Nocturnal

by Scott Sigler

  As strong as Firstborn was, he couldn’t move.

  Sly walked forward. He picked up one of Firstborn’s pistols. His snake mouth smiled and laughed as he pressed the muzzle against Firstborn’s gray-streaked temple.

  “I’ve been waiting for this, asshole,” Sly said. “Been waiting a long time.”

  The crowd shouted for blood.

  Firstborn looked at Rex. The green eyes looked lost, desperate — the brave knight, brought low.

  Rex held out a hand. “Stop! Don’t kill him.”

  The crowd’s murmur died away.

  Sly didn’t move the gun. His smile faded. “But he has to die, my king. He just tried to kill you.”

  Rex couldn’t shake off Firstborn’s words. The tall man had said his murderous ways weren’t about keeping power. Why would he say that? He could have been lying, but it didn’t seem like he was.

  Sly looked down at Firstborn. “He must die,” Sly said. “Him and all his rules, and the way he treats us!”

  The crowd murmured approval — they wanted Firstborn dead almost as much as Sly did. But they weren’t thinking straight, none of them were. Rex knew he had to step up. His destiny began right now.

  He walked forward and held out his hand, palm up. “Give me the gun.”

  Sly stared back for a moment, then once again smiled wide. “Of course. The new king should kill the old ruler.” He handed the gun over butt-first.

  Rex took it. He’d never held a gun before. It was heavier than he’d thought it would be. It felt good in his hand.

  Firstborn was pinned down and overwhelmed by numbers, yet even now he seemed more dangerous than all the rest.

  Rex squatted on his heels. “Firstborn, you said I’d lead everyone to their deaths. What did you mean?”

  Sly shook his head. “Just shoot him already. Don’t let him speak his lies.”

  Rex looked up at him. “Sly, be quiet.” Rex didn’t even recognize his own voice — such command, such confidence. Sly’s eyes narrowed in frustration, maybe even in anger.

  Rex again looked down at Firstborn. “Tell me. Tell me what you meant.”

  Head craned to the side, Firstborn stared back. There was no fear in his eyes. “You aren’t the first,” he said. “The kings bring disaster upon us.”

  Rex looked at the gun in his hand. He could kill this man and be done with it. He would be king, but he didn’t know how to rule. Firstborn had been in charge for how long? Decades? Centuries? Firstborn was tough and strong and smart — he wouldn’t die in some accident like Rex’s dad had.

  Firstborn would always be here.

  Rex set the gun on the deck’s dry, splintered wood. “I am your king, Firstborn. Say it.”

  Sly grabbed Rex’s arm. “No, my king! You can’t let him live! He will try to kill you!”

  Hillary walked up, her hands clasped in front of her as if she were praying. “Sly is right,” she said. “Firstborn killed the other kings. I have seen him crush babies in his bare hands when he thought no one was looking.”

  Firstborn said nothing. He just kept staring.

  Rex felt a new strength surging through him. All these people, they were his to command. This was his birthright. If he wanted Firstborn to follow, then Firstborn would follow.

  Rex stared into the slanted green eyes. “You killed babies. I’m not a baby anymore. I am your king.”

  Firstborn managed to shake his head. “It cannot be.”

  His nostrils flared, then his eyes widened. Had his pupils dilated? In that instant, Rex knew what to do — he didn’t know how, but he knew. He held out his right wrist, pushed it close to Firstborn’s face. The black-furred man tried to look away, but he was pinned facedown on the deck and there was nowhere to turn.

  Rex reached out with his left hand, simultaneously pinning Firstborn’s head to the deck and tightly covering the black-furred mouth. He shoved his right wrist closer.

  Firstborn held his breath.

  “I am your king,” Rex said. “Things will be different this time.”

  Rex waited. Firstborn could avoid it no further; his nostrils flared wide as he drew in a big breath. Rex sensed a calmness spread over the pinned man.

  He’s yours. Just like all the others.

  A desperate, sandpaper voice whispered at his ear. “At least make it so he can’t just kill you and take power again. Remove his temptation and he’ll follow.”

  Yes, that was smart. If Rex suddenly died a day from now, a month from now, the people would again fall under Firstborn’s rule. Take that away, and Firstborn would truly be his.

  Rex stood. He felt like a different person. “I am the king now,” he said, turning slowly to look at each and every one of them. “I am king, and you all have to do what I say. My first command is this — if anything happens to me, if I die, then all of you will kill Firstborn. Do you understand?”

  Many heads nodded, but not enough heads. Rex’s lip curled into a sneer — who did they think they were dealing with?

  “I said, do you understand? You hear me talking to you?”

  His words echoed off the walls. Was that really his voice? Could it really be that loud, that powerful, or was that a trick of the confined space?

  Now the heads nodded, nodded and looked away from him as if they were afraid to meet his eyes. Maybe they should be afraid, at least a little.

  Rex looked at Fort. “Let him up.”

  Fort stood. So did Firstborn.

  Off to Rex’s left, Hillary knelt on one knee. Like living dominoes, the others did the same, everyone dropping until only Rex, Sly and Firstborn stood.

  Sly stared at Firstborn, then Rex, then he, too, knelt.

  Some of the kneeling people were still taller than Rex, but Firstborn towered over them all.

  The big creature moved closer.

  Rex stepped forward to meet him. To stare into the man’s eyes, Rex had to look almost straight up.

  “Kneel,” Rex said. “I am your king.”

  Firstborn snarled. Sly started to rise, as did Pierre, but Rex held up a hand to stop them.

  This was real, this was destiny. Rex was the chosen one. He stared up into Firstborn’s eyes. Rex feared no one. Everyone would submit to him. Everyone.

  Firstborn’s snarl faded. His grayed muzzle relaxed. He tried to hold eye contact, but he could not — he looked away.

  And then, Firstborn knelt.

  “My king,” he said. “Welcome home.”

  The cheer of the people rang off the cavern walls.

  A New Day

  Bryan shut the Buick’s door. He looked up at 1969 California Street. The Jessups would have answers, had to have answers. If they didn’t … well, then for their sake he hoped they knew someone who did.

  Bryan walked to the rusted gate door. He pressed the buzzer. He looked through the diagonal bars to the house’s door atop the stairs. Nothing moved.

  The air felt cool on his face. He reached up, felt the short, neat beard on his cheeks and chin. He’d left Robin in bed, asleep, but he had trimmed his ridiculous tangle before coming out here. He’d left her a fresh pot of coffee and a note on the dining room table: I LOVE YOU.

  They’d slept through the morning and well into the afternoon. Robin must have needed sleep in a bad way, as she didn’t wake up when Bryan slid out of bed. That was good — he had to do this alone. No Robin, no Pookie. Those two might try to temper Bryan’s reactions, but he didn’t want anyone to temper anything. Playtime was over. Pookie had left a dozen voice mails, each funnier than the last. There was concern within that humor, but Bryan wasn’t ready to talk to him yet. John Smith called as well. He’d left a long-ass message that connected a lot of dots about Chief Zou and Erickson.

  Bryan pressed the buzzer again. He ran his hands along the stylishly rusted gate’s half-inch-thick crisscrossing bars. The thing looked like it could hold back a charging rhino. Yeah, the Jessups knew what kind of dangers ran through this city, and they guarded against them.

 
Moments later, the interior door opened. Adam Jessup bounced down the stairs. His silver jewelry and black rocker outfit looked identical to the last time except now he wore a BULLET FOR MY VALENTINE concert T-shirt instead of the one that had read KILLSWITCH ENGAGE.

  “Not you again,” he said with a sneer. “You ain’t getting in this time without a warrant, cop. You got a warrant?”

  Who did this little fuck think he was?

  In one whip-snap motion, Bryan reached through the bars, grabbed the back of Adam’s neck and yanked him forward, pinning the man’s face hard against the rusted iron.

  “If warrant means will I break your fucking neck if you don’t open this door, then yeah, I got a warrant.”

  Adam clawed at Bryan’s hand, so Bryan squeezed harder. Adam winced, tried to say something, but he couldn’t get a word out.

  “You should open the gate now,” Bryan said. “Then the pain might go away.”

  Adam’s hands flailed at the gate’s inside handle. Bryan heard a click and the door opened. He pushed Adam away — it seemed like a light push, but Adam flew back to crash into the stone steps.

  Byran walked inside and closed the gate-door behind him. He saw Adam lying there, moaning, hands rubbing his throat. Bryan’s mind seemed to clear. Had he done that to Adam? He had, and for what?

  Because he pissed you off.

  Bryan stepped forward and reached out a hand to help Adam up when the whuff of a silenced gun coincided with a shredded white spot appearing in the floor between his feet.

  Bryan froze, moving only enough to look up to the stairs that led into the house. On the top step stood Alder Jessup, who was pointing his cane at Bryan’s chest.

  “That will be quite enough,” Alder said.

  A thin curl of smoke wafted out of the cane’s hollow bottom.

  “A cane-gun?” Bryan said. “Seriously?”

  Alder nodded. “Just sit down where you are. I’ve got four more shots in this weapon. Move and I’ll kill you.”

  Bryan studied the old man. Alder was leaning against the wall — he couldn’t even stand without using the cane for help. And yet the man’s hands looked rock-steady, as did the barrel of the cane-gun.

  Bryan sat.

  Alder eased himself down until he sat on the top step. The cane-gun now rested on his right knee, barrel still pointed at Bryan.

  “Why are you here?” Alder said. “Why are you assaulting my grandson?”

  Adam held his lower back with one hand, his bleeding nose with the other.

  Bryan shrugged. “Sorry about that. I, uh, I guess I got a little mad.”

  Alder nodded. “Then I would hate to see you when you lose your temper. Again, why are you here?”

  “I want answers,” Bryan said. “I want all the answers. I want to know how Jebediah Erickson can do what he does when he’s in his seventies. I want to know why he kills Marie’s Children. I want to know why he tried to kill me.”

  Adam stood, wincing from the pain. “Uncle Jeb didn’t try to kill you, shit for brains. He wouldn’t try to kill a cop.”

  “Then I guess he just shot me for shits and giggles.”

  Alder’s eyes narrowed. “He shot you? You must have been with someone else. Who was with you at the time?”

  “Other cops,” Bryan said. “But he didn’t try to kill them. He wanted me.”

  Alder and Adam exchanged a nervous glance.

  Adam started slowly backing up the stairs. His arrogant attitude had vanished. “I don’t believe Uncle Jeb shot you. Show me where.”

  Bryan reached to unzip his sweatshirt before he remembered — the bullet wound had already healed. Healed because he was a Zed, because he was one of Marie’s Children. In his morning optimism, flush with the good feeling of finally opening up to Robin, he’d managed to keep that little fact out of his thoughts. He let his hand drop to his lap.

  “Grampa,” Adam said, “he’s one of the monsters. Kill him now.”

  Bryan didn’t say anything. He stared at the bullet chip in the floor. He was a monster. He’d lost it with Adam, and for almost no reason. He could have snapped Adam’s neck. A part of him had wanted to do just that.

  Maybe Alder’s bullet was the best thing for everyone.

  “Do it, Gramps,” Bryan said. “Pull the trigger.”

  Alder shook his head. “I will not.”

  Adam walked up the stairs to his grandfather. “Then give me the cane. I’ll do it.”

  “Shut up,” Alder said.

  “But, Grampa, he—”

  “Adam, shut your mouth!”

  Adam took a step back and fell silent.

  Alder lowered the cane. He slowly pushed himself up. He put the end of the cane on the top step and left it there, using it to help him stay standing. “Inspector Clauser, you said Erickson tried to kill you. I’ve never known him to fail. Why didn’t he finish the job?”

  Bryan again looked at the chip in the floor. “Because I stabbed him.”

  “Stabbed him,” Alder echoed. “What, exactly, did you stab him with?”

  “His own knife,” Bryan said. He looked up. “A big silver one.”

  Alder and Adam exchanged glances again. Their expressions hinted at panic.

  “His knife?” Adam said. “Is he dead?”

  “No. Not yet, anyway. He’s in the hospital.”

  Alder shook his head sadly. “This is my fault. I just assumed Zou would handle it. She always has in the past. How could she let this happen?”

  “Don’t blame her,” Bryan said, surprised to hear those words come out of his mouth. “She tried to stop us. We didn’t listen. We couldn’t let a vigilante run wild.”

  Alder’s face wrinkled in scorn. “A vigilante? I can’t believe anyone could be that naive. Do you have any idea what we’re dealing with?”

  Images of stuffed monsters flashed through Bryan’s thoughts. He nodded. “I saw Erickson’s basement.”

  “Good,” Alder said. “You seem smart enough to believe what your eyes show you.”

  Even from the first dream, a part of Bryan had known it was all real. The basement only confirmed that. “This wouldn’t have happened if Zou and Erickson — and you, for that matter — hadn’t kept this a secret.”

  Alder sighed and shook his head. “Clearly, I was wrong about you being smart.”

  “People need to know,” Bryan said. “We’re talking about actual fucking monsters here.”

  Adam spit blood onto the stairs. “Uncle Jeb tried telling the truth once, after Zou tracked his ass down back in the day. He told people all about the monsters, and you know where he wound up? The loony bin.”

  “But there’s proof,” Bryan said. “All those stuffed creatures in his basement.”

  Alder walked down the stairs, again using his cane as just that — a cane. “You’re missing the obvious, Inspector. You never heard of monsters before this, because the monsters can’t be found by the police. They are hunters, so skilled that no one knows they exist, even when they murder their victims or take people away to wherever it is they take them. The only one who can find them, who can stop them, is Erickson. And, now, maybe you.

  “The nightmarish ones Erickson stuffed — maybe the public will believe those are real, maybe they won’t, but believe it or not those creatures aren’t the biggest problem. You saw that some of Erickson’s trophies looked like regular people?”

  Bryan thought back to the man with the hatchet. “Yes, there were a few.”

  Alder reached the bottom step. “Stand up.”

  Bryan did.

  “The problem is the ones that look like us,” Alder said. “Erickson looks like us. You look like us. If you show the world the monsters, and show them that some of the monsters look like regular people, what do you think would happen?”

  Bryan thought of Robin, of her little machine that could quickly and easily test for the Zed chromosome. If people knew that some of the monsters looked like regular people, there would be a campaign to test everyone. And
if someone other than Robin tested Bryan, found out he was one of them …

  “Maybe they find a reason to put me away,” he said.

  Alder nodded. “And if that happens, Inspector Clauser, who will be left to find the monsters that can’t be found? Who will stop them from killing at will?”

  What if Alder was right? Would anyone trust a man with the Zed chromosome? No, not if they also found out about the creatures. This was all so fucked up. No one would trust his kind, not without a civil rights campaign, education — things that took years if not decades.

  Erickson had been locked up once. Because of that, hundreds of people had died. Erickson was still in the hospital — did that mean Bryan was the only one who could find the monsters?

  Maybe someday soon Bryan would let the world know. Robin could help. She could get the scientific community behind it, try to use facts to temper the public’s probable reaction. Someday, but today was not that day.

  “Okay,” Bryan said. “You’re right. We keep the secret. So what do we do now?”

  Alder tapped his cane on the floor twice, click-click. “We have to go to the hospital. If Marie’s Children find out Savior is hurt, they might come after him. You need to help us protect Erickson until he heals.”

  Bryan shook his head. “I can’t go to the hospital.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, I sort of got fired.”

  Adam rolled his eyes. “Well, that’s just fucking fantastic. Thank goodness we have you on our side. Such an asset to the team.”

  Alder didn’t seem phased by the news. He looked Bryan up and down, then turned to his grandson. “Adam. I think the time has come for a new Savior.”

  Adam stared at his grandfather for a moment, then started laughing. “A pig? Grampa, have you been taking too many meds? There’s no way we can—”

  “Adam! There isn’t any other choice! It has to be Bryan.”

  Has to be Bryan? What were they talking about? Alder didn’t mean …

  “Me? You want me to be a Savior?”

  Alder nodded. “Except for Jebediah, all the other Saviors are dead. This is your destiny.”