The Lazarus: The Vernum City Series, Book 1 by Marlow Locker

Author:Marlow Locker [Locker, Marlow]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2022-09-04T16:00:00+00:00

The carriage of the semi-trailer truck rumbles through the dark city streets, the engine's groan rising and falling in the crisp evening air. My driver is an older man, a large beard neatly trimmed across his face. With a curved nose and dark eyes, he feels bored, too unfocused for my liking. Together, we sit in silence, all except for a police scanner turned down low, our earpieces in and connecting us to the main truck where Caden waits. He takes the lead, the plain white of his trailer leaning and swaying slowly.

Our safe passage to the city's exit is off Mid-Vernum, a tunnel system ferrying us out to the surrounding state.

When we cross the boundary from Lower City, Caden crackles through our earpieces, his tone serious. "Okay gents, we're about to pass the red zone. Keep your eyes peeled for any activity and touch base if needed. Otherwise, it's silence."

From the small back roads, we enter a long, narrow, metropolis freeway. Large concrete walls box us in on both sides, herding us forwards as though we're stock for the slaughter. My driver's window is down, the wind clawing its way in. I can smell the smoke that chokes the Higher City, see the red that ignites the sky as the fires spread, hell leaking its way into the heavens.

"Raise your window."

"Excuse me?" My escort grunts, annoyed by my presence.

I snarl at him, “I would rather not have my driver's head taken out by a shooter. If you want to kill yourself, do it in your own damn time."

His mouth snaps shut before the glass begins to raise.

The first ten minutes pass without hiccups, the scanner reading off random locations where Paimon’s devils are sighted, mentioning potential new targets in the northern subway system.

With only thirty minutes to go, my driver calls through. "Lazarus, we've got a figure up on the Route-9 overpass."

A long sigh returns, "It could only go on for so long."

"What could?" I question.

"Fucking peace." He chuckles darkly.

The truck's cylinders continue to fire, a steady beat beginning. We maintain our speed, our pack moving close together. Trailing under the overpass, the figure does nothing when our first trailer—Caden's—passes by, remaining painfully still.

Just as we cross the dark boundary of the overpass, a heavy body thuds on top of my trailer. The man rolls with ease, only to expertly pick up into footsteps that comfortably stalk the length of the truck.

Shit.

"On me, they’ve landed on the back of us."

"Fuck, I'll be with you when I can. Line us up!" He instructs his driver, and even through the mic I can hear the frustration, thick in his throat.

Taking out the handgun Caden offered me—the long, heavy barrel built for even longer, heavier ammunition—I pull the slide back. The chamber fills with a satisfying click, before I reholster it at my lower back.

Tapping my ear once more, "I'm going up, I'll meet you there."

I try to sound positive as the wind fills the truck cabin. My door flies open, the force barreling it from my fingertips.

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