The Long Fall of Night: The Long Fall of Night Book 1 (25 page)

“Come on, Barb,” her husband said, his hand shaking as he held it out to her. “The house will still be here when we get back. You hated the front door anyway.”

She nodded and stepped around Chris, who kept his expression neutral as Burgess led the couple to the transport truck. When they were out of sight, Chris looked at Donnie and shook his head in utter disbelief, then finished his mark and jumped off the porch to join the rest of the team.

“Nice job, Corporal,” Brown said as they moved on.

“I kind of wish you’d spray-painted her instead,” Donnie grumbled with a companionable slap on Chris’s shoulder. “Also, you sounded like a manual.”

“Whatever,” Chris chuckled. “You liked it. All that legal-speak does it for you, doesn’t it Donnie?”

“Sure does,” Donnie grinned at him. “I wouldn’t have joined up if I didn’t like taking orders,” he joked, dropping Chris a wink. A brief flash of ordering Donnie to his knees in front of him stopped Chris in his tracks.

What the fuck?
His dick perked up at the mere thought. He hastily replaced Donnie on his knees with the image of his last girlfriend, Sarah, a ball-busting bitch who’d hated that she wasn’t the one in charge of Chris’s life. It would have been satisfying to gag her and turn that control around, but he found himself less than interested, his burgeoning hard-on deflating right on cue. Probably because Sarah was a raging bitchmonster, and he’d run far away at the first opportunity. She hadn’t liked how close he and Donnie were.

Unbidden, the thought of controlling Donnie cropped up again, and yep, quick on the heels of the mental image was another rush of blood to his crotch. Thankful for his shirt hanging low enough to cover any outward sign, he trained his eyes on the ground so they couldn’t betray him.

We’re in survival mode. Hormones and adrenaline are always raging during shit like this.
He told himself it was biological, nothing to be ashamed of, and not an uncommon reaction to a life-threatening situation.

Being shoved by a five foot two twig of a girl is life-threatening?
A squirm of discomfort worked from his lower back to his belly, writhing like maggots on roadkill. He was twenty-five-fucking-years old. It was a little late to be realizing he was interested in something other than the fairer sex.

“Focus up,” Ness said, halting their progress. “Last house for the day, then night crew relieves us. Stay sharp, don’t get lazy on me, and we’ll be back to base in time for a decent shower and grub.”

Chris squared his shoulders and muttered “Yes, ma’am,” taking point once more as they approached the new house. It was like the one the renovators hadn’t wanted to leave, and he inwardly grumbled at the prospect of meeting someone else attached to their dwelling. Luckily, the man who answered the door ushered them in with little fuss and listened while they explained what was happening. The guy cooperated, moving to his bedroom to pack a few things, and Chris was ordered outside to visually check the block, ensuring all the doors were marked, and there weren’t any residents they might have missed who’d been out for a stroll.

He stood off to one side, smoking a cigarette while he scanned the area with trained eyes, and he again saw movement in his periphery, this time behind the house of the man who was being ushered out now. He followed the motion to the back of the property, where a chain-link fence bordered a tidy backyard and a row of hedges. He saw nothing more and started turn away when something blue caught his eye. Edging closer cautiously, he peered over the bushes to see a boy, not more than fifteen, crouched in the shadows between the bushes and fence.

“Come on out,” he said, tossing away his cigarette and putting both hands on his gun. He didn’t think this scrawny looking boy would have a weapon on him, but after the stories of other sweep teams running into gang activity, he wasn’t taking the chance.

The kid was obviously reluctant to emerge, though, staying hunkered down for several more seconds. Just as Chris was about to order him out again, he stood. He was a little ragged around the edges, his jaw dusted with patches of scraggly brown whiskers, and his brown eyes were wary. He did, however, hold up his hands to show he had no weapon, and Chris beckoned for him to come out from the greenery.

“What’s your name, kid?” he asked conversationally.

“Slink,” the boy answered. The word had a surprisingly low timbre considering his age.

“You live on this street?” he asked.

Slink shrugged.

“You have family around here? Someone you stay with who we can talk to?”

Another shrug.

“Well, you’re going to have to come with us,” Chris said, motioning with a casual hand for the kid to move toward the street. “We’ll get you somewhere to sleep and some food.” Something about Slink screamed homeless, and while Chris didn’t judge, he wasn’t in a position to do anything but move him for transport.

“I have somewhere to sleep,” Slink said. “And I’m not hungry.”

Slink’s stomach gave a hefty growl right then, and Chris raised a sardonic brow. “Your internal organs beg to differ. No sense in telling me no. I’m not allowed to let you stay here, and there’s a free hot meal with your name on it at the Pepsi Center.”

Slink jutted his chin, and Chris was reminded of Barb, the woman who hadn’t wanted to leave her home. However, Slink’s eyes held a world-weariness hers hadn’t, and while Chris figured his suspicion he’d been on the streets a while wasn’t unfounded, orders were still orders.

“Don’t you want a bed with a pillow and free food?”

Slink gave him a bit of a sneer but he trudged in the direction Chris told him to go. “Free usually tastes like cardboard.”

“Well, beg—” he started to say
beggars can’t be choosers
but in light of the kid’s appearance, and yes, the smell, Chris decided that wasn’t a prudent cliché to pull out of his ass right then. “Beg to differ,” he corrected. “I heard they’ve raided the concessions at Coors Field to cook up all that food before it goes bad. There’s nothing like a ballpark hot dog and a beer, though I’m betting you’re not old enough for the beer part of it.” Five days since the power went out, Chris doubted there’d be any hot dogs left unless they’d gotten them on ice, but it was possible there were some saved by having been frozen and the personnel who’d taken over the arena salvaged them before they were totally bad. Plus, with parts of the city still running like clockwork, maybe they’d moved the food to a working kitchen for proper storage.

Slink clearly tried not to be interested at the mention of a baseball stadium hot dog, but he failed. “I always did like that nuclear cheese they put on nachos,” he mumbled.

Chris guffawed. “Well then, get on the truck so you can get yourself some water and some nuclear cheese nachos and a hot dog. They’ll set you up with some new clothes, a place to sleep, and maybe a visit with a medic to see if you have anything that needs to be taken care of.”

Slink eyed him suspiciously, but by then, they’d reached the truck, and the transport team ushered him into the back. Chris took a moment to wonder if there were any more like this kid lurking in the surrounding neighborhoods.

“Was that Slink?” the man who owned the last house asked, coming up with his bag.

“Yeah,” Chris answered, surprised.

“He’s one of the kids I let couch surf now and then. Quiet. Watchful. Doesn’t say much until he trusts you, but when he does, you can’t get him to shut up.” The man grinned.

“What’s your name, sir?”

“Leon,” he answered, offering his hand, which Chris shook. Donnie joined them.

“You know anything about Slink’s family?”

Leon’s eyes hooded and he looked away. “Threw him away like a piece of garbage when he was just thirteen. He’s been on the streets since. Doesn’t go into the shelter much, so they can’t call the Department of Human Services to pick him up. We can’t get his real name, which means we can’t get him into the system to get a birth certificate or anything else that might help him.”

“Why’d they toss him out?” Donnie asked. “Drugs?”

Leon shook his head, hefting his bag to the soldier who’d motioned for it. “Nah. He’s gay. Family’s ultra religious. They called him an abomination and cut him loose so as not to taint their souls or some shit.”

“Fuck,” Donnie muttered, peering into the shadowed back of the truck, but Slink had moved close to the cab, where little light filtered in. “Like turning their back on their kid doesn’t taint their soul,” he grumbled, looking mutinous. Chris watched him, wondering what he was thinking.

“You know it,” Leon said. “I know it. But lots of people here don’t know it. Slink comes around every couple of weeks, hoping for a shower and a couch for a day or two, and then he slinks away again, nine times out of ten unseen by any of the people who have tried to help him. I’m one of the few who will let him in my house. Getting caught holding a runaway comes with big consequences,” Leon explained with a heavy sigh. “But he needs someone who worries about him rather than their own skin. So I try. I’m glad he was around for you to get him on this truck,” he said pointedly. “I’ll keep an eye on him. If he’ll let me. Slink is his nickname for a reason, fellas.”

Chris gave a rueful smile and nodded. “I’ll watch for him if he tries to return to the area. Thanks for the intel.”

Leon nodded and hauled his slightly overweight frame into the truck to sit by the tailgate. The transport team’s rear man whooped to the driver and hopped on the back bumper, holding on to a welded handle jutting from the frame as the truck rumbled away.

When the next transport pulled up, their relief was on it. Chris explained the situation, asking them to keep an eye out for anyone loitering nearby and then caught the truck taking them back to the airport for their debriefing.

R
elish everything
that’s inside of you, the imperfections, the darkness, the richness and light and everything. And that makes for a full life.

—Anthony Hopkins

A
SH LAY IN HIS TENT
, listening to the night sounds of the campground around him, waiting. It was well after midnight, and the rest were in their tents, hopefully sleeping deeply enough they wouldn’t hear him. He planned to go into Mansfield for gas, and as much as he didn’t want anyone to split up, he wanted to go alone. Figuring night would make him less conspicuous, he wanted to get the lay of the town in case they had an emergency, and he needed a little space to sift through his thoughts. The conversation with Brian about who might be responsible for the disaster kept playing in his head, and he thought maybe that was how Uncle Marvin had known to warn him; Marvin kept up with the international chatter on the deep web, which Ash had never fully understood. The man was paranoid as hell, and watching all that stuff definitely made it worse. However, in this instance, Ash couldn’t be anything but grateful. Those few extra hours had probably saved his life.

And then there was Elliot.

No matter where he was, Ash was aware of him, and such feelings could only be a distraction. He blamed it on continued proximity. This was the longest he’d spent in the presence of his lab partner, and he found himself drawn to Elliot to the point of distraction. He cursed the circumstances even as he was grateful for them. Without the power outage, they’d have blipped along in oblivious routine, friends with benefits and nothing more. But now Ash had to focus on more important things, like surviving, and Elliot’s presence had him off balance. It wasn’t smart, getting more involved. Logically, he should end it. He knew that, but he didn’t want to on such a deep level, he was afraid to examine it. He’d lost everyone except Charlotte and Riley, and with stakes this high, his chances of avoiding yet more loss already sucked. He should be guarding his heart, not giving it away.

Crickets chirped, the only sound Ash could discern, so he slipped from his tent, worming through the smallest possible opening in the tent flap, the zipper loud in the stillness. Grateful to be alone now that Riley had moved in with his mother, Ash only had to get to the van, put it in neutral, and push it a few yards down the paved single-lane campground road before jumping in and starting it up. There wasn’t much gas in it, but he was fairly sure he’d get to Mansfield okay.

Was it stupid to go off alone with their only mode of transport? Probably. But if he didn’t get some time to himself, he was going to fuck up again, and with lives depending on him, he couldn’t risk it. Russ’s death had shown him that. The need for gas was his excuse to take a drive.

He’d just put the van in gear and was trying to get it rolling when a tap on the shoulder made him jump and cry out. He spun around, his heart hammering. Elliot stood there with his hair sticking up, glasses on and arms crossed, disapproval in every line of his body.

“Where are you going?”

“Get gas,” Ash answered defiantly.

“Not by yourself, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am,” he replied, then turned to push again, the old van giving in and beginning to roll.

“You said it’s not a good idea to split up,” Elliot tossed at him as he walked alongside the slowly rolling vehicle.

“I need to think, okay? If I don’t get some space, I’m going to blow up.”

“Then I’ll be quiet,” he said, walking around to the other side and opening the passenger door, helping Ash get it moving. When gravity of a slight downward slope assisted them, Ash hopped in and shut his door, fighting the stiff, unpowered steering wheel to avoid the next campsite’s fire pit. Elliot climbed in, his door clunking shut as quietly as possible in the silent darkness.

“You’re supposed to be sleeping,” Ash accused, glaring. It was space from
Elliot
he’d been hoping for, to get some damned perspective. But because he wanted him, he didn’t push Elliot away.

Elliot shrugged but, true to his word, said nothing.

After a few more yards of rolling, Ash was comfortable enough to start the engine and drive. Theirs was the only car on the road, which wasn’t surprising. Ash hoped by going at this time, they’d avoid much of the potential danger inherent in approaching any new town. Their success with the auto body repair shop in Pennsylvania had him looking for a similar setup once buildings came into view, and when he spied a place that looked good, he pulled in behind the building.

Elliot got out and grabbed the gas can from the cargo area, reversing the cap as Ash uncoiled the vinyl tubing and shoved it into the tank of a Chrysler 300 with a crumpled front end, threading the other end into the gas can. He dropped to his knees and began to suck, breathing out heavily through his nose with each pull into his lungs. After a moment and nothing happened, he coughed to the side and put his thumb over the hole of the tube to preserve what little vacuum he’d managed.

“Lightheaded,” he muttered to Elliot, who still hadn’t said a word. Glancing up at him, Ash could tell he was no longer pissed off and was simply doing what he’d promised. A rush of warmth sparked in Ash’s chest, and despite not being able to properly brood over their circumstances, like he’d wanted, he was grateful Elliot had come.

Ash resumed his siphoning attempt, only to give up a few minutes later when it was clear the tank was empty. They tried the next car with the same results.

Elliot looked around the parking area with consternation. “What are the odds the rest of these will have fuel in them?”

“Not good,” Ash muttered, gagging at all the fumes he’d inhaled.

“Let’s try that row over there,” Elliot suggested, taking the tubing from Ash and making for the other side of the parking lot. He batted Ash’s hand away when they picked the next car, going to his knees and mimicking Ash’s actions. It was quickly clear that car was empty, too.

“They’re probably all toast,” Ash said, squinting into the darkness around them. There had to be twenty cars, and odds were they hadn’t just picked the empties. “Let’s go for the ones at the very front, and if they’re empty, we have to move on.” If the riskiest, most exposed cars were dry, they had no choice but to find another pool of vehicles.

Elliot kept to the shadows and slipped to the front of the row, Ash behind him listening for any noise of potential interruption. They managed to get the gas cap off a Mazda 3, but there was nothing left to drain. Frustrated, Elliot sat back on his heels.

“What does this mean?”

“It means we find another parking lot,” Ash answered, helping him to his feet. “It means we hope like hell this town has some fuel in it somewhere, or we’re fucked sideways with no lube.”

In the silence, Elliot’s gulp was audible.

They drove around, stopping at several places, and the more they tried, the more desperation rose in Ash’s blood. The gas light came on in the van, and he knew if the next parking lot, at one of the hospitals, was devoid of vehicles carrying gas, they had to go back to the campground or risk the van running dry and being forced to walk back in the dark.

Elliot smacked him on the shoulder lightly with the back of his hand and pointed. “Ambulance.”

Ash looked at him, surprised. “Risky. Could have a crew inside.”

“Emergency vehicles will be the last to run out. If that’s dry, they’re all dry.”

“We may need a distraction,” he murmured, watching warily for signs of life in the cab or near the building by which the ambulance was parked.

“I’ll fake a seizure.”

Ash looked at him sharply. “They could take you inside. Admit you. Shoot you full of drugs you won’t be able to shake off.”

“I’ll slip back out before they can. Or sign an AMA form.”

It was the best they had, but before they could ease from the relative safety of the shadows into the circle of light from the building’s windows, Ash pulled at Elliot until they were chest to chest.

“Thanks for coming with me,” he whispered, then slotted his lips over Elliot’s. It was brief but Ash made it intense, a heartfelt thanks and goodbye rolled into one, having made up his mind to end it. “Let’s go,” he said when they broke apart. “Time’s wasting.”

As they approached the ambulance, Ash realized they could drain the generator from where the hospital was getting its power. But the idea made his stomach flip. There could be people inside a hair’s breadth from dying, and if they took the generator fuel, they’d essentially be killing those people.

Lots of places with genny power, though,
he reminded himself. It was something to consider.

The ambulance keepers were apparently in the building, because the truck was off, locked up tight, and empty. Counting their blessings, Ash opened the flap on the side only to come face to face with a locking gas cap.

“Goddammit,” he hissed. “We can’t get to it.”

“Why not?” Elliot demanded, peering over Ash’s shoulder. “Fuck.”

The curse surprised Ash, who wasn’t used to his partner being vulgar. “I have another idea,” he said, scurrying to the van. “We have one shot at this, and if we can’t do it, we have to go back to camp without gas and tell the others.” He explained about the generators. “We need to find a high point and see if there are lights in any of the other buildings in town. If not, we’re done.” In Mansfield, it was possible only the hospitals and police stations were up and running, and if that was the case, they were screwed. The image of people along the road holding gas cans surfaced in his mind, and he had a sinking feeling even if there were buildings with generators, most if not all of them would be out of gas.

Elliot pointed to a hill dappled with trees visible from the parking lot, which shone dully in the light from a half moon. Ash started walking, knowing how precious every drop they still had in the tank was, and after five minutes, they topped the rise. Ash groaned in frustration when it was clear the trees blocked the view of the town, but Elliot squeezed his shoulder and moved to the nearest tree. Climbing with an agility Ash wouldn’t have guessed his lanky partner capable of, Elliot reached the highest branches. He was up there long enough Ash had to resist the urge to call him down.

What if he has a seizure up there?
Discomfort scraped up his spine, grainy like abrasive sand in delicate places.

“Hey,” he called softly. “See anything?”

“Not really,” Elliot said, clearly disappointed. “It’s dark.”

The faint sound of gunfire reached them from a distance, and Ash stared in that direction, trying to gauge how far away it was.

“Come down then. We need to go. Sounds like the natives are restless.”

Descending faster than he’d climbed, Elliot dropped beside him with a huff. “What now?”

Ash closed his eyes. He’d been so afraid of this, he hadn’t even let himself think of the possibility for more than a couple minutes at a time. But he’d prepared. Not well enough, he knew now. He couldn’t pull a supply of fuel out of his magic bottomless cargo hold in the van, but they had everything else they’d need.

Except perhaps more shoes.

“We go back to the campsite, and when the sun comes up, we talk to the others. We get the hell out of here before the shooting gets too close. We formulate a plan.” He walked down the hill toward their precious mode of transport.

Elliot quickly caught up to him. “A plan for what?” His voice shook.

“Walking,” Ash answered grimly. “It’s all we have left, Elliot. Even stealing another car, we’ll have the same problem.”

“What about walking to the next town and seeing if it’s as dry?”

Ash grimaced. Chances were good if fuel was gone here, it was gone everywhere nearby. Mansfield wasn’t as small as it had appeared on the map. There were probably more than 100,000 people in the area, and if everything was dark, and several lots full of cars were dry, everything was. Maybe that’s what the gunfire had been about.

“We can try it. I’d much rather walk for a day and find another set of wheels, even if we have to leave it when it’s empty, too. But don’t get your hopes up, Elliot. This is a decent-sized place. If they’ve run out, they’re probably checking nearby towns, too.”

His partner was silent for the whole ride back to the campground. Ash put the van in neutral and killed the lights as they rounded the bend of the road. After coasting to a stop where Charlotte had parked earlier, he slipped out and quietly pushed the door closed, stalking to his tent. His mind whirred, cataloguing supplies and wondering how many bottles of water from their stash they could reasonably carry over distances. Not near as much as they’d need. Remembering some factoid he’d learned from his father, he knew the average human could walk three miles an hour. He’d estimated they had nearly twenty-five hundred miles to go, if not more. Crunching the numbers, if they walked twelve hours a day, it would take them close to three months to walk the distance. And that was
if
they ran into no trouble.

We’re royally fucked.

Suddenly, a military base didn’t look so bad.

He crawled into his tent dejectedly, and when he turned to zip the door, he brushed skin as Elliot shimmied into the tent after him, zipping them in.

“What are you doing?” he hissed demandingly.

“We’re going to talk,” Elliot said matter-of-factly, sitting at the foot of Ash’s sleeping bag with his legs crossed lotus style, elbows resting on the insides of his knees.

“I’m not in the mood,” Ash grumbled, shucking his shirt and jeans, crawling into his sleeping bag with a shiver as the cool air hit his skin. He couldn’t stretch out with Elliot sitting on the end of his bed, so he curled on his side, pillowing his head on his arm. He didn’t have it in him to throw the guy out, though, no matter how tired and unsociable he felt.

“So just listen, then,” Elliot said as if they were about to discuss their study schedule. “I know you feel responsible for all of us, but we choose to be with you.”

Ash scoffed. “Ask Charlotte how she feels about the choice I gave her.”