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

by Stu Jones

  13

  TYNUK GASPED AND awoke with a start in the darkness of the otherworldly sandstone crevice. He was still alive, somehow, and for the first time, he felt as though his head was starting to clear. It would appear that the poison had run its course, and he was beginning to regain control of himself. He raised his head from the soft sand of the crevice floor and felt a wet suction pull against his cheek. Wet. He turned his face and smelled the liquid that trickled ever so softly around him. Pushing his swollen tongue from his mouth, he tasted the coolest, clearest water that had ever made its way to the desert that was his throat.

  Gasping with a moan, Tynuk buried his face in the crystal-clear spring. He gasped a breath, bubbles forming on the surface of the small pool. Smothering himself in the intoxicating pleasure of the moment, he bathed his face again in the shallow spring as it continued to flow its way through the wash.

  His eyes caught the tiniest flicker of movement along the water’s edge above his face. Tynuk focused his eyes and watched the tiny shadow skitter this way and that, stopping occasionally to drink. A lizard. Tynuk remained still as a statue, waiting. With a flash he shot out his arm and snared the creature in his hand, shoving it in its entirety into his open mouth. He chewed vigorously, the tiny bones snapping as the thing wriggled in his mouth. He shook his head with a grimace, swallowed, and drank again from the stream. The nourishment would do him well.

  A shuffling movement above him along the edge of the crevice brought him fully back to his perilous situation. He slowly rolled his body and twisted his head so he could see above him. Faintly at first and then more pronounced, a shadow moved along the rim, only twenty feet above. The figure moved with unmatched slowness and care, analyzing every aspect of the terrain as it tried to determine the fate of the maker of the tracks it followed. Tynuk knew without question that he was the quarry and that his pursuer intended to kill him. It was the ancient way.

  It was possible that the shadow would believe that he had leaped over the crevice and continued west, but should it choose to investigate further, he would be trapped in the narrow cut with scarcely enough room to turn or maneuver. The warrior boy rolled back to his belly and lay still, the cool water flowing with a healing power against his skin. He took another quiet drink and waited.

  After a long moment, a thud against the wet sand of the crevice floor confirmed his fear. He had been discovered. With any luck, his pursuer would believe that he had finally expired, falling into the unmarked grave that was this ditch.

  He listened as the figure stooped upstream, scooping water into his hands that he first smelled and then tasted, before gulping several handfuls. The figure wiped his face with his arm and looked at the shadowed form of the dead warrior boy lying in a crumpled heap just a little farther down the cut.

  Tynuk remained utterly still as the shadow approached. He knew that, in his current, weakened state, he would be unable to put up enough of a fight to defeat this shadow in a stand-up fight. He was going to have to play dirty and end it as soon as possible. Devoid of honor and up against insurmountable odds—such was the nature of extreme survival.

  The figure was close now, standing just outside the boy’s reach. Raising a short spear, the warrior jammed it down with lightning-fast precision through Tynuk’s hand—a test to see if he yet lived. A blast of searing pain roared up Tynuk’s arm, setting his body ablaze. It took every ounce of self-control for him to remain unflinchingly still, a dead boy against the floor of the wash.

  The spear was jerked free, causing another shock wave of pain. Tynuk shook inside, his mind wild with the overwhelming sense of injury. The shadow gave a grunt and raised his spear again. Tynuk knew he might not survive another thrust of the weapon. He also knew without question that he would scream if he were hit a second time—a move that would surely prompt his aggressor to strike again before he had a chance to react.

  Tynuk knew his one option lay in the advantage of surprise, an advantage he still possessed but was rapidly losing with every passing moment. In a moment born of sheer will, Tynuk rolled and deflected the short spear as it stabbed down at his back with surprising speed. As he rolled he simultaneously flung a handful of mud upward that landed with an audible smack in the center of the shadow’s face.

  His pursuer stumbled back, cursing him in their native tongue and clawing at the mass that was now adhered to his painted face. Tynuk was up and moving, but his body ached, and too late he realized the poison wasn’t quite done with him, a wash of dizziness and nausea covering him as he shot forward.

  Slamming against the now-howling Comanche warrior, Tynuk latched onto the spear and felt himself physically lifted into the air and slammed into the wall of the ditch. The shaft of the spear snapped against the rock like a dry twig. He had sorely underestimated this warrior’s size and power. Gasping, flailing against this larger, superior warrior, Tynuk knew he was doomed if this fight wasn’t over quickly.

  Squaring his shoulders, the warrior pinned him against the wall with the weight of his forearm against Tynuk’s neck, the pressure causing Tynuk to gag and froth wildly at the mouth.

  “This is where your journey ends, child!” the warrior snarled viciously in his native tongue as he pulled a knife from his belt and stabbed in toward the boy’s chest. It was in that moment that Tynuk realized he was still holding the point of the broken spear in his other hand. Without thought, he dropped his arm and knocked the stab of the knife away, and it sunk into the dirt next to his torso. Torquing his body, he swung his opposite arm in an arc and jammed the spearpoint into the large warrior’s neck. The man released him immediately, grabbing and pulling the bloodied spearpoint from the side of his neck. Blood sprayed from the wound in pressurized spurts, and the warrior feebly tried to cover it in his final moments. He did not attempt to conceal his shock that he had somehow lost this contest to a boy half his size.

  Tynuk, still dizzy, vomited watery bits of lizard and wiped his face.

  The warrior stumbled to his knees. “Ketokwe hina haniitu.”

  Tynuk took a step forward, a twinge of sympathy in his heart over killing another one of his own. “I am not a devil. I’m sorry for this, brother, but I cannot fail. I must go on.”

  Tynuk took a deep breath and tried to steady the hammering of his heart as the warrior dropped before him and flopped to his belly, bleeding the last arterial pumps of his life against the sand. Tynuk composed himself, rinsed and wrapped his injured hand tightly, and began to search the dead man for food, useful items, tools, clothing, and gear. When he had gathered what he could carry and refilled the warrior’s empty waterskin from the creek, he looked on the dark form of the warrior one last time and felt compelled to lay his hand on the man out of respect.

  “You fought bravely and with great power, my brother. But in the end, you could not stop me.” The boy gathered his gear and began walking down the trench away from the brightening of the horizon. The impact of his final words, no longer softened, disappeared into the muted silence of the earthen walls around him.

  “None of you can.”

  The walls were so thick. Thirty feet, he had been told: concrete so thick you couldn’t hear the outside world even if you wanted to—not that there was anything to hear out there anymore. At this point he’d sacrifice a body part to hear another human voice, not to mention a car in motion or a jet passing overhead. He looked at the expired calendar on the cluttered desk in front of him. He made a quick estimate of the time he’d been here, marooned on his own desert island. About a year.

  Son of a bitch. Has it been that long?

  Nick Corvaleski leaned back in the springy metal-framed desk chair and tented his fingers against the tip of his nose. It was a position he had taken to years and years ago as a kid when he needed to think. All the school, all the training, and the PhD in electrical engineering it had earned him did nothing for him when the world ended. Now he was just a warm body without a function apart from eating, defecating, and using up oxygen.
/>
  He glanced around the stark, gray interior of the lab. He didn’t know why he stayed in here most days. The cold, gray concrete had a way of stealing away any sense of warmth or joy. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure why he was still here at this facility at all.

  No, that wasn’t true; he knew. Divorced, with no kids, no real friends outside of work, and no living family to speak of, he didn’t have any reason to go rushing off to save people who couldn’t be saved when the attacks came. Many of his coworkers did, and they’d never come back, just as he’d expected. A few had stayed: Joseph in hydro; Nikki, one of the nuclear physicists; and several of the military personnel (air force, he thought but had never been curious enough to probe).

  All of them, except him, were now dead or gone. After a few months, Nikki and the remaining soldiers left. Said they were going to Washington, DC, to do something about this mess. Joe had stayed the longest but had a heart attack of all things and died on the floor in the bunk room. Nick had laughed. He and Joe weren’t really friends, and he found it ironic that the man survived the death of civilization only to die of a stupid heart attack. It was like he always said—life sucks, and then you die.

  Everyone being gone didn’t really bother him much. He was a pretty serious introvert to begin with, so it was just a matter of time before he ran off the people who surrounded him anyway. Most folks only dealt with him in a professional capacity because it was a requirement of the job.

  The job. It had seemed real important at the time. He’d been hired to be one of the project leads at a “secret facility” in Arizona. At first he thought it was a joke when the nameless voice on the telephone offered him a job with “top-secret” clearance at an undisclosed facility but refused to answer any questions or discuss it further over the phone.

  Because he’d hated his current job, he accepted the offer without much thought, knowing full well that he was probably going to work for the government on a project that involved weapons of mass destruction or something. Little had he known that this secret facility was hidden deep beneath the walls of the Glen Canyon Dam on the Colorado River in northern Arizona. Or that the project he was hired for was just one of many that were being worked on there. He’d even heard rumors that it wasn’t just a secret facility but the secret facility—that there were crazy things housed here in the bowels of the dam, things that weren’t supposed to exist, like the Ark of the Covenant and alien artifacts from Area 51. But that was all probably just the blind superstition that surrounded this place.

  Nick stood from the chair and plucked up an MRE from the table, pulling the tab and examining the nitrogen-packed contents. Beef stroganoff. Meh.

  He smirked as he crunched the dry MRE crackers loudly, spilling crumbs down his shirt. With power generated by the hydroelectric systems of the dam (which he’d been smart enough to get running again), clean mountain-cleansed water running beneath him, and a stockpile of food, he could live here like a king for quite a long while.

  He gave a guffaw, spitting dry cracker bits across the room and pushing his glasses farther up his nose. Unless someone decided to come and kick him out, he could stay here, problem-free, maybe forever.

  Everyone else out there could deal with the horrors of the outside world. That was for them. Life sucks, and then you die.

  After the close call with the Sicks, they had decided to pack up and move on as soon as possible. Partially refueled and with some extra supplies and even a small quantity of scavenged water, they were ready to roll once more. Rest could wait, especially since Kane had the sneaking suspicion that no one would properly rest with those things lurking about.

  The dark mesas loomed in the distance against the brightening skyline as they wound their way north on the lonely, debris-filled state highway.

  Kane shifted his position and pawed again at the wound in his abdomen. The struggle with the Sicks had aggravated the pain, and even though it was essentially healed, it still ached deeply.

  Ari looked Kane over closely, watching silently from the passenger seat of the Jeep. Jenna had chosen to ride with Courtland and Dagen to see how they were faring, which left the two of them alone for the time being.

  “What?” Kane glanced at Ari.

  She ducked her eyes, a little embarrassed that she had been staring so long. “You keep touching your side. I know the running and shooting back there probably didn’t feel very good.”

  “Not so much.”

  “For what it’s worth, you shoot pretty well, for a man.”

  Kane smirked. “Sure. But it’s a good thing I had such a strong and confident woman with me to call the play.”

  “True.” Ari bobbed her head. “If you hadn’t, you’d likely be mutant food right now.”

  Kane shook his head, still smiling good-naturedly.

  Ari motioned to his side, her face a bit more serious. “Your wound—it still aches?”

  “A little sensitive still, I guess.”

  “What was it from?”

  Kane took a breath. “A bullet. I had soft armor on. It still penetrated at close range.”

  Ari nodded contemplatively. “It seems like you guys really had a hard time of it before.”

  “Understatement of the year.”

  They rode on in silence for a few minutes, both at war with their own thoughts. Along the horizon, the faint swell of the sun was just visible through the hazy cloud cover as it began its ascent into the still-darkened sky.

  Ari screwed up her face and shook off her morbid thoughts. Kane took notice. It was his turn to ask.

  “You alright? You had a bad go of it yourself the other day.”

  “I’m OK. I just…I…uh…” Ari couldn’t decide if she even wanted to say anything.

  Kane waited patiently, staring straight ahead as he drove.

  “Tohar ha’neshek.”

  “What?” Kane glanced over as Ari shifted position.

  “Tohar ha’neshek. In Hebrew, it means ‘the purity of the weapon.’ This is the concept that an Israeli soldier is not permitted to use his or her weapon in a way that desecrates the name of God. Technically that means we are prohibited from intentionally killing any noncombatants.”

  “OK.” Kane waited.

  Ari wasn’t sure why, but she had to say something. She had to get it off her chest. “So, this principle is ingrained into the IDF soldier. Forget what the news used to say or what our enemies would have you believe; Israelis are trained to show unbelievable restraint in battle because of this. Tohar ha’neshek is of vital importance to every IDF soldier.” She paused, considering her words. “A few days ago, I killed my baby brother. I shot him in the head before they could torture him.” Ari swallowed a lump in her throat and turned so Kane wouldn’t see the tear that she quickly wiped away.

  Kane, now quite confused, said, “But I thought your brother was—”

  “It was a mercy killing. He was having his throat cut, but he wasn’t dead yet. I couldn’t let him go through that anymore…”

  “Oh.”

  “By military standards, a mercy killing doesn’t violate this code, but I did voluntarily kill my baby brother, and I can’t really see the difference right now. There’s a storm inside me.”

  Kane let a long moment of silence pass before he answered carefully. “You had a tough choice to make.”

  “That doesn’t excuse it.”

  “I know it doesn’t, but you’re human. Just like the rest of us. We’ve all had to make hard decisions. For what it’s worth, I understand where you’re coming from.” Kane looked deep into her troubled eyes. “Trust me on that.”

  Ari averted her eyes, quickly changing the subject. “So what is your story here, really? Why are you so motivated to catch up with this Malak character?”

  Kane winced. Ari immediately regretted asking.

  Don’t let her in. Don’t let anyone in.

  Kane glanced at Ari, whose rugged militaristic appearance utterly failed to conceal the exotic beauty beneath. Her long,
dark hair pulled back in a loose ponytail flopped casually over her shoulder and caused his eyes to wander toward her breasts.

  “Look,” Kane said, pulling on his neck and sighing, “Malak murdered my wife and my friends and kidnapped my children right in front of me. Then he tried to off me too. That part didn’t take.” He stoically delivered the horrific news like he had just ordered a burger with fries and a cola.

  Ari didn’t try to conceal her pity. She shook her head sadly. “I had no idea. I’m very sorry, Kane.”

  “You asked; I answered. They’re gone. There’s nothing I can do now but hope that my kids—”

  Ari interrupted him, an instant revelation rapidly spreading across her face. “Your children! How old are they?”

  “What? Why does that—”

  “Are they young? Four or five? A boy and a girl—twins maybe?”

  Kane looked at Ari with nothing short of desperation.

  “I saw them,” she said with surety. “I saw them tied to one of Malak’s trucks.”

  Kane pulled the wheel hard and locked the brakes up. The Jeep slid to a stop on the dark stretch of road. The rest of the caravan came to a stop as Courtland’s voice crackled over the radio.

  “Kane, is everything OK?”

  Ignoring his friend, Kane searched Ari’s eyes, scouring the woman’s words for truth.

  “Don’t lie to me,” he said, his words carrying a lethal edge. “Don’t you lie about this.”

  “I would never—”

  “How did they look? Were they…Did they…” Kane’s face was drawn, his eyes involuntarily filling with tears.

  Ari placed a hand gently on his arm. “They looked really scared but otherwise OK. I don’t think they had been badly harmed. It’s like he was saving them…for something.”

  Kane wept openly with relief at the news. He knew they were far from safe, but they were very recently alive, and for now, that was enough. The radio crackled again.

  “Kane, I need to know you guys are alright,” came Courtland’s voice. “I’m walking back to you now.”