Beyond Armageddon: Book 02 - Empire (62 page)

“Let me tell you what I want most of all,” Evan stopped pacing and pushed a heavy finger onto the table top for emphasis.
 
“I want people at the candle light vigil this weekend. I want hundreds of people. Call in all your favors. Call in all your buddies. Get them to that vigil.”

“Evan,” the thick-glasses guy said. “A lot of people will be nervous about walking right up to the front gates of the estate.”

Jamie added, “Yeah, what if he unleashes those damn dogs on us?”

“He won’t,” Evan told them. “And it is critical that we show that we are willing to be brave over this. We have to show backbone. This vigil…this is the final piece. This is where we really make the connection between what happened at Winnabow and the lack of representation in the government. We pull this off and our movement will be unstoppable. Sooner or later you have to stand up for what you believe in. This is our time.”

“That didn’t work for us,” a new voice came from the doorway.

No one in the room recognized Sharon Parsons, except for Evan.

She stood at the door alongside her six year old boy, Tory.

“Sorry to bother you, Mr. Godfrey,” she said without sounding genuine. “But they told me this was where I could find you.”

Evan looked at her but spoke to his followers, “I’m going to need this room, people.”

Godfrey’s staffers filed out, leaving notes, papers, and plans lying on the table top.

Evan grabbed the attention of Jamie before she left and pointed to
Sharon
’s boy. Jamie understood.

“Hey fella, what’s your name?” She asked.

“His name is Tory,”
Sharon
answered before her son could.

Jamie smiled and said to the boy, “We’ve got a stash of homemade lollipops around here, Tory. Would you like one?”

The child cringed and squeezed tight against his mother.

“Go ahead, Tory. Go with the nice woman. I’ll be right there.”

The boy reluctantly left. Jamie closed the door behind.

Evan stared at
Sharon
and she stared back. After several seconds of silence, Evan decided to start. “You’ve come a long way from New Winnabow.”

“There’s nothing left there.”

“Oh? I thought the town was still going. I thought the survivors were now a part of the Empire,” Evan used his fingers as quotation marks when he said ‘Empire.’

“That’s what I mean,” she said. “My town is gone. Your Emperor took it from me.”

She stepped closer.

“So you took—what?—a train all the way up here? For what?”

His words sounded like an innocent question, but the tone suggested coyness.

“You know why I came here.”

“I want you to tell me,” he said. “I want you to spell it out. Just so there are no misunderstandings.”

“I need a home,” she said. “Tory needs a home.”

“Let me guess. He needs a father-figure, is that it?”

She scoffed at the idea. “He needs a home. A place with a bed. A place with food and heat. A place where he has a room. He does not need a father-figure. The only father-figure he had in his life was a brutal bastard. No. He only needs his mother.”

“I see.”

Sharon
looked at the conference table. The most recent edition of
The New American Press
lay there. The headline quoted an angry-looking ‘survivor’ from somewhere down south: “I NEVER ASKED TO BE LIBERATED.”

“You see lots of things, Evan. Do you see what I am?”

“What you are?”

“I’m a survivor of New Winnabow. I’m a single mother. My father was killed by Trevor Stone. My first husband was a brave U.S. Marine who fought for his country and for freedom. Why, he was a regular hero. My son will tell you as much.”

           
It impressed Evan that
Sharon
managed to speak those words about her ex-husband without a sign of the venom she felt in her heart for the man.

He said, “Yes, he was a hero for serving his country in the old days. But then again, I think all the people of New Winnabow were heroes, too.”

“Tell me, Evan, what would it do for you if you had the mother of an orphan, the widow of a hero, and a victim of Trevor’s atrocities at your side?”

He tilted his head, considered, and told her, “I suppose it would give added weight to what I say. Make a great story, about how we first met in that tranquil village. How you came to me for help after what happened. Why? Are you suggesting a partnership?”

Sharon Parsons answered, “A partnership? Sort of a cold way of saying it, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know,
Sharon
,” he feigned a look of consternation on his face. “I’m a single man, no one special in my life…”

“Oh, Evan,” she cut through it all and ran a finger across his cheek. “This partnership would have plenty of fringe benefits. I think you’ll find me a rather…um…
willing
partner.”

“That’s good,” he told her. “I like that. Maybe we can come to some sort of arrangement. But tell me, besides you’re son getting a home what is it you want out of this…
partnership?”

“I want to help you.”

“Help me?”

“I want to help you,” she repeated. “I’ve seen through the good Samaritan act you put on when you visited my town. You pulled that off very well.”

“That wasn’t an act,
Sharon
. I cared about your village. I tried to stop the attack from happening.”

“Yes, yes, I know, and I believe you…to an extent. But your objectives had less to do with helping New Winnabow and more to do with hurting Stone, for your own gain, of course. Don’t fear. Now that I’ve figured out what you’re all about, I want to help you. I want to help you get that power you desperately want.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

“Because you can only gain that power by taking it from your Emperor. As you get stronger, he gets weaker.”

Evan asked, “Revenge?”

“I want Trevor Stone to know, you reap what you sow.”

–

           
From the Old Treasury building on
State Circle
in the center of town built circa 1735, to the majestic house of Charles Carroll overlooking Spa Creek, to the 238 acres of the U.S. Naval Academy, history lived in every corner of
Annapolis
.

           
The “Southern Command” of what was now accepted as “The Empire” called
Annapolis
home, as did
Nina
Forest
.

She pushed open the door to her small apartment but, before she could enter, in rushed Denise Cannon.

           
Jerry Shepherd—on well-deserved but short-lived leave—hovered at the door frame as Nina shook her head in wonder; wonder if she was up to this task.

           
“So this is it? Okay, okay, this will work,” Denise said lightheartedly.

           
The eleven-year-old inspected the small living room, darted into the even smaller kitchen, wove through the dining area, then down the short hall to examine the two bedrooms and bath.

           
Denise and Shep dropped heavy bags on the carpeted floor.

           
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Nina said.

           
“You’re doing it,” Shep laughed.

A chubby man dressed in casual clothes knocked on the open door with the one hand he still possessed; only a stub remained of his right arm.

“Denise! Come here, Denise!” Nina yelled.

           
The man at the door shook Shep’s hand, left to left.

           
“Read in the paper that you kicked those lizard asses all the way back to
Atlanta
. Good work down there, General.”

           
“Thanks, Barn,” Shepherd answered and then asked, “How’s the itching?”

           
Barney touched the stub and replied, “Still a bitch at night but that cream you sent my way helped a bit. Thanks again.”

           
“Denise, this is Mr. Carson,” Nina introduced. “He’s the building’s caretaker. Everyone here knows him. He sort of looks after things when we’re off on missions and stuff. When I’m away, you’ll be seeing a lot of him.”

           
“Hello there, little lady,” Barney greeted.

           
Denise, in a well-rehearsed line, answered in an overly respectful tone, “Hello, Mr. Carson. It is nice to meet you.”

           
“Call me Barn. Everyone else does.”

           
Denise’s eyes gravitated to the stub.

           
Barney said, “Be careful what you wish for.”

           
“Huh?” Denise asked while Nina and Shep rolled their eyes in anticipation of the joke Barney told every day.

           
“I said, be careful what you wish for,” Barney told the girl. “One day I said I’d give my right arm to get out of the army.”

           
Denise’s eyes grew bigger and her mouth opened in the slightest.

           
Nina assured, “He’s kidding.”

           
Barney laughed. Denise forced a very fake smile.

“Go ahead,” Nina relented. “Give it the once over.”

           
Denise returned to her investigation, moving with the quick bursts of speed, changes in attention, and hyper-activity only afforded to kids.

           
“She’s a pistol. Can tell that right ‘way,” Barney said.

           
“Pistols can misfire,” Nina responded.

           
“That’s right,” Barney turned to leave. “That’s why you got to make sure you always know which way the barrel is pointing.”

Denise called from down the hall, “What? No bed? Where am I going to sleep? Wait a second, there’s no stereo in here.” Then she poked her head in the bathroom. “Oh boy, we have
got
to talk.”

           
Nina and Shep shared a look as the little girl walked over to the entertainment center in the living room and rummaged through the DVDs there. “Ugh…nope…nope…oh, wait, cool—Brad Pitt. He is sooo hot.”

           
“What did I get myself into?” Nina asked Shep.

           
He told her, “Oh, now that’s a good question.”

           
“But you know it’s like…I dunno…all I’m saying is that it feels kind of good. Look, this sounds silly, but well, I never had any kids of course, but when I’m with her…I feel like…I feel like I’m a—”

           
Shep put a hand on her shoulder. “I know how you feel. You don’t have to explain.”

           
Nina looked into Shepherd’s eyes. His
fatherly
eyes.

           
“I guess not,” she said and placed a hand over his. “I guess not.”

           
Denise moved into the kitchen. “What is this? A refrigerator? Does it work?”

           
Nina called, “It will when I plug it back in! Have to save power when we’re not home, you know.”

           
“Power? Cool. Like, we can watch movies and eat popcorn and—”

           
“Hey! Hey,” Nina said. “Look, don’t you go getting ideas that this is some sort of big slumber party. You are going to school, kiddo, and you’ll have homework and you’re going to learn to shoot and—”

           
“Relax,” Denise rounded the corner and smiled at Nina. “I know. Geez, don’t get all hyper…
mom.
”

           
Denise disappeared down the hallway again.

           
“Is this your closet? Oh boy, did I get here just in time or what. Don’t worry; I’m all over it…”

           
Nina shook her head, smiling.

–

           
Dante Jones pointed at the shot glass. The bartender filled it with something again, maybe old Jack Daniels, maybe Jagermeister, maybe one of the new concoctions making the rounds.

           
It did not matter. Whatever it was, he would drink it and he did not have a tab to worry about. It paid to be Chief of Internal Security. You often found you had more friends than you realized.

           
The door to the center-city
Wilkes-Barre
bar creaked open. A few beams of late afternoon sunshine shot in, turning the man who opened the door into a silhouette.

           
Dante did not notice the man who sat down next to him until he spoke.

           
“Early night cap, Dante?”
           
Jones looked, saw who it was, and sneered in disgust.