Abolition (Insurrection Book 3) Read online
Abolition
Also by DJ Cooper
Dystopia Series
Beginning of the End
Long Road
Revelations
Dark Days
Nine Meals from Anarchy Series
Sun’s Fury
Anthologies
Winter in the Apocalypse
Also by N.A. Broadley
Apocalypse Trail Series
Trail of Misery
Valley of Reckoning
Shattered Horizons
Anthologies
Winter in the Apocalypse
Dammit Peckerhead
Abolition
The Insurrection Trilogy
Book three
DJ Cooper — NA Broadley
Angryeaglepublishing.com
Sign up for Email updates
https://sendfox.com/angryeaglepublishing
This book or any portions thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations.
All rights reserved, including rights to produce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, Angry Eagle Publishing, P.O. Box 683, Alstead, NH 03602
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2020 by Angry Eagle Publishing, DJ Cooper, and N.A. Broadley
Cover design by Piper Leigh Creatives
Angryeaglepublishing.com
ISBN: 978-1-735-0071-5-1
First Printed in 2020
Chapter One
Bevin sighed.
The ache that had settled in his heart seemed to find a permanent home there. It tugged at him during every quiet moment.
He gazed into the campfire, watching the flames dance and lick at the darkness. The roughly stitched, ragged skin of his thigh burned like hell where the medic had dug the bullet out. He gagged momentarily, recalling the odor that assaulted him when the medic flushed the bloody hole with the foul, sharp-smelling antiseptic. It had left his stomach roiling.
Around him soldiers moved tiredly, setting up camp and talking softly. Bevin listened to the soft buzz of conversations as they drifted on the air, but he wasn’t really paying attention to much of anything that was being said. His mind was elsewhere. He lifted his gaze from the fire when a shadow moved, catching his attention, just outside the reach of the light. It was Siloh whose quiet steps could have been a ghost walking toward him.
Bevin smiled and patted the empty spot on the ground next to him. “Have a seat, my friend.”
Siloh smiled tiredly and grunted as he squatted to sit on the dirt.
“How’s the leg?” Siloh asked.
Bevin shrugged his shoulders. “Eh, it’s okay. I’ll be sore as a bastard for the next few days though.”
He’d suffered worse injuries than a bullet wound to the thigh, and this one was just a scratch in comparison. Another soldier approached and handed him a cup of strong, hot coffee that smelled heavenly. He nodded at him gratefully and inhaled the aroma, closing his eyes and sighing loudly. Lifting the steaming brew to his lips, he took a tentative sip and sucked the air across his teeth to cool the steaming hot coffee before swallowing. He sat smiling as the warm, bitter liquid flowed through his body.
Odo had done a decent job of supplying them with food and gear before they’d left Rysa. Thoughts of Odo brought with them a ping of sadness that broke his heart. The man adored Mauri and would be shattered over her death. Bevin wondered if he would be willing to adopt little Jorin as his own. He’d cared for him all this time. He shook off the thoughts of it, this was not the time for sentiment. He shifted his gaze and took another deep sip of his coffee.
A commotion on the other end of camp drew their attention. “Better go see what is going on,” Siloh said, and looked over to Bevin who struggled with his injured leg to get himself off the ground.
He welcomed the helping hand Siloh extended, grasping onto it firmly. “Thanks,” he said, brushing himself off.
From the shadows, he could see one of the soldiers moving forward. The soldier was pushing a rather tall man, who stumbled, revealing that he was bound by the wrists. He was curious as they moved toward him. Eyes focused on the figures. He squinted through the darkness; trying to make out what was going on just made his head hurt. He looked to Siloh and raised an eyebrow. His companion just shrugged his shoulders, hands out and palms up, and shook his head. He didn’t know what was going on either. It wasn’t long before the men came into the glow of the firelight and revealed their faces.
“Captain Bevin, sir. We found this man in a cluster of Honor Guard soldiers about three miles south of here,” the soldier said, shoving the captive forward and forcing him to his knees. Bevin squinted his eyes, recognizing the man... but was unable to place him. He surveyed the captive, his face bloodied and swollen, the results of the captor’s fists, he assumed.
“South?” he said gazing off toward that direction. “What of the other Honor Guard?” Bevin asked, looking to one and then the other.
“They scattered and ran, this guy was either too slow or too stupid to get away from us,” the soldier replied. Bevin moved toward the captive and reached out, grabbing a fist full of his hair and jerking his head upward so he could see his face by the light of the campfire. The man remained silent, glaring at him.
South, it confused him. All indications after the battle were that they were hot footing it back to the city garrison for more manpower.
He grabbed his hair again and jerked his head upright. “What’s your name, soldier?” His voice was soft but menacing.
The captive said nothing, just smirked, showing a mouthful of teeth, coated with blood, and spat at him. Bevin immediately lashed out at him, his hand moving in a wide arc and landing squarely, connecting with the captive’s face. The sound of flesh hitting flesh, loud and sharp.
A cough behind him brought his attention to one of the village warriors who had gathered to see what was going on.
“Do you know him?” Bevin asked.
“Yes, he’s one of us,” the young man replied, his face a mask of confusion, curious about why one of their own was bound and on his knees.
“Well, one of yours was captured in a group of Honor Guard soldiers,” Bevin snarled.
All eyes shifted his eyes to the prisoner. Suspicions rising, the glares became uncomfortable. Another finally broke the silence asking, “Kaven? What’s going on?”
Kaven raised his eyes to the gathering crowd, an expression of pure hatred twisting his face. “If it weren’t for those two outsiders, none of this would have happened! But you, all of you, and Grandfather too. You left me no choice!” he growled.
The warrior sucked in a quick breath and took a menacing step toward him, his fists clenching by his sides. “What have you done?!” he roared. “So many have been injured, some have died... and you brought them to us?
The horror and the rage etched on the warrior’s face was echoed by the rest. Bevin put his hands up and took a step between them. He cut his eyes in a flash of warning to Siloh who nodded slightly. He turned to Kaven, in time to catch the twist of a malicious smile that crossed his lips.
“I did what I had to do!” Kaven replied, then chuckled. “They’ll be captured soon and then our village will be safe again.” Kaven knelt, looking around at the faces of the men. They’d not changed, the anger shown like flames in their eyes. Kaven continued, “I did it for the village,” he cried out. “Those two h
ad to be handed over, they’ll never leave us alone otherwise.”
“What is he talking about?” Bevin snapped, spinning around to look at the warrior. “What two?”
He growled and shook his head, turning to face Bevin. “Kael and Zyla!” he spat.
Bevin pointed to Kaven, his eyes flashing with hatred. “Evidently, this traitor has revealed to them what we’ve worked so hard to hide. The fact that Kael and Zyla are alive... and the direction they are traveling.” He sighed and shook his head.
Siloh swore softly and he turned to look at Bevin.
“Son of a bitch!” Bevin growled. “That is why the soldiers are going south instead of heading back to the city garrison, they’re tracking and hunting Kael and Zyla.”
Bevin grimaced an expression of disgust on his face. “You know what to do,” he muttered as he turned and walked away.
Two of the men grabbed Kaven by the scruff of his neck and hauled him to his feet. The cries and screams of defiance and pleading that came from Kaven fell on deaf ears, they hauled him back into the woods. Moments later, a gunshot rang out and the pleas from Kaven ceased.
Bevin sighed, he returned to his place by the fire, his face awash with a mix of emotions. “This changes things,” he said, pausing for a long swig of his now-cold coffee to look at Siloh, who nodded.
Bevin settled in for a long night of planning. They’d leave at first light. He wouldn’t let the soldiers capture them, no matter what the cost.
Sleep came hard and Bevin tossed and turned on his thin mat. It did nothing to keep the rocks and sticks from poking him and there was no comfortable position to be found. Ground sleeping was the worst. As he watched the first glimmers of gray light crawl across the dark sky above, his mind was focused on the day ahead.
A feeling of dread rolled in his stomach like a heavy weight. He chewed on the facts, trying to make them make sense. Zyla and Kael were only a few days ahead of the troops that were hunting them. He made a loud huff, sat up, and glanced around before struggling to rise from the sleeping mat. His injured leg protested in pain. He stirred the coals of the burned-down campfire, added a few sticks, and watched the flames flicker to life. The morning air chilled his skin with its frosty cold breath, and he shivered, grabbed a stick, and poked at the fire. Small flames grasped onto the newly added wood and began to dance across the tinder. Bevin scooted closer to the flames as a shiver from the cold gripped at him, the heat of the fire driving it away. Around him, the silence of the early dawn was broken by the deep, almost guttural snores from those still asleep. The sound felt loud enough to alert anyone from a mile away to their presence. He started to warm next to the now blazing fire and took stock of his body. His thigh throbbed with pain but wasn’t as stiff as he thought it would be. Stretching the leg, he tested the muscle by flexing, which brought instant pain shooting to his hip. He didn’t look forward to the punishing miles they would be walking today. He sat back and sighed deeply, waiting for the chicory cowboy coffee to finish percolating.
He had no choice now; he would have to push his men to the south. Moving them around and coming up behind the Honor Guard soldiers would be the new directive. Grinding his teeth, he angrily threw another stick into the fire. He vowed silently to chase those bastards all the way into the badlands if that was what it took to keep them from getting their hands on Zyla and Kael.
No more would he allow the cruelty of the elitist rule to break the backs of the good and hardworking men and women of this territory. No more would he stand by and watch the enslavement of the people, nor the bloodletting of the arena to continue. It was time to rise and rise they would. There would be no more hiding, no more working in secret. He’d declared his loyalties and would fight for them right up until his last breath.
He glanced around the camp, mentally assessing their strength. The weak light of dawn gave way to cloudy skies. Bevin looked upward and breathed deeply; he was sure he could smell rain on the slight breeze that rustled through the trees. By his loose estimate, warriors from the Keepers of the Light were one hundred and fifty strong, his own soldiers and resistance fighters from Rysa added another three hundred. He knew there were more resistance fighters from other villages and surrounding areas. They were on their way to their position, which would give his army another five hundred fighters, all answering the call to freedom, but he had no way of knowing if they’d arrive in time.
They were prepared to take on even the largest of Honor Guard squads, although he would rather the others arrived to join them first. There were many garrisons spread across the country. No telling how quickly, if called to action, the Guard would be able to assemble and move toward the fighting.
He thought of this and smiled. The Honor Guard, once a force of thousands of well-trained soldiers, had changed over the years. Many of the soldiers had grown lazy and complacent. Their training was now haphazard, their fighting skills poor and under-practiced. A good many of the soldiers were just plain overweight and slovenly. The rules had become lax, the commanders ignoring the old mandates of stringent training for their squads, believing the commoners to be weak and restrained. Their laziness and careless ways would be their downfall.
Glancing up from the fire and pulling himself from his thoughts, Bevin smiled tiredly as he watched Siloh emerge from his tent and gave him a good morning nod. Inhaling a deep breath, he readied himself for the day ahead.
Chapter Two
Zyla ran with all that she had, her chest heaving as she gasped for air. First one step, then another. She leaped, pushing off with her legs, her arms outstretched and reaching. She could feel Creed’s eyes on her and she grimaced. She was determined that she would not fail the test he’d set for her. A cry of triumph escaped her lips when her fingers clamped around the branch. The momentum swung her legs high, propelling her forward. Her feet firmly set atop the branch; teetering, she regained her balance and stood with her hands on her hips, grinning down at Creed.
“Your turn!” she challenged, laughter bubbling up from her throat.
Creed shook his head and grinned at her. “You’re like a monkey, Zyla,” he teased, pride showing on his face. Her grace and agility impressed him. He planned to continue to work with her. This was what defined her as a warrior. None could even come close to her with the way she was at ease both in the trees and stealth maneuvers through the woods.
“Okay, c’mon down. We’ve got to pack up camp and get moving,” he called out to her.
Zyla nodded and dropped down from the tree, nimbly landing on the soft, pine needle covered ground. Despite the travels, Creed wouldn’t let that stop his early morning training with her. She found it fun and challenging and continuously strived to do better than she’d done the day before; each day beating the time or feat she’d previously set. She was going to be the warrior he was training her to be, even if it killed her in the process.
The last battle had scared her, especially when she felt the knife ripping through her skin and stabbing into her shoulder. What bothered her most was how helpless she felt against the soldier who had attacked her. Although she didn’t share that fear with Creed, it still lingered deep in her mind, chipping away at her confidence. Her shoulder had healed and now only a slight ache lingered to serve as a reminder of how foolish and careless she’d been in thinking she was a warrior. She wasn’t a warrior yet, but she would be. Every day she was getting faster, stronger, and more confident in her fighting skills.
They walked wordlessly and Zyla glanced at Creed, watching him from the corner of her eye. He’d been pushing her harder the past few days. She could see the worry etched in his expression and wished he’d let her in on what was bothering him. It angered her that he kept things about what was going on from her. She needed to know.
“So,” she began, “are we gonna hike right up until dark again?” she asked, stepping lightly over a downed log.
Creed glanced at her and nodded. He saw her expression fall with disappointment. He’d been pushing her
hard over the past two days, waking her up early, training for several hours, and then hiking until the darkness threatened to close in on them each night.
“Damn, I wish we could have just one day to rest,” Zyla said and cut him a sideways hopeful glance.
He shook his head, his lips pressed tightly together. “You know we can’t, Zyla,” he replied.
He understood her fatigue, he was tired too. But the chance that the soldiers may have picked up their trail and could be following them was too great. He couldn’t allow the luxury of a rest day. They had to keep moving.
“I know,” she said and kicked at the dirt.
She did know, she knew all too well what they were like. The members of the guard were sadistic and liked abusing the residents of their small village. The whole reason for this journey was to reach the safety of the badlands; to get her and Kael well outside of the territory controlled by the guard and their elite counterparts. Only then would she and Kael be able to rest.
They stopped and made camp for the night a little bit earlier than the previous days. She smiled in Creed’s direction and quickly gathered leaves and small sticks to start a fire. Thoughts of her brother brought a twinge of pain, a feeling of homesickness to her heart. Not for Rysa, but rather for the comfort of him, of his voice and his laughter. He’d always been there to protect her, and she felt bad leaving him after all he’d been through. She missed him terribly. She sighed and gazed upward. Above them, the hawk circled then dove into the trees emerging moments later with a small mouse in his talons. “At least you’re still with me,” she whispered under her breath before curling up beside the fire for the night.
The sun was up and the morning air brisk but not as cold as it had been. She was famished and eager for some food.