Bloody Eden (Soldiers of New Eden Book 2)
Page 20
"Where are they basing you out of?" he asked.
Rick pointed to the ground. "Here, believe it or not."
Jason smiled. "Great! You tell Katie yet?"
Rick's smile faded. "Uh…not yet."
"Problem?"
The younger man shrugged. "Maybe. Um…there's something I need to ask her. I'm kind of nervous."
Jason's smiled broadened. "Just ask. It'll be fine."
"So…" Rick said, looking around at all the busy people, "how much longer you have on this place?"
He shrugged. "Not sure. It's probably going to get delayed a bit though. Need to head to Somerton for the trial."
Rick nodded. "Spectator, or witness."
He shrugged. "Bit of both, maybe? They want me as a witness, but part of me wants to watch the son of a bitch hang."
"I guess I can understand that."
Jason jerked his head toward the door, a request to get his son to follow him.
They stepped out of the muddy cylinder, which is all the house really was at this point, and onto the grass.
"Any word about that idea to bring women into the militia? That go out the window?"
Rick shook his head. "Nope. That's still happening. A pile of them going through the training right now. Including Katie."
"Now that doesn't surprise me in the least." Jason paused for a moment. "You're sure about this Ranger thing?" he asked, his tone more somber.
"I thought you were happy about it," Rick asked, a confused look on his face.
Jason smiled, trying to take the sting out of his question. "I am. Don't get me wrong there. I just want to make sure you want it for the right reasons."
Rick shrugged. "For better or worse? All that shit we went through? It's the only time in my life that I felt like I was doing what I should have been doing."
"The switch."
Rick nodded.
"Fair enough. There is something I wanted to ask you though."
"Shoot." Rick smiled. Jason realized he wasn't talking like a guy calling the shots, or a parent, but man to man. Despite his age, that's exactly what his son was. A man.
"You know how I always said there were two kinds of people left in this world? Fighters and cowards?"
Rick nodded.
"You knew I was wrong, didn't you?"
"Not really. I'm still not sure you're wrong."
"Mark Hernandez is pretty clear proof I was wrong," Jason said, a smug look on his face. He tried not to think of the irony of a smug look on his face about being wrong.
"Were you? Stayed with you guys, ran through gunfire while unarmed, knowing he was going to share your fate. Didn't you say he was ready to stay with you 'til the end?"
Jason nodded.
"Sounds like a fighter to me."
"Where the hell did you get the Wisdom of Solomon from? Huh?" Jason said with a smile, his arm closing around his son's neck.
"Oh, that's easy. I got it from Mom," Rick said, smiling as well.
** ** **
Justin Ramirez wasn't looking forward to this as he wove his way through the crowd and cigarette smoke so thick he almost needed a machete to hack his way through as pounding music blasted into his ears.
Two large men stood outside the door, their tattooed arms crossed.
"I need to see him," Ramirez said.
The man on the right knocked on the door.
The battered wooden door, decade's worth of band stickers forming a quilt work of rock and roll history, opened just crack. "Yes?" a squeaky voice called, barely loud enough to be heard over the music. Only a beady eye could be seen through the tiny chink.
"I need to see him," Ramirez repeated.
"Wait here," the voice said, closing the door immediately.
Long moments passed before the door opened. The beady eyed man stood before him, shirtless and covered in tattoos as well. "Right this way," the man said, turning and walking away without waiting to see if he was being followed.
Ramirez nodded and followed. The room was filled with women, some barely clothed…and they looked overdressed for the occasion. Stacks of white powder, sealed beneath clear plastic film and duct tape lined one wall from floor to ceiling.
His guide lead him past that and into a small room, empty except for a small desk, two chairs and a man with piercing blue eyes and jet black hair. He was also shirtless, but whereas the beady eyed man was scrawny, this man was built like a UFC fighter. Powerful muscles competed with nothing as there didn't seem to be an ounce of body fat anywhere on the man.
"Mr. Declan," Ramirez said.
"What do you want?" the man with the blue eyes asked.
"He's been taken."
The man studied him for a moment, then nodded. "How?"
"He picked a fight with a town called New Eden. They had a lot more fight than he thought they would."
"Terry always did like to bite off more than he could chew."
Ramirez nodded.
"He dead?"
"Not yet. He's on trial right now, but he's guilty as hell. They'll convict him, and they'll execute him."
The man nodded. "Well then. Sounds like I need to pay this New Eden a little visit."
Ramirez nodded again.
"I take it you need a job?" the man asked.
"Me and some of my men could use one, yes sir."
"Don't worry. You did right by me. I'll do right by you."
Ramirez breathed easier. "Yes, sir."
About the Author
T.L. Knighton began his love affair with science fiction in a dark movie theater in 1977. That was when he saw the opening scene to the original Star Wars. A ship crossing the screen, laser blasts rocking it. He was hooked.
He wrote off and on since early elementary school. As an adult, he proudly served as a Hospital Corpsman in the United States Navy. Honorably discharged in 1996, he returned to his home town of Albany, Georgia where he currently lives with his wife, two children, and two former deities who do not understand why people no longer worship them as they so richly deserve (commonly known as "cats").
Visit T.L. at his website, http://tlknighton.com or his Facebook page, http://www.facebook.com/TLKnighton.
Other Books by
T.L. Knighton
Soldiers of New Eden
After the Blast (A Novelette)
Bad Moon on the Rise
Short Fiction
Drift
Exodus