No Mere Zombie: Deathless Book 2 (32 page)

Trevor yanked harder, but he could see the inevitable. The streaking hunk of metal was ahead and above them and falling to match their course. The only reason he could perceive it was because he’d blurred, slowing time around him. It streaked towards them and he watched in horror as it sheered off the plane’s right wing in a hail of fiery shrapnel and screeching metal.

His blur provided all the time in the world to study the explosion of fragments advancing on the cockpit. They’d puncture it, instantly equalizing pressure. Their forward momentum would war with the changing pressure to see if they were ejected, but no matter the outcome the plane was doomed.

“Grab onto something,” he roared, releasing his blur.
 

The cockpit shattered, peppering all of them with molten debris. Cyntia cried out in pain, but Irakesh endured it, face twisted into a rictus of rage. The deathless’s arm shook against the force of the wind as he forced it forward, seizing the back of Trevor’s chair. “We must secure the bomb.”

“This plane is going down. You can die with the bomb, but that won’t save it,” Trevor roared back over the howling wind. It pressed him back into his restraints, tossing him about as the plane fell end over end. They’d be very, very lucky to survive this and that wasn’t going to happen if they wasted precious seconds trying to recover the bomb. “You want to try for it? Go ahead. I’m saving my own ass.”

He waited for Irakesh to exert some sort of control, but the Deathless merely hissed at him and darted back through the doorway into the belly of the plane. Now that was interesting. Why hadn’t he ordered Trevor to accompany him? Maybe it meant his control wasn’t as ironclad as the deathless pretended.

Trevor undid his restraints and blurred again, seizing the lip of the shattered canopy. Shards of glass cut into his palm as he swung outwards, fighting the plane’s spin and the wind to get free of the dying aircraft. Then he was tumbling loose in the air, the plane’s wake hurling him into a frigid bank of clouds.
 

He lost sight of the plane until a rush of hot wind boiled away the cloud. It was accompanied by a sound louder than god’s name, heralding the inevitable destruction Trevor had just predicted. Wreckage stormed through the sky around him, a two-foot fragment of wing humming past his head. The plane had dissolved into thousands of fiery streaks, radiating in all directions like some macabre firework.

It covered hundreds of yards, probably a half mile or more. Trevor blurred again, feeling the drag as he reached deep into the well of power he'd accumulated from the sun. He scanned the sky, shrapnel slowing to a crawl with his enhances senses. There was Cyntia, incandescent and screaming as her fur and flesh burned. The howl hadn’t reached him yet, but he knew she was in utter agony. He wouldn’t wish that on any one, least of all her. Would she live? It might be better for her if she did not.

A flash of movement caught his attention. Nothing should be moving that fast during the blur. A patch of pulsing green energy undulated beneath him, little motes of red and black dancing within the cloud. What the hell was that? It must have been something Irakesh had done. The green energy was identical to the light they used, and it
felt
familiar.

Time sped up again as the blur sputtered out. Trevor had nothing left to give. He plummeted towards the dry brown landscape, Riverside’s
 
chrome-dotted desert stretching out between him. He’d die less than two hundred miles from San Diego. That was fitting somehow, coming home at last. At least there’d finally be an end to it.

Trevor gave in to the free fall, closing his eyes and stretching his arms and legs as the wind ripped at his clothing. It was an enormous relief. He’d feared the worst after Blair and Liz had failed, thought Irakesh was certain to win. He didn’t know what that would mean for the world, but he was certain it wouldn’t be good. Somehow a force powerful enough to nuke them from orbit had pinpointed their position.

How had Mohn known where to find them? That would have required satellites and there was no way they could have survived the CME. It would have fried every satellite in orbit, and if it was as large as the data suggested it would have fried anything on the moon as well. So how had Mohn just fired something from orbit?
 
It made no sense, unless they’d somehow created a satellite with some very potent magnetic shielding.

“Trevor,” a jagged voice thundered over the roar of the wind. He opened his eyes, shifting his flight to turn towards the speaker. The cloud of energy had matched his trajectory and speed exactly, pulsing just a few feet away. He could feel the power there, the enormous energy.
 

The ghostly outline of a face appeared, jagged fangs and neon eyes set into a mask of determination. “Trevor, you can save yourself, but you must listen very closely.”

He strained to listen, the words very nearly lost to the wind. Trevor sucked in a breath and roared back. “What do I do?”

“Turn over control to your Risen. I will show it how to do as I am doing, to become energy rather than matter,” he shouted back, moving closer to envelope Trevor. His skin tingled, but he ignored it. He reeled from the sudden knowledge. Irakesh would survive the fall. Should he let himself die, denying Irakesh one of his strongest tools? Or should he survive and try to break free?

Irakesh was so powerful and Trevor’s every attempt to resist had failed. Yet the logical part of him said that that would change eventually. Sooner or later he must be able to break free, as Irakesh had no doubt broken free from his former master. He closed his eyes, relaxing despite the rushing wind and the ground he knew was surging up at him.

I will tend to this.
The voice hissed in its oily drawl, back from wherever Irakesh had banished it.
Surrender and we will both survive and grow in knowledge. The power he offers will serve us well.

Trevor shuddered, though not from the frigid air around him. The devil within or the devil without. He made his decision, releasing conscious control over the situation. Something large shoved him down a deep well, black water pulling him under as the world disappeared.

Chapter 50- Excalibur

Liz now had a pretty good idea what a caged lion must feel like. She sat up on her bench, giving a small smile of satisfaction at the pile of torn straps on the ground next to the cool metal. It had taken her hours of struggling, but she’d had nothing else to vent her rage on and eventually the straps had torn loose. It was a small victory, but an important one. It meant she wasn’t powerless.

She glanced across the hall to the other cell, but Jordan hadn’t returned. They’d taken him last night, though where or why was a mystery. He’d given her a reassuring look and a shrug as the three soldiers had led him off. Had he been executed? Or was he being tortured?
Liz rose to her feet, pacing back in forth in the narrow confines of her cell.
 

There was movement down the hall. Liz pressed her face to the far corner of the glass, peering down as best she could. Two figures approached, one in a pressed black suit and starched white shirt. The other wore the black t-shirt and camo pants she was coming to know well. Jordan and the man he’d called The Director.
 

The Director’s hair was jet black streaked with white. Lines creased his weathered face, yet there was a solidity to him as he approached her cell. This was a man not easily deterred, one who pursued a goal no matter the odds or cost. One who’d orchestrated the occupation of the Ark and had destroyed Trevor’s home and possibly his life when he’d come after her and Blair back in San Diego.

He paused in front of her cell, cold eyes sizing her up as he rested a palm against the glass. She took a step back, trying not to look threatening. They’d never open the glass if they thought she was a threat. The area around his hand pulsed red and a narrow window oozed open somehow in the center of the glass. Not enough to escape through, but enough to get her arm around his neck if he was foolish enough to approach.

“Good morning, Ms. Gregg. My name is Mark Phillips and I’m the director of this facility,” he explained, his expression unreadable. He turned slightly and gestured at Jordan. “I’m given to understand that you’ve spent some time with the Commander. I’ve brought him as a show of good faith. Hopefully, that will engender at least a little trust.”

“That’s asking a lot,” Liz said, wishing that she could take the words back. She wasn’t very good at playing meek. She moderated her tone. “You’ve been trying to kill us for months. Because of you, the world is burning and the champions who should be protecting it were never created.”

“That’s hardly fair, Ms. Gregg,” The Director gave back, clasping his hands behind him. His calm was infuriating. “We caused neither the zombie nor werewolf virus. Those were set in motion in a distant past we’re struggling to understand. We did try to contain the spread of the werewolves, but much to our embarrassment we failed utterly. That said you have every right to your animosity. But you have to ask yourself, what’s best for the world right now? We can’t change the past.”

“So you’re what’s best for the world? The benevolent corporation helping to restore humanity,” Liz replied, her tone laced with venom. She took a step closer to the glass. “What is it you get from all this? A chance to rule the new world?”

“You’ve seen entirely too many movies, Ms. Gregg,” The Director said, smiling for the first time. He took a step closer, within easy reach if she wanted to seize him through the tiny window. He had to know that. “No corporation is benevolent. A corporate entity exists for one reason, to look after the interests of its shareholders. But that doesn’t mean we’re all soulless suits who dump oil in the gulf and rig elections. Mohn isn’t perfect, but we do have humanity’s best interest in mind. We want to help the world recover from the greatest calamity in living memory.”

“Let’s say I buy your bullshit,” Liz said, glancing at Jordan. His face betrayed the barest hint of concern, but she had no idea why. “What is it you want from me? I’m not interested in being your lab rat.”

“I’d like you to stop Irakesh,” The Director said, breaking eye contact as he glanced at the camera above him. He turned back to her. “My superior isn’t convinced that can be done, so I want to show him it’s possible. I need your help to do that.”

“Liz, he’s on the up and up. About this anyway,” Jordan broke in, joining The Director next to the window. “This would just be a simple training exercise. We’re not asking you to do anything that would compromise your safety or that of the team’s.”
 

The Director shot him a sharp glance after that last part, and she wasn’t surprised. The way he said ‘the team’ meant he still considered himself part of their pack.

“All right. I’ll play along for now,” she said, taking a step back from the glass. At the very least, the cooperation would get her out of this cell and might give her a chance to escape.

The Director placed his hand against the glass again. It flared red, then flowed into the ground like a curtain of ice melting. The Director gestured down the hallway, “Right this way, Ms. Gregg.”

“Where are we going?” she asked, resisting the urge to bolt as she stepped into the hallway. Jordan fell in behind them as she and The Director made their way past another pair of cells.

“Up two levels to a training room. I’ve got something special to show you, something that might provide an edge against Irakesh,” he answered, nodding at the guard who waited next to a thick steel door. The guard made no obvious move, but the door slid open. He eyed Liz warily, clutching his rifle as she passed. What had they been told?

They entered a wide hallway that led to an elevator. The walls were featureless grey, no decor beyond signs leading to a spiderweb of smaller hallways. The Director waved his hand in front of the panel next to the elevator, then turned to her as they waited. “What I’m about to tell you is known to only six people in the world. Well six surviving people, anyway. Not even the Commander had any inkling.”

The doors slid open with a hiss and The Director stepped into the elevator. He waited for her and Jordan to enter. Then he stabbed a button marked 19. The door slid shut and the elevator moved smoothly upward. “Mohn knew a catastrophe was coming on or around December 21, 2012. You’re familiar with that date?”

“Sure,” Jordan broke in, his scalp gleaming with sweat under his freshly shaved stubble. “Every crackpot X-Files fan knows that date. The world was supposed to end. We all thought it was horse shit, just like Y2k.”

“It marked the end of the Mayan calendar, didn’t it?” Liz asked.

“Yes, the end of their long count,” The Director affirmed. The elevator slid to a smooth stop and the doors opened. He stepped into a cavernous room lined with training mats. The walls were covered with an array of wicked-looking swords, axes and spears. Many were crudely shaped obsidian, though a few were more modern blades. “Nor were they the only culture to come to that conclusion. The Egyptians knew it, too. So did the ancient Chinese and the aborigines of Australia. They all predicted the same approximate date.
 

“It represents the beginning of the next age,” The Director explained, striding towards a raised dais at the far end of the room. Something golden glittered on top of it. He paused, waiting for them to follow. “The age that just began is called the Age of Aquarius. Your friend in the pyramid back in Peru went to sleep in the Age of Leo, so far as we can tell.”