Had the clan finally used up the last of its degraded ammunition? If so, and fully aware of just how low stocks had been, Ned could well understood that. Indeed, and at least where this group was concerned, that had to be the case. It had to be, for there was no other way to explain it!
And in his rotten black heart hope flared anew.
The girl might yet be his, and at least one of his enemies—perhaps all of them—dead! For with their useless weapons, how could they possibly defend themselves against the deceptive strength, vampire cunning, and insensate ferocity of a creature such as Ned? In short, and lacking the firepower of deadly weapons, how might they kill what was already dead?
With all of this passing in a matter of seconds through his deteriorating changeling mind, Ned ignored the recent arrivals, drifted forward, and again reached for the terrified girl where for the third time she staggered to her feet. Always uppermost, central in his planning, now for the moment, naked and beautiful, Layla was all he could think of, everything he desired. As for avenging himself on these clan enemies: it must wait until he’d infected the girl and stolen her away. Then on some other night—armed with fresh plans and a swarm of fly-by-night recruits—he would return. Why, Layla might even come back with him!
In his rapidly devolving condition Ned had failed to realize it, but ignoring these men of the clan was his biggest and final mistake.
For as if out of nowhere Big Jon Lamon was suddenly beside him, his lips drawn back in a snarl and his teeth grinding, his face a mask of pure loathing. The leader’s heavy machete glinted dully as it arced overhead, and descended with the weight of a guillotine to hack through both Ned’s wrists where he reached for Layla!
As the creature stood there, wafting dazedly left and right like a drunken thing, and staring disbelievingly at its yellow-pulsing stumps, Garth hauled himself upright, grabbed Layla and stumblingly ushered her from the poisonous danger zone.
Meanwhile Andrew Fielding had come forward; brushing by the others, he was shouting aloud: “Out of my way! I’ve got it! I’m ready! Give me just one shot at this beast!”
As they cleared a path for him, he aimed or rather pointed the ugly gun he was carrying at Ned Singer, closed his eyes and squeezed the trigger. The nerve-shattering, rapid-fire burst of some two dozen rounds in less than a second drove the small and normally inoffensive chief tech backwards and down on his rump, and filled the air with gunsmoke and acrid cordite stench.
Far more than that, however, the concentrated burst almost tore Ned in half, ripping his pulpy flesh apart from his groin to his exploding skull, and delivering him all unprotesting to that fly-by-night hell which is the final destination for creatures such as him when they suffer the true death…
Then, as the ringing in their ears ceased and their stunned senses recovered—and as the chief tech blurted an inarticulate curse and scrambled away from his hot, smoking machine gun—then to a man, and definitely to a girl, they all of them found it hard to believe that it was over.
As for Layla where Garth comforted her, wrapping her in his jacket and hugging her close: quite beyond words and shuddering top to toe, she could only cling to him and sob her relief into his chest; until at last she was able to inquire, “Garth, is it…is it…?” To which he nodded, and ignoring the pain in his wrist hugged her closer and harder still. For it was most certainly over.
Helping Andrew Fielding up onto his feet, Don Myers stared for long moments at the cast-aside, smoking machine gun—then at the chief tech’s unimposing figure—before finally stuttering, “W-what? You, Andrew? B-but…how?”
“Ironic, isn’t it?” Fielding panted where he dusted himself down with shaking hands. “Or maybe I should call it poetic justice? That dreadful gun was Singer’s own weapon, upon a time.”
“But you, my friend!” Big Jon spoke up from where he stood with Zach’s arm across his shoulder, supporting him. “And that great ugly gun…”
“Arthur Robeson had it,” the chief tech nodded. “I suppose you could say he’d inherited it. He couldn’t get it working and gave it to me to fix. That was earlier this very night while we were getting settled in. Now, I’ve always hated guns, but I had a look at it anyway. The problem was in the feeding mechanism—a broken return spring. I fixed it, removed the breach block so it couldn’t fire, tested it with the half belt of special ammunition that came with it; until without having actually fired a shot from the brutal thing, I believed it would work just fine. So after I’d reassembled it I settled down for the night…” He paused for a moment to gather his thoughts before continuing:
“When the first of the gunshots from the perimeter woke me up…well I was tired, it was dark, and things were very confusing. I took the gun with me—don’t ask why, perhaps to give it to someone who was better able to use it?—and came looking for Big Jon. And…well, that’s about it.” He finished with a shrug.
“But you didn’t give it to anyone.” Donald Myers was frowning, shaking his head bewilderedly. “And then left off using it until the very last moment!”
“Yes, I know,” Fielding answered. “But like I said, I don’t like having anything to do with guns; I really don’t understand them, or men like Ned Singer who hold them so very dear. So you see, Donald, it’s just as well you reminded me about the safety catch. I might not have thought of it, mightn’t have wanted to think of it…”
“But that’s you, Andrew!” Big Jon repeated himself. “That’s just the very essence of you, while this…I mean—”
“—I know exactly what you mean!” The small man stopped him short. “But you’ll never know how much I hated that man! He was a bully, an ignorant pig, and finally a fly-by-night. I used to avoid him, keep out of his way! He would shove me around—talk to me as if I was dirt—but right now I’ve never felt taller, better or more totally satisfied with myself in my entire life! On the other hand,” he let his narrow shoulders slump a little, “I don’t think I much care for this feeling, not really—feeling like a killer, I mean—and even though that wasn’t a man I killed but a hideous changeling thing, still I hope the feeling soon wears off. As for guns: I’m done with them forever!”
And leaning on Don Myers strong arm, he turned away…
Less than one hour later, in the vicinity of Big Jon’s command vehicle, the leader and a small group of friends and clan elders—including Zack and Garth Slattery—extended their heartfelt welcome, deepest gratitude, and whatever frugal hospitality was available to them to the commander and lieutenants of the kindred expeditionary party which had come to their rescue. And as the bulk of clan personnel, assisted by their new-found allies, went about the awful business of clearing up in and around the camp, where as yet there remained several dead and undead—or now more truly dead—corpses to be dealt with, so Big Jon and three senior officers of the kindred force concluded the formalities of greetings, introductions, vows of friendship and backslapping, and went on to recount in brief their tales of recent trials and tribulations.
Big Jon, having sketched a greatly condensed history of the clan’s arduous trek, had now offered the floor to the leader of the expeditionary force.
The commander, a tall, broad-shouldered man in his early to mid-thirties, with hollow cheeks, a deeply furrowed brow, and a shock of prematurely white hair, was quick to bring everyone up to date on recent kindred activity:
“After we lost contact with you,” he began, “our leaders in both our rapidly declining, indeed moribund subterranean refuge and in our open-skies settlement alike found themselves in something of a quandary. Had the unexplained radio silence resulted from a simple failure of equipment, or was the problem far more disturbing: perhaps a fly-by-night attack, in which your entire convoy, clan and creatures had been destroyed! They had no way of knowing.
“Arguing all the pros and cons, finally they arrived at a solution. Crumbling prewar maps showed three perhaps passable routes from your last known approximate location to more familiar, secured kindred borders; bor
ders now scarcely more than a dozen miles away beyond the valley’s northern rise! If you had survived the perils of your trek, then surely your convoy must even now be very close, approaching along one of these routes.
“A decision was made: an expeditionary force would be dispatched to the edge of the densely forested region south of the fertile, mainly radiation-free zone that we have cleared of all fly-by-night pestilence; for inasmuch as we have built and occupied it, it is our homeland, patrolled constantly day and night with absolute vigilance and, whenever necessary, uttermost ferocity, permitting neither sight, smell nor faintest taint of any vampire creature within…within our…within our borders!”
He paused, visibly calming himself and shrugging apologetically before carrying on with his narrative. “Please excuse me, but such emotions—such bitter hatreds—are innate in all the kindred; no less than in you yourselves, I’m sure. But to continue:
“At the great forest’s rim our considerable force was split three ways equally, which allowed us to advance along all three routes simultaneously. That was at noon two days ago, since when we have maintained constant radio contact. My contingent, which as you’ve seen consists of three small armoured combat vehicles crewed by hugely experienced men—plus eight outriders on four multi-terrain motorcycles, plus one armoured support vehicle—was tasked with the forest route that follows the ancient river road through the mighty pines, and down and across the valley’s floor. Two evenings ago—which is to say on the evening of the night prior to this night—I sent two outrider teams ahead of me, down into the valley to commence checking the route’s viability; for it would have been a waste of fuel, time and effort if the route proved to be impassable.
“It was early evening when my advance exploratory party set out. Descending the densely forested northern rim parallel with the river’s white water, they made camp for the night in a cave they could very easily defend, with two men awake at all times, and the other two taking their rest. But before retiring to the cave, one man climbed up into the canopy of the tallest tree to scan the land south along the river through his infrared binoculars. He was looking for signs of your convoy, of course.
“Now, as I’m sure you’re well aware, vampire activity is by no means easily detectable with infrared. Except when they mass together in a swarm, or when they’re engaged in frenzied bloodletting, undead bodily temperatures are extremely low. Well, be that as it may, what my man up that tree witnessed some four or five miles away in the gloom of early night was definitely fly-by-night activity! They were flowing down the southern slope in a steady stream, following the identical route that your convoy might well be using—which indeed you have used—just one day later.
“But their movements were very deliberate; they had purpose and appeared full of a sly, covert intent, which wasn’t in accordance with any normally arbitrary or eccentric mode of undead tactics—or complete lack of such—to which we’re accustomed! And fascinated, my man continued to watch.
“Now the horde gathered here—right here, on the edge of the forest—and for a while remained static. Then the greater bulk of them, if not all of them, set out over that half-sunken bridge and vanished into those mainly derelict mills on the far side. Now remember: it was night time, which is their time, yet these creatures weren’t hunting; they were hiding! And for what possible purpose but to lie low, waiting in ambush!
“Well, let me cut a long story short. An hour before midday yesterday one of my outrider teams reported back to me, following which we spent the entire afternoon motoring or coasting as quietly as possible down through the forest into the valley.
“Before dusk we set up our temporary camp some three miles north in the forest along the river road, which has managed to survive in however poor condition, and were in time to witness the tail-end of your convoy—or what remains of it—groping and groaning its way down the southern wall. You’ll forgive my manner of expression, but that was a sorry sight indeed…”
“Hah!” Bert Jordan spoke up, snapping his fingers. “You saw and you were seen, even though I misinterpreted the sighting!”
And Big Jon nodded. “Your thunder and lightning, eh, Bert?”
“It had to be,” the other replied. “Kindred headlight beams penetrating the high canopy, and their rumbling engines as they positioned themselves.”
At which the commander took it up again:
“Aye, and position ourselves we did, so that when the time came we’d be fully prepared, ready to advance on the enemy with all speed, and with fire and sleeting steel at our fingertips!”
Quiet until now, Garth frowned and inquired, “When the time came?” And:
“Ah!” said the commander. “By which I mean when the fly-by-nights began to spring their trap, of course.”
Big Jon was plainly puzzled; his frown matched Garth’s when he asked: “But not before their trap was sprung?”
“Ah!” the commander replied once again. “You are asking why we waited so long. Please understand, the kindred never miss an opportunity to destroy the undead wherever they are found. Such were this swarm’s suspected numbers that the cull might well be of epic proportions! However, since our battle vehicles weren’t able to cross the fragile bridge, we had to wait for the fly-by-nights to come to us—or rather, to you. In effect we ambushed the ambushers! But…don’t for a moment think we deliberately risked clan lives. On the contrary; we witnessed your defenders going down to the river crossings, and calculated how you could contain the vampires when they came in a narrow stream over the bridge. Also, we knew it would take only a few minutes to cover the distance between, in which we were not mistaken.
“Our only miscalculation: that you lacked superior weapons; which meant our timing was cut close indeed! Mercifully no harm resulted from that. But of course we had no way of knowing that this was a two-forked ambush, with a dozen of these vile monsters riding overhead in the canopy. Now as you mourn your dead, we’ll stand with you, nevertheless thankful that such grievous losses are by no means as bad as they might have been.
“And finally, now that we’ve come together and your people are out of harm’s way, let us also be thankful that all’s well that ends well…”
“On that we heartily agree!” said Big Jon, taking and shaking the commander’s hand most vigorously. “My only wish is that we could have brought with us a greater contribution—a tribute much more in keeping—to you and your kindred, whose promise of a better life and future above ground, safe in the light of day, has buoyed us up and given us hope during our trek.”
“No! Ah, no!” Smiling broadly the commander shook his head.
“For we need you and your clan at least as much as you need us. I’ve seen your beasts, which will fatten in our clean northern pastures, mating with and improving our livestock overall. And as for your people—” he looked around, at the lamp-lit faces of the clansfolk who were beginning to gather there, “—plenty of good brave blood here, which has not surrendered to fear and fly-by-night depredation. And then there’s your young ones, and especially those who are approaching maturity…well, we have young too, but no fears now of the perils of inbreeding. Indeed our blood will grow stronger and purer yet; but always ours and never more fodder for loathsome creatures of the night! Aye!”
At which: “Aye! Aye!” The cry was at once taken up, spreading rapidly throughout the entire encampment…
Something less than an hour later, Big Jon Lamon, Garth and his father, stood with other silent once-clan members—now members of a greater community: the kindred, who were also represented—around a bale-fire on cleared ground well beyond the edge of the woods and within a new, stronger perimeter, and watched the leaping flames consume the bodies of friends and dreadful enemies alike.
To the former they offered their sad, silent farewells, and to the latter their uttermost satisfaction. The stench was very terrible, but they stood there anyway until only glowing embers remained…
And later still, wrapped in e
ach others’ arms, Garth and Layla dreamed of pleasant pastures, a wooden cabin in a copse high on a hill, and small children playing, laughing in an orchard pink with blossom. But while the cabin would take time to build, and the children yet more time to grow, the dream itself was not so far away, for tomorrow it would merge with reality…
Table of Contents
The Fly-By-Nights
Brian Lumley, The Fly-By-Nights
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