The Fly-By-Nights (5 page)

Zach’s meaning had been perfectly clear, however, and when Garth said, “Fly-by-nights?” it was more than just a question.

“I hope not,” Zach replied, under his breath, “but it’s not unlikely. Some of these buildings still have roofs and could be occupied. In respect of which—well here comes your boss right now, doubtless to issue his instructions.”

Answering Zach’s nod with one of his own, however perfunctory, Singer took hold of a dangling strap to steady himself and leaned over Garth. “’Prentice Slattery,” he growled, “I suppose you know what comes next, and what I expect of you? But are you ready for it?”

Garth accepted that he was still an apprentice of sorts, at best a novice where fly-by-nights were concerned, and answered: “I’ll be ready when you call for me, Mr. Singer. But may I ask, what’s your reckoning? Is it likely we’ll be facing danger this time?”

“Danger, for you? Not if you watch and learn,” Singer grunted. “Not if you stick close, do as you’re told and quick about it. The reason I bother myself with you: you’re my youngest, my weakest, my least experienced. If you’d gone scavenging with me sooner—if you had a bit more of that behind you, back at the Southern Refuge—I wouldn’t be so concerned. I would know you better, how you’d think and react in a crisis or difficult situation. But you’re a Slattery, and—”

“—And
what
Ned?” Zach’s voice was dangerously quiet where he leaned forward, coming half out of his seat.

Singer scowled but drew back a little. “Well, you know what they say,” he said. “Like father, like son…eh, Zach? I mean, there’s four other men at risk in the squad, and I can’t afford to sit still for any wild stuff. That first kill your boy made: fine; all well and good; another fly-by-night gone to whichever hell! But I was there and witnessed it. He was in a panic, your boy, and shooting wild; for which no great need since
I
had his back! As for that kill: it was a lucky shot, that’s all; a very fortunate shot for everyone concerned.”

“Like father, like son, eh?” Zach’s voice was quieter still, an almost inaudible growl, and yet more dangerous for that. 

Garth put his hand on his father’s tense, slightly shaking, thinly-fleshed thigh and told Singer, “You needn’t be concerned about any wild stuff from me, Ned—er, Mr. Singer. I’ll stick close, do as I’m told—and I’ll be
very
quick about it!”

Singer nodded. “Good! And that’s all I’m asking. But listen now: I won’t be making any exceptions. Next time you let loose, start blasting away left, right, and centre, you won’t find Ned Singer ducking your stray rounds. No, for I’ll he looking after Number One, meaning me! It’s fly-by-nights we aim to kill, not each other! So then, ’prentice Slattery, is all understood?”

“Yes, I understand,” said Garth, aware of the tension building in Zach
and continuing to hold him at bay, albeit gently.

Singer nodded again, and said, “Very well then. So just be listening for my call. We’ll go in on foot, obviously; weapons at the ready, and hand torches too, because it will be dark or at best gloomy in there. So make sure your batteries are fully charged…”

With which he went to squeeze clumsily by and make his way along the narrow space to where two other members of his squad occupied seats on this side. At least Singer
tried
to get by—until Zach rammed his damaged limb across the gap, barring his way.

“Eh, what?” said Singer, stumbling and almost toppling.

Zach smiled up at him, but a very strange smile, and said: “You and me, Ned, we may have to be having a serious discussion about certain matters. And fairly soon, I should think, perhaps when we have a little time on our hands.”

Singer knew what he meant and grinned sarcastically. “What, we’ll have a to-do? Just me, you, and that gimpy leg of yours?”

Smiling his unsmile again, Zach replied: “You might want to forget my gimpy leg, Ned, and worry about the rest of me—such as these calloused old knuckles of mine.”

Then, as Zach slowly, deliberately withdrew his leg, Singer leaned as far back from him as the cramped conditions permitted, scowled and moved quickly on. Regaining his composure, Zach turned to Garth and told him:

“Son, I couldn’t be more proud of you—no way! First a scavenger, then an outrider on my old machine, now the youngest member of one of our seek-and-destroy teams under Ned Singer. Well, he might prove something of a problem but that can’t be helped. Here, give me that rifle of yours and take my pump-action. Its shells were old a hundred years ago but they’re tried and true and loaded to overflowing. You can return it—unused, I hope!—when all’s made safe…”

There Zach paused for a moment, took a hesitant, reluctant breath in preparation, and finally changed the subject. “Garth, son, while we’ve still got time before Ned’s all set and calls for you and the others, won’t you tell me what the hell he was going on about? But listen, don’t you go thinking for a single moment that I’d give a damn or blame you if you
had
panicked a little, for I wouldn’t! It would be wholly understandable. But for a fact you haven’t said too much about that kill of yours. Now I can see you don’t much care to go on about it, but can’t you tell me at least something of what really happened?”

“I could,” Garth answered, and shrugged, “but there’s not a lot to tell. What Ned seems to have seen one way, I saw differently, that’s all…” And hoping that would suffice he shrugged again. Looking at his father, however—and seeing that he was waiting for him to continue—Garth sighed resignedly and said: “All right. Since I’ve nothing to hide, this is how it was:

“Billy Martin was front left, I was middle man, Ned Singer brought up the rear: all three of us about evenly spaced along the column’s length on the port side. Billy was maybe a little ahead of the column, which I’m told is normal for front pointsmen, who also scout the terrain ahead; it’s something I’ve not yet been required to do. Anyway, suddenly I saw Billy flashing red and heard his warning yell echoing back. The moon was full and high behind low hills, and I thought I caught a glimpse of movement: three, maybe four silhouettes moving quickly just on this side of the ridge—pretty close to where Billy must be.

“Well, I was concerned for him, and I could hear Ned revving his engine behind me. He must have seen Billy’s flash, was on his way to help out; but I was closer and could get there a lot faster. The way appeared fairly clear ahead, mainly scrub, so I accelerated and soon saw Billy in my dipped headlight. He was off his bike, sheltering behind some rocks.

“‘Watch yourself, Garth!’ he yelled out to me. ‘They’re in front and on both sides…I don’t know how many!’

“‘Then let’s get out of here!’ I yelled back. ‘SOPs, Billy. We’ll fall back to the convoy, red lights flashing. Singer will see us going and follow on behind, and the convoy marksmen will take out whatever follows after us.’

“‘Can’t ride!’ he called out. ‘The bike’s knackered. Engine cut out on me. I’ll have to get up behind you.’

“‘Right, but be quick about it,’ I answered, skidding to a halt beside him. And right then was when the fly-by-nights attacked…

“There were three of them—seeming to float on air, their naked feet hardly touching the ground, arms reaching, and awful eyes burning—drifting like smoke out of the dark, with their stringy hair and tattered rags of clothing wafting along behind them. Deceptive in their movements, incredibly
quick
! No sooner seen than they were upon us: one on the right, one on the left, the other coming centrally
over
a massive domed rock, but seeming to slither or flow, as if he were made of water!

“There hadn’t been time enough for Billy to climb up on the bike behind me, and I couldn’t ride away without him. There was only one thing for it: hindered by the bike, I got off, propped it against a boulder, grabbed my rifle…and no time to spare! I saw Billy fire…nothing happened…his gun had jammed! I saw the creature on the right reaching for him, its jaws chomping; but I couldn’t shoot because Billy was in the way! I swung round, snapped off a shot at the one coming over the domed rock and somehow missed. Well, not exactly; my bullet hit its shoulder, threw it off balance, so that it slid down the boulder and flopped to the ground.

“About then I was aware of the background sound of Singer’s engine revving close by, and I knew that any time now Ned would be joining the fight. By then Billy had ducked the fly-by-night on his side and was trying to run from it. He tripped, went flying, landed on his back…and the thing was almost on him! He managed to eject the dud round, cocked his weapon, fired again. And the monster sighed—just a weird sigh!—as it flew backwards and collapsed in upon itself.

“I heard another sigh—or more likely a moan: of pleasure, anticipation!—and spun to my left. The fly-by-night was reaching for me, dribbling slime, a crazed light blazing in its eyes as its clawed hand thrust the barrel of my rifle aside! I yanked on the trigger anyway, and the
bang!
made it snatch its hand away. I got off another shot, but much too hasty; and the sheer
speed
of that horror! It slipped to one side, came at me again, drew back its crumbling lips from fangs jagged as broken glass and yellow as the moonlight!

“That was when I saw Ned Singer, still in the saddle on his stationary bike and revving its engine. Now, I don’t know, perhaps I shouldn’t mention this…except Ned looked about ready to take off! But surely not? He couldn’t shoot for fear of hitting me; maybe he was waiting for me to escape from the fly-by-night, when he would either shoot it or run it down and cripple it. That
had
to be what he was thinking, but I simply can’t say for sure…and everything was happening so very fast!

“The thing had taken hold of my jacket and I could scarcely believe how strong it was! It had dragged me close, was licking its awful drooling lips, sniffing me out with its sunken, badly fretted nose; why, I even fancied it was laughing at me…but silently! And it was holding me so close that I couldn’t get my rifle in between in order to shoot the horrible thing!

“Meanwhile, the one that had come over the boulder had got itself together somehow and was on its feet again. Billy fired at it; his shot knocked it down, passed right through it, too, I think, because the bullet ricocheted and I heard it go whining off close to the creature that had hold of me; which caused it to back off a little, but without letting go its arm just seemed to stretch! But finally I got my rifle in between us and squeezed the trigger, putting my bullet into one of its sulphur yellow eyes! Then, as I think I’ve already said, I saw its head fly apart like some kind of pulpy puffball!

“But Father, I admit I was scared, and I put another bullet into that broken thing, and another into the one that was still mewling, spitting at the foot of the boulder. And yes, mine and Billy’s bullets were flying just a bit thick and wild, more out of shock that necessity, probably, but not nearly as bad as Ned Singer makes out…at least I don’t think so.

“As for Ned: still on his bike, he seemed to be aiming that gun of his at me and Billy! So I thought, until a fourth fly-by-night appeared from behind the same boulder and a burst of fire from Ned’s big gun passed over us and took its awful head off!

“And, well, that was that…”

Slowly Zach nodded. “All done?” he said.

“Yes. Nothing more to tell.”

“Maybe not,” Zach growled, “But plenty to wonder about. Now you listen to me: I may have said or hinted at this before, and it’s possible I’m completely wrong—it’s difficult to know for sure when it involves a man who comes over as naturally offensive and unlikeable as Ned Singer; which makes it easy to think the worst of him—but still I’m telling you to watch out for that man. Fly-by-nights, deadly weapons, and dangerous situations—yes, and a little jealousy to boot, certainly on Ned’s part whether it’s warranted or not—such things don’t sit any too well together. One thing’s for sure: I’m awfully glad that Billy Martin was out there with you, and not just you and Ned, if you follow my meaning.”

“I’m trying not to,” Garth replied. “I’d much prefer to believe that Ned’s just a bit jealous—though of what I really don’t know—as well as being an unpleasant bully. As to that last…well, he can’t be
that
bad. Layla Morgan doesn’t seem to think so, anyway.”

Now it was Zach’s turn to shrug. “One man’s meat,” he said. “Or in this case one girl’s, maybe? But in any case I’m telling you to be careful. Because if there
is
anything to worry about, then this morning’s little chat won’t have improved matters!”

By which time the convoy had come to a halt, the motors had all fallen silent, and the shade of the great squat building on their right was cool and very welcoming…if not the prospect of its exploration and (possibly) its cleansing… 

IV