by LC Champlin
“And the government?”
“Do you only care because you want them to rescue you?”
Damn it! “Amanda, I want them to rescue everyone. They don’t want to rescue me anyway.” They wanted to arrest him. Which, when one considered other likely fates, began to look acceptable.
“We are not finished, Mr. Serebus.”
Nathan whirled—and intercepted the butt of a carbine with his own AR. Albin snapped the weapon back into position, leveling it at Nathan. Both men panted, sights hovering over each other. A gas mask hung around Albin’s neck. No wonder he didn’t leave the control room when the CS sprayed.
“If I have to shoot you to bring you in,” Albin began, quiet and steady, “so be it.”
“Go ahead.” Sneer. “You fucked it up the last time.”
“Do you really believe I missed?”
Yes. Maybe. . . . No. “I’m alive. That’s all that matters.”
Nathan began to back out, feeling each step before he settled his foot. The gunfire outside dwindled, with the combatants moving to their vehicles at the approach of the cannibals.
“You might want to save your ammunition for them.” Slight nod backward, where the cannibals began to meander up the road toward Radio Point.
“What the fuck!” Red’s yell echoed from the control room. “There’s no power! You bastards cut it, didn’t ya.”
When Albin glanced reflexively in Esau’s direction, Nathan pivoted and launched toward the corner of the building. If he reached the rear of the structure, he could climb the ladder onto the roof. Hopefully the cannibals would ignore the roof and sweep past. If worse came to worst, he could scramble up the short tower that occupied it.
He sped past the Sierra. Fuck, he should just leave. But that would mean allowing Albin—and Red—to escape. Again. No, the hunt ended here, now.
“Not so fast!” Sarge charged around the corner of the building—Nathan’s goal—using nearby vehicles as cover. Apparently he and Red Chief had settled their differences. Or they had found a common enemy: Nathan.
Chapter 92
Two by Two
Judgment Day - Stealth
Albin angled around the doorframe, into the sun and smog, carbine raised. It locked onto Sarge, who ducked behind a car. Albin fell back as well, inside the entry.
Mr. Serebus opted to run for a car a short distance away.
A heartbeat later, Sarge charged toward the vehicle. “Stop, Serebus!”
Instead, Mr. Serebus brought his weapon up and fired off several rounds.
Sarge threw himself to the ground, returning fire, but the other man had already begun to charge for the building. He staggered to the corner, the opposite end from Albin, moderating his ammunition but delivering suppressive fire as he retreated.
Sarge turned his weapon toward Mr. Serebus. Five rounds in rapid succession from Albin’s weapon pushed the Goat behind the car. “I’m not finished with him yet,” Albin muttered.
Boots echoed in the hall behind. One eye on Sarge’s location, Albin sprinted for the car at the corner of the building.
He reached it as Red Chief sidestepped around the door jamb, out of the station. His bullets peppered the vehicle—until Sarge began to return fire.
Where had Mr. Serebus gone? Inside, likely. Albin ducked around the corner at the back of the structure. Nothing greeted him save the station’s rear entrance. Meanwhile, the Goats traded fire. The majority of their cohorts had fled upon hearing reports of the incoming cannibal horde and military fleet.
Carbine up, Albin advanced down the hall toward the control room. When he eased the door open, only darkness and the lingering burn of tear gas greeted him. A check of the storage room—the only other unlocked area in the building—proved equally unfruitful.
Albin trotted back outside via the rear exit. He rounded the corner to the northern wall and its ladder. Of course Mr. Serebus would seek to be above everyone else. High-ground advantage now belonged to him.
“I think not.” Eyes on the roof line, Albin crept along the wall to the ladder. This location hid him from Mr. Serebus’s view.
After slinging the carbine across his back, Albin scrambled up the ladder with as much speed as stealth would allow. He pulled himself up to peek over the wall. The dark man watched the ground on the other side of the building, attention on the Goats.
Never turn your back, sir. Albin’s Adidas muffled his footsteps on the roof’s gravel.
Mr. Serebus had good reason to face the direction he did, however, for up the road came an enemy worse than the mercenaries: a battalion of cannibals. The noise of gunfire and shouting drew them like decay drew scavengers to a carcass.
++++++++++++
The horde approached, but the Goats on the ground proved a more imminent threat. And where the fuck had Albin gone? Well, time to deal with the devils he knew. Carbine up, Nathan rested the hand guard on the edge of the roof’s perimeter wall. Red’s back filled the ghost ring. Dot the eye of the front sight with the target . . . fire! But Red was already moving. He hit cover behind a vehicle as Nathan’s bullets chased him.
Crunch. Gravel? Albin!
Nathan whipped about, AR pointing at the traitor.
The carbine’s twin stared Nathan down from the hands of Albin Conrad. Another standoff.
“I believe,” the Judas resumed, “that before we were so rudely interrupted, you were about to see reason.”
“I have no difficulty seeing reason. Perhaps I did say and do things that were uncalled for. But overall, I am right. I am protecting these people.”
As he spoke, the Dalit hisses grew audible. The creatures would reach the radio station in less than a minute. Then Sarge and Red would find something more interesting to fight than each other.
Albin edged forward.
“Don’t move.” Why did he press his luck?
“If you were going to kill me, you would have done so already, sir.” Anger flashed in Albin’s eyes, his frustration growing. “You did not hesitate when last we met.”
“I can shoot you without killing you.”
“As can I.”
Fuck, what now? Albin had made his point, proved he did not want power. But with the Redwood sheep going with the government shepherds, and the cannibals closing in, what remained? I came here to kill him. But no longer did his muscles tingle with the urge for confrontation.
Below, the cannibals reached the edge of the station’s largest parking lot.
“Do you have an escape plan, Mr. Serebus?”
“Do you?”
“Of course. I should mention that while I resigned my position with you, I continue to work with Janine. I spoke with her recently. I also spoke with David.”
Janine? Davie? “You’re lying—”
Albin’s rifle butt snapped toward Nathan’s head. Everything went weightless for a moment. Fuck, a feint and a tackle! Elbow down around Albin’s head, Nathan hung on. This is going to hurt! It did. Pain exploded as his ribs jarred along the fracture lines. It annihilated all thought for a split second.
Albin needed no more than that. He swung into a side-control position, trapping Nathan chest to chest, dropping his weight onto his opponent, driving his shoulder into Nathan’s jaw. One arm behind Nathan’s neck, the other under his right arm, Albin clasped his hands together. The bastard’s knee jammed in near the incision site. Exhaling meant less room to inhale, like a boa constrictor tightening around its prey.
“You are coming with me, sir.”
Nathan grunted, which should have been an articulate explanation of why he would not. Did Albin really expect him to throw up his hands and surrender as if nothing had happened between them?
Left hand up, he shoved his arm into the sky and pushed forward with his feet. Right hand up, push. He thrashed back and forth. Loosen the grip enough to . . . bring a knee up. But Albin shifted, riding him. Nathan locked his grip around the back of Albin’s neck, then shoved
his thumb into the pressure point at the back of the jaw’s joint. Albin kneed him in the side, however. He might have shot Nathan in the side with a 12 gauge slug. Darkness rimmed the world. Only the bastard’s weight prevented Nathan from curling into a fetal position.
“All right!” Nathan gasped. “I’ll go. But if you injure me, you’ll have to carry me.”
“You are already deadweight.” Albin moved slightly, enough for Nathan to ram his knee in. Rage obliterating pain as another surge of adrenaline hit. It wouldn’t last, but—He caught Albin hard in the floating rib with a hook punch, sending him lurching into the gravel.
Nathan pulled his tac knife from his belt. Click. Blade out. “Back off.”
Hissing rose from below. Using the wall, Nathan pushed himself up. A glance behind—Sarge and Red were . . . nowhere. Fuck.
As Albin stood with one hand holding his SIG and the other hand holding his side with its hopefully broken rib, Sarge’s nearly bald dome rose between the handles of the ladder. He aimed his semi-auto pistol over the edge, covering the two men. Not that either would pose much of a threat at this point.
Chapter 93
Sacrifice
Show Me Some Mercy - Noah Guthrie
“There’s still time, you fucker,” the merc barked. “Get down there and get the broadcast going. We have about two minutes.”
Nathan chuckled, blood dripping from his nose and a split lip. “I cut the generator cables so that only someone with electrical equipment and time could repair it. You need to start worrying about the cannibals instead.” Head jerk to the right, indicating the flood of crawling contagion. “They’ll eventually lose interest and leave. Or they’ll figure out how to climb a ladder, in which case we’re fucked.”
Sarge’s scowl deepened to a glower of damnation. “I don’t intend to be eaten. Lexa sent me here for a reason. You could’ve saved us all a lot of trouble, but no, you had to be a smartass and do it your way. Now we’re up to our fucking eyes in cannibals.” He kept at least a ten-yard distance between him and his enemies. He could pick them off easily at this point. “If there’s no way to run Lexa’s broadcast, your lives are about to get very uncomfortable.” He grinned, a sight one rarely saw, and wanted never to see. His free hand reached about and lazily drew the hammer / hatchet / pry bar from his belt.
“It is two versus one,” Albin commented as if noting a new menu item at a cafe.
A steel access hatch at the far corner of the roof burst open. Red followed it up, M4 raised. How the fuck could Sarge let him get away? “Nah, fucker, it’s gonna be every man for his self!”
Sarge whipped about, pistol up. BANG-BANG! He forced Red to roll out of the way, but Sarge dove behind the main air conditioner unit anyway.
Esau returned fire, bullets peppering the metal box. Not cover, but enough concealment to make hitting a target difficult when shooting through it.
Fuck, Red Chief and Sarge? Only an act of God could get them out of this. God had spared both him and Albin from certain death—even death by each other—numerous times over the past week. Perhaps God had spared the traitor Albin to be a sacrificial lamb and stop these motherfucking Goats.
“You ain’t the only ones what had a radio program to air,” Red announced, regaining his feet. “LOGOS and that smiling bastard are gonna be mighty pissed when they find out ya fucked ’em over again. Now y’all gonna pay for fucking me over.”
Pistol up, Albin guarded the ARs like a goalie while keeping his SIG on the threats. “You are a pawn, Esau Seir. We are all pawns for powers who want to destroy our lives. As long as we fight one another, they will be victorious and we will be defeated.”
Keep edging while Albin kept talking. Almost to the ladder now—
Red’s carbine came around to the attorney. Bang-bang-bang! Albin had already thrown himself clear, returning fire. Still shooting, Esau charged Albin. Rather, he charged the ARs. If he grabbed Nathan’s, he’d find only a few rounds left. Skid-slide—the wall stopped his momentum. He grabbed the carbines and lobbed them over the wall. Disarmed again. Fuck.
Sarge barreled past Nathan, shoving him aside. The hulk dove over the edge, catching the top rung.
Below, a pickup truck plowed through the cannibals but began to slow under the weight of bodies. Sarge leapt onto a storage building’s roof nearby, then jumped into the back of the vehicle.
“Git back here and fight!” bawled Red, now at the ladder with his M4 covering Sarge.
A string of gunfire erupted from Sarge, making Red drop to his belly for cover. “You’re not worth it,” Sarge roared. Then his M4 hammered as he cleared cannibals from the sides of the truck. They sprang at him like fish jumping upstream and into the jaws of a bear. The vehicle accelerated, heading south toward the water-treatment plant.
“I guess that leaves us.” Red bared his teeth as he turned. “I’ve got a grudge to settle with yer ass, Hotshit. If I’m going down, we’re all going down.” He looked at Nathan, then the burning blue eyes shifted to Albin.
Ssssssaaaaaahhh.
The cannibals began to stack below, climbing one on top of the other. They had only two stories to reach—thirty feet at most. Once they made the edge of the wall, they would swarm over like ants.
“Better make it fast,” Nathan warned, pulse roaring in his ears. “We’re about to have friends.”
The tomahawk flashed in Red’s hand. “Contract or not, I’m done playing nice with ya fuckers. I’m out of ammo. We’re gon’ do this the fun way.”
Nathan raised his tac knife. Breath rasping, he dropped into a fighting stance. Several yards away, Albin focused on his SIG’s sight. The “fun way” meant blowing this bastard’s head off. Albin squeezed the trigger—and kept squeezing it.
Red charged to the left, scooping up gravel and flinging it at his attacker.
The pistol’s slide locked back. Empty.
Steel glinted. Tomahawk inbound! Albin ducked clear. The weapon clanged off the wall, distracting Red long enough for Albin to slide in with the pistol. Its slide cracked into the foe’s wrist. The ax fell.
Red rounded to hammerfist Albin in the ribs. The blond staggered back, teeth gritted and hand over his side.
Nathan launched in, blade out. Red darted aside, then charged. Nathan pivoted to the left like a bullfighter. Slash at Red’s shoulder as he passed. First blood! But the monster flinched away before it could open the arm.
The merc swung in for another pass, a combat dagger in his left hand.
Move, parry, stab at the bastard, working on reflex and instinct—as Red did the same.
Cannibal hisses rose.
Movement at the side: Albin shot in from the left. Red spun. He danced back and forth, in and out at Albin. Dodges, parries, strikes so fast the blades turned invisible. Red slashed, driving his advantage.
Get around him! Get the Goat in the middle. Distracted, Red broke from Albin, keeping the men from flanking him.
Movement in the periphery—Cannibals. Five of them, coming over the wall like monkeys. They made no sound, watching the humans with eyes bulging, oil dripping. They began to work up a vomit.
Nathan caught Albin’s eye, then flicked his gaze toward the cannibals. Albin nodded.
They moved as one, putting Red between them and the cannibals.
Esau glanced at the monsters. “I see what you’re doing. It ain’t gonna work.” He exploded at Nathan with blade flashing.
Swing left—Fuck! The move caught the ribs at the wrong angle. Fractures screamed. His legs collapsed. His knee struck something hard. The tomahawk. He scooped it up and slashed low for a thigh shot. Miss. Change the angle for a backswing.
The blade turned as Red twisted, catching the other thigh’s outside. Pants, skin, and muscle tore. Red went down, his leg jerked out from under him.
A back roll brought him up in a low fighting stance. Blood oozed from his leg. “You want blood? I’ll give you blood.” He launched in, catching Natha
n’s hatchet arm.
Get off! Nathan’s knife lanced in—and bounced off Red’s back armor plate. Fuck! Nathan swung his arm as an escape. But Red slammed his boot into Nathan’s shin while wrapping his arm around his prey’s arm. Nathan lurched forward.
With a laugh, Red raised his combat dagger, sighting down the channeled blade toward Nathan’s skull.
Time stopped.
Esau grinned.
Chapter 94
Do Unto Others
Shankill Butchers - Sarah Jarosz
If Red Chief buried his weapon in Mr. Serebus, it would occupy the mercenary long enough for Albin to execute justice, and the criminal.
But was abandoning the Conrad standard of loyalty to save himself while sacrificing his friend an acceptable means of surviving? Would Janine and David accept his action? Could he live with his choice?
Of course not.
++++++++++++
Behind the Goat, Albin slunk in like a leopard.
The vibrations of the Dalits’ scrambling against the building traveled through the concrete. Hands appeared over the wall, reaching.
Red drew back his dagger—
Albin took the initiative, even as Nathan dropped to escape Red’s hold.
Red pivoted. Reality slowed to quarter speed. The dagger launched toward Albin’s neck. Albin parried, but not in time. His skin offered no resistance; the blade sank to its hilt. The tip protruded from the back of Albin’s neck.
No—
Albin’s blade was also moving. It found Red’s upper chest, punching in above the plate carrier. Red jerked away, the tac knife sticking from his chest, even as his dagger grip protruded from Albin’s neck.
No! It couldn’t end like this!
“Ha!” Red laughed as he stood back. “Guess you wanted to see your own blood after all.”
Expressionless as a soldier going to his death over the trenches, Albin reached up to the dagger grip. Blood oozed around the blade, staining his dark shirt a slick black.