Night Betrayed

by Joss Ware

She smiled. “Not a thing,” she said. Then she reached for him, for the beginning of a hard-on that had already started to respond to her again, and added, “Not a thing that we can’t take care of.”

  She was lying.

  But he pushed the thought away and pulled her close for a kiss. He’d put it out of her mind, whatever it was. He’d keep her so busy that she’d forget whatever it was that called her out into the night. He wasn’t leaving this bed, this room, her side, until they’d both become unmoving, sated piles of jelly-bones and damp skin.

  Theo opened his eyes to discover darkness. A thin shot of moonlight rippled through the window, sketching the lines of the bed, the rumpled clothing and bedcovers.

  He sat up with a start when he realized the bed was empty but for himself. Selena’s bed. Empty.

  Fuck.

  The last thing he remembered was her murmuring something . . . slipping away as he lulled into a satiated sleep . . . What had she said? And how the hell, after the last couple of hours, did she have the energy to even move?

  “I have to check on Robert.”

  That was what she’d said. She was going down to check on her patient.

  Theo got out of bed, his heart pounding harder, a sick feeling heavy in his belly. Judging from the darkness, that had been a long time ago. Too long ago.

  He scrambled around, unaware of where a light was—Hell, we hadn’t needed it—and unwilling to take the time to look for one as he scooped-up wads of clothing, sifting through to find his shorts.

  Another glance toward the window, and the sick feeling increased. She wouldn’t be that foolish. She still had wounds on her . . . crusted gashes that he’d gently kissed and taken great care of during their lovemaking.

  He paused, listened . . . and then he heard it, in the distance. The sound made his blood chill and he ran out of the room on bare feet.

  “Ruuu-uuuthhhhhh.”

  He knew it. He simply knew that she wasn’t with Robert, that she wasn’t with any other patient or Sam or anyone. That she had gone out.

  The house was quiet. Of course it was. She only sneaked out when everyone was asleep. Dammit.

  Theo paused in the kitchen to try and find a weapon—something, anything—that he could use. A bottle of beer on the counter—probably Frank’s. It was half full (maybe not Frank’s; he never seemed to have any left over), but he snatched it up, followed by one of Vonnie’s towels, and wondered if beer had enough alcohol in it to make a Molotov cocktail.

  Matches. . . . and something else . . . A knife? A gun?. . .

  They wouldn’t have guns. Only the Strangers had guns. And a few members of the Resistance. What else?

  Despite the fact that his thoughts whirled and babbled, Theo moved quickly, smoothly, and with purpose. Those times in the kitchen with Vonnie, watching her, had somehow imprinted on his memory, and he found the things he needed: a handful of homemade matches, even the whiskey that Vonnie had used on Selena’s wounds a few nights ago.

  That would make a nice bottle bomb.

  Then he was out the back door of the kitchen. It had probably taken him less than five minutes from the bedroom to the outside, but it felt like forever. He’d remembered to button his shorts, but he didn’t have a shirt or any foot coverings—a disadvantage that became clear when he stepped on a really sharp rock.

  He paused, listening, as his foot throbbed and he shoved his makeshift weapons in the pockets of his shorts. The zombie moans had grown louder, more insistent. Theo’s heart raced as he followed the sounds, running toward the wall that protected the Blizek estate.

  All he could think as he ran, as he found himself at the wall but with no exit in sight, and thus had no choice but to climb up the crumbling brick wall with his bare fingers—all he could think was that Selena wasn’t blond.

  They wouldn’t take her away as they did with blondes; they would slash into her. Tear into her skin and devour her . . . flesh, muscle, organs, brain. His throat closed and he pushed the fear away.

  A clear mind. Strength and a steady mind.

  He made it to the top of the wall somehow—it was a blur, the running and jumping, and digging his fingers into the mortar and pulling himself up with a desperate strength. At the top, he looked out and saw them yards away, in the shadow of a group of trees . . . the glowing orange eyes, bobbing and jolting in unsteady pairs in a cluster, a gang of them. A murderous gang. Less than a dozen, but deadly nevertheless.

  Where is Selena?

  He didn’t see her. His heart raced, his breathing hitched, and he leapt down from the wall, landing on heavy feet but able to steadily keep his balance and the bottles in his pockets. Beer and whiskey sloshed over his shorts as he ran on quiet feet, using trees and bushes and a pile of rubble for cover.

  Is she out here? Am I wrong?

  But he knew she was out here, somewhere . . . either hunting zombies in some misguided, Buffy-wannabe way, or doing something else that put her beyond the walls during the most dangerous part of the day. He looked around and saw nothing but the monsters, and he moved closer, relieved that he was upwind.

  That, at least, would keep him from being scented and noticed for a little longer. The zombies moved, staggering and stumbling . . . not toward him, nor even toward the walls of the estate, but rather speedily for gangas, and toward the east.

  He wanted to shout for Selena, to see if she was out there somewhere, but he dared not.

  The gangas were still making their desperate moaning cries for Remington Truth . . . but something changed. The groans seemed to become higher in pitch, more tense . . . more something. Something eerie. Something that raised the hair on the back of his neck.

  Their desperation reverberated in the night.

  This was different than anything Theo had ever seen. The monsters seemed to be being drawn somewhere . . . away. As if being called. If it was possible to feel more uneasy than he already did, he felt it.

  Is there a Stranger out there, calling the zombies to him? Bounty hunters like Seattle, or Ian Marck, had a purple crystal that seemed to call and control the zombies.

  Theo stilled, crouching behind a tree, and watched.

  Where were they going?

  Then something caught his eye . . . a glow. A small rosy light, emerging from behind a pile of old cars, not far from the gangas. Or maybe from within the old vehicles.

  It bobbed and swung, . . . as if it were . . . on a cord, around someone’s neck.

  Theo went cold. He yanked one of the bottles from his shorts and began to jam the corner of the towel down into its neck as he started toward her.

  Her silhouette became clear as she stepped away from the pile of junkers, the pink glow illuminating the lower part of her face. The zombies were fairly running toward her now, their hands outstretched, their cries high and wild and horrifying.

  Theo ran, fueled by his own desperation. If he could get a bomb off before they got too close . . . but they were fast. My God, faster than he’d ever seen the monsters move—lurching and staggering, hands grasping in the air, crooked fingers outlined by the sliver of moon and stars.

  He caught a glimpse of Selena’s face, taut and empty, limned with the pink glow. She didn’t move as they surged around her. She didn’t move.

  Theo cried out in fury and desperation as he fumbled for a match, even knowing it was too late for a bomb.

  The monsters slashed and clawed as they swarmed closer, descending on her like ravenous wolves.

  “Selenaaa!” he cried as she disappeared into the mob.

  Chapter 7

  Selena wanted to close her eyes as the monsters surged in around her, grasping, clawing, desperate.

  So desperate.

  But she didn’t. She willed herself to remain still, steady, strong; not to give in to the fear and pain. Every time, it seemed to get more difficult . . . every time they seemed to be more violent, more desperate.

  As they swarmed, the stench from the creatures seemed to sink into every one of her p
ores, to clog her nostrils and make her eyes water . . . and then there was the sagging, rotting, gray flesh brushing against her like thick, dry snakeskin. Flesh that had once been tight and smooth, white, black, olive, mahogany . . . and every shade in between.

  The eyes were burning orange, but empty inside . . . until they saw the crystal.

  She held it steady in front of her. Its rosy-red glow illuminated only a small circle around them, but they seemed to sense it from a great distance. And it burned. As if it were on fire.

  One of the zombies cried out in a long, low wail that sounded nothing like ruu-uuuthhhh but was more like meeeeee-noowwwww. And she—it was a female—swiped toward Selena with her awkward, lethal paw.

  Trembling and shuddering, Selena closed her fingers around the female’s thick, wrinkling wrist and covered the hot crystal with her other hand. Immediately, the shock bolted through her, deep and ugly, dark and strong—and she gasped at the pain, at the blinding surge.

  The female cried out and their eyes met. And in that moment, Selena saw her humanity. The flash of her soul . . . being released from the jail of a body that had contained and controlled her for half a century. For as long as Selena had been alive.

  Her orange eye-glow burst bright, and then was extinguished. And the female buckled to her knees, crashing to the ground. Dead. And free at last.

  Tears prickling her eyes, Selena had no time to recover, for there was another zombie there, reaching for her, and another, and too many of them, clawing, grasping, tearing in a frenzied bid for what they knew was safety and freedom.

  Like beggars, like a mad crowd, like feral animals, they surged and groped, staggering into each other, pushing and bumping. She did it again: closed her fingers around sagging flesh and allowed herself to be the conduit for the crystal’s power, accepting the breathtaking bolt of pain and anguish, the flash of memories, and freeing the human inside.

  And again.

  A searing pain over her shoulder burned when a desperate monster reached for her, and another bumped into her, jolting her, and the aches mingled with the white-hot shock and the abhorrent stench and the closeness. She couldn’t breathe, could hardly think. The world spun and closed in, became dark and then rosy light, and was filled with snatches of memories, of humanity. Keep going. You can. One more—

  “Selena!”

  She thought she was dreaming the sound of her name. Another monster grabbed at her and she took his hand, looked into his eyes, and released his soul. The shock battered her again and her knees buckled, but the closeness of the mob kept her from falling to the ground.

  “Selena!”

  Something bright slashed through the air, arcing overhead. And then there was an explosion, just beyond them, causing the zombies to rear back—and then to surge even closer, even more reckless now, pummeling her with their awkward bodies, even more lethal with their nails.

  “Selena!”

  She couldn’t focus, could hardly move or breathe. But it sounded like Theo. Theo. Oh, God, no . . . no. She had to be dreaming.

  But then suddenly, he was there. Impossible. But he was. Somehow, pulling and beating at the monsters that crowded around her. Tearing through them to get to her. Oh, God, Theo.

  She couldn’t think what this would mean, now. Not now. Later.

  “Selena,” he shouted, as he found her with his eyes from outside the ring. “Come on!”

  He swung something large and heavy—a massive branch—and it crashed into the skull of one of the gangas. Selena cried out in horror as bone crunched and the creature staggered back, collapsing onto the ground. Dead.

  But still trapped.

  “No!” she shouted at Theo. “Stop!”

  Tears stung her eyes, her battered body wouldn’t move . . . she couldn’t breathe but she had to stop him before he killed any more of them. “No, please,” she cried, trying to make her voice work, even as she grabbed the hand of a creature close to her.

  The surge bolted through her, and this time it brought her gasping to her knees. But she held the gaze of the old man until the orange glow went out and he was freed.

  “Go, Theo,” she cried when she caught her breath. “Let me do this!”

  “I’m not leaving you,” he shouted back, and whaled again at the zombies. Another one fell when he caught it at the back of its knees, but its brain was intact. Still safe.

  “Please!” she pleaded. “Theo, stop!”

  She touched another of the trapped humans, the red-veined crystal burning into her hand as she stared into the female’s eyes, wondering why there still seemed to be so many of them. So many.

  Never-ending.

  Selena dimly realized that Theo seemed to have gone. He’d listened to her. Thank God.

  And then she looked up to find him there, again, somehow pulling through the mad mob, yanking back the creatures trying to get to her.

  “Don’t hurt them!” she screamed, trying to make him understand. “Don’t . . . hurt . . . them!”

  She was sobbing now, her face wet; and through the tears, she met his stark, horrified eyes in the rosy glow. The next thing she knew, he was there, somehow, with her, next to her.

  He didn’t speak. He just closed his arms around her and enveloped her from behind, pulling her up against his solid body.

  “I’m here,” was all he said. “I’m not leaving until this is done.”

  ***

  Theo held on to Selena as the zombies fought through to them, slamming against him, pummeling her in their need to get to her. What is this?

  He held on to Selena, protecting her from the slashing nails, holding her upright as she battled whatever it was that compelled her to be here. He wasn’t certain what was going on; he dared not think about it right now.

  Instead, he focused on breathing without inhaling the wall of putrid stench, on holding himself steady and keeping Selena upright; on easing them back, to bring the whole mob of monsters with them so he could protect their rear with the nearest car. This circle of madness, of wailing cries and greedy hands, of empty glowing eyes paralyzed him.

  They had to get out of here. He had to fight through them . . . and then he realized what a fool he’d been. He had a way to drive them off.

  His power surge. His “let me charge you up, baby!” His fucking after-the-Change superpower. Something he’d never used in hand-to-hand combat with a bunch of gangas . . . because he’d never had to. He’d never been trapped in a mob of them. He’d never gotten this damn close.

  Theo closed his eyes as a renewed wave of zombie weight surged into Selena, sending him staggering as he fought to hold her up. She was sagging even more in his arms. How much longer could she last? Why wouldn’t she let him get her out of here?

  There weren’t that many left—Four of them. No, five.

  The rest of them seemed to be dead.

  He had to concentrate now; he could fight them off with a shock—stun them for a moment, get away . . . Don’t hurt them! Selena had cried.

  He’d fucking hurt them, all right, if he had to get her out of here safely. She was putty in his hands, and not in a good way.

  Theo grabbed at the arm of the nearest monster, touching the dry, wrinkling, peeling flesh of the creature. Pieces of skin shifted beneath his hand, separating like dried mud and exposing layers beneath, sending a new blast of rank odor into his face. He closed his eyes, focusing, gathering the power that rested somewhere within him . . . that germinated from the little integrated circuit embedded in his back . . . ready to send a shock into this creature, to send him staggering away . . . for at least a moment of relief.

  The mob of five beat and pushed and cried, flailing and staggering, and Theo concentrated, blocking them out, pulled his power from the depths, waited for the little tingling surge . . .

  And nothing happened.

  Nothing happened.

  His eyes flew open and he released the zombie, staring at his hand even as he swung up and out with his other elbow to keep one o
f the others from falling into them. Nothing?

  Stunned, Theo tried to ignore this new development in the interest of saving their asses. He couldn’t spare the thought or time to consider the reasons now.

  Selena hung in his arms, her face tilted up, her lips flat and grim. Even in the low light, he could see the gray of her skin. Her breathing was rapid and shallow; he could feel her torso move. But her eyes were open and she held on to that crystal around her neck as she reached for another monster.

  She can’t last much longer.

  He held on to her, trying to drag her closer to the cars behind them. The zombies couldn’t climb . . . maybe they could find refuge there.

  But it was slow going, and she kept seizing the monsters one by one—and he realized she wasn’t going to stop until she was finished. He watched her, held her, felt the jolt through her body when she touched the creatures. He felt her weakening, heard the little gasp that came after.

  And at last . . . the final zombie buckled to the ground. And all was silent but for Theo’s rasping breathing.

  For a moment, she didn’t move. Just stayed there in his arms, shuddering, dragging in breaths.

  “Selena,” he said finally, turning her to face him. Shock and confusion made his mind dart in infinite directions, unable to settle on one train of thought or question. Something trickled down his bare back—blood, maybe sweat—and her face was streaked with tears, grimy with dirt and scrapes from the mob.

  She drew in a deep breath and pulled away from him. The fact that she wasn’t looking at him didn’t bode well, but Theo was still too horrified and stunned at the experience that he couldn’t formulate a question. As he watched, she lifted the glowing crystal on its long leather cord and slipped a little pouch over it. The glow disappeared and she tucked it down her shirt.

  “I have to burn them,” she said in a voice weary and taut. “I can’t leave them . . . like this.”

  “Sit down, dammit,” Theo said, a wave of fury turning him cold. Numbness spread through his body. “Just sit down for God’s sake, Selena. You can hardly stand up. Jesus. I’ll take care of it.”