We Hunt the Night: (Tales from the Supernatural Frontline) (Imperium Book 1)

by Richard Langridge

  Jake almost punched him—surely would have, too, had the guy not outweighed him by a good fifty pounds. ‘Seriously? Are you for real right now?’

  Coleman blinked. ‘What—?’

  ‘So Vogel’s locked us in—so what? You’re a demon slayer, Coleman. You hunt monsters for a living. Are you seriously going to stand there and tell me you’re ready to throw in the towel because of one measly locked door?’

  If Coleman felt at all motivated by Jake’s little pep talk, he didn’t show it. ‘But… Jake, it’s—’

  ‘Life is full of locked doors, Coleman!’ he shouted, not entirely sure what it was he was saying. ‘You can’t give up just because fate decided to throw a couple obstacles in your path. You think this is how I envisioned my life going? No. It’s not. But we deal with it. When life hands you lemons, you make lemonade, and when it hands you obstacles—’ he gestured toward the ventilation cover in the room’s top right corner, ‘—you find other ways around.’

  Coleman blinked. ‘The vent!’ He laughed. ‘Jake, you’re a genius!’

  ‘Well, yeah—obviously.’ He threw a finger at it. ‘Now give me a boost. We’re running out of time.’

  ‘Wait, what?’

  ‘Don’t argue with me, Coleman! I’m the only one who’ll fit, and you know it—especially with Eliza’s thighs.’

  Eliza shot a look back at him. ‘Hey!’

  Coleman shook his head. ‘Jake, I still don’t think this is—’

  Jake grabbed him. ‘Look, I know, okay? You were right the first time we met—I am just a dumb kid. But as it stands—dumb kid or not—right now I’m the only one small enough to fit through there.’ He let out a long breath, dimly aware he was making a speech. ‘Now, I know you promised Grandma Stella you’d look out for me, and that you feel all… duty-bound or whatever. But this is bigger than that. You have to let me go.’

  Coleman stared hard into Jake’s eyes, an expression on his face like he was really seeing him for the first time. Maybe he was.

  ‘All right, Jake,’ he said finally. He gave a small nod. ‘Okay.’

  ‘Great—now give me a bunk up. And no copping a feel.’

  They hurried to the corner, Jake using Coleman’s intertwined fingers for footholds. He fumbled at the cover, the grate coming away with a stiff groan.

  He stared deep into the darkness of the ventilation shaft, this time not thinking of rats one bit.

  Okay, Jake. You can do this. You have to do this.

  He pushed himself up, hoping as he forced himself inside that he wasn’t already too late.

  *

  It was a lot darker inside this ventilation shaft than the one above the broom closet.

  He had to squint his eyes, use his internal pigeon’s instinct to help guide him toward control—and even then, it was a struggle. Everything was so loud; alarms and shouting and things breaking, all making it nearly impossible for him to navigate his way around. Be pretty funny if the world were to end because he took a left instead of a right and ended up in the john or something.

  He choked back dust as he worm-shuffled his way forward, elbows scratching on cold metal, listening for the sounds of what he hoped was Command below him. Sweat dripped from his forehead and stung at his eyes, like his body’s last desperate attempt at stopping him from doing the crazy-dangerous thing he was about to do. He realized this must be what the inside of an oven felt like—stuffy and hot, with very little air, all marinated in the simple knowledge that if he stayed in there too long, he would be cooked alive. He didn’t like it one bit.

  He shuffled himself forward—

  He paused as a sound floated up the shaft behind him.

  Gunfire—the creatures had found them.

  Jake went stiff. He contemplated going back for them—who knew what could be happening to them right at that very moment?

  He shook his head.

  No. He couldn’t go back. If Vogel and the others opened the Door, they’d all be done for. This might be the only shot they get to stop that from happening.

  He cast a final longing glance down the shaft in the direction he’d come. He just hoped they were okay.

  He pushed on, taking a left, then a right, thighs burning, eyes itching from all the dust.

  It was then that he saw it—light, coming from a little ways up the shaft ahead of him.

  He hurried over to it, scrambling with his aching arms and legs, ignoring all the elbow skin he was probably ruining in the process.

  It was another grate cover. Cold air wafted through the slits, so wonderfully cool against his skin. He pressed his face up against it, relieved to discover he was indeed now over Command. From this position, it kind of looked like NASA’s mission control—a similarity he found, oddly, kind of fitting. He could see Vogel and his men, now having apparently given up on the computers, all standing in front of the Door with their hands clasped neatly in front of them, looks of utter serenity on their faces. Jake wouldn’t have been at all surprised if they all began holding hands and singing kumbaya.

  His eyes happened on the console in the room’s center.

  It hadn’t occurred to him while back in the interrogation room, but now that he was here, he realized he had absolutely no way of getting down there. It was a good thirty feet to the ground. No way he could jump it.

  He shook his head.

  Rope. Why didn’t I think to bring rope? Bad. That’s a bad Jake.

  He decided to carry on along the shaft; maybe there was an access ladder somewhere, or—

  There was a groan of metal from above him. A worrying clunk, as of something giving way.

  Before Jake could even begin to contemplate what was happening, the shaft came loose with an ungodly clang, ripping away from the wall like a newborn from its mother’s womb.

  There was a sensation of weightlessness, Jake feeling light as a feather as the ground came suddenly rushing up to meet him.

  He had time to think oh, look, I’m going to die!, before hitting the ground like a grand piano, he and the vent landing directly on top of a bank of monitors, sending them shooting out either side.

  The impact robbed the breath from his lungs, and with it all his motivation—though even as he writhed half-in-half-out of the vent in agony, he still took a moment to be amazed he wasn’t dead.

  Well—guess that’s one way to do it.

  He crawled out of what remained of the vent, hand pressed to his side. ‘OOOOOWWWW.’

  ‘You’re too late, Jake!’ cried a voice from somewhere up ahead of him. Vogel. ‘It has begun—behold! Paradise!’

  Jake watched in dull horror as the Door began to slowly swing out on its axis. From the gap it created, he could see light, a great wall of the stuff—but not your normal light. It was thick and… tangible, almost, like if you wanted you could reach out and touch it. Some kind of membranous substance, something Jake had never seen before.

  He became aware of a banging from behind him and turned. The others were at the glass wall of the interrogation room, frantically trying to get his attention.

  He blinked.

  Oh—right!

  Ignoring the pain in his side, he ran for the console, hopping over bits of broken venting and monitors alike. Nobody tried to stop him or get in his way, Vogel and his men too enrapt in their moment of glory to pay him any mind—something Jake was eternally grateful for, even though he was probably already too late.

  Then Vogel turned, saw what Jake was about to do, shouted ‘GET HIM!’, inciting several of the cultists to turn-heel and give chase.

  Spoke too soon.

  He dodged the first of the people trying to intercept him—some lanky guy with small eyes and a stiff window’s peak—ducking under the guy’s reaching arms and whizzing past him like a professional football player. He out-maneuvered the second—this a pretty, wholesome redhead—barreling over a console, barely even slowing down.

  He reached the main console, slapped his hand down on the button—

&nb
sp; There was a sudden grinding of metal as the door immediately stopped swinging on its axis.

  It hung there a moment, then, with a ratcheting sound, slowly began to swing back the other way.

  Jake stared, amazed; he hadn’t actually thought it would work, Vogel and his team no doubt having foreseen such a turn of events—as they’d foreseen so many others—and sabotaging the console so nobody could interfere. Evidently not. Jake didn’t know if it was an oversight, or Vogel underestimating just exactly how much they did not want to die—but, hell, he wasn’t complaining.

  ‘Yes!’ Jake cried.

  From across the space, Vogel laughed. ‘A valiant effort, Jake, I’ll give you that. But, come, now; did you really think you’d won? As soon as my men here dispatch of you, I’ll just have them hit the button again, and the Singularity will resume. Everything will continue ahead as planned. You’ve stopped nothing, Jake Fisher. You—’

  Jake broke the Key off in the lock.

  He had to bring his whole body-weight down on it to do so, the Key, while not enormous, not exactly flimsy, either.

  Vogel’s face dropped.

  It happened so suddenly, for a moment Jake truly wondered if the guy had just suffered a stroke.

  Then Vogel blinked. He turned back to his followers, who Jake noted were all standing around, looking just as horrified as he was. ‘To the Gateway! Quick! Before it closes!’

  They all raced to the Door, tripping over themselves in their desperate rush to beat the clock. Jake saw one get through, then another—both disappearing through the membranous light-wall with a kind of gloop sound, the “fabric” or whatever it was stretching like elastic before pinging back into place with a snap. Jake thought it was about the weirdest thing he’d ever seen—and he’d seen some weird stuff lately.

  A scuffle broke out as more of the cultists fought for their place, the Door now only about a few feet wide. Among them, Jake noted, was Vogel, who in a rather ironic twist of fate was apparently in the process of finding out exactly what betrayal felt like.

  ‘Unhand me, you fools!’ he screamed.

  More frantic pushing and shoving ensued, eventually culminating with another of the cultists getting through.

  It was just Vogel and another now.

  They stared each other down for a moment, both trying to get a read on the other.

  The final cultist booked it for the Door, this one a short man with bright blonde hair and what looked like a rather substantial middle-age paunch—

  Vogel pulled out his demon-gun and shot him in the back of the leg, taking his foot off at the calf.

  The cultist stumbled, righted himself, began hopping for the Door, apparently unperturbed by the piece of himself he was now missing.

  Vogel raised the gun again—

  Click.

  Empty.

  He screamed and threw the gun at the cultist—but it was too late. With another loud snap, he was through.

  Vogel raced to the Door. He tried to pull it back, in his desperation forgetting that he wasn’t the Incredible Hulk, and thus didn’t possess super-strength.

  He took a step back, lowered his shoulders.

  Jake suddenly realized what it was he was about to do.

  ‘Vogel, don’t!’ he cried. ‘It’s too late! You won’t make it!’

  Vogel threw himself at the door.

  He got his head through, his arm, another arm. He was really going for it, kicking out with his legs and wriggling like a dolphin caught in a net. Hell, another few seconds, and he probably would have made it.

  The Door slammed home with a gut-curdling squelch, what remained of Vogel’s bottom half poking out of the side of it a moment before sliding to the ground in an ugly red smear.

  The klaxon died, as abruptly as hitting mute on a TV set.

  It was over.

  Jake stared at the gruesome display before him a moment, then hurried up the catwalk steps and unlocked the door.

  ‘My God…’ said Eliza, stepping out onto the catwalk. Behind her in the corridor, several monstrous shapes lay all sprawled out and bleeding, their bodies peppered with large holes. So at least that was that part taken care of. ‘He killed himself. Squished himself in the door.’

  Coleman nodded. ‘Uh-huh. Guy wanted through so bad he was willing to die for it.’

  ‘You’re not kidding,’ said Jake. He looked back toward the Door again and grimaced. It was pretty gross. He turned back to them. ‘So—who’s up for milkshakes?’

  ‘Is that all you ever think about?’ said Coleman. Jake noted he was frowning again. No surprise there.

  ‘Not always,’ he lied.

  ‘Actually, I could probably go for some milkshake right about now,’ said Eliza. ‘All this end-of-the-world stuff’s left me pretty parched.’

  ‘Me too!’ said Moss. ‘I want milkshake!’

  Coleman sighed, all of a sudden looking very tired. ‘Oh, all right—but if you think for a moment I’m paying, you can guess again.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Coleman,’ said Jake, grinning. ‘You know you’re the oldest one here. That makes you kind of like our dad.’

  ‘No, it doesn’t.’

  ‘Sure it does. And dads are supposed to provide for their children—right, Moss?’

  ‘I’m having an Oreo and banana one!’ said Moss.

  ‘See? Moss is right. You shouldn’t have children if you’re not willing to provide for them.’ He turned back to Moss and patted him gently on the shoulder. ‘Well said, Moss. You’re a poet and a scholar.’

  Moss nodded fervently. ‘With whipped-cream!’

  And so they left HQ, shuffling out the Tainted Goose’s elaborate front entrance into a slight drizzle that was not entirely unwelcome; just four dirty, tatty-looking businessmen and women, the combination of which had just saved the world.

  OTHER THINGS AND STUFF

  The rest of the week passed in a haze of meetings and remodeling work.

  Turned out, In Vogel’s mad attempt at opening the Gateway, he had caused quite the bit of damage—several hundred thousand dollars’ worth, in fact. And yet, despite this, come the end of the week, the place was pretty much back to normal. Hell, if you hadn’t been there to witness it firsthand, you would never have known a near-apocalyptic sabotage attempt had taken place. Jake wasn’t surprised—unlimited resources, and all that. Still, it was pretty cool.

  Coleman still refused to acknowledge himself as their dad, even though Jake made a point of reminding him at every opportunity; Coleman could be pretty cranky like that. In fact, since the events of a week ago, his frowns had taken on a whole new dimension—something that really had to be seen to be believed. Jake chalked it up to all the stress recently.

  On the following Tuesday, he’d been called in to a meeting with the Board via Skype, where he had been asked by several serious looking seniors to explain the events of the past week—something that, with Coleman and the others’ help feeding him lines off screen, he’d somehow managed to scrape by. He had the feeling it wouldn’t be the last he’d be hearing from them, however.

  Then, on the Friday, came the big day.

  They held Grandma Stella’s funeral at an undisclosed location—for security reasons, of course—saved solely for notable service men and women who had served their country well and succumbed in the line of duty.

  It was some orchard-type place. Beautiful and elaborate-styled headstones filled the grounds, as far as the eye could see, all bearing plaques whose dedications were too beautiful to read aloud without bursting into gales of tears. Cherry blossoms stood interspersed about the cemetery, far enough away from each other to remain visible, but still close enough together to avoid being tacky.

  It was a large turnout, as far as funerals went—at least, Jake thought it was; he’d only ever been to one. Men and women of all ages and ranking, all suited and booted and teary eyed, dutifully paid their respects as soldiers in full dress-uniform slowly fed her flag-draped coffin into the ground.

&
nbsp; It wasn’t really until then that Jake broke. The floodgates opened, and with it came the pain and regret—and, yes, guilt—he’d been holding back, flooding in so fast and hard he felt like it might drown him. Luckily, Eliza was there to lean on. And holy crap if her hair didn’t smell amazing. Seriously, it was like it was made of fruit.

  Then it was over.

  Jake stood before Grandma Stella’s gravestone, his hands in his pockets—the weeping fit, thankfully, now over. It was just him and a few other stragglers now, the others having all moved along to the “remembrance ceremony” they were holding in some ludicrously expensive hotel conference room across town.

  ‘Well, Grammie—we did it. We stopped Vogel and the others from opening the Door and unleashing the apocalypse,’ he said, his breath coming out all in a rush. He cast a quick glance around, just to make sure he wasn’t being watched. Funeral or no, talking to inanimate objects was never a good look. ‘I’m, uh… sorry I led Vogel to your secret hideout and got you killed.’

  ‘Thaaaaaat’s ooookaaaaayyyyy, Jaaaakkkkeeee!’ said the headstone, making him jump to his feet and all but defecate all over himself.

  He fell back, mouth a giant “O” of surprise.

  When he was finished having a heart attack, he leaned forward, eyes wide. ‘Grammie?’ Maybe he’d just imagined it—surely that was it. All the stress had finally got to him, and he was just going insane, that was all. ‘Grammie, is that you?’

  He gasped.

  They’d buried her alive. Holy crap, he couldn’t believe it. He knew she was a tough old girl, but this?

  He gasped again as another thought occurred to him.

  Or maybe she wasn’t alive… maybe she was still dead and beckoning to him from the grave, out for revenge for getting her killed, or—

  He bit back a scream.

  Zombie!

  Just as he was preparing to scream bloody-murder, the headstone giggled, and then, moments later, Eliza appeared from behind it, face almost purple from laughing.

  ‘I’m sorry, Jake!’ she managed through fits of laughter. ‘I just couldn’t resist! I saw you standing there l-looking all s-sad, and—’ She pointed at him with her cruel, cruel fingers. ‘You thought I was a zombie!’