INFERNO (New Perdition's Gate Omnibus Edition)

by James Somers

  He took another five minutes, quietly taking down two more soldiers to complete his task so that the New Rome security sensors would register the same number among the soldiers. They assumed that all of the prisoners currently being hauled into the trucks as prisoners would be accounted for separately. If the numbers added up at the security wall then their trucks would be allowed inside. If not, more thorough scrutiny would come down upon them.

  They could not afford to be discovered. H9 sentries would be on patrol at all of the security stations along the wall. He had bested H9 Counterparts before, but it would be nearly impossible to defeat more than two at once.

  After disposing of the soldier’s bodies—one down an old abandoned shaft that still seemed to serve as a wishing well and the other hurled quickly into a particularly wild section of hedge—Alfred scanned the trucks. They were beginning to pull out of the town, having taken their fill for the time being.

  Several trucks, backed up behind the one he was meant to be driving, were honking horns impatiently. “Where have you been?” a soldier now sitting in the truck cab asked as he reached the driver’s door. “Sorry,” Alfred said, using a huskier voice than his own, “I sprang a leak.”

  “What?”

  “I meant took a leak,” Alfred corrected cheerily.

  “Just drive, will you?”

  Alfred started the engine and put the truck into gear. Utilizing a heat scan, he spotted Jason, Chloe and Solomon—each in place atop one of the trucks moving down the road out of town ahead of him. He only hoped the imaging system in place at the security stations didn’t think anything strange about the placement of the warm bodies it would be counting. Finding three spread eagle on the tops of the trucks would seem strange to anyone else. But a mere scanner would hopefully call it all ordinary.

  Alfred brought the large truck around the village square and fell in line with the others now winding their way back toward the main highway in serpentine fashion. Each carried several families among the soldiers in the rear compartments. Alfred couldn’t help but consider the fates of these believers. Even if his master successfully rescued Agent Hatter, these people would still likely face execution in the arena. They couldn’t save everybody. In fact, there remained one glaring inconsistency in his master’s planning.

  Jason had not proposed how they would all escape once they found Hatter. The planning only supposed that a way would present itself. Considering all of the missions Alfred had assisted his master with over the years of his career, he remembered thorough planning being among Jason’s most important pet peeves. He had always wanted it right in the mind before his team ever took a step.

  Now, he seemed a bit more prone to going out on a limb—taking unnecessary risks in stride without half a notion as to how they might get out of trouble once they were in. It all seemed a bit too much like suicide as far as Alfred was concerned. And it simply did not compute. Why would his master risk so much on a hope? The logic still alluded him on his one thousandth computation a moment later. He decided the answer would not be found and stuck to driving the truck.

  Whatever lay ahead for them, Alfred resigned himself to his fate, walking faithfully by his master’s side until he no longer could.

  HOSTILES

  Jason could hear nothing but the howling of the wind as it buffeted him continually atop the metal canvas covered frame of the army truck. Out of a dozen or so trucks that had come to take prisoners in the little town of Coza, his was the sixth in line. He could not see the others, fearing the sixty to seventy mile per hour wind might rip the contact lens displays right out of his eyes. And he dared not speak, since soldiers with their prisoners sat several feet below him in the rear compartment separated only by a stretch of dark green canvas.

  The truck suddenly lurched beneath him. The driver was rapidly downshifting even though they had been moving along well on a virtually empty two lane highway for some time. Jason noticed the smell of smoke then and looked up to see the source not far in the distance. Approximately two to three miles down the highway, many columns of black smoke rose into the atmosphere. Flames could still be seen in some places rising above the trees.

  The soldiers were talking below him in the truck as they came to a stop in line behind the others. They too had stopped rather than proceed. Evidently, this convoy hadn’t been an earlier cause of the fires. In fact, they sounded afraid of what might have caused them.

  Jason heard more than one of the soldiers mention the riders and their terrifying horses with the mouths of lions and tails like serpents. The soldiers were communicating between trucks on simple handheld receivers. They were discussing alternate routes. Jason wanted to speak to Solomon badly, but it was still too great a risk.

  If the trucks could find a way around this mess then it was still better to remained hidden. Then Jason saw light blurring up ahead. Suddenly the riders were there, approaching the lead trucks from the highway ahead.

  It was as though they had appeared out of thin air. They were charging ahead, fire flashing from the muzzles of their mounts, serpentine tails whipping back and forth as they advanced. There were six in all, as near Jason could tell. From what he had heard from Solomon and Chloe, six was more than enough to destroy the entire convoy.

  The soldiers had seen them by now and they were terrified. As the news spread over their receivers, the drivers began turning off the road, trying to three-point-turn their way out of the convoy line to escape back the way they had come. His own truck lurched forward then back. The driver in the truck ahead was backing up, as well.

  The back of their truck pounded into Jason’s, nearly knocking him out of his roost on the roof. The soldiers in the back were knocked to the ground. Jason saw the riders over the roof of the other truck, bearing down upon the first vehicles in the line. Solomon and Chloe would be killed when the riders reached them.

  Jason made a split-second decision to compromise his position and act. He rolled to the back of the truck roof, grabbed a piece of piping making up the metal frame and swung down into the back of the truck. Four soldiers were attempting to extricate themselves from the floor following the small crash with the vehicle ahead.

  Jason wasted no time taking advantage of their predicament. Stella came to his hand instinctively. The soldiers perceived little more than a wall-eyed blurring of the light coming into the back of the truck. Jason struck the first in the sternum using his momentum. The soldier slammed into the back of the cab behind him and slid unconscious to the floor.

  The driver seemed to take no notice of the commotion in the back. He was still frantically trying to get his truck headed away from the approaching riders. Still invisible, for the most part, Jason launched himself at the second soldier.

  The man had been trying to figure out which of his prisoners had managed to attack the other soldier. Jason quickly disarmed him and crashed the rifle stock across the man’s jaw. There was a sickening crack. He went down like a sack of potatoes and didn’t move.

  The other two soldiers tried to fire their automatic weapons though they weren’t exactly sure what they were shooting at. Jason kicked one rifle barrel toward the roof away from the prisoners bound in the truck behind him. The other soldier he stabbed right through the Mark embedded in his forehead. The soldier dropped his gun as he fell dead to the floor.

  Jason revealed himself to the prisoners, hoping to ease their fear as he sliced through the ropes used to bind them. “Go!” he ordered. “Get as far away from here as you can!”

  A dozen prisoners—men, women and children—ran from the back of the truck toward the nearby trees to the right of the highway. Soldiers in the other trucks cried after them, but none of them took up pursuit. Instead, the whole convoy had dissolved quickly into an every-man-for-himself situation.

  The riders reached the first truck in the line. The soldiers fired their weapons, but it had no effect on the riders and their horrid mounts. They did not even break their stride. The first truck was bathed in
fire and sulfurous smoke. The occupants, those who were free, ran from the wreckage—their clothes afire.

  The riders continued their charging advance. Fire issued from the horse’s mouths. The truck and its occupants were set ablaze as the first vehicle had been. By now the other trucks were desperately trying to get away. Some of the soldiers had even abandoned the vehicles altogether and were running into the nearby trees for their lives.

  Jason reached up, slicing the canvas top with his Stella. Grabbing the metal piping of the frame, he launched through the roof of the truck. Running across the top, Jason used momentum to swing down through the passenger window, ramming his feet into the soldier seated there with such force that both he and the driver were thrust into the driver’s side door and through into the road.

  Taking control of the truck, Jason slammed on the gas, twisting the wheel hard to the left then to the right in order to maneuver around the truck ahead. He sent the heavy vehicle straight at the horsemen. While every other able truck was backpedaling, Jason had mounted a charge of his own.

  The horsemen were already upon the third vehicle which had attempted flight. Through his contact lens displays Jason easily saw Solomon’s heat signature. The old soldier was crouched on the roof waiting to spring. As the third truck came upon the fourth, now abandoned by her driver and the other soldiers, the horsemen ignited its backside. As the vehicle was enveloped in flame, Solomon leaped away to the abandoned truck where Chloe was still waiting upon the roof.

  The riders closed in upon them. Jason jammed the accelerator down to the floorboard even harder. The riders, for their part, considered him for only a moment before he collided with several. The truck stopped instantly, bursting into flame as Jason was thrown through the windshield.

  He hit something hard and immoveable. He heard laughter, though he wasn’t entirely sure it was human. In his daze, Jason was vaguely aware of the hand that gripped him by the throat, the inhuman strength that pulled him from the ground, hoisting him into the air.

  With blurred vision, he caught a vague glimpse of the riders upon their mounts. One of them held him fast as iron several feet above the ground, his legs dangling numbly beneath him. He felt grateful at that moment to be too stunned to fully comprehend the face of the rider or the power of his unnatural gaze.

  Oliver Theed sat upright in his bed. He had retired to his room only an hour ago. Momentarily, he seemed shocked, then slowly he grinned. His gaze was across the room toward the far wall, but his mind’s eye saw in another place. He saw a convoy of army trucks burning—the work of his brothers.

  However, more interesting and amusing than this was the man held up for his scrutiny. He recognized this man—long wanted by his security agents, especially Agent Wraith. Jason Night had been found. And, apparently, he was not alone.

  Theed closed his eyes and spoke into the air. “Bring him and his companions to my games,” Theed said. He smiled and opened his eyes again. For whatever reason, his sleep had been restless. However, this was just the sort of satisfying end to his day that made for a peaceful rest.

  As Theed closed his eyes, lying upon his silk pillow in the countryside miles away from New Rome, amid a convoy of burning trucks Jason Night felt the iron grip around his throat tighten until darkness closed in and took him.

  AUDIENCE

  Jason woke upon a concrete floor. He was curled into the fetal position. It was humid and he was sweating. His uniform had been removed and replaced with a ratty tunic made of coarse burlap, but at least he was alive. When he opened his eyes, he found himself cast inside a lone spotlight. The remainder of the room was dark.

  Jason attempted to get up, but his body rebelled immediately. He felt like every muscle had been hit with a baseball bat. Still, he finally managed to stand. He knew someone was watching him.

  As if on cue, a voice emanated from the darkness. “So, you’re still alive,” the voice said.

  “Where am I?” Jason demanded.

  “New Rome, of course. You’re bound for the games, my friend. Personally, I think it’s appropriate.”

  “Where are the others, Theed?”

  Laughter at this. “Why would you assume that I’m Theed?”

  “Who else would be in charge in New Rome?”

  A pane of darkness suddenly lightened high above him, revealing the figure who had been speaking to him. A face he knew well, grinned at him.

  “You.”

  “Did you really think I wouldn’t finally get you?” Wraith asked.

  “Technically the riders—”

  “Tomato, potato…what difference does it make to me,” Wraith said. “You’re in my power—you and your friends. I knew you would come to save Hatter, by the way.”

  “You sent the signal?” Jason realized.

  “I allowed it,” Wraith said. “I’m just amazed that the great Nightstalker would fall for it.”

  “You’re a coward…come down here and face me yourself,” Jason demanded.

  More laughter. “I’m going to enjoy tomorrow’s games more than ever.”

  The pane of light darkened again, just as a tranquilizer capsule hit Jason in the chest. The lights came on around him as he hit the floor dazed. He saw booted feet coming toward him then nothing.

  Alfred pried the twisted metal further away from his body. The cab of the truck was still on fire, the fuel tank having exploded as soon as the riders assaulted him. They had destroyed nearly the entire convoy—only a few trucks had managed to flee. The riders had then pursued the other soldiers into the woods. At least, most of them had.

  Alfred had witnessed two of them capturing his master along with Solomon and Chloe. For whatever reason, they had been separated from everyone else. As Alfred had been driving toward them, hoping to intervene, one of the riders with all of his prisoners, had vanished. The rest had continued their destruction against the convoy.

  Alfred kicked the burning driver’s side door off of its hinges out into the road. He extricated himself from the wreckage and surveyed the scene. Anyone who had not fled had been killed by the riders—whether by fire or the bites of the serpentine tails of their demonic horses.

  Barring visual access to his master, Alfred had maintained careful tracking on Jason’s receiver. For nearly ten seconds his signal had gone silent. Then it came back online—except that he was now located inside New Rome’s perimeter. He had no logical way to explain how the rider had done it. Moreover, Alfred had no logical way to explain the riders themselves. Still, the reality of the situation could not be ignored.

  Alfred found one of the convoy trucks that had been abandoned, yet not burned, and climbed inside. The soldiers had been in such haste that they had left the engine running. Alfred shifted the truck into gear and wound his way through the wreckage left by the riders’ attacks. He would likely have to scale the wall, hoping that its scanning defenses were set to pick up bio-signatures only. He set his course for New Rome and jammed the accelerator to the floorboard.

  CIRCUS MAXIMUS

  The first sound Jason heard upon waking was the cheering and jeering of a massive crowd all around. The second was Chloe’s voice nearby. “Jason, you’ve got to wake up,” she was saying.

  His body ached, but he tried to obey. When he opened his eyes, Jason saw the bars of a cage surrounding him. Beyond these, on either side, were more cages set end to end. Chloe was in an adjacent cage with tears in her eyes. She smiled a little when she noticed him awake.

  Jason noticed that her perceptor uniform had been replaced by a simple coarse tunic as well. Solomon was sitting in the cage beyond Chloe, dressed likewise. The cages appeared to be set within a stone alcove that ran all the way around a huge arena floor. Many other people in similar clothing were being kept within the cages.

  “Where are we,” Jason asked.

  “The Coliseum,” Chloe said. She choked on the words.

  Jason heard the crowd roaring its approval as he looked out into the arena beyond the bars of his cage. A
family—husband, wife and two children—had been forced from their cages into the arena. The father, perhaps realizing what was coming, ran toward a sword and shield that were lying on the arena’s sandy floor. Now that Jason looked more closely, he noticed that quite a few weapons littered the arena as well as copious amounts of blood.

  The wife and her children huddled beside the husband for protection. Jason watched the crowd. They were a motley bunch dressed in all manner of costumes—more like the citizens of some ancient Greek city than according to current fashions. He guessed that all of the victims in the arena were suspected or actual Christians.

  Jason waited, but no beasts appeared in the arena. Still, he knew it must be coming. His vision came back to him then, making him feel sick to his stomach at the realization of what was happening.

  From a special dais came the amplified voice of Wraith. Jason could see him there enthroned as if he were a roman emperor. He finally had the adoration and power he had always craved.

  “Do you renounce Jesus Christ and the host of Heaven?” Wraith asked. Jason realized he must be addressing the believers down in the arena.

  Jason watched the husband steeling his resolve. Even from his cage, he could see the body language—the man would not recant his profession of faith. He said as much a moment later when the crowd became silent in anticipation of his reply.

  “Never!” he cried aloud.

  The crowd erupted in cheers, but not for the man’s faith. They wanted to see these people die before their eyes. They wanted sport and folly. If the man had recanted, the crowd would be cheated and that would never do. So, they cheered his resolve and cried out for various beasts, or men to be set upon them.

  Wraith smiled in return, raising his thumb into the air. He turned the thumb down—judgment had been passed. More cheering.