The Bones of Valhalla (Purge of Babylon, Book 9) (35 page)

That was just enough time for Will—

(My name is Will!)

—to open his mouth, extending his jaw as wide as it would go—
and even wider still
—before biting down, his teeth tearing through flesh and then the cranium itself. It was surprisingly weak and flimsy, for all the power it was sheltering, but even so two of Will’s teeth, then a third and a fourth and a
fifth
shattered against the frontal bone as he made contact.

And he kept pushing and pushing until
he was through
and finally,
finally
tasted the mushy thing underneath.

Mabry screamed, and a mind-numbing explosion of pain erupted inside Will’s mind. It echoed and burst and reformed and imploded again and again, even as Will tasted flesh in his mouth and blood dripped from his teeth. And this time it wasn’t just his blood.

He collapsed to the floor in a pile of pulverized bones and speared flesh as Mabry stumbled. The ghoul’s legs gave way and he dropped to his knees, hands groping at the chunk of missing flesh and bone even as he continued to scream inside Will’s head, his pain and misery piercing the river of consciousness that linked the two of them—that linked all
of them.

Listen
, Will thought, projecting his voice out into the hive mind.
Listen!

And they did. He could sense the fear in the ones inside the tunnel just beyond the dome, from the others nesting inside the buildings around them, desperately waiting for nightfall. More than that, he could feel the ones in the other parts of the city, the state, and beyond, every single one of them watching and listening and witnessing Mabry’s fury and pain.

The images and sounds of the encounter had started broadcasting when Will first confronted the five blue-eyed ghouls, when he brought down his mental defenses and rejoined the brood, and the link remained intact when he showed himself to Mabry.

And they had listened and watched and felt every blow and pain, including the fight that proved not to be much of a fight after all. They were seeing and hearing everything he was, and the signal only got stronger as more of them plugged in.

One became two, two became four, and on and on until the numbers reached the tens of thousands, then the millions, and
more.

He could sense the blue eyes trying to take control, trying to demand the hive’s attention, and failing miserably. The brood was enraptured by the sight of Mabry’s agony, the undeniable sound of his pain.

Listen!
Will shouted.
Do you see? Can you hear it? Can you feel it? Listen!

Mabry continued to scream, the full extent of his pain beyond anything Will had ever experienced. And he had done that. He had attacked and conquered the father—the beginning and the end, the nothing and the everything, the nowhere and the everywhere—and left him bruised and bleeding and
dying.

Will rolled the meaty, gooey substance he had found with his teeth around in his mouth before finally swallowing it down. He savored the taste clinging to the roots of his shattered and bleeding mouth, not because he wanted to, but because he wanted them—
all
of them—to see and know it along with him.

I did this
,
he said without saying it.
I did this!

Blood oozed down the corners of his mouth and dripped from his chin as he stood up—rising slowly, but rising nonetheless. His legs weren’t working correctly, but they obeyed him enough to carry him forward, toward Mabry, and he stood over the kneeling ghoul, whose voice continued to cry out in his mind.

The ghoul looked up at him and its thin lips quivered, though no words came out. Its eyes seemed to have dulled, more ash than blue now. There was an emptiness about the way it looked up at him, at once defiant and yet weak.

Do you see it?
he said into the hive mind.
Look at him. Do you see it?

Then Will shoved his fist through the open hole in Mabry’s forehead, and the spongey black and blue-veined thing on the other side offered no resistance whatsoever. He pulled his hand out as the ghoul collapsed to the floor and lay still, and Mabry’s cries faded from his mind.

Will walked back to the lockers, finding renewed strength from a place he couldn’t fathom, and sat down. He leaned against a pair of dangling feet and watched the black-clad human figure reappear, dragging one leg behind him as he approached tentatively.

The man stepped over Mabry’s body, then came over to crouch next to Will. Bright red blood covered the lower half of his face, and his breathing was ragged and slightly out of control, but he was also grinning.

“How many times have I told you not to run off all by your little lonesome like that, huh?” Danny said. “Now look at you. All bleeding and broken and shit. By the way, that was gross. You
bit his fucking head off.
That’s got to be the most fucking gross thing I’ve ever seen in my life, man.”

“I…adapted,” Will said. His voice came out odd, the result of broken teeth. Maybe he had just mumbled the words, though Danny seemed to understand him fine.

“So taking a literal bite out of the bad guy wasn’t part of the original plan, huh?”

“No.”

“But it worked. That’s all that matters, right? Plan G is officially in the books.”

“Not over,” he said. It was easier to say as few words as possible. There was no pain—he was beyond feeling pain at the moment—but the damage was severe all over.

Danny glanced back at Mabry’s body, then at the open door. He gripped the knife in his fist. A cross-knife with a silver blade. “What the hell are you talking about? The plan was to kill King Ghoul, and it’s game over. Cut off the head and the body dies. Right?”

“No.”

“No? What do you mean, no?” Danny narrowed his eyes at him. “You lied, didn’t you? You lied to us. Lara. Me. Everyone.”

“Yes.”

“You
dick.
”

“Not over.”

“Now what?”

“Help me. Up.”

“And then?”

“Finish it,” Will said. “One more. Thing. Left. Then…it’s over.”

Danny sighed, wrapping his arms around Will’s thin frame. “It’s time to get a new wardrobe, by the way. You look like a hobo. And oh, have I mentioned you’re bleeding? Like, a lot?”

“I know.”

“What the hell’s wrong with your body?”

“Broken.”

“That explains it.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, I’d say it matters, dude.”

“Doesn’t matter. One more. Left. Then…over.”

Will felt them stirring finally—the creatures in the tunnel beyond the hallway. The black eyes. A few hundred here, a few thousand out there, and the millions
(billions)
beyond. They waited, confused and agitated.

But mostly confused.

My children
,
Will projected
. My brood. The father is dead. But you’re not alone. You’ll never be alone.

“You wanna give me some directions here?” Danny said as he pulled them up from the floor with some effort.

“Outside,” Will said.

“It’s still day out there.”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Outside.”

“You are aware that you’re still all spindly and shit? Or did you lie about that, too?”

“No.”

“So what then, Mr. Mushy Mouth?”

“Help me. Danny. Stop. Talking.”

“Might as well tell me to stop breathing,” Danny said as he half walked and half dragged the both of them to the door. “By the way, I think one of my legs is broken, thanks for asking.”

“You’ll. Be. Fine.”

“Shows what you know. I’m pretty sure one of my kidneys flew out of my mouth when that thing hit me, too. Is that possible? Can you lose a kidney through your mouth? Christ, you’re bleeding a lot. I’m drowning in this stuff. By the way, I’m having a kid. Did I tell you that? God, you’re bleeding a lot. It’s like a friggin’ Free Ketchup for Everyone Day back here.”

“Danny…”

“So this is it, huh?”

“I’m sorry.”

“What do you have to be sorry for? I’m the one dragging your skinny ass around, Mister Hobo. I’m the one doing all the work. But then, what else is new?”

“Sorry. Danny. I’m…sorry.”

“Sorry’s not gonna fix this, man. You thought about what
I’m
gonna do without someone to try my awesome jokes on first?”

“You’ll. Do. Fine. All…of you. Look. After. Her. For…me.”

Danny didn’t say anything.

“Danny…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Danny said. “It’s not like I got anything else better to do, you selfish prick.”

Will smiled. A true smile this time, he was sure of it, as his friend led him to the door one step at a time.

He could sense the black eyes out there, in the tunnel, waiting for them. For
him.
The confusion lingered among them, but there was something else that hadn’t been there before: a growing anticipation, almost excitement.

Follow me
, Will thought, pushing his voice into the hive mind. He heard it reverberate through the stream of consciousness, from one mind to the next, to the next.
Don’t be afraid. There’s nothing to fear.

“No!”
the blue eyes shouted, their voices rising from the ranks of the brood. They were desperate, demanding attention.
“Don’t listen to the traitor! Ignore him!”

Will continued projecting, because he could feel it: He had them. The black eyes were listening to him, and him only.

I’ll show you the way
,
he said, his voice growing with confidence as it expanded further and further, to more and more minds.

Follow me
,
he said, trumping the fading voices of the blue eyes as the hive, as one, turned to him
.

Follow me
, he called out, his voice soothing and comforting, the way Mabry’s had been before him.
The father’s dead, but you’re not alone. You’ll never be alone.

Follow me, and I’ll show you the way back to the light…

“
W
e’ve engaged the enemy
. I repeat: We’ve engaged the enemy.”

The calm voice coming through the Comm Room’s speakers belonged to Peele, the man in charge of the three tanks that were at this very moment butting up against the main roadblock into Houston. Peele and Rolling Thunder’s goal was less to actually break through and more to keep the collaborators from leaving their posts and interfering with Striker’s mission, which was to link up with Willie Boy and take the fight directly to Mabry. A year ago that kind of tactical planning would have made Lara question who she was; these days, it was just another decision that she hoped didn’t get too many people killed.

You’re responsible for this. You sent them out there. Your friends, strangers, even the man you love.

You did this. You
did this.

Rhett had the microphone and spoke into it: “How many are we talking about, Rolling Thunder?”

“Don’t know; didn’t get the chance to take a roll call,” Peele said through the speakers. “I’ll get right on it as soon as they stop shooting at us.”

“Small arms?”

“Looks like a couple of LAWS—Shit!” Then, to someone else, presumably in the tank with him, “Jesus Christ, Larry, watch where you’re going! I don’t wanna be eating a rocket right about now!”

“Laws what?” Carly said quietly next to her.

“Light Anti-Armor Weapons System,” Lara said. “Shoulder-mounted single-shot anti-tank weapons, basically.”

“And you know this how?”

“Danny. He thought they’d have something like that.”

They stood behind Jane, who was planted in front of all the communications gear in the room, while Riley and Rhett remained in front of the big map. The two men were constantly marking locations of where the forces were—theirs, the enemies, and a big circle in red marker around where the HC Dome was to the southwest of the city, away from Downtown area. She had stared at that spot so many times today that she thought she could remember every single parking lot and tenement building or highway around it.

Anxiety radiated from Carly next to her, and Lara knew exactly what her friend was feeling. It wasn’t just that their loved ones and friends were out there in danger, but that they couldn’t do anything about it except to stand here and listen, helpless to affect what was happening in Houston right now because it was out of their hands.

God, please, don’t die. Please, don’t die because of me.

“Okay, okay,” Peele was saying through the speakers. Lara wasn’t sure who he was talking to, and neither was Rhett by the look on his face.

“Peele, you okay?” Rhett asked.

“Hell no,” Peele said. “They’re coming from everywhere. The only reason we’re still in one piece is because of the armor.” Then, shouting, “Back up, back up! Alex, for God’s sake, watch where you’re shooting!”

Riley looked across the room at her. “I’m not sure how long Peele’s going to last out there. He sounds pretty rattled.”

“They have to last a lot longer,” Lara said, and thought,
Please don’t die, please don’t die.
Then, as confidently as she could muster, “Without them, the collaborators are all going to converge on the HC Dome. We need to give Striker as much time as possible to get down there and assist Willie Boy with their mission.”

“Willie Boy,” Carly said, shaking her head. “Let me guess: Danny came up with these code names?”

Lara managed a smile. “Yeah.”

“Well, at least Rolling Thunder and Eagle sound cool.”

Lara leaned forward and put a hand on Jane’s shoulder. “Can you get the A-10s on the radio for me?”

Jane nodded and flicked switches on the dashboard, then adjusted her headset’s mic and spoke into it: “Eagle One, Eagle Two, this is Black Tide. Eagle One, Eagle Two, can you read me?” She paused for a moment, then picked up a second microphone and handed it to Lara. “It’s Eagle One. Cole.”

Lara took the mic while Jane hit another switch, and they heard Cole’s voice through the speakers.

“—crazy down there,” Cole was saying. “There’s a swarm of technicals buzzing around Rolling Thunder. They look like ants trying to bite a lumbering elephant.”

“Now that’s a sight,” Carly said.

“Cole,” Lara said, “I need you to keep any collaborators that are breaking away from the roadblocks from converging on the Dome.”

“I hear ya, and that’s what Eagle Two and me’ve been doing all day,” Cole said. “But not all the bad guys are getting the hint; some of them look pretty stubborn. We’re doing all we can to convince them otherwise, but there’s just two of us trying to cover an entire city.”

“Do the best you can, Eagle One.”

“Understood, Black Tide. We’ll do our best.”

“Thank you, Cole.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Cole said.

“Now that’s a gentleman,” Carly said.

“How are you for ammo?” Rhett said into the mic.

“Not good,” Cole said. “I’m down to just the Avenger. I’m doing my best to conserve ammo, but it’s going to run dry sooner rather than later.”

“What about Eagle Two?”

“Wheeler’s in the same boat.”

“Ask him if he saw anyone abandoning the fight,” Carly said. “You know, in case Lara’s plea worked.”

Rhett relayed the question, and Cole answered: “A dozen or so vehicles took off when Rolling Thunder showed up. I was about to blast them, but they were obviously hightailing it so I held off.”

“A dozen or so technicals,” Riley said, smiling slightly. “That’s something.”

“That’s a dozen less assholes trying to kill my Danny,” Carly said. “That’s more than something.”

“The true believers are staying behind,” Rhett said. “The ones slugging it out with Peele and the rest of Rolling Thunder right now. Only true believers would think you can go head-to-head with tanks. You gotta be pretty goddamn committed.”

“Straight-jacket type of commitment?” Carly asked.

“Not to them. There’s no turning back for them. It’s all-in or nothing.”

Lara watched Rhett for a moment, wondering if he was talking about the collaborators out there fighting with Peele and the others, or if he was referring to people closer to home.

She was still thinking about Rhett’s words when Cole shouted through the speakers, “No, goddammit, no!”

“What happened?” Lara said into the mic. “Cole, what happened?”

“Wheeler,” Cole said. “Shit!”

“What happened to Wheeler?”

“His Warthog just went down. Jesus Christ. They’ve been trying to tag us with shoulder-mounted launchers all day, but—Jesus! How the hell did they manage to get Wheeler? I warned that little punk not to make it too easy on them. Dammit!”

“Without two Warthogs up there keeping them honest, those technicals are going to start converging on the Dome,” Riley said.

Lara keyed her mic. “Eagle One, I need you to do a flyby of the Dome. I need an update on Striker.”

“I’m almost there,” Cole said. He sounded calm again, but maybe that was just the transmission hiding his emotions. “Okay, I see… I see tangos in the open, but our boys are MIA.”

“MIA? Explain.”

“I don’t see any action down there. Either they’re all dead or they made it underground.”

Lara looked back at Carly.

“Dead or underground,” Carly sighed. “We’re hoping for the latter, right?”

Lara nodded, as Rhett said into his own mic: “What else do you see, Cole?”

“Wait, wait,” Cole said. “Okay, okay, I’m pretty sure Striker’s underground. I see tangos moving toward one of the manhole coverings. Give me a sec; I’m going to make sure no one follows them down.”

Cole went silent for five seconds…

Seven…

Ten…

Then he was back: “That’s it, guys, that’s my last bullet. I’ll stick around, buzz the area, and try to draw some of their fire. I don’t know how long until they figure out I’m running on fumes and start ignoring me, though.”

“Be careful, Cole,” Rhett said.

“Roger that, Black Tide. Eagle One out.”

“Tough old coot,” Carly said. “Reminds me of my dad, if my dad was a former airman with suicidal tendencies.”

Riley looked across the room at Lara. “That’s it. They’re in the tunnel. Nothing we can do now but wait.”

She nodded, not quite sure what she was feeling. Maybe it was relief that Keo and Danny had made it to Will, or possibly terror because she knew what was waiting for them down there.

Please don’t die. God, please don’t die because of my decisions.

The thought weighed her down and sapped the energy from her, and she was already so damn tired. All the days of not sleeping, the nights of worrying about Will and everyone onboard the
Trident
came back in a rush to punish her, and she had to sit down in a chair next to Jane or else she might have collapsed in a heap.

When was the last time she had just sat down? She didn’t know the answer to that question and couldn’t even begin to come up with one. Her eyelids were suddenly heavy, and she could feel something out there, calling to her.

What?

She wanted to fight it, wanted to resist. There was too much work to do, too many lives out there hanging in the balance.

Will. Gaby and Blaine and Danny.

She couldn’t allow herself to close her eyes…

Maybe just for one second.

I’ll close my eyes for just one second…

* * *

W
hen she opened her eyes
, she was standing on a beach. She had no shoes on and she was smiling as cool water gently lapped at her toes. The sand was very white—much whiter than she remembered Black Tide having—and there was a nice breeze. A perfect breeze, in fact. She had let her hair down and it lifted and swayed with the wind, and for some reason it seemed to be longer than it should have been.

She looked around her.

She wasn’t standing on Black Tide Island. She would remember this stretch of beach anywhere, but these days it usually only appeared in her dreams because she could no longer actually go there anymore. In her dreams, where things were perfect and she could live as a twenty-something woman without the weight of the world on her shoulders.

There, the solar-powered lampposts that ringed the island. And there, the long cobblestone walkway where, once upon a time, armed men had attempted to rush only to be met at the other end by violence. The very same violence that she had orchestrated in a bid to keep the island.

But there were no bodies there now. No blood and no bullet casings to mark one long, bad night. And there were no beached vessels loaded with killers trying to kill her and her friends.

There was just…her, back on Song Island.

This is a dream.

It was in the way the wind caressed her cheeks, the warmth of the water against her feet. The sun shone brightly in a cloudless sky and it was all perfect, which was how she knew it wasn’t real. The closest she had ever come to perfection was here, on this place months ago, when she had someone to share it with.

What am I doing here?

She glimpsed a figure in the distance, walking toward her. He was so far
(How is he so far?)
that she couldn’t make out any details, but she knew it was a man by the shape of his shoulders. He was wearing slacks, the legs rolled up to his knees; a bright-colored Hawaiian shirt meshed perfectly with their surroundings.

Perfectly. There’s that word again.

She shielded her eyes to get a better look, but she already knew who it was before the man ever reached her. Even that didn’t make any sense because when she first saw him he appeared to be on the other side of the island, except now he was only twenty yards away.

Then ten…

Then stopping in front of her.

“Will,” she said, whispering his name as if she were afraid he would evaporate into nothingness if she said it too loudly.

He was the Will she remembered. A
human
Will. The one with the deep brown eyes that made her trust him back when they first met, even though she shouldn’t have trusted any man after what she had been through.

It was Will.

It was her Will.

She leaped into his arms and he grabbed her in a tight embrace. Then he was laughing when she pulled back and began kissing him on the forehead, on the nose, on the cheeks, on the lips. He kissed her back urgently, hands gripping her tightly. She ran her fingers through his hair—short, perfectly cut, as if he’d just come from the barber—and refused to let him go, too afraid he would leave her again if she did.

She didn’t know how long they stayed that way—hugging, kissing, laughing on the sand—but it had to be minutes. Maybe longer than that. She wasn’t sure because time felt slippery, as if days could go by and she’d never notice, or ever need to stop to eat and drink and sleep. Not while she had him back.

Which was how she knew it was a dream.

She pulled away but refused to let him go. Dream or not, he looked and felt and tasted
so real
that a part of her wanted desperately not to care, to just go with it; take everything she could get before it slipped away again.

But she didn’t listen to the voice because she wasn’t the same person she was when they first met. She had changed over the months since meeting him, since losing him, since…