Bad Moon on the Rise (Soldiers of New Eden Book 3)

by T. L. Knighton

  "Okay, good. For the record," Jason said, "I'm glad you stood up for your friends. That is a good thing, and I'm proud of you for that."

  "That's what you do?" she asked.

  "I try to," he said, as he stood and took her small hand in his again. "I damn sure try to."

  ** ** **

  Jason stood under a free standing roof, the rain beating down on the metal roof. Rick stood just a few feet away. For the last few days, Jason had barely seen his son, much less talked to him. Like the time before the world had turned to crap, law enforcement took the murder of one of their own personally. Right now, he was glad to know some things hadn't changed.

  "Any updates?" Jason asked.

  "Not anything solid. A few people saw some folks they didn't recognize, but they sure as hell sounded distinctive enough if they lived here, we'd know them."

  "Distinctive how?"

  "Heavily tattooed, wearing vests that showed as many of them off as they could, stuff like that."

  Jason smiled. "Don't be knocking tattoos."

  Rick laughed.

  In the distance, the two men saw the approaching bus. The old school bus had been converted to run off wood gas, its gray smoke billowing up and trailing after the old machine out of a massive hunk of metal that looked like it should be brewing moonshine out on a mountain somewhere rather than powering a vehicle.

  "I'm still not sure I trust those things," Jason said.

  "They're tested all to hell and back before they send 'em out. It's safe."

  "For now," he groaned.

  Rick shook his head. "Anyways," he said, shifting the subject, "we wired headquarters what we knew, and the investigator is supposed to be bringing some info down."

  "Still no clue?"

  "Nothing." They'd speculated for a while about who would be replacing the old investigator. Their guesses ranged from the humorous to the macabre, but with no information to go on, guesses were all they had. At least they'd amused themselves.

  The bus pulled to a stop next them, the old doors cranking open. From the back of the bus, a figure moved slowly toward the front. Head down, the person Jason presumed was the new investigator navigated their way down the steps, briefly exposing them to the pouring rain, then darted the last couple of steps to the dryness beneath.

  When the figure looked up, Jason smiled as broadly as he had in a long time. "Megan?"

  The woman looked back with her dark brown eyes and drew herself up as tall a she could, putting her fists on her hips in mock offense. "That's Investigator Hernandez to you."

  Jason bowed with a flourish. "Excuse me, madam. Investigator Hernandez."

  As he brought himself upright, she had already crossed the few feet between them and enveloped him in a massive hug.

  "Damn it's good to see you, Jason," she said.

  Jason returned the hug. "Same here. Didn't know you'd joined the Rangers."

  She let him go and nodded. "Yep. Not long after I was cleared to do whatever I wanted."

  He nodded. The woman had been through hell when she'd been a "guest" of the Somerton commander, but she was tough. Obviously.

  "Rick," she said, smiling at the younger man.

  "Ma'am," he said with a smile. It was obvious he was glad to see her as well.

  Jason said, "Where's Mark and Xander?"

  Megan's smile faded slightly as she turned to face him. "Xander's at the Ranger Academy in Logansville," she said, then paused a moment. "I lost Mark last year."

  In an instant, Jason felt like an ass. Sure, there was no way he could have known, but still. He knew what it felt like to have your dead spouse brought up. "I'm sorry to hear that. He was a good man," Jason said, remembering Mark's own brand of heroism at the Battle of the Pass. The man might not have been a fighter in the traditional sense of the word, but he damn sure wasn't a coward.

  "What happened?" Rick asked.

  "Flu," she said, her own sorrow looking eerily familiar to Jason.

  Rick nodded. "I'm sorry."

  She nodded. For a moment, no one said anything. Then, Megan smiled broadly again. "How about you guys get me out of this nasty weather and we talk a little bit of shop."

  "Sounds good," Jason said.

  ** ** **

  The three old friends sat around the fireplace in what would serve as Megan's home during her stay as Investigator. The "Investigator" served two purposes in a Ranger unit. The first, obviously, was to investigate any crimes that occurred in that Ranger garrison's jurisdiction. The second was to serve as a commanding officer of sorts, hence her free—and private—accommodations. Such as they were.

  Her quarters were essentially a large room with a bed in one corner, a kitchen area—complete with a wood stove—in another, a table with four chairs, and a beat up sofa. Not much else, but the previous investigator wasn't much for more creature comforts than he could pass out on.

  Megan dropped a thick file on the table, the noise echoing off the simple wooden walls. "That, ladies, is what we're looking at."

  Jason reached over and pulled the file closer. As he opened it, Megan began to speak. "Based on the description we got, it's entirely possible we're dealing with the New Lords."

  "Who?" Jason asked, looking up at the new Investigator.

  "The New Lords of Chaos," she said. "Started out as a white prison gang, but unlike a lot of them, they weren't all that picky about what color the new members actually were. All that mattered to them was strength. Could you brawl? Could you hold your own? If not, what would you do?"

  "Prison bitches, huh?"

  She shook her head. "Not exactly. Sure, there might have been some of that, but one of the guys in the Intel office worked in the prison system. He knew these guys. For better or worse, they didn't actually abuse those who opted to serve."

  He leaned back in his chair. "Okay, I'm confused."

  "You still have that guy, Sully, working for you?" she asked.

  Jason nodded.

  "He's not a door kicker like you and Billy though, right?"

  He shrugged. "He's coming around."

  Rick laughed. "Dad's convinced he can turn Sully into a combat accountant."

  She nodded. "But right now, he's not fighter, right?"

  Jason nodded once.

  "But he works for you."

  "Yeah."

  "Well, apparently, that's how they view those who serve. You and I both know that if you left for another town, Sully would follow, right?"

  He shrugged. "I don't know. He's kind of got a life here…"

  Megan looked at him with a cocked eyebrow.

  "Alright," Jason said. "He'd probably follow me. Unless there was a good reason not to, anyways."

  "Well, with the New Lords, if you're not a fighter, you serve a fighter. Not the gang as a whole, but an individual fighter. You work for them."

  "That's…odd," Jason said, unable to muster a better word.

  "Very. They call it 'New Feudalism' or something," she said.

  "Why would they be here?" Rick asked.

  "We're not sure. But there's something interesting we got from talking to your old buddy, Milton."

  "Oh?" Jason asked. Milton was a lot of things, and weird was only one of the more polite ones, but he was also an information junkie. He was one of the few people who knew what was going on in the rest of the country, even if no one else did.

  "The New Lords were milling about in a lot of old Somerton territory before Conklin moved in. When the Blackshirts showed up? Poof."

  It was Jason's turn to cock an eyebrow. "Poof?"

  "Yep. Just up and disappeared. Until about eighteen months ago when they started showing up in Kentucky."

  "So Conklin ran them off?"

  She shrugged. "Don't know. What I do know is that we can't find a single instance of a shot being fired between the two groups."

  "That doesn't make sense. Gangs don't just give up territory. Any info suggesting Conklin made a deal with them?" Jason asked.

 
She shook her head. "Nothing."

  Rick said, "So how do we know it's even them? I mean, tattoos weren't exactly rare before everything went to hell, right?"

  Megan nodded. "True, but the amount was fairly rare. Not everyone tatted up their whole torso."

  "No," Jason said, "but the people who did often were part of groups that supported that kind of thing. Biker gangs, for example."

  "Yeah, but biker gangs did one of two things after everything fell apart. They were a lot like military units. They either went raider, or went protector. The biggest difference is that gangs that went raider didn't have a lot of deserters."

  "Maybe this is one of those who went raider?" Jason asked.

  She nodded. "Possible. The thing is, most of those guys display their colors pretty prominently. They want you to know who they are. Nothing indicates these guys do. That's more in keeping with the New Lords' style."

  "Alright," Jason said. "So where do we find them?"

  "Kentucky is all we know for sure. They hold a lot of territory up that way apparently."

  "That's a bit of a trip, you know?" Jason quipped with a smile.

  "Yeah, I know," she said. "And more importantly, we haven't found any reason why they'd be this far south."

  Jason shifted his gaze from Megan and began to look at the table. "It's personal. It's got to be. Either that, or they were just passing through, and I'm really not in the mood to contemplate that."

  "What? You think Hector managed to piss these guys off or something?" Rick asked.

  Jason shrugged. "No clue, but it makes about as much sense as anything else."

  Megan nodded. "Possibly. We've sent a wire out to all the garrisons. Anyone matching a description of New Lords members are to be questioned. We'll see if anything comes up."

  He leaned back, then looked at the two Rangers. "So, we really don't actually know anything, but have more suspicion than anything else."

  She nodded. "But, it seems like more than there was before."

  "She's right," Rick said. "We've been questioning everyone you gave us. Nadda. Half of them actually seemed to like Hector, even though he'd busted them for something."

  Jason nodded, feeling dejected. He knew a lot of those were stabs in the dark, but figured it wouldn't hurt to make sure.

  "Jason?" Megan said. "You're not going to go off and hunt these guys down or anything, right?"

  He smiled. "Me? What makes you think I'd do something like that?"

  She cocked her head to the side. "Because I know you?"

  Jason laughed. "Fair enough. This time, though? Not enough to go on."

  "And when there is?"

  The smile left on his face from the laugh vanished. "I won't make any promises."

  Rick nodded and said, "Kind of what I thought. You know where to find me."

  Jason nodded in reply.

  CHAPTER 3

  The man straightened his leather vest as he waited outside his boss's door. Loud music thundered on the other side of one wall, only somewhat muffled by the structure between. Ramirez looked at him in disgust.

  The door opened. The large black man, his dark skin adorned everywhere with even darker tattoos, looked at the man. "Walker, he's ready for you."

  Walker nodded and stepped forward.

  The black man looked at Ramirez. "You too."

  Ramirez followed. The room was dark. Yet again, he was the only man with a shirt on. Then again, it was hot, so they might have been more comfortable. He didn't care. He was being paid to be here, and that's all he cared about.

  Walker walked a few steps ahead, a noticeable swagger. Ramirez made it a point to keep his posture ramrod straight. He was a military man, not a gang thug like Walker, and he'd be damned if he would look like anything else.

  Inside the dark room, scores of other men and women, all clad in the black vest that made up their uniforms. They stood in a rough circle. Within, three men surrounded a fourth. One charged the man in the middle, only to be thrown back with a brutal blow to his left cheek.

  The man in the middle turned and grabbed one of the other two men, driving his fist into the man's stomach, then slung him onto the third.

  He was on the downed man in a flash, blows flying fast and hard until the victim raised his hand and yelled, "Concede!"

  The crowd erupted in applause as the man in the middle stood up, his arms outstretched as he drank in the applause.

  The man standing was heavily muscled, but not like a bodybuilder. No, these were the muscles of someone who needed them to accomplish their desires, but not get in their way. They were tools, not vanity. Prison will do that to a person, I guess. The man's black hair was cut short and heavily styled upward, mimicking a Mohawk.

  "Walker," the man said, a wide smile that Ramirez thought more reminiscent of a shark than a happy boss.

  "Sir," Walker said. He might not like the guy, but Ramirez figured he wasn't so stupid as to disrespect his superior. Despite that, there was a certain arrogance in the man's demeanor.

  "Is it done?"

  Walker nodded. "Yes sir. I got his attention good."

  "Good. Mr. Ramirez?"

  "Yes?" Ramirez answered. He wasn’t exactly a fan of this bunch he found himself with, and didn't see any reason to show anything but cordiality.

  "What kind of response can we expect?" the man asked as he walked toward a chair sitting on a small stage.

  "That depends on how you got his attention."

  The man turned and looked at Walker. "So?"

  "We took out the wetback. Put him down permanently."

  Ramirez dropped his head and shook it. "You really are a fucking moron, aren't you?"

  "Watch it, asshole. I don't answer to you," Walker said, bowing up as if he would throw a punch any second.

  "Walker," the man said. "I said to get his attention. Not rile him up to be after blood. Not yet anyways. You really don't listen, do you? That 'wetback', as you so eloquently put it, was one of Calvin's closest friends. Now, he's going to raise hell if he gets half a chance."

  "Declan, I promise I-"

  "I don't care," he said, his tone conversational but his eyes betraying the anger within. "You were told to do something. You went beyond that. You've failed me. You realize that, right?"

  Walker's stared back. "I'm sorry, boss. I really am," he said, but no real hint of contrition was in his voice.

  Declan stood and walked over to Walker who stared back. "I know you are. Do not let it ever happen again. Understood?" Ramirez wasn't sure if Declan was oblivious, or just ignoring the fact the man didn't feel bad about what he'd done.

  Walker nodded.

  "So," Declan said, turning his attention to Ramirez, "What now?"

  "Based on what I saw? It's like you said. He'll be looking for whoever did it, and he'll want blood."

  Declan nodded slowly. "So, Walker didn't fuck it up too badly, now did he?"

  Ramirez shrugged. "It depends, but he did get the guy's attention. That's for sure."

  "That, I can work with," Declan said.

  ** ** **

  The blast of cool smacked Jason in the face as he looked up into the vent. Oh how I missed this, he thought, not even minding the fact that the ductwork hung down from his roof, giving the round room a more industrial feeling.

  "How's that?" asked Scott, who had put in the air conditioning. A smile crossed his round face that matched his also round but powerfully built body.

  "I could die happy right now," Jason said, his attention never wavering from the vent.

  Scott chuckled. "You really are a Georgia boy, aren't you?"

  Jason shot him a look. "Like you're not."

  "Of course I am," Scott said. "The difference is, I know how to install my own AC."

  "I can shoot people in the face," Jason said. "It might not be much, but in this world, it comes in handy. Just like air conditioning," he added with a smile.

  "You've just got to trot out the whole 'shooting people' thing, don’t' y
ou? You realize I've done my fair share of that?"

  Jason nodded, smiled and said, "Hey, it's all I've got, you know?"

  His friend was right. They'd done plenty of it side by side a couple years earlier. Scott had been part of a resistance cell in Somerton that had helped Rick and him rescue Megan Hernandez and some New Eden residents taken against their will. After the battle, Scott relocated to New Eden and enjoyed life as a bit of a hero.

  "The plus side is, that's over for you," Jason said.

  Scott pulled out a chair at the rough wooden table and sat. "Is it?"

  "Huh?" Jason said as he walked over and sat down himself.

  "Well, with what happened to Hector, I figured you'd go…well, all Jason and start shooting people."

  Jason laughed. "Am I that predictable?" he asked as he walked over to the worn leather couch and sat. He gestured to the matching loveseat.

  Scott shrugged as he followed. "Sort of, but it's not necessarily a bad thing. Your own rule is simple. Don't screw with me or mine, and it's all good. Screw with them, and I'll screw you worse than you could imagine."

  Jason leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Twice. I've done something like that twice."

  Scott smiled. "And you managed to take down two different warlords. You realize most people never have the balls to take on just one, and you've brought two of 'em down. Two!" he said, leaning forward to make sure Jason saw him as he emphasized the last word.

  "So, I've got a good track record? Besides, it's not like I took Conklin down all by my lonesome. Contrary to the stories, there were other folks there. You should remember. And what's that got to do with you?"

  Scott leaned back. "Well, if you're going to war, I'm not exactly the kind of friend who lets you go off on your own to get killed."

  Jason smiled again. "I appreciate that, but your round ass will have a heart attack."

  He leaned forward and looked at Jason's own protruding gut. "Pot. Kettle."

  "I can still kick your ass," Jason said jokingly.

  Scott nodded, "Yeah, maybe, but how long would you need to recover after?"

  Jason laughed, but his mind only partially registered the humor. The truth was, he knew he was slipping back into his old ways. He'd been horribly overweight when the nukes fell. A long, tough slog across Georgia the long way with little food had taken care of that nicely. Barely scrapping by for years had kept the weight off and, according to his wife, made him look a whole lot better than he'd ever thought. Now, they enjoyed relative plenty, and it was starting to show.