by Hunt, Jack
It was all smoke and mirrors, getting the U.S. to look one way while they operated elsewhere. And cyberattacks? The buffoons couldn’t even hold a candle to what they were capable of doing.
But that was a different threat.
The need for revenge now drove him on. It was personal.
Although most vehicles were paralyzed and the interstate had been turned into a steel graveyard, not all had been affected. Viktor had seen a few older models on the other side of the median heading south. Without a set of wheels, it would take him hours to reach his destination, to set up a snare that would capture his prey. By then they could be gone. However, if that weasel Manny was right, there were only a few places they could be heading — back to her apartment, that guy’s home, or the bail bonds office. No doubt they’d want to stay inside to avoid the chaos that was building.
He sniffed hard, tightening his grip on the shotgun.
Although conventional wisdom would tell others to leave the city, to get away from the masses and seek the safety of rural communities, few would do it in the first seventy-two hours. Those who prepared for an event like this would be few, and a bounty hunter would want to get paid.
A rumble behind him and a set of lights appeared, spearing through the darkness.
Those nearby moved out of the way as others had done on the south side, thinking that sticking a thumb out would stop them. It wouldn’t. But a shotgun would.
As the silhouette of the vehicle got larger, Viktor kept the Benelli M4 under his jacket while walking in the only space left between the road and the grassy slope. He cast a glance over his shoulder as a ’70s Volkswagen Beetle rolled up behind him, the driver honking his horn. He continued walking until he heard, “Get out of the way.”
He ignored him, enjoying the moment.
“Are you deaf? Get out the way, man.”
Viktor turned and without missing a beat swung up the shotgun and unloaded a round through the windshield, killing the driver instantly. Those nearby who’d thought this was their opportunity to snag a ride backed away from the blue VW, hands raised, then turned and fled over the median to put as much distance as possible between them and him.
He strode confidently over to the car and calmly opened the driver’s side. He slapped a meaty paw on the guy’s shoulder and pulled his middle-aged hipster ass out, his face nothing more than red mush.
A woman in the passenger side, paralyzed with fear, kept screaming and wouldn’t shut the hell up. He contemplated sending her skyward but instead leaned in and pressed the barrel against her nose and told her to get out or she would join him. He was in no fucking mood.
Had she not moved fast, he would have squeezed that trigger again. As soon as she was out, Viktor got in, wiping brain matter off the center console with the sleeve of his jacket. He used the butt of his gun to push out the cracked glass.
He’ was adjusting his rearview mirror and preparing to drive off when he saw the kid in the back.
It was a young boy, no older than six. He wasn’t crying. He wasn’t smiling. He was in a state of shock. “Please. My boy. Don’t hurt him,” the woman said.
“Get him out.”
She shuffled forward but not fast enough.
“GET HIM OUT!”
Scared that he would kill him, she didn’t waste any time scooping him up.
All the while Viktor’s gaze roamed the lookie-loos, the wannabe heroes. He sized them up, trying to distinguish which one thought they had it in them to stop him.
Go on. Test me.
No one did. No one had the balls to risk their life.
They were weak. The whole damn city was.
Oh, they could talk the big game but the only big thing was the size of their asses. Fat bastard Americans. God, he hated their gluttony.
As soon as she was out, and the door was closed, he stabbed the accelerator and took off, shifting up through the gears. He honked the horn a few times, just for the heck of it, and flipped a few of the Hollywood elite the finger as he zipped by their flashy cars.
He even struck a few people too fucking slow to get out of the way.
This was why he didn’t fail. He was prepared to do what others wouldn’t. Go where others wouldn’t. Risk everything for what he wanted. And he’d steamroll over anyone that got in his way. And who would stop him? Law and order had just bowed out. Those serving the country were already snowed under by the protests and rage-filled haters of law. California wasn’t the only one. Madness was spreading and with it opportunity for the likes of him to rise through the ranks.
First things first, he’d gather some help.
This kind of work wasn’t a lone wolf activity. Although he enjoyed killing alone, having others to watch his back or better still take the fall as the other three had was key.
Viktor glanced down into the dark console and snagged up a pack of Marlboro Lights, he placed one in his lips and lit it, inhaling deeply, pondering what he would do to the bounty hunter and that bitch when he caught up with them.
Mercy had no business in this game.
He couldn’t wait to see the look on their faces when he charged into the fray.
“You should have killed me when you had the chance,” he thought.
Viktor peeled off the highway at the first chance he got, veering east toward the neighborhood of Baldwin Village, then continued to Roxanne Avenue, and a block of apartments. It took longer than he thought as he had to thread his way around stalled vehicles and avoid areas of the town that he knew were a one-way ticket to the grave.
Although his reputation was widely known, there were some neighborhoods that not even he would venture into. Viktor had seen many of his friends gunned down by rival gangs, youngsters looking to make their mark.
Rolling up outside, he couldn’t help but catch the attention of those curious to know how his vehicle was working while most had been laid waste.
They soon looked the other way when he got out wielding a shotgun.
“One mark. Just try me,” he said as he ambled into a darkened block of apartments and made his way up two flights of steps to a door with a number sixteen on it. He banged hard and spoke in Russian. A neighbor across the way opened their door then closed it instantly at the sight of the gun.
The door before him was opened by a tank of a man. His head a little too small for his muscular physique. His face was illuminated by the glow of a hand-wound flashlight.
Nico Morozova.
He was no stranger to the criminal life. In and out of prisons, he was a recent illegal immigrant who had found his way into the United States along with others in metal shipping containers.
Viktor walked in without being asked, greeting him in Russian.
He ambled by a room where tables were lined with bricks of cocaine. Viktor made his way into the living room area to where Andrei Tishkov sat in a white robe and a pair of underpants, his feet inside burgundy Gucci slippers.
His hair was dark and spiky, and he had a trim beard. Some liked to live large even though they were instructed to stay low key. Flashing money around only attracted the wrong attention. He might have called him on it but now it didn’t matter.
The room was illuminated with flashlights pointed to the ceiling.
“Viktor. You look like shit,” Andrei said in a thick accent. “Come, drink.”
Vodka was on the table, a large bottle and several glasses along with lines of coke. He took a seat and leaned forward and took a hit without asking. It was his stash after all. Everything that came in and went out was his. He sniffed hard and wiped his nose with the back of his hand before taking the bottle and chugging on it. Andrei stared in delight before laughing. “It seems you were right,” he said, waving a finger around indicating the blackout. “Now the real fun begins, yeah?”
Viktor brought a finger up to his brows. “I need muscle.”
“Of course. Take Simeon and Anton.”
“No. I will take Nico and Oleg.”
“Nico w
orks here.”
“He works wherever I say he works.”
Andrei leaned forward, face twisting. “I respect you, Viktor. You’ve always done good by me but Nico is busy. You can take Oleg though.”
Viktor smiled, nodding. “That’s very generous of you.”
“I’m a generous man,” he said, leaning back and chuckling as he spread his arms wide across the back of the sofa. Viktor reached into his pocket and tapped out a cigarette and lit it. He blew smoke out the corner of his mouth and studied Andrei and his new behavior.
“So you’re in charge now?”
“Me? Viktor. No. But here. You placed me in charge.” He waved Viktor closer with two fingers, so he leaned forward. “I need them to respect me. To trust my leadership. Right?”
“Right.”
“So you understand.”
“Of course,” Viktor replied.
In an instant, Viktor lunged across the table. He grabbed a clump of his greasy hair and brought his face down hard, bouncing it off the table and sending white powder everywhere. The other guys didn’t move a muscle. They knew better.
Andrei cupped two hands over his face, blood gushing.
“What the… what the… you broke my fucking nose.”
“I’m taking Nico. Now you listen to me, you squirming, sorry excuse of a man, and you listen carefully.” Viktor pressed his face back down into the powdery pile, rubbing it across the table. “You ever challenge me again and you’re gone. You hear me?”
He didn’t say a word so Viktor got close to his ear. “Do you hear me?”
“I do.”
He eyed the men in the room, hardened criminals, just a smidgen of the tattooed thugs he had at his beck and call. “Now I want six men ready to leave in the next few minutes. And you, I want you to take some of your men and hit the streets. Put the word out. I want two people found. Here’s a photo of her, and the guy she’s with,” he said, handing him two pieces of paper, one was Alicia’s booking info mugshot, the other an employee photo of Colby.
“Tonight? But it’s New Year’s Eve.”
“Did I stutter?”
“No, Viktor, but the blackout…”
“And?”
There was a pause. “Okay. All right.”
Viktor released his head and Andrei coughed and spluttered cocaine mixed with blood. Nico showed no expression, he walked off and slipped into a ballistic vest, a soldier, an animal that didn’t have an off switch. Oleg didn’t have the muscle but he was dangerous with a gun. He should have brought them in to begin with. Had he done so, they wouldn’t have been in this mess. He’d underestimated the bounty hunter, he wouldn’t do it again.
Viktor went to the window and pulled down the blinds to make sure no one was screwing with the Beetle. Then he wandered into the kitchen, pulled out some ham, grabbed a loaf of bread, and made a sandwich.
It was going to be a long and violent night.
ELEVEN
COLBY
The ruckus out back was looters. Unable to enter through the front of the store due to shutters, they’d gone around the rear to break in. Sahar’s father had been so focused on watching them that he’d forgotten to lower the shutters at the rear.
After they smashed the glass, all hell broke loose.
Having already been broken into multiple times, the poor man had reached the end of his patience. There was no warning, no attempt to fight them back using non-deadly means, no, he’d simply opened fire.
Kane was barking loudly, pulling on the leash.
By the time Colby reached the rear, he found one of the intruders dead and Sahar’s father on the ground with a wound to his head. Someone had thrown a brick at him. Another had managed to get in and was wrestling Daisy. That was a bad mistake. Daisy kneed him in the nuts then headbutted him before latching on to his body, throwing herself up and spinning around, and dropping him to the ground to put his arm in an armbar lock. Most would hold it until the victim tapped out. Not her. She snapped that guy’s arm like a twig.
His screams drew back up by two more thugs pushing their way inside, one holding a chain, the other a machete.
Colby released Kane and he attacked the one with the chain while Colby charged the other, tackling him to the floor and delivering a furious flurry of punches to his face from above.
But these guys were determined.
Three more surged in, one of them kicked or struck Kane and Colby heard the dog yelp. Another dog might have cowered, put its tail between its legs, and scurried away. Not him. He thrived under these conditions. He loved it. Like a rabid dog out of control. The next cry Colby heard was a guy trying to get Kane to release his nuts.
Another gun went off, and for a second Colby thought the guy had shot Kane but it wasn’t his weapon, it was Daisy’s. She unloaded a round in one guy’s leg then pistol-whipped the cheeky bastard.
“Hit a dog, would you? Huh? Have some of that, you asshole.”
Like an animal hurt and ready to die, the guy with the bullet in his leg scrambled away, out the lower half of the door, cutting his hands on glass as he went. Daisy kicked him in the ass for good measure. “That’s it. Get the hell out of here!”
For a brief moment, they thought it was over as the thugs retreated into the chaos of the streets, leaving them to catch their breath.
It wasn’t a retreat of surrender. It was just a way to go and get more firepower.
Three-round bursts tore through the store, one after another.
Sahar screamed, covering her father with her body to protect him.
Daisy burst up and shoved a steel shelf across the opening of the back door. Boxes emptied, cans rolled across the floor, and a bag of flour burst, filling the air with a cloud of white dust. He had to wonder if that might have been their saving grace, making it harder to see where they were. Colby joined Daisy, pushing another shelf behind that.
It wouldn’t hold if they really wanted to enter but he figured they were opportunists as once Daisy fired a few more warning rounds the others fled, leaving behind their dead friend.
“Father,” Sahar said, dropping down beside him and using a towel to wipe his forehead that was bleeding profusely. Colby peered through the mesh of steel out into the night. It was getting worse out there. Glass shattered, the glow of fire grew bright and gunfire unleashed; a cacophony of terror.
Colby turned to retrieve the medical kit.
As he made his way back through the corridor into the front of the store, his eyes widened. The shutter was up, and Alicia was gone.
“Daisy! She’s gone.”
“What?”
Colby hurried to the front of the store and looked out at the swarm of people on the streets. At night, under these conditions, it would be near impossible to find where she’d gone but that was them, not Kane. Looking back over his shoulder, he noticed Alicia had dropped the bloody rag she’d used to stem her bleeding nose. He raced over and scooped it up and brought it to Kane. “Zooch!” he said, using the command for initiating tracking of a suspect. The dog buried his nose in the rag and then lowered his head to the ground. Instantly he began pulling on the leash.
Daisy yelled for Sahar to lock the front shutters and they took off, venturing out into the streets to find Alicia. Back when he was a K-9 handler for the LAPD he was brought in all the time to locate suspects. It was routine.
Some bloodhounds were known to follow a cold track for more than twenty miles. Kane was just as good.
The three of them weaved their way through the crowd. He didn’t like being out in the thick of this, caught up in the city at a time when angry mobs were just looking for any reason to cause harm. It made him nervous, it reminded him of the many times he was called out to deal with protesters as a cop — Kane barking furiously, pulling, just biting at the bit to attack someone.
At least now he was focused, his nose to the ground, taking them one way, then another. The sidewalks were crowded with people of every ethnicity. Some were carrying baseball
bats, others handguns.
With all that was happening, he’d considered for a moment just letting her go but after all they’d gone through, after the loss of Carl, and the near-death experience on the interstate, it couldn’t be for nothing.
He was getting paid tonight. Come hell or high water. Alicia had gone east heading down Pico Boulevard. He figured she was trying to go back to her apartment. It’s what made sense. It’s what anyone might have done. Head home, collect whatever clothes they had, belongings, and whatnot, and then leave the city. Then again, not everyone would leave the city.
Most were oblivious, reliant on the government and the grid. The pandemic had been proof of that. No one got up and started heading north, moving to rural communities. Everyone just hunkered down where they were comfortable, rode out the first year abiding by the restrictions. Masks. Curfews. Lockdowns. It was all par for the course. An EMP would be no different.
Sure it was a different beast, and the fatalities would be far higher, but the reaction of the majority would be to do the same thing they had done unless they knew otherwise, and most didn’t. It wasn’t stupidity, it was ignorance. It was human nature. People didn’t know any better.
It wasn’t like survival was taught in schools. It should have been but it wasn’t.
Most didn’t hang out with survivalists. They were an anomaly. A tiny fraction of society. Hell, he’d known countless guys from the military that didn’t sit around all day thinking about survival.
Many did their job and turned it off when they came home.
Him for instance. Colby had grown up around people who lived off the grid, he’d seen many go to extreme measures to ensure they had power if a blackout occurred, but there was a huge difference between buying a gas generator to ride out thirty hours of downtime and a nationwide blackout.
The fact was even the savviest parents today didn’t teach their kids about survival. There was no go-bag stuck in the back of a car at all times as some might have. No ham radio to save the day when communication failed. That was for the 1 percent of society and bullshit stuffed into films and novels to make their heroes capable of saving the day.
