HAVOC (Descendants Saga: Crisis Sequence Book 3) Page 3

  “Stop it, Garth!” Cassie cries out nearby. “He’s not hurting me, he says he’s my grandfather!”

  This declaration instantly halts the boy’s further attempt to come at Brody. The sword in Garth’s hand pulsates with brilliant energy, but he stands still, looking stunned.

  “What on Earth are you talking about?” he says.

  Brody straightens, glancing back into the cell, shaking his head in exasperation. This hasn’t worked out nearly as well as he had hoped. Instead of an amazing rescue on his part, the whole affair has become muddled. He never intended on such a mangled disclosure of his true identity, but there is nothing to be done about it now. Jonathan has been taken, and Garth is ready to kill him; not to mention the fact that this entire complex is currently being overrun by plague victims in a rage state.

  “He’s bewitched you somehow with his power,” Garth tells her, still keeping his gaze warily upon Brody.

  “No,” she says, turning her own attention to Brody, “he rescued me from the zombies. I’m not sure why, but I can feel that he’s telling me the truth. There’s a connection. I can’t explain it. I believe he really is my grandfather.”

  A small grin crosses Cassie’s lips as she states this with more assurance than she showed earlier.

  Brody grins in return. “Great grandfather,” he corrects gently.

  “What?” Garth asks.

  “I’m Cassie’s great grandfather,” he replies, “and not hers only.”

  “That’s right,” Cassie says. “We came up here to rescue Jonathan. You said he is my brother?”

  “Not exactly,” Brody says, stepping over to help Holly groggily regain her feet.

  Garth takes a step toward him, meaning to keep him away.

  “Garth is your brother, not Jonathan,” Brody says, abruptly halting Garth’s advance.

  Cassie smiles. “Garth is my brother?”

  “I am?” Garth stammers out.

  “Oh, yes,” Brody says lightly, pulling Holly to her feet.

  For her part, Holly doesn’t appear to know who is assisting her, stranger or otherwise.

  “I’ve been watching over you both since I found you in that laboratory below MI6 headquarters in London,” Brody continues.

  “I’m her brother?” Garth squeaks out again, still looking stunned by the news.

  Cassie steps closer, looking into the now empty holding cell where Jonathan had been kept since his escape and recapture. “If Garth is my brother, then who is Jonathan?”

  Brody smiles impishly. “Not your brother,” he says. “I’m afraid we really don’t have time for this right now. This whole complex has been overrun. We need to leave. Further explanation will have to wait until we get to a safe location.”

  Holly has regained her composure by now. She notices this stranger—the same stranger Garth attacked on sight—and withdraws her arm from his grip. Still, she does realize the earlier hostility has vanished. “So we’re good now?” she asks Garth.

  He gives her an uncertain glance. “I honestly wish I knew.”

  “Well, while you decide whether I’m who I claim to be, let’s move on to another location,” Brody suggests.

  “What about Jonathan?” Cassie asks anxiously. “Those soldiers took him through whatever that was.”

  “The whatever was a portal,” he explains, “which is what we are also going to use to escape. The soldiers who took Jonathan aren’t human.”

  “What do you mean ‘not human?’” Garth asks.

  “Oh, don’t worry,” Brody says with a grin, “you and Cassie and Jonathan and I aren’t human either.”

  “Now that’s the first thing I’ve heard recently that actually makes some sense,” Holly says sarcastically.

  Cassie and Garth can only look at one another in bewilderment. Brody raises his hand, waving it as though pulling a sheet around them all. Instantly, the scene changes from a dim corridor inside the GCHQ building to open air and near darkness. The smell of smoke filtering through the GCHQ is replaced by a cool breeze carrying the unmistakable scent of the Thames and the hint of decay. In the distance, beneath a waning moon, their group sees the towering Millennium Wheel, also known as the London Eye. The huge Ferris wheel stands still and dark like all of London around them.

  Director Angela Sayers fires her pistol until it empties. Several plague zombies are taken down, but others replace them immediately. Major Bingham pulls her back, placing himself between her and the onrushing horde. His shotgun pummels several more, spraying gore. Dr. Scott Bishop hurls his spent submachine gun into the crowd of ravenous predators, turning to run.

  The zombies catch hold of him, pulling him back into their ranks before he can make his escape. Bingham and Sayers barely register his screams, as they flee the wave of death coming hard on their heels. They only manage to put a single reinforced door between them and the swarm of zombies.

  “This isn’t going to hold,” Bingham says, trying to keep his weight against the door, as plague victims pound it from the other side.

  Angela Sayers finds a body on the floor behind them. One of the soldiers under her command lies on the ground with a single, fatal head wound. His pistol lies next to him.

  He took the quick and easy way out, if there is any easy way. Her first thought is revulsion at the man’s cowardice, but the pounding upon the door and the ravenous zombies on the other side quickly change her mind. She picks up the pistol, checks the magazine. She only needs two shots—one for Bingham and one for herself. It’s the least she can do. There’s no way out of this supply room and the door won’t hold.

  Bingham’s concentration remains on barring the door. The big man does not notice Sayers stepping up behind him with the pistol in her hand. She raises the weapon, lining up the front sight on the back of Bingham’s skull.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispers too low for him to hear.

  Angela’s gun never goes off. Unknown to everyone left alive in the GCHQ, charges have been left behind by a special ops unit of the inhuman kind. Magnetically fastened to the main natural gas lines feeding the massive facility, they have been ideally placed.

  Green LED indicators sit like docile fireflies in the darkness of the subbasement. Before Sayers can pull the trigger on the 9mm handgun, half a dozen floors below these steady green lights change color to red, blink three times, and explode as the charges are triggered. Gas lines rupture instantly, forcing fuel into the fire. The GCHQ erupts in a fiery cataclysm, scattering flames, debris, and charred bodies in every direction.

  Strolling through the wreckage of what was, only moments ago, the GCHQ, Lucifer finds the bodies of mutilated humans and those of plague victims who were shot down as they attacked. The scene is of absolute carnage. It resembles so many countless examples of human battlefields. He always enjoyed humans killing one another.

  There is no sign of any normal humans still living, as he moves throughout the facility. Malakov has already taken the boy. However, he had hoped that Brody West might still be present with his grandchildren when the bombs detonated. He senses traces of Superomancey. They already abandoned the building. “Of course they did,” he says.

  There is nothing more to do here, no satisfaction beyond the human lives lost. At least, he thinks, that’s something. Still, there is much to accomplish.

  “Time to subjugate my new army,” he says, taking a final look around.

  With a single thought, Lucifer, now inhabiting a human form as one James Solomon, vanishes from the GCHQ building in Gloucestershire. At the same moment, he appears in London beneath a barely visible moon. A march of a different kind is already in progress—plague zombies walking at a sluggish pace toward the darkened transit tunnels ahead. There they seek to sleep and transform into aggressive monstrosities like so many who have already reached the final stage of this viral evolution.

  The human, James Solomon, strides forward. His figure blurs, carrying him forward like a bullet among the herd of sated beings who now only long for s
leep in this place of darkness. This tube station, abandoned by London’s citizens, has become a processing plant—a place for transformation from what these hideous lumbering creatures they are to the feral predators they will each become.

  It is among these new beasts that Solomon soon finds himself as he comes inside to stand among the newly birthed mutations. They prefer to dwell among the iron girders above the others who have come to change. As he gazes overhead, Solomon finds the support beams filled with perching beasts. Though the other crazed human zombies cannot see him within the glamour Lucifer has created to hide himself here, these mutated hunters all appear to be looking right at him as he stands upon the floor of the tube station.

  He observes their statuesque behavior, much like the menacing Breed warriors. Vampires often remain stone still, watching their prey until just the right moment when they descend to pounce upon their intended victims. They do not, however, look anything else like vampires apart from their almost luminescent red eyes.

  Solomon does not speak, and the creatures still do not move. He senses no fear from them. Curiosity might be a better word. Undoubtedly, they must be wondering what manner of mortal could happen to get past all of their lumbering brethren without being assaulted and devoured. What manner of fool would dare to stand here in their midst?

  Nevertheless, Solomon shows no hint of fear. After all, he is no mere mortal. An angel resides within this form—the most malevolent force to ever exist in all of creation now stands among them. A human form does little to betray this reality, but perhaps they now see more than just his physical appearance. It has been his hope that this viral pathogen caused more than a simple physical transformation in mankind. He hopes also that something of Descendants has been imparted as well—an element that now allows them to know more of his true nature and therefore more of the spiritual world around them.

  After several minutes of watching one another, Solomon takes a single step further toward the mass of them. None of their sleepy-eyed brethren notices, as they continue to file deeper into the tunnels past the abandoned trains. However, one entity finally does reveal himself.

  Solomon pauses as the beast rises to its feet on one of the steel girders above and ahead of him. It cries out with a barking call that seems to be part warning and part challenge. Solomon reproduces the call with exacting complexity, able to accept the challenge in whatever crude language these beasts are speaking.

  The slightest ripple of unease and anticipation sweeps among the mass of individuals among the girders and supports overhead. It would seem they understand. The response from the challenger is nearly instantaneous.

  Hu Takashi, now a feral creature of tremendous strength and agility, leaps from the steel girder where he was perched, watching the odd interloping human upon his arrival in the tube station. Barking calls resound in response to this alpha’s challenge to the being standing upon the platform below. They all sense something strange about the man who shows no fear of them, but Hu is not going to allow that courage to stop him tearing this man apart before his kindred.

  They will only follow the one who shows himself strong, and Hu has managed to do just that. Already, he has been challenged by no less than seven other males attempting to usurp his dominion. All of these, Hu Takashi has killed. More ferocious than a lion guarding his pride and stronger than a silverback gorilla, Hu leaps toward the human, roaring furiously.

  At the last moment the human steps aside, letting Hu stamp the ground and pass him carried by momentum. He whirls and leaps from the ground not three feet away. Hu reaches for him with blackened talons outstretched, but the human glides out of reach again. Hu keeps coming.

  All this time, the man is smiling at his missteps and misses. This only infuriates Hu. He swipes with a vicious clawed hand and then another, pounding forward in pursuit. Several times Hu makes contact, tearing through the finely tailored suit the man has worn into the station. Blood soaks the man’s clothing now, but he continues to grin at Hu devilishly. The pain of his wounds goes unnoticed.

  Hu swipes at him again, but this time the man catches his powerful arm at the wrist and twists it with such ferocity that the shoulder joint explodes with pain. Hu tries to go after him again, but the arm hangs limp at his side. His fury allows him to drive forward, ignoring the white hot pain, but anger won’t make the arm work again. It’s useless for now.

  The man responds to Hu’s next advance with a foot to his chest that propels him back into a newsstand. The kiosk explodes upon impact, scattering magazines, newspapers and assorted snacks across the platform with Hu writhing among them. He gets back to his feet, hardly believing what this human is doing, yet unable to consider the possibility of defeat.

  Hu leaps at him again, his good arm outstretched, bearing his claws again. The talons push out to their full length at nearly three inches. If he can just manage to land a strike at this stranger’s chest, then he can pierce his breastbone and his heart beneath, ending the fight quickly to once again secure his place as the alpha.

  For a single moment in time, while Hu remains in flight toward his human adversary, his eyes behold not the frail mortal form before him but the visage of a terrible and beautiful monstrosity. He sees an angelic presence and the instantaneous degeneration of this form to that of a hideous demonic creature with horns and scales and wretched torn wings caked in blood and filth. What Hu has not been able to experience since his mutation is now felt with overwhelming clarity: fear.

  Unable to backpedal in midair, but trying nonetheless, Hu lands on the man. It’s like smashing into a brick wall or plate of iron. The man is unyielding despite Hu’s momentum and weight. He catches his throat in one hand, holding him struggling aloft. With his other hand, the man or devil, pummels him about the head. As Hu’s mutated consciousness slips away, he clings to this fear, beholding the being in all of his hideous beauty.

  Lucifer, in his human form as James Solomon, tosses the unconscious creature away like so much discarded refuse. His right hand and forearm are soaked in the beast’s blood. He dares anyone to challenge his supremacy.

  Solomon lets loose a barking cry akin to the former alpha’s. He is informing them of his ability to lead them. He is demanding their loyalty.

  Then, in a move that visibly rattles the entire hoard watching him from the rafters above, Lucifer reveals his true self, allowing them to see what he really is. Almost as one, the beasts jerk back from the image. He can sense the fear come over them—even these creatures, for whom fear has been burned out of what is left of their minds.

  He knows the moment he has them under his control. He puts his thoughts—his very will—into their minds now. They will obey him. They will follow him as their alpha, at least until another rises to defeat him and take his place. Solomon grins. That isn’t going to happen.

  Still, these creatures can only last so long before the virus wastes away all of their reserves. A candle can only burn so long. He’ll use them as long as they remain useful.

  Rude Awakening

  My eyes open to surroundings I do not recognize. I’m lying upon a soft couch in what appears to be a modern high rise office. A plain but modern desk and chair combo is the only other furniture in the room. Several inset shelves feature brick-a-brack that someone probably considers tasteful art. One entire wall is nothing but floor to ceiling window with a nighttime view of a well-lit city beyond. I have enough wits about me already to know that this is not the GCHQ and not London.

  A man in dark fatigues stands before the only door in the room. He is muscular with tanned skin and a buzz cut. Five-o-clock stubble adorns his face, but no smile. He stares at me with an impassivity that tells me I’m not considered a threat.

  I have no idea where I am. I don’t recognize the surroundings beyond the window. This nightscape is not Gloucestershire.

  Could they have moved me from the GCHQ? I remember escaping their cell earlier. I remember taking the scientist as my hostage and the confrontation in the
hallway with the woman and the soldier. He shot me with something after the woman unexpectedly shot the scientist in the leg.

  That was a cold move on her part—shooting her own man to get at me. Very cold, but also, obviously, effective. Here I am in their power again, under guard, even if I’m not in a prison cell like I was before.

  Still, after what I was able to do to their soldiers before, they only appointed one guy to watch me? I’m through playing games with these people. I just want to find Cassie and get away from them.

  I stand quickly. The guard doesn’t react. That seems pretty strange. I start to cross the room toward him and the door. He grins at me like a wolf ready to devour a bunny that’s coming right to his den.

  Well, they obviously haven’t explained to him what this little bunny can really do. I start to pass the desk on my right side. The massive window, overlooking whatever city happens to be out there, is behind it.

  I reach out with my right hand, placing my palm against the side of the desk and heave it at the man and the door. I have confidence in my strength now. I am beginning to understand my power and I’m ready to unleash it.

  The desk lifts from the carpeted floor into the air, sailing toward the door. The guard’s eyes bug in surprise for the briefest moment, then he moves, but not in the way I expect.

  Instead of ducking to the side, like any normal person might do, this soldier springs upward, inverting mid-air to attach himself to the ceiling. The desk drives through the door, smashing it and the surrounding frame like some unstoppable juggernaut. It stops halfway into the corridor wall beyond.

  My way out of the room is open, but the soldier is clings to the ceiling, looking at me with a wicked grin like some demented fly. He lunges toward me, hands outstretched. The whole sticking-to-the-ceiling bit has startled me. I’m not sure what I’m fighting here, but it certainly isn’t human.