Night's Fall (Night's Champion Book 2)

by Richard Parry

  The silence held in the apartment as they all looked at Rex. The case rocked a little before it settled, lid open and hiding whatever was inside from the rest of them. Rex opened one eye, looking into the case. “Well, shit,” he said, and tried to slam the lid closed.

  Something was inside, clawing its way out. Legs, long like an insect — except insects don’t grow that big … do they? — edged out of the case. John was already moving, launching himself to land on the case, his bodyweight slamming the lid close with a snap. The legs that had come out of the case sheared off, falling to twitch against the breakfast bar. A green liquid, almost like a sap, was dripping from the ends of them.

  “Don’t open the case,” said Rex. “Don’t open—”

  The case blew open, tossing John away like he weighed no more than an old sheet of newspaper. The lid wrenched free in a splinter of metal as the hinges gave, tumbling and bouncing across the floor of the apartment. Spiders the size of dogs were climbing out of the case to skitter across the bench and on to the floor, or scaling the walls. Val had Raph in his hand, no clear memory of how it had got there, and he took three quick steps across the floor before swinging the bat into the side of a spider. It burst like a piñata, green gore spraying from the end of the bat. Val caught a glimpse of Sky running into the room she shared with John, the door slamming behind her.

  Another spider jumped, landing atop Just James. The kid went down with a scream, holding the spider away from his face with both arms. Val ran towards them, punting the spider away with his foot. He looked back at John, who was — only John would do that — using a spider as a flail against others circling him on the ground. He was alternately swinging the massive arachnid and punching it to keep it subdued.

  Rex. Where’s the old guy? Val hefted the bat, rounding the corner of the breakfast bar. Rex was on his knees, swinging the base of the metal case against the remains of a spider on the ground. Val looked at the bat in his hands, then turned his attention back to John, who still seemed to have the lion’s share of opponents.

  The door to John and Sky’s room opened, Sky charging back through it holding something red in her hand. She took one look at the spiders circling John and ran straight for them. She pointed the red device at a spider and there was a crack, a hole punched through the fat body of the creature. She pointed the device at the ceiling and fired again, an arachnid falling to the ground, limbs still twitching. John was still swinging the remains of his insect as Val joined them, laying about with his bat.

  With a final crack from Sky’s device, followed by a thud as a spider fell from the wall, they looked around the room. Just James was poking his head up over the couch. Rex was leaning with one arm against the breakfast bar’s counter top, the other braced against his back.

  Sky’s eyes were still wild, and she swung the red device back and forth.

  “Hey,” said John. “Baby. It’s cool.”

  She looked at him. “What?”

  “I said, it’s cool.” John let what was left of the spider he was holding fall to the ground.

  She blinked at him, then laughed, the sound a hysterical bark. “Does this … does this look cool to you?”

  John looked around. “Truth?”

  “Truth.”

  “More or less, this is a regular day at the office.” John reached over to carefully ease her fingers away from the device. “Huh.”

  Val leaned forward to look at it. “Is that … is that a Ramset gun?”

  “Yeah,” said John. “I bought it a couple months back.”

  “Why’d you buy a Ramset gun?” Val waved his arms at the room around them. “You live in an apartment. You don’t need those kinds of things.”

  “Thank you, Val,” said Sky. “That’s what I said.”

  John looked hurt. “Two things,” he said. “First, a man always needs tools. Always. Second, does it not look like it’s come in handy?”

  “Son,” said Rex, his hands out in a placating gesture, “now’s probably not the time to be having this conversation. This ain’t how you’re going to build your business case for a Skilsaw.”

  “You know, you’re right,” said John, turning to Val. “Where were you?”

  “Me?” said Val. “I was helping. I helped.”

  “You ran around a lot.” John pointed with the Ramset gun at the walls. Impaled spider corpses hung, and Sky’s few misses were shown by protruding nail heads. “Sky shot some of these things.”

  “I still don’t feel my best,” said Val. He wiped his nose, then noticed the blood on it. “See?”

  “You’ve got a bleeding nose?” said Sky. “That’s it?”

  “Hey,” said Val. “We probably need to brief you on the killer virus.”

  “True,” said John, nodding. “Before we do that, how about a Coke and a smile? Also, how the hell are we going to explain the bodies of giant killer spiders?”

  Val looked around the apartment, taking in the spider corpses, the Ramset holes in the walls, the nails, the green stains on the carpet. “You know, I actually don’t think anyone’s going to care. I think that if giant spiders are the weirdest thing anyone sees in Chicago today, they haven’t gone outside yet.”

  ∙ • ● • ∙

  “It started with a wish,” said Val. “A woman named Elsie Morgan wished that her little girl wouldn’t die.”

  “She was a complete bitch,” said John. Val shot him a flat stare. John shrugged, then gestured with his Coke. “No, you’re right. My bad, it’s your story. You go.”

  “Thanks,” said Val. He looked around at them — Just James, cross-legged on the floor, Sky standing back and leaning against the wall, her face turned away. Rex on the single seat across from them. John sitting next to him on the couch. They’d thrown the spider bodies out the window, then followed them with the remains of the metal case. It had been empty, the matte black interior innocuous, but Sky had said she wasn’t having that thing in her house. It had looked okay, the general vibe of despicable evil having left it with the spiders, but out it went. “So, Birkita—”

  “Wait a minute,” said Rex. “Birkita? What the hell kind of name is that?”

  “You want to tell the story?” said Val.

  “No,” said Rex. “All I’m asking is, who names their kid Birkita? She want her daughter to go into the wrestling team? Because she’d sure as shit learn to fight well, a name like that at school.”

  “Elsie,” said Val, “was the CEO of Biomne. Sam Barnes took over … after. Biomne is — or was, Sam and I don’t really swap postcards — the largest pharmaceutical company on planet Earth. I don’t think she was going to send Birkita to public school.”

  Rex seemed to chew that one over. “Shame. We could probably use more female pro wrestlers.”

  Val rubbed a hand over his face, then looked up at Rex. “Wasn’t it thinking like that that got you into a car crash?”

  “Fair point,” said Rex.

  “So,” said Val, “where were we? Right, Birkita. So, near as I can tell, the kid had cancer, or some other equally shitty disease. All diseases are shitty, but any that kills a kid before they go to their prom is a special version of shit. Elsie had this wish, like I said. She wanted her girl to grow up. You got to figure a thing like that fucks with you, right? You’re head of the company that makes all the drugs, yet your kid is going to die of a disease. I’m using a bit of artistic license here—”

  “Artistic what?” said Sky.

  “License,” said Val. “It’s where—”

  “I know what it is,” said Sky. “You’re telling a story about werewolves. You’re exercising your license already. Just the facts.”

  Val shot John a look. “She always like this?”

  John looked at him, then at Sky, took in the expression on her face, then looked back at Val. “It’s your story, man.”

  “Coward,” said Val. He leaned back against his seat. “Elsie starts doing a Hitler. She looks all over the globe for things that can help, th
at conventional medicine doesn’t know about. Somewhere in Russia, she finds a rumor. Some tiny scrap of information that leads her to some ancient cold war gulag.”

  “A gulag,” said Rex. “An actual internment camp?”

  “No clue,” said Val. “I wasn’t there. The person who was there was named Volk.”

  “Cute,” said Just James.

  “Say what?” Val blinked at him.

  “It’s Russian.” Just James looked around at them all. “I mean, he’s from Russia, sure, but his name means wolf.”

  “How you know that?” said Val. “That’s a really weird piece of information to carry around in your head.”

  “My Dad — my real Dad, that is — was … I mean, is … heck.” Just James looked at his feet for a minute, then tried again. “My Dad’s Russian. I’m learning Russian, you know, so I can…” He trailed off.

  Rex cleared his throat. “What the kid’s trying to say,” he said, “is that it’s probably not his real name.”

  “Was,” said Val.

  “Was?” Rex scratched at his stubble. “You mean, he changed his name?”

  “Was,” said Val, “as in my girlfriend ate him.”

  The silence hung in the room for a little longer than was comfortable before John stepped up. “So,” he said. “Who wants a beer?”

  “I’ll take a beer,” said Val.

  “Me too,” said Rex.

  “I’ll try one,” said Just James.

  “No,” said Rex.

  “What do you mean,” said Sky, “that Danny ate this Russian guy from a gulag, and what’s it got to do with Elsie Morgan?” She looked at John. “Do we still have any Sol?”

  John winced. “I can look.” He moved around to the kitchen and began rooting through the refrigerator. “Good news, bad news.”

  “What’s the good news?” said Val.

  “We’ve got Sol.”

  “That’s not good news,” said Val.

  “The bad news is that the power’s out and all the Sol is warm,” said John. He came back carrying a few bottles. He handed them around. “Back to your story.”

  “Thanks,” said Val, taking a long pull from his beer. He made a face. “That’s really terrible.”

  “It’s the end of the world,” said John. “You’re going to complain about the beer?”

  Val nodded. “I kept saying we should stock some Peroni. But no. You said—”

  “I said that it’s our apartment and you can buy Peroni when you get your own place.” John shrugged. “You know how it is.”

  “That was cold then and it’s damn cold now,” said Val. “Anyway, Sky, to your point, yes. The delight of my life did in fact eat Volk. Or we think so. Let me explain.” He looked across the room, thinking, before putting on an accent. “‘No, there is too much. Let me sum up.’”

  John tilted his head. “Inigo? Princess Bride?”

  Val clinked his beer against John’s. “‘Well remembered.’”

  “Tristan from Stardust?” said Sky.

  “Girl’s on fire,” said Val. He nodded. “Elsie heard that Volk was a man who carried a virus inside him that left him immune to aging, and gave him amazing regenerative powers. She dispatched a team to extract him. Turns out, the virus was a red herring, and he was a werewolf. He and I first met at the Elephant Blues—”

  “Nice bar,” said Rex. “I’ve been there.”

  “Was,” said Val. “It was a nice bar. Pretty sure it’s closed down. Anyway. He turned into a hideous moon beast, killing everyone inside, except for me. Me, he bit, and here I am, werewolf.”

  “You’ve skipped a part,” said Sky. “You skipped the part where Danny ate him.”

  “Right, sorry, I forgot.” Val rubbed his face. “We tracked them—”

  “Them?” said Sky.

  “The bad guys,” said John.

  “The bad guys,” said Val. “We tracked them to their facility—”

  “Lair,” said John. “It was totally a lair.”

  “We tracked them to their lair,” said Val. “There was a fight. Pretty much everyone who was on Team Bad Guy died. I don’t really know the details.”

  “You weren’t there?” Rex frowned. “But—”

  “I was a hideous moon beast,” said Val. “And it turns out Danny was too. I remember they shot her.” He remembered a shadow of what he’d felt then, the feeling of loss, and swallowed. “Sorry. As it happens, that’s not an effective strategy for dealing with werewolves. They shed their human form and kill everyone around them.”

  “So Danny—”

  “Danny turned into a werewolf, joined the fight, and—”

  “She jumped out a tall building and into a forest to track down Volk,” said John. “She met back with us the next morning, and remembered eating him. More or less.”

  “More or less,” said Val. “The details aren’t important. The thing is—”

  “Hold on, son,” said Rex. “I figure the details are pretty important.”

  “Right,” said Just James. “Like, why are there not more werewolves?”

  Val blinked at him. “You do not want more of these things.”

  “Sure,” said the kid, “but why aren’t there more? I mean, how did … what’s your girlfriend’s name?”

  “Danny,” said Sky. “Her name is Danny.”

  “How did Danny get … turned?” Just James looked around at them. “Did you bite her?”

  “If ‘bite’ is a euphemism,” said John, “then sure. I think there was some … action.”

  Rex worked his way to his feet. “Sorry, old bones,” he said. “I need to move around a little. Kid’s got a point though. Why is the world not crawling with … werewolves?” He looked like he’d swallowed a bug. “It’s not that I disbelieve your story,” he said, “but the mind kind of skitters away from saying that kind of thing out loud.”

  “I know, right?” said John. “But it’s cool too.”

  “Very cool,” said Just James.

  “I kill people,” said Val, “without control.”

  “Granted, there are downsides,” said Rex. “Let’s stick to the main trail. Why are there not more? You mentioned a virus?”

  “Still got it,” said Val. “We think that it was used to try and control Volk, but it seems to have no effect. If you inject the virus into a normal person…” He trailed off.

  “Spencer,” said John.

  “That’s a virus?” Rex looked at John, then at Val.

  “It’s a dick,” said John. “Total, man-sized penis.”

  “There was this guy Spencer,” said Val, “who got shot up with the virus. He … melted.”

  “But you’re fine?” Rex frowned.

  “I’m not fine,” said Val. “Since having the … Night … removed by the briefcase, I get nosebleeds all the time and I feel like I’m dying.”

  “You look fine,” said Rex.

  “Your metrics might be flawed from all the time around your octogenarian friends,” said Val.

  “You, son,” said Rex, “have no respect.”

  “That is true,” said Val.

  “I have a theory,” said John.

  “God save us,” said Sky.

  “Maybe only certain kinds of people can get turned,” said John. “It’s a working theory, but Val’s killed a lot of dudes, and—”

  “You’re not helping my peace of mind.” Val turned to look out the window. “But sure. Go on.”

  “You’ve killed a lot of bad dudes,” said John, “and no one’s turned.”

  “They’re not all bad,” said Val. “I mean … you know what I mean. Collateral damage.” It helped if he stuck a label on it, like they weren’t people but statistics. “Don’t you think there’d be more of us?”

  “Beats me,” said John, “but every time one of you assholes pokes your head up above the parapet, a bunch of crackerjack motherfuckers comes and tries to take it. I think you’re being hunted.”

  “That’s big game,” said Rex. “It�
��d have to be organized.”

  “It’d have to be organized for a long, long time,” said Sky. “I’m not saying I buy your story, but if we run with it, because, you know, the spiders. If you just get all, ‘Hulk, smash!’ and destroy everything and everyone when someone shoots you, there’d have to be something … worse, out there, wouldn’t there? Something … stronger?”

  Val looked at John, then back at Sky. “I’d not really thought about it like that,” he said.

  “No,” said Rex, “because you’ve been spending so much time worrying about the downsides, that you crawled right up your own ass.” He fixed a steely eye on Val. “Don’t sass me, son. I’m too old and too cranky. You’ve been running from one thing to another for so long, you’re head isn’t on straight. You don’t get that choice. This thing? You’ve got to get in front of it. Work it. Live it.”

  “I kill people!” said Val. “That is not a thing I want to live.” The room was silent around him, and he realized he was breathing hard. “I kill people.” He stood up and walked towards the window. Looking down at the city, he saw the smoke and the fires, the cars littered about. From somewhere, he heard a scream, and he put aside his beer. You shouldn’t be living it up large while people are out there dying because of you, Everard.

  He felt a tentative hand on his arm, and he spun — a little too fast, by the look on Just James’ face. “What is it, kid?”

  “You keep saying,” said Just James, “how horrible you are. But I haven’t seen that. I really haven’t. Rex and I would be dead if it wasn’t for you. You don’t kill people, Val. You save people.” He let his hand drop, stepping back. “I don’t really have any special superpowers. No skills, really. Hell, I haven’t gone to college yet. But because of you, I’ll get that chance. I don’t know if anyone’s said this to you before, but—”

  “Kid, stop,” said Val. He tried to back away, but he was already hard up against the window. “Whatever you’ve got to say, I’ve said it to myself before. I’m a monster.”