by Chris Fox
He padded around the edge of lowest level until he came to the steep metal stairs leading to the next level. They’d scared him at first. They had holes in them, not quite large enough for a paw to go through but enough that he still felt as though he might. Yukon ran up the stairs, almost tripping as he finally made it to the top. His heart was beating faster, but he moved on quickly and did not look back at the stairs. At least going up was easier than going down.
He repeated the process several more times, finally making it to the level just below the top. It was the last with any shelter and some of the rain pelted him over the railing. It wasn’t bad though, just a little cold. He didn’t understand why humans were so offended by the idea of getting wet. Rain fell, you got wet. It was natural and you dried off if you lay down by a fire or with the rest of your pack.
Yukon wandered through the narrow door, stepping over the strange lip and onto the cold metal sheet inside. Was the lip meant to keep water out? Only humans would bother. Of course only humans were smart enough to build a giant house that floated on water. They were very handy in their own way and they took care of dogs, so he probably shouldn’t be so critical.
Critical. Such a strange word for a dog. The Mother had warned him that he would begin to change if he spent time near her. Awakening, she called it. He wasn’t sure exactly what that entailed, but he thought it meant he was getting smarter. He was also a little faster and a little larger. That could be handy if he needed to protect his pack.
“Yukon,” the Mother called warmly from her place next to Rodrigo. They stood in front of a strange wall full of dials and controls, like a car only more complicated. Above the wall sat a wide window, which showed the harbor in front of the boat. Yukon couldn’t see much of it unless he got up on his hind legs. The Mother had called it undignified, so he avoided doing that in her presence.
The Mother patted her thigh, summoning him closer. It was a subtle acknowledgment, but enough to fill him with joy. She was his world and he would do everything in his power to keep her happy and safe. Yukon trotted forward, pushing the purple dodo at the Mother’s tiny hand once he reached her. She glanced down, surprise evident on her radiant face. Then her eyes twinkled and she delivered a rare smile. It was brilliant. Like the sun.
“Thank you, Yukon,” she said, resting a delicate hand on his head. She never pet him like most humans. They saw him as a pet, a lesser animal to be praised like one of their pups. Not the Mother. She treated him with respect, as an equal. “You remind me of the gentleness that this world still possesses. Once again, you have humbled me.”
You don’t smile enough. I wanted you to smile. He thought at her. Yukon was aware of a very confused Rodrigo standing a few feet from the Mother. He watched her uncomfortably, the way Yukon had once eyed the vacuum cleaner.
“You’re right. I have been consumed by all that has gone wrong, but I must not lose sight of the reason I fight. To preserve the gentle parts of the world,” the Mother said, placing the dodo on top of the console. That was the word for the strange wall with all the dials.
The Mother gave him another smile, then turned back to Rodrigo. If another human had done that he’d have known he was dismissed, but Yukon could feel the Mother’s mind. Gratitude swept over him even as she spoke with Rodrigo.
“How soon can we depart?” she asked, absently stroking the tuft of crazy fur on top of the dodo’s head.
“The men will be done loading supplies within the hour,” Rodrigo answered, giving a slight bow of his head. The man smelled of oil and wariness. “Alfonso used to run construction sites. Big hotels and stuff. He knows about the equipment we’ll need to break up the rock once we reach the island. He says we can use jackhammers and we’ve loaded up a small truck to carry loads back to the ship.”
“Well done, Rodrigo. Your efforts don’t go unnoticed,” she said, crossing her arms over the strange white garments she always wore. They weren’t like other people’s. They shimmered and moved like living things. “Have you given any more thought to my offer?”
“I have, but Mother, I am afraid,” he said, scrubbing his fingers through the wispy beard he’d let grow on their way here. Yukon approved. It wasn’t quite fur, but it was the closest humans could get. “You say that I probably will not rise, but if I do I’ll be a great champion. I want to help you, but I don’t want to die.”
“I understand. It is a difficult sacrifice to make, one very few are willing to attempt,” she said, reaching up to place a hand on Rodrigo’s shoulder. Yukon felt a little stab of jealousy. “There is no shame in serving as you are. I value your counsel. Please, make the crew ready. I will await your return.”
Rodrigo gave a grateful nod, all but scurrying from the room. After his departure the Mother turned to the console, staring out the window at the open ocean. Yukon couldn’t see much, save the steel grey sky blanketing the horizon. What was she staring at? He wanted to put his paws up on the console, but knew she’d disapprove. So he lay down at her feet and waited.
Chapter 46- Awaken, Ka-Ken
Awaken, Ka-Ken. You are in danger.
Liz came to with a gasp, blinking away the grogginess. She sat up, or tried to, anyway. The movement was halted as she reached the edge of the motion allowed by the restraining straps. They were black and metallic, but woven somehow. Bands looped around her chest, arms and legs neatly pinning every limb against the metal bench. It was cold even through her clothes.
She gave up struggling, choosing to study the inside of her cell rather than listen to the bubbling rage that accompanied the voice. It was a small room, perhaps six by eight. The narrow bench was molded from the same chrome as the rest of the room. It didn’t even have a cushion. Not exactly the Plaza back in Acapulco.
The wall opposite her was clear like plexiglass, revealing a hallway that stretched in either direction and an identical cell across from her. The thin lighting came from twin tracks set into the hallway ceiling. The same type she was used to in places like airplanes that were trying to conserve power.
Wait a minute. What was the deep thrumming? It reverberated through the walls, through her entire body. Powerful and deep, like a jet engine. Oh god.
Had Irakesh captured her? Why would he have let her live instead of killing her immediately. Was he that much of a storybook villain, predictably stupid? Perhaps he’d captured the others too. She scooted up as far as the straps would allow, peering at the cell across from her. There was a dark shape on the bench in the other cell. Another prisoner. Liz tested the air, but there was nothing beyond her own scent. The room was completely sealed.
The figure leaned forward, resting tree-trunk arms on top of his knees. Jordan was bare chested, with a pair of camouflage pants and familiar black boots. The light glittered in his hazel eyes, unmoved by their current circumstances. He opened his mouth to speak, then shook his head with a half-smile. He must have just realized what she had; if the rooms were sealed, no sound would travel between them.
Why wasn’t Jordan bound? Liz glanced at the bench next to him, finding a familiar trio of straps piled there. They weren’t frayed or broken. How had he gotten them off?
Males are notoriously difficult to imprison, Ka-Ken. They have many such tricks.
She latched on to the voice, hoping it could keep her afloat. She wasn’t alone. Not truly.
Do you know where we are? She thought back.
Yes, Ka-Ken. We are in the slipsail that the soldiers brought. They were not allied with the deathless, but have no love for us either.
Not allied with Irakesh. A third party had intervened. At a Mohn facility. After the world had ended. Her eyes rose to meet Jordan’s, a satisfied smile growing across that chiseled jaw as he nodded at her. It was the sort that a proud father gave a child who’d just done something impressive. Or figured something out. But how could he know, unless…
Can you hear me, Jordan? She thought at him, praying for an answer.
None came. Jordan’s expression tighten
ed and he began to pace back and forth behind the glass. Was he trying to reach her and failing? He’d shown neither the interest nor aptitude for the abilities Blair had taken and run with. Maybe he wasn’t strong enough to reach her.
To her surprise he stopped pacing and began nodding vigorously. He pointed to his head, then back at her.
If you can hear me hold up three fingers. She thought at him. Her back had begun to ache from the awkward position, so she settled back against the bench. She could still see Jordan. His hand shot up, three fingers extended.
This was going to be tricky. She’d never been very good at charades. Hmm. If she stuck to yes or no questions she could at least get some answers.
“Did Mohn capture us?” she asked, voice hoarse from disuse. She knew he couldn’t hear her, but hearing a voice helped. Even her own.
Jordan nodded. So the beast had been right about that much, at least.
“Were any of the others captured?” she asked, shifting again. Her neck ached.
He shook his head, then his face grew uncertain. He gave an apologetic shrug. So maybe Mohn had more of them, maybe not. They could be in the neighboring cells. Or they could be dead.
The Ka-Dun lived upon our capture. He and the spiteful one ran. I believe the other Ka-Ken may have accompanied them.
Blair, Bridget and Steve had escaped then. They could have been captured or killed after they’d fled, but she wouldn’t accept that. She needed to know they were out there, still trying to stop Irakesh or maybe coming to rescue her. She quieted the voice telling her they weren’t coming, that Blair would do his duty and stop Irakesh even if it meant sacrificing her.
Her face blazed. Jordan could hear her.
“How do I get out of my straps?” she asked, turning her gaze back to Jordan. She felt a tear slide free but ignored it. She had to be strong. There wasn’t any other choice.
Jordan began pacing again, glancing at her occasionally. Clearly the answer was too complicated to be explained through mime. He paused, turning to face her. Jordan planted both hands against the glass, eyes boring into her. His face curled into a snarl, sweat beading his forehead.
Liz!
The voice crashed down around her like a rolling wave of thunder. Overpowering and more than a little frightening.
“Can you think more quietly?” she asked, wincing at the ringing in her head.
I’m sorry. His voice was still loud, but tolerable. I told you I’m not good at this shaping crap. The beast showed me how to escape. I just looked at the latches and wanted them undone. I could feel the locks, feel the mechanism inside. Then they popped open. The beast calls it telekinesis. Probably won’t work for you. Guess you’ll have to rely on brute strength.
“What do you think they’re going to do to us? I mean, why are we alive?” Liz asked. Maybe Irakesh was the classic villain and prone to villainous mistakes, but Mohn certainly wasn’t. Everything they did was with a cold, methodical purpose.
Study. Jordan thought back, finally retreating to his bench. I don’t think they had any forewarning about the zombies. They knew an enemy was coming somehow, but The Director assumed it was the werewolves. The sudden appearance of zombies threw everything they knew out the window. If it were me I’d bring us back and try to convert us into weapons. They can use us to make more werewolves, then use those werewolves as shock troops against the zombies.
“So how do we escape? Do you have any allies we can turn to?” she asked, hoping he had a solution. She certainly didn’t. Liz shrank a bit within the confines of the straps. She so badly wanted to break into a hysterical crying fit. Horror bloomed as she realized again that he could probably hear her thoughts. She resisted slamming her defenses into place. She needed him in her head right now.
I’m sorry, Liz. I don’t have a lot of good news on that front. I delved into their commander's mind sort of accidentally and it turns out it's someone I know. A guy named Yuri. So do you, actually. You tore his leg off back at the Ark, though he doesn’t seem too broken up about it, since Mohn has apparently given him a cybernetic replacement. Jordan explained, leaning forward into the light again. They’re probably taking us to the White Tower, the Mohn R&D facility in Syracuse, New York. We’ll be brought to The Director and he’ll decide what to do with us. Odds are good we’ll be interrogated, tested and then either disposed of or converted into weapons for Mohn. Escape is … unlikely."
Liz closed her eyes and stopped trying to hold back the tears.
Chapter 47- Early British Trackways
Bridget pushed open the door to the bedroom with her back, balancing the napkin-covered tray in one hand and a dog-eared copy of Early British Trackways in the other. The book had survived the end of the world, survived the battle with Irakesh. Somehow that gave her hope that they might as well.
The room was dim and musty, but she resisted the impulse to draw back the hideous yellow curtains. Blair’s face lay directly in their path, mouth open atop the fluffy pillow with its moth-eaten pillow case. Her new senses gave her more about his health than seeing his complexion would have, in any case.
She deposited the tray on the nightstand next to the bed, careful not to make any noise as she retreated to the high backed rocking chair in the corner. She was becoming quite familiar with it, even a little fond of the rasping sound it made as she rocked. It was blessedly normal after everything they’d faced, a tiny reminder of their old life that she could hold onto while waiting for Blair to convalesce. How long would that take?
Not long, Ka-Ken. The voice rumbled, her truest friend in a lot of ways. One that didn’t judge her for past mistakes. His reserves were depleted, but the moon has hung high these past nights and his strength returns quickly. He will wake this day, or perhaps the next.
The days were long in Panama and it was still a good hour before dark. Did that mean she had at least that long before he woke? She rose from her chair, bending next to Blair. His hair was as wild as ever, dirty blond curls plastered to his forehead. She brushed them aside, an electric thrill passing through her as she did so.
“How touching,” a sardonic voice said. She spun to find Steve looming in the doorway. Why hadn’t she detected his approach? He gave her a smug smile. “Thought you might have a bit of alone time before I returned? It’s all right. If you need a few minutes, I’ll excuse myself. I wouldn’t want to interrupt you with your new man. Or is it old? I can’t keep track.”
“You’re a real asshole Steve,” Bridget said, bile rising in her throat. Surprisingly, it wasn’t guilt that caused it. It was anger. How could she ever have loved that man, betrayed Blair to be with him? “Yes, I care about Blair. I never stopped caring, unlike you. You were all too willing to shatter his heart and cast him aside.”
“Whereas you felt bad for sleeping with his best friend behind his back?” Steve countered, crossing his arms over the black tank top he’d found somewhere. She’d found those muscled arms so attractive once. “That makes you so much more compassionate than me. I’m sure it’s a real comfort to Blair that you feel bad about betraying him.”
Bridget rose from the chair, ready to lash into him. Then Blair’s breathing changed. It accelerated from long deep breaths to shorter shallow ones. He was waking up. The last thing he needed was the two of them fighting about his most painful memory. “Why don’t you go prepare the plane? You’ve been smug for two days about learning to fly. It’s wonderful you can steal memories from corpses. Why don’t you put it to use so we can follow Irakesh?”
“Sure, why don’t I do that?” Steve said, with a predatory grin. He glanced at Blair, then back at her. “We wouldn’t want to disturb our patient with such an uncomfortable topic, would we? I’ll head back to the airport. If he’s able to walk, bring him. If you two haven’t shown up by morning, I’ll come back and carry him.”
Fear stabbed into her as she considered the subtext to his words. He knew she and Blair had become friends, and also that she wanted more than that. This was a warning, no
t because he wanted her back. Because he wanted to demonstrate power. Classic Steve. Don’t fuck with him or he’d ruin any chance she’d ever have to mend the rift with Blair. He knew he had her, and he was right. A few choice reminders was all it would take to drive her and Blair apart again. He got off on having that kind of control over people.
“Thank you,” she said, dropping her gaze and sliding it across the floor to Blair. “There’s stew on the stove if you’re hungry.”
He stared at her for a long moment, either gloating or because he wanted to be sure she was properly cowed. Then he was gone, the house’s ancient floor still as death. How did he do that? He’d intimidated her before; now he was positively terrifying. He’d learned so much delving the Mother’s memories as she slept.
“Bridget?” Blair asked, scooting into a sitting position and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “How long have I been out? And where the hell are we?” He peered blearily around the room before his gaze settled back on her.
“We’re in a small villa north of the airport. Someone’s private little castle, though there’s no sign of whoever owned the place. It’s not far from where we found you,” she explained, sinking back into the rocking chair. She clutched the book in her lap like a talisman. “How much do you remember?”
“I remember attacking the plane,” Blair said, tossing the blankets back and crossing to the window. His boxers clung to well muscled thighs, a marked contrast to the bit of fat he’d had when they’d been together. She didn’t necessarily find it any more attractive, but the new body suited him. He yanked open the curtains, wincing at the setting sun. “Trevor was piloting it. I entered his mind and tried to get him to crash it, but I failed. He used that green light to knock me off the plane. I don’t think he wanted to, but Irakesh is controlling him.”
