Ironheart (The Serenity Strain Book 2)

by Chris Pourteau

  Megan began to struggle, pushing against her captor’s chest and gut. Above them, the dog was fast-pawing his way down the iron stairs, barking constantly. Her mother and the good doctor were descending as well, trying to combine caution with speed as the rusty structure clanged and shook beneath their pounding feet.

  Marsten knew he needed to move. But not like this. Not with this wiggling firebrand in his arms. She needed to calm down. And he knew just how to make that happen.

  He grabbed Megan by the throat and slung her over the railing. Her feet dangled in the air once more. Just like a moment before. Just like on the roof. Only this time would be different.

  “Stop, Miss Junior Corrections Officer! Or she dies.”

  An idle threat. Id wanted the girl. But the mother didn’t know that.

  Lauryn stopped so abruptly that Eamon ran into her from behind. She nearly tumbled down the stairs.

  Now that would’ve been delicious, as the Lady might say, Marsten thought.

  “Please!” Lauryn’s voice cracked. “Peter! Please!”

  Using the first name. How sweet. How transparent.

  “Back up. And grab that goddamned dog, too.” Megan’s feet were kicking the empty air. Her eyes began to bulge. “She doesn’t have much time. Pretty soon it won’t matter if I drop her or not. She’ll be just as dead hanging right here.”

  Lauryn backed into Eamon, then pushed him aside. The professor followed her, intercepting Jasper and fighting the dog’s constant struggle to run below. Slowly, they backed away up the stairs.

  “Better. Now, as for you…” The Maestro pulled Megan back from the abyss and set her on her feet, careful to keep her between him and the others. “You get to join the cool kids’ club.”

  “I know,” said Megan, gasping for breath. “I know what you’re about to do.”

  “Do you?” Now that took some of the fun out of it, didn’t it?

  “I saw it in my dreams. Only I … I didn’t remember it till now.”

  Marsten leered at the teen, pulling her closer to his ruined left eye. “I have dreams where I see things, too.”

  Megan inhaled his breath. A sour smell that reminded her of the bodies in Conroe.

  “You know what I see now?”

  “Yes,” said Megan, looking down at his left arm. “I know.”

  Marsten raised his blackened hand, its red veins cracked, its fingers clawed, like the jaws of a snake, hungry and inevitable. He cupped her cheek with his palm.

  Light as a feather.

  Soft as a lover’s caress.

  Megan shrieked, drawing in breath after breath to voice her agony.

  * * *

  Frozen and afraid to move, Lauryn cried out herself when Megan screamed. But the sound of her daughter’s pain triggered something inside her, something beyond the realm of thinking, something without regard for consequence.

  Marsten wasn’t looking at her. He was enjoying Megan’s suffering too much.

  She raised the 40-caliber and sighted down the barrel.

  Slowly. Carefully.

  She pushed aside Eamon’s caution, whispered behind her, and Jasper’s desperate baying at Megan’s suffering. Her vision focused forward, tunneling onto Marsten’s bald head. In her mind’s eye, she could see the bullet entering just above his right ear. She released her breath, feeling it steam past the back of her throat.

  Click.

  “No!”

  Marsten turned upward to see the empty pistol pointed at him.

  “No more bullets, huh? Shame. Come on, girl.”

  The Maestro bent down, picked up his axe, and vaulted over the brittle railing of the staircase, half-falling to the stairs below. He grunted at the impact on his injured leg, but instantly began walking it off. Megan hopped over the side behind him, step for step.

  The fall had hurt a bit, but he’d bypassed the feasting cannibals. More importantly, he’d put them between his prize and the girl’s would-be saviors.

  “Megan!”

  Lauryn couldn’t believe her daughter would go with him willingly. Megan turned her face back to look at her mother but didn’t stop, following Marsten as if he were a magnet, and she steel. What Lauryn saw in Megan’s face made her heart sink into her stomach. The vacant stare of the brainwashed. Completely compliant, even contented with Marsten’s sudden dominion over her.

  The Maestro grinned upward when they reached the carnage of the ground floor. The bodies clicked and snapped as the kerosene burned them. He paused and Megan stopped moving immediately. He wanted Junior Corrections Officer Hughes to experience his triumph. To recognize it. To know that her killing Juggs and Smack, her thinking that she could best the Maestro—all of it had consequences.

  And it’s time to pay the piper.

  “Follow, if you can,” he called, nodding at the cannibals feasting on Cackler’s corpse. “You know where we’ll be.”

  * * *

  “Give me your gun,” Lauryn said hoarsely.

  She watched Marsten and Megan angle their way across the killing floor toward the tunnel leading to the main sewer line.

  “You’ll never take him from here. You’re a good shot, but—”

  “Give me your goddamned gun!” she yelled. “And hold onto Jasper. Hold him tight.”

  Eamon reached behind his back, pulled the 9-millimeter from his belt. “I’m sorry, maybe I should’ve … but I’m not a great shot, I was afraid—”

  “Shut up,” said Lauryn, taking the pistol from him. She quick-walked down the steps and Eamon watched her go, unsure if he should follow or not. Jasper barked and whined, clearly becoming more upset when Megan disappeared into the tunnel. “Come on,” Lauryn called behind her. “But hold on to Jasper.”

  They carefully maneuvered the cockeyed gangway and turned the corner of the landing below to face the Exers burying their maws in Cackler’s guts. One of them paused in its gluttony and stared at them, as if sizing up a rival for the meal. Lauryn raised the pistol, steadied it in a two-handed grip, and shot the creature in the forehead. The other Exer, distracted from its feasting, turned and looked at her sharply. Her second bullet took it straight through the left eye.

  Practice, she thought. For when I do the same to that psycho sonofabitch.

  “Tie your belt around Jasper’s collar. I don’t want him loose down here,” said Lauryn. “And hurry up.” She started after Marsten and Megan. “It’s time to collect your fucking specimen.”

  Chapter 21: Wednesday, morning.

  Eamon held his breath until he couldn’t any longer. Between Jasper’s choked tugging at his makeshift leash and the obstacle course of burning corpses, the scientist was falling quickly behind Lauryn.

  “Wait! Hold up a second!”

  He watched her hop over bodies without looking back, a singular focus on the path ahead. Her determination to rescue Megan and kill Marsten was carved in the profile of her clenched jaw. He understood that. He wanted to help. But he couldn’t keep up.

  Jasper changed his strategy to wriggle free. The dog halted in his tracks, pulling backward as Eamon’s momentum carried him forward. Jasper’s collar was around his ears, and Eamon tried to reposition to keep him from pulling free.

  Too late. The belt went slack in his hand, and Jasper’s empty collar dropped to the floor. Eamon dived after him, but Jasper was quicker, bolting for the tunnel. Lauryn followed, passing into the thick, orange fog beyond. And just like that, they were gone.

  Eamon found himself on his hands and knees in the slick, smelly innards of a nameless Exer. He looked down at the bloody mass, entrails extracted by a prisoner’s zeal. Seeing human remains, even on so large a scale, didn’t faze him. He was a scientist, after all. He was used to seeing the human body turned inside out. How many cadavers had he dissected?

  But the charnel house around him … the walls were streaked with the palette of human colors—the reds and browns and ochres of life, drying in death. Cannibals created by Slenderex, who’d died for a final mouthful of f
lesh. Maddened prisoners who’d mindlessly torn apart the anorexic zombies until losing too much of their own blood had ended them, too. The absolute waste of human life soaking into the ground around him.

  That made him want to vomit.

  All the death around him pricked at something older, something more fundamental in the back of his brain. A fear of the dead rising. Of them making him one of their legion of the doomed.

  “Wait up!” he called, struggling to his feet in the slippery mess, trying to hold his breath and breathe at the same time. “Wait for me!”

  * * *

  Lauryn couldn’t see them clearly through the fog, but she heard Marsten’s loping drag and Megan’s quick breathing ahead. Her ears parsed every sound, every clue to track them. Every ragged breath was like a breadcrumb to follow.

  “Megan! Honey, stop! Marsten, you sonofabitch, stop!”

  But they didn’t stop.

  She felt Jasper shoot past her when she entered the tunnel. She knew Stavros had fallen off, somewhere behind. She didn’t care. There was only one thing on her mind. Getting her daughter back. And killing the psychopath who’d taken her.

  Okay, two things.

  Not necessarily in that order.

  She caught quick glimpses, despite the haze. The flashlight’s waning light bounced half-shadows back at her.

  Marsten hunched over, the reflection of the axe head.

  Megan’s slight form, the echo of her hitched breathing.

  But the mud sucked at her shoes. Hard as she was trying, Lauryn wasn’t catching up.

  She should’ve taken Stavros’s gun earlier. He was useless with it. If she’d had it, she could’ve plugged Marsten’s ape-like skull when she had the chance.

  Saved Megan.

  Or if she’d remembered to take the ammunition for her own pistol before handing Colt her bag of grenades.

  Or never brought Megan along on this crazy quest in the first place.

  Or. Or. Or. Or.

  Bad judgment. Wrong decisions. Megan captured. Brainwashed.

  All her fault.

  Tired, desperate, and trying to catch up, Lauryn gasped the yellow, misty air for breath. But it only seemed to corrode her lungs, to weigh her muscles down.

  Still, she pressed forward, her need to save Megan, to put Marsten down like a rabid dog, driving her muscles past their own burning need to cease.

  Then she saw the glowing ahead. The ladder.

  Dim doppelgangers of Marsten and Megan climbing.

  “Megan! God, baby, stop!”

  But her daughter didn’t stop.

  And then Lauryn found herself once again at the hole beneath the server room. Looking up into the bowels of TranStar. Right where Marsten obviously wanted her.

  “Follow, if you can. You know where we’ll be.”

  She looked around.

  Where was Stavros?

  Where was Jasper? The dog had run by her and then…

  Megan, somewhere above, Marsten’s prisoner.

  Nobody here but us chickens, she thought.

  She was alone.

  Lauryn shoved the 9-millimeter in her belt and wrapped her shaking fists around the rungs of the ladder. She climbed as fast as she could.

  * * *

  “A little young for you, don’t you think, lover?” asked Maggie with barely concealed contempt. Marsten staggered back into the control center gripping his prize by the arm. “She’s more Smacks’ style, ain’t she?”

  The Maestro ignored her, his attention landing on the Lady.

  Id turned from the monitors still showing the battle outside, and her entire body seemed to smile.

  “Welcome back, Maestro,” she said, walking toward him. A glance down, approving, at Megan’s blackened left forearm. “And you, my child.”

  Megan dropped to one knee, bowing her head.

  “And the mother?”

  Marsten leaned, wincing, against one of the stations with its multiple monitors. “Coming. Already in the building by now, I’d say.”

  The Lady’s skin glowed, radiating satisfaction like a sun.

  “Excellent.”

  Maggie’s irritation showed on her face, and she made no effort to hide it. Her gaze was fixed on Marsten and his teeny-bopper groupie. The girl rose from her genuflection and leaned next to him on the console. Their thighs touched. Maggie fingered the knife in her belt, the one Marsten had given her.

  “Here, this is more your style.”

  Touching the cold metal of the knife centered her. Made her feel better.

  “Can we get back to the problem at hand?” asked Simpson, gesturing at the screens. What they showed was difficult to discern. Weisshemden, National Guard, and Exers … hundreds of Exers … engaged in a free-for-all outside TranStar.

  No one was winning. Except maybe the Exers. Every single body that fell, even those of other cannibals, became a source of protein for the creatures that remained. And they far outnumbered their enemies. The Exers scoured the battlefield like locusts, stripping the bones of the body crop around them.

  The Guard unit was all but decimated, and the whiteshirts were difficult to pick out. Their prison uniforms were, now, anything but white.

  Id turned to her most conscientious of commanders. “What problem is that, General?”

  “We have no army,” Simpson replied, his tone petulant, almost insubordinate. “We’ve thrown it away on the National Guard, and now those … those whatever-they-are, finishing off the rest.”

  “Of course we have an army,” laughed the Lady. She nodded at traffic cameras stationed along U.S. 290 and I-10. Citizens of Houston making their way, as ordered, to the rendezvous point. Some were in vehicles that could navigate the logjam on the roadways, some were on foot. But, it seemed, all the sheep who’d heard the public service announcement were migrating to TranStar.

  “And what about those things?” demanded Simpson, indicating the cannibals onscreen.

  “They will feast and they will move on. And many will join us as well. Have you failed to notice their new badge of honor?”

  Simpson looked closer at the monitors. Some of the Exers could be distinguished from others.

  By a blackened left forearm.

  But he remained dissatisfied. “I don’t understand—”

  “Please, General. No dissent in front of our guest.”

  Simpson’s mouth clamped shut as Id turned to face the entrance to the control room.

  Lauryn stepped from the shadows, Stavros’s pistol aimed straight at Id.

  “You in charge then?” she asked. “Not shy, I see.”

  Maggie snickered.

  Marsten stood up semi-straight, favoring his wound and hoisting his axe.

  Id smiled.

  “Indeed. Please join us.”

  Keeping her back to the wall, Lauryn moved into the room, her gunsights never leaving the space between Id’s perfect breasts.

  “I’ll make this simple for you. I want my daughter back. That’s all. Then we’ll go.”

  The Lady’s emerald eyes followed Lauryn. “Your daughter is mine now,” she purred. “She bears the mark of He Who Is to Come. She is no longer yours to claim.”

  “She’s my daughter!”

  “And you are my key.”

  Lauryn halted, the yellow mist burning in her lungs. The gun felt heavy in her hands. Her eyelids began to droop.

  “I’m … I’m about to be your executioner … if you don’t let Megan go.” Her voice, like her body, felt like it was slowing down. She fought to keep herself focused on Id’s center mass. As her eyes dropped, she saw the orange vapor on the ground, pooling thick around her feet like liquid chains. The yellow air she inhaled tasted slick and bitter.

  “Drop the gun,” said Id flatly.

  The 9-millimeter clattered on the ground.

  “You are more right than you know,” said the Lady, stepping over to touch Megan’s cheek. The teen closed her eyes, absolute ecstasy cascading across her face. A smile of subord
ination.

  “Leave her … leave her alone…”

  “Your daughter is a seer,” said Id with a light caress of Megan’s face. Her hair reached up and gathered the girl in its tendrils, snaking up her limbs like fiery vines. “She was granted her ability when the Master first touched your world. When all others were struck blind, she was blessed with new sight.”

  “She was blind too … we all were.” Lauryn found herself joining in a conversation she didn’t understand. Her answers were automatic.

  “Two eyes closed, but a third eye opened,” said Id. “A gift from He Who Is to Come.”

  “Please…” Lauryn’s will began to wane. Her muscles were failing her. Her love for Megan was all that kept her standing upright. “Please, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please, just let her go.”

  “I said that you were not wrong. You will be my executioner.”

  Lauryn stared at the pistol on the floor, barely perceptible beneath the fog. It seemed a million miles away. Maybe she still could be that, she thought. If she could just get to the gun…

  “That is, to say, you will be my chosen instrument,” said Id. “Yes, you will become my executioner of heroes.”

  “What … what do you mean?” Lauryn was confused now. She didn’t understand. And she was so very tired.

  Releasing Megan, Id swept her arms wide, a grand gesture, and twirled in the fog. Her long, red hair flared outward like the skirts of a Medusan maiden dancing around a maypole. She crossed the floor, light as a ballerina floating on the fog, until she reached Lauryn, who fell to her knees before her.

  “There are countless worlds converging,” the Lady explained. Her voice echoed in the control room, drowning out the fading sounds of the battle outside. “Worlds in different planes of existence. Worlds in different times. Worlds in different realities.”

  On her knees, Lauryn’s breathing grew labored. Her ears heard the words, but her mind was overwhelmed by them. She was failing again, she knew. Letting Megan down again.

  “Each reality, each world, has its so-called heroes,” Id explained. “Those who would thwart the Master’s will.”

  Lauryn felt the naked energy standing in front of her. Smelled the grave-and-sex blend of the madwoman’s scent. In her mind, Lauryn wrapped invisible hands around the gun on the floor in front of her. In reality, her fingers itched to do the same.