It is time.

Time for a follow up from my first excerpt of Chapter 1 of Book 3, American Rebirth.

I know many of you are waiting patiently for Book 3 to come out. Rest assured I am hard at work. Hopefully by end of Summer it will be complete, I’m trying to write my ass off over here.

For those who are looking for the first installment, Book 3 Excerpt #1!  is the link to start from the beginning. Again, bear with me, this is still a first draft.

I hope you guys enjoy it, let me know what you think. This picks up where the first excerpt left off.

-Evan

***WARNING! IF YOU HAVEN’T FINISHED BOOK 2, THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS!***

Robin took the moment to look around at the soldiers who were looking very relaxed, sitting on folding chairs, tree stumps, or leaning against the trucks they came in on. “You did all this for little old me?” Robin said.
The Templar scoffed. “Of course not. Don’t flatter yourself, thief. The Church has far more important things to do than chase bounties on heretics like you.”
Hood looked around. “So, what the hell are you doing out here? Practicing your line dancing deep in the woods so the other girls won’t laugh at you?”
“Nothing that concerns you, dead man.”
“Ah, I get it. Dirty business. Stuff the Church doesn’t want in the public eye. Like all the refugees from the Sons of Liberty that have been ‘disappearing’ from Austin. Yeah, I know about that. Lord knows what you’re doing with those poor bastards.”
The Templar swing a fist into Hood’s gut. Hood jumped backwards but still the blow doubled him over. Probably shouldn’t have said that. This son of a bitch hits hard. No more of that, please and thank you.
“Enjoy these last days, thief. We may all be damned, but you shall not see the light of redemption.”
Hood managed to stand upright again, wincing. “So, uh, what are you going to do with the bounty money, Mr. Templar?”
“Templar Vargas.” Vargas said with annoyance. “I’m going to give it to the poor and hungry that come to the church for aid. That way at least some good will have come from your crimes.”
“Damn.” Hood shook his head. “Now I feel bad.”
“Why is that?” Vargas raised a quizzical eyebrow.
“Maybe you’re not such an asshole after all,” Hood said, glancing around them.
The soldiers had gone from quietly relaxed to unconscious. Templar Vargas’ eyes went wide. A few soldiers who were still awake struggled to walk like newborn fawns before collapsing to the ground.
“What… What did you…?” Vargas said, drawing his sword and 9mm with each hand in a clumsy flourish. He raised the pistol to Hood, but started swaying. Hood cringed, lurching back and forth out of the way. Oh god, come on, pass out already you asshole. Vargas pulled the trigger twice, the shots wildly cracking the air. Go the fuck to sleep you self-righteous douchebag!
“How…” Vargas looked down at the empty mug of beer on the stump nearby, stumbling until he plunged the sword into the ground to hold himself up.
“Y’all are getting much too paranoid for a run of the mill stunt. Took you guys forever to dive into that beer you confiscated.” Robin said, smiling.
“You… Poison…” Vargas grit his teeth, his eyes narrow with violent rage as he stared at Robin. He dropped his pistol and fell backwards with a thump, a plume of dirt rising through the air.
Robin took a deep breath, the smell of fresh pine and the campfire mingled together in the cool air. He felt the muscles in his shoulders relax.
“What a bunch of idiots,” he said, stepping over his hands. “Relax, your Templarness. It’s not poison. You’ll wake up. It’ll just be quite awhile considering how much I poured into those barrels.” He knelt down beside Vargas’ sword staked in the ground, sawing at the cords of the rope binding his hands until it cut through and the rope fell away. He gingerly rubbed his wrists, kicking at the limp foot of the soldier that ‘captured’ him.
“Church can’t afford some freakin’ normal rope?” Hood said to the passed out soldiers. “Did y’all weave that one yourself out of cactus needles and armpit hair?”
Robin slung his crossbow over his back, tucked his blued Colt M1911 9mm into its holster, and slid his hunting knife into its sheath on his belt. He patted his backpack gently, as if to say I’ll pick you up when it’s time to go, baby. The backpack was stuffed clumsily with his favorite Hoodie that the Redemption devoted had crammed inside. Bunch of savages.
He roamed around the camp, taking all the ammunition from the soldiers that had guns. Ammo had practically become currency itself. For the common man, bullets were more valuable sold for food or a handful of Texas silver dollars than fired at someone.
He had collected quite a good bit of it, carrying it all using the front of his shirt. Whatever they were doing must’ve been important. They’re loaded for bear out here. What looked like forty rounds of loose .38 and 12 gauge, and about twelve rifle magazines that might or might not be full. Damn, this alone makes it worth it. We can sell a good bit of this. Eat like kings for quite awhile. Hood smiled. Gonna splurge and make so many pancakes. And so much bacon. He kneeled beside his pack, unfastening it and pouring all the ammo inside. Ka-ching.
As he stood up, Robin looked around at the comatose bodies of the soldiers. They almost looked dead. Something about they way the lay sprawled out so still felt familiar. Like deja vu. A memory flashed in his mind.
Sick to his stomach, he climbed out of he pit covered in the dead. It was a pit of rotting corpses. Whiskey stood nearby, except younger. Much younger. Hood felt calm, relieved, suddenly. A warm feeling of brotherhood at the sight of him. Family. Whiskey looked repulsed at the sight of Hood. He was covered in the dead. “Don’t touch me, you’re disgustin’.”
Robin took a deep breath. He squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing his forehead. Damn, what kind of sick shit was that? He had long since accepted having memories of a life that felt like it was his. He didn’t know how or why he could remember these things. He couldn’t remember everything, but what he did remember felt like…It felt like he had lived it himself. I have so many things I wish I could ask you. But if you were around, would I be like this at all? There’s some strange feeling I have deep down that says the answer is no. That says we are one in the same. I don’t know how that’s possible. The fire crackled, a log collapsing with a splash of sparks and coal-red embers. He thought of his mother, who only spoke about his father with love. But Robin had never understood why he did what he did. I know you killed the Kaiser, ended the first war. And for what? More war, and more war, and more war. Robin shook his head, trying to pull himself out of his reverie. I won’t make the same mistakes. I won’t leave the people I love behind to carry on without me.
His eyes wandered down to Templar Vargas, laying passed out on his back in the dusty dirt. He knelt down beside him, searching his person. What are you doing here, anyway? As his hand passed through the inside of Vargas’ military jacket he felt paper. He pulled it free of the pocket. It had a broken wax seal on the outside with the Cross and Key imprint of the Church of the Redemption. He unfolded the letter and turned to get the light from the fire.
James,
Gather your men and leave tonight. They should be arriving within a few days.

Stay near enough the Northeast Highway that they can see the light from your camp.

God be with you, and through your service earn your redemption,
Cardinal Vasquez

“Uh oh,” Robin said, looking around. “I don’t think they’ll be able to make the dance.” But who could they be meeting? This has all too much cloak and dagger for my liking. Hood grinned. Or maybe, just the right amount of it. Robin tapped the paper with his fingers, holding it at his side. The rest of the crew better get here fast. I don’t want to be alone out here if whoever this is shows up.