“The dead have risen.” He bolted, leaving Nathalia standing, gawking. She watched as he attacked the burning man from the rear. Eiran wrenched the man’s head hard to the right, tearing it loose from the body. The body did not stop walking. Eiran jumped up and landed a kick square in its back, propelling it into the fire. He tossed the head after it. He grabbed a pole from the now skeleton-like structure and used it like a spear, running it through the chest of another man. He used it to push the shish-kebabbed man back into the fire, laying him on top of his headless buddy. He stabbed through them both, securing the point end into the ground.
What the hell are you doing? She ran after Eiran. He had another one decapitated before she got to him. He tossed the head to her and she unwittingly caught it. Its unseeing eyes blinked. She stared at the totally cataract white pupil and iris and knew she was looking in the face of a zombie.
Zambi. Made when our blood is used to animate a dead corpse or if the human dies during conversion, a zambi is a truly mindless creature and will not even fight to protect itself. It knows no fear and feels no pain. It exists with one thought: binging on human flesh, namely the brain.
Nathalia tossed the head into the fire, where it continued to work its jaw. I know what a freaking zombie is, Eiran. She had no idea they were real though. And weren’t they supposed to die if their head was removed or their brain destroyed?
She didn’t have time to think about that long. The bite to her upper left arm jolted her. She brought her right knee up and spun around, making contact with the zombie’s spine. The crunching sound was telling. She had not just kneed the man in the kidney as she tried to do, she had broken his spine in two. The zombie’s body bent backward, folding in half the wrong way, but he did not go down. He merely started walking toward her, his legs moving opposite their normal way. His head, now hanging upside down snapped at her and his arms flailed.
The burning of the bite dropped Nathalia to her knees. The torture in her arm traveled to her chest and neck. It was a wildfire burning across the prairie of her body. She went blind. Stars whited out her vision as the heat made it to her face and eyes. She felt a rush of hunger and knew she was becoming one of them.
Then as fast as it had come on her, the burning pain was gone. He’d said they felt no pain and hers was gone because she was a zombie. She didn’t feel like a zombie, but who knew what one felt like. Her vision was back, and she saw Eiran remove the head of the zombie she had broken in half. He tossed it into the fire. She looked beyond the still stumbling, very confused body and saw that they were surrounded. She had seen enough zombie apocalypse movies to know that individual zombies might be easily dealt with, but big groups always meant death.
Get out of here Eiran! Leave me. She stood and looked around for any weapon she could use. She was determined to go down fighting. Eiran ran to her. He held a short sword in his right hand. She gestured that he should give it to her, but he only looked puzzled. I need something to fight them while you make your get away.
Then he kissed her on the mouth and she almost forgot they were surrounded by a mob of zombies. Almost.
“I am sorry you were bitten.”
Yeah, me too. Now go. She reached down to grab the sword, but jerked her hand back when she made contact. He wasn’t holding a sword in his hand; the sword was his hand. She didn’t have time to deal with that shock. I need a weapon. Man, what she wouldn’t give to be back in Texas. Texans would never have trouble containing a zombie outbreak. There were guns everywhere. Everyone had one, or two. Or ten.
Eiran pointed to the ground behind her. She spun, grabbing up the machete and decapitating a zombie on the way. She struggled a little with the body, not knowing how to stop its lumbering advance.
“Do not worry about the bodies. The mouth is the only item of worry. We will deal with bodies after all teeth have been neutralized.”
I’m afraid I won’t be much help later.
“On your left!”
Nathalia brought the machete down at an angle, taking the zombie’s right arm and shoulder off with its neck and head. It hit the ground. There wasn’t as much blood as she would have expected. It wasn’t like in the movies. The hand reached out, grabbing a fist full of earth, and pulled its shoulder and head toward her. Okay, maybe it was a little like the movies. Annu, help me.
“I can handle these. There is a group of women and children in that house that are in need.”
Women and children in need was Nathalia’s specialty. She had prayed to Annu and Annu delivered the motivation Nathalia needed to make it through. Some good to focus on, in all this gore. But, I can’t go in there. What if I bite one of them?!
“You are no zambi. Zambi bites only infect humans.” Nathalia took off running and Eiran continued in her mind. The infection runs its course through us, causing pain and a moment of its effects, but our blood burns it out. It is meant to delay us, handicap us in battle.
Nathalia quickly dispatched the two zombies standing in front of the house. One of them had been stabbed and sliced repeatedly, his arm dangling by a single flap of flesh. It went down no faster than its partner who seemed whole. Inside she could feel several women, one young teenage boy and half a dozen children. They were panicked, frantic. Nathalia quickly blanketed them with peace. She only entered once every mind calmed.
The women and children huddled in one corner. The teen boy held the sole blade in the room, but it dangled at his side. He was too peaceful to defend himself against the zombie now lunging at him. Nathalia cursed herself for her thoughtlessness. She hadn’t sensed the zombie because its mind was not something hers recognized as a receptacle.
She kicked the undead back out the way she came. She took a moment to unfurl her control over the adolescent boy. When he was alert again, she left him to guard while she went back out to deal with the one she had evicted.
The doctor sat in his fully reinforced bulletproof office stewing over his computer. The spread of local newspapers strewn across his desk told him almost everything, but he relied on science to confirm it. A small chime from the computer confirmed the algorithm was finished. He hit the print button and heard the printer across the room start up.
Without bothering to stand, he rolled his chair over to the printer and picked up the probabilities chart. He pushed his glasses back over his balding head and left them staring up at the ceiling as he studied the page. Violence was up. Any moron who could read the headlines could see that. His program calculated the probability that the violence was caused by the proximity to an Akhkharu.
It was beyond probability and into certainty. The monster headed right for them just as the doctor wanted. He prepared, but didn’t warn anyone else. Everyone was expendable when the possession of the life-giving fluid was so close. Blood from Nephilim and Akhkharu alike could be used to make the serum. He would not fail as his predecessors had.
He wouldn’t be caught off guard. He set a trap, baited with women. Women in pain called to both Nephilim and Akhkharu. The former seemed drawn to protect the weaker sex, the latter were drawn to any violence toward them. Violence radiated off this building and acted as a homing beacon to both. He was glad a Akhkharu took the bait instead of a Nephilim.
The basement levels of this complex were devoted to bringing pain, but the doctor never stepped foot down there. Though he ordered and approved every torment, he never actually sullied his hands. He was a scientist. Let the barbarians do the dirty work. There was never a shortage of men willing and able.
He knew he had little time before the beast walked among them. At this time of year very little time spanned between the sunset and the moon rise. The Akhkharu would have but a few moments to get from his daytime hiding place and into the building. Minutes were more than enough time for a creature such as an Akhkharu. Even without his tabalu ability, he would be impossibly fast.
The doctor knew the Akhkharu would not risk being caught in the moonlight. While it wouldn’t hurt him, a full moon would call ou
t his location to all Nephilim. He would be easy pickings for a circle of vengeful Nephilim bent on bringing justice to their brother. The doctor knew more about the Nephilim and their betrayer brothers than any man alive, save other Paion’s of the Fellowship. He hoped his knowledge would keep him alive.
He punched the intercom button on the wall next to his printer. “Bring me number 603.” He spoke nonchalantly as if he ordered a value meal at a drive through. His order made, he stood slowly, stretching his aching back as he did. He knees cracked. The blood could not get here soon enough. If he didn’t get some serum soon, his time would be up.
A knock on the door.
The doctor punched the button and buzzed them in. His permission was the only way to gain entrance to this room. A fortress inside a fortress, his office had been built to withstand not only men but sons of gods.
Two people stood in the open doorway. Well, one and a half people anyway. 603 had been broken long ago and could hardly count as a human being. A young man in scrubs brought her in and sat her down in the chair to which the doctor indicated. 603 never lifted her eyes from the floor nor made any move to resist.
603 had a name at one time, but they’d taken it from her. They’d taken everything from her that could be taken. A shell of the girl she was when they brought her here remained. She wore a tiny hospital gown that barely covered her. It did nothing to hide the evidence of years of cruel treatment she received at the hands of her handlers here. And those scars did nothing to diminish her beauty. That was too bad for her. No matter how they hurt her they could not lessen their desire for her. She was at the mercy of her sadistic handlers. Even the one who brought her in, stood close enough to be in constant contact with her bare skin in the gap in the back of her hospital gown.
Her legs never stopped moving. She had sewing machine leg just like a person with a fear of heights on a balance beam or a common junkie. That’s what she was after all. All the women imprisoned here were hooked on the stuff. The doctor had forced a woman with the Ingenium ability to help him create it. It gave women the power they needed to work their various magics. The doctor held the only samples of it here in his office, so that they would all be eager to come here and work for him. He glimpsed the smile on her face, even though she leaned her head forward so that her hair hid the excitement.
The doctor took out his little case of syringes from the desk drawer and patted it as he asked her, “Would you like to help me tonight?”
Her eyes were locked on the black case that held the doses of cloud nine. She nodded. She would help him. She would do anything he wanted for just a little hit of the corrupted bliss.
When he instructed her to “Assume the position,” her handler didn’t give her a chance to obey as she most obviously would have done. The large man pulled her up by her neck and slammed her face down on the newspaper covered desk. She whimpered a little as he held her by the back of her head. He roughly kicked her feet apart so he could stand between them behind her. He pushed her against the desk with the weight of his body.
The doctor took out one of the syringes, held it up and thumped it, pushing the air up and out of the needle before injecting her. He couldn’t have her die because he had rushed things. He carefully pushed the needle into the base of her head right in the spine, delivering the dose to her brain directly.
He dropped the used needle into a bio-hazard container on the wall behind him and then watched as the drug took over. Her eyes, so black normally, went cloudy and then solid white. Her handler was excited and could hardly keep his hips from a thrusting motion into her trapped backside.
“Leave us for a while, Kwabe. We have work to do here. Why don’t you go take out that sexual energy on 414?”
The orderly who looked like grumbling for a second liked the suggestion. 414 wasn’t as pretty as 603, but she was new and still had some fight left in her. He liked a bit of struggle with his sex; it meant he would have to be forceful. As soon as he let go of her and stepped back, 603 limply slid off the desk and onto the floor bringing a pile of newspapers with her.
He went to lift her up again, but stopped when the doctor waived his hand. Kwabe shrugged. If the doctor wanted her on the floor, that’s where she would stay. Once the door closed, the doctor prompted 603 with a question, “Will we capture the Akhkharu this time?”
603 pushed the papers around on the floor, searching them for the answers the doctor wanted, utilizing them as any reader would use their medium. Like a gypsy with her tarot cards, 603 saw her answer blazing before her, “No, but you will get some of his blood.”
The doctor purposefully never spoke of the blood to a woman of power so that when they spoke of it he knew it was a true seeing. He didn’t have time to think about it for long before she started again, “He’ll kill every man, but he won’t be caught. You might save yourself by giving him entry and offering to help him find what he searches for.”
The doctor knew this was ridiculous. An Akhkharu couldn’t be bargained with; they had lived with violence for so long that it was their only thought. The doctor humored her, “And what is it he is looking for?”
“He wants Ereshkigal’s abhorred knife that can cut through the thread of life.”
A deafening alarm sounded cutting off any follow up questions the doctor had. The alarm’s tone said the outer gate had been breached. The doctor turned to his computer and called up the security cameras for that gate. The ten foot high, two foot thick gate was missing. Both sides had been torn out by their hinges and flung back into the desert. The doctor could just make out their dark silhouette against the light-colored sand.
603 started laughing softly. She rocked and wrapped her thin arms around herself as she started to mutter. “He’s coming to free us all…our savior…the glowing god…he doesn’t know…”
The doctor thought the injection must have started to wear off more quickly than usual. Maybe the doses were breaking down; they were made quite a while ago. The one coming for them was more likely a monster than a glowing god. 603 imagined a Nephilim came to save her.
He switched the cameras to the hallways. His men got into position. They each carried two types of dart guns. One equipped with poison for the Nephilim, the other would tranquilize the Akhkharu. They would know which to use based on how the intruder looked. A god would get the first; a monster the second.
He already knew though that this had to be an Akhkharu. He buzzed in a handler to retrieve 603 who was now a nervous wreck on his floor. As the orderly dragged her out the doctor gave him instructions, “Strap her to the table and wheel her into the observation room. Get ready. He’s coming.”
The alarm changed. The beast was inside. The doctor took no time going through the safety precautions. Once the door was closed, sealed and barricaded with the reinforced steel bars, this room was better than any bank safe. He got back to his computer as the alarm cut off. He breathed as heavily as the guards he could see in the hallways. As he looked, a giant man appeared where there had been empty space before.
Had he tabalu’d or just moved faster than anyone could see? Now that he was here, it was obvious this was no Akhkharu. This man was not monstrous. Tall and muscular, and almost nude. He was wearing what could have been an unbound turban wrapped around his waist and hips. He looked like a dethroned Arkanian king with his dark hair twisted into a haphazard knot on the top of his head and his dark beard curled into ringlets that hung down to his chest.
The doctor’s security camera had no sound, but he could see when the guards opened fire on the Nephilim. Darts struck him from every angle. They each emptied their magazines into him and then stopped, expecting him to fall. Nothing happened. The doctor watched as the guards emptied their other darts into him. Again nothing happened.
“Oh, my god,” was all the doctor could say. He was stunned that this being hadn’t reacted to either paralyzing agent. He prided himself on being prepared for everything, but not this. He had to think fast. What could he use to barg
ain for his own life? What had 603 said this one was looking for?
He was already recording the encounter, but switched it from save to broadcast to the nearest Fellowship compound to this one—300 miles away. If they all died tonight, then at least all wouldn’t be lost. He typed his last notes furiously to his fellow Paion’s and watched as whatever that was made its way along the hall toward the bait and trap.
The god-king barely paused at each alcove in the hall. He left no stone unturned, no man un-torn. He picked up one then the other, draining them of blood in a snap. None of them had any chance. He left their limbs in piles as he unconsciously followed the path the doctor laid out for him.
When he got to the observation room, the lesser scientists were waiting on him and the trap sprung. There was no way out of that room. It was a trap for Nephilim and Akhkharu alike so whatever this one was, it should hold him. He watched through a closed circuit video, but the other scientists watched live and close up. The window between them and the ancient one was made of the strongest polymer in the world. The doctor had been assured that no bomb, bullet nor drill could penetrate or break it. He had then ordered it double thick.
Too bad for Kwabe, who had still been following the doctor’s orders when the trap closed. 603 was strapped to the table, but Kwabe missed evacuation of the observation room. He pounded on the window, no doubt begging them to open the door. The scientists avoided eye contact. They looked over his shoulder.
Kwabe spun around. The giant man stood right there. He smiled at Kwabe.
Kwabe fainted.
Careful not to bother the body, the ancient knelt beside it. He, almost lovingly, fed from it. When it seemed he had almost drained Kwabe dry, the god-king bit his own wrist and pressed it to the dying man’s lips. Kwabe swallowed, but the fount of life was taken from him as quickly as it had been offered.
Kwabe was helped up by his almost murder come savior. He stood transfixed, but unstable. The giant said something into his ear and then let out such a roar that the doctor felt the quake in his office. Kwabe staggered at the reverberations but showed no signs of fear.
The Dying Art of Magic Page 7
