Out of Darkness (Unclean Evolution Book 4)

by LC Champlin

  He gave the brunette a nod. “Ms. Josephine. There is considerable action closer to the bunk compartments. The story there is no doubt quite engaging.”

  She gave him a forced smile, appearing sheepish rather than defiant. “I came here with the Musters. I was about to look for you,” she added as an obvious lie. “I’m glad to see you’re up and around.”

  “I only wish it were under better circumstances. The infection has affected the crew. There is no telling how far it has spread. The Sailors have placed the other Redwood Shores residents in a secure area of the ship. They are, however, still on the same level as the contaminated dormitories. We will have to wait for the Navy to quarantine and sanitize the area before we can return.”

  “Girls!” Amanda called. “You can come out.”

  Taylor and Denver emerged from behind a pallet of boxes. When they saw Albin, the nervous hunching of their shoulders relaxed.

  A grin broke across Denver’s face. “You came looking for us!”

  “I did.” He favored her with a slight smile.

  “We were worried about you,” Taylor added, hesitant. The teenage years neared, and with them came the usual amount of awkwardness.

  “Thank you, Ms. Taylor.”

  Amanda waved the girls toward her. “Now what?” she asked Albin.

  An excellent question. “We remain here. The security forces will have the area contained soon. They will send a team for us.”

  ++++++++++++

  What had Nathan said about wanting to be back in a prison cell? Ah, right, that occurred when bullets flew over his head, and his vehicle had just exploded. He would have to take more care with his wishes and specify that the government of the United States, not the rogue cops of Jemez Pueblo, act as his Keepers.

  Now what? No helpful dog lay nearby to bring him keys, and the deputies hadn’t left the key ring hanging beside the cell door. No way to pick the lock, since they’d stripped him.

  With a sigh, he retrieved the Bible. Since banging his head against the bars in frustration would not free him, he sat down on his bunk and began to read.

  Several verses later, he hadn’t comprehended a word. He looked up at the wall’s flaking gray paint. If they’d let Rodriguez live, they might have decided to have “fun” with the Fed. A chill raised gooseflesh. More suffering and possibly another death because of him. Damn it. Rodriguez didn’t make the most personable traveling companion, but she respected his dignity as a human being. She also tried to keep citizens safe. He had to respect that.

  “I’d help you if I could.” Shaking his head, he returned to the Book.

  After a time, the door down the hall opened and closed. Couldn’t a man get any peace? Perhaps they had reached their buyer. Out of the fire and into the furnace?

  Sophia padded down the passage, halting before his door. She held a ring of keys.

  He bolted to his feet. “Sophia?” he hissed as he grabbed the bars. “How did you get in here?”

  “I know the cops. I brought them beer. Then when they weren’t looking, I slipped back here.”

  “If they find you—”

  “If they find me, they’ll be sorry.” Ferocity shone in her eyes. She shook a lock of dark hair from her brow as she unlocked the cell. “I knew you weren’t who you said. You didn’t have a pistol, your uniform didn’t fit, and your name tag didn’t match what the woman called you. You didn’t act like a cop, either. Oh, and I found your prison orange by the church.”

  “Then why are you helping me? Your village was killed partly because of me, or the people I was with.” He tucked the Bible under his shirt, then slipped out into the hall.

  “I don’t trust the cops. Besides, you helped my cousin—the boy. And you’ve been reading this.” She tapped the Bible. “You can’t be all bad. Now, let’s go.”

  “We have to find my partner—that is, my Keeper.”

  Sophia shook her head as she moved toward the fire exit on the other end of the hall. “I don’t know where she is. We might not be able to find her.”

  “I can’t leave her here after all she’s done for me.”

  “She held you prisoner!” Sophia regarded him as if he had lost his mind.

  “I deserve to be a prisoner. And by the same token, I need to get to the Army National Guard Armory in Santa Fe. Apparently that’s where the DHS was taking me and the other detainees. My case is set to go to trial.”

  “If you want to go to court, you must think you’ll get off.” Reaching the fire door, she put her back to the wall.

  “No, I want to see what I’ll be found guilty of and what my sentence will be. It’s not as if I can return to a normal life if I go on the lam. I’ve committed crimes, and I need to pay my debt to society. I doubt my family would want to see me again after what I’ve done.” He glanced up the hall to avoid her penetrating gaze. “But I’d still like to find them.”

  “You really want me to drive you out to Santa Fe—”

  “We have to find Rodriguez first.”

  “Whatever.” Shoulder against the wall, she eased the door open. Outside, the night air greeted them. As did two men with rifles.

  Nathan lunged at the nearest man. Parry the barrel—A left hook to the man’s temple caught him unaware. As the bastard stumbled, Nathan grabbed him by the back of the shirt. Knee to the throat—another to the face. Down. Trachea cartilage crunched as Nathan stomped. So rewarding! Teeth bared in a wolf grin, he growled.

  Wait, the other one—Ah, never mind: Sophia kicked the man in the head. Growing up out in the Wild West taught a person a few things about brawling.

  The guards lay unmoving. Her prey carried an AR-15, while Nathan’s wielded a Mossberg pump shotgun with pistol grip.

  Sophia snatched up the AR. Upon removing the mag, she checked the ammo situation and the chamber. The mag snapped back into the well. She settled the carbine against her shoulder with practiced ease.

  With a nod of approval, Nathan retrieved the Mossberg. A check of the tube showed a full load of 12-gauge buckshot. The flashlight the human scum carried would also come in handy.

  “Any idea where they might have her?” Nathan asked his cohort.

  Head shake.

  Perhaps they should have kept one of the flunkies conscious for questioning. Too late now.

  He pulled the Bible from under his shirt. “Would you carry this for me, please? I don’t have pockets.”

  “Sure.”

  Keeping low and staying close to the building, the pair set off toward the parking lot.

  Chapter 21

  Wolf of the Deserts

  Stand for Something – Tom Walker

  “They might have her in the garage.” Sophia nodded to the pole shed ahead. “They’re supposed to have a mobile command unit, too, but I don’t see it.”

  “Maybe they’ve stationed it outside the town.”

  Sophia led the way to the garage. Its side door opened without issue. Inside crouched a Dodge Charger and a Crown Vic. No DHS officer, though.

  “Would they kill her?” Nathan whispered. His heart thundered in fear of an affirmative answer. Please no—

  “How should I know? I didn’t expect them to be criminals, so I don’t know what they might do with her.”

  Outside, the lot’s lone pole light provided enough illumination to deepen the darkness at the corners of the property. The silver Ford F-150 had vanished, as had the other trucks.

  “Let me go, you bastards!” Rodriguez’s voice rang from the north, in a lot behind the car junkyard next door.

  “Come on.” He trotted toward the sound, remaining in the shadow of a gnarled tree that guarded the rear of the station.

  Several junkers lay scattered about the lot. A figure stood at the rear of a rusting pickup. Rodriguez. The bastards had cuffed her hands behind her and secured them with a chain to the bumper.

  Sophia stopped beside Nathan. “Well?” she whispered.

  “
Wait.”

  “Why?” She gave him a sharp look. “They could be back any second. I thought you wanted to save her.”

  “I do.” He regarded the struggling officer through narrowed eyes.

  “Uh-huh.” Skepticism.

  He waved for Sophia to follow him back along the rear of the police station garage. “I don’t want to let a crisis go to waste. Trust me.”

  “I don’t think so. You’re a prisoner of the DHS. But if you want to leave her, it’s fine with me.”

  “Sophia, I want to prove my intentions to Rodriguez.” He paused as they sprinted across open ground to the next tree and outbuilding. “In addition, the dirty cops here might contact the people responsible for killing your village and the DHS convoy. If that’s the case, and those bastards arrive, then we might be able to settle the score a bit. I take it you’re capable with an AR?”

  She snorted. “I can shoot a javelina in the ear at a hundred yards.”

  “Then you’re more than qualified to shoot a few feral pigs.”

  “I can handle that.”

  He pressed his back against the building’s aluminum siding. Damn, now what? Should he go back to the cell to keep the cops unsuspecting of an ambush? But that would mean trusting this veritable stranger. If Sophia failed, both he and Rodriguez could end up in an avalanche of shit. It would also mean putting this woman in danger, though she didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she appeared to relish the idea of revenge. Or justice.

  Helicopter blades beat the air in the distance. Military? Or LOGOS?

  “It’s heading for the fire station,” Sophia remarked.

  “I have to see why.”

  She caught his arm. “I’ll go. Stay with her”—gesture toward Rodriguez in the junkyard—“in case they come.”

  She jogged off along the edge of the scrub bordering the town’s creek. It ran behind the mobile homes and other buildings. The fire station lay a quarter mile away, southwest.

  As the chopper hovered, horns began to blare, long and loud, coming up the street. A train of headlights followed the sound. What Pied Piper nonsense occurred now?

  The truck at the head of the procession veered left, toward the lot that held Rodriguez. Meanwhile, the helicopter—a black Eurocopter—settled into the fire station’s parking lot.

  Which circus ring to watch? Shit. With a growl, he trotted back through the shadows to within sight of the junkyard and its enraged captive.

  The pickup and its convoy pulled up beside the lot. The chief rolled out of his silver F-150, his sergeant hopping out of the passenger side. Around him a score of locals—men, women, and even children—exited their vehicles. Many carried firearms. Though a few people jeered, most remained silent. Their expressions and body language ranged from angry to curious to excited.

  “You’re going to put on a show, bitch,” the sergeant announced as he approached Rodriguez. He cast a long shadow in the headlights.

  Knees bent, head down but looking through her brows, Rodriguez bared her teeth at the man. “If you touch me, all the power of the Federal government will come down on you. You’ll never see the light of day again.”

  The chief grinned as he trundled up. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before. I’m about to show you from who.” The pig waved to his cohorts. “Take her with the others.” That didn’t sound promising.

  They unlocked her chain from the hitching post. “Move,” the chief’s lackey barked. He jerked the chain, forcing her to stumble forward. Another man slapped her on the back of the head, knocking her to the ground. Fucking bastards!

  Nathan’s finger slid onto the shotgun trigger. How wonderful it would feel to walk in firing, removing from the earth these disgraces to the badge. But not yet.

  They manhandled Rodriguez into the back of the F-150, the men sitting in the bed to restrain her. Then the vehicles roared down the road toward the fire station. How convenient: two rings merged into one.

  Gritting his teeth against the ache in his sides, Nathan jogged southwest, following the path Sophia had taken. The stars and pole lights provided enough illumination to keep him from plowing into the shrubs or tripping and faceplanting.

  Ahead on the right lay a line of buildings paralleling the road. Two taller but narrower structures—garages?—hulked behind them.

  Nathan followed the fence line toward the buildings. Adjacent to the fire station’s rearmost structure hunkered a mobile home and a pole-shed garage. A gap between them provided cover. It also provided a clear view of the fire department’s back parking lot and its happenings.

  Chapter 22

  Tactics

  Killing Strangers – Marilyn Manson

  “They don’t know where we are,” Josephine posited as the group awaited rescue in the kennel area. “They’ll have to come to feed the dogs eventually, I suppose. But—”

  “Will they evacuate us off the ship, I wonder?” Amanda frowned, pensive, as she pulled her daughters closer.

  The hatch would protect the group until the military managed the situation. The bigger question, though, concerned what the fallout from the outbreak would include.

  The door’s latch clicked. Albin’s M4 flicked up to cover the entry. The hatch swung open; a man and woman stumbled in. Gasping for breath, they halted.

  Albin eyed them from behind the sights. They looked pale. Their heavy breathing degenerated to wheezing. Coughing, they leaned against the wall, perspiration staining their clothes at the necks and underarms.

  Albin’s finger shifted to his carbine’s trigger.

  Josephine put a hand on his arm. “Infected?”

  “You there,” he called. “Move to the rear of the room.”

  The pair did not make eye contact, their concentration on breathing.

  “I repeat, move to the rear of the room.”

  This time they did look up. Then the woman sprang forward. The male followed, dodging to the left of her in a flanking maneuver.

  “Get back!” Albin barked to anyone who would listen.

  He brought the weapon to bear on the nearest cannibal—the female—and pressed the trigger twice. Only one shot found the moving target, striking the shoulder.

  A dark blur launched from the periphery. The shadow crashed into the male cannibal, taking it to the ground. Judge! Jaws around the enemy’s forearm, the Shepherd relished her role as jury and executioner.

  The M4 snapped leftward to the female as it lurched to its feet. Two rounds to the chest slowed it long enough for a third to find the skull.

  He shifted back to the downed cannibal, who struggled against Judge’s iron bite. One shot between the eyes stilled the creature’s thrashing. He could not risk the cannibal attacking the Musters or Behrmann.

  Gunfire would draw attention, but hopefully it would come in the form of military reinforcements.

  ++++++++++++

  Spotlights blazed from the fire department buildings, glinting off the chopper’s onyx fuselage. The aircraft had cut its rotors to idle. Three men in coyote-tan chest rigs, black balaclavas, and high cut helmets with night vision goggles ranged around it. Spec ops, SWAT, paramilitary?

  Shifting memories that stank of gunpowder and rang with gunshots swam into focus. The men resembled the convoy’s raiders, but Nathan couldn’t tell for certain. They may very well belong to a SWAT team.

  “Good to see you,” the chief greeted them with a wave. “That’s one hell of a response time. Almost like you were just waiting for us to call.”

  “We were,” the central of the three outsiders replied.

  “All in the motivation, I guess, eh?”

  “You said you have Nathan Serebus?”

  “Yep. He’s cooling his heels in the jail.” Proud gesture toward the cop shop. “We were just about to have some fun with the DHS fucker that came with him.”

  “Her?” The lead operative pointed to Rodriguez as the locals dragged her off the pickup.

  “Come and watch”
. The chief headed toward the fire station’s rear garage.

  “We don’t have time. We need to collect the prisoner.”

  “Sure you do. Don’t be rude. You don’t want to be rude here.”Another grin before he turned to his cronies. “Open it,” he called, making a circular motion over his head.

  The thugs rolled the garage door up. Inside, two bodies dangled from their feet by ropes. The pair wore law enforcement uniforms, their badges flashing in the headlights. The bare bones and flayed muscles of their skulls glistened.

  Bile climbed up the back of Nathan’s throat.

  Rodriguez glared at them.

  Two figures shifted in the garage’s shadows. Sssssaaaahhhh! That answered the question of what tore the victims’ faces off. Since the creatures didn’t charge forth, restraints must hold them in check.

  Footsteps padded to Nathan’s right. Shotgun up, he whirled. A woman—Sophia.

  “What are you waiting for?” she whispered, coming to his side. She raised the AR halfway. “Are we going to shoot them or not?”

  Would that he could. “There are too many weapons out there. If we start shooting, they’ll come after us. We might have a decent amount of ammo between the two of us, but if they all start firing in our direction—”

  “We’re dead meat. They have those soldiers, too. Maybe you should have just saved her earlier instead of trying to take advantage of the crisis.” She shot him a sarcastic smirk.

  Growling, he shook his head. “I don’t like to leave money on the table. Now, I take it you know how to use a shotgun as well as the AR?”

  “Better than most.”

  “Here.” He leaned the pump-action against the garage.

  “What are you—”

  He held his finger to his lips. A corral with a white hoop barn stood across the street. Judging from the stench, hogs occupied it. He turned and trotted through the shadows, alongside the buildings, to the road. Then he sprinted for the entrance. Ducking past the curtain that formed the door, he flicked on the flashlight he’d scavenged from the guard. Inside, pigs grunted in their pens.