by Chris Fox
Something was dreadfully wrong. His mother would never show such a lack of composure, not even if Isis herself invaded. That wasn’t his mother. This might not even be the Ark of the Cradle. He could be a prisoner in his own mind, shepherded about by a clever Ka-Dun. But who? Or why? He would have answers.
Risen, aid me. Irakesh commanded. Are my senses being fooled?
There was no answer. That cinched it. His mind had been invaded. He could trust nothing. Not his senses, nor even his thoughts. He understood in that moment that he was being assaulted, but if he let it the Ka-Dun could redirect his attention and he’d once again be lost in the memory the bastard had conjured. He must act both swiftly and decisively.
“Show yourself, Ka-Dun. I am not your plaything and I will not be taken in by your games,” he roared, drawing his na-kopesh. Had that been at his side a moment ago? It hadn’t. The memory the Ka-Dun had chosen had occurred before his mother had awarded him the weapon.
“How does it feel to be the prey for once, Irakesh?” a voice said, from behind him. He spun to face the intruder. Recognition brought a flood of memory. Blair. He’d been about to kill the Ka-Dun just before the clever fool had broken into his mind to prevent his own death.
“You’re more resourceful than I ever would have imagined. I have never faced a more worthy opponent and I will not underestimate you again,” Irakesh said, sheathing his weapon. It would do him no good here. “You’ve managed to stave off your own death, but don’t think you’ve won. I have training, Ka-Dun. I can push you from my mind.”
“Maybe, but I’ve already rifled through your memories,” Blair said, lopsided grin spreading across that smug face. “I can see where you’re going. I even know how you intend to get there. That and so many other things. You think you’re so superior, but your world is gone. Mine is still here and I know it better than you ever will.”
“Perhaps, but your friend Trevor knows it just as well,” Irakesh gave back. He smiled when pain entered Blair’s gaze. “Yes, you begin to understand. Your friend is my thrall now. He does my bidding. Even while we wrestle within my mind he is killing your friend Steve. He will kill Jordan and Bridget as well before he is finished. You may have learned a few scraps of memory, but they will avail you nothing.”
“We’ll see about that,” Blair said, coy smile emerging. He stepped towards Irakesh. “You took something that didn’t belong to you and I intend to get it back. That key belongs to the Mother. I’m not going to allow you to set up your own little empire. Seeing your memories, I’m not sure your mother will look too kindly on it either. Sounds like you might be doomed no matter what you do.”
Rage thundered through Irakesh, largely because Blair was right. If Irakesh pulled this off, he’d be a rival and his mother would treat him as such. If he failed, she would do nothing to help him. At best she’d be indifferent, at worst an implacable enemy. For the first time since waking he doubted his choices.
“You’ve overstayed your welcome, Ka-Dun. Let me show you what a disciplined mind can do,” he growled, closing his eyes. He envisioned his mother’s garden, where he’d spent countless hours as a child. Then he envisioned the wall around it, impossibly tall to his young eyes. He focused everything on that wall, leveraging the years of training as he strengthened his defenses.
This was the first step, pushing Blair out of his innermost thoughts. It seemed to have worked, unless the Ka-Dun was far more powerful than he’d assumed. Now he must awaken to his current surroundings. When he did so time would be critical. He’d wasted too much time here. It was time to flee, time to take the others and go. He’d send a whisperer to each of them, then they’d be on their way.
It would mean creating an illusion far more complex, far larger than any he’d ever done. Yet he must. He would. Irakesh opened his eyes, suddenly back in the hangar bay. He melted into the shadows even as Blair gave a half-hearted swipe in his direction.
Chapter 42- Fear & Loathing in Panama
Jordan clawed his way back to consciousness, staggering to his feet as he took in his surroundings. He’d never had a migraine, but he imagined the blinding agony must be something like this. He raised a hand to his temple, unsure how it might help but desperately needing the pain to stop. A bright corona surrounded his vision. He staggered to his feet, peering groggily around.
The dead cluttered the dimly lit room. It reeked of gunpowder, blood and the sickly rot of a thousand zombies left to ferment in this hangar. Underlaying it all was the sharp smell of gasoline and the plasticky smell he’d always associated with large office buildings. Nothing moved near him, either through luck or the intervention of the others. Most of the zombies were down, though clusters still prowled the spaces between the planes in search of food. They hadn’t noticed him as of yet. The ones nearest him were shuffling towards a very loud fight taking place forty or fifty yards away.
Two massive werewolves brawled, growling and snapping as they circled each other. He recognized Liz quickly enough, but the blonde werewolf she grappled with was new. It reminded him of Cyntia, but she was larger than Liz whereas Cyntia had been noticeably smaller. So who was it, how had she gotten here and why the hell was she fighting against them?
He compartmentalized the question. Priorities must be dealt with. He’d been incapacitated for an indeterminate amount of time. Someone had used the shadows to perform a close-range execution-style headshot. That meant either a female werewolf or a deathless. He seriously doubted Irakesh would stoop to using a gun, but that was probably more likely than yon female werewolf having used a gun instead of her perfectly lethal claws. A third possibility existed. There might be another deathless or another werewolf. He just didn’t have enough data to know.
Jordan scanned the ground around him, eventually locating his weapon. He picked the rifle up, checking the scope and dropping the slide back to ensure a round was chambered. He dropped to one knee, sighting down the scope at the werewolves. Neither seemed aware of him as he tried to align the crosshairs over the blonde female.
It was incredibly difficult with them rolling around. The blonde seized Liz, slamming her face into the concrete in a spray of blood and broken teeth. He used the split second to align the crosshairs with the blonde’s face, then squeezed the trigger. The rifle bucked, kicking against his shoulder with incredible force as a deafening boom tore through the hangar. A gout of flame left the muzzle, hurling the bullet towards his intended target.
It never hit. A figure blurred into view about midway between him and his target, a familiar man with red—almost orange—hair and a sea of freckles. As ginger as they came. His eyes were horrible pools of green and his teeth razored fangs, every bit a deathless. He ripped a hunk of metal from the wing of a neighboring aircraft, somehow managing to interpose it between the bullet and the blonde werewolf. It impacted with a hollow ringing like some giant gong, knocking Trevor back a step.
“I haven’t enjoyed anything since I was turned,” Trevor said, casually tossing the improvised shield to the concrete with a clatter. He took several unhurried steps towards Jordan, hand falling to a holstered weapon at his side. Jordan wasn’t sure what caliber it was, but he’d guess .45. A heavy round used for taking a man off his feet, perfect for a deathless as it could slow prey. “Not until now, anyway. I’m glad you didn’t die when I shot you in the head. I want you to see my face when I kill you. To know my name. You blew up my fucking house in San Diego, do you remember that? You tried to kill my sister. It’s time for some payback.”
His grin was unnerving, but Jordan refused to be cowed. He considered what he knew about his opponent. Trevor Gregg, Liz’s brother and the man who’d accurately predicated the solar event that had forever changed the world. The man who’d held open the jaws of Mohn’s ambush back in San Diego, then led his friends all the way to the Ark where they’d stopped his team and woken the Mother. In a way Trevor was his antithesis, more so now that he was deathless.
“When I came after you before, I wa
s doing the wrong thing for the right reasons,” Jordan said, tossing his rifle to the concrete as he unlimbered his claws. "Now I’m doing the right thing for the right reasons. You’ve become a goddamn monster, Trevor and I’m going to put you down like one.”
“You’re going to try,” Trevor hissed, eyes flaring even as he faded from sight. Damn but Jordan hated the whole shadow walking thing everyone but him seemed capable of doing. It put him on the defensive, allowing Trevor to make the first move. To strike on his terms. That almost guaranteed he’d lose. So what could he do about it? Jordan blurred, zipping across the concrete and weaving between the few straggling zombies still on their feet. He rolled under an aircraft, coming up in a crouch on the far side. Nothing he’d just done would shake Trevor, but keeping on the move would make it harder for his opponent until he could come up with a way to even the odds.
In the distance Liz continued her fight with the blonde female, apparently getting the worst of the exchange. One of her eyes was swollen shut and she was missing teeth on her right side. Her chest heaved from exertion, each swing coming a bit slower than the one before. He wasn’t going to find help in that quarter. Hell, she was the one who needed help.
He felt rather than saw a shape materialize behind him. Jordan rolled to his right, a sharp crack sounding as a bullet hummed through the space he’d just occupied. It punched into the concrete, sending up a spray of fragments that drew a line of pain down his cheek. That wasn’t a .45. It was too deep, too powerful. What the hell kind of rounds was he using? No wonder he’d gone down so hard when Trevor had first shot him.
Trevor was gone again, melting into the shadows with that awful grin plastered on a too-white face. Jordan moved again, this time rolling to the left and coming up in a crouch. He sprinted low across the hangar floor towards a Cessna on the far side. This wasn’t going at all well and he wasn’t sure how to turn it around. Normally his response in a tactical cluster fuck like this would be to flee. If only that were an option.
Jordan skidded to a halt next to the Cessna, spinning so his back faced it. Trevor would have to come at him from the front, but would that knowledge help? He might be able to dodge again, but sooner or later he’d be too slow and Trevor would pick him off. He needed some way to even the odds, and he needed to do it quickly. He scanned the hangar, hoping to find something of use.
Zombies shuffled around most of the planes, but their numbers had been thinned by the beleaguered werewolves. Corpses littered the hangar, some in piles. There was even a massive zombie corpse, perhaps fifteen feet tall. It was sprawled near a far Boeing cargo plane, still clutching a severed leg with auburn fur.
None of it helped. None of it provided an advantage against Trevor. He was outclassed and he knew it.
Jordan tensed as something materialized before him, but it was far too late. Trevor’s fist blurred towards his chest, shattering his ribcage directly over the heart. Fragments of bone burst through his aorta, tearing his heart into useless slag. He tried to roll backwards, but Trevor had apparently anticipated such a move. The deathless leapt backwards, jerking the massive black pistol from its holster and gripping it with both hands as he sighted down the barrel. He squeezed the trigger three times in rapid succession, each belching a round into Jordan’s already damaged chest.
Jordan collapsed in a heap, strength deserting him as he struggled to rise. This was it. Trevor had proven the stronger combatant, using his deathless powers with expert skill. Perhaps if Jordan had embraced his with the same zeal he might have had a chance, but instead he’d relied on his training and his weapons. It had been a mistake. A fatal one. He stared defiantly up at his opponent as he waited for death.
Something black and shiny swooped into view, landing on Trevor’s shoulder. It was a raven. A big one. The bird croaked something that might have been words into Trevor’s ear. Trevor turned a hateful gaze on Jordan as he holstered his weapon. “I’m going to let you live with this, Jordan. The knowledge that all your training and fancy military hardware didn’t mean shit in the end. That you lost to a redneck scientist who never spent a day in the military. Have fun with your new playmates.”
Just like that he was gone, swallowed by the shadows like some horrible nightmare. Why hadn’t Trevor finished him off? It made no sense. Unless he knew something Jordan didn’t. New playmates? He struggled into a sitting position, planting his back against the Boeing’s large wheel. He was growing lightheaded, which made sense if his heart was no longer pumping blood.
He could feel it knitting together inside his chest, excruciating as bits of bone were ejected from his tissue. They burst from his skin, coated in thick sticky blood. Then his heart began to beat again. The lightheadedness faded and he was able to focus on his surroundings. He struggled to his feet, turning towards Liz and her strange blonde opponent. Or rather where her strange opponent had been.
Liz was alone, kneeling on the ground with shoulders slumped. She was a mass of blood and both eyes were closed, though even from this distance he could hear her shallow heart beat. She’d clearly lost her fight, yet her opponent had vanished just as Trevor had. They’d been beaten, yet left to live. Why?
Jordan used some of his dwindling energy to blur to Liz, wrapping an arm under her shoulder. He hauled her to her feet, conscious of the dozen or so zombies closing on them. Where were Blair, Steve and Bridget?
He was about to carry Liz to a corner when something roared by above the hangar. He knew the sound intimately. It was the thundering engines belonging to a B114 cargo plane, used exclusively by Mohn to deliver troops into combat zones. Several thumps sounded above as the roar faded.
His augmented hearing picked up the squeal of rubber on pavement as the plane touched down outside. They were landing, but had probably dropped two squads on the roof to begin securing the hangar. Reinforcements would follow quickly, and they were in no shape to fight back.
“What’s going on?” Liz croaked, raising her one good eye to look at him. He’d never seen her so exhausted, so battered.
“We’re in a whole lot of trouble. Irakesh just pulled back,” Jordan explained, helping Liz towards the far wall.
“Why? We’re losing,” she slurred, not healing nearly as quickly as he’d have expected.
“Mohn is here,” he replied grimly.
Chapter 43- Desperate Gamble
Blair raised a hand to his forehead, squinting beneath the weight of the pain. The throbbing left in the wake of his forcible ejection from Irakesh’s mind staggered him, pitching him into the side of a plane’s huge rubber wheel. He blinked away tears, scanning the wreckage littering the hangar. Most of the zombies were down, minus the odd straggler. There was no sign of Bridget, though he could see Steve’s glittering eyes from where he crouched in the far corner of the room. Unmolested. Had he participated in the battle, or stood by to protect himself?
It didn’t matter. There was still a battle to fight. Blair turned his attention back to the hangar, scanning for survivors. His breath caught, eyes tearing when he finally located Liz. Her broken body sagged into Jordan’s smaller form, threatening to collapse without his assistance. At least she was alive. Powerful relief flooded him, his body uncoiling as the tension ebbed.
Cyntia had retreated for some reason. So had Trevor apparently. He knew Irakesh was gone. What were they planning? He turned his attention to the fat cargo plane. It hadn’t moved, though he could still hear the audible clicking as it fueled. They must be inside. If he was going to launch an attack he needed help. Who was still standing on their side?
Jordan’s hulking form limped as he helped Liz towards the far wall. He wasn’t in much better shape than she was. Blair heard a grunt of pain from across the hangar, a rare show of emotion from the normally stoic ex-Mohn officer.
Irakesh was going to flee, he was sure of it. But where? Blair had no idea how the deathless knew what a nuke was, much less what the bastard had planned for it. Cities had become deathtraps full of potential new soldiers h
e could use. Why blow one up? If that wasn’t the purpose, then what was? Maybe he could use it on the Mother, though how he intended to deliver the weapon was a mystery. Pilot the plane all the way back? No, that wasn’t his style. Irakesh wouldn’t risk the Mother’s wrath. He knew he was outmatched, or why flee in the first place?
Blair lurched forward, catching himself against the cool metal of a wing. He barely saw the aircraft, his attention focused on Jordan and Liz. The former Mohn soldier had picked Liz up, but seemed unsure where to move her. He glanced around the hangar, finally catching sight of Blair. Jordan started in his direction, then abruptly froze. His gaze went skyward.
An engine screamed in the distance. A plane engine, one approaching very rapidly. It was the first aircraft Blair had heard since the world had ended. Who was it? Who had both the technology and knowledge to find this hangar, of all places in the world? Boots thumped on the roof above. There was only one group it could be, one thorn always in their side. Did Mohn know they were inside, or were they here for their nuke?
The far side of the hangar erupted inward, launching zombies into the air like toys. Two smaller explosions sounded above as bits of metal rained down. Soldiers rappelled through the holes, even as a massive form appeared in the gaping rent now dominating the hangar’s south wall. It lumbered forward with a metallic pumping of pistons, a chrome behemoth even taller than the giant zombie Liz had slain.
Familiar suits of power armor flooded in behind it, fanning out around the mech like foxes around a wolf. Lines of red shone from above, the laser sights attached to rifles. They were surrounded and in no shape to fight. Blast it. They were too beat up to take on both sides.
“Blair, we have to go,” Bridget hissed from the shadows behind him. “We can’t fight them.”
She was right and he knew it. He gave Jordan and Liz an agonizing glance. They stood in the pool of light cast by one of the holes in the ceiling. The mech was already making for them as a dozen barrels swung in their direction.
