by Sam Sisavath
“You’re right, that is hard to believe,” Nate said.
Gaby looked over at Mason again and caught him staring back at her.
“Truce,” he said.
“Go fuck yourself,” she said.
Mason laughed. It was a loud roaring laugh, as if he had been keeping it in forever and only now got the chance to finally unleash it. Either that, or the man had lost his marbles. After the events of the night, she wouldn’t have blamed him for going off the deep end. She still wasn’t entirely sure she had seen what she had seen, either—except Danny and Nate had witnessed it, too, so it had to have been real.
Didn’t it?
CHAPTER 14
FRANK
HE WAS BETWEEN vessels when Mabry discovered his presence among the hordes fleeing the airfield. He knew it was only a matter of time; he couldn’t hope to hide forever among the throng, especially after exposing himself inside the hangar.
“She always did say you were a fast learner.”
There was something that sounded dangerously like pride in the voice, but it might have just been another trick. He pushed it aside and continued on when hands suddenly seized his arms and wrestled him to the ground. Fingers tightened around his ankles and wrists, and a pair of black eyes glared down at him.
“There you are,” the creature said inside his head.
It didn’t come from the ghoul—this frail thing straddling his waist as the others held him down. No, it came from somewhere else. Mabry. He was inside the creature’s body, using it as a ventriloquist would his puppet, like he had done back in the hangar when he saved Danny and Gaby.
“I told you, you couldn’t hide forever.”
He let go of the physical body and slid back into the river of fractured thoughts and chaotic memories. He had learned to project his mind long ago, but it was easy to lose his way if he wasn’t careful. Distance still eluded him, and the farther he traveled, the harder it was to maintain control.
He leapfrogged from one consciousness to another, letting himself be carried with the flow instead of fighting it. So many images, so many sounds, so many jumbled thoughts that, once upon a time, were capable of so much more. Those days were long gone, usurped by this new existence. They were just shells of what they used to be, suits to be worn and discarded. He didn’t feel pity for them because they were beyond caring.
“Where are you going?”
The voice pecked away at the edges of his mind, prodding and always trying to lure him back into the open. He didn’t bite and concentrated on the mission at hand.
They were out there somewhere—the men who had dropped the bombs and left behind the explosions. Men with warplanes. A new player. Maybe a new ally…
“You’re grasping at straws.”
He could feel them getting closer. The blue eyes. It forced him to keep moving, grabbing and abandoning bodies at will now, trying to stay one step ahead of them. The first time had been difficult, but everything became easier with practice—
Flames licked at his face and charred bodies blocked his path. His vision was flooded with severed limbs and decapitated heads and sheets of flesh stripped from bones.
Death from above, as a gray metal beast split the air above him, leaving behind fire and splatters of thick black clumps of blood that covered the trees and ground, making for treacherous footing. The creature he was wearing was missing an arm, but there was nothing wrong with its legs.
He pursued the warplane along with the rest of the brood. It would have to come down sooner or later, and when it did, he would find out who was behind this. He couldn’t let go now, or he might never be able to find his way back here. He pushed on through the sea of destruction, determined to reach the other side.
“Where is he?” the voices asked. “He’s close by. Find him—There!”
They were converging, skating burning brushes, when he released the ghoul and surfed the currents and found another one—
Where? How far had he gone this time? He’d discovered the limitations of what he could do during his many trial runs. The farther he projected himself, the more control he surrendered. Mabry didn’t have this problem, which was how he could be everywhere and nowhere at once.
He was still somewhere in the woods, the feel of heat licking at his skin, causing an involuntary whimper to escape his scarred lips. The creature put up a futile attempt at resistance, but he pushed it down and turned around and darted even further into the woods, hoping to skirt around the blue eyes. They were out there, searching, trying to locate him again.
The crackling of burning trees filled his nostrils, and flames stabbed at him from the sides. Every one of the creature’s senses was overwhelmed by the thick, putrid aroma of searing flesh, including its own. He skipped over warm patches of blood and crunched bones as all around him, ghouls fled the fire. The scream of the machines shredding the night sky, raining down death and destruction at will.
A tree tumbled, crushing two flailing forms underneath its gnarled trunk. He jumped and followed the others through the scorching fire, the familiar sensation of pain reminding him of what he used to be, even as heat enclosed around his feet, ripping at skin, and traveled up his legs.
He released, returning into the ocean of voices and jumbled thoughts. What once was, what little remained. A surprising burst of sadness for all that they’d lost, all they could never get back. All he could never retrieve.
And Mabry’s voice, calling to him, always.
“It’s time to give up this rebellion. It’s time to embrace who you are. All you have to do is stop running. Stop fighting. You can’t win. You never could.”
There, a ghoul perched on a tree, watching as two of its brethren were engulfed in fire, their screams flooding its mind. He seized it, then made the creature stand up and jump down, then turn, directing it toward the edge of the burning woods. Figures fled to the left and right of him, others already moving much, much farther up ahead. And still so many more behind him.
A heavy thrumming in the air and the ground shook, and he glanced up while in mid-jump as the shimmering gray metal object, made almost shiny by the fire below it, sliced through the air high above the tree canopies. The warplane had a name, but it escaped him at the moment. An animal of some sort.
The plane loosed its cargo and the earth cracked open, the trees collapsing in waves. The sound of hundreds of ghouls screaming in pain all at the same time overwhelmed his mind, and he lost his footing. He went headfirst into some brush and came out the other side, his joints clacking as he struggled to rise.
Too much. It was too much. He couldn’t fight it, couldn’t push it aside—
A wall of flames embraced him, the pain almost instantly unbearable, and he had no choice but to—
*
IT WAS GONE. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t pick his way through the voices a second time and find the ones pursuing the plane. The problem was distance and control. The farther he projected, the less he had. It was a problem Mabry didn’t have. But then, he wasn’t Mabry. None of them were. There was only one, and there would only always be the one.
He opened his eyes to earth and darkness. Home. At least for tonight.
The silence beyond his makeshift tomb was broken only occasionally by the surf meeting the beach in the distance, bringing with it the smell of ocean water, at once reassuring and terrifying. The madness in the fields behind him was over; the blue eyes had sounded the retreat. The war machine had ceased its cannon fire, and there was just the blessed serenity of undisturbed night again.
How long before sunrise? He wasn’t sure, but there was enough time to do what he needed to do, even if his body was still weak. He shouldn’t have been tired, but he was. It wasn’t a physical pain—not the kind that left his muscles sore and tendons tight and flesh beat up. It was a mental fatigue, a strain that was hard to account for but was there, present in the throbbing against his skull and the blurring in his vision. Jumping between bodies was always
draining, and this time he had stayed longer than he usually did, or wanted.
It was a risk, but it couldn’t be helped. Danny and Gaby needed him. There had been two others in the hangar with them. Men whose faces were familiar, but their names eluded him at the moment. They were back there, in the part of his memory where he kept the things that didn’t matter, that he could afford to forget.
Danny and Gaby mattered, though. What were they doing out there? They had almost died. Would have, if he hadn’t intervened.
What were they doing out there?
But there were no answers to be found down here in the darkness, so he dug and crawled, and pulled and pushed, until he was free. He straightened and gratefully let the darkness embrace him. He was somewhere between the buildings and the water, in a patch of unspectacular ground with nothing to mark his current presence or eventual leave.
He slid through the wind, the torn fabric of the trench coat the only sound as he raced across the outskirts of the city, leaving the taunting scent of the ocean far behind. Topography was difficult to gauge when he was wearing bodies, but he had glimpsed enough of the burning woods to get a general direction. Somewhere out there, the plane would have to eventually come back down.
*
THEY WERE OUT at night, like they always were, and he avoided them by using the shadows. There were shadows within shadows, if you knew where to look. With patience and experience, he had learned to anticipate the shifting of the darkness, always managing to stay one step ahead of the black eyes.
He moved further inland, always aware of the gradual rise in temperature against his skin, the promise of sunrise like a hand from the past reaching out to take hold of him. So he ran faster, aware that he was abandoning Keo and the woman, and leaving behind his need to see her again.
But he had to, because out there, somewhere, was an army. And if he could find it, take control of it, wield it against Mabry…
“You’re grasping at straws,” Mabry had said.
Maybe, maybe…
He didn’t get tired easily these days, so he was able to slip and dodge and dart through buildings, alleyways, and wide-open fields. He bided his time when he needed to and called forth speed when it served him. He lost count of how many empty houses he had passed, the endless empty stretches of roads covered by never-ending clusters of vehicles. He would have avoided the cities entirely if he could, but that required too much time, and he had little to waste.
The sounds of the warplanes from the past echoed inside his head as he ran. Another time, another place. A lot of sand and blood and fire…
He pulled himself back to the present as a horde of black eyes stampeded across a flat and empty field. There, the red walls and angled roofs of a barn. The front alley doors were sealed tight, so he ignored them and jumped instead, grabbing the awning and swinging himself up and over and through an open loft door.
He landed in old bales of hay and watched the creatures racing by under the moonlight. A few hundred, which could only mean a search party. How many more were out there right now, scouring the land for him? Did Mabry know he was nearby? Had he allowed the walls in his mind to slip—
Click!
A small figure, partially shrouded in shadows, stood between two molding bales of hay. Fragile hands trembled as they held onto a silver-chromed revolver that was pointed at him, pale lips parting and closing involuntarily, a small heartbeat rapidly increasing every half second as she exposed herself.
He looked past the dirty pants and sweater and recognized a stick-thin form underneath. Malnourished, the stink of urine and fecal matter oozing from every inch of her, making her nearly impossible to distinguish from the natural decay of the barn.
A second figure, smaller than the first, peeked out from the back. A boy, shaggy hair covered in dirt and straws; like the older one, he had the stink of the building all over him. The two of them were a sorry sight, and he felt something that might have been pity even as the silver that made up the weapon tickled the back of his brain.
“Shoot it!” the boy whispered.
“Shhh!” the girl said. “Stay back like I told you!”
But the boy didn’t go back. Instead, he clutched a rusted steak knife almost as big as his entire arm in both hands. The sharp edge was dull but the metal gleamed in the darkness anyway, dangerous enough for a normal human being, but not to him at the moment. Not at this distance, anyway.
The girl cocked her head, staring at him from across the loft, trying to get a good look at him through the remains of the hoodie over his head. She had dark brown eyes, and they were drawn irresistibly to the pulsating blue of his own. He looked away, back out the doors as the last of the ghouls disappeared into the moonlight.
Crunch-crunch as the girl took a step, then another one, toward him. Perhaps to get a better look at his face, or to make an easier shot. Sweat trailed down her temple despite the cold night air. She wasn’t wearing shoes, and he smelled fresh packed dirt around her toes. The small, barely noticeable squeeze as her finger tightened, tightened against the trigger.
Could she make the shot? Unlikely, given how badly she was shaking, but all it would take was one lucky round. Of course, he could avoid it easily. All he had to do was snap her neck—
No. Not that way.
He stared back at the girl. “Don’t,” he hissed.
Confusion swept across her dirty face. Long, stringy brown hair drooped over her eyes, and the gun continued to tremble slightly in her hands.
In the back, the boy leaned out of the shadows, dull knife ready.
“They’ll hear you,” he said to the girl, “and come back. Do you understand?”
Her eyes darted to the loft opening, then back to him. Did she believe him? Maybe. Was that why she and the boy were hiding? Had they seen the ghouls streaming across the fields earlier, even before he did? Or was this their home? Did they live here in the barn?
“Understand?” he asked.
Finally, she nodded, and he sensed hesitation as the gun lowered. Not much, just half an inch, but it was enough. Even better, her finger eased back on the trigger.
“Good,” he said.
“What are you, mister?” the girl asked, cocking her head, still trying to get a better look at him under the hoodie.
When he didn’t respond, the girl said, “Mister? Are you…?”
“Hide,” he said.
“Emmy?” the little boy whispered from the back of the loft. “What’s happening?”
“Shhh!” Emmy snapped back at him.
She was turned around facing the boy when he leaped outside, landed on the ground, and ran off. He didn’t look back. He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t stop the girl’s voice from echoing over and over inside his head.
“What are you, mister?” she had asked.
He slipped into a patch of woods and skirted around a pair of dead cities, racing against the night, trying to outdistance the coming morning. Never tiring, never sweating, never slowing down.
Out there, somewhere, someone was bringing the war to Mabry’s doorsteps. Someone who wasn’t afraid, who had a plan. Someone with planes and bombs, and maybe even an army at his disposal.
He pushed through the brush and emerged out onto the side of a highway next to a town still filled with the smell of death and destruction, of gunpowder and explosive residue. The streets were once filled with bodies, but they had been taken away; the ones buried under rubble had also been dug up.
He ran across the remains of homes and buildings, and all the while, the girl’s voice echoed in his head:
“What are you, mister?”
*
HE SMELLED THE sweat under their clothes before he even heard or saw them: two soldiers perched in a pair of trees wearing black clothing and black paint over their faces. Almost invisible against the night. Almost. They cradled weapons attached with long suppressors in case they needed to fire them.
And something else. He had detected a trace of it ear
lier, but wasn’t sure. Now, closer, he was certain.
Silver bullets.
Their weapons’ magazines were loaded with silver bullets. He tasted the bitter metal against the tip of his tongue and swallowed it down, then made no sounds as he moved under them. They never saw him—never heard or smelled or felt him. The woods hid his presence, the heat and cold emanating from his pores indistinguishable against the chilly air.
He picked up the familiar scent of fresh gasoline that he had been tracking for the last hour. They had abandoned the roads and picked their way here, where he found the barely day-old tire tracks in the ground. The vehicles were hidden now, their engines cold and undetectable against the pulse of the night. They had picked wisely, hiding in a part of the world that humans had abandoned years ago and the black eyes had stopped searching months earlier.
Except it was nearly impossible for his heightened senses to ignore the combined heat radiating from their bodies. They were pressed against each other, finding strength and comfort in accidental contacts, the quickening heartbeats of so many people crammed into a couple of old abandoned buildings like jackhammers.
He sniffed the men on the rooftops. Multiple snipers, gripping recently oiled machine guns. A couple were dozing off, but more than enough were still awake, jacked up with the help of chemicals.
Again, the metallic taste of silver bullets bit against his tongue.
They had so much silver. Not just on them, but also inside the buildings, in the crates piled in the backs of their vehicles. They were well-organized, well-prepared. Was he really looking at an army?
“You’re grasping at straws,” Mabry had said.
Maybe, maybe…
He looked back into the woods. He could still smell them, the two brave souls watching the perimeter behind him.
Maybe they would have some answers.
*
THE OLDER OF the two men almost managed to pull the trigger in time. Almost. There was a second of hesitation—which was all he needed to grab the younger man’s weapon—and he pulled, sending the soldier flailing to the ground below.