Dread Uprising

by Brian Fuller

  The force tore Helo’s body limb from limb; every joint and junction sundered and shredded. A maelstrom of debris and fire and dirt exploded and swirled, his senses utterly defeated in their attempt to comprehend it.

  His decapitated head rocketed through the treetops, flesh tearing and skull cracking. Downward it flew, spinning and knocking hard among branches and rocks until it bumped into the base of a tree and stopped, one good eye facing outward. His remains lay just ahead of the bulk of the wreckage.

  Dark smoke clouded his vision as the wasted chunks of the plane settled around him. But something else rose, a turbulent black mist, the same darkness that had swirled around the Shedim he had seen. He remembered Cassandra’s lesson. This was the site of an atrocity, a hole punched through the wall letting a cloud of Vexus through.

  Only the fire hissed and crackled, everything living scared away by the thunderous impact. Nothing whole remained. An arm in a tan suit sleeve lay in front of him, wedding ring still on its finger. Brown leaves half concealed a woman’s high-heeled shoe near a bent headrest. Luggage burned next to the cone of the cockpit nose, the only part of the airplane Helo could see. Dusk would come soon. The Dreads would be healed if their hearts hadn’t burned in the impact. Would they hunt him down? Find what was left of him?

  He saw the Dread Envoy first in his peripheral vision, his pilot uniform a shredded, blackened mess. Dahlia followed after him, stepping gingerly through the rubble. Her sweater and pants were a mess of gaping holes, smeared dirt, and leaves. Helo vowed that the next time he saw her, there would be no more polite conversations. He would never help her. Archus Ebenezer was right. Dreads needed eliminating and deserved no other consideration.

  “Hurry up,” the Envoy grunted to Dahlia, who poked around the wreckage looking for something. “They’ll get choppers here soon.”

  Dahlia threw the Dread sour look and then rolled up the sleeve of her left arm. In the dimming light, Helo could make out three curious tattoos on her forearm. Kneeling, she placed the tattoos directly on the cold, leaf-strewn ground. She closed her eyes, face going slack. At first Helo couldn’t tell what she was doing, but in moments, the dark misty aura of Vexus dissipated from the woods like a fog being burned away. The abyssal aura gathered around her. In scant seconds, Dahlia had absorbed all the Vexus. She stood and lowered her sleeve, though a long tear in the cloth still showed the edges of the curious tattoos. Her red aura was nearly completely subsumed by the swirling black.

  She resumed her search, lifting torn seats and bent fuselage.

  “The Trash Angels are in pieces,” the Dread said. “We’ll never find their hearts in time.”

  “Shut up,” Dahlia returned with an irritated frown.

  A jet rocketed overhead, flying low.

  “That’s it,” the Dread Envoy said. “I’m going with or without you.”

  They fled, running down the hill behind him and into the gathering darkness until the snapping and crunching of their passing faded, leaving only the crackling of the fires.

  Helo closed his eyes as guilt and anger settled in. The dawn was a long way off.

  Chapter 30

  Deep 7

  The next hours ranked among the darkest of Helo’s life. Body scattered, fate of his companions unknown, he waited, a disembodied head, in the cold winter abyss of a Missouri wood. Acrid vapors from the burning plane and wood smoke fogged everything nearby, the orange light of the fires ebbing, flaring, and extinguishing in his peripheral vision.

  Helicopters and planes buzzed overhead, search beams searing through the branches and casting wild shadows on the debris. It took nearly an hour before first responders dropped in to assess the area, and a full three before the first cleanup efforts began in earnest. Flashlights and floodlights slashed through the darkness and haze. There was no one to rescue. The workers cursed, anguished sobs punctuating the night as they performed their gruesome work.

  A solemn worker in a yellow vest bagged Helo’s head during the deep hours of the night. At sunrise, his body knit together around his heart inside a black body bag, body parts not his rubbing cold and clammy against his legs. After a helicopter ride and drive in a refrigerated truck, he lay in a hanger until the next night when an Ash Angel named Ruth, posing as an NTSB investigator, cut out his heart and left. At the next dawn, he awakened in a room little bigger than a closet in the Midwest Operations Center.

  During all the miserable downtime in the darkness of the body bag, one thought burned him over and over. If he had only dropped the cockpit door on the first try, he might have had a chance. His failed attempt had alerted the Envoy, and the Dread had sent the plane down in a hurry. The blood of the dead stained his hands. If only he’d been faster. If only he’d kicked harder. When Bethel debriefed him, she took the facts and accused him of nothing, but he couldn’t escape his own mind. His inexperience had cost lives. He asked about the other planes, but she deflected his questions.

  “You will be sent to Deep 7 via courier for further debrief,” Bethel said. “Head down to the Extraction Center now. Please keep the details of the operation confidential.”

  Bethel left the interrogation room, and Helo pounded his fist on the table in frustration. Every mission he had ever done was almost good enough. Almost. This time the lack of perfection hurt. What would they say at Deep 7? He squeezed his fists for a moment, setting his jaw. No more mistakes. He had to do better. If they let him do anything at all. Dolorem’s invitation to leave the Ash Angel Organization popped into his head, but he couldn’t do it. He had to see this through.

  The Extraction Center door waited near the stairway that led up to Rafael’s Goodwill Barn. Cassandra and Corinth leaned against the wall, both wearing a nondescript blue jumper like his. Even Corinth looked solemn and was staring at the floor. Cassandra had her arms folded in front of her and regarded Helo expressionlessly as he approached.

  “So, what happened in that cockpit, Helo?” she asked.

  Was the tone accusatory?

  “Look, I blew it, okay?”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Cassandra said.

  Helo breathed out, closing his eyes for a moment. “I hardly made it into the cockpit. As soon as I hit the door the first time, the Envoy pushed the plane to full throttle and went for the ground. We were so low that by the time I got the door down, it was too late . . . just too late.” Recounting the scene dredged up the memory of the screams and the blaring of alarms and the fatal collision. He was glad Ash Angels didn’t sleep; his dreams would never again be safe.

  “So the flight crew was dead?”

  “Yes. He broke one’s neck and bent the other in half.” Helo leaned against the wall and covered his face for a moment. “Look, this is my fault. I didn’t gauge the Strength I would need to get the cockpit door down. If I could have knocked it down the first time, I would have had a shot at the Envoy before he sent the plane down. Or if I had gotten there faster, the plane wouldn’t have been so low to the ground.”

  “Look, Helo,” Cassandra said sternly. “This isn’t on you, okay? I’m not saying it won’t come up, but we survived. We’re the only team that did. Nine more Blanks gone.”

  Helo shut his eyes and leaned his head against the wall.

  Cassandra touched his arm. “I wish we could have saved the people, Helo, we all do, but we aren’t gods. Did Dahlia ever explain what she wanted?”

  Helo nodded and related their conversation and her absorption of the Vexus after the crash. Cassandra’s face screwed up in confusion, and Corinth appeared nonplussed.

  “I’m sure I’ll be accused of making stuff up again. I really thought this woman wanted to help us, but maybe she was there to distract us.”

  “Have some backbone, Helo,” Cassandra said. “Don’t let Archus Ebenezer call you a liar. At the very least, both Corinth and I saw her, so we know she’s not a figment of your imagination.”

  “And she’s totally hot for a Dread,” Corinth said.

  Cassandra sho
t Corinth a withering look. “Really, Chumpkins? After what she did? Maybe you should open your brain before you open your mouth.”

  Corinth threw up his arms. “I’m just sayin’, Cassie. Just an observation. You always said I should be more observant.”

  “Observing women hasn’t been a big problem for you, Chumpkins.”

  Helo cleared his throat. “So where’s Goldbow?”

  Cassandra shrugged. “I have no idea. My phone’s destroyed, and no one is talking. He’ll have to drive back from Dallas now. All the planes in the country are grounded.”

  “You don’t think they’ll pin this on Blanks, do you?” Helo asked.

  “Not this specifically,” she answered, “but they’re pretty sure one of us is behind this data breach, not that they can peg this on a breach. This was a standard vision. We responded in a standard way. And we failed. The only unusual part of this equation was Dahlia. She was looking for you specifically and knew what plane you were on. She even knew what seat. That looks bad.”

  “Bad, how?” Helo asked.

  “Bad like you guys know each other, might be working together.”

  Working together? Helo started pacing. “Where is Deep 7?”

  “I don’t know. Very few know its exact location. We’ll be arriving there in an envelope. Only the Archai and select members of other groups work there, and even some of them don’t know where they are. I’ve never been. That we’re being called in is serious. Not a good serious.”

  “We’ll arrive in an envelope?”

  “Yep. Remember that heart thing you were so fascinated with? You’ve just gotten a small taste. This little heart trip will be done a bit more officially.”

  A young Ash Angel in a white lab coat worn over blue scrubs approached them, glancing at a cheap watch. A full head of curly black hair bounced with the gait of his stride. “You the three headed for Deep 7?”

  “Yes,” Cassandra said.

  “I’m Lancelot, the heart courier tech for this center,” he said, unlocking the white door. “We’ve got to hurry.”

  Lancelot led them to a small room and flicked on the fluorescent lights. Pumpkin-orange walls assaulted Helo’s eyes. The room looked like a low-rent doctor’s office. The padded brown examination chair with paper drawn over it waited on one side while a faux-wood counter ran along the other, two curious devices sitting on top of it. One was chrome with two posts attached to a multitool blade that would have been at home in a medieval torture gallery except for a small, attached screen at the end with the posts. The other device had the shape and buttons of an aluminum blender with a small propane tank attached to its base.

  Lancelot opened a cabinet door and pulled out three manila envelopes, the interior of each lined with plastic. He handed the envelopes and three pens to them.

  “Please write your name on the envelope as well as your Ash Angel ID.”

  Helo closed his eyes. “I don’t have an Ash Angel ID.”

  “What?” Lancelot asked, confused. “It’s typically a seven—”

  “I know,” Helo growled, praying for patience and mercy and any other virtue he might need to acquire to help him through these situations. Cassandra smirked, and Helo calmed himself. “I was deliberately not given one. I am not in the system.”

  “Oh, okay,” Lancelot said, a little put off. “Just the name then. So who would like to be first?”

  “Hop up there, Chumpkins, and show Helo how it’s done,” Cassandra ordered.

  Corinth frowned. “How come you call him by his Ash Angel name? He’s barely graduated.”

  “He’s earned it. Now shut up and let this guy cut your heart out.”

  The tech grabbed the medieval-looking device and secured its two posts to waiting receptacles on the examination table. Corinth lifted his shirt. Using handles on the monitor side of the device, the tech manipulated the cutting blades. Once through the outer abdominal wall, the attached monitor sprung to life, showing Corinth’s innards. With skillful slices, Lancelot removed a very cleanly cut-out heart.

  “Seems like a knife or hole saw would be faster,” Helo speculated.

  “We do it this way to minimize the damage,” the tech explained while he took a thick needle and stitched the cuts in Corinth’s abdominal wall back together. “We want the Ash Angel to have as much normalcy in appearance and mobility as possible.”

  The tech carried the heart to the blender-like device. Since it was opaque, they were spared the sight but not the sound of grinding blades shredding Corinth’s heart into little chunks. Once finished, the tech clicked on the room fan.

  “One more step and we’re done.” He punched a red button on the device, and the propane hissed into the chamber, followed by the flash of blue fire around the lid. Corinth’s heart was incinerated. The tech pressed another button to cool the ashes and remove the smoke. When he popped the lid off, the smell of burnt flesh filled the room until an automatic deodorizer in the ceiling fan spritzed the air and turned charred heart into springtime potpourri.

  Corinth held open his envelope, and the tech dumped the ashes inside.

  “Seal it up and leave it on the desk. Next?”

  After Lancelot finished with Cassandra and Helo, Ruth arrived, looking rushed. She took the envelopes and stuffed them into a briefcase.

  “We’re pushing it on this one,” she said. “My apologies if you all wake up in the back of a car.” She jogged up the stairs to Rafael’s Goodwill Barn, eyes on her phone.

  “Now, I’ve got to give you the standard speech about precautions,” the tech warned them. “No pools, bathtubs, lakes, etc. You should avoid strenuous activity—”

  “Save it,” Cassandra said. “They’re not letting us out of here, and there isn’t enough water in this place to fill a Dixie cup.”

  “About that. Bethel wants you all to wait for dawn in the conference room and not to wander around,” Lancelot said.

  Cassandra rolled her eyes. “Quarantined. Great.”

  Several hours later, Helo probed the extraction cut. Not having a heart felt weird, even though he technically didn’t feel anything.

  “I thought you’d like this, Helo” Cassandra said, apparently noticing his discomfort. “I just hope hell isn’t waiting on the other side.”

  “You think we’re in trouble?” Corinth asked worriedly.

  “I don’t know what to think, but yeah,” Cassandra said. “The silence feels odd. But with the number of normals that died, someone’s head is going to roll. I honestly don’t think I’ll be a team leader after this.”

  “No way!” Corinth exclaimed. “What could we have done? It was doomed the moment the Envoy got in that cockpit. If we would have known he was in there before we were in flight, maybe we could have stopped it.”

  “How did you guys find out he was in there at all?” Helo asked.

  “One of the flight attendants pulled him out of the cockpit for some reason,” Cassandra explained. “I managed to catch a glimpse of him as he left the galley. Total luck. I wonder if any of the teams besides us knew. They might have gone down without much of a fight.”

  Helo shook his head. “Look, Cassie, this was my fault all the way. I blew it when—”

  “Shut up, Jarhead. We’ve been over that, okay? Once you tell them about Dahlia, I don’t think they’ll be talking about much else. There are no classes on how much Strength to apply to a locked cockpit door. I doubt anyone’s ever really done it.”

  A chime in the room sounded at ten seconds until dawn.

  “See you on the flip side, guys,” Corinth said.

  The conference room disappeared, replaced by a brushed chrome ceiling. Helo squinted at white LED lights embedded into carved-out half spheres in the metal. He was in a supine position on a gray metal slab extending out of a wall. The room looked like a sleeping chamber in a space ship from a science-fiction movie. Softly glowing floor panels cast a diffuse light that admitted no shadows into the ten-by-ten-foot space. A deep shelf on the back wall held
the discarded manila envelope, a lanyard with a visitor’s badge, and clothing—underwear, a navy-blue jumpsuit, and some black slip-on shoes. The wall opposite him was glassy, the others the same brushed chrome as the ceiling.

  Helo swung his legs off the slab and stood. As soon as his bare feet hit the floor, the wall opposite the slab lit up and became a gigantic screen, an attractive, dark-haired woman in a jumpsuit standing there. He covered up for modesty until he realized it was a recording. She smiled and started talking.

  “Welcome to Deep 7, a state-of-the-art facility housing command and control for the Ash Angel Organization. My name is Anna, and I’ll help you make your stay at Deep 7 as comfortable as possible. To your right, you will find clothing and a visitor’s badge. Please put on the clothing and wear the badge at all times while in Deep 7. While you clothe, I will explain more about this marvelous facility paid for through dividends on Ash Angel investments. If you wish to skip this information, simply say ‘Skip.’”

  Helo donned the garb waiting for him and grabbed his badge to find that the Ash Angel ID listed was all zeros. His badge picture was a large gray square, name listed as . He grinned. His lack of proper credentials had probably set some office cog’s life back several hours.

  Anna droned on. “Deep 7 was commissioned in 1990, and construction began at an undisclosed location in 1994. The facility was completed in 1999, though continual upgrades have been installed to take advantage of the latest technological advancements. You are currently on the top level of Deep 7, the visitors’ lounge. Deep 7 has eight more levels beneath this one, including crew quarters, command and control facilities, a recreational level, the reliquarium and Ash Angel Historical Library, armory and security, the council chamber, and mechanical and computing areas. As a visitor, your badge has been encoded to allow you access to the areas listed on the screen. Once you are done reviewing the list, say, ‘Continue.’”