New Night (Gothic Book 2)

by van Dahl,Fiona

  “Quit your fucking babbling and put the orb back in the hammer. Now.”

  “—knew it was a faster-than-light transmitter. I knew it the moment I saw it. You brought me the last component I needed to make contact with something besides those needle bastards.”

  “Condy, I am not fucking around—”

  “—have any idea what this means?” He turns in his chair and stares at her. “Once I get a reply back, I can . . . Good God. I knew it was possible, but I only just now realized what I could do with this. We can communicate with other civilizations across the galaxy!” He gets to his feet and slowly approaches her. “I can’t thank you enough for bringing it to me. You’ve helped me begin a new age for mankind.”

  She holds up her hands to ward him off. “Put it back in the hammer. I’m taking it and I’m leaving. Now.”

  “I can’t let you take it. It’s the key to—”

  Io grabs at her hair and shrieks in frustration. “If they come here and find you with it, they’ll kill you! I need to leave, and I need to take it with me, but I can’t go near it unless it’s in that fucking case!”

  He stares at her for a long, forlorn moment, then shakes his head and turns back to his desk. “I have so much work to do . . .”

  “I’ll get Lucas. I’ll make you give it back, you crazy son of a bitch!”

  He ignores her, sits back down at the desk. Text flows into one of the garish windows, and he loses himself in it. Gibberish; he has no hope of decoding it. The responder has no concept of English, or base-10 mathematics, or the relatively primitive encryptions he can decode. He’ll have to upload the encyclopedia to them and pray they learn enough to communicate . . .

  Io stands at the head of the trailer, her feet on the edge of the dirt road. Her panic is lifting; she forces herself to get her bearings. To her surprise, the previously-overcast western sky has filled with black clouds. The air is growing warm, and wind whistles between the trailers. She breathes deep and tastes storm.

  She starts walking back to the community center, hoping Lucas will be there. The road is filling with trailer residents, and Io overhears something about evacuation and shelter. She quickens her pace and dodges around them, hoping to reach Lucas first. Even if the clouds look frightening, getting the hammer back from Condy is far more important than a little rain.

  But how to explain her desperation? All Condy has taken is a ‘rave toy’. Io hisses in frustration, fighting off the despairing feeling that everything is falling apart faster than she can hold it together.

  She’s jogging across the community center’s little parking lot when a huge, dark-grey pickup slides into a parking space up ahead. Lucas climbs out, slams the door, and heads straight for her, his hawk-like face crumpled in anger. Io stops in her tracks, not sure whether to meet him or run.

  “Any idea why the GQZ director would be looking for you?” he demands as he reaches her.

  She blanches in horror, then fights to appear casual. “Who? I don’t know what you’re—”

  “Shut up.” Lucas gets very close and points a finger in her face. “If I weren’t currently trying to arrange a mass take-shelter, we would be in that office having a very serious conversation. So instead, that conversation is going to happen later. For now, I want you inside that building, and you had better stay put.”

  Her heart pounds so hard, it’s difficult to draw breath. “I— Listen, Condy took my—”

  “Not another word. Inside. Now.”

  Zechariah abruptly joins them, jogging to a stop and bending forward to gasp for breath. “Told all of— Row A—” He swallows hard. “Cell phones not working.”

  “Fuck,” Lucas mutters. “Was hoping it was just me. Internet’s down, too.” He grabs Zechariah’s arm and pulls him closer. “You’re in charge of keeping an eye on Io, ¿comprendes?”

  The gangly man looks uncomfortably down at her, then leads the way toward the community center. Thunder cracks overhead, startling everyone; the black clouds on the western horizon have grown much closer.

  Lucas checks his phone’s clock and mutters, “Almost time.”

  They reach the building and stand just inside the door to escape the wind. The basketball court quickly fills with people, and their excited voices are almost louder than the growing booms of thunder. Lucas surveys them, counting with his eyes, frowning deeply.

  Io reluctantly approaches him. “Look, Condy’s gone crazy. He stole my—”

  “Did he get the evacuation order? Is he here?”

  “What? Uh. I seriously doubt it.”

  “Dammit. Alright, you two stay here. I’m going to go get him.”

  “You can’t go out there alone,” Zechariah says immediately, and a long crackle of thunder agrees. “We’ll go with you.”

  “You’re staying here, in shelter, watching her. No arguing.” When he steps out the door and hears Zechariah following, he turns and shouts, “Goddammit, I will Tase you!”

  “Your stun gun’s in the office,” Zechariah reminds him, lip curled stubbornly.

  “I’m coming, too!” Io insists, following them to Lucas’ truck. “He’s still got my backpack!”

  “¡Chupame la polla with your fucking backpack!” Lucas snaps at her, but she apparently doesn’t hear him over the increasingly violent wind and thunder. He climbs up into his truck and slams the driver’s side door, then grinds his teeth as Zechariah and Io climb in next to him. “Fine. Stay where I can watch you. Even better.”

  The truck faces the empty field next to the community center. As Lucas starts the engine, a wall of water rushes across the fifty yards of grass and slams the windshield, turning the world to static. Lucas mutters another curse and turns his windshield wipers to their highest setting.

  “Maybe we should take a minute to breathe,” Io proposes. “It’s just a little rain.”

  From the other side of the field, there comes a screeching crunch. As the wipers fight to keep the windshield clear, the three peer out across the field, to where the grass meets the treeline. A section of chain-link fence rests on its side, having fallen over toward them as if bludgeoned by the wind.

  Lucas looks from the downed fence to the row of trailers where Condy lives, then back. “Yet another goddamn problem. I can check it when I get back.”

  Zechariah grabs his wrist and shakes his head vigorously. “Something’s wrong.”

  “What? It’s just a fence!”

  “Something’s wrong. We need the fences.”

  “What good are the fences if the people inside them are stuck in these fucking tin cans during an inland hurricane?”

  The hairs on Zechariah’s arms are standing straight up. A low growl simmers in the back of his throat. “Lucas. Please. Let’s just fix it.”

  Lucas heaves a sigh, reaches into the back seat, and produces a yellow rain slicker. “Not your job. You two stay here.” When Zechariah begins to argue, he adds, “Think of it as protecting Io. I’ll push the fence back up, and then we’ll go get Condy. Happy?”

  He turns off the engine, leaving the keys in the ignition. He turns on his hi-beams, illuminating the field even more brightly through the heavy rain. When he opens his door, the wind nearly shoves it closed again. He has to fight his way out.

  Zechariah digs under the seat and finds a large flashlight, passes it to him. “Be careful!” he warns, returning his heated gaze to the treeline.

  “Just keep those killer instincts under control!” Lucas shouts over the roar of the wind. “And keep an eye on her!” He slams the door and starts forward, around the hood of the truck and out into the grass. The yellow rain slicker whips around him, barely providing any protection against the driving rain.

  Io hugs herself, watching him slip in the grass and puddles as he crosses the field. “I don’t get it. What’s so important about the fence?”

  Zechariah slowly shakes his head. “Lucas and I go out on a run every night at midnight. Even in the dark, I can tell when there’s a break in the fence. I
don’t like the idea of anything getting in.”

  “But the gate was open when I got here.”

  “The gate faces the road, which comes down a steep hill. At least we can see anything that comes toward the gate. But beyond the fences, there’s nothing but black pine forest. There could be anything in there.”

  She grimaces. “Like sharps? The quarantine fence is manned twenty-four-seven. We’d have heard about it if any monsters escaped.” Then she glances up at him nervously. “Besides, Shire would get attacked before this place.”

  Lucas stumbles through the grass, pouring forth a string of muttered curses in English and Spanish. He reaches the fence, grabs it — thankful that it’s topped with only barbed wire, not razor wire — and starts to push it upright.

  (From the truck, Zechariah and Io watch him freeze, then drop the fence and aim his flashlight into the trees. “He sees something,” Io mutters, and together she and Zechariah lean closer to the windshield.)

  Lucas sweeps the light back and forth, squinting at the rain-obscured blackness. There— Another movement. A shape coalesces before his eyes; he has the sudden impression of large danger looming toward him.

  Its main body is the size of a car, pitch-black against the forest darkness. It moves in almost perfect silence, its legs no more than sticks glinting in his flashlight’s beam. On reflex, Lucas shines the flashlight upward and catches the end of a long, worm-like neck, and a flash of lamprey teeth.

  Ice water pours into Lucas’ belly even as stomach acid shoots up into his throat. He backs up a step, nearly falls, then turns and runs. The nearest shelter — the pickup — is fifty yards away.

  (Zechariah and Io see him turn, catch a glimpse of his terrified face in the truck’s hi-beams — and then a hulking mass of black needles lumbers across the fallen fence, chasing him into the field.

  “Fuck!” they scream in unison.)

  As Lucas runs — rain-slicked hair falling into his eyes, shoes slipping in the wet grass — he reflexively checks his belt and confirms that he carries no weapons, not even a stun gun. The massive sharp is only a few steps behind—

  Its lamprey-head rears back and belts a roar into the rainy sky.

  Lucas’ world turns to static. Mid-step, his legs fly out from under him; he falls bonelessly into the grass, retching, tasting breakfast cereal and last night’s beer. He manages to push himself up on one elbow, then retches again. His head is full of fireworks and half his body won’t respond.

  The sharp moves closer, sniffing out its stunned prey.

  Lucas sucks in breaths through a burning throat. His head clears enough to let him recognize the sharp from evacuee stories. It is a ‘giraffe’-type, feared for its formidable bulk and paralyzing roar. He sits up, then sees that the lamprey mouth has almost found his foot. In another moment, it will latch on and whip him back and forth like a dog with a toy, snapping his neck— Then it will eat him—

  Someone is at his side, forcing a shotgun — his shotgun — into his hands. He looks up dazedly and finds Zechariah crouched in the grass beside him. The younger man stares up at the approaching monster with his lips pulled back in a snarl, his eyes full of predatory menace. The rain slicks his long, blond hair to the sides of his head, darkens it nearly black.

  “Aim for the base of its neck!” he snaps, then lunges away, long legs stabbing efficiently through the wet grass. The sharp strikes at him with its lamprey mouth, but he’s too fast, leaving it to bite noisily into the wet ground.

  The sight of the young man so close to the monster strikes Lucas like a slap, and his horror and confusion fall away. “Don’t get yourself killed!”

  “I can survive its bite! You can’t!” He sidesteps, avoiding the monster’s maw by a hair.

  Lucas struggles with indecision for a moment longer, then struggles to his feet. He spends a precious few seconds shrugging off his useless rain slicker, then stops juggling his shotgun and actually looks at it. He can only pray his weatherproofing holds up in the downpour. Someone, probably Zechariah, has loaded it from the stock ammo holder, and there’s a round in the chamber. The safety is on; Lucas switches it off with a flick of his thumb.

  Zechariah feints to the right, drawing the sharp’s head after him. Lucas ducks left, dodging as far away from the glistening teeth as he can. The neck looms in the rainy darkness, thick as a tree trunk.

  Years of training and practice move Lucas’ arms, adjust his grip, sight, and

  BLAM

  The shot strays to the left, blowing a chunk out of the monster’s body. It instantly leaves off Zechariah and swings its head toward him, dribbling a furious screech that, though muted by the ringing in Lucas’ ears, still makes his legs drop out from under him. His knees hit the wet grass with a jolt that makes his teeth click. Thirty-three years of life flash before his eyes.

  Io barrels out of the rainy darkness and into the monster’s neck, shoving its mouth aside. She wraps an arm over and around it, heedless of its spines. It gargles frustration at her.

  Her arm is through its neck. Then she draws it out and forces it in again. Yes, she appears to be stabbing the monster in the neck with her hand, carving at it with abandon. Her weight makes it stumble and nearly list onto its side; it tries to roar but can get no breath.

  (“Holy shit!” Zechariah shouts from somewhere nearby.)

  Lucas makes it back to his feet and hurries around the melee, until he has a clear shot at the base of the sharp’s neck. K-chack goes the pump action, and he raises it, aims—

  BLAM

  The shot is perfect, hitting at just the right angle to shred the monster’s flesh without bouncing off its tough hide. In an instant, its neck is nearly severed. It lets out a shuddering cough and keels over on its side toward him. He hurries backward, already pumping the shotgun again.

  Io leaves off the still-writhing neck and moves in for the kill. Careful of the sharp’s stick-legs, which wave viciously like those of an upturned beetle, she gets in close to the base of the neck. With a grunt, she stabs her right hand into its body, burying it up to the elbow. It lets out a grunt of pain, and then its body goes limp and begins to break down into shiny black needles.

  Rain pours down, soaking their clothes and skin. Steam rises off of Io, tugged by wind that has gone soft and docile.

  “Holy shit,” Lucas mumbles, and moves closer to the monster’s remains. With the toe of his boot, he stirs the needles; they form a horrible black mud that thankfully doesn’t stick to him.

  Zechariah hurries to his side. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” He spits, hating the burn of vomit in the back of his throat.

  The younger man and Io notice each other, and their eyes meet with equal parts suspicion and amazement. They’re both specked with the monster’s black ichor, and Io’s right arm is coated in it up to the elbow. The rain washes it all away, but slowly.

  Lucas shakes off his daze and surveys the scene. The fence is still down, and who knows how many other breaks there are, how many monsters wait in the shadowy woods beyond. (And fuck, the front gate is still hanging open!) He has to get back to the community center and help barricade the doors.

  (Io steps over the monster’s collapsing neck, glances at the distracted Lucas, and whispers to Zechariah, “Please don’t tell anyone you saw me do that.”

  “I’m not the one you need to ask . . .”)

  Lucas knows he can’t defend the entire site with a shotgun and his Sig. He has to call the Director. If this disaster somehow isn’t enough to bring down the full might of the quarantine zone to protect his people, he can always offer him Io.

  Lucas shoulders the gun and strides off toward the community center. To his relief, Io and Zechariah fall into step behind him without having to be told.

  “We are going to take shelter now,” he states, not looking back. “People will die if you two do not do exactly what I say. Don’t argue. Don’t do anything stupid. In return, I will temporarily ignore the fact that Zechariah, you are an
idiot, and Io, you are some kind of alien.” He sucks in a deep breath of rain, then secretly marvels that he is still alive to do so.

  Io’s voice is very small: “You’re not going to call the GQZ, are you?”

  As they detour back to the pick-up, Lucas thinks about rounding on her, demanding to know what else he’s supposed to do. He cannot risk the lives of everyone in his charge for a bitch who’s done nothing but lie since the moment they met.

  “I’m starting with Shire PD,” he finds himself saying. “Then the admin, who can relay this up the chain at FEMA. Then the Arkansas National Guard, if I can spare two seconds to find the number in the office.”

  “I’ll look for it,” she immediately volunteers.

  Lucas pulls open the cab door and slides his shotgun onto the seat, then climbs in and sits down just out of the rain. An idea strikes him — send her on a snipe hunt, keep her inside the building and distracted. “There’s a blue and red sheet with a list of phone numbers,” he lies, gambling that Zechariah doesn’t know the office well enough to notice. “If it’s not in the main filing cabinet, check the drawers and the entire stack of file boxes in the corner. Don’t bring me random numbers — I need that exact sheet.”

  “Got it!” She hurries toward the building, leaving Zechariah standing beside the open door.

  “I’m heading to Condy’s, and then I’ll be right back,” Lucas promises. “When you get into the community center, have everyone barricade the doors. Leave the office window unblocked so I can get back in.”

  Zechariah’s eyes have gone blue and gentle once more. The killer is gone, and in its place stands a nervous child in a man’s tall, lanky body. He’s waiting for the inevitable scolding.

  Lucas’ heart throbs guiltily, but he faces the windshield. “That was real stupid. You could have been killed.” When the young man doesn’t answer, he heaves a sigh and reluctantly adds, “But you saved my life.”

  Zechariah reaches up and puts a hand on Lucas shoulder. “Of course.”

  “After this is all over, I’ll yell at you, and then we’ll have a beer.” He glances up at the treeline, then reaches to close the door. “Get inside. Get everyone ready.”