No Mere Zombie: Deathless Book 2 (33 page)

“That doesn’t explain how you knew all this was coming. Blair says our earliest recorded history comes from about four or five thousand BC,” she said, following him towards the dais. Jordan lagged a bit behind, staring curiously at the weapons on the walls.

“Professor Smith is mostly right,” The Director admitted, stopping next to the dais. The glittering object was a wide-bladed sword. A broadsword, if her memories of Trevor’s D&D games were accurate. The Director picked it up by the hilt, holding the glittering blade aloft. “The history we know is recent compared to what must have existed, but there were many artifacts and quite a few ruins to suggest an older culture. There was Plato’s legend of Atlantis, given to his mentor Socrates by an Egyptian Pharaoh. There were tales of magic, tales of strange beings and of gods.”

“So you believed all those old legends enough to prepare for the end of the world?” Liz asked, aware of the skepticism leaking into her tone. She didn’t care. Her gaze fixed on the blade. There was something familiar about it, like a half remembered melody she wanted to hum.

“We’d never have accepted them without proof,” The Director admitted. He offered the weapon hilt first to Liz. “This is part of that proof, one of three objects with inexplicable properties we’ve gathered. Each is incredibly powerful, but beyond that fact they are each unique. We also gathered a number of lesser objects, but using them drained their energy until they went inert. Each of those is on the walls around you. This one is different. Our scientists tell us it’s charged with the same energy as the other two objects, but the one man who attempted to harness it was burned to a cinder in the blink of an eye.”

Liz took the proffered weapon, testing the weight as she gave an experimental swing. It felt right in her hands, as if it had been crafted for her and her alone. It was just the sort of cheesy magic sword she’d have expected in one of the fantasy novels Trevor loved so much.
 

Ka-Ken, this is a weapon without peer. It is forged from Sunsteel, just as the na-kopesh wielded by your enemy. Through it you can gather energy, even from the sun. Even the Mother lacked the secret of their forging. This one may well be unique, and its lineage goes back to mighty Osiris and even before.

“Where did you get it?” she asked, forcing her gaze back to The Director.

“It was recovered from the bottom of a lake in England, one at the center of a great deal of mythology,” he explained, gesturing at the blade. “The runes you see carved there are no script we’ve ever seen, though they appear more Egyptian than European. More than one of our scientists has theorized this might be the weapon that gave rise to the legends of Excalibur, though that is mere speculation.”

“It was designed for my kind,” Liz said, certain it was true, even as she spoke the words. “I could use this to take down Irakesh and that treacherous bitch Cyntia. I’m sure of it.”

“Excellent. That’s exactly what I was hoping to learn,” The Director said, giving what appeared to be a genuine smile. “Now all I have to do is convince my superior to give you the most priceless weapon we’ve ever recovered.”

Chapter 51- Wild-Cat Tom

Irakesh drifted to the ground, green and black wisps crackling as he solidified. A large silver box coalesced next to him, prompting a sigh of relief as he saw his prize was intact. That more than anything would give him an edge over the other Ark Lords who had no doubt appeared in recent days.

He gazed up at the steely grey sky, small black veins of smoke the only reminder of the wreckage that had so recently rained down from the heavens. It had scattered all over the strange rocky landscape. The mountains around him were jagged and austere, the bare granite bones of the earth laid bare. It was unlike any place he’d ever been, brown and desolate. Only a few scrubby bushes dotted the surrounding area.

The only other feature was a thick black road leading to a smattering of structures to the north. He searched his memories, but found nothing about this place. Yet another reason he must rely upon Trevor. It irked him, but he had little choice. Irakesh gazed skyward again, searching a moment before he found another crackling green and black cloud.

It was smaller than his had been, but not by much. That alarmed him. Trevor shouldn’t have been able to pick up such advanced shaping so quickly. Yet he had. It presaged the powerful deathless he’d become.

Trevor’s friends were still in pursuit, of that Irakesh was certain. The Ka-Dun hadn’t come any closer, but neither was he growing more distant. Odds were good he was marshaling his forces for another strike. By the time the Ka-Dun caught up Irakesh would be at the Ark. Ra willing, he’d have time to detonate the bomb, as well.

Trevor’s cloud approached rapidly, drifting landward as Irakesh had done only moments before. Trevor's risen was still in control, though that would change as soon as the danger had passed. It was an interesting failsafe, the addition of a second consciousness for all deathless. He wasn’t sure he’d have made the same choice if he were crafting the virus today. The risen was potent, but sometimes did as it willed rather than as the bearer wished.
 

Hot wind swirled around Irakesh as Trevor’s cloud enveloped a shrub a few feet away. The green tendrils pulsed weakly, gathering into a tighter and tighter pattern until they coalesced into the man himself. Trevor blinked rapidly, sagging to his knees and bracing himself on a neighboring boulder. He looked both disoriented and a little ill. Unsurprising. Shifting your entire body to energy took much from the best shapers, and Trevor was still struggling to master the trick.

“What happened?” he gasped, staggering back to his feet. His strange copper hair played in the wind, a reminder of how much the world had changed since Irakesh had begun his ageless slumber. His contemporaries had been dark skinned with dark hair and eyes.

“I gifted your Risen with the knowledge of form shaping. You became pure energy, a taxing but potent ability,” Irakesh explained, studying the road stretching in both directions. The sun’s warm embrace trickled power into his depleted reserves, but more slowly than he’d like. He had to remind himself that it was early in the cycle and as such, it would be years before he had anything approaching his former power. “You should be able to draw on that knowledge now that you’ve used it, but I’d caution you not to use it too freely. More than one deathless has transformed back midair, plummeting to their untimely demise.”

“Thank you,” Trevor said, rolling his neck with an alarming series of cracks. He eyed the silver box next to Irakesh. “You saved the bomb? That’s impossible. How did you get it to the ground safely?”

“A great many things are possible for a shaper,” Irakesh replied, unable to suppress his grin. Saving the bomb had been extremely taxing. He’d very nearly failed. “Now we need to find a way to transport it. If Cyntia survived the fall, she’d be ideal for carrying the box. Neither of us is strong enough to move it quickly.”

“If she didn’t survive we can find a four-wheel-drive drive vehicle of some kind,” Trevor suggested, squinting in the sunlight as he studied the road. Irakesh was quietly pleased; his thrall still seemed cooperative. Perhaps it was the man’s relief at Cyntia’s possible death. That didn’t surprise Irakesh, as Trevor’s growing distaste for the fallen Ka-Ken was obvious.
 

The unmistakable cocking of a shotgun sounded from behind them. Irakesh turned to see a trio of men rise from the surrounding desert like a mirage made flesh. Each wore mottled tans and grays designed to fade into the landscape, with odd-looking goggles he was unfamiliar with. All three had rifles at the ready, the black barrels and dark wood unlike the previous guns Irakesh had seen. Their leader had a bushy white mustache and leathery skin, with a thick belly that suggested he enjoyed beer.
 

He gestured at his companions to remain behind him, and then stepped forward with his rifle aimed at Irakesh’s face. “Just what the hell are you poor fuckers? Ain’t never seen anything like what you just did, and that makes me want to fill your pointy asses with lead. You got a reason why I shouldn’t?”

“I can offer three,” Irakesh said, taking a step closer and raising a calming hand to Trevor. He didn’t want his thrall killing these men, not just yet. “Firstly, your pathetic little weapons cannot kill me. Try if you wish. But know that when you fail tales of your death will echo through this new age.”

“You got balls redder than a brick built shit house, so maybe you’re the fucking devil hisself in this new hell. Don’t mean I’m afraid of you,” the man shot back. He called back over his shoulder, careful not to look away from Irakesh. Smart. The speaker turned to a companion. “Roberto, either one of them so much as moves I want you to give 'em one of your special presents.” The man he indicated was almost as wide as he was short, but he moved well despite his girth. He gave a tight nod, reaching into a satchel hanging from his belt.
 

“You said three reasons,” the leader said, turning his full attention back to Irakesh. “It’s dryer than a goddamn popcorn fart out here and I ain’t that patient to begin with. My finger’s starting to itch, so why don’t you finish your blustering so we can kill you and get back to something more interesting?”

“Assuredly,” Irakesh said, grinning at the unnatural patch of darkness he spotted along the side of a boulder behind the men. “The second reason is that we can protect you from the things you call zombies.”

“Don’t need protection. We’ve been taking care of ourselves pretty damn well, thank you,” the man said, finger tightening imperceptibly. Irakesh found his misplaced confidence endearing. He’d make an amusing thrall if he could learn obedience.

“Very well. I believe you’ll find the last reason the most compelling. Cyntia, would you eat the man’s companions?
 
Start with the fat one,” Irakesh called, hoping he was right in his assumption. If not he’d deal with the matter himself.

The patch of darkness detached from the rock, shifting into an eleven-foot-tall werewolf. She lunged with all the ferocity of a female, massive maw engulfing Roberto’s head, even as her meaty hands wrapped around his midsection. He gave a muted shriek that ended abruptly as Cyntia ripped his head and most of his neck free. Blood fountained to the dry dirt as she wolfed down flesh and bone.
 

The second man, a tall lanky fellow, turned to run. Cyntia didn’t even set down her meal, dragging Roberto’s remains by one fat arm as she leapt. She came down on the man’s back, driving him to the ground with a sickening crunch of bone. His rifle tumbled away, forgotten as she began savaging his shrieking form.

The remaining man's jaw fell open as he eyed his companions' corpses.

“Yup, third reason was definitely the best. You got me fucked in the ass like a prison yard bitch,” the mustached man said. He set his rifle slowly on the ground. “Name’s Wild-Cat Tom. Kill me if you’re gonna, but if not can we get out of this heat? I got a little ranch a ways north. Boys and I hunt pigs up there. Used to do it with tourists, but works just as well now that the world’s gone to shit.”

“Very well, take us to this camp. Is there some form of transport there we can use to journey north? Oh and Tom, from now on you will address me as master,” Irakesh said, grinning broadly. If Tom were disconcerted he hid it well.

“Yeah, I’ve got a big Toyota Tundra. Uh, master,” Tom said, bending slowly to pick up his rifle. “It guzzles gas like a pig eatin' shit, but the roads are a mess and it will get us around the worst of it. Where is it we’re going?”

“North,” Irakesh answered, turning to Cyntia. “When you are done feasting would you be so kind as to carry the bomb? At least until our new friend can load it onto his transport.”

Cyntia glanced up at Irakesh, face coated in gore as she worried a piece of grizzled fat. She gave a low growl, eyes feral. Excellent. Her beast truly ruled now.

Chapter 52- Water Landing

Blair peered out the right side of the cockpit as the plane soared over the moonlit bay glittering beneath them. It was a sight he knew well. He’d seen the Golden Gate Bridge often enough, because he lived a bare forty miles north. Yet even from this altitude he could tell that something was wrong. A myriad of dim blocky shapes were spread across the bridge, straddling lanes or pressed against the guard rail as if trying to escape, just as their human owners had no doubt attempted.
 

Dozens of figures picked their way between the vehicles, their shambling gait all too familiar by now. Blair heaved a sigh, turning to Steve, “I didn’t really expect it to be any different than the other cities we flew over, but this is home. I guess I still held out hope that somehow it hadn’t spread this far north.”

Steve turned in his chair, peering over a pair of black sunglasses he’d liberated from the corpse of the captain who'd once sat in that spot. His stubble could almost be called a beard, but had been cut fashionably short. “Being a pragmatic bastard sucks. I expected as much, but it does sting. The bay was home for both of us once upon on a time.”

For all three of us, Blair thought. Bridget was still in the back of the plane. She’d made herself scarce for the entirety of the eleven-hour flight. He knew her well enough to know that something was wrong, something that had to do with Steve. Was it guilt over what they’d done back in Panama? Maybe she felt like she’d betrayed Steve in the same way she’d once betrayed Blair. What did that make him?

“Can you feel him?” Steve asked.