Disciple: DreamWalkers, Book 2

by Jody Wallace

  Maggie clambered to her feet, hugging her arm to her side. She toddled over to Zeke. “The curator forbid us from killing her.”

  He was grateful she could stand, though she was in obvious pain. “I’m the one making deals here, Karen. Tell us how to heal Maggie’s arm and we’ll take you to the curator instead of kill you,” he said. “Is the healing real or were you tricking everyone about that too?”

  “I’ll never help her.” Karen’s pupils dilated more—until her eyes went black. Black like the core of a wraith. Beside him, Maggie blew out a breath. “I’ll die first.”

  “I can make that happen. You’re done.” Zeke braced himself. He was going to do this. Execute her. She deserved it, and it would halt the manifestations. It would save lives.

  He reached for her grimly, and she scuttled backward.

  “We’ll see who’s done, you fucking idiot,” Karen screeched, and her body disappeared as if it were a dying wraith.

  Several wraiths exploded into red sparks. A conduit opened to their left. Then another to the right. Karen was sucking all these wraiths into the terra firma, where they would kill everyone at the coma station and the outbunker. The number of wraiths she’d collected here seemed endless.

  Zeke cursed and threw a shield around himself and Maggie. He should never have let go of Karen’s metaphysical body, but they had her geocoordinates now. They could, with Adi’s help, vigil-block her ass long enough to put a stop to this once and for all.

  “Lill,” he broadcast. “Karen got away, and Maggie’s hurt.”

  “There you are.” Lill’s shield pushed through the soup of wraiths like a submarine. They joined shields so they could talk more easily. “The wraiths stopped hustling me as soon as you disappeared. What the hell has been going on in here?”

  Zeke sighed. On one hand, he should have killed Karen when he had the chance. On the other, this meant he didn’t have to assassinate a human being. He couldn’t decide which emotion was stronger. “Tried to talk Karen into cooperating. Newsflash—she wouldn’t.”

  “I take it you couldn’t convince her to seal the malingering conduits?” Lill asked. “So much for your masculine wiles.”

  “I could barely even convince her I was serious,” Zeke said. “She says the Master is watching us, by the way.”

  Lill rolled her eyes. “Whatever. I played around with the curator’s camouflage piercing trick, and there’s nobody else here. It’s a shame he’s gonna take it from me.”

  Zeke nodded. “I agree. The Master is Karen’s split personality. And now, I think I’ll kill some wraiths—take them out of the equation.” There were various theories about whether the total number of wraiths in the sphere was finite or infinite. He didn’t care. He was about to reduce the local population in the most satisfying way possible.

  “It’s a perk, isn’t it?” Maggie said, eyes shining. “We’re bellatorix. It makes sense. You’ve been surrounded by them every time I have.”

  “Are you kidding?” Lill threw up her hands. “I’m jealous as hell. What’s a girl gotta do to learn that trick?”

  “Be stalked by a murderer. I don’t recommend it,” Maggie said.

  Zeke vacated the shield, ready to do battle, but the wraiths blipped away as he approached. He chased after a few, and they evaded him. Rather quickly, the local population disappeared, sucked through conduits, afraid of Zeke, or no longer directed by Karen to nip Maggie’s heels. The trance sphere regained the gray, distorted panorama he’d rarely experienced during his time training Maggie.

  Yet it was still agitated. The number of active conduits he could sense would be intimidating if he hadn’t known to expect it. As it was, Zeke had no idea what type of situation they’d be facing when they woke. They were needed outside—needed to fight in the standard way. Now that the monsters had dissipated, he and Maggie couldn’t kill enough wraiths in the sphere for it to make a difference.

  “I wish Adi had found out more about the healing,” Maggie said wistfully. “My wrist hurts.”

  “My guess is the healing was a lie and Karen used it to trick Adi—part of her plot to get us to do what she wanted.” Zeke inspected Maggie’s arm, not seeing any unnatural bends or protruding bones. He wanted to kiss and comfort her, but Lill shuffled from foot to foot. “Doesn’t look like a break, but it may not appear the same in the sphere as it does in the terra firma.”

  “Come on, lovebirds,” Lill said. “Let’s get the geocoordinates to Adi before Karen can reposition herself. The doctor can see to Maggie.”

  They came out of the sphere with a mutual gasp. Lill sat bolt upright on her cot, and Zeke fumbled for his weapons.

  Maggie woke groggy, not as used to the transition as Zeke and Lill. Her wrist throbbed. A guard, a soldier whose name Maggie had forgotten, stood over them.

  “Where’s Adi?” Lill said. “We have the coordinates.”

  “We’ve had additional manifestations, ma’am,” the soldier responded. “Ms. Sharma—everyone—is fighting them off, trying to keep them out of the bunker.”

  Zeke and Lill rolled off their cots. Maggie stumbled to her feet too, imitating their battle readiness. She needed a sling or an ace bandage. Every move jolted her wrist.

  “You’ve done well,” the curator said, though whether he was addressing the two soldiers in the room or Maggie’s group, she didn’t know. He waved from the sofa in the corner, guarded by the other soldier. Everyone else was gone.

  Things were so bad Adi had left only two soldiers—two dusty soldiers—to guard the curator and the alucinators tasked with finding Karen?

  Correction. Five dusty soldiers. Maggie’s horrified gaze fell on three uniformed bodies against the back wall. She didn’t, however, see any physical wraith corpses, so killing them inside the sphere must not be enough to drag them over. She wished fervently she were better trained with weapons or had been able to kill more in the sphere. Out here, she was pathetic.

  “Do you know where Adi is specifically?” Lill asked the soldier. “We don’t have much time. I need to duck into the sphere with her when she vigil-blocks Karen in case we have to geolocate her again. Karen can’t travel far, but she could still travel.”

  “Just head for the surface and listen for the wraith screams,” one of the soldiers said. “Ms. Sharma will be at the center of them.”

  “Don’t get yourselves killed.” After a quick salute, Lill headed out of the room at a trot that escalated to a dead run as soon as she hit the hallway.

  “It’s a shame the doctor won’t let me help in the sphere,” the curator said crankily. “Getting old is a terrible fate.”

  Maggie turned to the curator. He looked vastly improved after his episode. The old man still hadn’t donned a protective vest, though there was one on the floor beside him. “How are you feeling, sir?”

  “I’m rather invigorated by all the activity.” The curator no longer had his feet elevated. “I sent the doctor to the surface to tend the wounded.”

  “Where are the reinforcements from the coma station?” Zeke buckled on the few armaments he’d removed for their trance session and helped Maggie into her vest. It wasn’t really her size, chafing in spots and tight across her breasts. But it might save her life, so she’d embrace it.

  “They suffered casualties. The remaining force hasn’t arrived.” The soldier, grim-faced, offered no details. None were necessary. The bodies against the wall told the whole story.

  The vests hadn’t saved their lives.

  Maggie swallowed, hard.

  “What about retreating?” Zeke checked the bodies, impatience bristling from him like throwing stars. “How many vehicles do we have? A car can outpace most varieties of wraith.”

  “No functional vehicles. The wraiths destroyed them.”

  “Karen controls the wraiths. We confirmed that much.” Zeke locked the door behind Lill. “If they de
stroyed the vehicles, it was under her orders. Maggie, how’s the arm?”

  She didn’t think it was important enough to worry about right now but answered anyway. “There’s no blood. I can wiggle my fingers. I assume it’s not broken.” It just hurt like crazy. “Don’t worry about me.”

  He smiled at her. “I’d high five you, but—”

  Red crackled in the center of the room, interrupting him. The soldiers immediately placed themselves between the opening conduit and the curator.

  “It’s been five whole minutes since the last in-room manifestation,” the curator commented. “I’d thought perhaps the young lady had run out of steam.”

  “Please remain in the corner, sir.” The slightly dustier soldier, who seemed to be in charge, brandished a sword as a wraith took shape in the center of the conduit. Before Maggie could tell what was going to coalesce, the soldier swung the blade.

  He lopped tentacles off a wraith variety Maggie had never seen before. Some kind of octopus crossed with a… Hell, she was a cultural geographer, not a biologist. She didn’t know what the crap it was.

  “Damn,” the soldier cursed. “That looked like a head.”

  More octopus-headed things materialized. Zeke advanced as well, chopping and stabbing. Maggie knew she’d be in the way if she waded into the fray in such a confined space, so she hustled to the curator’s side and pulled out her gun. She offered it to the old man.

  “You’re so thoughtful. I have one already.” He patted the semi-automatic on the sofa beside him. “I’m not sure bullets do much good on this type. They’re rare. So many neonati can’t imagine anything beyond vampires and zombies these days. I miss a good Cthulhu.” His animated, wrinkled features watched the melee in the center of the room as if it were a movie.

  Keeping one eye on the Cthulhu battle and trying not to wail, Maggie still managed to gape at the curator. How could he be so callous when his people, his employees, had died during this code one? The evidence lay lifeless against the wall.

  He noticed her stare. “Margaret, my dear, when you’ve seen as many alucinators come and go as I have, you’ll learn that remaining analytical amidst chaos is sometimes the only thing that will keep you sane.”

  She forced herself to nod, not sure she could ever be casual while her lover was fighting mutant bipedal octopi twenty feet from her position. She reminded herself, repeatedly, that Zeke was skilled in combat and had survived many battles, including Harrisburg. How did this compare?

  Better yet, how could she help? She could switch her gun for the semi-automatic since the curator didn’t seem interested in using it. Then again, her handgun wouldn’t endanger Zeke and the soldiers from friendly fire. As much.

  She gripped the pistol, palm sweating, finger on the trigger, safety off. “I feel I should warn you. Karen intends to kill you too, sir.”

  “Does she indeed? Interesting.” The curator wrapped a gnarled hand around the stock of his gun, so perhaps he wasn’t as unruffled as he wanted Maggie to believe. Was his calmness an act for everyone’s benefit? “She’s gotten closer than any other assassins I can recall.”

  People tried to assassinate curators? Maggie had no idea why, but then again, there were probably zealots who thought the world would be a better place if Cthulhu took over.

  A wraith escaped the human combatants and headed for Maggie and the curator. She shot it in the torso. It kept coming. Its lower half was that of a slimy, warty primate, with flailing tentacles erupting around its oblong head. Two protruding eyes on each side of the head rolled independently of one another—and right now, all four were focused on Maggie and the curator.

  No doubt under Karen’s orders.

  The monster seemed to be restricted to zombie speed, thank God. Its tentacles whipped madly, like a storm-tossed tree. It plodded in their direction with absolute determination.

  She aimed more carefully, bracing her hand against her forearm and ignoring the discomfort in her wrist. This time she shot out one of the bulbous eyes. It shrieked.

  Ha. She was getting better with a gun. She could shoot the eye out of a Cthulhu at ten paces.

  The curator winced at the extended shriek of the monster and hunched his shoulders toward his ears. “Put that beast out of its misery.”

  While she didn’t particularly care if a wraith were miserable, she wasn’t sure if she could comply with bullets alone.

  It was now eight paces away. Oh, hell. She had a dagger but couldn’t use both hands. She fired the rest of the clip, to little effect.

  Where was its neck? What should she stab?

  A pained curse from one of the soldiers nearly distracted her. She edged sideways, to give herself space, and the Cthulhu adjusted its course.

  If the creature’s main objective was killing her, she could lead it away from the curator. By running. She’d be the bait, and he’d be safe.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” she told the old man. She switched from gun to dagger. The short blade didn’t look like it would have much effect on the Cthulhu’s neck-free upper area. “I’m not a great fighter.”

  “We don’t all have to be. It’s all right, Margaret. You’re still valuable.”

  She hoped he was alive to tell everyone she was valuable at the end of today. Her heart thudding, she scrambled along the wall, jumping over cots, clumsily flinging a metal chair toward the lumbering beast.

  Its tentacles curled toward her before its body followed. It bludgeoned a cot in its path with huge, long arms like overgrown vines. Her diversion seemed to be working.

  She made it to the door. Opened it carefully. A human body lay in the dusty hallway. Red emergency lighting gleamed in the ceiling. Suffocating wraith stench billowed into the room, and the doorway to the restroom had been torn off its hinges. She spotted colossal reptilian feet at the end of the corridor, most of the way up the stairs.

  Not a soldier.

  The whole outpost must be infested, and Lill had dashed headlong into that mess. Did that mean everyone upstairs was dead? Were they alone? Or had the reptile manifested inside?

  She risked a glance at the curator—unguarded but unharmed in the corner. Then she located Zeke. He lopped a tentacle off his opponent. His sword was minus half its length. At his back, a soldier lunged forward to stab a Cthulhu in the mouth. Maggie counted seven monsters total, including hers.

  “Over here,” Maggie called.

  Three Cthulhu pivoted slowly. Their tentacles twisted like seaweed in a current. They headed toward the open door. Toward Maggie.

  Her original pursuer had nearly reached her.

  Taking a deep breath, she scuttled into the hallway and in the opposite direction of whatever creature was blundering down the stairs.

  The problem was, the hallway ended soon. If there was an escape tunnel, nobody had shared its location with her.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Zeke hewed the last tentacle off the wraith so he could hack through its neck area without it grabbing his blade. He’d encountered Cthulhu before and knew how to take them down. At the same time, he tried to keep watch on Maggie and the curator.

  So he saw when she ducked out of the room with several monsters on her heels. As he paused to yell at her, a Cthulhu managed to flail his arm with a tentacle.

  Numbness crept through his limb. Fuck. That one had eight or nine tentacles left, and each one contained a dose of paralysis.

  Paralysis in the presence of wraiths meant death.

  Before he dealt with Baldie, he hewed off the tentacles of the one that had stung him. Barbered the creature with his good arm. The numbness in his bad arm would fade faster the more he joggled it.

  The two bald, furious wraiths lumbered toward him. Their beaky mouths chittered and clacked. He waited until one of the mouths was open, evaded the lash of an arm, and stabbed his sword deep into the Cthulhu’s gullet.

&nbs
p; Their warty skin had dulled the blade. Judiciously, he bore up through the monster’s neck and face, using his body as ballast. It gurgled and keened. Bones inside the thing, somewhere, halted his progress, so he toppled the creature and came at it from another direction.

  In a few more seconds, he’d thrust the sword out the side of the Cthulhu’s body, which had the same effect as chopping off its head. It blasted him with gritty dust when it died.

  The other bald Cthulhu crowed like a demented rooster. Its body quivered as it tried to paralyze him with nonexistent tendrils. Sure as hell disproved Karen’s claims that wraiths possessed intelligence. It bent over him where he crouched on the ground, beak clacking ferociously.

  He stabbed into its mouth but pushed too hard. His blade broke off halfway. Damn! He didn’t have time to fetch another. He kicked the Cthulhu in the head, hard, and bounced to his feet.

  The two soldiers could handle the rest and protect the curator, who hadn’t bothered to lift a finger from what Zeke had seen. Wouldn’t even put on his damn vest. Was the old guy so decrepit he couldn’t shoot a gun or support body armor? Did he feel that terrible after his heart episode?

  Well, to hell with him. Zeke cared more about Maggie than some old geezer who couldn’t be bothered to protect himself. He hauled ass out of the room, on the heels of the wraiths hunting Maggie.

  In the hall, he crashed into a gods-be-damned T-Rex.

  Where the hell had this fucker come from?

  The dino roared. Its tiny arms clawed the air. The giant head, which scraped the ten foot ceiling, dipped toward Zeke.

  He dodged. Man, he hated these guys. Talk about thick necks. A broken sword and one functioning arm weren’t going to suffice. The narrowness of the corridor should slow it down. A T-Rex wasn’t smart, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a threat.