Night Beyond The Night (6 page)

Glaring down into the darkness, she fit one of the precious bolts into position on her bow and eased closer to the edge of her perch. Looking down at the cluster of five
gangas
that had begun to converge on the single teenaged boy, she tried to determine the best angle to take one of them out.

Just then, a group of men burst from the safety of the brick building and Zoë slipped back into the shadow of a moss-covered dormer. She lowered her bow, relieved to save another arrow—at least for now.

And hot damn . . . one of the five men charging out was wearing a bandanna. He was definitely the guy she’d been following—the one who’d been by the rusted-out van she’d been investigating earlier.

Not only had he and his grumpy-ass friend interrupted her, sending her slipping into the shadows, but he’d stolen her arrows—yanked them right from the steaming mass of
ganga
brains. In fact, he was carrying two of them in his hands, using them to stab at the creatures, trying to distract them from the kid.

Gripping her bow, Zoë eased deeper into shadow, feeling the comforting shift of bolts in the quiver slung over her shoulder, watching carefully. Five strong, agile men versus five clunky, slow
gangas. No fucking contest
.

Moments earlier, from her perch across the street, she’d seen the kid sneak from the building, just as she’d noted the man and woman below on another side of the building. She’d been trying to figure out if there was a way to slip in and find her arrows after following the two men back from the vehicle they’d been working on.

After she’d helped save their asses from the
gangas
. Why the bandanna’d one had taken her arrows, she didn’t know, but it pissed her off.

They weren’t easy to make, and she wanted them back.

What the hell did he need them for anyway? He and his friends had their loud, fancy explosives.

Then she saw the cluster of orange eyes approaching from another street. She counted at least a dozen more
gangas
. Perhaps as many as twenty, moving quickly if not awkwardly, around the building toward their comrades.

Shit. Hope those guys have more of those fancy explosives
.

Just as the five men finished the last of the cluster of creatures, a second group of
gangas
surged onto the street in front of them.

Zoë heard a woman’s warning shouted from somewhere as she fitted an arrow into place. The group of men shifted quickly, scattering. She watched them with interest and grudging admiration even as she let the arrow whiz through the air.
Bull’s eye
.

Her quiver was feeling uncomfortably light, and Zoë swore again. But she grabbed another one and nocked it. She watched as the big black man whaled against one of the creatures with the broadside of a . . . what was that?

She peered down. One of those things they used to put money in for parking.
Crap
. The dark man was wielding a parking meter like a mace, slamming the heavy end up over his own head into
ganga
faces, splattering flesh and brains every which way.

The other four—no, three—including the one who wore the bandanna, were no slouches themselves when it came to fighting off the gray-skinned thugs. Whatever they could find, they used to beat off creatures nearly twice their size and strength. With surprising effect.

These men had speed on their side. Speed, strength and intelligence—and, in relation to the
gangas
, smaller frames. They ducked and spun so fast the
gangas
had no prayer of trying to follow them.

Zoë’s eyes narrowed as she continued to watch, and saw how the one with the bandanna swung out with her arrows, one in each hand, whipping and slicing, always aiming for the head. Once he actually jammed one through a
ganga
eye, clear through to the brain. And twisted.
Score
.

But he had his back to the others, and somehow three of the creatures had begun to edge him away.

He didn’t seem to realize it as he fought—or maybe he did—but the others were engaged in battle as well and couldn’t see what was happening. Then one of them smashed him from behind and his bandanna went flying, exposing his blond hair to the full-on beam of the moon and stars.

Oh shit
.

The three
gangas
crowded him as he staggered against the wall, their deep croons more excited as they surged forward. Zoë didn’t hesitate; she sent her arrow down into the back of one of their skulls.

But it was too late. The other two had cornered the blond man, who, despite his stumble and obvious pain from the blow, still held her damned arrows, using them to stab and bash at his attackers. They’d moved beyond the crumbled corner of a collapsed building, and were out of sight of his companions, soon to be out of sight of her.

Fuck. She was
not
going to lose her arrows.

She might as well save him too.

Zoë rarely came down to ground-level when there were
gangas
around, but this time, she didn’t hesitate. Down and out of the opposite side of the building, she moved quickly and lightly, following her nose, which, like her ears, had become sharply attuned to the presence of the dead thugs.

What had been a very narrow alley had flooded decades ago and was now a shallow stream, dark with shadows from roofs that tilted in toward each other. Zoë could hear the splashes ahead and started off quickly, edging along the wall nearest her.

Grasses and reeds sprouted where water and brick met, and who knew what lived in the small canal, but she had sturdy boots (if a little too small) and determination. A rat scuttled past her, bumping her leg, and slid into the water. Zoë’s lip curled in revulsion. No matter how many of those rodents she saw, lived with, crawled with . . . they still disgusted her.

It wasn’t long before the narrow space ended, opening into a wider area lit by the moon. She saw the outline of the
ganga
who carried the bandanna-man, and froze against the mossy wall. Where was the second creature?

Zoë listened, sniffed, waited. But not for long, for she couldn’t let them get too far ahead of her in case the bounty hunter who sometimes rode with the
gangas
was waiting this time. Then there’d be no way she could help the blond one, or get her arrows back.

She sensed no other presence, saw no orange eyes, and, most telling of all, smelled nothing but the familiar scent of waterlogged vegetation and mildew. Picking up her speed, she hurried along, breaking out of the canal-alley and promptly stumbled into something at the edge of the water.

A
ganga
. With one of her arrows jammed into the back of his head.

Well, damn
. At least he was putting them to good use.

Zoë couldn’t resist a smile. She yanked the arrow from steaming
ganga
brains and, with a sharp flick, flung away any clinging remnants, then swished it quickly into the water to rinse.

Two down, one to go.

Her hesitation had caused her to lose sight of them, but when she came to another crossway, she heard the shuffling, plodding creature. He wasn’t far ahead, and, although she didn’t like to climb through buildings she didn’t know—rotting floors, broken stairs, crushed roofs, animal lairs, and all—she slipped into a nearby doorway and sprinted along the ground floor of the structure, praying all the while that she wouldn’t go through the floor.

Making her way through slanted boards and around decaying furnishings, she got close enough to the
ganga
for a good aim.

He was coming toward her, and the man, who must have been struggling before when he slammed the arrow into the other thug’s head, wasn’t moving.

Didn’t bode well, though Zoë had never known of a
ganga
to attack a blond person.

She didn’t waste any further time, but fit the arrow and let that baby fly through a window.

Score
.

The
ganga
froze, staggered, then gave a horrible grimace of pain and crashed to the ground. Its burden hit the ground, too, his head bouncing enough to make Zoë wince.

She waited for a few breaths, but everything was quiet. So she slipped out of the building, the hair rising at the back of her neck, feeling as though she was completely exposed.

She walked quietly toward the two unmoving figures.

Jade peered down from the window, watching the battle below. Dred—no, Elliott—and his companions had all rushed down and out to fight off the small group of
gangas
. She would have followed, but Elliott turned and said, “Stay with the rest of them.”

“I’m staying here with them,” she told him, so he understood it was her own decision and not that she was letting him tell her what to do. The last thing they needed was for the other kids to get spooked and rush blindly out.

Or, if the worst happened—which, by the looks of the battle below, was unlikely—and Elliott and his friends didn’t return, at least Jade would be there to help the kids.

What the
hell
had Geoff been thinking anyway? First, leaving the city—and now this? She was going to murder him for messing up her plans if she finally got him back to Envy. Maybe even before.

And how had she and Elliott missed seeing or hearing him, unless he went out of the decrepit building a different way? So was he purposely sneaking out, trying not to get caught—or had it simply been a half-sleepy young man looking for a place to relieve himself?

Hah. She didn’t think that for a minute, though she was certain he’d try and sell it that way. Geoff might lack some common sense, but he wasn’t a complete fool. In fact, the kid was pretty smart, even if he had a misplaced sense of immortality.

The other youngsters had awakened by now, and crowded around Jade, watching the battle below. Just as the last
ganga
found himself engaged by the tall black-skinned friend of Elliott, Jade caught sight of the figures, lurching from around a shadowy corner onto the overgrown street below.

Oh God. More
gangas.
There were at least fifteen of them . . . maybe more.

Wishing she had something to throw, some weapon, Jade leaned forward, half out the window, and screamed, “Elliott! Behind you!” But her shout was lost in the sudden swarm of confrontation, and she found herself gripping the rotted edge of a wooden windowsill in fear. Suddenly, it didn’t look quite as likely that they’d walk away the victors. Five men versus fifteen—no, twenty!—
gangas
?

But as she watched them scatter and turn to face the onslaught of a small
ganga
platoon, Jade relaxed her grip—just a bit—on the windowsill. No panic, no desperation . . . just capable, fierce intensity as the band of men fought back against the moaning creatures.

They possessed speed and agility, strength, and an innate skill that seemed to lead them through the confrontation. She’d never seen anything like it—the way a single man could take on three or four of the
gangas
, half again his size, stunning and beating them off, holding his own as they staggered back for more. The weakness of the
gangas
was that they were too big and awkward for more than one to get close at a time, or to coordinate their attacks, so the men were able to keep them at a distance by beating them back, one by one. And occasionally stabbing or crushing the skull to kill them.

Jade noticed that all five of them—no, four . . . she didn’t see Quent, the bandanna’d one—had grace and strength, but it was Elliott who drew her attention, who had her lungs filling and catching, her heart pounding. Even from above and in jinky light, despite the fact that he was crowded in by the large creatures, she could easily identify him . . . and couldn’t look away.

Her fingers began to uncurl slowly, loosening with optimism as she watched Elliott spin around with power and grace. She even forgot to shout suggestions to him, she was so caught up in the view. He held some long pole, thicker than her wrist, that he used like a baseball bat, then like a sword, then like a battering ram, shoving, slamming, whipping it at his attackers.

Just because watching him fight—all those muscles and that speed and wow, the way he whipped that pole around and sent
ganga
brains flying—made her all flushed and warm didn’t mean he was a good guy. Nope.

And . . . oh, my, a desperate
ganga
had torn his shirt. As it fell away in tatters, Jade could see the fluid slide of his pecs and shoulder muscles outlined in the moonlight. And she could tell that, once and for all, he had no crystals.

A blossom of relief washed over her. He wasn’t a Stranger.

Now she really wanted to get back to Envy as quickly as possible. Not only to make her gig and confirm that Theo was all right, but also to tell him and Lou about Elliott and his friends.

If there was anyone who would be able to help them in their fight against the Strangers, it might just be Elliott and his equally fascinating friends.

Quent felt something touching his face. A hand, warm and alive. Gentle. Scented with dirt and something organic that he couldn’t identify. He turned his face, and the hand slid away.

He opened his eyes to find someone bending over him. Shadowed by the moonlight from above, the face left only the impression of large eyes, an outline of short, ragged hair, a high, curving cheekbone.

“You’ll be fine.” The voice, dusky and rough, sounded as if it wasn’t often used. “Now, will you give me back my arrows?”

Quent tried to look closer at the warm, wiry figure crouched next to him, but his head hurt like a bitch and everything was all shadowy.

“Thank you,” he said, knowing it was this person—male or female, but he was leaning toward female based on a sort of crackling awareness shooting through him—who’d helped stop the
ganga
. After he’d smashed one of his captors’ brains, the other one had cracked him across the face with a massive, cold hand . . . and that was the last he knew until now.

“My arrows,” the voice said again, then, as if realizing how rude that sounded, added, “Can you sit up?”