God Country

by S T Branton

  God Country

  Forgotten Gods™ Book Six

  ST Branton

  CM Raymond

  LE Barbant

  God Country (this book) is a work of fiction.

  All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.

  Copyright © 2018 ST Branton, CM Raymond, and LE Barbant

  Cover by http://www.bookcoverartistry.com/

  Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing

  LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact support@lmbpn.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  LMBPN Publishing

  PMB 196, 2540 South Maryland Pkwy

  Las Vegas, NV 89109

  First US edition, November 2018

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue

  Author Notes

  Connect with CM Raymond and LE Barbant

  Dedication

  To Gavin, Hank, and Simone. May you find magic everywhere and causes worth fighting for.

  Thanks to the JIT Readers

  Mary Morris

  Crystal Wren

  Paul Westman

  Misty Roa

  Danika Fedeli

  Angel LaVey

  Larry Omans

  If we’ve missed anyone, please let us know!

  Prologue

  A shadow stalked through the trees at the close of twilight, peering through the trunks in search of unsuspecting prey. Despite the autumn leaves that drifted along the Delaware Water Gap, its careful steps were almost silent in the encroaching darkness. The gurgling voice of the river filtered through the chill breeze, masking the sounds of its passage.

  The last three nights had been noticeably colder. The creature had spent them like this, biding its time as the sun moved down below the western horizon and waiting for the perfect moment. Previously, it had been content to wait, but now, its patience gave way to the raw throb of hunger. The time between kills grew ever shorter. Someday soon, it would be impossible to hide.

  For now, the hunter stayed well back from the edge of the tree line, cloaked in deepening shadows. A hundred yards off, the sprawling settlement shifted into low gear for the night. The circles of firelight shrank and dimmed as embers retreated beneath blankets of ash. The creature’s eyes panned over tents, makeshift lean-tos, and clusters of bedrolls under the open sky. The latter were always tempting, but the risk was too great. If the entire camp were alerted, defenders would be roused and the easy pickings would cease. Better to play it safe—for now.

  Barely a few hundred feet onward, the hunter’s eye paused on an open tent flap facing the trees. The bright, artificial light of a battery-powered lantern spilled out over the leaf-strewn ground. The cheap nylon fabric rattled in the wind and made the lantern beam flicker unevenly.

  The shadow hunkered down to wait, a slow smile curling its lips. This was what it had sought.

  “Aw, man.” The vague shape of someone half reclining shadowed the wall of the tent. “I knew it.”

  “What?” asked a second voice. “Don’t tell me you’re complaining, Everett. You know how lucky we are to have a whole damn tent?”

  “Nah, it’s not that.” Everett pushed himself upright and reached across the tent for his shoes, pausing to peer out into the dark blue night. “I was gettin’ all comfy, but now, I gotta take a piss.”

  “Ha!” The second voice barked laughter that pierced the quiet campground. “You know what they say about dudes with tiny bladders. Better make it quick, or else the devil’s gonna get ya.”

  Everett tightened up his laces. “Aw, stuff it. What the hell are you talking about?”

  “We’re in Jersey now, right? The Jersey Devil. It’ll hang ya from the shower, remember?”

  “We’re in Pennsylvania, you dumbass. Be right back.” Taking one last glance out of the tent, he ducked out and straightened in the crisp air. He rubbed his hands together as he made his way into the woods, unaware that an invisible stalker monitored his every move. The creature waited until the young man had left the tent’s line of sight before stealing after him.

  The smile on its thin lips pulled back to reveal a set of glistening fangs. It could smell the essence of this boy’s life, soon to be snuffed out. A necessary sacrifice.

  Everett pissed on a tree trunk and wished he could teleport back to the relative comfort of his sleeping bag. In a lot of ways, he thought he was unbelievably blessed under the circumstances. Most of their traveling party had to bunk down under whatever they could find at sundown, and the nights would only get longer.

  He was really very fortunate.

  As the thought entered his brain, he was distracted when the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. His fingers paused in the middle of zipping his fly. He opened his ears, but all he heard was the oppressive silence of the forest.

  Everett never saw what killed him and his friend in the tent never heard him die.

  But the whole camp heard the whispers that made the rounds the next morning. Everett wandered off last night and never came back.

  By afternoon, they’d found what was left of the body.

  Chapter One

  I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand, doing my best to clear the sleep-fog from my mind. In the east, the sun began to creep into the sky. Our camp, a hundred strong, slept peacefully behind us, unaware of the approaching mob. I shook my head and stifled a yawn. It was damn early, but the duty of defense waited for no one.

  Fortunately, I had found over the past few days that in terms of energizers, a good ass-kicking ranked even higher than coffee.

  “Here they come,” Deacon announced. The FBI agent stood to my left, his pistol raised and ready. Were-Maya and Brax were on my right. The demon’s hammer blazed in the grayish dawn, and he drummed his fingers impatiently on the handle.

  “I wish they’d hurry it up,” he muttered.

  We could see the Forgotten now, tracking toward us in a small horde—one of many since we’d left New York. They’d followed us the whole time, maybe hoping to overrun our group or to pick off stragglers. As the de facto security team, Deacon, Maya, Brax, and I were essentially on constant call, which meant that on most nights, we managed a minimum of sleep. A week or so into the journey, we were all paranoid and irritable, but we were exceptionally good at beating these waves of scumbags down.

  I shook out the Gladius Solis blade. The enemy drew closer, and I picked out a whole variety pack in the front: half a gang of tattered satyrs, some Marke
d, a brigade of vampire cops, and even a centaur or two. Like us, they all looked worse for wear but ready to scrap. We were on one big collision course.

  “Let’s do this quick, all right?” Brax grunted tersely. “I don’t like being out in the open for too long.”

  “I bet you say that to all your partners.” I led the charge with my sword out and rammed the first of the satyrs. Everything about him reeked of cheap alcohol, and I kicked him away from me as he slid off the blade.

  Staccato bursts of gunfire triggered around me. The bullets sent storms of leaves billowing up all over.

  “Heads up!” I yelled at my team. “These guys are wasted.” I grabbed the nearest attacker by the front of his shirt and swung him into his staggering friends. Their hooves splayed awkwardly as they tumbled backward onto the dewy grass.

  “At least somebody’s been having fun,” Deacon remarked. “No wonder they’re dropping like flies.”

  It felt a little cheap to take the creatures out while they rolled in an alcohol-induced stupor at my feet, but all my misgivings crumbled away when I remembered the crew Maya and I had found looting the pharmacy. If there was any evidence that the foul-mouthed goat men were little more than flea-bitten sacks of garbage, I had yet to see it.

  I knew a satyr once who was as sober as a councilman, Marcus claimed.

  I dispatched the last one with mechanical precision. He didn’t even bleed from the instantly cauterized wound. “Why do I find that impossible to believe? These guys would bleed five-dollar whiskey if they could. Are you sure he wasn’t merely a goat?

  You know, Marcus said, smiling, I do often find it difficult to tell the difference.

  I snorted and slashed my way through another cloven-hoofed drunkard. “Either your jokes are improving, or my sense of humor’s been worn down by constant exposure.”

  I will accept either circumstance.

  The furious drumming of hooves intruded on Marcus’s voice. I looked up to see one of the centaurs bear down on me, brandishing his spear. The chain brand wrapped around his powerful torso remained a deactivated, dull gray. Apparently, freedom from Rocca had done little to improve the searing hatred he felt for my face.

  “Oh, shit.” The spear point arced downward, and I dropped almost prone in the wet groundcover, throwing out my sword. The centaur had leaned in to stab me when his pumping legs collided with the blade. The next thing I knew, he had flown fifty feet beyond me, carried by wild momentum and permanently separated from three of his horsey legs. Off to the glue factory with him.

  Your reaction time is improving.

  “Think so? You should see me when I’m awake.”

  “Damn, girl!” Deacon called. “Simmer down. It’s too early to look that cool.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You know, sometimes, you really nail that ‘lame dad’ vibe. You’re like the only person under fifty who’s ever told me to simmer down.” I turned toward the pack of cops. “Cover me while I handle this, would you?”

  “You’re gonna ask me for cover after getting up on my steez like that?” The agent dropped his empty clip and replaced it in one smooth motion. He handled his weapon with the easy deftness born of years of practice.

  I shook my head. “See, there you go again. I haven’t heard the word ‘steez’ in at least twenty years.”

  He opened fire, and I sent the Gladius Solis among the hail of bullets before running to catch up with it as it zoomed back to me. The burning blade cut a wide semicircle through yielding vamp flesh. Soon, I waded through a persistent haze of dead bloodsucker dust.

  My eyes narrowed to slits, and I covered my nose and mouth with my free arm. “Why can’t they turn into something that’s not airborne?”

  “We need to get you a respirator,” Deacon said. He popped a few more in the head, one after the other. “That shit can’t be good for your lungs.”

  I shrugged. “Probably no worse than city air.” But it did mess with my range of visibility and stung my eyes a little. “Brax? How you doing?” I turned to see him standing calmly atop a small mountain of Forgotten, his hammer propped head-down on the summit.

  “Me?” The demon smirked. “I can do this all day.”

  “I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to see a doctor after four hours,” I shot back.

  Brax laughed. “Not until it starts to hurt. And I feel brand fucking new.” He jerked his thumb in the direction of Were-Maya’s trademark battle chaos. I followed it in time to see her rip a cop in half like he was made of paper. “If you wanna talk about doctors, I think you oughta start with her.

  “She is the doctor,” I said. We both smirked. “I—"

  The rest of my response was cut off by a heavy choking, gurgling sound at my back. Something humanoid flashed by at an incredible rate of speed, trailing flecks of viscous liquid and an overpowering stench. It missed me by inches and slammed into the Deacon. The breath rushed from his lungs as he fell, pinned beneath the writhing creature.

  “Deacon!” I launched into a running leap, but a sharp crack left the monster limp before I could even get close. All three of us, Brax included, wheeled around to see Steph, her blonde hair perfectly coiffed even at this ungodly hour, lower her gun.

  The agent shoved the corpse away and brushed himself off. “Thanks, Steph. That was one hell of a save. Though I have to say, it was a little close.”

  She dismissed him breezily. “Oh, please, Deacon. No need to pretend you forgot I’m a better shot than you. Besides, I wouldn’t miss this for the end of the world.” She glanced at the group, counting in her head, then seemed to notice Maya for the first time. “Wow. She really is something else.”

  We all turned and observed as the werewolf finished cleaning house and dropped the last of the mob into the dirt. She rejoined our group, transforming on her approach. Brax and Deacon looked away. Steph did too, though reluctantly. I took my coat off and tossed it to Maya.

  “What?” She grinned broadly, caught the garment, and wrapped it around her naked body. Not the fullest coverage, but better than nothing.

  I gave her shoulder a gentle punch. “Merely watching the doctor work. You get better every day.”

  “Remind me to bring some extra clothes next time. I keep forgetting that part.”

  “You ought to be proud,” Steph interjected. “It’s a very impressive skill.”

  Maya glanced at her, still smiling. “Nudity isn’t a skill, but thank you. That’s the thing about doctors. We practice.”

  “Come on.” I slung my arm across her shoulders. “We’d better get back to camp. If the last few days are any indication, these fights aren’t even close to being over.”

  Chapter Two

  We reached the clearing beside the river where the bulk of the camp was located, a sprawling shantytown spread out under the open sky. Somewhere around a hundred people, most of them families, lived in this mess of shitty tents, makeshift shelters, and hand-dug firepits. We’d camped in the Delaware Water Gap for half a week. Everything was dirty, muddy, and cold. Everyone was hungry. The supplies we could scrounge weren’t always enough, and we would need to make another run soon.

  “Hey, guys!” Jules’ voice pulled me from my thoughts. She hurried out of the middle of the clearing, waving. “How’d it go?”

  I looked to either side. “The fight was a piece of cake. But we need to figure out what the hell we’re doing from here on out.”

  Jules nodded. “I’ve been talking with the others, and I think they feel the same way. Why don’t we all try to hammer out a strategy right now while we’ve got a moment?”

  “It’s the best chance we’ve got,” Deacon agreed. He glanced at me as Jules turned toward the camp. “Right?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Let’s go.” The encampment centered around a sheet of canvas strung up like a teepee between a little copse of trees in the center. Two figures—a man and a woman—stood in front of the impromptu command center, talking quietly. There was something about her wild fall of deep red hair t
hat I recognized. When she turned toward me, I realized that the last time I’d seen her, she’d been climbing out a window of Lorcan’s vamp factory slaughterhouse. Our eyes met, and a wide smile bloomed across her features.

  “I wondered if I’d ever see you again,” she said. “I never got a chance to thank you properly for saving us from that hellhole.” She extended her hand. “My name is Veronica.”

  “Right.” I shook her hand. The woman had an astoundingly firm grip. “Big Red.” These last two words stumbled from my mouth before I had a chance to realize how idiotic they made me sound. But Veronica laughed, which made the crushing embarrassment somewhat bearable.

  “That’ll do,” she said, tossing her mane.

  “Sorry,” I muttered.

  “Hey, I’ve been called worse. Besides, you saved my bacon back in that place—me and a bunch of others. You can call me whatever the hell you want.”

  We formed a tight semicircle outside the teepee, blocking prying eyes or would-be eavesdroppers. It was probably an unnecessary precaution anyway. Most people were probably too preoccupied with simply getting by to pay much attention to us. Still, an undertone of quiet desperation pushed closer to the surface with each passing day. It was impossible to predict what could happen when things finally boiled over.