Whispers of Ash (The Nameless Book 1)

by Adrian Smith

  Why? She didn’t want to find out.

  Hands grabbed her again and yanked her back. As she fell, the knife was torn from her grasp. She heard it clang on the stone, the metallic ring like a doomsday bell.

  She kicked as a heavy-set monk fell on top of her and latched his hands around her throat. His fingernails began to dig into her flesh. Allie wriggled her head and tried to throw him off with all the strength she had.

  Suddenly the berserker went still. His eyes bulged and his tongue jutted out. Rather, the blade of the long knife had emerged from his mouth. For a brief second, she glimpsed Antonio standing behind the now-dead monk, gripping the knife, before being yanked from sight. For a second time the long knife clattered to the ground.

  Allie screamed and kicked off the berserker. She rolled several times and jumped into a crouch.

  “Help!” Antonio screamed. The berserkers had him to the ground and were tearing at his clothing.

  Allie looked around for the blade, but it was wedged beneath a berserker. She located a thick bō staff, grabbed it, and smashed the nearest skull. The berserker staggered under her blows but ignored her; it was so focused on Antonio. Again, she slammed its head, over and over until it was a pulpy mess. At last the berserker stilled and flopped to the ground.

  Antonio screamed as they tore into his flesh.

  “Hang on!” Allie said. She crushed the end of the pole into a third berserker.

  She staggered back in horror as Antonio fell silent. The berserkers ignored the tissue and muscle and snapped his spine. They fought over it until the largest stood up and began sucking.

  Allie scrambled away and vomited. The berserkers began taking turns sucking on the remains of the spine that poked out from the skull.

  Using the bō staff, she stood, her mind reeling. She looked back at Antonio’s corpse and shivered. “I’m sorry. You saved me and I couldn’t do the same,” she whispered.

  Allie let out a breath and took off at a sprint. The shrieks of the berserkers, a new, terrifying sound, chased her.

  Eighteen

  Portland, Oregon

  Zanzi swerved around a slowing mini-van and mumbled a curse. She edged the car up to eighty as they sped down the I30. She had always loved travelling this road, as it followed the Columbia River and offered some stunning views of Mt. Hood and Mt. St. Helens.

  “Dammit,” Lisa cursed from the passenger seat. “City is getting jammed. Try the St. Johns Bridge and then 30B.”

  Lisa had her laptop open and was typing furiously. Twenty minutes ago, the cellular networks had died.

  “Avondale, you genius,” Lisa muttered.

  Zanzi shot her a quizzical look before turning her attention to the increasing traffic.

  “He gave me this for emergencies.” She indicated a memory stick she’d jammed into the laptop’s USB port.

  “Gave you what?”

  “A way into a separate network set up after 9/11, so our military and governments could keep in contact while cutting off the general public. Avondale hooked us in. I’m trying to get hold of some colleagues. Find out if they know anything.”

  “Any luck?”

  “Not yet.”

  Zanzi pulled up in front of the ’50s-style bungalow an hour later and looked down the drive. The property was thickly wooded, with sprawling, well-maintained gardens. A light blue pickup was parked in a standalone garage. The door was up, revealing kayaks, bicycles, and camping gear pulled out as though being readied for use.

  “Is this it?”

  Lisa glanced up and looked down at her laptop. “Yes.”

  “It looks like they were getting ready for a trip,” Zanzi said. She pulled the parking brake and looked up and down the street. Three teenagers were playing basketball in a driveway, but other than that, nothing in the street moved.

  The front door of the bungalow was ajar, and Lisa pushed it open with her foot.

  “Hello?” she called out. “Anyone home? It’s social services.”

  Zanzi followed her into the small foyer, which opened into an open-plan lounge, diner, and kitchen. Half-finished lunch plates sat on the breakfast bar, and a black and white cat casually looked up before it continued cleaning itself.

  The house was too quiet. Why would everyone leave their lunch? Lisa gestured for Zanzi to check the rooms down the hall as she crept up the stairs.

  Zanzi slid her Sig Sauer from its holster and steadied her breathing. Her search of the rooms gave up no clues. Lisa returned, shrugging her shoulders and holding a blue Avengers bag.

  “Harriet’s,” she said. “Let’s check the perimeter.”

  As soon as Zanzi exited the back door, she smelt it. Having been on hunting trips with Ryan and Liam, she recognized the scent of spilt blood. And, mixed with human waste, it normally meant death.

  She stifled a scream as she stood on the deck, looking down onto the lawn below. The family that had kindly agreed to foster Harriet lay on their stomachs, hands and feet tied behind their backs. Each member had been shot twice in the back of the head. Mum and dad. Brother and sister.

  “We need to call the police.” She brushed away a tear and turned.

  “We will. I promise. Damn!” Lisa said. “Always one step ahead. Why didn’t I think of Harriet sooner?”

  “There was no connection. You didn’t know about the irregularity in her blood sample.”

  “Maybe not. But I’m getting complacent in my old age. I should have realized and moved her.”

  “No one could have guessed this. Executed, for what?” Zanzi sighed and looked out into the thick woods. Ten yards away, she glimpsed something gray lying on a log and a circle of objects of different colors. “There’s something out there.”

  She jogged toward it and frowned when she saw the gray object was a fluffy toy: Totoro. The colored objects were soft Disney characters: Elsa, Aladdin, Hei Hei, Woody, Buzz, and the dinosaur from Toy Story. All the others were standing, but Totoro was lying down some distance away, deeper into the woods.

  She scanned the vicinity and spotted a broken branch. Another meter, and the leaf litter had been disturbed.

  “Lisa. I have something.”

  “What is it?”

  “Looks like someone was playing with these toys and took off into the woods, dropping this one. Here, this branch and scuff marks over there.”

  “Good work,” Lisa said. “It’s safe to assume that whoever killed the family must have followed.” She walked the tree line, scouting for signs of pursuit. “Got it. Five, by the looks of it.” Lisa pointed to a series of boot prints. “Grab our rifles and stay frosty. If it’s the same crowd we ran into the other night, we know what they’re capable of.”

  The tracks led them through the trees, along the small stream that bordered the property, and down into a ravine. Bike trails were everywhere. Jumps made from dirt had been molded into a series of ramps of increasing sizes.

  Zanzi checked the ground again and smiled when she found what she was looking for: small shoe prints. Ryan had taught her how to track animals on their many hunting trips into the wilderness together. It was a skill she loved, and it served her well now.

  After ten minutes of tracking, a shack made from old wooden pallets and frayed tarpaulins came into view. She swept her carbine from side to side, fearful of any of the black-clad commandos. Where were they? Surely, they’d seen the footprints and followed them. It didn’t make sense. They had been in the woods for fifteen minutes and hadn’t heard or seen anyone.

  Lisa pulled back the filthy piece of cloth covering the doorway of the shack and crouched down, shouldering her M4. Bright blue eyes stared at her.

  “Hi Harriet. Remember me?”

  Harriet nodded and moved toward her.

  “We’re here to keep you safe. Don’t be scared,” Lisa said.

  “I’m not scared. I heard the bad men and ran away.”

  “That was very brave of you.”

  “They’re still out there. I heard them and hid u
p in the trees. I didn’t run when I heard you, ’coz you sounded different.”

  Zanzi’s heart skipped a beat. They had barely survived their first encounter with the commandos. She didn’t want to risk tangling with them again. She stepped back and swiveled her M4 from side to side, scanning for hostiles. But the woods remained quiet.

  Were we too loud?

  Are they watching us now?

  Harriet crawled out of the shack and brushed the dust from her clothes. Her eyes widened, then scrunched together. “You look just like the nice lady. Her name was Cal. What’s yours?”

  Zanzi blinked at Harriet, her mouth suddenly dry as she ran her tongue over her lips. “What did you say?”

  “You look just like Cal. She helped me escape the bad place.” Harriet pointed toward Mt. Hood. “In the mountains.”

  A flood of emotions erupted. Red stars swam in Zanzi’s vision and the sound of rushing blood cascaded through her ears.

  She wanted to sit on the forest floor and bring her knees to her chest.

  “When … when was this?” Zanzi managed to stammer out.

  Harriet stiffened. “I hear them again.”

  Lisa grabbed her hand and looked at Zanzi. “Go. I’ll explain later.”

  Using the shack as cover, they ran up the ravine and into the neighboring property. The boys were still playing basketball, teasing and laughing at one another.

  Zanzi’s eyes scanned constantly, searching for the commandos. As they walked past the side of the two-story house, the windows above shattered into a thousand tiny pieces a split second before the crack of a high-velocity bullet screamed past. She threw herself to the ground, pulling Harriet with her. Tiny shards stabbed into her exposed skin and nestled into her hair.

  Desperate, she searched for the assailants.

  Pop! Pop! Pop!

  A three-round burst stitched the brick cladding above her.

  Lisa crawled forward and peeked around the corner of the house. She was rewarded with chips of masonry exploding into her face.

  Zanzi ignored the impending fear and dread and trained her eyes on the trees instead. She had spotted the muzzle flash thirty yards out. The only reason they hadn’t been killed was the raised garden bed opposite her. It protected the three women just enough, but any movement either way and it was all over.

  She wiggled her M4 from beneath her and wedged it against her shoulder, peering through the scope. Her finger itched on the trigger. The muzzle flash had given her a glimpse of an indistinct lump. Maybe a head? She couldn’t be sure because, just like their attackers, she couldn’t hit them due to the garden bed.

  “Director, I presume?” called out a voice. Again, it had a faint German accent. Different to the voice from Saturday night, but hauntingly similar. “It seems we have an impasse. We can’t shoot you and you us. Nor can we move.”

  “Who are you guys?”

  “You haven’t worked that out yet? Disappointing. Let’s just say, someone powerful.”

  Lisa raised her carbine above her head and sprayed bullets in the general direction of the voice.

  “Now, Director. No need to lose your temper. We just want our property.”

  “Property?”

  “The girl and Connors, Director. Give them to us and you can go free. As much as I would like to kill you for the sport of it, my instructions are to let you live. To be a witness.”

  “Look, whoever you are, you’re not making any sense. And besides, I’m not letting you take the girl. If you want her, come and get her.”

  “Ah. And there is our impasse, dear Director.” The faceless speaker clicked his radio, so that they could hear the static.

  “Zanzi. Watch our backs. I don’t want them flanking us,” Lisa whispered.

  “Got it. Ideas on how to get us out of here?”

  “I’m thinking.” Lisa checked her magazine and slammed it home. “He’s lying. Once they have you two, they’ll finish what they started with me.

  “Hey, Director? Did you ever watch Westerns as a child?” the German called out. “I bet you did. Me too. My favorite was Last of the Comanches. A group of people surrounded, fighting off a force. Delaying the inevitable. All the while holding onto their misguided faith that the cavalry will come and save them. You know that you have no backup, Director. But I do, and they are on their way. Let’s make this easy and give up now. I’ll take Harriet and Ms. Connors, and you can go wherever you want. You have five minutes to decide.”

  Zanzi shook her head. They had only come across these guys twice and she already hated them. What did they want from her? She caressed the bundle of syringes in her jacket pocket and looked at the shattered windows of the house.

  Could they make it to cover?

  “I have an idea,” Zanzi said, holding up a syringe.

  Nineteen

  Koyasan, Japan

  Everywhere Ryan looked bore evidence of what someone’s life, extinguished in an instant, once was. Piles of ash on sidewalks and in the seats of crashed cars and small trucks; an empty baby stroller, with the shape of the deceased mother hugging the stroller. That heartbreaking scene reminded him of Pompeii.

  Bicycles lay at odd angles, ash and smartphones the only evidence someone had been riding them at the time. The outlines of dogs and, on top of a wall, a pile in the shape of a cat, a metal tag glinting in the sun. Ryan didn’t bother to look at the name.

  As he passed crashed vehicles, he turned off still-running engines and closed the doors. Most had only superficial damage. He considered driving one to Osaka, but they were tombs now. Memorials. He would use one only as a last resort.

  The smell of burning aviation fuel and timber filled the air, seeping into his lungs. Ryan coughed, spat out the acrid taste, and moved on.

  He spun as a shout snapped him from his daze. A dark-haired woman burst through the torii gate of a temple. She was tall, perhaps 6ft 2”, and dressed in jeans, hiking boots, and a jacket. A red and gray rucksack was strapped to her back. In her right hand she held a thick wooden pole.

  “Run!” she screamed, gesturing wildly.

  Run from what?

  Ryan brought up his Glock and looked over her shoulder. Five figures dressed in Buddhist clothes sprinted toward his position, snarling and banging their heads with their fists. His eyes widened. Just like Orange Robes at the university, except these appeared to be chasing the tall woman in a frenzy. Their eyes were bulging out of their skulls, clouded, with no pupils. Globs of spit dripped from their mouths as they gnashed their teeth together. Their skin, the color of ivory, was covered in red slash-like crosses. They punched themselves over and over, slamming their fists into their faces. Specks of blood sprayed with every blow.

  “Run!” the woman yelled again.

  Ryan hesitated. Every cell in his body screamed “Danger!” But he had seen this behavior earlier, and nothing good had come of it apart from the victim killing himself.

  Had the woman seen something else? His finger itched on the trigger guard, his mind a storm of turmoil. These were people, after all. Acting crazy but still people.

  “What are you doing?” the woman shouted. She turned and planted her feet wide. The first frenzied monk snarled and kept running. The woman dropped to one knee and drove the butt end of the wooden pole into the monk’s midriff. Her actions snapped Ryan from his indecision. This time he didn’t hesitate. He took a step to his left and shot the nearest monk, aiming for the legs. The monks were frenzied, but he only wanted to incapacitate, not kill. At least until he knew what he was dealing with. The figure stumbled and crashed to the ground, rolling. Ryan adjusted his aim and shot three more. He missed with his next shot as his target leapt over the monks on the ground, arms outstretched.

  Ryan paused. The woman was in his line of fire. She spun and stabbed out with the wooden pole, catching the monk in the face and smashing his teeth in. He fell to his knees gasping for breath but clamped his teeth together. The monk started to crawl toward her, eyes staring straight ahead
. She stepped forward and slammed the pole over the monk’s skull, silencing him.

  Ryan checked on the others. Incredibly, they were dragging themselves along the ground despite their bleeding wounds. They would pause every few seconds and punch their heads or bang them against the road. Was this behavior caused by whatever had caused the combustion?

  The tall woman nodded. “Thanks.”

  “What the hell are these things?”

  “Beats me. One minute I’m meditating, the next, someone’s punching the inside of my skull. Antonio and I went looking for help and…” She shook her head and glanced back inside the temple grounds. “He didn't make it. I was too slow.”

  One of the monks shrieked and lunged at Ryan. He said a silent apology and, using the butt of the pistol, knocked him out. Making his way through the injured men, he repeated the blow to the side of their heads. He hated to leave them unconscious with the risk of bleeding to death.

  “What happened?”

  The woman shivered. “They went berserk.” She pointed into the temple grounds. “Tearing into Antonio…” She shivered again and cast her eyes to the ground. “Any idea of what’s going on?”

  Ryan tried to read the tall woman in front of him before he answered. She carried herself in an assured manner. A manner he had seen plenty of times. She was either military or had been. After what they had both witnessed in the last half an hour, she deserved to know what he did.

  “Before the phones went out, I learned of a viral outbreak in Europe and Africa. It was quickly spreading to other parts of the world. The media were calling it Mortis.”

  The tall woman shook her head. “I’ve been in a lot of outbreak areas. Flown in aid. But I’ve never seen anything move so fast.” She gripped her bō staff and eyed Ryan’s Glock. “You don’t happen to have a spare one of those, do you?”