Still of Night

by Jonathan Maberry

  Instead, she unzipped the boiler suit and tossed it to him, then bent to pick up the blindfold so she could put it on again.

  ***

  That night, they all crouched around a set of maps that Church spread out on the ground. Everyone had eaten and was full, and the firelight painted them all in soft tones of orange and yellow. The woods around them were pitch black, but there were trip wires everywhere, and noise-maker alarms to signal if the dead were coming.

  The maps were marked with pieces of color-coded Post-it notes to indicate where pockets of resistance were or were rumored to be. He asked Dahlia a series of questions about how their Pack might approach each group, and why. The conversation went on deep into the night.

  They did not see or hear the figure crouched high in a tree, his body covered with a black canvas tarp. The flickering firelight did not reach far enough to glimmer on the lenses of the high-powered binoculars. Trash watched the camp with cold eyes. Inside his chest was a heart grown colder still.

  — 15 —

  THE WARRIOR WOMAN

  Rachael, Jason, and Claudia walked quietly behind the Happy Valley group as they led them toward their home. The man with the knife wound to the thigh was supported by the others, and Rachael stirred around in her emotions for some sympathy. Found a little; not a lot. Maybe once she saw how things were in their town she might carve off a thicker slice of compassion.

  Beside her, Jason was visibly tense, prepared for a trap that never sprang, his eyes darting around as they traveled, hand practically glued to his knife hilt.

  Rachael wanted to believe that these people were good people. That she and her friends had finally gotten lucky and this wasn’t a trap. She wanted to create a community like the one John and Heather described, one where people could find a permanent home. Where they didn’t have to constantly be on the run and fear for their lives. Where normality could resume.

  She missed the mundane activities of her former life. She missed attending classes and going to work. Missed seeing her friends and having dinner with her parents. She knew she was never going to get that life back, but God damn it, she would make sure someone else got to have that life, even if she had to fight every orc on the east coast to do it.

  Before long, the woods ended, opening out onto what had once been a beautiful area. It looked almost like a park, with large old-growth trees and hilly, grassy fields spotted with wildflowers. Closer inspection showed that the flowers were interspersed with tall weeds and bramble-bushes that made the going difficult.

  “There’s a road up ahead,” John explained. “It leads into the community. You can’t really walk through the field—we let it grow wild to discourage people and keep the monsters away.”

  Rachael nodded, following silently as they made their way down across the edge of field to the road. Beyond the wall of green forest was a wide space of cleared land and the walls of the town of Happy Valley. Ten feet high and the color of a sunwashed peach, those walls looked solid and reliable, as if to say that, yes, there is safety here. She could see a few guards walking along the top of the wall and standing on either side of a big double-gate that had once been decorative wrought iron but which was now backed by lashed timbers on the inside.

  The open space was empty of orcs, which surprised her. No wanderers, no throng of them trying to claw their way in. Either the town was so remote that the dead simply had no reason to come here, or the residents were diligent about clearing them out. In either case, the residents of Happy Valley had managed to create the perfect siege castle, even if by fluke of nature. Rachael took mental notes. If they were going to build their community, they could learn from this.

  The sun was low in the sky by the time they arrived, approaching a wide, tall wall covered in peach stucco bisected by a heavy metal gate. Rachael dropped back to have a few quiet words with Alice and Peter.

  “We’ll see if they have enough beds for all of us, and tomorrow you two can head back to Brett.”

  They nodded, and Rachael jogged ahead to catch up with John, who walked in the lead. “So tell me a little more about Happy Valley.” She kept her tone light, going for casual curiosity.

  John smiled at her. “Well, we have a great community, a lot of wonderful residents, and volunteers who make sure that everything runs smoothly. A lot of good people. We all look out for each other, make sure that we can continue the quality of life we once had, even if the world out here has gone to shit. Pardon my language.”

  “Do you know how many?”

  John shrugged. “No clue. I don’t think we’ve done a count lately, and even if we did, I don’t have the numbers. Not my wheelhouse. Some people find us by accident, some on purpose. Some choose to stay, others leave.”

  Rachael nodded, looking up at the gate as they stopped. John called out to someone out of sight, and the gate rolled slowly open.

  Heart pounding in her ears, she stepped inside after him, stopping to make sure that all of her team followed, nodding at each of them and smiling at Tommy, who still clung to Alice’s hand like a lifeline. When the last of them entered, the gate rolled shut with a loud, somehow ominous clang.

  Heather turned to the newcomers and smiled. “The council won’t be meeting tonight,” she said, “but we can get you some beds and a place to shower, and tomorrow we can show you around, introduce you. In the meantime, let’s get you folks settled.”

  As the sun set, solar lights set in the ground glowed to life, giving the town a warm ambient glow and a feeling of home that Rachael hadn’t felt in quite some time. Many of the residents of Happy Valley were out and about; families on porches, sitting at picnic tables or just strolling. Men, women, and children, clean and well-dressed, looking at the newcomers curiously, whispering among themselves.

  Rachael suddenly realized just how out of place they appeared, with their tattered superhero garb and armor and swords, covered in dirt and blood and sweat. She shifted the bag on her shoulders uncomfortably, taking care to smile at everyone who looked her way, but she hadn’t felt so self-conscious about how she looked since New York Comic Con, right before the shit hit the fan.

  “Mommy! Daddy!” Tommy let go of Alice’s hand and ran past Rachael to a young couple out in front of one of the homes. The worried frowns that had marred their foreheads smoothed out when they saw their son. The couple scooped him up, hugging him close and kissing his head over and over with frantic joy.

  Rachael’s heart hurt, watching that. As happy as she was for Tommy and his family, she would never have that reunion with her own parents. Tears pricked at her eyes, and she swallowed hard, looking down at the ground as she tried to compose herself.

  A hand on her shoulder snapped her out of her unwelcome thoughts. Alice gestured toward Heather, who had stopped in front of a beautiful two-story house. A veranda wrapped around the front and the lawn was well-tended, with purple flowers creating a splash of color against the cream-colored outer walls.

  “You can stay here tonight,” said Heather. “There are enough beds for all of you.”

  Rachael looked up at the house, her eyes wide.

  It was beautiful and perfect. Too beautiful. Too perfect.

  It was the sort of home you aspired to move into one day with your family, back in the world before; not the sort of home people could have in the world now.

  It felt . . . wrong.

  ***

  There were three bathrooms in the house, all bigger than her college dorm room. Rachael finally chose one, stripped off her armor and clothes, piling them to the side, and turned on the shower.

  It had been months since she had a real shower, and she would have settled for a cold one. So when hot water streamed out of the showerhead, Rachael nearly dissolved in bliss. She scrubbed herself down with lilac scented soap, watching months of dirt swirl down the drain.

  Drying herself off, she felt like a new person. Giving her clothes the same treatment—at least as best as she could with hand soap—she wrapped hersel
f up in an oversized towel the same cream color as the house, and picked out a bedroom, hanging her wet clothes over a chair.

  Absently detangling her hair with her fingers, she leaned against the window, looking down at the street and the houses below.

  This was what she wanted, a community like this that could thrive and survive. This is what they needed to build back home.

  She was running. Running. She didn’t know what she was running from, but she was running for her life. There was something chasing her, something fast, and she didn’t know what it was, didn’t want to wait and find out. It wasn’t an orc, not if it moved that fast, but she knew that if she stopped she would die. She could hear Brett in the back of her mind, telling her to run, telling her not to stop. Suddenly the ground beneath her feet ended, and she was falling, falling, and it was dark, and she didn’t know when she would hit the bottom.

  Rachael sat up in bed with a start, dagger clenched in her hand, sweat beading along her forehead and dripping between her breasts, heart racing. It took her a moment to remember where she was. Sun streamed through her window—how could it be morning already?—and she lay in what was probably the softest bed she had been in since . . . well, maybe ever.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, she put the dagger down, letting herself collapse back against the pillows.

  A knock at her door forced her to leave the soft warmth of the bed, but she did so with a grumble, her bare feet padding across the plush carpet. Running her fingers through her hair to smooth the morning tangles, she opened the door a crack, remembering almost too late she was only in her underwear. Luckily it was Alice. Heavenly smells wafted through the inch opening.

  “The council brought us breakfast,” she reported. “They want us to arrive, without any weapons, in an hour.”

  “Arrive where?”

  “Open the door,” demanded Alice. “This is heavy!”

  Rachael did so, stopping short when Alice offered her a large plate of food. Pancakes dripping with maple syrup and a bowl of fresh fruit. Rachael stared at the plate as though she’d never seen food before.

  “Right?” Alice exclaimed. “They have eggs too, and toast with butter. I haven’t had bread or butter in . . . well, it feels like forever.”

  After nearly inhaling the food, Rachael pulled on her still damp jeans and T-shirt, grimacing at the feeling of cold, soggy fabric against her skin but reveling in the smell of jasmine soap. Oh, to have clean clothes . . . Like much else in Happy Valley, it seemed too good to be true.

  Heather waited for them downstairs, impeccably dressed in a floral spring dress that made Rachael feel like a hobo in her Batgirl T-shirt and worn jeans. Heather led them on a pleasantly meandering trip through the community to a sprawling building that screamed “country club,” with beautiful orchards and gardens surrounding it.

  “This is our community center and town hall,” said Heather. “We have our own government now that everything else has failed. We have a mayor, Margaret Van Sloane, and a town council. It’s all very proper . . . we had an election and everything. It really works wonderfully.”

  As they walked through the entrance of the main building, she looked through sparkling glass windows that overlooked the gardens and orchards where a good dozen or so people were at work trimming leaves, picking fruit, pruning flowers, and weeding.

  The council was set up in a spacious room, a long table with eight chairs on either side running the length of it. The chairs were all occupied by men in slacks and dress shirts, and women in dresses similar to Heather’s. A single chair sat at the head of the table, occupied by a painfully skinny woman; the kind of skinny that was once considered chic amongst the wealthy. Rachael stood at the foot of the table, Jason and Claudia standing beside her.

  “Welcome to Happy Valley.” The woman at the head of the table stood, offering them a tight smile that made Rachael think of Botox. “I’m Margaret Van Sloane, the mayor of this community. What brings you here?”

  Rachael cleared her throat.

  “Good morning. I’m Rachael, this is Jason and Claudia.We were looking for supplies for our group when we found Tommy. He’d gotten lost so we decided to help him find his way home. We came across some of your people looking for one of your men, Pat. Long story short, we talked, Heather and John said the residents didn’t have much experience defending themselves, so we offered to come and spend a few days here to teach your people the basics.”

  “I thought John said there were five of you.”

  Rachael felt rather than saw Jason tense up beside her. “There were,” she replied readily. “But they wanted to rejoin our group rather than come here so we parted ways back in the woods.”

  Van Sloane gave a small, satisfied nod.

  “Well then, we will be glad for your help. Heather and John both maintain that you’re very competent fighters.”

  “We just get a lot of practice,” Rachael deflected the compliment awkwardly. “I’d rather be as lucky as you all, and not need it.”

  The mayor gave the same tight little smile she’d offered upon their arrival. “Regardless, you’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like. And your friends as well, of course.” She nodded toward Jason and Claudia without really looking at them.

  “You’re welcome to use the house you stayed in last night for the time being. In time, if you choose to stay with us, we’ll assign more appropriate quarters.”

  More appropriate how? Rachael thought. What she said, however, was, “Thank you. Please let me know when you’d like us to begin training your people.”

  “We can arrange some time tomorrow for you to start, see if anyone would be interested in learning what you have to teach. We have plenty of space where you can hold lessons.” Margaret Van Sloane nodded to one of the other council members, an older man with a full head of silver hair. “Tony, make sure it’s arranged. But, we won’t keep you longer. Heather will be happy to give you a tour.” With that, Van Sloane turned back to her council, clearly finished with the conversation.

  Guess we’ve been dismissed, Rachael thought

  Heather smiled, but it seemed a little forced. “Well, let me show you around.” Once again Rachael and her friends trailed after her like ducklings, back out through the building and surrounding gardens and out into the development, where they were given a cursory tour of the town and amenities the community had to offer.

  Rachael took quiet note, however, that armed guards were always around. They hung back and tried to look nonchalant, but she wasn’t fooled.

  She could understand it, though. Several citizens of this town had been injured by strangers dressed in—she had to admit—pretty bizarre costumes. Caution seemed entirely reasonable. Even so, she didn’t like it and made sure to keep track of every guard she passed.

  “Does anyone else see what I see?” Jason murmured to Rachael and Claudia as they entered another subdivision.

  Rachael looked around, wondering what she was supposed to be looking for.

  “I noticed it,” Claudia whispered back, crossing her arms almost protectively over her chest. “I thought maybe it was just a fluke at first, but now I definitely see it.”

  Rachael scanned the area for any possible threats, finding none.

  “What are you two talking . . . ” Her voice trailed off as she finally understood what Jason and Claudia meant. “Oh.”

  They were on yet another beautifully maintained street where people sat relaxing on their porches drinking sodas, children played happily on well-manicured lawns. In stark contrast, a handful of workers were trimming some of the bushes along the sidewalk. As Rachael looked—really saw what was in front of her—she felt sick and stupid for not noticing it before.

  While the happily playing children and lounging residents all wore clean, expensive looking clothes and looked like they’d just come from a hair salon, the workers were all clad in what looked like hand-me-downs, mainly jeans and plain T-shirts. None of their clothing was ragged, but the contrast
between workers and residents was easy to see if one paid attention.

  Everyone on the council, everyone relaxing and enjoying the day . . . they were all white. All the people working in the gardens or cutting the trees or cleaning the City Hall was a person of color. Black, Asian, Hispanic, Middle Eastern. All those lovely shades of brown skin doing the labor while the extremely white residents of town sipped their iced tea and flexed their toes in the green grass of well-manicured lawns.

  Oh, this is bad. Rachael thought to herself, stomach roiling. Oh, this is very, very bad.

  — 16 —

  THE SOLDIER AND THE DOG

  We spent more than two weeks trying to find Happy Valley. I scavenged a bunch of maps, but it wasn’t on any of them in the area Abigail said to look. Which told me there wasn’t actually a place called that, but was likely a development or gated community of that name. Likely a new build shortly before the dead rose. None of that helped. Would have been a snap with Google maps, but that ship sailed, caught fire, hit an iceberg and sank.

  So I roved. Going where the road took me. Sometimes following instincts; sometimes following whim.

  I found it by pure luck. I stopped for a night in what had once been a real estate office. Those are the kinds of businesses no one ever thinks to raid. No obvious stores of food, weapons, medical supplies or other things. No sign anyone had even slept there before me, except for animals. I killed some time sweeping out the manager’s office and beat the cushions of a leather couch to make sure I wasn’t going to lie down with bedbugs or lice. Then I made a fire in a metal trashcan and put a brace of fat rabbits over it to slow roast. While that filled the offices with a mouth-watering aroma, Baskerville and I prowled the rest of the suite of offices.

  I found a file cabinet near the reception desk, bottom drawer crammed with boxes of power bars, two bags of Twizzlers, and several big bags of wrapped mints. I took all of that. Then I hit pure gold in a small breakroom. There were eight five-gallon bottles of spring water for the lobby cooler, and all the makings for coffee, including four pounds of bulk coffee already ground, and maybe six or seven hundred packs of Starbucks instant coffee, along with sealed bags of sugar packets and powdered creamer. I nearly wept.