“I’ve read about these,” said Gibbs, approaching from the old bench where he had spent the rest of the afternoon, staring in silence at the water, waiting. He raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. “These are used exclusively for stealth missions, no weapons of any kind. They are supposed to get small teams in and out of places a normal sub could not go...sort of like the East River,” he said, looking out at the water.
“Oh, are you still here—” Rowen said, giving him a sidelong glance. He opened his mouth to say something but decided against it, his lips compressing into a thin line.
A hatch at the top of the sub opened, and a small compact man climbed out. He wore a dark gray army camo uniform without any patches or markings of any kind. He had salt-and-pepper hair that was stiff as a brush, his dark eyes constantly in motion. He leapt effortlessly from the top of the sub, landing gracefully in front of them.
“We were expecting Captain Macdonald,” the soldier said bluntly, speaking with a slow southern drawl, his voice deep and rough like stones grinding together. Rowen felt uncomfortable as he looked them over, his eyes lingering on Gibbs’ face before giving them a smile that never touched his eyes.
“My father had a crisis to deal with, so he sent me in his place. I’m Rowen, his daughter. How many of you are there on that thing? Can’t be more than two or three?” she demanded, her eyes flashing with contempt. “Is this some kind of joke? Cardinal Washington promised troops, supplies. Please don’t tell me I waited all day in the cold for this.”
“Three! And we’re all you’re gonna need, kid,” he said. “I’m Ariel Young; you can just call me Ari to be quick. That fat bastard tryin’ to squeeze his tail out of the sub is my brother, Augusta. Our sister Mary Beth should be along in a jiff. We’re Alpha Team, part of Divinity Corps. It’s our mission to get you on track to do as much damage as possible,” he said as if that was supposed to mean something to her. Rowen couldn’t believe this. Cardinal Washington had screwed them once again. Sending three soldiers when they were expecting three hundred!
“Three rednecks, that’s all we get—” began Rowen.
“We’re hillbillies, not rednecks,” said Augusta with a grin, coming to stand beside Ari. “Don’t worry, Little Red, we got ya. Now that we’re here, everything’s gonna be right as rain.”
“Good lord,” said Gibbs, looking up at Augusta in wonder. He was almost as wide as he was tall, a massive bear of a man with a bulbous nose and tired eyes. He had an easy, relaxed way about him that one couldn’t help but like. Finally, she could see the last figure emerging from the tiny boat.
“Y’all won’t need more than the three of us,” said a woman who could only be Mary Beth, a round buxom soldier with dark hair streaked with gray, eyes so brown they were almost black. She had a commanding presence about her and sauntered off the submarine like she owned the city, her black leather duster billowing in the cold winter wind. Hanging off her hips was a well-worn gun belt, brown and cracked, like she was some kind of ancient cowgirl. A pair of nickel-plated Berettas glinted in the late-day sun, their holsters swaying with her hips as she strode up to the small group, offering a half salute and a small smile. “Alright, folks, cavalry’s here.”
Rowen shook her head in disgust, not sure what to make of it all. “My father was pretty clear about how bad things are here. Three soldiers can’t turn the tide, no matter what you have in—”
“Cardinal Washington gave us detailed files on your unit,” said Ari, pushing forward, leveling a finger at Gibbs. “I know you, Red. Who is this kid? Some kinda militia recruit or something?”
“What? No, that’s Gibbs, he’s been with us from the beginning,” said Rowen, shaking her head. Looking at Ari, she could see something in his eyes that frightened her. She looked back at Gibbs. He had seen it too, the color draining from his face as he stumbled over his own feet trying to move away from him.
Stepping back, Ari drew his black gray 9mm, taking aim. “The file we got on the lieutenant here says Steven Gibbs, naval aviator, age twenty-nine. How in Sam Hill did you people think this pink-faced son of a bitch was a cunt hair over twenty?”
Rowen was about to say something, try and laugh it all off, when Gibbs raised his hands.
“Wait, don’t shoot, please. I can explain,” he said, backing away, whimpering like a dog that had been kicked one too many times.
Watching the confrontation, the odd things about Gibbs began to click in Rowen’s mind. His youthful face, his dislike of guns, the gaps in his understanding of military protocol. He definitely didn’t know how to fight—he’d proved that today. Was he really who he claimed, and did it really matter? He had never once seemed threatening, always a beacon of kindness. He’d had ample opportunity to hurt them, if she were honest. Instead he’d gone out of his way to be helpful, make himself a part of their team.
Looking into his eyes, she didn’t see a threat, just the battered and bruised face of her friend, even if he was angry with her. “This better be real good,” said Rowen, nodding at him, stepping between the two men. Gibbs stared back at her, a shudder running through his body as he let out a deep breath, a look of thanks on his bruised face.
“If you’ve been messing with us this whole time, I’ll kill you myself,” she said in a low voice before turning to face Ari. “If anyone is going to shoot Gibbs, it’s going to be me. Let’s find out what he has to say before we do something stupid.”
Ari shrugged, never lowering his Beretta. “I got time. Let’s hear it, boy. Make it good.”
For once, words came slowly to Gibbs, his voice a calm whisper. “Stevie is my older brother...was my older brother. I’m an engineering student at MIT,” said Gibbs, his voice cracking as he recounted the details. “I was on a camping trip upstate with some friends. I got real drunk the day before, and I woke up and everyone was gone. I was completely lost. I didn’t know what to do, so I activated my emergency transponder, letting my family know something was wrong. My dad, he’s a senator, knows all the bigwigs. He asked my brother’s commanding officer to do him a favor and send a chopper for his idiot son, keep it hush-hush, off the logbooks.”
“Like my daddy used to say, smells mostly like horseshit to me,” said Ari, shaking his head. “Step away, Red, and let me put this lyin’ asshole down.”
“None of that explains how you ended on that Seahawk or flew it the way you did. And what happened to your brother?” asked Rowen, poking a finger in his chest.
“We have a flight simulator at our house in Jersey. I’ve done six thousand hours. I wanted to be a pilot,” said Gibbs with a shrug. “My brother, he was shot on the deck of the trident just after we set down. We thought it would arouse less suspicion if I wore his spare flight uniform on the trip back to the boat so no one would ask questions. When we got there, everything was chaos, under attack from those drones. They were everywhere, shooting everything in sight. I saw Stevie get hit, go down. I panicked, jumped back in the chopper, grabbed the stick, and took off as fast as I could. I just left him there to bleed out,” he said, bowing his head.
“After the crash, I didn’t think I was going to make it. When you and your dad found me, I didn’t know what to do, so…I just played along at first. I was going to take off as soon as I could, but your dad, he made me feel like I was needed, made me feel like part of the team. I thought if I could do something good here, maybe I could prove to my dad I wasn’t such a screw up,” he said, wringing his hands.
Ari raised his 9mm a little higher, pulling back the hammer. “You ain’t buyin’ this, are you, kid?”
Rowen wasn’t sure. Gibbs had lied, but he didn’t deserve to be shot. The one thing she knew was that he had proved himself to them over the last few months, and that he deserved a chance. “Gibbs is my friend. An asshole, but my friend,” said Rowen. “He’s a good guy, and I’ve known him a lot longer than I’ve known you three, so unless you want to stay here by yourselves, you’ll leave him be. If there is anything to decide, my father is the one i
n charge. He can make that decision when the time comes.”
Before Ari could answer, Mary Beth placed a black-gloved hand on his arm, forcing him to slowly lower the weapon. “My brother is a little trigger happy, is all,” said Mary Beth with a polite smile and a kind voice. “Ari, we can always shoot him later if we need to. This rabbit don’t seem like much of a threat to me. I doubt he could hurt us anyhow.”
With a shrug, Ari holstered his weapon, moving back to the sub with Augusta to gather what little equipment they had brought with them. Rowen let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. As she turned to face her friend, he gave her a grateful smile. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice shaky. “That was more than I deserved after the way I treated you.”
Rowen gave Gibbs a brief shrug. “I don’t think you’re out of the woods yet. It’s a long walk home, and you have a habit of pissing people off,” she said, motioning to his face with a smile. “You still have to explain all this to my father, so good luck.” She wondered what her father would make of all this. They had all hoped for real soldiers, a platoon of servicemen and women who could at the very least help them, and at best give them an avenue to escape this dying city. She didn’t believe for one second that these three would make a difference.
“How long is it to home, sweetie?” asked Mary Beth, easily shouldering a large pack that her brothers had brought from the sub. “Daylight’s burnin’, and I don’t really want to be trekking through unknown territory in the dark.”
“It’s about two hours,” said Rowen, “but we’re better off waiting for dark, less chance of being picked off by patrols. There are also a few gangs that have started claiming territory. That’s what my dad was doing today with what little militia we’ve recruited, clearing out the worst of them...negotiating with the rest of them, giving us a clear path. We were expecting a lot more of you, exactly what—”
Rowen’s eyes went wide as Mary Beth’s hand shot out, faster than she could see, stopping just a hair’s breadth from her face. It took a moment for her senses to catch up, the thunderous echo, the brief hiss of flying lead. She recoiled in shock when the buxom woman opened her hand, revealing the flattened bullet meant for Rowen’s head.
“You best get some cover, sweetie,” said Mary Beth, drawing her Berettas and moving to stand in front of her protectively.
Rowen hesitated for only a moment before diving behind the old cannon. Poking her head out, she watched in fascination while Mary Beth went to work, shooting blindly to her left, her bullet finding a figure, on the roof of the tenement, who groaned in surprise, he and his rifle tumbling six stories to the ground with a heavy crash. “Seems y’all had some uninvited guests waitin’ on ya,” said Mary Beth with a smile, squeezing off two more shots in front of her. One of the men who attacked Rowen earlier stumbled out from behind the old Ford Rowen had used as cover, clutching his bleeding throat. It looked as if he had come back and brought more friends with him this time. “Y’all sit tight. I got this,” said Mary Beth as she stepped out into the open to challenge the motley crew of men who had gathered. Rowen could see they were looking for payback. Seeing a lone, dark-haired woman step out, they did not hesitate to rain fire down on her.
Mary Beth’s smile only widened as she gracefully sidestepped the hail of fire, dancing to the left and right as bullets whizzed by her. She moved faster than Rowen could see, seeming to blink from place to place. Taking a heartbeat to aim, she emptied the remaining rounds into a group of men tearing around the corner brandishing dark iron pipes and splintered bats, each thunderous shot scattering torrents of red, precisely felling its mark. Her clips empty, she leapt back like she could fly, landing beside the cannon next to Rowen. She gave her a quick wink as she ejected both clips and reloaded with a practiced ease while shrapnel exploded around them. Rowen’s eyes widened, and she watched in awe as the black-clad woman returned to the fight. She was a blur, dodging, weaving, gracefully avoiding the deadly rain of bullets, all the while her Beretta answering the call of violence with deadly purpose. Amazed, Rowen turned to see her brothers watching the spectacle with bored indifference.
“Aren’t you gonna help her?” asked Rowen, trying to keep her head down, confused as to why they did nothing.
Both men shrugged in unison. “My sister likes her guns,” said Augusta, eyeing the situation. “It’s not like they have a chance. Let her have her fun.”
Returning her attention to the dark-haired woman, Rowen had to agree. She was a happy warrior, the wide smile on her face telling a tale of joy, every shot a work of art.
It was a dance of steel and blood, her black duster streaming in the icy New York wind, her gray-streaked hair wild with chaos. Moments later, it was over. Mary Beth stood unscathed, bodies of their would-be attackers strewn around dead or dying. She never missed, not once. Nodding to herself in satisfaction, she spun her Berettas around dramatically, smoothly returning them to their worn leather holsters hanging on her hips. “Y’all can get up now. These boys won’t be making any more trouble,” she said with a satisfied grin.
“My sis is a bit of a showboat, but right as rain, told ya,” said Augusta with a smile as wide as he was. He got to his feet, dusting himself off. “Colder than hell in this godforsaken city. We got some more supplies coming in once we get set up. Now that we’re here, we can remote pilot the sub back and forth to our supply dump.”
“I think they might be useful,” said Gibbs, looking around at the carnage, his mouth agape. Rowen agreed, nodding stupidly, her eyes never leaving Mary Beth while the team finished unloading supplies from the tiny sub. The buxom woman was confident, self-assured. She looked like someone who took whatever she wanted. Rowen was certain no one ever pitied her, and if they did they regretted it quickly.
“Can you teach me to do that, catch bullets?” asked Rowen bluntly, looking over to the older woman. “I’m a good shot, and I want to do what you do.” Rowen would do anything to fight like her. The dark-haired woman was lightning made flesh, violence distilled.
Mary Beth looked taken aback for a moment before shaking her head. “Sorry, sweetie, best you stay a little girl for a while longer. Trust me: growin’ up too fast...it’s not good for the soul.”
Rowen took a step forward, standing on her tippy toes, challenging the older woman. “On the day of the invasion, I watched my brother die. I have survived in this city for six months. I survived the world falling apart and watched people starve. I have the scars to show for it,” said Rowen, her voice barely a whisper. “I almost died today. I had the choice to be a victim of a man like these men you killed today...I killed him instead. I stopped being a little girl a long time ago.”
Mary Beth closed her eyes, seeming to fall into herself. It only took a moment, but when her eyes opened again, she looked determined yet pained. “You quick with your hands and feet? I ain’t wasting my time with a clumsy sow,” asked Mary Beth, her voice tinged with sadness. “You’ll need a gun, a good one, somethin’ that feels like a part of your hand.”
Rowen nodded, reaching into her waistband. Pulling out her SIG, she ejected the clip and removed the round in the chamber before handing it to the older woman.
Turning the weapon lovingly over in her hands, smiling as if she was seeing Rowen for the first time, she said, “SIG Sauer P620 compact. You got taste, good weapon for someone your size, lots of stopping power. Precise...but you gotta get a holster, girlfriend, gun in the waistband says low class. Redneck,” she said, handing Rowen back the weapon. “You may have somethin’ I can work with. I can’t teach you everything, some of it is God-given, but we’ll give it a shot for a few days. But if it don’t work, I’ll throw you back like three-day-old catfish.”
“Thank you, I’m grateful,” said Rowen, a weight vanishing from her chest.
“You probably won’t be once I’m done with you, but we ladies gotta stick together, show these boys how it’s done,” said Mary Beth, putting her arm around Rowen. Together, they started the lon
g walk back to Hell’s Kitchen as day turned to night and the cold wind blew through the dead streets.
Chapter 19: Crossing the Potomac
May 2076
Arthur sat alone in brooding silence as a pocket of turbulence violently rocked the cargo plane. Lost in thought, he hardly noticed. It had been a difficult day of a difficult week. The boy he had been sent to recruit had been defiant, willful. Arthur understood. It wasn’t so long ago that he had been that boy, forced to grow up quickly, to give up everything for an uncertain future where death lurked around every corner. Looking at the boy, tied and unconscious, bound to his seat like a hunting trophy, he felt a wave of guilt. Arthur hated violence. It was a bad way of getting what you wanted, but it was the only thing some people understood, and he could not return to the major bishop empty-handed. The boy’s mother had made the call, brought Arthur to their door, so he didn’t feel bad for what he did to her. The doctors would fix her, bones would heal with time...she had money to pay for the best now. Better her pain than his. The major bishop’s punishments for failure were harsh, as he had seen firsthand.
In the months since Asahi’s death, Arthur had been reassigned to recruiting, finding more people like himself. It made almost no sense given what he could do, but he did what he was told, like a good soldier. What choice did he have?
Arthur fingered the medallion under his uniform, the one Gwen had given him for his birthday, wishing she were with him. He needed someone to talk to and she understood him, the sacrifices they had to make, the things they had to do. It was strange that someone he had known for only a few months knew him better than anyone. He wondered again what he was to her. He was sure she didn’t know herself. He had foolishly asked the major bishop about it, and he had scoffed at him, telling him he was too young. Puppy love, he called it. But to him, she was everything. He knew it upset her whenever he showed his feelings, so did his best to hide them. She would come around in time; he was sure of it. When Uriel had been hurt, she had spent the day crying in his arms. You didn’t do that with just a friend, did you?
Ascension: Children of The Spear: Book one Page 19
