The Darwin Protocol: A Thriller (The Last Peak Book 1)

by William Oday

Elio stumbled forward while the hall tilted back and forth at odd angles.

  Through the metal door at the end of the hall, stairs appeared out of the smoke. Evil, Cuts, and the other soldier waited at the bottom step for that floor. Cesar and Theresa came up behind.

  Cesar shoved Elio and roared, “Go!”

  The boom of a shotgun and the metal railing pinged as slugs filled the empty column of air in the middle and ricocheted around. Several floors above, the suit leaned out over the railing, raining down death.

  The soldier screamed and spun to the wall as red blossomed on his white shirt. He slumped to the floor, leaving a crimson streak on the wall behind. Blood dribbled from his lips.

  Cesar snarled and waved his gun up the stairs.

  “Go!”

  Evil took off up the stairs, his back hugging the outside wall as he went. Cuts followed with Elio behind. Cesar brought up the tail with Theresa stumbling forward in his grasp.

  More slugs screamed down and caromed off the railings of the floors above.

  Elio’s feet pounded the steps as his brain searched for a solution. How could he save Theresa?

  They made it up four floors, Evil and Cuts with their guns raised and sporadically blazing. The sharp stink of gunpowder burned Elio’s eyes. The surrounding blasts a deafening storm. And any second Theresa could get hit in the storm of lead.

  Then the onslaught silenced. The suit above either got hit or retreated out of the stairwell.

  Cesar’s soldiers rounded the last bend and made it to the 60th floor. Spent shotgun shells and smaller pistol shells carpeted the concrete floor. Evil rounded the stairwell and ran halfway up to the next floor.

  “Nothing up here, Jefe. They must be on that floor.”

  Evil rejoined the group on the landing to the 60th floor. He reached for the closed metal door partitioning the stairwell from the office space beyond.

  “Wait,” Cesar said. A barrel jabbed Elio in the back. “Get up front. Kill the one with the shotgun, or I’ll kill you.”

  Theresa reached out and caught his sleeve.

  “No!” she screamed. “Don’t do it!”

  If only that were an option.

  He stepped out of the stairwell. More closed office doors lined the hall, about ten to a side. One of those rooms held the guy Cesar was after and the last suit. The silence hid which room it might be. They all appeared equally unwelcoming.

  Gazing down the hall, Elio considered his situation. There were guns in front and guns behind. Both sides ready to punch holes in his body. He crept toward the first door on the right knowing only two things.

  One, he would die.

  And two, there was no escape.

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR

  Mason watched the tracker app as he and Iridia sped east on Pico. Theresa’s phone hadn’t moved in the last five minutes. He slowed the big Bronco as he turned left onto Fifth Street. A few blocks down was where her phone had stopped.

  At the base of the Milagro Corporation Tower, one car blocked the middle of the road. The metallic red ’64 Impala.

  He’d driven like a madman to catch up, but now he approached slowly, reading the scene. He shut the lights off and parked halfway down the block.

  “Iridia, don’t get out. It’s not safe.”

  She didn’t answer. Those police officers that got mowed down. The destruction meted out by the Apache gunship. The brush with death. She was in deep shock. He’d be surprised if it were otherwise.

  Anyway, he preferred the silence.

  “Don’t leave me!”

  Of course, he wasn’t lucky enough for her stay quiet.

  “I have to.”

  She stared at him, arms crossed and still looking supermodel beautiful. Anger worked for her.

  “Listen, just stay put.”

  “Stop bossing me around! You aren’t my manager!”

  “No, your manager would have told you to fuck that director to advance your career.”

  “You’re an asshole!”

  “I don’t have time for this,” he said as he got out of the Bronco. He so wanted to slam the door in her face. But stealth was more important than the satisfying pop of a bubbling outburst.

  He eased the door shut and drew his Glock 19. He inched the slide back and verified the weapon was hot. In a low crouch, he moved forward keeping close to the buildings.

  He swerved back into the street and approached the red Impala with his pistol at the ready, his finger extended along the slide, his head on a swivel scanning for threats. A sky blue lowrider had smashed into the last of three black, late model Cadillac Escalades. The kind close protection officers used for high-profile clients. The wrecked lowrider’s horn droned continuously.

  He scanned to the right and saw that the entire entrance area was a wreck of shattered glass and chewed up metal framing.

  Several bodies lay on the pavement in front. None moved.

  He side-stepped around the rear door, looking through the open window, slicing the pie as he went. The back seat was empty. He cut around the front seat and found it empty as well.

  A quiet moaning surfaced below the much louder car horn. It was coming from over by the building. He moved around the back of the Impala and approached the source of the sound, a body partially hidden in shadows. The dark form lay on its side, curled up in the fetal position.

  As he got closer, he realized with a shock that he recognized the clothes. And the victim.

  Holly.

  He holstered his weapon and knelt beside her. He touched her shoulder.

  “No. Please.”

  “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s me, Mason. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “Help me.”

  The words croaked out wet and wheezing. Blood sprayed from her lips.

  She held her chest with glistening, crimson hands.

  She took a breath and Mason heard the sickening crackle of a sucking chest wound. Blood bubbled up out of her mouth.

  Mason had seen similar wounds. Too many. And he’d never seen a soldier walk away from one like this.

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE

  The terror in her eyes morphed into confusion.

  “Mr. West?”

  “Yes, Holly.”

  He laid a hand on her shoulder. He didn’t know what to say. She was dying, and he couldn’t stop it.

  “Am I hurt, Mr. West?”

  He took her hand and kissed it. Warm blood coated his lips.

  “You’re going to be fine. Don’t worry. Are you in pain?”

  “Kind of. But not really.”

  Blood flecked from her lips.

  “Good. That means you’re going to make it.”

  It didn’t mean anything of the sort. With a wound like that, her brain was overloaded and starting to shut down.

  “Holly, listen to me. Where is Theresa?”

  “I don’t know. She was here. I’m not sure.”

  She glanced at the blood-soaked sheer fabric sticking to her chest.

  “I got shot! I’m gonna die! Oh God! I’m gonna die!”

  He brushed the bangs out of her face and kissed her forehead. Her last moments should be peaceful. There was nothing more he could offer.

  “You’re not going to die. I’ve seen worse. Don’t worry, you’ll live.”

  Her face relaxed and her eyes fluttered. She opened them again and smiled.

  “Is it scary, Mr. West?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Dying. Because I’m scared.”

  “Just relax, honey. We’ll get you to the hospital in no time. The ambulance is already on the way.”

  There was no ambulance. And a hospital was the last place he’d take an injured person right now anyway.

  She turned her cheek into his hand.

  “Thank you… thank you.”

  Her last words came out as an exhaled breath tinged with syllables.

  With final words of appreciation on her lips, Holly died in his hands.

  Her family w
ould be crushed. Theresa would be devastated. How would he tell them? He kissed her forehead and left a bloody imprint.

  Grief shadowed Mason’s heart. But one emotion crested above all others vying for space in his soul.

  Rage.

  Rage at the taking of this girl’s life. Rage for what might yet happen to Theresa.

  He picked Holly up off the ground, cradling her in his arms. He wasn’t going to leave her on the cold concrete as the warmth bled out of her. He carried her back to the Bronco. Iridia stared with wide eyes.

  “Is she dead?”

  He passed her door and walked around to the back of the Bronco.

  “Tell me she’s not dead!”

  Mason flipped the hatch open and dropped the gate.

  “Help me spread out this blanket. Now!”

  Iridia jumped into the backseat and reached over to help out. With the old blue, emergency blanket spread out, Mason gently lowered Holly’s lifeless body to rest. He pulled the edges over her as well as he could and then closed up the Bronco.

  “Stay in the truck.”

  “What? Are you insane?” Iridia opened her door and Mason slammed it shut.

  “Stay in the damn truck! Do you want to end up like her?”

  The door stayed shut.

  “Is she really dead? Tell me I’m not hanging out in a car with a dead body! Not after the night I’ve had! First, it was that asshole director. I will not say his name. Ever again. Then—”

  “Shut up, Iridia!” Mason shouted.

  He needed to think for a minute. Theresa was likely in the Milagro Tower. In what condition, he didn’t know. And the process of finding out might leave him in a bad way as well. Either or both of them might need medical attention, at a time when no medical attention was possible.

  Except for Beth. She’d sewn him up a few times. And she had extensive care treating animals. She’d have to do.

  He pulled his phone out of his pocket and called his wife.

  “Mason? You won’t believe—“

  “Honey, sorry. It’s an emergency. I need you home immediately with whatever medical supplies you can gather.”

  “What happened? Are you hurt?”

  “Not yet.”

  “What do you mean? What’s going on?”

  “Some gang members have taken our daughter.”

  “What? Where’s my baby?”

  “I’m going to get her now.”

  “Don’t let them hurt my baby! Mason—“

  “Elizabeth. Listen to me. Bring whatever supplies you can gather and come home. You may need to treat gunshot wounds, lacerations. I don’t know. But we can’t go to hospitals right now. We need you.”

  “Oh my God, what—“

  “I love you so much, honey. I have to go.”

  “Don’t let them hurt Theresa!”

  “I won’t.”

  He ended the call and looked at Iridia, waiting for another idiotic outburst.

  “Go save your daughter.”

  You never knew how someone would react when it really counted. The toughest badass could break down crying like a baby. The most selfish supermodel could step up and show unexpected compassion.

  Mason nodded and headed into danger.

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX

  Glock again at the low-ready, he bounded back down the street, head swiveling from street to building and back. He crouched past the red Impala and approached the blue lowrider in front. It was riddled with bullet holes. Like an entire fire team had let loose on it. The wailing horn grew louder as he drew near.

  The hood was caved in from smashing into the parked Escalade. A man in a suit was squeezed between the two. He had the broad build and crew cut hair that screamed someone in the Mason’s business. His lower body a pulverized mess. He sprawled face down across the lowrider’s hood. Blood pooled beneath him and dripped down the sides. The ragged exit wounds on his back told Mason that the car crash didn’t finish him off. Shotgun slugs did.

  After clearing the area, he turned toward the building. Several bodies lay still on the pavement. Their fallen weapons at their sides. One guy’s head was pulped. His throat ripped out like a wolf had finished him off. What the hell was that about? Did they have a rabid dog in the gang? Like a twisted mascot?

  The muted stink of gunpowder lingered in the air. One hint among plenty that a gun battle had gone down here in the very recent past.

  He stepped around the mutilated body and cursed when his foot slipped on the gore. He fell to a knee and his hand squished into… something squishy. Looking away, he wiped the pale, spongy tissue onto the edge of raised planter. The air reeked from bodies torn apart. He spat to get the filthy taste out of his mouth. It didn’t work. The foul, metallic odor coated his tongue.

  He noticed red footprints leading out of the blood. He took a closer look. Size sevens. Not a normal gait. Dragged along at times.

  Could be Theresa.

  The footprints led to the demolished entrance of the building. The exterior looked like it had taken several mortar rounds.

  He crunched over a carpet of shattered glass and through the metal frame of a demolished window pane. He crept forward, sweeping left and right, knowing a threat could appear from anywhere. His daughter could be anywhere, too. And he didn’t want to put a bullet in her if she popped out from behind a corner.

  Mason followed the blood trail to a security booth and found it unoccupied. The papers on the desk thrown everywhere. He cast about and picked up the trail and followed it to the elevators. Three elevators on each side. He found a print in front of one and saw that the button had a red smear on it as well.

  Still on their track. He wiped the button and smeared in a new pattern.

  Not far behind either.

  He punched it and waited to the side as the doors opened. A puff of light smoke billowed out. He sliced the pie and cleared the interior. Another smudge on the button for the 55th floor. He took a deep breath as it ascended into the heavens.

  He prayed his daughter wasn’t already an angel.

  The doors slid open and he exited to find evidence of destruction everywhere. He moved down the hall, Glock covering the doorways as he passed. Through a metal door at the end and into a stairwell.

  Evidence of a gunfight was everywhere. Spent shell casings on the floor. The concrete walls chipped and scored.

  And then there was the body. A short gangbanger lay slumped over against the wall. A streak of blood on the wall showing his last fall to the ground. His mouth hung open, revealing a mouth full of gold.

  A shot rang out. From somewhere above. A few floors if he guessed right. He rushed up the stairs. Most people didn’t rush toward the sound of gunfire.

  Mason wasn’t most people.

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN

  Beth wrapped the tiny chimp in a thick, cushy towel. She tucked him into her messenger bag. He burrowed into the folds and settled. No doubt he needed rest. He’d had an exhausting start to life.

  She grabbed another bag and stuffed it with electrolyte solution. He’d need it for a week or two while his body adjusted to formula. Next, she went to the medical supply cabinet and started grabbing things to treat various wounds. Hopefully not gunshot wounds. She had no experience with that type of injury, and didn’t want to add to her resume working on her family.

  Not that she hadn’t worked on some ghastly wounds. She had.

  The baboons in particular often ended up with gaping, deep lacerations when the males went after each other. The zoo did its best to separate the troublemakers and head off any scuffles, but a bloody battle could kick off for the most minor transgression. The males’ aggressive attitudes were backed by canine teeth that matched any adult lion.

  She doubted a puncture wound made by a tooth looked much like a puncture wound made by a bullet.

  But even if the wound wasn’t quite the same, she knew the treatment would be similar. She packed the bag full of heavy dressings, tape, blood-clotting packs, transfusion bags,
IV ports, and other things that might come in handy.

  Theresa was in danger.

  The mother part of her mind butted into the doctor part.

  She couldn’t believe it. She didn’t want to believe it. She didn’t have enough information. A coil of worry squirmed in her belly. It twisted tight until she almost doubled over.

  Mason would know what to do. If anyone did, he would.

  Please God, keep her safe.

  Beth hadn’t been on a first name basis with the Almighty since leaving the strict regularity of her parents’ home. But that didn’t slow her down a bit. Once a Catholic, always a Catholic.

  She saw her flashlight on the counter and grabbed it. The emergency power had kicked on a while ago, but you never knew. The returned power was a welcome change, but it came too late. Too late to save Jane.

  When the lights came on, Diana left. Ostensibly to lead maintenance in the effort to figure out what happened and begin the repairs. She would likely succeed in only pissing off the folks in Ralph’s department. Especially since he wasn’t there to buffer the interaction.

  Diana had an almost superhuman ability to get under people’s skin. To make subordinates feel inferior in fewer words than it’d normally take to establish that a conversation was taking place.

  “You can’t leave with zoo equipment or supplies,” a voice said behind her.

  Think of the devil and she appears. Like magic, only not fun. More of a curse.

  Beth didn’t pause. She continued filling the bag.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “I’m leaving, just as you requested.”

  “You’re not leaving with those supplies.”

  Beth snapped the bag shut and grabbed her messenger bag and helmet. She was ready. Geared up for the ride home. She looked around the lab, pausing on the sheet covering the huge form that hours ago was Jane. The chimpanzee she’d raised from an infant.

  Now it was an empty body. Devoid of the life she’d loved so much.

  A stab of anguish pierced her chest.

  She walked to the table and rested her hand on the sheet. The hard ridge of Jane’s skull met her palm. Beth hated leaving her like this. It seemed so heartless. Such an undeserved end.