The Creed (Book 1): The Hunt

by Powers, AJ

  “Move,” one of them growled, pointing toward the house up ahead, which to Mason’s surprise, was actually white.

  They were in the middle of a large field surrounded by trees as far as his eyes could see. The house, an old farmhouse that looked as if it might have been constructed in the 1800’s, was the only structure within view. It was an oasis of torment amidst a sea of freedom. Mason couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken a walk through a field such as this. Or hiked through the woods. Or waded through a stream. Freedom and paradise surrounded him, but captivity was his only choice. He was so close, yet so far.

  There were two guards posted at the door; heavily armored and balaclavas pulled down over their faces. They stood at attention as the transport team pushed Mason forward toward the porch.

  You could make a run for it, Mason heard himself say. They’ll just shoot you and get it over with. But as Mason made eye contact with one of the guards standing near the door, he chose to comply with the continued nudging from behind. Stepping up onto the porch, Mason stopped just in front of the guards.

  “Prisoner nine-two-zero-eight-three,” one of the transport guards said.

  The guard to Mason’s right tapped on a tablet screen several times, then angled the tablet’s camera lens at the prisoner bracelet on Mason’s wrist. There was a beep, then the man moved the camera toward the transport guard, who was already holding out his credentials. The camera snapped a picture of the QR code on his badge and beeped once again.

  The door guard nodded. “We’ll take it from here.”

  “Have fun, boy,” the transport guard said, giving Mason a hard slap on the back, laughing as he and his partner returned to the armored truck.

  Without saying a word, the guard on the left opened the door while the other guard guided Mason inside. As the door closed, they navigated their way through the historical house, the décor a snapshot of the 1950’s. The prisoner and his guards passed through a spacious dining room and into a large, open kitchen, taking a quick right turn where an open door to the basement awaited them. The basement, which was more akin to a dungeon, had roughly poured concrete, exposed framing, and was about twenty degrees colder than it was upstairs. There was a damp, musty smell in the air that was almost smothering, and the only light was coming from a small room near the back.

  A bright, yellow room.

  A long, metal table sat in the center of the room. There were leather straps hanging loosely over the side every two feet, and then a padded strap up near the head. Next to the table stood a short, stocky man in a lab coat and a tall, lean man in an expensive suit. Each one seemingly eager for the prisoner’s arrival.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Mason,” the man in the suit spoke, stepping up to the prisoner. “Do you know who I am?”

  Mason nodded. “You’re Donald Hawkins. One of the longest-serving members of the Council.”

  The man nodded. “Good. Then, I don’t think I need to tell you that this is not the type of… business I would normally tend to. However, due to the sensitive nature of these circumstances, the Council has requested that I come here to question you personally.”

  Mason grunted. “Question me, huh?”

  “I assure you, Mr. Mason, the more you cooperate with us, the better off things will be.”

  “I’m sure they will,” Mason shot back dryly.

  “I’m a reasonable man, Mr. Mason. I do not wish to see intense pain inflicted upon a man from such close proximity, but make no mistake, we will get what we want from you,” he said, nodding to the man in the lab coat next to him. “So, save yourself a whole lot of agony, Mr. Mason, and just answer my questions truthfully, and then we can all move on.”

  Mason shrugged his shoulders as best he could with his hands bound behind his back. “All right. Shoot.”

  “Who is your primary contact within the insurgency.”

  Mason looked up at the ceiling, as if he was recalling a name. “I think his name was… Go to Hell.”

  Hawkins tightened his jaw as he shook his head with disappointment. “I’m not playing games, Mr. Mason.”

  “Neither am I, Donald,” Mason said disrespectfully. “And I’ve got news for you,” he said, retribution flashing hot in his eyes. “One of us is walking out of this dungeon of yours tonight. And I promise, it’s not gonna be you.”

  Hawkins laughed condescendingly. “Mighty bold prediction for a man in your shoes, Mr. Mason.” Hawkins looked over at the man in the lab coat and nodded.

  Lab Coat walked toward Mason, glancing over at the two guards standing near the door. “Please help me secure the prisoner to the bed.”

  The guards stepped into the room and looked at Lab Coat for further instruction.

  “We need to cut his binds first.”

  Lab Coat grabbed onto one of Mason’s arms while one of the guards secured the other. The second guard pulled out an auto knife and pressed the button, ejecting the blade from the handle.

  The guard carefully placed the blade on the plastic zip ties and pressed down, cutting Mason free from the restraints.

  “Okay, now hurry up and—”

  The stocky man’s voice cut out as the guard behind Mason jammed the knife into Lab Coat’s throat, driving the blade straight into his windpipe.

  “What the hell?” Hawkins shouted in terror as blood gushed from his associate’s neck, gargling pleas for help screeching from his lungs as he dropped to his knees, grabbing at the wound.

  The other guard let go of Mason’s arm and handed him a pistol. Mason spun around and walked over to Hawkins, who was frozen with fear.

  “I told you that you wouldn’t be walking out of this basement,” Mason said.

  “Wai-wai-wait a minute,” Hawkins pleaded. “We can work something out.”

  Mason narrowed his eyes. “Can you bring back my family?”

  Silence.

  “Then I’m not interested in what you have to offer me, Donald.” Pressing the muzzle of the gun up to Hawkins’s forehead, Mason looked the man in the eye for a beat, then he pulled the trigger.

  Epilogue

  Hagan shifted into park as the truck rolled to a stop. “We’re on foot from here, kid,” he said, popping open the door.

  Mason got out on the other side, and each man retrieved a small backpack from the bed before heading into the woods. Mason hadn’t spoken much since executing Donald Hawkins in the basement of the Yellow House yesterday afternoon. Neither had Hagan. Hagan understood the pain of loss, the pain of saying goodbye to someone you’d die for. But Mason… He knew that pain at a depth that Hagan couldn’t comprehend. Hagan had lost a son that wasn’t even his own blood, whereas Mason watched helplessly as his wife, daughter, and unborn child were savagely murdered in cold blood. He watched his best friend slip from this life to the next while she embraced their dead child in her arms. Just thinking about it made Hagan’s body tremble. And worse than that, Mason had to live with the knowledge that it was because of his deceptive actions against the regime that ultimately led to his family’s grisly deaths. How the young man would carry on with such guilt was beyond him.

  He wanted to offer a comforting word, but Hagan recalled the last thing he wanted during his grief was to even be around someone, much less hear a bunch of lies, like, “It’ll be okay. Time will ease your pain.” Because the truth of the matter was, time didn’t ease the pain at all. He just learned to live with it.

  After climbing down a steep embankment, Hagan pointed in front of them. “Should be just another couple of miles that way,” he said, looking over his shoulder at Mason. “We’ll lie low here for a few weeks and then link back up with Aileen after that. I imagine she and Wilford are gonna be pretty busy sorting through this mess. The regime is going to be seeing red when they send a search team to find out why Hawkins didn’t come back.”

  Mason remained silent; his eyes focused on each step he took.

  “Anyway…” Hagan continued. “I know you don’t want to hear it right now, and I pro
mise this is all I’m going to say about it, but… You need to take some time and grieve. Because, if you don’t, you’ll never think clearly again. It will consume you, Andrew. Trust me, I know.”

  Still no words from the young man behind him.

  “And… If you ever want to talk… My door’s always open, kid,” he added, his voice sincere.

  The next mile was spent in silence. The sun was fast approaching the horizon and the air was starting to chill. They came to a small cliff face and found a trail, winding their way to the bottom at a reasonable grade. Hagan’s body ached. He’d hardly slept since first meeting Mason, and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to sleep much tonight, either. But at least he’d be able to rest his body. At least he’d be able to come down from the hurricane of anarchy his life had become over the last month.

  As they reached the bottom of the path, Hagan heard a sound from behind.

  And it wasn’t Mason.

  “Stop right there,” a young woman’s voice demanded, causing Hagan and Mason to both freeze in their tracks.

  Hagan slowly raised his hands and turned around to face the patrolling guard. She was aiming a suppressed M4 rifle at him and peering through a Trijicon ACOG scope. She wore old war camouflage that had been hemmed to fit her petite frame, and had her long, black hair pulled back into a ponytail. Her dark, tan complexion lacked a single wrinkle, but the wisdom in her eyes was much deeper than anyone her age should have.

  The girl slowly lowered the rifle, staring at Hagan for several long seconds as if she thought she was seeing things. Mason looked at Hagan, then at her, as if he was trying to determine if she was a threat. The girl’s eyes danced with tears as she let the rifle drop and sprinted toward Hagan. She smashed into him and wrapped her arms around him, squeezing him tight as she buried her face into his chest.

  “I never thought I’d see you again,” she said through a cracked, shaky voice. “I missed you, Matt.”

  Hagan swallowed her in his arms, pulling her impossibly closer. He looked over at Mason, who was still holding his rifle in a quick-ready fire position and nodded. Mason lowered his rifle and kept his distance as Hagan reunited with an old friend.

  “I’ve missed you, too,” he said, fighting through his own torrent of tears as he tightly embraced the girl. “It’s good to see you, again, Samaya.”

  Deo. Patriae. Familia.

  Thank you so much for reading The Hunt: Book 1 of the Creed Series. If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review on Amazon. We greatly appreciate it.

  If you’d like to know more about The Ground Division, check out W.J. Lundy’s thrilling book, Donovan’s War.

  You can also find out more about The Ground Division, the Apollo Group, as well as Hagan and Solomon in W.J. Lundy’s Delphi Initiative, due out in April 2020.

  If you’d like to read more by AJ Powers, you can purchase his other books on Amazon.com

  If you’d like to read more by W.J. Lundy, you can purchase his other books on Amazon.com

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