The Awoken (New Unity Book 1)

by S. M. Lynch

  After that, it was serious.

  “Take the handlebars,” I said.

  While he steered the bike, I instructed the jet to set down nearby, on a former golf course next to the Marly forest.

  The jet received my instructions and as we reached the junction off our road, I retook the bars and we revved down to a more temperate 60mph, swinging around country corners like it was daylight in summer and not bleak midwinter.

  I saw the jet before he did. She was setting down half a mile up ahead. We were so close. And nothing had been following us.

  The rest of that ride, my heart was pounding. At one point, Kyle wrapped his arms around my waist, as though he was terrified something might befall us last-minute, too.

  But we made it to the jet. The cargo door was open and we rode right on, only after skidding through a few meters of frozen grass! We both leapt off the bike and I shook my head.

  “That was too easy.”

  “It was,” he agreed.

  I pressed the button for the doors to shut and the aircraft asked through the intercom, Ready to take off?

  “Yes, please,” I replied.

  The jet was a combination jet, so you could set off like a normal carrier if you wanted, but you could also set off vertically—you just had to be prepared for the bumpier ride.

  It was indeed bumpy, and we barely survived as we moved through the cabin and into the cockpit.

  And when we got there—into the cockpit—there he was. Sat smiling. Like he was so clever. Like he had known exactly what I would do, how I would do it, and when.

  “We are we going then, sis?” he said, and I turned and stared at Kyle, whose face fell.

  “We’re going to Panacea,” I said, and he grinned.

  “Great. Hear that computer, Panacea?”

  Confirmed. Stealth mode preferred?

  “Much preferred,” I told her, as myself and Kyle belted in.

  The jet was climbing higher and was suddenly less bumpy, but the G-force was more noticeable as we gunned out of there and Kyle grabbed his paper bag again, just in case. It was only like half a G or something while we got free and clear of French airspace, but it wasn’t clear to him, obviously—he just knew it felt awful.

  Kyle sat behind myself and Arthur, who sat up front. Everything looked good, I saw on the screen, and we had plenty of fuel, obviously—this being powered by complex nuclear fusion.

  “Why are you here?” I asked Arthur.

  “I know you better than I know myself,” he groaned. “And I thought, well, maybe I’ll second-guess you… tell Mom and Dad I was going to meet friends, and instead come and find the family jet… and how right was I, huh?”

  The plane reached the desired height and we increased speed to 800mph. We were soon travelling across the Atlantic and towards Africa, then we’d cut across to South American territory.

  “Whatever you have planned, Arthur… I don’t care,” I growled, tired of him.

  “Not gonna ask me at all, then? About how you got free of the city like that? You’re not even gonna guess?”

  I looked over my shoulder at Kyle, who had his eyes closed and was still trying to get himself together. He wasn’t listening to our conversation because he was so focused on not puking.

  “Tell me, then,” I asked.

  “I’m everywhere, Ari,” he said, “I’m everywhere… and nowhere, and I’m going to do what should’ve been done, a long time ago.”

  “Even though Mom’s still alive?” I said, laughing.

  “They’ll try and take her again at some point. She can’t hide forever. And as for that bullshit about holing up in New Zealand… how can you possibly buy that, Ari? Mom hates the country. She hates being locked away.”

  “You didn’t leave them in the hands of your subordinates?” I growled.

  “No, don’t worry… they’ll destroy each other, wait and see. After they got back to the mansion, Camille nearly tore Dad to pieces. She’d just been holding it in around you.”

  I shook my head, not on board with his disastrous new ideas, which I didn’t even know about yet, though no doubt he was going to tell me.

  “Why do you want to come with us?” I asked, confused.

  “Why wouldn’t I want to come with you?” he laughed.

  “You couldn’t have known we’d be going to Panacea.”

  “I didn’t,” he said, “but I knew you’d try to escape tonight. And you did. And no doubt you think you can hide on Panacea.”

  He was right, of course; I’d decided that in the bunker on Panacea we could hide.

  “You don’t think we can hide, even there?” I said, giving him a glance.

  He shook his head slowly, side to side, and I turned to look over my shoulder and Kyle was looking right at me, definitely having heard that.

  “Why does he have to come with us?” Kyle growled. “He wasn’t invited.”

  Wow, so the gloves were off.

  Now it was just us three, Kyle wasn’t going to hide his intense and mutual dislike of Arthur.

  “It’s tough shit, isn’t it, pal? We shared a womb. You probably won’t ever find a way to get past that. We know what the other is thinking, like today, I knew she’d try and get you out.”

  Kyle’s jaw ticked and I glared at my brother. He was so pleased with himself. Desperate to ruin my happiness.

  “You know, I would rather pay Seth Buchanan a visit,” said Arthur. “Wouldn’t that be much cozier than the uninhabitable terrain of that island, which since the dome came down, has pretty much become a no-go zone.”

  “I knew about the dome, so what?” I asked, flicking Kyle a quick look.

  “It was self-contained, had cloak tech, that’s how they hid it… that’s how it worked. No bad air, bad vibes, and certainly no outside influence. But now, how can you be sure you wouldn’t be under surveillance there… when it’s so exposed?”

  Kyle didn’t deny it; so, it was true. That’s how they got away with it. It was completely cut off from the world.

  “How do you know so much?” I asked Arthur, narrowing my eyes at him.

  “I’ve known about it since I took over UNITY. You see, when you didn’t want that bridal shop and I got it instead, I found I could access all of Eve’s old files. Camille kept them underneath the bridal shop where she thought we wouldn’t find them. Silly, really. I’m from the same mold as them.”

  I gulped, because God, what else did he know I didn’t?

  “What do you intend to do? Murder Roche still, take her place?” I asked Arthur, not buying it.

  “Better,” he said. “Much better. Oh, but we’re still going to murder the old cow. She deserves it for trying to kill Mom, even though she didn’t succeed at it.”

  “Better, how?” I asked.

  “I’m not going to take anyone’s place, Ari,” he said, so light-hearted, I almost believed him. “I’m planning a new Panacea. A Noah’s Ark for our time. The end is coming, sister… don’t we both know it.”

  “Ari, Ari,” Kyle said, and we both turned to look at him at the same time.

  Around his wrists there was blue light, then it travelled up his arms, along his shoulders and neck, down the rest of his body, until all at once… he seemed to evaporate into the air.

  “Bugger,” cursed my brother, who might have spoken with an American accent, but had certainly picked up plenty of English slang. “Well, that’s that.”

  It didn’t seem like it’d really happened… for a few seconds… I just thought… no. That didn’t happen. Then I shot up out of my seat, felt around his for some remnant, something, screamed his name… and when he didn’t come running, I realized… it was true. It was all true.

  They could’ve taken him at any point, at any time, anywhere… and it was all true.

  This was much bigger than any of us.

  It was …

  The end was coming.

  It was coming.

  No stopping it.

  I took to my knees, scre
amed his name, screamed, “No! No!”

  And all my brother had for me were raised eyebrows.

  It was time to pay Mr. Buchanan a little visit, for sure.

  I marched back to my seat and scowled at the world laid out before me.

  “Do not say a word, or I will slice off your head.”

  He saw the katana as I pulled aside my coat.

  “She’s letting you keep it?” he gasped, genuinely shocked.

  “I’m the principal now, Arthur and don’t you forget it.”

  Chapter Thirty

  MARA WAS CRAWLING THROUGH A disused sewer on her way to kill the assassin that’d taken out her son. She’d been chasing the greaseball for months and now, she was finally going to get him.

  Her journey had taken her from New York to Vancouver to Detroit to where she was now, Atlanta. She didn’t think it was even possible that someone could reach her beneath ground as she crawled through the old tunnel, a mask over her face, because it still pretty much stank down there—but right enough, her xGen pinged to life and she scrambled to see who it was—considering nobody had contacted her in months.

  Seraph alive. Ryken renewed. Come home, please. Ari and Arthur in the wind.

  It was Camille.

  Well, Mara certainly wasn’t going home, not now she was so close.

  No.

  She had a job to do.

  And no, it wasn’t a surprise to her Seraph was alive.

  Mara had bumped into Seth Buchanan on her travels. The two of them had got on. So well, in fact, they’d spent the night together in Detroit—and he had guiltily admitted Seraph was holed up back at his place in New Zealand, along with some Panacean survivor.

  Mara didn’t much care for Seraph, anyway. Never had. Seraph and Eve. They’d had something, all right. And Mara had loved her mother, but she’d never truly forgiven her for Pascal. And Mara had always, always favored her father, Tom. She and Seth were similar in that they’d lost people they loved… too soon.

  At the start of her hunt for Lucius’s killer, she’d had nothing to go on except her son’s video diaries, which he’d uploaded to a private network regularly. Francesca, her daughter-in-law, had given Mara access in the days after Lucius’s murder. The diaries detailed people he was interested in… and a theory that Officium was going to rise once more.

  Now Mara had found Lucius’s killer, aided by intel from Seth, of course. The guy she was looking for… he was just a gun for hire. So who’d hired him? She’d find out. There’d be no stopping her, now she’d caught up with him… now there was nowhere to hide.

  She emerged from the ground through a manhole cover and stood in an empty alley lined with dumpsters and various back doors to unsavory places like kebab houses, massage parlors, pawn shops, strip clubs, poker dens, creditors’ and dive bars. It was one such dive bar she was interested in.

  Mara was dressed head to toe in black, and with her black ski mask and a hood over her head, she appeared to be nothing more than a sylvan shadow. Carrying a pair of karambit knives, her intention was to force confessions… let them bleed out slowly… then be done with it all. All the other messes she would clear up in her own good time.

  Still, she couldn’t help but think of Camille.

  Camille, her wife. Estranged, though. Separated? She wasn’t quite sure.

  Mara and Camille had drifted apart in the wake of Seraph’s apparent murder. Camille mourned like it was her sister. Mara couldn’t bring herself to feel much, the same as she wasn’t much moved to learn she’d actually remained alive. She ought to have let Camille know as soon as she’d found out, but according to Seth, Seraph had a plan and wasn’t ready to unveil herself until it was time.

  It was odd how Camille had always favored her katana, a weapon that did not offer an ounce of redemption. Yet Camille remained the more humane. Perhaps in its efficiency, the katana was kind. Mara liked to slice here and there, watch her victims bleed out slowly…

  Perhaps she’d become bloodthirsty. Maybe it was this world.

  She was about to enter the dive bar from the back door, when her xGen, again…

  Where are you? I know you’re getting my messages. I mean it, we need you home!

  Mara shook her head. Later, she’d deal with Camille, much later.

  She entered the bar from the back. Heavy metal music was thumping and shaking the building’s foundations. It was incredibly dark. People were grinding against each other in corners. Neon signs and the occasional wall light were all that lit up the joint and the UV light, when it did hit people’s faces, was not forgiving, either—perhaps even less forgiving than she.

  Mara faded into corners, against pillars, behind entwined couples… until she spotted him, at the bar with a couple of drinking buddies.

  She found the perfect place to watch from… a bit of wall that jutted out and was shadowy and secluded, away from any tables or people. She’d pick her moment, once he was on his way to the bathroom or leaving. She’d get him.

  Unnoticed, she remained, for some time… and hid in her corner… until he moved.

  He was heading for the bathroom.

  She waited.

  After he passed through the door to the gents’, she fled her hiding place, ducking and diving, nothing more than a shadow… and even those most sober would’ve barely seen her move. After all, Camille had taught her everything she knew.

  She passed through the door and down the corridor leading to her destination. The stench of the urinals was rancid, even through her mask.

  Peering around the corner, she saw him taking a slash. There was nobody else inside the bathroom. It was too easy, she thought—and that made her nervous.

  She stood with her back to the wall in the corridor, waiting for him to exit. She’d decided she wanted to look him in the eye, make sure it was him.

  Sure enough he left the bathroom, stumbled into the corridor, and saw her…

  Anyone else would’ve been terrified, but not him. She knew she had the right guy.

  He looked her up and down, saw the weapons she had in her hands, and took a deep breath.

  “You finally caught up with me.”

  “Seems so.”

  “Any chance of a bargain? I’d be happy to tell you who paid me to do the job.”

  “Did he suffer?” she asked, shaking.

  “No,” he said. “He didn’t know anything about it.”

  “Why did you do it?”

  “Why does anyone do anything? Money. Keeping people off our backs. Survival.”

  “If you tell me who paid you, I’ll make sure you don’t suffer.”

  “Hey Marko, what’s going on?” someone asked, entering the corridor—obviously a nervous pal of this guy.

  Marko was quick, but she was quicker. He’d almost got his gun out, but Mara had two knives, and one of them had just boomeranged around the corridor, sliced open the throat of Marko’s friend and clanged to the floor. Mara hadn’t even so much as broken eye contact with Marko to know if she’d got the other guy, but she could hear him fighting for air and the smell of blood was unmistakable. Copious blood.

  Sound, smell, hearing… taste… the true weapons we possess, Camille had taught her.

  “Tell me, I swear to god,” said Mara, standing her ground and just willing the man to take his gun out and point it at her—see what good it would do him.

  “You won’t believe me when I tell you,” he said.

  “Maybe not, but I’d like to know.”

  His face looked mangled already. He was late thirties but had lived a life. Lucius and he were probably born the same year, so why did this bastard think he had more right to live?

  “It was Arthur Hardy, but he doesn’t go by that name any more… he goes by Art Maddon, at least underground… but I found out who he really is… and I’m sorry, all right? But I didn’t have a choice. He was going to kill my mom if I didn’t do it.”

  Her jaw clenched. She couldn’t believe it. What the actual…?

&
nbsp; “Why you?” she asked, seething. “Why couldn’t he do it himself?”

  “I’m sorry, all right,” he said, and with the shock of it all, she didn’t see him reach for his gun, lift it and aim.

  The shot fired, hit her hidden bulletproof vest, knocked her back against the wall… and she was winded a moment. She made it seem like she was clutching a bullet wound, and hunched over, one hand sliding down her thigh until she reached her hunting knife.

  It pierced his heart before he even saw it coming.

  She righted herself, took a deep breath and brushed back her hair.

  The guy was staring down at his chest.

  “I see now,” she said, looking menacing and cold. “You weren’t picked for your skills. You were just a dead loss… and my son was having an off day. Well, shame, eh? What a shame. Now your mother will know the same pain I do… and believe me, this tough bitch right here, it challenged me… so god knows what it’ll do to your mother.”

  His eyes widened and she grinned as she yanked the knife out of his chest and blood spurted everywhere. For good measure, she slashed his throat, too—just in case anyone was feeling in a good mood tonight and tried to save him before it was too late.

  She got out of there through the bathroom window and took a deep breath once standing on the street. She removed her mask, took out a handkerchief, and cleaned the blood off her face.

  “Arthur fucking Maddon,” she cursed to herself, thinking she was alone—but she wasn’t.

  “Oh, you really should have left well alone, auntie,” he said, and she swung round, saw that evil glint in his eye… the gun he was holding…

  … and she knew nothing else.

  TO BE CONTINUED…

  The Story Continues . . .

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