The General
“Any word from Mexico?” Adrian asks as he takes a seat in my office. He"s just returned from a couple of weeks in St. Louis.
“None,” I snap.
The question irritates me only because I wish I had a different answer.
“The Carlitas sent a ship to get them out of Mexico, but I haven"t heard if they made it out or not,” I explain.
“Well, s**t,” he says.
I look up sharply at the young Texan. He needs to learn how to speak like a leader. I"ve been trying to teach him, but he"s been … reluctant to learn.
Texas is a powder keg waiting to blow. For so long, they had leaders they worshipped. They respected and feared the Coles. Adrian only has the name. He refuses to be their cult leader. I admire that, but dammit, this world still needs leaders.
“I"ve had word from England,” I say.
