Salvation (Rise Book 2)

by Nathan Hystad

  He stood in the middle of the road, aware he needed to play his role. It was time to put on a masterclass as a Hunter. The truck slowed, the lights so bright, Dex had to place a hand in front of his eyes.

  Dex heard the sound of the driver’s door open, and the man shouted over the noise of his engine. “What you doing? Who are you?”

  Dex stepped forward, but the man barked at him to stay put. The man grunted as he hopped to the dirt, his truck still idling. “I said don’t move.” Dex stopped, finally seeing the man. He was short and round, his hair windblown, his eyes red and tired. It did nothing to distract from the very real rifle pointing at Dex.

  “I’m a Hunter. Dexter Lambert.” Dex’s hands straight in the air.

  “If you’re a Hunter, what in the hell you doing out in the middle of the road in the dark?” the man asked.

  “I was shot. We were ambushed. She’s dead…” He frowned, lowering his gaze to the road. “I need to regroup. Can you take me to the warehouse?”

  “Are you armed?” he asked.

  Dex nodded, pulling his gun from a holster under his leather jacket. He held it out handle first.

  “A Hunter, eh? I didn’t think you guys ever got ambushed. Who the hell would do such a thing?” he asked.

  “The Vermin,” Dex said, using the Overseers’ vernacular for the Roamers.

  The man only nodded, lowering his gun. “Well, since you have two hands, I suppose you can’t be one of them runners. Hop in.”

  Dex said a silent prayer to anyone listening and jogged to the passenger side, climbing up into the seat. It was full of papers and old coffee cups.

  “Sorry ‘bout that. I don’t get much company. Name’s Cliff.” He stuck out a hand as he placed the rifle behind his seat.

  Dex shook it, feeling the rough, sweaty palm. He wiped his hand on his jeans when the man turned from him. “Pleasure. Dex.”

  “Well, Dex. We should reach Kansas City in about an hour and a half,” he said, creeping the semi forward. Soon they were cruising down the highway, the sole vehicle on the twenty-nine for as far as the eye could see.

  “How long have you been driving for them?” Dex asked, trying his best to relax in the seat. His legs were so tired, his feet aching as he stretched out.

  “About ten years. Maybe a little longer,” he said. The man was about the same age as Dex, but the harsh life he was accustomed to always added a few more years.

  Most people working for the Occupation preferred to not discuss times before the invasion. It reminded them of their humanity, and working to help the aliens wasn’t always something people were proud of. This guy didn’t seem to mind.

  “You know what I miss?” the man asked.

  Dex was taken aback at the quick turn of the conversation. “No, what?”

  “Beaches. I used to love going to the beach,” he said, smiling as he stared at the road ahead. “I’d spend all year begging my parents to rent the cabin on the lake again in the summer, even though they couldn’t afford it, and when they finally gave in, I’d spend weeks planning my elaborate sandcastles.”

  “Is that so?” Dex asked, happy to have the man talking.

  “Yep. I’d be out on that crusty beige beach for hours, days, while my parents fought about who should do the dishes or whose turn it was to walk the dog. They never did anything together. I didn’t care. I was on the beach, alone with my castles, making moats where the sea creature swam, protecting the King and his kingdom from invaders. Kind of ironic, isn’t it?”

  “What’s that?” Dex asked cautiously.

  “That we were invaded. Guess we didn’t have a moat with a sea creature to protect us.” The man laughed, his voice too high-pitched for a moment.

  Dex couldn’t find the words to say; he just laughed along with Cliff.

  “Did you like the beach?” he asked.

  “I didn’t visit them much. Land-locked.”

  Cliff nodded along as if that explained everything. “There’s nothing like it. Don’t usually get to see the water on my route. I’ve asked them to change it so I could stop at Lake Erie or something, but they told old Cliffy he wasn’t allowed to make those kind of decisions, so here I am, driving from the main hub to Omaha, Kansas City, Nashville, then Atlanta, and back. Not so bad, though.”

  “Not so bad,” Dex mimicked.

  “How ‘bout you? Where you stationed?”

  “St. Louis.”

  “I thought that city was nothing but rubble.”

  “Close. We actually stay outside the limits, but nearby.”

  “You said something about a woman being killed earlier. Who was it?” Cliff asked, his gaze shifting to meet Dex’s.

  He decided to lie. “My partner. Kathy.”

  “Partner, eh?”

  “Not like that… well, sometimes like that. We chased together. We were on a case, hunting a couple out of Detroit.”

  Cliff’s eyes went wide. “Those two? Everyone was searching for them. We received constant bulletins about the missing man and the woman. Did you find them?”

  Dex didn’t really want to discuss it with this man, but it might help his cause if his tongue started wagging. “We did, only they led us into a trap outside Boise. Killed her, shot me up, leaving me for dead.”

  “But you escaped,” Cliff said.

  “Yes, I did.” Dex turned away, trying to play it up.

  “Sorry you lost her. They’re going to want to talk to you. Yes they are.”

  “That’s why I walked all this way.”

  “That’s a long trek. Glad I spotted you,” Cliff told him.

  “So am I.”

  Cliff went on to talk about his childhood some more, and Dex only half listened. By the time he heard the slamming of a door, he realized he’d dozed off.

  The truck was in a gravel parking lot, backed into a loading dock. It was dawn, and Dex glanced into the side mirror, seeing Cliff pointing toward Dex. Two armed men nodded, and Dex rolled his window down waiting for them to arrive.

  “Dexter Lambert?” the bigger of the two asked.

  “That’s me,” he told them.

  “Come with us.” The man’s tone was neutral, but it was clear these men were under implicit directions to deliver him safely somewhere. The smaller, wiry man with a goatee held a Glock in his grip, the bigger unarmed.

  Dex hopped out, wincing in pain and stretching his arms before following along like he was a Hunter with an attitude. “Thank god you’re here. Is there a Hunter guild nearby? I need to talk to them. Urgently.”

  “I said, follow us,” the smaller said, motioning Dex forward with his gun. The warehouse was big, but nowhere near the size of the facility he’d followed Monet and Alec to. This one felt shabby, the paint on the sides of the building worn, the lot not paved. The people in jumpsuits moved around slowly, like they were malnourished, and Dex realized they always were. He was seeing them in a different light; almost like he was seeing them for the first time. No wonder Tom was so damned cranky all the time.

  There was one other semi-truck beside them, loading people into it, their faces tired and expressions grim. Dex met the gaze of a young girl, tears rolling down her pale cheeks as the door was closed, latched, and locked. Anger boiled in him. How could he go on pretending he didn’t see any of this any longer?

  “Inside,” the bigger man said, leading him up steps into the warehouse.

  “Well, Dex. I hope you find justice,” Cliff said, sticking out his hand.

  Dex took it and shook it firmly. “Thanks for the lift. I hope you find your beach.”

  Cliff’s eyes brightened at this, and he walked away whistling a familiar song from the sixties about beaches and surfboards. Dex smiled as he relived the first time his father had played that classic album for him.

  The floor was half-empty, supplies stacked on rusted pallet racking. This warehouse was dying and Dex could see what Tom meant. The aliens didn’t plan on working with the humans for long. It was written all over the lack
of care or respect they had for the people in their service.

  Dex was brought to an office, an old water cooler sat beside the glass window with grimy white metallic blinds closed. He reached for a paper cup and saw the dispenser was empty.

  “We’ll bring you something to eat and drink. In the office,” the frail man said, opening the door for him.

  It was a cramped space; the desk in the corner covered with piles of dusty paperwork, the chair fabric torn, revealing yellowed foam beneath. Dex took a seat and spun around to face the men. “What am I waiting for?”

  “You’ll see.” The door shut, and Dex heard a lock click into place.

  Chapter 19

  Lina

  After more than a week on the road, Lina’s feet were ready for a month off. So was her back, her legs, her hips… Yas, their lumbering ox of a companion, along with two others of his people who had elected to make the journey to convince the other tribes to fight, seemed to be the opposite to her and never tired.

  “Has anyone told you your dog is…” he said, falling into step beside her.

  “Is a coyote, yeah. I know. So what?” she answered, realizing that her exhaustion was making her sound far snappier than she truly was.

  “I was only saying, is all…” Yas said, head lowered and cowed by her hostility. She sighed, feeling cruel for taking it out on him when he’d been through so much in the last few days. She remembered how it had been when she’d run from what had been her home, when she’d lost so many people—all of her people—and how hostile and suspicious she’d been of Cole when he took her in and helped her. He didn’t have to do that, and she didn’t have to be so short with Yas.

  “It’s a long story,” she said, softening slightly as she fought a wince of pain that lanced all the way from her left heel to the right side of her neck.

  “I have time,” Yas said. “I have nothing but time, really…” Lina sighed again. She felt sorry for him more than any kind of admiration, and she felt responsible for him like she would a little brother, if the little brother was built like a truck and lacked that higher level of observational empathy that a leader needed, in her opinion.

  “My friend, Cole, set a snare and the coyote got caught up in it. He cut it free and it hid where he was camped so he fed it wild turkey carcasses until it was stronger. When we… when we left the camp, Buddy followed us.” She shrugged as though to indicate that the rest of the story was obvious.

  “So where’s this Cole guy now?” Yas answered, smiling as though his intentions were tattooed on his forehead. Lina gave a baleful glance in his direction, trying not to smile at his well-formed features and the grin that promised just the right amount of mischief.

  “He’s on his own mission with the Reclaimers,” she said, leaving it intentionally open-ended so Yas could surmise for himself that his rival was a big deal in the resistance.

  “Oh, Chief Bigshot, huh?”

  “You ever taken out a Tracker drone?” she asked, shooting her own rueful smile at him and cursing herself for feeling the color flush hot in her cheeks.

  In any village, Yas would be a serious catch for a girl her age. Big was beautiful in her world, and although he might not have been the sharpest tool in the box, he was definitely attractive and capable. Yas said nothing; he huffed a little and continued to match her pace.

  “It’s still weird, though, you have to agree. It’s like having a pet fox or a squirrel that follows you around.”

  “I don’t think it’s weird,” she answered. “Buddy’s, well, Buddy. That’s all it is.” She sensed more than saw Yas shrug as his giant shoulders momentarily blocked out the sun on her right cheek.

  She was saved any further awkward conversation by Monet, on point, dropping to one knee, and holding a clenched fist aloft to freeze the others. Lina saw her tapping at the tablet and pressed forwards to crouch beside her.

  “Seekers,” she whispered. “Everywhere we go, the damn seekers are there.” Lina said nothing, sensing the woman’s stress levels being elevated as her own were.

  “Is it because of the attack on their village?” Lina asked in a hushed voice, careful not to be overheard by the survivors of that attack.

  “That’s my guess,” Monet told her. “They’ve been systematically searching all the areas surrounding their settlement, probably looking for the survivors.”

  Lina smirked to herself, happy to have been part of those survivors escaping the search by sending them to Cripple Creek where they would join the fight.

  “How far out are we?” she asked, seeing the red dots move away and feeling Monet deflate with relaxation.

  “Half an hour,” Yas said behind her, making them both stifle a yelp of fear as neither expected the big man to be so stealthy. “The village is over the next rise.”

  “You came here often?” Monet asked.

  “They traded us fish for furs,” Yas said with a shrug. “They were warmer, and we ate.”

  “It was the same with my people,” Lina said, unsure why she was sharing. “We traded with other settlements at least once a year.”

  “Fascinating,” Monet said in a tone that said she didn’t find it anything of the sort.

  Twenty minutes saw them to the edge of the village where Yas placed a hand the size of Lina’s head on her shoulder. She froze at the contact, at the sheer weight of his meaty paw, and peered up at him.

  “It is better if I go to them,” he said. “They know me, and they don’t know you.” His logic was simple and sound, and neither of them had reason not to trust him. He watched them in turn, seeing the acceptance in their faces, and stood tall to walk normally. It was only then that they realized how carefully he placed his feet, moving through the forest like he was stalking game. Neither of them could comprehend how such a big man could move so silently.

  They heard a challenge, an exchange of words, and Monet jabbed an elbow into Lina’s side to accompany her raised eyebrows to ask for an explanation.

  “Oh, he’s just telling them who he is. One of the sentries is familiar with him, and Yas is asking about the man’s sister…”

  “Fascinating,” Monet said for a second time.

  “He’s telling them that he’s with outsiders,” she said, feeling the sting of not being classed as one of them. She guessed that he was right, since the only people she had were a coyote that belonged less than she did and a man she was confused about, who was probably hundreds of miles away, and doing something just as dangerous as she was.

  “Come on,” Yas called to them. “It’s fine.”

  They rose, weapons held low and non-threatening as they entered a village so like her own that Lina choked down a sob of recognition, sadness, and loss.

  “They said they’re bringing their chief,” Yas said. “Would you let me talk first? I can tell them what happened to my people, and our elder can tell them what happened too. Then you can tell them what they can do to help.” He smiled at them, walking away to speak to his own people and make sure they were on the same page. Monet looked at Lina.

  “Dumb as a rock, but he understands how to work a sales pitch,” she said.

  “Sales pitch?” Lina asked.

  “Yeah, never mind. I think he has this shit under control for us.”

  He did, as Monet predicted. He spoke simply, plainly telling them what the enemy had done to his people. He explained how the Hunters had come, riding in the hovercrafts of their alien overlords, and had taken who they deemed fit. All of them who were young enough to work. Or breed. Those who were too resistant or too old were killed, and he witnessed this from the edges of their village. But they shouldn’t take his word for it, he told them, they should hear it from one of their own elders who he had rescued from the invasion. At his gesture, the bow-legged old man shuffled forwards and touched his forehead to Yas’ to thank him and connect with him for the benefit of the watching tribe.

  He confirmed Yas’ story, told the others how he had been discouraged from taking his walking
cane against the white men in their leather with their guns who were hurting his people.

  Noises of hurt and fear rippled around the assembled tribe, hearing how the old man wanted to bring war to an enemy who would’ve killed him in a heartbeat.

  When the old man had finished speaking, he turned and bowed his head at Yas, then at Lina and Monet as if to acknowledge them to the village for the first time as people of importance. Yas beckoned them forwards, speaking as they rose and stepped into the center of the gathering.

  “These people have come from the outside,” he said. “They have fought the Others and have won great victories against them. They come here to ask for your help, as I plead for you to listen and join them as my own people have. They are our only hope of living free—truly free—and we will unite to live free or we will die trying.”

  Only then did their chief rise from where he was sitting. He wasn’t near the dais where the other elders were; instead, he had chosen to sit cross-legged among his people. Others parted to allow him to enter the central stage and address the unexpected visitors.

  “What promises can you make us that our people will be safe when our fighters leave to join your rebellion?” he asked simply.

  “None,” Lina cut in, using their shared language and making Monet jab her with an elbow again as she didn’t speak their tongue. “We can’t make any promises, save for one.”

  “And what promise is that, child?”

  “I can promise you, with all the certainty in my heart, that if we don’t fight them, don’t stop their gateway from opening, we won’t have a planet left to live on. It doesn’t matter if they’ve ignored you until now, it doesn’t matter if they haven’t attacked you here yet; there will be no water left here, so everyone and everything will die. We’re offering an alternative. We’re showing you the way to fight them.” She glanced at Monet, beckoning her in. She stood, putting on what Lina recognized as her game face, and stepped into the limelight.