Dark Justice
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Chapter 97
Chapter 98
Chapter 99
Chapter 100
Chapter 101
Chapter 102
Chapter 103
Chapter 104
Chapter 105
Chapter 106
Chapter 107
Chapter 108
Chapter 109
Epilogue
Dark Justice
The Shadow Patriots
Seventh & Final Book
Warren Ray
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2018 by Warren Ray
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
No good deed goes unpunished.
Chapter 1
Jackson Michigan
Friday Afternoon
The sound of gunfire was sparse and echoed in the distance as smoke billowed from multiple fires burning throughout the town of Jackson. The battle had ended several hours ago, and the invaders wore the gleeful appearance of the victor of a hard-fought battle. Now it was time to take the spoils of war, and by spoils of war, this meant only one thing to these invaders: females.
Virgil had been watching them from a hidden perch as the invaders rounded up prisoners of all ages. There was nothing he could do but watch them. He was eighty-three years old, too old to do much of anything and too stubborn to leave when he had the chance. The electronics geek had been monitoring the radio traffic from the Shadow Patriots throughout the battle.
His friend, Nick Nordell, had even reached out to him knowing the old man was listening in, but he refused the offer to leave. Nordell didn’t push it because the old man was well prepared to take care of himself, despite his age.
The white-haired old man with scruffy whiskers had been Nordell’s industrial arts teacher in high school and had suggested he join the Marines. Just as he had done as a young man. He was proud of Nordell’s career and had loved it when he came back home to Jackson. Nordell had always made time to go visit with him. This meant a lot to him because he had been pretty much a loner for the last ten years since his wife died. He didn’t have a lot of visitors, so it was always a treat to spend time with Nordell whom he considered to be like a son.
The scruffy old man watched while a few of the invaders took turns raping a girl probably not older than eighteen. His blood boiled as the bastards stripped away her clothes and held her to the ground. The scene reminded him of the atrocities of war he had experienced while serving with the Marines in Korea.
He’d witness a similar scene when his squad entered a village that was being pillaged. Only then, he was able to do something about it and they shot the bastards dead. The poor peasant girl was too shocked even to be grateful and ran off thinking they were going to do the same thing. The weak and innocent were always the victims of war, and there wasn’t much you could do to change it.
Virgil couldn’t take it anymore and turned his head from the scene. He had the will but no longer the ability. His body too decrepit to do anything for the girl in the street, but wanted to help at least someone.
He’d been observing the activities of the invaders for the past few hours after sneaking into the former energy building. He had been waiting across the street and watched them clear the building. After they left, he had driven his golf cart into the parking garage and climbed the stairs to the top floor, which had taken every ounce of strength he had left. The struggle was worth it though, because he had a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of the town.
Across the street, the building Nordell had been shooting from was still burning, but barely. The flames had jumped across the alley and torched the adjoining building, but it had ended there.
On the other side of the street, the invaders had brought buses into the parking lot and began loading them with the prisoners they had rounded up.
Virgil was surprised at how many they had captured. Looking through his binoculars, he was able to recognize some of them. He swallowed hard when children came into view knowing what their fate was going to be. It didn't matter if they were girls or boys, they'd all be used over and over.
Virgil turned and left the elaborate office he’d been holing up in to go check out the east side of town. He was interested in getting over to the hospital. The battle there had been fierce, and he wanted to check for survivors.
The trek down the long, carpeted hallway seemed to take forever for the old man. He finally reached an office he had been using earlier. He peered through the binoculars toward the hospital. He scanned the area finding no invaders. They had moved all the vehicles that had been brought to the downtown area.
He checked the back streets he would use to get to the hospital and found them clear. He kept looking around thinking it was a stupid move to leave the safety of the building, but he was growing anxious. His mind wouldn’t allow him to do nothing. Hopefully, his body would comply with the mind’s wishes or at least some of them.
After
twenty minutes of descending the staircase, Virgil finally made it to the parking garage. The golf cart was still there and hadn’t been disturbed. He hopped on and fought to control his excitement. The last thing he needed was to overexert himself and bring on the big heart attack. He wasn't in the greatest of shape and had experienced a minor heart attack a few years ago. The last thing he needed was to overdo himself and bring on the big one.
He wound down the three levels and came around the corner. Up ahead were a couple of dead bodies. He turned the steering wheel and headed over to them. They were both local guys who had been fighting with Nordell. He recognized one but not the other. He reached down and grabbed the two Colt M4 carbine rifles. He had already picked one up but figured a couple more wouldn’t hurt to have and threw them in the back.
Leaving the parking garage, he floored the pedal to make a mad dash across the Grand River and up Washington Street. He didn’t bother to inspect the dead behind the barrier that had been blown up with a rocket-propelled grenade. The poor bastards hadn't stood a chance against such a weapon.
He did get to sneer as he passed by the dead invaders that were lying in pools of their own blood. Quite a few of them had perished from Nordell’s attack with the SAW.
Virgil scooted across Michigan Avenue to the hospital. The building was pockmarked with bullet holes. Most of the windows were blown out or riddled with holes. The dead were strewn throughout the parking lot and would soon be stinking to high heaven.
He headed over to the Emergency Room and found the entrance had been blown out, which allowed him to drive his cart right inside. He came upon the bodies of Michael and Edith Williamson. The old couple had been shot where they sat embracing each other while accepting their fate. Virgil clenched his fist. He had known them both since childhood and had gone to school with them.
He let his foot off the pedal and stared at them for a few moments. He then turned to the nursing station where Sandy laid dead in her seat. She had been an excellent nurse and had taken care of him on more than one occasion.
He took a deep breath and moved down the wide hallway, which not only smelled like death but also looked like it with the number of bodies lying around. The dead consisted of friend and foe.
He moved through all the hallways searching for survivors. He parked the cart by the stairwell and grabbed his flashlight. He turned it on and started up the steps. The steps had a shorter rise which allowed for an easier climb than the energy building. Reaching the second floor, he opened the door and started down the hallway noticing this floor hadn’t escaped significant damage either.
A piece of the wall had been blown out into the hall which made it difficult to pass through. He peered into the room and spotted a couple of mangled bodies. One was in bed while the other still held onto his weapon. A layer of gray dust covered them and most of the room. With all the bullet holes it must have been a hell of a gunfight, so much so, that the enemy had blown it all to hell with a grenade. He stood still and stared at them. He didn’t recognize them, but knew they were Shadow Patriots. The one must have been trying to help his wounded friend to evacuate.
A slight movement in the hall made his heart skip a beat. His hand shook as he pulled out his Ruger SR1911 from its holster and pointed it down the hall.
Chapter 2
Another sound made Virgil jerk his head around. His chin trembled as he stood petrified straining his ears. A soft groan broke the stillness and then another movement. It was coming from underneath the blown-out wall. Someone was under it. Virgil scooted over with his pistol leading the way. He tried to look under but couldn’t see anything. He climbed over the debris to the other end and found a pair of brown laced boots sticking out from underneath the downed slab of wall.
Whoever it was, wasn’t a threat, so he holstered his Ruger and fell to his knees. He started to pull away some of the broken pieces of drywall uncovering blue jeans. His excitement rose knowing someone survived the battle. Tearing apart the larger pieces of the wall was a challenge for the old man and the going was slow. The more broken pieces he pulled, the more he eyed the wounded man. It was like peeling the wrapping off a present. The more you pulled away, the more you were able to determine what the gift was. The man had a backpack on and wore a dark jacket. Virgil looked under and found a wheelchair resting on its side. The guy must have been coming with the wheelchair to move the other guy out of there. He stood up and leaned against the wall to brace himself as he lifted the last broken piece. He pushed from underneath it and heaved with every ounce of strength he had left. A section broke apart throwing drywall dust in the air. Virgil threw it to the side.
A shot of energy raced through him as he stared at long dirty-blonde hair. This was no man. It was Reese. The girl who fought. He had wanted to meet her and the other one, but never got a chance. He’d heard the stories of their exploits and was enthralled by them. He was old school and didn’t think women should fight but was changing his mind when he heard about the two girls.
She was covered in a thin layer of drywall dust making her dirty-blonde hair appear white. Virgil knelt down and started to undo the straps from the backpack. She moaned in response.
“It’s okay, honey. I’m here to help you. Okay? Let me get your backpack off ya.”
She made a slight nodding movement.
Virgil reached across her and undid the strap. He slid the bag off but then noticed another strap.
“Her damn weapon. She’s been laying on it this whole time,” he thought.
The long hair covered her face, so he reached down to brush it away but found it matted together with dried blood. He pulled it away, and Reese coughed a couple of times.
Virgil wasn’t sure what the extent of her injuries were, but it appeared she had only a head injury.
“Are you hurt anywhere?” he asked her.
“I’m…I’m…thirsty.”
“I’ll bet you are,” Virgil replied as he rummaged through her backpack to find a full bottle of water. “Can you move?”
Reese moved her hands and legs trying to roll over.
Virgil grabbed her waist and pulled as she struggled to roll over on her back. Her face was dirty and had dried blood on the right side. Her hair was a mess and had strands sticking out in all directions.
“Let’s get this thing off of you, honey,” Virgil said as he undid the sling on her M4 and pulled the weapon away. “Can you sit up?”
She held out her left hand. Virgil grabbed it and pulled her into an upright position.
She blinked a few times while trying to focus. “Do I…do I…know you?”
“No. We’ve never met, honey, but I know who you are.”
“You do?”
“Yes.”
“So, we’re not…uhm…we’re not…like, friends?”
“No, but I know your friends. Here, take a sip of water,” said Virgil holding a water bottle to her lips. He tilted it slightly to help her take a few sips.
Reese looked around the hallway. “Was there…uhm…a...ah...accident?”
“Sort of,” said Virgil not wanting to get her agitated.
“Do…do I know you?” Reese asked again forgetting she had already asked him.
Not only was she slurring her speech, but also she was also repeating herself, which is common with anyone who has experienced a traumatic head injury. They lose short-term memory and ask the same questions, over and over. She has a concussion, but how severe, Virgil couldn’t tell.
“No, you don’t know me but I’m a friend, and I’m here to help you.”
“Was there some kind of accident?”
“Yes, there was. Now can you tell me your name?”
Reese scoffed thinking it was a stupid question until she couldn’t come up with an answer. Besides the ringing in her ears, a fog swirled around her mind. Her face grimaced in frustration. It was right on the tip of her tongue, but for some reason, she couldn’t form the word. She gripped her wrist and squeezed it while taking a deep
breath. She held it for a few seconds before exhaling, which finally released the answer.
“I’m Reese…I’m Reese Saxby.”
“That’s right, Reese. Good girl. Here, take another sip of water,” said Virgil holding the bottle to her mouth again. She drank in more water than before and stopped when it started dribbling out of the sides of her mouth.
“Atta girl,” said Virgil still unsure how alert she was. “Do you know who the Shadow Patriots are?”
Reese’s eyes were blank, so Virgil decided on a better question. He heard about her love interest with Cole Winters and hoped this would help her.
“Do you know who Cole Winters is?”
Reese’s eyes lit up. A warm, comforting sensation ran through her that she didn’t understand, but assumed it was because he was important to her. Was he her father? It made sense and felt right. He must be my father. She was about to answer when Cole’s face appeared to her. His unassuming manner always affected her, and the sensation grew warmer the more she thought about him. His bright eyes were smiling at her, and it began to clear the fog from her mind. Cole Winters wasn’t her father. She hated her father ever since he had abandoned her. No, Cole was more than that. Then it hit her.
She looked up at Virgil with a determined look. “He’s my boyfriend.”
Virgil smiled. “Good. That’s good.”
“Do you know what town you’re in?”
Reese struggled to come up with an answer, but couldn’t, and grew frustrated.
Virgil recognized the agitation. “Don’t worry. It’ll come back to you. Just take it easy.”
She looked at him blankly. “Do I know you?”
“No, you don't, but I'm here to help you.”
He put a hand on her right shoulder intending to give her a reassuring pat. She winced at his touch. Concerned about additional injuries, he suggested she remove her jacket. He helped her slide the dusty black nylon jacket off her shoulders. As it came off her right shoulder, it exposed a purplish yellow bruise, which matched the yellow spaghetti-strapped cami she was wearing.
Once they had the jacket off, the size of the bruise became apparent. It covered most of the shoulder and came down the upper part of the chest. No wonder she winced at his touch.
Virgil surmised the blown-out wall must have thrown her against the opposite one. The wall absorbed most of the concussion before blowing into the hallway. She was lucky in a way, certainly, more fortunate than the two inside the room.