The Night's Champion Collection: A supernatural werewolf thriller trilogy

by Richard Parry

  “Nice bar,” said Rex. “I’ve been there.”

  “Was,” said Val. “It was a nice bar. Pretty sure it’s closed down. Anyway. He turned into a hideous moon beast, killing everyone inside, except for me. Me, he bit, and here I am, werewolf.”

  “You’ve skipped a part,” said Sky. “You skipped the part where Danny ate him.”

  “Right, sorry, I forgot.” Val rubbed his face. “We tracked them—”

  “Them?” said Sky.

  “The bad guys,” said John.

  “The bad guys,” said Val. “We tracked them to their facility—”

  “Lair,” said John. “It was totally a lair.”

  “We tracked them to their lair,” said Val. “There was a fight. Pretty much everyone who was on Team Bad Guy died. I don’t really know the details.”

  “You weren’t there?” Rex frowned. “But—”

  “I was a hideous moon beast,” said Val. “And it turns out Danny was too. I remember they shot her.” He remembered a shadow of what he’d felt then, the feeling of loss, and swallowed. “Sorry. As it happens, that’s not an effective strategy for dealing with werewolves. They shed their human form and kill everyone around them.”

  “So Danny—”

  “Danny turned into a werewolf, joined the fight, and—”

  “She jumped out a tall building and into a forest to track down Volk,” said John. “She met back with us the next morning, and remembered eating him. More or less.”

  “More or less,” said Val. “The details aren’t important. The thing is—”

  “Hold on, son,” said Rex. “I figure the details are pretty important.”

  “Right,” said Just James. “Like, why are there not more werewolves?”

  Val blinked at him. “You do not want more of these things.”

  “Sure,” said the kid, “but why aren’t there more? I mean, how did … what’s your girlfriend’s name?”

  “Danny,” said Sky. “Her name is Danny.”

  “How did Danny get … turned?” Just James looked around at them. “Did you bite her?”

  “If ‘bite’ is a euphemism,” said John, “then sure. I think there was some … action.”

  Rex worked his way to his feet. “Sorry, old bones,” he said. “I need to move around a little. Kid’s got a point though. Why is the world not crawling with … werewolves?” He looked like he’d swallowed a bug. “It’s not that I disbelieve your story,” he said, “but the mind kind of skitters away from saying that kind of thing out loud.”

  “I know, right?” said John. “But it’s cool too.”

  “Very cool,” said Just James.

  “I kill people,” said Val, “without control.”

  “Granted, there are downsides,” said Rex. “Let’s stick to the main trail. Why are there not more? You mentioned a virus?”

  “Still got it,” said Val. “We think that it was used to try and control Volk, but it seems to have no effect. If you inject the virus into a normal person…” He trailed off.

  “Spencer,” said John.

  “That’s a virus?” Rex looked at John, then at Val.

  “It’s a dick,” said John. “Total, man-sized penis.”

  “There was this guy Spencer,” said Val, “who got shot up with the virus. He … melted.”

  “But you’re fine?” Rex frowned.

  “I’m not fine,” said Val. “Since having the … Night … removed by the briefcase, I get nosebleeds all the time and I feel like I’m dying.”

  “You look fine,” said Rex.

  “Your metrics might be flawed from all the time around your octogenarian friends,” said Val.

  “You, son,” said Rex, “have no respect.”

  “That is true,” said Val.

  “I have a theory,” said John.

  “God save us,” said Sky.

  “Maybe only certain kinds of people can get turned,” said John. “It’s a working theory, but Val’s killed a lot of dudes, and—”

  “You’re not helping my peace of mind.” Val turned to look out the window. “But sure. Go on.”

  “You’ve killed a lot of bad dudes,” said John, “and no one’s turned.”

  “They’re not all bad,” said Val. “I mean … you know what I mean. Collateral damage.” It helped if he stuck a label on it, like they weren’t people but statistics. “Don’t you think there’d be more of us?”

  “Beats me,” said John, “but every time one of you assholes pokes your head up above the parapet, a bunch of crackerjack motherfuckers comes and tries to take it. I think you’re being hunted.”

  “That’s big game,” said Rex. “It’d have to be organized.”

  “It’d have to be organized for a long, long time,” said Sky. “I’m not saying I buy your story, but if we run with it, because, you know, the spiders. If you just get all, ‘Hulk, smash!’ and destroy everything and everyone when someone shoots you, there’d have to be something … worse, out there, wouldn’t there? Something … stronger?”

  Val looked at John, then back at Sky. “I’d not really thought about it like that,” he said.

  “No,” said Rex, “because you’ve been spending so much time worrying about the downsides, that you crawled right up your own ass.” He fixed a steely eye on Val. “Don’t sass me, son. I’m too old and too cranky. You’ve been running from one thing to another for so long, your head isn’t on straight. You don’t get that choice. This thing? You’ve got to get in front of it. Work it. Live it.”

  “I kill people!” said Val. “That is not a thing I want to live.” The room was silent around him, and he realized he was breathing hard. “I kill people.” He stood up and walked towards the window. Looking down at the city, he saw the smoke and the fires, the cars littered about. From somewhere, he heard a scream, and he put aside his beer. You shouldn’t be living it up large while people are out there dying because of you, Everard.

  He felt a tentative hand on his arm, and he spun — a little too fast, by the look on Just James’ face. “What is it, kid?”

  “You keep saying,” said Just James, “how horrible you are. But I haven’t seen that. I really haven’t. Rex and I would be dead if it wasn’t for you. You don’t kill people, Val. You save people.” He let his hand drop, stepping back. “I don’t really have any special superpowers. No skills, really. Hell, I haven’t gone to college yet. But because of you, I’ll get that chance. I don’t know if anyone’s said this to you before, but—”

  “Kid, stop,” said Val. He tried to back away, but he was already hard up against the window. “Whatever you’ve got to say, I’ve said it to myself before. I’m a monster.”

  “You don’t understand,” said Just James. “All I wanted to say? Thank you.” He gave a shy, crooked smile before he turned away.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE

  “Stay in the car,” said Carlisle. “For fuck’s sake, stay in the car. Will you do that?” She looked at Danny, saw the other woman’s eyes were bright with something — not fear, but excitement. Carlisle clicked her fingers, and Danny’s eyes snapped towards her. Away from the soldiers and people outside, fighting with guns and fists and teeth. “Hey. Kendrick. This isn’t a movable feast. If you go out there, people are going to get dead.”

  “It’s a bit past that,” said Danny, her voice taking on a dreamy edge. “It’s … beautiful.”

  Carlisle sighed. Use a different road. You’re always too direct, Carlisle. “They will get dead because of you.”

  That did it. Danny’s eyes turned from excited to haunted in less than a heartbeat. Carlisle felt a twinge inside, but that was tiny compared to what Danny would feel like if she woke up after … this. “Danny. Stay here.” She rolled her eyes towards Adalia. “With the kid.”

  She didn’t wait for an answer, kicking her door open and spilling out into chaos. The hard, steady hammer of automatic weapons filled the air, and she looked down at her sidearm holding her hand like any good friend. Carlisle
didn’t remember drawing it, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was being here, for them. She crouched down low next to the Yukon, looking around at the battlefield. A stray round punched a hole in the skin of the vehicle at her back, paint gone around a silver-bright pucker of wounded metal. She licked her lips, gripping her sidearm in both hands, and looked towards the—

  Lost Warrior. That’s what they’d called her. No problem — woman wasn’t lost anymore, they’d found her. Only real problem, near as Carlisle could figure, was getting to her, and getting the hell out of Dodge. It wasn’t a question of what to do, just how to get it done. Get the Lost Warrior. Get larger transport. Get out of this batshit crazy situation. Keep your friends from getting dead. Maybe grab a beer and a lie down at the end.

  The scene around Carlisle was making a certain kind of crazy sense. There were civilians who were running all over the place, attacking military personnel. The military were fighting back, but they didn’t have numbers on their side — down the road and stretching out towards the city was a long tongue of freeway, and it was full of people. A roaring mass of humanity, clawing up the road towards them. Okay, that problem you can solve if you stay alive for the next two minutes. It was clear they were in a temporary military camp because of the number of people in fatigues, but not a lot else was left of the place. No standing structures. Vehicles tipped on their sides. A lot of shit on fire.

  A scream pulled her attention to the side, and she saw a teenage boy running at her, mouth an impossibly wide rictus. His eyes were bloodshot red. Her sidearm barked three times, the first round taking him in the shoulder, the second in the side, and the third in the back as he spun around to land face-first on the road. Carlisle’s attention was pulled back behind her as one of the Yukon’s doors slammed shut, and she poked her head up over the side, seeing Ajay standing out on the other side of the vehicle. He showed her white teeth under a face weary and stretched, then pointed with a hand at the Lost Warrior.

  Carlisle nodded. Two was better than one, sure. She broke into a sprint across the tarmac, heading for the clump of soldiers. Looks like they’re trying some kind of last stand. It’s that kind of thinking that kept me out of the military.

  On her right was Ajay, keeping pace but making it look effortless. Was he even running, or just moving through space? On her left, a pack of three came at her, arms pinwheeling as they clawed and pushed each other aside in their eagerness to reach her. She raised her sidearm, the Eagle heavy with comfort, and squeezed. She felt the release of the weapon, one of the zombies — because they’ve got to have a name, and that seems to fit — slamming backwards as the round took it in the chest. The momentum of its travel caused its legs to fly forward and it landed flat on its back, arms bouncing once as it came to rest. Carlisle moved her weapon sideways a hair, taking a breath, and fired again. The round went wide, clipping one of them on the shoulder — it careened to the side but still kept coming. She fired again, and its head disappeared, punched through like overripe fruit.

  The third one was on her, and she ducked low under it, bringing her shoulder up into its middle and standing tall. It — a man, trim in a sports blazer — was tossed behind her. She turned, her sidearm ready, but Ajay was on it. He moved a foot through the air in an arc so graceful it could only have been capoeira. His heel connected with the zombie’s jaw and it went down in a graceful pirouette.

  Carlisle raised an eyebrow at him. “No soldier, huh?”

  “Just a sailor,” he said. “I’m a long way from shore.”

  “They teach you dance on ships?” Carlisle worked her shoulders under her jacket, then took aim across the road at another four running at them. The kinks were out now, and she got them one-for-one, then ejected her magazine onto the ground.

  “I have learned many things,” said Ajay, holding a hand out towards the Lost Warrior’s group, “except how to find our way home. After you.”

  “Careful,” said Carlisle. She pointed at the group. “Those guys might get confused.”

  “Confusion is the least of their worries,” said Ajay. “Hurry, Detective.”

  “I’m not a … you know, fuck it,” said Carlisle. She looked at the Lost Warrior’s group. It didn’t look like a happy team. She raised her voice. “Hey! Coming in. Hold your fire!”

  One of the soldiers, a man holding onto his twenties with gritted teeth, looked at her. “Ma’am. Stand away! We will fire.”

  The Lost Warrior placed a hand on the soldier’s shoulder. “Identify yourself.”

  Carlisle caught her breath, then brushed a strand of hair away from her face. “I—”

  She was cut off by a ululation of sound as a wave of humanity crested around a fallen Humvee. A horde of zombies was scrabbling and clawing towards them, and she — fuck that noise — turned back towards the Yukon. She made two steps before what her eyes were seeing hit her brain and she stopped. The Yukon was surrounded by zombies, rocking the machine, pawing at the doors and windows.

  A rear door smashed open, a human shape — thank God, she’s still human — came out. It was Danny, and she dived into the middle of the group at the side of the Yukon. There was a surge like a wave of people that rose over her, and she seemed to be swallowed by a mass of bodies. Carlisle watched that for a heartbeat too long, then turned back to the Lost Warrior. “Do you have a vehicle?”

  The other woman looked at her with surprise. “What about your friend?”

  “She’s fine,” said Carlisle. “It’s pretty important we get the fuck out of here though.”

  “She’s … fine?” said the Lost Warrior. “But—”

  There was a triumphant yell behind them, and bodies were tossed sideways as Danny came back up for air. She was cut and bleeding from a dozen places, her hair wild, clumps having been torn loose. She raised a man’s body above her, bringing him down into a backbreaker over her knee. She tossed him aside, her teeth pulled back in savage joy, then smashed a fist into a woman to her right. Carlisle watched as Danny put one foot against the leading knee of an opponent and landed an enzuigiri, using the man’s knee as support as she brought her other foot through the air and into the back of his head. Bodies surged back over the top of her, and for a moment Danny was gone from view again, before Carlisle saw a flash of red curls as her friend broke free, holding two bodies above her in triumph. She was screaming with rage and joy at the same time.

  Carlisle turned away. “Lady? She’s fine!” She looked over the Lost Warrior’s shoulder, seeing the horde drawing closer. “Move it. Fucking move it!”

  They broke into a run, Ajay and Carlisle leading the charge back towards the Yukon. They heard a yell behind them, and Carlisle spared a glance to see one of the Lost Warrior’s remaining group go down, men and woman on top of him, biting and chewing. She turned without breaking her momentum, firing a single shot into the fallen soldier, before turning back into a run towards the Yukon. “Danny! Clear a path! Danny!”

  Whether Danny heard her or not didn’t seem to make any difference. Danny was moving very fast now, kicks and punches landing with tremendous force against her opponents. One of her fists slammed into the forehead of a large man, caving his skull in. The back door of the Yukon was close, and Carlisle wrenched it open, pushing the Lost Warrior in beside Adalia. She saw the question on Adalia’s face, ignored it as she slammed the door closed behind them. Ajay was already jumping over the hood, sliding across to land on the other side. He yanked the door open, slinging himself into the driver’s seat, door closing behind him.

  Carlisle looked around for the other soldiers of the Lost Warrior’s group, but they were gone, lost to the horde. There was a brief lull, and Carlisle looked at the bodies scattered about her, then looked up at Danny. Danny’s eyes were bright, yellow, feral. Carlisle took a cautious step forward. “Danny.”

  “Yessss.” Danny’s voice was almost a growl, something in her jaw deformed, the word coming out wrong.

  “I need to get her out of here,” said Carlisle. There
wasn’t time, not to do this right. To get space, more distance between them. If Carlisle was going to do this, she wanted to do it from a mile or more away. She didn’t have a mile. “I … I need you to make a path.”

  Danny’s nod was too vigorous, too eager. “And a Path You Shall Have.” There was weight behind the words. “We Will Carve It Through Their Flesh.”

  Carlisle took a step back. “Uh, sure,” she said. “You know what this means.”

  “I MUST CHANGE.” Danny didn’t even look at the horde racing towards them, her eyes were fixed on Carlisle’s weapon. Like it was the last glass of water on an Earth made of desert. “Set me free.”

  “Yes,” said Carlisle. She raised her sidearm, pointing it at Danny’s heart. She tried to ignore just how eager, how hungry, Danny looked. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. Carlisle pulled the trigger.

  With howl that cut to Carlisle’s core, the beast was loose.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX

  “I guess I wanted to circle back around,” said Rex, “and make sure we’re all on the same page.”

  “Old timer?” said John. “I know it’s a lot to take in, especially if you’re not used to change—”

  “What the hell,” said Rex, “is that supposed to mean?”

  John blinked at him. “Well, you know,” he said. “Baby Boomers, right? You guys can’t set the time on a microwave oven.”

  “Right,” said Val. “Twelve o’clock flashers.”

  Rex looked between the two of them. “Are you speaking English?”

  “It’s nothing personal,” said John, showing some kind of brilliant smile that Rex just knew would make a woman swoon. He hated the man for it, just a little, if he was honest. “It’s just every place I’ve seen that’s been owned by a fossil has all the digital clocks set at double-oh, double-oh.”