Dark of Night - Flesh and Fire

by Jonathan Maberry

  “So what?” said Dez as she got slowly to her feet. She rubbed her throat and seemed surprised not to find a drop of blood.

  “Two things,” said Ledger, “first, I had the blunt edge against your throat. You couldn’t tell, but there it is. I just wanted to calm this crap down.”

  She glared at him.

  “Second, you’re supposed to be dead,” he told her.

  “Says who?” she demanded.

  “Says Billy Trout. Or, that’s what he thought last time I saw him.”

  Dez Fox took a step toward him, but then her legs buckled and she dropped to her knees, her eyes wide, mouth working, hands balled into fists. “Billy…?” she said in a tiny voice. “Billy? You saw him? You really saw him? Oh my god…is he alive?”

  Ledger smiled. “Yeah,” he said. “And so are a whole bunch of kids who all think you’re dead.”

  Dez fell sideways and barely caught herself on one hand. She looked like she was going to pass out and she swayed, dizzy and gasping. “Wh-where?” she stammered. “Oh my Christ—where are they?”

  Ledger opened his mouth to answer but his words were instantly drowned out by a long, terrible howl of animal pain from outside. Dez and Ledger raced over to the windows and stared out. Lindsey got up and joined them.

  Outside, deep in the tobacco field but clearly defined by cold moonlight, figures were moving. They did not lumber like the ungainly dead. Instead they moved with the quick, furtive and deliberate movements of the living. Of hunters.

  Of killers.

  And they were closing in on the spot where Ledger had left Baskrville, drawn by the animal’s terrible howls of pain.

  ~22~

  Rachael Elle

  Rachael sat in in the driver’s seat, foot propped up on the dash, biting her lip, weighing her options. She did not want to be here much longer, but she knew the children were going to fight her about staying there as long as they could. The sun was almost down, there was no sign of this Dez woman, and then what? The men would probably be coming soon, and she couldn’t risk any of them being there when they arrive. That would spell certain death for them, or worse, judging by the vibes she got from that man.

  But alone in the woods? At night? In darkness, with scared, unarmed children with no means of defense? That would leave them open to attacks from animals, humans, and Orcs. That wasn’t a good option either.

  She needed to figure out a plan. The kids were resting wearily, some of the older ones watching her while the rest slept. They would be safe here as long as she didn’t go too far out of sight.

  “I’m going to go see if maybe Miss Dez is around here somewhere. I’m not going far, just up the road a little. If you need me, I’ll be able to hear you,” Rachael said to one of the older boys, and he nodded as she strapped her swords back into place and headed out of the bus.

  She first stopped by the other side of the bus, dreading what she was going to see as she approached the body of her companion. She choked back bile and tears as she looked down at his body, but didn’t let herself look long.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered to him, reaching down to stroke his forelock one last time, before unhooking her packs she could reach from the saddle. She checked the supplies, which seemed a bit crushed but not damaged, and then reached to check for her cellphone. It wasn’t in its usual pocket, and Rachael sighed, missing it, feeling it’s loss.

  And yet....

  It was an artifact from the world before. That was not this world anymore. That was not her world anymore.

  So she turned away, shouldering her bag and continuing down the road away from the bus, looking for any signs of people, good or bad, living or dead.

  But there was nothing. The sun was low in the sky, casting a bloody haze over the horizon.

  Appropriate, Rachael mused to herself. Ominous.

  “A little obvious, though, don’t you think?” she asked the sunset. It ignored her and continued to bleed colors across the horizon.

  Suddenly the distant crack of a gunshot startled Rachael back into focus. She froze, listening to the echoes, trying to source the sound. It wasn’t nearby. No. A few miles away at least, but it was there. She strained to listen for more. And they followed, the repetitive popping of distant gunfire.

  It had to be the men coming for them. The panic rose in her heart.

  She needed to move the group, get them to safety. They were her problem now; she needed to make sure they survived.

  Be the hero they need.

  It was now or never.

  ~23~

  The Ranger and the Cop

  Ledger ran across the room, scooped up his fallen gun, then kept moving through the house.

  “Where are you going?” demanded Dez.

  “Back door,” he said as he ran. “Stay with the girl.”

  He opened the back door, checked the yard, and went out quickly and silently. There had been five men in the field and there had been the glint of metal in the moonlight. Guns or blades. Probably both.

  Baskerville’s howls filled the air, hiding what few sounds Ledger made. The dog sounded angry as well as hurt, and that was a good sign. If the poor bastard was simply dying there would be only the wail of despair that Ledger had heard too many times before from mortally wounded animals. But there was still fight in Baskerville’s voice.

  He heard men’s laughter, though, and that was a bad sign. It meant that they weren’t afraid of the dog.

  Ledger ran low and fast. Once upon a time he’d been an army ranger, and then he’d been a cop in Baltimore, and for years and years after that he’d been the senior field agent for Echo Team. He’d led the best of the best into combat all over the world, facing all manner of terrors. He’d learned the habits of stealth from necessity. Haste not only made waste, it made corpses. Sometimes it was better to move slower in order to get all the way to the enemy’s door without him knowing it. There would be time for speed soon enough.

  He heard a man say, “Leave it. Stupid mutt’s not worth a bullet.”

  The voice floated to him through the dark and it lit a match to the gasoline in Ledger’s heart. He quickened his pace and brought his pistol up.

  Five men painted silver by the moon. Black eyes and black mouths, and the black mouths of gun barrels. Were these men with the Nu Klux Klan, or just another pack of human predators hunting the wild? Ledger didn’t know and at the moment he did not much care. The men were closing in around the depression in which Baskerville lay. One of them held a pitchfork, and as Ledger watched the man raised it to strike.

  Ledger was thirty feet from them when he opened fire.

  The first bullet took the man with the pitchfork in the chest and staggered him, but before the man could fall Ledger put two into a hulking figure beside him. The center-mass shots knocked a wet cough out of the bigger man’s throat and he sat down hard on the ground.

  Then everything went crazy.

  The other three men began firing and trying to swing weapons and stab all at the same time. A small man with a big automatic began firing wildly and his first three rounds hit the wounded man with the pitchfork, blowing away jaw and teeth. Ledger ducked under the swing of a double-headed logging axe and then rammed the attacker backward into the line of fire. The axe man’s body juddered as five rounds blew the blood and life out of him. Ledger whirled again and used his free hand to parry a slash with a hunting knife, then he buried the barrel of his buried under the knife-man’s chin and blew off the top of his head.

  That left the small gunman, who stood momentarily stunned as his comrade with the axe sagged down to the ground in a bloody sprawl. Ledger put three rounds into the gunman, two in the chest and one between his goggling eyes.

  Then, suddenly, Desdemona Fox appeared out of the gloom, gun raised in both hands, and fired. Ledger pitched to one side, half aware that there was something behind him. A sixth man he hadn’t seen. He landed, rolled and came up in a combat crouch, gun tracking a body that fell backward trailin
g blood from a shattered breastbone.

  He swung his barrel back toward Dez to see that she was now pointing her weapon at him.

  The moment froze.

  A few yards away Baskerville whined in pain.

  Ledger saw the black eye of Dez’s Glock staring at him with unwinking intensity, and her own mad, wide eyes behind it.

  He lowered his weapon, released the magazine, swapped in a new one, and turned away from her. Her gun was still pointed at him and he knew that he was taking a terrible risk.

  “Make sure there’s no one else,” he said, as if they had been working together all along. “I have to see to my dog.”

  ~24~

  Rachael Elle

  How do you motivate a bunch of scared kids to do anything? Rachael worked as a camp counselor once in high school, but that was different. This was life or death, but you couldn’t say that to children. This was not her area of expertise.

  But the time was now. She couldn’t wait any longer.

  Sitting down in the seat in front of a few of the older children, she addressed them seriously, looking them all in the eye.

  “I need all of you to help me. We need to get everyone to a safe place, and I know one not too far away. But I need all of you to help me get everyone there.”

  “I’m scared,” said one of the girls softly.

  “I know you’re scared,” Rachael told her. “I get scared too. Being scared is what keeps you alive; it’s what keeps you on your toes. You don’t think that Batman gets scared sometimes? Wonder Woman? Captain America? Even Spider-man gets scared. But you know what they do?”

  They looked at her silently, eyes wide.

  “They face their fears. They look the bad guys right in the eyes, even when they’re afraid, and they fight them. They help those who are smaller than them, who can’t protect themselves. They stay good people. They fight for what is right.”

  She paused, looking between each of them.

  “I know I’m asking a lot of you. But I need all of you to be brave. Do you think you can do that for me? Because I know everyone one of you has a superhero inside of you.”

  Rachael looked the girl that had spoken first. “Who’s your favorite superhero?”

  “Supergirl.”

  “I want you to pretend to be Supergirl. No, I want you to be her. You’re big and strong and brave. You protect people in need. You defend the helpless. I need you now to each pick your favorite superhero, and I want you to be them. Close your eyes and choose one. Say their name out loud. Picture them in your head. Be them.”

  Each of the older children closed their eyes, focusing hard. Rachael heard a variety of names being said, from Spider-man to Thor (Rachael tried hard not to think about her Thor waiting back for her) to Black Widow to Batgirl. A good variety of heroes each of them idolized. She could see each of their faces lighting up as they pictured themselves as their heroes, a momentary blip of childhood happiness in a world that had forced them to grow up too fast.

  “Do you have them all?” she asked after a few moments. They all nodded, opening their eyes. “Because all of you are heroes, and the moment that you step out of that bus, there are going to be monsters, and bad men, but superheroes will always triumph. I want you to remember that. You are all heroes.”

  She gave each of them one of the knives she’d been collecting, warning them to be careful with them, that they were only if they needed to use them. When she got to the final girl, her little Supergirl, she pulled one of her own daggers and handed it to her gently.

  “This knife is very special. It was given to me by Wonder Woman herself, and I know that it’s going to help you be very brave.”

  Standing again, she looked over the group of older kids.

  “Now, we need to get everyone together. I want each of you to take the hand of one of the younger kids, because we need to stay together. I don’t want anyone wandering off. As soon as we get to the safe house I’ll make sure we go looking for Miss Dez. But until then, we need to be fast and quiet, okay?”

  Peering out of the windows of the dark bus, she pushed the door open cautiously, glancing around for human or undead threats. It seemed clear for now, the full moon overhead casting a pale glow over the landscape. Behind her, each of her heroes were pairing off, taking care of one of the younger kids, explaining to them that they had to go, to be safe. Rachael’s heart warmed, even though the fear she was hiding, hearing these children take care of each other like that. Evil can’t win if there’s love in this world.

  Gesturing to the first hero and pointing down the road to a sign, she watched each of the kids cautiously, nervously checking around for any movement, from living or dead. But the air was still and calm, and she couldn’t sense any close threats.

  As the last pair exited the bus, she checked inside, making sure that there were no more children hiding. With it clear, she silently moved over to the children, taking the lead and gesturing for them to follow her.

  The path that she had taken out of the woods was clear in the moonlight, and she turned down it cautiously, her heart pounding in her chest.

  Woods at night were prime target for an ambush, and she could feel the tension and fear in the air from the children behind her. A twig cracked underfoot and one of the kids cried out in fear before the older child with him clasped a hand over his mouth.

  But there were no sounds following, no moans or shuffling feet, and they continued on into the darkness, to what Rachael hoped would be safety.

  ~25~

  The Ranger and the Cop

  Joe Ledger knelt beside the big dog. Baskerville was barely conscious and whined piteously. Ledger shifted around to let moonlight spill on the animal as he gently probed for wounds. His heart was racing and he felt a terrible chill deep in his bones. Baskerville was a combat dog and a companion, that was true enough, but he was more than that to the ranger. He and the dog had been through everything together. Wars on foreign soil, battles with terrorists here in America, the crash of Ledger’s helicopter once he’d returned to the States, the long and heartbreaking hunt for Ledger’s family, and the endless battles since with both the living and the dead. Losing him now would inflict a deep wound and despite what he chose to show to the world, Ledger was not at all sure he could survive that kind of injury. Baskerville was the last living creature that he truly loved.

  “Come on, boy,” he said in a soft, soothing voice as his fingers probed in and around the pieces of leather armor, “it’s all okay, everything’s going to be fine.”

  He hated the thought that he might be lying.

  From the way the dog had fallen Ledger expected to find a big, gaping wound. There was certainly a lot of blood. It was everywhere, black as oil in the blue-white moonlight.

  Ledger heard Dez move closer but he didn’t look up.

  “Six of them,” she said. “They’re all down.”

  Baskerville yelped as Ledger’s fingers moved up from his shoulder along the muscular neck to the dog’s head. Then suddenly yellow light bathed the dog, turning the black blood to bright red, as Dez Fox aimed a small Mag-light down. Ledger cut her a microsecond of a look, nodded, and went back to examining his dog.

  He found the wound, and once more his heart sank. The entire side of Baskerville’s head was painted with blood.

  “Oh, Christ,” Ledger breathed.

  Dez knelt beside him, holding the light at a better angle. “How bad is it?”

  “I don’t know. I need to get his helmet off.” Ledger was as careful as he could be, but Baskerville whined and yelped as the ranger undid the buckles on the thick leather armor. He held the dog’s head in one hand, lifting it to pull the iron-studded helmet off, then he dropped it and bent closer still to examine a long, bloody wound. Then Ledger frowned and reached for the helmet again, holding it in the flashlight’s glow.

  He suddenly barked out a harsh laugh.

  “What’s wrong?” demanded Dez.

  “Look,” he said, holding out
the helmet. She took it from him and examined it. One section was torn and the heavy iron stud was pushed down through the leather. That part of the helmet was smeared with blood. Then Ledger lightly touched Baskerville’s head in the spot corresponding to the damaged helmet. “The bullet hit the stud but it didn’t penetrate.”

  “He’s not dying?”

  Ledger shook his head. “No, thank God. At least not from this. He has a pretty nasty scalp wound and probably the worst headache in canine history, but the skull isn’t shattered.”

  “Concussion?” she asked uncertainly.

  Ledger was silent for a moment. “No way to tell.” He stroked the dog’s neck and spoke to the animal. “You scared the crap out of me, you big goof. Luckily you got your granddad’s hard head.”

  Baskerville whined again, but now his big tail whapped the ground.

  “The stud was probably pressing down on a nerve,” he said. “I think he’ll be okay once he shakes it off, but we can’t leave him out here.”

  As if to emphasize his words there was a faint moan from the black forest. More of the dead were out there. And maybe more of the living, too.

  “Help me get him to the house,” said Ledger.

  “How much does he fucking weigh?” asked Dez, eyeing the animal.

  “A lot.” Ledger looked around. “Is there a wheelbarrow or something?”

  “How the hell would I know?”

  “You’re here,” he said. “Why wouldn’t you know?”

  “No…I got here right before you did. I have no idea what they have here.”

  “There’s a wheelbarrow in the barn,” said a voice behind them and they both spun, guns back in their hands. But it was only Lindsey, pale as a ghost, standing at the end of the flashlight’s glow.