Night: Final Awakening Book Three (A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller)

by J. Thorn

  Keeping her finger on Ambrose’s chest, Bronwyn turned to Jaraca. She looked the dark woman up and down, biting her lip.

  “The same thing you both want. Which begs the question of why I’m even here talking to the two of you.”

  “We were discussing ways to pool our power, to deal with this new threat to all of us,” Ambrose said.

  Bronwyn removed her finger from his chest. “Well then, please fill me in.”

  Sauntering over to a leather chair in the corner of the room, Bronwyn sat down—keeping her eyes on Ambrose. She hesitated for a moment before crossing her legs, giving Ambrose a glimpse of her hidden gem. Her smooth legs glistened in the candle light. Ambrose snickered and looked away while Jaraca hissed.

  “I can feel the tension in this city,” Ambrose said. “We would rather not have to work together.”

  “That’s an understatement,” Bronwyn said.

  Ambrose ignored the jab. “But as I was telling Jaraca, none of us will get what we want if we let the human win.”

  “Then we don’t let him. He’s nothing but that—a human.”

  “That’s what I said,” Jaraca said.

  Ambrose sighed. “Do not underestimate him. The prophecy clearly states that—”

  “Oh, forget about the prophecy,” Bronwyn said, waving her hand toward Ambrose as if to sweep away his concerns. “Look around. Have you done that lately?” Bronwyn stood up and approached the window. She threw open the heavy, velvet drapes. “Look at what your pets have already done to the city.”

  From the third story window, many nearby buildings could be seen. Those not completely collapsed from fire continued to burn from the inside out. A heavy, oily smoke suffocated the city.

  “That is exactly my point,” Ambrose said. “I did this with only my army. Now imagine if we combined our resources.”

  “I still don’t understand why you think that’s necessary. Again, we are talking about one human.”

  In truth, Bronwyn knew much more than she would dare say in front of these two. She had, after all, sent a gang of her best soldiers to find the human. She’d felt their vampiric life forces wink out of existence. He was powerful. Bronwyn knew it.

  “Our biggest mistake would be to underestimate him,” Ambrose said.

  Bronwyn went to the North American Master. She put both of her hands on his shoulders and then ran them over his chest. He allowed it, not pushing her away. Bronwyn could feel Jaraca’s eyes boring through her—she could feel the heat of the South American’s anger burning like the decimated city on the other side of the wall.

  “That sounds great and all,” Bronwyn said, sliding her hands down to his stomach. “But how are you going to convince him?” Bronwyn raised her hand up and took hold of Ambrose’s chin, and turned it toward the door to see that his fourth guest had entered the room.

  18

  Dax went into survival mode and managed to roll over the back of the pew, evading the women’s attack for a moment, but they chased him into the second row—kicking at his legs, ribs, and head, which he protected with his hands.

  After seemingly wearing themselves out during the assault, the women quit, finally. Groaning, Dax stood up and winced as he drew a deep breath.

  “What the fuck is your problem?”

  One of the women kicked him in the ribs again, and Dax doubled over. Another one of the women then chopped the back of his neck so that he dropped to the floor.

  Enough of this.

  Dax sprang up like a sprinter coming off the mark and barreled forward, driving his shoulder into the woman directly in front of him. But she’d sidestepped his charge at the moment of impact, and was able to spin him into the pew across the aisle using his own momentum. The pain shifted from his ribs to his shoulder, and he grabbed it as one of the women followed and kicked him in the legs.

  Reaching for his belt, Dax drew his knife.

  They stepped back as he stood up, pointing the tip of the blade at them. He rotated the knife then, aiming it at each woman as if daring them to come at him now that he had a weapon.

  The redhead ran at him, and Dax slashed at her. She ducked, and one of the other women—the blonde with the sides of her head shaved—chopped at his hand hard enough to force him to drop the knife. The third girl, the young black woman with braids, rolled in front of Dax and picked up the knife, then flipping right back up onto her feet. The blonde girl bent Dax’s wrist back before sending him down to the floor, the back of his head slamming off of the pew.

  He groaned and rubbed the base of his neck. His entire body ached, but the women had resumed their fighting positions. Looking behind him as he caught his breath, Dax saw the painting of Jesus again.

  “He’s watching, you know,” he said to the girls, letting out a tired laugh.

  The blonde girl raised her leg and connected with a kick to Dax’s jaw. He swayed, but managed to stay on his feet. As he turned his head back toward them again, he wiped a trail of blood from the corner of his mouth. Stumbling, he let out another worn laugh. These girls had beaten the shit out of him, knocking him silly. Dax saw six girls in front of him now, not three.

  Dax suddenly felt both of his arms being pinned behind his back, and through his double-vision, he saw the face of the redhead in front of him. She wrapped her hand around his neck. Dax coughed once and then gasped for air.

  “Which group are you with?” the girl asked. It was the first time any of them had spoken since emerging from the other side of the church.

  Dax cocked his head sideways. “What?”

  The redhead squeezed his throat tighter and the other two girls pulled back on his arms. He tried to pull away, but the women were stronger than they looked. Their size and appearance had fooled him.

  “You’re one of them,” the redhead girl said. “And I want to know which faction you’re with. Europe? North America? And why are you out here by yourself?”

  Shaking his head, Dax said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  The redhead let go of his throat and Dax gasped for air. With his arms still pinned by the other two girls, he was unable even to massage his throat.

  Turning her back to him, the redhead walked to the other side of the room. When she returned, she was holding a knife in her hand—one that was much bigger than Dax’s. In the moonlight creeping into the church, the silver blade glared.

  “What are you doing?” Dax asked.

  “About to get the answers I want.” The redhead looked at the other two women. “Hold him down.”

  She brought the blade forward, and Dax fought to break their grip on his arms. In desperation, he managed to shake the black girl off. But before he could stop the redhead, the blonde girl swept his leg from under him.

  Dax fell, hitting the back of his head on the armrest of the pew behind him. The redhead bent down and yelled something at him even as he passed out.

  19

  Jing used his shoulders to knock Ambrose’s guards aside as he entered. Two of his own marched behind him. The two guards flanking Ambrose moved from his side and positioned themselves in the center of the room to block Jing’s path. Jaraca and Bronwyn watched silently.

  “Let him through,” Ambrose said.

  Jing looked at Ambrose’s lieutenants as they split, and then he leveled his gaze on Ambrose.

  “I should strike them down right in front of you. That would be a start to setting things right.”

  “They are nothing,” Ambrose said. “I have hundreds more just like them.”

  “Then where is your right hand? Put him before me, Ambrose, and let me show you how it feels to have your first lieutenant eliminated.”

  Ambrose laughed. “You can make another. She turned out to be weak anyway.”

  “You betrayed me,” Jing said, ignoring the insult tossed at Seyana. “You dishonored the Master’s code.”

  “I did no such thing. Serafino killed her.”

  “And where is he? If what you say is true, then he de
serves to be punished for his transgression. I will strike him down in front of you.”

  “I hate to break it to you, but the real threat has beat you to it.”

  Jing furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, Serafino was killed. By a human.”

  Jing crossed his arms and laughed. “A human? Impossible. Your soldiers must be as weak as you.”

  “Not any human,” Ambrose said. “One who seems to have the power to fight back, to kill the undead.”

  “Nonsense,” Jing said. “Those prophecies are ridiculous, and you know it.”

  “See?” Bronwyn asked, looking at Ambrose. “I told you he wouldn’t believe it.”

  “I will tell you the same thing I told the two ladies here,” Ambrose said. “It’s clear what each of us wants. But we must capture the human before all else. Otherwise, we might not be around to negotiate with each other.”

  “All right,” Jing said. “Let’s assume that’s true.”

  “Oh, now, this is getting fun,” Bronwyn said to Jaraca with a big smile on her face.

  Jing ignored her, shaking his head. “What happens when we find him?”

  Ambrose thought about the question, looking at the faces of the other Masters before answering. “I haven’t thought that far ahead yet.”

  Jing laughed. “Of course you haven’t. Because it’s not going to happen.”

  “Could you have ever imagined all four of us would be sitting in the same room without killing each other?” Ambrose asked. “That is happening. Is it not?”

  “I came here for one reason, and that’s to see justice for the unjustified murder of my dear Seyana.”

  “Please tell me you boys are going to fight. Wouldn’t you like to see that?” Bronwyn asked Jaraca.

  Again, Jing ignored Bronwyn and kept his attention focused on Ambrose. “You know what I want.”

  “And I’ve already told you, Serafino has paid for his lack of judgment. The human killed him.”

  Jing grimaced. “This isn’t fair.”

  “I never said it was,” Ambrose said. “Sit down and let us see if we can come to an agreement on our next course of action. Let me at least explain some of the possibilities. If you do not like my ideas, then we can part and prepare for war.”

  Jing scanned the others’ faces. Jaraca had the same stone-faced expression she’d held throughout the meeting, and Bronwyn couldn’t wipe the smile from her face. She was the first to answer Ambrose.

  “Oh, what the hell? I will agree to sit and listen.” She winked at Jaraca. “What do you say, beautiful?”

  Jaraca glanced at Jing, then looked to Ambrose and nodded.

  All three turned to Jing for his answer. The leader of the Asian faction had tightened his fists until his fingernails cut into his palms, drawing blood. He let out a long sigh, and then nodded.

  Ambrose smiled. “Good, good.”

  Jing adjusted his white coat and walked over to Ambrose, stopping a few feet from him. “But rest assured that, when this is over, I will have my revenge. I will punish you for what you did to Seyana.”

  Chuckling, Ambrose smiled and nodded. “Fine, Jing. If you insist. But for now, follow me to the dining hall. The four of us have much planning to do.”

  20

  When Dax’s eyes fluttered open, he couldn’t see anything in the dark. He wasn’t sure if he was awake or if he was visiting Papa Midnight again. All he knew was that he couldn’t see and that he was sitting on a hard surface.

  He tried to stand up, but something bound his wrists and kept him from moving. Sweat poured down his face, too, and with it he realized that his head had been covered in cloth. If he was dreaming, this felt even more real than his visits to Papa Midnight.

  “What the fuck? Get this off my head! I can’t breathe!”

  He heard footsteps come closer just before someone yanked the hood off of him.

  The blonde knelt in front of him. She held a black sack in her hand and was looking back at the other two girls, who sat on the altar.

  “He’s awake.”

  Dax caught his breath and saw candles lighting the room. As his eyes adjusted, he found it hard to believe that these three women had kicked his ass. None of them could have been more than a hundred and thirty pounds. Both the blonde and the black girl had muscle tone, but they should have been no match for Dax—who stood over six feet tall and outweighed each of them by at least a hundred pounds.

  The blonde girl rose, and the other two hopped off the altar and came to stand next to Dax.

  “How long was I out?” Dax asked.

  “Long enough for us to figure out you weren’t one of them.”

  “One of who?”

  “Don’t play games,” the black girl said. “The creatures roaming the night.”

  He had known the girls were asking him about Screamers, but his muddled brain was still trying to recover from the beating.

  “Not just the night,” Dax said. “They’re adapting. I’ve encountered some that could be in the sun, too.”

  “Which is exactly why we had to be careful,” the redhead said. “You seemed human, but we had to be sure.”

  “How are you sure?” Dax asked.

  The redhead took a step forward and kicked the chains binding his wrists. “Those are silver. There’s a lot we don’t know about them, but we do know none of them react well to silver, and that you can kill any of them with a stake through the heart or a beheading.” She shrugged. “We figured this was a better way to check than either of the other two ways.”

  “Thanks.” Dax pulled on the chains. “Well, now that you know, how about letting me go?”

  “Now how smart would that be?” the redhead asked.

  “You know I’m human.”

  “But that doesn’t mean you’re a good guy,” the black girl said.

  Dax sighed. “And how am I supposed to convince you of that?”

  “You can start by telling us why you’re out there roaming the roads alone,” the redhead said.

  “Haven’t exactly fared well in groups,” Dax said. “I do better on my own.”

  “Where’d you come from?”

  “Who’s to say I’m not from around here?”

  “Because we’ve searched this whole area,” the blonde said. “Trust me when I say we’d have seen you by now.”

  “I came up from New Orleans. Been traveling Highway 49 for a couple of days now.”

  The three girls stared at each other before turning back to face Dax, their mouths open.

  “What?” Dax asked, seeing the confusion on the girls’ faces.

  “How did you get out of New Orleans?” the blonde asked.

  “That place was a wreck,” the black girl said.

  “That where y’all from?”

  The three girls nodded.

  “Makes sense,” Dax said. “You definitely don’t look like you’re from around here.”

  “We got split up from the rest of our group, and we headed north,” the redhead said. “We’d been fighting in New Orleans, but things got too chaotic. You said that you were with a group. What happened?”

  Dax hesitated. These girls still didn’t trust him, and he didn’t trust them either. He didn’t want to relive the story, but he decided he’d have to give them some real information so the women might show him some compassion.

  Plus, he had to admit it was nice to talk to other people instead of fighting all the demons inside of his head.

  “The group I was with started out large but became smaller and smaller. In the end, it was just me, a few kids, and an old man. But I lost them all.”

  “I’m sorry,” the redhead said.

  Dax shrugged. “We’ve all lost people, right? Anyway, I have to believe the kids are still alive and somewhere in the northern part of Mississippi. So that’s where I’m headed. The old man who was with me, Papa Midnight, he knew a lot about the—”

  “What did you say?” the black girl asked.

 
“I said I’m headed north and—”

  “No. The name you mentioned,” the redhead said.

  “Papa Midnight?” Dax smiled. “You know him?”

  The redhead bit her lip as she stared at Dax. She then looked over at the blonde.

  “Take his chains off.” She looked back at Dax. “We can trust him. He’s one of us.”

  21

  Massaging his wrists, Dax sat in the front pew. His head throbbed, and he felt bruises blossoming all over his body, but it was nice to sit down without fear of being assaulted.

  The blonde came from the other room with a mug in her hand. Steam rose from the top.

  “Hot tea?” she asked.

  “No coffee?”

  “Sorry. We ran out a while back.”

  “I was joking. Tea is a damn blessing at this point.” He accepted the cup and thanked her.

  “I’ve got these for you, too,” she said, holding out her palm.

  Dax extended his hand and she dropped two aspirin into it.

  “Thanks.”

  He threw the pills back and used the tea to wash them down.

  “I guess it might be a good idea to start over,” the redhead said. “What’s your name?”

  “Dax,” he said, taking another sip of his tea.

  “Nice to meet you, Dax. I’m Alex.” She pointed to the black girl. “This is Zoe.” Then to the blonde. “And that’s Morgan, but we call her ‘Saw.’”

  Dax stared the blonde up and down. “Got an explanation for that nickname?”

  The girl shrugged. “Picked it up when I was younger. I was always good with tools and weapons. I had a knack for cutting through the bullshit. Some kid started calling me ‘Saw’ one day and it stuck.”

  “All right then,” Dax said, taking another sip of his tea—black but weak. He made a circle with his index finger. “So, how’d you all get together?”

  “We’re Casket Girls.”

  Dax tried not to spit out his tea. “What? Sounds like some crazy goth shit. What’s that other thing? The Suicide Girls! Right?”