by Chris Fox
A cyclone of dust burst next to him as Steve’s black-clad form appeared in a crouch. “We should wait for the others. They can’t move as swiftly as we can and we don’t want to get overrun.”
“Jordan can. Besides, the thing I’ve been chasing for weeks is right behind that door. He could be boarding an aircraft as we speak. You and I need to delay him until the others arrive,” Blair growled, planting his foot against the door. He shifted, kicking with all his might. The door was flung inward, rattling an erratic path across smooth concrete. The tattered remains of his t-shirt still clung to his furry shoulders.
“All right,” Steve agreed, giving a tight nod. “But we’re telling the others this was your idea.”
Blair grinned back, striding into the hangar’s dim silence. His eyes adjusted, revealing several massive shapes. Planes, all of different sorts. There were four of them. The closest was a Cessna about the same size as Garland’s. He paused, straining his senses. He heard nothing, but what did he smell? The cloyingly sweet stench of rotting meat.
Shapes moved in the darkness, shambling towards them in a mindless mass. So many. A wave of low moans broke over them.
“What’s your plan, Blair?” Steve asked, more than a little smug. He shifted, his clothing vanishing into his midnight fur. How the hell did he do that?
“I can feel him that way,” Blair said, pointing towards the farthest of the bulky shapes. It was a massive cargo plane of the kind used in every military movie from the past two decades. Large and squat with four engines and a long ramp extending down the back. “He’s inside that plane. Right now. We just have to get there.”
“That’s going to be a problem,” Steve said, grabbing Blair’s shoulder. He pointed into the darkness. “A big problem.”
The ground shook as a massive figure pounded a path towards them. It towered over the other zombies, a good ten or eleven feet tall and wider than any linebacker he’d ever seen. The thing made Liz-wolf look like a puppy. The giant resembled the other zombies, pale flaccid skin and too-white, razored teeth. Yet where they wore dull vacant expressions its eyes shone green with cunning. Where they shambled it thundered, massive muscles bunching as it surged towards them. It moved so swiftly, knocking shorter zombies aside like kindling as it approached.
“Move,” Blair roared, rolling out of the thing’s path. It thundered past, leaving the stench of death in its wake. He shot to his feet, turning to Steve. “Get something sharp and stab it in the spine. I’ll distract it.”
“Got it,” Steve shot back, blurring to the door of the Cessna. He yanked it open and disappeared inside.
Blair turned his attention back to the huge deathless just in time to receive a meaty fist to the face. It shattered his jaw, sending bone fragments rattling through his skull. He blanked, coming to in a heap against a wall. There were gaps. Pieces missing. So many things danced out of reach. How badly hurt was he? The ground shook as something large approached. Damn him for a fool. Why hadn’t he waited for everyone?
Give over to me, Ka-Dun. Your mind is damaged. This battle you cannot win.
Blair let go, falling into darkness.
Chapter 38- Pre-flight
Trevor flipped each of the four switches in rapid succession, enhanced hearing picking up answering clinks from within the bowels of the plane. They were followed by a rush of liquid flowing down what he assumed must be fuel lines. He turned back to the manual in his left hand, scanning the next paragraph.
“I do not understand,” Cyntia complained from the co-pilot’s chair next to him. Her arms were crossed, but left just low enough to frame a generous expanse of cleavage. He was supposed to look, both because of male instincts and because she wanted him to. He didn’t. “Why do you need the book? You said you’d learned how to pilot from the corpse you ate two days ago.”
“He knew how to fly a Cessna,” Trevor answered, only giving her half his attention. He needed to concentrate, but if he ignored her she’d find increasingly annoying methods of getting his attention. That was a growing irritation as the feeding affected her mind. “This is a much larger aircraft and the startup sequence is radically different. I can figure it out, but I need a little time.”
“You’ve run out of time, I’m afraid,” Irakesh said, slipping into the cockpit through the thick steel doorway behind the pilot’s chair. Trevor was willing to bet the door could stop heavy caliber bullets or maybe even a rampaging werewolf, though he wasn’t eager to find out. Irakesh pointed through the canopy towards a sliver of light coming from the far wall. “The door has been opened and two Ka-Dun have entered. One possesses the access key, this Blair you’ve named him. The other is unfamiliar to me, perhaps an ally acquired during his journey. Either we leave now or prepare ourselves for combat. The thralls I’ve left will not delay them for long, not once his Ka-Ken arrives. Even the Anakim will be little more than a distraction.”
“This thing’s been mothballed. I need at least a few minutes for the self-fueling to complete. I can’t rush this,” Trevor protested, eyeing a long blue cylinder that reminded him of a thermometer. The level slowly rose, indicating the active fuel level to the propellers.
“We don’t have that time,” Irakesh growled, eyes flaring a sickly green. He turned to Cyntia. “Get out there and prowl the shadows. If they make for this plane harry them, but do not let yourself be drawn into a prolonged engagement. The goal is not to win, but to delay.”
“And don’t hurt Liz or Blair,” Trevor added firmly. He swiveled the leather pilot’s chair to face Irakesh.
“Trevor, do you need to be present to oversee this process?” Irakesh asked, nodding toward the array of gauges along the cockpit.
“No, the fueling will take care of itself. It’s all automated,” Trevor replied, eyes narrowing. He didn’t like where this was going.
“Then you will also delay our pursuers,” Irakesh ordered, gesturing towards the open door on the other side of the cockpit.
“No, I won’t,” Trevor replied, meeting the deathless’s gaze. “Our deal is that I won’t fight Blair or Liz.”
“Nor will you,” Irakesh growled. “You will fight their companions. They are sure to have brought them. I will deal with Blair. Cyntia can delay Liz.”
“That’s not our bargain. You said you wouldn’t hurt them,” Trevor shot back, anger rising. He felt heat rising from Irakesh, pressing down on his will, a blatant reminder that he was the master.
“The deal was that I would not ask you to hurt Liz or Blair, nor hurt them myself. You said nothing about asking Cyntia to do it,” Irakesh said, hand shooting out in a blur. He seized Trevor by the neck, hefting him from his seat. “You also said nothing about attacking your sister’s companions. We made a deal, you and I, and you will abide by it. The fact that you no longer care for this deal is immaterial. Either you cooperate or I will force you to kill your sister then feast upon your meager mind myself. Am I making my will understood, thrall?”
“I will kill you for this someday,” Trevor growled. Today the deathless could jerk him about like a puppet, and all he could do was dance. Tomorrow would be a different story.
“No, you will kill me for this,” Irakesh said, caressing the words as an ominous smile bloomed. He extended a hand, tips touching Trevor’s chest. Agony flooded him. His limbs were on fire, throat constricting. Trevor collapsed to his knees, hugging the chair for support. He was dimly aware of Irakesh’s smug voice as the deathless continued. “Calm yourself, Cyntia. I haven’t harmed him.”
Trevor was aware of the dirty-blond form that had sprung into existence next to him. He hadn’t even seen her shift. She stood protectively over him, ready to attack Irakesh though he could smell her fear.
“What did you do to me?” Trevor asked, wobbling alarmingly as he struggled to his feet.
“It will pass in a moment. Let’s just say I’ve assumed a more direct form of control,” Irakesh’s grin grew wider. He gestured to the cockpit door. “Don’t let me stop you. You both
have tasks to accomplish, do you not?”
What did he do? Trevor asked. He waited for a response from the voice. Nothing. Can you hear me?
The voice was just…gone. Trevor’s gaze locked on Irakesh. The deathless gave a knowing smile.
Chapter 39- Bad to Worse
Liz flung open the jeep’s door, kicking off the seat with enough force to send the vehicle skidding across the pavement. She landed in a crouch near the doorway her two companions had just disappeared through. Damn Blair and damn Steve for following him. If he wasn’t already dead she was going to kill him. They should have attacked as a group, but those two school kids had rushed blindly ahead.
“Bridget, through the door to the right. I’ll go left. Jordan, follow and watch our backs,” Liz commanded, low voice rumbling like a semi.
Bridget’s silver form leapt through the door, managing majestic if not beautiful. In contrast, Liz probably resembled a very large pit bull whose territory had just been invaded, ungainly but undeniable.
She sprinted through the door, gathering the shadows close about her as she entered the dim. A chorus of familiar low moans echoed through the hangar, obscuring most other noise. The exception was the din of combat coming from somewhere near the center, the area obscured by two bulky planes. She heard the low grunts that were probably Blair and Steve, followed by a hollow boom as something empty was struck with massive force.
It was too dark too see, too crowded to pick out individual noises in the cacophony. A haze of putrid death shrouded everything, making it impossible to track by scent. How the hell was she supposed to find targets in this?
She was aware of Jordan’s shorter blonde form entering quietly behind her, the butt of his rifle set against a furry shoulder as the thick barrel scanned the darkness. Sensing sudden movement a couple dozen feet to her left, Bridget lunged from the shadows tearing into a trio of zombies. They went down in a spray of gore, extinguished like candles as more of their brethren surged forward. They seemed endless.
“Bridget,” Liz roared, pointing towards the direction she’d last heard combat. “Carve a path in that direction. Jordan, cut down anything that gets behind us. Let’s move.” She surged forward, unlimbering her claws. A corpulent zombie stood before her with a mop of curly hair and a cracked pair of glasses that had somehow clung to his face. She brought an elbow down to crush his skull, already moving to the next target.
The trio flowed with incredible synergy despite having only worked together for a few weeks. Jordan mercilessly cut down the zombies trying to close ranks behind them, while she and Bridget mowed a wide path through the hangar. They rounded one of the planes, this one a mid-sized Cessna like the one Garland had flown. As she rounded the plane’s white nose she finally saw Blair, his silver body shattered and broken against the wheel of another plane.
A huge zombie loomed over Blair, taller than her by at least a couple feet. The thing seemed consternated by the plane in the way, leaning back and forth as if unsure how to reach him. Its limbs were too long, chest too broad. The ungainly creature finally dropped to its knees and extended an arm under the plane. It patted the ground a few feet to Blair’s left, searching. It wouldn’t be long until it found him.
Blam.
A gunshot cracked behind her. Right behind her. She jerked around, expecting to see Jordan killing a zombie. What she found turned her innards to ice and constricted her throat with death’s black hands. Jordan lay in a pool of his own blood, both fanged face and furry chest an unrecognizable mess. That she might have been able to process, but it was the attacker that untied her like a pair of shoelaces. It was Trevor.
For one tiny shaving of a moment she caught his gaze, eyes horribly green just like Irakesh. His teeth, too white and razor-sharp. Trevor was her brother, but everything in her cried that he needed to be destroyed. Then he vanished, slipping into the shadows just as she would have.
She did the same, more instinct than conscious thought. There was no conscious thought, only reeling from what she’d just witnessed.
“Liz, help me,” Bridget-wolf bellowed. Liz spun in time to see her silver form roll between the giant zombie’s legs.
Bridget leapt onto its back, tearing at its throat in the same way a lion might tackle a bear. The creature was unimpressed, seizing Bridget by the arm and slamming her into the side of the plane with a horrible boom that thundered through the silence left in the wake of the gunfire. Metal buckled and glass shattered as her body sank into the plane.
Liz glanced back at Jordan, scanning the darkness for Trevor. Dammit, why did she have to make choices like this? She spun to face Bridget again, bounding around zombies until she had a clear line of attack. Then she charged, aiming for the zombie’s knee. She caught it with her shoulder, spilling the thing onto its side with the sharp crack of bone. She rolled away, feeling the wind as one of its meaty arms slammed the ground where she’d just been.
The giant zombie crawled towards her, face a twisted mask of rage. Hopefully it couldn’t heal that leg as quickly as she could, which might give her time to wear it down. She danced backwards, glancing around to make sure no zombies had gotten too close. Perhaps if she landed on its back she could- .
A fist emerged from her gut, furry fingers slick and red with her intestines still clutched between clawed fingers. She was shoved forward, into the reach of the giant zombie. It seized her leg, shattering her kneecap in a parody of the wound she’d given it. She shrieked, beating at the meaty fist that clutched her leg. She risked a glance behind her, but there was no sign of her assailant. It had been a werewolf, she was sure of that.
Taste the air, Ka-Ken. What do you smell?
It was a familiar scent. Cyntia. That fucking bitch. Liz roared, knifing both hands into her own leg just above the zombie’s hands. It sent a spear of hot flame up her leg as she severed it, but she was free. She scrambled backwards, gathering the shadows about her in a protective cloak.
There was no sign of Cyntia. She lurked somewhere in the shadows, patiently waiting to strike. Why hadn’t she struck when Liz was vulnerable? She glanced at the dented plane. There was no sign of Bridget. She too had escaped to the shadows. That was why Cyntia hadn’t attacked. Her cowardice didn’t surprise Liz; hell it was welcome. It meant she was predictable, and that might give Liz the advantage in their game of wolf and mouse.
Searing heat surged down her leg as she flopped around like a fish. Being so vulnerable terrified her and a panicked part of her mind wondered if there were some way for either Cyntia or the massive zombie to find her in the shadows. She had to get control. Liz seized the knee just above the bloody stump, pinning it in place as a new tibia suddenly extended from the gaping wound. It was joined by a fibula, then a mass of muscles that writhed into place like a sea of scarlet snakes. The tide of agony threatened to pull her under, but she wouldn’t allow it. Couldn’t allow it.
When the pain finally ceased she looked to the spot where Blair had lain. There was no sign of him, just a pool of blood. Good, he’d healed and probably found his way back into the fight. She needed to do the same. Liz scanned the darkness, assessing the combat to see where she might be of most use. There was still no sign of Bridget, but somewhere on the far side of the hangar she heard the ring of metal on metal. It sounded like someone fighting with a sword, at least if her memory of Lord of the Rings was any indication.
A scuffle came from the far side of the plane, two large bodies grappling. She caught a flash of fur as the pair spilled to the ground, one of them the blonde fur she recognized as belonging to Jordan. The other was a sickly version of the same color. Cyntia. Liz dropped prone and rolled under the plane, springing to her feet on the far side near the combatants. Jordan was getting the worst of it.
He lay on his stomach pinned by Cyntia’s much larger form. His left arm was bent at the wrong angle and there was no sign of any of his ever-present guns. Cyntia bit down, savaging the back of his neck as she began to feed. She ripped loose a mouthful of
fur and flesh, gulping it down greedily. She seemed unaware of the gore coating her face, already bending for another bite.
“Get off him, you fucking bitch,” Liz roared, stepping forward and kicking with all her considerable might. The blow caught Cyntia in the chin, splintering her jaw and flinging her backwards with a sharp crack. Cynthia tumbled backwards, rolling into the shadows as she regained her footing and glared at Liz with hateful eyes, now the deep scarlet of a heart wound. When had they changed?
Those eyes winked out as Cyntia fled back into the shadows. Liz looked about warily as she knelt next to Jordan and felt for a pulse. She’d never seen him so badly wounded, but knew that Blair had recovered from worse. Hopefully he was okay. She pushed through the fur until her fingers found the carotid artery. The pulse was thready, but at least there was one.
Movement behind her. She began to spin, but too late. Cyntia lunged from the shadows, fangs painted red from Jordan’s blood. She seized Liz, yanking her throat forward even as her fangs descended. Fresh agony ripped through her as Cyntia bit into her throat. She couldn’t breathe. Everything was fire. She tumbled backwards, Cyntia’s once smaller form crashing down on top of her.
Chapter 40- Turning Point
Blair came to with a gasp atop the wing of the Cessna. He was coated in something hot and sticky. Blood. His blood. Deafening peals of combat echoed over him like some gigantic church bell. Gunshots and crates smashing and metal bending. He rolled to his feet, taking in his immediate surroundings. The giant zombie lay twitching on the ground nearby, seemingly unable to rise. Its hand still clutched a furry leg. Auburn fur. Liz. Where was she?
Rage surged through him as he surveyed the hangar, but she was nowhere to be found.
Something tugged at him. Blair turned towards the far side of the hangar where he’d seen the biggest plane earlier. The one Irakesh was presumably inside, or perhaps had just emerged from since the link had grown stronger. He was in the darkness somewhere, waiting. There was movement near the plane, though he doubted it could be Irakesh. The deathless was too crafty to be spotted. So who was it?
