Vendetta Nation (Enigma Black Trilogy #2)

by Sara Furlong-Burr

  “The last thing I want is to share the same air as you, let alone the same visions.”

  “Why the animosity, my dear superhero?” His condescending tone sent a surge of rage through my veins. I jabbed the gun against his chest hard enough to knock him backwards a couple of steps.

  “Why? Why did you have to kill her?“ I yelled. “Surely, she couldn’t have been a threat to you.”

  “What? Kill who? I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.” He tried to take a step backwards to release himself from the touch of the gun against his body.

  “Does the name Lucy Pierce ring any bells to you, or was she just another face without a name as far as you and the trigger man were concerned?”

  “I promise you, I’ve never taken another human life. It’s counterproductive to the way I operate. I don’t believe in fighting fire with fire, but with water, instead. Only by putting out the flames does the chance for peace exist. And only in defense of their own lives does anyone in my group resort to violence.” We continued our walk through the crowd—him backwards, and me pushing him that way—until his back struck the trunk of a cherry tree. There was nowhere left for him to go.

  “Why would they lie to me about you or about how Lucy was murdered?”

  “Don’t you see? They—Brooks—wants you to despise me and the rest of the rebellion. Only by rallying against us, the perceived evil in this country, can Brooks maintain control. If your attention is focused on anything but him, he is free to do whatever he wants. It’s what’s been happening for over a decade in this country.”

  Strangely, despite my intense anger, somewhere in the back of my mind a part of me believed what he was telling me. “You’re saying that I was lied to by them, the people I’ve devoted my life to?”

  “I’m saying, not only have you been lied to, but I would suspect that your friend’s—or whoever she was—murderer has been right under your nose this entire time.”

  I felt the gun shake in my hand, still pressed firmly against Marshall Leitner’s chest. Anger, no, fury boiled from within. Who had been a part of the lie? Was it Victor? Our intelligence team? Had Kara been involved? Better yet, what other lies had been fed to me? Had my choice been based on nothing but deceit? These questions and so many more came flooding into my head like a tidal wave. An exceedingly endless wave that only receded when something struck me in the chest with such force that it knocked me back, away from the leader of the rebellion. My gun fell out of my hand and struck the ground.

  “Christ, Bruce, no!” Marshall exclaimed. He pushed himself away from the trunk, waving his arms in the direction of another tree that was situated near the front of the stage. From somewhere up in its foliage, a man jumped down to the ground, gun in hand. Upon seeing the gun, my already racing brain managed to piece two and two together. Looking down where I’d been hit, I noticed blood trickling from my suit. I brushed a gloved finger over the bright red liquid, which was barely visible over the black hue of the suit, until I found the hole. The entry point of the bullet that had pierced my flesh.

  “He didn’t know you weren’t going to kill me,” Marshall explained. “He was just trying to protect me. Try to lie down and put pressure on the wound.” Marshall put his hands on my shoulders as though trying to help me down onto the ground. Although I knew he was there, I never felt his actual touch due to the shock both my body and emotional state had taken. “Try to relax. We’ll get you help.”

  “No,” I shook my head. “I need to get myself out of here…get my own treatment.” I put my hand over the hole in my suit; the pain had come in full force as though my nerves had just been made aware of the trauma my body had endured. “Get your people,” I told him, suddenly feeling out of breath. “They’re on the verge of losing as it is, and you’re going to need as many of them as possible for when Brooks retaliates for the events of today.” In pain, I bent down to retrieve my gun and stuck it back in its holster.

  Marshall nodded before adding, “Why don’t you and your partner defect? Join us.”

  “In a way, we already have,” I replied, half walking, half stumbling back to where I’d last seen Ian. It was true, in a way. Ian’s and my decision not to join Brooks when all hell had broken loose had pretty much cemented that.

  Just a few short feet ahead, I spotted Ian still fighting off the mob of soldiers. As I continued ambling in his direction, I could feel the heat escaping my body, replaced by a certain coldness. I concluded that it was surely due in some part to blood loss. The bullet must have wounded me more severely than I would have guessed. I shook my head, trying to alleviate the dizziness that came along with it, so that I could make it to Ian. We needed to get out of here now; if not for me, for him. With me out of commission, Ian would be left to fend for himself against two mobs whose common denominator was a disdain for superheroes. It became increasingly clearer that the soldiers were winning this war, and with the evacuation of the audience members, there was nothing further for us to do here. At least, not today, anyway.

  My vision blurred, and every step I took became less sure. “Ian,” I called his name, though my voice was barely above a whisper, and my breath was labored at best. Onward, I willed myself, hoping that he would notice me in distress and come running to my aid. But each of my heavy footsteps only managed to move me inches instead of feet.

  Dizziness overtook me, my vision faded, leaving me in a world as dark as night. And it was then that I fell to the ground.

  *****

  Bruce Vaupel hid within the foliage of one of the numerous cherry trees that dotted the park. Known more for his aim with a gun than with a fist, he was one of a handful of rebellion members who had been relegated to the position of sniper. One by one, their opposition members fell due to his spot-on aim, but even his trained eye was no match for the sheer volume and fire power they fought against. Quickly, his ammunition dwindled until he was left with only a handful of shots.

  From his pocket, he removed a flask. Balancing his firearm between his leg and a tree limb, he opened the flask and took a swig of the whiskey inside. Though he’d had quite a few swigs since the battle erupted, the importance of his mission coupled with his adrenaline had been enough to keep him sober.

  Come on, Marshall, call it. It’s pointless for us all to die today, he thought, looking into his sight. Even though they hadn’t expected to win in the physical sense, he knew that today had served its purpose. A victory in the Court of Public Opinion. After today, their numbers would increase dramatically. Soon, they would be large enough to hit their enemy where it hurt. He scanned the park, training his gun on target after target. With the prospect of running out of ammo looming steadily on the horizon, he had to be exceptionally picky about how he used it.

  At that instant, something caught his eye, immediately begging for his attention. Backed up against a tree, trapped with nowhere left to run, was Marshall, his dauntless leader. Pressed against him, to what appeared to be his chest, was a gun brandished by one of Brooks’ own superheroes. Re-positioning himself, he angled his body on a branch and aimed his gun. The shot would be a hard one to line up, but necessary. If they lost Marshall, they would lose the heart of the rebellion, and everyone knows that life is not sustainable without a heartbeat.

  Patiently, he waited for the perfect moment, hoping beyond hope that the masked woman wouldn’t pull her trigger before he had the chance to pull his. “Come on, Marshall,” he murmured. “Move your shoulder again just one more time…just a little more, and then I’ll have a decent shot.” Bruce put his finger on the trigger, readying himself for its inevitable pull. The sweat built on his brow, trickling down both sides of his head and neck in anticipation of the most important shot of the night.

  And then he had it. Marshall angled his body ever so slightly. It wasn’t much, only a matter of inches, but it was all he needed. Squeezing the trigger, he felt the bullet leave the chamber of the gun. His body shuddered with its recoil, his eyes never leaving the target.
A surge of adrenaline rushed through him upon seeing the bullet find its mark. His target stumbled back a few steps, enough to allow Marshall to escape.

  Strangely, instead of taking the opportunity to flee, Marshall, instead, ran in front of the target, effectively blocking the next shot he was about to take. Bruce set the gun down as Marshall frantically motioned for him to cease and desist. Confused, he quickly jumped down from the tree and ran to join his leader.

  Chapter Thirty

  Retreat

  “Ian,” I groaned while lifting myself up from the ground. Still no answer. Either the ear bud wasn’t transmitting my pleas or there was simply too much background noise for him to hear me. Whichever it was really didn’t matter. If he couldn’t hear me, I at least needed to make him see me and realize that I was in trouble. Summoning strength I didn’t know I had, I rose to my feet and walked labored, step by labored step, in the direction of where Ian still fought. While on my feet, the dizziness returned in spite of my doing everything in my power to shake it off. Another fall would be devastating, as I may not be able to pick myself back up again.

  Finally, Ian looked my way. Immediately noticing me, he broke away from the soldiers he was attempting to dispatch and stomped over to meet me. Behind his mask, I was sure he was scowling at me, his eyes shooting daggers into mine. “It’s about time you showed up,” he fumed. “I’ve only been needing your help now for most of the evening. I’m dying over…” I stumbled and fell into him, quieting his rant. My breath, even more labored now, was clearly audible; my body shook. “What happened, Celaine?” He wrapped one of his arms around my body, which by now was the only thing keeping me on my feet. Ian placed his other hand on my shoulder, running his fingers down my body until he came to the deformity in my suit. Right away, he drew his hand back, gasping in horror when my blood dripped from his fingers. “Shit!” His voice was pained, almost scared. “What happened? Where’s your jacket?”

  “Shot,” I breathed the answer to his first question. “Kid.” The second answer was even harder to say.

  Ian lifted me up into his arms and cradled me close to him. “We’re getting you out of here now,” he said. “You’ll be okay. I promise it’s going to be okay.” He ran through the crowd at a remarkable speed, considering the extra weight he had in his arms. Around us, soldiers were declaring their victory among the bodies of the fallen rebels. Those rebels who could still walk were retreating in any and every way possible.

  “Round up as many of them as you can,” the soldiers’ commander ordered. “As of today, they are our enemies and must be dealt with appropriately.” I looked over Ian’s shoulder to see a stream of soldiers barreling at the fleeing rebels, and hoped that at least some of the rebellion would make it to rally the troops together again soon.

  Ian continued his frantic run across the park like he already had a plan figured out. Lightheaded, I looked ahead in the direction he was running, shocked to see that it was back to the river. Still docked at the pier was a solitary jet boat. Whether it had been abandoned by the death of its operator or whether they were on their way themselves to claim it, I wasn’t sure. But I would wager that they probably hadn’t left their keys in it.

  “Celaine!” Kara’s frantic voice resounded in my ear bud. “Your vitals are terrible. What’s going on right now? Answer me, please.” I wanted to answer her, but my foggy mind and my body wouldn’t allow it. Talking seemed just too physically draining. “Celaine! Celaine!” Kara cried into my ear bud loudly. Though I tried to answer her, all that came out was a groan.

  “She’s not good,” Ian answered for me. His voice seemed choked-up. Was he crying? For some reason, I couldn’t picture him as ever having shed a tear. “I’m getting her help, Kara. Screw that stupid Epicenter policy.”

  “Ian, you can’t,” Kara answered.

  “The hell I can’t. What do you want me to do, let her die on our way back? She’s lost a lot of blood already.”

  “It’s not that I don’t want you to or that I wouldn’t beg you to do it otherwise. You literally can’t, Ian. Brooks has ordered all hospitals within a fifty mile radius to close their doors. The rebels’ assassination attempt is all over the news. Brooks has soldiers standing guard at every conceivable medical facility in the area. No new patients are to walk through their doors. He doesn’t want medical treatment rendered to any members of the rebellion or their sympathizers. You have to bring her back here, Ian.”

  “He can’t do this,” Ian screamed. “All of these people. His own men. He’s a murderer.”

  “They’re all replaceable to him. Just drive…drive as fast as you can. I’ll make sure to have blood and medical intervention ready to take her as soon as you get here. Just hurry, Ian, don’t let my sister die.”

  My eyes flew open with the sound of Ian’s feet hitting the metallic surface of the dock. Running down it like a plane on a runway, he leapt into the boat docked at the end. Gently, he set me down in one of the seats that faced the back of the boat and secured the seat belt around me. He then crouched down until we were masked face to masked face and said, “I need you to hang in there for me.” He touched my arm and gently squeezed my shoulder. “I can’t lose you, Celaine…I…” he stopped in mid speech as though he had to think about what he wanted to say. In response, I tried to move my head to nod, but only succeeded in pushing it back into the seat.

  “Look, we don’t want any trouble here,” a man spoke from the front of the boat.

  Startled, Ian looked over my shoulder. “I didn’t notice anyone else in here,” he said. “We don’t want any trouble, either. All I want to do is get my partner some much needed medical attention. She’s been shot and has lost a lot of blood.”

  “If…if we take you with us, we’ll be even more of a target than we already are,” the man said.

  “Oh, Harold,” a woman spoke. “It’s not as though our group isn’t in deep already. Have a heart.” She walked over to where I sat and crouched down next to Ian. “Yeah, she’s pretty bad off. You need to apply pressure to that wound. It will help with the blood loss. And from the looks of it, she can’t lose much more. Harold!”

  “What now, Candice?” Harold answered her, clearly agitated.

  “Are there more of you?” Ian asked.

  “Three more. They’re hiding behind the seats, but you didn’t hear that from me,” she said softly. “Harold, I need your sweatshirt.”

  “What for?” he yelled back.

  “Don’t ask questions, just throw me the damn shirt.” After a moment’s hesitation by Harold, Candice threw up her arms to catch the sweatshirt. She wrapped the arms of the shirt around my arm tightly to secure it in place over the wound, and then applied additional pressure with her hand. Taking a seat next to me, she kept her hand firmly in place, an act she no doubt intended to keep doing until we docked on the other side. “Do you know anything about hot-wiring boats?” she asked Ian.

  “I watched my dad do it once as a kid.”

  “Well, then you already know more about it than Harold. Do you mind giving him a hand?”

  “If it gets us out of here, then sure. It’s only a matter of time before those soldiers figure out their boat is occupied.” I heard Ian’s footsteps disappear to the front of the vessel, while Candice began humming next to me.

  “You know, before today I thought that you two were just tools in Brooks’ shed of destruction. But not now. After seeing you two working together, deliberately undermining Brooks while simultaneously showing members of our group compassion, I knew I was wrong about you. You’ve given me hope for our future again. That’s why you can’t die. We can’t lose what few good people we have left in this word.” Her eyes focused above my head to the front of the boat. “Besides, I have a feeling someone would be pretty heartbroken if anything were to happen to you.”

  “Hey, superhero, we need to hurry,” Harold said urgently. “They’ve found us.”

  “Oh, no.” Candice dropped her grip on the sweatshirt. “I�
��ll untie the boat.” Several feet away from the dock, but still close enough to cause concern for those in a disabled boat, a group of soldiers came running at us with guns drawn. “I’ll be right back,” Candice spoke next to me. She brandished a box cutter from her pocket and ran over to cut the ropes to free the boat. When she reached the side of the boat, the first shots rang out. Too far away to be accurate, they struck the dock with a sickening clang. As though in response to the sudden danger, the boat sprang to life.

  “I’ve got it from here,” Harold told Ian, who ran to the back of the boat to sit next to me. He put his hand on the sweatshirt and took Candice’s place in applying direct pressure to my wound. Candice sat back down across from us right as the boat lunged forward. And it wasn’t a moment too soon. The soldiers raced down the dock, watching us speed away. Frantically, they fired shots at the boat, but only succeeded in striking its exterior, creating nothing more than an aesthetic eyesore. In the distance, more shots resounded, which prompted a scream from Candice.

  “Oh, God,” Ian cried next to me. Mustering the last ounce of strength I had, I lifted my head to see the rebels being corralled line after line in front of a firing squad that wasted no time in carrying out the orders they’d been given.

  *****

  President Carver Brooks was escorted down the ramp of the yacht to the dock and the limo that awaited him on shore. “I’d like to be left alone,” he said to his entourage before getting in the back seat. Once he situated himself inside, he removed his cell phone from the pocket of his suit coat. After dialing the all too familiar number, he wasn’t surprised when Victor picked up on the first ring.

  “I want her gone, and I want her gone now,” Brooks all but growled into the phone as soon as Victor answered.

  “Don’t worry, Carver, I have big plans for Ms. Stevens,” he coughed.