James Axler - Necropolis

Thurpa smiled weakly. “It doesn’t feel like far enough.”

“We’re honored to have you with us,” Brigid said. She offered her hand.

The young Nagah accepted the hand. His palm and finger plates were smooth, supple and slightly warm, a sign of his mammalian metabolism. He still seemed uncomfortable around people, and Brigid could empathize. Her intellect had isolated her when dealing with others in years gone by. Only since she’d thrown herself into the world as one of the exiles from Cobaltville, adventuring around the world, had she lost her self-consciousness. Even so, there were times when she felt like an alien in the room; others did not possess her perfect recall.

Extrapolating that outsider’s discomfort with an inhuman exterior appearance must have been a crushing bit of alienation.

What made it all the more painful was Thurpa had aligned himself with Durga, a traitor and murderer, responsible for the deaths of many of his people and intense suffering. Returning home would be just as alienating. People would remember.

And they would shun him at the very least. At worst, his life would be in constant peril.

Maybe the Cerberus redoubt would be a good place for Thurpa, and, ultimately, Brigid would invite him to become a part of their ragtag family of misfits, exiles and refugees. But for now they needed him and his knowledge here in Africa, especially as CAT Beta had returned to Cerberus in order to protect the redoubt and respond to other emergencies if necessary.

Brigid worried for the young man. Life with her, Kane and Grant was not an easy one, not with all the enemies they’d made. And Thurpa had made himself just as much a target since he’d turned his back on Durga, the very sociopath they were off to chase.

The other newcomer to their little assemblage was Nathan Longa, a young man from the city-state of Harare, in a territory that used to be the nation of Zimbabwe.

“Thank you again for the use of the pickup truck,” Brigid said to Lomon.

“Think of it as repayment for helping us hold the line against the Mashona Panthers,” Lomon replied. “And be thankful that there were enough spare parts from damaged vehicles to keep it running.”

Brigid nodded. “And that it was one which I had read the specs on, including an exploded view.”

Thurpa chuckled. “You and the others exploded enough trucks as it was.”

Grant, six foot four with rippling arms, hefted the first of the last pair of jerricans into the bed of the pickup. He then used both hands to pick up the other. Forty pounds wasn’t much of an effort for the big former Magistrate, but it was still impressive to see his shoulders bulge and flex as he put the cans on board.

Kane opened the nozzle on each and took a whiff before closing and writing on the sides, separating fuel from water. There wasn’t going to be a guarantee of access to fresh and potable water on their journey. The maps and layout of the countryside differed vastly from the current high-altitude satellite photos of the region. The Earthshaker bombs used in the megacull had not been kind to the continent.

“It’s not a Sandcat, but it runs,” Kane pronounced. “Ready to saddle up, cowgirl?”

Brigid chuckled. “Don’t make me regret showing you those old Westerns.”

Kane smiled back, then offered a hand to Nathan and Thurpa and helped them into the bed of the truck with him.

“You ride with Grant,” Kane said. “I’ll enjoy the breeze in my hair.”

Thurpa looked dubious as he rested an arm on the sidewall. “We’re out in the open, aren’t we?”

“It beats walking,” Nathan said. “Besides, Kane will pick up any danger. That’s his thing.”

Thurpa nodded. Lomon and the Zambians had given him sufficient equipment to deal with most threats. He’d gotten a Heckler & Koch G3 rifle with a stock that collapsed, nearly halving the length of the weapon for easier carry and storage, and a Colt .45 automatic, which shared magazines with Nathan Longa’s own pistol. After the conflict with the Kongamato, Lomon knew that Thurpa would need power and mobility. As it was, Thurpa had almost died in hand-to-hand conflict with one of the creatures, saved only by being out of reach and blinding it with his natural cobra venom. The G3 and the .45 would go a long way toward making Thurpa the equal of most challenges.

Especially if he were beside the explorers from Cerberus and the wielder of the Nehushtan.

The trouble with that thought, Brigid mused, is that we’ve got plenty of enemies who shrug off bullets as if they were grains of rice. Even Durga qualified as bulletproof for a moment.

Brigid slid into the cab beside Grant, who took the wheel.

“Heavy thoughts?” Grant asked.

Brigid blinked, then looked at her friend. “Heavy thoughts. Yes. We’re going into uncharted territory in Africa, hunting a man who nearly killed us as he’s searching for the means of returning to godhood. Kane says that he’s hooked up with a queen who was dangerous enough that the Annunaki imprisoned her, rather than kick her off the planet or kill her, and who has enough power to psychically reach out and even pluck people from their bodies. Add to that we’ve got two young men to take care of, because as much training as they’ve had, they haven’t seen a tenth of the shit we have.”

Grant frowned. “You make it seem as if we’re badass just because we’ve fought gods, dinosaurs and living mountains.”

“We had the luck of surviving and outwitting them,” Brigid said. “Remember, a lot of our friends have ended up dead.”

Grant nodded.

“We’ll do our best to protect them. We always do,” Grant said.

Thurpa rapped his knuckle on the window on the back of the pickup’s cab. “You do know Nathan and I can hear you, right?”

“Not doing a lot of good for our confidence on this mission,” Nathan added.

“Hey, we protected Lomon,” Grant countered.

“And defeated an army of winged monsters,” Brigid spoke up.

“We were there,” Nathan said.

Thurpa nodded. “Not totally impressed with the protecting Lomon’s men part. In fact...”

Grant smiled at Thurpa. “You did some protecting yourself, son. Both of you. That’s why we want to keep you with us.”

“Any particular reason why Kane just doesn’t take the stick himself? He utilized it pretty well when we were in the cloning facility,” Nathan inquired.

“Because I’m not used to running around with a walking stick,” Kane replied. He slapped his hand on top of the pickup truck’s cab. “Let’s go.”

“Sure thing, grouch,” Grant returned. He started the engine, and the Cerberus explorers drove away, waving to the Zambian contingent they’d come to befriend.

Brigid returned to her doubts as they drove toward their future reunion with the Nagah prince Durga and whatever horrors he planned to awaken.

Already Nathan had spoken of an assassin who had slain his father, a mysterious, seemingly amorphous entity with translucent skin that shimmered in the firelight.

The killer with no apparent visible features seemed as if it might have been a trick of the mind or the shadows. But Brigid Baptiste knew a thing or two about human perception, as well as the intricacies of memory, especially since hers was completely photographic. Her time as an archivist had only been enhanced by the ability to recall every detail she’d ever seen, and Kane often wondered aloud if she were a “doomie”—a Doomsayer mutant who had some manner of psychic ability. Brigid doubted that she had transcendent mental abilities, but she presumed that her brain chemistry was somehow different, as her recollection skills and natural curiosity served only to increase the ever-growing database between her ears.