First Light (The Daylight Cycle, #1)

by Kody Boye

  For what use was a plan, she wondered, if there was no end goal in sight?

  Lyra…

  Rose closed her eyes.

  The brief glimmer of tears winked along her eyelids.

  There was, she realized, really no question.

  She had to keep going.

  The most obvious path was the one that did not follow the road.

  In the near-vacant parking lot behind the office building, Rose looked out over the expanse of faded grass beneath the hill and at the lingering trees in the distance. She could just barely make out the road that would stretch north until it eventually hit a sizeable pond, then the city limits beyond it.

  The prospect was not one she preferred.

  While hesitant to venture into the remnants of society, she was unwilling to risk the wilderness. A slow, drawn-out death would only await her.

  Cold, she thought. Starving. Breaking a leg… getting eaten by a bear.

  She shuddered to think of what might happen.

  Shaking her head, Rose hoisted the pack up her shoulder and started toward the hill, the nearby cemetery a constant aversion to her unsettled consciousness.

  While the trek down was all but painless, it unnerved her to realize how quiet it was.

  A storm? she thought.

  She lifted her head to view the cloudy sky. Sure, the cold had brought with it a foreboding sense of unease, the wind an omnipresent chill that seemed to speak to her bones through the layers of flesh and meat, but that didn’t explain the lack of wildlife. There were no cars, no horns, no sirens or ambulances. Where were the birds, if not cawing with grief?

  Get a hold of yourself, she thought. You’re just working yourself up.

  But what if she wasn’t?

  Rose glanced back over her shoulder.

  In theory, she could scale back up and spend another night in the offices. It wasn’t warm, but by God it wasn’t cold either.

  It’d only take me a few moments. Just a few…

  A shrill cackle burst through the haze of her thoughts.

  She jumped.

  Nearby, a crow that perched upon the cemetery’s chain-link fence laughed before taking off.

  “Fucking bird,” she whispered, checking to ensure her holster was filled as she stalked across the plain of grass.

  No matter how safe things seemed, she always needed to be sure of her gun’s position. Same went for the safety. Fuck if it was on. It sure as hell wouldn’t be any use if something crept up on her from behind.

  She crossed into the copse of trees separating the long stretch of road from the field near the cemetery. The crackle of pine needles beneath her feet was immediately enough to set her off, but she steeled her nerves and froze in place as she swept her gaze along the road.

  The only car to be seen was a mangled mess some three-hundred feet off the road. Its small size did not speak well for its occupant’s survival.

  No one’s been here for a while.

  Or at least long enough to have drawn any attention. If this accident had been recent, the place’d be swarming with undead.

  Or would it?

  “Better not stick around to find out.”

  She turned and started up a road that must’ve been completely inconspicuous in life. A long stretch of farmland to her right, unmarred save for the scar of the accident; the row of ill-favored pine trees to her left; a home spotted in the far distance, tucked aside and built along dirt roads… in a time and place when people kept their doors unlocked and parents let their children play until just after dark, this is where she imagined a true tranquility could’ve existed: a world separated from reality, but close enough to its modern amenities to keep from being fantasy.

  Was this what life would go back to, she wondered, now that the world had ended? Would men and women sit on their porches smoking cigarettes, laughing with children while watching the world go by?

  Rose smiled at the thought.

  Would that really be so bad?

  She paused to gaze upon the house that’d inspired such feelings and wondered if she, like those people in her thoughts, could really make a home like that.

  That was when she heard it—the bark of a pistol right before a scream.

  It’d come from behind her.

  If someone had survived the crash, and it’d just happened—

  It took only the sound of a second gunshot for her to take off.

  “Somebody!” a man’s voice wailed. “PLEASE!”

  The ungodly screech Rose had hoped not to hear cut straight through the man’s desperate pleas.

  She heard only a third shot go off before everything went silent.

  Do I stop? she thought. Keep running?

  She was making too much noise. The pack was jangling upon her back, the machete and bat along her sides. If she kept this up they would surely hear, but if she paused and they were already aware—

  The snap of a nearby twig chose for her.

  She burst into a run.

  Something inhuman screamed.

  The hunt was on.

  The wolves had come to play.

  It became increasingly obvious within the following moments that she would not be able to keep up this pace for long. With the weight of her pack bearing down on her shoulders, the lopsided satchel skewing her posture and the combined weight of the pistol, bat and machete throwing everything off-balance, it wouldn’t be long before she succumbed to exhaustion.

  For that, she took preventive measures.

  She thrust her shoulders that carried what little nonessential foods she had back and fiddled with one strap until it began to slide down her arm. When finally it came free, she took the opposing strap in hand and launched it over her shoulder, grimacing as the clang of metal slashed along the road and the zipper burst open to send cans spinning in her wake.

  The machete she merely disengaged from her belt; the satchel, she pinned to her side.

  The bat—still snug within her grasp—banged against her knee as she struggled to regain her distance.

  Don’t look back, she thought as she heard the snap of teeth. Don’t look back, don’t look back, don’t—

  A huge stretch of what she supposed to be vacant land came into view.

  It was guarded by a barbed-wire fence.

  If she just happened to be quick enough—

  An opposing force gripped her shoulder and she immediately flung herself about.

  Just as she started to raise the bat, the creature’s head exploded in a viscera of gore.

  “Hurry!” a woman’s voice cried.

  Rose blinked, the sound of bells in one ear and the smell of blood in her nose.

  “Come on!” the woman cried. “Hurry!”

  I’m being saved, Rose thought idly as within her head, hell’s bells tolled and before her eyes the dead ran, shambled, or simply stumbled straight for her. I can’t believe it. I’m actually being saved.

  “Hurry!” the woman cried again, the bark of her rifle cutting off the cry of a male companion in the distance. “They’re coming!”

  Rose didn’t even think.

  She ran.

  The slap of her feet on the blacktop roadway was overshadowed by violent snarls and the cracks of the rifle fired by woman whom had saved her in her most desperate hour of need. Her adrenaline in overdrive, her heart pounding in her chest, she cast aside any bodily inhibitions she might have had and pushed herself as hard as she could.

  She couldn’t stop now.

  They were getting closer.

  She was almost there.

  She could almost make out the shape of the woman’s face under the exquisite frame of her white-blonde hair.

  Light gleamed off the rifle’s barrel.

  The barbed-wire fence was oh so near.

  If she didn’t gauge a jump correctly or slide at just the right angle—

  Little thought went into the next action.

  Rose dropped the aluminum baseball bat and launched herself off
the road.

  Her feet hit and she skidded down the incline.

  Something screeched.

  The smell of damp grass filled her nostrils.

  She pumped her legs, her calves burning with the exertion.

  The woman—who she could now see was of possible Native descent, with piercing brown eyes and full lips pursed into a tight frown—flung the jacket in her free hand across the fence and screamed for Rose to jump.

  There was no hesitation.

  The moment the blonde applied pressure to the fence, Rose prayed her years in track would come to her aid and took her leap of faith.

  What appeared to take a matter of minutes passed in only seconds.

  One minute she was in the air, then the next she was landed on the ground, her leg buckling out and sending her to one knee.

  “Thank you,” Rose managed as the woman grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet.

  “We need to hurry,” the older woman said. “I don’t think the fence will hold for that many.”

  “But what’re you—”

  “Bobby!” the woman screamed.

  Rose’s eyes centered on something in the distance—a plane, beige and striped with red.

  No.

  She had to be dreaming. This couldn’t be real.

  A white-haired man whom Rose assumed had been crying out to his vanguard companion lifted his eyes from his place in the cockpit.

  “We gotta go!” the woman cried. “Now!”

  “Does that thing even work?” Rose managed as she stumbled to her feet, gritting her teeth as flares of pain eroded along the sinewy lines of her joint.

  “It better,” the blonde laughed. “That’s our only way out of here.”

  Fuck, Rose thought.

  If ever there were a time for an uncertain rescue, it had to be now.

  “You sure you can walk?” the woman asked as Rose started toward the plane.

  “Yeah,” Rose managed. “I can.”

  Truth was, it didn’t matter if she could or couldn’t. Here, on the grand fields of Elysium, she stood upon the threshold of the worlds. Life, death; beginning, end; salvation, incarceration; redemption, condemnation—as she had when it had all begun, she walked with a woman to whom she owed her life. But unlike before, she did not know this person, and this fate was not certain.

  But a barbed-wire fence was all that separated the three of them from certain death and possible life.

  The plane looked ancient—maintained, yes, but old enough that the paint had begun to peel and the spindling crack in one window was enough to make her fear for her life.

  If it gets off the ground, she thought, at least it’ll be a quick death.

  But if it didn’t? What would they do then?

  Nothing, you idiot. We’ll be dead.

  They approached the airplane in time for the white-haired man’s head to materialize from somewhere within the cockpit. Eyes fixed on the console, fingers tweaking and adjusting various dials and nodules, he barely looked up as they passed into view.

  “Bobby,” the blonde woman said.

  “Martha,” the man replied, eyes still fixed on his work. “You’re all right.”

  “We have to get out of here.”

  “We’re workin’ on it,” the man named Bobby replied. He glanced at Rose out of his peripheral and frowned. “You the woman my wife was shooting at?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” Rose smiled.

  “Toward, more like it,” Martha said, glancing over her shoulder. “Bobby. You need to get this fucking plane off the ground. Now.”

  “Like I said, dear. Workin’ on it.”

  “Workin’ on it my ass! You’re not gonna have time to twiddle your dick if you don’t hurry up!”

  “Uh… guys,” Rose said.

  Martha turned.

  Bobby looked up.

  The fence—which had begun to warp beneath the oppressive weight of some twenty, if not thirty zombies—flushed as the faster of the dead slammed against or struggled to get over it.

  “Shit,” Bobby said.

  “Get in the plane,” Martha said, pushing Rose toward the open passenger door. “Now.”

  “Are you sure this thing will fly?” Rose asked.

  “It’s a Cessna,” Bobby replied. “She’ll hold us.”

  “You better hope so,” the man’s wife replied as she vaulted into the passenger seat. “Get this thing off the ground.”

  “Aye aye, captain.”

  Within a few moments, the engine rumbled to life and a series of lights began to flicker and blink upon the console. Displays brightened, thermometers rose, dials quivered and the frame of the plane began to shake.

  As Rose strapped herself in, trembling not only from the exertion imposed upon her body but her complete and utter terror, the propellers revved to life and slowly started to spin. About this time, Bobby began to maneuver the plane down a self-paved runway—a process which did not pick up speed even when they started to go along.

  Oh God, Rose thought. This isn’t going to work. We’re not going to get out of here.

  She’d have to go through Martha to get out of the plane, and even then, that didn’t guarantee she would succeed. The spinning propeller and forward momentum could easily cut her head off, or send her stumbling to the ground on an already-bad knee. If even anything were to happen—

  Rose’s gaze centered on the fence.

  It had warped so much.

  The posts holding it together were beginning to bow.

  “Bobby,” Martha said, her voice strained as the realization fell over her.

  “I’m working on it,” her husband replied.

  “Get this thing in the air. Now.”

  “I said—”

  The first post caved.

  The second was quick to follow suit.

  Even the resulting whiplash caused by the change in pressure wasn’t enough to stop them.

  Undead spilled over one another like dominos.

  The shambling and decayed faltered or fell.

  The runners, meanwhile, got their start.

  They cleared the outer edges of the field.

  At the rate they were going, they’d be on them in moments.

  “Get this fucking plane off the ground,” Rose said, thrusting forward and clawing at the man’s flannel.

  “I’m working on it!” Bobby cried.

  “You don’t have time to work on it!” Martha shrieked.

  The speed at which they’d slowly been accelerating suddenly kicked up.

  “Hold on,” the older man said. “It’s gonna be a bumpy ride.”

  The engine roared.

  The framework quaked.

  Rose fell back in her seat and prayed to God they’d be all right.

  The first of the runners broke onto the tarmac.

  Oh God, Rose thought.

  “BOBBY!” Martha screamed. “GET THIS FUCKING THING OFF THE—”

  The front end lifted into the air.

  The back end followed soon after.

  Rose exhaled a long and drawn-out sigh as tears began to burn down her face.

  They’d made it—they’d fucking made it.

  “Well then,” Martha said, glancing down as they picked up altitude. “I wasn’t sure you’d pull that off.”

  “Neither was I,” Bobby admitted.

  Rose paled.

  The man cocked his head and offered a slight smile. “You never mentioned your name,” he said.

  “Rose,” she managed. “I… my name’s Rose.”

  “Nice to meet you, Rose. Where ya headed?”

  “I… I don’t—”

  Her head spun.

  Her vision lost focus.

  “Oh God,” she said. “I think I’m going to—”

  She couldn’t finish.

  She passed out.

  She came to in a place that was cold and completely unforgiving.

  Her first and only thought was: What happened?

  For
reasons unknown, she was not immediately able to open her eyes. Be it the stress or the emotional exhaustion that had taken its toll, she simply sat and trembled as slowly, the jagged fragments of the morning’s events began to come back. What, she thought, had happened?

  There was no defined picture upon which she could make sense of her situation, no portrait she could examine to explain the aptitude at which she’d tested her body. Hamstrings sung. Joints throbbed. The soles of her feet felt clay and molten, and her bones… oh. They told a story of their own—of gauntlets run and trials endured, of people met and salvation made, of creatures battled and life—

  Rose opened her eyes.

  The moment she did, all came clear.

  She wasn’t in Rhode Island anymore.

  She was in the air.

  Sometime during their flight, she’d been covered by a thick military-issue blanket and had been stripped of her personal artifacts. At first she panicked, thinking she’d lost her belongings, but soon realized they’d merely been arranged behind the pilot’s seat near her feet. Even her bat was there, though despite attempts to keep it off the floor, the hilt listed, ensuring a near-constant vibration that only added to their claustrophobic confines.

  “You’re awake,” Martha said.

  Rose blinked. “Yeah,” she said, wetting her lips. “I am.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Alive,” she laughed, nodding as the blonde offered a bottle of water.

  “Better than most can say,” Martha agreed. “That’s for sure.”

  To her left, Martha’s husband remained immersed in his work. His helmet secure around his skull, his noise-cancelling headphones tucked firmly against his ears. His shades--which Rose felt were unnecessary given the weather--obscured his eyes, forever painting his face with a cold, demure expression.

  After returning the water to Martha, Rose leaned back in her seat, tucking the blanket about herself as the enormity of the chill began to set in.

  “Sorry about that,” Martha said. “There wasn’t much more I could do than cover you up. Planes like these, there’s no way to keep yourself warm unless you’re bundled up.”

  “Do you know where we’re going?” she asked.

  Martha turned her attention to her husband. “He wants to try to meet up with family in Wyoming,” she said. “In Cody, to be exact.”