Ways of Darkness (Wolves of the Apocalypse Book 2)

by LC Champlin

  “What’s the matter,” Birk sneered, “too many voices in your head already?”

  “Doctor, as much as I enjoy trading compliments with you, it was you who requested this meeting.”

  Exhaling through his nostrils as if he’d smelled rotten cabbage, Birk looked away, fidgeting. With a shake of his head, he turned back to the screen. “They’re not just throwing the book at me, they’re shoving it up my ass.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped. “I-I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  “I assume you’ll feel regret. Then you’ll either break or plod on. Like they say, if you can’t do the time . . .” Another sip of coffee substituted for the cliché’s remainder. What game was Birk playing?

  “I regret a lot already.” Shoulders hunched, Birk rested his clasped hands on the table. The cuffs clinked against its surface. “There’s so much you take for granted until it’s gone.” He gave a bitter laugh. “I even miss my watch.” Tap on his wrist. His gaze snapped up for an instant, holding the same defiant flame as when he argued with Nathan about handing over the data to the terrorists. “I traded it all for those worthless files. Now, who knows when I’ll be able to go home?” The fire flashed again, like a will-o’-the-wisp in a swamp. “Right now, I’d just like to go home, make my own food—the hot sauce here is weak as ketchup—sit in my office with my fish, and look out the window while reading Weird Tales and Lovecraft.”

  “My heart breaks for you,” Nathan sneered, hand on his chest. “But if you don’t get to the point, I’m going to fall asleep.”

  Birk leaned in. “Listen, I just want to go home.”

  “Welcome to the club; we meet every Friday.” Nathan leaned in too, enough to make looking through his brows at the bastard intimidating. The rib fractures curtailed further movement. “The country is in chaos, Birk. If you’re so eager to go home, then work with the government’s investigators. You admitted you wanted the terrorists to hire you as a scientist so you could develop whatever is on those files. If you’re willing to give the Istiqaamah control of the cannibals and their contagion’s spread, do the same for your own country’s government. If you continue to be stubborn, the cannibals will devastate the country, and you’ll vanish into the prison and labor camps. Do you know the worst part?” He smiled, cold. “No one will care. No one will miss you, not even your fish. You’ll deserve every humiliation and degradation you suffer.”

  Hate radiated from Birk as Nathan spoke.

  “The government is interested also in your employers and fellow researchers.” Not as interested as Nathan, however. “Do what you do best and start throwing people under the bus. Your loving former employers will use you as a scapegoat. If they’ve been engineering anything questionable or working with any terrorist groups, you’ve just become their Get Out of Jail Free card. They claim innocence, and you claim a cell with Big Dick, who’s nursing a grudge against white boys.” A Southern accent on the words drove the point home like Big Dick would drive his point home.

  Birk paled. “I’m trying to help. Don’t you get it?” This through clenched teeth. “I don’t want to be here. You wouldn’t understand, but I have family. The guards haven’t even let me make a phone call. My family doesn’t know what’s happened to me.”

  “I doubt they care.” Nathan swished the coffee about in the cup. “If you want to help, then tell us who else was working on projects related to the cannibals.” Spite made him add, “Or weren’t you high enough on the ladder to know that information?”

  A sickly flame sparked in Birk’s eye. Gelatin spine transformed into steel, bringing him to his full height. “I tried, but you have to be a fucking jackass.” Teeth bared in a rictus, head cocked, he looked like a mad jack o’ lantern. “You think you’re the Big Bad Wolf, but they’ve got you on a leash. It’s longer than mine”—wrists came up, snapped out with the handcuff chain taut—“but at the end of the day, we’re the same. Go bark up another tree, bitch!”

  The camera feed went dark.

  Chapter 7

  Bite

  Down - Cult to Follow

  Nathan blinked. Hot liquid ran down his hand from the crushed coffee cup. Reflex snapped it across the closet. Frustration struggled inside his chest for release. One, two, three, four. Now what? The traitorous little shit had slammed closed the last Doorway option!

  Golden eyes glinted in the fires of anger.

  The door banged open behind him. Three, two—“Serebus,” Washington snapped on cue. “You had one job!”

  “Which I performed.” He pushed to his feet, affected boredom as he faced the bulldog. Coffee dripped from his fingers. “He wanted to talk to me, but only about going home. If you want to make headway, give him a deal. He’s ready to accept.”

  Washington’s black eyes narrowed to slits as her chest swelled. “I will have my answers, and I will have justice.”

  Behind her, Albin appeared to consider how best to remove her from the doorway and from life. “If,” the attorney began, “you wish to see justice done after Dr. Birk has outlived his usefulness, charge him with murder in addition to violating the conditions of Executive Order 12938, the Proliferation of Weapons of Mass Destruction. Then assist his victims’ families in bringing civil cases against him. Thus, if the courts free him, he will still lose his assets.”

  “Why is a civilian doing the government’s job of interrogating people?” Josephine snapped at the back of Washington’s head.

  “Because,” Nathan began, “he’ll only speak to—”

  “Back up and shut up, all of you.” Washington didn’t get words in edgewise, she rammed them in with a bulldozer. “Serebus, you ruined an opportunity. It’s by my good graces and against my better judgment that I’m not charging you with conspiracy, receiving stolen property, and obstruction of justice.”

  “That’s a threat!” Josephine exclaimed.

  “I did you a favor,” Nathan reminded the Director, his fists clenching.

  Albin interjected, “It is not government policy to—”

  “Albin Conrad.” Washington put up a hand for silence.

  Nathan tensed. Rodriguez’s MP5 muzzle climbed an inch as she shook her head in warning.

  “You are just as much in danger of being charged, but with conspiracy—”

  “That’s enough.” The snarl in Nathan’s ears barely resembled his voice. Washington turned to stare at him. Torture him all they pleased; he could stand anything they threw at him, because God had chosen him for this dark task. But no one threatened his people. “He’s done nothing illegal.”

  Albin’s expression remained as emotionless as marble, but deep in his eyes flashed fury.

  “If you insist on arresting one of us, it should be me. I’m the one you hold a grudge against.” For his family—his pack—he would give his last breath, take the fall, catch the bullet. Responsibility for involving them lay on his shoulders.

  “Serebus,” Washington hissed his name like a curse as she stomped over to stand nose to chest with him.

  “Director Washington,” Rodriguez announced, her glare pinning Nathan, however. “The ankle monitors are here.”

  The shrunken head of a bun bobbed as Washington nodded. “Very good, Officer.” Back to Nathan: “We’ll finish our discussion later.”

  “Of course.”

  “Officer Rodriguez, I’m placing you in charge of their fitting, as well as these people’s care and feeding. Carry on.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Rodriguez saluted.

  “That’s it?” Josephine blocked Washington’s path. “No explanation, no clarification, no—”

  “ABC News or not,” the DHS bulldog cut in, “you’re about this close”—fingers a hairsbreadth apart—“from landing yourself an obstruction charge. Move.”

  “I’m here to protect the people as much as you are, Director.” But the brunette stepped aside.

  Nathan looked down at Roddy. “Shall we?”

  With a look besee
ching heaven for strength, she turned and led the way from the computer lab.

  “Call Marvin Bridges as well. He may want the . . . added protection of supervision.”

  “We’re ahead of you on that.”

  Albin fell in beside his employer. Living up to his name, the blond’s face had turned white at the mention of criminal charges. Visions of disbarment and humiliation no doubt rose in his mind like phantasms.

  “She’s only trying to intimidate us,” Nathan muttered to his adviser. Cool peace flowed through his body at his own words.

  “I am aware.” Clipped tone as cold as his glare.

  Josephine dropped back a pace, coming to his left. “I’m no lawyer”—she smiled at Albin—“but I don’t see how this can hold up in court.”

  Albin turned his arctic-blast glower on her. “What court would that be, Ms. Josephine? If we are fortunate, we may stand before a military tribunal. If not, then a kangaroo court will judge. The nation is in turmoil. The last priority for the government is restoring the judicial system. Once they exert absolute power, they will not willingly surrender it.”

  Cynicism led to more insights than optimism dreamed of. Nathan grunted. “That’s the true terror. Objects in power tend to stay in power until another power unseats them.”

  Jo shook her head. “Tyrants always fall.”

  Chapter 8

  Collared

  Unbreakable - In Search of Symmetry

  The civilians and their escort made their way across the street to the Armory, which doubled as a basketball court inside during peacetime.

  Roddy escorted her problems to the back of a—no, not again. A white van with rear doors open like a fish’s mouth waited. A prisoner transport vehicle. Steel benches ran down either side, with wire mesh separating them. Heart double-tapping as survival instinct bawled at him to flee or fight, Nathan hung back.

  “For fuck’s sake,” Rodriguez hissed, “you’re as dramatic as a teenage girl. Get over your stupid claustrophobia, pansy ass. I’m not locking you in, you know.”

  Josephine frowned at the van. “I don’t have great memories of the last one either.”

  “There are no cannibals this time,” Albin observed as if noting the traffic on Broadway was lighter than usual.

  “True.” Nathan braced himself as he heaved into the portable cell. The steel’s cold sent chills marrow-deep. Albin swung in across from him, fixing his employer with a steadying gaze.

  Grabbing two plastic cases the size of a shoebox from another officer, Rodriguez advanced on Nathan.

  One, two, three—Pain sparked over his ribs. A snarl of frustration escaped him. Bloody hell, he couldn’t even breathe the way he wanted. Then the golden eyes in the back of his mind opened.

  “I volunteer to be first.” Back straight, Albin looked on with the solemnity of a lord with his neck in the hangman’s noose.

  Annoyance at himself prickled over Nathan. “No. I have first dibs.” They locked gazes through the mesh.

  “Fine.” Rodriguez opened one of the boxes to reveal a device that resembled a dog’s shock collar minus the probes. Its shock came from the law.

  Birk’s sneer echoed in Nathan’s ears: they’ve got you on a leash. Protection, but at what cost?

  With a shake of her head, Rodriguez fitted the strap around his ankle. His skin tingled under the pressure.

  Thirty-three years of questionable activities had yet to earn him an ankle monitor. Now the government wanted to lock one around his freedom in return for him killing terrorists, rescuing hostages, and retrieving data that could stop the cannibals. No good deed went untaxed.

  Rodriguez tightened the screws that locked the band’s length. Thumbscrews for the twenty-first century. “Good?”

  “Good enough for the government.”

  She moved to Albin’s side of the PTV. The attorney stared into middle distance while she placed the monitor around his ankle.

  Nathan eased out of the van as Josephine wandered into the parking lot beyond.

  “Acceptable?” The officer tested the slack in Albin’s “collar.”

  “Unavoidable.” As the blond stepped from the vehicle, rebellion flashed in his eyes, unnoticeable to anyone but Nathan.

  Behind Rodriguez, Marvin wove through the chaos of rescue and military personnel. He craned his neck as he scanned the area.

  “Bridges!” Nathan called, waving.

  The economist made his way over. “Hi, guys. I . . .” He took in the scene. “What’s going on?” A half smile of bemusement plastered itself on his face as he glanced about for an escape route.

  Nathan pulled his Blackhawks’ pant leg up to display the tracker. “Government Fitbits.”

  Marvin fell back a step. “Did they tell you it was a Fitbit, because it looks like a—”

  “GPS ankle monitor? No need to repeat this morning’s little adventure when the government knows our location.”

  Albin snorted. The sound summed up Nathan’s feelings.

  “If we wear the monitor, we have more freedom here in our status as persons of interest. If we need to evacuate on our own in the meantime, this is our safety line.”

  Rodriguez clicked the empty boxes shut as she turned to face the economist. “Do you want one or not?”

  “Let me get this straight.” Marvin held up a hand. The light made his spiked hair appear to bristle like burr needles. “I can take it off and nobody’s going to arrest me like I’m some sort of child molester?”

  “That’s the deal Director Washington made,” Nathan confirmed. By all guesses, the rescue services and DHS lacked the manpower to march out and arrest or rescue them in under twenty-four hours, but that trumped never.

  Marvin rocked from heels to toes as he considered. “Okay.”

  He climbed into the van as Nathan sauntered out into the afternoon sun. Albin followed, a hand up to shade his eyes. Sixty yards ahead, vehicles came and went through the gate in the Armory’s chain-link fence. Soldiers in full battle kit guarded it. To the right, Nathan found a GM pickup and leaned against the tailgate as he watched the traffic. Counting cars, cards, costs . . .

  Joining him, Albin assumed an at-ease posture with hands behind his back. Idly he rubbed his right ankle on the back of his left.

  “Thank you, Albin.”

  “Sir?” The attorney gave him a sidelong glance.

  Nathan smiled, thumping his friend on the back. “For being a Conrad.”

  “I can be nothing less.”

  Now, how much leeway did they have with these collars? Planting his foot on the truck’s bumper, Nathan began rolling up the Blackhawks’ leg.

  “Goats,” Albin announced.

  “Mm?” Ah, he could saw through the band with no problem.

  “Goats.”

  Nathan stopped, then glanced over at the blond, who squinted into the distance. “I keep hearing you say ‘goats.’ Perhaps my concussion damaged—”

  “Beyond the gate.” Albin pointed as if indicating a roadside attraction on par with the World’s Largest Rubber-Band Ball.

  Yes, a score of goats ambled down the road toward the gate. Oberhasli and Saanens of belted, gold, and pinto coloring, they wore collars with bells and appeared well groomed.

  “Goats.” A grin came unbidden to Nathan’s features. “Just like home.” Then his smile dropped. As refreshing and amusing as he found seeing goats in San Francisco during a full-scale terrorist war—“What on earth are they doing here?”

  “I noticed an advertisement for a lawn-care company that employs them. However, I doubt they have come to trim the grass.”

  A few goats nosed at weeds on 1st Ave’s shoulder, then gave up and followed the others.

  “This is wrong.”

  “This is San Francisco.” Albin grimaced. “But I agree.”

  The guards watched the livestock in amazement. Did they have a procedure in the manual for refugee goats?

  “Let’s get b
ack to the others.” Nathan started toward the garage entrance, Albin at his side.

  The guards caught the two lead goats by the collars and started walking them around the corner, out of the way of traffic. A pair of Deuce and a Half cargo trucks formed a makeshift corral ahead.

  Then—

  BOOM!

  Chapter 9

  Escape Goats

  Should I Stay or Should I Go - The Clash

  Reflex made Nathan duck. Pain lanced from his injuries at the sudden contraction.

  BOOM! BOOM!

  Static drowned all other sound. He reached for Albin to drag him into the garage, but the blond caught him by the shoulder instead and shoved him through the entrance.

  Burned steak and expended explosive stench made Nathan swallow back bile. Brain caught up with optic input: the first goat had . . . exploded. Then the next two. No, impossible. Even if they ate a stick of dynamite they wouldn’t explode. Wait, their collars! The bells hadn’t rung; they must have carried the charges.

  Panicked goats ran about. What kind of fucking monster blew up goats?

  Wait, the guards. Their charred bodies slumped against the trucks while the vehicles’ canvas covers burned.

  Nathan’s heart constricted, refused to beat for a moment. The static in his ears faded. Personnel yelled orders. Metal clattered as they dragged the garage’s rolling service door down.

  Bang!

  Red sparks exploded above, the last sight of the sky before the barrier slammed closed.

  BOOM! Another goat?

  He and Albin dodged service members. The prison van loomed ahead, while Marvin milled nearby, looking for an exit. He’d escaped two terrorist attacks already by fleeing.

  “Bridges!” Nathan roared.

  Albin pointed behind Marvin. “Officer Rodriguez!”