Humanity's Death [Books 1-3]

by Black, D. S.

She could stack the odds. Help them have a chance. She’d found by mixing his blood with the White Mist he’d blessed, something very odd happened. Something she couldn’t explain, at least not without a lot more research.

  The cells slowed their mutation, became less aggressive. Only for a few minutes, but even a few minutes might be enough for her with a little help to defeat the Mountain King. The fact he hadn’t raided her experiment proved (at least she certainly hoped it proved) he couldn’t read her mind unless she was standing near him.

  Now, as she raised the vile filled with the mixture of blood and Mist, she heard Tasha come in.

  “I found what we need,” Tasha said holding up her bounty: two pistols, small and light, filled with ammo.

  “Perfect. Now all we need is a diversion. A chance to get the king alone.”

  “I can help you with that.”

  They both turned, eyes wide, hearts stopped. Behind them, somehow sneaking up on them, eavesdropping was Martin Manson. His eyes were wide, clearly drugged. His skin pale and dry. His hands shook.

  Mary Jane took one of the pistols from Tasha’s hands, raised it, putting her sights on his head. No way was this drugged up piece of shit going to ruin her only chance at getting herself, Tasha, Okona and Duras out of this alive.

  “Hey! Hey! Take it easy…I’m here to help, ya know? Give me a chance!” He held his hands up to let her know he was unarmed, and here in peace. She didn’t care. She nearly pulled the trigger.

  “Don’t. Let’s hear him out,” Tasha said taking hold of Mary Jane’s wrist. “You can always kill him after he tells us what he knows.”

  “Good idea,” Mary Jane said lowering the pistol, never taking her eyes off him.

  “Now that’s more like it. To get my help, I got conditions.”

  “Make it fast loser,” Mary Jane said, raising the pistol up an inch.

  “Whatever you got planned, I want in on it. You know…I’m not such a bad guy. Sure, I got my drug problem, but hey I’m willing to change.” His eyes went to Tasha, lingering much too long. “And…Well. I think they want to feed me to the Voice. No, I don’t think it. I know it! And I’m not about to let that happen. So if you got a plan to take down Spade, then I’m in. Just take me with you wherever you go.” His eyes looked at Tasha again, down and up, taking in her frame.

  Mary Jane raised the pistol, leveling it on his head, and stepped forward, forcing him to take a step back. She kept moving till his back was against the wall. “You have exactly three seconds to tell me what you know, or so help me God, I’ll blow your junky brains out.”

  “OK! OK! There’s only one time the king is unguarded. The Guard goes out for sacrifice. All the Guard. It’s their way of getting a fix. Getting their drug. They need to go out there and fill up on whatever juice the Voice gives. Yeah I know what the Spade told ya. That all their power comes from him even if he gets it second hand from the Voice, but they get something extra when they drop off people for the Voice to eat…or whatever the hell It does with em. My point is… they about to take some folks up there right now. It might be your only chance. Least for a while.”

  “I appreciate your help,” Mary Jane said putting her right foot slightly behind her, steadying the pistol.

  “HEY! COME ON! I HOOKED YOU U—”

  She pulled the trigger. The pistol reported.

  “Jesus, Mary!” But Tasha was smiling as she looked at Manson’s spattered brains and chunks of skull fragment.

  Mary Jane looked at her, smiling. “It’s time for a jail bust. If we’re going to die, let’s die with our lovers by our sides!”

  “Amen to that!”

  They doubled checked their guns, prepped their minds, and darted out the door as Manson’s brains continued to ooze down the metal wall in a stream of red and pink.

  A Final Goodbye

  Zarina stood with her child warriors, her comrades for the last year. Their faces were dark with mud, their eyes shining beacons of fearless intensity, their guns oiled, loaded, ready for war. A large fire roared beside them, casting their faces in dancing light. Rainmaker and Pinky, along with nearly fifty other armed men and women stood with them.

  Rainmaker’s face was still ruined, but with the help of Zarina’s magick, his body and mind had beaten infection and shock. Zarina felt his powerful soul, and wished more time existed. To get to know him would have been an honor.

  Since she’d healed him, they’d poured over the maps and drawings, creating a plan of attack. They had their roles, knew where they all must go, and the time for a final goodbye was now.

  The sound of the fire crackled. The crash of the waterfall burbled in the pond. A soft summer wind whirled ash and smoke in the night air.

  Zarina turned to her friends; her voice was soft, yet loud and commanding. “No tears. No long goodbyes. My father hated them both, and taught me it’s better to part ways—”

  Her breath was nearly knocked out when Fernando hugged her tightly, pressing her protection amulet against her breasts. It glowed warmly.

  He spoke in her ear, words meant only for her. “The hell with that. If I never see you again, I’ll never forget you. Thank you for saving me. Thank you from all of us. We love you. I love you.”

  Zarina’s eyes watered; she gently put her hands on his shoulders, pushed him back, stared at his brown eyes. She smiled and sniffed back her tears. “I will miss you to, comrade. You are brave and bold. Victory is not impossible.” She turned away from him and faced the child army, their eyes rapt with attention. “Today you take back what is yours! You fought bravely against the Militia for a year. Now you take the fight to the Mountain King’s doorstep. Today you shed more blood! Today you show them your faces! They will hear the cry of the owl! They will die at the hands of the Mudcats!”

  A chorus of ecstatic hooooooos erupted.

  Rainmaker stepped beside her. “I’ve seen, felt, and been healed by the power of Zarina. You are fortunate to have had her leadership. It’s an honor to fight by your side today. No matter the outcome, honor will be ours today. We’ve seen what the Militia does, we’ve all slept with one eye open because of them. We showed them what a small force can do in Columbia, and with your help, we’ll do it again!”

  Another chorus of hooooooos, joined by shouts from Pinky and his cowboys, and the liberated women saved from the bowels of Columbia, echoed off the rock face.

  The palaver ended. The guns were rechecked, then checked again.

  With Zarina leading, the survivors left the safety of their camp, and marched toward the Mountain King.

  A Feast of Souls

  General Bright led his prisoners to the edge of Dead Zone Black. He pushed them through the threshold with his mind. Since the moment he captured them, he’d kept a tight supernatural shackle on them, keeping them stored in a utility shed outside the casino, waiting for the right time. He felt that time was now. He didn’t know how he always knew when the Voice was ready to feed, but he always did. He assumed a supernatural string of connectivity sent him a signal. Whatever the case, that signal was now blaring. The Voice was ravenous for souls. He had three strong souls to feed It. They would give It a lot of energy, and the General would be rewarded.

  He’d tried to find Manson. Searched all night and day, but though the man was an idiot junky, he was also like a rat able to hide, keep just out of reach of Bright’s psychic abilities. So when Bright had felt the Voice calling for Its supper, he had given up the search, and took the bounty he had to bring.

  The Voice offered the King’s Guard an extra boost in supernatural power every time they brought him a feast of souls. Bright didn’t hate the Voice the way Spade did. Sure, it might be nice to have these powers, and live free of Its control; but the Voice was a mighty ally in the New World, offering them an unprecedented chance at power. Why fight It? Why risk losing what they had? This is why Bright’s mind never betrayed Spade’s desire to defeat the Voice. He never thought about it outside of his conversations with Spade.

>   Plus, if Spade was ever found out, maybe the Voice would put Bright in charge. Bright was loyal to Spade, but the idea did offer a level of attractiveness he’d considered on occasion. Considered, but never acted upon and never would. Bright’s nature was one of a loyal soldier. To the end. No matter what.

  He entered Dead Zone Black, flanked by his men with the prisoner’s in front. Bright read their minds, knew their names, their fears, which under the circumstances were surprisingly few. These were brave men. Strong and resilient. Exactly what the Voice enjoyed most.

  He listened to Vice’s mind. The man was a wild one to say the least. He wanted to kill Bright. Wanted it more than anything. Bright smiled, he liked the zeal. He saw another image in Vice’s mind. A woman. Vice’s heart longed for her, sadness and guilt. He’d found her dead. Killed and raped by the Militia. Bright chuckled at the thought. No one stood against the Militia and won. They may kill some of their drugged soldiers, have victories like in Columbia, but in the end, they all failed to stop the surge of power coming from this epicenter of dark majesty.

  Bright turned his attention to the black one. Chris. He saw an image of a broken body. His brother…Andre. Killed by the Militia? Yes.

  These souls were a perfect dinner for the Voice. Filled with hatred for what the Voice had empowered. Chris’s thoughts were strong, with little fear of death. The man only, wanted like Vice, to avenge the death of his loved one.

  Vengeance was a fool’s errand, though. Men who sought it always died, or in this case; death would not come, only eternal damnation, their angry souls locked in Dead Zone Black forever and always.

  Bright suddenly felt a tidal rush of energy, cold and energizing. The Voice appeared as gray shadow against blackness. It swirled and screamed with hunger.

  Fear. Oh yes! Even these brave men felt the doom they would endure forever. He forced Vice forward, the man’s eyes bulging with panic. The Voice was on him quickly, and the screams made the King’s Guard erupt in laughter and praise. Vice’s body was ripped to shreds, his eyes popping out, his guts spraying bloody entrails across the dark landscape. Then Vice’s soul rose, and the Voice consumed it, sucking it into Itself. Whatever was left came out of the Voice like filthy shit, and Vice’s soul, used and abused, robbed of all power, wandered off aimlessly, screaming, begging, crying.

  He forced Chris next. Chris’s screams were higher pitched and brought about louder laughter from the Guard. First his dark skin was peeled off like a banana; he cried for mercy, then his meat was torn off the bones, blood spattering in the darkness. His eye balls, bulging in their sockets, popped out, followed by gushing blood. His soul appeared, leaving the body in wavy translucent pain. His soul’s face looked like his physical body but distorted and screaming for help. The Voice sucked it down into whatever It called a belly, and then pumped it out, sending it on its wary and lonely way.

  Ice Man went next, screaming as he was consumed just like his friends. General Bright had seen it time and time again since his transformation. He’d fed the Voice nearly a thousand souls. Now like the other times, he waited for the reward.

  He wasn’t disappointed. A rush of energy engulfed him, he fell to his knees, and breathed it in. All his men did the same. It felt as though he’d been touched by the hand of a god. He felt fresh power boiling in his veins.

  Then the Voice disappeared without a word, most likely to speak with Spade, as It always did after a feast. It had never spoken to Bright directly, only through Spade. That didn’t bother Bright. He was content with his position. Happy with the authority invested in him by both Spade and the Voice.

  Bright stood, preparing to leave; then he felt something. A ripple within the fabric of Dead Zone Black. An unwelcomed visitor. A mind he couldn’t quite read. He looked around, trying to locate the source. He felt the energy. Strong. Resilient, filled with power.

  Bright swallowed hard and felt a jolt of panic inside him. Something he hadn’t felt since his transformation.

  He smiled. He liked it.

  But what, or who had entered the Dead Zone?

  Then against his will, a name appeared along with the image of a woman, small in physical stature, yet towering in might and ability.

  The name ran across his mind in bold: ZARINA.

  Busted

  Just before Mary Jane blew Manson’s brains out, Spade paced the hallways, thinking, obsessing, he stopped cold. He felt the presence of the Voice coming. He always had a few moments of warning. Like a rush of cold air just before the rain. He tried to prep his mind, take his forbidding plans to the blackest regions of his mind, a place thus far, the Voice had not conquered.

  Then the Voice hit him with what felt like a ten-pound hammer. Spade flew off his feet, crashed into the wall. He got up and looked around bewildered; his face a mask of fear. He held his hands out for balance. He felt dizzy.

  He was thrown against the wall again, his body imprinted into the dry wall. All day he’d obsessed about Mary Jane and her ability to find a way to fight the Voice. Would she do it? Would she try and find a way to save her friends instead? Would she be so foolish? Normally when Spade thought of plans to fight the Voice, he did so in his meditation room, and only for short spans of time when he knew It was far away or feeding.

  He’d let his guard down. Became anxious and careless with his mind.

  Now the black cloud of energy swirled above him like a terrifying mini hurricane of darkness and tyranny.

  “LIAR! I SEE YOUR THOUGHTS! I SEE YOUR TREACHERY!”

  “No! Please!” Spade fell against the wall, his hands on his ears. He screamed for mercy. Tears gushed from his eyes. The sound of the Voice boomed louder than ever in his mind.

  “BETRAYER! TRAITOR! YOU THOUGHT I WOULD NEVER SEE YOUR TREACHEROUS THOUGHTS? YOU THOUGHT YOU WERE SMART ENOUGH TO CHALLENGE ME! YOU FOOL! IMBECILE! I OWN YOU!”

  “AHHHHHHHH!” Spade’s mind felt like it was imploding. His skull felt as though it would crack open from the immensity of the pain he felt. He stumbled, fell, pulled himself back up, fell again. “I beg for forgiveness! Please master! Please! I made a mistake! AHHHHHHHH!” The pressure built in his mind, and he nearly blacked out, but the Voice let up before he could. Waves of pain pulsed through his entire body. Every nerve ending felt like fire consumed them.

  “IT IS TIME! TIME TO END THIS! YOU ARE A SERIOUS DISSAPOINTMENT, MORON! FUCKING IDIOT!!!”

  Spade was suddenly flung from his feet, crashing hard against the wall, falling hard on the floor. He stayed there, wrapping himself up in a fetal position; hoping to die. Wanting his life to end. He’d wanted to defeat the Voice but failed, failed miserably. Now he was at Its mercy.

  “YOU COULD HAVE HAD IT ALL. NOW, YOU HAVE NOTHING! NOTHING! IT IS TIME FOR THE FINAL SOLUTION! IT IS TIME TO SEND THEM ALL INTO FOG AND DUST! DEATH! DEATH! DEATH!”

  Spade knew what to do, the only option left. The final solution. Complete and total annihilation. He stood up, found his footing and made his way out of his office, down long hallways until he reached his meditation room. He went in and unlocked a large metal locker. In it, hooked to a timed detonator were two mini nuclear war heads.

  He left his office, found a push cart, and returned to the locker. He loaded them on the cart’s metal platform and left his meditation room. He went to his studio, the one place he’d found the most peace. He set up the war heads on a table. He thought for a moment. How long? How long did he need? He waited for the Voice to offer him an answer, but nothing came. The Voice had left him. Why?

  He didn’t care. At least this way he could enjoy his final moments in peace.

  He set the timer for twenty minutes and pressed START.

  20:00…19:59…19:58…

  He picked up a blank canvas. He grabbed his drawing pencil, paint brush, and before he realized what he was doing; his deft fingers created the outline of his son and wife.

  And all the Kings Men

  1

  As Zarina and her comrades neared the casino, they pa
rted ways silently, only their eyes offering a final farewell. As they went towards the front and flanks of the casino, Zarina made her way to the back, heading straight for Dead Zone Black.

  Her heart trip hammered against her chest, her eyes burned violet. She felt the fear drying her mouth, and remembered her father’s words: fear, my sweet Zarina, is an illusion. Danger is real, but fear distorts reality, making a victorious Hunt impossible.

  It didn’t take her long to get there. She moved swiftly and silently through the trees, her footsteps barely touching the ground. She stepped out of the tree line, a rock face to her left, and looming tall and menacing in front of her, was Dead Zone Black.

  It was dark full on night, yet she saw clearly. She’d never been this close to the spirit realm, and before the gunslinger came to her in a vision; she never believed she would have a reason to chance her soul in such a dreadful place.

  She reached out and touched the misty gelatin; her hand went through it easily, and she felt a wild thrill shoot down her spine. Her nipples became hard and erect; her skin sprouted goosebumps. Her new revolver, a powerful colt python with the touch of the supernatural, glowed bright blue. She pulled her protection amulet from under her shirt and kissed it, then placed it back.

  Without another moment of hesitation, Zarina stepped into the world of the dead.

  2

  Zarina raised her eyes to the trees. The wind moved against the branches, the leaves, making them look like a river in shadowed motion. The world looked the same as outside the Dead Zone except everything was now hazy, a little distorted like liquid smoke, the colors desaturated like she’d stepped into a dream. And it was cold. A frozen hell. She saw her breath coming out in puffs against the chill.

  She saw movement all around her, dashes of light and form, bodies of both what looked like ghosts one moment, and then full formed humans in the next. A mirage. That’s the thought that came to her. A trick. A delusion. An attempt to play with the senses.