The Glass Mountains: The Saboteur Chronicles Book 2

by J. V. Roberts

  “Uncle Monte is dead?” Hawthorne gasped.

  “That’s bullshit, I haven’t killed anyone. I told you that, Hawthorne. I wasn’t lying. Your uncle was alive when these men took me.”

  “You shoulder as much of the responsibility as the Saboteur.”

  Dominic.

  He always had a plan. He was always able to save her, no matter how desperate things got. Any second and he’d be there.

  “What’s his name?”

  She shook her head and closed her eyes. When she opened them again he’d be standing behind Silas with his machete, ready to kill for her.

  “I suppose it doesn’t matter. The word from the settlements is that he’s in Union custody. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed. I was hoping to draw the blood from his veins myself.”

  She opened her eyes again to a half circle of dirty black boots surrounding her, some with holes in the front, exposing gnarled sets of toenails.

  “That’s right, dear. He’s not coming.” Silas shoved Hawthorne aside and knelt before her, resting on his haunches and removing his sunglasses. He smelled of smoke and whiskey. With faltering courage, she met his gaze. Red blood vessels zigzagged across the surface of his eyeballs, like tiny ropes holding them in their sockets. “They say you’re the Defense Minister’s daughter. Is it true?”

  The words bumped together in her chest and her tongue clung to the roof of her mouth like sandpaper. She wasn’t sure how to answer or if she should answer; it was a matter of loyalty versus survival.

  “I’m a patient man. Living beyond the Glass Mountains for most of my life has made me so, things move slowly out here. But I’m not one for repeating myself. Refuse me an answer again and the knife comes out. I have a rule, a rule I will not break for anyone. Glaspell, tell our guest about the rule?”

  Glaspell looked like a cock; bald and veiny. “Once the knife comes out it doesn’t go back in until it tastes blood.”

  “Until it tastes blood,” Silas confirmed.

  “Yeah, I heard him; I don’t need an ech—”

  Silas slapped her across the face, knocking the final syllable from her tongue and setting a buzzer off in her right ear. “As I was saying, I don’t like repeating myself. I’m giving you a one-time exception since you weren’t aware of the rule. Are you the daughter of the Defense Minister?”

  She tasted the blood as it began to trickle across her tongue; salt and metal. She dropped her eyes, counting the grains of black sand. “Yes. I am.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Lerah Adams.”

  “Do you prefer Lerah or Miss Adams?”

  “Most people just call me Lerah.”

  “I’m not most people, so I’ll go with Miss Adams.”

  “Fine with me.”

  “Miss Adams, your father and the Lord Marshal, they’ve been trying to buy up the loyalty of the settlements with chests of coin, yes?”

  She remembered the lesson she’d been taught during training, the one that said, Betrayal is worse than torture. But at that moment, sitting bound and helpless, inches away from Silas’ knife, those words held no truth for her. “That’s correct.”

  “You know that we seized one such chest and killed scores of your men, yes?”

  “I heard something like that.”

  “That’s only the beginning, Miss Adams. Beyond these mountains, in the shadow world of the unknown settlements, an army is forming. An army of Rebels unlike anything you and your people have ever seen. Soon, they will be ready to march. They will gut Genesis. Your father, your Lord Marshal, everyone you’ve ever known, will be torn asunder and littered across the Wastes. The Union will cease to exist.”

  There was no indication that he was being provocative. He didn’t need her to kick and scream. He didn’t need an excuse to hurt her. “Why do you need me?”

  “That’s a good question.” He smiled. It wasn’t the friendly sort. It was the sort worn by warlords as they basked in the despair of those they’d conquered. “It’s the only question, really. Without that, there is nothing else.”

  He was right, of course. There was nothing else. The world had buried her. Dominic was gone and the Union was about to go on the defensive. She’d sunk to the bottom of the pond, the ripples had faded, the darkness was closing in, accept or fight it, it made no difference.

  “Back when I was a boy, there was a man, Alfonso. He was an odd fellow. That’s probably why I still remember his name; the odd ones seem to stick with me. He didn’t have any family to speak of; no wife, no kids. Alfonso was always in and out of the camp, picking around and coming back with misshapen stones and skulls: animals, people, fish, the man liked skulls.”

  “Did I know this Alfonso guy?” Glaspell asked.

  Silas ignored him and continued. “One day Alfonso comes back with a dog. Where he found a dog, don’t ask me, but the bastard had a true to life dog. It wasn’t in good shape: hair was all matted and falling out, it was missing some of its teeth, and it was blind in one eye. We didn’t know what he was thinking. We didn’t have the food for it, didn’t have the extra water to spare. But Alfonso didn’t care about feeding or watering the dog. For him, the mutt was no different than a misshapen stone or a dirt speckled skull; it was something to be puzzled over. He rammed a stake in the ground and he tied that dog up to it. He’d sit out there, day after day, just beyond the animal’s reach, watching it waste away. Things can get pretty dull out here. Days weave into nights weave into days. Folks are always looking for ways to divide up the time, for new reasons to roll from their beds in the morning. That’s what the mutt was for Alfonso. When it got down to skin and bones, it started letting off with this awful howling, just nonstop, and folks started complaining, so he eventually had to take the knife to it. That damn dog…that was the happiest I’d ever seen Alfonso. I don’t think he was ever the same after it died. But he didn’t suffer his loss long. He took a Union bullet less than a year later.”

  “Sounds like a real loss for the human race.” Lerah was expecting another slap.

  Silas shook his head. “Not really. He was bad with people, bad at communicating, a shit soldier. I think we all tend to overestimate our importance. The reality is that there’s always someone waiting in line to take our place, someone better, stronger.”

  And that was it, wasn’t it? She’d overestimated her importance. Beneath the shadow of the mountains, in the lap of the irradiated seas, who was she? Just another speck of sand in the eye of the universe, easily washed away. No one would come for her. No one could come for her. The precipice that had opened at her heels was too great.

  “So, my dear, the answer to your question is simple. Think of yourself as a morale booster. I’d be lying if I said your final days are going to be pleasant. Truth of the matter is, you’re about to go through a hell unlike any you’ve ever imagined. You’re a sweet slice, no doubt about it, and you being the Defense Minister’s daughter only enhances the taste. My men will take their turns and whatever is left of you will die and rot away on this beach, the same way that you and your people have left so many of mine to rot away beneath the Wasteland sun. I’m afraid that’s all I can offer you.” Silas patted her knee before coming to his feet. “Have at her, boys.”

  She began kicking as two foul Rebels dropped to their knees. They laughed as they ducked and dodged; a simple task given her limited reach. At last, they threw their fleshy, pink bodies across her shins, holding her still, pinning her legs beneath their armpits. Once they had a grasp on her, they yanked her body straight. For a moment she was suspended above the ground, then gravity took over. She tried to stop the fall by grasping the post, but all that did was turn her palms into pincushions. The beach bit into her back with its serrated teeth; every time she bucked and wiggled they sank in a little further.

  “Get her pants! Come on, can’t hold her forever!”

  Glaspell approached. There was a lecherous grin on his face. He was blowing into his palms and rubbing them
together as if he were getting ready to try his hand at disarming an explosive device. She raised her hips and tried to shake him off as he began working on her trousers. It was no use. The more she fought, the harder they laughed, and the more voracious their appetites became. She lay there, panting and weeping as they ripped her pants off, leaving her naked from the waist down; it wasn’t difficult for them, she’d still been wearing the thin, linen trousers from Reeman.

  The ribbons of color cutting across the gray sky seemed to be darkening.

  They were arguing over who got first go. “Damn, boys, that shit is prime. You ever see something that fresh? Hawthorne, get your bony ass over here, let’s make a man out of you.”

  “Fuck that, I don’t want to follow needle dick.”

  “I sure as fuck don’t want to follow you.”

  “Hell, if y’all can’t decide, I’m going.”

  Hawthorne was marching away, hands still tucked beneath his armpits.

  There were buckles being loosened and clothes being discarded. Everyone was preparing for the main event. She turned her head and found a wall of women and children watching with an animalistic curiosity. Some of the younger ones poked at each other with sticks as they pointed and giggled. She was reminded of a classmate she had back in Genesis when she was just a kid. He used to cry, every day, after his parents dropped him off at school. He’d cry straight through lunch and right on through to the end of the day when his parents would return to pick him up. Gabe was his name. Lerah and her friends would often taunt him, Gabey, Gabey, he cries like a baby!

  The dirty, little, Rebel brats continued to point and laugh as the first sweaty monster worked his way between her thighs.

  Look at the Union lady, crying like a baby.

  ***

  Silas found Hawthorne curled up in his tent with his hands clasped across his ears. He was rocking back and forth, with snot dripping from his nose. He looked up at Silas, all red-eyed, his chin trembling. He held Silas’ gaze for a brief moment and then looked away, tucking his head between his knees.

  Silas laughed, removed a flask from his hip, and took a long pull. He kicked Hawthorne in the hip and shook the flask at him. “Take a drink, you fucking pussy. Perhaps it’ll make your balls drop.”

  Hawthorne squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head violently. “I don’t want to hear them hurt her! She’s nice! The Union lady is nice!”

  “Coward! Sniveling fucking coward!” Silas slapped him on the back of the neck, again and again, drawing welts across his skin.

  “Stop! Uncle! Stop!” Hawthorne squealed.

  “You’re an embarrassment to me! And you disgrace the memory of your father!” He slapped him again, ignoring his pleas. He watched Hawthorne squirm, still holding his hands over his ears. Disgust grew in his belly. How had this slimy little shit fallen so far from the tree? His father had been pure Rebel; unbending. He’d have never been taken in by the empty words of some Union cunt. “Get up, you little fuck!” He yanked Hawthorne up by the hair. Hawthorne squealed, but he didn’t dare fight. He knew better than to put hands on Silas.

  “Uncle, stop! I don’t want to hear!”

  “Take your hands down, you imbecile. The men have finished with her. She’s out cold.”

  Hawthorne slowly lowered his shaking hands, folding them loosely in front of his waist.

  “Better?” Silas asked as he brushed dirt from the fragile boy’s shoulders.

  “Y'all didn’t have to do that to her. She’s nice.” Hawthorne blinked and a few more tears fell.

  “Nice? Do you think Uncle Monte thought she was nice while he was being massacred?”

  “She said she didn’t—”

  “Stupid boy!” Silas shook him hard, snapping his neck back. “Whether she pulled the trigger or not isn’t the point. The Union has been pushing us around since before I was born. Trying to tell us how to live our lives. And when we refused to comply, they massacred us; men, women, and children alike. They’re a virus and she’s just another symptom of the sickness. You look at her and you see some damsel in distress, right?”

  Hawthorne gave a weak shrug.

  “I look at her and I see a stone, cold killer. If I were to set her loose on you right now, she’d carve your eyes out and make a necklace out of them. She’s docile because she’s leashed. All that sweet talk she’s serving up to you, it’s a mind game. They train them in that shit. Genesis, the Union, they exist because they are merciless. They will do whatever they have to do in order to bring us to heel. If we want to survive, we too must be merciless. Do you understand?”

  Hawthorne mumbled something indecipherable, bubbles of spit popping across his lips.

  “Speak up! Be a man!” Silas slapped him again.

  “Yes, Uncle.”

  “Good.” He pulled the boy into a limp hug. “Your daddy entrusted me with raising you,” he spoke into his ear, “with making a soldier out of you. If I gotta beat your ass up and down this beach every day to see that promise made good, I’ll do it.” Silas let the boy loose. Hawthorne stumbled away and, once more, took a seat at the back of the tent. “You stay away from that Union cunt, you hear me?” Silas ordered as he backed out of the tent. “Next time there won’t be pep talks and hugs, next time I’ll draw blood.”

  2

  Defense Minister Dan Adams circled the steps of Genesis Tower One, moving downward. He was dressed in white khakis and a stiffly pressed, green button down. He took the stairs two at a time, his pistol rattling in its hip holster. Guards stopped to salute him as he passed by. He returned the gesture, bouncing his hand lazily against his forehead. When he reached the third floor, he paused to catch his breath. Voices sounded from above and below him and footsteps echoed off the grated metal stairs as he slid sideways into the dimly lit hall. It was lined with dull, blue doors, each anointed with a tarnished copper number. They were mostly storage closets and underutilized military offices. The air smelled of mold and pencil lead. Dan started down the hall, his mirror shine shoes clopping against the hard floor. He was itchy and uncomfortable, pulling at his collar every few feet as beads of sweat broke out across his body.

  6

  His hand moved hesitantly towards the brass handle as if he expected it to bite or burn him. He looked up and down the hall, searching for prying eyes.

  All clear.

  The interior of the room was cramped. The walls were lined with green filing cabinets; the top of each one coated with an inch of dust. In the center of the room, there was a circular, plastic table, surrounded by three men in stout wooden chairs. A thick layer of cigarette smoke wafted above their heads. They had a deck of cards between them. They were laughing in gruff tones and slapping cards against the table.

  “Greetings, Defense Minister, we were starting to worry about you.” Captain Caldwell exchanged three cards with the deck, cursing his luck.

  “I apologize for the wait. I trust you gentleman didn’t start without me?” Dan approached the table and slid into the only remaining seat.

  Caldwell’s eyes darted between his cards and the faces of his opponents. “We’d be happy to deal you in.”

  “I wasn’t referring to the card game.”

  “In that case, no, you’re just in time.”

  “Captain Reyes, Captain Pinkerton, it’s good to see you.”

  The two remaining Captains dropped their cards long enough to exchange brief handshakes with Dan.

  “Man, I don’t have shit.” Reyes dropped his hand and lit another cigarette.

  “I’m feeling something special here, I’m staying in.” Pinkerton’s one good eye danced excitedly across the faces of the cards spread between his hands, while the other foggy lens betrayed nothing.

  “You must be picking that vibe up from me.” Caldwell raised his eyebrows, keeping his cards close to his chest.

  “I think you’re bullshitting,”

  “Drop them, let’s find out,” Caldwell said with confidence.

  “Three kings.”
Pinkerton fanned his cards across the table, chuckling, his cigarette sprinkling ash.

  “How appropriate,” Caldwell said, observing his fellow Captains. “But I’m afraid I’ll have to ask your kings to make some room, because it’s a full house, baby!”

  “You lucky bastard.” Reyes gave three slow claps.

  “Sonofabitch!” Pinkerton pounded the table.

  “You’ve always been lucky when it comes to games of chance,” Dan said, referencing their time together in the war.

  “That’s why I became a soldier.” Caldwell bent across the table, collecting the cards.

  “You’re a better card player than you are a soldier, I’ve seen you shoot.” Reyes lit a cigarette and smothered the match between two fingers.

  “That’s why God made me a Captain and not a grunt.”

  “You know, back in the day, we almost bumped his ass down to the livestock pens,” Dan said, jabbing a thumb at Caldwell.

  “Here we go. Get it out Defense Minister.” Caldwell sighed and shuffled the cards around in his hands.

  “You should be thanking me, son.”

  “I have thanked you, the other hundred times you’ve told this story. But go ahead. I know you want to get it out of your system.” Caldwell shuffled the cards from palm to palm.

  “It’s been built up too much, I’ve gotta hear this,” Reyes said.

  Pinkerton just laughed, blowing smoke towards the ceiling; he’d already heard it.

  “I remember the first day this kid walked in; he thought he was big shit—”

  “If you’re not walking like a beaten dog, then this guy thinks you’ve got an ego problem.”

  “He walked in and acted like he owned the place. This little bastard went to shake my hand. He caught himself at the last second and saluted, but I thought I was going to have to lay him out just to make an example.”

  “It was a reflex. I’d been up all night with nerves. I was young and green, what’d you expect?”