Dahl lounged on her cherished beach chair, legs stretched out, ankles soaking in the salty surf. God, she thought. She lifted her right foot in the air, calf muscle tensing as a group of nearby boys ogled her. She made little circles with her toes and smiled at them. An old straw hat and neon pink sunglasses protected her face from the blazing noonday suns.
A gentle breeze blew along the sandy beach, cooling her sweaty bare legs. She laid her head back, closing her weary eyes and drifted off. Strange dreams of mysterious, far-off places filled with horrifying creatures and dangers galore filled her mind. She shifted and the icy beer bottle in one hand slipped unnoticed from Dahl's grasp. It sank into the sand, cold suds geysering from its open mouth.
"Hey," a distant voice beckoned from somewhere just beyond sight.
Dahl's empty hand vibrated with a white knuckled fury as a dark energy built in her chest. She fidgeted in her sleep. Things chased her through the dark. She sat up straight, eyes wide, and called out, "Carlos."
The thick layer of stark, white suntan lotion covering Dahl's nose tickled down her cheeks. One boy saw it and laughed. Dahl grabbed the beach towel hanging from the chair arm and wiped it away red faced. A random idea occurred to her. What about the UV?
She stared down at a perfect imprint of nose against a blood red towel and a chill raced up her spine. The stray beer bottle caught her attention, and she picked it up. She drank deep. It was ice cold.
Gentle waves licked Dahl's feet, threatening to draw her out to sea. She kicked sand at them, thinking the tide was coming in. She held her ground. In the near distance, a flock of screeching gulls hung, suspended on invisible strings, using the rising thermals to search for muscles in the undulating surf. A clear blue sky filled her view and the smell of briny seaweed and grilling barbeque sauce wafted through the air. She sighed and lay back.
Mary Kelly, a short, pretty girl Dahl knew from high school, ran up and plopped down hard beside her, splashing up a wave of gritty water that covered her legs. It itched. Dahl frowned and pushed her feet into the oncoming waves. The scratchy sand lifted and floated away in the swirling current.
Mary leaned in, placed a cupped hand over Dahl's mouth, and grabbed the beer bottle with her other hand. Dahl flinched, trying to stab Mary with the bottle, but Mary held her fast. For a little thing, she sure was strong. Her eyelids narrowed and a stream of garbled expletives struggled to break through Mary's Kelly's giant fingers. Mary leaned closer, lips almost touching Dahl's earlobe and breathed the words, "Dahl, wake up. They're here." Mary shook her. "Wake the fuck up."
Dahl's eyelids burst apart. Eve knelt over her with one giant black hand cupping her mouth, spider-leg fingers preventing her from crying out. The other black claw held the knife gripped in Dahl's struggling hand. Its point was inches from Eve's neck.
When Eve was certain Dahl was aware of her surroundings, she released the blade and placed her forefinger over her own lips in a shushing gesture. "Quiet," she warned, drawing her hand away from Dahl's mouth. Eve lifted Dahl into a sitting position, touched her own ear and mouthed the word listen. She pointed towards the jungle on the other side of an enormous downed tree cloaking the boulder they slept on.
At first, Dahl heard nothing, but then the faint sound of someone speaking drifted over the tree. There was a man nearby. She struggled to make out what was being said, but the thick vegetation beyond the fallen tree made it difficult to hear or pinpoint where the voice was coming from. Dahl didn't know how far away the speaker was, but she determined he was close.
Eve gestured from her own eyes to Dahl's and then towards the voice. She motioned for Dahl to follow and keep low. Dahl followed her to a nearby tree trunk, and they peeked over. A line of trampled vegetation ran along the side of the log. From the looks of the trampled trail, Dahl guessed a small contingent of men had passed by, less than fifteen feet from them. The fallen timber had done an admirable job of cloaking their presence because everything else of M6-117 had proven to want them dead.
The two women didn't have to go far before finding evidence of others. Sliding over the outer edge of the fallen tree, they landed in a knocked down path, noticing several sets of deep boot prints. Considering how close they had passed by, it was just lucky that neither Dahl nor Eve had been making any noise in their sleep.
Dahl and Eve followed the path until coming to a point in the trail where the path had closed back over. When they looked back, the path had disappeared. Apparently, the jungle was messing with these people, too.
The voice was clearer now. Eve reached through the bushes, palm pressed outward, hand stopping just short of coming out the other side. When the edge of her palm emerged into the clearing, it was a chameleon green, indistinguishable from the thick vegetation. Eve spread her fingers wide and a thin red slit expanded across the center of her palm. The separating slit became a set of vertical eyelids that tore open, revealing a bloody, eyeless socket. In the void, an 8-pupils eye formed and rolled to stop, homing in on its target.
A complement of armored soldiers held a group of bound prisoners at gunpoint in the center of a large clearing.
Dahl tapped Eve on the shoulder and shot her a puzzled look. Eve turned, eyes still closed and withdrew her hand from the bush. She held it out for inspection, and the oversized eye stopped an inch from Dahl's nose. It blinked twice and Dahl jumped back, toppling onto her backside with a barely contained squeak of surprise.
Fortunately, at the same moment, one prisoner made an impromptu escape attempt. He leapt up, took two loud, crashing steps away before his huge captor's heavy buttstock struck the back of his neck. The man sprawled forwards as a blinding sea of stars filled his shrinking vision. The armored guard who struck him fell to his knees, grabbing the back of his own head and vomited. When the guard drew his hand away, blood filled his palm as if he had struck himself.
Eve jammed her hand back inside the bush as Dahl struggled to right herself. Neither welcomed the unwanted noise. Eve's reddening expression became apologetic as she mouthed the word, sorry.
After the initial shock wore off, Dahl grabbed Eve's other hand, inspected her palm for signs of a second eye, and mouthed the words. That was awesome. Eve shrugged and extended her empty hand. As she stared at the palm, the surface became a flat plate of black onyx, flickered twice and ignited into a vivid viewing screen. The picture was exemplary.
A slender, blond-haired man wearing a well kept ceremonial priest robe stood at the center of a ring of five large prisoners kneeling in submission.
Dahl saw him mouth something and said, "I wish this thing came with sound."
Eve turned to Dahl with a raised brow and flexed her pinky finger. To Dahl's horror, the tip of her finger fell off, hanging suspended on a thin black wire. Eve smiled at the wire and flexed her finger again.
"No fucking way," Dahl blurted in a raspy whisper. "I'm not sticking that thing in my ear."
Eve nodded and grinned.
Dahl grabbed the dismembered tip of Eve's transformed finger and pulled the wire out. She could feel it catching and dragging on whatever was in Eve's finger. The sensation made goosebumps race up her arms as she readied to push the earbud in her ear. "Oh gross," she said to herself, shivering all over as the earbud sank into her ear canal. Eve rolled her eyes.
"I warned you," the blond-haired man said to the crowd. "Anything that happens to one happens to the other." He pointed at the guard, grimacing at a handful of blood. "As an example, I give you, Sergeant Dipshit." He walked up to the giant who towered over him, gestured to his bloody hand. "In the future, I suggest you muster the remaining two brain cells rattling around in that empty melon of yours and pay attention when I speak. You are linked. Kill one; both die. Understood."
"Yes, Purifier."
"This guy's a dick." Dahl said in a whisper that Eve more saw by reading her lips, then hearing her voice.
The tiny hairs on the back of Eve's neck stood on end as she flashed Dahl a foreboding look. She brought a forefinger to her lips in a shushing gesture, nodded and mouthed. We're not safe here.
The Purifier moved back to the center of the clearing, looked down at a large bald man with grotesque scars furrowing his face, and called to the only man with his back to Eve and Dahl. Neither woman could make out the man's face, but Dahl suspected it was ugly. They're all ugly. She could see their ugliness in the way they carried themselves. Like trolls.
The Purifier looked down at the kneeling man. "Do tell Commander Krone. What did you expect to accomplish by coming down here? Did you believe your misguided meddling could prevent me from reaching the obelisk or prevent me from completing my mission?"
"Purifier," the man on his knees spat the name as if it tasted foul on his tongue. "How many deaths are you responsible for? A million? A hundred million? Maybe billions?"
"More." he answered with a polite smile. "Oh, so very many more." Purifier drew out a long thin dagger from the inside of his thick robe and held it out for inspection. "Knives are such crude weapons. Wouldn't you agree? I much prefer killing with my mind. Much less messy. More... intimate." Purifier looked at the armored men in his company and added, "Such weapons are fine for commoners. But not for a man of the cloth."
"Man of the cloth," Krone said, sarcasm tainting his rough laugh. "And what cloth might that be? A funeral shroud. You destroy everything you touch, monster."
The Purifier shook his head. "Judge me not, boot licker. For I, like my father before me, am the man he created."
"You're no man."
"True. I am a hero." Purifier replied. "And had you maintained a modicum of patience, you could have experienced the coming glory with me." He turned to the guard standing over Krone, and added, "But, as it stands, you may have fallen from the Lord Marshal's favor. But my comrade here has not. He may yet live long enough to replace you."
"I am the Lord Marshal's favorite." The guard replied in a voice that made Dahl question who had answered. It sounded to her as if the prisoner and unseen guard had the same voices. Perhaps they're brothers, she thought.
The Purifier turned to the guard, looking at him with an air of doubt. "Time will tell. Just pray we do not linger here, or your fate may veer onto a similar path."
"I've lived under the tyranny of your so-called Lord Marshal's ill-fated favor for far too long," the kneeling man cut in. "I follow no master. Not anymore. "
"As always, the choice is yours," the Purifier said, regarding him through cold slits. "But if you cannot see the truth for yourself, I will drag you to it." Purifier pressed the edge of the dagger against Krone's throat. "Your new found resolve may require a return to the old ways." He paused, raised the dagger high in the air.
Krone raised his chin, exposing his throat, daring him to strike, and glared.
"As you wish." Purifier paused, looking at the guard and adding, "Any last words?"
Krone thought for a moment and smiled. "Fuck you and your fallen father. I pray you both die screaming."
Purifier locked him in a dark glare, leaned in close before sliding the dagger back inside his robe. "Such bravery in the face of certain death. I would have never imagined it from a gutless coward like you." He turned to the guard standing with his back to Dahl, as if daring him to disagree. "It appears your benefactor still requires your services. In the future…If you have a future… I suggest you do not press your luck again." Purifier turned back to commander Krone, and added, "I suppose it falls upon me to undo your mistakes." He turned to the standing guard and added, "Again."
Krone's unseen captor kicked him in the chest, sending his prisoner sprawling on his ass. "And what makes you think I want a traitorous little prick like you rattling around in my head?" the guard replied, rubbing his chest. "You're a fucking disgrace to us both." The guard reeled towards the Purifier and asked, "And how do I explain this shit to the Lord Marshal when I get back to the armada? He's going to think if he's a traitor, I am as well."
"Technically… you are," Purifier said with a grin. "As you well know. When the timelines merge; as they have here, two become one. His choices will more than likely become yours. Try to understand. Haste is your best friend."
"Son of a bitch," the hulking guard said, towering over Krone. He stood there snarling, weapon raised above his head. "I ought to-"
"Do none of you cretins listen?" Purifier asked, cutting in before the weapon came down on Krone's skull. "If not for the Lord Marshal's implicit instructions, I would let you bash your own brains out and be done with your stupidity once and for all."
"Fuck you, little man."
"And someday you will no longer be in favor, commander."
"But that day is not this day."
"Patience is a virtue, old friend. And mine is infinite."
Dahl's sore ankle gave way. Pain shot up her calf and she fell forward, landing face down in the dirt on the other side of the bush. She looked up bug-eyed, grabbed the now detached wire hanging from her ear and held it up. The ear bud morphed into a bulbous spider, crawled down the wire, and jumped into the bush. Dahl's jaw dropped, but she suppressed the scream building in her belly. A voice in her mind screamed, that was in my ear!
When her faculties returned, she looked around, realizing no one had noticed her fall into the open. To Eve's shock, Dahl waved at the men in the clearing. Eve cringed and shook her head. "Move, goddammit," Eve whispered through the vegetation.
But Dahl couldn't rise or slink off without giving her position away. Someone would see her and fire.
Eve motioned for Dahl to hold position. She recognized gravity rifles and remembered what it felt like to be shot by one of those infernal weapons. It was like being struck by a runaway freight train. One minute you're walking along without a care in the world, and the next, bang, boom, you're a shattered bag of bones and burst organs, wondering what the fuck just happened.
Most of the armed men stood 20 yards away and at such close range, it would do neither Dahl nor Eve any good to be discovered. At that distance, it would be impossible to retreat into the jungle without giving their positions away. Either the Necros or the serrated underbrush would cut them to ribbons as they rampaged away in God only knows what direction, leaving them as lost as they were five minutes or five hours ago.
To make the situation worse, neither of them had weapons. Well, to be fair, that wasn't quite true. Eve's recent bio-morphic upgrades meant she was a weapon, and Dahl possessed a formidable knife that looked like a saw-toothed short sword. Although its range during an all out gun battle left little to be desired.
Eve studied the group, their positions relative to one another and thought, even with surprise on our side, I can't cross the gap and take down over one or two targets before the rest opened up on us. And Dahl has no chance of taking anyone down with a knife, formidable or not, even if she could limp out there in time to try it.
But that wasn't the only reason Eve didn't want to give away their position. It was because she recognized the weapons they carried. They were gravity rifles. And she remembered what it felt like to be shot by one of those infernal weapons.
Being struck by the blast from one of those felt like stepping in front of a speeding bus. One minute you're walking along without a care in the world and then smack, bang, boom, you're a shattered bag of skeleton twirling topsy-tervy through the air, wondering what the fuck just happened. And let's not forget the disorienting pain of having more than a few of your internal organs turned to jelly.
It was the memory of that searing pain combined with the sudden realization of who was standing at the center of the group that unleashed the other older memories. The ones she had blocked out almost completely. Memories of blinding lights in a sterile laboratory, ugly faces above her and being strapped onto a cold metal table as she screamed and kicked. And then there were the memories of sharp instruments dragging and slicing through her skin as those ugly pallid faces began dissecting her alive. All those memories combined to create a blood curdling nightmare overlaid with the soundtrack of her own shrill scream. It pierced her mind like a steam whistle on a runaway locomotive. And when that horrible sound pierced to its deepest depth; something terrible awoke in her. And that living anger wanted revenge.
The jungle, sky, men, and even Dahl spun around her as if she were the center point in a demented kaleidoscope. Eve's breath caught. She tried to fight off the memories. She pushed them down. They pushed back. Her vision tunneled and the thing inside took her body. The lid of Pandora's box lifted, albeit not by her. Eve peeked inside and then tried slamming it closed again. Not likely, a voice in her head said. It's far too late for that. You should have left us in the dark.
"Necromongers," it hissed, long forked tongue licking the scent off the heavy jungle air. The word reverberated outward and Dahl heard it and so too did someone else. Someone in the clearing.
The nearest man looked toward the bushes as if hearing a voice emanating from the other side. Eve's heart pounded, her head swam in a murky pool of angry memories left by her Necromonger captors. She gasped in horror. The old fears had returned to strip her of her humanity, at last.
Necromongers aren't known for their compassion and they had shown Eve none when she was their prisoner. Lord Marshal Zhylaw had not only allowed her mutilation, he had ordered it. Proving Eve had never been a Necromonger. No conversion; no allegiance. Eve was a mutilated lab experiment wired into a mainframe terminal in the Lord Marshal's basilica class warship. All the while, the Lord Marshal's science officer poked and prodded and studied her every neural response, looking to improve computer response times during battle conditions. And now, that sadistic son of a bitch stood not much over 20 yards away from her.
Her fists balled, talons sank into the flesh of her palms, and droplets of blood fell at her sides. "Fucking Bastard," she said, voice coming out in a low guttural growl. Maybe getting shot again wouldn't be that bad, she thought. At least, this nightmare would be over and I could meet her demise with his torn off head in her hands. She knew she could be on him before they could stop her. Two giant bounding leaps and he would be hers. A rag doll caught in a rending typhoon of teeth and talon.
The armed man closest turned around, faced the bushes, raised his weapon to his shoulder and peered squint-eyed into the undergrowth. Eve drew back, giving him nothing to see, and Dahl pressed herself into the ground. Despite their attempts, he stared in their direction.
Dahl's heart skipped a beat as she watched Eve's sudden and untimely transformation build towards its inevitable crescendo. Not now, she thought. Not now. Hold it back. She reached out, expecting Eve to lash out, but forced herself to take Eve by the hand. To Dahl's considerable relief, Eve made no outward sign of aggression.
Eve knew what was at stake and would not give in to her darker instincts and allow the creature to give them away. It was true; she wanted the man's head, and someday she may have it. But not here and not now. That could get them both killed. So, she transformed back, glaring at the man. Then she turned to Dahl and mouthed the word thanks. Dahl nodded your welcome and swallowed her heart.
The giant statue peered in their direction for what seemed like ten minutes, but in fact, it had only been half a minute before he turned his gaze back to the man kneeling in front of him.
Dahl let out a hushed sigh of relief and looked at Eve with an expression that said, we just got lucky. Then she noticed something odd about the giant and the kneeling prisoner to his front. If not for the obvious differences in their complexions- one sun bleached and tan; the other pallid and ghostly- they could have been twins. More than twins, she realized. They could be the same man. They are the same man, she thought, turning to Eve with an expression of puzzlement.
A twig snapped behind them and they knew someone or something watched them. Dahl felt a strange sensation course not over her body, but through it and then, just as suddenly as the feeling came, everything around them slowed to a crawl. Then the world stopped as someone hit a pause button.
Dahl turned and saw a tall, slim figure wearing a dark, careworn hooded robe. The robe was ancient and tattered and stunk of long dried decay. Its once ornate and colorful embroidery had turned to a multitude of varying pastels and grays. The figure reminded her of the grim reaper and the eyes inside its deep hood simmered like pearls caught in fire light. And once they locked on hers, she could not look away.
"Well, Dahlia Johns, how you have grown," the man said, words entering her mind, not her ears.