The Dark Horde

by Brewin

  “Nah... I’ve had like... Five or something. Probably more actually.”

  “Oh bullshit, you have! That’s probably the same drink you bought an hour ago!” said Aaron.

  Bruce raised a palm. “Well anyway, none of the rest of us can drive, so if Vincent won’t take us then we can’t go.”

  Aaron stood up. “Nah, fuck that! I’ll drive if I have to. I just reckon this pussy should do it ‘cos he’s had much less than the rest of us.”

  “I have n–”

  Jason cut Vincent off. “Oh, who fucking cares, Vincent! You’re a pussy and Aaron’s going to drive. I’m grabbing another drink and then we’re going.”

  “Grab me another while you’re there, here’s some money,” said Bruce.

  Jason waved Bruce away. “Nah, I’ll get it.”

  “I’m gunna get a coffee,” said Aaron. “You having another beer, Vino?”

  Vincent looked uncomfortable. “Actually, I was thinking of getting going.”

  Jason stormed off to the bar. Aaron persisted. “Going? What the fuck for?”

  “It’s Amy, isn’t it?” said Bruce.

  “Nah, I’m just tired and stuff.”

  “Bullshit! You’re pussy-whipped and won’t admit it. I bet as soon as you get home you’ll be giving her a call,” Aaron said.

  Vincent said nothing, so Aaron kept going. “How often do you ever come out with your mates? You’re always with her!”

  “Least I’ve got a girlfriend.”

  “Fine, fuck off then,” replied Aaron. “Don’t expect any of us to care if anything ever happens to you.”

  “It’s not like that, Aaron.”

  “It’s not? Well, come then. Frank was your mate too. Or don’t you give a shit about anyone except Amy?”

  “Of course I care! I didn’t get much sleep last night and–” Vincent screwed his face up in an expression of pain, struggling to think of something to say.

  Aaron’s face became flushed with anger and Bruce intervened, “Vincent, why don’t you just call her and tell her what’s happened? I’m sure she’d understand.”

  Vincent looked around the bar.

  “And there’s a phone just over there,” said Bruce, pointing.

  Vincent saw Bruce was right and sighed. With reluctance, he rose and started walking to the phone, “I’ll try.”

  Aaron followed Vincent, saying to Bruce, “I’m gunna make sure he actually calls.”

  A short time later, Vincent and Aaron came back to the table where Bruce and Jason were seated. Vincent looked glum.

  “So are you coming?” asked Jason.

  “Yeah, let’s go.” Vincent ran a hand through his hair.

  Aaron seized the moment, slapping his keys into Vincent’s palm. “Good. You can drive.”

  SUNDAY 3:43 PM

  The door opened.

  A short, skinny, brown-haired boy stood at the entrance to his dormitory, H Unit, uneasily a moment before entering.

  Another kid, Damien, emerged from the pantry. “Oh, it’s shit-head again.”

  Danny tried to ignore the insult, but was overcome with angst.

  He began to cross the study where Ben and Alex were playing table tennis. Ben didn’t look up, “Hey Danny, can ya get me some snakes from me tuck box.”

  Hoping to reach his bed in the dorm, Danny tried to protest, “Well Ben, they really are yo–”

  “Just fuckin’ do it!” Ben threatened, turning to Danny with a raised bat.

  Danny turned and fetched Ben’s snakes. He then ended up getting Alex some Maltesers as well.

  Danny collapsed onto his unmade bed, half-expecting it to slide out of his way and taunt him. Tears welled in his eyes as he felt again the pain of loneliness, of isolation. He was alone and unloved in a world of brutal indifference to his plight, a world without mercy, justice or hope.

  I wish I had a mate, someone big and strong, who’d stick up for me, someone who’d pulverise anyone who laid a finger on me. “Don’t you dare touch Danny, he’s my mate!” he imagined his mate saying.

  As regular as the tide, the flood of homesickness returned. His breath became jerky as tears spilled down his cheeks.

  His father wouldn’t stand by and watch him get abused like this; he’d teach these kids a lesson... Or would he?

  He often wondered why his dad always put down his oldest son and yet pounced on anyone who did the same. “I’m your father. I know how not to hurt your feelings,” he’d proclaim.

  If Danny ever tried to explain that comments like, “You mean after all I’ve told you, you still don’t get it? Gees, you’re stupid!” did hurt his feelings, he’d be quickly rebuked.

  “Oh, come on Danny, a little criticism now and then never hurt anybody.”

  Yes, but how often was now and then? Once a week? Twice a week? Every day? Every–

  His thoughts were interrupted by the rapid approach of a whizzing sound. He instinctively sat up, just in time to catch a water-bomb on the forehead. The balloon burst and sent water gushing over his face, shirt, pillow and bed sheets. There was a sea of laughter around him.

  “SCORES!” shouted Mark, raising a hand in triumph. The others continued laughing.

  Through a blur of tears, Danny looked around the hostile panel before him and saw neither compassion nor means of escape. He dug his face into the soaked pillow to muffle his crying and their laughter.

  Robbo moved in to stroke Danny’s knotty hair. “Ohhh, the poor little cry baby. Where’s mummy now?” More laughter.

  Robbo continued, “Don’t cry. We didn’t mean it.” The chorus of laughter grew louder.

  Then the dormitory door flew open and the room fell silent.

  Danny craned his neck around to see a gaunt figure standing in the doorway, eyes ablaze on those present: Unit Master, Mr Neilson. Behind him, Ben and Alex made faces in an effort to make the others laugh, but weren’t successful.

  “WHAT IS GOING ON?” Mr Neilson demanded.

  No one dared answer. All avoided his intense stare.

  “I WANT SOME ANSWERS!” He shouted as he slammed down his foot with a crash that echoed around the wooden room.

  Still no one spoke. Kids hung their heads low and shuffled their feet. Even Ben and Alex gave up their attempts to amuse the others.

  Like a searchlight, Mr Neilson’s gaze circled the room, scrutinising each face except Danny’s, daring someone to meet his eyes.

  Clint, thinking the searchlight had passed him, looked up at the wrong time.

  “Clinton Byrce.” Mr Neilson smiled.

  Clint gulped.

  “Tell me what has been going on here.”

  “I-It was just an accident.” Clint looked down at his feet and stuck his hands in his pockets. “We were, y’know, just throwing it around when–”

  “What were you throwing around?” Mr Neilson interrupted.

  Clint gulped again and glanced around the others. The silence amongst them was as complete as before. He momentarily met Mr Neilson’s gaze, said “A water balloon, sir,” and looked away.

  “And just why were you throwing around a water balloon?”

  Clint hesitated, before answering, “I don’t know.”

  “And you were just throwing this water balloon around when it accidentally hit Danny on the head... Is this what you’re trying to say, Clinton?”

  “Yes sir,” he mumbled.

  Mr Neilson’s searing eyes fell upon Danny as he said sternly, “Is this true, Danny?”

  Against his intuition, Danny searched those fierce green eyes for sympathy, but there was none. He tried to pivot his head away, but like a rabbit caught in headlights, his muscles were frozen with fear. He was transfixed and compelled to answer.

  His mouth opened, but the word was stuck. Other words formed in his mind, sinister, flashing across his consciousness too quick and too many to grasp. Meanwhile the gallery waited... For him to pronounce his own sentence, to say the word “Yes” and die, or the word “No” and die. More time p
assed and still they waited, poised to attack on the whim of his word.

  Then a new idea surfaced:

  Running.

  Before the others could react, Danny jumped through the open window behind him. He landed roughly from the one-and-a-half metre drop on the downhill side of the dormitory. In the next instant, he was up and running, leaving them staring at the spot he had been two seconds ago.

  He didn’t hear the commotion and didn’t care. He was getting out of that place, even if it killed him. Who knows, even if he did get lost and a rescue squad had to come and find him, he might just be returned back to mum and dad, instead of back to this hell!

  Danny hit the blackberries at the foot of the hill at breakneck speed, crashing thirty metres in before slowing. Thorny fronds slashed his bare shins and stinging nettles flung themselves at his face and hands.

  The bushes are probably on their side as well, H Unit and all the rest of them. United, the world plotted his demise. But for once, he didn’t care.

  A strange new defiance had risen in him, an unknown strength of purpose. Never before had he experienced such confidence, such determination that nothing was going to stop him. He did not know its origin, but for once in his life, he felt in control.

  For once in his life, he felt free.

  He was oblivious to the pain in his hands and legs. He was oblivious to the possibility of failure. He was oblivious to the approaching logging truck as he ran onto the road beyond the forest. With sudden astonishment and fear, he looked up into the white, shining eyes of the screaming lorry, its tyres gouging black streaks of rubber into the road...

  Just like a rabbit caught in headlights.

  And then he was oblivious to everything.

  SUNDAY 4:51 PM

  Home at last.

  Brian turned the engine off and sighed in relief.

  What a day. What a totally fucked day. But it was over.

  He stretched his arms and yawned. He sank back into the warmth of the patrol, collecting his thoughts.

  As expected, enquiries at the school and nearby properties were of little help. No one saw anything, nor had much to say that could assist the investigation. Robert studiously took notes and seemed to enjoy the endless banter with locals. Douglas, meanwhile, assured the media that every effort was being made to bring the perpetrators of this hideous crime to justice, but not to expect results soon, as the information was still being collected and analysed.

  The Coroner’s report on the two bodies should be available within the next twenty-four hours and Brian would liaise with the homicide division of the Criminal Investigation Branch tomorrow. Right now though, he was going to get some sleep and recover. Maybe a good hot meal and some sex too.

  That’s when he realised that his girlfriend wasn’t home. Sasha’s car was gone but she couldn’t be far away. Brian yawned again and closed his eyes. Sleep was so inviting, so close...

  So easy.

  He stood alone in an unfamiliar room filled with a thick, musty smell. Nervous, he saw that the room had no exits.

  A peculiar design was painted on the dirty grey carpet. A black circle a couple of metres wide, surrounded by a dozen half-burnt black candles. Within the black circle was a white circle placed off-centre. The walls were a mottled yellow that only came with old age and against one of them was a worn dressing-table, its mirror facing the wall. The remains of a tape recorder graced its surface and a wooden chair lay before it in splinters.

  Where the hell am I and how did I get here? More importantly, how the fuck am I going to escape?

  Suddenly the mirror began to pivot, its rusty hinges squealing, sending shrill notes through him like slithers of ice. Brian backed away from the unnatural animation, awestruck with disbelief.

  Now the mirror faced him, revealing a dark scene that was no reflection of the room. Like a haunting movie, images began to play across its cracked surface. Unable to move, he watched with horrified fascination...

  He saw himself, distraught, running. Running blindly from darkness into darkness. Never slowing down, he kept glancing over his shoulder. Then the vision zoomed past his image and onto the panicked melee behind him.

  Hundreds, maybe thousands, of men, women and children were running, a rampant, screaming stampede with a common goal: escape.

  People fought their way through the pack, knocking down the weak or slow in the anarchical exodus. Children lost their parent’s hand, babies fell from secure arms, the elderly collapsed in exhaustion. Those who fell were trampled by the surge of bodies, a human tidal wave of relentless momentum.

  Then shining claws pierced the shadows, enveloping the fleeing masses. The population scattered as blood splattered and limbs shattered. The assailants were obscured by the massacre unfolding, a frenzy of bleeding blades. Bodies fell like dominos and agonised screams racked his mind. Riveted by terror, Brian watched as all of them were cut down with brutal efficiency. Within a few minutes, the ground was thick with butchered corpses. Then the killers were gone as suddenly as they had appeared.

  Silence hung over the still, dismembered dead with terrible finality. The only movement now was the steady flow of blood from a thousand cuts.

  Brian sank to his knees, unable to bear what he had seen...

  But the nightmare had only just begun.

  The dresser and candles simultaneously burst into a fury of flames, filling the room with palls of smoke. Fingers of fire crawled up the mirror face, leaving black snail-trails in their wake.

  Reeling from the scorching heat, Brian forced himself up. The dressing-table, now a charcoal skeleton, collapsed to the floor in a cloud of ash. The blackened mirror clattered after it. The room became an inferno of fire and smoke. His eyes stinging, his lungs burning, Brian began to cough violently.

  There has to be a way out of here!

  Now a flaming head emerged from the gaping void the mirror had become. A gruesome fireball, it bounced across the smouldering floor, screaming, “They come!”

  Brian cringed away from the severed head as it moaned and shrieked in varying pitches, “Demonic! Mighty! Without mercy! Force of terror, destroying all that be! Feeding on anger, fear and greed! Essence of Man’s evil, nurtures the seed!”

  Brian now saw that the head wasn’t the last thing to emerge... Elongated claws, shimmering in the light of the flames, began to slice through the smoky air above the void.

  The head continued wailing, “Run! Run! The Dark Horde cannot be stopped! Run while you live!”

  Then a taloned foot came crashing down on the head, crushing whatever life it had.

  The demon stepped into full view, a monstrous, hairy beast from the depths of hell, its lupine form towering over Brian as he stumbled backwards. Its head pivoted to fix on Brian with crimson eyes as its drooling lips curled to reveal teeth-like knives. A rancid hot breath issued forth...

  Horribly familiar.

  It stepped closer, smelling his fear.

  So easy.

  Unleashing a hellish roar that deafened him with its crushing force, it raised an arm to strike.

  Images blurred, sensation ceased. The looming figure disappeared with conscious thought as Brian blacked out.

  Falling through a wall that was never there, Brian awoke.

  For fuck’s sake! I’m on the floor of my kitchen!

  Draped in sweat, he lay there with the head’s words echoing in his head. He pondered their significance.

  Hang on! Am I crazy? It was only a fucking dream!

  He rose, rubbed his eyes and moved to switch the kettle on.

  I’m back in reality now. Everything is normal.

  Then the kettle began laughing.

  He froze at the mocking, evil sound.

  Please, let the madness end.

  “THEY COME!” the kettle screamed.

  Brian turned his head to see the hairy beast leap through the phantasmal wall he had fallen through. It landed with a heavy thud and paused to throw its head back and unleash a fearsome
howl that shook the walls.

  Brian turned and ran into the lounge, eyes on the front door down the hall.

  It had other ideas.

  It hurdled the kitchen bench, landing within arm’s reach of Brian. Its muscular arm shot forward and snared Brian’s retreating left foot. Brian face-planted the ground.

  His nose bleeding, caught by his ankle, Brian twisted around to face his attacker.

  Its snout opened wide, drawing thick threads of saliva from a mouth crazy with sharpened teeth. The stench of decay consumed him as the disgusting orifice lunged forward, seeking to swallow his face.

  He rolled away, but was still held fast at the foot. Its snout impacted centimetres from his head, sending shudders through the floor.

  Expecting flesh, its teeth struck only carpet. Furious, it lifted its head to see that the human had moved. Not about to be outdone by a mortal, it grabbed the human by the throat with one claw and prepared to impale the human’s head with the other.

  Unable to struggle free, Brian scanned the floor around him for something of use.

  For once, I wish that Sasha hadn’t cleaned up.

  It savoured the moment, immersing its senses in the reek of fear. The final struggle before death was a treasured moment of victory. A rare delicacy. Brian began to check his pockets...

  Suddenly the human pulled out a thumb-shaped object from which leapt a small flame. Howling in protest at being forced back by prey, it withdrew, releasing its grip. The human rose slowly and waved the flame daringly within centimetres of its face. “I’ve got you now, you bastard!”

  The flame blurred double, dominating its vision. Incensed, it blindly launched itself at the candle, resolved to engulf it along with the human’s hand.

  For a moment, Brian was smiling – he was in control. The next moment its slavering mouth was closing around his hand, his lighter quenched. He jerked back his hand as its teeth raked his skin. The lighter vanished into its closing mouth.

  The beast spat out the remains of the device, revolted at its harsh taste. Then it saw the hall-door slam.

  Its quarry was escaping.

  The demon hurled itself at the closed door, smashing through it like paper. But Brian was waiting in a nearby doorway, armed with his son’s cricket bat. As it came into view, he swung the bat up into its face as hard as he could. The crunch of the creature’s face travelled down the cricket bat and numbed Brian’s arms.