He sorted through the wreckage, such as he was able. He saw a few other individuals at a distance within the crash zone. Day lifted his chin, staring at one wizened-looking man crouched over a dead body and, Day realised, cutting meat from the corpse’s charred thigh. Day felt his stomach turn and he drew his knife, marching furiously towards the man until the other leapt up and ran away. Day took the process no further, shaking his head and circling slowly around the central wreck, glancing at each body he passed in case it was the missing Finn.
“There’s not much to be had,” Finn said, stepping out from the other side of the helicopter ruin.
A smirk leapt to Day’s face. “You’re one of the lucky ones, then.”
“The moment those three choppers came over the fence I was running.”
The pale light changed abruptly as the sun dropped below the western fence-line, and Day and Finn regarded each other for a moment with nothing except expressive grins.
“Night’s coming on,” Day said.
“It is, Day.”
“How long will you leave it?”
“Till well after it gets properly dark, you know?” Finn said. After a moment, he added, “Come wait with me?”
“I will,” Day nodded, and they began to drift east.
Night slowly settled in. There was no food, but they shared water and sat and spoke quietly while watching the eastern wall from a distance of three hundred metres. As the gloom thickened, the shapes patrolling the wall became less distinct. It became easier to imagine there was no one on the wall and, for Day, he wasn’t sure whether this knowledge would make him more or less confident, were he in Finn’s position. The visible absence of guards made the possibility loom in Day’s mind that the ghouls were lurking everywhere, waiting to surprise the unwary.
A silence fell between them and, after an awkward pause, they quietly made love to each other while the night lay over them like a cloak.
Eventually, Finn announced his departure, his tone shot through with reluctance.
“Good luck, Finn. You’re doing what we all wish we were,” Day said.
“Good luck to you, Day. I hope you find a way out, or that your end’s a clean one.”
Finn smiled ruefully and Day only nodded. After a few moments more Finn got up and tightened his belt. Then he withdrew the pair of twine-handled hooks. He slipped his wrists through them and held their bases. Rising from his crouch, he nodded once more and then started to jog lowly towards the wall.
Finn ran to a section of the plain metal-and-timber wall that was about a hundred metres from the next watchtower and the turn of the next fence. While it wasn’t an ideal spot, there were few places along the walls that were more worthy. As even Finn had explained, choosing the direct middle point between watchtowers wasn’t a possibility since he suspected it was the place most likely to conceal a roving guard. As Day knew he would have to do himself one day, Finn took the risk and trusted to luck.
And it deserted him.
Finn was only about ten feet up the wall when the shot rang out. He fell instantly, dropping to the ground and not moving. Day stood without thinking and then forced himself to kneel, eyes straining and then moistening with fear and concentration. Finn didn’t stir, nor did any other sound or movement pierce the night.
After a while, it felt like the echo of the gunfire had not abated, but instead shifted to some unearthly plane where only Day could hear it going on and on and on. He licked his lips nervously and watched the tower and the walls, unable to see the slightest evidence of a guard. Although he expected someone to be along to inspect the body, no one came. He didn’t know how much time passed except that his heart was no longer racing and he’d slowly acclimatised his grief to the present reality of things. It gradually became harder and harder to discern Finn’s corpse from the other shadows hiding at the base of the wall.
Day would’ve let the whole matter rest then and there if it wasn’t for the fact he knew Finn had possessions that would prove invaluable to his own quest. If Finn’s fate had grimly illustrated an object lesson in escape from the farm, his climbing claws were equally indicative of how it might be done given better luck. After what he guessed was about three hours, Day started forward slowly with a lump in his throat that he couldn’t banish.
Drawing closer to the wall and, with the feeling of being under observation even more powerful, Day dropped to his belly and continued on his way crawling. There was no one else between him and the wall. His progress was slow but steady, his arms gradually beginning to ache as he held himself taut.
Day was nearly at Finn’s body when the thought suddenly crossed his mind that perhaps it was something other than a vampire or a keen-sighted ghoul armed with a rifle who had slain Finn. Dealing with creatures of the night, one was dealing with the modern incarnation of magick. In dealing with magick – especially when Day himself was so ignorant – almost anything was possible. Therefore there was nothing to say it hadn’t been some kind of magickal ward that had stricken his new friend down.
The thoughts didn’t stop Day from reaching the body, nor doing so without harm; but he knew this new line of consideration would have to be fitted into his plans for the future. It was unusual that there’d been no follow-up to the shooting. Perhaps it was just because he was thinking like a human, but Day would’ve expected an investigation of some sort. Yet he had never seen anyone attempt to scale the walls before, either. Perhaps some of them were protected and Finn’s death was the tragic result. By the same reasoning, Finn had scaled three others without mishap.
Day’s head whirled. Amid all that, he turned Finn over and located the wound at the dead man’s side. The entry was relatively small, but an enormous hole had been blown through Finn’s back, his spine was shattered and all manner of internal organs were scrambled. His neck wasn’t broken, meaning that although death had probably been swift, it wasn’t instantaneous. Day’s eyes squeezed shut as he tried to bat back contradictory feelings. Through it all, his hands sought out the wrist manacles and he liberated the hooks attached to Finn’s hands. A cursory search revealed a small knife and Finn’s pack, a black cloth one, which Day gently removed and tied around his own waist.
Eventually Day passed his hand over Finn’s forehead. The body was cold, completely unresponsive. Unable to perform any sort of ritual, Day merely thought reverent thoughts and then within moments he was scurrying away again.
As if paranoid that he was under continued observation, Day wormed his way towards the middle of the hex throughout the rest of the night, abandoning sleep, his thoughts heavy yet feverish with all he had seen.
Around dawn he approached Carlos’s cave and he squatted, waiting for the Sioux Mexican to appear, but it was the sound of helicopters that finally roused Day’s friend.
Carlos popped his head out of the dirty blanketed hole and frowned a moment at Day. Then he said, “Better try and get us some breakfast.”
Day nodded, dropping the extra items he carried, and he set off with his dagger drawn after the first helicopter to cross the sky as if burning energy in the pursuit might assuage remorse for his friend’s death. The helicopter banked and came back the other way, a pair of ghouls roped in the open doorway with safety harnesses and almost literally shovelling goods from the back of the vehicle as it hurtled past.
Day had to move out of the way to avoid being hurt. They were oranges that were falling, many of them in bad condition, shrunken and hard from age, and in their descent they were like baseballs raining from the sky. Once they began bouncing off the ground Day went in amongst them, gathering a double-armful and rushing back to Carlos with an unmistakeably happy grin.
“My God,” Carlos murmured. “Real fruit.”
They ate their repast. Day used Finn’s blade to cut the dusty greenish portions from some of the oranges, passing the knife across to Carlos when needed. Eventually Day’s companion glanced professionally at the blade.
“A new knife?” he asked.
Day’s short story was like Finn’s memorial. When Day was done, Carlos asked him to show the hooks, and Day did so with only the slightest hesitation. When Carlos looked at them, the expression of covetousness was plain. Yet it was as if the dark-featured man was in turmoil with himself. He grinned wryly, eventually, and handed the two items back.
“They make me forget the promise I made myself not to try anything foolish. Makes me feel like it just might be possible, looking at them.”
“It didn’t work for Finn in the end,” Day said.
“No. But he got across three walls, so it’s possible. You might just set a new record. And what’s better, he’s shown you the way to go.”
“You think so?”
”Sure,” Carlos nodded enthusiastically. “He’s proven there’s three more fields back the way he came. Maybe he was right, and there’s freedom over the next wall.”
“It’s all guesswork,” Day said.
“Yes,” Carlos said, the fervour running out of his expression.
A moment of bleak contemplation passed between them and then Carlos perked up a little.
“You came back at a good time, anyway. Put those hooks away.”
He then went into his hidey-hole and retrieved the smaller triangular knives, wrapped in a ragged strip of suede leather. Carlos passed the bundle over to Day.
Sucking his teeth in anticipation, Day unwrapped the weapons and squinted at the undeniably magical quality of the silver gleam adorning their edges. Although they were potentially deadly before, they had been crude. Their silver edges made them appear more delicate, but no less deadly.
“I don’t know how you did it,” Day said honestly.
“The important thing is that I did. It wasn’t easy, compadre.”
Day nodded to show his appreciation, and then Carlos whispered suggestively for him to put the fancy weapons away. It certainly wouldn’t do to attract the attention of a guard at this stage in the game, even though Day was beginning to think the ghouls, at least amongst themselves, had a no-risk policy that meant they never investigated even the most suspicious goings-on. It was as if they preferred to leave things until they flared up, like with Finn’s death: if he had the gear to scale walls, they’d rather trust to their ability to pick off every potential wall-climber than go down into the farm and take away the equipment enabling such climbers in the first place.
He shook his head, securing the weapons and making sure the hooks were also in place.
“I guess you’ll be moving towards leaving, soon,” Carlos said.
“I’m not sure. I don’t feel ready,” Day admitted. “Perhaps I never will.”
“I can’t give you advice on how you go about steeling yourself to such a thing, friend. You know I could never do it.” Carlos’s eyes dipped, but didn’t lower completely. In defiance of the shame he perhaps felt, Carlos reaffirmed his gaze. “But I believe you can do it.”
Day nodded and found himself smiling. “Thank you.”
That evening, Carlos produced a small stash of venison and they ate, having warmed the food by the heat of a candle-sized fire. Carlos also had a tin of pineapple rings that he shared, including the sweet nectar they took turns to drink from the can. Afterwards Day closed his eyes and lay on his back, almost moved to tears by the sweetness and feeling ridiculous that his gustatory world had become so reduced. He knew that if he remained imprisoned much longer, his diet was going to affect his health and then his chances.
Day left Carlos with the silver dollar and a single ingot of silver. All Day took was the other man’s well-wishes and, when they parted company, they shook hands and nodded in as emotionless a way as they were able. Carlos’s eyes were serious and filled with sorrow, while Day barely restrained from tears as he farewelled his friend.
It was soon night and Day found himself tiredly trudging across the wasteland, walking in-between the huddled forms of lone sleepers and those larger groups that gathered about fires or tents. He was alone again in the world, embarking on an adventure of great risk whose end he might never see. It chilled him and might’ve turned his heart against going further if not for the fact that Day began yawning ferociously.
It occurred to him that he hadn’t slept for quite a long while. He found a spot, a mere ululation in the land, and sat in it cross-legged, contemplating his fate. He realised after a short while that he was facing the north-east wall, going in the rough direction that Finn had chosen, except Day was veering north where Finn had headed south-east.
He wondered if in moments he would be dead. It made him hesitate – and it was then that sleep took over. It was many hours later, the night still crystalline and the stars silvery overhead, when he next awoke, chastened but glad that evening still reigned supreme.
“Get up,” he muttered to himself.
In a moment, his legs obeyed, propelling him forward.
Although there was no real point to it, Day shielded his eyes, trying to throw his gaze to the top of the wall. The moonlight was bright and, while on the one hand he thought it was a reason not to try his luck, he also recognised it was in their invisibility that the ghouls and vampires extended their power. Regaining that visibility and, with the blind-fighting skills he had trained in, knowing when to refuse to look, Day felt he was still armed with the best chance.
He moved slowly towards the wall, a large man in black leather and a tawny fur coat. From the hip pack he had inherited from Finn, and into which he’d transferred all his worthwhile possessions, Day removed the hooks and fastened them around his wrists. His silver daggers were slid into his waistband, one either side of the small of his back, concealed from casual observation by the hang of the coat.
It was just a few hours from dawn. At a distance of about three hundred paces, Day lay down on the ground and made himself be still. He started counting, the time interminable, and only by effort of will alone made himself remain prostrate until he had reached five hundred. He then turned on his side and started to slowly crawl towards the wall.
If the counting took forever, the crawling was worse. In the time it took to cover the first two-thirds of the distance, he was convinced the sky had begun to lighten. A few yards more and he was certain. Morning was on its way. Day struggled free of his fear, jettisoning caution, and began to crawl powerfully towards his goal on elbows and knees.
Finally he reached the base of the wall. Straight away he applied the first of the hooks to a gap in the iron-reinforced planking just above the height of his head and then he pulled himself up.
As he did so, he suddenly realised the toes of his boots were too thick for finding foot-holds in the gaps between planks. Day dropped into a crouch, nearly forming a ball at the wall’s base, and hurriedly removed them and lashed the laces together. He then slung the gear around his neck, rose, and tried again.
With his strong toes and the majority of his weight hanging from his arms, Day began to climb. It was surprisingly easy, with his toes finding clear purchase between the slats. Without the hooks, however, he knew it would’ve been a different story.
Halfway up, Day still had no reason to suspect he was under observation. He began to think of how Finn must’ve felt, the first few times – then he pushed away the grim thoughts that surfaced like sleek oceanic behemoths in the dark. Already he was confronted with more immediate obstacles and he craned his head back, twenty feet off the ground, and tried to ascertain how he would deal with them.
The walls were built with a protruding lip to stymie exactly the sort of behaviour in which he was engaged. However, with the hook, the obstacle was far less imposing. It was able to catch on the seams of the sheet metal laid across the turret and, even though it was caught on only a few millimetres of depression, it was enough for Day to lift himself yet further up and, by main force, jerk himself up onto the top of the platform.
For one perfect moment Day saw the lay of the land directly ahead of him and then all around, only the squat box of the closest watchtower obscurin
g his field of vision.
It was false dawn, with just enough light for Day to see he was perched atop a gigantic hexagonal honeycomb that stretched as far as the poor visibility would allow him to see. It was only a moment. Finn never would’ve had the luxury, going in the deepest part of the night as he had. Yet Day did not really stop moving, rolling as he was down onto the walkway that went along the top of the wall, sheltered by the raised turrets and their obscuring lips. Day could see at least another half-dozen hexagonal fields extended in every direction he had seen, with a bunker-like structure dominating the network of walls further down as well as the dozens of watchtowers that were presumably all maintained by the vampires and their subordinates. Although he had no view behind him, Day instantly presumed the view would be the same; and while his perspective meant it was only the field immediately bordering his home hex that he saw laid out in any detail (with a considerably less vivid picture of the hexes bordering that one), the criss-crossing walls in the distance suggested yet more fields.
Day felt his heart sink, but survival told him it was not the time to mourn. He dropped down into the walkway and remained crouched, his feet braced to either side of the narrow path so as to avoid making a racket on the wire mesh flooring designed as exactly that sort of alarm. Thus hidden, Day’s head and shoulders were out of sight to the watchtowers, though anyone looking straight down the walkway would see his hunched and shadowed figure.
In that moment he had to decide how to go on. His original intention wavered with the knowledge that going over the next wall meant salvation was only marginally closer to hand. If he wanted to find a way out immediately, the incredibly more risky way to proceed meant confronting the enemy and entering the watchtowers. Seen from the air, the sheer size of the operation suggested the daylight-fearing vampires must have organised things so they could travel about safely – and that meant underground travel, which in turn suggested an alternate, admittedly suicidal way out of the farm.
In the end, caution got the better of him. Day knew he couldn’t squat there forever, frozen by indecision at such a crucial late stage in the plan. Survival was first, including ensuring he lived long enough to make future decisions sensibly. Convinced he was probably already seen, Day slid up onto the opposite bulwark and jumped the distance to the hard-packed ground.
Endless Night Page 12