The Reckoning: Book 3 (The Culling), page 1
THE RECKONING
By Tricia Wentworth
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination. Any resemblances to persons, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.
Published by Tricia Wentworth
Cover design by Vila Design
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return it to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.
Copyright 2019 by Tricia Wentworth
My three sons.
While it’s true these books may have been out in half as much time without your constant interruptions and needs for snacks, I wouldn’t trade in a single moment of being your mommy.
I love you.
Table of Contents
Prologue
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
THREE WEEKS LATER
THREE YEARS LATER
Acknowledgments
Author’s Bio
Prologue
Lyncoln
So this is what hell feels like. After seeing my own father murdered, you’d think I’d be used to this agony. It’s like the world is trying to pulverize you, your soul crumbling to dust without a damn thing you can do about it.
We were dealing with drifters ourselves, but when I heard Reagan’s tortured scream pierce through the gunshots, I didn’t even think, I just ran. Then the second scream. The first one terrified me. The second one gutted me and destroyed me while welcoming me into my own personal version of hell.
So I ran. Not fast enough. Not hard enough. Because when I got there, she was already gone. Still, I ran after the vehicle. When my legs gave out and I fell to the pavement heaving for air, I yelled and punched the road in a fit of rage. Langly picked me off the cold ground and told me what we had to do next to find her.
All of DIA arrived and followed in pursuit. There was no way they should’ve been able to get more than a mile without us on their tail. But she was just gone. And those screams have haunted me every second since. I don’t know how to breathe now. I don’t know how to think.
There’s only one reason I’m still even functioning. Only one goal.
Find her… kill them.
I’ll get her back. Even if it’s the last thing I do.
Chapter 1
Reagan
I open my eyes but can’t see a thing.
Blackness. Total blackness.
I blink a few times and the blinking alerts me to the fact that my head is pounding. It feels like someone is trying to tunnel out of my skull using a jackhammer. Maybe an impact drill. Maybe both. Regardless of my blinking, I still can’t see a thing. Great.
Holy crap though, my head.
I groan and try to move my hands, but they are tied together tightly and I’m sitting in some sort of chair. The harder I try to get them free, the more the ties holding them cut into my skin, rubbing it raw. If I could see them, I think I would find some dried blood there. Possibly fresh blood too. And the more I try to move, the more the pounding in my head intensifies.
I sigh despite it hurting to do so and try to remember anything that can help me figure out where I am and how in the heck I am going to get myself out of this mess.
The wreck.
The drifters.
Lyncoln going to take some drifters down right before more came and surrounded the rest of us.
Oh, God…
Sarge.
I gasp remembering Sarge. There’s no way he’s still alive after taking multiple shots to the back like that. He has kids. He had kids. Why did he have to die? Why? They had me. Why kill him anyway?
I stifle a sob with a loud, shaky sniff and hear a familiar voice groan in the darkness. It’s at that exact moment I know we are screwed. There is no way both of us are making it out of this alive.
“Henry?”
“Reagan.” Henry’s relief is palpable. “Are you okay?”
“I think so,” I respond, wincing. “Although my head freaking hurts. Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I think so? I came to while we were being transported somewhere in some sort of vehicle. I think we were being pursued. And then they knocked me back out. I take it that was a drifter ambush back there?” he asks then pauses a moment to release a frustrated sigh. “Okay, stupid question. Of course it was, but what did I miss? The last thing I remember is the crash.”
I spend the next few minutes filling him in on the crash and what happened while he was still unconscious. I can’t help but start crying when I get to the part when the drifter shot and killed my beloved guard. I’m trying to not be loud, not knowing where we are, but I know, I just know, Sarge is gone. And that pain is way worse than any pain I am already in.
“Reagan,” he says gently. “I am so sorry. I wish I would’ve been awake and could’ve helped you. Or him.”
I try to sniff away my runny nose since I can’t wipe it and we both sit there in silence absorbing the seriousness of this situation. Why would they take both Henry and me? What is their end goal here? I feel overwhelmed and on the verge of a panic attack. This situation is utterly hopeless. And I can’t move or see anything, which does nothing to ease my anxiety.
“Listen to me,” Henry finally says. “Sarge wouldn’t have wanted us to give up. And he certainly wouldn’t have wanted you to blame yourself. You and I both know Lyncoln is going to move heaven and earth to find you. All we have to do is wait this out and stall.”
“If Lyncoln is alive,” I offer on a shuddering breath. Stalling was my last plan, and it went terribly.
“He is. If they caught him, he would be here with us. So he’s alive. And he’s coming for you. You have to believe that,” Henry says with a tone of confidence I cling to.
I know he’s probably right, so I hold on to that small bit of hope, but that doesn’t help my immediate concern.
Where the hell are we?
****
Time ticks by while we sit there in total blackness. I’m not sure if it’s been minutes or hours, but I begin to feel even more of the weight of how helpless this situation is. We have been taken by drifters. Will they torture us? Will they use us as leverage? Why did they take us? This must have been Hadenfelt’s deal with the drifters. And why is Henry here? I assumed the deal was for me or for Lyncoln, not him. And definitely not both of us. Though they did just royally mess up the Culling by taking one of each of the final two couples.
Henry being here kind of messes up Hadenfelt’s daughter’s chance at the Presidency too, so it doesn’t make sense. None of it is adding up and I just can’t seem to figure out what’s really going on here. Even if Henry wouldn’t return, they would just find Marisol a new partner, and no one would get her as many votes locked down as Henry would. Henry was her only way to the final two.
Not able to keep thinking along those lines without going back into a full-blown panic, I turn my thoughts back to Sarge. He was not only my guard… he had my back. He was my friend and a father figure for me long before my parents came to Denver.
I remember when I first met him and how intimidating he was, but he was the first one to warn me that the Culling was a “competition”. I also remember his kindness the night Marcia left, when he got me outside for some fresh air because I was losing it. He also was amused with me the very next night, the night of the Canidatorial ball, when I flirted with the boys for the first time. He was there for me when Oliver died, and again when I was forced to kill Isabella. He was right by my side the day I had to make the big decision between Lyncoln and Henry and broke protocol to hug me in the hallway when my heart was breaking. He was there for Christmas cookies with my parents. He was there for my wedding. He was literally right beside me for the entire Culling. I couldn’t have asked for a better man to be my guard. He wasn’t just my guard. He is, was, family.
And now he’s gone.
Unable to help myself, I start crying again. Sarge is gone. I saw it happen with my own eyes. It was one of those terrifying experiences in life where you would do anything to make it all be some sort of b
“Reagan?” Henry’s voice is there again.
I’m trying not to cry loudly, but it’s impossible for me to cry silently because I’m tied down and I can’t even wipe my own dang nose, so tears and snot are freely running down my face. If I could see my reflection, I’m sure it would be all sorts of messy. Not that I care about that right now.
“Sorry,” I apologize, sniffing loudly.
We are only a few hours into this and I have cried twice already. I need to be focused on figuring a way out of here, but every time I think of Sarge, I lose it. I try to think of Lyncoln and what he would do, but that reminds me of the mess we are in, and that doesn’t help me at all.
Henry sighs. “Don’t be. I just wish I could hug you,” he pauses and then adds, “In a completely appropriate way, of course, Mrs. Reed.”
I smile, surprising myself that I even can given the current circumstances. “I wish you could too, Henry.”
We hold on to each other’s voices since that’s all we have. Neither one of us wants to state the obvious… we probably both aren’t getting out of here alive.
Then that fighter in me starts to stir. I owe it to Sarge to kill these jerks and get the hell out of here. Just where exactly is here?
“Do you have any idea what direction they headed with us?” I ask.
“I’m not sure but the only thing that would have made sense was if they took us south, opposite of the direction of any of their compounds. When I first came to, I think I heard helicopters and saw their spotlights, but they were eventually drowned out,” he offers. “I’m not sure how. With a copter in the air, they should’ve easily found us.”
“Well at least we know they were looking for us,” I try to sound optimistic despite feeling the exact opposite. How in the world am I going to get Henry out of here? “I wonder what time it is.”
“I don’t know. They took my watch, but I think it’s close to midnight. We were out for a while,” he tells me, clearly frustrated. “So we must have traveled a decent distance.”
Darn. A watch with a GPS tracker or monitor could have been helpful right about now. Or warmer clothes. Or just being able to wipe the snot off my face instead of eating half of it as it runs over my lips.
“This is odd though. Where are they? If they were going to interrogate us, wouldn’t they get to it and not waste time if they knew Denver was looking for us?” I ask. “And all of DIA was on the way to the ambush site, so how the heck did they manage to get us and get away anyway?”
“Well you can bet there are at least two drifters watching guard over us somewhere close by. I am guessing they are using us as a ransom or something. Or waiting to emotionally drain us.”
He doesn’t say the rest of what I know he’s probably thinking and that’s how grim our situation really is if we are going to be tortured. Being ransomed is the best possible scenario. The alternative, the thought of being done to us what was done to Samson, makes me want to vomit.
Samson. Does he know I’m here? I don’t mention anything about him to Henry because I don’t know if we are being listened to or not. I’m sure our being here has stirred up a bunch of drifter movement, so Samson must know something.
After a few minutes of silence, Henry speaks up again. “Reagan, you know Lyncoln. You know Taggert. You know my dad. There isn’t one of them that wouldn’t do everything in their power to find us.”
I know he’s right, I just can’t help but wonder what state we will be in once they do find us. Will the damage already be done?
****
I drift off, sleeping as well as I can while being tied down and scared to death. I come to as light starts to show out of a small rectangular window. I can barely see the outline of a person directly across from me and know that must be Henry. Everything is gray in color because it’s barely starting to lighten up outside, but at least light is on the way. Maybe the light of day will make everything less scary. Less hopeless. Less dire.
As I look around our surroundings while the gray gradually fades into real colors, I see that we are in a very old shack of a house and we must be underground in some sort of basement because the one window is high and I can see brown grass around it. Unfortunately, the window gives me no ideas about where we are, other than it’s cold and dark and damp here. Which could pretty much be anywhere this time of year.
The walls of the room are thick and look like they are made of cement rectangles. They were painted white at some point, but now just look worn out. The place is bare except for an old sink on one wall next to an old fridge and a kitchen table and chairs. We are sitting on two of the four chairs that go to the table but in the middle of the room instead of placed around it. The table and chairs stand out compared to the sink and fridge, they look newer and like they don’t belong. There are rickety old wooden steps in the corner that very much match the rest of our surroundings, and I know that upstairs there must be an old house to match all the oldness down here.
None of this is helping me figure out our location, because again, there are abandoned houses everywhere, littered and scattered across our entire country thanks to Trident. We could be anywhere. Even in Denver, though it seems unlikely.
“Good to see you,” Henry says quietly. He’s too far away for me to really see into his eyes and I’m kind of glad. I don’t want to see his despair and worry. His emerald eyes usually show his every emotion and I’m not sure I can deal with the harsh realities of what I will find if I were to really look into them.
“You too,” I try to smile.
It’s a relief to be able to see him at all after all the darkness last night. Every second that ticks on brings more light into this little basement too. And now I can physically see that Henry is alive. I’m grateful for even that. They easily could have killed him too.
“Still feeling alright?” he asks concerned.
“Yeah. I think so,” I offer. “Stiff. Sore. What about you?”
“Yeah. My head still hurts a bit but mostly I’m just pissed,” he says honestly.
“I don’t understand why they would take us both. I thought getting me out of the picture was the deal with Hadenfelt…”
“I don’t know, but it might not have been you specifically either, it might have been me. Maybe he wants Marisol to win without me. If that’s even possible…”
“But why you? You’ve done everything they asked. And you weren’t even Marisol’s partner when everything with Isabella and Williams and this supposed deal went down,” I think out loud, still feeling that stab of guilt. If only I would’ve decided between Henry and Lyncoln earlier. “Sure, she might get some sympathy votes, but she’d never win without you, if they even let her try to go solo. But I doubt they even would.”
His sigh of frustration is loud in the small underground room. “I don’t know, but I wish I did. The more we know…”
“The more likely one or both of us can survive this,” I finish for him.
“Reagan,” Henry sounds concerned. “I’ll do everything I can to get you out of here. Please know that.”
“Henry, you will do everything you can to get us both out of here, and that’s the last I want to hear of talk like that. I would take a bullet for you and you would take a bullet for me, but there will be no talk about one of us sacrificing ourselves for the other.” …Even if we are both thinking it. After a moment, I add, “And if they were going to just kill us, why wouldn’t they have done it already?”
He sighs again, this time more defeated. “I have no idea.”
****
Soon the room is full of more light, or as much light as it’ll get down here. The spot on Henry’s head that was bleeding is now dried and crusted over. He looks good for being knocked out cold and having a head injury. After all the bawling I did, I don’t even want to know the state that Henry is seeing me in.
