America Offline | Books 1 & 2 | The Day After Darkness

by Weber, William H.

  A beefy guy in a black parka sprang out. Anticipating the cold, he was already wearing the hood of his parka up. Otherwise, they would have been spotted for sure. The guard stood less than four feet away, giving them his back. He was stabbing both hands in his pockets, swearing under his breath. A moment later, he found what he was looking for. A pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He shook one out, stuck it between his lips and lit the end.

  “Damn sonofabitch don’t own me,” the man murmured, spitting over the railing and watching it swallowed in a mound of powder below. “The hell does he get off?”

  The G36 was strapped diagonally across Nate’s back. Not that it mattered, there was no practical way to swing it into action in such close quarters. The Sig would have to do. He pulled the weapon with one hand and lunged forward in a burst of speed, grabbing the back of the smoking guy’s parka hood with the other. A startled sound was the only thing that escaped the man’s lips before Nate yanked him off his feet. The guy was big, which explained the crack as his lower back struck the edge of the top stair. He opened his mouth to holler in pain. Nate was ready, muzzling him with the palm of his gloved hand. Up came the Sig, the barrel pressed against the center of the big guy’s forehead. His eyes were watering just as much from the pain in his spine as it was from the intense fear coursing through every twitching fiber of his being.

  “I’m gonna remove my hand in a second and you’re not gonna scream, are you?”

  His eyes, already wide, darted from left to right as he shook his head vigorously.

  “Good. Now, how many of Jakes’ men are inside?” Nate eased his hand off the guy’s mouth.

  “I can’t breathe.”

  “That’s not what I asked you.”

  “A lot,” he replied, panting. “More than usual.”

  “And the girl, where is she?”

  “Girl? We got lots of girls.”

  “White. Fifteen years old. Five foot three or so. Suffers from a bit of an attitude problem. Ring any bells?”

  A light went on. “Oh, her. Yeah, I heard Jakes killed that one. She was mouthing off and…” The thug’s voice trailed off, understanding in that moment he might have said too much.

  “Killed?” Nate repeated, his voice icy cool, his heart suddenly devoid of mercy. He shoved the barrel deeper into the man’s flesh and pulled the trigger. The Sig made a muffled, but audible sound.

  “Oh, man, someone heard that for sure,” Sanchez scolded him. “We gotta move before this place is swarming.”

  Nate sprang to his feet, holstered the Sig and swung the G36 assault rifle around. Sanchez pushed past him and pulled open the door. In Nate went, his anger no longer seething. It had already morphed into a mushroom cloud of white-hot wrath. In a matter of seconds, the mission had transitioned from find and rescue to search and destroy.

  Chapter 38

  Now inside, Sanchez grabbed him by the arm. “Hey, man, if it’s true the girl’s dead, going in there won’t bring her back. I say we get out of here while we still can.” He paused. “Think of your family.”

  “What good will I be to them if I tuck tail like a coward and run? You wanna go, I won’t hold it against you. This is my fight.”

  “I shoulda known when I saw that crazed look in your eye there’d be no reasoning with you.”

  Nate leveled his weapon down the corridor, switched on the tac light at the end of his rifle and pressed on. They hurried down the narrow hallway, passing through a set of doors and into an expansive lobby. Had Nate not been so consumed with revenge, he might have stopped to gawk. It was an art deco lover’s wet dream—black limestone floors opposite a high glass ceiling with Ohio sandstone walls. At either end were giant murals depicting the city founders dressed in nineteenth-century garb and wielding pickaxes.

  Suddenly, the frantic sound of shouting along with the clatter of heavy boot treads echoed back at them. Nate and Sanchez were out in the open. The area was bare except for a series of leather couches and seats to their right.

  A half-second later, three men in thick coats staggered into the lobby. For a moment, it appeared they might be heading toward the front entrance. Then one of them skidded to a stop and shouted at his companions. “They’re over he―”

  His full warning was interrupted by two quick rounds from Nate’s rifle, the sound of gunfire nearly ear-popping. The rounds rippled the fabric of the man’s jacket, cutting power to his legs. He dropped. Sanchez bagged the one behind him as Nate cut right, firing from the hip as he headed for the couches. His weapon kicked like a mule in heat.

  Seeing his two buddies torn to shreds, the third and farthest gunman should have done the smart thing and run away, but he didn’t. Instead, he went for Nate, riddling the soft leather couch with bullets. In response, Nate dropped and hugged the ground. Staring out from beneath the sofa, he had a clear view from the man’s feet to his knees. The moment he swiveled his rifle in position, that was where he aimed, his rounds firing out from beneath the couch. One shot struck the guy’s kneecap while another from Sanchez slammed into his chest, collapsing his lung. He fell over, gasping for air.

  When the shooting was done, Nate got up and approached the dead and dying. Only the last guy was still breathing.

  “Where’s Jakes?” Nate asked.

  Blood ran from the corner of the man’s mouth. He began to speak but it was little more than a whisper. Nate drew closer.

  “Top floor. He’s waiting for you,” the man said, between deep, labored breaths.

  A mercy shot from Sanchez finished him. “What’d he say?”

  “Jakes is waiting for us.”

  The corners of Sanchez’s mouth turned down. “The hell do you suppose that means?”

  “I’m not sure,” Nate said, swallowing down his growing concern. He then quickly searched the bodies and noticed they were using AR-15s. He threw Sanchez a few extra magazines before they carried on.

  No power meant no elevators. It also meant at least eight flights of stairs.

  They entered the stairwell. “I hope you kept up that gym membership.”

  A guilty, worried look spread over Sanchez’s face. Together, they glanced up the center of the u-shaped stairwell.

  Sweat was already pouring down Sanchez’s face. “Oh, man.”

  Both of them peeled off their white camo and heavy jackets. From here on, mobility and maintaining stamina would be key.

  They began to ascend and had barely made it past the first floor when they heard a metal door slam somewhere above them. That was quickly followed by boots clomping down two risers at a time.

  Nate and Sanchez crept up slowly, keeping their angles clean. The element of surprise could very well be the difference between life and death. Nate’s pulse ratcheted up as they drew closer.

  A noise from behind startled them. Someone was coming out onto the second-floor landing. Nate swung around and saw one of Jakes’ thugs brandishing a shotgun and a bright shock of bleach-blond hair. For a moment, Blondie looked just as startled as they did. He recovered quickly and up came his shotgun right as Nate pulled the trigger God only knew how many times. Blondie took one to the gut and two to the chest. He staggered back, peppering the riser just below them with double-aught buck.

  No two ways about it, this was a terrible position to be in. Threats coming from multiple directions meant they were unable to focus their fire. It also increased the chances one or more of Jakes’ men could pop out above or below them at any time.

  Now the shouting from above got louder. Unfortunately, the element of surprise had gone out the window the second Blondie made his grand entrance. Nate switched to a fresh magazine and made sure to keep a tight angle. They also made sure to hug the outer wall so no one could shoot them from above.

  Then shots rang out, ricocheting around the stairwell. It seemed these guys weren’t as dumb as they looked. They knew well enough charging into another man’s firing line was a damn good way to make yourself dead. Nate also realized moving forward would be
a hard slog, a kind of chess game where each side sought to outmaneuver the other. The smart play was to press on, slowly, methodically.

  If they were the two-bit drug dealers and hoodlums he thought they were, that was precisely what they would be expecting. And that was precisely why Nate broke into a run, scaling two risers at a time, keeping his weapon always trained on the next stairway and landing beyond. Shadows thrown from their tac lights helped to confuse and disorient the enemy.

  Behind him, Sanchez struggled to keep up, huffing and puffing like a man on the verge of cardiac arrest.

  The charge seemed to have the desired effect. The first two thugs were in the midst of running away when Nate gunned them down. Two others slammed into each other after deciding to tear off in opposite directions. Sanchez got a piece of them. Another couple escaped onto the seventh floor, the door slamming shut behind them. But giving chase wasn’t in the cards, not yet. This was not the time for rabbit holes. Nate’s primary objective remained the same: place a tight grouping of bullets between Jakes’ eyes. Only when that was done—God willing—would he allow himself the gratuitous luxury of finishing off the rest of the man’s crew.

  At last, Nate and Sanchez reached the eighth floor. What they found there was a veritable maze of offices and cubicles. Webs of shadow vanished and reappeared before the sweep of their tac lights.

  In the distance, the warm glow of candles hinted at a presence up ahead. Nate and Sanchez moved forward, cautious, but ready.

  They reached a large office filled with expensive oak furniture. In one corner behind a bookcase was the faintest hint of a door. It appeared to lead to another office, or perhaps to a bathroom. They were about to pull out when two figures emerged, their hands raised in the air. Nate leveled his weapon and saw Five. Next to him was Dakota, a piece of duct tape over her mouth. She was murmuring from beneath the tape, her eyes wide with terror. Or was that something else? The whole scene was downright confusing. He’d thought she was dead. But here she was, next to Five, and both of them prisoners, their arms up.

  “Anyone turns around and you all die,” the gravelly voice said from behind them. Nate had only heard Jakes speak once, to a reporter after beating a murder rap in Chicago. But it was the kind of voice that sent bony fingers dancing up the back of your neck and that was precisely the feeling he had right now.

  “Now, put your guns down,” Jakes ordered them.

  Dakota shook her head vigorously. He didn’t need an interpreter to know she was telling him not to do it. The real question was whether or not he’d be able to draw his Sig and spin around before taking a bullet in the back. His right hand began inching toward his pistol grip.

  “Why should we? You’re just going to kill us anyway,” Nate said, hoping to buy time. “Let Dakota and Five go and we’ll do it.”

  A low laugh filled with menace. “You don’t really get it, do you? Five is the reason I knew you were coming.”

  Nate glowered at the small man before him. “You rat!” he shouted.

  “Nothing worse than a crooked cop, man,” Sanchez said with disgust.

  Five cackled with laughter before pulling out a pistol from his waistband and aiming it at Dakota’s head. He tsked, wagging his index finger at them. “They still haven’t pieced it together, have they? Jakes doesn’t run Rockford. I do. He works for me. The chief and I were running things until he got put away. That left yours truly.”

  Sanchez’s eyes widened in shock.

  Five and Jakes both snickered. “Surprised, aren’t you? Now set your weapons on the floor, all of them.”

  Nate and Sanchez did so. Soon two pistols and two assault rifles lay before them.

  “Your backup gun too,” Five said, annoyed.

  Nate grit his teeth and complied, setting down his Colt Defender.

  Five waved the barrel of the pistol wildly and then settled it against Dakota’s temple. She closed her eyes, and Nate couldn’t tell if she was praying or wishing for all of this to be over. “Your little friend here’s been trying to tell us she doesn’t know where her uncle keeps his cache of high-powered weapons. And until you came knocking, we were almost starting to believe her.” Five turned his attention to Nate. “I’m a reasonable man. A very generous man. You don’t believe me, ask Jakes.”

  “It’s true,” Jakes said.

  Five eyed Nate up and down. “A real go-getter. I respect that. I could use someone like you in my organization. Probably won’t come as much of a surprise, but ever since the power’s been off, business has been booming. So here’s the offer and I suggest you consider it carefully because I won’t be repeating myself. You help me get my hands on that cache of weapons dear uncle Roger’s been hoarding. In exchange, I’ll see to it you and your family live in Rockford like royalty.” Five pressed the barrel deeper into Dakota’s flesh. “And as a bonus, I won’t blow this pretty little girl’s brains all over that wall.”

  Dakota began to mumble.

  Five rolled his eyes and mocked Dakota’s attempt to speak from under the strip of tape covering her mouth. “She’s got a real mouth on her,” Five said, still basking in the glow of his own dumb joke. “You leave it up to me and I’d just as soon finish her off nice and slow.”

  Dakota continued mumbling. Five reached over and tore back part of the duct tape covering her mouth. “What the hell is it? Can’t you see the men are conducting business? You just wanna chime in with your two cents, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, and here they are,” Dakota snapped. “Screw you and your stupid offer.” In a blur of motion, she slammed both of her arms down on the hand Five was using to hold his pistol.

  From behind Nate came a grunt of surprise from Jakes. Time slowed to a deadly crawl. Any second now, Dakota was going to be shot dead, along with Nate and Sanchez soon after. With the hatchet gripped tightly in his hand, Nate spun on his heels and swung it down, burying the carbon fiber blade into the top of Jakes’ skull. At once, the man’s eyes rolled up to whites and he let out a groan before crumpling to the ground. By the time Nate turned around, two stray shots rang out from Five’s gun as he and Dakota struggled over it. Then came a third shot. This time it was from Sanchez. Five let go and brought both hands up to his throat, blood rushing out from between his fingers.

  Nate reached Five right as the crooked ex-cop hit the floor, writhing.

  Sanchez came to join them and stumbled. Nate caught his friend, regarding him with a puzzled expression. Then they both glanced down at the same time to see the bloodstain blooming on Sanchez’s shirt.

  “Oh, crap, man,” Sanchez said, sputtering blood. “The little prick got me.”

  He tensed in pain and set himself down. Already the flesh on Sanchez’s face was growing pale, his lips a light shade of blue. Five’s bullet must have hit an artery.

  “Just give me a minute,” Sanchez requested, as though a short break was all he needed.

  “We gotta get you help,” Nate said, preparing to lift his friend up on one shoulder, his bum knee be damned.

  Sanchez waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t be a fool, man. I won’t make it to the ground floor, let alone through all that snow.”

  Nate could see the life draining out of him at a frightening pace. Sanchez gripped his hand. His fingers were already cold. An insane amount of blood was pooling on the floor beneath him.

  His friend’s voice was down to a whisper. “I’m glad.”

  Nate squeezed back. “About what?”

  “That I stayed.” Sanchez smiled, squeezing something into Nate’s hand. It was the pendant of St. Christopher he always kept around his neck. “Hopefully this’ll do you more good than it did me. Now go get your family. And find somewhere they’ll be safe.” Sanchez barely got the words out before his grip loosened and then fell away.

  By contrast, Five continued to sputter away on the floor nearby. Dakota remedied that particular inequity with two shots to the head from Five’s own pistol. This time, when the chips were down, she hadn’t been paral
yzed with fear, Nate realized. At least some good had come out of all this death. He pulled her into a hug, sad for the friend he had lost and relieved for the daughter he had found.

  Chapter 39

  With Jakes and Five dead, the two of them headed back to the lobby. The glass doors at the front entrance, shattered in the firefight earlier, were now letting in cold air and blowing snow. Their feet crunched on broken shards when they heard a weapon being cocked.

  Both of them turned at once to see two fresh bodies on the ground, which was strange because Nate remembered only encountering three thugs in the lobby. Also observing the fresh carnage was a young man, somewhere in his late teens, early twenties, holding a pistol. He was one of Five’s men, clearly still ignorant that his boss lay dead up on the eighth floor. The kid fought to steady his quivering hands. Then from out of the darkness came a low, threatening growl. All three of them looked at once to see a pair of glowing eyes staring out at them from a deep pocket of darkness. Except that feral stare wasn’t locked on them at all. It was aimed at the young man with the gun.

  “I suggest you do as he says,” Nate told the kid, who looked like he might have just wet himself. “Whatever you do, just don’t―”

  Before Nate could finish, the kid stuffed the gun in his pocket and tore off for the closest exit. Shadow gave chase.

  “I was about to say ‘run,’” Nate said, finishing the sentence.

  The corner of Dakota’s mouth turned down. “You did try to warn him.”

  They pushed out into the cold, the sound of distant screams swallowed by the howling wind. They didn’t need to wait for Shadow. The wolf was his own boss. He would find them when he was good and ready.

  Chapter 40

  Their next stop was the Victory Sports Complex, a glorified indoor soccer field half a mile away. It was here that the refugees from Byron had been sent. His family was among them and now that Dakota was safe, Nate’s only desire was to see them again.