by Joe Ducie
Irene leant forward in her chair and stared wide-eyed at the screen. ‘It’s grown that much in two weeks?’
‘Oh, it’s worse than that, Miss Finlay. For apart from what you see above the surface, tendrils of thick crystal have grown for hundreds of miles beneath the water.’ He clapped his hands together and looked at Drake. ‘Congratulations, Mr. Drake, you’ve awoken a very old, very cruel god.’
Drake stared at the screen and felt true fear squirming around in his gut. ‘Oh, sure,’ he said, letting his mouth run again, ‘because I was the one drilling holes into the crystal, wasn’t I? You should have left the damn stuff down there.’
‘The creature is building,’ Whitmore said. ‘Whatever you awoke beneath those dark waters, creature or alien, is building that structure around the Rig. That is about as close as the drones can get before they simply stop working.’
‘What about …?’ Irene said. ‘There’s no one still on there, is there?’
‘Warden Jonathan Storm is unaccounted for,’ Whitmore said. ‘After he dropped you off in St. John’s and flew back to the Rig, he refused to evacuate with the helicopters that collected the rest of the staff and inmates from their life rafts. As far as we know, he’s still on the platform. Most likely perished, at this point.’
Drake spared about a second’s thought for Storm and couldn’t help himself from thinking the world was better off without the man. ‘You said it was growing under the water, as well?’
Whitmore nodded.
‘Growing where?’
‘Thick tentacles from the underwater reef and that abomination you see claiming my prison have travelled hundreds of miles in a matter of days. Shipping lanes have been closed as the crystal cut through the hulls of three tankers like they were tissue paper. Worse, the tentacles shifted course to destroy those ships. At its current rate of growth, and it’s only got faster, it will be on our shores …’ Whitmore paused and glanced at his watch. ‘… in an hour and twelve minutes.’
‘Whoa, what?’ Drake leant back and looked at Irene. ‘It’ll hit land? What land?’
‘This land, Mr. Drake.’ Whitmore chuckled but there was no humour in his voice. ‘The crystal is coming here.’ He gestured behind him, out at the city. ‘Why do you think I have guided you here? To New York City this evening? The fight is tonight, Mr. Drake. The creature in the Crystal-X is coming and you are the only one capable of fighting it. Michael Tristan has assured me, in exchange for a pardon on his sentence, that you can open a portal using the crystals that were created in the incident with the train. He is working on them now, collating the data. You and Marcus Brand will step through that portal together; you will join Crystal Force, and take the fight to these creatures.’
Drake didn’t need to think too hard about that. ‘No, thank you. I won’t work with you or Brand.’ Drake glanced at Irene from the corner of his eye. ‘I’m not your pawn, Whitmore.’
‘I am asking you to be my ally!’ Whitmore shook his head and straightened his tie. ‘You are free to leave here tonight, Mr. Drake,’ he said. ‘As I promised. And I will take your dismissal of my offer as final and consider you an enemy – much like those fools in Japan – and use much less … decent means to persuade you to my cause. Either way, that portal will open.’
‘I’m not taking sides,’ Drake said. ‘I just want to go home.’ But I can’t leave New York if it’s about to be attacked. He sighed. But what can I do?
Whitmore scoffed and ran a hand back through his silver hair. ‘Home? You can never go home again. Like it or not, the amount of Crystal-X you absorbed and your ability to stave off the madness puts you on the frontlines. You have the power – the responsibility – to fight.’
‘I’m not fighting your wars – against crystal aliens or Haven!’
Whitmore gave Drake a withering look. ‘There’s something more at stake here. You’ve seen it, haven’t you? The world to come if the entity sealed away at the bottom of the Arctic Ocean has its way? You’ve seen it in your dreams. The devastation.’ He licked his lips and scowled, as if his words had a foul taste. ‘Crystal spires marring the land, ash and dust on the wind under a ruined, crimson sky.’
‘How can you …’ Drake shook his head. ‘Take off your glasses. Show me your eyes.’
Whitmore’s grin looked like a wolf about to feed. ‘War is coming, Drake, and you will be called into service one way or another. We cannot allow the Degradation to happen. The fate of the world depends upon you.’
Degradation? The word sounded ugly and cruel.
‘This is the true Shadow War, no matter what those cultists from Haven may have told you.’ Whitmore took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyelids. ‘And a significant amount of light is about to be cast on the shadow. You are the only soldier I have that has absorbed enough of the Crystal-X to make a difference tonight.’
Whitmore looked up and removed his hands from his face. Irene gasped but Drake merely grunted at the colour of the man’s eyes. His left eye shone faintly blue, deep within his pupil, and his right carried a twinkle of dark red.
Balance, Drake thought. He’s balanced between madness and whatever the blue means. Sanity? No … clarity. The Path.
‘Noemi called you the Betrayer,’ Drake said, piecing together things he should have already been told. He barked a rough laugh. ‘Oh, man, you were at Haven, weren’t you? When you were a kid. You bobbed for a magic apple.’
‘Very astute, Mr. Drake. For a thief and a thug, you are quite perceptive.’ Whitmore replaced his glasses and sighed. ‘Forgive me. That was impolite. I was once a student of Haven, yes, my family’s wealth and influence guaranteed that, but no longer. They couldn’t see what was coming, what my father found beneath the Rig. Betrayer? I abandoned those fools and their precious Path for the greater good of humanity. They are not warriors, but mere scholars.’
‘That greater good has got a lot of people killed, you know. You put a price tag on things that should be basic human rights,’ Drake said. ‘Healthcare, justice … you’re asking me to choose sides, to choose your side – but I’ve waded through the shit and blood on the Rig, Mr. President. I’ve seen what happens to people on your side.’ He stood and kicked his chair back against the wall. ‘Irene, we should go.’
‘Mr. Drake, I am asking you to become a member of Crystal Force tonight. To lead a specialist unit alongside Marcus Brand. Consider that the creature may be targeting New York because it knew you would be here. Glimpses of the future are more than possible, as you well know. Without the resources and command structure of the Alliance, Bluebird will hunt you down alone – no matter how fast you run.’
‘Bluebird?’ Irene asked.
‘That’s what Crystal Force have designated this threat. Operation Bluebird.’
Drake pictured the creature he’d glimpsed hiding under his mother’s skin and suppressed a shudder. ‘Bluebird is too kind,’ he said. ‘It’s uglier than that. And I don’t want your job.’
Whitmore replaced his sunglasses and gave a curt nod. ‘So be it. You may leave the museum, as I promised, but I won’t allow you to leave the city. Rousing Bluebird was partly your doing, Drake, and you’ll suffer the consequences of that with the rest of us.’
Drake sighed and nodded once. ‘Suppose I will. See you later, Lucien.’
Drake took Irene’s hand as they swept out of the room, leaving the president of the Alliance to his thoughts, and stepped quickly past Danielle DeMarco and her patented scowl, along the corridor back towards the party. They took the stone steps two at a time, almost dancing down to the ground floor. The sounds of merriment and the click of shoes against the marble foyer seemed at odds with what Drake had just learnt.
‘So what do we do?’ Irene asked. ‘And don’t say something smart like “let’s go get pizza and make out”, Will.’
Drake snapped his fingers. ‘Heh. You know me too well, Finlay. No, I … I’m not sure. Let me think for a minute.’
‘Follow the web?’
&
nbsp; Drake smiled. ‘Follow the web.’ He gave her a quick kiss, missed her mouth, and got some upper lip action. ‘Follow the damn web.’
The party was in full swing, people dancing and drinking and eating little plates of finger food, as Drake, a wanted terrorist if the news was to be believed, moved among them – with a good half a dozen balconies overhead that might have contained a good half a dozen highly trained special forces soldiers with a good half a dozen high-powered rifles pointed at him and Irene.
The ornate doors out onto the street had been closed, save for a sliding glass door that was manned by a collection of Alliance goons. One of them grinned and gave Drake a quick salute.
He clenched his crystal fist and was sorely tempted to melt a path on through, see the guards scatter, but the suspected guns above made him hesitate.
‘We should head out to that fire escape now, yeah,’ Irene said.
‘What, you don’t trust Whitmore to keep his word and let us leave?’
‘Come on, let’s head further into the museum and find an exit that way.’
Drake had to agree it was the best option, short of creating a crystal-blue panic, so he let himself be led. Irene weaved through the crowd, making her dress look good, and led them around the massive dinosaur fossil and around a velvet rope blocking access deeper into the museum. The corridor was dimly lit, but deserted, and ended in a left turn, a right turn and a narrow set of carpeted stairs.
A screen on the wall said the Journey to the Stars exhibit was to the left and the Cretaceous Period could be found down the corridor to the right.
He and Irene shared a look, shrugged, and took the right turn.
The corridor led them to a large chamber with high vaulted ceilings above an incredible display of dinosaur bones. Several pedestals held complete skeletons of long-dead beasts. Inside glass cases were holographic images of what the creatures had looked like millions of years ago, in a world of erupting volcanoes and cloudy skies. Speakers on the walls played sounds that reminded Drake of the rainforest.
In the heart of the vast chamber stood a massive and vicious fossil – Drake’s favourite since he was four – the Tyrannosaurus rex.
Marcus Brand, the Skeleton Man, rested at ease against the central pedestal beneath the Tyrannosaurus. He gave Drake a ragged wave and shot him a toothy, feral grin.
‘Hey, Drake, still kickin’?’ Brand asked and pressed his hand against the tail of the T-Rex. ‘You meet the new boss? She gave you a kiss, huh?’
‘You’re not working for Whitmore any longer, are you?’ Drake clenched his fists. ‘What is it you want from me?’
‘Whitmore thinks he can stop what’s to come.’ Brand laughed. ‘Look at me, Drake – look at what we did to each other! There’s no stopping Bluebird.’
‘You could, you know, not help it, though.’
Brand shrugged a shoulder. ‘Hey, look what I can do.’
A fetid yellow light bled from under Brand’s hand and slithered across the immense fossil like a river of honey. The light hardened against the old bones, coating the T-Rex from fanged jaw to clawed foot in a hard shell of amber.
‘Cool,’ Drake said, stepping in front of Irene. He wanted to kill Brand – to put him down. ‘You can make toffee apples. Whoop-de –’
The T-Rex roared and its massive head swung through the air. Red fire flared within the depths of its empty eye sockets, which seemed to glare at Drake with a bitter, hateful intelligence.
Drake whipped out his phone and speed-dialled Noemi. She answered halfway through the first ring.
‘Dinosaurs,’ he said.
‘Excuse me?’
‘Will …’ Irene grasped his arm.
The T-Rex broke away from its pedestal and took a step, its first in sixty-five million years, onto the hardwood floors. The museum shook. A decade of dust in the arched rafters of the high ceilings fell like snow.
Irene pulled Drake away and they turned to run – back towards the party.
‘William Drake?’ Noemi’s voice was urgent.
‘Yeah, Brand is here and he made dinosaurs. Noemi, please tell me you’re waiting outside with a car … and a rocket launcher.’
‘RUN, DRAKE!’ Marcus Brand’s laughter echoed up into the cathedral-like ceiling. ‘RUN!’
Drake ran.
Chapter Twenty
Cretaceous Park
Irene squeezed Drake’s hand hard enough to hurt as they ran back the way they had come, towards the party, as the dinosaur chasing them down roared again, rattling windows and knocking paintings from the walls.
She leant down as they reached the split in the corridor and slipped the straps of her heels from around her ankles. With no real thought, Drake took a turn back towards the foyer and, barefoot, Irene kept pace. The museum shook again and a tremendous boom of concrete striking marble reverberated ahead of them and rattled Drake’s bones.
Drake and Irene separated at the velvet barrier in the foyer and, his heart pounding in his chest, he cursed. If that thing had followed them then he’d led it to a crowded room full of innocent people. And Alliance guards. Oh … damn, they’re innocent enough. Another unholy roar echoed down the corridor. ‘Of course it’s following us …’
He looked over at Irene just as she slammed her fist into the fire alarm on the wall. A shrill siren echoed across the foyer and brought the party to an abrupt end. Without any heat or smoke to set them off, the sprinklers along the corridor didn’t start to rain, but sprinklers were not going to stop the beast anyway.
Irene offered Drake a wicked grin as the party began to clear out. He returned her grin and then watched as a bullet tore through her right arm, entering from behind, and spurting an arc of crimson droplets through the air that struck Drake’s face. A taste he was all too familiar with – hot, coppery blood – hit his lips. Irene cried out and spun before falling back, cradling her arm. The bullet had gone straight through, from high above, and buried itself in the marble at Drake’s feet.
He took a step forward, just one, before his crystal arm flared to life and a beam of intense light burst from his hand. The glove he wore was incinerated, like the previous pair bought what felt like years ago in Canada. He created a band of fire in the air, a whip of pure flame, and sent it swirling around him and Irene, hiding them from sight. The power appeared so swiftly that Drake wasn’t sure it was entirely his own doing. Instincts kicking in, he thought. Or I’m letting it control me. Noemi said using it like this was bad.
‘Will …’ Irene said through gritted teeth as he knelt next to her within the cocoon of fire. Blood gushed down her arm, staining her dress. ‘Ouch. Very ouch.’
‘Heal it, Irene. We’ve got to go.’
Drake looked through the breaks in the fire in time to see the T-Rex swing its massive head around the split in the corridor and bellow an ancient, extinct roar. He felt more than saw the rush of people in the party start to make a swift exit – spurred on now not only by the fire alarm, but also by a collective scream that rose on the air, answered by another roar from the reanimated dinosaur.
He checked on Irene, who nodded, and clasped her hand over the bullet wound. Blue light danced beneath her skin and a warm glow ignited her blood from within. Satisfied she could take care of herself, Drake turned to the monster at the far end of the corridor, the amber-coated fossil, as it tore apart the museum to reach him.
Power, he thought. Lots of bloody energy units.
Thrusting his crystal arm forward sent bands of burning white flame rushing towards the T-Rex. The amber coating the fossil absorbed the flame, rippling like dark water struck by a pebble, and the beast lowered its head. Drake felt the glare from the empty eye sockets and doubled his efforts. He poured more power down his arm and out of his hand, throwing his other arm into the mix. The obsidian crystal arm swam with thousands of blue sparks, with what the Alliance called Crystal-X and Noemi called Yūgen. His good arm, flesh and bone, burnt white beneath his skin.
Drake collected t
he power in his palms, the heat of the energy once again singeing his cuffs but leaving his skin unburnt. As the beast lumbered towards him, digging deep furrows in the floor with its claws and tearing displays from the walls with its bulk, Drake opened his hands as if in supplication.
A concentrated beam of light and fire, as thick as a soccer ball, erupted from his palms. He was forced back a step, two, and on to one knee as his arms jerked against the absurd column of hot flame. The beam glanced off the walls and left blackened scorch marks, a trail of ash and smoke. With the power still flowing down his arms, the beam struck the T-Rex halfway down the corridor and blew a hole in its chest. The amber coating shattered and the crystal fire bored through into the fossil.
Drake grinned and moved his open palms, touching just at his wrists, in slow circles. The beam of fire ate the T-Rex – a slow spiral reducing the beast to dust and less than dust. He severed the fossilised bones at the neck and the T-Rex’s body fell away from its head. The bulk of the creature became lifeless and hit the floor, leaking Brand’s amber slop. Drake clapped his hands together and cut off his immense power. He’d set the corridor on fire. Water burst from the sprinklers overhead, tasting the smoke. The monumental head of the T-Rex whirled through the air, striking the marble floors, before coming to a spinning stop at Drake’s feet. The jaw stood open, as if snarling, but once again inert. More amber liquid dripped from its fangs.
‘How’s the arm?’ Drake asked. He’d kept the cocoon of fire spinning above their heads in case of more shots from above, sizzling now as drops of water from the sprinklers struck the flame, but he had a feeling the snipers had abandoned their posts.
Irene looked at her bloody palm and then poked her arm. ‘Not … not even a scar,’ she said. ‘Better job than last time, eh?’
Most of the party guests had forced their way out onto the street, toppling museum pieces and tables in their hurry to escape. Dozens of shattered champagne flutes and silver trays littered the foyer, mixed with canapés. Even the Alliance guards seemed to have fled outside.