No Mere Zombie: Deathless Book 2 (7 page)

“You’re right,” Blair admitted, surprising himself. He picked up the packet of stroganoff by the top edges and carried it to the table. “Bridget is bad news. I know that."

Cyntia stopped, turning slowly to face him. She gestured with a fistful of plastic spoons. “Then you have no business cavorting with her. She is a harlot. You should tell her you will never be with her again.”

Realization struck like a bolt of lightning. He’d never told Bridget to leave. Or even to leave him alone. He’d accepted, even welcomed the attention. Why? It wasn’t fair unless he wanted to get back together with her. Did he?

“Stroganoff again?” Jordan boomed as he strode into the chamber. He was almost as menacing in human form, all muscle and stubble. “What I wouldn't give for a sixteen-ounce cut of prime rib.”

“You are a stupid man too, Aaron Jordan,” Cyntia said, a grin slipping into place. She sat languidly at the table, placing the last spoon next to her bowl. “But you are very easy on the eyes. Not so easy as Trevor, but he would not mind me looking, I think.”

“There you go again,” Jordan said, sliding his massive frame onto the bench across from Cyntia. He shook his head, giving her a warm smile. “You’re a passable soldier, but you’re not at all my type.”

“Stroganoff again?” Liz said, striding into the room with the grace of a panther. She really was beautiful, in a wholly different way than Bridget. Liz’s long copper hair was more honest, her sapphire gaze something he could imagine waking up to. That said nothing of her figure, even wrapped in the baggy green fatigues that Mohn had unintentionally provided. She was a lot taller, almost eye level. That had really grown on him.

Bridget strolled in afterwards. She darted Blair a shy smile, then quickly looked away.

“Yes, it is just about ready. Sit and I will serve you,” Cyntia said. She took the role of hostess very seriously, something that could almost never be said of her. She popped open the packet, using a large plastic spoon to ladle the steaming stroganoff into bowls. It smelled heavenly despite being freeze dried, but it didn't satisfy the primal urge for meat that he'd been saddled with since his transformation.

Liz and Bridget dropped onto the bench next to Jordan, so Blair slid in next to Cyntia. He picked up his spoon, but it would be several minutes before the food was cool enough to eat. “It’s been a week now. I wonder what things are like back in the states.”

“Bad,” Jordan said. He shoveled a spoonful of stroganoff into his mouth. “Oww. Hot. Yeah, it will be bad. The power would have gone out even without the second wave. It takes people to run power plants and zombies would have made that impossible. So you’ve got isolated groups everywhere because no one can communicate. Food will be a serious issue. So will medicine. Not to mention the zombies themselves.”

“I could have told you that. I watched
The Walking Dead
, too,” Bridget said with a little smirk.
 

“The writers of that show were wise men,” Jordan replied, shoveling a second spoonful.

“I have to wonder how far the werewolves have spread,” Blair added. He took his first tentative bite. Still hot, but good. “Peru was the epicenter and we still have problems with zombies. There were less werewolves in the United States, especially the east coast. They’ve got to be in bad shape.”

A figure glided into the room, snuffing the conversation like a candle. The Mother had returned. Her ivory garments were spattered with blood but were otherwise undamaged. He still hadn’t figured out how she shifted with her clothes. Was it the garment or some power? A waterfall of silver locks flowed down deceptively delicate shoulders, framing an oval face set with emerald eyes. She was both breathtaking and otherworldly.
 

“You still insist on eating that goop,” she snorted, sitting cross-legged on the bench next to Blair. She slapped a haunch of meat from what he guessed might be a goat on the table before her. “We are carnivores. We eat meat. You need to hunt.”
 

She seized the haunch with both hands, ripping off a mouthful and chewing blissfully as the rest of them gazed on in a mixture of horror and jealousy. His stomach rumbled.

She opened her eyes and blinked twice. “Why are you staring at me?”

“It’s not important,” Blair interjected, surprised again at the vast gulf between the Mother’s culture and their own world. “We found survivors in Cajamarca and did our best to set up a sanctuary for them. While we were there we ran into something strange. Zombies that were faster and stronger than the others. A more evolved version of the walkers.”

“Evolved,” the Mother replied, cocking her head as if tasting the word. She picked a piece of fat from between her teeth before continuing. “That doesn’t quite fit. They have fed upon the flesh of others, which gives them strength. The more they feed, the stronger and smarter they become. This is why they were a more challenging opponent than the shamblers you first encountered."

“How large can they get?” Liz asked.

“I’ve seen a deathless 30 spans high, this one a primate from the Cradle. It took Ra two millennia to grow it and me another six to destroy it,” she said. Blair’s jaw dropped at the cavalier way she discussed such a time span.

“Mother, I know this might be rude but how old are you?” he asked, bracing himself for a possible explosion.

“I have seen the length of an entire longest count, roughly twenty-four millennia,” she said, continuing her meal.

Blair wasn’t the only amazed face. “We must be like children to you. The oldest living human is barely a century. Our entire recorded history is around five thousand years. You’ve seen nearly five times that amount of time.”

“Not truly,” the Mother replied between mouthfuls of raw meat. “I was only awake for eleven millennia. I slept for thirteen between ages, when the sun was dim and cold. But enough of me. Tell me more of your journey. You say you’ve helped these survivors find sanctuary? How many are there?”

“We only located a handful, but there are almost certainly others,” Liz interjected, eyeing the Mother as she waved steam away from her bowl. “We wanted to stay and find more, but you insisted we return. I’m still not sure I agree with that. We should be out there protecting people, but instead we’re back here relaxing.”

“I understand your feelings,” the Mother said, heaving a sigh. She stopped eating and divided her attention among them. “You want to protect and that is to the good, but you must learn to take a longer view. I’m afraid I
do
see you as children, though there is no insult in that. You think in years or perhaps in decades. I ruled this continent and the one to the north for sixty centuries, and spent another fifty in the land you call Africa. I have learned the ugly patterns of our race. The people in this city are important, but not nearly so important as your learning to hone your abilities. I cannot risk you being overwhelmed when you are untrained. That is why I needed you to return, why you are not there protecting those who cannot protect themselves.

“Fear not, though. On the morrow we will return to Cajamarca and I will create champions from those willing,” the Mother explained. “They will help protect the city as you watch over this Ark.”

“Can’t you watch over the Ark?” Bridget asked, eyeing the Mother sidelong. “I mean, you’re stronger than all of us. We could help the city while you protect this place.”

“Would that I could,” she said, heaving another sigh. “The central chamber is damaged nearly beyond repair. I must create new control rods and I can find the material I need in only one place. There is an island to the east, far out to sea. I must find a ship and journey there to obtain the stone. We will need the Ark’s full strength in the years to come. Tomorrow I will return to Cajamarca. Liz and Blair will remain. The rest of you will accompany me.”

“Mother,” Cyntia said, clearing her throat before continuing. “I wish to search for Trevor, the friend we lost during the second wave.”

“This is the one you fear may have fallen prey to the deathless?” the Mother replied, smile melting. She rested a sympathetic hand on Cyntia’s shoulder. “It is possible the man you knew still exists, but that is extremely unlikely. You are most likely to find a shattered husk with no memory of the man he once was. If you must seek your lover then do so, but steel yourself for what might come. The path you choose is difficult to walk.”

“Thank you Mother,” Cyntia replied, eyes falling to her bowl.

“So you want me to go with you?” Jordan asked. It was the most uncomfortable Blair had ever seen him. Not surprising. The Mother
had
ripped his arms off just a few weeks before.

“Yes,” the Mother said, giving a mischievous smile. “I can smell your fear, but you contain it well. I know you remember well our last encounter, but rest assured, you are one of my children now. I would have you serve as Ka-Dun to Bridget. Ka-Ken need the support of a Ka-Dun and I believe Liz has already laid claim to Blair.”

The table fell silent. Blair’s cheeks heated and he suddenly found his stroganoff very interesting.

Chapter 9- Return to Cajamarca

Jordan slung his pack over his shoulders, cinching the straps around his waist and chest. It carried perhaps two hundred pounds of ordinance, enough to make him the center of a massive fireworks display, should it come anywhere near open flame. He studied his reflection in the mirrored door. His close cropped hair was orderly, his black t-shirt comfortably tight. He
looked
the same. But he wasn’t.

He’d died back there, torn apart by the Mother when she’d shredded Mohn’s forces. Curiously, of the two hundred people she’d killed he was the only werewolf to be found. There were many sets of tracks leading away, but he had no idea where the others had gone or why. Perhaps it was some animal instinct, some survival reflex that made them flee a predator like the Mother. One he apparently lacked.

He touched the smooth stone door and it slid silently open, revealing the colorful corridor he was already growing used to. He strode boldly down the western passage, passing small diamond-shaped lights every ten feet. They afforded an excellent view of the hieroglyphs, though he appreciated them more for the tactical knowledge they might provide than any beauty they might possess. Many recounted battles with the zombies.

“Jordan,” Blair called, trotting towards him. He pulled up a few feet away. “So you and Bridget are heading out with the Mother this morning?”

“Back to Cajamarca, yeah,” he said, falling in beside Blair. The pair made their way towards their hastily erected mess. So odd to be walking next to someone he’d battled to the death only a week before. “Hopefully we can find more survivors and get them to the church. No idea if any will accept her offer, but I suspect a few will be desperate enough to try.”

“Let’s hope so. We’re going to need all the help we can get,” Blair replied. They entered the mess to find everyone else already there.

“Morning,” Bridget called, giving a little wave. She was sitting next to Liz, whose hair was loose today. It looked good on her. The Mother sat across from them, cross-legged on the bench. She ate nothing, eyeing the food distastefully. There was no sign of Cyntia, but Jordan could smell her. She’d probably just left.

“Eat your muck swiftly,” the Mother ordered, gesturing to the empty seat next to her. A pair of bowls had been set out, the pleasant aroma of maple oatmeal steaming out of each. “We’ll leave as soon as you finish. I want to reach this city by midday.”

“That’s not possible,” Jordan said, sliding onto the bench next to her. He picked up his spoon and stirred the oatmeal. Maybe it wasn't smart to contradict her, but the words were already out, so he forged ahead. “It took us two days to get there last time out.”

“Just because you have not done it doesn’t mean it isn’t possible. I will teach you to blur over long distances. This ability is like a muscle and will get stronger through use,” she explained, crinkling her nose as he took his first bite. He still found it odd that she survived solely on meat. He was as much a carnivore as any man, but one needed chocolate and coffee too.

“What about Bridget?” he asked, nodding towards the petite brunette. “She can’t blur.”

“She will ride your shadow,” the Mother explained, as if that settled the matter.

Bridget paled and he could guess why. Liz had already learned that trick, but Bridget seemed slower on the uptake. Not that she wasn’t intelligent, but whatever gave them their power was harder for her to use. It was the same for him. Blair picked up all this shaping crap with ease, yet for Jordan it took concentrated effort to do things that Blair considered simple.

“I’m ready,” Jordan said, dropping his spoon in the empty bowl. No sense putting it off. They had work to be about.

“Very well,” the Mother said, rising lithely from her seat. Bridget stood as well, hefting her black nylon pack.

She glanced at Liz and her eyes hardened with determination. Then she turned back to Jordan. Her whole body began to tremble, and a moment later she flowed into the shadows. Into his shadow, to be more specific.

Jordan hefted his own pack, feeling more than a little uncomfortable that Bridget and her pack had vanished so completely. He rose from the bench and followed the Mother as she made her way up the northern corridor towards the surface. The Mother glided into a run, swift but not quite a sprint. Was this the pace she planned to set for the whole trip? It had that feel. Could he maintain it?