Ways of Darkness

by LC Champlin

  Wolves of the Apocalypse:

  Ways of Darkness

  Book 2

  By LC Champlin

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  Wolves of the Apocalypse: Behold Darkness, by LC Champlin.

  EBook published by Wulfram Cross Enterprises LLC, Blairsville GA, USA.

  www.lcchamplin.com

  © 2018 LC Champlin

  contact@lcchamplin.com

  Edited by Lucid Edit

  Cover by me, since apparently if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself – even if you try to pay someone.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Special thanks to…

  My beta readers in the ARC Pack for helping make this series possible.

  WARNING:

  This book is intended for MATURE AUDIENCES due to-

  Blood and gore

  Strong language

  Intense situations

  Extreme violence

  Mature humor

  Sexual themes

  Interested yet? Thought so.

  Table of Contents:

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Chapter 86

  Chapter 87

  Chapter 88

  Chapter 89

  Chapter 90

  Chapter 91

  Chapter 92

  Chapter 93

  Chapter 94

  Chapter 95

  Chapter 96

  Chapter 97

  Chapter 98

  Chapter 99

  Chapter 100

  Chapter 101

  Chapter 102

  Chapter 103

  Chapter 104

  Chapter 105

  Chapter 106

  Chapter 107

  Chapter 108

  Chapter 109

  Chapter 110

  Proverbs 2:10-15

  For wisdom will enter your heart

  And knowledge will be pleasant to your soul;

  Discretion will guard you,

  Understanding will watch over you,

  To deliver you from the way of evil,

  From the man who speaks perverse things;

  From those who leave the paths of uprightness

  To walk in the ways of darkness;

  Who delight in doing evil

  And rejoice in the perversity of evil;

  Whose paths are crooked,

  And who are devious in their ways;

  Chapter 1

  After Shock

  Rise - State of Mind

  Smoke black as unconsciousness billowed from the Hercules C-130 crash across the San Francisco Bay. Nathan Serebus stood to his full six-two at the view: the soot marked his grave, or it would if his injuries hadn’t forced him to miss his flight.

  In his periphery, his three companions on the parked military flatbed stared at the pyre in horror and disbelief.

  The buildings across the water obstructed his view. Height. He needed to climb. There, top of the semi’s cab.

  Legs back online after the shock of escaping death, he stalked to the ladder on the cab’s side. Leaning around, he caught a wrung. Pain blazed along his ribs as the fractures reminded him what falling fifteen feet onto one’s chest did to the body. Darkness lapped at his vision. His grip loosened and his knees went weak. Be strong. Climb. Let the bones God broke rejoice.

  His Nikes squeaked on the metal as he conquered the summit. On his feet again, higher than the others, he inhaled. One, two, three, four seconds. Hold. The morphine in his system dulled breathing’s pain.

  In the last forty hours, life had gone from throwing the gauntlet to launching a cruise missile at him. Terrorists, cannibals, explosions—what didn’t kill him mangled him. But he arose victorious, evolving from prey to wolf, then to the amarok wolf of legend that stalked the hunter foolish enough to venture into the woods at night.

  Evolve. Attack. Dominate.

  “From Chaos came forth Erebus and black Night,” he murmured.

  Nineveh spread around him, a maze of concrete canyons. Smoke rose at intervals along the skyline. Sirens wailed, banshees in broad daylight. Horns honked as people fled the city. Ash in the sky, blood in the streets. God spared him to conquer, not warn, the city He judged.

  Movement on the right returned his attention to his people. Most fantasy apocalypse teams boasted superheroes, supervillains, and Chuck Norris. They didn’t feature an attorney, a reporter, and an economist. The armchair generals could have their stars; he couldn’t ask for better than his pack. Tried by fire, they emerged as gold, or at least alive and sane.

  That said, he would trade them all save Albin—his attorney, adviser, and friend—to have Janine at his side. Hair as red as fire, beauty to rival Helen of Troy’s, and most importantly, an intellect as sharp and cold as a scalpel. Together, he and Janine would put a new spin on the saying, “They fight like a married couple.” More accurately, fighting by her side would mean that he and Albin were occupying East-Coast territory. Home.

  The exhilaration of a moment ago dipped as his arms ached to hold his wife and little boy again. For now, he would have to take conso
lation in the fact that Janine and Davie remained safe in Upstate New York, clear of the attacks on NYC and many of the country’s other major cities, including San Francisco.

  To his right, Marvin Bridges of the Federal Reserve sat hunched on the edge of the trailer, face buried so deeply in his hands that his fingers disappeared in his brown hair’s spikes. To his left, Josephine Behrmann of ABC 7 Action News watched the Hercules’s desolation through her smartphone’s camera screen.

  Cresting the ladder, Albin Conrad stepped onto the cab roof with a leopard’s grace, putting to shame his employer’s scramble. His wire rims flashed in the sun as he adjusted them between thumb and ring finger.

  Nathan gave a smile as cold as his adviser’s ice-blue gaze. “Carpe noctem. Ad victorium.”

  “Para bellum.” At these words, Brit heritage overpowered the Nowhere-USA half of Albin’s accent.

  “As should any who desire peace.”

  The blond turned back toward the C-130 crash site. Its smoke rose like that of a sacrifice on an altar. He reached up to the unbuttoned collar of his Armani dress shirt, then let his hand fall when he found no tie to straighten. “This is a war unlike any America has ever seen, sir.”

  “Then it will provide opportunities unlike any we’ve ever seen.” Nathan clapped his friend on the shoulder. “God spared us for a reason: to make order out of chaos.”

  “God?” Albin raised a brow.

  “Yes. And since we’re grounded for a week due to my lung—”

  “A fortnight, actually.”

  “Two, then. We might as well make the most of our time. The night is ours, Albin.”

  “I am more concerned about the day.”

  Shouts joined the emergency-vehicle sirens that howled across the Bay. Forty yards away, military personnel emerged from the hulking gray garage that represented the National Guard Armory. Most wanted a better view of the disaster, but a squad of combat-ready Department of Homeland Security officers had other concerns, namely Nathan and his colleagues on the flatbed. Nathan sighed as the grunts pointed at him. “We’ve got company,” he announced for Jo and Marvin. “I’m sure Director Washington will blame the explosion on us too.”

  Albin started toward the ladder. “I highly doubt they plan to congratulate us on our survival.”

  Nathan stared at the oncoming DHS squad. Suddenly the officers’ faces turned white, blistered. Motor oil drooled from their mouths as rust-red eyes locked on him. He squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head. When he looked up—ah, humans again.

  The terrorists who had unleashed the monster-creating contagion called them Dalits. The Untouchables. The Unclean. Appropriate, considering the oil they drooled and bled could infect anyone who touched it.

  Below, the lanky attorney hopped to the asphalt. His ropy muscles tensing, Nathan crouched to catch the ladder rail. Halfway down, he paused at seeing his reflection in the tractor’s side mirror, the first time he’d seen himself since the debacle at Doorway Pharmaceuticals yesterday morning. Black hair slicked back but rebelling contrasted with the goatee’s sharp borders. Steristrips and adhesive covered lacerations between contusions. Dark circles rimmed even darker eyes. Rabid seemed a more appropriate descriptor than rugged.

  The reflection flickered for a lightning-strike instant. In the flash, a bestial silhouette looked back with golden eyes. His throat closed while his heart double-kicked. Then his face returned.

  “Sir.” Albin’s voice jolted him.

  Shivering, Nathan resumed his descent. Hallucinations. Again. The morphine, Ativan, and whatever else polluted his blood opened doors to dark places.

  He dropped to the ground beside Albin as the DHS officers formed a perimeter about the four civilians. MP5 submachine guns waited for the chance to stop a threat. One of the squad stepped forward. “Let’s go, people. The Director wants you back in your quarters.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the Armory.

  “I’m sure she does,” Josephine replied as she panned across the group with her phone.

  Marvin’s attention remained on the crash site’s smoke billowing across the Bay.

  “It’s for safety,” the spokesman assured them as black-clad officers closed around their charges.

  Nathan snorted. “Famous last words.”

  As they trudged toward “safety,” Albin eyed him. “Are you well, Mr. Serebus?”

  “I just survived a collapsed lung, have three broken ribs, and look like I lost a fight with Tyson. Why wouldn’t I be?” He forced a sarcastic smile.

  The blond’s frown deepened. “Did we not just have a discussion about honesty?”

  Nathan wiped sweat off his face with the sleeve of his T-shirt. The noontime California sunshine wanted to roast him. “It’s just the meds.”

  “I see.”

  “What about you?” On the surface, trauma and emotions affected the attorney like rain affected sharks. Still waters harbored leviathans, though.

  Albin glanced over his shoulder at the brunette reporter, who gave them a smile. As usual, he wanted to appear competent and unmoved, especially in front of the media.

  “You’re fine, as always,” Nathan answered himself.

  The squad acted as a crowd breaker through the service members and into the Armory’s garage. An olive-drab Stryker rolled past, rumbling on eight wheels but every bit as imposing as a battle tank. Another armored personnel carrier idled as troops boarded. Humvees and utility cargo pickups came and went. Others waited as support crews loaded them with water bottles and supplies.

  Despite the confusion, Marvin stared ahead, following the officers like a zombie. Nathan stepped up. “Bridges.” Nothing. “Marvin.” He caught his shoulder.

  The economist flinched as if awakened. “Y-yeah. What?”

  Get his brain moving forward. “Do you know where to get bottles of water here?”

  “Uh, the cafeteria?”

  “I need you to do me a favor: get eight and put four in your room and four in Josephine’s. If there’s packaged food, stock up on that as well.” Give a person a mission and a reason, and you improved their morale.

  “I think I can manage.” The usual sarcasm returned.

  “Thank you.”

  Helicopter rotors thrummed near the Armory, making Nathan turn back to the garage entrance. The DHS officers nearest him paused, but before they could drag him along, shouts of, “Make a path! Medics coming through!” interrupted. A team of medical staff in fatigues trotted past, wheeling a stretcher.

  A Black Hawk descended. Downwash blew dust across the concrete. The door slid open, an invitation to the medics.

  Nathan stepped back for balance as someone pulled his shoulder rearward. The din around him faded to static. Images of the inside of a Black Hawk flooded his mind: Restraints. Medics holding him down. Pain across his chest. Why couldn’t he get any air? A flash of Albin upside down, pinning him with an ice-blue stare, insisting on—

  “Sir?”

  Panting, chest burning, Nathan looked about. The visions evaporated. He gulped against a dry throat. He started after the others, to the gratification of the DHS sheepdogs, but kept an eye over his shoulder.

  The medics inside the chopper exited, a patient on a backboard between them. But as they transferred their charge to the stretcher, the injured man reared up and swiped at the medics like a grizzly. Reflexes saved them. The other personnel grabbed his limbs while the medics cinched down safety belts.

  Nathan halted again as his brain caught up with his eyes: the patient had a white face and black mouth. Too far to see eye color, but . . .

  The golden eyes of the amarok blazed in the night forest of his mind. Don’t just stand there like prey; warn them.

  “Cannibal. Cannibal!”

  Chapter 2

  Cry, Wolf

  Son of a Wolfe - Powerwolf

  The shout caught the DHS squad’s attention. “Come on, sir—”

  Nathan stepped forward, only t
o meet closed ranks of officers. Idiots! “You have to shoot him!” He jabbed a finger at the monster on the stretcher. “He’ll infect everyone if you don’t put a bullet in his head.”

  “Calm down, sir.” The nearest officer raised a hand while the other hovered over the Taser at his belt. His comrade favored the baton.

  The cannibal on the stretcher occupied the medics’ attention as they hustled through the Armory, toward the front doors.

  “You’re wasting time,” Nathan snarled as he tried to sidestep the human barrier.

  “Mr. Serebus.”

  A hand on his shoulder. He pulled free, but the DHS man blocked him. “Move!”

  Then his arms went out as someone reached under them and around the back of his head. Fire lanced over his ribs. He staggered, the assailant’s foot on the back of his knee.

  “Stop,” Albin hissed in his ear, wrestling him back.

  Nathan dropped to a knee. “Get off!”

  “Stop before they force you.” More hands restrained him. Ah, everything hurt!

  “He’s . . . a cannibal!”

  “He is combative, like you were. He is not cannibalistic.”

  The stretcher sped past. Its occupant looked . . . human. Pale, bleeding from the mouth after a chest wound, but definitely human.

  Two DHS officers slammed Nathan to his chest. Fractures screamed, taking vengeance at the assault. Darkness narrowed his view. “Fine,” he gasped.

  “He is no threat.” Albin dismissed the grunts, who backed off with reluctance. He helped his employer up.

  Breath came in ragged gasps while the pain subsided. I saw it. I know I saw it. “I . . . I was mistaken.” Flashbacks superimposed on reality? He clenched his fists to stop the tremors. Inhale for one, two—Ribs burned, caught him mid breath.

  “Better safe than sorry,” Marvin put in.

  Josephine’s brow furrowed as she stepped closer. “Nathan, are you—”

  “Don’t worry.” Her concern made his skin crawl. Blast, the whole misadventure made him feel like spiders scurried over his flesh.

  “What the fuck, Serebus?” a woman’s familiar voice cut through the chatter. The DHS minions turned to allow one of their own through. Though the top of her head came only to most of their shoulders, the Latina stormed up with more don’t-mess-with-me attitude than a honey badger. And she most assuredly did care.