Days Of Perdition: Voodoo Plague Book 6 Read online

  Days Of Perdition

  Voodoo Plague Book 6

  DIRK PATTON

  Text Copyright © 2015 by Dirk Patton

  Copyright © 2015 by Dirk Patton

  All Rights Reserved

  This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the copyright holder

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing, 2015

  ISBN-13: 978-1507585887

  ISBN-10: 1507585888

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, brands, 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.

  Table of Contents

  Author’s Note

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  46

  47

  48

  49

  ALSO BY DIRK PATTON

  Afterword

  Author’s Note

  Thank you for purchasing Days Of Perdition, Book 6 in the Voodoo Plague series. If you haven’t read the first five books you need to stop reading now and pick them up, otherwise you will be lost as this book is intended to continue the story in a serialized format. I intentionally did nothing to explain comments and events that reference book 1 through 5. Regardless, you have my heartfelt thanks for reading my work and I hope you’re enjoying the adventure as much as I am. As always, a good review on Amazon is greatly appreciated and the best way to ensure more books are published.

  Always on the run

  A destiny

  It’s the rising sun

  I was born

  A shotgun in my hands

  Behind the gun

  I'll make my final stand

  Bad Company - Five Finger Death Punch

  1

  Katie Chase cursed, jamming the transmission of her husband’s truck into reverse. As usual when she drove the mammoth beast he loved so much, she had pulled too far into the garage and slightly angled. She missed her little Mercedes, but John had left for Atlanta on a business trip early that morning and had driven her car because his truck was too tall to fit in the parking garage at the airport. She normally drove him when he flew so she didn’t have to give up her car, plus she liked that last goodbye kiss at the curb, but today she’d had a full schedule and no time for the more than hour long round trip.

  Finally getting into the right spot, Katie turned off the rumbling engine, grabbed her purse and yoga matt and jumped down from the driver’s seat. She had just finished an intense hour and a half yoga session followed by coffee with a friend and was running behind schedule. They’d dawdled too long. She still had to run five miles then spend half an hour kicking and punching the combat dummy set up on the far side of the garage.

  The treadmill was as boring as ever, but the time passed quickly with The Real Housewives of New Jersey playing on the TV. Taking a short break, Katie rehydrated then threw herself into attacking the man sized BOB or Body Opponent Bag. It was hot in the garage and by the end of her half hour workout she was dripping with sweat. Toweling off, she grabbed more Coconut water, shivered under the air conditioning in the house and headed for the back yard.

  Stepping out, the heat hit her like a physical presence. It was summertime in Arizona. She glanced at the thermometer. 113. It was only 1:30 in the afternoon, the hottest time of day still four hours away. Finishing her drink, Katie sat down on the shaded patio and checked the calendar on her phone. John’s flight would be landing within half an hour.

  He always texted to let her know he’d landed safely. Wanting to be ready to text him right back, she peeled off all of her sweat soaked clothes and dove nude into the sparkling blue pool. Half an hour later, refreshed from her swim, Katie grabbed her phone when it dinged to indicate she’d received a text message.

  “In ATL. Cops everywhere. Odd. Love U!” It was from John. Katie smiled and texted back, then gathered up her clothes and headed inside.

  Stepping out of the shower half an hour later, she dried off and paused to examine her body in a full-length mirror. Turning side to side she was pleased with what she saw and knew her husband certainly was. Despite years of marriage, John still acted like a teenager, always trying to sneak a peek and the damn man had the fastest hands she’d ever seen. She missed him already, and with a smile pulled on a lightweight sundress. She left her long, thick hair wet, knowing the Arizona summer air would suck the water out of it in no time.

  The remainder of the afternoon went by quickly. Katie went and had her nails done, came home and paid a few bills, shopped online for a bit, then prepared a lite dinner for herself. At 6:00 PM she gave up on waiting for John to call. It was 9:00 PM in Atlanta and she was surprised but not concerned that she hadn’t heard anything from him. She dialed his number, but the call went immediately to his voice mail. Hanging up without leaving a message she paused, considering the idea she’d just had. With a smile she ran into the closet, let the dress drop to the floor around her feet and once she had the pose she liked, snapped a pic of her naked body reflecting in the mirror. A moment later she texted the image to her husband, pulled the dress back on and returned to the living room.

  With a sigh, Katie turned the TV on and clicked through channels until she found something to watch. It wasn’t football and no one was shooting anyone, so she knew John would hate it. She tried his number a couple more times, but now she couldn’t even get his voicemail. The call just failed each time.

  Shortly after 8:30 she groaned when the show she was watching was interrupted. A “Breaking News” banner appeared diagonally across the screen and a deep male voice intoned that the network was interrupting the normally scheduled program with an urgent newsbreak.

  Five minutes after a harried news anchor began describing the nuclear detonations in New York, DC and LA, she snatched up her phone and tried to call John again. Call failed. She tried twice more with the same results, finally giving up and nearly flinging the phone across the room in frustration.

  Katie sat glued to the TV, wanting more information than what the talking head kept repeating. Intellectually she knew the network didn’t have any additional news to share, but emotionally she was furious that all she really knew was that nuclear bombs had been set off in three major American cities.

  “Stupid!” She said to herself when she remembered the satellite phone John kept for emergencies.

  Jumping to her feet she dashed into his office to the gun safe that took up half of one wall. She came to a stop when she looked at the keypad, unable to remember the combination. Thinking for a minute she ran back to the sofa where’d s
he left her iPhone and snatched it up. John had made her put the combination in the Notes app on the phone, despite her assurances that she’d remember the combination and her doubts that she’d ever need to open the safe on her own.

  Thankful that he had insisted, she punched in the number, the locking bolt clicking loudly when it released. Spinning the wheel she tugged the heavy door open and looked inside. A row of four assault rifles was centered, three shotguns to the left and two large caliber bolt action rifles with long distance scopes to the right. Two shelves held a variety of handguns. Below that on the floor of the safe were neatly arranged cases of ammunition and another shelf with stacks of loaded magazines.

  The inside of the door had several pockets and a thin, black cord disappeared out of one of these into the back of the safe where it was plugged in to an internal electrical outlet. Pulling open the Velcro cover, Katie retrieved a small satellite phone and hit the power button. While she waited for it to power up her eyes ran over the weapons.

  She may have settled into a suburban lifestyle, appearing to be nothing more than a spoiled housewife whose biggest concerns were working out and shopping, but Katie was hardly what she appeared. Nearly fifteen years as a case officer for the CIA had hardened and sharpened her. That may have been in her past, but once your eyes are opened the way that job had opened hers, you can never look at the world the same way again.

  Reaching into the safe, Katie grabbed one of John’s shotguns and quickly fed seven shells of buckshot into it. Carrying the weapon in both hands, she ran to the master bedroom and after laying it on the foot of the bed she pulled the dress over her head and tossed it onto the floor. She quickly pulled clothes out of a drawer, dressing in a pair of heavy cargo pants and a tank top with a black T-shirt over it. Dashing into the bathroom she took a moment to put her hair up in a ponytail then ran into her closet.

  In the back of the closet, behind boxes full of stylish high-heeled shoes, she found what she was looking for. A pair of desert tan combat boots that John had given her a couple of birthdays ago. She had been less than enthralled with the gift, but he’d made up for it by taking her dress shopping after dinner at her favorite restaurant.

  She’d only worn the boots when she’d gone out into the desert with him, but they were sturdy, supportive and had steel caps protecting her toes. Pulling them on, she laced them up and paused a moment to remember the right way to tie them so they stayed tied. Dressed, she grabbed a small backpack and ran to the bedroom where she threw in some clean underwear and a change of clothes.

  Shotgun in hand and pack over her shoulder, Katie quickly returned to the safe. She threaded a holster and a magazine carrier onto her belt and grabbed John’s favorite pistol. It was a large frame .45 caliber and five loaded magazines were neatly stacked next to it. Slapping one of those into the weapon, she racked the slide to chamber a round, set the safety on and holstered the heavy gun. Two more loaded mags went into the carrier on her belt, the last two tossed into her pack along with a box of fifty shotgun shells.

  Placing the pack between the door to the garage and the front door, Katie racked the shotgun to load a round and leaned it up against the wall. Feeling marginally more secure, she made sure the keys for the big Ford were in her pocket before picking up the sat phone again. She had just turned on the screen, peering at it to see if the phone had locked onto a satellite signal when the doorbell rang.

  Katie jumped and almost dropped the phone, barely suppressing a small scream. Taking a deep breath she forced herself to calm down. Training at the CIA’s Farm at Camp Peary in Virginia had been a long time ago. Work in the field where keeping her thoughts, feelings and emotions in check could mean the difference between life and death was something she had put behind her, but by the time the bell rang a second time she had calmed her breathing and heart rate.

  John had been known to answer the door with a weapon in his hand if they weren’t expecting visitors. Even though they lived in an upscale community with large, iron gates restricting access, he constantly reminded her that the gates only kept out people with good intentions. Part of her felt a little foolish as she drew the pistol and clicked the safety off, her index finger resting along the outside of the trigger guard.

  But the practical side that had served her so well for many years was coming out. Katie had seen firsthand how swiftly society could disintegrate in response to a disaster, whether natural or man-made in origin. She’d done a tour in Bosnia and a few other hotspots around the world during her time with the Agency, and knew that neighbor could and would turn on neighbor. Stepping to the door she looked through the spy hole, relieved when she recognized her friends from two doors down.

  Holstering the pistol, Katie unbolted and opened the door. The older couple standing there smiled at her and she quickly ushered them in before closing and bolting the door behind them.

  “We know John’s out of town and we wanted to check on you, dear.” Janice Wilson said, concern creasing her still beautiful face as she looked Katie up and down.

  “I’m fine,” Katie said, leading the way deeper into the house where all of them paused to stare at the horrific images playing on the TV. After a few minutes the husband, Mike Wilson, broke the silence.

  “You look better prepared than we are,” he said, pointedly glancing at the pistol on Katie’s hip and the shotgun resting by the front door.

  “Well, you know John.” Katie said with a forced smile. She wasn’t one who liked to show her emotions to other people. John was different. He was her husband, but she had no interest in this disintegrating into a crying jag with Janice.

  “Have you heard from him?” Janice asked, taking a seat on a bar stool at the kitchen island.

  “I got a text when he arrived in Atlanta this afternoon, but nothing since. I was just going to try to get through with a satellite phone.” She held the phone up for them to see.

  While they watched, Katie checked the signal lock again, muttering to herself when it still said ‘searching’. Walking out into the back yard she moved out from under the roof that covered the patio and stood by the edge of the pool, nothing between the phone and the sky above. The phone quickly locked onto a signal and she dialed John’s number.

  Her heart skipped a beat when it started ringing, but it only rang once then she received an “all circuits are busy – please try your call again later” message. She tried three more times with the same results, shaking her head when Mike and Janice walked out and stood next to her on the pool deck.

  Mike looked calm, or as calm as anyone could, but Janice appeared to be heading down the path to hysteria. Her husband circled his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, gently rubbing her shoulder. Suddenly Katie just wanted them to leave. She had her own worries, and didn’t need to be burdened with anyone else’s.

  “Do you have anything to drink?” Mike asked. “I think we could all use a stiff shot and see what we can find out about what’s going on.”

  Katie looked at him, considering asking them to leave, but despite his outward demeanor she could tell that Mike was only keeping it together for Janice’s benefit. Compassion won out and she led the way inside and pulled a bottle of vodka out of the freezer.

  2

  Katie poured three shots that were all downed quickly. The ice-cold alcohol was smooth at first, but blossomed into a pleasant fire when it hit her stomach. She wanted a second shot, but was more concerned with keeping her head clear. Her guests weren’t so pragmatic. When Katie didn’t pour another round Mike picked up the bottle and refilled his and his wife’s glasses. The second shots disappeared as quickly as the first and he was reaching for a third when Katie put her hand on his.

  “Maybe that’s enough for now, Mike.” She said. “We need to stay sharp.”

  Janice pushed their hands out of the way and poured herself a third, which she swallowed in a single gulp, refilling her glass before Katie could take the bottle away and return it to the freezer.

 
; “OK, that’s really enough.” She said, her tone firm. “I don’t need either of you getting drunk.”

  Mike nodded and they moved to the couches arranged in the large room where the TV was located.

  The news was looping footage from military drones showing the devastation of New York City. The anchor had caught his stride and was narrating non-stop, managing to not give out any new information while at the same time not repeating himself. Then they cut away to a video that had been uploaded from LA. It had obviously been shot with a cell phone and showed two mushroom clouds climbing into the evening sky.

  The video lasted for nearly a minute and the three of them were riveted to the screen. When the video ended the network restarted it, the anchor continuing to babble about the horrific attacks. He said he wouldn’t speculate on who was responsible, then immediately opined that the attacks were most likely the work of a radical Islamist terrorist group.

  Katie shook her head at the man’s ignorance. This wasn’t terrorism. This was a state sponsored attack. An act of war. She well knew how dangerous the terrorists were, but the thought of any group being able to get there hands on what was being reported as a minimum of ten nuclear weapons, and use them in such a precise and coordinated manner was ludicrous. This was most likely North Korea or Iran. It had to be some country with leaders that were so out of touch with reality that they thought they could successfully attack the US and get away with it.

  The images on the screen changed again, switching to a reporter in Chicago, drawing Katie’s attention back to the TV.

  “…thousands of people have been affected by whatever was released from the small plane, perhaps tens of thousands.” The reporter was a blonde woman, standing on a street corner in downtown Chicago. In the background dozens of bodies were clearly visible lying on the pavement, the sidewalk or in one case draped across the hood of a car. The respirator the reporter was wearing muffled the woman’s voice, and she would have looked ridiculous if not for the terror that was plain in her eyes.