“Don’t worry. There’s plenty,” a husky-voice man said, red eyed, his hair balding and face grimed with smoke.
“I’ll bet there is,” Day replied.
He stared at the barbecue for long moments. The meat smelled surprisingly good. Again his thoughts intruded on his more basic drives and he wondered if this was all that was left to him. There were a few taboos he had not broken yet. If there were elk-meat available he would’ve gorged himself. He’d begun to suspect the farm would not let him go until he had debased himself completely. Whether that release would be through death or escape, he couldn’t tell.
His stomach growled loudly and the nearest few survivors bared rotting teeth in laughter, comradely enough, the sort of easy joke Day half-remembered from his childhood, the elders looking on benevolently and passing a pleased comment about the appetites of youth. Now around him this new ghoulish family let the warmth of their shared subjection flow as if their cannibalism was nothing, a mere aberration. Social niceties still reigned. Day caught himself pseudo-smiling in return, a hand convulsing to cover his noisy stomach. An older man mouthed “Almost ready, son,” and a kind-eyed woman who clearly didn’t deserve the fate to which she’d fallen looked on with a broken smile.
Day shivered and clutched ever more tightly to himself. Despite the perversion, it was like there was a magic in the air. The sharing of meat was one of humankind’s oldest rituals. No doubt the vampires emulated it in the sharing of blood. Day wondered how far back one would have to go into prehistory to find remembered there a scene such as this, men and women formed into a clan sharing the flesh of one of their own – one of their own fallen. As such, it seemed strangely natural and, as the older man and a woman with a shrivelled arm started removing the skewers from the campfire, Day stood and looked on with only a minimum of disquiet.
“Here. Have some of mine,” the kind-looking woman said.
She wasn’t much older than him. Her eyes were red from the smoke and possibly tears. She held a stump of arm by the metal stake, cloth wrapped around the end. She knelt on the ground and lay out a square of frayed cloth and, with a sharpened twist of metal like a knife blade, she began removing portions from the steaming meat.
Day had to wipe a hand across his mouth. Others were standing around, tucking in to their meals. Day’s eyes flicked and caught a woman in her moment of embarrassment, a forearm with its blackened and stump-fingered hand held to her mouth. She tore a mouthful from the bone and looked away.
He switched his gaze to the woman nearest. She was carefully dividing portions. Someone nearby groaned.
Day’s eyes lifted unrequested to the sky. It was an opalescent blue, a tiny black speck set in it like there was a grain of sand in his eye. Day blinked, uncertain what reptilian sense had drawn him to it at that moment. But as he watched, the speck slowly moved, even grew.
It was turning around. Now he focused on it, Day could very nearly hear the engine whine that would escape notice to anyone else stranded on the plain. Yet the object was moving as if it had already traversed the sky once and, as Day watched, sunlight caught the metal wings and made them sparkle.
The woman stood up and offered Day the cloth like it was a platter, the various parcels of whitish meat split open as if in denial.
“Take some,” she said. Sheepishly she added, “I thought it might be easier if we didn’t have to look so close.”
Day nodded, but his appetite suddenly seemed not quite so pressing.
He held up a hand, “No, thank you,” and backed away, watching the woman’s face fall, but he quickly abandoned it for his precious speck.
The plane was advancing at a steady rate. Day turned and broke into a run, ignoring those around him and certainly saying nothing to give his jubilation away. As he ran, passing others out for a stroll or possibly narrowing down on the source of the savoury smells, he received curious looks and apathetic ones in turn. He said nothing, head turning back only a handful of times to reassure himself the vision of the plane hadn’t vanished in a puff of smoke.
He reached the tent as the engine noise began carrying across the field. Day tore back the flap to reveal Fox and Kvelda kneeling across from each other examining one of the faded photographs the old man had brought with him.
“Do you hear that?” Day asked.
Fox froze for all of three seconds and then gave a grunt, wrenching himself up and fumbling to re-attach his leg.
“It’s now! It’s now!” he said quickly as he hopped across the room and lifted one of the sack-like piles of cloth on which he’d been sleeping.
Day caught a glimpse of the radio beacon and something else in Fox’s hand. The short red wand caught the eye, but Fox was moving quickly, limping and running at the same time for the shelter’s entrance.
“Come on!” Fox called. “It’s time!”
Kvelda looked at their scattered things and gave a strange laugh, turning and collecting nothing and making for the entrance instead. Day, caught in the mind, seized her jubilantly by the arm and they shared a merry grin before breaking into daylight once more.
“Stand back!” Fox called.
He fussed with the red wand several times, but finally the end tore off and it gave a cough. Reams of red smoke started gushing out and the silver-haired old man threw the stick in one direction, then moved quickly the other way. The dyed smoke streamed past Day with a curiously familiar scent and then he moved away from it as well.
Looking up, they saw the plane change angles, turning toward them. It wasn’t very big, probably not much longer than one of the transport choppers. The wings were metal-coloured, but the chassis was yellow. Approaching from the north it dropped lower and the faint noise of the engine shifted pitch.
Day became aware of every moment, the seconds stretched like taffy. Several gunshots rang out from the perimeter. No doubt the ghouls would do what they could to bring the bird down. Yet, at least in the first few seconds, the bullets didn’t seem to faze it.
There were hundreds of people out of shelter in the field. Day had the crazy thought, It must be Sunday, though he had no idea what that really meant. Of those out and about, not everyone was wise to what was happening. The light plane dropped lower and lower, the engine cutting out flatulently as the pilot sought to coast her way into the field without over-running the camp walls. A few more shots rang out and then the plane was down below the height of the walls.
“Move a bit away from the signal,” Fox ordered.
Kvelda voiced her agreement and even Day loped on without hesitation. Mother Sky had a spot to aim for and that was what was important. No need to implicate themselves and give the ghouls additional target practice.
As the plane came lower, Day saw it had wheels extended from beneath either wing. Those wheels hit the flat ground and seemingly exploded in storms of dust that spat up from the earth like a rebuke. The wings were stretched wide, inflexible and broader than they first appeared.
Inevitably one wing caught a shelter and suddenly blue plastic and grey blanket were snapping from the end like a discoloured flag. Moments later the plane ran down its first captive. The stooped woman disappeared beneath the chassis of the plane, her upper body exploding like a sack of wine as it struck the underside of the nose below the propeller. Then people were turning at the ruckus, those who weren’t already flooding away, and the wings flattened some of them. Day could only wince, mesmerised, though Kvelda looked away. The plane kept thundering on, the occasional gunshot resounding in the middle distance. The craft tore through several more tents, the impact of one semi-formal structure making the plane lurch sideways for a moment.
Then the plane was slowing, still a hundred metres out from the smoking red stream.
“Come on!”
Day and Kvelda followed, but it seemed like all around them, everyone had the same instinct. The plane had barely slowed before the first of the inmates reached it, banging hands bloody on the white strip that ran along the side. More and mo
re of the mob threatened to converge on it as the seconds passed and, as they drew close, Day, Fox and Kvelda found they had to press through strong resistance.
Day caught a glimpse of one shadow behind the cockpit glass, long grey hair and black glasses on a pallid face. Then the door in the side of the plane swung open hard and the closest six or seven people danced backwards as gunfire laced the air.
Fox and his followers dropped into a crouch, but they kept running. From his own bent position, Day saw two men outlined in the doorway, their arms full of guns. Each covered the other in what seemed to be a military fashion. One had a handgun and, as faces leaped out of the crowd, he aimed quickly and fired, suppressing the rebellion with short sharp shots. The other man, a thick black moustache and short beard masking his features along with black goggles, held an automatic rifle in each hand like the ghouls used, and he cut loose with a short burst from each, one after the other.
“Marlin!” Fox shouted out. “Epona!”
The figure with the pistol in one hand turned and aimed the weapon straight at Day, then he fired. Day threw himself aside, forearms wrapped around his head as he crouched. In that instant he saw a woman’s face behind the gun, hair pulled back severely with her mirror shades on. She was as broad across the chest as any man, her neck thick and sun-burnt.
“No!” Fox yelled, arms waving. “No!”
The woman barely seemed to register. She turned the gun slightly and fired again and a man with a crowbar leapt backwards with blood streaming from his chest.
“Catch!” the bearded man, Marlin, yelled.
He threw one of the automatic rifles to Day and, to his credit, Day caught it and turned all in one smooth motion. Eyes flicked behind him, Day saw the bodies strewn twitching across the earth and with the rest backing off. Near the tail of the plane a couple more were creeping, but Fox took the rifle thrown to him and let off a burst that punctured the tail as well as sent two men screaming to the earth. Day’s conscience was doing likewise, unable to deny their actions were at one and the same time horrid yet necessary. He sighted down the end of the rifle and everyone in his path mercifully developed consciences of their own.
The pilot appeared in the doorway, creaking in her leather jacket. Mother Sky’s frosted goggles were pushed up into her silvery hair, sweeping it back reminiscent of the attractive young woman she had once been.
“Someone help turn the damned plane around or we’ll never get out of here.”
Day nodded, barely able to imagine what was required. Nevertheless he slung the rifle over his shoulder and moved to the rear. The woman Epona moved past him and her breath in his ear was musky sweet.
“Sorry about that,” she said conversationally.
Day didn’t know how to reply so he said nothing. Kvelda was suddenly beside him and Marlin disappeared back inside the plane for a moment while Fox limped into position.
“Come on, Marlin!” Epona yelled.
She fixed brawny shoulders against the side of the plane and started pushing. The bearded man leapt from the doorway, his arms yet again bristling with weapons.
“Choppers on the way,” he said in a level voice.
“Still gotta get the plane moved,” his offsider dryly replied.
“True enough.”
Day and the others joined them. Day felt like a caveman, sneaking fearful looks at the ordinance Marlin clutched to himself with one arm. Once the plane was swinging around a little, the shaggy-haired man broke away and began organising himself.
The thing he held was like a black tube. It telescoped out from itself as Marlin depressed a handle and pulled.
“More clips for the M16s in the bag,” he said, gesturing with his foot to an army green sack left lying on the ground.
“Grab as many guns as you can,” Epona said, her hand strangely light on Day’s shoulder as she moved past. “Might not be time to reload and we brought half the arsenal.”
“True enough!” Marlin grinned.
Day turned to Kvelda. The girl had a characteristically blank expression on her elfin face. Like a husband shy before his wife, Day handed her the rifle like it was an armload of precious flowers. Kvelda took the weapon dumbly.
“If we don’t fight now we’re dead,” he said.
Her blue eyes met his. “I know.”
Day nodded and, following the advice he’d been given, forced his way into the cabin of the little plane and looked around. His cat’s eyes instantly adjusted to the murk. The back area of the plane had narrow seats and a few boxes propped between them. All along one wall a rack full of 1970s-era military hardware was bolted. He took down another rifle and one of the buckled bags he presumed carried the spare ammunition. After hesitating, Day took two of the handguns hanging on green belts, clips lined up on one hip, the holster with the weapon on the other. Then he grabbed one of the tubes he’d seen Marlin preparing. Somehow he’d guessed it was more than just an ordinary gun.
“We’re gettin’ ready to blast our way outta here,” Mother Sky bawled from the front.
It seemed true enough. Day jumped out again, his vision swimming with corpses, dust and red smoke. Like sonar, he could hear the buzzing of the ghoul helicopters in the distance and instantly knew there were three of them coming from the same direction. The white thermal bombs were a blazing panic in his memory.
Fox flitted past, headed into the cabin. Kvelda raised her rifle and sighted, the black darts of the ghoul craft appearing over the fuselage of the plane, but still in the merciful distance.
“Wait till they’re closer,” Day said.
“Closer and they’ll kill us,” Kvelda replied.
Day shrugged helplessly. “How do I use this thing?”
Marlin turned at the implied summons and gave a toothy grin.
“Here’s one I prepared earlier,” he said in a strange and too-loud voice.
He passed the rocket launcher over and took the inert one from Day’s hands. Then he quickly seized Day by the shoulder and manhandled him into a position, half-forcing, half-encouraging Day to lift the long contraption up.
“Stand your ground when you press here,” Marlin said, showing Day where he was meaning. “Thing’ll bowl you over if you don’t watch it.” Marlin grinned and then moved Kvelda aside.
“And don’t you stand behind either of us, missy.”
Epona appeared again with the loud crack of a gunshot. A blue bundle of a man stopped his rushing and fell sideways, grey-bearded mouth spilling brains across the tarpaulin fabric he wore. Day barely had a chance to recognise the tumbling body as that of Stewart, the Scotsman who had saved him when ghoul helicopters were last razing the air. He viewed Stewart’s expiry with a deranged detachment, some inner part of him shrieking a madman’s lament.
“Damned ghouls,” he sputtered.
Fox stepped awkwardly from the plane, the huge gun he was carrying with its chain of brass bullets weighing him down and playing off against his weakened leg.
“Mother says we go the moment the path’s clear,” Fox said. “We’ve got more chance of flying out if there’s no pursuit.”
Fox looked around to make sure he’d been heard. Marlin only grinned and Epona checked the ammunition in her rifle and then forcibly swapped it with Kvelda and then began to do the same again.
“Damned good to see you again, old Fox,” Marlin said.
Fox grinned. “Damned good seeing you too Marley. Thanks for coming.”
“What else was we gonna do?” Epona asked, pulling the bolt back on her M16.
More sounds drew their gazes skywards. As the helicopters approached, they fanned slightly apart. Day felt himself cringing alongside the plane as the chattering noise of distant machineguns started up. He looked around appraisingly and saw Kvelda still standing exposed, only part of the left wing concealing her from the approaching ghouls. Despite the risk, he jumped out and hauled her back into the shelter of the plane’s side.
“Keep back!” he warned her, eyes wide and nervou
s like he never had been before.
“When do we fire on them then?”
Day shrugged. “Soon.”
Rivulets of lead crossed the earth. Day flinched as he heard the sound of the plane’s hull punctured in a dozen places at once. Imperceptibly, he felt the plane start moving and then it was on for real and he and the others had to begin walking alongside to remain in cover.
Fox had a light machinegun. Normally it would’ve had a tripod. As it barked, empty shells clattered to the ground. Marlin scowled into the wire sight of his RPG and crouched a moment. Suddenly the air behind him was a holocaust and, immediately after, one of the choppers was falling from the sky, reduced to a ball of flames. Marlin gave a steady cheer and tossed the smoking canister aside.
“Hey, Neanderthal!” he called, snapping his fingers at Day. “Hand me that one.”
Day stepped out into the open and passed the weapon across, barely registering the insult. Behind him, Epona began firing quick controlled bursts from the assault rifle. Within moments she was ejecting a steaming clip and ramming another one home.
Stepping back, Day locked eyes with Kvelda.
“Now?” she asked.
“Now.”
They lifted their rifles together. The air was suddenly alive with brass casings and the sound of their attack. It was surreal, as if mere seconds of time could not contain them. Day felt incandescent as farm internees scattered all around them in the shaking air, either lying down in fear or running. Ghoul fire came from machineguns mounted at the sides of one of the remaining helicopters. The second chopper was banking slightly, suspended in the air over the way Mother Sky had to go; and from the open door of the insectoid flyer, two ghouls with matching rifles and mirror-plated helmets crouched snapping off rounds.
A deadly locust swarm of bullets and shrapnel filled the air. Walking with the slowly accelerating plane, Day noticed pieces of wing and fuselage tearing away. Seconds passed like they were being prised from a geological time scale.
Endless Night Page 22