by Chris Fox
37
Satisfaction
Blair couldn’t help but grin as he wallowed in childish delight. He leaned back against the jeep’s cracked leather seat, throwing an arm over the back of Steve’s uncomfortable spot in the middle. A glower descended, clearly making Steve’s displeasure known. It warmed Blair.
For so many years he’d trailed after Steve in college and then later grad school. It had always galled him how easily things came to Steve back then. Steve had the grades. He had the body. He had the women. So many women. He was notorious at parties from Stanford to Berkeley.
Blair had struggled for his grades while gorging on too many late night cafeteria pastries. Steve’s dorky friend. It was embarrassing to think about, but at the same time liberating. He’d just proven to himself that he wasn’t that guy anymore. He’d grown and changed in so many ways. He was Steve’s equal. Hell, maybe his better if he hadn’t just gotten lucky back there.
“Bridget,” Jordan called over his shoulder from the passenger’s seat. “I brought an extra couple clips for that .460 I gave you earlier. Might save your ass if we get into an extended firefight.” He offered a pair of heavy black clips over his shoulder.
“Thanks,” Bridget called back, shifting in her place on the other side of Steve. She took the ammo, tucking the clips into her pants pockets. Blair was impressed by how naturally it seemed to come, the ammo and the weapon belted to her thigh. She’d been spending a lot of time with Jordan and it looked as though it had paid off.
Blair’s hand lay tantalizingly close to the soft curve of her shoulder. He remembered her leaning into him while they stared out across Lake Sonoma or in front of the fire in their first apartment. He smiled, withdrawing his arm and dropping it into his lap to give Steve a little more room. It wasn’t smart treading over those memories, but for the first time in a while they didn’t hurt. Did that mean he’d moved on? To what?
“Eyes front,” Jordan boomed. He unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned out the window, anchoring himself to the chair with his legs. Blair leaned out his own window and shaded his eyes as he scanned the road ahead. What had Jordan spotted?
A vast airport equal to anything back in the States sprawled before them, curiously devoid of zombies. Not a single figure moved between the planes on the tarmac, or anywhere inside the wide windows on both floors of the terminal. That shouldn’t be possible.
“This place should be crawling,” Blair said, ducking back into the car. Bridget and Steve were looking in his direction, but Liz was focused on driving. “Where the hell are all the zombies?”
“We saw Irakesh control them before,” Liz said over her shoulder. The jeep rumbled down a steep hill maneuvering around a battered Volkswagen. She reached out and tugged Jordan back into his seat. The ease of it made Blair shudder. “Jordan, what would you do if you could control a horde of zombies and knew we were coming?”
The taller man pursed his lips as he scanned the tarmac, wheels clearly turning as he assessed.
“I’d concentrate most of them around my objective, as tightly as possible. I might send a significant force to delay the enemy, but only if I could do it without giving away my position. I’m guessing his objective is a hangar here, so that means if we go tarmac to tarmac we’ll find him eventually,” Jordan replied, turning to eye Blair over his sunglasses. “Can you give us a hint? I know you can feel him.”
“Give me a sec,” Blair said, closing his eyes. He reached out, allowing his senses to roam the area. He sought a certain resonance, half feeling half intuition. There. A strong pulsing, like a heartbeat. It was stronger than it had been before and he’d picked it up much more quickly. Did that mean Irakesh was closer?
It does, Ka-Dun. He is near. Be wary. That one is exceedingly dangerous.
The beast’s voice was a welcome presence. It was truly a part of him now. He opened his eyes. “Over there, to the left. It’s one of those warehouse-looking buildings on the far side of the airport.”
“Those are private hangars,” Jordan replied. He removed his glasses, delivering a sobering look as he turned to face the back seat. “One of them is the Mohn facility I told you about. Where the nuke was stored. I’ve only been inside once and I didn’t see much, but the building houses a full Mohn facility.”
Blair supposed even a man with a rank like commander wasn’t privy to everything. It was still odd seeing a gap in Jordan’s knowledge, though.
“You think Irakesh is heading for it? How could he possibly know it even exists?” Liz asked, glancing at Jordan as she guided the jeep onto the road paralleling the airport. It led directly to the private hangars.
“I can steal memories. What if he can, too?” Blair said, chilled by the thought. How old was Irakesh? If the deathless could plunder memories, how much did he know about the world? How many lives had he lived?
“It’s possible,” Jordan allowed, turning to face the road. “There were three people at the Ark who knew about this place. Both were extracted when you attacked. Corporal Yuri Filipov and Major Sanders. Both left by helicopter. If either went down in the CME, I guess Irakesh might have found the wreckage. Maybe he captured one of them or has some other way of learning this location. Either way it seems unlikely he’d show up at the exact spot Mohn was storing a nuke unless he knew about it.”
“So we assume he’s there and that the nuke is his objective,” Liz said. She romped on the gas, sending the jeep jolting forward. The hot wind whipped Blair’s hair about as he scanned the buildings ahead. “Whether it is or not, we go to the one Blair says. I’ll just keep driving until you give us a target.”
Blair stared hard out the window, watching the eight-foot chain fence roll by as they passed the first of the hangars. There were roughly a dozen, lining both sides of the cracked asphalt. A few cars dotted the road, but the place was eerily empty. A tomb to mark the passing of an entire civilization.
The sun hung low in the sky, threatening to sink into the vast Pacific that swallowed the western and southern horizons. It cast a bloody hue over the buildings, a fitting mood for the work they were about to engage in. What would Irakesh do if they finally caught him? What hidden powers did he possess?
“There,” Blair called, stabbing a finger out the window. He could feel the pulse now, strong and clear. “That building on the right. Three down. He’s in there. I’m sure of it.”
Liz gunned it, tires squealing as she jerked the wheel left. They shot through an opening in the fence, the jeep bouncing as a tire hit the curb. The air reeked of burnt rubber and exhaust as they rocketed towards the building Blair had indicated. There wasn’t a single plane, bus, or car in the vicinity.
The wide chrome hangar grew larger as Liz gave the vehicle still more gas. Was she going to slow down? It didn’t matter, not to him. He was still thinking like a human, but he’d become far more than that. Blair blurred.
Liz’s copper hair writhed in the wind like a mass of tiny snakes, fanning backwards on either side of the headrest to his place in the back of the car. Steve was just beginning to turn his head, mouth slowly opening. His chest expanded as he sucked in a breath to say something. Then Blair was gone.
He opened the door, rolling onto the hot asphalt. The jeep lumbered next to him, a snail creeping along. It would take an eternity for it to reach the hangar. He blazed forward, wind ripping at his clothing as he crossed the distance to the small door set into the center of the hangar. Forty-six was emblazoned above it in crisp red letters, as if painted onto the blinding metal surface just the day before.
Blair rolled into a crouch before the door, slowly standing until his face was even with the little window. It too was mirrored. That made sense, of course. Mohn wouldn’t leave an obvious way to see into one of their facilities, especially not one where a nuke was being held. No matter. He cocked his arm back, balling his hand into a tight fist. He blurred forward, punching it through glass in a spray of tiny shards.
A cyclone of dust burst next to him as Steve�
�s black-clad form appeared in a crouch. “We should wait for the others. They can’t move as swiftly as we can and we don’t want to get overrun.”
“Jordan can. Besides, the thing I’ve been chasing for weeks is right behind that door. He could be boarding an aircraft as we speak. You and I need to delay him until the others arrive,” Blair growled, planting his foot against the door. He shifted, kicking with all his might. The door was flung inward, rattling an erratic path across smooth concrete. The tattered remains of his t-shirt still clung to his furry shoulders.
“All right,” Steve agreed, giving a tight nod. “But we’re telling the others this was your idea.”
Blair grinned back, striding into the hangar’s dim silence. His eyes adjusted, revealing several massive shapes. Planes, all of different sorts. There were four of them. The closest was a Cessna about the same size as Garland’s. He paused, straining his senses. He heard nothing, but what did he smell? The cloyingly sweet stench of rotting meat.
Shapes moved in the darkness, shambling towards them in a mindless mass. So many. A wave of low moans broke over them.
“What’s your plan, Blair?” Steve asked, more than a little smug. He shifted, his clothing vanishing into his midnight fur. How the hell did he do that?
“I can feel him that way,” Blair said, pointing towards the farthest of the bulky shapes. It was a massive cargo plane of the kind used in every military movie from the past two decades. Large and squat with four engines and a long ramp extending down the back. “He’s inside that plane. Right now. We just have to get there.”
“That’s going to be a problem,” Steve said, grabbing Blair’s shoulder. He pointed into the darkness. “A big problem.”
The ground shook as a massive figure pounded a path towards them. It towered over the other zombies, a good ten or eleven feet tall and wider than any linebacker he’d ever seen. The thing made Liz-wolf look like a puppy. The giant resembled the other zombies, pale flaccid skin and too-white, razored teeth. Yet where they wore dull, vacant expressions its eyes shone green with cunning. Where they shambled it thundered, massive muscles bunching as it surged towards them. It moved so swiftly, knocking shorter zombies aside like kindling as it approached.
“Move,” Blair roared, rolling out of the thing’s path. It thundered past, leaving the stench of death in its wake. He shot to his feet, turning to Steve. “Get something sharp and stab it in the spine. I’ll distract it.”
“Got it,” Steve shot back, blurring to the door of the Cessna. He yanked it open and disappeared inside.
Blair turned his attention back to the huge deathless just in time to receive a meaty fist to the face. It shattered his jaw, sending bone fragments rattling through his skull. He blanked, coming to in a heap against a wall. There were gaps. Pieces missing. So many things danced out of reach. How badly hurt was he? The ground shook as something large approached. Damn him for a fool. Why hadn’t he waited for everyone?
Give over to me, Ka-Dun. Your mind is damaged. This battle you cannot win.
Blair let go, falling into darkness.
38
Pre-flight
Trevor flipped each of the four switches in rapid succession, enhanced hearing picking up answering clinks from within the bowels of the plane. They were followed by a rush of liquid flowing down what he assumed must be fuel lines. He turned back to the manual in his left hand, scanning the next paragraph.
“I do not understand,” Cyntia complained from the co-pilot’s chair next to him. Her arms were crossed, but left just low enough to frame a generous expanse of cleavage. He was supposed to look, both because of male instincts and because she wanted him to. He didn’t. “Why do you need the book? You said you’d learned how to pilot from the corpse you ate two days ago.”
“He knew how to fly a Cessna,” Trevor answered, only giving her half his attention. He needed to concentrate, but if he ignored her she’d find increasingly annoying methods of getting his attention. That was a growing irritation as the feeding affected her mind. “This is a much larger aircraft and the startup sequence is radically different. I can figure it out, but I need a little time.”
“You’ve run out of time, I’m afraid,” Irakesh said, slipping into the cockpit through the thick steel doorway behind the pilot’s chair. Trevor was willing to bet the door could stop heavy-caliber bullets or maybe even a rampaging werewolf, though he wasn’t eager to find out. Irakesh pointed through the canopy towards a sliver of light coming from the far wall. “The door has been opened and two Ka-Dun have entered. One possesses the access key, this Blair you’ve named him. The other is unfamiliar to me, perhaps an ally acquired during his journey. Either we leave now or prepare ourselves for combat. The thralls I’ve left will not delay them for long, not once his Ka-Ken arrives. Even the Anakim will be little more than a distraction.”
“This thing’s been mothballed. I need at least a few minutes for the self-fueling to complete. I can’t rush this,” Trevor protested, eyeing a long blue cylinder that reminded him of a thermometer. The level slowly rose, indicating the active fuel level to the propellers.
“We don’t have that time,” Irakesh growled, eyes flaring a sickly green. He turned to Cyntia. “Get out there and prowl the shadows. If they make for this plane harry them, but do not let yourself be drawn into a prolonged engagement. The goal is not to win, but to delay.”
“And don’t hurt Liz or Blair,” Trevor added firmly. He swiveled the leather pilot’s chair to face Irakesh.
“Trevor, do you need to be present to oversee this process?” Irakesh asked, nodding toward the array of gauges along the cockpit.
“No, the fueling will take care of itself. It’s all automated,” Trevor replied, eyes narrowing. He didn’t like where this was going.
“Then you will also delay our pursuers,” Irakesh ordered, gesturing towards the open door on the other side of the cockpit.
“No, I won’t,” Trevor replied, meeting the deathless’s gaze. “Our deal is that I won’t fight Blair or Liz.”
“Nor will you,” Irakesh growled. “You will fight their companions. They are sure to have brought them. I will deal with Blair. Cyntia can delay Liz.”
“That’s not our bargain. You said you wouldn’t hurt them,” Trevor shot back, anger rising. He felt heat rising from Irakesh, pressing down on his will, a blatant reminder that he was the master.
“The deal was that I would not ask you to hurt Liz or Blair, nor hurt them myself. You said nothing about asking Cyntia to do it,” Irakesh said, hand shooting out in a blur. He seized Trevor by the neck, hefting him from his seat. “You also said nothing about attacking your sister’s companions. We made a deal, you and I, and you will abide by it. The fact that you no longer care for this deal is immaterial. Either you cooperate or I will force you to kill your sister then feast upon your meager mind myself. Am I making my will understood, thrall?”
“I will kill you for this someday,” Trevor growled. Today the deathless could jerk him about like a puppet, and all he could do was dance. Tomorrow would be a different story.
“No, you will kill me for this,” Irakesh said, caressing the words as an ominous smile bloomed. He extended a hand, tips touching Trevor’s chest. Agony flooded him. His limbs were on fire, throat constricting. Trevor collapsed to his knees, hugging the chair for support. He was dimly aware of Irakesh’s smug voice as the deathless continued. “Calm yourself, Cyntia. I haven’t harmed him.”
Trevor was aware of the dirty-blond form that had sprung into existence next to him. He hadn’t even seen her shift. She stood protectively over him, ready to attack Irakesh, though he could smell her fear.
“What did you do to me?” Trevor asked, wobbling alarmingly as he struggled to his feet.
“It will pass in a moment. Let’s just say I’ve assumed a more direct form of control,” Irakesh’s grin grew wider. He gestured to the cockpit door. “Don’t let me stop you. You both have tasks to accomplish, do you not?”
&
nbsp; What did he do? Trevor asked. He waited for a response from the voice. Nothing. Can you hear me?
The voice was just…gone. Trevor’s gaze locked on Irakesh. The deathless gave a knowing smile.
39
Bad to Worse
Liz flung open the jeep’s door, kicking off the seat with enough force to send the vehicle skidding across the pavement. She landed in a crouch near the doorway her two companions had just disappeared through. Damn Blair and damn Steve for following him. If he wasn’t already dead she was going to kill him. They should have attacked as a group, but those two school kids had rushed blindly ahead.
“Bridget, through the door to the right. I’ll go left. Jordan, follow and watch our backs,” Liz commanded, low voice rumbling like a semi.
Bridget’s silver form leapt through the door, managing majestic if not beautiful. In contrast, Liz probably resembled a very large pit bull whose territory had just been invaded, ungainly but undeniable.
She sprinted through the door, gathering the shadows close about her as she entered the dim. A chorus of familiar low moans echoed through the hangar, obscuring most other noise. The exception was the din of combat coming from somewhere near the center, the area obscured by two bulky planes. She heard the low grunts that were probably Blair and Steve, followed by a hollow boom as something empty was struck with massive force.
It was too dark to see, too crowded to pick out individual noises in the cacophony. A haze of putrid death shrouded everything, making it impossible to track by scent. How the hell was she supposed to find targets in this?
She was aware of Jordan’s shorter blond form entering quietly behind her, the butt of his rifle set against a furry shoulder as the thick barrel scanned the darkness. Sensing sudden movement a couple dozen feet to her left, Bridget lunged from the shadows tearing into a trio of zombies. They went down in a spray of gore, extinguished like candles as more of their brethren surged forward. They seemed endless.
