Demon Lights

by Michael M. Hughes

  Ray’s stomach lurched. “How many? Who were they?”

  Vinod made a sound like laughter. But he was sobbing.

  “They were children,” Burnham said, his voice almost a whisper. “Kids. I couldn’t count, but…a lot of them.”

  Vinod lurched up from his seat and stumbled away into the darkness. They heard him vomiting.

  “Oh, gods, no,” Claire said. She squeezed Ray’s arm.

  Burnham pulled a mitten from his jacket pocket. A tiny red mitten. “Their clothes, coats…everything. Threw it all on a pyre and torched it all. This was the only thing that hadn’t burned. It must have fallen off or blown away.” He turned the mitten over in his hands. “And the smell. Oh, God.” He put his head in his hands.

  “No,” Ray said. He felt suddenly dizzy. No. He wouldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe it. Not William. He had to be alive.

  “We need to make those motherfuckers pay,” Mantu said.

  Ray pressed his fist into his palm. “I agree. Let’s find them. Are they on the road?”

  Burnham’s eyes didn’t leave the mitten in his hands. “Yes. The snowcat isn’t fast, so as long as they’re staying together in a convoy, they can’t be too far ahead of us.”

  “We need to ride fast,” Mantu said. “All night if we have to.” His eyes hardened. “Who’s with me?”

  “You know I am,” Ray said.

  “Me too,” Claire said.

  Burnham shoved the mitten back into his pocket. “Let’s do it. Get those tents packed up.”

  —

  The snowmobile headlights cut sharp cones of light into the darkness ahead, illuminating the flurries that came at them like waves of stars in a science fiction movie. Riding on the road was much easier—the snowcat and trucks had carved out perfect, flat passages. And it might have been his burning anger, but the cold didn’t bother Ray nearly as much, despite their speed and the incessant flurries. He kept trying to not think about William, to force himself to believe William was not a pile of bones and ash on a simmering fire but was still alive. He had to be.

  They stopped once, when Burnham spotted something along the side of the road. A child’s coat. They all stood staring at it, silent, no one knowing what to say, then left it lying where it was.

  “He’s still alive,” Ray kept muttering to himself as they resumed their chase.

  They stopped again to refuel as the edge of the eastern sky turned a muggy purple. Vinod doled out some stale granola bars while Mantu heated coffee on the stove. Burnham asked everyone if they were okay.

  “I’m exhausted,” Claire said. “And nearly frozen. Can we rest for a bit?”

  “For a few minutes,” Burnham said. “I think we’re getting close.”

  Mantu stepped out of the trees. “Oh, we’re catching up all right. I found footprints. Someone else had already left some yellow snow next to that tree. And this—check it out.”

  Ray squinted. “A cigarette?”

  “Yep. And not covered in snow.”

  Vinod held up his hand. “Shh. Be quiet.”

  Everyone quieted.

  “Do you hear that?” he asked.

  Ray was about to say no when he did hear something. Very faint, but it was there, rising above the sharp whistle of the wind through the trees—the sound of motors.

  Mantu dropped the cigarette. His eyes grew wide. “Well, fuck. That has to be them.” He unzipped their cargo on the sled. “Time to lock and load.” He pulled out one of the rifles.

  “Hold on,” Burnham said. “Let’s think about this. We don’t just want to ride up and start shooting at them.”

  “Why the fuck not?” Mantu asked. “They don’t deserve anything less.”

  “I’m with Mantu,” Ray said. His hands were trembling. “I’m sure they’re armed, too. We can’t give them a chance.”

  “I have an idea,” Claire said.

  —

  “I hear them,” Ray said.

  Mantu was prone next to him in the snow, his rifle pointed down a hill at the road. They had ridden off-road at high speed as the sun rose, careful to stay far away from the logging track until they were far ahead of the convoy. Now they were hunkered down, hidden on both sides of the road, Ray and Mantu together on the eastern hill and Claire and Burnham in the trees to the west. Below them on the road Vinod stood next to his overturned snowmobile. He waved to them, then turned and made an okay sign at Claire and Burnham. It was time.

  “I really hope this works,” Ray said. He shifted his weight and balanced the barrel of the rifle on a log they had dragged from the woods.

  “Say what you want about our fine Indian friend,” Mantu said, his eye against the rifle scope, “but the old man has some serious cojones.”

  Vinod had volunteered to wait on the road. He was already lying facedown, positioning himself beside his overturned vehicle as if he were injured or dead from a crash. He squirmed, then went completely still.

  The walkie-talkie crackled to life and Ray jumped. It was a good thing he hadn’t had his finger on the trigger.

  Mantu picked it up. “You ready over there?”

  “We’re ready,” Claire’s voice answered. “May the gods be with us.”

  Mantu switched off the radio and turned back to the scope. “Remember—wait as long as you can. Aim for the center of the body. No head shots—this isn’t a video game.” He turned his head to Ray. “You sure you can do this?”

  Ray thought of the red mitten. “Yeah. Absolutely.” Any worries about hesitating to kill someone were gone. These scumbags had murdered children and thrown their bodies on a fire like so many cut logs. A quick death was far better than what they deserved, but it would have to do.

  “Okay. Shh. I think they’re about to come around that turn. Is the safety off?”

  Ray double-checked. “It’s off.”

  “Keep your finger light on the trigger but don’t shoot until I say go. Let’s see how many of the motherfuckers we can take out right away. And if any of them point a gun at Vinod—”

  “Understood.” Ray lined up his eye along the sight. He wasn’t even shaking this time, although his breathing was fast and shallow.

  The snowcat came around the turn first. Next came a Jeep, following in the snowcat’s path. Behind the Jeep was a bigger truck, a military-green transport vehicle.

  Ray’s teeth clenched. That’s what they took the kids in. Probably told them they were going on a field trip before they pulled them all out, lined them up, and shot them in cold blood.

  “They see him,” Mantu whispered.

  The snowcat was slowing down. The windows were tinted, so Ray couldn’t see the driver or if there were any passengers. He realized he hadn’t been breathing, so he slowly let out the air through his nose. His heart was pounding.

  The Jeep rolled to a halt behind the snowcat, then the truck ground its gears loudly as it stopped about thirty feet behind it. When the snowcat’s engine turned off it became eerily quiet. Ray was conscious of how loud his breathing was. He didn’t dare move an inch for fear of making a sound. Why wasn’t anyone getting out? What were they waiting for?

  The door of the snowcat opened and a man got out. He reached in and pulled out a rifle.

  Ray lightly touched the trigger. His hands were freezing without the mittens, but there was no way he could have shot the gun wearing them. It felt like his finger might get stuck to the frozen metal.

  Two men got out of the Jeep, also carrying rifles. Heavy metal music blared from inside. Ray had one of them directly in his scope, the crosshair centered on his chest. He was young, maybe in his twenties, a white guy with blond hair sticking out from under his hat.

  The man from the snowcat walked slowly to Vinod’s overturned snowmobile. His hood and dark glasses made it impossible for Ray to make out his features. When he saw the prone man he froze and raised his hand. “Hold up,” he shouted.

  A man stuck his head out of the passenger window of the transport truck. “What’s going on?�
��

  One of the guys from the Jeep held up his hand. “Looks like a wreck.” He kept scanning the hill and the tree line, rifle at the ready across his chest. The way they held their guns told Ray they were pros.

  The hooded man from the snowcat inched closer to Vinod. He stared quietly. “I think he’s dead!” he shouted. And then he raised his rifle to his shoulder and pointed the barrel at the prone man.

  “Now,” Mantu shouted.

  The rifle shots were deafening. The hooded man jerked like a puppet, dropped his gun, and collapsed. Ray kept the trigger squeezed as he pivoted, his ears ringing as his rifle bounced against the log. Mantu’s rifle was spitting out bullets nonstop next to him. The blond Jeep passenger nearest to them fell backward as if he had been smacked with a baseball bat. The windshield shattered. But the driver somehow managed to avoid the spray of bullets and jumped into the Jeep.

  “Get that motherfucker!” Mantu shouted, getting up on one knee.

  The transport truck was backing up. The pounding drums and guitar from the Jeep were silenced as the driver pulled the door shut. Across the road Ray saw Burnham crawl from his spot behind a mass of overturned tree roots. He was shooting at the Jeep, too, and the impact of the bullets against the vehicle thudded in the cold air.

  Vinod got to his knees behind the snowmobile and brandished his pistol.

  “Get down!” Ray screamed.

  The Jeep’s tires spun in the snow. The passenger-side mirror exploded.

  Vinod stood from behind the snowmobile, the pistol pointed straight ahead.

  “Vinod, get the fuck down!” Ray screamed again. The Jeep rapidly accelerated backward, sliding sideways on the icy road. The passenger-side window rolled down, and Ray saw the barrel of a rifle emerge from it. It was pointing directly at him and Mantu.

  “Mantu!” he shouted.

  The log in front of them exploded. Mantu fell back, clutching his forearm to his face. “Fuck!” he screamed. He writhed in the snow, and Ray saw blood on the sleeve of his coat. Behind them bullets thunked into the trees and whistled above their heads. He crawled over to Mantu. “You okay?”

  Blood was running down Mantu’s face but he wouldn’t pull his arm away. “Don’t worry about me, just get the motherfuckers!”

  Ray crawled on his stomach through the snow. More gunshots from the road below. The Jeep had reversed and was almost off the road. Burnham was firing at it nonstop. But it suddenly jerked forward, then shot ahead. Through the broken windshield Ray could see the driver huddled down in the seat. He was driving blindly.

  The snow next to Ray exploded in a giant cloud. He lowered his head. Jesus, that had been close. He rolled several feet back in the direction of Mantu. He was prone, a bright red circle in the snow around his face. Without thinking, Ray grabbed the walkie-talkie and hurled it to his left, then pulled up on his elbows. He started firing before he could see, but as he raised his head, the rifle shuddering in his hands, he directed the spray of lead toward the truck. The side window exploded and Ray kept firing. The rifle pointing at him dropped into the snow but Ray kept firing.

  And then he saw the Jeep whip around the snowcat. It was heading directly for Vinod, who stood, arm outstretched, pistol pointed at the driver.

  “Vinod!” Ray screamed above the noise of gunfire.

  Everything seemed to slow down.

  Burnham was pulling at something on his rifle. It must have jammed. Claire stood firing at the Jeep, but she couldn’t hit the driver from her angle. The Jeep slid, angling away from him, but he kept firing. The back window shattered, and the Jeep righted itself.

  No, this can’t happen. He can’t get away.

  Vinod stood in the middle of the road. His arm jerked as he fired. And again.

  The Jeep accelerated.

  “Vinod, no!” Ray screamed. He emptied more rounds into the Jeep. One of its tires blew out, but it plowed ahead. Vinod didn’t move, just raised the pistol once more. Ray could swear the man was smiling.

  When the car was almost on top of him he fired one last shot.

  And then he was flying. The Jeep’s grill hit him in his midsection and he flipped forward, smacking his back against the shattered remnants of the windshield where he lay still momentarily, like a fly stuck in a web. The Jeep swerved to the right and Vinod’s crumpled body slid off onto the road before the vehicle crashed into a tree.

  And then time sped up again.

  Ray ran, then slid feet-first down the hill. He scrambled toward Vinod. His friend was lying with one arm twisted behind his back. But he looked completely unharmed otherwise. If Ray hadn’t seen the impact he wouldn’t have believed his eyes now. Vinod was blinking rapidly as Ray knelt beside him.

  “Vinod. Vinod. You okay, brother?”

  Vinod’s eyes moved to his. “I got him, Brother Ray,” he said. When he smiled his yellow Chiclet teeth were pink with blood.

  Ray felt his throat seize up. “Just hang in there, okay?”

  Vinod winced but his smile remained. In the distance the head-banging music from inside the Jeep was still playing.

  Behind him Burnham shouted. “Get out. Now. Hands in the air!”

  Ray turned. The driver of the transport truck, hands held high, stepped out. He was young, too, eyes wide. “Okay, don’t shoot. Don’t shoot me.”

  Claire rushed over and dropped her rifle. “Where’s Mantu?”

  Ray turned back to the hill. “Shit. You stay here.” He scrambled up the hill.

  Mantu was sitting up, holding his bloody face. “Ray? Ray, that you?”

  “It’s me,” Ray said. He groaned inwardly when he saw all the blood. “It’s okay. We got them all.” He leaned closer. “Let me see your face.”

  Mantu hesitated, then pulled his hands away.

  Ray’s breath caught in his throat.

  “I can’t see,” Mantu said.

  “We need to stop the bleeding,” Ray said. He was glad Mantu couldn’t see his expression. “But it doesn’t look so bad.”

  “You’re lying, motherfucker,” Mantu said.

  “Ray—get down here!” Burnham called. “I need some help tying him up.”

  Ray opened Mantu’s backpack and pulled out a shirt. “Here. Hold this on your face. I’ll be right back.”

  Ray ran back down the incline, then stood next to Burnham and held the gun on their captive as Burnham tied his hands behind his back with elastic rope. “Now you sit there, and if you move an inch or say a single word I’ll cut your tongue out. You understand?”

  “Yes,” he answered, his voice a whisper.

  Burnham spat, then turned to Ray. “How’s Mantu?”

  “He can’t see. His face is all fucked up. There’s too much blood, so I can’t tell how bad it is.”

  “I’ll take a look. Bring him down here. We’ll get him inside the truck and turn on the heat. He’s likely to go into shock.”

  “Vinod needs help,” Ray said.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Burnham said quietly. His face was drawn tight. His eyes communicated everything his mouth didn’t. He had seen the impact, too.

  “I’ll get Mantu,” Ray said, hurrying off.

  A wailing guitar riff drifted from the Jeep. “Shut that damn music off!” Burnham shouted.

  —

  The inside of the truck became a makeshift hospital. Burnham cleaned up Mantu’s face while Claire sat holding Vinod’s hand and stroking his sweat-beaded forehead.

  “You weren’t shot,” Burnham said as he slowly wiped around Mantu’s eyes with a wad of bloody gauze. “It looks like shrapnel of some kind got your eye here.”

  “The log,” Ray said. “The log in front of us. It basically exploded.”

  Burnham nodded. “That explains it. Do you have the alcohol?”

  Ray handed the bottle to him.

  “Can you open your other eye?”

  Mantu slowly opened his left eye. Burnham held it open with his forefinger and thumb. “It looks okay,” he said. “It’s red but d
oesn’t look like there’s any injury other than maybe a scratched cornea.”

  “I can see a little bit,” Mantu said, wincing. “But it’s blurry.”

  “Keep it closed for now.” Burnham reached into his back pocket. He pulled out a leather wallet. “Don’t know why I was carrying this. I guess old habits die hard.” He held it in front of Mantu’s face. “Open your mouth.”

  “Don’t get fresh with me,” Mantu said. Ray shook his head. Did he ever stop joking?

  “Open.”

  Mantu opened his mouth and Burnham inserted the wallet. “Now bite down hard.”

  Mantu closed his mouth on the wallet.

  “This is gonna hurt, but I have to clean you up,” Burnham said, pouring some of the alcohol onto a fresh piece of gauze. “I apologize in advance.”

  Mantu mumbled something unintelligible.

  “Ray, you might want to go over to Claire and Vinod,” Burnham said.

  When Ray sat next to Claire, Mantu’s muffled scream filled the truck’s interior.

  Vinod opened his eyes. His breathing was labored and each exhalation sounded like he was trying to whistle. “Is Brother Mantu okay?” he asked.

  “He’s fine,” Ray said. Claire forced herself to smile.

  “How about you?” Ray asked.

  Vinod’s mouth stretched out into his fake smile, but his lips quivered with the effort. His teeth were bright red. “I bit my tongue,” he said. “And it’s hard”—he paused, drawing in a whistling breath—“to breathe.” His eyes met Claire’s. “But sister…sister…”

  “Shh,” Claire said. “Just rest.”

  Vinod closed his eyes and his mouth went slack.

  “Goddamn you motherfucking cocksucker Burnham!” Mantu screamed. He must have spit out the wallet.

  Ray heard quiet laughter behind him. He stood up and turned. Their prisoner had turned his head away. Ray squatted next to him and yanked his head back by his bushy brown hair. “You think this is funny?”

  He didn’t answer and averted his eyes.

  Ray slammed his head against the back door of the truck. “Jesus,” the captive cried.

  “What’s your name?” Ray asked.