Scott Sigler - Nocturnal - A Novel

“You said Rex? You mean Rex Deprovdechuk? That little kid?”

Bryan nodded. “He’s the leader of the monsters, Marie’s Children, the things with the Zed chromosome that Robin told you about, whatever you want to call them. I don’t have time for this, John. I’m going to get Pookie. Those things in Erickson’s basement we told you about? Aggie says there are hundreds of them down there. That’s where I’m going. You can come with me, or you can leave.”

They’d taken Pookie. Robin hadn’t done anything to anyone, yet they’d killed her. She wasn’t the first person killed by Marie’s Children. The cult — or monsters, or whatever the hell they were — had a centuries-long history of murder. On top of those things, the man who had saved John’s life was asking for help.

John nodded. “I’m in.”

Bryan slapped him on the shoulder. “Good man. Let’s get geared up. Adam?”

Bryan walked to the back of the Magnum and everyone else followed. Another man, much older, got out of the back of the car. He walked with a cane. He offered his hand to John.

“Alder Jessup,” he said. “The younger fellow there is my grandson, Adam.”

John shook the older man’s hand, a normal action that seemed somehow bizarre considering the situation. “I’m John Smith.”

“ Inspector John Smith,” Bryan said. “John is a cop.”

Adam rolled his eyes as he opened the back of the station wagon. “Another cop. If I was any luckier I’d piss rainbows and shit a pot of gold.”

The older man sighed. “Please excuse my grandson. He is on less-than-friendly terms with law enforcement.”

Metal pull-out drawers packed the Magnum’s payload area. Up on top of the drawers, in the narrow space where the driver could see out the rear window, sat Emma. Someone had bandaged the dog’s face, wrapping it with gauze and tape that was already stained with her blood.

Adam looked at Bryan. The rocker rubbed his hands together as if he were about to open a stack of presents on Christmas morning. “What do you need, cop?”

“Armor,” Bryan said. “Whatever you’ve got. And firepower.”

Adam started sliding out drawers as Emma looked down from her perch.

John looked all around, then back at the cases full of weapons, then at Bryan Clauser. A few hours ago, John had been cowering in his cozy, warm apartment. And now? “Bryan, are we really standing in a Walgreens parking lot passing out guns so we can find an underground complex and shoot monsters?”

Bryan nodded. “That’s right.”

“Hoo-kay,” John said. “Just wanted to clarify.”

Adam reached into a drawer and pulled out what looked like an M-16 on steroids.

“Jesus,” John said. “Is that an automatic shotgun?”

Bryan jerked his thumb at John. “Give that to him.”

Adam handed it to John, then passed over six full magazines. “That’s a USAS-Twelve. You know how to use one of those, Piggy Pigerson?”

“I’ll figure it out,” John said.

“Knives,” Bryan said.

Adam opened a smaller drawer to show three sheathed knives. “Only got three, and I get one.”

The old man reached out and tapped one with his cane. “I get one as well.”

Adam looked up. He didn’t look excited anymore. “Grampa, you can’t go in.”

The old man regally drew himself up to his full height. “I’ve been a part of this for my entire life. If there’s a chance we can find the home of these creatures and wipe them out, I’m going.”

“But, Grampa, you—”

Bryan reached in, took a knife and handed it hilt-first to Alder. “He knows the risks. We don’t have time for this.”

Adam looked angry, but he said nothing. He handed the last knife to John. John pulled the Ka-Bar out of its sheath. The flat-black blade absorbed the dim streetlights. Only the edge gleamed.

“A knife,” John said. “They eat bullets like candy, so you want me to stab them?”

Bryan nodded. “The knife is poisoned, just like the blade I put in big-head’s neck. Stab them in the heart, hold it in till they stop moving.”

John hoped he wouldn’t get close enough to put the blade to the test. He slid the knife back into its sheath, then attached the sheath to his belt.

Adam pulled out another drawer. Inside were three handguns just like the one Bryan had. Now John recognized them: FN five-sevens.

Bryan grabbed one, then held it in front of Aggie.

“Self-defense only,” Bryan said. “You will show us where to go, but I don’t expect you to fight. And if you point this weapon at me or anyone else here, even by accident, you’ll be dead before you have a chance to realize how stupid you are. Understand?”

A wide-eyed Aggie nodded and took the gun.

Bryan handed an FN to Alder, and one to John. Adam passed out magazines. John was running out of room to hold it all, so he made a little pile at his feet.

Adam again rubbed his hands together. “Now the good stuff.” He pulled a case out of the back and set it on the pavement in front of him. He opened it, then turned it toward the others as if it were a display case of fine jewelry.

John looked in the case and wondered if it wasn’t too late to get on his Harley and just start driving to anywhere but here.

Aggie leaned in. “Grenades?”

“Yup,” Adam said.

“Cool,” Aggie said. “Can I have one?”

Bryan shook his head. “Not for you.”

Adam pointed to the twelve grenades packed into the black foam in three rows of four. “Four thermite, four shrapnel, four concussion.”

Everyone but Aggie took one of each.

John looked down at his pile — USAS-12, FN five-seven, magazines for both, three grenades. “How the hell am I supposed to carry all this?”

Adam smiled. “That’s the best part.” He pulled out another long drawer, the biggest of them all. He reached in and handed over a bundle of cloth. John held it, let it unfold.

It was a dark green cloak with a hood.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” he said.

“Put it on,” Bryan said. “When this is all done, you’re still a cop. You need to hide your face. It’s all armored up, might save your life.”

Adam handed another cloak to Alder, who rested his cane against the Magnum and started to put it on. Adam pulled one more thing out of the case — a jacket like Bryan’s.

“Hey,” John said, nodding at the jacket, “can’t I have that instead?”

Adam shook his head. “I made it, I get to wear it.” He slid it on, then looked at John. “Put on the goddamn cloak already.”

John did. He slid into the sleeves The front zipper turned out to be magnetic, a simple strip that sealed tight when he pressed it together. Inside the cloak, he found several deep pockets. He scooped up his toys and put them away.

Bryan took off his hat. He undid the mask and looked at the dangling fabric. “Adam, you got a marker? Something I can use to draw on this?”

Adam looked at him with a why would you want that expression, but he didn’t say a word. Instead, he reached for another case, opened it, then handed over a white paint pen. “Will that do?”

John watched Bryan take the pen, look at it, and smile. It wasn’t a healthy smile.

“Time to go,” Bryan said. “John, you’re in the car with us.”

Bryan opened the back door. “Aggie, in the middle. We need to talk on the way there.”

Aggie got in, followed by Bryan. Alder climbed in the other side, leaving John the front passenger seat. John looked at his Harley and wondered again if he should just get on it and get the hell out of here. His apartment was ten minutes away. He’d spent six years afraid of his own shadow, and now Bryan wanted him to go into tunnels and shoot monsters?