"What Nightfall Brings"
May. 19th, 2022 11:31 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"What Nightfall Brings"
6/11-6/13/2015
I.
With the first buzz of the Link, Bane was instantly awake and alert. He looked at the clock radio by his bed and saw 3:46 AM. Even though he had only gotten into bed at 12:30, that little bit of sleep had been enough for him. The Dire Wolf snatched up his Link from where it sat charging and said, "Yeah?" in a perfectly normal tone. The Trom device patched into the phone system but its signal could not be traced or its location discovered.
"Bane? It's me," said the hoarse voice of Lt Joseph Montez. "Come down to 19th Street. Avenue A. This is bad." With that, the homicide detective hung up.
Replacing the phone, Bane jumped out of bed and snapped the light on. That was odd. It certainly wasn't the first time Montez had rousted him in the middle of the night but some information was always even offered. Even a little teasing was normal to get his curiosity going. For Montez to be so terse was unusual and even worrisome. Hurrying, the Dire Wolf tugged on the bodysuit of flexible Trom armor that looked like dark silk but which protected against anything up to a high-powered rifle bullet. Like a firefighter, Bane lived as if he was always on duty. His clothes and equipment were always laid out properly before he went to sleep. The heavy boots with steel caps at toes and heels, the slacks and long-sleeved turtleneck, the sport jacket... everything was black. All the tiny gadgets and weapons had already been stowed in hidden slits and pouches.
Rolling back his sleeves, he strapped the sheathes to his forearms which held the matched silver daggers which were his most prized possessions. Given to him by Kenneth Dred when they had first met, the blades had been ensorcelled by the immortal Eldarin and were a potent defense against the children of the night. A more mundane weapon, a long-barrelled Smith & Wesson .38 Special was holstered behind his left hip. In less than a minute from when the phone had rung, Bane had turned off the bedroom light again and was moving quickly through his darkened apartment. Despite his plans to retire, despite all his intentions of closing the Dire Wolf Agency, he still leaped up at any hint the Midnight War was stirring again. He was fifty-seven now, unchanged except for a few grey strands in the full head of black hair and fine wrinkles at the corners of the grey eyes.
As he stepped out into the hall, he heard the Trom alarms arm themselves with buzzes and clicks. Did he even need them any more? All his major enemies were long dead or stuck in realms from which they could not return. His cases had been coming further and further apart. No time to think about that now, though. Bane stepped out into a warm June night just as a patrol car went by. Across the street, a 24 hour laundromat had its doors propped open and two college kids were sitting in there watching the dryers spin. He swung left and took off a brisk walk just short of acually running. At 40th Street, he went down the wide concrete ramp of IMPERIAL GARAGE, waved to the attendant sitting in a little cubicle and examined his Toyota Matrix.
On the driver's side visor, four tiny green and blue lights blinked steadily, indicating no one had come in contact with his car, but Bane took a few minutes to examine it anyway before opening the door and getting in. In another minute, he was out on Third Avenue and making a turn at the corner to head south. This was his natural element, he was basically nocturnal and felt most alive when out at night.
Finding the address, the Dire Wolf parked next to a junk yard with a high chain link fence surrounding a lot littered with rusted out cars, refrigerators, unidentifiable pieces of metal and general debris. A police prowl car stood by the entrance, next to a dark VW Jetta that he recognized as Montez' personal car. Bane jumped out and rushed over to where the gate in the fence hung open. The uniformed officer obviously had been briefed on his arrival, because he pointed out where Montez was and followed Bane over there.
The rear compartment belonging to an 18-wheeler sat on the ground in a tangle of stray pipes, aluminum sheets and engine parts. On the side of the compartment was painted SUNSHINE FRUITS ALL NATURAL AND HEALTHFUL with a drawing of an orange that had a smiling face. Standing by the doors at the back of that compartment was a heavyset man in a dark blue suit and tie, his round face turned to watch Bane approach. "Ah, that was quick," he said. "Sorry to get you up, but this is your kind of situation."
Bane walked around the compartment suspiciously, not sure if he heard anything in there or not. The rear doors were chained shut. "Give me something to work with, Lieutenant?"
"Officer Lindstrom over there saw what seemed to be a derelict staggering around in this lot. Shabby woman in her forties, drunk or high or mentally ill. As he got a good look at her, he exercised caution and stayed back. She entered this box and he locked her in. Then he called me."
Bane raised one eyebrow. "And you're with Homicide, Montez. Why would he call you?"
"Ah, come on. Ten years now, more than ten, I've been the unofficial go-to for anything too weird or too horrible for a regular investigation. And that's because they know I'll bring in New York's real expert on things that come out of the shadows." He pointed an accusing finger at the Dire Wolf. "You."
"Fair enough," Bane replied agreeably. He grasped the padlock which held the compartment secured. "Let's get set up. Your man have a flashlight? Good. Officer, I want you to stand behind him and shine the light past me into that box. Lieutenant, maybe get ready to open those doors. You carrying? Good." With that, Bane stepped over to a tangle of junk and pulled out a three-foot length of cast iron pipe. "Might need this," he explained casually.
Taking a key from his coat pocket, the obese police detective unlocked the padlock, slid the chains free and hesitated. Then, with a grunt of effort, he pressed down the bar that opened the compartment and stepped back sharply. Jeremy Bane took his place, holding the iron pole like a pool cue. In the glare of the cop's powerful flashlight, something stirred and moved toward them.
It had been a woman, above average height, dressed in a light floral print dress with a beige cardigan over it, all the clothing tattered and dirty. Her skin was covered with open sores and torn flesh, her face was abraded as if scalded by boiling water, and her hair stuck out in an unwashed mane. The woman's eyes were solid white, like the eyes of a fish that has gone stale. As the door opened, she lurched unsteadily and began to move toward them, hissing.
"That's all we need to see," Bane remarked. He swung the heavy pipe back and drove it savagely forward to crack hard against the woman's forehead. She staggered awkwardly, fell to one knee, and he smashed the pipe down as if he was trying to drive a railroad spike into the ground. There was an ugly hollow crunch and the body collapsed.
The Dire Wolf watched the corpse suspiciously. "That did it," he said at last, although he kept hold of the pipe for the moment. "What a smell. She's been dead at least a week, I'd say."
Moving closer, tense and ready to jump back at any sign of movement, Joseh Montez sighed. "Never saw a zombie before. I thought I was toughened up but this.. this makes me sick. I might heave."
"It's always hard to take," Bane admitted. "All our natural instincts are warning us to get away from that thing." He scraped the pipe in the dry dirt at their feet, then tossed it far off into a tangle of rusted machinery. "She was in the predatory stage. Officer Lindstrom? We're going to report finding the body of an unidentified woman in this box. The smell caught your attention. I think Medical Examiner's office will list cause of death as unknown. Decay set in, she died at least five to seven days before that blunt force trauma to the head. Maybe dental records will identify her."
The cop's voice was barely audible, "Whatever you say. I never want to think about this again."
In the light from a streetlamp, Montez' face was sweaty and pale. "Good thing I called you, Bane. This goes beyond what we were taught at the academy."
The Dire Wolf folded his arms and stared at the body inside the compartment. "I've never seen a free walker like this one in the city," he said as if to himself. "The Undead have always been under cotrol of a hungan. Like Papa Louis. Maybe this specimen got loose somehow, but it tells me that somewhere in New York City is a sorcerer powerful enough for necromancy. And if he can raise the dead but not completely control them, it's the perfect set-up for an outbreak."
Montez wiped his face with a clean handkerchief from his breast pocket. "We have to get moving to contain this."
"Let's hope we're not already too late," said the Dire Wolf.
II.
Leaving before the forensic team could arrive, Bane returned his car to the IMPERIAL and double checked that its alarms were on before leaving it. Not even six o'clock yet. The building where his office was located didn't open until eight. He kept walking four blocks and went back to his apartment. The ground floor of the unimposing building held a travel agency and an insurance company, with the stoop between their doors that held the stairs leading up. At the second floor, he entered his apartment with his usual wariness. Everything was safe. Bane stripped down again, hung up his outfit so he could get into it quickly and went pulled back the single linen sheet he slept under. The silver daggers were hung on the headboard and the 38 revolver was under his pillow as usual.
For what felt like ages, he could not get back to sleep. Usually, not matter what, he could drop off at will but that creature in the truck compartment troubled him. It had been more pathetic than frightening. He wondered who she had been, but he would find out from Montez. As he lay stretched out in the cool silent room, Bane reviewed all his encounters with zombies over the years. Mostly, they weren't much of a threat because they were acting as slaves to hungans and had no intitiative of their own. When they got loose and tasted flesh, though, they became predatory very quickly. Human flesh made them stronger and closer to regaining intelligence, although they continued to decay and went downhill inevitably. He had never heard a free walker speak or seen one able to use more even a simple tool. Even turning downknobs was beyond them.
Bane turned over, growing annoyed at still being awake. Lying on one side, he remembered hearing that feeding on human brains could restore an Undead to nearly normalcy, healing them physically and reportedly bringing their minds back from the void. He had never seen this. Even in Necropolis, during that hellish Final Halloween where he had lost six teammates, the walkers there had been clumsy, stumbling brutes that were dangerous because they were infectious. A bite which broke skin passed the curse on. The Dire Wolf grumbled and got on his back with his hands down by his sides. Using the Tel Shai technique, he controlled his breathing, making it slower and deeper, clearing his mind. In a minute, he had drifted off.
With a convulsive jolt, he sat upright and glared around the bedroom. He was breathing hard and for a second, his mind was confused. Sunlight showed under the blinds in the windows to his left. Bane looked at the clock radio and saw it was after one in the afternoon. That couldn't be right. When he had ever slept straight through like that unless he had been badly injured? Then he remembered the nightmare.
Sitting up naked on the side of the bed, the Dire Wolf came back to normal. He never had nightmares. Most of the time he couldn't even remember his dreams unless something woke him during one. But he remembered uneasily he had been on a street facing a man with white hair and white skin and dark circled eyes, and they had been walking toward each other. The closer they got, the slower they both moved until they were facing each other at arm's length. Then he had woken.
Well. That was odd, he thought. Maybe he WAS getting old. He might look as if in his mid-thirties but he was fifty-seven after all and he had been fighting the Midnight War since he had been seventeen. A psychiatric evaluation years ago had described him as having an unusual profile that responded well to high stress and functioned best at full blast. Maybe he was starting to wear down. It wouldn't be surprising.
Getting out of bed, he frowned at the clock. One in the afternoon? He went into his bathroom to shave and take a hot shower which graded down to chilly, toweled off and climbed back into the Trom armor and clothes he had laid out the night before. Time for work. Why hadn't Montez called him? Certainly by now the woman had been identified. Picking up his Link, he patched into the Verizon network and called the precinct house at 20th Street. He recognized the voice that answered.
"Hey, Julio. Good morning, this is Bane, is Lt Montez still there?"
"Oh."
The tone of that single word frightened Bane. "What's the matter, Julio?"
"You don't know. Ah, it's Lt Montez, he was killed this morning. Him and a young uniform with him, down by 19th Street. Pretty bad. Half the boys are there now investigating."
"He's DEAD?" the Dire Wolf said in a strange hollow voice. "What happened?"
"Look, I shouldn't be telling a civilian anything," Julio said in a low voice. "But we all know how much help you've been over the years. You realize Montez thought the world of you? Maybe he never said so. Anyway, word is that he and Officer Lindstrom were killed by blows to the head and then.. bitten. Not by animals either."
"Damn. Thanks, Julio."
"Are you going down there?"
"No. I'm going to investigate my own way. And you know I never make threats, Julio."
"I know," said the shaken voice, "but still I'm sure someone is going to die for this. Good luck, Dire Wolf!" The phone clicked.
III.
A door in the hallway banged shut and Bane gave a start. He realized he had been standing, lost in thought, for some time. Time to get a grip and get on the job. He left his apartment and stepped out into a gorgeous Summer afternoon, where even New Yorkers were smiling and strolling instead of rushing madly about. Montez being killed was so unexpected. The big detective had always been aware of his surroundings, cautious, a difficult target. And he had been standing next to an armed officer. Bane immediately dismissed the idea the two men had been killed by another zombie. Montez was too wary for that. No, it had been someone above average, someone more dangerous than the usual street gang member or mobster. Someone from the Midnight War? Yes, he thought so.
At 40th Street, he slowed as he saw the four-story yellow brick office building. Going to the death scene was a bad idea right now. The police would be worked up and emotions would be high.. there might be some resentment of an outsider trying to horn in. He would get information from the cops later. Bane went through the double glass doors which slid open automatically, down the short hallway made by the side of staircase going up to the second floor and opened the door with the brass plaque DIRE WOLF AGENCY- APPOINTMENTS ONLY. And he had been toying with retirement more and more lately...
Once in his office, he dropped behind his desk and used his Link again. It had crossed his mind already that Montez' call to him in the middle of the night would not show up on the man's cell phone. The Trom technology had that advantage. With Officer Lindhorst dead, there was no way that anyone would know Bane had been called down there last night. Maybe that would be vital before this was all over.
First, he called the KDF headquarters building on 38th Street. He had stepped down as captain of that team more than a decade earlier, but he knew they still thought of him as their ultimate leader in real crisis. Of the six youngsters he had established at the second KDF team, only three remained, now veterans themselves. Unicorn had not returned from maternity leave and was out of the Midnight War for good, it seemed. Levon Bingham had remained in Danarak after going to be trained by the elders of the Bakwanga and was now a full adopted champion of that tribe, as Kwali had been.
Argent had surprised everyone by striking out on his own. Sheng Mo-Yuan had always been cocky and way too self-assured, but still no one had really expected him to open his own investigative company. He had an office on Mott Street, offering bodyguard and courier services under a Chinese phrase that translated as "Fist For Fire." Sheng still came running when the KDF called, he remained a reserve member, but he seemed happiest answering only to himself.
Then, four new members had turned up as if drawn to fill a void. Timothy Limbo, Demrak Jin, Jocelyn Garimara and Haley Lawson. So young they seemed like babies to him, but he had to admit he had not been any older when he founded the first KDF....
A pleasant female voice answered, "Jeremy?"
"Hi, Sable. Glad to see you're there. Everything under control at the moment."
"Better than usual," she chuckled. "My new team is training and studying and doing well. What's on your mind, captain?"
"It's serious, Sable, and it starts with bad news." He filled her in on the zombie that had been destroyed and the death of Lt Montez. He took his time and included every detail available to him.
Finally, Sable sighed and said, "I'm sorry to hear this, Jeremy. The man worked well with us. I know you handled many cases with and for him. It's too bad you didn't get a chance to say goodbye.. but then, so many times we aren't given that chance."
Bane's voice got a little harder. "What's really a shame is that I didn't hang around longer. If I had been there...!"
"Captain, I have some information that might be related. Two minor gangsters were found down by the Battery last week. Their heads were missing and still have not been recovered. They have been identified as Donald Cornell and Lou Fleischauer. Involved in human trafficking but low on the chain. I didn't see any Midnight War connection so I didn't start to investigate yet."
"Their heads were missing?"
"Yes." Lauren Sable Reilly sounded as clear and calm as ever. "It occurs to us both now. The heads were not destroyed to delay identification. Someone wanted the brains."
"As food," Bane snarled. "Thanks, Sable. I'm looking into it. What are your plans?"
"Now I'm interested as well," she answered. "Our paths may cross as we investigate. If not, we should keep pooling what we learn."
"You got it. Okay. Say hi to our team for me. Thanks again, Lauren."
"Glad to help. Thanks for keeping us in the loop." She broke connection and Bane juggled the Link in his hand. What was going on? He was starting to see a few threads that he should be able to connect in a minute. Mulling it over, he made a few more calls to some of his network of observers but no one had anything useful for him. His stomach rumbled angrily but for once he did not feel hungry. Montez was still on his mind. He had never met the man's family, had hardly learned anything about his private life. They hadn't really been friends.. certainly nothing like the rapport he shared with his KDF teammates.. but Bane was surprised by how much Montez' death affected him. He felt numb and distracted, and that was no state of mind to begin an investigation with.
The Dire Wolf pocketed his Link and headed out of the office again. He would think better on the move. Swinging right on Third Avenue, he started moving uptown at a brisk walk that was faster than most people could run. Were there two individuals or groups at work? That zombie in the truck compartment had not been sentient, but whoever had taken the gangsters' heads knew what they were doing. Was there a hungan behind both of them? Who? He hadn't heard of any voodoo masters setting up in the metropolitan area. The few practitioners he knew about were low-level and not very knowledgeable. It was too bad Samuel Watesa had moved to Florida years ago, but he must be hitting seventy by now and really couldn't be expected to still be active in Midnight War fighting.
As he crossed Fiftieth Street, Bane felt tense suddenly. Years of training and practice had spotted an individual in his immediate area more than twice, despite the speed with which he moved. He was being followed.
IV.
This could start things rolling. The Dire Wolf was interested that anyone could shadow him at the rate he walked. Not varying his pace, he turned right toward Lexington Avenue and saw a likely place for confrontation. At the next corner was a newsstand that stood well over head high, with a wing sticking out onto the sidekick. Behind the counter, an old man was glumly munching a candy bar as a woman studied a magazine page by page. When he reached the wing of the newstand, Bane swung behind it so he was instantly out of sight, counted three and stepped out directly behind the man who had been following him. The man was about Bane's six feet height, also thin, but with pale skin that bordered on albinoism and a tousled head of hair as white as cotton. The man hesitated for just a second in confusion and Bane pushed him lightly between the shoulders. "Let's keep walking," he said.
To the stranger's credit, he did not turn around or protest but just started forward again. Bane got a good look at him. Young, not more than twenty or twenty-one. Sneakers, white jeans, a bright yellow T-shirt with a red hoodie over it. The skin was so pale it was unhealthy looking. Bane's training judged co-ordination, strength and reflexes in a possible opponent after a few seconds of watching him walk. This kid was very dangerous.
Moving up a little so the man could glimpse him from the corner of one eye, the Dire Wolf said quietly, "Time for you to start talking, buddy."
"We need to know each other. My name is White Boy. Well, my legal name was Cole Todd, but I'm known as White Boy on the streets. And I know who you are, of course."
"Nice to be recognized. White Boy. Okay, what's your agenda?"
Now the young man turned his face toward Bane. The dark brown eyes had circles beneath them so dark that they seemed almost to be make-up. "This city is imminent danger. What everyone has feared is about to break out. It'll be a plague that will spread faster than a forest fire and once it starts, there's no way to stop it."
"Over here," Bane said, gesturing to a green metal bench set back against a blank wall. "The famous Zombie Apocalypse, right?"
The White Boy glared sullenly at him. "You don't seem to be taking the threat very seriously, I must say."
"I've seen a lot of impending Doomsdays," Bane answered seriously. He studied the young man intently, then calmly took hold of the white-skinned wrist. "Hmm. One heartbeat every eight seconds. I bet your blood pressure is around 60/40. And your skin is warm because you're outside, otherwise your body is at room temperature. Am I on the right track?"
"Yeah. You are." The deepset eyes lowered and he jerked his wrist away. Still looking down, Todd pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up to conceal as much of his face as possible. "I'm not exactly what you'd call alive."
Bane shifted his weight imperceptibly. No one watching would have noticed but he was now better poised for an attack. "Where were you at five-thirty this morning, White Boy?"
"On a Trailways bus coming in from upstate. Left Albany at five, got to Grand Central right after eight. Why?"
"I'll explain in a minute. First, I have to admit I have limited experience with conscious zombies." He watched the White Boy's impassive face to see any reaction to the word. "Mostly, I've dealt with mindless slaves who were controlled by a hungan. And free walkers, of course, the ones who have gone feral. So you are something new to me."
"Obviously, there aren't many like me," the Undead answered in his usual surly tone. "In fact, I haven't met any yet. Listen, I have to know if I can count on you. The outbreak is hanging over our heads and you are the only man I ever heard of who might be able to stall it. What do you say?"
Bane did not answer immediately. It often annoyed people, but he took time to answer questions sometimes. "I need more information," he said after a full minute. "What do you care about a zombie outbreak? What does it matter to you?"
"Are you joking? I still have feelings. All my friends, my family, people I used to work with, they're all in the city. I don't WANT to see them ripped up and eaten alive or become zombies themselves. Jeez, you're acting like I don't feel anything anymore."
"All right, take it easy. I'm learning. Come on, let's go to my office. It's on 44th Street. I want to check with my sources to see if they've spotted any Undead activity and we can plan what to do."
As Bane stood up, White Boy hung his head down before rising himself. "There's not much time. I'm afraid tonight is the night Conrad intends to cast the unleashing spell."
"Conrad?"
"The Red Sect sorcerer who made me this way," White Boy answered. "Conrad Todd. My father."
V.
Back in his office, the inner door automatically locking and arming itself behind them, Bane motioned for White Boy to take a chair in front of the desk while he went around behind it to drop down in his own. "You seem to know about me, son."
"Hell yes. My uncle is terrified you would go after him some day. You did smash Red Sect five times, after all. Each time someone rebuilt it but each time it was smaller and less important." The white-haired young man looked around the office with obvious curiosity. "Uncle Conrad is a warlock but he's not like what the Lundborgs used to be. They're all gone now."
"At least my life hasn't been in vain, then," Bane said. "Why did he turn you into a walker, Cole? What's the point?"
"Aw, he's been convinced the Zombie Apocalypse is inevitable. He's like those survivalists who stockpile for for nuclear war. My uncle knew I was never gonna be a tough, hardened he-man. So he decided the best way for me to survive was to be a zombie myself. They won't eat each other. At least he left me like this, where I'm almost alive." The boy's voice trembled noticeably. "If you call it that. I got no appetite. I don't sleep at all, just sorta daydream for a while each night. I don't dare try to date a girl, I'd infect her with it. And I feel so alienated.. well, I should, I AM alienated from the human race."
Bane leaned forward, clasping his hands in front of him. "So. I'm guessing your uncle intends to start the Zombie Outbreak now, instead of waiting for it. Is that right?"
"Yeah. He's crazy enough. Over in Jersey, he's got a few acres and the last I knew, he had maybe forty Undead caged up there. Uncle has the idea he can bring them into Manhattan late at night and start letting them loose all over the place. Everyone bitten by a zombie becomes a zombie. It's like a horrible sexually-transmitted disease, you know? And once Hell breaks loose, he's locked away safely in his bunker until it dies down."
White Boy shot to his feet and placed his palms on the desk. "It's be dark in a few hours, Mr Bane. I'm thinking tonight is the night, since my uncle is probably worried I'm gonna go to the cops with what I know."
Looking up calmly, the Dire Wolf said, "I'm going to act before nightfall. You'll take me to his estate. But I have a few questions first. Sit down." After a second, he repeated in a voice like a whip, "Sit down I said. What were you doing in Albany?"
"Why, I.. I took off for a few days. Stayed at a cheap hotel, walked around and thought the situation over. I used to have friends there but turns out they moved. So I came back. Why?"
"I always have questions. Zombies DO have to eat to stay active. Where are you getting human flesh, Cole?"
"Human flesh...?! What the hell? That must be a misconception. I'm fine with raw meat. Hamburger and pork chops right out of the supermarket is all I need." The deep-circled eyes seemed horrified. "Where would you even go to get human flesh anyway? Rob a hospital? A morgue? What an idea."
"Worse things have been done. Okay. I'm going to ask you to stay in the waiting room for ten minutes or so. Don't leave."
"How come? You're not gonna call the police on me, are you?"
"No." Bane stood up and gestured for the Undead to leave the office. "I want to make a few preparations, that's all. Ten minutes." After the White Boy went into the tiny waiting room with its two chairs and faded newspapers and magazines, Bane's expression changed. A faint but decidedly feral smile crossed his narrow face and the grey eyes narrowed.
The thing that had been Cole Todd was standing blankly in the waiting room, staring at nothing, taking a breath every twenty seconds. When the inner door to the office opened, Jeremy Bane came through dresssed in the black field suit of calf-high boots, snug pants and waist-length jacket, all of a tough leatherlike material. In the crook of one arm was a visored helmet. The Dire Wolf closed the door behind him and said, "You sure you can handle facing your uncle?"
"After what he did to me?" said the white-faced man. "Hell, yes, I didn't ASK for this. But we got to get going."
"I know. It's always wise to fear what nightfall brings but some nights are worse than others. Let's go." He strode quickly out across the lobby and to the street, turning left to hurry down Third Avenue. His field suit and helmet looked enough like a motorcycle outfit that it attracted no attention. White Boy had his hood up and his head lowered, trying to be inconspicuous. At 40th Street, they got in Bane's car and headed out.
VI.
It was dusk as they came to a stop on a back road in central New Jersey. The road ended at a metal double gate in a seven foot high stone wall that encircled the property before them. Bane put the car in park and nodded grimly. "I know this place. The last of the Lundborgs lived here. They were dealing with the Darthim before I made them stop."
"And my uncle took it over because he was next in line in Red Sect," Todd said. "We have to hurry, it's getting dark!"
"It isn't what nightfall brings that we have to fear," answered Bane as he got out from behind the wheel.
White Boy turned that black-ringed eyes on him. "What? What do you mean?"
Lowering the helmet over his head but leaving the visor up, the Dire Wolf met that stare evenly. "I mean, what nightfall brings is going to meet what it should fear!" With that, he started walking up to the gate. "Electronic lock. I think I can override it." He reached to the pouch on his belt that held the Link.
"No, wait, why give them something to be alarmed about? I know the code." The Undead opened the cover on a keypad, tapped eight numbers and then pressed his palm to a glass screen. There were loud clicking sounds and the gates creaked open ouward. The White Boy sighed. "Let's get this over with, Mr Bane. I'm not happy about having to be here doing this..."
"I understand," the Dire Wolf said, following the Undead boy along a gravel driveway which led to a three story mansion of at least thirty rooms and which had a chimney at each end. The building had seen better days. It needed several repairs, including a gutter that hung half off, and a coat of fresh paint was way overdue. Two windows on the ground floor were lit, and a red Nissan Ultima was parked by the front door.
With a finger to his lips for silence, White Boy went past the house toward its back. Here was a high chain-link fence with jagged points along its top. Standing incongruously near the fence were two yellow school buses. "You see his plan. He loads his walkers into those buses and drives around the city to let them off at every corner. The zombies attack the first people they catch, infecting them, spreading the curse. By the time the humans figure out what's going on, there will be walkers all over Manhattan."
"I see," Bane replied. As he approached the chain-link fence, scrawny figures in rags lurched and staggered toward him. The empty vacant stares, the unhealthy white skin and numerous serious injuries all gave away what they were. "I'd estimate maybe.. forty?"
"That's about right, Mr Bane." The White Boy had come around behind Bane as he spoke. Without a preliminary move, the Dire Wolf smashed his right elbow up and back, striking Todd directly in the face with murderous force. The Undead felt no pain but he was taken off guard by that savage impact and knocked onto his back. Swinging around, Bane snatched a Glock 19 out of the Undead's hand. His own .38 Smith and Wesson was drawn with his other hand and aimed unwaveringly at the young zombie's face.
"Don't move." Bane bent over slightly and scooped up the Glock without taking his eyes off the White Boy. "I cut that close. You were about to open the gate and let those things swarm over me, right?"
Not trying to get up, Todd raised his empty hands. "No, no, you got me all wrong. I brought you here to stop my uncle."
"Sure." Bane covered the Undead with his revolver with a steady hand. "I checked your story. Trailways doesn't have a bus from Albany to Manhattan that leaves anywhere near 5:00 AM. The earliest one is at 8:15. But I didn't even need to confirm that. You can't be living on meat from supermarkets and still be coherent. To retain intelligence, zombies have to have one item in their diet that there's no substitute for. Human brains." He lowered his voice. "You killed Joseph Montez... that police detective and the uniformed officer at 19th Street this morning."
"Oh, hell, why not? Yes! Yes, I killed them and I ate as much of their brains as I could. It's the only thing that keeps me from becoming like those poor bastards in the coop behind us. Go ahead and kill me. I'd be better off really dead. Kill me!"
"I intend to," Bane said as he fired once at point blank range. The heavy slug punched into the White Boy's forehead just above the eyebrows. Immediately, he lunged over close to the chain-link fence where the ragged zombies were pressing up mindlessly. Five shots exploded in the night, each one crashing into an Undead's head and sending it to true death. Without hesitation, Bane swung up Todd's Glock and emptied it as well. One after another, the unliving horrors sagged to the ground. Tossing the Glock aside, the Dire Wolf took a box of shells from his jacket pocket and began reloading his revolver. This was not a pleasant chore, he felt sickened at having to do it, but there was no choice.
Two powerful blows slammed high on his back, sending him to his hands and knees even as he heard the gunshots from behind. The double layer of Trom armor within his field suit dispersed much of the bullets' impact but some still got through and his back felt as if someone had hit it twice with a hammer. Rolling, coming back up on one knee, Bane took the situation in within a split-second. Two men were hurrying toward him from the mansion. One was aiming a Winchester and he had to be taken care of first. Even as he came up off the ground, the Dire Wolf snapped off a quick shot that took the rifleman high in the chest. The man spun round and fell heavily, dropping the Winchester.
That left only a stout older man in a light brown suit and tie. He had a round sullen with only a fringe of grey hair around the ears and back of the neck. He skidded to a stop as his rifleman was killed and he saw Bane aiming the same revolver right at him. Actually, there were no more cartridges in that pistol, there hadn't been time to reload it further but the man didn't know that.
"Conrad Todd, I presume?" Bane asked calmly as he got to his feet, flexing his shoulders to ease the ache.
"You.." the warlock began. "I know you. Of course, Dire Wolf. Oh, you've killed my nephew."
"He was more dead than alive already and that was your doing, Todd. Red Sect has really gone downhill. At least the Lundborgs were sorcerers you could respect." Taking two loose cartridges from his pocket, he lowered his gun slightly. "Got anything you want to say?"
"You don't understand. This is inevitable. I am only triggering the outbreak while it can still be stopped. Listen to me, Mr Bane," pleaded the old man. "This will be a limited outbreak. The police and the National Guard will get it under control. Then they will start preparations. Do you see where it leads?"
"I think I understand what you think will happen," Bane answered. "The authorities will believe in zombies. They'll start taking precautions for the next outbreak. Is that your plan?"
"Yes! Yes! Listen to me." Todd started walking closer, holding up his open hands. "You're a veteran of Midnight War. You should understand how important this is. When the major Zombie Apocalypse starts, everyone will be prepared. The human race will have a better chance at survival. This is the only way."
"I'm not going to debate with you," Bane said. He had reloaded his revolver down by his waist without the distraught sorcerer noticing in the gloom. Now he swung the Smith & Wesson up again. "But I don't agree with your plan." With that, he fired twice and hit the old warlock both times in center mass. Conrad Todd sagged to the dirt as if suddenly very tired.
The Dire Wolf examined both Todd and the rifleman warily. He had been surprised once or twice early in his career by wounded enemy playing possum and he had learned his lesson. All through his career, Bane had never killed anyone who was unarmed or who had surrendered, and he was surprised at himself for simply executing Todd that way. The henchman had a box of shells in his coat pocket for the Winchester. Taking both rifle and ammo, Bane walked over to where the zombies were hopelessly trying to climb that fence to get at the fresh bodies. Using the Winchester, he started picking them off. It was an ugly job that took a long time but finally he was finished.
Surprising himself, Bane sat down hard on the ground as his legs felt weak. He was sick of this. He had been fighting the Midnight War all his life and it never got easier. For maybe ten or fifteen minutes, he sat there and tried to breathe slowly and deeply, to calm himself. Maybe it was time to retire for good, spend the next year traveling and relaxing and trying to forget. Why not? Why keep going until he ended up like poor Joe Montez? Getting back up on his feet again, he replaced the box in the rifleman's pocket and folded the dead hands on the Winchester. He placed the Glock in Conrad Todd's grasp, and his own Smith & Wesson went in White Boy's grip. Although he had a concealed carry permit for his particular handgun, Bane usually brought an untraceable modified gun on cases. This .38 had been assembled from four separate weapons and ballistics would go nowhere trying to trace it.
Looking at the angles of the bodies, their nearness to each other and to the pen full of corpses, he tried to figure out how the scene would be reconstructed. Suddenly, he didn't care. It would all be covered up anyway. None of this would ever make the newspapers or TV. On his way back to Manhattan, he would call a tip to the FBI's Department 21 Black and officially none of this would ever had happened. Trudging back to the open gates where his car waited, Bane felt exhausted on every level. The old horse pulling the wagon one more time, he thought.
7/8/2015
6/11-6/13/2015
I.
With the first buzz of the Link, Bane was instantly awake and alert. He looked at the clock radio by his bed and saw 3:46 AM. Even though he had only gotten into bed at 12:30, that little bit of sleep had been enough for him. The Dire Wolf snatched up his Link from where it sat charging and said, "Yeah?" in a perfectly normal tone. The Trom device patched into the phone system but its signal could not be traced or its location discovered.
"Bane? It's me," said the hoarse voice of Lt Joseph Montez. "Come down to 19th Street. Avenue A. This is bad." With that, the homicide detective hung up.
Replacing the phone, Bane jumped out of bed and snapped the light on. That was odd. It certainly wasn't the first time Montez had rousted him in the middle of the night but some information was always even offered. Even a little teasing was normal to get his curiosity going. For Montez to be so terse was unusual and even worrisome. Hurrying, the Dire Wolf tugged on the bodysuit of flexible Trom armor that looked like dark silk but which protected against anything up to a high-powered rifle bullet. Like a firefighter, Bane lived as if he was always on duty. His clothes and equipment were always laid out properly before he went to sleep. The heavy boots with steel caps at toes and heels, the slacks and long-sleeved turtleneck, the sport jacket... everything was black. All the tiny gadgets and weapons had already been stowed in hidden slits and pouches.
Rolling back his sleeves, he strapped the sheathes to his forearms which held the matched silver daggers which were his most prized possessions. Given to him by Kenneth Dred when they had first met, the blades had been ensorcelled by the immortal Eldarin and were a potent defense against the children of the night. A more mundane weapon, a long-barrelled Smith & Wesson .38 Special was holstered behind his left hip. In less than a minute from when the phone had rung, Bane had turned off the bedroom light again and was moving quickly through his darkened apartment. Despite his plans to retire, despite all his intentions of closing the Dire Wolf Agency, he still leaped up at any hint the Midnight War was stirring again. He was fifty-seven now, unchanged except for a few grey strands in the full head of black hair and fine wrinkles at the corners of the grey eyes.
As he stepped out into the hall, he heard the Trom alarms arm themselves with buzzes and clicks. Did he even need them any more? All his major enemies were long dead or stuck in realms from which they could not return. His cases had been coming further and further apart. No time to think about that now, though. Bane stepped out into a warm June night just as a patrol car went by. Across the street, a 24 hour laundromat had its doors propped open and two college kids were sitting in there watching the dryers spin. He swung left and took off a brisk walk just short of acually running. At 40th Street, he went down the wide concrete ramp of IMPERIAL GARAGE, waved to the attendant sitting in a little cubicle and examined his Toyota Matrix.
On the driver's side visor, four tiny green and blue lights blinked steadily, indicating no one had come in contact with his car, but Bane took a few minutes to examine it anyway before opening the door and getting in. In another minute, he was out on Third Avenue and making a turn at the corner to head south. This was his natural element, he was basically nocturnal and felt most alive when out at night.
Finding the address, the Dire Wolf parked next to a junk yard with a high chain link fence surrounding a lot littered with rusted out cars, refrigerators, unidentifiable pieces of metal and general debris. A police prowl car stood by the entrance, next to a dark VW Jetta that he recognized as Montez' personal car. Bane jumped out and rushed over to where the gate in the fence hung open. The uniformed officer obviously had been briefed on his arrival, because he pointed out where Montez was and followed Bane over there.
The rear compartment belonging to an 18-wheeler sat on the ground in a tangle of stray pipes, aluminum sheets and engine parts. On the side of the compartment was painted SUNSHINE FRUITS ALL NATURAL AND HEALTHFUL with a drawing of an orange that had a smiling face. Standing by the doors at the back of that compartment was a heavyset man in a dark blue suit and tie, his round face turned to watch Bane approach. "Ah, that was quick," he said. "Sorry to get you up, but this is your kind of situation."
Bane walked around the compartment suspiciously, not sure if he heard anything in there or not. The rear doors were chained shut. "Give me something to work with, Lieutenant?"
"Officer Lindstrom over there saw what seemed to be a derelict staggering around in this lot. Shabby woman in her forties, drunk or high or mentally ill. As he got a good look at her, he exercised caution and stayed back. She entered this box and he locked her in. Then he called me."
Bane raised one eyebrow. "And you're with Homicide, Montez. Why would he call you?"
"Ah, come on. Ten years now, more than ten, I've been the unofficial go-to for anything too weird or too horrible for a regular investigation. And that's because they know I'll bring in New York's real expert on things that come out of the shadows." He pointed an accusing finger at the Dire Wolf. "You."
"Fair enough," Bane replied agreeably. He grasped the padlock which held the compartment secured. "Let's get set up. Your man have a flashlight? Good. Officer, I want you to stand behind him and shine the light past me into that box. Lieutenant, maybe get ready to open those doors. You carrying? Good." With that, Bane stepped over to a tangle of junk and pulled out a three-foot length of cast iron pipe. "Might need this," he explained casually.
Taking a key from his coat pocket, the obese police detective unlocked the padlock, slid the chains free and hesitated. Then, with a grunt of effort, he pressed down the bar that opened the compartment and stepped back sharply. Jeremy Bane took his place, holding the iron pole like a pool cue. In the glare of the cop's powerful flashlight, something stirred and moved toward them.
It had been a woman, above average height, dressed in a light floral print dress with a beige cardigan over it, all the clothing tattered and dirty. Her skin was covered with open sores and torn flesh, her face was abraded as if scalded by boiling water, and her hair stuck out in an unwashed mane. The woman's eyes were solid white, like the eyes of a fish that has gone stale. As the door opened, she lurched unsteadily and began to move toward them, hissing.
"That's all we need to see," Bane remarked. He swung the heavy pipe back and drove it savagely forward to crack hard against the woman's forehead. She staggered awkwardly, fell to one knee, and he smashed the pipe down as if he was trying to drive a railroad spike into the ground. There was an ugly hollow crunch and the body collapsed.
The Dire Wolf watched the corpse suspiciously. "That did it," he said at last, although he kept hold of the pipe for the moment. "What a smell. She's been dead at least a week, I'd say."
Moving closer, tense and ready to jump back at any sign of movement, Joseh Montez sighed. "Never saw a zombie before. I thought I was toughened up but this.. this makes me sick. I might heave."
"It's always hard to take," Bane admitted. "All our natural instincts are warning us to get away from that thing." He scraped the pipe in the dry dirt at their feet, then tossed it far off into a tangle of rusted machinery. "She was in the predatory stage. Officer Lindstrom? We're going to report finding the body of an unidentified woman in this box. The smell caught your attention. I think Medical Examiner's office will list cause of death as unknown. Decay set in, she died at least five to seven days before that blunt force trauma to the head. Maybe dental records will identify her."
The cop's voice was barely audible, "Whatever you say. I never want to think about this again."
In the light from a streetlamp, Montez' face was sweaty and pale. "Good thing I called you, Bane. This goes beyond what we were taught at the academy."
The Dire Wolf folded his arms and stared at the body inside the compartment. "I've never seen a free walker like this one in the city," he said as if to himself. "The Undead have always been under cotrol of a hungan. Like Papa Louis. Maybe this specimen got loose somehow, but it tells me that somewhere in New York City is a sorcerer powerful enough for necromancy. And if he can raise the dead but not completely control them, it's the perfect set-up for an outbreak."
Montez wiped his face with a clean handkerchief from his breast pocket. "We have to get moving to contain this."
"Let's hope we're not already too late," said the Dire Wolf.
II.
Leaving before the forensic team could arrive, Bane returned his car to the IMPERIAL and double checked that its alarms were on before leaving it. Not even six o'clock yet. The building where his office was located didn't open until eight. He kept walking four blocks and went back to his apartment. The ground floor of the unimposing building held a travel agency and an insurance company, with the stoop between their doors that held the stairs leading up. At the second floor, he entered his apartment with his usual wariness. Everything was safe. Bane stripped down again, hung up his outfit so he could get into it quickly and went pulled back the single linen sheet he slept under. The silver daggers were hung on the headboard and the 38 revolver was under his pillow as usual.
For what felt like ages, he could not get back to sleep. Usually, not matter what, he could drop off at will but that creature in the truck compartment troubled him. It had been more pathetic than frightening. He wondered who she had been, but he would find out from Montez. As he lay stretched out in the cool silent room, Bane reviewed all his encounters with zombies over the years. Mostly, they weren't much of a threat because they were acting as slaves to hungans and had no intitiative of their own. When they got loose and tasted flesh, though, they became predatory very quickly. Human flesh made them stronger and closer to regaining intelligence, although they continued to decay and went downhill inevitably. He had never heard a free walker speak or seen one able to use more even a simple tool. Even turning downknobs was beyond them.
Bane turned over, growing annoyed at still being awake. Lying on one side, he remembered hearing that feeding on human brains could restore an Undead to nearly normalcy, healing them physically and reportedly bringing their minds back from the void. He had never seen this. Even in Necropolis, during that hellish Final Halloween where he had lost six teammates, the walkers there had been clumsy, stumbling brutes that were dangerous because they were infectious. A bite which broke skin passed the curse on. The Dire Wolf grumbled and got on his back with his hands down by his sides. Using the Tel Shai technique, he controlled his breathing, making it slower and deeper, clearing his mind. In a minute, he had drifted off.
With a convulsive jolt, he sat upright and glared around the bedroom. He was breathing hard and for a second, his mind was confused. Sunlight showed under the blinds in the windows to his left. Bane looked at the clock radio and saw it was after one in the afternoon. That couldn't be right. When he had ever slept straight through like that unless he had been badly injured? Then he remembered the nightmare.
Sitting up naked on the side of the bed, the Dire Wolf came back to normal. He never had nightmares. Most of the time he couldn't even remember his dreams unless something woke him during one. But he remembered uneasily he had been on a street facing a man with white hair and white skin and dark circled eyes, and they had been walking toward each other. The closer they got, the slower they both moved until they were facing each other at arm's length. Then he had woken.
Well. That was odd, he thought. Maybe he WAS getting old. He might look as if in his mid-thirties but he was fifty-seven after all and he had been fighting the Midnight War since he had been seventeen. A psychiatric evaluation years ago had described him as having an unusual profile that responded well to high stress and functioned best at full blast. Maybe he was starting to wear down. It wouldn't be surprising.
Getting out of bed, he frowned at the clock. One in the afternoon? He went into his bathroom to shave and take a hot shower which graded down to chilly, toweled off and climbed back into the Trom armor and clothes he had laid out the night before. Time for work. Why hadn't Montez called him? Certainly by now the woman had been identified. Picking up his Link, he patched into the Verizon network and called the precinct house at 20th Street. He recognized the voice that answered.
"Hey, Julio. Good morning, this is Bane, is Lt Montez still there?"
"Oh."
The tone of that single word frightened Bane. "What's the matter, Julio?"
"You don't know. Ah, it's Lt Montez, he was killed this morning. Him and a young uniform with him, down by 19th Street. Pretty bad. Half the boys are there now investigating."
"He's DEAD?" the Dire Wolf said in a strange hollow voice. "What happened?"
"Look, I shouldn't be telling a civilian anything," Julio said in a low voice. "But we all know how much help you've been over the years. You realize Montez thought the world of you? Maybe he never said so. Anyway, word is that he and Officer Lindstrom were killed by blows to the head and then.. bitten. Not by animals either."
"Damn. Thanks, Julio."
"Are you going down there?"
"No. I'm going to investigate my own way. And you know I never make threats, Julio."
"I know," said the shaken voice, "but still I'm sure someone is going to die for this. Good luck, Dire Wolf!" The phone clicked.
III.
A door in the hallway banged shut and Bane gave a start. He realized he had been standing, lost in thought, for some time. Time to get a grip and get on the job. He left his apartment and stepped out into a gorgeous Summer afternoon, where even New Yorkers were smiling and strolling instead of rushing madly about. Montez being killed was so unexpected. The big detective had always been aware of his surroundings, cautious, a difficult target. And he had been standing next to an armed officer. Bane immediately dismissed the idea the two men had been killed by another zombie. Montez was too wary for that. No, it had been someone above average, someone more dangerous than the usual street gang member or mobster. Someone from the Midnight War? Yes, he thought so.
At 40th Street, he slowed as he saw the four-story yellow brick office building. Going to the death scene was a bad idea right now. The police would be worked up and emotions would be high.. there might be some resentment of an outsider trying to horn in. He would get information from the cops later. Bane went through the double glass doors which slid open automatically, down the short hallway made by the side of staircase going up to the second floor and opened the door with the brass plaque DIRE WOLF AGENCY- APPOINTMENTS ONLY. And he had been toying with retirement more and more lately...
Once in his office, he dropped behind his desk and used his Link again. It had crossed his mind already that Montez' call to him in the middle of the night would not show up on the man's cell phone. The Trom technology had that advantage. With Officer Lindhorst dead, there was no way that anyone would know Bane had been called down there last night. Maybe that would be vital before this was all over.
First, he called the KDF headquarters building on 38th Street. He had stepped down as captain of that team more than a decade earlier, but he knew they still thought of him as their ultimate leader in real crisis. Of the six youngsters he had established at the second KDF team, only three remained, now veterans themselves. Unicorn had not returned from maternity leave and was out of the Midnight War for good, it seemed. Levon Bingham had remained in Danarak after going to be trained by the elders of the Bakwanga and was now a full adopted champion of that tribe, as Kwali had been.
Argent had surprised everyone by striking out on his own. Sheng Mo-Yuan had always been cocky and way too self-assured, but still no one had really expected him to open his own investigative company. He had an office on Mott Street, offering bodyguard and courier services under a Chinese phrase that translated as "Fist For Fire." Sheng still came running when the KDF called, he remained a reserve member, but he seemed happiest answering only to himself.
Then, four new members had turned up as if drawn to fill a void. Timothy Limbo, Demrak Jin, Jocelyn Garimara and Haley Lawson. So young they seemed like babies to him, but he had to admit he had not been any older when he founded the first KDF....
A pleasant female voice answered, "Jeremy?"
"Hi, Sable. Glad to see you're there. Everything under control at the moment."
"Better than usual," she chuckled. "My new team is training and studying and doing well. What's on your mind, captain?"
"It's serious, Sable, and it starts with bad news." He filled her in on the zombie that had been destroyed and the death of Lt Montez. He took his time and included every detail available to him.
Finally, Sable sighed and said, "I'm sorry to hear this, Jeremy. The man worked well with us. I know you handled many cases with and for him. It's too bad you didn't get a chance to say goodbye.. but then, so many times we aren't given that chance."
Bane's voice got a little harder. "What's really a shame is that I didn't hang around longer. If I had been there...!"
"Captain, I have some information that might be related. Two minor gangsters were found down by the Battery last week. Their heads were missing and still have not been recovered. They have been identified as Donald Cornell and Lou Fleischauer. Involved in human trafficking but low on the chain. I didn't see any Midnight War connection so I didn't start to investigate yet."
"Their heads were missing?"
"Yes." Lauren Sable Reilly sounded as clear and calm as ever. "It occurs to us both now. The heads were not destroyed to delay identification. Someone wanted the brains."
"As food," Bane snarled. "Thanks, Sable. I'm looking into it. What are your plans?"
"Now I'm interested as well," she answered. "Our paths may cross as we investigate. If not, we should keep pooling what we learn."
"You got it. Okay. Say hi to our team for me. Thanks again, Lauren."
"Glad to help. Thanks for keeping us in the loop." She broke connection and Bane juggled the Link in his hand. What was going on? He was starting to see a few threads that he should be able to connect in a minute. Mulling it over, he made a few more calls to some of his network of observers but no one had anything useful for him. His stomach rumbled angrily but for once he did not feel hungry. Montez was still on his mind. He had never met the man's family, had hardly learned anything about his private life. They hadn't really been friends.. certainly nothing like the rapport he shared with his KDF teammates.. but Bane was surprised by how much Montez' death affected him. He felt numb and distracted, and that was no state of mind to begin an investigation with.
The Dire Wolf pocketed his Link and headed out of the office again. He would think better on the move. Swinging right on Third Avenue, he started moving uptown at a brisk walk that was faster than most people could run. Were there two individuals or groups at work? That zombie in the truck compartment had not been sentient, but whoever had taken the gangsters' heads knew what they were doing. Was there a hungan behind both of them? Who? He hadn't heard of any voodoo masters setting up in the metropolitan area. The few practitioners he knew about were low-level and not very knowledgeable. It was too bad Samuel Watesa had moved to Florida years ago, but he must be hitting seventy by now and really couldn't be expected to still be active in Midnight War fighting.
As he crossed Fiftieth Street, Bane felt tense suddenly. Years of training and practice had spotted an individual in his immediate area more than twice, despite the speed with which he moved. He was being followed.
IV.
This could start things rolling. The Dire Wolf was interested that anyone could shadow him at the rate he walked. Not varying his pace, he turned right toward Lexington Avenue and saw a likely place for confrontation. At the next corner was a newsstand that stood well over head high, with a wing sticking out onto the sidekick. Behind the counter, an old man was glumly munching a candy bar as a woman studied a magazine page by page. When he reached the wing of the newstand, Bane swung behind it so he was instantly out of sight, counted three and stepped out directly behind the man who had been following him. The man was about Bane's six feet height, also thin, but with pale skin that bordered on albinoism and a tousled head of hair as white as cotton. The man hesitated for just a second in confusion and Bane pushed him lightly between the shoulders. "Let's keep walking," he said.
To the stranger's credit, he did not turn around or protest but just started forward again. Bane got a good look at him. Young, not more than twenty or twenty-one. Sneakers, white jeans, a bright yellow T-shirt with a red hoodie over it. The skin was so pale it was unhealthy looking. Bane's training judged co-ordination, strength and reflexes in a possible opponent after a few seconds of watching him walk. This kid was very dangerous.
Moving up a little so the man could glimpse him from the corner of one eye, the Dire Wolf said quietly, "Time for you to start talking, buddy."
"We need to know each other. My name is White Boy. Well, my legal name was Cole Todd, but I'm known as White Boy on the streets. And I know who you are, of course."
"Nice to be recognized. White Boy. Okay, what's your agenda?"
Now the young man turned his face toward Bane. The dark brown eyes had circles beneath them so dark that they seemed almost to be make-up. "This city is imminent danger. What everyone has feared is about to break out. It'll be a plague that will spread faster than a forest fire and once it starts, there's no way to stop it."
"Over here," Bane said, gesturing to a green metal bench set back against a blank wall. "The famous Zombie Apocalypse, right?"
The White Boy glared sullenly at him. "You don't seem to be taking the threat very seriously, I must say."
"I've seen a lot of impending Doomsdays," Bane answered seriously. He studied the young man intently, then calmly took hold of the white-skinned wrist. "Hmm. One heartbeat every eight seconds. I bet your blood pressure is around 60/40. And your skin is warm because you're outside, otherwise your body is at room temperature. Am I on the right track?"
"Yeah. You are." The deepset eyes lowered and he jerked his wrist away. Still looking down, Todd pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up to conceal as much of his face as possible. "I'm not exactly what you'd call alive."
Bane shifted his weight imperceptibly. No one watching would have noticed but he was now better poised for an attack. "Where were you at five-thirty this morning, White Boy?"
"On a Trailways bus coming in from upstate. Left Albany at five, got to Grand Central right after eight. Why?"
"I'll explain in a minute. First, I have to admit I have limited experience with conscious zombies." He watched the White Boy's impassive face to see any reaction to the word. "Mostly, I've dealt with mindless slaves who were controlled by a hungan. And free walkers, of course, the ones who have gone feral. So you are something new to me."
"Obviously, there aren't many like me," the Undead answered in his usual surly tone. "In fact, I haven't met any yet. Listen, I have to know if I can count on you. The outbreak is hanging over our heads and you are the only man I ever heard of who might be able to stall it. What do you say?"
Bane did not answer immediately. It often annoyed people, but he took time to answer questions sometimes. "I need more information," he said after a full minute. "What do you care about a zombie outbreak? What does it matter to you?"
"Are you joking? I still have feelings. All my friends, my family, people I used to work with, they're all in the city. I don't WANT to see them ripped up and eaten alive or become zombies themselves. Jeez, you're acting like I don't feel anything anymore."
"All right, take it easy. I'm learning. Come on, let's go to my office. It's on 44th Street. I want to check with my sources to see if they've spotted any Undead activity and we can plan what to do."
As Bane stood up, White Boy hung his head down before rising himself. "There's not much time. I'm afraid tonight is the night Conrad intends to cast the unleashing spell."
"Conrad?"
"The Red Sect sorcerer who made me this way," White Boy answered. "Conrad Todd. My father."
V.
Back in his office, the inner door automatically locking and arming itself behind them, Bane motioned for White Boy to take a chair in front of the desk while he went around behind it to drop down in his own. "You seem to know about me, son."
"Hell yes. My uncle is terrified you would go after him some day. You did smash Red Sect five times, after all. Each time someone rebuilt it but each time it was smaller and less important." The white-haired young man looked around the office with obvious curiosity. "Uncle Conrad is a warlock but he's not like what the Lundborgs used to be. They're all gone now."
"At least my life hasn't been in vain, then," Bane said. "Why did he turn you into a walker, Cole? What's the point?"
"Aw, he's been convinced the Zombie Apocalypse is inevitable. He's like those survivalists who stockpile for for nuclear war. My uncle knew I was never gonna be a tough, hardened he-man. So he decided the best way for me to survive was to be a zombie myself. They won't eat each other. At least he left me like this, where I'm almost alive." The boy's voice trembled noticeably. "If you call it that. I got no appetite. I don't sleep at all, just sorta daydream for a while each night. I don't dare try to date a girl, I'd infect her with it. And I feel so alienated.. well, I should, I AM alienated from the human race."
Bane leaned forward, clasping his hands in front of him. "So. I'm guessing your uncle intends to start the Zombie Outbreak now, instead of waiting for it. Is that right?"
"Yeah. He's crazy enough. Over in Jersey, he's got a few acres and the last I knew, he had maybe forty Undead caged up there. Uncle has the idea he can bring them into Manhattan late at night and start letting them loose all over the place. Everyone bitten by a zombie becomes a zombie. It's like a horrible sexually-transmitted disease, you know? And once Hell breaks loose, he's locked away safely in his bunker until it dies down."
White Boy shot to his feet and placed his palms on the desk. "It's be dark in a few hours, Mr Bane. I'm thinking tonight is the night, since my uncle is probably worried I'm gonna go to the cops with what I know."
Looking up calmly, the Dire Wolf said, "I'm going to act before nightfall. You'll take me to his estate. But I have a few questions first. Sit down." After a second, he repeated in a voice like a whip, "Sit down I said. What were you doing in Albany?"
"Why, I.. I took off for a few days. Stayed at a cheap hotel, walked around and thought the situation over. I used to have friends there but turns out they moved. So I came back. Why?"
"I always have questions. Zombies DO have to eat to stay active. Where are you getting human flesh, Cole?"
"Human flesh...?! What the hell? That must be a misconception. I'm fine with raw meat. Hamburger and pork chops right out of the supermarket is all I need." The deep-circled eyes seemed horrified. "Where would you even go to get human flesh anyway? Rob a hospital? A morgue? What an idea."
"Worse things have been done. Okay. I'm going to ask you to stay in the waiting room for ten minutes or so. Don't leave."
"How come? You're not gonna call the police on me, are you?"
"No." Bane stood up and gestured for the Undead to leave the office. "I want to make a few preparations, that's all. Ten minutes." After the White Boy went into the tiny waiting room with its two chairs and faded newspapers and magazines, Bane's expression changed. A faint but decidedly feral smile crossed his narrow face and the grey eyes narrowed.
The thing that had been Cole Todd was standing blankly in the waiting room, staring at nothing, taking a breath every twenty seconds. When the inner door to the office opened, Jeremy Bane came through dresssed in the black field suit of calf-high boots, snug pants and waist-length jacket, all of a tough leatherlike material. In the crook of one arm was a visored helmet. The Dire Wolf closed the door behind him and said, "You sure you can handle facing your uncle?"
"After what he did to me?" said the white-faced man. "Hell, yes, I didn't ASK for this. But we got to get going."
"I know. It's always wise to fear what nightfall brings but some nights are worse than others. Let's go." He strode quickly out across the lobby and to the street, turning left to hurry down Third Avenue. His field suit and helmet looked enough like a motorcycle outfit that it attracted no attention. White Boy had his hood up and his head lowered, trying to be inconspicuous. At 40th Street, they got in Bane's car and headed out.
VI.
It was dusk as they came to a stop on a back road in central New Jersey. The road ended at a metal double gate in a seven foot high stone wall that encircled the property before them. Bane put the car in park and nodded grimly. "I know this place. The last of the Lundborgs lived here. They were dealing with the Darthim before I made them stop."
"And my uncle took it over because he was next in line in Red Sect," Todd said. "We have to hurry, it's getting dark!"
"It isn't what nightfall brings that we have to fear," answered Bane as he got out from behind the wheel.
White Boy turned that black-ringed eyes on him. "What? What do you mean?"
Lowering the helmet over his head but leaving the visor up, the Dire Wolf met that stare evenly. "I mean, what nightfall brings is going to meet what it should fear!" With that, he started walking up to the gate. "Electronic lock. I think I can override it." He reached to the pouch on his belt that held the Link.
"No, wait, why give them something to be alarmed about? I know the code." The Undead opened the cover on a keypad, tapped eight numbers and then pressed his palm to a glass screen. There were loud clicking sounds and the gates creaked open ouward. The White Boy sighed. "Let's get this over with, Mr Bane. I'm not happy about having to be here doing this..."
"I understand," the Dire Wolf said, following the Undead boy along a gravel driveway which led to a three story mansion of at least thirty rooms and which had a chimney at each end. The building had seen better days. It needed several repairs, including a gutter that hung half off, and a coat of fresh paint was way overdue. Two windows on the ground floor were lit, and a red Nissan Ultima was parked by the front door.
With a finger to his lips for silence, White Boy went past the house toward its back. Here was a high chain-link fence with jagged points along its top. Standing incongruously near the fence were two yellow school buses. "You see his plan. He loads his walkers into those buses and drives around the city to let them off at every corner. The zombies attack the first people they catch, infecting them, spreading the curse. By the time the humans figure out what's going on, there will be walkers all over Manhattan."
"I see," Bane replied. As he approached the chain-link fence, scrawny figures in rags lurched and staggered toward him. The empty vacant stares, the unhealthy white skin and numerous serious injuries all gave away what they were. "I'd estimate maybe.. forty?"
"That's about right, Mr Bane." The White Boy had come around behind Bane as he spoke. Without a preliminary move, the Dire Wolf smashed his right elbow up and back, striking Todd directly in the face with murderous force. The Undead felt no pain but he was taken off guard by that savage impact and knocked onto his back. Swinging around, Bane snatched a Glock 19 out of the Undead's hand. His own .38 Smith and Wesson was drawn with his other hand and aimed unwaveringly at the young zombie's face.
"Don't move." Bane bent over slightly and scooped up the Glock without taking his eyes off the White Boy. "I cut that close. You were about to open the gate and let those things swarm over me, right?"
Not trying to get up, Todd raised his empty hands. "No, no, you got me all wrong. I brought you here to stop my uncle."
"Sure." Bane covered the Undead with his revolver with a steady hand. "I checked your story. Trailways doesn't have a bus from Albany to Manhattan that leaves anywhere near 5:00 AM. The earliest one is at 8:15. But I didn't even need to confirm that. You can't be living on meat from supermarkets and still be coherent. To retain intelligence, zombies have to have one item in their diet that there's no substitute for. Human brains." He lowered his voice. "You killed Joseph Montez... that police detective and the uniformed officer at 19th Street this morning."
"Oh, hell, why not? Yes! Yes, I killed them and I ate as much of their brains as I could. It's the only thing that keeps me from becoming like those poor bastards in the coop behind us. Go ahead and kill me. I'd be better off really dead. Kill me!"
"I intend to," Bane said as he fired once at point blank range. The heavy slug punched into the White Boy's forehead just above the eyebrows. Immediately, he lunged over close to the chain-link fence where the ragged zombies were pressing up mindlessly. Five shots exploded in the night, each one crashing into an Undead's head and sending it to true death. Without hesitation, Bane swung up Todd's Glock and emptied it as well. One after another, the unliving horrors sagged to the ground. Tossing the Glock aside, the Dire Wolf took a box of shells from his jacket pocket and began reloading his revolver. This was not a pleasant chore, he felt sickened at having to do it, but there was no choice.
Two powerful blows slammed high on his back, sending him to his hands and knees even as he heard the gunshots from behind. The double layer of Trom armor within his field suit dispersed much of the bullets' impact but some still got through and his back felt as if someone had hit it twice with a hammer. Rolling, coming back up on one knee, Bane took the situation in within a split-second. Two men were hurrying toward him from the mansion. One was aiming a Winchester and he had to be taken care of first. Even as he came up off the ground, the Dire Wolf snapped off a quick shot that took the rifleman high in the chest. The man spun round and fell heavily, dropping the Winchester.
That left only a stout older man in a light brown suit and tie. He had a round sullen with only a fringe of grey hair around the ears and back of the neck. He skidded to a stop as his rifleman was killed and he saw Bane aiming the same revolver right at him. Actually, there were no more cartridges in that pistol, there hadn't been time to reload it further but the man didn't know that.
"Conrad Todd, I presume?" Bane asked calmly as he got to his feet, flexing his shoulders to ease the ache.
"You.." the warlock began. "I know you. Of course, Dire Wolf. Oh, you've killed my nephew."
"He was more dead than alive already and that was your doing, Todd. Red Sect has really gone downhill. At least the Lundborgs were sorcerers you could respect." Taking two loose cartridges from his pocket, he lowered his gun slightly. "Got anything you want to say?"
"You don't understand. This is inevitable. I am only triggering the outbreak while it can still be stopped. Listen to me, Mr Bane," pleaded the old man. "This will be a limited outbreak. The police and the National Guard will get it under control. Then they will start preparations. Do you see where it leads?"
"I think I understand what you think will happen," Bane answered. "The authorities will believe in zombies. They'll start taking precautions for the next outbreak. Is that your plan?"
"Yes! Yes! Listen to me." Todd started walking closer, holding up his open hands. "You're a veteran of Midnight War. You should understand how important this is. When the major Zombie Apocalypse starts, everyone will be prepared. The human race will have a better chance at survival. This is the only way."
"I'm not going to debate with you," Bane said. He had reloaded his revolver down by his waist without the distraught sorcerer noticing in the gloom. Now he swung the Smith & Wesson up again. "But I don't agree with your plan." With that, he fired twice and hit the old warlock both times in center mass. Conrad Todd sagged to the dirt as if suddenly very tired.
The Dire Wolf examined both Todd and the rifleman warily. He had been surprised once or twice early in his career by wounded enemy playing possum and he had learned his lesson. All through his career, Bane had never killed anyone who was unarmed or who had surrendered, and he was surprised at himself for simply executing Todd that way. The henchman had a box of shells in his coat pocket for the Winchester. Taking both rifle and ammo, Bane walked over to where the zombies were hopelessly trying to climb that fence to get at the fresh bodies. Using the Winchester, he started picking them off. It was an ugly job that took a long time but finally he was finished.
Surprising himself, Bane sat down hard on the ground as his legs felt weak. He was sick of this. He had been fighting the Midnight War all his life and it never got easier. For maybe ten or fifteen minutes, he sat there and tried to breathe slowly and deeply, to calm himself. Maybe it was time to retire for good, spend the next year traveling and relaxing and trying to forget. Why not? Why keep going until he ended up like poor Joe Montez? Getting back up on his feet again, he replaced the box in the rifleman's pocket and folded the dead hands on the Winchester. He placed the Glock in Conrad Todd's grasp, and his own Smith & Wesson went in White Boy's grip. Although he had a concealed carry permit for his particular handgun, Bane usually brought an untraceable modified gun on cases. This .38 had been assembled from four separate weapons and ballistics would go nowhere trying to trace it.
Looking at the angles of the bodies, their nearness to each other and to the pen full of corpses, he tried to figure out how the scene would be reconstructed. Suddenly, he didn't care. It would all be covered up anyway. None of this would ever make the newspapers or TV. On his way back to Manhattan, he would call a tip to the FBI's Department 21 Black and officially none of this would ever had happened. Trudging back to the open gates where his car waited, Bane felt exhausted on every level. The old horse pulling the wagon one more time, he thought.
7/8/2015
