Abandon the Night

by Joss Ware

  Right between the eyes. The ganga stumbled, knocking into a companion, and they both fell over in a pile of awkward legs and flailing arms. A cool smile tugged at her lips as she whipped another arrow from her quiver and let it fly.

  By this time, the zombies had advanced rather quickly, again, surprising her, and Zoë realized with a start that she needed to move…back. Normally, she was up and out of sight of the monsters—she’d learned the importance of that early on—but this time, they’d taken her by surprise. Meeting them on their level wasn’t quite as simple as shooting from a tree branch or rooftop.

  Next to her, Quent swung the metal pipe at one of the creatures—who towered over him by several feet—and managed to smash the ganga in the side of the head. Its constant duuu-vaaane choked off, then continued as the monster lunged at its attacker. Ducking beneath the creature’s groping hand, Zoë’s blond genius slipped around and behind the staggering ganga and brought the pipe down again, on the top of his head.

  The zombie dropped like a stone, and Quent jumped out of its way, winging his pipe with a powerful stroke at another monster that surged forward on uncoordinated legs. The weapon struck its arm, and the limb went flying through the air, yet that didn’t slow its owner. But Quent was more agile and dodged out of the way, jumping over a fallen tree trunk. The creature followed, stumbled into the tree and lost his balance. Quent brought his weapon down on top of the creature’s head with an audible crack.

  Zoë reached for a third arrow, and realized she was too close to get a good aim. Holy shit, are these zombies on some sort of drug? Moving faster, groaning differently…She ran back a few steps as she fit it into place, and yelled, “Where the hell are your fancy bombs now?”

  “Need a minute to dig one out,” he shouted back, whaling on a duo of advancing zombies. “Can you hold them off?” Damn. He seemed much too fucking cool and calm.

  But then, he was in good hands and he knew it.

  “No sweat,” she said, sending her arrow flying.

  She saw Quent streak to the side of an oncoming ganga, then slip around a rusted out car next to a nearby building. The vehicle would provide no protection other than a momentary shield, but hopefully it would be enough time for him to dig out his explosives.

  Her pulse pounded and adrenaline rushed through her as Zoë shot an arrow into the back of the zombie that had gone after Quent. The arrow lodged in his skull and he staggered, then fell. Four for four. Hot damn.

  There were three or four gangas left, and Zoë spun, ready to skewer a fifth and saw that the leader had tripped over one of its fallen comrades, slowing them down for a moment. She was just about to shout at Quent not to waste an explosive, that she could finish the last three off, when she saw something in the dark.

  Silhouettes…two, no, three…inside the window beyond where he crouched. Inside was dimly lit, as if a low light burned to illuminate the interior for humans.

  She nocked yet another arrow, splitting her attention between the sparser group of gangas and the tableau inside as she ducked behind a big metal thing called a Dumpster. Whatever the hell it was, it gave her a moment to hide from the boulderheads…and to get a better look inside that window.

  People hiding in the building? Or more gangas? Quent was busy, and far enough away from whatever it was. She didn’t want to distract him…or draw attention to where he stooped next to the car.

  She looked again, peering around the corner of the rusted metal thing. Inside the window—they were definitely humans, too short to be zombies. No burning orange eyes. Two taller ones, a shorter one.

  She looked back at the gangas and let her arrow fly at the nearest one, which happened to be much too near for comfort. The metal bolt slammed right into its decaying nose. Score!

  Zoë reached back into her quiver and realized she was low on arrows—only another four left, she guessed, in that brief moment. Crap. As she pulled one out, she looked again toward the window. Holy shit! The figures inside were shifting around and she saw a small, moving crystal that glowed. Right on the front of one of the people.

  A Stranger! She peered at the dark, excitement and dread rushing through her. Possibly with Raul Marck? Could she be that damned lucky? Her mind divided as she considered the situation and settled an arrow once more. Then she looked up.

  Shit! The ganga was right there, right in front of the Dumpster. Fuck.

  “Quent!” she shouted, and realized suddenly that another zombie had come around the other way. Then, as Quent rose from his hunkered position, she saw the bottle in his hand. “Wait!” she shouted, suddenly envisioning the bomb landing in front of her—

  She tripped as she moved back, dammit, tumbling back onto the ground, still clutching the bow. Son of a bitch, her breath was knocked out and the next thing she knew one of those massive gray hands was reaching for her, swiping at her. Strong, reeking fingers closed over her shoulder, but she stabbed up with the arrow in her hand, shoving it right into the orange eye.

  Something plopped down on her, something putrid and sticky and wet and she rolled away just as the monster shuddered, then started its slow fall. Zoë scrambled to her feet just in time to see Quent as he ran up behind the last of the gangas.

  It was a breathtaking moment, watching his gloved hands slam the metal pipe into the back of the zombie, then shifting and dodging, fleet of foot, around and behind, battering the confused monster. Perhaps he was showing off a bit, taking his time finishing off the creature, but Zoë didn’t care. He was fast and powerful, and watching him made her all weak-kneed. It was only a moment before the last of their attackers slumped to the ground, his brains spilling onto the dirt.

  “You okay?” Quent asked, coming over to her. “What’s that on your face?”

  “Zombie brain,” she said, using the hem of her tank top to wipe at a last dot of the glistening junk on her cheek. Then she pulled at his shirt, tugging him down behind the Dumpster and pointed. “In that building. I saw three people—one of them is a Stranger. I saw the crystal glowing.”

  “Raul Marck too?”

  “I sure as hell hope,” she said. “They must know we’re here. That we’ve beaten off the gangas.”

  “Bet they heard us coming and set them out after us. They’re probably long gone.”

  Zoë nodded. She’d come to the same conclusion. She opened her mouth to speak, then realized he was looking at her. In the low light, in this proximity, she could make out the heat in his eyes—the same avidity that always made her belly drop to her knees, and her female parts tingle. Her breath caught and she knew her voice came out husky. “What?”

  “Watching you—how fast, and smooth and cool and damn good you are—makes me forget how yanked I am at you for sneaking off this morning. I want to tear off your clothes and shag the hell out of you, luv. Right here.”

  Shag? Whatever that was, it sounded good to her. She smiled, unable to keep back the rush of pleasure and lust from his words. “Anytime, blondie.”

  His sexy lips twitched and gave her the urge to taste them. “I’d be tempted to kiss you if you didn’t have zombie brains on your face.”

  “Comes with the job,” she said. And she stood, pulling him up to peer out from behind the Dumpster. “Do you see them?” Through the window, she saw the same faint cast of light, but no longer any moving silhouettes.

  “Nothing. Let’s go check it out.” He led the way, and she allowed him, slipping from the shadow of the hulking metal thing to the car near which he’d stooped. She noticed that, while he no longer had the metal pipe in his gloved hand, he had something better. A gun.

  “Where’d you get that?” she whispered. “Does it work?” Working firearms were as rare as running vehicles, and mostly found in the possession of Strangers. Zoë had found a few rusted-out guns over the years, but only one that worked—and by the time she figured out how to use it, she’d wasted all the bullets. And couldn’t find anymore.

  “My bag. Of course it works.”

  �
��Then why the hell didn’t you use it on the gangas?”

  “I liked watching you in action. Besides,” he added, very close to her ear, “it’s better for other types of threats.”

  Right.

  They’d sneaked across the way, Zoë casting a look at the array of dead gangas still sporting her arrows. She didn’t have time to grab them back now, but there were only three left in her quiver. That was a lot of work sitting out there, encrusted with zombie brains.

  She and Quent approached the broken window. The world was silent, but the hair on Zoë’s neck prickled and she sensed…something. They were around somewhere…the Stranger. Raul Marck. It had to be him. She hoped it was him.

  Quent tensed next to her, and she knew he felt it too. Warm and sturdy, his arm shifted as he turned to look behind them.

  Nothing. Neither of them saw anything. No unusual sounds. And even the sense that someone watched and waited eased.

  “I’m going in,” Quent said, gesturing to the window. “Coming? Or want to stand guard?”

  Zoë, surprised that he’d even thought to ask her opinion—she wouldn’t have—considered. Separating was a good and bad idea—she could watch from here, and if they were separated, they couldn’t be trapped together. She could see what he was doing inside while keeping a watch out here…“Go.” And maybe she’d have a chance to dash over and pull a few arrows from scrambled brains.

  She watched Quent climb through the window, the gun gleaming briefly in his hand before he slipped into shadow. Standing near the building, she looked around and listened, and sniffed for gangas. Nothing.

  “Nothing,” Quent called softly from the other side of the wall.

  Zoë nodded and, still holding her bow with an arrow in place, moved toward the zombie carnage a few yards away. She glanced back toward the window, saw Quent moving around, and bent to pluck up an arrow.

  When she pulled it free and flung the last bit of glop aside, she happened to look past another old car down to her right…and saw him. Standing no more than a long arrow flight away. His moonbeam hair, brushed back from the gaunt face that haunted her dreams, his slender, skeletal body.

  He didn’t notice her at first; she was hidden by the rusted-out vehicle. He faced another person—smaller, slighter, and with a crystal glow in his chest. Now Zoë heard the soft sounds of flesh and bone against flesh and bone accompanied by quiet grunts of exertion as the two men fought.

  Heart pounding, Zoë looked toward the window where Quent was still moving around inside, and tried to catch his attention. She could shoot her arrow in there, but that would be a waste. Instead, she scooped up a rock and tossed it toward the open window, then turned her attention back. The smaller man—the Elite—seemed to be struggling with Raul Marck.

  Where’s the third guy?

  But their battle or argument seemed a good enough reason to move in. To fix her aim on the man who’d taken her life. She duck-walked closer, staying low and quiet, and watching as the Elite swung out with something gleaming, slicing at Zoë’s own damn target.

  No you don’t! He’s fucking mine!

  She nocked the bow…he was a little too far away. This shot had to count.

  The Elite’s arm had moved sharply and Zoë saw Raul stumble back a little, but then lunge for his opponent again.

  Something moved behind her, a shadow slinked in her peripheral vision, and she nearly fainted before she saw the hint of blond hair and realized it was Quent. He must have interpreted her signal and come out to join her.

  Still a few yards away, he settled into the shadows too. Zoë ignored him. She had to. You’d just shoot him in cold blood?

  Fuck yeah.

  She inched closer, settled the arrow in place, holding her breath hoping that Raul was too distracted with his own battle to notice that she was sneaking up on him. The arrow fit nicely.

  She was close enough…she could see blood streaming from Raul’s arm, and just as she lifted the bow, drew in a deep breath, the smaller man sliced again at Raul. Stumbling back, Zoë’s nemesis gave a loud cry as the smaller man took off into the dark.

  Zoë looked in Quent’s direction, but he’d sunk deeper into the shadow and she could no longer see him. She looked back at her target, who’d moved closer. Now he was near enough that she could see the collar of his shirt, the flipped-up cuffs of his sleeves, and the dark stain spreading over his shirt.

  Close enough that her shot would count.

  She drew back on the bowstring, bringing it past her ear, steady…eyes clear and cold.

  Don’t you want to know why?

  It doesn’t matter. He took everything from me.

  And she released the arrow.

  * * *

  19 September 2010

  9:00 p.m.

  It was a beautiful day today, and the first one in months that I have truly felt lucky to be alive.

  The seeds I managed to save and to find, and the cuttings salvaged from my garden and other places have found their homes at last. If all goes well, we will have a large garden of vegetables and fruits, herbs and even some spices.

  Devi watched me dig in the soil with that affectionate, bemused smile on his face, and I was happy to feel its warmth once again. He has not smiled in many months. Nor have I.

  But the sun was alive and steady today, and we have had much more rain than the desert has in the past. Greenery has begun to sprout everywhere, and even a limited array of flowers are budding.

  Perhaps I should note that six weeks ago, Devi, James, and I packed everything we could into three large vehicles (again, I cannot quite call them stolen, for the Babishes and the Ytrezes and the Gladwins no longer have need of anything) and drove to the southeast, hoping to find other survivors.

  Drive is not the most accurate of terms for the sort of all-terrain traveling we did, for the quakes and storms wreaked havoc on the roads and signs and bridges.

  After two days of driving a total of fifty miles, stopping often to look for signs of life, we did find a group of five living in a restaurant and we were invited to stay with them. Devi and I found a small house that had sustained little damage and we have taken it as our own.

  The high school’s football field has become our farmland.

  —from the diary of Mangala Kapoor

  * * *

  CHAPTER 8

  Still inside the building, Quent watched from the shadows as Zoë raised her bow. She’d hardly taken her eyes from the slight, white-haired man struggling with another slender figure, about thirty meters away. An arrow fit into place, and he could barely make out the determined expression on her face.

  She’s going to do it.

  For a moment, he thought about stopping her—about stepping out from the shadows and drawing attention to himself, exposing their presence. To keep her from that burden of taking a man’s life, and to have his own chance to pummel the information he wanted to get from Marck. How to find Fielding. Where to go.

  From what Quent had heard about Raul Marck—not only from Zoë, but also from Jade, who’d known the bounty hunter during her captivity by the Strangers—it would be no loss to this world for such a mercenary, ruthless man to be killed. No worse than snipers taking out terrorists before they blew up another car or nightclub.

  No worse than destroying the man who’d help annihilate the human race.

  But…Zoë. Despite her acerbic manner and strength, she had a fragility about her that he’d only recently begun to recognize. Something under the surface, something that lurked deep in her eyes. Something he’d noticed when he’d looked at her when they weren’t dusting up the sheets together.

  At that moment, Quent saw a shadow move, slinking from beyond where Zoë crouched, creeping up to the tree just behind her. A cold chill washed over him before he submerged the rush of fear, then he steadied when he saw that the newcomer’s hands were empty. Tightening his fingers around the handle of his own gun, feeling the comfort of its trigger, he eased himself closer.

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nbsp; Zoë pulled back on the bowstring, steady and intent as, meters away, Raul Marck cried out from what looked like the stab of a knife, somewhere vital. His opponent took the opportunity to stagger into the darkness, but not before Quent saw the hint of a faint glow near his shoulder. An Elite, fighting with Raul Marck?

  A soft thwang broke the night and the sleek arrow shot through the air.

  And just as it left her bow, the shadow behind her moved. A split second too late, coming out of the darkness more quickly than Quent anticipated.

  She whirled at the sound, hand going automatically to the quiver over her shoulder and whipping out a new bolt. But she wasn’t fast enough, and the imposing man stood barely a yard away. Pointing a gun at her that he hadn’t had in his hand a moment earlier.

  Aw, hell.

  Quent edged along the darkness, moving closer so he could get a good aim, as the newcomer spoke. “You again. Hunting for my father.”

  Even in the dark, Quent could see the cold look she aimed at him. “A little damned late, weren’t you, Ian?” She lowered her bow a trifle. “Or was that the way you planned it?”

  Quent glanced along the street and saw the dark shadow of Raul Marck on the ground. Unmoving. Even from his distance, he could see a glistening pool on the man’s skin and ground. If not dead, then very close.

  Ian Marck laughed. “Ah, Zoë. You’re about the coldest bitch I’ve ever met.”

  She laughed back. Just as meanly. “Worse than Remy? She lured you in, then took you down. I saw it. She’s a cold bitch. At least I never fuck and run.”

  Oh, really? I must have imagined your streaking out of my bed so fast the sheets fluttered. The anger that had slipped into admiration and lust when he saw her fighting off the gangas now came back in full force.

  Ian seemed surprised at her comment, but he also appeared to know what she was talking about. “So that was you, two nights ago.” Whatever had happened, the reference pissed him off. He stepped closer, gun gleaming in the moonlight as he gestured to her bow. “Put that down.”