Something of the Night

by Paul Cave

  Bara became confused for a second. Then, realising she had won the confrontation, she raised the weapon high in victory, “Let’s take what is meant to be ours,” she said, jabbing the pistol upwards.

  The mob split into two factions, one triumphant at the commencement of battle. The other subdued and shocked by their leader’s defeat.

  Thalamus, Franklin and Trask all took an anxious step towards their master. Yet, as they neared, they saw that Ezekiel’s look was one not of defeat but of quiet self-assurance.

  Ezekiel’s mouth opened and a soft chuckle escaped. The chuckle continued to build until it had became a great roar of laughter. The vampire leader jumped to his feet. Fake hilarity echoed eerily within the tight construction of the chamber. The howls of amusement continued until all had fixed their attention to the man on the dais.

  The laughter stopped abruptly. Ezekiel snatched the handgun from the table before him and took a step towards the crowd. He clicked the safety off and then, unexpectedly, he lowered the weapon to the young boy’s head.

  Mercifully, the boy had turned his attention to the silent crowd before him. The muzzle inched closer. Ezekiel’s finger rose to his dark lips. “Watch… ” he whispered in their direction.

  Surprise locked the gathering in silent formation.

  Ezekiel looked to Bara, “Would you have me pull the trigger?” he asked.

  The question went unanswered.

  “Would you have me pull the trigger?” he asked again.

  Bara’s need for blood began to consume her. She imagined the rich stench if he were to pull the trigger. She took an unconscious step closer in hope of catching the blood-spill. Other vampires moved closer, swooning with the lust for blood.

  Ezekiel asked again, “Shall I pull the trigger?” This time, though, his question was directed at the entire group.

  “Yes… yes… ” some hissed, faces twisted by the desperate yearning.

  Ezekiel pulled the hammer back. He brought the dark, oily eye within a hair’s width of the boy’s skull. The group seemed to contract around the vampire and boy. Even Ezekiel’s three trusted companions had succumbed to the hunger. The trigger clicked back.

  A loud hollow clank echoed as the hammer fell on an empty chamber.

  The noise pulled the captivated horde out of their trancelike state.

  Thalamus blinked. What had just happened?

  Ezekiel sighed. He tucked the weapon into his waistband before wrapping his arms around the boy. He sighed again, a long exhalation of regret and disappointment. The young boy looked up and smiled at the vampire leader.

  The boy was a drop of innocence in a sea of immorality.

  Ezekiel returned the smile and then bent and kissed the boy’s smooth brow. “I love you,” he said.

  “I protect you,” the boy responded, with the same loving affection.

  Ezekiel looked up and turned his attention to those before him. “Now do you understand why we cannot simply use force to get what we want?” the vampire leader asked.

  Some nodded, the truth revealing itself like a sudden burst of starlight. Others shook their heads, confused by the act of warmth before them.

  Ezekiel explained, “The use of force will simply endanger our objective. What good is our bounty dead? The humans would rather die than stand amongst us, so we need to guarantee their survival to aid us in ours.”

  “But how?” Brother Trask asked.

  “We need to find a weakness that we can exploit.”

  Brother Franklin moved closer. “Such as?”

  Ezekiel looked down at his comrade. “Compassion.”

  Franklin frowned. “Compassion for what?”

  Ezekiel’s fangs glinted as they flashed within a quick, intelligent smile. “Compassion for their own.”

  “I don’t understand,” the gaunt vampire said.

  Ezekiel stepped off the platform, placed his hands onto Franklin’s shoulders and said, “What I’m saying, brothers, is we use the humans we have in captivity to ensure our continued survival.” He paused for a second, his next sentence certain to cause an outrage. He looked from one face to the next; all looked beset with the hunger for blood and bloodshed.

  Taking a deep breath, he said, “We use the human prisoners to make a truce. To form an alliance!”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The first wave of vampires attacked in a swell of rotten flesh. Out of the store windows they came, pouring from the dark openings like a swarm of giant insects.

  Ben waited until he had about a dozen bodies in front of him. He let them get within about ten yards before pulling on the trigger. Fire erupted from the muzzle of the Browning. Instantly the wave of vampires stopped as the shower of bullets ripped them apart.

  Jacob watched as the first group was torn to shreds. He popped open the cockpit and jumped out. Immediately, he was thrown to the ground by the powerful downwash of the rotor-blades. The M16 slipped from his fingers and clattered away. He looked up to find a dark mass of bodies rushing towards him.

  Something stepped in front of him. He heard a spray of gunfire, and the horde scattered in a dismemberment of limbs and body parts. Ben’s boot kicked the assault rifle back into his reach. He took it, climbed to his knees and waited for the next wave. They came, racing out of the surrounding buildings, shrieking with rage and hunger.

  Ben skirted around the nose of the Huey, taking up position on the right flank. Lieutenant Hutson followed, her arms laden with ammo-belts. Already, droves of the undead were closing in, in a nightmare assortment of fiery eyes and snapping fangs. Ben dropped to one knee, resting the Browning across his thigh. He hit the trigger and the assault disintegrated before him. He felt cold rain drip from the sky, and he knew it was a shower of vampire blood. The Browning continued to chatter, ripping through the buildings, dropping bodies even before they made it outside. The weapon made a sudden, hollow clunk. Flipping open the loading mechanism, Hutson fed another belt through. Her fingers struggled with the heat of the loader, but finally she managed to reload, and with a slap, the mechanism was reengaged. A second later the weapon burst back into life, and another wave of vampires was torn apart.

  They were falling over each other, blinded by their demented bloodlust, in a bid to reach the warm-blooded prize. One vampire eluded them. It zigzagged from left to right, keeping out of their line of sight, and closed in. A plank of wood rose in its hand, and Jacob had a second to count all three nails embedded in its end. He brought the assault rifle up and pulled the trigger. The weapon fell silent, its rage spent for now.

  “Shit!” he cursed.

  The spikes drew closer, ready to spear their catch. But in the vampire’s haste it missed the threat directly above. And, as the plank readied to strike, it was ripped away by the rotating blades. The vampire’s hand stayed clamped to the wood. In the blink of an eye the creature was dragged into the whirl of blades and reduced to nothing larger than a tooth or nail. A shower of gore scattered, painting the surrounding walls in blood and tiny chunks of diced flesh.

  The wind at Jacob’s back blew itself out. He looked up and the sky had been filled with a large, threatening silhouette. The Huey banked to the left and then tore away. Instantly a huge body of vampires rushed at the three humans trapped at ground level. With new-found confidence, they surrounded the group and pushed closer, fangs dripping with saliva.

  He felt someone at his back. He spun round and found Ben there.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Ben snapped.

  “What?”

  “You were supposed to help keep Black Bird grounded,” Ben scolded, “Tate can’t do it alone with only the one leg!”

  “Shit!” he moaned, remembering his orders.

  Ben snarled in annoyance. Then he unleashed the Browning on the advancing mob. He cut an opening at the bottom of the horde. “COME ON!” he shouted.

  Hutson threw the remaining belt over her shoulder, aimed her rifle at the closest figure and fired. She wasted no time in wai
ting to see the outcome; instead she followed at Ben’s heels.

  All three headed for the break.

  The vampires were closing in, in an attempt to trap the small group. Jacob ejected his spent magazine and punched home another. The weapon erupted in gunfire. Four of five bodies fell, widening their escape route.

  Ben and Hutson broke through. Jacob didn’t make it. The division of vampires tightened and the circle closed in around him. He summoned his accumulated rage and roared in the group’s direction. Most caught a glimpse of his canines, and, confused, they stopped.

  One of the nearest vampires opened its mouth. It struggled to form words. “What are you?” it asked, in a barely recognisable intonation. The noise sounded as if it had come from a larynx made from rusty barbed wire. Again the vampire forced its question from its grating throat. “What are you?” it rasped.

  “I am your doom,” Jacob replied, flashing him a grin.

  The thing’s grisly face frowned, “What?”

  Jacob lunged forwards, gripping the fiend’s arms. He looked beyond the thing’s face and offered up a silent but urgent prayer. Next, bending his legs, he pulled both himself and the vampire to the ground.

  A split second later, Black Bird swooped down, heading directly towards the undead mob. The GAU-17A machinegun on the nose of the helicopter spun into life, spitting deadly rain down onto the mass of vampires. Like cut wheat, the vampires fell to the ground, the scythe of humanity reaping lost souls.

  Jacob felt the body above twitch and thrash as bullets ripped into its cold flesh. In a bloodied and torn heap, they landed heavily onto the street. He had a second to see a huge, terrifying shape tear passed, just feet above him.

  Ben stepped through the massacre. His boots splashed through the many puddles of blood and gore. “Jacob, where are you?” he called. To his left, one of the slain vampires moved. He trained the Browning on the figure and his finger tightened on the trigger.

  “Wait!” Hutson warned.

  His finger relaxed, ever so slightly.

  The vampire rose to a sitting position. It toppled to its side and Jacob Cain appeared from behind it.

  Ben laughed heartily and said, “Jacob, this is no time for sleeping on the job.”

  “Funny, real funny,” Jacob replied. “Almost got my ass blown off.” He stood and turned to reveal a gash along the seat of his pants.

  “Ha! I believe Tate has had her revenge,” Ben remarked, between howls of amusement.

  “Laugh it up, hair ball,” Jacob replied.

  “It’s a good job Tate’s a perfect shot,” Ben continued.

  “Yeah,” Jacob agreed, “I ain’t arguing with that.”

  Some of the bodies writhed about. Lieutenant Hutson stepped from one body to the next. Her rifle cracked intermittently and, by the time she’d walked full circle, all of the vampires lay still.

  In the distance, they heard the cry of madness. It reached out from the surrounding streets and avenues like a siren warning of an impending doom.

  “We’d better go,” Ben said.

  “Wait,” Hutson called. “What about the crate? We’ll need it, right?”

  “Yeah, but not here. Tate’ll make sure we get it, once needed.”

  All three turned in the direction of the Empire State Building. Strewn outside its open lobby were about two dozen bodies, or what remained of bodies. Tate and Nick had done one hell of a job. They crossed the blood-soaked streets and stopped just outside the lobby. Twin eagles of stone perched on either side of the entrance.

  Ben tilted his head upwards. “I hope these boots were made for walking,” he said.

  “Why’s that?” Jacob asked.

  “Because, Jacob, it’s a hell of a long way up to the eighty-sixth floor.”

  Jacob looked up at the immense height of the building. It stretched away in an enormous column of glass and granite, and disappeared halfway up into a cloud of darkness. A grumble of misery escaped from his lips. Why hadn’t Tate just dropped them off higher? As if in response, the wind howled tremendously and the whole side of the building seemed to sway under its might. The remaining windows shuddered violently.

  This was going to be one hell of a climb.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Scratch padded away from the canteen table, its occupants offering the mutt a morsel or two, and moved towards the little girl. He ran his pink tongue across her wet cheek. He tasted salt so continued to lick away until her trickle of tears had dried. She giggled as his tongue moved to her nose and began to tickle.

  “Hey, stop that,” she said, but continued to giggle anyway. The mutt gave her one last sloppy kiss then backed away, his tail wagging vigorously. Rebecca’s face had gone from misery to delight.

  Yap! Yap!

  She giggled again, enjoying the dog’s overeager affections. Her thin arm reached out and she returned the favour with a tickle underneath his furry chin. “Stupid mutt,” she said, with nothing but warmth.

  Scratch slipped into heaven as the girl worked on the itchy spot just under his chin. After a couple of minutes of bliss, the girl pulled her arm back and unconsciously let it rest over her jacket pocket. Scratch pawed at her hand, pulling it away from the coarse material.

  “My fingers are aching,” Rebecca said.

  Unperturbed by her complaint, the mutt continued to paw until she pulled her hand away from the pocket. The second she did, he darted in, thrusting his nose inside.

  “Hey!” Rebecca cried, as his muzzle sniffed around inside her pocket. She clamped her hand over the material, trapping him in situ. A long wheeze of air sounded and, now unable to breathe, the mutt retreated.

  “Hey!” Rebecca cried, “naughty boy.”

  Woof!

  Rebecca frowned. What did the stupid mutt want? “There’s nothing there for you,” she told him. She watched as his tail wagged eagerly. “NO!” she said harshly. Instantly, his tail dropped between his legs. He released a long, sorrowful whine and gave her his best puppy-dog eyes. She was having none of it. Okay, time to get tough. He padded a few feet away, jumped forwards a couple of times as if chasing an invisible rat, then turned back and gave her a wag and a bark.

  She sat silent.

  He started to pad away.

  Realising he was about to leave her all alone, Rebecca jumped to her feet. She moved away from the table. “Okay, but not here,” she said. Scratch’s tongue poked out in a smiling pant. “Stupid mutt,” Rebecca repeated, grinning. She twisted around and looked for a suitable hiding place. She spotted a quiet passageway so made her way towards it.

  Scratch followed.

  ***

  Apart from a fleet of battered vehicles, the cavern was all but deserted. Alice turned around; the table there pulled her attention. She took a step closer. A small shiny object amongst the clutter beckoned her nearer. Reaching out with grimy fingers, she took the object and held it to her chest. She paused for a second before striding purposefully to one of the trucks. The driver’s door opened with a squeal of rusty hinges. Alice climbed in behind the steering wheel. She drew the object away from her chest and looked at it thoughtfully. It was just a simple key – the key that would spark the ignition, thus injecting life into the old engine. The palms of her hands began to sweat.

  This was reckless, and she knew it.

  And selfish.

  Utterly selfish.

  Still, she brought her shaking hand under control and inserted the key into the ignition. Starting the motor, she then reversed the truck to the centre of the cavern. She climbed out and headed for the nearest wall. Two buttons were fixed into the rock – one red, one green – and a small keypad was sunk into the wall directly underneath. In a flurry of fingers she punched in the secret combination. The second she hit the last digit, the green button blinked on with power. Her hand hovered over it.

  As she stood there, a mixture of emotions swept over her. She felt guilt for what she was about to do, fear of reprisal if she was to be caught, but most of all,
a desperate longing in her heart. She took a breath and readied herself.

  “Hey, what’s going on?”

  She almost jumped out of her skin. She looked over to the entrance and saw Squirrel standing there, surprise and confusion written across his face.

  “Alice, why’s the truck over there?” he asked, walking up to her. Her hand dropped away and shame turned her cheeks red.

  “What are you doing?” Squirrel asked.

  “I’m leaving,” she told him.

  “What!”

  “I’ve got to help Elliot,” she said.

  “Are you crazy?” he asked.

  She looked back at him with steely determination.

  “You can’t do this,” he chided.

  “Squirrel,” she responded, “I’ve got to.”

  “But Major Patterson said we’ve got to think of others.”

  “I am thinking of others. Elliot.”

  “Alice, he can take care of himself. What good can you do?”

  “I can get him to the vampire’s camp safely.”

  “How?”

  Alice pointed to the truck, “In that.”

  Squirrel looked over at the stationary vehicle. He realised it was the one he’d recently modified, and said, “No way. It’s a total wreck.” He didn’t believe it entirely, but he was desperate for her to stay.

  Alice released a short laugh. “Nice try.” In truth she was not convinced that it wasn’t a wreck, but replied, “I’ll take my chances.”

  “I can’t let you go,” Squirrel said.

  “You’ve seen the change in the weather. He’ll freeze to death.”

  For the last six hours the ground had been under assault by a barrage of heavy snow. Not white powdery flakes like normal snow, but a torrent of grey sludge, a mixture of ice and dust. The landscape outside had become dull, leached of any colour or character.

  “Elliot knows what he’s doing. He’ll be fine,” Squirrel said.

  “How can you be sure?”