Winter's Legacy: Future Days (Winter's Saga Book 6)

by Karen Luellen

  “By yourself?” Nate blurted out.

  “I can handle myself.” The incredulous looks cast by the metahumans fed two things in Meg: 1) her need to prove her trustworthiness and 2) her sensitive ego. She stifled her need to boost her ego but knew she had to assuage their fears.

  “This is my home. I know the terrain. I’m an avid runner and have mentally mapped the ranch’s twenty acres. Where we’re standing is smack-dab in the middle of our land. This is my home-turf, ladies and gentlemen. Every crevice, every overgrown, rocky hill—the thick cluster of woods, wild brush, cactus patches, creeks—I could tell you where every anthill is if you wanted to know. I have a pretty good idea where they will make camp and the path they will take to engage. We’re at the advantage in so many ways. I have already hidden your blocks of C4 in key locations and will detonate at the most advantageous moments. Also, I will use my mind manipulation gifts to pick apart the enemy—igniting sloppy acts of revenge and an overall sense of demoralization.”

  “That’s not good enough. We’re risking our lives acting as immobile targets trapped in this place. I need to know you can do what you claim before I trust you,” Valen rested her hands on her muscular hips. Her body language as much as her words openly challenging Meg.

  Meg simply nodded and began disarming herself. Off went the weapons vest, belt and thigh holsters. “We don’t have time for mistrust between us, Valen. Let’s get this over with.” Meg stood arms hanging freely at her empty sides.

  “Fine,” Valen locked her jaw and started to remove her weapons.

  “That’s not necessary. Stay fully armed, just for the sake of time. Let’s have it, Valen. Attack me.”

  The other metahumans instinctively backed away as far as the walls of the barn would allow. Others scurried up to the loft for an aerial view.

  Soldier’s code dictated Valen seek her Company Leader’s approval before accepting an unauthorized match. Rhett looked between Meg’s locked jaw and Valen’s.

  “Make it fast, and try not to kill each other,” he grumbled and crossed his thick arms over his chest.

  Valen leveled her gaze at Meg as she raised her fists and began circling.

  Meg stood still.

  Just as Valen moved beyond Meg’s peripherals, she shot forward and hissed into Meg’s ear. “You’d better take me seriously, Original.”

  “Of course I do, Valen.”

  “Then why aren’t you engaging?”

  “I don’t have to touch you to engage.”

  “Humor me,” Valen challenged. She crossed her arms to reach for the six-inch blades she had harnessed there. The gasps of surprise from the company echoed off the concrete floor as they waited to see what she would do.

  Valen crouched, her eyes ever watchful of Meg, and laid one of the blades down in front of Meg’s boot before stepping back.

  “As you wish,” Meg nodded toward the blades acknowledging them. With a swift kick of her boot the blade flew into Meg’s outstretched hand. In the same motion, Meg flung it straight up embedding it harmlessly into the rafters.

  Valen only had time to register Meg’s movement and a flash of the blade. Assuming Meg was attacking first, Valen spun into the air and landed in a crouched position before leaping forward and slicing the air where Meg’s face had just been. Meg flung herself backward and used her momentum to backflip out of reach. Valen’s blade didn’t hesitate. She stabbed toward Meg’s torso, only to find Meg had pivoted aside.

  Droplets of perspiration blossomed on her forehead, but Valen was undeterred. She tightened her grip on the handle of the blade and exploded into a barrage of rapid lunges, jabs, swipes, slices and thrusts that only ever diced the shadowed air around Meg’s graceful, evasive movements. If the others hadn’t known this sparing match was unrehearsed, they would have sworn the females had choreographed the fight. It looked more like a dance than a battle.

  Valen leaped back, her dry blade still clutched in her now sweaty hand. She was panting as she frowned in disbelief at Meg.

  Meg straightened calmly. Her breathing was slow and steady.

  “Are you satisfied, Valen?” Rhett’s commanding voice broke the awestruck silence in the barn.

  Ignoring him, Valen spoke directly to Meg. “Am I supposed to believe your little display of evasive maneuvers is what will help win us this war? I gave you a blade. Are you a pacifist? Attack me as you say you will the enemy!”

  “If I could live my life as a pacifist, I would gladly. I fight only because I am protecting those I love.” Meg reached her hand up. From overhead everyone heard a sharp snap followed by a whooshing sound. Meg paused to allow the room to see what she’d done.

  Between her fingers, Meg held the missing blade. With a flip of her wrist she flung the blade directly toward Valen’s chest, but willed it to stop two feet from its mark. Valen had instinctively thrown her hands up to protect herself. As the seconds passed and she felt no impact, she peered between her arms to see what had everyone staring.

  The blade hung obediently in the air.

  Meg flicked her fingers and the metal clanked safely to the concrete floor.

  “I have been blessed, or cursed depending on how you think about it, with three abilities. First, I am an empath—able to read your emotions and thoughts, even at a distance.” Meg explained. “Also, I’m telekinetic—limited to smaller objects and only a short distance, but still able to move objects with my mind. And finally as an extension of my empath skills, I can also project emotions. Put simply, I can compel people to do what I want them to do.”

  Rhett watched as Meg glanced at the blade in Valen’s hand and raised one brow ever so slightly.

  Everyone’s attention shifted to Valen—her eyes widening in terror—as she watched her own arm raise. Helpless to stop what was happening, Valen saw her hand position the deadly blade near her own throat.

  Meg paused the scene to allow her words time to sink in. “However, I am not invincible. My gifts come at a price. It takes a lot of energy and concentration to compel one or more people. Also the stronger the subject’s mind, the more taxing they are to manipulate.

  “So you see, Miss Springer, you can trust that I will use my gifts as efficiently as possible against our enemies. I have to. I have a family to protect. Doubt what you will of me, but never doubt my devotion to them.”

  Meg turned slowly in the center of the space to address the room. Her dark eyes glistened with internal firelight. “Tonight, in our joint endeavor, my protection extends to each of you.” Meg’s gaze settled on Valen who stood stone-like, still holding the blade to her throat.

  “Valen, you may sheath your blades.” Meg nodded respectfully toward the soldier. Valen’s arm dropped of its own volition. Gingerly, Valen rolled her stiff shoulders freely.

  “I hope you’ll forgive me. I do not wish to use my gifts against you, ever again.”

  Meg stepped forward and offered Valen her hand. Everybody held their breath waiting to see what the Second in Command would do.

  Valen considered her options for only a half second before sheathing her blades. She moved to stand at attention; her form held perfectly. Her right hand shot up to her forehead as she performed a salute of respect to Meg.

  Understanding the gravity of the honor Valen just afforded her, Meg mimicked her movements and returned the salute. Meg’s smile was genuine as she resumed her casual stance, offering her hand once more. Valen took it without hesitation.

  “I would be honored to offer my services as your Second tonight, Miss Winter—that is, if my Commander approves,” Valen looked to Rhett.

  Rhett blinked in surprise. He was still in awe over the salute. In all their years working and training together, he had never seen Valen choose to salute anyone but himself. Ever. “I approve, of course. If that’s what Miss Winter wants.” He looked from Valen to Meg and back again.

  “Meg. Please call me Meg,” she reminded before tipping her head to the side, considering Valen’s offer. “Yes, I’ll take y
ou up on your offer, Valen.”

  A smile twitched at the corners of Valen’s mouth, but she couldn’t hide her exhilaration from the empath. Meg knew she was jumping up and down inside at the prospect of fighting at her side. “They won’t know what hit ‘em!”

  Rhett chuckled, “Well, all I’ve got to say is I’m damn glad we’re all on the same team.”

  “Hooah!” the soldiers whooped.

  Meg hurried to rearm herself with her vest and weapons.

  Rhett raised his hand to silence the Company. “Show’s over. Get to work! Time is ticking and we have some metamonarch ass to kick!”

  Valen walked one step behind Meg, matching her stride. She paused to grab silencers for her guns and clipped several grenades to her belt for good measure.

  “Rhett,” Meg reached into her pocket and tossed him the remote for the barn doors. Keep it on channel 3,” Meg tapped her earpiece as she called over the noise of three dozen soldiers urgently mobilizing equipment and weapons. “Oh, and I left the front door unlocked for you guys.”

  Rhett nodded once in acknowledgement before adding, “You two leave some bad guys for us. Copy?” Meg knew he was hiding his worry behind a composed facade. She sent him a targeted wave of calm and confidence. His shoulders instantly pulled back further, pushing his chest forward and his chin up.

  “Not makin’ any promises, sir,” Valen grinned.

  “Yo, Meg! Valen!” Nate called as he ran up to them, his arms holding two small packages. “Water and MREs—just in case.”

  “Thanks Mom,” Valen teased as she took her package and slipped it into the camo backpack she was about to sling over her shoulders. Meg did the same with the satchel at her hip.

  “I imagine we’ll be thanking you even more in a couple hours when we’re parched and ravenous.” Meg offered a genuine smile. Nate couldn’t help but stare at her. Something about Meg drew people to her, and Nate wasn’t immune.

  Valen turned to lock eyes with Meg, awaiting orders.

  “Let’s roll,” Meg turned and walked through the narrow opening Rhett had created with the remote.

  By the time the two women disappeared into the shadows on the other side of the doors, Rhett had moved to stand beside Nate.

  “Will we see them alive again, sir?” Nate asked in a low whisper so as not to be heard by the others.

  “Are you asking if I think they will die? Or we will? Or neither, or both? I don’t know Townsend. What I do know is we’re finally fighting on the right side,” Rhett thumped his friend on the back heartily, “and we’re in for one hell of a night.”

  “Copy that, sir.”

  55 Monarchs and Milkweed

  Michelle spent most of the flight gathering intel and preparing for their assignment. In that planning, she had secured satellite images of the Winter ranch and the surrounding area. She made it her business to know not just the weather, wind direction and velocity, but the topography of the land and roads in the area. Using the data and the known location of 17th Company, she already determined two valid campaigns that would serve their purpose. She wanted to be prepared when she approached Company Leader Hays. With his onsite surveillance and her added muscle, Meg Winter was never again going to see the light of day.

  Michelle was smiling as she plucked her phone from her pocket to call Rhett Hays. As it rang, she looked around. The driver of her truck was a trusted metamonarch who, like all of them, had several names for his alter personalities, but primarily went by Gipson. His eyes skillfully took in the road before them while glancing into his mirrors to be sure the rest of the convoy was following as they should.

  “Hays,” he answered.

  “Hays, it’s Michelle Andrews. My team is en route to your location with an ETA of twenty minutes.”

  “We’ll be ready for you,” Rhett assured.

  “Excellent. Andrews out,” she ended.

  “Copy, Hays out.”

  Michelle replaced her phone and watched the scenery go by beneath a dark and moonless sky.

  Exactly twenty minutes later the trucks had maneuvered down a path just wide enough to fit their trucks. Michelle’s senses were heightened. Something was wrong.

  “Is this the exact GPS coordinates?” she asked the driver for the fourth time in five minutes.

  “Yes, ma’am. We’re still receiving the signal from just around that hill.” The driver nodded toward the slightly elevated ground their headlights were bouncing from as they slowed to mount it.

  “Where are the lights?” Michelle thought aloud.

  “Maybe their leader had them snuff out all lights once the sun went down to hide the base.”

  “Maybe,” Michelle said, although the frown hadn’t left her forehead. “Maybe it’s something else. You don’t know Meg like I do.”

  “Excuse me, ma’am, but she’s just one girl, right? How much of a threat is she against all of us?”

  “I would rather face an army of metahumans than take on that ‘one girl.’”

  Her driver glanced at Michelle’s face—sure she was exaggerating. Instead, Gipson saw Michelle’s eyes crackle with hatred.

  “Meg Winter is brilliant and powerful—unpredictable and influential. She always has been, but now she knows how to wield her gifts.”

  They rounded the small hill and pulled into a clearing.

  “Stop the truck.”

  Gibson obeyed immediately.

  The two trucks behind followed suit, stopping to a duet of squeaking brakes that echoed too loudly. Headlights were left on trying to light up the site.

  Michelle opened her door and looked around. The others followed her lead.

  “Here? Are you sure this is the correct location?” she asked no one in particular.

  A monarch marched up to her holding out his phone. “This is where we were to meet, ma’am. We’re standing on the exact coordinates.”

  “The grass is trampled,” another monarch noticed aloud.

  “We found tire marks here,” a third reported.

  “It looks as if they were here.”

  “I just spoke to the Company Leader twenty minutes ago. They were just here.” Michelle wracked her brain trying to figure where they would have gone and why.

  “They must have left in a hurry, ma’am. They left a whole case of weapons.”

  The three dozen monarchs had gotten out of the trucks and were milling about as they worked the kinks out of their stiff legs after a long day of travel.

  Michelle had just pulled her phone from her pocket and pressed the redial button when she heard the last slave’s comment on the case.

  He was moving in impossibly slow motion as he leaned over, flipped the case’s latches open and began to lift the solid lid.

  “Noooo!” she held out her left hand and screamed, her mouth still pressed into the forgotten phone.

  Her stomach dropped to her knees in the fraction of a second it took to trigger the explosive.

  Time hung in the air.

  Everybody had turned toward Michelle as she yelled. Instinctively she’d flung herself to the ground, but she wasn’t fast enough. She saw the blinding burst of light against the flesh of the monarch who had taken the bait and opened the case. The upper half of the man’s body exploded from the lower half. Monarchs flew into the moonless night, spinning and tumbling in an aerial dance of death before crashing in heaps.

  The IED’s concussive blast was immense. Its effect devastating.

  Michelle gingerly pulled herself up on her elbows. Her ears were sources of screaming, stabbing pain. Blood trickled from her lobes. She looked around trying to assess damages, but couldn’t see through the dust and debris. She thought of yelling to her team, but decided to save her breath. They wouldn’t be able to hear any better than she could.

  She felt around for her phone, but it was gone, blown from her hand by the blast wave. She forced herself to her feet. Her long, dark hair torn loose from its clips, stuck to the bloody scratches on the exposed skin of her neck and fac
e. Her equilibrium affected by her blown eardrums, she stumbled back to where she believed the trucks were.

  The screaming silence and pounding heartbeat in her head made it hard to think, but she knew she had to warn Arkdone.

  Never had she been on the receiving end of destruction.

  Meg will pay for this, Michelle seethed. She knew full well Meg Winter was the reason she was counting bodies on the ground—digging through their pockets looking for a working cell phone.

  By the time she found one, eleven Monarchs had surfaced alive and were as fight-ready as she was. Five more were alive, but too injured to be useful in battle. The rest were maggot food in the making.

  None of them could hear past their torn eardrums, so Michelle scrounged up a pencil and paper to write her orders.

  The Winter Clan set this trap. Assume metahumans of 17th Company are enemies now. Gather what you can off the bodies and load up the two working trucks. Be careful! Don’t touch anything you don’t have to. More traps could be set and we cannot afford to lose any more people. We leave in five minutes.

  The note was passed hand to hand until all eleven had read it. They stood alert, waiting for her to dismiss them. Absently, she waved her hand, motioning for them to get moving. Though bloody and battered themselves, every slave obeyed without question.

  Michelle made her way to the first working truck and climbed inside. She knew she would be severely punished for her failure. She just wished the Senator would allow her the chance to kill Meg Winter before her penance.

  Grasping the cell phone with both hands, she managed to steady her trembling fingers just enough. Choosing her words carefully, she began dictating the text message to her Master.

  56 Half

  An hour later, the remaining metamonarchs had relocated to the east of the Winter Ranch. They chose the location so the sunrise would be to their backs obstructing visibility to anyone in the west.

  By the time Arkdone arrived, the new site had been scouted and secured. The central command base tent was erected and communications were in place. Each Monarch was set up with a radio and throat mic, but using them was still tricky. Everybody who experienced the blast was regaining their hearing slowly.