by Chris Fox
Then Cyntia was gone, melting into the shadows just as he had. The black-furred female spun around, scanning the area for her opponent. Neither she nor her three companions seemed sure what to do. Perhaps they hadn’t encountered anyone who could shadow walk. Cyntia had received instruction from Liz and maybe the Mother herself. It afforded her an unfair edge against this poor werewolf. Pity. It all but guaranteed the midnight’s death.
Your compassion is a weakness. Bury it. The Ka-Ken's death will bring your ally strength. If you wish to be free of your master, you will require her aid.
Trevor dropped a hand to his .45, flicking the catch on the holster with his thumb. He eased the weapon from the black leather as he waited for Cyntia to appear. A moment later she burst from the shadows behind the poor female, shredding her throat with razored claws even as she bit down on the spine. Cyntia’s victim crumpled, drawing the eyes of all three men.
Now.
He leapt skyward, giving a slight forward spin to compensate for the recoil. Trevor sighted down the metal sights, aligning the barrel with the first man’s forehead. Then he blurred, constricting the trigger like a boa. It coughed a round, which punched through the bridge of the surprised victim’s nose. His weapon aligned with the second target and he constricted again. The second round took his target through the throat, exiting through the spine. The third target he cored through the heart, which beat loudly enough to make it an easy target.
Trevor landed on the edge of the semi as all three men collapsed, twitching involuntarily as their bodies realized the truth. They were already dead.
“Well done,” Irakesh called, stepping from the vehicle. An alarmingly predatory grin spread across his face. “Look. Cyntia has already finished her meal. It will make her strong.”
Trevor turned towards her. There weren’t even bones left, at least not that he could see. Cyntia licked a piece of gore from her muzzle, giving him the single most alarming smile he’d ever seen. She was drenched in gore, eyes wild and bestial. Then she dropped to her haunches and began to feed on the first human. He wanted to be sick, but instead felt the most awful hunger.
Trevor dropped to his knees and began to feed on the first man, face mercifully obscured by the bullet’s entry wound. He started with the brain, always the most important part. The man would have memories that could prove useful, and devouring his mind would strengthen Trevor.
The rush came. Countless fragments stormed through him, bits of memory. A wife and child, brutally killed during the initial outbreak. A new friend, dead beside him. Wait, what was that? He chased down a distant image, an old thought. Expertly guiding a Cessna into an S-turn.
“Irakesh,” Trevor called, wiping gore from his chin. “This is it. The man was a highly experienced pilot. I think I can fly us once we reach Panama.”
“Excellent,” Irakesh said, a wide grin splitting his too-handsome face. “All we need do is ensure we are uninterrupted long enough to find this nuclear device and one of these wonderful aircraft I see in my new memories. You shall be rewarded, thrall. Watch with care. I would have you master this ability. It will serve us well in the days to come.”
Irakesh blurred, suddenly standing next to Trevor on top of the semi. He closed his eyes, extending both arms, fingers splayed into the breeze. Trevor felt something. A gathering energy crackling just past the edge of sight, something electric he couldn’t quite see. It gathered around Irakesh and then pulsed outwards, a finger’s breadth beyond hearing or sight.
Every shambling corpse stopped. They slowly turned to face Irakesh, then took a step towards him in unison. They shuffled towards the semi with single-minded purpose. Just the way he had on the day Irakesh had ensnared him. What was it that his master had just done?
He sent out an energy pulse. The mindless will do anything to feast on such pure energy, so they seek it at all costs. Once they are close they will be within range of his blood and he will dominate them.
I can do this, too? Trevor thought. The scientist in him was fascinated. It had to be signal based. Even light was a wave, which was just a form of signal. Irakesh was somehow broadcasting a powerful signal.
It is a simple thing, easily mastered. One of the pillars of deathless power, the ability to gather an army. All deathless of note have many such thralls. With so many nascent deathless this power will be even more vital in this age. Learn it well, for once you have freed yourself you will need it to establish your own power base.
At least twenty zombies had already gathered. More appeared from the thick trees on the side of the road. Still others down both sides of the road. They were coming from all directions. Hundreds. Maybe thousands.
“What are you going to do with them?” Trevor asked. He was positive that he didn’t want to know, but he couldn’t bear not knowing, either.
“I can feel the Ka-Dun in that direction, perhaps two or three miles away. I will send every deathless we encounter to stop him.”
31
Steve
Jordan eyed Bridget and Blair chatting in low tones in the corner of the pavilion. Bridget was giving one of those coy smiles, letting her hair screen her face. Four feet to their right a very agitated Liz-wolf tried to pretend she wasn't watching them.
Yup, Jordan definitely missed Mohn professionalism. He shifted his attention back to Dr. Roberts, who thumped the table with each point in his tirade.
“Mohn orchestrated the entire incident at the pyramid. They led us there like lambs to a slaughter; that cannot be denied. They allowed scientists and artists to explore a site that they knew to be dangerous. I watched Alejandro get torn apart. I was torn apart,” Roberts barked, eyes searing everyone. He leaned forward, looking right at Jordan. “You were the head honcho. The guy at the top. You knew what was going on there, knew about the werewolves and the radiation. All of it. You let our team get slaughtered for your personal crusade. Now you expect me to simply allow you to walk out of here as if nothing had transpired? I’m not going to do that, Mr. Jordan. I’m going to have you executed.”
Jordan was still considering a response when Blair spoke.
“No, you’re not,” Blair said, turning from Bridget to face the doctor. The words were quiet. So quiet Jordan might not have heard them without his enhanced hearing. He watched as Blair took three very deliberate steps towards the desk, eyes locked on Roberts. “If you try, we’ll have to resist and that will end very, very badly for your people.”
“What the hell happened to you, Smith? You should be on my side. He betrayed us all. They murdered the world, man. How can you not see that? You, of all people,” Roberts asked, rising to meet Blair’s advance. This was going south. Quickly. Still, Jordan’s interference would solve nothing. Roberts might listen to Blair. Maybe.
“I am on your side, Roberts,” Blair said, planting both hands on the table. Only a foot separated the two men now. “Mohn has a lot to answer for, more than you can possibly know. Jordan here hunted me all the way to San Diego and blew up the house of a very good friend. He fought to the end to keep us from waking the Mother and trust me when I say we very much need her if we’re going to save anything of humanity.”
“You’re not helping his case,” Roberts snarled, jerking his head towards Jordan. “Hell, you’re admitting he’s the problem.”
“Was,” Blair shot back, gaze unflinching. Jordan was pleased to see him showing some steel. “When the Mother woke she slaughtered three hundred Mohn personnel in a matter of minutes. Jordan was one of the first casualties. He rose from the dead just like we did. He’s one of us now, for better or worse. The fact is he’s been invaluable. His military expertise has saved our asses more than once and it’s very much needed if we’re going to stop the thing we’re chasing.”
The angry-looking blonde ducked through the tent flap, looking directly at Roberts. “Medico, we’ve got a problem. Team four didn’t report back, so we sent out a team to investigate. They found traces of a fight. Shots fired. There was blood everywhere, but
they said they couldn’t find any bodies.”
“Did they have any other details?” Roberts asked, shooting Jordan a look that promised this wasn’t over. “Send the scout in. Now.”
“Sure, I’ll grab him. One sec,” she said, ducking back out. She returned a moment later with a skinny teen in tow, baggy shorts stained black from use. “This is Fiero. He was the lead scout. Fiero, tell the Medico what you saw.”
“It was awful, sir,” the boy said, ducking his head to avoid meeting anyone’s gaze. “There was blood all over the top of the semi. And these scratches, sir, like from claws. But there weren't any bodies. I think they were eaten, sir. Maybe by zombies, but that doesn’t make a lot of sense. They’d have gotten away. Yselda can kill a whole pack of zombies. She would have gotten away. She’d have gotten them out.”
“Did this happen a little ways north?” Blair interrupted, looking directly at the boy. “Maybe four or five kilometers?”
“Yes, about four, I think. Out there on the freeway. It’s the farthest north we patrol, towards the border with Panama,” he explained, darting quick glances at Blair as he spoke.
“Did you find any shell casings?” Jordan broke in, leaning forward in his chair. He hoped the gesture made him slightly less intimidating.
“Yes, sir,” the boy said, darting a single look Jordan’s way and then dropping his gaze. “We found three bullets.”
“Did you find the rounds, or just the shell casings?” Jordan asked, steepling his fingers and resting his elbows on the table in front of him.
“Both, sir. I’ve got them right here,” he reached into his pocket and extended a dirty hand. “Here you go, sir. I wasn’t sure what to make of them.”
“Three bullets from a .45 caliber pistol,” Jordan said, examining one of the shells. He held it up so they could all see that the entire front had flattened. “This one probably fired into the skull, judging by the round. It punched through the bone and into the brain, killing him instantly. This second one might have been fired into the heart. See how it’s only flat on one side? Probably hit a rib on the way in. The third one looks just like the first, so probably another head shot. Someone executed those people with extreme precision at close range. Then they ate the bodies, because otherwise these bullets would still be lodged in their victims.”
“That would account for the team with Yselda,” Roberts said, shifting his gaze to Jordan. He still wore his skepticism. “But how did they take her out? What could beat a female werewolf? She was one of our best. You know what did this, don’t you?”
“Yeah, we do,” Jordan said. He turned to face Blair. “You should probably field this one, Professor Smith. I’m not sure he’d believe anything I said and even if he did I don’t know that I can explain exactly what it is we’re chasing.”
“All right,” Blair said, giving a short nod. He removed his hat, dropping the sweaty thing on the desk. His hair was all askew, but somehow it didn’t detract from his air of seriousness. He'd changed so much since arriving at the dig site just a couple months back. In another couple, he'd be a damned good soldier. “I’m sure you remember the woman sleeping in the sarcophagus.”
“Of course I do. All we did was wonder who she was, for weeks,” Roberts said, face tightening.
“The woman you saw was the Mother, the progenitor of the werewolf species,” Blair explained. He used both hands in an unconscious attempt to tame his wild hair. It failed. “She created them to battle what you and I call zombies, something she referred to as deathless. I’m sure you’re well aware of what a threat the zombies pose, and since you’re still alive you know firsthand about werewolves. You’ve probably even spoken to the beast in your head. That was very deliberately created by the Mother to help guide us.”
"Okay, let’s assume I’m willing to accept this narrative,” Dr. Roberts replied, expression anything but accepting. This was going to be a tough sell. “What does this have to do with my missing team? I’ll take a history lesson later, but right now I need answers.”
“I’m getting there. Something else was asleep in the pyramid, what the Mother calls an Ark. This thing stowed away when The Mother put the Ark into stasis just over thirteen thousand years ago. He woke up and stole something very important,” Blair explained, sinking back into his chair. “His name is Irakesh and he’s a deathless. Not the typical mindless zombie, but something more akin to a vampire. He’s smart and powerful, with abilities we’re just beginning to understand. We’ve been chasing him all the way from Cajamarca.”
“Chasing him where?” Roberts asked. He’d relaxed slightly, but was still scowling.
“To Panama. This is the part that’s really going to piss you off,” Jordan interrupted, a bead of sweat trickling down his cheek like a stray tear. He had to own up to this, like it or not. “This is news to everyone, something that wasn’t relevant until now. Mohn was terrified of the werewolves. They were sending a nuke to blow up the Ark, but it never made it. I believe it’s at the Mohn airfield in Panama. It’s possible Irakesh is after that nuke and we have no idea what he’ll use it for. What we do know is his final destination. He’s heading for an Ark in North America, probably somewhere near San Francisco. If he reaches it before we do he’ll control every zombie for thousands of miles. He’ll wipe out the few survivors and set up his own little empire.”
Everyone stared at Jordan.
“So you were going to nuke the pyramid and wipe out Cajamarca. Millions of souls. Yep, sounds like Mohn. So let me guess: this Irakesh is who you believe took out my team?” Roberts asked, straightening. His gaze was unreadable.
“We haven’t seen anything else that could do it, not with that level of precision,” Jordan continued. His posture was as slumped as he ever allowed it to get, almost ramrod straight. “We need to keep him from getting that nuke.”
“All right, you’ve got my attention. I want to run this by my advisor before I make a decision,” he said, rising from his chair and crossing to the tent’s entryway. “Wait here. I’ll return in a moment.”
He left before anyone could give an answer, leaving them sitting in silence. Jordan refused to make eye contact with anyone, fearing the condemnation he'd find there.
He eyed Liz-wolf sidelong as she touched Blair on the shoulder. “Can you feel him?”
“He’s close,” Blair said, staring up at her. “Just a few miles from here. This is the closest we’ve been.”
The tent flap stirred, admitting Roberts and a man who must have been lurking just outside the tent somewhere. He was tall and handsome, with a neatly trimmed black beard and grey eyes. He wore loose black pants of something that might have been silk, and a tight-fitting black tank top that showed off impressively muscled shoulders. He screamed douche.
“Steve?” Bridget cried, surging to her feet. She’d been so quiet Jordan had almost forgotten she’d been in the room. “My god, you’re alive.” She flung her arms around him, burying her face in his chest.
Steve looked down at her distastefully, gently disengaging himself from her. “Hello, Bridget. Blair. Commander Jordan.”
“How the fuck are you alive?” Jordan roared, slack-jawed. His .45 appeared in his hand, and he broke out in a cold sweat. “I killed you. We all saw it.”
32
Ambushed
Blair gaped at Steve. Bridget had told him how Mohn had executed him, though Blair had never heard that Jordan had been the one to do the executing. Steve pushed Bridget away, walking straight over to him. Blair rose, tensing as the man who’d once been his best friend approached. The last time he’d seen Steve the man had been in the throes of radiation sickness. His mind had deteriorated into madness to the point that he’d attacked Blair.
The stranger before him couldn’t have been more different. He stood taller and wore a familiar confidence Blair had come to expect. Steve had always been cocky, yet this was more pronounced and less in your face. The quiet air of a man who knows how dangerous he is, but takes no pleasure from the
fact.
“Hello, Blair, it’s been a long time. I don’t really count the Ark, since I wasn’t in my right mind,” Steve said. He extended a hand. Blair stared at it. Steve had betrayed him, had taken Bridget and any chance he’d had at making it in the archeology world. It had knocked Blair all the way to the bottom of a wine bottle for the better part of three years. He’d spent a lot of evenings wallowing there, hating his old friend. Blaming him for the wretch he’d become.
“Hello, Steve,” Blair finally replied, seizing Steve's hand just as he was starting to drop it back to his side. It was time to let go, to get over all the bullshit. To try, anyway. Steve had fucked him, but hadn’t he made mistakes, too? He was too tired to hold on to the anger anymore. “I’m glad to see rumors of your death were greatly exaggerated. How the hell did you end up in Columbia?”
“And how are you still alive?” Jordan interjected, .45 still cradled in his hand as if he were considering whether or not to use it.
“You believed me dead because that’s what I wished you to believe,” Steve said, giving Jordan a predatory smile. Then he turned back to Blair. Steve’s grip was just a bit too firm, not quite enough to hurt but enough to show it could. Yup, same old Steve. “I shaped the Commander's mind and those of the others gathered there. They believed I was dead, a necessary fiction if I was going to escape.”
“There were several dozen of us watching. You shaped all of us?” Jordan interrupted. He raised an eyebrow, obviously skeptical.
“Just the few of you close enough to see what had really happened,” Steve admitted, looking a trifle less smug. He walked over to one of the chairs and settled into it with the grace of a jungle cat, something he’d never possessed before. “Everyone else assumed I died in the blast and I blurred away before they could figure out otherwise. From there I made my way north. I was trying to make it back to the states when the world ended. I’ve never seen anything like the fireworks in the sky. After that I started looking for survivors and ran into Dr. Roberts and his group.”