Deadrise 2: Deadwar (18 page)

“Looks like we are friends after all…” he extended his hand over the desk. McReedy took it, “Partner.” Smitty said with a smile as they shook.

McReedy stayed and enjoyed a couple more beers before the longing ache for Mel’s hot flesh was simply too much for him to bear. Excusing himself, he hurried to the Toyota and sped home along the perimeter road.

With a five percent cut of the Freebooters contraband he would need to move from the Main House. He and Mel had been discussing relocating to one of the mid-sized cabins located around the lake. Now he had a reason. He knew Mel would be proud of what he had accomplished today. She was always telling him that he needed to assert his authority more often. The General was gone more than not. McReedy knew the day-to-day workings of the community and the Militia better than Jenkins.
Jenkins won’t be around forever.
That’s what Mel would often say, and he always felt there was much more to her words.

His head began to ache. He had only drank five beers, barely enough to give him a buzz. Oh well, it wasn’t anything that Mel’s soft flesh wouldn’t take care of.
I’m on my way baby.
It didn’t take long before Mac's thoughts were once again occupied with making love to Mel…

CHAPTER 21

Thursday, October 25, 2001

Somewhere in the South Pacific

8:03 AM

The Learjet flew low to the water; its destination a small chain of islands approximately fifty miles ahead. The island of choice was relatively small, two and a half miles at it’s longest and a mile at its widest but by far the largest among the chain of twelve.

As they jet drew nearer, its occupants could make out structures on several of the smaller islands; two or three buildings, a helicopter landing pad, a boat dock, an array of radio antenna and satellite dishes here and there. But soon all attention was focused on the main island of the chain. The Learjet approached from the north, revealing cliffs several hundred feet tall where that part of the island had simply slid into the ocean at some point, thousands of years in the past. The jet circled round to the west where a small United States Military airport was cut into the semi-tropical forest, complete with two runways, an air control tower, two hangars and half a dozen other small buildings. But as they drew nearer the signs of battle became apparent; the main runway was disabled with the wreckage of a military transport plane scattered along half its length. The secondary runway was mostly clear with only the wreckage of a small helicopter at the far end. A handful of zombies could be seen staggering about, spread across the entire airport grounds. The withered, weathered remains of dozens of corpses littered both runways as well as the grounds around the building’s with the majority centered around the air control tower, most likely the place where the human inhabitants had made their last stand.

The Learjet touched down flawlessly on the secondary runway, the wings clipping the only staggering zombie in the path. The plane taxied to a halt near the control tower and seconds later, the main hatch opened along the starboard fuselage and out poured a dozen men clad in white robes and carrying AK-47 assault rifles. They quickly set about securing the immediate perimeter.

A thirteenth white robed man stepped from the Learjet… Mordecai Necrotura. He was tall and thin and strode with a predators grace…fluid and deadly. He had albino pale skin and blood red eyes centered with black, vertical slits that scanned about, missing nothing. It had been thirty-eight years since he had last been on this island, but the memories were still as fresh as if it had been yesterday.

Mordecai had first come to these islands in 1959, funding an archaeological expedition headed by Dr. Lodi Pentak. Dr. Pentak was an explorer, occultist and mad man. He had been searching for traces of an ancient civilization that he believed existed in 30,000 B.C. If it were true, said civilization would pre-date nearly 25,000 years of accepted history. He had yellowed parchments on which were scribbled ancient clues and maps supposedly leading to the island chain on which this civilization resided. Dr. Pentak was routinely laughed at then ignored by potential investors. It was Mordecai who eventually financed the expedition, sparing no expense and giving Dr. Pentak plenty of legal and moral leeway in the undertaking. Dr. Pentak had proven his theory, uncovering traces of a demon worshipping civilization dating approximately 30,000 B.C. Further evidence also suggested that this chain of twelve islands had once been a single island, destroyed in a giant volcanic explosion, leaving the scattered chain of today. But Dr. Pentak had also unleashed powerful supernatural forces put in place by the shamans and sorcerers of this ancient civilization, awakening powerful guardian beasts and wicked curses upon the members of the expedition. All were killed save Mordecai and Dr. Pentak, and the good Doctor had been drooling mad when the rescue boat had retrieved him. He died twelve hours later, and Mordecai used his vast wealth and connections to erase all record of the Pentak expedition, going so far as to murder those that had retrieved the Dr. and heard his mad tales of demons, monsters and walking dead. The only remnants of the expedition and the knowledge gained resided in Mordecai’s memory…and the small urn containing Dr. Pentak’s ashes, which Mordecai kept in the effects closet of his Communion Chamber. Mordecai used them to contact the Dr.’s restless spirit from time to time.

In 1964, Mordecai had again been drawn to this island, only this time at the behest of the Krylok whom he had been in telepathic contact with since childhood. They had recently revealed their true selves…hideous alien invaders. But they promised Mordecai the power and means to conquer the earth. They failed to tell him that said power came with a price…implantation with an alien slug and transformation into a hybrid under the control of the Krylok. It was a price Mordecai would never pay. But the Krylok were not about to take no for an answer. Mordecai was genetically compatible for hybrid conversion, one in one hundred million. They were not about to let him escape. Unbeknownst to Mordecai until much later, he had been under the covert surveillance of the United States Military. They suspected he had been in contact with Extra Terrestrials for some time, and had been watching him since early 1960. They sent in a Marine Combat Unit to arrest Mordecai and contain any alien presence on the island. What ensued was a wild battle between the Krylok and the Marines, with Mordecai caught in the middle. The aliens were defeated, and their spacecraft was captured, as was a Sentinel. As in 1959, he barely escaped with his life and once again used his wealth and power to protect himself. That was the last time he had been on these islands.

Afterwards, the United States Military simply claimed the entire island chain, giving it the unassuming name of Outpost 11. Over the years it had become a holding and containment facility as well as all around dumping ground for the Pentagon. It was the place
They
made you disappear to…the place where terrorists were sent to be interrogated…the place where survivors from unauthorized government experiments were housed until all useful information was gleaned from them before they were exterminated. The last scraps of every covert project the government had tried to sweep under the rug found their way here…The place the Pentagon had kept the Sentinel and damaged Krylok spacecraft stored since 1964.

That was the reason Mordecai had returned to this island after thirty-eight years. His eyes surveyed the mountain rising up behind the control tower. He knew that it was honeycombed with passages and holding cells, warehouses, laboratories and firing ranges. He had astral projected here several times over the years, thoroughly exploring each and every room and hallway. and for years he had tried to infiltrate Outpost 11 with his own people, but it had been to no avail. It was one of those places that simply did not exist.

He gave another mental command and he and a majority of his Templars moved past the control tower and started along a narrow dirt road that wound out of sight into the jungle. It led to the base entrance. Four Templars remained behind to guard and refuel the Learjet. It was sweltering hot, but Mordecai’s hybrid metabolism enjoyed the heat and humidity. As they wound along the road, Mordecai reached out with his psychic senses, probing the jungle for any hidden zombies. Before long they came to the base entrance, a large steel door set into a cave opening. A pair of Templars hurried over to the control box set into the rock alongside the door, pulling some bypass equipment from their packs and getting to work…A few minutes later the door slid open with a hiss of escaping air and Mordecai and his entourage swept inside.

There was still power courtesy of the geo-thermal core tap the Pentagon had installed in the late seventies, and the hallways were well lit and the air well conditioned. Upon entering, Mordecai could feel the psychic aura of the Sentinel deep within the mountain, knowing that it could feel him too. Mordecai led the way. Before the deadrise there had been thirty-six “Residents”, secret prisoners of the government who existed in a void with no identity or rights; terrorists, citizens who had learned too much of the truth, survivors of the Pentagons genetic and biological experiments, foreign spies, and bizarre freaks of nature captured across America. None would have ever left Outpost 11 alive and indeed most of them were dead. Besides the superzombie, one resident was still alive; an armless, legless, faceless torso with life support tubes plugged into various parts of its body and a trio of thick black wires attached to the base of its skull. A quick mind scan touched a conscious mind, indeed an alert, intelligent mind before white noise blocked the telepathic connection. What to make of this? Mordecai gave the order for the monstrosity to be loaded aboard the jet and taken back to his island for further study.

The Sentinels psychic aura was like a physical thing, pressing against him as he moved onward. Mordecai found himself drawn to the Sentinel because in a sense, he and it were brothers. Both had started out human, and both had been reborn via implantation of a Krylok slug. While Mordecai had evolved into a hybrid that looked almost completely human, the Sentinel was the necrovirus incarnate, an instinctive, killing machine able to raise and control the dead, impregnate humans with the Slugpod spore and were completely subservient to the Krylok.

Or were they?

Mordecai had his doubts, especially about this particular Sentinel. Domination of any sentient creature took constant reinforcement. Mordecai’s New Humanity didn’t worship him simply because he knew magic and wielded power; they worshipped him because he wielded said magic and power over them like a sledgehammer, wreaking furious vengeance down upon any who would defy him… And even then, there was always an underling looking to usurp that power from him, to take his place as ruler. Mordecai didn’t imagine it was much different between the Krylok and the Sentinels.

This particular Sentinel had been cut off from its Krylok masters for thirty-eight years. Not only had it been free of the constraints of Krylok mental domination, it had also been in close proximity with human beings that entire time. Mordecai suspected that it had adapted to humankinds way of thinking, bonded to humans telepathic wavelength.

Finally, they reached the sublevel where the Sentinel was housed: a cement stairwell accessing a narrow concrete hallway with a single cell at the end. Mordecai ordered his Templars to stay behind and he strode down the hallway alone, stopping before the solid steel door. The Sentinels psychic aura throbbed with rage and hatred, attempting to overwhelm him. But he was Mordecai Necrotura! And he bowed to no man, creature or god, great or small. He pushed back,
hard,
telepathically dominating the Sentinel with ease.

What of the Krylok?
It inquired after its alien creators.

Their bid for world control failed! Only a handful of them remain, cowering on the dark side of the moon like cockroaches; stealing to the planet from time to time to scavenge a meal or a spare part for their wrecked Mothership.
I will kill them where I find them.

What are you?
The Sentinels question came through its psychic fog of hatred.

I am the future of this world! Bow to me! Acknowledge me your Lord and Master and not only will I set you free, I will take you in as my own! Make you my Angel of Retribution against those who would stand against my New Humanity!
No more words were exchanged, but Mordecai felt the Sentinels psychic defenses drop, and Mordecai pounced, imprinting his domination upon the Sentinels primitive mind with all of his telepathic might. When he was finished, he pushed a button on the small control panel set into the wall beside the cell door. The door slid open with a small hiss, and the Sentinel stood there in the doorway. Its naked flesh was blackened and withered to the texture of old leather, drawn tight across the bones and tendons. The head was little more than a skin wrapped skull and its hair was shoulder length and the color and consistency of cobwebs. Its mouth was full of jagged yellow teeth and its empty eye sockets gazed at Mordecai for several seconds before it knelt before him, head bowed low.
You are my Lord and Master, Mordecai Necrotura. I am yours to command.
Mordecai let out an audible laugh, reaching out one hand to pat the Sentinels old, leathery scalp.

I christen thee…Gabriel, my Avenging Angel. Rise, my son, welcome to your rebirth.
Gabriel stood, raising his head up to his master. A smile played across both of their lips.

We have much work to do, my son. The world has fallen to chaos and humanity needs saving. I am their savior. Those that are worthy will join my New Humanity while the infidels shall feed my hunger...

CHAPTER 22

Wednesday, October 31, 2001