The Complete Colony Saga [Books 1-7]

by Collings, Michaelbrent

  It all passed in perfect silence. A body did not have to speak to itself to keep itself ordered, synchronized.

  The wedding procession continues.

  Something thudded, and the truck shivered. Christopher jerked his gaze away from the teeming anthills the buildings had become, and came face to face with Ken.

  The once-man's wings were still unfurled, seeming to glow in the night. They reached a good seven or eight feet to either side of him, and Christopher wondered what would happen if the wings clapped shut on one of them.

  Ken's eyes caught the stars above and reflected their light, made it stronger than it been. It was a gaze utterly without love or companionship or even the basic connection of one human to another.

  He wasn't Ken. Hadn't been fully Ken in a long time, and now he was only one more piece of the king.

  The creature looked at them each in turn. His eyes settled on Hope and Lizzy, laying across Christopher's and Theresa's laps. His face grew more rigid. Then the truck lurched again as he pushed off, into the sky. His wings buzzed and he was gone.

  They kept moving toward the center of the city. Whether Amulek knew the way or whether Maggie was directing him, Christopher didn't know. But the truck only slowed when debris made forward motion difficult. At those times the zombies on either side climbed or just leaped over the obstructions, giving the truck the room it needed to keep moving.

  They came to something too big to pass. A bus lay on its side, half-buried by rubble from the collapsed building on the north side of the road.

  Amulek started to slow.

  And the bus moved.

  Christopher – who was again craning his neck to see around the side of the cab – was startled to see the tumbled vehicle start to slide along, apparently of its own accord. Then he made out the dark shapes along its side, saw things clambering around it. The zombies that ran ahead of the truck had seen the barricade and were pulling it out of the way.

  COME.

  Amulek didn't even have to come to a complete stop. Just slowed for a few feet as the bus and then a few large pieces of rubble were pulled out of the way. Then he was able to accelerate again.

  COME.

  The voice in Christopher's mind was louder now. Not a scream, but the deep rumble of a growling lion. Something that spoke of power and hunger and need.

  They kept picking their way through the city. Twice more the zombies ahead yanked obstacles and obstructions out of the way.

  COME.

  Then they were there. Returned to the place from which they had all begun their mad flight.

  The Wells Fargo building loomed.

  And from somewhere inside it, the king called.

  143

  (Hope.)

  The voice was louder. More insistent. Almost... familiar.

  But it was barely enough to keep Christopher from wetting himself as he got out of the truck. His thoughts kept going to the ninth floor of the building that hulked in front of them. To the corridor with the wall made of the dead – a thing he now suspected was the zombies' version of a refrigerator. Something to store food for the king who would rise.

  And who would be hungry. A king who would not eat of the zombies – that would be eating his own flesh – but would consume all the remaining living, like a chick eating its yolk in the days before fully hatching.

  Sustenance before the final, greatest Change.

  His blood congealed at the thought, the idea of climbing by feel up nine floors of a pitch black stairwell, walking into the waiting arms of the king. And at what would come after.

  One thing at a time. Just get out of the truck.

  Getting out was awkward since he still held Hope tightly in his grasp. He had to scoot across the truck bed on the seat of his pants, then wait there until Aaron reached around the tailgate and pulled the latch. The tailgate fell open with a metallic thud that sounded loud in the night, but was consumed instantly by the silence all around them.

  He probably could have gotten out by standing up and clambering over the side, still holding Hope.

  But what if I dropped her?

  This way was safer.

  Safer. That's a laugh.

  Then they were all standing beside the truck. The little girls' gazes were fixed on the building. Even when Christopher turned to make sure everyone was standing with him, Hope craned her neck around him to see the building.

  Not the building. What's inside.

  The look on Hope's face was a parody of the look a little girl – a real little girl – would lavish upon a Christmas tree as it was decorated. A look of anxious waiting. A look that told of presents that would come soon soon soon and yet never quite fast enough.

  Maggie looked torn. Exhausted. Spent. But under all that, under the grime and fear and exhaustion... she looked a bit like she was looking forward to this. Maybe it was just the knowledge that this was the end. That the running would stop. But Christopher didn't think so. He thought that the feelings she had endured since being bound in her own web were winning.

  She wanted to go to the king, too. To kneel at his feet and die or be Changed at his whim.

  Please, God, help us out here.

  God didn't say anything. Maybe he had already given up on this particular planet. Maybe that's all this was: a second flood, not of water but of corrupted flesh.

  (Hope. I am almost awake.)

  Again, the thought/feeling gave Christopher the strength to move forward. A first step, which he thought would be all he had left. But as he took that first step, he felt Theresa join him. Then Aaron stood on his other side, supporting Maggie. Amulek took an extra step so he walked ahead, a ready protector.

  "Come back, Amulek."

  Amulek looked back at Christopher, a look of surprise on his face. Then he nodded and fell into step on the other side of Theresa.

  They all stood in that line for a moment. Five abreast, with two once-girls held between them.

  Christopher felt –

  (Hope.)

  – sudden strength and knew it came only partly from the voice in his head. The rest of the sensation was born here, in the midst of the survivors. The ones who had lost so much, yet carried on.

  Aaron: he had lost Dorcas. A loss that came only hours after meeting her, yet one that Christopher could tell had wounded him as deeply as if the cowboy had known the tough farm woman for his whole life.

  Theresa: she had lost Elijah, had left her brother behind, never to see him again.

  Amulek: he had lost Mohonri Moriankumr. Lost a grandfather that had clearly given him everything, from worldly sustenance to a fighting spirit and a culture that would have guided him through life.

  Christopher: he had lost his daughter twice – once in the rubble of a destroyed hospital, once more when she was Changed and tried to kill him.

  And Maggie... she had lost more than any of them. Lost her son when he sacrificed himself to save her. Lost her husband to a flurry of bullets and then to a stranger, uglier kind of Change. Lost her daughters to the call of the king.

  And as he looked at her, he saw she was losing herself to that call as well.

  They stepped forward.

  The door of the building opened.

  144

  A SLICE OF BRIGHTNESS caught the gleam of moon and stars and bounced it toward the survivors. It looked strange to Christopher, too thin to be human yet definitely moving.

  Then it stepped the rest of the way out of the door that led to the Wells Fargo building's lobby. Christopher saw what it was.

  The thing was even more frightening in the dark shadow of a dead city than it had been when clambering after them on a crane lit by flame. More than six feet tall, one side of its body had been scorched to a black char at the time, while the other side had remained horribly unmarked – perfection that made the death on its other half stand out and seem all the more evil.

  Now, the monster that had bitten Derek – that had accelerated what happened to the little boy in the webb
ing – stood before them. The half of its body that had been burnt now had a coat of yellow over it. Something to support it, perhaps heal it, perhaps to aid in the metamorphosis that so many of the creatures had undergone. Christopher had seen so many types of the creatures at this point that he wouldn't be surprised if the one before them was turning slowly into Santa Claus beneath that dull yellow coat.

  The thing walked toward them, and Christopher figured it was going to be their guide, going to lead them to the king. The creatures were all part of the king, but it seemed like there was still some kind of hierarchy. Some, like Ken, seemed to be favored, to have more singular faculties.

  It's going to take us up.

  But he was wrong. The thing didn't gesture for them to follow, didn't turn to lead them to the ninth floor. It kept stepping forward. Kept moving, to allow what was behind it room to exit the building as well.

  Christopher had to stifle a scream when he saw what came next. And after that, and after that.

  Aaron coughed. It sounded like he was trying not to sob. Amulek went so rigid that Christopher could feel the tension rolling off him from four feet away.

  Theresa did scream.

  This is too much. I can't. I can't.

  The first thing that came out was Carina. Christopher hadn't really known if he had destroyed her mind when he buried an axe in her head, but apparently he hadn't penetrated bone to the mind beneath, because here was his little baby, crawling on hands and feet in a stride that was half insectile, half lupine. The slow, nearly sideways crawl of a beast approaching wounded prey. Her face was still mostly gone. The beautiful features had been replaced by a pair of slits that crossed her small face in a blood-red "x." Then the slits widened to gashes, and then opened completely to reveal an eight-sided mouth of buzzing teeth, of saws that could shred anything.

  He had wondered, in the back of his mind, if when he split her head with the axe he had sent her into the madness that took the creatures. Now he knew – knew that his cut must not have cut through the skull to the receptor-mind below. And he didn't know if that was a blessing or a curse.

  Christopher looked away from her. He had to. To keep looking would be to fall into madness.

  Behind Carina, another form: Dorcas. The farm woman had lost herself, Changed to a zombie when she lagged behind to protect the group. She walked forward with the same grace that Carina –

  (not Carina, not anymore)

  – had demonstrated. Aaron made that strange, gagging cough again. Muttered something under his breath – a prayer or a curse or a mix of both. Dorcas wore a wide grin, the mirror of the girls'. When Aaron made that strangled sound, the grin grew wider.

  Behind Dorcas walked another creature. This one was bent in strange ways, its body nearly split in half by a gash that went from right hip to the middle of its chest. Yellow wax coated the mortal wound. More on its throat, which looked like it had been torn out. Even the face was a mess. Only one eye stared out from behind chewed flesh and patches of yellow.

  But Christopher could see that it wore body armor with BPD written across it. And knew from Theresa's scream that this was her brother. Left behind, thought dead.

  But they had found him – perhaps only an instant before death. But soon enough for the Change to spare his life and at the same time steal what humanity had remained.

  Out stepped one more. One more nightmare, one more surprise.

  Mo.

  The Māori warrior must have been bitten soon after the group left him. And suddenly Christopher wondered if the zombies hadn't been keeping the truck moving slowly to prevent escape. He thought perhaps it was to allow the old man that had been so wonderful and was now just a skin worn by evil to run ahead. To be here, to show them all... this.

  Aaron had posited that some of what the zombies did was psychological as well as physical torture. This was proof he had been right. Christopher suddenly feared not only for his body, for the loss of his mind, but for the entirety of his soul. He was peering at damnation: an infinity of being forced to do what should never be done; not a loss of self, but a loss of all free will.

  This was what the king wanted them to know, wanted them to see –

  YOU HAVE LOST ALL. ALL IS MINE. ALL IS FOR ME TO POSSES. DEVOUR.

  DEVOUR.

  DEVOUR.

  DEVOUR.

  I COME.

  145

  THE DOOR THE OTHER creatures had come out of was still open. Even so, Christopher got the impression of it opening again. A curtain drawing aside to reveal the newest player on this stage.

  The king.

  It was still Derek. Still the frame and form of a boy. But anyone who had an IQ over six would have been able to see that this wasn't a mere child. A single look in his eyes was enough to scare any impression of youth screaming away.

  The king wore a smile. But it was as unnatural and unnerving as the look in his eyes. It was open so wide it extended past the limits of a human jaw. The lips were drawn so tight they were nothing but bloodless lines on a face stretched parchment-thin. They curved up so high they nearly touched the once-boy's – the new-king's – earlobes. The teeth gleamed in the light, small and perfect the way only the teeth of a child can be.

  The smile, that rictus of death and madness, never waned as the king turned his small head, looking at each person in the group in turn. Amulek took a half step back when the king focused his gaze on him, like the look was a physical assault. Theresa shuddered when it came her turn, her body shaking so hard Christopher could feel the vibration against his arm. Christopher himself felt like vomiting, and he heard Aaron issue that coughing gag, the sound of a man trying to hold his faculties, physical and mental, in check.

  When the king looked at Maggie, she just moaned and sobbed a single, hitching retch of a cry.

  The king's smile grew wider when he heard the sound.

  His eyes turned back to the center of the group. Christopher steeled himself to receive the brunt of the stare. But the king's eyes didn't fall on him. They moved instead to what he held, sliding over Hope's shape and then looking at Lizzy.

  The girls wore smiles that mirrored that of the king. Too wide, too many teeth. Crescent moons that slashed through the dark sky of their expressions.

  Hope started shifting in Christopher's arms. Writhing. And he realized that what he felt wasn't just the movement of a child struggling to be set down. It was a rippling. Skin changing in his hands. Bone and muscle shifting, flesh turning to gel and then hardening in all the wrong places.

  He didn't look.

  COME.

  The call was no longer directed at the survivors. Christopher felt it surge around him like a hot stream, but the center was not his to feel. It was directed at Lizzy and Hope. At the queens.

  Hope fell away from Christopher's arms. One moment he had her, the next she had slid from his grasp the way a slug might slide from his fingers. Feet and hands touched down on the pavement, but even that sound was wrong. Firm hands turned to fleshy pads, then to something else, more primal and alien to any universe in which Christopher cared to exist.

  He wanted to look away. Away from the king, away from the children. Couldn't. He was frozen. The terror of the moment and the sheer force of the king overpowered him.

  He had been close to the king before. But that had been earlier. A king still growing, still coming into his own.

  Now... this was the King, and the King would not be denied.

  (hope)

  The voice that had sounded in his mind was fading. And suddenly Christopher wondered if he had misinterpreted the word all this time. Wondered if whatever was behind it wasn't counseling hope, but was instead trying to convince itself there was any reason for that hope at all.

  Great. We've followed a pep talk. And it wasn't even for us.

  (hope)

  The word/feeling was almost gone.

  The King smiled wider. Bones shifted and crackled.

  COME.

  COME.

>   The two things that had once been children stepped forward. As they did, there was the humming buzz of great wings, and Ken dropped to earth. He gathered the things up in his arms. Walked toward the King with a stride that grew steadily more fluid as his body flowed around that of the girls.

  A moment later, the line of the survivors broke. Maggie stepped forward.

  She, too, followed the call of the King.

  146

  CHRISTOPHER WANTED to stop Maggie from moving forward. Wanted to scream at her and beg her to stay with them, stay with the survivors, stay with what was left of her sanity. But he was still held fast by a combination of fear and the simple presence of the King. Not an earthly monarch, nothing so mean or so simple as that. This was a thing that had conquered worlds. That had eaten universes, and would continue to consume still more until all were undone and all were him.

  The one moment Christopher tried to move, to will his limbs forward, the King looked at him. Any thought of movement faded. There was only trembling, shivering in terror before darkness incarnate.

  YOU RESISTED ME. YOU KILLED MY FAMILY. YOU WILL SUFFER.

  Christopher didn't understand what the King's thoughts meant. As far as he knew, the queens were here – and as though in a monarchical retinue, Maggie and Ken added the presence of a royal father, a royal mother.

  The King's thoughts brushed his mind. Brought images of Buck and of Buck's mother. Buck's mother had been killed by Aaron – an act of mercy when she was mortally injured. Buck had been ground to nothing by the rock crusher at the quarry.

  THEY WERE MINE.

  And Christopher understood: like Maggie and the children, Buck and his mother had been claimed by the King. They had worn swaddling clothes of alien silk, encircled and changed into something different that would have taken them to the King in his own due time.

  MINE. BUT LOST TO ME AND MINE NO MORE.

  YOU. WILL. SUFFER.

  Christopher fell to his knees, bent under the wrath and hatred of the King. Theresa tumbled forward at the same time. A moment later so did Amulek and Aaron – the proud warriors the last to bow down before what stood before them.