Children of the Fifth Sun

by Gareth Worthington

  “You need to concentrate and follow my instructions, I’m sure the people following you will not wait forever for you to leave the café. Eventually, they will come in for you, crowded or not.”

  “And then what? How will you get me out of here?”

  “We will get you out, but first, you need to finish the job. Put the key into the computer.”

  Jerry complied. Blinking through the sweat running down his face into his eyes, he slid the key into the USB port in the side of the monitor. A small dialogue box appeared on the screen: enter password. “Okay, it’s asking for a password.” Jerry’s breathing was labored.

  “Okay, it’s a 256-bit encryption key. Not hard to crack, but we need you to type it in quickly. So type the following: 721B, E92F, 71D2, FB13, C266, C970, 5E76, D6B5, 8D17, 737F, 4524, 038C, 6E22, 7A2D9A.”

  Jerry duly typed the numbers but his insides were on fire. The bile rose into his mouth.

  “Have you completed it?”

  “I’m sorry, I feel so hot and dizzy. What were the last digits?”

  “How hot and dizzy?”

  “Actually, very.”

  “When was the last time you came into physical contact with another person?” The voice was cold and hard.

  Jerry strained to think. He was sweating profusely. Warm liquid trickled from his nose and down his lip before splashing on the keyboard. Blood. Jerry panicked and wiped his sleeve across his face and then on the keyboard. “Shit.”

  “What is it?”

  “Blood! I’m bleeding from the nose. What’s wrong with me?” His voice was hushed but strained.

  “It sounds like you’ve been injected with a form of viral hemorrhagic fever.”

  “What!”

  “Think of it as a weaponized Ebola virus. When did you last come into physical contact with another human?”

  “The club, I guess the club. It was crammed in there. What will happen to me?”

  “How long ago?”

  “I don’t know, a few hours? What will happen to me?”

  “I won’t lie to you. You’ll die, and you don’t have much time.”

  Jerry whimpered. “Can you help me?”

  “Perhaps, Jerry, but I need you to finish the job. Then we can try and help you.”

  Jerry coughed, spraying blood across the screen and into the face of the young, blonde woman opposite him. She shrieked and reeled backward, falling from her chair, clutching her face. The entire café was suddenly deathly silent. Everyone stared at Jerry, who sat motionless, blood running down his face, the fever overwhelming him.

  In slow motion, Jerry saw a nearby man lunge for him, screaming something about a gun. He collided with Jerry, dragging him to the floor. The sound of crying erupted in the room as the punters attempted to stampede out of the tiny establishment.

  Jerry clawed at the nearby chair, exhausted and coughing thick red blood over his own face and that of the would-be hero. He desperately looked for his cell phone. Where was it? The man, now smattered with Jerry’s blood, panicked. Pushing Jerry off, he scrambled to his feet and fled for the exit.

  He was alone now. The sound of the café alarm rang in his ears, but the place was devoid of people. Jerry stood swaying to and fro, trying to blink away his blurry vision—without much success. He caught sight of his phone under a desk and unsteadily bent down to pick it up. Resting on one knee, he put the cell to his face, smearing blood across its screen. “H ... hello?”

  “Have you finished entering the key, Jerry?”

  “No, no, no. I am bleeding—I’m dying. Everyone ... is gone. I can’t ...”

  “You must complete the code, Jerry.”

  “I didn’t ... put ... in ... the last set of digits.” His breathing was becoming more labored.

  “7 ... A ... 2 ... D ... 9 ... A. Have you done it?”

  Jerry stared at the keyboard and slowly typed in the command. Each press of a key was heavy and misguided.

  “Okay ... done.”

  “Hit return, Jerry.”

  “O ... K.” The return key depressed with a clunk. Jerry wearily watched the computer screen rush into life, window after window spewing onto the screen. He could catch glimpses of information, schematics and photos flashing within each box before being covered by a hundred more windows. Whatever he had done, it was spreading—like a virus. Every computer next to him burst into life, projecting the same imagery.

  “Thank you, Jerry.”

  “Okay ... please ... hel—”

  Click.

  Jerry listened to the rapidly repeating tone signifying the call had been ended. He stood rocking backward and forward. Crimson tears streamed from his eyes, and his ears filled with the sound of the alarm and approaching police cars, muffled through rushing blood. But it did not matter. No one could help him now.

  Location: Paradise Ranch, Nevada, USA

  It was nine in the morning, and the room was already full. The others had gathered around the table and were intently listening to the professor, rambling on as always. Freya eyed the group. Chris was a funny, little, Hispanic man, she thought, like some kind of over-fed, chubby lapdog following his master around. What the hell was he wearing? Khaki shorts, jungle boots, and some sort of loud Hawaiian shirt—ugh. Then there was the stuffy British woman, or rather English woman. The snotty bitch had corrected this oh-so-offensive faux pas—Britain was three countries, and she was “distinctly English, not Scottish, Welsh or Irish.” Who cared? Stupid little island. Anyway, for all her airs and graces, she still didn’t seem to be impressing Kelly. He wasn’t falling for it. He was a man’s man. He needed a strong woman, not a prissy, whining, little girl. And did she only have one outfit—Jungle Jane? It looked exactly the same as the one she’d been wearing the entire trip. And why was she so twitchy, sitting there shifting in her seat?

  Freya turned her attention to Kelly. She stared at him, analyzing his muscular build. He was wearing a relaxed, white t-shirt that just stretched at his biceps and chest, blue jeans, and work boots. He didn’t need anything else. His wavy dark hair was brushed backward but fell about his face; it was more like a neat mane than hair, she thought. A pointed grin spread over Freya’s lips.

  She slid silently behind the chairs and table, gliding effortlessly until reaching the spare seat next to Kelly. Gracefully and in one motion, Freya slithered onto the plastic chair and crossed her willowy legs. The lace top of her silky black stockings peeped from beneath the thigh-length slit in her gray pencil skirt. She didn’t look at him but could feel his eyes briefly scan her.

  Kelly sighed. Jesus, this girl was not at all subtle. Sure, she was beautiful. She even resembled Izel a little, but that was where the similarity ended. She had no class and no style, though she thought she had both. Shit, he’d stopped listening. What was the General saying?

  “The circumstances are such that you are better off here for now, and indeed, it is logical at this juncture we explain a little further the ... political situation you now find yourself in.” The General was rambling slightly and darting glances at the professor.

  “You have done enough explaining, I think!” Victoria jumped up from her chair. “You are planning something awful with this thing.” She glanced at the butt of the gun that was poking from beneath the Shadow Man’s jacket, the safety strap of the holster clearly not fastened. In a split second, she made up her mind.

  Victoria grabbed the gun from the Shadow Man’s holster, then rolled her body off his chest. His tried to grab her, but was much too slow to catch her wiry person. She fell into the corridor and sprinted toward the aquarium room, brandishing the Magnum in one hand.

  “No! Victoria!” Kelly leapt across the glass table, feet first, and sprinted out into the hallway. He tumbled into the wall but bounced off it and kept his stride, continuing to chase her down.

  The group scrambled to their feet and followed suit, each one filing through the door as fast as they could. Even Ms. Nilsson tottered down the corridor as fast as her high he
els and restrictive skirt would allow.

  The doors were already open, allowing Victoria to crash into the room. She stopped dead in front of the aquarium and stared furiously into the cold, dark water. The lights were still dim, and she couldn’t see it. Where was it?

  Slowly, K’in glided up to his window to the dry world. He hovered in front of the glass as if waiting for Victoria to speak. His blind gaze was fixed on her. Victoria lifted the heavy gun in both hands. It was difficult to keep the barrel straight. Her hands were shaking—not with fear but with rage. This abomination had to die. Tears streamed down her cheeks. The gun’s hammer eased backward as she squeezed the trigger.

  Kelly exploded into the room behind her, followed by the rest of the group and several more armed guards. “Victoria, don’t be stupid!”

  “I’m not being stupid! This, this thing—it’s not right. God would not have favored this thing over us. He loves us. It’s not what they say; they are just creating some kind of underwater army. It’s all about warfare, as always.” She didn’t look at Kelly, her words reverberating against the glass tank.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Ms. McKenzie.” The General stepped calmly next to Victoria, though not in between her and the tank.

  “Watch me. You Americans are gung-ho with no regard for life. Traipsing around the world and imposing your ways on everyone! Now this! Blasphemy! Defacing our history, our souls with stories of another species greater than us ... creating a false chronology to fit your needs!” She shook with fury and indignation.

  “Ms. McKenzie, what do you think the Catholic Church did for centuries? Destroying the peoples of South America? Absorbing pagan—”

  “Shut up, Doc. Are you fucking kidding me?” Kelly glared at the professor before turning to his friend. “Victoria, don’t do it. Who knows if these guys are right? Huh? Not me. Not you. Hell, it’s a theory. And do you think if you take out fish-face they won’t make another? This isn’t going to achieve anything.”

  Victoria paused; her pained expression eased as if his words had managed to penetrate her cloak of anger. “But ... it’s not right. If he is what they say, my life, my whole life, my family’s life was a lie.”

  She raised the gun again, aimed, then pulled the trigger.

  Location: Paradise Ranch, Nevada, USA

  Everything shook as a violent sound wave ripped through the room, followed by chunks of exploding brickwork. The desks shuddered, spilling computer screens and stationery to the floor. A single fissure tore a serrated line vertically through the aquarium glass, spraying water into the room from the corners of the jagged fracture.

  Victoria fell backward, flailing for something to grab. She had squeezed the trigger of the Magnum, releasing a single shot into the air. It ricocheted off the ceiling and pinged around the laboratory several times. Victoria slammed into the floor, elbows first in an attempt to cushion the fall but screamed in pain as her arm bones splintered.

  A guard careened into the room, dodging falling pieces of debris, ducking and diving his way to the General who was stumbling toward the communications system next to the door.

  “Sir, we’re under attack! They’ve sent in a Special Forces team. Satellite imagery has identified several attack subs off the western seaboard. We received an encoded message to return the object and the creature.”

  The General yelled his orders. “Get the emergency transportation ready—I want K’in out of here, now!”

  “Yes, sir.” The soldier’s voice was drowned out as another explosion cleaved the room in two.

  Mortar and glass blasted from the aquarium, carried on a swell of salt water. It rushed over the debris and people in a destructive wave, washing everything toward the opposite end of the laboratory. K’in spilled out over the broken window pane and flopped onto the tiled floor. His body twitched as his bare skin was enveloped by the barren atmosphere. Harsh air filled his neotenous lungs, scorching the alveoli with oxygen, making K’in gasp.

  “Oh God, K’in!” The professor slipped and slid, trying to reach him. “Mr. Graham, help me!”

  Kelly was drenched. His white t-shirt was now see-through and stained pink with diluted blood. He clutched Chris’s limp body to his chest, rocking him back and forth like a small child.

  Chris looked up at his friend, his brother, his protector. “Shit. And I bet you thought she couldn’t shoot.” He gargled a bloody chuckle, then winced in pain as crimson liquid oozed from a round hole in his shirt pocket.

  Kelly stifled the lump in his throat. “Yeah, who’d have thought?”

  “Mr. Graham, please! We have to move K’in!” The professor had managed to crawl over the slippery tiles to K’in’s wilted form. He was uselessly tugging at the white, mucus-covered limbs in an attempt to move the creature.

  “Fuck your fish, Doc!” he screamed in the professor’s direction. “Chris. Chris, you little shit, don’t you fucking give up on me.”

  “Kelly, you can’t protect me forever. I was never your responsibility.” He breathed deeply, grimacing in anguish. “I’m finished here, esé ... time to see Izel again.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Fuck you right back.”

  They stared at each other, a forced smirk on both their faces.

  “Now, go get that fish and these people out of here. You know it’s what Izel would have done.”

  Kelly shook his head. “Help the military?”

  “Help someone who’s helpless.”

  Kelly raised his head to see the professor, and now the General, hoisting K’in into the air. Several guards were rushing around, splashing through the water. Mr. Tremaine, his dark suit wet and clinging to his massive body, had picked up an unconscious Victoria and slung her over one shoulder. Ms. Nilsson, now shoeless, was furiously shouting orders into a cell phone. Kelly turned his gaze back to Chris. He was gone.

  He stared blankly at Chris’s still warm corpse. His heart slowed. The din around him melted into white noise. The water appeared to ripple in slow motion around Chris’s limbs. Kelly closed his eyes and immersed himself in the darkness behind tear-filled eyelids. Chris was gone.

  “Mr. Graham! This place is coming down—we have to move now!”

  The world spun. Kelly’s stomach was in knots as he tried to focus on the General. He clambered to his feet, leaving Chris in a cold mix of water and blood, and stumbled toward the open door. Debris flew across the room, missing Kelly’s head by millimeters, but he paid no attention. Without blinking, he staggered onward and out through the door into the corridor.

  “Move it!” The General had slung K’in over his shoulder and bolted past Kelly down the corridor. “Freya, move him!”

  Freya placed a hand gently on Kelly’s shoulder. “C’mon. We have to go, Kelly.” It was the first time she had used his first name. Her voice was soft and gentle.

  He focused on her weak smile, a vain effort at encouragement. She pointed down the corridor toward the rapidly disappearing forms of the General and K’in. Kelly nodded blankly and followed after them.

  The complex shook under the repeated explosions. Smoke and dust filled the narrow corridors, obscuring all sense of direction. The General led the way through the maze, weaving left and right. There was no logic to his movements just a strong sense of instinct like a rat in a labyrinth. They followed him as best they could, their eyes stinging with particles of soot and stone, straining for a glimpse of his boots beneath the haze. He stopped abruptly, causing them to bunch up behind him. The General stepped slowly backward toward Mr. Tremaine before signaling him to press against the corridor wall.

  The General unholstered his Beretta with his left hand, being careful not to let K’in slip from his right shoulder. He pointed the firearm toward the floor in front of him and walked slowly to the right corner of the T-junction. He edged forward to glimpse down the right hand passageway. There was something in the smoke—a figure, dressed in black, his head covered in a balaclava. Tremaine tapped the General on the should
er and communicated through his eyes: what was it? The General shook his head and pointed toward the left corridor, indicating to move quietly down the stairs. The Shadow Man turned to the rest of the group and gestured for them to follow him.

  They descended a seemingly endless, circular stairway. The motion made Kelly feel dizzy, and he was about to vomit when the General stopped suddenly. They had reached the bottom. Benjamin ran to the huge door in front of him and typed a code into an embedded panel. A familiar, metallic sound, reverberated around Kelly as the door slid open. Benjamin beckoned them inside. “Move, now.”

  Kelly stepped in and was immediately awed by the vehicle before him. He gawked at the massive, semi-articulated truck sitting brusquely in the middle of the room. The cab and the trailer gleamed with metallic black paint. A distinctive, shark-nosed chrome grill protruded from the front of the truck above a deep chrome front bumper that protected Harley-Davidson-like headlights. Two huge fuel tanks and two massive chrome stacks with aggressive bologna cut tips were set at the back of the truck, making it appear sleek. The wheels were equally huge, almost two feet across and forged from machined aluminum. The trailer, an elliptical tube sporting six huge wheels placed at the rear, must have been twenty feet long.

  “Mr. Graham, help me get him in the trailer.”

  Kelly’s focus was drawn from the machine as the General ran past, K’in flouncing around on his back. He paused for a few seconds, as if the instruction hadn’t penetrated his skull.

  “Now, Mr. Graham!”

  Kelly jolted into action and sprinted after the General. He clambered up the chrome ladder onto the top of the trailer. He found a circular manhole in the top and a full QWERTY keypad embedded in its surface.

  “Type 6782, lowercase a, uppercase Z, 4, ampersand, 9, and punch enter,” called the General.

  Kelly tapped in the code. The lid popped open as if it were under pressure. By this time, the General had effortlessly scaled the ladder and was at Kelly’s side. The General pulled back the lid until it clanged against the hull of the trailer. Kelly peered inside. A faint, blue haze emanated from within, obscuring the true color of the interior. The floor of the trailer, molded seamlessly into the walls, had two levels—one a few feet higher than the other and bridged by another molded slope.