The Never Army

by Hodges, T. Ellery

  General Delacy stepped in to stop her before any more anger flew. “Alright, enough. We need to stay constructive here.”

  Leah took a long breath. “Well, I believe he’s telling the truth, but if you need proof, the degradation he warned us of should start affecting this reality. We have to want to see it before our judgment goes. Before we stop caring.”

  “I’ll get analysts looking for any signs of the phenomenon,” Rivers said. “He said it could take days to manifest.”

  Reluctantly, Olivia nodded. “See if there is a spike in global crime rates or peculiar behavior. What else should we be looking for?”

  The question was addressed to Jonathan. But as they turned to him, he looked too far away. Tears began to roll down his cheeks. He didn’t move but to breathe, blinking every so often as he stared at the ceiling.

  “I don’t think he can hear us anymore,” Leah said. “We have to do whatever it takes to make sure he gets home.”

  “Until we know if what he says about these shadows is true,” Delacy said, “I think it best that no one else know about the stone.”

  “I’ll bring in someone from the medical staff to monitor him,” Rivers said.

  “No,” Leah said. “General Delacy is right, we keep everyone away. We do this exactly as he said.”

  She sat down beside him. “Bring me what I need. I’ll stay here with him.”

  Jonathan inched across a wall. He was surrounded by encroaching darkness. The light of his chest letting him see little more than brick and the small space of dust-covered floor where there was still room to place his feet.

  He shook with fear. The light wasn’t dying—the darkness was thickening. Still, he knew that beyond the edge of where the light still touched, was a ledge inching toward him. Soon he wouldn’t be able to move. He’d cling to that wall until there was nothing beneath him.

  Then he would fall into the empty black.

  Abruptly, he heard her voice, it wasn’t far from him.

  “Jonathan, you’ve got to hurry,” Rylee said.

  Hurry? Where? Soon there would be nowhere.

  Still, he’d rather be nowhere with her, than alone. His fingers felt for the gaps between bricks as he moved toward her voice. He could see the ledge coming closer, so he closed his eyes and moved as fast as he dared.

  Her voice came from behind him as her hand gripped his shoulder. “Jonathan.”

  He opened his eyes just in time to feel her pull him through the vault door. There was no longer a veil of darkness hiding what was inside. He didn’t resist her, his feet found floor beneath him as he stepped across the threshold.

  He took a long breath of relief as he heard her shutting the vault behind him.

  “I thought you were gone. Thank you for finding me,” he said.

  “That isn’t going to hold it out for long,” Rylee said.

  “No,” Jonathan nodded. “Eventually, there won’t be any light left. But, at least we won’t be alone.”

  Fear is the heart alone, Heyer said.

  Jonathan saw the alien there, for a moment, whispering those words before the memory fell away. He stared for a long while, at first at the empty place where the memory of Heyer had appeared, but then at what was directly behind when the memory faded away.

  His father’s footlocker. It was still here. The lid sat open, its top resting against the back wall. It was—empty, but . . .

  He stepped closer. He saw the key his father had given him still there in the padlock. The storage room brightened, the light in his chest surging as hope found him.

  “Somewhere to hide,” Jonathan whispered. He spun in excitement. “Rylee, somewhere to—”

  He staggered backward, off balance. Confused by what had happened, he caught Rylee’s eye. She’d been standing behind him, come upon him quietly. She wasn’t angry—her face just looked—sad.

  Her hands were up, she’d—she’d shoved him backward. He tripped, his legs hitting the edge of the box. The key dropping from his hand and clinking across the cement floor.

  He fell inside the box hard, a tangle of his own limbs. He looked up in time to see her kneeling over him, a tear rolling down her face as she slammed the lid down.

  “Rylee? What the hell are you doing?”

  He heard the padlock click into place.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice muffled from the other side. “I realized there was a place to hide. A place that wasn’t a part of you, that maybe, it couldn’t find you. I knew you would try to take me with you.”

  He could hear fear in her voice. She must be standing in the black now; he’d been the only light in that room. He heard the box creak as a soft weight lowered against the outside of it. She had lain herself on top of the box.

  “But, someone had to lock you in.”

  THE QUEUE LOOP | ACTIVATION TWO

  The second activation began exactly as the first. As it went on, details were altered, but in the end, he negotiated with Olivia to be brought to the surface. After all, with each iteration, one thing was different but always true. A Ferox attacked the base.

  Jonathan didn’t hesitate as he charged through a small grove of the base’s woods that opened into a major street. He found himself in a short stretch of business buildings. They were old, the tallest being maybe six stories, and largely constructed of brick.

  The Ferox wasn’t difficult to locate.

  When he reached it, the Red jumped down from one of the higher rooftops, holding the broken body of a soldier. The Ferox threw the man down such that the unfortunate soul smashed into the pavement moments before his killer landed. Had that man still been clinging to life; he did so no longer.

  No matter how many times Jonathan saw acts of violence from the creatures—he still managed to find his rage.

  The Red hadn’t noticed him yet. Its back was to him while it took fire from the nearby rooftops. The base’s soldiers were keeping it as distracted as they could by running up and down the buildings, constantly changing their firing position to keep the Ferox chasing multiple targets. As a distraction, the tactic was effective, but without stronger firepower, the soldiers would eventually run out of luck.

  The men in the surrounding buildings knew that his arrival was their cue to withdraw. The gun fire was already lessening as word spread over their radios and Jonathan stepped out into the street. He stabbed Excali-bar into the pavement beside him and picked up a large chunk of broken debris.

  Concrete slammed into the back of the Ferox’s head, crumbling into a shower of dust and small fragments on impact. The beast had to take a few steps forward to keep its balance.

  If you would please direct your attention here, Jonathan thought as the Ferox whirled around. Until then, Jonathan hadn’t gotten a good look at the Red, but even by Ferox standards, he thought this fellow must have been—homely. Its face was more scarred than he’d ever seen, but not with battle wounds—at least, not only by battle wounds. Most were a rather intricate design and looked self-inflicted.

  “Challenger!”

  With a battle roar that shook the windows, Scarface tore down the street toward him. Jonathan stood his ground, felt no need to get out of its path. He realized, even while in the midst of doing it—

  He wasn’t in danger.

  This wasn’t hubris or even a newfound bravery. He hadn’t lost respect for the ability of the thing charging at him to dole out death. He just—wasn’t afraid. Ever since he’d woken up in the darkness beneath the Seattle streets, he knew everything his father knew about engaging the beasts.

  But it was more than just knowing what he would do when it reached him. At a glance, he had the measure of this Ferox. Whatever it had survived before today, it was simply not up to the task of facing the experience of Echoes the Borealis and the strength of Brings the Rain.

  When it neared, Jonathan pulled Excali-bar free and feinted forward only to pivot and drop outside of Scarface’s reach. The hulking beast’s claw missed him by inches, but to Jona
than the attack never came close. Before the Ferox was able to sail past, he slammed the demolition bar back down into the pavement at an angle, catching it at the ankle, and taking the Ferox’s feet out from under it. The beast barreled forward, leading with its face, before rolling across the street and crashing through the lobby of the first building in its path.

  He didn’t race after it. He heard a roar of frustration and the movement of wreckage from inside the building as Scarface got to his feet and burst back out into the street. Having learned a bit of a lesson, it didn’t head straight for Jonathan. Instead, he came just short of melee range and dropped to all fours.

  Jonathan allowed himself to be the center of a predatory circle. “I know you’re dying to tell me, so let’s hear it. What do they call you? Who have your great gods seen fit to send for Ec—”

  Jonathan hesitated. Had almost used the Feroxian title of his father. But seeing as this wasn’t the time for an existential dilemma, he chose not to linger on it.

  “. . . Brings the Rain?” he asked.

  Feroxian body language had never been easily readable, but Jonathan found, among other things, that he was suddenly far more adept in the art. This Red was almost transparently overeager. He had yearned so badly for the chance to be immortalized as the warrior who brought back the corpse of Brings the Rain—the legendary leader of the abominations—that Jonathan suspected he might already have a choreographed celebratory dance number planned for when he got back to the Feroxian Plane.

  “I am Soils the Ground, and it is my honor,” he said, stopping to hit his fists against his chest.

  Jonathan bit his lip to keep from laughing.

  This would not be the first time he made a mental note to have Mr. Clean give him a crash course on Feroxian language and culture. But he had to wonder if the mother of Soils the Ground had intended for her son’s name to mean something other than Craps on Ground.

  “I know of you,” Jonathan said with straight-faced admiration. “Mr. Poopy is much revered by my kind.”

  Soils the Ground only grunted, as though he had already assumed as much.

  “It is unfortunate,” Jonathan said soberly. “No apology will do justice for what you’re going to endure, I am sorry . . . truly.”

  Soils the Ground immediately began to tighten the circle around him.

  All Ferox were different, some were chattier than the next, but others seemed to feel that anything other than the exchange of names was going overboard with the pleasantries. Mr. Poopy was making his impatience noticeable.

  “We do not apologize for combat,” Soils the Ground said.

  Jonathan shook his head, dropping any pretense. “This isn’t going to be combat; you will be the first of many war crimes I intend to commit against your people.”

  The Ferox shook its head. “I do not understand, nor do I care to.”

  Soils the Ground charged, Jonathan saw it coming. Had read it in the way the beast planted its fist and angled its heel. In a flash, the Ferox closed on him, but his fists hammered into the pavement only to find Jonathan absent. Suddenly aware that he’d lost track of his opponent, the beast whirled, catching sight of him at the corner of his vision and lashing out with a vicious backhand.

  Jonathan slipped beneath. The fist, seeming to come so close to making contact, sailed by unrewarded. Soils the Ground left himself open, and the next thing the monster felt was its jaw violently snapping shut as Jonathan rose out of his crouch to drive an uppercut into his chin.

  A moment later, the Ferox returned to the ground, its back caving in the roof of a Subaru parked on the opposite side of the street. The vehicle crumpled, hood and trunk hugging the Ferox’s body. Dizzied, Soils the Ground’s attempts to free himself from the predicament was like watching a toddler try to escape a giant bean bag.

  He’d put Excali-bar back into the street, and now leaned his weight against it. As the Red finally staggered free of the vehicle, Jonathan eyed the monster thoughtfully. He’d stopped trying to converse with the creatures in any meaningful way long ago. Usually he found whatever a Ferox had to say as frustratingly meaningless as Soils the Ground had probably just found his own words.

  However, in the past he’d been in too much danger to let himself risk losing his focus. Right now, Soils the Ground wasn’t exactly driving terror into his heart.

  As the Ferox cleared its head to consider launching another attack, Jonathan pointed to the pile of bodies it had begun to amass before his arrival. Most were civilians, people who worked or lived on the base. Only a few had been armed, soldiers the Ferox could realistically consider a combatant.

  “War crime,” Jonathan repeated the words. “How many did you kill who weren’t a threat to you? How many were running from you?”

  The Ferox was reluctant to take his eyes off Jonathan but spared a glance for the pile. “Slaughter their weak. Draw out their strong. It has always been so with the abominations.”

  The hand Jonathan had pointed at the bodies dropped back to his side. He took a long breath. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Soils the Ground took a step forward and Jonathan casually flicked free the link that held Doomsday around his chest. He felt the chain grow slack around him.

  “You’re outmatched, Soils the Ground,” Jonathan said.

  The Ferox growled, “We shall see.”

  “Will we? Because right now, I’m bored,” Jonathan said, taking one step away from Excali-bar. “You sure the prophet knows you’re here? Maybe you stole your stone from someone who was actually fit to enter the arena.”

  For a moment, the Ferox looked offended. “Arrogant abom—”

  “Why don’t you go ahead and take your best shot. Give me everything you got. I’ll let you have it.” Jonathan interjected, lifting his hand to each side. “I honestly don’t think you can hurt me, and . . .”

  Jonathan smiled as the Ferox closed the distance, only one more step from being able to reach out and grab hold of him. He stared into the empty white eyes as they began to give way, veins filling with black as Feroxian blood surged across its pupils.

  “Your gods are watching,” Jonathan goaded.

  The Ferox stiffened, every fiber of muscle growing taut until it seemed to double in size before him.

  Jonathan held still, and finally, Soils the Ground reared up, clasping both its hands over its head, and letting out a roar.

  What a moron.

  The Ferox’s biological armor was hard to drive a stake through, but he knew there were weak spots around the joints. They tended to only reveal themselves for a moment when the Ferox moved in certain ways. Jonathan had only scratched the surface of these weaknesses, but before Douglas died, he had been the leading expert in the field.

  He freed a length of Doomsday and spun out of the way as Soils the Ground brought its fists into the pavement. The Ferox’s fists punched through the ground, creating a small crater where his opponent had stood goading him. Its roar ceased to be a battle cry and split into a wail of pain as Jonathan drove the spiked tip of Doomsday through the back of its knee.

  The steel tip sunk deep, angled down into the creature’s calf, only stopping when it hit the armor of his shin from the inside. Due to the design of the spiked tip, pulling the weapon out would leave Soils the Ground’s leg in shambles. Jonathan didn’t intend to give the Ferox the opportunity to try.

  He pulled back on the chain, just hard enough to take its footing. While it was still reeling from the pain and shock, Jonathan jumped, spinning twice to free up the slack from his chain before landing on the Red’s back. In a frenzy, Soils the Ground attempted to push himself up and buck Jonathan off.

  As soon as he tried, Jonathan drove his fist down hard into the soft spot behind the creature’s shoulder blades. He felt it when the malleable iron bone inside the creature bent—it was the sort of skeletal adjustment that left Soils the Ground’s arm in too much pain to move.

  The Ferox roared again, and Jonathan was quick, pulling the length of
Doomsday’s steel chain down and into its open mouth, lodging it in place like a horse’s bit.

  Soils the Ground, growing desperate as his movements became more and more limited, wasn’t thinking clearly. With his one still functioning arm, he reached up and attempted to pull the chain away from Jonathan’s grip. This led to a gagged scream as pulling the chain painfully reminded him that the spiked tip was still deeply embedded in his calf. The moment he wailed, Jonathan coiled a second loop of the chain through its mouth and tightened.

  It struggled, but was unable to see him or move without causing more pain. Jonathan managed to tie off the chain, jumping down off the Ferox’s back and retrieving Excali-bar from the pavement.

  For what followed, he made sure Soils the Ground faced his own pile of trophies. The Ferox, helpless, was unable to even yell about dishonor as Jonathan went about the task of rendering its remaining limbs useless.

  Long before it was over, he had engaged in the cruelest act he’d ever committed against another living thing. He was in a daze from awfulness—trying to disconnect himself from what he felt he had to do. He reminded himself that he was the weapon. That he had chosen to be the solution to this problem—whatever it took.

  Eventually, Soils the Ground stopped moving—struggling only made its pain worse. He shuddered once more as Jonathan took what was left of Doomsday’s slack and tightened it above the Ferox’s calf as a tourniquet to slow the bleeding.

  Not because he cared about the Ferox—but because he needed it alive. When he was done, he found a soldier’s body; his radio still intact.

  “Olivia, the package is wrapped and ready for pickup.”

  Soils the Ground’s eyes followed him. It didn’t seem to understand why this slow torture was not leading to its death. As Jonathan knelt in front of the Ferox, his words were not exactly sympathetic, but there was pity.

  “You aren’t going to die today. I will keep you alive as long as possible, but I will take you apart, piece by piece. You will help me learn everything we can about how to kill your kind. How to kill your women and children. Perhaps, you will be the one who teaches us how to kill the Ferox for good.”