Ways of Darkness (Wolves of the Apocalypse Book 2)

by LC Champlin

  The conditioned response of honoring requests kicked in and she lowered the BB gun.

  “You have good taste in bands, by the way,” he slid in before she could realize her error.

  “Thanks! I love Jinxx—”

  “Mom, we should listen to him.” Thirteen Going on Thirty retracted her polearm. “He stuck his neck out to help Zander.”

  “Taylor—”

  “Amanda.” Nathan raised his hands again. “My friend is out there, in danger. We came here because we wanted to bring supplies to your neighborhood, but our truck ran over wreckage and got two flats. We walked here to see if anyone could lend us a vehicle. I’m concerned that—”

  “The bad guys will steal your water,” Little Rocker supplied, grinning at her insight. “We heard you talking. Mom.” She turned puppy-dog eyes on her mother. “We’re almost out of bottled water. We’re gonna have to start drinking the La Croix.” She made a face of distaste.

  “Denver . . .” The bat lowered an inch, then dropped to Amanda’s side. She sighed. “Go ahead, Nathan. You can’t be with those bast—” She caught herself. The Red Devil Goats, no doubt. “Those raiders if you helped Zander.”

  “They are bastards, Mom,” Taylor agreed.

  Hand already in his satchel, Nathan withdrew the HT. “Albin, do you copy?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Distract the cannibal. I’ll be right behind it.”

  “If you are certain.”

  “I am.”

  “As you wish.”

  Nathan clipped the radio to his belt.

  “Um, here.” Taylor held out the spear, tip up.

  He accepted it. “Taylor, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Thank you; this is perfect.”

  Cheeks reddening, she smiled.

  Outside, Albin emerged from behind a sculpted hedge. He banged on the nearest vehicle’s hood. “Over here!”

  The cannibal spun. A moment to assess the new prey, then it began to stalk toward Albin.

  Click-click. Unlocked. Nathan swung around the door frame, spear cocked. Three yards to the target—

  “Jen!” The Dalit and Nathan turned toward the man’s voice. A thirty-something yuppie in a polo shirt and cargo shorts dashed around the corner of Zander’s house. “Get away from my wife!”

  Nathan backed up a pace, opening distance on the cannibal. The plot thickened.

  Across the street, Albin edged behind the Hyundai Genesis he’d used as a war drum a moment ago. Nathan nodded.

  “Jen, honey,” the deluded husband persisted, approaching her slowly with hands out. “Come back into the garage.”

  The Dalit stopped, watching him.

  “You’re sick. We’ll get you help. They’ll find a cure. I promise.” The sun glittered in a tear as it tracked down the man’s cheek. “Honey, come back.”

  Well fuck. Don’t think about this situation happening with Janine. As much as seeing a husband lose his wife to the infection ached, seeing Zander orphaned in this hellish new world cut to the bone. Above that, this situation could benefit Nathan’s mission here.

  The former Jennifer took a step forward.

  “That’s right, come on.” The husband forced a smile of reassurance while misery churned in his eyes.

  Then the monster’s torso tipped forward into the hunting lope.

  Chapter 69

  Man and Cannibal

  Vicarious - Tool

  Bracing himself and gripping the neck of the weeder above the point, Nathan raised it like a bat. A plastic tricycle clattered to the concrete between husband and former wife. A distraction, courtesy of Albin.

  “Hey!” Nathan yelled.

  Instinct overcame matrimony: the man retreated to the knee-high fence. “That’s right, Jen, just—”

  The cannibal lunged—just as the man’s legs hit the fence and his body continued backward. Jaws missed his throat by a foot. The claw slash went high, but body collided with body. Momentum carried the monster over and off him.

  Nathan hopped the fence, bringing the weeder down with the full weight of his landing across the—scapula, not head. Fucking cannibal reflexes. The blow knocked the creature to the ground, but the Dalit rolled to all fours, crouching like a toad.

  Albin trotted up, flanking the enemy while wielding a garden rake. Steel tines aimed for the enemy’s skull.

  “Disable only!” Nathan moved in for another strike.

  Two garden tools were better than one: they both collided with the rear of the cannibal’s head. Its ponytail whipped at the blows’ power. Flesh sheared from bone. Blood flowed from the skin flap’s ragged edges. Though the monster twitched, it stayed down.

  Nathan and Albin backed to medium range, implements raised.

  “Jen!” Gaping, the husband scrambled toward the cannibal they had rescued him from.

  “Stop.” The weeder’s sharpened V snapped up between him and the former soccer mom.

  Rake ready, Albin shifted closer to the man in case he required subduing.

  Jen’s husband stared at them. “W-what did you do? She was coming to me! Now she might have brain damage!”

  “She was coming to kill you,” Nathan clarified. And her frontal lobe likely had the consistency of a crouton.

  “Jeremy.” Amanda hurried up, a length of clothesline in her left hand and the slugger in her right. “The news says to stay away from them.”

  “She’s my fucking wife, Amanda!” Jeremy bawled, arms spread. “Then these bastards had to come and kill her!”

  “She is still functional.” Albin motioned for Amanda to toss the rope over. She did, and he began tying a loop.

  “Functional? Functional?”

  Amanda grabbed Jeremy’s arm—and held on despite his attempt to shake her off. “Jeremy, she jumped right at you.”

  “She wasn’t going to hurt me. She couldn’t hurt me. W-we love each other.”

  Was the deluded idiot suicidal? “She doesn’t understand love anymore. All her cognitive power is focused on spreading her infection.” Hadn’t Jeremy watched any zombie movies?

  “You don’t know that!” Jeremy’s rage crumbled into despair. “You don’t.” Then he resumed his delusion: “Have you seen someone with this . . . condition hurt somebody they loved? Well? Have you?”

  “I never waited to experiment.”

  You never have seen it, have you. The voice of doubt dripped in the back of Nathan’s mind. Have you? Have—

  “Then you don’t have any proof.”

  “I’m capable of recognizing danger. Stand back.” Leveling the spear at Jeremy, Nathan watched the cannibal as Albin slid the loop down the rake handle, around the threat’s neck.

  “Do not touch any of the fluids,” the adviser warned.

  Amanda darted forward to help tie the cannibal’s hands. “Jeremy, you’ve had her in the garage this whole time?”

  “Where else was I supposed to keep her?”

  Albin ran the rope around the brick pillar that formed an entry arch over the sidewalk. He leaned a hip against the rope and dragged the cannibal to within a yard of the support. Then he tied the line off on a sapling.

  “Jeremy.” Nathan sighted down the weeder at him. “You’re perfectly welcome to keep cannibals in your barn or garage or dog house, but the lives they take will be on your head.”

  Amanda picked up the thought: “She almost attacked Zander, your son. If these guys hadn't shown up, who knows what would have happened?”

  “You would be mourning two family members now.” Albin minced no words.

  Now that the danger had subsided, neighbors began poking their heads from their doorways like prairie dogs emerging after a hawk strike. Then again, better that they stayed indoors and provided fewer targets for the cannibals.

  A white Acura MDX barreled around the corner and bore down on the assembled. Braking hard, it came to a rocking halt. A middle-aged woman stepped out. She
held a vague resemblance to Meryl Streep: blonde hair, high cheekbones, close-set eyes, air of entitled authority.

  “What’s going on here?” she demanded. “Who are these men?”

  Chapter 70

  Take Me to Your Leader

  The Vengeful One - Disturbed

  The Redwood Shores residents shuffled their feet, shrugged, looked at each other or into middle distance.

  Nathan stepped forward, but Amanda spoke up. “Carolyn, it’s okay. They saved Zander and Jeremy from . . . from Jennifer.” The name came out in a murmur.

  “What?” Carolyn looked at her second in command, then to Jeremy. “My God.” She stiffened at the sight of the bound and bloodied monster, but she otherwise maintained her air of command.

  It came as no surprise that Carolyn had assumed the role of neighborhood den mother, verging on matriarch. This type of person wouldn’t lie down and show her belly for a band of raiders.

  “She’ll be all right!” Jeremy scrambled up, stationing himself between Carolyn and his pet cannibal. “They’ll find a cure. The government promised.”

  “Mr. Nelson. Jeremy,” she began in a controlled tone, “I know you want to help your wife, but you have to keep her . . . safe. Even if she doesn’t hurt anyone else, she might hurt herself. It seems she already did. That head wound needs attention.”

  “I’d take care of her if you people would let me.” Teeth bared in outrage, Jeremy glared at his rescuers.

  As he spoke, Amanda pulled a hand towel from her back pocket. She inched up to the Dalit until she could drape the cloth over Cannibal Jen’s scalp wound.

  “Someone who’s been watching too many horror movies may even try to kill her,” Carolyn resumed. “There have been reports of that, as you’ve heard.”

  “Yes.” Jeremy whipped about to point a rigid arm toward Nathan. “Like these bastards!”

  “Ms. Carolyn.” The weeder slid behind Nathan’s back as he cut in. “I’m Nathan. This is Albin.”

  “Ms. Carolyn.” The blond inclined his head.

  “These . . . affected are extremely dangerous.” Nathan rested his free hand on his radio. Switch channel, click-click, click-click-click, click-click on the squelch.

  “Treat it as a case of rabies,” Albin supplied. “The subject no longer recognizes his or her loved ones, instead acting with aggression toward anyone nearby.”

  The tribe’s leader looked both newcomers up and down. “I’m concerned about everyone’s safety, including the people who suffer from this infection.”

  “Commendable.” Nathan nodded. “Ma’am, my friend and I originally came here to deliver supplies, but our truck is out of commission. We need transportation to get them before looters do.”

  “Supplies from whom?” No fool, she maintained a healthy skepticism in the face of desperation.

  “Woodside took up a collection, so to speak. Good neighbors make good communities. Right?” He clapped Albin on the back.

  “Quite so,” the attorney responded, returning the gesture.

  Above, out of sight, the Goats’ bird watched. Signal sent and hopefully received.

  “Oh.” Remnants of the skepticism remained in Carolyn’s stiff posture.

  “Mama!” The front door of the Nelson’s house burst open. Zander. His shoulder-length brown hair bounced as he hurtled toward the cannibal.

  “Zan, no!”

  Before Jeremy could reach the boy, Zander tripped over the handle of Albin’s rake. Albin caught him by the back of the shirt and let momentum carry them in a 180-degree turn.

  Over the child, Albin and Nathan met gazes.

  Jeremy moved in to snatch his son. Restraining him in an embrace, he murmured, “Mommy needs to rest, okay, Zan? You can’t hug her right now, ’cause you’ll get sick too.” The man’s voice broke. He squeezed his eyes shut.

  “How do we know you’re not from those raiders?” a male voice called from the rear of the audience.

  The crowd murmured in agreement.

  “We—”

  “Eduardo,” Amanda interrupted, “they wouldn’t risk their lives for us if they were with them.”

  “This could be a trick.”

  “They’re giving us supplies!” She raised her arms in exasperation.

  “That’s the opposite of raiding,” put in Taylor, who had crept up beside Amanda.

  “Taylor, get back inside.”

  The girl ignored her mother’s shooing. “Hasn’t anybody heard the news? They don’t know when the power will be back on. The stores are out of food. We’re almost out of bottled water. The tap water isn’t drinkable, and they’re rationing it anyway. We have to take a chance on them.” She motioned to Nathan and Albin. From the mouths of tweens . . .

  Nathan graced her with a smile. “Thank you, Taylor. Carolyn, can you give us the benefit of the doubt?”

  A beat passed as the den mother regarded the newcomers. “I’ll give you that, but no more. These are dangerous times.”

  “We only have a few hours before sunset.” Nathan pointed to the west. The third sign for the Goats. “But that should be enough if we go now.”

  A V8 turbo diesel engine gunned in the distance. The residents exchanged glances. Then three tons of silver Ford Superduty F-250 Lariat rumbled into the intersection. It towed a white, unmarked 6x12 enclosed trailer. Tinted windows hid the occupants as the pickup turned right, then backed toward the clutch of residents and the Acura.

  Chapter 71

  To Serve Mankind

  Glory - Hollywood Undead

  The driver’s door swung open. A thug in a basketball jersey and crotch-dragging cargo pants jumped to the pavement. Over the jersey he wore a black plate carrier. Shades, a baseball cap, and a gray bandana with images of chains wrapping around it concealed his features. Caucasian, maybe mid twenties by the build. His semi-auto handgun came along to cover the locals.

  Nathan and Albin eased toward the front of the herd under the auspices of getting a better view.

  “Yo, whatcha all standing around like fucktards for?” The thug sauntered to the end of the trailer. “You got a couple choices here. You can bring us your shit: food, water, alcohol. Or some of you—the kids and hot bitches—can volunteer as payment.” Pause. An appropriately dramatic delivery so far, judging by the civilians’ stunned silence. “Y’know, we’re being real nice here. We could gun ya all down on the spot. We could roll in and throw you in a shipping container. But see, we’re givin’ you the chance to be productive members of our society.” He swung the weapon’s sight across the group. “You’re like our cows, get it? You keep producin’ and we won’t turn you into hamburger!” He yelled the last word, drawing a flinch from the front ranks. Except for Albin and Nathan.

  “We don’t submit to criminals,” Carolyn announced, her voice carrying as well as the invader’s. She stood beside her SUV, straight and proud like an aristocrat.

  Nathan took a stride forward, separating from the sheep. “If you take these people’s supplies, they’ll die.”

  “You saying there ain’t no shit left? You’re broke-ass fuckers?” The raider looked them over, shades flashing in the afternoon sun.

  Amanda spoke up: “You took most of our food and water yesterday.”

  “Yeah, you’re right.” The thug held his arms out in exaggerated surrender. “In that case, we’ll take a volunteer from the audience.”

  No one moved.

  The passenger door slammed, and his cohort, similarly equipped and attired, joined him.

  “Guess that means ya want me to pick. Let’s see, I choose . . . her.” The first bastard marched toward Taylor.

  “No!” Amanda threw herself between her daughter and the gang member.

  “Whatcha gonna do about it, bitch?”

  Stance shifting to defensive, Nathan looked about. “There are twenty of them and two of you. They’ll be at your throats before you can shoot more than three of them. That is, if you even k
now how to use that weapon.”

  “Them?” Chainface gestured with the pistol. “Them fucks are a herd of fucking sheep! They’ll be tripping over their feet to turn ass and run the second the shit hits the fan.”

  Albin moved to Nathan’s left, three yards off. “We will not. Two versus two is fair odds, you would agree.”

  “You need to recalculate those odds.” The thug’s grin came through. Stopping, he waved his colleague back. The other raider threw a lever at the head of the trailer. Snap! Bang! The tail gate clattered to the ground to form a ramp.

  Ssssssaaaahh! From the darkness inside wheezed a chorus of hisses, like a showroom of TVs playing static.

  Gasps and curses from the locals blended with the hellish exhalation. As the thug predicted, the yuppies shoved each other in their rush to retreat. But they did not flee.

  “Everyone, get back to your homes. Calmly.” Cool, steady voice from Carolyn. Then to the marauders, “We don’t reward threats.”

  Her flock began migrating toward their respective homes.

  At the corner of the Nelsons’ fence lingered Zander. Wide-eyed under the brown fringe of bangs, frozen in fawn-like stillness, he watched the gunmen. Against his chest he clutched a stuffed animal of indeterminate species.

  “Zander!” Nathan called. “Get inside the house. Now.”

  “Let’s see some hustle!” Chainface laughed. He fiddled with something at the front of the trailer as he caught his partner’s attention and nodded toward Zander. “Yo.”

  Pistol up, the other man trotted toward the boy. “Move and I blow yo’ head off, kid.”

  Four cannibals tumbled from the rear of the trailer. Two males, two females. They wore street clothes like the usual San Franciscan, but each bore a red M above an S spray painted on its chest. MS-13, or Mara Salvatrucha, the infamous gang that skinned its enemies and used them for knife blocks.

  The oil-pukers looked about, heads snapping from side to side like the animatronic dolls’ in Magic Kingdom’s It’s a Small World. They ignored the MS thug, who retreated to the safety of the Lariat.