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

by Stu Jones

  She had survived the night, as he knew she would, but she hadn’t emerged from inside the station all day. It concerned him that her injuries may have been more severe than he’d first thought. A chill ran over him, and he squirmed at the thought that she might be seriously injured. That was not acceptable, not for her. She had to be perfect. Not a single imperfection. He would collect his doll and spirit her away from all this nonsense. He would take her to where he could savor her, where he could enjoy the game to the fullest.

  Even at a glance, it was quite obvious that these pitiful survivors didn’t have much left in them. And after the mutants hit them again, which they would, and Malak began to execute his plan, there was no way that they could hold. Not in a million years. At that moment all the waiting would be worth it. Amid the screams, the pillaging, and the fire, Raith would swoop in and secure his dolly quick, quiet, and completely without incident. Then the knowledge of what occurred would forever be shrouded in myth. Only in the dimness of some future day would some survivor say, “Do you remember that woman? The one who took care of everyone else before herself? She was so full of life. What ever happened to her?”

  TWENTY-ONE

  Everything was ready at the station. They’d gathered all the necessary supplies—food, water, and ammunition—and brought them to a closer, more central location to limit the number of unnecessary trips. This would increase their combat efficiency once the fighting began.

  All they could do now was wait. They had to hold fast to what little courage remained as they awaited the inevitable scraping of bone on bone and the maddened howls of the damned—sounds heralding their most certain doom. The dark of night would usher in the beasts, eyes aflame, jaws and claws poised to tear at the flesh of the innocent. And as they came, so would the final moments of every man, woman, and child at the station.

  There was little chance for their survival and each of them seemed to know it. All that remained was their fortification efforts, a dwindling supply of arms and ammunition, and a few weary leaders to guide them through the madness. It was a fearful process, one that transformed every creak of the station or scratch from a gust of wind against the outer walls into the beginning of the end. Everyone seemed jumpy, some resorting to nervous chatter while others sat alone with their thoughts. Every individual dealt with their circumstances as best they could, together but alone, in the artificial light of the station lobby.

  Courtland finished praying over several members of the group as they hugged and patted one another on the back. The giant stood, remaining half stooped to wander among the dirty survivors who crowded the lobby. He stopped next to Kane, who was talking to Winston. The radioman appeared frustrated.

  “No, that’s what I’m telling you, Winston. It’s not important right now.”

  “Sure it is. I can—”

  “Winston,” Kane said in a softer tone, “I know you’re more comfortable down there. Look, everyone is scared. Believe me—I’m scared too, and if I thought that having you stay in the radio room was the best thing, I’d keep you down there. But we need everybody we can spare up here when they hit us. And think about it this way. If we got overrun and you were down there, you’d be trapped down there. They could very well decide to just hang around.”

  Winston nodded, nervously wringing his hands. “The…” He paused, considering his words. “The last attack made me piss my pants. I’ve never been so scared that I pissed my pants before. I wasn’t even on the front line. I don’t think I’m cut out for this stuff.”

  Kane glanced at Courtland, and the big man nodded. Courtland leaned down toward the nervous man. “You won’t be on the front line, but we could use you on support, bringing supplies, water, and ammo to people who need it. Think you can do that for us?”

  “Yeah, I suppose so.”

  “You’re a good man, Winston.”

  “If you say so,” the sheepish, chubby man said, as he turned and began carrying crates from the armory to the lobby.

  Kane sighed. “I hate the waiting. Let’s just get it over with. We’re as ready as we’re going to be. It has to be past midnight already. It feels like they came earlier last night.”

  “It’s somewhere between eleven and one by my estimation. And yes, you’re right. They’d come and gone by this time last night.”

  “What are they waiting for? We’re all but finished as it is.”

  “Don’t say that, Kane. We’re not finished. You can’t let that resonate in your heart. The Lord is with us. We will triumph over this evil.”

  Kane rubbed at the center of his chest, trying to massage away the pain that had begun to swell inside his heart. Why won’t it stop aching?

  “Maybe we’ll get a break. Maybe they won’t—” Courtland stopped midsentence as the high-pitched whine of the bone flute drifted with the light breeze.

  “Come,” Kane said, finishing Courtland’s sentence in a whisper. “They’re coming.”

  “I’ll protect the children and act as the last-ditch contingency we discussed.”

  Kane nodded and turned to address the people in the room. “Everyone on your feet and prepare yourselves. They’re coming!”

  The room launched to life at once. People ran back and forth, grabbing weapons and other gear. Some swore while others cried out in dismay.

  “Keep calm and form up!” Kane yelled. Courtland already had begun to make his rounds, confirming that everyone was in position. Quickly three lines were formed, two compact lines of about ten riflemen with a rear line of approximately fifteen pikemen. The idea was to try to hold off the mutants using rotating columns of fire. They’d either end up victorious or run out of ammunition. If the enemy began to close the gap, the pikemen would advance in an attempt to keep the beasts from flooding the lobby. Since the monsters had no long-range weapons, they would be deadliest up close and personal. When they were that close, any real chance of victory vanished. Humans, especially those without any real combative training, wouldn’t be able to contend at that range with such creatures.

  Kane watched Jenna pass him on her way to the medical bay, a nagging reminder that half their people were currently receiving medical care. The previous night they’d faced the monsters with twice as many. As the lines settled and the room fell quiet, Kane glanced over the men and women before him. They were good people—some of them good friends—and while they were not warriors, they had become much stronger in the last few weeks. They would die defending one another.

  Jacob shuffled up next to him and unslung his M-16A2. He performed a quick function check of the rifle, competently slapped a thirty-round magazine into the magazine well, and tabbed the bolt release.

  “Whaddya think?” the teen drawled then spat a stream of tobacco juice onto the floor. He rubbed his jacket sleeve under his chin to catch the black dribble.

  “I think that stuff you’ve got in your mouth is disgusting,” Kane teased in a feeble attempt to release some tension.

  “Can’t scavenge it around here anymore,” Jacob said, surveying the courtyard outside the window with a steady gaze. “It’s about the same as chewing on gold. Probably tastes better, though.” He flashed a nervous smile, spitting again. “Might as well, since I won’t live to see another day.”

  “Come on, Jacob,” Kane scolded. “Don’t talk like that.”

  “I’m serious,” Jacob said. “I’ve seen way too many horror movies, and you know as well as I do that the wisecracking, obnoxious kid, the one who’s only around for comedic value, doesn’t make it. Never does.”

  Kane shrugged, “fair enough.”

  “So whaddya think? For real,” said Jacob, his voice quieter, more serious.

  Before Kane could answer, a scream from outside pierced the night. Everyone in the room flinched. The sound wasn’t far away. Just behind the first, a second scream was heard, this one more like a moan, long and low, like a person in terrible pain.

  “Not long now!” Kane called to the group, as the rhythmic sound of bone scr
aping bone began. Shick, shick, shick, shick.

  Jacob squirmed. “Why do they do that?”

  “They want us to fear them,” responded Kane, watching the darkness beyond the windows, the night covering the open spaces of the courtyard, cloaking it in a relentless, consuming black.

  “Shit works,” Jacob mumbled, and scooped the dip from his mouth, flinging it to the floor. He raised his rifle in one motion.

  “Fall in line, Jacob, but stay close,” Kane whispered.

  “Yeah,” came the uncharacteristically quiet reply as the teen stepped away from Kane, moving into the front line.

  The hellish cadence continued to grow, swelling in the darkness as it seemed to scrape against every last raw nerve Kane possessed. As it grew, he thought he could make out a groan here, a hiss there. The scraping seemed to move closer and closer, as though it were a sound made by the darkness itself. Just when Kane couldn’t take it any longer, the sounds stopped. The bone flute’s shrill call faded and ceased. Nothing and no one moved in the silence. The people inside the station held their breath in anticipation. An eternity passed.

  “Lights!” Kane screamed at the top of his lungs.

  With a pop, the bluish halogen glow threw back the shadows and bathed the courtyard in an eerie false light. A collective gasp was emitted as the station defenders were met with hundreds of the mutant creatures, the red of their eyes like tongues of fire. In that singular moment of stillness, the flute sang once more as the Sicks snapped to life, throwing themselves in a frenzy toward the windows and the terrified station defenders.

  “Rifle team one, fire!”

  It took just a fraction of a second for the command to fire to shatter the fear-induced inaction of the group. In a deafening blast, the rifles of the front line blazed to life, the cacophony in the confined space like raw energy poured into the air. The rounds found their marks, tearing ragged holes in the freaks as they clambered toward the shattering windows.

  “Cease fire! Reload! Team two, advance and fire!”

  Like the cogs of a machine, the second line advanced through the first, their faces full of fear and determination as they raised their rifles and brought a second wave of fiery destruction. The plan was working. The beasts were so enraged that they straight into the concentrated fire, pouring en masse through the restricted opening, bottlenecking, crawling right over their fallen as they howled in lust for the human flesh inside. In wave after wave, they came as Kane and the defenders destroyed them, their broken bodies beginning to amass in piles outside the window.

  “Last mag!” someone yelled.

  “Me too!” cried another.

  The ammunition was running out as the creatures continued to swarm. They pushed through the windows even as they were blown apart by rifle fire.

  “I’m out!” several riflemen cried.

  Kane stepped forward and lowered his rifle. “Pikemen, advance! This is our house! They will not take it!”

  With a roar the pikemen charged forward, their lances outstretched as they collided with the beasts.

  “Everyone else, fall back into the hallway!” Kane shouted, as the support personnel poured into the hall and the riflemen fell in behind them, their empty weapons raised.

  “Second rifle squad, up the stairs to the catwalk! Drop whatever ammo you have left on them from above! First rifle squad, hold and protect the med bay!”

  Kane watched, helpless, as the pikemen were slaughtered and pushed back, the monsters still pouring through the windows and moving toward the narrow hallway.

  “Prepare yourselves,” Kane gasped, as the mutants rushed forward. Shots and screams rang out in the darkened hallway.

  With a deep breath, Courtland relaxed and stepped off the roof of the station, directly above the bottlenecked swarm of mutants. The free fall took just a moment, and in that brief moment, he asked God to cover him in the grip of grace. With the sound of lightning erupting from the heavens, the giant hit the earth in the center of the Sicks, obliterating several under his boots. Rising back up, Courtland used his enormous black blades to tear a gaping hole in the swell of monsters.

  From behind the barred doors of the medical bay, Jenna and a few others stood facing the door. They were the last defense for the wounded, those who would not be able to protect themselves when the monsters came. The pistol in her hand trembled as she checked it again to make sure the safety was off. She heard Kane shouting commands in the hallway as the screams of his men and women reached her ears. A few of the wounded in the med bay cried out in fear. Jenna responded with soothing words. One way or another, it would soon be over.

  Five of Kane’s people had fallen, then six, seven, as more became trapped in the hallway, the monsters continuing to push forward. Blood splashed the walls amid a tangle of claws and rifles. The two groups flowed forward and back, like bloody waves on an open ocean. The ammunition was gone. In a blind rage, Kane screamed and used the butt of his rifle to crush a Sick’s face against the wall as it lunged for him. The creatures were all over them. There was no escape.

  In the courtyard, Courtland bellowed as the mutants enveloped him like a swarm of ravenous insects. For a moment he feared that they would devour him, that he would become overwhelmed by the sheer numbers thrown at him. And then, without warning, the song of the bone flute filled the air once more.

  Immediately the monsters stopped, entranced by the melody. Kane’s mouth hung open, his lungs heaving, his back to the wall. He sat gasping, with his forearm wedged under the neck of one beast in a desperate attempt to keep the monster from eating his face. With a snarl the creature freed itself, dragging its claws and tearing a hole in Kane’s shirt as it pulled away. The Sick fled back down the hallway with the others as they climbed through the windows and disappeared into the night.

  Courtland stood, anger swelling within him, as the swarm dispersed into the darkness. The giant roared to their wake, “Come on! I’m right here! Finish me if you can!”

  And then silence. Once again the sound of the flute had stayed them, stopping the creatures from wiping out the station defenders altogether.

  Courtland huffed and released his weapons, dropping to the ground in exhaustion as he watched the monsters disappear, fading before him into the dark embrace of the night. Inside the station, the remaining survivors breathed a sigh of relief, a far cry from the victory cheers of the night before, for they knew this was no victory. Just as a cat plays with its prey before it pounces to kill, these vile creatures were drawing out the inevitable, toying with their targets in the final hours of pursuit.

  Kane, Jacob, and one other man were the only survivors from the first rifle team. The second team had been cut in half, and all the pikemen had perished, every last one. Jacob and Kane slid down the blood-streaked wall and collapsed next to each other in the darkness of the hallway. Neither man could speak as the adrenalin rushed through their bodies. Jacob reached into his pocket and fumbled with a crinkled plastic bottle of black water. He struggled to open it, taking a deep gulp that splashed over his chin. His hand shaking, he handed the bottle to Kane, who took a deep breath through his nose then held it to slow his breathing and heart rate. He then took a big gulp of the clouded water.

  “Kane!” Courtland called from the windows.

  Kane cleared his throat as he wiped his mouth. “I’m here.”

  “Thank God. I’ll check on the children.”

  Kane didn’t reply but stood and offered Jacob his hand. For once the teen had nothing to say.

  “How about you? You all right?”

  Jacob nodded.

  “Give me a hand with the others.”

  A few minutes of searching confirmed that Jenna and those in the medical bay were okay, as were the children in the cellar. Those who were able began to remove and separate the bodies of friends and foe, isolating those who were wounded. Winston appeared, pushing his cracked glasses to his face. His pants were newly wet, and he shook as he spoke.

  “Are they gone? A
re they gone, Kane?”

  Kane nodded, realizing Winston had slipped away during the fighting.

  Coward.

  “Kane…I…I just couldn’t do it.”

  “Forget about it, Winston. Just help us out, okay?” Kane spoke, his exhaustion and irritation overflowing.

  “Kane—”

  “Winston, just help us out, damn it.”

  “No, Kane,” Winston stated, attempting to sound assertive. “You’re going to want to hear me out.”

  Flabbergasted, Kane turned toward the soft, chubby man and raised his hands. “What is it?”

  “It’s the radio.”

  “It’s going to have to wait. If someone is making contact, you’ll have to tell them they’re on their own for now.

  “No, Kane. You don’t understand. You want to hear this. There’s a guy on the radio. He says he has your wife and kids.”

  “Who is this?” The question disappeared into a wash of static that made everyone in the room wince.

  “You don’t need to know,” came the fuzzy response.

  Kane tightened his fingers around the microphone. He paused, forcing himself not to blurt out what he wanted, not to scream into the microphone. He took a deep breath and let it out slow.

  “Look, I don’t know what your game is, fella, but these aren’t trusting times. How do I know you aren’t blowing smoke?”

  The reply sounded coarse, like the scratching of fingernails on a chalkboard. “Your wife is a delicious brunette. Together you have twins. The girl cries too much, and the boy doesn’t talk often. Do as we say, and we’ll return them all to you.”

  If this is true and you have them, I’ll kill you.

  “I don’t believe you. Let me speak to them.”

  “I don’t think so, big man. You’re just going to have to take my word for it.” The voice said.

  “You’re bluffing. You’ve given me nothing substantial to validate your claim.”

  “Maybe so, but if you don’t come, you’ll have to live with the fact that I might have had your family and you let them die. It’s your choice.”