by LC Champlin
“They have Mr. Nelson, Amanda.” But they did not have Zander.
A pained expression flitted across her face before anger replaced it. “They tried to take my girls, too. I’m going to help Nathan take them down. And maybe I can help Jeremy, too.”
“No. I will—”
“Nobody messes with my family.” The fury of a mother bear defending her cubs infused her.
++++++++++++
“Shields up.” Nathan mashed the power button on the fan motor’s remote. In the car trunk, the radio frequency interference generator hummed to life, raising a crackle and hiss from the radios. The RFI would scramble all radio signals in a quarter-mile radius. In theory.
CRACK! A chunk of asphalt exploded to Nathan’s right under a large-caliber round. A sniper occupied the main building’s roof, judging by the trajectory. Nathan scrambled deeper into the trees, toward the concealment of the fence.
Red and Sarge broke off their scuffle to sprint for the nearest digester tank.
“Fuck this!” Hoodie yelped as he bolted for the conveyor’s tent.
More reports, small caliber, erupted from the sniper’s direction. A string of automatic-weapon fire followed. Apparently Red’s and the buyer’s forces engaged each other. Surely Marvin had the sense to stay out of the crossfire.
With the Goats occupied in their head-butting, they didn’t notice Nathan pushing through the brush. He deployed his pistol as he ducked around the rear of the tent and conveyor-belt loader.
The main building with its snipers consumed Hoodie’s attention. Unless he wanted to brave the open run to the main gate a hundred yards away, he’d shelter in place.
Weapon on Hoodie’s center of mass, Nathan stayed hidden behind the massive conveyor. “Get on the ground!”
Jerking around, the liaison stared about for the speaker.
“Hoodie, drop the gun and get on the ground. Now!”
Hesitation. Then he tossed his Glock as he dropped to his belly.
“Cross your ankles. Arms out, palms up. Turn your head. Don’t look at me.”
“The fuck do you want? I don’t know where the ammunition is, I swear! They just pay me to be a courier—”
“Shut up.” After retrieving the Glock, Nathan relieved the captive of his sat phone.
“I don’t have anything else—”
“Take off your bandana and hoodie. Now.”
The liaison whipped them off as if they harbored spiders.
“Good. Now run. Go!”
With a flurry of limbs, the courier regained his feet as he launched forward. Usain Bolt would have struggled to match his speed.
A shout and small-arms fire echoed from between the digester tanks, behind the four towering cylindrical pumps and their pipes. Firing over his shoulder, Sarge charged from behind them and toward the main building. Behind him swarmed at least seven cannibals. What about Red? Had he gotten to high ground to snipe his former lieutenant?
Crack! Crack!
Bloody snipers. But Sarge made the main building’s side entrance intact. So did the Dalits, washing around and over the door a second after he pulled it closed behind him.
Camouflage time. After squeezing into the hoodie, which barely fit his shoulders, Nathan tied the bandana on outlaw-style. Hopefully the disguise would give any overeager snipers pause. Red hadn’t had time to give the snipers orders before the RFI generator prevented radio contact and drone control, so the gunmen knew no details about the meeting’s outcome.
Bracing his sides, Nathan barreled toward the tanks. Wings of pain and darkness closed around him, threatened to carry him off his feet. Gold eyes burned, sparking fires of rage to drive off weakness.
Across the parking lot, half the oil-mouths ventured up the stairs to the main facility’s roof and its three-story, seventy-foot-across octagonal tanks. The other Dalits ranged along the building in search of ingress.
To the left of the door grew a row of five L-shaped pipes, each five feet wide. Beside them, a concrete outbuilding jutted from the facility. The cannibals that ventured his way hopped from pipe to pipe.
One, two, three—Nathan skirted the outbuilding wall in front of the pipes, parallel to the cannibals. An entrance waited at the building’s corner.
Chapter 95
Bella Detesta Matribus
Mad World - Gary Jules
Denver and Taylor bounded up to Albin as he crossed the street.
“What happened?” the younger girl asked.
“Leave him alone.” Taylor elbowed her sister.
Inside the Musters’ residence, he found the game room. There he sat down on the futon, Zander still sobbing against him. Albin’s gaze settled on the photos of the Musters that decorated the wall.
At the periphery of his vision, Denver peeked around the door. Sighing, he rested his chin on the crown of Zander’s head. “Zander. Breathe.”
The boy’s sniffling continued.
“I need you to listen, son.” Albin pried the arms off, putting both the boy’s hands in one of his. “Look at me.”
Watery, bloodshot eyes met his.
“Thank you. Your mum was sick, yes?”
A nod.
Should he tell the boy now, or wait until the situation calmed? Perhaps Amanda would break the news with more grace. But he had begun, and he finished what he started.
The intensity in the boy’s gaze . . . He already knew.
“Is she going to get better?”
Albin sighed. Did Zander know what death was? “Have you ever had a pet die?”
“My hamster went to sleep one day and it never woke up.”
On second thought, a different tack would have proven more delicate. But better he know now, even if the method appeared laconic.
Denver ventured closer. “Hi, Zander. You’re mom was really nice. You’ll see her again, but not for a long time. When you die, then . . . then you’ll see her again.” Tears shone in her eyes, mirroring those in Zander’s.
“Zander, your mother is dead,” Albin related, his voice soft. “I don’t know if you understand what that means, but for now it means you will not be seeing her anymore. She was . . .” Very brave would sound noble, as lies often did. “She was not afraid of those people.”
“You shouldn’t be afraid either,” Denver added, salvaging her efforts to deliver the news gently.
“What about my daddy?” Zander looked from Denver to Albin.
“Ah, he had to leave for a little while.”
“He wants us to take care of you until he gets back.” Denver smiled, reassuring.
Taylor poked her head around the door jamb. “Denver, what are you doing in here? I said—”
“Taylor.” Albin glanced in her direction, silencing her. “We do our best to protect those we love.”
“I brought your lion, Zander,” Taylor murmured, approaching with the toy in her arms.
Zander accepted it, brow wrinkling. “Daddy’s gonna be back, right?”
How did one answer? Albin rocked to his feet, switching to a one-handed hold on the child. “He will do his best.”
Taylor and Denver looked down, devoid of consolation.
“Ladies,” Albin began, starting toward the door, “are the Singhs able to watch him for the time being?”
Taylor nodded.
“Very good. Let them know about the . . . guests upstairs as well.”
After setting the young Nelson down, Albin knelt in front of him. “Zander, be brave like your lion. Make your father proud of you.”
A nod and trembling lip answered.
“Go with Taylor and Denver.” Ruffling the child’s hair, Albin sent him on his way.
++++++++++++
With a growl, Nathan bent double and pounded toward the facility’s door. Ribs grated. Hot railroad spikes pierced his sides as acid simmered in his stomach. Reaching the door, he tried the handle. Locked. “Fuck . . . you!”
Sssssssaaaa
ahhh!
Three oil-slavering monstrosities bounded over the pipes, then onto the top of the outbuilding.
“Not today, motherfuckers!”
BANG! BANG!
From above? Ten yards away, one of the Dalits toppled backward as its face vanished in a mass of gore. Its companion lurched sideways, half of its head gone, the remaining side nothing but chewed-up, spit-out hamburger with white brain gel. The third cannibal dropped behind the safety of the concrete wall.
“Hang on!” Marvin in an open window seven feet overhead.
A moment later, the door handle turned. Nathan shouldered through.
“Marvin, where are Sarge and Red?”
“That way, second floor.” The economist twitched his shotgun to the right, the far end of the facility. He must have salvaged the weapon from one of the fallen combatants.
“Cover me.”
Rows of massive tanks, like above-ground Olympic swimming pools, filled this portion of the building. Pumps, pipes, and processing equipment crouched beside the reservoirs. At intervals, steel staircases led to cat walks that stretched between the tanks. Another walk followed the wall around its perimeter.
Using the vats and their paraphernalia as concealment, Nathan took point and moved toward the staircase.
Sssssaaaahhh!
Where?
“Damn it! In here?” Marvin whispered.
Slowing at every corner to check for cannibals, they reached the stairs. Supports rattled in their moorings as the men stormed the second level.
Gunshots rang outside on the roof, amid the giant aerators and digesters.
“Come on.” Nathan trotted toward the door midway down the cat walk.
“Is Red still alive?”
“I’m about to find out.” Pistol up, Nathan pulled the door open. “Hang back and watch above for snipers.”
Wind whipped hot stench in his face as he moved toward the third tank in the row of four. Blue beams formed skeletons around them. On the left, stairs led to the roof proper. He sidled to the corridor between the middle vats.
Ahead, voices echoed.
Sarge: “They’re going to fuck you over. I’m taking what we worked for.”
To the right, Red responded, “We’re gonna take this thing by the balls and come out kings! Give me that damn box and stop bein’ a fuckwit.”
“Call your snipers off. I’m leaving with the ReMOT and the files.”
Clink.
Nathan whirled, knees bent. Red! The chief’s pistol considered Nathan with its single eye. The Southerner gave a microscopic nod, then his attention—and weapon—shifted to point down the alley, toward where Sarge’s voice had come from.
Rock Island at compressed ready, Nathan edged in the opposite direction. If he could get around the tanks and come behind Sarge . . .
The tank at the left end of the row lacked a lining. Its skeleton enclosed a grating like a giant bird cage’s floor, with foot-wide gaps between the bars. It left him open to snipers, but the dueling Goats should occupy them.
Keeping low, Nathan started along the perimeter. Gunshots popped, making him duck. “Ffff!” He wrapped his free arm around his ribs. Too slow, too open. After climbing through the steel skeleton, he balanced on the grating beams as he picked his way to the other side. His steps made a section of rusty bars rattle. The next step jarred one of the pieces from its moorings, sending it into the depths. No sound at its landing. He could end the same way if he didn’t pay attention.
With a grunt of relief, he reached the solid concrete. To the left, black water filled three tanks, which were level with the roof like in-ground pools. Ahead, industrial ducting concealed his approach.
Farther on, something moved behind a vent stack. Pistol ready, Sarge eased from concealment.
Nathan raised his hand in a signal for parlay. “Sarge, we can use the ReMOT.”
Chapter 96
Gravity Check
Strike Back - We as Human
Movement on the right, at the corner of the monolithic digester tank. Sarge ducked from sight a nanosecond before—
Bang-bang!
His back against the digester, Nathan caught Sarge’s attention, pointed to himself, then made a circular gesture. The mercenary nodded. Desperation made strange allies.
Nathan retraced his steps along the skeletal tank’s grate, rust grinding under his Nikes. Hot, dank air wafted from the darkness below. He came around the rear of the next tank, toward Red’s last location.
“Raaaah!” Esau.
Running the last four yards, Nathan swung around the corner, weapon up. Red was recovering from a missed tomahawk swing at his lieutenant. Sarge’s hammer-hatchet flashed. They circled each other, beasts looking for a weakness.
Crack! Sparks sprayed from the grating near them as a sniper’s round impacted.
Thuck! Tomahawk met plate carrier, stopping at the armor. Sarge grabbed for Red’s wrist, hammer moving too quickly to see. Blade met plate.
Enough. The front sight snapped into focus over Red’s lower half. It made an easier target than his head.
As Nathan’s finger tightened on the trigger, Esau dropped for a tackle. Both Goats plowed into the pool’s railing—and continued over. Red caught a rung; Sarge caught air. Splash!
Grunting, Esau pulled himself up and over. Keeping low, he ran for the tank on Nathan’s right.
“I don’t think so,” Nathan breathed as he jogged back toward the half-finished tank. He ducked between the supports to make his way to the center of the grating. Loose panels rattled at his approach. “Red! Where’s the ReMOT?”
“Fuckin’ traitor!” Red roared. Ignoring Nathan’s raised pistol, he shouldered between the frame’s bars.
“You turned on me first.” As Nathan spoke, he backed up carefully. Just a little farther . . .
“You’re gonna find out.” Gaze flicking to the roof, Red drew his semi-auto.
Snipers! Elbows against his ribs, Nathan threw himself to the right.
Crack! A round slammed into a vertical beam. Red ducked—and his foot slipped on the rust. He pitched forward but turned to break his fall. His two-hundred and fifty pounds slammed into the metal. Screee! Moorings wrenched free under Esau’s weight. Surprise flashed over his face as he dropped, silent, into the abyss.
Hugging himself with his left arm, Nathan trotted to the pool that had swallowed Sarge. Below, the mercenary was struggling toward the wall, where jutted a platform with a stairway. Nathan descended the steps two at a time.
Sarge looked up to stare into the muzzle of the Rock Island .45. The lieutenant froze—and began to sink. He caught the ladder that hung from the platform. “What are you waiting for?”
“Shooting you would be fair, agreed?”
“Whoever’s holding the gun decides that.”
They glared at each other over the sights.
“I’m not fair.” Nathan holstered the pistol.
“No one is.”
Sarge clambered onto the platform as Nathan stood clear. “That fucker has the ReMOT.” The mercenary sidled up the stairs, avoiding putting his back to Nathan. “Did you kill him?”
“I don’t know.”
++++++++++++
Albin pulled up before Carolyn’s residence and parked. Drumming his fingers on the wheel, he checked the mirrors. The seconds slid by, congealing into minutes. Then blue lights appeared ahead.
Two patrol cars parked twenty meters away. From the nearest vehicle stepped a female officer with her hand on her sidearm. Officer Rodriguez continued her “care and feeding” duty for the civilians associated with Mr. Serebus.
As Albin exited his car, Carolyn emerged from her house. They rendezvoused on the sidewalk.
Rodriguez and a male officer approached. He hung back a pace as she marched up to the civilians. “Conrad. I see you survived.”
“Of course.”
“And you’re Carolyn Blum, right?”
> Carolyn nodded, curt. “Thank you for coming. We were beginning to lose hope.”
“Yeah, the cavalry’s here. We’re working on setting up a perimeter around here, as well as scouting Heron Court Apartments.”
“How many officers did you assign to Redwood Shores?” Albin asked.
“Honestly, not as many as we need.”
Unsurprising. “But we make do with what we have,” he finished.
Rodriguez looked around. “Where are your troublemaking friends?”
As Albin formulated a reply, a car pulled up. Before it ceased rolling, Behrmann jumped from the passenger side, smartphone in hand. “Officer Rodriguez.” She wore a newscaster’s earnest expression as she jogged up. “I see the DHS and police are responding. Are the military mobilizing as well?”
As per usual, Rodriguez’s expression occupied the murky state between boredom and disgust. “No comment.”
“I ask because there are trained mercenaries with machine guns and body armor. No offense, but the military is probably better equipped to handle them.”
Frowning, Rodriguez propped her hands on her duty belt. “The military’s handling the mercenary base you described when you contacted us. They used satellite imaging to pinpoint it, as you suggested.”
“Have they retrieved any hostages yet?” Albin asked, every muscle tensing. Shukla, Kuznetsov . . .
“I don’t know. But we’re going to do our best to protect the people here.” The DHS officer raised her right hand for the next words: “I swear.”
Chapter 97
Fall to Rise
Not Afraid to Die - Written by Wolves
Nathan and Sarge hustled to the nearest digester tank. Since the merc couldn’t spare his eyes for Nathan, he glared at the next level’s roof. “How the fuck can you not know if he’s dead?”
“See for yourself.” With a nod toward the empty tank frame, Nathan began to creep toward the missing section of grate.