The Goliath Code (The Alpha Omega Trilogy)

by Suzanne Leonhard

  Molotov cocktails.

  The second wave had started.

  “Come on!” I dragged Micah off the highway toward the trees, just as a barrage of flaming glass bottles filled the air.

  We dropped to the ground in the safety of the woods and watched as the Skaggs still alive on the highway suffered a crushing rain of hellfire. Their screams echoed through the night. The smell of their burning flesh filled my nose and gagged me. I had to look away.

  From our vantage point, I watched the tank crest Widowmaker Hill. I imagined Frank Skaggs sitting inside, thinking he had won the day.

  The tank’s heavy gun and nose dipped down the far side of the hill, where it met the front of the abatis. The vehicle came to a screeching, grinding halt.

  A half dozen chainsaws flared to life. A half dozen more trees fell, this time behind the tank. The driver threw the armored vehicle into reverse, only to slam into the points of the abatis there.

  The tank groaned and screeched as the driver continued to switch gears, trying to maneuver out of the mess he’d found himself in. And then, with a grinding, banging, clunk, the left tread spilled off the tank. It was trapped.

  The tank driver panicked and went full throttle, attempting to escape. Instead, the seventy-ton vehicle slid to the right and managed a half-turn before the tread on the right snapped off.

  More Molotov cocktails filled the air. One by one, the homemade bombs hit the tank; a fine stream of flame crawled up one side. The fire crept into the exhausts and smoke poured from the vents. The top of the turret popped open and several men, including Frank Skaggs himself, stumbled out and fell to the ground, coughing. They were captured and dragged away.

  Finally, a loud explosion split the night. The entire turret blew off the tank, soaring forty yards into the air. The armored vehicle had turned into a giant welder’s torch, burning hot blue and yellow in the middle of the highway as the remaining ammo caught fire and exploded.

  Cheers sounded from every direction. We’d done it. We’d taken out their tank and captured their leader.

  I pulled Micah to his feet.

  “Congratulations, Seraphina, your side just ended the war. Of course, you had to kill dozens of men to do it.”

  “You wanna live?” I growled. “Keep your mouth shut.”

  He looked at my weapon, then at me. “I’m not your enemy.”

  The sound of a bolt being thrown on an automatic rifle stopped me cold. I turned to see several clean-cut soldiers dressed in ocean blue BDUs pointing AK-12s at our heads.

  Micah scowled. “They are.”

  Chapter Eleven

  After months of fighting battle after bloody battle, Frank Skaggs had become a mythical figure in my mind, one with fangs and claws and fire shooting from his eyes. It was bizarre to see him beaten and tied up, when he’d once been the terrifying man who’d demanded my brother’s head on a platter. He looked out of place standing in the mayor’s office with the civilized people.

  My eyes landed on the man standing behind Skaggs’ old desk. I suspected his broad, friendly smile was all for show. “Come in, come in,” the man said to me and my grandfather, as if we were all old friends.

  My thoughts rushed back to the day before when I’d stood on the curb lining First Street, standing within a crowd of more than a thousand people, trying to ignore the biting cold. We’d all left our weapons at home—to prevent any misunderstandings—and I’d felt naked without my M16 slung over my shoulder.

  They’d marched past us, one by one, a sea of ocean blue in even rows of twelve, their blue and white flags, embossed with a circle of ten gold stars, snapping in the frigid mountain wind. Grandpa Donner had said for months that our benefactors would one day name a price for their random and miserably inadequate supply drops, but nothing could have prepared us for the force we saw—soldiers, trucks, tanks. We’d defeated the Skaggs only to be occupied by a bigger, stronger, and much more dangerous force.

  Europa.

  And this cheerful, smiling man standing behind the mayor’s desk commanded that force.

  He wore a smart blue uniform with polished brass buttons on the front and three shiny gold stars on his shoulder epaulettes. The number of medals pinned to his chest spoke to his high-ranking position in the Europa pecking order. His hair was a dark brown, shot through with silver, and he wore a day’s growth of beard over deep lines etched in by a persistent smile. But his eyes drew most of my attention. They were small and dark as night, like tiny black marbles inside the head of a creepy doll.

  His hands landed on the desk in front of him. A gun rested there, inches from his fingertips. We’d come without weapons, not even a knife tucked into a boot. I wondered if my grandfather regretted that decision now.

  Frank Skaggs snarled. “Don’t trust him—”

  The larger of the two guards rammed his gunstock into Skaggs’ stomach, doubling him over, and I flinched. The guard’s casual violence was terrifying.

  The man behind the desk wagged his finger at Skaggs. “Now, now, Mr. Skaggs, we’ll not have you spoiling our little get together today. You will remain quiet if you wish to participate.”

  The man’s European accent sang in my ears, reminding me of scholarly and refined things. My instincts knew better. I suspected his accent was as much a weapon as his never-ending smile.

  He turned that smile on my grandfather, where it was completely wasted. “You must be General Donner.”

  “I’m no general. I’m a workin’ man.”

  The man laughed. “Yes, of course. But I would not be mistaken if I were to say that you lead the Cascade Militia?”

  “You would not.”

  The man clapped his hands. “Excellent. I am Christoph Stanislov, Praetor Stanislov to my men. You may call me Christoph, because we are going to be great friends, you and I.” His small eyes fell on me. “And who is this lovely young lady?”

  “You asked to see my family. Me and my granddaughter’s all that’s left.”

  We’d left David hidden away at home. Grandpa didn’t want the praetor knowing about David. After Frank Skaggs, he wasn’t about to take the chance that Europa might also consider my brother a liability.

  The praetor nodded grimly. “This is very sad to hear. I, myself, lost a brother in the eruption. He was visiting your Air Force Academy in Colorado when the caldera blew.”

  He paused as if waiting to hear our condolences. When we offered none, he came around the desk toward us, his head cocked, his lips pursed. My eyes dropped down to his shiny black boots. It had been a long time since I’d seen shoes that weren’t caked in ash and mud.

  “You do know what has happened here?” he asked us. “That there is nothing left of your country?”

  My knees went weak. After so much time with no contact from the outside world, we’d certainly assumed the worst. Yet hearing it said aloud was heartrending. I had so many questions, but I wasn’t allowed to ask even one. Grandpa Donner had given me explicit orders not to utter a word unless asked a direct question. And I should only give yes or no answers. He doubted that Europa had helped us out of the goodness of their hearts. Until he’d figured out what they wanted, I had to play the part of a harmless girl who knew nothing about war—something I hadn’t been for a while.

  Grandpa stuck out his bristly chin. “No, sir, I do not.”

  “You do not what? You do not know or you do not understand?”

  “I don’t know.”

  The praetor sat on the edge of his desk and spread his hands wide. “Well, it is a complete ruin. New York, Chicago, Atlanta, Los Angeles, your own Seattle. And D.C.,” he added pointedly. “You live on an island surrounded by an endless sea of gray ash. Hundreds of millions of people are dead. Your government has disintegrated. America has been laid bare. She is no more. When I heard the news—I tell you the truth, I wept for days. Truly I did.”

  Tears burned my eyes. I bit my lip to keep it from trembling.

  “But Roslyn!” The praetor leapt from the
desk, grinning again. “Roslyn has survived! Was it the will of God? Perhaps. But Europa—Europa has fed you and kept you alive all these months. Why? Because we love America! Isn’t that right, George?”

  He looked over at the taller soldier guarding Frank Skaggs. The guard grunted. The praetor shrugged. “George is a man of few words.”

  I glanced sideways at my grandfather. The news of America’s destruction was affecting him, too. His mustache was twitching.

  The praetor paced in front of us, the heels of his polished black boots clicking against the hardwood floor. “Now,” he continued. “Let’s talk about your little conflict. Mr. Skaggs? This is where you will be allowed to talk.” He wagged his finger at Skaggs as if he were a naughty child. “You have made quite a mess of your community, sir. We give you food, we give you medicine, and you repay us by fighting with General Donner—” He laughed at himself. “Forgive me. You repay us by fighting with Mr. Donner, the working man, whose people believe in sharing equally with all. Am I correct with my facts, gentlemen?”

  He was spot on and I wanted to say so but my grandfather’s stony silence kept me in check.

  Skaggs coughed before answering. Considering the bruises and swelling on his face, I was surprised he could speak at all. “You must really think you’re somethin’,” he rasped, “prancin’ around in your shiny prissy boots.”

  The praetor scowled down at his own feet.

  Skaggs continued, “But you got yourself into all kinds a trouble when you dared set foot on U.S. soil.”

  The praetor made a show of looking wide-eyed and stunned.

  “This is America,” Skaggs snarled. “The home of the brave, the land of the free. We don’t like strangers comin’ in and tryin’ to run things their way.”

  “My way?” The praetor gestured at himself. “Oh, no. I’m certainly not in charge. We are a confederacy of ten nations, Mr. Skaggs. I answer to my superiors who, in turn, answer to the people of Europa.”

  Skaggs spit a stream of blood onto the floor and growled, “The people of Europa can kiss my ass.”

  The praetor’s smile vanished. He blinked at my grandfather. “I can see why you fought with this man. He is arrogant, vulgar, and extremely ungrateful.”

  Frank Skaggs wasn’t finished, though. “Ungrateful? You kept us all half-starved. But that was your plan all along, wasn’t it, Stanislov? Keep us hungry and fightin’ with each other. Then you could swoop in at the last minute and claim—”

  The praetor picked up the gun from the desk and shot Frank Skaggs between the eyes.

  I let out a startled cry. Blood splattered the two guards, but they didn’t even blink. I stared, wide-eyed, at my grandfather. Who are these people?

  As the guards dragged the body of Frank Skaggs out of the office, the praetor took a breath and set the gun back on the desk. Then he looked directly at me. “Forgive me. I cannot abide a blowhard.” Then he cocked his head. “I’m sorry, my dear, I didn’t get your name.”

  “Se-Seraphina.”

  Grandpa cleared his throat. I’d responded without thinking.

  “Ah, the Hebrew name for fiery angel.” He examined me. “And Donner. The proud German word for thunder. This is an odd name for such a quiet American girl.” Then he smiled again. “Are you Jewish?”

  This time I remembered the rules. “No,” I replied.

  The question made me think of Micah. He’d been heavy on my mind over the past couple of days. I hadn’t seen him since the battle of Widowmaker Hill, where I’d handed him—along with the other captured Skaggs—over to Europa. I assumed he’d been locked up with the rest of them.

  “Is your brother named after a Hebrew angel as well?”

  “No.” Too late I realized my mistake. “I mean—”

  The praetor smiled at me. I glanced at my grandfather.

  “Sera’s brother’s name is David,” Grandpa conceded.

  “Wonderful. The mythical David from the Bible. Does he brandish a slingshot and slay giants?”

  “He keeps to himself mostly.”

  “But you didn’t bring him with you today. Am I to assume that this is because of his condition?”

  My heart sank. Despite our efforts, he already knew about David.

  Grandpa’s mouth tightened. “He’s a little person.”

  “Aren’t we all, on the inside?” the praetor replied. “And this condition of his, have doctors been consulted?”

  I could tell that my Grandpa didn’t like this line of questioning. Neither did I.

  “It’s genetic. It’s just who he is.”

  “Certainly he’s under a doctor’s care? Your son’s, perhaps? Dr. Jason Donner? I’ve read his work. He is a brilliant geneticist.”

  “My son is dead. And David is perfectly healthy.”

  The praetor pursed his lips and paced. Finally, he stopped directly in front of me. I stood motionless, my eyes locked on his boots. “Are there any other members of your family tucked away at home, Sera?”

  “No,” Grandpa answered.

  “I would prefer to hear the answer from the young lady.” He slipped his finger beneath my chin, lifting it until my eyes met his. It took everything I had not to recoil from his touch. There was a malevolence behind his gaze. He camouflaged it with pleasantries, but it was there just the same. “We are going to be friends, you and I. And friends are always honest with each other.”

  “No,” I answered.

  “No…?” he encouraged.

  I swallowed. “No. There aren’t any other family members at home.”

  He smiled. “Yes. Very good friends.” He stepped away. I took a breath. “Now, Mr. Donner—may I call you Mark?”

  Grandpa didn’t respond. The praetor didn’t seem to expect him to. “Mark, we are going to have a very special celebration at week’s end. It will commemorate a covenant of friendship between Europa and Roslyn. There will be roasted venison, boiled rabbit, and barbecued cow for a more local flare—I do so love your barbecue. There will also be…” He wagged his brows at me. “Cakes and pies and all manner of sweets. How does that sound, Sera? Good?”

  Good? I’d barely had time to hear the menu before my mouth started watering. I’d eaten nothing but Europa’s boxed rations for as long as I could remember. I felt confident I could eat an entire barbecued cow all on my own.

  “Yes,” I said—not because I felt compelled to reply, but because if I didn’t say something he might hear my stomach rumbling.

  “Excellent. From you, Mark, I need a list of all the soldiers in your 1st Cascade Militia.”

  And there it was. The price we’d pay to eat.

  Grandpa didn’t respond. In fact, he clenched his jaw as if to say Over my dead body.

  The praetor laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t look so worried, my friend! We want to give them medals for their brave service. Your cause is now our cause.” He gave him the kind of serious look a father gives a child. “Can I count on you?”

  My grandfather hesitated.

  If he refused to answer, I dreaded what the cost would be for his disobedience. Would the praetor shoot him the same way he’d shot Frank Skaggs?

  And then Grandpa surprised me. “Absolutely.”

  My mouth opened in surprise.

  “Excellent!” the praetor said. He pointed at me. “As for you—tell your brother that I expect you both to be at the celebration.”

  I blinked. I wanted to celebrate with all that food more than anything else in the world, but accepting a kindness from this man didn’t feel smart.

  “Ah-ah, I will not take no for an answer. There will be more food than anybody could possibly eat.” He could see me weakening and waited for my response. “There will be music and games,” he added, as if that would settle things in his favor.

  I glanced at my grandfather, who kept his eyes straight ahead with his lips thinned. He didn’t want me to say yes.

  The praetor leaned back against the edge of his desk. My attention fell on the gun l
ying there. “We are friends,” he asked, “are we not, Sera?”

  I swallowed hard. “Yes.”

  He lunged upright. “Then it’s settled! I will see you and your brother at the celebration. Oh, and Mark.” He pointed at my grandfather. “Do not forget that list.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Tim paused, his dart pulled back to throw. “A list?”

  Ben stood twenty feet away, waiting his turn at the large bullseye hanging on the wall of the Roslyn Café.

  Jude Turner grunted. “He actually expects Grandpa Donner to turn in a list of all the fighting men in Roslyn?” Jude sat next to Milly at the table we all shared. She was cleaning a deep scratch on his arm. “Ow!” He winced.

  She tsked at him. “Hold still, ya big baby.”

  “He says he wants to give them medals,” I replied. I stared down into my bark tea and tried to shake the feeling of foreboding that had gripped me since we’d met with the praetor.

  Ben snorted and tossed his dart. “More like a bullet to the brain.”

  “This praetor must think G-Pa’s got a nut loose,” Tim commented.

  Milly shrugged. “So, what happens if he doesn’t give him the list?”

  “The praetor will kill him.” They all looked at me, their expressions slipping.

  “That makes it easy then,” David murmured.

  My brother sat across from me at the table, playing chess by himself—something he did a lot lately. His leg had healed completely since the drop zone, but six months of isolation had made him bitter and withdrawn. While the rest of us fought for our town or, like Milly, worked at the hospital, David stayed home where he’d be safe from Frank Skaggs.

  “What?” he said in response to our stares. “It’s simple. There’s no way to fight them, so we join them.”

  “This is America,” Tim jeered, “not France.”

  “America is gone,” David responded. “We should cooperate in good faith with Europa. Or would you prefer starvation and death?”

  Ben shook his head, exasperated. “We can’t just hand them the names of our fellow fighters.”