Ways of Darkness (Wolves of the Apocalypse Book 2)

by LC Champlin

  Chapter 81

  Warrior in a Garden

  Hero - Family of the Year

  Adjusting the SIG Sauer at his appendix region, Albin scanned the back garden. Outlines of shrubs stood out against the fence.

  Behind him, the house’s back door rattled. He turned, one hand clearing his weapon and the other sliding around the grip. Semper paratus.

  The door opened enough for Denver to duck out. A hand grabbed for her but missed. “Denver!” Taylor stage whispered.

  With a shake of his head, Albin settled his shirt back over the pistol. “Ms. Denver. I am unfamiliar with your home’s rules, but I would wager being out alone at night is frowned upon.”

  “I’m not alone; you’re out here.” She flashed a smile of innocence.

  “As is your sister.”

  “Denver, get back here.” Taylor hesitated in the doorway, her face dark with disapproval as she shifted her weight from foot to foot.

  “May I be of service to you ladies?”

  “You’re keeping watch, right?” Denver asked, inching closer to him in the fashion common to animals and children who wish to move without attracting notice.

  He nodded, turning back to do just that.

  “We’re here to help. Aren’t we, TayTay.”

  “Stop calling me that. Mom said we need to stay inside. It’s dangerous out here.”

  “Yeah, but if any bad guys or monsters come, Albin can shoot them. Bang-bang!”

  Albin glanced over his shoulder. The girl had made a pistol shape with her hand and was picking off invisible foes.

  “Denver—”

  “You’ll protect us, right, Albin?” In front of him now, she fixed the full weight of her pleading expression upon him.

  The Conrads observed a rule: never lie to animals or children. While both could bite, only children learned to lie to you. “No, Ms. Denver, I will not protect you, because I will not always be here. You must protect yourself and your family. Do you understand?”

  Mystification and realization mingled as she heard the truth from an adult, a truth even other adults shied from.

  “But we don’t have guns or anything.”

  “Ms. Denver, you will often be out-gunned. However, that does not mean you must be outwitted.”

  She looked bewildered.

  Taylor came to hover at the perimeter of their conversation. In her eyes shone understanding. “Is that how you and Nathan got away from the raiders and rescued the people they kidnapped?”

  Never lie to an animal or a child. Idly Albin reached up to rub the bridge of his nose—and stopped as he touched the tender area where Esau Seir had struck him. “One must also pick one’s battles.”

  Denver began plucking leaves from a nearby bush. “Did the bad guys, like . . . beat you up?”

  Albin nodded.

  “Did they, um, torture you?” Ah, the childhood lust for gory details.

  “Denver!” Taylor slapped her sister’s shoulder. “That’s rude.”

  “Torture takes many forms. Inflicting physical pain is the most rudimentary.”

  “Rud . . . rudi—” Denver fumbled the word.

  “It means basic, Denny. Like you.” Taylor moved to shove her sister again, but Denver pivoted out of the way.

  Then the younger sister trotted over to him. “Can I look at your gun?”

  “Denver!” Taylor stepped up, centimeters from her sister, and glared down at her. “Mom says guns are dangerous.”

  Albin frowned. “The one who holds the weapon makes it dangerous.” As he spoke, he drew the semi-automatic. The firearm riveted the girls’ attention. He held it up in the moonlight and considered it. Then he gave an exaggerated shake of his head. “I have something better for you.”

  “Better than a gun?” Denver wondered.

  The SIG Sauer returned to its home as Albin smiled, cold as the weapon’s steel. “Have you ever heard of Kali?”

  Chapter 82

  Have and to Hold

  Kings - Tribe Society

  Exhaustion clung to Nathan like a wet snowmobile suit, but his mind, the cursed thing, took it as a cue to overclock itself. With a groan, he maneuvered to sit on the edge of the bed. He shoved both hands through his hair.

  No sense lying awake and staring at the ceiling, so he shuffled toward the door—and tripped over a shin-high object. “Shit!” Grabbing the pool table prevented a faceplant. What the . . . an RC monster truck.

  His ribs ached from his save. By now the pain had grown routine. The fractures complained if he breathed, stood, sat, lay . . . Ah well, all things eventually came to an end, even misery. Percocet helped too.

  In the hall, he felt his way into the living room. The celestial lights provided enough illumination to reach the windows, which offered a vantage of the neighborhood. He rested his palms on the double-paned glass.

  The whole-body, whole-soul ache overwhelmed him. Surrender, it coaxed. Elbows bent, forehead on the cool glass, eyes closed. Thoughts turned oily and quick, roiling together in comfortable confusion.

  “Nathan?”

  He flinched. The ache turned to a lash of fire. “Mmph.”

  “Are you okay?” Amanda. “Sorry, stupid question.” A touch on his shoulder.

  He pushed from the window. “I’m alive.”

  “Is there anything I can do? There might be an icepack that’s still a little cold.”

  “No.” He gave her a tired smile. “You’ve already done enough.”

  She looked down, avoiding his gaze. “We have, haven’t we.”

  “We volunteered, remember?” He placed a hand on her back, between her shoulder blades. “No one held a gun to our heads.” No one but the Goats.

  “How badly did they hurt you? Are you sure they didn’t do any internal damage?”

  “They broke a rib or two.” Finished breaking them, rather. “Nothing too serious.”

  She looked equally worried and doubtful. The injuries might be a royal pain in his life, but they came in handy for sympathy, which encouraged loyalty.

  “Look for yourself.” Removing the shirt hurt too much, so raising the hem sufficed.

  Amanda chewed her lip, probably to stop a sympathetic wince at his lavender rib cage. “My God,” she breathed.

  “They look worse than they are. I had a few before the Goats. I can get into trouble without your help.” Wry smile.

  “I don’t think we’d have gotten out of trouble without your help.” She put a hand on his and gently lowered the shirt, covering his bruises. The heat of the touch made his palms sweat. No ring on her finger . . .

  “You would have found a solution. Carolyn appears to be a capable leader. From what I saw today, you’re a strong second in command.”

  “Command?” She laughed. “I just help out. As for Carolyn, she is good at being in charge, but you saw everybody tonight. The second she asks them to do something hard, they’ll start thinking they know best. Eduardo is an example, but not the only one. He and the people who disagreed at the assembly are from the other side of the neighborhood, down Marlin.”

  “You make it sound like a civil war is about to break out.” He kept the tone light. If leadership couldn’t please all the people all the time, it needed to stamp out the sparks of disenfranchisement before they grew into a firestorm.

  Shaking her head, she eased nearer to him. “Nathan, you and Albin, you don’t seem . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “Frightened. And while I don’t understand it, I’m thankful. This all happened so quickly.” She pressed her palms together, fingers to her lips as if in prayer. “You see violence in countries like the Middle East or Africa, but you think it can’t possibly happen here. I just . . . I’m just so worried for my girls. I won’t let anything happen to them.” Intensity and resolve burned in her brown eyes, yet in the shadows lurked horror and dread. “There’s only so much I can do, though. I keep thinking of those old black and white film
s of people in Nazi concentration camps, how the Nazis tore the children away from—” Taking a deep breath, she rubbed her temples.

  He should do and / or say something comforting. But what? He patted her on the shoulder like he’d pat his dogs when they slouched against his leg for attention.

  Concentration camps. How would it feel to lose Davie like that? Stop. Nathan shook his head, scattering the black birds of terror before they could swoop down on him. As long as he pursued his goal, a chance existed to protect not only his son, but everyone’s children.

  Warmth against his side, bruise-ache from his ribs—When did Amanda put an arm around his waist? More importantly, when and how did his arm find its way around her shoulders?

  Now, how to extricate himself with grace? He couldn’t pull an Albin and push the other person out of his personal space.

  He cleared his throat. “So, what do you do when you’re not helping protect the neighborhood?” A topic change with all the grace of a train making a ninety-degree turn.

  With a sniff, she straightened slightly as he eased his arm away. “I’m in the administration of the Biotherapeutics Institute.”

  The company sounded familiar. Wait . . . LOGOS? “Administration?” Perhaps she knew Lexa Birk.

  “I’m in charge of selecting applicants and evaluating current employees.”

  “Human resources.” How disappointing.

  She allowed a sheepish smile. “No, but close. What about you?”

  “Business, the tech sector.”

  “Ah.” In Silicon Valley, this answer garnered as much attention as saying he worked at Starbucks. “And Albin?”

  “The same, but he mixes business with law.”

  “How long have you two been together?”

  “Eight years,” came the automatic reply.

  “Are you . . . married?”

  Thank God she brought it up. Blurting out I’m married ranked as the least tactful way of avoiding sexual advances. “For three incredible years, yes.” A smile came unbidden. At the same time, his heart ached worse than his broken ribs.

  “He seems like a great guy. You’re lucky to have someone so loyal and capable.”

  “I’ve always thought so. He’s actually how I met Janine, my wife.” Another chance to stress his relationship status: happily married.

  At this, Amanda went so quiet she seemed to absorb sound like a noise dampener. “You mean, you and Albin aren’t—”

  “What?” Wait. Did her questions refer to him and Albin only? “Oh. No! Not in the least. I don’t swing that way, and he . . .” He didn’t swing, period. “I apologize for the misunderstanding. We have been friends for eight years.” A good-natured smile dismissed embarrassment on both sides.

  She laughed, eyes sparkling in the moonlight that illuminated the living room. “My mistake! Well, your wife is a very lucky woman. And you’re still fortunate having Albin as a friend.”

  Nathan forced a smile. “Thanks.” Then it fell. “I miss her so much.”

  “I’m sorry.” Amanda’s arm slipped around his waist again; he rested his chin on top of her head as he squeezed his eyes closed against their burning.

  These people needed a leader, an alpha who would turn sheep into wolves. He needed a true headquarters.

  God led me here for this.

  Chapter 83

  ReMOT

  Sorry - Falling With Glory

  Before dawn the next morning, Carolyn drove Nathan and Albin to the intersection of Marlin Drive and Redwood Shores Parkway, where they’d met Red the night before.

  Nathan had spent the past hour reviewing the list, which Carolyn had provided, of the Redwooders’ professions. Impressive fell far short as an adjective. Scientists, engineers, and innovators populated the neighborhood, creating a veritable Swiss Army knife of skill sets. Protecting the neighborhood and developing the cannibal-research files would require every one of them. No one here represented a tweezers-equivalent.

  The sun painted the clouds gold even as it stained the east crimson. Red. Everything seemed to ally with the color.

  A white cargo truck trundled up the street, then pulled into the widest part of the crossroads. From the passenger side hopped a mercenary in the Goats’ uniform: plate carrier, mask, carbine. He took a position between the truck and the three civilians.

  The driver came around the back and opened the roll-up door. “Get to work,” he ordered them before returning to the cab.

  One eye on the guard, who kept the carbine’s single eye on him, Nathan circled to the rear to inspect the contents. Albin trailed. Cases of water bottles, a pallet of boxes marked Select Mac’n Beef, another of Chunk White Tuna. Fish. Wonderful. The MREs would have to do.

  After Nathan signaled to Carolyn, she hit the PTT on her radio. “All clear.”

  Several seconds later, six locals converged on the scene from behind various buildings. A black GMC Denali 2500 belonging to one of the neighbors backed up to the cargo bed. Nathan and Albin stood aside with Carolyn as the locals began moving supplies into the pickup. Just a few boxes left—

  “Yo, which one of you fuckers is Serebus?” the merc in the passenger side called. His face shield bore a skull’s grin.

  Nathan folded his arms. “What do you want?”

  “Get over here.”

  Exchanging a glance with Carolyn, Nathan motioned for Albin to follow. They halted three yards from the thug.

  “Chief wants to talk to you. Get in the back when it’s empty.”

  “Why? Doesn’t he trust you to deliver a message?”

  The truck door opened to disgorge the snarling mercenary. “You want that shit or not?” He pointed to the boxes as he stalked up.

  Only a foot separated them now. Nathan’s foot to the thug’s balls would separate them for good. “Sorry, it’s just that my ribs are still broken from the last time we ‘talked.’”

  The bastard’s eyes narrowed in a smile. “Want a broke jaw to go with ’em? Does your homeboy?” Nod to Albin, who glared. “Didn’t think so. Now get your asses in the truck.”

  “Both of us?”

  “I said ‘asses.’ You got more than one?” Skull Face cocked his head in exaggerated question. “Didn’t think so.”

  With a sigh, Nathan started toward the back. In the periphery, another squad of locals appeared, with Eduardo among them.

  “I thought we had a deal,” Shorty called. “No more kidnapping.”

  Nathan whipped about to face the idiot. “We have this under control, Eduardo.” Beside the rabble rousers’ leader marched Wong.

  At the reinforcements’ approach, the mercenary raised his carbine. “Want me to fucking cap you?”

  This made the group pause.

  “Wait.” Nathan held up his hand.

  But Carolyn beat him to intercepting the group. “Please, go back to your homes. This is—”

  “This is our concern as well,” Wong interjected. She wore her hair in a bun reminiscent of the ancient Chinese warriors’, and held a bearing to match.

  “You have your assignments. Please—”

  “I’m nobody’s slave.” The rooster Eduardo puffed out his chest. “You think you’re the big bitch on campus. But now we’re under their thumb even more.” At the last words, he pointed, arm quivering, at the cargo truck. “We have to find supplies for the Devil Goats and even shelter them if they demand it? No. We refuse.”

  The five rebels behind him, one of whom belonged to the Maori heritage and towered over the rest, mumbled assent.

  Hand aching to draw the Beretta, Nathan stepped forward. “I am going to speak with Red Chief to ensure we have a fair deal. Would you like to join me?”

  “You’re going to talk with the Goats because you are a Goat,” Eduardo persisted.

  At the truck’s rear, the last box of Mac’n Beef left in the arms of a local. The watching mercenary raised his carbine at Eduardo and Co. “Back the fuck off before I make
you. You”—now aiming at Nathan—“get in the fucking truck.”

  Nathan grunted. “Let’s go.” He and Albin climbed in.

  The blond’s hand hovered over his concealed pistol. “Listen!” he barked. This turned heads. “You are sheep and they are wolves. They will kill you and leave your bodies for the vultures.” With that, he stepped into the shadow of the cargo box.

  “Go home. Now!” Nathan bellowed. Ahg. His fractures reminded him to use his inside voice.

  “Lock it down,” the merc ordered the nearest neighbor. The door rattled down. Then the vehicle lurched into motion as Nathan and Albin sat on the floor at the far end.

  Nathan let his head rest against the wall. “They’re going to be a dangerous problem.”

  “If Ms. Carolyn does not deal with them, the Goats most assuredly will. It is doubtful they will be selective in meting out punishment. The people here are prey for the taking.” Fatigue and depression filled his tone.

  “They are unless we protect them.”

  ++++++++++++

  When Nathan and Albin returned to the Goats’ commandeered computer lab, Mikhail shot out of his seat. Though he looked as if he wanted to bear hug each man, he refrained. “We found the remote.”

  “Cheel’s cannibal controller?” Nathan caught Mikhail’s shoulders. “We have it?”

  “Ssssh!” Finger to lips. “They have it.”

  “You’re back!” Josephine burst into the room, then remembered to close the door. Dropping her voice to a whisper—“Did Mikhail tell you?”

  “Spit it out,” Nathan hissed. Blood pounded in his ears, almost drowning out Mikhail’s reply.

  “It’s called a resonance modulation output terminal, or ReMOT. I don’t know exactly how it works on the cannibals, or even all its features. I think it must tap into the neural net pathways. However it acts, it’s in essence a frequency modulator that can broadcast a spectrum ranging from handheld radio to subsonic, given the right broadcast equipment.”