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

by Stu Jones

  “Leave us alone, and we will leave you alone,” Courtland pleaded. “Last chance.”

  “Zher isss no ozzer vhey,” the Father responded, his voice broken and strained. “Yur timesss hasss pasht. Now esch our timesss. Vhe vill gho aghain disss nightss and taste zhe chilldrensss fleshhhiieessss.”

  “I don’t think so,” Courtland said, tossing the broken frame at the creature’s feet. As the mutant followed the frame with his eyes, Courtland made his move.

  In a blinding surge that recalled his old crushball days, Courtland straight tackled the Father as they crashed into and through the front wall of the mud hut. The giant winced as a clawed hand slammed into his face, tearing grooves in his flesh. He flung the vicious creature through the air and watched as it tumbled and flopped across the ground. The Sicks moved to surround Courtland and the Father, filling the gaps, creating a menacing barrier of tooth and claw. There was no escape now.

  Courtland put his hand to his face and felt the blood drip into his palm. He would have to tend to his injury later. He watched as the Father flew to its feet while groping for the flute before realizing with a howl that it was gone. Extending a fist the size of a bowling ball, Courtland dangled the flute before the group, causing the creatures to croon.

  “Look at them,” Courtland mused as he gestured with the object, his face dripping crimson splashes onto his shirt. “Just the sight of this thing sets them to moaning.”

  The Father flung its arms open in a wild rage. “Killssss it! Eatsss itsss fatz fleshhiieessss!”

  Courtland braced for an attack that never came. The mass of Sicks remained rooted in place, some swaying, others staring with empty eyes. They were slaves to the Father’s song, not to him.

  “Killssss itsss!”

  “They don’t revere you,” Courtland boomed. “They revere this,” he said, dangling the object again. “No one—not you, not anyone—should wield a weapon like this.” Courtland flipped the item up into his palm and closed his fingers around it.

  The Father screamed and foamed at the mouth, clawing the air in front of him.

  “You don’t control them anymore.” Courtland closed his fist tight, reducing the flute to a fine, white powder that trickled like sand through his fingers.

  Whether perceived or real, Courtland sensed a shift in the crowd around him, as though a measure of resolve had just drained from them. The Father wasn’t deterred. Like an apex predator, he loosed himself on the giant in a whirl of violence. Before Courtland could change his position, the mutant was upon him, its claws tearing, slashing, peeling back sections of clothing and flesh with each strike. The assault was so complete, so animalistic that Courtland found himself nearly immobile as the maddened creature slashed and climbed all over his massive frame. Courtland swung his arms in desperation, trying to fend off the vile monster, which, blow by blow, weakened his body and crushed his resolve.

  The Father moved faster than should have been possible, as the screams and howls of the surrounding creatures seemed to fuel its rage, willing it to emerge victorious over the massive intruder. With power and precision, the monster swiped Courtland’s lower thigh then slashed him under the arm, causing Courtland to gasp and stumble. The Sicks went wild as the giant tried to stand, his body quivering. With a cold realization, Courtland knew he had attacked the symptom and not the cause. By destroying the flute, he had enraged the Father. Courtland knew that destroying the flute had deterred the Father’s power over the masses, but as long as the mutant leader survived, it could use its knowledge to create another flute. He couldn’t allow this to happen.

  Courtland’s body was weakening, shaking, as the blood that poured from his numerous wounds began to soak through his clothes. Another flurry of swipes nearly toppled him as his heart slammed in his chest and his head swam with pain.

  “My God,” Courtland cried out, “do not abandon me to these wicked creatures!”

  A surge of supernatural light stirred the air around him, whipping his clothes and bits of blood and flesh from his body. The giant felt the hand of God cover him. Digging deep, Courtland felt a renewed strength of righteousness swell inside of him, setting his senses ablaze. In a flash, he could see everything, track every movement, and hear every footfall, as the creature came at him again.

  Raising himself up, Courtland parried away several swipes, swinging an uppercut like a wrecking ball, catching the Father by surprise, and launching the creature into the air. It flailed before smacking hard against the ground to the screams of the onlooking mutants. Wild with rage, the Father approached again, but this time the giant was ready. As the Father leaped at him, Courtland met the mutant head-on and snagged it in a bear hug, pulling it close and bracing himself. The Father wailed and lashed out at Courtland’s face and chest until the giant squeezed and snapped its spine in one jarring movement. The mass of mutants howled and jumped in the air as Courtland dropped the Sick’s writhing frame against the earth. Its lower body useless, the creature became wild with pain as it screamed and thrashed itself against the ground.

  The Father gnashed its teeth in pain. “Killsss!”

  Courtland loomed over the Father, placing a heavy boot on its writhing body.

  “Killsss meeeee,” the Father begged, as a look of shame covered the feral mutant’s darkened face. “Killsss vasht I hasht become…”

  Courtland nodded in understanding and glanced at the silent, unmoving crowd of freaks around him. “It is finished,” he whispered. He reached down and with both hands tore the Father’s head from its body with one deft movement. Black blood sprayed onto the ground from the Father’s corpse as the giant thrust the mutant’s head into the air above him. The surrounding Sicks squirmed, some continuing to stare while others began to flee.

  Dropping the lifeless head with a thunk, Courtland let out a terrifying battle cry as he swung his arms open as a bold challenge to any others who dared confront him. The Sicks fled into the forest in droves, nearly climbing over one another, desperate to escape the fury of the giant. After a long, vigilant moment, Courtland let out a deep sigh and lowered his head.

  “Oh, God, who hears my cries and delivers me,” he whispered.

  With a crackle, Courtland’s earpiece came to life.

  “Courtland,” Dagen spoke. “What is going on down there? Can you copy?”

  “I’m here.”

  “You’re okay?”

  “The Lord has given me the strength to prevail yet again.”

  “I don’t see any Sicks. Do you still have any threats?”

  “No. They’re gone, scattered.”

  “The leader?”

  “Here at my feet,” the giant said, wiping at his bloody face, his wounds already beginning to mend. “We did it, Dagen. Praise God. Those at the station will live another day.”

  “Don’t speak too soon. I just heard gunfire coming from the direction of the station. I think something is happening there. Jenna and the others may be in danger.”

  “The work of the righteous is never finished,” Courtland murmured to himself. He keyed up his microphone. “Take the Jeep, and do what you can to save lives.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll go on foot.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Dead serious,” Courtland said as he began to run. “I’ll probably beat you there.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  At first as a mist and then in heavier, fatter droplets, a greasy rain fell from the blackened sky. An hour after daybreak, the sky was just beginning to show minimal signs of light. Thick, black smoke billowed in plumes from the burning gypsy camp, disappearing into the void above.

  It hadn’t rained in weeks, as was obvious from the way the parched earth soaked up every oily drop. Though not as thick as it had been in those early days, the rain still retained the grungy remnants of the initial fallout. The black droplets clung and slid together as gelled masses. Mother Nature had not yet purged this poison from her, a filthy reminder of humankind’
s recklessness.

  The fires around the camp had begun to die, the shadows they cast but a fading memory in the light of the dreary morning. Jacob closed his eyes and let the thick water cascade over his wounded body. He huddled in the shadow of a rusted vehicle, long disabled and abandoned.

  Shana had been relentless, tracking him through the camp, firing at every stray movement. He had done his best to stay ahead of her, to keep moving, but with every ragged breath, his chest clamped down like a vice, squeezing the life out of him. He swallowed and looked down at the bloody hole that bubbled with every labored breath. The round must have hit his lung.

  Jacob raised his good arm and placed his hand over the hole, which seemed to relieve some of the pressure. He inhaled a shallow breath and pushed back an incoming tide of nausea and pain. The effects of the adrenalin were beginning to wane. He may not have long to live.

  The oily rain slid down his flesh as he waited. It was all he could do. He was tired of running, tired of hiding. In an attempt to catch her off guard, Jacob had veered off the path and doubled back between the tents. He knew Shana would find him, as he had left behind a splatter of crimson droplets that had yet to be washed away in the rain. Shana would come, and he would be waiting for her. He had to warn Kane. He had to tell him what the Coyotes were doing. But first, he had to survive his pursuer.

  Jacob felt so tired. Closing his eyes for just a moment, he allowed the small feeling of comfort to envelop him. The pitter-patter of rain on canvas reminded him of rainy Saturdays, which his grandma called book days. On these days Jacob and his little brothers were forbidden to watch TV or play video games. Book days were for reading books or doing something creative and quiet. At first, the boys protested, but over time, it became a ritual, a time for each of them to refocus, to curl up with a good story, or delve into a favorite creative outlet. They came to love book days and the peace and simplicity those days promised.

  Jacob drifted, floating through the memories of his little brothers giggling, curled up with their cat, Sam. Grandma loved having a fire in the fireplace on book days and always whipped up some yummy treat for the boys. Jacob had not known his father, and he’d never had a meaningful relationship with his mother. She, having signed custody of Jacob over to his grandma when he was a baby. He’d had only his grandmother and his brothers, and though they wouldn’t all survive the beginning of the end, Jacob willed them back to life in this moment as he melted away into the safety and security of better times.

  With a spasm of pain, he gasped and forced his eyes open. The rain continued to pour down across the permanent gloom of the gypsy camp. “No,” he groaned. “Not yet.”

  A flicker of movement caught his eye. Jacob hugged his soaked body closer to the frame of the abandoned vehicle. With each breath, he shuddered, a few droplets dripping from his face. He forced himself to listen through the gloom and heard the steps approaching.

  “I’ll get you, little piggy. I’ll find you,” the voice whispered, as Shana came into view, swinging her rifle left and right. “You’re hurt. You’re bleeding. You can’t make it far.”

  Jacob held his breath and crouched low against the frame of the rusted car. With a shudder, he realized that in his flight he had forgotten to secure anything that might be used as a weapon. He glanced around the immediate area but found nothing of use as he watched Shana creep past. He refused to move. Unarmed, outgunned, and severely injured, he didn’t stand a chance. At once Jacob heard a malevolent snicker and knew instantly that he had been found.

  Shana laughed quietly. “Well, how about that.”

  Squinting, Jacob looked up, certain he would be staring down the barrel of her rifle. But he wasn’t. She still hadn’t seen him. She’d stopped, crouched between the tents where she appeared to be watching someone else.

  Jacob slowly pulled himself up and peered inside the rusty vehicle, where he saw a tire tool half hidden under the rear seat. He groaned in pain as he leaned his upper torso into the vehicle, secured the makeshift weapon, and returned to his crouched position.

  “I got you,” Shana whispered not fifteen feet in front of him, beginning to raise her rifle on someone in front of her.

  Mustering his strength, Jacob crept forward on his hands and knees, willing himself to be as quiet as possible. Arriving at the edge of the car, he peered forward and around the bumper. There he saw Shana and what appeared to be two men on the ground. Jacob wiped the greasy rain from his face and looked again. One man was motionless on his back, and the other was crouched over him. The sound of the safety clicking down on Shana’s rifle brought Jacob’s attention back to her. It was the perfect time to make his move, but he felt so weak.

  At once the tire tool seemed like such a stupid, ineffective weapon to deploy against an armed opponent. Had he lost his mind? Jacob faltered, his courage failing as he tried to determine the fastest route to get away from the madness of the situation. As he looked around, scanning the perimeter, he heard Shana whisper to herself. Her words rooted him in place.

  “You aren’t so tough now, are you, Kane?”

  Kane!

  With no time to think and no time to form better plans, Jacob had to move against Shana or she’d kill his only friend. Taking a slow breath, he stood on shaky legs, swallowing the bloody spittle that clung in his throat, and made his move. After only a few clomping steps, Jacob realized he wouldn’t make it to her in time. In a burst of violence, Shana’s rifle ripped the air with a three-round burst, and out of the corner of his eye, Jacob saw Kane drop to the earth.

  “No!”

  Hearing Jacob’s wild scream, Shana spun in surprise, the whites of her eyes flashing as she squeezed the trigger again. Blinding flashes accompanied the deafening roar as Jacob felt the hot rounds pierce his chest and bury themselves deep inside him. The world blurred, and he felt as though the earth separated from the sky in a whirl of fire. He fell toward Shana, the tire tool flying with devastating force as it struck the side of her skull.

  They tumbled into a muddy pile as Shana shoved Jacob off her, cursing the reckless boy and her jammed rifle. Jacob could barely hear her now as an intense warmth covered him like a blanket, consuming his quivering, rain-soaked body from head to toe.

  Grandma, I’m coming home.

  Kane scrambled for his M4, trying to stay low as Garrett’s lifeless body doubled for cover as well as a shooting platform. Two shadows ahead struggled in an early-morning light that made everything gray and indiscernible. He wiped his face and aimed at one of the shadows, the one that had fired on him, just as the figure stood and began to run away.

  Taking a deep breath, he squeezed off a few rounds and saw his target stumble, clutching at its leg. Firing off several more shots, Kane watched as his target ducked and scrambled out of sight.

  “Damn it!” Kane swore, wiping his face again.

  He did a quick check of himself and confirmed that he hadn’t been hit. Kane knew that time was of the essence, but he felt compelled to check. The downed figure had stopped the other from firing. Kane wondered whether the lifeless form might have been an ally.

  He raised himself and did a quick scan of the area, his hand pushing at the burning in his chest, now terrible and constant. Taking short steps while sweeping his rifle back and forth, he approached the downed figure and felt his heart sink.

  “Jacob!” Kane cried, dropping his rifle and crashing to his knees next to the teen, whose life had all but slipped away. “Jacob! Come on, buddy!” he said, pulling off his jacket and pressing it over the numerous holes in the dying boy’s chest.

  “Kane…tried to stop her.”

  “I know. I know. Just relax now, buddy. I got you.”

  “No, you don’t know what’s happening, what they’re planning.”

  “Save your strength,” Kane urged, feeling a pang of responsibility for the boy’s condition.

  “It’s the Coyotes. None of us are safe.”

  Kane was consumed by a fresh wave of fear. “What abou
t the Coyotes? How do you know it’s—”

  “Listen to me,” the teen rasped, coughing blood. “This is their plan. They have your family. They’re attacking the station. We’re lost.”

  “No, Jacob. You can’t be right. It can’t be—”

  “It’s them. They planned this all along. Kick us while we’re down.”

  “Dear God,” Kane gasped. “Not like this.”

  “I’m sorry, man. I tried…” Jacob gagged and shook, his young body failing him.

  “I’m the one who’s sorry, Jacob.” Kane clenched his jaw and fought back feelings of déjà vu, as he watched another friend die in his arms. “I let this happen to you. I shouldn’t have let you come.”

  “Yeah,” Jacob rasped weakly, “but then you’d be dead.” The boy squirmed against the ground, coughing and gurgling as he struggled to breathe.

  “Stupid kid. Why did you have go and do something like this?” Kane mumbled as the rain came down, covering them both in a warm, dark shower.

  “ ’Cause that’s what friends do. I have to go now,” he whispered, as the last bit of life slipped away from him. “You got another chance. Make it count.”

  Kane gritted his teeth and swore under his breath. He lowered Jacob’s head to the ground and pulled the shirt up to cover the boy’s face. Sighing with despair and the weight of his failures, he lowered his head, allowing the rain to run down his face.

  It was then, that Kane heard his wife scream his name.

  TWENTY-NINE

  The sound of nearby gunfire brought everyone in the room to high alert. Some of the critically injured patients even tried to sit up on their cots.

  “It’s all right, everyone,” Jenna said, waving her hands. “Just keep calm. I’m sure it’s nothing.” She spoke with a quiver in her voice. Every patient in the room knew the sound of gunfire never meant nothing.