So weep we shall for the taken,
For all the humans we have lost.
Yet for allowing humanity to awaken,
It shall surely be worth the cost.
-Dirge for Europe, verse 6. Engraved on the Plaque of fallen remembrance
Deanna considered hitting Evelyn, but didn’t want to worsen their punishment. If only Evelyn had shown the same amount of restraint yesterday.
Vanham stomped out of the mess hall, leaving behind him an angry tension in the room. They had all expected a calm day of monotonous work, but he had broken that promise. “Damaging state and Corps property must be punished.” he had said.
Evelyn sighed and leaned back. “Who damaged any property? We fulfilled their bloody quota, why are we bein’ sent out?”
Did she really not understand?
“We are state property now, Evelyn.” Will said.
“Alright, then who… oh.”
Deanna leaned in. “Yeah. That’s twice now, Evelyn. Good job.” At this rate, she was gonna get someone taken.
She looked offended. “You’re blamin’ me, and not the nonce who started it? Brannaghan’s been on my case recently. He needed some adjustment.”
Will took a deep breath, obviously suppressing frustration. “This is bigger than you, Evelyn. Waves from the stones you cast into this ocean hit everyone else.”
“So I’m just supposed to take it? Let him talk about my brother like that?”
“When your reaction means that someone gets taken? That you could get taken? Yes.”
Her anger faded, and she returned to her usual, dampened self. “I just… Nevermind.”
Deanna still didn’t know what to make of Evelyn. The incident in the shower had coloured her view of the woman somewhat, mostly due to embarrassment on Deanna’s part. They were probably the same age, but something about her was… off. Hard to quantify. Are you really one to talk, though?
Seamus trundled towards their table, and Deanna thought she could hear his knees creaking like the door of a safe.
“It’s alright, lassie.” He said, giving Evelyn a clap on the shoulder. “Vanham is just being pissy, that’s all. Seen a fair share of scuffles on this boat, I have, not all of ‘em ended up like this.”
“Good to know.” she said sourly.
“Though you could’ve saved it for tomorrow, I reckon. It’s bad luck to end my sentence on a mission.”
“Oh, sorry.”
Magnus stilled a shaking hand. “It’s fine though, Mr Seamus. Just think positive thoughts, right?”
He smiled. “Aye. I suppose I can survive one more mission. Especially a double.”
You just had to go and say it.
After breakfast, the partner pairs were announced in the massive cargo hold. Deanna and Magnus would go with Seamus and Cillegia, the smelly Italian guy. Magnus seemed happy enough, but Deanna dreaded the flight.
Evelyn seemed happy not to be paired with Brannaghan again. He had a busted lip and a broken nose, but his pride seemed no less wounded.
“Good job getting us out here again. “ He said as he waited for his helicopter. “Keep on like this, and you’re likely to meet your brother.”
Deanna could see Evelyn straining against herself.
“Keep talking like that, you’re gonna kiss the ground again, kid.” Evelyn answered.
Deanna couldn’t help herself. “I think he wants you to hit him again, Evi, it’s the only way any woman will touch him.”
Brannaghan grinned. “That eager to get taken, eh? I wonder what the others will think when we get punished a third time.”
Evelyn crossed her arms.“With any luck, I won’t have to. The gargoyles’ll get you sorted for me. Good luck to you and Kitsch.”
Will waved her over, and they walked towards the open helicopter door. It stood on an elevator in the cargo hold, and their partner pair was already seated. The copilot waved at Will as he walked by. Strange.
Brannghan didn’t seem to need the last word, so he just headed towards Kitsch, who waved at him from their helicopter.
Only three crafts. So few. On their first mission, all the different pairs needing their own helicopters had made the hangar a hub of activity. Now, they only needed three. They would get reinforcements tomorrow, though. Maybe even some transfers from the second brigade. The ship was so huge that Deanna sometimes forgot that they weren’t the only brigade there.
Deanna followed Seamus into their helicopter, followed by Magnus, and Cillegia, Seamus’ partner. He smelled like a ripe cheese marinated in onions, but he had at least mellowed out a bit since their first encounter in the lecture hall.
They sat in silence as the heli took off, Seamus and Cillegia sitting opposite to Deanna and Magnus in the cramped hold.
The silence didn’t last, of course. The moment they were over the whitecapped sea, Seamus leaned forward. “I’m sorry miss, I didn’t catch your name yesterday.”
“Deanna.”
“Oh, what a regal name. Where are you from?”
“Alaric. Born in Texas, though.”
“Ahh, American, I see. Quite rare here, these days.”
She nodded.
Seamus scratched his beard. “You seem less reserved than the other Americans I’ve met.”
Cillegia’s accent somehow coloured his snort. “Rare to see an American care about anything outside her own borders.”
“I grew up on Alaric, porco.” She said, to no reply.
“Do you have any stories to tell of America, lassie?”
“No. Moved away when I was a kid.”, she lied. She couldn’t reveal everything at once, after all.
“Shame. You hear so frightfully little of that great country.”
She snorted at that.
Half an hour of chatting passed, mostly between Magnus and Seamus. Magnus seemed enamoured with the older man, talking back and forth about gargoyles, life on the mainland and Fairhair, and some technological gobbledygook. It was good to see Magnus like that. He’d seemed half a child when she first met him, almost scared of his own shadow.
But the past few days had changed him, strengthened him in a way she hadn't expected. That was good, but she couldn’t help but feel as though he’d lost something.
When the helicopter finally jerked to a stop and the doors opened, Deanna thought they hovered in a cloud. After swallowing her fear of heights and hitting solid ground, it became clearer.
Well, the weather didn’t. Anything beyond a few meters was completely obscured by a thick white fog.
She listened. No telltale screaming. “So, how are we supposed to know where the town is?”
Seamus slipped off his backpack, retrieved from the wooden crate. “Your compass.”
“I have a compass?” Might not hurt to check through that backpack of yours, dummy.
Seamus looked at Magnus with a grin. “How have you two even survived so far?”
He shrugged. “She’s usually pretty good at taking the lead. When she can see.”
“Will told me to lead by ear.” she said. “Worked so far.”
“He learned that from Andrius, Ithunn rest his soul.” He trudged up towards Deanna, and gave her a pat on the shoulder. “Who learned it from me,” he said with a sly wink.
He led them through the fog. Slowly, the town became audible. It was a cold autumn morning, wet but not raining. Still, Deanna wished for better clothing. It was bad enough, having to dress up as a carnival for no discernible reason, but she would have been content in a tie-dye toga if it meant being a bit warmer.
They had to walk pretty close together to not lose each other in the fog. Magnus trundled along next to her. “How close are we to-” he said, walking head first into a mossy streetlamp.
He stumbled backwards and shook his head, and Deanna failed to contain her laughter. Even so, she could hear the victims a lot clearer now.
Seamus chuckled as well. “I think we’re here, lad.” He turned to Deanna. “We’ll split up, and round back here soon. I want this to be quick. Reckon I get released tomorrow.”
Cillegia butted in. “What about the fog?”
“Good question.” He said, taking a pondering stance.
Magnus rubbed his forehead. “What about the oil lamps? How long do they burn?”
“Four hours, give or take. Not a bad idea, lad.”
He pulled the oil lamp out of his pack, and Deanna did the same. The light wasn’t as strong as she would have preferred, but it would do.
Seamus hooked it onto his pack, and nodded to Magnus. “Alright then, we’ll meet up here soon. Shout if you need immediate help. Though my ears aren’t what they used to be, so they should shout in Italian, eh Cillegia?”
The rotund man simply nodded. His mean-spirited energy seemed zapped after they had entered the city. She couldn’t blame him.
“And remember to be positive, right?” Magnus asked.
“Aye, son.” Seamus did a mock salute, and waltzed off into the fog.
Magnus smiled at Deanna, hefting his candy cane. “Ready?”
She returned a flat smile, bringing a blush to Magnus’ face.
Deanna followed her ear, listening for whimpering close by. It was only midmorning, but the fog was nearly impenetrable. Dilapidated multi-story buildings around them appeared out of the fog, the streets empty except for the odd vehicle. A pair of shoes hung from a power line.
Think positive thoughts… Were they just the ramblings of an old man, or was he actually on to something?
She nearly stumbled over a body, lying face down on the asphalt. The gargoyle was undisturbed, thankfully, but the shock took a bit of time to wear out.
Harvesting went without a hitch, and they were on to finding the next victim soon enough.
“I think it’s working!” Magnus said eagerly, after disconnecting from the victim.
“Really? Thought we’d have to wait a bit to see the effects.”
“Maybe.”
Deanna was surprised by how undisturbed he seemed. The victim had been around Magnus’s age, crying and writhing in the incredible pain, the ground beneath it drowned in blood. Made it difficult not to care.
“Even if it doesn’t work,” Magnus said, “it can’t hurt to be positive, right?”
“I guess.” She studied the street. No bodies on the ground since the last one. “I think we have to go inside a building.”
“R-really?”
“Yeah, I can’t find any vi-”
A silhouette moved in the fog ahead. Eyes in the mist. She froze.
“Deanna?”
“Shush.” She whispered.
It slowly pulled back, blending into the wall of cloud.
“Deanna, what is it?”
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
“Get your syphon ready.” Deanna whispered calmly, reaching for a rock on the ground. She threw it where the eyes had been, and heard it clatter against the asphalt.
Magnus jumped at the sudden clatter.“Did you see something?”
She inched forward, against the better judgment of her nerves. Nothing but more empty streets. “I think,” she knelt down, “we’re being followed.”
“Followed? By who? Everyone who lived here either fled or got taken.”
“You didn’t see anything ahead?” No tracks on the asphalt.
He held his cane out like a spear. “Uhh, no. I-I was looking at the buildings. Did you hear anything?”
“No, nothing.”
He shrugged. “Well, maybe this place just has a weird effect on us. We can ask Seamus about it later.”
“Yeah.” She rose, shaking away the sudden spike of fear. It was probably nothing.
“D-do you wanna take a break?” Magnus asked meekly.
She chuckled. “We just started.” She pointed to the wide open doors of a building. “We’ll check for victims there.”
“Inside? What if the roof falls down?”
She stepped onto the sidewalk and dodged a vine hanging from a lamppost. The rustic brick facade seemed sturdy. It was on the corner of the block, connected on both sides to other buildings around it. The top was hidden in the fog. However old the building was, it looked solid enough.
She strode confidently through the doors, Magnus lurking behind her. Already in the lobby she could hear sounds of pain. There was little light to see by but the lamp on her back. She grabbed it and held it out, scanning the ground for victims.
The floor was surprisingly clean, except for a few scattered suitcases and a trolley, removed of its wheels. A young man lay on the ground, covered from chest to toe by a gargoyle. He wore a green felt uniform, trimmed with gold.
“A busboy?” Magnus asked.
“A what?”
“You know, busboys. The people who carry your suitcase in the hotel?”
She shrugged. “Never been to a hotel.”
Magnus still stood behind her. “Oh, right then. Are there hotels on Alaric?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? Of course. Anyway, you gonna syphon this guy?”
He gulped. “Oh, uh, yeah.”
“Magnus. You can’t still be so squeamish.” The busboy groaned loudly, making her partner whinge.
“So-sorry. It’s just… he looks a bit like my friend.”
She hadn’t looked at the victim’s face yet. It was like a fresh punch to the face, every time. Because if she did look, she would have to face it, truly face it. Face the person who’s blood she had to forcefully remove.
No, they were victims, not people. Vessels to extract serum from so she could go home.
Berries to press into juice so the important people could have their wine. Vessels who screamed in pain, babbled like newborns entertained by their voice.
They both stood still, mute and unmoving. She heard the click of Magnus’s syphon and attached the pump to the tank, looking anywhere but at his- its face.
Magnus had obviously gotten better. He no longer struggled with finding good veins, and disconnected from the victim without much leakage.
Meanwhile, all Deanna had to do was pump, up and down and up and down until it was time to stop. It was sweaty work, but she was grateful to not be at the front.
The electric action of the pump had angered the gargoyles, and screaming became clearer from deeper in the hotel.
The screaming echoed around the building, and seemed strangely familiar.
Magnus walked towards the noise.
Deanna followed, grabbing the lamp from her pack. The air was damp and muggy. Faded red wallpaper still clung to the walls, though the past two centuries had taken their toll. They walked around a faded grand staircase, towards the quieter part of the hotel. When they found a victim, they wanted it to be alone.
After having pushed aside a fallen door, her partner turned to her.“Deanna, I don’t think you answered Seamus yesterday. About your plans after the Corps.”
“He didn’t ask me.”
“And…?”
“Well, I haven’t really thought about it.” She could tell he understood what she had meant. She saw the same subliminal doubt briefly in his eyes.
“Come on, you’ve gotta have something you want to do?”
Do I?
Yes. She did. “I’ve got some friends waiting for me at home. We have a cat.”
“Oh, what’s its name?”
“Provolone.”
“It’s named after a cheese?”
She smiled. “Yeah, she loves the stuff. My friend is taking care of her.”
“Oh yeah, that sounds great! Wish I had a cat… anyway, any family you look forward to seeing?”
“Nope. My dad’s a dick and Mom is stateside.”
“Oh, sorry. You’ll see your mom someday, I’m sure.”
She gave a half-hearted smile. “Maybe I will.”
They pressed on, and entered a large kitchen. The voice of a victim echoed off the aluminium countertops.
Deanna took point, holding the lamp low to better see the ground. The faded white tiles were slippery, but their garish boots held on well. At the back of the room was an opened door that led to the street outside.
She rounded the corner of a counter to see a skeleton on the ground, a fileting knife jammed in the eye socket.
Magnus gasped softly. “A-a skeleton?” She could tell he was trying to stay confident.
“Seems like it.”
“How?”
“France was taken on the second day, so I’d imagine some already knew what to do when the gargoyles came around.”
“They killed themselves?!” He was horrified.
“Yeah? What’s so shocking about that?” Right. Life. People from Fairhair were so crazy about that.
He didn’t reply, so she went forward to find the victim. “So, what do you think of Seamus?” she asked him. Something had to lighten the mood.
“Oh, uhm. I like him. He seems very nice. It’s a shame that he’s leaving tomorrow. For us, I mean, it’s good for him.”
She adjusted a strap on her backpack. “Agreed. Will’s been a good guide so far, but he’s only been here three more days than us. Doubt anyone has more experience here than Seamus. We need to get all the info we can from him tonight.”
“Yeah. He’s also just a nice man to talk to.” He stopped her, and eagerly rushed to her side. “Hey, do you want to go visit him after we’re free? He said we could come by anytime.”
“Uhh… sure. Let’s focus on the ‘getting free’ part of that first though, yeah?”
“Oh, of course. I just thought it would be nice to have plans.”
She nodded. “We should go find him after this next victim. I think we’re nearing the quota soon.” And I have a bad feeling about that fog.
Magnus nodded, and Deanna rounded another corner in the maze of a kitchen, then headed to the door. Dumped haphazardly in the middle of the doorway was a victim, clad in a pink jumpsuit. Green boots. Unicorn on his shoulder.
Magnus piped up from behind her. “I-is that…”
“Yeah.” She said flatly. “From our Corps.”
The victim whimpered a bit, then howled in pain. The sound echoed harshly in the cramped kitchen, like a dozen other victims sang in concert. Deanna heard a sickening crunch, and a severed, pink-clad leg floated to the top of the gargoyle and deposited on the street. The man kept screaming, and the gargoyle shuddered and vibrated wildly, emitting a blubbery growling.
As soon as the leg touched the ground, a vulture swooped in and pecked at the still bleeding leg, tearing away chunks of fabric to get at the meat.
Magnus retched, startling the big bird. It snatched the leg, and flew off into the fog.
So that’s how they do it, Deanna thought, fighting to stay composed.
She turned around. Magnus was hunched over a pile of puke. “You alright?” she asked him.
He straightened, breathing and sweating heavily. “Yeah. I just need some water.”
He took one from her backpack, took a few sips, and they went to examine the victim.
It was a man, bald, with a big pink birthmark on his head.
“He seems familiar.” Magnus said somberly.
She thought so too. Who was this?
Magnus’ eyes widened in horror. “I think… Is this the man who tried to climb the fence yesterday?”
She looked at the victim’s face. He stared back, quietly groaning in discomfort. “It is him.” Deanna said.
“He’s got those two black marks as well?” Magnus pointed out.
“What?” On the back of his neck were two black spots, small and close together. “Oh, that’s just a tattoo. Evelyn has one on her ankle.”
Magnus seemed confused. “I could swear I’ve seen them on other victims too.”
Deanna shrugged. “Popular design, I guess.” She couldn’t tell what it meant. Then again, she had never been very good at understanding that kind of stuff.
The victim groaned again, whimpering softly and staring at Deanna.
She looked away, as did Magnus.
He sighed. “Why did he end up here? I thought they just increased his sentence or something.”
That’s exactly what they did, she thought. A life sentence would last forever when you weren’t allowed to die.
…
10 percent more and I will be home, Seamus thought. One more victim.
They were currently having a hard time finding any, however. Cillegia wanted to search the surrounding buildings, but Seamus wouldn’t allow them to go inside - that rarely went well. Besides, his ears weren’t what they used to be, so they had to keep to the streets. Dressed like clowns escaped from the circus.
Still, it was hard to find anything. Cillegia wasn’t very experienced: he still tried his best to ignore the sounds they made.
“Can you hear any nearby?” Seamus asked.
Cillegia shook his head. He wasn’t very talkative, but was… thorny whenever he spoke. But there was kindness in him, Seamus could feel it. He seemed to have done some really bad stuff, but Seamus didn’t care. The Corps was a place for redemption, after all.
As such, he had been unusually sentimental recently. This foggy mission reminded him of the misty highlands of his youth. He’d herded many a sheep with his father on rolling hill after rolling hill. So, the fog was no stranger to him. He would often wake to his little tent swamped in fog, like an island of waxed canvas in a sea of grass and mist. And wind. Lots of wind.
What he remembered best from those times wasn’t the cold, or the sparse meals, but the creaking in his father’s leg when he bent down to tend the fire, being careful to keep his beard from the flame.
Now Seamus was the one creaking, the one stroking his beard. His father was dead, but not gone. Not so long as Seamus was alive to carry him.
“There.” Cillegia said, in his thick Italian accent. He pointed at a victim heaped under a streetlamp.
“Good job, old boy. Consider this your final exam.”
He nodded, and went to examine the victim. The gargoyle reacted strongly to his presence. Figures. The punters would be quite angry by now. Still, the creature could be calmer.
“Positive thoughts, Cilly!” he said to his partner. Seamus had felt very clever when he came up with that nickname.
Cillegia relaxed his shoulders and crouched down, like Seamus had taught him, examining the victim. The gargoyle retreated a bit - repulsed by the positivity - but still seemed agitated.
Nothing like a bit of risk to close out your career, eh? Though if his partner knew what to do, they would be fine.
Seamus approached Cillegia and reverently hooked up his pump. Some twisted affection for his occupation still lingered, it seems.
“Where do you think it’s been opened?” Seamus asked.
Cillegia rose. “Upper leg, I think.”
Seamus peered over his partner’s shoulder. Yes, the gargoyle covered the lower body.
The victim was in pain, but not to an extreme amount - his legs were likely not chewed off yet, or they had just grown back. The gargoyle would probably remove a leg soon. They usually began above the knee, which wouldn’t leave the femoral exposed. The popliteal artery could be though, which would be the best outcome.
“What vein do you think is open?”
“The femoral? I’m not sure.”
Good enough, I suppose.
Seamus took a deep breath. He was shaking.
“Alright then, lift it-”
“HELP!” Someone screamed. His stomach dropped.
“Magnus!” He shouted back, removing his pump, and running towards the sound.
…
“You don’t think anything’s happened to ‘em, do you?” Evelyn asked her partner, eating the last of her fried duck. Their mission had gone about as well as it could, and the dinner had been delicious. But the poor duck became less and less tasty with each passing minute. Where were Deanna and Magnus?”
“I don’t know, Evelynn.” Will said in a flat voice. Was he trying to stay calm? Or just disappointed in himself? Evelyn couldn’t tell.
“Bloody hell. What did the last report say?”
He sighed. “Vitals normal, no trace of serum in them. Still within the city limits.”
“Maybe they just broke a tip, then. Ruptured the connecting tube, or something.”
“Hopefully.”
“Yeah. When’s the next report coming in?”
“Thirty minutes. Sending one too often will enrage the gargoyles.”
Right. She had forgotten about that. All she could do was stew in it, then. Good thing she had a few decades of practice with that.
The minutes dragged on and on, bringing with them a creeping sense of dread. What if they really had been taken? She hadn’t gotten to ask Seamus about the things she had been seeing.
Will muttered to himself in the near-empty mess hall. Reinforcements couldn’t come sooner.
Kitsch and Brannaghan had returned, and the pair Evelyn and Will had worked with sat a few benches away. Turned out they were both from the English mainland. The syphoner was a tall guy with a wicked scar under his eye, name of Tom. Silly name for someone as tough-looking as him, but hey. How could his parents have known what he would end up like? The other guy was the man who had been stabbed by Vanham during training. He hadn’t said much. She didn’t even catch his name.
Will kept muttering. “Seamus is the most experienced man in the Corps, they are in good hands.. But no, what if they-”
“Hey.” She interrupted. “Worrying won’t make them come back any faster.”
He looked up, curly hair swinging. “I know. I just find it hard not to worry sometimes.”
“I get that.” She really didn’t, but that wasn’t important. “Like you said, they’re with Seamus. He knows what he’s doing.”
Will nodded, standing up. “I will ask Mildred for the report, and see if I can get to the flight deck. Do you want to join in?”
“Sure.”
A guard brought them to the front desk, where they had received their wristbands. Mildred sat in her usual place, reading a magazine.
She looked at Will the way one reacted to a three-legged stray dog. “They’re in the air, darling.”
Evelyn breathed a sigh of relief.
Will didn’t. “Can you see their vitals?”
She took a puff of a cigarette. “Not yet.”
Will seemed to accept that.
“Is that bad?” Evelyn said.
Will shook his head. “Vitals won’t update until they’re near.”
She nodded pensively. That seems arbitrary.
Will turned to Mildred. “Ma’am, we would like permission to go to the flight deck.”
Mildred’s eyes narrowed. “What for?”
“As you can tell, we are quite worried about our friends. I would like to see them returned with my own eyes.”
“Alright, alright. Permission granted.”
Mildred waved to a nearby guard, who accompanied them after checking their wristbands. “I’ve got you dialed in, so no funny business, alright?” He said, voice muffled by the sooted mask.
Evelyn felt more anxious than she’d like to admit. “Yeah yeah, just take us up, will you?”
The elevator to the deck crawled upwards. As they neared the top, gusts of wind rushed from above, bringing the salty air with them. The deck was cold, and the sky empty. Both were clear of helicopters at the moment, but Evelyn listened anxiously for incoming crafts.
It was useless of course, the helicopters they took on missions were eerily silent - to not disturb the gargoyles.
She resorted to peering into the dark night through the fence that ringed the deck. They watched in silence for a while, until Will tapped her on the shoulder.
The helicopter came in low, landing lights illuminating the entire deck. Her stomach was a knot of anticipation while the craft slowly landed.
They jogged up, followed by the guard. Evelyn was sweating, though not from exertion. She found herself nervously scratching at the scab. Since when did she care so much for these other people?
The door finally opened, and a tired-looking Seamus went first, tank in hand. The italian guy followed. And lastly came Deanna.
Her hair was a mess, face red from crying. Seamus patted Will on the shoulder as he walked past, muttering something. Will fell to his knees.
Deanna slowly approached Evelyn, carrying the ruins of a tank. She let it fall to the ground, and Will rose to give her a hug.
Deanna spoke to Evelyn through the embrace. “I tried, I promise I tried.” She sobbed. “He just fell, and I…” She buried her face in Will’s shoulder.
Magnus was nowhere to be found. And the world seemed a little less bright.