Night's Fall (Night's Champion Book 2)

by Richard Parry

  “You’ve not had Sessle point a gun at your head,” said Pollock. “Relax the man some, Sessle.”

  “I wouldn’t do that, Sessle,” said Val. He looked up the rifle barrel, looking for the man behind the gun. “Probably be the last bad decision you make. I’m sure you’d like to get back to the world, get a woman, have a bunch of kids crawling around your ankles. All we want is a ride out of here, don’t want no trouble. Still, trouble comes to find me, and I will respond. You try and work me over with that rifle and I promise you I will bring all kinds of hurt you’ve never seen.”

  Fight.

  Sessle blinked at him, a look of astonishment replacing the sneer. “What did you say?”

  “I said,” said Val, trying to remember — because Lord knows, that wasn’t him talking — what he’d just said. “Look, it doesn’t matter what I said. You think I’m here on my knees, you think you’re in control with the rifle. Handsome weapon, that, but it won’t save you. Only thing between you and God is good judgment, and you’ve got precious few seconds left to determine a fate that doesn’t leave you all dead. Ignore Pollock. Guy’s an asshole. I’ve had a boss like him before.”

  Kill.

  “He’s not my boss,” said Sessle. The rifle still didn’t move.

  “Even worse, right?” Val wiped his face with a hand, but Sessle didn’t move. Good. “Some asshole who’s supposed to be on your goddamn team, and he’s giving you orders? Probably disrespects you all the time, right?”

  “Right,” said Sessle.

  “Shoot him, Sessle,” said Pollock.

  “Hold up,” said Sessle, looking away from Val. “We’re talking.”

  FIGHT.

  That look, that spare quarter second in between words, was all that Val needed. His hand worked its own way around the barrel of Sessle’s weapon, his other hand coming up to grip the stock. He gave the weapon a tug, knowing — without knowing how — that was the best way to get Sessle to tighten his grip, subconscious, immediate. Fast enough to let Val use it to pull himself to his feet, then reverse the weapon on Sessle. Val had his finger on the trigger and the weapon pointed at Sessle’s stomach in less time than it took to take a breath.

  He’d also — can’t remember how — spun Sessle around, placing him between Val and the rest of Pollock’s group.

  “Hi,” said Val. “Now, I was wondering if we could get a ride.”

  “FIRE!” screamed Pollock.

  KILL.

  Five shots rang out, Sessle jerking with each one, his eyes wide. Val watched as Sessle looked down at his chest, hands pawing at his body, checking for the holes he was sure would be there. Val lowered the rifle, smoke trickling from the barrel, the last kiss of a casing hitting the ground gone seconds past. He didn’t remember consciously firing the weapon, but he’d felt it buck in his hands all the same, five perfect shots as he’d squeezed the trigger each time. Val cleared his throat. “You’re fine.”

  “What?” said Sessle. “What?” The man looked to be in a state of permanent surprise.

  “I didn’t shoot you,” said Val, “because you didn’t … hell, you made the right call, didn’t you?”

  “What?” said Sessle. “I … sure. What?”

  Val nodded over Sessle’s shoulder. “Go on. Take a look.”

  Sessle looked at the weapon in Val’s hands, then at the ground around Val’s feet where five bright brass casings had fallen, then slowly turned to look behind him. The five members of Pollock’s squad — including Pollock himself — were all lying on the ground, a single shot in each head.

  Sessle turned back to Val. “What did you say your name was?”

  “Didn’t,” said Val. “You know how to fly a helicopter?”

  “No,” said Sessle. “I mean, yes.”

  Val felt the hot wet on his upper lip, and wiped the blood from his nose away. God damn, that’s not going away is it? “Which is it?”

  “You’re bleeding,” said Sessle.

  “It’s a bloody nose,” said Val. “It’s not likely to be fatal.” Yet.

  Hunt them all. Kill.

  “We’ve no reason to kill this one,” said Val.

  “What?” said Sessle.

  “I wasn’t talking to you,” said Val. “Which is it?”

  “What?”

  “Can you, or can you not, fly a helicopter?” Val nodded towards the two birds on the ground. “Those things are helicopters.”

  “Right,” said Sessle. “I can fly crop dusters. Dad taught me how.”

  Val pivoted on his feet, his rifle barking twice more. He looked down at the weapon, astonished with himself, then over at the man who’d been creeping up on them from across Ping Tom Park. The now dead soldier was hard to see, his Gilli suit making him difficult to spot in among the grass and scattered trees.

  “How’d you know he was there?” said Sessle.

  “A better thing to be saying about now,” said Val, turned back to Sessle, “is how many more are out there.” He held up a hand. “I’m seeing two Black Hawks on the deck. You can get eleven humans in there with all their shit, and there’s five dead assholes on the ground and you, standing alive and breathing, in front of me. Asshole in the grass over there—” and Val jerked his head towards the man in the Gilli suit “—makes seven. If you didn’t come to evac us—”

  “Who’s saying we didn’t come to evac you?” Sessle blinked twice. “I mean, we could. We did. We were. I mean.”

  Val eyed the man. “Right. If you didn’t come to evac us, and you came with two full birds, there’s got to be fifteen more guys.”

  “We didn’t come with a full crew,” said Sessle. He looked down at Val’s rifle. “Are you going to kill me?”

  “So,” said Val, “I’m only going to shoot you if you can’t fly a Black Hawk. Now, can you, or can you not, get in one of those aircraft and pilot it to a safe place?”

  “I can,” said Sessle, and made a lunge for Val’s rifle. It was a good move, the man had kept his body light, center of gravity low, pouncing like a cat. Good, but not good enough; Val saw the way the man was going to move, felt the other man’s strength wrestling for the weapon he held. Val gave the rifled a small twist, pulled the trigger, and watched Sessle drop to the grass. The man’s eyes were wide, staring at something in the sky, before his breath came out one last time, dragging its way out.

  Val looked at Sessle’s body, then back at the two Black Hawks. “Fuck,” he said.

  ∙ • ● • ∙

  John looked at the two helicopters, then down at the duffel bag he carried. “Okay, you win.”

  “Come again?” Val wasn’t really paying attention, he was scanning the park around the birds, checking for soldiers or zombies or both. He was pretty sure they were safe for the moment, the rattle of automatic gunfire blocks away suggesting — but not guaranteeing, not even around Ping Tom Park — a military force.

  “I got some clothes, a new iPod, and some protein bars. The Nike place down on Michigan had the shoes in that I wanted.” John held out a foot. “See?”

  “Very nice,” said Val. “Say. Are those the new Frees?”

  “I know, right?” said John. “But you still win. You looted two helicopters.”

  “John, I need you to focus for a second.” Val rubbed at his chin. “You know how we were going to get Sky, Rex, and Just James out of here?”

  “I heard the plan, yeah,” said John. He looked at the Black Hawks, then at the bodies around them. “Oh, neat. A SAW.” He walked over to the fallen men, hefting up the heavy gun.

  “There’s a problem,” said Val.

  “Just one?” John frowned. “Truth to tell, there might be two. I couldn’t find any silver. Looked everywhere. Lots of gold, if that’s your thing. Some real A-grade bling, diamonds, the works, but not an ounce of silver.”

  “Silver?”

  “For weapons,” said John. “Your plan. Remember?”

  “Right,” said Val. No silver is a wrinkle we don’t need, but we probabl
y need to know who the hell else is taking it all. Maybe we can solve that one after the immediate crisis is over? Focus, Val. “Back to my problem. It’s a significant one. We can’t take Sky, Rex, and Just James out, and go kill the bad guys.”

  “We’ve got two helicopters,” said John. “We can go two different ways.”

  “Do you know how to fly a Black Hawk?” Val stretched, arching his back, trying to get the kinks out.

  “No,” said John, “but how hard can it be?”

  Val blinked at him. “It’s a little tricky.”

  “It’s not like you can fly one,” said John. “You work in computers.”

  “Well, that’s the thing,” said Val. He felt the remembered texture of a flight stick in his hands, the helmet on his face as he looked over a battlefield. The helicopter fought him as it went down, but it was going to be okay, he wasn’t going to die. After all, he couldn’t die. The poor bastards in the back—

  Fallen pack.

  He jerked away from the … whatever it was, it felt like a memory. He looked at John. “Uh.”

  “You okay, buddy?” John took a step towards him. “I kind of lost you for a second.”

  “Right,” said Val. “You know how you said I can’t fly one of those?” He jerked a thumb at the Black Hawks.

  “Right,” said John.

  “Well,” said Val, “That’s the thing. I’m pretty sure I can.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  “Thank you for the ride, Detective,” said Pearce, holding out a hand. “I’ll be seeing you.” Her eyes had taken on a haunted look, and they kept almost looking at Adalia, skittering around where the girl sat.

  Carlisle reached forward and clasped the other woman’s hand. “It’s been … actually, it’s been shit, but that’s not on you.”

  “Likewise,” said Pearce. “Are you going to be okay?” What she meant, Carlisle suspected, was more like what the fuck is going on.

  “I think I’ll be fine,” said Carlisle, then coughed. She reached into her pocket, pulling out the Aleve. She dry-swallowed four caps. “Don’t forget to call in the cavalry. People around here are going to need help, after … after the end.”

  “You call, I’ll come,” said Pearce. “Assuming I get out. Last I heard, there were some birds down around the city. Got to be a working radio in there somewhere.”

  “You could come with us,” said Carlisle. “We’ve got a werewolf on our team.”

  Pearce pointed with her chin at Carlisle’s chest. “How’s that working out for you?”

  “Better than you,” said Carlisle. “We’re all still alive.” And then kicked herself as the guilt flashed bright and clear across Pearce’s face for a second, before being pushed back behind the mask. “Hey,” she said. “Hey, I didn’t mean it—”

  “Save it, Detective,” said Pearce. The Major finally turned to Adalia. The girl was standing back from them, behind the tail of the Yukon. Almost, figured Carlisle, as if she was using the Yukon as a barrier. A barrier against whom, though? Pearce licked her lips, cleared her throat. “I wanted to…”

  “He misses you,” said Adalia. “He misses you every day.”

  “I miss him,” said Pearce. “I—”

  “He says,” said Adalia, “that it was his fault.”

  “He was just a child,” said Pearce.

  Adalia shrugged. “He says he was racing Bobby. He wasn’t listening. Rushing ahead.”

  “He liked the wind,” said Pearce.

  Adalia took a cautious step out from behind the Yukon. “He lives in it now. The wind, I mean.”

  Carlisle could see Pearce’s throat work, but no sound came out. The Major took four swift steps towards Adalia, crushing her in a hug. Carlisle could see Adalia stiffen, then relax as Pearce said something to her. Pearce held Adalia out at arm’s length, studying her for a moment, before turning to Carlisle. There were tears in her eyes. “You look after her. You look after her, you hear me?”

  “Always will, and that’s a fact,” said Carlisle. “You be there when I call, is all.”

  “I’ll be there,” said Pearce, and turned away. She was clothed in military fatigues, urban camouflage for a capable warrior, armor of a sort, but near as Carlisle could tell she was probably naked for the first time in years.

  “I’m sorry, Melissa,” said Adalia. “I didn’t want to scare her away.”

  “Kid,” said Carlisle, “it’s fine. She’s got shit she needs to do.”

  “Language,” said Adalia, with the ghost of a smile.

  “Fuck that shit,” said Carlisle. “What did she say to you anyway? If you don’t mind me asking.”

  “She asked me to tell him that it was her fault,” said Adalia. “She said thank you.” The girl shuffled her feet. “What’s happening to me, Melissa?”

  “Something beautiful,” said Carlisle.

  “How do you know?” said Adalia, the edge of something anguished in her voice.

  “Because,” said Carlisle, “it’s you.” She checked her weapon, still snug against her spine, then patted the side of the Yukon. It had done them good, giving out here at the edge of the city only when the last of its fuel had run dry. Maybe she should get one when they put the world back together. Driving these last few miles without a windscreen had chapped her lips, made her eyes dry. Thank God. “C’mon.”

  “Where are we going?” Adalia looked around the city, the buildings standing tall and empty. “Where is everyone?”

  “Can’t help with the second one,” said Carlisle. She stretched nice and slow, feeling something scrape on the inside. God damn, but Danny owes me a bottle of something expensive. “Let’s go get your mom.”

  “Do you think it was a good idea sending Ajay up ahead?” Adalia pushed her hair back away from her face. “It’s just that—”

  “Last thing I did to your mom was shoot her,” said Carlisle. “I sure as hell wasn’t going.”

  “She threw him into a wall,” said Adalia.

  “He deserved it,” said Carlisle. “Still does, I think.” A flare sprouted up from around the corner of a building a few blocks up, it’s bright red tip dancing ahead of a soft trail of smoke. “Well, there we go. He didn’t try to shoot her with the flare, so I reckon we’re good.”

  “Okay.” Adalia reached out a small hand, snaking it inside Carlisle’s larger one. “Okay.”

  They started walking, the pain in Carlisle’s ribs dragging her steps. “Kid,” she said.

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t walk so fast,” said Carlisle.

  Adalia looked at her, then at the space off to Carlisle’s other side, as if she was listening. “He says that talking about things can take your mind off the pain.”

  “He’s there?” Carlisle jerked her thumb at the empty air.

  “Sort of,” said Adalia. “It’s difficult to explain.”

  “Tell him,” said Carlisle, “that it’s going to take a lot of talking to make me forget about an entire chest full of broken bone.”

  “He says,” said Adalia, “that when he died, his body was ground underneath the wheels of a semitrailer.” She hid her face behind her hair, but Carlisle caught the edge of a smile peeking through.

  “You tell him,” said Carlisle, “that only proves he’s a quitter.”

  “I’ll tell him,” said Adalia. “Why don’t we let Mom go kill the bad guy? Or guys?”

  “We will,” said Carlisle, “but I want to speak to her first.”

  “What for?” Adalia helped Carlisle around some trash strewn in the street.

  “Because,” said Carlisle, “she owes me a bottle of Glenfiddich.”

  ∙ • ● • ∙

  “This is a nice place,” said Ajay. After they’d caught up to him — and a human-again Danny — they’d agreed to go back to John and Sky’s apartment. They’d talked about seeing their friends again, as if it was just another Sunday in the park. Not as if the apartment would be empty, their small family dead and gone. “Or, I can see that it would
be, if the lights were on.” He held a glow stick above his head, everything in the stairwell being washed in a luminous green color.

  Carlisle coughed, then winced. Stop doing that, Carlisle, you know it hurts. “I just hope they’re here.”

  “They’ll be where we need them to be,” said Ajay.

  “Whatever, Yoda,” said Carlisle. She turned around to Danny. “You okay?”

  Yellow eyes looked back up at her from the dark below. “I’m fine.”

  “Okay, Captain Creepy,” said Carlisle.

  “You brought silver,” said Danny.

  “Yep,” said Carlisle. “Now hurry up.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m pretty sure I’m going to need to shoot someone with it,” said Carlisle. She looked at Adalia, then at Ajay. “Probably not one of these two though.”

  Danny stalked out of the shadows into the pool of dim green light. Her eyes were bright, and she walked with the strength of an Amazonian goddess, her steps deliberate as she mounted the stairs. The blanket around her shoulders didn’t make her look battered or lost — if anything, it highlighted the feral thing that sat behind her eyes. “Us?”

  Carlisle sighed. “Do you want me to?”

  Danny’s yellow eyes didn’t blink. “It burns.”

  “That’s not really answering the question, is it?” Carlisle sighed again. “Use your words, Kendrick. Fucking vowels and—”

  “Language,” said Adalia, but there was a tight tremor of fear in her voice.

  “Vowels and consonants,” said Carlisle. “As a werewolf you’ve got your uses, I’ll give you that, but as a mother you’re doing a shit job.”

  Something like a growl came from Danny, and she started to step forward.

  “And as a friend,” said Carlisle, “it’s like you didn’t read the same book the rest of us did.” She wanted to scream — you almost killed me! — but Kendrick wasn’t in a listening mood.

  Probably wouldn’t be for a few hours. Ajay had found her, buck naked in downtown Chicago, nothing on but a smile. And it wasn’t a nice smile. They’d found a blanket — Carlisle figured they’d borrow some of Sky’s clothes when they got to the apartment.