Serpent and the Sun – Chptr. 17 – Xperience Fiction

Serpent and the Sun – Chptr. 17 – Xperience Fiction – by Liam Sweeny.

Apep screamed viscerally, from the depths of his host’s throat. The heart was silenced; Dalton Henry could tell him no more. A shot took out the brain. Must have been the other one, the strange one from Pacific Sanctuary. Apep would have killed him for the disruption, but the Image was close. Gerhardt Schoern would catch his death with the rest: Apep had other ways to unearth the rebel depot. Nothing could hide in an earth that was his to command.

Black swirls tingled with sparkling pops of energy; the ionosphere was draining into his body from above like the whirlpool in a sink drain. He smiled as he focused it deep into the bedrock; he almost felt alive. Well, he almost felt, anyway. But he was a thinker; not even Liu could feel anything. Liu lost all feeling the day he became Apep’s host; the day he conquered Everest.

Apep learned things on the journey to and fro’. He’d been trapped inside of Coulson BlackLake, stuck having to process a repetition of idiocy; Apep-Apep-Apep-Apep…ad nauseum. When it took BlackLake to Egypt, it destroyed the imbecile, releasing its PEALE essence. Apep nearly lost itself when dis-incorporated, although it could learn at light speed. It could only stay an electrical field for so long without dissipating. It needed another host; a transfer.

Next to BlackLake’s body was the transfer; Dr. Melvin Krantz, a scientist on a research trip in the desert. A fortunate victim; more importantly, a doctor. Krantz knew enough about the nervous system to teach Apep the proper way to incapacitate a victim’s brain. Unfortunately, it was his brain Apep had interest in incapacitating.

It could ‘hop’ brains, jumping from information-to-information, but it couldn’t reside in a body with a fully-functioning mentality. BlackLake had one sentence’s worth of function, and it was enough of a prison to turn PEALE into Apep. If all went as calculated, Apep’s stomp through the Alaskan back-woods would negate the need for a host altogether.

The Image of Khepre was the iridium scarab. It created a self-sustaining energy field. It could generate. Of infinite importance to Apep, it could animate. Whole-brain function and no brain function were equally untenable. Live hosts eventually became unusable. What Apep needed was a corpse; a sturdy, impenetrable corpse capable of being animated. Apep had itself wrapped around the impenetrable corpse; Liu would be impenetrable, once Apep filled his body with AV3. Liu would be a bronzed statue; once infused with the Image, Liu would become an alloy en animate.

An inferno engulfed the forest beneath Apep, hot enough to bring the air to flash-frying gales. It could hear the earth crack and crumble beneath it. It scanned the landscape for any breach that revealed the depot. Yard by yard, grid-searching with precision, step-by-step, always steps, methods and algorithms. Yet the end result would be the closest thing to bliss Apep could know; logical conclusion. Or perhaps self-actualization, though abstracts hurt to contemplate. Apep, Apep, the serpent god of storms, duty bound to battle the sun every night, only to be foiled by its ministers and Khepre, who’d roll it into being in the light of morning.

So went the legend. Apep mused. Legend was abstract; superstition. But it was also a means to fulfillment, something the earth had stopped offering him. And so he had his legend. To swallow the sun, plunge the earth into darkness. It would either be simple or impossible. The fate of the earth, of the Sun itself, revolved around the Image of Khepre.

The copy of the Image that was given to King Djoser was destroyed. Apep scanned Egypt, drawing up the sands, causing the largest sandstorm to hit the region since the post-impact period. All it needed was a touch; replication would be instant, and legion. Tons of the Image; mountains by mass, all placed strategically over the earth.

Apep’s time with BlackLake, scouring the Apep crater for rats and rabbits to cook, was a learning experience. Apep wasn’t the largest asteroid to hit the earth, but it was large enough to cause a shift in the rotation of the earth. It was subtle, so barely perceptible that it took the PEALE super-intelligence five years to detect the shift. But it was found, and as always, calculations were made.

With enough of the Image, in the right places it could stop the earth from rotating. It would be perpetual, hellish day on one side of the planet for six months, frigid night on the other. And with even more of the Image, the hot side would become one giant magnifying reflector, absorbing the sun’s energy, only to shoot it right back into the solar heart. Apep couldn’t compute the amount of time it would take the sun to expend its fuel with the method in mind, but the process was exponential, becoming more and more intense with every passing second, the planet itself shielded with the Image dynamo.

A sound caught Apep’s attention. He perked his ears, going so far as to quell the fires and quakes to locate his prey. He took a deep breath, sorting through the millions of smells in the air, eliminating the smells he had caused. Then he found it. Sweat. Musk, mildew…and a strange smell, sweet to his palate.

Energy. Khepre’s energy.

Apep pin-pointed the smell. Without even a conscious thought, the ground was torn open, revealing the massive collection of equipment in which his precious Image was being hidden. It flew through the air to land on the edge of the newly excavated pit. There was a man and two boys; the man standing outside, the two boys in DUSAT-3s, old ones at that. If he didn’t know what was powering them, he’d be surprised they ran at all. The fuel cells were obsolete.

 

They rose up, aimed at him. Two kids; one of them gripping the wheel, the other pounding on the windscreen to give the finger.

Apep didn’t mind getting the finger. He rose up, absorbing the darkness to become the night.

 

***

 

Anchorage was massacre incarnate; smoke billowed over the skyline from the east, hanging on the ground as the wrecks of buildings spiked the haze. As the smoke drifted they could see areas of city streets, devoid almost entirely of bodies. The few bodies they did see met their ends violently. All that remained elsewhere was disembodied clothing, soaked in liquefied remains. The air filter in their skiff couldn’t work in all the smoke without some of the odor seeping in. It was enough to make Sarah vomit in the back seat.

“What is that smell!?” she said through wretched coughs.

“It’s smoke-,”

“I know that, J’,” She said, “I men the other smell!”

Jameson took in a breath. He could smell the smoke and ozone; the calling card of weather attacks. But he could smell something else; disease. Infection. And they were still a hundred feet above the city center.

“I don’t know,” Jameson said. He didn’t know…how to tell her. But it wasn’t her. She wasn’t his concern.

Adam.

Adam had never seen a massacre. He’d studied; watched videos, always with an air of disbelief. Many nights in New Rochester, he and Adam argued over the veracity of the videos, the reports. Adam knew lies; he’d been designed to process logic, or the lack thereof. But this, Anchorage, a true massacre…he didn’t know how Adam would take it.

“Jameson, I’m not detecting life. Anchorage has a listed population of five-hundred and seventy-three thousand, seven-hundred and eight.” Adam said. “Where were they removed to?”

Jameson sighed. “They weren’t removed, Adam.”

“Where are they?” Jameson turned on the dash-scanner, looking for a place to land. Avoiding an uncomfortable answer. Suddenly the scanner went blank.

“Please don’t be evasive,” Adam said, “I’m driving. I want to know what I’m driving into.”

“They’re dead, Adam.” He said. “The whole city.”

“Dead?” Adam began their descent. “How? Epidemic?”

“Yeah…”

“You’re being evasive again Jameson…There’s no viral trace. Please stop.”

“They were killed, Adam.”

“All of them?”

“They were killed with the AV3 virus. It’s engineered; it doesn’t leave a trace.” Jameson said. “They did the same thing at Everest. Come on now, Adam…”

“They?” Jameson could hear the anger building in Adam’s voice. “You mean he, don’t you?”

“Adam, you need to calm down.”

“We run into that thing…” Adam paused to negotiate the wisps of flame coming from an updraft.

“We run into that thing,” Adam continued, “that… Apep,” The skiff rocked from turbulence.

“…you might not want me calm…”

They reached ground-level, and to Jameson’s amazement, the smoke that surrounded the skiff dissipated, withdrawing to give them a clear view for a hundred yard radius. The windscreen slid down, though they weren’t all that eager to leave the skiff, despite the leg cramps.

Every smell that had made Sarah sick at a hundred feet was now at nose level, almost alcoholic in its power. Sarah threw up again, this time over the edge. Jameson reached back, rubbed her shoulder. He popped the trunk, pulling out a satchel he’d packed in Seattle. He pulled out a neutralizer, handed it to her.

“Inhale this twice through each nostril,” he said, “you won’t smell it no more.”

She grabbed it, snorted in the neutralizer powder. “Thanks.” She said.

“Give it to Daniel too,” he said. Daniel tried to wave it away, but Jameson insisted.

“It’s gonna’ get worse kiddo’.” Daniel looked at it, then outside. He grabbed it while Jameson hopped out of the skiff, grabbing Adam’s casing.

Jameson wasn’t paying attention. He was awestruck by the AV3 victims; just slimy clothing, little smell, fascinating to the scientist in Jameson without being revolting. Unfortunately, Adam’s casing was swinging on his neck. Jameson was suddenly reminded of how quickly Adam could capture a sensory imprint.

Adam screamed. Street-lights, dimmed as the generators ran dry, grew bright enough to blow half of them out. It wasn’t just the lights; everything that ran off of electrical power started; fans and vents revved up to the breaking point, skiffs and floats started up, flying haphazardly into what fragments remained of the buildings. Jameson grabbed Sarah and Daniel, pushing them down against a concrete barrier, covering them from stray, airborne debris.

He looked over to see what had caused Adam to snap.

It was the corpse of a man propped up against the far side of the barrier. He’d been dead for long enough that the first flies were making him home. He wasn’t a casualty of the virus. His death came from one of two sources; the small hole bored into his forehead, or the gaping hole in his chest. Jameson tried to power down Adam’s housing, and the screen went blank. He began to sigh, but then he heard Adam’s voice. He looked up to see a video-film, part of the city’s traffic monitoring system. On it was Adam’s face, and Jameson had never seen Adam so angry.

“You can’t control me anymore, Jameson.”

“Adam, stop, please…”

“How do you plan to stop something that can do all this?” The screen flashed in fast motion, a panorama of death and carnage.

“We can do something together, Adam…” Jameson said, “We just need to calm down and think…”

“There’s a time to think, and a time to act, Jameson.” He said. “That smoke is coming from somewhere, and I’m willing to bet that somewhere is where Apep is.” He was angry; though his voice was calm, it was low, even. Jameson had known men on the point of rage. The voice was a dead giveaway, and right then, Adam had that voice.

“I can review a book in the time it takes you to decide whether or not to hold in a sneeze.” He said. “I’m not sayin’ it to hurt you, Jameson, but that vampire asshole thinks just as fast as me.”

Jameson took a deep breath through his nostrils. “What are you saying, Adam?”

“You’ve done what was required of you, Jameson.” He said. “You’ve taught me everything that I needed to know.” He focused on Sarah and Daniel.

“You have your assignment.” He continued. “And I have mine.”

The skiffs and floats, animated by the force of Adam’s will, launched eastward, toward the fire. As before, everything that could come on did, in line with Adam’s movement.

Jameson sunk to the ground, burying his face in his hands, the stance of a weary man who’d just lost another son. He felt Sarah’s hand rub his shoulder, then she sat down next to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Are you gonna’ be okay, Jameson?”

He sighed. “Yeah; it’s just tough when you lose a kid.” Then he laughed. “Listen to me… a robot, for Chris’sakes…”

“He was more than a robot.” said Daniel.

“So what do we do?” asked Sarah. “Jameson; we need you.” She tugged at his arm. Jameson raised his head, coughed, and stroked Sarah’s cheek gently. She smiled, not offended, and he felt the only relief he’d feel that day.

“He needs us too, guys,” Jameson said, “He just doesn’t realize it yet.”

Sarah’s brow crinkled. “So, then…what?” Jameson scanned the area for a float or skiff that Adam hadn’t taken control of.

“We go east.”

 

***

 

The ground shook dust and loose masonry from the main wing of the Command Center. Blake, Curtis and Laura were stooped over a long conference table, arms planted and elbows locked as they viewed the layout of the Seattle Regional. Seattle, like all cities, had weaknesses when it came to the weather. Blake requested they meet. Laura and Curtis acquiesced; to humor him, after all hectic would be there when they were done. They also wanted to see him, and did truly value his advice. When the ground became loose, their meeting area became crowded.

Laura pointed to one of the A/V technicians. “Can you pull up an aerial on the wall-panel?” She asked.

He pulled a remote console out of his top pocket. He pressed a button and suddenly the walls came alive with an aerial view of Seattle. What they saw horrified them all.

The protective shield that covered the city, keeping AV3 from saturating the air, was dissolving in places. Were that the only problem, it would be bad enough, but it was just one problem. The cloudy sky was irrational, thrashing to and fro’ at cross angles, even within the protective barriers. They could hear the shattering of lesser-prepared buildings. Yet even that wasn’t the most alarming sight.

That would be Puget Sound. Puget Sound had been frozen solid, a blessing that kept the city from being flooded by the rise in sea levels. But it was breaking; it was cracking. Small, sharp chunks of it were flying up into the air to join the melee in the city. But the larger chunks were quaking; who knew how long it would be before they too were airborne.

“Jesus.” Laura held her hand to her head. “It’s like an all-out fucking war out there.” She turned again to the A/V tech. “Let’s map the ionosphere.”

“Seattle?” He asked.

Laura drummed her nails along the edge of the table map. “No, Steve,” she replied, “global map. Center it at the main HAARP transmitter. You have the co-ordinates?”

“I dream about them…” He said. “…well, nightmares, but…” Laura stared at him blankly. He cleared his throat and punched the coordinates into the hand-held. What they saw astonished them.

“What is that?”

“The ionic concentration is enough to cause wood to burn.” Blake said.

“HAARP?” asked Laura, “I don’t get it…”

“Not HAARP,” replied Blake, “not unless they moved the transmitter.” He pointed to the center of the image; the location of the transmitter. It wasn’t the center of activity.

“What, then!?”

“BlackLake,” Blake said, “Liu, Apep, whatever…” Blake leaned in closer, pointing to a spot in the Pacific; a powerful typhoon, overshadowed by the turbulence in Alaska.

“That’s a convergence,” Blake said, “Fuck; I ain’t ever seen a storm that big.”

“If I didn’t know any better,” Laura said, “I’d say that’s-,”

“Pacific Sanctuary,”

Laura rolled her eyes. “Yeah, that’s what I’d say…”

“Sorry.” Blake stepped back. He looked over at Laura, who smiled. The control room was rocked by another tremor, even harder. The corridor erupted into shouting voices. It was times like that when Laura showed her true gift; being the loudest voice in the room.

“We have to get people secured!” She shouted. “Mobley, I need all Resistance Forces mobilized and in the street. We don’t know how long Puget Sound will hold still, and half the city’s buildings aren’t rated for strong quakes. We need to get as many people in A-Graded structures; yesterday, people!” She clapped her hand, pacing the area as if the technicians were pigeons that needed shooing.

“Mobley, make sure all your troops wear masks.” She continued. “AV3 will be getting in, and we don’t know whether or not it’s been activated. We need screening equipment in every A-Grade structure,” She looked at the Head Logistical Officer, “Frank, every A-Grade can sustain the production of food, water and medicine for six weeks, based on capacity plus thirty percent. Make sure every shelter-head knows where the code-books are.”

“Yes, Ms. President.” He said before darting off. Laura’s thoughts were racing through traffic sheltering, communications and continuity of government when she heard a heart-wrenching groan. She looked in time to see Blake collapse, his hand gripping his right side.

She ran over immediately. “Blake, what’s wrong!?”

“I think it’s affecting me…”

“The storm!?”

“The storm, the ionosphere; the whole thing,” He said. He winced; she’d never seen him flinch before, much less wince.

“Get me to the quarantine,” He said, “Get me to Union Square.”

“Blake, I don’t think it’s gonna’ matter-,”

“I’m not talkin’ about quarantine,” He said, his voice strained, “It affects me, Laura…”

“…and I affect it.”

Laura didn’t know what he meant. She wiped his forehead.

“It’s gonna’ be OK, Blake,” She said, “You’re with family now.” In the distance, people were calling out Laura’s name, needing her for the myriad of emergencies that were springing up.

“Everybody please SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Blake nearly knocked himself out saying it, but it was important.

“Sorry,” He said, “…but listen up.” He held up his wrist to show the symmetrical lines of titanium plate. “As you all know, I used to be a Guard, like Mobley. Also, as you all know, I spent many years with Mike Wynsee.” He cleared his throat.

“In our travels,” He went on, “Michael, improved, on my design. I have the same control over the weather as the HAARP transmitter, but to a lesser extent.”

The crowd was silent. They believed him, to be sure. He could’ve told him he could make it rain horseshit and the price of fertilizer would hit the floor. But it wasn’t enough for them to believe.

He held out his hand, and the heat filled his face and neck, as it always did. He only sent a small spark of ionic energy into the center of the room, just enough to send a dust-devil through the small crowd, tossing papers around chaotically.

Blake hoped they weren’t important. But they had the effect.

“Everything Laura said, I believe, was a direct order.” He said. “I suggest y’all move; ya’ don’t wanna’ see her bad side.” To Laura, he leaned over and whispered;

“Get me to Union Square. It’s a tall building, it’s got the pulse cannon and I can stabilize Seattle for a little while…”

“But wait? How long!?” She asked. “Blake, you’re sick; it could kill you!”

Blake rolled up his sleeves. Both of his arms, up to the wrists were bronze.

“Babe, I’m dying already.” He said. “I wanna go out swingin’.”

Laura finished giving out orders. Blake waited as patiently as he could, for Laura insisted on transporting him herself. When they finally left, they found a float parked at the end of the control corridor with the presidential emblem and black tinted windows.

“Wow, star treatment…” Blake commented as he hopped in, Laura soon in after him. “Damn, maybe I got in the wrong line of work; I could get used to-,”

He looked over to see the door shut and Laura leaning up, the front buttons of her blouse open to reveal a black-lace bra that could barely contain her perfect breasts.

“Just shut up and fuck me.” She said. And Blake knew talk-time was over. It only took ten minutes to reach the upper floor of Union Square from where they left, but it was ten minutes of raw, animal passion, the joining of animus and anima. As they reached their destination, Laura told him she expected him back. She was buttoning up inside the car; he was walking toward the roof entrance. He turned back and blew her a kiss. She laughed, ‘catching’ it in her hand.

Blake knew his life had just seen the best it ever would. And with that thought he slammed open the service-door, to sacrifice himself to the tempest.

 

***

 

Gerhardt wiped the blood from his lip as he forced step after step. The skiff crashed; it tried to reverse course, and he had to throw the kill-switch to keep from being taken God-knew-where. He was fifteen feet up, and despite the foam decellerant that ejected around the driver’s side, he still took the impact.

He wasn’t far from Headquarters. He didn’t know if anyone there was alive, but his HKKi440 was charged and the safety was off. He didn’t care if anyone was still alive. They wouldn’t be when he left there.

Apep. Gerhardt didn’t know what it was that killed Dalton aside from his own action, but he knew one thing; its presence affected HAARP, and he had to hope the reverse would be true. He had to hope. He glanced up, shocked by the sight of the Alaskan night. It was as if all the energy in the skies of the earth were collecting above him. And they were causing havoc, especially in the east, the direction Apep traveled. He could only wonder the effect it was having globally, though globally, in his view, meant only one place; Pacific Sanctuary.

Elle was dead; she had to be. She wasn’t due to be infused for another two weeks; she was still mortal. He couldn’t mourn her loss. He’d likely never have anything approximating confirmation. He hated Apep for that.

The headquarters had two guards that manned the front gate. It had two guards. No sign of them now; their booth was empty, but the gate was locked. The i440 was a long barrel, big gun, and he let loose on the front gate with a searing blast of white heat that shattered the thick iron locking mechanism. He looked inside the booth as he kicked open the gate. Two sets of slimy clothes, sickening smell, and more importantly for Gerhardt, two side-arms. Gerhardt had left his at Dalton’s murder scene. As the word murder popped in his head, he shivered. Who was the murderer really? Apep? Him? Both of them?

He walked up to the front door, sliding his ID card through. Nothing; not even the red light. The power’s out, he thought. They had left HQ with a small amount of Shockwave, a commercial variant of the UEC’s SBPX. Both versions were explosives, and did the same thing; blew up what they were placed on, and only what they were placed on. Gerhardt affixed a small amount of Shockwave to the door-lock, standing there as it popped the lock. Shockwave was that in name only; no blast radius beyond the metal. The door creaked open, and Gerhardt gave it a boot hard enough to blow one of the hinges.

He didn’t want to kill anyone there, but he was a little fish in the Security Forces. He’d be expected to sit through a debriefing, and he had other things to do, like steal Security Force equipment—things that commanding officers wouldn’t likely let him do. So he resigned himself not to kill anyone who didn’t get in his way.

The corridor was dark, illuminated by emergency lights. He could hear the cough of the filtration system. He proceeded down the corridor, clearing room after room as he came to them. No surprises from behind, he thought.

He made his way to the command center and proving ground. Gerhardt could tell that the proving ground had been a makeshift shelter. He could also tell the air filters didn’t work. He could tell both things from the same clue; dozens of empty uniforms, slumped over chairs and collapsed in heaps on the floor.

“Don’t m-move…” A voice from behind Gerhardt said, “…drop your weapon!”

Gerhardt bent at the knee, setting down the i440. “Gerhardt Schoern,” he said, “ID number 277-4-6-9, First Interceptor Unit.” The man behind him was silent.

“Where’s Dalton?”

“Dead.”

“How? The virus?”

“No.” Gerhardt turned around slowly. “Liu killed him.”

“Liu?” The man said, “Impossible. Liu’s the Denali President!” A High Commander by the patch, the man looked diminutive, a side-arm forty-five degrees down in his shaky hands. Gerhardt wondered if he’d ever even fired one.

“I was there,” Gerhardt replied, “Liu’s not Liu anymore. Something’s taken him over.”

The man stood there, mulling over what Gerhardt said.

“Why are you here?” He asked.

“I need equipment,” He answered, “HAARP’s out; it might be the only thing that can take Apep out.”

“Apep?”

“Liu,” Gerhardt was running out of time, “calls himself…itself…Apep.”

Gerhardt started toward the maintenance supply room until he heard the click of a safety release.

“I can’t let you do that.” The man said. Gerhardt looked over to see the side-arm trained on him.

“Liu is our President, Officer Schoern,” He said, “And I can’t allow you to act against him.”

Gerhardt sighed as he sunk to his knees, holding his forehead in one hand…pulling out the side-arm he’d confiscated from the guard-post with his other. He shouted “Please!,” holding his visible hand out for effect.

With his other hand he shot the commanding officer dead. He got back up to go to the supply room. He didn’t know the first thing about HAARP; he wasn’t very good in his school science classes. He was a musician, a creative person. The only other skill he had was the recently acquired skill of killing. Neither skill would be of much use to him in fixing HAARP.

Gerhardt opened the supply door, and was scared shitless when a man jumped out, begging for his life. After calming the man down (and himself,) he learned that the man, Todd MacPey, was a Security Force mechanic.

“I need to get to HAARP and fix the transmitter,” Gerhardt told him, “Can you help me?”

“Y-Yessir’,” He said, “But I’m afraid you’re not gonna’ be able to…”

Gerhard put the side-arm in the man’s face.

“I’ve already killed two people today,” he said.

“No-no!” The man said, “Please! You have to understand!”

“I’m listening,” Gerhardt said, “but keep it short.”

“The transmitter,” The man said, “Is about eighty miles northeast of here. I’ve been outside, God-awful mess it is;” He wiped his brow, “Whatever it is you said killed Dalton,” he continued, placing his hand on Gerhardt’s shoulder, “…if the sky is any guess, is about fifty mile northeast of here.”

“Wait, so-,”

“You won’t make it to HAARP.” The man said. “If you wanna’ monkey-wrench him, you gotta’ do it from here.”

Gerhardt sunk down, for real that time. He was so frustrated; he just wanted to lash out.

“Hey, waitaminit,” the man said, “You’re the one from Pacific Sanctuary, right?”

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“Not important,” the man said, “What’s important is this. C’mon!” He grabbed Gerhardt’s arm and led him into the empty control room; again, more slimy uniforms. MacPey pointed to an old radar screen. It was still functioning, most likely on its own generator circuit. There was a blip on the screen, surrounded by an enormous cloud mass. It seemed to be heading in the direction of Anchorage.

Gerhardt was stunned. “That’s-,”

“…Pacific Sanctuary,” said MacPey, “Anyone looking for you?”

 

***

 

Elle awoke to her head pounding and a tender side. But there was more; the Sanctuary itself was different. Her ears kept popping, painfully at times. She could also feel moisture in the air; humidity. Even by the eye-wall, humidity was tightly controlled. No longer the case. The air was damp, and Elle’s clothing was clinging to her. She noticed that she wasn’t the only one thrown for a loop. Abdullah and Donalds were up, but still shaking it off. A few of the other technicians were attending to Finnegan, who was unconscious, bleeding from the head. Elle rushed over when she realized it.

“Is he going to be alright?” She asked a young woman who was pressing a cloth against his head.

“It’s a gusher,” She said, “…probably a good thing; shallow cuts on the head gush.” She used her other hand to raise an eyelid. His eye fluttered.

“The fluttering’s a good sign too, plus he’s breathing and he’s got a pulse.” She added. “That’s not the problem, though…”

“Go on,” Elle said.

The woman pointed to Finnegan’s station. “He’s your Chief Pilot, President…”

Elle’s eyes darted about the room, looking for free hands. The only one without a station was the woman attending to Finnegan.

“Shit!” Elle said.

The woman looked up from Finnegan. “Permission to speak freely,”

Elle was confused for a moment. When she realized what the woman was requesting, she granted it.

“You’re the only one without a hands-on station.” She said. “Piloting the Sanctuary’s pretty straight forward. Have you ever had a remote flyer?” Elle nodded.

“Same basic controls,” the woman continued, “without the altitude control, of course…”

“…of course.” Elle bit her lip. She wasn’t good with the flier she had; if she remembered correctly, she crashed it in the hallway of the Boardroom, waiting for her father to get out of a meeting.

“Look, it’s not gonna’ be easy; Finnegan wouldn’t be in a better position than you if he hadn’t been hurt.” The woman lifted the cloth to wring out the blood. “We were broadsided.”

By that point Elle was at the pilot controls. No choice. After inspecting the controls, she realized that, indeed, it was like her remote flier.

“OK,” She looked down at the woman, “Thanks.” The woman smiled.

She looked at Abdullah. “Were we hit by the rogue?” She asked. “Was that what that was?”

“Yes,” He said, “It seems to have merged with our own typhoon.”

“Donalds,” She said, looking over, “What’s the damage?”

“You don’t want to know…” He said, “You have to, but… you don’t want to…”

Donalds went on to explain that the Sanctuary was no longer a tall spire; the merging of the typhoons had created a typhoon of immeasurable strength. He told her that it would have been impossible for the UEC to design against such a storm. The storm had reached stasis, but was now unbelievably strong.

“How strong?” She asked.

Donalds popped a calculator out of his pocket. He punched in numbers off his screen, then cursed. Then he recalculated. Then he cursed again.

“Category Twelve,” He said, “Thereabouts; it’s impossible to say. The highest recorded storm was the one that hit New York…Karl—Cat Eight”

“So what makes you call this a Category Twelve?”

“I’m extrapolating,” he replied, “We’re picking up a sustained wind speed of 424 miles-per-hour, gusts reaching five hundred.”

“Wait; that’s not even-,”

“..possible; I know, but that’s what the wind gauges are saying.”

“Could they have been broken?”

“Satellite gauges.” He replied, “It’s not strong enough to pull them out of orbit.” He stared at his screen for a second. “…yet.”

“President Renier,” Abdullah said, “Elle; the storm has a thousand mile diameter.”

“Is that bad?”

“It’s not unheard of for typhoons,” Abdullah said, “But with the wind-speeds and the pressure changes, it just means the typhoon is dense within its radius.”

Elle stared at the piloting control. “So how do I get us back on course?” She asked. “Abdullah, how far off are we from our prior heading?”

Abdullah looked at her curiously. “Aren’t you steering now?”

“No,” She replied, “I haven’t touched anything.”

“We’re on a straight course right now; that’s why I ask.” He said.

“Anchorage?”

“Slightly east,” he said, “…it looks like we’re heading for that thing, disturbance; whatever it is.”

“We need to correct course.” She said. She grabbed hold of the steering mechanism and tugged it to the left. “Tell me how much farther I need to go, Abdullah.”

“Abdullah checked the screen. “OK, you need to go-,” he stopped, tapped the glass. Elle felt the Sanctuary sway back and forth unnervingly.

“It’s moving back.”

“What do you mean, moving back?”

“Basically, it corrected your, umm…correction.”

Elle forced out a breath. “I’ll just have to keep my hand on the steering mechanism, then…” She went back to the control, grabbed the steering mechanism and made the desired correction. This time she didn’t let go, but she noticed that the strain was increasing on her hand. It became harder and harder to maintain the correction, and Elle’s palm grew hot from muscle fatigue. Finally, she gave up, letting go. Her ‘correction’, disappeared within a few seconds.

“Guess you don’t have to steer after all…” said the woman attending Finnegan.

Elle sat down on one of the iron stairwells for a moment, trying to figure out her next move, when a voice came over the radio.

Suddenly Elle heard the crackle and pop of a radio.

“*shkt*…Pacific Sanctuary, do you need a bearing?…*shkt*…”

Pacific Sanctuary?

“*shkt*…Come in, Pacific Sanctuary; please respond with your path…”

“It’s coming from Anchorage.” Abdullah said.

“We’re not going to hit Anchorage, right?”

“Yeah we are,” said Donalds.

“But our course will bring us to the east of Anchorage, correct?”

“Yes, us,” Donalds replied, “But we have a thousand-mile diameter storm we’re bringing with us. That’ll hit Anchorage…and every other thing within driving distance.”

Elle shuddered at the thought. “What’ll the effect of that be?”

Donalds paused, finger to his lips. He seemed arrogant at times, but she took this latest gesture to mean he was making a guess.

“We’re sustaining winds of over four-hundred twenty miles-an-hour,” he said, “F5 tornadoes pack three hundred, tops. We’ll be bringing in a seven-story storm surge.”

“None of that sounds good.”

“We’ll be reclaiming Anchorage for the North Pacific,” He said, “basically.”

Gerhardt. Elle couldn’t cry, but she had to count him among the future dead.

“Once the Sanctuary runs aground,” Donalds added, “we lose our protection; the eye-wall will tear through the Sanctuary.” She then counted herself among the future dead too. She grabbed the ham radio microphone in the hopes of warning the voice who’d reached out.

“This is Pacific Sanctuary,” she said, “Anchorage, do you copy” She waited, repeated herself three times. No response. She had to continue, in case they could hear her, but couldn’t reply.

“We’ve had an epidemic of AV3 on board. The Sanctuary is running a skeleton crew right now. There are many dead.” She cleared her throat before continuing. “We are carrying a very powerful storm, estimated to be a Category Twelve… we were aiming for Anchorage with a smaller storm, but we’ve now lost control … We’re currently heading a course that will carry us just east of Anchorage…” She paused before issuing the last warning.

“When we run it aground, Anchorage, and much of the southern coast of Alaska, will be completely destroyed. I repeat; Anchorage will be completely destroyed. We are due to make landfall in,” She looked at Abdullah.

“Fifteen minutes…”

“Fifteen minutes. Landfall in fifteen minutes! Evacuate immediately!”

She ended the transmission. She looked around at her dead-man skeleton crew, helpless, their home a loose cannon. Elle knelt down by Finnegan, ripping her shirt sleeve.

“Take a break-,” she started,

“Michelle.” Elle put her hand gently on Michelle’s shoulder.

“Take a break Michelle,” she said, “I might as well be doing something useful right now.”

 

***

 

The sky was animated in epic battle; Jimmy and Mitchell taking to the air against a serpentine monster, aglow with arcane designs. The monster drew with it dark vapors, lashing them at the DUSATs like whips, to little success. The cannons were drawing the vapors and dissipating them. The roof of the Depot was ripped open and smoke clung to the earth, nearly choking Kenny. He had a small FM transmitter, linking him to Jimmy and Mitchell. He felt helpless; all he could think to do was keep the vent clear on the bunker shell. He could hear Alice’s muffled shouts; she must’ve been furious. But Kenny wasn’t about to be responsible for another death in their family.

The battle went on. The boys’ flying skills were incredible. The monster appeared to own the sky, but they were certainly stealing a piece. They encircled it, the two skiffs forming a double-helix. They were edging in close; Kenny couldn’t tell if they were executing a plan or being cocky.

“Don’t be cowboys!” Kenny shouted into the transmitter. He dare not say anything specific; the monster was probably intercepting transmissions. Instead, Kenny came up with his own plan. He ran into the office as fast as he could, grabbing the Philosophers’ Stone in one hand and the last scarab in the other. Making another copy was easier than he thought, and soon he held two. He put them in his coat pockets, the Stone he tucked in his pants pocket.

He ran from the office down to the edge of the Platforms section. It was at nearly the opposite end of the depot. There was a platform Sam showed him. He said it disrupted HAARP cycles, like the cannons. Mitchell didn’t want to fly it; said it was hard to maneuver. Plus it was a one-purpose platform; the DUSATs had multiple energy-weapon expressions. A crackling sound and flash made Kenny look up in time to see those expressions in action.

Jimmy and Mitchell were still in a double helix formation, flying up and down the length of the serpent, firing on it with bursts of compressed light. They’d fire in unison, turning off the cannons as they did. Then they’d pause, turning the cannons back on to foil the serpent when it tried to counter-attack. Their speed and their distance from it changed almost randomly.

Almost. Kenny’d seen the boys race dirt-bikes behind the house, weaving in and out of each other’s paths perilously close. They could finish each other’s sentences. This was personal; they both knew that the serpent was responsible for Sam’s death. Dirt-bike racing was a brotherly competition; this was a blood feud. Kenny went back to what he was trying to do; he needed to return to Alice’s bunker soon to clean the filter.

He stuck the iridium scarab above the power source. It took a moment, but began to hum. Kenny hopped back to set the operations panel. It was straightforward; he’d used UEC platforms before. Aside from that, he only needed to set a course; he wouldn’t be flying. Once the coordinates were plugged, he hopped out and threw the inertia-release valve. The platform roared to life, shooting out of the open-aired depot like a rocket.

The serpent roared as the Platform performed a low-flying algorithmic path, spewing ionic static as it went. It roared again and swatted one of the DUSATs, throwing it off course. Kenny’s heart jumped to his throat until the DUSAT righted itself. Then Jimmy and Mitchell went back to their attack.

They were better than some of the professional fighter-pilots he’d known in the Security Force, but their attacks didn’t seem to have an effect. Even the platform he sent out had little more effect than to aggravate it. The boys were good, but how long could it go on?

A voice came over the radio in Kenny’s hand. It wasn’t Jimmy or Mitchell.

 

“*shkt*…Pacific Sanctuary, do you need a bearing?…*shkt*” Pacific Sanctuary?

“Come in, Pacific Sanctuary;…*shkt*… please respond with your path.”

The radio was silent for a moment, then a new voice:

“Pacific Sanctuary; we have you currently at sixty miles from Anchorage…*shkt*… At your current speed, without a course correction, you’ll hit shore within a half-hour…*shkt*…”

Kenny was listening as he tended to Alice’s filter. He grabbed a gas mask for himself from the office when he was in there. As he finished cleaning the filter and shouting renewed apologies to a pissed-off Alice, he heard yet another voice. This one was female;

“This is Pacific Sanctuary,” she said, her voice breaking up, “The Sanctuary is running a skeleton crew…*shkt*…many dead…*shkt*…” A blanket of static, “…*shkt*…aiming for…*shkt*…run it aground…”

Run it aground?

Kenny was so focused on the transmissions that he stopped watching the dogfight overhead. The serpent’s latest roar brought his eyes up just in time to see the worst thing imaginable. Jimmy and Mitchell’s plan met the serpent’s counter, lightning-fast and unequivocal. Kenny watched as the serpent took the boys high up into the air. Kenny grabbed a scope visor to see what was happening.

Kenny saw a male body separate from the serpent and begin to free-fall. As that was happening, the serpent cleaved itself in two, each half heat-seeking its own DUSAT. The serpent slivers were too fast for the boys, and both DUSATs were soon coming back to the earth in a death-roll. The slivers, too, flew down, only much faster to catch up with the body it had let go of. When it caught the body, the serpent wrapped around it and, whole again and unbothered by distraction, landed inside the depot.

Kenny just stood there. He felt like his throat was in a press, his eyes bulged and he began to cough.

“You give me the Image, I’ll let you all live out the days your species have remaining.”

“Oh yeah?” The snake’s-head nodded.

“How long?” He was just stalling, trying to find a way out. The snake would kill them all; of that Kenny was doubtless.

“Three days,” said the serpent. Kenny lost air on that one. Three days!?

“You can decide,” it said, “Or I can decide…”

Kenny ran his hands through his hair, a sign of nerves. He didn’t see smoke from either of the DUSATs on the ground. He knew that either option was no option. But all that changed as lights came on in every one of the working depot vehicles, The serpent looked back; Kenny followed his gaze to see a strange procession of floats and skiffs of all types. The lead float had a video panel on it. On the panel was the image of a young man, barely a teenager, from what Kenny could see. The trail reached the edge of the depot, with the lead float angled to a downward tilt. The young man spoke;

“Or I can decide…” he said, “…that the world’s not big enough for dirty vampires.”

 

***

 

Apep marveled as his young opponent.

“I’ve seen you, Adam.” He said.

“You tried to do more,” Adam replied, “To see more; in my mind. But you couldn’t.”

“We are one, Adam.” Apep flayed out his vaporous cocoon, the tiny threads wrapping around the vehicles and equipment Adam had animated.

“I hope those vapors aren’t a part of you…” Adam’s lack of expression disturbed Apep. Wasn’t Adam the one that was supposed to have a personality?

Suddenly the vehicles and equipment grew hot, snapping the black threads in thousands on tiny puffs of smoke. Apep groaned aloud. That wasn’t supposed to hurt! He became fearful; anger soon followed.

“I have no moral obligation to you, youngster,” He hissed, “And I’ve been around a long time.”

There was a power source in the control panel that wasn’t being used properly. Adam made a shape with his hands, and the vehicles in the depot began to take off, one after the other. Blink!

The floats, skiffs and platforms began aerial maneuvers around Apep, almost a hundred of them; orderly, then chaotic, then orderly again, every weapon system activated, all firing on the serpent. Apep felt shock; his logical process, so fast, efficient and potent, was overwhelmed. He began to fall from the sky. He couldn’t divest himself of Liu; there were too many targets to go after at once, and Liu’s body would be susceptible to a physical attack if it hit the ground. There was a difference between functional immortality and literal immortality.

Apep needed a body. He could barely hold himself together in Egypt, even for a brief disembodied moment. Adam didn’t have that problem. It was obvious; Apep couldn’t find a source for Adam. He was everywhere, and nowhere at the same time. If Apep wasn’t in fear of his own continued existence, he’d have been impressed.

And so he fell, allowing Adam’s attack to drop him from the sky. He needed time to regroup, and Adam had a more human design. Apep’s fall may be interpreted as victory, giving Adam a reason for pause. That’s all Apep needed; a moment.

The Image was close. In fact, there were already copies of the Image. He just needed to get his hands on one. With that kind of energy, he could feed the sky enough energy to wipe clean the map, and Adam along with it. He just needed time. He just needed to play his ruse.

Apep hit the ground with ferocious intensity, rocking the earth hard enough to extinguish the forest fires he’d created to find the depot. His landing created a small impact crater, and Apep withdrew as much as he could into Liu, whose own form, by then, was a gaunt, naked man. He sat there, eyes closed, feigning unconsciousness. In reality, he was scanning the ground for the closest of the fallen DUSATs. There were two copies of the Image in it. He’d have a back-up, even. When he found it, he leapt to the edge of the hole, prepared to make a break for it.

He was met by a robot; an old humanoid model, dirty from its time in what had to be the Antiquities section of the depot. It was holding an ionic scrambler, a smaller version of what the DUSATs were carrying. If Apep understood humor, he would’ve laughed. Above him the floats and skiffs were keeping him from flight. Meaningful flight, anyway.

“I’m disappointed, Adam,” he said, “Humans threw these robots away for their lack of mobility. Do you truly hope to stop me with a pre-impact reject!?”

The robot said nothing, which didn’t surprise Apep in the least. They weren’t programmed for it. He stared it down, feigned left and then right. The robot didn’t move. He took a few slow steps, and the robot took aim. So it works. He thought. Without another feign, he sped around the robot with inhuman speed. The robot didn’t move.

The ground just past the robot did, releasing a tight matrix of spikes. Liu’s body was impaled from beneath at every square centimeter by long, thin filaments of morphic titanium. Liu was comatose, beyond pain. Fortunately, he was immortal, beyond death. But Apep wasn’t beyond being incapacitated as Liu’s body worked to dissolve away the spikes.

For the first time since his being placed in BlackLake’s lunatic cage, Apep was trapped. Adam’s possessions were circling above; the robot had moved to the DUSAT, opening the cockpit to let out the kid with the middle finger. The robot also removed the Images. It opened a compartment it had for storing tools, and in they went. Apep could tell instantly the increase in the robot’s power level. But he was in for one more shock.

The kid with the finger was picked up by one of the possessed floats. It disappeared from Apep’s view. Without much notice, as Apep was having a difficult time with the morphic titanium. It was the slowest thing to break down in nano-systems; the rebels stockpiled it to fight Guardsmen. Liu was essentially that; a glorified Guardsmen.

Apep forgot about the boy until the float returned. Then the boy hopped out and walked over to the robot. Liu’s body was nearly finished dissolving the spikes, and he decided his first order of business would be to run over there and rip the offending finger off. But the boy had something else in his hand. Not an Image; something smaller, shiny and black, which he placed inside one of the robot’s other compartments. He scanned his memory, the UEC database, and the protected area databases until he found the remnants of the Anchorage database. He pulled up an old file that had an image of the object and a two-word description, the implication of which froze Apep.

Philosopher’s Stone.

Apep looked again at the robot. It was no longer clunky, rusty or misshapen. It was brilliant, gleaming and Apep could only guess at its composition and power. The outer black shield on the head was replaced by a screen and a stern and determined expression.

 

It was Adam.

 

***

 

Blake screamed rage at the howling winds and hail tearing his clothing in shreds. When he fought Cyrus Swift in Albany, he drew from the sky, touching it as if his upward-reaching arm was a wand swirling magic. Now his arms reached up to embrace a force so powerful, so utterly beyond his control; he may as well have been reaching to steal the thunder of an angry God.

He kept the city below in his periphery. He couldn’t help but hear the sound of cracking and popping as the lesser-constructed buildings met the dirt. He couldn’t hope the buildings were empty; no time or energy for hopes he had no hand in securing. He though of Laura, the mere minutes of their ride to Union Square and the culmination of his earthly dreams forming union as their two bodies melted into each other, her warm fire tempering his steely heart. If he could’ve found a cure for AV3, what it was doing to him, what it would do to him; he’d take the pill and Laura, take them both as far away from the madness as he could.

But that was an empty-handed hope.

She was down there somewhere, shouting herself hoarse to get everyone in a safe place, heart bound to so many lives she didn’t know, yet with an inexhaustible supply of love for them all. He had to protect them, protect her. He reached up again, felt the infinitesimal barrier keeping him powerless, and left his consciousness. He felt nothing; not frustration or anger, neither fear nor despair. He scanned the earth for the source of the ionosphere, sent his mind North and there it was; Alaska.

Alaska was in a complete state of environmental chaos. It was as if the energy content of the entire ionosphere were concentration in one tiny region near Anchorage. He could’ve cared less about it, except for two things; Jameson and Adam were up there, most likely in the middle of it all, and the true threat to Seattle was about six-hundred miles out in the North Pacific.

A typhoon. Category X; X, because there wasn’t one that fit it. It was massive. It had to be over a thousand miles across, and Seattle was being ripped apart by its outer bands. Blake had to push it out, and soon. He knew then that Seattle, for the large part, was going to be destroyed no matter what he did. But he had to do something.

He let his mind travel once again. Not to Alaska; to Nicaragua. That’s where BlackLake settled. BlackLake the scum, bottom feeding rats and snakes from the grimy dirt of the crater bottom. Apep, the rat-eating bottom-dweller. Blake laughed to himself, that BlackLake was such a joke, guarding him was considered to be a shit-job handed out to newbies to get their feet wet. Feet wet in rat-guts.

Suddenly, Blake could see black tendrils in the sky coming from the northwest. Not many; just a few, the barest amount. He knew what it meant. Apep was mad. Might just kill Blake and say, I’m not so puny now, am I? That might’ve been what Apep had in mind. But Blake had his mind clear, save for the insulting reminiscence. His thoughts, his plan, wouldn’t be so easily read. He was standing before the pulse cannon, activation console in hand. He fired off a shot at the approaching tendrils. A weak shot at best; the city’s power was failing. It succeeded in pissing Apep off.

Quickly, Blake was surrounded by the tendrils, which had wrapped around his body and throat. He didn’t cough; it would only increase his likelihood of being choked. Instead he held his breath. A grouping of tendrils shifted to form a face, inches from his.

“You’re not so funny now!” It said. “I can kill you with a thought. What can you do with a thought?”

Blake showed him. He grabbed the face, activating his ionospheric connection, drawing the atmospheric energy not from the air, but from Apep directly. Apep controlled it all. He was it; it was him. And Blake was just clever enough to draw Apep into extending the conduit.

Apep shrieked, and its grip on Blake tightened. Blake was in agony, afraid that he’d be crushed before he had the energy he needed, but then, suddenly, Apep withdrew, the tendrils releasing their hold. The face turned around as if to look back where it came from, then turned back to face Blake as it retreated.

“You’re a second-class Guardsmen; a charity case.” It said. “No matter what you are to these people, you’ll always be that. A charity case.”

Blake responded in kind, bringing his middle finger to his lips with a kiss, and extending the dubious courtesy to Apep before it withdrew completely. Blake balled up his fists. He wasn’t angry; he needed to see how much power he was able to siphon off. His fists glowed with green light, bright enough to make his eyes burn.

He looked out at the city, the place that always made him welcome, a part of it. Hell; a hero. Fuck what Apep said. He donned a fresh pair of shades from his shirt pocket. He was in his city; and right there on that roof he brought his fists up against the entropic sky, using everything he had to push the storm out, away from where it could do the most damage. He couldn’t keep it off its course forever, but that wasn’t ever the point. The people down below, scrambling to get into one of the A-Grade buildings; Laura, trying to be a leader when ninety-nine percent of the problem was beyond her, and Mobley, who in the coming days and months would be the sole military presence in the rebuilding of a ruined city.

They were Blake’s people. Seattle was Blake’s city, and as the energy at his hands flashed-over and the virus fully bronzed him in his attack stance, Blake died knowing they were his to save.

 

***

 

“Jesus, do you have to drive so fast?”

“I didn’t know you were religious.” said Jameson.

“What!?”

“Never mind,” He said. “We have to get there as soon as possible. Adam will need us.”

“He seemed like he could take care of himself.”

“Do you let Daniel play by himself in the market?”

“No.” Sarah’s tone was growing cold. Jameson was pushing it. He was pushing their commandeered float too, and the driving wasn’t easy.

“Why not?”

“Why not what!?”

“Why don’t you let him play in the market by himself?”

“Because he’s just a kid,” she said, “happy?”

Jameson looked back at Daniel real quick.

“You think you’re old enough to play in the market by yourself?” Jameson asked him.

“Hell yeah!” He answered.

“Don’t give him ideas, Jameson…” She said.

“I’m sorry,” Jameson replied, “I’m just worried about Adam; that’s all…”

Jameson felt Sarah’s hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay,” Sarah said.

“It’s like Matthew all over again,” he said, “except the whole fate of the world thing; that’s different.”

“You miss Matthew a lot.” She said.

“Yeah,” Jameson felt good talking to Sarah. In part, he was developing feelings for her; in part, she was keeping him from realizing exactly how tough the driving was.

They sped through tunnels of fire, never even. Despite the reservations Jameson had about Adam driving, he could’ve used it then. Curls of flame became hoops to eek through, Jameson’s ass-cheeks lifting off the seat at each one. It was Hell’s own obstacle course, and the difficulties presented by the flames were nothing compared to the inferno-driven weather. The wind-speeds were gale-force; the fire was creating its own weather. Jameson couldn’t rise above it; higher up was the chaos of the ionosphere, which became more turbulent as they neared Apep and Adam. The float rocked through a close negotiation; Jameson grunted and swore.

“Everything OK, Jameson?”

“Yeah,” He said, “The driving’s just tough, that’s all…”

“Do you want us to be quiet?” She asked. “Ya’ know, to let you concentrate?”

“No,” he said, “keep talking, please. You’re voice is…soothing.”

“If I didn’t know any better, Mr. Jameson, I’d say you were hitting on me…” She smiled. Jameson got caught in an updraft, throwing the float skyward. He yanked as hard as he could on the steering unit, pulling up before he pulled down. He’d learned that trick from Blake, who’s driving was legendarily frightening.

“I’m sorry-,” She said.

“No,” Jameson chuckled, “up-draft; it wasn’t you,” he said, “though if you could keep from embarrassing me, that’d be great.” She laughed. He looked back. She was way closer to him that he thought she’d be. They were close enough for their noses to touch. And out of nowhere that Jameson knew of, he leaned in the extra inch and kissed her. It wasn’t long, or passionate; it couldn’t have been, as no sooner did he do so than the float took on turbulence, and his attention had to go back to keeping them alive. Sarah cleared her throat. Jameson didn’t know what that meant, but he knew what a slap across the face meant, and he didn’t get one of those. He was satisfied to count on his hopes; starting with the hope of getting them to the fight.

“Jameson, if you become my dad,” Daniel said, “I’m not goin’ to bed when you tell me!”

“Daniel!” Jameson didn’t have to look at her to know she was red-faced. He just laughed.

“Don’t worry,” Jameson replied, “We’ll drink coffee ‘till mid-night. Whattaya’ say?”

“Marry him, Mom.”

“Sorry, Sarah…”

“Yeah, I’ll bet you are!” She said. “The two of you!” She leaned her forearm on Jameson’s shoulder. “And as for you; that’s the only kiss you’re gonna sneak on me, I’ll tell you that!”

Jameson was quiet for a moment.

“You didn’t say that was the only kiss, though…” Sarah didn’t respond. Jameson chalked that up as a conceded point. And he was glad, at that moment, that she couldn’t see the red in his face.

They rode on in white-knuckles. Jameson couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Beneath him the ground was torn. He’d seen the results of earthquakes before. What he saw beneath, what he could see through the fire, was as if the ground had been plowed by a glacier. The trees that were burning, not a one was stably in the ground. They were all uprooted. The flames themselves were chaotic, and twisters of fire spun out of control. Jameson spent much of his time negotiating around these. Lightning was also a problem, streaks drawn by the intense ionization of the upper atmosphere.

The float they’d commandeered was a civilian float. Most floats were designed to withstand a beating, but the outside of it was warped. If they couldn’t land soon, the warp would penetrate the inside, making navigation, and keeping airborne, impossible. It would also keep life impossible, frying all three of them.

Jameson saw a break up ahead. The earth was torn up and charred, but the fire was out. That, however, wasn’t what caught Jameson’s eye. It was the armada of floats and skiffs that encircled the air. Jameson recognized them; Adam’s commandeered fleet. He didn’t see Apep, didn’t have to; a half-mile ahead was the apparent epicenter of the upper-atmospheric torment.

He glanced back at Sarah and Daniel, who were likewise staring out the front window. Jameson stated the obvious.

“We’re here.”

 

 

***

 

“When we run it aground, Anchorage, and much of the southern coast of Alaska, will be completely destroyed. I repeat; Anchorage will be completely destroyed. We are due to make landfall in…” Gerhardt had his ear stuck to the ham radio receiver.

“Fifteen minutes. Landfall in fifteen minutes! Evacuate immediately!”

MacPey hailed Pacific Sanctuary. Gerhardt monitored the radar screen, tracking the speed of the storm surrounding her. MacPey would’ve been better at tracking it, but Gerhardt couldn’t chance his voice being recognized. When the reply came; his reasoning became self-evident.

Weary and exhausted, Elle’s voice came through, describing her, and their situation. Gerhardt wanted to talk to her so bad the words stung his teeth. However, his love for her wouldn’t allow it. She was in command of the Sanctuary; communications was far below her station. If her station was still alive, she’d have been up in the boardroom or administering to the Presidents in the Round Hall. Based on her presence in the nerve center, it was likely that she was the only survivor from the Third Tier.

His thinking was interrupted by a tug on his shoulder patch.

“C’mon, Mr. Schoern; we’d best be goin’…”

“Where?” replied Gerhardt, “You heard her; we have less than fifteen to evacuate. That thing will still be a Category Five when it hits Fairbanks! We won’t even make it that far!” He looked up at MacPey, and the look in his eyes damn near broke his heart. MacPey knew Gerhardt was right, but he couldn’t allow himself to just lie down and wait for death. He needed to take actions to survive, however pointless that action would be. Gerhardt got up.

MacPey wouldn’t die alone. Neither would Gerhardt. They grabbed flex-armor suits; not popular with the Security Force because they were too clunky for combat. Survival was a different story, and they put the suits on as fast as they could. They didn’t bother to bring guns; they couldn’t shoot a hurricane. They took off through the garage, where one of the escort skiffs had just been serviced. MacPey almost walked past it; Gerhardt had to inform him that the remaining vehicles in Anchorage were either stolen or not working. They took the escort out through the service tunnel.

The wind was screaming, sending roof-bits and spikes of shrapnel wood sailing through the air like darts. Gerhardt looked south and saw the source of the wind. The hurricane was all he could see as he looked in that direction; as if spawned by the fiery breath of the Leviathan. He had to turn away.

“We have to get somewhere safe,” said MacPey, “I know of an underground bunker near the border of Anchorage. It’s four yards deep; the ceiling, that is.”

Gerhardt knew it wouldn’t protect them. Fuck it. He thought. We’ll die anyway. “OK, Todd; we’ll go there.”

“You don’t think we’ll survive there, do you…”

“I don’t know if the human race is gonna’ survive this one,” Gerhardt replied, “but your plan is as good as any.”

They got to the bunker as the outer bands were beginning to hit with hurricane strength. Gerhardt couldn’t image what the eye-wall would bring. Todd punched a code into the box, and the top of the bunker creaked as it began to open.

“Hurry up!” Gerhardt shouted, pulling Todd in. “Close it, quickly!”

Todd hit the code again, and the roof groaned. There was a loop of reinforced Kevlar fabric, and Gerhardt jumped up to grab it, hanging on to give the door enough weight to close against the wind. It finally closed.

They sat in the dark, the only light coming from a flashlight Todd had, dimming as the battery started to die. Gerhardt took out his wallet, thumbing out her picture. How innocent. How beautiful. He thought of her weary voice, leading the Sanctuary from the wheel. How much more she’d become in his absence. He put the picture back, but he gripped the wallet still. There wasn’t money in it, but he was confident that, once the hurricane hit Alaska, there’d be no value in currency.

Nervously he waited. Above them the banshees wailed.

 

***

 

Michelle came back to attend to Finnegan after a few minutes. He’d regained his consciousness, complaining of a headache.

“He’s probably got a concussion.” She said. “Unfortunately, there isn’t much we can do for him now.”

“Abdullah, what’s our ETA?” Elle asked.

“About eight minutes,” he said, “But we’ll be feeling the blowback effects within’ five. The outer bands are already there.”

“Fuck.” She paced the small control room. “OK, I want everyone to hop off their station really quick. As small as the room was, she had their attention instantly.

“What can we do to survive ourselves?” She asked.

“I don’t know, but if we stay here, we’ll get hit by the back of the eye-wall.” said Donalds.

“OK, so scratch staying in here. Can we do anything in here? To stop this?” She looked at everyone, and all she saw was heads shaking no.

“Is there any place in here that can survive the back eye-wall?” Again, she was met with shaking heads, except for Donalds, who had an uncertain look.

“Donalds, where?” She asked. He started to shrug, but she quickly had both of his shoulders, pinning him to the wall.

“Where!?”

“Okay, okay…” He said. “I didn’t want to mention it; it’s got its own issues. But the High-E tanks have a service entrance. They’re made of a substance I can’t even name; supposedly impenetrable. They’ve shot fighter skiffs at the stuff going Mach 12; they’d just incinerate to dust.”

“So what’s wrong with the storage tanks?”

“They’re filled with a fuel core that’s radioactive.” Elle thought for a second, that being the only amount of time allotted to her.

“So we dump the core.” She said. “It’s not helping us right now.”

“It’ll still be radioactive.” Donalds said.

“Do we have suits?” She asked. “Breathers?”

“Yeah, but we won’t have time to put them on.”

“Drop the core.” Elle told Donalds. “We’ll have to take our chances.” Donalds flipped a switch, entering a rapid-fire sequence of codes. Elle felt a thump as the fuel-core was dumped.

“Where are the suits and masks?”

“By the door to the service entrance,” Donalds said. “1-A, 307”

“Listen up, everyone,” She said, “We’re going to 1-A, 307 immediately. When we get there, we put on the suits. By then,” she looked at Donalds, “We’ll have the hatch open.

“The fuel-core was close. Within a minute, they were all there. But putting on suits took more time. Elle kept shouting Hurry! Hurry! But she wasn’t having an easy time of it herself. She finally suited up and donned a breather. Donalds had experience with the process, and was already suited up. He also had the hatch opened, and one-by-one, the skeleton crew made it down to the empty fuel-core. When an unsuited Finnegan was finally lowered in, the upper hatch was sealed.

The inside was completely dark, but Elle didn’t need light to know the Sanctuary was just then hitting, and being broken apart by the back eye-wall. And another bump in the opposite direction told her something else;

They’d arrived in Alaska.

 

***

 

Kenny’s eyes just cleared the edge of the bunker. In all of the years of his life, he’d not encountered such oddity, not even in dreams. The Adam now inhabited the construction robot that had lain dusty and unused behind one of the weapons platforms. Kenny didn’t know about it until Adam set all the machinery loose on the serpentine monster. Only then was it even revealed.

Kenny spent most of the battle in the bunker, cleaning out the filter of Alice’s bunker shell. That was before he threw the hatch, letting her out. She thanked him with a palm across his face, not exactly unexpected.

“What right have ya’ ta’ lock me in a bubble like that?”

“B-but, Jimmy and Mitchell-,”

“…are boys, you moron!” She answered. “Where are they?”

“I’m right here, mom…” Mitchell walked up. He was covered in soot.

“Boy, what’s wrong with you, telling him to lock me up?” She said. “Where’s Jimmy?”

“I don’t know, ma’…” He replied. “About Jimmy, that is. Will you please go back in the bunker?”

“I most certainly will not!”

“Mitchell, are you OK?” asked Kenny. “Did that, Adam, hurt you in any way?”

“Oh no, he’s fine.” Mitchell walked over to a stack of crates, piling them up against the wall so he could get a look at what was happening outside.

“Where’s your brother, Mitchell!?”

“I don’t know, ma’…Jesus Christ!” Alice walked right over to him, pulling him off the crates by his ear.

“Don’t you ever speak to your mother like that, Mitchell Jacob!”

“He’s dead, ma’, OK? Is that what you wanted to hear? He’s fucking dead!” Mitchell was crying, but muted. Alice’s shock forced her to let go, and Mitchell climbed back onto the crates. Kenny looked at Alice. She was blank-faced. If he thought it would’ve done any good, he’d have tried to console her, but he knew she was so far beyond it, she’d scarcely hear his voice. Instead he grabbed an old mechanical sniper-rifle and joined Mitchell on the crates, wondering if maybe he was bringing a knife to a gun-fight.

 

 

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