HAVOC (Descendants Saga: Crisis Sequence Book 3)

by James Somers

  I dodge sideways at the last second, then leap back at the soldier as he hits the ground. My martial arts training takes over. As he turns on me with newly elongated canines gleaming, I bring my knees up, planting them in his chest. My combined weight and momentum drive the man down. When we hit the ground, I’m straddling the soldier’s chest, the breath forced out of his lungs. I hammer him with a swift elbow to his forehead, rendering him unconscious.

  I wait a moment, making sure he’s really out. Pulling the man’s upper lip away, I examine the canines. I know what I’m looking at, but I don’t want to admit it to myself. Surely, it’s not possible that this man is actually a vampire.

  Then again, three months ago I wouldn’t have believed a virus could really turn London’s population into ravenous plague zombies either. I definitely wouldn’t have believed my blood would be the cause of it all. So much has transpired. At this point, why not add vampires into the mix? Almost anything seems possible.

  Clapping resounds in the room. I turn back toward the couch where I had previously lain unconscious. At first, there is no one there. However, as the clapping continues, a man begins to materialize.

  He is tall and muscular, bearing a similar Mediterranean look to the vampire lying on the floor beneath me. Still crouching over the soldier, I tense, readying myself for anything. However, there is a casualness about this man. He is not concerned that I am loose, or that I have just incapacitated the vampire set as my guard. Instead, he is amused.

  Still, I do not relent. I have every reason to believe some danger is coming my way. If I have to, I’ll do the same to this man as I have to the guard.

  “‘Who are you?’ would seem to be the appropriate question,” I say cautiously.

  “Someone like you,” he says.

  “I’m pretty sure I can’t become invisible,” I respond.

  “Maybe not, but that matters very little,” he replies. “Surely, you already understand you are not human.”

  This statement jolts me a little. Of course, I do realize I’m not like others around me, at least not like most. I would venture that Cassie and Garth are similar, even if we don’t share the same abilities. Still, I have never considered myself not human. It feels like saying I’m not a real person.

  I try not to let my inner struggle show, but the man grins at me anyway, as though he already knows. “You and I are superior to mere mortals,” he continues.

  “What does that mean exactly…that I’m some vampire like this one?” I reply, nodding at the guard

  “You’re not a vampire and neither am I, but we are all similar,” he says. “We are Descendants.”

  I stare at him blankly, not making the connection. “Descendants of whom?”

  “Descendants of the Fallen,” he replies, smiling.

  My blank stare remains. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say after a brief pause.

  “As I feared, Jonathan,” he says. “Your education is sorely lacking.” He stands, walking toward me. “But I’m being rude,” he says, holding out his hand. “My name is James Solomon.”

  I stand over the vampire still lying unconscious at my feet, but I don’t bother taking his hand. Instead, I back away toward the opening I’ve made with the desk. This might be my only opportunity to escape. Solomon comes to stand beside the fallen vampire, replacing his hand at his side when he sees I’m not going to offer my own.

  “I can assure you that you have nothing to fear from me, Jonathan.”

  I pause. “I’m still listening.”

  Solomon smiles. “The Fallen are a group of angelic beings who rebelled against the Almighty. They were subsequently cast down from the third heaven to Earth.”

  “Angels?” I mutter uncertainly.

  “Fallen angels,” he corrects.

  “And you’re a Descendant of these fallen angels?”

  “We—you and I and Dathan here,” he says indicating the unconscious vampire, “as well as many others—are descended from them.”

  “Yeah, right,” I say, dismissing this extraordinary notion out of hand.

  His smile fades. “Then explain why you are the way you are, or how you just tossed a three-hundred pound desk through a wall.”

  I pause in my retreat. This James Solomon has an undeniable point. After a moment, I say, “I suppose I can’t explain it.” I pause, gathering my thoughts. “Does that mean we are demons, or something?”

  Solomon laughs. “Nothing quite so tragic. It means we are partly human and, to varying degrees, part angel. With our humanity comes mortality, though on a lengthier scale than normal people. With our angelic nature comes power.”

  I listen intently to this information. If Solomon is telling me the truth, then many questions I’ve had have just been answered. However, many more questions are now formulating in my mind. One of those needs an immediate answer.

  “We’re not in the GCHQ?” I ask.

  Solomon nods. “That’s correct. We’re not in Gloucestershire at all. My men extracted you from that building when it became compromised.”

  “Compromised how?” I ask, straightening. “My friend is there. What’s happened?”

  “It has been overrun by plague victims.”

  “Cassie,” I whisper, feeling the breath sucked out of my chest.

  “Ah, the girl from the Tombs laboratory,” Solomon says. “It has been reported to me that she is safe, for the moment.”

  “How is she safe?”

  “She was under the protection of a Superomancer of considerable power when my people took you from the prison cell where the humans were keeping you. They turned you into a lab rat, Jonathan, but I’m offering you sanctuary and the power your birthright entitles you.”

  “What’s a Superomancer, and why does that mean Cassie is safe?”

  “No education about who you really are,” he replies pitifully. “That will be one of the first things I rectify, but as to your question, Jonathan, a Superomancer is a Descendant possessing abilities like telekinesis, power over elemental forces, shape-changing, and even the power to alter matter, control a person’s thoughts, or their physiology.”

  I give him a puzzled look. “Sounds like magic to me.”

  Solomon grins slightly. “That is precisely what the uneducated would think; at least that is if they ever got a glimpse of what Descendants can do. Mostly, we keep them ignorant of our existence. There are exceptions to the rule, but most humans never have an inkling about the Descendants of the Fallen.”

  This all feels like way too much information to process at the moment. My mind is still on Cassie’s safety, especially with the news that zombies have overrun the Doughnut in Gloucestershire. “This person with Cassie can do all those things?”

  “That and more,” Solomon says, “a very dangerous individual. I’m glad we got you out before he arrived at your prison cell.”

  This statement alerts me. “What do you mean? You said Cassie was safe him.”

  “Oh, she is,” Solomon says. “After all, West is the girl’s great grandfather. You on the other hand…well…”

  “Well, what?”

  “I didn’t want to get into this with you right now, Jonathan, but Brody West would kill you if he could.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Solomon gives me a grave look. “Because I stopped him from killing you when you were just newly born.”

  Heritage

  Learning that someone tried to kill me when I was an infant has shaken me, to say the least. I’m still not sure I believe James Solomon, but I’m curious now to hear what this man, or Descendant, has to say. After all, there seems to be almost no one I can trust these days, and at least he has provided me with some answers as to why I am the way I am.

  More startling, Solomon waves his hand and the entire scene changes around us. The office, with its ruined walls, is replaced by a large open room inside a cabin. He and I are now seated before a roaring fire burning within a river stone hearth. The ni
ghtscape beyond the office windows becomes log walls with curtained windows and falling snow beneath pale moonlight.

  I gasp a little when the change occurs.

  “How are you doing this,” I ask, gripping the chair arms reflexively. “It’s a bit unsettling, like dropping in an elevator or something. Is it an illusion, or are we really changing location?”

  “We are no longer in the office building,” Solomon says. “We have traveled a thousand miles in seconds. There are those who work in mere illusion, but I don’t have to resort to such things.”

  “You must be very powerful then. Is that all you can do, or is there more?”

  Solomon grins. “Much more.”

  “You said this person with Cassie—”

  “Her great grandfather—”

  “—yes, her great grandfather. Why did he try to kill me? If what you say is true, I was just a baby. That doesn’t make any sense.”

  Solomon shifts in his seat, leaning toward me. “The truth is difficult to explain, Jonathan, and it will be hard for you to hear.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The primary problem is history, Jonathan. History has relegated our kind to myth and legend. As far as the human world is concerned, we don’t exist.” Solomon grins. “And it’s a good thing they don’t know…each time humans have discovered Descendants, they have waged a bloody campaign to destroy us.”

  “I’ve never heard of any humans trying to destroy…us,” I reply. Including myself in the number of these Descendants, as Solomon calls them, takes a little effort. However, considering what people like myself and Cassie and this James Solomon can do, I find no other explanation to trump his story.

  “Well, of course, you wouldn’t see anything in human history,” Solomon says irritably. “They make events out the way they wish, and Descendants continually work to remain hidden. Their history books say nothing about their persecution of our kind, but they can’t do away with all mention of us either. So, we become myths and legends.”

  “Like vampires?” I venture, remembering the tell-tale characteristics of the guard who was left to keep me in the office where I woke.

  Solomon grins as firelight plays across his chiseled features. “Yes, vampires. There are many other kinds also.”

  I lean in a bit, the excitement over getting answers to my questions so freely beginning to build within my chest. “You mentioned my father…is he still alive? What manner of Descendant is he?”

  Solomon’s downcast expression answers at least one of my questions. “Regrettably, Jonathan, your father is no longer with us, but he was an extremely powerful Descendant. He spoke with such authority that men obeyed his every command without question. He was also quite strong, like you, and he could incapacitate or kill his adversaries by force of will and a touch of his hand.”

  “How did he die?”

  “Brody West killed him prior to his attempt at killing you when you were still an infant,” Solomon says.

  “Cassie’s grandfather?” I ask, bewildered. “But why?”

  “Because humans discovered our kind and used one of their wars to hide their persecution,” Solomon says. “They even produced a man to impersonate your father publically in order to defame him. The brutality of humans knows no bounds, Jonathan. When they discover us, they do everything in their power to eradicate us. They fear our abilities because we refuse to be controlled by them.”

  “But if Brody West is also a Descendant?”

  “He sided with the humans against us long ago, Jonathan,” Solomon says. “In exchange, they left his family alone. He gained incalculable wealth for his betrayal of his own people.”

  I sit for a moment, trying to absorb everything Solomon is saying. Anger burns in my chest with a desire to avenge my father upon this Brody West. Sitting in this chair seems nearly impossible now. I feel like I have to do something, even if I don’t know what.”

  “You knew my father?” I ask.

  “I knew him well,” Solomon says. “He was a cherished friend.”

  “What was his name?”

  Solomon sighs, nodding reflectively. “His name was Adolf.”

  If you’ve ever been sucker-punched in the gut real hard, so that you’re gasping for breath, then you understand how I feel at this moment. Mentally I’m flopping around on the ground, wondering what in the world is going on. It’s not a common name: Adolf. In fact, only one usage comes to mind—immediately comes to mind.

  “Adolf?” I ask hesitantly.

  Solomon’s look is both grave and knowing. “Yes,” he confirms. “And I know what you must be thinking.”

  “Surely, you aren’t talking about Adolf Hitler,” I stammer finally. “I’m too young. He’s been dead for what, like fifty years or something?”

  “Closer to seventy-five, actually,” he replies, seeming more contemplative than shocked, like I am at the moment.

  “Okay,” I say, growing more agitated. I stand and begin to pace. “So, seventy-five years dead and I’m supposed to be the son of…that isn’t possible.”

  “Did you know your father, Jonathan?” Solomon asks.

  “No, I didn’t,” I reply, “but that doesn’t mean he has to be Adolf Hitler. It’s crazy!”

  “We’re not talking about a normal timeline here, Jonathan,” he begins to explain.

  “What, time travel now?”

  “Not exactly,” he says. “How old were your grandparents?”

  “Ancient,” I say. “I’m not really sure.”

  “Did they ever tell you what happened to their daughter?”

  “Not any details,” I admit. “There was some disappearance that was mentioned, but my grandfather would never talk about it.”

  “The fact is your mother was very young when she went missing—when she knew your father,” Solomon says. “Your grandparents were young then, as well. By the time she reappeared, she was still very young but they were already in their waning years. You’ve probably never seen any photos of your mother that showed her beyond her early twenties.”

  I consider my own memory of her face and the picture in my grandparent’s home. My mother was quite young in the photo, even though it was an old picture. It hadn’t even been in color. My mind reels again as these peculiar details begin to fit into the puzzle Solomon describes for me.

  I sit down again, looking at him. “But how would that be possible?”

  “I know many of the details, but I was not there personally,” Solomon says. “Still, they do seem to support what we know and what has happened since your mother’s arrival in this time, as well as Brody West’s.”

  “He came from that time also?”

  “Jonathan, allow me to deal with what human history tells you about your father,” Solomon says. “Adolf came from an extremely powerful Descendant named Grayson Stone. He fought for the rights of Descendants like his father before him. And, like his father, he was opposed by Brody West and the humans. West was the one who killed your grandfather while they were both still young men.”

  “But why would he do that, I mean betray his own people?”

  “Pure and simple pride,” Solomon says. “West wanted to usurp Grayson Stone’s power with our people. Grayson was uniting the various clans of Descendants, preparing to wage war against those who seek to destroy us. Brody West betrayed him to the humans in order to take away his power for himself. The same thing happened with your father, Adolf.”

  “Wait a minute,” I say. “Hitler was a terrible person who tried to exterminate the Jews throughout Europe.”

  “The person those humans put forward as Adolf Hitler was a terrible person, not the man who was your father. The human doppelganger they planted in order to defraud our people and your father took his own life and the life of his human wife in that German bunker. Your father, the real Adolf and a leader among the Descendants, was killed by Brody West. He never had an opportunity to unite our descendant tribes like your grandfather attempted to do, and, thanks to
Brody West, he was never able to defend his name. West and the humans took care of that.”

  “This is unbelievable,” I say.

  “You don’t believe me?” Solomon asks. “Even after what I’ve shown you about the powers our people possess?”

  “No, I didn’t say that,” I reply, standing to pace again. “It’s just a rude awakening. I only just met you. How do I know this is the truth?”

  “Perhaps it was rescuing you from the humans back at the British GCHQ that has caused you to doubt,” Solomon says angrily. “Would you have gotten the truth if we had left you there? How was your treatment with the humans? Locked in a cell weren’t you? And before that you were experimented on like some wretched lab rat.”

  “I apologize,” I say, the weight of my guilt pressing upon my conscience. After all, this man has done me no harm. He has, however, given me answers to questions I have had and other questions I never thought to ask. “You’re right. They did terrible things to me, housing me with plague victims and such down in that hole beneath their MI6 headquarters. If your intentions are sincere, then I am grateful for the rescue.”

  Solomon’s frustration melts away. “Of course, you are concerned about your young friends. After all, they cannot help what their grandfather has done.”

  “Yes,” I agree, nodding. “Exactly. I’m worried about Cassie and Garth, especially if this Brody West is as bad as you claim.”

  “The true damage that man has done to Descendants cannot be calculated,” Solomon says. “Fortunately, my people were able to get you out of there before West finished off your line once and for all.”

  “I do have a question you haven’t mentioned anything about,” I say. “Why am I the carrier of this plague?”

  Solomon nods thoughtfully.

  “I mean this can’t be the work of humans because it’s wiping out humans,” I point out. “Does this also have something to do with West?”

  “You’re perceptive on that point,” Solomon says, “but perhaps your faith in humanity still blinds you. West was only part of it, to what extent we don’t really know. This plague was developed by the Nazi, Josef Mengele. West may have tried to undo his own involvement at the last moment. He knew that your mother had been infected with the virus by Mengele, thereby transferring it to you when you were, as yet, unborn.”