The Warrior Read online

  The Warrior

  Apollo Stone Trilogy

  Book 2

  by

  P.M. Johnson

  The Warrior by P.M. Johnson

  Copyright © 2017 by P.M. Johnson

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law, or, in the case of brief quotations, embodied in reviews or critical articles.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, organizations, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Edited by Robert Helle.

  For more information about this book and the author, please follow me on Twitter at pmjohnson003, Facebook at Apollo Stone Trilogy, or visit www.apollostonetrilogy.com.

  I also encourage you to review this book on Amazon.com, Goodreads.com, or any other forum where ideas about books are exchanged. Love it, hate it, please rate it.

  *****

  Other works by PM Johnson:

  The Navigator, Book 1 of the Apollo Stone Trilogy.

  Table of Contents

  Table of 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 1

  Thirteen jewels adorn the crown.

  Twelve were stripped and cast far down

  Into depths of darkness pure,

  Oblivion to endure.

  Yet, one remains beyond grasp

  Of eager, fearful hands’ clasp

  To wield again or to place

  In Permidian’s cruel embrace.

  - “Thirteen Jewels”, Ruus Vo-Falla.

  JUNE 2032. Near the Minnesota-Ontario Border

  “Faster, damn you!” cursed the old man as he pulled on the pack mule’s reins.

  Though in his early sixties, the man was strong and energetic. He had broad shoulders and a barrel chest, and the hands inside his heavy gloves were large and rough. On his face hung a tangled, patchy beard of mottled gray and brown whiskers. As he pulled the reluctant mule forward, he shot furtive looks to the right and left, searching the surrounding spruce, fir, and pine trees for signs of danger. All around him, large snowflakes floated down from the brown-tinged sky, gently swirling in the light breeze, coming to rest on the heaps that had already fallen during that long, harsh winter.

  The man cursed the mule for having forced him to abandon his intended destination, a well-hidden hut of log, earth, and pine branches built into the southern side of a hill. The longer he remained in the open, the greater the chance he would be discovered. Fortunately, he knew of another place where he could hide, a network of caves below a rocky promontory along the shores of a small lake. Of course, he might have to contend with a black bear or a few timber wolves also seeking shelter in those caves, but one problem at a time.

  Looking ahead, the man saw the familiar collection of boulders that marked the lakeshore. Though they were covered in a deep blanket of snow, the old man had been to the lake often enough in better times that he recognized the jumbled megaliths, carved and deposited by retreating glaciers ten thousand years prior. Heartened by the sight of his goal, he laughed lightly to himself and muttered a few lines of a favorite old song he hadn’t heard played in nearly a year. Then the mule stopped and pulled hard on the reins, nearly yanking them out of the old man’s hands. The man stopped his humming with a grunt and turned around to face the creature, which was laden not only with his bedroll, rifle, and gear, but also carried the body of a small, thin buck the man had shot, gutted and cleaned a few hours earlier.

  “What the hell’s the matter with you?” growled the man as he gathered the reins in his hands. “You wanna stay out here and freeze to death? Or maybe you’re just trying to get me killed. Those boys we slipped by earlier won’t be any kinder to you than I am, I promise you that!” He pulled the reins once again, but the animal jerked its head backward and brayed loudly in protest.

  “Shut your damn fool mouth!” hissed the man as he placed a hand on the mule’s mouth.

  He took hold of the harness bit and gave a hard tug, but the animal refused to move its quivering legs. The last four hours of trudging through the snow, sometimes as deep as the mule’s chest, had so exhausted the beast that it could not take another step. The man pushed his way through the snow and stood at the mule’s side. He placed a hand on the buck’s neck and slowly stroked its fur. Then he took off his gloves and untied the rope that held the dead animal on the mule’s back.

  “You’re really gonna make me carry this buck? You lazy bum! You couldn’t make it a little farther? We’re at the lake now. We just need to get down the slope and into those caves.”

  Muttering curses under his breath, the man pulled the rope free and quickly coiled it. He was hanging the rope from the pummel of the sawback saddle when he heard something that sent a chill down his spine.

  “What’s your hurry, old man?” said a loud voice.

  The man deftly slid his right hand inside his coat and wrapped his fingers around the hilt of the revolver tucked under his belt. He slowly turned his head and looked over his right shoulder down the trail he and the mule had cut through the snow. About thirty paces away stood three men, shoulder-to-shoulder, facing him. The two on the sides held rifles in their hands, but the one in the middle appeared to be unarmed. The old man started to draw his weapon.

  “Whoah, pops!” said the man in the middle, raising an index finger in warning. “Not so fast.”

  He was shorter than the other two by a head and appeared to be a few years older. Black hair stuck out from under his gray stocking cap and reached down as far as his shoulders. He looked at the old man through dark eyes that glinted with a hint of intelligence, or maybe it was just animal cunning.

  The old man remained still as the two men on the flanks raised their rifles and pointed them at him.

  “We nearly lost you about three miles back, but Vick here saw how you sneaked along the lee side of the ridge. Tricky move, old man. ‘Course, once we found your snow trail, it was just a matter of time.”

  The one named Vick, a slender man with blond hair and sunken eyes, flashed a half smile. “Thought you could outfox us, eh?” he said as he nervously adjusted his grip on his rifle. “Not so smart as you think!”

  “State your purpose,” replied the old man in a loud voice as he slowly freed his pistol from his belt, though he kept it hidden under his heavy brown coat.

  “Our purpose?” asked the man in the middle with a laugh. “I think that’s pretty damn obvious. We want the mule and the buck you got slung over its back. I was thinking of letting you keep your rifle and gear, but because you were so uncooperative and made us walk all this way, we’ll be taking those too.”

  “Taking my rifle and gear’s as good as killing me,” replied the old man. “How about I hand over the buck and we go our separate ways? These woods are big enough that we’ll never trouble each other again.”

  “Not good enough,” said the shorter man as he and his two companions, rifles held at their hips, walked forward. “Now take your hand out from under your coat and step away from the mule.”

  The old man scoffed. “Not likely. It seems to me the only thing keeping your friends from shooting me right now is my proximity to this animal.” Then he drew his pistol, a black .357 revolver, and pointed it at the three men. They halted their advance but did not lower their weapons.

  “Now listen to me, and listen good,” said the old man in a slow, deliberate tone of voice as he pulled back the pistol’s hammer. “I
will shoot any man who takes another step. Now turn around and head back the way you came. Nobody needs to get hurt, but I’ll be damned if I let you three shits take what’s mine.”

  For a moment there was perfect silence; the only movement in the forest was the gently falling snow. Suddenly, one of the rifle barrels erupted in smoke and flame. The old man immediately returned fire, hitting one of the riflemen in the leg. With his free hand, he pulled the rifle from its holster on the mule’s saddle and ran to his left, hoping to find cover among the large rocks overlooking the lake. A rifle bullet whistled past his ear. He lowered his head and stretched his legs as far as the knee-deep snow would allow. He pushed aside a pine branch heavy with snow, then veered slightly right. Another slug ripped through the air just above his head. Almost there, just a few more steps. Once behind the rocks, he could creep between the boulders and slip down the far side to the relative safety of the caves below. They’d be fools to follow him down there. Why risk their lives now that they had his most valuable possessions? He’d wait until nightfall and make his way back to his little hut where he had stockpiled a few canned goods and some ammunition. Of course, he would sorely miss the mule and the chances of taking another buck were slim, but there wasn’t anything to be done about that now. Another bullet hummed by and ripped into the trunk of a Jack Pine. Ten steps more and he would be there. A slug grazed the side of his head, leaving behind a long stinging wound.

  With just a few steps between him and the protection of the rocks, the old man’s hopes were dashed when a slug bit into his flesh and lodged itself in his left shoulder. Screaming in pain and anger, he spun around to face his assailants. Stumbling backwards, the old man aimed and fired his revolver but was wide of the mark. Another rifle slug tore into his chest, sending shards of shattered rib bone into his heart and lungs. With a curse on his lips, he collapsed onto a large flat rock overlooking the frozen lake, his face directed skyward. With great effort, he lifted his head and tried to sit up, but his ruined body would not obey him. He rested his head back down on the rock and took in a few ragged breaths, watching as snowflakes materialized out of the gray-brown mist above to land on his face. How beautiful they looked, how peaceful, how timeless.

  A few hours later, Vick reached his knife forward and cut off a piece of tough, lean venison that had been cooking on a spit over the fire they had built. “Shame about Joe,” he said.

  “Yeah,” said the smaller man in the gray stocking cap as he held his hands up to the warming flames. “Bad luck. The old man’s slug must’ve hit an artery or somethin’. Bled out damn fast. Nothin’ to be done.”

  “We should have shot that old man right away instead of givin’ him a chance,” replied Vick as he pulled a tendon out of his mouth. “Maybe Joe’d still be alive.”

  The smaller man looked up and snapped, “Quit talkin’ shit, Vick. What’s done is done. Joe’s dead. The old man’s dead. And the way this damn winter’s goin’, we’ll be joining ‘em both soon enough.”

  “Don’t get all pissy, Bill,” retorted Vick. “I’m just sayin’ it’s a shame about Joe.”

  Bill grunted in reply and spat into the hot coals.

  Neither man spoke for a few minutes, preferring to stare into the fire and lose themselves in their own thoughts. Then Vick said, “You think this winter’s ever gonna end?”

  Bill looked around at the snow-covered ground as far as the firelight could push back the night. “Hell, I don’t know. First those meteors come crashin’ down all over the damn planet. Then everythin’ from the Mississippi to the Rockies gets burnt to hell. Then the sun disappears behind all that smoke and dust. It’s a new goddam ice age.”

  “World’s been turned on its head,” agreed Vick. He took a bite of meat and slowly chewed. “This time last year I was a goddam electrician down in Grand Rapids,” he said wistfully while looking at the fire. “Now I’m killin’ old men for a mule and a few scraps of venison.”

  Bill scoffed. “You wanna survive to see the spring, take my advice; forget what you were last year. That life’s gone forever.”

  Bill stirred the coals with a stick and threw a few pine branches into the fire. Just then, a flash of yellow light suddenly split the night like a bolt of lightning. Terrified, the two men looked away to shield their eyes then scampered to their feet. Vick grabbed his rifle and Bill pulled out the pistol he had taken from the old man’s hand. Each of them stood, gun at the ready for whatever might happen next. But the light was gone as quickly as it had appeared and the forest was perfectly quiet, aside for the popping sounds of their fire.

  The two men scanned their surroundings, but seeing nothing unusual, Bill pulled a branch out of the fire and held it out in front of him. He slowly walked in the direction from which the light had come. Not wanting to remain alone, Vick followed. They walked toward the collection of boulders overlooking the lake. Soon they were standing before the large flat rock upon which the old man had collapsed and died.

  “What the hell?” whispered Bill as he extended the burning branch over the rock. The snow had disappeared, but many tendrils of steam were coiling their way up into the frigid night air.

  “What’s that?” asked Vick, using his rifle barrel to point at something in the middle of the rock.

  Bill held the flames closer to where Vick had pointed. The singed remains of the old man’s clothing lay on the rock, but the body was nowhere to be seen.

  “What’s goin’ on here, Bill?” croaked Vick, his sunken eyes darting left and right as he searched for whatever could have taken the old man’s body.

  “How the hell should I know?” hissed Bill.

  “Let’s get outta here,” said Vick, his voice now trembling. “There’s some crazy shit goin’ on, and I don’t want nothin’ to do with it.”

  “Yeah,” said Bill as he raised the burning branch and looked up into the starless night sky. “Pack the mule.”

  Vick turned and ran toward the campfire, mumbling nervously to himself as he stumbled through the snow. Bill took a final look around and began to follow Vick. Then he abruptly stopped. He turned around and walked back toward the large flat stone and examined the clothing once again. A slight shift of the wind brought the scent of burnt fabric to his nose. He leaned forward and carefully laid the old man’s revolver on the still-warm slab of rock next to the clothing.

  “Sorry, old man,” he whispered. He backed away from the rock, his eyes focused on the revolver as if it too would disappear in a flash of light. Then he turned and fled.

  Chapter 2

  “My armies outnumber you two-to-one. What would you do if I sent them across your borders?” asked the Kaiser.

  “We would shoot twice and go home,” replied the ambassador.

  - Swiss legend.

  Over a Century Later - APRIL 2138. Michigan Territory, Western Shore.

  Logan splashed through a muddy puddle of water left behind by the recently melted snow. He peered through the early-morning mist and saw two figures running ahead of him dressed in the same green and brown camouflage as he wore. They broke into a small clearing, already green with the season’s first shoots of clover just as a shaft of light suddenly appeared in the little meadow. More rays of the recently risen sun began to pierce the fog. The two figures ahead of Logan raced across the open space, mist swirling in their wake, each one scanning the surrounding forest for signs of hidden danger. The rest of Logan’s team, twelve Rangers of the original fifteen, followed close behind. Behind them an unknown number of enemy soldiers gave chase.

  Logan increased his pace, trying to stretch or at least maintain their meager lead over their pursuers. Less than a kilometer separated them from the extraction site, a distance that he and his Rangers could easily cover in just a few minutes. Even wearing their Provex armor and battle packs, they could have sprinted through the forest to the awaiting Switchwing aircraft, but not that morning, not with a middle-aged scientist in tow.

  A crashing sound, accompanied by a heavy grunt, caused Logan to stop and turn around. Damn! He ran back several steps and quickly scooped up a man with salt-and-pepper hair to his feet.

  “Let’s go, Komatsu!” he said as he pulled the older man along by the arm. “Keep going. We’re almost there!”