Defiance: Judgment Day (The Defending Home Series Book 3) Read online

  DEFIANCE:

  JUDGMENT

  DAY

  William H. Weber

  Copyright © 2016 William H. Weber

  Cover by Deranged Doctor Design

  Edited by RJ Locksley

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

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. Any material resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  eISBN: 978-1-926456-14-0

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Cast of Characters (in alphabetical order):

  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

  Summary of Defiance Series:

  Books by William H. Weber

  Defiance: The Defending Home Series

  Defiance: A House Divided

  Defiance: Judgment Day

  Last Stand: Surviving America’s Collapse

  Last Stand: Patriots (Book 2)

  Last Stand: Warlords (Book 3)

  Last Stand: Turning the Tide (Book 4)

  Long Road to Survival (Book 1)

  Long Road to Survival (Book 2)

  Dedication

  I’d like to start by thanking my editor, RJ Locksley, for all of her terrific work. If there are any mistakes remaining in the manuscript, more than likely they represent my stubborn refusal to listen to reason.

  Another word of thanks goes to my cover design team, Deranged Doctor Design—in spite of your unusual name, you’ve always found a way to reach inside my brain and make real the visions in my head.

  But no work would be worth reading without my early readers. Thank you for your invaluable comments, your honest reviews and your selfless desire to lend a helping hand. The final thank you, as always, goes to Mr. and Mrs. Reader. You’re the ones I’m doing this for. I hope you enjoy the ride.

  Book Description

  Imprisoned by the Cartel, Dale Hardy must battle to escape his captors and find a way home before everything and everyone he holds dear is lost forever.

  For the Cartel, it turns out subduing the small town of Encendido was only the beginning. Ruthless crime boss Fernando Ortega has his sights set on reclaiming great swaths of the American Southwest, an empire he intends to rule with an iron fist.

  But there's a secret hiding in the desert, a secret that could spell the difference between tyranny and freedom. As the country teeters on the brink, the stakes couldn't be higher.

  Cast of Characters (in alphabetical order):

  Betty Wilcox: Encendido nurse who uncovered proof of Randy’s murderous ascent to power.

  Brooke Hardy: Dale’s twenty-one-year old daughter. Idealistic and headstrong.

  Caesar: Biker leader of the Bandidos. Brought to town by Dannyboy.

  Caleb: A former classmate of Brooke’s who joined Nobel’s resistance group.

  Colton Baird: Zach’s son. Always held out hope his father would return. Killed during an assault on Mayor Reid’s mansion.

  Dale Hardy: Arizona Homesteader

  Dannyboy: Friend of Zach’s. Joined with

  Fernando Ortega: Ruthless drug lord. His son Edwardo was assassinated by Shane.

  Keith Harris: Encendido Deputy. Initially skeptical, he eventually joins Nobel’s resistance movement and becomes an integral member.

  Major Gruber: Commanding officer of Charlie Company of the 158th Infantry Battalion. Hold up at FOB Zulu, he awaits orders from his CO.

  Nobel: Real name Vickie Meeks. Organized a resistance group in Encendido to reinstate democratic rule in the town.

  Randy Gaines: Former junk yard dealer turned Sherriff who resorted to murder to gain control of Encendido.

  Sandy: Former Deputy who joined Dale’s cause after finding proof of Sheriff Gaines and Mayor Reid’s corruption.

  Shane Hardy: Betrayed his brother Dale in an effort to secure the family property for himself.

  Travis: Zach’s right hand man and second in command of the Encendido Patriot Militia.

  The Ventriloquist: Cartel interrogator renowned for his ability to make his victims speak.

  Walter and Ann Whitaker: Parents of Nicole (married to Shane Hardy)

  Zach Baird: Divorced from Dale’s sister. Zach is a hothead who escaped from prison and returned to Encendido.

  Chapter 1

  Dale

  The stifling heat inside the Humvee clawed at Dale’s throat. Squeezed into the back seat next to him was his daughter Brooke, a look of abject terror crumpling her normally beautiful features. Beside her was Caleb, doing his best to be brave, although his darting eyes made it abundantly clear he was scared to death. And their fear was more than justified. They’d thought the cavalry had rolled into Encendido to wipe out the cartel and restore peace and order, only to discover it wasn’t the army at all, but the cartel’s own personal militia, La Brigada de Los Asesinos—the Assassins’ Brigade.

  They were an outfit with a nasty reputation for cruelty and for crushing their opposition into the dust. Dale had heard whispers about Cuauhtemoc, the little town in Mexico where the Brigade―as they were sometimes known―had slaughtered nearly everyone.

  Dale’s tongue was sticking to the top of his mouth. He removed it with an effort and an audible clicking sound.

  “They’re going to kill us, aren’t they?” Brooke asked, her eyes fixed over Dale’s shoulder on Captain Lee and his men, still talking among themselves.

  They were probably trying to decide just that. Leaning back against the hood of the Humvee, Captain Lee got on the walkie-talkie, but none of them crammed in the back could quite make out what he was saying.

  Dale caught his daughter’s gaze, her brown eyes sparkling with terror. “We’ll be fine,” he lied. “No matter what happens, we stick together. And be strong. You can’t let them know you’re afraid.”

  Tears crested the corners of her eyes. One of them rolled down her cheek. “I’m trying,” she whimpered, suddenly sounding like the young girl who liked to sneak in her parents’ room after a bad nightmare. She wanted him to promise that everything would be okay. But more than that, she wanted to wake up from this terrible dream.

  A minute later, Captain Lee and his soldiers were ready to roll. The driver got in, followed by Lee, who slid into the passenger seat. He lifted the walkie to his lips once again and gave the convoy an order to move out.

  “Where are you taking us?” Dale demanded.

  Captain Lee half-turned
, peering into the backseat. “Is there somewhere you’re meant to be?” A deviant smile bloomed over his thin, pink lips. “I’ll be more than happy to send them your regrets. All you need to do is tell us who they are and where we can find them.” He waited, a gleeful look on his face. Lee was asking about the resistance, of course, even if he didn’t come right out and say so.

  “You’re wasting your time,” Dale hissed. “You won’t get a thing out of us.”

  Captain Lee’s gaze drifted over to Caleb and then to Brooke. “Somehow, I don’t believe you.”

  Dale felt the muscles in his arms bunch up like tight cords. He wanted nothing more than to wrap his hands around Lee’s neck, squeeze the life out of him. “I’m going to enjoy killing you,” Dale swore.

  That overly confident expression on Captain Lee’s narrow face didn’t waver. “Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you.”

  The three Humvees made a U-turn on Charleston, heading east. Moments later they went on Mason, where they followed the road for ten minutes before making a right on Valley Drive. The houses here were small and inexpensive. It was the poor part of Encendido and Dale wondered what the hell they were doing here. He had expected them to be taken to the police station or to the Teletech plant for a personal audience with Fernando Ortega. But not this—it made no sense.

  Captain Lee’s Humvee pulled into the driveway of a small two-story house with a flat roof. The other vehicle stopped along the road. Men from the second Humvee got out and approached, opening the back door on Brooke’s side. Rough hands reached in and ripped her out. She shrieked, calling out for help. Then it was Caleb’s turn. Both of them were being led to the house, Brooke digging in her heels and trying to make herself a dead weight. The third soldier grabbed the edge of the Humvee door to close it when Dale got the message that this wasn’t his stop. They had other plans for him.

  In one quick motion, he swung onto his back and thrust out with his legs. His heels connected with the door, sending the soldier next to it flying backwards. Dale shuffled toward the opening, struggling without the use of his hands. Captain Lee reached back to grab him and missed. Dale wasn’t sure what he was going to do if he made it out, but he had told Brooke they would stick together and he intended to keep his promise.

  No sooner had his feet reached the cracked surface of the driveway asphalt than he noticed the soldiers in the third Humvee charge out with their weapons drawn. The Brigade grunt he’d knocked to the ground struggled to his feet and swung a fist into Dale’s exposed belly. Dale doubled over in pain, bile rising in his throat. Then the passenger door opened and Captain Lee moved in, cracking him in the head with the side of his pistol.

  Explosions of light bloomed before Dale’s eyes right before he collapsed.

  “You’re lucky I don’t put a bullet in your head. You’ve made a lot of people very angry, Mr. Hardy, men who want to see you suffer.” A pair of hands reached down and helped Dale to his feet. But the new face he saw approaching didn’t belong to Captain Lee. It was a man with a bandaged hand and a maniacal grin. Someone who was oddly familiar.

  “Don’t tried to resist, Mr. Hardy,” this new man said, his Spanish pronunciation of Dale’s last name sounding more like “Ardy.” He wasn’t in military fatigues like the others, but wore a pair of dirty jeans and a black T-shirt embossed with gold lettering. He was clearly one of Ortega’s men.

  “They call me ‘the Ventriloquist,’” he said in his broken English. “And I specialize in getting stubborn men like yourself to spill their guts, one way or another.”

  They shoved him back into the Humvee, Captain Lee in the front. The Ventriloquist pushed in next to Dale, grinning with a mouthful of discolored teeth. If Dale had hoped for a quick, clean death, he knew now he had been sorely mistaken.

  Chapter 2

  They drove for close to an hour, first past the border and into Mexico and then south along a dirt road which led into a sun-baked valley. The Humvee bounced around, chafing the flesh on Dale’s hands, still zip-tied behind his back. A dull ache in his stomach served as a reminder of where that grunt had buried his fist. But neither of those minor discomforts were bothering Dale nearly as much as the sinking feeling that he would never see his loved ones again.

  That was because Captain Lee and the Ventriloquist had failed the first rule of interrogation and of poker. By neglecting to blindfold Dale, they’d tipped their hand that his chances of making it home alive were zero. The Humvee might as well be a hearse, because he was being driven to his grave.

  Beside him, the Ventriloquist picked at his teeth with the tip of a pocket knife. Dangerous business on a bumpy road, Dale thought, but the torturer’s hands were steady. Whenever Dale was sure an approaching depression would bury the blade in his palate, the Ventriloquist always seemed to pull his nimble fingers away at the last moment.

  Damn.

  Up front, Captain Lee fiddled with the knob on the walkie-talkie and called out in Spanish. For a moment there was no sound but the tires cutting across the dirt road and the thud of the suspension going over uneven ground. Living this close to the border meant that over the years Dale had picked up a few words of Spanish. Not enough to engage in any meaningful kind of conversation, but enough to know when someone was talking about him.

  The reply over the walkie was sudden and curt.

  “What is it?”

  “This is Captain Lee. We’ve captured the leader of the resistance and we’re heading to the holding location now. I’ll report back when we’re done.”

  Dale knew full well what that meant. But there was something else Lee said that had caught his attention. He had called Dale the ‘leader of the resistance,’ which clearly wasn’t true. Dale was a landowner, a homesteader of sorts, tired of having his rights encroached upon by a crooked local government. He’d stood up and said, “No more.” He hadn’t intended to inspire anyone to rise up, only to fight for what he felt rightfully belonged to him. If the resistance had a leader it was Nobel. Zach had his own group of followers too, attracted to his brash manner and addiction to unnecessary risk. The last Dale had seen, both groups had put aside their differences and decided to work together. But now, with the arrival of the Brigade, there was no telling where things stood.

  Dale’s mind drifted to his daughter, Brooke, hoping she was okay. She was still in Encendido. If only he could get a hold of that walkie and contact Nobel or Zach, tell them where she was.

  “If you tell us what you know, we may just let you live,” Lee said, his foreign accent hard to place.

  Dale didn’t bother calling him a liar, nor correcting their mistaken assumption that Dale was in charge of the uprising.

  “You folks like US military and driving Humvees, but you sure don’t sound American.”

  Lee flashed a politician’s grin. His gleaming white teeth looked like caps or expensive dentures. “Most of you backwoods types assume we’re European or Australian, but I don’t hold it against you. Americans are an ignorant people.”

  “Don’t need book smarts to spot the backside of a mule when it’s staring you square in the face.”

  Lee laughed and the Ventriloquist let out a wild cackle.

  “He’s got bolas the size of watermelons,” the torturer said, flipping his pocket knife closed. He could pick at those nasty teeth all day long and it wouldn’t make a bit of difference.

  “Maybe he does, but big bolas won’t do him any good.” Lee was about to turn back when he paused. “The accent you can’t seem to place is South African. We’ve been in the merc business for close to three decades, formed after Apartheid became a page in a child’s history book. For a while in Africa, business was good. Dictators around the continent kept calling, but they never paid nearly as well as the cartel. We’re freelancers, you might say.”

  The term referred to cavalrymen from the sixteenth century who roamed the Italian countryside offering their lances to the highest bidder. Dale knew the term well, even if its modern usage had strayed
from its original meaning. But there was no point in letting Captain Lee in on the secret. Better if he assumed Dale was a knuckle-dragging idiot.

  “How does it feel to have sold your soul to the devil?” Dale asked.

  Whether Lee believed in the divine or not, it was clear by the way the muscles on his face twisted that he didn’t like Dale’s comment, not one bit.

  “From where I’m sitting, you’re the one whose soul is in jeopardy,” Lee shot back.

  The accusation surprised him. “How do you figure?”

  “How many men, women and children who came looking for water have you turned away?”

  That pain was suddenly back in Dale’s gut and he wasn’t sure if it was the punch this time or Lee’s question.

  “I did what I had to do to keep my family safe.”

  Lee’s left eyebrow perked up, just as the Humvee shuddered. “Yes, keep telling yourself that.”

  The vehicle pulled off the dirt road toward an adobe structure in the middle of the desert. Shrubs and the occasional cactus stood sentry in the vast, empty space. In the distance to the south, low, barren mountaintops completed the feeling of being trapped in a sweltering prison.

  The driver exited the vehicle, opened Dale’s door and yanked him into the heat. Dale struggled to find his footing. His legs and fingers were numb from the awkward way he’d been sitting. Pins and needles fired through his lower extremities as he was ushered into the earth-toned structure.

  Inside were a handful of small rooms, including a kitchen which led off from the main entrance. The stone floor was cool to the touch. The driver brought Dale down a narrow hallway to a room with a heavy door. At eye level a jailer’s slit could be slid back to let someone peer inside. The driver pushed down a heavy metal door latch and opened it, pushing Dale in. The walls were marked with streaks of blood—some to the left, some to the right, as though terrible beatings had taken place here.