Night Legions

by Jeremy Flagg

  “What’s the mission, sir?” asked Brass.

  “Haven’t you heard? There’s a war.” She turned and started walking away. “We’re going to save the world.”

  She'd missed the sounds of the men scurrying to put on their uniforms and tossing one another weapons. It might not be the homecoming she longed for, but she’d take the tiny victory. Now she had to say farewell to her newest Twenty-Seven and Ariel.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  1996

  The smoke made it impossible to see who burst in the door to Mark’s residence. Bright light from the hallway flooded into the charred apartment. Men wearing snug full body armor marched into the room.

  Closing her eyes, Ariel let her abilities wrap about three men entering Mark’s home. The weapons were jerked from their hands while they flew backward against the walls. She took one of the men and hurled him through the doorway, knocking down two more oncoming soldiers.

  “Arturo.” She was starting to panic. “He has them all.”

  “So many vessels. You cannot kill me. I am limitless.”

  Ariel cradled Raymond’s head, burying his face in her neck. With his mom and dad lost, she resolved to save him. At her thought, Mark hurdled toward the wall, collapsing.

  “Well, what now?” Arturo said.

  “We leave together.”

  “Do we take Mark?” he asked with a concerned expression. They owed him their lives. Mark had once been the father figure she always hoped for. The man who once read her bedtime stories and checked under her bed for monsters had become one.

  “He’d want us to save Raymond.”

  Arturo gave her a slight push, urging her forward. They stepped out into the hallway. Mark’s quarters were deep inside the Facility and getting out would require overcoming several security points.

  A burst of fire projected from Arturo’s arm, hammering an oncoming soldier. As they ran past, she paused to see the damage. If the soldier survived the third-degree burns littering his body, he’d never lead a normal life. Rage seeped into her chest, making her heart beat faster. Ivan had turned her and Arturo into killers.

  “I want my daddy,” Raymond cried, trying to pull away.

  “Raymond, I need to get you to safety. When you’re safe, I’ll come back for Daddy. Can you be a brave boy for me?”

  He sniffled, nodding.

  “Good. Now let’s beat up bad men.”

  The corridors were bottlenecked. At each turn, she expected to see a squad of soldiers prepared to take them out. She wondered if Ivan didn’t have absolute control over the Facility like he bragged. As they reached the massive door separating them from the public side, she contemplated handing off Raymond and going back for Mark.

  Arturo rested his hand on her cheek. “We get Raymond safe. Then we figure out our next move.” They’d often fought. There had been screaming matches and days would pass before they’d talk again. It seemed trivial now. Would Penelope still be alive if they had done this years ago when Goddard threatened them?

  “I’m with you,” she said.

  He placed his hand on the pad and stepped up to the retinal scanner. A ding. The hydraulics in the door roared to life. The massive portal opened, splitting down the middle as it retracted into the walls. Fire engulfed Arturo’s hands, spreading along his arms, burning through his shirt and leaving pieces of ash.

  An inferno.

  The fifty plus guards on the other side of the door didn’t scream as bursts of fire erupted from the chambers of their guns. Fireworks of discharged ammo shot into the crowd. Men were knocked to the ground, flung against walls. Arturo’s abilities consumed his body.

  Raymond tried to turn his head. Ariel held him firm against her neck, shielding him from the melted flesh and dismembered limbs. The explosion of flames looked like a little bomb going off. The bodies hitting the ground made a thud while exploding rounds peppered the room. The screams were missing. Each soldier died in silence, without any audible show of pain. Ivan, you bastard.

  Ariel fought the urge to gag as burned flesh assaulted her nose. Raymond managed to push away from her enough to drop to the ground. He turned and froze. Whether at the sight of guns, the military, or the pillars of flame weaving through them, the kid didn’t move, not until the bullet struck Arturo in the shoulder.

  “Motherfucker!” Arturo shouted as he staggered backward.

  Ariel screamed.

  Arturo held up his hands, the fire heating from red to blue. His shoulder jerked against as another bullet struck him. He never had the opportunity to fire back. Spinning with the force of the impact, he made eye contact with Ariel. The hole left in his shoulder was large enough that she knew he’d die if they didn’t get medical help soon.

  “Save Raymond,” he mouthed.

  Just north of his right eye, a hole erupted. Blood sprayed across her as she snatched Raymond. Arturo, her surrogate brother, her only real friend in the world, slumped to the ground. Covering Raymond’s eyes, she couldn’t stop staring at the final expression captured on her friend’s face.

  “We don’t want to kill you, Ariel.”

  The guards spoke in perfect unison. At least thirty of them held their rifles, red dots appearing on her and Raymond’s faces. One man stepped forward, no gun in his hand.

  “The world is at our disposal. Humans have every right to be terrified. We are like—”

  His head spun about. Dead. The lake grew restless, the shore beaten with torrent waters, breaking trees along the shore. Tidal waves slapped against rocks. The waters turned the color of blood and started to boil. The image of Arturo’s lifeless eyes hung on the horizon, staring through the storm clouds circling the scene.

  “You cannot kill us, we are—”

  The man’s head tore from his shoulders, pressed until it was nothing but a small ball of bone and flesh. Both she and Raymond hovered off the floor. She pressed forward into the lobby. While her breathing turned shallow, she moved the child behind her, turning him away from the carnage she prepared to unleash.

  “We are legion.”

  The man’s body ripped down the middle. Lumps of meat spilled onto the tile.

  “Join us, Ariel.”

  Tearing another man’s limbs from his body seemed cruel, but it barely compared to the sense of satisfaction running through her mind. Ivan had taken her family. He killed her friends. He took everything from her. Him. A scream erupted from her lungs, loud enough pain shot down her throat.

  “You cannot win.”

  Thirty-two men were remained standing. Thirty-one skulls turned sharply. Thirty-one bodies fell in a unified thud. One man remained, his rifle gripped firmly, the laser shining in her eyes. Ariel moved closer, putting only a few feet between them.

  “Imagine our powers together,” the guard said. His face reminded her of Ivan. The nervous tick of his eyebrow transferred. Even the twisted grin permanently smeared across Ivan’s face superimposed itself.

  “Imagine—"

  “I will kill you.”

  “I am legion—”

  Ariel leaned in, close enough the man’s rank breath struck her. “Quote the Bible, demon. I will strike you down.”

  “I have always admired your bravado, child. I have always imagined—” the soldier’s hand started to reach for her face.

  “Over my dead body,” she said as his was torn in half. Blood splattered across her face. Somewhere in the carnage, she admitted that she wanted to be feared by the humans. With her mind, she reached out, lifting Arturo’s body into the air and pulling it along as she reached windows.

  They exploded outward as she walked through, a million shards of glass flying in all directions. Jonah stood on the grass, staring at her in disbelief. His hand rested on the gun at his hip, ready to draw. With one friend in tow, needing to be buried, she realized there might be two caskets in the next few seconds.

  “Ariel,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “What did you do?”

  Tears welled up in the corn
er of her eyes. “It’s Ivan,” she said. “He killed Elizabeth. He killed Arturo. Mark…”

  Another step forward made Jonah unholster his gun, pointed down, but prepared if he needed to use it. “They said Arturo went mad. You two were killing people. You murdered everybody.”

  Shaking her head, she tried to wipe the tears from her face. Both hands were coated in dots of blood. Raymond cried and shouted for his dad. “He’s a telepath. Everybody, they’re him.”

  For years, Mark had been influenced by Ivan, manipulated like a puppet. Things had seemed odd, but no cause for alarm. In all that time, she never suspected something sinister. Now, she realized it had all been an act, a rouse to gain her confidence.

  “We need to get help,” Jonah said.

  She studied his face, inspecting his eyebrow, looking for the slight twitch. The man in front of her appeared to be himself. But no actions were beyond suspicion. The night he came to her room, had it been him? Or had Ivan found his way into her bed?

  “I have no way of trusting you.” Jonah didn’t raise his gun as she moved closer. His lips were coarse as she pushed against him. He hesitated before returning the gesture. The gun pressed against her chest, a painful reminder that he didn’t trust her either. The kiss ended as he gasped for air. Reaching for his neck, he clawed at invisible clenching hands.

  She was almost nineteen, and unable to see herself in a normal life with a man. They should be going on dates, eating popcorn and talking about their favorite music. Their biggest argument would be over where to go for dinner and he’d always let her win because he knew she loved fried chicken. There should be a quiet excitement as she waits for him to propose.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Her abilities touched his heart and lungs and with a slight push on his chest, his organs paused until he lost consciousness. Jonah’s head slumped. His body drifted backward until he rested comfortably.

  When Ariel looked again at the horizon, she saw a faint figure standing, observing at the setting sun.

  Raymond cried as she held him closer. “We have to be strong, Raymond. I need you to be strong. Can you be strong for me?” The words did nothing to alleviate his hysterics. Stroking his hair, she kissed his cheek and gripped him tightly.

  She walked toward the mirage until she stood shoulder to shoulder with the faint outline of Franklin. The sun held a reddish tint as it faded into the yonder. It’d be a long time before she could see the color red and not think of the wound in Arturo’s head. She coughed, stifling the sob threatening to work its way from the back of her throat.

  You’ve weakened him.

  “Good,” she said. “Next time, I’ll kill him.”

  Our offer stands.

  No, she thought. She took a step forward, an uncertain, terrifying, uncomfortable step. On the outside, she could count on one hand the number of people she knew. Beyond the walls of the Facility, a world of possibilities surrounded her. For the first time in a decade, tomorrow was not certain.

  Thoughts of the future reminded her of a story Mark used to tell her before bed, about a psychic, a woman who knew destiny intimately. He spoke of her with such reverence that Ariel found herself idolizing a woman she never met. She wished Eleanor had left her a letter with guidance.

  “Eleanor,” she whispered, “what would you do?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  2033

  The military analysts and tacticians filled the skyscraper overlooking a majestic Chicago. At a time when the last of the businesspeople were leaving the office and the nightlife had yet to begin, the Windy City appeared almost like a frozen painting. The streets, which normally would be packed with cars, were almost entirely empty. The last of the trains vacated the bustling business district, carrying as many citizens to safety as it could hold. Tens of thousands had fled. It meant plenty sheltered in place for whatever came next.

  Conthan pulled back the cowl of his hoodie, approaching the massive wall of windows. With each step, he caught another member of the military staring. He considered putting the hood back up and shrinking out of existence. His leather jacket, the one possession that survived from before his ascension to a Child, had been left behind in favor of this more stealthy hoodie. He missed that jacket. He missed its absence of human parts in the pockets.

  He'd managed to get a few hours of sleep, but each time he started to drift off, he imagined the bodies on the ground writhing, calling out to him. The dead resurrected, seeking him out. Dwayne had curled up behind him, whispering it was a dream until he drifted off again. He should have needed more sleep, a chance to let his powers recharge, but for the moment, they were the only thing about him that felt normal.

  Normal. He should have laughed, but for the time being, nothing seemed quite funny enough.

  The room bustled with activity, men and women preparing for a war they couldn’t win. When he first met the Warden, he'd found him arrogant, pompous even. The way the man held himself reeked of superiority. Conthan remembered thinking he was a prick who needed to get laid. He wished he could go back and warn his past self. The Warden earned every downward glance and knowing laugh. Conthan had thought killing the host and his real body had been enough. He welcomed the guilt as long as he knew the job had been done.

  “Sarah,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

  Azacca rested in a chair pulled close enough to the window that his knees touched the glass. Somewhere out there, a dozen of his brothers and sisters acted as the communication network between the troops and mission command. Conthan watched his face shift drastically, information giving him a sour expression.

  “Describe what you see,” Azacca said, closing his eyes.

  “Can’t you—”

  “I see too much,” he said.

  “I see a quiet city.”

  “Look harder.”

  “I…” Conthan took in the monuments, the river, even the museum off in the distance. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “An artist who can no longer see, that is a dreadful thought.”

  Conthan rested his hand on the window and tried to absorb the sights beyond. There were discussions behind him, an orchestra of military barking orders and hustling to get their affairs in order. Even his own team met with Jasmine and the General to help develop a massive strike against the president. The floor was filled with people performing jobs assigned by their rank. Even Azacca waited for the military to call on his abilities, resting comfortably until it was time to begin executing a plan Conthan only loosely understood.

  “Isolation,” whispered Conthan.

  Azacca nodded.

  “There should be a life to the city, a heartbeat you see even when the people should be sleeping. Cabs, pedestrians stumbling home, businesspeople returning from trips. There should be heartfelt reunions and lovers screaming. Right now, the city is holding its breath. It’s scared. Whatever happens, it will never be the same.”

  “Nor should you,” Azacca said.

  Conthan caught the man’s eerily accurate insight. In high school, he sat next to a beautiful young woman terrified of a skin condition. The kid who spent the next years drawing her had vanished. “I have moments when I remember who I was. But they’re fleeting.” A flare shot into the sky on the far side of Chicago. “Who am I now?”

  Azacca started to work his way to his feet. Conthan held the man’s arm, helping him stand on weakened limbs. “If you do not know who you are now, discover who you may be tomorrow.”

  The words did nothing to alleviate the weight on Conthan’s chest, pressing his heart. Azacca had probably offered a deep and poignant perspective he’d unravel one layer at time, but in this moment, it felt hollow.

  “You/He is not/will never be alone.” Conthan recognized Azacca’s abilities flaring to life. Somewhere out there, one of his brethren voiced their thoughts with the tall man. “I/He/We see you, Conthan/artist/Child.”

  It was enough. “I see you too, brother Azacca.”

  It was Jasmine who
approached, her reflection catching in the mirror. She instructed Azacca to join the analysts. In an age where electronic communications were useless, they found a way to tap into the uncanny potential of the Children. He wondered if this was the first of many alliances or just the beginning of another Paladin program. It was hard to think about tomorrow, let alone six months away. He wasn’t certain they’d survive the evening.

  In the smooth surface of the glass, he studied Jasmine’s face. It had been months since she left, vanishing in the dead of night. The lines around her eyes had deepened. The tired expression transformed as she caught him staring. Her shoulders rose and spine straightened.

  “Are you ready?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “This plan—”

  “This plan hinges on me, doesn’t it always?”

  “Conthan.” She turned to face him. “Are you up for this?”

  This? What this is she asking about? Conthan breathed deeply, the air cooling his nose. He exhaled, slowly, steadily, a technique Vanessa forced upon him while he learned to use his powers.

  “Am I up for rushing into another battle? War? Am I ready to kill people who get in my way?” He gave a slight nod. It bothered him that this was the person he had become.

  In the moment of silence that followed, another flare shot upward in the distance. He didn’t know which colors were good or bad. This one caused the room to move more quickly. The pace about them was a blur.

  “There’s something about you.” Jasmine gave him the once-over, but he continued, “Something’s different.”

  Conthan shrugged. Jasmine was the last person he wanted to have an emotional conversation with. She had known her place in the world since birth: a Marine, nothing more, nothing less. She breathed the life, each action following the exact thought process the military had ingrained into her.

  She said, “I think I have a fiancé.”

  Conthan coughed a bit. The lines of her face changed as she smiled. At any moment he expected the twisted grin of the Warden’s disciples. Jasmine, the lone wolf, had a boyfriend? He had no problem thinking of her as a sexual being, but cuddling? He let out a laugh.