The Fly-By-Nights (18 page)

His father nodded and said, “Take it easy. I only wanted to be sure you weren’t falling apart like Peder Halbstein, is all. And I can well understand how
you
thought you might be!”

“But I’m not?” Garth desperately needed to be sure.

“Hell no! And don’t worry about it, for when I speak to Big Jon—which of course I must—I won’t mention your sleeping on duty. Fact is you mightn’t have nodded off at all, not if those creatures really can get into a man’s mind. Hey, Ned Singer was a bad bastard even in life! So who knows what he may be capable of in death, eh?”

“Or undeath?” said Garth.

And his father nodded again. “Or undeath, yes.”

“So, you’ll speak to Big Jon…and then what?”

“I’ll let you know,” said Zach. “But until then say nothing to anyone else. Layla isn’t the only girl you might frighten to death. And not only the girls, either…”

X

From that moment on a small handful of changes had been guaranteed to take place in Big Jon Lamon’s security procedures; in fact they were in place for the first time that very night, but had been kept so low-profile that only the men involved would ever have noticed them. Garth and the other night-watch bosses were aware of them, of course, and every squad member had been cautioned to silence; likewise the hastily recruited—or “volunteered”—inner cordons of shift workers: three eight-man teams working four-hour shifts from eight at night till eight in the morning, within the area occupied by the convoy’s vehicles and temporary habitations as opposed to the outer perimeters. Such teams were in addition to the mobile standby squads with their motorized, often customized two-wheelers, and their tasks were specific: in the event of all alerts to rouse the standbys up, and should any attack by fly-by-nights ensue to assist in sending these armed riders off to wherever their fire-power seemed most in demand; then to occupy prearranged defensive positions of their own right there in the central area of the encampment.

Moreover, the manpower of the night-watch squads had been doubled; from now on no man would ever be on his own out there on the perimeters but would have a partner to keep him company and learn from him through the long nights. Thus as of now, if or when there were sinister things to be seen out in the mist, there would be at least two sets of eyes to confirm such sightings. Only the three night-watch bosses—whose duty with immediate effect would be to stay alert and
constantly
on the move, patrolling from post to post without undue pause—would be unaccompanied, for any excessive movement or unusual activity out on the perimeters might easily set Garry Maxwell’s “sniffers”—not to mention the rest of the watchdogs—barking their heads off all night long!

Conceived in light of Garth’s conversation with his father, then put into effect in haste but as quietly as possible, these additions to the convoy’s security measures greatly reinforced its dark-hours defences. At least, such was the mutual opinion of Big Jon Lamon and Zach Slattery. As for the majority of the travellers: they remained in ignorance of the perceived threat, if indeed any threat as such existed. For what purpose would be served in unsettling the people now, when the end of this arduous trek—one way or the other—might already be in sight?

Something less than five hours after speaking to Zach, as darkness fell Garth was back on duty with his enhanced squad, along with Don Myers, Bert Jordan and their teams. But alert as never before, Garth was far easier in his mind now.

Easier in his mind, yes…

Introspection his father had called it: the analysis of the processes of one’s own mind. Safe enough and even beneficial in a sane man, but hazardous if one’s sanity was suspect, and more especially so if the mind in question wasn’t
entirely
one’s own but was suffering from regular attempts at infiltration by some loathsome other for its own fell purpose. That way a delicately balanced intellect might well be driven over the edge.

Not that Garth considered himself mentally suspect, not any longer and definitely not to that degree! But if what had happened to Jack Foster—a scav from his father’s younger days who had been seduced by fly-by-nights and fallen under their influence to such an extent that he joined a swarm and used his altered or assimilated human intelligence to lead an attack on the Southern Refuge!—
if
telepathic powers of the same order were now cunningly at work on Garth himself…well it no longer so much alarmed as infuriated him! Not least because the source of this malicious interference, this product of hateful changeling animosity deliberately targeting the clan but aimed rather more specifically in Garth’s direction, was oh-so-well known to him.

A hateful changeling, yes…Ned Singer, of course! Singer and his new-found undead existence.

Garth no longer entertained any slightest doubt of it… 

To all intents and purposes the night was passing uneventfully if slowly, when in the small hours, as Garth trudged his perimeter, he arrived for the fifth or sixth time (he hadn’t deemed it necessary to keep a count) at the observation post of Eric Davis: an older man from Ned Singer’s original scav team where Garth had first known him. Having also served with Davis as an outrider, Garth liked and trusted him.

Despite being Garth’s senior by at least three years Davis held no grudge; as Big Jon Lamon had not so long ago observed, a boss’s job was onerous, bearing a great weight of responsibility. And while Davis was no slouch, still he preferred to be led rather than to lead. Moreover he recognized Garth’s leadership potential from their time together as scavs and outriders, and he valued the younger man’s friendship.

Stationed with Davis at a vantage point looking out over a broad, misted stream, one of Big Jon’s “volunteers”—a fresh-faced, nervously thoughtful young man called Gavin Carter, not much older than Garth himself—seemed in the flickering glow of electric torchlight for some reason to appear very pale and shivery. Having noticed this at a glance, Garth asked what was wrong; when last he’d stopped by here all had been well.

“Oh, young Gavin will be all right,” Davis shrugged it off. “He thought he saw something out across the stream, that’s all. We were sitting on that old log there when I suddenly felt him slump against me. If you ask me I’d say he’d simply nodded off for a second, but after he bumped into me he shot awake scared for his life! That was just a moment ago, right before you got here.”

Nodded off? It was easily done, as Garth was only too well aware! As for being scared: but wasn’t that entirely understandable, too, of a highly-strung impressionable young fellow out here in the dark and the mist? Of course it was…and yet:

“Scared?” Garth stared hard into Carter’s eyes. “Scared of what, Gavin? What was it you think you saw? Or is it just that you knew you shouldn’t be falling asleep?”

The other licked dry lips, shivered again and said, “First off, I
didn’t
nod off…at least I don’t think so. It was—oh, I don’t know—more like I had
fainted
or something! Except I don’t think it was that either! Maybe it was some kind of daydream: scary pictures in my head that were there and then gone; something out there, across the stream…” For a moment as Carter paused, his wide unblinking eyes turned from Garth and gazed fearfully out over the writhing mist and darkly swirling water. But then, giving himself a shake, he sheepishly added: “Anyway, I’m sorry if I’ve let anyone down and…and it’s not going to happen again.”

Garth took his arm, gripped it and said, “It’s okay, and no harm done, Gavin. But you still haven’t said what you think you saw. It could be important.”

Eric Davis, who of course knew of the changes in the watchkeeping routines, if not why they’d been made or why he must be quiet about them, frowned and said, “Important?
How
, important? What’s going on, Garth?”

“Nothing special,” Garth lied, releasing Carter and turning toward his friend. “Just a theory Big Jon and my father seem to have cooked up between them. I don’t understand it myself!” And before Davis or Carter could question him further, he added: “I shouldn’t worry too much about it…” And then, to Carter: “But Gavin—if you should have any more of these faints—well, I suppose you can always tell me about them later, okay?”

“I’m truly sorry, Garth,” Carter answered him. “But anyway, like I said, it won’t happen again. I’ll stay sharp, and that’s a promise.”

“That’s okay then,” said Garth, slowly nodding his forbearance (while in fact itching to know more) but reluctant to pursue the matter in the presence of the inquisitive Davis. Beside which, and as he had suggested, he could always speak to Carter later; if not tonight, perhaps tomorrow. And anyway it was time he was moving on from here.

Thus, deep in thought as he went—but with all five of his senses tinglingly aware of the night and in tune with the darkness as never before—Garth got on with his patrol… 

Except for the sure knowledge that fly-by-nights were out there in some force in the dark beyond the perimeters, knowledge that was common to the other squad bosses and almost every experienced watchkeeper except perhaps the dullest and least sensitive, the rest of Garth’s duty hours that night stayed mainly free of troubling occurrences.