Nearest Night

by David VanDyke

  Markis laughed and embraced Larry, who lifted him off the ground. Larry eventually set the Chairman down and reached out to hug Cassandra, kissing her on the cheek.

  “Welcome back, Larry,” she said. “My assistant here will take you to my office. Shawna’s already on the line. She hounded me like hell to get you out of there.”

  Larry laughed. “Yeah, she can be a bit...insistent.” He turned toward the main complex with eager steps, only to run into Skull.

  “Where you think you’re going, convict?”

  Larry laughed again, loud. “I hear they got a price on your head. Wanted, dead or alive.” He reached to embrace Skull, who stiff-armed him.

  “You’re not really my type, brother,” Skull said with a death’s-head grin. He shook Larry’s hand, and then allowed himself to be pulled into a half-hug. “Be good.”

  Larry refused to let go of Skull’s hand. “You came for me. Thanks.”

  “You always were one weepy son of a bitch. Now turn loose of me, you ogre.”

  Larry released Skull, who gave him a salute with his index finger and backed up. Then Larry resumed his eager rush toward Cassandra’s office and Shawna’s video call.

  Spooky leaned against the skin of the aircraft as he watched Skull approach Cassandra, cataloguing their interactions, filing them in his copious memory.

  “Hey, Cassie,” Skull said. “You look good, as always. Relaxed. Having fun playing Spider Lady? Got everybody in your–” he spread his hands and wiggled his fingers, as if manipulating marionettes on strings, “–your web?”

  Cassandra gazed flatly at him. “Can we talk? Like grownups?”

  Skull shrugged. “So talk, mom.”

  “Look,” she said. “I know you’re angry. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I did what I had to do, just like you do. I had more than just one person to save. I had to look at the bigger picture.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, expressionless. “Fair enough.” He leaned forward and put his hand behind her head to kiss her, firmly, but without passion. “Good-bye, Cassandra.” Skull walked away.

  Markis stepped up to stand next to Spooky. “Ah, young love.”

  “Broken trust is hard to mend,” Spooky said.

  “Yes, it is. I’m glad I can trust you.”

  Spooky turned to search Markis’ eyes. He thought he read in them more depth than usual, and reminded himself that just because the Chairman of the Free Communities was a good man, a moral man, didn’t mean he wasn’t a dangerous man.

  I could only follow a dangerous man, he thought. “You can trust me, Daniel,” he said. “The moment you don’t believe that, do me the courtesy of demanding my resignation. I assure you I’ll trouble you no more.”

  “Oh, I know that, Tran. I know.”

  Again, Spooky pondered Markis’ words. A promise? A warning?

  Markis looked at his watch. “I have to go. Please organize a memorial service for those you lost.” He seemed to have subtly emphasized the word “you.” Placing blame?

  Responsibility, at least.

  “I’ll take care of it personally,” said Spooky.

  “Of course,” said Markis putting his hand on Spooky’s shoulder. “And stay away from Reaper. In my experience losing comrades – or lovers – is something that hits you suddenly. Never know how she’ll react. I’d hate to have to add either one of you to the rolls of the fallen.”

  Spooky nodded as Markis left. He turned to find Cassandra staring at him. Somehow he’d have to mend fences with her…but not today. Today, it seemed, everyone wanted to blame Tran Pham Nguyen for the butcher’s bill.

  Nguyens…he grabbed his gear and began to walk along the flight line toward the main compound, following the buses, which had begun to roll. He passed Reaper, Flyboy, Spirit and Stitch, all who remained of the team. He made a mental note to expend every effort to find out for sure whether anyone reached Derrick’s people. Doing so might buy him a small measure of redemption.

  ***

  Flyboy turned to Spirit and Stitch. “Hey, why don’t you give Reaper and me a minute?”

  “Sure,” said Spirit. “We’ll be at the bar after we clean up.” The two departed.

  Flyboy looked away from Reaper before speaking. He opened his mouth and shut it several times.

  “You did good,” Reaper said, forcing a smile. “Finally got to put those mad flying skills to use. Saved us all.”

  Flyboy sighed. “Look, I know this isn’t the best time, but...the three of us are leaving.”

  “Leaving? Where?”

  “Chile. Argentina. Patagonia.”

  “Like, on vacation?”

  Flyboy smiled. “No. Before Hawkeye…well, before, we were thinking about going to help the Eden insurgency there in the mountains. Hawkeye’s people are fighting against anti-Eden death squads, cartels, cocaine growers, smugglers…lots of people who think Edens make good slaves, or should be stamped out. They could use some help.”

  “And Stitch and Spirit are going with you?”

  “They’re leaning that way. They don’t like what just happened.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Not your fault. Nobody could have done better.”

  “I could have aborted.”

  “Then all those people would still be in the camp. Look, it was worth the risk. The trade. A handful of people for hundreds. Makes sense.”

  “But?”

  Flyboy slapped his chest. “But this war is changing. It’s changing you, it’s changing us, it’s changing what Markis has got to work with. People like Spooky, like Skull, like our spy queen…”

  “We become what we hate.”

  “This wasn’t a surgical strike with SAM rounds, converting them into Edens. We killed a lot of people today. Fifty, a hundred? That’s not what I signed up for. Fighting monsters makes monsters of us. I don’t want to become a monster.”

  Reaper crossed her arms and toed the soil at her feet. “I get it.”

  “Come with us,” pleaded Flyboy. “Get away from all of this. All the intrigue and politics. Come with us to a place where it’s all simple again. It can be like it used to be. We’ll still work with the FC. Hell, we’ll need supplies of sublethal ammo. But we can do it on our terms.”

  Flyboy’s offer cried out to her. It was an opportunity to escape, to get away and start over. What did she have here anyway, now that Keith was dead? Rogett could bodyguard Markis. Cassandra would never be far from a satphone.

  Spooky…she still didn’t understand him.

  At least he hadn’t turned out to be a traitor.

  At least she hadn’t had to put a bullet in the back of his head.

  You’ve let yourself be carried along by the stream of events, she told herself. Get out. Get away. Go back to a simple life and a simple code.

  She lifted her head and smiled. She found herself on the verge of accepting the offer, until she noticed her hands, still stained with Keith’s blood.

  Let them go, she thought. How much more blood will be on your hands before it’s all over? This is their escape, not yours. Don’t screw it up for them.

  Looking up, she shrugged, as if helpless. “My place is here...at least for now. Maybe I’ll catch up with you.”

  “Yeah. Drop us a line.” He backed up, and then turned to go.

  Reaper found herself alone.

  Epilogue

  After an evening of heavy drinking, rare for them both, Larry convinced Skull to accompany him to South Africa. Skull awoke hung over to find Larry pushing him along in a wheelchair, the big man swaggering and whistling like a bird in spring.

  “Where am I?” Skull moaned, shading his eyes from the bright sun.

  “Are we feeling a bit under the weather this morning?”

  “Shut up and answer the question.”

  “Testy too, I see. I’m wheeling you to a long-range transport. It’s going to take us to my new home. Shawna is mighty pissed at me over all of this, one reason I want you there. She’ll be o
n better behavior and go easier on me with a houseguest.”

  “Where’s my gear?” asked Skull, looking around at the tarmac and the airplanes loading there.

  “Already taken care of. Couldn’t get your lazy ass to do dick-all this morning. Just slept and snored. Is that how they do it in the Corps? Would Chesty Puller be proud of you? I think not.”

  Skull put his hands on his face to block out the sunlight. “Would you please just shut the fuck up?”

  “I don’t remember you being this big of a wuss before. If I had known you were going to be a crybaby I’d have ordered you a near beer, or maybe a glass of buttermilk.”

  “You know damn well you have an advantage.”

  “Yes, I have an advantage. I’m one bad mofo and you’re not.”

  “You’re an Eden. Your alien mutant dinosaur DNA filters out toxins.”

  Larry’s voice sobered. “You can have it any time.”

  Skull tried to get up. “I must have been stupid drunk to agree to this. Let me off.”

  “Bullshit,” said Larry, pushing Skull forcefully back down in the wheelchair. “A promise is a promise.”

  Skull slept it off during the flight to Pretoria. An SUV met them on the runway, and after loading up their gear they headed into the suburbs. Larry kept fidgeting and making comments about everything he saw outside.

  Skull smiled in sudden understanding. “You’re nervous. Hell, you’re scared shitless of your old lady.”

  “You would be too,” Larry said. “Shawna is no woman to mess with. I’d appreciate it if you could run interference. You know...create a distraction.”

  “Not. A. Chance.”

  Larry laid his head back on the headrest. “Thanks for nothing.”

  “You owe me, remember?”

  The driver had to lower the window to show his identification when they entered a secured compound. Through the window they could hear an unmistakable voice.

  “LAWRENCE STEVEN AUBREY NIGHTINGALE, YOU BETTER GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE RIGHT THIS SECOND!”

  “Steven?” Skull said. “Aubrey?”

  “Uh-oh,” said Larry.

  Skull’s wide, genuine smile transformed his face. It was a look few had ever seen. “Got any popcorn? This gonna be fun.”

  The SUV pulled through the gate, which closed behind them. Before the vehicle had even stopped, they saw Shawna marching toward the passenger door. She yanked it open, staring at Skull in confusion.

  He pointed across. “Other side.”

  She hurried around and snatched that door open.

  Larry stepped out. “Now look baby, I –”

  Shawna cut him off by pulling him down to her and planting a gigantic and lingering kiss on his lips. After a few surprised seconds, his arms wrapped around her and lifted her off the ground.

  Skull stepped out of the vehicle, feeling genuinely good for the first time in a long while.

  Over dinner and drinks – hair of the dog, Skull thought – they caught up on the last several years since Markis loosed the Plague. In the basement, beers in hand, Larry told story after hilarious story. Skull allowed himself to simply enjoy the company without having to watch his back. He found himself again tempted to accept the virus, but…no, he refused to give up his scars, too much a part of himself.

  “Hey, are you seeing this?” yelled Shawna from above.

  “Seeing what?”

  “Turn on the news, but don’t go getting any crazy ideas about leaving again. I own your ass.”

  Larry turned on the television mounted on the wall and saw news of massive protests in Mexico. The government was using tear gas and water cannons on the crowds. The crawler feed across the bottom said they’d instituted martial law.

  “What’s this about?” Skull asked.

  “It was on the television in the bar last night,” Larry said. “Were you that damn drunk?”

  “Just tell me what happened,”

  “A radical faction within the Mexican Congress staged a political coup and kicked out the old administration, but they’re not going gently. Looks like the new guys have the backing of the military, though, which is what really matters.”

  “– and have just introduced a proposal to petition for a political union with the United States. President Julez points to the growing Eden problem, and the need to combine forces to contain the infection. He also claims that joining the U.S. will result in an economic boom –”

  Larry said, “Normally I’m not a fan of conspiracy theories, but they’re all over the internet. I think there might be some truth this time. With the Canada thing, this seems too coordinated to me. Like the Unionists are taking over both countries.”

  “The Sudetenland and Austria, huh?”

  “What language are you speaking, bro?”

  Skull sighed. “The curse of education. Read a history book, will you?”

  “I got enough education to know this ain’t gonna be good for the FC.”

  “It looks like your average Mexican is none too happy about it either.”

  Larry nodded. “Lots of Edens in Mexico. If they join with the United States, they know it’s gonna only be a matter of time before the Unionists start rounding them up too.”

  “Damn,” said Skull shaking his head. “I saw this coming. If Mexico goes, all North America will be under Unionist domination. They’ll take the Caribbean and Central America too, if they can.”

  “Maybe. I can’t figure out if they’re really so scared of the Eden virus that they genuinely think they need to stamp it out, or they’re just using that fear as an excuse to go all Genghis Khan on nearby countries.”

  “Probably a little of both.”

  Skull found the spell had been broken. His cigar had turned to ash, his Scotch no longer tasted divine, and Larry wasn’t telling funny stories. “I think I’m going to turn in. Where you got me?”

  “Here, on the sofa, if you don’t mind.”

  Skull swept his eyes around the room, lingering on the windows. “Don’t mind at all. Where’s my gear?”

  “I’ll bring it down.”

  “Thanks.”

  When he had his bag, and Larry and Shawna had gone up to bed, Skull repacked, dumping a few things he didn’t need to lighten his load, and then slipped through one of the windows. A guard let him out of the compound with a wave.

  Walking down the streets of Pretoria in the evening was no longer the equivalent of Russian roulette. The Eden virus had swept the poor of South Africa and dramatically reduced violent crime, he’d read, just like in the other FC countries. Things weren’t perfect, but they'd improved dramatically for the average citizen.

  After checking his mapping app, Skull thought about Larry and his family. He admitted envy of what his friend had, but not resentment. He might have built the same himself.

  Had the love of his life not died on a California mountain road.

  Had he made different choices.

  Had he been a different man.

  Had he been willing to let that germ have its way with him.

  But he could never do that.

  He’d had family once. Not a wife and kids, but parents, grandparents, brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews. Like the Nguyens, he supposed. A Denham clan, scattered throughout Tennessee, Kentucky and a few other places. All now gone. According to his researches, the Edens among them had been rounded up and done away with in the early days of the Plague, more collateral damage of Markis’ arrogance. The few non-Edens, he’d lost track of.

  His grandmother Detta had been the last connection to his past, but she’d been tortured and killed. His brother’s three daughters might have called him Uncle Alan if they hadn’t died in an experimentation camp. All because of the Unionists and their Psycho servants, sick bastards who believed the ends justified the means.

  They were right, though, he had to admit. His ends justified his means. The difference was, his ends heralded the destruction of injustice, even if he had to use the ugliest of means.


  The irony was not lost on him.

  “To fight monsters, become a monster,” he murmured.

  A passerby glanced at him, and he nodded. “Evening.”

  Now, as usual, he isolated himself within the fortress of his mind, walling off the emotions he’d briefly allowed himself.

  They were nonproductive.

  They only got in the way.

  The only emotion he’d allow himself was hatred.

  Skull found himself at the foot of a subtropical trail. A lighted bungalow lay at the end of that pathway above him. The name of the man and his address had come to him unbidden. The particulars were inscribed on a vast mental death warrant that Skull had already committed to serving. He’d plugged the address into his smart phone app and allowed it to guide him here.

  He knew he could report the Psycho. The man would be arrested and interrogated by the South African authorities. Larry would make sure of it.

  But not like I would. It needs to be final. You can’t infect and improve a Psycho; he’s already infected. Better to eliminate him and throw the fear of death into the others.

  And admit it, Skull. You do enjoy it.

  He stood at the bottom of the path and looked up at the house silhouetted against the darkening night. A weathervane fashioned as a sailing schooner twisted slightly in the breeze.

  I am like a ship on the seas, Skull mused. I make ports of call, but there’s no home for me. I go where the winds of war send me.

  The breeze blew gently behind him, turning the ship on the house in the direction he faced. Then the breeze died.

  As the man in the house soon would.

  THE END of Nearest Night

  Continue reading below for a sample from the next book, The Demon Plagues.

  Sample from

  THE DEMON PLAGUES

  Prologue

  Infection Year Ten

  Alan “Skull” Denham put his eye to the sight of his venerable Barrett sniper rifle. Mexico City sprawled smoggy as ever; he could just barely see his target area. The fascist United Governments of North America hadn’t done any better than the old Mexican regime had in cleaning the place up. Annexation of Mexico and Canada by the former U.S. had proven to be the proverbial anaconda swallowing the buffalo; the process seemed inevitable, but very, very slow.