by LC Champlin
Unclean Evolution:
Out of Darkness
Book 4
By LC Champlin
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Unclean Evolution: Out of Darkness, by LC Champlin.
EBook published by Wulfram Cross Enterprises LLC, Blairsville GA, USA.
www.lcchamplin.com
© 2018 LC Champlin
[email protected]
Edited by J Earle
Cover by me
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
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 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Chapter 97
Chapter 98
Chapter 99
Chapter 100
Chapter 101
Chapter 102
Chapter 103
Chapter 104
Chapter 105
Chapter 106
Special thanks to…
The Despot
WOOJ Survival Tech
J Earle
My beta readers for helping make this series possible.
WARNING:
This book is intended for MATURE AUDIENCES due to-
Blood and gore
Strong language
Intense situations
Extreme violence
Mature humor
Sexual themes
Interested yet? Thought so.
Psalms 107:10-16
There were those who dwelt in darkness and in the shadow of death,
prisoners in misery and chains,
because they had rebelled against the words of God
and spurned the counsel of the Most High.
Therefore He humbled their heart with labor;
they stumbled and there was none to help.
Then they cried out to the Lord in their trouble;
He saved them out of their distresses.
He brought them out of darkness and the shadow of death
and broke their bands apart.
Let them give thanks to the Lord for His loving kindness,
and for His wonders to the sons of men!
For He has shattered gates of bronze
and cut bars of iron asunder.
Chapter 1
Collapse
Black and White – Cherryholmes
Pain—nothing new—dragged Nathan Serebus into consciousness. Breathe. It came more easily than it had three weeks ago; the rib fractures were healing well.
He opened his eyes to . . . Off-white steel walls in the murk. Four feet above, metal grating. A box or cell of some sort. Oh. Right. The prison transport van.
A human-sized lump on the other side of the barrier, at the far end of the cell. Drip, drip, drip. Dark fluid pattered on the floor. Or wall?
Stay calm. Inhaling for one, two, three, four seconds. Hold for four. Out for four. Iron and copper scented the air, as did . . . spent gunpowder.
Gunpowder. Gunshots. Blood. Images flashed across reality: tires screeching, the world spinning, men yelling—and shooting—as they charged in. Squeezing his eyes shut again, Nathan bared his teeth. One, two, three—
He struggled to sit. Why couldn’t he? Something heavy and soft. Ah, a prisoner. A dead prisoner. He shoved the corpse away.
Grunting, Nathan shook his head to clear the fog. It didn’t work; the fog never cleared. The drugs saw to that. They kept him calm and compliant, exactly how his Keepers wanted him. And so be it. He deserved it. The guilt weighed heavier than had the corpse.
“Have to find . . .” Worming and shrimping his way out of the rear of the van, he emerged into the evening air. The shackles on his wrists and ankles, which fed through the belt around his waist, made this a challenge.
Around him stretched a desert landscape. “Where am I?” In Royally Screwed Land, that’s where. Geographically, though . . . did it even matter? No.
Cop cars and black SUVs in better or worse shape than the overturned one lay scattered along the road. Five total. Hold on, counting his van made six. Math was hard on drugs.
Squinting, he surveyed the mess. What had happened? An attack, yes, but by whom? Memories . . . Everything ran together, jumbled. Where did one day end and another begin? Only the waning pain in his sides helped him keep track. Not that it mattered. None of it mattered anymore.
Nathan smacked his lips at the taste of copper in his mouth. He spat blood on the asphalt. The dying sun made the blood look black. Black like oil. Like the oil the cannibals puked and drooled. It carried the machines and microbes to turn humans into things like the unclean creatures.
Why did he come out of the van? Something about . . . finding someone. Who was he supposed to care about? He would figure it out if he started walking. Maybe.
The damn drugs made it so fucking hard to get thoughts to stay . . . to stay together. Right. He needed to be together with . . . people. There were people he should care about. He was supposed to find them.
Then guilt swooped in on black wings with talons flashing. The people he’d betrayed. For this reason he allowed his Keepers to give him the drugs. The fog hid him from the vultures of guilt. They circled always.
Carnage surrounded him. Bodies of police and military personnel lay scattered about. Many had their innards torn out, their throats opened, and large chunks of meat missing from their limbs. They also had gunshot wounds that gaped at the darkening sky. Their blood ran in rivulets across the pavement, pooling in the low places.
The person he was supposed to find wore a uniform like these people. She was . . . one of his Keepers. She would keep him sane. She would keep the vultures away. And she would keep the cannibals away too.
He picked his way around the bodies and debris. Something warm and wet dribbled from his nose and into his beard. He sniffed. The copper and iron taste again. It didn’t matter. He deserved to be in the place of one of these cops. “Why didn’t they kill me?” It would’ve made life easier.
A few of the bodies groaned and reached toward him vaguely as he passed. They would die. It didn’t matter.
Nathan ambled farther. How was he supposed to find—Wait, she’d climbed into one of the lead cars before the other Keepers led him to the van.
Ahead, a small, tan hand protruded from the broken window of a car that had flipped onto its roof. When he reached it, he crouched to peer inside. A Hispanic woman hung from her seatbelt in the passenger seat. Blood dripped from a gash on the side of her forehead. Shot? No.
The driver would not need help, judging by the fact that glass had slit his throat. His lifeblood soaked the ceiling’s fabric.
Crouching, Nathan used the slack in his chain to reach up and pull the door handle. Nothing. Well then. Feeling inside, he unlatched the woman’s seat belt. She dropped the rest of the way to the ceiling, now the floor, landing in a heap with a grunt.
“Hey.” He squinted at her. What was her name? Bar? Stick? No, no Rod . . . Rodriguez! “Hey, Officer Rodriguez. Let’s go.” Go where and go how? Someone not on drugs could figure that out.
She grunted again and tried to pull herself free, but one arm stuck in the seat belt. He helped free her. They didn’t have time for this. Something deep in his mind reminded him of this. He grabbed her by the shoulders, braced his feet against the door, and pulled. His ribs grumbled, but he ignored them as he locked down his lats. She slid out of the cab, her plate carrier vest catching several times on broken glass.
When she cleared the vehicle, Nathan stood. He looked around. The scene didn’t make any more sense now than it had two minutes ago. But that urgent feeling continued to scratch at the back of his mind. They needed to leave. Now.
The warm wetness continued to drip from his nose. He snorted it out, sending a spray of red into the air. Red. He wiped his face. His hands came away bloody. Bloody hands. Another reason to take the drugs. They couldn’t wash it away, but they could hide it.
On the ground, Officer Rodriguez struggled to sit up, her back against the vehicle.
“Come on, Rodriguez. We have to . . .” His thoughts went fuzzy. The road ahead looked very interesting, suddenly.
“How the fuck did you get out, Serebus?” She worked her way up the side of the vehicle until she could stand.
Nathan shrugged.
“Shit, now what?”
His gaze meandered to the blood that oozed from her forehead gash. He pointed to it in case she didn’t notice. “You need a first-aid kit.”
She reached up and touched the wound, wincing. “I’m fine.”
“Then let’s go.” The thought dominated everything now.
“I know. Just because I was knocked out doesn’t mean I have brain damage. And I’m not drugged like you. By the way, we give those to keep you prisoners manageable, not for your own benefit.”
He snorted back a glob of congealing blood in response.
“I’m going to find a radio and check on these people.” Professionalism locked into place. “None of these vehicles are drivable.” She eased away from the support of the wreck and started toward the next vehicle, which at least rested on its tires.
Nathan trailed, chains clinking. “We need to go.”
“I know!” she snapped, rounding on him.
“Why are you always so angry?”
“Excuse me?” Glare.
He stared at her, then blinked. She could read his mind? No, he must have spoken aloud. Shit. “We need to go.”
With a mixed sigh and growl, she returned to her scavenging.
Nathan continued to gaze around while she worked. Who had attacked them? Not the cannibals, since they didn’t know how to use weapons. Yet. Who else had it in for them? Shapes wavered in his mind. Who . . .
The wind kicked up, hissing and whistling through the twisted metal. That hiss, like cannibals.
A voice in the background: Rodriguez calling for help on the radio. She repeated her SOS.
He wandered over to stand less than an arm’s length from her, looming a foot taller than the officer. “We have to go.”
“Fuck it!” She threw the mic down and whirled about to glare at him. “Nobody’s picking up. We’re on our own.”
“We have to—”
“Go. I know.”
They regarded each other for a moment. Annoyance and accusation flashed in her eyes. The drugs kept Nathan blissfully emotion-free.
Wait. She said on their own? That meant no more drugs. That meant memories. A part of his mind woke from its sleep. An odd thrill coursed through the primal part of his brain. The rational part felt anxious and depressed. But overall, he felt little. It didn’t matter.
“All right,” she announced, “start walking, prisoner.”
“It’s going to be slow with me like this.” Wearing a lopsided smile, he clanked the restraints at her. “I wouldn’t have fetched you if I was going to make a break for it. I’m not great on my own. It would work better, too, if I wore one of the uniforms from . . . the victims.”
“Look, smart ass”—she poked a finger at his chest—“you’re pushing it already with the chains. Now you think you’re going to impersonate a cop.”
Shrug. His gaze drifted around the scene. “It’s your choice. But if I were a local, I wouldn’t be as apt to help a DHS officer and a prisoner as I would be to help two officers.”
A growl rumbled from her. “I guess it would be less noticeable.”
“Exactly. It’ll be difficult enough to get to the next base.”
She cocked her head to take stock of him. “Why are you so compliant? It’s not just the drugs.”
Compliant? Had he resisted earlier? When, and why? He deserved what happened to him, the worse the better. Though that might have been partly the drugs speaking. Then again, guilt served as its own psychotropic drug.
“Well?”
“I . . . I want to see justice done.”
“You’re as big of a fucking idiot as ever, Serebus. You should have just run. You should have left your friend at the hospital and run.”
“What?” Friend. What friend? He didn’t have any friends.
What about the people you are supposed to find? What about that blond fellow? asked a voice in the back of his mind. How should he know?
Life had always existed this way, hadn’t it? Chains, darkness, pain. Like a circle, with no beginning and no end. Like a manacle, or a collar on a dog. Dog. Should he remember dogs? It didn’t matter.
“The chains, Officer. Please. If we get attacked, I won’t be any help like this. If I was going to hurt you, I wouldn’t have pulled you out of the wreck.”
Muttering in Spanish to herself, she shook her head. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” She reached into a compartment on her belt and pulled
out keys.
The manacles fell from Nathan’s limbs a moment later. He massaged his wrists, smiling absently. “Thank you. Now, we should get more weapons.”
This halted her as if she had run into a wall. “I’m not giving you a weapon. I’m already breaking policy and procedures by letting you roam around free after all the shit you pulled. I’m surprised they didn’t haul you in front of a firing squad.”
“I’m a civilian.”
“Are you? You sided with a hostile group and terrorists.”
“I did?” It all seemed hazy. Faces and bursts of light swirled in his memory.
“Bastard.” She started off again.
“I didn’t say give me a gun. But you should have a few more, and more ammunition. I can at least carry the ammo for you.”
“Fine. Go stand over there while I do the scavenging.” She pointed to the lead vehicle, where it lay on its side with a hole blown through the door.
After meandering over to it, he waited, his mind going into its comforting static mode.
Rodriguez returned in a few minutes—or possibly hours, since time didn’t move in the normal way when drugs influenced the mind—with a bundle of clothes and a plate carrier vest, its pockets packed with magazines. She had two rifles slung over her shoulders, and more pistols tucked into her pouches.
Nathan laughed. “You’re like a chipmunk but with guns and ammo instead of nuts.”
“Shut. The fuck. Up. Here.” She pushed the plate carrier and clothes against his chest.
Still smiling, he stripped off his orange scrubs. With a roll of her eyes, Rodriguez half turned away. Now in his underwear, he began pulling on the blood-stained uniform. “Thank you, Officer. I feel like a new man.” He heaved the armor vest onto his shoulders and fastened the Velcro along the sides.
“Start walking. And take that pretty orange outfit. You’ll be putting it back on soon enough.”
“I can carry one of those rifles for you. They’re not pistols; you can’t have one in each hand.”
“I’m not that desperate yet.”
“That’s nice. In that case, let’s hope I never have to pick one up again.”
“Let’s. You’ve done enough damage with these. Not to mention with your mouth.”
“The tongue is mightier than the gun.” It rhymed. Sort of. He chuckled.
