Eclipse the Flame

by Ingrid Seymour

  Luke runs a hand through his blond hair and shifts in his seat, his whole body turning my way. I panic, whirl around and stare at the dance floor. There’s a sudden hiss and a jet of dry ice releases from above. It descends on the crowd like a macabre fog, enveloping everyone and turning their faces into bleached skeletons.

  My heart hammers. I chance a glance over my shoulder, barely turning my face back to the bar. Luke and the woman aren’t there anymore. I look around, searching for a tall boy with beautiful blond hair. He’s nowhere in sight.

  I curse myself. I should have questioned him, should have confronted him about his knowledge of sentient parasites. I should have assumed his mind was already ravaged rather than choose to believe he can fight the infection like me. Have I been wrong about him all along? Is that why James hasn’t responded to my messages and reassurances that Luke isn’t a spy? That must be it. James knows something I don’t know and it involves my brother.

  Because he is a spy. God, he is.

  But he can’t be.

  He’s my twin brother. Max. Mom’s new pride and joy. His presence here means nothing.

  The world tilts. Music pounds in my ears. I look around, hoping to find a friendly face, a big smile and assurances that everything will be okay.

  Xave. I have to find him.

  I walk toward the VIP room. One of the bouncers puts a hand up to halt me.

  “Password?” he says.

  I say the only thing I know, “Hailstone reign.”

  “That won’t work over here. Please enjoy the rest of the club.” He smiles in a cold way that suggests he doesn’t expect me to enjoy anything but his foot on my ass. I’m opening my mouth to say something that will probably get me thrown out when the doors to the VIP room explode open and a crazed crowd bursts out, pushing, trampling, screaming at the top of their lungs; though, not loud enough to drown the strident cracks of gunshots.

  Chapter 9

  Before I have time to fully register what is happening, I stagger backward, fighting to stay on my feet. More shots resound inside the VIP room, a million times faster than the bass of the song blasting through the speakers. The crowd’s euphoria morphs into a different kind of insanity. Screams rise above the music. The heavy techno beats stop. The DJ freezes, hands poised over his electronic equipment.

  A very human, very scared girl shrieks in my face and pushes me aside. I try to catch my balance, but I only manage a few short, awkward steps that aren’t enough. I fall backward and hit the floor. A crushing battalion of feet passes to either side of my head. I wrap my hands behind my neck and roll out of the way. Someone steps on my back. I groan in pain as a high heel stabs me between the ribs.

  After a couple of turns, I roll onto my hands and knees and crawl out of the way. Pressing my back against the wall, I stand, panic like a stake through my heart. Eklyptors and humans alike try to run on top of each other on their way to the exit. For a moment, I’m hypnotized by this odd sight: the fact that they’re all equally afraid of dying.

  Eklyptors are predators, hunters, stalkers. It’s how I’ve always seen them. I would never think of a lion running alongside a zebra, both escaping from something more horrifying. Except these Eklyptors are new, freshly made, like a delicacy that might soon rot into a foul, deformed mess, if they choose to morph. They’re as vulnerable as humans, with dull teeth, weak claws, supple skin. They can’t defend themselves.

  Not for the first time, I marvel at the fact that we climbed to the top of the food chain, way above stronger, mightier creatures, and we’ve stayed there, unchallenged, for so long. It gives me hope, even in my panic, because the Eklyptors are screaming as loudly as the humans, pushing as hard to get outside and save their fragile necks.

  A feral, unearthly growl breaks me from my trance. My skin crawls in goose bumps made of primal fear. The growl is shrill and long. It’s then followed by another and another. At the sound, the crowd pushes more desperately, tripping over each other, trampling those who fall. Fearful of the creatures capable of such sounds and reminded of the night I almost died, gruesome images of deformed humans with yellowed fangs and snapping mandibles rush out of my memory gates and flood my mind. I’m frozen, completely unable to move, stuck to the wall with fear. Smoke wafts through the air. Glittering lights dance in random patterns. Static plays on the speakers. I stare into nothingness, rooted in place, doubting my decision to come. I have no business being here. I should be home doing my homework.

  My fists clench. This is what I wanted, wasn’t it? To help Xave? To fight? Well fight, then. Don’t be a coward.

  Pushing aside the unwelcome memories, I come away from the wall and turn toward the VIP room. A bullet whizzes past my nose. I jerk back and drop to one knee, making myself a smaller target. When I look again, I see Rheema, Blare, and Aydan shuffling backward out of the room, shooting one round after another into the darkness from which they came.

  “I’ll cover you. Go!” Blare commands.

  Rheema and Aydan turn to leave, but find themselves surrounded. Three bouncers wait at the edge of the dance floor, with two more pushing their way through the thinning crowd. They are all tall and broad, their gloved hands dark and twitching.

  Finding themselves surrounded, they stop while Blare shoots one-handed at a staggering speed. I look around for something I can use as a weapon. There’s absolutely nothing.

  Blare lets out an uncharacteristic scream, staggers back and crashes into Aydan. They fall in a heap on the floor just as a hunched shape flies above them, narrowly missing them. In the commotion, Aydan’s gun flies from his grip and slides away from him.

  The leaping figure skids to a stop, digs long, clawed fingers into the floor and whirls around to face them. A hideous creature with an elongated snout and a bright red line along its nose opens its large mouth and growls. The word that immediately comes to mind at the sight of it is: mandrill. Coarse hair covers its torso, a pair of cropped jeans its bottom. Canine teeth the size of my forefingers flash, dripping drool. The beast pushes back on its curved haunches and bounds.

  Everything happens in slow motion. Rheema slams shoulder first into one of the bouncers and falls back. Blare struggles to untangle herself from Aydan, while he blindly slaps the floor, looking for his gun. Adrenaline explodes in my chest and my not-so-useless powers rise to the challenge one more time. Before I know the thought has formed in my mind, Aydan’s gun zooms from the floor toward my hand, all while the creature soars through the air, extremities forward, claws ready to rip their targets.

  The gun’s metal grip slams cold and hard between my fingers and, in the next instant, I’m aiming, squeezing the trigger, shooting.

  The shots ring in my ears. My hand kicks back, back, back.

  My bullets slice the space between us. One shot hits the monster in the abdomen, two in the chest. Its body jerks with each impact, blood exploding from the wounds like water from a leaky balloon. But it makes no difference, because the creature continues on its path as if the bullets are nothing but minuscule gnats. I aim and shoot again, but my shots go wild. The Eklyptor lands on Blare and Aydan, tearing with its claws and huge teeth. I run to them, gun outstretched, but the three bodies are a writhing mass on the floor.

  Human limbs. Animal limbs. All a tangled mess.

  Leg.

  Blood.

  Arm.

  I move the gun up and down, from side to side, trying to get a clear shot. My hand shakes. Blare’s wig sails across the room and lands inside a yellow martini on an adjacent table. Aydan’s face twists in pain. Crimson blood flashes in my eyes. I have to do something. I start to squeeze the trigger, my finger too stiff to comply. A series of muffled shots sound between the fighting bodies. They go stiff. Aydan’s face is frozen in an awful grimace.

  Oh God.

  NO.

  Blare growls and pushes the beast off. It falls aside, riddled with holes and squirting blood.

  “Take that you piece of shit.” Blare spits and wipes her forearm
across her face, smearing speckles of blood to one side, making them look like red shooting stars.

  I fall to my knees. “Aydan!” There are claw marks running down his shoulder, a gash that seeps and soaks his shirt.

  He blinks and looks at me in surprise. He’s alive.

  “What are you doing here?” He’s still grimacing, and I can’t tell whether he’s annoyed to see me or just hurting. With him, it’s easy to guess.

  “You’re welcome,” I say. “Just saved your worthless life.”

  “No time for warm reunions,” Blare says and runs to help Rheema whose neck is in the clutches of a bouncer, her feet dangling off the ground.

  Shots keep ringing from the VIP room.

  My eyes snap in that direction. “James? And … Xave?”

  Aydan stumbles to his feet. “They’re still inside.”

  The battle sounds from the VIP room are fierce, and James and Xave are alone.

  “I gotta help them.” But I only manage to take one step before Aydan stops me.

  “No, don’t go in there. James ordered us to get out.”

  I push him aside and open my mouth to curse him, then notice the bouncer coming at him from the back.

  Reflexively, my hand flies upward. “Duck!”

  Aydan’s dark eyes open so wide that, for a moment, he looks like a crazed deer. As soon as my meaning dawns on him, though, he throws himself to the side, giving me an unobstructed path to the charging bull headed my way. I aim for the man’s chest, the biggest target, and shoot. I hit the mark, but barely slow him down. His gloved hands reach out for me. I dodge and sweep his legs from under him with one quick swipe of my foot. He crashes face first to the floor like a stone statue.

  He’s stays down for only a beat, then tries to stand. With a filthy oath, I jump on top of him and bash the butt of the gun against the base of his skull, putting all my weight into it. He slumps forward and goes still, fingers splayed open on the polished surface of the dance floor. For some odd reason, his hands catch my attention and I realize he’s not wearing gloves. His hands are black, covered in tough, leathery skin with blocky fingernails just as black as the skin. They’re sturdy, monstrous hands, large enough to snap a human neck like a twig.

  I jump to my feet just as Xave runs out of the VIP room, another mandrill-looking creature right on his heels. He has a gun like mine and is desperately trying to reload it, the magazine slipping between his fingers.

  The creature leaps, teeth bared.

  My blood runs cold, chilling me to the bone.

  Chapter 10

  “Xave, behind you!” I scream in warning, then raise my gun.

  For an instant, surprise at the sound of my voice is the only thing that registers in his expression. Then, just as quickly, the surprise flits away and is replaced by awareness. In one fluid motion, he drops to the ground, letting his legs become two useless rags. The Eklyptor overshoots its jump and flies over Xave in an arch. I shoot, but the creature changes course in midair and my bullet goes amiss. I aim and pull the trigger again. An unsatisfying click informs me the magazine is empty.

  The monster lands on the other side and begins to turn. My heart lurches toward Xave. He’s on his knees still having problems with his gun. Eyes darting around, I look for help. Blare, Aydan, and Rheema are busy, completely overwhelmed by more bouncers who seem to have sprung from the walls. There’s no one else who can help. I’m it.

  With a war cry, I spring toward Xave without a second thought. As I’m about to reach him, he finally manages to get the magazine into the gun. Quick as humanly possible, he lifts the weapon and takes aim. Except, as it turns out, humanly possible isn’t good enough anymore—not in this new world of altered minds and enhanced bodies. He’s too late, and the Eklyptor is on him, clamping its jaws to his shoulder and shaking its head from side to side, intent on ripping him to pieces.

  “No!” I scream, my voice devolving into an angry growl, a visceral sound that would be perfect for scaring naughty little children.

  Xave cries out in pain, his legs and arms caught in the indecision of thrashing and pushing away his attacker. An instant later, I ram into the beast, expecting it to loosen its hold, but it’s like running into a wall, and all I manage to do is infuriate it. The thing shakes its head harder. Xave screams, his vocal cords ripped open by pain.

  Blind with desperation, I jump on the creature’s back and hook an arm around its neck. Bristled fur pricks my hands as I clasp them in a headlock and squeeze with all my might. I throw my weight back, exerting enough force to choke a man as thick and strong as Oso. My neck and head pulse with blood. My teeth clench with vicious pressure. Every tendon, every atom in my body is engaged in one unprecedented force grip and yet, nothing. My efforts are worthless.

  Not enough. Not enough.

  Until, suddenly the creature gives, just a little, enough to let Xave find the strength to pull out his gun from between his chest and the beast’s. Wincing in pain, he presses the barrel to the Eklyptor’s neck and releases a deafening shot that makes my ears ring and ring.

  I fall to the side, the weight of the world on my chest. I cough. Xave helps get the dead weight off me. He’s pale as death, but wears a small smile and a grateful expression.

  He weakly wraps one arm around my neck. “You saved me,” he says.

  I push him away, too worried to feel any relief or believe that this thin moment isn’t ready to snap. I assess his wound. It’s bleeding, soaking, draining life. He needs a doctor. Right now. His face is contorted. He gags as if ready to vomit.

  I press a firm, cool hand to his forehead. “You’re going to have to be strong. We have to get outta here and stop your bleeding,” I say, my voice as firm as my hand. He needs to know how urgent this is. I need all doubts he might have about the seriousness of his wound gone from his mind.

  “The others,” he says.

  “They can take care of themselves. Get up. NOW!” I order.

  He flinches, then takes a deep breath and stands. I drape his uninjured arm around my shoulder and turn. The view isn’t pretty. Several enemy bodies lie on the dance floor, but Blare, Aydan, and Rheema still have their hands full. Blare has lost her gun and is fighting two men by the bar to my left, keeping them at bay with what looks like a metal leg from one of the many upturned, broken tables. She’s fast with it, enough to handle both of her attackers.

  Rheema is exposed in the middle of the dance floor, but still has her double guns and she’s shooting, shooting, shooting—back to back—but barely slowing the barrage of attackers trying to get her under control. Aydan is the closest to the exit and has found another gun. He’s also shooting. Compared to Xave, they’re doing great, so I urge him on, without regret. He’s my priority. All I’ve got.

  I lead him along the rim of the dance floor, away from the heat of the fight, even if cutting across would be a faster way to the closest exit. After a few yards, he falters, panting, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. I give him a few seconds to rest.

  “C’mon, you’re doing great. Just a little more,” I whisper in his ear, no one has noticed us, and I want to get him out of here like this, in stealth, indifferent to what may be happening to anyone else.

  He nods and we’re about to continue forward when a strange breeze whirls around us. I stop, blink and look to my left.

  My skin crawls with an eerie feeling. “James?” I whisper.

  Then he’s standing right beside me, bloodied, clothes torn, eyes bruised. He’s been in the VIP room, fighting who knows what horrors, buying time for his team to escape.

  “Guerrero,” he says, not surprised at all to see me here. “You two get out, now!”

  And, in the next breath, he’s gone. Fast, though not fast enough to give his supernatural skills away. Now, he’s by Blare, helping her, luring one of her attackers away, engaging him in hand to hand combat.

  They’ll be fine, now. James is with them.

  I begin to move until I notice one of Rheem
a’s weapons fly across the room. One of her attackers has gotten within arm’s reach. With a high kick, he knocks the last gun out of her hand, grabs her by the throat and slams her down onto the floor as if she were nothing but one of her greasy mechanic’s rags.

  Ignoring my budding guilt, I tell myself she will be fine and readjust Xave’s weight against my body. I only manage to move two more steps before I look back. Rheema’s still fighting, still trying to free herself from the massive weight perched on top of her. My guilt grows a little more. I’m still wavering with indecision when a barrage of shots resounds through the nightclub. An instant later, something groans, then snaps with a metallic, almost musical quality. I blink and look up as if in slow motion, already aware of what I’ll see before I even catch a glimpse of the thousands of tiny, reflective mirrors raining from above.

  The glitter ball is falling. Falling straight toward the middle of the dance floor.

  Falling toward Rheema.

  Chapter 11

  “Rheema!” Her name slips past my lips, a worthless warning.

  I don’t know if she hears me, but, in that instant, she pulls her face away from the attacking bouncer, fangs dripping with deadly neurotoxin, lets the body roll to the side and notices, too late, the plummeting, car-sized disco ball that is well on its path to shatter her world into a million pieces of sparkling oblivion.

  Once more, I act before I know the thought has formed in my head, overtaken by the need to act, the need to stop another tragedy, another waste of life at the hands of these beasts whose only aim is extermination and dominion.

  Like a pre-programmed robot, I’m stepping away from Xave, leaving him to balance on his weak legs. My hand is outstretched, my fingers twitching and reaching and guiding. Whatever invisible force I possess flies from my hand. I can feel it like never before, a powerful tingling, full of purpose and will. It extends away from me like an unseen arm. My body quakes, writhing in a serpentine motion that seems to carry strength from every molecule in my body straight into my hand.