The Age of Embers (Book 5): The Age of Defiance

by Schow, Ryan

  So Carver rocked forward, lowering his weight on the man, bringing all the choking, dying noises to a dead stop. He had to be sure though. Folding forward just a little harder and a little longer, he put the cherry on top of that cake.

  The ginger was dead.

  When he let go, Myron toppled over sideways, his limbs like jelly, his soul vacuumed straight down to hell if the world was just and right.

  Beaten again, bloodied again, Carver realized he no longer wanted this life. How much longer were they going to salvage through places like this? Or meet people like Myron? He hated this world, half the people in it, how helpless he felt. Laying down on the sidewalk, looking up in the pure blue sky, he realized it was okay to go. There was no reason to stay. What about Ruby? he thought.

  “She’ll be fine,” he said aloud to the sky.

  He listened for the sounds of birds, but he didn’t hear anything. There were no crisscrossing lines in the sky from planes geo-engineering the environment, no distant sounds of cars or machinery at work, not another soul around. It was just him, the dead ginger and two broken tic tac teeth.

  Getting up, he knew what he needed to do.

  He snatched up the gun, got in the truck and coaxed the thing to life. The engine grumbled to life, a satisfying sound. Foot on the clutch, rocking the gears and considering his options, he knew that what he was about to do next was the right thing to do, even if it was the thing that would most likely get him killed.

  Slamming the four speed transmission into first, he revved the engine, dumped the clutch and smoked the wheels. Whipping the back end around, he was instantly facing the other direction. He let off the gas and came to a rocking stop, the burnt-rubber smoke drifting through the cab.

  Sitting there, contemplating this one last time, he finally said, “It’s the right thing to do.” And then he gassed it again and rocketed off to the most dangerous place in the world for him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Rock hated not giving the bodies coffins, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t give the dead a proper burial. Rider, Gregor, Marcus, Rock’s brothers—Fire and Ice—Rex and Stanton all helped dig the graves. More than a dozen of them. Several times Maisie brought water to them. Jill joined them, grabbed a shovel and jumped in, digging until she had to crawl out of the hole and stretch her back. Maisie took the shovel from her, wordless and jumped in the pit.

  Rock smiled when he saw this. So far, his current girlfriend and his former girlfriend weren’t badmouthing each other or going to blows. Even if this looked like a competition. He never thought he’d see the day—the two of them working together—but Maisie was trying, and Jill had calmed down.

  It didn’t hurt that she’d let Gregor into her bed. It sucked that the former LA cop looked at Rock like he was doing something wrong, taking to Jill at night, but Rock never bore any ill will toward the man, so that’s how it was, how it was going.

  When they were done with the graves, they all sat back in the dirt, drinking water, looking at the line of open holes in the earth before them.

  “What are we going to do about her?” Rider asked.

  Maria.

  Rock looked at the silver-haired former soldier. Slowly bobbing his head in agreement, knowing something needed to be done, he said, “I’m open to suggestions.”

  Draven walked over with a load of wooden crosses, the names carved into them. He set them down, wiped the sweat from his face and said, “I wish you would have let me help you guys dig.”

  “You didn’t know these people,” Marcus said. That was all he said. He didn’t even look up when the said it.

  “Neither did Gunderson, but he helped with the crosses,” Draven said.

  “He’s back?” Rider asked.

  Draven shrugged his shoulders and said, “I guess.”

  “He’s a wanderer,” Rock explained. “He leaves for a few days or a week at a time, then comes back with a bunch of things for the community.”

  “He seems alright,” Draven said. “Just quiet.”

  “Tough history,” Rock said.

  “Regardless,” Draven said, his eyes clearing. “I’d like to earn my keep.”

  “All of us do,” Fire said.

  He and Ice were getting back to themselves. Well physically. Fire was a shell of the man he’d been before all this. Losing Orlando…it took the life out of him. Rock saw shades of the brother he remembered, but only when he was with Brooklyn and Adeline and only when the grief hadn’t taken hold.

  The Dimas brothers were deeply flawed, and violent, but they could channel that passion in to other areas. Once he was able to get back on his feet and back to work, Rock channeled all that energy, all that discomfort in to hard work. Then Maisie came to him and the sharper edges of him softened. She was a godsend. The only light in his life until his family arrived. She gave him purpose, happiness, all the love he could never quite get from Jill.

  He felt bad for Jill.

  Looking at her, dirt and sweat coating her body, she was purposely not looking at him. Gregor sat by her side, but she was in her own world. When she looked up, her eyes went right to him. He didn’t look away. She wanted him to see the way she’d broken herself over their split, how she was powerless without him, how she could no longer keep the pain from her eyes. It was too much. He looked away, drew a breath, smiled even though he had no reason at all to smile.

  “You okay?” Maisie asked, taking his hand. She knew what was going on. The former actress was no pushover.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Just feeling bad for Jill.”

  “Me, too,” she said.

  Most of Hollyweird was filled with vampires and human leeches sucking at the morality of life like it was an open vein, but she was not one of them. Rock was grateful to know she was never one of them. Just a girl sneaking in the back door to steal a few things and be on her way.

  “I like how big your heart is,” he told her. “It’s half of why I love you.”

  “And the other half?” she leaned forward and whispered.

  “Your ass, of course.”

  “You’re not bad yourself,” Maisie said, slipping her hand inside his thigh.

  Smiling, the light touching her eyes, he wondered how messed up they must be finding love in the midst of so much death and destruction. Then again, being in love was the only thing that made it worth living in, so maybe it wasn’t crazy, maybe he was blessed. But then Maisie started working her hand up his thigh towards the promised land. This shook him from his trance. He grabbed her arm and stilled her with a look.

  “I like it when you say ‘no,’” she quietly teased. “It’s like ‘yes’ is just around the corner.”

  “Not the time or place,” he said low.

  Later that day, they buried the dead in their sleeping bags. There was not a dry eye in the crowd, except for Indigo. She was the one who gave the eulogy. Rock was impressed by this fiery young archer. She was better than all of them. Still too young to have soiled her memories with the mistakes of life. When earlier he asked if she felt bad for killing the way he heard she did, she said, “I’m God’s instrument.”

  “You’re vengeance,” Rock said to her, understanding.

  Meeting his eyes, burnished steel in her gaze and an aura too bright and too powerful for him, she said, “Yes I am.”

  Those five words and that look warmed his soul. Now she had a baby growing inside her, and though others would have thought this would soften her, usher her genially into motherhood, the pregnancy seemed to have the opposite effect. If anything, she’d become more savage.

  Listening to her delivering the eulogy of those good men and women, people who died for no reason at the hands of a psycho they’d let in their front door, he could see that look in Indigo’s eyes, how she’d taken possession of this place, made it hers to love, hers to personally protect. He had a tremendous amount of respect for that, and for her.

  “I fought side-by-side with this woman,” Indigo said about Maria after she,
Carver and One stole the Ford truck and left. “I don’t know her, but…she scares me.”

  He’d heard stories about the girl, of course. Some things admirable, others downright disturbing.

  Rock was no saint, so he didn’t judge.

  When the ceremony was over, as agreed, Fire, Draven, Jagger and his boys—Ballard and Hagan—and little Elizabeth picked up the shovels and went to work covering the bodies with dirt.

  Rock and Maisie walked up the hill with the others, making their way to the main house where Cincinnati, her daughter Macy and Macy’s best friend Atlanta had helped Eliana and Bailey put together a ceremonial spread. These women, all from different walks of life, were now as close as family.

  Nick brushed by Bailey, snuck a kiss on the back of her neck and then took a stack of plates from Margot and said if she wanted to get the napkins, he’d do the plates and silverware. Looking at these two—once a couple but now with different people—he saw no animus between them. Seeing this, he realized there was hope for him, for both Maisie and Jill.

  “What can I do to help?” Rock asked Cincinnati.

  She smiled up at him and said, “You already do too much. Just take a load off, or maybe get a few more chairs. It’s up to you.”

  He gave her a warm kiss on the cheek and said, “I’m so happy to have you and your family here.”

  Rock and Cincinnati’s husband, Stanton, were getting chairs when they heard the sound of a rumbling motor.

  A familiar motor.

  “Oh here we go,” Rock grumbled under his breath. He set down the chairs he was dusting off, then rolled up his sleeves, called for Rider and Ice, and stalked out to the front driveway where the matte black Ford pickup was rolling up slow.

  When it stopped and the door opened up, Carver Gamble stepped out of the vehicle, his hands and face pulped. The expression he wore was one of resignation, maybe even surrender.

  “You’ve got some nerve,” Indigo said, walking up behind all of them, but speaking first.

  Rock didn’t hear her coming up the drive, but then again, the girl practiced walking with a light step, despite the baby growing inside her. She didn’t have her bow and arrows with her, but the blade in her hand was message enough.

  Holding up his hands, clear in his acquiescence, Carver said, “I didn’t know she would react like that. I hardly even know what happened.”

  Indigo pushed past them, sheathed the blade, then said, “Turn around, put your hands on the truck.” Carver willingly complied. Rock looked at Marcus and Rider, who gave him a look that said, this is Indigo.

  “I knew something was wrong with you,” she growled, spinning him around then patting him down, junk and all.

  “I have a gun in the truck, but it wasn’t mine and it’s not loaded,” he said.

  Rider made a wide berth around them, then got in the truck and removed the gun. Turning it over in his hands, he said, “There’s fresh blood on it.”

  “One of the strays Maria picked up turned out to be a psycho,” Carver said.

  “And?” Indigo asked.

  “It was empty,” Carver admitted, “so I beat him to death with it instead.”

  Shaking her head, she said, “I should never have let you in.”

  “Now that’s where you’re wrong,” he said, turning around. “Without me, you wouldn’t know what’s headed your way. Maria’s building an army.”

  “So?” Rider said.

  Nick joined them, curious about the situation. Rex was right behind him, obviously concerned the second he saw Indigo frisking Carver.

  “Is everything alright?” Rex asked.

  “Carver was about to enlighten us on the escapades of the murderous Maria Antoinette,” she said.

  “Is she with you?” Rex asked, looking around him to the cab of the truck. He had a loaded gun at his side, a spare mag tucked in his back pocket.

  “Hell no,” Carver said. “In fact, she’d debone me if she knew I was here.”

  “What happened to you?” Marcus asked, walking up next to Rex and Indigo. Carver looked uncomfortable, being closed in by the three of them.

  “There’s something you need to know about—”

  That’s when he stopped talking, his attention pulled in an entirely different direction. Rock turned and saw Fire and Draven making their way up the hill with Jagger, his boys and little Elizabeth in tow. The younger boy, Ballard, had a protective arm around Elizabeth and it looked like they were talking. Elizabeth was smiling, but Draven and Fire were not.

  Rock looked back to Carver, who looked like he’d seen a ghost.

  The beaten traitor walked around Marcus, but Marcus grabbed his arm. Before he could latch on though, Carver twisted free of his grip, forcibly checking Marcus’s big hand.

  “Don’t touch me,” he said, his eyes still fixed on Draven.

  His friend.

  The second Draven saw him, there was confusion, then recognition. Dropping his shovel, picking up his pace, the Chicago native moved past Fire and said, “Carver?”

  The two men came together in a burly hug that ended with some big backslapping and some even bigger smiles. He wasn’t sure how Draven was there, in California, but he was too astonished and too whipped to interrupt the swelling of his emotions with a bunch of questions.

  “Bro, you looked like you snuck up on a donkey and got kicked in the face for it,” Draven said.

  “That might have been nicer,” Carver replied.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I’m with her, Draven. The Silver Queen. I followed her from Palo Alto out here, but then she made me.”

  “She made you?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Thought I was dead. She gave me a choice, though. Rather than trying to go up against her—and she’s a freaking nightmare—I opted to stay close until I could figure out what to do with her.”

  “Some of the guys, they say she’s hot as hell and that you’re sleeping with her,” Draven said, concerned, almost like he was cutting at the fabric of his tale to test its veracity.

  Nodding his head, shoving bloody hands in to dirty pockets, he said, “I’m not terribly proud of it, but this is the first time my dick saved my life rather than getting me in trouble.”

  “Well that is a first,” Draven said with a nervous laugh. He raked his hands through a dark head of sweaty, uncut hair. Tucking a strand behind his ear, scratching his new beard, he looked like he was having a hard time comprehending all of this.

  Carver didn’t blame him.

  “Is she really…?” Draven started to ask.

  He nodded.

  “I talked to her, you know,” Draven said, shading his eyes. “When she was still housed in her machine, or whatever. She invaded my computer and my cell phone back in Chicago. Scared the bejesus out of me.”

  “How did you know it was her?” Carver asked, astounded.

  “Marilyn Monroe,” he replied, as if that settled the matter. It did. When the AI Goddess identified herself as The Silver Queen, her calling card was the silver colored image of Marilyn Monroe. Shaking his head, Draven asked, “Wow, bro. What’s she like in person?”

  “Best lay I’ve ever had, which is really effed up to say, but true. She’s also the worst thing I’ve ever encountered in my entire life.”

  “That bad?” he asked.

  Carver took a deep breath and said, “If we ever met the devil himself, we’ll be glad we’re meeting him and not her. We raided this place yesterday and she practically ripped this guy’s jaw clean off his face. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Draven stopped and looked at him like he’d lost his mind. Then, when his friend didn’t flinch, change expression or even blink, he said, “How is that possible?”

  “She changed her DNA, crafted some genetic cocktail that increased her metabolism and sped up the healing process.”

  Shaking his head, he said, “You’re talking about something I just can’t wrap my head around, Carver.”

  “I’m still
trying to wrap my own head around it,” Carver replied, his exterior cracking for the first time. “Something like her shouldn’t be possible. But then you see it for yourself, and when you get done trying to figure out what you just saw, people around her are already dead.”

  “She did this to us then? To the nation?” Draven asked. Carver nodded. “Have you talked to her about it?”

  Just then Carver sensed something behind his shoulder. He turned and found Indigo standing there with her arms folded.

  “Don’t mind me,” she said, her eyes hard, cold, made of stone.

  By then Marcus, Rider, Fire and Ice were coming to join them. Jagger and the kids walked off, but only so Jagger could get the kids home. He returned a moment later, pausing when he saw it was Carver who’d drawn the crowd.

  “I think I’d better tell all of you this,” Carver said, speaking to the group. “You need to know what we’re dealing with here or you’ll all be dead by the end of the week.”

  Macy and Atlanta joined them a moment later, both blondes drawn to the crowd forming around Carver.

  Rock said, “I’m not sure you want to hear this, girls.”

  “They’re fine,” Rider replied. “They’ve had a seat at the table since San Francisco.”

  Both girls’ spirits seemed to lift hearing this.

  “Can we go somewhere else maybe?” he asked. “And can I maybe get some water to clean up with?”

  “You’re lucky we don’t kill you,” Indigo said.

  “Let’s let cooler heads prevail,” Rock warned. Looking at Draven, who’d told him earlier that Carver was not capable of such treason, he said, “I don’t know you well, but I’m trusting you if you say you vouch for him.”

  “I appreciate that,” Draven said. “And I do.”

  “No water,” Indigo said.

  “You go sit in your truck while we eat and discuss this,” Marcus said, his voice deep and menacing. He never really warmed to Carver, but until the other day, he had no reason to dislike him.