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With these five huge men surrounding me in the military truck, there’s barely any breathing room. I don’t mind the crowded feeling. I’m fine with being protected by five men in this truck and another five in the one in front of us. Not to mention the two flying overhead.
But even with all this muscle and testosterone escorting me, even knowing Stealth will be keeping me invisible the whole time, my stomach is churning. Some of these men have experience as soldiers, but I’ve never been in a situation like this. I’ve never had a handgun strapped to my body before or a knife in a holster on my calf.
I reach down and touch the handle of the knife, and I feel reassured. The last hand to touch this leather-wrapped hilt in battle was Jud’s before he was taken. I’m determined to give it back to him as soon as possible. For now, all I can do is watch out the window as the city speeds past us, and hang onto Grim’s hand for dear life.
The New Orleans I’m seeing is a far cry from the one I got to know through my brother’s social media posts. Videos of Mardi Gras and selfies with friends showed off colorful storefronts beneath decorated balconies and revelers with plastic cups on the sidewalks. None of that is present now. Gone are the sweeping strings of golden streetlights over beer gardens andfleur-de-lis-embellished wrought-iron fences. In their place are cracked streets overrun with weeds and graffiti-riddled buildings with shattered windows like broken teeth.
This city is most likely where Justin spent his last days.
Even though my brother wasn’t great about answering when I would call, I made a point of following him on social media so I didn’t miss out on his adventures as a law student at Tulane. He would write post after post about how much he loved New Orleans and about the friends he was making here. As my mind returns to those posts, I can’t help thinking about how somewhere in this dark, rotted-out husk of a city is my brother’s body.
Did he die early in Week Zero, like our parents, or later in the week, like our little sister, Casey? Did someone close to him survive long enough to bury him? Or is he lying on the floor of some college dorm, fully decayed, like so many bodies that no longer smell of death, but like dusty paper or dried plants, brittle to the touch?
“Just like you remember, Doc?” I jump at hearing Stealth’s deep voice beside me. It takes me a moment to recover from my thoughts about my brother and tune in to their conversation.
“Not quite,” Doc says. His tone is uncharacteristically somber. My brother isn’t the only one who lived here. Doc grew up in New Orleans. It must be tough seeing it so dilapidated. I know it sucked seeing my hometown slowly deteriorate after the Virus.
Sarge steers the truck around a four-story building, and we peel off from the other truck. Recon, Rev, Shep, Scrap, and Steel are driving directly into Raptor’s lair, and as of right now, they’re no longer under Stealth’s protection.
“Good luck, guys,” I say, and in the front seat, Doc nods.
We drive a few more blocks, and then Sarge slows the truck to a stop. “This is where we split up,” he says. “Team beta-two,” he says to the three of us in the back seat. “You’ll search this side of the street and the blocks to the southwest.” He points to his left. “The three of us will do a rough sweep of the buildings northeast of here as we make our way to the casino to assist alpha truck. Everyone set?”
Grim and Stealth confirm they are very much ready to do this. I am, too. I’ve never been more ready.
The doors of the truck open, and we climb out. It’s time to find the Judge.
Chapter 14
Shep
The stern towerof St. Patrick’s Basilica frowns down at us as Recon slows the truck to a stop. We’re three blocks away on Poydras, but with the basilica being the only building in the vicinity with power, it stands out like a beacon.
Recon turns in his seat. “You two ready?”
“Fuckin’ A,” Scrap says. He unholsters his 9mm and slips the safety off.
“I am ready,” I say. I hardly recognize my voice. Fury and fire burn white hot in my lungs. I spent many years honing my body for mock battles won or lost for the amusement of wrestling fans. There is nothing fake about this battle. This one is for real. It is for Jud.
Ultimately, it is for the world.
If we let Raptor’s trespass against us stand, we invite further trespasses.
If we let Raptor live, he’ll trespass against someone else.
We might not have Jud with us right now to see into Raptor’s heart with his Gift, but Raptor’s deeds have revealed a heart of evil. He needs to be dealt with. Permanently. Or others will suffer. Evil cannot be allowed to thrive as our newborn world learns to stand on its own two feet.
This has been and will continue to be Jud’s mission. His Working-given mission. When he cannot uphold it himself, his brothers will do it for him. We will not fail.
My boots hit cracked and pot-hole-ridden pavement. Scrap is at my side. I go to Recon’s window, where he rests his tattooed arm.
“You’ll wait while I release Bernard?” I ask.
He says only, “Hurry.”
I rush to the cargo hold of the big military truck and lift the panel door. Bernard hops forward from between two crates of ammunition.
As the scent of the Mississippi hits him, he fluffs up. It is his way of smiling. He is home.
