Apocalyptic Visions Super Boxset (225 page)

With both Delun and Hong working together once more, Dean was forced back into the defensive. Sweat grew slick on his arms and hands, and he felt the hilt slipping from his palm, sliding across his skin. The awkward grip caused Dean to haphazardly block a swing from Hong, and Delun capitalized by punching Dean across the jaw.

Dean blindly lifted his sword, barely blocking Hong’s strike, then swung wildly through the air, stumbling backward. His attackers coiled and readied themselves to strike once more, approaching slowly.

“I want you to know that I will spare your wife, even let the child in her womb grow,” Delun said, stepping side by side with Hong. “But should she give birth to a son, I will have him put to slaughter. If it’s a daughter, I’ll bed her myself when she’s of age.”

Dean squeezed the hilt of the blade tighter, the pain in his body rolling off of him like the blood dripping from the gash in his arm. He planted his feet, bending at the knees, the tip of his steel aimed at the gap between Delun and Hong, and Hong froze, but Delun kept walking.

“Emperor!” Hong dashed in front of Delun just as Dean thrust, deflecting Hong’s parry and piercing the soft flesh of Hong’s stomach. Hong jolted from the assault, his blade dropping to the ground, blood trickling down the front of his pants, and he collapsed to his knees.

Dean yanked the blade from Hong’s stomach and reared on Delun, who was scrambling to his feet. His fingers grazed the hilt of his sword when Dean rammed his steel through Delun’s throat. The emperor gasped and choked, blood bursting from the veins and arteries along his neck. He gurgled on what last bit of life he had left and collapsed into the sand, convulsing until his body lay motionless.

Dean’s legs gave way, and he fell to the dirt next to the two slain Chinese, exhausted and drained. He felt hands on him, and when he opened his eyes, Kemena was there, tears streaming down her face. He looked to his right; the Chinese soldiers knelt, dropping their weapons, as Jason stormed inside with their men. Kemena was muttering something, but all he focused on was that she was alive, their child was alive; his family lived.

Dean paced the room back and forth, his nephews bouncing their legs anxiously, their eyes focused on the floor. All of the warring and battles of Dean’s past—nothing compared to the anxiety coursing through his veins at that moment.

Dean perked his head up at the sound of an infant crying, and the room doors swung open, the young nurse smiling, sweat covering her face. “It’s a girl.”

Kit and Sam jumped from their seats and nearly tackled Dean to the floor, then the three of them stumbled inside the delivery room, where Kemena lay red faced and sweaty, holding a bundle of white, soft cloth that was wrapped around a pinkish-red, crying baby girl.

Dean kissed Kemena on the forehead as she cleaned the infant. “I love you so much.” He smiled, tears dripping from his face and onto Kemena’s shoulder.

“I love you too,” Kemena answered.

“What are you going to call her?” Sam asked, trying to peek over the side of the bed to get a good look at his new cousin.

“I was thinking Luana,” Kemena answered. “After your mother.”

“Luana.” Dean spoke the name softly, scooping the child up from her mother and cradling her gently in his arms. He kissed her softly on her forehead, repeating her name to her like a song, one that he would never grow tired of hearing.

***

The palace walls had been redecorated since the last time Jason had visited Rio, but the occupants were far more welcoming than during his last visit. Gabriela sat across from him at the table while he looked over the new trade agreements she’d drawn up. “I don’t suppose you’re willing to bend a little on the dock taxes?”

“We’ll renegotiate next year,” Gabriela answered. “I need the income to keep the ports stocked with soldiers to keep the peace. Ruiz’s loyalists still seem to be hanging around, although I don’t know why. Ruiz has been dead for months.”

“Old habits die hard.” Jason signed and sealed the documents, ushering in a new age of trade for the North Americans, one that he hoped would help ease the recovery of his people. One of Gabriela’s men picked up the documents and left the two of them alone. “I hear you’ll be having your elections next month.”

“The first truly free and properly represented elections in over thirty years. I hope it’s worth the wait.”

“I still don’t understand why you’re not running.” Jason leaned back, shaking his head. “With your coup over Ruiz, you would have won by a landslide.”

“My expertise is war. There are better candidates to lead the country now that we’ve gotten a stranglehold on corruption. My job is done.” She looked around at the palace walls, her face itching with disgust. “And I wouldn’t want to live here after what happened.”

The two walked through the halls together silently until they arrived at the courtyard, where Jason’s guards waited for him. He lingered at the entrance, looking down at Gabriela, who kept her gaze elsewhere. “I look forward to seeing you again in our negotiations next year.”

“Yes, as do I.” Gabriela kept her words short and extended her hand. When she finally looked up at him, her arm shook, and Dean leaned to kiss her, but she smacked him across the face then kissed him hard.

When she finally pulled back, Jason shook his head; a lightness filled him that he hadn’t felt since their night together on his ship. “Maybe next year is too long a wait.”

***

The hot sun and desert winds kicked up sand that pelted against Tobaygu’s cloak. He quickly left the docks, the peddlers at the port begging him to stop and look at their merchandise, but he kept his attention focused on the group of men waiting for him at the end of the docks. “Gentlemen.” He flashed his trademark smile as his own men pulled up behind him, struggling under the heavy weight of the crates they carried. “Do you have a place we could talk in private?”

One of the men gestured into a nearby tent, which had already been emptied. Tobaygu entered first, followed by his new friends, then his own men bringing in the crates and setting them down ever so gently. “I thank you all for your audience.”

“What is it that you want, Tobaygu? We have no time for your games.” Chief Wantubay shifted uncomfortably, and the rest of the war chiefs mimicked his disdain.

This was the first time in living memory that all the war chiefs of the north had gathered under one roof, and Tobaygu did not want to waste it. “We have fought each other for a long time, my brothers. We have squabbled over land, water, and food, but what I have brought us will put an end to that.” He nodded to one of his men, and the servant cracked the crate open, spilling out strands of hay.

Tobaygu walked over to the crate and gently lifted an AK-47 from the box and rested it on the table, where the chiefs flocked to the rifle eagerly. “This is a weapon of the west, my brothers. This is what has kept them in power for so long, and now I have the means to make these myself. I have brought us technology that will reshape our continent. Reshape our people. Reshape the world.”

***

The ruins of the old cities had not changed since the last time Dean had visited them. The sand and earth were still dirtied under his feet, the old buildings still sagged and crumbled, the ocean air and waves beating away whatever bits of life remained in them.

But this visit felt different. He couldn’t explain it other than the fact that he was now a father. That and the peace he’d enjoyed since Rodion’s and Delun’s deaths. While there was still much work to do in rebuilding his country, as well as the world of his allies, it was the first time in his life when he’d felt the warmth of peace.

The burden and weight of power, war, and fear had been lifted from him. All he saw on the horizon were possibilities of what a life for his daughter could be. He knew it would not be without trials, but he also knew it would not be without its treasures.

The tracks in the grey ash were freshly indented. Alex ran his finger into the imprinted hooves of the game he was tracking. He adjusted the strap on his rifle, which smacked his hip when he squatted. He pinched some of the ash between his fingers and held it up above his head. He let it sift down, watching the wind carry it behind him. Alex brushed the rest off of his pant leg and stepped swiftly, continuing the hunt.

The barren, rolling hills ahead of Alex stretched for miles, and he’d lost count of the miles he’d already trekked. For the past year it had been difficult to find game, but the three-week dry spell was the longest since the soil crisis. The burn of fatigue in Alex’s legs and arms started to wear him down, but the growling empty pit in his stomach pushed him forward like a primal instinct. It was simple. If he didn’t eat, he would die.

The keen, incessant pain in Alex’s lower abdomen had dulled since the morning, but so had the sharpness of his mind. His body had grown accustomed to running on empty, but even this was pushing it too far. His concentration was waning. He reached around to his pack and grabbed a small wrap of dried meat. The flavorless protein stick snapped in half as Alex tore a piece off with his teeth. He wasn’t sure if the crunch in his jaw was from the stick or the breaking of his back molar. After a few more hard bites, he determined it was the former.

A slight breeze kicked up the ash, and it brushed against his already dirty pants and boots. For a moment his mind returned to the lush meadows where he used to hunt with his father during his childhood. But much like the once-fertile soil beneath him, the memories of his youth were now covered in a layer of dust, making it harder to see what life still lay underneath.

Alex pumped his legs up the crest of a hill, following the tracks. At the top the breeze shifted directions, sending a cool rush of air across his left cheek. If it continued that trend, his prey would smell him coming. He pulled the rifle’s scope to his left eye, a habit that his father had never been able to break him of. Traditionally, a person always used the eye of their dominant side to shoot, and since he was right-handed, he should have used his right eye. But it never felt comfortable for him. In his left eye, the target always seemed clearer.

The crosshairs of the scope fell between the hills on the horizon. The tracks were fresh. The deer couldn’t have been more than a couple hundred yards ahead of him. Alex was closing the gap. Then, in the dip between two hills, Alex could see the slow stumble of a buck trudging forward. He balanced the rifle in his hand as he slid down the mound of ash before him, triggering miniature landslides on his descent.

Much like Alex, the buck was in search of the same thing: food. Hardly any vegetation remained in the area. Everything was either dying or already dead. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw anything green, which he’d grown used to, but the one thing that he still hadn’t gotten over was the quiet.

The chirp of birds was mute. The buzz of insects had disappeared. The sway of grass and leaves blowing in the wind had decomposed. GMO-24 had done its work well, dismantling ecosystems and discoloring their world into a lifeless bowl of ash and dust. Now, the only sound was the hollow howl of the wind past his ears.

Heavy snorts and the stumbling of hooves grew louder as Alex stepped quietly around the base of the hill. The rifle was wedged snugly against his shoulder with his finger hovering over the trigger. He hugged the base of the hill, using as much of it as cover as he could. The flicker of a tail came into view, accompanied by more labored breathing. Adrenaline surged through him and replaced his road-weary fatigue.

The animal looked like it could be taken down by a stiff breeze. Its bones were pronounced along the legs and shoulders, looking as though they were trying to break out of the animal’s skin with each step. The rich brown color of its hide had faded to something akin to a ghostly pale. Its head was lowered as it continued its serpentine shuffle in search of greener pastures that Alex knew it would never find.

Alex brought the buck into his crosshairs, lining up the shot right at the base of the skull. He didn’t want to waste any meat by shooting the animal anywhere else. One shot. One kill. He exhaled slowly, quietly. The buck stumbled again. Alex realigned his shot. Another exhale. Squeeze the trigger.

The gunshot thundered through the silence of the field. The shell ejected and buried itself next to Alex’s boot. The buck collapsed to its side, ending its journey and its pain. Alex knelt down by the buck and ran his fingers over the bumps and tags along the animal’s hide. Some parasitic disease had grabbed hold of it and was draining away what life it had left. Blood soaked the ground around the animal’s head, and Alex pulled the knife from his belt. Despite the animal’s thin frame, it was still too big to carry all the way back to the community in one piece.

The tip of the blade pierced the buck’s stomach, and Alex slid it all the way down its belly. Intestines and organs poured out, sending a rush of hot stink into the air around him. He worked swiftly, extracting what meat he could and packing it into his sack. Anything that could be eaten was taken, and he left what couldn’t to rot with the dead earth underneath.

Alex zipped up his pack and lugged it over his shoulder. It was at least thirty pounds heavier than when he left the community. His boots sank a little deeper into the ground from the extra weight, and he cursed the once-loved hilly terrain that now burdened him.

When he made it back to the top of the hill, he could see a single tree just to the north of him. Its branches twisted and jutted into the air, bare of any vegetation. The bark looked black and grey, almost completely blending into the earth surrounding it. Alex knew the tree had long since died, but there it remained. No doubt hollow and weak, it endured even through death.

Alex stood there transfixed, unaware of the amount of time that passed. The wind had now completely reversed its direction and brought with it the familiar stench of dirty flesh. Alex immediately jumped down the hill, the sound of gunfire blasting behind him.

Layers of ash and dirt caked his face and body. Alex kept his limbs tucked in tight as he tumbled down the hill. The moment his body came to a halt, he quickly aimed his rifle and fired toward the top of the hill, causing his two attackers to seek cover on the opposite side.

Bits of earth sprinkled from his eyelashes as he blinked, attempting to clear his vision. Alex peered into the scope, swinging his aim from the crest of the hill, then side to side, checking the perimeter. From what he could tell, there were only two of them.

“Put the rifle on the ground and come out with your hands in the air,” a man’s voice echoed from the other side of the hill.

“You have papers for that weapon?” Alex asked. “’Cause I have them for mine.”

“We don’t need papers to kill you, hunter! We have you outnumbered, so leave the meat and be on your way,” the second voice said.

Alex jumped to his feet, keeping the rifle tight against his shoulder and continuing his fluid scan of the area. He backpedaled and started to make his way around the left side of the hill, keeping quiet and being mindful of the wind.

“Last chance!” the first man’s voice yelled.

The moment Alex turned the corner and saw the first man on his back, he squeezed the trigger and sent a bullet through his temple. The shot sent a spray of blood across his partner’s face, which provoked a scream and immediate surrender.

“Please!” the second man said, thrusting his hands into the air as he lay on his back, digging his heels into the ground to push himself backwards. “Please! It was his idea. I d-didn’t even want to. C’mon, mister, don’t kill me, please!”

Alex kept his rifle up and then kicked the other guns out of reach once he was close enough. Both men were skeletons. Their flesh resembled the same hide as the deer and their hungry minds were propelled by the same infinite quest for food.

“Where’s your community?” Alex asked.

The skeleton twitched, its nerves overloaded with the rush of adrenaline that accompanied the barrel of a rifle being shoved in its face.

“Where is it?” Alex repeated, barking the words more harshly.

“W-we don’t have one. We’ve just been running across the states, trying to find any place that still had food left,” the skeleton answered.

Nomads. If neither of the men had a community, then who knows how many others they had killed to feed themselves? With the confiscation of weapons by the Soil Coalition, the only members of communities that were allowed to have rifles were the designated hunters and the sentries stationed in each to maintain control over its members.

If the skeleton had any water left in him to form tears he would have, but the malnourished figure before Alex didn’t have any liquid to spare. “P-please, you don’t have t-to do thi-”

The bullet that cut him short sliced right between his eyes. What little brain matter the skeleton possessed oozed out of the back of its skull. Alex took stock of their weapons and patted them down for any other supplies or ammo. All they had between the two of them were the two rifles and the ragged, soiled clothes on their backs.

Alex grabbed both rifles and restarted his journey back to his community. The lone tree atop the hill in the north flashed in his peripheral view. He stopped again to look but quickly dismissed his glance and marched forward, gripping one rifle in each hand. The skeletons would be left to rot along with the deer carcass, and like the skeleton behind him, Alex had no tears to waste.