Aegis Desolation: Action-Adventure Apocalyptic Mystery Thriller (Aegis League Series Book 4)

by S. S. Segran

  The next room was an office. A big man wearing a white shirt was on a video call with his back to Marshall and Nadia. Nadia had started to move on when Marshall recognized the young fellow with tousled, honey-colored hair on screen. Tony Cross!

  He lightly tugged Nadia back toward him, both of them crouched. “You’re not gonna believe this. It’s Phoenix.”

  Caught by surprise, she grabbed his shoulder to steady herself and peeked in again. “Well! Was I right, or was I right? Still, what are the chances we’d run into Phoenix in the middle of nowhere?”

  “I’m gonna tip my hat to whatever guiding hand is behind this.”

  “It would be same one behind the prophecy. Now we need to find out what’s going on. No one does anything with this kind of secrecy without a good reason.”

  They kept moving, but the next window was blacked out. Turning the corner, they found their view similarly blocked. “Probably the same room,” Marshall said.

  Nadia made a pleased sound as they continued on. “Looks like the other three-quarters of this building is all open plan. If you go in through the front doors, I can definitely keep you covered.”

  He inspected the interior. “Perfect. Those two inside won’t even know I’m there.”

  “Still, be careful. Okay?”

  He smiled. “I will.”

  They opened their minds to each other, establishing a telepathic link. It wasn’t something they’d done often, and Nadia’s presence was still new to Marshall. She was like mist on a late autumn morning, unpinnable and free but hanging low to keep vigil over everything around her. He basked in the feeling for a few moments, then passed her the radio, his machete, and her backpack before clambering down.

  Once Nadia bent the light away from him, he used the keycard on the scanner by the door. The moment he entered, he was blasted by pressurized air in a small vestibule with fortified glass walls. He dropped down to a squat in case someone was looking his way, only to remember that he wasn’t visible anyway.

  The light above the self-closing double doors in front of him turned green. He stepped between them, headed past a locker space, and came to a set of sliding doors. On the other side were four long tables in two rows in the middle of the space. Men and women in lab coats stood at them, jotting notes and working on computers. A couple were peering into microscopes.

  Then the sensor above the entrance noticed Marshall. He froze as the doors parted with a hiss, drawing the attention of the workers. He glanced up. Nadia, at the window, gave him a thumbs-up. He gave one back, knowing that she, like other light-benders, would be able to see the outline of his aura in her mind’s eye.

  The scientists shrugged at each other, one of them muttering about malfunctioning sensors. Marshall tucked the gun into his waistband and clasped his hands behind his back as he strode in, thankful for his rubber-soled shoes. To his left were two separate control rooms with windows; one had regular lighting and the other exuded a dim amber glow.

  He approached the workstations, glancing over the employees’ shoulders at their notes. Most of the scrawls were incomprehensible, but images on the large monitors gave him pause. Enlarged three-dimensional models of strange, chiropteran-like creatures rotated on screen. Dialogue boxes with figures occasionally popped up, but he couldn’t make heads or tails of it. The place was mostly silent except for the hum of computers.

  Marshall recognized the woman who’d exchanged the basket of bugs for money on the beach in Sulawesi. So they’re here studying bats or something? he thought to himself. Why?

  He glanced to his right and his stomach curdled. Pressed up against a wall were biosafety storage units filled with liquid, each housing variations of a monstrous dark creature two feet in length. Transfixed, he hastened over to the deformed specimens, face close to the glass. Some looked alike, and when he found the labels at the bottom of each unit, he understood why.

  Nadia’s voice filled his head quietly as though she were observing an animal and didn’t want to startle it. What do you see?

  Specimens showing various progress and failures of an experiment, he said. What in the world is all this? Are they creating new species?

  At this point, nothing is off the table with these people.

  The center door at the far end of the workspace opened, and the man who’d been on the video call with Tony emerged. He reminded Marshall of an intimidating Santa Claus, complete with the big belly and the colorless hair and beard.

  “Feeding time!” the man boomed. There was a hint of a German accent when he spoke.

  The workers greeted him warmly. One of them called out, “Dr. Bertram, our guy on the mainland brought in a fresh batch a day early. I think the queen will enjoy them.”

  “Perfect.” Bertram headed toward two rows of storage shelves filled with baskets similar to what the local man had carried in the forest. “Hopefully it will quell her irritability for a few hours. She’s too unstable for my liking.”

  “We’re working on improving that, sir,” another worker assured him.

  Marshall worked his way closer, as Bertram picked a basket closest to the test specimens. Wait. So those bugs—the Megalara—aren’t collected for experiments, but for feeding?

  Feeding what? Nadia asked.

  Something they call “the queen,” and I don’t think they’re talking about Elizabeth.

  I’m not sure I like the sound of that.

  Me neither.

  With the basket in one hand, Bertram signed a sheet on a clipboard attached to a cabinet and sauntered back the way he’d come. Marshall glanced at the sheet. Timetable with the signatures of everyone who’s fed the queen . . . apparently she needs to eat half a pound every six hours or she’ll die within minutes. Those baskets look they like could hold about fifty pounds each.

  Marshall, Nadia prompted urgently, that man is heading toward the room at the back, on the far left—the one with the blacked-out windows. If that’s where the queen is, you need to follow him.

  Yes, ma’am. He took off after Bertram. Huh, it’s got a door like a bank vault.

  I see that.

  He looked up; Nadia was following him along the roof to keep him in her line of sight and invisible to others.

  Bertram pressed a few digits on a keypad beside the rotating handle and passed into the room, but the door swung shut with a deep, resonant clang before Marshall could get close. Rats!

  Don’t worry, Nadia said. I have a good view up here, remember?

  You got the numbers?

  Okay, not that great a view. But I saw which buttons he pressed: top middle, bottom middle, bottom right twice, top left once.

  Marshall took a few moments to memorize the pattern. Thanks. Best to check it out after he leaves.

  His office might be unlocked. I can hide you until you get in, then I’ll need to go around to get you in my line of sight again.

  Great minds think alike. He skulked towards Bertram’s office and turned the handle. The door clicked open. Glancing over his shoulder to make sure all the lab personnel were engrossed in their work, he widened the gap just enough to squeeze through before shutting it.

  For an establishment in the middle of nowhere, the office was fitted out nicely, with an array of exotic flowers, a tiny gurgling water fountain, a fancy humidifier, and a half-shelf of encyclopedias and science magazines.

  Found you! Nadia was directly across from him, waving through the window. I never realized how much fun it was running on rooftops until now.

  We’ll see if you still have the same opinion when you’re on the rooftop of a thirty-story hotel.

  Are you speaking from experience?

  Unfortunately. But that was years ago. Since then, I’ve fallen off the side of a thousand-foot mesa. Who knows, if I went back to that hotel, it might be a piece of cake.

  Mmh, no. You’re too valuable to the League to risk that. And—oh! Santa left an early gift for us. His laptop, it’s still open.

  Marshall cut around the desk and
settled in the well-worn swivel chair. The seat was still warm, which was distinctly unpleasant. An assortment of files and documents covered the laptop’s screen and a background photo depicted an older woman, her arms encircling a young man who beamed proudly. He held a bright-eyed infant with a pink bow on her hairless head.

  Must be his family, Nadia said. Wife, son, granddaughter. It always throws me off to think that the enemy has an existence outside of the Arcane Ventures, with people who actually care for them and whom they built a life with.

  I know. Marshall inspected the files and documents before noticing a couple of windows that had been minimized. He clicked on one and a green-and-black digital world map popped up. Blue dots outlined many of the coasts while red ones were in the oceans.

  He clicked the second tab and a window half the size of the first opened. It was a list of port cities listed by country. Most of these had checkmarks beside them. As he watched, one appeared next to New York. What in the world?

  What is it? Nadia asked. I can’t read that from up here.

  It looks like Phoenix has cargoes going out to every continent via ship. Most of them are already at their destination.

  Cargoes of . . . what?

  Just a second, there’s a footnote at the bottom with a hyperlink.

  The link opened up a spreadsheet shared amongst a few names Marshall didn’t recognize. He scrolled through the document, then spat a horrified curse. Something called Scourgers! There are ten thousand of them on every ship docking in ports around the world!

  In the reflection on screen, he saw Nadia’s hand fly to her mouth. Oh my God.

  Hold on, there’s something else. He scanned the spreadsheet. They’re also distributing something called Camazotz. These might be some of the creatures Tegan heard Reyor talking about.

  And they are . . . ?

  Marshall opened up the laptop’s search bar and typed in “Camazotz.” Two dozen documents and images were suggested. When he clicked on the first, a photo filled the entire screen and he fell completely silent. Above him, Nadia was struck dumb.

  So that’s what this place is for, he said. How much more twisted—

  Marshall, Nadia interrupted nervously, one of the guards just came out of the trees. I think he saw me. He’s moving in fast.

  Can you handle it?

  I . . . maybe. But you’ll be visible for a minute.

  That’s fine. Go!

  She released her abilities and disappeared from the window. Marshall scoured some of the other documents that had appeared in the search results, but it all looked like gibberish to him.

  The office door swung open moments later to reveal Bertram. He lurched, stunned at the sight of the Sentry in his chair. “Intruder!” He turned his head to bellow over his shoulder. “Where are the damn guards? There’s someone in my off—”

  Marshall pulled the gun out from his waistband and vaulted over the table, smashing it against Bertram’s temple. The older man teetered on his heels, dazed. The Sentry hit him again and he went down like felled timber.

  With only seconds to work, Marshall ran back to the desk, grabbed the laptop, and checked to see what kind of security it had. Fingerprint reader. Thank goodness.

  He tried one of Bertram’s index fingers and, by chance, guessed right. He quickly changed the scanner to accept his own print, then slipped the device and its charger into his pack just as the two guards from the pantry appeared at the door. He reached for the gun again but stopped when he realized they couldn’t see him.

  I’ve got you covered, Nadia said, out of breath even over telepathy. Go hide between the cabinets outside and wait for me.

  Marshall dodged past the guards and did as instructed, laying low amidst the baskets of insects. The workers at their stations hovered between the tables and Bertram’s office, unsure what to do. One of the guards looked after the unconscious man while the other, gun drawn, swept the area.

  Nadia’s voice entered his head. You’re covered.

  I’m going for the queen, he said.

  They’ll notice door opening, and you’ll be visible in there.

  I have to risk it.

  Why not just destroy it and put an end to this part of Phoenix’s plan?

  I don’t trust any threat that has Reyor’s fingerprints on it to be that easily resolved, Marshall told her. We don’t know the purpose of the queen yet. I’d rather be certain than sorry.

  Alright . . . be careful.

  He sprinted to the vault, punched in the code as Nadia had described, and turned the wheel to open the door. Once his eyes adjusted to the lowlight room, his gaze sought out and locked onto a four-and-a-half-foot-long metal container with a handle. There was a single glass window at the top. Sturdy wire meshing beside it allowed air in for the dark creature inside. Marshall wanted to get a better look at it but the workers had noticed him. They ran to cut him off, screaming for the guards. Marshall grasped the handle of the heavy container and bolted out, gun up. He fired a round into the ceiling. The scientists recoiled and backed off, making themselves small.

  “Stop!” one of the guards yelled. He got off a shot, just missing Marshall’s abdomen. As the Sentry swung his weapon toward the attacker, the guard jerked back in surprise. “What—”

  Get out of there! Nadia barked. They can’t see you anymore!

  With some effort, Marshall jammed the gun into his waistband—knowing how dangerous that was with the safety off—and made a break for the exit. As he drew close to the automatic sliding doors, a thought occurred to him. He made a sharp U-turn toward the cabinets and, with a labored grunt, hoisted one of the tall Megalara baskets with his free hand.

  I can barely run straight, he gasped.

  Once you’re outside, I’ll be able to help you! Nadia cried.

  He hurtled through the first set of doors on unsteady feet before being blasted with air at the second one. Once outside, Nadia grabbed the basket and they ran to the dock, piling into the boat. Marshall got the engine started while Nadia stowed their loot and cast off. As they pulled away from the dock, four guards bulldozed out of the trees, weapons spitting. The Sentries ducked but bullets struck the hull, blowing holes in it.

  “That might be a problem!” Nadia shouted. “Give me the gun!”

  Keeping one hand on the wheel, Marshall passed it to her and with ease she fired, sending the guards running for cover. Once they were out of their pursuers’ range, she collapsed beside him, her hair tangling in the wind. A bruise was forming on her cheek and when she noticed him eyeing it, she waved it off. “It’s from the guard that spotted me earlier. I’m fine.” She nodded at the receding island. “I think we stranded them for the moment by taking their boat.”

  As Sulawesi’s shoreline came into full view, Marshall squinted. “We need to leave, maybe head back to Malaysia to throw them off our trail and plan our next move.”

  “And you can look through the laptop for more information while I fly us there.” Nadia pinched her bottom lip. “If Phoenix is really planning to release a flood of these setan, we should warn everyone, not just the League. The world needs to be prepared.”

  “I agree, but that decision is up to the Elders. I’ll let them know.”

  Nadia glanced at her backpack. “I guess the cure will have to wait.”

  “Looks like it.” Marshall’s skin grew hot with anger, and jumping into the water to pull the boat ashore didn’t help. I hate having to prioritize this over people’s lives, but Phoenix will definitely be on our tail. He clenched his teeth. Damn you, Reyor. Damn you to the blackest pits of hell.

  Inside a lavish office space in the Heart, Mokun sat in a plush leather chair. A documentary played on an enormous flatscreen mounted on the wall in front of him. He stroked his beard, eyes never leaving the TV. Next to it, a crystal phoenix perched on its pedestal, sparkling beautifully in the light.

  Footsteps in the hallway indicated Reyor’s approach. She entered through the open door, garbed as always in the black knee-l
ength coat he’d gifted her years ago. She pushed the gold hood back, coming to a halt beside him. He observed her from the corner of his eye as she watched the screen. “Welcome back. How was your tour of the Sanctuaries?”

  “What is this?” she asked, picking up the remote and pointing it at the TV.

  “Doctors Without Borders. You just missed an incredible segment. They were performing eye surgery on a young Somali boy—in a plane.”

  Reyor hit a button on the remote, switching the channel to a news station. A red chyron scrolled across the bottom of the screen, the headline reading: “Mass shooting at California mall kills twenty, leaves fourteen others in critical condition.”

  “This,” she said, stooping down to whisper in his ear, “this is who they really are. They may have moments of selflessness, of rushing to each other’s aid in times of distress. But we cannot forget that ultimately, when there are no longer hardships to force them into a sense of unity, they degenerate into monsters. Not all at once, certainly, but little by little. Their various causes and beliefs only serve to lock horns and dig heels. Their politics pit them against each other. And not only does their media manipulate them, but the media itself is easily manipulated. And we know that because we’ve done just so.”

  “Hm.” Mokun took the remote back and muted the TV. “You are yet to answer my question.”

  “I wasn’t able to finish the tour. I got to Brazil and had to cut it short.”

  “How come?”

  “They were at the Sanctuary, Mentor. Those children. There was also an intrusion at the New Zealand site. Parts of the Sanctuary will need to be rebuilt. These pests have become far more than the irritating inconveniences that I turned the other cheek to in deference to your interest. They’ve grown into a significant threat to our operations. And on my way back here, I was informed that the Mali Sanctuary had also been breached. Luckily we managed to put down two intruders—both Sentries, from their descriptions—but a third escaped.”

  Mokun rubbed his chin with a thumb. “So five of the six Sanctuaries have been compromised,” he murmured.