Once a Ghost
July 15th
Little Rock Air Force Base
Arkansas
1
Eagle teams had gone by the AFB, gathering what they could find while on their way to that doomed city to grab Adrian’s son. The base had been deserted then, lightly looted and eerie. It appeared and felt much the same as Marc and his team arrived.
It took them only a few minutes to get inside and verify that no one had come through since they had. Marc thought there might have been large animals on the base from the tracks, but not one sign of people made him breathe easier. He’d been prepared to fight for it, but it was easier this way. He had brought his full group, one man from each of the other teams, and three promising rookies. The rest, he had left to defend his family.
Arriving at dawn, by the time the sun set on the first day, they’d made good progress. Marc had them set up in the center command room, power going through the backup generators, and computers whirling softly in the electric lights that none of them were comfortable with anymore. They’d adjusted to candles and flashlights, to lanterns and fires–to the old ways that had started to become lost.
Marc didn’t put on a security detail yet, instead keeping the men in the large command room with him. As the first night inside the base rolled by, Marc prepared them for his departure.
“We’ll go to Denver first, see which route they take, make sure it’s 25. We’ll set things up all along there and 40.”
“What about other survivors?” Shane wanted to know. “Won’t they get caught in our traps, blow them too soon?”
“Some of them will, I’m sure,” Marc responded grimly. “Most have gone to ground. They know a fight is coming. I’m sure Adrian has a plan for it.”
“He shut Safe Haven down,” Morgan, one of the few remaining from Kyle’s team, reminded them.
Marc ignored the guilt as best he could. “We can’t leave signs or give radio warnings. The best we can do is report where we know the enemy is going, so they’ll stay clear of the area.”
“That could help us,” Rusty stated, moving a bit closer. He was on Seth’s team and he missed that, but being here with Brady was worth it. He was honored to be chosen. “Many survivors want a target,” Rusty added.
Marc was counting on it. The more damage and chaos they could cause the enemy, the better their chances were of reducing the number of troops in the final battle that would likely take place in Lookout Mountain, Georgia.
“It gives them an advantage, if we force them to take 25.”
Marc agreed resignedly. “Several of them. Besides the roads that Cesar already cleared, they’ll have towns in easy reach for resupplying.”
“Won’t those be emptied?” Paul asked.
“Some of it will, but unless you’re military, you can’t possibly imagine how many locations you can use to resupply yourself. The suburbs are helpful, but those big cities along 25 are goldmines.”
“And if we make them take 70?”
“It puts them here a week sooner. It’s a high price to pay to keep them from resupplying,” Marc stated. “I chose to let them take 25 so that we’ll have the extra week to set things up.”
“Choke points are the reservoirs, north and south avenues of approach,” Donald added, staring at the maps with a hard glare. On Zack’s team, he’d been low ranked. He expected the same on this run.
“What if they don’t come through here?” Shane asked, viewing the shadows on the walls as if they were from another planet. They didn’t sway in the breeze like camp tents did and it made him uneasy.
“We’re going to use good bait,” Marc answered,
“What?”
Marc held up a tape recorder and hit play. Angela’s voice flowed out.
“We’ll use the Air Force Base and send the camp on. They’ll assume we’re with Safe Haven and we’ll wipe them out.”
Marc hit stop. “I’ve got a few clips like that. We know they’re listening in any way they can, monitoring and collecting information. We’ll plant some.”
“You’re sure they’ll fall for it?”
“We’re going to make it look real. They probably have satellites redirected and reconnected by now. When they zoom in on the base, they’ll find an army waiting for them,” Marc said.
“How do we make it appear that 18 men are an army?” Shane asked. “They’ll know we’re bluffing when none of the mannequins change shifts.”
Marc’s face filled with cold calculation. “Who said anything about bluffing?”
2
“I have to leave you here for a little while,” Marc stated quietly a bit later, voice rising over the light conversations among the settling men. “I have friends to gather.”
The Eagles hated the idea of Marc going out alone, but he knew what had to be done. “While I’m gone, you’ll work on these pages of preparations.” Marc tossed the notebook to Quinn. “You’re in charge, my XO here.”
Quinn nodded in eager pride, opening the book. The first paragraph got his attention and held it completely.
“This base is where the soldiers will come to make their own camp. From here, they’ll punch out troops to wherever we are. If they take this building, they take Safe Haven.”
Quinn glanced up in horror. “We can’t hold this place with only 17 men.”
“That’s why I have to go visit some friends,” Marc answered. “Turn to the last page.”
Quinn did it quickly, reading.
“If I don’t come back, this all falls to you. Keep them out as long as you can and buy SH time to hole up at Lookout Mountain.”
Marc slid his hands under his neck as he lay on the cot. They’d brought the beds up to this one room and the barracks feel of them bunking together had Marc’s mind drifting contentedly through past moments of glory, searching for anything he could use.
“When you know you’ve lost it, blow the traps that we and the supply teams have put down. Block every avenue of approach that you can as you go.”
The Eagles took turns studying the book when Quinn handed it around, and Marc let himself go to sleep, relaxed for the last time on this mission. From here on out, life would get incredibly hard and become more satisfying than even working under Adrian.
An hour before dawn, Marc woke Quinn and gestured for him to follow.
Kit over his shoulder, Marc looked west. “I’ll be in Oklahoma if something unexpected happens and you need me. I’ll be on a southeast to northwest route.”
Quinn walked Marc from the building to find Jax and Paul waiting by their vehicles.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Marc asked.
“With you.”
Marc grinned. He hadn’t thought any of them would want to leave the relative safety of the base. “I’d be glad of the company.”
Marc held a hand out to Quinn. “Do it how I would. Be me. They’ll come around.”
Quinn shook it with eager happiness. He’d never been given control of anything in his life, but he’d dreamed of the day that he would get to prove himself. Now, here, he would finally get the chance. Marc had put him in charge. Marc had faith in him. That was enough to convince Quinn that his time for glory had come, and he went inside with a set jaw. When Marc returned, he would find the list finished.
3
It took them three days to reach the area that Marc wanted, one of those spent trading in their loud bikes for horses, and he had furthered their training while they traveled.
The two Eagles were soaking it up, confident that Marc knew what he was doing. He’d earned their respect with his courage. The fact that he was taking them deep into Indian lands, hoping to convince them to fight, was amazing. That they might die hadn’t sent either rookie back when they’d heard the plan.
Marc had confided in them while showing Jax how to saddle the wild horses they’d broken only enough to be rideable. It helped that it hadn’t been so long since the horses had been used for it, but catching them had been rough. Paul had been a huge help. He clearly didn’t mind animals.
“If we can convince even one tribe to fight with us, it will pull the others in,” Marc had told them.
“Won’t they all want to fight?” Jax had asked. “Surely they don’t want the government here.”
“Of course not, but they were nearly wiped from existence once. They’ll be sure of the outcome this time.”
“They’ll be leery. We can’t just ride up, explain what’s coming, and ask for help. That will get us killed,” Paul had remarked.
“What’s the plan?”
Marc had smirked at the eager tones. “Ghosting, of a sort.”
Now, riding through Choctaw lands, Paul thought he understood better. Observing Marc, learning from him, was incredible and sometimes surreal. He was so quiet! Even on an animal he wasn’t familiar with, Marc was dangerous, like he’d bended the horse’s will to match his.
“We’re not alone,” Jax picked it up suddenly. “We’ve got a tail.”
“This isn’t going to be easy,” Marc warned the men on either side of him. “They had to obey the laws before. That isn’t the case now.”
Paul understood some of what they were about to face and was scared. He was also excited. He came from a family that hadn’t believed in exploring their roots, but Paul had missed not knowing where he came from. He’d always felt a connection to these lands, these people.
“You’ll follow my lead, then your training, then your instincts. Is that clear?” Marc drilled.
Both men agreed, thrilled to be a part of what Marc had told them over the last days. If his plans worked, Safe Haven wouldn’t have to worry.
“We’ve got fresh eyes on us, I think,” Paul stated, enjoying the comforting creak of the saddle beneath him. He’d also missed riding. “Closer.”
“They’ve been there since we entered tribal lands,” Marc confirmed. This was it.
“I mean closer, like we’re about to be…”
Spaatt!
The arrow sank into the tree on Paul’s right.
The three Eagles came to a quick stop.
“Be still,” Marc instructed, observing only the riders in front of them.
The Indians didn’t want them here. That was the first thing they all picked out. The second was that there were a lot of them, and they appeared like the proud natives of legend, not the drunken troublemakers the world had been told of for so long. They’d reclaimed their heritage.
Marc stayed pointed forward, voice low. “They’ll look for fear. Do what I do.”
The sound of softly padding horses came to their ears, but neither of the rookies glanced around for the source. The Indians ahead of them were stern-faced shadows without paint, but loaded with weapons.
Marc felt the demon tense as his gifts were sensed and went with plan B. His voice rang through the area in haughty pride, “The Ghost wishes to cross your lands.”
The trio held still as silence filled the woods. Not even the birds made noise.
The soft pad of an unshod horse came from the right and Marc bowed his head.
Paul and Jax hurried to do the same.
“White men are not allowed here.”
“No other men are allowed here,” another warrior added, voice guttural with hatred. “Kill them now.”
“The Ghost does not trespass. He comes to barter passage,” Marc informed them, making sure they understood what he was to be addressed as.
“What does he bring to barter with?”
Marc slowly raised a hand toward his saddlebags. “Medicine.”
“We need none of your poisons!” the guttural warrior spat. “Kill them!”
“It will help with the radiation sickness and the miscarriages you’re people are having.”
There was a thick silence as a horse covered in a sheen of sweat came around to take a blocking position in front of them. It told Marc that this was a second group that had ridden hard to catch up.
“Why does a trio of hard-asses come here alone?”
Marc locked gazes with the obviously important Indian now in front of him. “Will you accept my barter? I can add these horses, but we’ll need to ride them to the edge of tribal lands first. Our business is important.”
The warrior stared with a weathered, impassive face, but Marc knew he understood what was happening even before the man spoke.
“The soldiers have woken. You are one of them.”
“I was before, when there was no choice,” Marc answered. “Now, there’s a different future waiting for my people. As there is for yours.”
“We stay here and have been left alone except for trespassers,” the warrior stated arrogantly, tone implying he wasn’t sure if that’s what he’d found.
Marc knew better than to let the demon do any pushing yet and kept him locked down. “The soldiers are coming, a thousand strong. We go to slow them down, to buy time for our camp to get away, to kill as many as we can.”
None of the braves reacted, but tension filled the woods.
The warrior in front of them, covered in gray and leathery skin, searched Marc for an endless moment. In that look, was awareness.
“You are from Safe Haven.”
It wasn’t a question.
The warrior skimmed Marc’s men and his tone curled with scorn. “Those are not Ghosts.”
Marc didn’t argue. “Braves in training, rookies.”
The Indian didn’t crack a grin, but Marc thought that maybe he wanted to. Marc guessed he might be talking to the relative of a chief and waited respectfully for the man’s choice.
“Three men to stop an army. The odds are not with you.”
“If the Creator wills it, we’ll die. We don’t question the path we’ve been put on,” Marc stated gravely. “We do our duty to our people.”
“He lies!” guttural warrior shouted. “He dies!”
Marc pulled the demon forward a bit and turned to inspect the warrior. The menace in his stare was impossible to miss and guttural warrior fell silent, confused and leery.
Marc turned his head to the warrior in front of him.
The leader stared hard, face betraying some of his surprise. Thaddeus didn’t back down from anyone–ever–and Natoli respected Marc instantly.
“We will escort you out of our lands, in exchange for the medicine,” Natoli decided.
Marc gestured for Paul to get it. “Would you like to hold our weapons?”
Now there was a reaction from the braves. To offer to ride defenseless among your enemy was fearless.
Paul put the prepared bag in Marc’s hand and got back in line.
The warrior searched Marc for another long moment and then kneed his horse toward the west. “I am Natoli, of the Choctaw. It is a three-day ride to tribal borders. You may hunt with knives and drink from the streams.”
“We have rations,” Marc stated calmly. “I prefer to ride straight through for as long as my men can stand.”
“As you wish.”
Marc waited until the line of warriors began moving, and then gently kneed his horse. “Stay in my formation.”
Paul and Jax went to their assigned places with no show of fear at the sheer number of horse-bound Indians now coming from the hills and woods to surround them.
“Keep your hands away from your weapons, but don’t do anything else differently than you’ve been doing. Follow my lines.”
The Indians didn’t like his words, but they did respect them. The others were exactly what he’d said–in training–but was he really the Ghost? If he were, that would change their own plans, their future.
As they traveled, Marc could feel the nerves of his men, but also the curiosity of the braves. He resumed the last lesson he’d been teaching them.
“Noise can echo for miles,” Marc stated, striking a match on the saddle to light his hand-rolled smoke. Packs and cartons were things of the past unless a scavenging run got very lucky. “We’ve gone over the items most common to give you away. Tell me what they were.”
Jax spoke first, “Keys, belts and buckles, straps.”
“Gear that isn’t packed right,” Paul added, controlling his nerves. It helped to have something else to think about. “Also unsecured weapons.”
“One minute of silence. Tell me what you hear.”
It was eerie, the way the Indians instantly went quiet.
They’d been talking lowly, adjusting and using things from their pouches and packs, but at Marc’s instruction, there wasn’t a single sound from them.
It was completely unnerving and the Eagles forgot how to work around it.
Marc’s voice was laced with a generous respect. “Those are Ghosts, gentlemen. That’s your goal.”
Marc didn’t wait for that good wave to sink in before firing the next. “Pay attention to them and what they don’t do. It wouldn’t hurt to pick up a few things while we’re traveling together.”
Natoli didn’t look back. It was beneath him to do so, but he allowed his pace to slow until his top braves were in the lead and he was even with Marc.
He didn’t speak, but Marc knew he had questions. Instead of rushing to fill them in, Marc began to hum. After a minute or so, the two Eagles along for this ride joined in. Adrian’s favorite song reminded them too much of home not to.
For the Indians, it was a connection that they hadn’t expected. Riding and humming a soft, deep tune was something they’d been doing for centuries. For the Eagles, it was a calming habit that Marc had begun almost as soon as they’d left Safe Haven’s gates.
Like he’d known we would need to do this, Jax thought, no longer as rattled. He loved this song.
Natoli continued to search Marc in long glances that Marc refused to respond to. These were native people with strong traditions that were finally free to flourish unrestricted. When they asked questions, he would be ready. Until then, it was a companionable ride and he could keep training. Where Marc was hoping they would end up, Paul and Jax would need all the help he could give them.
4
Marc dozed lightly in the saddle as they rode through the thick woods. The trees here weren’t covered in mold and it made for sweet, clean breezes that relaxed a man’s heart and helped him see what mattered.
Sensing movement on his right, Marc heard Paul shove Jax into his place and picked his next reaction. All of them were dozing–they’d been traveling for a full day and night since joining the Indians–but Jax kept falling in too deep.
“Your man is weary. You may sleep here unharmed,” Natoli offered.
Marc began rolling a fresh smoke. “No. He’ll keep up or go.”
Jax did what none of them expected. He slapped himself three times, fast.
Marc approved as he rolled a second smoke. When he offered one to the warrior still riding next to him, it was taken.
“We shall hear from my chief soon,” Natoli stated, also accepting Marc’s lighter. He inhaled lightly, getting the taste, and grinned before inhaling normally.
Marc lit his own and let the smoke gather until he could shoot a large bubble into the sky. He popped a few simple rings with the last of the smoke and studied the warrior.
Natoli had spent a lot of time in what his grandparents had been forced to call the civilized world and he recognized things about Marc. He spotted the cunning and subtle manipulations, but it was the request he felt coming that stirred his heart. He’d always longed to be there. He was sure his strengths could have helped his people keep their land, their lives, and their dignity.
When Natoli didn’t offer any more conversation, neither did Marc. They were about to reach the first border, where the Choctaw lands became another tribe’s marked-off slot. He wondered if the tribes were still obeying the jurisdictions. No reason to now. They could return to their homelands. Marc was curious as to why they had chosen to stay here, but after the trek he’d made since the war, it was clear they’d made the right choice.
Jax began to slide–everyone knew what it was by the loud creaking–and Paul reached out to shove him again.
Before his hand could get there, Marc turned and drilled Jax in the shoulder.
Jax went off the other side of the horse and landed in a bewildered heap in front of guttural Indian’s horse.
Thaddeus reigned up sharply with a scowl, but didn’t comment. The man had been punished for his negligence.
As Marc stopped and stared, so did their escorts.
Jax flushed a deep red. He picked himself up without saying anything and swung into the saddle without a grimace at the throb. Marc had a hell of a shoulder slide when he was pissed.
“I’m not, really,” Marc stated. He’d had the demon listening in case Jax decided this was the time to let out that infamous temper. “You ready to give up that place yet?”
Jax’s jaw settled into rigid lines. “No, I’m not.”
Marc turned around. “Good. You sleep when I do. Not before.”
“Yes, sir.”
The scouting party of Choctaw warriors continued to study these strange white men, but most of the escort party was already convinced of their truthfulness about where they were going. Now, they had to discover if Marc was the one they were waiting for. If he were, they would join his quest to defeat the treacherous white men. If not, all three of these enemy soldiers would die.
5
Now that Marc had shown he knew how to control his men, he demonstrated that he also knew how to care for them. That was vital when a man was seeking someone to fight under him. Spilling blood wasn’t the only thing a killer needed or wanted.
“We’ll take a few hours soon and eat, sleep. Jax can cook. Paul can care for the horses.”
On cue, Jax responded, “Rations or fresh?”
“Stew,” Marc responded, slowly taking three throwing knives from a jacket pocket. He’d been scanning ahead with his grid, sure the Chickasaw scouts were close. He’d found an opportunity instead.
“Dried beef stew or chicken?”
Marc kneed his horse suddenly, using it to flush a thicket where a small den of rabbits scattered.
He used the knives in quick succession.
The Indians had flinched, some of them, and Marc’s rookies had half dismounted to stay on his heels no matter where he was suddenly going.
Marc ignored them all as he went to retrieve his kill.
“My thanks,” he murmured, snapping the neck of the hare he hadn’t killed with the last throw.
Marc cut off the heads with his k-bar and then slit the rabbits from end to end as he held them up, keeping the blood from pooling in the meat. He quickly cleaned them out, not caring that he was holding up their convoy. These ten minutes would demonstrate many things.
Marc didn’t take the time to skin the meat, but wrapped it in thick leaves from the bush the rabbits had been cowering in as the horses came by. He buried the rest of the mess, digging in quick jerks with his k-bar, then stored the meat in the top of a saddlebag.
After he wiped his hands on a wet-wipe, he shoved it into his pocket to use as tinder later, and mounted up. “Make the flapjacks with the stew. Just like I showed you and be generous. We’ll pick up more supplies as we go.”
Jax and Paul were in awe. They’d had no idea that Marc knew how to live like these Indians, but it was clear that they’d underestimated him. They’d thought to be doing typical government trickery, but Marc was the real thing.
It was obvious that their escorts felt the same. As soon as Natoli picked an area, Marc was in a conversation with a dozen braves. It was good progress and his Eagles tried to listen as they went about the duties they’d been given.
“We have a legend,” Natoli began from Marc’s right. “It says that Afterworld will be ruled by a Ghost.”
He met Marc’s eye curiously. “Do you know of this tale?”
Marc stripped his saddle and took it to where he would sleep. “Yes. A savior to unite the remaining people after mother earth expels the others.”
Natoli trailed him. “They say he will have great power over the lands to the west and north, that even the south will join him on the quest,” Thaddeus added. Like them or not, he was also convinced of who Marc was. He hadn’t even known the rabbits were there. Who else but a ghost could have spotted them?
“And you wonder if I am that man,” Marc supplied, tossing down his bedroll. “The one from your stories.”
Paul brought the other two saddles over and Marc took the bedrolls from each of them and began to get all three of their places ready. “What if I told you I’ve always been called that, but never actually felt like it? Would my lack of belief matter to your people?”
Thaddeus responded in light surprise at the honesty. “No. The spirits put men into place as if all life is one constant battle. If you are the one, you will take us there through your choices, not your belief.”
Marc absorbed that as he dug through his kit. “So you would follow the Ghost into a battle, so long as you are sure he is the one of legend?”
Thaddeus turned away. “Do not abuse our trust, white man. Too many have.”
Marc understood how he could feel that way, but didn’t make any promises.
That was also noticed.
Jax steeled his nerves as he gathered what he needed for the large meal. He understood what Marc wanted, what he’d be doing for the next hours, and understood it was to toughen him up and show he’d been punished. It was something these men would respect and Jax handled his temper well considering how tired he was.
After building the quick, light-smoke fire that Marc had shown them, Jax took a small pinch of a cotton ball covered in petroleum jelly from his watertight canister and placed it in the center of his tinder.
Around him, the Choctaws observed curiously as he took a flint striker from his belt and struck a spark onto the cotton ball. It flamed right up.
Despite the wind and the small piece of the ball, the tiny blaze continued to burn while he put the striker away and held the tinder to where it would catch easier. Seconds later, he had a nice fire started and went to get a pot and fill it with water.
The Indians exchanged grins, gesturing toward the homemade fire kit.
Marc caught Paul as he went by. “Some of their horses have cuts from the brambles we went through. Do ours, then theirs, but ask them first.”
Paul agreed contentedly. He loved caring for horses, being out in the open, learning new ways. He’d already picked up quite a few tricks while observing their escorts, and unlike Jax, he was using his curiosity to stay alert.
Paul finished their own animals quickly–he had been applying the salve to any injuries each night as he and Jax bedded them down–but when he started to go toward the closest Indian horse, Marc pinned him with a hard glare.
Paul felt it from across their comfortable little camp and turned.
Marc’s eyes went to Natoli. “His first.”
Paul understood and respectfully approached the warrior. “May I tend your animal?”
Natoli gave a short nod. “All of my braves will allow it. There is no need to ask each one.”
Paul was in heaven from that moment on. Being surrounded by horses for the next few hours was perfect for him.
Their company liked his happiness. They watched him closely, but after only a single animal, it was clear what his passion was.
“He makes a fine horseman,” Natoli said, joining Marc by the cooking stew.
“Yes. A good fighter, too. Loyal.”
The warrior appraised Jax as he finished skinning the last rabbit and slid the meat into the pot. “What of this one?”
Marc didn’t stare at the nervous Eagle, instead tossing him an extra pouch of mix from the kit at his side. “He kills.”
That drew more respect and also a bit of doubt. Fumbling with the boxes and packs, Jax didn’t look dangerous at all. He looked like their women.
Marc snorted at the images. “He cooks like one, too.”
That was a compliment to these men, but Jax didn’t know it. He turned to Marc with a snotty glare and was saved an embarrassment by Paul stepping in front of him.
“Here’s the whey milk I saved. Make ‘em good, squaw. We’re hungry.”
Jax tried to stay mad and found himself laughing with everyone else. “Well, if I’m going to be treated like a woman, I’d better be protected like one, too.”
It was an odd moment where Marc expected joking responses. What the comment received, was agreement.
Interesting, Marc thought. We push this shit out even a little and the survivors soak it up as if they’re starving. Very interesting.
6
The meal was good. Jax hadn’t known how they would serve the stew to their escorts, but Marc handed him a small stack of cups from his kit and he dipped as much as each one would hold. He gave them to Paul, who was already passing around stacks of flapjacks, and the campsite filled with happily feasting riders. The Indians hadn’t eaten anything from their own pouches or made any stops either.
Now that they’d provided a meal for everyone, the Indians might provide something, like entertainment or the morning meal. It was a tradeoff system that Marc planned to stick with. The results were impossible to argue with.
“More?” Jax asked, glancing around the group.
Marc held out his sloppy cup. “Half way.”
Marc never took seconds, not even when they were in camp.
Jax turned away before the good feeling could bring up tears. He was one of those cursed people who cried when happy or angry, and he struggled to hide it from the Indians.
Paul groaned as he stood up. “Permission to find a bush and crash?”
“Granted,” Marc allowed, almost smiling. The food had been hot and they felt safe with their escorts. Life now was often much worse.
Jax started cleaning up after handing Marc his cup, leaving him and Natoli alone. Marc took his time finishing the stew. Once they left tribal lands, they would use their rations. Few lights would be allowed in enemy territory until the fighting began.
“Then I’ll give them all the light they can stand,” Marc muttered, mind going to the horrible feeling of doom he’d felt upon riding away from Safe Haven.
Natoli studied Marc as he smoked, confident that his braves had them protected. “We have questions.”
Marc had been hoping it would happen soon. “I have the time.”
The warrior’s brows drew together. “Who are you?”
Marc let the crimson bleed through and observed the warrior pale. He shoved a blast of power out, felt the man cringe from the harmless energy he’d sent.
“Do not doubt me.” Marc pulled the demon in like he’d watch Angela do hundreds of times. It was harder than he’d imagined.
“We few who stayed,” the warrior began, waving his braves off as they came to his defense. “We are not healthy. The winds come from the oceans and kill our animals, wither our crops. We cannot stay here.”
Marc understood something had to be stopping them from leaving. “Your people know the government survived. They fear being hunted if they leave these lands.”
Natoli’s voice was thick with anger. “This time we will die out. They have no right to keep us here!”
“No. They never did.” Marc’s eyes flashed.
This time, the warrior wasn’t intimidated. “We’ve seen others like you. They will fight at your side?’
Marc nodded, thinking of how many magic users were currently in Safe Haven. “With the help of tribesmen or alone, we will stand for oppression no longer.”
The rest of the night passed in a thick, thoughtful silence that said plans were being formed and shored up. This group was making their choice.
7
Marc’s obnoxious alarm jerked Jax and Paul into upright positions with their guns in hand.
The Indians around them snickered. They’d observed Marc placing it between the heads of his two men and waited for the entertainment. They liked the Ghost, these twenty scouts. Most of them wanted to go along for his ride, but that choice would be made by their chief and they would honor it.
“Where’s Brady?” Paul asked, yawning.
Jax slowly put away his gun. He was the more leery of the two. “His horse is here. He’s around.”
“Your leader is bathing away the other world, the corrupt one. He will return when he is finished.”
Both Eagles were instantly uneasy, not sure if that meant Marc had gone willingly or been taken.
Paul snorted. “Marc taken and we didn’t hear it? Yeah. That’ll happen.”
Jax agreed, chuckling at their worry. If Marc were in trouble, they would have been woken by those brutal Colts.
“Do we need to stay away from him until he’s done?”
“You are free to watch,” Thaddeus invited.
As soon as they’d taken care of themselves and given their horses a drink, the two Eagles went toward the small crowd of braves on the nearby hill. The men were pointing, betting, and neither Paul nor Jax liked the images that were forming. Bathing away a corrupt world couldn’t possibly be as simple as getting clean.
They joined the warriors without showing any signs of fear. It helped that there was only a worried anger. There wasn’t anything to scent and trigger a problem, and the braves let them through.
“What the hell…” Paul trailed off as Marc, naked except for his boxers, dove into the creek below. They had a view from fifty feet above the crystal clear water that was beautiful, inviting, and full of wildlife.
“What’s he doing?!” Jax swore. “Things come out…”
Marc broke the surface with an enormous grin that instantly made both men feel left out.
Paul narrowed in on the shapes under the water. It wasn’t the snake-like things he’d expected, but hundreds of fish.
Paul turned to the closest man. “Are they still safe to eat?”
Thaddeus pointed downstream, where a group of braves was wading up with nets. As they struggled against the current, the water rose to their waists, then chests, but Marc’s antics upstream kept pushing the fish into their waiting arms.
“He is a good hunter. You will learn much from him,” the warrior stated. “If you survive.”
Paul and Jax exchanged a glance, but didn’t comment further. Instead, they returned to the campsite and helped the other men prepare an area for their coming fish fry.
8
Their breakfast of fish and onion burritos inside smoked leaves was interrupted by the arrival of three new warriors. These men rode into the center of the camp with an attitude that said they were important.
“Ah, braves have come from the Chickasaw. We shall find out if the Ghost goes from here with them,” Thaddeus stated.
Marc waited patiently, as if he held no concern for the glares of the new men.
The Chickasaw warriors talked to Thaddeus and Natoli in low tones. Their words didn’t carry, but the incredulous expressions of the new arrivals were clear.
“What happens now?” Jax asked, cleaning up his mess and swallowing a belch.
“They’ll kill us or take us where we want to go,” Marc answered. “Same as with the Choctaws. You’ve both done great. Don’t stop now. Be what you are.”
That clue came a second before the three new warriors moved their way, drawing knives.
Paul was the first one up, hand on his holster. “I was told not to kill anything on your lands. If you attack my leader, I will break that rule.”
Jax rose to his feet, voice deceptively casual. “Paul’s the best gun on our team after Marc. He won’t miss. Neither will I.”
Marc flashed a sarcastic look of sympathy. “My men are very loyal.”
Instead of the fight Paul and Jax were bracing for, Natoli’s confidently arrogant tones rang across camp.
“I believe that is my knife in your hand, Atolius.”
Atolius scowled, but obligingly tossed the knife to Natoli. “They don’t look that hard!”
Marc waited for the new men to come closer, and offered the smokes he’d rolled. All of the braves accepted, using sticks from the fire for lights.
Marc blew smoke toward the sky, feeling more alive than he had in a while. “Thank you for the bath. I needed it.”
He hadn’t been sure what to expect when he’d woken to find most of their escorts on the bank, but he’d recognized the opportunity when he’d spotted all the fish around the bathing Indians.
“We will go with you, to the lands of the desert.”
Marc waited for Atolius to continue.
“When we arrive, I will view the enemy. If the threat will reach our people, then we will stand with the Ghost.”
Marc extended his arm. “My thanks.”
The Indian clasped his around the forearm and gave a firm shake. “Our honor.”
Not about to miss another opportunity, when the demon spoke, so did Marc.
“I feel your unrest. The drive to take your people home is one that will never give you peace. It must be accomplished to be banished.”
Atolius jerked his arm away, but didn’t leave the fire, and Marc delivered a final message from the demon. “You have a traitor here. I can feel him, listening and worrying. Beware.”
Marc let the red bleed through slightly, and then pulled it in. Every moment like this was practice for when he would use his gifts in battle for the first time. “Do not ignore my words. It will lead to death.”
Marc shoved up from his seat and everyone flinched.
Getting a little taste of what Angela had gone through, Marc was overcome with the need to be alone. “I’m leaving in five minutes.”
He walked toward the tree line to get himself under control and heard the immediate response of a camp being broken down.
So, this is what Adrian feel likes every day. No wonder he thinks he has it all covered.
Marc swallowed the pride, glad that he could, and got to work.
9
They left exactly five minutes after Marc spoke it, Paul and Jax in their usual place and the Chickasaw Indians behind them, studying. Marc was glad of that, too. The more details they picked up, the more likely they were to fight with him.
“Would you hear of a legend?”
“I enjoy stories,” Marc invited.
“Perhaps you will tell us one sometime,” Natoli tried to confirm.
“Perhaps.”
Natoli cleared his throat, turning his head to the front at the lightly given sting. It said his story had to be good enough.
“When we were first sent here, the land was welcoming. It gave us great harvests and fed our bellies. Then the warming came. Year after year, it got hotter, damper, until the ground refused to be so generous. When the catastrophe came, we were starving.”
Marc blew out smoke, waiting, observing.
“After it all fell, we took what we needed from the stores and began to recover our stolen culture. We formed new trade routes, new laws and rights, and we joined with our brothers on all sides.”
This was what Marc had been hoping for and he gave the man his full attention.
Natoli, sensing Marc’s interest, provided more details. “We have hatred in our hearts for the soldiers. We would fight, but they are all gone. The Indian has inherited the earth, not those who drove us out of our homes.”
“And now here we come, ruining the happy ending,” Marc drawled.
He could certainly understand their hatred and their desire to be in charge. They’d never raped the earth the way a government-run society did.
“Yes, the news has been devastating. Some of the tribes are holding councils as we ride through their lands. Some are refusing to consider the fight now that it has come to us. My own tribe has chosen to battle, but we are among the few who practiced the old ways in secret. We have more students than fighters, though. It is true of all tribes now.”
“My people are the same,” Marc said. “Some will fight, but most will hide until it’s over. There was never any doubt for me of my path.”
Natoli viewed Marc’s matching, ivory-handled Colts with the respect they deserved. “No, with one such as you, how could your future be anything but what you’ve become?”
“Indeed,” Marc agreed. He’d been battered through life until he was now the ram that others would be hurt upon. So be it.
“You have Indian blood.”
“I’m a mix of many things. I used to think the Gypsy side was dormant.”
“Until you discovered the spirit lurking inside,” Natoli guessed.
Marc stared. “How do you know so much about my kind?”
Natoli gave a light sneer laced with scorn. “You are not the first ghost to travel these lands since the war.” Natoli’s voice lowered. “Or even before that day.”
Marc felt it then, the kinship, and let himself ask, “You have tribesmen like me?”
Natoli didn’t openly confirm or deny it. Instead, he began to speak in the deep tones of a natural storyteller.
“The odd ones came among our people when the white man arrived. They were drawn to our kindness, to our respect of nature. When the soldiers began driving us out like cattle, the odd ones aided us, healed our warriors and provided shelters that the army could not locate. We were protected.”
Marc noticed all the braves listening and guessed by the expressions that it was a story that some of them hadn’t heard.
“Then the white man began taking the odd ones, stealing them from our vibrant camps. The Indians began to die in massive numbers and the odd ones vanished from our knowledge.”
Natoli stiffened his shoulders. “We were sent here to be brainwashed and it has worked. Half of the tribes are still clinging to the soldier’s rules, though their control of us has ended. Some kept the old ways in secret and those are the warriors who came to view the odd one who calls himself our Ghost.”
“And when they understand that I am who I claimed to be?”
Natoli grunted in set resolve. “Then we will go to war against the soldiers once again, except this time, we will not let our power be stolen!”
Marc instantly felt protected and knew his Eagles did as well. “Are many coming?”
“All the tribes have stories of the odd ones arriving to rescue them from their prisons. Believe in these legends or not, they are curious,” Thaddeus confided from Marc’s other side.
“So I shouldn’t fear to show them who I am?”
Thaddeus’s face tightened. “The more you demonstrate your differences, the more all of the warriors will view you that way. The months of freedom have allowed a return to manhood for those brave enough to chase it. They will follow, if you are worthy.”
Marc thought of Adrian, who was followed despite his now glaring weaknesses. I don’t want that fall. I won’t stand for the disgrace.
Natoli left Marc to his deep thoughts, satisfied the Ghost understood his message. Natoli wanted the tribes to unite against the government so that he could take his people out of these dead lands, but without enough consensuses, the other tribes would hunt them down for bringing the wrath of the soldiers. The government didn’t care which tribe they hit, only that an Indian had broken the rules and must be punished. Natoli wouldn’t bring that down on his people any more than he would run and have his tribe be hunted, but in his heart, he knew they had to fight. If the soldiers made it to Oklahoma, his people would be wiped out this time. Eight months of learning how to be fighters wasn’t nearly enough against the government and Natoli knew it.
He glanced at Marc’s stern profile thoughtfully. If this hard-ass is what he claims, his power alone might give us an advantage.
“They may have odd ones, of their own,” Marc warned. He refused to downplay the danger.
Natoli had considered that. “But they will be weak after living inside the earth all this time, yes?”
“That’s my hope,” Marc stated evenly. “But I won’t count on it.”
“Mine, as well,” Natoli confided. “When the other odd ones join us, it won’t matter.”
“There are a lot of horses moving through the woods around us,” Marc commented lightly. He wasn’t sensing a threat, only curiosity.
“Yes. Most of the scouts will observe from a distance,” Thaddeus confirmed. “There were more than fifty tribes crammed into Oklahoma and many were bitter enemies. The government hoped we would fight each other and finish what they started.”
“And instead?”
Thaddeus’s head went up. “We did to them, what they’d done to us. We learned their ways and copied them. We took advantage of the treaties and enacted new laws to protect our children. For that, we had to sacrifice our heritage.”
Marc thought of the areas they’d come through. The land here wasn’t as if untouched. It was as if marked by nature to flourish. There wasn’t any mold, no mutations that he’d spotted. The air was sweet and inviting, the wildlife, well it was everywhere. Marc had never seen so many animals in Oklahoma. This had mostly been an arid place, full of dust and tornadoes, meant to be harsh on anyone who lived here, but that had changed.
“Why do you want to leave? By staying true to your beliefs, it looks like nature is leaving you alone in these areas. I’m also assuming that the medicine you need isn’t for anyone here. Should I try to guess?”
Thaddeus didn’t look over. “Some of our people have broken the rules and left. The Navajo have missed their rocky homelands, as have the Cheyenne missed the Great Plains. It was a radio transmission from your Safe Haven that drove me to gather the older warriors from my tribe and begin training our youth. Others did the same and we have been able to carry supplies to our rogue groups.”
Marc stared in understanding. “Instead of fighting after you came here, you banded together.”
Natoli offered more details, sensing that if he did, Marc might do the same. “Quiet deals made a tense peace possible at first. When it became clear that Uncle Sam did not intend to honor his promises to any of the tribes, we began talking, trading to ensure our survival. Except for the Iroquois Nation, all tribes in Oklahoma coexist.”
“That’s amazing,” Marc praised. “And your outer clans, will they come?”
“We will take word to them, with the medicine.”
Marc was satisfied. He’d expected to have to convince each tribe that they encountered, but thanks to Indian adaptability, he might have this part of the plan already covered. These men wanted to be free. He could lead them there and Marc now intended to make sure they knew it before he left them. They might be ‘civilized’ Indians trying to remember who they’d been, but with their natural instincts and longings, Marc had no doubt about helping them become as lethal as their ancestors had been. It was who he was in this new life, who he’d always wanted to be before, and there was no longer any wrestling with the demon inside. He asked and the voice answered. Denial had come and gone. Now, only hard anger had that place.
A cold chill swept over Marc and he knew instantly what that feeling meant.
“Hit the deck!”
Marc’s command was instantly followed by Paul and Jax, but their escorts doubted his concern. Until the arrows began flying at them and they realized their farthest lookouts had been overcome.
Natoli and Thaddeus began shooting orders and Marc led his rookies into the shelter of a nearby thicket, eager to discover if they would be as protected as implied.
Screams and shouts came, though the thicket was too dense for sight, and the three men waited uneasily. They were used to being the ones fighting and it felt wrong to let the Indians do their work.
“It is over,” Atolius called.
Marc cautiously led them out of hiding, a gun in each hand. Behind him, the Eagles appeared much the same.
Atolius grinned. “It was only a raiding party who didn’t know what they were walking into.”
“Iroquois?” Marc asked, holstering as he swept the riders. He was hoping none of them died, already feeling responsible for them.
“Yes. Why do you scan the braves? There are no traitors among this group.”
Marc nudged his horse toward a bleeding man. “To heal them, of course.”
Shock went through the group. He meant to demonstrate his power! They were about to witness the Ghost in action.
Marc wasn’t sure if he could. He’d been on the receiving end and watched it, but hadn’t tried it yet. Determination filled his heart as the demon spoke in his mind, telling him how.
Cameron didn’t flinch from Marc’s light touch or the pain of the arrow in his leg. It wasn’t deep, though blood was dripping steadily to the dirt.
Marc pushed hard, shoving the shaft through.
Cameron screamed, clutching at his leg and Marc used an iron grip to keep him in place. “Look at me!”
Cameron forced himself to stare into Marc’s eyes and the pain faded into a dull throb.
“Good. Be still.”
Marc placed a hand over the gushing wound.
The tiny colored orbs shot out as if from a cannon, striking Cameron and knocking him from the horse.
“Too hard,” Marc muttered, mentally adjusting and he switched positions. “Hold still now.”
The orbs worked faster than Angela’s had and Marc was grateful. Healing was draining.
He weaved slightly as he rose. He would have to figure out how to refill it.
Atolius placed a hand on Marc’s arm, steadying him. His voice overflowed with satisfied awe. “The Ghost has come.”
Cameron slowly picked himself up, staring incredulously at the whole leg and the bloody arrow on the ground. When he finally glanced up, the feverish light of fanaticism was shining on his lined face. “My life is yours.”
Marc reached out an arm, not smiling. “I accept.”
Cameron shuddered in fearful eagerness and Marc let go of him. The flash of the future he’d gotten upon touching Cameron was powerful. He leaned down. “You will be a great leader, one day, Cameron Storm of the Chickasaw. The mighty warrior who saved his people.”
Cameron bowed as contentment and pride swept over him in thick waves. Whatever this odd one wanted from him, he would give. The feel of his power was unlike anything Cameron had felt and he wanted…no, he needed more of it.
Marc hid his triumph, glad of the way things appeared to be falling into place. It was a relief to know it would work for him as well. He wasn’t comfortable using Adrian’s leadership methods, but he was able to when the situation called for it. This one did.
10
The next group of Indians joined their party as dusk came. They were trouble. Marc knew it as soon as spotted the signs of their rebellion. On each horse, hung scalps, some still drying. Instead of dismay, he was relieved. These were killers.
As these new riders merged with their group, they were disrespectful, bumping into both Choctaw and Chickasaw horses in their haste to get closer to the Ghost.
Paul and Jax didn’t have time to defend Marc. The warriors they were riding with quickly closed ranks and refused to let the new riders through.
A skirmish immediately ensued.
Marc kept his men in place with a casually raised hand.
Paul and Jax observed the vicious fight with concern, but Marc was noticing the actions of the warriors protecting them. Each was taking the opportunity to touch him. Some were light brushes, some were pats, but all of them fed into Marc’s energy and strengthened his determination to have all of these men along. They were exactly what he needed.
With that thought in mind, Marc stood up in the saddle and took his place in history.
“Enough!”
His shout stopped the fight and swiveled heads his way.
Marc glared at the new Indians, but didn’t let the red bleed through. “My people are dying. I do not have time for this!” He waved a hand at Atolius. “Move us out.”
It was the first order he gave, and it was followed without question. His group of Indians shoved their way through the shocked new men while Marc kept his hands loose and ready.
When he heard the new men nosily fall into the rear of the group without issuing another challenge, Marc allowed himself to breathe. There would be trouble with that group when they camped, but until then, they would stay behind his men.
My men, Marc marveled. Even his time before the war hadn’t satisfied him this way.
11
Now expecting their first challenge, Marc only ran them for a full day instead of the two he’d planned on. They needed to be able defend themselves and he encouraged his men to eat and drink extra rations. Their lives would be decided tonight.
Paul and Jax knew without being told. It didn’t take a degree in Indian culture to know their drag riders were plotting something. They hadn’t been around for Marc’s good moments and that man wasn’t giving them anything right now. It was a quiet, tense ride.
As the Indians began setting up their camp, Marc stopped his men from breaking down the horses. “Water only.”
Those words implied a lot, and told Paul and Jax to get ready.
Marc waited for the drag riders to come to him, aware that the other Indians were no longer moving between them.
He braced himself, ready to prove his lethality once again.
Atolius stepped in front of the large drag warrior before he could reach Marc. They exchanged a few nastily tossed barbs in a language Marc didn’t know, and then both Indians turned to him.
“My Apache brother says you are no ghost. He demands you prove it.”
Marc shrugged lightly, coolly. “Which brave will he sacrifice to me?”
Red Stone, who had been Jimmy Barrows in another lifetime, scowled at the arrogance.
“You should not have come here! You will get us all killed.”
Marc understood the drag rider was trying to protect his people. He would spare the man’s life if he could. That would increase his following.
Marc began stripping his guns and gear, and found himself surrounded by eagerly betting men. It reminded him so much of downtime in the barracks that the tension he’d been carrying slid from his shoulders.
Paul motioned toward his rifle and then Red Stone’s extra mount. “Gun for the horse?”
“No,” Red Stone denied, slightly insulted.
Paul tried again, listening to the haggling going on around them. “Also, a pouch of tobacco and one moon clip of bullets for the revolver in your pack.”
Red Stone’s eyes lit up. “You have a deal. Even if he dies, you will pay.”
Paul was encouraged that they might be let go even if Marc lost, but it was a very distant concern. Marc was ruthless.
Not to be left out, Jax began viewing the arrows in Red Stone’s pouch. “If I have something you want, I’ll need you to teach me to use that when I win it. I’ve always wanted to learn.”
Red Stone grinned widely, showing crooked teeth. “You will cook every meal for me.”
Word had already spread, stories that were becoming legend, and Jax found himself chuckling. “It was good stew. Deal.”
Marc listened in a vague way, getting set in his mind. He wasn’t going to let the tiger out of the cage unless that was what these men needed to see. After tonight, riders would go out to the Choctaw, Chickasaw, and Apache with a final word on whether the Ghost had come. Marc had counted on many things, but mostly that spiritual instinct each of the Indians felt. He would prove that he could stand against what they threw at him, then give them the sign they were waiting for. This was one legend he’d learned well.
12
There were eleven men in the Apache group, all hard bodied, soldier-hating Indians who felt little mercy.
Marc fought them all.
It could have been ugly, but unlike the cage match, where Adrian had known only a group of fighters had a chance, the honorable Indians formed a circle and took him on one by one, losing the only chance they’d stood at a fair fight. In twenty minutes, all but one of the drag riders were bleeding and glowering hatefully from the side.
Marc faced Red Stone, also covered in blood. He may have won each fight, but they’d left their marks on him. He had half a dozen slices that should get stitched at some point.
Red Stone studied the mostly naked white man with wary hatred. Ten of his hardest warriors going down one after the other had given Red Stone pause. Who was this…ghost-man who could evade the hits of his braves so well? Even the scorned Choctaw riders had bet against the Apache. Only his warriors would be paying on bets tonight. How had this happened?
Marc sensed the time had come. He’d been waiting for it to feel right before opening up to them.
“I am the Ghost, sent to stop the government from rising from the ashes of our people.”
Marc raised his bloody hands and curled them into fists. Drips of crimson fell. “You will walk beside me in this battle. The spirits demand it.”
Red Stone expected protest, but those who’d been with this ghost man longer than his group remained quiet. Could it be true? Their legends were full of messiah stories meant to keep them hopeful, but Red Stone hadn’t believed in any of them.
“Maybe you should have kept an open mind,” Marc stated, not looking away from the shocked man. “I see your thoughts!”
Red Stone stumbled back and Marc followed, now towering over their escorts in his openness. “I am a descendant of the Great Spirit. You will fight with me, die with me.”
That had their attention, and Red Stone found his mouth opening. “We will lose.”
“Our deaths are the sacrifices that the Great Spirit requires. We will give our lives for our people,” Marc insisted.
That, they understood with no further words needed.
Marc sent his red orbs over the camp of forty. “I am the Ghost. You are my Shadow Warriors. Together, we shall have honor and justice!”
“The Ghost!” Thaddeus shouted, raising his own clenched fist. “We will fight!”
“Fight! Fight!”
“The Ghost…”
“Ghost.”
“Ghost.”
Marc turned from the eerie chanting, slowly approaching Red Stone. “You will be my right hand of fury. You will kill more enemies than any other here.”
Red Stone’s chest swelled with pride. It was what he’d dreamed of before the war, but hadn’t been satisfied by since. “I will stay with you when these women warriors have all fled in fear.”
Marc grinned, holding his arm out. “My shadow brother. We will be unstoppable.”
Red Stone clasped his arm firmly, displaying crooked teeth and glints of eagerness. “Ghosts.”
13
By dawn, there were ten more riders with them, these from the Seminole.
By noon, that number had grown to thirty as representatives from the Osage and Ottawa joined them.
By dusk, Marc’s party was a hundred strong, with riders from seven different Indian nations, and he recognized the moment. It was time to start getting them ready for what they would do next.
Marc waved Jax and Paul over during a brief break, interrupting the lesson that Natoli was giving them on native legends. He squatted in the dirt and began to draw with his k-bar. “We’ll come out of tribal lands near 25. You two and a group will start laying our surprises. I’ll take a group to Denver.”
“Will they work with us without you here?” Jax asked worriedly.
Paul snorted. “Didn’t you listen to the first story? They think he’s their messiah, come to guide them to former glory.”
“I am,” Marc stated firmly. “Now pay attention.”
Neither rookie argued. Marc was playing a role here, that was clear, but how much was real and how much was an act, they didn’t know. So far, they were both assuming Marc was taking advantage of superstitions. He’d likely read of their legends and set all this up to look genuine.
Marc stared at the rookies with slightly red eyes. “Do you think so?”
With him glowing crimson, it was impossible to say that it was all a ruse, and neither man spoke.
Marc began outlining the plans for the mines and weapons they would place along route 40, and the Eagles turned their minds to it and dug in. The urge to be perfect here was terribly strong. The competitions in Safe Haven couldn’t compare to these men who challenged nature on her own terms daily. Jax and Paul had developed a healthy respect for their escorts, especially while riding in the wee hours and trying not to let anyone know how cold they were, or hear their teeth chattering. The Indians hadn’t appeared to notice the weather or discomfort.
Marc finished telling them what needed to be done, then included Thaddeus, saying, “You will be their right hand. Take care of my men. They must live to become ghosts.”
Thaddeus understood. In the old world, a trip from here, to Denver and back, would have been a two-day drive. Now, by horse, it would take four days each way. That was with breaks, though, and Thaddeus wasn’t sure Marc intended to take any. He had the same glaze that the restless braves sometimes carried when the reservation fences became too tall, too constricting. Those had been the first walls he’d brought down after the war.
“I will protect them. Do not fear for their safety.”
Marc sighed. “I don’t fear for their safety. I fear for yours. My rookies are new, but they hand out death as fast I do. Keep the riders away from them until they understand what and who we are.”
Thaddeus took the instruction to heart. The soldiers were the targets, not each other. “I will handle it.”
Marc hesitated, and then pushed on. “Other people may come, other races. They feel my pull, know the time has come. You have to convince your warriors to let them help us. There are Rancherias, pueblos, and colonies of Native Americans all over this broken country. We need as many as we can gather.”
Thaddeus didn’t care for the new information. “That will be no easy task. We locked ourselves here when the war came, to avoid those who survived. Outsiders were not welcome before. Now, they are hunted, purged from our lands.”
“There are more like me.”
Marc’s words drew the attention of the entire group. It was something the Indians had been wondering of Paul and Jax.
“They will come to find me, to help. You won’t know them. They will not give you the signs that I have. They, too, have been hunted.”
“The soldiers want to use them,” Paul added, looking only at Red Stone. “To regain control.”
Mutters went around the camp and the drag rider leader came closer. “We will not allow such power to fall in the hands of our enemy. It is better that you die.”
“I agree. But until that time comes, I will fight!” Marc shouted, gratified by the flinches. They were beginning to understand what he was now.
Marc calmed his inner rage, controlling the demon. He’d never imagined hunger like this. “We will be joined by many people, of many origins. Some of them will be the enemy in disguise. We will search each other and watch for those few. The rest we will welcome gratefully into our quest.”
The idea of spies had men staring at each other. Marc had already warned them of one such person and they glared around in suspicion.
“Tell us who the traitor here is, so that we may end his knowledge.”
Marc denied them. “He hasn’t chosen to betray us yet. As long as it is only thoughts, he has done nothing wrong.”
That was against the codes they were relearning or had been raised on, but Marc continued before anyone could speak. “Perhaps a dance would help him understand that the riches the enemy has promised will not be given.”
Red Stone’s mouth dropped open, betraying his control. “You would have us ghost dance!”
Marc grinned widely. “Yes. Let the people search the future and discover for themselves what waits if they continue to hide. The new earth will not stand for it. You must remember the first lesson of the Great Spirit.”
“We cannot love our enemy!” Red Stone protested.
“Yes, you can,” Marc affirmed, thinking of Adrian. “You respect his power, admire his intelligence, and loathe his ways. You love him for the challenge he will give you, for helping to prove your worth, your strength. The enemy is to be loved,” Marc repeated harshly. “And then destroyed like the plague that they are.”