Arise (Book Three in The Arson Saga) (10 page)

Enraged and completely alive, Arson thrust his head into another and then another. He ignored the intense throbbing he felt. The smell of blood cooled his nostrils as he breathed it in. He panted. He sweated. He was ruthless with the bodies as they collapsed at his feet. Arson could take several at once. They clamored around, but he never let them get close enough to eat of his flesh. He was quicker. Stamina, adrenaline, unending fearlessness now. Never before had he moved so rapidly or acted with such purpose. His knuckles drank another stream of undead blood as he raked his fist across an emaciated jaw. With his heel he kicked backward, sending a seething woman flying into the lockers.

Where had this strength come from? He hadn’t even called upon his powers to fight for him. It was his humanity that fought back. Gave him strength. Pure, brute, volatile—human.

“I’ll take all of you. I’ll take it all!” His voice lifted and carried far. His rage gave birth to a chaotic collection of blows. He ignored the numbing sensation in his kneecaps, the soreness in his muscles canceled. His shins drank in every impact with skull and bone and rot. With another scream, Arson lunged forward and threw one of the undead into a locker, beating it until its face was almost unrecognizable. But the eyes. He knew the eyes. As more hands clamored around him, seeking to overtake him or tear him to shreds, Arson stopped still. The eyes paralyzed him. They were Emery’s. Before now, he hadn’t realized that the dead thing he was beating was even a girl at all. Before now, she didn’t have a name. She didn’t have eyes or lips or even know that love existed.

Her hair—gone. Her physical frame—skeletal and mostly devoured, some of the stomach left vacant. The shirt she wore could barely conceal the indecencies of such a ruined walking corpse.

He let out a shrill roar, and others came to feed.

“Arson!” Adam shouted. “Arson! Finish it!”

But amidst the chaos and groans of the hungry swarm, Adam’s voice was squelched.

“Emery?” Arson said weakly. “I didn’t know it was you. How could I have known? I’m so sorry.”

The undead girl gave no reply. Her eyes seemed to understand, but there was no connection beyond that. She just hung there for a second, suspended by the metal cage of a high school locker. When she fought to break out of it, the edges began to shred her skin even more, causing severe pain whenever she squirmed. She clawed at him, but no love existed in those hands. No pure knowledge of him in those eyes. So lost. The real Emery was gone.

It was funny how time tried not to exist in this reality. Like everything could take place in mere seconds. The world around him could be still if he tried hard enough to make it so; that’s what Adam believed. And it was true, wasn’t it? Couldn’t it be? All he wanted to see was her. But where was she? Where had her soul gone? And could he ever kiss it again? If such precious eyes could hold the oceans of the world, he had to dive into them one last time. Amidst the calamity and the torment, Arson kissed her forehead and imagined them far from here. It was a quiet sunset in the summer. Someplace magical. She didn’t need her mask. He didn’t need his. They were free. The sea allowed them to be. The sky let it be. Heaven in one breath.

A tear slid down his cheek. As she sprang forward, a sliver of her flesh now hanging on one of the hinges, Arson emitted a potent energy from his bones, and she was eviscerated. No blood. No screaming. Just gone.

“Get back!” he commanded the swarm, swinging his fists like a madman, but obedience would never come. As they clawed at his shirt, tearing it with unclean, wretched nails, he returned to battle. A revived fury existed behind his stare. Fire mixed with ice. A complete and beautiful balance he had not known could exist. But he refused to use his fire or his ice on this attack. Instead, he called upon the strength of his body, of his mind. Some of the undead he tossed like paperweights, and as they flew backward and sideways, the impact left them immobile. Arson bent down to grab one of the sharp metallic discs that had been thrown at him from the reptilian mummies. He remembered where they had come from: a book Grandma had read to him when he was young. The image of the cloaked shadow warriors and their power to kill had never left his mind.

After grabbing the disc, he placed his knuckles in the center of it. The metal pierced his palm, but it made no difference because of what he planned to do to these lifeless demons. His first victim with the new weapon was an old man. Long, unkempt hair hung to the shoulders. The grey thread had blood from some of the unlucky ones tangled within the strands. Jagged teeth sought to devour Arson, but he drove the sharp edge along the man’s ribcage, cutting him open. The elderly fool dropped on his side and squirmed there while the swarm trampled on top. With one fluid motion, Arson decapitated several more aggressive flesh mongers—jaws unhinged, some of their arms missing.

A dozen or so eyes caught his attention. He knew them all. Within this swarm existed Grandma Kay and Grandpa Henry. Within the cloud of confusion and wickedness dwelled Mandy, her sick friends, and teachers he had once despised. To his right he saw his father, Isaac Gable, now in the form of a flesh-seeking corpse, chewed upon, burned—ruined. The longer he was in here, the more decayed things could become. Maybe that was how it worked.

And then, his heart skipped a beat. It took some focus, but he finally saw him. A boy. No older than twelve or thirteen. Lengthy, ash-brown hair dragged by gravity over lost eyes. A ratty t-shirt hanging like paper on a lean body. But the boy’s skin had not yet been corrupted. It didn’t make sense. Arson could feel the claws of the undead scraping him, pulling him. He wasn’t ready for the dagger when, from the shadows, it revealed itself and sank into his torso.

Arson turned to see the one holding the handle of the rusty blade. It was the little girl, the one who had been wheeling a cart with a code on it, so she said. On her hands and face words were inscribed, but no decipherable code. He tried to touch her, in an attempt to absorb some new power, if doing so were even possible; but she stepped back, leaving the edge in his gut.

Arson coughed blood. He dropped his head to the center of himself. Pulled the blade out slowly, the removal causing him even more pain. The girl’s satisfied growl leapt from wall to wall.

“We want your blood,” she said. “We want your mind.” And then slowly, “We just want everything.”

He felt her brothers and sisters pulling, stretching him, driving their crusted nails into his chest and ribs. They wanted him as food. They wanted control. He could hear the fading sound of Mandy’s wretched shriek. Grandma’s judgment was laced in every snap of his neck. Somewhere, Lamont gloated about how Arson had failed again. And then Isaac’s twisted assurance that it would all be over soon came in a murmur, as the entire swarm whispered Arson’s name. Again and again and again.

He collapsed to his knees like a fallen soldier, bloodied and messy with the cruel dealings of a battle begun in the womb. The crushing impact of his weakened body against the hard floor sent vibrations up his back. Still he remained spellbound by a boy who stood at the center of the swarm. As bodies passed around him, shoving him, greedily searching for flesh to devour, he noticed that the boy didn’t even flinch. His eyes were held in the infinite moment between them. Locked. The chaos dared tread closer, the haunting memories consuming the shadows and the light. Somewhere behind him—how far, he still wasn’t sure—were Adam’s shouts promising that if he could just channel enough power, conjure enough strength, he could end it all and he’d walk out of this nightmare alive.

But what if it weren’t true?

Blink. The boy didn’t even speak. But those deep, knowing eyes searched him.

Deep breath. And then, another blink. The world turned black. The world shrank.

The boy’s face tore at him from the inside, and that sadness—etched into such a fragile, innocent image—brought conviction. He drowned in it. He couldn’t breathe except to struggle for air that he was sure wasn’t even real.

They chanted his name once more as the girl picked up the rusty blade and kicked Arson over. From his back, he watched the shadows become faces again. Spit seeped into his mouth. He tasted its death. He tasted what he had become, what others could become if time had its way. He tasted the end of everything he’d ever known. And then the boy, that haunting little boy, knelt beside him. The other bodies did not know of his presence. But Arson felt it like a storm in his veins. As one of the undead dragged its hunky claw across Arson’s cheek, ripping off a layer of bleeding flesh, the boy reached down and touched him on the forehead.

In that touch, he was certain why those eyes knew him. He was certain of the power that existed inside this child. He was certain, even though he had forgotten him long ago.

The boy was
him
.

Chapter Thirteen

Isaac’s nervous shadow blanketed
Arson’s body. The steel table on which his own flesh and blood now lay, plugged into Morpheus and a myriad of entangled wires, was so cold. He knew in his bones that Saul Hoven, the iron-jawed vulture standing to his right—and, no doubt, sizing him up to see if he’d crack now or later—was irritated. The critical man had certainly endured his fair share of tremors and concerns over the course of the last several hours, but how long before
he
too started to show signs of his humanity—or weakness, as he probably saw it? Did someone like Hoven even understand the meaning of the word
humanity
?

“It’s so strange seeing you like this,” Isaac finally uttered.

“Strange? Not really. Subject 219 employed his abilities, but he simply wasn’t fully ready for it. In some ways he excelled beyond my dreams, but in others…well, there’s the rub. Nevertheless, I keep my vision on the prize, on what we’ve accomplished. What Morpheus has given to us.”

Isaac scoffed.

“We now know that it’s possible to see into the mind, and in doing that we have tapped into a supernatural connection between them and us. The subject has received knowledge of things not experienced. Don’t you see the potential in that? The power that gives us?”

“So much sacrifice for a bad dream and some codes we can’t even decipher because we aren’t capable enough yet.”

“But what if their kind can decipher it? Soon to be
our
kind. Our new bloodline.”

A terrifying hush filled the space.

“It’s that
what if
that keeps us alive, gives us purpose. This isn’t about mere ones and zeroes. The codes lie dormant within the mind, but it’s a distorted picture. The mind attempts to adjust it. The mind provides a link into the blood. Because of these codes, we now know what it will take to fully become. The codes exist in the mind, and once the blood deciphers that code, the future is limitless.
We
are limitless.” He gloated. “I’ll admit it was a risk bringing the arson here in such a debilitated state. Yes, quite a risk.” Hoven’s hands merged at the fingertips, calculated and almost mechanical. “But what’s done is done. I had to act. We aren’t exactly running on an endless clock.”

“Time never was on our side.”

“No. If you ask me, we waited far too long to see how this experiment would play out anyhow. We should’ve ended Parker and that hag years ago, when the old quack split on us. I see now the measures of my mercy, and how it only leads to chaos.” Hoven gritted his teeth. “We should’ve taken 219 when we had the chance, and none of this would’ve spiraled so out of control.”

“We overestimated. I allowed you to get inside my head and twist me,” Isaac spewed. “I knew it was a mistake pushing him too far, screwing with his mind.”

“Just like Manny. So full of doubt. For the love of—Does no one have any backbone left? What did you expect when we brought them here, huh? That it was going to be easy? That it was going to be nothing but fun?” Hoven fought back a growl. “I thought
you
were different.”

A lament. “I sacrificed my son for this endeavor, or have you forgotten!”

“Your son? Wow, your family dynamics are even more dysfunctional than I thought. Three years ago you didn’t have a son, didn’t even care whether he lived or died, or have
you
forgotten?”

His superior’s words snaked down the back of his neck like an icy drip.

“There’s blood in our line of work, Isaac. Warm, red blood.” Hoven’s breath reeked. “And soon, that blood will run through the streets. We will be perfected when the time comes. And it comes quickly. Gods…rulers… That’s what we’ll be in our new world.”

“Perhaps Emanuel was right to question this. The cost is high.”

“Don’t lose sight of the dream we’ve built. Do not forget our purpose.”

“I haven’t.”

Hoven smacked Isaac’s shoulders. A pat on the shoulder from Saul Hoven was more of a threat than a sign of encouragement. “We exist in the eventuality of fate. I knew the subject’s powers would return in due time.”

“How did you know?”

“A hunch,” Hoven replied quickly. “But you’re not a stupid man. Frail, and a little impetuous, perhaps, but not stupid. You didn’t really think he’d magically regain his abilities without consequence.”

“Adam is stronger.”

“I’m not so sure. Just because Subject 219 responds slower than the Source does not make him weaker or of any less use.” He dropped his ear to Arson’s mouth, listening with anticipation for the next breath. “The subject did what was required. Even now, there is purpose.”

“Of course.”

“Isaac, Isaac, you can be so soft when you want to be.” Hoven stepped around the table, glaring at the body like he would a museum exhibit. Every so often, Arson’s chilled skin pulsed. Isaac wondered if maybe the boy’s mind was ready to come to but his body held him back.

“I’m not being soft, sir,” he said, flustered. “I’m stating the reality. We’ve been pushing him the way we pushed Adam, and now Adam has become a rogue. I’m not a blind man, and you should not be so arrogant as to assume the Overseers aren’t calculating our every move. We’re expendable to them. All they need is a reason, and we’ll become exiles too. I saw what pushing the limits got us, and I won’t go down with you.”

Silence calmed the air before Hoven spoke again. “You’re speaking to me as if you can go back on our contract. As if you still have a choice.” His concave eyes danced with Isaac’s until, in one sudden move, the timeworn vulture reached for his wrist and twisted Isaac’s body around, smacking his bloodless face against Arson’s chest. “Can you feel a pulse, Isaac? Can you taste the salt in the sweat?”

No reply.

Hoven shook Isaac, twisting the wrist enough to make it snap, but it didn’t. This was a test.

“Yes, I can…
sir.
”

“And what can you deduce from that?”

“Subject 219 is still alive.” It was drifting back in—the apathy, the inhumanity.

“Precisely.” The vile whisper slithered into his ear. “When the arson wakes from this coma, I suspect the time apart from this world will have permitted some advancements. I suspect the codes will be deciphered. We will have new knowledge because of these dreams. We will regain control, as we’ve done with the others.”

Hoven turned to a group of monitors. Other children, other subjects with unique abilities. Located, sedated. They were on display to be studied. “Look,” he said, forcing Isaac’s head atilt. “What do you see?”

What he wanted to say was
destruction
. What he needed to say was that he saw the annihilation of the human race. He was never much for people, particularly people he didn’t like, but was he fully ready to embrace an apocalypse? Was he ready to pull the plug on nearly three billion souls whose fleshly prisons he knew wouldn’t respond positively to some genetic formula of restructured blood?

“I see progress.” The words oozed lethargically from Hoven’s lips. “I see a better way. It’s amazing what a little perspective can do to the human lens. A little pressure is all it takes for man to see purely.”

Isaac grunted.

Hoven released his wrist, but the soreness lingered. Isaac wondered if a sprain had occurred.

“As for the rogue you spoke of, that was the spark that created a great fire. The Source got us into nearly every home in America, and into the selected regions of this planet that have been chosen to outlast this coming revival. The time is coming, and coming soon, when we will reap the harvest.”

The way this madman spoke of a mass extermination turned Isaac’s stomach. Like the events to come were some kind of necessary spiritual cleansing. He believed in it purely, once upon a time. But now the waters had turned black, and he couldn’t see as clearly for all the bodies drifting in the waves, waiting, just waiting to be consumed. Why was he beginning to acquire all of these second thoughts? It was simple. It had been the plan from the beginning. It had always been the design to end the modern age of man and hit restart, but…

He glanced down at the boy’s sweating flesh, trembling muscles, stiff features. It was when Arson slipped into a coma—that had been the catalyst for his doubt. Isaac knew he shared no resemblance to Emanuel Krane; he was nothing at all like the doctor. But he no longer saw clear providence; he saw a possible end for all of them. When and if the arson woke, he’d come for blood.

Isaac gently dragged his fingertips down his left cheek, the sweat from his son’s chest coating the fleshy surface. He couldn’t help but feel attached to it in a way, in spite of how separated they had always been. Part of him had already absorbed the inevitable blame for what had been done. A very miniscule part. But with one fresh blink, he reminded himself that his purpose was not yet complete. To hell with conscience. To hell with clear providence. The waters were murky indeed, but he’d struggle like the devil to rush to the surface if he could. All he had to do was accept the new reality like he’d done time and time again. After all, he was no more Arson’s father than God was to this earth.

“Forgive my lack of vision, sir,” he said, his tone dripping with exhaustion. He hoped it was a viable excuse for letting weakness show.

“I’m glad that your sight has been corrected,” Hoven said.

Isaac hesitated. He loathed the seconds born between a question and an answer. He blinked, trying to imagine a scenario where the arson didn’t wake up and lay waste to the entire facility and everyone in it, trying to imagine a moment when he wasn’t just a little glad for it. If the coma let him go, how fractured would his mind be? Something Hoven did not anticipate well enough was the rage—the violent and bloody resurrection. Consequence. How the symmetry now played with them. Of course, maybe he was over-anticipating, but still it remained a very real dread.

Morpheus didn’t permit them complete knowledge of the goings-on inside Arson’s mind, only pieces; static, misplaced arrangements of the subconscious landscape. He saw rooms and doorways from time to time, mirror images of certain people he used to know, like his one and only love, like that wretched whore of a mother he’d sent to eternity, and other fantasies of a teenage life. The arena was a locked box with a thousand possibilities, and the potential for endless years to pass. Who was to say how much time the arson had actually experienced in there? A week, a month, a year? Ten?

“Isaac?” Hoven’s whisper was a plague. “Isaac, I need assurance that you are indeed still with us. You must realize there is no turning back.”

“To the end, sir.”

“Good. The Overseers have revised our schedule. Progress. Project Sunrise will be initiated this week, with or without 219.”

“So it begins.”

Hoven started to walk away.

“And what of Adam?”

“I’ve spoken with Manny directly. They have the Source in their possession.”

Isaac didn’t buy it for a second. He knew how Adam’s body worked, knew that his abilities could more than return in a ten-hour period, in less. They’d managed to keep his power quelled with enough sedation and venom treatments over the years, but Isaac didn’t see a way for Krane and Lamont, even a small task force of DATA agents, to succeed without intense loss of life.

He added, “And what of the girl?”

“Rest your mind, Isaac. Let me worry about the details. Believe, boy. Just believe!”

Believe. He believed, a little too much. And that was the hardest part, because he wished he didn’t.

Isaac studied the arson. Or, the mirror image of him put together by thousands of pixels on a screen. He knew in his gut that the wanderer who existed inside that other realm had been wounded somehow. Maybe he would die in there before ever making an escape.

And that’s when a new thought, a darker thought, dripped in.
Maybe none of us will make it out alive.