Ways of Darkness (Wolves of the Apocalypse Book 2)
Page 36
The minutes dragged, weighted with dread and expectation. Did Marvin locate any snipers in the main building? How did Albin and the Redwood shores residents fare? Had the cannibals overrun them? What about the authorities? By now they should have reached Heron Court. Had they also reached Badal and Mikhail at the Goats’ HQ?
Vrrrrrrrrr! A boat motor buzzed in the north, blending with the Ram’s diesel engine. The decibels rose as the craft rounded Bird Island and Radio Point. It followed Clean Water’s southern perimeter before cutting off somewhere around the parking area.
The Ram’s driver door swung open. Red jumped out, wearing full battle gear and carrying an M4. From the passenger side stepped Sarge in similar gear. They scanned the area, weapons up.
Chapter 92
Invaders
War - The Gospel Wiskey Runners
Albin pushed open the gate to the Nelsons’ front garden. A black SUV skidded to a halt in front of Amanda’s house, leaving tread marks and the smell of burned rubber. Albin ducked behind the fence as five men jumped from the vehicle. One carried an AK, while the others wielded handguns. The invaders wore baggy shirts and pants characteristic of gang members. Tattoos covered more skin than they did not. Not the Goats’ members, but perhaps they had subcontracted mercenaries of their own to seize important targets. No other explanation existed for them forging this far into the neighborhood and choosing the Musters’ residence.
Pistol at compressed ready, Albin waited until the men turned toward the peach-trimmed domicile. Two of the mongrels threw the fence door open to dash behind the house, while their cohorts charged the front. The Musters must have left the door unlocked, for the raiders simply opened it and stormed inside.
Albin darted across the street, taking cover against the SUV. A few minutes earlier, the Musters’ house stood empty, with Amanda making the rounds of the neighborhood, and her daughters next door with the Singhs.
A shadow swooped over him. High above soared a vulture.
The curtains in one of the second-story windows moved. Albin froze. One of the thugs? As if in answer, Denver’s face appeared at the window, squinting down at the vehicle. She moved away before he could gain her attention. Blast it all to Hell!
Keeping low, he trotted to the door, which stood open. He inched leftward, into the fatal funnel. All clear, he sidestepped inside and swung the weapon left, taking in the entry and living room.
“Come on.” The male’s voice originated from deeper in the house. “Nobody’s in here.”
A recliner nearby offered concealment. Perhaps he should have radioed for reinforcements, but who would he call? Behrmann managed the authorities and media reports on the opposite end of the neighborhood, while Mr. Serebus and Bridges undertook their own mission.
The gangsters converged in the central hall, two coming from the bedroom on the right and three from the rear of the house.
“Upstairs,” the tallest of the crew ordered, waving his handgun toward the ceiling.
Albin leaned out and snatched a book off the coffee table. He shied it into the kitchen, where it clattered into the pots and pans that hung over the central island.
“Wha’ da fuck?” The leader’s compatriot, a short, paunchy Hispanic with a bandana around his head, ambled toward the kitchen.
The rear guard consisted of a cachexic whelp in a basketball jersey, and a teen who fidgeted with his T-shirt while glancing about. They joined their cohort.
“Keep looking,” the leader ordered.
Dispatch them now, or bypass them in favor of stopping the threat to Denver? Every moment he hesitated could prove the moment Denver’s life ended or turned into a living Hell.
Using the furniture to hide his approach, he reached the stairs. Carpeting deadened his footfalls.
“You ain’t hiding under the bed, are you?” The voice came from the second floor, to the left of the stairs. “I know you’re in here. We saw ya.”
Ahead, afternoon sun streamed through a bay window. Slouching into the light, the gang member in the T-shirt squinted about before advancing on the bedroom to the right. Denver had appeared in the room’s window. She wouldn’t have had time to vacate the premises.
The waste of flesh in the jersey emerged and joined his cohort. He carried a pistol.
Wood squealed and splintered under their assault on the bedroom door. With their combined shouldering and kicking, they forced through.
“Where are ya, bitch?”
++++++++++++
In the distance, from the direction of Clean Water’s entrance, jogged the client, or more likely a proxy. Poor dispensable bastard. He wore jeans and a gray zip-up hoodie, while a white bandana covered his face like a bandit from a Western. Over one shoulder he carried a messenger bag. When he saw the Goats, he slowed to a walk.
At his approach, Red and Sarge took up defensive stances.
“Did you bring it?” Hoodie asked.
“Did you?” Red’s carbine climbed to target the man.
Hoodie raised his hands. “Easy. I’m going to take my computer out so I can make sure we got it.” No doubt he would make a covert copy, too.
“Ain’t neither of us gettin’ any younger, son.”
The buyer’s liaison deployed his computer, setting it on its bag. When he stepped back, Sarge and Red stepped forward. Sarge kept his gaze and his weapon on Hoodie as Esau inserted a jump drive.
The dance continued, with them retreating and Hoodie advancing to investigate. A moment later, he announced, “Looks good,”
Nathan hit the PTT. “You’re getting scammed.”
The men whipped around, weapons up. Hoodie drew a semi-auto pistol. They scanned the area, but their gazes slid over Nathan’s location.
Red laughed. “Serebus? I was wonderin’ when you’d show.”
No surprise, Red had allowed Buck to reveal the exchange’s time and location. Why? Another loyalty test? “I’ve studied for this pop quiz,” Nathan muttered.
“Who’s being scammed?” Hoodie asked, still looking for the source of the voice.
“Red Chief, what are they offering you?”
“That’s what they call classified.” Esau lowered his carbine. “But it’s along the lines of enough ammo to outfit my guys for a long time. We also got the title to new, better turf.”
“You’re giving up the chance to control cannibals and one of the best locations in the area, all for ammunition and ‘turf’? You’re taking a loss.”
“Who the fuck are you?” Hoodie eyed the radio’s general vicinity. “There’s no way you can beat our offer.”
Red scratched his neck. “Now, now. Don’t git yer undies in a bunch. I wanna hear this. Controlling them oil-pukers sounds fine.”
“We hired you,” Hoodie protested. “We have a contract.” The semi-auto swung toward Red, but Sarge’s weapon made Hoodie pause.
“Don’t test us,” Sarge responded.
Crack! A spray of sand at Hoodie’s feet. Snipers.
Chapter 93
Offensive Defense
Hold Us Together - Matt Maher
Red acted as if someone had swatted a mosquito. The sniper belonged to him, evidently. He turned to Hoodie. “If them files can control cannibals, then we’re getting shorted. When ’at happens, I wanna short somebody back.” His hand went to the tomahawk at his belt.
Hoodie shifted his weight as he glanced about. “Chill out, Red Chief. You ain’t the only one with snipers.”
“You willin’ to be a kami kaze to take me out? Now shut up. Serebus, whatcha you got for me?”
“This is for the man in the bandana: I want to speak with your employer.”
“My employer is busy.”
“In that case, Red Chief will have to be satisfied with less than the commodity is worth. If he waits any longer, he’ll also have to be satisfied with the cell the authorities throw him in.”
Face clouding, Red straightened. “What’d you say?”
“Call your boss,” Red ordered Hoodie, carbine rising. “I gotta talk to the head honcho, not an expendable.”
++++++++++++
Albin crept up the last few steps to the Musters’ second floor. Before he could swing in behind the invaders, Denver exploded from her closet. She grabbed the pistol-wielding thug’s weapon with her right hand and, staying on his outside, slammed her left forearm into his hyperextended elbow. Connective tissue snapped as his joint flexed the wrong direction. The handgun fell from his grip. Her arm continued forward, shooting in front of and under his to brace against his back while she slammed her body against the fractured arm.
The AK wielder gaped. As he began to recover what few wits he possessed, Albin caught him around the waist, pulled his upper body back while bumping his hips forward. He swept the thug’s legs out with one foot, flipping the man over onto his skull. Cervical vertebrae cracked, joining the fractured cranium.
Meanwhile, Denver drove her knee into her target’s throat. As he curled around himself, choking, she held his useless arm vertical while she shoved the back of his neck down and under it. His body followed his head, landing him on his back.
“You fuckers okay?” another thug called from the hall.
As he stepped into the sunlight, the hall closet burst open. The door caught him in the shoulder. Taylor swung a baseball bat in one hand, flicking her wrist down as if cutting vines in the jungle. It thudded into his hand. Pain overwhelmed his intention to hold the pistol. As she dodged past him, she slammed the bat into the side of his knee.
“You—”
He reached around for her as he fell, but the bat struck him in the ribs before whipping around to catch him on the side of the head. This sent him sprawling onto his side, where he remained, twitching.
Silence descended. Only the labored breathing of dying enemies disturbed it. Taylor and Denver stared around at the gang members, who lay scattered about like broken toys.
“Splendid Kali demonstration, Denver, Taylor.” Albin gave each a nod and smile. They were no older than he when circumstances had forced him to take an assailant’s life.
“Are . . .” Taylor swallowed, beginning to tremble in the aftereffects of the adrenaline surge. “Are they dead?”
“I hope so,” Denver snarled, fists balled at her sides. “They wanted to kill us or kidnap us.”
Weapon close, Albin moved to the stairs. “Where are the others?”
“Look!” At the window, Denver pointed down, once again a frightened preteen.
The two missing gang members were crawling through a broken window in the front of the Nelsons’ domicile.
“If they move”—Albin motioned to the grounded foes—“hit them until they stop.” Then he bolted for the stairs.
++++++++++++
Hoodie produced a satellite phone from under his shirt. A pause, then he spoke into the receiver, “Go ahead.”
“What’s the delay?” An altered voice, impossible to tell if it belonged to a male or female.
“The Goats want to talk to you.”
“We had a contract. You are said to be one of the best in the business, Red Chief. Is this the behavior of the best?”
“Unexpected circumstances,” Red barked as if reporting to a superior officer. “Other parties are aware of your interest in the asset, as well as our transaction. Government forces are also inbound.”
“How?”
“Unknown. This places my men and me in danger. The assignment’s level of difficulty has escalated. The other party is offering terms.”
“Terms?”
Grabbing his radio, Nathan eased farther into the trees. “Red Chief, keep the asset. Keep Redwood Shores also.”
“They also claim,” Red plowed on, “they can explain how the asset can control the cannibals. When they contacted us, they used the term ‘neural nets.’” This would wake the buyer up.
“The asset is of no use to you. You were to deliver it. Then you were to secure Redwood Shores.”
Really? Then Red had strayed beyond his contract when he abused the citizens. “Redwood Shores is a valuable location,” Nathan began. “Esau Seir raided its resources, kidnapped its people, allowed cannibals to run rampant, and then forced a hostage to secure it. Now he’s encouraging other gangs to pillage it if they pay him a fee.” For all anyone knew, Red had sublet to other crime organizations.
“Excuse me?”
“The civilians are intact,” the mercenary defended. “Securing their cooperation required more pressure than we anticipated, however.”
“Hand over the asset as agreed. Be prepared to remove your people from the designated area when the time comes. We are willing to double the fee if you do so. If you wish to renege on the contract, however, what you have invested will be forfeit. The long-term reward far outweighs the short term.”
Growling, Esau lowered the firearm. “Agreed. I don’t want to waste manpower here anyway.” Manpower he didn’t have.
Sarge sidled closer to his boss to mutter in his ear.
“I got this under control,” Esau snapped. “I’m chief, and what I say goes.”
“Time is of the essence.”
“You required our force to secure this district,” Sarge addressed the sat phone. “You’ll lose it all when law enforcement and the military come.”
“I do not deal with underlings. The asset. Now. The authorities are of little concern to us, but we must keep on schedule.”
The buyer didn’t fear the government? Shit. “A moment ago, Red Chief was threatening to turn against you. Are you going to trust more rewards to a man that changeable?”
Red’s weapon flicked toward the RC truck. “Get back in yer box, Gimp!”
Bang-bang-bang! Bullets tore apart the bush-covered toy.
So much for the safe way. Nathan crept closer to hear the remainder of the exchange.
With a gesture toward Hoodie, Red said something to Sarge. Snapping a nod, the second in command unslung his CamelBak hydration pack. From it he produced a gray, rubberized box the size of a tablet case but three inches thick. Then he removed the jump drive from Hoodie’s laptop and placed it in the container.
Pack on his back and case in his hand, Sarge pushed to his feet—and drove a left cross at Red’s face.
Chapter 94
Interference
Truce - Twenty One Pilots
When Albin exited the Musters’ house, he again used the enemy SUV to cover his approach. A sprint saw him to the Nelsons’ front window. Inside, two figures struggled in the shadows. One lashed out with animalistic blows, clawing at the gangster’s face. Jen.
The thug broke free and ran for the back door. Albin dashed to the fence gate. All clear, he crept into the garden.
One of the gang members stumbled onto the lawn, dragging Zander by the wrist. “Come on, you little fucker!”
Inside, the other thug yelled, “Get your hands up! Now get out there or I’ll blow your fuckin’ head off.” He had Nelson. “Hey, José, you got the kid?”
“Get outta there!” José yelled, wide eyed and panting.
Recovering his wits, Zander kicked his captor twice in the shin. “No!” This prompted the thug to loosen his grip, a move Zander exploited by twisting free.
“Fucking—Get back here!” José leapt after the boy, catching him by the back of the shirt.
Jaw clenched, Albin stepped around the corner. At the same instant, the back door burst open, releasing Jen the cannibal.
Forgetting Zander in the face of living death, the kidnapper raised his pistol.
“Zander!” Albin called, motioning the boy over. The child looked a
t his charging mother and the thug, then scrambled toward Albin.
As the cannibal closed, the would-be abductor attempted to empty his magazine in speed-shooter time. Stumbling, Jen dropped to all fours as two bullets struck her chest.
The thug’s pistol ceased firing, a casing half out of the ejection port, the slide trapping it in a stovepipe jam. “Fucking shit!” he yelled as he sprinted for the garden’s gate. He ignored Albin and Zander in favor of survival.
Ssssssaaaaahhh.
The cannibal’s red-orange eyes bulged as they locked on the man and child. Bringing hind legs up beneath it, Jen lunged.
Albin turned to prevent Zander from witnessing what would transpire. White noise filled the attorney’s ears, bleeding into his mind to erase thought. The SIG Sauer’s sight hovered over the charging cannibal. He pressed the trigger. Though the weapon kicked into the webbing of his hand, no sound penetrated the static. His consciousness looked on as if watching a stranger fire the second round.
One bullet struck Jen’s chest; the second found her head. She collapsed to lie twitching in a pool of crimson and ink.
Holding Zander against his chest with one arm and attempting to breathe through the boy’s stranglehold on his neck, Albin shouldered through the gate.
On the street, the coward who attempted to kidnap Zander dove into the backseat as the SUV began to pull away. On the sidewalk, a group of residents approached Amanda’s residence. Their presence made firing on the vehicle too hazardous. The tires screeched as it sped away.
Spotting Albin and his burden, Amanda hurried across the street. “Thank God you’re both safe. Zander, come here.” She held her arms out, but the boy only buried his face deeper into Albin’s shoulder.