The Lies (Zombie Ocean Book 8)

by Michael John Grist

  Black and white ones pass before me, fizzing like popping candies. Yellow waxy ones lumber aimlessly, melting. I reach a corner in my burning maze and take it sharply. By my feet there's a great blue head lying half through the flames, and I jump. Its big mouth snaps up at me, I clear it, but I land badly.

  Thrown off balance by the weight of my soaking clothes, my left ankle gives out and I drop, rolling awkwardly, shooting my right leg out through one of the walls.

  I shout, snap it back in then slap at it, melting my gloves. Bitter smoke rises in my face and now I feel the heat growing on my back and shuffle away before I see that, of course, the fire is spreading.

  I forget my scalded leg and scrabble on all fours away from the trickling fire as it leaks along the groove lines. I feel the heat in my lower back, twist and see the flames, then roll onto my back patting at my sides. In the wall to the left there's a leper just standing there and fizzing happily. I yelp and get to my feet as it leans closer, then I punch it in the face. I don't wait to see the effect, but dash on and take another sharp corner, one more in a tight chicane, then there's one last creature standing in front of me, blocking my path.

  It's a translucent black wraith-like thing, drifting in the air like smoke. Through it I can see the big 'f' and the lockbox. It's not burning, not moving, just watching me.

  Shit. But I've come too far to stop now. I advance on it, one step, two, pushing the black eye ahead as well as I can, but my armor ebbs as I get close, and sweat pours into my eyes. I barely dodge a demon's outstretched hand, arcing through the fire wall from the left. I set my hood on fire in the wall on the right, and hurry on.

  The black wraith seems to dance backward with my each step forward, like a sprite overlaid atop a set of VR glasses, until it's standing immediately above the box.

  Shit.

  "Come on," I say, panting with the heat now, trying for reason. "Out of the way, like the rest."

  It only hovers, watching me. I take another step closer, light-headed now with the tangled mix of the line and the heat, and now it takes a step closer to me, like a mirror. This is not what I planned.

  "My brains, is that it?" I ask. "Is that what you want?"

  Its strange, feathery mouth opens as if in mimicry of me, and a low mumbling comes out that might be speech. Perhaps it's making fun of me.

  "I'm coming to that box," I warn it. "I'll be there in three seconds, and you better not be there too."

  I take a step. It takes a step. I stab the black eye at it, but there's no strength left, and nothing to hit anyway, like this thing is really a ghost. I take another step and it steps up to face me, barely a foot apart. I look into its eyes, and there I see…

  Its face changes. Its mouth changes, and its eyes, and it becomes someone I know well.

  "Feargal?" I ask.

  Feargal's face looks back at me, emerging from that wispy black thing. Ginger hair, patchy beard, serious eyes like the moment he lay on the floor of that roadside store, looking up and judging me.

  "Why are you doing this again, Amo?" he asks. "Why are you killing us again?"

  I stop flat, while monsters burn and thrash around us, and the heat steadily shuts me down. I'm not getting enough oxygen, that's clear. I'm overheating. It feels like a slow roast in hell.

  "I need this box," I tell it, Feargal, the only thing I can think to say when talking to a wraith. I point. "Right here."

  "I can't let you," says Feargal's voice, coming out of Feargal's face. "I'll kill you."

  I laugh a little, because everybody knows that's not really a thing. Lots of people have tried to kill me and failed. "You can't kill me."

  "Or change you," Feargal says. "Forever. Make you mine."

  That seems fairer. I nod, because I'm hardly in charge of myself now anyway. A deal, then. "Go ahead," I say. "I'm bought and paid for already."

  I stride on, and the wraith thing rears up as I step in, and sticks both its hands right into my head, like I'm as insubstantial as fog. For a second I'm blind, and it feels like cold daggers are plunging through my eyes, then I can see again and I'm staggering. The wraith thing has risen up like it's diving from on high into my head, flailing in the air above like a maddened kite. I shake my head and its black body and legs flap.

  It doesn't feel good. It feels cold, sliding down my spine. I scream a little, and pull the black eye back in on me, and for a second stick my head sideways into the wall of fire.

  The wraith severs at the middle and I pull back violently, smacking myself in the head. Its legs drift down like autumn leaves, and the last trails of its body suck down into my head and settle cold in my middle. I drop to my knees, and blink, and in the darkness behind my eyes I see its strange face grinning wickedly.

  "You know me now," it whispers. "I know you."

  And I do know it. I remember a man called Sandbrooke. He worked here, and betrayed his team. I see things I shouldn't know, and he doesn't like that. On my knees I turn the black eye inward, no longer needing overwhelming strength; only precision. I sharpen the edges and snip into him like a pair of surgical scissors.

  The black wisps of him slit and start to dissolve. He screams, and I cut him to confetti, and he melts.

  Then I'm leaning forward; sweat pouring off me, smoke rising from my hood. The finger of another demon hits my arm and nudges it into one of the fire walls. A leper staggers before me, its chest burning from the inside with long white ribbons of flesh sparkling like fuses, and I shove it away. My palm fizzes with static.

  I lurch ahead, then I'm on my knees on the f, looking at the lockbox. Dumbly I paw at it with my smoking gloves, but they're useless. I pry at the lid pointlessly before remembering I have a key in my pack; the screwdriver. I dig it into the hairline opening, heave two, three times and the lid cranks back.

  I laugh when I see what's inside.

  A small bundle of white paper wrapped up with an elastic band. I peel it back and look at the solid black USB key bundled within; easily a terabyte of storage right there.

  For me.

  I tuck it down in a pocket then turn to the crazy, heat-maddened dash back.

  Over the fragile legs of the wraith I trample, wilting now like rotten flowers. I punch a burning yellow thing in the back of the head, my hand gets stuck, and I have to use the screwdriver to pry it out. My hand burns and I lose the tool, I almost get pulled into a melting hug but manage to jog away. A leper stands in front of me and I give it a smack with what's left of the black eye, probably reducing its countdown timer by a few minutes at least.

  At the edge I barely climb the rope ladder back up to the railing. My shoulders are not what they used to be, and the clothes are heavy, but desperation gets me up. I lurch round the walkway and away from the fires, slipping down the elevator shaft, and out through the lobby back to my sled in the freezing cold, all in a kind of stuttering dream. The water in my clothes is not going to serve me well now, but there's no choice, and cold is better than fire and a fried brain when the lepers pop.

  I'm half a mile away when the first of them blows. It knocks me down, confuses me for minutes, as the line in this part of the world is erased. The chaotic signal goes silent briefly in the aftermath, and as soon as I remember to move, I do so.

  After that they fire off like popcorn. I barely make it away. Perhaps, at some deep level, it is the chopped pieces of the wraith left inside keeping me upright and walking. I know I could hardly do it myself. Some fusion of Sandbrooke and Feargal makes me take another step, and another, while my conscious mind warps and flexes. God knows what they want.

  POP

  POP

  POP

  The line for miles around vanishes. A snowstorm descends from a thunderhead sky. I trudge into the thick of it, alone, as always.

  INTERLUDE 5

  By the time James While landed on Sakhalin Island he'd approved initial construction on seven new Ark locations, spaced around the globe with substantial longitudinal gaps between them, pending final
oversight from Joran Helkegarde.

  The man had proved surprisingly resilient.

  Even with a withered arm and the guilt of every lost subject in the Arrays on his head, he'd hunkered down and produced a steady stream of innovative, enlightened reports in the past five hours, seemingly proving himself above suspicion. After their first talk in the midst of the Array exodus, While hadn't considered him to be worth much, but he was changing that calculation by the hour.

  Sometimes you had to spin up a new plate.

  Now the hacking of the transmission signal, replacing Helkegarde's 'Hello' with something quite different, was the real question.

  Mid-flight he'd sent mounds of data over to Helkegarde, from Rachel Heron about the T4, every readout they had from the Arrays before the signal blew them, the segments of the transmission that they'd been able to capture, video of the beasts in the pens, Joran's own brainwave patterns along with the patterns of other survivors, and more, and within an hour Joran had filed an early report and requested more. He wanted his Alpha teams back in labs working with line equipment. He wanted every Array head gathered for multiple conferences. He wanted oversight capability on the plans going forward.

  While had smiled at that. From suspected saboteur to demanding oversight within a few hours was impressive, but then that was because his buttons were so simple to press. Helkegarde was ambitious to a fault, and when shown a possibility to recover his status as a brilliant and important innovator in the quest for 'God's mind', he had leapt on it.

  His first report had outlined all the ways brain activity had shifted since the blast. Next came his report on the transmission; it seemed to be a kind of encrypted key, designed to unlock the T4, triggered through the telomere mechanism for aging.

  "You're not an expert in telomeres," While had argued back.

  "I can recognize copies," Helkegarde answered sharply, from his new lab. "I looked at Heron's data, and though I'm no cryptologist, I can spot a pair match when I see one. This T4, have you spoken to her about what it can do?"

  "I'm heading to Sakhalin now."

  "Find out. What I'm seeing here…" Helkegarde trailed off. "It boggles the mind. That anyone could know about this, that it might even exist. It defies all natural law. You said the T4 was found in the Arctic ice? It's not possible. Evolution would never make something like this, it doesn't make sense."

  While had gazed at Helkegarde for a moment. He truly was a smart man, capable of creative leaps that pushed beyond the edge of the data he had. Perhaps he was capable of the very thing he was getting worked up about. Only a genius who excelled in multiple disciplines could have put together the threat they were facing now. He had to keep a watch on him.

  "Leave the genetic biology to Heron. I need you focusing on what the signal did, how it's changing people, and what we can do to stop it."

  "I can't do that without full access to the biological data. You're holding back."

  While almost smiled. It had taken Helkegarde only hours to spot the gaps in the Logchain that it had taken him years to find. But then he'd never been a scientist, just a patterns analyst. He'd never had the baseline knowledge necessary to see the outliers.

  "You'll get it when I think you need it. Now talk me through what else you need."

  Helkegarde asked for twelve new Arrays, and assurances for himself and Sovoy, and greater autonomy and authority. James While granted some and said he'd think about the others.

  There was a great deal to do.

  Two hours later he stepped off his private jet onto the narrow runway of the Logchain facility on Sakhalin Island.

  The sky was a mottled white and slate, like a strange rash. Jagged scar-like black rocks encircled the facility, not tall enough to be called mountains, too fractured to be called hills. It felt like stepping back into the wake of an Ice Age, with the land torn into furrows by vast fronts of ice.

  He shivered. The air was cold but humid at the same time. He sneezed as he reached the bottom of the stairs; allergies. God knew what pollen was in the air here. Rachel Heron was waiting for him on the worn asphalt, Persian beauty bundled in a thick red parka.

  "It's good to have you here, James," she said.

  He nodded. They'd slept together once, at a SEAL conference. It had been excellent exercise and a vigorous affirmation of their mutual attraction. Once though had been enough.

  He looked past her to the glass and concrete campus of ten buildings that SEAL money had built, long before he was even born. The Logchain was designed to investigate and decode the human genome in depths none were attempting anywhere else on the planet. This was investigative science of the highest caliber, and Rachel was one of the keenest minds he knew, but there were secrets here too, kept from him for years.

  This had been coming for a long time.

  "Rachel Heron, I'm placing you under arrest."

  Her pleasant expression faded as the words sunk in. "What? Why?"

  "You know why," he said, as a stream of tactically armed soldiers poured out of the belly of his jet. In seconds Heron's small retinue were surrounded.

  "I don't. And you don't have the authority to do this, James." His men tightened plastic cuffs round her wrists. "I'm a SEAL Head."

  "The SEAL is in pieces, fragmented by this attack. I'm barely keeping it together. You have been withholding information from me, and I need to see it."

  Heron blanched in outrage. "What information? You've seen everything."

  While studied her face. He'd thought he'd known her. Perhaps he had. It was possible she just didn't know, but that argued for incompetence, and he didn't believe she was incompetent. She was too smart not to know.

  "I've been monitoring unaccounted for, heavily encoded data streams leaving the Logchain for years now, Rachel. Either it's with your approval or it's sabotage of the SEAL. In both cases I need to take you into custody."

  Her outrage became confusion. "Wait, you're talking about the deep pipes? Jesus, James, talk to Harrison. How was I to know you weren't in on that? He kept a private line on certain research threads, that's all I know. It's certainly not sabotage!"

  James took her by the arm and started the long perp walk to her own campus. "You knew I didn't know. So now I'm talking to you. You're going to show me everything you've been doing here, and what you've been sending to Harrison."

  She spluttered something about privilege and security clearance, but he ignored it. He'd guessed a long time ago the feeds were directed to Olan Harrison, one of the few remaining areas in the SEAL still shuttered to him. It had always made Heron an intelligence target he'd hoped to convert. Sleeping with her had bought him social capital, but she'd been too careful to let her guard slip. Once was enough to know that.

  Now, though, was his chance.

  * * *

  His team moved smoothly into position, well prepared to infiltrate without raising alarm. They wore the right uniform, carried the right badges, and their arrival had been pre-authorized by James While himself, the consigliore of the SEAL, and none would question them.

  They reached the comms facilities before any alarm could go out, warning Olan Harrison what was happening at his longstanding pet project. One more blackout in the midst of the global chaos would go relatively unremarked. Besides, While didn't anticipate needing much time to get to the bottom of things here.

  He frogmarched Rachel through the open square at the center of the Logchain, paved with red bricks and garlanded with a central fountain. Four buildings were spread out around it while the remaining six lay along a central spine leading away to the north; some larger, some smaller, all interconnected, but none what he was looking for.

  He'd studied the plans, both the ones before construction and the ones that had been altered afterwards. Tunnels were missing. Rooms were missing. On the plane he'd pulled in favors and compromised himself to find them, but the evidence they offered was incontrovertible. Something was happening and he'd been cut out of the loop since he'd started as CO
O, sealed out by Olan and Rachel at every step. It had never been that way with the Multicameral Array. Such was the problem of inheriting programs you hadn't initiated.

  He stopped in front of Building 3, a squat dome called the 'Donut' which housed a circular workflow analysis line. He gave Rachel a slight jostle, forcing her to look at him.

  "We're here."

  "Where, at the Donut? Jesus, James, you've finally cracked. You want to run some blood samples through the ring?"

  His security personnel circled in tightly on the doors.

  "Rachel, stop bullshitting me. I know there's something happening here underground. There are tunnels, secret facilities. Don't tell me they're for night soil. Whether it's sabotage or not is for me to decide."

  Rachel snorted. "You've lost it. But all right, I'll show you. You're COO, perhaps it's time you knew."

  "Lead on," he said, and she did. Through the door she gave a nod to someone, a building supervisor While recognized from his files. He nodded one of his team over, and they cuffed the supervisor, adding him to the procession.

  "What's that for?" Rachel demanded. "He's not even cleared for the tunnels."

  "Rachel, please. No more signals. Imagine I'm very serious, and holding a gun to your head."

  Her beautiful face split in derision. "You wouldn't dare."

  "There are few things I wouldn't dare. Here, I believe, are the elevators."

  It was a small security door she'd been studiously ignoring and walking past. A flash of panic lit in her eyes.

  "These lead into containment. We're not wearing suits. We can go round…"

  While gave a signal, and one of his men pulled a black metal battering ram out of a hard case rucksack. He swung it and pounded the door once, twice, then the hinges squealed inward and Rachel Heron held up a hand.

  "I have a pass card, James, I'll do it."

  She scanned her card; the light flashed green and the door clicked open. On the other side was a hallway with no doors. While pushed her down it first, followed by his team. There was a left turn, a right, then an elevator door.