by Chris Fox
Blair blurred again, leaping to the top of a mighty oak. It provided an excellent vantage of the winery, just in time for the plane’s final descent. The military aircraft came down fast and hard, slamming onto the asphalt with a scream of rubber and a shower of sparks. The plane fishtailed, but the pilot was skilled and kept the craft from careening off the makeshift runway.
The stench of burnt rubber and jet fuel made his eyes water, but Blair held perfectly still as the plane rumbled to a halt in a cloud of dust near the rows of grape vines surrounding the villa. Moments later a small door behind the cockpit folded down to reveal three stairs. The first figure to emerge was shrouded in midnight body armor with an all-too-familiar M stenciled on the shoulder. Fucking Mohn. How did they always find him?
Then a second figure descended, her copper hair fluttering in the breeze as she reached the asphalt. It couldn’t be, but it was. Liz wore simple black fatigues with the hilt of a golden sword extending over her right shoulder. She looked every inch the warrior princess.
Blair dropped from the tree, trotting toward the plane. He made sure he was in full view, easy for the Mohn goons to spot so they didn’t panic when they saw a seven-foot werewolf approaching. Of course maybe that didn’t phase this lot, since they were letting Liz roam free. She cocked her head, then slowly spun to face him.
“Blair?” she called when he was perhaps twenty feet distant. Liz lit up, a brilliant smile slipping into place. She ran toward him and he crashed into her, shifting back to human form as he hoisted her into a wonderful hug.
“I can’t believe you’re alive. How did you get here?” Blair asked, setting her down and turning to half face her companion.
“We had help on the inside,” the man said, removing his helmet. It revealed Jordan’s familiar chiseled jaw, with his clear blue eyes and blond stubble. “My old boss, actually. He was the only one to recognize the threat Irakesh poses, so he sent Liz and I to help you deal with the situation. Assuming it isn’t too late. We saw the Ark in the bay. I’m guessing that means he’s already inside?”
“Afraid so,” Blair admitted, joy souring as he remembered how dire the situation was. “He quite literally parted the sea and let Trevor and Cyntia inside. So far as I know they’re still there. I believe he’s gathering zombies on the Golden Gate Bridge, though I haven’t the faintest idea why.”
“So where are Bridget and Steve?” Liz asked, still wearing that brilliant smile.
“Steve’s waiting back at the mansion we confiscated in Mill Valley. Bridget’s dead,” he said, voice cracking.
65
Director No More
“Come in,” Mark called, swirling his glass. He leaned back in the chair, feet propped atop his desk as he watched the door slide open.
A pair of black-clad soldiers in Kevlar were the first through, each leveling a submachine gun in his direction. They took positions at either side of the door, faces impassive as the Old Man stepped through behind them. He wore his usual black suit and matching tie, an armor of a different kind.
“That’s the second day in a row you’ve been drinking Scotch,” the Old Man said, taking a seat on the corner of Mark’s bed. The tone was conversational, but his eyes were deadly serious. “One might think you were losing your edge.”
“Or one could surmise that I’ve already accepted my fate and just want to enjoy myself a little before the end,” Mark shot back with an impudent smile. If he was going down, he’d at least tweak the Old Man’s nose a little.
“Why don’t you pour me one as well?” the Old Man asked. Then he turned to the guards. “Leave us. I want some time alone with the Director.”
“Sir?” the soldier on the right said, raising an eyebrow. The Old Man’s gaze tightened, and the soldier hurried from the room. His companion was only a half step behind.
The Old Man waited until the door slid shut before turning back to Mark. He waited patiently as Mark poured a second glass and handed it to him. “You’ve put me in a difficult position, Mark. Disobeyed a direct order that the entire senior staff witnessed. Freed prisoners who killed one man and wounded eleven others, then stole a very expensive aircraft. All with your direct authorization.”
“You left out the part about arming Ms. Gregg with Object Two,” Mark interjected, savoring a sip as he smiled at the Old Man. “I could probably add about another two dozen infractions you’re probably unaware even exist.”
“This attitude isn’t like you, Mark,” the Old Man said, heaving a heavy sigh. “What happened between us? Where was it exactly that I lost your trust?”
“You lost it the moment you cut me out of the loop, the very instant you started placing calls to London without telling me,” Mark said, slamming a fist against the desk as he leaned towards Mohn. “That made it abundantly clear just how little you trusted me. Then you revealed that you worked for one of these immortals. I know you made noises about betraying them and saving humanity, but I don’t buy that crap. Your soul was bought and paid for long before I was born.”
“Astute to the end,” the Old Man said, downing the contents of his glass in a single swallow. “You’re right that I never intended to betray my master. It was an expedient lie, because I have no way of convincing you that serving Usir is the single best thing we can do for humanity. The only way our species survives the coming war.”
“My god, you actually believe that,” Mark said, setting his glass on the desk. “You don’t see this as selling out the human race, do you?”
“Of course not,” the Old Man replied, setting his own glass on the floor next to the bed. He withdrew the pendant from under his shirt. The ruby blazed, bathing the room scarlet. “It’s a pity, really. The actions you’ve taken are misguided, but they come from a desire to help your fellow man. I recognize that, Mark, though clearly I can’t condone them.”
“Are you going to kill me with that thing?” Mark asked, nodding at the pendant.
“Goodness, no,” the Old Man said, giving a coarse laugh. “Quite the contrary. I have important plans for you, Mark. Very soon, you’ll begin to see things my way, once I introduce you to my master.”
The ruby flared, its light painfully bright.
66
Final Preparations
Irakesh was dimly aware of his body’s primal response to immediate life-threatening circumstances, a vestigial reminder of his mortal beginnings. But he wasn’t a mortal any longer. The wall of water bordering the pyramid was thick and dark, alive with tiny shapes darting back and forth. The weight alone could crush a man, and if it did not, the cold and lack of oxygen would finish the grim work. Again, if he were mortal.
Yet he need fear none of that. Not because he was deathless, but because he was master of this place. The ruler of an entire Ark, something only a handful could boast even in his own time. After so many millennia he was finally an Ark Lord.
Not a drop of that water pierced the Ark’s protective field, though he knew it could not be sustained forever. The sun was yet weak and did not provide enough strength to charge the Ark. Given time the shield would drain the little power remaining and water would flood the inner chambers. Jes’Ka would die, never having known the wonders of this strange new age.
A predatory grin spread across Irakesh’s face. Very soon now power would cease to be a concern. He would finally be a god, an equal to his mother. He turned to Cyntia, who crouched behind him with the silver box cradled in her arms like offspring she planned to whelp. Trevor stood behind her, eyes narrowed and aflame with hatred he no longer bothered to hide. That one was fast becoming a liability.
Yet Irakesh needed him for the coming battle. If he was honest he’d admit he needed him for more than that. What point being a god if you had no one to talk to? It saddened him that Trevor would die today. The final compulsion he had laid would see to that.
For so long he had suppressed the Risen, allowing Irakesh a direct conduit into the part of Trevor’s mind it would normally occupy. Every time Trevor str
uggled, Irakesh had to actively use his own will to stop him. The method was potent because Irakesh was stronger and thus always won. Yet if a struggle came during a critical moment Irakesh would be vulnerable. Such a link terrified him. Its very creation was abhorrent, because it had meant being constantly at risk for the first time in his life. The bond had been necessary to teach Trevor that struggle was futile. He simply could not win, could be made to go against even his most core beliefs. Kill friends or family at Irakesh’s whim, powerless to stop himself from committing such vile acts.
In relaxing that control Irakesh was about to risk everything on a bluff. He’d severed the bond, but in its passing left an overriding compulsion within the Risen. Trevor would slay his family even if it cost him his own life. If he demonstrated the same resilience that he had against Irakesh, then he could break that compulsion, but Irakesh doubted he would even try. He’d done his utmost to break Trevor’s will, to teach him that he was helpless and that resistance was futile.
Even if he did free himself, it would occur after he was embroiled in combat. By that point, it shouldn’t matter. He’d betrayed the Ka-Dun and his pack, and they’d pull Trevor down without the slightest hesitation. He had no choice but to fight.
“Prepare yourselves. We make for the bridge above. An impressive structure, that. It seems your world has produced feats nearly as great as my own,” Irakesh said, turning back to face the water. He raised his arms, channeling energy from the Ark’s dwindling stores. The water parted, revealing a narrow passage that threaded across the ocean floor towards the bridge’s central pylon. “Tell me, Trevor. Why do they call it the Golden Gate Bridge? It is neither golden nor a gate.”
“It’s the gateway to the bay,” Trevor replied. He gave no further words, merely stalked up the muddy trail a few feet behind Irakesh. Yes, his death was for the best.
“Cyntia, walk with me,” Irakesh called, pausing until she was even with him. She was back in werewolf form now, dirty blond with deep green splotches. The corruption, they called it. It was thick upon her and grew thicker each day. Madness wouldn’t be far behind. Not the aggressive behavior they’d seen, but an all-consuming rage.
She quickened her pace, drawing even with him as he stepped over a curved white chunk of metal. The keel of a boat perhaps. It was hard to know, since he’d devoured few memories of ships in this age.
“What?” Cyntia growled, looming over him as she shifted the silver box to the arm farthest from him.
“What comes next is critical. I can feel the Ka-Dun somewhere to the north. A short distance,” Irakesh explained, lifting his sandal as he stepped over a wide puddle of cold sludge. “He will bring whatever allies he has left. They are not strong enough to kill us, but when they try I want you to slay them and devour their corpses. Keep Trevor and me safe. Will you do that?”
“Blair tore off my leg,” Cyntia roared, claws flexing. She bared her fangs, eyes wild. “I’m going to eat him, piece by piece. I’ll keep him alive, so he can watch me get fat from his flesh.”
“Excellent. Visit the same fate on his pack, if he brings them,” Irakesh demanded. He expected some sort of protest from Trevor, but the fiery-haired deathless simply watched. Cold. Patient. That was a bad sign. He was marshaling his will, waiting for Irakesh to show sign of weakness.
Just a little longer and neither of his companions would be a threat. No one would be a threat. He’d have the strength to dominate the entire continent, building a necropolis to rival the Cradle from his own lost age. By the time his mother learned of his existence he’d be a powerful rival, not an insignificant vassal.
They continued through the sludge, still a shock to Irakesh. In his own time the oceans had been lower. This would have been a well-protected valley on the edge of a calm port. The perfect place to build an Ark that could both dominate the continent and enable passage to other lands. The Builders had chosen an incredible location.
Now that it lay underwater it was even more so, for none of the interesting technical marvels produced in this time could remove the water. That made getting inside the Ark that much more challenging. Assuming it had the power to keep the ocean from flooding it.
A sleek grey form, long and deadly, swam by in the wall of water to his left. The shark sensed that gap in the water and was curious. Excellent predators. He’d need to harness them in defense of this place in case his enemies found a way to plumb the icy depths and reach the entrance of the Ark.
“You’re going to blow up San Francisco? Why? There can’t be any possible benefit to you,” Trevor said. The words dripped acid. Irakesh noticed Cyntia’s ears twitch, but she didn’t glance back. The madness was close, if even Trevor no longer motivated her. He’d been the lifeline to which her sanity had clung.
A corrupted on the verge of the change. A powerful vassal on the verge of becoming a true deathless. Yet by the time the sun sank into the waves Irakesh would be the most powerful being to walk these shores in an age of the world. He must focus on the prize, not the risk.
“What makes you think I intend to blow it up? This is the capital of my new empire, the necropolis from which I will rule this continent,” Irakesh stated. It was so, a certain future. He would allow no other possibility.
“Then what is the bomb for?” Trevor asked, slapping the side of the case Cyntia carried. She glowered at him, baring her fangs and giving a low, menacing growl.
Irakesh stopped, turning slowly to face Trevor. His next words were critical. He must allay at least one of his fears or Trevor could attack before the compulsion was even triggered. “Very well, you’ve earned an explanation. We’re going to detonate that bomb. I will use the Ark to harness that energy, drawing it in and filling the vast reservoirs that the ages have drained. It will become the most powerful Ark in the world. The others are all constrained by the weak sun. It will be centuries before they can draw fully from it and in that time I will use this Ark to dominate a continent. Neither Isis nor Ra will be able to unseat me. They’ll be too busy sniping at each other, as always.”
“Are you sure you can control that much power? What if the Ark overloads?” Trevor asked. Irakesh was generally impressed with Trevor’s complete lack of emotion. If the enormity of Irakesh’s plan impacted him in any way, he didn’t show it.
“If that occurs then the Ark will detonate and the land will be blackened for hundreds of miles,” Irakesh said, looking Trevor directly in the eye. “But it will not happen. The Arks were designed by the Builders to withstand the full fury of the sun at its peak, a state of the world you cannot even comprehend. Their reservoirs are nearly limitless.”
“Do you know exactly how much power is released by the bomb you’re about to detonate? It was designed to annihilate cities,” Trevor protested, shaking his head. “Why do I bother? Even if that were a risk, you wouldn’t listen. Even though it’s your own life at stake. What do you think will happen to you if your plan fails and the nuke destroys this city?”
“I will die,” Irakesh answered, again a simple statement of fact. He started back up the path. The wide copper pillar was just a hundred yards distant, its concrete base covered in thick algae. He glanced back at Trevor. “Yet if I succeed, you will have the ability to help shape the future of this land, second only to me. If we fail, then you will no longer have to endure this hellish existence. Look around you. I know the prospect of destroying so much pains you. You are a product from a world that pretends nature isn’t horribly vengeful. Yet look what’s happened. Those few who cling to life here are huddling in fear as their world gives its last gasp. Surely they’d welcome the freedom oblivion would bring.”
Trevor opened his mouth to reply, but then his jaw clicked shut. He shrugged, glancing away from Irakesh. Was that a sign of acceptance? Or that he no longer regarded Irakesh as worthy of communication?
They finally reached the massive pylon, extending hundreds of feet into the air where it met the odd bridge these people had somehow constructed. It rivaled any of
the architectural marvels of his own age. How had they suspended so much metal over such a vast expanse of water? The genius required was impressive.
Irakesh focused on his inner reserves, drawing deeply and infusing his entire body with energy. He began to vibrate, faster and faster until he achieved the proper frequency. Then he enacted a change on every molecule, every fiber of his being. He became a cloud of charged energy, a sentient representation of his will. He drifted skyward, admiring the sunset over the ocean.
Cyntia seemed to sense what was required of her, leaping thirty feet up to catch the side of the pylon with her claws. She vaulted again, then a third time. Each leap took her closer to the bridge itself, which bulged above him from the weight of the countless minions he’d used the Ark to summon.
Trevor paused behind him for a long moment. So long that Irakesh thought he might have to offer aid. Then he felt the change in Trevor, watching warily as his protege shifted into a similar cloud. He drifted after Irakesh, following him to the main body of the bridge. The pylon extended into the sky above, wide sweeping cables hanging between it and the next one. They were the color of clay from the deep desert. The builders had mixed copper in that metal. How much of that precious substance had been mined to create so large a structure?
Irakesh allowed the waters to close beneath them once they were above sea level, drifting steadily skyward until he had a vantage of the bridge’s main causeway. Excellent. It was thronged with corpses, thousands upon thousands of writhing bodies pressed tightly between abandoned vehicles. There were so many that one was occasionally knocked from the bridge, plummeting to the icy depths below.
“We’ll set down near the center, closest to the Ark,” Irakesh called over the low wind. He drifted towards the asphalt, willing the milling zombies back and creating a clearing.
