The Age of Embers (Book 5): The Age of Defiance

by Schow, Ryan

  “They already blew her up,” Paul argued.

  “I don’t think it much matters,” Aaron replied, scared that he’d even have to say that. “If anything, it’ll only slow her down.”

  “She’s not a god, you know,” Wilson said, speaking for the first time in a long time. Wilson was Native American, quiet but alert.

  “I’d like to see you tell her that to her face,” Aaron replied.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “You dumbass,” Draven growled at Gregor, who was already broken up about Sally. Draven expected retaliation, maybe because he wanted to hit something, but in the end Gregor’s eyes took on the pre-shine of tears and he turned away.

  “I’m not sure I can live with this,” he said under his breath.

  In the end, Draven’s bad mood wasn’t worth spreading on others. What was done was done. Mistakes happened.

  “There are a lot of things we’re going to have to live with when this is all over,” Draven said.

  He hadn’t wanted to go on after Eudora killed herself. And losing the kids? He thought he was going to go insane. For a little while there, he felt his head fracture, split. He was someone else. Totally crazed. If he’d found the will to reach for a lifeline, especially under such dour circumstances, then others could find their way through the fog as well.

  Even Gregor.

  “I’m going to hell,” he said.

  “We all are,” Draven said. Putting his hand on Gregor’s shoulder, even though he didn’t know the man, he added, “At least we’ll know people down there.”

  Gregor laughed, but it was a sad, defeated chortle.

  “How was I supposed to know she was under the bed?” he finally asked. “I didn’t see her. I didn’t even think to look.”

  “You couldn’t have known.”

  “If Maria didn’t die from the blast,” he reasoned, trying to pull himself out of that awful place, “it’s going to take a lot more to put her down. What do we have that’s more than a grenade?”

  “I don’t know. Everyone here seems to know how to fight.”

  “They’ve been trained,” Gregor said. “Even the kids.”

  “Really?”

  “We’re in a world with no law, except kill or be killed. That’s why everyone’s carrying a knife, or some other weapon. Besides, if anyone needs to learn to fight, it’s the most vulnerable, and the kids…”

  Gregor trailed off, falling back into that place.

  “If she did do all this,” Draven said, “if she’s something…not like us…then she needs to die if we’re ever to make this place our own again. I’m not talking about us. I’m talking about the nation, and by proxy, the world.”

  “I know,” Gregor said.

  “The others are meeting to talk about this,” Draven said. “Shake it off, we still have a very big, most likely very bloody fight ahead of us.”

  “Thanks, Draven,” Gregor said, looking a little better.

  Everyone of fighting value was gathered in the living room in Homestead One. Lena—Jagger’s wife—had taken the kids out to the campfire so the adults could discuss plans for both protection of the homestead and retaliation. Still, others like Adeline and Brooklyn were up at Homestead Two, unable to deal with something like this under their own cloud of sorrow.

  People began belting out the merits of attacks and counter-attacks and that’s when Eliana stood up and said, “As far as I’m concerned, there is only one way.”

  “What way is that?” Macy asked. She and Atlanta were the youngest girls there, both underage under the old ways, but capable according to Rider.

  “Death by mass assault,” he said.

  “I agree,” Marcus said.

  “I’m coming,” Indigo offered. She didn’t look at either Rex or her parents for permission. The thing Draven had learned very quickly about Indigo was the archer was a dog with a bone. Once she decided on something, she was all in, consequences be damned.

  Rex looked uncomfortable with this, but Indigo was already fashioning her dark brown hair into a ponytail. She was her own woman and Rex seemed to respect that, but with a baby inside her, he looked like he was about to say something, like he needed to say something.

  She glanced his way and said, “You’re running perimeter security on the east end tonight, right?”

  “I guess,” he said.

  “And Stanton’s on the west side?”

  “I am,” Stanton said.

  “You need to be here because people may be coming,” she said. Looking first at Rex and then at Stanton, it was clear she felt good with these two in a war.

  “I’ll go with her,” Marcus said to Rex.

  “I don’t need a babysitter,” she said, flashing on Marcus.

  “I was thinking you could have my back,” he replied with a grin. “Unless you think only guys can protect girls.”

  “I’m responsible for this,” Gregor said, his heart heavy, the gloom hanging over him, dampening the war spirit some. “So I’m going no matter what anyone says.”

  “You didn’t know,” Rider said, consoling him.

  “I should’ve known.”

  “You couldn’t have known,” Jill said, sitting next to him. She reached out to hold his hand, but he discretely pulled away and she was left reaching for air.

  Everyone saw her affection made him uncomfortable, which was sad because in times like those, what people like Gregor needed most was the love and support of others.

  Jill’s reaction was expected.

  She’d been trying to get over Rock, apparently, so to try to open up to someone new and be shut down in front of everyone…it didn’t sit well with her.

  And Gregor?

  He was beginning to shrink up within himself, almost to the point of losing touch with who he was before the news about Sally. Draven didn’t blame him.

  Back in Chicago, he went out to fight the unwinnable fight as a result of losing Eudora. He understood what it felt like to almost give up. He could see the emotions tearing at Gregor, trying to suck him under, drag the very last breath out of his otherwise exhausted body.

  Sarah moved closer to Rider. Sitting on a no-back barstool, he slipped his arm around her waist, pulled her next to him. Draven knew she was his, and that he was hers—she’d taken possession of him and it was easy to see. Then again, he was clearly smitten. Realistically though, what guy wouldn’t want an adoring woman floating in their orbit?

  “This world…it’s changed us,” Sarah said, somber. “We aren’t perfect, Gregor. You can’t be perfect. None of us can.”

  Gregor thanked her, but Rider looked at her and said, “I don’t deserve you.”

  “Sure you do,” she said with a light kiss that set Rider’s face aflame. Rider was a man’s man—silver bear, slicked back hair, tattoos from wrist to shoulder, a steely look in his eyes, confidence by the buckets. This was a man with scars, though—anyone could see that. In Draven’s estimation, he wore them well.

  “So are we agreed then?” Fire asked.

  Everyone nodded, but then Eliana looked at Fire and said, “How about you?”

  “I’m fine,” he said.

  “You sure?”

  Draven, like everyone else, knew he wasn’t. Adeline and Brooklyn arrived in bad shape, the same as everyone from the Chicago group, himself included. They’d just lost their son, their future daughter in law. Brooklyn lost a brother and a friend. The burden sat heavy on them, pulling at their shoulders, dragging at their souls. You never get over that kind of thing.

  “I said I’m good to go,” Fire repeated. “Don’t worry about me.”

  The former DEA agent looked at Ice; the brothers locked eyes, the unspoken question of mental fitness between them. When Fire gave a short nod to let his brother know he was good, Ice’s face relaxed and he nodded, too, albeit a little less enthusiastically.

  Draven watched Rock looking on, almost like he felt left out, and that’s when both brothers looked at him and nodded. Almost smiling
, like he was grateful to be included, he gestured back and the matter was settled.

  “Let’s go punch this broad’s ticket then,” Indigo said.

  “Roger that,” Marcus rumbled.

  It was the middle of the night when everyone piled into the truck and headed out. Marcus was at the wheel, Ice and Eliana in the front bench seat. When the rain began to come, it made riding in the open bed of the truck flat out miserable.

  Marcus pulled in to a parking stall, nudging past a garbage can filled with filth. He parked, got out and said, “Well this sucks ass.”

  He grabbed the garbage can, picked it up and threw it in to the street.

  “We’re going to need a wartime fluffer just to keep my killing spirit alive,” Gregor said, his hair and the tops of his shoulders wet.

  A few of the guys laughed, but Draven knew he was serious. Moving in to the fight kept his mind off his stabbed shoulder, the last fight and off of Sally.

  Standing around, waiting out the weather, they looked like mercs heading to war while the enemy napped. It wasn’t that far off. When the rain went from a downpour to a drizzle, and then to a light mist, Marcus rallied everyone, then said, “It’s time.”

  They loaded back in the Chevy and drove through the wet, dirty streets to within a few blocks of Maria’s apartment tower. He shut off the engine, tucked the key up in the wheel well, then joined the others as they headed out on foot.

  Walking close to the buildings, they saw a tight pack of coyotes cross the street and disappear behind a pile up of cars. The lean beasts were brazen, immune to human influence. Even they sensed the emptying out of the cities.

  Draven knew what was to come.

  America had been used, abused and beaten to within an inch of her life. Her city streets would soon disappear under layers of dust, new weeds would appear as they strained to push up through the cracks in the asphalt, weeds that would blanket the entire city floor. These abandoned sprawls would then be left to decay, the weaker buildings collapsing into stronger ones where they’d lay for the next thousand years as the earth rose up and swallowed everything, once again bringing order to the world.

  It was a depressing thought he shook off quickly. If he hoped to stop Maria, he’d need his wits about him.

  Rider and Indigo were the quickest of the bunch. Rider held up a hand; Indigo pulled to a stop without seeing Rider’s signal. There was a dog, not a coyote, chewing at the body outside the front door of the apartment’s front entrance.

  It saw them, barring its teeth, a low growl in the back of its throat.

  Holding out his hand, Rider eased in and said, “Hey, boy. No one wants to mess with your meal, we just need to get inside.”

  Indigo slipped an arrow from her quiver, nocked it, then drew it back to her cheek and sighted the creature, just in case.

  Rider slowly walked up to it, hand out, palm down and said, “You need to go, it’s not safe here.”

  The growling dog dropped down, barked once, then grabbed the dead guy’s ripped-off arm and ran off.

  “Did that just happen?” Eliana asked.

  “If you’re referring to a dog running off with an arm, I’d say yes,” Indigo said, relaxing the bowstring and putting the arrow back into her quiver.

  Marcus and Rider flanked the front entrance. Draven had a blade tucked at his side when he went through the front door. Inside, he saw an empty lobby. He took a step then stopped.

  It didn’t feel empty.

  “There are more of us than there are of you,” he called out.

  A small middle-eastern looking man walked out with a small bat in his hands and said, “I don’t find that entirely implausible.”

  “Amir, get back here,” the voice hissed.

  Draven relaxed, stood up tall and said, “How many more than two are in here?”

  A six foot tall man with black hair and unassuming eyes stepped out from behind the adjoining room. He had a small hunting knife in one hand and a larger one in the other, but he wasn’t looking like he was prepared to use them.

  Marcus walked in behind Draven, as did Rider and the rest of the crew.

  “You again,” Amir said.

  “Yep, it’s us again,” Marcus replied. “Didn’t we tell you to run if you ever saw us again?

  “Are you going to kill us then?” Amir asked.

  “Do you want us to?” Marcus asked. Amir laughed and shook his head. To the Arab’s friend, Marcus said, “What about you, Pumpkin?”

  “Are you here for her?” he asked.

  “Looks like we struck gold with the Psychic Hotline,” Indigo muttered.

  “Where is she?” Eliana asked.

  Pointing to the stairwell door, Amir said, “Tenth floor. Same as where you left her.” He then looked back at them and said, “If it’s any consolation, we’re pretty scared of her, too.”

  “As well you should be,” Rider said as he brushed by the small man.

  “Step back with your blade,” Eliana warned as she approached the man. Looking down on the Arab with serious eyes seemed to send a small fright through him.

  “Oh…oh, no. No, no, no. The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” he said quickly. Thrusting a hand out, he said, “I’m Amir, a friend.”

  Fire walked by and gruffly said, “We’re overjoyed, Amir.”

  Ice nudged by him and said, “Move.”

  “So you’re going to kill her then?” Amir’s friend said, hesitant.

  “We’re not here to swap recipes if that’s what you’re wondering,” Marcus turned and growled.

  “Are you the one who tried to blow her up before?” the Iranian asked Gregor, setting his knife on the floor and stepping backward.

  “Yes,” Gregor replied with a heavy heart. “What’s your name again?”

  “I’m Amir, and this is Aaron,” he said. He stepped forward and thrust a welcoming hand out again, but Gregor only gave it a cursory glance before ignoring it. He knew better than that. Clearing his throat, rebuffed twice now on his attempt to greet them, Amir said, “You know you killed the child. Her name was Sally.”

  Gregor stopped, turned and bowed up on the young man. Draven stepped in, put a hand on his chest and warned him with a stern, “No.”

  Gregor’s eyes cleared, flicked off of Amir and onto Draven, and then he relaxed, but only barely. He was clearly wound up, the war inside him already underway.

  “Save it for her,” Draven said. Then, looking at the capable one, the reasonable one—Aaron—Draven said, “Leave now and don’t come back. Do that and you get to live.”

  “Stay here, though, and you die,” Gregor hissed, looking down at the Iranian.

  Aaron stepped forward, grabbed Amir by the crook of his elbow and gave him a slight nudge backwards. The slight man seemed taken aback, his chin raised as he watched all these tall and lethal people look down on him.

  “I was trying to…” Amir said.

  “I know, I know,” Aaron said, consoling him as he pulled him back. “The enemy of your enemy…”

  “Is my friend,” he said, almost as though he was bothered that he’d been unable to make friends of them.

  “Good luck,” Aaron said as he ushered Amir out the front door without another word.

  Marcus and Draven looked at each other. Gregor collected himself. Then, with a snort, Rider said, “Well that was easy.”

  “Hard part comes now,” Gregor muttered under his breath.

  The gang made their way to the tenth floor, most of them grumbling around the eighth floor, and Gregor swearing aloud.

  It was cold and wet outside, but in there, it was stuffy, cramped and so dark they kept running into each other, bumping into the walls, stumbling here and there on the stairs.

  When you’re traversing an apartment tower in the middle of the night with absolutely no windows, no lights and no real sense of direction, it’s hard not to start feeling a little loopy. Couple that with the fact that you’re about to go toe-to-toe with the ender of worlds—a woman who s
urvived a grenade, a woman who was not only the fastest but the most lethal creature on earth—and that’s when things start to feel real and the fear compounds.

  “This was tiring the first time,” Gregor said, huffing out a breath and circling his arm to loosen his injured shoulder. “The second time sucked infinitely more.”

  “How many babies do you have in your belly?” Indigo asked, hardly out of breath at all and sounding tired of the complaining.

  “Seven,” Gregor said.

  When they got to the tenth floor, they stepped out and quietly sat down to catch their breaths. Rider said, “Well that wasn’t easy.”

  “No kidding,” Marcus said. A first for him. The big man never complained about anything. He’d sometimes look at you like he wanted to palm your skull and squeeze until your brains gooed out the holes in your ears, but he’d never actually complain.

  “You guys sound like a bunch of pansies,” Eliana said under her breath. The woman weighed about a hundred and ten pounds wet.

  “You’d be surprised how much our egos weigh,” Rider said. “It’s like carrying a rucksack with us everywhere.”

  “I bet,” Eliana laughed. Then, in a hushed voice, she asked, “Who has the road flare?”

  “I do,” Ice said, handing it to her through the dark. “Got it?”

  She took it.

  “Yeah.”

  “Everyone ready?” Gregor asked.

  Eliana said “Hell yes,” and then set out behind Gregor. Ice moved beside her. Removing the plastic top, peeling off the cap, the Guatemalan struck the ignitor button on the flare with the cap’s scratch strip and the red candle flamed to life.

  The hallway appeared before them, silent and eerie, the smells of sulfur and charcoal cutting out the dank smell of the rest of the building. If they felt unnerved by the compressed darkness before, now they felt creeped out by the thin reddish glow the flare produced.

  Eliana looked back at them. Draven and Fire were hot on hers and Gregor’s heels. Gregor stood before the apartment’s front door, tried the handle. The door suffered immense damage, yet it was locked. Taking a breath, he backed up, then drilled the spot closest to the handle with a mean kick. The door splintered and swung inward. Eliana tossed the flare inside the studio apartment and everyone poured in behind Gregor. They all ran right into the ginger’s back. For some reason, he’d stopped his advance.