The Dragons of Men (The Sons of Liberty Book 2) (61 page)

“But sir, I—”             

“Find Sergeant Cree or take care of it yourself,” Victor said, turning to leave. “I don’t have time for this.”

“Derrick’s inspecting the sentries between the bridges,” Phil said.

“And why the hell is he doing that?” Victor replied, halting once again to stare at Phil in frustration.

“Hell if I know,” Phil replied, turning to Adam and Marc. “These new Recruits were out with him and a handful of others. Said they’re having drone issues or something.”

Victor glanced over at Adam and Marc, though his eyes quickly lingered on Adam. Adam tensed as Victor’s gaze bore into him.

“Do I know you?” Victor finally asked.

Adam hesitated, wondering if Victor recognized him. Adam figured he hardly resembled the famous politician he had once been. His thin beard had returned and it had been nearly a month since he did anything that would have resembled bathing, other than his tumble into a cold river. Still, a sudden wave of fear swept over him as his imagination began to wonder what would happen to him if a Patriarch discovered his true identity.

“No,” Adam replied. “I don’t think so.”

“When did they pick you up?” Victor asked, stepping forward. The men Victor had been walking beside followed, their eyes on Adam curiously—their hands on their guns.

“Two weeks ago,” Adam replied. “Up near Memphis.”

“Memphis,” Victor said, staring back at Adam before he shook his head and spit to the side. “You one of those sick child molesters?”

“No!”

“As nasty as we can be, those assholes deserve a lifetime under.” Victor paused to shiver as his words hung in the air.

“Not sure anyone deserves that,” Adam said, breaking the silence.

“Doesn’t matter what any of us thinks,” Victor said, turning to Phil. “We received five thousand more Wasps this morning. Most have been distributed, but I’m sure you can find a couple lying about if you stop screwin’ around and look. Just don’t spend much time on it; they’re only two men.”

“Yes, sir,” Phil said with a nod.

Victor paused, glancing back at Adam with inquisitive eyes. “You sure I don’t know you?”

Adam hesitated, swallowing his fear before taking a deep breath. S
how your nerves and you’re a dead man.
The pause was brief—the blinking of an eye. He quickly forced a smile to his face and laughed. “Twelve to fifteen thousand Recruits walking around and you pause because one looks familiar?”

“Not a lot of new Recruits laugh or talk back,” Victor replied bluntly.

“Is it not normal for a madman to laugh on the day of his death?” Adam asked, glancing over at the other nearby Recruits who stared back at him wordlessly. “What? We all know what’s coming. Best we can do is charge those lines and laugh as we embrace death.” Adam laughed again, almost convincing himself of insanity as he looked back at Victor. “Besides, I think I would have remembered meeting a man like you.”

Victor stared back at Adam, studying him a moment longer. “What’s your name?”

Adam paused again, this time a bit longer than the blinking of an eye. He tried to remember if he had ever given his name to Derrick. His mind was muddy from the days of torture. If Phil knew his name and he didn’t speak it, they would know something was wrong, but if he gave his name and Victor recognized him, he’d be a dead man or worse.

“Adam.”

“Adam...,” Victor said, pausing as though he were tasting the name on his tongue. “Still nothing. What’s your last name?”

Suddenly, Adam’s skin felt afire with tension. Every eye looking at him seemed to drill through his front, uncovering his true identify and sealing his fate.
Think, Adam! What would Gene do? What would Eric have said? Come on you idiot. Say something quick before they—

“Corsa,” Adam said, latching on to Eric’s name as it drifted through his mind. “Adam Corsa.”

“Adam Corsa,” Victor began, looking at the others who only shrugged. Finally, Victor shook his head. “Doesn’t ring a bell. We’ve wasted enough time. Get inside and get what you need. And Phil….” Phil stood there silently, his eyes fixed on Adam as though he were looking at him for the first time. “Staff Sergeant!” Phil’s eyes finally jerked over to Victor. “Take care of them and then find Derrick! Rendell is demanding we start the attack no later than nightfall and you know what happens when we drag our feet.”

Phil nodded and turned to the other two Recruits with him. “You boys find Derrick. I’ll take care of these two.”

Phil led Adam and Marc into the stadium without a word. He glanced back at them a few times with probing eyes. His cocky demeanor had completely shifted into silence and curiosity. They made their way through the masses of civilians turned into meat shields. Thousands of Recruits were marching out of the stadium, walking toward one of two dozen prep stations with downcast eyes. Eventually, Phil led them past a lengthy gathering of vehicles—mostly semis and drone dump trucks. As they neared a row of unused motorcycles and dirt bikes, Phil turned around and faced Marc.

“By the way, I’m going to need your gun.”

“Why?” Adam quickly asked.

“You think we have enough guns to hand out to every new Recruit?” Phil replied, stepping closer. “I don’t even have a pistol and I outrank you both. Consider yourself lucky that I’m asking nicely.”

“And what are we supposed to fight with?”

Phil paused, glancing over at Adam from the corner of his eye. “You know when they turned me, I had nothing but my own two hands. I found a rock no bigger than my fist and managed to use that to bash a man’s forehead through his cerebral cortex.”

“So you’re arming thousands of men and women with rocks now?” Adam replied.

“We’ve armed a thousand or so with firearms, but non-Chambers systems are hard to come by nowadays” Phil replied. “Still, every army needs its pawns and we’re arming ours with what we can.”

“Like what?” Adam asked as Marc reluctantly unbuckled the holster on his leg and handed it to Phil.

Phil grabbed the pistol and began to fasten it to his leg, pointing to a busy booth toward the back of the parking lot. Atop the table sat a wide variety of weapons.

“Knives, hatchets, axes, and whatever else we’ve found that can make a poorly-armed Recruit appear intimidating. Come on, you don’t need to worry about that for now. We’re wasting time.”

Adam and Marc followed Phil quietly, entering a long, dark hall that branched off from the main gathering area. After a couple of minutes traversing the inner stadium, Phil slowed as he approached a steel door. He paused and glanced behind him before opening the door. He stepped to the side and motioned for Adam and Marc to enter. The room beyond was completely dark.

“What’s in here?”

“What you’re going to need, Mr. Corsa,” Phil replied, smiling as he motioned again. “At the far end you’ll know what I’m talking about.”

Adam walked inside, a hint of chemicals filling his nostrils. The lights in the stadium were dim and the sun had not risen enough to cast light through the open door. All Adam could make out in the darkness were concrete floors, shelves, and the slow drip of water. As he peered into the blackness the door closed and a light bulb lit up behind him.

The room was rather small—no more than twenty feet deep with a large industrial sink in one corner and cleaning supplies on the wall next to Adam. Adam turned around in confusion. Marc stood in front of Phil, a look of surprise on his face.

“What is this?” Adam asked.

“I told you, the far wall,” Phil replied from behind Marc. “Now!”

Marc mouthed a wordless curse as he approached Adam. When he stepped to the right—pausing next to a shelf of white powder and cleaning compounds—Adam’s eyes came to rest on the business end of a pistol.

“What are you doing?” Adam asked quickly, raising his hands.

“Who are you?” Phil asked, both hatred and pleasure lighting up his eyes. “And no more bullshit lies.”

“I told you already,” Adam argued.

“Indeed,” Phil replied. “Adam Corsa, right?”

“Yes!” Adam said with a pause.

“Any relation to a man named Eric Corsa?”

Adam’s eyes grew wide, giving him away before he could utter a word. Phil brandished teeth as he smiled widely—a lion licking its jaws before the kill.

“That’s a yes,” Phil said with a sickening laugh. “So what are you, his brother? Too young to be his father.”

“I’m…I’m his…wait,” Adam said, shaking his head with confusion. “How do you know Eric?”

“Remember those two friends of mine I told you about, the guys with me in Fayetteville that died the night this all started?” Phil shook his head before cocking the gun. “Let’s just say he had something to do with all that.”

Adam’s eyes went wide again—not with fear, but with shock as he realized what Phil was actually saying.

They could be alive!

“Was he alone?” Adam asked frantically. “Was there a woman with him? Or a boy and some little girls?”

Phil’s eyes narrowed before he let out a coy laugh. “So you do know him. A woman…well, she looked a bit young to call her that but she sure was a looker.” The man smiled with delight. “As far as a boy....” Phil paused, his smile growing. “He took a bullet to the face before your friend Eric showed up.”

The world appeared to shift into heated variations of black and red. For a moment, a brief twinkling of hope, Adam had begun to think that maybe his family had survived the chaos. And just like that, Adam was burying his son again. Adam struggled to maintain his composure, but it was almost as though months of putting his family behind him had been interrupted by a grinning grave digger. In the end, his son’s death was still death. This time, however, Adam had a visual.

A bullet to the face….

“Was it you?” Adam asked quietly, his voice nearly a growl as he lowered his hands.

Phil paused before smiling again, a wry grin like a man laughing at his own joke. “Sadly, no, but that brother of yours…man, did he leave an impression. Standing there with a gun in my face in a room quite similar to this one. What are the chances I’d find you—the brother of the man who killed two of my friends and left me shivering in the cold with nothing but my underwear?” Phil smiled, his giggling shifting into hysteria as he reached up to wipe a laughter-borne tear—the gun waving back and forth at Adam precariously. “I mean, what are the odds? Come on! Don’t you see, it’s too ironic to be—”

A cloud of white powder, flying quickly from Marc’s outstretched hand, struck Phil in the face and the gun blasted. The bullet’s wake ruffled his hair, striking the concrete wall behind him before he had time to blink. The pungent aroma of industrial strength cleaning powder immediately conjured stinging tears. Before Adam could manage one cough, the brown handle of a wooden broom blurred and struck Phil in the hand. The gun tumbled free and Phil opened his mouth to gasp.

Instead, he inhaled a mouthful of harsh toxins as the broom handle became a mirage again, striking him in the throat with a sickening crunch. Marc stepped back and swung the broom wide once more, hitting Phil in the temple so hard that the wooden handle snapped cleanly in two. Marc tossed the remaining handle to the ground, reaching over to pick up the pistol and the holster. He hesitated before seizing the Wasp on Phil’s neck and ripping it free, tossing it to the ground and crushing it underfoot. Marc then brushed himself off as he buried his face in one sleeve, motioning for Adam to move. Adam covered his face in his hands and ran for the door. Marc threw it open, gasping strange voiceless pants as Adam followed.

Adam pulled the door shut and panted as he struggle to cough. Marc pulled a canteen from his belt, quickly screwing the top off and splashing water over his eyes. He cleaned his hands off and handed the container to Adam. Adam followed suit, rubbing the white from his face and hair. Once the sting had subsided to a subtle tingle, he glanced down the dark hallway.

He half expected to witness a crowd of dozens ready to fight them to the death. Instead, the long hall remained empty. No one had heard the muffled gunshot.

“How many times,” Adam said as he splashed a bit more water in his eyes and breathed heavily. “Every day…every hour…someone’s trying to kill us. It never ends. And Eric!” Adam said, his red eyes going wide again. “Marc, he’s alive, or he was. That means…they might still be out there.”

Marc coughed once more before looking down the white hall as he handed the gun to Adam. When he glanced back at Adam, he shook his head.

“What?” Adam said. “You don’t think they’re alive?”

Marc reached down to his wrist, brushing a thin layer of white away before swiping about.

Months ago. You know the road. No chance.

“But what if—”

Marc interrupted by holding the same message up again with an emphasis. Adam hesitated, refusing to automatically accept their deaths. Marc paused before reaching down to his wrist, swiping about.

Does it change anything?

“What do you mean?” Adam asked defensively. “It changes everything! If there is a chance they’re still alive then—”

Marc waved a hand at Adam to cut him off before typing a new message.

North or not?