New world order, p.15
New World Order, page 15
part #6 of Crimson Shadow Series
“Well don’t keep us in suspense, ladies,” Zane growled.
“What are we not seeing?” Isaac asked Zoey as Estella broke away from the group and started on numb legs into the crowd.
“His aura,” she heard Zoey mutter, sounding stunned. “Xander’s aura is holding them all back.”
The last thing Estella heard before she submerged herself into the crowd of hate was Zane’s startled voice saying:
“How is he—”
The rest was swallowed by the cries of the people around her, but Estella could understand his shock. Given what she’d seen of Xander from a distance, it was a wonder that there was any aura left to shield himself with at all.
“Oh, God, it’s still alive!” a woman wailed a short distance ahead, “Kill it! Somebody kill it!”
“What if he wakes up?” one young man asked another, “Won’t he kill us all?”
“Is that the same one from the internet?” an onlooker muttered to no one in particular.
“What could have done that to him?”
The thing you should be afraid of, Estella thought as she shouldered past a cluster of onlookers. Then another. Then…
But the crowd only grew denser the further she went. Without exposing herself for what she was in the middle of the crowd, there was no way to move them; no way to get through to Xander.
Serena… Estella called back, uncertain and desperate. The sunlight was beginning to get to her, making her think crazy things. I-I can’t get through. What should I do?
You’re asking me? Serena’s voice in her head rang with surprise. No offense, darling, but if you’re not going to Zoey for answers then I don’t think it’s answers you want; I think it’s permission.
Estella bit her lip, already beginning to see how right the crazy blonde was. Still, a part of her was holding back; yearned to be the controlled, subtle Stryker. Permission… to do what?
She could almost hear the wild cackles rising in the back of her mind as Serena said, Whatever you have to, Goddess; whatever you have to.
Estella gulped, nodded to herself, and clenched her fists at her side. And you and the others? she asked.
I’m rallying the troops as we speak. Zoey’s getting on the horn with that stuffy Sawyer guy. I know you wanted to keep them out of the loop until we were certain, but—
Yeah, Estella cut her off, already regretting not telling the others about Sana’s vision. Make sure he brings his car, too… and lots of blood.
You mean the synthetic stuff, right? Serena asked.
I mean whatever they can get to feed my husband as soon as we get him out of here. I don’t care if you need to drag some of these assholes off their feet and open a vein to do it.
There was a long, unsteady silence in Estella’s head.
Then Serena offered up only one word:
Damn…
Estella wasn’t sure if it was in regards to her seriousness or her savagery. She didn’t care.
Here I go… she announced.
****
Though Estella had grown up with a love of literature and, even as a young girl, classic tales of mythology, she’d always found the downtown statue to be a bit vapid. There was good intent there, sure—most bad ideas, she knew, started off as such—but it was nevertheless a vague, albeit boisterous, attempt at being empowering.
Somebody somewhere in Estella’s distant past had said something to the tune of “It’s easy to pander to the masses when it’s their own money that’s paying for it,” and, though she hadn’t been sure what it meant at the time, she couldn’t help but find it all-too-true in the here and now.
More than anything, however, was how appallingly ironic it seemed.
The statue, all in tax-paid bronze, was, at its tallest point, almost twenty feet, featuring an almost eight foot depiction of the Greek Titan, Atlas. The pose was a sloppy nod to Rodin’s The Thinker—the figure showing none of the classic struggle with the burden but, instead, seeming strangely contemplative with his task—and holding a twelve-foot sphere over his head. This sphere, instead of representing the Earth, was perfectly flat across its entire surface, save for a winding banner that had been sculpted around its equator and boasting “ONE WORLD; ONE PEOPLE” around its entirety.
Estella recalled, during a class field trip that took them past the town’s so-called “monument,” some kids laughing at the absurdity of the message “PEOPLE ONE WORLD; ONE” and reciting it throughout the day in mock-idiot tones as “People! One world! One!”
As far as Estella was concerned, those responsible for the statue had managed to botch everything it was meant to represent.
Now, however, it was made all the more repugnant by being turned into a platform that held up the mangled body of Xander Stryker like some sort of centerpiece for the crazed onlookers to ogle as he slowly cooked in the early-morning sun.
No sooner had she made the announcement to the others than she cleared herself a path…
Estella’s aura rocketed forward from her chest, weaving like a bright-orange snake around the onlookers and dividing the entire mass into those on the left and those on the right. Once the auric tendril had reached the surface of Xander’s auric barrier—a gigantic red-and-black dome that encircled him and the awful statue—she acted. The divider swelled and pushed outward on either side, shoveling everyone away like a vulgar, hate-filled Red Sea before the mock-Moses, Estella. Angry, confused cries rose as people tried to figure out what was happening, some blaming the authorities and others claiming that there were divine forces at work.
Estella took a momentary indulgence in realizing that, in a twisted way, they were both right.
With the crowd parted and a clearing made, Estella hollowed out the auric block she’d constructed before herself and began to walk through it. Seeing this, several people began to catch on and, shrieking at the sight of the casual wanderer making her way towards the subject of their hate, attempted to lunge at her. Like the auric barrier surrounding Xander, however, Estella’s makeshift “hallway” was every bit as unseen-yet-protective. Bodies slammed against its surface, their owners burping out pained and confused cries before finding themselves crushed by others behind them trying to do the same. Estella ignored them, too consumed by what she saw before her.
From a distance, Xander’s body had looked dead as dead could be atop the statue’s massive sphere. Drawing nearer, however, she found herself driven nearly to sickness by the damage he’d sustained.
He looked to be discarded on the surface on his back, the upper part of his body slanting over the arch and framing his bruised and battered face upside-down in a tangle of sweat-and-blood caked black hair. A hooped rope of intestines had fallen from his torn stomach and hung halfway over the edge, partially hiding the “L” in “WORLD” and caking the surrounding bronze in baked-brown blood. One arm splayed out over his head, hanging irregularly along the curve of the sphere and letting his twisted wrist dangle lamely. The other arm crossed over his chest, the shoulder worked over all wrong and a jagged length of bone poking at the sleeve of his shirt and creating an unsettling angle at the forearm.
Seeing this sent Estella into hysterics, and she broke out into a sprint towards the awful scene.
“Xander? Oh my… Xander! XANDER!”
ESTELLA! NO! Zoey’s voice warned in her head, THE BARRIER!
Estella hit the surface of Xander’s aura and kept on going; the shield that had held back hundreds of onlookers aching to express their hate and fear on the incapacitated body of the vampire they’d seen on their televisions and computers letting her pass as though it didn’t even exist. Seeing this, the crowd began making a mad-dash for Xander once again, barreling through the SWAT members and sandwiching them between the still-active auric shield and a wave of unrelenting humans. Behind her, Estella could sense a riptide of fury, pain, and outrage from countless auras as the sweet scent of blood began to saturate the air.
Then she heard a therion’s roar…
Though Estella still refused to turn away from Xander, she watched with her mind’s eye as Isaac, now transformed, put on an intimidating show.
“JESUS FUCK! IT’S A GODDAM WEREWOLF!”
Screams echoed and grew, and the combined auric presence surrounding the crowd shifted from one of hate and aggression to one of fear. Rioting gave way to pandemonium as people who, only moments earlier, had aimed to work together to maim and murder a nearly dead monster before them disregarded one another to get as far away from the very near, very alive monster behind them. Some ran for their lives. Some found themselves trampled in the effort. Others, mostly those who hadn’t come alone and had company they wanted to impress, found enough courage to linger and throw whatever they had on hand at the roaring beast.
When one dared to level a handgun in Isaac’s direction, Zoey, posing as a startled onlooker, used her aura to tear it from their grip and strike them with the barrel. Witnessing this, somebody announced that the werewolf was in cohorts with a ghost and promptly wet themselves before running out into the street, where they were clipped by a speeding news van and left in a stained heap.
The van didn’t stop.
And they call us the monsters… Zoey’s voice rang out to all of them.
Though most of the news crews had decided that they’d gotten enough footage and made for a hasty retreat along with the rest of the onlookers, several others—more interested in ratings than self-preservation—took advantage of the growing clearing and started to rush in with their cameras.
“BREAKING NEWS, FUCKERS!” Serena cried out as she appeared in front of them, lifting her shirt and shaking her breasts at the closest of the cameras before using her aura to dismantle them.
The crews staggered, gawking in horror at the bits and pieces that had once been, Estella imagined, rather expensive recording equipment.
“Like what you see?” Zane growled at them.
Their faces turned and caught sight of the muscular, tattooed vampire as he made a show of extending his fangs and issuing an angry-sounding hiss at them. With ratings a distant concern, they took off in clumsy sprints to their respective vans.
“FREEZE, FREAKS!” one of the SWAT team screamed, still in the process of trying to retrieve his gun with shaky, unresponsive fingers.
The Vaileans shared a momentary glance of delight before jumping into overdrive.
Less than two seconds later the entire SWAT team had been disarmed and disrobed, standing naked and bewildered in front of Xander’s auric dome. As these humans, too, began to make a run for it, Serena made a show of slapping the nearest on the rear, throwing a Boy Scout’s salute, and telling him to “Keep up the good work,” before offering Zane an apologetic shrug while still wearing a not-so-innocent grin.
On any other day Estella might have found the entire scene, which took only over a minute to pass, moderately amusing, if not a little crass. Now, however, she couldn’t bring herself to feel one way or the other about any of it. She’d worked her way atop the should-be globe and knelt, sobbing, over Xander’s body, taking in the full scope of all his injuries.
“Xan-Xander…?” Estella sobbed.
And, only adding that much more to the bittersweet moment, she saw him begin to stir in response to her voice. He worked to look up at her and Estella let out a cry at the sight…
He only had one eye, his bruised-yet-intact blood-red right.
“Mom?” he croaked and then whimpered, his effort to look around and speak clearly hurting him. As Estella worked to cradle his head in her arms she felt him finally drop the shield and let the others through. Despite all the pain she could see on him, he seemed to be taking some kind of comfort in her touch. “M-mom?”
Estella sobbed and began to stroke the top of his head, rocking herself against the horrors of this discovery.
“Xander… baby, what’d they do to you?”
“mhy guh’n,” Xander croaked, trying to talk through a broken jaw. “‘e ‘ad mhy guh’n.”
My gun, Estella heard in her mind. He had my gun.
She couldn’t begin to understand what this meant, but Estella found herself nodding all the same. “That’s okay, baby. That’s okay. We’ll get it back. Just stay with me—just get better—and we’ll make this all right.”
She looked up as Sawyer’s car wove through the street and tore across the lot, pulling up beside the awful, awful statue of the contemplative Titan and the twisted message of unity; coming to take Xander to what remained of his home.
“We’ll make this all right.”
[RESUME TRANSMISSION]
BRENT DIRKLEY:Welcome back and, for those just tuning in, thanks for joining us.
We’re discussing the recent footage—what some are calling an attack and what others are calling a hoax—of what appears to be a young man—a self-proclaimed vampire—issuing some sort of reveal for him and the rest of his kind.
Now it has been confirmed that this footage was broadcast on a global scale, and, understandably, it’s created quite a stir the world over.
I’ve been joined by Colonel M.T. Howard and renowned biologist, Professor Ian Scott Thompson, and, before the break, we were shedding some light on the most obvious questions that people have:
Can such creatures exist?
And are they dangerous?
In just a moment we’ll be joined with another guest who has some opinions of his own about all of this, but first:
Professor Thompson, to summarize our earlier discussion, can you explain to those just tuning in what you told us earlier?
PROFESSOR IAN SCOTT THOMPSON:Of course, Brent.
Assuming, of course, that this isn’t some sort of elaborate hoax, and I feel it’s worth noting that this is still under investigation regarding its validity, it’s my scientific opinion that—
COLONEL MICHAEL TORRENCE HOWARD:OF COURSE THEY EXIST! HAVEN’T YOU LOOKED OUTSIDE RECENTLY? THOSE DAMNED THINGS ARE—
BRENT DIRKLEY:Colonel, please! I’ll be getting to you in just a moment, but—please—let the professor have his say!
PROFESSOR IAN SCOTT THOMPSON:Thank you, Brent.
As I was saying, the claims made by the individual in the broadcast were, to be fair, quite vague. There was no real explanation of what these words—“vampire” and “mythos” and such—really encompassed; no explanation, that is to say, of what they’re capable of. That said, there are numerous accounts—documented and reasonably explained accounts, mind you—that describe conditions or abilities based on any number of conditions such as genetics and disease. Things like predominant teeth, enhanced strength, discoloration of the skin and eyes. All of these are, to be perfectly blunt, not anything new and, moreover, hardly a reason for the entire world to fly off the hinges as it seems to be.
BRENT DIRKLEY:Noted, Professor, but, for the sake of argument:
Would you say it’s possible that creatures like these mythos—creatures as they were depicted in the broadcast and as have been described in numerous reports—can truly exist and be walking among us?
PROFESSOR IAN SCOTT THOMPSON:Well, Brent, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that what we saw in the footage or have heard from panic-driven masses can really be considered—
BRENT DIRKLEY:Professor, answer the question please:
Can… they… exist?
PROFESSOR IAN SCOTT THOMPSON:Well… I mean, sure. I suppose anything’s possible if you want to go about it in such a black-and-white fashion. There’s new species being discovered all the time with incredible abilities, so who’s to say that these mythos cannot? But it’s important to—
BRENT DIRKLEY:Thank you, Professor. Absolutely fascinating!
Now, Colonel, if you’d offer us your insight on the second part of our earlier dialogue: are… mythos… dangerous?
COLONEL MICHAEL TORRENCE HOWARD:Well I should say so, Dirkley! What we’re dealing with here takes all the savagery, cunning, and stealth of the worst terrorists and hands them God-knows what sort of crazy abilities on top of it all. I’ve had men out there—good men, mind you—who’ve told us that these unholy mother[BEEP]ers can, I don’t know, disappear and reappear at will—teleportation or whatever—and lift all sorts of things with their minds. I’ve got soldiers out there being put to sleep by the dozens with nothing more than a stare from one of these beasties. There’s critters lookin’ and talkin’ every bit as sophisticated as any Tom, Dick, or Harry who can—BOOM!—turn themselves into something that looks like it jumped right off the screen of a big-picture horror show. Dirkley, you bet your ass these [BEEP]s are dangerous! You can’t take the worst parts of humanity, give ‘em teeth and claws and all manner of comic book super powers and expect them to be harmless. These are monsters we’re talking about, not a bag of puppies!
BRENT DIRKLEY:Yes… well, I appreciate your honesty and openness with the matter, Colonel. And… uh, a follow-up question, if I may:
Many have seen the videos that this… err, Robert Di-DiAngelo has shared in response to the initial broadcast. In it, he seems to speak of the same group—the… uh, the Saborists, I believe they’re called—that Xander Stryker was addressing in his own message.
There’s been some speculation about just who these Saborists are and what they might represent to all of this, but what I and my viewers would be interested to know is if there’s any merit to the rumors that this DiAngelo-fellow has a military background, and, if so, what sort of—
COLONEL MICHAEL TORRENCE HOWARD:Let me go ahead and polish off this little [BLEEP]-covered diamond so it [BEEP]ing sparkles and is crystal-[BEEP]ing-clear:
Robert DiAngelo is a madman. His crew are madmen. Now, the CIA, FBI… hell, everyone and anyone we got, we’re all working to figure out who these Cebourist-[BEEP]s are and—and, by the way, say it right, Dirkly: CEBOURISTS! You don’t so much report the news as much as you [BEEP] it out of your gaping maw—-but we are working tirelessly to understand who these Cebourist-[BEEP]s are and how they fit into everything. You ask me now and I’d say… no, no, I’m not slipping down that snake hole again; Colonel M.T. Howard isn’t facing any more slander suits, that’s for—
