Shadows of Ash (The Nameless Book 2)

by Adrian J. Smith

  Cal nudged his arm. “We can take these idiots.”

  The guards were too close together in a bunch, almost crowding. Professionals would be more spaced and cover more angles. Ryan or Booth or Cal would only have to drop a shoulder and charge the middle guard to knock them all down.

  “Now’s not the time. We don’t know what’s out there,” Ryan said.

  “The sooner we do it, the better.”

  “Stay cool. Wait until the city.”

  Cal nodded, but the scowl that flashed across her face gave away her thoughts.

  Ryan breathed deeply as he walked. He had always enjoyed mountain air. Crisp, laced with the scent of pine and fir. Earth and water. Up here, it was free of pollution. If it wasn’t for the fact that they were surrounded by armed guards, he could have been forgiven thinking he was on a hike with Cal, enjoying the early spring.

  After an hour, the tracks bent around a gradual corner and disappeared into the side of the mountain. Thick slabs of granite soared to the top, the peaks covered in snow.

  Yamada’s men brought them to a halt at a tunnel entrance. They seemed reluctant to enter but began handing out headlamps and flashlights from a sports bag one of them carried.

  Yamada grinned at Ryan. “You’re on point, Connors.”

  “Don’t I get a gun at least?”

  “What, so you can shoot us?”

  “The thought never crossed my mind.”

  “Get going.” Yamada turned and spoke to one of his armed men. “Itsuki. Watch him.”

  The tunnel was made from concrete, its walls smooth and painted white. Running along the right-hand side was a raised platform for walking on. Soft orange lights glowed from the ceiling at intervals. Cal and Booth dropped in behind Itsuki, followed by another two guards, the Yamadas, and the rest of The Nameless. The remaining four guards brought up the rear.

  Their boots clunked as they walked along the platform, their echoes bouncing off the walls. So much for being sneaky. The Yamadas and the guards sounded like a herd of buffalo.

  Conveniently, the builders of the railway had stenciled hundred-meter markings on the wall, with a sign indicating how far to the end of the tunnel.

  As they reached the halfway mark, Ryan stopped and held up his fist. The group halted. He clicked off his light and crouched down.

  “What is it?” Yamada said.

  Ryan shushed him. He pointed down the tunnel and held up six fingers and gestured at his eyes. “Siphons. Up ahead.”

  “Siphons?”

  “The people that have mutated. Suck your spines dry.”

  Yamada’s eyes widened. He beckoned over one of the guards and whispered something. The guard bowed and ran past, shining his light.

  Cal looked at Ryan and rolled her eyes.

  Protect the kids, he signed to her, using American Sign language.

  The Siphons howled in chorus, a garbled sound that sent a shiver up Ryan’s spine. At the same time, the guard’s weapon burst into life. More howls erupted from farther down the tunnel, followed by more shots. Itsuki pushed Ryan out of the way. “Protect the boss!” he yelled to the other guards and sprinted toward the Siphons.

  Cal and Booth sprang into action. They dropped and swept out, knocking the remaining guards to the ground. Sofia and Allie pulled Keiko and Hogai off the walking platform and onto the tracks.

  Ryan pivoted, launched himself across the walkway and tackled Yamada to the ground, knocking Goro off balance so that he fumbled as he tried to unholster his side arm. In moments, Cal and Booth had disarmed the goons and stood over them. Cal threw Ryan a pistol and he switched off the safety. Farther down the tunnel, Itsuki and the guards’ gunfire grew in intensity, the noise echoing off the walls.

  The creatures’ shrieks became louder as dozens ran toward them.

  Ryan looked back at the way they had come. It was clear. He lifted Yamada to his feet and pushed him ahead. “Move. Now!”

  Goro froze. A survival situation was something new for this long-pampered man.

  Ryan grasped his shoulder and shook him. “Move!” Goro stumbled forward, obeying Ryan’s urging.

  The Nameless hustled the Yamada clan back outside, the inhuman sounds of the Siphons chasing them. Itsuki’s and the guards’ guns fell silent, replaced with groans and shrieks as the creatures fought over their spinal fluid.

  Ryan spotted a hiking trail rising steeply between giant pillars of rocks. A Shinto altar wrapped in red ribbons was carved into one side. In the steeper section of the trail, steps had been hacked into the sides of the mountain, making for a precarious climb.

  The howls blaring from the tunnel made up his mind.

  “Incoming!” Booth began to shoot, unloading the machine pistol. He slapped in another magazine and unloaded that too. Dozens of the Siphons poured from the rail tunnel.

  “Leave it. C’mon!” Ryan screamed. He waved the others past him and, grabbing an SP5K, covered Booth’s retreat. He backed away up the steep stairs, Cal’s strong hands on his shoulder, guiding him.

  He didn’t need to shout any more instructions. The Nameless knew what to do. Cover everyone. Force the Siphons into a bottleneck. Ryan went into battle mode. Controlled bursts. Aim for the center mass. Cal fired over his right shoulder while Booth fired over his left.

  In a weird tight knot, The Nameless advanced up the mountain side. Some of the creatures broke away and ran into the forest but the rough terrain made it difficult for them to get any sort of foothold. Siphon after Siphon tumbled to their deaths. The remaining guards used their taser batons to zap any creature that managed to get through.

  The Nameless were now in control. Yamada needed them to survive. Screw Takeshi, Ryan’s mind screamed as he shot another Siphon, a young woman dressed in a bright yellow tracksuit. Her body tumbled down a few steps, knocking more Siphons off the mountain. Yamada could rescue his son with his own men. Ryan was taking The Nameless and going home. Home to Zanzi.

  “Keep going. Don’t let them flank us.”

  “We’ve got it covered,” Cal said.

  Ryan’s legs burned from the effort of climbing the steep stairs at such a relentless pace.

  Cal blew a hole through the skull of a Siphon still wearing the uniform of a policeman. The policeman was replaced by a teenage girl. She still had a clump of hair above her left ear. She snarled at Ryan and lashed out, clawing at his backpedaling leg. He gritted his teeth and shot her in the head, kicking her backwards.

  At the top of the hiking trail, the ground leveled out and cleared. A small temple with a high raking roof sat nestled between a stone boulder and a copse of conifer trees. Moss covered statues of Buddha flanked the front entrance, incense burning at their feet. The temple was a welcome sight. The Nameless and the Yamada clan had decimated the chasing Siphons. Only a few still gave pursuit.

  “Booth and I will take out the dregs. Everyone else inside,” Ryan said.

  Once the thick wooden doors thumped closed, he turned to his old friend. “Go left and do a quick recce at the same time.”

  “On it,” Booth said.

  The temple was largely unscathed from the recent earthquake, though a few trees had toppled over, and some shingles had fallen off the roof. As he scanned the area, Ryan spotted a couple of monks quietly watching. He held up his hand in greeting and smiled.

  Booth whistled for his attention. The remaining Siphons had scrambled their way over the landslides, broken rocks and mounds of mud and roots.

  Ryan observed them over the sight.

  “Mercy,” he whispered as he squeezed the trigger.

  He and Booth took out the surviving Siphons with several well-placed shots. Some crawled, dragging broken legs behind them. Some staggered from the loss of blood from other bullet wounds. All of them had been normal, everyday citizens before OPIS unleashed their nefarious plans. Lives cut short and, adding to the insult, instead of dying, these people had become something worse. Something inhuman.

  “Didn’t see much of use,�
�� Booth said. “A couple of vehicles. One van and a motorbike.”

  “Road?” Ryan asked.

  “Narrow but clear of damage, not that I could see far.”

  “Okay. Stay alert.”

  “Expecting trouble?” Booth flashed a lopsided grin.

  “Always.”

  Before heading to the temple Ryan and Booth waited for five minutes, checking that no Siphons remained.

  The heavy oak doors creaked open as Ryan entered the small temple. He had left Booth keeping an eye on the path and the road. Inside, he found several monks deep in meditation, with incense burning. Hundreds of small candles were lit, causing flickering shadows to dance on the walls. Here the monks were carrying on as they had for the last thousand years. Finding solace in prayer, reflection, and kindness.

  Yamada and The Nameless sat cross-legged against the wall, snacking on fresh rock melon provided by a monk. The guards, out of respect, had tucked away their weapons.

  “We’re all clear for now,” Ryan said, lowering his voice.

  “For what it’s worth, Connors, thank you,” Yamada said. He bowed his head in respect.

  Cal and Sofia glanced at Ryan, with Cal gesturing outside with her head. He nodded.

  The Nameless stood, pulling up Hogai and Keiko.

  “We’re leaving,” Ryan said to Yamada. “I could say it’s been an honor, but it hasn’t. You and OPIS are the worst kind of people.”

  Yamada frowned. “What happened to our agreement? To rescue my son.”

  “Off the table. You forced it on me. I’m taking it away.”

  The guards bristled and snarled as they pulled out their guns. Both Goro and Yamada waved them down.

  “Listen,” Yamada said. “There’s an airport in Nagano. I happen to own a heli skiing company. We should have several helicopters available.”

  “So?” Ryan said.

  Yamada’s eyes flashed pure hatred, just for a second. Then he quickly regained his composure.

  “My offer still stands. Rescue Takeshi and I’ll give you a private jet to fly home.”

  “No deal.”

  “Remember the traitors, Connors?” Yamada snarled. “We can still do that.” He pulled out the wand to emphasize his point.

  “You need us more than we need you,” Ryan said.

  Yamada smirked and pressed the button on the wand. Immediately Hogai groaned, dropped to her knees and held her head in her hands. Yamada pressed the button a second time. Keiko slid to the floor and curled up in the fetal position.

  Sofia ran to her daughter. “We’ll do it. Just stop. Please.”

  “Well, Mr. Connors?” Yamada said. “It’s your call.”

  Ryan cursed himself. He was playing Chinese checkers while Yamada was two steps ahead, playing chess.

  “The agreement stands,” Ryan said.

  “Very well.” Yamada pressed the buttons again, releasing Keiko and Hogai from their agony. He approached one of the monks and spoke to him for a few moments.

  “The monks have kindly lent us their van. We leave for Nagano in five minutes.”

  Five

  Hood River, Oregon

  Director Lisa Omstead pulled her shoulders back, working out the stiffness. The problem with retiring from active duty was that she had lost that edge, that point she had honed to perfection, when all her senses were in tune with one another. For too long she had been organizing and directing, overseeing the training of new agents. Planning operations and playing the political game. She lacked the edge constant combat situations engendered.

  She crouched low and peered around the side of the brick fire station. Black Skulls were fast approaching, only a hundred meters out. “Any luck with that door?” She glanced over her shoulder at Doctor Monica Johnson.

  “Almost there. Just a little farther,” Johnson said. She had the roller door open a few centimeters, not enough to squeeze under. The roller door had been damaged at some point by a vehicle and the bend in the metal gave them a chance.

  Lisa checked behind her. The Black Skulls were only coming from the one direction. Earlier she’d considered running. Finding a vehicle and leaving the area. But with her injury and Johnson’s advanced age, she had to dismiss that option.

  “Got it.” Johnson rolled under the door and used the chain pulley to open it a few more centimeters.

  Lisa pointed to one of the fire trucks. “Get in.” She banged a large red button on the wall next to an office. Immediately the alarm rang out, filling the station with its deafening clangs. The doors shot up as if a giant had grabbed them and flung them open.

  Lisa jumped into the truck and gunned the engine, tearing out of the building. The Black Skulls gawked as she flashed by. They recovered their shock in a split second and started shooting. Bullets pinged into the red and white metal and off the retractable ladder. Lisa swung the big steering wheel, scattering the commandos, and bumped onto the road.

  “Take my rifle. Know how to fire it?” she said to Johnson.

  “Point and shoot, yeah?”

  “See that selector on the side. Switch it to semi. They’re going to come after us. Rest the barrel on the window. When you see one of those pricks, fire. Got it?”

  Johnson nodded. “Spares?”

  “Rucksack.”

  The road looped around so it joined the street Johnson lived on. Lisa spotted one of the Humvees burning in the middle of the road, and Cordwell’s still form lying alongside. His last act had been to toss a grenade, scoring a direct hit, giving them the time they needed to escape.

  Lisa was going to miss the grumpy old bastard. When she’d joined the Marines all those years ago, Cordwell had been the first to give her an ounce of respect. A lot of the time he’d acted as a buffer to the constant teasing and pranks that were played on her.

  “They’re just threatened, Omstead. Rise above it and show them who’s the badass.”

  They’d shared a love for hunting and fishing, often spending what little leave they had on trips into the wild. The other members of their platoon had sworn they were a couple, but she and Cordwell had always been friends. It horrified her that she had to leave him out there on the street and not give him a proper send-off.

  Safe journey, old friend.

  She kept her speed up and squealed around the corner, aiming for the interstate. The fire truck was by no means the fastest vehicle, but what it lacked in speed it made up in sheer strength and power. The Black Skulls gave chase in their 4X4s and Humvees, content to hang back for now. Lisa ignored them for the time being. She cruised down the main street of Hood River, shoving stalled cars out of the way.

  A flash of silver careened from her right, screeching. An SUV slid next to the fire truck. Johnson fired a burst and squealed in surprise at the rifle’s retort. Another SUV moved from the left. Frantic, Lisa looked over the dozens of switches and buttons. She spotted the one she was hunting for.

  Ladder release.

  There was a clanking sound, followed by metal grinding against metal. The ladder released and swung free. She followed its trajectory in her wing mirrors, then yanked down on the steering wheel, slamming the big vehicle into the SUV.

  The fire truck shuddered as its now-swinging ladder smashed into lamp posts and power poles, showering the pursuing Black Skulls in debris, hunks of concrete and plastic.

  Lisa swung the other way, crunching the silver SUV into parked cars. Its front wheels caught the bumper of a Chevy, spinning it into the path of the fire truck.

  Metal screeched.

  Tires popped.

  Gunfire erupted.

  The truck jerked as the SUV crunched under her back wheels. Lisa gripped the steering wheel tighter, wrestling with it. More gunfire pinged off the bodywork, stitching along its flank. Ahead, the interstate that followed the Columbia River was closing in fast. Johnson fired another burst and screamed. Bullets peppered the windshield. Using one hand to steer and the other to control the extendable ladder, Lisa swung the fire truck onto the sidewalk
, tearing into the huge plate-glass windows of a furniture store. The SUV, attempting to evade the carnage, slid and fishtailed around before flipping onto its side, sparking as it slid into a bodega car park and bounced off a F350 like a pinball.

  “Watch out!” Johnson warned. One of the Black Skulls had jumped onto the driver’s side footplate and was pulling his handgun free. Lisa groaned in frustration and plowed the fire truck into more parked cars, attempting to shake him free. The commando lifted his legs, holding on. Another swung down from the rooftop, firing blindly into the cab.

  “Hold onto something.” Lisa shouted.

  She slammed the brakes on and yanked hard on the steering wheel. The truck tilted but maintained its grip on the concrete street. The commando on the roof flew off and thumped onto the road, just in front of the truck. His body barely made the truck jolt as it crunched over. The other commando clung on.

  “Duck,” Johnson said. She shot him point blank in the face. Brains and blood sprayed out as the bullet left his head.

  The fire engine fled down the freeway, crunching through any vehicles stalled on the road. Lisa didn’t care. All she cared about was escaping Black Skulls. For now they appeared to have given up.

  Johnson gripped the M4, neck craned to watch their retreat.

  “You okay?” Lisa asked.

  “Not really, no.”

  Lisa flashed a smile, trying to calm the doctor’s nerves. “Any ideas on what could cause this?”

  “This in general?”

  “The suckers. Those infected.”

  Johnson sighed and shook her head. “The infected’s behavior is like rabies. The aggression and irritability. The excessive movements and confusion. But that’s where the similarities end. I can’t explain the pale skin covered in red slashes or the cloudy eyes. I really need a test subject to take samples from.”

  “I had one in the truck. But I know where we can get another. I have some blood for you as well. Comes from a girl we picked up. One of my scientists found something odd in it,” Lisa said. “We’ll ditch this and try to find a less conspicuous vehicle.”