The Dying of the Light (Book 3): Beginning

by Jason Kristopher

  Eden went first, her lithe form skittering across to take cover by another house. The fence had all but collapsed and would only provide minimal cover. With no obvious threats in sight, she swiveled to cover the street and Foretti, who ran across to join her. Soon, the others were across, and they made their way in staggered formation to the home where the yelling had come from.

  They’d heard nothing else since.

  In a crouching run to keep out of sight of anyone looking out a window, they reached the red brick front of the home on SW 19th Street. The garage was set farther back on the left side of the home, with the door to one side. The fence looked in better shape than most, but there was no gate on the right side to provide entry to the rear of the house.

  “Blake, you and I are on the door, Foretti on the left, Giuliani, rear. Move,” Marquez whispered, and they scuttled to their assigned positions without incident.

  Eden cocked her head to one side as she knelt next to the outer front door frame, the shattered glass evidence of a break-in. The same one that had also knocked the main door askew. She cupped her ear while looking at Marquez, indicating he should listen, and he nodded.

  “Crying?” she subvocalized through her throat mic, puzzled. “Male. I think it’s him.”

  Marquez quirked an eyebrow. “How do you figure?”

  “Sound is deeper, not feminine. Boot print on the door is standard issue AEGIS, guessing size twelve or thirteen.”

  Marquez glanced at the door and noticed the bootprint that was faint enough for him to miss at first. “Well done. Agreed. Move in, but careful. Watch the glass.”

  Without bothering to open the door, Eden slid through the broken glass pane and eased to one side of the half-closed door. Giuliani had moved to a cover position under the half-open window facing the driveway. Another, closer to the front of the house, was closed and the curtains drawn tight. From his position under the window, he’d be able to provide cover for those inside and still keep an eye on the perimeter. Foretti took Eden’s place—his back to the brick wall—and covered the end of the driveway, overlapping with Giuliani.

  The interior of the home was much darker than Eden had expected, with the windows at the rear of the house overgrown by weeds and ivy. She touched the control on the temple of her sunglasses, setting the shade factor to zero and giving her clear vision. The entryway was open with a hallway continuing straight and an open room to her right as she moved into the house. The smell of dust and decay was heavy in the air. The house had obviously not been open to the elements for long, and the circulation was still poor. Her facemask filtered much of it, but not all, and she struggled not to cough.

  The opening to the right led to a living room with minimal furniture and electronics, plus a decrepit, overstuffed chair that might have been comfortable once. The room was empty, with one doorway leading off to the right and the dining room at the other end. She could see a doorway between the dining room and the end of the hall and another across the hall, presumably leading to the kitchen. The back door was wooden with a glass pane at the top too dirty to see through. The wood showed signs of advanced age and was in dire need of replacement. Another door on her left between the front door and the kitchen was most likely a bathroom, if she had to guess.

  It was surprising not to find any bodies or walkers, given the smell. The few shafts of light that made it through the grimy and plant-covered windows revealed a neat and tidy home for the most part. Some disarrayed magazines in the living room and a smear of something on the wall near the kitchen were the only indications of foul play. She covered the door off the living room—probably a bedroom—and signaled for Marquez to come up on her left. He wasn’t as quiet as she’d been, but nothing came out of hiding to eat them as a result.

  There was a fresh burst of crying from the direction of the presumed bedroom, and Eden subvocalized again. “I’ve got it.”

  “Got your back,” Marquez said.

  Eden was surprised he didn’t want the “glory” for himself, but given how he felt about her, letting her go first was an easy out for him. Any more mistakes, and she would be court-martialed and out for good. Either she fucked up or she did the right thing. For him, it was a win/win.

  She shook her head to clear the negativity and crept forward in a low crouch, careful not to make any noise. She could feel Marquez at her back and knew that whatever he felt about her as a person, he would do his job.

  She came to the end of the wall and could now hear the sobbing from the man inside without any distortion. She took her small survival mirror from her pocket and scanned the room from a low angle.

  Just as she’d thought. Mancuso was the one making the noise as he wept in a kneeling position at the end of a large bed that dominated the room. His head rested on his folded arms at the bed’s foot. Back to the door, gun out of quick reach on the ground, in a poor position for defense… He was just asking to get eaten. She glanced up onto the bed, where she saw two mummified corpses side-by-side. From this angle, she couldn’t tell anything about them, other than that they were, or at least had been, human.

  Eden gestured to Marque and then moved in, still crouched, her weapon covering the kneeling soldier and the bed. She scanned the closet for walkers out of reflex, then moved forward and reached out with a foot to move the rifle away from the soldier. No telling what sort of mental state he was in, but she didn’t feel comfortable leaving the man his main weapon.

  A longer examination of the corpses showed a lack of decay and inadvertent mummification, which meant they’d been here for quite some time. They’d suffered close-range gunshots to the temple, leaving a copper-red spray dried and flaked on the bedspread. The snub-nosed .38 that still lay cradled in the hand of the male, pointed at his temple, was another clue. It was a murder-suicide.

  When she was sure there was no threat in the room, she gave Marquez a thumbs-up and lowered her weapon to the ready position. She cleared her throat and then whispered. “Brian, it’s Eden. Eden Blake.” When he didn’t respond, she tried again. “Major, it’s Corporal Blake from Bunker One. Can you hear me?”

  Mancuso gave no sign that he had heard her, though his sobs had lessened. She stepped closer and tried again, this time laying a hand on his shoulder. “Major, it’s Ed—”

  So fast that she never saw it coming, he whipped around and threw her to the ground with a ferocious pull on her arm. He had a knife at her throat in the time it took her to blink. Eden was sure the only reason she didn’t die right there was the dim shock of recognition she saw in his eyes.

  She didn’t have time to wonder about it, though, as Marquez crashed into the older man, knocking him on his ass. The knife flew out of his hand. Marquez put a boot on the man’s neck with no small amount of force and said only, “Stop.”

  The demonic gleam in the major’s eyes faded, and as Eden regained her feet and retrieved her weapon, she could see him calm down. Whatever emotion or momentary lapse of personality had consumed him, it was gone now. He wasn’t even sobbing.

  “I think he’s okay, LT,” she said.

  Marquez didn’t look in her direction, just thrust his chin toward the other man. “What about it, Brian? You okay now?”

  The older man shuddered, closed his eyes, and whispered what Eden thought was a prayer. When he opened them again, he nodded. “I’m fine, Lieutenant. Thank you.”

  Marquez glared at him for a moment longer, then stood back and waited for the major to rise to his feet. The major massaged his neck where the lieutenant’s oversized boot had left a big mark.

  Mancuso turned to Eden and frowned. “I apologize, Corporal. I was… not myself.”

  Eden nodded, then activated her throat mic. “Package retrieved. We’re in the bedroom. Move in and secure the rest of the house.” Foretti and Giuliani acknowledged her command, and she could hear them move into the house through the front.

  Marquez cleared his throat and looked over at her, and Eden coughed out an apology. “Uh, sorry, sir
, I just, uh—”

  He shook his head. “Forget it.” He turned to the major. “Sir, are you okay?”

  The major stooped to pick up his weapon, clipping it back onto his harness, and turned to put his back to the bed. “I’m fine, Lieutenant.”

  “It’s just… well, they told us you were AWOL, sir. We couldn’t figure out why you’d come out here with no backup or notice or anything.” He paused, and when the major didn’t reply, he continued. “What is this place? Who were these people? Why—”

  Mancuso held up a hand. “They are—they were—my parents. They didn’t get chosen for the bunkers. I’d hoped they’d made it to a civilian camp or somehow survived. I wanted to find the house empty. I hoped it would be. I was wrong.”

  Eden frowned as she looked at the major, noticing tiny hints about his body language that didn’t add up. He wasn’t sad, he was… nervous? What would he have to be nervous about? And if he wasn’t sad, was he pretending to be crying? But why?

  Foretti stepped into the doorway. “House is clear, Lieut—uh, Major. We should be getting back, though. It’s a bit late.”

  Mancuso looked toward the closed window where the curtains let in only a little bit of the afternoon sunlight. “How long have I been here?”

  “About forty-five minutes, sir,” the lieutenant answered. “The general ordered us to bring you back ASAFP, sir.”

  Mancuso nodded. “No doubt. Let’s move.”

  The three of them followed Foretti out into the living room, where Giuliani was standing guard at the front door. He glanced their way but shifted his gaze back out to the driveway. “We may have a problem,” he said, his gun held ready to fire out the shattered door. As one, the other four turned to look out the half-open window and gasped at the two walkers standing there.

  Eden shuddered and spoke. “Those aren’t walkers,” she said. “They’re Driebachs.”

  The standoff had lasted for ten minutes, with neither side so much as twitching. Eden glanced over at Mancuso, who also hadn’t moved. It was as though both sides were afraid to do anything to break the stalemate they’d somehow established. Somebody had to do something, though, or she was going to fall over from the pain in her leg.

  Mancuso’s voice came over her earpiece as he subvocalized. “AEGIS Actual, Alpha Six. Say again, AEGIS Actual, Alpha Six.”

  There was a pause, and then Eden heard Anderson’s gravel voice.

  “AEGIS Actual, go.”

  “Contact, Driebach times two. Location 5417 SW 19th Street. Request immediate reinforcement.”

  “Acknowledged, Hunter One. Reinforcements en route.” Another pause, and Anderson was back. “Tango team is headed your way. Do not engage.”

  “We may not have that option, Actual.”

  “Understood. Advise when secure.”

  “Alpha Six out.” Mancuso spoke to the others. “Now we wait.”

  Eden could feel Giuliani looking at her, even though she could only just see him out of the corner of her eye. This is just the sort of situation where he’d expect her to take the shot. She hated that he’d seen her failure, her lowest point, and she’d vowed never to be that person again. But damn, her leg hurt. The pain was stabbing now, and she couldn’t move or even breathe heavily. Who knew what would trigger the monsters to attack?

  It made no sense that they were just standing there, not attacking, if they knew that the soldiers were there. And they couldn’t not know at this point. It was like they were waiting for something…

  A scratching and banging noise came from the rear of the house, and she inched her head around to look down the hallway toward the back door. A shadow was moving against the covered glass. By all appearances, whoever or whatever it was, they were clearing the overgrown vegetation from the door. Probably to try to come in that way, though why it didn’t just break the dining room window, she wasn’t going to ask. It wasn’t like the glass would hurt it, unless it was idiotic. And given the chance that it was a Driebach, that seemed unlikely.

  At least it explained what the others were waiting for.

  “Contact right,” she whispered and readied herself to turn that way.

  “Hold,” Mancuso ordered. “Wait for backup.”

  “Yes, sir,” Eden said and took the opportunity to flex the muscle in her aching leg as she tensed for movement in the direction of the back door. She figured she could take the Driebach as it entered the door, slowed as it would be by the wood or the glass, and the other four could take the two standing in the driveway. She wouldn’t move unless she had to—her rebellious days had passed—but she would be ready all the same.

  “Alpha Six, AEGIS Actual. ETA two mikes. We’re coming in hot, be ready to drop.”

  Mancuso spoke once more. “Unknown contact rear, Actual.”

  Eden heard the two-click “understood” signal and prepared to drop to the floor the second she heard the first shot. They’d be using the big .50-cal guns, and no one in their right mind wanted to get in the way of one of those rounds.

  She heard the screeching tires first, and a moment later dropped as the first rattle of machine-gun fire filled the air. Prepared as she was, she ignored the explosion of wooden splinters that flew her way as the Driebach came through the back door. Surprised but still deadly, the monster had four shots in his upper torso and a final shot in his head before it had reached them. The gruesome corpse skidded to a stop not a foot from her as its momentum carried it farther than she had expected.

  Cascading booms from the big guns tore through the home, as well as the large-caliber rounds. They blew out half-crumbled walls and windows. The Driebachs in the driveway never had a chance. She glanced through the holes in the wall to see them take multiple hits, chunks of dead flesh flying through the air and gaping holes in their bodies. The initial wounds didn’t discourage them, but even a Driebach couldn’t heal a blown-off leg fast enough to get up and hobble toward the Humvee. The noise from the firing was so loud that she almost missed the entrance of another Driebach through the ragged remains of the back door. Its scream of rage and pain were the only warning she had.

  Maybe the remnants of its eyes were still adjusting to the dim lighting inside the house. Or maybe she was hidden somewhat by its fallen brother. Whatever the case, the newest party crasher targeted Giuliani, who had taken cover near the remains of the hallway wall. His attention was focused on the fighting going on out front and not on the back door. Time slowed down for Eden, and she could see the outcome. She knew that Giuliani wasn’t going to be able to react fast enough and that the only person who could help him in that moment was her.

  She reacted without conscious thought, her training coming to the fore as designed. Like a passenger in her own body, she watched as her legs folded beneath her and her feet oriented against the wall behind. She felt the coiled-spring release as she pushed away from the wall and launched herself not at the Driebach, but rather at the space it would occupy. In the air, she thought she saw yet another of the monsters come through the back door. In the blink of a moment she was in, she had no time to cry out a warning.

  Eden collided at full speed with the monster, and her inertia threw both their bodies into the wall next to Giuliani. The years—not to mention bullets—had taken their toll on the wall. More than three hundred pounds of mass hit the wall at full speed and proved to be too much for the decrepit structure. Eden and the Driebach crashed through and rolled over and over in the dust and debris. The Driebach kicked, scratched, and bit, trying to free itself from the prison of her arms and legs. Legs now wrapped around it with crushing strength.

  Eden gagged at the stench, even through her facemask. The others hadn’t smelled this bad, and she could feel its skin sliding around on top of its musculature as she held on. She knew this was going to fuel some nightmares later.

  Eden let go long enough with her right hand to quick-draw her sidearm and put the muzzle to its head just behind the ear. It was a guaranteed kill shot, and she pulled the trigger as s
he turned her face away.

  The monster shuddered and died again, and Eden struggled out from underneath it. Everything was quiet except for the creak and groan of the tortured building. She could see dust filtering down through the many new sunbeams that pierced the structure. They were the result of the hundreds of rounds fired by the big machine guns on the Humvees.

  There was a loud crack from the ceiling, and she again moved without thought and yelled, “It’s coming down! Everybody move!” She body-checked Mancuso as he stumbled toward the opening where the front door had been. The shove knocked him outside as the others dove for the safety of the driveway. A cloud of dust and debris erupted from the house, and everyone coughed as they lay on the concrete. Eden tried to catch her breath and let the roaring adrenaline in her system subside.

  “Holy shit!” one of the Tango team said, and Eden couldn’t help but agree with her assessment. Holy shit indeed.

  She coughed again and struggled to tell them about the second walker she’d seen come through the back door. Something was wrong with her throat, though, and why was she so dizzy?

  “Everyone make it out?” Marquez asked. “Sound off!” The others called out, until everyone had spoken up. “Blake? Blake!”

  Eden groaned something close to the word “here” and raised her left hand above the debris covering her legs. Her other arm hurt for some reason, and she was reluctant to look down at it to see why. It didn’t seem to matter much at the moment anyway. She blinked her eyes several times, but everything still seemed blurry, and she shook her head to clear it.

  A face swam into view, and she recognized Marquez leaning over her. He was saying something, but she couldn’t quite make it out. At the last, he shouted a word she did recognize.

  “Medic!”

  Eden sat up, or tried to, but Marquez pushed her back down. She tried to slap his hand away, but her arm hurt too much, and so she just lay down again. She would try again in a minute. If only the world would stop spinning for a moment or two… But then everything went dark, and she decided it was a good time for a nap.