Dark of Night - Flesh and Fire (12 page)

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 trailing 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.”

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.

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.

Ledger sagged and gave a rueful snort. “Christ, I’m getting old. I didn’t even hear you.”

“You could have gotten killed,” snapped Dez.

Lindsey ignored her. “I saw the wheelbarrow. I think it’s big enough.” She looked down at Baskerville. “Will he be okay?”

Ledger saw the fragile smile on the girl’s trembling mouth, and he nodded.

“Yeah,” he said, and hoped it wasn’t another lie.

The girl’s gaze drifted around, alighting on each of the fallen, bloody men. She abruptly jerked back. “Oh, God!”

Ledger and Dez turned to see one of the killers tremble and then sit up. Another was beginning to twitch as well. Ledger began to rise, but Dez pushed him back down.

“I got this,” she said as she picked up the big double-headed axe. She cut a look at Lindsey. “Don’t look, honey.”

But Lindsey did look, her eyes filling with strange lights as Dez brought the gleaming blade up and down, up and down, up and down. The field became unnaturally still until Baskerville broke the silence with a soft whimper.

“I’ll get the wheelbarrow,” said the girl.

“Not alone,” said Dez.

Lindsey led Dez to the barn and they hurried back with a big Jescraft wheelbarrow of the kind called a Georgia buggy. Sturdy, with a big tray and thick wheels. It took all three of them to lift the whining, struggling, uncooperative dog into it. Dez collected the weapons from the dead men.

They did this all in silence and walked back to the farmhouse without a word, without a comment about the living or the dead.

Inside, Ledger and the others moved Baskerville onto one of the sleeping bags and placed a pillow under his head. They worked together to clean the wound and Ledger held the big dog’s head while Dez used needle and thread to stitch it closed. Thirteen stitches. Baskerville shrieked at first and it was all Ledger could do to hold the animal still, but it was Lindsey who kept the dog from going completely wild. She knelt beside Ledger and began stroking his neck and shoulder, speaking slowly and softly in crooning sing-song voice. It calmed Baskerville by slow degrees, but there was a slightly disjointed quality in the girl’s voice that chilled Ledger.

Kid’s way out on the edge
, he thought.
Holding on by her fingernails.

He couldn’t blame her. He was pretty ragged himself. And he wondered if anyone was—or could possibly be—sane anymore. He doubted it. Not in this world. Not anymore. Sanity seemed to have been consumed by the hungry dead along with security, faith and hope. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hang a label on what was left. ‘Survival’ was too clinical a word for it, and he was afraid that the motivation they all had left was closer to ‘delusional’.

When she was done sewing and the dog was resting, Dez turned to Ledger and poked him hard on the chest. “Tell me about Billy,” she demanded.

He did. He and Baskerville had working their way from one National Guard rescue station to another, trying to find one that hadn’t already been overrun. At each point, though, they found only evidence of disaster. One camp had high walls and stout locks, but everyone inside was already turned. In another they found only blood and a few corpses with head wounds. He found no survivors at all, and every day was a running battle against the zombies.

Then one morning while he and Baskerville were moving along a stretch of highway he saw smoke rising behind a distant stand of trees. They went to investigate and found four big yellow busses sitting dead on a side road, victims of the EMPs. A rough stockade had been built around the vehicles, though, made from branches torn down from the lush trees and tired together with vines, belts and strips of cloth. Sharpened branches were thrust outward from the dense walls of green and it made a formidable and intimidating barrier. However Ledger could see a dozen ways to get through it, over it or past it. It was the kind of protection that would be made by someone who had a good imagination, some common sense, but no real understanding of military tactics. Fair enough.