A Gray Crusade: The Rogue Series, #2

By Logan Judy

After Silas Knight's daring live message from New York City, the world is in a precarious place. Demonstrations, protests, and riots flood the streets, with a resounding message: rogues are people, too.

Grayson agrees. But unlike the uneducated populace, he's seen things that no living man should have to see. He's been behind enemy lines, in the midst of the darkest and most depraved oppressive regime in history. And he knows something so dark, so terrible that it pains him to carry that knowledge day after day.

He knows that in order to secure freedom, Silas Knight must die. Even if his friends must die along with him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Logan Judy
• Release date: Mar 16, 2015
• ISBN: 9798201329037

Book preview

A Gray Crusade

Copyright 2015 © Logan Judy

All rights reserved.

Edited by Tony Held, tonyheld.hoboandbowser.net

Book Cover Design by Cheryl Ramirez, ccrbookcoverdesign.com

Interior Book Design and Formatting by Nadege Richards, instainformatting.com

Print Edition Spine and Back Cover Design by Cheryl Perez, yourepublished.blogspot.com

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, duplicated, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

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

Contents

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

1.

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2,013. 2,014. 2,015. the numbers kept coming. They never stopped. They were always in his head, continuing the count without a reason. He couldn’t stop to think. He barely stopped to eat. Sometimes they came with places. Occasionally there were voices. But more than anything, there were the numbers that kept pounding away at his brain with all the force of a jackhammer into concrete.

Or was that the man in blue?

Tell me where they are!!!

Teddy tilted his head away from his interrogator, still muttering under his breath, still counting the numbers. He was at 2,035 now. He used to count because he was under compulsion, his brain allowing him no other recourse. Now he did it as a means of escape. Because the more they beat him, electrocuted him, stuck his head in a bucket of water, and did all other kinds of terrible things to him, the more his mind seemed to wander. The painful irony of it all was that he hadn’t the ability to tell them what he knew, even if he knew anything.

Pain flared through his temples as the man in blue struck him with a hard wooden club and blood trickled down the side of his face. His voice quivered as he continued counting, his pounding headache threatening to pull him into unconsciousness, the cuts on his wrists from the nylon ropes driving him further into madness.

Suddenly there was another man in the room. He was also in blue. The two officials spoke to each other. The words were meaningless to Teddy, but he noted a rising anger in the first blue man’s voice. The second man turned around and left, leaving him to his wrathful interrogator.

Listen Teddy, the man said. Teddy’s eyes opened wider at the mention of his name, but he still kept his gaze straight ahead, still counting. He was at 2,104, still rising. The blue man continued speaking.  I don’t want to be here anymore than you want to. I want to stop coming back here. I want to stop hurting you. But I can’t do that unless you tell me where they are. Jackson Knight. Alice Mays. Their friend called Eli. Tell me where they are.

Teddy tried to call out. He tried to say he didn’t know where they were, that he had no way of tracking individuals, and that he couldn’t even match places with names, or voices with numbers. But even as one of his many selves within him screamed the response, the only things he spoke were numbers.

Then, as he screamed harder and harder, he stopped counting. The man in blue crept closer. Teddy started stuttering, mixing up syllables and unconnected words. The man in blue was confused by the gibberish, then enraged by it, taking it as a sign of his being further uncooperative. He raised his hand to strike him again, but the other blue man grabbed it.

Stop it. This is progress. Reward progress and he might talk more.

You call this progress? the first man snapped. It’s gibberish. This gives us nothing. More pain might give us something.

We don’t know what this kid is capable of, the second man replied.  Do you want to end up like those guards in Chicago? They underestimated Knight and he killed them with his hands tied. Using his brain.  We have to be careful with these people. And we have to show him that we can follow through on our promises.

Fine, fine, the first said in resignation. But you’d better be ready to give your side to the Prime Minister, because he’s going to fry the both of us if we don’t give him something soon.

Could we hook him back up to the machine? the second asked.

The first shook his head. It doesn’t work anymore. None of these world-renowned scientists seem to know why. And none of them can get inside the stupid kid’s head, either. Apparently he doesn’t have any normal kind of mental problem. Go figure.

It doesn’t matter. We won’t burn for this, trust me.

You must be out of your idiotic mind, the first said. You’ve seen our loving new master. He lit Brook s up like a Christmas tree just a month ago. You don’t remember that?

These guys aren’t subtle, Rick, the second replied. It won’t be much longer before they screw up, and then he’ll know where they are. He’ll move past this kid before long, don’t worry.

And what happens when he does? What happens when they find us before we find them? When they wake Knight up?

On the day that happens, God help us all.

Then we best put them down first, Rick said, because the both of us will burn in Hell.

The plethora of cuts, gashes, and bruises all over Teddy’s body mutely affirmed this.  Even as the gibberish continued to flow from his lips, he hoped and prayed that these people, whoever they were, wherever they were, would storm the place. Because they were his only hope. He was counting on them.

And although they didn’t know it, so was the rest of the world.

2.

––––––––

eli looked over his shoulder, pacing back and forth nervously. A man in a black hoodie with jet-black hair and a disconcerted look on his face eyed Eli with suspicion and concern. And with his unkempt beard, bulging green eyes, and Christmas-red stocking cap that hadn’t been in style since the late twentieth century, Jax remarked to himself, who wouldn’t?

The warehouse was dimly lit. A few of the overhead lights were flickering repeatedly. The musty smell of the abandoned Subaru plant made Jax twist his nose an attempt to mask his disgust. While understanding the desperate nature of their search, the very idea of playing it so close to the chest, mere miles from the dreaded United Nations capital, trepidation grew in his heart with every minute they were here.

Here was Brooklyn in the year 2095. It was hopelessly filthy, filled to the brim with crime, unemployment, and prostitution, the moral degradation of the city obvious. It was a fitting representation of the world at large, driven to despair by a global power which showed little concern for its citizens or remorse at their horrid living conditions. The only thing they did show concern for, it seemed, was hunting down people like Jax and Eli, who were different; gifted; special.

Although in reality, it was more like cursed than gifted, as Jax had known only too well, suffering both the sober and drunken abuse of his step-father for years, the victim of either random biology or the hand of an unseen deity, which had made him the ideal target for bigots who could see no farther than the U.N. propaganda which insisted they were destined to be selfish, ruthless killers.

That was why they were hiding. Self-preservation. It had nothing, however, to do with why they were at the abandoned warehouse. If self-preservation was on their minds, they’d have been to the tip of Alaska by now, not the middle of New York City. No, they were chasing after something far more self-destructive.

I’m getting tired of waitin’, bro, Eli said to the black-haired stranger. Either you got it or you don’t. Which is it?

We have it, the stranger replied, pulling out a cigarette as he spoke. But how do we know we can trust you?

Eli grabbed the man’s cigarette and crumbled it between his fingers. The man angrily threw a right hook at Eli, who easily dodged and pinned the man to the ground. Jax would’ve been angry too. If he smoked, that is. Tobacco was one of the most expensive products on the black market.

Don’t play games with me, kid, Eli growled. You saw the broadcast. You know we were there. I don’t need to prove anything to you. Now drop your little one-man-circus charade and open the blasted door.

The man tried pushing back, but he might as well have tried moving the plant. Eli may have been centuries old, but he was still solid as concrete. The man collapsed, embarrassed and defeated, and told Eli to let him up. Eli looked to Jax, who nodded. While unable to read minds with the depth of the legendary Silas, he could still read intentions, and their reluctant colleague only had intentions of escaping his embarrassment as quickly as possible.

He led the two men past abandoned equipment and conveyer belts to a flight of metal stairs, up to a closed door. Their escort pulled a key from his belt and opened the door, leading them inside. On the other side of the door was a large office, decorated with fully operational computer equipment lacking in any sign of disuse, even something so infinitesimal as a dust bunny. Eli reached to turn the tower on, but the stranger grabbed his wrist.

You need to know something first, he said.

You plannin’ on keeping that arm? Eli replied.

The man withdrew his hand quickly before continuing.

My equipment will give you access to an unfiltered internet, but only for a limited amount of time. The blocks I have in place keep the U.N. servers from picking it up, but only for ten minutes. If you retain access for any longer, the U.N. soldiers will descend on this place like vultures on a carcass. I beg of you. You cannot do that. This place is not only important because I am here. It is important because it houses access to the truth. You must recognize that.

How long do you need to wait before accessing it again? Jax inquired.

I’ve never tried anything more frequent than once per four weeks, he replied. I wouldn’t dare to try anything more frequent.

I got you covered, bro, Eli said.

They booted up the computer, and the stranger took them to a solid white webpage with one word in colored letters. Google.

Type anything, the man said. It’ll show you what the web has.

Eli typed, and Jax crept closer, pulling his hood back and running his fingers through his navy-blue hair. Eli pressed the enter key. The web searched for a name. One all-important name. A name which had convinced them against all reason to remain in New York City in a search for the truth.

Jackson Knight.

A plethora of links were returned in the search results, most of them news articles from early 2000’s. Eli clicked through the first result. It was a story on the event. The thing which started everything:  the riots, the police mowing down citizens, the third world war, and the U.N. propaganda. The melting of the Statue of Liberty by the one dubbed The Rogue by the news media. Jax knew all of this. But he didn’t know the man’s identity. How could he have never known? How could he never have asked? How could no one ever have told him that he shared the name of the world’s first rogue?

But there it was. Clear as day. Jackson Knight. His name. The name of the first rogue. Eli had told him, and yet he hadn’t believed it. But here it was, clear as could be.

Could . . . could it be a coincidence? asked Jax cautiously.

Coincidences don’t exist, Blue, Eli said. Sage sent you to us. It’s for a reason. And we’re going to find it.

Five minutes left, the stranger said with a panic in his voice.

Eli backed out of the search result and typed like a madman, throwing in as many keywords as he could think of. Jackson Knight + The Rogue. The Rogue + bio. The Rogue + backstory. Then his eyes lit up and he chuckled with incredulity as his discovery.

This is it, he said.

What, Aperture Labs? said Jax. I don’t understand what that—

No, you idiot. Theresa, New York. That’s where he lived. That’s where we have to go.

He shut down the computer and they left the office. Jax elected to wait until they’d left the building to assault Eli with his questions. Before they exited out the back door, Eli turned to the stranger.

Stop smoking. It’ll kill ya.

The back door opened into a field of brown grass. The city’s lights kept the Brooklyn suburbs lit in the dark of night, and the two of them knelt in the center of the field of dead grass, patiently waiting.

How long? said Jax.

Two and a half minutes, Eli replied.

The time passed silently. Jax counted it down in his head. He closed his eyes when his count entered the last thirty seconds. When he reached the final ten, he felt a rushing sensation akin to freefall, and fell with a thud onto the hardwood floor of a wooden cabin. He pushed himself onto his feet and looked around him to see the familiar faces of Alaric, Alice, and Lilly.

Good news? asked Alice.

Eli nodded. We have a lead. It’s slim, but it’s something.

Where? Alice asked.

Theresa, New York.

She frowned. New York?

I don’t like it either, but that’s where the trail leads.

And what exactly is the trail? asked Jax.

Eli rolled his eyes and slumped into a rocking chair at the far corner of the cabin, next to the fireplace.

Oh come on Blue, don’t start this up again.

Start what up again? You think it’s unreasonable for me to ask that you tell me what wild goose chase you’re taking us on?

Jax— Lilly said warningly, but Eli was already on his feet.

Watch it, Blue. You’re in no position to be making demands here.

What’s that supposed to me—

It means that I have a hard time trusting the kid whose boss wanted to blow up my best friend, that’s what it means! So don’t come in here all haughty like you have the right to run the show.

All I want is an explanation! Jax said, his voice rising. Is that too much to ask?

Hey, zip it! Alice barked. How about a little respect? Until we get Silas back, Eli’s in charge. He knows Sage. We’ll get this figured out. All of it.

Get Silas back? Jax scoffed. Now that’s a joke.

He turned on his heels and went into one of the bedrooms, slamming the door behind him.

Alice started for the bedroom door, but Lilly tugged on her sleeve and shook her head.   She wasn’t crying, but Alice could tell it distressed her, so she turned to Eli instead.

What could possibly be worth putting up with this for? He’s about as likely to kill one of us in anger as he is to lead us to Sage again.

It’s not about leading us to Sage, Eli reminded her. He’ll show up when he wants to. The kid’s a message. And we need to figure out what message that is.

How are you so calm?! she exclaimed.

Perhaps he realizes, said Alaric carefully, that we must have some patience with the boy.

Oh, now you talk? Alice barked.

Alice! said Eli. Chill. We have to keep our cool here. Let’s just focus on Theresa, okay?

And then what? said Alice. We just keep dragging along this kid that’s—

Just as trustworthy as you were?

Alice scowled, but she didn’t say anything in return. She pulled a seat up to the wooden table and stared at the motionless wooden finish, silently fuming. No words passed between them for the rest of the night. Alice later thought about apologizing for her outburst, but she kept that impulse from becoming realized. Instead she went to bed, pulling her newly surrogate daughter Lilly close, stroking her blood-red hair, trying to forget the tears that were dripping down her cheeks, silently repeating to herself:

If Silas were here, he’d know what to do. He’d keep us from fighting. He’d be able to figure it out.

––––––––

when the sun had barely risen the next morning, Eli splashed water on his face, watching the water drip into the rusty sink below him. He looked at his reflection in the dirty mirror. His large green eyes and scraggly beard looked familiar, but the bags around his eyes didn’t. He wasn’t sleeping well. The nightmares—memories, really—were robbing more from him than he cared to admit.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, ignoring the perturbing creaking sounds of the cheap metal springs. He pulled an old tie-dye shirt out of his bag and pulled it over his head. It was early. His room had no windows, so he didn’t know if the sun had risen yet, but he didn’t hear the normal noises—Alice’s nervous pacing, Jax’s heavy footsteps, Salah’s—wait. He wouldn’t have heard Salah. Or Tariq. The times of waking to the two of them arguing were long gone.

Eli’s heart dropped as he thought of them. They had lost their youngest brother soon after meeting Eli for the first time, and the two of them had since become prisoners of the Rogue Division.

Every day Eli went through the same process—remembering Tariq’s sarcasm and Salah’s gentle nature, and feeling guilty all over again. Tariq had given himself up willingly in an effort to break his brother out, but Salah’s capture was less voluntary. If Eli had been more aware of their surroundings, more sensitive to the possibility of an attack, neither of them would likely be prisoners now.

He shook off the thought and opened his bedroom door. He walked slowly across the hardwood floor, chills from the cold running up from his bare feet, and saw Jax sitting at the table, staring forward in his typical emo brooding fashion. Eli held his hand up to block the orange glare of the sunrise and sat in the opposite chair.

Couldn’t sleep? Jax asked.   Was he just going to pretend that nothing happened last night?

Don’t need it, Eli replied. Sleeping’s a waste of time, if you ask me. Takes half the day and you still gotta go back for more.

Jax didn’t laugh. He never did.

The log cabin was in a dense stretch of woods in northern Canada. They found the place abandoned, and were afraid that the owners would return, but so far they hadn’t. Winter had just settled in, so they assumed they would probably be safe there until spring started to peek around the corner. It was tough for them, though. They had no connection with the outside world here. No television, no telescreen, not even a radio. That would normally be a good thing, as the Rogue Division would be monitoring all technology, but it also made them feel even more disconnected from Tariq, Salah and Silas.

Silas . . .

Eli pulled a glass bottle of clear liquid from below the table. He grabbed a dirty glass that was sitting on the table and poured some into it.

Isn’t it a little early to be downing shots? Jax asked.

Eli glared at him.

You’ve no idea what I been through, kid, he said before downing the first shot. Besides, alcohol doesn’t make me all tipsy like it would you, hear me?

What, are you saying you can’t get drunk?

’At’s exactly what I’m saying, Eli said. My body heals itself, and alcohol’s a poison.

So what’s the point of drinking? Jax asked.

Why for the taste, of course!

He ignored Jax’s skeptical glare. He’d never tell the kid the truth. Not even if it wasn’t for the navy-blue moptop. It was his punishment—to drink without escape. To drown in the acrid and horrendous taste of the vodka. It was the only way he knew to inflict some sort of self-punishment, some reminder of what he’d put his friends through.

Simultaneously seeking self-affliction for the cumulative scarlet blood on his hands from his many years and distraction from his numerous woes and sense of impotence, he looked again at Jax, looking past the blue hair and obnoxious moping, considering what was undoubtedly one of the greatest mysteries he’d encountered in recent years.

It had all happened so fast—the broadcast, the attacks by U.N. rogues immediately following it, Silas freezing their attackers, Jax pleading to go with them. But that wasn’t the confusing part. The mystery was all, coincidentally, in his name. Jackson Knight. He not only shared Silas’ family name, but had the