Bloodcrier: The Complete Two-Book Series

by Richard Denoncourt

  “Show yourselves,” he said.

  Louis Blake appeared as if by magic. Dominic, Peter, and Ian shimmered into place a millisecond later, peering around as if shocked to find themselves in this particular place.

  “Michael…” Blake said, approaching him. He reached out with one hand.

  “Go away.”

  With a sweeping motion of his arm, Michael erased them from sight.

  Thunder boomed in the distance.

  Thick, gray clouds unfurled across the sky. Soon, there was rain and lightning, the canyon going dark except for the occasional flash.

  Michael stood in silence, letting the thunderous booms and flashing strikes explode all around him, the rain hot as it pounded his body, cleansing him.

  He opened his eyes.

  The monitoring machine had ceased its beeping noise. Arielle lay still, her eyes open and lifeless, staring at nothing.

  Michael sensed the soldiers coming up the stairs before he heard their footsteps in the hallway. Dozens of them, with more pouring through the hallways. The Selarix coursing through their veins no longer affected his awareness of them.

  Silently, he gathered Arielle’s body into his arms. His vision blurred, the sting in the corners of his eyes a familiar one.

  Blinking them clear again, he saw blood spots on Arielle’s gown—spots that hadn’t been there a moment ago, each one a pinkish stain diluted by his tears.

  Carrying her limp body, Michael turned to face the soldiers. The blood tickled his face as it ran from his eyes to his chin.

  They broke the partition windows at the other end with the stocks of their rifles. Kneeling behind cover, they slid the barrels forward.

  “He’s unarmed,” one man shouted.

  Several more crashed through the swinging doors. The one closest to him—an officer, according to his insignia—squinted above his aimed semi-automatic, obviously alarmed by Michael’s face.

  “It’s true,” he said, aghast.

  Michael remained still, peering into the man’s eyes. The officer continued in a shaky voice.

  “Michael Cairne, you are under arrest for terrorism and crimes committed against the People’s Republic of—”

  His last word was cut off, an invisible force seizing him. His rifle dropped to the floor with a clatter.

  37

  Blake surfaced from the Dreamscape with a violent jolt.

  He sat on the forest floor in a circle with Dominic, Peter, and Ian, surrounded by a few NDR soldiers who had stayed behind to protect them while they were vulnerable.

  “It’s over,” Blake said, planting a hand against a tree to steady himself as he rose.

  Dominic jumped to his feet. “We can still blow the place.”

  No longer armed with the flamethrower, he bent to pick up a duffel bag. Blake knew it was full of C-4 taken from Camp Brazen.

  “There’s no telling how many will still be standing in our way,” Blake said.

  Dominic was already unzipping the bag. He handed explosive charges to Peter and Ian, then passed one along to Blake, who took it with shaky hands.

  One of the soldiers, gazing through a set of binoculars, had found a spot where he could study the hospital past the trees.

  “Something’s up,” he said.

  Dominic ran to him. “Let me see.”

  “They’re not moving. The snipers.”

  He passed the binoculars to Dominic. Blake stared past the trees, but he could only see patches of the street beyond.

  “It’s happening,” Dominic said, shaking his head. “But they were on Selarix…”

  Peter and Ian approached.

  “What is?” Peter asked.

  Blake took the binoculars. He was only able to see a few windows with snipers perched over the parking lot.

  It was true.

  They weren’t moving at all.

  “Shoot one of them,” Blake said. “The window above the door.”

  A soldier handed Dominic a scoped hunting rifle. Dominic stalked through the woods. Moments later, they heard the shot.

  Blake had been watching through the binoculars. Amazed, he saw how the slug had flung the sniper’s body backward, his rifle falling from the window. None of the others stirred. They didn’t even wince. There was no return gunfire from the enemy.

  “Selarix won’t stand in Michael’s way anymore,” Blake said.

  An ominous silence descended over the forest. It was the tense quiet of indecision, of wondering what to do next.

  It was broken abruptly by the sound of Blake coughing.

  “I’ve had enough,” he said after the coughing subsided, wiping blood from his lips with the back of his sleeve. “I’m going to him.”

  “You’re not going alone,” Dominic said.

  Blake whirled on him. “Whatever’s in there, I’ll face it alone. I have to see. I have to know if he’s okay. That’s a direct order, and, by God, I’ll shoot you before I let you follow me.”

  Dominic glanced down at the charge in Blake’s hand. He gave a single nod to show he understood.

  “Be strong,” Blake told Peter and Ian, who seemed on the verge of resisting. “This’ll all be over soon. Then you can go home. I’m proud of you boys. And I know Eli’s watching you. He’s proud of you, too.”

  Ian went to sit against a tree, brooding. Peter dropped the explosive and fell into a seated position on the forest floor, tears already appearing in his eyes.

  “It’s been an honor watching you all grow into the men you’ve become,” Blake continued. “You’re the sons I never had, and I love you all. Always remember that.”

  Ian averted his gaze. Peter nodded, wiping his eyes.

  Dominic waved a hand through the air.

  “Save it,” he said. “Go do what you need to do.”

  Blake winked. Dominic shook his head before turning away.

  Crossing the parking lot felt like the most dangerous thing Blake had ever done. He took careful, measured steps. Like it was a minefield. There were no shots from the snipers in the windows. He stopped twice to lean against the husks of abandoned cars, the C-4 so heavy in his weakened grasp he feared not being able to carry it the whole way.

  What monstrosity might he find inside? Whatever was in there, he hoped the explosive would be enough to wipe it from the face of this earth.

  Blake happened to look up before reaching the other side of the lot.

  The windows were empty, the soldiers gone.

  A decade’s worth of accumulated dust greeted Blake when he entered.

  His nose tickled, and his lungs convulsed. The ensuing series of coughs was like none he’d ever experienced. Blood ran from his lips and down his chin when he was finished. He didn’t bother to wipe it away.

  As he passed through a small waiting room, in which a few pieces of old furniture lay beneath cobwebs, Blake noticed the first spray-painted arrow on the wall above an electric lantern. The place felt less like a hospital and more like a horror ride in an amusement park, complete with spooky lights and hastily drawn markers to guide his way.

  His horror only grew after he reached the top of the first staircase.

  Republic soldiers—living ones, which made it even more frightening—knelt along the hallway, rigid backs to the walls, facing each other. Blake could tell by their vacant eyes they saw nothing at all. The pale light from the lanterns added a ghostly quality to their slack faces, throwing warped shadows against the walls. Their rifles lay harmlessly on the floor, as if they had stopped mid-battle to participate in a seance meant to engage the spirits of dead fighters instead of living ones.

  Blake no longer had to follow the arrows. The lines of soldiers guided him. He took the stairs, finding hallways full of kneeling, silent men, the rooms themselves empty. Their bodies blocked off corridors that appeared to be dead ends, as if they’d been assigned their resting spots in an attempt to form a distinct path.

  Finally—at a point where his body seemed about to give out from a lack of oxy
gen and his own cowardice—Blake reached the NICU unit. Dozens of kneeling soldiers lined the walls, closer to each other than the ones he’d seen on the lower floors, their shoulders almost touching.

  Blake’s shuffling footsteps were loud in his ears. Otherwise, the corridor was dead silent, not even the sounds of breathing evident from the living statues on either side of him.

  Pushing open the swinging doors, he stepped into the room.

  There were at least six more kneeling soldiers inside, except these held rifles across their chests, eyes just as vacant as the others. At the other end, Michael stood partly silhouetted by the light streaming in from a window. He held a body in his arms—a blood-covered corpse dressed in a hospital gown, pale legs dangling lifelessly, blonde hair familiar as it hung in a single, straight sheet from her head.

  “Is she…” Blake began.

  “She’s dead,” Michael said, glancing down. He lifted cold eyes to meet Blake’s. “I was waiting for you.”

  “I’m not here to kill you.”

  Blake slowly approached the boy. Any one of these soldiers could wake up and gun him down at a moment’s notice. Or Michael could do it himself—murder him with a single thought more accurate than any bullet.

  “You never should have brought me to Gulch,” Michael said. “She’d still be alive if you hadn’t.”

  “But you wouldn’t be. Or you’d be strapped to a bed in the facility where you were born, comatose and breathing through a tube.”

  “I would welcome that if it meant giving her back the life we stole from her.”

  Blake froze. “Michael…”

  “It’s not your fault, Louis. You did what you thought was best. You made my mother a promise, and you did everything you could not to break it.”

  Michael approached him, the dried blood on his face becoming clearer. Blake was speechless. The boy had survived an episode with not a single man inside the hospital dead by his hand.

  “How did you do it?” Blake asked.

  “Here. Hold her for a moment. She once told me you were like a father to her.”

  Blake set the explosive charge on the floor, carefully taking Arielle into his arms. Clenching his teeth, he struggled to keep his grief at bay. He kissed her face, cradling her fragile body against his own.

  He passed her back to Michael after a few moments, shaking his head.

  “I’m sorry it had to happen this way,” Blake said. “Harris Kole deserves to die for this. You have a chance to kill him.”

  “I’ll decide what happens to my father.”

  Nodding, Blake wiped a tear from his cheek. “I’m glad you’re alive. That you can control it now. You’re not the monster we feared you’d become.”

  Michael gazed at Arielle’s face as he spoke.

  “It’s all thanks to her.”

  Blake stepped toward Michael, deciding to take a chance. He placed a trembling hand on the boy’s cheek. His face slack, Michael seemed emotionless, but Blake knew that wasn’t true. He could sense the anger, love, hatred, and determination roiling inside the boy’s heart and mind, perfectly contained. Perfectly tamed.

  “I’m proud of you, Mike.”

  Michael took a step back, Blake’s hand sliding off his cheek. He sensed no resentment coming from the boy, only impatience, the need to keep going.

  “You won’t last much longer,” Michael said. “I can help you go peacefully.”

  “I know you can. But if I die here, I want to take this room with me.”

  Michael glanced down at the C-4. He nodded to show he understood.

  “I’ll get the men out of here.”

  He issued a telepathic command.

  Rise.

  The soldiers stood as one, filling the room and the hallways outside with the cacophonous sound of fabric rustling and boots scraping the floor.

  Go outside.

  “Yes, Michael,” they said, again as one. Blake almost cringed at the unnerving sound of dozens of men speaking at once in what had been a dead-silent space only moments ago.

  They filed out of the room, marching through the hallway.

  “What happens to them?”

  “They’ll be sent back to the People’s Republic as my eyes and ears, to blend in with the other soldiers following orders. But, ultimately, they’ll answer only to me.”

  Blake silently took this in, masking how impressed he felt. He issued a telepathic command to the rest of his crew.

  Republic soldiers will be filing outside soon. Do not shoot them.

  Then he cut off the connection, blocking Dominic and the others before they could respond. Blake would no longer be issuing their orders. They had a new leader now.

  “I want one last favor, Mike, before this thing goes off. I want to see her again.”

  Michael nodded once. “You’ll have it. I want you to know, Louis… I have one father in this world, and it isn’t Harris Kole.”

  Blake smiled, wishing he could touch the boy’s cheek once more.

  “Thank you, Mike. And you know what you mean to me.”

  Michael nodded, a distant look in his eyes. Then he strode confidently past Blake, carrying Arielle through the door, until he eventually disappeared into the shadows inside the corridor.

  Blake waited another minute—the longest minute of his life.

  Then he armed the C-4 to explode.

  38

  00:30.

  She was every bit as alive and beautiful as the last time Blake saw her, untouched by the bullet that had ended her life.

  “Claudia, my love.”

  00:29.

  She had appeared in the doorway, giving him one of her rare smiles, dressed in a clean cotton shirt and pants—the standard outfit for women like her in the experiment.

  “Louis. You came all this way.”

  She crossed the room, then fell into his arms. He gently stroked her hair, taking in her unique smell, the softness of her body against his.

  “I came for him,” Blake said.

  “Which means you came for me. You made good on your promise.”

  “I did, Claudia. But I had help.”

  She pulled back, arms around his waist. Without the blame she had once placed on him. Without the resentment she must have felt when he didn’t come back for her.

  That was all in the past, seemingly a lifetime ago.

  Now, all that existed was this moment.

  00:16.

  “I could have done more,” Blake said. “I don’t deserve your love.”

  “Oh, don’t say that.” She scrunched up her face. “I haven’t seen you in so long. Kiss me.”

  Thrusting his face toward hers, he gave in to a long, deep kiss, during which he allowed himself to feel like the young, recently promoted general he’d been upon first falling in love with her, doing special favors for a beautiful captive. It was a forbidden love, and the old madness gripped him once more.

  “We’ll leave together,” he said. “Run away with me. Tonight, Claudia. We can go tonight.”

  00:07.

  She nodded. “We’ll leave as soon as the lights go out.”

  “We’ll get married,” Blake said. “And we’ll raise Michael together. Our son.” Tears came to his eyes. “He’ll be beautiful, like you.”

  “Yes, yes, yes. But let’s be careful.”

  “Always.”

  “Come on now. Escort me back to my room. Kiss me before you lock the door, when no one’s looking. Then come back for me.”

  “I will.”

  She led him by the hand. What if someone noticed?

  Blake no longer cared. Let the world see them together, even if it cost him his job, his freedom, his life.

  00:02.

  This was life. This moment. Because that was what a lifetime was—a momentary blink soon lost in the infinite fabric of time and space, and that moment was composed of a billion even smaller moments, like this one. And this one was his, and he would make it count. He gripped Claudia’s hand.

&nb
sp; 00:01.

  The moment stretched.

  It became a journey that spanned one single second in a world he no longer inhabited, and many thousands of seconds—hours, days, weeks—in a world his mind had deemed reality.

  00:01.

  Finally. The escape happened at night, Blake and Claudia running through the forest with infant Michael in Blake’s arms, about to meet their rebel friends.

  00:01.

  Michael, waking in the cargo compartment and blinking up at Louis Blake’s face, at the grinning features of the man he would someday call “Daddy.”

  00:01.

  Arriving in New Dallas, the city they had always hoped to one day call home. Blake, swinging a laughing Claudia around in a living room they had furnished together.

  00:01.

  Their house. Their family. A new life together. A love that could be enjoyed out in the open, in a place where they could be free.

  00:01.

  A father tucking his son into bed, kissing his forehead, promising him that his life would be full of adventure, kindness, and love.

  00:01.

  A husband making love to his wife, then holding her as she fell asleep against him. Smelling her hair, kissing her scalp.

  00:00.

  Whispering to her, “Goodnight, my love.”

  39

  The nurse shivered.

  Deep below the earth’s surface, she hugged herself and watched the infant through the bulletproof glass, awash in the glow of overhead strip lighting that felt cold and clinical. The corridor was silent except for the whispered hum of a filtration device buried somewhere in the walls.

  The infant stirred. He looked uncomfortable, attached to a bundle of tubes and wires, and so tiny—small enough to fit in a pair of cupped hands.

  His very existence made this place seem monstrous by comparison.

  Maybe it was just her nerves, but she could almost hear the creaking of the facility about to collapse from the weight of the earth and stone resting on top of it. That wouldn’t happen, of course, but since she’d started working here, the thought of having a whole mountain atop the facility never failed to make her anxious.