No Mere Zombie: Deathless Book 2

by Chris Fox

  “Jordan,” Blair called, trotting towards him. He pulled up a few feet away. “So you and Bridget are heading out with the Mother this morning?”

  “Back to Cajamarca, yeah,” he said, falling in beside Blair. The pair made their way towards their hastily erected mess. So odd to be walking next to someone he’d battled to the death only a week before. “Hopefully we can find more survivors and get them to the church. No idea if any will accept her offer, but I suspect a few will be desperate enough to try.”

  “Let’s hope so. We’re going to need all the help we can get,” Blair replied. They entered the mess to find everyone else already there.

  “Morning,” Bridget called, giving a little wave. She was sitting next to Liz, whose hair was loose today. It looked good on her. The Mother sat across from them, cross-legged on the bench. She ate nothing, eyeing the food distastefully. There was no sign of Cyntia, but Jordan could smell her. She’d probably just left.

  “Eat your muck swiftly,” the Mother ordered, gesturing to the empty seat next to her. A pair of bowls had been set out, the pleasant aroma of maple oatmeal steaming out of each. “We’ll leave as soon as you finish. I want to reach this city by midday.”

  “That’s not possible,” Jordan said, sliding onto the bench next to her. He picked up his spoon and stirred the oatmeal. Maybe it wasn't smart to contradict her, but the words were already out, so he forged ahead. “It took us two days to get there last time out.”

  “Just because you have not done it doesn’t mean it isn’t possible. I will teach you to blur over long distances. This ability is like a muscle and will get stronger through use,” she explained, crinkling her nose as he took his first bite. He still found it odd that she survived solely on meat. He was as much a carnivore as any man, but one needed chocolate and coffee too.

  “What about Bridget?” he asked, nodding towards the petite brunette. “She can’t blur.”

  “She will ride your shadow,” the Mother explained, as if that settled the matter.

  Bridget paled and he could guess why. Liz had already learned that trick, but Bridget seemed slower on the uptake. Not that she wasn’t intelligent, but whatever gave them their power was harder for her to use. It was the same for him. Blair picked up all this shaping crap with ease, yet for Jordan it took concentrated effort to do things that Blair considered simple.

  “I’m ready,” Jordan said, dropping his spoon in the empty bowl. No sense putting it off. They had work to be about.

  “Very well,” the Mother said, rising lithely from her seat. Bridget stood as well, hefting her black nylon pack.

  She glanced at Liz and her eyes hardened with determination. Then she turned back to Jordan. Her whole body began to tremble, and a moment later she flowed into the shadows. Into his shadow, to be more specific.

  Jordan hefted his own pack, feeling more than a little uncomfortable that Bridget and her pack had vanished so completely. He rose from the bench and followed the Mother as she made her way up the northern corridor towards the surface. The Mother glided into a run, swift but not quite a sprint. Was this the pace she planned to set for the whole trip? It had that feel. Could he maintain it?

  Of course he could. He was a god-damn killing machine. He could run for days as a human. Now? Jordan pushed himself, bouncing past the Mother and into the lead. The Mother shifted, suddenly nine and a half feet of silver fur. She bounded off the wall, retaking the lead. He matched her shift, his shirt and pants shredded by the move. Damn it.

  Try as he might, he couldn’t catch her. She shot a grin over her shoulder. It was alarmingly childlike for a woman who’d lived forever as a goddess. They burst from the tunnel into the bright morning light, blazingly hot but pleasant nonetheless. They loped southwest, heading back the direction they’d just recently come. Jordan didn’t know what to expect, but if nothing else, this trip would be interesting.

  Chapter 10- Irakesh

  Irakesh snapped awake, blinking rapidly as his eyes adjusted. Dim splashes of ruby and emerald danced on the walls, cast by the gems powering the rejuvenator that had carried him into this new age. The entire structure vibrated as the crystal became a thick viscous liquid that pushed him up through the top. It hardened underneath him, leaving him atop it’s warm surface.

  He dropped lightly to his feet as his gaze darted frantically around the secondary rejuvenation chamber. There were six other rejuvenators, none of the gems active. The silver door was sealed, the Ark glyph on its surface dark. Odd. That should have been lit, even if faintly. Had the Ark run out of power? That couldn’t be or he’d have never awakened.

  Perhaps he’d been detected and Isis had locked down the chamber. If that were the case he’d be dead in minutes, assuming he could evade her that long. If he’d had a heartbeat, it would be thudding frantically in his chest. He struggled to calm himself. She wasn’t going to catch him. He was as safe as he could be nestled in the very heart of his enemy’s stronghold. Irakesh had reservations for the first time since he’d concocted this mad plan. Could it be done?

  Such thoughts were useless. He was committed to this course now. If he failed, he’d die in the attempt and even if he somehow lived Ra would flay him alive as an example of those who failed her. A harsh mistress, his mother.

  He padded silently on the supple soles of his boots, creeping to the doorway that led into the corridor beyond. All was dark out there, hardly a surprise given the sabotage he’d arranged just prior to the Ark’s internment. All sorts of systems would be failing, though he’d been excruciatingly careful to ensure that the rejuvenators were safe from his tampering.

  Irakesh channeled a bit of energy to his eyes, drinking in the near darkness as if it were lit by the full moon. He crept down the corridor, straining for the faintest of sounds. There was nothing this far down. He was on the Ark’s nineteenth tier, a full eight tiers beneath the surface. Either Isis hadn’t made it down this far, or had sealed it off after her exploration. There was no movement, not even the air stirred.

  He was completely sealed off. Had he needed to breathe such a thing would have been the end of him. Ptah’s shaping ensured that the Ark would see him as a champion, which would normally mean life support. Yet he’d blinded the sensors in this area, so the Ark had no idea that someone was alive down here.

  Irakesh padded silently up the corridor, marveling at the fantastic hieroglyphs. They told a tale he was familiar with, that of Isis’s exodus from the Cradle. Yet there were many differences from the narrative Ra had circulated. These glyphs painted Isis as a savior of her people, the creator of champions who shielded the unblooded from the depredations of the evil deathless. How quaint. So near the truth and yet not.

  He reached a wide stairwell leading to the next tier. Each step was a struggle, because they’d been created for the much larger champions. The males topped seven feet and the females were even larger. Most deathless, like him, retained a near human form. Some could reshape their bodies, though that was generally reserved for those much older than Irakesh and was a more permanent process.

  A wide silver door blocked the corridor, set with the glyph meaning Ark. He hesitated before placing his hand on the warm metal. This was the moment of truth, the time during which he’d be discovered or would know that he was still cloaked by the shadows and by his subterfuge. When the door opened it would trigger an alert. Anyone linked to the Ark would know that he was moving down here. If that someone were Isis, then his very short life was about to end.

  Irakesh pressed his palm into the silver, waiting an eternity as it opened. He blurred up the hallway, using some of his dwindling energy reserves to get some distance from the door. He stopped near a statue of Ka-Ket, the Mother’s favorite daughter. He’d never met her, but battle legends said she was an implacable foe. Often called Jes’Ka, or eater of death in the old tongue. She towered over him, spear held in both hands. Beautiful. He wished he could have met her in person.

  He waited at her feet, listening for the s
ound that would herald his death. None came. Perhaps Isis had already departed and was securing the area. That had been the plan, after all. Something must be occupying her attention or she’d have felt his presence moving through the heart of her sanctuary and come to investigate.

  Irakesh trotted silently down the corridor, taking the most direct route across this tier. He repeated this five more times, gliding through silent rooms that hadn’t known the sun in thirteen millennia. It was a tomb, this place. He exited the corridor into the Ark’s central chamber. This would be the most dangerous place. If there were opposition, it would be here.

  He gathered the shadows thick about him, enveloping him like the womb of the very night itself. It wouldn’t stop Isis; she was too canny for that. But it would fool any of her Ka-Dun, had she any left in the Ark. Irakesh crept between the monoliths, gawking at the catastrophic damage around him. The entire chamber had been torn apart by some unknown weapon. Gouges marred walls and floor. The obelisks that powered the place were shattered, only three of five intact. This was why Isis hadn’t detected him. She’d been unable to. This Ark was damaged past usefulness. Unless she repaired it, one of the greatest wonders the world had ever known was little more than a fancy cave.

  Was this somehow his work? It couldn’t be. His sabotage had only damaged a few critical systems. This place had been through a protracted battle with a level of violence he’d never witnessed. Though it made his job easier a part of him cried out at the destruction. This place was more than priceless. It was power.

  He crept closer to the access key, a statue of Isis, life-sized and incredibly intricate. He could feel the power matrix within, thrumming with the life the Ark somehow still clung to. It was enough for his purpose. He reached for Isis’s outstretched palm, wrapping his cool fingers around the warm stone. It pulsed, sending a jolt shooting up his arm. It hurt, but he didn’t dare release the hand before it had done its work. Another pulse, then a third and fourth in rapid succession.

  Just like that it was over. He stared down at his hand in wonder. He’d done it. He’d stolen the access key for the Ark of the Redwood. If he could make his way to the northern continent he could finally show them all. He'd become one of the most powerful Ark Lords the world had ever seen.

  Chapter 11- Deathless

  If staring at a woman’s ass were illegal then the police were already on their way. Blair gaped openly as Liz bent over to pick up a stack of heavy plastic crates left behind by Mohn Corp. She wore a tight-fitting pair of black fatigues, not the sexiest clothes but still impossible to ignore on a woman like her. He felt a brief twinge of guilt given his recent flirting with Bridget, but only a twinge. It’s not as if Liz even knew he was looking.

  She easily hefted three of the crates, each weighing sixty pounds or more. Liz began walking back to the Ark, peering around her burdens since they were taller than her head. Blair picked up two of the crates knowing the limits of his strength. He still found it odd that women were so much stronger than men, but it provided a strange sort of balance to the traditional world.

  “Let’s make this the last load,” Liz called over her shoulder. A sheen of sweat made her shirt cling to her back, highlighting the muscles as they moved. “We’ve been at this all day. There’s enough food and medical supplies down there to last us for months.”

  “You’re not getting an argument from me,” Blair replied, following after her. It was easier to go single file through the Ark’s confines, at least when carrying this sort of burden. “It looks like we’ve raided almost everything we can from their camp anyway. Pickings have been slim for the last few trips.”

  “Maybe we can actually relax for a bit after we finish,” Liz suggested, beaming one of those smiles over her shoulder.

  “I found a bottle of rum yesterday,” Blair said, shooting back a grin. “We ought to crack it open and celebrate. You realize this will be the first downtime we’ve had since we became werewolves? We didn’t even pause after the end of the world.”

  They entered the comforting shade of the tunnel, winding down into the Ark. It amazed him how differently he’d come to view it since the day he’d arrived. That had been less than three months ago, and yet the gulf was wider than any lifetime. The corridor sloped down as they passed the first row of antechambers.

  “So can I confide something?” Liz asked, slowing until he could walk with her.

  “Of course. After the things we’ve shared? You can tell me anything,” Blair replied, adjusting the weight of the crates.

  “I’m having trouble sleeping. I haven’t been able to since that day we woke up naked. The day I, well shit I can’t even say it,” she finished lamely, quickening her step again.

  “The day you killed that man when we were on the run,” Blair finished for her. He quickened his pace to match. “Liz, you’re a doctor. A healer. You’re kind and everything I’ve seen you do is aimed at helping the people around you. I get why this is hard for you, maybe better than anyone.”

  “Do you?” she asked, eyes sharp. “Blair, I wanted to heal people. Make the world a better place. Now I kill. Relentlessly. I’m a death machine, the ultimate warrior. That’s my lot in life now, to slaughter every day. To fight. It isn’t me, Blair. It isn’t fair. This isn’t who I was supposed to be.”

  He didn’t have an answer. They walked in silence until they reached the eastern wing. Then he cleared his throat, finally sorting out his thoughts enough to speak. “Liz, neither one of us wanted this. I was a teacher. You were a healer. We can still be those things. For you? Cleanse the land, Liz. Just like you said you wanted to. Kill the zombies. Wipe out the undead. Help a new and better world rise from the ashes. That’s your purpose now.”

  “How can you accept it so easily?” she asked, setting down her crates as they finally arrived in the mess. She turned to face him, ponytail swishing across her shoulder. “I just can’t get my mind around it. I can smell blood. Hear heartbeats. But what’s worse? I want to hunt, Blair. I want to kill. I want to let it out and slaughter everything around me. How do you reconcile that with the teacher in you? Because the doctor in me is horrified.”

  “Because I’ve come to understand that the world we lived in only existed because some had to sacrifice to make it so,” Blair explained. It was something he’d thought long on. He set down the crates before continuing. “Soldiers fought to secure oil so America was wealthy. Our standard of living was paid for in their lives. We’re safe from fires because firemen put themselves in harm’s way. We don’t have the luxury of being doctors or teachers anymore. We’re soldiers now. Either we take back this world or the zombies snuff it out. Does it suck? Sure. But we don’t have a choice. I square the beast in me, because I need it to fulfill my role. To do the things no one else can.”

  “I hadn’t looked at it that way,” Liz admitted, moving to sit on the edge of the long table. “We really are necessary. I think about what would have happened without this place. What if Mohn had won and the werewolves were stopped? Where would the world be? Overwhelmed by zombies and out of power. You saw what those fast zombies did and the Mother says that’s just the beginning."

  Her expression softened and his mouth went dry as he stared into her eyes.

  “Listen, Blair. I wanted to talk to you about Bri-,” Liz began, trailing off as he whirled to face the corridor.

  “We’re not alone,” Blair said, peeling off his shirt and dropping it to the marble. He shucked out of his pants as well. They were comfortable and he didn’t want to replace them. Again. “Someone is accessing systems in the central chamber. I can feel it, like something whispering in my ear.”

  Only one of the Mother’s near progeny could access the Ark. There is another champion within these walls, perhaps from the secondary rejuvenation chamber.

  “It’s another werewolf, someone like us,” Blair explained, turning to face Liz, who was also stripping. He tried not to stare. Focus. “I’m going to go delay her so she doesn’t get away. Get ther
e as quickly as you can.”

  “Blair that’s- ,” Liz began.

  No time. He blurred, all the way up the corridor and down another. Blurred again to reach the central chamber, crossing the distance in a span of heartbeats. He leapt through the doorway, rolling down the ramp and behind one of the damaged obelisks. The room was empty, or at least it appeared so.

  “You’re not Isis,” a male voice called from the shadows. It was clearly amused, clipped with something akin to a British accent, though he knew that wasn’t quite right. “So she sent a single Ka-Dun? A poor decision on her part unless you are a good deal more powerful than you appear. Why don’t you tuck your tail between your legs scurry away? I’ll let you live.”

  “Why don’t you come out where I can see you? I’d be happy to show you just how powerful I am,” Blair roared. Why couldn’t he hear a heartbeat? Or smell the intruder? He was perfectly cloaked, like a female.

  “Of course,” the intruder said, right behind him. Blair began to spin but even as he blurred, so did the intruder. Blair caught the impression of ebony skin and a shaved head, but what drew his attention were the smoldering green eyes and the razored teeth. The same teeth as the fast zombies.

  The stranger brought the palm of his hand up, mere inches from Blair’s chest. It glowed the same sickly green as the eyes and then discharged an arc of energy. The bolt took Blair in the chest, hurling him against an obelisk with a sickening crunch and a flash of agony. The blow shattered his back, erasing feeling below his waist.

  “I have appeared,” the man said. He loomed over Blair, grinning cruelly. His age was indeterminate, perhaps early thirties. He wore a shimmering white vest and flowing white pants similar to the Mother’s garb. Both wrists bore golden bracelets and he had an elaborate neck torque that could have been found in an Egyptian tomb. His skin suggested Nubian ancestry. “Where is this power you were going to show me? All I see is a pup with a broken back, yipping at something it cannot understand.”