Something of the Night

by Paul Cave

  Elliot’s chest heaved up and down in short, shallow breaths. With gentle fingers the boy began to work Elliot’s jacket higher. It peeled away from the tracker’s pallid flesh like a bloodied layer of dead skin. Now freed from the tight material, the bullet-hole began to spurt with blood. Hurriedly, the boy clamped his hand – palm flat – over the wound. Rivulets of blood leaked out from around the boy’s spread fingers. Using his other hand, he pushed down over the back of the first.

  Pet moved closer, cautious to avoid the large grey wolf. As he sidestepped the beast, a distant burst of explosive fire turned the woods orange. Something metallic glinted at his side. He bent and found a small pistol, its stock smeared with a glistening of blood, half-buried in Isaac’s remains. He plucked it free.

  The boy began to examine Elliot’s wound more closely. Just a small hole really, which belied the severity of the tracker’s internal injuries. Another spray of blood arced over the boy’s shoulder. Quickly, he jammed his index finger into the wound, temporarily halting the flow. His face turned into a mask of grim determination and his finger disappeared deeper. Elliot shuddered, but remained mercifully unconscious. The finger delved deeper, now almost as far as the second knuckle. Now, the fingertip met solid resistance. Forming his finger into a hook, the boy began to work the bullet free. It slipped and he was forced to try again. For a second time he dug at the embedded slug. He relocated it and again hooked his fingertip around it. He pulled and the lump of twisted lead came free. With an audible pop it appeared, caught within the crook of his finger. A steady pulse of red spray beat from the open wound. The little boy looked up at the vampire and his eyes were filled with expectation.

  Pet understood exactly what needed to be done. He raised the weapon above his head. With a series of loud claps, the weapon fired up into the night sky. Pet pulled the trigger until the entire clip had been emptied. Then, wasting no time, he bent forwards and plunged the red-hot muzzle into the open wound. Blood and flesh sizzled as the intense heat began to cauterise the injury. The little boy began to clap his hands enthusiastically as the gunmetal slowly withdrew from the charred hole. Dark wisps snaked out of the wound, followed by watery red pus. The pistol came away and a small blob of red gore fell from the end of the barrel.

  Elliot coughed and his chest rose as his lungs filled to capacity. Colour spread from around the wound, quickly replacing the pallid greyness of his flesh with a healthy red tinge. His lips became engorged as the rerouted blood began to find its way through veins and arteries.

  “Saved,” the boy said, beaming happily.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Tate tilted the nose of the helicopter, allowing The Ray of Hope to wash over the dark mass beneath. The bright beam caught a group of vampire soldiers and instantly they exploded in a flash of pure white light. Like screaming skyrockets, six blinding shafts of light tore past Tate, up into the night, cutting their way through the blanket of dust. The beautiful pulse of blue sky that lay beyond dazzled her. Instantly, though, the thick fog knitted the holes shut and once again the dark cloud rumbled from east to west – unstoppable.

  A metallic voice crackled to life. “Over there.” Buckled into the co-pilot’s seat, Nick pointed through the cockpit towards a rank of retreating vampires. They were heading for the cover of trees. Tate tipped the rudder forwards and, with the vengeance of Wrath itself, Black Bird cut off their escape. The half platoon of Raphael’s men fell over each other in a desperate attempt to escape. Most were vaporised, the blue light scorching skin with the conviction of a firestorm. A few managed to scatter out of the bright radius, but, blinded by terror, they ran straight into the human soldiers who were now working their way towards the base of the hill. A deep line of firearms cut down all those who tried to flee.

  Black Bird banked suddenly to the right and a barrage of gunfire cut through the darkness, almost ripping away a section of the fuselage. The Huey levelled out momentarily, but another line of fire burst from the ground, so the aircraft pulled up and away to safety. Below, the battlefield became a black canvas, punctured by the bright red and white holes of Hell and Damnation.

  In the rear of the Huey, Ben swung the remaining Browning from left to right, picking off the stragglers that stumbled across the battlefield. Next to him, Squirrel was deep in his own battle. The generator fluctuated between full power and near total failure. A small needle, signifying power output, flicked violently from red to green.

  “More oil,” Squirrel said. “She needs more oil.”

  The teenager, Ella, poured a thick stream of brown liquid into the generator’s gearbox. A loud, angry sputter came from the vent, followed by a plume of choking smoke.

  “More – more,” Squirrel ordered, watching the needle slip slowly back to green.

  ***

  Brother Trask watched as the aircraft disappeared into darkness. Only a handful of his men were left standing. Most lay scattered at his feet, bloodied and broken. What remained had gathered around Trask’s jeep, holding back the onslaught with their last dying breath. Bullets stuttered up the side of the jeep and two more soldiers dropped to the earth.

  Trask levelled the machinegun and tore through the advancing horde. A nearby explosion rocked the vehicle onto two wheels, but still the vampire warrior hung on. The jeep crashed back down, and finally Trask was thrown clear. A second later the vehicle was peppered with a hundred bullet-holes. The vampire rolled onto his back, then climbed to a sitting position. The platoon of enemy soldiers had moved on, thinking their assault had been absolute. Trask was the only one to climb to his feet. The rest lay were they had fallen.

  Something caught his eye. Two figures materialised before him. Black uniforms, barely distinguishable in the darkness, camouflaged them. Unlike the rest of Raphael’s foot soldiers, these two moved slowly, weighed down by heavy artillery. Both had rocket-grenades balanced on their shoulders. They dropped to the earth, tilting the sleek, deadly weapons towards the night sky.

  Over the raging battlefield, Trask heard the distinguishable clatter of rotor-blades. The helicopter was coming fast, oblivious to the two missiles that were being targeted against its hull. The beam of light cut to their left, passing both soldiers harmlessly, and then moved to intercept their brethren.

  Understanding that only the magnificent light could beat Raphael’s numbers, Trask bent down, snatched up his fallen rifle and then raced towards the two kneeling soldiers. A deafening battle-cry burst from his stretched lips. The night seemed to part in the wake of Trask’s passing. With one long, continuous battle-cry, he raced towards the two soldiers.

  The soldier nearest continued to track Black Bird’s progress, oblivious to the threat which descended upon him. The second soldier frowned, the meaning of the strange noise eluding him, for now. The tip of his rocket-propelled grenade traced along the dark canvas of night, homing in on the darker shadow of the Huey’s fuselage. Only when it was too late did he understand the demented roar of Trask’s passing. He chanced a look to his left, beyond his comrade, and the dull glitter of amour caught his eye. Next, he noticed the hefty club that was raised high, ready to strike. In a blind panic, he spun around, the tip of the rocket catching his comrade’s shoulder. The sudden jolt forced the other’s finger to twitch and, with a deafening WHOOSH, the rocket raced away with a red tail of fire close behind it.

  “What the hell?” the vampire questioned, his launcher expelling a breath of black smoke. Then, seeing the look of terror on his counterpart’s face, he twisted around and–

  –with a hollow crack, the nails embedded in Trask’s rifle split his skull in two. Like a clay pot his forehead cracked open to reveal grey tissue beneath.

  The second vampire turned his weapon towards Trask, but the heaviness of the rocket spun him around, in unwanted momentum, and he finished with it pointing well past its mark.

  Ripping the rifle stock free, Trask spun it around in his hands, bringing the muzzle out in front of him. The soldier wrestled the grenade-lau
ncher back round in an attempt to defend himself.

  Then, simultaneously, Trask and the soldier unleashed their fury.

  ***

  Like a vengeful whirlwind, Black Bird scooped up lost souls before delivering them into the heavens in a bright, blinding shower of light. Scanning ahead, Ben dropped the retreating vampires, allowing The Ray of Hope to douse the fallen bodies with its righteous glow. Brass shells clattered around his boots and he whooped with joy as the night turned bright with arcing bolts of pure white light.

  Suddenly, a different sort of light raced towards him, red and angry and full of intent.

  “Oh… shit,” he moaned, understanding at once it was the tail of a rocket. He watched in terror as the missile homed in. And, in a fusion of matter, they came together.

  The night turned orange.

  Black Bird lurched to the side, throwing those inside around with violent disregard. Lieutenant Hutson fell backwards into Squirrel, and both toppled out of the helicopter. Ella screamed, almost equalling the noise of the blast, as she watched the two of them disappear.

  ***

  Inside the cockpit, Tate fought vainly with the uncontrollable flight-stick. It whipped her hands to the left, spinning the Huey in a tight circle. “Dear God,” she cried, understanding her predicament. “The tail-rotor’s been hit.”

  At her side, Nick coughed and burped. A bright bubble of red phlegm burst on his lips.

  “ … Shee-yit … ” he rasped.

  “Help me!” Tate called.

  “I’m hit,” Nick said through bloody, gritted teeth. He looked down and found a collage of crimson pools spreading out in dark, wet patches.

  “Hit where?” Tate asked, pulling her attention away from the blur of motion before her.

  “Everywhere… ”

  “Hold on,” Tate said, desperately trying to level out the dark horizon. The Huey spun crazily, and Tate watched hopelessly as the world around her turned helter-skelter. Just before her arms gave out she felt the aircraft begin to level out. The dark sky above shifted into place, directly above her head.

  “Get this bird down,” Nick groaned, his words slurred by the severe loss of blood.

  Tate turned to him and found both his hands, blood-soaked, wrapped around the co-pilot’s flight-stick.

  “Hold on,” she said again.

  Nick grimaced, a ghostly mask of pale flesh. He coughed again and the cockpit on his side was covered in a layer of red spittle. His eyelids fluttered and one of his hands slipped away from the flight-stick. Instantly, Black Bird bucked and swayed like a raging bull. The sudden jolt snapped Nick back to awareness. His free hand returned to the control, wrapping slick fingers into a tight fist.

  “We don’t have much time,” he managed to say.

  The Huey dropped lower, the tip of the tallest trees scratching at the aircraft’s underbelly. Somehow, between them, they managed to bring the Huey higher, just missing a collision with the hard scab of earth directly underneath.

  ***

  A sickening wash of vertigo pushed Ella back inside. The aircraft banked hard left and the ground below became a horrible blur of motion. Reaching out blindly, she pulled her head back inside the cabin.

  Ben appeared at her side. “Where the hell is Squirrel and Hutson?” he asked crazily.

  Ella opened her mouth but the wind stole her voice. With one trembling finger, she pointed outside.

  Throwing his arms wide, Ben wedged himself in the opening of the cabin. “Jesus Christ,” he cursed, finding Squirrel and Hutson dangling from the helicopter’s skid. “HOLD ON!” he cried.

  They looked up, terror holding them tight.

  Ben looked around the cabin, desperate for help. He found it, surprisingly, in the shape of a dark coil of cable. He yanked the cable towards him, unthinkingly ripping the plug free from the generator’s control box.

  Instantly the Huey’s nose blinked out as The Ray of Hope flickered and died.

  “GRAB THIS!” Ben called, throwing the cable outwards. The wind caught it and slammed it against the hull, where it snapped and thrashed about like a tormented cobra. “Damn!” Ben coiled the cable back around his arm and then tried again, this time feeding it slowly towards them. It fell straight, flapping wildly between them.

  “TAKE IT!” Squirrel mouthed through gritted teeth.

  “YOU FIRST,” Hutson replied, seeing that the mechanic’s strength was almost spent.

  “Okay,” he agreed, too weak to argue. He reached out, snagging the cable with one hand. He took a breath – possibly his last – and then let go of the metal skid. For one terrifying second he felt as if he was going to tumble to his death. Yet in the next, Ben had pulled him inside the cabin and to safety.

  “Hurry, she can’t hold on much-” Squirrel stopped. His heart sank. “Wait, where the hell did that come from?” A dark, grubby hand gestured towards the coil of cable in Ben’s hands. “Please, don’t tell me it came from here!” he said, his other hand indicating the generator.

  “No time for apologies,” Ben snarled, turning his back on the mechanic. He looked out of the cabin, intent on throwing the cable to Hutson.

  The lieutenant was gone.

  Lost forever to the darkness below.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  They tore through the passageway with the beast stumbling close behind them. Rebecca’s arms pumped up and down vigorously, and the terrier’s short legs moved in a blur of constant motion.

  The thing behind them lurched forwards, its longer legs carrying it closer to its intended prey. Dr. Miller’s fevered mind forced him on and the hunger in his veins drove any sense of reasoning away. As he passed underneath the bulkhead lights, they seemed to burn clear his delirium, momentarily, and the harsh white light forced flickers of memory to form within his brain. The first was of him chasing another little girl, around a garden, the girl squealing with unbridled joy: A picture of happier times from a better world. He moved beyond the white glare and joy was instantly replaced by terror. The next shaft of light formed a picture of darkness. He was sitting on a cold, damp floor with pathetic, foul-smelling figures huddled all around him. His hands appeared and they were bloodied. A small bundle of flesh twitched within his grasp and the woman before him wept at the sight of her newborn child: Hannah Cain’s child. Dr. Miller cleared the cone of light and the picture of his earlier imprisonment drifted away like a weary breath.

  The corridor bent to the right, a deep patch of darkness, and terrible ravenous phantoms haunted Miller’s mind. Another light burned the darkness back and, now, a beautiful face materialised in his mind - a young woman, dark-haired and mysterious. The woman offered a string of promises, the promise of freedom, both for himself and, more importantly, for his daughter, Ella. Help in escaping the clutches of Ezekiel, if he assisted in infiltrating the humans’ hideout. And all he had to do was convince them that his companion was human. Simple.

  Dr. Miller entered another patch of darkness and the hunger in his veins quashed any remaining memories. Now, his mind was filled with a deafening chatter of voices: Feed… Hunt… KILL!

  Rebecca raced into the next tunnel, Scratch guiding her with the clatter of his claws. The passageway tilted downwards and she picked up speed, her arms flailing about her like the sails of a windmill.

  Yap! Yap!

  Rebecca rounded a bend to find the little mutt prancing excitedly outside an open hatchway. She slid to a halt, her lungs burning for breath. She chanced a quick look over her shoulder. A long, twisted shadow slithered along the wall behind, dark phantoms reaching out to grab her. She bent, plucked the mutt up and then stuffed him into the front of her jacket. Then she stepped through the opening and found herself inside a cramped access shaft. The stench of blood almost forced her back. Yet the fear of what lay behind pushed her on. A single metal ladder climbed out of view. Rebecca reached out to take hold of the first rung. It felt warm and slippery. She tightened her grip and began to climb. A heavy thud came from below. The be
ast still followed. Rebecca looked down. The vampire had begun to climb also.

  She scurried upwards, but her short arms and the burden of the terrier hampered her progress. The beast drew closer. She reached for the next rung. An iron fist closed around her ankle and her hand missed completely. Hanging precariously, she kicked her foot back instinctively. Her boot connected with something hard and the grip slipped free. At the top of the ladder Rebecca saw a slight glimmer of light. Not a bright white, but just a lighter shade of grey. She redoubled her efforts and forced all her strength to her arms and legs.

  Dr. Miller was just a few rungs below Rebecca. A scream of terror echoed throughout the shaft. Fear generated newfound strength as she raced upwards, but the beast had its own motivation, and it kept coming.

  The warm scent of his prize drew the vampire closer. The next rung brought him directly underneath the girl. His hand snapped out like a venomous snake. He wrapped his fingers around her ankle and squeezed tight.

  Terrified, Rebecca kicked out again. This time the Doctor’s head twitched sideways and the assault missed. She felt a sudden tug, her fingers came away from the ladder and she fell backwards, instantly smothered in the vampire’s cold embrace. In desperation, she rammed her head back. A sharp crack sounded and the tight embrace loosened.

  A gout of blood burst inside Dr. Miller’s mouth. He roared in anger and pounced upwards. He caught her between his outstretched arms. Rebecca twisted and watched as bloodied jaws opened wide. In an obscene gesture, the vampire wagged the point of his tongue from between his fangs. Suddenly, a second set of canines appeared. The terrier’s head darted out from Rebecca’s jacket as he snapped at the blasphemous organ, catching the very tip between his sharp teeth.