Nocturnal (83 page)

Spreading flames danced up from the deck’s dry wooden planks. Some of the white robes were already burning. Blast-furnace heat billowed away from the ship’s cabin — in those flames, shimmering images of man-shaped creatures moving, trying to get inside.

The slide of Pookie’s five-seven locked. Empty. Bryan hadn’t given him the extra magazines.

Bryan gripped his broken pinkie and ring finger. With a grunt, he snapped them back into place. He slid his right hand into his left-arm sheath and came out with the ceramic knife. He forced himself to do the same with his ruined left hand — each fist held one of the slim killing blades.

Pookie backed up. His foot caught on a broken board and he fell to his ass. The Halloween-masked white-robes reached for him but Bryan rushed forward, cutting and stabbing.
Slice-slash-slice —
bodies fell, red blood painted long, wet splashes on white fabric. He kicked out, the sole of his foot smashing into a chest, sending the man flying back into the flames. In seconds, not a single masked man remained standing.

A flash of heat made Bryan reactively stamp his feet — flames licking the cuffs of his pants. He turned and ran back to the skull-mast. Biz-Nass and Robertson were there, helping Erickson to his feet. Zou held one of her daughters, Verde held the other. The fire’s heat seemed to press invisible fists against them all, forcing them to lean away, to shield their faces. They blinked madly, coughed against the thick smoke that filled the cavern like a fog.

He urged them to the tip of the shipwreck. “To the prow, go, go!”

“Bryan!”

Pookie was pointing back down the deck.

Fifteen feet away, the nerdy kid crawled out of the hole in the deck. Blood sheeted his face. His glasses were twisted and wobbly on his broken nose. He stood, golden Zippo in hand. Behind him, Pierre rushed out of the flaming cabin, long mouth open in a roaring, skewed-jawed snarl, flames dancing on his back and from his shorts.

Pierre and Bryan locked eyes; the dog-face was coming for him.

Erickson grabbed the knife out of Bryan’s left hand. The bleeding, half-naked old man stepped forward and threw it.

The blade whipped through the air and slid into the nerdy boy’s distended belly. The boy dipped inward at the waist like he’d been punched, shock and surprise etched behind his bent wire-rims. A stream of thin, white vapor jetted out of the hole in his gut.

A flaming Pierre ran right through that stream.

The flame caught the vapor and shot back into the boy’s bloated stomach like a reverse flamethrower. His belly blew open in a fireball that swallowed Pierre and threw the monster forward. Engulfed in flame, he tumbled into the people packed on the prow, knocking Erickson and Biz-Nass hard to the deck before landing heavily on top of Amy Zou, pinning her beneath his burning body.

Bryan dropped his knife and grabbed Pierre’s ankles. The flames scorched his hands, but he ignored the pain long enough to yank Pierre off Zou and toss him a few feet back down the deck. The big creature seemed limp, weak. The skin on Bryan’s hands sizzled. He started to reach down to beat at Amy Zou’s burning clothes, but Sean Robertson and Rich Verde were there, rolling Zou over to smother the flames.

A girl’s voice: “You killed my daddy.”

Bryan turned toward the voice. Little Mur held the knife he’d dropped. She stood over the smoldering dog-man. Pierre lifted a hand to stop her, but he was too weak and too slow. Before Bryan could reach Mur, she clutched the knife in both hands, point down, and plunged the blade into Pierre’s right eye.

Pierre flailed and swung out blindly. Mur fell away. Bryan rushed in and grabbed her, pulling her away. Knife handle still sticking out of his eye, Pierre rolled to his hands and knees. He tried to rise, but his shaking arms wouldn’t support him. He slumped to his right side and moved no more.

The flames had engulfed most of the ship, driving everyone to the tip of the prow. Mur held tight in his arms, Bryan became aware of a whistling sound, some kind of low, airy hiss. He looked left, eyes scanning the ledge — there, a man in a dark-green cloak, another in a black peacoat, bodies piled up on the ledge around them.

John and the others had held.

And just to the left of John’s position, barely visible through the growing smoke, Bryan saw the thin ribbon of steep steps angling up the wall from the cavern floor to the ledge. He and the others would have to cross the trench maze to reach it. The maze walls rose up to flat islands of dirt,
like little mesas that defined and separated the trenches. Bryan could jump from mesa to mesa, but the trenches were too wide for the others to do that and he couldn’t carry them all. They’d have to go through the maze while he stayed up on the islands, calling down directions.

He cupped his free hand to his mouth, shouted to be heard over the roaring flames. “Off the ship and into the trenches. Stick together, we have to move fast. Erickson, help me get them down.”

Bryan and Erickson each grabbed one person at a time and jumped off the deck to drop to the trench floor twenty feet below. As soon as Bryan hit, he scrambled back up the side of the shipwreck for the next person.

In seconds, everyone was down. A growing wind whipped dirt, dust and smoke through the trenches, feeding oxygen to the hungry flames. The survivors gathered together for their run to freedom. Verde and Biz-Nass were under Zou’s arms, helping the badly burned woman walk. Blisters dotted her red face. Most of her hair had melted away. Robertson handed Bryan the Ka-Bar knife, then scooped up Tabz. Erickson lifted Mur.

Bryan slid the knife into his belt-sheath, then vaulted onto a mesa fifteen feet above, putting him at the same level with the dying shipwreck. It blazed like a burning ship at sea. Bryan turned away to scan the trenches, searching for the best way through the maze.

He looked down to the people and pointed. “That way! First right, then first left, move!”

The huddle of people made good time. Bryan jumped across two trenches, moving to a new mesa. So close now, so close.

He looked down to give them the next direction just as a shot rang out — Rich Verde’s forehead ripped open in a cloud of red and pink. He and Zou dropped hard. Bryan dove into the trench, using his body to shield the rest.

The gun fired three more times, two rounds hitting him in the back — the bullets dug into his coat like a sledgehammer tipped with a small nail.

Armor-piercing rounds, had to be.

He looked over his left shoulder.

Rex Deprovdechuk stood on the inferno ship’s prow. One hand held the broken, smoldering rail, the other held the missing five-seven in a rock-steady grip. The left side of the boy’s face dangled in a fleshy flap from his lower lip and chin, exposing the teeth and part of his cheekbone. A bloody, unlidded eye stared out. His jaw hung slack, as if he couldn’t close it. Rex seemed to ignore the smoke, the heat, even the flames that were already crawling up his long red robe.

A hand on Bryan’s shoulder, a mouth near his ear.

“Get them out of here.”

Erickson.

The old man tossed a little girl at Bryan. Bryan reacted automatically, grabbing her, and as he did the old man snatched the Ka-Bar out of its belt-sheath. Erickson rushed back down the trench toward the shipwreck. He ran faster on ruined feet than any normal man could sprint.

Bryan’s brother rushed away to fight the enemy. Bryan wanted to go with him, fight by his side, but the little girl in his arms had done nothing wrong, had made no choices that brought her to this horrid place. He looked at the others: Pookie, helping Zou to her feet; Robertson, face bleeding again, holding the other little girl; and Biz-Nass, coughing and cowering, looking left and right for the next threat. They were all crouched low, waving away smoke and waiting for Bryan to lead them out.

Gunfire from the ship. Bryan looked back to see Erickson, arms in front of his face, leaping up to the rail, Rex firing the five-seven as the old man came on.

Good luck, brother
.

Bryan turned his back on the ship and ran down the trench.

Rex tried to scream
come on
, but his jaw wouldn’t move. The monster landed on the burning deck, knife raised, his old face snarling with evil. Rex pulled the trigger two more times, put two more rounds in the monster’s chest, and then the monster rushed in. They tumbled back into the flames.

These demons had invaded his world, his
kingdom
.

Kill them kill them all killthemkillthemkillthem

Rex scrambled to his feet. He tore off the burning cape, tried and failed to find a place without flame. Erickson stood on ruined feet already scorched black. His skin bubbled, his scrap of clothing disintegrated into floating bits. Rex reached down to grab a flaming piece of wood, then stepped deeper into the fire to attack Savior.

Rex would slaughter the monster, then gather his people and start over.

“Go right!”

Bryan held the girl tight as he leaped across the trench to the next mesa. Sweat soaked the shirt under his armored jacket. Below and to his
left, the others ran through the trenches as fast as they could. Pookie was in the lead, carrying Zou in his arms. Robertson, Biz-Nass, the girls; all of them were coughing heavily — Bryan didn’t have much time before people started collapsing.

They were almost to the cavern’s wall. He looked at the trenches, traced the path toward the stairs that would take everyone up to the ledge.
So close!
The smoke burned at his eyes, shoved its way down his throat to scorch his lungs. Wind whipped through the cavern, scattering dust, blowing the smoke around like some vision of hell.

“Take the next right!” he shouted down. Pookie adjusted his grip on Zou, then led them forward. The group exited that trench and stood at the base of the stairs. Bryan jumped down to join them. His feet hit, then his legs gave out and he fell, turning to shield the girl as he did.

A rattling cough shook his chest. Hands pulled him to his feet. He looked at Pookie, saw the man was just about exhausted. Bryan set the girl down, then took Zou out of Pookie’s arms. He threw the woman over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

“We’re almost out,” he said between coughs. “Just make it up these stairs.”

Bryan coughed once more, then started climbing. He kept Zou on his right shoulder so his left hand — with its blistered skin and broken fingers — could feel along the wall. Fifteen feet up, he was high enough to look to his right, out across the maze to the burning ship.

Flames soared so high they kissed the arena roof some fifty feet above. Old pieces of wood all along the ceiling had caught fire — they burned like little flaming suns set into a smoke-filled sky made of dirt, brick and rock. Bits of the roof broke free, plummeting down to smash into the burning ship or pummel maze plateaus and trenches.

Bryan kept climbing.

Three steps from the ledge, a
crack
and a
whuff
drew his attention back to the ship as the captain’s cabin sagged, then collapsed in a billowing puff of swirling flame. Bryan saw an impossibility: Firstborn, fully ablaze, straining to pull a flaming cart out of the cabin.

On that cart, even through the shimmering heat, Bryan saw the thing Aggie had described —
Mommy
.

His mother.

Bloated beyond comprehension. Little arms flailing. Little legs kicking. And in that massive, distended belly, Bryan saw things moving,
twitching
, saw bubbles forming and joining and popping.

The fluid in her massive belly was
boiling
, boiling and
swelling
.

Her stomach tore — a thin, high jet of steam shot out, but the belly continued to swell like a filling helium balloon. Another jet of steam appeared, then she
popped
, exploding outward in flame-spinning chunks of sizzling flesh.

Bryan climbed the last three steps toward the ledge, toward John and Adam and Alder.