Black Sun Rising (Order Of The Black Sun Book 3)

by P. W. Child

  Sam lurched out of the shade and into the blazing sunlight, putting as much distance as he could between himself and the others before the contents of his stomach forced their way up and out. He did not get far before he was on his knees, retching and heaving, puking on the sand.

  That wasn't a dream, he thought. They killed him. We . . . We killed him. I had a knife in my hand, I remember that, but did I ever use it? Did I get close enough to use it?

  It doesn't matter. The point isn't whether I managed to stick a knife in the poor bastard or not. The point is that I was there, screaming and baying with the rest of them. I was joining in. I didn't stop them; I didn't even try. It didn't even occur to me to try. And that's . . . that makes me just as much to blame as the rest of them.

  And if they killed Hunter, what the hell is happening here?

  Another spasm racked his body, but it had no more to give. He gagged pointlessly, bringing up nothing but a mouthful of bile and a slew of unwanted, guilty thoughts.

  There was no time for Sam to recount his memories of the hunt. Before he had finished throwing up, another sound had begun over at the campsite. Not the gong or the low, droning horn he had heard during his initiation, but a higher, more urgent horn. With a cold flush of dread he recognized the sound . . . the hunting horn.

  "We have to go," he gasped, staggering back to the camp. "Purdue, what's the plan?"

  "We must find Sara and Cody," Purdue said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

  "What?" Nina exploded, grabbing Purdue's arm in a tight, furious grip. "Are you fucking insane? I'm not going anywhere near them."

  "But we must," said Purdue, his voice level, gently prying her fingers from his forearm. "I have something we can exchange for safe passage out of here. I can negotiate with—"

  "No." Nina's face was a mask of fear. "You didn't see that corpse, you don't know what they'll do if they—"

  "Why don't you take a car?" Henley asked.

  "Car?" Sam repeated dumbly. There had been no sights or sounds that indicated the presence of a car anywhere near the camp. The thought crossed his mind that perhaps Henley was truly spoiled enough to think that there would be a taxi service tucked away in the far reaches of the Grand Canyon.

  "There are cars?" Nina pounced on Henley's question. "Where are they? Can we get to them?"

  Henley nodded. "Uh-huh. Well, I can. So if you want a car, you have to take me with you. Just get me as far as Vegas. I can make my own way home from there."

  Nina opened her mouth to question the legality of taking a seventeen year old with them without her parents' permission, but Sam stopped her. "We can worry about where she's allowed to go later. We've got to go while there's still time. Henley?"

  The girl nodded and beckoned them to follow. Sam stole a quick glance back toward the camp as she led them toward the river. He could see the FireStorm initiates congregating, passing cups back and forth between them. Some were writhing madly. Sam remembered visiting Pakistan in his early days as a journalist and seeing a man bitten by a snake. That man's strange dance of pain and poison had looked almost identical to what he saw now.

  They waded their way along the riverbank, walking in the water to conceal their tracks. For a brief moment Sam was concerned that the noise of the splashing water might give away their position, but his fears were quickly eclipsed. The hunting horns stopped dead and for a moment there was silence from the camp. Then a heart stopping cacophony of shrieks and screams split the air, followed by the sound of many feet pounding on the sand as the hunt began its charge.

  "In here!" Henley yelled. They had reached the cinder cone where they had spent the night of the first hunt. Between the rocks, half hidden by the sagebrush, was a thin door. Brushing aside the plants, Henley fished out the key that hung from a chain around her neck and unlocked it.

  Scratched, bruised, and bitten, the four of them piled into the room behind the door. The light was dim, and it took Sam a minute or two of squinting for his eyes to adjust. When they did, he saw a vast hangar spreading out before them, stretching across the hollowed-out base of the mountain. Housed within it were generators, presumably powering the underground rooms back at the camp, a number of industrial chest freezers, sacks, and barrels containing food and, best of all, a fleet of 4 x 4s.

  Purdue was already on the case. He dashed over to the food storage and snatched up a large can of honey, then threw open the bonnet of the first vehicle he came to and tipped a generous measure of the sweet, sticky stuff into the engine.

  "What are you doing?" Henley demanded. "We need that car!"

  "We need one of them," said Purdue. "The rest are better off out of action. Sam, Nina, help me, please. Henley, does that key of yours open the door that will let us out, or will I need to access the computers?"

  "It's my dad's key, it opens just about anything in this place." Henley stuck her chin out defiantly. "I stole it. Dad said he was going to teach me to drive while we were out here, but then he got too busy with all his FireStorm bullshit, so I was planning on teaching myself. I kind of know how already, it's not that hard."

  Nina, limping as she carried cans of honey between the cars, yelled that she could hear the hunt advancing as she passed the door. Sam doubled his pace, vandalizing the 4 x 4s as fast as he could, while Henley went to open the exit door and Purdue selected a vehicle to hot wire. He settled on a large, sand-colored Zibar MK2 and climbed into the driver's seat to access the wires.

  The engine roared to life as Henley twisted the key in the lock and the vehicle exit slowly eased open. Sam dropped the can he was carrying and went to help Nina, whose ankle was swelling rapidly and causing her to limp. She grabbed his arm to support herself as she made her way toward the car.

  "Wait!"

  The thin door swung open, revealing Sara with Jefferson at her shoulder.

  "Daddy?" Henley's defiance suddenly deserted her and she wailed, running toward her father and allowing herself to be enveloped in his arms. "I'm sorry I took your key!" she wept. "Don't let them take me away! They said they were going to use me as a hostage!"

  For a moment Sam stood dumbstruck, staring at Henley. Then Nina yelled at him to get in the car, and they sped out just as the rest of the hunters came tumbling through the door.

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  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Purdue slammed his foot down, grinding the accelerator pedal against the floor. The finely tuned engine offered only token protest, growling as they powered over the dune that lay beyond the exit.

  Sand sprayed up on either side of the car, showering the initiates who had given chase. Sam found it profoundly satisfying to see Cody get a face full of dirt. Of the acolytes there was no sign. Perhaps they're still restraining Kai, Sam thought. I hope he's all right . . . him and Julia Rose.

  "Do either of you have a compass?" Purdue yelled over the sound of the engine. "No? Nina, could you—"

  Before he could finish, Nina had anticipated the question. While Purdue kept both hands on the wheel, working to keep control as they gathered speed on the uneven terrain, she plunged her hand into his pocket and found the folding tablet. Extending it to its largest size, she held it toward Purdue. "Map," he enunciated.

  The tablet sprang to life. It lit up, a satellite view of their surroundings spreading across the screen. A green triangle marked the position of the tablet. Zooming in as far as she could, Nina could discern the shape of the campsite that they had built just days before. The level of detail was incredible.

  "We're heading south," she said.

  "Perfect," said Purdue. "That is exactly where we need to go. Though at some point we should reach the Colorado River, right?"

  Nina checked again. "Yes. We can either head south and follow it around to Lake Mead, which will get us back to Overton and we can pick up the I-15 from there, or we can start heading southwest and save ourselves the time. Assuming, that is, that you want to get back to a main road."

  "Ultimately, we need to reac
h any road that will take us in the direction of California." Purdue swung the vehicle around to take them southwest.

  "California? Why are we going to—"

  "Purdue, look out!" Sam yelled. A small, black, airborne device had appeared by the car window. For a second Sam thought that it would collide with them and instinctively began to duck, but it changed course, zoomed upward and vanished from view.

  "It's a drone," Purdue stated flatly, "a scout, if I'm not mistaken."

  "Why the fuck does a group of hippies need a drone?" Nina hissed. "What the fuck is going on here?"

  "I doubt it will be just one drone, Nina," Purdue warned. "If I am not mistaken—"

  "Yeah," Sam interrupted, "they've definitely got more than one." He watched as a thin, menacing line of black drones rose up over the dunes behind them, hovered for a moment, and then advanced.

  As the first bullet sailed past the car and buried itself with a thud in the sand, Sam began to laugh. They're shooting at us with toys, he thought, remote controls. I saved up my pocket money for something that looked like these when I was nine. How can this be happening?

  "Hold on!" Purdue yelled, slamming his foot to the floor and spinning the car through ninety degrees. Sam grunted as Nina was thrown against him by the momentum.

  "There's a canyon up ahead," Nina gasped, pulling herself back into her own seat and consulting the tablet. "North Fork or something? Should we be going this way? Can we hide?"

  A bullet found its mark, slamming into the rear of the vehicle, burying itself deep in the chassis with a scream of shredding metal.

  "We can try," said Purdue. "When I give the word, be ready to run."

  Sam spun around and leaned over the back of his seat, scouring the back of the vehicle for anything that might aid them in their escape. It had obviously been equipped for possible danger—there were several shotguns piled on the floor. Deciding that they were worth having, Sam clambered precariously over the back of his seat, yelling a few words of explanation to the others.

  There was little else to be had. Apart from the guns, all he could find was a can of petrol and a large disc that he recognized as a photographer's reflector, white on one side and silver on the other. He had heard of photojournalists who had found themselves stranded in desert areas who had used these disks to signal for help. Sam wondered whether that might be the reason for its presence, or whether it might just have been left behind by a photographer who had occupied the vehicle. Either way, he reasoned that the white side might be useful if they needed to deflect the harsh light of the burning sun. By the time Purdue yelled for them to jump, Sam had loaded himself with three shotguns under one arm, a couple of boxes of ammunition in his pocket, the petrol can in one hand, and the reflector in the other.

  They ran for cover, diving into a patch of sagebrush. Purdue's eyes lit up when he caught sight of Sam's haul. "Give that to me," he said, reaching for the petrol can. He peered out from between the branches of the bush. "There are more bushes over there," he said, gesturing toward them. "Run for those. Take the reflector with you. Hold it over your hiding place, silver side out. I will join you in a moment."

  Sam handed him a gun, passed another to Nina, and then did as he was told. He and Nina broke cover just in time to see the scout drone circling, searching for anything it would recognize as a human shape. They scrambled into the bushes and he flung the reflector on top, just as Purdue had instructed. Then they huddled together. Paying no attention to the thorns, Nina pushed the branches apart to see what was going on outside. She regained visibility just as the patch of bushes they had previously sheltered in went up in flames, and she heard Purdue's brief, triumphant whoop of laughter as he dashed over to join them.

  "That should confuse them," he gasped, breathless with excitement. "Smoke will make things a touch more difficult for them! So will the reflector. But we will need to disable them. We have guns—but can either of you shoot?"

  Sam shook his head. The truth was that he had always had a horror of guns, even before his unfortunate experience with the arms ring. Several people had offered to teach him to shoot, but he had always refused, saying that it was a skill he hoped he would never need. Now, once again, he found himself wishing that he had accepted.

  "I can," said Nina, loading her gun. "There aren't many advantages to growing up on a farm in the middle of nowhere, but that's one of them. I've never fired anything as fancy as this, but I'm sure the principle's the same." She took Sam's gun from his hands and quickly showed him how to load it. "It's buckshot, so this is going to be more about luck than skill. Just point, squeeze the trigger, and watch out for the kick. If we survive this, I'll give you the advanced tutorial another time."

  I can do this, Sam told himself, clutching the shotgun as they heard the low growling of the line of drones. Having completed one pass, they were now returning for a second, seeking a clear view. Through the billowing smoke Sam counted five of them, but he was certain there had been more visible from the car.

  He forced himself to calm his breathing, as he looked through the sight. A drone broke cover, bursting out of the cloud of smoke, and Sam's finger closed on the trigger.

  Seconds later he shook his head and looked around to find himself in a different position, flat on his back and staring upward at a ceiling of twigs. The jagged branches dug into his back where he had landed on them, and as he pulled himself back into a crouch he heard the thin material of his shirt rip. The smell of spent gunpowder filled his nostrils. He could taste it, acrid and sulfurous in the back of his throat. The memories were trying to flood back, the vision of a half-destroyed face . . .

  "I warned you to watch out for the kick," said Nina, with the faintest hint of a smile on her lips.

  "You got one!" Purdue cried, pointing in the direction of Sam's shot. Sure enough, a tangle of metal and black plastic was burning brightly in the sand a short distance away. "Well done, Sam! I think it might have been the scout! Now, I need you two to keep shooting. I am going to attempt to jam their signal."

  Gritting his teeth, Sam hoisted the gun to his shoulder again. He watched and waited until he heard the drones approach again, still seeking their target. He knew it was only his imagination, but he was sure that the snarl of the engines sounded different, as if the drones were becoming frustrated by their inability to find their objective.

  He heard the noise of Nina's gun behind him, followed by her cursing under her breath as the shot failed to land. She fired again, and again, but before he could learn whether she had brought any of the drones down, he spotted one approaching and fired. His aim went wide, and only a small amount of shrapnel hit it, piercing its casing without incapacitating it.

  The fire that Purdue had set was beginning to dwindle. Much of its fuel had burned away, reducing the bushes to glowing, smoldering ash that gave off a thin, tapering trail of smoke rather than the thick clouds it had offered before. The remaining drones were increasingly visible—and Sam knew that this could only mean that the drones could see them too.

  Four—no, five, he counted. I must have miscounted before. That would be about right if Nina hasn't yet shot any down. But I thought she had, and I definitely did, and . . . oh, no.

  Over the horizon, another half dozen drones rose into view, the outlines of the little places dark and menacing against the blue sky. We're never going to be able to shoot them all down, Sam thought. And even if we could, do they have more? Will they just keep them coming?

  Crouched on the sandy ground at their feet, Purdue bent double over his tablet, whispering one instruction after another to it and jabbing at the screen. As the last of the thick smoke cleared, leaving them with only wisps for concealment, Purdue gave a muffled, hopeful exclamation. "Initiate program," he told the tablet, and Sam could hear in his voice the same persuasive tone he had once fallen for himself. He only hoped that the computer was as susceptible to Purdue's wheedling.

  As one of the drones swooped toward their hiding place and began to
fire, Sam took aim and went for the trigger again. It clicked, but did not fire. The trigger jammed. Sam swore under his breath and pulled again, but still it stuck. "Come on, come on, you little bastard!" Sam hissed at it as the drone's bullets hit the sand just a few feet from where they hid. The gun refused to fire. Sam yelled at the others to get down, throwing his arms over his head for protection. He closed his eyes and braced himself for the imminent hail of bullets.

  Silence. Sam listened, but heard nothing. Is this it? he wondered. Am I dead? Is it over? He opened his eyes. There was still sand beneath his feet, and as he raised his head he saw that he was still in the bushes. Not dead, then, he surmised. "Nina?"

  "I'm all right." Sam heard her voice from behind him. "Dave?"

  "I am well, thank you," Purdue's tone was bright and chipper. "All the better for seeing how well that little experiment worked. Look!" Unfolding himself carefully, he pushed the branches aside and got to his feet. Sam and Nina did likewise and looked around.

  The scene was chaos. The desert sand was punctuated with the burning wreckage of the drones that they had shot down—one for Sam, three for Nina. However, the war zone image was interspersed with the comical sight of intact drones upended in the dunes, their noses buried. Once again Sam recalled the remote control helicopter he had owned so proudly when he was small, and how it had occasionally ended up crash-landing in his sister's sandpit.

  "That will take care of them for now," said Purdue. "The signal will remain jammed as long as they are within range of the tablet. But there were at least two that fell into the canyon. If they survived the fall, they might well become operational once again. We should get as far from here as possible before that happens."

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  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Sam rubbed his bleary eyes. "I'm sorry, folks," he yawned. "I'm going to have to stop the car and pull over."