by Chris Fox
He called up feed five, which dominated the main screen. The camera was aimed at the Giza plateau and provided a spectacular view of the Pyramids and the Sphinx. The ground shook and trembled, sending temple columns and a few stones from the pyramids tumbling to the earth. Odd, since Egypt wasn’t seismically active.
Then a jet black point jutted from the earth between the first and second Pyramids. It grew larger and larger, boring up through the earth just as the one in Peru had. Only this one was far, far larger. The ground around it roiled and bucked as it continued its ascent. Eventually, the structure hit both the first and second pyramids, knocking them out of its path like children’s blocks. Five thousand years of human history were obliterated in the blink of an eye, leaving nothing but rubble at the feet of what must now be the largest man-made structure in the world. Assuming it was man-made.
Only the Sphinx had survived the destruction, now perched at the very foot of the newly arrived pyramid, as if it had been made to sit there. Odd that. The pyramid’s obsidian surface was different than its counterpart in Peru. It was decorated with elaborate golden hieroglyphs as large as a man. Thousands upon thousands of them. What did they mean? Who had created them? There were so many damned questions and precious few answers.
“Sir,” Benson barked as she shot to her feet. “There are more of those things. One in Australia. Another in Cambodia. There might be others but those are the ones that we’ve identified thus far.”
The Director walked back to his desk and called the Old Man.
Chapter 3-Zombies
“Director Phillips?” a voice blared from somewhere outside the dream. Mark struggled awake, sitting up in bed. He glanced at the clock. 2:43 am. He'd only been out for about forty minutes. It was more than he'd expected.
An insistent red light flashed at the base of the wall screen. He tapped it.
“I’m awake. Report,” he said, still groggy but already processing. If they’d woken him this quickly after he'd left Ops, something monumental must have happened.
“Sir, I’m piping you the footage from satellite five now,” a female voice said. It was the Asian tech. Benson. “I’ve concatenated the most important parts, complete with our initial analysis.”
He was impressed. She hadn’t apologized for waking him, which most other techs would have done. If it was important enough to wake him she was smart enough to realize no apology was needed, because she was simply performing the duty he’d assigned her.
Mark picked up the tablet from the nightstand and propped the pillow up against the wall. He leaned back, swiping to wake the device. It took a few moments to browse to the footage Benson had indicated. There were four videos, one from Cairo, another from London, the third from Berlin and the final one from Paris. He started with London.
It was a top-down view of downtown, just outside a hospital. Police stood in the street, directing crowds of people. Abandoned vehicles clogged the street and thousands of people streamed between them. It was his first look at a large city after all power had been lost, but beyond the expected chaos he didn’t see anything remarkable.
A figure staggered out of the hospital. Then another. Then a third and a fourth. They lurched drunkenly towards the crowd, where they began to attack people. At first most of the crowd barely noticed, but then some of those attacked rose and began attacking others. The violence spread like wildfire, ripping into the crowd in several places.
People were finally aware. They began stampeding away from their attackers, more than one poor soul trampled as people flooded past. The camera zoomed in, focusing on the spot where the violence had begun. Several figures knelt over the fallen. Were they…feeding?
A window popped up on the far side of the screen, listing behavior observed over the next two hours. Extreme violence. Immunity to pain or injury. Inability to speak or reason. Extreme and lethal aggression. Benson had included a great deal of data but drew no conclusion, though it was obvious to any observer. He’d just witnessed a scene that could have come from a Romero movie. Those people were zombies.
Mark turned off the tablet, setting it on the pillow beside him as he considered the implications. He could assume the other three videos showed similar incidents. That suggested this might be global, though he couldn’t confirm that without more evidence.
The Old Man had hinted for years that some sort of apocalypse was coming, but Mark had assumed that it must be the CME. It was only recently that he’d modified that hypothesis to assume that the werewolf outbreak in South America was somehow part of a master plan set in motion eight millennia before their recorded history began. What if he wasn’t seeing the whole picture? What if this zombie outbreak was the real apocalypse? Who had set it in motion and what did they stand to gain from it? How did the werewolves figure into it all? Most importantly, how much did the Old Man know and why wasn’t he sharing that knowledge?
Mark turned the tablet back on and browsed to the Cairo video. The pyramid was significantly larger than the others and the fact that the world’s oldest known pyramids had been built virtually on top of it was suggestive. Were the ancient Egyptians the distant descendants of the people who’d built that pyramid?
The footage was from a higher vantage than London, showing pandemonium sweeping the streets of Cairo. Some people ran, some fought and others huddled on top of buildings. Those in the streets were pulled down by growing hordes of shambling corpses, soon rising to join their attackers. It chilled him, but what came next was even worse.
As one, the corpses froze. Thousands of bodies all at once. Then they began a slow orderly walk towards the massive black pyramid. He sped up the footage, watching as they marched like ants towards the base of that structure. An army of the dead in neat, even rows. Waiting, but for what?
It was time to alert the Old Man. He swiped to his contacts and tapped the connect button next to the Old Man’s dour picture. The tablet beeped twice and then went to voice mail. Mark checked the time. 3 am. Mohn would have picked up, unless he was on a call. Who could the Old Man be talking to?
Mark logged into the admin panel, delving down into the call logs. Odd. The Old Man had placed six calls to London in the last four hours. Who the hell was he talking to in the middle of the night? The London facility was small and held little tactical value right now. The woman in charge there wasn’t even a top-level executive. In fact, Margery probably knew less about what was happening in her own city than Mark did. So why would Mohn be calling there?
Chapter 4- The Dead Rule
The dead ruled Cajamarca. Blair gazed down at the moonlit city from his perch atop the steeple. The church sat midway up a hill at the city’s edge, looking down on a sea of churches, skyscrapers and homes. Not a single street light or friendly glow from a residential neighborhood could be found. Whether the people had lost power when the second wave hit or were merely trying to hide, no one seemed willing to advertise their presence with so much as a flashlight.
Yet they were down there. He could smell a dozen competing scents, all tinged with fear. There were survivors and they’d wisely chosen to hunker down and wait for help to arrive. Blair was that help.
“Look, down there by that grocery store,” Liz said, materializing next to him. Her copper hair was bound in a tight ponytail and she wore a pair of black yoga pants with a matching jacket. Simple night camouflage. “Something moved in that window.”
“You know, I hate it when you do that,” Blair said, eyeing her sidelong. She’d taken to using a new trick the Mother had shown her. Something she called shadow riding. That usually meant she was lurking in his shadow. Literally. “It could have been a zombie. Or a pet.”
“Maybe, but it’s worth a look,” Liz replied. She turned to face a neighboring apartment building, beckoning.
A figure blurred into view, crossing the distance between them in three quick hops. A tall man in a black t-shirt and dark canvas pants landed on the roof below them, his blonde hair covered by a tactical helmet wi
th a glass visor. He cradled an assault rifle in his arms, scanning the darkness for threats. Part of Blair still panicked at the sight of Commander Jordan, memories of fleeing Mohn’s chief executioner still fresh in his mind. No. That had all changed.
The Commander was on their side now. He’d risen just a few hours after the Mother had torn him apart, a blonde werewolf a good six inches taller than Blair’s silver form. Not that Jordan wore his bestial form often. The soldier definitely preferred conventional weaponry to claws, but he seemed just as effective without them. They could use their increased strength and speed while in human form, and Jordan utilized both with terrifying lethality.
“Sit rep?” Jordan asked, all business. Blair still didn’t trust him. It was hard trusting a man who’d blown up houses to hunt you down.
“Movement down there in the grocery store. Blair and I will check it out. I want you and Bridget to wait here,” Liz ordered. Blair was amazed at how easily command came to her now. She’d already adopted the Mother’s doctrine of the Ka-Ken being the battlefield commanders. The role fit her.
“We can do that,” Bridget said, emerging from the shadows behind Jordan. She was comically short beside him, though those roles would reverse if she shifted. Bridget wore the same black yoga pants as Liz, with a black tank top that left her pale shoulders exposed. She caught his eye. “Be careful, Blair.”
“It’s probably nothing, but we have to check,” he said, shrugging. He turned towards the building, eyeing the route in between. “Four jumps. You going to hitch a ride, Liz?”
“Sure, faster that way,” she said, flowing into the darkness like inky mist. Damn, it was eerie. He couldn’t feel anything, not the slightest hint that she was in his shadow. Yet he was positive she was there.
He bounded down the slope, drawing on the moon’s strength to fuel his blur. The wind whipped at his clothing, blowing his hood back and plastering the jacket to his body. He landed just outside the grocery store in the middle of a near-empty parking lot. He raised his nose, examining the scents. Soap. Sweat. Urine.
“You were right. There’s someone alive in there,” he whispered, moving to the door in a low crouch. He peered through the glass, scanning the dark aisles. A normal person would be blind, but the thin moonlight lit the place like day for his eyes. He could clearly make out several figures. “Look, crouched there in the produce section. Four of them.”
“Shall we introduce ourselves?” Liz’s disembodied voice asked, still wrapped in shadow.
“Ok, I’ll go inside. Stick to the shadows unless I get into trouble. We don’t want them to feel threatened,” he replied, rising to his feet. He rapped lightly on the glass.
Two of the four figures drew together, whispering. He couldn’t quite catch their heartbeats, but the words were plain. A young man was speaking in Spanish. “We should let him in. He could die out there.”
“We barely have enough food as it is,” an older woman hissed. Mother maybe? “Besides, what if he’s been bitten by those things. We can’t take a chance.”
“I’m letting him in,” another man said, this one older. He rose and started walking towards the door. Blair did his best to look harmless as the man approached. He stopped at the door and turned the bolt, then heaved until the glass slid open. He peered out at Blair. “Get inside and be quick about it. Those things can show up at any moment.”
Blair ducked inside, waiting near the grocery carts while the man slid the door shut. He hurried back to the produce section, gesturing towards Blair to follow. The man led him to the back where the other three figures all squatted in darkness.
“I’m Miguel, this is Yvessa, her son Juan and that's Carlos,” Miguel explained. He leaned forward, the moonlight illuminating the left side of this face. “Listen, you ain’t been bit, have you? By those things.”
“No, I haven’t,” Blair replied.
“How did you get past them then? They’re everywhere,” asked the woman Miguel had introduced as Yvessa.
“You wouldn’t believe me and it’s not that important. My friends and I are doing our best to clear the city, but like you said those things are everywhere,” he said, unsure how much he should reveal. He wished they’d discussed what to actually say before approaching survivors. Too late now.
“You’re one of those wolf things, aren’t you?” Juan said, a bit louder than the others in his excitement. “I told mom that I saw one of them fighting the zombies. She didn’t believe me, but it makes sense. Everyone just sort of forgot all the werewolves when the zombies came, but they’re still out there. A lot of them. They stopped killing us and started killing zombies. Guess they hate them even more than they hate us.”
“Yes, I’m one of them,” Blair admitted. Maybe it wasn’t the smartest move, but they were going to find out soon enough. "Listen, I know the werewolves went crazy and a lot of people died. That’s over. Werewolves will kill the zombies and protect you.”
“You expect us to believe that? You eat people,” Yvessa screeched, voice echoing through the store.
Everyone froze. They waited for several long heartbeats, but there was nothing. Maybe the zombies hadn’t heard.
“I know you’ve got no reason to trust me, so judge me by my actions. There’s a church up on that hill with a tall gate around the grounds. We’ve already cleared the zombies there, and we’ve stockpiled guns and food. If we can get you inside, you should be safe,” Blair explained, praying they’d accept his help. “If you stay here, sooner or later they’ll get in. We can’t protect humans everywhere, so we’ve got to get you to where you can protect yourselves.”
Silence reigned for several moments as the people eyed each other in the darkness. No one seemed willing to make a decision until Miguel finally spoke. "My brother was killed by those werewolves. Hell, for all I know, it could have been you that killed him. I'm not going anywhere with you."
“So what do you suggest?” Juan asked, glaring up at Miguel. The little kid had spunk. "If we stay here, we're going to die. Besides, if he wants to kill us, what are you going to do about it?"
“He’s right,” the quiet one finally said. Carlos, that was his name. He stood, hefting a backpack and settling the straps over his shoulders. “There were six of us yesterday. Ten a week ago. We’ve got to do something or in a few days there won’t be anyone left. What’s your name, mister?”
“Blair. Blair Smith,” he said, offering Carlos a hand. The man had a firm grip. “My friends can be a little frightening, but I want to remind you that we’re here to protect you. Follow me.”
Blair moved confidently to the door, hoping that Liz wouldn’t reveal herself just yet. He’d just gotten through to them, but his control was tenuous. One sudden shock and these people would scatter like a flock of birds.
They made it into the parking lot, a dim expanse of cracked asphalt bordering a two-lane road that led back to the church. Getting there was going to be a lot harder on foot with refugees in tow. Blair turned to face his charges. “I’m going to start by introducing one of my friends. Her name is Liz. Don’t be startled when she appears. Liz?”
Liz shimmered into existence, stepping from the shadows. It helped that she’d remained in human form, a beautiful redhead in tight clothing was a lot less intimidating than a nine-foot werewolf. She gave their new friends a warm smile. “Hi there. Like he said, my name is Liz. I’m going to help you get to safety. Just stay between the two of us. Move quickly and quietly and we’ll all get through this.”
They gave her the deer-in-headlights look, all except Juan, who was just old enough to be ruled by hormones and therefore far more interested in Liz’s figure than the fact that she’d just stepped out of thin air. Blair found himself liking the kid.
“This way. Quickly,” Blair said, moving up the middle of the street. Juan filed after him immediately, the others a few moments later. Liz brought up the rear as they wound around a low squat building that looked like a school. The road grew steeper until they rounded a bloc
k of apartments and finally spotted the church.
Blair scanned the roof until he located Jordan. Line of sight was a limitation for his abilities, as was distance. This was within range, though. He concentrated, sending a thought towards the beefy soldier. We’re coming up the main thoroughfare. Send Bridget to meet us, but hang back with your rifle and pick anything off that gets too close.
Blair didn't wait for an answer. Jordan was having trouble adapting to his mental abilities, and hadn't learned to send responses yet. He kept moving, slowing a bit as the breathing behind him grew more labored. Sometimes he forgot how much being a werewolf had changed him. Blair had never been in great shape, but since the change things like this were effortless. He could sprint uphill for miles without growing winded. He glanced over his shoulder to see Juan helping Yvessa up the hill. Carlos and Miguel seemed to be faring better, the pair darting nervous glances into darkened apartments.
Something screeched in the distance, followed by the slap of bare feet on pavement. Blair leapt to the top of a neighboring street light, catching the metal with one hand and flipping on top of it. He scanned the dark park between them and the noise.
“Zombies,” Blair muttered, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Why did it have to be zombies? The ancient enemy couldn’t have been lawn gnomes or something?”
A mob of pale figures was sprinting in their direction, far more quickly than any zombie he’d seen so far. Damn. A number of movies used fast zombies, but he’d hoped that was just enthusiastic storytelling and that the garden-variety slow walker was all they’d have to deal with.
“Incoming,” he called down to the group. Liz looked up to meet his gaze. “There are at least six of them, all coming this way.”
