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

by Stu Jones

  “Your bloodlust is sufficient,” the demonic man mused, gazing at his side, where fresh blood flowed. “That bout would have killed lesser men.”

  The crowd of Coyotes murmured in acknowledgment as Saxon rolled onto his back, continuing to struggle to catch his breath.

  “If you wish to become one of us, drink from my side and call me your god.”

  Saxon raised himself up under the wound and received the blood that poured into his mouth. Saxon swallowed the sticky, warm liquid, and as he did, it seemed to flow through him, covering his former self in a cloak of fear, hate, and despair. If his heart had known these things before, in this moment his heart knew them tenfold, as he willingly gave himself to the evil that consumed him. He wiped the blood from his face and stayed on one knee before Malak.

  “My god,” he said. “I am yours to command.”

  Malak nodded. “Now these savages will call you brother, and you will call them family.”

  “And you?” Saxon said as he took Malak’s outstretched hand.

  “You are stronger than the rest of them. I am in need of a lieutenant.” Malak pulled Saxon to his feet. “I will call you ‘my right hand,’ if you accept.”

  The crowd clapped and yelped, making a path for both men as they walked toward the stairs. Saxon nodded in acceptance, finally beginning to recover from the fight.

  “Now that you have proven your strength and loyalty, I am interested to hear more about this plan of yours.”

  “Yes, my lord,” said Saxon, taking a deep breath. “I know how to hit your enemy Kane where it will hurt him the most.”

  “Oh? And how is that?”

  “I have his wife and children.”

  Malak stopped at the foot of the stairs. His face darkened as he turned toward Saxon, an evil smile forming.

  “Say it isn’t so.”

  The camp was quiet. Not a soul stirred in the early-morning hours, except the two night watchmen, who laughed in coarse, muffled tones as they made their rounds. A man nearby snored, the rumbling sound like a chainsaw idling under a blanket.

  Susan sat up on her pallet and looked over at Garrett, who was fast asleep. If she was caught again, she would be killed for sure—or worse, they would kill her children. She pushed the thought from her mind and swallowed hard. She looked at Garrett again and noted that he was still motionless. She wiggled her wrist against the shackle, and the metal squeaked. She froze, eyed Garrett again. Nothing.

  Over the last two days, she’d spent a considerable amount of time inserting a wooden dowel between the shackle and her wrist. She then twisted the dowel, trying to separate the contact points. Though it had left her wrist quite bruised, the trick had been at least somewhat successful. If she strained, she could just barely pull her hands free from the metal brackets. Putting them back in was the easy part, and the bruises went unnoticed, as the shackles had already done that job well enough. Susan pulled her left hand free with a jingle and glanced at Garrett, her mind swarming with paranoia.

  Stop worrying about him, and do it!

  She yanked her right hand free and crawled toward the front of the tent, the flap drifting in the breeze. She pushed back the canvas and surveyed the area. The camp remained quiet. Crouched low at the edge of the tent, she listened for the smallest sound or sign of anyone approaching.

  She had to put the plan in motion, and she had to do it now. She had prayed, begging God to save her and her children, but He had remained silent. Her circumstances played havoc with her faith. She wanted to trust God. She wanted to trust that He was sufficient, but it had all been so terrible. She couldn’t wait any longer. Her children’s lives were at stake, and she refused to be the reason that they continued to live in such peril. She would die for both of them if necessary. The time wasn’t yet right to leave, but it would be soon. Everything had to be in order for the escape to work. Her skin tingled. Maybe she should go ahead, abandon the plan, just get the kids and go.

  No. It’s a good plan. Stick to the plan.

  Susan blinked her eyes hard. Moving from the edge of the tent, she ran in a low crouch to the back of another nearby tent. She stepped quietly between the rows of military-style tents, picking her steps so that she wouldn’t trip over a tent peg or another person. Some of the gypsies, paranoid about thieves, even had set up alarms using string and tin cans to alert them that someone was approaching. Susan stepped around the home made tripwires, taking great care not to disturb them.

  At the end of the row, Susan paused and looked to where the night watchmen sat laughing over some vulgar joke. She turned her head and could just see the van where her children were held—at least it matched the description of the van she had overheard Garrett mention. With the children secured inside, there was no reason to post a guard to watch over two four-year-olds. Susan swallowed hard. The thought of seeing her children after so many days apart brought a lump to her throat. She was desperate to know that they were alright.

  With a deep breath, she dodged behind the laughing men, stopping to rest against the side of the van. She heard someone shift inside the rusted frame. The van, no longer mobile, was used only as a holding cell. The windshield was cracked but intact, and the body was riddled with holes, a memento from some long-forgotten conflict. Listening through the busted out windows, she could just make out the sound of breathing from where she crouched. She worried she might startle her children or cause them to shout if she showed herself in the window.

  “Michael? Rachael? If you can hear me, don’t shout, okay?”

  “Momma?” came the small voice of her brave son.

  “Shh. Yes, sweetheart, it’s me. I need you to be quiet.”

  “Okay,” came the tiny whisper.

  Susan raised herself up to the window and peered into the van.

  “Momma!” Rachael whispered with excitement.

  As Susan’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could see two smiling faces in the van’s interior. She couldn’t control herself as her muffled sobs escaped. She stifled the sound as best as she could and leaned in, wrapping her arms around her children’s necks. They leaned their heads into her but did not hug her back. She realized they were not tied down to the vehicle but to each other, bound together with an old dusty rope. She held their beautiful, dirty faces in her hands and wept. Her angels had been so resilient through the end of the world and now this. It was time for this chapter of their lives to end. It was time for better things. When she found Kane, they could all be safe again.

  “Don’t cry, Momma,” came Michael’s cheerful voice. “Jesus is with us.”

  “I know he is. Always remember that He is with you.” Susan cried.

  “But Momma, why do we have to stay in here? Why can’t we stay with you?” Rachael asked.

  Susan wiped her face and swallowed to compose herself. “Because these people won’t let us stay together right now.”

  “Why?”

  “Because…” Susan cleared her throat and patted her sweet children. “Because they’re not very nice people. But it’s okay because we’re going to leave soon.”

  “We are? Where are we going?”

  “We’re going to…” Susan paused, wondering if she should say it. “I’m going to tell you something, but you have to promise me you’ll be quiet, alright? Mommy can get in trouble if you make too much noise. Promise?”

  “We’ll be quiet as a baby mouse,” Michael whispered.

  Susan rubbed her hand on Michael’s leg. “Soon we’re going to leave this place, and we’re going to go find Daddy.”

  The children froze. It was a name they hadn’t heard in a long time.

  Michael’s brow furrowed as he whispered the foreign word. “Daddy?”

  Rachael began to cry.

  “Shh, shh. It’s okay to cry. I know that’s a hard thing to hear, but you know Daddy didn’t want to be away from us. He had to be away. He didn’t want to.”

  Michael’s lip quivered as a tear rolled down his cheek, dripping off h
is chin. Susan bit her lip, feeling a sharp sting of regret for saying anything, but she hadn’t known what else to do. Ambush her children by showing up somewhere to find their father? That wasn’t fair either.

  “It’s okay to cry. Mommy cries about it too sometimes.” She patted them again. “We’re going to find Daddy, and everything’s going to be okay.”

  Michael ducked his head to wipe his cheek on his shirt. Together both children nodded.

  “Michael,” Susan started, “I’m going to put something sharp in your hand. It’s a small knife. Keep it hidden, and don’t cut yourself, okay?”

  “Okay, Momma.”

  “One night, very soon, there will be a big fire. When you see the big fire, cut yourself and your sister loose. Wait here for me. I’ll come and get you. Rachael, you help your brother remember? Do you understand?”

  They both nodded.

  “Everything happens for a reason. God has a plan for us. I love you both so much. Be strong, my angels.” Susan hugged them one last time, wiped her face on her sleeve, and pulled herself from the van to cross the gypsy camp one final time.

  NINETEEN

  The bodies of both friend and foe remained strewn about the fence line. In the gray morning light, dawn began to break across the grounds of the station. The people had been working for a few hours, yet the area still looked like a war zone.

  A few had been trying to repair the downed section of fence but with little success. The rest, divided between moving the wounded and clearing the area of the dead. A small contingent stood at the fence, their rifles at the ready, looking out for any further threats. The pile of the dead mutants on the far side of the fence waited to be burned. Their bodies thrown there haphazardly, like a mass grave.

  “That’s the last of them,” Jacob said, wiping his hands on his pant legs.

  “Good,” Kane said, taking a sip from a bottle of black water as Courtland and Jenna approached. “Check on the progress of the fence repair. See if they’re going to be able to get it back up.”

  “Yup,” Jacob drawled as he hobbled off.

  “How’s your arm?” Courtland asked.

  “I’m fine. It’s just a scratch and I’ve already scrubbed it. How are you guys holding up?” Kane asked.

  “We could all use some sleep, but what’s new?” Courtland sighed. “Jenna needs some medical attention as well.”

  Kane made a face at her. “What are you waiting for?”

  Jenna shook her head, keeping pressure on a scrap of cloth that covered the wound across her collarbone. “I’m all right. A lot of people need the attention more than I do. Terry already has his hands full, trying to treat everyone by himself.”

  Kane wasn’t sure whether it was the early-morning light or the blood loss, but Jenna appeared unusually frail. He motioned for her to show him the wound, and she obliged, pulling the cloth away from the ugly wound. She winced as it stuck to the gash across her collarbone. The three-inch cut went from the inside of her shoulder to just below her neck. The ivory color of her collarbone was just visible at the deepest point.

  Kane shook his head. “You’re lucky it’s not worse. You’ve got to get that cleaned as soon as possible. There’s no telling what kind of infection you might have picked up from the ghoul that cut you. Plus you’re no good to anyone until you get yourself fixed.”

  “I’ll do it.” Jenna said.

  “Were the kids OK in the cellar?” Kane asked.

  Jenna nodded again.

  “Best to keep them there for now.” Kane motioned to the ridgeline. “They could come again at any time.”

  “Yeah,” Jenna said.

  “I don’t know,” Courtland murmured. “I think they’ll come at nightfall. That’s when they’ll have the greatest advantage.”

  “Maybe so,” Kane said, turning to face the giant. “What sort of casualties do we have?”

  “At least thirty-five injured. Fifteen to twenty of those probably won’t make it.”

  “And the dead?”

  “Another fourteen.”

  “That’s over half our people.” Kane said.

  “Yes, it is,” Courtland added, “and we won’t survive another assault like that last one.”

  “Did we impact their numbers at all?”

  Courtland shrugged. “We must have killed a couple hundred of them, maybe a third of their total.”

  “They could have taken us.” Kane stroked the stubble on his chin. “So why didn’t they?”

  “Like you said earlier, they sent a small force to intimidate us and test our defensive capabilities. Now that they know, they’ll hit us with everything. Wipe us out.”

  Kane breathed a heavy sigh and looked toward Jacob as he hobbled back up. “The fence,” Jacob said. “It ain’t gonna happen. It’s wrecked.”

  “Yeah, I figured,” Kane grumbled. “With it down, we’ll have to pull back and fortify the actual station.” He paused for a long moment. “Has anyone seen Dagen? He should have seen this coming sooner—if he was on the roof. We could have had more time to prepare if he had alerted us.”

  Jenna’s face dropped as she realized she hadn’t checked on him recently. Considering that he’d tried to kill himself before, anything was possible.

  “I’ll—” she began.

  “No, no.” Kane stopped her. “You get that wound taken care of. I’ll go find him.”

  “Kane,” Courtland said, “considering your feelings toward the man—and now his falling down on the job—maybe I should go find him. You wrap up down here. Make sure the station is fortified.”

  “That’s probably best.” Kane said. “Jacob, will you please help Jenna get to medical?”

  “Right,” Jacob agreed, moving toward Jenna.

  Jenna stopped the teenager. “There’s one other thing I was thinking about, Kane.”

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s about the leader of those things and his bone flute. That’s how he controls them, unifies them, right? Without him and the flute, they’re just monsters.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Well, they used to be humans, right? We all know how music has an effect on the mind and the body, just like when you used to listen to classical music to relax and hard rock to get amped up for a workout. Music can, in minor ways, impact mood and behavior in humans. On top of that, there are studies about the effect of certain tones on the animal brain—on dogs for example. The research was woefully underdeveloped at the time the civilized world ended, but there were some interesting theories on the subject. They were just that, though—theories. One study claimed that certain tones could be used to control animal behavior.”

  “Are you saying the one controlling them has some experience with this?”

  “It’s possible. That’s all I’m saying. I heard you talking about how you saw the leader with them in the woods when you were attacked. You said they protected him, like he designed it that way, right?”

  Kane nodded.

  “It’s like they revere him, like he’s their chieftain,” Jenna said. “I don’t know if it’s the flute or something more primal, like the instinct to operate in a family group or a pack. Maybe it’s a combination—I don’t know. What I do know is that I’ve never seen anything like it. That’s the only rational explanation I can come up with.”

  “Interesting,” Kane responded.

  “I think if you take him down—the leader, I mean—they’ll disperse and go back to being less organized.”

  Kane nodded. “I have to ask how—”

  “What? So I learned a few things while studying to be a veterinary assistant. It happens,” she said with a smile.

  “Thanks, Jenna. Look—and I don’t mind saying this in front of everyone…” Kane paused and looked at both Jenna and Courtland. “I was glad to see you join us on the line last night. I’m sorry if I got out of line the other day about Dagen. I hope you’ll forgive my bad attitude.”

  Jenna nodded as she prepared to leave with Jacob. “I
just want to do my part, Kane, and while I appreciate the gesture, it’s Dagen who deserves your apology.”

  Kane exhaled. “Yeah, don’t press your luck,” he said, motioning for Courtland to check on the man on the roof.

  As the parties separated, Kane stood in the courtyard to visually assess the scene. As he did, he wondered whether there would ever be a light at the end of this tunnel. Suddenly one of the guards at the gate began to shout. It took Kane a moment to register what he was saying.

  “Shana! It’s Shana. She made it back! Hey, get me some help! She needs medical attention!”

  The guard opened the gate for the woman on the other side. She staggered in, covered in dried blood. A few people ran to close the gate as Kane took a few steps forward. He squinted, trying to confirm that the woman was in fact their Shana, the girl who had left with the scavenging party and never returned.

  “I’ll be damned,” Kane murmured.

  Tynuk stopped short of the entrance and paused, his senses alert to something that might have been nothing at all. It sounded like the dry scrape of fabric on metal. The wind picked up, blustering through the shattered windows of Chappy’s General Store, howling like some trapped spirit of vengeance. Across the street the smartly dressed Burger Boy statue rotated in the wind, his plaster burger held high, a giant smile on his face blackened by soot and dust.

  The warrior boy’s mouth watered at the thought of a burger. It had been too long. He relaxed a little but remained alert. The sound didn’t seem to merit any response. Tynuk and Azolja had been traversing I-40 west since they’d picked it up back in Tennessee. The cracked and crumbled road was full of junk cars and other remnants of the previous era, including highwaymen who scavenged the ruins for valuables. It was not wise, even for the boy and his beast, to risk an encounter with such a group. He and Az tried to stay off the road, using it more as a compass.