by Chris Fox
“What about Bridget? I want to eat her heart,” Cyntia roared, taking a hostile step towards the deathless. Madness lurked in that awful gaze.
“Follow Trevor,” Irakesh ordered, waving a hand dismissively as he started deeper up the corridor threading through the sea. “The Ka-Ken will come to you. I assure you this is so.”
Cyntia roared again, slashing at a dark shape that flitted along the edge of the wall, just inside the water. She came back with a small white shark, ripping its throat out with the savage intensity she’d no doubt prefer to use on Bridget.
Bridget peered back up the corridor towards the shore, still not too distant. Nothing moved. If Blair were able to, he’d already be here. He might be wounded or even dying. That was the only thing that would have kept him away. He cared about her. She knew it. Maybe it wasn’t the love they’d once shared, but he was at least, what? Maybe fond of her? How stupid to even worry about such things right now. But there didn’t seem to be any other time. Everything was always a crisis.
Bridget shook her head, turning back to Cyntia. Blair wasn’t coming. Steve certainly wasn’t. He’d leave her to die without a second thought. It had always been that way, though she’d been naive in the beginning. He had kept her because she was pretty and because she had a little clout in the anthropology community. Not because he loved her. Steve was too narcissistic for love. Fondness maybe. That fondness had evaporated over time, a little each day like a puddle drying up.
She was alone. Should she run? Blair would tell her that it was okay if she did. He’d assure her she’d had no other choice, that she had to flee. There was nothing she could do. But somewhere in his gaze she knew what she’d find. Disappointment. She’d faced it once, the night she’d finally confessed her sins and told him she was leaving him. She didn’t have the strength to see that gaze again, not ever.
Bridget dropped into a crouch, eyes narrowing as she stalked her prey. Irakesh moved at a fast walk, the water parting thirty or forty yards ahead of him as he advanced across the floor of the bay. Trevor trotted beside him, rifle now slung over his shoulder on a strap so his arms were free to carry the box. She recognized the weapon, a .308. Jordan had shown her how to use one.
Cyntia lagged behind the pair, prowling back and forth a few feet away from Bridget. She let the gap widen, eyes sliding past Bridget as she whiffed the air for a scent. “Come out, Bridget. I’ll give you a quick death. You won’t feel anything, I promise.”
Bridget’s heart thudded. She tried to remind herself that she was a nine-foot monster with sharp fangs and even sharper claws. It didn’t help. Cyntia turned her bowels to water. She towered over Bridget, her blonde shoulders wider than the Civic Bridget had driven back in college. She healed so damned fast and she seemed flush with energy, as if she’d bathed in moonlight for weeks without expending anything.
Bridget slid a foot backwards, gripping the mud. Her legs tensed as the crouch deepened, then she leapt. Her hands seized the side of Cyntia’s head, burying themselves in the thick blonde fur. Her claws had already proven ineffectual. She had to try something else. Bridget wrapped her legs around Cyntia’s shoulders, then twisted with all her might.
A sharp crack echoed through the corridor and Cyntia dropped to her knees. Bridget didn’t hesitate. She dug the claws into Cyntia’s eyes, gouging as deeply as she could reach. Maybe if she destroyed the brain she’d stop the body.
Cyntia’s arms shot up, seizing her by the forearms. Claws tore into Bridget’s flesh, wrenching a scream loose. The pain was white, blotting out everything. Yet Bridget forced the claws deeper, drawing a low wail from Cyntia. Then the pressure began to mount. The muscles in her forearms were liquid fire as Cyntia shredded them. Bridget’s grip slackened.
Cyntia’s grip tightened. Then she yanked Bridget’s arms apart, pulling her taut in the air above her. Bridget shrieked as bones popped and broke. Time seemed to slow as her mind fought to understand. She saw, but couldn’t comprehend. Her arms had torn loose, leaving jagged stumps in their place. Blood spurted from each, showering Cyntia. She was a cripple.
The larger werewolf spun, seizing Bridget’s neck in one of her meaty hands. The other punched through Bridget’s belly like a pile driver, blowing her spine out her back. The blow had hollowed out her middle and replaced it with agony.
“You have no idea how much I’ve been looking forward to this,” Cyntia growled, with a ghastly grin. She brought Bridget’s face closer until their eyes were only inches apart. “I’m going to eat you, Bridget. When I’m done, I’m going to find Blair and eat him too.”
Then she lunged, tearing into Bridget’s throat. She wanted to howl, to scream. To warn Blair somehow, tell him to run far away and never look back. Find a quiet place and just be safe, away from Irakesh. Away from Cyntia.
Blair. She thought, body going limp as she finally abandoned the struggle. I’m so sorry. For everything. You deserved so much more.
Chapter 59- Rage
Blair’s mind fragmented with pain. Coherent thought eluded him, hiding behind stray memories and raw, animal pain. He was rocked by incoherent flashes as he fought for control. Bridget the first time he’d laid eyes on her, a wide-eyed freshman watching the awkward teacher’s aide giving his first lecture. The way she’d looked at him had galvanized him in a way nothing ever had. Had spurred him to earn his masters, to pursue a doctorate and to write a thesis that had earned him immediate acclaim in the scientific world.
Then he was in Santa Rosa, gazing through the kitchen window of his little two bedroom. Six empty wine bottles lined the counter next to him, all Ravenswood zin. It was the cheapest red he could stomach and also the guest every night for dinner. A single plate with a lonely fork sat on a clean dish rag. It ate at him, that memory. Brought him back to his lowest. Back to the man who’d given up and decided he wasn’t worth a damn thing.
He heaved himself on his side, twisting to face the gap in the water. The pain was immense but he bore it. He had to make it down there, had to help Bridget and Steve deal with Irakesh. Failure wasn’t an option. But it was happening anyway. He struggled to stand, collapsing to the turf. It smelled of salt and brine and misery.
Fight, Ka-Dun. Fight with the will the Mother gave you. Your body has been ravaged by deathless energy, but you are a shaper. You can undo the damage he has done. Fight, Ka-Dun. Fight, or all is lost.
Blair planted his palms against the grass, hair framing his face as he panted into the grass. Shaping wasn’t magic. It was science. It was the application of will to manipulate energy. He could use that energy to heal himself. Repair the damaged cells, every last one. He envisioned his bloodstream, a bunch of red ovals flowing through myriad tunnels. His heart, thudding heavily in his chest. The very marrow in his bones. Blair reached deep within the well of power at his core, the place he’d saved for this very confrontation.
It built within him, a rolling wave of silver energy that burst through every pore. He screamed into the heavens, arms extended as his body went rigid. He sagged back, slouching to the grass as he fought for breath. He felt better. Tired, but the acidic pain had been banished. He could think again, unencumbered by whatever Irakesh had inflicted. Blair rose to his feet, taking a cautious step towards the beach.
He took another. Then another, staggering his way into the mouth of the watery corridor Irakesh had somehow created. He peered into the gloom, eyes adjusting to the near lack of sunlight in the distance. Shapes moved there, resolving into a pair of massive beasts. One was silver, noble. Majestic. The other a sickly blonde, twisted and feral. Cyntia crouched atop Bridget, who struggled weakly beneath her.
Something broke, tearing loose a sob that had been lodged in Blair’s chest for nearly five years. He didn’t need Liz’s skill with medicine to know a fatal wound when he saw one. Bridget’s arms had been torn off, her neck and shoulder savagely rent as Cyntia tore loose another hunk of flesh.
Blair. A quavering voice came to him, faint as if across a great distanc
e. I’m so sorry. For everything. You deserved so much more.
It was more than mere words. So much more. The thought was so heavy with emotion it staggered Blair. There was a thick blanket of love, warm and golden. Yet underneath was a tide of sadness, of guilt so acidic it had eroded Bridget’s very foundation.
Bridget, I’m with you. He thought back, filling the words with all the warmth he could muster. I forgive you. For everything.
He could almost feel her smile, feel the lightening of the pain. I love you. So much, Blair.
Cyntia lunged, severing Bridget’s spine and burying her maw in Bridget’s corpse. There was a moment of lessening, then Bridget was gone. She slipped through his fingers, leaving a faint fragrance of love and loss.
Blair sucked in a breath, trembling all over. He could only stare as the heat built within him, pure and righteous and total. He howled, low and deep. Cyntia looked up from her meal, ears pitched forward as she considered his challenge. He didn’t give her time to think. Blair blurred as he never had, crossing the muddy gap in the space between heartbeats. He was on her in a fury, gouging and biting and rending. There was no strategy, no plan. He was one with the beast and all that mattered was killing his prey.
The vile one slew your She. She will not survive.
Blair dropped low, jabbing his claws into her right thigh over and over in a blurring hail of silvered claws. He gouged the muscle, severed the tendons. Then he seized the femur in both hands, wrenching with all his strength. Cyntia’s leg tore loose in a shower of gore. He flung it into the water, already spinning for another blow.
“Kaaaa-Duuun,” Irakesh shouted, his voice low and warbling like some ultra-slow recording. Blair looked up, catching sight of the deathless maybe a hundred yards down the ocean floor. He stood just outside of the tunnel leading into the Ark. “Iii hope yoouuu can swimmmm.”
Blair knew a moment of absolute terror. He spun towards the shore, his worst fears confirmed. The walls of water were crashing together, accelerating in his direction despite the blur. He sucked in a breath, bracing himself as the rumbling wall crashed over him. The blow knocked him from his feet, dashing him against a rock and then up into the water. He lost sight of Bridget’s body, but saw Cyntia kick off towards the Ark with her three remaining limbs.
That was the last thing he saw before his eyes succumbed to the enormous pressure, bursting with agonizing little pops he felt more than heard. Then his eardrums followed, leaving him in silent darkness. He released the blur, fire burning in his lungs as his body greedily sucked away the little oxygen he’d managed to grab. Not being able to save Bridget’s body ate at him, but if he didn’t get to the surface he was dead.
Blair kicked hard, swimming in the direction he hoped was up. The frigid water numbed his limbs, but maybe that was a blessing as it muted the agony. The physical agony, anyway. He looked away from the anguish like a child who’d stared at the sun a moment too long, but spots of Bridget still danced in his vision. He swam harder, the pressure in his lungs mounting. The pressure lessened, suggesting he was going the right direction. Blair blurred for a split second, using his entire body to propel himself upward.
The idea of diving had always seemed like a horribly suicidal idea. Especially when he lived in a place people referred to as the red triangle, due to the number of great whites. He was so numb he couldn’t tell if the water was getting warmer, but that mattered so much less than the pressure.
Seconds passed as he pumped his limbs, clawing for the surface. Then he was free, bursting into the settling twilight. He sucked in for all he was worth, getting as much sea as he did air. He coughed and spluttered, scissoring his legs to keep himself afloat. Gentle waves rocked him back and forth. Without sight he had no idea where land was. Or did he? Blair sent out a ping, scanning the area. There, that direction. He sensed a familiar presence, perhaps a hundred yards distant.
Blair swam. He tried to ignore the pain, the anchor of emotional loss threatening to drag him under. Somewhere in the middle his eyes began to burn, something warm and liquid flowing into the sockets. He lacked the breath to scream, accepting the pain with the despair of futility. Then there was brightness everywhere. He squinted into the settling twilight, scanning the shoreline. Steve was crouched there in human form, eyes darting about as he sought signs of an enemy. He met Blair’s gaze briefly, giving a simple nod before returning to his search.
Blair swam harder, jaw clenched and body quivering with sudden energy. He heaved himself from the water, charging across the shore towards Steve. The smug bastard just waited there, arms crossed as he rose to his feet. His black dress shirt wasn’t even muddy. Blair seized him by the collar, lifting him with one hand. He brought Steve’s face to his own, giving a low deep growl. “Consider your next words very carefully, you fucking coward. Bridget fought and died down there. Where were you, Steve?”
“I know you’re angry,” Steve said, letting his arms fall limp. His whole posture slackened. No resistance at all. “Trevor had the beach covered. You were out of the fight. I didn’t even see Bridget move down there. Didn’t know she was there until I heard the fighting, just a few seconds before you. I’m sorry, Blair. I am. But there was no way I was going to rush in there unsupported. I saw what Irakesh did to you. What the hell chance did I have without the key? Maybe if you’d have given it up, I would have been down there. Did you think about that?”
Blair opened his mouth to retort, but something tingled at the base of his skull. Was Steve right? He’d gotten his ass handed to him by Irakesh. Again. As though he were some small punt-able dog barking at the mailman.
“You’re still a fucking coward,” he roared, spittle drenching Steve. He hurled Steve into a nearby Mercedes, shattering the windshield and shredding Steve’s shirt. “We need to fall back and plan, that is assuming you want some payback. I thought you loved Bridget. Isn’t that what you told me when I confronted you for fucking her behind my back? That you loved her? Get up, you god damned cockroach. Follow me or get the fuck out of my sight.”
Blair spun, marching towards 101. He had no idea what to do now, but he was taking Irakesh down, no matter what it cost. Right after he snapped Cyntia’s neck.
Chapter 60- Revelations
Mark dropped into the black vinyl chair, setting the glass down with a clink. The world was eating itself alive and he still had ice. The universe certainly had a strange sense of humor. He held his fingers against the trackpad until it vibrated and the iMac’s screen came to life. He dragged a browser window onto the screen, navigating Mohn’s intranet until he found the wiki. It still impressed him, the audacity of it. They’d tapped into the world’s every communication for years, stockpiling data in facilities like this one. Each one took hourly backups of effectively the entire internet, which meant despite the sudden end of the world he could still use Google.
“What have you been up to, Old Man?” he murmured, pulling open a console and typing in his authorization. He executed a simple script until a series of phone calls appeared. Each included a time, destination and number of parties. Six had occurred in the last four hours, all to London. A Mohn facility was located there, so that had to be who he was talking to. Who else had a functioning phone after the CME?
Six phone calls in four hours. The Old Man hadn’t done that since the first pyramid had appeared. Mark had been in the loop on that one. Mohn had told him before anyone else and the two had discussed options. They’d birthed the plan together. Yet he’d said not a word to Mark about whatever this new event was.
"Director, my ass. If you really trusted me, you’d have brought me in immediately,” he said, picking up his glass and enjoying a swallow of the amber contents. Good whisky was going to become rare very quickly, but his gut said he wouldn’t be alive long enough to enjoy it. A civil war was coming, one he’d likely instigate.
Mohn had always kept things back, but he’d brought Mark into every project except the mysterious Solaris. The Old Man had even called him hi
s right hand a few times. If he was freezing Mark out now, that could only mean one thing. The Old Man was going to move against him, removing him as director and probably executing him. The only question was, how soon would the hammer fall?
There were people loyal to him, almost a third of the staff. Not enough to win, just enough to cripple what could be the last remaining bastion of human power in this crazy new world. If Mark fled though, it would mean abandoning the people who supported him. People like Benson. His people would be singled out, those most loyal purged. The rest would be under constant suspicion. The dilemma was maddening. He couldn’t flee, but if he stayed he was as good as dead.
Then there was the matter of Irakesh. If they didn’t stop the deathless, he’d likely succeed in setting up a power base on the west coast. He had at least one nuclear weapon and, if Jordan’s reports were accurate, could control the tide of corpses sweeping the world. That made him the top threat to Mohn security. The Old Man saw that. It was inconceivable to think otherwise. At every juncture he’d outthought Mark. The Old Man’s gift for understanding the context of a situation was unparalleled.
Mark leaned back in his chair, enjoying another sip as he chewed on the problem. If Mohn knew Irakesh had to be stopped yet was choosing not to, either the Old Man knew something about Irakesh’s capabilities that he hadn’t shared, or it meant that he was in league with him somehow. The first was quite likely, since Mohn had access to parts of the intelligence network even Mark hadn’t been granted. The second sounded ludicrous, but Mark was too meticulous to dismiss it out of hand.
He withdrew his phone, swiping to his contacts and thumbing Ops. The red button flared twice, then shifted to bright green as he was connected.
“Yes, Director?” Benson answered. Her tone was facilitating, but not simpering. She’d been an excellent choice. She’d go far, if she survived the next week.
