Table of Contents
BOOKS BY G. MICHAEL HOPF
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT
QUOTE
DEDICATION
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
EPILOGUE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
BOOKS BY G. MICHAEL HOPF
THE NEW WORLD SERIES
THE END
THE LONG ROAD
SANCTUARY
THE LINE OF DEPARTURE
BLOOD, SWEAT, AND TEARS
THE RAZOR'S EDGE
THOSE WHO REMAIN
THE VAN ZANT CHRONICLES
EXIT
NEMESIS
NEMESIS: INCEPTION
THE WANDERER SERIES
VENGEANCE ROAD
BLOOD GOLD
TORN ALLEGIANCE
THE WANDERER TRILOGY BUNDLE
THE BOUNTY HUNTER SERIES
LAST RIDE
OTHER BOOKS
HOPE with A. American
DAY OF RECKONING
DRIVER 8
DETOUR
A POST-APOCALYPTIC HORROR STORY
G. MICHAEL HOPF
Copyright © 2018 G. Michael Hopf
No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
For information contact:
[email protected]
www.gmichaelhopf.com
All rights reserved.
ISBN-13: 78-1725050037
ISBN-10: 172505003X
QUOTE
"The boundaries which divide Life and Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins."
- Edgar Allen Poe
DEDICATION
TO SAVANNAH
(Note from author: DETOUR is a rewrite and expansion of my best-selling Kindle Worlds novella, MOTHER. After the Kindle World program was discontinued, I decided to rewrite MOTHER and re-release it but under a new title as the book has dramatically changed. I have more than doubled the content and made changes to the overall story that was MOTHER making it a more complete book with depth and a backstory. I hope you enjoy. – G. Michael Hopf)
PROLOGUE
AUSCHWITZ, GERMAN-OCCUPIED POLAND
JANUARY 13, 1945
Dr. Josef Clauberg knew the end was coming, and fast, the second he heard the first Soviet artillery smashing into the German lines miles away. The reports flooding into their headquarters at the concentration camp were that the German army would hold the Russian advance, but Clauberg knew otherwise. After the Allied invasion in Normandy six months before, he had begun to prepare for his departure by making arrangements and creating a false identification.
Dr. Erich Clucks, his protégé and assistant for the past four years, burst through the front door. “It worked, Herr Doctor, it worked!”
Clauberg looked up from a box he was packing and asked, “It did?”
“Yes, Doctor, come, hurry!” Erich exclaimed, sweat streaming down his face.
The thumping of artillery echoed in the distance.
Erich looked out the smudged windows of Clauberg’s office and barked, “Doctor, we don’t have much time!” Erich turned and sprinted out of the office.
Clauberg dropped what he was doing and followed.
The two raced through darkened hallways until they entered a ward of the hospital kept under heavy security. Down the hall, Erich and Clauberg ran until they reached the last room on the right.
Clauberg paused before going inside. “Are you sure it worked?”
“Doctor, it did. This could help us in the war; we must get this information to the Fuhrer,” Erich exclaimed.
“Erich, the war is lost. We must look to ourselves now,” Clauberg said, touching Erich’s shoulder.
“But, Doctor…” Erich said, shocked by Clauberg’s words.
“Go to your office and gather your things. We’re leaving today,” Clauberg ordered.
“Doctor, I don’t understand,” Erich said, bewildered. “The German high command says the Soviets will be turned back before they arrive.”
“Lies, it’s all lies. The war was over the second the Americans landed in France. Now go, hurry, get your things and meet me at my office in fifteen minutes,” Clauberg said.
“But, Doctor—” Erich said, standing frozen in dismay.
“Go!” Clauberg barked.
Frightened, Erich turned and ran off.
Clauberg watched until Erich had disappeared. He opened the door and entered the examination room to find a woman chained to the wall. She was seething with anger and foaming at the mouth. “How are you?”
The woman charged at him but only got within a few feet of him before the chain went taut, causing her to fall backwards onto her back. She jumped to her feet and charged again.
Clauberg folded his arms. A tear formed in the corner of his eye. It had worked; he had done it. “You’re marvelous,” he said, pulling out his sidearm, a Luger P08 pistol. He slid the slide back, chambered a round, and leveled it at the woman’s head.
Once more, she ran at him with all her might, and once again, the chain proved too much. She fell back and landed on her butt.
Clauberg aimed his pistol and squeezed the trigger. The nine-millimeter round struck her in the forehead and blew out the back of her head.
She slumped forward dead, blood pouring out of the gaping wound in the back of her skull.
Clauberg holstered the pistol, ran to a side table, grabbed several syringes with vials and added anticoagulant to them, then went to the woman’s dead body. He injected the needle into the woman’s arm and drew blood until the vial was full. He repeated this several more times. When he was done, he placed the syringes into a leather satchel on the table and cinched it closed. He went to leave but stopped a foot from the door. He turned around, looked at the body of the woman, and said, “Thank you for your contribution.”
***
Back at his office, Clauberg found Erich waiting, a box in his arms.
“It was as I said, correct, Doctor?” Erich asked.
“It was, Erich, it was. Now do me a favor and call Obersoldat Heinz. Tell him I’m ready to leave,” Clauberg ordered.
Erich didn’t hesitate like before. He walked to the phone on the desk, picked it up, and dialed a single digit. The phone connected promptly.
“Yes, Herr Doctor,” Heinz answered.
“This is Dr. Clucks. Dr. Clauberg wishes to be picked up now,” Erich said.
“Yes, sir,” Heinz said then hung up.
“He’s coming,” Erich said.
“Good,” Clauberg said, hastily packing the last few items he needed, which included the satchel with the syringes.
A horn sounded outside.
“Time to go,” Clauberg said, picking up his box and rushing from his office with Erich close behind.
The two exited the building just as a succession of heavy artillery sounded. This time it was closer than before.
“That sounded like—” Erich said, loading his box into the car.
“Soon the Soviets will be he
re. No time to waste,” Clauberg said, climbing into the backseat of the car, his box cradled in his arms.
Erich got in next to him, his face displaying the fear and trepidation of the situation. “Are we abandoning our posts, Doctor?”
Heinz looked over his shoulder and asked, “Herr Doctor, are you ready?”
“Drive,” Clauberg barked. He looked at Erich and said, “Technically yes, but soon there won’t be a Nazi government or army that can prosecute us.”
The car sped off and out a rear gate that had been left open per Clauberg’s instructions.
“What about our years of work?” Erich asked.
“I saved it. In this bag I have her blood, and with it we can continue our work. Oh, she was perfect, she responded as we hoped; our only problem is time.”
“What will we do with it?” Erich asked.
Clauberg opened the satchel and removed a syringe. He held it up, admiring the blood that was contained in the glass vial. “We have lost this war, but with this we will live to fight another day.”
Erich gave Clauberg an awkward smile and asked, “Doctor, where are we going?”
“To South America, I have friends there.”
CHAPTER ONE
NEW YORK, NEW YORK
MAY 25, 2020
Natalie Atkinson was never a woman to shy away from challenges and had always taken pride in the fact she was always ready to take risks. She liked to claim it was this part of her personality that made her a successful dealer and purveyor of rare items and antiquities. She was one of the most sought after in her field, and it was because if given a job and the price was right, she’d find whatever someone wanted.
She approached the front doors of the restaurant but couldn’t find the strength to take her inside. She’d never found herself so undecided, but here she was unable to cross the threshold and close the deal.
“Is this right?” she asked herself, pacing back and forth.
Passersby ogled her as she talked loudly to herself, her hands and arms motioning as she talked.
“Ma’am, are you Ms. Atkinson?” the maître d’ from the restaurant asked sheepishly.
“Ah, yes, I’m her,” she replied, her eyes wide with panic.
“A gentleman asked that I come tell you that he’s waiting for you,” he said.
“Oh, yes, of course,” she said. “I’ll be right in, sorry.”
“Shall I escort you to the table, or will you be longer?” he asked.
“Um, well…” she answered. Catching that her tone and appearance seemed out of sorts, she was determined to remedy the problem. Standing tall and exhaling deeply, she continued, “You may escort me to the table, thank you.”
“This way, ma’am,” the maître d said, motioning with his arm to the front door.
She followed him through the dimly lit restaurant. The rich and savory aroma of meat filled the air. The distinct clang of crystal wineglasses and laughter sounded from the back of the restaurant, causing her to turn to see a small group of people celebrating. Was it a birthday? Or maybe an engagement? she wondered. The walk to her table was like a maze, but instead of tall shrubs, she navigated past small tables with pristine white tablecloths.
At the very back of the restaurant sat a single table nestled in a leather booth. A man scooted out and stood awaiting her arrival.
Natalie approached cautiously. In front of her was a man who would forever change her life, yet she’d never formally met him before.
“My dear Natalie, so nice of you to come,” the man said, holding out his hand.
Natalie smiled and took his hand. “Nice to finally meet you, James.”
James’ body was tall and muscular. Odd for someone who clearly looked as if he was in his mid to late sixties, maybe even seventy if she were to guess. “Please sit down,” James said.
“Thank you,” Natalie said, sliding into the booth.
James sat on the opposite side of the table and smiled.
The maître d’ stepped forward and said, “A waiter will be here shortly to serve you.”
Natalie smiled.
James didn’t even look at the maître d’; his attention was fully on Natalie.
The maître d’ walked off, leaving them alone.
“You’re late,” James said abruptly, his polite tone quickly changing. “I called, no answer. I texted, nothing. I finally was heading to the front when I saw you out front pacing back and forth. Is everything okay?”
Ashamed of her behavior and tardiness, she said, “I apologize, but after what I went through to get this, I’m going to have to change the terms of the deal.”
“What does that mean?” James asked, annoyed. He hated last minute alterations of business arrangements. He always found them to be a distasteful way of doing business, specifically if the person asking for the change had leverage.
“I need an additional two hundred thousand for the trouble—legal, mind you—I went through in Argentina.”
He’d had a feeling it was concerning money. Normally he would have scoffed, in his business life he would have thrown the person out, but this was personal, deeply personal. “Fine.”
“You’ll pay the additional amount to cover my troubles?” she asked, amazed that he agreed so easily. She then wondered if she went too cheap.
“So, are you ready to do business?” James asked.
Natalie pressed her eyes closed tightly for a brief second, opened them and said, “Yes, let’s do this.”
A waiter approached, “Good evening, my name is Steven. I’ll be serving you tonight. Can I start you off with a drink?”
Taking charge, James said, “A bottle of Dom, please.”
“Two glasses?” the waiter asked.
Natalie nodded. “Yes, please.”
“Very well, I’ll be right back,” the waiter said and rushed off.
“Dom is very nice,” Natalie said.
“I think there’s reason to celebrate,” James said, his tone shifting back to jovial.
The two exchanged small talk until the waiter returned with the bottle of champagne. Once they each had a glass, James said, “Here’s to finding rare and special things.”
Natalie touched his glass with hers and smiled. “Yes.” Natalie was always amazed by what collectors found valuable; some people would consider things trash, and others would see a thing of beauty.
The two sipped their drinks; then James got down to business.
“Do you have it?” James asked.
“I do,” Natalie said, nodding.
“I’ll just trust that it’s the real thing,” James said, his anxiety rising.
“It’s real, that I can tell you. I know my business, as I suspect you know yours,” Natalie replied.
“Can I see it?” James asked, his demeanor turning to that of a child.
She reached into her large handbag and removed a hard case. She unfastened a latch and opened the box to reveal three large vials of thick dark blood sitting nestled in dry ice. “Here it is,” she said, sliding it across the table to James.
James snatched it, his eyes wide with pure ecstasy. “It looks as if it were drawn just yesterday.”
Natalie smiled. She never understood people’s fascination with certain objects, and tried never to judge, but she was curious about it. “What’s the full story?”
“I don’t want to bore you, and if I did, you might find it a bit unsavory,” he replied. “When you said it had been discovered in a refrigerated storage facility in Argentina, I was thrilled and doubtful. Fortunately few even know about it, as Dr. Clauberg died shortly after arriving in Buenos Aires,” he said, his eyes fixed on the vials. He looked up at her and asked, “Can I touch it?”
She reached across the table, pulled the box back towards her, and closed the lid. “Not yet. When you make the transfer, then you can have it.”
James removed his mobile phone, sent a text, then put it back in his pocket.
The waiter returned. He took their dinner or
der and left.
“What will you do with the money?” James asked.
“First thing I’m doing is taking a vacation. I’ve got a nice spot picked out, a quiet place.”
“Where?” he asked.
With a sweet smile she answered, “That’s none of your business.”
“Fair enough,” he said, returning the smile. “I have to say, you are what they say you are.”
“And what’s that?” she quipped.
He folded his hands and answered, “As you know, I’m a collector of the unique, and after reading through some journals I had gotten at an auction, I was curious if the blood still existed. I imagined it didn’t, but I needed to know, I had to know. I asked around, I have good contacts, and your name came back several times.”
“And what do they say about me?” she asked.
“That you’re expensive.” He laughed. “And that you always find what someone is looking for.”
“I pride myself on it. It takes time, like this did, but it eventually showed up. I’ll say that I met some interesting characters along the way too,” she said.
“I bet you did,” he said. “You said you had to do some things that were, how did you put it?”
“Unethical,” she said, answering his question to her.
“What was that? I seemed to have paid for this unethical behavior; I have a right to know,” he asked, curious.
Detour: A Post-Apocalyptic Horror Story Page 1