Masks of Ash

by Adrian J. Smith

  “Crazy doesn’t begin to describe it. I don’t know, Zanzi. If your parents found out I let you go off on some fool’s errand only for you to really be captured… You heard what Milo said. They want you. Offenheim wants you.”

  Zanzi shoved back her chair and bolted up. Her long hair flicked across her brown eyes. “They would be proud of me,” she shouted. She placed her hands on the table in front of her, took a deep breath and softened her voice. “All I ever wanted to do was help people. I loved science, so that’s what I did. I didn’t want any part of this. I didn’t want to be a soldier, going after doctors because some lunatics decided they wanted the world for themselves. But here we are. Josie Lahm can help us win this war.” Her whole body was shaking. She gripped the edge of the table. Never had she spoken to Lisa that way. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.”

  “Listen,” Lisa said. “Emotions are high. Our nerves are frayed. We’ve been grasping at smoke signals from day one. I like your plan, but I’m responsible for everyone’s safety. Go eat something, have showers, put on clean clothes. Meet back here in one hour.”

  Avondale waved Zanzi and Lisa aside as Reid, Tilly and Jolene left. “I didn’t want to say this in front of the others. Zanzi, after you told me about the tracking chips OPIS put in you and Tilly, it got me thinking.” He sat down in an oversized office chair. Made from bright red fabric, some of its seams were coming apart. “Also something Sofia said about how Yamada knocked them out using an amplified signal from a wand device and a cell phone tower.”

  “So in order to do that, they would need to know everyone’s unique code,” Lisa said.

  “Right, exactly. And Yamada did because when they explained the alpha nanites and how the whole system worked, he scanned each of them to prove they were on the safe list. Sofia used the same data to upgrade their Alpha nanites to elite level.”

  Lisa and Zanzi both exhaled. Zanzi shook her head and plonked down in her seat, her mind reeling. No doubt OPIS knew her unique code, as well as Tilly’s. “Milo had Lahm update my alpha to elite as well.”

  “Huh,” Avondale said. He turned and clicked his mouse a few times. Screens changed from camera images to lines of text and code.

  “We need Lahm, full stop,” Lisa said.

  “Yes. I’ve been experimenting a little. Look.”

  Avondale showed them an image of a wand device. It was a long black tube with a couple of red buttons on one end, and a small screen, about five centimeters across, halfway along its length. “This is what vets use to scan pets’ microchips. Essentially, what Yamada did was read the alpha nanite with his device, then send a data package to the alpha, either a self-destruct command or, in The Nameless’ case, render them unconscious.”

  Lisa began to pace, clicking her fingers in a steady rhythm in time with her steps.

  “Why wouldn’t Offenheim, or OPIS, do that to us? They could easily send out a signal through the cellular network and kill us,” she said, stopping still.

  “Perhaps he doesn’t know about the ability? Milo told you there were factions, a rift, in OPIS. Yamada probably didn’t share the information,” Avondale said.

  Lisa resumed her pacing.

  “Could we potentially do it to him?” she asked.

  “If I had the information, time, help, then maybe. And that’s a big maybe.”

  “Which is why we need Lahm,” Zanzi said.

  “Without a doubt.” Avondale rolled back his chair and pulled at the fraying fabric. “I need Doctor Lahm to get into OPIS’s computers. If I can get the individual elite status codes of Offenheim and co, then we can send our own goddamn signal. Kill everyone bad, or at least the Black Skull bozos.”

  “That would change everything,” Lisa said. “That’s why OPIS is so determined to get Doctor Lahm back. First from the bikers, then from us. They couldn’t risk her falling into our hands.”

  “Exactly,” Avondale murmured.

  “Something is bothering me, though,” Zanzi said.

  Lisa smiled, the corners of her eyes creasing. “Yes?”

  “Surely Offenheim knows this? Milo told me Offenheim likes to play games. A sadist. He wants me with him to torture my parents. OPIS creates all this.” Zanzi gestured at the monitors that depicted the empty, devastated Portland streets. “But they can’t take us out? It doesn’t make sense. To me, that means they don’t care. That they have an end-game planned.”

  “They want us in Portland,” Avondale said. He began to click his mouse, changing the cameras. The new views showed the same empty scenes. Nothing moved on any of the interstates either.

  “Phase three or four was for OPIS to bomb the unwanted cities. Exterminate the vermin,” Lisa said.

  “We’re the vermin,” Avondale said. “Black Skulls are still in camp and at the hospital.” His tone was surprised as he looked from one screen to another. “No patrols, nothing.”

  “The timetable must have changed,” Lisa said.

  Zanzi glanced up and through the small skylights. The blue sky made a nice change from the overcast of the last few days. Not for the first time, she wished she were sitting on the porch with her parents, watching the Pacific Ocean, not planning missions to stop lunatics. “When I was a guest in The Eyrie,” she said, “what struck me most about OPIS was the hierarchy. They have a specific class system. Elites. Lieutenant elites, like Milo. Black Skulls, and finally, servants. At first, I thought they were indentured, but they’re there willingly. They think that by serving, they will one day be granted elite status.”

  “Like vampire familiars,” Avondale said, “in the Blade movies.”

  Zanzi nodded. “I imagine getting the alpha code of someone of Offenheim’s status would be nigh on impossible.”

  “I think so too,” Avondale agreed.

  “So we don’t bother. OPIS and the elites all come from extremely wealthy families. They’re used to having everything done for them. I doubt any of them could cook a meal, let alone code a program. Instead, we go after everyone else.”

  To Zanzi, it made the most sense. It was like taking out the foundations of a skyscraper, then standing back and watching the ivory tower come crumbling down.

  Lisa began to pace again. “All right,” she said. “Mission one: Lahm. Mission two: take down OPIS. For that, we need The Nameless and Munroe. What do you need, Avondale?”

  “A veterinary microchip reader.”

  “Okay. I’ll send Reid out. Zanzi, you go too.”

  “Sure. Give me ten minutes.”

  “There’s a vet practice three blocks from here,” Avondale said. “I’ll have a map ready before you go.”

  Zanzi headed to the kitchen, where she found Jolene and Tilly playing cards, and poured herself a glass of water.

  Jolene looked up, smiling. “Everything okay?”

  Zanzi sighed. She didn’t know what to say. The enormity of their task was beginning to play on her mind. She was one of a small team of survivors, struggling to fight back against an enemy with endless resources. OPIS had planned this out very carefully. She, Lisa, Reid, her parents. They were, at best, the annoying mosquito at the picnic, getting a few lucky bites before being squished. “I’ll be okay. I probably just need to rest,” she said.

  “I think we all do,” Jolene said.

  “I’m heading out with Reid in a few minutes. Something we need. Will you be okay, Tilly?”

  “Right as rain,” Tilly said, giggling. “What does that even mean? Right as rain. Dad used to always shout bad words at the rain because they damaged his tomato plants.”

  “It’s just a saying. Something silly that people say. Those things don’t have to mean anything,” Jolene said.

  Zanzi left the two women in the kitchen and wandered through the old factory, trying to settle her thoughts. Forcing Lahm and OPIS from her mind, instead, she looked at the old machinery. Like her brother Liam, she had always been fascinated by factories and engineering. Machines built for specific tasks. Humanity’s endeavors at their fin
est. She passed all manner of machines, some for labeling cans, others for cutting and stamping. She found herself in what must have been the typing pool. Rows of ancient, dusty typewriters sat unused, paper still in the rollers.

  Lisa was right. It was a crazy plan. If Zanzi was being honest with herself, her real motive behind rescuing Josie Lahm was guilt. Guilt over not saving Harriet. Guilt over not insisting Harriet be brought to their sleeping quarters immediately. Maybe then, the teenager would be with them today, not cracked open by Alba in some savage experiment.

  At the appointed time, Zanzi met Lisa and Reid next to the entrance that led into the parking garage.

  “Be careful. Straight there and back,” Lisa said.

  “You got it, boss.” Reid winked at Zanzi, his brown eyes twinkling in the artificial light.

  She flashed a smile at him despite telling herself not to. She couldn’t help it. He had a way about him that attracted her. He wasn’t just a grunt. A soldier. There was a mystery to him, something Zanzi wanted to find out.

  She shouldered her M4 and snapped her eyes front as the door rolled up.

  Thirteen

  Prince Rupert, Canada

  Ebony drove the odd-looking vehicle slowly up the causeway. The Siphons that had gathered around the curling club had lost interest in the building and were now attracted to the bright blue saddle carrier, thanks to its movement and noise. Like sheep, they reacted as one. If a Siphon shrieked, they all shrieked. If one wandered away, they all followed.

  Mark and Loto ushered their fellow survivors down to the lower roof. Booth and Sofia abandoned the V8 truck and made their way back to the CL-415 water bomber, which Allie and Keiko should have refueled.

  Allie taxied into the harbor and brought the plane around so that it was parallel to the shore. “In position.”

  “Copy that.” Then to Ebony, Ryan said, “Bring it in slow.”

  “You ever drive one of these?”

  “Can’t say that I have.”

  “It’s like driving an old forty-eight Ford. A tank would be easier.”

  Ebony eased the vehicle against the building. Mark and Loto jumped down onto the large pleasure yacht that hung between the straddle carrier’s legs, ready to help ferry the other survivors across. An older lady with blue rinse hair yelped and lost her footing.

  Cal steadied her arm. “You’re all right. I’ve got you.”

  “I lost my shoe.”

  “I’ll buy you any pair you want after we get you to safety.”

  A Siphon screamed and charged at the vehicle, slamming into one of its legs. There was a whack, and the Siphon bounced off. Another charged and smashed its head and torso against a leg. Before Ryan could blink twice, they were all doing it. One after the other, they slammed themselves into the carrier, over and over. At first it shuddered, and then it rocked. It dawned on Ryan what they were doing. Gone were the asinine creatures. These Siphons were displaying problem-solving abilities.

  “Keep moving. Ignore them,” Ryan said. He flicked off his safety, shouldered his rifle and aimed for any Siphon beginning its run-up, placing the shots as close to the heart as possible. Cal joined him from the other side. She soon gave up taking single shots and flicked the selector to auto. Once the last of the curling club survivors was on the yacht’s deck, Ryan jumped over the gap and nudged his throat mic. “Go! Boat ramp!”

  The saddle carrier lurched under his feet as Ebony struggled to maneuver it through the Siphons. More darted at the wheels and feet, kicking and punching the vehicle like feral animals. Ryan jammed in a fresh magazine and took out a Siphon wearing an ice hockey jumper and another one – a lady wearing nothing but a torn flannel shirt, her bra hanging off her left arm. Blood and gore coated her chest.

  Still the Siphons threw themselves at the carrier.

  “On the left!” Loto shouted. The Siphons had begun to climb the tall legs of the carrier. Ryan swiveled and shot one wearing bright yellow coveralls. The Siphon tumbled off, his legs smashing into the Siphons below.

  Loto grabbed a boat hook and began using it as a weapon, stabbing, pushing and hitting any Siphon that gained too much height.

  “Can’t this piece of shit go any faster?” Cal said over the radio.

  “This is it. Hang on,” Ebony said.

  Meter by meter, they lurched forward. Ryan began to wonder if perhaps he had made a mistake sending Booth and Sofia back to the plane. He could have used the extra firepower. But he didn’t have them, so he gritted his teeth and focused on the problem at hand. Aim, fire, reload.

  His combat vest was getting dangerously light as the saddle carrier with its bizarre load reached the boat ramp and descended into the water. Deeper and deeper they went, the screams and shrieks of the Siphons following them.

  Ryan slammed another magazine home. “Last one.” He pivoted and lay down covering fire. A few Siphons hurled themselves into the water, so desperate were they to get at the meal slowly floating away.

  Loto and Mark cut the motorized yacht free and someone got the engine started. Minutes later, they were chugging toward the waiting water bomber, leaving the shrieking Siphons dotting the shoreline. Already some were returning to their strange vigil around the curling club and its cell phone mast.

  Loto steered the boat around the harbor with Allie cruising behind. They followed the docks until they reached the main ferry terminal where The Nameless guarded the townsfolk as they disembarked. Just as Ryan had hoped, there were no further signs of the Siphons. Like most of the other buildings, the terminal was empty. Only ash remained.

  After checking the perimeter, Ryan led them up a flight of stairs and into a second-floor restaurant. Tables had been set, but no lunch service had taken place. It was the perfect place to regroup.

  The Nameless spent a couple of hours treating wounds and making sure everyone was fed. Most of the curling club survivors wanted answers, and to go home. So did Ryan. He yearned for it. Zanzi was out there somewhere, at the mercy of the very people he sought to take down.

  Now that he had time, Ryan approached Loto and shook his hand. “How did you all end up in there?”

  “We work for the same fishing company. Had one of those team-bonding things against another company. A friendly competition. We had just had a big feed and were setting up the next round of games. Not sure I like curling; too cold, bro. Give me touch rugby any day. After it happened, most of us sat there, too stunned to move. I tried ringing home but couldn’t get through. Then those freaks showed up. Mark and I fought them off and locked the doors. More and more came. Always more. We had a chance to run during a storm, but we couldn’t leave anyone behind.” Loto rubbed his forearm with his calloused hand. “We were trying to figure out what to do when we saw your plane circling.”

  “That was a great idea. The sign.”

  “Thanks.”

  Ryan liked the big Polynesian. His calmness under pressure would be valuable in the coming days. “I couldn’t talk you into coming with us?”

  “Nah. I got a lady and baby down in Port Edward. I’ll find a car and head down there first. She’s going to give me a real telling off. Maybe then I find me a big-ass yacht.” Loto grinned.

  “Manuia.” Good luck.

  “Thanks, bro.”

  Ryan waved to Cal to get her attention. “It’s time to get out of here.”

  Cal gave a slight shake of her head. “They keep asking questions.”

  “I’ll talk to them.”

  Ryan eased his way past the group of survivors and clapped his hands together. Mark and Loto looked up from their meals and pushed their chairs back.

  “I know you’re all wondering what’s going on. Who we are, why we’re here,” Ryan said. “All we know is that this wasn’t a virus, no matter what you might think. It’s not something you can catch from someone, get infected. My team and I are not CIA or Navy SEALs, but we have served, which is why we are dressed as we are. We’re just trying to get home to America to find our loved ones. I sugge
st that you stay put if you’re local and keep away from those creatures. You’ve all seen what they do. Any questions?”

  Loto raised his hand. “I just want to thank you for helping us.”

  “Yes, thank you,” a man in a red trucker’s cap said, touching the brim of his hat.

  The rest of the survivors began to talk amongst themselves, the volume in the room rising as they did so.

  A lady with tight curly hair stood. “What’s the government’s response in the US?”

  “Last we heard, FEMA and the National Guard were responding. Erecting shelters and distributing food. Setting up a network to reunite people,” Ryan said.

  “Last you heard?” the woman asked. Several others murmured their concern.

  “Long-range radios, cell phones and the internet have been down for the last twelve hours.”

  “What about Vancouver?” someone asked.

  “We don’t know. I’m sorry. We were in Japan when the event happened.”

  “It’s worldwide?” said a gray-haired woman. She was dressed in navy from head to toe. Long sleeves, long skirt. A gold cross around her neck. She clasped her hands together and bowed her head.

  “Yes. It’s worldwide. Everyone’s affected.”

  There were no more questions.

  Ryan knelt next to Mark and Loto. “You two seem like natural leaders. Keep them together. Arm yourself, find a defendable position and gather communications equipment.” Ryan jotted down an LK3 email and radio frequency and handed it over. “These channels are open at all times. If we ever get the network going again, that’s how you can reach us. Prince Rupert is a good spot. Lots of natural resources. Oh, and clear the airport. You’ll need it eventually.”

  Mark and Loto acknowledged that they understood and followed The Nameless down to the waiting water bomber. They waved goodbye from the jetty. Within minutes, Allie had them airborne again, heading south east.

  Sofia handed Ryan and Cal her tablet. “Internet’s still sporadic, but I received this email from Avondale via an encrypted server.”

  Nameless,