by Chris Fox
“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” the werewolf rumbled. An apologetic rumble. She pointed back towards the city. “We have a gathering there and our leader meets all travelers. Medico Roberto will decide what to do with you.”
“I wasn’t asking,” Liz growled, beginning to shift. The camo shirt tore from her shoulders, while the cargo pants all but exploded. In the blink of an eye, she went from two inches shorter than Blair to two inches taller than the strange werewolf. “My pack has been trained by the Mother and we outnumber you. Maybe you should rethink the whole detaining us thing.”
Blair was already moving. He needed to do something to impress these people, to cow them before the guy with the assault rifle did something stupid. He extended his hand, concentrating on the dozen or so zombies moving towards the rover. Blair split his will into a dozen spikes, like the heads of some giant imaginary hydra. It came easily now.
He thrust at the zombies, pulling the milling mass away from the rovers. He forced them to gather into a tight knot about fifty feet away, making the gesture he used to control them as theatrical as possible. It seemed to work. The man with the rifle and his companions all gaped openly.
"The Mother?" the White asked.
“The one who created us. She's taught us to use our abilities. Abilities that you can't even begin to imagine,” Liz-wolf growled, looming over the white werewolf.
The report of the assault rifle rang out every few seconds, each shot downing a zombie who was closing in on them.
“I don’t want to fight. I am Diana,” she replied, giving a shallow bow. “Even if we could win, some of us would die and that benefits no one. Please, return with me to our compound. Meet Medico Roberto. If you seek to travel through our city he can help you. Surely it would be better to have us as allies. That is better than we few survivors fighting amongst each other.”
What do you want to do? Blair thought at Liz.
We’ll head back with them. She’s right about us not fighting. It’s foolish to fight amongst ourselves, Liz sent back. The subtext wasn’t lost on him.
Stand down, he thought to the entire team. He could feel Jordan and Bridget relaxing from inside the jeep.
“All right, we’ll go back with you, but if you betray us get ready for a lot of blood,” Liz-wolf growled. She gestured at their jeep. “My team will follow your rovers if you want to lead the way.”
“There will be no betrayal,” Diana assured them. She walked back to her people, who’d already slid into their rovers and started the engines.
29
Medico Roberto
Jordan ignored his jagged thoughts, instead focusing on the two rovers they were following. They wove down a narrow corridor just wide enough for one car. It had been created along the main freeway by lining it with a row of SUVs and busses on either side, and must have taken hundreds of man-hours to move into place. A shrewd choice. It controlled the flow of zombies, channeling them into easily managed kill zones at the few intersections left open for people to enter the corridor.
Metal screeched as one of the rovers mashed a stray zombie into the door of a yellow Pathfinder. The move sent a shower of gore onto the jeep’s windshield, cutting Jordan’s visibility to shit. He flicked the windshield wipers, but only succeeded in coating the glass with a thick pink film.
“Fucking lovely,” he growled, leaning out the window to see. The wind provided no relief from the stench, only adding exhaust to the mix. None of it kept his mind from the dilemma.
He’d been worrying at the same problem for days, ever since the sat-link had come online back in the Ark. Mohn Corp. was still out there. Despite the catastrophic damage that had crippled the world’s electronics they still had satellites. Somehow that wasn’t surprising.
It meant they’d been far more prepared than they’d indicated. They probably had a sizable military presence in Syracuse and were obviously still gathering intel. What sort of resources did they have? If it included aircraft, they’d almost certainly make a play for Panama. They might even be there already. Did he still have a place with Mohn? Would he want it if he did?
“There it is,” Liz-wolf called over the wind. She was right. They were coming up on a stadium parking lot. The inside of the chain-link fence was lined with SUVs, just like the corridor they were driving through. Whoever was in charge knew what they were doing, at least when constructing defenses with limited resources.
The two rovers paused in front of a bus blocking their path. A figure appeared in the driver’s window, aiming the business end of a .308 in their direction. Not the best choice of weapon. He might kill his first target, but he’d never have time to acquire another before they returned fire. Even if he could, the weapon was terrible at close range. He should be using a shotgun or even a heavier caliber pistol.
The man lowered the rifle, resting a hand on the wheel of the bus. It shuddered for a moment, then slid smoothly backwards with almost no sound. Was it powered by natural gas? There should have been more noise if it was diesel like most busses back in the states.
The first rover maneuvered through the gap, quickly followed by the second. Jordan depressed the gas, allowing the jeep to follow at an unthreatening pace. They were allowed into a stretch of asphalt bordered by a tent city. The part near the center looked like a market, while those tents closer to the edge were residential. He’d guess there were perhaps three hundred people here.
They looked ragged. Worn out. Most were dirty and avoided eye contact with each other. Children flinched when adults got too close. The unnatural quiet was painful. It was as if people were afraid of speaking, as if it might attract the same angry god that had visited the zombies and werewolves upon them.
They are in need of protection, Ka-Dun, a voice rumbled in the back of his mind. It didn’t speak often, maybe because he almost always ignored it.
The brakes squealed as Jordan pulled into a spot next to one of the rovers. So odd that they still had those brightly painted lines for parking when the rest of the city had gone to shit. He threw the jeep in park, setting the e-brake with his left foot. Then he turned to Liz, spearing her with his gaze despite how intimidating he found her wolf form. “Listen, I know you don’t trust me. I don’t blame you. But we’re about to walk into a potentially hostile situation and I need to know that we can count on each other. Can you and Blair shelve your squabble long enough for us to figure out what our play here is? We don’t have the luxury of infighting.”
“We’re going to go see this Medico. If he’s a doctor, hopefully he’ll be reasonable. I’m sure he’ll send us on our way,” Liz rumbled, seemingly unimpressed by his gaze. She did dart a guilty glance at Blair.
“And if he doesn’t?” Blair asked, throwing his door open and hopping out. Liz followed, unfolding from where the jeep’s passenger seat used to be. That poor seat was never going to be the same.
Neither picked up a weapon and he was tired of trying to convince them they needed to carry guns. He rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses and exited the jeep.
“Then we deal with the situation if it arises,” Liz said. Blair didn’t look happy with the answer, but gave a tight nod of agreement. It was more than he’d seemed capable of only a few days before. Whatever had gone down between them had left a scar. They were good fighters, but he missed the professionalism of Mohn’s elite.
Jordan moved to the back of the jeep, swinging open the rear door and hefting the black duffle with the weapons. Bridget followed, so he handed her his holstered .460. “This is the most powerful handgun I’ve ever fired. Men have broken their nose from the recoil, but I’m betting you can handle it. You won’t find a better compact weapon.”
He picked up a 12 gauge for himself, stuffing four boxes of shells into his cargo pants. If this came to combat it would be close quarters.
“Thanks,” Bridget said, strapping the .460’s neoprene holster to her thigh. It was impressive how quickly she’d adapted to carrying a gun, especially compared to the
others who were unwilling to even pick one up.
The conversation died as the snowy werewolf approached. She was flanked by two of the men in their ridiculous umpire’s masks. The cost to their peripheral vision far outweighed any protection it might grant. It was a security blanket and a bad tactical one at that.
“This way,” Diana rumbled. She gave Liz a deferential nod, gesturing for her to follow. Liz fell in beside her, smelling of wet dog and sweat. Jordan and the rest fell in behind her. The umpires kept a respectful distance, watching them warily but with the obvious terror of those who know they’re seriously outmatched.
They were led through several rows of tents, mostly occupied by families, though more than one held tables with jerky or canned food. Only one had water and it had two guards with M-16s flanking it. He felt their gazes, giving a grin when their postures straightened. They knew a manageable threat when they saw one. Liz would tear them apart, so they left her to Diana. But they could handle a normal man and as far as they were concerned that’s exactly what Jordan was. They were the only non-amateurs in the plaza. Water must be in short supply for them to have been assigned guard duty.
They reached the final row of tents, which butted up against the wall of the stadium. Diana stopped in front of large green pavilion of the type he’d seen at U.N. installations in Africa. It was perfect for a mobile command center, again if resources were an issue. Four guards waited outside, two linebacker types and an odd pair. One was a short, skinny guy with dark skin and wire frame glasses, from South India most likely. The other was a blonde in her early twenties with hard brown eyes and the best bitch face he’d seen in a while. The classic hot-girl defense mechanism.
Neither was human. There wasn’t anything obvious, but they were too aware of their surroundings. Too unalarmed by the pair of nine-foot werewolves that ducked into the pavilion. Besides, the only way they’d have been left as guards was if they were more than they appeared to be. He gave them a respectful nod as he followed Blair into the tent. Bridget trailed after, hand never leaving the .460’s rubber grip. Jordan felt like a proud father.
A smattering of plastic chairs surrounded several folding tables that had been pushed together to form one large desk. It was cluttered with piles of paper, books, and a map of the city with little green army men scattered at different locations. A bear of a man with a bristly black beard that grew like an untended hedge stood at the tables, peering at his map. He wore glasses with a thick black frame and a battered fedora Jordan would have recognized anywhere.
“Dr. Roberts?” Jordan asked, stepping up between Liz and Diana. Both glowered down at him, but he ignored them.
“Commander Jordan?” Roberts raised an eyebrow. He rose from behind the desk, crossing his arms. His voice was frosty. “You’re the last person I would have expected to see, though I shouldn’t be surprised. The pyramid started this whole mess and I’ve long suspected that Mohn must be at the heart of everything.”
“You’re Medico Roberto? That's priceless,” Blair said, grinning with some of the enthusiasm Jordan thought circumstances had stamped out of him. It was the closest Jordan had seen him drift to the man he’d been when he first arrived at the Ark, before this whole messy op had started.
“I can’t believe you’re alive,” Blair continued. “How did you get here? Did Alejandro make it?”
“Smith?” Roberts blinked as he took in Blair. He stepped from behind the desk, offering a hand. “I guess it makes sense that you’d be alive. I’ve deduced that werewolves rise from the corpses of those they slay. Whatever killed you must have been the progenitor of the disease their bite contains. Fascinating. You’re the very first werewolf.”
“You know these men, Medico?” Diana rumbled, eyeing them with renewed curiosity. She licked her chops, probably a reflexive gesture, since she didn’t seem hostile. It was damned unnerving, though.
“Yes, Diana, it’s all right. Could you ask Daveed to bring us some water? We have a few things we need to discuss and it may take some time."
Diana gave a shallow bow, then ducked through the tent flap and back into the sweltering heat.
Roberts waited for her to go before speaking. “Now then, why don’t you all explain exactly what brings you to my city, and why I shouldn’t have you executed?”
30
Team Crazy
Trevor threw the rusted-out Bronco into low gear, powering over the curb and onto the other side of the highway. Irakesh thumbed his way through a book written in Spanish about Christopher Columbus, seemingly oblivious to the rough ride. It was the third he’d devoured in as many days. His thirst for knowledge was insatiable and Trevor couldn’t really blame him. He had thirteen thousand years to catch up on, after all.
“Did you catch that scent?” Cyntia purred into his ear, leaning forward and rubbing a hand along his shoulder. She reeked like a brothel, somehow managing to smell like sex. The fact that he was quite clearly dead didn’t seem to phase her in the slightest.
That was just one of a number of signs that she was growing unstable. From the sly looks Irakesh shot her, Trevor was pretty sure the deathless knew why. If he had to guess, it had something to do with the either the frequency or the content of her feeding. She ate zombie and human alike, as often as possible. It had strengthened her. She’d gained at least two inches when in wolf form and was visibly stronger, but her once shiny blond fur had faded to a flat dun. Her eyes had changed to a terrifying scarlet when she shifted.
It might even make sense from a scientific standpoint. The werewolf virus altered DNA. Eating zombies meant she was ingesting a rival virus. If the changes were any indication, both viruses were mutating. Into what Trevor couldn't say, but he bet Irakesh could. What he wouldn't give for one of Erik's CellScopes and fifteen minutes of the Aussie's time. He could analyze the blood and answer the question definitively.
“No, what was it?” he finally answered, testing the air. His sense of smell had grown sharper, but it was his hearing that was truly amazing now. Yet there was nothing over the roar of the engine.
“A familiar scent. There’s a female nearby, and a few humans,” Cyntia explained, resting her head against his shoulder like some needy cat. He ignored her as best he could, pity warring with distaste.
“Which way?” he asked, scanning the roadway. The heat was oppressive, but since he no longer sweated it didn’t bother him the way that it used to. He was simply aware of it.
“They are up ahead,” Irakesh broke in, closing his book. His eyes narrowed as he peered through the windshield. “See that large white trailer? A semi, I believe it’s called. They’re on top of it, lying flat. It looks like they’re clearing nascent deathless. There’s a pile of bodies around their vehicle.”
Irakesh was right. Trevor could see the werewolf now, her black fur a stark contrast against the blue sky. She held a spear of some kind and was jabbing at the zombies clustered around the truck. Her companions were all humans in camouflage fatigues. Each had a rifle, but none were firing. Made sense. Bullets were going to become very scarce in the near future. Let the werewolf do the work unless they got into trouble.
“Trevor, handle the men. Kill them and devour the bodies. Leave the Ka-Ken for Cyntia; she will gain great strength from consuming her,” Irakesh instructed. He turned that awful gaze Trevor’s way.
“We could just pass them by. If we’re being pursued, confrontations like this could reveal our presence,” Trevor suggested. More to save these people’s lives than because he feared discovery. Hell, he welcomed discovery. The more time he spent with Irakesh the more certain he became that the deathless had to be stopped. If only he could do that himself.
“It was neither a request, nor a suggestion. You will enact my will, thrall,” Irakesh growled, eyes flaring an evil shade of green. Trevor felt something hot wash over him, seeping into his nerves. The sensation was becoming all too familiar and it made him grind his teeth. Irakesh could yank him about like a puppet, working with the stran
ge voice to keep Trevor a prisoner in his own body. “The strength we will gain here more than outweighs potential discovery. Besides, the time will soon come when you and Cyntia are powerful enough to help me destroy the Ka-Dun Isis sent after us.”
For now he imposes his will on you through domination. In time your strength will grow and you will be able to resist his influence. He is well trained, but young. You will eclipse him, but you must be patient. He must not see you as a threat until it is too late.
Trevor didn’t respond to the strange voice, instead nodding to Irakesh and focusing on the road ahead of him. He didn’t know what the voice was and it confused the hell out of him. One moment it was working with Irakesh, the next offering advice on how he could backstab the bald monster.
He guided the Bronco to a stop near the semi. The people on top had noticed their arrival and were snatching up rifles. None made a threatening move. Cyntia gave a growl and began to shift. She planted both powerful legs against her door and kicked with all that incredible strength. The door popped off like a cork from a champagne bottle, slamming into a nearby Focus with a tremendous clatter.
Trevor massaged his temples. “Couldn’t you have just opened it?”
Cyntia leapt out, charging towards the semi before Trevor could even open the door. Why was he the one who’d ended up on team crazy?
He flipped the latch and rolled out the door, coming up in a crouch. They hadn’t seen him. He dove forward, rolling into the shadow cast by the semi. Then he was gone, form melting into the mass of zombies still milling about the semi. He needn’t have bothered after Cyntia’s showy entrance. The men’s rifles vomited slugs in her direction, sharp cracks stinging his ears as they all fired. It was so different than when he had ear protection at the range. Especially with his dramatically enhanced hearing.