Shadow and Shine (Book 2): Dark Divide Read online

  His question was interrupted as the door swung open and three large soldiers came with guns and shouting at everyone. Mona dropped to her knees and put her hands behind her head. The rest of the room stared confused.

  The biggest soldier, an older man with a shotgun, pointed his gun at Mona. “One step and she dies.”

  “Mona Leigh!” Tink shouted. His body tightened, but he didn’t move forward.

  “Tink. Do. Not. Move,” Mona ordered. Her voice was more urgent than Jenna ever heard. “We’re going to listen and follow their orders. And Sergeant Marshall is going to play nice, right sir?”

  The man’s eyebrows raised at the sound of his name. He looked at the other soldiers who were aiming at Mickey and Tink. Marshall swung the butt of his gun against Mona’s cheek.

  She cried out.

  “Little girl, I’m impressed. But I don’t play nice.”

  “You!” Tink yelled, “You! You touch her again and I will kill your family.”

  Marshall chuckled and crouched down to Mona. “You okay, honey?”

  Asher took a step forward, the soldier who was aiming at Mickey cut in front of him and put his rifle against Asher’s head.

  Asher stopped, clenched his jaw, and said, “Mona, I can end this. Tell me it's okay and I’ll end this.”

  The soldiers laughed.

  They don’t know who they’re talking to.

  Mona waved him off. “No, we go where they take us. I can handle a love tap.”

  She stood and smiled at the big, grey-haired soldier. “Shall we go?”

  April 17, 2016

  Day 5

  This wasn’t a part of the plan.

  - Harry

  The Chat

  Bryce Chapman

  Radical/Founder

  4/17/2016

  I was hired by Aviant Communications ten years ago as a staff writer for their online magazine, FrontWord. It was my big break, the most powerful media outlet in the world gave me the opportunity to write for an audience of thousands.

  Yes, thousands. FrontWord started with a minimal budget and less readers. Our objective was to write strong content for the limited audience of internet browsers. Back then, the internet was primarily a porn and chatroom hub.

  I guess not much as changed, has it?

  My favorite times were with FrontWord, our team spent hours researching, interviewing, and pushing the envelope. Mighty magazine chains looked down on us, the chip on our shoulder grew as fast as our subscriber list. The newspapers called us a weaker species as they began to starve. We ate good, though. Everyone counted us out while we dominated the internet frontier. FrontWord wasn’t perfect, clearly, there’s a reason it’s no longer active, but it changed the landscape. I’m so proud to have been a part of it.

  You’ll be surprised to hear me say this, but I’m grateful Chris Martin gave me the freedom to write. He trusted me. Our relationship soured, mostly because two prideful men rarely end up remaining friends. But I owe him my career.

  Enjoying the nostalgia?

  My favorite column to write was, The Six. It was a list of six positive or negative aspects of society in which I noticed each week. Topics ranging from politics to my Knicks, cat videos to childhood obesity, and, obviously, President Watt’s ascension. I’m sure the old write-ups of The Six are hidden deep in FrontWord’s archives, despite Martin’s best attempts to pretend I never existed.

  As some of you have noticed, my writing has been in a funk since the Salt Lake Tragedy.

  So I’m trying to recreate some of the old FrontWord magic.

  Please enjoy the first installment of Five On Five. My new weekly segment featuring my five likes and dislikes from the last week.

  Five Good:

  1) I like Jacob Oberhausen’s honesty throughout our interview. There was a government official monitoring every answer, yet he answered every question clearly. Similar situations have clouded the truth and ruined interviews, but ours turned out great. Despite the interruptions, Jake remained cool, calm, and collected. I can’t wait to interview him again, after this is all over. America needs more people like Jake.

  2) I like Ned North as a man. I’ve long stated my belief that Mr. North is the best owner in sports. He loves the game of basketball and cherishes the New York Knicks legacy. After this week, I’ve gained a new respect for the man. His sincere eulogy at the wake of his son, Robert, was uplifting and heartbreaking. His adoration for Robby was beautiful. No one has seen this side of Ned before, but I hope his son knew his dad loved him deeply.

  3) I like the NBA’s decision to cancel the rest of the 2016 season. It is the right move. Let America heal.

  4) I like the government’s decision to delay the Iowa Caucus as well as the subsequent state primaries. I will not miss Uriah Watt when he is gone, but the American public is unable to think clearly and I don’t want us to look back with regret because each party made selections based on emotions. There is no harm in delaying the entire procession by two months. Just means the summer is going to be hotter.

  5) Speaking of Watt, how about some rare praise? I like his decision to hold off on the announcement of the potential terrorism until last night. After 9/11, there was an outrage against men and women who didn’t deserve the hatred. President Watt made the decision to protect us from ourselves. I believe he made the right choice.

  Five Bad:

  1) I don’t like the potential of having President Watt in office after his term has ended. With the delay in the Iowa Caucus, this has become a real possibility. Vice President Johnson is a great candidate. My sources say he is begging to get in office and wash Watt’s stink out of the Oval Office. I don’t like the idea of someone getting in his way.

  2) I don’t like the media’s attack on High Point Oil. There is insufficient evidence and unwarranted attention to an organization in which is nothing more than a scape goat.

  3) Speaking of the uncharismatic, I don’t like being force-fed the stale potato of Conrad Greene as a Presidential candidate. People in the Media love this guy, yet he’s done zero campaigning and doesn’t even seem to want the job. I’m okay with his being the Constitutional General, whatever the heck that means, but he’s not fit for office. If he wasn’t Watt’s best friend, he would be working security at an IHOP.

  4) I don’t like the United Nations. Like, any of them. Especially Secretary General Ugo Ban, who is about to issue a twenty-four hour decree against our country at the upcoming UN Summit. Surprised? You shouldn’t be. They were quick to throw their two cents when the world found out Sudan and Kuwait. Years ago, those countries were unable to do anything about the terrorist organizations living within their borders, but we’re not Sudan or Kuwait. I don’t want to be blindly patriotic, but America has earned a little more respect.

  5) I don’t like people who wear headbands in the gym. Wow, that feels good to get that off my chest.

  ********

  Tink Morris

  Morning

  North of Salt Lake

  “I don’t like the way you look at us.” Marshall stood in front of Tink.

  Tink was careful and tried to remain silent, but it was hard with the fake military man standing in front of him. There were plenty of people like him who threatened Tink before, and Marshall wasn’t the biggest of the bunch. His training wouldn’t help after a couple of pops to the jaw.

  But, Tink remembered Mona asked for complete obedience, no matter what. So instead, he stared back at Marshall with a basic look on his face. He didn’t have to pretend to like it, but he needed to keep calm. There was no sense in going off, nor was there sense in lighting Marshall’s short fuse. He wasn’t scared of him, but Tink knew when he was standing in front of someone with anger issues.

  “Nino, put the bag over his head. If he looks at you funny, slice his bottom lip down the middle.”

  It went dark before Tink had the chance to be a good boy. It’s a shame they didn’t realize he wasn’t the most dangerous one in the group. If they k
new what Asher or Mona could do, they wouldn’t be paying him any attention.

  Instead, they were going to single out the black guy. Even Jordan, the brother who was only black on the outside, would target Tink. He needed to just accept it, and keep his mouth shut.

  And keep walking with the bag over his head.

  *******

  Mickey Kyle

  Early Morning

  Ogden, UT

  The dust was thicker than Mickey remembered. Already, it looked like it must have been almost a foot deep on the ground at some places. It still flaked away, but now it stuck against everything.

  It was a long walk out of the city and towards Ogden. The army guys were clueless on whom they were taking hostage, but they weren’t screwing around either. Asher might be able to dodge bullets, but no one else could. He gritted his teeth and listened to Marshall’s orders, the man made sure everyone knew; he was in control.

  Nino, the tool-bag soldier with a mohawk pointed his gun at Shelly while they walked through the empty freeway. Every so often, he poked her back and told her to speed up, then he looked at Asher and smiled. This guy barked up the wrong tree, but Mickey wasn’t going to say anything. Nino was like a loose cannon or something.

  He didn’t want to start any fights he couldn’t win, and until he learned how to make electric bolts come out of his hands, he didn’t even want to make eye contact with Nino. Mickey wanted nothing to do with him. It was better to stay away from him.

  The plan was working well, too. Until Nino noticed Mickey avoiding eye contact.

  “Hey, you, punk. What’s your deal? Hey, look at me.”

  Mickey needed to keep his mouth shut. This wasn’t a good time to be dealing with a guy like Nino. Anything he did wrong would end up costing them. Asher could probably knock out two soldiers in a split second, but could he take out three? Probably not. Mona wasn’t much help either, she was acting obedient and completely comfortable with her group being in cuffs.

  “I don’t like the way your face looks.”

  Mickey looked to Asher for support. Asher nodded. Mickey faced Nino and pursed his lips. He tried to think about all the things Mona said, while still avoiding a punch in the face.

  “Don’t ignore me,” Nino said as he shoved Shelly in the back. “If you’re going to play the silent and tough role, blondie is going to suffer the consequences,” he laughed and kicked her in the back of the legs.

  Mickey dealt with plenty of drunk tool-bags at the bar, there was no talking-down scumbags like this. He wanted to start a fight. He would take anything said as an argument and twist it into being offensive. Instead, it was smarter to keep quiet and let him puff up his chest. Military guys were the worst kind of drunks, but Mickey would keep his cool and not say anything.

  Tink didn’t have the same kind of experiences as Mickey. Through the muffled bag, he said, “Ay, you talk too much, my man.”

  Nino winked at Mickey and looked to Tink. “Are you going to be the one to shut me up?”

  “Take this bag off my head, and drop your burner. I’ll knock your teeth out.”

  Nino started to laugh like a crazy person.

  Marshall’s voice boomed, “Gun stays up, soldier. It’s not the time.”

  “Yes, sir,” Nino said. For all his toughness, he cowered at Marshall’s words. Marshall was bigger, both physically and in his personality, but Nino looked half his age.

  “Good boy,” Tink said. “Bow down and kiss the ring. Like I—”

  Marshall turned and punched Tink in the stomach. The oxygen screamed out of his lungs as he grunted forward. His hands strained against the cuffs as he fell onto his face. Mona stared ahead, trying not to watch. Tink landed on the thin layer of dust on the concrete and struggled to stand back up.

  Marshall didn’t give him a chance; he kicked Tink’s chest, knocking him onto his back. Marshall kicked again, this time right between Tink’s legs. Another grunt of air screamed. Asher stepped forward, but Marshall pulled his gun out and pointed it at him.

  “You proved your point.” Asher clenched his jaw. Mickey wished he would just break free of the cuffs and kill those dudes. They were in the way. They were problems. They were too dangerous to keep around.

  “Not yet,” Marshall said with a grin.

  Marshall helped Tink stand. He yanked off his mask. “There, there, boy. Let’s get you some fresh air.” He used the black bag to wipe the sweat from Tink’s brow.

  Tink didn’t respond.

  “I apologize for Nino’s poor behavior. He isn’t good with people. He’s more dog than a man, honestly.” Marshall winked at Nino. The tool-bag solider smiled as Marshall went on, “But you’re not so different, are you? Nothing more than a thug. Plenty of people in your hood were afraid of you, huh?”

  Tink struggled for balance, and kept quiet. For all Mickey knew, he was a nice guy, unless you messed with his sister. Then Tink was close to psychotic.

  “You see, I’m a simple man. I don’t ask for much, I don’t have high standards. But I’ll gut anyone who crosses me.” Marshall gripped the back of Tink’s neck and continued wiping his face. “You’ve disrespected one of my men. Not my favorite, by any measure, luckily for you, but in the top ten. And I’m very protective of my boys. Right Nino?”

  “Yes, sir,” Nino replied.

  “If it were just another soldier, I would give you a warning. If it were a better soldier, I would cut your tongue out and feed it to your sister.”

  Mona’s eyes were tearing up as she stared ahead. She wasn’t going to help her brother.

  “I’m not about to let some homeboy disrespect my men,” Marshall said, tucking the bag into Tink’s shirt and patting his cheek. “If anyone moves, put a bullet in the girl’s head.”

  Marshall’s fist smashed into Tink’s face.

  Tink’s head jerked back, bones cracked as blood spurted out. Marshall stopped his momentum by grabbing the back of his neck again.

  Another punch, this time to his stomach.

  As Tink’s head swung forward to his waist, Marshall slammed his knee into his face.

  Tink flailed backwards into the air, collapsing on the back of his neck.

  “Not personal, boy.” Marshall straddled over Tink. “We can still be friends.”

  “Enough! You’re American!” Harry shouted, “You’re not supposed to do this!”

  Jordan brought the butt of his gun down on the old man’s head. Harry’s eyes went out before he could continue talking.

  Mickey looked back at Nino. This time, he wasn’t just afraid.

  He felt something else.

  Something different.

  Mickey felt the Pulse.

  Electricity grew inside of him and he could feel the static life blossoming in his veins.

  “Please,” Mona said, staring forward. Mickey looked at her, knowing she was talking to him, but the rest of the group thought she was talking to Marshall. She didn’t break from looking ahead as she cleared the tears from her cheeks. “I’m begging you, don’t do this.”

  “Well, okay,” Marshall said, walking away from Tink.

  Blood soaked into the ash.

  “Because you asked nicely. And we’re running outta daylight,” Marshall turned back and spit on Tink. “Transport is two miles north. Put the bag back on the thug’s head. Let’s move.”

  *******

  Conrad Greene

  0934 (Eastern time)

  Mill Creek Hollow, PA

  Conrad loved the sounds of the stream outside his cabin. The peace of central Pennsylvania’s nature resonated with him unlike anywhere else. The quiet serenity calmed his nerves as he reclined back into his rocking chair. The long drive from DC was worth it, especially as he watched the sunrise through the trees. He would indulge in the peace, as per President Watt’s orders. Uriah asked Conrad to take the day off before reviewing Black Tide mission reports. Conrad argued with his President, but obeyed the order he was given. He didn’t agree with Uriah’s reasoning, but he wa
s in the forest nonetheless. Relaxing.

  As if on cue, his phone rang.

  Anyone other than the President, he wouldn’t answer.

  It was Sarah Francis.

  He hesitated, but eventually clicked the green button. “Greene,” he said, sounding official. He was beginning to believe Francis was on the right side of politics, but he knew to err on the side of caution with anyone who carried a White House keycard. With people like this, it was only a matter of time before they leveraged past conversations for political ascension. Conrad wouldn’t be blackmailed by anyone. Francis may have been different, but it was unlikely.

  “Have you watched the news?” she asked, wasting no time for pleasantries.

  “I’ve seen two robins and a squirrel. That’s it. Don’t need to hear about Ban’s decree. We knew it was coming. I’ll be driving down this afternoon to meet with President Watt on a plan.”

  “Where are you?” she snapped. As if she was annoyed with having to deal with an imbecile. This was her nature, and it was ugly. Sarah Francis could make anyone feel lower than low in a moment.

  She sighed and said, “Joseph Beck is dead.”

  “How?” Conrad asked. He thought back to Watt’s speech and remembered Beck’s absence. He wasn’t a major figure in Watt’s Presidency, but he was a popular public figure. Joseph Beck was the face of American finance, his alliance with President Watt changed the voter landscape eight years ago.

  “Suicide,” she said. “It doesn’t make sense. Successful. Respected. Married.”

  “How?”

  “Found in his office. Hung himself.”

  Death didn’t carry the same weight with Conrad as his civilian counterparts. Especially death by personal decision. He knew far too many good men who died because of real tragedies to allow a weak-willed person’s depression to cause a reaction.

  “Say something, Conrad. This is a big deal.”

  “I don’t know what you want me to say. It’s a shame he’s dead. He was smart and meant a lot to President Watt. I thought better of him, but there’s always more to the story.”