Deadrise (66 page)

"Those white robed bastards to the south!" Matt said, understanding dawning on the group.

"Exactly. It was The New Humanity you witnessed crucifying and feeding those victims to the drones."

"I thought you said the Krylok betrayed Mordecai and wanted him dead?" Mac asked.

"That was over thirty-five years ago. When the Krylok mothership crashed on the dark side of the moon, they were forced to change their invasion plan. They now realized they needed Mordecai’s network of contacts. Another truce was made, a truce of convenience for both sides. But as with the pact 35 years ago, this one was bound to crumble. And it did, the night of the siege."

"Now we know why the deadfucks weren’t attacking those white robed bastards." Jenkins muttered.

"That had nothing to do with the pact between Mordecai and the Krylok. Mordecai was a very influential man, one of the richest in the world, and it wasn’t just madmen and occultists who joined the New Humanity. Engineers, Scientists, Artists, and Doctors were also among his ranks. One was Dr. Winters. A brain surgeon and pioneer of nanotechnology, he developed a microchip that when installed in the brain, would generate a small telepathic wavelength that confused the drones, keeping them at bay."

"Only until they spilled blood." Susan added. "Once they bled the zombies tore them apart."

"I noticed that myself." Zack replied. "But keeping drones at bay was not the microchip’s only ability. It also allowed the New Humanity cultists to communicate telepathically with one another. The cult of The New Humanity called it their Third Eye."

"Dr. Winters you say?" David asked, backtracking on the conversation.

"Yes." Zack answered.

"This house and estate belonged to a Dr. Eric Winters. He was a brain surgeon."

"You are correct David. The man who owned this estate was a member of the New Humanity. In fact, most of those that had residences here on Rainbow Lake were members of the cult."

"Not Adam and Kelly." Matt said. "We found them as zombies when we first arrived."

"No doubt killed by cultists. Which is just as well. A walking death is a far better fate that crucifixion and being eaten alive." Zack said solemnly.

"Speak for yourself." Jenkins replied.

"How do you know all of this?" Cmdr. King asked.

"I have spent the last three days holed up in Mordecai’s estate. I accessed his computer files."

"That explains how you know about the cultists, but how do you know all about the Krylok and their plans? Did you inherit genetic memory when you were implanted with the embryo?" Norris asked.

"No. I killed three Krylok, including the one who implanted me. But before I killed them, I telepathically stole their memories. They fill my head, overlapping my own. Sometimes it is difficult to distinguish between the two."

"Do we have to worry about more of those cultists leading another wave of zombies over here?" Jenkins asked.

"No." Zack answered flatly.

"How can you be sure?" Susan asked.

"Because I killed all the cultists that remained." Zack said.

"So Mordecai Necrotura is dead then?" Jenkins asked.

"No. He managed to escape before I arrived, but his power base here is shattered and his pact with the Krylok broken. He has fled far away from here."

"How can you be sure?" Jenkins pressed.

"Because if he were close, I could sense him telepathically. Such is his evil that it carries its own psychic stench."

"His house is empty then?" Matt asked.

"Yes, and full of weapons, ammunition and supplies. It is yours for the taking."

"Are we safe, then?" Susan asked.

"For the moment. But even as we speak, there is an army of drones massing in Park City and being controlled by several Sentinels. They know you are here. Before night falls, they will begin the march up the canyon."

"That army of deadfucks was ten thousand strong and those Alphas have Abrams tanks at their disposal." Jenkins said.

"We’re going to have to evacuate." Matt said.

"Perhaps not." Zack said. "I may be able to eliminate them for you."

"How?" Jenkins asked.

"My ship is equipped with a pair of small, tactical city buster warheads."

"Nukes?"

"Similar. They are equivalent in power to a small nuclear warhead, but work on a different principal than nuclear reaction and leave no radiation. All of the Shuttlecraft are armed with them, plus a limited supply is available on the Mothership for reloading. More likely than not, they are being used at various locations around the world."

"Why didn’t they simply destroy Park City in the first place?" Pvt. Jimenez asked.

"Because the gestation pod was growing there."

"I’m surprised they haven’t used one on Hill Air Force base." Jenkins said.

"They planned to." Zack said. "But there was only one shuttlecraft in this sector and it was destroyed in the battle of Park City. The one I acquired came from several hundred miles away."

"You said a bunch of Krylok were killed in the crash on the moon. How many are left alive?" Matt asked.

"Fifty-three Krylok out of more than five hundred survived the crash, and of one hundred attack shuttles, only twenty remained intact. When I took control of this craft three days ago there were thirty Krylok and nine shuttlecraft planet-wide, ten counting mine."

"So you are going to destroy Park City?" Cmdr. King asked.

"Is there any other option? You could flee, or stay and attempt to hold off a horde more than ten thousand strong. And as Jenkins said, the Sentinels leading them have commandeered tanks. With one city buster I can wipe out the entire horde as well as their Sentinel masters. Then Rainbow Lake would most definitely be safe, for quite some time."

"Do it." Jenkins said.

"I agree." Matt seconded. The rest of them added their approval to the din.

Without a word he turned for the shuttlecraft.

"When will you be back?" Matt asked.

Zack turned back to the crowd. "I won’t be coming back."

"Why not?"

"Although I can keep my mind shielded from the Krylok I cannot keep the shuttle craft hidden. They have the same sensor systems as I and can detect the exact location of my shuttle, just as I can theirs. If I stay, they will send multiple attack craft and surely destroy this place. If I keep on the move around the world, they will spend their efforts and resources tracking me."

"Is that the only reason?" Matt asked. Despite Zack’s mutated form, he was still Zack. Matt had known him for many years, and could tell by his body language that he was holding something back.

"There is another reason…I must feed. I am no longer human and therefore my appetites are no longer human."

"Are you a cannibal like those deadfucks?" Jenkins asked with disgust.

"The flesh is for drones…I feed as the Krylok feed. Brains and blood are my nourishment."

"Oh my God." Several of them muttered under their breath.

"If
only
He would answer my prayers." Zack said sadly.

"So after you destroy Park City you simply go on the run?" Matt asked.

"The Krylok invasion of the planet is in full swing my friend. The human species is in a war for its very existence...and it is losing. I shall do all that I can to see the race does not become extinct. I suggest you do the same. Gather more people to you, organize, fortify, and always stay vigilant. Destroy Krylok, Sentinels and Drones wherever you encounter them. The Lupen managed to drive the Krylok from their Homeworld, and nearly destroy them in the process. If we stay strong and fight, we may not only persevere as a species and reclaim our planet, but eradicate the Krylok race once and for all."

"This
is
something out of a bad sci-fi movie." Cpl. Philips cracked in very poor humor.

"Take care my friends." Zack said, looking to each of them before his eyes settled on Matt. "I truly wish things were different."

With that he turned away and boarded his ship. The exit ramp folded back into the belly of the black, tear shaped craft and a minute later the low throbbing hum of its engines filled the air. It grew in intensity, and the shuttlecraft gently lifted from the ground, the three landing pods retracting into the hull. The hum of the engines continued to build in pitch and intensity as it climbed straight into the sky several hundred feet before speed away to the west in a blur, bound for Park City.

As the others drifted back towards the house, Matt stayed behind, watching for several long moments, even after the craft was gone from sight. Everything he had ever believed about life and death, God and the universe had been turned upside down in the past five minutes.

"Are you ok?" Susan came up beside him and slipped her arm around his waist. Matt pulled her tight, burying his face in her neck, trying desperately to draw strength from her embrace. "Babe?" Susan asked affectionately, pulling him even closer. But he did not answer her, because he knew if he opened his mouth, he would start screaming, and he didn’t know if he would be able to stop…

Chapter 64

Saturday, June 30 2001

Park City, UT

8:45 AM

Dr. Cooper huddled in a dark, forgotten, dead-end junction of the Park City sewer system, chastising himself for the thousandth time about breaking with protocol and disobeying Colonel Jenkins orders. Had he taken the bodies directly to the incinerator as ordered, a dozen or more Alpha’s wouldn’t have been created and slaughtered the majority of the hospitals inhabitants before taking to the streets and helping to sack the city.

It had been twenty-four hours since he had taken water, and seventy-two since he had eaten. A day ago he had ventured out of his hidden spiderhole in search of drinkable water. He had come up in the flood basement of a looted and abandoned fast food restaurant. He wandered upstairs to the washroom, drinking deeply from the sink. But hunger drove him into the kitchen looking for food, only to be surprised by half a dozen Beta zombies. He had been bitten twice on the arms and once on the side but managed to escape their clutches, back down stairs and into the sewer. He returned back to his spiderhole, expecting a ravenous pack of zombies to lunge out of the darkness any moment, but none came. Occasionally he would hear something moving down the length of the dark tunnel, but he would see nothing.

But he knew that would change. If nothing else, he would begin to hallucinate once the infection reached the thirty-five to forty-eight hour mark. He was already hot with fever, and his bite wounds stunk with rot and burned as if hot acid had been poured on them. The rest of his muscles ached with cramps and fatigue, and he was slavering with mucus from dehydration.

At times, he wished a band of zombies would find him and tear him apart so as to end his misery, but then the thought of becoming a walking dead filled him with such dread that he was reduced to tears. He had sliced up hundreds of them, and everyone had the same glazed, dull stare, but behind that look burned a spark of intelligence, the mark of a soul trapped in purgatory. He could not allow that to happen to himself.

He
would not
allow it to happen!

He would find a discarded pistol or rifle and end his own life with a bullet through the brain, and spare himself damnation in hell.

Determined, he mustered all of his strength and stood, his bite wounds burning double hot and spurting black blood, pus, and small bits of rotten flesh. He let out a small scream of agony, but remained on his feet, leaning against the wall. He took several deep breaths and the pain subsided, and mustering all his willpower he forced himself to take a step...and another...and another.

He could feel the blood and infection oozing freely from his wounds, the sickly sweet stench warm and wet. The pain was torturous, his body drenched with a hot, sour sweat and it took everything he had just to put one foot in front of the other. His head swam with nausea, had he stopped several times to dry heave, the last time vomiting blood, yet he continued on.

Dr. Cooper lost track of how long or which way he wandered the dark maze of sewers, several minutes seeming as several hours to his fevered mind, but eventually he came to an iron rung latter set in the wall which accessed a manhole fifteen feet above. Bright, crisp morning sunlight lanced down through its grate. Gripping the ladder weakly with both hands, he began to climb. If walking had been torturous, climbing was downright excruciating, taking him nearly half an hour to ascend the fifteen rungs. He peered up through the manhole for several minutes, but not a single zombie staggered by.