Nocturnal: A Novel

by Scott Sigler

  Adam snapped his arm forward. A long-barreled pistol slid into his hand. Before Bryan could even move, three silenced puffs coincided with three hard hammer-hits against his chest.

  Bryan took a step back, blinking in surprise, then his hands felt up and down his chest, feeling for blood. There was none. There wasn’t even a hole in the jacket.

  Adam smiled, lifted the gun and blew smoke from the barrel. “Field testing. Good thing that armor worked, huh?”

  “Asshole!” Bryan said. “What the fuck, man? What if you hit me in the face?”

  “Sorry about that,” Adam said. “I, uh, I guess I got a little mad.”

  The same words Bryan had used after hitting Adam. This guy didn’t forget a thing, it seemed. Bryan’s hands kept feeling up and down the coat, hands searching for any sign of the bullet impact, but the fabric felt normal. “What the hell is this made out of?”

  “The core is a layer of shear-thickening fluid,” Adam said. “It’s sandwiched on either side by nanocomposite and fronted by spider-silk protein fiber-matrix.”

  Nanocomposite? Spider-silk? “What are you, a mad doctor or something?”

  “He’s not mad,” Alder said. “But he is a doctor. Thrice over. My grandson holds doctorate degrees in physics, metallurgy and medieval history.”

  Adam pushed his pistol back into its hidden sleeve holster. “That’s okay, pig. I’m sure your community college associate’s degree stacks up quite well. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about the jacket’s material, ’cause it gets the job done. There’s hidden slits in the lower back so you can get at your guns.”

  Bryan reached to the small of his back. His hands naturally slid into the slots. He felt the cool handles of the FNs. He pulled the guns out, smooth as silk, then slid them back in — they clicked home into the hidden holster.

  Bryan realized he might have to reconsider his opinion of Adam. This stuff was amazing.

  “There’s more,” Adam said. “Check out the similar slit just in front of your elbow.”

  Bryan slid his hand into the slit and felt a handle. He pulled and found himself holding a knife with a narrow, six-inch blade. “That’s amazing. I didn’t even know that was there. Other arm too?”

  “Of course.”

  “Remind me not to wear this coat in a metal detector.”

  “You can,” Adam said. “The knives are ceramic. The sheaths are loaded with the silver paste. Every time you put the blade back in, they get a fresh dose.”

  Bryan slid the knife back into the elbow slot, where it clicked home. “Nice. Any other toys in here?”

  Adam pointed to the front pockets. “Hat and gloves of the same material. Check out the hat, it has an extra feature.”

  Bryan found a black skull cap in the pocket. He put it on.

  “Now feel for a snap in the back,” Adam said. “Unclip it and pull it forward.”

  Bryan did. A flap of the thick material came off the top. He pulled it forward. It hung down in front of his face, but he could still see thanks to eye slits. He looked at himself in the Dodge’s tinted window. The heavy black fabric reached down below his Adam’s apple. Not a single identifying feature showed — he could be anyone.

  “Don’t get cocky with that,” Adam said. “The mask will stop knife cuts, maybe even a small-caliber bullet, but kinetic energy still gets transferred to your head. Someone shoots you point-blank in the head with a Magnum, your brains are going to be bouncing all around the inside of your skull.”

  “I’ll make a note.” Bryan pulled the fabric off his face and rolled it back behind his head. It snapped into place. Once again, it looked like he was wearing nothing but a skullcap. “Give me a gun for Pookie.”

  Adam reached into the back of the Magnum, opened up a case and handed over a five-seven and three magazines. Bryan wondered what other goodies the Jessup boys had in the back of that car, but that was for another time. Bryan put the gun and magazines in his coat pockets.

  “You guys be ready to haul ass when I get back,” he said. “Make room in that car for Erickson.”

  Adam reached into another drawer and handed over a small black box with a red button.

  “If you get in trouble, hit that,” he said. “Gramps and I don’t want to go near your mutie littermates, but if you need us, we’ll come.”

  Bryan nodded. Maybe he had underestimated the Jessups. He slid the box into the pocket of his new coat, then turned and jogged toward the hospital. He pulled out his cell phone as he ran.

  Bee-boop: “Pookie, you there?”

  Bryan waited. Pookie didn’t answer.

  Bee-boop: “Pookie, you okay?”

  Still no answer.

  Bryan ran faster.

  Into the Breach

  The north wall of San Francisco General Hospital’s mental health wing faces a small, wooded area. That wooded area slopes down on the east side, leading to the eight lanes of Highway 101. The trees on that slope are surprisingly thick. In those trees, hidden in the blackness of night, stood three still figures draped in dull blankets.

  Rex wasn’t going to be some pussy king, hiding in the safe tunnels while he sent his brothers and sisters out to fight. Doing things himself was important. He had to be part of this; he had to have a hand in bringing Savior to justice.

  Sly was on the phone. He talked quietly, nodding at certain points. Rex waited patiently for the update.

  Pierre just stared up at the building, his head turning slowly from side to side. Rex had learned two things about Pierre. First, he was head and shoulders above the others when it came to hunting. Pierre knew where to move, how to move, and he saw things that others missed. Second, he wasn’t that much fun to talk to. Pierre was a badass, but he was a dumb badass.

  Sly slid the phone into a blanket pocket, then stared up at the building just as Pierre did.

  “Well?” Rex said.

  “Sir Voh and Fort said the Jessups’ house was empty,” Sly said. “Dragonbreath and Devil Dan got their target, they’re on their way back home. Bonehead and Sparky are waiting for the doctor girl to leave. Everyone else said their criminals are heading to the Mason Tunnel.”

  Rex nodded. “Tell Bonehead and Sparky to wait another thirty minutes. It’s best if the criminals come to Chief Zou, but if the doctor-lady doesn’t leave, they need to get her. Tell them to bring her in alive if they can. If not, that’s the way it goes.”

  “I’ll call them,” Sly said. “It was wise of you to leave Firstborn behind to watch the chief, my king.”

  Firstborn had desperately wanted to come after Savior, but that wasn’t smart. Rex wasn’t ready to trust Firstborn. Not just yet. Besides — Firstborn had had decades to do the right thing, but he chose instead to stay hidden in the dirt. He didn’t deserve to be part of this.

  A small, blanketed figure appeared on the building’s roof. The figure swung over the edge, dropped to a balcony, hopped from the balcony down to a window ledge, then vanished behind the dark trees as it fell to the ground. Moments later, the blanketed man appeared between the trees, walking slowly down the steep slope to join Rex and the others.

  “My king,” Sucka said. “The roof is clear. I tested the access code and it worked.”

  Chief Zou had done her job. “Good job, Sucka. Did you see Clauser and Chang?”

  Sucka shook his head. “I looked off the roof, but didn’t see them. There are too many buildings — they could be in any one of them. Maybe they already left for the Mason Tunnel.”

  “Maybe,” Rex said. “They should have been there by now. Missus Zou said she would take care of them if they didn’t show, but they could still be here.”

  Pierre’s long tongue flicked up over his long nose. “Ith okay. If they’re here, I’ll kill them. Are you ready?”

  Pierre knelt down on one knee. Rex needed to learn how to scale the buildings like the others, but that would come later. He crawled up onto Pierre’s warm, soft back.

  Pierre stood. Suddenly, Rex was eight feet
tall.

  Rex pulled his blanket tight around his shoulders.

  “It’s time for the bully to get what’s coming to him. Pierre, take me to the roof.”

  Bryan Fights Sly, Rex, Pierre

  Bryan stepped out of the elevator onto the mental health wing’s empty third floor. At 2:15 A.M. the hallway was empty.

  He pressed the two-way button on his phone.

  Bee-boop: “Pooks, you there?”

  No answering tone came. What if Marie’s Children had come while he was at the car?

  Bryan walked quickly down the hall. His hands drifted to the small of his back.

  If they hurt Pookie, I swear I’ll gut them alive.

  Bryan turned the corner and froze. Twenty feet away, in front of Erickson’s door, Pookie Chang lay facedown, hands cuffed behind his back. Standing over him with AR-15s in hand were Jeremy Ellis and Matt Hickman in full SWAT gear.

  Jeremy raised the barrel of his assault rifle until it pointed halfway between him and Bryan. “Stay right there, Clauser,” he said. “Put your hands where I can see them.”

  Bryan’s hands were behind his back, just a quick grab away from his guns. “Pooks, you okay?”

  Pookie looked up. “I’m fine. Seems Chief Zou really wanted us at that crime scene.”

  Hickman gave Pookie a light kick in the shoulder. “Shut up, Chang.”

  Bryan’s anger swelled. “You kick him again and I’ll rip that foot off your body.”

  Jeremy took a step to his right, moving to the other side of the hall to create distance between himself and Hickman. “Hands, Clauser.” Jeremy raised his barrel farther — now it pointed to Bryan’s feet. Could Bryan draw faster than Jeremy could flick the AR-15 up and shoot? No, no way.

  Bryan moved his hands out to his sides.

  “That’s good,” Jeremy said. “I hate to do this, but I’m under orders from the chief to arrest you on sight.”

  What had happened? These guys weren’t even supposed to be here. “Arrest me for what?”

  “She didn’t call me to get my opinion,” Jeremy said. “She said if you guys came back, to take you into custody. That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

  Bryan evaluated his position. Looking down the hall, Jeremy stood on the left side, Hickman on the right. Pookie was on the floor on the right, just in front of the door to Erickson’s room. Hickman took two slow steps forward, increasing the space between himself and his partner. Bryan knew the maneuver. That was basic positioning, but it seemed so surreal — he did that to other people, people didn’t do that to him.

  “Clauser, come on,” Jeremy said, “Make this easy and get on the ground. You know the drill.”

  Bryan couldn’t let this happen. He had to get Pookie off the ground, get Hickman and Jeremy ready to fight whatever was coming. “Jeremy, listen to me. Zou’s turned bad. Just give me a chance to explain.”

  Jeremy raised his weapon the rest of the way; the barrel pointed at Bryan’s chest. “Get on the ground, Clauser. Now!”

  “I can’t.”

  Now Hickman took a half-step forward, weapon also aimed at Bryan’s chest. “Put your hands behind your head and get on your knees!”

  This was the how the game worked: start out calm, polite, then raise your cop-voice volume until the perp gets the picture.

  These fuckers wanted to threaten him? Threaten Pookie? Bryan could rush them, draw and hurt them, kill them, he—

  He shook his head. He couldn’t lose his temper, not now. “Guys, stop yelling. We—”

  That scent, the one he’d smelled on the baby’s clothes, but weaker … he knew this smell exactly — it was the scent from Rex’s bedroom.

  ba-da-bum-bummmm

  Bryan stepped back. That warmth in his chest …

  Oh shit, not now …

  Four figures stepped into the hall behind Hickman and Ellis — four figures draped in blankets. In that split second, Bryan saw their faces and knew that his dreams, the monsters in the basement, Rex’s drawings, that all of it was real.

  The snake-man (Sly) the dog-face (Pierre), a little guy with a giant hooked nose (the one Pookie saw on the roof) all striding forward along with the tiny Rex Deprovdechuk.

  “Behind you!” Bryan started toward Erickson’s door but hadn’t made it half a step before two bellowing cop voices roared at him.

  “Get the fuck down!” Jeremy screamed at exactly the same time Hickman shouted, “Do not fucking move!”

  Four blankets flared open. Four gun barrels rose.

  Bryan reached for his weapons and ran for Erickson’s door, knowing full well in that horrid, frozen moment of time that he couldn’t do anything to save Ellis and Hickman.

  The crack of a high-caliber weapon, the roar of a shotgun.

  Jeremy’s head rocked forward. His helmet went flying, chin strap flapping as it spun. Hickman was moving his AR-15 to match Bryan’s run when a round caught him in the jaw, shredding flesh, splintering bone and teeth. He fell away to Bryan’s right.

  Bryan felt the five-seven grips in his hands. He drew and fired without aiming as he lowered his shoulder and launched himself over Pookie. Bryan smashed through the door and landed on his right shoulder, big splinters of wood dropping around him.

  ba-da-bum-bummmm

  More warmth in his chest, this time from Erickson.

  Bryan caught a flash glance of Erickson: an old man in a hospital bed, tubes in his arms and under his nose.

  Bryan rolled to his ass. He planted his feet and pushed, sliding on his left shoulder back out the door. Bullets ripped into the door frame above him as he slid between Pookie and the monsters, his fingers flash-flicking the five-seven triggers and sending ten rounds down the hallway.

  The monsters ducked and turned. He saw Rex fall backward, spinning to the right, saw Sly stumble backward. Pierre was a blur, scooping Rex up and smashing through another door farther down the hall.

  Bryan popped up on his feet and fired twice more. He felt a round hit him in the left shoulder as he put his right foot on Pookie, turned his partner so that his head pointed into Erickson’s room, then shoved; on his belly with his hands cuffed behind his back, Pookie slid through the door. Bryan dove in behind him as more rounds ripped into the ravaged door frame.

  He’d pulled each trigger twelve times, leaving eight rounds in each pistol.

  Pookie rolled to his back and sat up. “Bryan, get me out of these!”

  They were outnumbered four to one by motherfucking monsters with guns. Bryan wouldn’t be able to get Erickson and Pookie out through the hall — he’d have to go out the window. He stood, aimed at the glass and flicked each trigger two times. Four rounds flew out in less than a second. Big spiderweb cracks radiated out from four small holes, but the window didn’t break. Security glass. And not just that, there were bars on the other side.

  He’d forgotten he was in a psych ward.

  “Bri-Bri, get me out of these!”

  Bryan slid his left-hand five-seven through the slot in his back, clicking it into the holster. He reached for his pocket before he remembered — he’d left his handcuff key with Jessup.

  A blur ripped through the door. Bryan raised his right hand to fire, but the thing ducked under the barrel. It hit him hard in the chest, wrapping him up and driving him to his back where they both slid across the floor. Bryan’s head smashed into the wall below the window. He felt the attacker slide up to straddle him. Bryan tried to bring his right hand up to shoot, but the attacker grabbed the gun with both hands, ripping it away with shocking strength.

  The attacker drove its head forward. Bryan twisted his head to the right. A jagged pain ripped through his left cheek, fire-brand hot as it tore across his lower-left gumline.

  The thing pulled back, trailing an arc of blood. Bryan saw the weapon — a sharp, blood-covered, hard needle-beak where a nose should have been. In a hundredth of a second, Bryan recalled Susan Panos’s chest, the gaping hole, the lack of blood. This thing was Susie’s killer.


  The monster reared back to drive forward again, but before it could Pookie slammed into it, knocking it off Bryan. Pookie and the thing crashed into the foot of Erickson’s hospital bed.

  Bryan lurched up, his right hand sliding into his left sleeve to grip the handle inside.

  The beak-nose stood and turned just as Bryan stepped forward. Bryan drove the ceramic knife into the thing’s chest with all his newfound strength, punching through the breastbone and into the heart beyond. The eyes above the bloody, curved beak went wide with surprise. Bryan kicked low with his right instep, knocking the monster off his feet while simultaneously pushing down hard on the knife handle, driving the monster to his back.

  “Pookie! Hold this in!”

  Hands still cuffed behind his back, Bryan’s partner threw himself facedown across the stunned monster. Pookie’s belly pinned the knife in place.

  Bryan grabbed his five-seven off the floor just as Sly’s big body came through the doorway. They fired at the same instant, the cracks of gunfire filling the small room. Bryan felt a round hammer into his right hipbone, twisting him back and making him miss twice, but he instantly corrected and put two shots center-mass in Sly’s chest.

  Bryan’s five-seven’s slide had locked on empty — he was out.

  He reached back for his left-hand gun. Before he even gripped the handle, Sly spun away from the door and back into the hall.

  Bryan ejected the spent magazine from his right-hand weapon, slid his hand into a chest slot to grab a fresh one and slammed it home.

  “Monster!”

  Bryan turned. Jebediah Erickson was awake. He looked half drunk and as psycho-angry as an old man could be. Erickson reached to his left with both hands and grabbed a rolling table next to his bed. He hurled it back-handed. Bryan ducked the table, which smashed into the wall.

  Now he had to fight Savior as well? “Knock it off, old man!”

  “Monster! I’ll kill you!”

  “Bryan! A little help here?” Hands still cuffed behind him, Pookie was trying to stay on top of the squirming beak-face. The monster fought, but it didn’t have much strength left.