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

by Stu Jones

  “You’re in for a rude awakening, sir. This isn’t something that’s going to blow over—maybe ever.” Kane shook his head.

  Ryback glanced over his men, his wheels turning. A lot was clearly riding on the man. “You said you wished it was ‘that easy’ to hunker down. What do you mean by that?”

  “I mean we hunkered down once. We did OK for a while, but they came and tore us apart anyway.”

  “They?”

  “Savage feral mutants, wasteland bandits—take your pick,” Kane said.

  “You mean the Night Walkers?”

  “Yeah, sure. We call them Sicks. They’re mutated people, gone mad and feral.”

  “We’ve just run into a few of them up here.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re in for a treat when you hit one of the large metro areas. They’re overrun with the things.”

  The lieutenant made a disgusted snarl. “That’s why you said your party circumnavigated major cities?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Why are you headed west?”

  “It’s a long, sad story. Suffice it to say, we’ve been caught up in an ugly conflict with some very nasty bandits, and we can’t let it go.”

  Ryback replied with detached confidence. “Letting it go is as easy as letting it go, Mr. Lorusso. There’s no room for egos out here. It’s much safer to just mind your own business.”

  Kane’s face was pained, drawn, as the days, weeks, and months of agony he’d already endured came pouring through his exhausted features. The lieutenant took notice. Kane shook his head sadly. “I can’t let it go, sir. These bastards took my kids.”

  Had Kane hauled off and punched Lieutenant Ryback in the stomach, he would have likely gotten the same response. The lieutenant, who only seconds earlier had been far too cool and distant, suddenly deflated, his posture sagging with the weight of the revelation.

  “Shit,” Ryback muttered to himself. “They were kidnapped?”

  Kane nodded morosely, the knot in his gut tightening.

  “Shit.” Ryback looked at his men and rubbed his chin. He turned, scanning a quick 360, and clenched his jaw.

  Ryback turned back to Kane and lowered his voice. “Look, I can’t help you, but say you were to find this lying on the ground somewhere…” He produced a chipped ID card and discreetly tossed it at Kane’s feet. “You could probably use it to access the secure facilities at Camp Navajo, about ten miles that way.” He motioned with his head in the direction that he and his men had come.

  Kane, stunned, slowly placed his foot over the ID card and pulled it with his boot under his foot.

  “If someone were to find that place and have the ability to gain entry, they could probably gain access to all kinds of resources—food, water, vehicles, and arms and ammo,” Ryback continued.

  Kane couldn’t find words as the second lieutenant spoke. “Of course, if this ship that we call the United States of America ever rights itself, I would have to officially condemn such actions. Additionally, any unauthorized use of my stolen ID to gain access to such a facility or utilize anything found within would be swiftly and severely punished.” Ryback paused, staring intensely at Kane.

  “I can see how that would be necessary, sir,” Kane replied.

  “Good. Well, my men and I have to be going now. Good luck, Officer Lorusso.”

  The second lieutenant turned to leave, when Kane spoke again. “Lieutenant Ryback…” Kane paused as the lieutenant met his gaze. “Why?”

  Kane’s simple question conveyed more than enough meaning. Ryback paused, his thoughts far away, lost in a better life—a life now long gone. “Because you seem like a good man”—he cleared his throat sharply—“and because I never had the chance to save my kids.”

  He turned stoically and rallied his men. Kane’s group was quickly cut loose. The soldiers moved briskly to and fro and back to their vehicles, where they loaded quickly and brought the convoy rumbling back to life.

  As he watched them pull away, Kane swallowed the lump from his throat and waited till they were nearly out of sight before he shuddered and reached for the ID card under his boot. Second Lieutenant Ryback of the US Army National Guard might not ever truly know the magnitude of the gift he had just given.

  18

  A THUNDERCLAP SPLIT THE air above their heads, tearing the heavens asunder and rolling mightily into the distance. Fat raindrops, first just sporadically but then in sheets, began to fall, culminating in a soaking downpour. The darkened sky reached out endlessly against the horizon, begging for its surrender. Below it, three men and a boy moved, silent cogs in a machine that could now not be stopped, even if any of them were to desire it.

  Neraquassi’s two warriors slowly circled the base of the hill, drawing farther apart and losing sight of each other, the only sound the clip-clopping of the mustangs’ hooves against the hard earth.

  Tynuk watched from his place of concealment as one of the riders approached, howling into the air like a wolf. After a moment, the other warrior on horseback gave a distant howl in response. They were communicating.

  As the warrior passed beneath him, eyes scanning warily, Tynuk launched himself at the warrior. Dropping like a mountain lion with claws extended, Tynuk snarled as he flew through the air. The Comanche warrior pivoted in the saddle, quickly firing an arrow that pierced Tynuk’s side just below his floating ribs. He screamed and collided with the rider as they both fell from the horse to the ground. The horse, now thoroughly spooked, began to run.

  Groaning, struggling amid the dust and scrub, Tynuk wrestled with the warrior across the ground, gyrating and fighting for a better position. In a flash, the warrior grabbed the arrow protruding from Tynuk’s side and pulled. Tynuk shrieked in pain and brought his hardened fist across the jaw of the fighter, dropping it with a bladed hand to shear the shaft of the arrow from where it protruded from his own body. The warrior fell back howling, still clutching the broken arrow shaft as Tynuk flung himself forward and drew his knife, slashing madly like a wild beast. The warrior screamed as Tynuk blocked a strike, drove the knife into the warrior’s side, and then drove it again into his skull below the ear. Silence.

  Tynuk scrambled from the dead warrior and grabbed the man’s bow and quiver. It was rudimentary, like all Comanche bows, but still highly effective at close to medium range. Tynuk scrambled up the hillside back to the summit as the hoofbeats of the second warrior galloped closer. He had clearly heard the fight. Tynuk readied himself and notched an arrow. He pushed his mind away from the flaring pain in his side, a wound that streamed blood and still harbored a spearhead inside it; away from his wounded hand, which now ached furiously, pulsing to the rhythm of his pounding heart. He calmed his mind and steadied his nerves.

  The second rider approached, and Tynuk drew and loosed his arrow: a perfect shot that lanced through the rider’s neck as the rider fired back wildly. Tynuk lunged to the right, snatching his enemy’s arrow from the air and notching it in his own bow; he fired again: two, three more arrows, all landing with the thud of pierced flesh and broken bone. The warrior appeared dazed, detached, as he dropped his bow and murmured something indiscernible. A thin string of blood streamed from his lips as his hand moved to one of the arrows but stopped when he slumped forward in the saddle, dead.

  Tynuk lowered the bow and took a breath. Neither of these fighters had been Neraquassi, which meant—

  Tynuk spun at the last moment, deflecting the knife that Neraquassi intended to bury into his spine. He cried out as the blade slashed back again across his face, and he felt the blood begin to spread down his chin. How could he have been so stupid? He was exhausted, and his lack of awareness showed. Neraquassi had used the others as a distraction, knowing they were going to their deaths, knowing it would distract Tynuk long enough for him to make his move.

  No time to consider his failings now. Tynuk lunged forward, stomped into Neraquassi’s pelvic bowl, and then kicked him hard to the inside of the thigh, the femoral nerve motor point. He s
idestepped and took in the shattered bow on the ground next to him, now made useless. This would be a close-quarters fight to the death.

  Tynuk wiped the blood, and it smeared like savage, hot war paint across his round face. He watched Neraquassi try to put weight on the leg that had just been kicked and saw him falter. Good. Motor dysfunction had been his goal, and it would aid him well in the next few moments.

  “The wolves wounded you dearly, boy. Your strength fails you as we speak. Surrender your life to me!”

  “You would not recognize true strength even if it should somehow flow within your own body, Yellow Horse.”

  “You are a dog!” Neraquassi spat. “I will mix your blood with this sand!”

  “Here I am! Come and finish it!” Tynuk snarled.

  As they lunged toward each other, the rain streaked down, covering them in a wet sheen as bodies collided against each other yet again. Like wolves fighting over the last scrap of meat, this contest would only be settled with death.

  Tynuk rolled, grabbed Neraquassi’s short lance, and turned. Neraquassi came for him, knife drawn as the warrior boy thrust with the lance, barely missing flesh when Neraquassi spun and lashed out with the knife. Ducking the swipe, Tynuk swung the shaft of the spear back across Neraquassi’s face, knocking him to the ground. Seizing the opportunity, Tynuk threw himself on the warrior and bore down with the point of the spear. With a shout Neraquassi stabbed up with his knife, and Tynuk deflected it back down with the spear. In a silent, locked struggle, they wavered, pushing, pulling, neither giving an inch of ground.

  “You don’t deserve to live! You aren’t true blood!”

  Something snapped inside Tynuk. With a savage blow, he struck Neraquassi across the face and then again at the neck; he knocked the knife from his hands and seized the warrior by his hair. The point of the spear was not far behind as he quickly pushed it flush under Neraquassi’s chin.

  “My heart is true! Have I not proven myself? How many of my own people do I have to kill? How many?” Tynuk screamed, tears, rain, and blood flowing down his face. Neraquassi could do nothing but close his eyes and wait for death.

  “You have killed enough, my nephew.” The voice came from behind him.

  Tynuk, surprised at receiving an answer, stayed his hand. He turned to see the noble Queenashano standing behind him, flanked by numerous warriors.

  “Nephew?” Tynuk stood, releasing Neraquassi, who groaned in shame.

  “Yes,” Queenashano said and smiled, “I am your father’s brother, and I myself am a nephew of the great Nuk’Chala—like your father.”

  “My father…Then that would make…” Tynuk looked down at Neraquassi, who was now sitting up.

  “Your cousin.” Queenashano nodded.

  “No, this isn’t right.” Neraquassi stood, wiping his face.

  “Silence, boy,” Queenashano barked sternly.

  “No!” Neraquassi snapped back. “I will not acknowledge this dog as my blood!” He moved and picked up the spear.

  “Neraquassi, your heart has become poisoned against the truth. This boy is the one! Set the spear down,” Queenashano said sharply.

  Neraquassi was breathing hard now, a furious rage billowing inside him. He pointed the spear at Queenashano. “You couldn’t even let me die! Couldn’t even let me have an honorable death on the battlefield. You stole that from me!”

  “You forget your place! Lay down your weapon!” Queenashano yelled.

  “I will not! You are an old man and a fool! This child deserves to die! He is not and will never be one of us!” Neraquassi turned and raised his lance, aiming it at Tynuk.

  Tynuk raised his hands in submission. “I will fight you no longer, Cousin.”

  “You are not my blood!” Neraquassi shrieked as he prepared to spear Tynuk through the heart.

  A rushing sound filled the air. Tynuk closed his eyes and waited for the pain. Nothing. Slowly he opened his eyes to see Neraquassi standing before him, a shocked look on his face. More than seventeen arrows protruded from his back—fired by Queenashano’s own warriors, at his command.

  “Father…” Neraquassi wheezed and fell to the ground, a crimson fan rapidly spreading about him.

  Queenashano lowered his head. “I release you, my son. Your heart is rotten with too much hate. Maybe you will find peace in the next life.”

  Neraquassi rolled to his side, gasped his last, and became still.

  Tynuk was still trying to overcome his own shock and physical pain when Queenashano spoke again, raising his eyes to the boy. “My own first born son was not worthy, but you are, Tynuk. You have passed the trials of the ancients. You have survived these trials because you are special. I think it’s time you found out why.”

  Tynuk tried to speak, his mouth forming soundless words, but he found that he did not have the strength. His body sagged with the pain of his many wounds. Failing him, his knees buckled, his body slumping to the ground in exhaustion. Mercifully, the trials of the ancients had come to an end.

  Kane slowed his vehicle to a stop in front of the heavily barricaded gate with a sign on it that read “US Army Restricted Area. Deadly Force Authorized beyond This Point.” Behind him, his small caravan of beat-up, dust-covered vehicles rolled to a stop. Kane sat for a moment and looked at the massive automated gate and down the fence line rimmed in concertina wire; then he looked down at the chipped ID card in his hand that bore the picture of Lieutenant Ryback.

  “This has to be it,” Kane muttered to himself. He still couldn’t believe the events that had transpired to bring them to this place, but he wasn’t about to argue with it either.

  “Has to be,” Ari said and tossed her head as if to say, “Let’s do this already.”

  “Yeah, OK.” Kane got out of the truck and looked around. It only took him a moment to locate the nondescript gray panel set against a nearby wall. “Here goes nothing,” Kane said and waved the card over the reader. No response. Kane realized he was holding his breath. Behind him Ari and the others had opened their doors and were watching eagerly. None of them wanted to believe it was real, that they could have found somewhere safe again, because no one wanted to have that hope shattered when they found out it was just another hoax.

  Kane sighed, exasperated; the frustration at another dead end was overwhelming. He waved the card once more and perked up at the sound of a chime and the sight of a small green light on the edge of the panel. With a clunk and the sound of gears grinding and wheels pushing, the gate slowly slid open, revealing a quiet, unused, secure facility.

  Kane threw his arms in the air. Everyone cheered, laughing and whooping, as they hurried back to their vehicles, all eager to see what unknown treasures waited inside those gates.

  Camp Navajo was empty and quiet, save for its newest inhabitants, who had busied themselves about the base, exploring every nook and cranny. The bulk of the buildings were just inside the main gate down a short road. Beyond the buildings, a dead forest stretched on into the distance. No one knew how large the base was, exactly, but it was safe to assume it comprised a very large amount of acreage.

  It hadn’t taken them too long to get a feel for the place. With banks of solar panels covering every roof of every visible building, there was abundant power. Kane had discovered that there were high-tech, motion-activated, turret-mounted M240 machine guns along the walls. Powered by the camp, these weapons systems could be activated or deactivated, functioned autonomously day and night, and could be programmed to recognize RFID-chipped friendlies.

  Courtland quickly found the kitchen and the stores of canned, dry, and frozen foodstuffs. He was so overcome with joy he began singing in his marvelous baritone as he brewed a large pot of coffee and started a huge cauldron of his mama’s world-famous vegetable stew.

  Dagen and Ari found their way to the armory and the stockpile of military small arms, mortars, C-4 explosives, armored vehicles, and anything else one could imagine. They also located nearby a steam-engine locomotive with a series of attac
hed cars—meant for who knows what on a base such as this.

  The children were laughing and running, playing in the courtyard with a found ball, while Winston, Sam, and the other survivors rested on actual beds, talked together, or cried quietly, simply thankful for a single moment in time free from fear, uncertainty, and desperation.

  Jenna knew her moment alone wouldn’t last long. She would be needed to help with the children, assist Courtland, or do some other important task. But for now she just wanted to be alone. She wanted to be unneeded by anyone, just for a few moments. Quietly she slipped into the barracks where they had determined the women and children would stay. It was empty, silent, and wonderful. She moved to the back and found her way into the large block shower. She stood for an eternity, staring into the open space lined with multiple showerheads. Without a sound, she shed her clothes in a pile at her feet and stepped onto the cold tile of the large shower. Eagerly, Jenna reached for one of the knobs, unsure whether she should get her hopes up. Life had been quite cruel to her. There was no reason for it to improve now. With a twist, the faucet head sputtered to life. Jenna gasped as the cold water hit her skin, stinging with frigid life. But the temperature began to rise.

  “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!” Jenna called out with a squeal as the water went from warm to gloriously hot. She shuddered, gasping at the euphoric sensation that flooded over her as she pushed her face beneath the beautiful downpour. Laughing, Jenna let the wonderfully hot water cascade over her strangely skinny frame, a body that felt like a half-starved shadow of what it had once been.

  Amid the beautiful, hot cascade, drowning in the glory of it, she began to remember all the other wonderful things that she could no longer enjoy, and she felt truly sorry for herself. She had once been a wife. She missed her dear husband, Charlie: the way he was so gentle with her and the way he would pull her close against him in the dark of the night, snuggling in the warmth of their bed. She had also been a mother. She missed the sweet, soft breaths of her innocent baby girl, Lynn: the way she seemed so content in the arms of her motherly fortress. Jenna gasped a painful sound. No, it was too much to remember, and she couldn’t ruin this moment now. Not now.