by Chris Fox
The crack of a gunshot brought him back to the present. Trevor was already cocking the rifle for another shot. Blair glanced towards Bridget, but she’d already disappeared into the shadows. Trevor must be firing at Steve, who was hidden behind a red SUV. That wasn’t going to stop Trevor’s rifle, but it might buy him time to think.
Blair dropped to one knee, crouching behind a shrub as he studied Irakesh. This was his shot. The deathless was engaged in shaping Blair couldn’t begin to understand. He focused his will, gathering the strength within him. It was as much resolving to succeed as it was drawing on any energy the virus may have provided. He would do this.
He thrust a spike at Irakesh’s mind, hurling it with more strength than any he’d been capable of before. The blow struck something, a potent shield that rebounded his attack back through his own mind like a towering wave in a disaster movie. He collapsed, fire searing every nerve. Blair lay there, panting as he waited for the agony to subside. Sweat poured from him, drenching his fur.
Blair forced himself to his feet, legs trembling at the idea of supporting his weight. What the hell had Irakesh done?
He has fully linked with the Ark, Ka-Dun. It shields his mind. Were you near the Mother’s Ark, you would gain the same protection.
“You couldn’t have mentioned that before I made the attempt? How can I get through it?” he growled through gritted teeth. The pain was less, but still fiery.
Only the strongest shapers could pierce a mind block. You could seek to test your strength again, but if you fail it could kill us.
There had to be another way. But what could he do? If he couldn’t attack Irakesh mentally, that left only one option: overwhelming force.
Blair rose to his feet and howled, a throaty note that echoed over the water.
Irakesh spun to face him, eyes alight with mischief. He met Blair’s gaze and smiled.
58
Sacrifice
Bridget slid into the shadow left by one of the wide blue poles holding up the white awning over the ferry building. A hundred and twenty yards separated her from the shore where Irakesh stood, putting her in the very last place they’d expect. Two ferries rocked slowly back and forth in the harbor before her, empty save for a few gulls that occasionally darted in to snatch a piece of flesh from one of the shambling corpses.
She’d originally planned to use those to leapfrog over to Irakesh, but thanks to whatever old world shaping he’d managed she no longer needed to. He’d literally parted the sea, and the gap that he’d created passed a mere forty feet in front of her. Bridget gazed over the railing into the resulting gap, jaw slack from the power Irakesh had displayed. The muddy path he’d exposed was littered with puddles, debris and all the other crap you’d expect to find at the bottom of a bay that saw thousands of commuters a day, everything from the cracked case of a Blackberry phone to faded Coke cans. Only one fish flopped around, a long silver thing she’d never be able to identify.
Irakesh spun suddenly, drawing her attention. He faced the hill where Blair crouched, half hidden behind a shrub. Blair shot to his feet, arms splayed out and shaking as if he were being electrocuted. Then he fell bonelessly to the grass, flopping about as helplessly as the fish. She leaned over the railing, extending an arm.
No. Blair had been very specific in his instructions. More than that he’d been right. They had to stop Irakesh. If she went to Blair now she’d reveal her position and squander her only chance to get the drop on Cyntia. That was the only way she’d come out on top in a fight with the hulking bitch. Cyntia crouched on shore next to Trevor like a loyal dog, the glittering box a toy given by her master.
Ka-Ken, I must warn you. This one is beyond our strength. She has feasted upon the flesh of her own, the flesh of nascent deathless. The madness festers within her, but it affords her a fevered strength.
“Can she be killed?” Bridget asked, hopping atop the railing and gathering her legs under her.
Such a feat is possible, but exceedingly difficult.
“Then I’m going to kill her,” Bridget said, leaping into the gap. The wind whipped around her as she fell, cool and damp and smelling of salt.
She fell between twin walls of water, which grew darker as she plummeted. Shapes moved within them, the occasional fish and things she couldn’t so easily identify. Sharks maybe. Bridget turned her attention to the ground, which was rapidly approaching. She bent her knees, rolling with the impact. A tremendous geyser of mud fountained around her as she sank several feel into the sticky silt.
She disengaged herself from a tangled piece of seaweed, shifting into the shadows afforded by the towering walls of water. Irakesh had begun moving down the path, walking boldly through the mud as if it were a plush carpet. Behind him lumbered Cyntia, her gore-coated snout elevated as she whiffed for a scent. Bridget’s stealth was complete though. Cyntia would find nothing, not until Bridget was ready to strike.
Trevor remained on the beach, back facing the gap. He must be covering their retreat to slow Blair or Steve, if the latter was actually brave enough to enter the fight.
Irakesh approached, with Cyntia just a few feet behind. Bridget melted deeper into shadow, pressing her back into the frigid water. It hit her like—well, like a bucket of ice water. She refused to move, to even breathe. Irakesh passed by, moving at a fast walk. His shimmering white clothing remained pristine, and the sword at his hip rode there as if an extension of his body.
Then Cyntia was even with her.
Bridget leapt, gliding into the air behind Cyntia. She extended her claws, dashing down in a quick set of blows that sprayed blood from the artery she had severed in Cyntia’s ruined throat. It wouldn’t stop her, but hopefully it would slow her. Bridget planted her feet on Cyntia’s shoulders, flipping backwards with a powerful kick that sent the larger female face first into the muddy ocean floor. Cyntia slid forward, the silver box slipping from her arms and sliding into the wall of water where it fell on its side.
Bridget was tossed forward, staggered by a blow from behind. Something flared in her shoulder, and she raised a hand to probe the wound. It came back bloody. An instant later the crack of a gunshot followed the bullet, echoing through the strange corridor created by Irakesh. Trevor had entered the fight. That had to mean Steve was either dead or had retreated. Fucking coward. How could she ever have chosen him over Blair? As mistakes went she couldn’t think of a more legendary one.
Bridget rolled with the blow, coming to her feet to the left of Cyntia. The larger werewolf was also rising to her feet, scarlet eyes blazing as she bared her fangs. Her blond fur was covered in a mix of blood and mud, painting her into an even more gruesome caricature of the noble creature she’d been just a few weeks ago.
“I’m going to feast on your heart, you little bitch,” Cyntia roared, launching a swipe that very nearly took Bridget’s throat. She fell backwards, allowing the blow to pass over her. It saved her, but left her open for her opponent’s next attack.
Cyntia fell on top of her, jaw snapping near her face as her tremendous weight pushed Bridget deep into the mud. Bridget seized Cyntia’s shoulders, forcing her back. The putrid breath nearly made her gag, and she could see bits of rotting flesh still stuck between teeth. Cyntia snapped again, nipping her cheek. It burned like acid.
Bridget roared, flipping backwards as panic flooded her. The slippery mud negated Cyntia’s weight advantage, and she tossed the larger werewolf into the mud again. She didn’t hesitate, flowing into the shadows as Cyntia regained her footing.
“Come out, you tiny little bitch,” Cyntia roared, dropping into a crouch and scanning the darkness. “You can’t hide forever. I will find you.”
Then Trevor was there, the first time she’d gotten a good look at him. If you didn’t look too closely he looked like a redneck ginger, with a freckled face and a dirty ball cap. His eyes gave lie to that illusion though, deep putrid green just like Irakesh. He cradled a rifle loosely in his arms, joining the deathless bastard in his shim
mering white garments that somehow remained untouched by travel or even the mud.
“The black werewolf didn’t engage, but Blair is recovering. He’ll be here shortly. We should keep moving,” Trevor said, slowly panning his gaze over the dark water. He must know she was there, but didn’t seem alarmed. She couldn’t detect panic or fear in his scent, but then the same was true for Irakesh. Maybe they didn’t have emotions, or if they did maybe they weren’t detectable in the same way that human emotions were.
“I agree. The Ka-Dun is no longer a threat, but I do not take chances,” Irakesh said, approaching the box. His garments flowed in the frigid breeze now winding through the corridor. “Trevor, carry the box. Cyntia will need her hands free.”
“What about Bridget? I want to eat her heart,” Cyntia roared, taking a hostile step towards the deathless. Madness lurked in that awful gaze.
“Follow Trevor,” Irakesh ordered, waving a hand dismissively as he started deeper up the corridor threading through the sea. “The Ka-Ken will come to you. I assure you this is so.”
Cyntia roared again, slashing at a dark shape that flitted along the edge of the wall, just inside the water. She came back with a small white shark, ripping its throat out with the savage intensity she’d no doubt prefer to use on Bridget.
Bridget peered back up the corridor towards the shore, still not too distant. Nothing moved. If Blair were able to come, he’d already be here. He might be wounded or even dying. That was the only thing that would have kept him away. He cared about her. She knew it. Maybe it wasn’t the love they’d once shared, but he was at least—what? Maybe fond of her? How stupid to even worry about such things right now. But there didn’t seem to be any other time. Everything was always a crisis.
Bridget shook her head, turning back to Cyntia. Blair wasn’t coming. Steve certainly wasn’t. He’d leave her to die without a second thought. It had always been that way, though she’d been naive in the beginning. He had kept her because she was pretty and because she had a little clout in the anthropology community. Not because he loved her. Steve was too narcissistic for love. Fondness maybe. That fondness had evaporated over time, a little each day like a puddle drying up.
She was alone. Should she run? Blair would tell her that it was okay if she did. He’d assure her she’d had no other choice, that she had to flee. There was nothing she could do. But somewhere in his gaze she knew what she’d find. Disappointment. She’d faced it once, the night she’d finally confessed her sins and told him she was leaving him. She didn’t have the strength to see that gaze again, not ever.
Bridget dropped into a crouch, eyes narrowing as she stalked her prey. Irakesh moved at a fast walk, the water parting thirty or forty yards ahead of him as he advanced across the floor of the bay. Trevor trotted beside him, rifle now slung over his shoulder on a strap so his arms were free to carry the box. She recognized the weapon, a .308. Jordan had shown her how to use one.
Cyntia lagged behind the pair, prowling back and forth a few feet away from Bridget. She let the gap widen, eyes sliding past Bridget as she whiffed the air for a scent. “Come out, Bridget. I’ll give you a quick death. You won’t feel anything, I promise.”
Bridget’s heart thudded. She tried to remind herself that she was a nine-foot monster with sharp fangs and even sharper claws. It didn’t help. Cyntia turned her bowels to water. She towered over Bridget, her blond shoulders wider than the Civic Bridget had driven back in college. She healed so damned fast and she seemed flush with energy, as if she’d bathed in moonlight for weeks without expending anything.
Bridget slid a foot backwards, gripping the mud. Her legs tensed as the crouch deepened, then she leapt. Her hands seized the side of Cyntia’s head, burying themselves in the thick blond fur. Her claws had already proven ineffectual. She had to try something else. Bridget wrapped her legs around Cyntia’s shoulders, then twisted with all her might.
A sharp crack echoed through the corridor and Cyntia dropped to her knees. Bridget didn’t hesitate. She dug the claws into Cyntia’s eyes, gouging as deeply as she could reach. Maybe if she destroyed the brain she’d stop the body.
Cyntia’s arms shot up, seizing her by the forearms. Claws tore into Bridget’s flesh, wrenching a scream loose. The pain was white, blotting out everything. Yet Bridget forced the claws deeper, drawing a low wail from Cyntia. Then the pressure began to mount. The muscles in her forearms were liquid fire as Cyntia shredded them. Bridget’s grip slackened.
Cyntia’s grip tightened. Then she yanked Bridget’s arms apart, pulling her taut in the air above her. Bridget shrieked as bones popped and broke. Time seemed to slow as her mind fought to understand. She saw, but couldn’t comprehend. Her arms had torn loose, leaving jagged stumps in their place. Blood spurted from each, showering Cyntia. She was a cripple.
The larger werewolf spun, seizing Bridget’s neck in one of her meaty hands. The other punched through Bridget’s belly like a pile driver, blowing her spine out her back. The blow had hollowed out her middle and replaced it with agony.
“You have no idea how much I’ve been looking forward to this,” Cyntia growled, with a ghastly grin. She brought Bridget’s face closer until their eyes were only inches apart. “I’m going to eat you, Bridget. When I’m done, I’m going to find Blair and eat him too.”
Then she lunged, tearing into Bridget’s throat. She wanted to howl, to scream. To warn Blair somehow, tell him to run far away and never look back. Find a quiet place and just be safe, away from Irakesh. Away from Cyntia.
Blair, she thought, body going limp as she finally abandoned the struggle. I’m so sorry. For everything. You deserved so much more.
59
Rage
Blair’s mind fragmented with pain. Coherent thought eluded him, hiding behind stray memories and raw, animal pain. He was rocked by incoherent flashes as he fought for control. Bridget the first time he’d laid eyes on her, a wide-eyed freshman watching the awkward teacher’s aide giving his first lecture. The way she’d looked at him had galvanized him in a way nothing ever had. Had spurred him to earn his master’s, to pursue a doctorate, and to write a thesis that had earned him immediate acclaim in the scientific world.
Then he was in Santa Rosa, gazing through the kitchen window of his little two bedroom. Six empty wine bottles lined the counter next to him, all Ravenswood zin. It was the cheapest red he could stomach and also the guest every night for dinner. A single plate with a lonely fork sat on a clean dish rag. It ate at him, that memory. Brought him back to his lowest. Back to the man who’d given up and decided he wasn’t worth a damn thing.
He heaved himself on his side, twisting to face the gap in the water. The pain was immense but he bore it. He had to make it down there, had to help Bridget and Steve deal with Irakesh. Failure wasn’t an option. But it was happening anyway. He struggled to stand, collapsing to the turf. It smelled of salt and brine and misery.
Fight, Ka-Dun. Fight with the will the Mother gave you. Your body has been ravaged by deathless energy, but you are a shaper. You can undo the damage he has done. Fight, Ka-Dun. Fight, or all is lost.
Blair planted his palms against the grass, hair framing his face as he panted into the grass. Shaping wasn’t magic. It was science. It was the application of will to manipulate energy. He could use that energy to heal himself. Repair the damaged cells, every last one. He envisioned his bloodstream, a bunch of red ovals flowing through myriad tunnels. His heart, thudding heavily in his chest. The very marrow in his bones. Blair reached deep within the well of power at his core, the place he’d saved for this very confrontation.
It built within him, a rolling wave of silver energy that burst through every pore. He screamed into the heavens, arms extended as his body went rigid. He sagged back, slouching to the grass as he fought for breath. He felt better. Tired, but the acidic pain had been banished. He could think again, unencumbered by whatever Irakesh had inflicted. Blair rose to his feet, taking a cautious step towards the beach.
He took another. Then another, staggering his way into the mouth of the watery corridor Irakesh had somehow created. He peered into the gloom, eyes adjusting to the near lack of sunlight in the distance. Shapes moved there, resolving into a pair of massive beasts. One was silver, noble. Majestic. The other a sickly blonde, twisted and feral. Cyntia crouched atop Bridget, who struggled weakly beneath her.
Something broke, tearing loose a sob that had been lodged in Blair’s chest for nearly five years. He didn’t need Liz’s skill with medicine to know a fatal wound when he saw one. Bridget’s arms had been torn off, her neck and shoulder savagely rent as Cyntia tore loose another hunk of flesh.
Blair. A quavering voice came to him, faint as if across a great distance. I’m so sorry. For everything. You deserved so much more.
It was more than mere words. So much more. The thought was so heavy with emotion it staggered Blair. There was a thick blanket of love, warm and golden. Yet underneath was a tide of sadness, of guilt so acidic it had eroded Bridget’s very foundation.
Bridget, I’m with you, he thought back, filling the words with all the warmth he could muster. I forgive you. For everything.
He could almost feel her smile, feel the lightening of the pain. I love you. So much, Blair.
Cyntia lunged, severing Bridget’s spine and burying her maw in Bridget’s corpse. There was a moment of lessening, then Bridget was gone. She slipped through his fingers, leaving a faint fragrance of love and loss.
Blair sucked in a breath, trembling all over. He could only stare as the heat built within him, pure and righteous and total. He howled, low and deep. Cyntia looked up from her meal, ears pitched forward as she considered his challenge. He didn’t give her time to think. Blair blurred as he never had, crossing the muddy gap in the space between heartbeats. He was on her in a fury, gouging and biting and rending. There was no strategy, no plan. He was one with the beast and all that mattered was killing his prey.
