by Chris Fox
“Bridget,” Liz roared, pointing towards the direction she’d last heard combat. “Carve a path in that direction. Jordan, cut down anything that gets behind us. Let’s move.” She surged forward, unlimbering her claws. A corpulent zombie stood before her with a mop of curly hair and a cracked pair of glasses that had somehow clung to his face. She brought an elbow down to crush his skull, already moving to the next target.
The trio flowed with incredible synergy despite having only worked together for a few weeks. Jordan mercilessly cut down the zombies trying to close ranks behind them, while she and Bridget mowed a wide path through the hangar. They rounded one of the planes, this one a mid-sized Cessna like the one Garland had flown. As she rounded the plane’s white nose she finally saw Blair, his silver body shattered and broken against the wheel of another plane.
A huge zombie loomed over Blair, taller than her by at least a couple feet. The thing seemed consternated by the plane in the way, leaning back and forth as if unsure how to reach him. Its limbs were too long, chest too broad. The ungainly creature finally dropped to its knees and extended an arm under the plane. It patted the ground a few feet to Blair’s left, searching. It wouldn’t be long until it found him.
Blam.
A gunshot cracked behind her. Right behind her. She jerked around, expecting to see Jordan killing a zombie. What she found turned her innards to ice and constricted her throat with death’s black hands. Jordan lay in a pool of his own blood, both fanged face and furry chest an unrecognizable mess. That she might have been able to process, but it was the attacker that untied her like a pair of shoelaces. It was Trevor.
For one tiny shaving of a moment she caught his gaze, eyes horribly green just like Irakesh. His teeth, too white and razor-sharp. Trevor was her brother, but everything in her cried that he needed to be destroyed. Then he vanished, slipping into the shadows just as she would have.
She did the same, more instinct than conscious thought. There was no conscious thought, only reeling from what she’d just witnessed.
“Liz, help me,” Bridget-wolf bellowed. Liz spun in time to see her silver form roll between the giant zombie’s legs.
Bridget leapt onto its back, tearing at its throat in the same way a lion might tackle a bear. The creature was unimpressed, seizing Bridget by the arm and slamming her into the side of the plane with a horrible boom that thundered through the silence left in the wake of the gunfire. Metal buckled and glass shattered as her body sank into the plane.
Liz glanced back at Jordan, scanning the darkness for Trevor. Dammit, why did she have to make choices like this? She spun to face Bridget again, bounding around zombies until she had a clear line of attack. Then she charged, aiming for the zombie’s knee. She caught it with her shoulder, spilling the thing onto its side with the sharp crack of bone. She rolled away, feeling the wind as one of its meaty arms slammed the ground where she’d just been.
The giant zombie crawled towards her, face a twisted mask of rage. Hopefully it couldn’t heal that leg as quickly as she could, which might give her time to wear it down. She danced backwards, glancing around to make sure no zombies had gotten too close. Perhaps if she landed on its back she could—
A fist emerged from her gut, furry fingers slick and red with her intestines still clutched between clawed fingers. She was shoved forward, into the reach of the giant zombie. It seized her leg, shattering her kneecap in a parody of the wound she’d given it. She shrieked, beating at the meaty fist that clutched her leg. She risked a glance behind her, but there was no sign of her assailant. It had been a werewolf; she was sure of that.
Taste the air, Ka-Ken. What do you smell?
It was a familiar scent. Cyntia. That fucking bitch. Liz roared, knifing both hands into her own leg just above the zombie’s hands. It sent a spear of hot flame up her leg as she severed it, but she was free. She scrambled backwards, gathering the shadows about her in a protective cloak.
There was no sign of Cyntia. She lurked somewhere in the shadows, patiently waiting to strike. Why hadn’t she struck when Liz was vulnerable? She glanced at the dented plane. There was no sign of Bridget. She too had escaped to the shadows. That was why Cyntia hadn’t attacked. Her cowardice didn’t surprise Liz; hell, it was welcome. It meant she was predictable, and that might give Liz the advantage in their game of wolf and mouse.
Searing heat surged down her leg as she flopped around like a fish. Being so vulnerable terrified her and a panicked part of her mind wondered if there was some way for either Cyntia or the massive zombie to find her in the shadows. She had to get control. Liz seized the knee just above the bloody stump, pinning it in place as a new tibia suddenly extended from the gaping wound. It was joined by a fibula, then a mass of muscles that writhed into place like a sea of scarlet snakes. The tide of agony threatened to pull her under, but she wouldn’t allow it. Couldn’t allow it.
When the pain finally ceased she looked to the spot where Blair had lain. There was no sign of him, just a pool of blood. Good, he’d healed and probably found his way back into the fight. She needed to do the same. Liz scanned the darkness, assessing the combat to see where she might be of most use. There was still no sign of Bridget, but somewhere on the far side of the hangar she heard the ring of metal on metal. It sounded like someone fighting with a sword, at least if her memory of Lord of the Rings was any indication.
A scuffle came from the far side of the plane, two large bodies grappling. She caught a flash of fur as the pair spilled to the ground, one of them the blond fur she recognized as belonging to Jordan. The other was a sickly version of the same color. Cyntia. Liz dropped prone and rolled under the plane, springing to her feet on the far side near the combatants. Jordan was getting the worst of it.
He lay on his stomach pinned by Cyntia’s much larger form. His left arm was bent at the wrong angle and there was no sign of any of his ever-present guns. Cyntia bit down, savaging the back of his neck as she began to feed. She ripped loose a mouthful of fur and flesh, gulping it down greedily. She seemed unaware of the gore coating her face, already bending for another bite.
“Get off him, you fucking bitch,” Liz roared, stepping forward and kicking with all her considerable might. The blow caught Cyntia in the chin, splintering her jaw and flinging her backwards with a sharp crack. Cynthia tumbled backwards, rolling into the shadows as she regained her footing and glared at Liz with hateful eyes, now the deep scarlet of a heart wound. When had they changed?
Those eyes winked out as Cyntia fled back into the shadows. Liz looked about warily as she knelt next to Jordan and felt for a pulse. She’d never seen him so badly wounded, but knew that Blair had recovered from worse. Hopefully he was okay. She pushed through the fur until her fingers found the carotid artery. The pulse was thready, but at least there was one.
Movement behind her. She began to spin, but too late. Cyntia lunged from the shadows, fangs painted red from Jordan’s blood. She seized Liz, yanking her throat forward even as her fangs descended. Fresh agony ripped through her as Cyntia bit into her throat. She couldn’t breathe. Everything was fire. She tumbled backwards, Cyntia’s once smaller form crashing down on top of her.
40
Turning Point
Blair came to with a gasp atop the wing of the Cessna. He was coated in something hot and sticky. Blood. His blood. Deafening peals of combat echoed over him like a gigantic church bell. Gunshots and crates smashing and metal bending. He rolled to his feet, taking in his immediate surroundings. The giant zombie lay twitching on the ground nearby, seemingly unable to rise. Its hand still clutched a furry leg. Auburn fur. Liz. Where was she?
Rage surged through him as he surveyed the hangar, but she was nowhere to be found.
Something tugged at him. Blair turned towards the far side of the hangar where he’d seen the biggest plane earlier. The one Irakesh was presumably inside, or perhaps had just emerged from since the link had grown stronger. He was in the darkness somewhere, waiting. There was movement
near the plane, though he doubted it could be Irakesh. The deathless was too crafty to be spotted. So who was it?
Blair blurred across the tarmac, leaping into the air and landing on top of the cargo plane with a hollow thud. It was much bigger up close, wide enough to hold a tank or a whole lot of troops and long enough to play volleyball inside. Something was clicking from the interior below, something that sounded an awful lot like a larger version of the fuel pump he’d had on his rusted out Pontiac back in high school. Were they getting this thing ready to fly? Of course they were.
The figure Blair had spotted was Steve, prowling the darkness with that midnight fur. He crouched near the far wall, beneath two gigantic doors they would have to open to taxi the aircraft out. Blair needed to leave Steve out there as bait. It was callous, but also smart. Steve would probably approve.
“Complacent,” a smug voice whispered from directly behind him, even as something hot spiked into his back. A glittering golden blade burst from his chest, slick with his own blood. “You perch up here watching the darkness as if you are the predator, but you’ve always been the prey, Ka-Dun. I led you here. I feel you even as you feel me.”
Irakesh. Blair rolled forward, the blade making a wet pop as it slipped from his chest. The wound was excruciating, but he’d grown used to pain like that. What shocked him was the icy chill that passed through him, an almost living thing that stole the warmth from his blood.
Be wary of the weapon, Ka-Dun. It is an ancient thing and very dangerous. Sunsteel leeches your strength, delivering it to your foe.
Blair blurred, leaping from the plane and catching one of the ribbed supports lining the top of the hangar some thirty feet above. It was farther than he’d tried leaping before, but the blur gave him the momentum. He caught the cool metal in one hand, swinging himself on top of it as he scanned the darkness below.
Irakesh was right. The deathless had the advantage here. He’d led Blair all the way from Peru and seemed to hold all the cards. Yet Blair’s allies still fought below. A shape materialized from the darkness behind Steve, but it wasn’t Irakesh. He’d recognize that close-cropped red hair and freckled face anywhere, even with the horribly sharp fangs. Trevor was working for Irakesh.
The deathless planted the barrel of a massive-looking revolver at the base of Steve’s skull and pulled the trigger. It roared, barrel bucking as a short gout of flame erupted. Blood spurted as the wound exited Steve’s face in a shower of bone fragments and gore. Steve collapsed, rolling to the ground bonelessly. It would take long moments to recover. Moments Blair knew Trevor wouldn’t give him.
Blair dropped soundlessly from his perch, swinging just a bit to angle towards Trevor as he fell. One former friend about to murder another. Life certainly had a black sense of irony.
He landed heavily on Trevor’s back, bearing the deathless to the ground in a crunch of bone. Trevor’s revolver skittered away across the hangar’s concrete floor, but that didn’t mean he was unarmed. Each finger now ended in a thick black fingernail, sharp enough to carve flesh. His fangs were just as lethal, designed to rend just like a shark.
Trevor struggled to dislodge Blair from his back, but Blair drove a knee hard into his spine even as he reached around to tear out the deathless’s throat. It helped to think of him that way and not as the man who’d so recently saved his life, who’d opened his home and risked everything to protect Liz.
“Predictable,” Irakesh’s voice hissed behind his ear. The breath was cold and lifeless. “This is why my kind will always win.”
Blair thought he was ready, already beginning to blur. It wasn’t enough. Irakesh’s golden blade punched through his chest, delivering a wound twin to the one he’d scored moments earlier. That one had mostly healed, though Blair could still feel it. Not good.
The wound around the blade was ice and Blair could feel his life slipping into the silvery metal. It horrified him, but he couldn’t pull away. Moving took effort. Blurring seemed impossible. He was going to die.
“Get off of him,” Bridget roared, materializing from the shadows and barreling into Irakesh. She knocked him off Blair, wrenching the awful sword from his back and spilling him to the concrete in a spreading pool of his own blood.
Blair flopped onto his side, struggling weakly to his knees. Trevor disappeared back into the shadows but hopefully was too wounded to attack immediately. Blair focused his attention on Irakesh, smiling despite the agony. Bridget had an arm wrapped around his shoulder and was digging out his entrails with her other hand, ripping the stringy organs out as she bit down on his face.
Irakesh struggled to free himself, but Bridget was far stronger. His sword was still clutched weakly in one hand, while the other clawed ineffectually at her wrist. Then Trevor appeared again, apparently having recovered his revolver. He unloaded three quick shots, each belching a round into Bridget’s head from close range. The stench of gunpowder battled the rich tang of blood, the blend overpowering in his weakened state.
Bridget shrieked, releasing Irakesh and leaping away. She left a trail of blood behind her, but there was no sign of her as she vanished into the shadow’s waiting embrace. Irakesh did the same, as did Trevor. Only he and Steve were still there, struggling to rise.
You must feed, Ka-Dun, and soon. Your strength wanes.
I don’t have time, he thought back, staggering to his feet. He couldn’t recall having felt this weak even before he’d become a werewolf.
He didn’t dare waste energy blurring, choosing instead to lope towards the plane he knew Irakesh would have to leave in. At least he knew his nemesis’s destination, though stopping him from taking what he wanted was another matter.
The press of zombies had receded; so many had been cut down during the early fighting. There were still dozens remaining, though Blair paid them no mind. He could easily avoid them. They all could, assuming they weren’t so wounded they couldn’t move.
Blair skidded to a halt next to Steve, sliding an arm under his shoulders and hoisting him to his feet, “Hang in there, Steve. I’ve got you. You’re damn hard to kill. I thought for sure you’d gone down for the last time when Trevor shot you in the head.”
“You know him?” Steve looked shocked and more than a bit groggy. He held his hand to his forehead, which still leaked blood. He must be weak if his wounds were no longer fully healing.
“Yeah, long story. He’s Liz’s brother. We have no idea how he ended up with Irakesh, but that’s bad for us. He was lethal before. Now? I’m not sure we can stop him,” Blair admitted, scanning the darkness. There was no sign of anyone near them.
He did hear fighting on the far side of the hangar, a knock-down, drag-out brawl from the sound of it. It was probably Liz, though who or what she was fighting remained a mystery. He couldn’t focus on that right now.
“We’re being hunted. Trevor and Irakesh can both hide in the shadows; that’s the bad news,” Blair said, helping Steve towards the aircraft. If they were on board Irakesh would have to kill them before taking off.
“You’re implying there’s good news,” Steve said, pushing Blair gently away. “I can manage, I think. My head is starting to clear.”
“There is good news, at least a little,” Blair said, scanning the darkness as they approached the long metal ramp leading into the cargo area of the plane. “Bridget is still out there, too. That’s the only thing keeping Irakesh and Trevor from killing us.”
“Lovely,” Steve growled, eyes a bit more focused now. He too scanned the darkness. “So we’re out here as bait, basically. They attack us. She attacks them.”
“Something like that. Irakesh will have to make a move soon. He can’t let us get into the pla—” Blair began. He was interrupted as Trevor materialized from the darkness, barrel aimed at Blair’s face. Blair blurred, ducking even as his friend’s finger stroked the trigger.
It boomed, a round whizzing through the space his head had just occupied. Then a much larger shape burst from the darkness. Bridget. She tackle
d Trevor, the pair rolling through the darkness like feral dogs. They snapped and clawed at each other, nothing human in either face.
Blair had a split second to consider. He knew Irakesh would appear any second now that Bridget was occupied. Use your mind, Ka-Dun. He cannot shape as you do. He can fool the eye, but you can fool the mind.
That was it. Blair had invaded Liz’s mind. He’d plucked thoughts from other people. Ahiga had even invaded his mind. So why couldn’t he invade Irakesh’s? If he understood the deathless, they lacked the ability to either attack or defend on that front. It might be the one advantage he possessed.
“So stupid,” Irakesh roared, appearing in front of Blair. He rammed his blade through Blair’s throat in a shower of hot pain and wet, sticky blood. Blair sagged to his knees, clutching weakly at the sword lodged in his neck. The pain was a living thing, eating at his vision like a cancer. “You should never have come, Ka-Dun. I’d have preferred not to kill you. I’d have preferred a truce. Yet you are forcing my hand. I cannot have you dogging my every step. I have work to do, so if you are so determined to harry me you must be put down like a rabid animal.”
Blair glanced at Steve. Or rather at where Steve had been. Evidently he’d blurred away, because there was no sign of him now. Blair wanted to be angry, but he couldn’t force himself. He didn’t blame Steve for fleeing. There was nothing he could have done to help, only get himself killed. If Blair was to survive he’d have to save himself. He had one chance. If it worked he’d get the drop on Irakesh for once. If not, he’d be dead and it wouldn’t matter.
“Why are you smiling?” Irakesh demanded, eyes smoldering as he yanked his weapon from Blair’s throat.