by LC Champlin
“The chief said to take everything in the safe,” Buck responded. “It doesn’t matter why.” Swinging her weapon to her front, she moved to the door. “This dipshit was nuts. All the info’s on the hard drive or in some other hidey-hole. Wonder if the Feds did a cavity search? It might be shoved up his ass with his daddy’s watch.”
++++++++++++
Albin leaned close to Bridges’s ear. “Try to lead any gunmen that way.” He gestured northward.
With a nod, Bridges padded into the darkness.
Albin clicked the scarecrow’s torch on. Its beam lanced through the murk. Drawing his own torch, he slipped into the shadows southward. The dark covered him, bringing relief like a cool cloth on a fevered brow.
Ahead, a human silhouette emerged from the trees, holding a rifle at the ready and scanning his surroundings. Aiming his torch away from the intruder, Albin clicked it on. When the man paused in his patrol, Albin crept back toward the trap.
Cautious, the gunman proceeded. He crossed the light from the scarecrow’s torch. Like a rat, he dodged from its path.
“Police! Freeze!” Bridges’s voice rang.
Albin pressed his hands to his ears and his back to a tree.
Bang-BOOM!
Darkness turned to day for a heartbeat. The concussive force reverberated in his chest cavity.
Chapter 21
Possums in the Attic
Fireproof - Pillar
An explosion behind the house cracked like thunder. Nathan and Josephine jumped. Arg, rib! As he slapped a hand over the incision site, his foot slipped. Thunk.
“What was that?” Buck.
“Go check.” Sarge.
“Holy shit, fire! The trees are going up! That does our work for us.”
“Splash some lighter fluid on the furniture to be thorough.” His voice sounded fainter, as if he moved from the room.
Insulation back in place, Nathan clicked his P2X on. “Jo, we need that collection.”
Eyes narrowed, she nodded. “I’ll grab it. Get out of here.”
They started toward the stairs, then he slowed. A flush of anger spread up his neck and across his face as a tingle of primal dread slid down his spine. She saw him as a burden, as weak. His lip curled. Fucking pain making him weak, dragging his team down.
Ahead, the trapdoor swung down. A canister popped up through the opening. Thunk. Hisssss.
Tear gas!
++++++++++++
Albin trotted past the fire that the explosion had kindled, moving in the direction of Bridges’s last location. Flames multiplied in the tree canopies, transforming the flora into a giant’s torch. San Francisco’s drought conditions escalated wildfires into firestorms. A blaze in the city’s packed neighborhoods could repeat the San Francisco fires of 1906.
Dodging between trees, conflagration lighting his way, Albin exited what passed for woods. Ahead squatted a park facility building. Beyond and to the left, a playground shone under the beam of his torch, skeletal in the night.
“Is that you, Conrad?” Bridges whispered over the walkie.
As Albin reached for the radio, he flicked the light over the shrubs that grew like sentries about the facility. A figure peeled from the shadow of a bush on the southwest corner. Bridges.
“Hey, Albin.” He raised his hand to shield his face from the torch’s beam. “The car’s this way.”
+++++++++++
“Get out!” Nathan gasped to Jo.
Shirt up over his nose and mouth, eyes squeezed shut, he moved rightward. Humans relied on their eyes almost completely, forgetting their other senses. Listen: Footsteps on the ladder. Sarge? Feel: Joists under him. Insulation blocking his path. Readjust course.
If he risked opening his eyes to fire at Sarge, he’d instantly start tearing. If he made a blind shot, he might miss and give away his position. Firing would also draw attention from Sarge’s men.
Nathan’s lungs burned. The broken ribs had limited his earlier deep breath. Light from the intruder flashed around the attic, turning the blackness to pinkish gray through Nathan’s eyelids.
With his arms around his ribs, he dropped between the joists. Soft insulation, a hesitation, then—crunch.
The bed broke his fall. Stars sparked in his vision while fire flared along his sides. Then it faded to an ache. Thank God for oxycodone.
Boots on steps. Roll! He hit the floor. Handgun up, he dodged toward the door. Exiting via the front door meant dealing with sniper overwatch. But in the back yard waited the squad. That left the garage.
Where was Jo? The collection! Sarge needed to stay away from the office, then. But if he could take Sarge down, the rest of the team might fall. Nathan ducked into the kitchen.
One, two, three, four. Breathing again; oxy gave him control.
“I could kill you right now.” Sarge’s voice, soft, like he talked to an animal.
Nathan’s .45 sights hovered over a spot in the wall, hopefully in a straight line from the voice. Keep talking; he’d keep aiming.
“Are you a looter?” queried Sarge. “Did you take the hard drive?”
So long as no gunman came around the other side, Nathan stood a chance. What did the kitchen hold? There, two cans of corn and a bag of flour from Marvin’s rummaging.
“Anti-social, huh? Fine. Gentlemen, I found a possum in the attic.” A possum. Sarge didn’t know their numbers.
Nathan leaned around the kitchen exit farthest from the bedroom and lobbed a can behind the couch.
“Hide and seek?” Sarge took the bait.
Nathan stepped back to see left—and the black rifle that appeared around the corner. Dropping his CG, he pivoted, flinging the flour bag at the weapon. White exploded around Sarge.
Nathan darted into the bedroom. Boots pounded. Tucking his shoulder, he dove across the dry-wall strewn bed, rolled, landed in a crouch beside it.
Man and carbine swung around the corner, covering the window, then panning in Nathan’s direction.
One arm and a shoulder under the foam mattress, Nathan heaved it up. He threw his weight against the bed. Adrenaline and rage took control: he jammed the pistol’s muzzle against the shield’s center, a desperate man’s silencer. Bang. A crotch shot; Sarge’s vest would stop a center-of-mass hit.
A grunt from Sarge.
The mattress rammed toward Nathan. Staggering backward, he caught himself on the door jamb. One last shot into the mattress at Sarge’s head height, then Nathan dashed from the room.
He passed the kitchen as the mattress returned fire. Shit, why hadn’t he tried to Tase the bastard instead?
Josephine would have to fend for herself; she could outmaneuver them thanks to his distraction.
He wrenched the door to the garage open and threw himself through. On to the exit, past the DHS officer’s corpse that lay cold as meat in a butcher’s case.
Chapter 22
Fire, Burn
Matches - Mike Mains and the Branches
Nathan burst from the garage. Heat and light struck him, pouring from the inferno that crackled in the trees behind the houses.
Since gunshots drew attention, he deployed the wasp spray.
Movement from the right. A rifle’s eye of death appeared, with a ski mask behind it. Raid hosed the mask, Nathan’s trigger finger moving faster than the gunman’s.
As the prey shook his head and staggered back, Nathan caught the firearm’s handguard. Across whipped the XD-S. The satisfying thud of steel slide into temple followed. The bastard dropped to his knees with tears, snot, and drool streaming.
Nathan yanked the rifle—an AR—free. His foot snapped out to catch the enemy in the chest. With a groan, the masked enemy collapsed onto his back. The pistol slid into its holster in favor of the long gun. If Sarge emerged, he would stumble into a lead storm.
Snarling, Nathan raised the rifle for a butt strike. Wait. Should he let the bastard suffer the effects of organophosphate spray—vomiting, ch
oking, incontinence, seizures, coma—or should he end it? Beyond the fence, the fire climbed as if Hades called for a soul.
Howls rose, whined, sang. With a snap of his teeth, Nathan dropped his weight behind the strike. The trachea crunched. These pigs would feel his pain. Up, down. Crunch. Skull fractured into brain. Blood replaced mucus to stain the grass black in the firelight. Gurgling, the prey twitched.
Victory today would rise to Heaven as a sacrifice.
The AR shook in Nathan’s hands. Heat washed over him from the fire. One, two, three—Why did the howls continue? No, not howls. Sirens. Then silence fell.
After ducking into the one-point rifle sling, he opened the gate into the front yard with a now-steady hand. He ducked through the gate into the neighbor’s back yard.
Hugging the neighbor’s house, he crossed the lawn, but paused at the next gate to the front yard. Curiosity killed the cat, but it never hurt the wolf. Creak. One eye at the gap showed two cruisers at the intersection up the street. Officers exited.
Crack! The driver of the lead car collapsed over the hood in a spray of blood and flesh.
Swallowing past the tightness in his throat, eyes watering in the smoke, Nathan stepped back. Radio volume up, PTT: “Albin, do you copy?”
“Yes, sir. We located the target. It is in the direction of your home state.” North.
“Excellent. Watch for snipers. Out.”
“Of course. Out.”
A route through the park offered the best chance at reaching the north end of the street. Sarge’s possum encounter should bring the other pigs to investigate. Even if it didn’t, the fire would keep them clear of the area. Caution would guide him; God would guard him.
Time to bite the bullet—but not a sniper’s—and jump the fence into Brentwood Park behind the houses. He carried over two chairs from a convenient set of lawn furniture. One he set against the fence, the other he dropped into the grass on the opposite side of the fence.
Shit, this would hurt. Flames and gunmen provided motivation. Steeling himself, he heaved upward. A drop to the chair, then another to the ground.
Splinting his chest, he collapsed back against the fence. When he reunited with Albin, he’d take the other half of the oxy—No. He pushed from the fence, breath coming in a hiss. The last dose had almost made him make a fatal mistake.
The invaders found you anyway, the voice of opioid-induced comfort responded.
But not until after the gunmen served their purpose.
You outmaneuvered them thanks to pain control.
With enough adrenaline and motivation, he could do it without addictive, reality-warping drugs.
Control.
No.
The pill helped you be a predator, not a burden.
True, but . . .
Jim gave them to you for a reason. Use them. Breathe. Control. Win.
Smoke stung his eyes and sinuses, made him cough. Heat rolled from the blaze as flames licked up trees, feasted along fences, then leaped to the roof of Birk’s neighbor. Sparks flew on the columns of smoke that blended with the night sky. Crash! Fire burst from a side window of Birk’s house to stroke the roof with fingers of destruction.
Keeping the pistol ready but close to his chest, Nathan started west through Brentwood, away from the houses. Fire advanced, ever hungry, into the park’s basin. Ahead, flames spread over his path. They sucked up the air, filled the world with smoke.
The bullets were easier to dodge. He pushed to a speed-walk pace. A good sprint would come in handy about now, but so would a helicopter lift. At least the fire lit his way. Down through the exposed depression, then up through the two lines of trees behind the next row of Avalon houses.
Where the spit of trees narrowed ahead, the flames raced through the dead grass. Twigs on the lower branches burst into flame, fuses to the powder keg.
With a groan, he staggered to a halt. Both routes in flames? That left the fence. Hold on, a gate to the south broke the wall’s uniformity. He started toward it, deploying a steak knife he’d rescued from the kitchen. Maybe he could jimmy the lock.
“Stop! Drop the weapon!”
Chapter 23
Fass
Calm Before the Storm - Hollow Point Heroes
Fifteen yards down the fence line, a black rifle and its black-clad wielder emerged from behind a tree. “Put down your weapon.” Firelight writhed in his gasmask goggles.
Pulse ticking up, it drummed in Nathan’s ears. The man wanted him alive for the moment. “Get out of my way.”
Twenty feet beyond the enemy, something dark and low to the ground darted between the trees. Judge?
“I’ll call my dog,” Nathan grated, edging closer to the gate.
“That’s it.” The gunman leaned into his sights.
“Judge!” Nathan dodged behind the nearest tree. “Fass!” German for attack.
Ssssaaaahh!
Hisses chorused behind the gunman as two cannibals broke from concealment. Not Judge, then.
Nathan’s XD-S snapped up. Bang!
“Aahg!” The bastard fell to his knees as the bullet tore through thigh and femur.
Nathan moved to the gate. Locked. “Damn it!”
Several yards away, the cannibals flanked the fallen man. They learned quickly. What happened to the staggering, mindless revenants from yesterday?
Knife blade between gate and frame, Nathan sliced upward. Steel met steel.
Bang-bang-bang!—to the skull of the nearest cannibal. Too bad the second monster cared more about food than fallen friends. The pig-faced mercenary and the Dalit struggled in the dancing shadows.
Flames rolled closer—and glinted off two lock bolts.
Bang-bang-bang!
Gurgles, slurping—
Blade between the bolts, both hands gripping the top of the gate, Nathan hiked his leg up and stepped on the handle. Get the other foot over and . . . slide-drop.
More pain. No energy to move when he wanted to vomit from the fire in his sides, the smoke in his lungs, and the oxy in his blood. He leaned against the boards as the waves of nausea subsided.
Thud-scritchschritch. The wall shook, then rattled as something big and dark launched from the top to land in the yard before Nathan.
“Judge?” The Shepherd cocked her head, ears erect as she regarded him. “Hello, girl!” A grin broke across his face. The pain dropped from a nine to an eight. “Typical police,” he berated even as he fished in his pocket for the tennis ball. “Never around when I need you. Let’s get out of here, eh?” He tossed the ball in his palm.
Judge barked.
Pistol in his right hand, tennis ball in his left, he headed north up the deserted street. “No sense trying to get an Uber.”
The world seemed unreal, as if someone ripped it from the screen of a survival-horror game. Houses hunched together, pressing in on the street. They stood dark, either from the old air-raid blackout tactic or because their residents had evacuated earlier. Garbage fluttered across the street as the west wind shifted northward. To the right, flames lit the sky in the red of fresh blunt trauma.
With a shake of his head, Nathan spared a thumb and forefinger from his tennis-ball hand for the HT. “Albin, I’m on my way.”
“Very good, sir. Our immediate area seems to be clear.”
Albin’s voice brought a sigh of relief from Nathan. “Is Josephine with you?”
Pause. “I thought she accompanied you and the dog.”
Nathan swallowed past the dry, smoke-flavored lump in his throat. “I have the dog but not the newshound.” Hopefully she could take care of herself. She’d fought terrorists and played a significant role in their survival when they faced Cheel yesterday morning. Only yesterday morning? Chaos stretched time, made the days into years. “We’ll decide how to proceed when I arrive. Out.”
“As you say. Out.”
He needed to know how to proceed now. The Armory? The hard drive, magazines, and
cards, assuming they meant anything, required time and tech to decipher. Returning to house arrest wouldn’t further that endeavor. The Marine base or police station? Hah, see the previous argument. With some effort, he could locate a building with backup power and passable security. But effort took time.
“Tech, tech, all around.” He’d come here for a technology summit, and now he would kill for a basic computer-tower repair setup.
Chapter 24
Drug Deal
Painkiller - Three Days Grace
Nathan had passed four houses since leaving the park-turned-Hell. Just keep walking. Or limping. He flashed the P2X along the row of ’60s-flavored houses, each jammed next to its neighbor close enough to stir claustrophobia.
Movement ahead. A pale face. Then a flashlight beam washed over him before he could reach the nearby hedge.
“Mr. Serebus,” Albin called.
Nathan looked to Heaven in relief. “Thank God.”
“You sustained no new injuries, sir?” The blond slowed as he came within ten yards.
“I’ll pat myself down in a minute.” He could very well have caught a blade or bullet and not know.
“Was the mission accomplished?”
“That remains to be seen.” Nathan stepped forward to clap him on the shoulder, relieving any reservations Judge had about the newcomer. “Josephine was going to collect what the looters found.”
“We have yet to hear from her.” Albin’s jaw muscles twitched.
“She’ll turn up.” She had to.
“Yes, sir.”
Nathan lifted the AR sling over his head. “I brought you a souvenir.” Although he enjoyed the carbine, his ribs held other preferences.
“It is a sight better than a T-shirt.” Albin allowed a thin smile as he accepted the weapon. “I will retrieve the car. Do you have the keys?”