by Chris Fox
Blair was conscious of Bridget sinking into a chair on the far side of the room. He glanced at her, but she was staring at her feet. Her hair screened her face, the defensive mechanism he’d seen so often over the years. It still affected him, but much less powerfully than it once had. It had ripped the scab off his old wound when she’d run to Steve, though ironically he'd also felt a stab of pity. She’d been rejected and he knew exactly what that was like. He shouldn’t be involved with Bridget, shouldn’t open up his heart to her. Yet all he wanted to do was offer comfort.
“I’m glad that we’re all acquainted,” Roberts broke in, sarcasm lathered all over the statement. He leaned against one of the poles holding up the pavilion. “The question remains: what are we going to do about this Irakesh. If he’s as big a threat as—”
Someone screamed in the distance. Then someone else. A third. A chorus. People were panicking, somewhere to the northeast. Blair looked to Liz for instruction.
“Let’s get out there and find out what the problem is. Maybe Irakesh has come to us,” she said, turning away from Blair.
Blair stripped as quickly as he could. Everyone else had started to do the same, even Dr. Roberts. The only exception was Steve, who gave a sympathetic shake of his head as if they were all cretins. He shifted, clothing disappearing as he did. In his place stood a seven-foot black werewolf. There was no trace of the clothing. It seemed he knew the same trick the Mother used, but how had he learned it?
Liz-wolf ducked through the tent flap, followed by Bridget. Jordan came next, his shotgun comically small in the meaty werewolf fist. Roberts had shifted into a grey werewolf, fur the color of ash the morning after a campfire.
“After you,” Steve-wolf said, his lupine grin disconcerting despite the fact that Blair had grown used to such grins. He slipped into the moonlit evening that had descended while they were in the tent. It was still ungodly hot, but that was quickly forgotten when he saw the level of chaos. Cracks of sporadic gunfire came from all directions, as did the screams. They were under attack, but by what?
Blair leapt atop a one of the tall markers at the end of each row of parking spaces. This one read B6 in faded red lettering, a reminder of a more sane world when this place would have been used for soccer games. He scanned the rows of tents, immediately spotting the threat.
Zombies streamed through two holes in the row of SUVs blocking the northwest part of the parking lot. It looked as though they’d pushed through by sheer numbers. There were hundreds of them, most shambling but more than one sprinting towards targets. People were tackled to the ground where clusters of zombies began feeding on their still living victims.
Helpless refugees stampeded away from the threat, pushing frantically towards the southern exit. A woman was shoved to the ground, her short scream terminated as person after person trampled over her. She wasn’t the only casualty. Children were separated from parents, some crushed under the weight of the crowd, while others were left sobbing in forgotten corners.
“Blair,” Liz-wolf bellowed from the next row of tents. “We have to stop them. Bridget and I are going to drive a wedge in their ranks. Back us up.”
She didn’t wait for a response, bounding down the row towards the zombies. The crowd parted before her, streaming around her as they continued their mad flight. There was no sign of Bridget, but Blair guessed she’d already taken to the shadows.
“Steve, with me,” Roberts yelled from a spot not far below Blair’s perch. “We need to get to the southern gate. This might be a trap and if it is I don’t want those people to rush right into a bunch of zombies.”
“Of course,” Steve said, unruffled by the chaos. He loped after Roberts as the pair headed for the southern gate.
Blair blurred after Liz, rolling under a small pavilion and into the next row. Out of the corner of his eye he caught Jordan blurring down the next row. It was good to see him embracing some of his abilities.
Then Blair was amidst the zombies. He tore and gouged, ripping through spines and tearing out throats. The thing that had once been a young woman loomed in front of him, dress torn down the front to expose a milky white breast splotchy with blood. Blair grabbed the side of her head, slamming it into the pavement with a sickening crunch and a spray of gore. Again and again he fought, struggling to stay near Liz and Bridget as they fought their way towards the breach.
Zombies still flowed inside, a seemingly endless stream. They’d been joined by those unfortunates caught by the initial horde, and now there were more zombies in the parking lot than humans. The werewolves were making a dent, but it just wasn’t enough.
He had to do something. But what? What would Ahiga have done? He’d have had some bullshit Yoda-like advice that would have amounted to ‘figure it out your fucking self, whelp’. Ahiga’s mental abilities had been more powerful, more developed than his own. Yet surely that strength had come from practice, from pushing his abilities. Blair had already proven he could stop a handful of zombies. He had to find a way to do more.
He leapt into the air, grabbing a sign emblazoned with L2 and using his momentum to swing onto the top of the crossbeam, landing in a crouch. He surveyed the sea of zombies before him. How many could he stop?
Blair shaped his will into a mass of spikes that surrounded him like a sea urchin. They wavered and then burst in a flash of pain. He shook his head to clear it. This time he shaped the spikes more slowly, concentrating on making each one a perfect stiletto. Only after he’d finished one did he attempt another. He built one after another in quick succession, but it wasn’t fast enough.
Be calm, Ka-Dun. Power comes through deliberate, focused attention, the beast rumbled in the back of his mind. You possess the power to save these people, but you must block out the world and give yourself wholly to your task.
People screamed below even as Liz and Bridget did their best to stem the tide. Jordan had entered the fray, dropping zombies with well placed shots from his shotgun or cutting down those who came too close with his wickedly sharp claws. Their effort seemed so pitiful in the face of that much carnage.
Blair shaped more quickly, adding dozens of spikes. It tore at his brain, flashes of agony rippling through him as he struggled to sustain them all. Then at last he’d reached his limit. He knew if he tried just one more, the rest would unravel. So he closed his eyes, flinging the spikes in every direction. They sank into the zombies, gathering hundreds of disparate wills under his control.
It was like trying to swim upstream against a waterfall, so many wills buffeting him. A cacophony of half-formed consciousnesses, each driven by the singular need to feed. Even though each was a weak-willed zombie, the sheer number made the task nearly impossible. Yet he persevered. He would not give up, not abandon the survivors below.
Blair opened his eyes. Every zombie within a hundred yards had frozen, each turning their ruined faces at him. They glared hatefully, straining to reach the freedom he denied them.
“Liz,” he roared, his voice echoing over the chaotic din. “I can’t hold them for long.”
Liz and Bridget blazed through the captive zombies, cutting them down in a flurry of carnage. Nor were they the only ones. Jordan led nearly a dozen men and women into the fray. Most had knives or machetes, though a few emptied rounds into the helpless zombies. They joined the grisly work, mowing through the enemy with an intensity that made him proud.
Each death made his work easier, the strain less. Eventually it became effortless, with only a dozen or so zombies remaining. Then those too were cut down, leaving Blair sweating and tired on top of his perch. He dropped to the ground, leaning heavily against the pole he’d been standing on.
"Blair, that was amazing,” Liz cried, flinging furry arms around him. Bridget wasn’t far behind, joining the group hug. “I can’t believe you held them all.”
“Always full of surprises, aren’t you Blair?” Bridget added. They disengaged as Jordan approached, leading the men and women who’d helped him defend.
“Casualties are bad. At least a hundred were killed, maybe as many as twice that. We’ll have to see how things ended up with Dr. Roberts and Dr. Galk,” he said, voice revealing more emotion than Blair would have thought the man capable of.
His joy turned to ashes when he turned to see the sea of corpses littering the parking lot.
33
Consequences
Mark woke up with a start, the tablet tumbling from his chest to thud on the thick grey carpet. He rubbed sleep from his eyes as another knock came at the door. The digital clock’s numbers read 2:38 AM. Who the hell would bother him at this hour? An emergency might prompt a phone call, but someone knocking at his door? He’d have their ass scrubbing air ducts for the next month. He lurched to the door and tapped the lights before opening it. The door slid open to reveal the Old Man’s platinum hair.
“Hello, Mark. I’m sorry for waking you. Can I come in?” he asked, plunging past Mark and dropping into the tiny room's single chair without awaiting an answer.
“What can I do for you?” was all he could muster. Mark sat heavily on the bed, the only other place to sit. Even being the Director only afforded him so much space in a facility like this.
“You can explain your actions. I wanted to hear it for myself rather than call a formal inquiry,” the Old Man said matter-of-factly. He crossed his arms, gaze boring into Mark.
There was only one thing he could be talking about. Mark had known the instant he’d ordered the extraction in Panama that it would come to this. The Old Man was far too paranoid not to have him watched, and he kept himself apprised of everything that happened in the facility. He’d probably learned about the mission moments after the bird had launched, though clearly he’d waited until Mark was off balance to broach the subject.
“We’ve worked together fifteen years, Leif,” he replied, taking a chance with the Old Man’s name. No one was on a first name basis with Mohn. Not even Mark. “In that time I’ve done everything you’ve asked. I haven’t questioned off-the-books activities you refused to explain, not even Project Solaris or your work with Object 3. I never once asked you for the whole picture even though I was well aware you knew things you had no right to know, things about some sort of ancient civilization and about the impending end of the world. I haven’t questioned you, because up until now I haven't had reason to.”
“You feel that’s changed?” the Old Man asked, brows furrowing as he studied Mark. His gaze held a dangerous intensity.
“We can’t leave a nuke sitting in Panama. I don’t care if we have twenty-one others. Besides, we need to know what’s happening in South America. You and I both know that’s the green zone. If we can reclaim Panama we have a chance at an outpost there. Even if we can't, it’s irresponsible to leave a weapon like that lying around.”
“So you disobeyed a direct order. You had to know I’d find out. What did you think would happen after that?” the Old Man asked. He leaned back in the chair, though Mark knew the apparent relaxation was a ruse. The Old Man never relaxed.
“I guess that depends. If the mission is a success I expect I’ll be reprimanded,” Mark replied. He forced himself not to break eye contact. “If it fails I expect you’ll remove me and put someone else in charge. Higgins maybe. He’s the most experienced section chief.”
“He’s nothing but a sycophant and we both know it,” the Old Man shot back, fire in his eyes. Here came the anger. “I need you, Mark. I need you because I have no one else. You’re the glue holding this place together and I can’t have you questioning me, not this late in the game. We’re close to the realization of everything this company was founded to do. You have to trust me, Mark. Can you do that?”
Mark considered for a long moment before answering. The pragmatic move would be to play the dutiful soldier and say yes. “You know I’m just as connected in the systems as you are. You had to know I’d find out about the phone calls to London. There’s nothing there that matters, not that you’ve told me about. Yet you seem to be orchestrating a massive operation, one you haven’t bothered to tell me about.”
“I knew this would come up sooner or later,” the Old Man said, heaving a sigh as the fire died. He withdrew a ruby pendant on a gold chain, fingering the stone as he spoke. The same eye of Horus he’d used during his demonstration back in Panama when he’d announced the end of the world. “I can’t tell you what’s going on in Europe yet, not until I’m certain we’re secure. I see how my actions could have caused you to question my authority, but that has to stop now. You need to trust that I’m doing what’s best, both for this company and for humanity. If you can’t do that, you become a liability and as huge a loss as that will be, I’ll have to deal with you. I know you know that.”
“I know,” Mark said. The room was a constant 67 degrees, but it felt like a sauna. “So where do we go from here?”
“I overlook your lapse in judgement with Panama and you ignore my phone calls to London,” the Old Man said, rising from the chair. “I know you don’t like being kept in the dark. Neither do I. Let’s not let this become a habit.”
“Understood, sir,” Mark said. “I’ll keep you apprised of the situation in Panama. In the meantime you might want to study the reports from the vault.”
“I read the first one. The objects we brought up top absorbed radiation from the CME as expected. What else is there?”
“The lesser objects in the vault also picked up traces of energy. Even the ones we thought completely inert,” Mark explained. The Old Man was smart enough to see the significance in that.
“You were right to bring it to my attention. I’ll go over the reports.” He walked to the door and it slid open. The Old Man turned, already half outside the room. “Get some sleep, Mark. The next few weeks are going to be even worse than the last few.”
34
Sunsteel
Irakesh was pleased. The dead ruled the tarmac below, thousands of zombies. Nascent deathless he would soon turn to his will, roaming about in little packs as they sought sustenance. He stepped away from the roof’s edge, still baffled by the strange black substance they stood on top of. It bubbled and sloped, uneven from years of rain no doubt. It was a flimsy material, ill suited to the task. The black substance clearly kept the rain from leaking into the building below, but it would have to be reapplied every decade or so. It lacked the permanence of stone.
Metallic craft littered the runway, most lined up near several other large buildings. Terminals, that was the word. His new memories supplied many such things, though the words still tasted strange.
Irakesh glanced to his right where Cyntia and Trevor stood. The champion was falling fast, much to his delight. She fed indiscriminately now. Deathless, human, or even her own kind. It had made her strong, perhaps the equal to the powerful Ka-Ken who’d so very nearly slain him back in the Ark. That would be critical when the confrontation came. It would come, of course. He could feel the Ka-Dun somewhere behind him along the road leading to the metropolis they’d so recently passed. So much metal, so little stone.
He faced Trevor, his unwitting ally and very first thrall. The man was more promising than Irakesh could have dreamed, but that fact also made him exceedingly dangerous. For now Irakesh could dominate him, but in time his thrall would gain strength enough to resist.
You risk much, my host. Perhaps he should be sacrificed during the confrontation with the Ka-Dun. There will be other thralls, more pliable and less troublesome.
Irakesh ignored his Risen, studying Trevor instead. The man knelt next to the narrow lip at the roof’s edge, rifle cradled in one hand while he shaded his eyes from the midday glare. The gesture was reflexive, muscle memory left from his time among the living. That would fade in time, as both mind and body accepted his new abilities. Trevor bit his lip, eyes narrowing as he scanned the terminals.
“Something has disturbed your Ka. Out with it. What do you wish to know?” Irakesh demanded. It happened often, this brooding. The change had preserved
much of Trevor’s old identity, and that man had been burdened with a great many morals. Those would take time to break down.
“You’ve driven us relentlessly to reach this place. What’s so important? You have to be after something,” Trevor asked, direct as usual. That part of his demeanor was quite refreshing. There was no subterfuge to the man, a near impossibility in his own age. Direct men died.
“The first of the cattle I devoured knew a great many interesting things,” Irakesh replied. He decided to be magnanimous. Perhaps it would increase Trevor’s loyalty and if not, it cost nothing. “There is a device here that I desire. A bomb of incredible power that will discharge a fantastic amount of energy.”
“Why?” Trevor demanded.
Irakesh’s hands balled into fists, but he resisted the urge to chastise the man. If he wished Trevor’s cooperation, he needed to treat the man closer to an equal, no matter how much it galled him.
“Unlike many of my contemporaries, I will allow you to ask such impertinent questions. Your curiosity is natural. Yet if I must explain my motivation behind every action I will have no time to act,” Irakesh said, forcing honey into the words. “You must trust me. If you prove yourself, as I have no doubt you will, then you will earn my trust. Until then I must ask your patience.”
“I get that you don’t want me questioning every decision, but this has to be an exception. That bomb could annihilate a city. That concerns me. Humor me. Why do you want it?” Trevor asked, voice as dispassionate as ever.
Cyntia loomed behind him, eyes burning with feverish intensity. A subtle reminder of where her loyalties lay.
“I cannot. That knowledge could be used against me, should a Ka-Dun pluck it from your mind. In time I will teach you the proper mental defenses to prevent such an act, but for now it is enough to know my will. We have come for the bomb. Then we will find a craft to take us north. One you will fly,” Irakesh said, moderating his tone as much as he was able. “However, I do not wish you to feel you are being ignored. You may ask another question and I will answer it. Surely there are things you must be curious about.”