Swamp Kings 2 (Bayou Bishops #20)

CHAPTER NINE

“Eveque.”

Bishop turned, finding Spook walking up behind him at the Dry Dock. Fuck.

He kissed Beth on the cheek and whispered, “Go in and find Maggie. I’m right behind you.”

She nodded with a sympathetic gaze as she hurried in.

He turned back to Spook, shoving his outstretched hand away and wrapping him in a hug. “I think we’re more than a fucking handshake.”

The way Spook embraced him filled him with sickness. “Listen,” he said, quietly after releasing him, his steely blue eyes pulling no punches. “I’m not here to cause trouble.”

“Talk to me mon frere,” he said, praying he could give him whatever was on his mind .

“I need to do something, I can't just....” He lowered his head, shaking it.

“I know, brother,” Bishop muttered, hoping he heard the truth in his words as he tried to glimpse what he was about to say.

He pinned him down with his gaze again. “Send me to scout ahead of you. Twenty miles, that’s all I need. I’ll bring my drones, make sure the path is clear, because we both know that no amount of recon can guarantee a fucking thing, you need real eyes on the ground, you need my eyes out there.”

Bishop held his gaze for many seconds, amazed. He grabbed his shoulder, shaking it a little. “That’s fucking genius, brother. Hell yeah you can scout. You got your gear?”

“I fucking do,” he gasped, nodding and bear hugging Bishop again. “Merci beaucoup, mon frere,” he gushed, grabbing Bishop’s head and pressing their foreheads together. “Merci beaucoup.”

He released him and Bishop looked behind Spook. “Where are your things?”

Spook glanced back. “Hiding in the bushes,” he said, making Bishop laugh lowly.

“You know why I agreed to this, oui?” he asked.

Spook nodded, side grinning. “Because you knew I would go either way.”

Bishop wrapped his arm around his shoulder. “And I wouldn’t fucking blame you. Or try to stop you. Not with this, not with her. Look at me, mon frere.” They locked gazes. “When it comes to your wife? You have only one boss,” Bishop said, pointing up. “It ain’t me.”

He gave one of his rare Spook smiles, the one that mirrored his pure spirit. “I wanted your blessing.”

“And you got it. A thousand percent.” He shoved him back a little, then gave his neck a squeeze. “Damn, I’m glad you’re coming. Get your gear and come inside. I’ll let them know.”

Bishop walked in, making his way to the group circling their big round table as 8-Bit pulled a small device from his pack. They all gathered closer as Bishop grabbed Beth’s hand next to Maggie and Seer, glancing at Zodak and the Triplets on his right.

“This is your connection,” 8-Bit said, holding out the silver rectangular device and moving it slowly before them. “It taps into the bio-signature locked into Rukem’s bridge. It will keep us tethered to her—wherever she moves, we’ll have her location in real-time. ”

Bishop realized those usual design details and measures didn’t automatically pop up in his head while looking at it. The second he wondered, they appeared. Before he could wonder again, he realized he’d created a toggle switch for it. He didn’t remember doing that. He recalled his adaptive gift. So it worked while he wasn’t even aware or trying. And if it was a problem for him, it adapted to fit his personal preference. How fucking polite and useful. “How strong’s the connection?” Bishop asked.

“Strong enough,” 8-Bit said, not lifting his eyes from the device. “As long as she’s within range and not blocked by anything too dense, we’ll get a clean signal. It won’t pick up much else, just her location.” 8-Bit finally looked up. “If the signal gets weak, this here,” he pointed to the small display, “shifts from green to yellow. If we lose it, it’ll turn red. If that happens, I can manually restart the connection from here, but if something actively blocks it, we’ll get a false feed which means fake data. But I built this system myself, and I’ll know if it’s compromised.”

Bishop took in the information, glad it was 8-Bit on the tech stuff. Not that he didn’t trust the Creole Kings, he just knew for a fact 8-Bit’s genius. He needed as many near guarantees as he could get for this little road trip with his pregnant wife and her pregnant sister. Fuck, he was glad Spook was going, even if he would be twenty miles at their twelve.

“What if something happens to her?” Maggie worried, right as Spook came up behind and wrapped his arms around her.

“Well,” he said, his tone lifting along with his gaze. “Though this device is a one-way street, we can send small neural pings—like a tap on the shoulder. And then, ” he said, looking at them, eyes stopping at the triplets with a nod. “We have a failsafe with our buddies here. If the signal gets cut, it’ll automatically tap into their technology. Fetch has built in AI that can track dark energy. If we lose her, he’ll use whatever’s around to keep her on the radar. And if there’s any kind of electrical disruption, Fathom’s ability to resonate with electromagnetic fields will kick in. His power lets him detect and manipulate electrical currents, so if interference scrambles the signal, he’ll isolate and neutralize it, letting the device recalibrate.” His gaze landed on Fin next. “And if that fails, Fin’s ability to trace vital energies would kick in. He can use the final read out to obtain a residual reading of her bio measures and follow them.”

Bishop felt a huge drop in tension, feeling like it was collectively tied to every muscle in the room. “And then we have the ultimate failsafe,” Bishop said, glancing at Seer who peered into things that sat right behind the air. “Let us know if you see anything we need to know, mon frère.”

He gave a solemn nod and quiet, “Oui.”

8-Bit handed the device across the table, and Bishop reached for it. The second his fingers closed around it, his mind shifted and opened to the circuits, energy flows, and how it was put together. Almost like he was connected to it. He instinctively knew that if he wanted, he could open the cover and understand everything. How to fix it, change it, or even make it better if he wanted to.

“You okay?” 8-Bit wondered, snapping Bishop from the trance.

The power hummed under his fingers as he slid them over the metal casing. “I’m good,” he said, slipping it into his back pocket rather than handing it to Fetch like he’d intended. Not when he was the most qualified in the room to carry it. “Let’s talk other strategy,” Bishop said. “I’m sending Spook out to scout ahead. He’ll use the cloaked drones to keep us updated. I want real eyes on the actual ground out there. Anything goes wrong that our machines can’t pick up for whatever reason, we’ll know early.” He glanced at Seer. “Any reason you can see we shouldn’t send him?”

Seer took a contemplative moment then shook his head. “Nothing I can see.”

Bishop nodded in quiet relief. “So, we’ve got about 600 hundred miles to cover before reaching western Kentucky. We’re going as rural as we can to avoid trouble. We drive straight through, no stops. We’re stocked with everything we need—fuel, food, gear, and we’ve got enough people to rotate drivers. We’re looking at a fifteen-hour drive if we hit no snags. The known snags we’ll likely hit are rogue groups, criminal factions, stranded and desperate families.”

“And now Chaos Points everybody will be scrambling for,” Spook muttered.

“Right,” Bishop said, pissed. “It’s getting colder, so weather’s another factor.”

“Uh yeah,” Beth said quietly, getting his attention. “I’ve been keeping an eye on weather. We’re scheduled for a major storm.”

“When?” Bishop wondered on a breath .

“It’s supposed to reach all the way here in two days. Maybe we’ll be back before it hits there.”

Fuck, he hoped. “How bad?”

She turned her bad news gaze to him. “Record breaking.”

“Fantastic,” he muttered before getting back to the other unknowns. “We also have no idea how many groups are out there, what kind of weapons they have, or how and where they may have blocked roads. It’s likely there’ll be small militias claiming territory. Something tells me people were already in the process of doing exactly what our delightful Masters of Mayhem lined up.”

“Definitely,” Spook agreed.

“Conflict resolution,” Bishop said, eyeing all of them. “We need to be on the same page with that.” He turned to the triplets. “We all have a set of tools and skills. Every bit of them are important. We’ll each be contributing whatever we have and working together .” He regarded Seer. “By far, the most powerful one standing here, is him,” he said, putting his hand on his shoulder. “But for the real-world threats, we’ll be relying heavily on the triplets combat abilities. After that is Zodak, Seer and myself. The women are to be protected at all costs. Which brings me to a question.” He turned to the triplets. “Regarding your prime directive of protecting the innocent. How exactly will that look in a scenario full of desperate people caught in the crossfire of these nut jobs dismantling civilization? How will you know and handle the difference between guilty and desperate to survive?”

Fetch answered. “Our directive is to protect the innocent which can include immobilizing them with non-lethal force.”

“And we have a humanly unfathomable number of ways to prevent, counter, leverage and stop all attacks, from all measures of morality,” Fathom said, his words like bullets wrapped in silk. “If it were a concern, we’d mention it.”

Bishop pulled in a breath and released it, needing exactly that kind of guarantee. “Good to fucking hear,” he muttered, putting his arm around Beth’s waist. “That’s all for me. Anybody else has concerns, speak them now. Departure is…” Bishop reached for his phone.

“Wheels up in thirty minutes,” Spook helped. “Which means I need to leave now. Shoot your route to my Quantum Pulse.”

Bishop pulled the device from his pocket .

“So you’re gonna want to hit the button—” 8-Bit paused. “You got it,” he said, amazed.

“Yeah. Quite user friendly,” he said, knowing it really wasn’t but it was to him now.

****

Mabel hurried toward the community church house, heartbeats like a frenzied percussion. The rough fabric of the Amish dress clung to her limbs as if imploring her not to intervene. Fear and anger—no, fury—at what might be happening to those girls stole all rational thoughts. She’d come to learn that when there was a large gathering at the community church, something was occurring that she would not like one bit. At arriving at the Amish camp not three months ago, she’d learned their ways and beliefs within a couple days. Not because she’d asked, but because everything she did required a reprimand from the three kind girls she’d come to adore. Naomi, Rosalyn and Malinda. “We don’t do talk about hair, we don’t do talk about looks, we don’t do talk about anything intimate regarding the opposite sex, we don’t do books other than the bible, we don’t do shaving of any hair upon our bodies, and we don’t question the authority or talk out of turn.” She’d come to realize the women didn’t talk much at all except among themselves. And even then, the older ones were as strict as the males, reminding her of the mean nuns she’d spent many days in the company of during school years back in England.

But not all the women leaked brain cells there. At least not the ones that were arriving daily from other parts of America. She’d never ever wish for the catastrophe that had befallen the country, but with the mayhem devouring the nation, the Amish felt the need to put a call out to other Amish for assimilation in order to survive. Which was bloody brilliant. There was absolutely nothing for Mabel to do about the madness outside the community walls, but she could and would do something about the madness within them. One thing became crystal clear with every arriving Amish family. Not all of them held the same customs. In a nutshell, you had some that were less strict than others in how they lived out their faith and that was something Mabel could leverage to help her three little angels. And bloody well would.

Her original plans in America had been wrecked with the rest of the country, but she was no stranger at all to crushed dreams. And yet, hold up. Was her dream of being a nurse in America really crushed? Not at all, Mr. Devil. Dreams and purposes? Still intact. Flip the page, clear the debris. The new job was right where she was. Let the dream commence. She was a caretaker of the sick and needy. And while these young girls bore ailments off the beaten path of usual ailments, they bore diseases, nonetheless. For one, they had no voice. And that brought number two—no hope. And three, their life was a prison. And the walls were constructed of shame and inhumane treatment five miles thick. That would stop. She had nothing to lose but her life and well… if fulfilling her dream and passions required that of her, then so be it. Thy good will be done, Sir.

Thankfully, the Amish were pacifists. The worst case scenario was her getting booted and it would be bloody hard to help her angels if that happened.

Finally arriving at the church hall, she paused to catch her breath, sounding like a bellowing, sweaty mule. She pushed on, remembering the three types of people in times of crisis. Runners, hiders and fighters. Fighters died first, hiders second, and runners last. But surely there was a fourth. Perhaps a Kenny Rogers type. Know when to fight, know when to hide, know when to run. Along with a precisely how, to all three of those.

As she pushed her way through the throngs of bodies, she remembered she was mute. Or they thought she was. That had been self-preservation. From the moment the Amish rescued her on the side of a burning road, the voiceless idea presented itself and she took it without thought. All along she’d intended to speak at some point but in the three months she’d been there, the need to open her mouth versus the need to keep it shut still remained at war. But that war would end tonight.

She tip-toed behind the line of people crowding the entry, realizing there was only standing room remaining for whatever was going down. She spotted a new face and made her way over while a male voice boomed on inside. He was welcoming the newbies still.

“Do we know what this is about?” Mabel whispered next to the woman about her height, hoping they didn’t know each other.

“Not entirely sure,” the girl whispered eagerly, barely glancing her way.

It couldn’t be a communion meeting. Those were usually announced a week in advance so the church members could make all the necessary apologies and confessions before partaking of the last supper as she understood it. Because nobody was to eat that ceremonial meal with unworthiness or sin in their heart or mind. Mabel was familiar with the whole confession thing, but the Amish did theirs in a very public way. You didn’t go into a closet and whisper your dirty secrets, no, you confessed them before the entire church.

“Maybe they’re wanting to go over the rules?” Mabel suggested quietly, getting a nod from the girl. She tiptoed again, trying to see inside the room.

The meat of the matter was learned when another male voice rang out. “Brothers and Sisters, I asked us all here tonight to discuss the necessity of boundaries. There have been concerns that outside influence of other members of the community might have undesired impact upon those with differing traditions.”

That was the one they called Brother Jakob. He seemed to be one of the few reasonable ones even while having zero social etiquette when it came to women and relationships and how that should come about or that there might be other traditions outside his own to consider. He’d told her straight out that if she were to become Amish, he’d want her for his wife. Like somebody putting money down for an item on backorder.

“Now, for us to maintain peace in the body of Christ, it is critical to address the issue and obtain a peaceable solution to the matter. I am aware that we all live out our faiths as we are convicted to do and that those convictions aren’t one hundred percent shared by all. And I am not here to judge one brother or sister in these things but merely to learn what these differences are and determine the measures to take in regard to respecting those differences.”

Oh, this was good. Exactly what needed to happen to get the elephant into the middle of the room and address it. “Brother Jakob is looking for a wife, you know,” Mabel barely whispered, leaning toward the girl, straining her neck to see.

This got bright blue eyes and flushed cheeks right on her. “We know,” she whispered back. Mabel’s gaze dropped to her mouth followed by a punch of sick anger to her gut. She had dentures. She couldn’t have been a day over eighteen. That was another one of their traditions that needed addressing. It boiled Mabel’s blood that they had such young adults remove all their perfectly good teeth just to save from the expense of dental work later. Were not teeth more than vanity? Were they not necessary to chew food and to aid in digestion? And their so-called dentures were more like a rack of torture for the gums, making eating impossible and incurring sores in the mouth. She’d further learned that the man who performed these extractions wasn’t even trained or qualified! And he’d accidentally broken the jaw of one! Oops, slip of the tool. Sorry about that. Gouged a bloody hole in your throat. She’d never imagined moronic and inhumane would go in the same sentence, but in this case the words were a perfectly married pair.

“I won’t be having my daughters around wolves in sheep’s clothing.” The yell came from the right side of the room.

“And I won’t stand for watching young adults have perfectly good teeth pulled out of their heads.”

Mabel gasped at hearing those words, pushing her way through the crowd to see who had said it. It was a woman. Definitely one of the new ones.

“What we do with our offspring is none of your business,” the first voice followed, louder, angrier.

Mabel broke through in time to see a man trying to get a woman to sit down while she shoved him off. “I will not be silent about this. We are all allowed a voice and I’m using mine, you said so yourself! ”

“Not like this,” Mabel heard him hiss.

“There will be order in the body of Christ,” Jakob called over the growing murmurs of anger and shock.

Mabel searched the crowd of faces, looking for signs of opinion on the matter. She stepped back into the wall of bodies and called out, “What if we put it to a vote?”

She listened with hope as the response was well mixed with yays and nays.

“Aren’t you the mute girl?”

Mabel whipped her head around at the rough voice, finding pitch-colored eyes under matching brows, drawn like a weapon on her.

“She can talk?” another voice accused next to her, shocked.