Something of the Night (23 page)

Chapter
Thirty-Seven

The beast had returned. It took another step and the
platform shuddered under its might. Hutson tried desperately to pull herself
from under the cable, but her hands failed to find purchase. They slipped
repeatedly on the slick metal surface. The beast lumbered over.

“
BEN
!” she
called, but the wind took her plea in the opposite direction, and the cry went
unheard.

The monstrous beast stopped
at her feet. Its squat head twisted mechanically from one side to the other.
She noticed its right eye, just an open wound. The actual eyeball had been
ripped away. Leaving a grisly hole. And a crust of blood had matted the beast’s
fur into a rock-hard scab directly underneath. Its single, wild eye pinned her
to the floor, adding to the already crushing weight.

Hutson looked frantically
left and right in search of a weapon. Her firearm lay near Ben, propped up
against the railings. Panic washed over her and she flailed about like a
speared fish, desperate to free herself. One of her hands scraped painfully
against something sharp. The agony dragged her senses back to the fore. She
looked at the cable and found sharp pieces of metal tray and a couple of chunks
of masonry attached to it. Reaching out, she began to work one of the metal
slivers free.

On short, bent legs the beast
stepped closer. A gust of wind carried the rank odour of filth and the
wilderness over to her. The thing’s remaining eye fixed itself to Hutson’s
face. Its head tilted to the left as it struggled to get a better view.

The lieutenant gripped the
metal shard tighter. She read hunger in the beast’s eye. But not hunger for
food. It stepped closer and with one muscular arm it prodded at her boot, tentatively.
Two black nostrils flared. The arm returned to her boot. This time thick black
fingers wrapped themselves around her ankle. It tugged effortlessly, and Hutson
felt herself slide along the platform. She took a swipe at the huge arm but the
attack fell short. The beast pulled at her again. She felt her leg twist
painfully underneath the cable. A desperate high-pitched cry of pain burst from
her lips. The beast stopped immediately. It looked at her curiously and Hutson
held her breath. Then it dropped onto all fours before bending its arms
slightly to bring itself closer. Its flat nose twitched again. It snorted as if
in agreement.

What the hell was it doing?
Hutson thought.

It drew even closer and she
got a whiff of its breath. The stench was a choking wave of rot, and it forced
her to turn the other away. The beast reared back and then stretched to its
full height. Tight fists formed to pound fiercely against its chest. The thing
looked infuriated.

Terror struck at the
lieutenant and a muted dumbness fell upon her. Her jaw moved silently. Her mind
screamed out for Ben, but the name refused to form. The beast released a roar
and then rushed at her, its shoulders bunched and its jaws wide open.

***

The walls of books spun as Jacob raced up the spiral
staircase. Leaving the macabre harem of bodies behind, his boots clattered
noisily on the brass steps. He broke through the dark hole in the ceiling and
found himself in a small air-conditioning room. He swept the torchlight over
the room. About twenty small box-shaped units sat rusty and idle. Symmetrical
in arrangement, they formed a maze of straight channels and equally spaced
columns. The low ceiling forced him to bend, and he half-ran, half-crawled, his
way towards the nearest exit. A small access doorway stood ajar and he barged
through it into a tiny electrical control room. Fuse boards and other
distribution units formed a closed metal box.

“Shit!” he snapped.

He turned quickly and pushed
towards the door. A metal panel stopped his retreat. Just above his head, he
found a square grille and understood immediately that it must have been used to
cool the electrics inside. He reached up, ripped the cover away and discovered
a dark tunnel. The vent was about four feet by three feet, angled upwards, and just
about wide enough for him to fit through. He slipped the assault rifle off his
shoulder, tossed it inside and then jumped up.

The vent was a mass grave of
insects, their dried carcasses forming a carpeting of hard, crispy shells. He
gritted his teeth as he began to pull himself through the air system. Twenty
yards in and he reached a junction.

Which way now?

Left or right?

He tried to visualise the
layout of the building, but the enclosed nature of the level below had thrown
out his sense of direction. He could be pointing east, west, north or south for
all he knew.

“What the hell,” he said, and
took the passage to the right.

After just ten yards he was
forced to make another decision. This time: straight on, left or right. Right
would probably take him back to his starting point, and left could lead him
anywhere. Straight on seemed like a safe bet. He shuffled along the vent on his
elbows for a dozen or so more yards. The tunnel ended abruptly. A strong
draught blew against his face. He reached out to find a metal grille blocking
his progress. With the flat of his hand he began to pound away at the
obstruction.

He managed to push the cover
outwards. The strength of the wind sent it spinning into oblivion and almost
sucked Jacob directly out of the vent. He tilted his head up and dark clouds
rolled violently above. Looking down now, he found himself three levels higher
than the observation deck.

He slid further forwards and
found the tip of an access ladder. Headfirst, he climbed out of the airshaft.
Twisting himself upright he climbed down the ladder. He reached the bottom and
his boots thudded hollowly as they connected with a metal walkway.

Directly below him, Jacob saw
Ben struggling with The Ray of Hope. So far he’d managed to load the
searchlight halfway inside the crate. He seemed to be wrestling with one of the
back wheels, which appeared to be stuck against the lip of the ramp. Jacob
checked in the direction of the access doorway. Hutson was not there. He looked
in the opposite direction and she wasn’t there either.

“
BEN
!” he
called.

The large gunner stopped what
he was doing. His woolly head tilted upwards but he was still facing in the
wrong direction.

“
BEN
!” Jacob
called again.

As if guided by the Good Lord
himself, Ben spun slowly, inch by inch, his eyes heavenward, until he finished
face-to-face with Jacob. A large, crooked grin split his face.

“HUTSON?” Jacob yelled.

“WHAT?” Ben asked.

Jacob cupped his hands over
his mouth. “WHERE’S HUTSON?”

Ben frowned. “WHAT?”

“WHERE’S HUTSON?”

The gunner nodded, finally
understanding. He pointed to the right and said, “SHE’S OVER TH-” His sentence
was choked short. Jacob understood at once by Ben’s facial reaction that
something terrible was wrong. The gunner staggered back, his face bleached of
colour.

The huge beast had picked
Hutson up and tucked her roughly under its arm. It half-dragged and
half-carried the lieutenant towards the face of the building. There, it reached
out with its free arm and began to pull both upwards, towards the gantry.

Hutson kicked and screamed.

The sound of her terror
jolted Ben into action. He raced around the observation deck and snatched up
the discarded Browning machinegun. He lifted the weapon and took aim.

“NO!” Jacob cried.

Ben’s finger froze with the
trigger almost all the way.

“SHE’S
TOO
CLOSE,” he
yelled.

Ben sidestepped and pulled
the Browning into his shoulder. The gunner fired quick, short bursts of three
of four shots. Bullets cut through the darkness, ripping up chunks of masonry
and metalwork. Jacob yelled for him to stop, but then he realised what the
gunner was doing. He was laying down fire to the right of the beast, forcing it
to the left and towards the gantry. Jacob dropped to one knee, flipped the M16
to single-fire, pulled the weapon tight and then held his breath. He would only
get one chance at this.

The gantry buckled violently
upwards. The metal walkway and wires screeched in protest as they twisted and
rubbed together. A floor panel directly in front of Jacob burst upwards before
disappearing into the night with a whoosh of air. The shockwave knocked him off
his feet and the rifle slipped from his fingers. It clattered away,
disappearing over the edge of the walkway.

A hairy head appeared where
the hole had been punched out. The head swelled out into broad shoulders, and
Jacob caught a flash of silver and black hair on the beast’s back. Huge muscles
bunched together as it climbed up onto the platform. It stepped onto the
gantry. Then turned to the tracker. A single, furious eye held Jacob to the
floor. The other eye was an open red crater.

Hutson tried to break free,
but the solid arm held her tight. She felt the arm tighten around her chest and
her breath was crushed out in a wheeze.

Jacob thrust his arm out in
warning. “Don’t fight it,” he told her. Her terrified face stared back.
“Whatever you do, don’t fight it,” he said. “Remain calm, let it take you. I’ll
be right behind.”

She nodded, understanding his
orders. Her legs went limp and her arms wrapped themselves tightly around the
beast’s huge forearm.

Jacob began to pull himself
up. A colossal roar dropped him back as the beast drew closer. Its jaws opened
wide, and Jacob remembered the shattered bone fragments he had found in the
thing’s den. He fell onto his back and waited. The single eye looked at him intently,
and for a second he thought real hatred burned there. He held his breath. He
wouldn’t last two seconds against the thing. Then, unexpectedly, it turned and
fixed itself to the face of the building. Using its free arm and legs, it
scaled the tower effortlessly.

Jacob bolted into action. He
rolled over and looked for the fallen M16. Amazingly, it was directly
underneath him, dangling by the strap from a sliver of metal. He snatched the
weapon back. Then climbed to his feet. Ben called to him from behind. As he
turned, Black Bird appeared out of the darkness. The rotors thudded like
thunder. Any chance of communication was drowned out. Resorting to simple hand
gestures, Jacob first pointed to The Ray of Hope and then to the Huey. Ben
shrugged. Jacob repeated the action but this time more emphatically. Ben
nodded, and the tracker turned his back. The gunner must save the searchlight
or this trip would be all in vain.

Jacob threw the weapon over
his shoulder and took hold of the access ladder. The speed at which he ascended
would have impressed the beast. He reached the ventilation shaft in seconds and
used it to step up to the next level. Reaching up, his hand found a gutter that
ran along the edge of the brickwork. He used it to pull himself up. Once he’d
scaled the wall, he found himself on a narrow rooftop. The rest of the levels
rose in tiers, which gradually reduced in diameter until the last one became
the base of the lightning rod. Each tier had a small workman’s ladder
connecting it to the next.

Level by level he tracked the
beast’s progress. Now out of breath, he found himself at the foot of the huge
lightning rod. A tower of metal crisscrossed upwards, disappearing into the
thick of the dust. The beast had already climbed to about fifty feet above.

Jacob groaned.

This was going to be one hell
of a climb.

Chapter
Thirty-Eight

Ezekiel looked out and watched as a thousand
foot-soldiers marched past. For a second, he felt almost sad that there would
be no battle - such an impressive army should be tested, but peace must prevail
if his army was to survive. Hell, if their race was to survive, he thought. A
spring had returned to their step. The night’s feeding had replenished and
energised their resolve. The fifty or so miles would be an easy undertaking now
that they marched on full stomachs.

“Impressive,” Brother Trask
said.

Ezekiel turned and looked
into the round face of the squat lieutenant. A healthy glow burnt on the
vampire’s cheeks. Armour decorated his body with a series of metal plates, leather
belts and buckles, and a dinted helmet adorned his head, turning him into some
sort of medieval warrior. Trask revelled in his position, a true warrior
indeed. He’d helped win many battles over the years, and the vampire leader was
not going to question or criticise the other’s eccentricities. Trask was one of
a few who had actually been born to become one of the undead. The irony of his
thoughts made Ezekiel chuckle softly.

“What?” Brother Trask asked.
A rifle with spikes hammered through its stock hung at his side.

“Nothing, just glad to have
you on
my
side,” Ezekiel replied.

Trask nodded knowingly.
They’d seen many battles together and would probably see many more. For
although they planned a truce with the humans, there were still many more
vampire factions scattered across these battered plains. And all would be in
pursuit of their prize.

“What if they don’t buy it?”
Trask asked, referring to the truce.

“They’ll buy it. What other
options do they have?”

“The option to fight. As they
always have.”

“Man is tired of fighting.
Their resolve will crumble once they see our numbers,” Ezekiel commented. He
swept his hand outwards. “Look.”

Trask stepped to the edge of
the watchtower. Below, the soldiers marched on, taking their first steps
towards peace. Behind them came eighteen-wheeler trucks. All had been cleaned
of the inhuman decorations that once adorned their rigs, and now the trailers
they pulled harboured Ezekiel’s living treasure. Some of the lead vehicles
carried banners that fluttered wildly in the wind. Once, the banners had
depicted symbols of terror or power: a body impaled on a wooden stake, or a
fist clenching the hilt of a dagger. Now, the standards offered peace and
reassurance with their portrayals of flying doves or two hands in an embrace of
friendship. It had been Ezekiel’s plan to change their standard to one more
pleasant; for man needed to be sure that their intended saviours meant no harm.

The vampire leader turned to
the towering figure at his side. Thalamus’s dreadlocks flapped wildly about his
head like spitting serpents.

“Your intelligence from the
south, is it correct?” Ezekiel asked.

The large head nodded and
bones rattled in the wind. “My scouts tell me that Raphael has moved deeper
into the
northern territories
. He has an army that’s equal to ours, although he too
suffers with his own shortage of provisions.”

Ezekiel nodded. The southern
clans were an excellent example as to why the humans needed to form an
allegiance. They could not hide in their underground sanctuaries forever. Any
number of nightmares could be waiting for them to emerge.

“This may work to our
advantage,” Ezekiel said.

“How?” both Trask and
Thalamus asked.

“If the southern clans appear
at just the right time, then our offer of salvation will seem like an act of God.
Sent there to save them from the cruel fangs of Raphael and his legion of
undead soldiers.”

“Perhaps,” Trask agreed.

Ezekiel watched as the
impressive army moved away from the prison walls and headed into the
surrounding woodland. They dissolved into the trees, a mass of fear, which
filtered away, adding to the darkness that already festered there. A thought
invaded his mind and before he could banish it and the notion clung to his
consciousness, refusing to let go. He pictured a battle between the southern
clans, both armies suffering significant casualties, which would lead to a
massive reduction in his numbers. It wasn’t a worrying thought that scratched
at his brain, either, but a surprisingly optimistic one. Their numbers had
swelled to breaking point and an opportunity to reduce them was one to be
welcomed. He felt guilty for allowing the thought to develop, but couldn’t deny
the positive aspect of such an encounter. The humans they were hoping to assist
would not be enough to sustain an entire army. Think of the greater good, he
told himself, and with that the thoughts of guilt retreated into the darker
recesses of his mind.

Ezekiel felt a small hand
pull at the crease of his pants. He looked down and found the little boy
standing next to him. He patted the boy’s head and smiled. The boy raised both
his arms and held out his hands. Ezekiel leaned down, picked him up and then
carefully sat him on the railing of the tower. The little boy watched the
procession intently. A fleet of trucks rolled by. And the air around them
turned thick with the stench of diesel fumes. The boy held out one hand, and
said, “Mine … mine,” as one of the trucks lumbered by. He turned to the vampire
leader and stared at him through anxious eyes. “Mine,” he repeated, and a single
teardrop rolled from the corner of his eye to the curl of his lip.

He turned back to the truck.
“Mine…”

***

The trailer swung violently from side to side, and its
occupants were jostled about in the tight, compact space. Hannah and the
teenager held onto each other and waited for the rough ride to end. Eventually,
they felt the ground below them smooth out and the ride became instantly more
bearable. A weak strip of light flickered above them, illuminating the interior
intermittently. About twenty bodies had been packed inside and, although the
journey had only just begun, the air within had already become stale and hard
to breathe.

“Are you okay, honey?” Hannah
asked the young girl.

She nodded faintly. “Just a
little sick, that’s all.”

Hannah wasn’t sure if the
girl meant from the ride or the whisperings about the northern prisoners’ fate.
She didn’t push the matter. Already, dreadful rumours of a mass banquet had
begun to filter through the camp, from one prisoner to the next, and those
remaining could only offer a prayer that the culling had been swift and
merciful.

Suddenly, and without
warning, a warm glow spread from the pit of Hannah’s stomach. The unexpected
feeling caused her to gasp. It was not painful or uncomfortable but … pleasant.

He was close.

Very close.

She closed her eyes and
allowed the sensation to grow. It swelled from her stomach to her chest, and
her heart quivered with the effect. She tried to imagine what he would look
like now, five years after they had taken him. Would he look like his father?
Yes, she thought, surely he would. He would be six soon and a handsome young
boy, and should have been close friends with fun and laughter, not a companion
of the bastard that ruled the army of undead.

The truck moved on and the
strange sensation dwindled slightly. She held onto it though, the feeling of
love returning to her very core – a private treasure that could not be taken
away from her captors.

No matter what.

***

Bara’s bloated face peered intently through the
windshield. Most of the soldiers ahead had disappeared into the shadows of the
woodlands. Forced to take the long road, the convoy of trucks had pulled away
from the main body of soldiers and moved onto the deserted highway. A swarm of
jeeps buzzed about them, acting as an escort; most were armed with fixed
machineguns or other weapons of destruction.

Bara turned to the driver,
her face a ghastly full moon of swollen flesh. “Step on it,” she ordered.

The driver pulled his eyes
away from the road for a second. “We’re to maintain formation,” he responded.
He twitched nervously and cursed his luck for being assigned to this transport.

“To hell with our orders,”
Bara spat. “Step on it.”

The driver sighed. He pressed
down on the gas and the rig roared with approval. Their surroundings became a
sudden blur of darkness as they accelerated away from the main convoy.

Bara forced her ample frame
into the back of her seat. She grinned, and the gesture was anything but
pleasant. Her thoughts turned towards the ensuing confrontation. To hell with
Ezekiel and his foolhardy alliance! She had plans of her own – plans that did
not involve freedom or friendship or forgiveness.

Just one thing.

Pain and suffering.