by Lukens, Mark
But it was even more specific than that. She was sure if she concentrated hard enough, or let herself relax enough, she would be able to feel Josh in her mind. And even Ray and Mike. Maybe even Gerald. But there seemed to be something missing since she’d been down here, a constant buzzing in her mind or a sound in the background that wasn’t there anymore, and now that it had stopped it had become noticeable. She couldn’t feel the Dragon anymore.
Maybe the concrete walls and the depth of Avalon had cut off her connection with the Dragon, but she didn’t think that was it. She could still feel the Dragon from hundreds of miles away, from a thousand miles away, through hills and mountains. No, it wasn’t just the physical earth in the way, it was something else, something she almost dared not to believe. It was like the Dragon wasn’t there anymore.
Was he dead?
She couldn’t bring herself to get her hopes up, and she wasn’t going to mention it to anyone just yet, but the small flicker of hope began to burn inside of her.
Here she was in Avalon. Ray had believed in this place, believed all along that it had been real. Emma had believed too, she’d felt it like she’d felt the Dragon and so many other things. She’d felt drawn down here to this place right from the beginning. Yes, it was real. But no, it wasn’t what they had expected.
She’d felt her way along through their initial inspection of the place, Josh holding her hand much of the time. The place was big, the ceilings high, the rooms large—she’d been able to tell that from the acoustics when they spoke. The place was also empty, or almost empty as they would soon find out when Gerald ambushed them, aiming a gun at them. But everyone else was gone. Gerald said some of the scientists and workers here had left, had gone back to their families. She wasn’t sure she believed that at all, but she did believe that most (or all) of them had turned into rippers.
But how had Gerald gotten them out by himself? Had he killed them one by one? Had Gerald and the others before they turned put each dead ripper in the elevator and taken them up above until only Gerald was left? There was no denying that there had been others here, even if many of them had fled the place at the beginning of the Collapse. And there was no denying that violence had occurred down in these hallways and rooms; she could smell the subtle but lingering odor of blood and gore, maybe better than the others.
And now, when Ray had questioned Gerald’s story, wondering what Gerald’s game here was, she’d heard the quivering in his voice when he’d spoken about taking the dead out one at a time. She’d known right then that he’d been lying. Before she could say anything, before she could accuse Gerald of lying, the ping had sounded on his computer, an alert letting him know that someone was in front of one of the cameras above them.
It was too late now—the elevator was coming down.
Who was on the elevator?
She heard Ray grab Gerald, shaking him, yelling at him. “Who’s coming down here?”
“The Dark Angels,” Gerald answered. “The Dark Angels were here.”
“I knew it,” Josh grumbled.
“They . . . they were going to kill me,” Gerald said. “I . . . I didn’t have a choice. I had to do what they told me.”
“We need our weapons,” Ray said. “Now!”
Emma felt Josh’s hand on her arm, holding her tight, but not hurting her. And then they were hurrying out of the computer room and into the hallway, rushing down the hall, away from the elevator doors.
The elevator had just stopped. Emma heard the sound of the elevator car thumping down onto the floor, a soft thump, but she’d heard it. She also heard sounds behind the elevator doors: screeches, yells, bumping and jostling, clawing and screaming.
Rippers . . . there were rippers inside the elevator.
“Go!” Ray yelled.
The doors were beginning to open.
Josh hurried Emma along. She broke into a run beside Josh, trusting that he wasn’t going to let her run into a wall. She still had her walking cane that he had carved for her, but she didn’t bother using it right now. She was running, actually running. It had been so long since she’d run like this, running without fear of smashing into something.
But the exhilaration of running was short-lived. The rippers from the elevator were coming, pouring out of the car, screaming and yelling.
Josh stopped her suddenly.
“Get it open!” Ray yelled at Gerald.
Gerald rummaged in his pocket, pulling out his keycard. She heard the soft beep and then the unlocking of the door. He pulled the door open. She heard the rattling of weapons as Gerald handed them to Ray, Josh, and Mike.
The rippers were in the hallway, getting closer, a tidal wave of horror coming.
“We need to get out of here,” Ray said. “There’s got to be another exit. The elevator can’t be the only way out of here.”
“Stairs,” Gerald said, out-of-breath from his run down the hall and from fear. “There are stairs at the rear of the bunker.”
Just then a booming sound came from somewhere above them, muffled by the earth above the bunker. Emma felt the vibrations along the floor, the vibrations thrumming up through her bones.
“They’re blowing the exits,” Gerald said. “They’re trapping us down here.”
Josh had taken his hand off of Emma’s arm—she was suddenly adrift, not tethered to anyone or anything anymore, lost in a sea of darkness. She knew Josh was raising his weapon, ready to shoot. So were Ray and Mike.
“Shit,” Ray hissed.
“No,” Mike moaned.
“What?” Emma asked.
“The lights,” Josh said. “The lights just went out.”
CHAPTER 50
Luke
Luke found Max’s body by the back porch of the Dragon’s house, about twenty yards away from another dead person in the middle of the backyard, a woman. The dead woman wasn’t Petra, so maybe Petra was still alive.
There was a bullet hole in Max’s chest, and another in his forehead. Max stared up sightlessly through half-closed eyes at the smoky sky above them.
Jacob had done this, Luke was sure of it.
He glanced around quickly. Nobody else around, but plenty of activity toward the front of the town: vehicles driving, people screaming, guns shooting, rippers screeching and roaring. But nothing right around this house.
Max had come for Petra. Dawson had said she’d been in the Dragon’s house, locked down in the basement. But Max hadn’t been able to get to the basement.
Luke bolted up onto the back porch, stopping for just a moment, staring down at the bloodstains all over the floorboards under the two chairs. People had been tortured here. Maybe killed.
He was inside the kitchen a moment later, silent, moving swiftly. He darted to the edge of the archway into the dining room, aiming his gun into the room.
Nobody there.
He didn’t hear any sounds from beyond the dining room, nothing from the front of the house, nothing from upstairs. Everything was quiet inside the house, a contrast to the war going on just outside the home. Even inside, Luke could smell the smoke from the burning houses and buildings, a choking and gagging smell.
He hurried across the kitchen to the basement door. It was closed, but not locked. He opened the door, staring down the dark stairwell. He would need his flashlight. He pulled it out and turned it on.
A noise from behind him.
Before Luke could turn all the way around, he felt a shove in his back. He was tumbling down the stairs, down into the darkness, his flashlight knocked loose from one hand, his gun knocked loose from the other. Pain exploded in his body as he rolled down the steps. Someone was running down the steps behind him, kicking at him as he landed at the bottom.
Luke crawled down the last few steps, rolling over on the floor, getting up to his feet. His flashlight was on the landing, shining a bright circle right against the wall, but it still provided just enough light for Luke to see Jacob rushing him, kicking again.
A blast of pain e
xploded in Luke’s head. He saw a billion bright stars in front of his eyes, drowning out the meager light from his flashlight on the steps. He was close to passing out. He’d felt like this many times while fighting in the MMA ring, wobbly and weak, his head light, hard to concentrate. He needed to fight through it, get his wits about him again.
“Lukey boy,” Jacob said.
Another punch before Luke could get far enough away from Jacob. The punch landed in almost the same spot on his jaw where the kick had just landed. Luke stumbled back as the bright stars in front of his eyes faded away. Everything faded away to darkness. He was afraid he was blind, that he had already passed out.
He backed into a table, the legs of the table sliding across the floor, shoved into some kind of folding chair.
“You’ve always wanted to see who the best was,” Jacob said. He sounded like he was off to Luke’s left now, not right in front of him anymore. “You were the big-time MMA fighter, the one who was going to turn pro. But this isn’t a fight in the ring, boy. There are no rules now.”
Jacob’s voice seemed to be coming from far away, but Luke knew that Jacob was closer than he sounded. Luke tried to stay on the move, moving to his left, his arms out, both to feel his way along and to defend himself. The world was coming back into focus just a little; he was able to make out blurry dark objects in the basement with the help of his flashlight on the stairs that seemed so far away now. His gun was somewhere on those steps, too. Unless Jacob had grabbed it.
And Jacob still had his own gun—Luke was sure of that.
“I taught you,” Jacob said.
Crack. Luke felt another blow to his head, this one from the other direction. Then a kick to his leg that felt like it had shattered his knee. Luke fell down onto his good knee for just a moment, his hands still up to ward off the next punch or kick.
“I taught you how to really fight, how to really shoot, how to really kill. I know all the tricks. All the secrets.”
Luke didn’t have enough time to get his foggy brain going again. If this would have been a fight in the octagon, he would have backpedaled, he would try to get away for a few seconds until his mind cleared. But this wasn’t the octagon, as Jacob had pointed out, and he was going to have to recover quickly or he was going to die.
“Petra,” Luke said.
That seemed to stop Jacob for a moment.
“Petra?” Jacob said. “You’re worried about Petra? She’s dead. Been dead. I had a lot of fun with her. You can believe that.”
Another kick to Luke’s leg. But Luke was able to partially block it. Jacob had groaned after the kick. Something was wrong with Jacob. Was he hurt? Luke thought he could smell blood, but it was probably his own blood pouring down from his mouth and a cut over his right eye, which wasn’t helping with his vision any.
“You’re crazy,” Luke said, backing up into some kind of wooden chest in front of the bed, bumping into it, throwing himself a little off-balance for a moment. “You’ve always been crazy.”
Jacob didn’t attack, but he was standing close enough. Luke wondered if Jacob had had enough of this. He was obviously hurt. Either Luke had hurt him with a punch, or maybe Jacob was hurt from before. Maybe he was done playing around and he had his pistol out, aimed at him.
“We could work together,” Jacob said. “Just like we used to.”
Luke pushed himself away from the chest and the bed, circling back to his right, but he was limping badly now from the kicks to his knee that he hadn’t seen coming. Jacob sounded like he was limping too as he tried to keep up with him.
“We could run this place together. We could run this world.”
“What about the Dragon?” Luke asked.
“Forget about him. We take him out. I’ve been waiting for the right time. We have an army now. We could run everything. We could be kings. Gods.”
Luke bumped back into the table and the chair. He gripped the back of the chair. It was a metal folding chair. He gripped it so hard he was beginning to pick it up off the floor just a little.
“Fuck you,” Luke said.
“I’m serious,” Jacob said, taking a shuffling step closer. He was just a dark blob in Luke’s vision now.
Luke spat out blood and phlegm. He only had one chance here. Jacob was close to firing his gun, there was no doubt about that.
“We could do it, run things here. No Dragon. No Vince. Just us calling the shots for once.”
In an explosive movement, Luke picked up the chair and threw it at Jacob. It wouldn’t be enough to knock Jacob down, or probably enough to even really hurt him, but it was all Luke could do to gain some kind of advantage.
Luke didn’t wait; he launched himself at Jacob right after the chair. He expected to hear the spitting sound of Jacob’s gun, to feel a bullet tunnel into his body.
No shots were fired.
Luke was on top of Jacob and the chair, twisting around and on Jacob’s back as he tried to turn over. Luke had his arms around Jacob’s neck, pulling back, bending Jacob up and then around. Luke was underneath Jacob a second later, still behind him, holding on as tightly as he could, choking him. Jacob’s arms flailed, punching and elbowing at Luke. He thrashed his legs, trying to find purchase on the concrete floor, trying to twist his body around so that he could slip out of Luke’s grasp.
But Luke wasn’t going to let go.
It seemed to take forever, but Jacob finally quit struggling. He had passed out.
Luke didn’t let go. He kept the chokehold, squeezing tighter and tighter. He held onto Jacob until his arms ached, until they felt like they were going to lock up. He held on until he was sure Jacob was dead.
The roar of the rippers was louder above the basement ceiling, but it didn’t sound like there were any in the house yet.
But it wouldn’t be long.
Luke wriggled out from under Jacob’s body and got to his feet. His left leg was sore from the kicks he’d taken, but he could fully put his weight on it. He shuffled toward the stairs, toward his flashlight aimed at the wall, a big spot of bright white light on the paneling. He climbed the few steps to the landing, the gray daylight pouring down the half-open basement door. His gun lay on the third step up from the landing. He reached for it.
A sound from the basement. Jacob was moving in the darkness beyond the steps.
Luke’s body seemed to move on its own. He had the flashlight in his left hand, his gun in his right hand, aiming both at Jacob in the middle of the basement floor. Jacob had his gun in his hand, trying to sit up, trying to aim it. Luke pulled the trigger twice, the gun spitting, the bullets slamming into Jacob’s forehead, knocking him back down to the floor with a loud thump.
Jacob was dead . . . really dead.
Luke hurried up the stairs. He could hear at least one ripper in the house now. Hopefully at the front of the house. Luke was out through the basement door and out onto the back porch. He ran past the two wooden chairs, the bloodstains underneath them, past the sagging screen walls and the peeling white paint, past Max’s body sprawled out on the grass near the walkway. He wanted to do something about Max, move his body somewhere, but there was nowhere Luke could hide Max that the rippers wouldn’t find him.
A moment later Luke was running across the backyard as best he could, running east, toward the wall on that side of the town. When he was three backyards away from the Dragon’s house, he found himself running with some panicked rippers. The fires were closer now, the smoke heavy in the air, so heavy they could barely see each other.
Rippers had gotten to the fence before Luke and pulled some of the panels away, opening up several gaps in the fencing. They were scrambling through the holes, getting away from the fire like panicked forest animals. And Luke was just one more of those animals, his face bloodied, his body bruised. He was outside the fence in a flash, moving toward a copse of trees. Only four rippers followed him, chasing him, the others heading north and east. Luke headed south. When he was among the trees and the shrubs, he turn
ed and shot the rippers, all four of them, the gun nearly silent in all the noise. He crouched down behind some brush and reloaded the magazine.
Moments later he stood up and stared at the walls of Hell Town in the distance, smoke billowing up above the fencing, even some of the flames licking at the trees near the edge of the town. He watched it for a moment and then he hurried to the nearest building, finding a place to hide, finding a place to watch for rippers, waiting for the right time to leave.
CHAPTER 51
Petra
The Dragon was going to kill her, Petra was sure of that. He had known she was following him, had waited for her behind the door, waiting to attack, to hit her with something, to kill her.
The Dragon stood above her, looming in the darkness of the large mechanics’ garage. He looked like a solid shadow in the gloom. He held an assault rifle in his hand, down by his side now, the weapon he’d struck her with.
Petra lay on the floor, still dazed for a moment. The back of her head blazed with fiery pain, and there was wetness in her hair, blood leaking from the wound. But she hadn’t lost consciousness. It had been close for a second; she’d sensed the world around her closing in, an oncoming blackness that was about to swallow her up, but she fought back against it and the darkness drew back.
“It wasn’t supposed to be this way,” the Dragon muttered. He backed up a few steps away from her.
She wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or to himself. She waited on the stained concrete floor for the Dragon to swing the rifle down at her, to hit her again and again with the butt of the weapon until she was dead. She was ready to fight back, to kick at his legs, but she needed to wait until just the right moment.
And then the right moment came.
A window inside the mechanic’s office shattered. The Dragon darted to the open door to the office, easing it shut and locking it, leaning his rifle against the wall next to the door as he fumbled with the lock on the doorknob with his gloved hands. The rippers screamed and yelled from inside the office, just beyond the closed door.