by David Meyer
“Split apart,” he shouted. “Now.”
The circle broke up. The four archaics tried to adjust their gaits. But their bare feet slid on the icy soil and they fell to the ground.
Axes in hand, Caplan pounced on an archaic man. But the creature threw him off like he was nothing. Scrambling across the snow, it bit his left arm.
Cloth and flesh tore as he yanked the limb out of the archaic’s jaws. Grimacing in pain, he rolled away. The creature snarled and came at him again. But this time, he was ready.
His left axe slammed into its shoulder. His right one sliced deep into its side. The archaic’s face twisted in horrible fashion as it sank to the ground.
He yanked his axes out of the corpse. Scanning the battlefield, he saw Elliott swinging her bat at a female archaic. Flesh and bone crunched. Curling up in agony, the archaic rolled to the side. Teo, bloodied but alive, slid out from underneath it.
A male archaic shoved Toland. The man fell hard and his glasses flew off onto the snow. Twisting around, he began feeling for the lenses.
The archaic moved in for the kill, but Mills bowled it over. Her hand shot downward and she stabbed an arrow into the creature’s head.
Toland grabbed hold of his glasses. Donning them, he spun around. His gaze flitted between Mills and the dead archaic. “I hope you’re not expecting a thank you,” he said.
“Don’t worry.” She yanked the arrow out of the first archaic’s skull. Fitting it into her bowstring, she let it fly. It whistled through the air and split a second archaic’s forehead. The archaic died in mid-stride, collapsing just inches from Toland’s prone form. “I’m not.”
Shifting his gaze, Caplan watched George roll around the snow, locked in a deadly struggle with an archaic. Dr. Sandy, chair in hand, rushed over to help him. Meanwhile, Tuffel and another man had pushed an archaic up against a tree. Taking turns, they stabbed it with sharp knives.
His gaze turned toward Ross. The man lay on his side, chains unraveling from his knuckles. A shrieking female archaic pounded his head and shoulder with both fists.
Raising his axes, Caplan prepared to help his friend. But at that instant, he caught sight of the archaic’s face. His heart wrenched. His jaw slowly unhinged from his face.
No. No, it wasn’t possible. Corbotch had said so. And yet, how could he deny what he saw before him?
His lips moved. A single silent word left his mouth.
“Amanda?”
Chapter 58
Date: December 3, 2017, 12:12 a.m.; Location: Sector 214, Vallerio Forest, NH
Amanda Morgan paused in mid-attack. Her eyes lifted up from Ross’s body and stared straight at Caplan. Her face was different now. Different, yet still undeniably hers. Her eyes were still blue, although not quite as sharp as he remembered. Her forehead was sloped and her nose had grown a bit. Her cheeks, once rounded at the top and angular all the way down to her pointy jaw, had lost their shape. They were wider now. Wider and softer.
“It’s me.” He lowered his axes. “Zach.”
Her head cocked to one side. She observed him with quiet intensity.
Another tremor rocked the ground, but Caplan barely noticed it. How could this have happened? Corbotch had told him a proper archaic transformation took weeks, maybe even months. Otherwise, the archaic could expire from shock.
He knew she’d die. Caplan squeezed his eyes shut. But he sped up the transformation anyway.
Corbotch had watched them leave the Boston area, likely via drones. He’d seen them head north, knowing they were on their way to Savage Station. And so, he’d told Dr. Barden to expedite Morgan’s transformation. Not because he needed an extra archaic. No, he just wanted to hurt Caplan.
Unfortunately, that was hardly atypical for the man. Corbotch’s moral code defied easy explanation. He protected his friends and allies while killing his enemies in the most horrible ways possible. He fought to stave off mass extinction. But he had zero qualms about hurting innocent people to do so.
Caplan’s eyes teared up as he stared at Morgan. Was any bit of her still inside that body? Or had the Wipe removed her personality forever? How much longer did she have before the shock killed her? A minute? An hour? A day?
“Your name is Amanda.” He sensed vicious fighting all around him. But at that moment, it was just him and her. Like old times. “We’re friends. Good friends.”
She lunged at him. One hand hit his chest. The other cracked his right fist. Fingers unfurling, he fell. His back hit the snow and he lost his axe.
Morgan grabbed it up. She turned back to Ross. Her right hand, clenching the deadly weapon, lifted into the sky.
Caplan’s back shot off the snow. His left hand, still wielding the second axe, swung forward. The axe hurtled through the night air and slammed into Morgan’s shoulder.
Shrieking, she dropped the axe. Her hand flew to her shoulder. She found the handle and yanked it. The blade slipped out of her flesh and blood began to pour onto the snow. Dropping the second axe, she gave him a furious look. Then she fled into the dead forest.
Ross sat up, dazed but alive. Caplan grabbed both of his axes, then helped the man to his feet. He took one last look at the forest, searching for Morgan.
But Morgan, at least the Morgan he knew, was gone.
Forever.
Chapter 59
Date: December 3, 2017, 12:16 a.m.; Location: Sector 214, Vallerio Forest, NH
Screeches and howls rang out as a fresh batch of archaics pulled themselves onto the snow-covered soil. More archaics—a seemingly endless amount—streamed out after them. Metal squealed as the hatch slid back into place. The bright light vanished.
Caplan stared out at the force arrayed before him. The sheer size of it caused his breath to quicken. There were dozens of archaics. No, hundreds.
It’s all of them, he realized. James just released his entire first wave upon us.
He scanned the battlefield. Fourteen members of his group had perished in the initial skirmish. That left just sixty-five people to face over two-hundred archaics. Overwhelming odds, to be sure.
The ground rumbled again, more fiercely this time.
Overwhelming, indeed.
“Run,” he shouted.
Twisting around, he ran down the cracked road, retracing his footsteps through the charred, ancient ruins. Along the way, he saw old friends, now dead. Matt Palermo, local accountant and notorious tightwad, lay in a pool of blood and melted snow. The stunning Virginia Cukic, who Caplan had dated one glorious summer long ago, had been literally torn to pieces.
Flesh smacked into flesh. Screeches and howls, human ones this time, filled his ears. Casting a look over his shoulder, he saw the archaic army galloping toward his people. They lunged at the slowest runners, their gnarled fingers clawing at air. When they caught a fistful of clothing, they’d drag the runner to the ground and immediately go on the attack. Other archaics would join in and within seconds, the runner was a bloody corpse.
Caplan gauged the distance to the vehicles. He and a few others might make it. But the vast majority of his group would almost certainly perish under the onslaught.
He sprinted past roofless houses, claw-footed bathtubs, and a gigantic stack of ancient, weathered firewood. Up ahead, he spotted the building he’d pegged as a bank. Scraggily vegetation, all dead, ran up and down its charred walls. A concrete vault, way too big for a town of this size, sat on one end of the bank. A thick metal door, partially open, served as the sole entry point.
“Head for the vault,” he shouted, veering toward the building.
He left the road and his feet pounded across the earth. A thin layer of snow partially covered a variety of strange artifacts from another age. The soggy remains of a dime novel. A broken jar of Clayer’s Cathartic Tonic. A busted electrical telegraph, partially buried in the soil.
He stopped next to the vault and began waving people through the door. Toland, Aquila, Teo, Elliott, and Tuffel sprinted past him into the dark void. Ross, Mills, and others follo
wed them in at high speed. But not everyone was so fortunate. He saw Kay Abbey fall. Same with Pablo Sandford. Local busybody Dana Vallon fell too, her screams swallowed up by surging archaics.
The Pylors, their faces twisted with terror, hurried out of the night. Dr. Sandy was limping. George helped her, but at a cost to his own speed.
Caplan’s gaze turned to a pair of sprinting archaics. If left untouched, they’d intercept the Pylors long before the couple could reach the vault. “Bailey,” he shouted.
Mills darted out of the vault and took stock of the situation. Bow in hand, she let loose a couple of arrows, striking the two archaics in rapid succession. The archaics fell, rolling and bouncing over the snow. Other archaics tripped over them and hit the ground as well.
Mills slid back into the vault. Following her inside, Caplan took up position next to the door. He stuffed one axe into his belt and grabbed hold of a large metal handle. Still wielding the other axe, he watched the Pylors with bated breath.
Archaics grabbed at Dr. Sandy’s clothing. George swatted their hands. Shrieks rang out.
Moments later, the Pylors dove into the vault. Caplan yanked the handle, but archaics filled the gap before he could close the door. He swung his axe, drawing blood. Wounded archaics howled and tried to back up. But other archaics surged toward the vault at the same time, pushing them back toward the door.
Mills drew a pair of arrows from her quiver. Clutching them tightly, she stabbed at an archaic. It backed up just a bit and Caplan was able to close the door over a few more inches. Ross, Aquila, and others waded into the fight. Using bats, a sword, and other weapons, they forced the archaics out of the gap.
Caplan slammed the door. His fingers fumbled over a series of locks. Some were too rusty to move. But he was able to slide three bolts into place.
Flesh slammed into metal. But the thick door didn’t budge. Squeezing his eyes shut, Caplan took a deep breath. Morgan was gone. Bloodthirsty archaics surrounded him and his friends. And that behemoth, possibly the same one that had killed ArcSim, was still out there as well. No one ever said this would be easy, he thought.
A couple of flashlights came to life, casting dim light through the vault. Turning around, Caplan saw it was far larger than the exterior would suggest. He stood on a sizable landing. A desk occupied one side of it. A steep concrete staircase descended twenty feet into the earth.
Most of his group was gathered on the lower level. Their clothes were covered with mud and blood splatter. Their eyes looked devoid of light.
“So, this is how it ends.” Exhaling, Mills put away one of her arrows. “Holed up in a house of horrors.”
His gaze turned to the walls. He saw weird skeletons—some human, some not—mounted on the concrete. Shelves were positioned between the skeletons. They held arrowheads, fossilized bones, and ancient dishware with strange depictions of unearthly animals. The room was definitely a vault. But a bank vault? Not so much.
“These are artifacts,” he said slowly. “From a dig site.”
“So, Savage City was built to study an ancient civilization?”
“Yes. Plus, the creatures that lived amongst it. It must’ve been a joint archaeology-paleontology dig.” He wandered down the steps and grabbed a small metal chest from one of the shelves. Peeking inside, he saw finely granulated dirt. He picked up a handful of it and let it slip through this fingers.
Small creaks rang out and quickly gained volume. The door began to tremble.
Aquila bit her cheeks. “That door won’t hold forever.”
Another vibration shot through the earth. Dirt and dust kicked into people’s faces. They started to hack, to choke.
Stifling a cough, Caplan closed the metal chest and searched the other shelves. He passed over a section of carved stone tablets and broken pottery and focused in on bundles of old cloth and tattered rope.
“Does anyone have a lighter?” he asked.
George fished one out of his pocket. “Yup.”
Dr. Sandy, taking a break from bandaging up her own leg, arched an eyebrow.
“I know, I know.” He shrugged. “But what’s a few more cigarettes if I’m going to die anyway?”
Caplan took the lighter. He flicked the spark wheel and a bright flame appeared. “That’ll do,” he said. “Now, we need to make torches. Use your weapons as the base. There’s some old cloth around here that should burn nicely. But we’re going to need more. If you can afford to shed a layer, do it.”
“Torches?” Toland rolled his eyes. “Do you really think those archaics are afraid of a little fire?”
“Everything’s afraid of fire,” Ross said.
“Not behemoths,” Mills replied. “In fact, they might even be drawn to it. We saw Dire try to put out a fire on the night we lost Derek.”
“Wait, I don’t understand.” Aquila’s face looked pensive. “Are we trying to bring a behemoth here?”
Caplan shook his head. “That’s the last thing we need. Hopefully, the torches will keep the archaics at bay. If we stick together, we might be able to forge a path to Savage Station.”
“What if we forget about Savage?” George waved particulate out of his face. “And shoot for the cars instead.”
“That’s a longer hike,” Caplan pointed out. “And besides, we need to get into Savage as soon as possible.”
“Easier said than done,” Toland said, his voice smacking of condescension. “They closed up the hatch, remember?”
“And I promised to get it open.” Teo gave him him a withering look. “Remember?”
“Okay, let’s assume this works,” Ross said. “Let’s say we get into Savage. Obviously, Roberts and her soldiers aren’t going to be dropping off archaics tonight. They’re going to be waiting for us. That’s at least one hundred soldiers, all armed to the teeth. How are we supposed to beat them?”
Caplan racked his brain, but no answer emerged. “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “We’ll just have to figure it out along the way.”
Chapter 60
Date: December 3, 2017, 1:01 a.m.; Location: Sector 214, Vallerio Forest, NH
Horrible sounds—shrieks, screams, and cries—grew louder and louder. The vault’s door continued to shake and tremble. The locks, subjected to tremendous pressure, started to groan and buckle.
“Okay,” Caplan called out. “Light your torches.”
He held up a baseball bat. It was swathed in layers of clothing, held together by tattered rope. Flicking the lighter, he doused the cloth with flame. It lit quickly and black smoke lifted to the ceiling.
He lit Mills’ torch with his own. Then he moved on to Ross. Meanwhile, Mills touched her torch to George’s torch and his burst to life as well.
After all ten torches were lit, Caplan hiked up the steps. “As soon as I open this door, shove your torches at the crack. Once the archaics back up, filter outside. Form a ring around the door. Got it?”
Heads bobbed.
“Make sure to stay tight with the group. Don’t let the archaics goad you out of position. And whatever you do, don’t lose your torch.”
Again, heads bobbed.
The door continued to tremble and creak. Gripping one lock, he released the bolt. Then he undid the second lock. He readied his torch and took a deep breath. Then he unlocked the third bolt.
The door crashed against his foot. Long fingers wrapped around the edges. Hands stabbed into open space, stretching, reaching for victims.
Bracing himself against the wall, Caplan kept the door from swinging all the way open. Mills and Ross jabbed their torches at the hands. The sound of sizzling flesh filled the vault and the fingers withdrew.
Elliott, George, and other people added their torches to the mix. The front row of archaics backed up a few feet.
Caplan threw open the door and looked outside. The archaic army filled his field of vision. It was enormous, the stuff of nightmares. Archaics pushed against each other, grabbing and struggling. Many of them gnashed their teeth.
&n
bsp; The torchbearers filtered outside. They formed a tight ring around the door. The archaics wanted no part of the flames. But that didn’t stop them from trying to snatch the torches away.
A male archaic rushed Caplan. He jabbed his torch at it. The archaic reversed direction and started to backpedal. Stretching a bit, Caplan tagged the creature’s back. The archaic screamed. Throwing itself to the ground, it rolled through the snow.
A cold wind pressed up against Caplan’s face. Snow, big and heavy, fell at a fast clip. He looked toward the hatch. But it was difficult to see much of anything.
He waited for everyone to ascend the steps and exit the vault. Then he cupped a hand to his mouth. “Circle up,” he shouted. “And head for the station.”
The small group, which had been reduced to just fifty people, slid away from the vault. Torchbearers circled around to protect the backside. Then the group started to move through the ruins.
The archaics quickly encircled the humans. Howling and screaming, they rushed forward time and time again. Only the quick reflexes of the torchbearers kept them from breaking through the line.
The torches gave off a little heat. Even so, Caplan’s teeth chattered as he strode past heaps of dead trees and the remains of ancient vegetable gardens. “How are we looking?” he called out.
“Not good.” George jabbed a torch at a particularly-aggressive archaic. “They’re getting bolder.”
The archaics weren’t exact replicas of original archaics. Thanks to Corbotch’s microchips, they desired blood. Not because they enjoyed drinking it, but because doing so provided relief from a horrible ringing noise. Would desire for relief eventually overwhelm their instinctual fear of fire?
“Then let’s pick up the pace.” Caplan’s slow walk turned into a brisk one. A moment of confusion arose as the group adjusted its speed. A few archaics tried to take advantage, but the torchbearers made them pay for it.
The ground quaked yet again. A deep-throated snarl shot through the darkness. To his left, Caplan saw the faint outline of a hulking, vibrating shadow.
