They heaved forward, a mess of scrabbling claws — hands — and they were on him. The bat swung like it knew the moves to this dance, a touch there breaking an arm, a solid hit there knocking the wind out of another. Val had a single, pure moment to marvel at how he knew how to move this well — you might make it out of this alive, you might just — before one of them sank its teeth into his arm.
He yelled, the pain cutting through everything as blood bubbled up and around the teeth in his flesh. He tried to shake it — it’s just some guy, he’s got a Walmart apron on — off, more blood welling up. Another one tackled him around his middle, and the three of them — Christ, where’s the other one, where did it go — fell to the ground. The world shrank to immediate, bright points — the pain of his arm, a ragged end of agony attached to him, the breath knocked out of him, some piece of stone or wood or God only knew digging into his spine. Val felt the false strength of adrenaline wearing thin, his struggles becoming less effective. The virus in his veins was taking its toll, and here — well, Val, this is how it ends. You don’t get to save the world this time.
The weight on his chest lifted, the one that had tackled him — middle aged woman, hair in curlers, a stylist’s bib still around her neck — pulled off and up into the air. John. John had lifted her, raising her whole body above him. John dropped her down, spine against his knee, and the woman’s movement’s stilled. Val was still wrestling with Walmart, and he saw John pick up his piece of timber, step forward, and swing it. Val’s free hand came up involuntarily to cover his face as John’s swing connected with the back of the man’s head. The grip of teeth lessened, and Val pushed the other man’s body away. John held a hand out, and Val got to his feet.
They were breathing hard. Val swallowed, then said, “Thanks.”
“This shit,” said John between lungfuls of air, “was easier when you were super-powered.”
Val pointed at the man with the Walmart apron on, blood and saliva running down the man’s chin. His eyes were closed but he was still breathing. “That one’s still alive.”
“I don’t think so,” said John. “Take a closer look.”
Val took a couple steps forward, bent down with his hands braced on his knees. It’s easy to forget just how much effort it is to do anything at all when you’re normal. The other man’s color was changing, red patches blooming over his skin. Blood began to seep out through his closed eyes, and after a moment the body began to sag, pulling itself apart from within. Val reached a hand out, but there wasn’t anything to be done. He caught the shaking in his own hand. It’s only a matter of time before that happens to you. You’re on the clock, Everard, and there’s no snooze button at the end. “The virus.”
“I figure,” said John. “The good news is that if they try to eat you, you’ll take ‘em with you.”
“I’m not sure that’s good news,” said Val, “for anyone in the situation you just described.”
“Well, there’s one piece of genuinely good news,” said John.
“How you figure?” said Val. “The city’s fucked, and I’m dying of an engineered military virus.”
“Well, that’s it,” said John. “You’re not. I was trying to tell you at the bar — I don’t think they got it all. Like they were using a hose to siphon out all the gas, but got interrupted. There’s a little left in the bottom of the tank.”
“Maybe,” said Val. “Makes sense. But…”
“But what?”
“It’s just going to keep me alive to watch how this ends,” said Val. “It’s not going to do anything. It’s not going to help.”
“Turn that frown upside down,” said John. “Let’s get back to base and work this one through. We need a plan.”
“We also need a base,” said Val. “All we got is an apartment.”
“Yeah,” said John. “That’s our base. Use your imagination a little. You said you were the smart one.”
Val felt himself smiling, in spite of it all. The Night was gone, most of it having left him, but John was here, and together, they might just be able to save the world anyway.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“You need to go in after her.” The boy leaned against the side of the Yukon, the edges of his frame soft against the light of winter’s sun. “She’s not going to make it.”
“She’ll make it,” said Adalia, meaning, She’s got to make it. “She’s Carlisle.”
“That’s right,” said the boy. “She’s only Carlisle.”
“I’ve seen her save the world.”
The boy thought on that for a few beats. “I don’t know about that. I’ve only ever seen her save you guys.”
It was Adalia’s turn to pause, her voice hardening. “She’ll be fine.”
The boy spun on her, all angry eyes and black lashes. “She’s just a, a person! She can die.”
Adalia let out a noise, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “I know,” she said.
“So get in there.” The boy walked a few paces away from the Yukon, then came back in front of her. “I know you want to. You’re out here in the cold instead of in the car.”
“I don’t know what I want,” said Adalia. She would do it for you. “I don’t want my mom to hurt her.”
“Your mom won’t hurt you,” said the boy. “You know that.”
“She’s not herself,” said Adalia. “I’m not sure.” But she found her feet taking the first nervous steps towards the front of the store, steps that turned into a halting run. She came up against the dark frame of the doorway, broken glass crunching under her feet as she looked inside.
Black, black, and more black. A hint of a fallen shelf, a bright spark from the edge of the room as something electrical hissed and spat the last of its life away. She felt him at her elbow, close enough to touch. She almost did, but reached a hand out to push the door open instead. It hissed against the shock set at the top of the frame, the bottom scraping against old linoleum and pieces of glass as she pushed it open. Water droplets tapped like a hundred tiny fingers against her hair as she stepped inside, the sprinklers raining their own misery into the room.
She felt the presence of something massive shifting in the gloom, the smell of wet fur in the air. A low growl, the bass heavy in it so as to make it almost directionless, came at her out of the gloom. Adalia swallowed. Her heart was hammering, hammering, hammering in her chest, and she felt so full of fear that she was sure it would make her burst. Adalia opened her mouth to call into the gloom, but no noise came out.
“That’s probably not a good idea,” he said. “I wouldn’t do that.”
Adalia swallowed, ignoring him. She tried to find her voice around the frail fingers of fear at her throat. “Mom?”
The darkness at the back of the store shifted as two glowing eyes turned to face her. Adalia froze, nothing conscious in it at all, she was rooted to the spot like someone had glued her feet in place. The creature moved with an urgency born of hate, stamping through the store, tossing a shelf aside, a cascade of sanitary products falling like rain. It came to stand before her. Adalia looked up at it, took in the teeth and claws, something wet and red around its muzzle. Please, no. “Mom?”
“Kid?” said Carlisle’s voice from across the room, her voice a steady calm born of long practice. “Kid, I think you need to step back, nice and slow.”
The creature turned to face Carlisle, and Adalia followed its gaze. Carlisle was standing — she’s alive, thank you thank you thank you — behind the counter, her arm hooked under the unconscious form of Ajay. The man’s head lolled, eyes closed, but he appeared otherwise unharmed. Carlisle’s other arm was pointed out at the creature, her sidearm held in her hand. Adalia could see the faintest tremor in the weapon, could see Carlisle’s eyes were wide with a kind of fear she’d never seen before.
“It’s okay, Melissa,” said Adalia. “It’s—”
The creature roared, flexing its arms, the claws bared. Saliva and worse dripped from its muzzle, and it licked its li
ps. It took a step, then another, towards Carlisle.
“Mom!” Adalia skipped sideways, putting herself in front of the thing. She waved her arms above her head. “Mom. It’s Carlisle. You remember Carlisle, don’t you?”
The creature tipped its head to one side, ears forward like a curious dog. Adalia was aware that Carlisle was on the move, the sound of shuffle drag, shuffle drag as she pulled Ajay with her. Adalia swallowed, her eyes moving towards the boy. He shrugged, then said, “This one’s a bit outside my area of expertise.”
The creature’s head turned whip quick to look at the boy. Its yellow eyes narrowed — she can see him! — and it took a step towards him.
Adalia watched him swallow, taking a nervous step back. One of his arms passed through a broken shelf, and her mind shied away from what she saw. “Mom. Don’t look at him. Look at me.”
“Look at who, kid?” Carlisle was close behind her. “No, doesn’t matter. Go. Get gone. You’ve done your part.”
“No,” said Adalia.
“Kid—”
“No,” she hissed. “Please, Melissa. Please go.” Adalia watched as the creature — Mom, it’s Mom — paced around the boy, low and steady like a hunting cat. It growled again.
“Your mom,” said Carlisle, “will kill me if I go. She will also kill me if I stay. I’m kinda fucked here.” Adalia caught the barrel of Carlisle’s sidearm as it moved into her peripheral vision.
“We go together,” said Adalia.
“Together,” said Carlisle. Adalia could see her friend had made it close to the door. The Yukon sat, black and heavy, outside. Out of reach. “Thing is—”
The creature roared, taking a savage lunge at the boy. One of its claws passed through the space where he stood, and Adalia heard a sound like the scream of angels for the tiniest sliver of a moment before he flickered, guttering out like a candle snuffed on the wind. It turned lambent eyes at them, taking a step forward.
“No!” Carlisle’s voice was heavy with — Dread? Panic? — and Adalia saw what was coming. Carlisle gave her one last look, and Adalia could see the decision in her eyes. Draw it off. Be the shield. Her friend’s hand tightened on the sidearm’s grip, and Adalia wanted to scream, but there wasn’t time. The gun roared, the strength of the blast pushing air and heat and light past Adalia’s head. Adalia could hear Carlisle shouting something — Here! It’s me you want! Not her! — each word covered by a shot, and she felt the passing of the bullets as Carlisle fired again and again at the creature, the rounds hitting it square in the chest. It held a massive clawed hand up in front of its face, then shook its head as Carlisle’s weapon clicked empty.
Adalia swallowed, turning her head between Carlisle and the creature. She could see Carlisle’s face white with terrible purpose, and her friend opened her mouth to speak.
“No,” said Adalia, and lunged at her friend. Carlisle was caught flat footed, the weight of Ajay held in front of her catching her off guard. Adalia put all she could into it, her small frame canted at an angle as she put both hands against Carlisle and pushed her out and through the door to stumble back into the car park.
Adalia turned back to look at the creature. Its jaws were wide, and it looked at her, at the door, at her, at the door. “Mom!” Adalia screamed the word at it. “Stop!”
The thing stopped looking at the door, focusing on her. Adalia felt the weight of its gaze, the yellow of its eyes a murky glow. It took a step towards her, one clawed hand raised, the motion slow. Gentle as a moth’s wing, the clawed hand touched Adalia on the cheek. Adalia felt her terror return now her friend was out — safe! — and readied herself for the end.
The creature gave a chuff, chuff, then took a step back. Its hand pulled away like it had touched something hot, and its eyes widened before it let out a howl full of pain and loneliness. It spun, charging through the store and out the back. It shouldered aside wood and brick to burst into the air beyond, and Adalia lost sight of it as it ran into the winter air.
Adalia realized she was crying, the tears falling down her face. She felt rough hands on her shoulders, and she was spun around to face Carlisle. “Are you crazy? What were you thinking? You could have been killed!”
Adalia held her face behind her hair. “She would have killed you. He said I had to help. He said … I didn’t want to lose you too.” Her voice ran out as she choked out a sob.
Carlisle’s face went from hard planes of anger and fear to something softer. She pulled Adalia close in a savage embrace, and Adalia felt her shaking. Carlisle’s voice was soft against her hair as she said, “Shhhh. It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
∙ • ● • ∙
“Who were you talking to?” Carlisle’s hands gripped the steering wheel of the big Yukon, guiding it down the old side road, fallen debris crunching under the wheels. It was the first thing she’d said in the half hour since … since the convenience store. Thinking of it like that made it easier, like a person hadn’t died. Like it was a place, not an event.
Adalia straightened in the passenger seat next to Carlisle. “No one.”
“Kid,” said Carlisle, “I’m not in the mood.”
Adalia knotted the edges of her sweater in her fingers, pulling at the hem, stretching it. “Promise you won’t tell.”
“I’m not promising shit,” said Carlisle. “Today’s not that kind of day.”
“Then I’m not telling you shit,” said Adalia, something fierce and unexpected in her tone.
Carlisle pulled the Yukon to an abrupt halt. “Here’s how it is,” she said. She held up a hand as Adalia was about to speak. “Just give me the floor for a second, okay?”
She’s so tired. Adalia could see it in the lines on Carlisle’s face, in the way her shoulders were a little less than perfectly straight. With a small nod, Adalia said, “Okay.”
Carlisle ran a hand through her hair, trying to tease it out. She wasn’t looking at Adalia as she started to speak. “The reason I won’t promise not to tell is that’s how people die.” Adalia saw her friend tightening her grip on the wheel. “No. I said no lies between us, didn’t I? Okay.” She took in a couple deep breaths. “Okay. Okay. I don’t want to tell you this, and you sure as hell don’t want to hear it, but here we are in the fucking woods chasing your mother who’s gone all feral. We’ve got an unconscious guy in the back seat, and my deodorant gave out an hour or more back.” Her words ran out like a clock winding down, then she took another deep breath. “That’s what he always asked,” she said, at last.
“Who?”
“He always asked me not to tell. Said it was…” Carlisle broke off. Adalia could see her fingers were gripping the steering wheel so hard they were white. “He’d come into my room, sometimes with the liquor in him, sometimes not. Didn’t matter if I was asleep or not. Or pretending to. And after…”
Her face was wet with tears, and Adalia reached out a hand to her. “Melissa…”
“No.” Carlisle shook herself, wiping her face with an angry hand. “I said no more tears for that bastard. No more fear. No more hiding.” She cleared her throat. “After he was done, he always made me promise not to tell. It was something special, he said, that other people wouldn’t understand. Do you hear me? Do you hear what I’m saying?”
“Yes,” said Adalia, her voice a whisper.
“So,” said Carlisle, her tone turning brisk. “Who the fuck were you talking to?”
“Did you ever…” Adalia looked out at the woods around them. “Did you ever feel like people wouldn’t believe you?”
“Every day,” said Carlisle. “He always said that no one would believe me if I said anything. No one would believe the word of a child over the word of…” She stopped herself. “Enough of that story, but sure. I reckon people would have had trouble swallowing it down. If only because the truth of it was so monstrous.”
“I … I’ve met someone,” said Adalia.
“Right,” said Carlisle. “How’d you manage
that in Hicksville, Alaska?”
“I met him in the shower,” said Adalia. She saw the angry flash in Carlisle’s eyes, and held up a hand. “What did you say? Give you the floor?”
Carlisle nodded, the movement slow. “There’s gonna come a time when you can’t use my own lines against me, kid.”
“Today is not that day,” said Adalia, a small smile resting on her lips. “It’s not like what you think.”
Slipping the Yukon back in gear, Carlisle let the big machine start to roll forward again. “Tell me what I should think, then.”
Adalia let her hair fall down to cover her face, then pushed it aside. No lies between us. No hiding. “I don’t know his name, or where he comes from. And I think Mom can see him, when she’s a … a monster.”
“I’ve known real monsters,” said Carlisle, her voice dark at the edges. “Your mom ain’t no monster.”
“Okay,” said Adalia, “but back to the shower. So I was there, and the soap got in my eyes. I was reaching outside the curtain for a towel, and I felt something cold. Like the door had opened, right?”
“Right,” said Carlisle.
“Right,” said Adalia, “so I found the towel, and I wiped the soap from my eyes, and there he was.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re not very good at telling stories,” said Carlisle. “It’s honest criticism. There’s shit you need to know in a story, like how it begins, and how it ends, and the names of the fuckers in the story.”
“He doesn’t remember his name,” said Adalia, “or it’s against the rules to tell me.”
“Rules?” Carlisle turned the wheel, pushing the Yukon further into the woods. Her gaze was intent, focused on tiny details that were invisible to Adalia.
“I think he’s an angel,” said Adalia.
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