The Daughter Warrior

  The Daughter Warrior

  Copyright 2018 by Marilyn L. Donnellan

  ISBN 978-1-5323-6460-0

  ISBN 13: CreateSpace

  ISBN 10: CreateSpace

  Cover by Robin Vuchnich

  Published by CreateSpace

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law.

  The Book Liberators Series

  The Book Liberators: The White Warrior

  The Book Liberators: The Slave Warrior

  The Book Liberators: The Mother Warrior

  The Book Liberators: The Daughter Warrior

  To all the strong women in my past, present and future…

  Your examples encourage me to be a better warrior

  The Warrior

  By Marilyn L. Donnellan

  I can’t do this alone

  On God I depend

  Others will help me

  Regardless the end

  I am a warrior

  A warrior at heart

  I am a warrior

  A warrior at heart

  Prologue

  With the reluctant blessing of her Mother, the first White Warrior, Emily is sent to fight the tyrannical king and queen of the American Empire by infiltrating their headquarters. In this final Book Liberators saga, wits must trump might as the young spy tries in her own way to defeat the evil empire. The struggle becomes more challenging when she meets and falls in love with a young marine serving in the empire’s royal guard.

  Chapter One

  A Difficult Goodbye

  The Mother Warrior stood on the edge of the rocky precipice of Vista Point, the fierce early spring wind whipping the edges of the bearskin rug she wrapped around her for warmth. As she looked out over the Columbia River in the early dawn, she winced as she shifted the hand clutching the wooden cane, worn smooth by her touch over the years. The cold caused the arthritis wracking her body to make even the slightest movement painful.

  Brogan MacArthur straightened her back, determined to not let the disease win. She told her clan-family the cane was a walking stick to help her over the rocky paths leading to the caves they called home. But she was sure they weren’t fooled. They knew about her severe arthritis but allowed her to play her little games of denial. Her 60th birthday had come and gone.

  So much medical research had been lost during World War III. There was little anyone could do to ease her suffering.

  Sleep often eluded her because of the pain, which was why she stood now on the precipice while most of the clan still slept. Because of her field-tested faith, she had no fear of death. But, the process and pain of getting there was exhausting.

  She thought about the last fifteen years and how different they had been than the twenty years she was known as the White Warrior. As the White Warrior her battles were fought with guns and knives. Even as the Slave Warrior she fought with destructive weapons. Now, as the Mother Warrior, the battles were for hearts and minds through peaceful strategies.

  She sighed as she contemplated the similarities between physical, mental and spiritual warfare; each requiring their own type of weapons but with similar goals: defeat the enemy. How impatient she had been in her youth and how quick to respond with violence. And what good had it done? The America in her beloved history books was long gone. Ghosts of her glorious past could only be found in the ruins of the three main populated metropolitan areas still functioning: Chicago City, Austin City and Boston City. Only Mexico City, under rebel control, was still vibrant.

  Citizens were scattered and hidden wherever they could find warmth and food across the four provinces which stretched west to east from the Pacific Ocean to the Atlantic, north to Canada and south to what had once been the Panama Canal. Like members of the Book Liberators, citizens fled to less populated areas to avoid the empire’s troops.

  She heard her family starting to stir and begin preparations for the day. She shook herself from her reverie and slowly, painfully turned with a smile to begin the day’s battles.

  Her smile widened as she saw her beloved partner, Mac, striding up the stairs toward her, his trademark grin framed by his glorious red beard. The animal skins he wore for warmth looked good on his massive frame.

  “Good morning, love,” he greeted her with a gentle hug, knowing it would hurt her if he squeezed too tight. “Couldn’t sleep again?”

  Although she was still ramrod straight, despite the arthritis, Mac towered over her 5’11” frame. No wonder everyone called him Big Mac.

  Brogan tucked her long white hair behind her ears, stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. “I’m fine. Just the usual morning stiffness.”

  They had been married almost fifteen years. Although he did not ask it of her, she chose to add MacArthur to her name. But, her full name, Brogan Finlay-Douglass-MacArthur, was impractical for daily use, so she preferred MacArthur at this stage in her life.

  He knew her well enough to know she would never admit to the level of pain she experienced every day. It was just one more reason why he loved and admired her more each day for her courage and fortitude.

  “So, what do you have planned for today?” he asked her. “Are you doing anything special for Emily before she heads for Boston?”

  “Don’t remind me,” Brogan responded with a frown. “I’m not ready to let go of her. She might be thirty-two years old, but she will always be my baby.”

  She sighed. “I was away from her too much during her first seventeen years, distracted by Book Liberator business. Having her around for all this time has been such a wonderful experience. I hate to see her go.”

  Mac led her over to her favorite spot on the ancient Vista Point wall; a stone bench carved into the east side and topped by soft cushions.

  “Sit beside me for a minute, sweetheart?” he asked. “Let’s talk about it. We’ve been so busy with clan stuff we haven’t had much time to discuss her leaving.”

  “I know. I guess I’ve been putting it off, not wanting to accept the fact this day was coming. Frankly, I am amazed Emily stuck around here this long. We’ve managed to keep her busy testing her illusion and spying skills in and around Portland, but we desperately need someone close to the king and queen if we are ever going to figure out how to defeat them peacefully. And, unfortunately, I think she is our best candidate. Juan agrees with me. The general specifically asked for her for this mission.”

  “You have done a phenomenal job training her,” Mac replied. “She is extremely talented; just like her mother, I don’t mind saying.”

  “And that is precisely why we have to let go of her. The rebels need her in Boston. I know I’m prejudiced, but I have never seen anyone take to the spy craft as quickly and totally as she has. Her ability to rapidly change disguises is uncanny. And, the undercover work she did in Portland where she discovered and neutralized that gang of hobos without a single fatality was nothing short of miraculous.”

  Mac shook his head as he thought about how ingenious Emily’s strategies had been. Now the gang members were strong BL supporters with some of them helping with security at Vista Point.

  “As usual, you are right,” Brogan nodded in agreement.

  “Can I get that in writing?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You just said I was right. It happens so seldom I want to revel in the moment!”

  “Oh, shut up, big lug,” she said as she playfully slapped his
arm. “We could never have survived here if you hadn’t played such a huge role in building the infrastructure which turned these caves into a secure BL rebel base camp.”

  “Ah, shucks, ma’am. You are going to make me blush.”

  Brogan laughed. It was one of the things she loved about her partner; he could take a serious moment like this and still make her laugh.

  “What’s so funny?” Emily asked as she bounded up the steps to the parapet.

  Brogan couldn’t help but envy the grace and energy her daughter exhibited as she approached them. Today she wore nondescript, dark green wool tunic and trousers, perfect for traveling.

  “Your Pop is acting his usual crazy self, that’s all.”

  Emily hugged her parents and smiled happily. Mac might not be her biological father, but he filled an important role. Her father, Bryan Douglass, had been one of the first BL martyrs. Her grandfather and surrogate father, Frank Finlay, died in a Mexico City earthquake more than fifteen years ago. Bryan’s father, Stephen, helped to care for her until she was a teenager and Brogan returned from her time as a slave in the deep south.

  Stephen started to work at the rebel headquarters in Mexico City to help with training recruits shortly before Brogan’s surprise return. He and his partner, Sally, moved with Brogan to the Pacific Northwest.

  Emily moved to the edge of the point, looking over the wall and beyond, never tiring of the view of the mighty Columbia River, its waters a shimmering silver in the morning light. In the clear, cloudless spring morning, she could see snow-covered Mt. St. Helens and Mt. Rainer to the northwest. Massive bushes of rhododendrons were beginning to bud, adding bright splashes of color against the huge fir tree forest surrounding their pinnacle. As she did every morning, she completed her absorption of the beauty by turning to look at stately Mt. Hood to the South. She was going to miss all this incredible beauty.

  She was excited to take her first long distance assignment to infiltrate the empire’s headquarters in Boston, but she could also feel the nervous butterflies in her stomach. When she turned around, she realized her mother and Pop Mac were silent and looking at her very intently.

  “What? What did I do now?”

  Her parents laughed and opened their arms to her. As she snuggled in their embrace, she felt tears pushing against her eyelids, straining to get out. She swallowed a large lump in her throat and pulled back reluctantly from their warmth.

  “Oh, sweetie,” her mother said tremulously, pushing a tangle of black curls away from her daughter’s face. Her long hair had been cut short to make it easier to disguise. Like her mother, Emily had emerald green eyes, pale skin and fine facial bone structure. Her trim body attested to her rigorous daily workouts.

  “We are going to miss you so much.”

  Mac nodded his head in agreement.

  “I’m going to miss you, too. But I’ll be fine. You have both taught me well. I need to do this; not only for the clan, but for the Book Liberators. It is time I really tested my skills.”

  Brogan pulled her daughter closer. “Tell me again, how you are getting to Boston and what will you do when you get there.”

  Emily grinned at her mother’s obvious attempt to check up on her one last time.

  “Pop-pop Stephen and Sally are going to take me by robo-car to Portland in about an hour, where I will catch a train from there to Denver. I received a report yesterday from the BL cell that the rails were all repaired to that point. I will meet with some cell members in Denver, who will bring me up to date on the latest and best transportation methods to Chicago City and then on to Boston City. There will be cell members traveling with me the entire way, although for safety reasons we will pretend like we don’t know each other. I will wear a green beret to identify myself to them.”

  “So far, so good, sweetie. Do you have enough money for food and hostels? Do you remember all the rebel hand signs? What will you do when you get to Boston?”

  “Yes, Mother,” Emily sighed dramatically. “You made the plans yourself and taught me the signs. And, you know very well, I will reach out to the Boston BL group as soon as I arrive. So why are you worried?”

  The Mother Warrior looked at her daughter, as conflicting emotions chased across her aging but beautiful face. Mac reached for her hand.

  “She’s ready, honey. There is nothing more you can say or do.”

  For just an instant, anger flared but she quickly extinguished the unfair emotion. Mac was right. It was time. She stood with a grimace and straightened her shoulders.

  “Let’s head down the path to meet Stephen at the base of the Point. I don’t want you to be late.”

  Words were no longer necessary, so the three of them carefully navigated the stone-strewn path winding its way to the base of Vista Point, Mac gently holding on to Brogan to prevent a stumble.

  Emily’s only luggage was a small valise. Hidden in the specially-lined bottom were all the tools she needed to change her identity as many times as necessary: make-up, eye drops to change her eye color, a couple of wigs, collapsible prosthetic disguises, and other paraphernalia which would allow her to lengthen her nose or age her appearance, plus a few forged T-chips to get her through security. The doctor in the clan had inserted a flap of skin on the base of her thumb where she could quickly insert or change chips as she needed.

  No citizen was allowed on the transportation system without a transaction chip. Most people also had I-chips, or intelligence chips, installed in their brain after some basic schooling, usually replaced every few years as painful lesions often formed over them. But now, because of the high unemployment and economic free-fall in the country, few people could afford to implant the I-chip in their children or to have the corrective surgery when needed. As a result, fewer and fewer people were educated beyond a third-grade level. Only BL rebels were thoroughly educated through their university level. It was a requirement every rebel be able to read and write well.

  The American Empire was under the cruel thumb of King Jamil Hawthorne and Queen Jacqueline Grimes. It was a toss-up as to who was cruelest to citizens. Before Emperor David Priest’s death from an infection around an I-chip, the king served as Priest’s general and the head of the marines. The queen had been the head of the emperor’s security.

  Among the evil practices they expanded after Priest’s death was the use of B-chips to control the behaviors of their enemies or anyone they defined as “undesirable.”

  Their tactics to control the criminal element were primarily used within the boundaries of the major cities. Outside the metropolitan areas, and especially in the far west of the nation, unemployed criminal hobos ran amuck. The various hobo gangs blackmailed citizens, stole whatever they wanted and did whatever they wanted. There was no law enforcement system outside the cities, and rarely were the empire’s marines seen in rural areas, knowing they were outnumbered by the gangs.

  Brogan looked up at Mac as they walked toward the waiting robo-cart, a worried look on her lovely face as her eyes filled with tears. He gently squeezed her hand and nodded; he knew what she was thinking. Will Emily be safe?

  The Mother Warrior swallowed the lump in her throat and asked her daughter, “Sweetie, do you have your knives with you?”

  She couldn’t help but smile as Emily rolled her eyes in fake exasperation. “Mother, I’m ready. And yes, my knives are hidden in a variety of places.”

  Like Brogan, Emily was very skillful with lethal throwing-knives.

  All too soon they were standing in front of Emily’s transportation. Stephen and Sally were already sitting in the robo-car.

  Th couple helped Brogan establish the clan, moving with Brogan and another 147 people from Mexico City to the Pacific Northwest. Their input and expertise had been invaluable. Stephen was an expert at training clan members in self-defense and Sally’s organizational skills had saved Brogan a ton of work as she built the infrastructure for the BL peace-loving clan. The clan now numbered over one thousand people, including children.


  It had been a real coup for Brogan when the BL headquarters in Mexico City decided a few years ago to recognize their peaceful approach by designating them as BL rebels. When Brogan first proposed the idea, it was met with bewilderment and derision from many rebels. The clan proved their worth many times over by using non-lethal strategies to harass and defeat the empire’s marines in the northwest.

  Emily tucked her valise into the cart, quickly turned to give hugs to her parents, and slid gracefully into her seat.

  Stephen knew prolonging the goodbyes would be difficult, so he quickly programmed the car for the Portland railway station. There were frantic goodbye waves and then suddenly Emily was gone.

  Brogan’s knees felt weak and she leaned in to her partner without saying anything. No words could express the ache in her heart. Confident he knew what she was feeling, Mac put his arm around her, turning her toward the path winding up the hill to the clan’s headquarters, not saying a word. There would be plenty of clan business to distract her from the pain of Emily’s departure.

  Chapter Two

  Indifferent Rulers

  Queen Jacqueline was cruel, even by the king’s standards. Maybe it was because of the exoskeleton melded to her body. The former emperor had used her as a guinea pig to see if the exoskeleton might enhance the abilities of his marines. Although the lengthy, very painful procedure made the queen extremely strong, it also seemed to make her unable to feel any emotions or physical pain. She apparently had enough conscience left, though, to refuse to even consider forcing the same procedure on anyone else.

  King Jamil wasn’t much better than the queen when it came to concern for their subjects. He did not care who was killed or how, if the two of them stayed in power. Their take-over after the emperor’s death, although bloodless, was totally for reasons of power and wealth. Neither of them seemed to care their subjects were dying from starvation and lawless gangs; they just didn’t want it to impact them.