Swamp Kings 2 (Bayou Bishops #20)

CHAPTER TWELVE

“What’s the plan,” Bishop muttered. “We fucking tried with these goons.”

“Fathom will immobilize them. Fin will finish them.”

Bishop regarded the triplets who had spoken in that freaky unison, then eyed the group of hardened men again. They weren’t just survivors. Their patchwork gear and ragged appearance said taken not earned. Scavengers in worn tactical vests, makeshift holsters, guns slung across shoulders and stuffed into belts, no doubt all stolen from those they’d overpowered.

“Awaiting your command,” the three of them said, still in unison.

“Do it,” Bishop muttered.

Fetch reached out and grabbed Bishop’s shoulder, bringing his new bite gifts rushing out and into Fetch, Fathom and Fin, allowing him to see past their privacy wall. White electricity moved from Fathom through the windshield then quietly weaved into the crowd of bodies, the energy seeming to climb the air itself. Bishop marveled at seeing he was charging the dust in the air around their bodies.

Fathom released a cerulean current of light that spider-webbed out along the net he’d created. The blue energy focused on the weapons they held and within seconds, they were too hot to hold, causing every man to instantly drop them. Immediately after, Fathom sent an explosion of light through the ionized web, putting them in convulsions.

Fin moved next, his eyes closed, the sound of collective heartbeats filling Bishop’s mind as Fetch gave him a literal front row view of what he was doing. Fin tuned into the intricate flow of blood in their brains and in a silent movement, restricted. Before Bishop could wonder why, he turned his surgical focus to their hands, slipping deeper into their blood and cutting it off at their wrists and fingers, depriving nerves and tendons of oxygen until their hands locked into a clawed shape. An electric chill rode his spine at seeing them all screaming in pain with no sound, explaining what he’d initially done in their brains.

Fucking genius.

But his silent execution wasn’t done, he realized, watching him target the micro vessels next, blocking the pathways that would bring nutrients for healing. It triggered a slow buildup of scar tissue which meant those hands would forever be locked that way. Fucking wow. Bishop had wondered how he’d finish them, realizing it was a mild play on words. He wasn’t finishing them off for good, he was rendering them permanently useless. Food for other scavengers just like them.

Lesson learned?

Doubtful.

****

Bishop snatched up his ringing phone next to the bed in the rig’s private suite. At seeing the code number, he hurried out and stepped into the small bathroom. “Spook. ”

“Eveque, sorry, I ended up on detour after leading a handful of bad news away from you. Is Maggie okay?”

“Mostly worried.”

“I had to ditch my first phone, I’m on my spare.”

“Well, we ran into a twenty-man rag-tag militia about an hour back. Figured you mighta ran into them first.”

“Fuck,” he breathed, sounding surprised. “Everybody okay?”

“Yeah, our triplets took real good care of them. Didn’t kill them but these fucks are permanently disabled with crippled claw hands. Fucking coolest thing I’ve ever seen, all in under a minute. Fathom used electricity to heat the air particles while Fin manipulated their blood and crippled them. And before he did that, he disconnected their voice box from their brain,” Bishop muttered, his pulse racing all over again. “Freakiest thing watching them silently scream as their hands shriveled up.”

“Holy fuck,” Spook whispered on a breath of awe.

“What did you encounter?” Bishop wondered now.

“Not goons like that, these looked like a sci-fi nightmare.” The tension in Spook’s voice gripped him through the phone. “Each of ‘em had this jet-black body armor, sleeker than anything I’ve ever seen. You could tell it was reinforced, not just by the thickness but these weird segments crossing their torsos and limbs—metal panels blended into fabric or maybe fucking skin. No helmet, no hair, covered in weird tattoos.”

“Weird how?”

“Just symbols--or patterns. And their fucking limbs looked like muscle grafts packed under armor, like they could punch through steel. And weapons?” he went on quietly but winded, “Not surplus rifles, that’s for damn sure. Sleek tactical guns, scopes and gear strapped across their bodies for long range, the kind of tech you only read about.”

“How the fuck you escape?”

“Oh, I didn’t. I saw their armored convoys as I passed them, hidden on the side of the road but something caught my spooky eye—Masters of Mayhem. Written on the vehicle, fat, blockhead font, there was no missing it. I thought, fuck me. One glance in the rear, I see them mounting up and turned my ass right around, saving them the trouble of following. I’m just a dumb Cajun looking for a Chaos Point, wanting to know how to get some of this land for my peoples, that’s all. Need some directions and I also need as much info about these bastards as I can get.”

“Ballsy, brother.”

“No shit, and not gonna lie, mine were quaking when I stood before these giants while rattling off Cajun lingo and folk tales about swamp creatures and Jesus. Then they’re eyeing my bike like I'm obviously too stupid to own one. I told them I found it at a gas station when looking for food, asked if they could help me find where to put the electricity in it so I could charge the battery. But up close, it’s super obvious these aren’t just upgraded robots, they were a lot more like Quantum King’s offspring, only there was something missing in their eyes, something… rational.”

“Programmed?”

“Most definitely,” he assured. “Down to the eye blinks and jerky thought processing. And when they spoke—which they barely did—it was a hundred percent brain scrubbed cyborg sounding.”

“Fuck. How many you said?”

“Four. Driving two badass armored vehicles, black as the night. Matte, no shine, hard to detect. If anybody was wondering just how serious we needed to take that bitch in the broadcast, well, I’m here to tell you—very fucking serious.

“So, they obviously let you go.”

“They did, and I went straight to the Chaos Point like an excited future Ever Fallen citizen and obtained one of their Ever-Fallen Chaos Bibles.”

“Fucking perfect,” Bishop said, hurrying to the front of the rig to get their current location. He opened the cab door and stuck his head in. “Our current position, gentlemen?”

“Mile marker 216, heading north.”

“You heard?” he asked.

“Mile marker 216, northbound.”

“That’s it.”

“I can reach that in about fifteen. I’ll call you when I’m at your twelve again.”

“Stay safe, brother. I’ll tell Maggie you’re okay and she’ll see you at the halfway point rendezvous. I want to see that fucking book you picked up. You look at it?”

“Not yet. Staying in motion.”

“Oui,” he said.

“Talk soon, Eveque. Dawn-tawn-druh tah-vwɑ.”

There was more than just fondness in his tone, but also a shitload of relief to be on the right side of the dirt. The feeling was surely mutual. “Good to hear you too.”

****

Mabel slowly looked around in sick disbelief. They were literally going to leave her out there in the dead of winter. She didn’t even have her cloak. The coarse material of the black Amish dress and required underclothes could buy her two hours before freezing to death. She needed to find shelter and attempt that road in daylight hours. Without light to see by, it was a death sentence. And then again, light might be the same.

She contemplated begging for mercy at their gates right as an owl hooted on her right, stealing her breath. She scanned the shadows, searching for the terrifying things as her legs got on the move with survival instincts. She kept her eyes trained on the forest, searching along every tree till her heart pounded in her ears while the icy air cut into her lungs.

She steered her mind to her three precious girls, needing the courage of her anger more than ever. She couldn’t leave them. There had to be shelter of some kind nearby, something that would protect her from the elements and hide her from natural and unnatural threats. Come daylight, she could possibly seek help, some sort of authority or police. She recalled the state of things when she was rescued… what if everything was worse? Behind those Amish walls, the only news was their news. They never wanted any part of the world and didn’t intend to start now—country collapsing or not. And naturally it was forbidden to even talk about. Nobody knew anything and if they did, they weren’t telling .

She neared the end of the community wall, and slowed her steps, her lungs already burning. Her eyes had adjusted to the night at least. She looked up and found the moon. It was bright. She glanced back and her blood froze at the three tall figures in black cloaks standing in the middle of the road. Maybe twelve steps away.

Oh God.

The Shunned.

Mabel couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

“Where you headed, Sister?”

The deep voice seemed to come from the middle one as her panicked breaths filled the air with billowing white vapor. Sister. Did they think she was one of them? Would that be better for her or worse? If the half-civilized were barbarians, what would The Shunned be? “I’m… looking for the road out.”

The center one took steps toward her, and she went in reverse. He paused.

“I just want to leave,” she said, dread filling her at hearing her thick, non-Amish accent. “ I don’t want to cause any trouble.” Her head jerked to the tree line when three more men in black came from behind.

She was trapped. Her breaths sharpened as she regarded the ones in front of her, looking to the forest on the other side

“You won’t make it,” the same man promised, his voice lower, deeper. Angrier. “You’ll freeze to death halfway down this mountain,” he went on in the same tone. “We’ll take you wherever you want to go in the morning. Tonight, you’ll be under our protection.”

Oh God, they did think she was one of them and they definitely took care of their own. Just one more night of pretending. She could do it. “Thank you,” she said, keeping her voice low. “Brother,” she added, her heart dropping when he seemed to angle his head at her.

“How old are you?” he demanded, the question a punch in her stomach.

How old did he expect her to be? Want her to be?

“And what family you belong to?” he asked .

Oh dear God. She swallowed. “None, now,” she hurried. “I-I’ve been… put out.”

He slowly came closer, and she fought not to cower or fear. When he stood just before her, she saw his long beard. Again, he angled his head at her then raised his hands and removed his hood. No hair. His sharp eyes assessed her from top to bottom, weapons of cruel judgment that ended on her face. She gasped when he took hold of her jaw in his hand, his fingers surprisingly warm and even careful as he turned her face left and right. “You’re one of the new ones,” he muttered, releasing her while those eyes studied every inch of her face. “My name is Gideon Voss,” he said, lowly. “I’m the leader of The Shunned. I’m sure you’ve heard of us. Or maybe we only exist in forbidden fictional stories and twisted fairytales.”

He seemed to be waiting for an answer, his sharp eyes now judging whatever he saw in her eyes. She sputtered around in her head for a sensible answer. “I have not heard of you. Brother,” she added.

She was imprisoned in his hellishly hot and crushing stare for endless seconds as she panted for her life. “Interesting,” he finally muttered, his hard expression pressing her courage into a pancake.

He raised his hood back over his head. “Brother Kaine, see this sister to safety.”

“Yes sir,” a deep voice said on his left as he headed toward the line of trees.

“Thank you,” she finally managed after him.

She froze when he stopped in his tracks and looked over his shoulder. “What’s your name?”

Her dread shot back up at hearing the suspicious demand. She really had no idea if she had an Amish name. “Mary,” she blurted, sure the mother of Jesus was in the lineage. She swallowed, then released her breath when he continued toward the woods again without a word.

“Follow me close,” the one called Kaine ordered, his mood seeming darker than Mr. Voss’s. Brother Voss .

“Thank you,” she muttered, minding her every manner as he took off at a pace that required her to half run after him.

Was this a trap? Were they going to lead her deep into the woods and have their way with her? She glanced back, seeing the road still through the trees, her instincts screaming to make a run for it. She’d rather freeze to death than get raped by a mob of men called The Shunned. She wasn’t sure how she’d managed to escape that fate up till now. Had her luck run out?

Oh God, I’m sorry for my sins, please forgive me, please help me!