Adrian's Eagles: Book Four (Life After War) (73 page)

Cesar was alone. Forced into the parking lot by grenades, his furious eyes swept over Adrian's rig and then the back of the brick building they were taking shelter in. The Americans may have surprised him, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t get what he’d come for!

Ignoring the screams of his men, Cesar grabbed a recklessly fleeing form in a sombrero. The man fought back and Cesar slid his knife to the Guerilla’s throat.

“I am your Leader. You will do as I tell you!”

Gravari gave a shaky nod, recognizing him.

Cesar shoved him toward Adrian’s semi. “Get it going! Run them down!”

“But the other…”

“Do it now! Run them down!” the Slaver screamed, knife rising. He started to say something else, but stopped in shock at an explosion that rippled into the thunder. What the hell was that?

Gunshots, explosions and screams were still coming from the picnic area, the land mines cutting men in half and then the 18 Eagles stepped forward, guns belching justice. This was the most dangerous part, the line moving in to clear out the survivors, and not all of these brave men were with Kyle when he hit the pavement.

Inside the rest stop, alarm bells went off in Angela's head. "He's coming!" she warned.

Adrian heard his rig roar to life and flung open the bullet-splintered doors of the rest stop.

"Neil, get the long crate!" he shouted, running toward the parking area to see the semi reach the end of the concrete parking lot and begin to turn.

They dragged the crate to the middle of the road, just above the abandoned Corvette, and pried it open, with Adrian giving fast instructions.

"Slide that in there and turn it," he told them, grunting as he struggled to set up the tripod in the wind gusts. “Make a hole!”

Adrian hit the trigger and held on as the Gatling gun roared to life. Trees and mud blew apart as he struggled to aim, sending up swarms of bugs, and Neil rushed to help Adrian hold the powerful gun steady.

The semi headed towards them, grinding gears as it picked up speed. The bullets traced a path of destruction up the road and finally began to plunge into the rig.

The windshield shattered as Adrian tilted the gun up and the driver swerved too late. Blood sprayed across the cracked glass.

Now out of control, the truck continued its run and the Eagles dove out of the way, watching from the muddy, bloody ground as it smashed into the big gun, hit Cesar's Corvette and jack-knifed.

It crashed violently into the piles of burning wreckage and then burst into a huge orange fireball that raced over the scene like a heat wave.

Adrian’s Eagles screamed in triumph… and then in warning.

Standing just outside the rest stop doors, Angela felt someone behind her, realizing at the last minute that she wasn’t picking up anything, but blackness from their thoughts. Fear shoved into her brain and she followed her training, drawing as she turned.

Cesar pulled the trigger with an elated sneer of happiness. “If I cannot have you,
bruja
, neither will they!”

“Look out!”

The bullet slammed into Angela’s chest, knocking her backward as she fired. She saw it plunge into his stomach as she hit the mud, and realized he would get a second shot.

Bang!

Bang!

Cesar’s eyes widened and the pistol fell from his grip. Around them, the cicadas went silent.

Cynthia lowered her new gun as the evil man sank to his knees, blood streaming from his wounds. She had still been inside, forgotten in the chaos. Her bullet had gotten him from the back, while Adrian hit him from the front.

The reporter didn’t stop the surprised tears as Cesar’s body fell forward and smacked onto the concrete. She was one of them now.

End of Book Four: Adrian’s Eagles

Notes

Hello blurry-eyed reader!

Once again, I didn’t want to cut it where I did. However, there are still 100+ pages of aftermath and there just wasn’t room for them here. In order to make this book available in print, it must be less than 700 pages. As you can see, I got close. (Only because the lines are single spaced. 1.5 gave me 993!)

I hope you liked this edition of Life After War. The next book will take us toward Arkansas, where Adrian’s personal mystery begins to unravel. It will go up for pre-order on my website first. When will it come out? I’ll have to get back to you on that.

Would you like to know what some of these characters look like? How they feel or where they were when the war came?
Stop by my blog
for Life After War Wednesdays, where you can be entertained with back stories, histories, profiles, journals, and thoughts direct from the characters. Every post is accompanied by a related image so you can see them!

Did you know you can leave me a comment on my website? You can also sign the guestbook or even contact me there. I love hearing from readers. You Ladies and Gentlemen are, to me, what the Eagles are to Adrian -
Everything.

And by the way, thanks. About half way through, I was nervous. The story wasn’t flowing right, the ending was in choppy segments, and the bad reviews on book one’s editing were dragging me into the fiery depths of hell. By page 800, I was overwhelmed, wondering how I’d get it all in ‘book’ form. At the point that I pasted the ending into the file, I had 185,000 words and 990 pages. And Writer’s Shake.

Let me tell you a little about the Shakes. It’s not an official illness, but it should be. It’s when you stare at the words without a clue as to how to wrangle them into submission. You’re exhausted, more drained than even after the best orgasm of your life, and yet, there’s this whole other mountain to climb. But it’s a labor of love and you struggle to your feet, swaying, reaching out for support from the one source that’s kept you going so far: your readers.

They respond with a kindness you never really thought would happen, shoving your dreams into vivid clarity. They love your work! They’ve fallen into a passionate affair with your world and they yearn for more. They email you and leave wonderful comments on your website. They tell people about you, send pictures of themselves wearing Safe Haven dog tags, and in the midst of your dreams coming true, you realize you’re shaking.

Why? Because you still haven’t managed to climb that other mountain and all those delightful people are now waiting… and waiting… and waiting. The longer it takes to get to the top, the harder you shake. By the summit, your gut is one big
Prevacid
and no one in your household will even walk by the door where you’re working for fear of being decapitated. The pizza delivery boy knows your card # by heart and all you can think about is how nice it was to be asleep a lifetime ago.

The Shakes are unpleasant. Non-writers often assume authors spend a few hours a day working and the rest goofing off. It’s only that cushy when your last name is infamous and I am nowhere near. One small downside of my new life, but Oh Man! do the side effects really have an effect. I’ve never worked harder on anything in my life, never been more proud. That driving force, those shakes, pushed me into a place where I can Stand in safety, knowing the final result is one I’m honored to share.

Adrian’s Eagles was finished for me, on All Fool’s Day, 2012. I heard the door close when Cynthia pulled that trigger and I shut it gently, but I didn’t bother with the lock. We’ll be going back to Safe Haven and its magic… only next time, I’ll have the memory of this feeling to lean on if I shake.

I love you guys, I hope you know that. If the world really does end on 12/21, we’ll start our own camp!
Lol
. Thank you for your purchase, and for gifting me with your time.

It’s been
my
honor
,

Angie

On a more personal note -Kim, you were a life-saver, with skilled hands, witty patience, and a terrific work ethic. This book wouldn’t be what it is without your talent and time. Or as Adrian would say –
“That’s a pass.”
I would also like to thank the great people who beta-read for me, hosted me on their sites and blogs, and offered their services to my demanding eye. It was an honor to work with Josh, Jeffery, Dana, Tammy, AJ, Autumn,
Cathi
, Christine, Darren, Diane, Sharon, Marie, Laura-Lee, Debbie, Wesley, Freddy, Misty, Jacquie, John, Derek, Lisa, Tina, Ariel, and a few others – My Eagles.

Extras

Named Eagles Teams

Sneak Peek

Changing of the Guard

Deleted Scene

Character Profiles

Adrian’s Eagle Teams

Named Eagle Teams as of 4/20/2013

(The Eagles that have been mentioned in books 1-4)

Level 7

Kyle, Chris, Daryl, Billy, Angela - Level One

Level 6

Neil, Jeremy, Daniel

Level Four

Zack, Lee, Allan, Frank

Level Four

Seth, Jeff

Level Two

Kevin, Ray, Alex

Level One

Marc,
Jax

Rookies

Tucker, Anderson

*A number of camp members are also under consideration.

Book Five

Sneak Peek

Kyle and his men were regretting taking the newest mission - until about 4:00 a.m. - when they had gotten close enough to the Slaver camp to see the people. They watched for only a short time.

With Cesar gone, the camp was in chaos. Gang rapes took place by the firelight, fists and knives flashing. The women were barely conscious, bloody and broken as one finished and another took his place. Kyle's men were sickened, but if he had said to keep low and wait until it was over and everyone was asleep, they would have.

The Mobster was going to tell them exactly that. The remaining Slavers numbers were bigger, but two young boys were pulled out of a truck, kicking, pissing and screaming for help. Knowing he couldn't sit by and watch the five-year-olds be treated the way the women were, Kyle gathered himself and keyed the button on his set.

"Line up in the V. We go on two."

The Eagles moved fast, very glad they wouldn't have to see the kids hurt. Kyle and Neil had hoped to wait for a better time, but they were no longer concerned with any of the slaves getting caught in the crossfire. A quick bullet would be better than the slow death they were suffering through now.

Kyle looked over at Neil and saw the glaze of victory in the Trooper’s eyes. “This will give you what you want. Samantha.”

Neil didn’t bother with a lie even though most of their own men were listening closely. “And seal my place. Yours too.”

The Mobster ran eyes over the drunken men who were now fighting to see who got the little boys first. This wouldn’t be a battle – it would be a barrel-shoot with sitting ducks for targets. “There’s nothing he won’t give us for this and nothing that will ever erase the stain.”

Neil shared Kyle’s feelings of revulsion, but in this moment, he wanted Sam and his place more than a clean conscience. “For him and for this new life, I’ll bear it.”

Kyle didn’t grin, but his head went up proudly. “As will we all.” He raised an arm.

"One......and......Go!"

They burst into the camp from the rear, catching the majority of the 60 men in the first seconds, as they raped and drank. Their faces were stunned by the light and Kyle's men sprayed justice.

Three women were caught and killed in the first wave by stray rounds, and one had her throat slit by a man trying to use her as a shield, his arm jerking automatically as the bullet took him between the eyes. The rest of the women and kids got down… got out of the way.

Kyle would remember later, thinking how odd it was to not hear their screams as his Eagles walked in a tight line, mowing down men who’d been sitting, sleeping, passed out or standing up to fight.

The Slavers were helpless under the fury of Adrian’s Eagles and less than a dozen of them had time to fire back. Careful and merciless, Kyle and Neil’s team cleared the camp without breaking ranks. Even when one of their own cried out, they didn’t pause. Billy grabbed Daryl’s arm and hefted him over one shoulder as they moved, his Colt barking.

Minutes after seeing the little boys dragged out, the Slavers were all dead. Kyle didn't holster his weapon, however, until he had walked every inch of the garbage and blood-filled camp. His Glock barked death sporadically, turning bleeding men with bad wounds into corpses.

It was hard to look at, but little compared to the slaughter at the picnic area. The guilt they had been feeling was being erased by each new horror they uncovered as they swept the camp for survivors. There were tents full of feces, bodies of dead women and kids piled in the brush behind the camp, and in a string of rusty semis… the slaves.

Kyle cut the padlock off the first trailer and was stunned by the sight of the little faces and overpowering stench. The dozen or so children were screaming, pushing to the back as they begged for mercy. He was horrified at the filth, the thick odor of blood, and their fear.

They cowered in the back, moaning in terror, and Kyle hesitated before slowly holding up his hands. The lethal Glock was back in its holster.

"They’re all dead. Every one of them." He gentled his voice. “We’re here to help you.”

They quieted a little and Kyle’s eyes picked out movement. He was stunned to see a very young, very pregnant girl stand up and take a couple of steps forward. He knew instinctively he was looking at Cesar’s personal property, and she was carrying the evil man’s baby.

"He's sold us to you, hasn't he?"

Her words were a mix of hope and hate and it broke Kyle's heart to hear it. What was she? Twelve? Maybe. He backed out of the wide open doors. "You are all free and they are all
dead!
Come see for yourselves."

He turned his back and moved away, encouraged by the hesitant footsteps, but his stomach dropped as he neared the rear of the next semi, this door already open. The smell sent him instantly back to the carnage at the rest area and he stepped to the side of the truck and threw up.

It was a torture room, filled with bloody devices, and gore literally coating the walls. How many survivors had died in there since the war? Hundreds?

His men were close, all grim at the sight of Daryl’s jacket-covered body, and Kyle waved a furious hand. "Burn it. Burn it all!"

They did it quickly - every tent, camper, vehicle, piece of furniture, and body. The flames rose with the wind.

They had found eighteen slaves, twelve of them children. These haunted little kids stepped over bodies without any reaction, other than an occasional vengeful kick that earned understanding looks from Kyle and his Eagles. They stayed together - these kids and the pregnant girl with them, and flinched whenever any of his men stepped too close or got too loud. The adult females were a little more spread out and Kyle could see what they expected from him and his men.

He looked at the fires being put out by the rain and then at the survivors who were refusing any food or water, blackened eyes watching his every move. He slowly approached the group of kids, eyes picking out the pregnant girl in the middle of them. His men hung back, but stayed close enough to hear as he began to speak.

"My name is Kyle. We've come from the camp these men have been stalking, to free you and we have. You can leave right now and go anywhere you want, but a lot of you are hurt and we have doctors. We follow the old rules and no one in our camp will ever hurt you."

"You're just saying that so you won't have to fight us. We won't eat your drugged food!"

It was the pregnant girl who had the courage to speak and Kyle moved closer, wondering what she'd look like clean and happy.

"We're not Slavers. We'd never do that."

"You're lying," she accused and the children around her shrank back, sure she was about to be punished.

Kyle pulled his gun, wincing as women and kids jumped back in terror, hands coming up for futile protection. He turned the Glock around and held it out to the pale girl.

"Take this as my promise. If someone tries to hurt you, use it. Be careful, the trigger's touchy."

Those watching were surprised, his men included, and Kyle stared hard at the girl who was now pointing his own gun at him. She was brave, he thought, and right then it hit him; the attraction he hadn’t felt for any female in Safe Haven. He hid a frown at the discovery. He didn’t rape little girls, dead men did.

Jennifer slowly lowered the gun, but didn't give it back, and Kyle nodded. Brave and smart. He looked at them all.

"Our leader is a
great
man and in our camp, you'll have good food, safe shelter, and the freedom that has been stolen from you. We leave in three minutes. If you're coming, be in one of the black trucks parked behind the rocks."

He pointed the way and then headed there himself, sure they would follow. Even a little hope was better than none.