When he reached the next intersection in the hall—one marked by a sign indicating he’d reached something called the B4F Bulwark—he found he was no longer alone. Down the leftmost hallway, a blue uniform was shambling toward him. The thing’s garments, like everything else in this damn tomb, were filthy. Covered in grease stains and blood, the woman had seen better days. As she grew nearer, the empty gaze in her eyes told Ralph that she hadn’t come to enjoy cocktails on this yellow-stained beach of metal and burning plastic. Ralph glanced over his shoulder and confirmed his latest scientific hypothesis: three more police officers—two men and another woman—were limping down the hall toward him. They were collapsing on him from all directions.
Was it so unbelievable? Was it so unlikely that the Lethean jail should have been enacted by a higher power more malevolent and corrupt than just the Corporation? But now he understood the depth of the deception. The iceberg was just the tip of the Corporation—what an apt comparison! Wretched robes and coats and uniforms, they were all the same in the end. The New World Order was out in full force, and so Ralph scowled at the three approaching officers. Their gait was bizarre—somehow mocking. And Ralph would no longer be mocked.
He thrust his hand into his satchel and pulled free a bottle of Captain Morgan’s patented blend of motor oil and gasoline. He lit the rag and hurled the bottle down the hall at the three. A fireball erupted from the fracturing glass, engulfing the uniforms. Even as the flames engulfed them, poisoning the air with the miasma of burning flesh and fat, they made no cry nor curse. Their dead eyes only considered Ralph as though he were a slab of rotting meat upon the operating table, or a piece of priceless artwork being pulled apart by two aircraft carriers.
Ralph took a step back from the burning creatures, glowering at them. He turned away only when the first officer imploded from his own burning structure. He set his sights on the lone officer in the other direction. The woman in the filth-covered uniform returned only a blank stare as she reached for her empty holster. Her fingers wrapped around nothing, and she pulled the imaginary handgun free, brandishing it at Ralph. Ralph sneered at her and shouldered his axe. “You and that purple bastard have one fucked up wonderland,” he said under his breath. “If you’ve got an invisible gun, then you’d better pull the invisible trigger while you’ve got a chance!” He lunged toward the officer and swung the axe in a wild arc. The axe-blade took her in the side of the head, and the weight of the strike ripped her off her feet. As she crashed to the ground, her cloven skull began to leak spiders. The black shapes crawled frantically over the body and the floor until their own weight pulled them into thick, globular puddles.
Overtaken by a moment of hysteria, Ralph stamped his feet over the crawling shadows on the floor before his mind convinced him it was just another illusion—a phantasm of the Corporation’s affliction. He howled a half-mad cry that boomed from his lungs like a shofar from the fortified walls of Jericho, and swung the axe down into the limp body again. Another rain of phantom spiders splashed across the walls. “Motherfuckers! You motherfuckers, I’ll kill all of you!”
Novus Ordo Seclorum, his mind kept repeating as his axe fell again into the thing below him. If this was all the Powers That Be could muster to stop him, then he’d cut through their ranks until every corrupt politician and resurrected tyrant had felt the bite of his revenge. He let a bitter laugh overflow. Novus Ordo Seclorum, he thought again. He kept repeating those words, dragging his feet, dragging his axe. Blood had somehow gotten onto his shoes—a curious development to say the least. As he walked down the hall, the words of his bane rang out through his mind and found their way to his mouth, taking on an ancient melody.
God damn you spider freaks, Annika thought. She was slowly gaining on the two running girls, but it took every ounce of strength to even keep pace. There was no excuse for them to be so fast. Her heart was pounding at a speed that could not have been healthy, and the sweat on her brow showed the extent of her exertion. But once the hall opened into interlocking passages, the girls began to zigzag through them, forcing Annika to chase with a lowered efficiency. And after rounding a particularly sharp bend, Annika stopped dead, nearly crashing into Spinneretta, who had stopped ahead of her and now stood aghast at the sight just ahead.
A great fire door yawned open before them. Warning signs reading no entrance and forbidden and hazardous chemical storage were plastered beside the open passage, along with several more anomalous messages consisting of numbers and an irregular frequency of the token S19. In front of the door, two bodies lay slain upon the floor. They wore yellow coats, and the guns that were strewn beside them confirmed that they, like the others, had been armed for combat. Armed, but perhaps not prepared. There were deep gashes in their torsos and faces. The pools of blood surrounding the two guards were still fresh. Deep red footprints led down the forbidden hall, trudging through the carnage with no trace of remorse.
“Shit,” Annika muttered, catching her breath. “If there was ever any doubt we were on the right track . . . ”
Spinneretta nodded, her complexion pale. “Y-yeah.”
The horror in the girl’s features was somehow amusing to Annika. “What’s wrong, Spinzie? Never seen a pair of mutilated corpses before?”
Her spider legs shook. “No, it’s . . . it’s the smell.”
Cinnamon clattered at Kara’s feet, and the girl reached down to stroke the animal’s fur. “Do you think Dad did this?”
Annika coughed. She couldn’t much blame Spinzie; the taste of metal was heavy in her mouth, and it made each breath dank and unpleasant. “Well, you two have already split us up. No time for second-guessing. Come on.”
The path beyond the fire door devolved into a winding series of tunnels marked only by occasional vents and maintenance shafts. By the state of repair of the halls, it was clear those shafts were mere decorations, or possibly formalities meant to satisfy some troublesome building code. Spinneretta’s sense of smell, still partially choked by the overwhelming and sickening scent of blood, guided them onward. The sloping passages must have been leading underground. Every now and then, however, a door branching off from the main tunnel revealed a glimpse of arcane machinery and lab equipment that seemed out of place. The lights overhead grew dimmer and dustier as they ran deeper, and so too did the occasional offshoots and crossings gape more unnervingly from the edges of her focus.
Her right leg throbbed in protest as she ran. It had not yet completely healed from its battle with the glass coffee table, but she wasn’t going to let a little pain stop her now. She tried to block it from her mind and focus only on the sensory input the Instinct yielded. The smell of smoke and burning plastic thickened in the air. And beneath that scent—yes, there it was. Her father. Adrenaline flowing in her veins, she forced her muscles to move faster, to embrace the enhanced strength the Instinct brought. And as the three neared the end of the yellow-tinted hall where it veered hard to the left, something came into view.
A splatter of blood threw itself upon the wall at the far end. A moment later, a blue smear lurched out from around the corner. Spinneretta barely had time to acknowledge the sight before a second figure emerged and drove the blade of an axe into the first body’s shoulder. The blue-suited victim collapsed under the weight of the attack. The attacker kicked the fallen body to the ground, liberating the axe-blade with a nauseating thunk.
Spinneretta halted, her mouth falling agape. “Dad?”
At the end of the hall, the man turned toward her, hissing. For a moment, nobody made a sound. The man’s eyes seemed to turn inside out. He rolled his head around his neck once, and a vigorous snap answered. He glared at them, baring his teeth in an open-mouthed scowl.
Spinneretta’s heart was skipping beats left and right, barely keeping itself functional. “Dad?” she said again.
“I’m not going to be fooled by you bastards again,” Ralph said. The tinted light cast a sickly glow about his features. He hobbled toward them, dragging the blade of
his axe across the flooring. “Bastards. I’m going to torch that banner, sightless-eye cult fathers. Novus Ordo Seclorum. Novus Ordo Seclorum.”
Spinneretta swallowed hard. “Dad, it’s us! Can’t you hear me? Don’t you remember?”
“Shut up!” he snapped. “You can’t yank me around anymore. The jail can’t hold me. Freedom is slavery, but now I’m free!” He gave a crazed shout and charged, hoisting his axe high above his head.
Annika lunged just ahead of Spinneretta, Ruger in her hand. She drew the hammer back and aimed the barrel dead center. Spinneretta’s elevated senses felt the muscles tightening in Annika’s hand, as though in slow motion. Her blood went cold.
The woman’s finger collapsed the trigger.
“No!” Spinneretta’s spider legs lashed out and struck the Ruger, throwing the shot into the wall with a deafening roar.
Annika’s eyes widened, and she scowled death into Spinneretta’s eyes. “Are you out of your fucking—”
But something moved beside them, distracting Spinneretta from the attempted murder. As though possessed, Kara leapt out in front of them both, in front of the axe-wielding maniac who wore the mask of their father. Spinneretta gasped. “Kara!”
The girl raised her arms and spider legs in a desperate gesture of appeal. Snarling, a caged beast loosed upon a world of illusions, Ralph did not pause. He hoisted the axe higher, and in one motion brought it down at Kara.
Spinneretta screamed, and her voice blended with Annika’s.
Time ground to a halt.
Kara’s spider legs blurred and met their father’s attack. The handle of the axe burst into splinters. The axe head clanged to the floor, joined by a shower of wooden fragments.
For a long moment, nobody dared to move or make a sound. Ralph’s posture didn’t change. Like a statue, he was frozen in time, forever trapped in the moment the axe would have embedded its blade in Kara’s skull. His fingers twitched and loosened, and what remained of the shaft slipped from his grip. His eyes shone with an awakening remorse. “K-Kara?” he said.
Kara just stood there, looking up at him. “Dad?”
Ralph’s hands shook. “It’s . . . it’s really you.” Tears began to fog his eyes. “Kara, I . . . ”
“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, choking a little as she spoke. “Coming here like this, alone. It’s not fair to us. We were worried, you know.”
Ralph shook his head, tongue failing to produce syllables. After a long moment, he lurched forward and threw his arms around his daughter, crushing her against his chest. “Kara, I’m so sorry. I-I can’t believe that I . . . Are you alright? Are you hurt? What are you doing here? How did you . . . ?”
Kara coughed. “Dad, I can’t breathe.”
Spinneretta tried to control the trembling that had come to her own spider legs. “Dad? Are you really okay?”
He looked up at her, even more confused. “Jesus, why are you guys here? You shouldn’t be in a place like this.”
“That’s my line,” Annika said, stepping toward him. “You lucid now?”
Ralph glanced at her with a look of unrecognition. “Yeah, I’m—”
“Good, then I can tell you how much you fucked things up without wasting my words.”
He clenched his teeth. “And who are you to tell me what I’ve been fucking up?”
“Don’t give me that shit. Your little vengeance-trek couldn’t have come at a worse time. You dragged us all into this place to pull your sorry ass out of the fire. You have no idea how close you were to giving NIDUS everything they’ve ever wanted.”
He stared at Annika for a moment, then passed his gaze between Kara and Spinneretta. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not sure what came over me. Must’ve . . . must’ve been the shock of finding out. But I’m alright now.”
“Hate to burst your bubble,” Annika said, “but I think you’re far from alright. You don’t just come down from a lunatic killing spree that gracefully.” She walked past him, scooped his backpack up from the ground, and slung it over one shoulder. “Don’t know what you’ve got in here, but if that was any indication it’s safer with me than with you.”
Ralph nodded, a distant look in his russet eyes. “Yeah. That’s probably fair.”
Annika bent over and picked up the pistol that had fallen from the officer’s grip when he was struck down. She hit the thumb release and stood there dumbfounded when nothing happened. She snickered in disbelief. “The hell? This gun doesn’t even have a clip in it.”
Spinneretta looked over at her. “What? Then, what does that mean?”
Annika examined the pistol before tossing it back on the floor. “This is . . . I don’t know what to make of this. Ralph, how many of these, uhh, things have you killed?”
Ralph hummed. “I don’t know. Two?”
“Two?” Annika walked the three additional steps to the end of the hall and poked her head around the corner from which Ralph and the officer had first emerged. Her face went pale. “Oh, God . . . ”
“What is it?” Kara asked, and the innocence in the question made Spinneretta shiver. There was no mistaking the scent up around the corner, far heavier and thicker than that at the fire door. And from somewhere even deeper, the scent of burning flesh stung her spiracles.
Annika turned from the hallway with a visible urgency. “Never mind. Let’s get out of here.” She grabbed Ralph by the shoulder and started to drag him back the way they’d come.
“H-hey, what are you doing?!” he said.
“We’ll have plenty of time for heartfelt reunions and self-exploration when we’re not in the belly of the beast.”
As Spinneretta turned to follow Annika and her father, Cinnamon rattled a rusty refrain.
“Let’s go, Cinnamon,” Kara said from a few paces ahead. The Leng cat, however, stood its ground, glancing back and forth between the end of the hall and the girl. With a crackle and a hiss, it took off scuttling. Kara spun about. “Cinnamon! Come back!” she yelled, beginning to chase the skittering thing.
Spinneretta wheeled about. “Kara! Where do you think you’re going now?!” But it was too late; the girl disappeared around the corner in pursuit of the fleeing creature. Spinneretta choked. Are you kidding me, Kara!? She looked over her shoulder at Annika.“Take care of Dad for a sec,” she said, “I’ll be right back with her!” With that, she started sprinting down the hall, hot on Kara’s trail.
“Hey, wait a sec!” Annika shouted. She was helpless to do anything other than watch, however, as Spinneretta rounded the corner of death and vanished from sight. She began to seethe, at a complete loss about what to do. “You stupid bitch! Will you quit running off on your own, already!? You’re going to get us all killed!”
Silent, Ralph stared down the corridor. He seemed to fall back into a haze of apathetic confusion. “Wait,” he said. “When did we get a dog?”
Nemo breathed heavily. One by one, the objects of his spider curse had fallen. Somehow he’d been unable to control them skillfully enough to capture the intruder. There was only so much he could do given so many outlets for his focus, and yet the loss of each had affected him to a degree more profound than that limited control would have implied. Each one felled by the father of the Fifth had set off a backlash that kicked his mental feet out from under him again and again. It had left him with a jarring ringing in his head. Each breath rattled something in his brain. Worse, something felt loose. He felt three shapes slinking into his chamber. One of the False Ones made a sharp growl in its throat.
“Well? Have you done it?” the self-proclaimed leader Kaj thought at him.
Nemo could not speak. He just shook his head feebly.
“Garbage,” the hideous one known as Nal thought. “It is as useless as Dwyre was.”
From somewhere deeper in his mental network, another growling thought rang out. “Security cameras captured intruders near the Bulwark,” Dyn said. “More intruders heading into the underground. Brace yourself: it’s the children
of the Fifth.”
Kaj and Nal looked at one another. “Children? Are you certain?”
“I could not make such a mistake.”
“Then we’ve at long last reached the end of our journey,” Kaj thought, a victorious ring to his thought-voice.
“We no longer need to turn the man into a Hive, then?” Silt asked.
“What benefit would that bring us now? We need only claim Arachne and Nexara.”
An inarticulate rumbling rang through Nemo’s neural network, and Nal began to speak through it. “Is the Chosen of the Vigil not among them?”
Nemo panted as a sharp pain ripped through the gray matter behind his eyes. “Chosen,” he said. At once, the word brought back a harsh ringing. It rose from Dwyre’s memories and threatened to overwhelm him. “Chosen. Mark Warren.” He began to scowl, and his eyes widened. “Warren! Mark Warren!” He cringed again as another sharp pain slashed through his synapses. The thoughts of the brain spiders embedded in the officers began to flicker in and out of Nemo’s focus. Latent essences and scarcely recognizable sensations warped the thoughts that lingered in those halls. From somewhere beyond the walls and doors and bodies, something was singing out to him—a malevolent specter, an avatar of his own failure. “He’s there,” he said, as though possessed. “The Warren. Is there.”
Somewhere, his sixth or seventh or eighth sense had fixated upon the deceiver. Fury overtook his frothing mind. His hatred for the False Ones faded away. All that remained was the need to find the Warren. To find him. To kill him. “I. I will kill. Mark Warren.”
Helixweaver (The Warren Brood Book 2) Page 42