Day of Darkness

by LC Champlin

  A small, sleek drone with white belly and blue topside hovered ten meters above the ground. It dropped a square object onto the lawn before shooting into the clouds. Explosives?

  Albin sprinted back down the hall, halting only after turning a corner. A moment passed with no detonation.

  Alert for a trap, he exited the building and approached the delivery: a zip-top bag with a Post-It note inside. Call me, it read, with a phone number below.

  Who . . . Not Kenichi-san, since he knew the satellite phone’s number. But perhaps this represented another element of his game.

  If he wanted a competition, he would find Albin anything but a pawn. Withdrawing his smartphone from his pocket, Albin queued the recording application. Then he dialed the satellite phone. Two rings—

  “Hello,” a female voice greeted him. “Is this Albin Conrad?”

  “You seem to have me at a disadvantage.”

  “My name is Lexa Birk. You know my brother, Victor Anthony Birk.”

  “Yes.” What did Lexa Birk want with him?

  “I know you are opposed to your former employer, Nathan Serebus, as well as his plans to develop the data for controlling the cannibals, and his efforts to lead Redwood Shores.” She worded her description so as to cast Albin as someone who fought progress.

  “Go on.”

  “I am advising you not to attack him. If you do, you will be standing in the way of advances that could save the Bay Area, if not the world.”

  “What role do you play in this?”

  “I am trying to make amends for what my company has done. The cannibal contagion is out of control, and I want to see it end.”

  Like her brother Victor, Lexa lied with ease. “You are referring to LOGOS Biotherapeutics Institute?”

  “My colleagues and I are trying to make amends.”

  “If you truly wished to see it eliminated, you would employ your own scientists, who developed it. You would not wait for a half-crazed neighborhood dictator who has little understanding of the technology.”

  “I must work covertly. Now, you can either work with me, or you can be counted as a hostile party. Think carefully before you decide. As an ally, I can offer you many benefits.”

  “But I must leave Nathan Serebus in peace, correct?”

  “Correct.”

  “I see.” Evidently this woman had fallen on desperate times in the shadowy organization for which she worked if she resorted to using Mr. Serebus. Or perhaps she executed a more complex strategy. “Were you involved in the botched ReMOT exchange?”

  A pause followed. “That was an unfortunate misunderstanding. I am now attempting to right our wrongs.”

  Wrongs against humanity, or wrongs against her interests? “You mentioned rewards. In this situation, I do not have the luxury of being selective. What is your offer?”

  “I will keep my forces from targeting you.”

  “That resembles a threat rather than a reward.”

  “If one considers the lack of a negative outcome a threat, then yes. I would offer you more, but it seems you have what you need: a base, supplies, allies, and even the option of returning to the government’s protection.”

  “And all I must do is to stand down from targeting Nathan Serebus?”

  “Yes. But if I find you have turned against him, I will be left with no choice but to remove your status as a protected person.”

  “It seems you present me with an offer I cannot refuse. In that case, I accept.”

  “Excellent. Remember your agreement.”

  “I shall. You are aware, Ms. Birk, that I have recorded our conversation?”

  “As have I. Goodbye, Mr. Conrad.”

  “Goodbye, Ms. Birk.”

  Call ended.

  Albin gazed at the blank screen, but this time a smile hovered on his lips. If Kenichi-san referred to Lexa Birk when he warned of Izanami-no-Mikoto, Kenichi could rest assured Albin heeded the advice.

  He tapped the stop button on the voice recorder. “Treaties are made to be broken.”

  ++++++++++++

  Holding his breath, Albin stepped into the government lane of the Bayshore Freeway. He raised the cardboard sign over his head: I need to speak with Director Washington DHS, Captain Avery FEMA, or Agent Saito JTTF FBI. Permission granted by Director Washington. -Albin Conrad.

  Alone, unarmed, both hands visible, he presented little danger to the two oncoming military Humvees. They slowed to a halt.

  “Get on the ground, arms out,” the vehicle’s bullhorn blared.

  Impassive on the surface but with his heart racing as if he had completed a hundred-meter dash, Albin complied.

  Two Soldiers exited the vehicle and approached him, M4 rifles raised. He looked away as they neared. Better to keep them as calm as possible.

  “Vacate the lane,” ordered one of the men.

  “I need to speak with Director Washington regarding a planned terrorist attack. Her representatives provided me with clearance.” Contrary to Bridges’s belief, one could dial for emergency services on the satellite phone if one knew the correct number.

  “Yeah, I bet.” The man’s skepticism bespoke the volume of false reports they endured.

  “Please have your commanding officer contact the DHS. They will verify my claim. Here is my identification card for the San Francisco International Airport.” Between his fingers he held the plastic badge.

  One of the Soldiers approached. “Toss it here.”

  Albin flicked it toward the voice.

  After a pause, the man replied, “This looks genuine. We’ll contact them, but if they don’t know you, you’re in deep shit.”

  “Of course.”

  They escorted him to the edge of the lane before they too parked on the shoulder to allow through traffic. Fifteen minutes later, they received confirmation.

  “All right, you can follow us in.”

  Relief buoying him, Albin returned to the Tacoma. The Humvees escorted him north on the freeway, into the SFO car park. From there, they brought him to the receiving area for processing. Due to his extended stay outside the command center, protocol dictated he endure the intake procedure again.

  Near the end of the quarantine period, the security officers deigned to place him in a gray, windowless TSA interrogation room to await debriefing by the DHS, FBI, or a similar organization.

  “Conrad.”

  He looked up from regarding the tabletop to find Officer Rodriguez in the doorway. “Good evening, Officer.”

  “What’s the matter, didn’t like roughing it?” Smirking, she folded her arms. “Run out of toilet paper?” Then she sobered. “They said you had something to tell us about a terrorist attack. I know you’re not just blowing smoke up our ass. So I’ll see that you get a hearing with Agent Greg Saito.”

  “Thank you, Officer.”

  She turned to leave, then paused. “What’s it like out there?”

  He held her dark gaze. “I witnessed police officers killing innocent people and taking their yachts. I watched other officers execute the murderers.

  “Beyond that, Red Chief is alive, and he is taking the marina at Bair Island in a bid to control Redwood City’s harbor. But there are powers behind him and the other terrorists that are even more damaging than those madmen.

  “In addition, Mr. Serebus is continuing his pursuit of domination.”

  She regarded him for a moment. “I’m not supposed to tell you this, but I’m going to anyway, because I’m tired of seeing this. Look,” she sighed, hooking her thumbs under her duty belt, “we’re strung too thinly. We need to help ourselves. But maybe if it’s serious enough, we can spare resources.” She shrugged in the manner of the hopeless.

  “Thank you. How are you managing here?”

  She straightened, raising her head. “I’m fine. This is my job, and I’ll do it until I die.”

  “Let that not be soon, Officer.” He inclined his head in a slight bow.


  Chapter 60

  Deals

  The Devil Inside - My Ending Reign

  Nathan paced in the Musters’ backyard. To wait for 21:00 or not to wait, that was the question. The sun crawled toward the horizon, where its light would drown in the Pacific.

  Idly he put his right hand over the incision on his left side. The drugs kept the pain at bay, but his supply dwindled. In a few days, he would need to find more medication. The idea of going without it—or rather, the control it provided—made his pulse tick up and a sweat break. The dark wings of suffering fluttered at the periphery of his vision. Sadly, though, he couldn’t go to Jim and ask for a refill.

  Grunting, he eased into a lawn chair. He let out a breath as he leaned his head back.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Nathan flinched as if Taser probes had struck him. He shot to his feet, Glock in hand. His pulse roared in his ears as his extremities tingled.

  That voice. “Sarge?”

  A giant of a man emerged from the shadows at the corner of the yard. His bullet-shaped head tilted to one side as he regarded Nathan with dark eyes. Boasting a linebacker’s build but the stealth of a jungle cat, he posed a challenge even to Red Chief—whom he had betrayed. He wore his usual armor-plate carrier. An M4 on a single-point sling hung across his chest.

  “Surprised to see me, Serebus? Did you think I was dead?”

  Forcing his shoulders down and his chest out to recover his composure, Nathan swallowed against his dry throat. “To the first question, a bit. To the second, I was unsure. How did you survive?” The one who asked the questions controlled the conversation.

  “I did, that’s all you need to know.” Absently he tapped the hybrid hatchet / hammer / pry bar at his belt. It could drive a nail or amputate your leg with equal efficiency. But it paled in comparison to the terror Red Chief’s tomahawk inspired.

  “What do you want, Sarge?”

  “Do you really think your security is enough to keep me and my men out?”

  No. “Don’t underestimate my people. They’ve stopped more than one cannibal attack.”

  “I know.” Sarge released a breath out through his nostrils, flaring them like a bull’s. “I watched them take on the cannibals at the Minstral.”

  What? Nathan’s eyes narrowed to keep from blinking in surprise. “You or one of your men shot those cannibals and saved my researcher.”

  “Yeah, your people, your researcher.” The smile slid into a sneer. “You take charge fast. But that’s what I like about you. And I don’t like very much.”

  Nathan clamped his jaws on the retort, You certainly liked breaking my ribs. “What did you come for? Are you here to take over Redwood Shores, picking up where your boss fucked up?”

  “I’m not interested in running a damn rich fuck neighborhood. I also don’t feel like helping a cabal cause more havoc. Life’s complicated enough, and I like having electricity.”

  “That didn’t stop you before.”

  “I find work where I can.”

  “Work such as kidnapping people and stealing technology for terrorists?” Heart rate rising with anger, Nathan kept his expression flat and his Glock at compressed ready against his right pectoral.

  “I’m a mercenary.”

  “What payment methods do you accept now that the banking systems are down and the dollar is largely defunct?” God had brought Sarge here as an answer to prayer, albeit an unspoken one.

  “Well.” Sarge cracked his neck on both sides before he continued, “At this point, we’re flexible. A lot of things have value now that didn’t before. Soon a bag of sugar and a bottle of whiskey will be worth more than a stack of Benjamin Franklins.”

  “How does a percentage of earnings sound? I’m sure you’re aware our situation is not overabundant in resources. However, we can offer you an area that’s fairly free of interference by law enforcement and cannibals, just as we were going to do for Red Chief.”

  “You don’t have to explain it; this isn’t my first rodeo working with backward villagers.” His brow, which would make a Neanderthal jealous, furrowed as he frowned. “What percentage were you looking at?”

  “Fifteen is common in many industries.” Nathan paused to draw an exaggerated breath, during which Sarge’s frown deepened. “However, because you offer services that are rare, I believe 25% of our scavenging is reasonable.” It was certainly not reasonable, but a negotiation must include haggling. “In exchange for sheltering you, we take 33% of what your raids produce.”

  “Huh. At those percents, we’d be paying you when you consider the high-class security we’d be providing against looters, gangs, and cannibals. So, 40% of yours.”

  “Thirty-three. It’s one-third. I have more people to feed than you. And yours are more capable of securing their own dinners.”

  Sarge smirked. “Lies, damn lies, and statistics. Your 33% and our 33% are different. We’d still be paying you.”

  “Think of this as a formality that earns the trust of the people. It’s insurance for both parties. And think of it this way: you’re able to run more raids and have a bigger profit because we provide you an office, so to speak. In the end, I at least break even.”

  “We count expenses. Ammunition isn’t cheap.”

  “Then go take Red Chief’s.” Smirk. “He recently came into a cache of it, as I recall.” Unless his client had reconsidered. “It’s not as if he’s alive to use it.” Was he?

  Sarge snorted a laugh. “You really don’t get how hard that motherfucker is to kill, do you. That damn redneck could walk through Hell barefoot and come out on the other side with a grin. He’d probably have a pitchfork and a few demon heads as souvenirs.”

  Breathing stopped. The pain grew in direct proportion to the dread. Red, alive. “You mean he’s still roaming to and fro on the earth, seeking whom he may devour.” A living Esau Seir meant a vengeful Esau Seir. In that case, what choice did Nathan have but to work with Sarge?

  “Him and half the Devil Goats who survived.”

  “How many of the Goats came with you?”

  “I have plenty for what I need.”

  “Oh? What’s your endgame?”

  “That’s my own business. Why, are you worried about your little kingdom?”

  “It’s not my kingdom.” Nathan took a step forward. “I only want to find a way to control the cannibal contagion.”

  “Damn, you’re a good liar.” Nostrils flared again. “Well, somebody’s got to control those bastards. If it’s you, and you end up carving a little bigger kingdom for yourself, that’s fine with me, ’cause I’ll be getting 40% of it.”

  “Thirty-four.”

  “Without me, you’ll be wiped out. Are you gonna lose everything for an extra 6%?”

  “Thirty-five. Without us, you can hole up in a hotel, and if the government comes, you’re on your own.”

  The hulking man stared at him, expression darkening.

  “That’s my final offer. Five percent won’t hurt you, but it could break my people. They’re already eating fish out of that shithole slough.”

  Drumming his fingers on the frame of his M4, Sarge looked into the distance. “Done. But I reserve the right for bonus pay.”

  “Then I reserve the right to ask you to conduct bonus-pay missions.”

  “Accepted.”

  “Excellent.”

  The Goat and the wolf shook hands in the dying sun. Night came quickly on the West Coast.

  Chapter 61

  Dishonor Before Death

  ’Til Kingdome Come - Coldplay

  Albin exited the interrogation room, remaining several paces behind Special Agent Greg Saito of the Joint Terrorism Task Force.

  The man, a model agent with his dark suit and clean-cut appearance, paused to nod at the civilian. “Thank you for your information, Albin. We’ll analyze it along with the other intelligence we have on the area. You’re welcome to stay here in the airp
ort, by the way.”

  “I will stay for the night only. Thank you.”

  “As you like.” The agent shrugged before starting off down the hall.

  Two DHS officers left their posts beside the door to escort Albin. As they marched down the hall toward an evacuee-shelter terminal, Jim emerged from a side door.

  “Hold up.” Quickening his step, he joined them. “I have it from here, officers.”

  Realizing they addressed a lieutenant colonel, they acquiesced.

  “I was about to go and get some air, Albin. Come on, I’ll walk you out.”

  “Thank you, Jim. How has the situation here progressed?”

  “More hellish and insane, just like usual.” Jim laughed, sans amusement. “It’s amazing how a couple days can make an unthinkable situation usual. Yeah, a zombie apocalypse is exactly what I would call normal.” He shook his head, blue eyes hollow. He likely had not slept in the last forty-eight hours.

  “I have a liter of Mountain Dew in my vehicle.” Albin allowed a slight smile.

  “Ha, you’re a lifesaver!” Grinning, Jim slapped him on the back as they approached the exit. “So, how are your efforts with Nathan going? Made any headway?”

  “To the contrary.” Albin looked down for a moment before forcing himself to meet the officer’s gaze. “I stopped him from achieving one of his goals, namely securing a building in which he would perform research. I confronted him. I also revealed to the neighboring community his true nature. They expelled him and his people from the area.”

  “I’m sure he took that well. You’re lucky he didn’t try to take it out on you.”

  “He did. But his proximity to his followers limited the extent to which he could express his disapproval.” A cold spot resided in Albin’s mind at the memory, sapping emotion.

  “Better watch your back.”

  “He does not know where I am. In addition, I have a patron in the form of Kenichi Oshiro.” Again he found himself telling more than intended. They should have installed Jim as his interrogator rather than Saito and Washington.