The Nyctalope Steps In

by Jean de La Hire

  Quatermass leapt from the car and ran to the man he had nearly killed. “Are you all right?” he shouted. He knelt beside the man, who appeared to be unconscious. He was uncertain what, if any, injuries the fellow had sustained, and was reluctant to touch him for that reason. Still, he had to at least check for a pulse. He gently lifted the man’s wrist, and was startled when his arm was suddenly clasped in a grip of iron. The man’s eyes snapped open, and for a moment Quatermass could have sworn they were burning with an unnatural glow.

  “Get down,” the man rasped, and he snatched Quatermass to the ground. Quatermass fell hard, and before he could recover enough to even make a noise of protest, he was treated to the shocking sight of what he would later identify as a barrel cactus whistling through the air just inches from his face. Astonished, he lifted his head and saw a snarling young man in gray coveralls step into the glow of the headlights. His eyes were wide and glazed with stupor—or madness—and his arms were stretched stiff from his sides. He stopped, lifted his arms upward, and Quatermass saw shapes move in the air behind him.

  What in the name of…?

  The shapes floated into the light and became more distinct. They were cacti, 20, 30, perhaps even more, uprooted from the desert sands and hovering impossibly about this wild-eyed youth.

  Quatermass watched in horrified fascination as the youth made a gesture, and the floating cacti rolled forward until they resembled nothing so much as a fleet of missiles, aimed directly at him.

  “Get inside the car,” said the stranger. “Now!”

  Quatermass jumped to his feet as the first of the cacti came rocketing toward him. For a moment, he dared to hope he would reach safety without being hit, but his hopes vanished in an explosion of agony as one of the cacti slammed into his side. It buried its spines into his flesh and the impact sent him rolling across the sand.

  Nearly blinded by the pain, the Professor managed to recover himself enough to scramble into the car. “Come on!” he shouted, holding the door open for his presumptive ally. The fellow was behind him, but he shocked Quatermass by kicking the door closed from outside.

  “Stay down!” the man commanded, and the Professor obeyed. There was a series of staccato thumps accompanied by the sound of cracking glass as the cacti rained down on the sedan. Then there was a moment of silence, and suddenly the car began to tremble.

  Quatermass risked a look through the window and saw the young man reach forward and raise his arms. The car began to lift accordingly.

  Telekinesis, the Professor thought, his mind racing. It’s the only explanation! This has to be related to Jeff’s find. I have to get to that town!

  The sedan was now about four feet from the ground. What was the young man planning to do? It hardly mattered. The car had swiftly gone from being a shelter to a death-trap, and Quatermass had no choice except to run for it. He turned to the opposite door. As his hand closed around the handle, he saw the form of the stranger running toward the car. The man jumped, landed on the hood of the floating car, and propelled himself forward through the air in an arc that terminated with his fist smashing into the face of the crazed young man.

  The young man fell to the ground and the car immediately followed suit, landing with a spine-jarring crash that sent a fresh wave of agony through the Professor’s wounded side. Willing himself to ignore the pain, Quatermass opened the door and cried out to his rescuer: “Well done! Is he unconscious?”

  As if in reply, the young man came to his feet. He did not rise as a normal man would, but simply floated upright, as if lifted by invisible hands.

  The other man reached into his coat and drew a pistol. “Please don’t make me kill you,” he said. “Why don’t you talk to me? Why you are attacking us?”

  The young man sneered, then gasped. His hands went to his chest and he dropped to his knees. He wobbled there for a second, then fell forward, burying his face in the sand.

  “What just happened?” Quatermass shouted. “Did you shoot him?”

  The man was kneeling by the prostrate form of their attacker. “I did not,” he said without turning, “but he is certainly dead.”

  “Do you know him?” Quatermass asked.

  “I have never seen him before.” The man looked at him, and Quatermass saw that his senses had not been deceived: The man’s eyes gleamed softly in the darkness.

  “Your wound looks serious,” he said, and Quatermass came to a sudden awareness of the blood drenching his side. He tried to pull his coat open but a flash of pain made him stop.

  “I’ll live,” the Professor said, “but I need medical attention. There is a town near here called Carmelita. Can you drive me there?”

  “Yes,” said the man, and he rose and walked to the car.

  “Wait,” Quatermass said. “What about him? We can’t just leave him here!”

  “We can and we will. There is nothing more we can do for him.”

  “But…to simply leave him for the vultures…It’s indecent!”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” was the terse reply. “You saw what he could do. Can you explain it? What if his body is harboring some strange disease or parasite? We could be exposing ourselves to deadly danger by merely touching him.”

  The Professor nodded, conceding the point.

  “What is your name?” the man asked.

  “Quatermass. Bernard Quatermass”

  “Listen to me, Mr. Quatermass. You are in shock and you are losing blood. Your concern for this fellow does you credit, but you should be thinking of yourself right now.”

  The man reached out and touched the back of the Professor’s neck, and his pain was suddenly and dramatically reduced. Quatermass gasped in surprise. “What did you just do?”

  “No miracle cure, I’m afraid. The pain will be back soon enough, but you should have at least an hour with it considerably numbed.”

  “Who are you?”

  “My name is Leo,” he said. He stepped to the front of the car and slipped behind the driver’s seat. He turned to face Quatermass.

  “After I get you to a doctor, I will either send someone for that man, or I will come back for him myself. Do you believe me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Excellent.”

  Leo started the car and the engine roared to life. “Been a while,” he said, mostly to himself, and Quatermass thought he heard a smile in the man’s voice.

  A moment later all that remained of them was the echo of screeching tires.

  The first that they saw of the place was a distant crimson glow, and a cloud of smoke that obscured the stars. By the time they passed the WELCOME TO CARMELITA sign, the smoke had become tangible and caustic, and the glow had expanded into several raging fires that appeared to be consuming about a third of the town.

  The light from the flames illuminated a hellish landscape strewn with shattered glass, wrecked automobiles, and the twisted, broken bodies of men, women, and children.

  Leo stopped the car. For a moment, neither of the men spoke. They simply regarded the carnage in a stunned, almost reverent, silence.

  Leo heard a peculiar scraping sound, and realized it was his teeth grinding together. He forced his mouth to open and, ignoring the stench of the smoke, took a deep, calming breath. What had he stumbled onto? Worse, why did it seem somehow…familiar?

  It’s not the first scene of horror I’ve encountered, he thought. The important thing is to keep a clear head, formulate a plan, remember to focus…remember to…

  Something began to scratch at the back of his mind.

  There is something I need to remember.

  A flash of red suddenly bloomed before his eyes, accompanied by…

  (let them stay buried)

  …a skull-splitting burst of pain. He cried out, clutching his head. Then, as quickly as it struck, the pain vanished. He felt a firm hand on his shoulder and turned to face the alarmed gaze of Professor Quatermass.

  “I’m all right,” Leo said, gently pushing the hand away.
/>   “I don’t believe you,” Quatermass flatly stated. “Who is it that should stay buried?”

  “What?”

  “You whispered that, just now. You said to let them…”

  “Forget it. That was just some foolish babbling.”

  “If it’s relevant to what’s happened here…”

  “I said to forget it,” Leo said sharply. “This conversation is a waste of time. We need to find survivors, if there are any. In a situation like this it is absolutely imperative that we…”

  “GET OUT OF THE CAR.”

  Startled, both men turned to see a group of heavily armed men in military uniforms. Their faces were covered in gas masks. One of them was holding a megaphone before his concealed face.

  “GET OUT OF THE CAR IMMEDIATELY. IF YOU DO NOT COMPLY WE WILL BE FORCED TO OPEN FIRE.”

  Leo and Quatermass opened their doors and slowly stepped out, hands raised.

  “Echo Team checking in with two prisoners,” Leo heard the lead soldier say. He was addressing a burly man with the stripes of a master sergeant on his sleeve.

  They were standing atop the concrete steps leading to the doors of the town hall. Four men, including the sergeant, had been waiting to greet them. The NCO was the only one not wearing a mask.

  The hall was an impressive building; three stories with tall windows and a line of Doric columns at its entrance. According to the sign by the door, it also contained the courthouse and the jail. It was in the center of the ruined city, but had apparently managed to escape the destruction that had been visited upon most of the town. Electric lights still burned in its windows.

  “Are you the person in command?” Quatermass asked. He spoke with force and confidence, but Leo could see that his injuries were getting to him. The Professor was pale and shaking. Rivulets of perspiration streamed down his face like tears.

  “I’m Master Sergeant Vincenzo of the 821st Civil Affairs Battalion, United States Army,” the burly man said. His tone was neutral, almost business-like. Leo half-expected him to extend a hand in greeting. Instead, he took a bundle of papers from the lead soldier.

  “Their identification,” the soldier said. “This one’s an Englishman. The other one…Well, see for yourself. He was also carrying a Browning.”

  Vincenzo glanced at the papers. “Bernard Quatermass?” he said, addressing the Professor.

  “Yes, yes, of the British Experimental Rocket Group,” Quatermass snapped. “Please, I must speak to your commanding officer immediately!”

  “You’ll get your chance.” The sergeant turned to Leo. “Looks like you’ve got a lot of names,” he said. “Any of them correct?”

  Leo shrugged.

  “This man saved my life,” Quatermass said. “I insist he be treated with courtesy and respect!”

  “Really?” Vincenzo said. “How did he manage to do that?”

  Quatermass and Leo exchanged a look.

  Vincenzo nodded. “I figured as much.” He looked at the leader of Echo Team. “Tyler, get them to the cells. It doesn’t matter if they stay together.” He pointed at Quatermass. “Ask Captain Flynn to check this man out as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, Master Sergeant,” the soldier replied, and he ushered Leo and Quatermass into the building.

  Vincenzo shook his head as he watched the door close.

  A Brit rocket scientist and some hardcase with about eight different names, he mused. How are these guys tied up in all this?

  He desperately wanted to question the prisoners himself. Although he had managed to maintain a façade of professional detachment, inside he was burning to solve the mystery of Carmelita’s overnight destruction. He was certain that he could put the pieces together if he were given half a chance. He had always had a knack for…

  His eyes narrowed. “Johnson,” he said.

  The soldier closest to him stepped away from the column he been standing beside. “Yes, Master Sergeant?”

  “Weren’t there four of our trucks parked across the street?”

  “I…think so.”

  “Where’d the fifth one come from?”

  They looked at the truck in question for a silent moment. “Stay here,” Vincenzo said. “It’s probably nothing, but I just want to be sure…”

  He drew his sidearm and descended the steps. He was crossing the street when a dapper, middle-aged man stepped gracefully out of the back of the truck. Vincenzo immediately snapped into a firing position. “Halt!” he shouted. “Place your hands behind your head!”

  “Oh, Good Heavens,” the man said. His low, smooth voice was laced with a hint of irritation. “You’re making a complete fool of yourself. Lower that weapon at once.”

  Vincenzo, to his own amazement, did so without question. Inside his mind, a rebellious voice began to rage: What the Hell are you doing? Raise that pistol! Call out for assistance!

  “Come here,” the man said. “I like to look into a man’s eyes when I am speaking to him.”

  Don’t do it! He’s done something to you! Can’t you feel it? It like he’s hypnoti—

  The voice was abruptly cut off, and was replaced by a strangely pleasant white noise. Vincenzo was suddenly filled with a profound sense of inner peace. Why would he not want to do what this man said? It seemed so…natural.

  He holstered his automatic, advanced until he was directly before the man, and stood at attention. The man was of average build and height, but he carried himself with an aloof confidence that made him seem much taller. His dark, handsome features were framed by a neatly-trimmed beard which gave him a slightly diabolical air.

  No, not diabolical. He was trustworthy…paternal…masterful…

  “Please allow me to introduce myself,” the man said. “My name is…” He trailed off, thoughtfully tapping his chin. “Lord,” he said at length, “Agent Lord of the FBI. And you are…?”

  Vincenzo cheerfully gave him the same information he had shared with Leo and Quatermass.

  “And what, pray tell, are you doing here, Master Sergeant?”

  “We were on a training exercise at Camp Hunter Liggett when we received emergency orders from Fort Ord to isolate and secure this community, sir”

  “Why? What happened here?”

  “We’re not certain yet, sir. We’ve only been on the scene for a few hours. It appears that part of the population…well…it seems that they went insane. The few survivors that we have taken into custody are all giving confused and conflicting accounts of what occurred.”

  “Have you formed any theories?”

  “Me, personally, sir?”

  “Of course.”

  Vincenzo blushed. He felt honored that such a man would be interested in his opinion. “I’m reluctant to speculate with so little information,” he said. “I can tell you that there has been talk about something that was unearthed at a nearby mine. One of the survivors said they’d accidentally freed a demon.”

  “Do you think that’s possible?” Lord asked.

  “I think it’s a lot of nonsense.”

  Lord chuckled. “You are right to be skeptical,” he said. “Pay no heed to carping Cassandras and their wild tales! Stick to the facts, that’s what I always say.”

  Vincenzo nodded in enthusiastic agreement. He harbored dreams of a career in journalism after his time in the Army was done, and he made a silent promise to himself to always remember this sage advice.

  “Well, go on,” Lord said, his expression both expectant and encouraging.

  “There isn’t anything more to tell, sir,” Vincenzo said. He was ashamed that he had so little to offer. He lowered his eyes.

  “Oh, come now, Top,” Lord said brightly, and Vincenzo’s heart sang at hearing the familiar nickname for men of his rank. “There’s no need to be so downcast. As you have said, you’ve only just arrived here. I’m certain that working together we can get to the bottom of this mystery.”

  “I don’t doubt it, sir, now that you’re here.”

  Lord beamed. “That�
�s the spirit! Now, kindly introduce me to your commanding officer. I think it’s past time he and I became acquainted.”

  The jail was in the basement of the courthouse. Leo and Quatermass were led through the narrow passage between the cells by a pair of young soldiers. Tyler walked behind them, a gun at the ready.

  Leo found the place to be fairly clean and well-lit, but it reeked of antiseptic covering a stench of misery and fear. The cells were full to bursting with men and women who were portraits of abject despair. They were, for the most part, clothed in tatters, their faces streaked with blood and dirt. A pall of eerie silence, broken only by muffled whimpers, hung over them all.

  Quatermass was making grumbling noises about the inhumanity of it all, but he was being generally cooperative until he suddenly erupted in fury.

  “Children!” he shouted. “Locked up like animals! This is an outrage!”

  Leo followed his gaze and found himself looking into the eyes, red and swollen from weeping, of a little girl. She was sitting on a cot clutching a boy, younger than herself, who had fallen asleep in her arms.

  The scratching in Leo’s mind intensified into clawing, the desperate efforts of some beast raging not to be freed, but to burrow deeper into the darkness. Leo braced himself, expecting another burst of pain, but instead what he felt was an inexplicable wave of sadness. Unconsciously, he stepped toward the cell containing the children, but was halted by a command from Tyler: “Eyes front,” he said. “Keep moving forward.”

  Leo reluctantly obeyed, but his way was blocked by Quatermass. “By Heaven, we’ll not move another step until you…”

  “Stop it,” Leo said quietly. “This isn’t the time.”

  Quatermass glowered at him, and then nodded. “Of course,” he said. “One should choose one’s battles carefully.”

  “I’m glad you think so,” Tyler said. “Now get moving before I lose my patience.”