by Chris Fox
The vile one slew your She. She will not survive.
Blair dropped low, jabbing his claws into her right thigh over and over in a blurring hail of silvered claws. He gouged the muscle, severed the tendons. Then he seized the femur in both hands, wrenching with all his strength. Cyntia’s leg tore loose in a shower of gore. He flung it into the water, already spinning for another blow.
“Kaaaa-Duuun,” Irakesh shouted, his voice low and warbling like some ultra-slow recording. Blair looked up, catching sight of the deathless maybe a hundred yards down the ocean floor. He stood just outside of the tunnel leading into the Ark. “Iii hope yoouuu can swimmmm.”
Blair knew a moment of absolute terror. He spun towards the shore, his worst fears confirmed. The walls of water were crashing together, accelerating in his direction despite the blur. He sucked in a breath, bracing himself as the rumbling wall crashed over him. The blow knocked him from his feet, dashing him against a rock and then up into the water. He lost sight of Bridget’s body, but saw Cyntia kick off towards the Ark with her three remaining limbs.
That was the last thing he saw before his eyes succumbed to the enormous pressure, bursting with agonizing little pops he felt more than heard. Then his eardrums followed, leaving him in silent darkness. He released the blur, fire burning in his lungs as his body greedily sucked away the little oxygen he’d managed to grab. Not being able to save Bridget’s body ate at him, but if he didn’t get to the surface he was dead.
Blair kicked hard, swimming in the direction he hoped was up. The frigid water numbed his limbs, but maybe that was a blessing as it muted the agony. The physical agony, anyway. He looked away from the anguish like a child who’d stared at the sun a moment too long, but spots of Bridget still danced in his vision. He swam harder, the pressure in his lungs mounting. The pressure lessened, suggesting he was going the right direction. Blair blurred for a split second, using his entire body to propel himself upward.
The idea of diving had always seemed like a horribly suicidal idea. Especially when he lived in a place people referred to as the red triangle, due to the number of great whites. He was so numb he couldn’t tell if the water was getting warmer, but that mattered so much less than the pressure.
Seconds passed as he pumped his limbs, clawing for the surface. Then he was free, bursting into the settling twilight. He sucked in for all he was worth, getting as much sea as he did air. He coughed and spluttered, scissoring his legs to keep himself afloat. Gentle waves rocked him back and forth. Without sight he had no idea where land was. Or did he? Blair sent out a ping, scanning the area. There, that direction. He sensed a familiar presence, perhaps a hundred yards distant.
Blair swam. He tried to ignore the pain, the anchor of emotional loss threatening to drag him under. Somewhere in the middle his eyes began to burn, something warm and liquid flowing into the sockets. He lacked the breath to scream, accepting the pain with the despair of futility. Then there was brightness everywhere. He squinted into the settling twilight, scanning the shoreline. Steve was crouched there in human form, eyes darting about as he sought signs of an enemy. He met Blair’s gaze briefly, giving a simple nod before returning to his search.
Blair swam harder, jaw clenched and body quivering with sudden energy. He heaved himself from the water, charging across the shore towards Steve. The smug bastard just waited there, arms crossed as he rose to his feet. His black dress shirt wasn’t even muddy. Blair seized him by the collar, lifting him with one hand. He brought Steve’s face to his own, giving a low, deep growl. “Consider your next words very carefully, you fucking coward. Bridget fought and died down there. Where were you, Steve?”
“I know you’re angry,” Steve said, letting his arms fall limp. His whole posture slackened. No resistance at all. “Trevor had the beach covered. You were out of the fight. I didn’t even see Bridget move down there. Didn’t know she was there until I heard the fighting, just a few seconds before you. I’m sorry, Blair. I am. But there was no way I was going to rush in there unsupported. I saw what Irakesh did to you. What the hell chance did I have without the key? Maybe if you’d have given it up, I would have been down there. Did you think about that?”
Blair opened his mouth to retort, but something tingled at the base of his skull. Was Steve right? He’d gotten his ass handed to him by Irakesh. Again. As though he were a small punt-able dog barking at the mailman.
“You’re still a fucking coward,” he roared, spittle drenching Steve. He hurled Steve into a nearby Mercedes, shattering the windshield and shredding Steve’s shirt. “We need to fall back and plan, that is, assuming you want some payback. I thought you loved Bridget. Isn’t that what you told me when I confronted you for fucking her behind my back? That you loved her? Get up, you god-damned cockroach. Follow me or get the fuck out of my sight.”
Blair spun, marching towards 101. He had no idea what to do now, but he was taking Irakesh down, no matter what it cost. Right after he snapped Cyntia’s neck.
60
Revelations
Mark dropped into the black vinyl chair, setting the glass down with a clink. The world was eating itself alive and he still had ice. The universe certainly had a strange sense of humor. He held his fingers against the trackpad until it vibrated and the iMac’s screen came to life. He dragged a browser window onto the screen, navigating Mohn’s intranet until he found the wiki. It still impressed him, the audacity of it. They’d tapped into the world’s every communication for years, stockpiling data in facilities like this one. Each one took hourly backups of effectively the entire internet, which meant despite the sudden end of the world he could still use Google.
“What have you been up to, Old Man?” he murmured, pulling open a console and typing in his authorization. He executed a simple script until a series of phone calls appeared. Each included a time, destination and number of parties. Six had occurred in the last four hours, all to London. A Mohn facility was located there, so that had to be who he was talking to. Who else had a functioning phone after the CME?
Six phone calls in four hours. The Old Man hadn’t done that since the first pyramid had appeared. Mark had been in the loop on that one. Mohn had told him before anyone else and the two had discussed options. They’d birthed the plan together. Yet he’d said not a word to Mark about whatever this new event was.
"Director, my ass. If you really trusted me, you’d have brought me in immediately,” he said, picking up his glass and enjoying a swallow of the amber contents. Good whisky was going to become rare very quickly, but his gut said he wouldn’t be alive long enough to enjoy it. A civil war was coming, one he’d likely instigate.
Mohn had always kept things back, but he’d brought Mark into every project except the mysterious Solaris. The Old Man had even called him his right hand a few times. If he was freezing Mark out now, that could only mean one thing. The Old Man was going to move against him, removing him as director and probably executing him. The only question was, how soon would the hammer fall?
There were people loyal to him, almost a third of the staff. Not enough to win, just enough to cripple what could be the last remaining bastion of human power in this crazy new world. If Mark fled though, it would mean abandoning the people who supported him. People like Benson. His people would be singled out, those most loyal purged. The rest would be under constant suspicion. The dilemma was maddening. He couldn’t flee, but if he stayed he was as good as dead.
Then there was the matter of Irakesh. If they didn’t stop the deathless, he’d likely succeed in setting up a power base on the west coast. He had at least one nuclear weapon and, if Jordan’s reports were accurate, could control the tide of corpses sweeping the world. That made him the top threat to Mohn security. The Old Man saw that. It was inconceivable to think otherwise. At every juncture he’d outthought Mark. The Old Man’s gift for understanding the context of a situation was unparalleled.
Mark leaned back in his chair, enjoying another sip as he chewed on the problem
. If Mohn knew Irakesh had to be stopped yet was choosing not to, either the Old Man knew something about Irakesh’s capabilities that he hadn’t shared, or it meant that he was in league with him somehow. The first was quite likely, since Mohn had access to parts of the intelligence network even Mark hadn’t been granted. The second sounded ludicrous, but Mark was too meticulous to dismiss it out of hand.
He withdrew his phone, swiping to his contacts and thumbing Ops. The red button flared twice, then shifted to bright green as he was connected.
“Yes, Director?” Benson answered. Her tone was facilitating, but not simpering. She’d been an excellent choice. She’d go far, if she survived the next week.
“Have viper six prepared for deployment. Send a team down to the brig and have detainees Jordan and Gregg brought to the tarmac,” he ordered, setting his glass down and rising from his chair. He moved over to the mirror, studying his reflection. The pressed shirt was immaculate, but the tie was looser around the neck than he liked. His fingers itched to pull the slender silk until it too was immaculate. He denied the urge.
“Yes, sir,” Benson replied. “Shall I notify you when they reach the tarmac?”
“Do that,” he ordered, grabbing his coat from the bed as he moved for the door. “Also, have Object Two withdrawn from the vault and brought to the tarmac. Give custody to Commander Jordan.”
“Acknowledged,” she replied, then terminated the connection. That made him smile. He loved it when she took initiative.
Mark waved his hand in front of the door, stepping through before it finished sliding open with its accompanying hiss. The hall was empty, unsurprising since only the highest ranking officers were allowed housing in section seven. He walked up the corridor, shoes squeaking on the concrete as he rounded the corner.
He froze. A familiar figure stood before the elevators, a simple coincidence by all appearances. The Old Man’s icy eyes glittered as they studied Mark, his fair hair so blond it was almost white. Not the kind of white you saw in the elderly, but the lustrous white of the Nordic. Just how old was he, anyway? He’d barely changed in the years that Mark had known him.
“Hello, Mark,” the Old Man said, gesturing to the elevator. “Going down to Ops?”
“Yes, I was on my way there now,” he said, striding down the corridor in his best attempt at appearing confident. Mohn knew.
The elevator chimed and the doors slid open, revealing a pair of black-clad security guards in full gear. Not his men. Mark stepped into the elevator, turning his back to the soldiers as Mohn joined him. The Old Man pressed the Ops button and the doors slid shut. He was silent until the car began moving.
“I’m told you had Object Two removed from the vault,” he said, shifting to face Mark. His face revealed nothing. The tone was conversational.
“And?” Mark asked, staring back with all the intensity he could muster. If the Old Man was trying for a confession, he’d be sorely disappointed. Mark wasn’t giving him anything.
The elevator came to a smooth halt. Mohn didn’t answer, instead facing the soldiers. “Gentlemen, give us the room, please.”
The doors slid open and both soldiers filed out. Mohn said nothing until the doors closed. “Mark, you withdrew an item of incredible power and put it in the hands of a god. How could you be that stupid? What if she hadn’t just given it meekly back? She could have torn through this facility like a hurricane and I promise you, nothing we have could have stopped her.”
Mark heaved an internal sigh of relief. The Old Man was talking about the training session he’d allowed Liz, not the order that would end Mark’s career and possibly his life. He might not know that Jordan, Liz, and Object Two were on their way to the tarmac even now. “I believed she would cooperate. If she had resisted she may have done some damage, but we’d have contained her. Object Two might give her an edge, but it’s just a sword.”
Mohn scrubbed a hand through his hair, obvious irritation flashing across his features. Mark had never been on the receiving side of that irritation, but it looked as if that was about to change.
“I don’t think you heard me,” Mohn said, eyes skewering Mark. “A. God. As in a literal god, or something so close it doesn’t matter. What we’re seeing is just the beginning. In a year that young woman could tear through this entire facility with ease. In ten we wouldn’t even see her do it. We’d just die. Object Two fuels everything she is, Mark. You have no idea how powerful it is.”
“If you do, then why haven’t you told me? What is it you know that I don’t? Because all the data we’ve collected on the sword say it’s a repository for energy with a sharp edge. She can kill people with it, but her claws already worked fine. So why don’t you enlighten me, Leif?”
“You checked my log records. You know I’ve been speaking to London,” the Old Man replied, crossing his arms. He studied Mark for a long moment before speaking again. “You’ve never asked how I came by Object One, or how I know the things I do about the ancient world. Do you want to know how I know what one of them can do with an object like number two? Because I’ve met a god, Mark. Seen him in all his terrible fury. They are human if you want to get technical, but their lifespan is measured in millennia. They can modify their own DNA. Kill with a thought. Our ancestors worshipped them and they were right to.”
“My god, you work for one of them,” Mark said, eyes widening. He took a step back, but there was nowhere to go. “Is that why you founded this company? To help one of them control the world?”
“It’s far more complex than that,” Mohn replied, raising a hand to forestall Mark’s protest. “Hear me out. It’s past time I shared this with someone and I can’t think of anyone better than you. You are my right hand, Mark. And I’m desperate enough to gamble everything, if it will ensure your continued loyalty. I need you, Mark.”
“I’m listening.”
“Do you remember when I revealed Object One to the board back in Panama?” the Old Man asked, touching his chest with two fingers.
“How could I forget? That was the moment you galvanized the board into coming here,” Mark replied. He crossed his arms, still feeling trapped. “You said you’d received it from your grandfather, that it had some sort of powers.”
“That last part was a lie. I didn’t receive it from my grandfather. I was my grandfather, Mark,” the Old Man explained, eyes searching. “I’ve faked my own death several times, so people didn’t suspect that I never aged.”
“Come again?” was all Mark could muster.
“I was born in 1838 in Helsinki. A woodsman by trade, if you can believe that. I hunted my own game and sold lumber. Didn’t make much, but I survived. One day I came into town with a haul of wolf pelts and there wasn’t anyone there. Everyone had disappeared. Doors were open. Fires still burned in hearths. But the people? They were just gone, Mark. Every last person I’d ever known. Gone.”
Mark reeled, leaning his back against the smooth metal wall as he struggled to understand what he was hearing. Eighteen thirty-eight? That would make him, what? A hundred and seventy-five years old. Mohn could have passed for forty.
“A patch of darkness detached from the night. It scooped me up and carried me into the old inn. Next thing I knew, I was plopped into a chair. Then he sat down across from me,” Mohn explained, eyes distant as he related the tale. “He had leathery skin and glowing green eyes. It was completely foreign to me. I’d never seen anyone like that before. Never seen anyone who didn’t look like me. Then he opened his mouth and showed me fangs that could chew the flesh from your bones. I was terrified, Mark. I knew what he was then. A draugr, a creature straight out of Norse legend. I also knew what had befallen my village. This thing had eaten them.
“The draugr gave me a choice. I could serve it in life, growing powerful and outliving everyone around me. Or I could die a swift death. It wasn’t a difficult choice, Mark,” the Old Man explained, shoulders slumping. “I did things I wasn’t proud of. Helped it learn how the world had changed since it
had last awoken. I spent the next year as a slave, doing whatever it wished of me. We traveled throughout eastern Europe visiting what he called sites of power.”
“Did this monster have a name?” Mark demanded.
“His name was Usir,” the Old Man replied. He paused for a long moment before continuing.
“Traveling with him was horrific. We’d blaze through a town in a matter of hours, draining the inhabitants dry. His thirst was unquenchable. Mark, we gave rise to the legends of vampires in Europe. I’m sure of it. I even met Stoker, and his accounts were not far off the mark. Then the day came that my master told me he would return to his slumber.
“He demanded that I prepare the way for his eventual awakening. That the day would come when he would emerge to reclaim his rightful place, and that I would be foremost among his servants,” he said, unbuttoning his purple shirt and exposing a gold chain. He withdrew the pendant, a clearly Egyptian Eye of Horus with a ruby set in the center. “Usir gave me this. He hung it around my neck himself. The draugr told me he could use it to find me. He also told me it would keep me alive until the world was ready for his return, and that if I deviated in my task, he would know. I’d seen his wrath, Mark. It terrifies me still, almost two centuries later.”
“So you sold your soul to this thing?” Mark asked, hurling the words like spears. “This thing could be responsible for the zombie virus, and you’re following it?”
“Let me finish,” the Old Man growled, eyes tightening. “I never said I agreed. After the draugr left I ran, fast and hard. I headed south, visiting libraries and sharing soup with wizened grandmothers willing to share old tales. There had to be some proof that I wasn’t crazy. It took years to find it. There were myths and legends everywhere, but almost nothing tangible. Except for me. I stopped aging, Mark. At first I just thought it was good luck, but when I hadn’t changed for a decade I knew. The draugr’s amulet was proof of an ancient civilization we couldn’t begin to understand. I’d felt its power and beside it, we’re nothing. Yet my only chance of beating it lay in understanding it. I needed to harness the same power they used, what I considered magic back then. That was long before the discovery of signals.
