The Neo-Spartans: Altered World (36 page)

              The ground under his feet vibrated with a low rumble. Kilbert stopped pruning and listened. He didn’t have to wait long to figure out what was causing this. A dusty cloud marred the clear night and out of it appeared a trio of high-powered vehicles. Kilbert had been hardened by many attacks on the Neo-Spartans and fear was almost an alien sensation for him, but this time his heart skipped a beat. The lead vehicle plowed through the orchard and stopped a few feet away from him. The rest of the Neo-Spartans quickly gathered near Kilbert, ready to protect him and the land.

              The door of the vehicle was pushed open with a heavy boot, and the menacing bulk of Grisner emerged from the inside. As if on cue, his troopers stepped out of the other two vehicles, coiled to spring into action if he gave the command. Grisner strode confidently toward Kilbert, as if he owned everything in sight, but Kilbert could tell that the man was being scorched by the flames of his own personal inferno. And that was not good. These flames made men care about nothing and stop in front of nothing. They spread like brushfire and consumed everything in their path.

              “Howdy farmer,” Grisner mock drawled his greeting to Kilbert.

              “What’s the matter, Grisner, something keeping you up at night?”

              “Yeah, an old fool and his voodoo beliefs in farming by the moon. I tried looking you up during business hours but I had no luck. And then I remembered it’s the quarter moon and what a glorious time it is for pruning trees without losing that precious moisture,” he laughed throatily. “See, I remember your lessons well.” He paced around Kilbert, stoking the fire inside. “You sure stuffed the heads of a lot of kids with a lot of nonsense.”

              “So, you got out of bed to pick a bone with me over my farming curriculum?” Kilbert realized he wasn’t doing a good job of keeping Grisner placated.

              “I don’t give a damn about your farming methods as long as they produce enough for me to confiscate. What I’m having a big problem with is the way you poison young minds. Youth should be allowed to be free to make its own decisions and mistakes. Instead, some musty, bigoted pseudo-guru is hosing down every single spontaneous spark that pops up in the heads of generations of young people, making sure they are brainwashed for life. He says it is for the greater good, but does he stop and think what damage he might be inflicting? No, of course not. Big mistake. ’cause everything you do, sooner or later, comes back and swings the big bat of consequences at your head. You see, seventeen years ago there was this innocent, bright-eyed girl, eager to explore the world with an open mind and open heart. She was brave; she didn’t care about social codes and conventions. Heck, she fell in love with two boys and one of them wasn’t even her own kind. Somehow it was okay: the two boys were best friends and her heart was so big it seemed there was room for both of us. One day, just like that, she made her decision. She plucked the one that was not of her ilk out of her heart, like some poisonous weed, and threw him to the side of the road that led to her predestined marriage. It just didn’t feel right—the quick decision, the marriage, the dutiful Neo-Spartan member she turned into overnight. All of this done with an uncanny lack of emotion. Still, I accepted her decision. Painlessly? No. It hurt like hell. I lost my love, I lost my best friend and gained seventeen miserable years to turn everything inside me to stone. There was something heroically poetic about it though, sacrificing your young heart at the altar of love, call it a boyish fantasy. But then, I learn the stone monument of unrequited love I erected was all for naught. After all, it wasn’t her decision or her free will that was at work. It was the strong arm of her blasted camp leader. Now, there’s nothing poetic about that. It simply ain’t right. Makes those seventeen years really meaningless…”

              Grisner pulled at his collar, ripping the top buttons of his shirt. The heat rising within was getting unbearable. Kilbert watched him pace around like a beast in captivity and his heart skipped another beat. The past had come to haunt him. Was it possible that he had made a mistake? That he had singlehandedly created the ugly beast that Grisner was now?

              “I want those years back,” Grisner snarled in his face, “And I was very close to getting what I wanted because, ironically, life decided to give Rose a second chance. It replicated the same wild, free spirit in her daughter… and boy, it’s not just the spirit it replicated. More astonishingly, this perfect package delivered itself to my doorstep. Now that is poetic justice!”

              He paced more, waiting for his rage to reach its peak. When he turned to Kilbert again, he bellowed the words in his face.

              “But it was ruined by you again! I offer her my generosity and she turns it down because just like her mother, her pretty head is filled to the brim with the same unbelievably bigoted nonsense.”

              Cold sweat dripped down Kilbert’s spine as he pictured Quinn as Grisner’s prisoner. He should’ve given her the guerilla army she had requested. Too late now. He watched Grisner carefully. His festering ire was reaching a new height.

              “You must be delighted, proud of your protégé, despite the fact that what you taught her could easily get her killed. But I’m not gonna do that. You ruined the fun of a second chance, okay, I’m not gonna be greedy. But I’m gonna have some fun after all. I’ll just take the pleasure of you knowing that I will make Quinn into the wife Rose was never allowed to be. I will enjoy ruining the purity of your damn Neo-Spartan race by creating the half-breeds you’re so afraid of.” Grisner paused to relish the effect his words had on Kilbert.

              The flames of Grisner’s inferno had jumped and set fire to Kilbert. His blood had boiled and no warrior discipline was capable of calming him down. He’d die, but he’d stop Grisner and his psychotic plan. He coiled and sprang for a deadly assault. The speed with which he flashed forward stunned everybody watching him except Grisner. He had expected that, he had incited it and planned for it. His muscular arms went up and prevented Kilbert’s lethal blow to his neck. It was close, but Grisner relished the idea that he had anticipated the old man’s move and deflected it in the last moment. Without hesitation Kilbert launched his attacks one after another, anxious to finish off this man he should’ve killed long ago. But for every brutal hit, Grisner responded with an equally brutal strike and the two men clashed like two Titans, each set on annihilating the other. Kilbert tried attacking every single toxin trigger point, but Grisner seemed to be a step ahead of him and managed to guard those parts of his body with effective blocks. The futility of his attempts infuriated Kilbert.

              “Not gonna get me with that bag of tricks, old man. I learned well, I was a good student and Declan… Declan was a great teacher. But maybe I should thank you, for you must have been the one who trained that exceptionally talented boy. It’s a shame he died so early,” Grisner poured salt in Kilbert’s old and new wounds and watched him unravel.

              Kilbert strained to remain impervious to Grisner’s words but failed. His clear mind became clouded by the surge of rage and remorse of what should have and what shouldn’t have happened in the last seventeen years. His relentless charge to kill Grisner lost its grace and precision, and the fight began to resemble a beastly brawl. Bloodied and sweaty, the two men mercilessly slugged each other, stumbling and falling but always quick to be back on their feet to initiate another murderous attempt. Kilbert gasped for breath; it wasn’t the physical exertion that was draining his energy, but the sudden misgiving that he was the one who had made so many wrong steps that led to the misfortunes and tragedies in the McKenna family, and the desire to correct them in one fell swoop by eliminating the savage that was standing in front of him.

              Deep down, he knew that if there were a path of wrongdoing in his past he couldn’t possibly erase it in one fight. But who was to judge whether he had done right or wrong? It was a very hard question for anyone, and Kilbert didn’t have the luxury of time to dwell on it. If he wanted to save Quinn, he had to forget about the past, dump the heavy baggage of guilt and doubt and turn himself into focused energy. He grabbed a moment when Grisner was regrouping for another assault, and in his mind he stretched it into all the time required to cease being Kilbert. He made stillness overcome him, and when Grisner sprang at him with his brutal physicality, Kilbert fended off the attack with shocking ease and deftness. The old warrior had awakened inside him and what followed was not a fight but the dance of death.

              His body became a weapon and Grisner found himself under a barrage of attacks that were so fast and powerful that he lost track of what hit him when. Muscles were bruised and ribs were cracked and the big man didn’t feel so big any more. The hurricane that Kilbert had become threw him on the ground several times, thrashed him until he was barely breathing, and when the final drop of strength had seeped out of Grisner’s large frame, Kilbert pinned him with his knee and grabbed his thick neck for the final deliverance of death. Grisner knew there were seconds before the snap and forced himself to speak. It was more of a croak than human speech. “Gabriel… Gabriel…”

              The name reached Kilbert and his hands relaxed their grip. Grisner coughed the pain away and focused on the old man. “You have to save him… you… nobody else,” he sucked in deep gulps of air. He had Kilbert’s attention now. He returned from whatever transcendent place he had gone to draw his power and concentration, and now the pains and worries of his present existence were on his mind again.

              “Gabriel? How? Where is he?”

              Grisner indicated it was hard for him to speak so Kilbert leaned in to hear what he was going to say.

              “By not killing me. You see… I… I have him,” his chest shook with a pained laugh, “I have both of them… Quinn is safe… she’ll always be safe. I can’t hurt her, Kilbert… you know that.”

              Grisner’s face softened when he mentioned her name. Kilbert saw this change and was so amazed that he actually believed him. What he didn’t see was the slight twitching of Grisner’s arm, like a minor spasm or a reflex shaking off of an errant insect that had gotten inside his sleeve. “But Gabriel… he’s not of use to me… my guys have orders… They see you kill me and they call it in… and… your precious boy…” Grisner ran his finger across his throat.

              Kilbert felt his blood boil and overflow with fury. His hands were tied and he vacillated between taking the risk and killing Grisner or sparing him and figuring out how to negotiate Gabriel’s release—long enough not to notice the final spasm of Grisner’s arm, which shook a knife out of his sleeve.

              “You manipulative scum! This ends right here and right now!” Kilbert reached to crush Grisner’s windpipe but his body shot erect in a second and an agonizing scream escaped his lips. His stunned eyes looked down to locate the source of his pain and Kilbert saw it: a high-tech looking knife jabbed under his ribs, inches away from his heart. Grisner had gotten him. He had walked into the easiest of traps… he must be old. His now-dimming eyes drifted back to his killer who grinned with satisfaction.

              “Yeah, you fool, I knew the touchy crap would get you. You should’ve taken the moment to bargain with me; you might have noticed I had something up my sleeve. Your problem is you care too much about those kids, you think they’re family. That makes you weak. And we know what happens to the weak,” he shoved the knife even deeper.

              “Go to hell, Grisner,” Kilbert rasped.

              “After you, Kilbert,” Grisner pressed the top of the knife handle and it shot a laser stream into Kilbert’s body, making it arch and then drop dead, his heart bursting into pieces inside him. Grisner got to his feet, yanked out the knife, and surveyed it with appreciation.

              “Gotta love technology!”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

              Gabriel, Quinn and Nico crept forward as the respirator’s rhythm marked time, accompanied by the high pitched beeps of the monitors. At length, they rounded a screen behind which was the bed where a wraith-like figure lay: ninety pounds of bone and luminescent skin, eyes preternaturally large, like a child’s, open and staring, though without any indication of consciousness.

              “Who is this?” said Nico, astonished.

              “That’s him. Bagpipe man,” said Gabriel. “That’s what I call him. It’s how he sounds when he’s not using the respirator.”

              “This… is Grant Hughes?” asked Quinn.

              “Quinn, your instinct was right. Those vids of him looking young? They were made right here,” said Gabriel. He went and pulled aside a curtain to reveal the large special effects green screen he’d found earlier, along with the cases of cameras, lights and gear. All of it was connected to a kind of electric mixing board.

              “Obviously, he was capable of making new vids for a while, but when he became too ill to make new ones, it was easier to find old footage of him and keep the studio here.