Nightstruck (22 page)

But Luke was sitting pretty close to me on the couch, his arm draped casually across the back, behind me. He wasn't touching me, but it was like his body was a magnetic field and I was made of iron. Even reminding myself how unavailable he was, I couldn't motivate myself to get up, to lose this almost-contact.

A little while later the sound of approaching sirens pierced the noise from outside, and the heavy metal went silent.

“See you tomorrow!” Piper shouted.

She and her new friends ran away before the police cars arrived.

*   *   *

My dad is the most awesome police commissioner Philadelphia has ever had, and I don't think I'm being totally biased when I say that. I wouldn't have been surprised if the city had turned into some kind of lawless war zone, considering what was happening at night, but my dad—admittedly with a lot of help—was keeping things running. I honestly don't know how he was managing it when our police department was so overwhelmed, but he was keeping the peace, even though the problems kept mounting.

Despite extensive testing, the CDC had yet to find any evidence of disease in their volunteer subjects, but the federal government had no intention of lifting the quarantine. Every road leading out of the city was blockaded, the train stations were all closed, and the airport, too. Schools were closed indefinitely, as were many businesses. Most stores and restaurants—those that could get supplies, at least—stayed open during the daylight hours, but having to close in time for the four o'clock curfew meant they weren't making a whole lot of money.

During the daylight hours the city was relatively peaceful, thanks in part to the significant increase in the police presence. There were protests against the quarantine, of course, but they were civilized and orderly, without the rioting and chaos the doomsayers kept predicting. People were frustrated and scared and desperate for answers—who could blame them?—but so far no one seemed to think violence was the answer.

The nights, however, were a different story altogether.

The city changed more and more every time the sun went down, those changes becoming less and less subtle until
everyone
in the city could see them—and yet still no one could capture anything on camera. Statues rose from their places and roamed the city streets, thirsty for blood and violence. The facades of some buildings appeared to be made up of yellowing bones or reptilian scales, chain-link fences sprouted teeth, parking meters turned into fanged heads on sticks, door knockers turned into grotesque gargoyles …

I didn't see most of these changes with my own eyes, because I wouldn't dream of setting foot outside once the sun went down. But I heard about them from my dad and from the news, and some of them I could even see through the windows of my nice, safe home. There was a big metal vent on the roof of the dry cleaner across the street, and I saw it change into something that resembled a sea serpent, then snatch a perching pigeon in its jaws.

The changes were always external. The insides of houses and businesses retained their mundane daytime forms even while their outsides morphed. That was the good news—it seemed that as long as you stayed inside, the magic couldn't touch you. Its creations might scratch at your door or tap on your windows to terrify you, but they couldn't seem to get in.

The bad news was that a lot of the people who disappeared over those first couple of nights turned up again, changed like Piper. They took to the streets the moment the sun went down, and they were as deadly as any of the magical constructs. Whatever conscience they had had as ordinary human beings had clearly died. They traveled in packs, and unlike the constructs, they had no problem with going inside. They broke into stores and took what they wanted. They broke into houses and brutalized the inhabitants, invariably leaving them dead. They formed human blockades to stop ambulances and emergency vehicles from getting to where they were needed. The media started referring to them as the Nightstruck, and the name stuck.

Even with all the help the National Guard could give them, the police force was stretched thin as thin can be at night. They mostly left the magical mayhem alone—how do you stop something like a ten-foot-tall bronze statue with fangs from going wherever the hell it wants, whenever it wants?—but they did their best to protect homes and businesses from the packs of Nightstruck.

It was a dangerous job, more like combat in a war zone than ordinary police duty. Despite their best precautions, officers were killed and injured every single night, so that every day the force was just that much thinner. My dad was lucky if he got home four hours a day, and though he blew me off every time I tried to mention it, he clearly wasn't eating well. I could see with my own two eyes that he was losing weight, his pants getting baggy even when he cinched his belt up tight.

Luke's mom was on an almost permanent night shift at the hospital, so he spent more time at my house than at his own. On the rare nights when she was home, Bob and I went over there, keeping our safety in numbers.

Within the course of a week, living life under quarantine, under siege, had begun to feel almost normal. I no longer felt quite as awkward around Luke, though I was uncomfortably aware that my crush on him was not going away. If anything, it was growing worse as I got to know him better and realized that, aside from his good looks, he had a seemingly endless list of good qualities. Smart. Nice. Helpful. Uncomplaining. Funny.

You get the picture. I was crushing on him big time, but I wasn't willing to do anything about it—even if I'd known how to let him know I liked him without embarrassing myself to death. Besides, I still held out hope that something would happen to turn all the Nightstruck—including Piper—back to their normal selves, in which case Luke was still taken.

Of course, one could argue that my hope of Piper returning to normal was more of a pipe dream than a true hope. Trailed by a group of other Nightstruck, most of whom looked like they might have been homeless before the night got its claws into them, she stopped by to torment us just about every night. Bob always gave us plenty of warning she was coming, and then she'd start knocking on the door and shouting, telling me to come out and join her. I felt no inclination to open the door for her again, so, like the unseen creature that had attacked the house while she and I were in it, she made a circuit, trying all of the windows. Every night she found them all locked, and even if she hadn't she wouldn't have been able to get in. The house had been broken into a couple of times when I was a kid, so Dad had had decorative iron grilles installed over all the first-floor windows. Even if someone broke out the glass, they would have no room to crawl in.

After the first couple of nights, Piper's night friends got bored with the exercise and stopped coming, but Piper brought a new friend instead. A small bronze goat, about knee-high to her, which clip-clopped along by her side, metallic hooves giving off the occasional spark.

As with most of the city's statues, Billy the goat didn't look like his daytime self when he stepped off his plinth and started roaming the streets. Ordinarily he stood in a plaza in Rittenhouse Square, and my mom and dad have pictures of both me and Beth playing around his feet and even riding him like a horse when we were little. In the day, he was a perfectly ordinary goat, with a pair of small, almost harmless-looking horns. At night, when he went roaming, his horns doubled in length and came to insidiously sharp points. Curved, wicked-looking claws jutted out all around his hooves, and there was a ridge of spines down the center of his back. And his various horns, spines, and claws were almost always spotted with fresh blood.

Piper seemed to have adopted the damn thing as some kind of pet. More disturbing yet, she could get it to follow orders. Like the time she had it spend an hour repeatedly butting that metal head against our front door. I was afraid the door would come crashing down. I suspected the goat wouldn't be able to come inside even if it broke the door, but I knew Bob would feel honor-bound to attack, and the goat would probably gut him. I also knew that there would be nothing keeping
Piper
from coming in, even if the goat didn't. So I once again had Luke sit at the table with Bob straining at the end of his leash while I waited in agonized tension in front of the door, my gun at the ready. There was no way I would actually shoot Piper, but I hoped she wouldn't know that and would keep her distance.

In the end, all my worries were for nothing. The goat battered the wood of our door all to hell, letting in plenty of arctic blasts, but it turned out the door had metal reinforcement in the middle, and that was too much for the goat to break through. Instead, we had to listen to the impact of its metal head with the metal door. By the time it and Piper wandered away for the night, both Luke and I had pounding headaches from all the noise.

*   *   *

After that, Dad decided we needed to fortify all the second- and third-story windows, just in case. They were all sturdy casement windows, but the panes were bigger than those on the first floor, and it wasn't impossible to imagine someone being able to crawl through if the glass was broken out.

He was so exhausted he could barely see straight, and yet he spent most of a day installing towel rods across the windows to serve as bars, because getting someone to install real bars or grilles would take forever. He also nailed some plywood over the holes Billy had left in the front door. He was
supposed
to be taking some time off to get some rest, but when I suggested that maybe Luke and I could take care of things, he blew me off. He was still feeling bad that he wasn't home with me every night, and fortifying our house seemed to ease his conscience.

He was stretching himself too thin, and everyone but him could see it. It was all I could do not to wrench the hammer out of his hand when he hit his thumb while trying to patch the front door.

“I'll be fine, Becks,” he said as he shook his hand and waited for the pain to ease. At least he hadn't broken any bones.

Shortly after he finished installing all those towel rods—which were noticeably crooked—his cell phone rang, and he got into a heated conversation with someone he kept calling Sir. I suspected it was the mayor, and it turned out I was right. Over my dad's protests, he'd been ordered to take the night off and try to get eight full hours of sleep. Thank God. I didn't like the idea of my dad getting into a car and driving to work when he was so tired he couldn't see straight.

“You're going to bed and wearing earplugs as soon as you finish dinner,” I informed him.

“Yes, Mother,” he said with a weary smile.

I then did something I hadn't done in … well, forever, it seemed. I gave my dad a spontaneous hug.

“I love you,” I told him, squeezing hard. I knew my mom was still giving him hell about not having gotten me out of the city before the quarantine hit. I also knew she kept badgering him to somehow use his connections to find a way to sneak me out—like I should be given special treatment because I was the police commissioner's daughter. Even if he'd found a way, I'd have refused to go. I didn't like dealing with our city at night, but the idea that I should be allowed to leave when no one else was went against everything I believed in.

Anyway, I knew my dad was hearing criticism and general nastiness from every side, every day, and I knew he was trying his hardest. He deserved to be reminded that, even though we'd fought a lot lately, I did still love and appreciate him.

“I love you, too, Becks,” he said, his voice suspiciously hoarse. “And I'm sorry I've left you alone so much.”

“Don't be. You're doing your job. I get that.” Even if my mom didn't. She and my dad had loved each other once, but I think even before the marriage went sour, the current situation would have had them at each other's throats.

Our moment of father–daughter bonding ended when Luke rapped on the back door, just in time for the evening curfew, but I think my father felt better about things because of it. My mom has the guilt trip down to an art form, and he's pretty susceptible to it.

Even though my dad was home, Luke would still be spending the night at our place, because his mother was on yet another night shift at the hospital. As usual, I made dinner. Both Dad and Luke offered, but Dad was supposed to be on R & R and Luke was still a guest in our house, so I considered the cooking to be my responsibility.

The fact that Luke wasn't shy about showing his appreciation of my cooking skills had nothing to do with it. At least I told myself that, despite the glow of satisfaction in my belly every time he told me how great dinner was. Liking his praise so much sometimes made me feel a little needy, but hell, I'm only human. Being noticed and appreciated by someone you have a crush on can make for a nice little high, especially when you're living in a time so full of lows.

That night, the lows started as soon as dinner was cleared. Dad was halfway up the stairs to his bedroom when Bob suddenly went stiff and bristly.

“Not again,” Luke groaned, and I silently agreed with him.

It was probably overly optimistic of me to think we might have a night of peace after Piper's failed attempt to break in, but I'd hoped for it anyway. I'd hoped Dad could fall into bed right after dinner and sleep undisturbed until morning—something I doubted he'd be able to do if the house was under siege, even if he felt sure our defenses would hold.

Bob was snarling but not yet in full mad-dog mode, when there was an ear-piercing scream from outside. That set Bob off full tilt and made my stomach curdle. There was a crashing sound, like a bottle being broken, and then another scream. I could tell the person screaming was female, but that was all. I remembered what had happened to Mrs. Pinter, remembered finding her head propped against the side of the house across the way, and my knees went a little weak.