Page 63 of Born Savage

“What happened?” I studied his carved face, including how his jaw was clenched. “The scars. They aren’t from random attacks. Are they? You mentioned Exile, but that’s not the entire story.”

His smirk should increase my anger, but his reaction was based on the fury of being rescued, not of what he’d endured or that he believed I might be gloating. “You don’t need to know.”

I found myself walking closer, which meant little with the size of the room. “What if I want to know?”

He shifted from one foot to the other, staring at me with eyes clearly indicating he had no more trust for me than I did for him.

Or for anyone.

There was no chance for him to answer even if he had plans on doing so. The alarm went off, the lights immediately shifting to an eerie blue color that I’d only seen once before.

“What is going on?” he asked in his usual demanding tone.

“We’re under attack.”

CHAPTER 13

Rage

Because of human error, half the nuclear detonations had been at low altitude. While there’d been widespread destruction, the range of the subsequent electromagnetic pulse accompanying the mass catastrophe had been limited.

That wasn’t to say that systems hadn’t been wiped out almost in their entirety, but there’d been protections put into play ahead of time, entirely different systems created allowing for some communication and machinery to continue being used.

Many because my father had sought to protect the people he’d sworn an oath to serve. And also because he’d had a man whispering in his ear he had been able to trust. A prophet. While I couldn’t ascertain what the knowledge would create or how it would affect us, what I did know was that Star was in danger. The entire community was.

Bunkers as well as domed cities authorized by the former president and members of congress had been equipped with instrumentations useful in allowing at least the most important aspects of governance and survival tactics to be in place for after the End of Days.

Top secret and with only a few dozen people in on the capabilities, the extensive plans were thought to be a foolproof method of getting the country back up and running in stages. Given that the basic infrastructure was already in place, the domes impervious to bombs, phase one had been in place. However, the war had been initiated months earlier than anyone had anticipated, peace talks breaking down.

Not nearly enough of the cities had been built nor had they been tested. That had severely complicated the lottery system that had already been established, creating rage from day one.

The warning system touted to provide notice had mostly failed, the cities yet to be completed destroyed from the inside out.

Years had been stripped away, the plans in motion jeopardized. Even before the system failures, anarchy had already been in the works.

Sadly, my father either hadn’t embraced the full extent of betrayal or had been so determined to be the same leader he’d been before the war that he’d stopped checking his back for knives.

For a heavy percentage of survivors, my father wasn’t seen as a hero, but as a man who’d been the sole reason we’d gotten into the war in the first place. He’d been a man of integrity and honor, which had allowed evil to overcome his good intentions.

Maybe my memories were jaded, but the man who’d slit his throat certainly hadn’t had the best intentions for the American people in mind. Only his own.

I’d been too young to understand everything, my father forced to keep the politics and the work on survival of the fittest from his own family. I’d only started asking questions prior to the bombs because of a new report I’d accidentally seen, reporters asking questions about the domed cities. At seven I’d been fascinated with the thought of living under one giant tent.

The memories were still intact, the drugs unable to strip them from me. Either that or they’d been purposely driven into dormancy to protect me.

Much like whatever secret was surrounding Star had been kept from her. I didn’t know the specifics. I didn’t give a damn about them. I was fulfilling my obligation and that was all I planned on doing. I had my own agenda that I would accomplish even to the tune of my death.

Killing every single bastard response for slaughtering my family.

Obviously, the desire had carried me for years, including in the early days of being a Verndari when the missions had been about bringing certain survivors to the domed cities. I’d worked under his direction for less than a year before Anthony Washburn had taken over, turning the cities once considered havens into prisons.

Even if the people already inside hadn’t realized until it had been too late that they held no freedoms, no matter the rebranding to Freedom Cities. By then, they’d been too exhausted to complain or fight, given a lifeline that almost everyone had taken.

Those who had fought the new regime had either been executed to make space for those considered loyalists or tossed into the worst areas of the Graveyard.

The bastard had tried to use and control the Savages, and there were hundreds who’d fallen under his spell, protecting the cities while the Freedom Hunters roamed the country.

However, to the great king’s misfortune, more Savages were turning against him. That’s how he would be eliminated and the people freed.