LAST
VICTORY
The Last City Series
Book 6
By
Kevin Partner
Mike Kraus
© 2020 Muonic Press Inc
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1: Return
Chapter 2: Dickie
Chapter 3: Diversion
Chapter 4: Escape
Chapter 5: Exodus
Chapter 6: Murder
Chapter 7: Promise
Chapter 8: Turncoats
Chapter 9: Plot
Chapter 10: Scriver
Chapter 11: Mutley
Chapter 12: Convoy
Chapter 13: Plans
Chapter 14: Jessie
Chapter 15: The Bridge
Chapter 16: Assault
Chapter 17: Said
Chapter 18: Hunt
Chapter 19: The End
Epilogue
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Special Thanks
Special thanks to my awesome beta team, without whom this book wouldn’t be nearly as great.
Thank you!
Chapter 1: Return
She recognized his shape as he stood silhouetted against orange-ribbed clouds, hands held high. She knew it, but still her throat caught as if, by saying his name, he might evaporate in the twilight.
"Jessie?"
Now she ran to him, arms outstretched, into a trembling, sweaty embrace.
"Did Jade make it? And the others?"
"Yeah, they're all here. Scriver's still alive."
They held each other for a moment before the car door opened, and Joe Bowie stepped out.
"It's okay, Ricky. I know him."
"Yeah, stand down from red alert," Gert said, patting Ricky on the shoulder as he lowered his weapon.
Jessie pulled away, and Gert took Devon hand. "I am very happy, my friend. I thought your foolish heroism had cost you your life."
"I had to go back for Joe and Martha. She's in a bad way, Jessie."
Jessie hugged Joe and then went to look at his wife. "We need to get her inside. She can go in my bed."
"Come, you also must get some rest. And a change of clothes if we can manage it," Gert said, putting his arm around Devon's shoulder.
"We can't stay here, Gert. Once Mendoza's gotten control over Scriver's forces, he's gonna come looking for us."
Gert guided Devon toward the farmhouse. "I know, my friend. But for now, you must rest and eat. You need some healing."
As Devon woke, he glimpsed a pale shoulder moving up and down rhythmically. He lifted his head a little. It hadn't been a dream. Jessie lay snoring gently beside him, sandwiching him against the back of the sofa. They were in the front room of the farmhouse, in a bed made by pushing two armchairs up against the couch. It was uncomfortable but exquisite, and he didn't want it to end.
Sadly, he'd long ago learned the world didn't dance to his tune.
"Jeez!" He pulled his arm back and sat up to see a black bundle of fur yawning at his feet. Toto had insisted on sleeping with them, but he'd clearly eaten something he shouldn't, and the room's atmosphere was becoming increasingly toxic.
Jessie rolled over. "Was that you?"
"And so, the spell is broken," Devon said. He leaned down to kiss her. "Where's Dorothy?"
"Lynda's got her. She's become quite the Mary Poppins. All the kids follow her around."
Devon fell back into his cocoon and pulled her to him, feeling the soft warmth of her breath on his neck as the farmhouse went about its business on the other side of the living room door.
She looked up at him and pulled his head forward so their lips could connect again.
"I'm sorry," he said, after a wonderful few seconds. "I know I stink."
She shook her head. "I don't care." And she pulled him closer, her belly pressing into his as, for a brief time, the universe contracted into a bubble surrounding just the two of them.
The shower was a primitive affair, but glorious nevertheless. Devon stood in the bathroom beneath a wooden framework supporting a large metal bucket that directly fed the shower head, producing an all-too-brief rain of clean, warm water. Jessie had brought up a second bucket and, once he'd cleaned the worst of the blood and grime away, he could properly wash himself. Pits, bits, sack, crack, as some wise guy in the Met Police had said during basic training.
He emerged feeling more human than he had since he'd been forced to become the puppet mayor of Hope and returned the favor by fetching a bucket for Jessie while she got undressed. She refused his suggestion that he "help" her get showered, so he went back into the front room, where he found a camouflage jacket and pants, along with apparently clean underpants and socks.
"It fits, I see," Gert said, as Devon emerged into the kitchen. The Dutchman was sitting at the table Jessie had used to patch up Scriver the day before, drinking from a mug.
Devon took a seat opposite him, pouring himself a drink from the heavy iron pot. "Yeah, thanks. Where did you get it from?"
"Best not to ask, my friend. The onderbroek—underpants—are from my spares, but I promise they were boil-washed first. But it's amazing what a few hours' sleep can do and, well, I know that look when I see it. You are a lucky man."
"I know. But what's the latest? How's Martha?"
Bekmann shook his head. "They beat her up bad. Real bad. Given what she's been through these past weeks, I'm surprised she doesn't just give up. I think Joe keeps her going."
"And the man she shot?"
"He'll survive. Man, I hope he's worth it. Now, you must tell me exactly what happened. We have decisions to make, and I think much depends on what we do in the coming hours and days."
Everyone gathered in the barn, except for the kids who were being supervised by Lynda Strickland. The former deputy mayor had, it seemed, entirely retired from any form of responsibility except the most basic. There were, perhaps, two dozen adults in the barn, with another handful on guard duty and two—Martha and Scriver—confined to bed.
Devon sat on a straw bale, his arm around Jessie. He would have given everything he possessed (though that wasn't much) to enjoy a couple of days’ rest in this idyllic place, but he somehow doubted he would get it.
Gert stood in the middle, addressing the assembly in his easily authoritative manner.
"So, we know that Mendoza is the worst of the worst. Devon witnessed him turning on his own people, so he is
now the head of the Sons of Solomon. It may take him a little time to get all the forces that were commanded by those he killed under his control, but soon enough he will come looking for us. We must not be here when he does. We are only a few miles from Hope and, though we are well hidden, his people will find us eventually.
"Let me be clear, to any of you who don't truly understand what we are dealing with here. Mendoza is a monster. If he comes, he will kill all the men, and most of the women. We do not need Devon's word for this …" At this, he looked directly at Ricky who, it seemed, still harbored doubts about Devon. "We have testimony from other survivors. So, we must go. The questions we must address are where and how soon."
Jessie slumped against Devon's shoulder. She obviously hated the idea of leaving this place, though she no longer felt safe.
Gert nodded at Ricky, who had his arm in the air. "Do we have any news about Hick? He was off 'n chasin' a wild goose. Maybe he caught it."
"No. We must make our decision as if he has failed."
Devon glanced across at the farmhouse. "Gert, maybe we should get Marianna out here. She knows far more about the Sons than we do."
"No way!" Ricky roared. "It's on account of her and her kind that we're skulkin' in these here hills in the first place."
"She's on our side," Devon said, looking up into the red, bearded face.
Gert shook his head. "Ricky's right. The best we can say is she was working with a different faction. That doesn't mean she's our friend."
Devon got to his feet. "She saved me, Gert, when she'd have had a better chance of getting away if she'd just run for it."
"Is that right?" Jessie said, her upturned face full of doubt. "Are you sure she didn't rescue you because she needed your muscle-power to help with Scriver? And to take the heat while you escaped?"
He went to open his mouth in denial, but she'd shoved a great big hunk of doubt into his mind. Had that been Marianna's purpose? Was he just a means to an end? Without another word, he sat again, propping his hand on his chin as he tried to divine the truth.
"As for where we go," Gert continued, "I think we have no choice other than Springs, at least to begin with. Last I heard, all is well there. We can regroup and plan our next move."
"Next move?" Ricky said. "And what's that gonna be? Just keep runnin'? I don't like that, Gert, and I don't mind tellin' you. I don't like it at all. One day, they're sure to catch up with us and we'll be cornered like rats."
Gert smiled. "You want to take the fight to them? Yes, me also. And we will, my friend. I promise you that. But we are also responsible for many who cannot fight, so we must make them as safe as possible first."
"Good grief, the old folks," Devon said, snapping out of his malaise. "Marianna told me she'd moved them to dormitories at Barratt's Farm. They'll be first in line."
"What is it with him and the old?"
A female voice spoke from the back of the room and Devon turned to see a very tall blonde woman in fatigues. "He hates them. Something in his past."
Gert nodded at her. "This is Kris Ritter."
"Another turncoat," Ricky muttered.
"She was part of the Ezran forces under Crawford for a while, but she's one of us now. She helped Hick get into Ezra."
Ritter mumbled something about overhearing Mendoza while hiding in an attic before retreating back into the shadows.
"Shoulda done somethin' useful and gone off with Hickman."
"That's enough, Ricky," Gert snapped. "Your past isn't exactly squeaky clean. Kris has proven herself to Hick and me."
Again, the big man subsided, though he continued to grumble to himself from near the back of the barn. Another person fueled by fury, Devon thought. It was something of a relief that it wasn't only him that Ricky was suspicious of, but Devon had worked with people like him before: grenades with loose pins. You spent all your time wondering when they'd finally go off.
"So, unless anyone else here has a suggestion, I think we should make plans for moving to Springs."
"What about the old folk?" Jessie asked. "You're not thinking of leaving them behind, are you?"
Gert sighed. He obviously wished he didn't have to think about them. Before he could speak, Devon stood up. "Technically, at least, I'm mayor of Hope and they're my people. I can't do anything to help the people left in the town—not until we find a way to deal with Mendoza, anyway—but I won't leave those prisoners. I've seen what they do with my own eyes, and I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy." Except Mendoza, Devon thought. "So we need to evacuate them. I'll be asking for volunteers when the time comes, and I hope I can count on at least the Hopers here."
No one spoke or made any positive sign.
"Or I'll go on my own, if you don't want to help your neighbors."
"I'll come with you." Jade appeared out of the shadows, smiling at him.
"I reckon folks are waitin' to hear who's gonna be in charge of this here rescue mission," Ricky drawled. "They ain't gonna be minded to follow a collaborator into a trap."
Gert jabbed his finger at Ricky, who glanced sullenly back at him and then sat down again. "I will lead the mission, if that is the sticking point. But, for now, you must all pack. I will give each section leader their orders. Dismissed."
Marianna DeMille glanced up with unmistakable fear in her eyes as she saw the door open. She relaxed a little when she saw it was Devon, and a little more when the guard reluctantly left. She looked smaller and more vulnerable than when she'd last sat behind her desk in Hope. Somehow, then, she'd managed to make her petite frame look intimidating. Until Martha had shot Scriver and Mendoza had taken the opportunity to stage a coup.
"A bit of a turnaround," she said, looking up at him out of blue eyes that suggested an utterly fake innocence. "How is Marshall?"
Devon had just been in to see the former senator and chair of the Sons of Solomon. "He lost a lot of blood. He'll survive as long as there doesn't turn out to be a fragment in there that Jessie missed."
"Missed?" Marianna couldn't disguise her suspicion. "How hard did she look?"
"If he survives, it'll be because of her. Don't you forget that. Now, I need to talk to you."
She sat up straight and stuck her chin out as if preparing to deliver a long-rehearsed speech. "If you want any help from me, then I need to know what you intend to do with me."
"You're in no position to bargain, Marianna. Tell me what you know, and I'll speak to Gert. He's the one who'll decide."
"He doesn't like me," she said, directing her gaze to the floor.
Devon pulled up the other chair and sat opposite her. "I'm not sure I do, to be honest. I liked the Marianna I got to know in February, but this version?"
"You don't know what it was like. You don't know what I had to put up with," she said, her face tightening.
"So, tell me."
"Here's the problem," Gert said. He, Devon and Jessie gathered around the kitchen table again as evening fell outside. "We don't have enough transport. Not near enough. With your car, and the one Jade and Lynda came in—though both are shot to pieces—we have five working vehicles. That's not enough, even if we didn't have sick to care for. No, we need at least two trucks, troop transports like the Sons use."
"Marianna says they're at the mine. At least, they were. Three trucks were allocated to the operation, so unless they've been taken back into town, our best bet is to use those to get people away."
"How many guards?"
"A dozen. But that might have changed too."
Gert scratched his chin. "Yeah, well, the longer we leave it, the more chance things will be different. We need those trucks. We go tomorrow."
"Who's ‘we’?" Jessie said. "I hope you're not including Devon. He's not in any condition …"
"No, Devon is not part of this. He will remain here and help organize the evacuation."
Devon glanced from one to the other. "Have you both finished talking about me? Good. Now, tell me. What do you think Mendoza will do when he hear
s that we've attacked the mine and taken the trucks?"
"He's gonna be mad as hell," Gert said.
"And he'll come after you. It's over a hundred miles to Springs, and he'll catch you before you get there, or he'll follow you and realize that's where we've gone."
Jessie touched Devon's arm. "What else can we do? There's nowhere else to go, is there?"
"No, you've got to go to Springs. But you need a head start."
"What do you mean we've got to go to Springs?" Gert said. Then, he narrowed his eyes and jabbed a finger at Devon. "What are you thinking?"
Devon ran his hands down his face. He had no energy; none at all. But this felt like unfinished business, and he hated the thought of running from Mendoza, not knowing when he'd catch up, or if he'd learn of their community at Springs.
"I'm going to create a diversion. If I can keep him looking in the opposite direction, you'll have time to get away."
"No!" Jessie yelled. "What's wrong with you? Why can't you let someone else take the risk for a change?"
Devon ignored her. "Still got those mine explosives?"
Chapter 2: Dickie
Sam Hickman emerged from the cabin and walked down the tree-lined path toward the stream that ran along the bottom of Hokute Gulch. She heard Margie's bare feet pitter-pattering along beside her.
"If you're coming with me, why don't you pick up a bucket?" Sam asked, glancing sideways.
"Got one," Margie said, swinging the empty pail. "Elsa likes it when I give her a ride."
They trotted along the asphalt, which ran gently downhill, their footsteps bouncing back from the huge redwoods that formed a wall on either side of the narrow road. Far above, a patch of blue. Down here, however, it was always close and, for all the majesty of this place, Sam found she missed the open grass of Zak's settlement. For some reason, she'd never felt hemmed in there. Here, however, she was like a rat in a maze, funneled along set paths. Following the yellow brick road.
Last Victory: Book 6 in the Thrilling Post-Apocalyptic Survival Series: (The Last City - Book 6) Page 1
