by A. R. Shaw
Wayward State
Remember the Ruin, Book 2
A. R. Shaw
Apocalyptic Ventures, LLC
Copyright © 2019 by A. R. Shaw
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
For my beloved Henry
"There can be no such thing, in law or in morality, as actions forbidden to an individual, but permitted to a mob"
Ayn Rand
Contents
Foreword
1. Matthew
2. Dane
3. Matthew
4. Dane
5. Matthew
6. Dane
7. Matthew
8. Dane
9. Matthew
10. Dane
11. Matthew
12. Dane
13. Matthew
14. Dane
15. Matthew
16. Dane
17. Matthew
18. Dane
19. Matthew
20. Dane
21. Matthew
22. Dane
23. Matthew
24. Dane
25. Matthew
26. Dane
27. Matthew
28. Dane
29. Matthew
Afterword
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by A. R. Shaw
Foreword
There was an irony in a firefighter choosing cremation as his final form. Why not bury what’s left of you in the cool soil of the earth as a final farewell, double birds to the beast in the end. You can’t get me now. That’s how he wanted to go. That seemed more honorable, somehow. But in the end, Matthew realized, Tuck didn’t have that option. His remains mostly burned on the first floor of a wasted department store in that Chicago building where they’d left him. It was a damn shame. A man like Tuck, he didn’t die fighting the beast. He died so that Dane could save herself.
Matthew let out a guarded breath as he stood there in line with the others, hands clasped in front of himself, head lowered in reverence, thinking of her. He was trying not to. Every waking moment was a battle to keep her from invading his thoughts. That battle usually began with defeat before the night even began.
Tucker Johnson’s name was engraved in the marker before them. Someone spoke words. Others held their own hand clasped tight in front of them as well. Heads held down.
“She should be here. Why isn’t she here?” Owen said whispered reverently.
“Shh.”
“I don’t understand. You didn’t really explain what happened. Instead, we’re here and she’s not here and for God’s sake why are Cal’s parents here? I mean, I know he died too, but we all hated him. And what he did to Rebecca…no one’s sorry…”
Owen kept jabbering in a low tone that he though only Matthew could hear but those who stood around them, heard the conversation too, Matthew assumed, and either, they agreed with Owen’s words and kept quiet or they refrained from letting on that they hear them at all. Meanwhile, Matthew continued to feel the knife hilt embedded in the center of his chest where the blade twisted on its own with the mere mention of Dane’s name. The funny thing was, he could feel the blade there, stabbed within him, yet no one else saw the protruding hilt sticking out of his chest.
It had only been a week since they’d parted ways. He just couldn’t go along with her plans. He couldn’t leave his dream for her quest for revenge. In the end, he didn’t blame her. He worried like hell for her and missed her every second of the day but what would it mean if he just quit his job as a smokejumper. Just like that? Especially when that was the reason, he’d left Samantha in the first place and also the reason she’d died in the end. This dream of his cost too much already and he just gave it up to follow Dane around on her quest for revenge. Oh, he didn’t blame her for wanting the revenge. Especially after seeing what Cal did to Rebecca. But somehow him dropping his own dreams lessened the value of Sam’s death. He didn’t know how to justify leaving his job when that’s all he lived for then…and now. He kept replaying the whole scenario in his head, the one from the past and the one from the present. Nothing made sense. In the end, he didn’t think he knew how to relationship…he just knew how to jump in the middle of a blaze and to fight fires.
1
Matthew
Matthew unfolded a gray fleece blanket they’d kept over the back of the sofa and draped it over Owen. He’d fallen asleep on the couch after the memorial service for Tuck and Cal, watching the ever-present breaking news. The remote hung loosely from Owen’s slack hand as it threatened to careen to the floor any second now. “Good night, buddy.” The painkillers Owen took made him groggy and constipated…he always mentioned the constipation. Owen could never keep anything to himself. Even this malady. When his shoulder was displaced in Chicago, it wasn’t healing right and had slipped out once already in the weeks since. If he’d just stop using his arm for a few days, the swelling would go down and he’d be on the mend, but it was hard to keep Owen down, or still for that matter, for any length of time.
Matthew saved the remote from its imminent fall and pointed the business end at the flat screen then pulled back and unmuted the volume after he watched what events unfold on the screen. “Those two again? Christ…why does this guy still do interviews? Anger management is a real thing, my friend.”
Instead of the ever-present tragic news displayed across the tv screen, Gowdy and Hughs were at it again. “Why do they keep having these interviews?” Matthew couldn’t help but mumble to himself. As it was, Gowdy sat at the edge of his seat, leaning forward, right index finger pressed hard against the round table. Whereas, Hughs leaned back in his chair with, his eyes peeled, pressing a pen between both hands as if that minuscule barrier were sufficient enough to defend him if Gowdy suddenly lost it. Was Hughs sitting that way unconsciously? Matthew wondered. He leaned forward as Hugh’s leaned backward. Or, was his posture meant to goad Gowdy. By the looks of the red hue rising in Gowdy’s neck, Matthew guessed, it didn’t matter. He was going to lose his cool any second now.
“Geez, man. Huges, you better run. He’s got you cornered.” Matthew thumbed up the volume with the remote as Gowdy raised just above the seat in a position to launch like a cougar right into Hughs and start slinging his big meaty fists into the man’s smug face. Matthew turned up the chaos just enough to hear the exchange but not too much to rouse Owen.
“You caused this goddamn mess. You did! Don’t shake your head. You and your cronies. You wanted people fighting in the streets. You bastards began by bussing them in, years ago. You figured that worked for your little causes. Then you started paying people to vote, you bribed the innocent and infirm by feeding and clothing the homeless.”
Hughs raised his hand, letting one end of the pencil drip down as if on a hinge between his other fingers. “You don’t think we should feed and clothe the homeless, Gowdy? Come now.”
Gowdy raised one slender finger and paused. “Don’t you twist my words, Hughs. Trust me, you don’t want to do that. You took advantage of them. Instead of setting them up to care for themselves, you made them dependent on your handouts, like puppets, so they’d do your bidding for you. You enslaved them, in the end. Convinced them they were doing something important. You guys are scum. You take advantage of the innocents. Now, you’ve ramped it up. Instead of small-time tasks you’ve taken your corrupt game to higher stakes. You’ve created a guerilla army. It’s outright madness. Anyone who’s against your agenda is sliced off at the knees. You’ve even co
me after me and my family.”
Hugh’s eyes lit up suddenly and the corners of his mouth curved into a slow Cheshire grin. Matthew didn’t think the man knew he was smiling.
“Buddy…not a good idea,” Matthew said.
“How does Tracy like having security escort her to elementary school each day, Gowdy?”
In a flash-burn second, Gowdy’s face turned crimson. “You fuc…” But he didn’t complete the phrase instead, he did as Matthew predicted earlier and launched at Hughs.
Even Matthew took an unconscious step back as he watched the events take place on the screen. “Wow! Get up man...oh…oh, bad move. He’s got you now. Holy crap! That’s gonna hurt.”
“What? What’s going on?” Owen said sitting up too quickly and regretting the sudden movement.
Matthew stuck his chin out to the screen.
After a groan of pain, Owen watched the screen. “Get up man…don’t stay down. Oh…look the cameraman jumped in, too. Who do we want to win?” Owen asked.
“Does it matter?” Matthew chuckled and shook his head and pointed the remote at the screen again and flipped off the carnage as several more people stormed into the melee.
As the screen went blank, Owen said, “They should just let them go at it for a while. This was a long time coming.”
“Yeah, I think they held off for a while. Hughs was getting his ass kicked until the cameraman jumped in.”
“You don’t think it was staged?”
“I could be wrong, but I don’t think so.”
“Why does Gowdy keep doing the interviews. Why does Hughs keep having him on?”
“Since they shut down political Twitter feeds, there’s little avenues to talk directly to ‘the people’. I figure that how Gowdy gets his word out.”
Rubbing his shoulder, Owen said, “Firefighters vow to abstain from siding with any political parties but, it was nice to see Gowdy get at least one punch in.”
Matthew chuckled. “He got more than one punch in. I’m pretty sure the next time we see Hughs, his nose’ll be reset. It was a bad idea to underestimate Gowdy by leaning back in a non-defensive position. Gowdy was all over him in a second. It was a good thing that pencil went flying because had Gowdy got a hold of it…I doubt we’d see Hughs smug face again.”
“You’re not supposed to say a thing like that. You’re the ‘captain’ now.”
“We don’t have titles remember? I’m just the team lead. How do you feel about that, by the way?” Matthew said with a smirk.
With doe eyes, Owen put one defensive arm over his chest, “I feel intimidated by your superiority. I might need a safe space.”
Matthew laughed and nodded. “Yep…me too. My superiority intimidates me, so. It’s not the politics of the man though. I just like him. He’s more…human. Ready to lose control and pound the other guys face in. I don’t always agree with his views. Heck, I agree more with Hughs on several issues but when it comes to the man next to you in a fight…I’d take Gowdy over Hughs any day. Come on, we’ve got to get some sleep. Long day tomorrow.” Matthew headed to the bunkroom when Owen called over the couch. “Hey, aren’t you going to call Dane? See if she’s okay?”
“No. And stop asking,” he said harsher than he intended and ducked into the darkened bunk room, heading to the cot in the far-right hand corner near the door. Exactly where he’d first met the girl who held his heart in her clenched fist. He let out a long breath as he felt the knife twist again in the empty expanse of his chest. She should be here…with them, dammit. But she wasn’t. He knew where she was headed with the occasional text, but he tried like hell not to care. His last words to her were, “Do what you have to do, Dane. Just don’t get killed in the process.”
2
Dane
It was always the quiet dark that led to thought she couldn’t escape. Right before she fell asleep at night or the wee hours in the morning just before she convinced herself to get up and out of bed. There was never any escaping those memories or those what if’s. What if she’d listened to Paul and ended it with Bill when she detected the first signs of his controlling nature? What if she’d listened to her father? What if she’d been home that night? So many, what if’s…
At least once a day, on her best days, she fought the inevitable. And on her worst days, a flood of them came at her all day long, wave after wave of guilt and regret. For sure, they lessened in time but they’re still there…always just under the surface. Even a scream in a grocery store plunged her into the tragic hours before her father’s death occurred.
Before the day her world came crashing down, she’d have wondered how in the hell, one single person became loaded with so much personal tragedy?
She kicked herself then. “Stop it.” That was wallowing. That was the kind of thought she abstained from. Asking why or making excuses for oneself only cut you off at the knees. She knew this and yet she couldn’t hold the thoughts back. A person could wear tragedy like a weighted coat her whole life and never be able to take a step in life because the damn thing was so heavy. She’d shed that coat long ago. If she hadn’t, there’s no chance she’d be where she was today. But in the wee hours of the morning…that resolve had yet to wake up and she was weak. That’s when she realized her thoughts were getting her nowhere right at the beginning of a new day. She launched herself up at sat at the edge of the bed.
“Get up,” she said to herself. “Enough.” Her feet hit the hotel’s cheap low pile carpet. She liked how it felt under her bare feet. She’d checked into little hotel tucked away in evergreens on Bainbridge Island, Washington, after she’d driven through the Kitsap Peninsula in the stolen company truck that Matthew had lent her. Since he was now in charge, she didn’t think he’d report the truck missing anyway. So it didn’t matter really. She wasn’t worried about the state patrol pulling her over after driving right in front of them through I-90 on her way from dropping Matthew off in Missoula and heading out again after saying their silent goodbyes. It was as quiet a drive as she’d ever taken. They’d argued before they got there. And though she regretted their parting…she knew he had to do what he had to do. And he understood her reasons as well. It didn’t make going on without him any easier. She had to admit, she...longed for him. She missed him every hour, every minute and every second of the day. They’d bonded in a way she didn’t want to admit to herself. How could you become so close to someone where they felt a part of you, so soon? It was the first time…she’d missed anyone. His absence made her realize that. Never before had she wished for a person to be there…with her. Now, she found herself, perfecting the art of letting go of someone she loved. Loved, as in still loved. She couldn’t deny that. The pain was too great. There was too much of that lately. She’d cared for people. She’d cared for Tuck…and now he was gone, too and she missed him. Was she to forever miss the people she’d come to love and care for? She grieved for the man, but with Matthew…it was something much more. Dare she say, she loved the man. If the pain she felt now meant anything at all, she knew she’d finally felt love for someone. And the loss of it was a living hell. An aching, rusted, chain of hell. She still felt him on the other end of that chain. But he’d chosen his journey over hers and her over his, in the end. They’d promised to meet up again sometime in the future…to remain, friends, but really…that was just appeasement and she knew it the moment he stepped out of the truck. They’d hugged one last time. He said, “I’m sorry.” She breathed his scent in deeply, trying desperately to mark the memory. The feel of his skin. The brush of his stubble against the side of her face as they pulled away. The feel of his soft cotton t-shirt beneath her fingers. He turned away from her and she watched him walk away into the building. He’d turned, pressed his lips together and then waved goodbye from the doorway. That was it. She couldn’t help but replay the scene over and over in her mind on a loop.
“Ugh…stop,” she said to the noise in her brain as she flipped on the adjoining bathroom switch, the dank light still burned h
er eyes and when she looked in the mirror, she realized the whites of her eyes where bloody red. “What the hell?” It wasn’t the alcohol. She’d tapered the drinking since she’d left Chicago. For some reason having avenged her father’s death, also ended her need to continue to drink the powdered Rebel Blaze cocktails at every turn. Oddly, she thought that was her way of staying close to its creator…her father. But she’d avenged his death. In the end, the murderer wasn’t who she’d always thought it was, but that didn’t matter, both Paul and Kim were dead now. She wished Paul hadn’t died in the end. But it was unlikely that he survived the gunshot blast that was meant for her. He’d saved her life in the end. He’d sacrificed too…sure, he had a part in her father’s death, but he’d not meant to kill him. That was all Kim. She at least felt vindicated that Paul wasn’t the killer in the end. She’d always thought of him as a brother, had grown up with him even and regretted having lost him as a friend in the end.
Dane studied the shower handle. They were all different. It didn’t matter which hotel you were at. It was as varied as those credit card checkout devices…none of them were the same. They all had their own personalities. This one had a handle that you turned from H to C. No other sticks to pull or lower to get the water running. It was too early in the morning to figure that stuff out without caffeine. She turned the lever all the way to the H and hoped for the best. Soon steam rose through the white waffle curtain. She whipped the curtain open on the silver rings along the bar hearing them screech like insects in unison. She stepped in the spray without even checking to see what level of scalding she’d endure in the next second. It stung and soon her skin turned a rosy color as she let the scorching water stream down her scalp and filter down her body. The burn woke her, made her feel…something when she had no desire to feel anything at all. It especially took away the negative thoughts that plagued her first thing in the morning and momentarily eased the stabbing in her chest. Now, she thought past the pain and more importantly, she thought ahead. What did the day bring? What tasks on her mental chalkboard would she get to swipe off? She would find out soon.