Myrikal Read online

  Appropriate for Teens, Intriguing to Adults

  Immortal Works LLC

  1505 Glenrose Drive

  Salt Lake City, Utah 84104

  Tel: (385) 202-0116

  © 2019 Holli Anderson

  http://www.holli-anderson.com

  Cover Art by Mackenzie Seidel

  http://mackenzieseidel.weebly.com

  Formatted by FireDrake Designs

  http://www.firedrakedesigns.com

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For more information email [email protected] or visit http://www.immortal-works.com/contact

  ISBN 978-1-7324674-6-0 (Paperback)

  AISN B07M6GKJ5J (Kindle Edition)

  This book is dedicated to my dad; the toughest old cowboy I’ve ever known. You’ll always be my superhero. I love you.

  Contents

  I. Russ and Karly

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  II. Myrikal and Branch

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  III. Myrikal, Branch, and Central Park

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  IV. Just Myrikal

  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

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Russ crept silently down the long, dark alley lined by dilapidated buildings. Similar to all the other dilapidated buildings in Manhattan. In every city. Everywhere. He remembered a time when this place had been pristine. When the noise of traffic in the streets and people rushing about would have covered up any sound he and Karly inadvertently made. He glanced at his wife, dressed all in black like him, stepping carefully over broken glass a few feet to the side of him. When the world broke almost a decade ago, she’d been his rock—the only reason he’d kept going instead of giving in to despair like so many others had.

  Motioning with his hand, Russ directed Karly to stand guard as he continued forward toward the stairs leading down below the crumbling building. Light seeped through the small crack at the base of the door—real light, not like the flickering, yellow glow from a candle or torch. Whoever ran this place must have had solar panels. He shoved that thought to the back of his mind for later.

  Although he was almost certain the door would be locked, he tried the doorknob anyway. People rarely left doors unlocked anymore. Russ pulled out his lockpick kit and made quick work of the deadbolt, knowing he would lose his element of surprise when the inhabitant of the basement space heard the lock click.

  In one smooth, practiced motion, Russ pocketed his kit, pulled his gun, and threw the door open, squinting as his pupils adjusted to the light.

  “What the…!”

  Russ didn’t give his target the chance to finish. Two bullets to the head silenced him and Russ was backing out the door and up the stairs before the woman in the room found her voice. She belted out an ear-splitting scream as Russ and Karly implemented their retreat. As the best assassins in Manhattan, they always had more than one route of escape planned. This time, fortunately, they didn’t need to use one of their contingency plans.

  “That was easy.” Karly pulled off her mask and walked to the kitchen area of their hideout—one hideout of many. She pulled a flask out of the pack on the counter, screwed off the lid, and took a large swig before passing it to Russ.

  “Yeah… too easy.” He took the flask with a grim smile. The whiskey burned as it flowed down his throat. “The leader of a clan shouldn’t have been so easy to get to. Even a small clan like his.”

  “Our client said it would be an easy hit.” Karly sidled over to her husband and ran her fingers through his thick, dark hair. “He did his homework. He knew the target would be alone with his mistress tonight, away from his goons.”

  Russ breathed in deep and pulled his wife down onto his lap. “Easy or hard, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that tomorrow is payday for the Brannen and Brannen Assassination Experts, LLC.”

  Karly laughed deep in her throat and leaned in to kiss him. With her lips pressed against his she mumbled, “Time to celebrate.”

  Central Park had become a small city of tents and other makeshift homes overgrown with vegetation. Russ, gun in hand, watched astutely as Karly entered a yellow tent they’d set up as the drop-off point for last night’s job. In and out in less than three seconds, she left the door unzipped as she exited, gazing down at a thin envelope in one hand and carrying a duffle bag in the other.

  Russ smiled at her lithe form, the slight bulge of her strong bicep as she lifted the bag and settled the strap onto her shoulder. After all they’d been through together, including the end of the world, his heart still fluttered at the sight of her. Her willingness to do whatever it took to survive, the ease of which she took to the life of an assassin, and her cold-blooded heart that warmed only for him made her the only bright spot in a dark and dismal world.

  He shoved his gun into the back of his pants and walked alongside her, the early morning chill cooling the exposed skin of his face. They walked in silence, heading toward the crumbled stairs of the defunct subway. The darkness engulfed them as they descended, stepping carefully over and around the debris. They stopped just long enough for Russ to pull a highly-coveted flashlight from his jacket pocket. A dim light barely pierced the shadows as he flipped it on. He growled. “We’ll have to barter for some batteries soon, unless we’re ready to resort to lanterns and torches.”

  “I heard the other day that there’s this kid down on the square who’s figured out how to refurbish batteries. We might have to give her a visit.” She spoke in a low whisper. Not many people dared traverse the dark tunnels, afraid of cave-ins or lurking crazies, but it was still a good idea to keep conversations at a minimum. At least until they reached their destination.

  They had a lot of safe houses underground. Russ ducked into one that used to be a small cafeteria. They’d reinforced it inside and camouflaged it outside to look like nothing more than a pile of rubbish. Once inside, he lit a lantern and turned the waning flashlight off. A big disadvantage to hiding out underground—no natural light. “Let’s take a look in that bag.” He reached for the strap hanging from her shoulder.

  While Russ unzipped the tattered bag, Karly tore open the envelope, stepping closer to the flickering light of the lantern.

  She read silently for a moment. “The client left a note.”

  “And…”

  She cleared her throat and read out loud. “Good job last night. Quick with very little mess. You seem to be as good as I’ve heard. There’s a little extra payment for you in the bag. I look forward to working with you again in the very near future. I’ll be in touch.” She looked up at her husband.

  He’d removed the contents from the bag and spread them out on the cracked countertop. He lifted a package and smiled. “Z-packs. Five of them. These are worth a fortune!”

  “Is that in addition to the penicillin we asked for?”

  Russ nodded. “Yep. Everything’s her
e. A case of freeze dried meals, a box of 9mm bullets.” His eyes lit up. “New bullets, not reloaded.”

  “Any .380s?” She stepped toward him hopefully.

  “Yeah.” He held up a baggy. “And about a gram of gold powder.” Money meant nothing anymore, but gold powder was still a tradable commodity.

  Karly’s mouth quirked up on one side. “Well, I hope he meant it when he said ‘I’ll be in touch’. He’s the kinda client we definitely want to keep.”

  Russ and Karly slipped into their usual booth at the End of Times bar. The whiskey there wasn’t half bad. It wasn’t the same quality as the stuff before the ‘quake, but it wasn’t gut rotting like the stuff most other places served.

  Only two other people knew that Russ and Karly were the killers known only as the Assassins Anonymous, or AA, and one of them was meeting them there in twenty minutes. Roman had been the middle man between them—a seemingly harmless, business-owning couple—and the dealers on the street they’d supplied drugs to before the whole world crashed. Their dojo had been the perfect front for their “business dealings.” It was the ideal place to appear as though they were trying to help the troubled youth that came to learn Tae Kwon Do.

  And the perfect place to recruit both buyers and sellers of their various “products.”

  They’d had to up their game after the apocalyptic earthquakes and resulting plague that seemed to have seeped out of the gigantic crevasses that opened up deep into the earth, but it had been an easy transition for them to go from drug dealers to killers. Their dispassion for anyone not them, mixed with a touch of narcissism, was the perfect combination to make cold-blooded killers for hire. Whatever it took to survive.

  Roman wandered in and sat in the booth directly behind Russ without making eye contact with either of them. The demise of cell phones and bluetooth technology made it harder to carry on a conversation incognito without looking like a crazy person just talking to himself. Roman pulled it off well. Because he was crazy. The drugs he took regularly before the ‘quakes had started him down the road to insanity and the illness after the ‘quakes drove him the rest of the way. Everyone in the city knew him as the camo-wearing man who roamed the streets talking to himself. Or, rather, talking to the voices in his head. They also knew he could somehow contact the AA where others failed.

  Eyes never leaving those of his wife, Russ spoke just loud enough for Roman to hear him. “What’ve you got for us?”

  Roman tilted his head to the side and paused in the diatribe he’d been muttering. “Hey… yeah… I know you, right? Yeah… I know you. You’re the one. The boss man.”

  “Focus, Roman. What’s the message?”

  The waif-like server sat a glass of whiskey in front of the wild-haired man, knowing the tab would be covered. Roman cracked his knuckles one at a time as he smacked his lips. He reached a shaky hand toward the glass.

  “No.” Russ’s stern voice didn’t coordinate with the smile he presented to his wife, keeping up the façade to any on-lookers that he was just having a cordial conversation with her. “You can have the drink after you deliver the message.”

  Roman clasped his hands together and pushed them down to his lap. “Yeah… yeah. The message. A dude has a job for you. He’ll leave the specifics… yeah… and first payment…” He tilted his head side to side again before continuing. “Uhh… yeah… at Saks. Tonight. 9:00.”

  The old Saks Fifth Avenue building had fared better than the surrounding buildings during the shifting of the earth. Of course, the windows were all broken and everything inside had been looted or destroyed by fire. But it was a good meeting place. Dark. No solar panels in this area. The building shifted often, pieces of the edifice dropping to the ground on a weekly basis. People stayed away.

  Russ crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back, leering at his wife’s butt as she bent over to squeeze into the tight space where the drop-off was. “Woot woo,” he whistled.

  “Shut up and come hold this metal bar up so I can reach the bag, you big oaf.”

  He couldn’t see her face, but he knew she’d said it with a smile—or at least a pleased smirk. His shoes crunched on the broken glass and crumbling sidewalk as he stepped to her side and lifted the bar. Karly tugged on the straps of the bag with a grunt, then backed out of the cramped enclosure before straightening to a standing position.

  Russ surveyed their surroundings and pursed his lips. “Let’s get underground before we open it. I have a strange feeling we’re being watched.”

  They took a circuitous route into the underground subway tunnels, making sure no one followed them. Karly slid the bolt across the closed door as Russ opened the bag. He read aloud from a note, “Your next target is the teen son of the leader of the Willis Clan. I hope the rumors are true that you don’t mind ‘working’ with minors.” Russ chuckled and said, “Not at all, my mysterious friend. It’s all about the payout.”

  “And…” Karly stepped up beside him. “What is the payout? It’d better be huge if they expect us to hit a Willis.”

  Russ continued to read. “Our intelligence confirmed that the boy will be at a Rave tonight at Pier 34. In anticipation of your acceptance of this job, we’ve taken the liberty of paying you the required pre-payment, or half of the payment. The second half will be paid in full upon completion of the job. We feel we’ve been generous in our offer in order to make up for the short notice and trust that the amount will be more than sufficient to make up for it. We’ll be in contact with you after the completion of this assignment.”

  “Well…” Karly put her hands on her hips. “They’re very sure of themselves, aren’t they?”

  Russ creased his brow and pulled a photo out of the envelope. “Yeah. They are.”

  “Let’s see what their idea of sufficient amount is.” She crouched next to the bag laying on the floor and pulled out the contents, spreading the items in front of her. “More bullets, both calibers. Ten Z-packs.” She shook a bottle. “And looks like at least fifty penicillin pills.” She handed a bag of gold dust to Russ.

  He bounced it in his hand, thoughtfully. “Hmm. This feels like around ten grams.” He looked up from the bag. “What else is in there?”

  “Freeze-dried meals—the good ones. And a couple of breathable, black masks. A little black dress.” She glanced at Russ. “And… this is just half of what they’re paying us for the hit.”

  “Yeah.” Russ raised an eyebrow. “Makes me wonder who we’re dealing with here.”

  “But we’re still gonna do it, aren’t we.” It wasn’t a question.

  Nodding slowly, he bounced the bag of gold up and down again. “Yep.”

  The little black dress came in handy. They couldn’t exactly go barging into a rave in their usual black-masked attire and not draw attention. Karly looked every bit as young as the teenagers at the party even though she was in her mid-thirties. Russ leaned against a pillar and watched, his lips twisted into a half-smile. He knew the second she spotted her prey—her steps became more determined and she lifted the tight skirt of her dress enough to pull the small dagger from its sheath at her thigh.

  The boy, no older than fifteen, smiled and raised his eyebrows as she bumped into him. Karly’s lips turned up into a smile with just a hint of a snarl and the boy’s eyes widened as she pulled him close, slid the blade between his ribs and punctured his heart. She was five steps away before his dead body hit the ground.

  Russ walked in the opposite direction, away from the loud music and spinning, glow-in-the-dark whips and jewelry. He met up with his wife a couple blocks away. Her face bright with the thrill of the kill, he couldn’t stop looking at her. The short black dress clung to her shapely body and exposed her muscular thighs. Russ bit his bottom lip, grabbed Karly’s hand, and pulled her into an abandoned boat house. Another good thing about that dress—it pulled right off over her head.

  Karly twisted away from the body as the puddle of blood spread beneath the exit wound in the dead woman’s head. Her face
turned pasty white before evolving to a sickly gray color. Russ stepped toward her, brows creased, just as vomit erupted from her mouth—all over his boots.

  “What the hell, Karly?” He retched—he hated being a sympathetic puker—and jumped back, out of range of the splash zone.

  She wiped her mouth on the sleeve of her shirt and sat back on her butt, resting her head on her folded arms atop her bent knees. “That freeze-dried meatloaf was better going down than it was coming back up.”

  “You okay?”

  “Still a little woozy, but we need to get out of here.”

  Russ helped her up and kept an arm around her waist as they walked away from their latest “job.” It had been six weeks since the rave job. They’d needed this one if for nothing more than something to occupy their time. Karly had been as irritable as a badger in a trap lately.

  “Food poisoning, you think?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “Maybe…”

  He didn’t like her tone. She was keeping something from him, he was sure. He ground his teeth together. His questions would have to wait until they reached the safe house.