No Mere Zombie: Deathless Book 2 (21 page)

People screamed below even as Liz and Bridget did their best to stem the tide. Jordan had entered the fray, dropping zombies with well-placed shots from his shotgun or cutting down those who came too close with his wickedly sharp claws. Their effort seemed so pitiful in the face of that much carnage.

Blair shaped more quickly, adding dozens of spikes. It tore at his brain, flashes of agony rippling through him as he struggled to sustain them all. Then at last he’d reached his limit. He knew if he tried just one more, the rest would unravel. So he closed his eyes, flinging the spikes in every direction. They sank into the zombies, gathering hundreds of disparate wills under his control.

It was like trying to swim upstream against a waterfall, so many wills buffeting him. A cacophony of half-formed consciousnesses, each driven by the singular need to feed. Even though each was a weak-willed zombie, the sheer number made the task nearly impossible. Yet he persevered. He would
not
give up, not abandon the survivors below.

Blair opened his eyes. Every zombie within a hundred yards had frozen, each turning their ruined faces at him. They glared hatefully, straining to reach the freedom he denied them.
 

“Liz,” he roared, his voice echoing over the chaotic din. “I can’t hold them for long.”

Liz and Bridget blazed through the captive zombies, cutting them down in a flurry of carnage. Nor were they the only ones. Jordan led nearly a dozen men and women into the fray. Most had knives or machetes, though a few emptied rounds into the helpless zombies. They joined the grisly work, mowing through the enemy with an intensity that made him proud.

Each death made his work easier, the strain less. Eventually it became effortless, with only a dozen or so zombies remaining. Then those too were cut down, leaving Blair sweating and tired on top of his perch. He dropped to the ground, leaning heavily against the pole he’d been standing on.

"Blair, that was amazing,” Liz cried, flinging furry arms around him. Bridget wasn’t far behind, joining the group hug. “I can’t believe you held them all.”

“Always full of surprises, aren’t you Blair?” Bridget added. They disengaged as Jordan approached, leading the men and women who’d helped him defend.

“Casualties are bad. At least a hundred were killed, maybe as many as twice that. We’ll have to see how things ended up with Dr. Roberts and Dr. Galk,” he said, voice revealing more emotion than Blair would have thought the man capable of.

His joy turned to ashes when he turned to see the sea of corpses littering the parking lot.

Chapter 33- Consequences

Mark woke up with a start, the tablet tumbling from his chest to thud on the thick grey carpet. He rubbed sleep from his eyes as another knock came at the door. The digital clock’s numbers read 2:38 AM. Who the hell would bother him at this hour? An emergency might prompt a phone call, but someone knocking at his door? He’d have their ass scrubbing air ducts for the next month. He lurched to the door and tapped the lights before opening it. The door slid open to reveal the Old Man’s platinum hair.

“Hello, Mark. I’m sorry for waking you. Can I come in?” he asked, plunging past Mark and dropping into the tiny room's single chair without awaiting an answer.

“What can I do for you?” was all he could muster. Mark sat heavily on the bed, the only other place to sit. Even being The Director only afforded him so much space in a facility like this.

“You can explain your actions. I wanted to hear it for myself rather than call a formal inquiry,” the Old Man said matter of factly. He crossed his arms, gaze boring into Mark.

There was only one thing he could be talking about. Mark had known the instant he’d ordered the extraction in Panama that it would come to this. The Old Man was far too paranoid not to have him watched, and he kept himself apprised of everything that happened in the facility. He’d probably learned about the mission moments after the bird had launched, though clearly he’d waited until Mark was off balance to broach the subject.

“We’ve worked together fifteen years, Leif,” he replied, taking a chance with the Old Man’s name. No one was on a first name basis with Mohn. Not even Mark. “In that time I’ve done everything you’ve asked. I haven’t questioned off-the-books activities you refused to explain, not even Project Solaris or your work with Object 3. I never once asked you for the whole picture even though I was well aware you knew things you had no right to know, things about some sort of ancient civilization and about the impending end of the world. I haven’t questioned you, because up until now I haven't had reason to.”

“You feel that’s changed?” the Old Man asked, brows furrowing as he studied Mark. His gaze held a dangerous intensity.

“We can’t leave a nuke sitting in Panama. I don’t care if we have twenty-one others. Besides, we need to know what’s happening in South America. You and I both know that’s the green zone. If we can reclaim Panama we have a chance at an outpost there. Even if we can't, it’s irresponsible to leave a weapon like that lying around.”

“So you disobeyed a direct order. You had to know I’d find out. What did you think would happen after that?” the Old Man asked. He leaned back in the chair, though Mark knew the apparent relaxation was a ruse. The Old Man never relaxed.

“I guess that depends. If the mission is a success I expect I’ll be reprimanded,” Mark replied. He forced himself not to break eye contact. “If it fails I expect you’ll remove me and put someone else in charge. Higgins maybe. He’s the most experienced section chief.”

“He’s nothing but a sycophant and we both know it,” the Old Man shot back, fire in his eyes. Here came the anger. “I need you, Mark. I need you because I have no one else. You’re the glue holding this place together and I can’t have you questioning me, not this late in the game. We’re close to the realization of everything this company was founded to do. You have to trust me, Mark. Can you do that?”

Mark considered for a long moment before answering. The pragmatic move would be to play the dutiful soldier and say yes. “You know I’m just as connected in the systems as you are. You had to know I’d find out about the phone calls to London. There’s nothing there that matters, not that you’ve told me about. Yet you seem to be orchestrating a massive operation, one you haven’t bothered to tell me about.”

“I knew this would come up sooner or later,” the Old Man said, heaving a sigh as the fire died. He withdrew a ruby pendant on a gold chain, fingering the stone as he spoke. The same eye of Horus he’d used during his demonstration back in Panama when he’d announced the end of the world. “I can’t tell you what’s going on in Europe yet, not until I’m certain we’re secure. I see how my actions could have caused you to question my authority, but that has to stop now. You need to trust that I’m doing what’s best, both for this company and for humanity. If you can’t do that you become a liability and as huge a loss as that will be I’ll have to deal with you. I know you know that.”

“I know,” Mark said. The room was a constant 67 degrees, but it felt like a sauna. “So where do we go from here?”

“I overlook your lapse in judgement with Panama and you ignore my phone calls to London,” the Old Man said, rising from the chair. “I know you don’t like being kept in the dark. Neither do I. Let’s not let this become a habit.”

“Understood, sir,” Mark said. “I’ll keep you apprised of the situation in Panama. In the meantime you might want to study the reports from the vault.”

“I read the first one. The objects we brought up top absorbed radiation from the CME as expected. What else is there?”

“The lesser objects in the vault also picked up traces of energy. Even the ones we thought completely inert,” Mark explained. The Old Man was smart enough to see the significance in that.

“You were right to bring it to my attention. I’ll go over the reports,” he walked to the door and it slid open. The Old Man turned, already half outside the room. “Get some sleep, Mark. The next few weeks are going to be even worse than the last few.”

Chapter 34- Sunsteel

Irakesh was pleased. The dead ruled the tarmac below, thousands of zombies. Nascent deathless he would soon turn to his will, roaming about in little packs as they sought sustenance. He stepped away from the roof’s edge, still baffled by the strange black substance they stood on top of. It bubbled and sloped, uneven from years of rain no doubt. It was a flimsy material, ill suited to the task. The black substance clearly kept the rain from leaking into the building below, but it would have to be re-applied every decade or so. It lacked the permanence of stone.

Metallic craft littered the runway, most lined up near several other large buildings. Terminals, that was the word. His new memories supplied many such things, though the words still tasted strange.

Irakesh glanced to his right where Cyntia and Trevor stood. The champion was falling fast, much to his delight. She fed indiscriminately now. Deathless, human or even her own kind. It had made her strong, perhaps the equal to the powerful Ka-Ken who’d so very nearly slain him back in the Ark. That would be critical when the confrontation came. It
would
come, of course. He could feel the Ka-Dun somewhere behind him along the road leading to the metropolis they’d so recently passed. So much metal, so little stone.

 
He faced Trevor, his unwitting ally and very first thrall. The man was more promising than Irakesh could have dreamed, but that fact also made him exceedingly dangerous. For now Irakesh could dominate him, but in time his thrall would gain strength enough to resist.
 

You risk much, my host. Perhaps he should be sacrificed during the confrontation with the Ka-Dun. There will be other thralls, more pliable and less troublesome.

Irakesh ignored his risen, studying Trevor instead. The man knelt next to the narrow lip at the roof’s edge, rifle cradled in one hand while he shaded his eyes from the midday glare. The gesture was reflexive, muscle memory left from his time among the living. That would fade in time, as both mind and body accepted his new abilities. Trevor bit his lip, eyes narrowing as he scanned the terminals.

“Something has disturbed your Ka. Out with it. What do you wish to know?” Irakesh demanded. It happened often, this brooding. The change had preserved much of Trevor’s old identity, and that man had been burdened with a great many morals. Those would take time to break down.

“You’ve driven us relentlessly to reach this place. What’s so important? You have to be after something,” Trevor asked, direct as usual. That part of his demeanor was quite refreshing. There was no subterfuge to the man, a near impossibility in his own age. Direct men died.
 

“The first of the cattle I devoured knew a great many interesting things,” Irakesh replied. He decided to be magnanimous. Perhaps it would increase Trevor’s loyalty and if not, it cost nothing. “There is a device here that I desire. A bomb of incredible power that will discharge a fantastic amount of energy.”

“Why?” Trevor demanded.
 

Irakesh’s hands balled into fists, but he resisted the urge to chastise the man. If he wished Trevor’s cooperation, he needed to treat the man closer to an equal, no matter how much it galled him.

“Unlike many of my contemporaries, I will allow you to ask such impertinent questions. Your curiosity is natural. Yet if I must explain my motivation behind every action I will have no time to act,” Irakesh said, forcing honey into the words. “You must trust me. If you prove yourself, as I have no doubt you will, then you will earn my trust. Until then I must ask your patience.”

“I get that you don’t want me questioning every decision, but this has to be an exception. That bomb could annihilate a city. That concerns me. Humor me, why do you want it?” Trevor said, voice as dispassionate as ever.
 

Cyntia loomed behind him, eyes burning with feverish intensity. A subtle reminder of where her loyalties lay.
 

“I cannot. That knowledge could be used against me, should a Ka-Dun pluck it from your mind. In time I will teach you the proper mental defenses to prevent such an act, but for now it is enough to know my will. We have come for the bomb. Then we will find a craft to take us north. One you will fly,” Irakesh said, moderating his tone as much as he was able. “However, I do not wish you to feel you are being ignored. You may ask another question and I will answer it. Surely there are things you must be curious about.”

“All right. How about an easier question, then. Why is your sword gold during the day but silver at night?” Trevor asked, stroking his goatee with a free hand. Such a casual gesture but it penned volumes about the man.

“A clever question. Very few recognize the true nature of Sunsteel. I will give you a worthy answer,” Irakesh said, impressed again by his pupil. He eased his sword from its sheath, offering the na-kopesh to Trevor. “See how the blade is curved? That makes it excellent for decapitating an opponent. Or, if you wish to prolong their agony, you may disembowel them just as easily. A singular weapon, even during my age.”

“Yes, but why does the blade change color?” Trevor asked, hefting the weapon experimentally. He gave a tentative slash, the air humming as he sliced it.

“It reacts to the sun or the moon, absorbing energy from whichever light it basks in,” Irakesh explained, extending a hand. Trevor handed the weapon back, a bit reluctantly.
 

“It absorbs light?” Trevor said, gawking at the blade. “How? Can you tap into that as a power source?”