Into the Dark of the Day (Action of Purpose, 2)

by Stu Jones

  “You can trust me. I can help. Give me a rifle on the roof. I’m an expert marksman, and if we get attacked by—”

  “Give you a rifle? Are you serious?” Kane all but shouted. “You want me to give a known sociopath a rifle and set him loose so he can—what? Kill and abuse more women and children?”

  “What the fuck is your problem?” Dagen snapped.

  “My problem is you didn’t die when I knocked your sick ass over that railing!”

  Silence. The usually insignificant creaks of the station seemed deafening amid the heavy silence. The weight of the moment threatened to crush them into non-existence until, with a whisper, Dagen spoke.

  “You’re right,” he said, his dark eyes surveying shattered legs. He gripped his crutches with white knuckles, turned, and hobbled toward the door. “Losing my legs wasn’t enough. I should have died. I wish I had died. I’m sure that would have made life a lot easier for everyone.”

  The door squeaked open and hissed shut, closing behind Dagen. Jenna wheeled on Kane in a flash of anger that caught him and Courtland by surprise.

  “What is your problem?”

  “What?”

  “You. What is it with you?”

  “Why are you defending this guy? After he—”

  “He what?” Jenna flushed, her eyes welling up.

  “Look at what he did—”

  “You have no idea what he did, what he took from me! You don’t get to talk about it!”

  “I just—”

  “I bet you think people can’t change. How’s that for a stereotypical cop perspective, huh? Criminals don’t change. They can never change.”

  Kane was flailing, grasping at straws when he realized he’d begun to smirk. By then he couldn’t stop the words that came out of his mouth. “Seeing criminals reform hasn’t exactly been my experience, sweetheart, no.”

  “But you can change, can’t you?

  Her words stung. He felt his face burn in shame.

  “Isn’t that right? You can be saved. Take on a mission from God and be the guy with all the answers. But you can’t give another human being the chance to become something better—maybe not perfect, maybe still broken, but better.”

  “I—”

  “No!” Jenna jabbed her finger inches from Kane’s face. “No. You think about your words before you talk to me again,” she said, as she turned and pushed through the office door and into the hallway.

  The hissing of the lamp grew louder as the pressure waned and the fuel ran low. Kane looked at Courtland. “Did you just see that? I’ve never seen her so…What am I supposed to do with that?”

  Courtland rose with a groan from the table, a great sadness blanketing his features. He lumbered toward the door. “I don’t know, boss. I don’t have all the answers, remember?” He squeezed through the doorway and into the dark hall.

  In the dying light of the lamp, Kane lowered his head.

  In the hallway beyond, a desperate, crippled, ex-sociopath clinched a small silver cross in his fist and wiped a tear from his face as he turned and hobbled toward the lonely, windswept rooftop of the station.

  TEN

  “We’re leaving.”

  The voice to Courtland’s left caught him by surprise as he exited the side doors of the station and moved into the courtyard. Courtland had been so deep in thought that he almost hadn’t heard the young voice.

  “Tynuk? You’re okay. The gate is barred. How did you…?”

  Tynuk pointed to the fence line. “It’s not as secure as you think. There are ways in if one knows what to look for.”

  Courtland frowned.

  “It’s true, and it’s something you should look into if you don’t want unexpected visitors.”

  Courtland nodded. “I’ll have the fence checked.” he paused. “I heard about you helping Kane and Jacob today in the woods. That was a noble thing to do.”

  Tynuk nodded. “They were in a bad spot. To not help would have meant the death of them both.”

  “Kane was very grateful. You should probably hear it from him, but he wanted to thank you.”

  The boy gave a curt nod.

  “So what is this, about leaving?”

  “We are, Az and I.”

  “But why? Where will you go?”

  “It’s hard to say exactly, but the Great Spirit is calling us west to find my people.”

  “Your people?”

  “My father’s family. They are Comanches. They never abandoned the old ways. The Great Spirit has told me they still live, west of here in the home of the ancients.”

  Courtland didn’t try to hide his confusion. “But…I thought you were of the Shoonai warrior tribe?”

  Tynuk’s face blossomed red as he shook and lowered his head. “I made that up.”

  “Oh. Well, then, where did you learn—”

  “Courtland, can I be honest with you?”

  “Of course.”

  “You can’t tell anyone this,” Tynuk said, giving him a stern look.

  “I promise.”

  “I grew up in a trailer park in North Carolina. My dad left us years ago, and my mom was a drunk. My father’s uncle was the only one who was ever good to me. He taught me the old ways, how to survive, how to fight, and how true men carry the Great Spirit in their hearts.”

  Courtland’s surprise was visible.

  “I have to go and find the rest of my family if they’re still alive. It’s all I have left.”

  “So what does this mean for all of us?” Courtland’s smile had a tinge of sadness.

  Tynuk took a deep breath. “It means eventually we must all leave. The rest will be revealed in the journey.”

  Courtland put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Such faith and wisdom for someone so young. How long until you go?”

  “We’ll leave in the morning. I just wanted to tell you I consider you a true friend, Mr. Courtland. And I’ll continue to honor our agreement,” the boy said, his head barely reaching the big man’s waist.

  Courtland knelt and looked into Tynuk’s dark-brown eyes. “We’ll miss you terribly. You and Azolja are invaluable friends to have in times like these.”

  Tynuk looked up at Courtland. “Tell everyone goodbye for us.”

  “Not goodbye. We’ll see each other again.”

  “I believe we will, sir, for as sure as night leads to dawn, our purposes are connected,” Tynuk said, placing his hand on Courtland’s arm. “I am sure of it.”

  The boy gave a wink and turned. Courtland nodded with a smile of assurance then directed his eyes upward.

  “Go with them, Father, and be their shield, for they go in your name and for your sake,” Courtland whispered, as he watched the boy’s silhouette disappear into the solemn night. “To God be the glory, forever and ever.”

  Dagen stood at the edge of the station roof, his thoughts far away, his clouded eyes surveying the horizon as though he were lost, searching for a way back home. The toxic sea breeze picked up, whipping across the roof and cutting through his clothes. A tremor shuddered through him.

  They were right. Dagen had tried to reform himself, and even though he felt different, his heart was still broken and in need of something. The sick person he had been was gone, though his once dark heart haunted his dreams and threatened to steal him back.

  Don’t stray too close to the edge.

  Dagen stood dangerously close, but it wasn’t a fall from the roof that scared him. He feared what would happen next. What would be waiting for a man like him? A man for whom there was no such thing as true redemption. The hands of the grave—of those who had acted in violence against the innocent, the hands of those who had gone before him—reached up to pull him down to where he belonged.

  Dagen hated Kane, but he understood him and why he had said what he did. He took a deep breath as he peered over the edge. He knew he was a monster, and the only way to cure a monster was to destroy it. He closed his eyes and slowly shifted forward, leaning out over the chasm.
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br />   “Stop,” spoke a voice from behind him.

  “No,” came his mumbled reply as he shifted farther forward. Dagen felt calm, serene, better than he’d felt in a long while. He let his crutches fall and felt gravity begin to take hold, as he moved into nothingness.

  “Stop it!” came the voice from behind him. A hand grabbed him by the collar and jerked him backward and down.

  “Don’t stop me!” Dagen yelled, furious, as he slid on his back across the gravel.

  “This isn’t funny, Dagen!” Jenna cried from above him.

  “Do I look like I think it’s funny?” he yelled, tearing her hand from his jacket. “Let me go! I’m not worth saving.”

  “It’s not that easy. You don’t get to just give up.”

  “Why not? It’s my life. You can’t choose what I do with my life.”

  “Yes, I can! You owe me a life—three to be exact—and you’re going to repay me with yours. But not like this.”

  “What are you saying? Why do you even care? Kane is right. After what I’ve—”

  “Stop. We’re through talking like that. Yes, you and the rest of them took everything from me. It’s not a secret between us. But now…the rest of your life begins now. God loves you, Dagen. I told you the day you shattered your legs—his son died for you.”

  Dagen laid his head back on the rooftop and pursed his lips. “I can’t accept that.”

  “I’m not asking you what you want. I’m telling you what the God of the universe wants. And what he wants is your life, your devotion.”

  Dagen blinked hard as he sat up.

  “No, I don’t believe in God. I can’t repay you—”

  “You’re right. You can’t pay for what you’ve done, but you can trust in a God that is big enough to save even you from yourself. This is the only way. You have to trust me.”

  “I said no!” Dagen’s voice rose. “Now get away from me! You and God can go pity someone else!” He shoved Jenna back and turned his face away.

  The salty ocean wind whistled across the rooftop. Jenna wiped her face and made it to her feet.

  “Okay,” she whispered. “I’ll give you some space, but you’re not going to kill yourself.”

  “Try and stop me,” Dagen muttered, as he continued to look away.

  “I will.” Jenna gathered the crutches and set them down next to him. “I haven’t given up on you yet.”

  “I’m a monster.”

  “You’re a man. You’re the only man I have left,” she said, turning toward the rusted stairwell.

  Dagen raised his hand as if to stop her, but he was unable to find the words. Jenna opened the door and disappeared down the stairwell. He gathered himself and pulled his crutches beside him, struggling to return to a seated position. A strange, foreign feeling came over him. It came on sharply, the warmth of it spreading across his belly like a shot of whiskey. And though he never had felt it before, his instincts told him what it was.

  Hope.

  Dagen winced at the strange sensation and placed his hand on his chest as the bizarre warmth flowed over him, causing his skin to tingle. It was just a single word, a seemingly insignificant spark, the fewest embers of hope kindling in the darkest of men.

  ELEVEN

  Tynuk yawned as he jammed the last few items into his satchel. With a thin stick, he stirred the coals of the fire. His fierce, shaggy companion still slept, making small purring sounds like a house cat dozing in the warm sun. The beast had a faint tinge of crimson around its jaws, an indication that he’d recently killed and eaten something.

  Whatever it was, he didn’t save any for me.

  The boy winced as he touched his shoulder. It had swollen up a bit. The gash wasn’t as deep as he first believed; it was deep but it wasn’t to the bone. Tynuk had neither the materials nor the desire to stitch the wound closed. Instead, he rubbed a thick coat of sticky salve from a chewed-up Echinacea root into the wound. Grandfather taught him that his people used echinacea for its anti-inflammatory and antimicrobial properties. Tynuk had identified the nearly barren stalks of a few charred flowers. Digging into the soil, he’d located several intact roots that would serve him well.

  The mutant had nearly gotten the best of him. Tynuk knew he was faster, smarter, and better trained than those freaks. But that one, the leader, had seemed more…human. The speed with which he moved was nothing short of stunning. The attack had been so unexpected that Tynuk had been on the defensive right from the start. He hadn’t expected that kind of speed and skill from a mindless mutant, and it made him question how mindless the creature actually was. Had it attacked out of some animalistic need to kill? Or was it something else—something more calculated?

  They had prevailed. That was what was important, not the details. A person could go crazy picking apart every shortcoming, every misstep in battle. The point was they had been victorious. The Sicks, as Kane called them, had fled. Tynuk worried, though, that the creatures would press the fight and attack the station. If he and Az weren’t around to help, the people could be in great danger.

  Tynuk shook his head. “No,” he whispered to himself, “their fate is not your responsibility. You must follow the Great Spirit and trust that the rest is accounted for.”

  He lay down on the pallet, his bed for the night, and placed the war club by his side, where it would be easily accessible in the event of an ambush. In the light of the dying embers, his eyes began to adjust to the darkness. The occasional bit of starlight twinkled beyond the thick cover of clouds above, specks of light shining for just an instant before being snuffed out again. It lifted Tynuk’s spirits to know that no matter how thick the clouds appeared and how much they suppressed the earth, the stars continued to shine above. No amount of darkness could stop the shining of the light.

  The warrior boy’s eyes grew heavy as he listened to the light snoring of his wolfish companion. He tried to remember his mother’s face. He had loved her so, but in the end, he had abandoned her to die with the rest of the world. He wanted to tell her of his sadness and to see that she understood. He had acted on grandfather’s wishes. He had done it for the future for his people.

  As he drifted off, he began to dream of his relatives, imagining what they must be like. The boy slid away into the realm of dreams and fantasy, his distant family appearing before his eyes.

  There they were, their skin golden, their chests proudly pushed forward as they stood atop the ancient stronghold, the Caprock Escarpment. The one-thousand-foot sheer cliff face extended for two hundred miles and separated the Llano Estacado, the plateaus of West Texas and New Mexico from the lower eastern plains. An almost impregnable fortress of stone, it had been used for centuries by the Native American tribes of the region, especially the Comanche.

  Tynuk waved at the noble warriors, men he had never met, as they beckoned him forward. He took one step and then another, a great smile spreading across his face as he began his great homecoming, a reunion of blood, family, and purpose.

  Screams echoed in the dark, the cries for help driving Kane forward in wild, reckless strides. The dark forest burned around him, the ash falling in clumps, obscuring his already poor night vision. Kane raised a hand in front of his face to shield himself from the heat, the smoke pulling tears from the corners of his eyes as he ran.

  “Where are you?” he yelled into the flickering flames and smoke. “Susan, Michael, Rachael, if you can hear me, I’m here.”

  Muffled sobs were choked out by the burning forest as it closed in on Kane, smothering the light of hope in his heart.

  “Susan!” Kane screamed as the ash fell like dirty snowflakes, covering the black, fiery landscape.

  “Answer me! I’m here! Please!” He cried in desperation, as the burning trees appeared to reach toward him, their bony fingers digging at his soul as he tried to preserve the dying light of hope inside. “I haven’t forgotten you!” he screamed, as the burning forest finally smothered him, blocking out all hope.

  Kane woke, call
ing out to the empty room, “I’m here!” but the silent room refused to answer, the silence echoing words unsaid. His frustration and fury erupted like molten lava and ash launched from its crater into the atmosphere as he shot from the bed and grabbed his cot and slung the metal frame against a nearby wall.

  “Get out of my head! I can’t take this anymore!”

  A shock of pain sent Kane falling to the floor. His heart wrenched inside him. Kane grabbed at his chest and gritted his teeth.

  “Argh! What is it with this? Why now?”

  The pain slowed and subsided, and Kane stood, huffing labored breaths as the cot rattled against the wall. “Why is the pain coming back?” he whispered to himself, standing alone in the dark.

  Kane heard more screams echoing in the night. He shook his head and exhaled as they continued. It took him a moment to realize that the sounds weren’t in his head. The cries for help reached out to him from outside the station, where the night guards kept watch.

  The night watch!

  Before he knew what he was doing, Kane had grabbed his Glock, stepped into his boots, and flown from his room down the dim hallway. “Courtland!” He yelled. “We have a situation!”

  Kane burst through the fire exit and onto the metal catwalk of the second floor, scanning the courtyard below. He saw shadows struggling in the dark and heard muffled cries for help, followed by a gurgling sound. He ran for the stairs, jumped to the landing, and spun to take the last set in one leap. He hit the turf, and the scene unfolded before him, the night playing tricks on his eyes, causing him to question what he saw.

  Thin lines of fresh blood littered the courtyard, ribbons of red in stark contrast to the dirt. One sentry was down, a long balloon of red leading from his throat. The sentry’s eyes locked upward toward the unforgiving sky, his deathly silence begging for mercy that wouldn’t come. As Kane neared the center of the commotion, his eyes centered on the form of one man hunched over a second man. The cries for help, replaced by a wet, slurping sound.

  An air horn sounded in three short blasts as a generator cranked to life and the lights snapped on with a buzz. In the growing light, the hunched form froze. Its clothes appeared torn and ragged by time and abuse. At once the creature spun and locked eyes with Kane. It was a Sick, the blood of the dead men pouring down the gray flesh of its face. The monster snarled, flashing its bloodstained teeth as it released its victim and leaped at Kane.