by LC Champlin
Looking both ways, Josephine trotted up to join Nathan. “Well? When can we meet him?”
Brad’s radio crackled. “Mason says to pull up to the meeting area. He doesn’t feel comfortable coming out to the perimeter. He says if they’re peaceful, then there won’t be a problem.”
No problem? He led an upscale apartment complex whose residents’ only exposure to combat came from movies and video games. What did he believe he could do to stop invaders?
Chapter 33
My Monkeys
Marching On - One Republic
Albin trailed Kuznetsov down the hall, the aqua carpet muffling their steps. Traditional Japanese paintings decorated the walls, with anime and game concept art interspersed.
The main doors closing made Albin turn. Bridges and Judge sprang through, then the economist threw the bolt. Both latecomers stared through the glass. Ears back, Judge began barking.
“Did you have second thoughts, Marvin?”
As Bridges opened his mouth to answer, three cannibals collided with the doors. Failing to shatter the barrier, they began dragging their nails across the glass.
Taking a deep breath, Bridges stepped back. “I had to bow out of their dinner plans.”
“Understandable.” Albin continued down the hall.
The party took the stairs to the third floor, where Kuznetsov led them to a door marked Kenichi Oshiro, Creator.
“Where’s all the underworld nonsense that was in the Oshiro?” enquired Bridges. “I didn’t expect this place to be so . . . normal.”
“This isn’t his only company building,” responded the hardware engineer, “but it’s where a lot of the more mundane things happen. Though he would like to have an office with cave passages and statues of demons, he knows it would be hard to keep employees.”
Albin reached for the door’s handle. “I trust there are no traps here.” Sweat moistened his palms as he tried the latch. Locked.
A screen the size of a tablet occupied the wall adjacent to the door. As Albin stepped back, the screen flashed red, displaying a message: Good try, but no cigar. Head down to the gates of Hades if you want to ride Charon’s skiff across the River Styx.
“What the hell does that mean?” Squinting, Bridges tapped the screen but to no effect. “Hades? That’s not Japanese, that’s freaking Greek.”
Greek. “Like Mr. Serebus.”
The three exchanged looks, questioning and wary.
“Does that mean he thought Nathan was going to read this?” Shifting his weight in unease, Bridges eyed the walls as if he expected them to close in upon him. “But how could he if the door opened for what we said?”
“If Mr. Serebus had input his name, it too may have opened the door,” Albin suggested. “There is also a possibility that we have stumbled upon a message that was not meant for us.”
“Let’s be optimistic here and assume this clue was for us. Where’s this gate to the underworld? Do you know, Mikhail? You worked here.”
Kuznetsov began rubbing the back of his neck. “I really don’t—wait, there is a lower level here. Well, it’s actually just what they use to service the elevator shaft. I’ll show you.”
They followed Kuznetsov back down the steps. They located the target with ease: a meter in diameter and width, the trap door sat flush with the floor, a steel rim demarcating its location in the carpet.
“I don’t see anything out of the ordinary,” Albin remarked. He tugged at the handle but to no avail.
Judge sniffed at the hatch, then abandoned it.
Heaving a sigh, Bridges leaned against the wall beside the elevators. “Now what? Go back to SFO? It would be just like Ken to try to screw us over like this. I’m surprised there wasn’t a booby trap that exploded when you tried to open the door.”
With an equal sigh, Kuznetsov raked his fingers through his hair. “I told you, Mr. Oshiro isn’t the type for revenge. He might play games, but I can’t see him blowing people up. It wouldn’t fit his belief in the Wu Wei. The Way says to act without action.”
“Oh, I see,” Bridges sneered. “That’s why manipulating us and almost getting Badal killed was A-okay, but outright shooting us isn’t.”
“He didn’t mean to—”
The exchange faded into the background. How would Mr. Serebus know what Kenichi-san meant by the gates to Hades? Though the two had known each other for several years, they had spent the majority of that time as rivals akin to opponents in a fencing match.
“Perhaps,” he murmured, “it is a term only they would understand, between each other.”
“Like an inside joke,” Bridges agreed. “But if Ken’s office isn’t the gate to the underworld, what is?”
++++++++++++
“Brad, come out here with us,” Nathan ordered. Outside the car, he could manage the boy with less effort.
Jaw set, Brad obeyed. “Do you want to meet Mason or not?”
Idly, Nathan ran his thumb along the edge of his goatee. “If Mason wants to pass up an opportunity to discuss benefits that may save his neighborhood, then you’re free to go. But you won’t receive any of the supplies we borrowed from Minstral.”
“You mean…we’re free to go?”
“Certainly. But we did save you from a pack of cannibals; thus, you owe us compensation for our time, gasoline, and ammunition.”
“Huh?” Brow wrinkled, Brad stared at his creditor. “You took us prisoner, and now we owe you?”
“Brad,” Josephine butted in before Nathan could remark, I’m glad you understand, “we don’t want your supplies, we just want to make friends with the people around us.” She wore an innocent smile her training as an actor—or reporter, same difference—enabled.
“Exactly.” Giving her a nod, Nathan continued, “We need to back each other up, not stab each other in the back.”
Frowning, Brad reached for his radio. “This is Brad. Tell Mason it’s okay and to meet us at the regular spot. I don’t want to sit out here where the affected could sneak up on us.”
“All right. Go ahead.”
“No.” Nathan put a hand on Brad’s shoulder. “We choose the place. We choose here. If your leader is willing to meet us, he should have no problem.”
Pause. Then Brad raised the HT. “This guy wants to talk to Mason here. They’re not budging.”
“. . . All right.”
The minutes ticked by. At last a vehicle, a Volvo C30, pulled from the apartment complex and approached. At its appearance, Nathan’s hand slid to his Glock. “Is this your boss?”
“Mason’s just an organizer, not my boss.”
A lanky man Brad’s age unfolded from the driver side. The sun gleamed on his white-blond hair, which be kept in a manbun. He wore skinny jeans and a baggy top, with a strip of blue fabric around his left bicep.
A flash of light from the left forced Nathan to blink. On one of the apartment’s roofs, three short flashes followed. Perhaps a scrap of metal or glass caught the sun.
As he squinted at the light’s source, a man in black rose behind it. He held a rifle—leveled at Nathan.
Chapter 34
How to Win People and Influence Friends
Handlebars - Flobots
“Get down!” Nathan grabbed Brad from behind, shooting an arm around his neck to catch the trachea in the crook of his elbow. The Glock pressed against the traitor’s temple. Of course the little bastard led them into a trap. “Do anything, and I’ll kill this fucker!” Nathan yelled at Mason and the gunman.
Mason gaped, his hands coming up. Brad did likewise in Nathan’s grip.
“My people have their weapons on you, so even if you take me out with that sniper, you’ll still die.”
The team’s members took the hint. An AK and two pistols now covered Mason. The rest of the pack brandished makeshift spears.
“Easy, easy!” Brad panted.
“What’s your game?” Shoving a hip into the twit’s back unbalance
d him.
Face flushed, Josephine held her weapon on Mason. “What, are you planning to shoot us?”
“Tell me!” Nathan’s finger on the trigger ached to squeeze into a fist, taking the trigger with it. “You’re coming with us until we get out of here. If anything happens to us, you won’t like what happens to you. I came here to help, but we don’t appreciate being betrayed.”
“All right, stop!” the human shield whined. “Nobody’s shooting at you! Yes, we set spikes across the road behind you, but that wasn’t to hurt you. You would’ve left your vehicles, and then we’d take the stuff that’s rightfully ours. We’re just trying to survive.”
A clever variation on the trap. “Rightfully yours doesn’t exist. We found more than you, and we rescued you from the cannibals.”
“We could have—”
“No. We are willing to give you a share, and we’d like to work with you. But if you can’t be trusted, then we have no choice but to take our things and leave.”
“Brad,” Josephine snapped, sparing him a glance, “don’t be an idiot. You need friends.”
The bastards thought they could outmaneuver Nathan Serebus? Pathetic. “You have two options. Option one: We leave. Brad and Sarah come with us. We drop them off when we reach the bridge. If anything happens in the meantime, their fate will be on your heads.
“Option two: You come to the negotiating table. While I’m not overjoyed about siding with people who betray me”—he had his quota of that—“I know neither of us were able to put our best foot forward. So if you would be so kind as to call off the man with the rifle—” Wait, where had the sniper gone?
With hands still up and mouth still open, Mason stared about for the gunman. Why did he act surprised? Fucking faker.
No matter; they had obeyed. “Thank you. Now, what’s your answer?”
“What do you say?” Josephine smiled behind the sights of her pistol, while the rest of the fleet watched from among their weapons and vehicles.
Trembling, Mason looked from them to Nathan. “All right. Just let Brad go. We don’t have any snipers here, okay?” Liar.
Nathan stepped back, giving the hostage a friendly pat on the shoulder. “My pleasure. Now, let’s get down to business, shall we?” He smiled his best CEO smile.
++++++++++++
Bridges began pacing beside the trap door, Judge at his side. “What are we supposed to do, search the whole place? We don’t have time for that. Heck, he might want to keep us here wasting our time until the cannibals break in or more looters come.”
“No.” Kuznetsov shook his head. “I really think he has something for us. We just don’t know what Hades is.”
“Then what would he and Nathan consider the underworld?”
“Excellent question,” murmured Albin. “And I think I know.” A smile of satisfaction manifested. “Mr. Kuznetsov, where is the Human Resources Department?”
“You think that’s what—”
“Only one way to find out.” Bridges slapped the Russian on the shoulder.
They trekked down the hall until they reached the door marked Human Resources. A keypad flashed on the wall adjacent to the door. The screen displayed the message, Press Enter and state the nature of your visit.
“Did you use this when you worked here?” Annoyance darkened Bridges’s features. “This might not look like the underworld, but it’s still strange.”
“Ah, y-yes.”
Albin pressed Enter. “We’re here to speak with Kenichi Oshiro regarding Nathan Serebus.”
Access granted.
A metal panel below the keypad slid open to reveal a compartment the size of a mailbox. It contained keys.
Albin reached for them but halted when he found his arm in Bridges’s grip. “Wait a minute.” The economist produced a pen from his pocket. With the instrument, he maneuvered the keys out into his palm. “I just want to be safe.”
“Wise.” Albin claimed them. From the ring hung a coin that read Westpoint Harbor and bore an image of the horizon bisecting the sun. The numeral 13 occupied the coin’s reverse. A cartoon version of the Grim Reaper dangled beside it. “It appears we have our next clue in the scavenger hunt.”
Chapter 35
Art of the Steal
I Have the Power - All Good Things
The representatives from the two shores of Redwood Shores occupied opposite sides of a picnic table. They had decided to parlay in the back yard of the nearest apartment building, since it abutted Sandpiper Lane. This location acted as neutral territory.
The two would-be scavengers Brad and Sarah waited behind Mason. On Nathan’s side, Josephine, Dirk, and Kennedy acted as lieutenants.
“You said you could benefit us,” Mason began, leaning back in his chair, one arm dangling behind it in a way that screamed feigned nonchalance. He’d lost the last shred of his control when the firearms appeared. “But you meant something other than giving us the food from the restaurant, right?”
“You get to the point. I like that.” Nathan smiled, keeping his elbows against his ribs for support. “First, I can teach you how not to be a victim. We can also show you how to deal with cannibals.”
“We have a plan for that. I mean, for dealing with the affected. We have the place fairly boarded up. As for other people coming in, that is a problem.” Animosity laced his tone.
“Is that why you wear the armbands?” Gesture to the strip of blue cloth around each person’s upper arm. “That’s a smart idea.” During chaos, recognizing friends could prove difficult; hence the brightly colored military uniforms of yesteryear.
“Yeah. It also gives a feeling of belonging. Look,” Mason sighed, his posture drooping, “we wanted to trust people and to help those poor bastards who are sick. But . . .” He waved vaguely.
Sarah fished in her pocket for her smartphone. “I don’t know how much news you’ve been getting, but this wasn’t on the regular channels. They’re not showing a lot of what’s happening.” Despite all that had occurred, surprise still edged her words.
“Do you really want them to show it all?” Josephine, Defender of the Drive-By Media, demanded. “People would panic even more if they knew all the details. That wouldn’t help anyone.” As if anyone had the city’s best interests at heart.
“I’ve got a playlist of the most brutal incidents.” Sarah set the phone in front of Nathan and his companions.
On the screen, a living room. A family of four played a card game. Why bother film—Crash! Cannibals smashed through the bay window, lunging at the family.
The cameraman yelled, unintelligible, and fled. He dashed into the street, filming the ground and sky more than the Dalits. He swung around a corner, only to come face to face with a pack of at least ten. More ground footage as he ran.
He must have recalled his duty to film, because the camera flicked back up. Residents of the current apartment complex filled the street: some sprinted from their domiciles, some threw themselves into their vehicles, and some stared in shock. The last category fell to a wave of monsters.
Leaning forward, Sarah swiped to the next video in the queue. “We know we’re not going to get much help. Watch.”
On a multi-lane highway, traffic sat like congealed blood. The camera panned to the left, where the government lane ferried official vehicles. A convoy had stopped ahead, facing the civilian vehicles. Cries and shouts penetrated the camera owner’s vehicle. Showing the level of common sense found in people who exit their cars to photograph mother bears, the aspiring camera operator and reporter left their car.
“I don’t know what’s going on. I think there’s some sort of roadblock. No, wait. People are trying to get into the other lane.” As she spoke, the vehicles pulled around the orange barrels to use the open late. “Now people are getting out of their cars.”
Ahead, blue lights flashed behind a military Humvee. Beyond the vehicles and in the distance, military personnel and law enforcement exited
their respective vehicles. They began to wave people off.
Then gunshots erupted as the mob shoved forward. The camera clattered to the ground, providing a view of its owner, a terrified teen.
Blank screen.
As Nathan stared into his reflection’s eyes, Sarah reclaimed her phone. “The cops and Soldiers were the ones shooting people.”
Distressing and depressing, but not unexpected. A dull ache in Nathan’s stomach joined the one in his ribs. “This is why you need to be capable of foraging for food and of protecting yourselves. We can help you.” He looked each opposition member in the eye.
“You will?” Mason’s expression opened like a child who’s heard he’s going to McDonald’s.* Then it closed again. “There’s a catch, isn’t there.”
“There’s no catch, but neither is there a free lunch.” Which may come as a surprise to these entitled hippies who’d spent their lives suckling on the government’s teats.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll lay it out,” Nathan continued in a tone he would use to explain to David why the sky was blue (because the sky grew jealous of the ocean’s blue, so God gave it Rayleigh scattering). “We need outposts to see where the cannibals and looters are coming from. We also require the use of an office building on your side of the neighborhood. That’s a small price for us helping you live safe, comfortable lives. You’ll be helping yourselves, really.” He spread his hands, channeling every used-car salesman who ever prowled a dealer’s lot.
Brad crossed his arms. “And if we don’t?”
“For a start, you can re-watch the videos you showed us.” Time to ratchet up the heat on the negotiation. He rocked up from his chair. “But it seems I’ve come too early for you to see the importance of neighborhood teamwork.” Pause for effect. “The services we can provide will benefit you more if we start now. Today is the day to survive—and it’s quickly passing you by.” He nodded to the sun riding into the west. “You might not see tomorrow. Good luck.” With a wave, he turned toward his companions. “Shall we?”
