by Chris Fox
“What about the werewolves?” he asked, setting his rifle against the rock. “They’re powerful enough to rule over mankind without spreading a plague to wipe out everyone.”
“Ahh, you’re wondering if Isis presents a better way,” Irakesh said, giving a warm laugh. It seemed out of place coming from a mouth full of fangs. The scarlet eyes didn’t help, either. “She set up a class-based society. Only a handful killed come back as werewolves, making her champions very rare. Ra’s method gives anyone a chance to rise among the deathless. Take you, for example. In time you will learn shaping and become powerful and respected by your peers. If you’d been slaughtered by a werewolf, you’d probably be dead now.”
“I guess,” Trevor said, though he wasn’t sure he agreed with that logic. He had many more questions about the ancient world, but needed time to digest what he’d learned. “So where are we going? I still haven’t figured out what your plan is. I know we’re heading north, but you haven’t said why.”
“You are simply full of questions,” Irakesh replied, amused grin slipping back into place. “I must admit I am very pleased at how quickly you’re learning. It’s nice to have decent conversation. I wasn’t expecting that. My plan? I’m going to found an empire. I’ll use the Ark of the Redwood to control the northern continent.”
“Ark of the Redwood?” Trevor asked. It sounded like the name of a bank.
“Isis and Ra spent centuries exploring the world. They discovered many Arks. The one to the north is called the Ark of the Redwood. I stole the key from Isis, and we’re heading north to seize it,” Irakesh said. He rose from the rock, peering down at the river. “I will use that as my power base and will forge every deathless for a thousand miles into an army the likes of which this world has never seen. By the time Isis can turn her attention to me I’ll be too well entrenched to remove.”
“So we’re going to walk all the way to North America?” Trevor asked. “That will take months. Longer if we encounter resistance on the way.”
“I do not plan to walk. There is a port for the craft you call planes in the kingdom of Panama. It is there that we will find transport,” Irakesh said, arching an eyebrow. The grin was gone. Evidently he didn’t like being questioned.
“How are we going to fly it?” Trevor asked. He’d never learned to fly, but he was willing to bet it wasn’t that hard. Garland had done it. Of course the learning curve was likely to be both steep and fatal.
“We must find a corpse who possesses this knowledge. Surely there will be at least one between here and there. If not we will decide on another course of action,” Irakesh said, giving a shrug. The grin was back. “Either way we will escape our pursuers.”
“You’ve mentioned these pursuers a few times,” Trevor said, scratching his goatee. “Who are they? Couldn’t we just turn around and ambush them?”
“They’ve been sent by Isis to stop us. She has gathered a small pack of champions and sent them after us. It’s possible we could overcome them, but until I am certain I see no reason for a confrontation,” Irakesh explained. He turned back to face Trevor. “I fought a pair of them, a Ka-Dun and Ka-Ken. Both were powerful, though untrained. We will face them again, but before we do I must teach you the rudiments of shaping.”
Trevor knew immediately who Irakesh must be referring to, but carefully schooled his features to neutrality. It was best Irakesh not understand his connection to Blair and Liz, or it might be used against him.
Cunning, my host, the voice whispered, slithering through his mind. Keep such knowledge to yourself. Be a dutiful servant and diligent student. The day will come when you are able to best your master.
“I can learn to shape?” Trevor asked. He remembered the fantastic powers Blair had demonstrated.
“Of course,” Irakesh scoffed, waving dismissively at Trevor. “You will be one of the most powerful shapers of this age. Your ability to shape is dictated by three things. The strength of your bloodline, the strength of your will, and your imagination. Your bloodline is impeccable, only one step removed from the native virus. Your will is stronger than any I’ve ever seen, and you clearly possess the ability to think creatively. With training you will be an incredible force.”
“Can we start now?” Trevor asked. So much had been taken from him, and he sensed that the key to his freedom lay in mastering shaping.
26
Disobeying Orders
The Director picked up the clipboard attached to the door. So odd that with the level of tech Mohn had they still used paper charts for patients. Of course the medical industry was always the last to adopt anything, so maybe that shouldn’t surprise him. He scanned the contents, noting that the surgery had been a success and there were no complications. What's more the patient would be ready for active duty the following day. Excellent.
He pushed open the heavy door, closing it gently behind him. The white-walled room was dominated by a wide hospital bed in an elevated position. Its occupant was pale but awake and alert. His normally well-trimmed goatee had grown into a scraggly black beard, and there were dark circles under his eyes. Yuri Filipov, looking considerably better than he had in the firefight in Panama. His legs lay on top of the sheets, both the flesh and blood one and the newly installed chrome cyber leg.
“How are you feeling, Yuri?” Mark asked, pulling a metal chair to the side of the bed and sitting down.
“Is good,” Yuri said, giving a wide grin through the beard. “Replaced Yuri’s leg. Better than new. Yuri cannot believe.”
“I’m glad to hear that. I’ve read your report on the incident. In your estimation the pyramid is lost then?” the Director asked. Satellite footage had already confirmed it, but he wanted to hear Yuri’s assessment anyway.
“Werewolves everywhere,” Yuri said, shaking his head. “Commander ordered extraction team to pull out after big red werewolf tear off leg. Commander’s position very bad. Did not see what happened after, but if commander survived would contact Mohn.”
Despite the man’s brevity and incredibly thick accent he had a keen eye. It just took a little effort to tease out the details. In this case, it sounded as if he’d missed the end of the fight. “You said that the package was still in Peru?”
“Is there,” Yuri replied, giving a tight nod. “Beacon still broadcasting. Could be retrieved with small team. Drop in hot, enter hangar, get back on runway. Give Yuri team of four and could be done.”
“Can you do it quietly?” the Director asked, leaning in close to the bed. “Off the books.”
Yuri gave him an unreadable look for a long moment before replying. “Is possible. Is cover story for return? Landing will be questioned.”
This was one of many reasons the Director trusted Yuri. He didn’t ask why it was off the books. He didn’t even want to know. All he was interested in was accomplishing the mission he’d been assigned.
“Let me worry about the landing. I’ll have a flight cleared for this evening. Head down to hangar six at 7 PM. Your team will already be assembled,” Mark said, rising from the stool. He walked to the door, then turned back to face Yuri. “The mission is critical. If the package can’t be retrieved, it must be destroyed. I don’t care if you have to detonate Panama. No one gets that weapon.”
He stepped through the door and closed it behind him. This kind of flagrant disobedience would likely be the end of his career. In the past he’d been able to examine things with a clinical detachment, to make tough choices and commit unthinkable acts when needed. So why was he struggling here?
Maybe because the whole god-damned world had ended. Mohn had a responsibility to protect the human race, and for the first time in Mark’s life, morality was overriding self-preservation. Maybe there’d be a clever quote about that on his tombstone.
27
Salvage Operation
The Mother surveyed the wreckage in the central chamber, a fresh spike of despair piercing her breast. So many centuries of labor to modify this place to suit her needs. It had r
equired the full might of her empire for the entirety of that time. Now it lay in ruins around her, perhaps damaged beyond repair.
A wet nose pressed into her leg. She looked down to find Yukon staring up at her adoringly. The strength of his loyalty pulsed from him. He was a simple creature, accepting that she was master and he just a companion. What surprised her was how content he found himself in such a role. It was something no self-respecting wolf would have accepted.
Wolves could acknowledge another as alpha, but that was just first among equals. Yukon accepted that she was superior in all things and that she would take care of him, in the same way a child viewed a parent. It baffled her.
“We’re going to embark on a journey,” she said, stroking his golden fur. He leaned into her leg, closing his eyes as she pet him. “We must head west to the ocean.”
She must repair the Ark, not just to secure her power base but also to lend strength to Blair’s cause. The closer Irakesh came to the Ark of the Redwood the stronger he would become. If Blair was to have a chance he’d need to pull strength from her Ark, but to do that it must be repaired.
In her own time she could have simply ordered her vassals to mine the necessary stone, then have it brought to another Ark or a place of power for imbuing. That was no longer possible. She’d have to mine the stone herself, and it must be done at a place of power. There were only two such places that might contain a charge this early in the cycle. One lay half a world away, but through luck or happenstance the other could be found in the ocean a few days west.
All she need do is secure one of these mighty ships she’d plucked from Blair’s memory. This could be found in the city men had named Lima, somewhere to the southwest.
The Mother turned from the chamber, extending her aura to encompass Yukon. They blurred through corridors until they reached the surface, bursting into bright sunlight in a swirl of dust.
So fast, Yukon sent, giddy like a small child. Far more playful than any wolf would allow. I am strong near you.
“Your strength will grow as we bond, little Yukon,” she said, smiling in spite of herself. She hated what had been done to the noble wolves, yet Yukon had proven brave and loyal. Perhaps there was more to these dogs than she’d been willing to admit.
What was that? She shaded her eyes, studying a cloud of dust along the south ridge. A vehicle rumbled down the trail, approaching the valley. Who dared violate the sanctity of her Ark? She shifted, baring her fangs as she and Yukon blurred towards the interlopers.
She charged up the trail, covering two miles in mere heartbeats. She landed on top of the hood of the jeep, which slammed on its brakes. There were four passengers, all wearing uniforms similar to the Mohn soldiers she’d so recently slaughtered.
“Peace,” the man in the driver’s seat cried. He had scraggly black hair badly in need of a comb. “We’ve come in peace. We were sent by your, uh, Ka-Dun. He said we might find sanctuary here.”
“Blair offered sanctuary?” she growled, flexing her claws.
“Yes,” the man replied, nodding vigorously. “He said that the werewolves are champions. Please, we have little food and no place to go. The zombies are everywhere. We are willing to work to earn our keep, but we need help. Do not turn us away.”
She considered. These men came as supplicants sent by her servant. If Blair had promised safety, then she was honor-bound to grant it. Was he wrong to do so? Very few had likely survived the deathless. They did need protection. He had done well, she decided.
“Very well, but you will serve as I bid. How many are you?” she demanded, dropping to the ground next to the jeep. She shifted back to her human form. The man’s eyes widened as he stared at her through the jeep’s driver-side window.
“There are about thirty of us. The rest of the vehicles are up the ridge, a mile or so back. I am Rodrigo,” he said, pale underneath his tan.
“You may address me as Mother. Gather your people, Rodrigo. We journey west, first to Cajamarca and then on to Lima. You will aid me in my task,” she said, allowing a smile.
Blair had done very well indeed.
28
Medellin 12km
Medellin 12km. Blair heaved a sigh of relief as they whizzed past the green sign. After days of slogging through jungles and backroads, they’d finally reached recognizable civilization. They were dirty, sweaty, tired, and more than a little irritable. Maybe they’d travel more quickly now that they’d reached real freeways.
Then again maybe not. He peered out the rear passenger window at the cracked asphalt stretching before them. It was clogged with a sea of cars, more familiar Toyotas and Fords replacing the generic motorcars he’d seen back in Peru. Figures shuffled between those vehicles, zombies in various stages of decay. Most looked up as they approached, shambling towards them with hungry eyes and low moans.
Jordan guided the jeep smoothly around them, his reflection in the rear-view mirror impassive. One of the zombies got a bit too close, a dark-haired woman in a white dress. Her face was bathed in blood, her eyes hollow and vacant as she lunged for the front of the jeep. Blair braced himself as Jordan romped on the gas. The vehicle jerked, bones snapping as they rolled over the woman. He focused on the horizon trying to ignore the stench of rotting flesh.
The road wound towards one of the largest skylines he’d ever seen, massive buildings clustered together in the center of a city that sprawled across the high valley and the hillsides surrounding it. It reminded him a little of Los Angeles, though many of the structures had a definite Spanish feel. He got the impression that some of the smaller churches were centuries old. They contrasted oddly with the more modern skyscrapers, a sea of steel and glass looming over their sleepy companions.
“This place was voted the most innovative city in the world just a few months ago,” Liz said. Her voice seemed too loud in the oppressive silence.
No one wanted to speak or even look at each other. How could they? This had been a city with nearly four million people and now it was a tomb, a brutal reminder of the extent of their failure as the guardians of mankind.
“Maybe some of them survived,” Bridget offered into the silence lingering after Liz’s statement.
“I’m betting there are hundreds of survivors. Possibly thousands,” Blair replied, facing Bridget across the mountain of gear littering the backseat. “The smart ones will hunker down, but that will only last until food becomes an issue. I’d expect more than a few are holed up in grocery stores or more defensible buildings around them. Just like Cajamarca.”
“Cut the chatter,” Jordan growled as the vehicle decelerated to a near crawl.
Blair leaned out the jeep’s rear window into the hot wind to look for whatever Jordan must have seen. They’d entered a relatively clear part of the freeway, with only a few cars towards the edges. The center lanes were all empty, both of vehicles and zombies. It wasn’t hard figuring out why. The corpses were all occupied.
A horde of zombies surrounded a pair of battered land rovers. They reminded Blair of Trevor’s vehicle, though both were white instead of the deep green Trevor had favored. Each vehicle had a sort of crow’s nest built on top, surrounded by sheets of metal that had been welded together. Each nest had three figures who held long chrome poles with machetes duct-taped to the end. They were dressed all in black with umpire’s masks obscuring their features. It must have been murder in the heat.
All except one of them anyway. A white-furred werewolf towered over her companions. She was far too large to be male, corded muscles bunched under her fur. She wielded a spear much like the others, which she used on the gathering horde with impressive ferocity.
She scythed through them, slicing spinal cords and severing heads. Her companions jabbed at any zombie who made it onto the vehicle, but left the rest of the work to her. Evidently she’d been at it for a while, because a large pile of bodies now surrounded each vehicle. Not that it stemmed the tide of zombies. At least thirty still attempted to overwhelm the defenders, wi
th more drifting towards them with each passing moment.
“They’ve seen us,” Jordan announced, slamming on the brakes. He used his left foot to push the e-brake into place. “How are we handling this? We need to decide now.”
One of the men on top of the rovers pointed in their direction. Another on the rover without the werewolf ducked out of sight, returning a moment later with an assault rifle of some kind. An M-16 maybe? Jordan probably knew.
“Blair, you’re with me. I want to try talking but if they get hostile, immobilize the humans. I’ll deal with the female,” Liz announced, opening her door and dropping to the asphalt.
Blair opened his own door, back straight and shoulders square as he approached the rovers. A few zombies noticed them, but before they could pull away from the pack the man with the M-16 began picking them off with precise head shots.
“Stay where you are,” the white-furred female roared. She leapt from the rover, landing behind the milling mass. She danced between them, claws sending up sprays of blood as she cut down most of the remaining horde.
A pair of corpses moved towards Blair. He waited for them to approach, then blurred for a fraction of an instant. Just long enough to snap both necks. They collapsed to the asphalt, clearing the path for Liz.
She waited patiently while the werewolf completed her grisly work. The white turned to face them, licking blood from her muzzle as she approached. She stopped just a few feet away, baring her teeth as she flexed her claws. “Who are you and why have you come to Medellin?”
“My name is Liz,” she replied, stepping forward until she stood next to the towering werewolf. Her heart rate was steady, though Blair noted a sheen of sweat from the sweltering sun. “We’re just passing through on our way to Panama. I’m willing to exchange news if you’re interested, but then we’re moving on.”