The shop appeared strangely untouched. Stacks of paper cups stood beside quiet machines filled with coffee that had long since gone bad. A few moldy prepackaged sandwiches rested in a display case. Dom tried another door at the back of the shop. When the handle wouldn’t turn, he bashed it with the stock of his rifle. The metal handle clanged and fell away. Dom nudged the door open, and the Hunters filed in. Wire racks of sugar packets, prepackaged pastries, and bottles of juice and water greeted them. They hungrily tore into the supplies.
Dom tried his comm link once more. “Huntress, this is Dom,” he called tentatively. Nothing. He tried the public channel that connected the Huntress, Frank’s AW109, and all the Hunters’ comm links. “Anyone out there? Dom here.”
Again nothing.
Meredith brought him a bottle of water. “You okay?”
Before he could answer, Meredith shook her head. “I know that’s a stupid question. Your daughters, the ship...”
“Won’t know if I’m okay until we hear from them,” Dom said. Anxiety was killing him, but he couldn’t show it now. Not when his team was relying on him. He needed to stay alive, needed to keep his team alive, if there was going to be any chance of finding Kara and Sadie.
Dom let the Hunters finish packing as much food and water as they could. Glenn gave Spencer another shot of heavy painkillers.
Dom led the weary group out of the storage room and into a concrete-floored corridor that serviced all the ground-floor shops. He spotted an exit sign and pushed the door open. Beyond it, he found a staircase. They followed it up, their rifles bristling all the way. He placed his hand on the door handle and steeled himself for what he was about to see, then opened the door.
Warm sunlight danced over them again as the group spread out on the rooftop of the building. They were overlooking the National Mall from the south. The Capitol Building stood to their right. Ahead of them rose the towering Washington Monument, and to their left were the various war memorials leading to the Lincoln Memorial and the Tidal Basin.
There was a new memorial spread out across the vast green lawns of the Mall, a tribute to a war still ongoing. Scattered military vehicles were strewn about. Corpses—Skulls or humans, it wasn’t all clear from their vantage point—were scattered everywhere. Smoke plumed from the windows of the domed Capitol Building, and fires still burned near vacated military barricades. There were no sirens. No sounds of gunfire. No cries for help. Just the occasional howl of a Skull. Masses of the creatures lingered in the streets. Dom figured they’d devoured all the prey they could, cleaned the city out of all but its most stubborn human inhabitants. The creatures had nothing left to eat and were wandering aimlessly until some poor soul got their attention.
Dom wouldn’t let that soul be one of his Hunters. From what he could see, taking the metro tunnels south would be their best bet for survival. They’d gathered enough supplies for now to tide them over. Escape would be their next priority.
A hiss of static came over his comm link. “What was that?” Renee asked.
The comm links hissed again. A muddled voice broke through, but Dom couldn’t recognize it.
Another hiss, crackling static, then, “Dom, this is Adam. Do you read? Dom, this is—”
“Adam!” Dom said. A million questions flooded through his mind. He tried to remain cool, but he was afraid of what answers he might have. “Glad to hear a familiar voice. Can you give me a sitrep on the Huntress?”
“Neg—” Static. Then the words came through clear. “Negative. Sorry, Dom. Had to modify an old comm link with a new antenna for better range. Wasn’t easy.”
“The Huntress, Adam. Are you all safe?”
“I’m not on the ship. It was taken by the US military.”
Dom’s stomach twisted, and his thoughts turned dark for a second. The other Hunters stared at him, worried looks on their faces. “What about my girls?”
“They’re safe.”
An enormous deluge of relief overcame Dom at that simple phrase. A storm of worries still plagued him, but the knowledge his daughters were safe was like a lighthouse’s beam piercing a relentlessly dark night, showing him a path of hope. “Can I talk to them?”
“Of course.”
There was a beat of silence. Then, “Dad?”
“Kara! How are you?”
“I’m okay,” Kara said, almost breathless. “Sadie’s here with me. Navid and Maggie, too. We made it off the ship thanks to Adam.”
“We escaped, Dad,” Sadie piped in. “On a boat!”
“He got you all off the ship before it was taken?”
“Yeah, he did.”
“Remind me to tell him he deserves a raise.”
“There’s something else, Dad,” Kara said.
“What? What is it?”
“We think we found a molecule that can work in a vaccine. Something to stop the Oni Agent.”
Dom wanted to be overjoyed at the news, but he feared a computer simulation of a molecule was worthless when they had no facilities or means of producing that vaccine. Still, it gave them hope for a future. And nothing could overshadow the relief of hearing his daughters’ voices. “That’s great, sweetheart. Where exactly are you?”
“Mount Vernon!” Sadie said cheerfully. “Remember the chickens from last time, Daddy? And you bought me that ice cream? Remember?”
“Where are you?” Adam interjected.
“We’re in Washington. If you all are safe, I want you stay there,” Dom said. The Hunters were already adjusting their packs and rifle straps. This would be the second time Dom traveled across the Skull-infested country to reunite with his daughters. “We’ll come to you.”
“Then what, Captain?” Adam asked.
“Then we get our goddamned ship back.”
The End of Book 3
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Need something to read while you wait for the next Tide book? What follows is an excerpt from Malignant, the second book in the Black Market DNA series. The book can be read in series or as a stand-alone.
MALIGNANT (Black Market DNA)
Baltimore, MD
June 4, 2059
Christopher Morgan’s comm card projected a red flash of light, alerting him to an incoming call. He scooped up the card from his coffee table on the way out of his Baltimore condo.
“Veronica?”
“Hi,” she said.
He stepped out of his condo and tugged the door tight behind him. The lock engaged automatically, but he checked it every time he left. It was impossible to shake the feeling someone might still be after him, someone might still want him dead. Instinctively, he massaged the thick scar tissue on his sides. Each sliver of stiff white skin reminded him of how close to death he had come in the Fulton State Penitentiary when he’d found himself on a hit list. “What’s up?”
“Just calling to say hello.”
“You’ve been calling just to say ‘hello’ quite a bit,” Chris said. “I can’t say I’m entirely disappointed to hear from you, but if I recall correctly, you agreed we couldn’t make it work again.” She had disappeared shortly after the break-in at her apartment, and he hadn’t heard a word from her for weeks until she showed up at his place unannounced. And when she left him that day, he was certain he’d never see her again. Probably the last time he would ever speak to her. He didn’t blame her. His involvement in the enhancement trade had led to her torture and near-death experience.
“I’m not trying to
get back together with you,” she said. “Besides, that joke’s getting old.”
Chris bounded down the stairs. The leather shoulder bag he carried bounced against his side. “All right. But it’s seven in the morning, and I’m on my way to work. You’re going to have to give me a good reason why I’m talking to you right now.”
“I couldn’t sleep again.”
His heart sank. He knew what that meant. She’d been plagued by the nightmares again, the visions of the men storming into her apartment. “I’m sorry.” Saying it sounded weak and insufficient.
“You’re the only one I can talk to. No one else understands.”
“I know.” He paced in the small lobby of his building. The morning sun beat through the expansive windows and provided him a sample of the summer heat he’d face outside. “I’m sorry, Vee.”
“It’s not your fault.”
She said that same thing every time. And then he’d tell her it was his fault. He was an idiot to ever think he and everyone he knew would emerge unscathed from the world of crazed enhancers and the enigmatic organizations providing them their genetic delicacies. “I wish I could help,” he said. He held the comm card away from his face to check the time. “But Jordan and I have a meeting.”
“Ah, I wouldn’t want to be the one to keep you from making your company a success,” she said. “What’s going on?”
“A rep from Caninex is coming to discuss purchasing our technology.” He sighed and stepped outside. As he sucked in the thick air, beads of perspiration formed across his forehead. He didn’t want to ignore her by switching their conversation’s focus to his work. “Look, aren’t there any support groups, anyone that can help you? Hell, couldn’t you use a neuromod therapy to forget about it? A quick pill and all that can be a thing of the past.”
“Not an option,” she said.
“Why?”
“I can’t—”
A hand grabbed Chris’s shoulder. He dropped his comm card, and it clattered on the sidewalk.
“Christopher Morgan,” an unfamiliar man said. Blood vessels lit up his eyes in red spider webs, and mottled purple stains covered his face like an enormous bruise. “You’re Christopher Morgan.”
Chris took a step back and scooped up his comm card. The call with Veronica had been lost. “What do you want, buddy?”
Despite the unrelenting heat, the man wore a baggy hooded sweatshirt and oversized sweat pants. He appeared as large as a mountain, a brute of a man, most likely an enhancer who’d modified his DNA for increased muscle mass and strength. A mix of body odor and a metallic scent drifted from the man. He grabbed Chris’s lapel. “I want you to fix me.”
Chris swiped the man’s swollen hand off his suit jacket. Catching another whiff of the man’s scent, he stifled a gag. “I’m not sure who you are, but if you want someone to fix you, I’d suggest a hospital.”
“I can’t,” the stranger said, his eyes wide and his bloated lips quivering. He pulled the hood off his head. Scraps of dry hair sprouted in patches from his scalp. Crimson and purple splotches covered his skin.
Chris took another step back. “You need a doctor.”
The man shook his head and trembled. His body convulsed, and he fell to the ground.
For a moment, Chris froze. He stared at the shaking man until his thoughts clicked into gear and he dialed emergency services. “Yes, I’ve got a guy who looks like...he’s dying.” He knelt next to the stranger.
The man writhed and moaned on the sidewalk. He grabbed at his chest and pulled on his sweatshirt.
“What’s wrong?” Chris asked, his voice panicked now. “Did you take something? Did someone hurt you?”
The man yelled out. A woman leaving her apartment across the street sprinted toward them, her blond hair bouncing in waves. “What the hell’s going on? Did you call an ambulance?”
“Yes, of course I did,” Chris said, scowling.
The attack seemed to abate as the man opened his eyes. “This is your fault. You did this.” He panted and coughed.
“What did you do to him?” The woman leered at Chris.
He held his hands up to placate her. “Nothing. I don’t even know this guy. I have no idea what’s going on.” He tried to believe the statement, but his heart sank. Was this his fault? Was he somehow responsible? If the man was an enhancer...
The man arched up on the sidewalk and groaned in agony again. His fingers tore into his sweatshirt, and he pulled the fabric apart as if he ripped a sheet of paper.
The woman stumbled backward, her hand over her mouth.
“Oh, my God,” Chris said. The man must have been an enhancer. There was no other explanation for his inhuman strength.
As the sick man cried out, he shredded away the cotton remnants of his sweatshirt. His bare chest revealed muscles swollen and bulging like balloons ready to pop. The skin over his pectorals and abdominals shared the same mottled appearance as his face and scalp.
“What the hell?” The woman shot a frightened look at Chris. “What’s going on?”
He felt sick. His stomach twisted in knots as he pressed his palms into his forehead. “He’s an enhancer. Something’s gone wrong.”
“An enhancer? Good lord.”
The man bellowed. More bystanders trickled out of neighboring apartments. Chris could feel eyes watching the scene from windows all down the street. He shook his head, unable to believe what he was seeing. The wail of an ambulance screamed, and the emergency vehicle spun around the corner. An ambulatory drone flew ahead of it, loaded with medical supplies and lights flashing to help clear the way. He flagged the emergency vehicle down.
The bulbous man coughed, his head cranked to the side, and blood streamed out of the corner of his mouth. His eyes wrenched open, and he caught Chris’s gaze. The man’s nose quivered into a snarl. “You...did...this.” He pointed at Chris. His arm trembled with the effort. “Your...work...your fault.”
The ambulatory drone landed nearby, opening its shell to reveal a host of emergency equipment. Paramedics rushed past the woman and knelt by the man as another convulsion took him. His entire body shook as if electricity coursed through his bones. Blood vessels dilated and throbbed underneath his skin and over his grotesque muscles. One of the paramedics tried to roll the man to his side and secure the enhancer’s head as he seized. With a yell, the enhancer swung his arm. It collided with the paramedic’s chest and sent her flying backward. She sprawled across the black asphalt behind the ambulance.
Chris ran to her. “Are you okay?”
When she didn’t answer, the other paramedic glanced between the enhancer and his compatriot. He grabbed a medical pack from the drone, jumped to his coworker’s side, and checked her pulse.
“You’ve got to call another ambulance,” Chris said, pointing to the neighbor who had joined the scene earlier.
Her face still pale, she nodded and pulled her comm card from her purse. “We need another ambulance,” she barked into it. “Yes, I know one was sent. You need to send another! Send the police, too!”
Chris combed his fingers through his hair. He was not interested in getting involved with the police. If this enhancer accused him of being responsible for whatever the hell was happening, Baltimore PD would certainly have a few questions.
He knelt by the bruised, convulsing man. In the back of his mind, he’d always wondered if the gene mods he sold had ever caused any negative side effects in their users. Potential evidence of his worst fears writhed in pain before him. He reached out, his arm shaking in trepidation, and he slowly approached the enhancer. He wanted to help, but he didn’t want to end up unconscious like the first paramedic.
The man’s seizure passed, and he lay panting on the concrete.
“Can I help? Can I do something for you?” Chris didn’t expect a response, but he felt useless watching the man shake uncontrollably. He placed a hand on the man’s shoulder, where his shirt was torn to shreds. Heat radiated up from the enhancer’s body and into Chris’s
palm.
The man’s eyes bulged. His muscles undulated like ripples of water from a stone thrown into a pond. “Fix me,” he said in a raspy voice. “Fix this.”
“I want to,” Chris said. “I really do, but I’m not a doctor. Tell me your name, something so I can find you later. I promise I’ll make this right.”
The enhancer said something, but his words fell flat and weak. Chris leaned in closer. Erupting into a coughing fit, the stranger spewed blood.
The spray hit Chris on the side of his face. He leapt back. He repressed the urge to vomit and wiped the warm liquid with the back of his hand.
“God, are you okay?” the blond-haired woman asked.
“It’s not my blood,” Chris managed to say between gags. He knelt next to the enhancer again and placed a hand on the man’s swollen shoulder. “Stay with us.”
The now-familiar sound of sirens screamed down the street. Another ambulance tailed a police car. Two officers rushed from their vehicle toward Chris and the quivering enhancer. Another three paramedics bounded behind them. A steady stream of pedestrians gaped and pointed at the scene. Several took holovideos with their comm cards.
Chris shook his head and tried to avoid showing his face to the cards. He didn’t need this kind of publicity. Not now.
He pulled his own card from his pocket. Two missed calls from Veronica showed, but that would have to wait. Scrolling through his contacts, he placed a call.
“Hello? Chris?” the smooth voice answered.
“Hey, Jordan. I don’t think I’m going to be there in time for the Caninex client.”
“Why?”
The enhancer jolted to his feet and reared back. Every vessel in his body protruded against his reddening skin. He yelled out an anguished cry as his entire body quaked. Each muscle flexed, pulling against the others in contrary movements. It appeared as if the man’s muscles were tearing from his bones. Skin peeled and tore in wide trenches. With another bellow, his head lolled back, and he fell to the ground with a sickening thud. The enhancer lay motionless, dead.
Chris let his comm card slip from his fingers, and a hush descended over the onlookers for a brief moment before screams pierced the humid morning air.
The Tide (Book 3): Salvage Page 26