Day of Darkness (Unclean Evolution Book 3)

by LC Champlin

  “Shukla!” Albin called. “Stop.”

  “Badal!” Kuznetsov snarled as the software engineer crossed another median.

  Enough of this. Leaning forward, Albin broke into a sprint.

  Ahead, Shukla stumbled into a run. He made the Tacoma an instant before Albin crashed into him with a bodycheck. Before Shukla could recover, Albin—facing the same direction as his opponent—wrapped his left arm over the car thief’s right arm and grasped his own shirt. Then he pressed on the trapped arm’s wrist, hyperextending the elbow. The troublemaker struggled until Albin placed a full hand on the wrist instead of three fingers.

  “Ah! All right! Stopstopstop!”

  “Come.” Albin turned back toward the airport, leading his prisoner. “What exactly did you intend with this nonsense?” The last word came with extra pressure on the arm, which elicited a gasp.

  “I want to leave. You can’t keep me here.” He relaxed, and Albin responded by releasing him.

  “Mr. Serebus is no longer the man we knew even two days ago.”

  Massaging his elbow, Shukla sniffed, avoiding Albin’s eyes.

  “You may go, but you will not take our vehicle.”

  “Fine, be slaves.” But instead of resuming his escape, he exhibited the good sense to accompany Kuznetsov and Albin. “But I’ll live free or die trying. I’m sick of being the badir.” The idiot.

  Albin gave him a sidelong glance. “I only request that you do not cause anyone else’s demise in the process.”

  Chapter 17

  Conspiracy

  Love Don't Die - The Fray

  “What’s the verdict?” Nathan looked around the assembly of Stacy’s hand-picked researchers. They had gathered at the desalinization field—aka the Be Prepared Gardens—which occupied the front yards of several houses on the channel.

  The few, the proud, the scientists looked at their notepads and then at each other, as if their colleagues’ faces would provide clues to deciphering the data.

  “I think this is complicated material and will require more time to review,” ventured Dennis, who wore flip-down sunglasses and a Hawaiian shirt.

  “With your review,” Nathan continued, “do you have suggestions regarding where we can study the information more thoroughly and possibly put it to use? Also, if any of you have equipment at your homes, it could be of use.”

  “I have to ask”—this from a woman in her mid-sixties, who wore her brown hair in a loose ponytail—“isn’t this something the government is working on? They have the resources and the people.”

  Crouching, Stacy checked the plastic sheet that covered the closest wading pool, one of Redwood’s low-tech desalinization chambers. “Nancy, there’s not many chances in our line of work to have adventure. No, I don’t mean go out and fight cannibals. I mean study something that has meaning.”

  “Developing new pain-control medication isn’t meaningful?”

  “They won’t need pain control if they’re cannibals.” Stacy straightened, pulling a bottle of water from her pocket. It represented the researchers’ wages for attending the meeting. “Think of being the scientists on the Manhattan Project.”

  “They made bombs that killed millions of people and caused the Cold War,” put in Dennis.

  Lunatic bleeding heart. But before Nathan could do more than shoot the scientist a look of annoyance, Stacy responded, “They saved millions of lives on both sides by preventing a land war on the Japanese islands.”

  Time to press the advantage. “Waiting for the government to act might be our doom. They’re not the only player in this game. The group that wanted to buy Red Chief’s data—the data you are reviewing—and who demanded he hand over the ReMOT is actively seeking a way to influence the cannibals. Yes, we stopped them for a time by shutting down the broadcast before it could synchronize with the other frequency transmissions in the area, but they have an agenda for San Francisco, the country, and the world.”

  “If they’re that large,” Dennis began, sunglasses glinting as he tilted his head, “how do we stand a chance against them?”

  Sighing, Stacy brushed her curls from her forehead. “Good grief, Dennis, we’re not charging them with swords and shields. I for one am quite excited about the opportunity to fight this—”

  “Vast conspiracy of global domination and evil?” Nancy rolled her eyes. “For all we know, they might have been trying to help.”

  The rest of the assembled looked at her as if she’d suggested bear attacks occurred because the predators wanted to cuddle.

  “Well, maybe not help, but—”

  “But what? Find a cure?” Stacy scoffed.

  “I don’t know. But I do have to admit the affected represent some of the most fascinating developments in human biology that I have ever seen.”

  Ah, beautiful buy-in! “It’s settled, then,” Nathan declared. “Your expertise”—he looked around the researchers—“could help save the world.”

  “If we do make a breakthrough,” Dennis started, “we’ll hand it over to the government.” Not a question.

  “Certainly.” Nathan smiled through the lie. “We’re giving them a hand.”

  “I think I know a place,” Nancy offered. “It’s across the water, north of here.”

  “Excellent!” Grinning, Nathan clapped his hands once.

  “It’s going to be dangerous if there are cannibals,” Nancy warned.

  “I’ll be leading a team to find more food today. Having people salvage supplies from the empty houses in the neighborhood will only last so long. We’ll make sure the research facility Nancy suggested is on the way.”

  Running her thumb along the lid of her water bottle, Nancy looked around at her colleagues. “I need to come along. If I don’t, the team won’t be able to get in. I have the keys, since I work there.”

  Dennis blanched. “Then just give him the damn keys!”

  “I’m not sure what we need is still there. They won’t know.” She gestured to Nathan, making him the away team’s representative. “I have to do this.”

  ++++++++++++

  Albin leaned against the wall outside of the infirmary. He stared into the distance, down the dim concourse.

  Movement in his peripheral vision made him turn toward the medical area. Jeremy Nelson limped toward him on crutches, right leg non weight bearing. A young blonde woman—Captain O’Connor from earlier—in fatigues guided him, watching his performance.

  Straightening, Albin lifted his chin at the pair’s approach. “Mr. Nelson, I’m pleased to see you are upright.”

  “Not as pleased as I am to be upright,” he grated.

  “I’m going to leave you with your friend now, Mr. Nelson,” related the captain. “If you have any signs of infection, please let us know. Remember, the sutures come out in two weeks. You have your discharge instructions.”

  Giving her a weary smile, Nelson nodded. “Thank you, Jackie.”

  The two parted ways, Nelson joining Albin. “This has been a real joy.” The flat tone and flatter expression sharpened the sarcasm to a razor’s edge.

  “Count yourself fortunate to have been so close to medical care.”

  They started down the concourse, Nelson’s crutches thudding on the linoleum. Ambulation demanded his full attention, bringing silence between the men.

  “I want to go home,” he announced at length. “I want to see my boy again. And I want to see how Jennifer is doing.”

  Jennifer? Confusion transformed to the chill of understanding: denial and medication had prevented Nelson from recalling the news of his wife’s passing. “Mr. Nelson, your son is well, but your wife . . . I mentioned it when I visited earlier; however, the medication seems to have interfered with your ability to recall.”

  The Redwood Shores resident halted to stare at him. “You’re telling me she’s dead, aren’t you.”

  That simplified matters. “My condolences, Mr. Nelson.”

  “I
. . .” He looked down, leaning on the crutches. “No, it can’t be. She can’t just be dead, not after all we’ve been through.” His breath escaped in a hiss. “How?” At the single syllable, his gaze snapped up to lock on Albin. “Did you people shoot her?”

  How did one reply to this?

  Evidently the hesitation provided Nelson with the answer. “You fucking—” He raised his left crutch.

  Chapter 18

  Shime

  Things We Lost in the Fire - Bastille

  Albin closed in to catch Nelson under the arms in a rear bear hug. Underhooking the man’s arms and nudging his hips forward, Albin took Nelson to the ground—gently. Albin followed him down to take a knee at the enraged husband’s back.

  Nelson twisted about in an attempt to land a haymaker. With a grunt of resignation, Albin moved with him and slid his arm around Nelson’s neck. Exhaling, Albin pulled the man against his chest for a rear naked choke. Eyes half closed, Albin inhaled.

  The struggles diminished. Within four seconds, Nelson fell still.

  “One, two, three,” Albin counted before releasing his hold. He placed Nelson in the recovery position: on his left side with the man’s own arm supporting his head.

  A moment later, Nelson jerked awake. “You fucking bastard!” Then realization of his position set in.

  “Mr. Nelson, you will only harm yourself if you continue. The gang members who kidnapped you severely injured Jennifer. Then she lunged at me. I had no choice; I was holding Zander at the time.”

  The fury in Nelson’s face melted. He pulled into the fetal position. “I would have done anything. Maybe the cannibal contagion will make her come back to life.” His face took on a mad aspect as he rolled to his hands and knees. “Maybe I can still get her back.”

  “Mr. Nelson, I realize this is difficult. Please try to be reasonable.” Discomfort crawled over Albin’s skin with centipede claws, raising gooseflesh.

  The wounded man’s insanity fled, abject grief replacing it. Head down, he sank to his elbows. Silent sobs racked him.

  Frowning, Albin crouched beside Nelson. What comfort could he offer? He had fired the bullet that dispatched Jennifer Nelson. The attorney looked down the concourse, allowing the mourning husband privacy.

  People passed, coming and going from the infirmary, but they barely spared Nelson a glance. They had seen worse than a sobbing man during the catastrophe.

  “Mr. Nelson.” Dropping to a knee, Albin stopped short of placing a hand on his shoulder. “Come. You can grieve in peace when we reach the living quarters.”

  “Now what the fuck is going on?” Officer Rodriguez marched toward them from the direction of the infirmary. “What did you do to him?” She glared at Albin.

  “I explained that his wife is deceased.” Albin held her gaze with the force of a railway coupling.

  “Oh.” Her bluster subsided as her expression gained a modicum of sympathy. Then the mask of professionalism returned. “I’m sorry to hear that, but crying isn’t going to help her. Move along to your quarters.” But the order lacked force.

  “Come.” Albin took Nelson by one arm, while Officer Rodriguez centered her shoulder under his other arm. After handing him back his crutches, they stepped away.

  “I want to go home.” Wiping his face on his T-shirt hem, Nelson sniffed. He fixed Rodriguez with a look of intensity only a husband and a father separated from his family could muster. “Please. I know it’s dangerous there, but I can’t imagine bringing Zander here. I’d rather be in Redwood. If we die there, we die where we lived. There I can grieve for my wife in peace.” A half glare at Albin accompanied the sentiment.

  Rodriguez shook her head. “You can’t just waltz in and out of here like it’s a hotel.”

  “I don’t need to come back. If my leg gets worse, I have some antibiotics in the refrigerator, and they gave me some pills when they discharged me. I’ll get by. We’re not prisoners. Right?” Unease strained his voice.

  “No, but because you were involved with what happened with the Red Devil Goats, Director Washington has a say in where you go and when.”

  “I already wrote my statement.” Licking his dry lips, Nelson adjusted his weight on the crutches as he continued, “I can’t help anymore. I mean that. I just can’t stay here.”

  “Officer Rodriguez,” Albin ventured, “another of my party, Badal Shukla, is also requesting to return to Redwood Shores. Would it be possible for them to return with the officer assigned to looking in on Redwood Shores? The probation officer, as Ms. Josephine termed it. I am concerned for their mental and emotional states.” Regarding Shukla and his behavior, concern for the truck weighed more on Albin’s mind.

  With a sigh that bordered on a growl, the DHS officer raised her eyes to heaven. “I’m not going to promise anything. But I’ll talk to my superiors and see if we can arrange something. God knows we don’t need you idiots hanging around here if we can avoid it.”

  Chapter 19

  Ate

  Iron and Gold - Extreme Music

  Inside the Nelsons’ garage, the five cannibals patrolled the perimeter. They resembled every other caged animal hunting for a breach in the fence. They felt along the walls, pushed on the doors, turned the knobs. All the while, oil oozed from their noses and mouths.

  “How often do you think they need to eat?” Amanda asked from her position on Nathan’s right. “Should we give them water?”

  He stepped aside to allow her to peer through the gap in the boards. “We can set up a control group to see how long one will function without food.”

  “What would we feed them, anyway?”

  On Nathan’s left, Josephine rubbed her chin in thought. “I suppose we could find an animal. There are plenty of strays around now—”

  “Josephine!” Amanda gasped. “Animal testing?”

  “I don’t mean kill it!” Hands up in defense. “I mean put it in a crate and hold it up to the window.”

  Standing back from her observation, Amanda hummed. “It would be hard to tell if they’re attracted to the sound and movement, or if they really would want to eat the animal.”

  “Fish?” Josephine suggested.

  “That’s the only good use for fish I can think of.” Nathan’s low-grade nausea worsened. “We can spare one from the fishermen.” A number of residents had volunteered to fish in the channel.

  Amanda cast a glance back at the window, then shuddered. “I think I’ve had my fill of staring at cannibals. They make me want to throw up.”

  “Likewise.” The sour pain in Nathan’s stomach had prevented him from eating much since . . . Albin left. “I’ll tell the fishermen.”

  Amanda and Josephine accompanied him on the drive to the docks. They passed luxury vehicles, manicured lawns, and impeccable homes that ran into the millions.

  Soon they reached Marlin Park. A few anglers occupied it. Others floated in flat-bottomed boats along Belmont Channel. A far cry from the fishing boats that trolled the Bering Sea, Nathan’s home waters.

  He approached the closest sportsman, who looked up from packing his tackle. “How was the fishing?”

  “Not too bad,” the thirty-something man responded, grinning in the shade of his broad-brimmed hat.

  “Mind if I steal one of your catch?”

  “You’re the boss.” The angler motioned to the creel that held his day’s work.

  “Thank you.”

  “What’s that?” Josephine shielded her eyes against the water’s glint as she squinted at a shape in the distance.

  Folding her arms, Amanda began toying with the collar of her V-neck. “It looks like a fishing boat.”

  Abandoning the basket and its nausea-inducing contents, Nathan straightened to see the point of interest. Indeed, a fishing boat drifted toward them from a waterway across Belmont Channel on the northern strip of the Redwood Shores peninsula. Three passengers occupied the craft, but none manned the outboard or a fishing rod. Th
ey stood, each looking in a different direction.

  “If that boat keeps coming, the wind is going to bring it right here,” the fisherman observed. “What’s wrong with them, anyway?”

  Then the boat’s occupants threw their heads back. Sound travels extremely well over water—especially hisses.

  Nathan’s hand found his Glock. “We can pick them off easily enough. Still, we need backup in case more arrive.” He drew his HT rather than the weapon. “This is Nathan. I need anyone on the security team who isn’t actively at a guard post to come to Marlin Park. Bring your weapons; we may have cannibals landing.

  Confirmations followed.

  “Is that a crowd of people?” Josephine pointed across the channel. A clot of figures milled in an apartment complex’s yard, which bordered the cannibal boat’s waterway. The sea wall’s forty-five degree angle to the shore prevented the observers from making an accurate count of the people, however.

  “I should have brought my binoculars,” Nathan muttered.

  “Use mine.” The angler dug a pair out of his tackle box.

  One, two, three—Pain caught Nathan’s ribs at the inhale. He held his breath and raised the binoculars. Please let it not be—“Cannibals. They’re . . . cannibals.” The blood howled in his ears like a gale, obliterating Amanda’s response.

  “What are they doing?” Jo nudged Nathan, who handed over the optics.

  A few cannibals in the apartment’s yard were easing into the water. They bobbed with heads just above the surface. More joined them.

  Josephine wrinkled her nose in disgust. “They don’t seem to be drowning. They’re just floating.”

  “We have better things to worry about.” Nathan pointed to the flat-bottomed boat as it drifted closer.

  “We’re trying to kill them, right?” Lowering her center of gravity in a defensive stance, Josephine put a hand over the grip of her pistol. “We’ve got enough in the garage.”