The Chaos Order (Fanghunters Book Three)

by Leo Romero

  “I wonder what could have caused that.”

  “Who knows? Sounds to me like it was a rough time in there last night.”

  “That’s putting it mildly.”

  Rhonda glanced up at him. “What now?”

  Vincent sighed. “Who knows, my dear? This is where it starts to get... interesting, so hold onto your hat.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Dom and Vincent got to Sun with the storm still ongoing, but it was not nearly as bad on the outskirts of Chicago as in the Loop. Security had been beefed up as Miranda had promised. Dom was glad of that; he wanted Eddie to be safe. They pulled up to the gate and one of the many guards on duty approached them.

  Vincent wound down his window; the guard stopped in his tracks once he spotted him. He gave Vincent a smile and a nod. “Hello, Mr. Beauchamp.”

  “Greetings, young man,” Vincent retorted.

  The guard ushered him with his hand. “Go on through, sir.”

  “Thank you.”

  The barrier was instantly raised. Dom drove through and parked up in Vincent’s reserved space right next to the main entrance. They got out, the drizzle immediately plastering their hair to their heads.

  “When’s this rain gonna end?” Dom lamented.

  Vincent turned his head up to the leaden sky. “Not anytime soon, I’ll wager,” he answered. He marched up to the front doors, Dom following up behind him, every security guard acknowledging them as they passed. They entered to find Eddie waiting by the reception desk, his face riddled with anxiety. On seeing Vincent and Dom, his expression brightened into a wide-eyed smile. He dashed over to them both.

  He threw his arms around Dom and bear-hugged him. “Man, it’s so good to see you!” he said.

  Dom squeezed him back. “Same here, bro. I told you I’d come back.”

  Eddie let go. “Yeah, like always.” He then turned to Vincent and gave him a brief hug. “It’s good to see you too,” he said.

  “Likewise, young man,” Vincent said, patting his back.

  They pulled apart. “How’s Rufus doing?” asked Vincent.

  Eddie’s face turned grave. “You better see for yourself.” He led them down the corridor, out of the reception area and to the medical department where Rufus was located. Doctors, scientists and geeks were darting left and right, trying to get stuff done. Change was in the air and everyone had been alerted.

  The trio entered the medical department where things were calmer. The clean smell of disinfectant took over. Eddie led them to the window of Rufus’ room. He stopped and sighed. “There he is,” he said.

  Dom and Vincent stared through the glass. Rufus was lying in his bed, a multitude of tubes and wires hanging out of him. His chest was rising and lowering at a steady rate. Nurses were tending to him, cleaning his wounds.

  Dom lowered his gaze. “Christ,” he said.

  Vincent gave him a rueful smile.

  “They took out four bullets, all in the chest area,” Eddie said in a voice devoid of any credulity, his absent stare fixed on Rufus. “But somehow, somehow, they missed all his vital organs. How he survived is a miracle.”

  “It wasn’t his time,” Vincent said. “Rufus still has his role to play in this world.”

  “You really believe in all this destiny stuff, don’tcha?” said Dom.

  Vincent looked up at him with stern eyes. “Indeed. Rufus should be dead.” He sighed. “And in all honesty, so should Trixie.” He rubbed his head. “Can’t you see that?”

  “All I see is good fortune,” Dom retorted. “Damn good fortune. It’s all about luck, Vincent. I used to be roulette player, and they got a saying down at the casinos: ‘luck is a wave’. When your luck’s in you ride, but when it’s not you get the hell outta there or you’ll drown.”

  Vincent stared back at him with squinted eyes. “Roulette? And you perceive moi as crazy?” He chuckled. “Young man, I have a better saying when it comes to gambling: ‘the house always wins’. Everything is controlled. Controlled by a higher power, a greater force. And only it will decide when your luck runs out. And that’ll be the moment your role on this stage is fulfilled.”

  Dom let out a hot huff. “Whatever, Vincent. I think it’s best if we just end this conversation. We’ve got Rufus nearly dead. Trixie’s immobilized.”

  “But still alive,” Vincent asserted. “We’re still alive and kicking. We may be down, but we’re not beaten. Eddie, what is the prognosis?”

  “The docs say there’s a good chance he may make it,” Eddie told him.

  “He will make it,” Vincent stated.

  Dom sighed. “Let’s hope so. He’s still got moves he needs to teach me.”

  “And teach you he will!” Vincent said with an air of finality. He then mellowed. “All right, boys, I think it’s best if we all go back home and get some well-earned rest. We need it.”

  The drive home was wet and slow.

  The rain didn’t want to stop. Dom noticed the beginnings of floods on some roadsides. If the rain continued long enough, Chicago would probably end up in lockdown. The driving made him tired; he hadn’t slept since before the I-Sore raid. He felt his eyelids getting heavy on more than one occasion. Seeing Eddie in his rear-view snoozing in the back seat didn’t help. Vincent advised him to stop off for coffee. Dom told him he’d be okay. They eventually got back, and Dom staggered up the path to the mansion, his bed calling.

  “You two go and get some sleep,” Vincent said once they got inside. “I’ll take care of security here.”

  “Yeah. My body needs to shut off for a while,” Dom said.

  “I’ll bet it does. It’s been an emotional twenty-four hours for a multitude of reasons. Go on, go and lie down, let things settle a bit.”

  Dom agreed. Then something popped in his mind. “Hey, you think Blacklake will come for their choppers?”

  A wry smile spread over Vincent’s face. “They’re my choppers now. A kind donation from Blacklake. I’m sure they’ll come in useful.”

  “Yeah. Good night, Vincent. Or... good day?”

  “Yes, it is still day despite the shocking weather.”

  “Night, Vincent,” Eddie said.

  Dom gave Vincent a tired wave before he staggered up the steps toward his bedroom, Eddie following suit. Dom made it to his room, and Eddie went on ahead toward his.

  “Sweet dreams,” Edie said as he went by.

  “Yeah, you too, buddy,” Dom replied. He watched Eddie turn the corner; Trixie’s room was that way too. A small smile spread across his face. “Thanks for saving us, Trix,” he said in a soft voice. If it hadn’t been for her, Dom would’ve been toast, on more than one occasion.

  He entered his room and threw the door shut behind him. He immediately flopped down on his bed and hugged it. It felt glorious, like embracing a lover for the first time in weeks. The comfort of his bed juxtaposed the uncertainty of the last day. It was like night and day. And it made the sensation of finally being somewhere safe and serene all the more comforting. A contented smile flittered across his face as he closed his eyes; in moments, he was asleep.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The drive from the border up to the outskirts of Chicago was long but untroubled. The gringos were collapsing; they were fat, lazy. Their sense of security growing weaker while their waistlines expanded. Getting over the border was as simple as crossing the road. A hard stare and a quick bite of the Border Patrol Supervisor’s neck and he was letting them through no problem.

  Ramon grinned to himself. This would be easy; the gringos were there for the taking. They were exposed, now all the Chaos Order had to do was conquer what was rightfully theirs. Then from there? Spread the chaos worldwide.

  He glanced over at his lieutenant, Ángel; he was driving the truck, nodding his head to the gangsta rap bursting out of the stereo speakers. Another loyal soldier in the war. Ramon had already feasted on his blood multiple times. And he was already addicted. The intense pleasure of blood drinking was better than any human sensati
on. The way it tasted was like agave syrup, the way it slipped over the tongue, triggering off senses that were impossible to experience in the human form. It was the biggest high; better than any meth, any tequila, any woman. Better than murder. The act itself a power surge; taking something so precious from a creature beneath him in the food chain made him feel important, special. Powerful. No human would ever know that feeling of being among the chosen.

  His eyes fixed on Ángel’s tattooed neck, the ink helping to conceal all the bite marks. He licked his lips. He knew eventually Ángel would turn and become his son. Then Ramon would have a choice: make Ángel the new boss of Los Niños or kill him. It was the rules of the Inner Circle. Only the chosen could remain vampire within the Order. Anyone else turning had to be destroyed. It helped to keep the Inner Circle tight, helped to keep their truth in the darkness.

  As the Don of El Salvador, Ramon had power over who could turn and remain alive. He was restricted to one vampire boss of each El Salvadoran cartel he oversaw. That way, he could hide further in the shadows, while relying on his lieutenants to keep order within each cartel. But, Los Niños was the only recognized cartel in El Salvador. And Ramon was still the boss, and there was only room for one vamp in every cartel. Ramon wasn’t ready to give any power over to anyone. So, when it happened, Ramon would have no choice but to throw Ángel out in the midday sun, or push an iron rod through his heart. It made no difference either way.

  Ramon stared at his lieutenant with a harsh mix of hate and the diseased remnants of love that still lingered from the old life. Ángel was his hombre, his brother, they’d been through it all together from kids. Saved each other’s asses, risen through the ranks of Los Niños alongside one another, spilled blood for the cause. He didn’t want to kill him, but his loyalty was now to a higher power. Anything below him wasn’t important.

  He looked away, out to the wet and rainy road; it wasn’t time to think of the future. He needed to get his mind on the job; his mission. The latest news was that the Dragons had set up a perimeter around the Chicago Loop to fight off any Chaos agents. He was told the Loop was the city center, the corporate district. The Inner Circle wanted to get in there and take the Blood’s tower because that’s where their powerbase was. If they could get control of it, then they’d have their hands on everything they needed. But, first, they had to create chaos in the whole city to make it past the Dragon guard line and into the Loop. And that was Ramon and Los Niños’ mission: create chaos, then get in that tower.

  As they approached the outskirts of Chicago on Interstate 55, the rain was coming down like a waterfall; Ramon stared at it out of the windshield in wonder.

  “Ever seen rain like this?” he asked Ángel.

  Ángel shook his head. “No way, man,” he replied. “This shit is gringo weather.”

  “Gringos are fish? Or are they frogs?”

  “Sharks, papa. They’re sharks. And weather like this is just right for sharks to swim.”

  Ramon watched the hypnotic arc of the windshield wipers as they pushed away the water. Beyond, the road was covered in a thin layer of water, not enough to impede them, but it soon would be.

  “You know what else this weather is good for?” Ramon asked.

  “What’s that?”

  “Snakes.”

  Ángel laughed. “That’s right.”

  Ángel pulled off the empty highway and headed deeper into Chicago. Ramon was told there was a river running from the outskirts of Chicago right into the Loop, and that they could use it to their advantage. They made their way down to an abandoned industrial estate on the edge of the river. Ramon looked out of his window. The river ebbed and flowed with a strong current as it absorbed more and more of the rain. It splashed up onto the embankment where they were parked. Soon it would flood, then the streets would have to be closed off.

  “Wait here,” Ramon ordered before he stepped out of the truck, slamming the door shut behind him. He checked both directions; there wasn’t a soul in sight. He stepped along the side of the truck, the rain drenching him; a sensation he seldom experienced, but one he found strangely comforting, as soothing as being in shadow. He ran a hand along the side of the truck as he made his way to the back doors. On making it here, he had another look around; nothing. The rain pummeled the river beside him, the water crashing and flowing like an avalanche. The sound was a constant swoosh in his ears.

  Ramon reached out, grabbed the door handles, and threw them open. Sitting inside were his crew members, awaiting instruction. Ramon ushered them his way; they came out single file, weapons in hand. They were ready for war, ready to conquer. Ramon stood head bowed as they marched past him and lined the rainswept embankment. His eyes then fell on the huge wooden crate they’d transported with them. Their box of tricks. Its contents had been gathered and sent by private jet to northern Mexico where Ramon and Ángel picked it up.

  Ramon called a few guys over and jumped up into the truck. On three, they dragged the crate across the truck floor with a struggle. Eventually, they managed to heave it down the temporary ramp where it fell to the waterlogged embankment with a small splash. The wood was immediately soaked through, but that didn’t matter. Not now.

  For their safety, Ramon ordered his men back into the truck. The doors were thrown closed and Ramon stood alone in the rain. He took a moment to stare up at the black skies; the darkness was peaceful, reassuring. He ran his hand along the crate until he reached the latch at the front. Without hesitation, he flipped the latch open. He paused for a second, then in one swift movement, he swiped the front of the crate away, allowing the contents to spill out onto the surrounding area. In an instant an agitated mass of snakes poured out of the open crate like intestines falling out of a cavity wound. They quickly untangled and slithered in quick S-shape slaloms across the embankment, diving with enthusiasm into the river. Hundreds, thousands of them all scrambling over one another, competing for space, longing for food. Harsh hissing obliterated the ongoing noise of the pouring rain, bringing with it a foreboding that the citizens of Chicago were totally unprepared for.

  A sick grin spread across Ramon’s face as he watched the snakes slip into the Chicago River and streamline along it, some deciding to stick to the road, others vanishing into the grass and bushes. They fought amongst one another for space, their jaws snapping, their massive, unnatural fangs glinting in the rain. In just a few seconds, thousands upon thousands of snakes were gone into the night, all heading to the source of food they could smell with their forked tongues as they whipped repeatedly on the air. Toward the huge built up area in the near distance, thriving with warm blood for them to suckle on.

  Ramon looked up from the slithering ground to the line of skyscrapers in the distance, the sprawling suburban area surrounding it like the white of an egg. He saw lights flashing, an unsuspecting hive of victims, a city that would soon be on fire. Hands on hips, he glared at Chicago and imagined it ablaze; he watched the flames rising from the tops of the buildings, all hell breaking loose.

  He glanced down at the last of the snakes to catch a glimpse of them slip into the river, the current pushing them upstream faster. His grin grew more broad; then he began to chuckle. As he stood in the rain, his arms held high in the night sky, he was soon laughing uncontrollably.

  PART TWO

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  General Nixon’s eyelids fluttered open. Confusion dropped in his groggy mind like a bomb.

  Where the hell am I?

  He went to get up off the floor when a tearing pain split his head; he fell back down, realizing another part of him was sore and hurting. His nuts. Then, it hit him. Trixie. The last thing he remembered was the intense pleasure of throttling her in the freezer of Meatpack Food Solutions; man that felt good. But, what happened? Did he snuff her? He must have. There was no way a goddamned bullfrog like that would’ve overpowered him. No way.

  Then, how did I end up like this?

  He whipped his head around, ignoring the pain; he
was hanging out of an elevator.

  What the—?

  His head came back the other way. Was this Leviah’s room? Yeah, it was.

  How did I get here? And why was I knocked out?

  The realization that the bullfrog might’ve incapacitated him reared its ugly head. Nixon refused to believe it.

  He hoisted himself up to his feet with a groan, one hand rubbing his head, the other nursing his scrotum. He staggered out of the elevator, just as a blast of cold, wet hair hit him. He closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the refreshing gust on his face. But, then a thought hit him. Where in the hell was it coming from?

  He snapped his eyes open and gazed around the room. The whole place was empty. Where was Leviah? He should’ve been around. Unless...

  With groggy movements, he delved into Leviah’s chamber, and the source of the cold, wet air came into view. The windows had been smashed in; outside was a goddamn monsoon. The wind whistled, the rain smashed against everything. Finding his feet, he dashed over toward the broken windows, just as a strong gust of wind picked up and blew a torrent of rain his way. In seconds, he was soaked through. It was the sobering he needed.

  He wiped the rain from his face and looked around, now with more alert eyes. His stare fell on the floor. A couple of big blackish stains were smeared across it, the rain spreading them around. Nixon’s eyes flicked away from the smears and landed on Leviah’s silk robe lying on the ground a few feet away, soaked through with water.

  No way...

  Nixon glared out of the smashed windows, his mind ticking over. Although it was dark outside, the sun would’ve been shining through that smashed window at some point. He did the math, following the trajectory of the morning sun down to the stains, then that lonely, empty robe.

  Nixon’s eyes widened. The frickin’ bullfrogs!

  His mind swam with incredulity. No, it can’t be; there was no way they could’ve killed Leviah. The boss vamp? No way! He raced over to the window and gazed out into the storm. The rain was a sheet, the wind swirling it up and around, making it dance. He poked his head out of the gap and looked downward. The street was abuzz with cop cars and pockets of tiny people fighting. A strong blast of wind then forced him back; he knew he had to get off that floor before the wind changed direction and he was sucked out of the smashed windows.