THE FIRST NIGHT
• BOOK ONE •
By
M.S. Fowle
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Copyright © 2013-2015 M.S. Fowle
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design © 2015 Melchelle Designs
https://melchelledesigns.com/
Chapter One
THE PASSING RAIN SHOWER didn't tame the humidity of that spring Mississippi night, but that first beastly howl finally started the mission. The human bait was running down the alleys of a desolate Jackson neighborhood, bursting puddles with every stride and clutching a bloodied rag in one hand. The distinct scent soon lured monstrous paws to slam swiftly down the pavement after it. As the beast rushed around the corner, it slid to a stop to find only the blood-soaked cloth and a dead end. Fast footsteps then raced in behind it as three tactical fighters charged in with crudely fashioned machetes and welded spears. Their faces held no fear beneath the cloth of their handkerchief masks as they looked upon the hideous fiend. It was a nightmare they were used to.
Standing on feral hind legs, its massive torso was hunched forward in an unnatural posture, while the rest of it could only be described as a vulgar cross of animal and demon. As it towered nearly eight feet tall, drool seething from its greedy fangs, the three urban warriors went at it with their sharpened steel. The beast merely stooped to leap up and over them, but another pair of fighters rushed out in unison with their bladed staffs, slicing off both its arms. Blood spattered across the alleyway as it stumbled to the ground, desperately trying to get back up and struggling just to crawl. While the rest of the team simply watched, their leader walked casually over to it. All the gear they wore was deceiving, but the slight curves of her build gave her away. Like any other soldier, she approached her enemy without fear. Lifting her staff, she brought down the blade with a rigid hack to rip through its neck, delivering the final blow.
Just then, an echoing roar snapped their eyes to the sky. At their next breath, the eager gang's leader was sprinting far ahead. The others could only hope to catch up as they hurried between the abandoned buildings. Impish howls then soared down from above and two snarling creatures crashed to the ground, scattering the gang to every direction. As they reassembled to attack, their lone comrade was too focused on her next target to notice and she never lost pace.
A few blocks away, another monster was careening down a vacant street, hunting a luring scent. Only yards ahead, a man cloaked in a hooded, mid-length trench coat was bounding as high and fast as the creature chasing him, even while holding the bleeding wound on his side. Around the bend, he rushed to an old footbridge that crossed the swift stream flowing far below. He was nearly halfway across when he felt his speed suddenly wane, so he whirled around with the draw of an elegant longsword. He slashed his blade up the fiend's chest, but it countered with a backhand, throwing the young man clear off his feet to slam him hard to the bridge planks. His stunned stare was then caught by the sudden shadow hurdling over him, before the masked fighter gored her spear through the torso of the salivating foe. Hooking back the blade to toss its blood to the wind, the beast dropped to its knees and one last slice took its head clean off.
The man was too shocked to breathe, too confounded by what he knew for sure and his loss of reason. The brave fighter in front of him was panting heavy, still poised and ready for battle, but they both went still as more howls echoed over the stream. Up ahead, a pair of monsters galloped into view and found the blood-soaked scene. Muscles tensed the moment they charged, but an entire team in hooded trench coats appeared behind them in but a blink. With assorted blades of the finest craftsmanship, they pounced on the first one with unfounded speed and ease.
At the other end of the bridge, the rest of the urban gang was halted by the unfolding fray. They were clueless as they watched the trench coat fighters, moving so fast and so effortlessly. Their fearless leader, however, just held her weapon firm. That was when a bark snarled above her and she looked up with only enough time to see another monster diving straight down on her.
Suddenly, the air was knocked from her chest as the young man hurled himself into her, just before the beast sheered its claws deep down his back. The two then crashed through the wood bridge railing, while the man's blood sprayed crimson gleams of the moonlight and they tumbled over the edge. Falling fast toward the wild waters below, a handkerchief fluttered away and the fighter's hood flew back, letting a long braid toss about the disturbing innocence of the young woman's face. Just then, the man passed out in her arms, so she latched on tight as they plunged straight into the rapids of the cool stream. The current quickly carried them out of sight.
Those left on the bridge above could do nothing, while the warriors in the trench coats had already vanished.
About a half-mile downstream, the woman finally reached the calm pools along the shore to take in a few breaths. She hadn't really thought anything through. She didn't need to. She knew what had to be done. So, she heaved the weight of the wounded man onto her back and made her way up the shore. With the toes of his boots dragging at her heels, she climbed the banking to a neglected schoolyard. The dusty swings swayed lightly in the breeze as they passed by.
Then, she felt a slow breath draw near her ear.
"This is unnecessary," he strained to speak, "Just leave me be."
"You saved my life," she almost laughed, "Ya' think I'd just leave ya' here to die?"
With their clothes dripping wet, she was grateful of the Southern heat. She lugged the man past the hobo district of trashcan fires and unnamed smells and then the rubble of a burned down shoe factory. Barely noticing the odd, silver rod bolted to a street pole, an eerie quiet settled in as she headed down the alleyways. A faint light was just beginning to crawl across the city horizon.
"The sun…" said the man, "…is rising."
"That's a good thing," she told him, "They hate the sun."
His tired eyes looked at her then, but she didn't know it. Her trying steps had finally brought them to a rundown house, one impervious to the distant police sirens, and she dug out her keys to start on the trio of locks. Inside, she turned on no lights, locked the door behind them and finally closed and secured a heavy gate of bars over it. She then carried the young man down the corridor, while he glanced into the passing room. It was empty, with all the windows reinforced with bars and sheet metal. As they followed the hallway, he could feel his energy draining. The next door she opened led to a staircase down into the cellar.
"You should have left me," he said, nearing exhaustion, "My clan would have found me."
The woman merely turned to drape his arm over her shoulders and reached a firm hold around his waist. It caused him to cringe, but she knew she had to hurry. With a small light on her belt to guide them, they made their way down the steps. The entire space was open and unused, with just a few dusty boxes stacked in the corner. Beyond the ancient furnace and chimney, they stepped past a cast iron hatch hinged to the brick wall and the woman locked them both inside. She then set the m
an down atop a tattered mattress on the floor and his exhaustion forced him to lie down, while she lit the wick of an oil lantern. Now moving more quickly, she unfastened the strap of his broad sword and set it aside, before she took the utmost of care to remove his coat. Then, she lifted his shirt to see his wounds.
One was deep, following the line next to his spine, with another slashed across his side. She grabbed a nearby knapsack, took out a small tin box of medical supplies and began cutting away his gray linen top. As she cleaned his cuts, she was surprised to see how much they had already clotted. She also spied his listless eyes gradually open and shut as she applied his bandages. He looked as if he would speak, but he was far too weak to form the words. By the time she finished, he had passed out completely.
After she slipped off his boots and covered him in blankets, she dared to reach for the silver chain around his neck. The pendent was an old coin medallion, its center carved with a coiling design like nothing she had ever seen. Along the edges, letters spelled out a Latin quote. She found herself whispering it aloud.
"Strength through loyalty…"
Those three words meant more to her than any other words in the world. They urged her to pick up his gallant weapon, a claymore of superior craft. She found the cross-guard and pommel of the hilt with similar engravings. Visions of his encounter with that beast on the bridge replayed in her head and she recalled his stunning speed when he fought it. As she hung his hooded coat to the wall for it to dry, she was suddenly caught in a stare with the long tear down its back. That was supposed to be her wound.
She had to find out who he was, to know more about his clan and their intentions. They shared the same enemy and yet they knew nothing about each other.
Feeling a chill start to get to her, she quickly changed her clothes and turned up the lantern for a bit of warmth. She wrapped herself in the last of her blankets and made a seat at the end of her raggedy bed. The man was sleeping deeply next to her and so she let her eyes find inspiration in the dance of the soft flame. Faithfully, it lured her to sleep. Though morning was just beginning to dawn, the two of them had suffered a great battle that night… and it would certainly not be their last.
Chapter Two
THE HOURS CRAWLED BY in that windowless room. With wisps of yellows glowing in the oil lamp, the frail man stirred as his blurred vision cleared. He tentatively spied the woman asleep at his feet, curled up and leaning against the wall. He stared in wonder of who she was, but his fatigue was too much. Unable to fight the weight of his eyes, he slipped back into slumber.
Later, it was the rasp of moaning metal that reawakened him. A few more hours had gone by, but he felt like no time had passed. His sight refocused to find the young woman setting a cup of hot soup and a spoon next to the bed. With her standing over him in wait, he found enough strength to sit up.
"I don't need that," he plainly said.
"Ya' gotta eat…"
"I'll be fine!" he snapped, and leaned back against the cool of the wall.
The woman took back her offer and mumbled, "A simple 'no, thank you' would've been fine."
She set the cup on a wooden crate near the wall, where the man saw his torn trench coat dry and neatly folded. The fabric was stiff from his blood. Just beside it was his sword. He was then startled as the woman tossed him a clean shirt.
"What's your name?" she asked, seeing him struggle to get on the black cotton t-shirt.
He was oddly hindered by her simple question, keeping his sights low. "Does it matter?"
She let out a small laugh, catching a bit of his interest, "Guess not."
He spied through the stray tendrils of his chin-length hair, watching her sit on the floor next to the oil lamp without much care either way. He didn't know why, but he almost felt obligated.
"Zeke…" he lastly said, and she looked over at him.
Her lips briefly smiled, "I'm Alex."
In the quiet that followed, she could tell he was sizing her up in some way. She just pretended not to notice.
"So…" she finally broke the building tension, "You guys part of some elite classified government team or somethin'?"
Zeke's brow furrowed. He was actually insulted.
"The coats, the weapons…" Alex pointed out, "The way you fight them."
He pulled his cold look at her away, snubbing her question.
She just rolled her eyes. "How's your back?" she asked, a bit snippy.
"Fine…"
She started to stand, "You want me to check it?"
"No," his bark halted her.
Slowly, she sat back down and steered her stare to the flicker of the tiny flame.
"How long have I been here?" he then asked.
"All day," she said, and pulled out her phone to check, "It's almost four o'clock."
The man slowly slumped to lie back down, feeling another wave of exhaustion overwhelming him.
"I will leave at dusk," he meekly told her and released a tired sigh before he drifted back to sleep.
Alex hoped his rude demeanor was due to his condition, but she wasn't so sure. Setting her phone on the floor to show its clock, she tried not to grumble about it as she rose to her feet. She then gathered up her blanket and backpack and left him alone in the tiny fallout shelter. He wasn't the only one who needed to head out at sunset.
* * *
Zeke didn't mean to be out for so long, but he roused to see the time on the woman's glowing device. It was already past sundown. His body felt as hollow as a steel shell, while his head and limbs ached as he toiled to get up out of bed. With feeble grip, he grabbed his coat and sword and hobbled to the small door. Stepping out into the musty basement, he looked to the nearby corner and found Alex napping, using her pack as a pillow. His steps just slipped silently across the concrete floor and up the stairs.
When a horrid howl severed the twilight air, Alex shot up in fright as it echoed down the alleyways. The iron hatch on the wall was wide open and she scurried over only to find the man was gone. Then, a crash from above rushed her upstairs.
Using the wall to climb back to his feet, Zeke staggered desperately toward the front door. So out of breath he could hardly see straight, he flinched as another monster cried out and again lost his balance when Alex grabbed him to help hold him up. Without a word, she aided his fragile body back down into the cellar.
"They are so close," he said.
"Usually are," said Alex, hurrying them back to the fallout room.
Quickly, she secured them inside. Zeke's condition was failing, which only worried Alex even more. Setting him down atop the mattress, he shriveled and leaned to the wall, coughing and wheezing. Alex took a surrendering seat at the foot of the bed.
"Why…" Zeke found the strength to say, "Why do you keep helping me?"
She thought it was an ignorant question, especially given he could hardly ask it.
"Even if you could walk, you wouldn't get two feet from the front door before they made a meal outta ya'."
He managed to roll his head enough to peek at her. Her eyes were again lost on the little firelight.
"That thing would've sliced me in half last night if it weren't for you," she then told him, "I'm surprised you're even alive. And if you make it 'til morning, we should get you to a doctor. I'm just not sure what the hell we'll tell 'em."
"No," he insisted, "I must leave tonight. I must find the others."
"You mean your friends? I think they'd rather you get checked out. You should make sure those cuts aren't infected."
"You should mind your own business," he said with a glare.
Alex bit back her retort, but her thoughts churned with the odd sheen she saw flicker over his eyes. It was like that of a wild animal.
Then, loud slams began to hammer against the house above them. It triggered Zeke's curiosity, while Alex only stared at the lantern.
"It's the blood," she said.
"They tracked my blood here?"
She just shrugged, "They al
ways track blood here. I try to get out of the house before it starts. Sometimes they go on for hours."
As the beasts banged wildly on, their bellowing calls fell deaf on the blocks of vacant buildings around them.
"Chimeras…" said Zeke, getting her full attention, "They are the spawn of the most dangerous and lethal predators in the world fused into one."
Her face blank, Alex forced her view back to the light of the lamp. "What else do you know about 'em?" she asked.
Hesitant whenever he spoke to her, Zeke needed to be careful. "Only two things kill them: sunlight and decapitation. And they must feed on flesh and blood to survive."
"That's very true," she said with a few nods, mildly impressed, "But what do you know of their howls?"
Slanting his brow, it was clear he didn't understand.
"They can only be heard by those who have stared one straight in the eyes and actually lived to tell the tale."
Zeke started to slouch, lower and lower until he could rest with his thoughts, "I never knew that of them."
"Could I ask," Alex remained cautious, "Why do you hunt them?"
He didn't wish to answer. He couldn't think of a reason why she should know.
"Because…" he found himself saying, "It is needed."
It was a simple answer, more so to avoid the question – but she still had to agree.
"Here…" she said, lightly knocking on his knee.
He saw her offering a canteen of water, but his partial wave refused it.
"Well then, eat something. You look like shit."
"I told you," he said with a weary sigh, "I'm fine."
His eyelids growing heavy, he felt his body sink into the lumpy mattress. Alex saw him fading away and her concern got the better of her. With stealth, she lifted his shirt and peeled away the bandage on his back. When she gasped, Zeke's eyes shot open.
With a sudden thrash, he launched from the bed to grab, haul and pin her hard to the wall. Startled and stunned by his unseen speed, she faced his fiery glare as his desperate breaths heaved. That same image kept flashing to her mind, showing it over and over, of that deep slash down his back… completely healed.