As Darkness Falls

by David Lucin

  Was this why the Major’s gang had taken over the hospital? To secure medical supplies for treating his burns?

  He plucked a paperweight—a bronze horse with a rider on top—off the desk and turned it over in his hands. “Lucky for us, I had an old partner working a racket in these parts, so I joined up with him. Said thanks for the help by putting a bullet in his head and taking over the operation. Now everything’s just dandy, as you can see.”

  Her mouth went dry. The Major’s almost welcoming air had put her at ease, but her hatred for him returned, fiercer than ever. Since first encountering his thugs collecting so-called taxes from survivors in this part of the city, she’d pictured him as a heartless savage who did nothing but prey on others. He was worse than she could have imagined.

  “No comment?” he asked.

  She snorted at him, though there was little force behind the gesture. “Comment about what? How you turned on your friend and killed him?”

  “I’m pretty sure I said partner, not friend.”

  “You still shot someone who helped you. Betrayed him. You want my opinion on that? All right, here it is: you’re an animal, and you deserve to be put down.”

  His next laugh was more subdued, filled with contempt. “Telling people that story is always the highlight of my day. You know why?” He didn’t wait for an answer, not that she would have responded anyway. “I can really learn a lot about someone by how they react to it. Most gasp or cry or make this pathetic shrieking sound. You? Hardly flinched. Tells me you’ve seen some stuff—or done it.”

  Was that why he’d told her all this? To test her reaction? She wondered if he was lying, but the scars on his face proved at least part of his story. “What do you want with me?” she asked. “I was just getting comfortable in my cell when that mouth-breather with the broken nose came and bothered me, so if you don’t have anything else important to discuss, I wouldn’t mind going back.”

  “Not a big fan of small talk, I see. A shame.” He pushed himself off the desk and walked toward the nearest window. Boards covered this one, but the job looked recent. A defensive measure, likely. “You and your friends from Flagstaff. Your . . . Militia. Is that what you call it? You have supplies, which I need, and you’re my ticket to getting them. I gave your boss, Commander Kipling, until tomorrow at noon to drop off food at a school in Anthem.”

  “And in exchange, you hand us over, just like that?”

  “That’s what they’ve been led to believe.”

  Her skin itched all over. Did he not intend to hold up his end of the deal? Could he have another ambush planned? If so, what would he do with her and the others? “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He returned to the desk and set down the paperweight. “It’s funny. The world became so much bigger after the bombs. No Internet, no phones, no charging stations on every block or in every garage. Flagstaff feels like it’s a thousand miles away, but really, it’s still only a couple hours up the road.” He steepled his index fingers, pressing them to his lips. “I’ve been hearing a lot about Flagstaff lately. Flagstaff this, Flagstaff that. Those refugees who come down the interstate after bumping into your roadblock can’t stop talking about all the food and water you have. You’re really making an impression on them.”

  She began to see where he was going with this, and it made her sick. Biting her tongue, she stared at him blankly and tried desperately not to give any reaction.

  “You know, I’ve enjoyed this little chat. I can tell you’re smart, and I’m sorry to say, my boys aren’t always the sharpest. What did you call Tobias? A mouth-breather? I like that. Might start using it, if you don’t mind.”

  “Knock yourself out.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate it.” He scratched a patch of scarred flesh on his face. “You made me laugh, too. Not many people do that anymore. You’ve been a bit quiet, and I’ve forgiven you so far, but for the rest of the conversation, I’m going to ask for some extra engagement.”

  He popped a knuckle, and terror seized her like she’d been struck by lightning. This was it—the part she’d feared. Lungs tight, unable to breathe, vomit threatening to work its way into her throat, she made herself a promise: no matter what he did, no matter how much he hurt her, she wouldn’t answer any of his questions. Instead, she would think about Sam, about home, take herself somewhere else and bury the pain, tune it out. Yet a tiny voice in her head warned her that it wouldn’t be so easy.

  “Your Militia, how strong is it?” he asked. “My boys say you’re working with the National Guard now, which is too bad. They were a mess until they teamed up with you.”

  “It was you, wasn’t it?” She thought of Pembroke and the dead soldiers at Sunset Point. “You killed those two at the rest stop.”

  “And took their Humvee. Not a major score by any means, but I’ll never turn my nose up at a few M4s and a .50-cal.”

  “You’re disgusting.” Almost instinctively, she shrugged against her restraints. The Major seemed amused, which only fueled the anger in her belly. “The Militia, they’ll find you and—”

  Pain exploded across her cheek. Only when she saw the Major rubbing his right hand did she realize he’d slapped her.

  “I asked how strong,” he growled. “How many men? A hundred? Two hundred? A thousand?”

  She stretched her jaw, still mildly shocked, then clamped her teeth together and pressed down hard. As planned, she tried to focus on anything but the present, but the sting in her cheek anchored her in the moment.

  “Let’s try another one.” He grabbed hold of her face and held it still, forcing her to meet his eyes. “How many Militia are in Flagstaff right now? What about cops?”

  Whipping her head back, she broke free of his grasp. “I’m not telling you anything.”

  A fist struck her gut. The impact emptied her lungs. As she coughed and gasped, he took a handful of her hair and pulled. Fire shot across her scalp.

  “I asked about the cops. How many?”

  Her cheek hurt. Her stomach hurt. Her head hurt. That little voice demanded that she tell the Major whatever he wanted to hear, so long as it made the pain go away.

  Refusing to listen, she summoned what remained of her willpower and spat in his face.

  He hardly flinched when spittle landed on his nose and lips. Gently, he released his grip and dried himself with a sleeve. “Feisty,” he said. “You’re going to regret that.”

  In a flash, he struck her in the mouth. Her vision went black. When it returned, she and her chair lay toppled over on the floor. She tasted blood, and tears leaked from her eyes. The traitorous voice in her head shouted, Just answer him! He’ll let you go if you answer him!

  The door to the office creaked open, and the Major said to his guards, “We’re done here. Throw her in her cell.”

  She was lifted into an upright position. The Major lorded over her as Broken Nose—Tobias—and Skinny Kid cut the zip ties on her wrists and ankles.

  Tobias forced her to stand. Her knees nearly gave out beneath her. Back in his chair, the Major added, “You’re tough, and I applaud your tenacity, but let me make this next point crystal clear.” With his index finger, he gestured to the area around his mouth. “All this? That punch? It’s only the beginning. You have information I want, and you’re going to give it to me. I’m guessing you’ll sing like a pop star once we start pulling off your fingernails with needle-nose pliers. And if you don’t, hey, maybe one of your friends will be more cooperative.”

  * * *

  Tobias pushed Jenn into her cell. She stumbled, falling into the mulch lining the floor. The door rumbled shut behind her, and a lock clicked. “Sweet dreams,” he said to her. “We’ll be seeing you bright and early tomorrow, yeah?”

  He and Skinny Kid sauntered away. When they and the light from the flashlight disappeared around the bend in the passageway, darkness descended over the stables.

  On her hands and knees, Jenn crawled to the corner of her stall closest to Freddie. Her jaw th
robbed. So did her cheek and gut. She wiped blood from her lip and ran her tongue along her teeth to make sure none had fallen out. To her relief, they all seemed to be in their proper place.

  “Jansen,” Freddie said, “are you okay? What happened?”

  Her eyes had adjusted to the low light, and she made out his form on the other side of the cage. The wound on her arm stung, so she rolled up her sleeve and touched it. Her fingers came back damp. Some of the stitches must have broken. How did that happen? When she fell to the floor with her chair after the Major struck her in the mouth? Or when Tobias lifted her up? “Yeah,” she lied, trying to keep the pain from her voice. “I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure? You don’t sound fine.” He sucked air through his teeth, then added, “Your arm. It’s bleeding. So is your lip. Did he hit you?”

  “I said I’m fine. Don’t worry.” A headache pulsed between her ears, and her mouth was bone dry, her tongue like sandpaper. Early symptoms of dehydration, she figured, combined with what could be a minor concussion. She last had a drink before leaving the dollar store more than twelve hours ago. The Major’s men still hadn’t given her any water, despite her prodding, and she doubted they’d bother. They didn’t seem particularly concerned about the well-being of their captives. Tobias had threatened to take away Tanis’s blanket, after all. “It probably looks worse than it is.”

  From across the passageway, Wyatt said, “Jansen? Jansen, are you okay?”

  Jenn winced at the volume of his voice and checked the passageway for signs of the flashlight but didn’t see any. “Yeah, yeah. Keep it down so the guards don’t hear us.” Then, to Freddie in a whisper, “We were right. The Major’s using us for ransom. He told me he gave the Militia until tomorrow at noon to deliver food to a school in Anthem.”

  “So that’s good, isn’t it?” he asked hopefully. “The commander will obviously make the deal.”

  “Liam would, yeah, but the Major doesn’t have any plans to follow through on his end.” Running her fingers across her cheek, she felt a spot where the skin had broken from his slap. “When I asked him if he’d just give us back after he got his stuff, he was like, ‘That’s what the Militia’s been led to believe.’ Then he started asking me a bunch of questions about Flagstaff, like how many cops there are and how strong the Militia is. When I didn’t answer, he punched me in the face.” She dabbed a finger to her lip. “Before he let me go, he threatened to pull out my fingernails the next time we talked. He said if I don’t tell him what he wants to hear, he’ll interrogate you, Tanis, Aiden, Wyatt. All of you.”

  Freddie rubbed the back of his neck, muttering a curse.

  “He’s keeping us because we have information,” she continued. “I bet he has some ambush planned in Anthem so he can take the supplies by force.”

  “And then go to Flag?”

  “That’s what it sounds like.”

  “This is . . .” He trailed off and let out a long sigh. “So what do we do?”

  “We need to get out of here. Tonight.”

  He blinked a few times, perhaps in disbelief, then said, “Okay. But how? When you were gone, I checked everywhere. There’s no way out of these cells. That wood on the roof is screwed in there good.”

  A chill gripped her. Was she cold or simply afraid? She reached for her blanket but noticed the toilet-bucket in the corner. “What about that?”

  “The bucket? If you need to use it again, I’ll look away.”

  “No, I don’t have to go.” She crossed her cell and inspected the bucket more closely, recoiling at the sharp smell of concentrated urine in the bottom. Made of metal, it was wide and deep enough to fit a horse’s muzzle. It had a handle, too. She felt around where it connected to the bucket itself, and with some fidgeting, she managed to detach one end, then the other.

  Freddie asked, “What are you doing? If you’re thinking about picking the lock, I hate to tell you, but that’s kind of thick.”

  “I know that.” She returned to her corner and stuck the bucket handle through the cage. “Feel this.”

  He touched the tip with the pad of his thumb, and his eyes went wide. “It’s sharp.”

  “Exactly.” She scraped one end of the handle along the base of the cage to sharpen it. After a few repetitions, she tested the point and smiled.

  “Okay,” Freddie said skeptically. “You have a shank. So what? The guards have guns, and we’re still trapped in these stalls.”

  “Then we need to convince them to open one somehow.”

  “I don’t see that happening. The only time they’ve come in is to get you.”

  “Well, let’s think of something.”

  She first considered using seduction, but none of the Major’s men had given her a second look, let alone leered at her. Besides, the idea repulsed her and felt like a betrayal to Sam.

  The more she concentrated, the more her headache worsened. She’d been dehydrated before, during a softball doubleheader on a scorching August day in Phoenix. After nearly passing out in center field, she threw up for hours. Now that she was clinically underweight and borderline malnourished, the symptoms appeared that much faster. If she didn’t drink some water soon, come morning, she’d be heaving uncontrollably. Unless . . .

  “I have an idea.” Furiously, she continued sharpening her bucket handle, letting her hatred for the Major and his people fester and grow and burn hot. If her plan worked, she’d exact revenge on at least one of them tonight. “Freddie, you still want to be an actor?”

  “Actor? I don’t think this is a good time to be talking about my career goals.”

  “It’s the perfect time, because you’re about to have the biggest role of your life.”

  16

  Jenn lay face-down on the floor of her cell. The mulch tickled her nose, making her want to sneeze, but the success of her admittedly crazy plan hinged on the guard, Skinny Kid, thinking she was unconscious.

  As the night wore on, Skinny Kid checked on the stalls less and less frequently. During his last visit, about an hour ago, she made sure he saw her heaving into her toilet-bucket. Well, pretending to heave. He’d asked what was wrong with her, and she’d acted too sick to speak. Freddie answered in her stead, explaining that she was dehydrated, but Skinny Kid only continued on his rounds. With Jenn unmoving, hopefully Freddie could convince him to open the cell and bring her some water.

  Footfalls pattered down the passageway.

  “Hey!” Freddie called out, loud enough that Skinny Kid could hear him but his voice wouldn’t carry outside the stables. “Hey, you! There you are. Get over here!”

  The footfalls sped up, but not by much. “What’s the problem now?”

  “Like a half an hour ago, she passed out and hasn’t moved.”

  “Yeah, so? She’s probably just sleeping.”

  “I tried waking her up, but she won’t even flinch.” Panic came through in Freddie’s voice. If Jenn didn’t know any better, she would have assumed he was truly terrified.

  Skinny Kid must have thought so, too, because he asked quickly, “Is she breathing?”

  Now Freddie sounded frustrated. “Hard to tell when we’re in different cells, isn’t it?”

  The footfalls paused, and Jenn sensed the flashlight being shone on her. She remained still, taking slow, shallow breaths so her body wouldn’t move in sync with her lungs. Her right arm lay awkwardly beneath her, concealing the bucket handle, the ends of which she’d sharpened to a point. She would have preferred that Freddie be the one to take out the guard, but she could never lie very well, much less spin a tale like this under pressure. Plus, as a woman who weighed a good fifty or sixty pounds less than Freddie, she would appear less threatening and dangerous, increasing the chances that Skinny Kid would open her cell.

  “She looks fine to me,” Skinny Kid said.

  “Fine?” Freddie echoed, then kicked the cage of his cell in anger. “Look how she’s lying. Nobody sleeps like that. I told you she was dehydrated. She needs water.” His ton
e softened when he added, “Please, you’ve gotta help her.”

  A tense silence filled the stables. And then, “I don’t know. If she still hasn’t moved by the time I come by next, I’ll think about it.”

  Boots padded on the floor, but Freddie said over them, “So if she ends up dying in here overnight, the Major’ll be okay with that?” The boots stopped. “That’s right. I can only imagine how choked the Major will be when he finds out you cost him his prize hostage. You can probably kiss your deal with the Militia goodbye, because there’s no way my commander will hand over jack if she dies.”

  Skinny Kid clicked his tongue, and keys jingled. “Fine. I’ve got a bottle here. She can have that.”

  Jenn tightened her grip on the shank, visualizing how she would attack. When Skinny Kid came to within striking distance, Freddie would give the signal—two coughs. At that, she would roll over and jab the bucket handle into the closest piece of flesh, which would ideally buy her enough time to pull out the weapon and aim for something vital, like his stomach or neck.

  The thought of stabbing a man to death gave her pause, but only for a second. The Major’s men would do the same to her, or worse, without hesitation. This was survival, plain and simple. Kill or be killed. The world of Leviathan at its most extreme.

  Plus, Skinny Kid had her watch, and she wanted it back.

  The door to her cell rumbled open, and boots crunched on mulch. Jenn’s lungs screamed at her, demanding that she take in more air, but she kept her breathing shallow.

  Something thwacked against the floor. The water bottle? “There,” Skinny Kid said. “Happy now?”

  The footfalls continued, but they were moving away, not coming closer. “Wait!” Freddie called out. “Water won’t help if she’s not awake to drink it. You need to get her up or at least check on her.”