Darkness Rising (Book 2): The Lost Light

by Bell, Justin

  “What the—?” Max heard the man growl in a thick accent. Suddenly the man charged forward, preparing to turn down the aisle to assist his comrades. Max had to act fast. He coiled his legs and charged forward as fast and hard as he could, barreling into the slender man as he rounded the corner, hitting him high in the chest and sending him stumbling backwards, his arms pinwheeling. A pistol flung from his outstretched fingers as his heel clipped one of the boxes on the floor and he fell, his back slamming hard against concrete.

  “Who the devil are you?” he screamed as he tried to clamor to his feet. Max pounced on him, driving his head back into the hard, unyielding floor, the muffled wet crack of bone on cement curdling his stomach. He was wearing a gray jumpsuit like the others, and even as his eyes threatened to roll in his head, he propped on a shoulder and started to turn, swinging a lazy arm out in a wide arc. The fist whipped above Max’s head and he dove right, snagging the man’s discarded pistol. For a single, brief moment, the boy could feel the power contained within the heavy, metal object—an energy, a mystical power to control life and death itself, a visceral and angry force that sucked itself right into him, twisting his guts and tensing his muscles.

  He narrowed his angry eyes on the man on the ground, the man grumbling and trying to navigate his way to a standing position. His hands groped and scratched at the ground as he tried to get some kind of elevation and Max pointed the barrel of the weapon at the man’s face, his finger twitching on the trigger.

  “Max, don’t!”

  He turned towards the voice and saw Brad approaching from around the shelf, both hands out.

  “Don’t kill him. Please don’t. You can’t.”

  Max looked back down at the man, a thin trickle of blood snaking down from his pursed lips, his eyes still somewhat vacant and unseeing. His hands trembled as he pointed the weapon, and another swift burst of faint fire echoed from the grass beyond the building.

  “Let’s just go,” Brad whispered, his voice shaking. “Just go. We don’t need to do this. Please, Max, please.”

  Max drew in a breath, his fingers closing into as tight a fist as possible around the handle of the weapon.

  He pulled it back and stuffed it in his pocket, then turned to Brad. “Grab a box. Let’s go!”

  Brad gave a small smile and let out a long, worried breath, and the two boys ran to grab the boxes and see what the commotion was outside.

  ***

  “Winnie!” Phil called, gesturing towards his daughter. “Come take this ATV and get out of here! Go to the storage building and get the boys, we’ll be right behind you!”

  Winnie charged from the stall, ducking as two gunshots rang out, but the bullets whizzed far over her head. As she ran towards the ATV, Phil fired up the ignition and got the motor revving while Greer worked his way around the trailer, his pistol lifted and ready. Phil gave his daughter some limited instructions, and she nodded, then cranked the handle and sent the ATV lurching forward, the metal trailer bumping along the ground behind her. Bullets thwanged off the hard surface of the trailer as she veered right towards the storage building. Outside of the opened garage door, more prisoners had peeled away from the first group and were running towards her and the building.

  “Rhonda!” Phil shouted, and she turned towards him, pulling herself to her feet and running at him as bullets smacked concrete next to her. Vaulting onto the seat of the ATV she gunned the engine and sent it surging forward, bringing her pistol around and firing at the group of prisoners that had headed towards her daughter and the other building. One of the men in the jump suits twirled like a drunk dancer and tumbled over, forcing the others to stutter step backwards. She noticed that they were not all armed. Perhaps the prisoners had outnumbered the guards and there weren’t enough weapons to go around?

  Back in the garage, Greer angled around one of the Bobcats and squeezed off a trio of shots, splintering the door frame and sending the prisoners ducking for cover. Two shots careened back towards him, but he ducked away and let them shoot sparks against the metal frame of the Bobcat.

  “Go, Phil!” he shouted and Phil ran to the third all-terrain vehicle and got it fired up, then headed out, chasing down Rhonda and Winnie.

  The first ATV with the trailer had pulled alongside the storage building.

  “Max! Brad!” shouted Winnie. “We need to get out of here!”

  Not too far away, Reggie Cooper saw what was happening and pulled his own weapon- one of the Glocks he’d stolen from a guard- and headed towards the action with Angel Menendez hot on his heels. They could see a cluster of four men in jumpsuits advancing on the ATV by the storage building as another ATV surged towards them. Coops lifted his weapon and fired twice, both shots pounding into the metal trailer, but not actually coming close to hitting any of the people. He broke into a run, attempting to get closer.

  Rhonda pulled up next to the trailer, leveled her own weapon, and fired twice before the trigger pulled back on an empty magazine.

  “Not good,” she whispered to herself as the prisoners seemed to understand her predicament. Phil guided his ATV left, roaring past Rhonda and heading straight for the crowd of men advancing on her. They scattered as he broke through, then turned and angled back around to join the other two.

  The back door of the storage room burst open and both Max and Brad came running out, arms full of boxes, with plastic bags hooked around each wrist. Rhonda leaped off her seat for a moment and ran to the trailer, opening it and ushering them inside.

  “Just stay down!” she shouted and slammed the door, then latched it. “Go, Winnie, go! Get out of here!”

  Winnie didn’t seem happy with the order, but she sensed the urgency and gunned the throttle, sending the ATV screaming forward across the manicured lawn of the school and curling around the large brick building housing the cafeteria.

  Coops caught up to the group and kept his pistol directed towards Rhonda who was standing still as Phil brought his ATV around.

  “Don’t move!” he snarled. “You’re outta bullets, old lady, and I’ve got you dead to rights.”

  “We’ve got this geezer dead to rights, too!” came Franky’s voice from the shed. Rhonda turned and saw them leading Greer away from the garage, his palms pressed to the top of his head.

  “Everyone just stay calm and stay still,” Angel said as he approached. He still held the shotgun in his right hand though he was holding it by the body of the weapon and not threateningly. “What are you doing here?” he asked Rhonda and Phil.

  “We just needed supplies,” Rhonda replied. “That’s all. We’ll be going and we won’t cause any trouble.”

  “You can’t just steal from us,” barked Franky.

  “Since when did any of this belong to you?” Rhonda asked.

  Franky stepped forward, his nine millimeter pulled up and pressed tight to the underneath of Rhonda’s chin.

  “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t just push your brains through the top of your head right now.”

  “Hey, hey, take it easy,” said Phil, his arms moving in a calming gesture.

  Levry moved forward and slammed his pistol into Phil’s face, dropping him to his knees.

  “They might tell the cops about us,” Coops said. “We should just end them right here.”

  “We’re not going to tell the cops,” Rhonda replied.

  “You sure won’t, especially with a bullet in ya.” Franky jabbed the pistol a bit deeper into her neck.

  “There’s no need for this,” Angel shouted. “None of us want any trouble. Just let them go, Franky, and we can get back to what we were doing.”

  “I dunno, Angel,” Franky replied. "Suddenly I feel like we might want these ATVs. Why should we let them have ’em?”

  Angel drew a deep breath, trying to calm himself. His face flushed and he couldn’t help but think back to the night that put him in prison in the first place. Gunshots everywhere, bullets flying. He’d seen the cop get shot and the way he dropped, like his str
ings were just cut. The sight still gave him nightmares.

  “It ain’t worth it, Franky.”

  “Worth what? You heard what’s going on out there,” he said. “It’s every man for himself. Kill or be killed, man. I give it a week before people are eating each other. Radiation gonna make us all sick.”

  Angel’s fist tightened around the shotgun. “We don’t need any more trouble, I said.”

  “Maybe not. But maybe I like a little—”

  The shotgun swung up and around so fast, Rhonda wasn’t quite sure what was happening. Remington wood slammed hard into Franky’s left temple and his head snapped, causing his fingers to loosen their grip, and he dropped the pistol to the grass. Franky followed it close behind.

  “Angel, what the—?” Levry shouted, turning towards him, but Angel had already stepped in his direction and threw out a forward kick, drilling his heel into the upper part of his chest.

  “Don’t make me do it,” Coops growled, his pistol lifted and aimed at Angel, finger tensing on the trigger. Angel swiveled as Coops fired, but Coops’ shot went wide right and Angel’s shotgun thrashed in his hands as he fired. Buckshot blistered Reggie Cooper all along his left side, sending him spinning around, throwing his weapon high and toppling face first into the grass.

  Angel jacked the pump action and lifted the weapon, swiveling at the waist and directing the barrel towards the other prisoners standing nearby.

  “Don’t none of you move,” he hissed. “These people are going to leave now. You’re gonna let ’em.”

  They stepped back, a few of them even raising their hands in a peaceful gesture. Rhonda and Phil climbed onto their ATVs while Greer ran back to the garage to get on his. Moments later, he came back around, revving the engine of the Honda four-wheeler as he approached.

  “Hop on,” Rhonda said to Angel. “Come with us, you’re dead if you stay here.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Greer interjected. "This guy is an escaped convict, Rhonda. Shouldn't we discuss this?"

  Rhonda looked over at the gathering of men in gray jumpsuits, looking only too ready to pounce.

  “He saved our lives, Clancy,” Rhonda replied. “Do you want to take the time to discuss this right now?”

  Greer scowled and held his position, eyes narrowed on Angel. He couldn’t help but notice the other prisoners milling about on the other side of the man, only held in check by the shotgun pointed in their direction. On the ground Coops groaned and shifted, clutching at his shoulder.

  Angel looked back at Greer, then at the other prisoners, over at Rhonda, and finally back at the prisoners. He took a few steps backwards, keeping his weapon aimed at them, and swung a leg over the seat of Rhonda’s four-wheeler. Greer sped past and Phil looked over, waiting for them to go. Rhonda gunned the engine and sent the four-wheeler roaring away, Phil twisting the throttle and following along. On their way out, Phil brought his Honda close to the Chevy pickup and retrieved the duffel bag, laying it across the seat behind him. Up ahead, on the shaded dirt road, they could see Winnie on her ATV with the trailer hooked behind standing there waiting for them. She’d opened the front gates for them and was ready to move along.

  “First, we head to Denver International,” Rhonda said. “That’s the last place we know Lydia was. Agreed?”

  Phil and Greer both nodded. Angel made no motion but he had no intention of going against the crowd.

  All four vehicles revved their engines, angled towards the curved dirt access road, and drove off towards the airport, trailing a light cloud of dust behind them.

  Chapter 3

  “Bright and early, Agent Liu. I like it,” said Rita Kramer, straightening the coat on her business suit and walking towards him as he entered the meeting room.

  “Lots of work to do,” Liu replied.

  “Indeed. Your reward for being the first one in is getting to be first in line for our initial field op.” Kramer veered off and walked to a desk which held a folder stacked with several papers inside. She swept up the folder from the desk and turned back towards him, holding it out.

  “Lost in the shuffle of the chaos yesterday was another suitcase nuke detonation.”

  Liu took the folder and pried it open. “Another one?” When would it end?

  “Galveston, Texas,” Kramer said. “Lower yield than some of the others, though it flattened a good chunk of the city. Strong gulf winds have already carried much of the radioactive fallout into the Gulf of Mexico.”

  Liu’s eyes jerked up from the folder he was reading. “That’ll be good for the people. Not so good for the fish.”

  Kramer acknowledged his concern with a curt nod. “Agreed. But what that means is we have a possible window to get boots on the ground in the area and perform some first-hand intel gathering.”

  “By the way, Agent Liu, you’ll want to check this out.” Kramer picked up a remote and clicked the power button, and a television screen mounted to the wall flipped on. A news reporter was behind the desk, hands steepled in front of him.

  “Reports continue to flood into the news desk even as much of the nation remains in the dark after a series of devastating attacks on our nation’s West Coast.”

  Liu turned and looked at the screen.

  “At this point, reports are saying that the Democratic Republic of North Korea is taking full credit for the attacks on the United States, proclaiming America as an enemy to freedom and to their sovereignty.”

  Liu glanced over at Kramer, but she signaled to keep watching.

  The newscaster continued his stoic presentation. “At this point it is unknown if these attacks are a single isolated incident, or if North Korea is planning another full scale assault on American civilization. It is currently believed that their recent ramp up of ICBM testing was designed as a distraction to pull international interests there while their work on smaller, portable nuclear devices went relatively unnoticed.”

  “Agent Kramer, this is an act of war.”

  Kramer nodded. “That it is.”

  “What’s Washington doing about it?”

  “I think the larger question is what can Washington do about it? These attacks were calculated and extraordinarily destructive, not just killing citizens, but sending our national infrastructure and economy into a tailspin. Our government is in chaos and is still figuring out how to stem the bleeding.”

  The Customs agent traced his finger through the papers he held in his hand, his eyes following the dramatic turn of events.

  “How soon can you get on a plane?” Kramer asked.

  Liu looked up at her, slapping the folder closed. “Excuse me?”

  “I want you in Galveston ASAP.”

  “I thought all air travel was grounded?”

  “Commercial travel, yes,” Kramer replied, turning back to the desk and retrieving an envelope. “This is a special exception. Military flight out of Chicopee, Massachusetts. You’ll be landing in Houston, reconvening with FBI ground presence there, and moving on to Galveston by boat.”

  “It’s safe?”

  “We’ve got a HazMat advance team landing there now. I guess you weren’t quite the first in line.”

  “What am I supposed to be looking for?”

  “Same stuff we’re looking for here. Shrapnel, pieces of housing, evidence of where these bombs were built. Talking to eye witnesses. You should know the drill.”

  Liu nodded. He did know the drill.

  “Why me?” he asked.

  “You’re smart, Agent. You’re not afraid, and you appreciate what’s at stake here.”

  “Did you read my report from late yesterday?”

  Kramer hesitated for a moment, extending her hand and passing along the thin, tan envelope. Liu took it.

  “I did,” she replied. “Very detailed. Also a little risky. Another reason I want you in Galveston. Like I said, you appreciate what’s at stake.”

  Liu was starting to get the picture. Kramer had seen something in his report, the one expressing concern that
North Korea may have received support from domestic organizations, and she wanted to know more. But she also didn’t want the word spreading too far.

  “Am I being paranoid?” he asked her.

  “Let’s see what the evidence says.”

  Liu nodded.

  Kramer turned away and walked back towards the corner desk. “There’s a car downstairs. Let’s get moving on this one, Agent Liu. Time is of the essence. We’ll send you to Houston first, and as long as we get the all clear from HazMat, you can move into Galveston from there. This will be a busy day for you.”

  “Understood.”

  Kramer turned and looked at him. “How’s everything at home? Your wife comfortable with all of this?”

  Brandon nodded. “Things are good. All clear, Ms. Kramer.”

  “Rita,” she said. “We’re all going to get to know each other very well over the next few months. You can call me Rita.”

  Liu nodded without replying, then turned and stepped through the door, his combat boots echoing down the smooth tile floor as he headed for the stairwell. Along the hallway, faded light bulbs shone a pale yellow glow, running on secondary power to avoid leeching too much power from the grid which was already in a brittle state. Ever since PacifiCorp got eviscerated in the various West Coast attacks, the national power grid had worked to compensate but had not quite filled that void. As a result, black outs and brown outs remained frequent occurrences throughout the entire nation, forcing energy companies to start locking down on power consumption.

  Twenty-four hours in and the United States of America’s infrastructure was on the verge of collapse, their financial system in veritable ruin, and military resources stretched so thin, an adequate response to any enemy nation was destined to be insufficient.

  All it had taken was a few well-placed, but powerful bombs, and Agent Brandon Liu could almost feel the shifting landscape of the entire country moving under his feet as he ran down the stairs, taking two at a time, heading towards the road and towards the car he would use to drive to Westover Air Base in Chicopee.