Merciless (3 page)
His left foot rose slightly into the air and his weight shifted forward. His right foot did the same, and he realized that his body was walking outside of his control. He couldn’t even look down at the ground to see it pass beneath him, or around at the walls of the cavern, or up at the still-floating massive rocks and debris dangling above their heads. He could only stare straight ahead, like a robot locked into position, as his body carried him forward.
He fell into place behind Grant and the members of the Secretum of Six, his old masters. A few of them turned to cast furtive gazes at him but quickly resumed their loyal following of Grant, who led them from the room.
Grant and the others entered one of the elevators that would lead up to the underground city above, and Payton watched them through rigid eyes as he obediently boarded the same elevator, unable to stop himself, unable to lash out at each and every one of them as he so badly wanted to.
The last thing he heard as the elevator began to rise was a booming roar as the floating boulders and rocks that had held him trapped crashed once more to the ground. And yet he was more a prisoner than ever.
The white hot light of Trevor’s Ring began to fade as he tore down the dark streets of old London. The light went out entirely, and then there was a sensation that felt like a
click
in his soul.
He felt sick with the sudden, inexplicable knowledge that everything about human life had just changed. He could feel it in his skin, bones, and blood, in his heart and mind.
Time was gone.
He was still in motion, the cool night air still caressed his skin, and his heart was still beating in his chest. Time had not
frozen
; it had simply been taken out of the equation.
“Oh no,” Trevor whispered. “No, no, no . . .”
He drew his hands up before his face and flexed them, balling them into fists and opening them again. It felt different, thick and unnatural, as if the air were heavy. But it didn’t weigh him down; if anything, he felt lighter and more graceful. His movements were almost smoother, like a powerful fish cutting through open water.
“They did it,” he whispered to no one. “It’s over. It’s done. This is the end.”
No! No! No!
He had a fleeting, sickened desire to run, to escape, to find a place to hide where he might be safe, indefinitely.
But no such place exists,
he knew.
Not anymore.
They really did it.
What would happen now? Nothing in history could prepare the human race for what was taking place right now. How
could
the world respond to the altogether absence of history moving forward?
He looked around helplessly, his eyes falling on a couple on a date, a pair of elderly women, a businessman out for a late-night stroll. Each of them looked puzzled, examining their hands, their bodies, the air around them, the night sky . . . None of them had a clue what was happening, but they felt it. They felt the sudden change, the sense of
otherness
that had overtaken the world, and they were showing increasing signs of worry, of panic and fear.
Poor fools,
Trevor thought.
Oblivious. Their way of life is at
an end, and they have no idea.
His mind went back to words he’d heard spoken years ago by a member of the Secretum:
“No act of man can prevent the
torment that day will herald.”
A brick settled into the pit of his stomach as he walked without direction.
This is it. The day of torment has come.
And with no more measurements of time . . . this day would
last forever.
Ethan ran as fast as he could.
With all of the upheaval Alex and her people had caused in the underground city, it had been surprisingly easy infiltrating the place. His black jumpsuit had made it even easier to not be spotted; the place wasn’t exactly bursting with light. Not until all of the Rings had begun to glow, anyway.
But if getting in had been a piece of cake, getting out was proving far more difficult. The hubbub had come to an end, and the city’s population was standing around in a daze, some of them still regaining their eyesight, others looking about with unmistakable glee, knowing all too well what was happening. And what was about to happen.
As the only fast-moving thing in the entire city, he was more conspicuous now than ever. But he had no choice; there could be no slowing down or stopping. It was too late for that. He could only pray that he would be fast enough to escape, before Oblivion emerged.
Poor Grant
. . . his thoughts wandered momentarily.
I’m
sorry, my friend. You deserved a better fate than this.
He drew within eye line of the outskirts of the town, around the edge where the outer walls of the cavern met the perimeter of the city. A child some thirty feet ahead screamed and pointed in his direction, and the kid’s father, who was nearby, suddenly rushed toward Ethan with an unholy roar.
Thinking fast, Ethan slowed and pulled out a Glock from the holster on his left side. He trained it on the running man with ease, his years of FBI training and experience coming to his aid. When the man didn’t stop, Ethan lowered the gun and shot at the ground near the man’s feet. The running man stopped and pulled back, and Ethan pointed the pistol at him once more. He had no idea if these people spoke English, and talking out loud would only draw more attention to him, so he simply shook his head sternly.
He heard more screams—the result of his discharging his weapon—and saw more people running toward him from his peripheral vision.
Ethan didn’t have time for this. Oblivion was coming! And now he was outnumbered. . . .
A circle of five men and women formed around him, angry looks on each face. Ethan kept his gun up but spun in place, shifting his aim to each person in turn.
“Fool!” one woman scolded him. “You can’t shoot us all!”
The men and women each took a step closer, tightening the circle around him. Ethan turned his gun to the woman who’d spoken. “You sure about that?” When he spoke the words, they came out low and menacing.
“Let him go,” called the man on the sidelines—the one Ethan had shot at a moment ago. “He cannot outrun the Dark-World. No one can.”
Ethan took advantage of these strange words and broke into a sprint, throwing both arms out as he charged through two members, stiff-arming them out of his way. Ahead he could see the carved entryway that led to the long set of stairs that would eventually bring him to the landing high above, and to his way out: the underground tunnels the Secretum called its “Conveyor” system.
Oblivion would be upon them all long before he could reach the top. It was a suicide run.
It was his one chance.
“Fletcher?” Alex called into her earpiece. “Nora? Anyone?” If they were out there in the city somewhere, they were as dumbstruck as she was by whatever was happening.
First the earthquake and then the Rings glowing like the sun. And now this. Silence. Silence and an unnerving sensation like none she had ever experienced. Like nothing she ever
should
have experienced. Still, she knew this feeling; she had no trouble putting a description to the sensation, even though her brain logically knew that it was impossible.
She knew what she was feeling, even if it was utterly ridiculous.
She had stepped outside of time. But not just her. Everything and everyone.
Everything was now.
Then Ethan had run off. Probably back to wherever he’d come from, before he’d mysteriously turned up in this city.
The group had lost track of him in London, assuming that he had been captured. So what was he up to now, showing up here out of the blue, carrying secrets and going on about Grant being dangerous?
Alex imagined that most of the people in this city were probably still processing the feeling of time not passing, accounting for how eerily quiet it had become. Her eyes shifted upward, tracing the concave walls of the massive cavern that enclosed the city, the enormous stalactite running down its center and touching the floor right in the city’s centermost point.
Like her hearing, her eyesight was sharper too. Everything was different. So different. Reality itself had been heightened, or at least her sense of it.
Alex whipped around as she heard gunshots half a mile away, back in the direction of the way she and the others had entered the city.
“Who’s shooting?!” she cried into her earpiece, not really expecting a reply from any of her team.
She wiped sweat from her brow, for the first time noticing how much warmer it had grown inside the city. It had been cool and comfortable in the cave when they’d first arrived; why was the temperature climbing now?
What on earth was going on here?
She cocked her head down to wipe the moisture away from her cheek with her left arm. That was when she saw it.
The ground beneath her feet was spontaneously . . . changing. Without sound, without warning, it was turning black, and the blackness was spreading. The cavern’s brown dirt, rocks, and clay were being altered into something that looked more like volcanic rock. The overpowering smell of sulfur met her nostrils and she covered her mouth, trying not to breathe it in.
Alex looked up, down, in all directions. There. Near the tip of the giant stalactite, where it touched the ground at the city’s core—the blackened earth seemed to be originating from there. As if someone had upturned a giant bottle of black ink there in the center of the city and slowly the ink was spreading outward in all directions, staining and ruining every piece of earth in its path. The primitive, lotus-topped buildings were unchanged, and the people standing atop the blackened earth didn’t appear affected either. But the strange effect spread out relentlessly, as if consuming the soil.
Alex watched as the phenomenon passed beneath her bare feet, and she could feel the ground become harder and more jagged-edged as it passed under her and continued to spill throughout the entire city. It showed no signs of stopping.
She had just placed a finger on her earpiece to call out to the team again, thinking that maybe it was time for them to retreat and regroup, when she heard gasps from a pair of the city’s residents a few dozen feet behind her. She followed their gazes to the central core of the city, where an elevator had just arrived, and a large group of people exited into the city. They were being led by a lone, familiar figure.
Alex’s heart leapt.
“Grant . . .” she whispered.
It didn’t matter that a group of well-dressed, refined-looking strangers were following him, or that a blank and battered Payton pulled up the rear. She had eyes only for the man in the lead, and she ran toward him faster than she’d ever run toward anything in her life.
She was drowning, she couldn’t catch her breath, the world was changing too much too fast and nothing made sense, but Grant was here now. And the one thing she knew for certain in this life was that that meant everything would be okay.
She just needed to touch him, to feel the electricity that passed between them every time their skin met, as it had only a few hours ago when they’d arrived in this godforsaken place . . .
Wait.
She didn’t stop running, but she could see it. Something was off.
Grant’s eyes were afire.
Where his eyeballs should have been, small fires burned and licked his eyebrows. They burned a deep red, a richer shade of the same hue she had seen a few times before. It went all the way back to that night in Grant’s apartment at the Wagner Building when Hannah died, when Alex had seen the first hint of it as Grant’s anger nearly consumed him . . .
As she drew nearer, she noticed something else: his skin had changed. His face and his hands, and wherever else his skin peeked out beneath his clothes and that signature brown leather jacket that he rarely took off . . . His skin wasn’t the pinkish color of healthy flesh anymore. It was a sickening gray, as if it were comprised of rotted bone or wet cement.
Alex finally slowed her pace, coming to a stop.
Grant was the color, the very embodiment, of death.
Alex was too stunned by the sight of him to form a coherent thought. Around her, a handful of small wildfires had inexplicably broken out upon the ground—fueled by nothing in particular—flaring like torches five or ten feet above the earth.
She was twenty feet away when a cry escaped from her lips before she could stop it. It was a desperate noise filled with pain and disbelief, and she didn’t realize she was the one making it until after it was done. She didn’t know herself capable of such a bloodcurdling sound, and it terrified her.
“GRAAAAAANT!!”
She swallowed the remainder of her revulsion at Grant’s changed appearance, and rushed toward him. “Grant? What is this? What’s happening!?”
Grant—
was
this Grant?—ignored her, until she was close enough to touch. She was about to grab his hand in her own when he pivoted to her, and those flames that had once been eyes fixed upon her, burning a little hotter.
Alex’s feet left the ground as a crushing pressure closed in around her throat. Tears of pain poured from her eyes almost at once, and she clawed at the invisible hand forcing her to strain for a single breath. She wanted to scream, but her voice might as well have been back on the surface high above.
When Grant opened his mouth, it was not Grant’s voice that came out. It was an otherworldly screech, low and gravelly yet somehow high-pitched and painful to the ears, like fingernails across a chalkboard. A sound like nothing she’d ever heard.
“Know your place, Ringwearer,” Grant said without a trace of emotion, “and keep it.”
An almost imperceptible flick of his head, and Alex was thrown through the air like so many rags. She flew more than thirty feet aside, out of Grant’s path, landing hard on her stomach, gasping at the air now rushing down her throat. It was a good five seconds before she realized she was lying atop one of the wildfires that were burning the ground. No more than two feet in diameter, it nonetheless burned hot and bright, and a searing pain bit at the flesh covering her stomach. Her right arm had landed beneath her chest and the arm felt as if it were on fire as well.