by David Holley
The inspector drops the black tote bag at Noah’s feet. “Here are riot suits for the three of you,” he tells Noah, before turning to Pango. “Unfortunately I don’t have anything your size.”
“I never heard that before,” Pango shrugs.
“There are three Diemaco C7’s, a couple of Glocks, and a RAM Riot shotgun. It goes against my better judgment, but I don’t really have a choice, do I?”
Noah grabs a C7 and points it to the door, testing its laser scope. It’s an older model, but it’s still lightweight, perfectly balanced, and lethal as hell. A secondary barrel underneath the main one can shoot tear gas cartridges or launch concussion grenades. Even though it’s only been a little more than a month since he last handled an assault rifle, it feels odd in his hands. He looks back to the inspector.
“Is this standard issue?”
“It is during wartime.”
War, Noah thinks to himself. Who knows more about that than me? And here he is again, discarding his soot-stained jacket in favor of a shiny black riot suit. A twinge of guilt washes over him as he prepares to lead the others into the night and quite possibly to the wolves. How ironic life is, he thinks. He had left the military because he no longer wanted the responsibility of leading innocent men and women to their deaths. Now, as he straps on the riot helmet, he is yet again faced with the same uncertainty. But what choice do I have? His hand is forced — just as it had been on that fateful night.
It’s the first of May, 2022, a bad omen from the very start. That is, if you believe in those kinds of things. Noah stands before his squadron outfitted entirely in black, minutes before they jumped from their Dark Cloud 6-76 Stealth Helicopter. As he speaks to his squadron, he can’t know that it would be their final mission and the unfortunate end of the fabled Phantom Nine.
“It was on this very day eleven years ago that U.S. Navy SEALs carried out a daring mission involving a highly sought-after target in a densely populated civilian area. Under the cover of darkness, with the world completely unaware, the SEALs invaded a fortified compound in Abbottabad, Pakistan, and killed the rogue terrorist Osama Bin Laden. In under sixty minutes, the group of extraordinary men ended a decades-long manhunt for one of the most infamous outlaws the world had ever known, and in the process forever changed the art of war against terrorism.
“Which leads us to this night, as we prepare for an aerial assault under the cover of darkness, deep behind enemy lines. This unit stands on the precipice of history and, if we succeed, as we have so many times before, we will end this bloody war and extinguish the greatest threat to the free world.
“You are the shadows on the wall, and the ghosts in the night. You are the Phantom Nine. The most feared Special Forces outfit in the world and the pride of England.
“Hurrah!” Noah bellows the battle cry.
“Hurrah!” The Phantom Nine responds in unison.
Noah finishes his speech the way he always had, with one simple command. “Time!”
Blinking crimson lights flash on the platform, as the bay doors part like the Red Sea. Noah stands on the edge of the landing, five kilometers in the air and fifteen kilometers from their intended target. He takes a deep breath and looks out into a vast pool of open air, as his night vision turns the evening skies into day with a flick of a switch. He exhales and launches into the night, trailed by his squadron who follow like a quiver of arrows shot through the dark.
Noah locks and loads his C7 and then gives the inspector a thumbs-up, signaling he’s ready to go. Mace complies by sliding back the bar that releases the hold of the reinforced steel door. The barrier creaks open and an ashy breeze swirls in. Under the cover of total darkness, the ex-captain leads the others into the night.
*************
After running with reckless abandon, Max comes to a hard stop, trying to find his way through the black woods. He’s been running in circles, getting more and more lost, and his adrenaline is waning. In his panicked flight, he has had the wherewithal to not turn on his light; alas, it made no difference. His pursuer is out there and worse, it’s close. Hunched over and trying to catch his breath, hope awakens in him. He hears voices: the faint cries of his friends, calling out his name! But then, just as suddenly, his blood runs cold. He hears something else, something closer, the sound of muffled footsteps swiftly gaining ground. He sets off once again and the chase continues.
With renewed vigor he bolts toward the others and prays to anyone who cares to listen that he gets there before his legs betray him. Burning the last of his fuel, he hurtles as fast as he is able through the piles of fallout that slip his every step, his arms swinging madly for balance. Finally out of the woods, he kicks a dark cloud of dust behind him. The chase is on and he can almost feel her dragon breath on his back. Or at the very least, he can hear her screams, and they are the most terrifying sounds he has ever heard. Like a hyena, but altogether more evil, something otherworldly. Something you can hear inside you, that haunts you.
And then it hits him.
He’s been running for what feels like all night because Mia told him to. He heard her tell him to RUN like she had been standing next to him. What the fuck was that? And how the fuck did she do that? She had warned him about this, just a few days ago, although she misunderstood the snow. But still, he should have recognized what was happening. The error in judgment was his, he realizes, and he knows he has been wrong about his sister all along, maybe more jealous than anything. He feels ashamed of his accusations and realizes his sister was making a desperate attempt to save his life, trying to protect him, just as she always has. He wonders if she knows what’s happening to him now, and he hopes to holy hot shit that she does.
*************
Noah presses his back against the wall of a building as he peers ever so slightly around the end of it at the intended target. And there she sits, an older model Volvo tractor-trailer at rest with nothing but empty road in front of it. It’s perfect, he thinks. The trailer stretches diagonally across a two-lane highway, effectively blocking traffic in both directions, as if intentionally set up as a barricade. It’s the only highway out of the town, and the pileup of cars behind the truck indicates the failed attempts of the populace to flee. Some had veered off the road into the ditch and some were entirely upended, and all of them are covered in drifts of thick grey ash.
Behind him, huddled closely together, is his misfit crew of cops and robbers, a barkeep, a genius and one extraordinary telepath — all waiting for his signal to move. He pauses because of the unmistakable feeling in the pit of his stomach that they are walking into an ambush. Noah had a similar feeling just before his troops’ boots touched the ground that night in Tora Bora, but orders from above forced his hand — and ultimately led to the demise of his Phantom Nine.
Plummeting through the air at over 300 kph, Noah inspects his left flank and then his right to ensure that his squadron is in proper formation, while keeping strict radio silence. He can see with perfect clarity thanks to his night lenses that turn the black skies as blue as early morning. His arms float behind him and his back is slightly arched as he glides effortlessly through the air in his state-of-the-art flight suit. Its ingenuity lies in its ability to serve several purposes. The wingsuit, as it’s commonly known, allows them to glide across the air, defying gravity’s pull, thanks to a fiber-mesh webbing between the arms and the legs. It’s as close as a human can get to flying, and they are able to cover a dozen kilometers in just a few minutes, as terra firma blurs beneath them. Within three kilometers of their intended target, Noah gives the order to pull their chutes, which he communicates not by his voice but by his action, given when he breaks from the squadron. The Phantom Nine follows suit. When the team lands, they modify their wingsuits through a series of pulls and folds that transform them into commando uniforms, lined with flexweight body armor. In less than two minutes, the entire squadron is in formation and marching toward the objective.
With their riot helmets linked via rad
io, Noah gives the order to everyone except Pango, whose enormous skull can’t squeeze into a helmet.
“Mace, Daniel, and Lindsay you will follow me to the front of the cab and set up a perimeter. Hiroshi, take Maaka and Pango to the back of the trailer and have them stand guard, while you go inside and make room for the others. Throw out whatever you need to. If anyone detects anything suspicious, raise the alert immediately. Any questions?”
“Yeah, what about me?” asks Mia.
“You will come with me to the cab,” Noah says. “Alright, let’s move.”
*************
Luna looks out at the darkness, searching for any sign of life. Perched on the rusted silo’s metal ladder, the futility of her vigil begins to sink in. All she can see is the long amber glow of Atua’s flashlight and the three dark silhouettes cast against the acres of fallout. It looks so much like snow. Defeated, she prepares to fumble down the ladder; but before she can take her first step, she hears the shouts of her missing friend. It’s him! Overjoyed, she hears what she assumes are cheers from the others greeting his arrival. She tries to find the source of his voice, and finally, she spots him. Even at this distance, she can tell it’s Max from his run and the wild swaying of his arms — having witnessed him running for his life on more than one occasion. She can hear his faint cries, but can’t comprehend his words. She hurries herself down the narrow ladder made slick with accumulated ash.
*************
As Max closes in on the farmhouse, he realizes his desperate pleas have fallen on deaf ears, when the greeting party begins to cheer his return instead of running for their lives. He didn’t want to saddle the others with this beastly burden, but now that he has, he can still be the hero.
“Go back! Go back!” he shouts over and over. “Run to the house! NOW!” He waves his hands to emphasize his warning, which only seems to confuse the dark figures, as they remain in place.
“RUN! RUN FOR YOUR FUCKING LIFE!” he screams as he charges toward them. Whether from the horror in his voice or the realization that he is being chased by someone or something, his message finally takes hold. The three shadowy figures turn their backs and run as fast as they can toward the house, where they too begin to sound the alarm.
The commotion causes Alice, Patrick, and Sarah to join Evelyn on the back porch. But Evelyn, sensing danger, snaps, “Get back in the house, NOW!” She positions herself behind the threshold with her hand on the doorknob. “Hurry yourselves!” she urges, as they run in full flight toward her. In a beeline, Jacob and Kaewa cross the entrance, their eyes full of panic.
Next to arrive is Atua. “There’s an animal chasing after Max,” he gasps as he leaps onto the porch.
An animal? “Is it a dog?” she asks, as he crosses the threshold and positions himself squarely behind the door.
“No, I don’t think so. I heard it growl... I think... I don’t know, I don’t know what it is.” He gasps for air, as Evelyn searches his eyes for the truth.
Max’s screams turn her attention back outside and his words ring plainly now. “GET INSIDE, SAVE YOURSELVES!”
And that’s when she sees it: a bony pale figure, closing fast behind her wayward son, nipping at his heels and shrieking wildly. As the two figures advance toward her, her mind automatically attempts to categorize what she sees. It’s certainly not a dog and though it seems human, she doesn’t feel comfortable with that analysis either. The sound the thing is making is as fascinating as it is horrifying. The figure is long and naked and its limbs are stained black with soot and grime up to its knees and elbows. She can see the fear etched on Max’s face, and in three long strides he reaches the porch and lunges through the air, diving to safety, as Evelyn slams the door behind him. She and Atua lean against the barrier just as the creature rams headfirst into the door at full speed. The impact makes a thunderous boom that rattles the walls, which is followed by a sickening wet sound, like a drenched mop slapping across the door. The collision is so powerful, it throws Evelyn away from the barricade and tosses her abruptly to the plank wood floor, where she lands hard on her side.
“Are you okay?” Atua hovers over her.
His voice, along with the cries and screams of the others, sounds muffled under the ringing in Evelyn’s head. She nods, unable to find words. Her attention quickly diverts back to the door, which slowly creaks open. A black hand slips through the opening and falls lifelessly across the threshold. She gasps, startled by the intrusion before realizing the threat has passed. She sighs in relief and looks to where Max is sprawled across the floor. He grabs handfuls of his soot-stained hair, and he is covered in slime from head to toe. He smells overwhelmingly of piss. Drenched in sweat and ash, his traumatized brown eyes carry the thousand-mile stare, a look she has become all to familiar with since her husband’s return from war.
“Are you alright?” she demands. But he says nothing, hears nothing, in an obvious state of shock. And then suddenly, a lump grows in her throat.
“My God, Luna is still out there.”
*************
Luna trudges through knee-deep drifts of soot as she methodically works her way toward the others. The loud cacophony is hard to decipher, but she is certain it is in response to the return of the affable Max. As she nears the path to the farmhouse, her attention is drawn to a tiny figure pressed against the endless expanse of ashen hills. She strains her eyes to comprehend what lies in front of her. It’s as if a dream has come true. She sees her as plain as day.
“Lulu,” she whispers.
She doesn’t want to say it too loud for fear that she will wake. Her lost child has returned to her, just as she has dreamed every night. The little girl reaches toward her, and Luna does the same, running to her precious Leilu, tears streaming down her face.
*************
Evelyn orders everyone but Atua to go upstairs and lock the door behind them. She grabs two pairs of rubber gloves and an ax from her pack and ties a fresh rag to cover her mouth. She hands the ax to Atua and slowly opens the door, peering along the edge as she does. Crumpled in a heap in front of her is the creature, lying naked and mangled, nothing more than a pile of broken bones. And thankfully dead, she thinks, as she steps over the rotten corpse, blackened and smelling like slow death. A clear thick fluid oozes out of every visible orifice and glistens in the torch’s light.
“What the fuck is that?” Unnerved, Atua bends to take a closer look.
“Don’t touch it!” Evelyn warns.
She is on high alert. She concludes that this thing is human — or at least it was. What it is now is anyone’s guess, but she has more pressing concerns.
“Take these rubber gloves and drag this thing off the porch,” she orders. “Do not take off your mask. When you are done, take off the rubber gloves and leave them with the body. I have an antiseptic gel in my pack. Use that to clean your hands thoroughly, okay?”
“Okay, but what about Luna?”
“I’ll find her. Give me the ax and flashlight. If I need you, I will call for you. So stay alert.”
Evelyn walks off the edge of the porch and into the darkness. Using her torch she follows the steps left by Alice, Max, and Luna toward the barn. But just as clearly, she sees a new trail, a fresh set of deep footprints that lead far past the range of her light and farther out into terrible night.
“LUNA!” she cries out, and begins to follow the trail of empty footsteps.
*************
Luna is paces away from her daughter, her arms outstretched and reaching for her lost child. But just as she’s about to clutch her child to her breast, she hears her name in the dark. She turns to see a light bobbing up and down and moving toward her. She turns back to Leilu, but the child is lunging toward her.
As the little girl flies through the air, Luna finally understands. The child is not hers but something else and something far worse than she can possibly comprehend. She braces herself as the creature tackles her, and as they struggle on the ground, it takes all o
f her strength to keep this thing from biting her, which it seems hell-bent on doing.
She screams out for help and the girl breaks free from Luna’s hold, chomping down on her right hand, biting deep into her flesh. She shakes her head wildly back and forth as Luna cries out in pain. Evelyn comes to her rescue, kicking the wild child square in the ribcage to send her flying through the air before plummeting into a deep pile of grey ash. The girl shrieks and growls and is quick to come to her feet, as Evelyn helps her friend up and pushes her away, telling her to run to the house and not to stop.
Evelyn stares down the creature. With the flashlight in one hand and the ax in the other, she slowly backs away from the ghoulish girl who doesn’t move, but snarls at her in rage. She shines the light in the girl’s eyes in an attempt to disorient her, but all it does is make her angrier, and she charges at her in a full assault. Evelyn, who is trained in hand-to-hand combat and martial arts by way of her husband, is more than capable of defending herself. When the creature closes in, she deftly sidesteps her adversary and swings her ax at the head, but the girl is nimble and the strike misses its target. Undeterred, and in mid-spin, she follows through, connecting this time with the butt end of the flashlight, which hits the girl in the back of her head, knocking her out and leaving her in a pile of dust.
Evelyn gives chase to Luna, who clutches her hand as she struggles across the terrain. “Luna!” she cries out to her, even as she snaps on a pair of gloves.
She turns to face her, and Evelyn can see the pain in her movements. “Are you alright? Did she hurt you?”
Luna nods her head, but can’t seem to find the words. “The girl... she bit me. It burns, Eve... something isn’t right... I feel sick,” she gasps, trying to hold back tears.