Rebel Song (27 page)

CHAPTER 38

Rogan had always been good with his fists, but it didn’t mean he took any pleasure from it. You didn’t make it growing up in the Valley if you couldn’t throw a strong right hook or wield a knife when necessary. It wasn’t that he feared pain or retched at the sight of blood—he just found it a fruitless waste of time. Sure, he’d defended Iris’ honor against Adrien Dunes when he tried to feel her up behind the school workshop. And he’d gotten himself a broken nose when Jon Gaffy called his dad a traitor. But those were fists swung out of necessity, not desire. Those were rights needing to be wronged.

Right now he saw a very big wrong staring him down with cold bloodless eyes across the barrel of a rifle. There was no running, no backing down. It wasn’t compromised integrity or family honor on the line—it was his life and the lives of everyone around him. 

They had erupted from the darkness of the cannery basement corridors like lava from a furious volcano. A split second later, dozens of armed, trained soldiers under the command of the blood-sucking, soulless Captain Demos stood against a motley crew of Valley-grown farm kids wielding knives and bottle bombs, who probably wouldn’t even know how to fire a rifle if it was handed to them loaded and cocked. It didn’t matter who wanted it more. With one word it would be a slaughter. 

Rogan wasn’t surprised to see Demos’ ruddy face glaring at him. He had graciously taken time out of his busy schedule to personally ransack Elwood Farms after all. It would seem the captain had a vested interest in seeing this through.

“It’s over boys,” Demos called out to the stunned crowd. “You are outnumbered and weaker. Lay down those wooden swords and no one has to die here. I’ve wasted enough time and energy rounding you all up and now I’d like to go home.”

Rogan fingered his long blade. Cable and Ben did the same.

“We’ve done nothing worth your time,” Cable asserted.

Demos laughed and spat.

“Is that right? Well then you’ll have no issues making your case in court. Don’t test my patience.”

“This is private property and you’re trespassing. Yet again,” Rogan stepped forward. The grip on his knife tightened. Demos looked him up and down and smirked.

“Good to see you again, Elwood. Although, bringing a knife to a gun fight? When will you rebels learn how to fight like men?” Demos’ eyes narrowed into small black beads.

“When will rangers learn to start picking on criminals?” Rogan quipped back.

Demos’ smirk faded into a twisted snarl.

“Don’t even get me started on what you’re guilty of boy,” Demos said in a chilling whisper. “I know all about your sins. And something tells me that the rest of your friends do not.” He looked out at the rest of them and raised his voice back to a shout. “And the rest of you—you’re all guilty of conspiring against the legal government of Arelanda and inciting public unrest.” 

“If we’ve already been presumed guilty, then why go peacefully?” Ben snapped.

Demos grinned as his rangers raised their rifles.

“I’m sure you will all find that our dear Minister General can be very lenient to those who cooperate. Those who resist may find a very different fate awaiting them. You can all ask Mr. Hollister about that,” he said turning to Ben with a sickly grin.

Tension swirled around them in a careful dance. They couldn’t resist and live. Not right now. Demos was right. If they rose up arms, it would be a massacre. But if they surrendered, were they only living to die another day—to die like  criminals in front of a firing squad or rot away in a damp dark cell. He glanced at Cable and could see the reasoning in his eyes, also deducing their losses. He glanced at Ben. The only thing in his eyes was rage. Rogan knew they only had one choice. He had to act fast, before Ben’s outlaw instinct beat out his reasoning.

“We’ll lay down,” Rogan said, raising his hands. Cable nodded at him approvingly, knowing it was their best option. The rest all turned with hushed gasps. Ben glared at him furiously. “But only our leaders. You let everyone else go or this will not end peacefully.”

Demos smirked as if Rogan had just suggested he strip naked and dance.

“You’re in no position to negotiate, traitor,” Demos said. 

Rogan took a deep breath.

“There is always room for negotiation, Demos. We don’t have to go peacefully. True, you out number us and we will probably die, but we will damn sure take at least half of you down with us. And I’ll bet someone in this room right now has their aim set right between your beady eyes. So like I said, it’s your choice.”

Demos narrowed his menacing gaze at Rogan and his mouth turned up in an amused sneer.

“You would have made a good ranger, Elwood. Too bad you chose the path to hell instead. Like I said, as it stands, you’re not in a position to negotiate.” He raised a gloved hand and motioned for his rangers to take control.

Rogan’s gut tightened and his heart began to race.
This was it. This is how it would end
.  Elyra’s image flashed in front of him and for a moment he could smell the cinnamon on her neck and taste the warm vanilla on her mouth. He reached to his belt and pulled his knife from its sheath. Like trained soldiers, his comrades all did the same and braced themselves. Demos gave him an irritated glare.

“Your funeral, Elwood.”

The rangers closed in on them in a swarm. As they braced with knives drawn, prepared to go down in a blaze of glory, the room suddenly filled with thick black smoke. Almost instantly Rogan felt it seep into his lungs and he choked, gasping for air, before he realized what had happened.
Someone had dropped a smoke bomb.
Genius!
Whoever had done it gave
them just enough advantage. They had practiced getting through this. Everyone on their side would execute their drill before Demos’ men would know what was happening.

Rogan dropped down below the smoke level and quickly focused on whose feet were ranger-issued black boots and whose were worn brown leather. With a swift low kick, he took out two rangers by the ankles. Rangers shouted and cursed as they scrambled to figure out what was going on. He could hear Demos over the clamor, his distinct voice barking for them to get it under control. Rogan scrambled to move through the crowd. He had to get as many people out of there as possible. The only ones they knew by face and name were himself, Cable, Alec and Ben. There was never any hope for them but if he could get everyone else out, Demos could never prove who else was with them. And the four of them would never talk.
Never.

Through the smoke, he could barely make out faces, but he at least could tell friend from foe. He pushed the rebels toward the back of the cannery basement, where everyone knew there was a hidden back door. Then he heard a shot fired and a girl screamed.
Sibby
. He struggled to make out bodies in the chaos. He saw her slumped on the ground, blood draining from her abdomen onto the floor. Her face was black from the smoke but her pained expression broke through. Rogan raced toward her but a sudden pain shot through him as a boot met his ribs. He stumbled and keeled in pain. He pulled his knife from its sheath and swung as hard as he could at the assailant, catching the attacking ranger in the middle, slicing through his dark green uniform and puncturing his stomach like butter. The ranger yelped and stumbled back until he fell to the floor.

Rogan refocused and threw himself to his feet. He ran to Sibby and scooped her up. With his adrenaline gushing through his blood, he carried her like a feather pillow to the back of the basement. He knew he had mere seconds before more shots erupted or they all passed out from the smoke. Even practiced, it was only a matter of time before it knocked you out. When he reached the door he saw Alec, so he tossed Sibby’s limp body into her brother’s arms.

“Run,
” Rogan barked and dove back into the blur of thick grey air. Alec coddled his sister against his chest and turned. Another shot was fired and Alec stumbled, nearly dropping his sister. Rogan had a moment of panic, but then Alec pulled himself back up and made toward the door with haste.

Rogan clutched his knife and hugged the wall. He wanted to follow suit and bolt out the back door to safety, but there was no point. If someone didn’t surrender, Demos would hunt them down one by one. Someone had to answer for this. His lungs reached for air. He fell back against the wall and began to hack. He spat thick black saliva out onto the floor as he heaved. He forced his head up—forced his lungs to inhale with whatever air they could. He tried to count who was left but the smoke was burning his eyes. Through the smoke he saw the rifle rise, saw the trigger retract in slow motion. His mind went silent as Ben collapsed to the floor. A vise of panic tightened around his lungs until the breath was squeezed from him.

He forced his legs to move and tore through the murky chaos. He slammed into the ranger still holding the smoking gun. His knife tore through the green fabric of his uniform and buried into his gut. The ranger stumbled and choked. Rogan thrust the knife deeper until blood spewed from the ranger’s mouth. He yanked the knife from the dying flesh and let the ranger collapse to the bloody ground.

Rogan dropped to his knees and grabbed Ben’s collar.

“Ben!” Ben didn’t respond—didn’t move. Rogan searched the body for the bullet entry, finding a pool of thick blood in his upper abdomen.

“No!” he choked out through gritted teeth. “No, you can’t Goddamn die on me. C’mon! Not now.” Ben’s eyes didn’t open. Rogan repositioned himself to hoist up the body when he felt cold metal on his neck.

“Don’t move, rebel scum.”

A moment later, he was staring down the barrel of a long rifle. Before he could act, he felt a split moment of searing pain to the side of his head and the world went dark.

CHAPTER 39

Rogan paced back and forth in the damp, windowless cell. He supposed it was a cell but there were no bars, no bed, and no chamber pot. It was more like an interrogation room. An incandescent light shown down with head-splitting brightness and the cold air pricked his skin. By his count, it had been at least three hours since he’d woken up on the cold, damp floor, his head caked with blood, with no explanation or sign of life. His head ached from the rifle blow he’d taken during his arrest, and there was sharp, stabbing pain coming from his ribs, which felt re-broken. He’d give anything for a glass of water. In an act of defiance, he had urinated on the cell wall, but it felt futile now.

How many more had been taken? How many had been killed? How did Demos even know where they had their hideout or when they’d be meeting? Only a few people knew about the secret basement. He recalled El’s note and the very real fear that someone had betrayed them crept over him.

Footsteps approached. His body stiffened and he backed up against the wall defensively. The door to the tiny room opened and a tall, thin young man with sandy blond hair and brown eyes, dressed in neatly pressed black pants and a trim blue sweater, stepped in. Markus Fallon. He regarded Rogan for a moment before speaking.

“So here he stands in the flesh. Public Enemy number one,” Markus said with an amused smile. Rogan glared.

“Didn’t know I was so famous.” 

“Oh yes. Although infamous might be more appropriate. The palace is buzzing with rumors about you,” Markus walked closer. “Son of Arelanda’s most notorious convicted traitor no less. Corrupter of princesses and future of the rebellion.”

“Who said anything about a rebellion?” Rogan asked dryly.

Markus laughed again.

“Right, of course. You’re just a band of merry peacekeepers. I forgot.”

“What is it that you want, Fallon? Here to interrogate me or just annoy me?”

“You know who I am?” Markus didn’t sound entirely surprised.

“We’ve met. Your arrogance is memorable.”

For a moment, the two stared each other down. Rogan willed his muscles to swell.

“If you must know, I’m here because of her.”

“Oh I see. Your one of Elyra’s many admirers,” Rogan grinned. “Funny she’s never mentioned it. I think ‘jackass sycophant’ are the only words I can remember.”

Markus’ lips curled into a snarl.

“Well you should be thankful I care so much for her. If it were entirely up to me, you’d have already gone to the firing squad.”

Rogan assessed him—well-manicured hands and a clean shave. Was he capable of even lacing his own boots?
Did he even own boots or just a bunch of silk slippers?

“Too afraid to do the job yourself?”

Markus pursed his lips.

“I’m the Minister of Economics, Elwood. I take no part in the nastiness of interrogations.”

“Naturally. You wouldn’t want to get blood under your nicely polished fingernails.”

Markus eyed Rogan with contempt. His expression clearly asked,
what did a girl like that see in this scum?

“You really think you’re something, don’t you?” Markus said as though he was speaking to a rat he’d outsmarted and trapped in the corner of a barn.

Rogan smiled back wryly.

“El seems to think so.”

Markus raised a clenched fist. Rogan tensed and prepared.
What was one more blow at this point?
Then Markus composed himself like the gentleman he was and lowered his hand.  

“You have no idea to whom you’re speaking, you little bastard. I will have your head on a spike,” Markus gritted his teeth and stepped uncomfortably close.

Rogan could feel him losing control of his composure. 

“Markus, my friend. I’d like to see you try.”

“I don’t think you understand the magnitude of your situation. Look around you. Your war is lost.”

“You know nothing, Fallon. This war has just begun. You haven’t seen even a sliver of what’s coming.”

“That’s not the only war you’ve lost boy.”

Boy,
Rogan sneered silently.
How old could this guy be, 20?

“I don’t care what laws you think you have on your side. She’ll never be yours. Not really. She loves me and there’s nothing you can do about it.” Rogan stepped closer, his own emotions flaring.

“She can’t love you if you’re dead.”

“Sure she can. But is your lust for power so great that you’d watch her heart burn for your own gain?”

“What makes you think it’s up to me whether you live or die? You have a very high price on your head. Treason and all that.” Markus leaned closer. “But I will be sure to have a front row seat at your execution.”

Rogan laughed.

“That’s why she’ll never love you. You have no soul, just like the rest of them. You’ll never be worthy of her.”

Markus clenched and unclenched his fists, breathing deeply.

“You’re a fool, Elwood. You both are. I don’t know how you managed to make her believe she loves you, but in the end it doesn’t matter how much you care for her. Or she you. It’s a pipe dream. She’s going to wake up and realize that sooner than later. And then she’s going to hate you for ruining her life,” Markus paused and examined him. “Oh, I’m sure you were wildly exciting for a sheltered girl but you’re nothing more than a low born criminal. She’s the royal heir. You are so far beneath her I can’t even describe it.”

“Markus, please. She’s going to be the Queen of Arelanda. We are
all
beneath her.”

“Some more than others.”

“And what, you think if she marries you, then Daddy will make you Prince of Arelanda?  Or better yet, push Elyra aside completely and crown you heir?”

Markus attempted to maintain his poker face, but the flicker in his eyes gave some truth away.

“I won’t engage in discussions of my future with someone with cow shit under his fingernails. There are forces at work you can never understand.”

“I could say the same to you. Have you ever wondered why a girl born with everything she could ever want would be so utterly miserable?”

“Because she’s a dreamer who doesn’t understand the world. Thanks to you no doubt. While you and your so-called rebels blow up government buildings and raise havoc in the streets, we’re actually trying to run a country here”

“Wrong,” Rogan shook his head. “She understands everything. She understands that everyone around her is despicable with absolutely no regard for her or this country, and all the integrity of a cheater at a dive-pub card game. She knows that we—that
I—
actually give a shit about what happens to her and her country.”

Markus took a deep breath and stared at Rogan contemplatively.

“Do you really care about her the way you say you do?”

Rogan stepped closer than he should have and clenched his jaw.

“I’d die for her.”

“I wouldn’t be so eager. But as much as I’d love to see you hang for what you’ve done, it doesn’t have to come to that. I’m here to make you an offer.”

“Clearly,” Rogan laughed. Markus ignored him.

“Back down and I’ll get you out of here. Give up this rebel ruse—give up fooling yourself into thinking that you and she will ever be. Put that outlaw tail between your legs and crawl back into the shadows with the rest of the rats where you belong, and I’ll make sure Pantone leaves you and your family unharmed.”

“Oh sure you will. I’ll just fade into the darkness and you and Elyra will live happily ever after is that it? Won’t happen, Fallon.”

“Do not test me, I’m warning you.”

“You know nothing about me if you think I would give up her or my cause for the sake of my own life. Those are the only two things in life
worth
living for me. If this is what you want, it’ll be over my lifeless body.”

“If you don’t, it might be over the bodies of your aunt and uncle. Then your baby sister. Then they’ll get to you—”

Before Markus could finish, a fist found Markus’ jaw.

Markus stumbled back, clutching his face. Bottomless rage burned in his eyes. But before he could stand straight, Rogan revved back his arm and let it fly again, this time into Markus’ nose. He knew instantly the consequences of what he had done, but he didn’t care. The sting of fist to bone was worth it.

 Markus snarled in pain and anger. Rogan ebbed back and the realization that he could very well have a swarm of rangers on him at any moment came over him. But to his surprise, Markus only raised his head, blood dripping from his nose, emitting low painful grunts.

“You’ve just dug your own grave, Elwood.”

“Then I’ll see you in hell, Fallon.”

Markus slammed the door shut behind him.