“Is my face that messed up now it’s funny?”
“When you and I became intimate, I told you that I’d stop seeing you if you lost your teeth.”
Michael touched his teeth as if he might have forgotten whether he’d lost any recently.
“They’re all there, you’re lucky; otherwise yesterday would not have happened,” she teased.
The more she talked, the more his attraction grew for her. He could see why they were engaged, he was totally enthralled with her.
“Sorry, I digressed. Your legacy has always been to protect the Spear and other powerful relics. Your father did it, and you were then given the responsibility for your family.”
“What about Nicholas?”
“Only the oldest child is given the task; he knows nothing about this.”
“How do you know this Spear is real or that it has power?” Michael asked, genuinely curious but also highly skeptical.
“Faith.”
“Like religious?”
“More like spiritual.”
“But you don’t know for sure this Spear actually holds the power you say it does?”
“All we know is what we’ve been told. We are the Knights of the Sacred Antiquities, but we just call ourselves the Knights.”
Michael cracked a broad smile.
She punched him and asked, “Now what do you think is so funny?”
“Knights of the Sacred Antiquities, really? It sounds so Indiana Jones or something out of a fantasy novel.”
“This is exactly how you acted before.”
“You have to admit, it all sounds so…”
“So what?”
“Silly.”
Her jovial and playful expression suddenly changed. “There’s nothing silly about it. It’s not a game. We’ve lost many of our Knights protecting the ancient relics and a good number trying to protect you. There’s nothing silly about what Viktor has done and will do.”
Michael couldn’t help but feel that this was all so odd and that Viktor had to be a mad and delusional man. Regardless of whether the Spear was truly powerful, Viktor thought it was and would stop at nothing to get it.
“How exactly did Viktor get so powerful that he came into possession of a super-EMP?” Michael asked, shifting his questions to something else.
“Viktor was once the Russian defense minister, so it was rather easy for him.”
“But why cause so much chaos and destruction? Why not just get the spear first, do it covertly?”
“His plan has always been to take over the world with or without the spear. He thought it easier to complete his task of finding it if the world was turned on itself.”
Michael’s head was again swimming with endless questions. He looked up at the clock and saw they had burned too much time. “Let’s continue this conversation later; we have a long drive.”
“Drive? We’re not driving anywhere. We’ll be at your brother’s house by early afternoon.”
“We’re flying?”
“As the old Michael use to say, that’s how we roll.”
Vista, CA
Vincent had risen with the sun and went to work preparing an elaborate breakfast for Bridgette and Noah. He knew she might turn him away, but at least he’d make an attempt at providing comfort for them in their time of need.
After finding a basket in the garage and loading up everything, he made his way towards their house. The first thing he saw that made him feel uneasy about his little sojourn there was that their gate was unlocked and slightly ajar. He knew for a fact that when he left, he closed and secured it. Immediately his training kicked in as he surveyed the area, looking for anything out of place, but all seemed fine.
He pulled down the driveway, and off to the side of the house, he saw a pile of freshly dug dirt and a shovel. He knew it was Ron’s grave even without seeing the homemade cross lying on the ground. He stopped just out front and took a few seconds to look around, again seeing if something seemed out of place, but not finding one thing.
He opened the door and as usual climbed out carefully, ensuring his foot didn’t bump anything. The day could not come soon enough for his foot to heal, but a broken bone took time, and until then he’d have to keep adjusting and adapting. Vincent slung his rifle and began his slow advance towards the house on his crutches. The temptation to holler out for them came, but he didn’t want to draw attention to his approach just in case. He reached the front door and tried the handle only to find it locked. The blinds in a window to the right of him were up; he leaned over and looked in. He saw the couch he had slept on looked exactly like he had left it, the pillow and blanket still there.
“Noah?” Bridgette called from inside.
By the sound of her voice, she didn’t seem in trouble, so Vincent decided to knock.
Bridgette’s head appeared in the right window. She glared at him and went to the door, unlocked and opened it.
“Hi,” Vincent said.
“What do you want?”
“I was thinking you’d be hungry, so I made a big breakfast and brought it over.”
She looked at him and said, “I told you, we’re fine.”
“Listen, it’s just a neighborly gesture. I’m not asking to eat with you.”
Bridgette ignored what he said and began to close the door.
He stuck his foot in the door jamb, stopping it from closing, “Please, at least give the fresh food to Noah.”
“Get your foot out of the way,” she barked.
“So that’s it, this is how you treat the man who gives you medicine and then tried to help by performing surgery on your dying husband. Once I’m not needed, you act like this. Let me tell you, if you think your conduct will keep you alive, it won’t.”
“I don’t care to live anymore, so I don’t give two shits.”
“And Noah, what about him? Are you also making up his mind for him?” Vincent shot back.
“He’s my son.”
“He’s a scared young boy, and if you gave a damn, you’d think twice about what you’re doing.”
“Just leave me alone!” she yelled.
Vincent opened his mouth to speak but stopped when Noah’s yells echoed from the far end of the driveway.
“Help, Mom, help!” Noah screamed.
Vincent pivoted and saw the boy racing over the rise in the driveway at breakneck speed. Not wasting time to see what or who he was running from, Vincent pulled his pistol, handed it to Bridgette and ordered, “Take this, just in case you can’t get to your other in time.”
She too didn’t hesitate; she took it and held it firmly in her grip.
Vincent still couldn’t see why Noah was running, but whatever it was had the boy terrified. He hobbled away from the front door and towards his SUV.
Finally the reason Noah was running appeared over the hill. A pair of old motorcycles, one with a sidecar, sped down the driveway and were closing on Noah.
Vincent dropped his crutches, raised his rifle and leaned against the SUV. He took aim through his optics on the motorcycle in front while simultaneously flicking off the selector switch. His right index finger began to apply a steady pressure to the trigger until it discharged. The round hit the person driving squarely, causing them to slump forward, which turned the handlebars and the motorcycle into the path of the other. Both motorcycles collided in spectacular fashion. The person driving the second bike flew over their handlebars and landed helmet first into the gravel road. The person tucked in the sidecar found themselves bouncing around as it tumbled end over end, finally resting upside down.
Noah didn’t stop running; he made it to Vincent and kept moving until he reached Bridgette.
Vincent couldn’t help but be impressed with what one shot had accomplished. He stepped away from the SUV and picked up a single crutch. “Go inside, lock the door, and wait for me to come back!” he ordered Bridgette and Noah. He slowly hobbled towards the wreckage, using one crutch to minimize using his broken foot while keeping
the rifle ready in his shoulder. It wasn’t the easiest thing to do, but he made it work. The first thing he came upon was the person who had flown over their handlebars.
They were alive but appeared badly injured as they slowly crawled, clenching the gravel with their gloved hands.
Vincent leveled his rifle at them and asked, “Any more with you?”
The person rolled onto their side and pulled off their helmet.
Vincent wasn’t expecting it to be a woman.
“Help,” she begged. Blood streamed from a deep cut on her forehead.
“Help?”
A cry from the sidecar drew Vincent’s attention. He looked over and saw the person squirming underneath the weight of the sidecar.
“My son, help him,” the woman pleaded.
Vincent was in shock. He’d fully expected to find three deranged men, but so far he’d come across a middle-aged woman and what sounded like a teenage boy.
The woman was clad from head to toe in tight black leather. She reached up with a quivering hand and began to unzip her jacket.
Vincent kicked her hand away and nearly lost his balance. “Don’t do anything stupid. Are there others with you?”
She nodded that there was.
“Where are they?”
“Help my son,” was her only reply.
The cries for help grew louder from underneath the sidecar.
Vincent firmed up his stance and asked, “Are you armed?”
“No,” she said as the blood covered her face. She swallowed hard and again begged, “Please go help my son.”
“Open your jacket; I need to make sure you’re not armed.”
The woman reached up and began to slowly unzip the jacket.
The cries from the sidecar grew even more intense.
“How far are your friends?” Vincent asked.
“I’ll tell you, but you have to help my son,” she countered.
The woman’s expression suddenly changed as she looked past Vincent.
He turned and saw Bridgette coming; she was marching towards them, her feet stomping hard. She held the pistol tightly in her right hand.
“I said to stay in the house,” Vincent said.
The woman unzipped quickly and went for a pistol tucked in her waistband.
Bridgette leveled the pistol and pulled the trigger twice. Both bullets hit the woman in the chest.
Vincent jumped back and, like a spectator, watched Bridgette kill the woman then move towards the sidecar.
“What are you doing?” Vincent asked.
“Doing what you’re obviously incapable of,” she answered then stopped at the sidecar and pulled the trigger several more times, killing the boy.
“That was a boy!” Vincent cried.
She turned back around and began to march back. As she passed him, she said, “That wasn’t a boy, that was a monster.”
“How do you know?”
She stopped and said, “Ask Noah what happened; then tell me what I did was wrong.”
Wellsville, Utah
For the second time in days, Nicholas was confronted with another death from his group and the task of telling their loved one; this time it was Abigail.
The small clinic that served as the Wellsville hospital buzzed with activity. The news that some of their own had been hurt traveled fast. Townspeople had heeded the call for blood and were flooding in to donate.
Nicholas had seen Chad come in, but didn’t get a chance to speak to him. The mayor was rushed through the crowd and disappeared down the hall.
The information Nicholas had gotten from the Wellsville security team that had been on site was sketchy, but it appeared that Bryn and Rob opened fire on Brock and a small team after being confronted near the old Dodge. From the few details and how Nicholas was being treated, it sounded as if Bryn and Rob were to blame and were the first to fire.
Bryn had been hit but had managed to flee in the car only to crash it further down the road.
Brock’s team, which included Logan, had taken her to the hospital for treatment of her wounds, but she was under arrest. No one from their group, including Nicholas, would be allowed to see her after her surgery to remove two bullets that had hit her arm and shoulder. Bryn hadn’t yet fully recovered from her last gunshot wound, but now she was wounded again and this time in trouble.
“I demand to see her the second she comes out of surgery,” Nicholas said.
“Not going to happen, not until we question her,” Logan said.
“Question her? This is dumb. If she fired, it was because she doesn’t trust anyone. It’s an honest mistake.”
“Regardless, we have laws here, and we need to do an investigation,” Logan said.
“So what? She shot first; you guys killed one of ours!” Nicholas barked.
“Only after they began shooting at us.”
Nicholas’ veins were bursting from his head as his temper grew.
Abigail ran down the hall, crying, “Where is he?”
Nicholas stopped her and said, “I told you to stay at the house.”
“Dad, where is he?”
Nicholas didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news, but she needed to know. “Honey, Rob was killed.”
Abigail began to wail and clenched onto Nicholas. “It’s all my fault. I should’ve never voted to go. I caused this. I’m so stupid.”
“It’s not your fault, honey, it’s mine,” Nicholas said in an attempt to console her.
She tucked her head in Nicholas’ chest and continued to cry.
Nicholas looked at Logan, who gave a slight nod, indicating he understood this was a personal time. However, Nicholas wasn’t done with the conversation. “I need to see Bryn the second she’s out.”
Logan shook his head and replied, “Not going to happen.”
“I’ll get permission from the mayor; he’ll okay it.”
“I doubt that.”
“She only fired from fear, nothing more.”
“It was more, she severely wounded Brock.”
This was the first Nicholas had heard of Brock’s condition. “But on the radio I heard only two reported shot.”
“Two reported wounded; Rob died at the scene.”
“How’s he doing?” Nicholas asked with genuine concern.
“She shot him up good; he took several shots to the chest.”
“I’m sure the mayor will understand it was all an unfortunate accident,” Nicholas lamented, his fiery tone gone.
Logan shrugged his shoulders and replied, “Not sure, this is a bit personal for the mayor. Brock is his son.”
Carlsbad, CA
The whoosh of the helicopter brought dozens of people out from their homes to investigate what was happening. The residents of Rancho Del Sur hadn’t seen a helicopter since everything stopped working weeks before. So when the CH-47 Chinook spun around and made a soft landing in the large cul-de-sac at the end of Nicholas’ old street, they had hoped to see government officials coming to save them. However, when the rear ramp lowered, their hopes were crushed. A team of six men wearing black and heavily armed rushed out and secured the perimeter. Just by their appearance, the people of Rancho Del Sur knew this wasn’t help.
Fathers and mothers told their children to go hide, and those who had weapons brought them to the ready for a fight if necessary.
Following closely behind the security team were Anatoly, Karina and Michael.
Michael pointed up the street and said, “His house is five doors down on the right.”
“Are you sure?” Anatoly asked.
“Yeah, my brother has lived here for years and this, for some reason, I remember,” Michael said. He turned and continued, “In fact, I’ll prove my memory for this place is solid. Over there is a trailhead that leads you down towards that road.”
Anatoly looked and saw a sign that read ‘TRAIL’. He looked back at Michael and nodded. He then turned to the security and ordered, “You, you and you, come with us.”
&n
bsp; Michael, not sure of what to expect, had requested a rifle and pistol and had been given both. Not wishing to stay in the street any longer than they needed to, Michael walked briskly up the hill towards Nicholas’ house. He scanned the area and took notice of how the neighborhood’s manicured look had deteriorated. The green grasses that lined the street were overgrown and turning brown. Trash, debris, abandoned cars and other types of litter lay on the street and sidewalks. The hoods of all the cars in view were up as their owners made a desperate but futile attempt to get them running again.
Michael saw dozens of eyes on him but felt dozens more. He, like Anatoly, agreed that this mission had to be quick. The helicopter was a tempting morsel, and the longer they sat, the greater the chance was to lose it. One thing in this world worse than someone in need was someone desperate with nothing to lose.
A woman holding a swaddled newborn baby came running towards them. “Are you here to help? Please help us.”
A man, most likely her husband, chased after her. “Lisa, come back here. I don’t think those people are here to help!”
The man on point security raised his rifle and aimed.
Michael saw this and rushed him. “Don’t you dare shoot that woman!” he said, batting down the barrel.
“Lisa, come back!” the woman’s husband pleaded.
Lisa stopped and froze when she saw what happened between Michael and the security man. She knew instantly that they could be more of a threat than helpful.
The point security man glared at Michael and snapped, “Don’t fucking do that again.”
“Don’t shoot women holding babies.”
“Everyone shut up and keep moving,” Anatoly barked.
Michael returned the hard stare from the security man and moved on.
Karina ran up alongside Michael and said, “His name is Francis. I don’t like him either.”
“With a name like Francis, I can see why he has anger problems,” Michael joked and kept walking. When he crested the hill and stood at the end of the debris-ridden driveway, his heart dropped. The garage door was open and Nicholas’ Mercedes and BMW were sitting there with the doors and trunk left open. More debris and trash extended from the garage into the driveway. To the right, the front door was open and the same trail of debris came from it. There was no doubt in his mind that the house held no occupants. He just prayed he wouldn’t find their bodies inside.
The Defiant: An Unbeaten Path Page 10