No Mere Zombie: Deathless Book 2 (31 page)

“Your stated business, sir,” the soldier standing beyond the door said, his ML-44 submachine gun leveled at the Director’s gut. The weapon could belch a dozen rounds in under a second, each smart bullet homing in on a different vital organ. This too was a precaution he’d instated.
 

“I’m heading to cell F-4 on this block for a documented prisoner interaction,” he explained, choosing his words deliberately. The guard raised a quizzical eye at the last one.

If he’d said interrogation that would have made sense, since that was how Mohn dealt with enemy combatants. But Mark had said interaction, which was voluntary on the part of the subject. It was more of a visit, and less an interrogation.

"Yes, sir,” the guard said, snapping the weapon into a ready position and stepping out of his way. The beefy man’s Kevlar covered vital organs, while molded pads did the same for knees and elbows. Protecting the joints was vital. They were an easily exploited weakness.

“The estimated duration of the interaction is eight to ten minutes,” The Director said, pausing to stare directly into the guard’s eyes. The man had missed a question. That sort of thing led to incomplete data and that too could be exploited. “We don’t break protocol this far down, corporal. Ever. I don’t care if Leif Mohn himself comes down here. You
always
ask every question. Is that clear?”

"Yes, sir. It won’t happen again,” the man said. Was he actually blushing? Who’d assigned this fool?
 

Mark swept past the guard, passing the first two cells. Each sat behind two-inch plexiplate glass, a fun substance a subsidiary in Berlin had invented. It redirected kinetic and thermic energy throughout the entire pane, so long as it received a constant low-level charge. It made them almost unbreakable, something that was coming in very handy since the end of the world.
 

The Director paused at the next set of cells, both of which were occupied. He began with F3, studying the woman who’d wreaked so much havoc in San Diego. She was an unassuming 5’8” with copper hair and a smattering of freckles on pale skin. Pretty. The type of girl who didn’t usually get her nails done.

The straps on the bench bound her, further reinforcing the image of the helpless woman and the mercy of the evil corporation. Oh how the media would have a field day with it, if they’d survived the apocalypse and then somehow pierced Mohn’s security.

She was a problem, but one he couldn’t deal with just yet. He turned to face F4, the reason why he’d come all the way down here. The Director wasn’t surprised to find that Jordan had somehow found a way out of his restraints. He’d been a formidable operative before he’d become what R&D were now calling Homo Lupinus.
 

The Director placed his hand against the plexiplate. It flared red, then an opening roughly the size of a dinner plate melted into the center. "Hello, Jordan. I’m glad to see you’re still alive. We feared the worst when you didn’t report in. For weeks.”

“There were extenuating circumstances,” Jordan said, flipping a leg up on the bench and leaning back against the wall. “You already know what I am. I wasn’t sure I’d be welcomed back into the fold after what you did to Steve back in Peru. He’s still alive, by the way. Used shaping to make us think he was dead.”

“You’re well aware that what happened with Doctor Galk was a necessary field test,” Mark shot back, ignoring the bit about Steve being alive. He wouldn’t be distracted. The Director leaned in, spearing Jordan with his gaze. “You could have contacted us at any time using your sat link. It was found in your pack when you were captured. You defected, Jordan, and that’s exactly how the Old Man will see it. How do you suggest I explain that? If you can’t be trusted the only use you serve is in the lab.”

“Don’t,” Jordan said. Mark watched the man’s gaze move over his left shoulder, where he knew the camera sat. “We’re being recorded. Let this serve as an explanation. There’s a lot to fill you in on. Take an informal report and let the Old Man see it. If he’s going to damn me, let him damn me. I have nothing to hide.”

“It’s your funeral,” Mark said, eyeing the camera before turning back to Jordan. “We know what happened up to the moment Yuri left the pyramid. I presume you allowed subject alpha to successfully infiltrate the structure and wake his target?”

“I failed to anticipate their avenue of attack, because they demonstrated abilities we hadn’t seen. Blair altered his appearance to mimic our personnel. By the time we realized what was happening, they were already inside,” Jordan explained, not trying to hide from the blame but simply explaining circumstances. It was interesting that he’d called subject alpha by name. “They cut down our guards. We pursued in the X-11’s, but they held us off long enough for Blair to get inside. He woke the Mother.
 
She tore me apart and slaughtered every last man under my command. It was violence on a scale I’ve never seen. The carnage was … impressive.”

“So you woke up as one of these things and the other werewolves just accepted you as one of their own?” The Director asked, genuinely interested now. He was about to have one of the most troubling gaps in his data filled, and if the Old Man accepted those answers he might just get his best operative back.
 

The latter was critical, especially given that Jordan was much more powerful now. The more Mark learned about the Old Man the less he trusted him. If a battle was coming, Jordan could be the game piece that delivered the checkmate.

“More or less. They didn’t entirely trust me, but the whole zombie apocalypse thing caught us all off guard. It made sense to work with them to try to save who and what we could,” Jordan explained with a shrug. “I joined and we started clearing zombies. Werewolves, champions we call ourselves, are very good at it.”

“So that’s why the werewolf plague was released? To combat the zombies?” The Director said, already deeply troubled by the probable answers. He’d had plenty of time to consider the situation and already suspected what Jordan was now confirming. They’d been blind to the facts and had seriously curtailed the spread of the werewolves, thereby ceding most of the world to the zombies.

“Yes, sir. The woman who woke helped design both. She wasn’t very forthcoming, but I gather that she was atoning for what she felt was a mistake,” Jordan explained, toying absently with one of the straps. “A bad mistake. The zombies aren’t the worst of it, sir. They evolve into some pretty nasty varieties, but even they can be contained.”

“There’s something worse?” The Director asked, bracing himself for yet another hammer blow.

“Yes, sir. The zombies evolve as they eat. Some eventually gain intelligence and their own type of abilities to go along with them,” Jordan explained. He rose from the bench and approached the gap in the glass. “The Mother wasn’t the only thing we woke up. The evolved zombies are called deathless. They’re very much like vampires, but not the sparkly kind from shitty movies. The brutality and ferocity is like nothing I’ve ever seen. One of those deathless was asleep inside the Ark. I believe he’s the single biggest threat the world has ever faced.”

The Director considered Jordan’s words. Ark. The Mother. Deathless. It was a whole new lexicon, one Jordan was obviously very comfortable with. He’d changed more than just physically. Was he still capable of being a part of Mohn, or had he gone native?

“Explain,” he demanded.

“His name is Irakesh. He has abilities even the werewolves had a hard time dealing with. He’s ancient, cunning and a canny strategist. He’s got military training, though no military we’d know,” Jordan answered, expression hard. The Director sensed a lot more anger there than he expected. “We fought him at the Panama air base. Yuri’s unit arrived just as Irakesh left with one of our planes. The one holding the package you sent to Peru.”

“You’re telling me that this deathless has one of our nukes?”
 

"Yes, sir,” Jordan replied, breaking eye contact. Another anomaly. He was embarrassed. That took Mark aback.

The Director fished his smartphone from his pocket, swiping to wake it. He opened a call to Ops, “Benson, are we still tracking the rogue bird heading north from Panama?”

"Yes, sir,” she answered. He was quickly coming to rely on her. She too would play an important role if he needed to take a stand against the Old Man. “It’s over southern California. East of Los Angeles.”

“Do we have a lock?” he asked, meeting Jordan’s gaze.

"Yes, sir, target is locked,” the tech answered. He could tell she wanted to add more. She knew the cargo the plane was carrying.

“Use the Skyhammer. Take it out,” he ordered.

Chapter 49- Gotcha

Trevor engaged the autopilot, releasing his death grip on the controls as he waited to see what the plane would do. It continued a steady course, the yoke unmoving as it roared through the sky. “It worked. The plane will fly itself on the course I’ve locked in. It can’t land or take any sort of evasive action, but we should be safe at this altitude. It’s not like there are any other planes to run into.”

“You continue to impress,” Cyntia purred, running a finger along his shoulder from her place in the co-pilot’s seat. She’d returned to her human form, but the corruption was visible even there. Her once shiny blonde hair was dull and limp, her dark skin cracked and peeling.
 

Trevor’s emotions had been muted since the change, but even now his heart went out to her. This was a woman he could have fallen for, were he still alive and she not falling deeper under Irakesh’s influence. He turned to face her, aiming his tone at neutral.

“I’m going to go speak with Irakesh. Would you mind keeping an eye on things? I’d feel better having someone up here. I don’t trust the autopilot just yet,” Trevor asked, unbuckling his harness and rising to his feet. It was a lie, but one he hoped she’d accept. She seemed to like it when he asked her to do things, and he found it increasingly difficult to be around her.

“Of course,” she said, shifting to provide a view of more than ample cleavage in her blood spattered tube top. “If anything happens, I will come for you. Do not be long. I worry when you are alone with Irakesh. I do not trust him.”

“Uh, sure. I’ll try to make it quick,” he said, pulling the heavy metal handle and popping the door open. He stepped through and closed the hatch behind him, heaving a mental sigh of relief.
 

The hum of the engines was muted as he strode through the belly of the plane. It was domed with a cargo net above and wide rubberized tiles lining the floor. A huge chrome box sat in the center, covered in bold red warning labels. A nuclear weapon. Something that belonged in a bad Bruce Willis flick. Of course given what he’d become that shiny box was the most normal thing he’d seen all day.

“Yes, Trevor?” Irakesh said. Trevor scanned the room, but there was no sign of the deathless. He must be cloaked in shadows. Perhaps near the back of the room? That’s where most of the books his unwelcome master had accumulated.

“Our fuel is down to twenty percent, about three more hours. We’re going to have to set down soon. I need a destination,” he explained, walking towards the rear of the plane. He kept his tone even and his back straight. He’d be damned if he showed Irakesh how nervous he was.

“Head north and stay near the coast,” Irakesh demanded, finally emerging from the shadows. He was in the corner where Trevor had assumed, still wearing the pristine white garments so out of place on such a monster. They contrasted sharply with his dark skin. “I don’t know where exactly, but I will feel it when we get close.”

“How do you not know where it is?” Trevor asked, glancing at the nuke. Irakesh was a planner. It seemed so odd for him to leave something like this to chance.

“The land has changed much since my time,” Irakesh admitted, running a clawed hand along his ebony scalp, utterly hairless save for thick dark eyebrows. “Back then the oceans were much lower. The world was colder. The entire coastline I knew is under water and I have never been to the Ark of the Redwood. I only have rough maps from my mother’s Ark. Not much use, I’m afraid.”

Trevor was stunned. It was as straightforward an answer as Irakesh had ever given, and it revealed more about his past than anything else he’d said.
 

The door behind Trevor groaned open. He turned to see Cyntia stepping through, lips pursed. “Trevor, there is a strange light blinking on the console. It seems urgent. What should I do?”

“Deal with it,” Irakesh ordered, waving a hand casually towards the cockpit. “I have much to think on. Let me know when we are nearing the end of our fuel. I will tell you when-.”

A klaxon sounded from the cockpit, one reminiscent of the air raid sirens from the 50s. The dim lights running along twin tracks suddenly flashed red. Trevor spun, blurring into the cockpit and back into his seat. He studied the readout beneath the red button. Proximity alert.

“Something’s locked onto us. It’s coming from above and it’s dropping fast,” he yelled over his shoulder to the belly of the plane. “Grab onto something.”

He toggled off the autopilot, jerking the yoke to the right. The plane veered, but changing the direction of that much mass took time. Time they didn’t have. From above he could see something twinkle, then it streaked into view like some wrathful star. It was a huge chunk of metal, glowing red from re-entry. A detached part of his mind identified it as something he’d read about in sci-fi books. All you had to do was position a huge chunk of metal in orbit. Release it over your target and gravity did the rest, obliterating it with the force of a many kiloton bomb. Your own personal meteor.