New Night (Gothic Book 2)

by van Dahl,Fiona

  “What have you done with—” Io’s words are cut off by a heavy gag. She screams against it.

  “Hey,” Lucas snaps, stepping toward the soldiers.

  Drews raises an eyebrow. “Or have you been taken in, after all? Mr. de la Mora, this is not a human being. It does a very good job pretending to be one, but in truth, it’s the most dangerous thing in this room. Did she have anyone with her? Any allies?”

  Lucas starts to shake his head, then frowns deeply. “Ah, one of my people was helping her, but he’s just an old man. I don’t know where he’s gone, but he kept insisting this was all his fault, that he opened ‘portals’ for the monsters.”

  The Director gave him a sharp look. “Go on.”

  He shrugs helplessly, wishing he could get the soldiers to ease up on Io — wishing he could rewind the last two hours. “Forget I mentioned him. He’s just an old man.”

  “Are you alright? You’ve gone pale.”

  He sucks in a deep breath. “He’s one of my people. I mean it. I don’t want you . . .” He nods vaguely at Io’s ongoing hog-tying.

  “You have nothing to worry about. We might detain him for questioning, but that’s all. I promise you that if he’s only a delusional old man, he will be returned to you.”

  “And if he isn’t returned to me?”

  Drews purses his lips, then steps closer and lowers his voice. “If he really is responsible for all this death and destruction, both in Gothic and here in your own court, will you want him back?” He glances down at Io, then meets Lucas’ gaze again. “What if he’s like it?”

  Lucas’ jaw works as he stares up at the taller man. At last, “The first thing I learned in police academy is that we are not judge and jury—”

  “I’m well aware of your background. In fact… How to say this delicately? Depending on how this situation develops, there may be a new career path opening up to you.”

  All thoughts of Condy flee Lucas’ mind; this new development makes him blink in surprise. “What?”

  “We’re well on our way to containing this situation, but we may have to designate this site as a secondary quarantine zone. I’ll need an administrator who’s familiar with the area — a man who trusts his superiors but also isn’t afraid to pick up a gun and solve problems himself.”

  Lucas reels. His people will be evacuated and rehomed again — and some of them started out in Prairie Grove EGS, and then they were moved to Blue Mountains EGS, and now their homes here will be gone—

  “I need a headcount of the evacuees,” Lucas finds himself saying. “I need to make sure everyone is accounted for.”

  “Good man. In fact . . .” He contemplates Lucas for a long moment, then nods to himself. “Perhaps I’ll issue the stolen hammer to you, once we recover it. They belong to humans who fight for humans. Besides: The previous director didn’t trust outsiders with them, so it would be fitting that you inherit hers.”

  “I’m . . . I’m not sure. This is very sudden.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Take care of your people, and I’ll take care of the monsters.”

  “Sir. Noon-it secured.” The two men lift Io up off the floor. They’ve bound her hand and foot, and they carry her with the tips of her toes barely brushing the floor. As they hoist her out of the room, she shoots a look of hatred back at Lucas and Drews.

  “That thing could kill every human here,” Drews murmurs, watching them go. “But it’s too afraid we’ll destroy its brain, or use our hammers.”

  The hate in her eyes has chilled Lucas’ blood, and he finds his frustration mounting. “Or maybe she’s just a scared kid.”

  Drews shakes his head absently. “I can’t tell you much more than you’ve observed yourself; you don’t have the clearance. Yet. But trust me when I say that not everything that looks human is. Letting them trick you will only get you killed.” He makes a contemplative sound deep in his throat. “I should demonstrate some hammer techniques, so you aren’t caught unawares next time.”

  Lucas retrieves his shotgun from below the window, switches the safety on. “What’s wrong with a gun?”

  The tall man leads the way out of the office and across the basketball court to the main doors. Outside, soldiers help civilians up into covered trucks for evacuation — though to where, Lucas hasn’t been informed. The air is full of gunfire, mostly from the grassy field and deeper in the site.

  Drews confers with one of his men, then returns to Lucas. “Situation is nearly under control. We’ve pinpointed the source of the swarms and nearly have them beaten back; after that, it’s only a matter of containment.” He heads for the field where the first monster appeared, and Lucas can do nothing but follow, carrying his shotgun. Despite the greasy dread in his gut, he feels like an eager student at police academy.

  The field is littered with piles of black needles and recently-slaughtered monsters of every size and shape. Lucas stares down at them, trying to understand how their bodies fit together, but each disintegrates as soon as he reaches it.

  Drews unclips the hammer from his belt and, with a casual flick of the wrist, reveals the blue glowing orb inside its head. “We still don’t know how these affect humans, though they don’t appear to be radioactive by our standard definitions. I advise you to keep yours closed except during combat.”

  They approach a wounded giraffe writhing in the grass, its stick-legs swinging hideously in the air. Two soldiers fire automatic weapons into its neck and chest, but leave off when they see Drews approaching.

  “Are you an animal lover, Mr. de la Mora?”

  He clears his throat. “Not really, but my instinct is to not let them suffer.”

  “It helps to remember that these are not animals. These are monsters. And in any case, while bullets make them act as if they are suffering, the hammers provide a quick, painless death.”

  Drews steps closer to the fallen sharp, until its grasping lamprey mouth is nearly able to latch onto his foot. In one smooth motion, he brings the hammer up over his head, then swings it down, knees bending as he drops. The head of the hammer strikes the grass with a soft thunk.

  A pulse of blue light sweeps out from him, soundless and windless. Lucas startles in surprise and backs up a step, but the light runs through his legs and past him without effect, then abruptly fades away.

  The monster disintegrates from the head downward; ten seconds later, its entire body is a pile of black needles.

  Drews rises to his feet and closes the hammer once more. “The harder and faster you hit, the wider the pulse,” he explains, turning back to Lucas with utter calm. “To clear a city, you need to drop it from several stories high.”

  Lucas’ mouth is hanging open. “The blue pulse,” he realizes, feeling stupid. “That’s how you cleared Gothic. You used one of these. But, but where did you get them?”

  Drews spreads his hands modestly. “Want to know more? Get more clearance.”

  The hammer, so strange and silly before, suddenly looks forbidding in the man’s hand. Lucas’ mind ticks furiously through the possibilities.

  There’s a commotion behind him, in the evacuation area. Lucas turns to peer that way and sees Io, arms still bound behind her back but legs torn free of the metal zip ties. She makes a run for it, headed deeper into the camp.

  RATATATATATATATATAT

  Lucas watches each bullet strike her one by one, sees her powerful body go limp and doll-like. She goes down hard in the mud, bleeding and shattered. A cry of shock tears from him, and then he and Drews are rushing across the wet battlefield.

  Drews still carries his hammer, closed but ready. He slows as they approach the fallen girl. “Mr. de la Mora, I strongly advise you not to touch it, and especially not to make contact with its blood. Do you have any open wounds?”

  Lucas ignores him and kneels beside her, setting aside his shotgun. He gently grips her left wrist — her right arm is shattered at the elbow — and feels for a pulse. There, but weak. He bends down and tries to meet her eyes. They�
�re glassy, unfocused — but she finds him, stares at him from within a mask of blood.

  “I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “I had no idea they would—” He chokes as guilt washes over him.

  Her lips are moving.

  “Mr. de la Mora,” Drews prompts from high above them. “Please step back before it spits blood in your eyes. My team has a perfect exposure record and I will not jeopardize it.”

  Lucas hesitates just a moment longer, staring at her lips. She’s repeating a single word, but he can’t figure it out.

  She sucks in a long, hissing breath, and whispers, “Sssstaaalllll.”

  Stall for time.

  Rescue her from Drews.

  Lucas’ heart pounds. He rises to his feet, head spinning.

  A semi-circle of soldiers has formed, weapons still aimed at the girl. Drews gestures for them to back off. “Get a decontamination team over here,” he orders calmly. “Can’t leave its blood lying around. We’ll have to dig up this entire—”

  Tiny shudders run up and down Io’s body. Lucas counts bullet wounds in her thigh, lower back, shoulder, and the crown of her head. He’s never seen a human being so brutalized.

  “I don’t know why I assumed it would cooperate, even out of fear,” Drews tells Lucas, clipping the hammer to his belt and drawing his sidearm. “Learn from my example. Don’t put your people in unnecessary danger.”

  The moment Lucas sees the gun in the man’s hand, his stomach drops. He subtly shifts his feet to ease in between them. “She’s dying. You don’t need to shoot her again.”

  “That thing could rise at any moment and kill every one of us.”

  Lucas remembers her startling bravado against the ‘giraffe’ sharp. That and Drews’ callousness finally click together in his mind. She’s some kind of immortal, tied to the monsters.

  Drews is barking orders at his men. On the far side of the parking lot, Lucas spots soldiers climbing into HAZMAT suits.

  “What are you going to do?” he asks, forcing the fear and hatred from his voice.

  The taller man frowns at him, looking faintly irritated at this interruption. “You should go stand with your people and—”

  “I want to know.” He shrugs, knowing he looks deranged, beginning not to care. “She could almost be considered one of my people.”

  “A laughable idea. I’m afraid our mentoring is over for now, and I’ll have to ask you to—”

  “Nah, nah, it’s not over yet.” The shotgun is on the ground at their feet. His stun gun and handgun are worlds away. “I have loads more questions, especially about this person you just slaughtered.” He can wrestle Drews for his sidearm, but the man is military, maybe Special Ops—

  “—have said before, there are clearance levels involved. For the last time, Mr. de la Mora, I must ask you to—”

  Despite his increasingly desperate self-control, Lucas’ voice rises. “You are under the mistaken impression that you have any right to order me around at my own site!”

  “You no longer have any authority over this site, and you are becoming agitated—”

  “I am forced to remind you that you are standing on FEMA property and have zero authority except what I give you! You’re not moving an inch closer to this innocent girl until you explain to me, in detail, why I should allow any of this to—”

  “You don’t have the proper clearance to—”

  “Fuck your clearance! Your people have murdered an innocent girl!” He bares his teeth at the soldiers, some of whom shift their weight carefully on their feet — not quite aiming their weapons at him, but ready to. “I’ve let this go on far too long. I think it’s about time I make a call to my superiors at FEMA, let them know that you have so far bound and shot a young girl, threatened to kidnap an elderly man, and—”

  “Mr. de la Mora, it would be extremely foolish of you to tell anyone an unfiltered account of what has happened here today—”

  “How about the press? You’re in fucking Arkansas. You think they don’t already have a news crew headed this way to cover the stupid storm? What version of events would you like me to tell them?”

  Drews raises his voice, “—understandably upset at the disruption of—”

  “—going to see what I can do for the girl your men just brutalized—”

  “—continue to be irrational and a danger to my people, I will have no choice but to—”

  “—medical attention immediately, I want to know exactly where you’re taking the rest of my people, and—”

  “—Army has jurisdiction of this site as of—”

  “You have no fucking jurisdiction here!” Lucas shouts. “This is FEMA property, you are no longer welcome, and as the designated security officer on site, I will remove you!”

  “That would be a bad idea.”

  Lucas drops into a crouch and picks up his shotgun. He does not raise it, intends only to use it as a power-symbol this lunatic might understand—

  Drews heaves a sigh and shoots Lucas in the head.

  The old Gothic University physics facility has been designated ‘Gothic Quarantine Zone Forward Operating Base Abbott’ — ‘FOB Abbott’ to the soldiers stationed there. The one-story building is deserted, each classroom locked and barred. But its basement houses barracks, laboratories, a command center — and as of today, an old classroom hurriedly re-designated ‘Interview Room 1’.

  A table and chairs have been brought in; viewed from above, the items are too normal, too civilian for their new purpose. A camera on a tripod is set in a corner to film the proceedings since video surveillance has yet to be installed in this room.

  The door swings open, and an old man dressed for winter is led in and settled into one of the chairs. Two soldiers — Servy and Jiminy — remain in the room, one standing on each side of their guest.

  No one moves; the three stare straight ahead, their faces calm. The old man sits back and draws a deep breath, then watches his own twiddling fingers. Eventually, he pulls off his wool gloves and spends a long time neatly flattening them on the table, laying them atop each other in various ways—

  The door clicks open, and in steps Drews, his left wrist in a cast and sling. There’s that horrible stare in his eyes as he shuts the door behind him. “Mr. Condy,” he says, voice deep and low. “I hope your journey here was comfortable.”

  The old man rallies, sitting up straight and squaring his feet. “Yeah, actually, about that: I’ve always wanted to be in a Bond movie, but I see myself more as the ‘Q’, ‘mad inventor’ type, not the guy who gets dragged into some shithole with a sack over his head.” He looks aside at the rough cinder block walls. “Where the hell are we?”

  “Our base of operations inside the GQZ,” Drews explains as he takes a seat across the table from him.

  The old man’s jaw drops. “You— I’m a civilian! I can’t survive in this place!”

  “I assure you, Mr. Condy, that this building is the safest location for miles. Between you and the needle monsters outside stand several dozen well-trained, well-armed men and women. If we are hit with overwhelming force, this base can be made impenetrable in minutes, and we have several evacuation options.” He leans forward and puts his elbow casually on the table, leaving his injured arm to hang in its sling. “Honestly, you were in more danger living in that trailer park.”

  ‘Mr. Condy’ leans back in his chair, thinking. Finally, “I want a lawyer.”

  Drews stares him down, as unmoving as a reptile.

  “Don’t give me that intimidation shit. I know my rights—”

  “You mentioned Bond movies. Perhaps this can save us both some time.” He touches a knuckle to his upper lip, thinking. “James Bond captures a potential spy who may know important information. The spy invokes his right to counsel.” He cocks his head to one side. “What happens next?”

  The old man swallows, unwilling to break eye contact but clearly struggling. “I’m not a spy,” he manages.

  “What are you?”

  �
��A programmer.”

  “Is that so.”

  “Fine. A hacker.”

  “I’m going to need a little more detail.”

  Mr. Condy straightens his shoulders, trying to get comfortable. “What, do you want an itemized resume?”

  “Oh, no, I already have that.” From within his uniform jacket — reaching awkwardly for something his now-disabled hand would usually grab — he produces a tablet, turns it on, reads from the screen. “Born 1950. Never married, no children or living relatives. Honestly, I was surprised that ‘Cyrus Condy’ is your real name.”

  The old man’s face has gone carefully blank. “There’s nothing wrong with my real name.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “My criminal record is completely clean.”

  A little smile flashes over Drews’ face, as if the idea of stopping at a criminal background check is ‘cute’ to him. “Did you know that the FBI has a file on you?”

  To Mr. Condy’s credit, he doesn’t even flinch. He’s probably a little green under the gills, but he will not give Drews the pleasure.

  “—multiple online hacker personas since the ‘90s.” His gaze returns to the old man’s pale, expressionless face. “Hardly the harmless old man Mr. de la Mora made you out to be.”

  He draws a deep breath and lets it out. “What do you want?”

  “Ah, you’ve decided to be straight with me.”

  “I don’t feel like disappearing into a gulag in Cuba, and the vibe I’m getting is that you’re just crazy enough to try it.” The old man shrugs heavily. “What do you want?”

  He looks up at the soldiers, then back down at the old man. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re all here because the portals are dangerous and civilians are not even allowed near them. So how do you know about them — and why do you think you signaled them?”

  Mr. Condy rubs at his eyes. “Would you believe that I’ve never told the story out loud before?”

  “Start from the beginning, then.”

  He clears his throat. “Okay.” He stares down at his hands, then meets Drews’ serious stare with his own. “Picture a log cabin deep in the forests of Kentucky. That’s where I was born. Hardened by life on the frontier, I taught myself law and rose through the ranks of politics. Wearing my signature stovepipe hat, I—” He notices Drews staring intently at him. “What?”