Ascendant: The Complete Edition

by Richard Denoncourt

  The bell above the door rang, startling her.

  It was Midas Ford. He came shuffling in out of the rain with his head down, covered by a broad hat, an umbrella in his right hand. He was wearing his brown coat, the long one that made him look like a police detective from the old comic books William liked to read. Thunder growled outside, cut short as he shut the door. He shook the umbrella and closed it.

  Normally she would be happy to see him, but Arielle didn’t know what to feel today.

  “You’re here early, Dr. Ford,” she said, turning away from him and covering her pregnant belly with one hand. She had been avoiding the doctor lately. What would he think of her if he knew? Then again, it was only a matter of time before everyone found out.

  Midas slid into a booth—she could tell by the squeaky, leathery sound—and then she heard the light snap of his hat being dropped onto the table.

  “Cup of coffee, please,” he said.

  “Be ready in a minute.”

  She made her way into the back room to see if the coffee was ready. She checked the percolator. Not too strong, just the way the doctor liked it. Perfect timing. She spooned out a cup, strained it, and brought it back to the dining room.

  Midas stared openly at her as she walked over, a spell of grandfatherly concern etching new lines into his rugged face. He could never hide his emotions, not from her. She tensed.

  “How many months is it now?”

  “Excuse me?”

  She set the coffee down in front of him and was about to turn away when she felt a warm hand on her belly. What was he doing?

  “Ary, you listen to me, girl. I’ve been your doctor since you were two years old, when Louis first brought you here.” He removed his hand from her belly. “I know everything about how your body functions. Blake might understand your mind more than I do, but when it comes to bodies, I’m the authority. You got that?”

  She nodded and slid into the booth across from him. There were so many holes in the fabric. They scratched against her jeans, made a faint ripping sound that brought a flush of embarrassment to her cheeks. Thunder crashed in the sky like a car accident. She suddenly felt so alone. If only Michael were here to hold her, to tell her everything was going to be okay.

  “How many months?” Midas said again.

  “Five now. Since Michael left.”

  Midas nodded. “You’re barely showing. It’s going to be a small infant, easy delivery, I think.” The compassion in his eyes calmed her down. Why had Midas never married? There were plenty of women in this town who would have accepted an offer from such a sensitive, observant man.

  “I’ll be okay,” she assured him. “When Michael gets back, he’ll help me take care of it. He promised.”

  “I don’t doubt that for a second.” Midas sipped his coffee.

  But...

  “But”—he sipped again; she knew him so well—“you have to consider where we’re going. The NDR won’t welcome us with open arms. We’ll have to disclose what kind of people we are.”

  “Ments.”

  “Telepaths, sweetie.”

  “Well, I know that. But ments is what they call us.”

  He blinked at her. The drumming of the rain unsettled her; she could feel it sapping her energy, making her want to close the restaurant and go crawl into bed for the rest of the day—just her and the child growing inside her. “They don’t like your kind, Arielle. You’re going to face some heavy discrimination. You and your baby. The son of Michael.”

  A strange choice of words: The son of Michael.

  Like she was carrying a prophet in her womb.

  Lightning brightened the windows, followed by peals of thunder that ripped through the heavens. Midas put one of his wide, brown hands over her slender one, almost hiding hers completely. It was more a mitt than a hand, and it was so warm and rough. Midas had always been like family to her; she remembered sitting on his lap at the clinic while he’d read stories to her from children’s books with torn and faded pages, usually with a recovering patient in the same room listening along.

  Louis Blake had been more like a father: bossy and strict. But not Midas. Midas Ford was one of the few loves of her life. She would do anything he asked.

  “You and Louis and I need to talk, ideally with Michael, when he returns. There’s a problem.”

  A cord tightened in Arielle’s chest, causing her to shrink a little in her seat. Was the baby going to be okay? How could Midas possibly know of any complications so soon, without even examining her?

  “What is it?” she said in a small voice.

  Midas looked down and sighed. His thumb tapped against the tabletop, the coffee sitting totally forgotten next to it. When he looked back up at her, his eyes held only one emotion: dread.

  “Your sister’s pregnant, too,” he said.

  There was no thunder in that moment, but it felt that way to Arielle. A terrible throbbing erupted in her skull like the peak of a migraine. It was gone in a flash, leaving only cold rage that brought tears surging up to her eyes. Either the baby was Michael’s or it wasn’t, but Charlotte would say it was anyway. Arielle fumed.

  She wiped away her tears before they could fall. Midas sat with her and sipped his coffee, oddly detached. There was even a slight smile hovering over one side of his face. Had he been telling a joke? Was it possible he’d been playing a mean trick on her?

  “What?” she said, a little more sternly than she had intended.

  “I got a surprise for you,” he said. “Figured I’d tell you the bad news first, then hit you with something good to lift your spirits.”

  Her heart leaped in her chest. Midas wasn’t one to play games. He’d just put her through one of the worst emotions she’d ever felt in her life, and her intuition told her this surprise would be a good one.

  “What is it?

  Midas was about to speak when the bell jingled. Louis Blake stepped through the door, dressed in a rain poncho. With a cough, he lowered his umbrella and shook the water off of it before snapping it shut. His hair and his face were the same ashy color, and Arielle found herself frowning with worry. He looked like a dead man standing upright.

  Blake didn’t seem to notice her concern at all. He was grinning.

  “Hey there,” he said.

  Arielle got up and embraced him. He held her for longer than she had expected, as if he were on the verge of saying a final goodbye with no idea how to express it in words. And yet he seemed happy.

  “What’s the matter?” she said, pulling back and staring up into his old, pale face. “What’s this all about? Doctor Ford said something about a surprise?”

  Blake glanced back to the front door. “I’ve got someone here to see you.”

  “Who?”

  She spun away from him to face the windows. Beyond them, the street was the color of rain and pavement and shadow. Then she saw the figures standing in the street; distorted by the rain running down the glass, they resembled phantoms from a child’s nightmare. It took a good, long look for her to see them for what they really were—men in ponchos standing in front of the café.

  One of them, taller than the others, came forth, stepping lightly onto the sidewalk. He threw back the hood of his poncho and smiled that awkward, comforting smile she’d been envisioning now for months.

  “Michael!”

  She threw open the door, the bell jingling in alarm, and ran out into the rain and threw herself at him. The drops were ice cold as they slid down her face and neck. She squeezed as hard as she could while Michael lifted her high above the pavement, lightning flashing overhead.

  “Ary,” he said, and the word had been a satisfied moan more than anything.

  Their ensuing kiss was long and deep, more like the act of wolfing down food than expressing affection. When it ended, and she could breathe again—which she did, greedily sucking in air—she pulled back and inspected his face. It was different, covered in week-old stubble, the cheeks more hollow than she remembered, the e
yes appearing older than before—but it was him.

  “My God, I’ve missed you,” he said.

  “You came back like you promised.”

  She kissed his face, aggressively, without shame or embarrassment. His arms tightened around her.

  I’ve never been this happy in my life, Michael sent into her.

  She cupped the words with mental hands, put them away in mental pockets, and vowed to treasure them for the rest of her life.

  He set her down on the pavement and studied her.

  “You look—healthier,” he said, smiling. “That’s good.”

  “I’ve put on a few pounds.”

  “Well, I’ve lost about twenty.” And it was true; his face was gaunt, and she could feel the lack of padding on his bones. “Can my men come inside?”

  His men. He had men he could call his own. Arielle laughed. Incredible how things could change in just a few months.

  She nodded, hair matted down with rainwater, and swept open the front door.

  “Come on in,” she called out to the men in the street. “Breakfast is almost ready.”

  Chapter 9

  There were dozens of them—almost two hundred, actually—and each man had sworn to obey the orders of a boy no older than nineteen. Blake was more than surprised; he was flabbergasted.

  After dinner, when the soldiers had turned in for the night, having chosen the mansions on Apple Orchard Road as their temporary residences, Michael sat with Blake and Midas in the office above the Matinee. Blake still used it, despite all the space that had opened up downtown with Meacham’s men all gone. Then again, he’d always been sentimental.

  Earlier, he had coughed up a wad of blood in the bathroom sink. He wasn’t feeling up to having this meeting so late at night, but Michael had insisted.

  “Pregnant,” Michael said, rubbing the side of his face. Blake could sense the boy’s anxiety. He was sitting hunched forward in his seat, legs together. “This changes things. We can’t lose any more time.”

  “I agree,” Blake said. “Gulch isn’t safe. For anyone, especially Arielle.”

  “One week to pack up the town,” Michael said, studying the floor as if there were a map of the Eastlands printed there. “Then we go across. With the men I got out of that prison camp defending us, we’ll be able to get all of our people into the NDR with no problem. My men have sworn to stand by us—not just me, but every member of this town.”

  Midas shook his head. “To just cross the Eastlands like that, with no guarantee of what’s going to be waiting for us on the road.”

  “My men are soldiers,” Michael said, raising his shoulders aggressively. He’d changed, that was certain; Blake had to hide his pride. “With the automatics John Meacham left behind, and the weapons in Reggie’s stash, we have enough to outfit half of my men. The rest we can get off caravans. And you have me—I’ve already sworn to stand by the people of Gulch, even if it costs me my life.”

  “You swore to whom?” Blake said.

  Michael leaned back a little, his shoulders loosening. “To the memory of my mother.”

  “You think if you can save these people, she’ll be proud of you?”

  Amusement curled Michael’s lips, only a tease of a smile. “I could ask you the same thing, Major. You’re the one who loved her. I never knew her. But wouldn’t she be proud of both of us if we got these people to safety?”

  Blake got up and stood by the window. He might cough up blood if he didn’t loosen up a bit. These days, emotional stress was enough to trigger the coughing spells, and each one felt deadlier than the one before it. He wanted to answer Michael but couldn’t.

  A heavy sigh came from Midas. “What you’re asking us to do is dangerous, Mike. Why can’t the NDR send more men first, and trucks, while they’re at it? That would make the odds of survival even better for us.”

  Michael shook his head. “No time. We have to leave as soon as possible.” He stood up. “It’s been decided, Doc. Don’t stand in my way. I beg you.”

  “I won’t,” Midas said, not looking up to meet his eyes. “But it doesn’t mean I have to like what you’re asking me to do. Reggie and Dominic are with you on this, I suppose?”

  “All the way,” Michael said, already turning toward the door. “Ian and Eli, as well.”

  Blake scoffed. “No kidding.” Still looking through the window at the dark street below, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a key. “This’ll open the locks on the barns. Take all the weapons you need.”

  He tossed the key over his shoulder at Michael, heard the smack as the boy caught it in one hand.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  …son, Blake had almost said. You’re welcome, son.

  But Michael didn’t need to know about that.

  Chapter 10

  The town was called Eddington, and it was dead for miles all around.

  Dietrich and Warren stood at the outskirts, watching the western horizon for signs of the men Kole had promised. Finally, after hours of staring at empty landscape, a black dot appeared in the distance.

  “Here they come,” Dietrich said.

  Warren grunted. “About damned time.”

  When the trucks arrived, Dietrich welcomed the first uniformed man to step off. He pulled the man aside.

  “What’s your rank?” he asked him.

  “Major, sir,” the man said.

  Dietrich smiled a little. A full major from the People’s Republic under his command. His mother would be so proud if she were still alive.

  The soldiers kept coming, wave after wave of trucks and utility vehicles. When they had all gathered as one army, Dietrich cleared his throat and addressed them.

  “This mission is more sensitive than you can imagine,” he shouted as he paced before them. “One wrong move and everything is lost. We must act tonight, which means you have precious few hours to get up to speed. Then we head east.”

  On hearing the word “east,” the men visibly tensed.

  “Bring me the package,” Dietrich told the major.

  The box that came to him, draped in a blue tarpaulin that rustled with each footstep, was so heavy it had to be carried by two men. Dietrich waved the men away and bent to inspect his prize. He ripped off the tarp, undid the clasp on the metal box, and threw open the lid.

  There it was, brand new, so shiny in the waning daylight that his mouth watered.

  A Targin Industries XL-244 flamethrower, nicknamed a “Dragon.” Next to it were two ammunition tanks and four mini-tanks meant to be slung over one’s shoulder and attached to one’s belt. One of the big tanks could go for hours of constant use.

  It was the power of Hell, right in his bare hands.

  “Don’t I get one?” Warren said, coming up behind him.

  “My apologies, old boy. Harris Kole only sent one. But trust me”—he held it up; without a tank, it weighed as much as a plastic toy—“one’s enough.”

  Warren gave a single nod to show he understood. For once, he was being obedient. Or maybe he was just scared.

  The major came up behind Dietrich and cleared his throat. Dietrich was still admiring the weapon. He brushed away a moth that had landed on the barrel. The major cleared his throat again.

  “What is it?” Dietrich said.

  “Commander, my men are ready to hear your plan—and about this girl.”

  Dietrich smiled and turned to face the two hundred soldiers gathered before him.

  “Yes,” he said. “The girl.”

  The soldiers listened. They knew nothing of the details, only that Dietrich had come up with the plan himself, and that the One President had liked it so much he’d awarded Dietrich a Distinguished Medal of Valor in his absence, to be presented to him in a glorious ceremony if he succeeded. Somehow word had slipped about the girl, but that was okay. At least they would be ready.

  With an even deeper smile, Dietrich held the flamethrower against his chest.

  “Her name i
s Arielle,” he announced, “and she’s the reason you’re all here.”

  Chapter 11

  “How did you find these again?”

  Michael picked up a bottle and inspected it. Amazing that one of his men just randomly happened to stumble across three bottles of exceptional single-malt whiskey, a full bottle of gin, and a whole gallon of—

  “Linus’s Finest Long-Fermented Moonshine Surprise?” he said, screwing off the cap and smelling the contents of the plastic jug. He winced at the powerful smell and capped it.

  The kid who had found the bottles watched Michael with an eager expression. His name was Redman, and he was the youngest of the soldiers, an impressionable eighteen year old who looked up to Michael despite only being a year younger.

  Eli sat back. He, Michael, and Redman sat in the Cold War Café with the box of booze on the table in front of them. A song by Elvis Presley called “Heartbreak Hotel” was playing on the jukebox, and the sound of his female fans screaming made Michael tense up. His men hadn’t celebrated their release from imprisonment yet, and if they didn’t let off a little steam, there could be problems on the road. Already a few of his soldiers had engaged in shouting matches with some of the farmers over where they directed their allegiance. Maybe this cache of alcohol was an opportunity to ease them up a little.

  “You say you felt its presence?” Michael said, narrowing his eyes at Redman, knowing it freaked him out a little. He was certain the kid was telling the truth, and yet something about this whole situation seemed a little odd.

  “Well, it wasn’t really that,” Redman said. He leaned over the table and clasped his hands together. He was a wiry kid with a crew cut and a freshly shaven face, courtesy of the barber down the road. “It was more like a gut instinct, y’know? I was passing by the house you said John Meacham used to live in, and I figured a powerful man like that must have something of value hidden somewhere, y’know, in a safe or something. If I was as rich and powerful as he was, I’d have stored some of that cash away for an emergency, in case I ever needed to escape or something.”