by Mike Morris
Nial's eyes drifted back to Sarahlas. There was a glint of something at the bottom of her necklace. Looked like glass. What was it?
"What are we going to do, boss?" asked Stuart.
"Go back and get some more lads. We need to free those people and then have a chat with our redcloak friends," replied Nial.
Sarahlas looked up at the skylight in the roof and the purple-blue sky beyond. "It's dark enough," she called down to the others. "Open the crates."
Nial put a hand on Stuart's arm. "Wait."
The man who'd been unloading the masks stopped what he was doing and picked up a crowbar. He walked over to the far side of the warehouse where some large crates were stacked up. Another man joined him.
A sick feeling appeared in Nial's gut.
The civilians' cries grew louder. Nial could taste their fear on the air.
The men maneuvered a crate forward. One of them stuck the crowbar into the corner where the lid had been nailed on. There was a crunch as the wood splintered and the top came free.
Nial reached for his pistol.
A hand appeared from within and seized the lid of the crate. It pushed straight up, ripping the rest of the lid free and then tossing it to one side.
Nial drew his pistol.
"What's going on?" asked Christoph from behind them.
"Turned," said Nial as one of the creatures rose from within the crate. The man, if it could still be called that, surveyed the warehouse, red eyes glowing. He howled when he saw the people tied up and waiting. When he saw his food.
Nial pulled back the hammer on his pistol. He knew the Turned was too far away, that it was a waste of a good bullet, but he aimed anyway. He had to do something.
The human men moved on to the next crate and began to lever off another lid. There were at least a dozen crates. What if each one held a Turned?
Nial pulled the trigger. The pistol boomed and, for a second, he lost sight of the interior of the warehouse behind a cloud of gun smoke. He didn't wait, though. He rushed into the warehouse. He knew his men would follow without the need for orders. Only God knew how many Turned were in those crates, and he had to stop any others being opened. It was bad odds for the four Black Dogs but they had a chance still. The civilians had a chance still.
His shot hadn't hit the Turned. The creature roared, leapt out of the crate and headed straight for Nial. One of the civilians, a woman, stood up in his path, screaming, but a single slash of claws silenced her forever. Nial threw his spent pistol to one side and drew the other. The creature was no more than fifteen feet away. By God, he'd forgotten how fast they were.
Someone fired a gun from behind him. The shot hit the Turned in the shoulder, spinning him for a moment, but a half-second later the demon was coming for him again. There were more shots from his men and the redcloaks, shouting, screaming, orders being bellowed, curses hollered. Nial ignored it all as time slowed. He raised the pistol. The Turned was eight feet away. He aimed. Five feet now. He pulled the trigger — too late. The creature was on him. Nial felt a sharp pain across his abdomen, hot and wet. He was cut, could tell straight away that it was deep and bad.
The Turned crashed into him, attacking like a rabid dog, pushing him to the floor, claws slashing this way and that. Nial went for a knife, punched it into the creature's side; once, twice, three times. But the monster kept going, jaws snapping ever closer to his face and neck.
Silver flashed past Nial's face and hit the Turned with a thunk, lifting him off Nial. Alan strode past, swinging again. His sword hacked into the creature's neck. The Turned fell back, holding his throat, legs kicking out. Alan rammed the point of his sword through his brain. The Turned dropped down, dead.
Nial touched the wound in his stomach. He winced and looked down to see his hand covered in blood. The bastard had got him good.
Alan hooked an arm around him and dragged him back toward the exit, covering the rest of the mayhem with a pistol. The warehouse was in chaos. Christoph and Stuart fought with four of the redcloaks. Another three of the traitors lay dead on the ground. The civilians were screaming, getting to their feet, trying to escape. The rest of the traitors were attempting to stop them with threats and swords and guns, but the people had seen what was in those crates and weren't waiting around for another to be opened. Better to die from a bullet or a blade than at the hands of a Turned.
And there would be more of the demons. Nial could see the men were opening another crate.
He pointed in their direction. "Stop them."
Alan lowered Nial to the ground and raced off like the good soldier he was. He barged past a screaming woman who tried grabbing hold of him for protection. The men saw him coming and one raised his pistol to shoot at Alan. The Black Dog was quicker. His own pistol boomed, and God guided his bullet. The man's head disappeared in a spray of brains and blood.
Nial dragged himself along the floor until he could lean against one of the bundles scattered around the warehouse. He'd left a trail of blood behind — too much blood — and his trousers were soaked through with it. He could feel himself getting colder, knew it was getting harder to concentrate, knew he was dying.
The man with the crowbar forced off the lid to a crate as Alan reached him. The Black Dog cut him down with his sword — a slash of the blade from shoulder to hip — but he was too late. The lid exploded upward and another Turned appeared.
Nial could see movement in the other crates as their inhabitants struggled to be free. They could smell the blood, hear the chaos, and the Turned wanted to be fed. By God, how many were there? The warehouse needed torching. Fire was their only hope now. If he could get to one of the lanterns and smash it ...
Alan battled for his life against the Turned. The man was good, but the creature was so much faster. Stuart saw the fight and rushed to help. A redcloak tried cutting him down and got his throat opened for his trouble.
Nial looked for the nearest lantern. It sat on a crate not five feet away. So close. He grimaced as he dragged his feet around, smearing his blood across the floor. He clutched his gut with one hand and used the other hand to drag himself across the floor. He fell forward after only making a few inches and the world went dark for a moment. Nial cursed himself. On his elbow now, he pulled himself forward. Another inch, then two. Ignore the pain. He had to get the lantern.
A pair of boots stopped in front of him. Nial looked up, saw the woman, Sarahlas. Saw the gun in her hand.
"Fucking Dog," she said.
25
Jack
Jack lay in Robert's arms on the platform. The big man was barely conscious and Jack wasn't faring much better. He'd lost a lot of blood from his arm, he was frozen to the bone and he just wanted to sleep for a month. He was still aware enough to know none of that was good. He tried to keep his eyes open but it was so hard. The light above was fading, too. It wouldn't be long before it was night, and he'd not survive till dawn.
Somewhere far away, he heard a woman's voice. It sounded like Lin and, once again, he wished he could've seen her before the end. His brother, too. He only hoped God would look after them both once he was gone and help them find some sort of peace in this world.
There was a creak of metal scraping on stone. More shouting. Jack looked up. A shadow covered the grate opening. It was so hard to focus. He tried to sit up but he had no strength left.
"Jack!" It was Lin's voice. Where was she? Maybe he was dreaming. Wishing again for her to be with him. Memories of a moment in Grosnar flashed through his mind. A conversation. His rejection. Seemed stupid now. He lay back against the cold stone, eyes fluttering, not caring. He actually felt warm for the first time in a long while.
A shape dropped from the ceiling. A sense of danger stirred within him. Another Turned? It didn't matter. He was too tired to be concerned. Let them have him.
"Jack." Lin's voice. Her hand touched his cheek. He saw her face. So beautiful. He was dreaming. A good dream. "Hold on. I'm going to tie a rope around you. We're
going to get you out of here."
"Lin," replied Jack to the dream. "I should've told you."
"Hush," she said. "Tell me later."
He didn't tell the dream there was no later. A dream would know. It would know the truth. Jack fell back into the darkness, happy he'd seen her, happy she'd been with him at the end. He rose toward the light, up and up.
"We've got to get them warm," said a man. "And quickly." Jack saw a man in a Black Dog uniform. Lin was next to him, eyes all crinkled up with worry. Robert lay on the ground nearby, snow drifting down from the sky.
Jack opened his eyes. A fire burned against a wall, the heat reflecting back off the stone. He moved his fingers and wriggled his toes, relieved to find some movement there. They tingled as warmth found its way back into his body. He was in an alley, propped up against the opposite wall, a cloak wrapped around him. His boots sat next to him, along with his gloves, drying with the heat from the fire. Robert was nearby, some color returning to his face. A Black Dog stood at the alley entrance, watching the street. Jack didn't recognize him — he wasn't one of Nial's men, nor from Whitehaven.
And Lin knelt in front of him, watching him. He'd forgotten how beautiful she was.
"Not a dream, then," he said. He tried to smile.
"You're alive," she replied. Lin seemed to shine with happiness. It suited her.
"I did my best to get killed," said Jack.
"I'm glad you didn't manage it," said Lin. She passed him a waterskin and helped him drink.
"Me too," said Jack. He leaned back against the wall, enjoying the heat. Everything hurt and his face was tight where the blood had dried around his cuts.
"How did you get those?" asked Lin.
"We fought three Turned down in the tunnels. They cut both of us up pretty good." Jack glanced over at Robert. "How's he doing?"
"Simon stitched the wound in his side but he's pretty beaten up," said Lin. "He should be okay with rest."
"Simon?" repeated Jack.
The Black Dog waved from the front of the alley. "Pleased to meet you, Jack."
Jack nodded. "And you. Thank you for saving us."
"Your friend would've killed me if I hadn't. She's a determined one, all right," Simon.
"Where are we?" asked Jack.
"Housegate Market. Do you know it?" said Lin.
"Yeah," said Jack. "We used to live not far from here." He let his head fall back against the wall. He was so very tired.
"Stay awake, Jack," said Simon. "We've got to move soon."
It took all Jack had to open his eyes. "Why?"
"Nightfall's in about twenty minutes," replied Simon. "I don't want to be outside in case any more of those creatures come looking to eat. The fire will draw them in like flies and we can't defend ourselves in this alley."
"How long will it take us to get to the river and the others?" asked Lin.
Simon shook his head. "Too long. It's not an option anymore — even if we didn't have two injured people to worry about."
"What about one of the houses here?" said Lin.
"My brother," said Jack.
"What about your brother?" asked Simon.
"He lives near here — in Grolling Lane. We can go there."
"That's only a few minutes away from here," said Simon.
"It's just a room, but there's a fireplace — and he's got a sword there, too." Jack saw a look of confusion pass Simon's face. "He used to be a Black Dog, but he spent six months as a prisoner of the Nostros."
"Poor bastard," replied Simon. "Do you think you can walk that far?"
"Yeah, I can," said Jack. He looked over at Robert. He was still unconscious. "I'm not sure about my friend."
Lin went over to Robert, picked up his hand and began rubbing it. "Robert. Robert, can you hear me? You've got to wake up."
There was no response.
"Come on, Robert," said Lin. "I know you can hear me. You've got to wake up."
"I'll carry him," said Simon.
"He'll wake up," said Lin, still rubbing Robert's hands. "Won't you, big man? We didn't survive Grosnar just for a bit of cold to get you."
Jack pulled on his boots, feeling every bruise and bump protest as he did so. His feet complained at being cut off from the heat once more, but hopefully once they got to Brendan's he could warm them up again. As he got the second boot on, he saw Robert stir. His eyes fluttered and his head rolled from side to side.
"That's it, Robert," said Lin. "You can hear me. Open those eyes of yours. Come on."
As Lin worked on Robert, Simon took a long stick and wrapped some cloth around one end before dipping it in the fire. It caught quickly and he withdrew it from the flames. He offered his other hand to Jack, who took it and climbed to his feet. Jack's legs nearly went from under him but Simon held him until he steadied himself. The Black Dog made no effort to hide his concern.
"I'm all right," said Jack, none too convinced himself.
Simon passed him the torch. "I haven't got any weapons to give you, but the Turned don't like fire. If we see any, let me try and deal with them first. If any get past me, though, you can shove that in their faces."
Jack nodded and took the torch, grateful for the heat it gave off more than anything else. He wasn't sure what use he'd be if it came down to a fight.
Simon bent down next to Lin. "Can you help me get Robert on his feet?"
"Let me get his boots on first," said Lin. "Did you hear that, Robert? We're going to get you up on your feet so we can get you somewhere you can rest and get warm. Maybe even get something to eat. Does that sound good?"
Robert groaned, but even that was a welcome sound.
"Let's do it," said Simon. They both got a hold of the big man and, between them, managed to get him on his feet. Simon quickly got Robert's arm around him and took the man's weight on his shoulder. "Do you know the way to Grolling Street from here, Jack?"
"It's been a long time, but I think so," replied Jack.
"Right, you lead the way. I'll follow and Lin can take the rear. If God's with us, we'll get to your brother's without incident," said Simon.
That got a snort of derision from Lin but she said nothing more.
Jack staggered to the end of the alley and then had to hold the wall to keep himself upright. He looked back at the others and saw Simon wasn't faring much better with Robert. It was going to be slow going.
To make matters worse, dark clouds rolled across the sky, promising more snow and putting paid to any hope of a lingering sunset. As they shuffled across Housegate Market, the shadows grew deeper and darker around them.
There was no one to watch them pass. Everyone was off the streets and locked up for the night. Some paper danced in the wind; otherwise, all was still. Even so, a sense of dread niggled away at Jack — that gut feeling of his that only appeared when danger was nearby. He kept his eyes on the roofs and windows, the alleys and the hidden turns as they made their way toward Grolling Lane, looking for anything that was out of place or didn't belong.
The rules for spotting an enemy were the same whether you were in the open countryside or the narrow streets of Brixteth; you watched out for shape, shine, sound, smell and sudden movement. A man had a very distinctive shape that could easily disrupt the straight lines of buildings and roofs. Skin or weapons could catch the light from the sun or moon or a street light. The sound of a scuffed foot on a roof tile or a hastily closed door would betray a careless man. Movement in an empty street drew the eye. And any smell that didn't belong would stand out.
Simple rules, but not ones easily followed when Jack wasn't moving quietly himself. He shuffled along, dragging his feet, with labored breath and pounding heart. He and the others were making enough noise to alert anyone streets away to their passing. His nose dripped with cold and every few yards he had to stop to hack up phlegm from his lungs.
They crossed over to Lingard Street and hobbled down to Angel's Way. Memory led Jack on while he concentrated on keeping his feet. The torch
shook in his hand, robbing him of a lot of his night vision, but he was glad he had it. There were no lights on in any windows, no sign of life behind them. "Where is everyone?"
"Nial's been evacuating people from Brixteth all day," said Lin. "He wanted to cut the Nostros off from food and reinforcements."
"Anyone on the streets after dark is to be treated like a Turned," added Simon.
"Even us?" asked Jack.
"Black Dogs can be Turned as much as anyone else," said Simon.
Jack remembered the small girl in Monmoth Street and the man she killed. "Best we get off the streets quickly, then."
"Shit," Simon called out from behind Jack. He'd fallen under Robert's weight.
Lin ran to help hoist the big man back up. She stayed with Robert's other arm around her, holding it in place. Simon looked like he was going to argue with her, but it was obvious he wasn't going to make it much further without her help.
"Brixteth's been swarming with Black Dogs all day long," muttered Simon as they continued. "Now, when we need them, there's not one in sight."
"Maybe there's trouble elsewhere," said Lin, "and they've all been called to help."
"Pray to God that's not the case," grunted Simon.
They staggered on. Night fell quickly and the only light came from Jack's torch. More snow fell with the darkness, attacking Jack's already weakened limbs. He walked like an old man, bent over and shuffling along. More than anything he wanted to lie down somewhere and sleep. He didn't even care if he never woke again. Stupid thoughts; he knew that, brought on by all he'd been through, but they filled his mind all the same. He stopped and coughed some more. Each hack sent shivers of pain down his body. If the Nostros or any of their agents came now, they'd all be done for.
"We got much further to go?" asked Lin. He could hear the concern in her voice.
"It's the next street," said Jack.
Whatever Lin said next was drowned out by a scream. It echoed down the streets and off walls and roofs. Jack stopped, trying to work out where it had come from.
