Night Legions

by Jeremy Flagg

  Dwayne pushed aside his doubt, ignored the fear of what might happen if the powers didn’t return. For this moment, he wasn’t important. He stepped over the moat, the warmth of the mist rolling along his shoulders. As he got closer to the water dripping from the ceiling, he held out his hand, testing it.

  More than once he had shocked Conthan, who had learned to ask before making physical contact. Dwayne appreciated his patience, but more often than not, he wanted to reach out, grab him, be normal. Sleeping with a man who set the bed on fire more than once was anything but normal.

  The water touched his skin. Nothing. No push of his abilities to slip past his skin and lash out. No need for him to restrain them. Dwayne had a moment of relief, tension fading away.

  He leaned over Conthan’s body and wrapped his arms around his chest. Conthan let out a sigh, his fingers squeezing Dwayne’s arm. Despite the streaks of red washing along his back, Dwayne rested his head along Conthan’s spine.

  “I’m here.”

  Shirtless almost all of the time, he’d grown accustomed to his bare chest being exposed, but being wet, it didn’t feel natural. At any moment, the pressure would grow too much and he’d fight to keep the lightning from tearing out of his fingertips or jumping from his eyes. More difficult than controlling the force of nature housed in the center of his being, he forced himself to relax, to let his body bend around the man beneath him.

  Minutes passed before Conthan straightened his back. When he turned, Dwayne could see almost as much blood caked on his face as on Preacher's. “Close your eyes,” he whispered as he started rubbing the skin along Conthan's cheeks, his thumbs stretching the bottom lip until the water washed away the grime.

  Conthan leaned his head to the left, reaching up and holding Dwayne’s hand to his face. The other hand snaked behind Dwayne’s neck, fingers pulling tight as he forced Dwayne closer. With only an inch in height difference, their foreheads touched.

  “It’s going to be okay,” Dwayne whispered.

  Conthan shook his head. His face appeared human again, but with the terror his eyes, the blood might as well still be clinging to his body. While he appeared as clean as a child in their Sunday best, his eyes held a troubling expression. “I’ll never be okay again.”

  Ominous. Conthan stared off into the distance, his eyes not quite connecting with Dwayne's despite the inches separating them. Dwayne wanted to fix the problem, patch a tear, mend a bruise, but at this point, he felt lost.

  “What happened?”

  “Later? Tomorrow? Never? Right now—” Conthan pulled back to kiss his cheek. “I see you.”

  The Church of Nostradamus had a motto, a mantra, a phrase that, removed from the creepy aspects of the cult, held validity in life. See me. I see you. A simple call and response, an acknowledgement that two people existed in the same domain as one another. Conthan had yet to speak about the last church he infiltrated, but that’s how it was between them. Sitting up late at night, when the world wasn’t trying to kill them, they’d talk. Those moments had become far too few.

  Conthan’s stubble dragged across his upper lip as they kissed. Dwayne’s arm tightened around his shoulders, pulling him close, his other hand resting in the small of his back, providing as much body contact as possible. There was an urgency in the kiss, an intensity in how hard Conthan bit his lower lip. As Conthan struggled with the button on Dwayne’s pants, he didn’t protest.

  The boots came off, his pants fell to the ground in a wet heap. The water poured along his skin and steam clouded the room. His body reacted, erect, willing, ready. He wasn’t the prime male specimen, love handles a bit more pronounced than he wished, but the way Conthan stared, insecurities melted away.

  “You sure?” Dwayne asked.

  Conthan pushed at his chest until his back hit the cement column. With nowhere left to go, Conthan pressed against him, equally aroused. Dwayne groaned as a hand gripped his manhood. It had been too long since he and Conthan found time for this. Even now, they should be—

  Teeth clenched on to his shoulder and Dwayne found himself unable to focus on anything but the man in front of him. They had been rough before, but as Conthan pushed the boundaries of pleasure, Dwayne realized everything about to happen was about exercising demons. He hissed as teeth bore down near his neck. If this is what Conthan needed to find sanity, he was more than willing to submit.

  “I love you,” Dwayne hissed through clenched teeth.

  Conthan pulled away, turning Dwayne about, pressing him to the wall. Dwayne could feel the younger man’s eagerness. Conthan pushed against his back, his torso fitting into the curve of his spine perfectly. Conthan kissed his way up until his reached Dwayne's ear.

  “Ditto.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  2033

  Run.

  The scream, primal, was only a notch below her brain registering the message as pain. As she fell, the wind whipping past gave her a second of clarity. Below, the ground—no, the Earth—slowly grew closer.

  Anger. She could recall the anger. But at what? Somebody. She had been mad at somebody. If she needed more time, to dwell on the face, then she might remember. But as she descended, it remained shrouded just beyond recognition.

  A woman yelled. Cried? Screamed? A woman, no, a monster, a great beast had turned to her with its dying breath. In its death throes, the monster freed her. But from what? She had a thousand questions, and as her body spun about in the sky, speeding downward, she didn’t have the luxury of asking.

  Lillian caught sight of a bag falling alongside her. Thirty feet away, the straps whipped in the air, the parachute spinning over and over. It had been thrown from the plane when she tore open an exit. The two men threatening to kill her were ejected too, but neither received the luxury of a parachute. The two jets escorting the massive airplane didn’t deviate as she was sucked out the door. Without a care in the world, she let the wind take her, finally free.

  Free.

  Even as she attempted to say it, the wind caught her lips, making it difficult to speak. Lillian barely recognized the word. The notion of being free was alien. Darkness nipped at her memory and she found herself unable to push it away in pursuit of answers.

  Eyes closed, she imagined a tether between herself and the parachute, the only two objects in the vastness of the atmosphere. Yet she found it difficult to mentally snatch at the straps and pull it closer. Invisible hooks sank into the tumbling bag. She only discovered her success as the nylon sack knocked into her.

  It wasn’t like the movies; a parachute didn’t simply snap on. There were buckles, straps, and cords flapping in all directions. Had it not been for her abilities aiding her, she’d never have secured her legs and then her arms. Straps tightened and buckles locked themselves into place without the assistance of her hands.

  The ground came into view and she recognized the Chicago landscape. The plane must have been heading toward some private landing strip. She imagined it had already begun its descent when she upset the cabin pressure. The long strip of green alongside the water appeared to be as good a place as any other to touch down.

  The plastic handle resisted as she yanked. A whooshing sounded behind her moments before her body jerked. The straps tightened around her chest, the air squeezed from her lungs. The parachute's force had her struggling to stay conscious.

  Even with it open, whipping in the breeze, the ground continued to rush closer. The straps on her legs pulled painfully at her dress, hiking it up so far that the garment stopped offering any amount of modesty. Grasping the straps above her head, she found it impossible to steer.

  Rooftops approached, the hard impact imminent. Her thoughts pushed outward, softening the blow as her body hit the tar paper. Even as she rolled along the ground, the parachute continued to drag in the breeze. She braced her hands in front of her face as she approached the wall lining the perimeter of the roof. With a thud she found herself pulled over the edge, falling again.

  Before the st
rings pulled tight, she pulled at every strap, tearing the parachute from her body. The multicolored bag flew on, letting her free fall again.

  Lillian slid down the side of the building. Reaching back, she thrust her hand into the brick. Cement showered about her as her fingers, surrounded by a supernatural shield, tore into the material. Focused, she forced her body close to the wall, slowing her descent.

  Six stories from the ground, she had slowed enough to reach out and grab the metal railing of a fire escape. Lillian pulled herself onto the escape, her heel catching on the grate, which snapped off underneath her weight.

  Panting, she found herself shaking. Eyeing the newly made crevice down the side of the building, she found herself amazed at her own determination to survive. When she looked out over the buildings to the park, Lillian gasped, mesmerized by the amount of green space. Unlike New York City, Chicago held beautiful parks filled with monuments and art. It was only a matter of time before the dew coating the grass turned red as blood ran.

  In the distant streets, she couldn’t begin to count the waves of silver robots glinting under the sunlight. The synthetics had been deployed, their march into Chicago underway.

  “War,” she whispered. “It’s here.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  2033

  “We’re going to war.”

  The words were matter of fact, void of any sensationalism. Conthan half expected the man to begin a motivational speech. It wasn’t like the movies, not even a little. The Nighthawks stared at the chalk drawing on the floor, composing the battlefield like an outline around a dead body.

  It had been hours since he returned with Preacher. Without any natural light and no clocks to be found, he could only guess it was sometime near noon. Hours passed, but each time he closed his eyes the massacre returned; worse yet, the smell of the bodies from the fort lingered. Conthan hoped the horror would turn to rage, but instead, it only kept his stomach in a state of unease.

  “Where’s the Canadian?” he asked.

  Needles shook his head. “This isn’t his fight.”

  “Like hell it isn’t,” Dwayne replied.

  “If we fail, if all of this goes sideways, do you think we’re going to be safe hiding in tunnels under the city? He needs the appointment so we have a future.”

  Conthan tried to imagine the would-be Prime Minister. Dwayne had mentioned the Canadian had come, providing them a fighting force, but no details. He'd muttered about damned telepaths and quickly followed it with missing Vanessa. Conthan also missed Vanessa.

  The first time he faced the Warden, he’d been filled with rage. The sensation of reaching into the man’s chest and tearing out his heart haunted him for months. The second time had filled him with stubborn pride. He was a Child of Nostradamus, armed with a righteous cause. Conthan had been unstoppable. Now, now he only felt numb with an edge of dread.

  Sarah. Sculptee. Trish. Rocks. YiYi. Patches. Dav5d. Vanessa. Cecilia. Troy. One by one they fell. He forced his eyes to fixate on the haphazardly drawn chalk lines. Conthan couldn’t look any of the others in the eye. Each of them could wind up massacred along a brick floor, forgotten as just “another casualty” of war.

  “Chicago is going to be under siege. The forces deployed are considerable. But we have something they don’t.”

  “Heart,” Skits said. “He’s going to say heart.”

  Conthan caught the man's eye roll. Leave it to Skits to break the tension. Needles waited until Azacca and Preacher entered. Azacca's crutches clacked against the floor, giving away the stillness in the room.

  “Fuck heart,” Needles said. “We have superheroes.”

  “Heart, man,” Skits said. “The answer was heart.”

  Dwayne grabbed his sister by the shoulder and pulled her back. Conthan realized that other than Needles and Preacher, the room was filled with Children. Azacca, a mind reader in his own right; Soo Jung, the pattern reader. Opposite the Nighthawks, three former Bostonians leaned against the wall.

  “We have ten,” Conthan said.

  Needles turned about the room. “So, it seems we only have ten here. Another dozen waiting for us—”

  “Twenty-two isn’t any better,” Conthan said. He didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news, but he wanted to verify everybody knew what was about to happen. If they were going to die fighting, he wanted each person to make an informed decision.

  “Dwayne,” Needles said, his lips drawing back into a slight smile. “What do you think?”

  Dwayne gave a slight chuckle. Conthan couldn’t see the humor in the situation, even as the bear of a man patted him firmly on the shoulder. “He’s got a trick up his sleeve he’s not telling us.”

  Needles tapped the side of his nose. “Dwayne, this is the start of a beautiful friendship.”

  Conthan caught Preacher staring, his eyes holding an intense mixture of sadness and hope. The man had started a revolution, a movement amongst the humans. Where the Children had become the scourge of mankind, he brought a message of salvation. Conthan wasn’t any more comfortable being considered a servant of God’s will, but it provided a counterculture. At least now, not all humans hated them.

  “I see you,” the holy man mouthed. Conthan couldn’t help but think about the two men in positions of power, Needles and Preacher, polar opposites. Two humans willing to put their lives on the line for a cause, for him. Two men who could just as easily vanish into the crowd, get normal jobs, normal friends, and lead normal lives. They opted for the abnormal, for Children. Somewhere in the darkness wrapping about his heart, Conthan believed he found a tiny beacon of light refusing to die without a fight.

  “Thank you,” he mouthed back.

  “Soo Jung, would you do the honor?”

  She barked an order and loud clunk sounded from the hallway. The lights went off, leaving them in a blackness only possible underground. Shuffling. Movement. Three lights exploded in a series of bright rays, scanning across the room, forcing people to shield their eyes. Peeking through his fingers, Conthan recognized the three projection orbs.

  Light almost an electric blue formed in the middle of the room. The perimeter of the chalk seemed to rise three feet off the ground. Soo Jung gestured with her hand, and the lights added a layer of detail to the image. Buildings, trees, monuments, each populated the map until the surface turned from a sad outline into a three-dimensional photograph.

  Soo Jung moved through the projections, pointing, making odd gestures with her hand that caused the light to react. Conthan stared up at the baseball-sized orbs, fascinated. They weren’t extremely common on the surface, reserved for the social elite and the government. The small devices cost a fortune, and getting them to carry out specific functions required a programmer. He always wondered how they defied gravity, and if they did indeed cheat the laws of physics, why wasn’t it applied elsewhere? He’d have to ask…

  Dav5d.

  Conthan focused on the battlefield. Hundreds of synthetics populated the end of Millennium Park near the football stadiums. The tiny red dots multiplied until they colored a significant area of the map. Conthan stepped closer, a sinking feeling taking hold in his gut. A few dozen they could brave, but as one hundred turned to a thousand, he found himself wondering, why even try?

  “Why? Why are we—”

  “Chicago,” Preacher's voice had a raspy weight to it. The single word answered Conthan’s question, but the man pressed on. “’There is a darkness on the horizon and I see it engulfing the world.’”

  “Eleanor,” Conthan mouthed, knowing full well Preacher quoted the psychic.

  “I do not condone violence. I do not believe we should confront a darkness by indulging our own demons.” Preacher turned to Azacca, putting his hand on the man’s shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. “But out there, hope is a dying flame. We will burn bright and give the people a cause to rally behind.”

  “There is no yesterday,” Conthan said, feeling foolish the moment he spoke the words.


  “So, he sees,” Preacher and Azacca returned in unison.

  “So, he sees,” Dwayne added. He reached out subtly, grasping Conthan’s hand, their fingers intertwining. A jolt shot through them, giving Conthan a bit of a jump.

  “Needles,” Dwayne started, “what is it you’re not telling us?”

  “Us. Isn’t that word subjective? It could mean a small minority in the room, or it could be we as a movement. It has no absolute—”

  “Jesus Christ, shut up and tell us,” Gretchen barked.

  “We’re not the only army in this war,” Needles said with a smile.

  Conthan watched as the other end of the park started to populate with far more people than he had seen in their bunker. They had come looking for an army. Needles only had a handful of allies located beneath New York City. As the little blue lights symbolizing people started to show up, he realized there were thousands.

  “He found us an army,” Skits said, with a bit too much excitement.

  * * * * *

  The General laid out his plan, both Ariel and Twenty-Seven listening intently. He explained they would assist the Paladins in an effort to cut off the serpent’s head, and capture Jacob while his troops positioned themselves between the synthetic army and the people of Chicago.

  “Send in the jets, you have the resources to—”

  “The planes are grounded. The ships are adrift. Even our missile guidance systems have been wiped clean. I’ve had programmers say it's the most sophisticated computer virus ever created. The tanks we have, they were salvaged from training exercises. We’ll be lucky if they can still fire.”

  A single virus, infiltrating the military, grounded the majority of their technological forces. It didn’t take a Child with the ability to predict probabilities to know exactly where that virus originated. Perhaps if they had time, they could retrofit the technology, secure it against Dav5d. Beaten tanks without navigation or targeting systems would have to suffice.