Dawn of Destiny

By PD Musso

Life, love and destiny balance on a fulcrum between cause and effect. In Dawn of Destiny, the cause is a revolutionary experiment. The effect is free and unlimited energy and an interdimensional rip that allows unbelievable and terrifying creatures to enter into our world. In response the Hunters came.

Hunter Stephanie Dawn is a sentinel that stands between the world and the creatures that seek to destroy and devour it. On her latest assignment, she is sent to San Francisco to hunt and eliminate a Pregnant Banded Demon who has killed six women. But she gets more than she bargained for when she enters the city and meets Inspector Todd Rainer. Instead of her normal fast in and out kill, she gets conspiracy, revilement of her own story, eminent war, internment, possible death and . . . maybe love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: PD Musso
• Release date: Oct 12, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301809387

PD Musso

I have always loved books, being an avid reader for as long as I can remember and until I was a senior in High School, I was also a prolific writer. Life continued, as it always does. I got my degree, married a wonderful man, Mark, and had two fabulous daughters, Lynn & Michelle. Michelle married, Adam, and gave me a delightful grandson, Austin. We all live in Hilmar, California. I have been an elementary teacher for twenty-six years.It wasn’t until 2001 that the urge to write returned and it came on with a vengeance. To date I have written forty-five novels. You will notice that in all my novels the characters have pets. That’s because I always have a multitude of animals in my life.Under PD Musso, I have two fantasy novel series. Dawn of Destiny is part of the Hunters series and Recruitment is part of the Blood Badge series. Check out my website: www.pdmusso.comUnder Peggy Dulle, I have several published mystery novels. In my Liza Wilcox Mystery series: Death is Clowning Around, Apple Pots and Funeral Plots, Secrets at Sea, and Saddle Up. Other mysteries include my Get Away Diner Mystery series: The River’s Secret and A Kept Secret. Paranormal mystery: Spirit of Consequence. Visit my website: www.peggydulle.com

Book preview

Prologue

December 12, 2020 the world changed forever.

Two events happened simultaneously.

A stable anti-matter was developed which would fuel cities and transportation indefinitely.

The process ripped opened a portal that allowed unbelievable and terrifying creatures to enter our world.

In response . . . the Hunters came.

Chapter 1

Five women were dead and the clock ticked down for number six.

San Francisco Police Inspector Todd Rainer clenched his teeth and growled, Stupid idiot, as he flung the case files across his uncluttered desk.

He gripped the side of the metal desk with both hands, focused on the American flag embossed on his black t-shirt and counted in his head. Four and a half years ago, guilt, anger, and shame drove him into the bottom of a tequila bottle, and when he climbed out, he promised himself he would never go back. Even though he had been sober for two years, when anger reared its ugly head, the desire for a shot was so strong, his head swam with vivid memories – the pleasing scent of raw apple, vanilla and butter and the taste, slightly sweet but with a definite burn that ended up between his throat and upper palate. God, he missed Jose Cuervo!

Are you slandering our leader again? asked Inspector Carlos Ramirez, as a slow grin slid across his bronzed round face and lit up the corners of his dark eyes. He gave a small laugh, straightened the lapels of his tailored Italian suit, and tapped on his desk in time to the counting Todd was doing in his head.

As usual, the finger drumming annoyed Todd and broke his counting ritual. He pushed his anger aside and fought his way back to control. He glared at his partner of two years and said, I told Chief Alto the task force’s evaluation of the deaths was total crap, but he’s not listening.

What makes you think they would value your input? Once the chief organizes one of his famous task forces and the FBI gets involved, the entire case goes to hell.

I found the first body. Damn it! I did the initial legwork. It’s not some stupid serial killer. Todd felt the rage rise up his spine and stab his brain. He pushed it away; he wouldn’t start counting again!

Carlos shrugged. The task force has three confessions already.

Todd shook his head. Some people will do anything for a hot meal and a safe place to lay down their heads, even admit to killing five women.

Times are bad out there, Todd, but I don’t think anyone would endure prison for life or death by lethal injection just to get off the streets, Carlos observed.

Hell yes, they would, Todd exclaimed. These days life out there is more dangerous than any high security penitentiary. People disappear everyday. At least in prison, they’ve got a fighting chance of survival.

You think one of those damn demons killed the women, don’t you? Carlos grimaced in disgust.

Oh, yeah. Todd slumped his six foot, three inch frame into the metal desk chair and ran his fingers through his light brown wavy hair. Even though he was only thirty-two years old, on days like today–he felt ninety.

Tell me again why it can’t be a human serial killer. Carlos came around the desk and took the seat usually reserved for witnesses.

Todd dug through the five files and flipped out the initial crime scene photos. How many people can slice through a chest and yank out the heart while it’s still beating?

If they had a sharp enough knife, they might?

No, Todd pointed to the wounds on the women. Unless they wield a knife with ten blades, they can’t. These wounds were made with a claw.

I’ve never seen a demon with a ten-fingered claw.

We haven’t seen half the shit that comes through the portal those moronic scientists made over forty years ago.

Yeah, but on the positive side, I never have to put gas in my car or pay an electric bill, Carlos reminded Todd.

Yep, we’ve got a limitless and cheap energy source, and a boundless number of creatures feeding on us. That’s not progress, as far as I’m concerned.

What are you going to do? Carlos asked.

I don’t know.

You can call in a Hunter.

No, only the Chief can. Besides, I’m not sure if a Hunter will help the situation or make it worse. Remember the last time?

God, yes. A visible shudder ran down Carlos’ spine. How could I forget? I still have nightmares about the ten-foot lizard that left a trail of red slime everywhere. The Hunter was such a tall skinny guy. What was he? Seven feet tall and maybe a hundred pounds?

I thought that reptile would snatch him up for a snack.

It didn’t, Carlos said.

No, but the Hunter leveled an entire city block in order to kill the demon. Todd shook his head.

Yeah, and it was a section that had survived the last earthquake, too.

It’s like choosing between two evils–the demons or the Hunters.

The desk phone rang.

Inspector Rainer. Todd’s gut twisted as dispatch rattled off an address. He scribbled it on a piece of clean binder paper.

When he slammed the phone down, Carlos asked, What?

Over on Market Street, number six!

Chapter 2

Stephanie Dawn sipped chamomile tea, looked out the dirty window of her tiny, thrift-store decorated apartment, and contemplated her life. She and the other Hunters were advertised as the guardians between humanity and the evil which sought to destroy it, but she saw her work more realistically. Her fate was to hunt, fight, and die alone. Even though she had never been good at interacting with people, after five years, the constant solitude was starting to irritate her.

She knew what people saw at first glance–a six-foot tall woman with a trim curvy body accentuated by a multitude of taut muscles. Her high cheekbones, dark blue eyes, and short-spiked red hair made heads turn, but her obviously dangerous aura had people averting their eyes and quickly backing away.

As she took another sip of her tea, she watched a local Oakdale cop chase a juvenile over the chain-link fence that surrounded an abandoned building a few blocks away. You’d think in the year 2063, they would have found a way to use their expansive technology to eliminate the need for a police force, but the opposite was true. The search for better technology had set her destiny.

In 2020, scientist Eric Gate theorized a new energy source and built a machine to harness it. When he threw the switch on his device, his theory proved correct but also caused a circular portal between two dimensions. Those attending the event–five presidents, three prime ministers, a czar, four sheiks, several scientists and techs and an assortment of soldiers–were sucked into the void, and several interdimensional life forms, now commonly abbreviated as IDLFs, escaped into ours. When people encountered the IDLFs, they were convinced the creatures were demons from hell. Whatever name you assigned them; they destroyed or devoured everything in their paths.

Thousands of deaths and tons of destruction by the demons set in motion the Hunter Program. Its charge was to create genetically engineered individuals with heightened senses and strength and to develop firearms that could kill the demons, since all existing human resources had failed. Twenty years of research and development proved unsuccessful and the devastation and loss of lives continued.

Then in 2041, the program finally succeeded. Eighteen years later, she and the rest of the first batch of operatives were ready and dispatched into the world. In the intervening time, a thousand major cities were totally or partially destroyed and several million people lost their lives. Now, when the demons attacked, cities or countries called Program Headquarters, requested a Hunter, and paid the fees.

Stephanie opened the cupboard, pulled out one of the ten boxes of chamomile tea, made herself another cup and paced. Her pulse, heart rate and breathing never faltered–they remained constant and even, whether she was waiting for her next assignment or slicing off a demon’s head.

As she sipped her tea, she stopped at the window to check the cop’s progress. He caught the boy six blocks further down, slammed him to the ground, looped on plastic handcuffs, and then hauled the thrashing kid toward his patrol car. Her window was slightly ajar, so she could hear the kid’s curses and the cop’s labored breathing as he struggled to contain the youth. She smiled to herself–technological advances aside–nothing beats good old-fashioned strength and persistence. Stephanie wasn’t a cop so she never used handcuffs. Demons didn’t go to jail, they didn’t get fingerprinted, photographed, or have a trial. Interdimensional beings had no rights, they just died. She made sure they did.

The distraction over, she sighed and slumped into the ripped and discolored leather recliner that served as her living room furniture, sipped her tea, and waited for the call to another city, another demon.

Chapter 3

Inspector Todd Rainer shoved the folders into a pile, stacked the victims’ pictures on top, and picked them up. He grabbed his tattered black leather jacket off the back of his chair and marched out of the squad room. Carlos fell in a few steps behind. As they wove through the cubicle maze that made up the third floor of the San Francisco Police Station, Todd saw other inspectors taking statements from victims or witnesses, talking on the phone, or tapping away on their computers. He wondered how many of them dealt with deaths or injuries caused by creatures rather than human suspects. The world was a mess.

The two men headed for the elevator, but stepped aside as Johnson, a stocky uniformed officer, escorted an indigent who wore multiple clothing layers in an obvious effort to hold at bay the cool foggy weather typical for San Francisco.

I’ve got another confession for the task force, Officer Johnson called over his shoulder as he passed.

Todd rolled his eyes as he and his partner stepped into the elevator.

That’s the fourth serial killer from our homeless population, Carlos remarked as he pushed the button for the underground garage.

The weather’s turned colder, so we’ll have more by end of shift. Todd leaned against the back of the elevator. His tense stance was fueled by irritation at everyone and everything–the chief and his stupid task force, the FBI, the state of the economy, and even the weatherman who predicted a crisp fifty degrees for the next week. Days like these made him wish he hadn’t given up alcohol and also grateful that he had. Tequila could warm a man up on a cold, foggy day, but it was hard to make a difference in the world from the bottom of a bottle or flat-out unconscious on his bed.

In the lobby, the two detectives avoided a small group of men dressed in black suits, white shirts, and black ties.

Hmmph. Todd blew out an exasperated breath as he pushed open the door to the parking garage. Just what we need–a few more FBI guys.

At least they’re snappy dressers. Carlos observed. He adjusted the collar of his starched white shirt and straightened his indigo tie.

Carlos spent more time getting dressed in the morning than most women, thought Todd. He remembered the week he had to pick him up because Carlos’ little black sports car was in the shop. Todd hadn’t paced that much waiting for any woman. In the garage, they walked toward their police-issued large black SUV. People had once avoided the huge vehicles, but with the expense of gasoline a problem of the past, everyone, including the city, had switched back to the massive automobiles. They gave you more protection from other drivers, and, for the city, it was an easy way to transport all the gear every inspector carried with him. In the back of the SUV were stowed several different kinds of firearms, tear gas, body armor, and even a bomb-disposal robot. Inspectors were multi taskers these days.

As they got into the vehicle, Carlos asked, Where did you say the body was?

Dumped in an alley off Market Street.

Is that the primary crime scene?

Nope, from my witness’ description, it’s too clean. I’m sure the body was transported, just like the others.

Todd flipped on his lights and sirens as soon as he cleared the garage. If he didn’t hurry, the chief’s task force would be stomping all over his crime scene! A block later, he gunned the engine to swerve around several delivery vehicles.

What’s the hurry? Carlos grabbed the door handle and clung to the dashboard like he was dangling from the balcony of a ten-story building. The victim’s already dead.

Those FBI guys will muck up my crime scene. I figure we’ve got ten minutes on them and I want to get a feel for it before they show up.

Who called you? Carlos asked, as he released the dashboard and grabbed the sides of his seat.

Ken. He said he found the body in the alley behind the restaurant where he works, and the owner, Julio, had just dialed 911.

It’s good to have friends in low places, Carlos recited the words to a classic country western song which had been recently re-released.

Ken may be a busboy, but he’s one of my best CIs.

Some confidential information–he’s a Super Meth head and I don’t know why you trust what you get from him. He’ll say anything to score his next fix.

It was a cold day in hell when that crap came to this country. Todd squealed his tires as he braked, then accelerated out of the corner.

Yep. It has twice the kick at half the price of the original shit and it’s more addictive. One little hit and you’re hooked.

The Super Meth problem was one of the few subjects he and Carlos agreed upon, thought Todd. It was responsible for most of the human crimes in the city. He knew his partner didn’t understand how he could trust anyone who lived from fix to fix, but they were his people and they kept an eye on his city when he couldn’t.

You spend too much money on those confidential informants, Carlos said, interrupting Todd’s thoughts.

Hey, if I don’t spread the money around, I don’t know what’s happening in my city. Todd took a corner at over forty miles an hour, even though the posted sign put the speed limit at twenty-five.

That’s the idea. Carlos returned his grip to the dashboard. What you don’t know, you can’t try and fix, my friend.

They swerved around taxis, delivery vans, buses, and even a few cable cars. When they did the same around two men talking on cell phones and ignoring the sirens and lights, Carlos closed his eyes tightly and whispered, as if in prayer.

Todd chuckled. Carlos had ridden with him long enough to know he was a great driver, but he still couldn’t watch. As he drove, Todd glanced around and admired the city that he loved so much, especially when the sun showed its face through the insipid overcast that usually shadowed the skyline. After the quake of 2045, San Francisco had pretty much banned private automobile traffic, making everyone leave their cars in one of the new ten-story parking structures. He wasn’t sure it was easier to get around the city since the pedestrian traffic had tripled. Sidewalks on both sides were filled with business people dressed in suits, intermixed with tourists with their cameras and I love SF t-shirts, street vendors peddling wares from jewelry to hotdogs, and the homeless tucked away in doorways and alleys.

He leaned on his horn, adding the noise to his sirens, when two women with seven bags apiece from the new outlet mall tried to step off the curb and rush across the street. Todd noted with appreciation the pyramid glass shape the new outlet building had added to the soaring eclectic skyline of the city.

Half a mile farther, the downtown buildings were replaced with shorter, more tightly packed structures that varied in size, shape and color like pastries in a bakery shop.

A few swift turns later, the SUV raced down Market toward Julio’s Greek Deli. Only in a city like San Francisco can a first generation Cuban own a Greek delicatessen, Todd noted. The pedestrian traffic was lighter here, the rushing masses gave way to families and neighborhood folks walking dogs and visiting local businesses. Todd even spotted a few private cars parked in back alleys. As the police vehicle passed, adults tucked their children and animals under their arms and swiftly guided them off the streets.

When they were two blocks away, Todd switched off the lights and sirens. Let’s not broadcast the fact we’ve beaten the FBI or get the locals up in arms.

No one in this neighborhood will even acknowledge we’ve arrived or be a decent witness. Carlos opened the door and jumped out.

Todd zipped up his jacket. That’s why I’ve got Ken.

Carlos laughed. You can’t hide the fact we’re cops, Todd. First off, they heard your siren a mile away. Everyone here knew who we were when we stepped out of this tank.

I know, but we don’t need to advertise it. Todd pulled up his jacket collar, not only in an effort to conceal their occupation, but to shield himself from the brisk wind. It had blown the normal overcast away early, but it cut right through your clothing and smacked your bones.

The deli was sandwiched between a beauty salon and a furniture shop with signs that announced its weekly going out of business sale. The blue-and-white striped curtains, colors of the Greek flag and, no doubt, Julio’s wife’s attempt to make the deli look more Greek, were in contrast to the bright Cuban multi-colored vases on each table.

A lanky, emaciated man in a stained white apron huddled in the deli doorway. He walked directly to Todd, who shook his hand and passed a fifty-dollar bill at the same time.

Give me the layout quickly, Todd told Ken.

I found her shoved behind the dumpster in back of the deli, so I called you. Julio came out to make sure I didn’t spend too long on my break. When he saw the body, he called 911.

Let’s see. Todd put his hand around Ken’s shoulder. Todd felt a connection to the homeless people that everyone detested or ignored. His dad had been one of them. Todd had found him too late to stop the cancer that ate away his body, mind, and spirit.

We’ve got to go around the beauty salon to get to the back. Julio doesn’t like me to walk through the restaurant. I’m supposed to stay in the kitchen, Ken emphasized the last four words.

Todd figured Ken heard Julio and his wife, Carmen, repeat those words every day.

Ken led the way around the next building to a small alley, turned left and brought them to the back of the restaurant.

Todd stepped across the garbage, half-eaten food, and body excrement that littered the alley, and made his way to his victim. That’s the way he saw them–all of them–as his. Each had died in his city and it was his responsibility to bring their families closure and justice. He knew what it felt like to have a hole in your heart where peace should be–they had never found the asshole that had shattered his life.

Carlos walked on the toes of his perfectly shined black patent leather shoes. Why can’t the bodies be out in the open? he complained.

Then they’d be seen, Todd called over his shoulder.

Yeah, but then I wouldn’t get all this shit on my shoes, Carlos mumbled.

Todd ignored him. He knew his partner hated the streets and that he’d have to break in a new one as soon as Carlos could get a promotion. Green in the beginning, Carlos had developed into a good investigator, with tuned instincts and insights, and that promotion wouldn’t be long from fruition. Todd had to give him credit. Carlos had taken him on as a partner when no one else in the department would touch him. The city psychologist had labeled Todd as a death wish waiting to happen and told the Chief that anyone who would willingly be his partner must be crazier than him.

When they had been introduced, Carlos had stepped up, grabbed the lapels of his black leather jacket and said, You get me killed and my Mexican grandmother will hunt you down and curse you!

It broke the tension and they had gone out that day and solved a homicide together in less than twelve hours. They made a good team and Todd would be sad when Carlos moved up.

Unlike Carlos, Todd loved every back alley and bustling overcrowded boulevard of the city, and wouldn’t give them up for any promotion or money offered by the brass. Of course, the likelihood of such an offer was about like spotting a flying elephant. Todd spoke up too much, disagreed with the chief too often, and generally caused his station more grief than any other officer. Since he had the best solve rate of any inspector, they couldn’t fire or transfer him as he knew sometimes they’d like to. He didn’t feel his job was to make them happy, it was to keep his city and its people as safe as possible. If that made him a hotdog or a pain in the ass, then so be it!

Todd followed Ken around the large green dented and rusted dumpster. As soon as he looked behind it, he saw her and smelled that distinct burnt-garbage odor that had emanated from each victim. She was on her back, legs and arms sprawled outward. Her tailored black skirt and jacket had been ripped to shreds and a small Gucci purse lay next to her, the contents spilled as if the purse had been thrown out with the body. This one had definitely not been a hooker or junky. In the eyes of the city, she had been someone, a lawyer, real estate agent, or an administrative assistant to a corporate big wig. To Todd she was Victim Number Six.

Did you go through her purse, Ken? Todd leaned over and used the pen from his pocket to move the contents around.

No, Ken insisted, as he put his hands in the air. You don’t pay if I touch.

Todd nodded and used the pen to flip open the woman’s red wallet. Her driver’s license said Virginia Garrett, and listed an address in a high-priced downtown apartment building. The purse held a silver case which contained her business cards. Todd had been close–she was an insurance broker.

With the pen, he moved what was left of the front of the woman’s jacket. Her chest had been gouged open with ten vertical parallel slices that ran from her collar bone to her stomach. A claw. A demon.

In the distance a siren blared.

The Feds are close, Todd. Carlos stepped away from the dumpster. Any doubts?

Nope, it’s the same damn demon, Todd answered. He turned to Ken. Stick around and talk to the Feds.

No way, I’m out of here! Ken moved away from the dumpster and started down the alley.

Todd put his hand on Ken’s shoulder. Ken stopped and looked back, his eyes filled with anxiety and fear.

Just give your statement and tell them you have to get back to work or you’ll lose your job, Todd told him.

No way I’m gonna get involved with them, Inspector. They’ll haul me downtown and sweat me in the box.

Todd removed a business card and handed it to Ken. Tell them you’re my CI and if they want to take you downtown, they have to call me first.

Ken hesitated, but took the card, twisted it in his shaking hands.

Todd nodded. They can’t blow another officer’s confidential informant, Ken. If the locals see you talk to them too long, you’ll lose your value to me.

Ken shoved the card into his pocket with the fifty the Inspector had given him.

By the tremors in Ken’s hands and his bloodshot, sunken eyes, Todd knew his CI’s last fix must have been before he started his shift this morning, and he badly needed one now. The fifty wasn’t enough for an 8-ball, but if he spent all of it, Ken could buy a fourth of a gram, enough for a nice little lift. Ken would stay just long enough to talk to the Feds but then he’d find Rod Raymond and score.

Todd grabbed Ken’s lapels as the sirens grew louder. You spend at least half of that fifty on food or I’ll dry up like the Sahara on you.

But . . ., Ken protested.

No, Todd said sternly. I’ll know if you go directly to Rod and how much you bought. You’re not my only CI out here, Ken.

Ken nodded slowly.

Todd and Carlos jogged out of the alley. As soon as they got into the SUV and closed the door, two black sedans screeched to a halt several yards away. Behind them were three S.F.P.D. patrol vehicles, the coroner’s van, and an ambulance.

Better move it out, Todd, unless you want to talk to the Feds, Carlos said.

Todd knew good advice when he heard it. Avoidance of the Feds whenever possible was always a first-rate idea. He turned a quick right to move away from the alley.

Why do the Feds always have better cars? Carlos whined.

Todd ignored him, drove slowly by the menagerie of vehicles