It’s already reached Ankara. And this tape is probably several
hours old . . .
Ethan mused in wonder.
Man, it’s moving
fast.
“—CNN’s continuing coverage of the mysterious weather pattern plaguing the Middle East. From what we can tell, this meteorological disturbance was not formed by any standard weather patterns in the region. We can also exclusively reveal that the strange weather is being accompanied by a disastrous geological disaster of equally unknown origin. The phenomenon is leaving behind nothing but black rocks, ash and soot. Wildfires have sprung up throughout this growing area, and ground temperatures are escalating rapidly. Local authorities have no explanation for how any of this is occurring, and have declared a state of emergency throughout the entire nation—a declaration that is expected to soon be echoed throughout all of the Middle East.
“CNN has also received reports that crops and plants in the ruined ground appear to wither and die in less than an hour’s time. And every kind of ground surface—be it sandy beaches, rocky deserts, or even paved roads—turns into this bizarre black ash you can see here on the video. The amateur photographer who sent in this video told CNN that he almost didn’t notice the change to the ground, because the skies are so violent and tumultuous that bystanders are preoccupied with the awe-inspiring display above their heads, not realizing what’s happening below their feet. Even more disturbing are the rumors we are receiving that the strange weather pattern is currently causing a downpour of a sticky red substance that some eyewitnesses claim is
blood,
if you can believe it . . .”
The sounds of rioting outside the building seemed to reassert themselves, becoming louder. Ethan looked down at the television, viewing the strange footage of the dark boiling skies over Turkey and the black ground beneath them. Somewhere in that mess, his friends were completely helpless, at Oblivion’s mercy, desperately waiting for someone to save them.
Trevor was turning the television volume down. “They really did it, didn’t they?”
Ethan’s head snapped around to look into the boy’s eyes; Trevor was transfixed by what he saw on the screen. But Ethan was taken aback by Trevor’s revealing remark. This was no ordinary Ringwearer. He knew of the Secretum and their plans.
“Yes, they did,” Ethan replied.
Hardening his expression, Trevor turned to Ethan and asked, “Then how do we stop it?”
Ethan shook his head. “I don’t know. But I can think of someone who might be able to help us find out. Tell me something . . . Two of Grant’s friends never left London with the rest. Do you have any idea where we might find them?”
As near as Alex could tell between blackouts, Grant was leading them on a roughly eastern course. She could tell because every so often, among the blackened, charred ash mountains they traversed, the nation’s southern shoreline would come into view. And it was always to her right.
The blood that had rained on them and soaked her clothes had caused quite a commotion near the head of the group where the Secretum council members were, but the blood was the least of her worries. First of all, there was the ocean. As the darkened ground spread to the point where it touched the massive, nearby body of water known as the Mediterranean Sea, a violent chemical reaction took place. As the blackness made contact with the water, the sounds of the reaction could be heard for miles around, growing ever louder as the darkness spread, until it was almost impossible to hear anything else.
The ocean boiled. And then it evaporated. Already the parts of the ocean nearest to the shoreline had vanished into hot white clouds of evaporation that saturated the air and them with a sickening humidity. The mists spread to where their ragged army trudged ever onward, and it was enough to wash the blood from their faces and hands, but not from their clothes.
Alex’s second problem was her blacking out. It was an incredibly odd sensation, to wake up and find her body in motion, her eyes already open. It startled her every time, not that she was able to show any such reaction outwardly. She’d never known that she could sleep with her eyes open before, but the pain cascading through her abdomen and arm, and the sheer overwhelming exhaustion, sent her helplessly into unconsciousness again and again. Hours passed this way, possibly days. There was no way to know how long it had been, not anymore.
Whenever she caught glimpses of her fellow Loci, it occurred to her that she might be the luckiest one among them, in this madness. At least she was able to occasionally lose awareness of what was happening. The rest of them, it seemed, were fully awake but equally unable to stop themselves from marching forward. She hoped and prayed that the tiredness from walking would overtake them each at some point and give them a brief respite.
The final problem plaguing her came as a simple, awful truth: Whoever or whatever was leading them on this forced march of death, it was most decidedly
not
Grant Borrows.
So she wondered who it was. And she wondered if Grant was dead, gone, lost to the world. And to her.
It occurred to Alex somewhere along the way that Julie was not marching with them. Before all of this insanity had happened, had Grant been unsuccessful in rescuing her? Or was Julie . . . ?
The heaviness came over her again, and before she could ponder it much longer, she blacked out.
The next time she awoke, the group was marching along a lonely highway through rolling desert hills. In the twilight, she could see far ahead to the front of the line. The silver-haired man who seemed to be the most prominent member of the Secretum—was this Devlin, the new Keeper she’d heard about?—was marching next to this other Grant, speaking to him. She couldn’t hear what Devlin was saying, but he was gesturing animatedly, if respectfully.
She felt hungry. Time’s stopping seemed to have had no impact on her physical needs. Was it breakfast time? Dinner? Back in L.A., the remaining Loci might be sitting down to a group meal right about now. Did they know what was happening to their friends here in this awful place?
The darkness cast by the fiery clouds above deepened. She felt like she’d been marching for days without a single break. She felt the sting of blisters on her bare feet and the sharper anguish of blisters already burst. Sometimes it was a relief to be able to focus on this pain rather than the still-burning sensation that was at times excruciating just above her stomach.
The group rounded a bend, and in a small valley to their left she caught sight of what looked like some kind of Turkish military installation. High gates covered in barbed wire surrounded a square half mile or so of land in the middle of the desert. Inside the base were a variety of smallish, nondescript buildings, most no more than a single story high. Vehicles were busy massing in one corner of the installation, and there were at least two hundred soldiers marching in that same direction. It looked to Alex like they could be massing for deployment; perhaps the Turkish government knew something about what was happening and was preparing to retaliate against this being occupying Grant’s body?
How surprised would they be when he showed up right on their doorstep?
And for that matter, how would the world react to the presence of this unprecedented power? Was he really a threat to them? If he was causing what was happening to the sky and the ground and to the laws of time . . .
The world would wage war against him. Of course they would. And in that scenario, it suddenly occurred to her that she would be a soldier herself, forced to fight in Grant’s army.
The thought made Alex wish she were dead.
She wondered if she threw up right now, would Grant know it and let her expel it from her body? Or would she be forced to hold it in her closed mouth for a very long time? Not wanting to find out the answer, she fought back her nausea.
The group slowed to a stop in front of the military base, and Alex thought that finally, mercifully, this thing-that-was-not-Grant might let them rest. Not to mention get some food and water. She would have collapsed long ago from dehydration and lack of nutrients in her system, if it were any longer possible for her to collapse.
Her suspicions were confirmed when Grant walked by himself the hundred feet or so down to the entrance of the installation. The massive wire gates ripped themselves free from their foundations and sailed far out into the dark sky.
An alarm sounded almost at once, and the marching troops didn’t have to wait for orders—they ran as one to block the entrance and Grant’s path. They were all carrying rifles that were trained on Grant, and they shouted in a language Alex didn’t understand. But the tone in their voices made their intentions perfectly clear.
Grant walked forward and they opened fire. Bullets seemed to bounce off of his newly hardened gray skin, which was very much like granite.
She found herself kneeling on the ground and then lying on her stomach, completely prostrate. Everyone around her was doing the same thing, and the Secretum members quickly joined them. Her head was turned to one side, and it was just enough to allow her a glimpse of Grant as a powerful wave of energy exploded from where he stood, rippling outward. The soldiers opposing him were annihilated, the flesh searing from their bones as if they’d been superheated, and then their bones exploding like powder.
It was the most horrible thing Alex had ever seen, but she couldn’t close her eyes or turn away from it. Wave after wave of energy emanated from Grant, and she felt the powerful surge rush over her body, but not harm her. If Alex could have moved or spoken, she would have gasped or probably screamed.
It was so effortless, so casual and carefree, how this creature in Grant’s body had taken the lives of these soldiers. Grant showed no emotion at the act, as if he were doing nothing more harmful than throwing out the garbage. Alex had seen Grant use this particular power only twice before, and even then he only used it with great provocation, or when no other options were before him. This new Grant, with his gray skin and fire for eyes, issued forth the awesome energy blast without second thought, and her questions about his character were set. He had just slaughtered hundreds of men without mercy, without remorse, and without hesitation.
It was over, it occurred to Alex. Everything they’d worked for as a team, all of their hopes of making the world a better place. It was all for nothing.
Whatever had been done to Grant deep beneath the Secretum’s underground city, it had turned him . . . evil. It sounded silly and clichéd in her head, but there was simply no other word for it.
It’s not fair,
she thought in futility. It was heartbreaking to watch. Here was a good man, a noble person who stood up for what was right and helped those in need. How could the Secretum twist that man into the ultimate evil?
The thought made her angry.
How dare they!
NO!! You have to fight it, Grant!
she wished desperately at him, tears spilling from her immobilized eyes.
I know you’re
still in there somewhere, you have to be! Remember what your
sister said—never give up, never give in! Fight it with everything
you have!
Don’t let them do this to you!
Why was this happening? What had the Secretum done to Grant? And where was he taking them?
Detective Matthew Drexel lay delirious and terrified on the sidewalk in front of Daniel Cossick’s lab in Los Angeles. Daniel was a masked thug standing over him, two similar masked men on either side of him, holding a baseball bat and displaying a general distaste for Drexel’s groveling on the ground below.
Daniel and his two friends—whose names and even faces he couldn’t place at the moment, though that didn’t seem odd in the slightest—kicked, punched, and beat the daylights out of Drexel’s smallish, crumpled form on the ground. Daniel took no small amount of pleasure at the sight, and continued beating Drexel until he was all but dead.
As Daniel hefted the bat high above his head for one last brutal blow, Drexel moaned and rolled over in agony onto his back. Only now he wasn’t Drexel anymore, but Lisa.
Her bruised and bloodied face smiled affectionately at him from low on the ground, and she looked directly into his masked face and said, “How do you feel about a spring wedding?”
A loud sound like a jackhammer off to his right caught his attention just then, and he turned . . .
Daniel opened his eyes in confusion, consciousness returning to him. It was a strange sensation, this lack of the passage of time. He could sleep and even dream, but neither brought him any sense of sleep’s normal, restorative effects, and he awoke as strangely tired as he’d been before.
The jackhammer sound he’d heard in his crazy dream continued on, and he realized this was what had awakened him. He sat up from his cot and looked around in the darkness for the source of the sound. The cot was situated next to the building’s outer wall, to his left; the shattered light fixture was still scattered on the ground to his right. Lisa’s cell was beyond the foot of his bed, straight ahead. She didn’t seem to have roused yet, despite the loud battering.
“Lisa!” he shouted, and she stirred.
The sound was coming from the outer brick wall, and he jumped away from the bed as it came closer.
“Lisa!”
he shouted again. The two of them had long ago stopped worrying about alerting guards; more troubling was the
lack
of guards.
A pin-sized hole broke loudly through the wall about a foot above his cot. Lisa startled from sleep and rushed to his side, clutching him through the bars that separated them, as if prepared to protect him from this outside intruder. They could do nothing but watch as the hole grew in size, first to the dimensions of a fist, and eventually bigger and bigger until it was half the mass of a man.
A young boy, who must’ve been no more than sixteen, climbed halfway through the hole and gazed bright-eyed around the cell until his eyes found Daniel and Lisa. Daniel didn’t recognize him. He faced the other side of the hole and yelled, “Hullo, what’s this? I think we got ’em, mate!”