No Mere Zombie: Deathless Book 2 (43 page)

“There you’re wrong,” Steve said, taking a step closer. He rested his hand on Blair’s arm. The touch was oily, but Blair didn’t pull away. “Investigating is a good idea. Bringing the key with you is not. Blair, we’ve been friends for a long time but I’ve got to level with you. You’ve been screwing up. Badly. How many times have we faced Irakesh and how many times have we won? First we lost Liz and Jordan, and now Bridget. I know you cared for her, Blair. If you had turned over the key, maybe she’d still be alive.”

A wave of guilt crashed over Blair, and he briefly considered giving over the key. Was that the right choice? Then the beast gave a low deep growl. There were no words, but the meaning was clear. Be wary.

His gaze snapped up to Steve, and understanding bloomed. This wasn’t the first time he’d felt the pressure at the base of his skull. Not the first time he’d doubted himself in the wallowing way the old Blair would have done. Each and every time it happened when Steve was talking. More specifically, when Steve was asking him to give up the key.

“You. Fucking. Bastard,” Blair snarled, lunging into a blur. He seized Steve by the neck, hurling him through the sliding glass door and into the side of the refrigerator with bone-crunching force. Steve slumped to the base of the fridge, shirt covered in blood and one rib poking out of the soft silk. “You’ve been shaping me the whole time, haven’t you?”

“How could you think that?” Steve rasped, coughing up a little blood. The rib disappeared back into the shirt with a pop. “We’re allies, Blair. I’m just being honest and you’re being paranoid.”

The tingling started at the base of Blair’s skull again, but this time he was prepared. He could see the faint spiderwebs of energy coming from Steve’s eyes, settling over him like a net. Blair concentrated and that net shattered into tendrils of light.

“Get up,” he roared, taking a step towards Steve’s crumpled form. “Fight, you deceitful fucking coward. I’m not falling for your bullshit, not this time.”

Steve looked sadly up at him, which didn’t surprise Blair in the slightest. He’d always used the lie-and-deny strategy, even after it was obvious that he’d been caught doing something wrong. This was no different.

“I’m not going to fight you, Blair,” he said, giving a sigh as he rose shakily to his feet. “I know you’re grieving over Bridget’s death, but-.”

Blair blurred, gliding forward and balling his fist. He punched Steve in the side of the head with so much force that it rebounded off the refrigerator. Then he picked Steve up and hurled him through the plate-glass window onto the deck outside. Blair stalked after him, looming over Steve’s shattered and bleeding form.

“You don’t get to say her name. Ever,” he growled, planting a foot on Steve’s back. “This is how we’re going to play things. I’m going to go investigate that plane. You’re going to wait here. If you try to flee I will hunt you down, and this time I’ll kill you Steve. No more discussion. No more bullshit arguments. I. Will. Kill. You. Do you understand me?”

The last words were breathed into Steve’s ear as he leaned down close enough to snap the bastard’s neck with his fangs.

“Fine,” Steve rasped, not resisting in any way.
 

“When I get back, we’ll discuss our next course of action, but make no mistake. We’re going after Irakesh and Cyntia. You’re going to help me,” Blair said, rising to his feet and stepping away from Steve’s body. “Am I making myself clear?”

“That’s suicide,” Steve said, flipping onto his back and glaring up at him. He’d dropped the mask of civility, and Blair could see the hatred in his eyes.
 

“That’s what you don’t understand, Steve,” Blair growled, baring his fangs. “You’re already dead. I should kill you right now, and if you don’t help me, I will. The only way you live through this is by redeeming yourself in the fight with Irakesh.”

He spun without waiting for an answer. Blair leapt, bouncing off the trunk of a redwood with a blur-enhanced kick. He landed on top of a house, gouging the roof with clawed feet as he bounded again.

It took several more such hops to cross Mill Valley and then another three to scale the mountain on the far side. Then he was looking down into San Rafael, a patchwork of forested hills broken up by residential neighborhoods. A sleek black jet had slowed and began a gradual descent. It was headed west, towards the oak dotted hills that lay between the highway and the coast. There must be a runway there.

Blair blurred, streaking down the hill to Highway 37. He followed it west, paralleling the plane’s course as best he could. It grew easier as he whipped down the road. The plane was slowing and he had a better idea of where it was going to put down. They’d entered a more sparsely populated area, with long driveways winding up hills. Some of them were flatter than others. One in particular was a good half mile of straight road heading up a gentle slope to a sprawling winery. That was it.

Blair blurred again, leaping to the top of a mighty oak. It provided an excellent vantage of the winery, just in time for the plane’s final descent. The military aircraft came down fast and hard, slamming onto the asphalt with a scream of rubber and a shower of sparks. The plane fishtailed, but the pilot was skilled and kept the craft from careening off the makeshift runway.

The stench of burnt rubber and jet fuel made his eyes water, but Blair held perfectly still as the plane rumbled to a halt in a cloud of dust near the rows of grape vines surrounding the villa. Moments later a small door behind the cockpit folded down to reveal three stairs. The first figure to emerge was shrouded in midnight body armor with an all-too-familiar M stenciled on the shoulder. Fucking Mohn. How did they always find him?

Then a second figure descended, her copper hair fluttering in the breeze as she reached the asphalt. It couldn’t be, but it was. Liz wore simple black fatigues with the hilt of a golden sword extending over her right shoulder. She looked every inch the warrior princess.

Blair dropped from the tree, trotting toward the plane. He made sure he was in full view, easy for the Mohn goons to spot so they didn’t panic when they saw a seven-foot werewolf approaching. Of course maybe that didn’t phase this lot, since they were letting Liz roam free. She cocked her head, then slowly spun to face him.

“Blair?” she called when he was perhaps twenty feet distant. Liz lit up, a brilliant smile slipping into place. She ran toward him and he crashed into her, shifting back to human form as he hoisted her into a wonderful hug.
 

“I can’t believe you’re alive. How did you get here?” Blair asked, setting her down and turning to half face her companion.

“We had help on the inside,” the man said, removing his helmet. It revealed Jordan’s familiar chiseled jaw, with his clear blue eyes and blonde stubble. “My old boss, actually. He was the only one to recognize the threat Irakesh poses, so he sent Liz and I to help you deal with the situation. Assuming it isn’t too late. We saw the Ark in the bay. I’m guessing that means he’s already inside?”

“Afraid so,” Blair admitted, joy souring as he remembered how dire the situation was. “He quite literally parted the sea and let Trevor and Cyntia inside. So far as I know they’re still there. I believe he’s gathering zombies on the Golden Gate Bridge, though I haven’t the faintest idea why.”

“So where are Bridget and Steve?” Liz asked, still wearing that brilliant smile.

“Steve’s waiting back at the mansion we confiscated in Mill Valley. Bridget’s dead,” He said, voice cracking.
 

Chapter 65- Director No More

“Come in,” Mark called, swirling his glass. He leaned back in the chair, feet propped atop his desk as he watched the door slide open.
 

A pair of black-clad soldiers in Kevlar were the first through, each leveling a submachine gun in his direction. They took positions at either side of the door, faces impassive as the Old Man stepped through behind them. He wore his usual black suit and matching tie, an armor of a different kind.

“That’s the second day in a row you’ve been drinking Scotch,” the Old Man said, taking a seat on the corner of Mark’s bed. The tone was conversational, but his eyes were deadly serious. “One might think you were losing your edge.”

“Or one could surmise that I’ve already accepted my fate and just want to enjoy myself a little before the end,” Mark shot back with an impudent smile. If he was going down, he’d at least tweak the Old Man’s nose a little.

“Why don’t you pour me one, as well?” the Old Man asked. Then he turned to the guards. “Leave us. I want some time alone with The Director.”

“Sir?” the soldier on the right said, raising an eyebrow. The Old Man’s gaze tightened, and the soldier hurried from the room. His companion was only a half-step behind.
 

The Old Man waited until the door slid shut before turning back to Mark. He waited patiently as Mark poured a second glass and handed it to him. “You’ve put me in a difficult position, Mark. Disobeyed a direct order that the entire senior staff witnessed. Freed prisoners who killed one man and wounded eleven others, then stole a very expensive aircraft. All with your direct authorization.”

“You left out the part about arming Ms. Gregg with Object 2,” Mark interjected, savoring a sip as he smiled at the Old Man. “I could probably add about another two dozen infractions you’re probably unaware even exist.”

“This attitude isn’t like you, Mark,” the Old Man said, heaving a heavy sigh. “What happened between us? Where was it exactly that I lost your trust?”

“You lost it the moment you cut me out of the loop, the very instant you started placing calls to London without telling me,” Mark said, slamming a fist against the desk as he leaned towards Mohn. “That made it abundantly clear just how little you trusted me. Then you revealed that you worked for one of these immortals. I know you made noises about betraying them and saving humanity, but I don’t buy that crap. Your soul was bought and paid for long before I was born.”

“Astute to the end,” the Old Man said, downing the contents of his glass in a single swallow. “You’re right that I never intended to betray my master. It was an expedient lie, because I have no way of convincing you that serving Usir is the single best thing we can do for humanity. The only way our species survives the coming war.”

“My god, you actually believe that,” Mark said, setting his glass on the desk. “You don’t see this as selling out the human race, do you?”

“Of course not,” the Old Man replied, setting his own glass on the floor next to the bed. He withdrew the pendant from under his shirt. The ruby blazed, bathing the room scarlet. “It’s a pity, really. The actions you’ve taken are misguided, but they come from a desire to help your fellow man. I recognize that, Mark, though clearly I can’t condone them.”

“Are you going to kill me with that thing?” Mark asked, nodding at the pendant.

“Goodness no,” the Old Man said, giving a coarse laugh. “Quite the contrary. I have important plans for you, Mark. Very soon, you’ll begin to see things my way, once I introduce you to my master.”

The ruby flared, its light painfully bright.
 

Chapter 66- Final Preparations

Irakesh was dimly aware of his body’s primal response to immediate life-threatening circumstances, a vestigial reminder of his mortal beginnings. But he wasn’t a mortal any longer. The wall of water bordering the pyramid was thick and dark, alive with tiny shapes darting back and forth. The weight alone could crush a man, and if it did not the cold and lack of oxygen would finish the grim work. Again, if he were mortal.

Yet he need fear none of that. Not because he was deathless, but because he was master of this place. The ruler of an entire Ark, something only a handful could boast even in his own time. After so many millennia he was finally an Ark Lord.

Not a drop of that water pierced the Ark’s protective field, though he knew it could not be sustained forever. The sun was yet weak and did not provide enough strength to charge the Ark. Given time the shield would drain the little power remaining and water would flood the inner chambers. Jes’ka would die, never having known the wonders of this strange new age.
 

A predatory grin spread across Irakesh’s face. Very soon now power would cease to be a concern. He would finally be a god, an equal to his mother. He turned to Cyntia, who crouched behind him with the silver box cradled in her arms like offspring she planned to whelp. Trevor stood behind her, eyes narrowed and aflame with hatred he no longer bothered to hide. That one was fast becoming a liability.
 

Yet Irakesh needed him for the coming battle. If he were honest he’d admit he needed him for more than that. What point being a god if you had no one to talk to? It saddened him that Trevor would die today. The final compulsion he had laid would see to that.
 

For so long he had suppressed the Risen, allowing Irakesh a direct conduit into the part of Trevor’s mind it would normally occupy. Every time Trevor struggled Irakesh had to actively use his own will to stop him. The method was potent because Irakesh was stronger and thus always won. Yet if a struggle came during a critical moment Irakesh would be vulnerable. Such a link terrified him. Its very creation was abhorrent, because it had meant being constantly at risk for the first time in his life. The bond had been necessary to teach Trevor that struggle was futile. He simply could not win, could be made to go against even his most core beliefs. Kill friends or family at Irakesh’s whim, powerless to stop himself from committing such vile acts.