Day of Darkness (Unclean Evolution Book 3)

by LC Champlin

  “By ‘adviser’ you mean someone to tell you how to do what you want, rather than to tell you what you should do?”

  “This again?” Nathan’s eyes rolled before he could stop them. “I don’t have time for this. The cops over there”—arm toward the parking lot—“will have everyone parceled out in a few minutes.”

  Albin shook his head. “I will no longer be your pawn. I thought I made that clear.”

  “When you shot me, yes. But I fail to understand why your inability to grasp my intentions, or to even listen to my explanations, constitutes me using you as a pawn.”

  “Do you not? Your stubbornness and megalomania are important factors in my decision to remain outside your domain.”

  Nonsense! “Eight years we’ve been together, Albin. We’ve been through the ups and downs of running a company, as well as being a family. We’ve had our differences, but we’ve always settled them.”

  Impassive, the attorney studied him. “In this case, settling differences means I must adopt your view.”

  “It’s the correct view. Don’t be closed minded.” Surely Albin would understand if he knew the deeper meaning of their success. “God has chosen me to conquer this city and to discover the secret of the cannibals. It is my honor”—Nathan thumped his hand over his heart—“to do this. After all we’ve been through, and all the times we should have died, why can’t you see it was God who carried us through? He did it for a purpose.” And what a glorious purpose!

  “God does not care what you do.” Albin took a step closer, his knuckles whitening in fists at his sides. “You are delusional if you believe God has chosen you to be a ruler. You survived because—”

  “Because what, luck? Coincidence? Neither of us believes in those superstitions. Or perhaps you’re going the way of Ken and believing in the Wu Wei. Why can’t you accept the obvious?” Arms out in pleading. “We are wolves to keep the day and night on schedule. We will bring a new dawn to this world.”

  Albin reached up to rub his temples. “When will you abandon this infatuation with wolves?” He shook his head. “They attempted to kill and eat you. Why are you worshiping them?”

  “I’m not worshiping—”

  “You are not a wolf. You are a man. A deranged man,” Albin added, voice strained, “but a man nonetheless. No ghost wolves hunt with you. No amarok is your guardian. And most importantly,” he took a breath, “God has not chosen you to be His holy prophet, priest, king, or instrument of judgment.”

  Nathan stared. The words struck with more force than bullets, tearing his heart and soul. No vest could defend against them. How dare Albin call him mad or question the calling of God?

  Albin spread his arms in exasperation as he forged on: “When did you become so mad? Was it when I found you in St. Regis a hair’s breadth from murdering a dying man?”

  “His dereliction of duty could have cost us our lives. You agreed with me at the time.”

  “This is not the Middle Ages, or the military. One does not simply kill people who—”

  “This from the man who shot me!”

  “I realize you have been through much.” Jaw clenching, Albin looked away. Then the anger flared again. “But that does not absolve you of your sins. You would have murdered Kenichi-san.”

  “I’m not explaining that again. If you are no longer able to see the bigger picture, then perhaps you’re right: I don’t need someone like that. Return my dog, though.”

  “Judge is not yours legally.”

  “She’s not yours either, legally.”

  “I bid you farewell, Mr. Serebus.” Albin adjusted his glasses between thumb and ring finger. “Do as you please, but know that I will not stand idly by while you carry on your delusion. I said I was the hunter to your wolf. That status has not changed.”

  Betrayed again? Nathan bared his teeth. “If you will not be Skoll, then I will not be Hati.” Skoll, meaning treachery, the one who mocks. How apt. Hati, meaning hate.

  Albin raised his brow. “Are you abandoning your lupine delusion?”

  “From now on, O Great White Hunter, I am Fenrir. Let the night remain forever, for it belongs to the wolves.”

  “So you will devour the world? May it choke you. But cursum perficio—I accomplish the hunt.”

  “Are you a dog?”

  Turning, Albin marched back toward the parking lot. “Vereor non magnus nocens lupus,” he called.

  “Don’t walk away from me, you fucking—” Nathan skidded to a halt, the edges of his vision softening with red. If he pursued, the authorities would protect the hunter.

  Shaking with rage, breath ragged, Nathan stormed back to the trees. “How dare he? He can’t quit before I fire him!” His tac knife appeared in his hand. Click. Blade out. Pivoting, he thrust it into the nearest tree trunk. “Hunter? Ha!” Stab. “You mean bitch.” Two more thrusts. “Fine.” Pain choked off breathing as he straightened. “Be their dog. But mark my words, you will fear the Big Bad Wolf.”

  Chapter 26

  Catharsis

  Beside the Dying Fire - Fight the Fade

  His knuckles white on the steering wheel in lieu of Albin’s throat, Nathan released a hiss through gritted teeth. In the Acura’s backseat rode Redwood Shores residents and Badal, while Josephine occupied the passenger seat. For all intents and purposes, they did not exist.

  “What does he think he’s going to do?” Nathan breathed. “Is he going to return to New York?”

  If Albin did, the bastard would tell Janine his lies. But she knew her husband.

  Will she trust you more than a man she considers to practically be her older brother? doubt asked.

  “What are you muttering about over there?” asked Josephine, giving him a look of uncertainty—and wariness. Did she think he would snap and start assaulting everyone? “Are you all right?”

  Nostrils flaring, Nathan snorted. How could she understand what transpired between him and Albin?

  “I—” A glance behind her at the Redwood Shores citizens made her change her mind. “It’s not like he’s dead. He’s just still angry.”

  Nathan spared his eyes from the road to level a glare with all the fury of Hell unleashed. “He betrayed me, Josephine. He shot me.”

  “Just give him more time.” The pleading in her voice made his skin crawl.

  “We don’t have time, in case you haven’t noticed. But yes, perhaps I should give him more understanding. After all, he didn’t shoot me this time.”

  The rebuff left her silent, mouth open. Then her jaw clicked shut as she propped her temple on her fist, elbow on the window.

  The convoy of Redwooders rolled down the exit to their community. They approached the self-storage facility. Before leaving for the hostage exchange, he and a few assistants had herded the cannibals into the units.

  Anger flowed hot as molten gold through Nathan’s veins. It would burn him to ash if he didn’t release it. The tires squealed as he slammed the brakes. “Josephine, take these people back to the neighborhood.”

  “What are you doing?”

  Splinting his chest, he shoved the door open and slipped out.

  Over the blood roaring in his ears like a waterfall came Josephine’s voice. “I’m coming. Badal can drive.”

  Quickening his stride, he marched toward the chain-link fence. He withdrew a key from a piece of paracord around his neck. Stacy, the head of research and development, carried the other key. After unlatching the gates’ Master round lock, he kicked them open.

  “Betray me, will you?” he muttered as he stalked toward a bank of storage units.

  Darkness deeper than the bottom of the sea at midnight swirled in his mind. A combination lock secured the roll-up door he targeted.

  On the ground lay a nylon rope, which came from under the door and tied off at the latch. The rope twitched. “Restless?” He threaded it through the lock loop on the building, pulling the line tight.

  “You’re let
ting one out?” Josephine trotted up.

  No, he was letting himself in. A spear leaned against the wall as a safety precaution. He grabbed the makeshift weapon. The cluster of three kitchen knives duct taped to the end of the rake flashed in the sun’s holy fire. Below them, the rake head served as a cross piece to prevent the monsters from riding up.

  Rope taut, spear in hand. Click. Lock open. Fenrir howled in his ears as his muscles cried for violence.

  How dare Albin, his brother in the hunt, turn on him? Rolling the door up, Nathan muttered, “He’s changed, become—”

  The cannibal lunged through the opening before the door finished its travel.

  Nathan retreated a few yards to regard his prey. “Weak. I can’t tolerate that—or treachery.”

  Static behind him formed into words: “What did you say to him when—”

  The cannibal seemed to realize the futility of struggle, because it dropped into a squat. Knuckles dragging the concrete, it hissed. Once a Caucasian male in his mid-twenties, it wore ripped jeans and an Under Armor shirt.

  The rust-orange eyes watched, soulless. They lacked the chill of Albin’s glacial gaze.

  “Weak.” The spear lashed out, piercing the cannibal’s right shoulder. A twist jerked the Dalit rightward and freed the blades. Of course the monster didn’t register pain. Neither did Nathan. Ah, the wonders of modern drugs.

  “Nathan, what are you doing—”

  “Leave if it bothers you. Leave like he did.”

  The blade bit into the creature’s thigh. Twist, yank. Then into the knee, outside. He sidestepped a swipe from the Dalit. The wound didn’t bother it.

  “You’ll regret crossing me,” Nathan snarled. Blade tore into bicep. “You.” Stab. “Will.” Wrench. “Regret.” Tear.

  More hissing and reaching. No writhing in agony. No fear. Blood spread over the concrete. It covered the cannibal, who fought to rise on limbs that lacked half their tendons and ligaments.

  “Nathan! You’ll get the oil on you! What—”

  “You will”—thrust to the gut—“fear”—stab to the groin—“me!” The blade sank into the thing’s neck, up to the rake crosspiece. The cannibal flapped useless arms—the blades had shredded their connective tissue—toward its attacker.

  “Nathan, stop.”

  Pressure on his shoulder. He jerked away, red filling his vision.

  “Hunter?” A grin spread from ear-to-ear but held no joy. “I run free.” On the last word, he twisted his hip forward, propelling the spear. Knife tips punched through eyes, sinking to the back of the skull. More! Fenrir howled. Gold eyes turned to magma. His chest heaved as the flames in his mind and veins blended with the blaze in his ribs.

  “God chose me.” Another ram, with the haft braced against his belt line. Blades burst through the scalp as the crosspiece shattered the nose.

  Victories would rise to heaven like the smoke of a sacrifice, a pleasing aroma to the God of War who had chosen him as the dark conqueror. All who doubted him would bow.

  Chapter 27

  Regroup

  Oats in the Water - Ben Howard

  Albin’s glare locked on the road as he accelerated up the government-use lane. Ahead, a lone police car led the way, lights flashing.

  Mr. Serebus, however, would not see the light of reason blazing in his eyes. He loved the darkness because in it he could do as he pleased. “No one can see his intentions,” Albin murmured. But even if they could, would they care? No, not if he provided them with a sense of security, false though it may prove.

  Thoughts swirled in Albin’s mind, pushing for attention. The exchange between himself and Mr. Serebus took precedence, looping again and again. Turning from his adviser, Mr. Serebus now looked to ghost wolves and what he considered God, who had suddenly taken heed of a mortal man. Albin snorted, lip curling.

  The convoy turned into the airport car park, where military personnel directed them to the loading zone. After ushering the passengers out of the Tacoma, and seeing that the others exited the government Suburbans, Albin took rear guard.

  At the airport entrance, guards wanded them all, then provided identification badges. As Albin already possessed a visitor tag and had avoided contact with cannibals, he bypassed quarantine. However, the CDC required he shower and don clean clothes while his others traveled through the wash. After these formalities, he made his way toward the living quarters.

  The dim hall pressed in upon him as he trudged along the concourse, his shoulders sagging under the weight of failure. Jim had advised him to help Mr. Serebus, even if Mr. Serebus did not desire the help he required.

  He withdrew his mobile from his pocket. Navigating to the gallery, he deleted the audio recording of their encounter. Mr. Serebus had not admitted to any crime.

  Albin sighed and shook his head as if trying to dislodge a blood-draining insect from his face. The thoughts fanned his headache from a flame into an inferno.

  When he reached the living area, he found Kuznetsov reading a book. The Russian looked up as Albin strode to the window.

  “Mr. Serebus did not come?” The soft tone barely reached Albin.

  “Clearly.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  Did it matter? When one’s world fractured, how did one decide what held importance?

  “It’s too bad we couldn’t have stayed at Mr. Oshiro’s mansion for a while longer. I know it was strange, but at least we had some privacy.” The Russian glanced about at their fellow evacuees for emphasis.

  “Mr. Serebus claims Kenichi-san was colluding with the group that created the cannibal contagion. But I can no longer trust anything he says.”

  “Still, at least then we were all together. I know it’s difficult to lose a friend.”

  Turning from Kuznetsov, Albin closed his eyes. The cold sank deeper into his heart, cooling the pain.

  Footsteps announced Bridges’s presence. “You’re back already?” He slouched up to them, his face the now-characteristic mask of brooding anger. “Did you talk to Nathan?”

  “Speak at him more aptly describes the interaction.”

  “I guess he’s got more interesting things to worry about than you, or even getting home. Power is appealing. Once you have it, you always want more.”

  “And what, precisely, do you expect me to do about it?” Albin snapped, rounding on the men. They blinked, taken aback. “He would not see reason. He is determined to stay at Redwood Shores, utilizing the researchers who live there and the corporate buildings in the surrounding area to develop the data.”

  “He really thinks that’s going to work?” Bridges raised a brow. “They don’t have electricity. What sort of miracle’s going to bring that about?”

  “Evidently he believes God has chosen him to be the conqueror of the Bay Area.” Derision sharpened the words.

  “He has a Messiah complex?” Bridges’s nose wrinkled in disgust.

  With a sniff, Albin turned back to the window.

  “Gott mitt uns. God with us. That’s what was stamped on the German soldiers’ belt buckles in World War II.”

  Kuznetsov contemplated the floor. “Everyone thinks God is on their side.”

  The men’s words turned in Albin’s mind, different angles growing apparent. Then an idea emerged from the shadows. If the government would not assist him, then he would have to summon the aid of another power. But what price would this Rumpelstiltskin demand? “Mr. Kuznetsov, where do you think Kenichi-san went after he vacated the Oshiro?”

  “He probably has another place around here. Maybe he left the area completely by boat or helicopter.” The hardware engineer shrugged and gave a smile of apology. “I wish I knew.”

  “His offices are south of here, correct?”

  “Wait, wait!” Bridges held up a hand. “You want to meet up with him, even after what he did, and even if he’s in league with the bastards who made the cannibals?”

  “I do not i
ntend to beg his hospitality; I simply wish to speak with him. We require more resources than the government can supply.”

  Running a hand through his gray hair, Kuznetsov frowned into the distance. “I know where the office is. I worked there.”

  With a nod, Albin turned from the window. “Then that is our destination.”

  ++++++++++++

  Nathan occupied his desk in the Musters’ guestroom. The images of the cannibal struggling and bleeding filled his thoughts as he poured over the list before him.

  “That should do it.” Folding the papers, he pushed to his feet.

  A knock at the door—

  “Come.”

  Josephine poked her head around the frame. “Are you . . .”

  Behind her, Badal peered over her shoulder.

  Nathan cocked an eyebrow. “Am I what, pray tell?”

  She wore a half frown of indecision. “I know you could use some time alone to think about things—”

  “I am quite well, thank you.” Aside from his best friend abandoning him. “What can I do for you two?” He pocketed the notes.

  “I spoke with the authorities while I was at the handoff. They said they’re not going to be able to get food pallets here for at least another two days. They didn’t give us that many when they left yesterday.” Worry rarely shaded her features, but now it darkened her face like a cloud over the moon. “Maybe . . . maybe Albin was right.”

  Badal shook his head with a devotee’s certainty. “No. We’ll be fine.”

  “We will indeed,” Nathan confirmed. At least one of his coworkers remained loyal. “The government never planned on helping the residents, you’re aware? It only wanted to fulfill its purpose: to keep citizens in line. The food we’re salvaging in the vacant houses will hold us until we can locate more sources.” Their poor preparation provided an excellent opportunity to mobilize citizens for a scouting mission.