The Dying of the Light (Book 1): End

by Jason Kristopher

“You look like you could use some medical attention,” said Daniels.

  He wasn’t wrong. Ames looked as though he’d been through the wringer and come out the other side hard. Split lip, eyebrow bleeding, and when they brought him in he was limping more than a little.

  “Just fell down the stairs, sir.”

  “Is that right? Which stairs would those be? We have to make sure the facility’s safe, after all.”

  Ames said nothing, and stared straight ahead.

  “Do I look stupid to you, kid? Or maybe you think I’m just dumb enough to believe that.”

  “No, sir.”

  “No, sir, what, soldier?”

  “No, sir, I don’t believe you’re dumb or stupid, sir.”

  “Well, then, that’s a start. Now, you wanna tell me where you really got your injuries? Cause it wasn’t from falling down the fucking stairs.”

  “I… It was a fight, sir.”

  “Oh, I see. A fight. Looks like you need a little more time in the gym, son. Cause you got your ass whupped!”

  Ames turned red and shouted. “Bullshit! I kicked that faggot’s ass!” Realizing he’d said too much, he slumped back in his chair, looking through the provost as if he didn’t exist.

  “You really are a moron, aren’t you?” Daniels just shook his head. “Why don’t you tell me who started it? Save yourself some brig time. Not all of it, mind you, but some.”

  Ames looked up from under lowered brows. “He did. Prancing fucking fairy!”

  The sound was like a thunderclap designed by God himself as Daniels’ hand slapped the tabletop. “That is enough, Seaman.”

  “Petty Officer, sir.”

  “Not if you don’t tell me what I want to know, it isn’t. Hell, you’ll be lucky to end up as a Seaman Apprentice. Wanna go back to swabbing decks, asshole?”

  Ames shook his head. “No. No, sir.”

  “Then tell me what I want to know. Now.”

  “He hit on me, sir.”

  “Who did?”

  “The fa… Reynolds. After our leave a few weeks back. He was drunk off his ass when he came in the barracks and he hit on me.”

  I looked over at Kimberly, who was obviously trying to control her temper. Rachel stood beside her, equally pissed.

  “Tom would never have done that,” Kim whispered to me. “I don’t care how drunk he was.”

  “I know, Kim. Let’s just let Daniels handle this.”

  “What exactly did he say?” asked the provost. “What words did he use to make you think he was hitting on you?”

  “Uh, well… he said we… um, should get drinks some time. And he said it looked like I was losing weight, and I looked good. And some other stuff.” Ames looked down at his hands, clenched in his lap.

  The door to the interview room slammed open, and Commander Anderson stormed in, looking as pissed as I’d ever seen him. “Thank you, major,” he said to Daniels, who looked stunned. “That will be all for now. I’ll take it from here.”

  “But you can’t… this is…” Daniels started to protest, but then looked at Anderson’s face. “Yes, sir.” He stood up and left the room without even the briefest of backward glances.

  Anderson walked over and put his fists on the table, leaning forward. “You asshole.”

  Ames didn’t even look up.

  “We’re fighting a fucking war against the goddamn undead,” Anderson continued, his voice never raising. Those of us in the viewing room struggled to hear it through the pickup. “And you go and pull some dumb redneck shit like this. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  Anderson leaned closer. “I should feed you to Chauncey right now.”

  Ames went as pale as I’d ever seen anyone get; he knew that he could be disappeared, and no one would ever know. He cowered back in his seat.

  “But I’m not going to,” the commander said, straightening. “I don’t have to. Act like that again, and your own people will take you out. I won’t have to lay a finger on you.”

  I glanced over at Powell, and saw him nodding. I hope it was an unconscious agreement.

  “We need everyone we can get in this fight. Reynolds is ten times the man — ten times the soldier — that you are. If I had to choose… well, it wouldn’t be a choice. So let me make myself perfectly clear.” He walked toward the door, turning back to look at the cringing man that had replaced the bigoted jackass who sat there only a few minutes before. “If I ever hear so much as a peep out of anyone that you’ve tried this shit again, I guarantee you that you and I will have that little meeting with Chauncey. Understood?”

  When Ames didn’t reply, Anderson continued. “Is that understood, soldier?”

  “Yes… yes, sir.” Ames finally answered.

  “Very well.” He knocked on the door, and Daniels opened it. “Put him in solitary for a week. Let him think about what he’s done. He’s also offered to forfeit his pay for the next month to some suitable charity. I’m sure you can find one.”

  Daniels’ grin was quick. “Oh, I’m sure I can, sir.”

  “See to it then,” Anderson said, and left.

  I turned to the others as Daniels escorted the white-faced Ames from the room. I couldn’t help but look at Powell, who was staring into the now empty room, and only turned to face me when he noticed the scrutiny. He came to attention as he turned to Kimberly.

  “Captain, on behalf of Bravo squad, I apologize for Ames’ actions. I assure you, it won’t happen again.”

  “It better not.”

  We headed back to the infirmary, anxious to check up on our friend. Still sleeping, Drewson told us, but he assured us that he would inform someone the moment Tom was cleared for visitors.

  Several days later, we were sitting in the briefing room, wondering why we’d been summoned. The whole 1st Team — except for the still-recovering Reynolds and his incarcerated assailant Ames — was ready and raring to go. Of course, there were those of us who thought we would be assigned our first mission, but given Commander Anderson’s un-stressed attitude, I thought that was unlikely, at best. I knew I’d be at least a little tense if I was sending people to maybe get killed. No, this is something else entirely.

  Maxwell walked in, and we all stood at attention, waiting until he reached the front of the room.

  “Take your seats.” There was a shuffling of feet as we sat at the tables, and he leaned forward on the podium a bit. “I have some good news, folks.”

  I glanced at Kim, who shrugged. Clearly, she didn’t have a clue either.

  “We’ve recorded no walker activity in the last five months, while you’ve all been in training. I don’t know whether this is due to the weather being unseasonably cold, or simply just our dumb luck, but at the moment, we have nothing for you folks to do but stay here and train.”

  He straightened and began pacing. “Now, I’m all for training until you can do this in your sleep, but we’ve got our orders.” Maxwell glanced at Anderson, who appeared grim and very unhappy at the announcement. “1st Team is hereby moved to ‘inactive’ status until further notice.”

  I wasn’t the only one to respond with a hearty “Bullshit!” or similar. This makes no sense, no sense at all. We need to keep training.

  Maxwell waited until we calmed down, then continued. “I know, and I don’t like it any more than you do, but these are our orders. The commander and I will stay here to coordinate activities with the research group and the spec ops teams for any minor incursions that may happen. We’ll also be drawing up plans for other teams to start training, when and if we get those orders.”

  “Let me be clear, folks. I’m not letting this order stand, if I can help it. We all need more training, and more training after that. So don’t expect to be gone long.”

  “What happens now, sir?” asked Rachel. “Where do we go? Not all of us have lives outside of this base.”

  “I know that. I’ve been authorized to have our people make arrangements for you, wherever you’d like to live — provided you can
be back here in 12 hours if the shit hits the fan. Make an appointment with Nancy, and she’ll get everything set up. I’d recommend you stick together as much as possible, but I can’t order you to.”

  He looked over at Anderson. “Anything you want to add, Frank?”

  The commander looked thoughtful for a moment. “Maintain operational security at all times. Keep an eye on the news. Keep your phones close. That’s it.”

  “Alright, 1st Team, you have your orders. Dismissed!”

  “Alright, 1st Team, you have your orders. Dismissed!”

  Chapter Six

  Somewhere in Texas — 9 Months Later

  *ring*

  “Hello?”

  Cold, electronic tones. “Voice identification confirmed. Code AEGIS Five. Authenticate.” A short pause. “Authenticate!”

  The training took over. “Authentication Delta Tango Bravo. Active.”

  “Confirmation and activation accepted. Standby.”

  *click*

  My hand shook as I hung up. It had finally happened, and there was no going back now. All our careful preparations… would they be worth a damn, in what was to come? No time to worry about that now. If we were moving off inactive status, then the shit must have hit the fan somewhere.

  I dropped the phone into the pocket of my jeans and snagged my keys from the kitchen’s bar, moving at a fast walk down the hallway. Stopping briefly to retrieve a large duffel bag from the hall closet, I opened the door into the garage and took a quick last look around at what had been my home. I hit the garage door opener, and set down the duffel bag next to the covered motorcycle. Pulling the ripcord quickly let the airtight cover fall away with a soft sigh of inrushing air, leaving me looking at a pristine motorcycle that seemed to exude speed. This one was somewhat modified and could go appreciably faster than the standard model.

  Not that we ever tested that, of course, I thought with a grin.

  I strapped the duffel tight to the rack mounted on the back and it fit perfectly, as I knew it would. Pulling on the nearby gloves, jacket, and helmet, I added a machete from the wall to a leather holster on the right side of the bike and a small mallet on the left. I hoped I wouldn’t need them, but if the balloon really had gone up, there was no way to know. Better safe than sorry. Satisfied that everything was in place, I pulled forward out of the garage and closed the large door. The late afternoon air was breezy and cool, a fine fall day. I looked back once as I pushed the button on the bike — a last minute addition that looked as though it had been bolted on — and saw the inside of the house go dark, a small green light flashing twice in the front window.

  I hope I see you again, I thought as I accelerated down the street. I liked living here.

  The bike easily ate up the pavement, gathering speed as I leaned into the turns, headed for the freeway. I gave the instruments a cursory glance, knowing what they would show. Everything was normal — for now.

  That’ll change soon enough, I sighed. Everything will, and so few of us are ready to fight.

  Crackling static sounded in my ear, then a voice, through the helmet’s earpiece. “One Alpha Five, AEGIS Actual. Report.”

  This time I was ready, but something wasn’t right. “Active and on-schedule to Checkpoint One.”

  “Acknowledged. Be advised, the remainder of Alpha is on schedule. One Alpha Six authenticated but has not checked in and is presumed off-mission.”

  I couldn’t let this one go. Even though she’d broken up with me months ago, even though it still hurt every time I thought about her, I couldn’t resist the impulse to find out what was going on with her now, at this critical moment. “Request permission to retrieve One Alpha Six.” A long pause, so long I began to wonder if the connection had been broken. “Repeat, request…”

  “Approved. GPS tracking data downloading to you now. Alpha squad will proceed as normal. Retrieval of One Alpha Six is a secondary objective. Acknowledge.”

  I breathed a little easier and glanced at the bike’s custom GPS display. “Acknowledged. Tracking data received. Will report when One Alpha Six retrieved and en route. One Alpha Five out.” This was going to be one difficult confrontation, but I couldn’t just leave her. Not now. Not after all we’d been through, and all that was still to come.

  The blaring horn of the trucker behind me interrupted my reverie, and I twisted the throttle, blasting onto the freeway’s entrance ramp. By the time I hit the main lanes, I was already at 95, and weaving in and out of traffic like a madman as I continued accelerating. She was 10 minutes away, even at these speeds.

  “Dispatch, this is Unit 17, in pursuit of a motorcycle at high speed northbound. Request back-up and run the following plate: Three Victor X-ray Four Three Seven.” His siren wailing, the trooper waited for a response. He jerked the wheel suddenly as the motorcycle veered sharply into another lane, then passed the car beside him. As the motorcycle weaved in and out of the mildly congested freeway traffic with only inches to spare in some cases, the trooper began to sweat.

  This fool is going to kill someone, he thought. And himself!

  “Unit 17, Dispatch. Standby.”

  For a brief moment, he pulled alongside the motorcycle, attempting to edge it towards the shoulder without causing an accident. The rider looked over at him through his jet-black visor; slowly and deliberately, the rider shook his head at the trooper, then twisted the throttle and roared ahead. That’s impossible, no motorcycle is that fast.

  “Unit 17, Dispatch.” The trooper glanced at the radio as a different voice responded to him. He knew that voice; it was the dispatch center’s supervisor, but he sounded odd, somehow. “Cease pursuit immediately. Repeat, cease pursuit immediately and resume normal patrol. Do not document this incident in any way; forget that it ever happened. Is that understood?”

  “Understood, Dispatch,” said the trooper, in a tone indicating he did not, in fact, understand. He turned off his lights and siren, slowing down to posted speeds and watching the motorcycle continue its maniac course through traffic. “Show me back in service; Unit 17 out.”

  Several miles away, at the dispatch center, the supervisor turned back to his monitor and the message that had been returned when he had run the plate. “Department of Defense vehicle. Do not pursue. Do not report.” The supervisor fumed.

  Damn irresponsible running a bike like that.

  His thoughts interrupted by yet another emergency call coming in, the supervisor watched as one of the operators handled it. He pushed the mysterious bike and its rider to the back of his mind. He didn’t notice his monitor blanking and the message “Retrieval record deleted” appearing, either.

  I smiled to myself as the siren and lights following me fell silent and still, as I knew they would. I wonder how that conversation went, I mused. I pulled off the freeway and onto side streets as I headed for the tag marked on my GPS unit. She was on the move, but not where she was supposed to be going. I heard the distinctive sound of another bike like mine and coasted to a stop in an alley, shutting off the headlight as she sped by. She turned, and I followed.

  Twenty minutes later, the near-moonless night had fallen and it was dark as she turned into an apartment complex in a lower-class neighborhood. Not horrible, but not somewhere I’d want to be alone at night — as I was right now. I pulled into the alley behind a darkened business and shut off the bike, keeping my eye on the apartment complex across the street. As I moved toward the end of the alley to make my way across, I heard a sound that chilled me to the bone. It was a sound I hadn’t heard in years — at least, outside a lab — and one I had hoped never to hear again.

  A low, resonating moan came from the figure approaching down the alley. One hand on the machete I’d pulled off the bike — now in its hip holster — I stepped forward to investigate. Surely they couldn’t be here already, I thought. We would have been activated long before now. He didn’t appear to notice my movement, instead seeming to concentrate on something between us.

  As I closed in, I
could see a homeless man in faded army fatigues and a wool cap, lying on the pavement against the alley wall. He appeared to be either asleep or dead and didn’t notice the figure coming at him. Another low moan issued from that creature, along with a strange rumbling noise, and I eased the machete out of its holster as I took another look at the creature again, much closer than before.

  Just as it passed under the flickering remnants of the alley’s one remaining light, I finally got to see its face, very pale and contorted in pain. Wait, I thought. Walkers don’t feel…

  Another groan, and this time the figure leaned against the wall and vomited what appeared to be everything he had eaten in the last few days. I relaxed, the machete returning to its holster almost as if by magic and my breathing returning to more normal levels. I shook my head as the poor homeless vet got hit with another burst from the drunkard, and moved to leave the alley.