Out of Darkness (Unclean Evolution Book 4)

by LC Champlin

  “If we have to travel together, you’re going to watch my back. I saved your ass, remember. You owe me.”

  “Aren’t you kicking yourself for that? I don’t owe you. I don’t owe anybody anything.” Merciful lightness came over him, but only for a moment. Darkness washed in, and with it the ice and snow of the Arctic. Wolves howled in the back of his mind. They hunted. They hunted for him. Or did they? No, not anymore. But . . . he owed them. Something. Somehow. He’d have to think on that.

  It all fell between dream and reality, mixing like the colors in a child’s sand-art jar when they shake it. Children. That seemed familiar. Did he have one? A boy? Images of a four-year-old with hair as black as Nathan’s but with green eyes instead of brown laughed in the darkness of his mind.

  Yes.

  The green eyes in his mind now belonged to a fiery red-head as beautiful as a Siren and with a skill in debate more compelling than the creatures’ song. She posed more danger than an angry Neptune, however, when crossed.

  Squeezing his eyes closed and gritting his teeth, Nathan bowed his head as if facing a gale on the Bering Sea. Memory lashed his mind, tearing away the fog of drugs.

  He had a friend.

  He had a son.

  He had a wife.

  And he needed to find them.

  Chapter 2

  Abominations of Desolation

  Black Holes – Blue Stones

  This is a dream, but why am I unable to awaken from it?

  Albin Conrad pulled himself up the last meter of the ladder. Beneath him, damned souls screamed as they reached for him, their fingers brushing his legs. He sprang onto the roof parapet, while about him the crimson sky glowed and flowed lava. Gold, yellow, umber, black, and crimson shifted, blending with the hellfire below and obliterating the horizon.

  Ahead crouched the Great Wolf Fenrir, his attention on something at the other side of the parapet. Larger than a mammoth, with fur as dark as the grave, he consumed all who opposed him, both gods and men.

  “Fenrir, I have come for you. I will avenge the Allfather.” Albin drew his sword, the ancient two-hander passed down from Conrad to Conrad.

  Fenrir, the Eater of Worlds, the son of Loki, turned his massive head. Eyes blazing, they mirrored the molten sky. “You come at me with a stick? You are nothing but a thorn in my side, and I will tear you out and crush you. You cannot kill me.”

  “I’m not here to kill you.”

  “Neither god nor man binds me.”

  “Nor am I here to tame you. I have come to save you.”

  The Beast laughed, a chorus of howls, roars, and screams.

  Then a hiss grew, rising about them like a wind. Damned souls rose, flowing in the fire around the parapet, growing higher by the second. Their hands reached over the battlements.

  All about Albin a screech went up, growing into a thousand battle trumpets blaring, of warriors shouting their battle cries, and of the wounded moaning. Lightning rent the sky, opening a rift in the crimson. The way to the Abyss opened.

  A heartbeat later, a flaming boulder hurtled from the void, trailing ash and sparks. It slammed into the center of the parapet, between Albin and the god-slaying wolf.

  The stone cracked along the sides and fell away like the shell of an egg. A humanoid creature hunkered in the ruins, its fur as red as blood from the heart. It unfolded to its full height, an impressive five meters. A Baphomet, half man and half goat. The Red Devil Goat spread its arms and released a keening roar. Its horns curled, pointing into the void. Its eyes flickered from the soulless black of a demon to the blue of the ocean. It reached over its shoulder and withdrew an ax, double sided and gleaming.

  “I will destroy you all and run freely over the Earth.” The abomination raised the ax to point at Albin. “Do you think you are a match for me, human?” Its voice boomed, a chorus of a thousand voices. Yet an American Deep South accent tinged it. The weapon swung toward the Great Wolf. “Or you, mongrel?”

  “Come!” the wolf laughed.

  It lunged at the Baphomet. The ax flashed in the crimson light, catching Fenrir in the side and sticking in bone. The Eater of Worlds slumped to its side. It tore at the ax, dislodging it and hurling it into a cluster of damned souls.

  The Baphomet watched, reveling in the pain it caused. It had its back to Albin. The sword in Albin’s hand pulsed, crying for blood. He must act now to avenge his family and execute his duty. He sprang forward, blade aiming for the Devil Goat’s neck.

  A flash of lightning exploded on the corner of the parapet. Just as quickly, the Baphomet wheeled. Its talons flashed, piercing Albin in the neck. Each as long as a butcher’s knife, they burst through the opposite side. The red monster lifted him into the air. Blood hot and thick poured down Albin’s chest, but he felt no pain.

  With a roar loud enough to rend stone, Fenrir lunged at the Baphomet. The jaws that tore hands from heroes, engulfed the earth and sky, and slew gods closed around the Devil Goat’s torso, piercing the red hide. The Baphomet’s blood joined Albin’s on the stones. With a shake of his head, Fenrir snapped its prey’s neck, then flung the body off the parapet. The damned souls rose like a wave to meet the demon.

  Albin struck the ground, his life pouring from his throat. He attempted to stand, but it felt as if the earth itself rested on his shoulder. The blood about him turned into a lake. It expanded until it dwarfed the Atlantic. Albin hovered over its surface as if hanging from marionette wires. Across from him, Fenrir approached, oblivious to the blood pouring from his own wound. He lowered his head, all-consuming maw open.

  It would end now. Albin failed in his duty. But at least he would die knowing he had attempted his task, impossible as it may be. The jaws closed around him. Rather than crushing the remaining life from Albin, they lifted him gently. The damned souls roiled about them, up from the blood, hands reaching, claws flashing. Black oil bubbled from their mouths as their skin blistered as if in a fire. Their eyes, the orange of a dying sun, bulged with the abominations’ longing to destroy all life.

  Fenrir leapt into the air, carrying Albin away from the hellscape. Overhead, a rift opened. Light blazed forth, and in it flew the Valkyrie. Descending to meet wolf and man, they opened their arms to receive the warrior.

  As they bore him into the light, Albin looked down. Chains snaked up from the blood and fire. They snared Fenrir about the legs and neck. Releasing a howl of pain and anguish, the wolf thrashed. His struggles only tightened the bonds. With a whine, he ceased his efforts. Down he fell, toward Hell and its denizens.

  Darkness closed in about Albin, blotting out Fenrir.

  A voice echoed, distant: “Just Breathe. I’m here to help. I’m sorry. Tell them I love them.”

  Albin jerked into consciousness. His hand flew to the left side of his neck. Ah, no gaping wound pouring blood, only the line of sutures that ran down the incision. It traveled along his sternocleidomastoid, on the outside of the major vessels. By a miracle or incredible luck he had survived, said every medical staff member he encountered. “Humph,” he grunted at the superstitions.

  His fingers traced the scar. It had healed to a white line, like a thread. But while his fingers could feel the skin, the only sensation his neck relayed was pressure. It tingled as he reached the caudal end, but numbness dominated. The combat dagger severed nerves as well as arteries. Had it deviated in any direction, said Jim, the cardiothoracic surgeon who had saved his life, he would have either suffered serious permanent damage, or not lived long enough to worry about complications.

  Albin remained on his back, staring up at the bottom of the bunk above him. Then his eyes closed. If he concentrated hard enough and strained his imagination, he could almost feel the ship rocking under him in the waves of the Pacific.

  In the self-imposed darkness, a ringing began in his ears, faint but rising. It grew into a howl. It resembled the howl of Fenrir when the ax struck and the chains tightened. Pain and sorrow filled the cry.
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br />   Growling, Albin pressed his hands over his ears. “I have to make them stop. I have to find Fenrir.”

  Chapter 3

  Looking for a City

  Papercut – Linkin Park

  June 2, 2016—

  As Nathan and Rodriguez trudged down the road, he gazed up at the sky. Expansive and desolate, it mirrored the desert. Or perhaps it mirrored his future.

  He returned his attention to the road. “How far are the houses?”

  Rodriguez grunted as she adjusted the rifles across her back. She walked with a slight limp, which worsened the farther they hiked. “GPS says it should be less than a quarter of a mile.”

  “I don’t see any lights. Is the power out in this state”—this unknown state—“as well as California?”

  “Maybe they’re just trying to stay low key, something you wouldn’t know about.” She winced, but not in relation to her words. Her pace slowed. If she didn’t see to her injuries, they could grow serious.

  “I need to stop for a minute,” Nathan declared. “My ribs.”

  “We need to keep going. That gunfire might have attracted the wrong attention. I don’t know if there are cannibals all the way out here, but those victims looked chewed on. And there are definitely people around who we don’t want to cross.”

  Nathan moved to the edge of the road. He sat down and wrapped an arm around his rib cage, right hand going to the healed incision on his left flank—a habit now rather than a need. The fires of pain had dwindled to an ache. Guilt, though, flared. The reason remained foggy. Had the injury made him fail someone? It would come to him.

  “Come on, Serebus,” she hissed. “I wanna find a vehicle and get the hell out of here.”

  “At your pace,” he began, voice low, “that could take a while. Sit down with me. I know you’re in pain. If you don’t keep care for your injuries, you’ll slow us down even more.” No time to beat around the bush. Tact felt exhausting.

  She sighed, then eased down beside him. “I must have twisted it in the wreck.” She nodded to her left knee.

  “It probably hit the console during the crash.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll scout ahead and see if I can locate a vehicle. There might be—”

  “Oh hell no you won’t.” Glowering at him, she struggled back to her feet.

  So much for that idea and for looking out for the team. He stood. “Then let’s go.” He slowed his pace, though.

  Low buildings came into view. Mobile homes. As he neared them, more accessories of trailer-park living came in view: cars on blocks, sheds with stained aluminum siding, weeds, barbed wire fences. The average redneck on the East Coast lived in luxury compared to these people.

  No lights shone from the structures. As evening deepened and the desert’s chill set in, the absence of illumination grew more noticeable. And unsettling.

  He turned left, down a dirt driveway toward a possibly abandoned mobile home. “I’m going to see if anyone’s in.” He shoved the gate aside, then continued toward the screen door. His uniform came with a duty belt but no handgun for the holster, not to mention it lacked a baton, handcuffs, and pepper spray. Its saving grace? It did include a flashlight.

  He played the Maglite’s beam over the front of the mobile home. A few decades ago, the siding might have shined a crisp white, but now it blended with the desert dust. A chain lay beside the rickety wooden steps. He traced the links with the light. Then stopped. A dog lay at the other end. Blood formed a pool around the animal. “Damn.” Nathan nudged the furry body with his toe. Nothing. “What kind of bastard kills a dog on the end of a chain?”

  “Serebus,” Rodriguez stage-whispered from beside the gate. “Get back here.” Since she had the weapons, she also had a point.

  He joined her beside one of the battle-scarred vehicles at the edge of the driveway, a Chevy C/K 10 pickup from the ’80s. The plate read New Mexico. No wonder the area looked like a perfect location for Heisenberg to make a meth dead drop.

  “Let me go first.” She shouldered the MP5. The submachine gun would do far more damage than his flashlight, so he stepped aside. She edged to the front door. “Stack behind me. Go left with the light.”

  He obeyed, flashlight ready. She took a chance by allowing him behind her with a weighted Maglite. Her trust felt oddly rewarding, a feeling that encouraged him to maintain it. A sense of power, too, came with the opportunity of destroying a person’s life yet sparing it. As a prisoner, he’d forgotten what it felt like. But with great power came greater responsibility, one he wouldn’t fail.

  She knocked on the door. Nothing. Again. Still nothing.

  “Law enforcement! Open up!” She avoided saying Department of Homeland Security. How convenient.

  When silence answered, she tried the handle. Unlocked. She pushed the door open and swung in, MP5 raised and light blazing. Nathan followed suit, minus the firearm, covering the area to the left with his light. How calming it would feel to hold a weapon. Yet at the same time, another part of his mind recoiled at the thought. Why? Had he done something wrong with one?

  A living room opened around them. It qualified as a living room only because it held neither kitchen appliances nor a bed. Dirty, with thread-bare armchairs and stacks of newspapers rising out of refuse—

  “Hello?” Nathan called. “Is anyone here? We’re here to help you.” If help meant take their vehicle’s keys.

  He followed Rodriguez into the kitchen. At the bottom of the stove lay an old woman. Like the dog outside, she had collapsed in a pool of blood. Rodriguez moved forward to check for a pulse. After a moment, she glanced at Nathan and shook her head.

  Nathan played his light over the corpse. Bullet exit wounds gaped in her back. Fear, pain, and disbelief twisted her features, which time and the sun had wrinkled.

  Nausea rising, Nathan turned toward the back of the mobile home. “Let’s see if there’s anyone else.” They found no one, only a lonely bedroom with boxes and knick-knacks lining the walls.

  Silent, Rodriguez led the way out.

  “That blood was fresh,” Nathan commented.

  “Rigor mortis hadn’t started yet either.”

  “Do you think the people who attacked our convoy did this?”

  “It wasn’t a fucking coincidence, I’m betting.” Jaw clenching and unclenching, she adjusted her grip on the MP5. “Any bastards sick enough to do what they did to us wouldn’t have trouble putting bullets into civilians. They probably came here and waited until we passed. Then they attacked from the rear.”

  “You didn’t have any warning?” He raised a brow. “Why were we traveling overland, anyway? My memory may be hazy, but I believe air travel via helicopter or other rotor aircraft was our transport before.”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t agree with the ground transport idea.” She snorted in disgust.

  “If we can’t find anyone in town, we may be able to locate keys to a vehicle, assuming any of them are functional.”

  Flashlights off, they headed to the next mobile home, a decrepit structure with gray aluminum siding. Did more death fill this shack? Nathan’s hands begin to tremble. Deep breath. One, two, three—

  He and Rodriguez picked their way through the car parts and trash that littered the yard. Again the duo stacked in front of the door, Rodriguez on point.

  Knock-knock.

  Who’s there?

  Depends on who’s inside.

  Silence.

  Locked door.

  Rodriguez kicked open the rickety barrier—then hissed as she went down to one knee. Her injury would not tolerate them clearing each house this way, and his ribs wouldn’t appreciate him attacking doors or scrambling through windows, either.

  The hovel’s interior resembled that of the previous residence, except more trash and dirt occupied it. Various boxes and articles of run-down furniture cluttered the main room. Along with them, two human-sized lumps hunched on the couch before the small TV.

  B
odies—a man and a woman. Rodriguez didn’t bother to check for vital signs. The holes in their skulls ruled out survival.

  Chapter 4

  Stone the Builders Rejected

  How Did You Love – Shinedown

  “Rodriguez.” Nathan came to her side as they stepped back into the night air. “Are we going to go house to house? We need to find transportation and get out of here.”

  “I fucking know that. But . . .” She glanced over her shoulder at the house. The law enforcement officer in her wanted to find the victims, investigate the crime, and catch the perpetrators.

  “You’re welcome to stay, but I’m going on ahead.” He started toward the gate. “I’ll see if there are businesses or other buildings that might be more promising. Maybe some people survived farther down the road.”

  “I’m coming. You’re not getting out of my sight. Every time you disappear, you do stupid shit. And people get hurt.”

  “If you say so.” Her statement resonated with truth that lurked beyond reach in the recesses of his mind. “Thus far, it seems you and I are the only people alive to be hurt here.” His tone held no emotion. Neither did his soul. A self-defense mechanism, the numbness and apathy would no doubt take its toll later, but for now they would protect what little remained of his sanity. Did later even matter?

  They trekked farther down the road, ignoring the dark mobile homes and pole buildings dotting the wasteland beside the asphalt strip.

  All the license plates read New Mexico. “I take it we’re in the land of enchantment,” Nathan remarked. “I don’t feel very enchanted. Land of Damnation might be better.” Idiotic state titles.

  Rodriguez grunted, the majority of her attention on their surroundings. Attackers could lurk in the shadows behind the houses or in the desert scrub. At the moment, meeting a foe would come as a relief. At least he would know what he faced.