The Rising (The End Time Saga Book 3)

by Daniel Greene

  Gwen lounged in the corner of the fold-out bench table in Tess’s camper, sipping some very thin tea. It tasted like she was drinking water out of a cup she had used for tea the day before. The only good part about it was that it was hot. The reused tea bags made them last longer, providing her with a touch of respite from her nausea that came and went, seemingly with the wind.

  Steele sat across from her, hands wrapped around a hot mug of instant coffee. He gave her a weak smile, only showing her a fraction of his uncertainty. His hair had started to fill in along his hair-part scar, making him look less like a committed patient.

  Jack had shown up in the night, throwing the camp into an uproar. The message he carried had only made it worse. He sat outside their camper under the guard of Margie while they debated the plan to move forward.

  Tess sat, legs crossed on her futon-style bed, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders making her look like a little boy with her slender features and short hair. Thunder stood in the corner, arms across his barrel chest.

  “So, that dick, Jack, claims the pastor wants a truce. Do we believe him?” Thunder said, his bushy eyebrows pressed together.

  “If we don’t, we’re most certainly at war. Meeting gives us a shot,” Steele said.

  “As much as I’d rather tell them to fuck off, I agree,” Thunder said.

  “You want to meet with this nut job?” Tess said. She gave him a questioning look.

  “I will if it prevents further bloodshed.”

  “Fine. Let’s say we do meet with this pastor. Do we bring Peter and try and to make a trade for Pagan?” Tess wiped her nose with a hand beneath her blanket.

  Steele scratched at his scar. “He was alive a few days ago, although there’s no guarantee he is now. If he’s not and we show up with Peter, there’s not much to stop the Chosen from gunning us down and taking Peter back.”

  “We could go in force. Show them we aren’t afraid,” Tess said.

  Steele shook his head. “As your partner in command, I would strongly advise against that. It would look like an open declaration of war. We are supposed to be calling a truce,” Steele said. He tried to unsnarl his beard, his fingers working through it slowly.

  “I’m with Steele. It will only confirm the worst in their eyes,” Thunder said.

  “What’s to prevent them from shooting us either way and taking Peter back?” Tess asked.

  “Nothing. But I don’t think their leader would invite us to their camp and gun us down for no reason.” Steele pulled the end of his beard.

  “No reason other than you did the exact same thing to them,” Gwen said, piping up. Steele glared at her.

  “Okay, any ideas then?” he said.

  “You could show up unarmed aside from melee weapons,” Gwen said.

  Steele’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not going unarmed.”

  “Who said you had to go?” Gwen said. Steele looked uncomfortable as he shifted his weight in his seat. He wasn’t used to being asked to stay behind. His eyes darted at Tess.

  Possessiveness rose up in Gwen when she noticed who Mark was looking to for support. Don’t you look at her. Look at me. I am yours. Not her. She doesn’t get to have you. I do.

  “I feel like I should be the one to go. I’m responsible for this community’s security, and as a leader, I should be the one at the negotiating table. I don’t really feel like I have a choice.”

  “But-,” Gwen squeaked.

  “And I won’t go without him,” Tess said.

  And who said you were going, bitch? Don’t think I don’t know what you are doing, taking his side on anything we disagree on. She let her eyes talk for her.

  “I don’t see why you and Thunder couldn’t go?” Gwen asked as sweetly as she could. She let her eyes fall on the big biker, testing his mettle with her look.

  Thunder coughed in his hand. She could tell he was flustered by her words. “It ain’t my fight.”

  “But it will be if they come here again,” she said.

  “Then maybe it’s best if me and my boys head north. We all could. Leave this mess behind us. We could dispose of Jack along the way. My boys wouldn’t have a problem with that. He’s a whiny jackass who clearly has no loyalty.”

  “No.” Steele shook his head. He waved a hand at Thunder. “I won’t have more innocent blood on my hands, no matter how much I dislike the man.”

  Peter’s blood coats your hands, Mark.

  The older man nodded his acceptance.

  “Best case scenario, we hold Peter as collateral to trade for Pagan. Tess and I have to meet with this pastor and see if we can smooth everything over. Make a deal with the man. Thunder, will you provide escort?”

  Thunder tightened his bandana. “Me and the Red Stripes will give you a lift.”

  “Good, then it’s settled.” Steele rose out of his seat. “Thank you for the coffee, Tess. Tomorrow after daybreak?” he said.

  “I can’t wait,” she said, sarcasm riddling her voice.

  Gwen stood up, making sure to give Tess a cold gaze before she followed Mark out of the camper. After they were out of earshot, she grabbed his sleeve, making him stop.

  “Why were you blowing me off in there? We talked about discussing our decisions,” she said.

  “We did discuss it with everyone. I made a promise to protect these people in Pagan’s absence and I won’t back down now.”

  “They got along fine before you came around. And what about me? I’m fucking pregnant. What if something happens? You’re going to risk leaving me pregnant and alone in the middle of this hell?”

  “Every move we make is a risk,” he exclaimed. His eyes turned empathetic. “I know you’re worried. I wouldn’t take a risk if I didn’t think I had to. The alternative is they come here in force and murder us. If not today, tomorrow, if not tomorrow, the next day. Staying would buy you a day with me. I’m trying to buy us a life.”

  She looked down. Sand. Rocks. The wind took a piece of trash, spiraling through the camp. Smoking fires burnt in pits. Tarps on makeshift shelters ruffled in the wind. “I deserve better than this.” She waved her arms wide. “Better than this camp.”

  Margie and Jack looked up from the other end of the camper. Margie loosely held a hunting rifle in her hands next to Jack, who sat in a folding chair, hands clasped in front of him.

  Gwen went to leave and he grabbed her by the shoulders. She wanted to cry. Goddamn hormones. Is it the hormones?

  “You don’t want to be with me. You want a new one,” she uttered.

  His eyes were hurt as he read her. “What do you mean?”

  He knows exactly what I mean. She wiped her nose. “I see the way you look at her. She’s fun and pretty with a skinny little body. I’m getting all swollen and pregnant. Disgusting.”

  “Babe, no.” He reached a hand up to her face, wiping a thumb near the corner of her eye. She crossed her arms, uncomfortably looking away.

  “I do these things for you. Trust me when I say I will come back to you. No one can keep us apart.” She knew he lied, but it made her feel like she was back in Virginia saying goodbye to him before he deployed across the planet on the hunt for evil men in even darker places. It made her feel as if everything was almost back to normal even in their disjointed life dominated by Counterterrorism Division demands.

  “I need you here,” she mumbled. He pulled her chin up with a rough finger.

  “I can’t be,” he said softly. His blue eyes were almost cold steel.

  “I know,” she said, turning away. I know you have chosen your duty, but when will you choose me? When do you choose us? At what point do we become your duty?

  STEELE

  Temple Energy Plant, MI

  The sun sat low in the sky, beginning its lazy daily ascent.

  A dozen guns pointed in their direction. Three Chosen men stood behind the chain-link gate, guns held in the low ready. Each man wore something different showing no uniformity. One blue jacket, one black jacket, and one camouflage jac
ket. Others were behind them in front of the power plant. They laid out prone or knelt in cover behind piles of coal. On the roof of the power plant, Steele could barely make out the small forms of men with sniper rifles zeroed in on them.

  Steele and Tess stood in the middle of a sand-swept road, waiting to be acknowledged with bullets or otherwise. Jack stood wisely back a few yards away from them.

  Out of the corner of her eye, he watched Tess. Her short hair was slicked back like a 1950’s greaser. She visibly gulped.

  “They would have shot us already if they were going to,” he whispered to her under his breath. Nodding her head little by little, she acknowledged him.

  “Still not comforted,” she whispered back.

  “It never gets any easier,” Steele said, making sure his Thor’s hammer medallion, Mjolnir, was tucked inside his shirt. The last thing I need is somebody getting the wrong idea. He raised his hands in the air, holding them up for everyone to see. Tess did the same. Jack stood behind them, hands up.

  “We’re here to meet with the pastor. We brought your man, Jack,” Steele shouted.

  The man in the black jacket with a light brown beard got closer to the fence.

  “And who the fuck are you?” he shouted through the fence.

  Steele kept his hands in the air. “You know who we are.”

  The man’s eyes widened and then narrowed. “Must be Steele, huh? We’ve been waiting for you. Leave your weapons on the ground.”

  Steele laid his M4 carbine and M9 Beretta on the ground. Tess set her Colt 1911 next to his guns. They both stood back up straight, hands high.

  “Don’t forget your hatchet,” the man shouted at Steele. Steele ripped it from his belt, flipped it in his hand, and set it on the ground. The man behind the gate snorted. “Open it up.”

  The chain-link fence shuddered as the other men pushed it open.

  Steele walked forward and one of the Chosen raced out to collect their weapons. A goateed man slapped hands with Jack and smiled.

  “Good to have you back, Brother Jack.” Jack gave him an awkward pat on the back. Steele watched them.

  So Jack made some new friends, sneaky rat, and has already gave them all the information they needed to infiltrate, assault, and destroy Little Sable.

  With a clunk, a wheeled chain-link fence gate rolled closed behind them, effectively shutting them in. The rumble of motorcycles fired up in the distance. Their engines roared like lions. We are still free they seemed to shout. Chosen men twisted, leveling their guns in the direction of the sound.

  The man with the soft beard leveled his shotgun at them from the hip. “Got some friends out there, don’t ya?” he said. He eyed the treelined road leading away from the plant.

  Steele gave a glance backward. He leveled with the man eye to eye. “We have plenty of friends.”

  “So do we,” the man rebutted with a smile. His glance was off-putting, like that of a sober madman. The way he uttered the words made Steele wonder what he meant. Did the Red Stripes just deliver us to the pastor’s men as allies or as prisoners? Was this the deal the entire time? Get rid of the troublemakers? No. Not Thunder. He loves his freedom just as much as we do. Maybe he just guaranteed it. Steele swallowed his doubt.

  A handsome man emerged from the power plant’s double-metal door entrance. He wore khaki pants and a nice zip-up sweater. A wooden flail hung from his belt and Steele wondered if it ever swung into his legs while he walked, banging his knees and shins. He waved them forward.

  The man gave them a smile. His wavy blond hair was combed all to one side with a nice part. “Seth, bring them on in. The pastor is waiting.”

  Who is this guy? Some sort of used car salesman?

  “We’re coming, Brother Matthew,” Seth said. He turned to them. “Come on, Steele, and oh yeah, who are you?”

  “I’m Tess,” she spat with venom.

  “Spunky. Thought you were a boy,” he said with a laugh.

  “More of a man than you’ll ever be,” she said.

  Seth’s eyes darkened. “If you lived here, you’d know better than to speak to a man like that.”

  “That’s why I don’t live in this penitentiary.”

  Steele gave Tess a fake smile. “I believe our host, Seth, was going to take us inside to our meeting.”

  “Come on,” Seth grunted. He walked them past Matthew inside the metal doors.

  They stepped inside and were immediately buffeted by the smell of cooking food and laughter. Kids pushed their way by chasing one another.

  “You’re it,” one screeched.

  They ducked in and out of dormant machinery surrounded by metal piping. Women sat in circles preparing food to be cooked. Women and children peered out from behind tents and dividers watching the newcomers. Men chatted here and there. None seemed starved or suffering from malnutrition or apparent abuse. Guns were abundant among them. A few regarded them as they walked by.

  Seth led them through the large open floor; each room they passed was filled with more people. There must be at least a thousand people living here. So Peter told the truth. A power plant fortress with over a thousand people. I was skeptical based on my method of elicitation, but he told the truth.

  They crossed the entire plant. On the far side of the plant, Seth lifted a lever and opened a barred door. Bright morning light hit them again. Why are they leading us back outside? Coal piles loomed over two stories high on flat open ground.

  Seth ushered them forward and brought them down the middle of a gravel-filled path. The path led them in-between giant black rocky piles. The land gradually sloped downward, leading them to water. A narrow canal widened into a lake. Seth stopped them. A tall, slightly hunched old man stood in the water, his back to them.

  His dark pants were cuffed up to his thin calves. His bare feet were submerged in the water. Long-fingered hands were clasped behind his back. It was as if he were going to issue commands to the far-reaching body of water. A faded, worn wood carpenter’s hammer was stuck through his belt.

  Seth stopped and cleared his throat. “Pastor. Mr. Steele and Miss Tess are here.”

  The man didn’t turn around. He continued to look out over the water as if it were telling him a story.

  After a moment, the man spoke softly. “Seth, you may go.” He didn’t look at them. He waved two fingers with his right hand. Seth hesitated. He gave Steele a wary glance, untrusting of him.

  “Pastor, you shouldn’t be left alone with these Gentiles,” Seth hissed.

  “You may go, Brother.” The Pastor waved his two fingers in the air. “God will protect me.”

  “As you command.” Seth bent his head downward toward the ground in obedience. He gave Steele a threatening look and walked back to the plant, feet crunching in the gravel.

  They all stood in silence and moments floated by, evaporating into the morning air. Bold move meeting us by yourself. In two seconds, I could have my hands around his neck. Will your God protect you when I hold you under that water until you stop moving?

  Tess gave Steele a questioning look. She mouthed, “Do we say something?”

  Steele shrugged his shoulders. They were at his mercy. The silence was awkward, long, and almost peaceful.

  “The water is warmer here,” the pastor said. His back held a slight hunch as if it were permanently sore. “Not as warm as if the power plant was running at full capacity. But even the little we use heats the water somewhat,” he said, bringing a foot out and shaking it off.

  Steele held his tongue. He didn’t want to walk into some sort of mind game with the man.

  The pastor dried his feet with a small hand towel. He looked up at them between wiping his feet. “Water is the symbol of life. It brings us rebirth in God’s eyes. It washes away our sins. It brings us new life. It is the harbinger of good.” A smile stretched across his long, weathered face. “And it helps my swelling feet.”

  The pastor slipped his feet back into a pair of black shoes. “You look familiar to me,
son.” He blinked as if trying to bring up a photograph of Steele in his mind. “I don’t recall. An old mind is filled with ages of knowledge but won’t be able to remember where you placed your keys.”

  Steele said nothing in response. He let his eyes remain fierce.

  The pastor smiled with tight-lips. “So they call you Steele.” He looked Steele up and down. “A fitting name for a man forged by conflict.” He turned to Tess. “And you must be Tess, an expert on our civil freedoms if what I’m told is true. In another time, I would like to speak with you of moral topics, maybe even have a debate. The church has moved away from debating nonbelievers, something that I never understood. For with righteous purpose on one’s side, victory is all but assured.” Tess gave Steele a sidelong glance, her eyes asking if this guy was a loon. Steele gave her a grim smile in response.

  “We came to discuss terms,” Steele said, keeping his tone flat and his voice calm.

  The pastor grinned a smile of old understanding. “A direct man as well. It’s funny. Before this pestilence gripped our nation, I yearned for quieter days of no cell phones buzzing or the youth being distracted by social media. The days where you could go outside and hear the sound of silence. A slower time. And now that we have this, everything still seems so rushed.”

  The pastor stood watching Steele. His eyes were judging Steele, watching him for anything that indicated his character or the depth of his soul. Steele felt like he might clench his teeth so tightly that he would bite through his jaw, but held himself in check.

  “I hope that Peter is unharmed,” the pastor continued.

  “He is.” Steele produced a small silver cross necklace. He reached out his hand and gave it to the pastor. The pastor inspected the cross and placed it in his pocket. His eyes narrowed to slits, weighing Steele’s truthfulness.

  “It would be a shame if you took this from his corpse and lied to me.” His eyes looked into Steele. Steele met him eye for eye.

  “He’s safe. You have my word.”

  “Your word? A word from a man today means little. How can we trust a man’s word when men beat each other to death over a piece of bread? Only the word of God is something you can trust,” the pastor said.