The Deathless Quadrilogy

by Chris Fox

  Jordan skidded to a halt next to the Cessna, spinning so his back faced it. Trevor would have to come at him from the front, but would that knowledge help? He might be able to dodge again, but sooner or later he’d be too slow and Trevor would pick him off. He needed some way to even the odds, and he needed to do it quickly. He scanned the hangar, hoping to find something of use.

  Zombies shuffled around most of the planes, but their numbers had been thinned by the beleaguered werewolves. Corpses littered the hangar, some in piles. There was even a massive zombie corpse, perhaps fifteen feet tall. It was sprawled near a far Boeing cargo plane, still clutching a severed leg with auburn fur.

  None of it helped. None of it provided an advantage against Trevor. He was outclassed and he knew it.

  Jordan tensed as something materialized before him, but it was far too late. Trevor’s fist blurred towards his chest, shattering his ribcage directly over the heart. Fragments of bone burst through his aorta, tearing his heart into useless slag. He tried to roll backwards, but Trevor had apparently anticipated such a move. The deathless leapt backwards, jerking the massive black pistol from its holster and gripping it with both hands as he sighted down the barrel. He squeezed the trigger three times in rapid succession, each belching a round into Jordan’s already damaged chest.

  Jordan collapsed in a heap, strength deserting him as he struggled to rise. This was it. Trevor had proven the stronger combatant, using his deathless powers with expert skill. Perhaps if Jordan had embraced his with the same zeal he might have had a chance, but instead he’d relied on his training and his weapons. It had been a mistake. A fatal one. He stared defiantly up at his opponent as he waited for death.

  Something black and shiny swooped into view, landing on Trevor’s shoulder. It was a raven. A big one. The bird croaked something that might have been words into Trevor’s ear. Trevor turned a hateful gaze on Jordan as he holstered his weapon. “I’m going to let you live with this, Jordan. The knowledge that all your training and fancy military hardware didn’t mean shit in the end. That you lost to a redneck scientist who never spent a day in the military. Have fun with your new playmates.”

  Just like that he was gone, swallowed by the shadows like some horrible nightmare. Why hadn’t Trevor finished him off? It made no sense. Unless he knew something Jordan didn’t. New playmates? He struggled into a sitting position, planting his back against the Boeing’s large wheel. He was growing lightheaded, which made sense if his heart was no longer pumping blood.

  He could feel it knitting together inside his chest, excruciating as bits of bone were ejected from his tissue. They burst from his skin, coated in thick, sticky blood. Then his heart began to beat again. The lightheadedness faded and he was able to focus on his surroundings. He struggled to his feet, turning towards Liz and her strange blond opponent. Or rather where her strange opponent had been.

  Liz was alone, kneeling on the ground with shoulders slumped. She was a mass of blood and both eyes were closed, though even from this distance he could hear her shallow heartbeat. She’d clearly lost her fight, yet her opponent had vanished just as Trevor had. They’d been beaten, yet left to live. Why?

  Jordan used some of his dwindling energy to blur to Liz, wrapping an arm under her shoulder. He hauled her to her feet, conscious of the dozen or so zombies closing on them. Where were Blair, Steve, and Bridget?

  He was about to carry Liz to a corner when something roared by above the hangar. He knew the sound intimately. It was the thundering engines belonging to a B114 cargo plane, used exclusively by Mohn to deliver troops into combat zones. Several thumps sounded above as the roar faded.

  His augmented hearing picked up the squeal of rubber on pavement as the plane touched down outside. They were landing, but had probably dropped two squads on the roof to begin securing the hangar. Reinforcements would follow quickly, and they were in no shape to fight back.

  “What’s going on?” Liz croaked, raising her one good eye to look at him. He’d never seen her so exhausted, so battered.

  “We’re in a whole lot of trouble. Irakesh just pulled back,” Jordan explained, helping Liz towards the far wall.

  “Why? We’re losing,” she slurred, not healing nearly as quickly as he’d have expected.

  “Mohn is here,” he replied grimly.

  43

  Desperate Gamble

  Blair raised a hand to his forehead, squinting beneath the weight of the pain. The throbbing left in the wake of his forcible ejection from Irakesh’s mind staggered him, pitching him into the side of a plane’s huge rubber wheel. He blinked away tears, scanning the wreckage littering the hangar. Most of the zombies were down, minus the odd straggler. There was no sign of Bridget, though he could see Steve’s glittering eyes from where he crouched in the far corner of the room. Unmolested. Had he participated in the battle, or stood by to protect himself?

  It didn’t matter. There was still a battle to fight. Blair turned his attention back to the hangar, scanning for survivors. His breath caught, eyes tearing when he finally located Liz. Her broken body sagged into Jordan’s smaller form, threatening to collapse without his assistance. At least she was alive. Powerful relief flooded him, his body uncoiling as the tension ebbed.

  Cyntia had retreated for some reason. So had Trevor apparently. He knew Irakesh was gone. What were they planning? He turned his attention to the fat cargo plane. It hadn’t moved, though he could still hear the audible clicking as it fueled. They must be inside. If he was going to launch an attack he needed help. Who was still standing on their side?

  Jordan’s hulking form limped as he helped Liz towards the far wall. He wasn’t in much better shape than she was. Blair heard a grunt of pain from across the hangar, a rare show of emotion from the normally stoic ex-Mohn officer.

  Irakesh was going to flee; he was sure of it. But to where? Blair had no idea how the deathless knew what a nuke was, much less what the bastard had planned for it. Cities had become deathtraps full of potential new soldiers he could use. Why blow one up? If that wasn’t the purpose, then what was? Maybe he could use it on the Mother, though how he intended to deliver the weapon was a mystery. Pilot the plane all the way back? No, that wasn’t his style. Irakesh wouldn’t risk the Mother’s wrath. He knew he was outmatched, or why flee in the first place?

  Blair lurched forward, catching himself against the cool metal of a wing. He barely saw the aircraft, his attention focused on Jordan and Liz. The former Mohn soldier had picked Liz up, but seemed unsure where to move her. He glanced around the hangar, finally catching sight of Blair. Jordan started in his direction, then abruptly froze. His gaze went skyward.

  An engine screamed in the distance. A plane engine, one approaching very rapidly. It was the first aircraft Blair had heard since the world had ended. Who was it? Who had both the technology and knowledge to find this hangar, of all places in the world? Boots thumped on the roof above. There was only one group it could be, one thorn always in their side. Did Mohn know they were inside, or were they here for their nuke?

  The far side of the hangar erupted inward, launching zombies into the air like toys. Two smaller explosions sounded above as bits of metal rained down. Soldiers rappelled through the holes, even as a massive form appeared in the gaping rent now dominating the hangar’s south wall. It lumbered forward with a metallic pumping of pistons, a chrome behemoth even taller than the giant zombie Liz had slain.

  Familiar suits of power armor flooded in behind it, fanning out around the mech like foxes around a wolf. Lines of red shone from above, the laser sights attached to rifles. They were surrounded and in no shape to fight. Blast it. They were too beat up to take on both sides.

  “Blair, we have to go,” Bridget hissed from the shadows behind him. “We can’t fight them.”

  She was right and he knew it. He gave Jordan and Liz an agonizing glance. They stood in the pool of light cast by one of the holes in the ceiling. The mech was already making for them as a dozen barrels swung
in their direction.

  “She’s right,” Steve whispered, appearing in a crouch next to Bridget. “We have to get out of here, Blair. We can’t help them, only die ourselves. If we’re lucky they’ll take care of Irakesh, but if we want to live we move. Now.”

  “Fine,” Blair growled, anger surging through him. There weren’t any other options, but he hated having to run. Again. “We’ll fall back through that rent. Bridget, stick to the shadows and meet us outside.”

  He blurred without waiting for an answer, following the shadowed wall of the hangar until he reached the hole left by the massive machine Mohn had brought. Two suits of power armor guarded it, but the hole was a good twelve feet high. He leapt, twisting in midair even as the pair spun to face him.

  Steve barreled into the back of the suit on the right, seizing the helmet in both hands and twisting with incredible strength. The armor’s arms shot up to stop him, but too late. Steve’s furred muscles tensed, and the armored helmet twisted. The man’s neck and skull were crushed, sending the armor toppling to the ground.

  Bridget materialized in midair above the second armored suit, landing heavily on its back and driving it into the pavement with incredible force. She brought both fists down onto its shoulders, crushing the armor like tinfoil. It was truly terrifying to witness, reminding him of just how much stronger females were. At least she was on his side.

  Something whined from behind him and to the right. Blair spun to see the aircraft Mohn had no doubt arrived in. It was twin to the cargo plane Irakesh planned to steal, save that it bore a pair of massive mini guns under each wing. Those guns had begun to spin, and were aimed in his direction.

  Blair blurred, rolling away as rounds streaked around him. Some bit into the pavement, others into the wall of the hangar. Only his speed saved him, as he flipped backwards away from the deadly weapons. The plane began to track his movements, but too slowly to keep up.

  “Circle the building,” he roared, already sprinting around the right of the domed building. Bridget and Steve followed, and within moments their retreat was mercifully obscured by the building. He dropped into a crouch, chest heaving as he caught his breath. Steve blurred into place next to him.

  “What now?” he asked, glancing at Bridget as she loped to a stop near them.

  “We—” Blair began, trailing off at the sight before him. “It can’t be.”

  A second plane taxied onto the runway, the same one he knew to still be inside the hangar. It moved through the still-closed doors, which rippled around it as if they were water. The plane picked up speed, already moving away from them. He could see Trevor’s form in the cockpit, his shock of orange hair unmistakable.

  “It can and is,” Steve answered, rising to his feet and taking a step towards the plane. “You said that deathless could manipulate light, that they used illusions. Irakesh fooled us all.”

  “That means Mohn isn’t aware they’re leaving,” Bridget said, resting a furry hand on Blair’s shoulder. “We’re the only ones who can stop them, and we have to do it now.”

  “What about Liz?” Blair asked, aware of the quaver in his voice. The high whine of jet engines and the stench of gasoline hung thick around him. He knew the answer, but someone else had to give it voice.

  “There isn’t any choice, Blair,” Bridget said, gathering him into a furry hug. He was a child enveloped by a parent. “We have to let her go. Maybe they won’t kill her. Maybe…”

  “If we’re going to do something, we do it now or not at all,” Steve interrupted, grabbing Blair’s shoulder and yanking him from Bridget’s embrace. “You said you came here to stop Irakesh. You know what’s at stake. Would Liz want you to give that monster a nuclear weapon? Control of the Ark you said lies somewhere north? Because if you go back for her, you’re handing him victory. Can you live with that?”

  Blair met Steve’s gaze, the same dispassionate gaze he’d known for almost a decade nested in that wolfish visage. The same visage he wore. He was a warrior now, a champion. Steve was right. If he didn’t stop Irakesh, no one would.

  “Bridget, see if you can catch the rear of the plane. Steve and I will blur to the front and punch through the cockpit. If we shatter that glass, they won’t be able to take off,” he said, voice firming even as he started towards the plane.

  It had reached the main runway and was accelerating. Act. Don’t think. He blurred forward without waiting for an answer, streaking across the tarmac.

  His fur whipped around him as he closed the gap to the cargo plane, or bomber or whatever it was. The plane accelerated, the space between it and the end of the runway quickly shrinking. How long until it was airborne and he could no longer reach it? He risked a glance behind him. Bridget loped along the runway, barely matching the plane’s pace. There was no way she’d catch it in time. Steve was closer, a midnight streak several meters behind Blair.

  He turned back to the plane, redoubling his speed. Even blurring, it was a near thing. The plane’s front wheel had already left the ground when he leapt, grabbing the back of the right wing. The roar of the engine was both powerful and deafening, its pull threatening to yank him inside. He dug his claws into the clean chrome wing, vaulting atop it. Blair slipped, tumbling backwards towards the inexorable pull of the engine.

  Then Steve was there, seizing his shoulder and heaving him towards the main body of the plane. Blair seized the edge of the wing, steadying himself as the plane left the ground and took the air. Now what? Steve was yelling something, but it was lost in the roar of the engines. He had to bring the plane down, even if it cost his life.

  The plane abruptly tilted, the wing dropping suddenly. Blair’s grip held, but he saw Steve tumble off. His midnight form tumbled towards the trees below, dropping nearly a hundred feet into the unbroken canopy. Fuck. Hopefully Steve had survived, but whether he did or not Blair had a job to do.

  He stared at the cockpit, a few dozen feet ahead. How could he reach it?

  Blur. If you hurl yourself with all your strength you can reach it, Ka-Dun.

  The beast was right. It was his only chance. Blair gathered his legs, focusing his energy. Then he blurred, pouring more into the power than he ever had before. He leapt, somehow moving faster than the plane. His body hurled through the air, as close to true flight as he’d ever know. His claws caught the lip of the cockpit, the point where glass and metal met. He found purchase, somehow clinging to the metal despite the insistent tugging of the wind.

  He could see into the cockpit, see Trevor just two feet away. His friend looked the same, until he turned and met Blair’s gaze. Trevor’s eyes were the same putrid green as Irakesh’s. His mouth opened in shock, exposing jagged rows of fangs used to rend flesh. Blair couldn’t bring the plane down, but Trevor could.

  Blair plunged into Trevor’s mind, forcing his way past the deathless’s defenses.

  44

  Mountain Camp

  “Where are we?” Blair asked, turning in a slow circle. Thick flakes of snow obscured the looming pines surrounding the spacious cabin. He and Trevor stood on the back deck, fenced on two sides with a path leading up the hillside behind them.

  Trevor turned to face him, but didn’t immediately answer. His eyes were normal, the same hazel he’d gotten to know during their mad flight from San Diego back to the Ark in Peru. His teeth were mercifully normal. There was nothing to reflect the monster he’d become. Even his coat was a battered mess, warm and worn from years of faithful service. This was Trevor, not the monster he’d just seen. Or so it appeared, at least. Irakesh had already proven how deathless could alter appearances.

  “Mountain Camp,” Trevor said, crunching through thick snow to the railing near a large silver grill. He picked up the tongs dangling from the side, cocking his head to the side as he studied them. “It’s the nickname one of Liz’s friends gave the place. She grew up rich down in Monterey and this place seemed so rustic to her. To us it was just home. We grew up here, in Tuolumne. You ever been to Yosemite?”
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  Blair glanced down at himself. He wore the same dark brown coat he’d worn to class every night, complete with the black stain on the right sleeve from his mishap with some soy sauce. It was glaringly normal, just like everything else around them.

  “Yeah, I’ve been. I only live a few hours away, a little north of San Francisco. I’ve never heard of Tuolumne though,” he replied, taking a cautious step towards the railing near the grill. Blair swept off an armful of snow, settling against the perch he’d created.

  “We’re about an hour north of Yosemite. Up in the foothills. Gold country once upon a time,” Trevor explained. He replaced the tongs, turning to study the house. They stood outside an office, a dusty old computer on a makeshift table that had been converted to a desk. A buffalo hide hung against one wall. The others held a variety of notes and pictures that must have accumulated over years. A sliding glass door led onto the deck where they stood. “It’s so odd seeing it empty. My mom and dad still live up here. It’s never this quiet. They’ve always had dogs, sometimes a cat or two. That’s missing, like the world is empty somehow. Maybe this is the best you can conjure up with whatever it is you’re doing to me. I’m curious to see just how detailed this fantasy is.”

  Trevor crossed the deck to the sliding glass door, tugging it open and stepping inside. He removed his boots, gesturing for Blair to follow. Then he turned and exited through a door on the far side of the office, entering a wide linoleum hallway. It was flanked by a bathroom on one side and a faded brown door on the other. Trevor stopped in front of it, clearly waiting. Blair hesitated only a moment before entering the office. He slid the door closed behind him, crossing the worn carpet and joining Trevor in the hallway. A light from the far end illuminated Trevor’s face. It looked like it came from a kitchen.