Behold Darkness

by L C Champlin

  “Josephine.” He glanced up at her. “I suggest you get something to eat if you haven’t already.”

  She shrugged. “Okay. I’m not really hungry, but maybe I can find a coffee. Do either of you want—”

  Twin head shakes answered.

  “All right.” She turned and slipped out.

  Two breaths later, Albin murmured, “Sir, the data—”

  “Did you have lunch yet, Albin? No? Go get something.” Nathan waved toward the hall.

  “I am not hungry.”

  Nathan sighed, carefully. Today Albin must have faced challenges equal to any Nathan had endured. The attorney had also suffered the added burden of interpreting his employer’s plan and improvising with changing situations. “How are you holding up?”

  An expression as emotional as a brick wall met the question. “I am uninjured.”

  Nathan regarded his friend. “You were asking about the data—”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s with us.”

  Albin’s shoulders relaxed. “Excellent.”

  “If we’re fortunate, the government believes it died with Cheel or Ali. If they have Birk, he’s even better than the drives. They want to know what the data means to the terrorists; he can tell them. I wonder if they need assistance questioning him?”

  “They have two volunteers,” Albin muttered. “You discovered the data’s purpose, then.”

  “Listen to this.” Nathan queued Birk’s explanation and handed the phone over.

  As the researcher’s voice played, nausea welled in Nathan’s stomach despite the Ativan. Albin stared into middle distance as he listened.

  When the recording finished, the blond returned the device. “They want to use the data to control the cannibals’ spread.”

  “Control, stop, make more dangerous. The terrorists’ bio-weapons backfired. By the way, it spreads through the—”

  “Oil. Yes.” Albin crossed his arms, tapped his fingers on his bicep. “The government possesses the resources to use the information, stopping the cannibal epidemic. However, one questions whether allowing the government sole access to the information is wise. I neglected to mention, sir, that Dr. Birk deleted the files from the server after he downloaded them.”

  Shrug. “No matter. If they pull access records and run a deep data recovery, they’ll see the files.”

  “Then they have no need of our drives.” Albin returned the shrug.

  “Mmph.” Squeezing his eyes shut, Nathan let his head fall back onto the pillow. “Information is the new dollar. Aside from being persons of interest to the government and mildly interesting to the media, we’re broke.” Plans nosed at the edges of his mind but bounded back into drugged darkness when he neared. “Advice, Albin.”

  A moment of silence, then: “Handing over the drives may delay them from examining Doorway Pharmaceuticals’ databases, allowing the company to permanently purge data they wish to keep out of public and governmental eyes. Having the drives now will allow the government to begin work on halting the cannibals’ spread. The authorities may also be grateful for our cooperation and expedite our return home.”

  Opening one eye, Nathan grunted. “Get to the cons before I start calling you a government pawn.” At the last word, he grinned.

  Stepping back, Albin took his at-ease stance. “The cons: We lose access to possibly invaluable information that, if used correctly, could propel Arete Technologies far beyond its competition.”

  “If we keep the drives, we have . . . the opposite.”

  Nod. “If we keep the drives, the government will rush to access Doorway Pharmaceuticals’ servers. All files, including those on our Arete servers, will fall into the hands of the government. The drives will become irrelevant.”

  Nathan looked up from picking at the edge of the IV-site tape. “To them, but not to us. And I prefer to keep the government out of my territory.”

  “The options as I see them are before you. I suspect the upcoming debriefing, or rather the interrogation, will help reveal the correct decision.”

  “If I toss the dog a bone, it might not bite us, or it might jump the fence to attack everyone else.” Nathan pressed his hands together before him, tapped his pursed lips with his forefingers. Pros and cons. “The key lies in what you said: sole access.” Albin’s advice acted as bait, luring the plans farther from the murk.

  “And if they discover on their own that we hold the drives?”

  Contingencies upon contingencies. Albin likely already had three in mind. “I’m a medicated man with head trauma and, after this little adventure, at least two mental disorders. My memory might not be up to its usual razor edge.”

  Albin snorted, then sobered. “Very good. In the meantime, entrust the real drive to me. I will find a secure location for it. Splitting them up halves the chances of them being uncovered on a routine search.”

  “Semper paratus.”

  Splinting his chest with his right arm, Nathan reached into a leg pocket for the data case. He withdrew it and opened the lid. “Here.” He handed the primary drive to Albin.

  The blond stooped, slid the device into his sock.

  “Are my shoes here?”

  When Albin straightened, he offered the Nikes.

  “Excellent.” Into the tongue went the other drive, just as before. So much trouble for . . . a chance.

  Chapter 102

  Death Toll

  The Globalist – Muse

  Several minutes later, the curtains slid aside to admit Jim. After he finished listening to Nathan’s lungs, Albin asked, “Sir, what’s the possibility of this recurring?”

  Jim shoved his hands in his coat pockets, then glanced at Albin. “With proper treatment and follow up, most traumatic pneumothoraces resolve well and don’t recur spontaneously.” Attention back on Nathan. “You’re gonna want to take a break from MMA, falls off buildings, and shots to the chest for the next few weeks.”

  “It’s my fondest wish.”

  “Well, it was good meeting you, Nathan.” The officer offered his hand. “Too bad it was here and not on the shooting range.”

  Handshakes all around, then with a last wave the officer exited.

  “We have a room?” Nathan asked.

  “A repurposed office, sir. It’s not the St. Regis.”

  “Good,” Nathan muttered. “It’s starting to feel like I checked in to the Hotel California, though.”

  The curtains rolled aside as a twenty-something female nurse entered. Vitals check, IV removal. Then she handed him the discharge papers. To Albin she gave two blister packs of pills.

  “If you have any problems,” she began.

  “I know where the infirmary is.” Steeling himself, he pushed to his feet. Morphine worked wonders for pain, but balance required concentration.

  In the hall, Albin took the lead. Nathan trudged half a step behind. He could only manage three quarters of his usual conqueror’s bearing.

  “What did we win?” he asked as they passed through a set of double doors and away from the white curtains and lights that made everything cold and claustrophobic.

  “Forty intestine-shredding tablets of Clindamycin,” Albin began, displaying the package, “and forty addictive tablets of Percocet.”

  “Percocet?” Nathan snorted a laugh.

  Albin guided them through turns and halls to the room. Inside, he switched on the electric lantern. A desk pushed against the far wall must’ve once dominated the office’s center. Two cots now occupied its territory. Placards and diplomas from the office’s usual resident decorated the walls, too dim to read.

  “Albin,” Nathan began as they entered, “unless I miss my guess, you’ve been awake for over thirty hours. Get some rest.”

  The blond half turned to arch a brow in suspicion. “While you do what, exactly?”

  “I need to take a walk.”

  Judging from the narrowed eyes, Albin feared his employer causing
trouble rather than falling into it. “You will do as you see fit. Sleep will not come for me until after the debriefing. I’m going to the cafeteria.” With that, he exited.

  Jim mentioned watching the reports, so the service personnel must keep a TV or radio around. Before Nathan went on his scouting mission, though, he needed camouflage. An Army cap sat on the sparsely populated bookshelf. Pulling the cap low on his brow and holding his discharge paperwork under his arm, he stepped into the hall. Maybe he’d happen across a clipboard outside. Nobody questioned a person with a clipboard. If he braced his torso muscles and kept his stride at a medium speed, he could affect a Soldier on an assignment—to someone ten feet away and not paying attention.

  He followed the exit signs down the halls, finally breaking into the California sun. Squinting, he raised a hand to shield his face as he nodded to the soldier who stood guard.

  Across the street loomed a gray building that could only serve as a military garage. Its entrance faced the school.

  Nathan fell in behind a pair of soldiers as they pushed open the glass doors. Once inside, he stepped aside to take in his surroundings. MRAPs, Humvees, utility vehicles, and heavy tactical trucks occupied the massive garage and the lot beyond.

  Men and women in BDUs of various camo patterns went about their tasks. Some loaded supplies, others performed vehicle maintenance. A squad in battle gear assembled at a black MRAP. Pools of troops collected in select areas: a bullet-riddled utility vehicle, a tactical truck, a corner—There, a TV with a screen barely bigger than a laptop monitor jutted from the wall on a bracket.

  Catching the next current, he drifted to the media center.

  The cookie-cutter male anchorman was in the middle of listing recent attacks, while images of the carnage played on the other half of the screen. “The attack on the Willis Tower, commonly known as the Sears Tower, included the lower levels as well as the Skydeck. Authorities currently estimate fifty-six dead, sixty-eight wounded.” Smoke and fire billowed from the Skydeck’s shattered glass.

  Add Chicago to the list of targets. Two friends owned tech firms in the area. Had they survived?

  “Moving to Atlanta and the bombing of the Georgia Dome.” The camera panned across plowed bleachers, bodies covered in sheets, ERTs working cleanup. “Authorities are placing the number of dead at 118, wounded at 359. This is Atlanta’s largest mass-casualty disaster.”

  The numbers remained as statistics in his mind. A person could only conceive of so many casualties as actually human and relatable.

  “In Washington DC all members of Congress and the administration have bee”—killed?—“evacuated and are in secure locations.” Good. A few of those bastards owed him favors.

  “However,” the reporter continued, looking paler with each city, “the chlorine gas attack in the White House has reportedly killed three staff members. The Capitol Building sustained damage to the dome from the bombing that killed eight people on a tour of the building.” A hole gaped from the side of the dome’s lower supports.

  Nathan’s stomach clenched. Innocent tourists, probably from outside DC, had died while trying to appreciate their nation’s capitol.

  “The Metro Center Station and the Metro itself are closed after an attack on the Center Station. Sixty-two are reported dead.” Police tape cordoned off the station while fire trucks hulked nearby, lights flashing.

  “There are currently fifteen casualties at the Washington Monument, and twenty-four at the Lincoln Memorial. Both national landmarks were destroyed.” Lincoln occupied his throne, headless and blackened. The columns and roof lay in a heap around the Emancipator. The feed shifted: Washington’s obelisk sprawled in pieces across the lawn.

  “No further attacks have occurred in New York City. Authorities are working to rescue people who may still be trapped in the wreckage.”

  Nathan let out a sigh of relief, head falling back as he looked to Heaven. Thank God! Janine and David remained safe at the homestead.

  The reporter looked on the verge of either passing out or vomiting. No one could blame him. He saw the footage the news agency didn’t air. Nathan stepped back with two servicemen who’d also witnessed enough. If he heard any more, he probably would vomit.

  So many dead and maimed. So much damage. Electrical, Internet, and phone grids would fail. Water would dwindle. Food would vanish. Vandals and looters would run rampant. People would demand the government do something, anything, to help. The government, acting with the wisdom of Solomon but not the mercy, would sever the country by instituting curfews, weapon confiscations, and martial law.

  What a spectacular disaster, a crisis of legendary proportions. A smile tugged at his lips. You had to respect an enemy who acted with such force.

  “Serebus, what the hell?”

  Nathan stopped, suddenly halfway down a hall—in the school? How did he get—

  “Why is it impossible for you to follow even simple instructions?”

  Roddy! He turned, smile still in place. The woman stormed toward him like an angry Tasmanian devil. “Officer Rodriguez, a pleasure to—”

  “Stuff it.” She drew up a yard from him to deliver a once-over. “Apparently you pulled through enough to be up causing trouble. I’d say you must have a head injury, but you’ve always been like this. Fucking hotshot.” A slight smile twitched at the corners of her eyes despite her words.

  “Apparently. Thank you for pulling me out of the fire back there and for seeing that they didn’t mistake us for the bad guys.” He offered his hand to the spitfire.

  She delivered a firm single pump. “It was hard to tell you apart for a minute there. Your lawyer made a good case for himself as being a traitor, but your story rang true.”

  “Perceptive.”

  “Not really.” She flashed a snide grin and added, “I couldn’t believe Secret Squirrel and Morocco Mole would turn on each other.”

  “Come now, Albin’s not short,” Nathan chuckled. “All the same, I owe you my life.”

  Rodriguez shook her head. “I told you I’d get you here, even if I had to cuff you.”

  “Have you heard anything about Murphy?” The suspense gnawed him like a starved rat. “Is he alive?”

  “I haven’t heard any updates.”

  “We’ll hope for the best.”

  She harrumphed.

  He tilted his head to regard her. “Now, what are these instructions I’m ignoring?”

  “You were supposed to stay where we could find you easily.”

  “You found me.” He held his arms out in surrender. “So I’m following orders to the letter.”

  Rodriguez tapped a finger on her duty belt in annoyance. Then she sighed and shook her head. “Come on, back to your room.”

  “An escort, eh?”

  “Yeah, like a police escort to the city limits. I gotta admit, you’re one lucky bastard.”

  “My ‘manipulation and demands’ helped.”

  “They helped some people, anyway.” Her face darkened.

  Nathan sighed, splinting his chest. “My sympathies. He was a good officer: he did his duty to the end.” What else could he say? If the exchange was with anyone else, he would have put a consoling hand on the bereaved’s shoulder. Intuition warned that if he touched the officer, he’d make friends with the floor faster than he could say, “The weapon wasn’t loaded when I shot him.”

  “I’ll relate that to his family.” Her voice held only respect for the dead.

  Nathan swallowed down acid. They would mourn Jordan, wonder why he died and others lived. “In the coming days, we’ll need people like you who know who and what they’re protecting.”

  “Yeah.”

  No comeback? Deep inside, below the DHS-snowed mind, her heart must agree.

  Their destination approached on the left. Rodriguez halted at the door, looked up to level a soul-piercing glare at him. “I hope I never see you again, Nathan Serebus, because you’re nothing but a pain in my a
ss.”

  He smiled in satisfaction.

  As he turned to open the door, she added, “I’m requesting a guard for your room. I don’t feel like hunting you down when the director wants to debrief you.”

  “Why, thank you. I’d feel much safer.”

  “Try to keep your dumb, cocky ass out of trouble.”

  “Likewise, Officer Rodriguez.” He gave a gentlemanly bow of the head.

  With a growl, she turned and marched off.

  Chapter 103

  Order from Chaos

  Take the World by Storm – Lukas Graham

  Only habit kept Albin’s stride businesslike and his posture erect. Images of the carnage from around the country flickered through his mind. On a normal day, his emotions rarely fluctuated from baseline. Logic subdued any emotion powerful enough to make a nuisance of itself. Now, however, his heart felt Novocain-numb.

  The images and reports slid behind the vault door in his mind, into the desert wasteland beyond. Sand gusted from the opening before the door locked. The heat brought blood to his face.

  He rounded the corner to the “home” hall, then slowed. Why was a battle-ready DHS officer standing outside their door? Albin heaved an inward sigh. What had Mr. Serebus done now?

  “Officer.” Albin halted before the guard. “Am I permitted to enter?”

  “Yes, sir.” The officer stepped aside. “It’s your room.”

  Slipping inside, Albin locked the door behind him out of habit. Inside, he turned on the electric lantern and squinted in the twilight to find Mr. Serebus supine on his cot, one knee bent, hands folded over his chest as he braced his ribs. He’d smoothed his hair back and now looked more himself than he had since the Situation began. Eyes half open, he regarded the ceiling like an artist absorbing a landscape.

  “How was the cafeteria?”

  Albin crossed to the back of the room to set four water bottles on the desk. “Highly depressing, sir.” For the next few years, anywhere with an electronic device capable of accessing news feeds would fit the description.