The Complete Colony Saga [Books 1-7]

by Collings, Michaelbrent

  Buck lurched. “Leave them alone,” said the man. His voice cracked. But he tried to get between Aaron and Ken. Or maybe between Aaron and Hope, who was suddenly silent.

  Either way, Aaron smashed a fist into Buck’s chin, sending the big man rolling into the elevator doors, crashing into Maggie’s legs. He lay there and coughed and spat blood.

  Aaron grabbed Ken.

  Ken tried to get his hands up. He had fought before. He had taken martial arts his entire life. He should be able to do something. Anything.

  He made a fist.

  Aaron slapped his balled-up hand away.

  Punched his throat.

  And suddenly, Ken couldn’t breathe.

  64

  THIS IS HOW YOU DIE. The world doesn’t explode. The monsters don’t kill you. It’s a crazy cowboy karate-chopping your throat.

  The thoughts bounced around in Ken’s head like BBs in a blender. He felt like he was overheating. Could practically hear himself overheating.

  But that was wrong, wasn’t it?

  Shouldn’t he be going numb?

  Shouldn’t he be dying... faster?

  He realized Aaron was shaking him. Yelling. Not screaming, not shrieking. Yelling. Words.

  “Stop trying to hit me, ya crazy kid!”

  And Ken realized that he was still pummeling at Aaron with his good hand, still had his bad hand wrapped as much as possible around Hope, pinning her to him. She was silent, head down on his chest like she was looking forward to hearing the last beats of his heart.

  Aaron batted Ken’s hand away again, and his face screwed up in a scowl. “Quit it or I’ll crack you in the throat again.”

  That penetrated the fog that had invaded Ken’s brain. He also realized he was breathing. Not dead at all. Somehow alive, somehow still breathing.

  His throat hurt like hell.

  “Why’d you....” His voice sounded like a combination of rusty nails and chunks of dirt. He hacked. Tried again. “Why’d you hit me.”

  “’Cause you weren’t gonna move and I didn’t have time to chat.”

  Aaron looked up. Then down.

  Ken followed his gaze. Gulped. “Thank you,” he said. His voice came out as a murmur, and this time it had nothing to do with his bruised vocal cords. “Thank you.”

  “Welcome.” Aaron looked again at the hole where the acid had eaten through the ceiling, and the matching hole in the floor where Ken’s head had been a moment before. “Don’t imagine you’d have liked that.”

  “I thought....” Ken coughed. The sound was louder than he expected. He realized it was silent in the cab. “I thought you were changing.”

  “Why would you think that?” Aaron seemed torn between amusement and offense.

  “You went all crazy.”

  Aaron showed him his left arm. A long line of black, charred flesh ran from his shoulder to his elbow. “Some of that goo hit me. Just a drop, and it did this.” He shuddered. “Never felt anything like that. And I been through some things.”

  The elevator pitched again, falling a few inches.

  “We can’t stay here,” Dorcas whispered.

  “How do we get out?” said Christopher. The two of them were in the far corner, nearly holding one another as though they had taken refuge in each other’s arms when Aaron had gone crazy.

  “The doors won’t open. They’re stuck,” said Buck, rolling over and clutching his nose. Blood streamed from his fingers and spattered the floor.

  Ken realized something in that instant.

  He had thought before that it was silent in the car. He was wrong. It wasn’t silent in the car. It was silent outside.

  In the next moment, Hope sighed. Ken looked at his daughter. She was grinning in a way he had never seen. An old smile, the smile not of an innocent child, but of someone who has seen far too many things that are far too dark.

  She winked.

  And outside the car, several coughs sounded.

  Acid sizzled. Not randomly, but directly above Buck’s head, above Dorcas and Christopher, above Ken and Aaron.

  The things outside had found a way to target them.

  65

  EVERYONE MOVED.

  Ken tried to roll away. Got tangled in himself. He heard the sssss-hissss of acid above him.

  Feet pounded on the floor.

  He grunted. Rolled on his bad hand. The stumps of his missing fingers scraped on the floor. He almost screamed, but something stopped him. He bit his tongue and the inside of his cheek. The new pain drew his mind away from the red bloom of agony centered at the stumps of his missing fingers.

  Hope was still smiling. Grinning.

  How do they know where we are?

  The thought entered his mind that they knew because Hope was here. That they knew because she knew.

  She was wrapped in that crap for hours.

  What if they did something to her?

  What if they changed her somehow? Made her one of them? A spy? What if they see whatever she sees?

  No. That’s impossible.

  Of course, everything else that had happened in these hours was impossible as well. Why not one more thing?

  And the answer was simple: if the things knew everything they were doing, then there was no hope of escape. So that couldn’t be the answer. Because it would be a useless answer. And Ken wouldn’t accept a solution that ended with his family and the rest of the survivors – the rest of humanity – doomed.

  So no. Not some kind of telepathy.

  What else?

  He tried to get to his feet. Hope’s weight on his chest, her body dragging at the belt that cinched them both together, pulled him off-center. He almost fell again. His good hand went down on the floor. Fingers plunged into nothing.

  There was a hole there.

  Something grabbed his fingers.

  He pulled them back, terror wringing a curse from his lips. The things were underneath. Waiting for someone to put a hand through the floor, perhaps? Just waiting to bite?

  What would happen if someone changed in here?

  The answer was a nightmare movie that played out quickly in his mind.

  He realized the others were screaming as they moved away from the acid that hissed through the ceiling. Realized that everyone was making noise. Too much noise to think.

  Buck’s foot went through a hole in the floor. He yelled and yanked it out, and Ken saw fingers clutching at the man’s heel.

  Maggie cried out in terror.

  Dorcas hollered as Christopher was almost splattered by a stream of acid that fell from above, then splashed against a wall that hissed and started to dissolve.

  Smoke.

  Coughing.

  Screaming.

  Too much noise.

  Can’t think.

  Too much.

  And Ken suddenly understood.

  The elevator fell another three inches. More.

  Screams.

  He didn’t know if they would have enough time to get out. The things outside were too many and too heavy. The brakes must be shot.

  They were going to fall.

  66

  “SHUT UP!”

  Ken’s shout worked, though probably more because they were surprised at the outburst than because of any inherent power in his still-gravelly voice. Everyone fell silent. Trying to split glances between him, the sizzling ceiling tiles, and the spots that were gradually opening in the floor.

  He gestured them to move toward the center of the cab. Finger over his lips.

  It had been silent.

  Hope had been silent.

  She had been cooing and calling on the cables. And even in the elevator for a few moments.

  Then she stopped.

  Why?

  And Ken had thought that it was quiet for a moment in the cab, but he was wrong. It had been quiet outside. The things, the growling, snuffling, snarling things, had been silent.

  He remembered the ones that bounded over the bridge of their fellows. The ones
with eyes covered. Blind, but not falling.

  Chirping.

  And the acid falling from the ceiling. Vomited forth after each of them screamed, or spoke.

  They were listening. The monsters were hearing. Targeting them like sub-killers looking for U-boats. Dropping acid instead of depth charges, but the idea was the same.

  Silence was salvation.

  Ken pulled everyone together.

  The sizzle-spit-crackle of burning acid was the only sound.

  The elevator cracked. Plunged a full foot. Christopher inhaled, and Ken wondered if the young man was going to scream and kill them all.

  Dorcas slammed her hand over his mouth. She nodded at Ken. She understood.

  They stood in a tight circle.

  Waiting.

  The elevator creaked around them.

  What now?

  67

  HOPE WAS STARING AT him.

  Liz still dangled from the carrier on Maggie’s chest. Ken wondered if it was better this way. He didn’t know if he would be able to deal with it if she opened her eyes and stared at him with that same knowing gaze, or gave him the same grin that Hope kept turning on him.

  He looked away from her. Back at Maggie. Her eyes flitted to his eyes, then away, to his eyes, then away. Not looking at anything else, but not able to face him for long, either.

  We’re in trouble.

  He knew it wasn’t just the elevator, either. Wasn’t just now. It was Derek. It was losing their son.

  He was the father. He was the protector. The one thing he was supposed to do was keep his family alive.

  And he had failed.

  He turned to the front of the elevator. More to avoid having to look at Maggie than for any concrete reason, but as he turned he thought of something.

  They’re not smart.

  Yes, they are.

  But not smarter than us.

  He went to the doors. Careful to avoid putting his foot through the hole that Buck had nearly plunged his own leg through a moment before. The doors were open a quarter-inch. Enough to wedge his fingertips between. No more. He pulled with his good hand.

  No give.

  He cast his eyes at Buck. The big man was gazing at him with an “I told you so” look, large arms crossed over his chest.

  Ken nodded for him to join him at the front of the cab. Buck hesitated as though deciding how much of a fuss to put up. Then he seemed to remember they were all in this together.

  He came to Ken’s side. “They won’t move.” He whispered the words.

  Ken looked up. Waited for a cough. For acid to rain on them. Nothing.

  He looked back at Buck. “Pull them,” he whispered.

  “Didn’t you hear me?”

  “Just do it.”

  Buck sighed. He couldn’t fit his fingers in the crack. Just lay the bloody pads of his fingers against the edges of the door and began scrabbling.

  Ken took a deep breath.

  And began making noise.

  68

  BUCK STARED AT KEN in horror, and stopped pulling for a moment.

  Two hands stabbed out and took his place. Christopher. Grin back in its normal position, his fingers darting into the crack and pulling for all he was worth as Ken continued banging away at the door.

  Whud... whud... whud....

  The sound of his fist thumping against the door sounded not merely loud, but deafening in the space. The crackle of burning floor and ceiling tiles was the only other noise, an eerie and almost painful crepitation that crawled through the empty spaces in the cab like a many-legged insect.

  Whud... whud....

  Something coughed above him.

  Not directly above, I hope.

  He looked down. Hope was still staring at him. Not smiling, not looking with that too-knowing gaze. She appeared almost confused, and Ken chose to take that as a good sign.

  He kept hammering at the door. Three more hits.

  Another cough. Gagging and rasping. The first time he had seen one of the things vomit the acid, the stuff had melted its own flesh. He wondered if that would happen every time; if the things would have to essentially suicide to produce this weapon.

  That’s assuming they’re not already dead.

  The world had gone insane hours ago. The pre-change rules no longer applied.

  The sound of sizzling, the acid-smell of charring plastic and metal drew Ken’s attention outward.

  He looked up. Waiting for the glowing appearance of the acid. Expecting it to fall through the ceiling, to splash over his face, to burn through his skull and fry his brain to mush.

  Nothing.

  Something else was happening, though.

  “You feel that?” whispered Christopher.

  Ken nodded. And banged harder.

  69

  “IT’S STARTING TO HURT!”

  “I know!”

  “Really!”

  “I know!”

  Ken was aware they were no longer whispering. But he didn’t care. He couldn’t let it stop him. He kept hitting the door. Kept pounding at it – with both fists now, even though each hit with his maimed left hand sent shockwaves of pain through his entire body.

  The things were moving again. They sounded surprisingly light, a soughing of leaves overhead, a sighing of wind to the sides and beneath their feet.

  Then more gagging, more coughing. More sizzling.

  More heat.

  The elevator doors were starting to get hot to the touch. Ken had gambled that the things were following the sounds the survivors were making. Had hoped that if he hit the doors, the monsters would spew acid on them – behind them – and maybe melt whatever was holding them locked in place.

  So far it hadn’t worked. The zombies weren’t puking acid directly on their heads, true, so that much had worked out. But the doors were still solidly shut. And getting hot. Acid must be waterfalling its way down the other side of the metal. Eating through from that side.

  The elevator began sliding down.

  Ken looked at Aaron. The cowboy shook his head. Just an inch to the left, an inch to the right, but it was enough to communicate that whatever brakes had been holding the elevator aloft were giving out.

  Christopher was groaning. A low, animal moan. Pain. But he didn’t stop pulling the doors.

  Buck started pulling as well. Shouldered Ken aside and yanked on the doors.

  Something inside the mechanism pinged.

  The doors slid open a few inches.

  Far enough to allow one of the zombies – one that had climbed down from the elevator, perhaps, or maybe one that had been looking through the building proper for them – to heave itself into the elevator.

  70

  THE THING LURCHED FORWARD, and Ken saw Christopher fling himself back. He didn’t shout.

  No one did.

  It was as though the cab was no longer filled with the living, but with the dead. With ghosts who were only going through the motions of life, but stripped of all voice.

  Buck didn’t move away.

  He grabbed a hank of the zombie’s hair. Slammed the thing’s head sideways into the acid-heated elevator doors. Flesh bubbled and the zombie screamed.

  Ken moved forward, not sure what he was going to do, but sure he couldn’t let the thing get into the cab. Sure he couldn’t let it bite Buck.

  The elevator fell. Not a small drop this time. Probably ten feet. Everyone tumbled to the floor.

  And still not a sound.

  Not even when Buck managed to stand and Ken realized the big man was still holding onto the zombie’s hair. Still holding the thing’s snapping head at bay... even though the head was no longer attached to anything else. The body had been left behind, neatly decapitated by the ceiling as the elevator fell.

  Buck held the head at arm’s length, his face almost comically disgusted. The zombie’s teeth opened and closed, its teeth clapping and gnashing. No sound came from its mouth.

  Not breathing.

  No heart.r />
  As Ken watched, the stump of the neck started to froth. Bone and blood and muscle disappeared, sealed over by a waxy yellow substance that reminded him of the stuff the zombies had been secreting in the building where he found his family.

  Before Derek died.

  Don’t think that.

  What the hell is HAPPENING?

  The frothing stopped. The zombie’s eyes rolled around, looking from one person in the cab to another. It was still silent, but its teeth kept snapping.

  Ken heard someone gag. Sounded like Maggie.

  “Guys!”

  Ken tore his eyes from the horrific, impossible vision of death that refused to die.

  Christopher had stood up. Was staring at something. But before Ken could do more than glance at it, the coughing started again. From everywhere.

  71

  KEN GRABBED MAGGIE. She didn’t pull away from him this time, didn’t make any pretense of resistance. She was almost limp, like the sight of the thing that still spit and bit while held aloft by nothing more than Buck’s hand had burned out any resentment she held against Ken.

  He shoved her toward Christopher. The younger man caught her and started moving Ken’s wife toward the gap in the elevator doors. Toward the gap in the outer doors that led to a dark floor beyond.

  There was an offset between the level of the elevator and the level of the floor past it. Not only that, but the outer doors were only open about a foot and a half. Ken couldn’t tell what had opened them, but he wasn’t about to question one of the rare gifts received in all this. Still, the gap was only barely wide enough to allow his wife to exit, shimmying through with Liz at her chest, stepping up to get to the floor that was about a foot above the floor of the elevator.

  And then she was gone. Disappeared in the darkness.

  Ken turned around. “Dorcas!”

  The older woman moved forward. She glanced at Aaron as though hesitant to leave without him. He nodded and gave her a swift shove.