The Suns of Liberty (Book 1): Legion

by Michael Ivan Lowell

  So Drayger turned back to Arbor. Marched toward him, pistol raised, aimed at the big man’s head. He stood just above Arbor, who was trying to stay conscious, his world fading in and out.

  Arbor was on his side, staring at Drayger as he approached. “Pretty impressive, sweetheart,” Arbor grunted. “You should come work for me. We’re the real heroes. I could use a man like you. Fierce as shit, talented. And we have...” Arbor’s vision blurred. Darkness swept over him for a second. “We have a budget, too.”

  Drayger’s eyes waivered. He lowered the gun an inch.

  He was fierce. That was true.

  Drayger re-aimed the gun between Arbor’s eyes. And grinning like a kid with a new puppy, he cocked his head and pulled the—

  ROAR! A Spore zoomed over the rooftop of the compound and headed right for him. Drayger spun and fired at the thing. Everyone turned toward the menacing machine.

  Everyone but Ward. All he saw was his hate for Fiddler.

  What he didn’t see was Fang creeping up behind him.

  The Spore returned fire as Drayger and Lantern dove out of the way. Arbor just rolled over on his back, hand over the chest wound in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding.

  Out of the corner of his eyes he saw a very welcome sight. A small group of Council Guards jogging toward him. That meant two things to Arbor. One, they’d finished off the Minutemen. Two, they were coming to rescue him. “Move, move, move!” their commander yelled.

  Ward ignored it all. So did Fiddler. They approached each other, arms up, like two Old West gunslingers.

  “It just has to burn your bloody ass that not only am I still walking around, I’m a hero to the people now!” Fiddler spat.

  Ward said nothing, but he was searching for a seam in Fiddler’s hideous armor. There was a small joint at the elbow. A tiny space for a dart to get into that only opened up when Fiddler moved his arm at just the right angle. It would take enormous concentration and focus for Ward to hit it.

  “Oh, c’mon! Bloody well indulge me! Say something heroic! Tell me how you’re going to avenge your little snot eater.” Then Fiddler feigned a thoughtful moment. “You know, I wished I’d had the chance to rape your wife before she offed herself. Now that would have been fun! Too bad,” he sighed. “I guess living with you was just so much harder than I’d realized. You never gave me the chance. You did my work better than I ever could have!”

  “Shut up!” Ward growled. He knew Fiddler was just trying to provoke him, to make him lose his cool. Fiddler hadn’t even meant to kill David. It was an accident. David had simply been a casualty of a failed drive-by shooting. Wrong place, wrong time. That was all. The creep had never known his wife. He knew this. He refused to be goaded. He refused to lose his focus on Fiddler.

  Which was exactly what Fang was counting on. As the big man reached out to grab Ward from behind, Fiddler yelled, “Now!” Then Fiddler aimed the harpoons at Ward and fired.

  And when he did, he moved into Ward’s tiny strike zone. The shot opened up. The shot he’d been waiting to take for three long, wretched years.

  Ward fired his dart.

  The shot was perfect.

  It would hit home.

  But so would Fiddler’s.

  Ward blinked and saw the acid dart headed right for his chest. Again, Fiddler had been full of shit. He’d not taken the head shot like he’d boasted. He’d taken the safe route. A torso shot.

  Typical. Ward closed his eyes, waited for the impact. But regardless, he felt at peace. If he had to die, he was ready.

  “No,” Leslie insisted. “Get everyone else on board, then I go.”

  Revolution nodded, and he watched as Leslie returned to the conversation she was having on her cell phone. Although he had the capability to do so at this close range, he never snooped in on her calls. Technically, she was his superior, after all. And the office she held, along with her own personal prowess as a scientist and a politician, had long since garnered his utmost respect.

  Revolution was helping the last of the members of COR onto the fifth and final escape sub when Leslie at along last finished her call. “That was the European president,” she said.

  This got the Revolution’s attention. She knew very well that he had long hoped for military assistance from the E.U. in the long struggle against the Council.

  “She thinks she can convince the parliament to support us,” Leslie added, “but they’re looking very closely at what happens here. We need to win this fight. We need to show them some kind of concrete evidence that we can win this war.”

  Out front, Drayger saw the small group of Guardsmen approaching, focused—for now—on the fallen Arbor. He spun back to the Spore, which had swooped back up into the sky.

  It seemed to be waiting.

  Drayger didn’t want to wait. “C’mon!” he yelled at Lantern and took off after the Guardsmen, arm raised, pistol ready.

  The Guardsmen stopped. They felt the wave of nausea hit them and then the fear. Drayger just cackled as they began to search the sky. Worked every time. He’d have to thank the Fletcher girl someday. Best fear image he’d ever projected.

  Then he opened fire. A full clip. Fifteen rounds. Fifteen kills—before the Guardsmen got their wits together and began to return fire. By that time, Drayger had reached the small brick wall that lined Beach Street and dove behind it for cover.

  Drayger fumbled to reload the pistol. But he couldn’t find his ammo. Where the hell was it? He searched his pockets, his vest, everywhere. And then he realized. He’d used it all up.

  Another realization hit him. Why the hell weren’t the Guardsmen firing? In fact, why weren’t they overrunning the wall now and just shooting him in the head?

  He winced, waiting for the end as he peered over the wall—and saw them all checking their weapons. They looked like a bunch of campers whose flashlights had just died.

  The Saratoga Virus!

  Drayger scanned around. There was Lantern. Crouched behind the wall not twenty feet from him. He must have made the run to the wall with him and Drayger hadn’t even realized it. “Hey,” he yelled to Lantern, “throw me your other gun!” Let’s—”

  BOOM!

  A laser shot from the Spore zoomed out of nowhere and hit Drayger completely unawares. The power of the beam lifted him off the ground, pulverizing the wall, and spun him in midair, thudding him back to the ground with a splat!

  The world was still spinning. He knew he had slammed into the dusty soil. He tried to breathe, but there was no air in his lungs. Finally, oxygen broke through. Drayger coughed up a glob of blood. He spit it into the dirt.

  The remaining Guardsmen, about ten in all, had backed up, and as Drayger tried to size them up, he realized that they were just standing there, gaping at him. He must have hit them with fear without even realizing it!

  Drayger knew he needed to get back to Lantern. Needed to get that pistol and finish these guys before they finished him. He snapped to his feet.

  Except nothing happened.

  Pain hit Ben Drayger like a locomotive.

  He peered down and realized…

  His leg was gone.

  CHAPTER 47

  Ward felt the stabbing pain that would end his life.

  It jolted him off his feet and slammed him to the turf. He’d gotten his perfect shot off, though. But instead of hearing Fiddler, he heard a woman scream. He skidded in the dirt and waited for the pain to hit.

  And there was pain, but it was coming from his aching ribs, not his chest.

  He felt his torso, but there was no dart sticking in it. No acid eating up his heart. The impact hadn’t been from Fiddler’s mini-harpoon dart at all. Something or someone had knocked him out of the way.

  He looked up, saw Fiddler and Fang, both prone, sprawled on the ground, both lying across from one another. Saw Fiddler, eyes wide, Ward’s dart jutting out of Fiddler’s elbow joint. It had been a perfect shot. But much more shockingly, one of Fang’s large white spikes was sticking gr
otesquely out of Fiddler’s chest.

  Ward strolled over to him, and he could see it in his eyes. Fiddler knew Ward hadn’t even tried to dodge his harpoon. He was willing to die in order to make sure Fiddler went down. In that moment, Fiddler knew whose will was stronger. Who was the more courageous man.

  And Ward’s dart had done more than immobilize Fiddler; the dart had ensured he could not escape Fang’s attempt to stab Ward in the back.

  Ward smiled. Puts a new meaning to the term backfire.

  Fiddler glared back at him and wheezed. “I thought you didn’t believe in killing,” he said through his pain.

  “I don’t. Not human beings, anyway. Not sure you qualify. Besides, I didn’t do this. You did.”

  Fiddler tried to laugh, but a gurgle of blood spewed out of his lips. He coughed. His eyes went wide. Ward watched them grow dim as the life oozed out of the former leader of the Brown Recluse.

  Fang grunted behind him.

  Shit, Fang! He’d forgotten about him. Ward spun, ready to fight, and what he saw made him stop short.

  The big man was still on the ground, grunting. And then he howled in an ungodly wail of agony. And Ward saw why. One of Fiddler’s darts was stabbed into his chest—which was bubbling and boiling with blood and gore. And as he watched, Fang’s wailing mercifully ceased. The big man died right in front of him.

  Truly, the Brown Recluse were a gang no more.

  Ward blinked. How had this happened? Why hadn’t he been the one to take the harpoon to the chest and the spike to the back?

  Then he heard her voice. A soft sob. He recognized it instantly. “Rachel?” he asked, spinning, searching around him for any sign of her.

  She appeared in front of him. Her suit was torn across the right arm, the acid from the harpoon boiling into her, blood and tissue seeping down her white suit. It was she who had pushed him out of the way. Ward whipped over to her and grabbed her arm to inspect the wound. Rachel howled in pain when he touched her.

  Ward spun, searched around him.

  And saw it. Twenty yards ahead, somehow undamaged by the mêlée. “Hang on!” he said and bear hugged her. She was staring into his eyes as they flew the short distance, the pain setting her nerve endings afire. Her lips open in shock.

  Ward landed and let go of her gently, and she collapsed to her knees. Then he swiveled and, as hard he could, kicked the top off of the street hydrant that stood unscathed among the rubble.

  Water spewed out in a powerful torrent. Rachel’s wide eyes darted his way, and, understanding, she rose to her feet and Ward helped her reach the powerful stream that washed the acid out of the wound.

  “Fuck, that hurts!” she yelled.

  Ward sighed with relief as he could tell she was coming back around. “I know,” he said.

  “And dammit!” she exclaimed, a trace of a smile curling on her full ruby lips. “Another trip to my plastic surgeon!” she said. “What is it with this mission?”

  “That should be good,” Ward said, pulling her out of the torrent. He inspected the gash. “It looks clean now.”

  “Well, it still feels dirty,” she said, wincing. “And not in the good way.”

  “You’re going to have to fix that suit too,” Ward said, noting the long tear in the fabric.

  She peered down at it and nodded. “Yep, that too.”

  “That’s okay,” Ward said. “I like it better that way.”

  She scrunched her face. “Torn?”

  “Visible.”

  She grinned a genuine flirty Rachel-type grin that, under the circumstances, warmed his heart. “And by the way, thanks for saving my life,” he said.

  She reached out and ran her hand across his cheek, winked at him, and said, “Let’s get back over there.”

  Drayger lay in the dirt, grasping his gory stump of a leg. The laser blast had cauterized the wound, so he would not bleed to death, but the pain was overwhelming.

  And the Spore was on its way back for another round.

  Lantern sprinted over to Drayger, hooked his hands under his shoulders, and pulled him back across the street, hoping that the Spore would not engage them if they were backing away.

  But the Spore did not cooperate. And why not? The Minutemen were nearly all dead. He and Drayger were the best targets it had.

  Suddenly a strange buzzing sound caught Lantern’s attention, and the Spore seemed to hear it too, halting in midflight.

  As Lantern peered back toward I-95 he could see a whole squadron of small planes landing on the roadway. Lots of Cessnas and Pipers. Each of them filled with the Minutemen that had gathered at Boston—and had not been expected to arrive for another four hours at least. Flash bulbs lit the night sky as the gathered reporters burst from their various hiding spots all across the area, making it all look a bit like the Fourth of July.

  The first plane landed, and those aboard bounded out and came running to him.

  He started to warn them off, fearing the Spore would target them—just as he heard the machine reengage and it began to fly toward the interstate. The good news was it was no longer targeting him and Drayger. The bad news was that the Minutemen would be sitting ducks.

  But no sooner had the Spore zoomed over him than its power suddenly clicked off and the great orb crashed to the ground.

  Saratoga.

  “My God.”

  Ward just stared at Drayger’s mutilated stump. “Hang on, Ben.”

  The young man was delirious with pain. Ward had seen some horrific injuries of the extremities, but this one was right up there with the worst of them. He knelt down by Drayger.

  Drayger’s eyes were wild. “I’m gonna kill ‘em! I’m gonna fuckin’ kill ‘em!” Drayger was whisper-shouting through his agony.

  Ward eyed his wrist turrets. He pressed his fingers down onto his sleeve canisters, and the end of a dart popped up. He pried it out. “This will take the edge off. I need you to stay very still for just a second, okay?”

  Drayger understood and complied—just long enough. Ward gently pricked the skin and then pulled the dart back. A small dose of the serenity serum hit the capillary and, in a single heartbeat, shot through Drayger’s system.

  His wild eyes calmed.

  Ward breathed a sigh of relief. His serums had always contained accelerators, but in the past, they’d needed the force of the impact to trigger the rapid movement through the bloodstream. Great when everything worked like it was supposed to. But if the wrist-turrets ever malfunctioned, he’d be left with no way to instantly immobilize an attacker.

  He’d been working on solving that problem. Reconfiguring the chemical mixture of the serum itself by adding an automatic accelerator. They’d worked in the lab and in his apartment. But he’d not tested them in the field…until now.

  Ward peered back over at Sophia, on her back in the dirt, fifty feet away. She was breathing, thank God.

  He jogged over to her. She was awake, but badly injured. Ward couldn’t examine her through the armor, but he figured broken ribs like himself, sprained joints, hairline fractures, at the very least. He gave her a miniscule injection of the serum, and in a few minutes she was up on her feet and, with his help, she limped over to be with the others. Minutemen from the planes were now gathering around.

  Ward heard his com crackle, and Revolution’s voice blared out to everyone. “COR and Crown are on their way, and I’ve neutralized the Guard on this side. I’m coming to you.”

  “Roger that, sir. Rage and Spectral remain at large. Same with Ray,” Lantern responded.

  “And Lantern, what’s the buzzing?”

  “Airplanes, sir. Lots and lots of airplanes.”

  Ward looked back and smiled. They were still coming in, a long line of them like a highway in the heavens, backed up across the Philadelphia skyline.

  Spectral rose into the air, nothing more than a beam of light. The last remaining Spore had sent a blast that had just sliced through Spectral’s force field and taken Scarlett off her feet. Spectra
l had made a quick scan of her vitals. She was stunned but healthy. So the android rose to face the machine before it could circle back for another strike.

  The Spore was headed right for them, its blasters poised and aimed. But Spectral had already precisely calculated the best preemptive tactic to employ. The android teleported into the heart of the Spore.

  The Spore stopped in midair, trying to deduce where its target had gone. Unable to contemplate that the target would be inside itself.

  And as Scarlett recovered, peered up, searched the sky, and finally found them, the android’s molecules changed from light to matter.

  The Spore exploded in a flash of light as Spectral’s mechanical body filled up its space. What was left of the Spore trickled to the ground like so many silver snowflakes.

  Spectral followed them down. He knelt beside Scarlett and helped her to her feet.

  “Not yet. The Council still has a card to play. Let’s let them play it first.” Scarlett rested her hand on the roof’s concrete ledge, and when she did so Spectral saw her fingers tremble. The android placed his warm hand over hers.

  She peered up at him and smiled. “Thank you.”

  he said.

  She nodded. “Our master stroke may have to wait,” she said, scanning the arriving aircraft on the interstate.

  Spectral took her in his arms, and they rose into the night sky together.

  Revolution had joined them. He peered out at the massive numbers of Minutemen disembarking from the planes.

  Ward was examining his wounds as best he could, but Revolution’s armor made it nearly impossible. He made a mental note to ask Leslie to work up some kind of medical scanner that could see through battle armor.

  The Revolution turned toward Drayger, who was now propped up against the small brick wall. He leaned down and put his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Hang in there, son. We’ll get you some help. We’ve got a state-of-the-art medical facility at our safe house in Norristown.” Revolution motioned to the planes on the interstate. “We’ll have one of those boys take you there, get you patched up. They can do great things with robotic limbs these days. Make you better than new. Right, Paul?” Revolution said.