Omega Days (Book 2): Ship of the Dead by John L. Campbell Read Free Book Online

It’s my show. If you don’t like it, you can get out right now.”
    TC looked back at his boots.
    “And the next time you act like you want to throw down with me, you get ready to bleed. Now don’t talk for a while.”
    Carney watched the headlights crawl down a vacant street that a sign at a corner identified as Avenue F. He suppressed a shudder, relieved that his cellmate was properly cowed once more, at least for the moment, and reminded himself to never forget what TC was: an animal, violent and dangerous, and most of all unpredictable. He could go from smiling to rage in a finger snap, and despite his hot-tempered challenge to the younger man, Carney wasn’t at all convinced that if they went to war, he would come out on top.
    And then there was the matter of what Calvin had told him, that he had interrupted TC when he was alone with the girl. Had something happened? Carney had warned his cellmate to stay away from her, threatened retribution if he didn’t. How far was he prepared to go? He decided now wasn’t the time, and besides, the girl was safe. That black dude with the scar looked like he could give TC a good fight if it came to that. And as for the girl, Carney still wasn’t sure why he felt so protective. Was it because she was about how old his own daughter would have been if she hadn’t choked to death as a toddler? No, he hadn’t even known her. Was it because, inside, Carney had never been able to abide seeing the helpless have no one to take their side?
    Bullshit,
he told himself, curling his lip. Who was he to even try on high morals like that? Wasn’t he the one who left a row of helpless men chained to a bar so they could be eaten by the dead? And hadn’t it been him with that baseball bat in his hands, beating two people to death while they slept? Right, Bill Carnes, champion of the helpless. He wanted to spit. He was a killer and a convict, nothing more. Better to keep things in the short term, stay alert and stay alive, and figure things out as they came. Leave the philosophy to people who could swallow it without choking.
    Ahead, the kid and his girl were sitting on their motorcycle, surrounded by enormous aircraft hangars and stopped in the street as it made a turn to the right, waiting for them to catch up. When the Bearcat trundled up to them, the kid gave a thumbs-up and motored down the new street, apparently the last one before the hangars gave way to the airfield beyond.
    Carney checked his side mirror, saw that Calvin and his people were still behind him, and followed.
    •   •   •
    A re these people with you?” Vladimir asked, looking across the airfield toward the single beam of a motorcycle and the lights of a larger truck behind it. They were several hundred yards away. The Russian helicopter pilot felt exposed, and wished he were airborne.
    “I don’t think so,” Margaret Chu said slowly. “Elson! Jerry!” Standing near the white seniors van and the vintage Cadillac, the two men—one a lawyer, and the other, a rotund, stand-up comic named Jerry—retrieved a shotgun and handgun, and came to stand beside Margaret and the Russian near the helicopter. A high school–aged girl named Meagan, who didn’t speak much and avoided direct eye contact, joined them. She carried a lawn mower blade as a weapon, and had refused to be parted from it since the day Angie West found her during a scouting trip and brought her into the group. The blade was stained red, and Meagan would not wipe it away.
    Sophia, the self-appointed keeper of orphans, remained with the children in the van, and the others stayed close to the vehicles. Learning that the Black Hawk was not part of a larger force and was out of fuel had been crushing to every survivor who had come together under Angie’s protection in the Alameda firehouse. They had left their sanctuary in hopes of rescue, but they had also been forced to leave because of one man’s treachery.
    Vladimir slipped his small automatic