chambers.”
“But you were an American soldier for years,” Adam said. “You fought in Iraq and Afghanistan decades before any of this started.”
“You want to know what I really did with my time in Iraq?” Gene asked, shouldering his weapon. “I spent my free time trying to figure out what the hell really happened to my best friend.” Gene paused, glancing to the side. “I never told you this, but my best friend enlisted with me when we were still in high school. We grew up together, went through the same boot camp, and shipped out on the same damn plane. Years spent watching each other’s back only to see his body shipped back to base after being recovered from a roadside ambush that took out most of his squad. Those Arab bastards mutilated and burned his corpse—which had already been ripped in half by a RPG—before casting it aside in a ditch. The base examiner performed his typical autopsy and I found myself quite intrigued with his initial report. He said my friend might have actually died from a bullet he had taken to the face, a wound that was created by a low caliber handgun, not rifle fire. The examiner claimed that with the madness of war, there was no way to tell what really killed him. Still, I couldn’t help but think that maybe my friend didn’t die from the RPG. I began to wonder if someone else killed him, someone not shouting Arabic or firing an RPG. Only a few men survived that ambush. As I began to dig deeper, I never could shake the feeling that the one man who had been raised up as the heroic survivor after the ambush might have actually had something to hide.”
“You mean…Lukas?”
Gene nodded his head, his face grimacing with disgust. “The deeper I dug—speaking with Lukas’ commanding officers and those who knew him growing up—I couldn’t help but wonder if he wasn’t the hero the media portrayed him as. I started to wonder if that asshole had shot my friend Buck before the ambush. I could never prove anything, but it pissed me off something fierce as the man I thought killed my best friend rose to become the nation’s most powerful politician. Buck’s wife was pregnant when he died and I became like a father to that boy. When the boy’s mom died in a car wreck a few years after he was born, I took it upon myself to raise him. Years later, when that boy grew up and discovered the truth of everything I suspected, he began training himself for vengeance as well.” Gene glanced to the side, wiping a tear away.
“Who was the boy, Gene?” Adam asked, steadying himself for the answer he knew was coming.
“Eric Corsa took on a new name and a new pledge,” Gene said, firming his jaw. “He was going to find out what really happened to his father and avenge him. Now…well, Eric is dead and his vengeance has yet to be satisfied. For me, this war was never about America. It was about finding out the truth and seeing vengeance through until the end. I guess it just took me losing America and the orphan I had raised to realize the truth. I’m sorry, Adam, but your America is as dead to me as Eric Corsa.”
Adam gazed back at Gene, looking at him as though for the first time. They had been united by a cause of saving a nation over a year ago. They had relied on each other to survive chaos over the past few months. Now, Adam looked at the man as though he were seeing him for the first time. He saw now that to stay beside Gene, he’d have to abandon the little good that remained within and become one with the darkness of retribution.
“I’m sorry, Gene,” Adam began. “But I can’t go down that path. I can’t devote my life to revenge and I hope…no, I pray you don’t surrender to the dragons within before it’s too late.”
Gene’s eyes went wide and he appeared to stumble backward, his hand reaching toward his breast pocket.
“What…what did you say?” Gene mumbled.
“Doesn’t matter,” Adam said, shaking his head. “I—”
“Where did
you read that, huh?” Gene demanded, stepping forward. “It’s not enough to steal my friends and leave. You have to read my stuff?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Adam replied.
“The dragons within,” Gene said. “When the hell did you read that?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Adam said. “I had a dream, Gene, the night after DC. It’s from a dream, that’s all.”
“What do you mean?” Gene asked, his eyes probing Adam for an answer. “What did you dream?”
Adam hesitated, glancing at the others. They all looked at him intently. Adam had no idea why Gene showed the sudden interest in his dream, but his attitude had completely shifted from anger to shock.
“There was a burning city,” Adam began. “There was man in white, telling me that I needed to become one with the light or surrender to the beast inside. He left and then I was attacked by a blackness from all directions. As I struggled to survive, this violent monster within me tried to break free. I fought to hold it back, but eventually I gave up and let go. The last thing I remember was this massive dragon bursting forth, becoming one with the evil around me as it destroyed me completely. It was just a dream. A battle-induced hallucination.”
Gene paused, studying Adam before reaching toward his vest and unbuttoning his breast pocket. He drew an aged piece of white paper and handed it to Adam. Adam’s eyes narrowed as he glanced down at it. Water spots and bloodstains dotted the surface here and there—some yellow and orange with age while a new streak of Lev’s blood ran across the surface. Adam looked up at Gene confused.
“What is this?” Adam asked.
“Just read it,” Gene replied.
Adam nodded and unfolded the small paper before quietly reading the handwritten poem. It bore no signature or title—only ink, tears, and blood.
War, for the weak and humble.
Panic, a change of the heart.
Sorrow, so the good may stumble.
And chaos, to rip all men apart.
A fire, to consume the blameless.
Fangs, to devour the pure.
Claws, to destroy the shameless.
And scales, to withstand and endure.
Now rouse, oh ye bringers of death,
And embrace the new beast inside.
For out of the ashes of sin, rise the dragons of men,
Compelling the righteous to adapt or die.
Adam read the poem a second time, confusion flowing through his mind as he did so. Finally, he glanced up at Gene.
“You wrote this?” Adam asked.
Gene nodded his head with a sigh. “Twenty-three years ago, I killed for the first time. I was a soldier in Iraq, fighting for the freedoms of a nation I honestly didn’t give two shits about. That night, right after I had my first taste of blood, I realized what I’d have to sacrifice to become a career soldier. Adam, we soldiers live an unspoken lie. We try to convince ourselves we’re fighting the righteous fight, but there is no good left inside of those who wage war. There’s only those who do what they need to do…or those who die. I wrote that poem and carried it with me since the hour the ink dried, always reminding myself that the only thing necessary to win a war is to be willing to forfeit your soul when the time comes to storm the next battlefield.”
Adam stared at Gene silently, the stillness stretching on like an open desert road. Eventually, he looked around and saw the others staring at him quietly. They had heard the conversation and listened as Adam read the poem. They stood there silently, looking at him, waiting for him to speak.
“This…this can’t be a coincidence,” Adam said.
“It’s not a coincidence, Adam,” Gene said, blinking away the tears in his eyes. “It’s war.”
“Gene, there’s more to us than death and battle,” Adam pleaded as he stepped forward. “No soldier has to lose his soul to fight the good fight. I have to believe we can do more than adapt or die. There’s more to us than death.”
“You mean like three minutes ago when you shoved a knife in a murderer’s heart to show him mercy?”
“Yes!” Adam shouted, looking over at Jack. “I almost killed a friend this morning to avoid torture. Jack wanted me to do it. He pleaded with me to take his life. And ten minutes ago, I pleaded for the life of the same man that tortured us. But instead of helping him through the darkness, you plunge him into an unimaginable anguish and you wonder why he wanted to kill as soon as he was awakened.”
“Lev wasn’t my fault, you son of a bitch!”
“And what if you had freed Derrick?” Adam asked. “What if revenge wasn’t the answer? Would Lev still be here?” Adam shook his head quietly, glancing over at the two dead bodies. “They say the only thing necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing, but none of that matters if we can’t remain as good men. Evil won’t be vanquished with our victory; it will only have new souls to blacken.” Adam turned and began walking away.
“Where are you going?” Gene called out.
“North,” Adam said. “If I have to die to fight the good fight, so be it, but my death won’t be in the name of revenge. I’ll die fighting to see good restored to a land ravaged by men like you. I’m going north to warn Fort Harding and you’re not going to stop me.”
“Adam,” Jack began, stepping forward. “Don’t go. You’ll never make it alone.”
Before Adam could reply, Marc stepped forward. He pulled back the screen on his arm and typed out a response. After a moment, he held it up for Adam to see.
Not alone.
Adam smiled and patted Marc on the shoulder. “You’re a good man, Marc. And you were right all those months ago. History will remember you well.” Adam turned to Jack. “Go to your wife, Jack. Go to friends and family. You’re a leader too, whether you want to be or not. Remember this conversation. Remember our cell. Don’t lose the good inside you. You’ll need it to survive the coming days.”
“Come on, Adam,” Jack pleaded. “We’re free now. There’s no way you’ll make it. You don’t even know where it is. Tell him, Gene!”
“Godspeed, Marc,” Gene said as he shook his head, his face an emotionless mask again. “I’m sorry I brought you into this mess, but I guess it’s a good day when a soldier gets to choose his field of death.”
“You make it sound like there’s no hope we pull this off,” Adam replied.
Gene paused before unbuckling his sidearm holster. “And you make it sound like there is.” Gene shook his head and approached Marc, handing him the holster and three full magazines. As Marc nodded and began to buckle the pistol to his leg, Gene turned to Adam. “Fifty miles north on Highway One Sixty-Seven. The highway cuts through Little Rock and branches off northeast after it crosses I-Forty. Follow the signs for Searcy. I know the place because I know the guys across the river that wanted it. You got it on your map?”
Marc nodded, raising the screen on his wrist.
“Good,” Gene replied. “The Texans wanted that outpost badly and Fort Harding wanted nothing to do with them. You pull this off and you might have some powerful friends to watch your back in the future, but don’t expect help anytime soon. They’ve got their own battles to fight.”
“I’m not looking for a guardian,” Adam said, buckling the holster to his leg. “I’m looking for patriots.”
“Then go,” Gene replied, nodding his head as he turned and began walking toward the exit. “The patriot inside me died long ago.”
Chapter Twenty-one
Piercing the Dawn
Adam drew in a deep breath and ignored Jack’s protests as he and Marc turned to leave. He left the factory and began his way back the direction they had fled an hour earlier. Night had begun to fade, the dark sky above giving way to the purples and blues of the coming dawn. It was the beginning of a significant day—one, Adam believed, which would fulfill his dream of witnessing the rebirth of America or bury it with his lifeless corpse.
“What’s the time?” Adam asked, turning to Marc. Marc
glanced down at the phone strapped to his wrist and held it out for Adam to see.
“Almost six,” Adam said, biting back a curse. “We’ll have to hurry.”
Marc looked down and typed as they continued west toward Riverfront Drive.
What next?
“We move north as quickly and quietly as possible,” Adam replied.
Marc nodded, glancing down at his wrist as he swiped about.
A lot of ground to cover.
“We’ll make it, Marc,” Adam replied. “I don’t believe we’ve come this far to fail.”
True, but fifty miles….
“I think we’re dreaming to think we’ll be stealing a working car,” Adam replied. “In all likelihood, we’ll have to make the trip on foot. If we don’t stop, we could be there in a day or two.”
A few silent seconds passed before Adam glanced over, Marc’s face weary as he typed.
Fifty miles on foot with dogs on our heels…right.
“Do we have a choice?” Adam replied. “Tell you what, we make it through this and I’ll be the first to sit down and learn sign language with you. You have my word.”
Marc smiled and looked down at his screen, scrolling through his premade responses. Marc paused and grinned as he held up the screen.
I’d rather have a rapier and some cheese.
Adam chuckled. “Marc, my friend, the road never gets old with you beside me.”
Marc nodded and looked forward—his smile disappearing as they approached six guards lounging next to a machine-gun and rocket-artillery installation. The guards were playing dice on an upended steel barrel that sat next to the massive vehicle.
“Play it cool and let me do the talking,” Adam said as they approached, glancing over at Marc with a grin. “Not that you really have much of a say in the matter.” Marc shot him back a flat stare before smiling and shaking his head.
Adam took a deep breath, his forced banter with Marc failing to calm his nerves like he had hoped. As they neared the group of gambling soldiers, one of them tossed two dice into the center.
