Day of Darkness

by LC Champlin

  Josephine lowered her phone camera and frowned. “Do you guys realize a whole flood of cannibals could come your way? You could also have people shooting at you and kidnapping you to be sex slaves.” She met Sarah’s eyes at this. “There was a man with a gun on your roof, but you don’t know who he was. That’s not a good omen.”

  Flipping his hair from his forehead, Kennedy eyed Mason and company. “You’re dumbasses if you don’t get on this shit.” He elbowed Dirk. “Let’s go.”

  The representatives from South Redwood Shores reached the street and headed for their vehicles. They left a few cases of Coke as a show of goodwill.

  “Wait!”

  Act oblivious. Nathan opened the door to the Sierra.

  “Hang on!”

  Smiling, he turned to face Mason. “Did you change your mind?”

  “It wasn’t my decision to make. We want to live.”

  Chapter 36

  Enemy at the Gates

  Get Home - Bastille

  The thud of cannibals throwing themselves against the office’s front doors filtered down the hall.

  “We leave via the back door, I think,” Albin remarked.

  “Yes please!” Gulping, Bridges adjusted his grip on his shotgun.

  Judge began barking again, her restlessness worsening by the hour. A shame they could not explain to her the situation.

  The three men and the dog located the rear exit and slipped out. Pressing against the wall, they crept to the front corner of the building.

  Albin eased around the corner, handgun up. The cannibals at the entrance numbered five strong. While they scrabbled at the glass, he motioned for his companions to follow.

  Utilizing vehicles for concealment, the fugitives dashed across the car park. The meters seemed to stretch into kilometers.

  One of the cannibals retreated several paces from the assault on the door, half turning toward the parking lot.

  Blast! Raising his hand to signal a halt, Albin paused. But at the same moment, Bridges passed between two cars.

  The cannibal lunged into its lope toward them.

  “Shit!” Breaking into a sprint, Bridges sped past Kuznetsov.

  Albin reached the Tacoma first and swung in. The engine started as the latecomers threw themselves inside.

  Bridges fastened his seatbelt, his attention never leaving the creatures. “Go, go, go!”

  “Clearly,” Albin retorted.

  Judge barked and whined in the back seat.

  As the truck accelerated from the car park, the cannibals gave chase. They abandoned the pursuit as the vehicle reached the parkway.

  “The marina is ahead,” Kuznetsov related. Indeed, masts from yachts and smaller watercraft rose on the left along the docks.

  Alert for ambush, Albin slowed the vehicle as he pulled into the harbor’s drive. Two police cruisers with lights strobing guarded the front of the administration office.

  “Police!” Grinning, the economist leaned forward between the seats. “That means we won’t have to worry about cannibals or looters.”

  “Yes.” Yet Kuznetsov’s tone intimated he suspected the opposite.

  “Is there a problem?” When the Russian’s intuition warned of trouble, it usually proved accurate.

  “It’s nothing. Do we know which boat is Mr. Oshiro’s?”

  Withdrawing the keys, Albin held them up. “I infer from the 13 on the keychain that it is in the thirteenth berth.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” Bridges muttered.

  Other vehicles occupied the car park, scattered about the spaces. Some likely belonged to owners who had traded land for sea travel. Others might never see their owners again.

  “Do not drop your guard,” Albin warned, his weapon at high ready. The area appeared devoid of life. Perhaps they had all entered their boats and now prepared to set sail.

  “Hey, there are people.” Bridges pointed to four individuals: a man and woman with a young boy and girl. The girl carried a white stuffed animal, possibly a horse. They trotted down the dock toward the vessels.

  Movement to the far left, behind the quartet, drew Albin’s attention. “Cannibals.” Dread’s nausea rose as five pale figures emerged from a boat. The creatures sprang ashore, landing on all fours. Their gazes locked on the fleeing family.

  The adults glanced behind, then pulled the children close, hurrying farther down the dock. They would never outrun the predators. Albin’s grip tightened on his weapon.

  “Should we help them?” The doubt in Bridges’s tone reflected the struggle that raged in Albin as well.

  “I don’t see any more cannibals,” Kuznetsov observed. “But there may be more in the boats. We too could be ambushed.”

  “I’m just supposed to sit here and watch them get eaten?” Bridges snapped. “I already had to watch people get gunned down by the government. No more. I’m going out there.”

  As if sensing the prey’s lack of escape routes, the cannibals stalked forward rather than expending energy on a dash. Before they reached the family, however, two police officers emerged from the cabin of a yacht ahead of the civilians.

  “Wait.” Reaching into the backseat, Albin caught the collar of Bridges’s shirt. “The police will help them.”

  The officers drew their weapons.

  “Ah,” Kuznetsov breathed.

  The family waved to the police, hurrying past the boat.

  Bridges placed his hand over Albin’s and nodded as if watching a movie whose end he knew.

  The police watched the cannibals prowl past.

  Stripping Albin’s grip off from his shirt, the economist pushed halfway into the front seat. “Why aren’t they doing anything?”

  The truth dawned as the lead cannibal leapt at the boy, who lagged behind, his hand in his mother’s grip. The abomination landed atop the child, breaking the woman’s hold. Screams carried across sea and asphalt. Oblivious, the cannibal hunched over the struggling child. Then . . . then black oil spewed from the monster’s mouth to cover the boy’s face.

  Numbness settled over Albin’s mind, wrapping him in its icy blanket. From outside himself, he saw his body watching as the other cannibals reached the family.

  “Why aren’t the cops doing anything?” Bridges’s voice reached him as if through water.

  Gunshots echoed.

  “Now they are.” No emotion touched Kuznetsov’s words.

  The police felled the creatures in a barrage of bullets. As the mother pulled her daughter away, the cannibals twitched in a mass of torn meat atop her son’s body. The father pulled her back, taking the daughter with them.

  Silence reigned in the truck cab while the officer dispatched the last cannibal. The family stared in shock for an instant before the mother threw herself toward her son’s remains.

  Then the gunfire resumed, originating from two more officers, these aboard a smaller vessel. The three civilians remained standing for the time required for gravity to assert itself after a bullet strikes the body. As if facing a gale, the family stumbled backward. Blood sprayed across the dock, the nearby boats, and the water, shining in the midday sun.

  Chapter 37

  Dirty

  El Dorado - Two Steps from Hell

  “That’s it.” Nancy indicated the building on their right. It rose four stories, an unimaginative glass structure with white bands around the floors and uprights, which connected to a roof that jutted a yard beyond the walls.

  “Let’s go.” Weapon up, Nathan led the charge on the building. Kennedy, Dirk, and Josephine accompanied him, while Nancy kept in the center of their loose diamond.

  At the door, Kennedy took point as Nancy unlocked it. The group swung in with weapons ready. All seemed quiet. The noon sun provided the halls with paltry illumination. Nancy directed them along passages and up stairways that necessitated flashlight use.

  After reaching the lab, they waited in the hall while Nancy checked supplies and equip
ment. No one spoke, their attention on their surroundings. Having cannibals jump out at you went far in turning the mind from chitchat.

  The door opened and Nancy appeared, beaming. “Nothing’s broken or stolen. Now we just need to get electricity. We could get a generator in, I’m sure. We really don’t even need this until we’re more familiar with the data.”

  “Excellent.” Nathan gave her a grin. “I knew you were perfect for this work.” A little affirmation went a long way in securing loyalty, especially when it genuinely expressed his gratitude.

  The return trip to the neighborhood passed without incident, other than a pack of cannibals that gave chase for a hundred yards.

  Nathan guided the Sierra past the roadblock into Redwood Shores’s heart, exchanging waves with the guards.

  “Home sweet home,” Josephine quipped as they rolled toward the Musters’ house. She had taken up residence next door with the Singhs, but she spent the majority of her time with Nathan or the residents, filming their exploits and collecting their stories, or offering assistance. One of the Redwooders owned a camper with satellite Internet, which she used to transmit her stories to ABC News. The Internet proved less useful than hoped in regard to other projects, though, since many servers and ISPs across the country still experienced service outages and malfunctions.

  Nathan parked beside the Musters’ driveway. “Josephine, you performed magnificently today. Thank you for staying with us.”

  “And thank you. It’s not every day a person gets to be part of history.” Eyes bright with excitement, she hopped out of the vehicle.

  “Yes,” Nathan remarked to himself. “Let’s pray we do not regret that opportunity.”

  ++++++++++++

  “I was afraid this would happen,” Kuznetsov groaned. “They will steal as many boats as they can. I’m sure their friends are driving expensive cars off lots right now too. These people . . .” Adam’s apple bobbing in a gulp, he squeezed his eyes closed as he shook his head. “I can’t see this again.”

  Albin gazed ahead. “You refer to this becoming like Russia after the fall of the Soviet Union.” In many ways, the nation red in tooth and claw had improved not at all since the Communist regime’s fall. Rogue soldiers joined the mafia as freelance agents, while politicians encouraged the growth of organized crime.

  “It’s anarchy. And these so-called police probably aren’t alone.”

  A growl rumbled in the backseat, making Albin turn: Bridges and the German Shepherd joined voices.

  The numbness of an Arctic winter and the desiccating spirit of a desert wind dulled Albin’s reply. “Our focus must be on avoiding their notice. The family’s fate is unfortunate, but we must think of our own lives now. We need to locate Kenichi-san’s craft.”

  “We can start a distraction,” Kuznetsov suggested.

  “Perhaps.”

  “They might also leave of their own accord.” Wishful thinking had its place for keeping one from descending into abject depression.

  “I can’t let this go. No.” Bridges shook his head violently. “I’m out of here.”

  Albin reached but missed, fingers sliding over Judge’s fur. The impulsive idiot would cost them their lives if he went on a vigilante mission against law enforcement.

  Kuznetsov pushed his door open far enough to allow him to slide out. “Wait!” His hand closed on the back of Bridges’s shirt.

  “Let go!”

  As they struggled, Albin circled around the rear of the vehicle, keeping it between himself and the harbor.

  “What are you going to do?” Kuznetsov demanded. “You can’t drive them away like you would a pack of dogs.”

  Judge whined.

  “We will locate the boat first.” Albin pulled the duo behind a nearby vehicle. “If they interfere with our objective, we will deal with them accordingly.”

  “But they murdered a family in cold blood!” Livid, Bridges held a hand toward the blood-soaked dock. “If we don’t stop them, they’ll keep doing this. They’re going to drop these boats off at a chop shop or with a gang, and then they’ll be back to do it again. They’re going to murder as many people as they can along the way. This is just like what happened in Hurricane Katrina—”

  Kuznetsov made a slitting gesture across his throat. “No. This will be much worse. I know what will happen when the government steps in. Mankind knows only one path: violence. Power will continue to corrupt these people.”

  His heart cold, Albin turned in the direction of the police-turned-murderers. “If we keep close to the far side, moving behind other vehicles, we should escape detection. They are interested in the watercraft, not us.” In theory. “Come.”

  Weapons ready, they moved out, keeping low. Voices rang from the direction of the massacre. Albin risked a glance. An SUV had pulled up and now its occupants exited, hailing the police in hopes of gaining protection. The two officers in the boat closest to them looked up.

  Albin turned back to his course. He and his companions ducked around the east side of the administration building as gunfire cracked. The newcomers had likely shared the family’s fate. At least they had not died in vain; berth thirteen lay within reach due to their sacrificial distraction. Now he needed only to cross the open wharf and make his way down the very open dock to reach the goal.

  A yacht ten meters in length floated at the target slip. Midnight-black with silver flecks, it glittered like the night sky. Pinstriping of cyan wove through orange flame along the water line. The vessel’s name read, Izanami-no-Mikoto.

  Crouching, Bridges peered around the corner of the building at the police officers. “They’re . . . laughing. I don’t think they gave those people directions.”

  “Directions to the underworld,” Kuznetsov murmured.

  “Come, while they are distracted.” Albin led the way, keeping as low as possible, ducking behind the boats in their slips.

  The stolen yacht’s engine roared to life. Perhaps they would indeed leave, and leave Albin and his companions in peace.

  A pelican waddled across the dock ahead. Sensing prey, Judge barked.

  “Shut up, you stupid dog!” Bridges hissed. He jerked her leash, but she only barked the louder.

  They could only dive into the nearest vessel and hope the officers thought a stray dog rather than a police German Shepherd made the outburst.

  “Hey, you! Stop!”

  Hope crumbled.

  Chapter 38

  Unsolved Mysteries

  Battle Cry - Imagine Dragons

  “Now what?” Kuznetsov whispered, the AR against his shoulder as he crouched below the cabin windows. “We can’t shoot at police. Ah, I never wanted to be in a fight with law enforcement again.” He grimaced, his face expressing more pain than if someone had begun flogging him with barbed wire.

  Four lives lay in Albin’s hands. And those hands shook. He drew a deep, calming breath. Keep your head. What would Mr. Serebus do in a situation such as this? Mad though he may be, he possessed an incredible knack for escaping fatal predicaments. He likely would have avoided the situation altogether.

  Avoided the situation . . . “Are there spare keys in the boat? Bridges—”

  “I’m looking.” He glanced up from rummaging through an under-seat compartment. “But I don’t see any yet.” His voice trembled.

  Meanwhile, the police clambered from their yacht. The other two officers joined them on the dock. United, they readied their firearms.

  “Come out with your hands up! In the name of the law.” Hard to tell at this range, but it appeared from their glances at one another that the officers found this amusing.

  The uniformed thieves from the smaller craft brought their AR-type carbines to bear on Albin’s watercraft.

  “Down!” Albin flattened himself on the sole of the vessel. The others did likewise, Judge lying with her head down.

  Gunshots rang. Three points of light appeared at the front of the cabin, left of the wh
eel and a meter above Albin and the others’ heads. Splinters sprayed.

  “They’re going to walk over here and kill us.” The realization of impending death settled on Bridges like volcanic ash. He stared into the stern as if his life flashed before him.

  “We could jump over the side.” Simulating the action with his hands, Kuznetsov nodded to the gunwale.

  While diving into the San Francisco Bay exceeded death’s appeal, it did so only by a hairsbreadth. With a deep breath, Albin put his eye to a bullet hole. A black Dodge Charger with emergency lights flashing in the windshield and grill pulled up to the wharf. It parked alongside the dock that the four disgraces to the badge occupied.

  “I want to look.” Bridges pressed his face to a nearby hole, his head an inch from Albin’s. “Reinforcements?”

  The car doors opened before two officers who wore the black uniforms, masks, helmets, and tactical vests of SWAT-team members. They held their pistols at compressed ready against their chests.

  They approached the two closest officers, who had come from the yacht. “Why are you here, officers?” The lead newcomer’s voice carried over the water.

  The nearest thief exchanged smiles with his swaggering partner. “We just took a side trip. It’ll get done.”

  “You were told to secure the trucks. You haven’t. That’s all we care about.”

  “Cool your fucking—”

  Two gunshots cut off his reply. Red mist burst from the murderers’ necks, courtesy of the second SWAT officer. Did they act to punish their brothers for the slaughter? They had said nothing of the corpses that littered the dock like spoiled fruit beneath a tree.

  “What the fuck!” cried one of the two remaining officers.

  But rather than returning fire on the assassins, who already raised their weapons, the officers leapt back into their boat. They dropped below the gunwale and reversed the propellers’ thrust. The craft pulled away, then shifted to forward and began to accelerate out of the harbor.