by Chris Fox
Vampire
Awaken, master.
Mark tumbled from the bed, rolling to his feet with an arm extended protectively. He took several deep breaths as he attempted to calm his thundering heart. Or rather, he tried to. Only he wasn’t breathing. His heart wasn’t beating, not that he could feel anyway.
It is part of the change, master. You are greater than you were. Beyond the ravages of time, or the need to draw breath.
“Fuck,” was all Mark could manage. He straightened, drawing on decades of discipline to still the tempest of rage and loss. What the hell had Osiris done to him?
He has imparted the greatest of gifts, master.
“Do not speak, unless I direct a question at you. Do you understand?”
As you wish, master.
He remembered stories from Jordan about the beast in his head, and this thing sounded a great deal similar. That terrified him, because he knew it could hear his innermost thoughts. Yet he couldn’t change it, so that left only one option. He’d use it. Treating it like a virtual assistant was a good start.
“Osiris slipped me the virus, or some version of it. Is that correct?” Mark asked. He squared his shoulders as he studied his surroundings. The room was small, containing a narrow metal bed with a stained mattress, and a single nightstand and lamp. It smelled like grease and dust.
That is correct, master.
“I’ve retained my memories. Why aren’t I like one of the zombies we saw just after the CME?” Mark asked, moving to a thick metal door with a slot set at eye level. He threw back the slot, peering as best he could into the hall. It was dimly lit, and empty.
You are no paltry deathless, my host. The oily tone was layered with disgust. You have become a Draugr, what you would know as a vampire. We are more noble, more graceful. Deathless are brutes. We are artisans.
“I see,” Mark said. There was still no movement in the hallway, not that he could see anyway. He reached down to the cool handle, turning it gently. Much to his shock it opened. “These vampires. How are they, we rather, different than the deathless?”
All he knew of deathless came from Jordan’s reports of Irakesh, and from the brief studies they’d conducted on zombies back in Syracuse. That was precious little, other than the fact that they possessed fantastic abilities and were very, very difficult to kill.
Vampires are always sentient, always retain the greater part of the master’s consciousness. We require less direct sustenance, and prefer blood over flesh. Blood contains the helixes of the host, giving us what we require without the need to kill. As I said, artisans.
“Great,” Mark muttered, stepping into the dimly lit hall. There was a single lightbulb at the far end, which flickered dully. The walls were whitewashed concrete, and hadn’t been tended to in at least a few years. The place was also damp, as if they were underground. “So you’re saying I drink blood instead of eating people? That’s loads better, thanks.”
In time you will understand the benefits, master. Our strength will be needed in the coming days. We feed upon the unblooded, but use that strength to protect.
Mark moved up the hallway, rounding the corner. He passed two more doors and one flickering light before the hall ended at another door. He stopped in front of it, listening. To his amazement he could hear everything beyond. Heartbeats. Breathing. The clacking of keys, and the low hum of computers.
He took a deep breath, then opened the door. The room was a low-tech version of the ops center back in Syracuse. Perhaps a dozen techs worked at hastily erected stations, each tapped into data feeds he recognized. Most were the satellites Mohn had launched prior to the CME, but several techs were doing simple data analysis.
A familiar one looked up as he entered, her jaw dropping. She shot to her feet, snapping to attention. “Director on the floor.”
The techs rose as one, delivering a hasty salute. His attention was reserved for the first woman who’d risen, though.
“At ease,” he said, threading through the workstations until he reached Benson. “You’re looking well. I was worried you’d be brought up on charges for your role in my little coup back in Syracuse.”
“No, sir,” Benson said, giving him a wide smile. It made her almond-shaped eyes crinkle in a way he found damnably attractive. Should he be able to do that now that he was dead? “I was detained briefly, then brought to London to meet with the Old Man. He explained that I’d be reassigned, and you’d still be my CO. He didn’t give me a lot of choice, but I’d have agreed to pretty much anything once I heard you’d still be in charge.”
“Your loyalty is appreciated,” he said, giving her the warmest smile he could muster. She blanched, face draining of color. “What is it?”
“Your, uh, teeth, sir,” Benson stammered, blinking rapidly. “They’re, uh sharp. The canines.”
“Lovely,” Mark said, feeling his teeth with his tongue. Sure enough, his canines were elongated. Whatever monster Osiris was, he’d become the same. “I can’t change it, so I’ll have to adapt to it. Give me a sitrep.”
“We’re observing points of interest, sir,” Benson said, clearly relieved to slip back into routine. She glanced at her computer, exposing a delicate neck. A vein thudded there, in time with her heartbeat. “Stonehenge was given a priority of ten, with Cairo at nine. Cambodia, San Francisco, and Peru are all listed as eights.”
Mark processed that. Mohn Corp. was focused solely on London.
“Flags?” Mark asked, focusing on Benson’s heartbeat instead of her neck. It was slow. Steady. She wasn’t alarmed by his condition. Part of him found that flattering, but the analytical mind knew it had to be deeper than that. If she wasn’t alarmed, then seeing monsters like him had become normal. She’d been working heavily with Osiris, in all likelihood.
“We haven’t seen anything of note in London,” Benson said, gesturing at her screen as she pulled up several feeds. “Cairo has been the most interesting. Whoever or whatever is in control there has gathered an army, a large one.”
The satellite feed showed a massive cloud of dust. Benson zoomed in, and he could see row upon row of figures. Dead figures. Someone clearly possessed the ability to control tens of thousands of zombies. Who? And what were they planning on using them for?
“Noted,” Mark replied, filing the events away. He’d dissect them later. “How about the other targets?”
“Peru has been quiet, for the most part,” Benson said, sweeping dark bangs out of her face. “It looks like whoever is in charge there is rebuilding Cajamarca. There’s a lot of traffic going back and forth, but beyond clearing the city of undead they haven’t made any notable advances.”
“Interesting. San Francisco?” Mark would have held his breath, if he had any.
Benson pulled up the feed. She was quiet for a moment as the camera focused. “We’re not entirely sure what happened—but, sir, look at that blast crater. It’s consistent with a nuclear detonation, but the devastation stops after just a few hundred yards. It’s too small to be one of our assets.”
She was right. The first quarter of the Golden Gate Bridge had been melted to slag, but the latter section hadn’t been touched. The entire area around the San Francisco side was a charred hole, but that hole was far smaller than the hole the 500-megaton nuclear asset Irakesh had stolen should have created. A lot smaller.
“Theories?” Mark asked, holding off on speculation until he’d gathered all available data.
“None, sir,” Benson said, giving a very uncharacteristic shrug. “The energy had to go somewhere, but it isn’t clear where.”
“Show me the Ark,” he said, pointing at the object at the corner of the screen.
Benson zoomed in, revealing a massive pyramid twin to the one in Peru. It stabbed out of San Francisco Bay, not more than a mile from Angel Island. The bulk of the structure was covered by water, and there was no visible means of entrance. If it resembled its counterpart in Peru, the entrance would be under five hundred feet of frigid water.
“That’s the new settlement Commander Jordan has created,” Benson explained, zooming in on the island. She continued to zoom, past the clusters of tents and the small army of boats tethered to the dock. She didn’t stop until she reached a small cluster of men.
The men were drilling, and the drill was a familiar one. As familiar as the man leading those drills. “My god. Yuri survived.”
“Indeed he did,” came a polished voice from behind. Mark whirled to find Osiris just a few inches away. He could hear the creak of every shoe, yet this man’s approach had been completely undetected. It underscored just how new his abilities were, and how little he knew about them. “I’ve worked with Yuri in the past. I’m not surprised he found his way through the CME.”
“Have we attempted to establish contact?” Mark asked, choosing not to react to Osiris’s arrival.
“We don’t have the means,” Benson said, shrugging helplessly. “If they have a surviving sat phone they haven’t used it, so as far as we know they’re off grid. We’d have to physically send a bird to make contact, and we don’t have more than a handful left.”
“Those birds are needed here, for the time being,” Osiris said, turning to Mark. “Will you take a walk with me, Director Phillips? I’d like to discuss your new condition, and your role here going forward.”
21
Collared
Jordan came to with a start. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but he wasn’t sure how long he’d been down here. It was difficult staying alert when you couldn’t mark the passage of time, especially when there was no apparent end to your confinement. That was no excuse, though. He couldn’t let himself get weak. Now, more than ever, he needed his strength.
There is truth in that, Ka-Dun. Yet you cannot blame yourself for our current circumstances.
“Who the fuck else is there to blame?” Jordan replied, rising from the bench and approaching the crackling blue bars to his cell. He knew roughly where he was in the Ark, and he also knew how to reach the light bridge where he’d entered.
That knowledge was useless, though. Steve had been able to escape a cell like this one, but he’d been an Ark Lord and had used his ability to light walk. Jordan had no such ability, and that meant for the time being he had no method of escape.
Heavy footsteps clinked their way on the marble in the distance. They were growing closer. Jordan tensed, moving to the far side of the cell so he had the best view of the hallway where the steps had originated. Long moments later, a familiar jackal-headed figure stepped into view. It carried the same golden staff, each end capped with a fan blade like some wicked doubled-bladed scythe.
Jordan could immediately see the usefulness of the weapon, which capitalized on the wielder’s speed. You were always in a position to launch a blow at your foe, and the force of that blow couldn’t be countered with a conventional parry. If you hit your target, your target died.
The jackal stopped outside of his cell, tapping a blue sapphire set into one golden gauntlet. The crackling bars of energy abruptly ceased. He said nothing to Jordan, instead gesturing at the hallway. The meaning was clear. Walk. Now.
So Jordan walked. There was no point in resistance. Not yet, anyway. This thing had already mopped the floor with him, and if he got into another confrontation it would have the same end. He needed to bide his time until he understood exactly what this thing was. It had to have a weakness, and if Jordan had enough time he’d find it.
The jackal shoved him roughly from behind, and Jordan stumbled forward. He regained his footing quickly, resisting the urge to round on his tormentor and attack. That was no doubt exactly what the jackal was goading him into. Jordan kept walking.
Eventually they reached the central chamber. Jordan slowed his pace slightly, a play for a bit more time to study his enemies. Irakesh stood on the lowest step of a short stairway leading up to a massive throne. Below him stood Steve on one side, and Trevor on the other. Right now Jordan wasn’t sure whom he disliked more.
A few steps above Irakesh stood a woman with long dark hair. To her left, another attendant to the throne, a wolf, but something was off about the creature. Definitely male, but he stood a good nine feet tall, on par with most females. As Jordan approached the throne, he caught a whiff of something rotting.
That is no Ka-Dun. It is a dead wolf, shaped into being by the twisted deathless. Wepwawet, he is called. A vicious, cruel god.
Then his attention shifted to the figure presiding over the court. A warrior goddess occupied the throne. Dark red hair spilled down well-muscled shoulders. Piercing green eyes studied him, exactly the way he was studying her. This woman was the veteran of a thousand wars, a soldier born and bred. She was gorgeous, long-limbed and pale skinned, but then so was his ex-wife.
As she smiled he caught sight of the same razored teeth Irakesh and Trevor bore. Her eyes smoldered with green flame, reminding him she was every bit his enemy. A spear very similar to the dead wolf’s was propped against her throne, within easy reach.
“Mighty Ra, I have brought the prisoner as you commanded,” the jackal rumbled. A huge hand settled over Jordan’s shoulder, forcing him to his knees. The jackal fell to one knee beside him, dropping his voice to a low rumble. “Avert your gaze, or I will take your eyes, whelp.”
Jordan stared Ra right in the face, daring her to take some sort of action. The jackal’s gauntleted hand swept up in a backhand, but Jordan was ready this time. He blurred, catching the gauntlet in both hands. He summoned his telekinesis, using it to help lift the jackal. Then Jordan flung the creature directly at Steve and Irakesh, stripping the strange fan-bladed axe from its grip as the creature sailed past.
Jordan settled into a combat stance as he scanned the room, searching for a means of escape before they recaptured him.
The jackal was still in midair when the figure on the throne twitched. That was the only way Jordan could describe it. Her position shifted as if she’d blurred, yet it happened so quickly he couldn’t track it. He blinked twice, staring down at his hands as he realized his stolen weapon was gone.
He looked up to see the jackal crash into Steve, knocking the man to the ground under his tremendous weight. Irakesh managed to dodge out of the way, though his feet never left the step he’d been standing on. Jordan glanced up at the throne again, jaw dropping as he saw that Ra now held the axe he’d stolen from the jackal.
“I’ll devour your heart,” the jackal roared, leaping to his feet and blurring in Jordan’s direction. Even though Jordan blurred, he couldn’t avoid the attack.
A gauntleted fist hit his jaw like a freight train, shattering bone as he was flung back twenty or more feet. He skidded along the marble floor, trying to roll to his feet. The jackal gave no quarter, and Jordan felt more than one bone break as blows rained down on him.
“Enough,” Ra’s voice cracked. The blows didn’t slacken. “Anubis, your disobedience is becoming a dangerous habit.”
That stopped the blows. He was aware of Anubis moving away; that was apparently the jackal’s name. The creature fell to one knee, facing the throne. “Forgive me, mighty Ra. I lost my temper. This whelp has embarrassed me in front of the court. Please, let me take his heart.”
“Be silent, and contemplate your disobedience lest I take your heart,” Ra snapped. The jackal merely nodded, remaining in his kneeling position.
Jordan took the opportunity to rise to his feet, snapping his forearm back into place. Two ribs cracked into position, and he couldn’t stifle the groan of pain.
“Approach the throne, Ka-Dun,” Ra commanded, eyes smoldering. Jordan considered his options, then decided he had no choice. He walked painfully to the base of the stairs, stopping next to Steve and Irakesh. Trevor was lurking there as well, avoiding Jordan’s gaze. “I must decide what to do with you. Tell me, Ka-Dun, whom do you serve?”
That was a harder question to answer than Jordan would have thought. Whom did he
serve? Not Isis. He respected her, but he didn’t share her goals. She was too callous, too focused on things that wouldn’t occur for millennia. Blair then? No, Blair was more of an ally.
“I serve the Ka-Ken, Liz,” he said, squaring his shoulders. “She leads my pack.”
“I am unfamiliar with this Ka-Ken,” Ra said, rising from her throne. She swept past the wolf-thing, past Steve and Irakesh, until she stood before Jordan. She was his height, a rarity among women. “If this Liz could issue you an order, what would it be? What would she wish you to accomplish in my court?”
“To kill that fucker,” Jordan rumbled, nodding at Steve.
“Ahhh,” Ra said, raising a delicate eyebrow. “So this Liz serves Isis. Unsurprising.”
She turned from Jordan, focusing her gaze on Steve. “What of you, Ka-Dun? Whom is it you serve?”
“I serve you, mighty Ra,” Steve replied, sinking to one knee, as the jackal had. He kept his eyes downcast, and his tone was as deferential as Jordan had ever heard. “It was I who saved Irakesh and brought him here. I offer myself to your service, and I offer the key that I bear. The key belonging to Isis and her Ark on the jungle continent.”
Jordan struggled against the urge to shatter Steve’s face, barely containing his fury. The betrayal had been expected, but to give the key to the Mother’s Ark to a woman who’d given birth to a monster like Irakesh? That was beyond stupidity.
“I see,” Ra said, folding her arms as she stared down at Steve. “You are not the first to profess such loyalty, and I am not inclined to trust you. Why should I, after you betrayed your former master? You would do the same to me, like as not.”
Steve looked up at her, fear etched in his features. “Mighty Ra, I have told the truth. I seek only to serve. To live and die in your service. Please, I know much of this age. I am a trained scholar, well-versed in our history. I can teach you a great deal. Even show it to you, if you’ll permit me to mindshare.”