The Glass Mountains: The Saboteur Chronicles Book 2 Page 4

  The baby was still wailing.

  Somewhere a man screamed, “Shut that little bitch up!”

  At any moment one of those restless Rebels would come stumbling down the beach and they’d see Hawthorne there, tending to her. Then what? “Kid, you’ve got to go. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “Hurt?” He sounded like he’d never heard the word before. “Who’s going to hurt me? Silas is my—”

  “Yeah, I know, he’s your uncle, you told me. It didn’t seem to do much good.”

  “I’m sorry about what they did. I didn’t stick around for it. Didn’t watch, no ma’am. I talked to Silas about it, he knows I ain’t happy.”

  “Frankly, Hawthorne, I don’t think Silas gives a shit.”

  A rounded Rebel emerged from a tent and floundered towards the waterline. He unsheathed his prick and began pissing, throwing his head back and exhaling grunts of relief.

  “You need to go,” Lerah insisted.

  “Just, hang on one second. You need to know something. They ain’t always like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like earlier…they don’t always do stuff like that.”

  “Could have fooled me. They seemed like experts.”

  “You know, I heard from my Uncle that the Union ain’t exactly innocent.”

  “If your maniac uncle said it, it must be true.”

  “It’s not like I believe him or nothin’. You’re nice. They done you wrong.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it. You’re a good kid, which is saying a lot considering how you grew up.”

  “Well, thank you, ma’am.”

  “But you need to go. You’re just making all of this more difficult for me.”

  “How am I—”

  “Go!” She felt an immediate sting of regret as if she’d just chastised a puppy for licking her face. Affection, even in its most bothersome forms, was still affection.

  “Well, alright.” He went to his feet, still crouched at the knees. “But you need to eat some of the food I brought first.”

  “Damn it, no I don’t!” She kicked out at his pot of tepid leftovers and just ended up tweaking her back. “Do you understand that Silas is going to kill me?” She was breathing heavy, her body now resting somewhere between sitting and lying down.

  “Don’t talk like that.”

  “Shut up and listen, because you need to understand. Silas, your uncle, is going to kill me. But before he does, he’s going to see to it that I suffer. What you saw today, that was just a warm-up. These clothes you brought me will be rags tomorrow. I don’t want to go through that. I want to die. Stop bringing me clothes and water and food, stop being nice to me, it’s just making it harder for me to let go.”

  He set the pot down beside her and fell back on his butt. “I know things seem bad. But I’m gonna talk to Silas some more, I’ll make him see reason. For all you know, he could cut you loose tomorrow.”

  “He’s not going to cut me…wait, cut me loose!”

  “Yeah, cut you loose.”

  “No, you can cut me loose!”

  He started propelling himself backward with his hands and feet, the sound of his movement masked by the howling child. “I can’t. No, ma’am, afraid I can’t do that.”

  “Yes, you can! Just cut the fucking ties! No one will know it was you, they’ll think I escaped!”

  “No, they’ll know…believe me, they’ll know. They’ve got you tied good and tight, you go missing and they’ll blame me. I can’t take that kind of punishment.”

  “You just said Silas wouldn’t hurt you.”

  “Well….he—”

  “So come with me!”

  He grabbed the pot of stew and wobbled to his feet. “This is my home. I can’t leave my home.”

  “Damn you, Hawthorne, come back!”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Lerah.”

  She pushed herself back into a seated position, resting her head against the post. She was no longer comfortably numb. Hawthorne had shaken the defenses and injected her with another shot of hope.

  The baby quieted and her stomach began to growl.

  4

  The first shot was fired just as the sun broke into the sky, its light fragmenting against the jagged slopes of the Glass Mountains.

  The shot was premature.

  The Rebels weren’t in place.

  The fucking new guy—a jittery rifleman—had blown his load and sent a bullet soaring into the spleen of some raggedy-ass Outlander walking the valley floor with a shotgun secured against his chest, ruining the Union’s element of surprise.

  That’s how the Battle of the Valley began.

  The Rebels had gained their footing quickly: scattering behind avalanche piles, breaking off into squads, and finding their targets with ease. During the battle Hause and Dan walked separate sides of the valley, overseeing the Captains and their men.

  Dan wasn’t ever much on fate. He’d never believed that comeuppance was some power independent of human will. But when the fucking new guy ended up being the first casualty, he was forced to reconsider that belief. Dan stood and watched as the medic tried to plug the leak in his neck. The kid’s balls hadn’t even finished dropping. But there he was, upside down in the dust, his four limbs flailing as if he were an overturned tortoise, geysers of crimson erupting from a marble-sized hole on the left side of his trachea. He couldn’t speak, but in those final moments, before his breathing stilled and his movements wound to a halt, he said plenty. His eyeballs jittered in their sockets and locked with Dan’s. There was something there. A statement. Perhaps it was an apology for pulling the trigger too early or for dying too quickly. Perhaps the kid just needed something familiar to look at while he stepped over into whatever it was that came after.

  Dan saw similar scenes play out as he walked the line. The air swam with the sounds of men calling for dead mothers and mute gods. It swam with the smells of piss and shit and blood. But it also swam with the buzz of impending victory. It was a tight ship, despite the ill-timed trigger pull from the FNG. For every Union boy they lost, they took down five Rebels. The valley floor was filling up with corpses, the curving path of brown rock slowly being concealed beneath fleshy bags of blood and bones, spilling their slimy contents liberally across the parched earth. Dan couldn’t help but smile as he walked the path behind his men, their rifles steady, counting their shots, and calling out their reloads; they were well trained. As he looked across the way at Hause, despite the distance, he thought he could make out a similar sense of pride.

  Keep it up men, we’ll be home by supper time, Dan shouted above the gunfire, flinching as a bullet ricocheted past his head.

  The sun was passing them overhead and still the Rebels fought; they would not die and they would not retreat. For the first time, Dan felt the shadow of worry. Ammo was growing scarce and the casualty list was darkening with familiar names, men that he’d called friend and family. Still, despite their mounting losses and the dwindling ammo, Dan was surprised when Hause called for the charge. Hand-to-hand was a last resort, something they tried to avoid if at all possible. Getting down in the mud, clawing and scratching, reduced to animals, that’s where the Rebel’s excelled. But Hause’s desire to crush the Rebel’s eclipsed all else. Hause glared across the divide at Dan as his men streamed down the face of the valley, his chin up, his hands perched behind his back, his electric white hair rippling in the muggy breeze. Dan nodded obediently and ordered his men to charge.

  The valley floor filled with the mingling bodies of Union and Rebel. Dan stood above them, his toes peeking over the edge, trying to identify his men amid the chaos. As his eyes worked the skirmish, they fell upon a sight that launched his heart into his throat. He coughed violently, trying to find his breath.

  It was Lerah.

  She should be at home in her room, playing with her toys.

  She was at the center of it all, back-to-back with a man clad in black: black hair, black duster, black boots.<
br />
  The Saboteur!

  Lerah had a blade in each hand. Her guns were empty and cast aside. Even from where he stood, Dan could make out the finest details: the shells scattered at her feet, the empty magazines, the blood on the blades. She was slicing at anything that came within reach. She was wounded, her face was swollen, she was bleeding from her right shoulder. The Saboteur was doing his best to defend her, his machete working the encroaching Union mob with snake-like precision, but there were too many of them; with every swipe, the circle grew tighter.

  Stop the battle!

  Dan came over the edge of the valley, surfing down the pitted face on his butt. His pants shredded beneath him as the rocks bit into the meat of his thighs. Halfway down, the tip of his boot caught on something hard and unforgiving, sending him spilling end over end. He came to rest on the valley floor, a plume of dust announcing his arrival. Somehow Hause was now standing above him, smiling, his hands still locked at his back.

  Stop the battle! We have to stop the battle!

  Hause closed his eyes and raised his chin, basking in the bloodshed.

  Dan struggled to his feet. The skies were darkening. The sun was racing to put itself to bed. Long shadows mixed with the torrents of blood. Skin ripped, bones broke, fingers dug into eye sockets. Lerah seemed to be standing in a spotlight, still circling the battlefield with the Saboteur at her back. He called out for her, but she didn’t respond. He took a step towards her. At least, that was his intent. Something was holding onto him by the shoulders.

  Hause.

  That is my daughter! You cannot leave her out there to die!

  Hause said nothing.

  Lerah spun and slashed and ducked.

  Let me go to her!

  Hause said nothing.

  The Saboteur fell, but still, Lerah fought. Spinning and slashing. She couldn’t see the man approaching, the Rebel with the gun. She couldn’t see him raising it and pressing the muzzle to the back of her head.

  Such a beautiful head. Such a beautiful girl. My Lerah.

  Dan shot up in bed, gasping, his pajamas soaked through with sweat. There was fierce pounding at his door, rattling the hinges. He removed the handgun from beneath the pillow beside him, his wife’s old pillow, once warm with her love. He stood and moved towards the door, checking his corners as he stepped through the dining room and foyer. As he approached the door, he was greeted by another chorus of banging. He kept the pistol hidden behind his right thigh as he reached for the knob.

  Two men: puffy leather jackets, brown berets, and compact submachine guns secured beneath their right arms. They were members of the Lord Marshal’s personal guard. Brett and Max, they’d gotten their stripes around the same time, just a little over a year ago.

  Brett took a brisk step forward, the jacket adding false bulk to his bony figure. “Is there a reason you didn’t answer your door in a timely manner?”

  “What did you say to me?” Dan had to consciously restrain himself from pistol whipping the little prick. His balls had inflated considerably since he’d gotten his stripes.

  “We’ve been knocking for a while.” Max stayed back, floating on Brett’s coattails.

  “Our time is valuable—”

  “Did you dipshits bump your heads on the way down here?” Dan drew the pistol out from behind his thigh. “Did you forget where you stand in the pecking order?”

  “We are the Lord Marshal’s personal guardsmen.” Brett was rapidly shrinking.

  Dan pressed the muzzle of his pistol against Brett’s chest and forced him backward across the hall and up against the wall. “I don’t give a damn if you’re the sunlight that wakes him and the midnight breeze that lulls him to sleep! I am the Defense Minister! If you ever forget your rank again I will saw your limbs from your body and toss them over the Skybridge! I’ll mount your torso in my living room! I’ll sit on my couch at night and sip whiskey while looking into your lifeless eyes. Do you think the Lord Marshal will spare you a second thought? I’ll invite him over for brews and pork chops, the sight of your corpse mounted on my wall will act as a passing curiosity. Do you know why that is?”

  “Uh…no…suh-sir…”

  “Because I’m the defense minister and you are a cunt!” His spittle splashed across Brett’s face.

  “Sir, he didn’t—”

  “I’ve got enough bullets for both of you!”

  Max gulped. “Yes, sir.”

  “So, Brett, do we have an understanding?”

  Brett nodded. His forehead was beaded with sweat and his face was a sickly white. “Yeah…we’ve got an understanding.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yes, sir. We’ve got an understanding.”

  “Good.” Dan stepped back into the doorway and lowered the gun. “What did you boys want that was so urgent?”

  Brett was still propped against the wall, the color slowly spreading back into his cheeks.

  “The Lord Marshal would like to see you in his office, right away.”

  “Why didn’t you boys just say so? I’ll be right out, just let me change.”

  Brett and Max exchanged nervous glances as Dan winked and shut the door.

  ***

  He didn’t know what to expect when he walked into the Lord Marshal’s office. The meeting in the Great Hall was still many hours away and he had yet to meet back up with Caldwell, Reyes, and Pinkerton. Had Pinkerton sold them out? He supposed anything was possible. Pinkerton was never an ambitious man, but he was next in line to be Defense Minister. Perhaps he’d developed an itch that Dan wasn’t aware of. Either way, there was no use in running. If Hause had been made aware of his treachery, there’d be men waiting in the lobbies, posted up at the exits, waiting for him to make a run for it; better to face the music head on.

  Hause was pacing behind his desk when Dan walked in.

  “Did you get lost on the way up?” Hause came around the desk with a loose stack of papers in one hand. The other hung near the pistol on his hip.

  “There were some delays. Your man, Brett, forgot his place.”

  “And what place might that be?”

  “Below mine.”

  Hause tapped the papers against his leg. Dan recognized the penmanship: blotchy, swirling lines of unreadable text; Hause’s handiwork. “Right, well, I’ll have a conversation with him about it. I just wanted to go over a few things with you.”

  Dan’s heart skipped a beat. “Go over what, exactly?”

  “What you’re planning on saying to the people tonight during the address.”

  Hause had mentioned something about going over speech notes yesterday during their lunch at Pepper’s, but it had slipped Dan’s mind. “Oh, yes. I’m sorry. I forgot. I’ve had a lot on my mind. I’m actually surprised you still want me by your side after some of the spats we’ve been having lately.”

  Hause put an arm around Dan’s shoulders. “You’re still the Defense Minister and, more importantly, you’re still my friend. We’ve had disagreements, sure; we’ve had them before and we’ll have them again. What’s important is that we present a united front. We both want what’s best for Genesis.”

  Some of us more than others. “Of course.”

  “So I can count on you to take the stage with me?”

  Dan saw the opportunity opening up before him. He saw the risk. He saw the reward. Dominic was due to be executed in two days. This might be the last, best chance he was going to get. “You can always count on me, Lord Marshal.”

  “Good. Let’s go over those notes.”

  ***

  Pinkerton, Reyes, and Caldwell were sitting around the same table, in the same room, on the third floor. They were chatting quietly when Dan walked in.

  “Y’all look tired,” he said as he pushed the door shut with his heel. “Busy night?”

  They all nodded.

  “Stressful, too.” Reyes crossed his arms on the table. “A lot of whispered conversations and looking over my shoulder.”

  Dan confirmed his p
aranoia with a nod. “Tell me about it. Hause had me brought to his office. I thought I was being led to my execution.”

  “What’d he want?” Caldwell asked.

  “To talk about what I’m going to say at the address tonight.” Dan sat down at the table and crossed his arms over his stomach.

  “Sounds like he’s covering the angles, making sure there aren’t any surprises.” Caldwell looked around the table and was greeted with shallow nods of agreement.

  “The Lord Marshal is a cautious man,” Pinkerton was picking at the calluses on his left hand, “it’s how he’s remained in power for so long.”

  “It may also be his undoing,” Dan said. “An idea occurred to me during my meeting with him, a way to turn the peopl to our cause.”

  “Do tell,” Pinkerton said as he slouched in his chair.

  “I’ll do it from the stage, tonight. I’ll go off script and simply…tell the truth. The misuse of coin. The lack of justice for the fallen. I’ll lay it all out there. I’ll expose him for the weak leader that he is. The people are looking for strength and guidance; that’s what I’ll give them.”

  “He’ll knock you off the damn stage,” Reyes said.

  “No, not Hause,” Pinkerton said as he lit a cigarette. “Hause is smart. Reacting like that would simply cast suspicion. He’ll play it cool.”

  “Sounds like it might be our best shot.” Caldwell didn’t sound so sure.

  “If it doesn’t go our way, then what?” Reyes asked.

  “We’ll turn it up a notch. Either we’re committed to seeing this through or we’re not. No half-measures.” Dan noticed that none of the men seemed too enthused about that possibility, so he continued. “Where are you at with your men?”

  “My boys are in line. They’re just waiting on the word,” Reyes said.

  “Same here, ready to go,” Caldwell said.

  For a moment, Pinkerton said nothing. He just flicked ash from his cigarette and took another drag. “You all know where I stand. Let’s see how everything shakes out and go from there.”

  Dan leaned across the table. “We’re old friends, you and I. I’d hate to see an old friend standing on the wrong side of this.”