Roy looked at his messages: “Dear Roy, does this belong to you? -SP”
It was from Markie’s phone. Roy started to type a response when another message came through. It was a picture message.
It was an arm.
Markie’s arm.
Roy texted back, “I’m going to kill you.”
Roy waited for another message. Thoughts raced through his mind mixed with hatred, revenge, anger, and even validation. Peretti, the man who didn’t make mistakes. The man who pretended to be a victim despite his infamous reputation, was contacting Roy using his partner’s phone. He was toying with him. He believed he was untouchable.
This would change.
Clicking high heels echoed up the police station stairwell, the uneasy balance of a woman too high off the ground distracted him from his phone. The whore was coming.
Peretti must have sent her a message too
*******
Jake Oberhausen
9:48 p.m. (Mountain time)
Willard, UT
He wasn’t paralyzed. He wasn’t dead. The wind was knocked out of him, but everything else felt good enough. He wasn’t on the ground for long, maybe only a few seconds, before the loud explosions of Karl and John’s guns brought Jake back to reality. His neck arched up as he looked down at his wiggling feet. Doing this to make sure he wasn’t paralyzed made sense, at the time.
Between his moving feet, were two smaller feet facing downwards. Jake felt thin legs under his buttocks. There was a crackling sound as he adjusted himself.
Jake landed on the kid.
Jake rolled over onto his side and saw the pre-teen half planted into the soft dirt. He wanted to shout up to Karl and John, but their shots would have drowned out whatever feeble attempt he could make. He could barely breathe, let alone yell.
The grass was cool and slimy on Jake’s hands as he pushed himself off the ground. A heavy pain came from the left side of his chest. Probably a broken rib. Or ribs. He was lucky if this was the only damage he suffered after getting shot out a window. The kid broke his fall and he was able to survive.
It was hard to stand. The landing may have also given Jake a concussion, or any of the shots to the head, causing him to struggle to catch his balance. He fell forward in a tight circle, trying to stay on his feet. If he fell again, he feared one of the attackers may come.
The shooting stopped.
Jake tried to yell, but his voice only let out a small whisper, “I’m okay—” he said before falling onto his knees in a coughing fit. The pain on the left side of his chest was terrible, but it didn’t distract him from realizing how loud he was being. An attacker would hear him. There was no doubt. Jake’s only hope was they were all dead, but he knew that wasn’t the case.
He calmed down and rubbed his eyes as they adjusted to the night. Sounds of struggle in the master bedroom were in the background as Jake noticed several men standing at the front door. It was still too dark for him to distinguish their facial expressions, but Jake knew each held the exact same empty stare.
“Wa—“ he began, but cut himself off and turned to run down the driveway.
There were more people sprinting up the lane.
Jake planted his foot in the ground, just inches away from tripping over the boy, and ran towards the side of the house.
They were silent, but he knew they were coming. It was like he could feel their breath on the back of his neck. He knew that one false move, one bad step, would open the chance of them catching him. If that happened, then what? He couldn’t fight. There were too many of them. Jake would sprint with every ounce of his life, because anything less would lead to his death.
Jake ran towards the darkness and didn’t look back.
He turned around the back of the house and noticed the pale purple light shining out from the basement. He could either continue running, or hide inside. They were close, so his chances of avoiding their line of sight were slim, but he could make it back to the master bedroom and possibly back to Karl and John. If he kept running, where would he end? No more than just dead on the desert mountain. They weren’t going to stop.
The basement door was a flimsy piece of wood with an old handle. Jake nearly pulled it apart as he swung it open just enough to slide through. They were coming, but there was a chance they would have missed him. Subtle chance, but a chance nonetheless. The short stairwell was illuminated by the UV lights John used to grow his marijuana in the basement.
Jake locked the door from the inside and crouched down. Sounds of gunshots continued to ring from upstairs, the guys were fighting back. But now, Jake realized that he could be leading too many of the enemy towards them. It was better to protect them and not rush up the stairs, even if it meant putting himself in danger.
There was nothing to be seen outside. It was too dark from his vantage point, but Jake heard the attackers in the backyard, smelling the air like hounds. They knew he was close. They were coming. Jake was careful as he stepped back.
An attacker was not careful, he plowed through the basement door and knocked Jake down the remaining stairs.
His head bashed against the concrete floor at the bottom. A bright flash came. Jake’s consciousness began to wither as screams filled his ears. Not his screams, though. It sounded like a wounded animal. His vision faded, but not before he saw an attacker standing over him, with his face bubbling with black liquid.
*******
Marcel Reyes
0036 a.m. (Mountain time)
Salt Lake City, UT
Dr. Chatra filled the second vile carefully while watching the dusty-substance move downward with his mouth hung open. Who would have thought ash would have amazed a scientist? The old man held in his excitement while he worked, but his voice cracked as he answered Marshall’s commands, yes, sir or no, sir, several times. Reyes attempted to ignore him and focus on the surroundings, but the city was nothing more than a blank canvas.
Site Beta looked like someone dumped a pile of old burnt newspaper ash after everyone left. The substance didn’t do anything to Reyes’ boots, clothing, or skin. It still made him nervous though. It stuck to anything it touched, and it touched everything. Every few steps Reyes would sink deeper into the ground, as if the dust created potholes throughout the city.
“Sirs, if I may offer a change in plans,” Chatra said. He was the only person not to have an earpiece causing his voice to be barely audible. Reyes turned back to make sure he was speaking, he looked back at Reyes with urgency. He was no longer enjoying himself. “We have enough. Beta has sections with twelve inches of Grey Matter. I have filled each vile to the appropriate level for research.
Marshall spit on the ground. “There are three locations on my agenda, I don’t like changes, doctor.”
“Alpha will be a waste of time,” Chatra pleaded.
“No such thing. We move to Site Alpha.”
“Understood, Major Marshall, sir, but I am considering the fact of remaining exposed when we have what we’ve come for. The intention was to retrieve samples of Grey with a variety of depths. While location Alpha is unique, you would agree that—”
“I wouldn’t agree. If you’re finished with your objective, we still go to Alpha and examine the site. I’m not willing to pass up the opportunity to visit Ground Zero.”
“But sir…”
“Not a debate, doctor. You have your objectives, I have mine. You can walk back on your own or you can ride to Alpha. You decide now.”
“Sir, Mr. Mar—”
“When I get back in the Hummer, I’m headed to Alpha.”
Reyes looked back to Chatra, his shoulders slumped forward and his head hung low. Chatra was experiencing Marshall’s reputation of harsh arrogance. He was as flexible as a two-by-four. Anyone who stood in his way was likely to get slapped around. Even as an experienced servicemen, Reyes could see why Marshall was still active in the field. Chatra, like anyone else, was intimated by Marshall. He was large, both physically and in personality.
Chatra followed the soldiers, sulking. He was being overdramatic, but it was honest. He said under his breath, “We’re making a mistake. We can’t learn if we can’t see.”
“I like you more when you’re silent,” the soldier named Nino said. He looked to Marshall as if for approval to speak. Marshall’s men were passive puppies to their master, but wild animals to everyone else. Reyes would never fit in with the rest of them. Chatra bowed his head again and opened the passenger door.
Nino cut him off and sat in the front seat. “Back seat, doctor.”
Chatra didn’t argue, he slid in the middle of Reyes and Jordan, dejected and disappointed.
Marshall turned the ignition, the engine stuttered and stopped. “How the…” he turned again, this time an empty sputter. “I don’t believe this,” he said and looked in the rearview mirror at Reyes. “Marcel, you good with an engine?”
Reyes wasn’t good with engines. He was a pilot, an operator, an infiltrator, and an expert marksman, but his ability to fix a flooded engine was rusty. He could figure it out, he had before, but his skill level should not be the highest in the car. “Not my direct wheelhouse, sir.”
“Nino… nevermind.” Marshall shook his head. “Jordan?”
The bald headed soldier looked out the window and shook his head. “No, sir.”
Chatra cleared his throat. “Sir, the engine is not the problem.”
Marshall grunted at the doctor. “What say you, doctor? What’s the ailment this little tank is suffering from?”
Chatra didn’t answer. He was too intimidated. He was running on Marshall’s last nerve.
“That’s what I thought…. What say you, Nino?”
Nino ran his hands through his short Mohawk. A bull tattoo peeked from the back of his neck. There was something about him Reyes couldn’t stand. He looked at the idiot and wondered how many real battles he had been in. He also wondered why someone like Nino would accompany one of the most decorated soldier’s in American history. There was nothing about him signifying a capable operator.
Nino answered, “Sir, we’re walking to Alpha. Should we go to Omega first?”
Reyes was not aware of Omega. It wasn’t mentioned at any point before. There was Alpha, Beta, and Delta, but that was all. He and Chatra shared a look of concern. Here was Marshall talking about his distaste for changed plans, yet there were non-disclosed plans. Reyes didn’t like being in the dark. The same dark frightened Chatra.
“Good idea.” Marshall turned the ignition, again. “Go for it, son.”
A cocked pistol alarmed Reyes.
His eyes broke from Chatra’s just in time to see Nino’s gun.
Pointed at Reyes.
Nino pulled the trigger.
*******
Asher Blake
Late evening
Salt Lake City, UT
“You got it all wrong, though. I’m not super fast. That’s not my Pulse, at all,” Asher said. Mickey was finally asking for better clarification on why Asher gave him the light bulb. The conversation started out heated, which Asher expected, but it was finally moving towards being productive. Asher first wanted Mickey to understand the Pulse was never going to be simple. There was more to it than what the eye could see, and Asher found it vital for him to learn it on his own. Or, at least, have to ask.
His timing couldn’t have been much worse, though. The sounds from outside were distracting Asher from engaging in the conversation. There were rumbles of thunder, scratches against rock, and a steady rhythm that sounded like heartbeats. If Asher didn’t know any better, he would think the Wolves were trying to break it. He would have been able to tell, but Mickey was too emotionally charged to ignore. It was unlikely they were coming, especially after what Mona said earlier about humans being a bigger threat than Wolves, but Asher couldn’t help but listen. Humans might be a threat, but they weren’t the reason Salt Lake was burned down.
Asher continued, “This is what I wanted you to understand, the Pulse is never going to be about you. It’s not a simple, easy thing you can turn on or turn off. It’s deeper than that. The Pulse isn’t just inside of you, it is you. My Pulse isn’t super speed or strength. I’m fast, I’m strong, but the real power is my awareness.”
“Awareness?” Mickey scoffed. “That’s stupid.”
“The Pulse sounds dumb to those who try to understand it with a basic mind,” Mona added.
Asher didn’t let her continue, “I see things with a clear vision, hear every sound around me, taste the differences in the air, smell the salt in your sweat, and all of it combines to allow me to anticipate perfectly. It’s like my brain moves faster than anyone else. I’m not a genius like our old friend, Greg. I’m more like Rain Man.”
“Who?”
“Oh, come on!” Harry yelled.
*******
Major Wallace Stansfield
0039 (Mountain time)
Draper, UT
Wally was the highest ranking infantryman at the Provo Border Line. He originally reported to Provo because it offered the best opportunity to move up in rank. His previous commander said it would be shorter and safer than any tour overseas.
Yet, he didn’t feel safe driving towards the fiery city of Salt Lake. Before going into the Green Tent, Wally understood the tragedy of Salt Lake City to revolve around a gas leak and mass explosions. After he learned the truth; he and five thousand other soldiers would be infiltrating the terrorist encampment located in South Salt Lake City.
Commander Todd called them terrorists because there wasn’t another name that fit them. Terrorists cause terror, exactly what happened to Salt Lake. These were not your normal people, at least as far as Wally understood. They were more like wild beasts. Commander believed they were brainwashed.
They wiped out two hundred thousand people because they were soldiers with a total war mentality, which is to say, they didn’t stop eating when they were full.
Wally understood the command though, the mission was clear; kill them all.
There was no negotiation with mindless drones.
The armored bus stopped. Wally was in awe of the fog. The thickness gave him anxiety, he never thought he would see it up close.
Now, he was surrounded by the void.
Because the mission began immediately, Wally didn’t get to meet any of the other soldiers accompanying him. He looked around and saw unfamiliar faces. This long in the military, countless tours, and still he was surrounded by strangers.
Other than one.
PFC Hanson sat up front, quivering in his seat.
Commander Todd shouted, “Two miles outside of Draper, soldiers. We’re running the rest of the way, get your britches buttoned up and be ready to roll.” He walked out of the bus, continuing to yell out orders, “Field of vision is less than eighteen inches in front of you, stay tight to the man beside you, and don’t pull the trigger unless you see the blacks of their eyes.”
All of a sudden, Wally didn’t want to be there anymore. He was on the wrong side of the Provo line and realized this was far more dangerous than Qatar. As he walked out of the bus, the flat air cut against his cheeks. Thick pieces of ashy-fog fell onto his head and tickled as pieces stuck into his buzzed haircut. His boots were covered as he sank down through the flakes.
“Onwards and upwards, boys.”
They began jogging in unison. Their steps were quick, but quiet. Wally’s bus wasn’t the only one to stop, he passed over a dozen as they rushed through the fog.
The elements blinded everyone, this mission would only be successful if they listened for irregularities. Dangerous situations called for heightened senses. Wally would have to differentiate between his running steps, soldiers breathing, and impending threats. Men could hide, but they couldn’t stop breathing.
Wally knew this, but it still wasn't enough to feel confident. The potential of ambush by mindless men didn’t sit well.
As the soldiers jogged, Wally could hear distant echoes of more soldiers
.
They might be blind, but they were together.
*******
Marcel Reyes
0040 (Mountain time)
Salt Lake City, UT
Three hollow clicks.
Reyes looked down to his chest. Nothing. Reyes considered, for a moment, it was a sick joke. Nino was the kind of soldier who played dumb games in bad moments and thought it was a part of being a soldier. Guys like him always had a sick sense of humor. He wanted to believe it was immaturity.
Until he saw Nino staring at his gun in disbelief.
It was validation for Reyes to punch his face as he turned to look at Marshall.
As soon as he pulled his fist from Nino’s left cheek, Reyes unholstered his pistol and jammed it against the back of Marshall’s head.
Everything changed in a minute. Reyes went from being on the team, to being a target. Omega was a kill order.
Marshall raised his hands. “Wait.”
Nino’s eyes were wide as he stared at Marshall. He dropped his gun on the dashboard.
Reyes peered at Chatra and Jordan out of the corner of his eye. Their hands were up, as well.
Marshall continued, “Before you make a bad deci—”
Reyes interrupted him, “Shut your mouth! What is Omega?” He looked to Nino while holding his pistol against the soft flesh at the top of Marshall’s spine. Reyes could see the thoughts running through Nino’s mind, he meant to kill Reyes, because those were his orders. He failed his superior, his leader, his god, and became infuriated with himself. “Answer me!” Reyes shouted, still staring at Nino. The dog snarled at him.
“Alright, alright. Now hold on,” Marshall said, “you’re not the first man to put a gun to my head and make demands. Trust me, that’s not a club you want to be a part of. Drop the gun before I shove it down your throat.”
Reyes hammered his gun against Marshall. “Omega, what is it?”
“Liquidation of loose ends.” Marshall laughed and shrugged. “If it makes you feel any better, Omega isn’t just you. There are others on the list, including Dr. Chatra.”
Shadow and Shine (Book 2): Dark Divide Page 11