There were many things to fear along that particular journey. If only one Half Breed managed to slip onto the train, that car would quickly turn into an abattoir. If one passenger had been infected and turned, the result would be the same. One Full Blood deciding to make a statement could stop a train in its tracks and end every life in that tunnel. There were also the numerous other bizarre species that had made themselves known since the borders between natural and supernatural had come crashing down.
Then there were the more mundane threats. If the train broke down, it would take longer for rescue crews to arrive. Food supplies for everything other than the shapeshifters were scarce. And of course there was a constant danger of the power going out. At the root of all those threats was a distinct lack of knowledge.
Monsters had decimated the world’s structure including its government and economy using terrible force and sheer numbers. Most of the population didn’t know why or how such a thing could happen.
Despite dropping their largest bombs and firing its biggest guns at the creatures invading their lands, every nation’s military had been brought down and slowly picked clean like elephants succumbing to unrelenting packs of lions.
Every day, people feared what might rip them apart.
Whispered talk among the humans told Randolph they were all waiting for the lights to go out. Their phones had all but gone dead, but the power was still on. News was broadcast over computers by brave souls speaking whenever they could from secured locations because television studios and the corporations running them were in ruin. The fact that computers could still speak to each other at all was another mystery. Surely it was only a matter of time before darkness would come.
Darkness and ignorance.
Randolph had lived through similar times, and they weren’t so bad.
For one that could use the scent of fear to find his next feast, such eras were filled with many bountiful harvests.
While he knew the answers to some of the humans’ questions, Randolph did not know them all. And there were some things which could very well break the humans’ admirable spirit. If the Mist Born were added to their list of things to fear, the despair would be palpable.
Holding on to the strap above his head, Randolph closed his eyes to drink in the sounds and smells around him. Pushing beyond the scant amount of passengers and the vehicles in which they were carried, he used a new sense that had been granted to him by the pure Torva’ox that was now a part of him.
With so little earth between himself and the water, Randolph could feel the touch of a Mist Born like a slowly roiling exhale washing against the back of his neck. He was still new to the sensation, but a whispered name drifted through his mind which he somehow knew belonged to the presence he was feeling.
Tiddalik.
Devourer of the seas.
Teller of tides.
After what he’d experienced in facing the Snake Lord Icanchu, Randolph could only formulate wild notions about what Tiddalik might be in its physical form. The few stories he’d heard were of a being that could drink every bit of water on the planet and spit it out to fill the oceans again. Tiddalik could occupy a single drop at the bottom of a well or stretch out to every sea at once. But those were just stories. Where the Mist Born were concerned, that was all anyone had.
Kawosa may have dwelled at the lower echelons of the old ones, but his re-emergence into the mortal world granted the greater beings a taste of what was happening there. Icanchu had seen fit to rise up from the jungle floor, and now it seemed Tiddalik was flowing through the waters that had once been the Mist Born’s home. Randolph could feel the ancient being on all sides; a great flowing rush of consciousness that was too mighty to take notice of specks like him and a handful of humans moving through the Chunnel like stones encased in a metal shell.
If Tiddalik was having a look around, others must be stirring as well.
Or perhaps the Mist Born had always been closer than he’d imagined, and it was only now that Randolph could tell where they were.
Darkness and ignorance.
Perhaps the humans weren’t the only ones living in those conditions.
When he opened his eyes again, Randolph found two of the passengers in his car staring at him uneasily. He’d been grinning to himself as fresh possibilities within this new world flowed through his head. Such easy comfort had become a peculiar thing, and the trepidation on those pale, sunken faces reflected that.
Ignorance was a veil to be shed from each set of eyes at different times.
Darkness, as it had always been, was inevitable.
CHAPTER FIVE
Charleston, WV
Secret entrances, sprawling urban tangles nestled within a city’s infrastructure, even honest to God dungeons…Rico had seen them all.
The stairs leading into the basement below the warehouse were accessed through a small room in the back corner opposite from the offices. Three of the four IRD soldiers, Rico and both Nymar descended into a hallway lit by buzzing fluorescent lights. At first glance, it was just a basement. Musty smells, cobwebs, rusty drains. There were cheap metal shelves against the left wall spanning the entire length of the hall and seven doors to the right.
“Looks like there’s a ladder at the other end,” Rico said as he squinted for a better look at the farthest end of the hall.
“Didn’t see any rooms at that end of the building,” Wright said. “Must be a trap door or something.”
“Why don’t you post up here and keep an eye on both ends of the hall. Think you could hit anything between here and there?”
Wright laughed once under his breath and hefted the weight of his sniper rifle. “I could circumcise any man that climbed down that ladder.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Sayers said as he patted PFC Wright’s shoulder. “But it’s good to know. Hold position here and the rest of us will move on.”
Now that Rico’s suggestion had been made official, Wright put his back to a wall and kept the L115 sniper rifle ready. If anyone tried to come at him from closer range, there was always the Desert Eagle holstered at his side.
“Which room were you kept in?” Rico asked.
Drea walked beside him. Pointing further down the hall, she said, “Third door.”
“What’s in the other rooms?”
“I’m pretty sure the first room is used by the Skinners. The second one too.”
“Used for what?”
The Nymar shook her head. “I was a prisoner,” she told him. “They didn’t give me a tour. All I know is that Skinners were the only ones I’ve ever seen coming or going through those doors.”
“If you were locked up,” Sayers asked, “how did you see anyone coming or going through any doors?”
“My cage was closest to the door. Whenever any of them came into that room, I could get a look down the hall.”
“Could one of those other rooms be an armory?”
“Maybe. All I know is that the fourth and fifth rooms held more prisoners and if we don’t get them out now, they probably won’t be going anywhere.” Looking back at the soldiers, she added, “Neither will any of you.”
“All right, then. Since that’s all you can tell us, McCune is going to keep you both company while we clear these rooms,” Sayers announced.
“But we can help,” Seth offered.
“It’s a hallway and some rooms,” Rico said. “We shouldn’t need much help. That is, unless there’s more you need to tell us.”
Grudgingly, both Nymar allowed themselves to be separated from the group by Lance Corporal McCune. Although she didn’t hold either of them at gunpoint, McCune kept her PSD at the ready so she could easily answer any threat she might encounter.
Pointing to the first door, Sayers said, “Marsh, you’ve got point.”
Marsh’s Benelli shotgun was made for being the first barrel through a hostile doorway, and he gripped it like it was a battering ram. First, however, he tried the knob. It turned and opened,
but he didn’t allow it to move more than half an inch before the others were ready. As soon as he felt a tap on the shoulder from Rico, Marsh shoved the door open and stepped back while bringing the shotgun to his shoulder.
Rico moved inside with his Sig Sauer held in a two-handed grip. His heavy biker’s boots stomped into a room that was half kitchen and half bunkhouse. Cots lined the wall to his right, and the opposite side of the room contained a microwave oven, two fridges and several cabinets.
“Those racks look empty,” Marsh said as he walked over to have a closer look at the cots.
After opening some of the cabinets, Rico said, “Just food and cooking stuff here.”
In less than a minute, the room was cleared. As he stepped back into the hall, Sayers glanced toward Wright and got a quick thumbs-up in return.
The next door was locked. After trying the knob, Marsh jammed the barrel of his shotgun against the keyhole. Even though the door was metal, the points of the barrel were sharp enough to dig in before he pulled the trigger. The blast tore into the lock, but the door wouldn’t give until he fired again. Even then, it took a couple powerful kicks from the stout IRD soldier to grant him access to the room.
Rico stepped in, almost knocking over an apparatus of glass tubes and flat- bottomed bottles filled with dark yellow fluid. The room was about half the size of the previous one and filled with almost twice as much equipment. A single path led from the door straight to the back of the room. It was lined on both sides by shelves of glass vials, cabinets filled with white plastic containers bearing the names of various chemicals, and setups that Rico barely recognized. “Looks like some kind of lab,” he said.
After taking a few steps inside, Sayers nodded. “If we’re able to come back, I’ll request to bring one of the chemical experts along to have a look. Since we don’t know what the hell any of this is, we’re moving along before we spill something.”
There were no objections, so they moved on to the next room. Even before he tried to open the door, it was clear that Marsh would need the Benelli. Not only was the door thicker than the others, but it was fortified by two additional sets of locks. Rather than put the shotgun directly to work, Marsh examined the door carefully. Without taking his eyes from it, he said, “It’s wired.”
“Wired with an alarm or something worse?” Sayers asked.
“Hard to say. Most of the device is stowed away nice and clean. Can’t really see much of it.”
“Gotta be an alarm,” Rico said.
“How can you be sure?”
“Because the lab is right next door, and even if we don’t know what’s in there, it’s gotta be something these guys think is important. I doubt they’d risk blowing up their own work.”
“They might if they’re willing to write this place off as a loss after it’s compromised,” Sayers pointed out.
Before long, Rico shook his head. “There’s definitely something in place to blow this whole place, but it wouldn’t be something triggered by kicking in a door. Odds are it’s just an alarm, and we could’ve set one of them off already by blasting through the last door.”
“Or it could be a shaped charge,” Marsh said. “Something smaller meant to hit anyone opening this door the wrong way.”
“All right,” Rico growled. “Here’s where I earn my keep. Hand me that shotgun.”
When Marsh looked over to Sayers, he received a single curt nod. Even after that, he wasn’t quick to hand over his weapon. Once the Benelli was grudgingly given to him, Rico said, “Now stand back.”
“This might not be a very—”
Rico didn’t listen to a word the Lieutenant said and didn’t wait for him to finish before turning sideways, tucking his head in close to his chest and covering as much of himself as possible with his battered leather jacket. Holding the shotgun in one hand, he pressed the barrel against the door and fired. As before, two shots were needed to get the door open, and when those reports were still thundering through the hall, he kicked the door in.
Straightening up and allowing his jacket to fall back in place, Rico tossed the shotgun back to Marsh and said, “Told ya it wouldn’t be so bad.”
“Would that jacket have held up to an explosion if you were wrong?”
“Stick around and you’re bound to find out sooner or later.”
Marsh couldn’t help but grin.
Sayers, on the other hand, wasn’t amused. “You want to kill yourself? Do it in a way that doesn’t endanger my men!”
“Relax, Duke. You and your men are in danger just by choosing not to hide along with the rest of the world when them Half Breeds roll through.”
“Who the hell is Duke?” Sayers asked.
Rico’s brow furrowed as if he’d finally seen something he truly could not comprehend. “You know…Duke. The guy who led the GI Joes when they were on missions and stuff. Didn’t you watch GI Joe?”
The expression Sayers showed him betrayed nothing. Not even the first hint of a happy memory from days spent watching cartoons and eating after-school snacks.
“Explains a lot,” Rico grumbled. Turning his attention back to the door that was still swinging on its hinges, he drew the Sig Sauer and stepped inside. Marsh and Sayers were right behind him.
When Drea had mentioned cages, Rico was picturing holding cells meant for one person and a stool. What he discovered in the next room was a row of boxes that were barely large enough to hold one fully grown person curled into a fetal position. There were ten of them in all. Two were empty, including the one closest to the door.
“These look like repurposed dog kennels,” Marsh said.
Walking over to the closest occupied cage, Rico squatted down and tapped the bars with the side of his pistol. “And these ain’t repurposed dogs.”
The prisoner inside that cage was a young man somewhere in his twenties. His skin clung to him like wet parchment, and the only ridges that stood out more than his ribs were the tendrils squirming beneath his flesh in erratic, pulsing rhythms. His hair had been shaved in several spots, cut all the way down to the scalp, while the rest of it had been allowed to grow into a greasy tangle. Clouded eyes drifted toward Rico. When the prisoner opened his mouth, all three sets of fangs drooped from his jaws as if the Nymar simply no longer had the strength to retract them.
“Are they all like this?” Rico asked.
The other two soldiers examined the occupants of the other cages.
“Looks that way,” Sayers replied. “Some are worse than others.”
Still staring at one Nymar at the back of the room, Marsh leaned in as close as he dared and flinched every time the caged dreg pressed against its bars to try and grab him. “These are all…vampires?”
“Yeah,” Rico said.
“So they used to be people?”
“That’s mostly the way it works.”
“Can they be cured?”
The skinner nodded. “Sure they can. Blasting their hearts out through their spines or burning them alive seems to cure ‘em all pretty good.”
The Nymar in the cage in front of Sayers was the least active of the bunch. She wore the same dirty jumpsuit as the others. Also like the others, the only shreds of material that remained of her clothing were barely enough to cover her privates. Her body was twisted and curled into a position to protect what remained of her dignity and she seemed incapable of shifting into any other pose. The only sign that she was alive at all came from the occasional blink and rare spasm from deep within her belly.
“We need to get these people out of here,” Sayers whispered.
“No!” Rico barked loudly enough to snap both other men out of their sympathetic trances.
“They’ll remain prisoners,” Sayers said. “But any prisoner deserves better treatment than this.”
Rico stood up and walked down the aisle between the two rows of cages lining the walls. “These,” he said while smacking the closest cage with his pistol for emphasis, “ain’t prisoners! They’re killers. All of �
��em. The best we can do for them now is to put them down just like you’d do for any other fucking animal.”
“I wouldn’t treat any animal like this.”
“What if it was a bunch of Half Breeds in these cages?”
“That’s different!”
“Only because you know what they can do and what they WILL do!” Rico said. “Where the hell were you when all them cops were killed and the Shadow Spore filled the streets?”
“According to what I saw, those murders were committed by Skinners.”
“That’s what they wanted everyone to think. You had to have been shown the files on Nymar when Skinners were cleared of those charges. Without them, we wouldn’t have been allowed into the IRD!”
Sayers didn’t give a damn about Rico’s size or the gun in his hand when he stepped up to him and said, “The only reason the military puts up with you freaks is because we don’t have a choice. And before you get on a high horse and talk about how Skinners are persecuted for trying to help, tell me how much vital information you’ve been withholding from the rest of us for all these years.”
“I’ll gladly tell you. We’ve been withholding lots from everyone else because if you guys knew all of what’s out there, you’d be too busy shitting yourselves to fight back.”
When a slender figure wrapped in a filthy jumpsuit filled the doorway, all three of the soldiers snapped their aim in that direction. “Why are you arguing instead of opening these cages?” Drea asked.
McCune appeared behind her to clamp a hand on Drea’s shoulder and pull her back. “Sorry, sir,” she said. “This one got away from me.”
Rico nodded solemnly. “See? And that’s one who’s trying to seem cooperative. She got away and got right to us before her guard or that sniper could do a damn thing about it. The rest of these things are starving. They look weak and pathetic now, but as soon as they get an opportunity to feed, they’ll be tearing throats out like Tazmanian fucking devils on crystal meth. If you haven’t seen that cartoon, I can put it another way for ya.”
Forged From Ash - Book #7 of the Skinners Series Page 6
