No Mere Zombie: Deathless Book 2 (42 page)

“Couldn’t she kill you and give it to Blair?” Trevor asked, a warm sliver of glee surging through him at the fury that twisted Irakesh’s expression.

“Not if the Ka-Dun is dead. If I am her only option then she will see reason. Jes’ka was always pragmatic and while she generally obeyed her mother’s wishes, she was known to think for herself. She didn’t have the same blind hatred for the deathless many of her kind had. Perhaps because of her father, Osiris,” he said, stroking the glass-like substance.

“Yeah I don’t think that’s going to work out,” Trevor said, eyes alighting on another rejuvenator. “She’s not the only occupant. This one has a male, Irakesh.”

Chapter 63- Escape

Jordan tensed as he stepped from the elevator into controlled chaos. Dozens of techs moved between hundreds of vehicles, everything from helicopters like the X-408 he’d taken to Peru to sleek jets to all terrain armored vehicles. The entire left side of the hangar was lined with huge crates containing stinger missiles, fifty caliber rounds and a host of other nasty surprises Mohn could level at its enemies. So much hardware. It might have been at home on a military base, but the idea of a corporation possessing so much was mind boggling. Even for Mohn Corp.

“Jordan, why did they bring us here?” Liz whispered, finally stepping from the elevator into the glow of the halogens. Her hair shone copper. She peered around warily, as if expecting an ambush. He wasn’t sure she was wrong to do so.

“Honestly?” Jordan asked, scanning the immediate vicinity. “I haven’t the faintest fucking clue. We should have been escorted, at the very least. Even if they reinstated me, you’re still a prisoner and they don’t let prisoners just wander around. I can’t get a read on the situation. This isn’t at all like The Director.”

“Commander Jordan,” a female voice boomed. He turned to see a group of black-clad soldiers trotting up. The one bringing up the rear was pushing a wide metal cart
that contained a single black case about two feet wide and nearly six feet long. Sniper rifle? The leader of the soldiers approached, a pretty Asian woman with shoulder length black hair. She extended a black tablet. “My name is Kristi Benson. Director Phillips asked me to deliver this to you. Please sign here, sir.”

Jordan scanned the words on the screen, jaw dropping. “The Director ordered this?”

“Yes, sir. Please sign, sir. I have to get back down to the vault,” Benson said, nodding at the tablet. She darted a furtive glance over her shoulder, which spoke volumes. Whatever The Director had set into motion hadn’t been blessed by the Old Man.

Jordan used the attached stylus to sign the line at the bottom of the screen, then handed the tablet back. Benson accepted it, snapping a salute. “Thank you, sir. Your ride is on the south side of the hangar, sir, bay thirteen. Crew is waiting.” Then she and her companions trotted away, leaving Jordan and Liz standing next to the strange black case.

“What is it?” Liz asked, squatting next to the cart.

“Object 2. The Director sent us the sword, and according to that tablet we’ve been authorized to make a strike on San Francisco,” he said, kneeling and reaching for the twin clasps holding the case shut. He snapped them, flipping open the top. Sure enough a wide-bladed sword lay on black foam, its golden blade gleaming even in the thin light. “That shouldn’t be possible. I attended a board meeting and the Old Man unilaterally denied this mission. Either he had a sudden change of heart or The Director is playing a very dangerous game.”

“So that’s it? We just walk out of here? Just like that?” Liz asked. Jordan couldn’t blame her for being skeptical. He felt the same.

“No, we fly out of here. The Director’s given us a pilot and a plane capable of getting us to San Francisco,” he explained, snapping the case shut. He picked it up by its handle, muscles straining from the weight. The case was heavy, the blade even heavier. He handed it across to Liz, who took it effortlessly. “Come on. Let’s get the hell out of here before they change their minds.”

Jordan set off between the wide orange lines marking the area designed for walking. They passed a number of hangar bays on either side, each with a full crew servicing one of the aircraft or land vehicles Mohn had apparently stockpiled. They’d clearly been gearing up for war and had done so for years, if this place was any indication.

They moved in silence, Liz keeping Jordan's brisk pace without effort despite her burden. Some feminist somewhere must be smiling at
that
turn of events. They made their way around a central area where four bombers squatted, each angled towards a single runway that led up a gentle slope into a tube that disappeared into darkness. That must be how they got to the surface.

He passed a black number sixteen painted in huge block letters next to a hangar. The next read fifteen. He scanned down the row as they approached, going slack-jawed at what was waiting there. A sleek black jet, just over seventy feet long. It resembled a lier jet, but there were no windows and the engines hugged the body of the aircraft. It looked faster than diarrhea in Mexico.

“Stop,” roared an authoritative voice.
 

Jordan spun to see two dozen guards spreading out to flank them. All over the hangar personnel stopped what they were doing. Techs took cover, while soldiers looked at tablets as they urgently sought orders.

“I guess this might be a little more complicated than I thought,” Jordan said, rolling his arms in their sockets as he unlimbered for combat.

“It can’t ever be easy, can it?” Liz asked. She dropped to one knee and flipped the catches on the case, withdrawing the golden sword within.

“Commander Jordan, I’ve been ordered to take you into custody,” a solider near the center of the line called. He didn’t approach though, which wasn’t surprising. They’d have been briefed on the whole werewolf thing. “Lie face down with your arms behind your back. Any resistance will be met with terminal force.”

“How do you want to handle this?” Liz asked, rising into a crouch with the sword held loosely in one hand. She was focused on the soldiers, scanning them like a trained soldier. She’d come a long way.

“Commander,” called a thickly accented voice from behind them. “Bay doors overridden. Slow attackers and Yuri can get craft airborne. Need sixty seconds.”

“There’s your answer,” Jordan said, already moving. He blurred forward, not even bothering to shift.

Gunshots cracked around him, but he was simply too fast to track, just like the werewolf back in Peru when this had all started just a few months back. Jordan skidded to a halt next to his first target, grabbing the man’s forearm as shell casings spun slowly end over end in the air above the rifle. He yanked it from the man’s grasp, slamming the butt of the weapon into the man’s groin. It spilled him to the ground and hopefully out of the fight.

Jordan could have done something a lot more permanent, but these men were just following orders.
 

Liz had no such compunctions, and he couldn’t blame her. After all, it had been him who had led the men that had assaulted her first in Peru then later in San Diego. She saw Mohn as the enemy and gave that enemy no quarter.

The copper-haired woman vanished briefly, then abruptly reappeared in the shadow of the soldier who’d called for them to lay down arms. She too moved in slow motion, the blade of her new sword cutting a lethal arc toward the man’s throat. Jordan was both repulsed and a bit proud. Liz had correctly surmised that the best way to win was to remove their enemy’s commanding officer. That would leave them confused, making it easier to take out the rest.

Jordan blurred to his next target, shattering the man’s jaw with a right hook. Then he glided forward to kick another man in the knee. By the time Liz’s sword claimed its victim Jordan had downed two more. He kept right on going, blurring through their ranks with non-lethal ferocity. If he could down them all, they’d live. Any he missed would fall to Liz.

Just like that it was over, and Jordan was left blinking at a sea of groaning figures. All were in too much pain to fight, which was just as well for them.

“My god, Jordan,” Liz said, trotting in his direction. “I’ve never seen anyone move like that, not even Blair. And you’re not even in wolf form.”

“I guess I just needed incentive,” Jordan said, turning to sprint back towards the plane. The engines had already started their low howl. He turned to Liz as they ran up the back ramp into the cargo hold. “I wanted to save as many as possible. Not their fault they were ordered to fight us.”

Liz eyed him curiously but didn’t answer as they darted up the gangplank into the plane. Then the gangplank folded up behind them and the vehicle began moving forward.

“Let’s hope San Francisco is just as easy,” he muttered.

Chapter 64- Reinforcements

Blair stared out the wide bay window at the redwood-covered hills sprawling across the town of Mill Valley. It was beautiful, the towering trees with their thick canopies and the wall of mist clinging to the slopes of Mount Tamalpais. Even the homes were beautiful, a modernist architecture that had been sculpted to blend with nature rather than dominate it. It was exactly the sort of place he’d always dreamed of living, perhaps even in a mansion like the one he now stood in.

Something drifted down the misty road. Or several somethings, to be more precise. A half dozen figures shambled down Miller Avenue towards the freeway. Oddly, they moved with single-minded purpose. That was new. Normally groups of zombies would shamble in roughly the same direction, but often veered off on their own. These walked in a single-file line.

There was movement directly below the window, a flash of orangey red in the high grass. Blair leaned closer to the glass, trying to find the cause. To his surprise he found a large fox staring up at him, ears cocked in his direction. Its gaze met his unflinchingly. It was clearly aware of him and just as clearly fighting to get his attention.

Flee. You must flee.
 

Blair could only gawk. The idea that he could speak to an animal had never occurred to him. The fox met his gaze unflinchingly, its thoughts tinged with concern for a fellow pack mate. Did foxes even have packs?

Flee. Run far and fast and low. They are slow but they do not tire. Many, many make for the sea, towards the bridge of gold.

“They’re heading for the Golden Gate Bridge,” Blair muttered, expressing his thanks to the fox. It darted away into the underbrush, gone so quickly he questioned whether he’d seen it at all.

“Did you say something?” Steve called from the kitchen. Blair turned to glance at him. Steve stood next to the marble-covered island with a long-stemmed wine glass in one hand and a hunk of sausage in the other. He took a generous mouthful of a dark red as he awaited Blair’s answer.

“The dead, they’re all heading in one direction. Towards the Golden Gate Bridge,” Blair replied, crossing the hardwood floor and entering the kitchen. It was cold, but not unpleasantly so. This place had lost heat just like every other house, but at least it was well insulated.

“So? Irakesh probably called them there for some reason. All the more reason to stay away,” Steve replied, setting his glass on the counter. He withdrew a wickedly sharp knife from the block near the corner, using it to slice the sausage into bite-sized pieces.

“Maybe,” Blair said, turning away in disgust. He resumed his position near the window, watching as more undead moved down the four-lane street towards the bay. He counted dozens and this was one little part of Marin County. How many thousands were moving that way? How far did Irakesh’s influence extend?

“Do you hear that?” Steve asked. He crossed to the window, wine glass back in his hand and napkin in the other so he could dab at his lips.
 

Blair listened. There was a low hum in the distance. Familiar, but too distant to identify. “Is that a plane?”
 

“Yeah,” Steve said, swirling the contents of his glass. “Something larger, but not quite a 747. Sounds higher-pitched than the plane that got us here. It’s definitely approaching.”

“So who the hell is it?” Blair wondered, sliding open the glass door and stepping onto the deck. It sat on top of stilts over a steep drop into the heavily wooded valley. “Irakesh is already here. No one else should have a working plane and even if they did, why come here? It’s too much of a coincidence.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Steve said, taking another mouthful of wine. He made the action refined. Classy. The bastard had always been able to do that. Steve stepped onto the deck. “We should go back inside. If it has anything to do with us we don’t want them to know we’re here.”

“You can go back inside if you want,” Blair said, shifting. His skin tingled as his clothing disappeared. It came so easily now. He turned to stare down at Steve. “I’m going to find out who it is. If they’re an ally I want to link up with them. If they’re another enemy, we need to know about it.”

“Blair, this is madness,” Steve said, looking up from his wine. His eyes were so intense, almost glowing. “What if you get killed? You’ll be handing whoever it is the key to the Mother’s Ark. Is that what you want? You have to be less reckless. Listen, if you’re going to do this you really should give me the key first.”

Blair hesitated. His head ached. Was it reckless? What if Steve was right? If he ran into another enemy, maybe an ally of Irakesh, he might give up the key and lose
another
Ark. “You’re right. I’ll stay here. It’s not worth the risk.”