Pathosis (A Dark Evolution Book 1)
Page 1
Table of Contents
Acknowledgments
Prologue
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
Epilogue
About The Author
Pathosis
Copyright © 2015 by Jason LaVelle. All rights reserved.
First Edition: May 2015
Cover Photography by Ann McLeod
Formatting: Streetlight Graphics
This eBook is licensed for the personal enjoyment of the original purchaser only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
For my family. As always, I love you.
Acknowledgments
To all of my family and friends, thank you so much for your help and support. To my wife, thank you for all that you do every day, I really could not do this without you. I want to say a special thank you to my grandparents, Yvonne and Bruce Ormiston. You two have been an inspiration in my life. Grandma, you taught me that with love, kindness and creativity, I could achieve anything. Grandpa, you taught me that with hard work, dedication and a fierce loyalty to my family, I could truly be a success in life.
Prologue
On my sixteenth birthday, I killed my father. He was a good man and a great dad. He was the first man I looked up to and the first man I loved. He was a family man and a devoted husband. My father was the first person I ever killed, but he would be far from the last.
I’m nineteen now, and the world is a very different place, a frightening place. There are some who have called me a hero, but definitely not all. I’ve been called a villain, and a murderer, just as many times. A lot has happened between then and now; there were many more deaths, and not only by my hands.
I no longer have a family home, a friendly neighborhood or any type of childhood stomping grounds. Those places are gone. My world is whatever lays before me on each day. I own my world, and the people in it know that I am not to be trifled with.
It may seem strange to some, that someone so young could be given so much respect. It hasn’t just been given, though, I damn well earned it. I try not to think of the past, but I know – I know there was a time when I was just a normal girl. Sometimes, when I see my reflection, I search for her – through the dirt, grease and blood that so often cakes my skin. I am not even beautiful anymore. My cheeks were once smooth, my lips once full. Now I am scarred and rough and pale. My face is too thin over my cheekbones, and my lips cracked from the harsh elements. My hair, which was once long and lustrous, is just a dirty brown tail that hangs uselessly behind my head. I am still thin, too thin, but only out of hunger. Our food stores have grown smaller and smaller as the long winter continues.
There are those among us that still hope. I’m not sure what they’re hoping for. Some, I think, are holding onto their faith in God. They hold on even as they watch their world crumble about them. They are the same ones that kept hoping as our one hundred million acres of farmland and pastures were desolated, breaking the backbone of America’s food supply and plunging us all into a desperate battle for survival. They hoped as their families turned against them or tore themselves apart. Hope is good, I guess. I cannot fault them for it. As for me, though, I don’t dare to hope, and I have not dreamed in months. I believe in my arms, my legs, and my wits. There are only a few who are close to me, and I will protect them with my life.
Chapter 1
Emily Brisbane was a Coast Guard investigations officer, stationed in Miami at the large, multi-mission base. She had a good life, with a good-paying job. At only twenty years old, she was the youngest high-ranking officer on base. She walked at a fast clip across the beaten asphalt, her cell phone pressed to her ear.
The call she received was confusing to say the least. The man on the line was typical Navy abrupt. Taken momentarily aback, Emily replied, “Excuse me, can you repeat that?”
A pause, then, “Ma’am, we will be in port in 4 hours. We are towing in a 180 foot ship we found adrift in the Straits of Florida, just off the Great Bahama Bank.”
“I understand,” Emily said, having regained her composure. “Can you tell me why you are bringing it here?”
“No ma’am, not at this time.”
There was nothing else, so finally she dismissed the caller, “Very good, thank you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Emily hung up and continued walking. A large ship found adrift? Definitely strange. Usually, smaller ships that had been badly damaged were the only ones found drifting. Why was the Navy involved? Why are they bringing it here? Why hadn’t they (whomever found the mystery vessel) called on a salvage crew to tow the ship?
Emily paused, sighed and bent backward. Her back gave several faint but satisfying cracks and she sighed. She smoothed her hands over the dark navy dress coat she wore on a daily basis. She called down to the docks as she walked toward them.
Her mind was rolling through the steps necessary to clear out room for a large ship. There must be something wrong. More wrong than a drifting ship, otherwise they wouldn’t be bringing it to her. Much of what Emily dealt with was illegals and narcotics being smuggled into the country. Sometimes the drugs were actually inside the illegals.
She dealt with a little maritime crime, but when she ran into murders or big dollar thefts, she referred them to the police department. From time to time, the Coast Guard was lucky enough to snag pirating ships. It was good excitement for the boys on the boats now and again.
She strode with the same purpose and decisiveness that had earned her the rank of lieutenant. She would handle this. Whatever this was. The ship would be coming in, and her crew would be ready.
Three twenty-five foot small response boats (RB-S) were moved from one of the long docks to make room for the new arrival. When the Navy did arrive, it was a small craft that pulled up to the dock. A young, square-jawed man who was bulging with muscles piloted the boat. Behind him, in the open stern, sat a middle-aged man, his short gray hair ruffling in the wind. A little shiver ran through her when she noticed the three bars and single star worn by the commander of a naval vessel.
Emily waited patiently on the dock, her feet spread, and hands behind her bac
k in an informal but still respectful parade-rest. The muscled-up hunk at the helm expertly piloted the navy runabout up to the dock and with surprising agility, the commander leapt onto the dock and walked briskly to meet Emily.
Though she did not need to, Emily snapped off a quick salute. “Good afternoon, sir.”
“Ma’am,” the commander nodded at her and offered up a gentle handshake.
“The ship, sir... ”
“The ship is on its way. It is a bit of a puzzle, I’m afraid, and not a pretty one.” The commander shifted on his feet, looking uncomfortable. “The ship, well, the crew, you see...”
“Should I be calling the police department for assistance?”
“Absolutely not!” the commander’s voice was firm. “This cannot involve the public or those who might report to them!”
“Yes, sir. Tell me what’s going on, sir.”
“The call came in from an off-duty sailor who was on a chartered fishing trip in the Florida Straits. They caught sight of the boat drifting and came in for a closer look. Although no one boarded the ship, the sailor did look her over with binoculars. That’s when he made the call to his superiors.”
Emily nodded her understanding. So that’s how the Navy got involved. “Sir, why didn’t he just call the Coast Guard? Why was the Navy involved at all?”
“He felt it was a sensitive situation. What he saw on the deck of the ship was – disturbing.”
Emily was tired of all this beating around the bush. “Sir, please, I can’t do my job without the facts. Let’s hear them, please.”
“There was a massacre on board.”
A massacre?
“Something terrible happened on board that ship, and we don’t have even a fraction of the details. All we know is that there are a hell of a lot of dead people on it, and an unknown cargo. No one is piloting the ship, so we assume whomever was responsible for the deaths is gone, but the sheer number of…parts…well, it’s just confusing.”
“Holy shit.”
“Indeed. Once in port, the ship will be boarded, but I want the team that goes aboard to be armed, and in protective gear. We don’t have any idea what’s happened on board, and I don’t want to take any chances.”
“So, who is handling this issue? The Navy or the Coast Guard?”
“Right now we are working together until more information is uncovered. I’ve placed a call to the FBI, who will be sending in a special forensics team tomorrow.”
Emily didn’t like the commander setting up meetings in her port without her knowledge.
The commander seemed to sense her displeasure. “This is a national security matter right now, and until we’ve ascertained otherwise, we are all going to be working together.”
Emily nodded curtly. “Of course, sir.”
“Can you organize a boarding party? Good people who can do a walkthrough without disturbing too much? We need more information. We need to know where she’s been, and what she’s hauling. Also, before federal forensics arrives, I want to make sure that whoever is responsible for this crime is not hiding in the bowels of the ship.”
“Aye aye, sir.” Emily nodded then turned on her heel and left the commander quickly. She was caught a little off guard here, but she would recover quickly, as always. Can I organize a boarding party? Though he said it without any condescending tone, Emily felt he was questioning her effectiveness at her job because she was a woman. Pompous ass.
She would board the ship herself, and she knew there was a situational response team on duty right now that she could , and would call in.
In the mid-June heat, Emily Brisbane and her team of four search and rescue personnel boarded the Darwin, a 180-foot private research vessel that had been discovered adrift between Florida and the Bahamas. The five-person investigation team wore full-face respirators and Kevlar coveralls. Belted to their hips were Beretta M9s and semi-automatic pistols equipped with fifteen nine-millimeter rounds each. They thought that they were ready for anything.
Even through their respirators, the stench of rotting human flesh greeted them as they climbed over the gunwales onto the ship.
“Oh my God.”
The man in front of Emily balked as if he had been slapped. When she stepped onto the deck of the ship, she could see why. The Darwin had definitely been the site of a massacre. The deck was littered with the remains of human bodies. Directly in front of Emily was an arm that looked like it had been torn off the body of its owner. There was a puddle of congealed and hardened blood where the ragged flesh was bared. Emily stifled a gag.
There were no signs of life on board, save for the cobwebs that covered the railings. A few seagulls swooped overhead – normally, they were not above scavenging on dead meat for an easy meal, but they didn’t seem to want anything to do with this mess. Just the thought of a seagull pecking and tearing at the putrid flesh was enough to make Emily’s stomach churn.
“All right, let’s get to it then.” Emily tried to make her voice sound stronger than she felt. “First off, I want to get up to the fly bridge. Let’s see where she was when this all went down.” The men said nothing and she didn’t blame them. She, too, was trying hard just to keep it together. She stepped over a woman’s body that looked to be about Emily’s age. The eyes on the body were open but caked with blood. Her once beautiful cheekbones were collapsed and appeared darkened by some blunt force.
All about them, the story was much the same. As the small team shuffled carefully through the carnage on their way to the superstructure, Emily noticed that the fingers of the deceased were bloody and their nails were broken, as if they had literally been fighting for their lives with their bare hands. There were torsos with no legs attached, clothes ripped from their bodies. With horror, Emily saw what looked like bite marks on their naked flesh, and gaping holes where the skin and muscle had been torn away and presumably consumed. But consumed by what?
Emily knew she was going to have a hard time shaking this; she would have nightmares for sure. Then Marc called her over. He was bent over a body that was lying crumpled near the staircase going below decks.
“Look at that,” he said, pointing to a deep bite impression on the victim’s arm.
“Oh my God,” Emily gasped into the respirator. “Those are human bite marks.”
Chapter 2
“Spider Man here. How can I help you?”
A soft chuckle answered him on the other end of the line. He was used to it. The business name was his wife’s idea, knowing that people would give a little smile when they heard his greeting. It was a good way to start a relationship with his clients.
“Well, sir, spiders are actually the problem I’m having.”
The voice on the other end of the line was polite, feminine, and firm. He guessed police officer.
“I can certainly help you then,” Jack Wolfgang said smoothly, smiling into his phone. “There is no job too big.” Big jobs equal big dollar signs, he thought. It was always the women that called. Usually the husbands were filled with too much machismo to call for help with spiders and insects, even though he had seen plenty of grown men cowering away from a spider flittering across the floor. “Whereabouts are you located and what is your schedule?”
There was a pause and the female caller cleared her throat on the other end of the line. “This is Lieutenant Inspector Emily Brisbane, of the U.S. Coast Guard station in Miami.”
Well, he was close.
“Should we retain your services, we will need a non-negotiable contracted rate. In addition, you must guarantee your services and sign a nondisclosure agreement that, if broken, will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. We want this done right the first time or there’s no point in you coming out.”
Wow. Sounds serious. Jack had worked for many high-end clients throughout South
Florida, so he was no stranger to discretion. The last thing a state senator needed was for the public to find out his promiscuous son had brought bedbugs into their house along with a homeless prostitute. Still, a federal nondisclosure agreement was a little odd. Working for the Coast Guard might prove to be a big pain in the butt, and he really didn’t like taking orders. Nevertheless, big jobs equaled big dollars, and he was in business to make money.
“That won’t be a problem. My work is always guaranteed. When you work with the Spider Man, you work with the best.”
There was some kind of sound on the other end of the line that sounded like a snort. “All right, but I can’t call you Spider Man – it’s cute, but what is your name please?”
Jack leaned back against the plush imitation leather seat with the small cellphone up to his ear. “Jack Wolfgang’s the name. You can call me Jack, or the Wolfman, whatever suits you best. Some of my friends call me Big Jack.” Jack patted his belly subconsciously as he recited the nickname. He had actually worked off a good portion of the “big” in his nickname, but still had a little ways to go.
“Mr. Wolfgang, I have a spider infestation on board a ship. I need to get it cleared up.”
Jack sighed; these military types were so uptight. “Of course. I wouldn’t want those little nasties freaking you out when you’re out on the big boats. I have some openings later in the week. Do mornings or afternoons work best for you?”
“We need you tonight.”
Jack glanced up at the old analog clock on the wall. It was 5:30, about dinnertime. “Sorry ma’am, I’m about to head-”
“I need you tonight, Jack.” The voice sounded a little more pleasant now. “Please.”
“Jeez, all right, those little buggers are really that bad, eh? What’s the big hurry?”