Day of Darkness (Unclean Evolution Book 3)

by LC Champlin

  No sense staying in the vehicle where Red Chief’s minions could surround and murder him. At least outside he had a running chance. He also had a good chance of killing the enemy. The frequency generator should provide enough protection, at least for ten to twenty yards. Red evidently carried a shielding device too if he operated in the overrun city.

  Nathan’s radio spat once, twice, then once again. Perfect timing! He echoed the pattern with the squelch. “Go ahead.”

  “We’re good to go,” a male voice responded. Sarge’s contracted gang actually came through. Would wonders never cease! True, opening the gates and attracting the cannibals shouldn’t have proven that difficult, but still . . . “They’re coming in like a river.”

  The BART South San Francisco Station fell to the Dalits. Excellent. After the QEAM trucks had drawn the abominations near the station, the gang had baited them into the train tunnel. “Hold your ground as long as you can.”

  “Yo, we’re leaving when it gets hairy. South Team out.”

  When the cannibals emerged from the station on the other side of the wall, they would occupy the authorities’ attention. The government would forget about Redwood Shores. Hopefully. Beyond that, they would create a hell of a demand for the frequency generator. Then Nathan would use multiple transmitters to drive the cannibals into confined areas, where they would wait until the R&D team could finalize a frequency that would dominate the Dalits. Survivors would happily ally with him if he promised them security.

  The government had declared the Bay Area a lost cause. If he could save the city from being put down, it would owe him its life. Even if he couldn’t remain ruler, he could reap the rewards of selling off his new “subsidiary.”

  Judging by the pop-pop-pop of gunfire and the yells of Sarge and Red among the houses, the day held a 100% chance of arguments, with scattered gunshots and death.

  “Stay out of my fucking territory!” This from Red after he squeezed off a three-round burst from down the street.

  “They haven’t given you the cache yet, have they.” Sarge punctuated his reply with 5.56 mms.

  “Because of you!” More gunfire. “You got uppity and sold out to that Lexa bitch.”

  Wait. Nathan pressed his back against the wall of the closest building, keeping it between him and the weaponfire. Sarge sold out to Lexa? Of course. “He’s only been my ally because of her.” A laugh escaped. With her paying Sarge’s salary, he would do what she ordered, including ally with Nathan. Nathan had only to keep her appeased, and Sarge would follow. In a similar vein, if he kept Sarge snowed, Lexa too would remain wandering in the blizzard.

  Cannibals loped down the street in packs, heading for the gate. They came from all directions. When they reached the gate, they climbed over one another to crest the wall. Twenty and even thrity feet hardly offered a challenge when three Dalits stacked one on top of another.

  Chopper rotors thrummed. Two Apaches roared in, aiming for the gates. The Soldiers fell back, giving space for the chain gun to pound it with 30 mm rounds that could punch through cinder blocks like a hammer through gingerbread.

  According to the mercenaries on the radio, the other gates fared no better. With military personnel responding to this crisis, they would neglect other avenues of egress. Other ways such as the BART tunnels.

  Nathan squeezed the PTT. “Team One, Two, and Three, fall back. Let the choppers do their jobs.”

  The teams voiced affirmation, eager to escape.

  Explosions resounded from the west, the direction of the other gates, courtesy of the Apache’s Hydra rockets. Another blast thundered over the hissing of cannibals. They ignored the sound, their swarm continuing to build mass and momentum.

  “This is Team Three. They’ve blown the truck up at Skyline Boulevard. Shit, it took the gate out too!”

  “Team Two here. They took out the 280 gates’ trucks too.”

  Too little, too late.

  Since Sarge and Red’s argument seemed to have died down to occasional gunshots, Nathan peeked around the corner of the house he sheltered against. Dalits swarmed like termites over the wall, and with the same effect.

  A fireball ignited at the Market-Colma gate, engulfing the truck cab and resonating in his chest. The explosion took out a number of cannibals, but their comrades turned the stumbling block into a stepping stone: every body the machine guns created formed a step on the Dalits’ stairway to Heaven. Or Hell.

  Time to go. The battery in his frequency generator wouldn’t last much longer. The commotion at the gate would continue to draw Dalits from surrounding areas. Like vultures or seagulls, more of their kind would follow. The military and law enforcement would have to devote more resources to the task than they could afford. A task that should take hours would take half the day or longer.

  Gunfire from between the houses down the street betrayed the locations of Red Chief’s men. Returned fire from neighboring homes betrayed Sarge’s. The two mercenary leaders conducted a running ground battle, dodging between buildings and the packs of cannibals that loped in to join their colleagues at the gate. Given the small radius of the shielding devices, however, this gun fight could very easily turn into a knife fight, followed by a ground fight.

  The movement and noise at the gate continued to attract more cannibals. A good thing, since the frequency generators that had summoned them at first went up in flames. Chaos called more chaos, as always happened with insanity.

  “They’re coming good now!” the gang member at the BART station declared over the radio.

  “Excellent. Now get out of there.”

  “Don’t gotta tell me twice.”

  The cannibals continued to press the periphery of the shield. They seemed to care less and less about it, with the radius shrinking by the second.

  “Sarge! We have to go. Now!”

  The hulk charged from around the building, using abandoned and burned out cars as concealment. Gunfire peppered the wall behind him.

  Chapter 85

  Kick in the Teeth

  Legends are Made - Sam Tinnesz

  At the truck, Nathan wrenched the driver’s door open and scrambled inside. Lowering the window—“Get in the passenger seat. Be gunner.”

  The mercenary did one better, jumping into the bed of the vehicle. “Go!” He pounded on the roof of the cab.

  Nathan stomped the accelerator. The engine roared, launching the vehicle forward and pushing him back into the seat. Sarge had better hang on. The truck’s heavy brush guard plowed through cannibals like weeds. Sarge had excellent taste in vehicles.

  The monsters charged after but seemed hesitant to jump into the rear of the truck with Sarge. The repellent frequency rather than the mercenary’s charm kept them at bay. He turned the M4 forward, clearing a few of the closer cannibals before they could jump onto the windshield. Other gunshots joined them, though who could say whether they came from friend or foe?

  The vehicle gripped the asphalt as it veered onto Guadalupe, retracing the route back to the boat.

  The freq box’s lights dimmed, barely flickering. Damn, he should have put a charge percentage bar on it. Or brought another battery.

  No matter; he had completed his mission of destruction quite well, if one judged by the hammer of gunfire and the roar of chopper blades in the distance.

  He dodged cannibals, abandoned vehicles, and wrecks. At last he reached the dock. He rumbled over the median and down to the water, screeching to a halt in front of his boat.

  He bailed out, scrambling toward his craft. “Sarge, are you coming with me?”

  The volley of gunfire Sarge launched at the pursuing cannibals prevented an immediate answer. “Go!” He waved Nathan into the launch. “I’m going with my men. We have a bigger boat. Your tower’s going to have to be good enough after all.”

  The last sentences barely reached Nathan over the rumbling of the craft’s Evinrude outboard. Homeward bound at last to claim his prize.

/>   ++++++++++++

  Amanda and a welcoming party of residents, including Kennedy, Badal, and the researchers, waited on shore as Nathan throttled back. He tossed out the anchor, then waited for pickup, since Redwood Shores inexplicably had no docks on the outside coast of the peninsula. Just as inexplicably, the Belmont Channel did not communicate with the Bay.

  Amanda pushed a canoe out and paddled toward him. When she pulled up alongside him, he clambered into the smaller vessel.

  “It’s done.” He grinned as he settled onto the front seat. LOGOS’s broadcast window would begin any minute now. They would be sorely disappointed to find their channel off the air.

  A stoic expression greeted him. “Nathan,” Amanda began in the tone an HR director uses when about to discipline an employee, “we need to talk in private.”

  His smile fell into the depths of confusion. Private? That never ended well. “There’s nothing we can’t say in front of these people.” Nathan gestured to the assembled a dozen yards away. “They’re responsible for getting us this far. We couldn’t have done it without them. Was there a cannibal attack? There shouldn’t have been, since we have the repellent frequency broadcasting over the tower—”

  “What do you care?” demanded Kennedy from shore, now several yards away.

  “Excuse me?” The young punk grew too big for his—

  Amanda took a breath, which doubled as a sigh. “All right. If you’re certain.”

  “What’s the matter?” Spit it out! The cannibals’ window for the lay-down effects would close soon. “I have to make sure the jamming frequency is—”

  Amanda raised a hand, cutting him off mid-lie and causing a tingle of horror at the dawning truth. “Albin was here.”

  Roaring like the sea’s filled Nathan’s ears. Albin. Alive. The nausea and burning in Nathan’s stomach redoubled. Roaring turned to howling as red-gold eyes opened in the back of his mind. “Albin.” The traitorous bastard had waited to strike until the braves left the camp.

  Nathan grabbed for balance on the canoe’s nose as the people on shore dragged the boat onto the sand.

  “Let me guess,” he recovered, stepping out of the canoe, “he told you lies about where we came from, why we’re here, or my ‘real’ motives for helping you.” Forcing his shoulders down, he cocked his head in false calm. He could talk his way out of this. These people trusted him. He’d assisted them with everything from defense, to water, to now obtaining their rightful place as the rulers of the Bay Area.

  “He said you and he were from the Red Devil Goats.” Amanda kept her voice low. “You were behind Zander’s kidnapping. That explained how you were able to get the hostages back so easily.” She flushed but otherwise maintained her composure while she jumped onto the shore.

  “And what difference, at this point, does it make?” He spread his hands. “Does it matter where I came from if I helped you? Your hostages are alive, and Zander is not a sex slave in a hellhole brothel. You have food and water, and you will have more soon. I even helped you find a way to keep the cannibals away.”

  “You lied to us.”

  “I did it for your own good. Your beloved politicians do it all the time, yet you never stop voting them into office. If I hadn’t come here, Red would have stepped in and forced your compliance. If you don’t appreciate my leadership, you certainly wouldn’t have appreciated his dictatorship.” Arms folded, diamond-hard gaze slicing across the assembled.

  “What’s your goal here?” she pressed. “Are you going to stay? You said you were visiting Woodside, but Albin said that was a half truth. You destroyed your safe haven there and attempted to murder its owner. He was your only friend in that area, and now Albin is working with him instead.”

  Ken and Albin? A frown concealed Nathan’s surprise. “Traitors do tend to ally with each other.”

  “But why do you really want us to be safe?”

  “Because I care about your lives!” These infuriating idiots, why did they insist on questioning the hand that fed them?

  He moved to push past her, but she blocked him. “No. You’re going to explain this to me. I trusted you. I left you alone with my kids—”

  “What are you implying?” He stood taller, rage rippling over his muscles. His ribs ached, making the anger doubly hot. “I’ve done nothing but look out for you, your family, and your neighbors.”

  “You tried to kill Albin,” Badal spoke up with his usual poor timing. “He didn’t do anything, but you tried to blow him up!” The Indian took a step forward.

  “He shot me in the chest.” Thumb jab at his heart. “Then he made the northern shore a thorn in our side. It’s because of him they were destroyed.”

  Amanda stared at him. “What are you talking about? He didn’t take that device over there. He didn’t have anything to do with it. In fact, they sided with him.”

  “That’s the problem: they sided with him and invited the ire of Wong’s people.”

  “Albin said you probably framed them for the crime,” Kennedy put in, expression dark.

  “Of course he would say that. Don’t you understand?” Nathan looked to Heaven for help. O God, why did they turn now, when he had the least amount of time and patience to deal with their stupidity? If they would not join his pack, then they must fall in line like good sheep. “I have to go. I’ll talk to you about this later. Suffice it to say, Albin is lying, a common act among his kind. Never forget that he’s a lawyer and can make any story, no matter how obtuse and ridiculous, seem logical.”

  “Is that why you had him as an adviser for eight years?” Amanda raised her brows, arms crossed and feet apart in a solid stance. She looked ready to power slap him if he took another step.

  “He’s no longer my adviser.”

  A boat motor whined, approaching from the north. A fifteen-foot watercraft neared. Its pilot hunched over the wheel as if facing an ice storm. Who . . . Wait, Chas? What the fuck did he play at?

  When he brought the vessel toward shore, he failed to cut the throttle back. The vessel’s bow rammed into land at three knots. Chas doubled over, slumping to the floor. He left a trail of blood. It had already filled the seat.

  Chapter 86

  Blood in the Water

  Paranoia - Cardinal

  “Chas!” Amanda scrambled into the boat and came to his side. “Where are you hurt? What happened? Was it cannibals?”

  Fucking hell, how could the idiot have screwed up this badly? Suppressing a growl, Nathan eased into the craft. He cut the motor.

  “Nathan,” Chas hissed, blood bubbling between his lips. His breathing came in gasps. “I wanted to help. I was going to guard your boat. But Red—” He coughed and began scrabbling. He was drowning in his own blood.

  Nathan lurched forward. Elbowing Amanda out of the way, he ripped open the boy’s shirt. A rectangular puncture wound with blood pulsing from it stood out in his chest, right of his sternum. A chunk of flesh was missing from his upper arm, though whether from a bite or a blade he couldn’t tell. The boy’s legs bore several gashes, possibly lacerating vessels. Blood sloshed about in the bottom of the boat, over the soles of Nathan’s Nikes.

  The mutilated victim went still, his breathing barely audible. Pulse? None.

  “We have to do CPR or-or hold pressure!” Amanda pressed her hands over his chest and looked about the body frantically, as if instructions on what to do next should hover over it.

  “It’s too late. He’s lost too much blood.” Nathan straightened. Hold on . . . A paper inside the victim’s jacket, stained red but not enough to blot out the words in pencil: This is a free sample of what I’m bringing. See y’all soon. —Red Chief.

  A flood of emotions engulfed Nathan, mingling, melding, blending into the reddish black of rage. “Esau is still alive. He did this. This is the enemy we’re facing.” He whirled to stare down the sheep. “Do you still think you can do it without me?”

  The assembled took a collective st
ep back, looking about at each other. Fear radiated from them—even Badal.

  Nathan climbed out of the boat with the shock and depression of a lone survivor leaving the trenches after a battle. “Chas is gone.” Fuck, fuck, fuck! How could this happen? It looked like a wild animal had mangled him. Or like he’d fallen in with the wrong gang in New York City. Pain worse than fractures gripped him. Nausea bubbled, begging for release.

  “Is my son here?”

  Fucking shit, Chas’s mother arrived. What had Amanda called her? Helen? No . . . Heather. She pushed through the clutch of onlookers.

  Nathan stepped aside as Heather dashed past to hold her son. Her sobs filled the silence, blending with the roar in Nathan’s ears. The world turned soft, gauzy. He rose above his body as reality loosened its hold. None of this was real. It couldn’t be.

  Chas’s sister, Goth, trotted up. She climbed onto the boat’s prow—and stared in bloodless terror at what remained of her family.

  The bereaved mother surged out of the watercraft. Crossing the distance with a lunge, she grabbed Nathan by the shirt front, face livid with rage, hands red with blood. The blood that contained half her genetic code. She pulled back her hand—

  Reality snapped back with the force of her slap. He shook his head as if coming-to from a nap. She drew back for another strike—He caught it. “I’m sorry for your loss, but I did not kill him.”

  “He went out to help you!”

  “If he did, he did so to help you as well. I will hunt down the bastard who did this to him.”

  “That won’t bring my son back. You killed him!” Tears streamed down her face, carving tracks through the smudges of her son’s blood. She dropped to her knees, sobs racking her.

  Goth took an unsteady step backward—and almost fell off the boat. Catching herself, she shook her head. “I wanted to go with him. I helped him get the neighbor’s boat launched. And I wanted to go with him. He wouldn’t let me. Maybe if I’d—” Her voice choked off. Eyes squeezed shut, fists balled—