Something of the Night

by Paul Cave

  “Shit,” he whispered. He’d have to go back the other way.

  He bent to pick up the broken knob. It felt cold and solid, and a hefty object to throw. He pulled his arm back and released the object into the darkness. A satisfying thump sounded as the knob hit an object in its path.

  His feelings of triumph were abruptly quashed when the darkness parted to reveal a huge, muscular body. The massive creature appeared to be stooped over, resting on its knuckles.

  The tracker’s eyes widened. Jesus Christ, how the hell! His thoughts were cut short as the beast charged towards him. Its jaws opened and four enormous canines parted wide enough for it to howl in rage. In a hallucination of silver and black fur, the beast raced towards him, and the floor shook violently with its passing. He brought the assault rifle up, took aim and fired a series of shots. The beast changed direction in the blink of an eye. And the bullets whizzed over its shoulder harmlessly.

  Trapped now, Jacob watched as the creature closed in. It rushed towards him, upright but stooped low, with its long muscular arms acting as stabilisers. Drawing nearer, its face appeared to be made of black shiny leather with two flared nostrils in the centre. A compressed forehead slopped back and two nubs of flesh formed the beast’s ears.

  Something Ben had said earlier popped into Jacob’s head: Sweetheart, that’ll hold King Kong. Fear gripped his heart like a tightening vice, but as well as terror, childlike amazement stole a breath. How in heavens had this beast come to be? Out of the two emotions, fear eventually won. He aimed carefully before firing at the magnificent beast before him. A deep gash cut a diagonal across the beast’s skull. It roared in agony, fell to the floor, its rage knocked out of it.

  One of its dark hands rose to its head. Thick fingers probed at the wound. They came away smeared in blood. Its nostrils flared as it sniffed at the red liquid. A tongue poked out to lick at the stained fingertips. Tasting its own blood, the beast released a heartbreaking, almost human, sob.

  Jacob stepped closer. He was almost on the point of apology when the beast turned its dark, pebble-like eyes in his direction. Hatred had turned the beast even more humanlike. In a demented rage, it smashed its fists down onto the carpet, and the desks nearest to it jumped off the floor, scattering their contents onto the carpet. The power of the shockwave dropped Jacob to one knee. The M16 fell out of his hands before bouncing silently away. It finished wedged underneath a desk. He scrambled across the floor, his arm thrust out towards the fallen weapon. His fingers brushed against metal. At the same time an iron fist wrapped itself round his ankle. In one second he was sprawled out on the floor, and in the next, he found himself dangling in midair, with his arms hanging uselessly. He kicked out with his other leg but the assault went wide, missing its target entirely.

  The beast shook Jacob like a rag doll, his arms and free leg flapping around wildly. The bones in his ankle threatened to snap. He understood instantly that if that happened he would be finished. He let out a strangled cry and then went limp. Immediately the jostling stopped. He felt himself hang for a second and then he was dropped unceremoniously to the floor. Luckily the soft carpet spared his skull from splitting in two. Still, the world went darker for a couple of minutes.

  When he came around, he found himself sprawled on the floor and his ankle throbbed painfully. Carefully, he opened one eye and looked around, finding the immediate area clear. Where the hell was it? He tested his foot. Apart from a little numbness, it felt okay. A huff came from directly behind him.

  Shee-yit…

  He opened his other eye and the world widened out before him. He was facing away from the beast, towards the sealed exit. Somewhere off to the left lay the assault rifle. He thought about waiting for help; surely Ben or Hutson would come to his aid, but he remembered ordering them to stay put, no matter what happened.

  The beast sat on its haunches watching the man before it. The throbbing in its head had temporarily lightened. For a second the smell of its own blood had sent it into an uncontrolled rage, but now it seemed calmer, and with one hand it gently nudged the man. The slight prod pushed Jacob six inches across the carpet.

  He felt another rough prod. Using the movement to his advantage, flopping over like a rag doll, he allowed his head to roll over onto the opposite side. Squinting through the tiny crack of his partially opened eyes, he saw the beast sitting only a few feet away.

  The thing was hugely built, mainly out of muscle and fur, but its stomach was a smooth black ball, which swelled out from the rest of the hard mass like a malignant growth. Two powerful arms hung from its broad shoulders and ended in agile hands; which Jacob now believed could indeed be capable of human dexterity. In contrast to the rest of the beast, its legs looked underdeveloped, two short bowings of black fur. The tracker understood at once why the thing needed the reassurance of its hands to maintain an upright stance.

  Its jaws opened in a colossal yawn and four enormous fangs glinted as slivers of white lightning ran from pink gums to the very tips of the canines. Unlike the twisted madness of the vampires’ fangs, these teeth were the work of a creative sense and purpose: evolution.

  Jacob closed his eyes. Better to play dead, for now. He waited for what seemed like an eternity before the beast moved away. He opened his eyes and watched as it ambled away. It appeared to be searching for something. It stopped a few feet away, turned with the grace of a tank, then padded back in his direction.

  He shut his eyes quickly.

  When he reopened them, it had moved over to the opposite doorway. It stopped. For a few seconds it remained there with its head angled slightly upwards. Both nostrils flared. The scent of something pulled the beast over to the table where the assault rifle had disappeared. In a performance of awkward coordination, it reached underneath and retrieved the weapon.

  Jacob lay very still. He had the bizarre notion that the beast was about to point the weapon at him. But then, in an act of confusion, it turned the muzzle up towards its own eye and began to look curiously down the dark barrel. His sudden fear about a re-enactment of Planet of the Apes was temporarily over.

  The beast’s thick fingers worked their way down to the trigger guard. They fumbled around, dangerously close to catching the firing mechanism. Satisfied that the barrel held no secrets, the beast jammed it into its mouth and then began to suck on the weapon as if it was some sort of lethal banana.

  Jacob groaned. The thing’s stupidity was wrecking his nerves. Although he didn’t want to feel its fangs, he felt deeply sorry to see it die in such a stupid manner. The predictability of the situation forced him to turn in the opposite direction. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the inevitable. After only a couple of anxious seconds it came. The weapon discharged with a burst of triple fire. He heard a deafening crash as the beast fell heavily to the floor.

  He felt a deep well of pity for the animal’s death. Nonetheless, it had been its own doing. Pushing his remorse to one side he climbed to his feet. A wisp of smoke rose lazily from the end of the assault rifle. Looking beyond the weapon, he saw that the secured door had been burst open. The loud bang had not been the beast falling, but rather the sound of the door breaking off its hinges.

  Quickly, he retrieved the M16 and then cautiously headed for the door. His heart pounded in his chest. All compassion for the beast had vanished in an instant. Instead, his thoughts had turned to his own self-preservation. He pulled the weapon into his shoulder and silently stepped through the dark threshold.

  The stairwell beyond offered a choice of two directions: upwards or around to the right. He turned right and found himself in front of an open shaft. Like the lobby below, the brass doors had been torn off their hinges. As they were nowhere in sight his guess was that they’d probably disappeared downward, possibly finishing in the same place, and state, as the elevator itself.

  He backed away from the shaft. This was neither the place nor time for a second confrontation. “I’ll be seeing you,” he whispered into the darkness. The
n he returned to the office and quickly crossed over to the opposite stairwell. He descended mostly in darkness, this side of the building in total shadow, and reached the floor below unscathed.

  He pushed open the door. Something jumped out before him. For a second he thought the beast had descended on the opposite side to catch him here unawares. But in the next instant, he recognised that this particular hairy face belonged to Ben. The huge Browning dropped away from his head. The gunner stepped back to assess his friend.

  “What the hell happened?” Ben asked.

  A shadow shifted slightly and Lieutenant Hutson appeared from behind an overturned desk. “Are you okay?” she asked. The meagre light from outside barely illuminated her worried-looking face.

  “I’m fine,” Jacob reassured them.

  “Did you kill it?” Ben asked anxiously; he’d almost died from worry with all the thunder that had gone on above his head. “C’mon, tell us what happened.”

  Jacob moved deeper into the room, followed by his eager audience.

  “For the love of God, tell us,” Ben moaned.

  The tracker turned back and a huge grin had split his face in two. He shook his head then laughed out loud, partly a release of tension, partly a cry of amused wonder at the bizarre confrontation he had just had.

  “What is it?” Ben asked.

  “Yeah, what the hell happened up there?” Hutson prompted.

  Jacob’s amusement subsided, leaving him feeling drained. Eventually, he regained his composure, took a deep breath, and said: “I think you’d both better sit down… ”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Shutters thumped noisily against the window frame. Alice shivered. She and Squirrel were huddled together at the back of the toy store. The mechanic had one arm around her shoulders and his free hand clutched at the pistol in his lap. They had spent the last six hours waiting in the near-darkness, feeling cold and miserable.

  “We must have missed him,” Squirrel announced, through a plume of frosted breath.

  Alice sighed and another white trail filtered out before them. “Let’s give it another hour, and see what happens.”

  We’ll have frozen our butts solid, Squirrel thought, but he remained quiet. He could see how anxious she was getting. Elliot should have passed through here by now. “Maybe he’s bypassed Glen Eagle completely,” he remarked.

  Alice shook her head. “Why would he have? It’s on the main route to Ezekiel’s northern territories.”

  “Perhaps that’s why. Perhaps he’s taken a different path. Even kept to the forests, maybe.”

  “In this?”

  Squirrel turned to the window. The shutters had thankfully stopped banging. The wind outside had taken a much needed break. Through the crack he saw dark snowflakes fall past the window. Since leaving the underground they had travelled northwards, non-stop, in the hope of finding Elliot. Squirrel had allowed Alice to guide them through the endless twists and turns of the abandoned highways, her knowledge of the outside world infinitely keener than his. He’d taken the trip slowly, not wanting to push the old vehicle too hard, and so far his caution had paid off. The suspension had held, just. The open side windows, though, had offered absolutely no protection against the harsh conditions outside. Luckily, however, the heater from the engine had been able to blow a constant warm draught over them, which had just about stopped them from freezing solid. Twice Squirrel had asked Alice to stop and find shelter. Twice she simply ignored his request and focused her attention on the darkness ahead. After three long hours, they eventually reached the outskirts of town. On arrival, they had made a beeline for the toy store. Inside, Alice had immediately noticed that some of the provisions and most of the weapons had been taken. Jacob Cain had been here, they agreed on that. A good thing in itself – at least he had made it this far, but why had he taken most of the weapons? In all, he had enough firepower to stop a small army. “Perhaps that’s exactly what he has in mind,” Squirrel had suggested.

  Alice blew a long breath into her hands. “So cold,” she said.

  Squirrel rubbed his hand against her shoulders. The hand holding the gun had turned a slight shade of blue. Between them, its lamp set to low, sat a battery-operated beacon. Worried about attracting unwanted attention, they’d decided to do without the heat or comfort of a real fire.

  Until now.

  Squirrel handed the weapon over to Alice.

  “What is it?” she asked, as he climbed gingerly to his feet.

  “We need heat,” he said.

  “No. What if we’re spotted from outside?”

  Squirrel moved to the open window to look out. The world had become a drab landscape of greys and blacks. The snow, if that’s what is really was, fell in grey blobs, covering everything in a sickly hue. Alice stood and joined him. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing,” Squirrel told her. “But we need to warm up or Elliot will arrive to find two icicles sat here waiting to greet him.”

  Alice grinned, despite her worry. Squirrel was doing a fine job at keeping her anxiety from boiling over. “Okay, I agree. But we’ll need to keep it small.”

  “I’ll keep it small, I promise,” he said.

  Alice looked around them. “What should we use?”

  Squirrel scanned over the contents of the room. There were plenty of cardboard boxes, and the shelves that held them were made from thin plywood, which would burn easily, if they could find a suitable accelerant. “Break some of that up,” he said, pointing to the shelves. “And rip those cardboard boxes into thin strips.” He headed for the door.

  “Wait,” Alice called. “Where are you going?”

  “We need fuel to start it,” he told her.

  Alice frowned slightly. She moved to the first rack of shelves and touched the wood. It felt cold and damp and spongy. Years of harsh weather had turned the wood into soggy pulp.

  “Will it burn?” she asked.

  “Yeah, but we’ll need fuel from the truck to get it started.”

  “Okay, but be careful.”

  He pulled his collar up and then stepped through the cluttered corridor to the front of the store.

  Outside looked cold and bleak. He pulled the door open and a small bell rang out above his head. The enthusiastic ring made the dark street seem less foreboding somehow. He stepped into the sleet with only his thin jacket and hope to keep him warm. Hunching his shoulders against the cold bite of wind, he made his way along the deserted sidewalk. He reached the street corner and headed down the next avenue. As he turned into it, the wind picked up unexpectedly and pushed him back, the street acting as a natural funnel, channelling the current of air into a powerful slipstream. He bent forwards. Pushed against the wind and slowly lurched over to the truck. It was parked between the shell of a dispatch van and a twisted wreck that could in all honesty have been anything.

  He reached the truck and took refuge in the lee of the van. He bent and started to work free one of the small tanks that had been packed hurriedly in the back of the truck. After a brief struggle the tank came away and Squirrel heard liquid slosh about inside. He smiled. They would be toasting marshmallows in no time at all. The thought made him turn back towards the main street.

  “Nah,” he said to himself.

  The idea began to eat at his brain. What the hell, he thought, and started back in the direction of the sidewalk. With his back to the wind, he re-entered the main street in a hurry and had to skid to a halt before the force of it pushed him all the way back down Highway 63. He found a torn canopy over the front of the toy store. Another striped awning, further along, hid the front of a second store.

  He grinned and his belly rumbled with anticipation. What the hell, he thought again, he’d only be five minutes. He trod through the wet sludge and stopped outside the store. The window had been smashed long ago and the once decorative front was now just an empty row of trays, offering sweet memories. Still, his hunger made him try the door at his side. The thing was as tight as a drum. He
shrugged and dropped the tank at his feet. Then, in a performance of awkwardness, he climbed through the open window. Glass crunched underneath his feet. He breathed deeply once he stepped inside. He took another breath and filled his lungs to capacity. A distinct scent of something sweet and sugary found its way inside the mechanic’s nostrils. The essence of candy drew Squirrel deeper into the old sweetshop. He looked from one counter to the next, but they’d been picked clean. Now, countless trays with layers of dust were left, which were in stark contrast to the colourful and tempting offers that had once been their original load. He breathed again and the sweet scent had diminished somewhat. Disappointed, he returned to the window.

  He took one last hopeful look around, in case he’d missed something, and then with slumped shoulders he reached out for the windowsill. The sole of his boot peeled itself off the floor. He froze. It was then he discovered the smell of sugar was at its strongest. He stood back from the window. For a second he stood confused. He lifted first one foot and then the other. His face broke into a colourful smile. His feet made loud tearing noises as they pulled themselves free from something sticky. What he had first thought to be broken glass was actually a carpet of sweets and candy, and just waiting to be eaten!

  He dropped to his knees and the wave of sugar almost made him dizzy. His mouth opened and a drop of saliva pooled onto his chin. Using his fingers, he pulled up a tile of the squashed candy and took a huge bite.

  Sweet God in Heaven!

  A thousand taste buds cried out in ecstasy. He chomped eagerly and his tongue revelled in the different flavours: lime, strawberry, orange, lemon and mint, all mixed in with a grouting of chocolate. Within minutes he devoured the entire lot. His fingers returned to the floor and another tile came away. He folded it over and shoved it inside his pocket. For a couple of minutes, he spent his time either filling his pockets or filling his face. Eventually, neither his pockets nor his belly could hold any more. He stood and reached for the windowsill. He’d pulled himself half out when one of his hands slipped. Something grabbed a hold of him by the front of his jacket. Surprised, Squirrel look up and found he was staring into the empty folds of a hood.