The Dying of the Light (Book 3): Beginning

by Jason Kristopher

  Nothing greeted the pilots as they opened the door, just a view of the lit cargo bay and the double row of seats that took up the first ten feet or so of the cargo space. Sam wasn’t surprised to see their loadmaster, Driscoll, snoring and stretched out across the first row. The medical technician sent along with the shipment looked up from the second row, surprised.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “We may have a situation on board. Get in the cockpit and close the door after you. Don’t open it again unless one of us gives you the all clear.”

  The man trembled but obeyed. Sam heard the door close as he moved over to Driscoll, who was still asleep.

  “Motherfucker,” he said, kicking the bottom of the seats hard enough to rattle the entire row.

  Driscoll jerked awake and rolled off the seats in surprise. He smacked his head on the steel floor and grunted in pain. “Sonofabitch, what the hell—”

  “Shut up, you lazy fuck,” Sam said in a whisper. “Get out your sidearm. We might have walkers on the plane.”

  Driscoll rubbed his forehead where he’d hit it and struggled to his feet. “Walkers? What the he—”

  Sam put his free hand over the man’s mouth and brought his nose inches from Driscoll’s. His voice so low it was almost inaudible, he growled at the other man.”Get. Your. Sidearm. You. Asshole.”

  Driscoll nodded, now wide awake, and pulled his own pistol from his pack on the floor next to the seats. The three men snuck toward the rear of the plane, alert for even the slightest moan or sign of movement. They reached the tail of the plane without seeing anything and gathered, confused.

  “But the bunker said—” Christian started to say.

  “I know,” Sam interrupted. “And I believe them. Maybe they just haven’t turned yet?”

  “Will someone please tell me what in the bloody blue fuck is happe—?” Driscoll asked. A noise from midway up the plane interrupted him. “Did you hear that?” he asked, quieter.

  The other two men nodded, and all three moved back toward the cockpit. The sounds grew louder, and it was clear that someone was speaking, or trying to. The words were muffled. Suddenly, there was a high-pitched scream, and one of the crates to the side of the main aisle began rocking.

  The soldiers ran forward. Driscoll and Christian took covering positions as Sam approached the crate. There was another scream, and the top of the crate flew off with a crash. A middle-aged woman came vaulting out of the crate as though she were a gymnast, as though her life depended on it. And maybe it did, because another woman—but this one a walker—stood up from the crate and looked at them.

  This walker was different from any that Sam had seen before. It looked more, well, fresh, and it gazed at him with seeming intelligence. He could see the feminine clothes that it still wore, and he could see that it had been beautiful once, though there was a great deal of scarring and tears in the flesh, and… were those fingernail marks? That might have explained his hesitation in firing—or maybe it was the fact that it spoke.

  “Infidels,” it said, and the voice of the beauty-turned-Driebach was as scarred as its owner. “I am Seraphim, and I will—”

  Sam joined the others as their three guns fired, and the Driebach’s brain matter splattered the bulkhead behind the crate. Before she could take a step, the living woman from the crate found those same three guns pointed at her.

  “Don’t fuckin’ move,” Sam growled. “Not one fuckin’ step.” He glanced at the other two. “What the fuck was that? What the fuck is a Seraphim?”

  The woman was trembling as she stared at the walker’s corpse beside her. Sam couldn’t tell whether it was the cold air in the cargo bay or the closeness of the walker. Nor did he care. “Walk toward the front of the aircraft. Get away from the crates.” He waggled the gun at her. “Move!”

  His shout got her to focus on him, and she smiled the creepiest smile he’d ever seen. “You might have destroyed the divine Seraphim, but the Lord will see you burn in Hell for what you’re doing,” she said as she walked forward and gestured to the crates containing the prion treatment. “The plague was sent as a test, and you have failed. Who are you to deny God’s will? Who are you to say who should live when that choice can and should be left only to Him? We will not—”

  “Shut up!” Sam yelled, tired already of listening to her. He was just old enough to remember the speeches, the bombings, and the destruction the members of the Church had caused on and before Z-Day. “Christian, Driscoll, secure the prisoner.”

  “Seriously?” Driscoll asked. “Why aren’t we shooting her?”

  “We do not execute unarmed personnel, Mr. Driscoll,” Sam said. “Besides, she could have important information. Now move!”

  The two other men stepped forward and reached for the woman, who jerked away as she pulled a syringe from her pocket. Sam could see some sort of red, viscous fluid in the syringe, and he shuddered. It could only be one thing.

  “I shall not be denied my vengeance upon you, and I shall never betray the Brethren!” the woman shouted. She plunged the syringe into the side of her neck and laughed as she dropped it to the deck. “Oh glorious day! I can feel His wrath flowing through my veins! I will be the instrument of His divine judgment on this Earth! I will send the demons and their monstrous creation straight to Hell in His name!”

  Christian and Driscoll had paused, not wanting to get too close to an infected person. Sam couldn’t blame them for that, but it did make figuring out what to do with her harder. Depending on the type of zombie blood that she’d injected, things could get a hell of a lot worse. They’d already lucked out in discovering the Driebach early enough to shoot it in the head while it was still sort of contained. If she turned, loose as she was…

  As he mulled it over, Sam noticed the woman look to her right toward the back of the plane as she continued preaching. He took a few steps forward to get a better look at whatever she’d seen and realized what her plan had to be. The only thing in that direction was the airplane’s crew door.

  “Stand fast,” Sam said to the others and waited.

  The woman wound down, realizing her words weren’t reaching her audience and they weren’t going to grab her. She smiled that creepy smile again and began edging toward to the side. “His wrath shall be swift and will smite down this airplane and you demons who fly it. Man was not meant to leave the Earth, and you shall return to the ground in fiery condemnation!” She bolted for the door, yanking on the large red handle to open the door.

  When nothing happened, the look of surprise that came over her face was so funny, Sam couldn’t help but bark a short, sharp laugh. He shook his head and began walking toward her. “You’ll never get that open, you know. It’s impossible to open that door in flight.” Still covering her with the pistol, he stopped about several strides away, watching as she continued to yank at the handle.

  “Really? Flying is an abomination unto Nuggan, is it?” Driscoll said as he laughed. “Fucking Luddites.”

  Sam realized something as she pulled at the door, and smiled. “You’re well and truly fucked now, aren’t you? You went and injected yourself with walker blood just so you could strike down the nonbelievers. Just one thing, though. Shouldn’t you be turning by now? Shouldn’t you be a, what do you call ‘em, a Cleansed? Or what that bitch was, a Seraphim, I think she said?”

  She said nothing this time, but her face crumpled as she realized what he was getting at.

  Driscoll laughed as he covered her from one side. “This bitch is immune! That’s awesome.”

  Sam nodded. “Yep, one in something like ten million of us are naturally immune to the prion. And you’re one of them. Where’s your divine retribution? Where’s your saving grace? Where is your God now?”

  “He shall be triumphant…” she said, but her voice trailed off as she realized nothing was going to happen.

  “Give up, lady,” Christian said. “There’s nothing you can do to us.”

  She shook her head and tu
rned toward Sam, the confused look replaced by one of clarity, at least for the moment. “You’re wrong,” she said, flashed that smile one more time, and pulled a knife from her other pocket. “I can send you to He—”

  The bullet caught her in the left eye, throwing her head back. The round ricocheted through the upper fuselage of the Airbus. Her now-still corpse landed at his feet, and Sam could hear the decompression warning alarms from the cockpit.

  “Guess she wasn’t unarmed anymore, eh, boss?” said Driscoll. “What do we do now?”

  “I am tired of all these motherfucking walkers on my motherfucking plane,” Sam replied. “So, we’re gonna check for more of them. Every last crate. Christian, get on the horn to Bunker Three and tell them we’re going to need a hazmat crew on landing.”

  “Got it,” the copilot said and entered the cockpit to make the call.

  “Let’s go,” Sam said. It didn’t take long for them to double-check all the crates. They confirmed that the first Driebach was definitely dead and that there were no more in the crate. Another bloody syringe lay at the bottom of the crate.

  “What is wrong with these people?” Driscoll asked. “At least we’re done with them.”

  Sam stared at the brand on the walker’s arm. “No, no, I don’t think we are. Just look at how they were able to stow away on who knows how many of our planes. And what about the ground shipments?” He kicked the box. Then he holstered his pistol and moved back to the cockpit to take command of the plane once more. “No, this isn’t the last of them. They’ll be back.”

  Governor’s Office

  Bunker Seven

  There was a knock at the office door, and a young man entered, a private that Colonel Shaw wasn’t familiar with. “Governor, Colonel,” the private said. “They’re patching the call through now.”

  “Thank you,” replied Tom Ridgely, the aging governor of Bunker Seven. Though there was more grey than black in his hair now, Ridgely was still quite capable of administering the affairs of the massive underground city.

  Shaw knew this well, having been the man’s copilot, in a manner of speaking, for more than ten years. Fair, firm, and with his people’s future in mind at all times, Ridgely was a force to be reckoned with and would be until the day he died. Shaw was grateful he left the military side of things to his commander, as a good leader should.

  The phone on the governor’s desk rang, and he punched the speaker button. “This is Ridgely. Go ahead.”

  “Afternoon, Governor.” The voice from the speaker was deep and somewhat worn. Still, Shaw would recognize General Frank Anderson’s voice anywhere. After all, it’s rare that someone rescues you from almost six years of isolation.

  “Good afternoon, General,” Ridgely said. “Is Roger with you?”

  “Afraid not, sir. He’s talking to the techs at Bunker One. Something about hacking the bunker systems, I dunno.”

  “That’s okay, General. You can fill him in later. I’ve got Colonel Shaw with me on my end.”

  “Hiya, Bill.”

  “How’s it going, Frank?” Shaw replied.

  “Well enough. Now, what can I do for you boys?”

  Ridgely waved to Shaw to take point on the conversation. Leaning forward and adjusting his position in his chair, Shaw spoke. “It’s pretty simple, Frank. We’ve got the trucks to get you folks your shipment of the prion treatment, but our escorts are out of commission. Trouble is, you know how we need the guards on these.”

  “I’ve heard the reports. What happened to your equipment?”

  “Do you know what a haboob is, Frank?”

  Anderson answered fast. “Yep, saw one in Egypt around ‘81. Or was it ‘86? In any case, yeah. Big-ass sandstorms, right?”

  “Got it in one. They’re killing us on maintenance. Half our equipment is down for lack of parts, and the machine shop is running out of raw materials. We tried to set up a mine not too far away, but it hasn’t panned out, so to speak.”

  “What do you have left?”

  “Like I said, we’ve got the trucks, but for guards, we’ve got maybe one or two Humvees. And that’s if we strip our working vehicles from their patrols.”

  Anderson was quiet. “So you need me to send some escorts so you can be sure to get the treatment back here in one piece.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I don’t see any reason why that can’t happen. After all, it’s the least I can do for someone who’s provided us with the cure.”

  “It’s not a—”

  “I know, it’s just habit to call it that. It’ll take a day or so to get them equipped, the vehicles checked out and made ready for a long-haul, etc. We should be able to get them on the road in thirty-six hours. Is that doable?”

  Shaw looked over at Ridgely, who shrugged, mouthing the words, “It’s your show.”

  “Yeah, Frank, that should be fine,” Shaw said. “We’ll do our best to have some folks from our end go back with you. I doubt we can get the Stryker back up and running by then. It’s going to need some new parts machined from scratch, but we can have a Humvee or two. I’ll send a squad of Hunters back with your people.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll give you a call when everything’s set on our end.”

  “Roger that. Bunker Seven out.”

  Ridgely hit the disconnect button, and both men sat back in their chairs.

  “Good news,” Ridgely said.

  “Yeah, but it’s a long damn way between here and there. Lots of potential for problems.”

  “Are you thinking mechanical problems or what?”

  “The damn Church of the Divine Judgment is what I’m thinking. How did they know where to hit us? And when? They’re way too organized for my liking, and we’re going to have to deal with them. If they don’t manage to destroy one of the shipments, they’re damned sure going to try something else. And that bastard Beoshane was a complete tool beside a master manipulator like our friend Reverend Wright.”

  Shaw stood up and began pacing. “No, we need a plan for them too. Something that will render them impotent forever.”

  Ridgely nodded. “I can think of one quick way…” He mimed holding a rifle and shooting.

  Shaw shook his head. “Maybe, but we have to be careful. Turn him into a martyr and we’ll never hear the end of them. But if he were to just… disappear or get eaten by a walker, well then, that would be ‘divine judgment,’ wouldn’t it?”

  Ridgely snorted. “Of the truest kind.”

  “I’ll give the others a call,” Shaw said. “Maybe we can come up with something. For now, let’s just concentrate on getting those Hunters ready to ship out.”

  “Who are you thinking of sending? I’m assuming Rachel Maxwell and her squad?”

  Shaw stopped pacing and sat down. “No, no, Rachel will stay here. And her squad.”

  “You know she won’t like that, Bill.”

  “I don’t give a damn what she does or doesn’t like!” Shaw yelled and made an effort to regain control. “I can’t lose her too.”

  Ridgely leaned over his desk, clasping his hands as he looked at the younger man. “Bill, you can’t keep doing this.”

  “I can and I will. I’ll find a way.”

  “She deserves to go and you know it. She’s earned her place in the Hunters, as much or more than anyone else. If you don’t let her go, it’ll just prove what she’s been saying—”

  Shaw looked up from his glower. “‘What she’s been saying,’ Tom? You’ve been talking to her? Without telling me?”

  “She came to me for advice, since I knew her father so well,” Ridgely said, his voice even and calm. “She wanted to know how to approach this problem of you holding her back. I told her she should talk to you, but she obviously hasn’t yet. It is a problem, Bill, and it’s your problem, not hers.”

  Shaw’s anger subsided, and he flopped back in his chair. He put a hand to his brow, trying to knead away the pain that had just started behind his eyes. “I know. I really do. It’s just…”


  “Maxwell was an important person to me too. Probably one of the best men I’ve ever known. And his daughter is just as special in her own way. But she’ll never be as good as she can be if you hold her back.”

  “All right, all right, fine,” Shaw said, holding up his hands. “I’ll think about it. Fair enough?”

  “That’s all I can ask. Although I can’t promise you won’t hear from her too.”

  Shaw sighed. “And won’t that be a fun conversation!”

  Delwood Community School

  Delmar, Iowa

  Peter Brooks crept toward the school buildings. He kept an eye out for any movements other than his. It was sunset, and the fading light played tricks on the eyes. He had to be sure he wasn’t followed, and though he hadn’t seen any walkers, it never hurt to be careful at this time of day. Especially when you were injured.

  Well, injured and bitten, but that was neither here nor there at this point.

  He waited only a moment longer, then ran to the side of the building in a crouch and entered through the door he had broken into months ago. The encroaching darkness outside made it difficult to see in, but the occasional window guided his way to the principal’s office.

  He coughed hard and covered his mouth with the crook of his arm, not to prevent germs from spreading but to muffle the sound. He smiled, even while coughing, at the idea of preventing the spread of germs with the way the world was now. You had to laugh, really.

  After the coughing fit passed, he wiped his sweaty brow and took a few deep breaths. He had little time left, and there was much to do before the end. As he walked between the desks in the outer office area, he caressed the gun in his pocket. It wasn’t time yet, but soon…

  Once inside the inner office, he sat down in what remained of the comfortable chair behind the desk. The chair was far from its prime, but it was far more comfortable than any seating he’d had while undercover at Bunker Four.