Awaiting context match. Ralph growled as he read that phrase again, for it was the last nail in the coffin of his own doubt. Awaiting context match. He remembered his time with Project Lethe. When coding the placeholder interface, Ralph had absent-mindedly chosen awaiting context match as an output message. It would reflect the nature of analyzing HTTP request data, even if it did not truly mean much. He had never gotten around to updating it. Blood beginning to boil, Ralph put his numb hands against the keyboard. Though the program had been functional almost two decades ago and had been marked feature-complete four years prior, he still remembered enough of its structure to get the last confirmation he’d need.
His hands went to work, breaking from the endless loop of try-catch. Within Lethe’s labyrinthine directory structure, he soon came upon the database containing the list of phrases to catch and dispose of. He opened the database for editing and began to pore over its contents. It did not take him long to find what he was looking for.
Spinneretta. Arthr. Kara. Warren. Dwyre. Spider DNA. Spider leg. Hybrid. NIDUS. Websworn. Repton. Griffith. Helixweaver. Raxxinoth. Yellow King.
On and on the list went. Ralph took a deep breath and stood back up. That sealed it. He pulled a cigarette from his breast pocket and shoved the filter between his lips. He touched the flame of his lighter to it and took a hard drag. His mind was numb. Without a meaningful thought in his head, he dwelt on his ownership of this manufactured crisis. Could he have changed anything had he realized sooner what the Lethean jail was truly being used for? If he’d had that presence of mind, could he have stopped them from within? Keep your enemies close, he thought. At last he understood why it was that in the age of information freedom the world had never concerned itself with his miraculous children—he’d ensured that secrecy himself.
For a while, he just stood over that server, lost in thought. Two cigarettes burned down to the filters as he stood there, blanketing the keyboard in ash. Good thing the smoke detectors aren’t working, he thought. That means the sprinklers are probably out of order, too. When the second cigarette was exhausted, he blew a last chestful of smoke into the air and stamped the smoldering butt into the delete key. He began to laugh at the pseudo-symbolism that gesture held, and before he knew it he was cackling like a lunatic.
His fingers curled around the smooth handle of the axe. He hoisted it high above his head and then brought it down into the server. Again and again he chopped at the machine, howling and hooting, until separated chunks of warped metal, shattered plastic, and wires fell free with each swing. When the screen had fizzled to black and the guts of the server had been splattered across the floor, he set the axe down. He opened the backpack he’d brought with him and pulled free one of Kyle’s bottles that had once contained rum. After shoving a third cigarette between his lips, he groped about for his lighter. He thumbed it open, lit the cigarette, and then set fire to the cloth waiting at the bottle’s mouth.
The flame caught the gasoline-soaked cloth and flared to life. Without any hesitation, Ralph flung the bottle over the nearest wall of servers. A loud crash, a whooshing sound, and a wave of heat confirmed the start of the fire. There was a sizzle, as of plastic or wiring catching flame. He smiled to himself as he puffed on what he suspected would be his final cigarette. He pulled the second bottle out, lit the rag, and hurled it toward a separate cluster of machinery. Like the first, the cocktail shattered and erupted into a violent blaze. Bright claws of fire stretched toward the ceiling, growing and billowing, becoming a pillar of hellish wrath. Oppressive, infernal winds blew over him, and he had to squint against the burn that penetrated even his glasses. He had three more bottles; that was all he’d had the stomach to siphon. He couldn’t afford to waste all of them on the servers. Wide though the room was, the conflagration would devour all the evil contraptions of plastic and metal before exhausting itself.
Taste of tobacco on his lips, Ralph exhaled an innocuous plume of smoke and began to hum the haunting notes of an old jump rope song. The scent of roasting plastic hung in the air. Slinging the pack over his shoulder once more, he took hold of the axe and began walking toward the exit leading back to the restricted area of the building. If this didn’t get their attention, not much was going to. The thought made him laugh a sputtering cough. Whoever they were, they were going to pay for what they’d done to him and his family. They were going to pay dearly.
The heart of Grantwood, modest though it had been three weeks before, was now deserted. As the Ford sedan sped through the abandoned intersections of Main Street, there was no sign of life to be found. The street lights still showed their green eyes to the evening’s unpopulation. Several storefront windows had been smashed in, likely due to the collapse of law enforcement. The implications of the fallout from NIDUS’s takeover filled Spinneretta with a quieting dread.
Before long, Annika turned down the road that led into Parson’s Grove. After passing through another island of thick groves, the four-story building that made up the brain of the Golmont complex came into sight. A chain-link gate had once barred the road ahead, but now lay torn from its hinges as though struck by a car willfully ignorant of the speed limit. Aside from the light crunch and scrape as Annika’s car flew over the remnants of that gate, it posed no obstacle to their progress.
The Golmont complex itself was a relatively small and unassuming collective of structures, especially considering the prolific wealth the corporation commanded. The largest building stood only four stories high, though it covered a significant footprint of the paved asphalt lot. Around the perimeter of the complex, several stout buildings stood with antennae and satellite dishes jammed together like a tangle of paper clips. It was, Spinneretta realized, the first time she’d ever seen the place where her father worked in person. And it was there in the complex that her mother’s car sat, crashed against one of the concrete pillars that supported the facade of the main structure. Though the windshield remained in one piece, webs of cracks now clouded its view. The driver door was ajar, and as the group scrambled around the wreck it became clear that Ralph was nowhere to be found. On the other side of the parking lot, a small fleet of police cruisers sat amassed in a disorganized clump. Some of the vehicles had crashed into one another, and one had even been overturned, leaving it derelict in the shadow of the complex. Covered in filth and grime, those police cruisers may well have been a glimpse into the future, beyond the extinction event that sealed mankind’s fate.
The group wasted no further time, and they made their way to the entrance of the Golmont building. Glass doors set into a glass wall greeted them. A great hole gaped in one of the doors. The hole was large enough for a man, and a broken trail of glass led inside the lobby. There was little room for caution as they entered the den of NIDUS. Beyond the smashed glass door, the lobby was dark. The fluorescent lights overhead that must have normally hummed in praise of the Corporation’s achievements were silent. Dust danced in the cold blades of moonlight as the small group of half-spiders and their compatriots slunk inside.
Spinneretta’s heart pounded as she crept in just behind Mark. The air was stagnant, dry. Unnerving silence, from all directions. The L-shaped reception desk was empty, and the walls each held several hallways illuminated by dim light from somewhere far deeper. She shivered. It was easy to imagine the hustle and bustle of business in this place, and the lack of it amplified the hellish quality of the scene.
A fragment of glass cracked beneath Mark’s foot, and Arthr jumped in fright.
“Scaredy-cat,” Kara said under her breath.
Arthr shook his head, clearly embarrassed and terrified. “This feels wrong,” he said. “I mean, you’re getting that feeling too, right?”
Spinneretta nodded. “Yeah,” she whispered. “It’s too quiet here. I was expecting this place to be swimming with yellow-coats and monsters.” She swallowed hard as her dilating eyes caught sight of a cobweb hanging over a nearby door. “I think this is somehow worse.”
Annika�
��s boots scratched the dirty tile as she stepped toward the reception counter. “No more idle banter,” she said. “We need to find Ralph and get out of here before those bugs realize we’re here.”
Spinneretta turned to Mark. “Mark, where is he?”
He looked over his shoulder, confused. “How should I know?”
She blinked at him. “Because you have that Sight or whatever you called it. The Warren Sight.”
He scoffed. “I lost that ability ages ago.”
“W-what?”
“A side effect of my birthright.”
“Birthright? What are you—”
Annika shot Spinneretta an impatient glance. “What about you, Princess? I’ve heard plenty of praise about your sense of smell, so why don’t you sniff out where Daddy’s gone off to and lead us to him?”
Spinneretta started. “Yeah. That’s a good idea,” she said, trying to hide her embarrassment at not having thought of it herself. She swallowed hard and closed her eyes, calling forth the first traces of the Instinct’s blessing. As her senses sharpened, she could clearly smell everybody around her in three dimensions. She could sense them just as distinctly as if her eyes were open. Kara’s spider legs drew together, and Spinneretta tasted the chemical composition of her blood begin to change. The Hunting. She was giving it her all, too. But now her focus was on the building and her father. She pushed her sensory perception outward, and a map of scents began to unfurl before her. The distinct musk of mildew raced along the contours of the lobby. There was the smell of burnt dust, and further beneath that was a wet, metallic aroma. Blood. Unknown blood. Some of it spilled, and some still coursing through its owners. But somewhere, down one of the halls that branched off the main rooms and corridors, there was something familiar—a trace of sweat, beneath which flowed the blood that she was seeking.
She opened her eyes, drawing a shallow breath through her clenched teeth and supplementing it with her spiracles. “He’s there,” she said in a hushed tone. “But we’re not alone.” She glanced toward the halls leading off to the right of the lobby. “There’s—”
“I smell him!” Kara shouted. “Follow me!” She took off running, making a beeline for one of the leftmost halls branching from the lobby. With a squawking series of clicks, Cinnamon scuttled after her.
Spinneretta followed her with her gaze. “K-Kara! Wait!”
And just then there came a voice, echoing down another hall. “Is someone there?”
Spinneretta bit her lip. “I fucking told you!”
“Just our luck,” Annika muttered, reaching for the holster on her hip.
Footsteps began to clatter down one of the rightmost hallways, and Mark turned to Spinneretta again. But she couldn’t wait. She was already running, floor racing beneath her, as she followed in hot pursuit of Kara and her pet.
A startled yelp behind them. “Leave them to me!” she heard Annika yell, and then her footsteps came in pursuit down the darkened hall. Further behind, the sound of heavy boots on tile grew louder. Yellow-coats. And more than one of them. If they were split up, they’d have no chance.
Spinneretta sucked a tasteless breath down and shouted ahead of her. “Kara!” Her sister’s form receded at the end of the dim hall. “Kara! Wait up!” She gritted her teeth. When did you get so fucking fast? she thought, gaining on the girl only fractions of an inch at a time.
Kara glanced over her shoulder as she ran. “Come on! We have to hurry! There’s others there!”
“I know that!” She took a deep breath and stopped herself from the judicious cursing she was prepared to unleash on Kara. Cinnamon’s scuttling shape fell in alongside her as they ran down the hall. Her spider legs twitched. Annika’s scent was gaining on them, but Mark and Arthr were growing yet further behind. This was a bad situation by any metric; they were split up, her dad was in trouble, and Mark and Arthr were going to be beset on all sides by yellow-coats if they didn’t get out of the lobby.
Worse, now that the smells between her and her father’s familiar scent were beginning to fill in, a growing sense of dread came over her. Though there was no mistaking that smell, she did not want to believe that the pungent scent wafting down the hall was that of fresh blood.
Mark watched as Annika tore down the hall after Spinneretta and Kara. He clenched his teeth and turned around toward the sound of pounding boots.
“Mark,” Arthr said, looking nervously between the halls. “What do we—”
He reached out and grabbed Arthr by the back of his neck. “Shut up and get down!” He hurled his weight into the boy and sent him to the floor behind the unmanned reception desk. The heavy footsteps charged past the threshold, and Mark looked up in time to see a pair of yellow-coats emerge. They shouted a note of alarm just as Mark threw himself to the floor after Arthr. The ground struck his ribs, and a hail of gunfire began to thunder around them.
Bullets tore through the wooden paneling of the desk, filling the air with sawdust and paint chips. Splinters bloomed in a deadly flower garden from every surface of the desk. Arthr pressed his eyes shut, his arms folded over his head and a silent scream on his lips. Mark shifted against the wooden barrier, his focus drawn to a deadly point. After what seemed an eternity, the guns went quiet and the lead ceased flying. Footsteps echoed, nearly inaudible against the ringing in his ears.
One of the coats slid around the corner of the reception desk, training his gun on the two of them. But as soon as the man emerged, Mark threw his hand out and released a burst of magic. The man was blown back by the invisible force. He flew into the air and landed in a heap a few yards away. A harsh crack rang, a dead note. “What the fuck?!” the other yellow-coat yelled.
Mark took a shallow breath, extending his magical essence to envelope the man on the ground. He balled his hands into fists and forced the man’s muscles to clench and relax at his command. Choking sounds crawled out of the yellow-coat’s mouth, and he raised his gun again. The barrel of his weapon dipped away from them, toward the other side of the desk.
“Wait,” the other man said, “what are you—”
Mark clenched his fist tighter, and a burst of rounds silenced the question. Two gallops of gunfire later, an inert thud was the only sound that remained of the second yellow-coat. Mark rose to his feet, brushed himself off, and walked over to where the first man lay on the ground. Blood was running from the corner of his mouth, and his eyes bulged in horror as he stared at his murdered comrade. Mark wasted no time. He planted one foot on the man’s chest, and his victim’s writhing grew more helpless.
“Now, then,” Mark said, “tell me something useful, or you’ll meet a far worse fate than your friend.” Perhaps seeing the devil in his eyes, the man made an effeminate shrieking sound. Mark extended one hand toward him. “How many more of you are up here?”
The man muttered some incoherent babble halfway between cursing and crying. “There’s six, no, five of us,” he managed at last. “Five more. Me and Lou made seven, we were the night shift, the day shift is three more below, we go in rotations, we guard the entrances in Parson’s Grove and they patrol. There used to be more but now there’s just—”
Mark curled his fingers, tightening his spell’s grip on the man’s chest. “Call the rest of them. Bring them here. Tell them you need backup. Now.”
The man shuddered in horror, and then obediently snatched his mobile radio from his belt. A squawk of static cut the air as he depressed the transmission button. “Chi squad, th-this is thirty-four. We have an intruder in the lobby of the Golmont building, repeat, intruder in the lobby of the Golmont building. Requesting immediate backup. This is not a drill, repeat, this is—”
“That will suffice.” Mark made a sharp gesture with his hand, and the man’s neck snapped into an acute angle. Another cracking sound ripped through the hanging dust, and then there was silence. For a moment, Mark stood over the dead men, taking shallow breaths.
“Wh-what did you do?” Arthr was peering out over the top of the recept
ion desk like a prairie dog. “What was . . . ?”
Mark shrugged impatiently. “Magic. Do not tell me you’re a skeptic after I healed your leg.”
Arthr shook his head. “I just, I didn’t know that you could . . . Did you mind control him?”
“Body control. Mind control is impractically inefficient to use during combat. Now get back down. We have five more incoming.”
“But why? Why did you make him—?”
“Cease with these tedious questions and stay down!” Mark barked. He could already hear more footsteps coming from deeper in the facility as well as from outside. The Flames of Y’rokkrem sparked and danced in transient wisps between his fingers as he pulled at the magical force in the air. “These guards are going to be an ever-present danger so long as we allow any to live.” The Flames erupted into two focused orbs of glistening green fire in his hands. The chill of the grave slithered into the bones of his arms. “And we just so happen to have a chance to down five birds with one proverbial stone.”
Chapter 34
Blood and Fire
The flames blazed behind Ralph, and the smoke was beginning to fill the halls ahead. He had long ago passed the point of no return. His attempt to navigate the twisting passages that filled the subterranean complex had left him lost and adrift. At some point, he’d happened upon a small abandoned lab, and had used another of his bottles to torch whatever godless research had been conducted within. He had no idea where he was now going, but he knew destruction awaited in every direction.
Somewhere, sirens were blaring, and a voice was speaking what may have been Spanish. He sighed, relishing the feeling of his breath hissing out through the gaps in his teeth. That a dead man could breathe, he thought with a morbid glee. When he came to the next fork he went left, dragging his feet, dragging his axe. The dim yellow light of the dusty corridors reminded him of Chamberlain. The campus had been a relic of an ancient building code, ill-maintained by the faculty. One particular hallway to the auxiliary computer lab had a similar dirty glow about it, and an odd dread always seemed to come over him when he passed through it. Now, the memory of that light filled him only with emptiness.
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