"Fiancée," Jessie said. That was one reason she'd wanted to go for a walk the previous night. In all the drama of escaping back to Springs, and with his anger at Gert's execution of that woman, Devon had put Jessie's proposal to the back of his mind. She'd brought it to the front.
Scriver smiled. "Congratulations to you both. An admirable pair. And I am indebted to each of you. Devon for helping my faithful Marianna to rescue me, and Jessie for stitching me up."
"I only hope you're worth it," Jessie said.
"Indeed. I intend to prove so. Now, Marianna believes her message was received here. I hope it was acted upon?"
Devon went to stand beside Marianna, enjoying the fresh breeze through the window. He should probably have spoken to Rusty and Hick before coming to see Scriver, and especially before he revealed how things stood, but he had the feeling that days were precious and, if they were to have any hope against Mendoza, they'd have to trust their former enemies.
"Hick has freed your father," he said.
Marianna threw her arms around him, muttering, "Thank God," as she trembled. Jessie, who'd settled herself Buddha-like into a salvaged rocking chair, treated him to a withering look that suggested he was enjoying himself a little too much for her liking.
Devon disentangled himself, then glanced across at Scriver, who was beaming with obvious relief. "Hick'll be here tomorrow with Elliot. Others are following. That's all I know."
"This is good," Scriver said. "We can prepare."
"We can," Jessie said. "Or have you forgotten you're a prisoner? You're responsible for this." She waved her arm around the room as if it encapsulated all that had changed since the firestorm.
Scriver's smile disappeared. "I take my share of the blame, though I did not intend for things to work out as they did."
"You mean, the wholesale murder of millions?"
Devon moved across to where she sat and put his arms around her shoulders. "There'll be a time for him to face what he's done, but Mendoza is our problem right now."
She relaxed back into the chair, but pointed her finger at Scriver. "So, what are you going to do to help?"
"I do not believe all my units will have abandoned me. We will need their help if we're to face the general."
"So, you want us to help you rebuild your army?" Devon said. "Do you really think we're that gullible?"
Scriver sighed, sinking into the pillow. "I understand your caution, though you of all people should know that I am no friend of Mendoza. You were there when he murdered those of the committee who wouldn't follow him. You know he would have killed me, and you, if he'd caught us."
Devon had nothing to say to that. He didn't trust Scriver, but where else were they to get the military might to oppose Mendoza? At this point, he had no idea how many DeMille was bringing, or whether others would come from elsewhere to join the muster. And, in any case, he didn't see how an army of Mormons was likely to be preferable to Scriver's forces. He doubted this coalition would have anything in common apart from the fact that they were all enemies of Mendoza.
"So, how do you suggest we get in touch with these units of yours?" Jessie asked.
Marianna turned back from the window. "I will go. Marshall is not fit enough, and we're the only ones they'd recognize."
Jessie shook her head. "That's a hell of an assumption. You expect us to let you go free, so you can betray us?"
"Seriously, Jessie? I thought we'd gotten to know each other when we were on the road."
"That was before you signed up for this terrorist organization."
Marianna slumped against the wall. "I did what I thought was best for everyone. My father told me to find out what was happening in the wider world and what threats he might face as leader of Salt Lake. So, when I was taken, I decided to learn what I could about the Sons and I thought the best way to do that was to pretend to cooperate. Devon did the same thing." She glanced across at him as he stood, hands on Jessie's shoulders, pointedly unresponsive.
"Anyway, they'd just started to trust me when I met Marshall."
Scriver turned to look at her, silhouetted against the window. "I quickly recognized her ability, and we carefully got to know each other."
"Then he recruited me and assigned me to General Mendoza."
"I knew Mendoza was my main rival when it came to control of the committee. I also know him as a damaged man. All traces of empathy were stripped from his soul when he was a child, but he'd hidden this during his time with the military. This new world is his idea of a utopia and his worst nature is revealed."
Devon grunted. "Yeah. I saw that firsthand. He was like a machine. A terminator."
Scriver looked directly at Jessie. "If we are to have any chance against the general, we will need my loyal fighters. I cannot go, so Marianna must. I'm afraid you have little choice other than to trust us."
"Maybe. Marianna can go, but someone has to go with …" Jessie looked up at Devon. "Not you. Let someone else go this time."
Devon kneeled beside her. "How will I be any safer here than on the road with Marianna?"
"It's not your safety I'm thinking of," Jessie said. "I know it'd be a complete waste of time to appeal to your sense of self preservation, so I'm asking you to stay for my sake. For me, for Dorothy and the baby inside me. Jeez, do I have to throw in Toto and Jade as well?"
Taking her hand, Devon smiled. "I'm not going anywhere. Marianna's going to need a different babysitter."
She pulled him toward her and whispered, "Thank you."
Hick got down off Mule's back and rubbed his backside as folks emerged from the settlement, some of them armed. The log cabins were built in a circle and a white-bearded man emerged from one with a shotgun pointed in their direction.
Raising his hands, Hick stepped forward. "You wanna get your eyes checked, Rusty, if you don't recognize me."
"Hick? Well, I'll be. Paul Hickman ridin' on a horse? Never thought I'd see the day."
Rusty lowered his weapon and strode forward, hand outstretched. "I sure hope this ain't the Mormon army we been promised," he said, gesturing at the handful of riders gathered around a white horse-drawn cart.
"This here's Elliot DeMille," Hick said. "He's chief Mormon, but his folks are walking from Wendover. Should be here tomorrow, all bein' well."
The Colonel Sanders look-alike in the cart got down and shook Kaminski's hand. "Is my daughter here?"
"Marianna? Sure. She's locked up with Scriver."
"Locked up? What is this?"
Hick stepped between Rusty and the agitated old man. "She worked for them, Elliot. We got a right to be cautious."
"If you want our help, then she must be freed."
Rusty crossed his arms. "Maybe—once we've seen exactly what help you're givin' us."
"As Mr. Hickman said, some will arrive tomorrow. But the call has gone out, and many more will join us in the coming days. You cannot win without us, and my daughter's freedom is the price for my help."
#
Said had barely spoken to Sam since she'd shot his father. Or, put another way, since she'd saved his life. They were in the back seat of a Land Rover. Ahmed was driving, having pledged his loyalty to Said along with five others who'd also formerly served Azari Senior. Sam was surprised—she'd expected these former Sons of Solomon to at the very least disperse, but she couldn't detect any falseness about their allegiance. She was working on the hypothesis that these men had watched their former leader torturing Said for many years while powerless to act.
Between the vehicles parked at Azari's compound and those he'd stationed at satellite locations, they had six cars and two trucks. That still wasn't enough to transport all of Dickie and Zak's forces to Springs, so search parties were scouring the area for any roadworthy vehicles.
Sam, Said and the others were on one such raid, but were returning emptyhanded to Said's former home, which was being used as a temporary headquarters.
Zak emerged from the farmhouse as they pulled in. "Ah, Sam,
just the person I was looking for."
"Marvelous," she said as she followed him into what had been Azari's living room.
Zak sat down at the table and gestured her to do likewise. "How is Said?"
"Hurting. He feels he should hate me for killing his father, but, at the same time, I saved his life. And he has feelings for me. Or, at least, he did."
Nodding, Zak leaned forward. "He is an unusual boy, ain't he?"
"What are you getting at?"
"I reckon you know well enough. I thought I'd worked him out, but I was wrong. And now he has those goons followin' him around like a puppy dog."
Sam shrugged. "Okay, I take your point. He's unusual."
"He'd make a good leader, I can't help thinkin'. As long as when the coin stops spinning it falls the right way." Zak raised his bushy eyebrows before realizing he was being too obtuse. "I mean, what if he becomes one of them?"
"What, gay?"
Zak shook his head. "No! I mean like his pa. A Son of Solomon."
"No chance. Said doesn't have a bad bone in his body."
"I was thinkin' of offering to leave him here to run this place. Not with slaves, obviously. But maybe some folks would stay. His father was already turning it into a general farm and not just growing grapes."
Sam adjusted her position. She'd spend too long on her butt today and ached to go for a long walk. On her own. "You were thinking of it?"
"Yeah, but to be honest, we could do with his fighters if he'll side with us. First, though, I think he needs to get his head clear, and I reckon you do too."
Finally, the old man was getting to the point.
"You know we're headin' for this gathering east of here? Well, Dickie's getting worried that they won't wait for us, on account of not knowing we're on our way. So, I'm thinkin' of sending you ahead."
"Me? How?"
Zak got up and walked to the long window. "Well, look what we found."
She followed him and gazed out. "A motorbike?"
"A Triumph Thunderbird. A classic. And it survived the firestorm. We're gonna strap gas cans to each side, so it should get you there, even with the extra weight."
"Why me?"
Zak shrugged. "You know Springs and the people there know you, so they're likely to take your word for it. And it won't be just you—take Said along for the ride."
"What?"
Smiling, Zak turned back to her. "Well, the way I figure it, that boy's gonna be a whole lot more use to himself and the rest of us once he's had some time to think. It sure as hell ain't doin' him no good to be here in this place where his father died."
"Oh, and sharing a motorbike with the person who shot his dad, that'll help him, will it?"
"Exactly. Look, you and I both know you did the only thing you could. Said knows it too, but he's avoiding the truth."
"What if he doesn't want to go?"
Zak shrugged. "Then we won't take him or his people with us. Now, I don't reckon he's gonna want to be left out of the action. He may blame you right now, but it's the folks who corrupted his father he's really angry with."
She found Said standing by the grave of his father.
"I want to be on my own," he said, without turning.
Sam moved alongside him looking down at the freshly dug earth, her eyes moving across to the identical trenches either side. "I know, but I don't think you should be. Walk with me, will you?"
To her surprise, he instantly pivoted and waited for her to take the lead. They headed off toward the vineyard. "Tell me about your father."
"I do not wish to. He was not a good man."
"Well, we have that in common at least."
They walked on in silence for a few minutes. "He owned a shop."
"Really? What did he sell?"
"Carpets mainly. I worked there with him. He sent me out to measure. I enjoyed it. But, after my mother died, he lost himself. He tried one organization after another until finally he found the Sons of Solomon. So, when the firestorm happened, he made sure we were safe. He'd already identified this place and had cut the power off. He … he shot the owner."
Sam didn't want to stop her friend, but she was glad he'd paused for a few moments. Having said nothing, he seemed to want to get it all out in one go. Like a confessional.
"He knew most of the fighters from long before. Some were former military, others were business associates, but they all took their lead from him. He thought if he kept his head down, he could keep this vineyard operating, and then when things recovered a little, he would cash in. He was always a merchant. Always eyeing up a deal."
They reached a wide clearing bordering the apple orchard she'd hidden in when Azari's people had found her and Jay. The smell of bruised grass floated up as they walked, her feet becoming wetter and wetter after the light rain that had blown in off the Pacific Ocean earlier.
"What about the women?" Sam asked, wishing she didn't have to.
Said looked surprised, as if he'd forgotten she was there. "Oh, yes. I want you to know, I'm not saying he wasn't a monster. But he was a man also. The women. He sent out men to find and rescue them. Those who wanted a place to stay had to work for their keep. That was how he put it. It seemed so logical at the time, but it was slavery by another name. They were free to leave but had nowhere safe to go. And he treated some of them very badly."
Quite suddenly, he turned to Sam and flung his arms around her, howling with grief. She hugged him close, finally letting go of her emotions as her tears, running down her cheek, merged with his.
Chapter 8: Turncoats
Devon hated Paul Hickman. Not because he was wrong this time, but because he was right.
Hick represented exactly the sort of morally ambiguous man Devon found hardest to deal with. Downright evil was easy to identify and oppose, but with Hick, Devon found it hard to see beneath the veneer of rationality to the beating heart within.
"You b—"
"Now, now, Devon," Hick said, holding his hand up. "We've been through all this. You're the only man for the job. Here, put these on."
Devon took the bundle of clothes, sighed and pulled the pants up over his boxer shorts. Thirty minutes ago, he'd been spooning Jessie, arms wrapped around her back and meeting over her bump. And then he'd gently disentangled himself, waited a few minutes for her to resume snoring and slipped out to his appointment.
He found Hick and Rusty outside Marianna's door. She'd evidently been primed because she was ready to go when they opened it and, after a few moments of whispering to Scriver, she appeared and followed them down the rough-hewn stairs.
"You're the only one who can go with her," Hick had said when he'd taken Devon aside late in the evening. "She don't trust me and she don't know anyone else except Jessie, and I guess you wouldn't want her to go."
Devon broke his record for the number of swear words in one sentence. Hick had used Jessie as leverage to get Devon to accompany her back in February. So, things were coming full circle, back to where they'd begun. Except this time, he was betraying the woman he loved.
But he couldn't see any way they'd be able to win without at least some of the enemy forces coming across to their side. Scriver seemed confident of their loyalty and he'd given Marianna the rendezvous coordinates and codewords. They had no choice other than to roll the dice, even though Devon knew there was a far greater chance this would end his relationship with Jessie than that it would be successful.
"Yeah, you'll do," Hick said, handing Devon a black balaclava. "Every bit the SoS heavy."
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
Hick shook his head. "Actually, Devon, no. I'd be much happier goin' myself, but Marianna here wasn't too keen on that idea. Seems she ain't exactly trusting."
"You can't go. You're needed here, with Rusty," Devon said.
Rusty nodded. "He's right. Turns out I've got quick a knack for organizing folks, and I can handle people like Otis. But dealin' with a military campaign is way above my pay grade."
"I'm not sure any of us is going to be allowed to run the show," Hick said. "Seems to me Marianna's pa here is gonna want to be the big chief."
"You're wrong," Marianna said, her first words since they'd made their way out of the building she'd been imprisoned in and across to the equipment shed. "My father only wants to be a spiritual leader. He had the foresight to scatter our people across the west when he saw the threat from the Sons of Solomon, but he will not wish to lead anyone into battle."
"He's not going to be happy when he wakes up to find you gone," Devon said. He'd been there when the two were reunited the previous afternoon and, for the first time since he'd left her at the church in Cedar Run, he saw the young woman he thought he'd come to know.
Marianna shrugged. "He understands. We must all make sacrifices."
Ain't that the truth, Devon thought. Even if everything went miraculously well with the mission, he'd likely come back to a relationship that was irreparably damaged. He'd given his word to stay and protect her. And broken it within twelve hours.
The first hints of light gathered along the eastern horizon as Devon climbed into the driver's seat of the Land Rover. He and Marianna had walked in complete silence across the grass to where the vehicles were stored. They would be driving the car he'd taken from the woman Gert had executed. The Dutchman had been conspicuously absent since he'd arrived at Springs. Wrestling with demons, perhaps, Devon thought. He certainly hoped so.
He glanced across at Marianna, who was strapping herself in, nodded and turned the ignition key. He flicked the lights on and turned the car toward the dirt track that led to the highway. This took the car around the back of the log cabins. He looked up at the windows of Jessie's bedroom to see her standing there, silhouetted against the light of a candle. A shard of ice broke his heart in two as she pulled the drapes shut without a second look.
They hardly spoke as they headed south on 93, and the sun had risen above the mountains when Devon pulled the car over.
"What are you doing?" Marianna called as he got out and opened the back door.
Last Victory: Book 6 in the Thrilling Post-Apocalyptic Survival Series: (The Last City - Book 6) Page 6