Unclean Evolution:
Day of Darkness
Book 3
By LC Champlin
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Unclean Evolution: Day of Darkness, by LC Champlin.
E-Book published by Wulfram Cross Enterprises LLC, Blairsville GA, USA.
www.lcchamplin.com
© 2018 LC Champlin
contact@lcchamplin.com
Edited by J Earle and D Jason Flemming
Cover by me.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
No more than short exerpts may be reproduced without the author’s permission.
Special thanks to…
My alpha and beta readers, and editors, for helping make this series possible.
WARNING:
This book is intended for MATURE AUDIENCES due to-
Blood and gore
Strong language
Intense situations
Extreme violence
Mature humor
Sexual themes
Interested yet? Thought so.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Chapter 97
Joel 2:1-6
Blow a trumpet in Zion,
And sound an alarm on My holy mountain!
Let all the inhabitants of the land tremble,
For the day of the LORD is coming;
Surely it is near,
A day of darkness and gloom,
A day of clouds and thick darkness.
As the dawn is spread over the mountains,
So there is a great and mighty people;
There has never been anything like it,
Nor will there be again after it
To the years of many generations.
A fire consumes before them
And behind them a flame burns.
The land is like the garden of Eden before them
But a desolate wilderness behind them,
And nothing at all escapes them.
Their appearance is like the appearance of horses;
And like war horses, so they run.
With a noise as of chariots
They leap on the tops of the mountains,
Like the crackling of a flame of fire consuming the stubble,
Like a mighty people arranged for battle.
Before them the people are in anguish;
All faces turn pale.
Chapter 1
Fissure
Traitor - Daughtry
The bullet slammed into Nathan Serebus’s chest, knocking him back against the refrigerator—not from force, but from the shock of his best friend attempting to murder him. Thanks to the bullet-resistant vest beneath his T-shirt, the projectile would only bruise.
Mouth still agape in confusion, Nathan heaved his six-foot-two frame forward to stumble after Albin. Albin Conrad, the man who until a gunshot ago had acted as his adviser—for eight fucking years!—and the most loyal man on the face of the planet.
Pain blazed around Nathan’s chest, radiating from three-day-old rib fractures. Panting, using the counter and walls for support, he cut through the living room, heading for the front door. What on Earth had provoked this betrayal? At the time Nathan needed him the most, Albin not only deserted, he destroyed.
Pain morphed into the fire of rage. It consumed all feelings of confusion, sadness, guilt. Anyone who turned on their friends deserved severe punishment.
The door slammed behind him as he burst into the California sunshine. He yanked up his T-shirt to clear his Glock. In half a heartbeat, the front sight settled over the lanky blond’s receding figure.
BANG!
++++++++++++
The first gunshot prompted Albin to cut right, using the cars along the suburban street for cover. He glanced backward. Mr. Serebus stalked down the street, pistol raised. Radiating rage as dark and wild as his hair, eyes reflecting the Abyss, he looked every bit the devil he acted, even down to his goatee. His face’s contusions and abrasions heightened his barbaric aspect.
“Come, Judge!” Albin urged the German Shepherd, who loped at his side.
Perhaps he had acted rashly. He had fired on his friend not to kill him, but to return him to sanity. A slap to the face may have proven a more appropriate tactic. But he could not recall the bullet to the chamber. Moreover, Mr. Serebus would require more than a physical blow to acknowledge his sins. But what would make him repent of them remained a mystery.
Albin needed only to reach the white Tacoma pickup truck at the corner of the street. Luckily Marvin Bridges had given him the keys. Or rather, Albin had demanded them.
Another gunshot rang through the suburban neighborhood as Albin lunged around the side of the vehicle. Whipping the door open, he stepped aside as Judge leapt in. After following suit, he shot the vehicle into gear and ac
celerated southwest along Davit Lane.
To the north, on his right, smoke rose from distant San Francisco. The fire in the South Industrial sector grew, and with it the chaos that had consumed both the city and the country over the last four days.
As Albin sped toward Marlin Drive, he encountered no police or military presence. The authorities had largely retreated from Redwood Shores in favor of addressing the mayhem in San Francisco. A shame, for the authorities offered his and the residents’ best chance of survival after Mr. Serebus had turned the affluent Silicon Valley community into a place of danger.
Mr. Serebus’s thirst for control had grown to a lust for tyranny, which would consume everything it touched. He would not rest until he dominated friend and foe alike.
++++++++++++
Nathan’s trigger finger pulled up and right of its own will, throwing the shot.
“Nathan!”
Pause, a hair’s breadth before the Glock’s striker released again.
Amanda Muster jogged into the street from her house next door. Upon seeing the pistol, the blonde pulled up short, her face registering surprise and consternation. “Nathan, what are you doing?”
What was he doing? Returning a favor. Damn, where did he put those keys? There, leg pocket. He whipped out the Acura TLX key as he trotted toward the SUV.
“Nathan, stop! Were you shooting at Albin?”
He shot me first. The door slammed as Nathan settled into the driver’s seat. The distraction she had made cost him precious seconds. Albin had likely reached Redwood Shores Parkway by now.
What am I doing? Hunting down a traitor.
Yanking the walkie-talkie from his belt, Nathan hit the HT’s push-to-talk button as he accelerated down Davit Lane. “This is Nathan. Open the roadblock on the west end.”
“It already is,” came the reply. “It’s been open because the police have been leaving. A Tacoma just went by, too.”
Shit, the police. Albin would go to them. Whoever reached law enforcement with his story first would win. No one would believe Albin had randomly fired on Nathan. No, Albin Conrad, Esq., never lost his temper. He never so much as raised his voice unless no other solution existed. Besides, the authorities, including Director Washington of the Department of Homeland Suck-urity, already held Nathan in low regard.
He gunned the engine, screeching left around the corner onto Marlin Drive. No Tacoma in sight. However, police cars and military Humvees rolled down Redwood Shores Parkway ahead. They would not tolerate a car chase.
Slamming on the brakes, Nathan grunted in pain as the seat belt caught his ribs. For lack of a true target, he glared at the upscale houses, grinding his teeth. “He shot me. He fucking shot me in the chest.”
Deep, calming breath. Inhale for one, two, three, fo—Fuck! Fire seared, ribs grated. Focus. The pain didn’t come from new injuries, only healing ones. Get. Over. It. Fury over frustration. Push through.
The flames flickered to a candle’s intensity, hot and annoying.
A three-point turn put him back on the road to the Musters’ house.
Why the fuck had Albin chosen now to snap? Now, when the chaos had reached its lowest point since the disaster began last Friday. If he wanted to betray Nathan, why didn’t he do it at a more opportune time, such as when Cheel and his terrorist bastards had held Nathan at gunpoint?
No, something had happened. Albin had started ranting about the motives behind and the means to Nathan’s ends. Damn it, he’d even taken issue with those ends! How could protecting the neighborhood of Redwood Shores offend the attorney? Albin wanted them to evacuate, going with the government, rather than shelter in place. But why, after the government had failed him and Nathan repeatedly and nearly cost them their lives, did he want to climb in bed and fuck them? It made no sense. It just . . . made no sense.
As Nathan approached the Musters’ residence, which he’d exited minutes ago, he slowed the vehicle.
Now what? Now he would have to run the neighborhood on his own. For all his high-minded talk, Albin must not truly care for Redwood’s people. Blast, it simply made no sense.
He backed into the driveway.
The neighborhood’s roadblocks needed reinforcing. The people needed training. Beyond that, they needed supplies. Bottled water and canned food would run out soon.
But how the fuck could he concentrate after Albin had shot him in the chest and driven off like a lunatic?
Maybe Albin had suffered too much stress. Yes, that was it. The adviser didn’t enjoy horror movies; thus, he found the contagion-drooling cannibals that roamed the city doubly repulsive. An image of their white, blistered faces and rust-red eyes intruded. The affected, or the Dalits, as the terrorists called them. Albin had dealt with the cannibals and their insanity, not to mention the Redwood Shores residents, while Nathan had dealt with the mercenary leader Red Chief and his insanity.
“I expected too much.” Not everyone thrived on opposition like Nathan Serebus did. Not everyone had the strength of an alpha wolf—or of Hati the Wolf of Odin, who chased the sun. Albin might seem like Skoll, brother of Hati, chaser of the moon, but even he had limits. At the thought, the familiar golden eyes opened in the back of Nathan’s mind. Hati.
“Then why the fuck didn’t you say anything earlier? Damn it, Albin!” He slammed the flat of his hand into the steering wheel.
Surely Albin would come back. Like a toddler—like little Davie—who objected to his parents’ dictates and stormed into his room, then grew hungry and ventured out again, Albin would return. He had no choice. Then . . . then they would have a serious discussion. Without weapons. “Then you can explain why I shouldn’t beat sense into you.” He blinked. No, he didn’t want to hurt Albin, despite the pain the attorney caused. Albin was family. When the prodigal returned, how would he handle the betrayal? Would Albin apologize? Should Nathan forgive?
Tapping at the window—He jumped, reaching for the Glock in his waistband. Amanda, not a cannibal, bounced on the balls of her feet outside. Her brown eyes shone with an urgency that darkened her fair features.
For a flash, a green-eyed, fiery-haired valkyrie’s face replaced hers. Janine. Pain worse than the fractured ribs’ pierced his heart. His arms ached to hold his wife again.
If Janine were here, she would demand an explanation. With a sigh, looking down at the Acura A on the steering wheel, he pushed the door open.
“Nathan, what’s going on?” Amanda asked as he exited. “Why did Albin take off? Were the affected around? Is that why you were shooting?”
“Was that a gun?” A girl around age nine or ten, with neon-striped hair and wearing a Pierce the Veil band T-shirt, bounded toward them from the Musters’ residence.
“Denver!” Her mother caught her and pulled her close. “Why would you come outside if you thought it was a gun?”
“Denver! Get back here!” A blonde tweenager the twin of her mother except for wearing her hair in two braids instead of one, dashed from the house in pursuit of her sister.
“Taylor, you’re not supposed to be out either!”
“But it’s safe now.” This from Denver, who twisted away from her mother’s grip. “The police came. There aren’t any more cannibals. And Albin helped us get rid of those gang members who tried to kill us.”
“We’ll talk about that later.” Amanda’s face had grown as pale and set as a graveyard angel’s.
“It happened so fast.” Nathan shook his head as he spoke. Careful, don’t make the townsfolk go after Albin with pitchforks and torches. “I don’t know why he left, but I need to find him and speak with him.”
“Maybe he went to talk to the government people again,” Taylor suggested.
“Possibly.” Or maybe he went to reload.
Chapter 2
Inconvenient Truth
I Will Fail You - Demon Hunter
Albin sped northeast along Redwood Shores Parkway, toward the Sandpiper Park baseball diamond. Polic
e cars passed, proceeding in the opposite direction.
The now-familiar headache pulsed behind his eyes, a drumbeat of pain. He removed his wire-rim glasses and pushed his thumb against his right temple.
When he arrived, he found Soldiers in the outfield, disassembling a hospital tent. The military had transferred its patients to San Francisco International Airport, the government’s ad hoc headquarters. A number of residents had tried to accompany their loved ones, but the government agents had warned them that limited space precluded this.
Several meters from the site stood a brunette in her mid twenties. She interviewed one of the Soldiers, holding her phone out to record his responses.
After parking the Tacoma on the sidewalk, Albin strode toward the reporter. “Ms. Josephine, where is Bridges? I need you both to come with me. Now.”
“I’m in the middle of an interview.” Josephine Behrmann of ABC Action News motioned to her subject.
Using the distraction, the Soldier wished her a hasty farewell before departing to offer instruction to one of his men.
“It is Mr. Serebus.”
“Where is he?” She leaned around to peer behind Albin as if the man in question would materialize. “Is he all right?”
“Where is Bridges?”
“What’s up?” Speaking of the Federal Reserve economist, he trotted toward them from a group of Soldiers near the dugout.
“Albin, did you find him? Did you ask him?” Bridges’s brown eyes blazed with an intensity that enhanced the bristling appearance of his product-spiked hair. “What did he say?” At this, he clutched Albin’s arm.
Extricating himself, Albin shook his head. “Get into the vehicle; I will explain on the way.”
“Albin, has something happened?” The blood drained from Behrmann’s face. Dread banished all thoughts of the interview.
“Come.” Albin led the way back to the truck. Once everyone climbed inside, he locked the doors.
“Where are we going?” Behrman asked from the passenger seat as she fastened her seatbelt. An excellent question.
“Away from here.”
“But—”
“Mr. Serebus is not . . . acting sensibly.” Albin shifted his shoulders in discomfort at the words.