Only the Strong Page 2

  The cruiser’s radio crackled to life and a voice said, “Command, this is Overwatch 2. You’ve got a car parked along your route about twenty miles ahead.”

  Before Marcus could give the order, the scout came back with, “10-4. This is Forward 2. Proceeding to intercept.”

  The next few moments dragged on as Marcus waited for the scout to reach the site of the potential ambush. He held his breath in anticipation. Finally, the senior officer in the scout car reported, “Appears to be a genuine breakdown. Male and a female are outside the vehicle flagging me over.”

  Marcus grabbed the radio receiver and said, “Go in hot! Take them down and ask questions once they’re secured.”

  “They seem scared to death. If it’s a real breakdown, they’ve been out here for quite some time with no traffic flowing past. They—”

  “That’s an order. Take them down hard and fast. Apologize later, once the scene is secured.”

  “Roger, Command.”

  A moment passed, and Marcus said, “Overwatch, do you have eyes on?”

  “Affirmative. The suspects have been subdued.”

  After another pause, one of the cops in the scout car said, “Command, we’ve got a nine-month-old baby in the back seat. Should we arrest her as well? I don’t think my cuffs will fit.”

  Marcus gritted his teeth and took a deep breath before responding, “No need for cuffs. But you may want to have the dog sniff the kid’s car seat for explosives. Don’t forget for a second the kind of people we’re dealing with. The type who would slaughter that whole family and wear their blood like war paint if it furthered their cause. Don’t let your guard down for a second.”

  “Roger, Command.”

  Marcus added, “And the rest of you, remember . . . I don’t care if your grandmother or your baby sister is in the middle of that road. We stop for nothing.”

  ~~*~~

  Chapter Three

  Corin Campbell now saw the skull face everywhere she went. At first, she thought it was a prank, some kids hacking Facebook accounts and messing with people. But now, she had seen the face in real life.

  At least, she thought she had. Or maybe her eggs really were scrambled, as her sister had been proclaiming for years. Corin wasn’t sure anymore. If all she knew of reality was to be believed, then some nightmare from a slasher film had come to life and now stalked her every movement. The fear was almost crippling, and Corin was not the type to scare easily.

  She had first noticed the skull face appearing in the background of some of her Facebook and Instagram selfies, mostly group shots walking down the street or standing outside a restaurant. In the most recent photo, the figure had been standing right outside her window.

  She was almost positive the skull face hadn’t been there before, when she had first posted the pics. The appearance of the nightmare figure could have been the simple result of a hacked account, just some teenager with a MacBook Pro and a rudimentary knowledge of Photoshop.

  Still, she couldn’t say that with certainty. She had checked for evidence of photo doctoring and received the response from a local computer repair shop that the photos “appeared to be doctored, but results were inconclusive.” She still hadn’t figured out what the hell that meant. It was a politician’s response, one that said a whole lot and absolutely nothing in the same breath.

  Then, yesterday, she had glimpsed the skull face in a passing car and again on the shadowed visage of a man standing in a doorway across the street. But that had to be a product of her imagination. Lack of sleep from studying had teamed up with a sick social-media prank, assaulting her subconscious to the point of delirium.

  After all, she hadn’t been the only one affected. A Google search revealed that the hacking had affected several woman throughout the northwestern United States. The case had grown to full-blown urban legend status. Skullface, as someone on the Internet had named the man in the skull mask, had joined the ranks of other digital-era folklore like Slender Man and the Shadow People.

  Her searches had turned up claims that other hacking victims had gone missing, but she dismissed them as false news, like those fake celebrity death articles that kept popping up all over social media. Still, part of Corin kept thinking that if Skullface was real, then his message was obvious: he was watching, and he was coming for her.

  The skull mask, in what she hoped were doctored pics, had been fashioned from some sort of blood-stained metal. But the bone structure of the skull couldn’t have been that of a man. More like a demon or an extinct predatory creature, like a T-Rex. Or some hybrid of both. The metal fangs were less like teeth and more long, jagged shards of torn metal, broken and misshapen and curled up slightly into a sadistic smile.

  If it was real, then it was obviously some sort of hideous mask. Halloween costumes didn’t scare her. But guys who wore them while stalking her most certainly did.

  She considered taking the whole thing to the police, but with no proof other than a few inconclusively doctored photos, the cops would be more of a hindrance than a help. She could take care of herself. She had done so her whole life. And if this nut-job in the mask thought she would be an easy target, then he was in for a surprise.

  Exiting the building after her last class at San Francisco University, Corin pictured Skullface around every corner as she made the long, dark journey up the concrete parking structure to her car. The images were fresh in her mind’s eye as she heard footsteps slapping concrete.

  Someone was following her. Should she turn around? Face her pursuer? Attack? Make a run for the car? Scream?

  Trying to move casually, Corin slipped her hand into the pocket of her jacket and gripped the handle of a spring-assisted knife. She could pull the weapon and release the blade swiftly with a mere twist of her thumb.

  Timing the approach of the footsteps, she played out each movement in her mind.

  Duck, twist, pull the blade, kick.

  The footsteps had increased in rhythm. The sounds growing closer.

  “Hey!” he yelled.

  He was rushing her blitzkrieg-style. He had underestimated her, which wasn’t surprising. Even her fiancé called her “Mouse,” and sometimes she truly hated him for it. Corin was petite, with bronze skin and dark hair inherited from her Brazilian mother, but being five foot four hardly meant she was defenseless.

  Although, she supposed that was the image she had chosen to portray. Just a normal girl. Just like any other college student. Only Corin and her sister, Samantha, knew the truth.

  Again, the man shouted, “Hey!” just as the footsteps reached her.

  Not waiting for the rest of the sentence, Corin spun on her attacker, pulled her blade, and kicked out at groin level. Her foot collided with the man’s crotch, doubling him over in pain and dropping him to his knees. She stepped forward, jamming the knife against his throat as he wheezed in agony.

  Corin fought to calm her breathing as she stared down at her pursuer’s face.

  His name was Michael.

  She recognized him from the accounting class she had just completed. Her phone lay on the ground beside Michael’s feet, where he had apparently just dropped it.

  She felt like a complete idiot. The poor guy was simply trying to return her property, and she had gone all Jason Bourne on him.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, closing the knife against her thigh and slipping it back into her pocket.

  “Phone,” Michael wheezed as she helped him to his feet.

  “I saw that. Thanks. But hey, a girl can’t be too careful these days, right?”

  “I think I’m going to throw up.”

  She winced. “Yeah. How are your nuts? They didn’t, like, go back up in there or anything, did they?”

  ~~*~~

  Chapter Four

  About an hour into their journey, the helicopter passed over an affluent suburb. Looking at
the expensive dwellings, which were barely used—most sitting empty during the day and half the night—Ackerman pondered: If the Creator were to look down upon the poverty-stricken lands of the third world and what some called “civilized” society, would Elohim judge prosperity in the same way that humankind did? Or would the world be seen in reverse?

  Over his radio headset, Maggie’s muffled voice said, “Anything interesting in those files I gave you?”

  Ackerman had wondered how long it would be before Maggie asked him about his review of the files regarding her brother’s abduction at the hands of a serial offender known as the Taker. He had wanted to wait until Demon was safely stowed away before broaching a subject that could become a distraction.

  “I’ll tell you later.”

  “Tell me what later?” She leaned forward and grabbed his arm, meeting his gaze. “Did you find something?”

  “Perhaps, but I know how easily distracted you normals can become and—”

  She squeezed his arm, her nostrils flaring and her eyes going wild.

  With a roll of his own eyes, Ackerman said, “If you insist. How silly of me to think that the current assignment takes precedence over a twenty-year-old cold case, but regardless, as I was reviewing some of the police reports I discovered that your father consistently said things like ‘They took my son’ and ‘Why aren’t you out finding them?’ He always referred to the abductors in the plural.”

  “My father’s not a reliable witness. He was probably too out of it to have seen anything.”

  “Yes, it seems the local police felt the same. They focused so heavily on him as a suspect that it tainted their entire view of the case. And, of course, we know for certain that your father was not the culprit, don’t we, little sister?”

  “What’s your point?”

  “Their view of your father’s story subconsciously biased their questioning of the neighbors. One of the investigators was kind enough to record his interviews on cassette. Do you know how hard it is to locate a Walkman these days?”

  She grabbed his arm again, this time digging in with her nails. The pain shot sweet tendrils of ecstasy through his body. He pulled his arm away and said, “I will kindly ask you to refrain from showing me your appreciation. I feel it’s strangely inappropriate given the nature of our common-law sibling relationship.”

  Maggie sat back, gritted her teeth, and closed her eyes. Her lips mouthed the numbers from one to ten as stray strands of her blonde hair blew across her face. He assumed he must have somehow inadvertently angered her. The encounter warranted further study during a quiet moment.

  Finally, she said, “Will you please just tell me?”

  “See. Was that so hard? You lived at the end of a dead-end street just off a county highway, with well-traveled roads to the north and south. People probably turned onto your road accidentally and wheeled back around all the time. The abduction occurred on a Saturday, and all but one of your neighbors were home. It was a nice day. Chances are some of them could have been outside and seen the vehicle.”

  “Okay, great. Get on with it!”

  Ackerman whispered, “If you’d shut your mouth long enough to listen to what I’m saying, perhaps you could use your brain to make the same deductions I have. Alternatively, you could allow me to finish explaining this nonsense. Maybe even soon enough to get back to the task at hand before we miss the whole escape. We’re supposed to be on Overwatch not Overlook.”

  “Fine. I’m sorry. Please go on,” she said, eyes closed.

  Ackerman doubted her sincerity but soldiered on nonetheless. “The investigators asked your neighbors if they’d seen anything ‘suspicious’ or ‘out of the ordinary.’ They didn’t ask if they had seen any cars drive past at the time of the abduction, which could have corroborated your father’s story.”

  He finally saw the wheels turning in Maggie’s eyes. She sat back and turned her eyes to the convoy. He did the same, happy to retrain his focus on things of more pressing significance.

  ~~*~~

  Chapter Five

  From above, ADX Florence looked like a Martian colony viewed through a telescope. The buildings seemed to hunker low to the ground, as if hiding from the unhindered attacks of the wind. Ackerman watched out the chopper’s side window as the convoy pulled through the facility’s front gates and wound its way to the concrete bunker that would be Demon’s new home. The vehicles came to a stop in waves like the curling humps of a caterpillar. The officers in the lead cars fanned out to cover the transport. Marcus had told them all several times that they were not to let their guard down until they were driving home. The armored vehicle came to a stop in front of a set of large metal doors in the side of one of the squat structures. The trailing cars flowed in behind it, and with armed prison guards opening the doors through which Demon would be wheeled inside, the officers stacked up and opened the rear of the armored transport.

  Even from hundreds of feet in the air, Ackerman could tell something was wrong.

  The tiny forms of men stood absolutely still for a few seconds and then turned their attention outward. Another small dot ran over to the transport. Ackerman guessed that to be his brother.

  Thinking of his younger brother, Ackerman caught himself rubbing at the base of his skull. The powers that be had deemed him too much of a risk to let loose on the world without a leash, and so they had surgically fastened a satellite-controlled chip onto the base of his spine, loaded with a small charge adequate to blow a hole in his spinal column. They explained that the chip couldn’t be removed by anyone but their doctors without also removing his ability to walk, and if he tried to block the signal, the chip would detonate after a certain amount of time.

  He hadn’t liked the idea of the chip, but he also wasn’t afraid of a challenge. And he still wasn’t completely convinced that they had even inserted a tracking chip, or that they had the power to remotely terminate his life.

  After a moment, Marcus’s voice came over the radio, crackling inside Ackerman’s headset like an angry blowfly. Marcus said, “It’s empty. Demon’s gone. He just disappeared from a moving vehicle.”

  Turning to the pilot, Ackerman said, “Get me on the ground.”

  “We don’t have clearance for that.”

  “It’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission. Now, put this thing on the ground, or I’ll toss you out and do it myself. And I’m not just saying that to sound tough. I will literally throw you out and land the chopper myself.”

  The pilot’s brow furrowed. “Do you even have a pilot’s license?”

  “I have five thousand hours.”

  From the rear of the cabin, Maggie said, “Just do as he says. Now. Or I’ll let my colleague here be all that he can be.”

  ~~*~~

  Chapter Six

  The Gladiator most enjoyed watching the women in the days right before he took them. He regarded this period as the haunting of the victim because he was always there in the background, watching and waiting, like a hungry poltergeist. It was all about the anticipation, that pregnant joy before the main event. In many ways, he approached martial arts in the same way he did hunting. He reacted to an opponent if necessary, but, whenever possible, he would set a trap and wait.

  Although she wasn’t his normal type of prey, Corin Campbell was his adversary on this evening. Typically, his victims were more physically imposing than the petite college student. Still, he had no moral objection to harming a weaker creature. He didn’t believe in morality. As Nietzsche had said, “Fear is the mother of morality,” and the Gladiator had yet to find an opponent worthy of his fear.

  Corin wouldn’t put up much of a fight, unlike his preferred victims, but she was very special for other reasons, which was why she had been chosen.

  Now, standing in the closet of her spare bedroom, wearing the skull mask—which he considered his true face—the Gladiator’s excit
ement grew.

  He wondered if Corin could taste the anticipation as well. He had been following her for the past few days and giving her glimpses of Skullface, an Internet-born nomenclature which he didn’t particularly care for. He wanted her to feel him coming closer, a mythical urban legend haunting her every step.

  The Gladiator had worked hard to nurture that legend, at least within a one-hundred-mile radius of San Francisco.

  He had begun by hacking the Facebook accounts of several women throughout his hunting zone. He would then doctor their photos, adding the face of death somewhere in the background. But photos weren’t enough to build a legend and infect the subconscious minds of a populace. It had made him a trending topic among young women between the ages of twenty and twenty-five, but it was just a silly prank. At least, that’s what they told themselves. The kind of thing that was as inevitable as getting the flu in the digital age: a simple hacked account.

  Things became a little more real for the ladies when the digital lines of communication sparked with strange tales of hacking victims going missing, simply vanishing into thin air as if the boogeyman had carried them off to his dark realm. And, in truth, that wasn’t far from what had actually happened to those other missing women—the same thing that was about to happen to Corin Campbell.

  ~~*~~

  Chapter Seven

  Marcus closed his eyes against the onslaught of dust and chips of gravel kicked up by the chopper’s rotor wash. Tiny splinters of rock stung his skin like a pissed-off hive of hornets. He was always a little surprised at the strength of those blades, even from a good distance away.

  His brother and Maggie dropped from the chopper’s cab, hunched against the power of the rotors, and hustled toward him. Ackerman yelled, “Show me the transport.”