by Ric Beard
“Well, I might need him,” Morgan said, gesturing at Sean, “but I can’t see any good reason to keep you two ladies around.”
Chapter Ninety
If You Want to Shoot Him
“Drop the piece, asshole,” a voice said from behind Morgan. Morgan didn’t comply. Lexi watched the man in black press his rifle against the back of Morgan’s neck. “I’m not going to give you a countdown, stooge. Drop it or I’m going to watch you crystalize in the snow.”
Morgan held up the weapon so the man behind him could see it, then dropped it. The pistol cut a hole in the snow.
“On your knees.”
Morgan looked down at his suit pants, then at the snow.
“Well, shit.” He pulled down his pants legs at the knees and slowly lowered himself to the street, revealing the man standing directly behind him. Without being asked, Morgan laced the fingers of his hands together and held them on the back of his head.
Lexi looked up and heard William gasp.
Reagan muttered, “Moss?”
A black man with piercing brown eyes was holding a long-barreled weapon with a very thin stock unlike anything Lexi had seen before. There was no corporate insignia, no scope, and it was constructed of smooth black metal. His clothing was smooth black too, from the bandana around his neck, to his knee-length trench coat, to his thick, high-soled leather combat boots.
The man picked up Morgan’s weapon and tossed it to Reagan, who caught it and clicked on the safety.
“Who the hell are—?”
Before Lexi could get the whole sentence out, her brother charged past Morgan and lowered his shoulder toward the man in black. Though Lexi wasn’t exactly sure what happened next, there was a blurry whirl of the open, black trench coat, the man’s rifle vanished inside it, and then the man whirled and kicked the side of the quad muscle in William’s upper leg, and sent him sliding face first through the snow. William spun and got to one knee as the man in black took a few steps back, holding his hands out wide. Lexi noted how he’d moved to the one spot where he could keep an eye on all of them at the same time, using his peripheral vision. Lexi understood this tactic well.
“It’s okay with me if you want to shoot him,” Morgan said.
Lexi stepped forward and kicked Morgan in side of his neck. Morgan shuddered a few times as his eyes bugged out and he fell unconscious into the snow. She reached down and picked up her gun. The man in black didn’t budge.
“You don’t want to do that, chief,” he said.
Lexi looked over at the man Reagan had called “Moss” and saw that he was addressing William.
“You locked me in a fucking box,” William growled. He got to his feet and Lexi could see his muscles tense as if to lunge again.
“Sean!” Reagan yelled. “Stop!”
Lexi felt like her head was swiveling on a ball bearing as she turned her head from Reagan to William, who was now staring at Reagan.
She’d called him Sean, not William. He goes by Sean now.
The crimson darkness on her brother’s face spoke of a seething hatred Lexi had seen before. Hell, she’d felt it, herself, in a jail cell very recently. He really wanted to hurt this Moss guy. She thought about helping her brother, but having seen the man’s response to William’s—Sean’s!—charge, Lexi knew he was to be sized up, not trifled with.
William lunged again. This time, the man held his ground, and right before William’s shoulder reached his midsection, he twirled in a circle, his trench whipping into the air again to create a black blur of motion. This time her eyes were locked on target, and she noted he was actually throwing his coat tails outward to distract.
That’s pretty fucking cool kung-fu shit, right there.
He stepped smoothly out of the way as William blew past him. When he stilled, the trench swung in a spiral to slap tightly to his sides before coming to a rest. William slid on the snow, swinging his arms out to his sides for balance. Lexi was impressed when he managed not to fall, but she was more impressed that the man in black had not even laid a hand on her brother.
He doesn’t want to hurt him.
William whirled around again. Lexi saw the frustration painted on his face and turned her gaze on the man in black who met her eyes, as if he’d felt her looking at him.
“Hi,” he said, without an ounce of tension in his voice.
Lexi considered him for a moment. His face wasn’t wound up in anger. His eyes were leveled on hers, but he wasn’t so much as squinting. His facial muscles were relaxed, and his hands dangled loosely by his hips. William had charged this guy, and he wasn’t even upset. He’d even moved his weapon out of the way.
“Hi. Maybe you could catch me up here? Did you put my brother in a box?”
Reagan answered. “A pod. Used by OK City people out on I-40. Made for two. Climate controlled. Pretty comfy.”
“Whose side are you on?”
“He pulled me out of the cul-de-sac where I was held prisoner and tortured for two years. How about we keep me neutral?” Reagan said, without hesitation. “Moss, what the hell are you wearing?”
Lexi looked from Reagan to Moss. “Could someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?”
“You don’t have time for this right now,” Moss said. “The Chain is close. You need to get out of the city.”
“I’d at least like to know why my brother wants to pulverize you.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw William tense again. She turned toward him and held out her palm. “Stay right there, Wi—Sean. You’re going to get yourself hurt.” She noted how Moss didn’t even look in Sean’s direction. “Plus, why would you think I’m leaving the city?”
Moss smiled. Lexi frowned.
Sean stood straighter.
“He stuck me in a pod.”
“I thought he stole the vehicle. It’s a prototype. If I hadn’t held him until the drones were back online and I could confirm his story, I would have been sending someone with a powerful weapon I know all too well right at your walls. I couldn’t do that.”
Lexi looked at Sean.
“Does that make sense to you?”
Sean just stared.
“Shit,” Reagan said.
Lexi looked at her and raised an eyebrow.
“You have pertinent input?”
“I get it now.”
Lexi held out two fingers and rolled them in a circle.
Go ahead.
“Your brother is claustrophobic.”
This time, Moss did turn his head.
“Brother?” Astonishment crossed Moss’s face. “Lexi, this is your brother?”
Lexi raised her pistol.
“That’s it. It’s time to do some talking, Moss. How do you know my name?”
To her surprise, Moss smiled. He took two steps forward, and Lexi took one back.
“Fire the weapon,” Moss said. He took another step forward. Lexi matched it by stepping away.
“I will blow you the fuck away.”
“Then fire the weapon.” He took another step forward. Lexi compensated.
“You have a death wish?”
“Lexi!” Reagan barked. “Lower your weapon!”
“If you’re going to pull the trigger, do it,” Moss said. “You don’t have time, and you need to get out of the city while you still can.”
Lexi tilted her head.
“Who the hell are you?”
“You can’t blow me away with your weapon set to low.”
Lexi glanced at the setting.
Moss lunged forward and yanked the weapon from Lexi’s hand just in time to rotate, shift his weight, and shove a charging Sean into her. The snow was cold beneath her ass and her brother was heavy.
Oldest trick in the book, and you just fell for it, girl.
He tossed the weapon to Reagan.
“Seeing as you owe me one, how about keeping them here until I’m gone.”
Lexi turned in time to see him moving away down the alley. He wasn’t walking. He wa
s concealing his movement as he ran.
How does he do that?
Sean and Lexi untangled themselves and stood up. They looked at Reagan and then back down the alley.
Moss was gone.
Chapter Ninety-One
I'm a Little Busy
A ping beeped on his Tab. Reynolds sat in his living room, sipping tea instead of the bottle of booze he’d eyed while pondering the hell that must have been Reagan’s last two years. How she’d held on while suffering abuse at the hands of those monsters and protecting a child born of the same abuse. He sat in awe of the maternal instinct, the raw nature, and the sheer will it would have taken to overcome her circumstances.
The sirens yanked him out of his daze as they started another cycle. A huge contingency of badlanders pushed their way quickly through the safe zone and moved closer. Hell was about to rain down on Triangle City once again. The talking head on the government broadcast announced that the cameras in the safe zone were completely offline, and when technicians were sent out with guards, they’d spotted The Chain moving in. Three were dead, but the rest made it back to the city. The badlanders seemed to have found a way to disable the cameras in the forest, possibly with a portable, directional EMP stolen from the Expeditionary Forces—hence the lack of warning, the lack of time to prepare. They’d moved quickly, decisively, and they were lining up in ranks at the gate, a show of force.
He looked down at the Tab.
Good luck.
My work is done here.
Live long and prosper.
-Labyrinth
Lexi was leaving. She was going back to the compound, the home base of The Foundation.
Reynolds sighed.
For two years, he’d sat drinking himself to death, pining for the partner he thought was dead. Two years funded by and plotting with Miles and Lexi, fabricating an underground movement in a city full of passives who wouldn’t dream of joining, even if they’d tried to recruit them. They were a movement consisting of only four people, until one of them got arrested and imprisoned. Then they were three, until one of them killed a Security Services thug and brought down a building in his wake. Then they were two.
He remembered Lexi’s original offer. She was plugged into everything happening in the city. She had known entirely too much about his predicament, and even though he knew Lexi was using him toward her own purposes, their purposes coincided. She argued that their joint purpose made them strong, that their abilities made them formidable.
Not that she’d had to do much convincing. Reynolds was in a constant state of fluctuation between depression and rage. Lexi had given him purpose, providing the planning and the tools he needed to take his revenge. She’d given him a secluded space to do his dirty work, the technology to bounce his IP addresses all over the city, and the will to continue living instead of constantly challenging himself at the barrel of a fusion weapon in his drunken stupors.
He could still see her face as she conveyed the proposition on that rainy day. They both wanted the mayor to pay, she argued: Lexi for his strong-arming tactics and self-interest, Reynolds for what he’d done to his own daughter before sending the Expeditionary Forces south, like the fucking coward he was. They’d sewn minor chaos, set events in motion, tempted the mayor to make stupid decisions, and laid the foundation for Mikael Jensen to finally run for Vaughn’s office.
That was the trick that had shown Reynolds just who the real Lexi Shaw was: a fierce adversary, a focused strategist, and an all-around deadly bitch. A mere threatening of the business Jensen handed over to his son had prompted the old man to action. Lexi theorized that Jensen, with no other method of finding out who ran The Underground, would protect his son Blake by running for office, rendering The Underground irrelevant by doing what he did best—putting them out of business. Ironically, the Oil Age saying was applicable: if you can’t beat them, join them.
Lexi planted the very seed in his ear, urging him to run. She’d spent evenings with the man feeding him information about the mayor’s strong arm tactics, using the information she’d acquired from the officers at the Digit. She’d seduced them, drank with them—whatever it took to get what she needed to turn this city around so The Foundation could further its drive toward its goal: a unified front of civilization against the hordes of evil pervading the badlands.
Reynolds reminded himself of Reagan’s ability to survive, her determination. He thought of his own weakness, drinking, gripping that pistol in his shaking hand, and being too much of a coward to end his suffering. He stood up and clinched his fists.
We have made a difference, dammit! He paced around the floor. It doesn’t matter how many people show up to picket! They’re picketing! Vaughn is on the ropes!
Soon their mission would be accomplished…if the badlanders outside the walls didn’t squash the city first.
He walked into the kitchen and poured a cup of tea from a glass pitcher and turned around to lean on the counter. Something moved outside his window and he flinched, dropping the glass to the tile floor where it shattered into a thousand pieces.
“Shit!” He slammed his fist on the counter and stomped over to the window. If someone was out there, he would—
What the hell?
Pulling back the curtains, he peered through the glass and peered at the street. They marched in droves. There had to be a hundred of them visible through the window, carrying pulse rifles, fusion pistols, even bullet-firing rifles from the days of the Oil Age. Their heads were high, there was pride in their step. Even if they marched out of step and out of ranks, they marched proudly to the west, in the direction of the main gate. Reynolds felt something rise up in his chest, a warmth that radiated throughout his torso as he felt a sense of gratitude so strong that he became lightheaded. It was like he’d taken a swig.
He walked across the kitchen, oblivious to the glass crunching beneath his shoes, and slapped the panel next to his door before stepping out onto the front stoop. The citizen army flowed up the street and continued to flow from around corners. They merged together, packing the street, to face their mutual bearing. He saw the familiar expressions of the comfort found in joining one’s own kind to achieve a single purpose. It was a feeling he’d experienced when he treaded the badlands to the west with Reagan and his team.
Hope.
Reynolds raised his fist into the air and wrapped all of his pain into a war cry with a ferocity that surprised even him. The crowd looked over, some initially confused, the ones closest to his stoop stumbling away. But then, one by one, they raised their fists into the air and sounded a combined scream so overwhelming that it sent a chill up his spine. The collective yell rolled through the streets of Triangle City as more took up the cry, making its way to the east like a wave that split off to the north and south.
Reynolds felt warm tears rolling down his face as he tapped his Tab.
“Thomas,” a voice on the other end said.
“It’s Reynolds.”
“Kade? What the hell? We have an army of badlanders bearing down on us! I’m a little busy!”
“I was wondering if you have a pulse rifle for me.”
Silence crept onto the line. A pause.
“I’ll put you right at the top of the wall if you want. It’s going to be like the old days! Citizens are lining up at the gate asking to fight!”
“Who are you telling?” Reynolds said. “You better make room. There are a hell of a lot more where those came from! See you in twenty, brother,”
“For the world!” Thomas yelled.
“For the world!” Reynolds screamed.
Part Twenty-One
Triangle City
Chapter Ninety-Two
A Hell of a Surprise
Lexi Shaw tracked down Commander Reece Davies at the City Indoctrination Center where he’d been speaking with a few citizens who’d managed to escape the raid on the Asheville Township on hover bikes as their neighbors were brutalized. Shaw passed a code to Davies’s Tab. Files s
tarted flowing to the device almost immediately. Davies checked the sender name and frowned.
“Miles Copeland?”
“Look at the files, and then decide if you want to let the city burn. I’m in a hurry.”
It hadn’t taken long for Davies to see the weight of the situation once he started reading through the files. Though Davies wondered at Shaw’s connection to the notorious anarchist, he suddenly had bigger fish to fry.
Hell was coming.
The anarchist seemed to be helping. Shaw seemed to be helping. He knew better than to waste his time asking who delivered a gift instead of opening it.
Once Shaw knew that Davies had what he needed to make informed decisions, she’d adjusted her pulse rifle and her backpack before charging out of the C.I.C.
Miles Copeland radioed Davies via a drone connection after he sent all the data he’d collected on the incoming threat.
“Commander, you’ve got an assload of bad news surging through your safe zone en route to the city,” Copeland had said.
“That’s the impression I’d gotten. Do you have a troop count?”
“Thousands. Sorry, I can’t be more accurate.”
Triangle City rerouted a drone patrolling the city skies and sent it west, but when it crashed to the ground, they re-tasked all the remaining drones.
They soared at high altitudes in an effort to escape the EMPs the city theorized were being used by The Chain to bring down the first drone and to disable the cameras in the safe zone. The newly-tasked machines seemed to be flying without detection from the forces below, but the badlander army was masking their actual numbers via the tree cover. It didn’t matter. The drones and Miles Copeland had changed the game. The attack would no longer be a surprise.
How ironic is it that Miles Copeland is the city’s trump card against these assholes? Davies thought as he scrolled through his Tab perusing the rough maps Miles sent him, along with the descriptions of the badlander columns.
