Untitled (25 page)

       "Don't you find it odd?" Megan asked, stepping up next to Harrison.

       "There's not much normal about any of this," he replied.

       "Their behaviour makes no sense," she began to explain. "One minute they're trying to rip us limb from limb and now they're ignoring us."

       "So?"

       "Why didn't they finish the job?" Megan whispered.

       "I'm glad they didn't." Harrison said.

       Hewitt joined them, wiping the knife on her thigh. She stepped passed Harrison and Megan, walking back out into the open. None of the creatures look up as she stood their and turned around on the spot.

       "I suggest we stop talking about their behaviour and take advantage of it." Hewitt stated.

       "What else can we do?" Megan looked at Harrison.

       "Damned if you do and damned if you don't." Harrison left the tent and joined Hewitt.

       Megan glanced back at Peter and Kaci. "Are you coming?"

       "You need me to fly us out." Kaci walked over to Megan.

       "I just want it noting that I think this is a shitty idea," Peter said, shoulders slumped but following anyway.

       Father Jacob sat with his head tilted backwards, his eyes closed yet his mind far from sleep. Images played out behind his eyelids, things that had been, things that were and things that could be.

       None of what he saw was pleasant, visions of death and destruction on a scale unimaginable. Man had spent centuries fighting itself, had created weapons that could do the job with no more work than the push of a button, but it would all pale in comparison to the threat they now faced.

       Jacob wasn't the first to be plagued by these visions. The responsibility had been passed down through his family since before records had begun, the youngest of each generation taking the mantel of Father and all that came with it.

       His father before him had called it a curse, the images he saw eventually forcing him to end his life at the end of a noose. Jacob had been only six at the time, an age too young for the weight placed upon his shoulders. He had grown up quickly, never truly experiencing the fun of being a child.

       Despite all of this Jacob had followed a different path to that of the man who had sired him. He saw what he'd been given as a gift, the greatest honour to be bestowed upon a living person. He'd been granted a knowledge only ever glimpsed by a select few. He knew the truth about the darkness.

       As they drew closer to their destination the visions grew stronger in strength, no longer playing out as silent nightmares. Jacob could smell the cloying tang of freshly spilled blood and the stench of rot and emptied bowels. He saw cities falling as the Slavis grew in numbers, the sky turning black as night threatened to rule eternal.

       Jacob saw, tasted and felt the pain of mankind at its end and, for the first time in his life, he felt afraid. Was he strong enough to send them back? Did he have the strength to stare into the abyss? Was he willing to take the life of an innocent to save a world that thrived on hatred, war and greed?

       Maybe we didn't deserve the life we'd been given, maybe this was the end of times as stated in the Book of Revelations. This could be a judgement from God, a creator tired with watching his children punish each other.

       Jacob frowned, his forehead creasing as doubt pushed fingers of uncertainty deep into his thoughts. 'C
ould I be wrong?' Jac
ob questioned and in reply came the distant sound of laughter, an echoing rumble of amused thunder that pulsed at Jacob's temples.

       "No!" Jacob yelled, sitting upright in the passenger seat.

       "Fath..." Rob paused before continuing. "Jacob, are you alright?"

"They know we are coming." Jacob mopped at the sweat on his brow. "They know what we plan to do and they are trying to seed my mind with vacillation."

       "Perhaps we should stop and rest," suggested Rob, slowing the vehicle. "You look unwell."

       "I have not slept in days, my friend." Jacob smiled sadly. "But we have no time for such luxuries."

       Jacob took a deep breath and once again closed his eyes. He would not weaken in his belief. The Slavis would not win that easily. Jacob watched as the images played out and hoped he was strong enough to change what he was seeing.

       Chappell was slowly growing accustomed to watching life through the eyes of the Slavis. At first he'd been bombarded by them, a battery of sights and sounds that had beaten at his senses. But Chappell had always prided himself on being a quick learner and this attribute had come to the fore.

       His biggest breakthrough had been the realisation that the Slavis functioned, on one level, on a '
hive'
mentality. They were all linked together, a being made up of parts. But they were so much more than that. They absorbed knowledge through their conquests, assimilating memories and thoughts from the minds they took over. This they shared with each other, constantly communicating information.

       But they could also act on their own initiative, part of the hive yet still retaining a state of individuality. They did not follow orders from a Queen, they made decisions without the need to be directed.

       
They were unique.

       Once Chappell understood this it had been easier to control what he choose to see and hear. Through trial and error he figured out how to move along whatever thought process the Slavis used for communication. Chappell was soon hopping from one mind to the next, travelling with the Slavis as a non-paying guest.

       The experience was an overwhelming one, bodiless flight along a corridor of pure consciousness with walls that shifted in and out of reality and doors that opened upon sights and sounds unimaginable. Chappell soared from one being to the next, witnessing the destruction they caused as he delved into their minds, picking at the knowledge they accumulated.

       The Slavis knew he was there and it made them unhappy, but they couldn't deny the bond Chappell had created. They were bound by the rules he'd translated, tied by the words he'd carved into his flesh.

       Chappell waited, allowing them to feed, to quench their hunger in peace, but now he needed them. They heard his words and heeded them. Now they waited, feeding on the spoils of the hunt.

       The bond between Chappell and the Slavis was stronger, but it was not a one way street. As he had fingered his way through their memories they had done the same to him, picking away at his cerebellum with the precision of a surgeon.

       They were intrigued by this stranger, a mere mortal with the gall to invade their domain. They dug deep into his mind, reliving his life in a matter of seconds, taking note of every vital detail.

       And they knew what he wanted.

       It did not surprise them when his voice had torn through their collective. They had seen his past and they too recognised the face of the one he needed, the one who had shared his life for such a brief time, the one he'd left behind to cry when he'd turned his back on the world.

       They knew her as well as he did and they would do as he ordered. They would bring them to Chappell, offer them to him as a gift. They would appease him for now and then take pleasure in devouring his soul.

       Chappell sat patiently and smiled to himself, watching the group of survivors through the eyes of his host. Only one of them concerned him, the one who held the key to releasing the full potential of his power.

       "Megan," Chappell sighed her name and the Slavis repeated it.

       "Megan," they sang. "We remember you."