Nightfall

by Elizabeth Hartwell

  Tym calls out quietly to us that lunch is ready, and we eat well. I feel good as we start the afternoon, but the feeling doesn’t last long.

  “Hey, Brandon, so what were you using the computer for?” Lance asks, popping a morsel of roasted mushroom in his mouth. “Games?”

  I can hear that Lance doesn’t mean anything by it, but yet again, his timing’s off. I don’t know why, but for some reason Brandon gets pissed off. “Fuck you, Lance.”

  Lance tilts his head, confused. He’s taken aback after almost a whole morning of him and Brandon more or less getting along, “What the fuck, man? Something crawl up your ass and die while you were taking a break?”

  “Lance—”

  “No!” Lance says, ignoring Brandon’s outraged look to look at me. “Cerena, I get it, Brandon’s got his shit to deal with, but I’m not being a dick here. I’m tired of our little reincarnated reject here acting like some emotional dickhead just because he can.”

  Brandon opens his mouth to retort but closes it so hard I can hear his teeth click together painfully and slams his fist into the turf before getting up and storming off. Tym gets up to go after him, but I reach out, grabbing his wrist. “Let him go.”

  “But he’s—”

  “Let him go, Tym,” I repeat, keeping my voice level and just loud enough that Lance can hear me too. “He needs to blow off some steam and he’s dealing with . . . issues.”

  “Aren’t we all?” Lance asks, saying nothing for the rest of lunch. I know he’s not happy with my decision, but he’s going to hold his tongue for now. When he’s done, he stands up, wiping his hands on his pants. “I’m gonna go take a piss, then use the stream to wash up a little.”

  He leaves as well, leaving me and Tym alone. I sigh, looking down at the remains of my lunch, a few leaves that I just couldn’t eat any more of. “Fuck, this is a complicated mess.”

  Tym nods, chewing the last of his mushroom pieces. “I’m sure that you faced difficulties working with Hunters. And you struggled with them then as well. After all, isn’t that why you were a soloist?”

  “I don’t have that choice now, and I honestly don’t want that option,” I admit, looking up at him. The idea of being solo again, of not having those rope-like dreads to run my hands through or to not have that deep, sexy voice to give me advice . . . inconceivable. And that’s just Tym. Lance and Brandon are equally as irreplaceable, equally as unique. “But Tym, this isn’t like the Hunters. Hunters, we lived together, trained together. As much as we were different from each other, we shared a foundation that was forged through the Academy. No matter if it was a rookie Hunter or the most senior Team Leader, we had the same foundation. We went through the same classes, the same trials, we had esprit de corps drilled into us from the time we were practically toddlers. Now, the four of us have to go up against that same system, that same mindset and unit cohesion.”

  “A difficult task for any group.”

  “Considering how different we are, it might just be impossibly stupid,” I admit. “Sure, we’ve got some superhuman powers on our side. But despite our all having some form of metaphysical lineage, we’re just four people,” I muse. “Going against how many thousands of Hunters and werewolves?”

  “The odds are long against us, that is for certain,” Tym agrees, resting his elbows on his knees. “In all your studies growing up inside the Academy, I’m sure you learned a lot of military history. But history doesn’t remember the small unit leaders most of the time. And in a thousand years, perhaps nobody will remember us at all.”

  “We’d have to win to be remembered.”

  “I doubt even then,” Tym says, smiling softly. “But it doesn’t matter. People may not even know whether what we’re doing is right or wrong. What will matter is that we’re making the journey, that we’re willing to spit in the eye of overwhelming forces and the gods themselves.”

  “Sounds like you’re serious about this.”

  Tym nods. “I thought this through. I’ve made my choice, Cerena. I’m with you, no matter what.”

  I reach over, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze. “Thank you. It makes this a little less lonely.”

  Chapter 11

  Cerena

  The northwest region of Solace’s territory is one of the stranger places I’ve ever been. Sitting inside the roughly hundred-mile radius that represents Solace’s zone of protection, the land still holds a lot of the intensity and hints of danger that I’d expect being closer to both Bane’s sphere of influence and close enough to the mountains that they have to deal with winter stalkers during the colder months as well.

  “They don’t like strangers around here, do they?” Brandon asks as we pass another farm, the weapons strapped across the backs of the workers in the fields only slightly more obvious than the glares burning from their windburned faces. “What’s the deal? I haven’t seen people this strapped since the last time we walked through downtown Bane.”

  “They don’t like outsiders much,” Lance says, doing his best to mend fences with Brandon after their blowup a few days ago.

  I give Lance a lot of credit. He’s really trying to be a good guy in all of this. He’s practically been biting his tongue on two sides, not teasing Brandon nor giving him any blowback over Brandon’s temper. At the same time, he’s been just as supportive and playful with me as ever, teasing out smiles and laughs that way. I appreciate it, and I’m even more appreciative when he looks over at me with enough heat to remind me that he’s got a lot more on his mind than just making me laugh.

  “Can you fill in the details, Cerena?”

  “Yeah,” I reply, thinking about the history of Solace and the terrible things that have gone on around here. “This region used to be . . . well, in the old days, it was called Half-breed Haven.”

  “Half-breed Haven?” Lance asks, horrified, and I nod sadly. “What the fuck? I thought Solace was pretending to be the good guys.”

  “Yeah,” I reply, ashamed. “And I’m not saying it was right or that you guys weren’t right to be pissed at Solace for crap like this. You guys know the basics of Solace’s genetic laws. The only people allowed to be citizens of Solace are those who can prove themselves to be one hundred percent shelter human. I’d say pure human, but . . . well, we already know that’s a lie.”

  Brandon laughs, and I get the point. “Anyway, while the idea kept most of the shelter dwellers in the tribe, so to speak, I guess we can speak from personal experience that we humans tend to like what we like. It wasn’t even a single generation where there were Shelter Dwellers. The town wasn’t even named Solace yet, and they were having babies with Outsiders.”

  “So your people just banished them?” Brandon asks, disgusted. “Are you sure we’re on the right side here?”

  “It was actually a big argument among the Council,” I reply. “Some wanted the strayers to be put to death, and some said imprisonment. Some said to let the children and the couples be allowed to retain citizenship if they passed certain DNA tests. In the end, the current system was decided on by Elizabeth during one of her reigns as the Elder. The Council banished all those of impure blood to the northeast, which was the wild frontier at the time. The Shelter didn’t know about Bane yet, but they knew about the winter stalkers.”

  There’s silence for a moment as my story sinks in, and I start to think that the conversation might be over for now when a question interrupts the silence. “What are winter stalkers?”

  I do a double-take and remember that Brandon’s missing a lot of his memory, and he’s a city boy, so to speak. He may never have seen one before.

  Tym, though, is the one who answers. “They look human, just bigger,” he says, holding his hand over his head to illustrate his point. “The average winter stalker male is about seven feet tall, a female about my height. Immensely strong, they usually have white or blonde hair and live in fiercely monarchical, nomadic tribes that they call kingdoms. They never come this far south though except in the dead of wi
nter.”

  “The climate effects of the war hadn’t fully dissipated by then,” I remind Tym. “So it was colder, except in the height of summer. For about six months out of the year, the Shelter and the winter stalkers were in contact. We had technology, and they had access to certain rare minerals that are important to Solace. What started out as a potentially advantageous trading situation turned ugly when the winter stalkers learned the Shelter still practiced something that still had tenets of democracy in it. In a winter stalker kingdom, the word of the king or queen is the law, no argument allowed. There’d been . . . tension, so the Shelter sent those of mixed heritage up here to serve as a sort of buffer zone and then promptly ignored them when some of those settlers started intermarrying with winter stalkers themselves. Anyway, the settlers up here sort of took on the bad traits of both sides. They became fierce enough and strong enough to fight off the winter stalkers when they got up to no good, but they also started feeling rather independent. They even had a few skirmishes with Hunters when they were sent up here, and when Solace reached out to make peace and offered assistance, they promptly said thanks but no thanks.”

  “But you said that they’re part of Solace’s territory?” Brandon asks, tilting his head. “How’d that happen?”

  “Bane, what else?” I reply. “A werewolf pack came through here, tearing shit up pretty badly, and the settlers saw that having some backup and tech was worthwhile. So they accepted the help on a very tenuous and limited basis. The Hunters who are sent up here really are just speed bumps, responsible for nothing more than radioing in reports and sounding the alarm if shit goes really badly. Being sent out here to join the Village Guard is pretty much the end of your career.”

  “So where’s your post going to be, then?” Lance quips, earning a laugh from everyone this time. “I mean, I’d like to pick out a place where we can build a little farm. Tym can plow the fields while I try to avoid getting my whole inner issues with big ass giants triggered. What do you say, Brandon? Think we’d make a good farming unit?”

  “Well, three of us can, at least,” Brandon jokes back, relieving me. “If these winter stalkers are all as big as Tym says, you might be spending a lot of time indoors.”

  “Now you see, I’m cool with that,” Lance says. “I can—”

  A howl rips through the air, and out of nowhere, werewolves appear from around the curve of the dirt road we’re currently following. I’m shocked until I see the cause . . . two electric pickup trucks, their beds stuffed with at least ten werewolves apiece, all of them armed.

  “Scatter!” I call as my training takes over and I dive to the side, shucking my pack and coat while pulling my swords.

  The werewolves are fast, most of them already changing while those that haven’t are armed. Even two of the changed ones have maces, massive weights on the ends of steel poles that look like they could cave in the Solace wall with one blow.

  Fear strikes me as I realize that both of them are going after Tym, who has his hammers out and is trembling, his instinctual fear already driving him to the limits of his ability to hold back his rage. I’m tempted to call for Lance to restrain him, but we need his strength and ability to fight.

  “Brandon, Lance! Give Tym room, but keep an eye on him!” I yell as the first werewolf comes toward me. He’s fully changed, his snout long and dripping in spit that flies from his open mouth as he tries to snap at me, but I duck low, bringing my swords in a V-shaped motion. My steel bites deep, slicing him across his groin and up, my right sword severing his leg at the hip while my left gets stuck in his pelvis and I have to abandon it to maneuver.

  It’s chaos, and I fight my way toward Brandon, but the werewolves are more coordinated than us. In the corner of my eye, I see Lance popping Gauss rounds in between using his knife, but all of a sudden, a werewolf sticks his arm out and Lance gets clotheslined, knocking him flying to the dirt.

  “No!” I scream, pressing my attack on the werewolf in front of me. Brandon also sees Lance go down, and I hear another deeper roar that tells me Tym’s gone berserk, drawing most of the attention of the werewolves while three more surround me.

  One of them, only half-changed, laughs. “You gonna die, Hunter bitch.”

  “Only things dying today sprout fur and lick their own assholes for fun,” I taunt back before attacking. Three werewolves at once is a stretch even for me, and I get two of them before a sharp whistle pierces the air and a loud voice bellows over the fray.

  “Retreat! We have him!”

  Suddenly, the remaining werewolves turn and run, chasing after the single truck that’s now retreating. In the back I see Brandon, slumped over and being held up by a werewolf who’s grinning back at me. The other wolves climb in or jump on, streaking into the distance.

  “Brandon!” I scream, chasing after them, but my heart’s already pounding in my chest, the air electric in my lungs, and I don’t have the stamina to keep chasing the retreating truck. My legs last a minute, but eventually, the stitch in my side is too much, and I fall to my knees, watching the dust plume moving away. “No!”

  I stand up, walking back toward the site of the battle to see Tym drop his hammers, his rage exhausted now that there are no threats nearby, and I do my best to jog over to Lance’s body on the ground. He’s stirring, slowly trying to get to his feet and rubbing at his neck, which I’m shocked isn’t broken. “What the fuck hit me?”

  Tym drops to his knees, heaving onto the ground as his stomach tosses up what’s left of his lunch, but I can’t have him out now. “On your feet. They got Brandon.”

  “I . . . I remember,” Tym says. “Did I hurt Lance?”

  “No. That was a werewolf who somehow anticipated his movements,” I reply as I help Lance up. “I thought you stopped time?”

  “So did I,” Lance admits, “but I remember the first time we met Brandon, his eyes followed me in time stop. Maybe Bane’s got a way to counter it?”

  “I hope not,” I growl as Tym finishes his second round of heaves and shakily gets to his feet. “We have to go after them. We don’t know what they’re going to do to him . . . or whether Bane can still use him somehow.”

  “Well, they left behind their other truck,” Lance notes, pointing. “Guess we killed enough of them that they didn’t have another driver.”

  I look around and realize that of the twenty or so werewolves who attacked us, fifteen are lying in the dirt now, never to rise again. If it weren’t for our losses, I’d be happy with our efficiency.

  Tym and Lance took most of them, although it’s with another recriminating burst of pride that I realize four are from my own hands. Against an ambush with such a powerful enemy, I’d be considered ‘good’ as a Hunter if I’d been able to handle half as much without having to retreat.

  But I don’t have time for pride. “Tym, can you drive?”

  Tym shakes his head, staggering over to his bag and picking it up before stumbling to the back of the truck. With the last of his strength, he heaves himself into the bed of the truck and passes out, his energy spent.

  “Guess that answers that question,” Lance says, walking over and picking up the other bags. He’s not full strength, but at least he looks like he’s not about to pass out. “What about you, Cerena? I’ve watched Tym, but I’ll be honest, it’d be my first time.”

  I nod, shuffling over to my bag and picking it up. Pausing at one werewolf body, I plant my foot and yank my sword free, my lip lifting in a sneer when a grisly wet tearing sound comes from the body.

  Fuck it, I’m going to need this. And when I find the werewolves who took Brandon, I’m going to take this sword and shove it down their throats to skewer their hearts.

  “Lance, you’ve got shotgun. Literally,” I order as I toss my bag in the back of the truck and make sure Tym is lying securely. There’s no tailgate on this thing, and he could roll out if we hit a rough bounce.

  Lance, seeing my concern, hits Tym with a shot of entanglement around his hips, fixing hi
m to the bed of the truck while leaving Tym’s upper body free when he awakens. “Thanks.”

  “I’ve only got a clip and three rounds left,” Lance informs me as I get behind the wheel and start up the engine. Luckily, this electric monster is simple. It’s only got three gears, neutral, forward, and reverse, so in moments, we’re racing after Brandon at fifty miles an hour. “Hey, got a question.”

  “Yeah?” I ask as I see the tire tracks turn and I follow them.

  “I thought the people of Solace were the only ones who had electric tech like this?” Lance says. “In fact, this looks a hell of a lot like the buggy we busted out of Solace with.”

  “I know,” I reply, wishing for once that Lance wasn’t so observant. Not that he’s wrong, but I don’t want to have to face this particular issue right now. “I’m thinking about it.”

  “Seems to me there are only two conclusions,” Lance says, taking a deep breath. “Either the werewolves have tech we don’t know about, they stole these from someone, or—”

  “Or they’re getting tech from Solace,” I growl, pressing the accelerator a little more and seeing the needle creep up to fifty-five. “I know. But we can’t abandon him. So be ready . . . whatever may come.”

  Hold on, Brandon. We won’t let Bane have you.

  Chapter 12

  Brandon

  I expect to be brought all the way back to Bane when I awaken in the back of a truck, packed in with three werewolves. It’s where they’re based out of, and I know that they control a section of the city. If they bring me inside those walls, it’d take more than what Cerena, Tym, and Lance could do to bust me back out. Last time, they caught the wolves by surprise. Not this time.