by Chris Fox
He’d been such a curious boy, and that had not changed when he came to manhood. His actions here should bring no surprise. Yet she felt the sting of it keenly. This young one, Blair, had some excuse for his behavior. He’d grown up in a decadent world without the horrors her people had faced. But for Ahiga, there could be no forgiveness. His dalliance had cost them everything.
The Mother blurred from the mouth of the tunnel, leaping skyward. She soared into the air, weightless for an endless moment. Then she plummeted into the ranks of her enemies, like a star. They brought their curious weapons to bear, these guns. Such weapons allowed the unblooded to think of themselves as warriors, but the weapons conveyed neither discipline nor skill.
She danced among them, tearing out throats and ripping off limbs. At first the multitude rushed toward her. They fired their weapons, wounding only their allies as she flowed around each attack. More and more fell, cut down as she glided through their ranks.
The Mother lost count of the number she’d slaughtered, instead focusing on the thrill of the hunt and the taste of hot blood and warm flesh. On and on she killed, leaving a sea of bodies in her wake.
Then they broke, scrambling in all directions for the imagined safety of the hills. She shattered their illusions, teaching the fools the folly of their actions. She blurred from target to target, slaughtering with all the fury she could muster. All her anger, her frustration. All her disappointment, her despair. She channeled them into death, burning them away as she killed.
After a time, her pace slowed. There were very few foes now, scattering into the night like rabbits before the wolf. Yet she could see far more keenly under the moon than they realized. They could not hide. They were too slow to run. The few remaining would-be warriors stank of fear and panic. They were broken, yet she gave them no mercy. They had to die, every last one. Not just for their sins, but because more champions would be needed. More were always needed when the deathless came.
She leapt atop the southern slope of the Ark, scanning the horizon. Four figures had reached a narrow trail leading to a ridge above. She would deal with them first. Two more hobbled away from the lip of a ridge that had been covered in ice during the Mother’s time.
One was dressed in the same uniforms as the rest of the soldiers. The other, she recognized from Blair’s memories. Trevor, their ally and a respectable warrior for this age. He would need to be culled eventually, but not this night. He would be accorded much honor when his time came, not be part of such a tasteless slaughter.
She blurred to the bottom of the trail the four frightened rabbits fled down, peering up at the nearest soldier. The man had dropped his rifle and smelled sharply of urine. She blurred again, disemboweling the wretch. Before his body could fall, she did the same to the second and then the third. The fourth had turned before she took his throat.
The Mother scanned the area around the Ark. Incredibly that had been the last foe. She’d slaughtered them all, every last unblooded mongrel. Relief flooded her. The Ark was again hers, despite the tremendous cost. Now it was time to return and see what could be salvaged, both of the Ark and of her new Ka-Dun.
82
Answers
Blair emerged from the tunnel in time to hear Jordan’s final scream, slack-jawed as the Mother ripped out the Commander’s throat. She savaged the armor like it was cloth, wrenching away a mouthful of flesh and metal. Jordan’s sudden death crashed into Blair, knocking him to his knees. He could only stare.
For what felt like months, Jordan had been a bogeyman dogging his every step. The Terminator sent to track him down. Bare minutes ago that very man was converging on their position with an unstoppable army. Blair had been certain the werewolves were going to die, though no one had given voice to that belief. Yet now the man that had driven them to despair had, himself, been killed. Effortlessly.
The Mother paused near Liz, speaking in a tone decidedly friendlier than the one he’d received. Then she blurred back to the surface. He almost felt bad for the Mohn soldiers. How long would they last? Three minutes? Five, maybe? He only hoped that she’d leave Trevor alone. Not that he could stop her if she decided to take his life. He doubted all of them together and in top form could do that.
“Liz, are you all right?” Cyntia’s thick Brazilian accent came from just a few feet away. She materialized in human form, unabashedly naked. The woman crouched next to Liz, cradling her head with a surprising tenderness.
“Well, my intestines were blown all over the walls,” Liz wheezed, not attempting to rise. “I think I’ll live, though.”
“Not sure I can say the same,” Blair said. He put his back to the obelisk near Liz and Cyntia, sliding down into a sitting position. He was too tired to appreciate that both women were naked. “Pretty sure I may have pissed her off, and I don’t think that’s going to do anything good to my life expectancy.”
“If she comes after you, she’ll have to go through me first,” came an unexpected voice. He looked up to find Bridget before him, also naked. She was covered in blood and soot, her hair matted to the side of her face.
“You know,” he said, feeling a little light headed, “this is starting to look like the intro to a bad porn film.”
Bridget sat heavily a few feet away, rolling her eyes as she did. “I’m too tired to slap you.”
“I’ll do it as soon as I can get up,” Liz called weakly.
A chorus of screams began in the distance. The Mother had begun her grisly work.
“I almost feel bad for them,” Blair said, staring at the tunnel that led to the surface.
“I don’t,” Cyntia said, tone sour. “They deserve what they get for killing Adolpho and Elmira.”
“Oh, God. I’m so sorry,” Liz said, lifting her head from Cyntia’s lap. Cyntia forced it gently back down.
“We are at war. Death happens, and I must become accustomed to it,” Cyntia replied, lapsing into a sullen silence.
“Bridget, what happened to Steve and Sheila?” Blair asked because he wanted to change the subject and because he was genuinely curious.
“Steve…didn’t make it,” Bridget said, avoiding his gaze. She looked back after a moment. “Sheila is fine. It was her that got me out of where Mohn was holding me. She’s with your friend. Trevor, he said his name was.”
The screams above were less frequent and more distant. Tension thickened. No one mentioned the reason why. The Mother would be returning soon.
“She’s alive. That’s wonderful news,” Blair said. It was a bright spot among all the horrors they’d faced. He caught Liz’s eye. She was watching him curiously. “Sheila was part of my research team. She’s also one of my closest friends.”
Everyone turned toward the tunnel as if some silent signal had been given. No one dared speak. The terror of a single question silenced them. What would the Mother do when she returned?
Then she was there. The Mother stepped from the shadows near the central obelisk, just a few feet from their little circle. She’d returned to her human form, so innocuous at first glance. That illusion faded the moment anyone met her ancient gaze. Not only had she not torn her clothing during her transformation, but also the strange garments were completely clean. Not so much as a single spec of dirt or blood disgraced her image.
“The dawning of the next age is upon us,” the Mother said, looking to Liz. She didn’t even glance at Blair. “Our sun changes, beginning the next phase of the cycle. It will remain this way for years beyond counting, fueling the strength of the deathless. Even now they rise among every people across this world. You must be prepared to face them.”
“I’m in no shape to walk, much less fight,” Liz said, though not forcefully enough to suggest a challenge. Blair doubted anyone else was stupid enough to speak to the Mother the way he had.
“Impertinent for one so young. I like your spirit,” the Mother said, with a wolfish grin. She settled into a cross-legged position not far from Liz and Cyntia. “Your pack needs time to recuperate.
Let us use that time wisely. You must have a great many questions. Ask, and I will answer as I can.”
“I think Blair should be the one to ask the questions,” Liz said, nodding in his direction. Her gaze held a respect that made him sit up straighter. “He’s the one who discovered this place and learned your language, the one who risked everything to make it back here. I think you owe him answers, not me.”
“You’d defer to this male?” the Mother asked, eyebrows rising. Then she gave a slight smile, one she shared with all of them. “This truly is a different time. Your ways are strange, but in this I will honor them. Ask your questions, Ka-Dun. Hear them answered.”
“Your memories. That was you discovering an Ark, wasn’t it? One somewhere in Europe,” he asked, keeping his tone as humble as possible. He was talking to a survivor from a past age, one who could answer so many questions about the origin of man. Assuming she didn’t kill him out of hand.
“I did. My people were being exterminated by a rival tribe. We fled and had no choice but to seek shelter in the Valley of Hidden Voices, a place our shamans had long said was cursed. There we found the Ark, as you saw. We were ushered inside, where I learned the secrets of the place,” the Mother explained. She heaved a heavy sigh. “I lack the time to tell you the full story, but it was there that I made my greatest mistake. I helped craft the evil that would become the deathless.”
“Why?” Blair asked, aghast.
“To save the man I love, the man from my memories. Osiris,” she explained.
Bridget gave a low squawk of recognition, eyes like saucers as she met Blair’s gaze. He nodded at her and then turned back to the Mother. “What are the Arks?”
“I do not believe anyone can fully answer that question. We do not know how old they are, or who built them originally. But each contains a vast store of knowledge and incredible power,” the Mother said. She began toying with a lock of her hair. The gesture was childlike, completely out of place on what was, for all intents and purposes, a goddess.
Then she rose abruptly, glancing at the tunnel. “Do you feel that? It begins.”
Blair did feel it, a tingling that washed over his entire body. It could only be one thing. “It’s the second wave. Our world is ending.”
Epilogue
“Well, I guess they succeeded,” Trevor said, still processing the slaughter in the valley below. A silver werewolf who moved faster than Blair and hugged the shadows even more tightly than Liz flowed between soldiers. Wherever she passed, people died. Some tried to fight, but it didn’t save them.
“She’s terrifying,” Sheila said, leaning heavily on the rock she was using as a seat. Even under the thin moonlight, she looked paler by the minute. “That is the most terrifying thing I have ever seen. Those men don’t have a chance. Trevor, what if she comes after us?”
He considered the question for several moments. “Then we die. There’s no way we can outrun her, and we certainly can’t fight.”
“Out of sight, out of mind. I’m ready to head down to that car you were talking about,” Sheila suggested, a pleading note creeping into her tone.
“You aren’t getting an argument from me,” Trevor agreed. No sense in drawing this Mother’s attention. He picked up his Barrett, offering his free hand to Sheila. He doubted she’d be able to make the walk by herself, especially in the dark. “Here, take my arm. I’ll guide you. It’s not very far, just a few hundred yards. We’ll be there in no time.”
Sheila nodded gratefully but saved her breath for walking. Picking their way down the mountainside in the dark was agonizingly slow, but it was still better than the alternative. Long minutes later they finally reached the little dirt track Liz had jokingly called a road. The battered pair of pickup trucks waited in the moonlight. Despite how tiny the vehicles were, compared with their testosterone-fueled American equivalents, they were almost as wide as the path.
“There you go,” Trevor said, helping Sheila into the passenger seat of the closest truck. She gave a relieved sigh as she settled into the torn seat. Maybe it was the light coming from the cab of the truck, but she looked whiter than any sheet.
“Thank you, Trevor. I couldn’t have done that on my own on a good day, and this is not my best day ever,” she said, panting rapidly. He felt the altitude himself, but he was in pretty good shape.
“Wait, do you see that?” Her attention had turned to the southern horizon. Her eyes widened.
Trevor spun to see what she was looking at. “My God. It’s started.”
Yellow and scarlet ribbons of fire veined across the sky, spiderwebbing their way closer with incredible speed. It was like the Aurora Borealis on an indescribably massive scale but much, much more dangerous. They were nowhere near the poles, so they would miss the brunt of the radiation, but electronics the world over were about to be destroyed.
Sheila began to thrash and shake. It looked like some sort of epileptic seizure. Crap. She might bite off her own tongue and bleed out if he didn’t get something between her teeth. He glanced around until he spotted a dead branch from a scrubby bush. That should work. He picked it up, breaking off both sides until he held an eight-inch length.
He leaned on Sheila’s lap, pinning her as best he could while he tried to force the stick into her mouth. She thrashed wildly, making the task incredibly difficult. “Come on, Sheila, don’t fight me. This is for your own good.”
Sheila began coughing. White goop oozed from her mouth. What the hell was that? A gob landed on his arm, and he gagged in disgust.
Then Sheila struck like a snake, seizing his hand in her mouth. She bit down hard, ripping off a hunk of flesh between his thumb and forefinger. He jerked away from her, pulling a length of gauze from his cargo pants. The sky bathed them in a hellish undulating glow, brighter than full noon, though the color was off. Everything was too white.
“What the goddamned fuck, Sheila?” Trevor growled. His hand was on fire.
Sheila staggered jerkily to her feet, lumbering in his direction. Her eyes were milky white, arms outstretched. She looked just like a…fucking zombie. Trevor acted with reflexes honed in preparation for just this occasion. He ripped his combat knife from its sheath around his calf, dancing on the balls of his feet as Sheila closed.
As soon as she was close enough, he grabbed her arm, jerking her toward him. She tripped, falling heavily to the ground. Then he was on her, jabbing the knife into her skull. He twisted it, jerking the blade free and staggering back. She flopped to the ground and twitched once before she lay still.
He punched the hood of the pickup. Sudden rage flooded him. This couldn’t be happening. Not to him, of all people. He’d spent years preparing for something like this. “Are you fucking serious?” he shouted to the universe. “The zombie apocalypse starts, and I get bitten in the first thirty seconds? Really?”
Trevor’s hand began to tremble. He held it up near the light inside the truck’s cab. Black veins had already begun crawling up his wrist.
No Mere Zombie
Deathless Book 2
Prologue
11,000 BCE
Africa
Irakesh shook the chill rain from his cloak, handing it to the pale-faced thrall by the door. The frail old man gave a bow, leathery skin sagging around sunken eyes. Such an embarrassment. The worthless servant was a stark contrast to the majesty of this place, one of the oldest structures in the world. Ptah’s temple predated all others save the Ark, or so Irakesh had been taught.
He strode up the wide marble entryway, ignoring the handful of thralls who peered anxiously around columns. None were brave enough to challenge his passing. Not that he expected them to. They were not warriors and the na-kopesh riding at his hip was a warrior’s weapon. A Sunsteel sword, one of only a handful in existence. An honor no other deathless his age had ever been accorded.
Irakesh moved confidently down a side passageway, idly gazing upon the elaborate murals depicting their creator’s earliest feats. Such a pity that Ptah’s greate
st works were long behind him. The ancient deathless should have had the grace to take his own life, rather than fade into obscurity. Yet it was to Irakesh’s benefit that he still lived, if their existence could be called life.
He finally stopped before a wide chamber with a low stone table. His target sat alone, hunched over a faded bronze chalice. Irakesh sat down across from him, surveying his target. Ptah’s dark-skinned face was made for scowls. Excessive unibrow, crooked nose. His shimmering white cloak was rumpled and the golden lion clasp needed time with a rag and polish. His thralls were doing a poor job attending to his appearance, though from the look of the wretches they themselves were just as worn.
From the way Ptah leaned into the table, he’d already enjoyed several cups of fermented blood. He didn’t even glance up when Irakesh sat, though Irakesh could have been an assassin dispatched by a more powerful deathless.
Yes, he could see why this once great man had fallen from the lofty heights of power. Deathless Ptah, a man older than he by millennia, yet one who’d never managed to accumulate a power base. He was forever trapped at middling rank, his monumental creations little more than ancient tales, eclipsed by those like Irakesh, who were bold enough to take risks at a young age and thus catch the attention of more powerful masters.
Careful, my host. Do not underestimate him. He is old but cunning. The Risen’s voice buzzed like a fly in the corner of his mind. Irakesh ignored it.
Ptah looked up from his chalice, swirling the thick scarlet contents. “What do you want, boy? Let me enjoy this age’s final weeks in peace.”
“My apologies for the intrusion, mighty Ptah. I’m hoping our meeting will be both brief and profitable,” Irakesh assured him, all smiles. He rested a friendly arm on the stone table. “Ra asks your cooperation.”
