CRISIS (Descendants Saga (Crisis Sequence) Book 2)

by James Somers

  I’m not sure how to answer that, so I leave it hanging there. Still, I can’t help but grin at Cassie for saying something so nice. I just hope I can measure up to it.

  On the other side of the wall, a grassy decline leads to another road. Without preamble, Cassie hops down from the wall. There appears to be no active zombies in view at the moment, so I follow her down. The drop on this side is greater than the height climbing to the top from the yard.

  Cassie drops with cat-like grace. She doesn’t even stumble. When I land next to her, I give her a cursory look. She smiles sheepishly at me.

  “What?”

  “I’ll bet you could jump to the top of the wall as easily as I could,” I say wryly.

  She grins in reply. “Maybe even better, but since you were so determined to help, I thought it would be rude not to take you up on your offer.”

  I sigh. “Sorry. I guess I’m a chauvinist pig, then?”

  She smiles impishly, then leans over and kisses my cheek. “I just thought it was sweet of you.”

  My expression brightens at that, but Cassie doesn’t waste any time. She runs ahead of me across the road toward the next group of nearby homes. I feel my cheeks flush red, but I don’t linger behind; running to catch up to her.

  Ahead the apartment complex stands between us and the power station where we must meet up with Garth and Holly. I try to put out of my mind the possibility that they have been killed already. If Cassie and I made it out of that neighborhood alive, then there seems to be little doubt Garth and Holly, both very capable people, would do the same.

  In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if they were worried more about us. After all, they have more reason to be concerned. I’m the youngest in our group, and my experience with real fighting and survival stretches back only one week. Still, I manage to comfort myself with the knowledge that nobody has any real experience fighting zombies, before a week ago. I can’t imagine there’s a lot that could compare with what we’ve faced over the past few days.

  Watching the complex for activity from a hiding place behind an abandoned home, I notice movement. There are definitely those who are infected wandering around the grounds. The work on this place isn’t quite finished. I recall news reports on the internet stating that many people had been allowed to occupy their flats, even though the grounds were still being completed outside.

  Something strikes me as odd. There are electric lights burning in places. I can see them through drawn window shades. My eyes are good. I’ve even been told that they’re better than good, at different times when I was tested for school. If they have lights while the neighborhood behind us doesn’t then either they are on another power grid, or they have some sort of generator on the premises.

  What I supposed must be zombies on the higher floors, are actually people. One man in particular catches my attention. He creeps onto a balcony, looking down at the lower levels and the ground. I can’t see the roof from our location, but I remember seeing artist renderings depicting a pool on top of these units and an area for people to lie about outside.

  Still, I wouldn’t be outside on a roof with any chance of helicopters picking me off. Though I’ve not seen any nearby recently, I remember the warning over the news channels before the power went off at Sainsbury. The authorities were shooting anyone caught within Central London. Presumably, people are seen here as being zombies or potential zombies, and they aren’t going to take any chances with rescues.

  “Do you see those people on the high floors?” I ask Cassie.

  “A man on that balcony,” she replies.

  Obviously, Cassie’s vision is keen also.

  “Yes, he’s not infected.”

  “They have power also,” she adds.

  I nod. “Makes me wonder if they might be trapped up there.”

  “You’re thinking about trying to rescue them?”

  “I was just thinking,” I say unsurely. “You don’t like the idea?”

  Cassie gives me an earnest look. “Jonathan, we don’t know anything about them. We don’t know if they are dangerous people, or even if they’re infected.”

  “Seems like they wouldn’t be hiding on the top floors, if they were really infected,” I reply. “If they remain up there, then eventually they’ll starve to death.”

  Cassie sighs, smiling slightly. “I’m not disagreeing, Jonathan,” she says, “but what can we offer them? We’re on the run. We don’t even have shelter for the night. At least, they have power. We don’t even have that much to offer, and, if you found a way out, it would undoubtedly put them at more risk by stirring up those zombies wandering around at ground level.”

  I consider her points. It’s hard to argue with what she’s saying. Still, I don’t like the idea of abandoning people who appear to be trapped. Yet, Cassie is right. Even if I manage to get them out of there, what can I offer that’s any better?

  She touches my arm kindly. “If you feel that strongly about it, then at least go to Battersea first and meet up with the others. Then Garth could go with you. Wouldn’t that be better?”

  I smile and nod.

  “Then we had better try to get to Battersea as quickly as we can,” she says. “If I know Garth, he may already be wondering where we’ve gotten to.”

  Come High Water

  Hu Takashi runs after his prey, chasing the woman and a young girl through an abandoned house. He knows now that it is a woman, that the other is a young girl, and that this building is a house. He doesn’t recall ever forgetting these things. One moment, like the transition from a dream to reality, he didn’t know, but now he does again.

  His running isn’t exactly what it once was—the intensity of his effort seems sluggish by comparison. Now he lumbers more than runs. Hu wonders why this should be. What has happened to the strength he knew so recently? What has happened to the terrible pain that burned white hot in his veins? He had been under its compulsion, but now it is severely diminished.

  He realizes a desire for that hunger again. It’s still there—the drive to kill, to feed, to spread his disease—but not as it was only days ago. Pain is insignificant. He does not regard the tearing of his own skin, or even the breaking of his bones. All these matters seem to right themselves somehow.

  A door stands now between him and his prey. He hears their screaming from the other side, the shuffling as they make further efforts to escape. Others of his kind mill about in the house. Most of these are like him. They are slower than the new ones.

  The younger of his kind move outward quickly, infecting as many as possible. He was like this recently, but not now. He does not roam great distances anymore. He sleeps at times, and those times are increasing in regularity.

  Hu does not comprehend any reason for these changes, but he does feel them happening—he does understand that there is a difference in his body and those of his kind who are older. He feeds now mostly. When he catches a meal it feels more pressing to consume than to infect. The younger more vital of his kind can manage that task far more efficiently.

  They do not tire. They never rest, never stop moving and searching out their prey. They are strong and ferocious, unrelenting, unstoppable.

  If the younger of his kind are wound springs set loose, then he feels more like a windup steadily winding down. Soon, he will sleep. Hu feels his time approaching. It calls him to halt and fall into arms of blissful contentment. He resists for now, but that call is growing stronger all the time. He knows he will not resist much longer. Its gravity will grow too strong for him to pull away.

  Still, he is not to that point, yet, and his prey waits on the other side of this door. He pounds it with bloody fists, throwing his body into the wood repeatedly. The splintering crack urges him on as others join with him. There is recognition among them now. They see each other and understand that they are the same.

  The door can only take so much. With numerous bodies pressuring the wood, it soon gives way. His prey cowers against a far wall behind the largest pi
ece of furniture in the room. The woman holds an axe up threateningly. Neither Hu nor any of his new family has any concern for injury. They only desire to feed, to sate their unending hunger.

  Hu batters the broken door out of their way. Their lumbering advance proceeds from the hall into the small bedroom of the abandoned house. The woman and the girl open their mouths wide, and the screaming begins.

  Garth’s katana cuts the air, driving repeatedly into flesh. He’s been forced to modify many standard maneuvers meant to wound and incapacitate his attackers. These infected zombies disregard pain. They care little for broken bones, cut tendons, and lacerated organs. Only death strikes, causing catastrophic damage can stop them. Even a hacked limb tends to be only an inconvenience.

  Holly fires her last round and then reflexively discards the pistol she took from one of the guards killed in the Tombs laboratory. Hurling the weapon into the face of an attacker only buys her the few second’s distraction she needs to hop a fence and join Garth. Together they race around an abandoned home toward the street on the other side.

  They have no idea what has happened to Cassie and Jonathan. The last Holly saw of the pair, they had ducked into a house, barricading the door against the infected. Moments later, Holly witnessed zombies invade the home and the unexpected explosion that drove them out again. She couldn’t help but think that Cassie had employed her unpredictable power again.

  At the very least, she is comforted by the fact that the junior members of their group are not defenseless. Jonathan, too, is more powerful than he realizes. The strength and conditioning tests Dr. Albert employed showed the boy improving exponentially from day to day. It was as though his dormant power had been waiting to be set loose. Jonathan never seemed to understand the implications of what he was doing.

  “More trouble,” Garth says, forcing Holly to follow his line of sight.

  Another group of zombies is closing the gap. They appear to be surrounded.

  “What do we do?” Holly gasps.

  As an agent, she’s not used to uncertainty, but this situation is looking more hopeless by the second. They’re taught to find ways to escape impossible situations, but Holly’s mind draws a blank now. They are beset on all sides by the infected. Some move quickly toward them like starving wolves, other lope along hungrily like the classic zombies of horror cinema.

  Desperately, Garth stows his katana in its scabbard across his back. He throws himself down upon a plate in the street—a manhole cover. His muscles cord up throughout his arms, as he musters enough effort to wrench the heavy plate free. It doesn’t appear to be in regular use and sticks fast. Garth grunts furiously, and it breaks loose.

  “In you go!” Garth shouts as the cover comes free in is hands.

  Holly wastes no time, slipping through the dark hole. She takes hold of the metal ladder affixed to the inner brick wall and slides down military style, braking her descent with her hands and the insole of her shoes. Garth whips his katana at another attacker before dropping inside, pulling the cover back over the top.

  He foregoes the ladder completely, dropping to the floor of the dark tunnel as elegantly as a dancer. “We had better get moving,” Garth says. “I don’t know how long it will take them to figure out how to follow us.”

  “They’ll probably resort to pounding at the cover in vain,” Holly replies. “They’re not good at problem solving.”

  “Let’s not take any chances,” Garth says. “I can see pretty well, even down here.”

  “It’s a wonderful smell you’ve discovered. I suppose, you’ll have to lead me,” Holly says, holding out her hand.

  Despite the darkness, Garth takes her hand in his, beginning to pull her along.

  “Be careful of your footing,” he says ahead of her. “There’s not much water with the city evacuated, but we may come to deeper areas along our way, not to mention the layer of slime beneath our feet.”

  “I can only imagine what we’re walking on,” Holly says, trying to breathe only through her mouth.

  “Probably best not to think about it,” Garth says, leading her along the tunnel.

  They go on for a moment, walking through ankle deep water upon a curving floor. Holly stumbles several times in the dark. Only Garth’s hand steadies her, keeping her from falling into the muck of the tunnel floor.

  “Hold on a minute,” Garth says, letting go of Holly’s hand.

  He carefully withdraws his katana, holding it out before him. Gradually the blade of the sword becomes visible in the darkness, and then it begins to glow with inner luminosity. The near area of the tunnel is revealed around them.

  “How are you doing that?” Holly asks in astonishment.

  “I’m not sure,” Garth replies. “It’s something I saw in a dream one night. When I woke, the blade was glowing just like in my dream. After the light went out, I found that I could cause it to glow like this with a little effort of will.”

  “Well, I for one am grateful, even if I have no idea how it works,” Holly says, grinning. “I was sure I was going to fall eventually, and this is one of the last places I want to do that.”

  “Yeah,” Garth replies, “I guess you won’t need me holding your hand anymore.”

  “I suppose not,” Holly says, grinning in the white glow of the sword.

  Garth turns back to the old tunnel lined in red brick, seeming black in the katana’s white light. “Pity.”

  Holly follows along behind him, smiling.

  On the street, around the manhole cover, a throng of zombies beat their fists against the metal plate in frustration. They stoop and hop about like angry chimpanzees. Yet, none of them seem to know of any way to get through to their prey.

  However, another lopes to the forefront. This one is slower, though he was as quick as any of the others only a few days ago. His wits are somewhat returned to him, while the others remain in their rage state and blind to things they once knew.

  The infected man, with grime and old blood caked across his shirt, manages to push through, until he is standing beside the manhole cover. He stoops down, examining the metal plate. He saw the two people escape. He places his swollen and bloody fingers into the holes near the center and lifts the cover free with a grunt, revealing a dark hole in the ground.

  The others do not marvel at the man. If he replaced the cover over the hole at that moment, most would still not comprehend removing it. However, they do know enough to pursue their prey. Clamoring for opportunity, they drop through the hole to the tunnel below and darkness where a faint corona of light can just barely be seen moving in the distance.

  The echo of sloshing water is pervasive as Garth and Holly trudge through foul filth. His katana illuminates only their immediate surroundings with a pale white light that masks true color. Still, beyond the interesting Victorian architecture of the sewerage system, there isn’t much to see.

  So far, this tunnel continues relatively straight for over one hundred meters. Garth continues to lead the way. Holly follows closely, almost on his heels.

  “How will we know where to come out on top?” Holly asks, her voice reverberating forward and behind.

  “I have a pretty good sense of direction and distance,” Garth replies. “I think I can get us very close to the power station.”

  “What are the chances of us running into zombies down here?”

  “Hardly any chance at all,” Garth replies. “I mean I don’t think they would know to go down below, not unless they’re more intelligent than you mentioned.”

  Abruptly, the tunnel opens up before them into a high chamber with brick columns spaced at regular intervals. The entire room is square in shape with other sewer tunnels connecting from different directions. They walk into the chamber and then Garth calls for a stop.

  The columns form arches between them nearly fifteen feet high. It has the appearance of a train station more than a sewer. It is a place where waters converge before moving on again toward treatment and the Thames.

&nbs
p; Murky water settles around their calves, as Garth listens intently. “Do you hear that?”

  “What?”

  He turns to look at her. “Water sloshing in the tunnel behind us.”

  The infected stream into the tunnel from the street where the lid was removed moments ago by one of their own. These most eager, leading the charge, do not understand how the other managed to clear the way for them. They only know that this is the way their prey went and they mean to follow and find them.

  The light moves ahead in the distance, spurring them onward. They are hungry and the burning pain in their bodies drives them to kill, to feed, and to spread their dark gift so that others might join their collective. If there is time to feed and many hungry bellies to fill then they take the opportunity. Other times, when prey is numerous, they simply forego and transform them to increase their numbers. There is no greater passion for one over the other.

  Now they remember two who were so very nearly in their clutches. Their scent is unmistakable—their fear palpable, driving the urge to have them. The entire group lurches hungrily down the tunnel, the younger ahead and the older straggling behind.

  The white light lies ahead where the tunnel opens to become a vast chamber. Victorian architecture is lost on these. They do not wonder at craftsmanship. The light is there in the middle of the room, some sort of glowing rod standing straight out of the water.

  The infected gather around it, looking for the two warm bodies driving their feverish hunger. Their prey is nowhere to be found. Then something unexpected happens. A blur of light flashes in the darkness.

  The glowing rod is moving almost too fast to track. It draws their attention and then begins to strike them down one by one, two at a time. They attempt to track the movement, their senses keen. A face can be seen, but only for a moment before more of their number fall in the darkness, their bodies splashing down into the sloshing black water.