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

by Richard Parry

  “A fossil?” Rex felt his face getting hot. Relax, Rex. Relax. Boy just needs some of the silly knocked out of him. “You think I’m a … a fossil?”

  “You prefer leatherface?” said John. “It sounds a bit Jack-the-Ripper, is all I’m saying, but we can go with it.”

  “John Miles,” said Sky, “you behave.” She placed a cool hand on Rex’s shoulder, leaning in to kiss him gently on the cheek. “He’s just feeling unmanned and has issues when he’s not the center of the universe.”

  “I am,” said John, “the center of the … what do you mean, unmanned?”

  “I mean,” said Sky, “that this fossil managed to work with me to get Just James—” and here, she jerked a thumb over her shoulder at the kid, playing on that portable game gadget “—here, alive, in the middle of a war zone. Isn’t that your job, hero?”

  “Hey,” said John, that brilliant smile coming back again, “I ain’t no hero. I’m, what do you call it, I’ve got my own spin-off series.”

  “Like Angel,” said Just James, not looking up.

  “Like Angel,” said John, nodding. “Exactly.”

  “What?” said Rex.

  “From Buffy,” said Just James, casting a wearied eye at Rex. “Don’t you watch TV?”

  “I watch TV,” said Rex. “I don’t watch kid’s shows.”

  Sky pulled her hand from Rex’s shoulder. “Are you … what’s wrong with Buffy?”

  “What?” said Rex. God damn, I am definitely too old for this shit. “No. Hey. Wait. Let’s try again,” he said. He rubbed a hand over his face, as if he could reset the last minute’s conversation. Hell with it. “What I was trying for, is to see if we’re all … if we’ve got a plan.”

  “No,” said Val.

  “No?” said Rex.

  “No, we don’t have a plan,” said Val. “I — and by I, I mean, John and I — are going to find out what’s going on.”

  “We are?” said John.

  “And,” said Val, looking Rex in the eye, “you are not going to come with us. Because you will die.”

  “Son,” said Rex, “I’m pretty close to dead anyway, how the clock is running these days. I think you’re overlooking one small issue.”

  “Okay,” said Val, “I’ll bite.”

  “That’s just it,” said Rex. “You won’t.”

  “What?” Val blinked at him.

  “You’ve lost your powers, son,” said Rex. “You’ve got a cape made of Kryptonite. Unless I miss my count, Sky here killed more damn spiders than you did.”

  “It’s not a competition,” said John. “It’s—”

  “It’s not a competition unless you’re winning,” said Rex. “Son, look, I know. I get it. You’re used to the way things used to work. The thing is, this whole saving the world thing is a team sport.”

  “You … you want to save the world?” said Val.

  “What, you think you got exclusive rights to that?” said Rex. He scratched his head. “I’ve been saving people all my life. One burning building at a time. This?” He waved a hand at the window. “This is just a larger problem.”

  “Epic,” said Just James, not looking up.

  “What?” said Rex.

  “We’re at the boss fight,” said Just James, putting his game console aside. “We’ve got to get all the equipment we’ve collected, hop on a horse, and go save the princess. But there’s a boss, a big bad monster, and we’ve got to kill it.”

  Sky nudged the Ramset gun with a foot. “I don’t know how much equipment we’ve collected.”

  “There is a boss,” said John, nodding.

  “Right,” said Just James. “So, we get the party together, and we—”

  “Whoa,” said Rex. “What’s this party?”

  Just James looked surprised. “You. Val. John. Sky. Me.”

  “No,” said Rex. “Not you.”

  “’What, you think you got exclusive rights to that?’” said Just James, in a fair approximation of Rex’s West Coast accent. “This is my city. Of all of you, I figure I’ve got the most—” he shrugged, struggling for the word.

  “Incentive,” said Val.

  “Incentive,” said Just James.

  “Investment,” said John.

  “That too,” said Just James.

  “Idiocy,” said Sky. “I can do I-words too.”

  “Imbecile,” said Rex. “I like this game.”

  Just James looked a little hurt. Then he brightened. “Seriously, though. What you’ve got to be wondering is what you might be able to do to stop me.” He looked around the room at them. “One of you want to stay behind and babysit?” He pointed at the big screen attached to the wall, green spider ichor splashed across it. “It’s not like we can grab a TV dinner and a movie.”

  “I hate kids,” said John.

  “Say,” said Val. He was looking out the window.

  “Yeah?” said Rex, turning to face him.

  “It’s got pretty quiet, hasn’t it?” Rex watched as Val tilted his head, a curious movement more at home on a dog than a person. “Still a lot of smoke. Not a lot of screaming.”

  They all sat in silence for a moment. “Sure,” said John. “It’s quiet.”

  “Where do you suppose they’ve all gone?” said Val. He squinted out the window.

  Rex pushed himself to his feet. Damn these old bones. He joined Val at the window. “You’re right. Not a soul.”

  “Everyone’s at a party,” said John. No one laughed. “Tough crowd,” he muttered.

  Val held a hand up. “There.”

  Rex watched as a horde of people swarmed along the street underneath them. They were moving at a dead run, scrambling over the cars and other debris outside. He started to count, ten, twenty, thirty, then gave up when a huge clot of humanity rounded a corner and joined the stream of bodies. “Where you think they’re going?”

  “I think,” said Val, “that my girlfriend has come back to town.”

  “Rock on,” said John. “It’s about damned time.”

  “How do you know this, son?” Rex searched Val’s eyes.

  Val looked down at his hands, then raised one — the tremble in his fingers obvious even to Rex’s eyes — to touch his chest above his heart. “I feel it.”

  “She up for a fight like that?” Rex nodded out the window.

  “More or less,” said Val. “She is powered by a lithium awesome cell.”

  “I mean—” Rex caught himself. “Is she going to be okay?”

  “It’s a lot of dudes,” said Just James.

  “She’ll be fine,” said Val. “But this helps with our plan.”

  “What plan?” said Rex. “Hell. That’s what I asked to start with.”

  “The plan,” said Val, “is like this. One, we break into a jeweler’s.”

  “Fucken-A,” said John.

  Val shot him a flat stare. “We find all the silver we can, and turn it into weapons.”

  “How?” said Rex. The way he saw it was, maybe Val had taken a hit in the head. He’d seen it before, men and women who’d taken the hard knock without realizing it. Gone down a line of thinking that put others in danger. Trick was, you wanted to make sure that this was … thought through. Rex shifted on his feet for a moment, then said, “I’ll bite. How do you turn a silver necklace into a weapon?”

  “You throw it,” said Val. Give the guy credit but he didn’t even pause. The way Rex saw it, that spoke of experience. Maybe crazy, but also maybe well-informed. “It hurts. Us. Things like us. A lot. Then, we go and kill the asshole in charge.”

  “How are we going to find him?” said Just James.

  “Easy,” said Val, pointing up the street from where the people were running. “We go to where all those people are coming from.”

  “I don’t like this plan,” said John.

  “It’s not much of a plan,” said Sky. “There’s not a lot to like.”

  “The good news is there’s not a lot to not like,” said Rex. He sighed. One more fight
before the end, Rex. Get your shit together. “Let’s do this.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN

  Carlisle didn’t look to see the change — seen it before, move it, move it — as she spun on her toes and dived over the hood of the Yukon. The denim of her jeans slipped over the metal surface, too fast for her to notice the cold of the metal. She landed on the other side of the machine from Danny, crouching low by the wheel arch. She held her sidearm with both hands in front of her, the weapon radiating its just-fired heat by her face. Carlisle shut her eyes, feeling the hammer of her heart — God she’ll hear it — in her chest. She breathed in and out, trying to keep as quiet as possible.

  It wouldn’t help, but it helped to try. Before the end, as it were.

  The creature roared, the sound loud enough to hurt, and Carlisle hunched forward. The movement was involuntary, it was baked into humans from when they’d crawled up from the primordial slime, discovering the hungry things with teeth. Do not piss yourself, Carlisle. Keep it together. The monster — not Danny anymore — would smell that, and the end would get here that much faster. Carlisle’s lips were moving silently, and she didn’t know if she was praying or crying or both. The crunch of massive feet against loose shale sounded to her right as the creature stalked around the front of the Yukon. Carlisle felt the machine rock as something massive and strong leaned against the hood, the machine creaking lower on its shocks. It chuffed, trying to find her scent, then let out a low growl.

  So. Are you going down on your feet or your knees, Detective? She thought about it, turned the idea over in her mind. It wasn’t whether she’d die that was the problem, so much as how she died. And not in some budo warrior’s distorted view of honor, but for the kid. Because, like it or not, if the kid saw her Mom — hideous monster or not — kill Carlisle, well, you couldn’t put that toothpaste back in the tube. No $400-an-hour therapy was going to weld that family back together.

  Feet it is, then.

  Carlisle wiped a shaky hand over her face, then pushed against the Yukon, rising to her feet. She turned to face the creature, her weapon held ready. God, it was a sight. Huge, muscled, with claws, and teeth. Drool hung in ropy strands from its jaws, jaws that were open to display those terrible, magnificent teeth. But it was the eyes — those sick, golden orbs — that made the breath catch in Carlisle’s chest. She’d never been this close before.

  Never will again, so make the most of it. Carlisle raised her weapon, prepared to fire. Her hand came up, whip quick, finger on the trigger, the squeeze already traveling from her brain to her hand.

  The Eagle fired, her constant companion ever ready to stand strong against the darkness that hid in the hearts of men. Carlisle was happy that it was this gun she was using, not something begged or borrowed from the battlefield. She’d known this weapon since she’d paid good money for it back on the beat, something to keep under her pillow against the terrors that woke her every night. It had helped, the strong power kept within each casing a promise ready to be made. It hadn’t let her down, hadn’t jammed, hadn’t ever stumbled in its purpose even when Carlisle might have.

  Problem was, it was connected to her. The same weak girl who’d run away from him, and here she was thirty years later, and still too weak. And not just too weak.

  She was too damn slow.

  The creature shifted sideways as she fired, the round passing through the air where it had been. Carlisle kept firing, each round punching through empty air as the thing that had been Danny stepped past the path of each shot as if it was walking around gutter balls at a bowling alley. She kept firing right up until it slapped her hand to the side with a blow that felt like it broke the bones in her hand, the gun tumbling from numbed fingers. It reached out a clawed hand, snatching her up from the ground. Carlisle felt its fingers around her middle, the grip stronger than steel, felt the crushing force and the pain that pushed air from her lungs that wanted to come out as a scream.

  It’s just pain. You’re used to pain.

  She clenched her teeth against it, showing her own savage grin to the creature. It lifted her up in front of its face, and Carlisle pulled back a fist — out on your feet, Carlisle — to punch it. It shook her like a doll, and she felt something twinge in her spine. That made her scream.

  The thing paused, looking down at her, then looked around it at the road. She could almost see the wheels turning in its head, counting the bodies, then looking at the city of Chicago.

  “Yes,” said Carlisle, the sound stretched to a whisper around her bruised body. “Valentine.”

  But it wasn’t looking at Chicago. It was looking at the rising tide of people coming up the road towards them from the city. Its gaze passed through the shattered windscreen of the Yukon, to the wide-eyed passengers within. Looking at one in particular, a girl with pleading eyes. Don’t look Adalia, don’t look honey. Carlisle didn’t want Adalia to see the end. Time seemed to stretch, like it was pliable, like it was something made of rubber rather than wheels. Then the creature gave Carlisle a yellowed look before tossing her to the ground with a huff, huff sound. Carlisle felt her head knock against the side of the Yukon, and she lay in a daze. Too shocked to move.

  Too shocked to realize she was alive.

  The creature slammed its forearms into the tarmac, cracks appearing in the road’s surface, and it roared its defiance and challenge at the approaching horde. It looked back at Carlisle, then extended one clawed arm towards the city laid ahead of them, behind a clotted mass of humanity. Then it turned away from her and charged into the mob, claws and teeth unleashing red rain.

  • • •

  Carlisle didn’t know how long she’d lain there. It felt like hours, but it must have been no more than a minute. Her heart was still hammering in her chest — I’m alive! I’m alive I’m alive I’m alive I’m alive — as she watched the thing that used to be Danny kill, and kill, and kill.

  Mowing. It’s like watching a mower.

  She heard the soft click of a door, the crunch of a foot on gravel. Carlisle looked up into a woman’s face, lined with old worry, set fresh today. “You okay, soldier?”

  Carlisle coughed, winced, tried to stand up, and fell back. She blinked against the hot spikes of pain in her chest, breathing short and shallow. “I’m fine.”

  The woman — Lost Warrior — snorted. “I guess it was a rookie question. What I’m really asking is, can you drive?” She held a hand out to Carlisle, ridges of callous on the palm. Carlisle looked at it for a second, then reached up. The woman’s grip was cool and firm, confident in all the ways that a girl scared of her own father wouldn’t be. Gentle, too, as she pulled Carlisle to her feet, her other hand coming around to grasp Carlisle’s elbow, holding her up against the dizziness that hit her as soon as she was standing.

  “Give me a moment,” said Carlisle, the words coming out softer than she’d hoped. Something inside was broken, crushed, but it was only pain. She could deal with it later. She coughed, covering her mouth, and the back of her hand came away wet with blood.

  The other woman’s eyes softened. Or was Carlisle imagining that? It was hard to tell, with all this damn pain rattling around inside her chest. Carlisle held up a hand. “Really. I’m fine.”

  “Which unit were you with?” The other woman tugged the bottom of her shirt, straightening her fatigues.

  “Unit?” Carlisle let a lopsided smile onto her face. “Ma’am? I’ve never been in a war. I’m not the enlisting type.”

  “Maybe not,” said the other woman, after a moment’s consideration of Carlisle’s face. She held her hand out again. “Major Jessica Pearce. Formerly attached to the National Guard.”

  “Huh,” said Carlisle. She shook the other woman’s hand, surprised at the hope she felt. Maybe it was having another soldier on the team. Maybe it was because Jessica Pearce was another woman. Maybe it was because she was alive. “Melissa Carlisle. Formerly Detective Melissa Carlisle.”

  “Cop?” Pearce let her hand go.

 
; “Cop,” said Carlisle, after a long pause. Because that’s what you are, and it’s taken you this long to realize it. “Pearce? Get in the car.”

  “You’re like no cop I’ve ever seen.” Carlisle felt considered, measured, weighed. A small smile held a moment at Pearce’s lips. “Car it is. Okay, soldier.”

  Carlisle put her hands behind her back, stretching — oh, girl, take it slow — then stood up strong and true, shoving the pain to a corner of her mind. She tugged at her own jacket, straightening it like a uniform. Her hand found its way to the driver’s door of the Yukon, held the handle briefly, and then she let it drop.

  You can’t forget your old friends, Carlisle.

  She walked around the side of the Yukon, seeing it — the soft glint of familiar metal, grip up, made to be held by her hand — in among the bodies strewn around. She picked up the Eagle, feeling its familiar weight — old partner — and hugged it to her chest, before stowing it in the holster at her back. She walked to the back of the Yukon, pulling open the door to find her bag.

  It was there, crumpled and old, just like her. Inside, worn clothes, a book — The Old Man and the Sea — on top of a bag containing her toiletries. She’d never read it, never enough time, but Danny had said she should. Carlisle tapped the cover of the book, then pushed it aside, reaching down into the bottom of the bag, her hand feeling the touch of cotton, leather, and denim as she felt through the contents. There. Her fingers touched metal, cool and heavy.

  She pulled them out one by one, metal magazines to feed the Eagle. Painted by a nervous hand months ago, color coded, then hidden. Red magazines, full of silver promise.

  Carlisle slammed the back of the Yukon closed, walking to the front of the car. A stray zombie ran at her, and she shot it, the motion habituated. The Eagle ran dry, and she flicked the empty magazine away. She slid one of the new red magazines into the grip of the weapon, re-holstered it, then yanked the driver’s door open.

  The machine roared to life, eager to be away. Carlisle looked to Ajay, sitting beside her, then her eyes found Adalia’s in the rear view mirror. “You okay, kid?”