Behold Darkness (Wolves of the Apocalypse Book 1)

by LC Champlin

  “Are you saying we should?” Rodriguez returned. “Because that’s what it’s sounding like.”

  Nathan bit back, Is this the TSA? “That won’t be necessary, officer.”

  Weaponless and lighter, Nathan and Albin stood for wanding. Clear. Josephine also passed.

  “You will return our property when we leave, correct?” Albin prodded.

  “Not the weapons, sir,” Rodriguez drawled. “This is San Francisco, not San Antonio.”

  They trudged down a hall, then another. Rodriguez and Jordan played vanguard, while the first two officers brought up the rear. Nathan’s skin prickled and his pulse accelerated at the confinement.

  Half Moon Bay Airport was looking better and better. No turning back now, though. He’d give it the old college try. Go Seawolves!

  The group stopped at Interrogation Room #1. Nathan planted himself outside the doorway despite Jordan’s Today-is-not-the-day-for-your-shit glare. “How long do we have to wait?”

  “Your superiors will appreciate a timely appraisal of the situation in the city,” Albin put in.

  Not one to miss an opportunity, Josephine added, “Despite what he looks like, this is Nathan Serebus, who called the tech summit this weekend, not some drugged-up derelict from Tenderloin.” Did he look that bad? “His information could save lives, not to mention put you in a good place with your bosses if you call attention to it now.”

  Jordan jerked his head toward the room. “Someone will be with you shortly.” His tone said, Shut up and get in before I put you in.

  Fists clenched, head up, Nathan kept his stride even as he entered.

  The door closed. Click. He whirled back to the exit, his nails digging into his palms. Locked in like a fucking criminal!

  Chapter 33

  Keep Calm and Carry On

  Pardon Me – Incubus

  Gray walls brooded on three sides, while the two-way mirror stared back on the right. Mirrors, cameras—always watching but doing nothing.

  The terrorists would overrun Hotel Vitale and do who-fucking-knew-what at the airport if the authorities didn’t pull their heads out of their asses. But apparently the government fucktards preferred to sit back and watch him go mad in this box. The shadows at the edge of his mind snarled at the imprisonment.

  A throat clearing on his left halted him mid pace. Albin. The familiar cold blossomed in the back of Nathan’s mind, smothered the sparks of mania. Focus. Why did they come here in the first place? To make use of the crisis.

  Hands in his pockets, Nathan strolled to the table at which Albin and Josephine resided, and half sat on the edge. “I’m sorry; it’s been a long night, Ms. Behrmann.”

  She raised a brow in bemusement, probably at his shift in attitude.

  Movement behind the door’s glazed window. Click.

  A lanky man in the standard-issue navy FEMA polo shirt and jacket stepped inside. His build put him in his mid-forties, but gray peppered his short hair, and lines carved their way across his leathery face. American Indian blood ran in his veins with Caucasian. He took in the civilians with the eye of a veteran officer.

  “Nathan Serebus.” Nathan slid off the table and stuck his hand out, a friendly smile in place. “How are you?”

  The officer returned the firm handshake. “Captain Ron Avery. The question is, How are you?”

  “As well as can be expected.” The smile dropped from Nathan’s eyes.

  Albin and Josephine stood and introduced themselves.

  Then the door opened again, this time to admit a black woman of indeterminate age between thirty and fifty. The extra eighty pounds she carried filled out her gray-black DHS polo shirt and any wrinkles that might have homesteaded on her round face. Her hair in its bun didn’t offer any clues to her age, but it did make her roundness come to a satisfying apex.

  “DHS Director Alfryia Washington,” she announced, marching to a chair and taking a seat like a judge at the bench. “I saw your little interview. You have additional information?”

  At least she got to the point. “We need our phones back so we can show you proof, Director.”

  Avery nodded at the mirror as he put two fingers to his earpiece. Two breaths later, the door opened and Jordan entered, a stack of phones in his hand.

  “Recording any of this is severely frowned upon.” Avery’s flat smile toward Josephine emphasized his point.

  “Of course,” Nathan replied, reclaiming his phone. The device’s weight in his hand made him feel whole. The little things mattered. “Do you have officers dispatched to the Hotel Vitale?” he asked as he woke the phone and selected the cannibal video. Sound Off. “What about the airport?”

  A boom, felt more than heard, halted Avery’s reply. Nathan’s head jerked up. Albin and Josephine shot to their feet.

  Still at the bench, the DHS director had her HT out, yelling for information, while Avery pressed his earpiece. The veteran maintained a poker face.

  “There’s been a large explosion!” the radio spat. “It appears to be Hotel Vitale!”

  Chapter 34

  Scape Goat

  Get Out Alive – Three Days Grace

  Barking orders into their respective comms, the officials slammed out of the room. Click. Nathan’s attack on the door handle came a second too late. “You can’t keep us here!” Glass rattled under his pounding.

  “Locked in?” Josephine shook her head, hands on her hips. “Well, isn’t this classic. This is why we need new regul—”

  Nathan rounded on the mirror. “If we’re prisoners, charge us with a crime. If not, open the door.”

  The door opened, choking his tirade. Rodriguez and Jordan shouldered through, their compact, automatic MP-5s in low ready as they flanked Washington and Avery. The bureaucrats looked only slightly less disgruntled than their minions.

  “What do you know about the attack on Hotel Vitale?” Washington demanded, glaring up at him like angry Ugga. “You have an arsenal out there, not the least of which is an illegal assault rifle. I could charge you with multiple felonies right now, so consider your answers carefully.”

  Automatic weapons or not, Nathan stood his ground. “We scavenged them from terrorists.”

  “Most police agencies advise citizens to fight back if they are forced to during a hostage or terrorist situation,” Albin pointed out. “Consider them as part of our evidence, along with the videos.”

  Nathan took a breath, but Josephine butted in, leaning across the table, “Mr. Serebus and his associate are respected members of the business community, not Oakland gun runners. They went out of their way to warn you,” she plowed in, cutting off FEMA and DHS.

  “And after we responded to Vitale, the explosives were detonated,” Avery interrupted, arms crossed, fingers tapping biceps. “They arrived too late to prevent the explosion but in time to be caught in it.”

  Nathan’s jaw clenched. What a waste of resources, of life. “My heart goes out to the lost, but believe me when I say I did my best to inform the police earlier.”

  “We are protected by California and federal law, and innocent until proven guilty,” Albin stated. “If you intend to bring charges, we exercise our right to a criminal-defense attorney.”

  Nathan took a step forward, as did the DHS thugs. “Why are we suddenly under suspicion? There are easier scapegoats.” He glanced at Josephine, who needed no prompting.

  “No one’s going to buy that this man and his colleague would side with terrorists and throw away everything just to get more emergency crews to the Hotel Vitale so they could be killed. It takes a giant leap of logic to make his warning part of a terrorist plot.”

  Avery looked on, stoic. Washington frowned.

  “If you indict us”—Albin stepped in as Josephine opened her mouth to ram on—“you increase the population’s already-high level of suspicion in regard to FEMA and the DHS. The agencies’ track records do not inspire confidence.”

  “I don’t think a
nyone’s forgotten FEMA’s oh-so-efficient handling of Hurricane Katrina.” Josephine smirked at Avery. “‘FEMA trailers’ is still a punch line.”

  The DHS head announced, “We’ll need statements on what happened at St. Regis. We’re not charging you with any crime. Yet.”

  Nathan crossed his arms and gave a nod. As for the cannibals, the cops could discover them on their own. If he told them, they might blame him for that, too.

  Avery gave them a tired smile. “We aren’t trying to make you ‘scapegoats.’ I just want to stop more tragedy, I promise you, Mr. Serebus, Mr. Conrad, Ms. Behrmann.” He met each person’s gaze in turn.

  Then the captain’s face darkened. He put two fingers to his earpiece. The company fell silent, not even breathing. Pop. Pop, pop. Gunfire outside, close enough for the reports to penetrate brick walls. Shit. No weapons, no armor. No matter. A glance back at Albin and his narrowed eyes showed he had the same idea: use the distraction to create a better scape goat, then escape.

  Josephine’s face flushed. “What’s going on?”

  Washington’s radio crackled static, cut off the reporter. “We’ve got hostiles in the area. They refuse to obey orders. Tasers are ineffective when the charges stop. Gunshots only slow them down, they don’t stop them.” Gunfire roared on the officer’s side. “Please advise!”

  A tremor turned the ground to Jell-O under Nathan’s feet. He and the rest of the room’s occupants scrambled under the table and hung on to its legs. Tables possessed a magical ability to stand up under a collapsed building, right? Dust rained from the ceiling. A panel rattled loose and crashed to the floor.

  Chapter 35

  Escort Mission

  Shoot It Out – 10 Years

  BOOM! One of the armed idiots outside must have friendly fired a vehicle.

  “What was that?” Avery and Washington demanded as one into their mics.

  “Seems to be an RPG, ma’am!” Gunfire cracked in the background. “We’re taking fire from—” Silence.

  “The terrorists are trying to take out critical points,” Nathan snarled as he pushed to his feet.

  “Or they’re here to rescue their operatives.” Washington just wouldn’t give up!

  Avery’s attention remained on the ceiling. “Terrorists don’t rescue each other, as a general rule. It’s also too soon to link it to the Regis attacker’s interest in you, Mr. Serebus.”

  “That’s comforting,” Nathan muttered.

  Avery and Washington shot orders as they stormed into the hall, escorts in tow. This time, Nathan, Albin, and Josephine rode their slipstream.

  Enough back seats for tonight. “It’s not just terrorists out there,” Nathan announced over the radio chatter. In a stride he closed the distance to Avery and grabbed his shoulder. “Stop and listen to me.”

  MP-5s snapped up as the captain turned to face the civilians. “Hands off,” Jordan ordered, glaring over the sights. Rodriguez moved to enforce the demand, but stopped at Avery’s raised hand.

  Avery grunted, “Go on.”

  Video queued, Nathan held the evidence of cannibals up for the authorities. By Washington’s and Avery’s looks of mingled disgust and disbelief, they grasped the danger.

  “That’s impossible.” Washington wrinkled her nose. “That’s staged to create panic, just like the rumors. Thank God you didn’t get a chance to show that on the news.”

  “As a matter of fact, we possessed ample opportunity to do just that,” Albin interjected. “We did not want to risk a panic.” He knew what they wanted to hear.

  Back to 0:05 on the video, pause for a shot of the rust eyes. “Head shots.” Nathan pointed to the bridge of the cannibal’s nose. “It’s the only way.”

  “We’ll need to consult our supervisors.” Washington glowered as she thumbed her radio’s PTT.

  Fingers back to his earpiece, Avery began contacting his commanders.

  “May I at least ask for our gear back?” Typical government: strip and abandon them. “It’s a reasonable request, considering it’s a warzone outside, Captain.” He spread his hands, partly in plea and partly to keep from grabbing the man’s shoulders and shaking sense into him.

  Not missing a beat in his communications, Avery opened the next door on his right, motioned to the occupants, then continued down the hall. From the dark chamber behind the mirror, a man in glasses and a loosened tie handed over Nathan’s plate carrier and VTAC.

  After reclaiming what little gear the government deemed safe for them to keep, they followed their hosts. With the armor hugging him again and the towel across his shoulders, the glow of confidence warmed Nathan’s chest. Beside him, Albin strapped on the VTAC. While they lacked weapons, at least they wouldn’t go hungry or defenseless.

  Nathan stayed on the officials’ heels. After this idiocy, they owed him transportation.

  “Head shots are now authorized in limited situations,” Washington reported to Avery.

  Outside, another explosion thundered.

  Chapter 36

  Trouble on the Home Front

  Ready, Aim, Fire – Imagine Dragons

  “You can’t send us out into that firefight!” Josephine barked. She looked not the least regretful of her choice to accompany the hitchhikers.

  “Leaving us inside the station is also inadvisable,” Albin added from Nathan’s right, “given that the hostile forces may infiltrate the building.”

  They rounded a corner and stopped before a door. Washington wheeled on her minions. “Get these people out of here with the rest of the non-combatant personnel. I’m tired of listening to them. They’re persons of interest, so I want them kept track of.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” in unison from Rodriguez and Jordan.

  Washington raked the assembled with a last glare. “Behave, or I’ll have you charged with hindering DHS operations.” Then she shoved through the door.

  Nathan gave Avery a nod of thanks. “Good luck, Captain.”

  “Same to you.” He returned the nod before following Queen DHS.

  With Jordan on point and Rodriguez as rear guard, they trooped back down the hall.

  Two DHS officers and two noncombatant employees shoved past en route to the exit.

  Cross-chatter crackled across the escorts’ HTs. “—attack from the northern end of Santiago—”

  “—Man down! Man—”

  “—terrorist attack on New York City—”

  “New York City?” Nathan spun to face Rodriguez, forcing her and the rest of the convoy to a halt.

  Worry flashed across her face like cloud lightning. Left hand on her shoulder mic, right motioning him on with the MP-5, she ordered, “Repeat that. An attack on New York?”

  Nathan held his ground. One, two, three—

  “There’re reports of a bombing in New York City.”

  Janine, Davie . . . Barring any unforeseen changes to their schedules, they occupied the upstate retreat. Hopefully the attack victims didn’t include any Arete Tech employees.

  “Where exactly?”

  “No hard intel yet. Standby for updates.”

  “That’s all you have? Damnit!” Rodriguez’s fist clenched around her mic; she looked ready to fling the device down the hall.

  “The attacks are coordinated.” Horror dawned on Nathan in nuclear-blast brightness. Holy Hell breaking loose in his city. Janine and Davie alone. And him three thousand miles away. Fuck! One, two, three, four.

  “Come on!” Jordan waved for them to continue. “The sooner we’re out, the sooner we can get more intel, Rodriguez.”

  “You have family there,” Albin addressed her as they broke into a trot.

  “Yes.”

  They rounded a corner, the exit sign glowing red at the hall’s end. The reinforced door swung open and two DHS officers stumbled inside.

  Jordan paused. Nikes squeaked as Nathan halted, arm out to block the others.

  The lead grunt at the door slumped against the
left wall, while his partner collapsed opposite him. Fluorescent lights accentuated white, blistered skin. Raw meat glistened on the upright man’s neck where a chunk of flesh was missing. Blood saturated his partner’s tac vest.

  Josephine gasped.

  Last Man Standing tried to pull himself toward the onlookers, leaving red smears across the wall. Both grunts twitched and spasmed as if receiving electric shocks.

  Not drugs. Not lunatics. Freefall drop of disbelief in Nathan’s gut, then the crash of incredulity meeting reality. He reached for—the empty holster.

  Jordan stepped forward, concerned but cautious. “Hey, are you all right?”

  “Wait!” Nathan caught his shoulder.

  “Back off!” The MP-5’s barrel stared back.

  “Wait. Remember what the things on the video I showed you looked like.”

  “You mean, those poor officers—” Josephine couldn’t finish.

  Ssssssaaaaaahhhh!

  Five, maybe ten seconds before the cannibal officers reached them. “Head shot! Now!” Nathan and Albin yelled.

  “Are you fucking insane?” Jordan snapped, looking back to his downed comrades. “They need help.”

  Weapon in his right hand, he advanced to squat in front of the crawler. “Hang on, okay? We’ll get you help,” he reassured as he reached to put a hand on the former officer’s shoulder.

  “No!” He deserved a warning.

  Jordan glared over his shoulder. “Would you shut—Ahg!” He reeled backward as the cannibal grabbed at his arm, baring its oily teeth. A kick to the thing’s shoulder dislodged the grip. Jordan scrambled up, panting. “What the hell!”

  Ssssssaaaaaahhhh!

  “Move!” Nathan grabbed Josephine’s shoulder and spun her to face the direction of flight, then rammed past Rodriguez.