Nemesis: Book Four (16 page)

B
riten stood up
, the people around him all jumping backwards at nearly the same instant. He turned his head to the right, looking at the door—the way out.

Pain.

He felt it the same way he first felt Morena in this world. She was in pain.

The boy inside still sat in his library, but Briten was no longer there, no longer cared about it, because Morena's feelings had rushed through his consciousness like water from a broken dam. He couldn't tell why, or what was happening, only that she hurt.

Go
, he thought.

"What's happening?" the boy's father asked, standing closer than anyone else in the circle.

Briten ignored him, stepping through the circle before any of them could react. His eyes searched frantically for what the boy termed
keys
, looking for them across the room even as Morena's pain shouted from what felt like everywhere.

"Where are they?" he said into the quiet room, his own voice hard but low.

"Where is what?" someone asked.

He saw them then, though—or saw what he thought could be them. A small loop holding metal on it, sitting next to a box on a brown piece of furniture. Briten didn't bother trying to understand the box, didn't care at all what the furniture held. He stepped forward and grabbed the keys, and then whipped back around to the door, moving as quickly as he could with this odd body. The boy inside him said nothing, but Briten could feel him watching, trying to understand what was happening. It didn't matter; none of the people in this room mattered. Now, only finding Morena mattered.

He opened the motel room door and walked outside, though he stopped once he reached the breezeway. He knew the keys went to something called a car, but he didn't know what
car
meant. Anger didn't rise in Briten as it would have in Morena, but a calm coldness seeped over his mind, perhaps so cold it even chilled the boy inside.

He heard people moving behind him, filing out the door almost as quickly as he had, trying to follow him. They stopped abruptly, though—just as Briten did, staring at the back of his still body.

Where is it?
Briten said to Michael.

Why do you want it?

Briten didn't respond, but remained silent while his senses continued bringing him Morena's struggle. The boy wasn't simply going to give him the answer, and the only other choice was to rifle through his memories until Briten understood what he was looking for. Instead, the child wanted to bargain his information.

I have to go to her
, Briten said, making the decision nearly instantaneously that he would trade this information rather than haggle or search.
Morena. She's in pain. Something is happening.

The boy said nothing for a few seconds, and in that span of silence, Briten felt his patience finally stretching. There wasn't time for this, for any of it, and yet here he was, waiting.

Finally, though, a vision came to him—popping up in the forefront of his consciousness. A large, blue vehicle sitting in the parking lot beneath him.

Briten went to his left, his feet not quite at a jog, but close, and yet he still heard the people behind him starting to follow.

Down the steps, pausing briefly as he scanned the parking lot, looking for the picture in his head. He saw it in only a few seconds, twenty feet from him, and still the cold certainty held sway over his mind. He continued his quick steps, not breaking into a run, not letting any other emotions or wants to break through the shield he held in front of them all.

He reached the car door and stared at the keys for a second, not knowing what they meant or what they would do to the huge piece of metal in front of him.

What is this? How does this work?

He heard the boy laughing inside, not at him per se, but a chuckle at Briten's infancy, and at that moment, Briten realized this would be tougher than he imagined. Getting to Morena under any circumstances would be difficult given his lack of understanding of nearly everything around him, and getting to her quickly would be even harder. He needed to ask this boy everything, and the boy seemed just as calm as him, perhaps more so.

Briten turned and looked at the family hustling behind him.

Hey, woah,
Michael said.
You don't have to go there. I'll tell you, man.

He read Briten's thoughts, understood that turning around was a threat in itself.

There's no time for communication, let alone the lack of it,
Briten said.

The boy didn't say anything while the rest of his family approached. Briten could tell he was thinking, but not the exact thoughts. Somehow the kid kept them from him.

You'll hold them over me forever,
Michael said, though if it was to Briten or to himself, Briten couldn't tell.
You'll threaten to hurt them for whatever time we're together if I don't do what you ask.

"Where are you going?" someone standing around the car said. Briten stared straight ahead, focusing on the internal conversation.

No, I'm not going to let you do that,
Michael said.
We're not going another step forward unless there are some ground rules met.

Briten cocked his head to the side, a smile moving across his face though he didn't know it was there. He judged the kid worthy for this right here, and despite Morena's struggle, he couldn't help but admire Michael. Trapped inside his own body, unable to do a single thing to help himself, he gave ultimatums. Briten knew little about the species on this planet, but perhaps more existed than these frail bodies.

You're going to let them go,
Michael said.
You're going to tell them to go back upstairs, and we're not leaving until we can't see them anymore. You're not going to hurt them at all. If you do all of that, the information flow will be free, with no time in between what you ask and what I give.

Now Briten laughed, both internally and externally, the faces around him looking more confused by the second.

You have no power here, Michael. You have nothing to bargain with. I will get to Morena, sooner or later. You'll either do as I ask, or they will hurt. There are no other options.

Go ahead, then,
Michael said.
Hurt them. I'll watch, and then when you're done, let's see how much you get done without my help. I can make it hard for you to find what you need. I can slow you down, and while you may eventually get to her, she might be dead when you do.

Briten didn't think the kid was bluffing. He thought Michael might be able to hide things from him, to set up mazes inside their shared mind, keeping Briten from finding what he needed.

You'll help if I release them?

Yes,
Michael said.

Briten had no other options, and was running out of time. He could call the kid's bluff, hurt the group—or try to, he wasn't completely sure how much damage he could do with this body—and end up losing more and more time.

"Go back upstairs," he said.

M
ichael heard
the words and watched everyone stare back at him, faces twisting into gasps as they realized what was being said.

"Go back upstairs."

Michael had made a choice, the only one he thought he could. Briten would hurt them; he would do whatever it took to ensure that he found the other creature. The calmness that Michael felt over the past day or so was evaporating. He wasn't panicking, only his inability to care was disappearing. He still didn't know what caused it, but inside this shared consciousness, he remembered what mattered again.

He listened when Bryan said he wasn't leaving, listened and watched as his father agreed. Michael couldn't let that happen. They couldn't come where he was going; at least Briten controlling his body gave him some protection. If this Morena loved Briten as much as he loved her, then she wouldn't hurt him. Bryan and Wren, though? She would rip through them without any worries, and Michael couldn't let that happen. They had to stay.

"No," Wren said.

He didn't move as he said it, didn't offer any other words, only stood there.

Bryan shook his head. "No."

Michael felt tears prick his eyes, not externally, not where the group could see, but in here—in this library he created.

They have to go,
he said.
Make them go.

"Get upstairs. I'm leaving," the alien said, his voice sounding closer to The Terminator than Michael.

"No," Wren said again. "I'm going with you."

Goddamnit,
Michael thought.
God-fucking-damnit. Now you want to choose to be brave. Now you want to choose to stay with me.

Tears were flowing now, not just pricking at his eyes. Hot and sticky as they rolled down his face.

He can't come,
Michael said.

"You can't come," the alien repeated.

"I'm coming, Michael," Wren said. "I don't know if it's you I'm talking to or whatever is inside of you, but if you can hear me, I'm coming. I'm going wherever you go. I don't have anything back up in that room that I want. I don't have anything behind me that I want or need. Do you understand that? I know why you don't want us to go, or at least I think I do. I could die. I don't care. I'd rather die with you than live in that motel room. You, or whoever is controlling you, will have to kill me to keep me from coming."

Michael put his hands to his face, blocking out the room he had built, blocking out the sight of his father both pleading and demanding.

"Yeah," Brian said. "That goes for me too."

I don't have time for this,
Briten said.
You either let them come or I'm getting in the car and leaving.

Michael knew that if Briten tried that without letting the two of them in, they would grab Michael's body and violence would erupt. He knew his body was growing, strengthening—though he didn't know why—and thought that might give Briten an advantage, even though he faced two people.

If Michael said to leave, he put his father and Brian in danger. If he said to come, he put them in danger.

Choose and stop your incessant thinking,
Briten said.

Let them come,
Michael said, looking up from his hands and seeing the faces of the people in front of him.

"Get in," Briten said, wasting no time.

"No," Rita said. "He's not going! Bryan you're not getting in that car!"

Michael watched with dawning horror as Glenn reached out to grab Bryan, taking hold of his arm and pulling him back.

"No, Bryan," Glenn said, his voice calmer than Rita's.

Bryan struggled against his father's grip, trying to pull away, trying to move toward the car instead of away from it. His mother grabbed hold of the other arm, though her grip was much weaker.

Wren and Julie watched the struggle, until Wren finally said, "Bryan, you don't need to go. Stay with them. I'll take care of Michael."

"NO!" Bryan shrieked back, still trying to fight against the arms folding all around him like some kind of black octopus pulling him down into the deep.

All of this taking place in public view.

Tell him to stop!
Michael shouted.
Tell him it's okay!

Briten did no such thing.

He moved with a speed that Michael had never possessed before, despite the athleticism he enjoyed. The alien took one step forward, his leg launching like a piston, and at the same time, fired his right arm at Glenn's face, smashing into his temple hard enough to cause a clap to echo through the parking lot.

Glenn collapsed to the ground and the struggle stopped. His eyes were closed, and for a single second, everyone went silent.

Then Rita's shrieking began, as she let go of her son and dove to the ground where Glenn lay. Bryan looked at her go, and Michael couldn't read his mind, but thought that he was making a choice. A choice of which way his life would take him, of what was more important to him now. Free of any restraints, he looked back to Michael.

"That wasn't you. I know it wasn't, Michael." He turned to Wren. "Let's go."

He took a step forward to the SUV before stopping, turning around to look at Julie. "What do you want to do?"

Julie's eyes were wide, with terror streaking through them as bright as lightning moved through the sky.

"You don't have to come," Bryan said. "You'll be safer here. And we'll be back. The three of us. My parents can look after you."

Julie nodded, tears in her eyes, reminding Michael of those still streaming down his face. She was all alone in this world, maybe more than anyone else standing in this parking lot. She had no parents to return to, and now, the person she loved for the past few years was stepping away, getting into a vehicle with some strange creature.

Michael saw it all on her face, saw it because he had spent those hours with her as prisoners.

She stepped forward and kissed Bryan's cheek, and then stepped back. She looked to Michael, and just as quickly, stepped forward and dropped a warm kiss on his cheek as well.

"We'll be back," Bryan said again.

But Michael knew, somehow, that wasn't true.

T
he lava floated
across the sky like some kind of beautiful cloud. The deadly cloud dropped no boiling rain, though, but held against gravity’s force as it made its way over the land. It blocked out the sun, casting a shadow like the darkest thunderstorm to ever exist, also bringing the core’s heat with it.

The strands beneath relished the heat. While they couldn't push outward, they started rapidly growing on top of themselves, pushing higher into the sky.

The lava knew nothing of what the things beneath it did; it only followed the direction given, to continue moving outward, and so shade, heat, and a red cloud grew over the land.

The soldiers, the ones holding weapons that shot out a slushy ice mix, finally saw it. Nearly all of them at once. They had moved in at about the same pace, but when the red mass that blocked out the sun draped across the sky, almost to a man, they stopped their attack. The temperature in their suits rose and sweat dripped down into their eyes. It popped up across their arms and rolled down their legs in huge drops. Not many made the connection though between the red mass above them and the heat they felt all around them.

They were too stunned.

One even dropped his weapon, leaving it on the ground next to him, still attached to the his backpack.

None moved though. None ran. They all watched the way bugs must watch an electric light. Only this time the bugs weren't flying toward the light, it was coming to them, but in the end—what's the difference?

As the lava reached the outer edge of the white growth, what the soldiers called white cake, it slowed. If military leadership knew this was occurring, no chatter came over the soldiers' microphones. No one tried to connect with the base, either. They stood, staring up at something they didn’t understand—a storm growing above their heads with such rapidity that no one had time to run. They watched as death spread out above them, eyes and mouths open, with only wonder filling their minds.

And finally the lava stopped expanding, hanging in the air as no liquid ever had on Earth.

Perhaps ten seconds passed with men looking up and white strands rapidly expanding.

Then it dropped.

The lava fell, all at once, collapsing like some kind of massive, burning rain. It dropped on men and strands alike, though each one’s reaction was very different.

The men let out small screams, though they didn't last long. As they realized that the cloud above them was falling, something in their brains kicked in, some kind of survival mechanism, making the connection between the heat they felt and the oncoming liquid rush. They tried to run. Tried to scramble backwards, back toward base, but it was far too late for that. One can't outrun rain.

The screams erupted as they realized the futility of their situation, perhaps many of them realizing the futility of their entire lives, because in the end, what waits besides death?

The screams were, blessedly, short, however. The lava hit their plastic suits, melting them instantly to the skin beneath, and then the lava moved through flesh and bone alike, turning solids into liquids, melting tongues and teeth as if they were the same substances. Within one minute, all the men with all their ice lay under the blistering hot embrace of the Earth's core.

The strands, however—the white cake—felt much different about the lava.

The strands enjoyed it immensely.

M
orena heard her children rejoicing
.

They sang out in a sweet ringing, realizing that their mother was saving them. The cold which pushed against them would push no more. Morena's aura stretched further than she had ever thought possible, intertwined with the lava both in and out of the ground. Weakness, exhaustion, and doubt moved through her body and aura as if those emotions made her, as if blood, flesh, aura, and bone didn't actually make up her underlying structure.

And yet, when she heard her children, those feelings vanished. She found her focus, her reason for holding on when the world seemed about to crush her.

The land around her was awash in lava—red, burning, liquid fire. The men attacking her children lay dead, but that wasn't all Morena came here to do. Killing those men wouldn't give her the time she needed, because they would come back, and soon—she couldn't keep depleting the core if she wanted any chance of her species living on.

She surged down through her aura into the core, finding more lava, more heat. She tensed again, the momentary respite from the struggle ending, because she had to do it again, except this time she had to move further.

The lava rose, just as it had before, slow but steady, going up and up through the hole, the tunnel that would lead it to light and purpose.

It reached the precipice and she continued to push it upward, following the last path she made. Finally, it reached a height she felt comfortable with. A huge pole of turning fire, looking alive, like a skyscraper created by the Devil.

She remembered the woman's words:
There are two places you need to go. Both are North of here. They'll see it before you use it, but they're not going to be able to do anything. It'll still be too quick for them to figure out a way to stop fire from raining down.

Morena, with eyes closed again, turned the tower. Turned it North.

H
ad
the places Morena needed to hit been separated by long distances, say California and New York, she most likely wouldn't have been able to control her weapon for so long and so far. Instead though, the two spots lay down the road from each other.

People for miles and miles saw the tunnel rolling across the sky, an endless red snake, and as humans are wont to do, they began to panic.

Long stretches of highway were completely gridlocked as the hours stretched on and the snake continued its growth, continued moving across the United States. People tried to run from it, tried to get away, but the United States highway system simply wasn’t set up for that type of mass exodus, so instead of fleeing, they sat in their cars looking up, and tracing the red fire as far as their eyes could see. The heat inside the cars was sweltering, even with air conditioners on full blast. Still, to get out would be worse, would expose their fragile flesh. The cars provided at least some safety.

This happened through South Carolina, North Carolina, until the lava tunnel passed through Virginia, where it slowed. News stations, from tiny local radio programs to major networks, followed the fire—reporting on every second.

The tunnel didn’t split until it reached the District of Columbia, turning down two separate paths, heading for two different destinations.

And finally, with miles and miles behind it, Earth's inner core arrived at its destinations.

It didn't slow as it reached the two different places, but instead dropped like an Olympic diver coming off the board.

Both the Pentagon and White House were destroyed in a matter of minutes. Smoke rose and fire burnt through famous pictures and computer wiring alike.

It kept diving down, piling more and more liquid fire atop the buildings, the tunnel supplying what seemed like an endless amount of destruction. There was no stopping it, no evacuation for anyone in either building.

Down and down it poured until only the foundation of the buildings remained, buried under tons of molten rock.

And then, when nothing remained of the buildings, the rest of the fiery tunnel stretching from D.C. to Georgia simply fell. To the ground. Across miles and miles of people, houses, businesses, and civilization.

Those in the cars, the ones who had watched it travel, trying their best to get away, to keep their families safe, watched as it came down. A beautiful, boiling picture of red.

And then none of them saw anymore.