Black Onyx Duology (17 page)

19

Tyler Edgar puffed on a cigar. Three men in suits, muscles bulging through the fabric, stood around the conference table. Their leader, Michael Cobin, was the shortest with a buzz cut and Ray-Ban sunglasses hanging from a tether around his neck.

Tyler liked military men and their ability to follow orders even if it meant their own deaths, but the men before him weren’t military. They were mercenaries for sale to the highest bidder. Though they were probably better trained and certainly better equipped, something about them fomented distrust.

Michael laid a map on the desk. Someone had put a black circle around Alaska. “We think he’s there.”

“Alaska?”

“Yeah.”

“Where?”

“Well, we got some reports from local law enforcement of a meteor shooting over Anchorage. There were no meteors last night. It’s got to be him. So he’s past there. But there weren’t any reports in Fairbanks. The likely place is Denali National Park. Really mountainous region. He could’ve taken shelter anywhere there.”

“Can you find him?”

“Yeah, but I’ll need more men. At least fifty, or else this is gonna take us a month.”

“Fine. Get however many you need. Just find him and terminate him.”

The men glanced at each other, looking uncomfortable.

“What?” Tyler asked.

“We can only terminate him if he’s a threat. If he surrenders, we have to take him in.”

Tyler stared at them blankly for a moment then shook his head. “All the scumbag mercenaries in the world, and we got the only ones without balls.”

“I didn’t say we
wouldn’t
terminate. I just said he’s got to be a threat.” Michael looked over at the other two. “Of course, certain arrangements can be made….”

“Oh, there it is. That’s what I was waiting for. How much?”

“Triple the fee,” Michael said.

“I could hire two hundred other mercs from your rival company for that.”

“You could. But they won’t get him. You want the best, you gotta pay for the best. A man like you knows that.”

“I also know that if you pay for the best and they fail, it’s on the house.”

“That’s agreeable.”

“Good. And just out of morbid curiosity, find out who he is before you kill him.”

“Ten-four.”

They saluted, and Tyler rolled his eyes as they walked out of the conference room. Atlantis had gone somewhere, insisting on flying herself rather than taking a plane. She had lain still for six thousand years. He couldn’t imagine the claustrophobic isolation she must’ve felt. But the power that ran through her was more than even he had imagined.

The black fluid, Cara, gave her that power. And once she granted it, the Cara would give him that power, too. The substance—not really an apt term since it responded to stimuli and was probably conscious on some primitive level—didn’t bind with just anyone. Cara was selective in whom it chose. Tyler had attempted to make Cara bind with him the last time he had been to the city in Queen Maud Land, but it had just covered his skin like a lotion and easily washed off during his next shower.

But Atlantis could command it to bind with him, and he would be immortal.

20

Atlantis dipped low enough to place her hand in the sea. She then rocketed upward, past the clouds, and twirled, the puffy whiteness swirling around her like a storm. She saw mountains, buildings, fields, and forests. Cities fascinated her. The structures and layouts had changed, but life among the buildings had not. They preyed on each other. A dark energy emanated from the people.

She came upon a city of lights with buildings that towered to the sky. She glided down behind one of the structures and walked to the entrance. She looked inside as another person entered. Noisy machines took up every available space, and though it was still daylight, people were inebriated on fermented drink. The pungent odor of the alcohol made her stomach churn.

She walked over to a young man seated on the curb.

“You’re not wearing shoes,” he said.

“I have no need for them.”

“I like your dress.”

“Where is this place?”

“LVB.”

“LVB?”

“Yeah, Las Vegas Boulevard. You’ve never been here?”

“No.”

“Well,” he said, “it’s a good place to get drunk, bad place if you like to gamble.” He took a drink from a bottle stowed in a paper bag.

“I can… smell the desperation. The vileness of it. People come here willingly?”

“It’s not that bad. If you don’t gamble, it’s actually kind of fun.” He rose. “I’m Jacob. Why don’t you come back to the pool with me? All my buddies are there. We can get wasted.”

“A pool?”

“Yeah, a pool. It’s like a big bathtub you swim in. You sure you all right? Did you hit your head
or something?” He gazed into her eyes, and his expression softened. “Look, ah, come on back. You’ll have fun.”

When she agreed, he led her into a building with trees surrounding it. The air was stale, but the space was clean and well decorated with lights at every turn, but it had no windows. They crossed a small bridge and went through a door in the back. A rectangular body of water that she assumed was the “pool” he had referred to was set into the ground. Several people were swimming or lounging in it.

She followed Jacob to where a group of young men were gathered by some chairs, drinking colorful drinks out of transparent cups. Atlantis could hear them speaking before she got near them.

“Who is that?”

“Holy shit. She’s fucking hot.”

When she and Jacob approached, Jacob whispered to one of the men, “Get me two of ’em.”

The man covertly slipped two white pills into Jacob’s hand.

Jacob placed one of the pills in a red-colored drink and smiled as he turned around and handed it to her. “For you. You’ll like it.”

Atlantis took a sip and grinned. “You wish to harm me with this?”

“Harm you? No, it’s just a drink.”

“Clever boy. I’ll kill you last, I think.”

She grabbed the man to Jacob’s right, put one hand on his throat, and placed her other hand on his shoulder. Pulling up, she ripped his head from his body.

A long silence fell before a girl screamed, then people panicked and ran.

Atlantis grabbed Jacob’s two remaining friends before they could get away and slammed their heads together, cracking their skulls. Another man tried to run past her, and she clawed at his throat, ripping it out. He fell to the ground, a wet, gurgling mess.

She looked up to see Jacob backing away with his hands raised. She smiled as she rushed him. He started to turn to flee, but she caught him easily. She reached underneath his ribcage and tore out his heart. His eyes went wide, and he gasped once before dropping.

She tossed the heart into the pool and shot into the sky.

21

By the third day, Dillon no longer needed the pain medication. He was able to stand, though he couldn’t put on a shirt without his skin stinging. He wanted to check out the camp, so he stepped out of the tent wearing only the thermal pants Natalie had loaned him.

The air was so cold, the mucus in his nose froze
instantly, and he folded his arms across his chest as he started shivering. Multi-colored tents randomly dotted the plateau like confetti on a white floor. Several people in thick parkas were out, and lines went up a nearby trail, presumably leading to the summit of Mount McKinley.

“What are you doing?” Natalie asked, coming up behind him. “Get back in there this instant.”

“Y-You w-worried all the other w-women in the camp are going to see my h-hot b-bod?” he asked though chattering teeth.

“I’m not playing around, Dillon. Right now.”

He turned and went inside the tent without protest. When he was lying back down on the cot, she came over and checked his bandages.

“Storm’s completely cleared,” she said. “I’m having the chopper come. They’ll be here in a few hours.”

“Really? I was kinda thinking we had a thing going. I would whine, and you would pump me full of drugs so I could be a space cadet for the rest of the night.”

“Yes, well, as enjoyable as that was, I think it’s time you went to a real hospital. But I have to tell you, this has been a bit strange.”

“What?”

“Some of your burns have healed. I mean… some healing is expected, of course, but I’m talking about skin growing back. Skin, especially over a burn, doesn’t grow back that fast. And the bruising on your ribs is gone. When you got here, I was certain there had to be some fractures, but broken bones don’t heal that fast, either.”

He nodded. “The suit. Since I started wearing it a year ago, I’ve seen changes in me. I had a paper cut, and I looked at it before I was gonna stick my finger in my mouth. While I watched, it closed up. Just…
poof
. Gone.”

“What is that suit?”

Before he could respond, someone shouted. Natalie unzipped the tent and looked out.

“What is it?” Dillon asked.

Pffft.
Natalie’s body collapsed back into the tent. Black burn marks encircled a hole in her forehead.

“Natalie!” He jumped off the cot and knelt beside her.

Her eyes had glossed over, and blood was draining out of a larger wound on the back of her head where the round had exited.

Dillon looked up at the opening of the tent. Men were shouting outside, and he heard more of the
pffft
sounds. He moved to the door opening and peeked out through the slit without moving the flap.

Several men in what looked like white military uniforms were going from one tent to another, yanking people out into the cold. Two of them pulled an old man from a red tent, and he tried to fight them off. They shot him in the head.

Dillon decided to make a run for it. He needed to try to get back to his suit. He had no shoes or shirt, but the wind had died down enough that he could at least breathe. He headed around the medical tent and ran for the trees at the edge of the plateau.

“There! He’s right there!”

Dillon pumped harder, wishing he’d had shoes. His feet, frozen and stinging with every step, sank in the soft powder about a foot, and underneath that was uneven ice or jagged rocks that sliced into his soles.

The
pffft
noises were all around him, hitting the branches of the trees and causing snow to cascade onto him. Bits of bark flew off and hit his bare chest and back. He glanced back and saw at least twenty men running after him.

Dillon sprinted with everything he had, hoping to dash down the hill in front of him and lose them in the forest. He heard the crackle of gunfire. Apparently, the men had removed their silencers to get more distance on their shots.

As he got to the edge of the tree line, he realized there was no hill. 

“Oh shi—”

He flew off the cliff. The ground—white dotted with boulders—raced toward him. He landed in a snow bank. The breath got knocked out of him, and he took a moment to inhale. Buried at least five feet under the snow, he felt as if he were in a cave. His entire body was shivering so profusely that he couldn’t control his hands enough to flatten them out and push himself up. He got to his elbows and knees.

I shouldn’t be able to walk after that.
He brushed away the thought and poked his head up out of the snow. The men were at the edge of the cliff, scanning the area. One spotted Dillon and raised his rifle. 

Dillon shot to his feet and sprinted for the trees to his left. He ran in a zigzag pattern to make
himself a more difficult target. He was still a bit surprised when he actually made it to the first tree without being shot.

Just a few feet into the forest, he had to stop and lean against a tree. His chest felt as though it had collapsed in on itself. He balled his hands into fists and put them in his armpits in a futile attempt to keep them warm. His suit. It was out there somewhere, and it had to be near a trail.

“Mr. Mentzer.”

He turned to a see a short, squat man with a heavy rifle strapped to his back.

“I-I-I’m afraid…” Dillon said, his teeth chattering again, “y-you have me at a d-d-disadvantage.”

“Michael Cobin. I’ve been hired to kill you.”

“Sorry to disappoint, but I think the cold beat you to it.”

“Oh, it will kill you eventually. But it takes a little more time. See, what’s going to happen
is your body’s going to produce a massive fever. You’re gonna get so hot, you’re gonna rip off them thermals you’re wearin’. That’s why people get found naked in arctic environments. Death has a sense a humor, don’t it?”

“Yeah. Well, it’s b-been a pleasure, Michael, but if y-you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go farther into the forest before I get naked.”

“Yeah. ’Bout that… see, I was gonna just put a round through your skull from about a hundred yards. But then I thought, Michael, you’re bored right now. And that ain’t a kill. That’s target practice. A kill is when you do it up close and personal.” He unstrapped the rifle and leaned it against a tree. Cracking his knuckles, he walked toward Dillon.

“Oh, man,”
Dillon groaned. “Seriously? Couldn’t you just shoot me?”

Michael grinned as he swung his right arm in a haymaker. Dillon ducked and jumped back a few
paces. Michael followed up with a front kick that slammed into Dillon’s jaw so hard that he thought he heard his teeth crunch.

Dillon reeled back, clutching his face until he came against another tree. Michael rushed in like a shark that smelled blood. He hammered a right hook into Dillon’s ribs then a left and another right before aiming an elbow at Dillon’s jaw. Dillon managed to duck, and the blow smashed into the tree, breaking off bits of bark.

Dillon swung with a right into Michael’s thigh. He thrust his foot into Michal’s groin, causing the man to double over. Dillon tried to sweep the legs out from under Michael and failed. The man’s legs were like tree trunks.

“Sorry, mate.” Michael grabbed Dillon by the throat. He swung a meaty fist onto the top of Dillon’s head as though he were holding a hammer.

The blow made Dillon see stars and fall onto his back. Michael raised a foot to stomp on Dillon’s head. But he kicked into Michael’s knee, bending it to the side far enough that Michael toppled over into the snow.

Dillon, out of breath and freezing to death, saw a glimmer of hope six feet away—the rifle. He scrambled in that direction but felt a vise-like grip on his ankle. Michael pulled him back then rose and stomped on Dillon’s ribs. Michael lifted his boot for another blow. Dillon caught the foot and twisted it around as far as he could. Michael grunted like an injured animal and fell to the ground.

Dillon again began crawling to the rifle.

Michael jumped onto his back and put his hands underneath Dillon’s chin. He pulled up, trying to crack his spine, and Dillon screamed.

“There it is, mate. There’s what I was looking for.” Michael pulled up so forcefully, Dillon thought his spine might break in half.

Dillon grasped Michael’s index finger and bent it to the side at the knuckle. He felt the snap through the man’s glove. Michael screamed, and Dillon grabbed another finger, the pinky, and did the same.

Michael jumped up and ripped off the glove to check his hand. “I was gonna make it quick, but now you’re gonna die in pain.”

Dillon lunged for the rifle. He grasped the cold barrel then flipped the gun to point it at his assailant. He fired without hesitation. The spent casing sizzled in the snow. He fired twice more before Michael fell to his knees.

“You shot me.”

“Don’t take it personal,” Dillon said. “I shot a rabbit once, too, and he didn’t piss me off half as much as you.”

Michael collapsed onto his face with a final groan.

Dillon moved quickly. He stripped off Michael’s clothing and put it on his own freezing body. Never in his life had the simple act of putting on clothes been so satisfying, especially the boots, which instantly warmed his icy feet.

He covered his face and head with the scarf, beanie, and goggles then ran back in the direction of the other men. He found them a few yards away. “He’s over there, mates! Over there. Hurry. Hurry!”

The men scampered past him without even asking why he was running in the opposite direction. Blind devotion could be a good thing.

Dillon ran up to the cliff he’d fallen from and scanned for a trail. He spotted it on the east side and jogged over there. The suit wasn’t far away. He didn’t know how or why, but he felt it, almost as if it were calling to him.