The Resilient: Among the Forewarned

By Adam K. Ogden

A people ruled by fear is a people ruled of their own choosing. A prisoner of their own free will...

Michael Anderton has slipped through the hands of the Federal Police thanks to help from a long-lost friend. But his troubles are far from over. Plagued by the very virus he sought to cure, he makes his way through his

• Language: English
• Publisher: Breakpoint Publishing LLC
• Release date: Nov 5, 2021
• ISBN: 9781732921658

Adam K. Ogden

dam K. Ogden is an independent author of fiction novels. His works span multiple genres, including science fiction, action adventure, thrillers, and more. He began his writing career after a dream spawned the creation of his debut series The Resilient. Penning the series ignited a passion for storytelling. As an Engineering graduate from Louisiana Tech, his background centers not on writing but on research. This is applied to his works of fiction, weaving real life in to even the most wildest fantasies.Fans of Adam K. Ogden range from all ages and backgrounds. With universal themes and true-to-life characters, there is something for everyone in his works. With elements of suspense worked through seamlessly into his stories, they are a fun thrill ride from start to finish that are hard stop.You can follow Adam K. Ogden on Facebook at (www.facebook.com/AdamKOgden) or at his website (www.adamkogden.com) for the latest news and updates for his upcoming books and events.

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Among the Forewarned

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events contained therein are a product of the author’s imagination. Any similarities to any events, places, or persons, living or dead, is strictly coincidental.

© 2021 by Adam K. Ogden

All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this book may be reproduced, including the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher. Such is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. Prior written permission must be obtained.

Published by Breakpoint Publishing, LLC,

www.breakpointpublishing.com

Breakpoint Publishing and associated logos are trademarks of

Breakpoint Publishing, LLC

Front Cover Design by Adam K. Ogden

© 2021 by Adam K. Ogden

www.adamkogden.com

ISBN-13: 978-1-7329216-5-8

ISBN-10: 1-7329216-5-8

A people ruled by fear is a people ruled of their own choosing. A prisoner of their own free will…

1

Ryker’s Log: October 15, Metropolian.

The Ghost has proven to be as elusive as the wind. He exists as whispers in dark corners. Whispers that, if spoken of too loudly, vanish as though they never were. There are stories told of The Ghost, legends per se, of his fantastic feats. Prisoners disappeared from the most secure compounds. Even dangerous terrorists.

The closest I have come to stopping The Ghost was in Agridemesne. A chance encounter. We apprehended his comrades. But the man… I can’t even be certain he was ever there himself. He has proved a resourceful and worthy adversary. He is the first mission I have yet to bring to completion. He is the one blemish on my otherwise impeccable record.

I wish I knew who this man was. Despite my best efforts, I can give him neither a name nor a face. The Ghost could be watching me at this very moment, and I wouldn’t know it. Such thoughts haunt me.

Six months ago, Colonel Hempton assigned me a new partner. Natalie. I was supposed to be training her to become an asset in her own right, but we have formed a good team. She has proven herself a great ally. In her former life, she would have been my rival. She was once a member of the rebel group, Defiant. Thankfully, she has seen the error of her ways since then. With her help, I feel as though I am on the trail of capturing The Ghost. Soon, I hope my writings center on success and not of longing. Until then, he is my mission. I will find The Ghost.

I am Asset Seven. I am Ryker.

PERCHED HIGH UPON A ROOFTOP in Metropolian, Ryker waited for his target. He had gathered information that The Ghost planned to visit a man across the street. Even with the strict scrutiny of the Intolerance of Criminality Act, the act that gave the Federal Police unfettered power, the man still eluded them. Colonel Hempton had assigned his asset, Ryker, to the mission. Although part of the Federal Police, assets were separate from the grunts as they called them—the general officers that patrolled the streets. Assets operated in the shadows. They didn’t exist.

Ryker liked it that way. Since the day Hempton recruited him, he lived the life of espionage. He was calm and collected. Even now, sitting on that rooftop as he watched his target, he was writing his thoughts into his tablet.

Ryker, a voice called his attention away from his writings. His relaxed approach to the mission annoyed his partner, Natalie. She had a penchant for the exhilarating.

Patience, Twelve, Ryker said. The streets are empty. We have plenty of time.

He placed his tablet inside his coat pocket and peered through the scope of his rifle. Their target sat reclined in his chair, watching the nightly news. He wasn’t The Ghost, but a man whom he had contacted. Joseph Morelli had made a profession out of dealing in identifications. It was believed The Ghost was seeking a new one, and he was to offer it.

Natalie would have stormed into the room and strung him up by his bathrobe to gain information. She was already loading her third pistol. Ryker wanted to wait. It was likely The Ghost may come to that apartment. If he did, they would stop them both.

The street was quiet beyond the mews of cats diving in the dumpsters. There were no cars parked on the curb. No people wandering down the sidewalk either. It was an all-too-common sight in Metropolian. Hempton had begun enforcing curfews lately. Crime rates had fallen under his authority, but a new threat loomed. The Anderton virus, they called it. A debilitating neuro-virus unleashed by a known terrorist. At first, many thought it was another virus called the terrorist’s curse spreading throughout the populace. It had plagued the nation for the last few years in small numbers. But this new virus was more contagious, more dangerous than anything that had swept the nation before. Most people feared it, choosing to keep themselves quarantined in their homes without arguing with the law enforcing it. At that hour, though, there were very few lights on in the apartment building across the street.

Ryker looked through the scope at the target again. The man was nodding off. His head would fall, and he would rapidly raise it up. If he were waiting up for The Ghost, he would have to wake him. As he watched the man drift, echoes of metal filled the air. Natalie rose to her feet. The fall of cans knocked off the dumpster by the cats had almost sprung her into action.

Calm down, Ryker said. We don’t need to alert the neighborhood to their feline problem.

Natalie sucked air through her teeth, keeping her pistol aimed at the dumpster. A couple of rounds would take care of it.

Sure. Let me report back to Hempton that we failed the mission because my partner isn’t a cat person.

Well, dogs are better, she said before lowering her weapon.

"Fine. I’ll call the pound tomorrow and find you an adorable chihuahua. Their almost as feisty as you. Almost. Can we get back to the mission now?"

What mission? The target is napping.

You know, this is not the worst mission we’ve been on together.

You’ve had me on this rooftop for six hours. It’s three o’clock in the morning. I’m going over there.

No. We haven’t seen The Ghost yet.

Look, you can either watch me or shoot me. This mark is about to talk.

Ryker looked at his watch. Three-seventeen. According to his intel, The Ghost was to make contact just before midnight. Perhaps Natalie’s method was better. It had shown to be quite effective in the past.

He disassembled his rifle and put it in its case. Natalie had already shimmied down the fire escape. Ryker sighed, letting out a small waft of mid-October steam. He had to catch up to her before she did something foolhardy, like storming into the building.

He was too late. By the time he reached the last rung of the fire escape ladder, she was already sprinting toward the apartment. Ryker dropped from the ladder to the sidewalk waiting a few feet below. He chased after her, slinging his bagged rifle toward the dumpster where it wouldn’t be seen. He was thankful the streets were empty. There was no one to witness his suspicious skulking around the apartment complex.

When he turned the corner toward the front entrance of the building, Natalie was gone. Ryker had to admit she had prowess. In the few seconds’ head start that she had, she had slipped into the building. Ryker ran up the steps to the door and stared into the security camera above it.

Department of Housing. Open up, Ryker said, holding up his fake identification.

The door buzzed, and he slung it open. That early in the morning, the inside of the apartment complex was as still as the street. He walked through the hallway to the elevator. Pulling a piece of chewing gum out of his pocket, he kept his head down as he entered. He chewed it a few times, leaning against the back wall of the elevator beneath the security camera. He slipped the gum out of his mouth and pressed it onto the camera’s lens.

Once any potential onlookers were blinded, he removed his pistol from his back. He took a quick inventory of its ammunition and attached a silencer to its end. Silencer—a fantastic misnomer. Adding it only meant that perhaps just one floor would hear it instead of the entire building. Ryker hoped he didn’t have to use his pistol at all. It was too messy and too hard to keep its use contained. Nevertheless, he knew better than to infiltrate a mark unarmed. Especially since this mark involved The Ghost.

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. Ryker pressed his pistol to his side to conceal it. He leaned forward out of the elevator and scanned the hallway. Clear. There were no late-night wanderers meandering through. And no Natalie. Ryker slid his hands into the pockets of his jacket and cautiously walked through the hall. His eyes shifted back and forth from door to door as he passed. The mark’s apartment was a little more than halfway down.

As Ryker approached the man’s door, he could hear the droning of the incoherent babble of his television. It was louder than he had expected. The door was cracked open. Wood splinters protruded from the frame where the latch should have been.

Natalie, Ryker thought. He sighed heavily. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t contain her temperament. She was bold and brash. He was glad the neighbors were asleep. If they had heard her, that would have been unfortunate.

Ryker eased the door open with his shoulder. Both hands readied his pistol in front of him. He slipped through the apartment on soft, silent feet. He could see the top of the man’s head as he continued to rest in his recliner. Natalie, however, was still yet to be seen.

Glancing at the edges of the room, everything was still in its place. She had touched nothing. She wasn’t gathering information. Ryker eased himself behind the recliner. He placed the palm of his hand over the sleeping man’s mouth to keep him quiet. The man didn’t stir. Ryker pulled his hand back. There was no steam on his glove from the man’s breath. He wasn’t breathing.

Ryker paced around the recliner to look at the man. It was then he knew why the man wasn’t breathing. That ability had been stolen from him. Two shots center mass. The man had been executed. Screaming permeated the apartment, shrieking louder than the television. Ryker’s eyes darted up to the doorway. A woman was standing there in her pajamas. A phone hung loosely in her hand at her side.

Dang it, Ryker thought.

Federal Police, ma’am, he said, pulling credentials from his pocket. Do you know what happened here?

This… this can’t be happening, the woman muttered after her screaming subsided.

Ryker tried to talk to her, to reassure her everything would be okay, but she didn’t move. She was in shock. She just stood there, repeatedly mumbling the same phrase. Instinctively, Ryker reached back toward his belt for a vial of Amnesiac. He didn’t want to waste any more time trying to spin some tale. She couldn’t be calmed. It would be better for him to disorient her. Any residual memories left over by the Amnesiac serum would be misconstrued as dreams of a sleepwalker. Ryker held the vial in his hand and made his way toward her.

Doors down the hallway began a symphony of slamming. More people were leaving the safety of their homes and coming to investigate. Curiosity was stronger than their fear of any virus. The situation was escalating. A crowd would be harder to contain. Ryker returned the vial to his belt and the pistol to its holster. This was going to be a long night.

Bystanders rushed into the apartment, pushing the woman out of the way. They each froze at the sight of Ryker standing over the body. He lifted his hands and showed them the Federal Police badge he held. He hated using that badge. As an asset, he was supposed to be invisible. A man with no obvious ties to the Federal Police whose mission it was to handle the more delicate threats. Using the badge was dangerous. If any real officers caught him, Command would deny all knowledge of his existence. He would be tried as an impostor.

Ryker lowered his head to prepare for the tedious night that awaited him. Bold and brash. Natalie’s best and worst two qualities. She had given him a challenge.

2

THE BYSTANDERS SLUNK BACK as officers in their black tactical uniforms replaced them. Ryker knew it wouldn’t be long before they did. The woman had undoubtedly called them when she discovered what happened. After the Intolerance of Criminality Act passed, there was little crime left in the nation. The Anderton virus was said to be a desperate attempt to still inflict terror on the Federation. It proved the IOCA was working. Because of that, the people were quick to point out anything they thought was suspicious. They held each other under strict scrutiny to maintain such a lack of crime. That same scrutiny hindered Ryker’s efforts.

Identify yourself, the lieutenant said, readying his pistol on Ryker. His words were muffled by the small mask the officers had started to wear.

Lieutenant Shallows from the Fifty-First, Ryker said, continuing to hold up his badge. I was bringing supplies to a quarantined friend in the building when I heard the commotion.

What happened here? The lieutenant holstered his weapon and began looking over the dead body.

My guess is your patrol missed something.

Don’t talk down to me like that. I don’t see any stars on your shoulders.

No, but I see two bullet holes in this man and a company of officers that are late to the party.

The lieutenant snarled and ordered his men to clear the room of civilians. By his demeanor, Ryker knew he wasn’t fond of him being there. He didn’t care. It was officers like him that made his job both necessary and more difficult.

What did you touch? the lieutenant asked.

Ryker lifted his gloved hands toward him. Nothing.

The lieutenant grumbled as he pilfered through the apartment, looking for clues. With the reduction in crime rates, so too was the reduction in crime scene investigation. Command had decided to train officers to investigate crimes on their own. They were already well versed in investigating people.

Ryker joined in the search. It gave him the opportunity to discover any information he could on The Ghost. He also wanted to find out more about the shooter. His initial reaction was that Natalie had executed him, but that wasn’t likely. She would have extracted as much information as she could first. There hadn’t been enough time for that, and the man wasn’t disheveled. Whoever carried it out broke in, executed the man, and left. It was a professional hit in a country without professional crime.

The thought puzzled Ryker. The Ghost had no history of executions. His crimes were much subtler than that. But the mark knew something. Something another didn’t want shared. That person had killed the man just after he and Natalie left the rooftop. Someone knew they were there.

Ryker’s pulse quickened. Natalie wasn’t there because she had already figured it out. The room and the man within it were no longer a priority. He had to find his partner.

Ryker excused himself from the room and made his way back to the elevator. The reason Natalie could sneak inside so quickly was that she was never inside at all. She made the man exiting the building and followed.

Outside the building, the dead, empty streets had come alive. The Federal Police had set up a perimeter around the building, looking for the shooter. Their blue lights flashed from atop their cars encircling the building. Wherever Natalie and the shooter went, they were out of sight. Ryker scanned the streets, looking for the most likely escape route. The shooter knew where their nest was, so he would have known where they were coming from. His escape route would have taken him in the opposite direction.

Briskly, Ryker walked down the sidewalk along the face of the building. To avoid the suspicions of the officers, he had to look official. He didn’t have time to concoct some excuse for breaking curfew. With a murder charge looming, it would take too long. He had to get to his partner. Natalie was fierce, but she wasn’t invincible. She had shown him the scar that ran the length of her abdomen. A parting gift of her former life.

What would have been suspicious enough to tip Natalie off? Ryker thought as his eyes danced from building to building.

Other than the scattered police cars, nothing seemed out of place on the dimly lit streets. Lamps spaced feet apart along the sidewalk would have illuminated someone sneaking away. With as suspicious as Natalie was, it was possible she saw a man walking away from the building and followed. Although, a professional wouldn’t have allowed himself to be seen by the lights.

A quick flutter through the window beside him stole his gaze. Ryker peered through the large frame of glass. Inside, a restaurant occupied the bottom floor of an apartment complex. Its many tables and chairs were strewn throughout its dark interior. Ryker tried the door, but it was locked. He was sure he had seen something inside the window, and not just a movement of a reflection on its surface. He placed his hands around his eyes to block out the surrounding light. There was a second set of windows.

The set of windows along that wall meant there was space between the buildings. The apartment complex wasn’t as close to its neighboring building as it appeared. Ryker ran to the corner of the restaurant. He stuck his hand in the narrow gap between the buildings and noticed it widened as it went deeper. That was most likely where they went. He turned to the side and began trying to squeeze into the tight space. The concrete edge of one building scraped against his chest. His pistol at his back caught the corner of the other. He wriggled himself around enough that he could remove his holster. He crawled his way through the small gap.

The space expanded into a small secret garden. It was what the windows of the restaurant were pointed at. It was too dark to see from the sidewalk. The windows of the adjacent building faced it as well. One of those windows was open. A light from somewhere deeper in the building illuminated the fluttering curtain.

Ryker pulled his pistol from the holster he had been carrying in his hand. He lowered himself down to peek inside the open window. Finding the room beyond it vacant, he crawled into it. A mattress waited for him on the floor below. It was thin and old. Empty glass bottles and containers from the restaurant littered the floor. The impact he made with the mattress caused a few of the bottles to tip over. They clanked against the hard wooden floor.

Ryker swore at himself and readied his pistol. He remained motionless, waiting to see if he had been compromised. After a few moments of silence, he eased himself up off the mattress, making sure not to disturb any more of the garbage.

The building didn’t seem to be occupied by any legal resident, but instead had housed a vagrant. The stench of body odor was heavy in the air, mingled with the moldy leftovers of the containers. Ryker made his way through the rest of the building. As he did, another smell filled his nostrils. A heavy chemical smell. He wrapped his elbow over his nose.

Whoever the shooter was, he was clever. He knew of the narrow passageway to the open window. That the apartment was left vacant to fumigate it. He wasn’t just professional in his hit, but also in his reconnaissance.

Ryker hoped there were no lingering traces of the Anderton virus as he pressed on, finding the exit to the apartment. A red sheet of plastic had sealed the door, but one side of it had been torn free. He knew he was on the right track. He pulled the plastic back and slipped through the door. A hallway awaited him beyond it.

Left or right?

His eyes shifted back and forth, searching for more clues. Both directions looked the same. They each turned a corner to another hallway beyond it. He chose right—the farthest direction from the street he had come from. He ran to the corner and down the adjoining hall. There were no exits, but there were doors everywhere. The shooter could have slipped behind any of them. If Natalie were chasing him, the door would have been left open. He kept going.

Deeper down the hallway, a potted plant had been knocked over. Its soil spread across the carpeted floor. The plant itself had been trampled. Boot prints formed a trail down the hall.

They ended at a stairwell. Ryker darted up them, bounding them by twos. He had wasted too much time in the apartment. Natalie and the shooter were too far ahead. Inside the apartment complex, he could lose them. He feared he already had.

Why would you climb the stairs? Ryker thought. Being a professional assassin himself, he tried to understand the methods of the shooter so that he could anticipate him. The stairs offered him no way out. Unless you’re going to the roof.

Ryker bolted up the rest of the stairs until he reached the top. The door to the roof was closed but not sealed like he expected. At some point, the lock was carefully cut. Ryker readied his pistol and eased the door open.

The pulsing of wind filled the night air as Federal Police helicopters circled above. Still no sign of Natalie. With the Federal Police scouting for suspicious activity, he had to be careful. He couldn’t be seen on that rooftop. He leaned against the edge of the doorway, scouting the area. A flat surface with a few pipes jutting up from it randomly was all he could see. The pipes meant the shooter didn’t have his own helicopter standing by. At least, not on that rooftop.

Ryker watched as the helicopters made another pass. When he was sure he was out of their sights, he sprinted to the edge of the roof and hunkered against the short wall. The next building was close. Its roof was also flat, but without pipes. The only thing that filled its top was a brick structure housing the stairs up to it. If the shooter didn’t fly out, he could have gone down those stairs.

As the helicopters circled again, Ryker leaped over the gap between the buildings. He landed with a roll, coming back up onto his feet. He ran for the brick building. With his back pressed against it, he made his way around to the doorway. The door was locked, but the sight he saw surprised him. Natalie was standing in the frame.

3

RYKER WAS GLAD he had caught up to Natalie. With her hands on her hips and her head cocked to the side, she didn’t seem to be any worse for wear. He pressed himself in the stairwell’s doorway with her to hide from the Federal Police.

It’s about time you got here, Natalie smirked.

You could have left me a clue to where you went, Ryker said.

I’m sorry. I was all out of breadcrumbs. Did you question the mark?

The mark’s dead.

I knew that guy looked suspicious. Natalie curled her lip into a snarl. I followed him up here, but he had a helicopter waiting. A refurbished Federal Police helicopter.

Was it The Ghost?

I don’t think so. My best guess, it was a spook.

Ryker stroked his chin in thought. A spook explained his skills as an assassin. Although the CIA claimed to never operate domestically, it wasn’t the first time he had come across one of their operatives in the field.

Our mark dealt in identities. There’s no way to know who he has made one for, Ryker said.

He was attempting to reassure Natalie, but he couldn’t reassure himself. The spook had been watching them. He was certain of it. It was too coincidental. They were assets of the Federal Police. No one outside the program knew of their existence. He didn’t know how the Agency discovered their mission unless they had a mole.

That would have to be tomorrow’s problem. As it stood, he and Natalie were pinned down on the rooftop. Since they didn’t exist, they had no authority and no means of protection. They would be at the mercy of the Federal Police officers. He had seen it happen before. Colonel Hempton held his assets in the highest regard. Failure of any kind was not permitted. Ryker’s former partner had killed a mark by accident that he was ordered to apprehend. Hempton had demoted him to being a grunt. He was lucky.

Ryker knew he had to salvage his mission somehow. Although his mark was killed by a CIA spook, he wouldn’t be relieved of the responsibility of it. If he found The Ghost, the matter would be moot.

For now, they had to find a way off that rooftop. Natalie had already tried the door, Ryker was sure. She wouldn’t have stayed pressed in the frame if she hadn’t. The helicopters circling above and officers patrolling the streets below had them trapped.

Ryker eased out of the doorway slightly to get a better look at their surroundings. The helicopters shined their spotlights on the rooftops of the surrounding buildings. Their roof was two buildings away. He waited for officers to come bounding out of the stairwell of the building he had left. After a second thought, he knew he was giving those officers too much credit. From the looks of their surroundings, they had nowhere else they could go.

Come with me, he told Natalie.

Ryker led her back to the first stairwell. He knew it was risky, but with officers already searching rooftops, it was only a matter of time before they were discovered. Together, they slipped inside the building unnoticed. As Ryker eased the door shut, light illuminated the surrounding cracks. He froze. He released his hands from the door and began his descent down the stairs. Whether the officers saw the open door was irrelevant. If they saw a change in it, they would have been made.

Leaving the door open, Ryker assumed it had alerted them on its own. He and Natalie ducked into a hallway about midway of the building. They followed it toward a row of doors that led to rooms next to the building they had just left.

Federal Police, Natalie said as she rapped against a door.

When there was no response, she pounded against it again. A short, elderly man opened the door, attempting to tie his bathrobe. His eyes were only half-opened behind the thin glasses haphazardly draped across his face. From his appearance, he had been in a deep sleep. Ryker wasted no time talking to the man. He uncapped the vial of Amnesiac on his belt and injected it into the side of the man’s neck.

Go back to sleep, old-timer, Ryker said as the man slumped to the floor. Ryker caught the man in his arms and carried him to his couch.

Well, aren’t you a softy, Natalie teased.

Would you rather him wake up on the floor bruised? That may raise some questions.

He won’t remember us. Why does it matter anyway?

Ryker just looked at her. It was his habit to tie up all loose ends, no matter how trivial. Natalie shook her head and walked through the man’s living room to the window facing the nearby building. She went to pull back the shades and then quickly dropped them. Ryker knew what that meant. The officers were already searching the neighboring buildings.

The IOCA had unchained the Federal Police. They had become much bolder in their pursuits. When they received reports of a crime, especially a crime like murder, they canvassed an area thoroughly. No longer hindered by things like search warrants, it was nothing for them to barge into rooms, searching for their suspect. If they were already searching the building two over, they were most likely in his as well.

Ryker studied the sleeping man still lying on his couch. He quickly untied the man’s robe and stole it from him.

Lose the combat gear and put this on, he told Natalie as he handed her the robe. He ran his fingers through her hair, pulling most of it out of her ponytail.

What are you doing? she asked.

You’ve been asleep. They’re going to knock soon.

Natalie pursed her lips and threw the robe back to Ryker. He looked at it, crumpled up in his hands. It seemed Natalie had her own plan. He hoped so. His eyes shifted up to the door, waiting for the sound of that expected knock.

Natalie unbuckled her holsters and laid them on the floor beside the doorway. All of them. Between the pistols, the ammo, and the knives, she had a small arsenal waiting to alert any officer that arrived. There was the knock. Without a care, she threw open the door and leaned against the frame with her hand on her hip. Ryker ducked down, hiding at the end of the couch.

What? she asked the officer standing at the door as she pulled her hair back into place.

Federal Police business, the officer said. We have to search the apartment.

Why?

There’s been a murder in the adjacent apartment complex. Can I ask you what you’re doing at this hour?

What am I doing? I’ve been quarantined inside this apartment for two weeks. But what are you doing, officer? I thought the IOCA was supposed to keep us safe from murderers. Where were you at? Were you sleeping on the job? You look disheveled. The pockets on your vest are unsnapped. Your holster’s loose. When was the last time you cleaned that pistol? You’ve got residue buildup all over it. So, instead of hassling me, why don’t you go take care of that and find that murderer? I’m sure we could all get some sleep around here if you did.

Natalie slammed the door in the officer’s face. Bold and brash.

Ryker crouched motionless behind the sofa, waiting for the officer to retaliate. He let out a heavy, ragged breath when he didn’t. To have made good partners, he and Natalie were total opposites of each other. She was cocky, abrasive, and always ready for action. Ryker tended to use slower and more methodical tactics. Her way provided faster results, but his way was safer. He had been an asset for nine years. He knew safer was better.

We’ll keep the old man sedated and hide out here until the FPD finishes their search, Ryker said. With our best lead killed by a spook and all these officers sniffing around, there’s no chasing The Ghost tonight. He’s already long vanished.

4

Be careful who you trust, Michael. For wolves lie in sheep’s clothing, and lions are but little lambs.

THOSE WORDS INVADED Michael’s thoughts as he walked through a forest deep in the Forbidden Zone. They were words he had come to live by. His trust in people had been shattered. Trent, his former comrade in war, had betrayed him. He had secretly been an agent of the Federal Police. His best friend, Wesley, he no longer recognized. It took a great deal of time for him to trust his friend again.

Wesley walked ahead of him, leading their group through the trees. He swung his machete, chopping through the dry thorns and brush to clear a path. Janyx and Brennan walked alongside him, helping him to navigate. After losing Orthanton, they chose to follow Wesley’s plan. He and Tobias had been searching for a way to stop the Federation. To do so, they had been searching for and gathering allies.

Lately, though, it seemed they were plotting something more. They would often disappear during the night or whisper things among themselves. Tobias had left them a few days ago. While that had become more common, the look on Wesley’s face said that they were about to do something important. Whatever it was, they kept it a secret between them.

In Michael’s condition, he didn’t question them about it. Their actions didn’t seem to bother Janyx or the others. Or if it did, they didn’t show it. Michael couldn’t be sure it wasn’t his growing paranoia that made him suspicious, even of his friends. He just kept to the rear, following behind Cisco and Alban. It was the place he learned he had to be. They had walked over him too many times when he would become disoriented.

Six months had passed since Wesley rescued them from the clutches of the Federal Police. Those months bore Michael’s only recollection of him. Even they were a blur. That didn’t surprise him anymore. His memory had become clouded. Shuffled. As if someone had taken a deck of cards and threw them in the air. Half of them becoming caught in the wind, while the others landed on the ground in disarray. Things were constantly coming and going. What he remembered yesterday was likely forgotten by tomorrow. Wesley had become his guide through his fractured walk through life.

Wesley only found him by chance, saving him from his execution. He was at Camp Talon to save someone else. He and Tobias had been rescuing people from Federal Police compounds. They were building allies for their cause. What started out as a promise to an old friend became a mission to stop the Federation’s tyranny. But when Wesley saw Michael, their plans changed. He knew he had no other choice but to help him.

Michael’s distrust for people had almost prevented Wesley from rescuing him. With his clouded memory, he thought it was just a mind game being played by the Federal Police. He refused to follow along with Wesley’s plan. If it hadn’t been for Tobias, Michael was sure the Federal Police would have executed him. Though he had known Wesley for much longer, he had recognized Tobias instantly.

He wished he could remember Wesley like he used to. The virus wreaked havoc on his mind. The virus he created and failed to stop. It had stripped him of his memories of his closest friend. In the six months since they had reunited, he had to learn his friend all over again.

At least, they told him it had been six months. He had lost track of the days because nothing else in his mind had order. Six months meant they were in October. That should have felt like they were closer to winter, but the weather was still a tepid eighty degrees in that part of the Forbidden Zone. Wesley had brought him back to the place he had once called home.

For years, the Federation prohibited people from entering the Forbidden Zone because of the war. The area was wrought with destruction by it. The Northwyn terrorists had laid siege to that part of the country. Even after the war, the Federation claimed the land was still inhabited by terrorists. But Michael had learned the truth. The land was no longer overrun with Northwyn terrorists. The people there were the Federation’s own citizens that opposed their rule. People like the Red Rider loyalists.

In the Federation’s rise to power, they killed the original Red Riders alongside the terrorists. But there were still those loyal to their cause that remained. They were the ones Wesley and Tobias sought to help them. It was a plan that members of Defiant had begun. The loyalists shared in their ambition of overthrowing the Federation. Once that was done, however, they wanted to bring forth the Red Riders’ ideas of government.

Michael didn’t care about the politics. He didn’t know what kind of world the Red Riders would have made. But he had seen the underhandedness of the Federation. The pain and suffering they caused. He felt that anyone who tormented others the way they had to stay in power didn’t deserve to have it.

Ahead of him, Wesley continued to carve out a trail for them, lost to his own thoughts. They had been in the Forbidden Zone for months, trying to recruit anyone willing to join them. Lately, though, he had begun taking them deeper into the area than they had ever gone. Michael was sure it had to do with the hushed conversations with Tobias. There was a reason he had left them, but Wesley wouldn’t say. All he would tell them was that they were going there for Michael’s protection.

In the rest of the Federation, a new law had been passed—the Intolerance of Criminality Act. It gave the Federal Police more power to search and detain anyone they pleased. They patrolled every street, scrutinizing everyone that looked suspicious. Michael was still considered Public-Enemy-Number-One and now a fugitive evading a death sentence. All the Federation was after him.

Although he had failed in finding a cure to their terrible weapon, the leaders of the Federation still didn’t want him free. More specifically, Colonel Hempton didn’t want him free. Capturing Michael had become the man’s personal vendetta. Michael didn’t understand it, but he was sure to live up to becoming the nuisance Hempton saw him as.

He clutched the small notebook he carried in his pocket. While Wesley attempted to build a new resistance in the ashes of Defiant, Michael began working on his cure. In the Forbidden Zone, with no lab, no supplies, and no research, all he could rely on was his memory. The virus did more than just steal those memories away. At times, it uncovered things that had been lost to him instead. Anything that seemed helpful, he would write in his notebook. Wesley didn’t seem to care much about Michael’s efforts. He was too encapsulated with his own plan.

Michael feared for his friend. Wesley had devoted himself to the Red Riders’ cause. They were going to end the oppression of the Federal Police. But Michael had seen where that led. War. He knew its effects firsthand. Before the Red Riders began their efforts, the Northwyn terrorists had attempted a war of their own. They had killed without cause, unprovoked. Northwyn didn’t care about the citizens of the nation, only striking at the nation itself. While the Federal Police were no strangers to taking lives, they at least kept a code. Wesley had to make sure his actions didn’t create innocent casualties. In his attempts, he couldn’t let himself become the Northwyn terrorists or Colonel Hempton.

A low rumble filled the air, followed by an intense crackling. Wesley stopped cutting through the shrubbery and crouched down behind it. He held up his hand, warning the others to stop. He pulled his rifle off his shoulder and readied it. Michael inched closer to him. Just beyond them, the forest abruptly stopped. Mounds of timber laid scattered over the once wooded land. Large yellow bulldozers pushed them into piles after another piece of machinery sawed them down.

It was a common sight in the Forbidden Zone. Wesley had told him of the Federation’s rebuilding of Orthanton. From the sights Michael had seen, it seemed like they were attempting the same thing here. By comparison, Orthanton was most likely much easier. It had been abandoned after famine and disease stripped it of its population, but the Forbidden Zone was war torn. Everywhere they went, there were signs of the destruction. Fallen buildings. Deep craters in the earth. Threats. Michael could understand why they were focused on just clearing it out.

Their group had to be careful in those demolition zones. The Forbidden Zone had always been dangerous. Federal Police patrols considered any person in the zone a combatant. But it had been mostly vacant. Now, with the rejuvenation of it, there were eyes everywhere. Civilian crews were granted special permission to be there. That could only be given by the proving of their loyalty to the Federation. Those crews were also protected by Federal Police officers.

The demolition workers still believed the lie. They were fearful of Northwyn terrorists lurking in the shadows of the Forbidden Zone. To them, it was still an active war zone. Michael had witnessed it firsthand. A bulldozer stumbled upon an exile living in the zone. Michael and the others were forced to stand by and watch as the young man was brutally murdered. The crew thought him a dangerous terrorist, but Michael couldn’t help but think, a year ago, that would have been him.

We’ll have to go around, Wesley said. Mike, stay close to me, okay?

Michael agreed. Wesley led them alongside the clearing, keeping them just out of sight. It felt to them that the Federal Police were always watching. They treated the area as if they were. Even when there weren’t officers nearby, cameras monitored their work crews. Michael wasn’t sure if such surveillance was for people like him or just to scrutinize their workers.

Why do you think they’re trying to rebuild? Janyx asked.

The Forbidden Zone is still full of their enemies, Wesley said. Whether you call them Northwyn terrorists or Red Rider loyalists, the Federation still wants them gone. After the Federal Police bombed the place, most of the loyalists went into hiding. So for years, they’ve been burning down structures they’ve found so that the loyalists couldn’t use them. I guess Hempton decided to take that a step further.

Is that why they burned down my house? Michael asked.

Wesley nodded. I see your memory of it has come back.

For now.

In some ways, Michael was glad he could remember something, but he hated it had to be that memory. It reminded him of home and his family. He didn’t even know where Rebecca and Allie were. After Wesley helped him to escape the Federal Police, all he wanted was to get back to them. But Wesley refused. No matter how much Michael pleaded, Wesley wouldn’t relent. He told them of the attack and the takeover of Orthanton. All the nation was enthralled with the western region. Hempton had made it a spectacle. Wesley promised Michael the only way to save them was to follow through with his plan.

It took Michael a while to understand that. After being apart from them for so long, he thought the best thing he could do was to be beside them. He wanted to protect them like he always had. But he realized the only way to ever really protect them was to stop the Federation. So long as they were hunting him, his family would never be safe.

Everybody, hold here, Wesley said. Janyx, you’re with me.

Michael stayed back with Alban, Brennan, and Cisco, but he knew they were heading into danger. The forest had come to a point. Workers had cleared the land on one side. The other was a natural field. Wesley had taken Janyx to scope out the area for threats. Outside of the forest, they were exposed. All it would take would be one person seeing them to uncover their entire company. The Federal Police would be called to hunt them.

Man, we ain’t got to crawl through no field again, do we? Alban asked.

I hope not, Cisco said. But it’s better than the swamp.

Dude, don’t remind me of that. These things absorbed that mess. Alban pinched the white jumpsuit beneath his shirt and lifted it to show it off. It had been stained a mixture of brown and green.

Quiet, Brennan ordered. Janyx will get us out of this. But if you two keep blabbering, you could give us away.

Brennan was right to worry. The sound of engines filled the plain in front of them. It wasn’t the same deep rumble of the bulldozers, but something more refined. Wesley and Janyx crouched low behind the tree line. Janyx motioned for the rest of them to get down. Curiosity got the better of Michael. Keeping close to the ground, he crept over to them. Brennan followed behind him.

In the middle of the field, a road had been beaten down by the continuous flow of tires. A tank-like torro led three green transport trucks along it. The backs of them were cages filled with people. They were dirty and dressed in plain clothes. Not prison jumpsuits like they were being transferred. The Federal Police had just collected them. Wesley drew his rifle and watched them through his scope.

Four one six, he mumbled to himself. Crap. They’re early.

Wesley lowered his weapon and turned back to face the others. His face was tight and solemn. Michael looked at the others to see if he had forgotten some detail about the importance of that truck. Janyx and Brennan both seemed to share in his confusion.

I don’t like it, but we have to follow them, Wesley said.

Look, fellow, I appreciate you getting us this far, but that doesn’t sound like a good idea, Janyx said.

They are our only allies in this war.

Janyx shook his head. That’s three moving prisons and a whole lot of cops. That’s not allies. That’s bait.

Michael looked at Wesley and then back at the truck. War was on his friend’s mind. He knew it, but he chose not to believe it. To Wesley, there was no other way. Michael wanted to stop him, but as he looked at the truck, the dirty, solemn faces of the prisoners haunted him. They were withdrawn. Malnourished. The look of impending death shrouded them like a veil. As he watched them, flashes of a memory penetrated his mind. The first prison compound he had seen bore the same aura. A little girl on the brink of death was caged inside it. As much as he wanted to avoid another war, he knew what they had to do.

How do we rescue them? he asked, fighting back the terror and the sadness.

We don’t. But we have to stay close to that truck, Wesley said.

Why? What’s so important about that truck? Janyx asked.

It’s on its way to Guillermo. And if anything happens to its prisoners, our hope of ending the Federation is over.

Guillermo. The thought struck Michael. It was a military prison. The place where the Federation took their worst criminals. The ones they wanted to disappear. It was too heavily guarded. Far beyond anything they had encountered before. Wesley had become proficient in helping prisoners escape from the compounds, but he wasn’t infallible. The last time he had tried almost cost him everything.

After he had rescued Michael, Wesley took them to a small compound outside of Agridemesne. It was supposed to be simple. The people within the city were already angry with the Federation because of what had been called the Market Massacre. The public floggings that followed deterred most from rising against them, but some were brave enough to join Wesley when he offered. But the Federal Police knew of Wesley’s actions. After a high-profile prisoner like Michael had vanished from their elite prison, they had increased their security. Wesley went in with two allies he had freed before. Only he made it out. And that was on the shoulders of Janyx. Now he thought they could take on Guillermo? Michael pursed his lips. Surely this wasn’t Wesley’s plan. He was smarter than that.

We can’t go to Guillermo, Michael said. Not after last time.

I’m with Michael, Janyx said. I want Orthanton back, but taking on a military prison is not the way to do it.

We don’t have a choice, Wesley snapped. We don’t have the numbers to go against the Federal Police.

But you think we have a chance of standing against Guillermo?

The frustrations between Wesley and Janyx continued to grow. Though their efforts had begun with Wesley and Tobias, Janyx still tried to assert himself as another leader. After his time spent in charge of Orthanton, he was not one to take orders without resistance. Especially if he didn’t agree with them.

This isn’t something I decided on a whim. For months, Tobias and I have been orchestrating this, Wesley said. All we do is run and hide and wait for them to eventually catch us. If that’s to be our life, then let’s get it over with. Or you can trust me and follow my plan.

And what is that plan? Janyx asked. Six months we’ve wandered through the Federation trying to start this resistance. And what have we gained?

This plan is all I have. Wesley’s voice grew stern. He was determined to follow through with it. The leader of Defiant is there. During his State of the Federation Address, the potentate let it slip that it’s where they’re keeping Vasher. Since then, Tobias and I have been out there searching for a way to get to him. We’ve got some Red Rider loyalists helping us. All that’s left is getting him out.

You’ve got a lot riding on one fellow. Janyx’s face tightened. What makes him so special?

Defiant thought they could stop the Federation with a cure for their virus. But before that, they attempted to build their own army. Vasher had members of Defiant gathering Red Rider loyalists in safe houses. They can help us unite the ones still hiding in the Forbidden Zone.

"I don’t like it. If Defiant was