Something of the Night

by Paul Cave

  Rebecca trained the light over the walls of the chamber. She found herself in the centre of a large junction. As the brown sludge lapped against the walls of the chamber, a trickle of water ran out through an overflow pipe, keeping the level steady. Rebecca swam to the side and examined the pipeline. It was about half the width of the one she’d slid through and would be virtually impossible for her to fit into. She levelled the light higher. Discovered a second pipe, this one was plenty wide enough for her to pass through. She turned around and found the little mutt struggling to stay afloat. Plucking him out of the water, she lifted him into the lower pipe.

  “Stay here,” she said.

  Woof.

  “I need to reach up to the next pipe,” she said.

  She placed the flashlight next to him before reaching up with both hands to grip the higher rim. Her fingertips sank into something soft and gooey, and she felt slightly relieved at not being able to see what it was. She pulled herself upwards, testing her strength. Two small biceps formed into tight knots. She pulled upwards and her waistline cleared the surface of the water. Her left leg cleared the murky surface and her toe found purchase inside the smaller pipeline, quickly followed by her right foot.

  She stood on her tiptoes and peered into the dark maw. The stench of raw sewage almost forced her back. Holding on by one hand, she reached down to retrieve the flashlight. She pointed the beam towards the pipe and revealed a stream of green-brown sludge. Rebecca angled the beam of light and found the opposite end of the slimy tunnel. Mercifully, the pipeline ran for about twenty feet only before opening out into another channel. She held her breath and pushed her head deeper inside. The rush of water found its way to her. She jumped back down and landed with a splash.

  “Okay,” she began, “I’m gonna have to lift you up to the next pipe.”

  She reached out and plucked him up. Then, carefully, she tucked him into her jacket, with only his furry head visible. She handed the flashlight to him and he clamped it between his teeth. “Okay, here we go,” she said and climbed upwards. Her fingers fixed onto the opening and she climbed out of the water. She lifted them up, bringing both their faces in line with the larger pipe. Scratch’s nose twitched with discomfort. The stench was indescribably bad.

  Rebecca held on tightly with one hand and used her other hand to pull the mutt free. He stepped onto the top of the sludge, slowly sinking deeper, until his paws were completely covered. He turned in the opposite direction, and Rebecca heard the slurps of his steps as he moved deeper inside. The resultant stench of his passing made her feel somewhat light-headed. She gritted her teeth and leaned forwards. With both her hands flattened against the upper, drier part of the pipe, she slid forwards, first on her chest and then on her stomach. Her legs kicked about for a second before the green slick helped her to slide further inside. The light ahead bucked about as Scratch paddled towards the end of the pipeline. Rebecca’s lungs burnt with the need of a clean breath. Thankfully, her ordeal ended almost as soon as it had started. With a loud slurp, she slid out of the pipe and fell the few feet into water.

  The light revealed the presence of a small metal ladder. A layer of slimy green algae covered the lower rungs, and the upper portion was a rusted and flaky mass of corrosion.

  Rebecca swam over to Scratch and joined him at the foot of the small ladder. She took the flashlight and traced the ladder upwards to a small narrow walkway. Like the ladder, the iron platform was a green and rusty patchwork of mildew and decay. She followed the platform around the chamber. It led to an access doorway. Quickly, she scooped the dog up, tucking him into her jacket for a second time. Then she ascended the short metal run and stepped onto the walkway. As her foot touched down on the metal flooring, the entire platform groaned under her weight. She inched her way along the circumference of the platform and eventually reached the doorway unscathed. Scratch released a short bark of triumph as they crossed over the dark threshold.

  “We’re not there yet, boy,” she warned.

  The mutt twisted inside her jacket and ran his tongue across her chin, ignoring the bitter taste that followed. Yap!

  “Where are we?” Rebecca asked, finding herself inside a large cavern. Machinery, ladders and walkways filled the open area in a mass of iron and metal. The machinery lay dormant – a filtration system that had not cleaned water for years – and the ladders and walkways looked about ready to come crashing down. Another platform ran around the wall above, and from her position Rebecca could make out two exit points.

  She walked around the large filtration system and stood on the first step of the nearest staircase. The metal step folded in on itself and red dust fell to the floor. The aging staircase was a death trap, and only rust and an occasional splash of paint appeared to hold the structure together.

  “What do you think?” she asked the dog.

  Scratch whined miserably. An aeon of neglect had reduced the entire arrangement to little more than a pile of red dust. Rebecca avoided the first step, treading lightly on the next. It held – just. It released a slight grating noise but somehow managed to keep its shape. Slowly and with added caution, she climbed upwards. One or two of the steps offered little or no support, forcing Rebecca to take larger steps, but, after a few minutes of anxious climbing, they reached the main platform above. Away from the mould and mildew, the platform seemed reasonably sturdy and safer than the rest of the metalwork that led to it.

  Rebecca pulled Scratch from her jacket. She lowered him to the floor. His claws clicked against the floor panels as he moved towards the nearest exit. Rebecca followed him to the first door. It was a solid-looking mass of metal, formed from a single piece of iron that looked strong enough to keep an army at bay. Hinges as large as Rebecca’s fists held the door in place and a handle as thick as her arm worked the locking mechanism. She pushed down on the handle with both hands. It didn’t budge. She jumped up and held her entire weight off the floor with both her arms locked out straight.

  “Damn it,” she cursed and dropped back down. Scratch wagged his tail in encouragement. “It won’t budge an inch,” she groaned. The terrier moved away, his claws clicking eagerly as he headed for the second exit. He stopped, then turned and barked for her to follow. “We’re trapped,” Rebecca moaned as she joined him.

  This door was every bit as solid and impenetrable as the first. The only difference between the two was that this one had a flywheel rather than a handle as the means of opening it. With little hope, Rebecca placed her hands around the wheel and attempted to turn it.

  “There, I told you,” she said, as the wheel remained fixed solid.

  Yap!

  “It’s no use,” she bleated.

  Yap!

  “Okay – okay,” she said.

  She wrapped her small hands around it again and pulled with all her strength. The wheel released a single short squeal of protest. Scratch spun around after his tail in excitement. Yap! Yap! Rebecca took a deep breath and readied herself. She filled her lungs to capacity and then attacked the flywheel with everything she had. A couple of painful squeaks and squeals followed, but eventually the wheel gave and, with a sudden clockwise spin, the door cracked open. More red dust fell from the hinges as they were forced to move for the first time in many years.

  Scratch poked his nose through the slight gap. He sniffed and the air smelt wonderful compared to the ghastly stench of the chamber below.

  “Let me see,” Rebecca said. Her face filled the crack and her cheeks turned ruddy from a breath of fresher air. A slight draught blew across her face and her eyelashes fluttered in response. She pushed the door further open and then stepped into the middle of an empty passageway.

  “Where are we, boy?” she asked, confused.

  The terrier trotted first one way then the next. He seemed to pick up a scent and continued to head further along. Abruptly, his tail dropped between his legs. The hair along his back rose and a deep growl of warning rumbled out of his chest. Rebecca froze, halfway towa
rds him.

  “What is it?” she whispered.

  WOOF! WOOF!

  The sound made Rebecca jump. She stood rigid, fear holding her firm. Something began to shuffle around the passageway. Its boots scrapped noisily against the rock, and they sounded uncoordinated and heavy. A figure appeared before them. The harsh lights above turned its face ghost-white and sunken. For a second, Rebecca was unsure as to who it was. But then, gradually, the craggy old face revealed itself.

  Doctor Miller.

  Or, more precisely, what had once been Doctor Miller.

  Chapter Fifty

  Jacob felt something heavy pressing down against his chest. The dust cleared and he found the huge, dark vampire lying over him. To his right, he saw the twisted wreckage of a truck or jeep, which was now little more than a pile of smouldering metal. A huge tear had ripped the Airstreamer almost in half. The clouds above looked low enough to touch. The recent storm seemed to have pushed the churning clouds closer to the ground, and the flicker of nearby explosions reflected closely off them.

  Jacob twisted his head from left to right. The floor of the trailer banked upwards at a forty-degree angle, then dropped down at about the mid-point, turning the compartment into an inverted V. Neither his son nor Elliot were anywhere in sight.

  The tracker pushed against the vampire, but the undead fiend was a dead weight. He felt his hands had been released from their bonds. The sheer violence of the impact had freed him. He tasted the coppery tang of blood in his mouth and panicked for a second, thinking the vampire had bled over him. He reached up to his face. His bottom lip felt thick and painful and his fingers came away glistening wet. His own blood, thank God.

  “Elliot?” he wheezed, the deadweight compressing his chest. The call had been barely audible. “Elliot?” he called again, louder. Movement came from his right. Bound hands appeared at the break in the floor. The skin of the knuckles had been stripped away. Elliot’s head appeared, his hair a matted mess of mud and soot. They made eye contact and Jacob asked, “My son?”

  “He’s not on this side,” Elliot responded.

  Fear caused Jacob’s heart to flutter wildly. He looked into every corner of the misshapen trailer. The table Thalamus had sat behind was now overturned and split into three separate pieces. One part had two legs remaining, both pointing upwards, another was little more than a small triangular piece of timber, and the last part – the tabletop – had embedded itself into the side of the trailer at an awkward angle.

  “He’s not on this side, either,” Jacob said worriedly.

  “The impact may have thrown him clear,” Elliot told him. “Stay there. I’ll check around.”

  Jacob tried vainly to prise himself free, his son’s fate adding strength to overtired muscles, but even with all his efforts, the vampire above held him fast.

  In the distance, more explosions sounded as shells thumped into the earth. The wreckage of the Airstreamer rocked slightly with each shockwave. Gunfire and the screams of agony and anger filled in the silences between mortar-fire. Jacob grinned despite himself. The humans must have rejected Ezekiel’s plans of slavery. Good for them.

  ***

  Elliot slid down to the rear of the trailer. Carefully, he threaded his way through the open metal tear. It was pandemonium outside. Soldiers were running around frantically. Some carried fire extinguishers in an attempt to dowse the flames of burning vehicles. Others ran forwards with their weapons drawn and grim determination etched into their bleached faces. One or two limped about, injuries impeding their progress. Finally and, to Elliot’s amazement, some of Ezekiel’s army seemed to be pulling back. The young tracker frowned. The humans did not possess sufficient firepower to threaten such a mighty army.

  Thinking on his feet, Elliot threw the cowl of his cloak over his head and let the garment sleeves drop over his wrists. He waited until a single soldier hobbled past. The vampire’s hands clutched at its sides. Blood oozed out from between skeletal fingers. It looked as if a trail of meat dangled behind him. Yet as he drew closer, Elliot saw that it was actually the vampire’s intestines.

  “What the hell’s happening?” Elliot snarled in the vampire’s direction. He kept his face hidden within the shadows of the hood.

  Despite his horrific injuries, the vampire stopped. “They outnumber us three to one,” he said, through bleached-white lips.

  “They?” Elliot asked.

  “Raphael and his men,” the vampire spat. He stumbled slightly and a jet of blood sprayed onto his boots.

  “You’d better get someone to look at that,” Elliot said.

  The vampire laughed hysterically. He tottered away, his lower intestines close behind.

  The young tracker took a moment to cut his way out of his bonds. He stepped up to the side of the trailer and used the jagged chrome to saw through the rope.

  He searched quickly around the immediate vicinity of the trailer in hope of finding the boy. A couple of charred bodies lay around, some of them half-buried in molten soil. An arm jutted towards the sky, its fingers curled into a fist as if in defiance to the world it had left behind.

  Elliot stepped through this hellish battlefield in search of Jacob’s lost boy. He took his time to examine each and every one of the bodies he came across. Sure to determine that none of them was indeed the remains of the young boy. Mercifully, they were not.

  The sky released a loud, drawn-out wail, and Elliot dived for cover as the incoming missile arced towards him. Less than ten feet to his right, a tree disintegrated in a shower of splinters. The wooden shrapnel flew over his head and stripped flesh from bone as some of the vampires were caught out in the open. A chorus of screams filled the night.

  A different scream, high-pitched and desperate, found its way to him then. He looked up and saw a tall shape with a trail of long hair weaving its way through the darkness. The figure cut through the woodlands as if the hounds of hell were snapping at its heels. The cry for help came again. Elliot knew instantly that it was Jacob’s son. The figure had the boy clutched in its hands and was carrying him deeper and deeper into the woods. Elliot turned back towards the trailer. Did he have time to go and get Jacob? No, he realised, as the figure became a small, dark smear on the canvas of night.

  Elliot jumped to his feet and bolted after the shadow. As he negotiated his way through the woodlands, more shells fell from the sky. Some passed over his head, exploding on the horizon like brief bursts of sunlight. One, however, came dangerously close. It screeched through the night with demented rage and homed in on the tracker’s path. Elliot had a second to curse his bad luck and then the ground in front of him exploded in a shower of dirt. He felt his feet lifted from the ground and the air in his lungs burst from between bloodied lips as he crashed against a tree. The world spun crazily. Then the flickering lights around him blinked out.

  ***

  The vampire twitched. Thalamus’s head jerked upwards and he looked at the tracker through his one remaining eye. His lips parted and blood oozed from a deep gash on his tongue. In a slur, he asked, “What is this?”

  Jacob pushed his head as far back as he could. The vampire’s blood dripped harmlessly onto the front of his jacket. “Get off me and I’ll show you.”

  Thalamus blinked, his senses doing their best to return. He turned his malformed head first one way and then the next.

  “What happened?” he mumbled.

  “You picked the wrong fight,” Jacob told him.

  Thalamus groaned. The human was right – this wasn’t shaping up to be a good day, not good at all. “Hold your tongue human, before I cut it off.” His threat had been weak, and Jacob sensed the vampire’s will to fight had all but abandoned him.

  Then, with an impressive display of strength, the vampire pulled himself upright, his shattered bones seemingly capable of control and movement, and then pulled itself away from the trapped tracker. Jacob climbed unsteadily to his feet after undoing his bound ankles.

  “Where’s the boy?” T
halamus asked. The vampire had rolled onto his back now, but one of his legs was twisted, with his foot pointed awkwardly away. White bone gleamed through dark skin. Jacob looked down at him, and said, “For your sakes, he’d better be alive.”

  “What?” Thalamus asked.

  “He’d better be alive,” Jacob repeated.

  Thalamus stared back, his single eye full of confusion. “What is it to you?” he asked. Before Jacob could answer, the large vampire coughed violently and a bright stream of blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. Internal injuries, Jacob thought. And understanding the giant held no threat, he said, “Because he’s my son.”

  Thalamus blinked and his confusion seemed to ebb away. He chuckled, but the sound was a ghastly gurgle of trapped liquid. The vampire was drowning in his own blood. A second stream of red liquid turned his chin crimson.

  “What the hell’s so funny?” Jacob asked.

  “Me,” Thalamus responded.

  “What?”

  “Me,” the vampire repeated. “Because I actually care.”

  “Care about what?”

  “The boy’s wellbeing,” Thalamus said.

  Jacob opened his mouth but words failed to form. What was his son to the vampire, a readymade meal? “Fuck you,” he snarled.

  Thalamus laughed again, and again it sounded like a death-rattle. “I’m already fucked,” he said, through teeth stained by a deep red. “My master’s compassion appears to have rubbed off on me.” He twisted awkwardly and reached out towards one of the pieces of broken wood. He pulled open a drawer and retrieved a powerful-looking handgun.

  Jacob took a step back.

  “Don’t worry,” Thalamus said, “I’m not going to shoot you. Here, take it.” He jabbed the weapon in the tracker’s direction. “Take it – take it,” he ordered.

  Jacob hesitated for a second before stepping forward and taking the weapon. “Why are you doing this?” he asked, perplexed. “Do you care about my son?”