Apocalyptic Visions Super Boxset (192 page)

The ride back from the wastelands had left Dean with more questions than answers, and heavy one prisoner, closely guarded by his men, although he didn’t believe the man was in any condition to run.

The Black Rocks that had interrogated him had left him broken and bloodied, his body starved and weak. Dean couldn’t be sure if the man had a broken jaw, but he’d lain quiet in the wagon, with his wrists and ankles chained.

The only hope the prisoner offered Dean came in the form of a tattoo on his right forearm. At first Dean believed it to be just another bruise given by the Black Rocks, but once the blood and dirt had been wiped away, he could see the visible image of the stars and sickle painted on the man’s skin, matching the same description that Kit had told him he saw.

Aside from the blood and bruises, the prisoner was a tall man, well built, with blond hair. The man was filthy and in poor condition. But he had the look of a soldier, and Dean hoped there weren’t any more of him to have to deal with.

The crowds had already gathered by the time Dean arrived into the city. News of their journey had traveled quickly from the outskirts, and the people were eager to hear what Dean had found.

“Governor, was it the clans?”

“Is it war, Governor?”

All of the voices shared the same face of fear, and Dean did his best to calm everyone. “We have a suspect. He was severely beaten by the clans, but he matches the description we had of the raiders who killed my brother and his wife.”

              An angry moan rippled through the crowd as everyone’s sights turned on the unconscious brute shackled in the middle of the convoy. Dean would have to keep him closely guarded now that they were back in the city. His brother was loved, and there would be more than a few who would be willing to kill the man for revenge.

“Governor.” One of his riders trotted to him. “We have word from your wife. She has everything ready at the infirmary. Although she wasn’t able to obtain all of the supplies you requested.”

“Why not?” But the man was hesitant to answer. “Speak up, or I’ll have you riding midnight sentry duty with the recruits.”

“The lady governor sent a shipment of medical supplies to some of the sea clans along the southern coast.”

Dean gritted his teeth and reined up on his horse, putting his heels into the mare. Dust kicked up from the gallop, and then he came to a skidding stop just outside the old hospital Kemena had turned into her own practice. Dean tied off the horse, and one of the nurses came out, dressed in a plain grey dress with a thick red cross painted on the front.

“Governor, you—”

“Where is she?” The nurse quickly ceded and led him into the surgical room where Kemena stood, hands being gloved by one of her assistants, and a paper surgical mask draped around her neck. She looked like she had been scrubbed from head to toe, a far cry from Dean’s appearance. A wild thing with crazed hair, covered in dust, and his beard grown thick from a lack of attention.

“You shouldn’t be in here, Dean. Not like that.” Kemena turned and let the assistant finish tying off her apron.

“I need to speak with my wife in private.” Dean kept his voice calm. Most of the rage subsided the moment he saw her. But the rest of her staff took notice of Dean’s tone, and the room quickly emptied.

Kemena turned around as if nothing had happened. “Where’s the prisoner?”

              “You sent supplies to the clans in the south?” Dean took a step forward, the dirt and mud from his boots leaving a trail behind him.

“Dean, you’re making a mess.” Kemena lowered her hands and made her way over to a sterilizing station, pulling the surgical tools, which steamed from a tray. “We’ve spent all morning preparing for your arrival. Now, I need to know what I’m dealing with. Your message didn’t give me much to work on.”

“You know about our agreement with the wasteland clans. We cannot undermine them by sending supplies to their enemy.” If that peace was jeopardized, then so was the railway that would connect the northwest and southeast and begin the process of uniting everyone under a common cause.

“The southern coast tribes are in no condition to war. And they’ve never been the aggressors against the wasteland clans. They sent an emissary while you were gone asking for help, so I offered them what I could.” Kemena arranged the tools to her liking then finally looked up at her husband. “I know the rules of your agreement, but we must think farther than just finishing the rail. If we want everyone to join us, then we have to give them a reason to trust us.”

Dean took a few more aggressive steps forward. “And giving away our supplies that our people need is a way for us to gain that trust? Kemena, we cannot risk so much in a time like this. We are in no position to start lending aid when we’re just now starting to take care of our own!”

Kemena slammed her fist on the operating table, and her anger surprised him. “You don’t think I know what it could cost us? You don’t think I know the cost of war? How many soldiers have I stitched up? How many deaths have I called in fields stained with blood? You know I have just as much right to make these decisions as you.” Strands of her auburn hair had come loose from the tight bun at the back of her head, her cheeks reddened with frustration, and she shook her head, her next words softer. “When Lance returns, we’ll have all we need to trade to replace the medical supplies I sent south. And it will buy us good will with the southern tribal leaders.”

Always one step ahead. It was in these moments when he remembered how much he loved her. The hard days of riding had left him irritable and frustrated, waiting for the answers to his questions. In all truth, Dean wanted nothing more than to take her right now. “Wise counsel.”

Kemena managed a smile. “I’ve learned from the best.”

Dean helped his men carry the prisoner into the operating room, where Kemena started her examination. He watched her for a moment through the glass, her deft hands running over the man’s body with ease. The concentration on her face, the way she commanded the room. This was her war, and she was the best general on the field. He left Kemena to her work and stepped outside.

The sun was still high, with plenty of time for work in the day, but the energy had been sapped from Dean’s body. Exhaustion washed over him, but he chose to go and check on the boys. He knew they would be curious to hear of what happened, and of all the people in the city, they deserved to hear the news from him firsthand.

“Governor Mars.” The voice that called after him seemed to shiver with cold even in the afternoon heat. When Dean turned around, he saw the historian he sent for, a teacher at the local school. “I received your message.”

“Professor Hawthorne.” Dean had always enjoyed the old man’s counsel. The professor had spent his life collecting books, reading, and taking into account their own history as it passed.

“I’ve looked into those symbols your nephews described, and I know where they’ve come from.”

Dean perked up. “Show me.”

Hawthorne pulled an old book from his bag and flipped to the page already marked. “It’s actually a combination of two symbols.” His wrinkled, liver-spotted hand circled the sickle on the first page. “This was the flag of the Soviet Union during their communist rule.”

Dean remembered some of the teachings during school, but the majority of his learning had been war. The shadows of battle had never really left his father, and he wanted to make sure his boys knew how to fight.

“And this,” the professor said, turning the pages, “was the flag of the Chinese Republic before the third world war.”

The same half circle of stars that he’d seen on the man’s arm, and the same one that Kit had described, was there in front of him. “An alliance.”

“Precisely.” The professor quickly dumped the book back into his sack and pulled out a notebook. “These are records of some of the generals of the third world war. In it, they reference an enemy with an alliance of regions in the east. China and Russia.”

Dean took a step backward, trying to gather his thoughts. If the same alliance was happening now, then could there be another war like the one his father had described? His mind drifted to the wastelands and the devastated southern Pacific Coast, and the crumbled cities of the northeast. All of it gone within minutes, along with billions of lives. He wasn’t sure if they would survive something like that again. And if the Russians were looking for a place to advance, then the Alaskan colonies could be in jeopardy.

The moment Jason’s ship made port, he jumped from the deck, landing on his two feet, and nearly kissed the ground in gratitude. While his brother Lance had lived for the sea, Jason had nearly lost his body weight in vomit on the trip down. The weather didn’t help either, with the two storms they had to battle through during the journey. But the port of Rio de Janeiro was worth the trip. The docks were alive with people, food, and music. It was an endless chatter of different dialects and faces. The Brazilian port was the busiest in the world.

While the wars of Jason’s grandfather had decimated much of his country, Asia, and Europe, the South American countries remained fairly untouched, save the millions of surviving refugees that flocked south to avoid the fallout. The resulting migration had made Rio de Janeiro the unofficial capital of the South American continent, and consequently the Brazilian president one of the most powerful and wealthiest men in the world.

Jason’s escorts flanked him on either side. His brother refused to let him leave his region without armed escorts. Even after warring, and the fact that he was the southeastern regional governor, he still felt Dean treated him like a child.

Robert, the man to Jason’s left, was a giant. He stood a foot above the crowd and drew more attention to himself than someone guarding a governor should in the first place. His arms were the size of oak trees, and his legs were redwoods. If the size wouldn’t deter an enemy from attacking, then Robert’s double-ended axe would. Jason had once seen him slice three men in half with one swing.

The escort to Jason’s right was around his size and build but faster. Jason had spent the better part of the trip trying to outdraw Chris during duels but never came close to beating him. “I don’t suppose you’ll forgive your governor the debts I amassed on our trip down?”

“I would have to sadly decline the governor’s request and promptly tell him that he can kiss my ass.” Chris smiled a toothy grin that seemed to spread from ear to ear.

“You know I could have you thrown into jail for that comment.” Jason lifted his chin a little higher in the air as they passed a group of tanned, lazily dressed women. “I am the southeast regional governor, after all.”

The girls giggled as they walked by, but Chris was quick with a retort. “You know what they say—the bigger the office, the smaller the trouser size.” The words threw the women into raucous laughter, and Jason gave Chris a shove. “Don’t worry, Governor. If you’re nice, I’ll buy you one of those toothless girls with the winnings I took from you.”

The crowds thickened the closer they moved to the president’s palace. Jason had always used the term “president” loosely when it came to Sebastian Ruiz. While the Brazilians held elections, they only happened once every ten years, and President Ruiz just so happened to be starting his third term. While President Ruiz never gave any clout to the allegations of corruption and winning the presidency through deceitful tactics, the faces of the common folks he passed seemed to carry a different story.

The streets were flooded with poverty and more beggars than Jason had ever seen. But such was the price for life in the bustling city. He imagined it was harder to hunt and forage in the concrete than the wild.

Jason and his escorts were greeted kindly at the palace gates, and the immaculate landscaping of grass and plants, along with the lavish pools and fountains, offered a very different picture than the one painted in the commonwealth.

The three of them were taken inside, where Jason tracked mud on the marbled floors, as did Chris and Robert. Chris leaned into Jason’s ear and whispered, “I don’t suppose His Majesty would miss any of these fine gold statues?”

Truth be told, Ruiz probably wouldn’t, but with the stakes of the negotiations as high as they were, even Jason knew it was best not to jest with the president under such circumstances. “I’d keep your hands to yourself. Wouldn’t want to give His Excellency any reason to take them.”

The guard that escorted him stopped at the door and requested that both Jason’s shoes and his companions stay behind. The doors were almost closed when Chris called out, “If anything happens, just scream. That should give us enough time to get to the ship.”

The doors slammed shut, and President Ruiz rose from the table, seemingly ignoring the comments made. “Governor, it’s good of you to join us.”

“Mr. President, I appreciate the time.” Jason extended his hand, and his own skin felt rough and raw compared to the tender flesh of Ruiz’s palm. He looked over to the table, taking notice of a few faces he didn’t recognize. “I was under the impression that we were meeting alone.”

Ruiz slapped Jason on the back and pushed him forward to the table. “I have quite a few trade negotiations on the table this week, so I thought it would be more efficient to knock them out at the same time.”

More like intimidating the odds of the agreement to your favor. “More time to focus on the welfare of your people, Mr. President?” Jason delivered the words with a bite that the rest of the table seemed to notice as they shifted uncomfortably, and Ruiz took his seat slowly.

“I suppose we should get started.” Ruiz’s expression morphed from an endearing politician to that of a stern mob boss. Ruiz knew the control he had over the trade negotiations with many of the territories. He held all the cards, and he wasn’t afraid to wield that power to enhance his country’s growing prowess. “Ambassador Fung, I understand that you’re looking to export more pig bellies.”

Fung was thin, to the point where it looked like his health was fading, but his tanned skin and thick head of black hair painted the picture of youth. “Our production has quadrupled over the past five years, and with Australia’s stranglehold on the beef trade, we’re looking to carve our own niche in the market.”

“Pig bellies can fetch a fine price,” Jason said. “Quadrupling your output is quite the accomplishment. Why the sudden increase in production? Building capital for something?”

“The trade restrictions and war taxes leveled against my people have strained our nation’s recovery,” Fung answered, keeping his cool. “Or does the governor need another lesson in history?”

Jason and his brothers, along with the Australian leaders, saw the treaty after the Island Wars as a means of peace; the Chinese saw it as a means of oppression. “I don’t. But you might.” Jason rose from his chair, and Ruiz rose with him. “I think it’s best if you and I continue our talks in private, during your convenience, Mr. President.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Ruiz said then instructed his guards to take both Jason and his men to their quarters. They would be guests tonight in Ruiz’s palace and given whatever their hearts desired.

“He said that?” Chris asked once they were out of earshot of Ruiz’s guards. “Anything our hearts desired? Because I happened to see quite a few beautiful women walking around that I wouldn’t mind spending the night with.”

“Touch nothing Ruiz gives you,” Jason said. “The Chinese were in the room during the negotiations. Something doesn’t feel right. The ambassador is looking to increase their market share on livestock, and everyone in that room knows what meat is selling for these days, any kind of it. Fung is looking to make money, but for what, I don’t know. If the Chinese are making a move, then our best bet is to stay on the ship. We’ll keep guards on watch, and the crew always stays in twos.”

Chris raised his eyebrows. “That’ll make it awkward during the trips in the brothel.”