We Hunt the Night: (Tales from the Supernatural Frontline) (Imperium Book 1)

by Richard Langridge

  They turned him over, pulling him into a seated position.

  The man blinked, seemed to come around. A nametag on his uniform read BOB. So that wasn’t very Mexican of him. ‘What… what happened?’ said Vaguely Mexican Bob.

  ‘You were attacked by a giant sex-demon,’ said Jake. He saw the look on Bob’s face and shook his head. ‘Yeah—trust me, don’t even. Can you walk?’

  Bob blinked. ‘I—I think so.’ They helped him to his feet, Bob swaying a moment before finally steadying himself. He rubbed his chest with a plump hand. ‘Ooh. My chest hurts. I think I must have landed on it when I went down or something.’

  Jake and the others shared a glance.

  So turns out there was a reason Jake had taken to calling the thing they were chasing a “sex-demon”—that reason being because the thing liked to have sex with things, all things, regardless of that thing’s willingness to participate. It was one of only a couple of creatures like it, what people within the HDL referred to as “Z-types”, which were different from you normal, run-of-the-mill X-types, in that these creatures liked to reproduce. They weren’t very common—barely more than a half a dozen a year, or so—but whenever they turned up it was almost always a huge deal. This time, Jake and his team had been given orders to catch it alive so it could be studied, and Jake was determined to be the one to claim it. He still had a lot to prove, after all. And not just to the Board.

  Jake cleared his throat. ‘Uh, this thing. The sex-demon—it didn’t happen to, uh…’ He moved his hands, hoping Bob would get the hint.

  Vaguely Mexican Bob blinked.

  Jake tried again. ‘It didn’t, you know—’ He mimed passionately kissing an invisible woman. ‘Like that?’

  Vaguely Mexican Bob continued to stare. He looked toward the others. ‘What’s wrong with him?’

  ‘How long have you got?’ said Eliza, scoffing.

  This was getting them nowhere.

  ‘Just answer the question,’ said Jake.

  Bob shook his head. ‘No—I mean, I don’t think so. It knocked me down, and then—’ He shook his head. ‘That’s it. That’s all I remember.’

  Jake and the others shared a glance.

  Hmm—seems legit!

  ‘Excuse us a moment,’ said Jake, pulling the three of them in for a group huddle. He offered them both a glance. ‘So what are we thinking, here? Is this guy infected or what?’

  Eliza thought it over a moment. ‘Hard to tell. Until we can get him to an ultrasound machine, there’s just no way to know for sure.’

  Crap.

  ‘Couldn’t we just—’ He mimed putting a gun to his head, pulling the trigger. It was going to be a day for charades, apparently. ‘I mean, even if he’s not, he’s still TSA. I’m pretty sure nobody’s going to mind.’

  From behind them, Bob said, ‘Uh, you know I can hear you, right?’

  ‘Stay out of this, Bob!’ He turned back to the others, his voice hushed. ‘And whatever we decide, we’d better do it quick; I think he’s onto us.’

  Eliza stared at Jake in that way she did sometimes, one eyebrow raised, her eyes wide. It was the way she looked at him when she thought he was being particularly stupid. He had come to know it well.

  Jake sighed. ‘All right, fine. Whatever. But don’t come crying to me when little demon babies are eating your face off.’

  ‘Oh, believe me—I won’t.’

  They journeyed on through the terminal, following the trail of broken things as it led off to places unknown, Jake again feeling that odd sense of unreality washing over him the more of the empty terminal he saw. Whenever he’d been to airports before (admittedly only once), there had always been hundreds of people rushing around, desperately trying to make their flight in time. Now it was empty, and the lack of bodies was unnerving. It was just so… unnatural.

  ‘So, Bob,’ he said, turning to him. ‘Tell me—what’s your stance on ghosts?’

  Bob frowned. ‘Ghosts?’

  ‘Yeah, you know—spirits, the ghostly undead? Noticed any strange activity going on lately? Specifically of the otherworldly variety?’

  Eliza turned back to them. ‘Ignore him, Bob. He’s just trying to get your goat—besides, ghosts aren’t real. Everybody knows that.’

  ‘Ghosts are real, Eliza…’ said Jake.

  ‘No, they’re not.’

  ‘Uh, yeah they are—but of course, you wouldn’t know, would you? Seeing as you’ve never seen Ghostbusters.’

  Bob turned to look at her, frowning. ‘You’ve never seen Ghostbusters?’

  ‘WHY DOES EVERYBODY CARE THAT I HAVEN’T SEEN GHOSTBUSTERS.’

  Jake offered Bob a look, surprised. Maybe he’d misjudged the man. ‘You know what, Bob? You’re all right—a little quirky, true. But all right.’

  Bob smiled Mexicanly. ‘Does this mean you’re not going to shoot me?’

  ‘Don’t ruin it, Bob.’

  They carried on past more seats and stores, down those moving walkways, Jake fighting the urge to do the whole walking-backwards thing, even though that would have been frickin’ hilarious, and because he wanted to impress Bob. They walked down a long catwalk with glass walls either side that overlooked the rest of the airport. Looking down Jake could see all the police cars and unmarked HDL response units crowded around, all those frantically moving bodies as the authorities fought to secure the perimeter. Then of course were the evacuees themselves—all the staff and passengers, who had formed what was no inconsiderable crowd behind them. The press would be having a field day, on doubt.

  They turned another corner—

  Everybody gasped.

  It was the Breeder. It was standing by a vending machine, looking—from what Jake could tell—like it was trying to mate with it.

  It was a lot bigger than Jake had presumed it would be—even though, granted, he’d never actually seen one before, so had no real frame of reference. But still.

  About the size of a small truck, with a huge wrinkly butt that dragged along the floor behind it like those old dresses Victorian women used to wear, back when everything was all cobblestones and poor people. From its mouth hung an appendage Jake would have liked to have said was not shaped like a penis, but, unfortunately, that would have been a lie.

  It turned its head slowly to look in their direction, its beady little bird’s eyes widening at the sight of them.

  Then it was off, stomping down the terminal, huge rear swaying out behind it as it ran and knocking all kinds of crap over.

  Jake had a feeling he knew exactly where it was the ugly sonofabitch was headed.

  ‘Quick!’ he cried. ‘We can’t let it leave the terminal!’

  They couldn’t let it get away. If it got out, it would breed, and if that happened, it would mean the total annihilation of every living human on the planet. Orifices would be impregnated by the billions, faster than a Ridley Scott science fiction movie. Then there was all that explaining he’d have to do to the Board, as well. It would be a whole mess.

  They immediately booked it after it, the modified tranquilizer guns in Jake and Eliza’s hands—courtesy of Avery—now all locked and loaded and ready for action.

  The Breeder raced toward the sliding glass doors that comprised the terminal’s front entrance—in mere moments, it would be free.

  Jake didn’t think. He raised the tranquilizer gun and squeezed the trigger.

  The dart sailed wild, stabbing into a trash receptacle and sending it sprawling across the entrance.

  Whoops.

  Luckily, Eliza’s shot was true.

  The dart struck the Breeder in the side of what a person could have been forgiven for thinking was its “neck area”.

  The Breeder hit the deck almost instantly, sliding to a stop less than five feet from the glass doors. It twitched frantically a moment, before, after offering one final (yet not-inconsiderable) fart, it finally lay still.

  The beast was down.

  Jake bent forward, his hands on his knees as he fou
ght for breath. ‘Holy crap, that was close.’ He looked at the others. ‘Wasn’t that close?’

  Eliza nodded, her face flushed. ‘It was close, all right.’

  They stepped out through the glass doors, Jake wincing against the sudden, harsh sunlight. It was like walking into a concert. There were people everywhere, all waving and cheering—hell, even the cops, which was actually pretty unprofessional of them, now that Jake thought about it.

  ‘Uh… Jake?’ said Eliza from behind him.

  Jake ignored her. It was the crowd. All those people whooping and cheering; he realized it was exactly like the end of Ghostbusters, the members of the public thanking them through the medium of blind applause for heroically saving the day—something Eliza would have known, had she ever bothered to watch the film.

  ‘Eliza—look,’ he said. ‘They love us.’ He raised his hands like a football player having just scored a touchdown, the crowd immediately going wild. He saw news cameramen and reporters too, having somehow managed to force their way to the front of the crowd—something Jake would have detested under normal circumstances, but not today. Not today.

  ‘JAKE!’

  Finally, Jake turned—

  Then he saw.

  Bob. He was bent over, hands pawing at his chest, his eyes wild with what looked to be sheer agony.

  The noise from the crowd slowly died, like the music from a car that was quickly driving away, taking its noise pollution with it. In its place came another sound, one that was in no way pleasurable to the ear. The vehicle that was unabashed gratitude had fled the scene, and arriving in its place now was another vehicle.

  And its name was horror.

  People in the crowd screamed and gasped as Bob’s body quickly began to inflate, blowing up from the inside like a water balloon. There was a cracking sound, audible even over the roar of the crowd—what Jake intuited immediately to be Bob’s ribs snapping.

  Then, as everybody watched, a… thing, broke through Bob’s back, punching through like a pencil through a piece of paper, speckling those standing closest with claret.

  ‘Bob!’ cried Jake.

  More things began to pop through Bob’s abdomen—what looked to Jake to be limbs. He saw hands and feet (or their demonic equivalents, at least). What might have been a knee, or possibly an elbow. They were climbing their way out of him—whatever “they” were—tearing their way out like an impatient baby from its mother’s womb.

  Eliza turned to Moss. ‘Quick—Moss!’

  But Moss was already on it. He turned the gun in Bob’s direction and, not hesitating for a moment, pulled the trigger.

  There was a flash of light. A whoosh of heat, so close Jake could feel the hairs on his arms burning.

  A moment later, Bob was gone.

  Jake and the others stared down at what remained of Vaguely Mexican Bob; now little more than a pile of smoldering ash on the ground.

  Jake felt his shoulders slump.

  Uh-oh.