Something of the Night Read online

  SOMETHING OF THE NIGHT

  PAUL CAVE

  2QT LIMITED (PUBLISHING)

  Also by Paul Cave

  Cold Light of Day

  Dead Until Dawn

  For Everything a Reason

  The Keep

  www.paulcavebooks.com

  Copyright © 2006 Paul Cave

  The right of Paul Cave to be identified as the author

  of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the

  Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  All rights reserved. This book is sold subject to the condition that no part of this book is to be reproduced, in any shape or form. Or by way of trade, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser, without prior permission of the copyright holder.

  Cover design Hilary Pitt

  Images sourced by Shutterstock.com

  For Ellie, my ray of hope.

  Contents:

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter One

  A draught of foul air ran dirty fingers through the woman’s hair. She shivered. It wasn’t the icy chill that made her body tremble either. She pulled the tattered jacket tighter around her shoulders in an attempt to comfort herself. Once, the jacket had been a bright blue fleece, but now the garment was little more than a black patchwork of rags and frayed material. Just a few stitches and years of dirt held her clothing together.

  She shivered again. Had she heard the jingle-jangle of iron?

  Wait.

  Yes.

  There it was again, iron rubbing against iron. She felt her chest tighten. She climbed to her feet and then shuffled over to the rear of the cell. As she made her way to the damp bricks behind, she stepped over the pathetic forms of other women. Most were too weak to move, huddled together on the cold floor, all hope lost.

  She’d tried for a long time to keep their resolve high, but eventually the cruelty they’d endured had taken its toll. Most were too young to cope - little more than teenagers really. She was closer to forty now, but still her face was handsome and her hair fell in a long fiery wave to the centre of her slim back. Even years of dirt and grime could not hide the natural sheen of her auburn hair.

  The scrape of metal sounded again. In response, the hair at the nape of her neck bristled. She sucked in a lungful of stale air and readied herself. This time she’d put up a fight. That was, if they picked her out. More often than not they picked one of the younger ones. Nevertheless, every so often she was led from the cramped cell and taken to one of the other rooms. There, she’d be forced to … mate.

  That’s what her captors called it. Raped was closer to the truth. Yes, some of the male prisoners clung to a thread of humanity, but most had descended into madness a long time ago. The ones that had any measure of goodness remaining usually did the deed as quickly as they could, whispering a string of apologies as they lay on top. Others actually enjoyed the pain and suffering, and some even revelled in the act.

  Once, at the beginning, a prisoner had refused to obey. He’d been a handsome young man, full of bluster and pride. It had been only her second time and at first she’d felt relief - spared. Then, her captives had realised the man offered no bounty. So without pause they cut his throat and bathed in the river of blood.

  Now, if any refused, she would gently lead them to the soiled mattress, offering reassurance and explaining that no harm would be done. In truth, she welcomed the closeness of a fellow human being, one that was still good and decent, and had even grown to like one or two. She didn’t see this as wrongful, for although she still considered herself married, and in love, she saw her act as one of salvation. Man was precious, and he needed to be protected.

  One day soon the real battle would begin.

  Her hands tightened into fists. Her captors had gotten desperate. Their food stock was low. They had started to mate with human women in an attempt to breed, thus creating food. But so far all they’d succeeded in doing was multiplying their own ranks. Soon they would be eating each other. This thought twisted her face into a bitter leer. The sooner the better, as far as she was concerned. It was one thing enduring an act of brutality with one of her own kind, but damned if she was going to let one of those bastards touch her like that!

  A dark shape appeared beyond the door of the cell, and a thick arm threaded its way through the iron bars. Iron keys shook violently, followed by a bout of cruel laughter.

  “Rise and shine, campers,” the newcomer said gleefully.

  Most of the bodies on the floor cringed at the sound of the jangling keys.

  “Its breakfast time …” the speaker mocked.

  Terror spread like wildfire from one prisoner to the next. The few who had enough strength remaining crawled away from the door to join the woman at the rear of the cell. The woman dropped to her knees, then wrapped her arms around the nearest shape. A pair of wild eyes looked back at her.

  “It’s okay,” she soothed.

  The teenager’s eyes filled with tears. As they fell, her red-raw eyes looked as if they cried drops of blood. “Please, don’t let them take me,” she begged.

  The woman held her tighter. “Be quiet,” she ordered. Invisibility was their only defence. It was a foolish thing to draw attention to oneself. “Quiet…” she hissed, as the girl continued to sob.

  The jailer put down the keys and picked up a red bucket. Six small rubber balls lay at the bottom, each with a number stencilled on its surface. With a shake of a hand, the jailer caused the little rubber balls inside to jump about, releasing squeaks of excitement. In the beginning, the numbers had been printed in black ink. But the ink had fa
ded long ago, and now the numbers were formed by crude strokes of dried blood.

  “Who’s gonna be the lucky winner today?” the jailer teased.

  A ghastly female face pushed through two iron bars. Framed by a tangle of wild hair, the face beamed with insane glee. Thick lips parted in a cold-blooded smile, revealing a mouthful of blackened gums. Four rotten canines filled the dark cavity. A fat, ulcerated tongue poked from between the teeth, then began to wag in a sickening gesture. The jailer laughed again, and the noise sounded like a death-rattle.

  “Who’s gonna be the lucky lady today?” she taunted.

  Just get on with it, you crazy bitch, the woman thought. She said nothing.

  One of the jailer’s meaty hands disappeared inside the bucket. With a chorus of squeaks and squeals, she stirred the rubber balls. Then, as she pulled the round object out, her hideous tongue flicked across her bottom lip. She grinned, revealing four miniature black spikes.

  The ball rose to her face.

  The woman at the back of the cell held her breath.

  “Number …” – a long, torturous pause – “… four.”

  Her heart missed a beat, and the girl’s grasp tightened against her arm. She looked into the teenager’s eyes and saw fresh tears fall. Then, unexpectedly, the girl’s mouth shaped itself into a crooked smile. “I’m number two,” she managed to say, before more tears of relief fell from her sharp cheekbones.

  She nodded, and her own face relaxed as tension bled away from her drawn features, for she was number one - the first.

  The group looked upon the remaining women. As one, a searchlight of pale faces turned until all rested on the single shape huddled on its own. The sorry figure hid in one of the darkest corners. The female prisoner lay silent, still.

  “Hey, number four, let’s go!” the jailer commanded.

  She got no response. Not even a whimper.

  “If I have to come in there, there’ll be hell to pay.”

  Silence.

  “Hell! You’ll all pay if I come in there,” she warned.

  She dropped the bucket to the floor. Next, she pulled something long and dark from the leather belt tied around her ample waistline. The dark stick wavered from side to side. The end connected with one of the iron bars, and electricity exploded in a shower of bright blue sparks.

  “Animals wanna feel some pain?” asked the jailer. She touched the cattle-prod against the iron bar and her face lit up with a flicker of blue light.

  The obese vampire huffed like a child. “Okay, here I come.”

  “Wait …”

  The woman from the rear stepped forward. Drawing away from the teenager, she had to forcibly pull her arm free from the girl’s grasp. She crossed the rank cell to kneel beside the silent shape.

  “Honey, are you okay?” she asked.

  No response.

  “Honey?” She reached out and felt the bones of a frail arm. She shook the arm gently. The shape’s head turned forwards. The head continued to twist until it finished hanging at an awkward angle.

  “Oh … honey,” she said.

  “Number four, what are we waiting for? It’s time for a bit of fun,” the vampire called from the bars.

  The woman turned to the jailer and spat, “She’s dead, you sick bitch!”

  For a second the vampire stood there stunned, as if the words had physical power behind them. Then, her lips split and a peal of maniacal laughter erupted. “Never mind, we’ll just have to pick again.” She returned the cattle-prod to her belt, and then retrieved the red bucket. Her hand disappeared momentarily before reappearing with the number four ball clutched between sausage-like fingers. The ball rose to her lips. “No need for this anymore.” A swollen tongue flicked out to run along the curved surface. With a series of ghastly licks, the vampire succeeded in washing the crimson number away. Casually, she tossed the blank ball over her shoulder. The ball arced away, landed on the wet floor, and after a couple of splashes it bounced out of view.

  “Bye-bye,” the jailer said gleefully.

  The woman moved away from the body, stepping closer to the vampire.

  “Oh … do we have a volunteer?” asked the vampire.

  Her mouth opened. Yeah, take me, she thought, but her survival instincts stole her voice.

  “Thought not,” the vampire mocked.

  The woman clamped her tongue between her teeth and bit down, barely managing to hold back her desire to openly condemn.

  Thick fingers returned to the bucket as the vampire began to jumble the balls around. Her eyes were fixed to the woman’s. With exaggerated caution the vampire withdrew another small rubber ball.

  From her position, the woman could just about make out part of the number. She saw an arch-shaped crescent, which curved away from the jailer’s chubby finger and thumb. It was a three or a five.

  The vampire grinned. “We have a winner.” She wrapped her hand around the ball, concealing the number from all those who watched. “And the winner is …” – the group held their breath – “… number … one!”

  What? It couldn’t have been a one. But then she understood. No matter what number had been pulled, the vampire had already decided her fate. She’d broken her own rule and intervened; and now she would pay the ultimate price.

  To hell with it!

  “Okay, let’s get this over with,” she said. She lifted her chin and summoned her dignity. Drawing alongside the bars, she was surprised to see that her slight act of bravery had momentarily stunned the jailer. “Well, what are you waiting for?” she demanded.

  The vampire finally found her tongue. “Don’t worry, Missy, I’ll get you to your date soon enough.”

  “I’m waiting.”

  The vampire squinted through the bars, and with mean eyes she scrutinised the other’s face. Although deep lines cut across the prisoner’s brow and a few grey wisps of hair stood out amongst the fiery red, she was still unquestionably beautiful. She had full lips and bright blue eyes, threaded with strands of deepest green. Even years of malnutrition had not taken away her natural attractiveness. It had just aged her somewhat prematurely. At that instant, the vampire realised she hated the prisoner because of her beauty. She reached up and ran her fingers over the swelling of her own face. Clammy skin covered it in a mask of slick putty.

  “Real pretty,” the prisoner said.

  The hand fell from the vampire’s ugly face. With a jangle of iron, the key was inserted into the lock. The door opened and the vampire stood back. “I’m gonna enjoy watching you suffer,” she sneered.

  Summoning her dignity, the woman stepped out of her cell. Then, she allowed herself to be delivered into the hands of the undead.

  Chapter Two

  The klaxon wailed urgently. Within seconds the Perspex barrier was covered from one end of the cavern to the next by a bedraggled rabble. The transparent barrier split the open cavern in two. On one side an anxious mob, while on the other was an empty holding pen. Gun barrels were quickly shoved through crudely cut holes, scattered at intervals along the surface of the transparent wall. And, where the threat of gunmetal was missing, sharpened spears and other spiked poles could be found. Tipped with silver, these crude weapons glinted with white lightning as they wavered from side to side. Some of the younger, more inexperienced defenders almost panicked, but as they sensed the presence of greatness behind them, they held fast and dug their feet into the rough surface of the rock beneath their feet.

  “Hold steady!” the voice commanded firmly.

  The klaxon fell silent. A huge iron door began to draw open with a mighty groan. Along the line of defenders, metal clicked and clattered as the sound of firearms, rifles and shotguns locking and loading echoed throughout the cavern. What remained of the human race peered through the plastic barrier. They held their breath as one. The door opened fully and the dark void spat out three concealed shapes.

  “Slowly!” the voice warned, as they stepped out from the shadows.

  The newcomers r
aised their arms to reveal empty hands. They moved to the centre of the makeshift arena before pulling away threadbare cowls.

  An audible sigh escaped the defendants.

  “Jacob …” someone gasped.

  Flint grey eyes turned towards the speaker. With a tilt of his head, Jacob Cain said, “Aye, I have returned from the dead!”

  Behind the three newcomers the door slid shut. The colossal barrier closed, huge pins locking the doorway tight with an audible hiss of compressed air. Some of the defendants watched eagerly as the locking mechanism slid tight, anxious about what lay beyond, hopeful that the solid barrier would keep the things of the night at bay, things that even the gates of Hell had been unable to contain.

  The leader on the other side of the transparent barrier stepped between two soldiers. “Come, Jacob, you must pass the test.”

  Jacob grinned back coldly, startling one of the defendants.

  “He’s one of them!” said a nervous voice.

  “Silence!” the leader commanded.

  Jacob grinned again to reveal straight white teeth and pointed canines. Someone panicked and a spear was thrust out towards him. Swiping the weapon away with one hand, Jacob blocked the attack. “Caution, my friend,” he warned the spear-bearer.

  “Enough of this foolishness. Jacob, stand before Father,” the leader instructed.

  Jacob offered the spear-bearer a short growl before he stepped in front of an ageing, darkly robed man. The holy man, named simply as Father, reached into the folds of his cloak and withdrew a clear vial of water. He unscrewed the cap and then poured the blessed liquid into the palm of his hand. Then, in one quick motion, he tossed the clear droplets through a ragged hole in the barrier, dousing Jacob Cain’s face.

  For a second nobody breathed.

  Jacob reached up with grime stained fingers. The armed assembly watched as he ran them across his face, before pulling them away to reveal glistening tips. His mouth opened and the wet fingers disappeared momentarily. The defenders heard sucking noises. After a moment they saw his hand return to his side.