Catastrophe
D. Andrew Campbell
Copyright © 2019 David Andrew Broviak
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, copied or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission of the publisher and/or author.
Catastrophe is a work of fiction. The names, characters, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover design and interior layout created by David Broviak
Published in Indianapolis. MMXIX
Edition 1
ISBN: 978-0-9897522-6-8
Novels by D. Andrew Campbell
Catharsis
Catalyst
Catastrophe
For my fans,
And for my grandfather.
None of this is possible without you.
PROLOGUE
Some days I can still remember what it felt like to be human.
It’s a nice sensation, but not one I spend much time reflecting upon these days. It is just a part of my life that is in the past. A part of me that is in the past, really.
Now I am something beyond human. Beyond whatever it was I spent the first sixteen years of my life being. I am something more. Something more dangerous. More deadly and more alive than I ever was as a teenaged Hispanic girl growing up in a normal life with a normal family and a normal little sister. And then it all died. And I died with it.
In the stretch of eighteen months I went from human to superhuman to inhuman. And I owe it all to three different men.
The first was the dead stranger in the alley who infected me with his disease one night. It changed my body so that I was faster, stronger, more powerful and simply more everything than anybody I had ever known existed. It just had a few drawbacks that went along with my new abilities. An overbearing sensitivity to light and sound. The inability to eat normal foods. And more importantly, the unrelenting desire to drink the blood of living creatures.
The second man was my best friend, Ren, who helped me come to terms with what my body was going through and try to control it as best I can. He helped me find sanity. And he guided me to become a better person. Without him I would have succumbed to the violent pulls of my Dark Hunger much more quickly. I owe him for keeping me in touch with my humanity for as long as he did.
Finally, there was Chadwick Morrin, the sadistic child-trafficker who murdered my younger sister in front of me and took delight in watching my decency and humanity dissolve into nothingness. He showed me that I was letting my morals and kindness hold me back. He released me from the constraints of who I thought I was, so that I could become who I needed to be.
He helped me embrace my true identity. I am the Living Night that feeds on the unworthy denizens of the underworld. I am the Darkness that haunts the back alleys of our great city and unleashes justice upon those who believe they have escaped it. I am the Hunger, and I am insatiable.
And I need to thank the man who helped create me.
So I watch him. Whenever I am not trying to make my city a better place, I make the drive out to the prison where he is currently being held, and I park in the half-filled lot and I watch him. And he knows it.
Whenever he goes out to the sparse prison yard for the brief exercise they allow him, I can see him through the multiple fences that separate us. I watch his every movement, and I commit them to memory. There will come a time when we meet again, and I will be ready for him.
But he watches me, too. I don't know how he always knows, but he does. He turns to watch me, and stands in the empty grassy patch of lawn they allow him to walk around and he stares back at me. And smiles. He's always smiling. Staring at me and smiling. Without end. Every visit.
But the time is coming for us to meet again. And on that day his smiling will stop. Permanently. Just like mine did that day in his warehouse when my sister died.
PART ONE
-Disgust-
CHAPTER ONE
“Are you sure you want to do this Cat?” Ren asks over the headset as I push the electric motorcycle’s throttle to its top speed and hurtle down the darkened city streets. “These new guys aren’t like the Mexican cartels we’ve been dealing with. I know we thought we’d been dealing with bad guys before, but this Albanian outfit that’s moved in is more ruthless than anything we’ve ever seen before. This could get really messy, really quickly.”
“All the more reason to make sure it happens tonight, buddy,” I tell him over the helmet’s microphone. “If you’re sure your Intel is correct on this, then I don’t want to put it off any longer. I need to make an impression on them immediately. And the messier that impression, the better, I’d guess.
“And you’re sure this outfit is the one responsible for those deaths you read about earlier?” I ask him. “They really have an open bounty posted for anyone that kills a Hispanic girl after dark?”
I still have trouble believing anybody would stoop to that level to stop me. Even a bloodthirsty Eastern Bloc sect of the old Russian Mob. It seems a bit extreme. But then again, extreme would probably be a good description of me nowadays, too. A lean, eighteen year-old Hispanic girl with shoulder-length brown hair and chocolate-brown eyes surrounded by some of the deepest, darkest sleep circles ever witnessed on a human being might seem mildly interesting, but it's hardly extreme. And that's all I am...until you dig a little deeper.
Once you get past that basic teenaged veneer, then you'll see the side of me that seems to have the local mob boys selling their souls in an attempt to bring me down. The side of me that spends all of its free time hunting other humans so that I can tap into their delicious red nectar of life-giving blood that powers my growing list of superhuman abilities: enhanced senses, speed, strength and when I’m stressed, even control over the passage of time.
Well, not exactly the ability to control time, but I can cause my adrenaline glands to kick into such a state of overdrive that I begin to move at a speed that is faster than the human eye can perceive. I move so quickly that the rest of the world simply comes to a standstill around me. It's not time control, but it is certainly the next best thing.
And what have I been using all these skills for these past several months? The manipulated destruction of the city's wanton drug trade, of course. It has given me a focus for my pent-up energy. A focus that has begun to log a body count of mind-numbingly large proportions. And I believe it is this drug-thug body count that has gotten me so much attention from my uninvited fan club as of late.
To be fair, I didn't always bring Death with me when I used my abilities. I can feed and keep myself alive without ever killing my victims. It puts a strain on my physical system and mental faculties to do it, but I tried for over a year to make an impression on these hoodlums and poison peddlers without actually relieving them of their lives. It didn't work, and it only led to more heartache on my end. Heartache and the deaths of those very close to me. I learned that in this war people are going to die. And it can either be people chosen by me or by them. And I've grown tired of the other side getting to choose. So now I do, and it looks like my choices have gotten someone's attention.
"Yes, it's definitely them," Ren says answering my question. "They're not even hiding it. I believe they want it to be known that they are now in charge, and that they are taking control of the situation. But it's not just little Hispanic girls they have put a bounty out on, Cat."
"Oh yeah?" I ask as he piques my interest a bit more. "What else are they throwing under this whole 'let's kill Catarina Perez' umbrella?"
"Motorcyclists, too," he states flatly. "Anyone s
een on a motorcycle after dark is fair game according to what I'm reading. Apparently, they aren't smart enough, or just don't care enough, to specify what kind of motorcycle you've been seen riding, so anyone with two wheels and a motor is soon going to be a potential murder victim. That's not good, Cat."
I sigh as I let my brain absorb the information Ren just gave me. This war is about to get very bloody very quickly, and I'm not sure how to end it before innocent people start dying. The idea of unsuspecting girls and motorcyclists getting gunned down is hardly an appealing future for our city, but there is only so much I can do. According to what we've been able to track down about this new outfit so far, most of the decision-makers are still back in the Mother Country pulling strings. The only individuals over here are simply underworld 'management' that have been put into position to follow orders sent from overseas. I'm not sure how much of the damage I inflict will actually go towards stopping further bloodshed as opposed to just inciting a new wave of interference.
I've already learned more than once that just having good intentions isn't enough. Sometimes the best of intentions only leads to the most devastating of consequences.
That is not a path I care to travel down again.
"So pretty much anybody on a motorcycle or any young girl who looks even vaguely Mexican is apt to be dead by morning if we don't find a way to stop them? Is that right?" I ask through gritted teeth. This is going to be a long night.
"Yeah, Catarina, that's looking pretty accurate," Ren says and then falls quiet while I hear him typing on one of the many keyboards he has in front of his massive wall of computer monitors. The man loves his technology, and our past ill-gotten gains from robbing the drug cartels have only helped fund his addiction to blinking screens and electronic circuitry. But I can't knock it. His computer skills have more than once saved my life with his uncanny knack for finding out invaluable information.
"Thoughts?" I ask him after my attempt to ignore his extended silence fails me. "Where do we go from here? How do I stop this?"
"I honestly don't know. I wish I did. I've already pushed the information out to the police and the media, but they aren't nearly as interested in this information as the underbelly of society is. To them it is just a rumor until something actually happens." He pauses, and I can hear him breathing over our connection before he continues. "I believe the police will take it seriously, especially if a body count begins to pile up tonight, but until then all they can really do is notify officers of the situation and tell them to keep their eyes open. Useful, yes, but it isn't going to help prevent much, I fear. And the media outlets don't want to create a panic with something that may not even happen. They’ll get roasted on social media if they do that. Once bodies start piling up, though, I think they'll be on board. But I'm not sure what to do to prevent those bodies in the first place."
"Makes sense, Renny," I tell him. "I don't like it, but it makes sense."
Without anything else to say, I just let the emptiness of our conversation hang in the air as I continue driving through the city. In less than half an hour the sun will go down, and the Albanian organization's bounty will be live. I'll be a moving target out here on the streets for anybody with a gun and a desire for easy money. Not that it will be a problem for me, I'm quite capable of handling myself, but for many others tonight will quickly become a nightmare. And once that starts, there will be junkies and hopheads everywhere looking to cash in on whatever unsuspecting prey they're able to bring down.
Then an idea hits me. It may not be a perfect one, and it won't prevent all the violence that is about to be unleashed, but at the very least it might slow it down some. And right now, that's all I have going for me.
CHAPTER TWO
"Renny,” I blurt into my helmet's microphone. "What are people supposed to do tonight to cash in on the bounty? I mean how are they supposed to get paid?"
"Why, Cat?" Ren replies with an exasperated tone. "Are you planning on trying to make some side money tonight, too?"
"Ouch," I respond. "One, that was uncalled for. And two, no, I have a plan. At least something to get us started."
"Sorry," he says and I hear the stress tinging his voice. "I don't like the idea of us being responsible for bystanders getting killed. It's making me a bit snarky."
"Yeah, I caught that, Ren," I tell him and push it aside. "And I agree. So, let’s do something to stop it from happening. Like my plan, remember? How are people going to cash in these bounties?"
"Ok. Give me a minute, and I'll get back to you on that."
Turning right at the next intersection, I push my bike to its top speed in an attempt to get back to our warehouse headquarters as quickly as possible. If my idea works like I want it to, then I think I might need to pick up some extra supplies back home before committing to a long night out. After only a few minutes of quiet riding, Ren gets back to me.
"Right now, they have a few stations set up where people are supposed to be bringing in their trophies to cash them in for a reward..."
"Trophies?" I ask interrupting Ren's answer. I'm afraid I already know what he's going to say, but I still need to hear him say it.
"Yes, trophies," he tells me. "Anybody wishing to get paid for their bounty has to transport the evidence of their kill back to a given location. There it will be verified and payment made. They are offering up to..."
"Stop," I say quickly before he can continue. "I don't want to know amounts. I just wanted to know the process. That's all."
"Ok, why?" He asks, and then he answers himself before I can. "You want to hit the payment centers, don't you? Report that you've made a bounty kill, and then take the place apart? I can't believe I didn't think of that," he says. "Nicely done. That is a good plan."
"Thanks," I tell him and smile. He doesn't compliment me much anymore. Not since my sister Leyna died, anyway. But then again, I'm not the same person I was back then. I've been making some choices he doesn't exactly agree with. "I have a feeling just coming up with the idea is the easy part, though. There's no way these places will be a small operation. I'll be stepping into a world of hurt, won't I?"
"Most likely. This will be our first run in with the new owners of our city's drug empire, so I don't know much about their operation, yet. Everything I've seen about them so far indicates that they are a step above the group we ran out of town before. And that group very nearly got you killed."
"Well, they might not have been the ones to actually destroy me, but it certainly wouldn't have happened without their influence. I died that night, Ren, even if it wasn't directly by their hand.
“And, to answer your implied question, no, they don't scare me at all. They can't scare me anymore. Not after what happened that night."
"Catarina," Ren interjects quietly. "You can't keep saying that. You didn't die. You're still alive, and you're still you. I know what happened to Leyna was horrible, but that wasn't your..."
"Ren," I growl at him before he can continue. "We aren't getting into this. Understood?"
I pause to breathe for a moment, but I don't wait for him to respond. "I'm on my way back to the warehouse now. I should be there in about five minutes."
"What?" Ren asks clearly startled by the statement. "Why? We need you out there tonight, not here. I thought you said you weren't scared. Why are you coming back then?"
If my sense of humor still had much life left to it, his reaction would have made me laugh. But that doesn't happen much anymore. Not since that night. I honestly think I may have lost the ability to experience joy after being involved in Leyna’s death. Contrary to what Ren keeps insisting, even if my physical body didn't die with her, some important part of me most certainly did.
"I'm not coming back to hide," I say and try to force a smile through my voice in an attempt to lighten the mood a bit. "I'm coming back to get some supplies. I fear I have a long night ahead of me, and I don't want to run out of any necessities."
"Ok, makes sense," he says and I can hear the
relief flood through his voice. "Anything you want me to get ready for you?"
"Actually, yes, Mr. Pater. I know you've been tinkering with some new filters and body armor. Any chance they're far enough along that I could bring something with me to test out?"
"My real name, huh?" he asks, and I can hear his smile through his voice. His doesn’t sound forced. "Is that an attempt at buttering me up, dear? You really do want to play with these new toys, huh?"
He pauses to let me answer, but I don't. I just ride in silence and let him answer his own question.
"Of course you do. But I haven't fully finished them, yet. You're welcome to take them out, but I don't know how well they're going to work. They're still prototypes. I'd ask if that worries you at all, but I'm pretty sure I know what the answer to that would be, too."
"Get them ready, Ren," I say as my only response. "I'll be pulling in in just a moment."
CHAPTER THREE
to be a mix of thick Lycra and a neoprene-like material that reminds me of a wetsuit. It's snug and warm and surprisingly more comfortable than I would have given it credit for. Especially for how heavy it is. Something this thin and skintight should not be restrictively heavy, but it is. If it wasn't for the fact that my muscles are naturally stronger and more adept at pushing weight beyond what they should, then I think this outfit would just cause me to lie down on the ground and give up after only a few minutes of exertion and movement.
As it is, I can feel The Darkness surging through my body and reacting to the challenge of moving under so much weight. It will certainly be possible to move with this on, but it will also burn through my energy at an accelerated rate. It's a good thing I've become so accustomed to letting the Darkness ride shotgun on these adventures. I don't think I'd be able to keep myself mobile for long without it.
Catharsis (Book 3): Catastrophe Page 1