Wolves of the Apocalypse:
Ways of Darkness
Book 2
By LC Champlin
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Wolves of the Apocalypse: Behold Darkness, by LC Champlin.
EBook published by Wulfram Cross Enterprises LLC, Blairsville GA, USA.
www.lcchamplin.com
© 2018 LC Champlin
contact@lcchamplin.com
Edited by Lucid Edit
Cover by me, since apparently if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself – even if you try to pay someone.
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.
Special thanks to…
My beta readers in the ARC Pack 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.
Table of Contents:
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 33
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 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
Chapter 98
Chapter 99
Chapter 100
Chapter 101
Chapter 102
Chapter 103
Chapter 104
Chapter 105
Chapter 106
Chapter 107
Chapter 108
Chapter 109
Chapter 110
Proverbs 2:10-15
For wisdom will enter your heart
And knowledge will be pleasant to your soul;
Discretion will guard you,
Understanding will watch over you,
To deliver you from the way of evil,
From the man who speaks perverse things;
From those who leave the paths of uprightness
To walk in the ways of darkness;
Who delight in doing evil
And rejoice in the perversity of evil;
Whose paths are crooked,
And who are devious in their ways;
Chapter 1
After Shock
Rise - State of Mind
Smoke black as unconsciousness billowed from the Hercules C-130 crash across the San Francisco Bay. Nathan Serebus stood to his full six-two at the view: the soot marked his grave, or it would if his injuries hadn’t forced him to miss his flight.
In his periphery, his three companions on the parked military flatbed stared at the pyre in horror and disbelief.
The buildings across the water obstructed his view. Height. He needed to climb. There, top of the semi’s cab.
Legs back online after the shock of escaping death, he stalked to the ladder on the cab’s side. Leaning around, he caught a wrung. Pain blazed along his ribs as the fractures reminded him what falling fifteen feet onto one’s chest did to the body. Darkness lapped at his vision. His grip loosened and his knees went weak. Be strong. Climb. Let the bones God broke rejoice.
His Nikes squeaked on the metal as he conquered the summit. On his feet again, higher than the others, he inhaled. One, two, three, four seconds. Hold. The morphine in his system dulled breathing’s pain.
In the last forty hours, life had gone from throwing the gauntlet to launching a cruise missile at him. Terrorists, cannibals, explosions—what didn’t kill him mangled him. But he arose victorious, evolving from prey to wolf, then to the amarok wolf of legend that stalked the hunter foolish enough to venture into the woods at night.
Evolve. Attack. Dominate.
“From Chaos came forth Erebus and black Night,” he murmured.
Nineveh spread around him, a maze of concrete canyons. Smoke rose at intervals along the skyline. Sirens wailed, banshees in broad daylight. Horns honked as people fled the city. Ash in the sky, blood in the streets. God spared him to conquer, not warn, the city He judged.
Movement on the right returned his attention to his people. Most fantasy apocalypse teams boasted superheroes, supervillains, and Chuck Norris. They didn’t feature an attorney, a reporter, and an economist. The armchair generals could have their stars; he couldn’t ask for better than his pack. Tried by fire, they emerged as gold, or at least alive and sane.
That said, he would trade them all save Albin—his attorney, adviser, and friend—to have Janine at his side. Hair as red as fire, beauty to rival Helen of Troy’s, and most importantly, an intellect as sharp and cold as a scalpel. Together, he and Janine would put a new spin on the saying, “They fight like a married couple.” More accurately, fighting by her side would mean that he and Albin were occupying East-Coast territory. Home.
The exhilaration of a moment ago dipped as his arms ached to hold his wife and little boy again. For now, he would have to take conso
lation in the fact that Janine and Davie remained safe in Upstate New York, clear of the attacks on NYC and many of the country’s other major cities, including San Francisco.
To his right, Marvin Bridges of the Federal Reserve sat hunched on the edge of the trailer, face buried so deeply in his hands that his fingers disappeared in his brown hair’s spikes. To his left, Josephine Behrmann of ABC 7 Action News watched the Hercules’s desolation through her smartphone’s camera screen.
Cresting the ladder, Albin Conrad stepped onto the cab roof with a leopard’s grace, putting to shame his employer’s scramble. His wire rims flashed in the sun as he adjusted them between thumb and ring finger.
Nathan gave a smile as cold as his adviser’s ice-blue gaze. “Carpe noctem. Ad victorium.”
“Para bellum.” At these words, Brit heritage overpowered the Nowhere-USA half of Albin’s accent.
“As should any who desire peace.”
The blond turned back toward the C-130 crash site. Its smoke rose like that of a sacrifice on an altar. He reached up to the unbuttoned collar of his Armani dress shirt, then let his hand fall when he found no tie to straighten. “This is a war unlike any America has ever seen, sir.”
“Then it will provide opportunities unlike any we’ve ever seen.” Nathan clapped his friend on the shoulder. “God spared us for a reason: to make order out of chaos.”
“God?” Albin raised a brow.
“Yes. And since we’re grounded for a week due to my lung—”
“A fortnight, actually.”
“Two, then. We might as well make the most of our time. The night is ours, Albin.”
“I am more concerned about the day.”
Shouts joined the emergency-vehicle sirens that howled across the Bay. Forty yards away, military personnel emerged from the hulking gray garage that represented the National Guard Armory. Most wanted a better view of the disaster, but a squad of combat-ready Department of Homeland Security officers had other concerns, namely Nathan and his colleagues on the flatbed. Nathan sighed as the grunts pointed at him. “We’ve got company,” he announced for Jo and Marvin. “I’m sure Director Washington will blame the explosion on us too.”
Albin started toward the ladder. “I highly doubt they plan to congratulate us on our survival.”
Nathan stared at the oncoming DHS squad. Suddenly the officers’ faces turned white, blistered. Motor oil drooled from their mouths as rust-red eyes locked on him. He squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head. When he looked up—ah, humans again.
The terrorists who had unleashed the monster-creating contagion called them Dalits. The Untouchables. The Unclean. Appropriate, considering the oil they drooled and bled could infect anyone who touched it.
The reflection flickered for a lightning-strike instant. In the flash, a bestial silhouette looked back with golden eyes. His throat closed while his heart double-kicked. Then his face returned.
“Sir.” Albin’s voice jolted him.
Shivering, Nathan resumed his descent. Hallucinations. Again. The morphine, Ativan, and whatever else polluted his blood opened doors to dark places.
He dropped to the ground beside Albin as the DHS officers formed a perimeter about the four civilians. MP5 submachine guns waited for the chance to stop a threat. One of the squad stepped forward. “Let’s go, people. The Director wants you back in your quarters.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the Armory.
“I’m sure she does,” Josephine replied as she panned across the group with her phone.
Marvin’s attention remained on the crash site’s smoke billowing across the Bay.
“It’s for safety,” the spokesman assured them as black-clad officers closed around their charges.
Nathan snorted. “Famous last words.”
As they trudged toward “safety,” Albin eyed him. “Are you well, Mr. Serebus?”
“I just survived a collapsed lung, have three broken ribs, and look like I lost a fight with Tyson. Why wouldn’t I be?” He forced a sarcastic smile.
The blond’s frown deepened. “Did we not just have a discussion about honesty?”
Nathan wiped sweat off his face with the sleeve of his T-shirt. The noontime California sunshine wanted to roast him. “It’s just the meds.”
“I see.”
“What about you?” On the surface, trauma and emotions affected the attorney like rain affected sharks. Still waters harbored leviathans, though.
Albin glanced over his shoulder at the brunette reporter, who gave them a smile. As usual, he wanted to appear competent and unmoved, especially in front of the media.
“You’re fine, as always,” Nathan answered himself.
The squad acted as a crowd breaker through the service members and into the Armory’s garage. An olive-drab Stryker rolled past, rumbling on eight wheels but every bit as imposing as a battle tank. Another armored personnel carrier idled as troops boarded. Humvees and utility cargo pickups came and went. Others waited as support crews loaded them with water bottles and supplies.
Despite the confusion, Marvin stared ahead, following the officers like a zombie. Nathan stepped up. “Bridges.” Nothing. “Marvin.” He caught his shoulder.
The economist flinched as if awakened. “Y-yeah. What?”
Get his brain moving forward. “Do you know where to get bottles of water here?”
“Uh, the cafeteria?”
“I need you to do me a favor: get eight and put four in your room and four in Josephine’s. If there’s packaged food, stock up on that as well.” Give a person a mission and a reason, and you improved their morale.
“I think I can manage.” The usual sarcasm returned.
“Thank you.”
Helicopter rotors thrummed near the Armory, making Nathan turn back to the garage entrance. The DHS officers nearest him paused, but before they could drag him along, shouts of, “Make a path! Medics coming through!” interrupted. A team of medical staff in fatigues trotted past, wheeling a stretcher.
A Black Hawk descended. Downwash blew dust across the concrete. The door slid open, an invitation to the medics.
Nathan stepped back for balance as someone pulled his shoulder rearward. The din around him faded to static. Images of the inside of a Black Hawk flooded his mind: Restraints. Medics holding him down. Pain across his chest. Why couldn’t he get any air? A flash of Albin upside down, pinning him with an ice-blue stare, insisting on—
“Sir?”
Panting, chest burning, Nathan looked about. The visions evaporated. He gulped against a dry throat. He started after the others, to the gratification of the DHS sheepdogs, but kept an eye over his shoulder.
The medics inside the chopper exited, a patient on a backboard between them. But as they transferred their charge to the stretcher, the injured man reared up and swiped at the medics like a grizzly. Reflexes saved them. The other personnel grabbed his limbs while the medics cinched down safety belts.
Nathan halted again as his brain caught up with his eyes: the patient had a white face and black mouth. Too far to see eye color, but . . .
The golden eyes of the amarok blazed in the night forest of his mind. Don’t just stand there like prey; warn them.
“Cannibal. Cannibal!”
Chapter 2
Cry, Wolf
Son of a Wolfe - Powerwolf
The shout caught the DHS squad’s attention. “Come on, sir—”
Nathan stepped forward, only t
o meet closed ranks of officers. Idiots! “You have to shoot him!” He jabbed a finger at the monster on the stretcher. “He’ll infect everyone if you don’t put a bullet in his head.”
“Calm down, sir.” The nearest officer raised a hand while the other hovered over the Taser at his belt. His comrade favored the baton.
The cannibal on the stretcher occupied the medics’ attention as they hustled through the Armory, toward the front doors.
“You’re wasting time,” Nathan snarled as he tried to sidestep the human barrier.
“Mr. Serebus.”
A hand on his shoulder. He pulled free, but the DHS man blocked him. “Move!”
Then his arms went out as someone reached under them and around the back of his head. Fire lanced over his ribs. He staggered, the assailant’s foot on the back of his knee.
“Stop,” Albin hissed in his ear, wrestling him back.
Nathan dropped to a knee. “Get off!”
“Stop before they force you.” More hands restrained him. Ah, everything hurt!
“He’s . . . a cannibal!”
“He is combative, like you were. He is not cannibalistic.”
The stretcher sped past. Its occupant looked . . . human. Pale, bleeding from the mouth after a chest wound, but definitely human.
Two DHS officers slammed Nathan to his chest. Fractures screamed, taking vengeance at the assault. Darkness narrowed his view. “Fine,” he gasped.
“He is no threat.” Albin dismissed the grunts, who backed off with reluctance. He helped his employer up.
Breath came in ragged gasps while the pain subsided. I saw it. I know I saw it. “I . . . I was mistaken.” Flashbacks superimposed on reality? He clenched his fists to stop the tremors. Inhale for one, two—Ribs burned, caught him mid breath.
“Better safe than sorry,” Marvin put in.
Josephine’s brow furrowed as she stepped closer. “Nathan, are you—”
“Don’t worry.” Her concern made his skin crawl. Blast, the whole misadventure made him feel like spiders scurried over his flesh.
“What the fuck, Serebus?” a woman’s familiar voice cut through the chatter. The DHS minions turned to allow one of their own through. Though the top of her head came only to most of their shoulders, the Latina stormed up with more don’t-mess-with-me attitude than a honey badger. And she most assuredly did care.