by Chris Fox
“All right. How about an easier question, then. Why is your sword gold during the day but silver at night?” Trevor asked, stroking his goatee with a free hand. Such a casual gesture but it penned volumes about the man.
“A clever question. Very few recognize the true nature of Sunsteel. I will give you a worthy answer,” Irakesh said, impressed again by his pupil. He eased his sword from its sheath, offering the na-kopesh to Trevor. “See how the blade is curved? That makes it excellent for decapitating an opponent. Or, if you wish to prolong their agony, you may disembowel them just as easily. A singular weapon, even during my age.”
“Yes, but why does the blade change color?” Trevor asked, hefting the weapon experimentally. He gave a tentative slash, the air humming as he sliced it.
“It reacts to the sun or the moon, absorbing energy from whichever light it basks in,” Irakesh explained, extending a hand. Trevor handed the weapon back, a bit reluctantly.
“It absorbs light?” Trevor said, gawking at the blade. “How? Can you tap into that as a power source?”
“Yes,” Irakesh replied, considering how much he dared reveal. All in this case. “The blade can draw on energy wherever it is found. Including the energy you or I possess. If you stab a foe with Sunsteel you can feast upon their life force, growing stronger through the act.”
Be wary, my host. Imparting such knowledge will cause him to covet the blade.
“If you wish, I will teach you to wield it,” Irakesh offered, slamming the blade home in its sheath. “Once we are in the air I will give you your first lesson. We will practice every day afterwards. Someday these skills may save your life.”
“I…don’t really know what to say. I’d love to learn to do what you do with that thing,” Trevor said, a glimmer of eagerness leaking into his tone. He feigned a disinterested expression, of course. Trevor was eager for this knowledge, enough that he might even cooperate in the short term. “If we’re going to get this bomb, let’s do it. You said that Ka-Dun is behind us. I’d rather be out of here before his pack arrives.”
“I know who it is,” Cyntia said, hackles rising as she bared her fangs. The fear was sharp. Pungent. She backed a step away from Trevor. “Liz. Liz and Blair are coming. They’ll bring Bridget and Jordan.”
Irakesh covered his smile with a tiny cough. It was rare for Trevor to show emotion, and in this case it revealed much that he guessed the man would regret.
“Jordan? As in Commander Jordan? The guy from Mohn?” Trevor asked, turning a sharp eye on Cyntia.
“Yes, he was a soldier with Mohn. Do you know him?” she asked, pursing her lips.
“He tried to kill us. Repeatedly. He chased us from San Diego to Peru and the last thing standing in our way when we were trying to wake the Mother,” Trevor said. His eyes narrowed, flaring green as he placed his hand on the barrel of his gun. “I owe that son of a bitch. He gutted my house with fucking missiles. He blew up my Mustang. I spent three years restoring that thing.”
“Then I will gut him and feast on his innards,” she hissed, eyes narrowing in unconscious imitation of Trevor. The fear was rivaled by anger, sharp and acrid. “But Liz is strong. Bridget less so, but still more potent than I.”
“Than you were,” Trevor gave, shaking his head. “You’re stronger now. A lot stronger.”
“Trevor is correct, but the Ka-Ken is not the real threat. The Ka-Dun, this Blair. He is the threat. You must kill him before all others,” Irakesh demanded. They must not allow the Ka-Dun to get too close. He’d proven resourceful with his shaping, and that made him a threat.
“There’s no way I’m doing that. That, you cannot force me to do,” Trevor said. He turned to face Irakesh, crossing his arms and glaring defiantly. Yet there were cracks in that defiance. Uncertainty. Fear that Irakesh could force him to do this act he so despised. “I won’t kill Liz, either. She’s my fucking sister, Irakesh. He’s a friend. Don’t make me do this.”
“I can compel you, you realize that?” Irakesh asked, removing his hand from the hilt of his blade so he could cross his arms in imitation of his thrall. He felt less as his hand left the warm metal.
“Maybe, but I’ll fight you,” Trevor said. A low growl came from Cynthia’s chest as she stepped next to him. The meaning was clear.
“You will lose, both of you,” Irakesh said, matter-of-factly. “But if I force you to do this, you will never trust me, never work with me as a proper thrall should. Tell me. If I spare your sister and the Ka-Dun, will you agree to serve me without question? I’ll have your loyalty or I’ll have your sister’s pelt for a cloak.”
Trevor’s eyes grew thoughtful.
Give him a moment; let him mull this. If he assents, this one will likely keep his word, so long as you take care not to push him too far past the demands of his conscience.
“If you leave them alone then I’ll serve you, but the moment that changes I will plant that sword in your fucking back,” Trevor growled, eyes flaring again. Cyntia coiled like a spring beside him, claws flexing.
Should he strike now? Irakesh retained the advantage, but that would eventually change. No, he had time yet. He would use Trevor, then find a clever way to dispose of him, if need be. Cyntia would have nowhere to go, and her loyalty would almost certainly transfer to him. Assuming she retained some part of her sanity.
“A bargain, then,” Irakesh said, extending his hand. It was the gesture of trust used by most cultures in this new age. Trevor hesitated. “We will get what we came for and be away from this place. If we do encounter the Ka-Dun and his pack we’ll delay them and then flee. There will be no killing unless we are forced to it. In fact, I have an idea. I will show you how to shape an Anakim. This creature will be powerful enough to delay your friends, but not so strong that they cannot overcome it. I will include a small horde to further delay them, so that we might avoid a direct confrontation. Does that suffice?”
If he detects the lie, you must stand ready.
Irakesh tensed as Trevor raised a hand, but it was merely to take his. His grip was firm and powerful, a shadow of Irakesh’s own.
35
Captain Douche
Jordan trusted Steve even less than he liked the smug bastard. The man in question lounged in a blue canvas camp chair, leg up over one side and a plastic water bottle in one hand. A douchey smile ran counterpoint to the unquestioned superiority in his gaze. This despite the sea of carnage around them, hundreds of bodies that had recently been friends and family to the people who called this little sanctuary home. Or had called it home. All that had changed in a matter of minutes, but this guy was above it all. He was alive, so clearly that was all that mattered.
“We’ll have to rebuild, but I don’t think we can do it here,” Dr. Roberts said, shoulders slumped and voice impossibly weary. A marked contrast to Steve. “The survivors won’t trust this place. Besides, with fewer of us we’ll need a smaller location to defend.” He removed his battered fedora, wiping the sweat from his brow before replacing it.
“I’m afraid I have some bad news on that count,” Steve said, pausing dramatically to sip from his water bottle. This one liked being the center of attention, just like he had when he’d first shown up at the Ark with the original science team. The famous Dr. Galk. “I’ve decided I must accompany Blair. I hate to desert you, Dr. Roberts, but this Irakesh is a serious threat and must be stopped. As Blair and his friends have had trouble thus far, it seems clear that they’re in need of my help.”
“We’re doing just fine on our own, thanks,” Liz said, tone dry and eye roll implied behind her oversized sunglasses.
“We can use the help,” Bridget said, though there was a certain reluctance to the admission. She sat in the chair next to Captain Douche, though she hadn’t made an attempt to touch him since he’d rebuffed her advance earlier. Must be tough on her seeing the guy again, especially knowing that her newfound pack harbored such an intense dislike for him. “He’s been a werewolf as long as anyone except Blair and
he has more knowledge of the Ark than any of us.”
“Bridget’s right. He could definitely be an asset. You’re welcome to come if you’d like, Steve,” Blair allowed, donning his sunglasses as he left the relative shelter of the pavilion. If it could be called that. It was really just a tarp and some poles.
Jordan frowned. Blair looked at this guy like a friend, but Steve's body language was all wrong for that.
“I’d be happy to join you. Maybe I can teach you a few things about shaping,” Steve offered, magnanimous and smug all at once. Jordan wanted to pound that smugness out of him. He’d be damned if he’d allow Steve to undermine Blair.
“I’d guess that’s the other way around,” Jordan rumbled, taking a step closer to loom over Steve. At 6’4” most people were immediately intimidated, but Steve stared up at him with an amused smile. “You saw how Blair handled that last fight. He caught and held over a hundred zombies. Can you do that, Steve? Because I didn’t see you do much of anything.”
The man’s demeanor wavered, as uncertainty flitted across his face. It was gone in a moment. “I suspect I could if I had to. That’s far from my only trick, though. You’ve already seen that I shift with my clothes. Can any of you do the same?”
Jordan fumed silently, not answering. He looked to Blair for support, but the man just shrugged.
Steve’s smile grew still more smug. “I thought not. There’s much I can teach you if you can put aside your animosity and listen. Blair did the same for you, unless I am mistaken, Commander. Weren’t you an enemy not so long ago? I seem to remember you doing your damnedest to kill me and I suspect the same is true of Blair.”
“I had orders,” Jordan growled, eyes narrowing. “I freely admit Mohn was in the wrong on this one, but can you blame us? We were trying to stop the spread of werewolves. We had no idea the zombies were coming. What the hell else did you expect us to do?”
He looked to Liz for support, expecting her to break up the squabble. Instead, she stood there with arms crossed, watching.
“I’ve heard about enough of this,” Blair said, rising to his feet. The fire had returned to his eyes. “We don’t have time for a pissing contest. Liz, do you have a problem with Steve coming with us?"
“I’ll take all the help we can get,” Liz said, slinging her pack and heading for the jeep parked next to the pavilion. She did take a moment to shoot a distasteful stare at Steve over the rim of her sunglasses.
Blair rounded on Steve, eyes challenging. “Jordan has been invaluable. Whatever beef you have with him, put it aside. He’s had my back through some rough shit and odds are good he’ll save your ass before the day is out.”
“Blair? Is that you?” Steve said, uncoiling from his chair. He gave a sly smile, the sort you wanted to punch repeatedly until the guy doing it was unconscious. “I didn’t recognize you with a backbone. Have they put you in charge? Because you’re certainly acting like it.”
“Quit being such an asshole,” Bridget interrupted, surging from her chair and shoving a finger in Steve’s face. “You’re jealous. It’s all over you. Blair did what you couldn’t. He woke the Mother. He controlled those zombies today. All of them. So what if you can transform with your clothes? You’re trying to act all mysterious and wise, but you don’t know shit. Just a few dribbles you stole from the Mother’s mind while she was sleeping.”
Jordan couldn’t help but smile when he saw the effect the words had. Bridget had just called him out, and his expression said her assessment was spot on.
“You’re taking Blair’s side?” Steve barked. He struggled for words, face going splotchy as his eyebrows drew together like thunderclouds. “Seriously? Bridget, you flirted with him for weeks while I was dying. You think I didn’t know? I was dead to you, but the second we were both captured you suddenly wanted me again. Because Blair wasn’t around. You’ll take whichever one is available, you unfaithful bitch.”
Blair blurred. Jordan couldn’t track him, not even close. One instant he was standing near the edge of the pavilion, the next his fist was connecting with Steve’s jaw. The force of the blow flung Captain Douche tumbling across the pavement. It was the sweetest thing Jordan had tasted in weeks.
Before Steve could rise, Blair was there, kneeling on his back. He leaned close, hands gripping Steve’s shoulders so the man couldn’t rise. “You’re right. She was unfaithful, but she’s also my friend. More than that, she’s an ally, Steve. A member of my pack. You are not. You? You’re the unfaithful bastard who cheated with my girlfriend right under my nose, despite claiming to be my best friend. So don’t go aiming for any sort of moral high ground here. You’re both in the wrong.
“To answer your question earlier, no, I’m not in charge,” Blair continued, releasing Steve and standing up. “Liz is. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to sit around and tolerate your bullshit. You want to help? Great. Fall in fucking line or you aren’t welcome here. We clear?”
“Crystal,” Steve said, rising gracefully to his feet. Blair turned on his heel and headed for the jeep. He missed the way Steve glared hatefully after him.
Suddenly, Liz's silence made sense. She'd made Blair step up and defend the pack, strengthening his own position. Clever.
Jordan tensed at the sudden vibration in his pocket. The geolocator. It was the first time it had done anything in days. Had Mohn sent another broadcast? He turned and bent next to one of the crates in the corner. He opened it, pretending to survey the array of pistols laid out on the thick grey foam. Then he deftly plucked the geolocator from his pocket. He bent low over the screen, scanning the notification.
It was a transponder ping, sent from members of his unit at timed intervals. The little green arrow was pointing north. Someone was out there, but there was no way to know how far. The thing had over a thousand-mile range, so they could be in the next village or somewhere in the Gulf of Mexico. Whoever it was, they were coming closer, though. That much he did know.
36
Anakim
“Observe carefully, Trevor,” Irakesh instructed, turning to face the throng of nascent deathless before him. They crowded the inside of the hangar, packing the area between the odd metal conveyances that these moderns referred to as airplanes. “I am going to create an Anakim, one of the most potent servants the deathless possess.”
“A giant?” Cyntia rumbled, her blond fur barely visible in the near darkness.
Irakesh was genuinely surprised. It should have been impossible for any memory of the Anakim to survive. “Just so. How do you know of them?”
“From the Bible,” Cyntia explained, giving a furry shrug. “The Anakim were giants. My mother used to scare me with stories when I was little.”
“You’re going to make a biblical giant?” Trevor asked, raising an eyebrow. He rested the barrel of a rifle against his shoulder, the weapon cradled with the same casual familiarity Irakesh exhibited with his na-kopesh.
“A giant, yes. But I seriously doubt it will resemble anything from your silly book,” Irakesh said, turning back to the horde of nascent deathless. He scanned the crowd, looking for the best candidate to begin his work. “There. Do you see that one with the bristly hair? The tall one.”
The deathless he’d indicated stood at least seven feet tall, an extreme rarity in his time. He was heavily muscled, probably a combatant in one of the games the moderns called sports.
“I see him,” Trevor allowed, taking a step closer as his gaze landed on the deathless Irakesh had indicated. “What are you going to do?”
Irakesh didn’t answer, instead raising a hand and aiming three fingers at the deathless. He concentrated for a long moment, gathering the energy until his hand began to glow. Emerald light banished the shadows as his hand grew brighter, the sudden illumination drawing every eye in the hangar. Each deathless stared hungrily at his hand, all sensing the power there and understanding on some dim level that it would make them stronger.
A bolt of light shot from Irakesh’s hand, streaking into the
large deathless’s chest. It played across his entire body, crackling like lightning as the change began. The deathless’s eyes flared green, and his teeth began to lengthen. Then he lunged suddenly, seizing the corpse of a slight woman like a wolf might a hare. He began to feed, as urgently as Cyntia in the throws of her most berserk fury.
“What did you do?” Trevor asked. His eyebrows drew together as he studied Irakesh’s creation.
“I have accelerated his metabolism,” Irakesh explained, using words that would be familiar in this age. He allowed himself a slight smile as the change continued. “For the next few hours the Anakim’s hunger will be even more insatiable than usual. He will devour every nascent deathless he can reach. Each one will make him larger and stronger. In an hour he will be taller than Cyntia.”
Irakesh needn’t have bothered explaining, for the change was clear enough for any to see. The Anakim’s shoulders and chest began to expand, tearing apart the shirt that it wore as they grew larger. The creature took a step towards another victim, gaining several inches of height even as it did so.
“If we had weeks I could make it strong enough to crush the Ka-Dun following us, but even this pitiful creature will be a threat,” Irakesh said, giving a low laugh. He turned to face the largest plane in the hangar, one near the wide doors leading to the runway. “Come, we have work to be about.”
He strode deeper into the hangar, dimly aware of the Anakim growing larger behind him. Bones cracked and popped as it fed, low grunts growing deeper as the creature's strength increased.