Chapter Thirty-Four
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DALTON WOKE UP IN THE cavernous skating rink with no idea what time it was. He checked his watch in the dim glow of the firelight to see it was just after dawn. “I wish we could uncover some of the windows,” he murmured as he quietly got up. That would be far too dangerous, of course.
GG was still sound asleep on the queen-sized mattress on the other side of the metal drum.
The fire had died down a bit too much, so he added more wood to it.
Pastor Hogan was an early riser as well, so Dalton didn’t bother to make himself coffee.
He wanted to get his task done, then head back to the rink to guard his ex again.
Shaking his head that his old flame was once again his main priority, the cattle rancher grabbed a backpack.
He put a walky-talky, batteries, water and energy bars inside it.
He took one of the two keys to the doors and paused to don his jacket and boots.
Exiting through the back door, Dalt ate while he made his way back to Manhattan.
Once again, he used the clogged road rather than the walkway to cross the Brooklyn Bridge.
He was still wearing a white armband, pretending to be a law enforcement officer.
Speaking of which, a group of them were clustered at the beginning of the walkway above him.
Fewer people were coming and going from the city now.
All were stopped and were searched for food and beverages.
Weapons were also confiscated, leaving the malnourished civilians without the means to defend themselves.
“The world has gone to hell,” Dalton said mournfully. He’d met a few degenerates in his time, but he’d had no idea how many truly evil people were roaming around. Not everyone was completely bad. Like him, some had done questionable things they no doubt bitterly regretted now.
Dalton continued at a fast walk. His long legs carried him to Morningside Heights without being stopped. He noticed groups of people wearing armbands stopping at every building. They were no longer searching them all, but were only stepping inside briefly.
Stopping to talk to one of the groups, Dalt nodded in greeting. “How’s it going?” he asked casually.
“We’re getting through our list quicker than we thought we would,” one of the men replied, gesturing with a sheet of paper in his hand. It seemed to be a map of Manhattan that someone had drawn a grid onto. “We’ll turn off all of the main breakers ahead of schedule at this rate.”
“Good job,” Dalton said, giving them the thumbs up before moving on.
Picking up his pace, he reached the preacher’s brownstone townhouse a short while later and knocked. “It’s me, sir,” he said when the curtain in the window next to the door moved slightly.
Larry opened the door, grinning widely. “Come in, son!” he said. “It’s still freezing out there!” It had snowed overnight, but only a couple of inches or so.
Dalt entered and took off his boots while the pastor shut and locked the door. “I have some good news,” the cowboy said as he followed the older man into the living room.
“I was just about to make coffee,” Pastor Hogan said. “Do you want some?”
“Thanks,” he replied, sinking down onto the couch.
“What’s the good news, Dalt?” Larry asked as he switched the generator on in another room. He poured water into an old kettle and put it on the hotplate.
“It seems Rahab has called off the search for GG and the other ladies,” Dalton reported. “I didn’t see any groups of soldiers searching the buildings on my way here. I only saw cops switching off the main breakers to every property on the list someone gave them.”
“Why are they doing that?” the preacher asked, taking his usual seat.
“I suspect they’ve fixed whatever was wrong with at least one of the power plants,” Dalt figured. “It’s wise to turn the breakers off. It’ll prevent fires from breaking out if any appliances were left running and they suddenly come back to life.”
“No doubt that was Xathan’s idea,” Larry said. Amaros had informed him about Rahab and his key lackeys. “I wonder why they stopped searching for GG?” he added.
“She’s been gone for a week now,” Dalton mused. “Maybe Rahab thinks she’s far, far away and figures she won’t be coming back.”
“He doesn’t seem the type to just give up so easily,” Pastor Hogan said doubtfully. “Still, I’ll be able to resume holding my sermons again now.”
“I’ve got something for you,” his guest said and reached into the backpack he’d put on the floor. “We’ll be able to keep in touch with these,” he said, handing a walky-talky to the preacher.
Larry grinned in appreciation. “This will definitely come in handy,” he agreed. He took the batteries and inserted them.
The kettle began to boil and Dalton stood up. “I’ve got it, sir,” he said, then turned the generator off. He filled a thermos with coffee so Larry would have something hot to drink for a few hours. Pouring a mug for them each, he returned to the living room.
“GG and I had some unexpected visitors after Wynter and Tolas came to see us,” Dalton said. “We met Qiana and Kochab.”
Larry’s face lit up. “How are they?” he asked as he fiddled with the walky-talky.
“They’re fine,” his guest said.
“Our guardian angel has been busy saving lives and sending them to the hall,” the preacher said. “I left a note telling anyone who visits the building to return in a few days.”
“Good idea,” Dalt said with a grin. “You’ll all need to be careful. The doc and her knight have found a few bodies with missing heads.”
“The soldiers killed them?” Pastor Hogan asked, mood turning grim.
“Nope. It was a human sniper,” the cowboy said. He reached over to take the walky-talky and switched it to the channel they would be using. “Kochab warned us to stay under cover and to keep watch for anyone high up on the tops of the buildings.”
“I’ll pass the message on to my flock,” Larry said gravely. “I was thinking it might be a good idea to have a spy amongst the so-called cops who work for Mayor Giamano.” His lips twisted in distaste at the title the weasel of a politician had given himself.
“They’ll need to be very careful, sir,” Dalton warned him. “Rahab and his goons can use mind control. They can force people to tell them the truth. Your spy won’t be able to resist their power. They’ll spill their guts about your resistance, which will put you all in terrible danger.”
Heaving a sigh, the preacher took a sip of coffee. “I just feel like we should be doing more,” he confessed. “Qiana keeps sending the people she saves to join us, but we’re just ordinary humans. We aren’t heroes like the knights and cambions.”
“Giving people a safe haven as well as food and water is heroic, sir,” Dalt argued. “Fate has plans for us all. We just have to listen to her hints and try to do our best to carry out her orders.”
“The Mad Prophet is our main source of information from Fate,” Larry said. “I suppose if she has instructions for us, she’ll either speak through him, or send one of Amaros’ people to fill us in.”
“From what I understand, you’re already doing what Fate wanted,” the rancher reminded him. “The doc and her knight are sending you troops to add to our army. Our allies won’t have to stand alone against the Soldiers of Chaos this time. They’ll have us to back them up.”
“You’re right, son,” the priest said with renewed zeal. “God’s working through Fate and her knights. I’ll do my part to help them win their final war so they can become our guardians.”
Dalt stayed with him long enough to drink his coffee and test their walky-talkies before heading back to the rink.