No Mere Zombie: Deathless Book 2 (45 page)

Steve blurred into a crouch well behind the group, at the edge of the animosity emanating from Jordan and Liz. His midnight fur ruffled in the wind, amber eyes dangerous. It was exactly the sort of look grad student Bridget would have sidled up against, but warrior Bridget would have found disgusting. She’d changed so much in the time he’d known her, become great by the end. Blair clad himself in her loss.

“Jordan, you’re the tactical expert,” Liz rumbled from the shadows. “How do you want to do this?”

“There are a lot of unknowns, so we’ll have to be fluid,” Jordan said, still eyeing Steve with scorn. “We’ll send Blair in as bait. He'll head straight for the bomb. Either Trevor or Cyntia will attack him, maybe both. When that happens, I engage Trevor and Liz engages Cyntia. At that point, Irakesh may choose to engage. If he does, that’s when Steve makes his move. You attack Irakesh. We finish off our respective opponents and help you finish up yours.”

“That’s acceptable,” was all Steve gave back.

“What about Yuri?” Blair asked. He eyed the craft, trying to figure out what the best use might be.

“Yuri will use the fog to hide a strafing run,” Jordan replied, gaze growing distant as he spoke. It was a familiar look, but one he’d never seen on Jordan’s face. He was touching Yuri’s mind. Blair was astonished. Yet proud. “He’ll focus on the pile of zombies, knocking off as many as possible.”

“Doesn’t that mean firing a machine gun at a nuclear bomb? Are we that stupid now?” Liz’s voice came from over Blair’s shoulder this time. He could almost picture furry hands on her hips.

“The casing was designed to be carried in an airplane,” Jordan replied dryly in Liz’s direction. “It can withstand a fall from several thousand feet. Crashing. In a plane. A fifty caliber bullet might knock it off the bridge, but it won’t detonate it. The best thing that could happen right now is for that bomb to end up on the bottom of the bay. If it’s not armed he won’t be able to use it, and if it is I’ll take any protection I can get before it detonates.”

“Can’t we disarm it somehow?” Steve asked, taking a step closer. He was still in a crouch, just below the rise shielding them from the bridge.
 

“This isn’t a movie, Steve,” Jordan growled. His hands tightened around the body of his rifle, fat black scope affixed to the barrel. “You don’t arm a nuke unless you’re planning to detonate it. If he’s armed the thing a chemical reaction has already started and that thing is going to blow up in the next half hour or so. Nothing we can do about it.”

“Shit,” was all Blair could muster. “Let’s hope he hasn’t armed it. The guy is obsessed with power. I can’t imagine him blowing himself up or even risking the possibility.”

“One way to find out,” Jordan said, stepping to the crest of the ridge. He was in plain view for anyone looking up from the bridge. “Liz, if we’re going to do this, we need to do it now.”

“Then let’s do it,” Liz growled, hands balling into fists as she joined Jordan on the ridge.

Jordan’s eyes took on that glassy look for a moment, then Yuri’s strange craft accelerated up over the ridge with a high-pitched whine. It hugged the hillside, dropping low along the grass as it zoomed towards the bridge. It was still nearly a mile distant when the gun slung under the cockpit began to spin. A hail of bright streaks lanced into the mountain of corpses, flinging body parts in all directions as they bored through flesh more efficiently than any drill.
 

Blair blurred down the hillside, vaulting a boulder and landing near the tunnel entrance leading further north into Marin. The vista point, where countless tourists had snapped photos of the Golden Gate Bridge, was deserted, with not a single car or even a zombie. The latter were all on the bridge. Blair took his bearings and then knelt to blur again. He stopped when he spotted movement on top of one of the bridge’s arches. A figure drew a rifle to bear, sighting down a scope towards Yuri. He could make out a shock of almost orange hair and a battered camouflage jacket. The rifle bucked and a gout of flame erupted from the muzzle.

There was a scream of metal as the front rotor of Yuri’s craft exploded. It spun wildly out of control, careening away from the bridge towards the Marin side. A second shot punched through the cockpit, shattering the glass just before the copter slammed into the side of the hill. Blair winced, expecting a Michael Bay-style explosion. There wasn’t any, just a scream of metal as the frame buckled and slid out of sight.

Blair couldn’t see what happened to Yuri and didn’t have time to find out. He blurred into motion, leaping on top of one of the cables and running up it until he neared the middle of the bridge. It amazed him how quickly he crossed the distance, wind tugging at his fur as he entered the mist. Then he leapt, falling towards the mound of bodies.

It had diminished considerably after Yuri’s attack, but still rose a good twenty feet. His feet sank into the shattered ribcage of an obese man, cushioning his fall. Blair rolled backwards, landing at the base of the mound. Then he began to hurl body parts away as he tunneled towards where he hoped the bomb lay.

Chapter 68- Jordan Versus Gregg

Jordan’s eyes narrowed as he spotted movement on top of the bridge. For a long moment there was nothing, but suddenly a figure appeared with a rifle. God damned shadow dancers. He couldn’t make out the model, but that gun was large enough to give a tank pause. He already knew who held it; the red hair was unmistakable. Jordan winced as it fired, the gout of flame from the muzzle visible a split second before the thunder cracked over the bay. Damn but that thing was loud.

Fiery fragments exploded from Yuri’s craft, sending it into a tailspin. Jordan desperately wanted to intervene, but forced himself to adhere to the rules of the engagement he himself had crafted. Instead he drew the stock of his own rifle to his shoulder. The Mohn crafted weapon was state of the art, heavy but reliable. He sighted through the large scope, settling the crosshairs over Trevor’s chest. Then he stroked the trigger.

The rifle roared, kicking back against his shoulder like a bucking horse. He raised his chin, relying on his normal vision to ascertain the damage. Trevor had vanished, but the shot had done some damage. The pylon where he’d been standing was drenched in blood, and the rifle he’d been holding plummeted into the mist.

At least Jordan had disarmed him, but that created its own set of problems. Blair was blurring his way onto the bridge and approaching the pile of corpses. If Trevor ambushed him it would be at close range now, and Jordan couldn’t react quickly enough. He needed to get closer. It meant deviating from the plan, but he had to gamble that Trevor would see him as a threat and engage if given the chance.

Jordan blurred towards the bridge, shifting as he moved. By the time he reached the base of the bridge he was in full wolf form, eight feet of solid muscle and sharp teeth. He sprinted up one of the wide orange cables, vaulting over the hurdle-like obstructions every ten feet. In moments he’d risen into the mist, finally on even footing with Trevor. Neither one of them could see in this thick soup. Yet he couldn’t take advantage of stealth. He needed to be bait, to get Trevor to engage rather than attack Blair from the shadows.

He continued his blur until he emerged from the mist, surrounded by the acrid tang of wet metal and new blood. He wiped the damp from the fur around his eyes, scanning the immediate area. There was no way he could detect Trevor, but it didn’t stop him from looking. It was possible Trevor had dropped below the mist and was engaging Blair even now, but Jordan doubted it. That would have meant abandoning the high ground and Trevor was too canny for that.

Pain flared in his back as Trevor’s claws bit through the mesh. The armor muted the blow, or he might have had his spine ripped out. Instead it simply knocked him forward into the narrow rope-like cables that paralleled the much larger one he’d run up. He spun quickly, but Trevor had already disappeared back into the shadows.

“I’m sorry, Jordan, about Panama. You’re one of the good guys now. I see that. You have to put me down if you want to stop Irakesh,” Trevor said from somewhere slightly below him. Right where the mists shrouded the wide cable.
 

Was that some attempt at a trick? Not at all what he’d expect from previous encounters. Trevor was smarter than that.
 

“Oh I will, you ginger bastard,” Jordan growled. He flipped to his feet, ripping his .357 from its holster and squeezing off two rounds in the direction of the voice. The cracks were deafening, but he would have heard something if they’d struck home. Dammit. Where was the bastard? He had no choice but to wait for Trevor to engage. Maybe meeting him up here had been a bad idea. Maybe he should have waited for Trevor to attack Blair, but after what he’d done to Yuri Jordan couldn’t wait any longer.

“Not like that, you won’t,” the voice was behind him again. Something struck him in the back of the knees, sending him tumbling from the main cable. Jordan blurred, just barely catching one of the thin ropey cables. He used that to haul himself up, landing in a crouch on the main cable again. Why hadn’t Trevor used the opportunity to finish him?
 

“What are you playing at, Trevor?” Jordan growled, not really expecting an answer.

“Irakesh is controlling me and I can’t stop him, but that doesn’t mean I want this. If you want to kill Irakesh you have to deal with me first,” the voice was above him. Jordan looked up, but too late. Trevor fell on him like a comet, claws raking his armor and the weight of the deathless driving him into the cable. It was all Jordan could do to hold on, to keep from plummeting into the mist.

Jordan opened his jaw and lunged, but Trevor was quick. He ducked out of the way and Jordan’s teeth snapped shut mere inches from his throat. Then Trevor’s claws slashed at Jordan’s throat, tearing open the jugular. Jordan reached up to swat Trevor off, but the deathless batted the blow aside.

“You can’t win if you can’t find me. You need an answer to my shadow walking,” Trevor said, tone maddeningly friendly, as if they were old colleagues discussing a paper. Jordan had had enough of being taunted. Enough of watching friends die and seeing the world burn.
 

“How about fuck you? How’s that for an answer?” Jordan roared. He summoned the strange new power he’d discovered, this telekinesis the beast had told him about. He seized Trevor in an invisible grip, yanking him from the cable and hurling him out over the ocean. He jerked up his .357 and emptied three rounds into Trevor’s face, sending out a shower of gore. “Hope you can fly, motherfucker.”

Trevor’s body arced slowly towards the water, but then something incredible happened. His body became vague and hazy, slowly becoming insubstantial as he melted into a cloud of green mist.

“Are you
serious
?” Jordan roared. The bastard
could
fly.

Chapter 69- Vengeance

Liz danced the shadows, sprinting along the rocky embankment and onto the wide concrete that led to the Golden Gate Bridge. She’d never lived in the Bay Area, but had crossed the bridge several times growing up. It was breathtaking, even given the situation. A modern marvel of architectural brilliance. One that might well hold the fate of the Western Hemisphere. Yet the entire structure seemed tiny next to the massive pyramid now dominating the bay near Angel Island.

She shifted her attention to the throng of undead, their bodies clogging every visible space on the bridge. The stench was awful, the sight grisly even after all she’d witnessed. She briefly considered her options. Move along the railing or take to the wide suspension cables that led up into the mist?
 

A howl split the dusk, drawing her gaze to the center of the bridge. Blair stood at the mound of bodies, arms drenched in gore as he let loose his anger and loss. It was beautiful and terrifying, a challenge if ever she’d heard one. A challenge that was answered. Cyntia’s towering blonde form burst from the shadows behind Blair, looming like a linebacker over a grade schooler.
 

Yet somehow he dodged her first attack, her claws rending the air where he’d been standing. One moment he was there, the next standing atop her shoulders. His claws plunged into her neck so quickly Liz couldn’t discern individual movement. Blood spurted skyward, drenching his face and painting him with a fiendish brush. Even at this distance her enhanced vision let her see the unbridled rage consuming his features. He snarled like a beast as he continued his assault.

Cyntia reacted quickly, arms jerking upwards as she sought to grab him. Blair was too quick. He rolled backwards, landing in a crouch near Cyntia. He darted in, jabbing her in the gut with several strikes. Cyntia roared in pain and rage, bull-rushing Blair. This time she had more success, knocking Blair from his feet and coming down on top of him.

“No,” Liz cried, the word freeing her from inaction. She leapt forward, bounding from corpse to corpse as she used the zombies like some unstable road. She had to reach Blair.

Thunder rolled from the mist above. No, something louder than thunder. That was a gun being fired. A pistol, like her brother’s .357. Jordan had found Trevor. Or Trevor had found Jordan. She froze at the base of the bridge’s first pylon, a massive copper spire shooting into the mist on either side of the four-lane charnel house just below her perch on the railing. She glanced upwards, part of her dying as she considered her options.

She could see Trevor, speak to him for the first time since she’d lost him. Maybe she could make him see reason. Make him join their side. If that wasn’t possible, if the unthinkable must be done, shouldn’t it be her that did it? She owed him that much. But there was Blair, embroiled in a fight he couldn’t win without her. It filled her with nausea in the way the stench of the dead never could.