by S T Branton
“Hey, Vic.” Luis gave me a one-armed hug. “Man, I’m glad to see you.” He studied the ships, his brow furrowed. “What the hell is this crap? Are we going to be pirates?”
I smirked. “No, matey. This was meant to be an armada, but we took down the soldiers meant to fill those ships. And possibly, we saved all of Asia in the process.”
“Aw, yeah.” Luis high-fived me. “That’s how we roll in this gang.” He stopped short. “Uh, this club. We’re a club.”
Deacon burst out laughing. “Like hell, we’re a damn club.” He turned to me and slipped an arm around my waist. “Tell me what we’re doing with these things. I’m sure you have some ideas.”
I shrugged. “Not really. I figure we can take them apart and use all the lumber for something else. Houses, maybe. It’d free up some space in the church.”
“I bet you could get some of those big tree-looking homies to help,” Luis suggested. “The giant ones, you know? Like real-ass trees. We had a damn field day trying to pick them off, but many them surrendered after the fight anyway ʼcause I guess they didn’t want to die. I think that jackass brainwashed them.”
“They do look like they could break down some ships, don’t they?” I asked. “I’ll run it by Smitty when I see him.” I craned my neck over Deacon’s shoulder and searched for the blacksmith’s white head. He stood and took stock of the empty ships with Brax on one side and Amber on the other. She beamed with her whole face as usual. Nothing could keep that girl down for long, not even being kidnapped and almost killed by a god.
We drove back to the church in the trucks. During the ride, Deacon dressed the cut on my arm and I filled them in on the Delano front as much as I could. “Things don’t look good for the rest of the world right now,” I concluded. “We need to figure out a way to stop him, or else he will take over.”
“I’m still stuck on the fact that you saw him eat a dude,” Luis said.
I ran my good hand through my hair. “Me too, honestly. I didn’t know gods could get even more powerful than they already were. We’ll have to come up with some serious innovations.”
“We’ll do it,” he said and flashed me a cheesy grin in the rearview mirror. “He can keep sticking parts on all he likes. He can’t make himself invincible.”
He may get close, Marcus said. But the brave young man is correct. True invincibility has eluded the gods forever. Its achievement would be a feat far beyond Delano’s current power.
“That simply means he won’t quit anytime soon,” I said. “But neither will we. Wherever that shithead turns up, we’ll be there too.”
Luis gave a thumbs-up. “That’s the spirit, chief. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my life, it’s that no one runs forever.”
The first thing I did when I got back was to go to the bell tower and try the radio. As I fiddled with the dial, a transmission from Namiko came through. “Anyone there at White Wolf Point?” she asked. “I have a message to relay from Fort Victory.”
“Oh, hey,” I said. “I was trying to get through.”
“You sound tired, Vic. Maya wanted me to let you know that Frank and Steph got back to the fort earlier today.”
“Nice!” I sat up straighter. “Did she say whether they found anything?”
“Apparently, there’s news,” Namiko replied. “I don’t know what it is. According to Maya, it’s too risky to transmit over the air.”
I sighed and smiled. “Ahh, I should have known. Thanks, Namiko. It sounds like it’s time for us to hit the road back home.” I paused. “By the way, I like the name you picked for this place.”
“It was either that or Smitty’s Cove,” she said. “Safe travels. Let me know when you’re back east.”
I went down the stairs with a full mind, so distracted that I almost bowled into a certain FBI agent coming up. “Just the woman I wanted to see,” he said with a smile.
“Steph and Frank are back,” I told him. “They have sensitive news. We have to get back to the fort ASAP.”
“Is that what you look so worried about?” he asked as he smoothed a lock of my hair back. “We’ll handle that when it comes. Right now, there’s something else we need to discuss.”
I raised my eyebrows. “There is?”
“Sure is.” He started to back me up the steps again. “I have a rain check I’d like to cash.”
I was laughing when he leaned over and pressed his lips to mine and pulled me close against his body. Without hesitation, I wrapped my arms around his neck and savored the sensation. We lingered in that intimate space after it was over, then he kissed me once more and murmured, “Gotta make up for lost time.”
I nuzzled his neck tenderly. “You ready to head home, St. Clare?”
He held me a little tighter. “As long as you’re there,” he said, “I’ll go anywhere.”
Epilogue
Heat was practically a foreign entity on Joel’s skin after so many days spent trekking through the blasted wilderness, but damn, it felt good. He’d lost track of how long it had been since he and Gina left civilization behind—a week, maybe? Ten days? It didn’t really matter. They were tired, starved, and cold to the bone. To be inside an actual building felt like a religious experience.
“Holy shit,” Gina whispered. “I can’t believe we made it.” She’d bundled up in a thick woolen blanket after they went through Intake, and the color returned to her lips. Slowly, she squeezed his hand.
“Yeah.” He looked around at the room they walked through. “Why’s it so empty in here, though? This place looked huge on the outside.” In fact, the fortress’ stern, militant façade had been incredibly intimidating to approach—under kinder circumstances, he might have urged Gina to keep moving. They’d been greeted by armed guards, to say nothing of the snipers in the tower at the gate. He had thought for sure that they would be shot.
But they were welcomed instead. On the inside, he smelled something that made his stomach gurgle painfully. Gina caught a whiff of it too. She tugged on his sleeve. “Let’s go see if we can get some of whatever that is,” she said. “I could literally eat anything right now.” She followed the scent toward a hallway on the left.
“What if they’re cooking all the new people?” he asked with a slight grin. It was a joke, mostly, but it would explain why there hadn’t been a line a mile long to get into the place.
Gina poked him in the ribs. “Don’t be morbid. Everyone we’ve met so far has been super nice.”
“We’ve met like three guards. And they all had guns.” Joel didn’t want to be the guy who looked a gift fort in the mouth, but he’d seen enough slasher and doomsday films to be aware of the potential consequences.
Gina, for her part, was adamant. “I’d be more worried if they didn’t,” she told him. “Chill out, Joel. Don’t get lost in your own head. We haven’t died in the middle of nowhere, and that’s good enough for me right now.”
“Okay, okay.” He shrugged and allowed her to lead him farther down the corridor. Light glowed from the crack beneath the double doors at the end. As they approached, one of the doors opened a crack, enough to allow a woman to slip out. She stopped when she saw the two newcomers. A big smile spread across her face. Her thick red hair was piled on top of her head.
“Welcome,” she said and stepped forward to shake their hands. “The guys told me we had some new arrivals.” She studied them quickly. “I’m Veronica. And you look as hungry as hell if I do say so myself.”
“Yes,” Gina said immediately.
The woman laughed. “Well, that’s a problem we can fix. Come on in, but try to keep quiet. Vic’s about to give a speech, I think.”
“Vic?” Joel furrowed his brow. “I think I’ve heard that name before.”
“Damn right you have,” said the redhead, her hand on the door. “She’s fought her ass off since the beginning. It’s about time word started to get around.”
Gina gasped. “She’s the one who cleared New York! I heard she saved a ton of refuge
es.”
“She sure did. So you want to meet them?” The woman pushed the door open to reveal the crowded mess hall beyond. It was full to the gills, and every eye was turned toward the front.
“Wait,” said Joel. “Vic’s a girl?” He promptly received an elbow in the ribs. “Hey, ouch! I didn’t know.”
Veronica shushed him. “Food line’s up there,” she said quietly and pointed. “But you’ll want to hear this.”
“Is that really her?” Gina’s eyes were wide.
“In the flesh,” Veronica confirmed. She ushered them in. “Go on. “
Joel kept walking, his gaze now riveted to the front of the room along with everyone else’s. A woman stood there with a microphone in hand and looked at the crowd. She was almost tall, her green eyes framed by dark hair pulled back into a careless ponytail. The clothes she wore were clean, but she had bandages on her face and wrapped around her right arm. She seemed totally unfazed by the attention focused on her like a laser, probably because a working cell phone was an oddity at this point, let alone any kind of camera. Her speech would likely go unrecorded.
After she started talking, Joel thought that was a shame. He stopped filling his plate to watch her, and he noticed Gina did the same. The woman spoke with strong, fiery confidence, her eyes full of conviction. She turned every now and then to capture each onlooker with her captivating gaze.
“From this point on, there will be no more battles and no more skirmishes,” she declared. “We are through scrapping in streets and alleys or building barricades to defend our homes. I have had the privilege to witness the strength of humanity firsthand, in New York and across the country. I’ve learned that people will rise if they are given an example. They will mold themselves in the image of those whom they admire, and they will fight like hell for ideals they believe in and rights they deserve.” She paused and glanced at the rapt audience. “It’s time for us to make that happen. Rise up. Fight like hell. Kill Delano and win the war.”
The cheer that went up around Joel was thunderous. For days afterward, it echoed in his ears.
Author Notes
Written December 17, 2018
I’m ST Branton, silent partner on the Forgotten Gods series. Normally Chris and Lee keep me locked in the dungeon, hands tied to the typewriter (they ARE good friends, thanks for asking). But they let me out for special occasions.
And this is a special occasion.
While you’ve been reading Haunted by the Gods (how about that Vic Stratton, huh? Isn’t she great? If only she’d come here and use that sword on these chains…), I’ve been hard at work on the epic conclusion to the Forgotten Gods saga.
And I’m almost finished.
That’s right! Forgotten Gods Book 8 will soon be upon us, and I’ve gotta say, it’s a doozie. It’s got some sadness, plenty of sweetness, and a whole heck of a lot of action. I think you’re going to like it.
So if you’ve got friends as good as my pals Chris and Lee, this might be a great chance to recommend Forgotten Gods to them. Or you could head on over to Amazon or Good Reads and leave a review. And while you’re at it, write to congress and ask them about investigating the plight of authors chained in basements (kidding Lee!).
For Kronin!
STB
Gods Remembered
The Forgotten Gods Series Book 8
Prologue
The road he walked was shrouded in shadows. Ahead of him, the dark temple loomed against a malevolent, churning sky. With every step, the cries of the damned rang louder in his ears and every breath filled his nostrils with the stench of burning hair and flesh. Death surrounded him.
He welcomed it like the embrace of an old friend.
The man’s hands hung at his sides and his fingertips dripped viscous scarlet. Whatever color his skin had been, it was of no consequence now. All that mattered was the crimson wash of blood that marked his trail toward the temple. He liked the way it felt as it pooled in the crevices of his palms and stiffened around his knuckles. The subtle sensations made everything real. He bowed his head slightly and a smile crept across his downturned face.
The front of the temple stood open to the acrid air. Great, soaring pillars lined the way to the elevated throne perched atop a flight of bone-white stairs. He could already see the lone figure that waited, slender and pale. A cloak of shadows wreathed the man’s shoulders as he stood before the throne and his eyes pierced even through their darkness. His lip curled as the bloody figure approached the base of the steps and began to climb.
Perfect, round drops of blood anointed the stairway. The pilgrim crested the landing and bowed. “It is done, my lord.” The words, though softly spoken, resounded through the structure.
The thin, curling smile widened. “Truly a noble sacrifice,” said the lean figure. “But we both know there is one last thing to do.” He withdrew one hand from behind his back, a knife clutched in his fingers. “Commit all to me and be reborn.”
The pilgrim’s breath caught in his throat—from exhilaration rather than fear. How long he had waited for such a glorious privilege? How hard he had toiled? How much blood he had shed?
So much blood.
The hand that held the dagger waited expectantly. He could feel the cloaked man’s gaze upon him. He reached up and grasped the blade. At last, the time had come.
The pilgrim raised the knife to his breast and plunged it deep. More blood, fresh and warm, gushed over him. His hands sank deep into the wound and when they emerged, they held his own still-beating heart. He presented it to his venerated lord, both arms outstretched in total supplication.
Then, he collapsed. His body was nothing but a shell, an empty vessel and the remnant of his mortal life. Coldness spread as color leaked from the world that faded around him. He had wondered for a long time what it might be like to die, to face the end of all existence.
Now, he smiled as he slipped across some invisible threshold. He had been so very wrong. There was no end there.
No. This was, in fact, the grandest of beginnings.
Chapter One
“I still can’t believe you did that,” Deacon said and shook his head. He walked toward me from the middle of the field outside Fort Victory, which we’d transformed into the world’s least impressive shooting range. Fifty yards behind him, two bloated pumpkins and an arrangement of equally sorry-looking gourds adorned some tree stumps that protruded from the untended grass.
“What?” I asked and kicked at a clod of dirt. “I’m a damn decent public speaker these days if I do say so myself. Maybe I saw our big, messed-up family all gathered together in the cafeteria and the spirit of oration simply struck me out of the blue. ‘Give me your huddled masses, yearning to breathe free,’ and all that. Refugees are what inspiration is made of. I think it went well.”
I was joking, but that wasn’t too far from the truth. The enduring spirit of our ragtag band of brothers and sisters had filled me with hope and inspiration. That, and it was simply damn good to be home.
Of course, Delano’s shadow still loomed large over the new world order we constantly tried to cobble together out of mud and army rations. I felt like I needed to imbue my people with something that would keep them going. We all knew times would be tough for a while.
Deacon checked his gun. “Hey, I’m not knocking it,” he said. “Badass, sexy Wonder Woman looks great on you.” He leveled the pistol and looked down the sights.
I laughed. “You would be into Wonder Woman,” I said.
He looked warily at me from the corner of his eye. “I’m afraid to ask what that means.”
I punched him gently in the arm. “It means you have a giant boner for justice.”
Deacon grinned. “Among other things.”
“I walked into that one.” I sighed and rolled my eyes. “Will you teach me how to shoot or not?” As much as I feigned annoyance, I couldn’t keep the smile off my face and he knew it.
“The best way to teach,” he said philosophically
, “is by example. Observe.” He drew in a breath, adjusted his stance, and squared his shoulders. On the exhale, he squeezed the trigger six times in rapid succession. Fifty yards away, pumpkin flesh erupted in thick orange ribbons. Seed shrapnel pummeled the ground around the stump. “There.” He turned to me. “See? Easy as pie.”
“Says the FBI agent with years of formal training,” I retorted. “I guess it doesn’t look so difficult.” He cleared the gun, then handed it to me. I retrieved a full mag from my pocket and swapped it for the one Deacon had used. He watched me click it into place and rack the slide.
“So far, so good,” he said. “Now, remember. It’s all about focus. You have to be able to work with the weapon instead of against it.”
A familiar sentiment, but it wasn’t the same. I felt like I brandished a movie prop. “Are we sure I can’t simply use my sword?” I grumbled.
“The world was never saved by a lousy shot,” Deacon quipped. “And you, gorgeous, are among the lousiest.”
I frowned at him. “Take that back, St. Clare.” I was willing to admit that my firearm skills needed work, but ‘the lousiest’ seemed like a stretch.
He smirked. “Make me.” That said, he moved around behind me as I aimed the gun at my bulbous orange target. “Clear your mind. Focus everything down to one point—the point of entry. Don’t tense up like that. Keep your shoulders loose.” He moved my arm a little. “There. Breathe in, breathe out, and fire.”
I tried to mimic everything I’d seen him do a minute earlier, but it felt all wrong. The gun might as well have been a toy in my hands. I missed the reassuring weight of the Gladius Solis and clean heft of its swing. Given the choice, I’d pick that damn blade every day of my life.
Still, the man had offered to teach me to shoot, and I wouldn’t turn down any opportunity to be alone with him. Plus, things were quiet at the moment in the wake of our adventure out west. We had returned to a routine of team meetings, mess hall meals, and daily patrols. If I didn’t do something, I’d run the risk of going stir crazy as I had before.