by LC Champlin
Albin sat back, tapping the steering wheel with his thumb. “Mr. Kuznetsov, is this location protected in the manner of his Oshiro? I would prefer to avoid walking onto an electrified floor or discovering the bushes fire Taser probes.”
“There wasn’t any when I worked here, but I can’t be sure now.”
“Oh, wonderful,” Bridges growled. “Well, we’re off to see the wizard. Come on, Toto. Let the game begin!”
++++++++++++
“Friends of yours outside?” Nathan asked Northern Redwood Shores’s spokesman.
The young detainee closed his eyes in reply.
Predictable. Nathan grabbed the mic on his shoulder. “Don’t hurt them. Let them know we have their friends.” Looking down at the captives—“What are your names?”
“Brad.”
“Sarah.”
“We have Brad and Sarah.”
“Got it.”
“All right,” grunted Nathan, straightening. “This is a fortunate meeting. You see, we’ve been wanting to have help in this survival business. Good neighbors help neighbors, correct?”
The two neighbors from the north gawked at him as if he’d launched into the State Farm Insurance jingle.
“As a show of good faith . . .” Click. His tac knife blade glinted in the flashlight beams. Eyes on the weapon, the captives cringed. Respect. Good. He dropped to one knee and cut the riot cuffs from the pair’s ankles. “Let them up,” Nathan addressed his squad. “But keep their hands cuffed until we know each other better.”
When everyone had gained their feet, Dirk and Kennedy led the way into the dining area.
From the rear came four other Redwooders holding two Asian males at spear-, pistol-, and bat-point.
Nathan keyed his HT for the rest of the team. “If you don’t have one of our neighbors and you’re not watching the vehicles, you’re free to start loading supplies.”
“Okay, we’re coming in.
“Now.” Nathan turned with a smile toward Brad, the closest thing the band had to a representative. “I think we should arrange a meeting with your neighborhood. Is there one person in charge, or is it every man for himself?”
“It’s—”
“Hey,” the radio crackled, “we’ve got trouble out here. There are cannibals. I don’t know how many—wait, there are about seven so far.” Of course things couldn’t go smoothly for this long.
Bang!
What fucking moron fired a weapon? “No shooting unless it’s life or death. Get inside the building and barricade the door. The front windows are broken.”
A moment later, the remainder of the foraging party reached Nathan and the others.
Sarah, who wore a UC Berkeley T-shirt two sizes too small for her, cast nervous looks over her shoulder. “Will they go away?”
“Only if there’s nothing for them to pay attention to.” Now he had to keep fifteen people and himself safe inside the building. The Redwooders in the vehicles could evacuate. Wait a minute—
HT up. “People out front, there are cannibals in the rear areas outside. Do what you can to draw their attention, then lead them off with the vehicles. Get them far enough away so we can finish here.”
“We’ll do our best.” This from Nancy, who still sounded reluctant.
The group filed into the prep and storage area, making as little noise as possible. When the last person entered, Nathan stepped back out into dining territory. “I’m going to make sure they’re following the cars. Stay here.”
“I’m coming.” Josephine moved to his side in an instant, since she too had remained near the door.
“Stay, please. Keep an eye on the people here. See if you can find out anything from Brad and Sarah.”
“But—”
“Thank you.” He closed the door behind him.
Chapter 31
Plunder
Machines - All Good Things
Nathan traveled along the dining area, which ringed the kitchen. Outside, more tables furnished the patio. Where had the cannibals gone? Had they already entered? He eased farther down the walkway, Glock drawn. Perhaps he should have taken Josephine’s offer to watch his back. No; someone had to watch the flock.
Sssssaaaaaahhhhh!
From ahead. Slow, calm . . . Pistol up, he edged around the corner. Bingo. A pair of cannibals pawed at the door, staring at the handle as if it contained the secret to the universe. Perhaps it did for them, as the secret to their universe lay in spreading the contagion. Or simply eating their victims.
They rattled the door, hissing. Then the lead cannibal snapped forward. Crash! Its forehead smashed the glass. Blood streamed from its lacerated scalp as it pulled itself through the opening. Glass shards jutting from the frame tore its skin and clothing. It wore the uniform of a waitress, and one returning to work, judging by the Minstral on the chest.
Landing with a thud on all fours, she—it—looked around. Its cohort scrambled after, plopping down beside it.
Nathan remained around the corner, using the nearest table and chairs for concealment. If he engaged them with the pistol, the gunshots would bring the rest of the Dalits like a dinner bell brought children in old Westerns. Except the cannibals hadn’t come for pancakes.
Faint voices reached him: “Hey, over here! Come get us.” The cannibals inside the restaurant paid no heed. Hopefully the monsters outside answered the invitation.
Time for a tactical retreat. Why the fuck hadn’t he taken a spear? Remembering that firearms worked best on humans, not cannibals, requied getting used to.
Shuffling and hissing gave away the Dalits’ position as he retraced his steps.
Sssssaaaaaahhhhh!
From behind. Or rather, the front of the restaurant. Just desserts for doing everything himself. Not that he could leave the job to anyone else. Damned if he did, damned if he didn’t. Well, time to damn others instead.
In the parking lot, the vehicles purred to life. The team who guarded the fleet pounded on the hoods, clapped their hands, shouted.
Three more of the oil-drooling Dalits leapt into the parking lot. A good start. The abominations that had come through the shattered front turned, noticing their fellows outside.
Two left.
Nathan continued past the Employees Only hall, following the dining area that circled the kitchen. If more cannibals fucked around behind the building, perhaps he could interest them in a jog with the vehicles—
“No!” The cry resounded from outside.
Restraining the urge to run, Nathan trotted toward the rear exit. Behind him, the cannibals still explored the restaurant.
Where had the voice—A woman dashed into the outside eating area, skidding around the long table, throwing chairs behind her as she went. Nancy.
“Damn it.” He might have to use the pistol after all. So much for the distraction plan.
He kicked the door open as she reached the concrete wall at the end of the patio. Two cannibals hopped after her, into the enclosed area and onto the table.
“Not my scientist.” Glock front sight locked onto the cannibal closest to Nancy. “Nancy, duck. Now!”
She dropped.
Sssssaaaaaahhhhh!
From behind. The two Minstral wait-staff crouched behind him, one cocking its head like a hound.
He whipped around to the patio. Bang-Bang! Bang! But not from the Glock. Outside, the lead cannibal’s head jerked back. Blood puffed from its chest and skull as it toppled off the table. A perfect execution of the Mozambique drill.
The second Dalit advanced—until another three rounds turned its head and torso into shredded meat. Gore splattered over the table as the predator fell face-first. No need to stab the beast with steely knives now.
Breathing behind him—
Lunging around the table in front of him, he shoved it at the cannibal as it sprang.
Hissing, heaving—
He half stumbled, half ran toward an Employees On
ly door to the kitchen. Ah fuck, a swinging door that opened both ways! And just as dangerous, the pass-through window occupied the nearby wall. An instant later, two cannibal heads appeared on the other side of it in a mockery of staff waiting for trays to fill orders. They looked at him to fill their dinner order.
“Sorry, we just eighty-sixed that item.” A block of kitchen knives glinted in the corner of the counter. He dove for them.
One of the Dalits dropped below the window. Its companion rose as it apparently stepped on the other’s back. Up and Comer sprang through the pass-through to land with a clatter in the sink. Hissing, the monster pulled to its full height.
Images of velociraptors clicking across kitchen surfaces intruded on Nathan’s thoughts as he yanked a handful of knives from the block. Mouth dry, heart throbbing behind his eyes—I should just shoot them. No, he couldn’t trust that more wouldn’t investigate.
The second cannibal hoisted itself through the window with only slightly less agility than the first.
Enough fucking around. A mop in a bucket wringer rested against the wall beside the counter. Grabbing the handle, he whipped the polearm forward. The cannibal dodged, but its foot landed on the string mop head as Nathan came for a second strike. Pull! The Dalit’s feet flew out from under it. Flailing for balance, it slammed into the tile floor.
Its comrade sprang forward. Get down! It slid off the counter, sailing over his head to land on all fours behind him. Forget the mop. He dodged around the kitchen island. A deranged part of his mind began humming Ring Around the Rosie.
He spun, slamming the chef’s knife into the lead cannibal’s eye. Thank God for gloves. Knife and monster hit the ground.
Go! Through the exit—A chair caught him in the waist. Stumbling around it, he shoved the closest tables in front of the door.
On to the patio. Outside, Nancy stood staring at the corpses, one on the ground and one on the table. A blood-stained tablecloth lay beside her. It and her poncho had protected her from contamination.
Wincing against the pain in his sides, which grew apparent now that the danger subsided, he touched her arm. She flinched, then relaxed when she recognized him as a human and not a cannibal. “Nancy, are you all right? Did any of the oil splash you?”
“I . . . I’m fine.” Her attention remained locked on the corpses that decorated the patio. “We have to stop these things. The sooner the better.” Shaking herself, she exhaled. “We-we have to stop these things.”
“We will, Nancy. We will.”
Radio out—“Everyone, there’s at least one cannibal inside. You’ll be able to take it down if you work as a team. If whoever fired on the cannibals outside can hear me, excellent shooting. Thank you.”
“Nathan,” Josephine’s voice came over the radio, “we’ll take out the cannibal inside. Don’t worry.”
“Very good.”
The cannibals’ slayer had likely left with the vehicle squad. Unease scratched at the back of his mind, though. The reports hadn’t sounded like those from a handgun. Someone must have brought a hunting rifle along, likely a varmint weapon of 5.56 mm or other small caliber. Perhaps the walls of the restaurant had altered the sound. Whatever the explanation, the marksman saved Nancy. Or rather, they’d saved her before Nathan could.
Speaking of Nancy, she had begun to collect herself. “I’m going to scout for more cannibals. I don’t want to come around the corner and walk into another pack of them. Wait until the radio gives an all-clear, then join the others. You should be safe here.” Concrete walls rose seven feet on all sides, shielding the patio.
He peeked around the door leading from the patio. All clear. Nothing attacked him in the manicured yard, either.
Weapon up, he edged around the corner of the building. No drooling Dalits leapt out at him on his way to the building’s fore. The fleet of vehicles, now cannibal-free, pulled up as he reached the front door.
Sounds of a struggle, with a shout of victory following, emanated from inside. It certainly beat hearing screams of agony and fear.
Chapter 32
Off to See the Wizard
Dark - Glasslands
Albin led the way to Oshiro Nexus Innovations’s main entrance. To eliminate the obvious, he tugged on the door handles. They rattled against the bolts.
“Welcome to ONI!”
Kuznetsov jumped, while Bridges snapped his shotgun up. Highly strung, both of them. Albin turned to the electronic keypad on the wall beside the door. The screen blinked red, displaying a message: Input name.
“Should we do it?” asked Bridges, glancing around the area as if traps would flash crimson with the keypad if he looked closely enough.
In answer, Albin typed his full name.
“Welcome, Albin Conrad. Please state the nature of your visit.”
“To speak with Kenichi Oshiro.” It recalled memories of voice-recognition phone rotaries, which, despite multiple attempts, always failed to recognize his responses, even when he adopted an American accent.
“Please state the nature of your visit.”
He sighed.
Before he could repeat himself, Kuznetsov moved forward. “We want to speak to Kenichi Oshiro regarding Nathan Serebus.”
The screen assumed a steady green. “Please wait while we assist you.”
How did the Russian know what to say? Perhaps working at the office provided him with an advantage.
The door lock clicked. “Friends, please come in.”
They hesitated.
“Do we go in?” Backing up a step, Bridges eyed the entrance. “I don’t know if I trust it after what happened at the Oshiro. In Faithful Dark, you could enter certain dungeons, but then you had to navigate through the whole place. You better hope you packed enough healing potions and other supplies, or you’re screwed.”
“But, Mr. Bridges,” Kuznetsov put in, “this isn’t the Oshiro. There were no traps when I worked here. We used this system when we came to work at late hours. There was nothing inside to fight. The door locked behind you, but it opened from the inside. I’ll show you.”
“Wait.” Albin reached for him, but he slipped past to push through the glass doors. They closed behind him. Then he opened them and stepped out. “See?”
Growling, Bridges shook his head. “Too easy. That thing is a trap if I ever saw one.”
Meanwhile, Kuznetsov reentered the building.
Adjusting his sunglasses with thumb and ring finger, Albin studied the keypad. “He has my name and Mr. Serebus’s programmed into it. It only opened when Kuznetsov stated the full reason for our visit.”
“Or he has it programmed to recognize his enemies.”
“It is difficult to believe he knew we would come here. But there is only one way to know for certain if it is indeed a trap.” He pulled the door open and followed Kuznetsov inside.
++++++++++++
Nathan slammed the Chrysler Pacifica’s rear hatch closed. With a glance around at the rest of the fleet, he waved for everyone to prepare for departure. Aside from the cannibal attack, the operation proceeded smoothly.
His Redwooders took their places beside their vehicles. The north side visitors waited beside the Minstral Restaurant. Zip ties still bound their wrists. As accents to their casual clothing, each wore a strip of blue fabric about their upper arms. Gang colors? He’d ask later.
Although scouting Nancy’s research building had occupied the top of the priority list, now he needed to deal with their new friends.
“I know you don’t trust us,” he remarked as he approached the gaggle of captives, “but we’re not raiders or kidnappers. It’s dangerous to return to your neighborhood alone. We’ll escort you. I also want to meet the person in charge of your area.”
“It’s not like you’re giving us a choice,” Brad grated.
Nathan smiled without humor. “There’s always a choice. You just can’t choose the consequences of your actions. As a goodwill offering, w
e’ll provide you with some of the supplies we scavenged. After all, you did arrive first. Let’s go.”
The four trooped between Kennedy, Nathan, and Josephine to their Honda Pilot SUV a block away. Behind them came the Redwood fleet.
“We didn’t find any weapons in there,” Kennedy confirmed with a wave toward their vehicle. Not surprising, considering the strict gun bans in California—which only law-abiding citizens followed.
After the North Redwood Shores squad entered their Pilot, the convoy moved to box it in.
Taking the lead, Nathan drove the Sierra northeast on Marine Parkway. On the left, westward, glittered Oracle’s tower, while Volkswagen’s electronics research lab peeked over the houses in the distance.
The tail car broke off to act as reinforcements if the meeting hit the fan. The rest followed Brad’s directions. If he led them into a trap, he would fall into it as well. No one fucked with Nathan and his people without paying dearly.
Rather than driving directly to the location, Nathan halted the convoy at the entrance to Brad’s apartment complex, at the intersection of Marine Parkway and Sandpiper Lane. Behind, to the west, watched the twenty scattered corporate buildings that occupied a bulge in the peninsula. Nancy’s favored research headquarters resided in the industrial park.
Ahead lay the apartment complex, with its rows of dust-tan two stories. Nathan parked the Sierra along Sandpiper, poised for evacuation outside the campus.
After scanning the surroundings, he exited and approached the Pilot. “You two”—the two unnamed males in the back—“come out. Get your leader. Brad and Sarah will keep us company. Go!”
The messengers jogged down Sandpiper Lane.
“Have you met with any other neighborhoods?” Nathan asked Brad, leaning against the vehicle.
“We haven’t exactly gone door-to-door, if that’s what you mean.” Stony-eyed, the young yuppie gripped the wheel as if it could save him from the raping, pillaging, and plundering he imagined would come.
