Something of the Night

by Paul Cave

  “What do you think will happen?” Trask asked, as he watched the first few prisoners reach the point where the trail split into two.

  “I’m not sure,” Ezekiel replied. “Perhaps they’ll just walk up to the front and knock.”

  “You think it’ll be that simple?”

  Ezekiel shrugged. “Let’s wait and see.”

  “They could disappear over the hill and that’ll be the last we see of them,” Trask warned.

  “No,” Ezekiel insisted. “The humans will come to claim the rest of their brethren. Even if they only send one to do so.”

  “And then what?”

  “I’ll release the rest,” Ezekiel said. “After I show the humans how seriously I take their welfare, and how brutally I punish those who do not share my sentiments.”

  “Brothers Isaac and Jeremiah?”

  “Indeed.”

  “And their breakaway faction?” Trask asked.

  “I think the humans will take care of them for us.”

  “At a cost, though, I agree. There’ll be casualties, to the humans I mean.”

  “An unfortunate situation, but one that should strengthen our position and weaken theirs. If all goes as planned, we’ll be heading back north without a single shot fired.”

  “Let’s hope so,” Trask remarked. “I’ll go and bring Brothers Isaac and Franklin. They should be present for the… inauguration.”

  Ezekiel sensed the stocky vampire leave his side. His attention stayed with the prisoners, however. They’d remained at the crossroads for a while now, either unsure or unwilling to take their next step, and Ezekiel began to worry that the prisoners were indeed strangers to this place. At long last they continued along the main trail as they headed towards the entrance found at the summit.

  A couple of minutes later, bright headlights appeared from around the hillside. First one set, then another, and another. Within seconds the entire right flank of the hill burned brightly with the glow of electric lights. The humans were coming to reclaim their lost ones, or even better, escaping from Isaac’s army. A long convoy of transports weaved through the trees to join the main trail.

  Now, like a second rising of the sun, another set of lights appeared from the right flank of the hill, breaking the crest in a bright dazzle. They burnt the darkness away and moved as if to intercept the first group. More humans ready to join the first convoy, making up an endless fleet of flesh and metal.

  Where had they come from? Ezekiel thought. From an access he knew nothing about? More and more lights appeared from the south, and at first Ezekiel grinned with the thought of so many humans. He hadn’t dare dream there would be so many of them left. Yet his elation turned quickly to fear. Why were the prisoners running away from the approaching vehicles? It was then when he heard the first sound of gunfire. One of the stragglers dropped to the ground. Another shot sounded and a second figure toppled into the rough undergrowth.

  “No… no… no… ” Ezekiel moaned.

  He jumped into the back of a jeep. He pushed the barrel of a fixed machinegun out of the way. Squinting, he focused on the fleet of vehicles at the base of the hill. Something caught his attention: a splash of colour, which appeared to have been copied onto every side-panel or hood or rear. “You, soldier, what is that?” he asked the vampire sitting in the front of the jeep. The soldier pulled a set of binoculars from a pouch at his side. He raised them to his eyes and scanned along the field of moving metal. Ezekiel sensed the vampire tense. The binoculars fell away from soldier’s face and he muttered something barely audible.

  “Here!” Ezekiel said, and snatched the eyepieces from the other’s hands.

  Ezekiel tracked the lead vehicle – a jeep – and saw a figure standing in the back, legs spread apart and arms holding tightly onto a mounted machinegun. The weapon chattered and, as Ezekiel followed the line of fire, he watched in horror as two prisoners toppled over, cut down in cold blood.

  “No – no,” he moaned again.

  He returned his gaze to the jeep and sought out the blaze of colour. He struggled for a second as the jeep bounced in and out of view. Eventually, he managed to trap the splash of paint within his field of vision. A skull grinned back at him. It was made up from crude brush strokes, white for the actual skull and two bright red blobs for the eyes. Its jawbone was parted slightly and four canines – two each top and bottom – dripped with more bright red paint. Behind the skull and, overlapping like crossbones, were an AK-47 and a sword, more red paint ran from the tip of the blade down to the hilt.

  Raphael’s insignia!

  ***

  Jacob took shallow breaths, barely filling the tops of his lungs. The stench of overcooked meat soured the air. At his side, Elliot had now regained consciousness. The young tracker’s eyes flicked intermittently towards the giant monster, then back to the floor of the trailer. Jacob had done this also and he guessed that Elliot, like himself, was trying to gauge the injured vampire’s ability.

  Elliot felt a foot tap against his own. He turned and looked at the older tracker. He frowned – What? Jacob nodded towards the inside of the trailer. Elliot followed his gaze and discovered fist marks, smeared with blood, hammered into the chrome panelling. He turned first to Jacob and then to the black monster sitting at the rear of the Airstreamer. He shook his head. No way!

  Jacob nodded. Yes, the gesture confirmed, black Frankenstein had indeed done that with his bare hands.

  “We’re in a world of shit,” Elliot whispered.

  “Silence!” Thalamus ordered. It seemed the loss of both ears hadn’t diminished his hearing any.

  Both fell silent.

  Jacob turned his attention to his son. His hair looked dishevelled and reddish-brown tufts stuck out from one side, as if he’d been asleep recently. It was amazing how easily children adapted to their environments, Jacob mused, and he was not surprised to think the boy would find comfort as he travelled with this mighty war machine.

  Jacob and the boy made eye contact for a second. The little boy slipped off his chair and took a few cautious steps towards the two tethered captives.

  “Boy,” Thalamus called. “Stay away from them.”

  The vampire’s unkindly way of addressing his child angered Jacob. He risked retribution and said, “Doesn’t he have a name? Other than Boy?”

  Thalamus rocked on his chair and the entire trailer seemed to sway under his weight. “What’s it to you, human? Be careful, I don’t have the same affection for you and yours as does my master. And if you don’t shut up, I may be forced to pull your tongue from your head.”

  Jacob groaned. Black Frankenstein’s looks weren’t the only sour thing about him. He had an unpleasant attitude to match.

  The boy hovered halfway between Thalamus and the two men. He took another look at the vampire, smiled, said, “Safe,” and then he turned back to Jacob and Elliot before taking a few steps closer.

  Thalamus opened his mouth to order the boy back, but a large blister popped at the corner of his mouth. A stream of pus leaked into his mouth. He clamped his lips tight. Leaving the boy to do as he pleased.

  Jacob watched as his son drew near. His heart pounded in his chest and his face twisted itself into a mixture of desperation and pleasure. It must have looked dreadful, fangs and all, because it stopped the boy from coming any closer. Jacob looked anxiously towards the vampire, but it seemed otherwise distracted as it picked and poked at the blister on its lip.

  “It’s okay, we won’t hurt you,” Jacob soothed.

  The boy’s feet appeared rooted to the floor. His innocent face looked deeply puzzled. He pointed to Jacob’s face and said, “Danger.”

  “No – no,” the tracker said. “We’re friends. You know what friends are, don’t you?”

  His boy’s finger remained pointed outwards. “Yes.” His arm swept in a wide arc and finished with the vampire as its mark. “Friend.”

  Like hell, Jacob thought, but held his silence. It didn’t matter, the boy sensed his l
oathing. He jabbed in their direction and repeated, “Danger, danger.”

  “No – friend,” Jacob whispered.

  The little boy fell silent. Became apprehensive-looking.

  “Friends,” Jacob repeated.

  The boy’s eyes narrowed. He wasn’t sure. He looked from Jacob to the burnt vampire, then back to the tracker. Jacob nodded his head to emphasise the fact. “Friend… ” he urged. The boy nodded, too, finally.

  “Good boy,” Jacob said, and smiled.

  The boy’s face returned instantly to a look of confusion. He reached out with one hand and pointed to the fangs.

  “Different… ” he said, understanding they were not real.

  Jacob clamped his mouth. What could he tell the boy? That he’d had the fangs implanted as an aid to destroying those that had looked after him and the ones he loved. No. Instead, he said, “They’re to help find your mother.”

  The boy blinked, two grey green pools that mirrored nothing but innocence. “Mother… ” he breathed. He looked for a second as if he might tumble to the floor, the single word more powerful than anything else, physical or otherwise. He staggered back and his little legs threatened to give. Jacob tried to reach out but the restraints that bound his hands and feet held him firm. The boy tottered back and was only saved from falling by the edge of the table.

  The slight bump pulled the dark vampire’s attention away from the open sore at his mouth. He looked up to find the two captives staring in his direction. “What?” he asked, pus dripping from his chin. Thalamus looked down and found the boy crouched by the side of the table. “What have you done?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” Jacob said quickly.

  Thalamus, a huge monstrosity of charred flesh and weeping blisters, rose to his feet. He took two steps around the table and stood towering over the boy. Wet patches appeared all over his clothing as more blisters broke open to release rivers of yellow fluid. Reaching down, he pulled the boy to his feet. “What is it, child?” he asked.

  “Mother… ” he sobbed.

  Thalamus frowned, and the slight grimace sent another torrent of pus cascading over the hideous plain of his face.

  “Mother… ” the boy said again.

  “What have you done?” Thalamus demanded.

  “Nothing,” Jacob repeated.

  The vampire’s chest swelled and his shoulders seemed to reach from one side of the trailer to the other. He grinned and the vision was ghastly, cruel and heartless. “My orders were to protect the boy,” he said. “You’ve just given me all the reason I need to snap your neck in two.” He stepped forwards and the Airstreamer tilted in his wake.

  “Wait,” Elliot called, but the vampire’s eye had fixed Jacob with its deadly stare. At the corner of the single eye, lines appeared as the vampire grinned. Elliot tried to kick out, but his feet fell short of their mark. The dark, soulless eye fell on him. “Fear not, I’ll give you your chance to fight – after I crush the life from out of this one.” He turned to Jacob, and the tracker had a moment to compare the vampire to the beast in New York. Both were consumed by hatred and the lust for blood, and the vampire had barely more self-control than the thing that terrorised the shell of the Empire State Building.

  Thalamus reached out. Yet before the hand had a chance to crush flesh and bone, he heard a high-pitched scream. He turned to find the boy rushing towards him. His mouth open and a cry of rage breaking from peeled-back lips. For a second, Thalamus was surprised by the look of fury in the boy’s eyes.

  “No,” the boy cried. He threw his arms around the vampire’s forearm and pulled it away from Jacob’s throat. “No,” he cried again, tugging against the solid mass of burnt flesh.

  Thalamus’s hand dropped away from the tracker’s throat. “What is it?” he asked. Another scream came, but this time it grew in pitch and amplitude from outside the trailer. Thalamus frowned. What was that?

  Jacob knew instantly.

  Mortar fire.

  In the next second, the vampire understood also. “What the hell,” he mumbled through swollen lips. The noise stopped abruptly, choked silent now, to be followed instantly by a mighty clap of thunder. The entire trailer shook violently, and both vampire and boy fell backwards, away from the two tethered captives. More sounds came as the sky filled with artillery fire. They heard as a shell fell towards them. It grew to an almost deafening pitch. Then the round slammed into the ground less than twenty feet from the command centre. The shockwave picked the trailer up and tossed it up and over, turning it onto its roof.

  In the next second another clap of thunder sounded and the world around them turned suddenly dark.

  ***

  A bright, blinding explosion pulled Ezekiel’s attention towards the hillside. A truck, part of the humans’ convoy, disappeared in a billow of black smoke, leaving behind a twisted heap of molten metal. Ezekiel had time to see a huge cannon kick back in recoil. A second explosion sounded and the truck at the front of the convoy disappeared in a shower of fire and debris.

  “Tanks!” Ezekiel heard someone cry. “They have tanks!”

  He returned his gaze to the base of the hill. Out of the darkness, something huge and menacing revealed itself. Massive metal tracks tore up the earth as it lurched away from the trees and climbed towards the hill. The snap of timber found its way to him and he watched as more tanks punched their way through the woodlands, laying clear a path behind them. Three, four, five, six, they appeared out of the dark forest like giant armoured-plated beetles, spitting fire and destruction. A whole division of M1 Abrams broke clear, followed by more armoured jeeps, trucks, cars and motorbikes. Next came Raphael’s foot soldiers. Not just a platoon of them, but thousands. They appeared from behind the vehicles like a swarm of army ants. A soldier directly to Ezekiel’s left fired a shot towards the advancing army.

  “Cease fire!” Ezekiel yelled.

  Too late.

  More of his men were taking aim and firing at the enemy. Weapons discharged from one side to the next. “Cease fire! Cease fire!” Ezekiel called, but the thunder of gunpowder silenced his orders. He heard a shrill of air as artillery cut through the darkness, and the noise grew until it had become the deafening wail of a banshee. The resultant explosion disintegrated one of the trailers before him. Ezekiel took cover, shrapnel passing over his head in a shower of red-hot metal. He heard the screams of his men as they were cut to pieces. More shells split the night, and flesh and bone, as a barrage of deadly missiles rained down all around them.

  Ezekiel climbed to his knees. He peered anxiously through the binoculars and found a solid wall of iron moving towards him. The division of tanks had turned away from the hill and was now heading towards his position. The eyepieces filled with the flash of fire. A second later, a truck behind him disappeared in a ball of orange flame. A liquid wave of fire turned the soldiers close by into charred caricatures of things that had once been vampires. As the army advanced, Ezekiel understood that with every inch lost, the chance of an alliance diminished.

  Raphael and his hateful brethren had destroyed any possibility of peace and now they threatened to wreck his army’s chance of survival. Hatred built inside him and he roared with demented rage. He felt an instinctive hunger for bloodshed, and all he’d done to distance himself from the illicit cravings disappeared in a millisecond. The lust for pain and suffering whispered urgent commands. He nodded his head. Reason had all but abandoned him.

  “RETURN FIRE!” he yelled. “FIRE! FIRE!”

  Thousands of bullets turned the darkness into a sea of red tracer-fire, and Ezekiel revelled in the agony they delivered. He gripped onto the machinegun. A wave of enemy broke from the cover of the tanks and raced towards him. He cut them down with ease, and then laughed hysterically as they were torn limb from limb. Out of the corner of his eye he saw some of the remaining prisoners fall as they were caught in the open. They fell to the ground, horrific wounds and injuries turning them into blood-soaked rags.

  Sympathy pulled
Ezekiel’s fingers away from the trigger. He turned to look at the broken bodies and wept with sadness at the lost opportunity they represented. But then the wind carried to him the stench of guts – a crimson cloud of desire. His body swooned with the urge for bloodshed, and his face twisted itself into a dreadful mask of glee. He turned back to the advancing army and grinned with devilish delight. He pulled the firing-bolt back and took aim. They came and he was ready. Any thread of humanity that remained snapped. And the leader of the vampires allowed the lust for blood to consume his very being.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Slipping and sliding, Rebecca tumbled head-over-heels into a pool of stagnant water. She disappeared underneath the surface for a second before her head exploded upwards into darkness. She gasped for breath and her lungs filled with a sour breath. Water poured noisily from behind her. In the confined space of the chamber it sounded like the distant rush of thunder. For a couple of seconds she trod water, waiting for her heart to steady. Although the darkness prevailed, she sensed more water enter the chamber, by a pipe higher than the one she had passed through.

  The sound of rushing water was interrupted by the clatter of something solid. Instinctively, Rebecca turned towards the noise. Light blinked in a strobe-like effect from the maw of the pipe from which she had fallen. She gasped at its height. Almost ten feet above her, brown water poured out in a heavy stream. The light flickered on and off. Eventually the pulse stopped and in its place a bright white blaze of light appeared. It fixed the chamber in a blinding glow before tipping over the edge of the pipe and into water. Plop. The tainted liquid smothered the light instantly. Looking down, Rebecca watched as the dull beam rose towards her. She had a second to see she was swimming in the middle of a large bowl of lumpy brown soup. Scratch appeared, a flashlight clamped between his teeth.

  “Hey, boy,” she cried with pleasure. She reached out to pluck the flashlight from his jaws. He paddled his way over to her. Then ran his tongue across her cheek. He spluttered – she didn’t taste too good.