Against the Fading of the Light (Action of Purpose, 3)

by Stu Jones

“No. He’s not to touch them. I need them pure. Innocent.”

  “But, Lord—”

  “What the fuck did I just say to you?” Malak growled, standing, towering over the man.

  “You said not to touch them,” the man almost whimpered.

  “That’s right. I need their innocence. It must be palpable enough for me to consume when the time is right. You can scream at them; you can beat them; you can deprive them of food if you wish. But you will not rape them, sexually abuse them, or injure them beyond repair until they have served their purpose. After that, I couldn’t care less what you do with them. But until then, you all will show some restraint. If you or Saxon or anyone else has a problem with that, then I can have the rest of the men slaughter and eat you along with these sorry shit sacks here.” He gestured to the nearby fire where a thug was rotating a metal spit with a large chunk of meat on it.

  “No, Lord, no, I understand. It’s just…”

  “What?”

  “They won’t stop praying.”

  “Grow the fuck up. They’re children. Gag them and then beat it out of them. But if you gravely injure them or kill them, my wrath will know no limit.”

  “Yes, Lord.”

  “Praying.” Malak huffed and made a disgusted face as he spat out the word. “They’ll give that up as soon as they realize it’ll only bring them more suffering.”

  The thug hurried quickly away, and it wasn’t long before the shrill screams of the five-year-old fraternal twins rose in the humid night air. It was a singularly beautiful sound, the screams of Kane’s children. It sounded like subjugation and hopelessness and victory. Malak let a broad smile creep across his face as he settled in beside the fire and allowed the children’s cries of terror to soothe him to sleep.

  4

  WITH A SWIPE, Tynuk’s restraints were cut free. The warrior boy wasted no time leaping to his feet and bringing his hands up in front of him in a defensive fighting posture. The crowd that encircled him began to laugh and jeer as he stood there naked, bruised, and covered in canyon dust. His thin, muscled form, seemingly stronger than it should be for a boy of only eleven years old, was just barely visible in the early morning darkness of the canyon behind him.

  “Look at him!” one of the young warriors said mockingly, waving a torch forward. “This hairless creature has yet to become a man.”

  The crowd laughed. Tynuk flushed and felt the young blossoming of a terrible rage growing inside his chest—the embarrassment drawing back upon the painful memories of having been bullied in his younger years. He took a deep breath. No. Anger would only serve to distort the path he must now try to find amid this mess.

  Now it was Neraquassi, “Yellow Horse,” who spoke. “Yes, he is just a boy. A lying thief who thinks he’s a great warrior. A child who carries around a stolen Comanche war belt so that he may try to steal the honor tied to it as well.”

  That’s it.

  Tynuk stooped low, snagging a handful of red dirt from the ground, and flung it in the direction of Neraquassi, who quickly sidestepped the thrown debris and yanked a knife from his belt. Immediately several warriors stepped forward with their weapons at the ready.

  “I bested you, Ugly Nose!” Tynuk said, pointing at Neraquassi’s flattened, broken nose. This released a few chuckles from the crowd. Neraquassi scowled.

  “Surely you aren’t afraid of an outsider!” Tynuk called out. “Surely a ‘boy,’ naked and unarmed, is not such a threat that you bring your weapons to bear against him? Or what if he is?” Tynuk smiled with crazy intent. “What if I am that dangerous?” He pointed at the young warrior, their eyes locking for a long, tension-filled moment. “You’ll regret not having killed me when you had the chance.”

  “That’s enough of that,” Queenashano, the war chief, said as he stepped to the front of the crowd. He looked sharply at Neraquassi, who was huffing like an angry bull. “Remove yourself and go make ready for the trials.”

  The young warrior reluctantly ducked his head and turned away, the crowd parting as he went.

  “You have a fire within you.” Queenashano spoke evenly, turning his attention back to Tynuk. “Something guides your actions, but it is unclear to me what or why.” He paused and seemed to consider his own words. “It is for this reason that I have decided to spare your life, for the moment, and instead let fate tell us what it will of you through the trials of the ancients.”

  The crowd grew hushed, as though the mere mention of the trials demanded a show of respect. Tynuk looked around trying to gain any new knowledge of what these trials might have in store for him. But the faces of the crowd were like a still pool of water, where nothing could be seen. He took one breath and waited. Nothing but Queenashano’s stalwart presence remained. Tynuk blew out an exasperated puff of air.

  “OK, I’ll bite. What is it you expect me to do?”

  Queenashano, who seemed pleased with himself for baiting the question, smiled knowingly.

  “We expect you to die.”

  The battered, bullet-hole-riddled Jeep eased to a stop along the access road in front of the emergency radio control station. Though mostly out now, a few isolated fires produced tiny wisps of smoke that seeped from the doors and windows, pulled from the charred building by the garbage-tainted ocean breeze.

  Jenna sat back in her seat and pulled her hands from the wheel. She sniffed quickly and wiped a tear from her eye as it fell. Dagen glanced over at her, noting her emotion as he looked back toward the burned husk that had been their home for most of the past year.

  “I didn’t think it was going to be this hard to see,” Jenna said, wiping her face again.

  Dagen nodded slowly. “A lot went down here—good and bad. But I guess Courtland may be right. What good does it do to come back here? This isn’t our home anymore.”

  “I know. I just wanted to see for myself. Besides, we stored a lot of supplies here, and the Coyotes couldn’t have taken everything. It’s worth a look.”

  Dagen pursed his lips. “Guess I can live with that.”

  Jenna took her foot off the brake, and the Jeep began to roll toward the main gate. As they went, the scenery before them evoked a wash of memories: the perimeter fence, twisted and ruined like some hellish roller coaster; the piles of rotting, half-charred corpses, both human and mutant; the heavy doors to the outer cellar, where the children had hidden, standing wide open. Jenna clenched her jaw and pulled the Jeep into the center of the courtyard, where she brought it to a stop.

  Exiting the vehicle, Jenna grabbed her rifle, and Dagen swung his feet out, assisting himself up with his crutches. He looked at her for a moment as she surveyed the building. “Go where you want, but I’m gonna be behind you. We’re not splitting up. There’s no telling who’s taken up here since we left.”

  Jenna simply nodded, her mind far away as she walked toward the front of the building and stepped around the eviscerated bodies of several wasteland bandits. She motioned with her head. “Courtland was here.”

  “Yeah. I can see that.”

  “Let’s make this quick, Dagen; with all these bodies, this place is a biohazard.”

  “Yeah.”

  Stepping lightly to avoid the masses of bodies, friend and foe alike, they made their way through the first floor of the station. Stopping before the burned double doors of what had been the makeshift medical clinic Jenna had helped run, she raised her hand slowly to touch the door.

  With a squeal, the brittle door pushed open on blackened hinges. Jenna gasped and pulled her hands to her mouth. She shut the door back. “I…I can’t go in there. I can’t do it.”

  Dagen said nothing as he moved around her and slowly shouldered the door open. In the center of the room was a large grouping of charred skeletal remains. Many of the forms were quite small. They had found the children.

  “Damn,” Dagen said as he furrowed his brow and regarded the sad scene. The small, charred forms huddled together en masse with a few adult ones, most of them with hands clasped, n
o doubt praying in their last moments.

  “Come on, Jenna; let’s grab what we can and get out of here.”

  Jenna whimpered quietly as she tried to be strong. “It’s my fault. I couldn’t stop them when they came for us.”

  Dagen stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “Hey,” he said and paused uncomfortably. “Look, you did the best you could. Nobody thinks differently.”

  “I should be on the floor in there with them.”

  “Then who would take care of us?” Dagen gave a sincere smile and urged her forward. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  Jenna nodded, but just as they turned to go, something moved at the other end of the darkened hallway. Immediately Jenna’s rifle and Dagen’s 1911 flew up, simultaneously pointed down the desolate corridor.

  “You’re surrounded,” a voice called out from the darkness.

  “Says who?” Dagen shouted.

  “Put down your weapons and leave this place, and we won’t shoot you where you stand.”

  “I recognize that voice.” Jenna screwed up her face.

  “Put down your weapons and leave now!”

  “Put it down and let’s go, Jenna.” Dagen motioned seriously. “It’s not worth it.”

  “No, wait,” Jenna whispered. She paused, listening. “Winston?”

  Silence.

  “Winston, is that you? It’s Jenna.”

  “Jenna?” came the sheepish reply.

  A huge smile broke out over Jenna’s face. “Winston!”

  “The radio-room guy?” Dagen murmured.

  Out of the shadows, the pudgy figure emerged holding a bolt-action rifle. “I…I can’t believe it. Jenna, Dagen, you guys are alive! I was sure we were on our own for good.”

  “We?” Jenna questioned.

  “Yeah.” Winston sheepishly opened the basement door to reveal a handful of dirty, hungry little faces crowded on the steps; behind them, a few of the adults from the medical bay stood looking eagerly up at them.

  “Jenna!” the children called out as Jenna gave a cry and dropped to her knees to hug them.

  “Man, it’s great to see you guys.” The old gentleman named Sam sighed with relief from behind the children.

  Jenna hugged the kids close as they all cried, and she whispered a few words of comfort to them. After a moment she stood, gave a hug to Sam, and turned to Winston.

  “What happened, Winston? How did you—”

  “I tried, but I couldn’t rescue everyone…” Winston hung his head. “When those bad guys came, I just did my best to get as many kids and injured folks as I could. I got them down into the radio room without anyone seeing us. They never even looked down there. It was a real good thing too, ’cause I’m not sure I even know how to use this thing.” He motioned to the rifle. “I made up that bit about you being surrounded to try to scare you off.”

  Jenna grabbed Winston by the shoulders. “Winston, you are so incredible and clever and brave!” she gushed as she grabbed his face and kissed him on his cheek.

  Dagen smirked from behind her, and the children giggled.

  The shock and awe on the pudgy young man’s face was quickly replaced by a crimson-red blush that was visible even through the dirt and grime on Winston’s face. He couldn’t help himself as he unleashed an unbelievably goofy, gap-toothed smile. Everyone laughed as they all put their arms around each other and took a moment to revel in the warmth of simple companionship, and even the smallest of victories.

  5

  KANE OPENED HIS eyes and lay still with his hands folded across his chest in the quiet of the ruined clinic. The thin sheet that covered his body slowly rose and fell with the rhythm of his breathing. All was quiet inside the dimly lit room as the troubled former police officer lay alone with his thoughts.

  His fever was gone, but it hadn’t been for long; the sheet over him still clung to him, damp with his sweat. How had he survived this? He slowly moved his body, and though tight and stiff, he felt remarkably good. He knew he would not have been able to recover like this without Jenna’s constant care and the healthy dose of antibiotics she had recovered. He really owed her another apology. To be honest, he owed everyone an apology.

  Exhaling strongly, Kane brought his hands up and rubbed at his eyes. So, God wanted him to live after all. But how could a wounded, conflicted man like him possibly make this right? How could he possibly go on, after everything that had happened, after everything he’d done—after everyone he’d lost? Kane pulled his hands down his face and rested the backs of them across his mouth, his eyes roaming restlessly around the room. He couldn’t sit here anymore watching the minutes tick by, knowing the fate of his children might still hang in the balance. It was time to get back on the horse. Time to start down that road less traveled. Courtland was going to be so pissed at him.

  Before he had time to reconsider, Kane rolled on his right shoulder and off the narrow cot, where he flopped against the ground, gasping like a fish out of water. He was quite sure some of his stitches had pulled free. Summoning all his strength, he began to execute slow, smooth push-ups, his arms flexing and contracting as he systematically raised and lowered himself on the floor.

  “One, two, three, four,” he mumbled to himself in pained cadence. It was a struggle in his weakened state, but he forced himself to make it to fifty before resting. Lying flat on his stomach, he rolled onto his back and began to do sit-ups, groaning out the count as he slowly executed each movement.

  “What do you think you are doing?” The deep voice came from the doorway behind him.

  “Mind your own business,” Kane mumbled.

  “I heard a crash—and you are my business.”

  Kane didn’t miss a beat as he continued to sit up and lie back again against the cold, dirty laminate tile floor. “I’m doing sit-ups.”

  “I can see that. You’re supposed to be resting,” Courtland grumbled.

  “What are you, my mother now?” Kane continued to work as he rolled back onto his stomach and began pushing again. Though he looked at the floor, he could feel the penetrating gaze of his friend from across the room. He lowered himself to the floor and rested as he looked up at his massive old friend.

  “What?”

  The crow’s-feet in the corners of the old giant’s eyes deepened as a broad smile slowly formed across his broad face. “Stubborn as a mule. Always have been.”

  “You call it ‘stubborn.’ I call it ‘determined.’”

  “Very well, my friend. I’m just happy to see the Kane Lorusso I know and love is returning. Just don’t overdo the push-ups, OK? We’ve got a long road ahead of us—and we need you well.”

  “Yes, mother,” Kane said as he pushed up and pulled his knees under him, wincing at the pain.

  “Easy, brother; that’s what I’m talking about.” Courtland stepped over and pressed a clean dressing against the wound in Kane’s abdomen, which was weeping again. “Let me help you.”

  “That’s fine, man. I just can’t stay in this room anymore.”

  “Good, because I have something to show you outside.”

  Courtland helped Kane to his feet and supported him as he hobbled across the room and out into the interior hall of the ransacked clinic. Taking easy steps, Kane gritted his teeth at the effort as they navigated the cluttered hallway.

  “We’ve traveled some bad road recently, but that time is over. As the good book says, ‘The light shines through the darkness, and the darkness can never extinguish it.’”

  “What are you talking about, Court?”

  “What I’m talking about is I can feel it in my bones. I can already tell we’re back on track.”

  Kane sighed heavily. “And how do you know that?”

  “Because,” Courtland said, smiling and pushing open the front door of the clinic to reveal Dagen, Jenna, Winston, and the other men, women, and children who had been recovered from the radio station, all gathered before them, “God still chooses to bless our efforts.”

  “Oh…” Kane
faltered, as Courtland supported him further. “It’s not…It’s not possible.”

  “You’re not the only stubborn one around here.” Courtland tossed his head at Jenna and Dagen. “They found these survivors at the radio station. I suppose that forgives the fact that it was stupid to go alone.” The giant looked sideways at Jenna, who nodded in silent agreement. “But as you can see,” Courtland said, opening his arms and gesturing to the others, “we’re not yet finished.”

  The others approached and put their hands on Kane, some grabbing and shaking, others patting him on the back or arm, as a host of voices greeted him.

  “Thank God you made it!”

  “Good to see you, Kane!”

  “Glad to see you on your feet!”

  “Praise God for you, Kane.”

  The praise was almost too much for him as Kane lowered his head and fought back the tears. What had he done to deserve this? He had abandoned these people to die.

  “I…” Kane shook his head as he looked up at those gathered around him, his eyes bleary. “I don’t know what to say. I don’t deserve this kind of loyalty from you.”

  “We understand, Kane.” Jenna put her hand on his chest. “We understand, OK? There’s nothing you need to atone for.”

  Kane took a deep breath. “How did you guys survive?”

  Jenna smiled. “Well, Courtland is…Courtland.” She shrugged playfully. “Dagen rescued me from the Coyotes, who captured me… again.” Kane looked up to see Dagen standing at the back of the group, his eyes averted as though he hadn’t heard the accolade. “And Winston here”—she motioned for the pudgy man to step forward— “single-handedly saved everyone else, including these children.”

  Kane swallowed and wiped at his face. He looked up at the group. “I owe you all an apology. I abandoned you.”

  Winston was the first to pipe up. “It was your family, man. Which of us wouldn’t have gone after our own?”

  “Winston,” Kane said and turned sincerely toward the pudgy man, “during that whole thing with the Sicks, I treated you like you were a coward. You obviously aren’t. You did good, man. You did real good.”

  Winston nodded proudly.