The Ancient Breed (38 page)

Grant closed his eyes and muttered an escape chant. Surprisingly, it failed to transport him away from that mysterious phenomenon. When his eyelids flew open, he saw the black mass drifting in his direction.

Grant hurriedly muttered another chant, positioned his arms parallel to the floor, and rotated his body in one complete circle. A faint taupe glow enveloped him, and he sighed. Not even another destroyer could penetrate his magical protective shield.

The black cloud approached Grant’s protective shield and then swiftly retreated. In a span of five minutes, it made several aggressive passes at the shield but was repelled each time.
What the hell was that damn thing?
Its deliberate movements indicated intelligence, and if that was so, Grant wondered why it was attacking him.

Nothing in Grant’s exhaustive research on his ancestors’ past even suggested the existence of such an airy creature. Even though he was safe inside the shield, he experienced the constricting fear of a diver being circled by a hungry shark.

“Get the hell away from me!” he shouted. “You don’t who you’re dealing with, you ignorant inkblot!”

The black mass ceased its motion and swelled its girth until it grew large enough to envelope the glowing shield. Grant’s arrogance wilted as his protective shield flickered . . . faded . . . gone.

Panicked, he ran for the door, but his legs were strangely rooted to the floor. The terrifying, formless black blob surged over and through him. He screamed as the extraordinary creature ripped the life force from his trembling body, and swiftly reduced his essence to a current of cosmic energy. The unknown mass conducted Donovan’s life force to another dimension deep within the universe’s energy fabric – one that was devoid of organized society. Grant’s life essence was to be exiled in a sea of electrical and cosmic-energy impulses, neither conscious of his identity nor the space-time continuum.

Grant Donovan, the pureblood destroyer, ceased to exist.

After returning to the warehouse, the killer mass absorbed the aluminum cylinder beneath the floor and rose skyward. A deep, caustic laugh rumbled through the thick fog.

Far below, Grant’s earthly remains lay twisted and broken inside the moldering hulk. The mighty destroyer was now an inglorious meal for the hundreds of ravenous, cat-sized rats that scavenged the old dairy plant facilities.

46

“C

hange of plans,” Nick shouted as he floored the Cherokee’s accelerator. The SUV spit gravel as it sped out of the diner’s parking lot toward the interstate.

Lisa braced herself against the dash. “What kind of change?”

“You’re going with me.”

She stiffened. “I can’t! Seth and I have a ton of arrangements to make for our Florida exploration next week. You have no idea how much . . .”

“The world has changed since our conversation at the diner,” Nick said solemnly. “France’s President Jean-Luc Vaugirard and Germany’s Chancellor Wilhelm Gerhardt are dead.”

Lisa’s hand flew to her mouth as she settled back against the seat. “How?”

“Those bloodthirsty little fiends of yours, that’s how.”

“Oh God! Their wives! They were transformed into those killers?”

“Officially, the word is they’re missing; but of course, we know who they are now,” Nick replied grimly.

“The terrorists injected them with the water, too.” It was a quiet statement coated with outrage and fear. “What happened to the little bastards?”

“Although the details are a bit sketchy at this early date, Rance pulled in some favors and learned that the killers were hunted and shot. They refused to be taken alive.”

“That’s because they’re insane. Psychopathic.”

“From what I witnessed in the asylum basement, they’ve got a thing for blood,” Nick added.

“I wonder who’ll be next?”

“We’ve got guards on President Hanover, but I don’t know . . .” His voice trailed off.

Lisa tucked her knees tightly against her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “I’m scared. This sounds like
end-of-the-world
stuff.”

He patted her arm. “We won’t let it go that far.”

“Who’s
we
?”

“You know, the governments. The people.”

Lisa clucked her tongue. “Then I guess you don’t know people very well. They’ll panic, and when they do, our fragile civilization will crumble.”

Nick forced a laugh. “Isn’t that a bit dramatic?”

She turned toward him. “This is just the tip of the iceberg, Nick. When other government heads die, people everywhere will be scared shitless. Brainless. Reason will be thrown out the window, replaced by a mob mentality. It’s happened time and time again throughout history. And when that happens, you have the recipe for mayhem, bloodshed, and revolt. We’ve got to find the people responsible for this. The ones who ran that asylum in New Jersey, stole the fountain-of-youth water, and distributed it to the wives of heads of state around the world.”

“Neo’s working on that,” he replied, deep in thought. “Meanwhile, we’ve got to get to
Orion Sector’s
CIC—computer intelligence center—where we can sort out the deceptive, corporate layers concealing Aspirations, Inc., and their motives. My money says that they’re behind all this, but what I can’t figure is why.”

Lisa stared into the night beyond the windshield, oblivious to the accumulation of splattered bugs. “Whoever’s behind this horrible scheme must want power. Supreme power. And somehow, they’re using magic and that ancient breed of killers to set it up.” She paused. “I just hope that they don’t have too big a lead on us. It took one helluva lot of planning to set this up, and our chances of exposing them before there are more international assassinations are slim to none.”

“Magic,” Nick mumbled, tuning out the rest of her dirge for the human race. Why didn’t he see that before? It was quite possible that the people behind the terrorist strikes might be connected to whatever or whoever Alick Tobhor saw before he disappeared so long ago. Maybe that’s why he was allowed to witness that ancient scene. Then it struck him with the force of a taser. Magic! From his past experiences, he suspected the real masterminds weren’t humans at all. Maybe they were destroyers like Hollis Danforth, a murderous destroyer from Gabriella’s dimension who hated half-breeds -
humans
. His goal was to gain power and then exterminate humans. The plots, although dissimilar, seemed to share the same ambition – pandemic genocide.

“Nick?”

He needed proof, and Geronimo was his best resource. If he and Crow could unearth just one scrap of evidence linking Aspirations to any of the assassinations, then they could bring the world down on them. Literally.

“Earth to Nick!”

Lisa’s shout shattered his theorizing. He turned his head and noticed Lisa studying him.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Just thinking.”

“You had me worried there for a second,” she said, relieved. “Well, I’ve been thinking, too. I really
do
need to go with you. Seth can fend for himself.”

“Why the sudden turnaround?”

“In case you’ve forgotten, I’m an archeologist, and everything we’ve encountered so far is connected with ancient history. My specialty. Need I say more?”

He nodded. “Point taken. When we arrive at our CIC, you can utilize Geronimo’s vast resources to explore the world’s databases for information concerning Alick Tobhor and your pygmy killers.”

The traffic thinned as they merged onto Interstate-68 West and headed for West Virginia.
Old Mother Hubbard
’s computer center was located in Ohio, just across the West Virginia state line, inside the Wayne National Forest outside of Marietta, Ohio. The new
Orion Sector
facility was nestled deep underground inside a long-forgotten, proposed missile silo site on a government parcel code-named Bobcat Run. The site had been abandoned in the early 1960s, but not before extensive excavation and concrete construction had been completed. After the
Creeper
destroyed their previous secret computer facility in Kentucky last year, Rance called in some longstanding IOUs at the Pentagon and not only obtained possession of the abandoned facility but also received the required funding needed to modernize and equip the underground shell. Eight months later, Geronimo had a new home.

Suddenly, the Cherokee bounced violently. Lisa flattened her palms against the dashboard again, waiting for the inevitable crash.

“Do something!” she demanded, terror painting her words.

Nick’s hands crushed the steering wheel as he lifted his foot from the accelerator, and guided the rocking SUV onto the shoulder. When the vehicle slowed enough, he used the brake pedal to bring it to a complete stop. He slumped against the seat cushion, sweat-soaked and winded like a marathon runner.

Lisa inspected both the car and her body for damage. “What was that all about?” she whispered. “Did you hit a pothole?”

“It didn’t feel like a pothole. It felt more like somebody leaping onto the car roof.”

Lisa’s features remained drawn. “Isn’t that the damnedest thing?”

“That’s some greeting for an old friend,” an irritated voice snapped behind them.

Lisa let out one, long scream and promptly fainted.

47

N

early two weeks passed since Mindy Landers awoke in that unnamed alley as a young, nubile woman, and she didn’t waste a precious second. After the initial shock wore off, Mindy executed phase one of her revenge plot – earn some quick money. She worried that her restored youth would be fleeting, so she wasted no time making the big bucks the only way she knew how. Prostitute herself.

Mindy returned to her seedy neighborhood in Queens and sought out the local drug dealers who were only too happy to welcome the busty beauty. They, of course, had no idea that she was the former bag lady they had taunted and robbed for years.

She meted out sex as easily as they dispensed drugs, and within ten days, she accumulated several thousand dollars of fees and bonuses from sexually sated, stoned young men. It was more than enough to carry out her plan against Brent Holloway, her former boss and the biggest prick ever to grace the planet.

At the first opportunity, she abandoned the drug dealers, and rented a small apartment in the Bronx under an assumed name. It was the kind of rental property that didn’t insist on identifications and background checks. The sole requirement was two months rent up front - in cash.

The apartment became her base of operations. Designer clothes were purchased and smuggled into her room in plain bags, so as not to call attention to her mini-bankroll. Grocery store foodstuffs filled her small refrigerator, a welcome change to the dumpster victuals she was accustomed to. Polaroid snapshots of Brent entering and leaving his office, close-ups of his BMW sports car, and damning photos of his current whore-dog meeting him at a New Jersey motel formed a mosaic on one of the dingy, yellowed walls.

After her preparations were complete, Mindy called Brent Holloway’s office when she knew he would be in New Jersey pounding his mistress, and made an appointment for the day after tomorrow. She gave the secretary a fictitious name and dropped hints the size of Yankee Stadium that she was filthy rich and in need of a multimillion-dollar home. The secretary stumbled over her words in accommodating Mindy’s wishes for an appointment after regular office hours.

The trap was set.

That night, when Mindy drifted off to sleep, a vicious headache raked her mind as it had each night during the past week. She kicked back the sheets in an attempt to cool her sweat-slick skin and squeezed her eyelids shut to block out the spinning bedroom. A veil of malevolent, murderous urges obscured her own thoughts. Her tongue roamed her lips in search of something salty. Blood? She couldn’t think, much less identify her violent craving. It was as if she were regressing into an ancient prehistorical life-form controlled by primal instincts.
Kill or be killed
.

A raucous commotion in the hallway snagged her attention. Her eyes snapped open like a feral animal and penetrated the blackness with ease. The objects in her small room were visible without the apartment lights, but she wasn’t amazed. Her consciousness was beyond Mindy Lander’s world; it had regressed to a time before thoughts. Her new instincts and abilities felt natural, as natural as the murderous rage coursing through her.

The noise at once attracted and irritated her. Her lips curled away from her teeth, and a guttural growl reverberated in her throat. Mindy crept to the door and listened. Two of her grubby neighbors were drunk and engaged in a shouting and shoving match a few doors down the hallway. Her tongue probed her lips again. An overwhelming hunger gnawed at her entire being. Her hand gripped the doorknob, and turned it quietly. She was aware somewhere in the deep recesses of her civilized insight that she was about to stalk her prey.

It was feeding time.

The noises outside the door ceased abruptly. She listened, alert and cautious as an animal sniffing a trap. The door swung in noiselessly, and she poked her head into the hall. It was immersed in darkness, but she easily made out the two arguers lying crumpled in heaps on the floor. She tilted her head and sniffed the air. Death. Someone had attacked and killed
her
prey.

Seething, Mindy stepped back and slammed the door. Her hunger escalated proportionately with her rage, and she rushed around the room smashing two chairs and the cheap plastic lamp in the living room with a series of slashing swipes with her hands. She craved food now. The groceries inside the refrigerator didn’t tempt her in the least. Her food needed to be alive. Bloated with blood.