Abandon the Night

by Joss Ware

The rope ended just as Zoë’s feet touched the ground, and with a practiced flip of her wrist, she unloosened it from its anchor. It slithered down silently, landing with a quiet thump at her feet. Just as she began her stealthy movements into what had been the front vestibule of the apartment building, a new sound caught her attention.

  A low rumble, a mechanical purr.

  Zoë’s fingers tightened around the grip of her bow.

  A vehicle. A rare sound…one that she’d only heard a few times in her life. But a sound that she’d never forget. Which meant that he could be coming.

  Her heart slamming in her chest, stomach tight, she stepped over a buckle of heaved-up tile and inched along the side of the room covered by old mailboxes set flush into the wall. She knew their numbers had long rusted out as tenacious moss filled the cracks, but the metal still felt cold when her bare arm brushed against it. Tendrils of ivy coiled down like Rapunzel hair, sifting gently as she moved past them.

  Slowly.

  The rumbling sound grew louder, and Zoë found herself pressed into a dark corner of the room, suddenly paralyzed, brought back to that horrible night. She was safe here, in the dark corner. She struggled to focus on the moment, the burning anger and determination that had driven her for a decade…not the immobilizing fear.

  She would damn well beat this.

  Memories couldn’t hurt her. They held no threat.

  The rumbling sound, the smell of her shirt, the feel of damp, dank wall beneath her fingers, against her cheek…

  Zoë squeezed her eyes shut, hard, and found other memories to cling to. Smooth, golden skin…firm, skillful lips…thick waves of honey hair and the warmth, the stroking, the proximity of him. The comfort.

  Her eyes opened again, and despite the trickle of perspiration down her spine and the nauseating swirl in her gut, she eased out of her protective corner as a beam of light cut through the darkness. Then the rumbling sound of its engine stopped.

  Zoë swallowed and made herself examine the scene beyond shattered glass doors that somehow still stood intact. Gangas staggered about, clustering around the big, boxy vehicle.

  Moonlight gleamed on the black metal, and even from her distant view, she could see that dings and scratches and even patches of rust marred the rumbling box on wheels. Its roof was as tall as the gangas, and the large black tires lifted it high off the ground. A rider would have to climb up to get into the fierce monstrosity.

  Doors on either side opened, and three people emerged. Two men and a woman. Her heart pounded. If it was him, she’d have to get closer for a decent shot.

  At first Zoë couldn’t see much detail, for the much taller gangas clustered around the newcomers as if drawn by a magnet. Then one of the men raised his hand and lifted something like a lantern that gave off an odd greenish light. The gangas stumbled backward, arms knocking clumsily into each other. Their groans turned louder, then quieted.

  Damn. I could use one of those.

  Then the man turned in her direction, and the green-yellow light clearly illuminated him.

  When she saw his face, her first reaction was to jolt back into safety. Her belly dropped like a stone and her heart paused, then started up again, faster and harder. But Zoë resisted the urge to hide. He couldn’t see her. And she wasn’t fifteen anymore, and terrified out of her fucking mind.

  Well, she was terrified out of her fucking mind.

  But it was him. Finally. Finally.

  She was terrified, but prepared. The whip-thin willow bow felt solid in her grip, and the weight of the quiver over her shoulder comforting.

  The filthy wall beneath her fingers, Zoë watched as he seemed to speak to the gangas. The man looked around fifty years old. The light plastered over his white-blond hair, making his sharp cheekbones appear gaunt and shadowed. She remembered that about him, the way the light made his face skeletal.

  He looked no different than he had ten years ago.

  Raul Marck. The man who’d taken everything from her: her home, her family and friends…security, comfort, love. The man she’d been hunting for a decade, and only one time since that horrible night had she seen him.

  Zoë shifted her bow, and reached stealthily over her shoulder for an arrow. Her pulse stormed through her body, filling her ears with its dull thudding. Dampness grew on her palms, but her fingers were steady.

  The gangas were listening to Raul, just as they had done before. They had to take their orders from someone; God knew they weren’t intelligent enough to know what to do on their own. That was why, even though she hunted gangas every night, she knew the whole ass-load of blame fell on Raul Marck’s shoulders. He’d given the orders. He’d picked her settlement.

  He’d killed her family.

  She looked at the other man, who stood near the woman, and wasn’t surprised to recognize Ian, Raul’s son. He bore a resemblance to his father, with the same Slavic features of high cheekbones, square chin and broad forehead. Ian’s hair was darker blond, and with his dark, slashing brows and wide mouth, he could be considered handsome—if a girl could get beyond the fact that he was a bloodthirsty bounty hunter.

  He was a ruthless son of a bitch, but he wasn’t the target of her hatred. So she might allow Ian Marck to live another day.

  Zoë turned her attention to the woman standing next to Ian. She’d never seen a female bounty hunter before. The woman stood close in front of Ian, about as tall as his jaw and maybe half as wide as his shoulders. She looked about Zoë’s age, and had dark hair. Even from the distance, Zoë sensed stiffness, perhaps anger or annoyance from her.

  Then, as they shifted and the gangas moved away, she realized why. Ian was holding her arms behind her. She wasn’t a bounty hunter, but a prisoner.

  Or, more likely, she was going to be ganga dinner.

  Well, didn’t that just suck.

  CHAPTER 3

  Zoë contemplated her options as she moved toward the other end of the building, where she hoped to find an opening that was nearer her target.

  More than anything, she wanted to drill a nice metal bolt into the skull of the man who’d set gangas onto her family. But once she killed Raul Marck, she figured the gangas would no longer be under his control, and would likely attack the woman and Ian. Zoë didn’t give a rat’s ass about Ian, but she supposed she’d better not let the defenseless woman get torn to shreds.

  And if she rescued the woman, she’d have to get them the hell out of there immediately, and there might or might not be a chance to get off the shot.

  Damn. Damn. Damn.

  For almost ten years, she’d been waiting for a chance like this. The last time she’d been too far away, and not as good of a shot. But now…she was perfect in her aim. And she could get closer, pick off a damned fine shot. But some stupid woman had to mess it up.

  She nearly tripped over something large and bulky in the middle of the room, but caught herself and kept going when she saw faint gray around a jutting corner. By the time she got around the corner and found another window, the scene outside had changed.

  Now she was much closer to the gleaming black vehicle, which still seemed to loom like a horrible dark monster, ready to reanimate on its own…but the ganga party was farther away. The zombies seemed more agitated, their grating cries more urgent. Raul had stepped onto something that made him taller than the creatures, and once again he held up that green-yellow light as he spoke. She wondered where she could get something like that.

  Zoë strained to listen, holding off on her aim to see what was going on. Filtering through the moans and cries, she heard something that sounded like “barley the main” and “leet.” And then, more distinctly and powerfully, she heard “bring to me.” He held up a paper and seemed to be showing the gangas something. A picture?

  Zoë snorted. No fucking chance. Hadn’t gangas been abducting anyone with light hair for the last fifty years as they searched for a silver-headed Remington Truth?

  Then Ian moved, shoving the dark-haired woman in
front of him as they made their way closer to Raul. Ian stepped up on whatever dais had raised his father, and pulled the woman up with him.

  Holy crap. Were they going to toss her down to them right now?

  Zoë gripped her arrow. She could probably get two or three of the gangas before anyone realized where she was, if she was fast. Two for sure…

  Settling it into its comfortable groove on her bow, she raised it and shifted so that she aimed through the window. If someone turned to look, they’d see her…but it was too late to worry about that now, if she was going to have a chance to save the brunette.

  Ian gripped the woman’s arm, but instead of looking frightened or shocked, the prisoner seemed more…annoyed. Pissed off, in fact, if Zoë read the expression on her face correctly. The woman didn’t like being manhandled around, that was certain.

  Damn. Wish I could get closer.

  Raul had moved next to Ian, and he was still talking about barley the main or hardly do pain or something like that, but now he was touching the woman’s hair. The woman’s head jerked and she twisted away, glaring up at him as she said something sharp to Ian. He laughed, looking down almost affectionately…and she responded with something just as furious that wiped the smile off his face. He gave her arm a little jerk as if to remind her he still had control, and she stilled. A play of moonlight over her features showed a mutinous expression on her face.

  During this little altercation, Raul had gathered up her now loose hair and pulled the dark tresses forward. It was damned creepy the way he spread it over the front of her shoulders, as if demonstrating something to the gangas.

  Her hair? He was showing them her long hair?

  Her long dark hair.

  So now the gangas were supposed to change what they’d been doing for fifty years and suddenly start looking for someone with long dark hair?

  Fat fucking chance, Marck.

  Zoë nearly laughed aloud. And then she noticed awkward movement nearby, appearing suddenly from behind a cluster of bushes between her building and the crowd around the Marcks. Very close, moving toward the window near which she perched.

  She raised her bow again. The zombie’s orange eyes glowed like two round flames and its broad shoulders—wider and higher than any man’s—blocked out much of the view behind him. The telltale shuffle and the whistle of breath became more audible as the ganga staggered closer. It seemed to have become separated from the pack.

  Probably too much information overload on its brainless skull and it was trying to escape.

  Zoë was pretty certain the zombie couldn’t scent her—not only was she wearing her hunting shirt but she was downwind, and the smell of the Marcks and their captive would already be in the air. She waited until the ganga’s eyes were close enough that she could see the black iris in their centers, and she let the arrow go.

  Whissst. Silent and deadly, it slammed into the monster’s skull, dead above those glowing orbs. The monster fell to the ground next to the bushes.

  Buh-bye, you rotting creep.

  A quick glance toward the ganga training meeting told her that they were either too far away or the noise was too loud, or both, for either of the Marcks to have seen what happened. They might find the dead ganga later, but he’d fallen close to the bushes and she’d be well-hidden or long gone by then. Hopefully, after having retrieved her arrow. She couldn’t slip out to grab it now, but—

  Suddenly, Zoë noticed that the woman seemed to be staring in her direction.

  Just fucking great. Had she seen what happened?

  Look away, you idiot.

  When she finally did, it was because Ian was pulling her off the stage or whatever they were on. At least he wasn’t about to feed her to the gangas. Yet.

  Now what?

  Zoë looked from Ian and the prisoner to Raul, who’d lowered his green-yellow lantern, and was sending the gangas off into the dark now that they’d received their instructions. The shuffling, awkward creatures faded into the night as Ian tugged the woman off in a different direction. Zoë was torn as Raul turned and started toward the vehicle.

  Which one? Which one?

  She slipped another arrow from her quiver. She doesn’t seem to be in any danger at the moment.

  Raul Marck, you bastard…prepare to die.

  The arrow slipped into its notch almost of its own volition and she raised the bow, fingers curling around the back end of the bolt. Was she close enough?

  Raul stood near the vehicle. The gangas had scattered, shuffling off into the night in a cluster. As their moans dissipated, silence settled over the area. The soft clatter of a dead tree’s branches and the rustle of some foliage filtered through the quiet. Zoë could hear her own breathing, steady and accelerated, but audible only to her ears.

  Ian and the woman were standing in the shadows near a tree. Zoë glanced over at them and her eyes widened. Well, that was interesting. Kissing? Definitely. The woman’s arms were up around his shoulders, and his had slid down around her ass. She definitely seemed to be a willing participant.

  Great time to be playing suckface. Why don’t you really get down to business so I can finish mine?

  She grinned, drawing back on the bowstring, her hand steady, her eyes narrowed, focused on her target. His white-blond hair gleamed in the moonlight and the moans of the gangas had begun to fade into the distance. The very stance of his slender body bespoke annoyance and impatience as he flipped through the pages of a small book.

  Zoë pulled the bowstring past her ear and shoulder, gave a quick glance over at the two who were going at it, and settled her sights one more time on the man who’d killed her family.

  Three…two…one.

  A split second before she let the arrow fly, a loud howl of pain struck through the quiet, and it was too late for her to stop. The bolt released just as Zoë swore under her breath, the bolt flying true and straight toward its target. Raul shouted and fell as, pissed the hell off, Zoë turned to see the woman sprinting away from Ian, who was on the ground. Writhing.

  Damn.

  But that was all she had time to think, for the woman was running straight toward her hiding place.

  Fuck. She knows I’m here.

  Zoë slipped the bow back over her shoulder and eased into the shadows. What the hell was she going to do now?

  As the woman scrambled through a half-open window of jagged glass, Zoë saw Ian staggering to his feet under the tree. And over by the vehicle, Raul was using the door’s handle to pull himself upright. She’d fucking missed.

  Damn.

  Now that she was inside the building, the woman had the sense to stop blundering about, and shifted into the shadows. With any luck, Ian hadn’t noticed where she’d run—but Zoë didn’t believe in luck.

  “Over here,” she hissed. “For fuck’s sake.”

  “Do you know a way out of here?” the woman replied, moving toward the shadow in which Zoë was hiding.

  “I dunno. I thought you were in charge,” Zoë replied snarkily. “You fucked up my shot.”

  “Sorry,” the escapee replied, just as snarkily. “Next time I won’t skip rehearsal.”

  In spite of herself, Zoë cracked a smile. “Come on.” She started off toward the back of the building, away from Raul and Ian.

  Shouts and angry voices followed them into the depths of the structure and Zoë wished for a light so that neither of them tripped or ran into anything. Especially her unwanted burden.

  Then suddenly, a small pinpoint of illumination glowed and Zoë’s belly dropped again. But then she realized it was her companion, and for a moment, she was torn between annoyance and delight. She decided on annoyed delight, knowing that they were far into the corridor that led to the opposite side of the building from their pursuers, and that a small beam of light wouldn’t be noticeable.

  But annoyance that the woman seemed to be reading her damned mind.

  “Careful,” her companion said, and Zoë looked down in the nick of time and avoided
tripping over a large object with hard edges that would have hurt—and been loud—if she’d landed on them. A big metal trash can.

  “This way,” Zoë said when they came to an intersection, and veered to the right. The elevator doors she’d been searching for gleamed dully in the low light, and she yanked out an arrow, kneeling before her bossy companion could say a word.

  She’d done it so many times before—slipping the tip of the arrow into the crack of old elevator doors—and levering them open. There was always the danger of loud creaks or other noise, but this time, they opened, rolling apart heavily but silently.

  Huh. Mistress Luck. First time in a long time the bitch had shown her softer side.

  “Come on,” Zoë said, peering into the dark shaft. The doors were barely wide enough for her to slip through—good thing the other woman was skinny too. She reached back and grabbed her companion’s hand and angled it so that the light shone into the dark—something she wouldn’t have bothered doing if she were alone.

  “Hot damn.” The elevator was down, instead of up, on the basement level…which left the top of the big box only a few feet down. Releasing the light, Zoë reached for the metal cable nearest and tested it with her weight…not that she was going far, but she didn’t want the noise if it collapsed.

  Just as she was ready to slip in, she heard a crash. The large trash can. She jumped into the shaft, grabbing onto the cable. “Get your ass in here,” she ordered in a fierce whisper.

  The other woman didn’t need to be told twice. “Close the doors,” she said urgently, for the first time fear sounding in her voice. She’d grabbed a different cable and they dangled next to each other in the dark.

  “You grab one, pull it toward the center. They won’t close all the way…” Zoë began, but her tag-along was a quick study and she’d already begun to tug on the heavy doors. The backs of their hands bumped as the doors closed nearly all the way, leaving a crack only as thick as a set of fingers.

  She turned off the light without being told. “I don’t know how far up I’ll be able to climb.”