by Casey Herzog
It took him an instant to sense the person approaching him from behind, and he lifted his fists a second too late. The punch slammed into his face and he fell to one knee.
“Nobody left to heal you anymore, eh?” Captain Fillmore said. “Ted has just died from internal bleeding. You’re a fucking dead man, soldier,” he spat. “Take him away!”
Callum looked around him as the armored men and women approached, their hands outstretched to control and neutralize him, but he had other plans. He stood up and caught the first of them deftly, his arm pulling the woman close to him and putting her in a tight headlock. Despite her helmet, he could still crush her windpipe if necessary.
“Get back! I don’t want to kill her, just like I didn’t want to hurt any of you!”
Pistols were raised, as were rifles. Rain fell down heavily on them all, but it was only Callum getting drenched with the contaminated water, something that would probably make him regret his little stunt later on. If I’m still alive to do so. Captain Fillmore looked furious, but he ordered his soldiers to stand down.
“You killed Ted, soldier. You’re not getting away with that. Think long about what happens next; you’ve only got one move.”
Callum pulled the woman with him as he spun on the spot, forcing a man who had been approaching to take a few steps back.
“Get back!” The female soldier struggled, but he wasn’t letting go. He began to think of a way to get out, but it was useless. He was never going to make it back home.
“Sir!” The tall woman from their arrival came running from her post, a hand on her helmet. “Captain, you have to hear this. Open your link to channel 13; some crazy shit is going down at Silver Pass Bridge!” Her voice trembled with emotion; it was clear that something terrible had happened to her comrades.
Fillmore turned his narrowed eyes away from Callum and tapped at his helmet.
He straightened a moment later in shock.
“Captain,” Callum said, “Detain me and we can talk. I know that something is taking place that needs your presence. You don’t have to kill me; I bear you no ill will. As a matter of fact, I have information that could help you.”
The officer nodded and made a signal to several of his men.
“Come with me to the armory, now! You two, put this man away without hurting him. I’m not done with you, soldier.”
Callum let go of the woman he was holding and pushed her forward slightly towards her companions. A pair of them came forward and pulled Callum away roughly from where he stood to the outpost, where he was led to a back corridor to some stairs that descended into a basement. Individual cells awaited him, and he saw two of the six chambers occupied by prisoners. He was thrown inside one of them before the guard punched him across the face and turned to close the door.
“You just violated your superior’s orders,” Callum said, smiling through a bleeding mouth.
“Fuck you,” the guard replied, and he and his companion both walked back up the steps to find out what had just taken place.
With a sigh, the soldier closed his eyes and decided it was time to reflect on what happened next. He was going to need to find a way to get out of here, before or after the captain came back.
Dante shivered. The back of the truck was cold now, the lonely feeling of being without Callum already affecting his mood. The soldier had made sure he was always taken care of, but now nobody would protect him. Captain Fillmore had said it himself; he was in charge of his own safety now, even if it meant learning how to lie and how to fight.
Whatever the University was, he needed to prepare himself to be forced to reveal his gifts. It didn’t worry him that they found out about his healing; it was the other ability that he preferred to keep secret. His mind went back to what he’d done at Ayia and he shivered.
The amount of energy I released, the destruction I caused…
Dante knew he needed to avoid ending up as somebody’s weapon. He made a decision: Don’t let those people know what you can do until you trust them…and even then, think twice.
The truck rocked and shook, and Dante curled up on the floor.
He took a deep breath and began to think of what he was going to do next.
Callum had given him the tools to stand up to life. He’d given Dante the theoretical.
“I guess it’s time to put them into practice,” Dante thought with a sigh and closed his eyes. It was time to think of his next move forward.
CHAPTER EIGHT
~Fugitive~
The blue-eyed man watched the road with interest, his wound pulsing hatefully and forcing him to hold back a gasp of pain whenever he turned his head. The group’s medic had attempted to check out his wound, but his offer had been received with cold rejection.
“Piss off, Cross,” he’d told the man when he’d gotten close with a bandage and some rubbing alcohol. Cross had been given that name by way of association: the Red Cross movement and his position as a medic made it too easy. It seemed cool to the red-haired ex-medical student, however, and he’d accepted the moniker without much hassle.
The Whisperer remembered how he’d suffered the damage to his collarbone and flared; the soldier from Ayia had been hiding his child ally somewhere in the village where they’d cornered him, and the kid had shown up in time to stop him from finishing the man off.
Reiner — The Whisperer’s true name — had been fortunate that the child hadn’t shot him a few inches lower or he’d be dead. In fact, he could take the pain if it meant being alive at least long enough to get his revenge.
The battle had left four of his men behind at the oil field village, but they had not been the only ones he’d lost — two more died after the battle, their wounds finally claiming them. One had been shot; the other had come face to face with a grenade explosion. They both died in great pain, their bodies only lasting long enough to get them on their bikes and out of the village for a few miles until they finally realized they were dead.
Reiner continued to watch the road, wondering what the tall, thick column of smoke meant, and what it could attract to the area. He was willing to attack any number of enemies if it meant finding a way to get weapons and vehicles so he could go out and hunt the man and the boy for revenge. After all, his men’s bikes had undergone too much stress in the last hours; some were too hurt or tired to be riding anyway.
They had attempted to come back to the village and follow their enemies a couple of hours after the battle, but the tracks had ended further north and it had frustrated the Whisperer and his men. They had doubled back just in case, but it had been a waste of time. Only the smoke made them stop long enough to wait and see what would happen next.
“I hear engines,” he whispered curiously to nobody in particular, though it could be good news just as much as it could be bad. He would be a fool to believe there weren’t enemies as dangerous as his own little gang out there, hunting for innocents and just looking for the thrill of murder in a lawless world. I’d know — I was one of them once, aimlessly murdering strangers out in the wasteland. What a waste of time it was, to be honest.
The Angels of the Apocalypse were a completely different beast when compared to others who had worked with Lord Russell or those hordes of bandits and scavengers that roamed the wastelands. They were neither ex-soldiers left angry, discontent and bitter about the crushing end to the war; nor were they opportunistic criminals who had taken advantage of a dying world and its weak, helpless citizens. The Angels were actually professionals at what they did.
The Whisperer had always surrounded himself with trained mercenaries: a band of dangerous individuals who sold their services to numerous clients before the war even began. The motorcyclist motif was unique, an intimidating characteristic which they had carried ever since the beginning. Reiner had been a member of a violent motorcycle gang that had terrorized his city until he had moved on to becoming a mercenary — it had just been a small step to integrate his past with his present and mix both worlds togethe
r.
Together, they had fought soldiers, bandits, and even the alien scum during the war until the final attack took place and Reiner was forced to choose a side before they were exterminated. The bombings had cost him many men, too many to count. He had never enjoyed working for Russell, but it had paid well in security, food and reputation, and he knew that eventually he would get the chance to topple the bastard from his throne.
“True,” Cross remarked, picking up his binoculars to observe with more detail. He paused and let out a sharp breath. “Whoa, you might want to see this!” The medic handed the apparatus over with wide eyes, staring at Reiner to see his reaction when he spotted what was heading at full speed towards the burning structure in the distance.
Two armored cars were hurtling towards the bridge, their design nothing like The Whisperer had ever seen before. They were sleek, powerfully-armored, and fast vehicles, both seemingly heavy with cargo or passengers. Reiner knew that it was probably the latter, but even if he and his companions could take down one of the vehicles and steal the other, it’d be enough to continue their hunt.
“What do you think?” he asked, turning to the medic as the others waited impatiently below the small hill they were observing from.
“Definitely worth hitting from behind once they’ve stopped to investigate the fire. We could even take the cars from them without firing a shot, though killing them all could work too. I doubt they’d come with us easily, anyway.”
The Whisperer nodded once, his eyes not shifting from what was taking place in front of him. Just because Ayia had fallen, it didn’t mean that The Angels of the Apocalypse were out of business. There was always someone to kidnap and abduct, eventually selling them to some weirdo in need of slaves. Lord Russell was dead, but nothing had changed.
It’s a shame that I didn’t get to kill him, that motherfucker. Reiner had decided to work long-term for the warlord, but he’d been growing tired of the way the metal-faced bastard had treated him towards the end. If I get that kid and his dad, I’m not doing it for you but for me, you hear me? He wished his former boss could hear him right now. Funnily enough, Reiner and his team had escaped the destruction of the Tower of Ayia because Russell had forced them to descend its floors by the fire stairs. They were the only structure that remained intact once the collapse began. Sucks for you, Russ. You’re dead and we’re alive.
The vehicles stopped several hundred meters away from the bridge and hatches on their rear cabins slammed open. Armored and helmeted soldiers with strange rifles poured out, and Cross sighed audibly.
“Damn,” he managed.
There were at least twenty-four of them, twelve per truck plus the two drivers who remained in their vehicles.
“If the attacker or attackers are still around, they’re getting annihilated,” Reiner chuckled as he turned his binoculars to the smoking ruins of the bridge’s checkpoint, “Nah, let’s leave this alone and live to fight another d—” His eyes widened and he froze. He had seen something glinting in the smoldering structure. He leaned forward and his jaw dropped. “No…”
Cross shifted uncomfortably.
“What’s going on? Sir?”
Some of the men still waiting below looked up.
“What’s up?” Simon asked. His black eyes glinted evilly. “See something valuable?”
The Whisperer shook his head slowly and threw the binoculars over to Cross before slipping back down the hill and grabbing his weapons.
“This is our moment,” his rasping voice barked. “There’s something we need on that bridge and we’re not letting these helmeted bastards get it! Kill them all, spare no one. Move out!”
Within an instant, eleven bikes roared and their riders burst out from behind the hill towards the bridge.
The Angels of the Apocalypse were heading out to battle.
Dante’s eyes snapped back open as he felt the back of the cold truck get even colder. The metal beneath his face felt like shard of ice, and his hands were trembling. With a shiver, he stood and sat on a bench on one side of the compartment, curling up in a corner and blowing warm air into his hands.
“Hey kid,” a voice said from a speaker above him.
Dante wasn’t sure what to do or say. Can they even hear me?
“Yes?”
“We’re entering the cold regions; temperatures will only continue to drop from here on. There’s a blanket or two behind the small hatch to the left of you. Take some water and food if you need it.” The healer’s eyes darted to the metal grating beside him and only then did he see the handle sitting there, waiting to be opened. “Pro-tip: learn to take stuff without asking. You’ve been shivering for hours; we were expecting you to solve that issue before needing to intervene. This world will eat you up if you try to be good all the time.”
The boy blushed in angry shame and remained silent as he pulled a thick blanket out and wrapped himself inside it like a military ration. Talking of military rations, there are a bunch of them inside here, he thought excitedly as he unwrapped one of them and ate. The men in the front of the vehicle had probably formed an image of him by now. Innocent, dumb, weak. Dante recalled the amount of times he’d had to steal before. I’ve even had to kill at Callum’s side.
Suddenly, he realized how he was going to survive at his new home. Dante allowed himself a smile and wrapped himself tighter in the blanket.
He was going to let them underestimate him, drop under the radar…all until someone made a mistake and he could show them what he was really capable of.
The motorcyclists had been ruthless in their efficiency, their sudden attack a blaze of gunfire that hit the armored troops from all sides at once and gave them no time to react.
The Whisperer had waited for most of the enemies to be far enough from their vehicles before striking, his men effectively cutting off the enemy escape route and forcing them forward into the burning wreckage of the checkpoint at the same time.
It had all been measured, down to the moment when Russell himself was forced out of his hiding place by the wave of armored enemies that retreated towards him. He fired at them; his face turned into a furious grimace as he realized what was coming next. He had planned to surprise them, but somebody else had surprised him first.
The enemies were decimated, a few of them launching themselves from the bridge into the polluted sludge below, another small group making it to a truck despite the hail of bullets that flew at them. They sped away from the battlefield before the enemy could finish them off, the shock of the sudden and violent attack leaving them shell-shocked. The other vehicle had been captured, one of Reiner’s men already at the wheel and preparing to extract them from the area once they were done. The driver’s dead body lay at his side with a bullet in his head.
The Whisperer crouched over an enemy’s body and admired the damage his group had done to the modern armor worn by the strangers — very few rounds penetrated the material, but several among them possessed armor piercing rounds. Myself included, he thought with pride.
He looked around him and admired the results: over ten of the enemy dead, Russell alive and looking worried, his gun up and pointing at him from fifty yards away. Not a single casualty to worry about.
“Whisperer…” Russell hissed as he continued to point his rifle at Reiner’s head. Uselessly, considering the situation he’s in, Reiner thought. “How did you find me? At least let me know before we begin.”
“Begin?” The Whisperer laughed. “Luck,” he said with a thoughtful face. “Fate.”
Russell looked around at all of the bikers pointing their firearms at him. Not two weeks ago, he’d been their boss. How things had changed. He hadn’t felt worried until now. The lord knew he’d humiliated the blue-eyed biker a bit too much towards the end of his reign in an attempt to keep the man controlled. He’s going to kill me next, I’m sure. I can still go down fighting. Russell’s mind raced as he saw a hundred different situations play out in his head. All of them ended in his death, and
he was not ready to die yet. The bionic side of his head released a jolt of pain and he was forced to fight the urge to tap it with his knuckles.
“There’s still a way out for both of us, Whisperer. You should put your weapons down, and I’ll do the same. I’ll let this slide and we can forget we even saw each other.”
“No,” Reiner replied coldly. “You see, Russell…” he said, getting to his feet once more from where he crouched and stretching his muscles with care, “…You work for me now.”
PART II – Destinations
CHAPTER NINE
~Unprepared~
Callum shifted awkwardly and looked up at the ceiling above him instinctively. There was noise above him, a ruckus that could only mean something big had taken place. His cheek hurt and felt bruised, and the sick feeling he was carrying could only be a result of his exposure to the rain. However, his curiosity was stronger than his injuries — Callum wasted no time to stand and approach the bars of his cell as closely as he could, straining his hearing to catch any words that could indicate what had happened. Immediately, Dante’s face formed in his mind. Something bad better not have happened to him, or I’ll kill them all.