The Immortals Trilogy Books 1-3: Tales of Immortality, Resurrection and the Rapture (BOX SET)

by C. F. Waller

  “Ouch.”

  “The truth hurts,” she scoffs. “But mortals never see the train coming until it’s upon them.”

  “So, I ask you the same question again,” I press, trying get back to my initial question. “Why do you have to kill them?”

  She pauses and looks my way. We lock eyes and she drags a finger over her lips in thought.

  “None of you has asked me that before,” she utters, looking back at the sea of people. “Seems there is more to you than meets the eye.”

  “Thanks, but the question remains.”

  “Because they aren’t supposed to be here,” she reveals after a long pause. “In the beginning, people were as Dorian and Bee are now. With any luck a person could expect to live five centuries, twice that in some privileged cases. This didn’t work out very well. Humans without fear of death tended to be less inclined to peaceful pursuits or at least a majority were. After all remedies were exhausted there was a reset.”

  “Reset?”

  “Yes, all life simply washed away and was replaced with a new version,” she muses. “One with a more finite lifespan. Less time to dedicate to evil pursuits.”

  “A flood?” I mumble, feeling I have heard this story before.

  “The Flood, not a flood,” she corrects me. “A handful of semi-immortals escaped this cleansing. Some sort of deal was struck and we were tasked with eradicating them.”

  “But you didn’t eradicate them,” I accuse her, still pondering her use of the word flood. “You were just watching them and making sure they weren’t discovered.”

  “My kind are notoriously untrustworthy,” she informs me. “Our present situation excluded.”

  “I kind of doubt that,” I poke at her, getting the feeling she’s lying to us as well.

  “Time will, and always does, tell.”

  “This deal,” I inquire. “Who tasked you with this job?”

  “In a roundabout way, you asked me this already,” she offers in a quieter voice. “For the second time today, I plead the fifth of your behalf.”

  “All that said,” I reply, less disturbed than before that God is being inferred. “What reason could you have for killing them now?”

  “This course of action was agreed upon long ago,” she grumbles. “Previous leadership refused to follow through on the deal. This left us more Babysitters than Rulers. The current regime has decided to honor the original agreement.”

  “The current regime being you?”

  She nods, reaching back and draining her wine glass.

  “And by honoring, you mean wiping them out?” I question.

  “A promise is a promise.”

  “A five thousand year old promise,” I state, calculating the time between now and the flood in biblical terms.

  “An agreement between two parties that never age has no statute of limitations.”

  “I thought you were notoriously untrustworthy,” I suggest, bumping my shoulder on hers.

  “Outside of the circle of twelve,” she nods. “Very untrustworthy. Inside it, not as much.”

  Before I can think of a reply, my phone vibrates. It’s Rahnee and I hold up a finger as I put the phone to my ear. Rhea doesn’t even notice. She follows people with her eyes as they pass as if she were watching television.

  “What’s up?” I ask, the phone in my ear.

  “Where are you?” she demands.

  “Having a drink,” I divulge, understanding why she’s upset, but finding it amusing.

  “Where?” she snarls.

  “Calm down. I am in the terminal. Got sort of old sitting at the plane.”

  “You should come back,” she orders me, still agitated.

  “What time are we leaving?”

  “Three, but you need to get her back here so that we can go over the plan,” she explains.

  “Get who back?” I ask, pretending Rhea isn’t with me.

  “Rhea,” Rahnee blurts out. “She is with you, isn’t she? Tell me you didn’t just leave her here and bail?”

  “Calm down, she’s sitting right next to me,” I admit, trying to calm her. “Just pulling your chain a little bit.”

  “It’s two now, get her back here as soon as you can,” she demands. “We clear on that Arron?”

  Rhea’s hand comes to rest on my thigh, causing me to jump in my seat. The electric hum flows into my leg, making my toes tingle. She squeezes it, turning her head in my direction and rolls her eyes.

  “Tell that woman to relax,” she says softly.

  “Arron,” Rahnee shouts into my ear via the phone.

  “Yeah, relax,” I reply, holding the phone away from my ear. “Starting back now. Fifteen minutes or so.”

  Rahnee starts to say something else, but I end the call. The tingling sensation from Rhea’s hand spreads, but remains manageable with only the contact from her palm.

  “What is that,” I stammer.

  “What is what?” she teases, pulling her hand back.

  “Whatever happens when you touch me?”

  “You like?” she begs, pushing the hair off her face.

  “Yes and no. It’s pretty intense. When you grabbed me earlier, I nearly passed out.”

  “Just imagine,” she whispers, leaning in to my ear. “If I wasn’t just touching you through your clothes.”

  “You’d kill a person if you tried that,” I balk, pulling my head back.

  “You might get used to it,” she croons, sliding off her stool and putting both hands on my knees as she stands in front of me. “It’s not for everyone, but a few strong individuals had mastered it over the centuries.”

  “Mastered what?” I flinch in my seat, trying to keep my voice down, even as her energy runs up my legs.

  “It,” she mouths silently as one hand moves up my thigh.

  “I don’t think we should,” I gasp, turning the stool to the right and breaking contact.

  This amuses her and she puts a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh.

  “We weren’t going to,” she explains, patting me on the head and ruffling my hair. “We were just talking. You asked, I answered.”

  “Playing with me again,” I scowl.

  “Don’t be cross Arron. I can tell you’re still trying to imagine it.”

  Backing away from me with a hand over her mouth, she suddenly turns and throws herself into the crowd of women who bought our drinks earlier. They seem overjoyed by her arrival. Hoping up, I skirt along the front of the bar dodging the travelers rushing by. One of the women has followed Rhea a few steps from the table. Her hand caresses Rhea’s upper arm, her face hidden in Rhea’s curly hair as she whispers something. Rhea notices me watching and slowly hugs the woman to her body, before excusing herself and joining me. We stand without speaking for a moment as the woman stumbles back to her table and is assaulted by her friend’s questions. When she peeks back at Rhea her face is flushed pink.

  “They sure love you,” I sigh and begin walking.

  “People want what they can’t have,” she mutters falling in beside me. “You can see why me living among mortals is a very bad idea.”

  “For you or them?”

  “Both,” she frowns, bumping shoulders with me. “Four of them and only one of me.”

  “You’re saying someone always winds up unhappy?” I laugh. “I’ll have to take your word for it. I’m not as popular as you.”

  “Mind in the gutter, but you miss my point,” she grumbles, turning so she walks backwards in front of me. “Take Helen of Troy for instance. One girl, two men, and the war over her killed thousands.”

  “A pretty dramatic example,” I say, stopping at the door to the stairs. “You didn’t happen to witness that little dust-up did you?”

  “Personally?” she pauses and cocks her head to the left. “Not me in person. I was still bouncing around Persia, but I got the story from a very good source.”

  “Who might that be?” I ask, following her down the stairs.

  “Helen of cour
se,” she shouts back over her shoulder.

  We get to the bottom of the stairs and two men in yellow jump suits stop us from going out onto the runway. I back up and let Rhea do her thing. Within five minutes she has them driving us over to the hanger containing our plane in a golf cart. As they drive away she waves and smiles. When she turns around, the grin is wiped from her face and replaced with a more serious look.

  Rahnee stands at the top of the stairs watching us and Rhea glares back. The closer we get to show time, the more tension there is between these two. I had hoped I could work something out with Rhea regarding Dorian and Bee, but every mention of them has resulted in her waving me off.

  Once Rahnee ducks back inside, Rhea reaches down and peels off her heels one at a time, bending her knee and raising the shoes up to her hand. As she pulls them off, she tosses them to the side, leaving them behind permanently. She begins walking to the plane, her dirty feet visible under the now shredded cuffs of her once perfect slacks. I watch her go, having no idea what to do next.

  “So you knew Helen of Troy?” I blurt out.

  “Of course,” she yells as she walks away from me. “Darling girl. Would you like to meet her?”

  “I would.”

  “Very well,” she remarks, pausing to face me at a distance. “Then let’s go kill the little red headed demon that put her in a box.”

  This little nugget of information leaves me stunned. The inference being that Helen of Troy is one of the twelve immortals, also one that has been captured by Shelly. I’m not sure why I’m surprised given the past few days.

  I take my time walking over to the plane and when I get there Decker is tossing bags into the trunk of the sporty black car. Rahnee comes down the stairs, looking at her watch. She and Decker have a whispered conversation on the other side of the car as I head up the stairs. Inside the cabin, Rhea has a big green apple between her teeth as she digs under a row of seats on all fours.

  “Lose something?” I ask.

  “Nope, she replies, spitting her apple into her right hand. “I got it.”

  When she stands I see a walking stick in her left hand. It’s not very big, black with a bronze colored ball on one end and a matching cap on the other. She takes a bite of the apple and slips past me and down the stairs. I don’t recall seeing the stick before, but she was at the plane when we arrived. It doesn’t go with her outfit, but then again I am not much of a fashionista. Locating the guns Rahnee gave me, I too head down to the car. When I get to the bottom of the stairs, Decker catches me by the arm.

  “No, no, no,” he mutters, holding me back with a firm hand on my shoulder. “No guns for the kiddies.”

  “Rahnee gave these to me,” I argue, putting them behind my back so he can’t take them.

  “Before we were playing it by ear,” he tells me. “We know where everyone is going to be standing this time.”

  “It’s okay,” Rahnee shouts as she steps from behind the car. “You don’t need them Arron.”

  On her belt are two of the J-hook clips that go in her fancy guns. There are two more on her opposite hip. Once she’s done digging in the trunk, she comes away with a cannon in either hand. They are as I recall them, but the business ends seem to have had vented rectangle sections slapped on. This makes the entire gun another three inches long. With her arm at her side, the end hangs down to her calf. Watching her hold them they don’t appear as heavy as they look. I imagine they are mostly hollow.

  “You look ready” I declare with a smile.

  “As ready as I’m gonna be,” she winks back.

  “Shall we?” Rhea frowns as she climbs in the passenger seat holding her walking stick.

  I watch as she slithers over the console between the two seats and into the back. I give Decker the guns and he puts them in the trunk. He opens his door so I can climb into the back with Rhea. She’s sitting with her knees pulled up to her chest, arms over them. The engine starts and I am tossed back as Decker peels out of the lot. Rhea remains calm, staring at the back of the seat in front of her, but then taps me on the shoulder.

  “Here,” she says holding out a book of matches. “Thought you might need these.”

  “Where’d you get them?” I ask, having forgotten about smoking with all that’s going on.”

  “The girl at the bar,” she says blank faced. “The one you thought I was hitting on.”

  I nod, recalling the odd embrace before we left.

  “I was just asking for these,” she explains, returning her gaze to the seatback. “Her finger tips were yellowed and I figured she had a lighter. Who has matches these days?”

  “Well thank you.”

  “No problem,” she replies without looking over. “They give the condemned a smoke, why not you.”

  I start to say something, but there is a pop. Glancing over, I see she is popping her knuckles one at a time. Most are quiet, but every so often one snaps loud enough to be disturbing. This continues until we pull into the lot where the container wall begins.

  “You alright?” I whisper to her.

  “Any reason why I shouldn’t be?” she asks in a deep voice that seems strange coming from her. “Not thinking about turning on little old me are you?”

  “No,” I stammer.

  “Shame,” she shrugs, but then shakes her head. “Also irrelevant.”

  “There it is,” Rahnee announces. “Dunn’s car is already here.”

  “Trap is set,” Decker jokes.

  “Good, then let me out of this car,” Rhea demands, snatching up her walking stick from the seat, her voice growing deep and scratchy.

  “Keep your panties on Queenie,” Rahnee orders as we ride along the wall of steel until we hit a second gap. “Alright, this is us.”

  Decker stops the car. By the time he steps out of the driver’s door Rhea has slipped over into the front seat and pushed past him. She’s gets a good head start as no one really understands what’s happening until it’s already too late.

  “We have a runner,” Decker shouts.

  “What?” Rahnee replies, then see’s Rhea sprinting for the gap in the wall. “Son of a …” is all she gets out.

  By the time I get all the way out of the car, the three of them have disappeared into the maze of red steel. I linger by the hood of the car, uncertain about whether to go in or stay put. With my hands in my front pockets I come across the matches.

  “Might not get another chance,” I announce, taking the pack out of my jacket and pulling one out with my teeth.

  The pack of matches proclaims Scotties Pub on the cover. The matches are old and I strike four before I get the cigarette lit. The smoke fills my lungs and tingles run down to my feet. It occurs to me that I had nearly kicked the habit over the last few days, or at least a good start. The second draw puts thoughts of quitting quickly out of my mind. I lean on the driver door and weigh my options. Slipping a hand inside the window, I flip down the visor. The keys drop into the seat with a jingle.

  “I could pop the trunk and get a gun,” I say aloud. “Or just hop in and drive as far away as the roads will take me.”

  Not completely satisfied with either option, I smoke until I hear yelling.

  “Should I stay or should I go?” I ask myself, opening the door and scooping up the keys.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Dominick Dunn

  Dorian and Bee chat nervously behind me. The sun is falling in the west, but there are still a few hours of light left in the day. The weight of two grenades pull my suit jacket down on my left side. I raise and lower my shoulders trying to even it out. Tapping the cowboy style .45 that dangles from my hand on my thigh, keeps my mind off the butterflies in my stomach. Well, they might not be butterflies, maybe lead bricks. A check of my watch shows 4:26. I thought they would be here sooner.

  “And the idea is just to stand behind you?” Dorian asks yet again. “This is your master plan?”

  “Yes,” I grumble. “Stay there until I tell you to go back to th
e car. Just follow Bee, she was here earlier and knows the way by the paint.”

  “And you will come soon after and we can get out of here?” Dorian persists in his nervous questions.

  “Exactly.”

  “Let me see if I have this right,” he drones on. “All we have to do is stay right here?”

  Before I can strangle him, a barefoot woman sprints into the clearing. I can’t say if she’s dark skinned or tan, but she has bushy dark hair and is wearing some sort of silver pants with a matching jacket over a gold blouse. Once she gets to the middle, she sees us and points what looks like a walking stick in our direction. As if on cue, an arrow comes flying out of the large gap and she goes down, spinning over and landing face down.

  “Nice of you to show up Raggedy,” I whisper.

  The woman lies face down, the arrow protruding from the side facing her attacker. Shelly, wearing a red plaid dress, walks in from the gap dragging her huge compound bow.

  “Ding Dong die Hexe ist tot,” she barks aggressively.

  Shelly glances in our direction, but doesn’t speak directly to us. She shouts several more German phrases as she circles the impaled woman.

  Motion alerts me from the periphery as Rahnee and Decker almost skid into the fray from the gap facing us. Rahnee looks my way and nods. I thought the plan was for Rhea to kill Shelly, but it’s looking like that’s not going to happen. This outcome would seem good for us. I can collect from Dorian without lifting a finger. That’s not exactly true, as I still might have to kill Rahnee if I want to keep all the money for myself. After a moment to ponder that outcome, I decide it’s not a deal breaker.

  “Something’s wrong,” Bee tells Dorian behind me.

  “I’d say it was a direct hit,” Dorian blares. “Three cheers for our side.”

  “The can’s not moving,” Bee whispers in my ear, a hand lightly on my shoulder.

  “Huh,” I mutter before I understand where she is going with this.

  “Playing possum,” Bee whispers in my ear. “I do not believe she’s injured.”