by William Oday
Beth looked around the tile floor. “What?”
He looked around. “I just had it.”
“I swear, Miro, if you’ve lost my mother’s ring.”
Miro’s pulled it out and grinned. “Kidding!”
Beth almost laughed, but she wasn’t going to encourage him.
Miro raised it. “Iridia, I love you. Not because you’re hotter than a Houston summer. Which you are. But because your heart has stolen mine.”
Iridia blushed.
“I don’t want to be without you. This world is too crazy to face alone. And I don’t want to waste another second without you as my wife.”
Theresa handed Iridia a tissue.
She dabbed at her eyes.
He took her hand. “Iridia Reshenko, will you make me the happiest cowboy in the world and marry me?”
Iridia was already nodding before the question was finished being asked. “Yes! Yes! I love you Casemiro Pike!”
Miro slipped Mamaw’s ring onto her finger and kissed it. He jumped up with her in his arms and swung her in a circle. “Wahoo! That’s my girl!”
The spin slowed as Iridia pulled his head toward hers. Their eyes closed and their lips met.
Such beauty.
Such hope.
So important. Now more than ever.
Beth turned to Mason and saw a single tear on his cheek. She kissed it away. “Tough guys can cry too, you know.”
Another tear slid down his cheek. “I know.”
Noor tugged on Iridia’s pant leg to get her attention. It didn’t work at first. She tugged harder.
Iridia’s eyes opened and she pulled away from Miro’s mouth.
Noor peered up with a hopeful look in her eyes. “Can I be a flower girl in your wedding?”
Everyone laughed. Mason did too but then groaned in pain.
“Yes, dear,” Iridia said. “I wouldn’t let you not be one!”
Noor giggled. “Cool!”
Miro picked her up and hugged her into Iridia. He spun them all around until both girls were giggling hysterically.
Elio approached the side of the bed. “Mr. West—”
“Mason. Come on.” Mason replied. “Are you kidding?”
“Mason, I have a question I’d like to ask.” He took Theresa’s hand in his and pulled her forward. “Theresa and I have discussed it.”
Their daughter nodded in agreement.
Beth knew Miro was thinking of asking Iridia to marry him, but this proposal came out of the blue.
But that wasn’t to say it was unexpected.
She turned to Mason to see how he was handling it.
He had the self-administered IV injector in his hand. He pressed the big red button over and over.
He looked like he’d seen a ghost.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
MASON cursed his luck. It turned out the question had Elio asked was even worse than the one he’d expected.
It was exactly six days later that Mason had said yes. And now another week later and things were already in motion.
Elio pushed the wheelchair that would be Mason’s main mode of transportation for several more weeks. “I’ll go up and introduce you. Then, you’ll come on and talk about your vision. Keep it short. Big picture stuff. Inspirational.”
Mason shook his head. “Why did I let you talk me into this?”
“We both know I couldn’t do that.”
It was the truth. Mason had considered it from every angle. He still didn’t know if it was the best thing. He just knew it felt like the right thing. After all, if no one stepped up, how would anything get done?
Elio pushed him up the ramp onto the stage. He parked him to the side as the crowd seated below applauded. “Mason, wave to the people.”
Mason flinched and got his hand up and waving at everyone. He forced a smile but was pretty sure it didn’t come out looking friendly.
Elio stepped up to the microphone stand. “Hello, everyone! It’s great to see you!” He gestured to Mason. “I’d like to introduce you to the next president of the United States of America.”
Yeah, maybe.
There was the small detail of an impending trial for the death of Gabriel Cruz. If that went well, there was then the additional detail of winning a legitimate election.
Mason waved.
The crowd roared its approval.
“He’s a hero, both in the old world and the new!” Elio shouted. “Who wants to hear a few words from our next president?”
Again, the crowd went wild.
Elio unhooked the mic and walked it over to Mason. “Introducing the Freedom Party’s candidate for presidency, Mason West!”
The crowd went crazy. It was too much energy.
He scanned left and right surveying for possible threats. His eyes fell upon Miro standing below the stage speaking into a mic at his wrist cuff. Miro shrugged and turned back to face the crowd.
Mason accepted the mic. He cleared his throat, which amplified through the speakers set up on each side of the stage.
“Sorry. Uh, hello everyone.”
More cheering. He waited for them to quiet down.
“Thank you for the introduction, Elio. I don’t know how much of a hero I was or am. That’s for others to judge. I just know that I’ve always tried to do the right thing. And I promise that if you elect me president, I will continue to do that. I may not make the correct call every time, but I swear to you that every decision will always be with your best interests in mind. We can only do this together! We! The people!”
The applause exploded like thunder.
Miro glanced back with a hard look.
Mason waited for them to quiet. Which took a while.
“You may or may not know that I am no career politician.”
The crowd split with laughter and Mason turned to see Elio shaking his head with a grimace on his face.
“Exactly,” Mason said. “But I want to bring up one policy that will be a founding principle in our administration. You may have heard rumors of slavery in the north.” He gestured at Elio. “They are not rumors. Elio was there and barely escaped with his life. I tell you this. Slavery has no place in the Union! Never again will one human be able to own another in these United States! Less than two hundred years ago, that abominable practice tore our country apart. We will not stand for it! We will not let it happen again!”
The crowd went insane, totally unhinged with glee.
Miro looked back and sliced his hand across his neck.
Mason nodded.
“Thank you all for coming! And God bless the United States of America!”
Mason wasn’t positive there was a God to do the blessing. And if there was, he certainly hadn’t being doing a good job of it lately. Then again, he couldn’t deny the simple fact that he was still alive.
His daughter and Elio were alive.
Maria stood in the front row of the crowd. She caught his eyes before he could look away. She pointed at Elio and mouthed the words Thank you.
Mason nodded and Maria started clapping.
Elio took the mic back. “Let’s get the whole family up here!”
The crowd redoubled their applause.
Beth jogged up the ramp and stood next to Mason with her hand at his back. Theresa walked up and slipped an arm around Elio. Iridia walked up holding hands with Noor.
Miro looked back.
Mason nodded him over. “Get up here!”
Miro jogged up and wrapped an arm around both Iridia and Noor.
Beth knelt down and called out.“Buddy! Come on, boy!”
From between a row of chairs, he trotted forward. Trotted wasn’t totally accurate. His slender front legs trotted. His back legs rested on a chariot-like seat that had two wheels under it. The rubber wheels spun as his front legs pulled him up the ramp and over to Beth.
She got on her knees and let him lick all over her face.
His tail didn’t wag but his tongue made up for it. His front half see
med connected by a swivel with the back half as he swung back and forth in excitement.
Beth patted his head to keep him down. His rear legs had shown only minimal function thus far, but only time would tell if he would ever use them again.
Mason reached down to pet him.
Buddy’s tongue scraped over every millimeter of Mason’s hand and fingers. “Aren’t dogs’ mouths supposed to be cleaner than human mouths?”
“No, honey. That’s a myth.”
“Are you sure? I’m pretty sure it’s true.”
“Who’s the Veterinary Doctor, you or me?”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“I know I’m right. And FYI, I caught him eating his poop earlier today.”
Mason looked at his hand dripping with slobber. A disgusted grimace twisted his face. “You should’ve told me that a minute ago.”
“You’re not the boss of me,” Beth said with a grin.
“Not yet, but soon maybe.”
Beth cocked an eyebrow at him. “Don’t get cocky, Mr. President.”
Mason stuttered.
Those words, addressing him.
It was beyond strange.
Miro appeared at his side. “Hey Sarge, how are you holding up?”
Mason looked up. “I’ll make it. Listen, I think I’m going to need some help.”
“That’s what I’m here for.”
Mason clenched Miro’s arm. “How does head of the Presidential Protective Division sound?”
“Is that an official offer?”
“It is if I’m elected.”
“And do you think you’ll be elected?”
Mason shrugged. “Depends if the DA decides to press charges.” He’d turned over Beth’s phone a week ago. After making a copy of the conversation for himself.
The DA’s office had someone leaking information as the DNR ran a front page story the very next day. It included every sordid detail of Cruz and Fowler’s conversation.
Maybe the information would sway the DA to not press charges for the death of Gabriel Cruz, but he wasn’t counting on it. Not after charges had already been brought against Theresa and Elio for the murder of Hector Guyardo.
It scared the hell out of him, but at least there would be due process and time to mount a defense. The truth would come out. Witnesses would have a chance to come forward and explain what happened.
Not every witness, though.
Not Police Chief Fowler. He and the other two officers thrown into the Red Zone hadn’t been seen since.
Mason had thought Beth might’ve gone too far, until she told him what Fowler had done. And was about to do.
Let the deltas eat him.
He turned to Miro. “If it goes to trial and I’m convicted of murder one, I doubt folks are going to run out and vote for me.”
Miro laughed. “You’re worried about being a criminal? Have you forgotten our presidents over the last several decades?”
“Good point.”
“Anyway, it was self-defense. We both know that.”
Mason agreed it should play out that way in court if it came to that, but he wasn’t as convinced on a personal level.
“Assuming these people are crazy enough to elect you, I accept. Nobody’s got more experience keeping your ass alive than I do.”
He wasn’t lying.
“Thanks, pardner.”
“Just doing my job.”
CHAPTER SIXTY
FATHER ROBERTS dipped into the blood slowly welling up out of his forearm. It had taken awhile for his fingernail to dig deep enough to get a sufficient amount of blood. He dipped his finger into the sacred ink and painted on the cell wall. He finished the horizontal post and then stepped back to admire the work.
Not admire in a prideful way.
Not admire his own tolerance for pain or skill in painting.
All gifts were from God.
And so appreciating the red cross on the wall was an appreciation of the Lord Almighty.
He got down on his knees and held his hands together in prayer.
“Forgive me, Lord. I have failed you.”
His martyrdom had not gone according to plan. But he realized that, of course, it had.
It was true that it had not gone according to his plan. But all things always went according to His plan. And so his intended martyrdom was Lee’s mistake.
The time hadn’t been right.
“I’ve been prideful, Lord. Thinking that I knew your mind. Please forgive me. I am your vessel. Do with me what you will.”
Did God wish for him to perish in a cell in Alcatraz? To waste away until his body failed and he left the mortal world behind to rise up to heaven?
It seemed like a terrible waste, but he would obey if that was his destiny.
“I accept whatever fate you have for me. I ask but one thing. Please, God. Give me a sign so that I may know Your will. Show me the path that I should walk and I will take it to the end.”
“Hey priest, God don’t make house calls here.”
Father Roberts turned to see a guard outside the bars glaring at him with contempt.
“The Lord has no need for house calls. He is everything and everywhere at once.”
“That so?”
Father Roberts nodded.
The guard took out a ring of keys and opened the cell. “So, he’ll show up and stop me from beating your ass?”
“If it is His will.”
The guard pulled a long baton off his hip. “This is what we call a test of empirical evidence.” He raised the baton above Lee’s head. “I’m going to beat you bloody. Or, God will arrive and stop me. Sound good?”
Lee lowered his head. “You will do what you must.” He had been beaten and tortured before. The suffering had brought him closer to the Almighty. He prayed it would do so again.
“Hey,” another voice said from outside the cell. “What are you doing?”
Lee looked up to see another guard enter the cell. He had a white bandage covering his cheek and jaw.
The one with the baton turned in confusion. “Who are you?”
“Your replacement.”
The new guard lunged forward and stabbed a blade into the other’s stomach. He stabbed again and again like a jackhammer.
The baton clattered to the concrete floor and its owner collapsed.
The guard with the knife raised his cap and Lee bore witness to the power of the Lord. He accepted the offered hand and rose to his feet. “Brother Ryan. You are a blessing.”
“Father Roberts, we don’t have much time. The next shift will be here in a few minutes. We have a boat waiting on the far side of the island.”
“Lead the way.”
Brother Ryan nodded and led him out of the cage. The young monk was proving to be a most resourceful person. He’d come so far in so little time.
Lee wondered how far he might one day wish to go. Would he someday decide that Lee needed to be replaced as Father Aemon had been?
“Father, what will we do next?”
“We will do what we always do, and that is to obey the will of God.”
“And what does the Lord want us to do?”
“Wage holy war, Brother.”
THE END OF BOOK 3
The Darwin Rebellion, book 4 in The Last Peak series, will be out Spring 2017!
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— NOVELS —
The Last Peak Series
The Darwin Protocol, Book 1
The Darwin Collapse, Book 2
The Darwin Sacrifice, Book 3
The Darwin Rebellion, Book 4
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— SHORT STORIES —
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She’s Gone
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All the best,
Will
The Goal
I have a simple storytelling goal that can be wildly difficult to achieve. I want to entertain you with little black marks arranged on a white background. Read the marks and join me on a grand adventure. If all goes well, you’ll slip under the spell and so walk alongside heroes and villains. You’ll feel what they feel. You’ll understand the world as they do.
My writing and your reading is akin to telepathic ventriloquism. I translate my thoughts and emotions through characters and conflict in a story. If the transmission works, your heart will pound, your heart will break, and you will care. At the very least, hopefully you’ll escape your world and live in mine for a little while.
I hope to see you there!
Will
My Life Thus Far
I grew up in the red dirt of the Midwest, the center of the states. I later meandered out to the West Coast and have remained off-center ever since. Living in Los Angeles, I achieved my Career 1.0 dream by working on big-budget movies for over a decade. If you’ve seen a Will Smith or Tom Cruise blockbuster action movie, you’ve likely seen my work.
The work was challenging and fulfilling… until I got tired of telling other people’s stories. I longed to tell my own. So, now I’m pursuing my Career 2.0 dream—a dream I’ve had since youth—to write stories that pull a reader in and make the everyday world fade away.