Everwinter: The Forerunner Archives (27 page)

"Let's get this over with," I say, staring at the needle poised just above my body.

38.

He feels the cool metal of his throwing stars in his hands.

The elevator door slides open and, despite his protests, Glamis leads the way, bursting down the hall.
 "Slow down!" Altair orders. "We don't know what we're getting into yet!"

Glamis does slow, but there's contempt in his eyes. "I'se no midget, Altairs!"
the giant mutant sneers. "There is not a mutant in Fringes I'se cannot snaps with bare hands!" As if to illustrate the point, he wrings his oversized appendages together.

"I know," Altair agrees, "but that's not what I'm worried about." He rubs his fingers along the smooth metal of his throwing stars again. The hall is dark, but there's a muted glow coming from the other end.

Fire
.

The hall is filling with smoke.

Altair pulls the neck of his tunic up as a makeshift filter, but Glamis proceeds heedless, seemingly unaffected by the toxic fumes. They finally reach a small room that looks like it might have been an office at one time, now completely engulfed in smoke. The fire itself seems to be contained to one source
–a pile of furniture on a desk in the corner. Altair scans his surroundings, quickly determining that there is no obvious cause for it. The furniture, all wooden, stacked together on a wooden desk, raises his suspicions immediately.

Glamis clomps over to the fire,
stepping up to it as if there’s nothing to fear. Altair quickly sees that, for this giant mutant, there really isn't. Glamis raises a huge booted foot, bringing it deliberately down on the desk, shattering it and all the furniture at once, sending embers scattering but smoldering the majority of the flames. He stamps a few more times and the fire is mostly out. He steps away, joining the stunned Altair at the doorway. 

"'Tis bizarre place for fire to burns," the mutant says. "This old buildings is funny that ways."

Altair raises an eyebrow. "You think this was accidental?" He enters the room properly now to investigate.

Glamis shrugs.
"It happens befores. Why would someones be wanting to start fires here?"

Why indeed?

Altair doesn't answer. He finds what he's looking for.

Proof
.

He picks the tiny, shiny, circular pin off the ground and lifts it up for Glamis to inspect.
 

"Grenado," Altair grumbles, Assassin's instincts kicking in. Every shadow in the room now seems like a threat.

Glamis' eyes bulge comically. "I knows of grenados!” he exclaims. “They goes... BOOMS!" The mutant spreads his hands for emphasis. "But why would someones set ones off in..." Glamis trails off, meeting Altair's cold gaze.

"Diversion," Glamis nearly whispers.

Altair nods. He drops the pin, already in a full dash for the hallway, Glamis in hot pursuit.

Juno!
He screams in his mind.

39.

The needle
pulls from my skin, leaving a sharp stinging and a raised welt. I feel like I've been drained of most of my blood, like in the stories I'd heard about Everwinter mutants as a child. Everwinter mutants supposedly eat their own flesh and drink their own blood, as no other food sources are available in the frozen wastes. When we were younger, I remember pinching Traylor's skin in his sleep, creating two distinct red marks to make him think the needle-like teeth of an Everwinter mutant had sunk in while he slept.

Come to think of it, that's prob
ably why he has such an aversion to needles now.

I look ov
er at my little brother, watching me on the medical table with a pale, terrified expression. I rub my arm. The pain's still there, but it's subsiding.

"See, Traylor?" I smile. "No big deal."

He shakes his head. He's gonna be a drama queen about this, as usual.

Agoma and
Ragyle are already working on my blood, commanding the cumpewter to pour it into separate vials. "What do you think?" Agoma asks his sister. "Who should be the first trial?"

Ragyle considers, then shakes her head. "Normally, I would suggest Glamis, but Glamis has done so much for us
already. And for so little in return. What if it doesn't work? What if it only makes things worse? I think we owe it to Glamis to try it on ourselves first."

"I will volunteer," a voice sounds from the recesses of the room. We'd nearly forgotten about Ursa, sullen and silent since we got here.

What is up with her anyway?

Agoma and Ragyle seem hesitant, then both nod in unison. "Very good!" Ragyle says. "As a mutant, Ursa, you are a fine specimen." Ragyle gestures toward me. "Juno, you can step off the table now and
–"

KRAKOOOM!!!

A warm wave of air blasts into the room, pushing me with it. I roll off the table, crashing to the floor. Agoma, Ragyle, and Ursa have similarly taken cover on the ground. I can't see Traylor anywhere. My first thought is that he was caught in the explosion.

My heart pounds.
 

No, Traylor was on the opposite side of the room from the explosion
.

The explosion...

I roll on the floor to get a look at the portal into the room. There's a gaping rent where the door used to be, hemorrhaging smoke and fire. Out of the cacophony, six ghostly forms emerge like something out of my nightmares.
It must be a delusion
, I tell myself, brought on by my earlier reminiscences about the mutants of Everwinter.

The stories.

The creatures are tall–
massive
–though not quite as big as Glamis. They have skin of the purest white, almost blue, in fact. Their hair is pale blue too, each with its own style or disarray. They come into the room and set upon the Doctors first, lifting the frail mutants into the air as if they are mere babes. I'm still hidden behind the table, but the creatures are getting closer. Smoke distorts the room, the only advantage I have in hiding. A massive,
six-toed
foot slams down next to my head, each digit ending in an onyx talon. Six toes! Is this the creature that had washed up on the beach in Krakelyn? Was this the creature that torched Ursa's lab in Venecici? I stare at those toes in fear and awe. I see now that what I’d mistaken for skin is actually a tight coating of sleek fur, not unlike the ocean seals I once saw when Father took Traylor and I on a family excursion north of Krakelyn.

That was such a happy time. I
t's weird to be recalling it now.

Through the smoke, I
hear the owner of the foot snuffling, smelling about for further intruders. I ease myself backward, trying to think of what Altair would do in this situation. I hear a scream, followed by the unmistakable cracking of bone.

"Where is the last human?" a sick, almost warbly voice croaks through the gloom. There's a pause, followed by the snapping of more bone.

"There!" I hear Ragyle finally scream. I can't actually see what's going on.

The foot next to me shifts, and suddenly a massive, long fingered hand bursts down through the smoke, grasping me by the back of my tunic pants. I'm lifted like a hare caught in a snare. I scream. The face before me is worse than my childhood nightmares could have ever conceived. The skin is blui
sh, bloodless, lips red as if it had indeed been feasting on blood recently. It smiles at me, revealing multiple rows of needle-like teeth made for boring holes in flesh. Its breath reeks of rotting meat. White hair hangs around its face, falling nearly to its butt.

Attempting to put on a brave front, I stare the cre
ature dead in the eyes. Except…I can't see its eyes. A pair of goggles, dark and round, cover them, encircling its head. With a further grin, the creature, this
true
mutant of Everwinter, raises its other hand to its face and grips the goggles, pulling them upward to rest on its marble forehead. Its gaze is terrible and red, without a tinge of color.

"I have her, Pilcrow," the creature says, carrying me over to the most mass
ive of all the creatures in the room. They all look very much alike–like clones–their hairstyles the only thing distinguishing them. Pilcrow has a set of twin mohawks shaved into the sides of his head, holding up what's left of Ragyle–a pitiful, wretched creature. Both her arms are broken.

I can see she's in agony.

"
I'm sorry
," she mouths to me. With that, Pilcrow snaps Ragyle's back, as if breaking kindling for a fire. The body slumps lifelessly to the floor.

"NO!" I hear Agoma scream. O
ut of the smoke, two more Everwinter mutants stalk forward, carrying Agoma by the shoulders three feet off the ground. 

"Pilcrow?" one of them asks, in nearly the exact same voice as Pilcrow himself. Whatever these creatures are, they are all
very
closely related, if not duplicates.

Pilcrow shakes his head, then Agoma screams as two massive mutant hands grab him by the head and twist. The movement is almost delicate. Agoma's body joins his sister's on
the floor of the lab, together in death. The mutant carrying me holds me up to Pilcrow who, like the others, sports a pair of dark goggles. He doesn't remove them though. He eyes me up and down, sniffing. Then he lifts up my shirt, looks down my pants, examining the skin. His touch is cold and revolting. 

The sick thing is,
it reminds me of Tien.

"You truly
are
pure, aren't you?" Pilcrow asks, his expression unreadable. "You
are
the last human."

Panicking, I look around. Where the hells is Traylor?

"Yes," I finally say. "I am the last human. Just me. As pure as they come."

Pilcrow's face nearly explodes into a smile. "Your
Father has been a very busy man indeed," he says.

I'm stunned. "My... My
Father?" I ask. "What do you know of my–" 

Pilcrow slaps me.
Hard
. I feel blood flow from my lips.

"Get her out of here," Pilcrow
orders his henchmen. "Torch the place." I struggle, screaming, but to no avail. It's hopeless. As I'm being carried out of the room, I see yet another figure I thought must be dead.

Ursa
.

She's being held on her knees by a final Everwinter mutant as Pilcrow approaches her.

"Don't hurt her!" I scream. "I'll... I'll kill myself! Then you won't have any humans at all!"

Pilcrow just laughs at the empty threat. He kneels down before Ursa, who will not meet his eyes. Pilcrow forces her, lifting her chin. "You know why I'm leaving you alive, don't you?" Ursa nods, tears forming in the corners of her tumored eyes. "Tell Jonathan I will be seeing him
very
soon."

Jonathan? My
Father?
What in hells is going on here?

"Go!" Pilcrow gives a final order to the mutant carrying me. Then I'm gone, carried out of the lab.

"Altair!" I scream.

40.

It's like that word. What's it called again?
 

When you feel like you're reliving something you've already experienced.

Déjà vu
, that's it.

Altair and Glamis are positioned at the end of the hall just outside the elevator, having coming back down from level seven
. The hall itself is deserted, but the lab at the far end is emitting a soft glow. 

Fire. Again.

They pause a moment, taking stock. Altair hears voices, followed by the unmistakable smashing of glass and equipment.

Someone is trashing the lab.
 

He checks the floor and sees multiple sets of six-toed footprints
–some coming, some going–through the dust.

Everwinter mutants.

Where are his friends?

The footprints leading
back
to the elevator make him uneasy. What if his friends have already been taken out of here?

He gestures to Glamis. "We do it your way this time," he says, flashing his throwing stars threateningly. "We go in, shooting irons blazing. Get it?"

Glamis nods, wringing his hands together. "Lets us kill us some midgets!" 

With that, Glamis charges, shoulder lowered as if he's going to simply smash his way through the wall instead of using the hole already blasted through it. The mutant is fast for his bulk, but Altair is faster. He slips past Glamis just before the lab and leaps through the opening, his Assassin's eyes surveying the scene in milliseconds. The place is a disaster, the central cumpewter smashed, the glass tab
le cracked. Instruments formerly lining the walls and ceiling are now torn down in heaps. There's another heap, indistinct, and it takes him a moment to realize that it's composed of organics.

The bodies of Agoma and Ragyle.

He cringes but doesn't let it stop him.

Two creatures whirl at his entrance, one tos
sing debris onto a fire in one corner, another ripping wires from the wall. Ursa is there as well, cowering in the opposite corner, but there’s no one else.

No Traylor. No Juno.

The creatures–Everwinter mutants, of course–are familiar to him, and not just from a physical perspective.

He
knows
these creatures personally.

They are agents of Pilcrow.

"Assassin!" one of the mutants hisses. Altair can't remember their names, though they do have them. The one who’d just spoken is wearing a shoulder harness, loaded with grenados and shooting irons. It reaches for a grenado.

"Not this time!" Altair sneers, sending a throwing star with deadly accuracy into the dead center of the creature's hand. It screeches, nerves severed cleanly. The hand is dead, just as Altair had intended. With its other hand, it reaches for a shooting iron.

Not fast enough.

Altair lets fly a second star, taking the creature in the throat, slicing almost directly through its thick, blue t
hroat. The mutant collapses in a gurgle of dark
blue
blood.

A screech sounds from behind.

Altair whirls but this time it’s
he
who is too late.

Two massive, clawed, and cold hands close around his throat, crushi
ng without prejudice. The world goes quickly dark...

But then there's light.

Two new hands, more massive than those belonging to the Everwinter mutant, streak out of the smoke and darkness, glowing incandescently. They come together like a hammer striking an anvil, the Everwinter mutant's head literally exploding in a spray of brain and bone. Altair is released and falls to one knee, coughing hoarsely, covered in gore.

"I'se tells you midgets is no matches for me!" the familiar voice of Glamis gloats. Altair looks up into his eyes and smiles weakly. He gets to his feet. Ursa is still cowering in the corner, clearly in shock.
 

"Ursa!" Altair cries, grabbing and shaking the mutated woman by the shoulder. "Where are Juno and Traylor?"

Ursa shakes her head, bursting into tears. "They took her!
Pilcrow
..."

Altair hesitates. How does
Ursa know the name Pilcrow?

"What about Traylor?" he continues, keeping his fear in check
–something he is well trained to do in a crisis. 

"Here!" a new voice suddenly announces. Altair is about to produce more throwing stars from his sleeves when he sees the small boy, crawling from beneath the now crushed central table of the room.

"Traylor!" Glamis exclaims, grabbing the boy in an enormous embrace. For a moment, Altair worries the mutant will accidentally crush him.

"I'm okay!" Traylor admonishes, pushing away with a smile. "They had no idea I was here! They only knew about Juno."

Altair turns to Ursa for confirmation. "It's true," she says. "They only wanted Juno."

"Where are they taking her?" Traylor asks, worry coating his every word.

Altair doesn't answer. He thinks he
knows
the answer to the question, but something has caught his attention. He gets up, walking over to one of the Everwinter mutant bodies–the one wearing an ammunition sling. There's something clipped to the belt besides the ammo. He plucks up the small black device and flicks a switch at the top. A hissing crackle of static is the result. 

Glamis jumps. "What hellscraft is this?" he exclaims.

Altair waves him down. He's used these long distance communicators before. He presses the send button.

"Pilcrow," he says, voice calm, firm.

Silence, seeming to stretch on to infinite.

"Greetings, Altair," a seedily cold voice finally replies. He hears gasps from his companions; no doubt they are wondering why he is on a first name basis with this villain.

Explanations will have to wait though.

"What do you want with Juno?" h
e asks, knowing the answer, but thinking of nothing better to say.

"Don't insult me, Altair," Pilcrow responds over the communicator. "You know
exactly
what I want. And now I have it. The last human! The last chance for humanity. You know I can't let a cure get out! Juno will pay for the sins of her Father!"

Altair closes his eyes. "Pilcrow," he begins, "I understand your anger, but know that you are wrong in this. Juno is
not
the last human. She never was." Altair turns his gaze to Traylor, who is turning pale.

"You bluff," Pilcrow responds. "I destroyed the samples of Juno's blood myself before leaving. The lab is destroyed. Ursa's lab in Venecici is destroyed. Humanity is doomed, Altair."

"Those samples were old," Altair continues, lying for real now–another facet of his training. "The cure has already been synthesized. You didn't know Juno had a brother, did you?"

Silence. Then: "What is his name?"

"Traylor Quinn. Son of Jonathan."

A curse issues over the communicator, and Altair smiles. Juno must have confirmed the information.

Gods, I hope she is okay.

"We have the cure, Pilcrow," Altair continues. "Bring Juno back, and we will trade. As you said, this lab and others have been destroy
ed. All the research. The scientists who synthesized it are dead. We cannot make more without it. We will give it to you in exchange for Juno." Altair hesitates. "It's the cure you want, isn't it? Not Juno. Don't punish her for her Father's mistakes. You want to make sure humanity never recovers from the Final Judgment." It's a flimsy argument, Altair knows, but it's all he's got. He just hopes Pilcrow doesn't know Ursa is still alive–a scientist who could potentially carry on the work of the Doctors Agoma and Ragyle. 

Why hadn't they killed Ursa anyway?

He would have, just to be thorough.

More silence, t
hen: "Why would you risk so much–the future of your race–for just one human, Altair? Why not take the cure and run with it?"

Altair
hesitates once more. This won't be easy to say.

"Because I love her," he finally replies.

41.

"What the hells did he just say!" I exclaim, thinking that I'd surely misheard Altair over the crackly little communication device Pilcrow holds in his hand.

I get a slap in response.

I sneer at the mutant that struck me, but my hands are firmly bound behind my back. I can't even make a cursory physical threat.