Nightcrawlers

     The sun was setting over the city and the pink-orange hues vibrated amongst the mirror-like metals used to build the city’s largest buildings. Following the sun, shop owners on the main drag were pulling the steel shutters down in front of their small stores, tucking their wares in, praying that angels watch them through the night and keep them safe ‘til morning light. Two boys walked down the sidewalk, watching this nighttime ritual, one tall and well-kempt and the other short and ruffled. Someone watching may have mistaken the couple for a man taking a late stroll with a small dog who was giving everything he c to keep up.

            “This city sucks,” the taller boy said.

            “It’s not so bad when you’ve got cigarettes,” the shorter boy answered, reaching for a pack in his shirt pocket. Upon opening it, he realized that it was empty.

            “Is the VP open? I’m out,” he said as he crumpled and tossed the pack onto the sidewalk.

            The taller boy started to kick the ball of cardboard down the sidewalk, “Should be. I gotta get a drink anyways.”

            The couple walked the twelve blocks to the closest Village Pantry in silence until it came into sight, its neon signs promoting state-minimum prices and cheap soda making it look like an oasis of light in a dark, sleeping city. At the counter was a shaggy-haired, twentysomething clerk with tattoos covering his arms.

            The shorter boy approached the clerk and asked for a pack of Marlboro Reds. While the clerk turned around to get them off of the wall of tobacco, the boy said, “This must be a sweet job. You always got the whole store to yourself?”

            The clerk rung up the pack and placed it on the counter.

“You’d think it’d be cool to just hang out in an empty store all the time but it gets pretty lame after a while. Plus it’s just a few hours until all the drunks in town get hungry and swarm this place.”

“And they’ve just got you working?”

“Yeah, my manager’s a tightwad. He doesn’t realize how much it sucks.”

“Screw that, dude,” the shorter boy said.

The taller boy put a soda on the counter and the shorter boy handed a wad of cash to the clerk.

“I’m Derek, by the way. What are you guys’s names?” the clerk asked.

The shorter boy answered, “I’m Jimmy, this is my friend Sam.”

“So what are you guys doing out so late anyways? You don’t look like nightcrawlers to me,” Derek said.

“Like you’d know what nightcrawlers look like, no one’s seen one in at least thirty years,” Sam responded.

Derek smiled morosely, leaned in, and whispered, “You’re so sure of yourself. I guess that wouldn’t explain why I’ve seen at least one every night for the past few weeks, though.”

“Shut the hell up,” Sam said as he started to walk away.

Jimmy grabbed his arm to keep him from leaving.

“Are you shitting us? This isn’t some sort of twisted way you keep yourself entertained, is it?” he asked.

“Scout’s honor,” Derek responded, raising three fingers. He then raised the sleeve of his shirt, revealing a tattoo of a man’s face on his shoulder. The face was pale and jaunt with deep bags under the eyes. He leaned on the counter so that the two boys could see the tattoo closer.

“I drew this after the first week I started seeing them, just a little something so I wouldn’t forget what they looked like, you know? Didn’t really think I’d be seeing them every week after that too. They always pass right by the store a few hours after the hoard of drunks have left and at first I thought they were just some more drunks coming in late, but then I started noticing some weird things. For one, they only ever pass in the edge of the shadows, never stepping right into the light.”

“That doesn’t prove anything,” said Sam, “they could be anyone.”

“True, but how about if I told you each one had a holstered gun?” Derek asked.

Jimmy’s eyes were wide, absorbing every detail that Derek said.

“I’m sure both of you know only military are allowed to have guns, so unless one of you has some alternate solution, the only one I can think of is that they’re nightcrawlers.”

“We haven’t had nightcrawlers since we used them to infiltrate enemy camps in the War, though. And even then, there were never any here at home. Why would they be here now?” Jimmy asked.

“I’ve been thinking about that. I think they’re recruiting. So I talked to some people and got ahold of one of these babies,” Derek said as he pulled a shotgun from under the counter and laid it in front of the boys.

“Put that thing away! You’d be sent away for a long time if anybody knew you had a gun!” Sam yelled at him.

“I wouldn’t have it if I didn’t think this was serious.”

“Well I’m not buying your ‘recruitment’ theory. The nightcrawlers were manufactured soldiers made in labs, the whole point was to not waste life in something as primitive as war,” Sam said.

“What do you think they’re manufactured from?” Derek asked, pointing to a wall by the entrance covered in missing persons posters, “Haven’t you heard about all the recent disappearances?”

“This is some bull,” Sam said, pulling Jimmy out the door with him, “Sell your conspiracy theories to one of those hungry drunks.”

Sam and Jimmy stopped a moment while Jimmy nervously fumbled to light up a cigarette. Derek watched from his oasis as they walked away until all he could see was the frequent orange glow from Jimmy puffing on his cigarette. His eyes returned to the store only when a man stumbled in to buy a bag of chips.

Jimmy and Sam walked down the dark street, sharing a cigarette. The alleys they passed were occasionally filled with the echoes of clattering glass bottles, but the city was otherwise silent. The boys walked by blocks of unlit porch lights before coming to one that was being used. Standing in the door, a man was shouting incoherently up an unseen flight of stairs. His greasy, dark hair was pushed back and he was wearing a large, green jacket with pockets that looked stuffed full of junk. He slammed the door shut and someone inside quickly turned off the porch light, rejoining this section of street with the uniform blackness of the city. The man stepped down from the porch, looked either way, and, noticing the silhouettes of Jimmy and Sam, walked towards them.

“You little pricks make a hobby of listening to people’s conversations?” he asked them, his words slurring, “Gimme a smoke, and don’t tell me you don’t have any ‘cause you reek.”

Jimmy pulled out the pack and handed him a cigarette. The man dug a hand into his pocket and pulled out a lighter. The flame briefly lit his face with its dim glow, giving the boys their first glimpse of his features. His skin was covered in pockmarks and his thick eyebrows formed a bridge above a jagged nose. The three of them stood there, not saying anything, as the man took a few puffs of his cigarette. Jimmy took out another cigarette and put it in his mouth as he searched his own pockets for his lighter. Before he could light it, the man grabbed it from his lips and added it to the collection in his pockets.

“Enlightening as this was,” he mumbled before taking a long drag, “there are drinks to drink and, now, smokes to smoke.”

The boys watched him walk away, stumbling over invisible objects.

“What the hell, dude. He just stole my cigarettes!” Jimmy yelled.

“Let it go, Jimmy. You’ve still got an almost full pack, don’t go crying over a couple cigs.”

“No, this isn’t right. I deserve some sort of payment, that’s how the world works. You don’t just get a free ride. I’m going to get paid for those cigarettes,” he said, walking after the man, “Hey scumbag!”

The man stopped in the middle of the street, turned around, and waited for Jimmy and Sam.

“You want something, kid?” he asked, the half-smoked cigarette extinguished and tucked behind his ear.

“Yeah, I want my cigarette back. You want to smoke, go buy some for yourself.”

The man stepped closer to Jimmy and looked him in the eyes. His breath was heavy with liquor. He took the cigarette from his ear, placed it between his lips, and relit it. He breathed in and then exhaled a cloud of smoke into Jimmy’s face. As Jimmy coughed, the man pushed him backwards. When Jimmy snapped out of his coughing fit, he ran at the man and landed a punch square in the jaw. The man’s inebriated mind was incapable of balancing and he fell to the ground, his head slamming against the pavement.

“Holy s**t,” Sam said.

Jimmy kneeled next to the body and lifted his head from the ground to find his greasy hair matted with blood.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” he said.

“What do we do?” Sam asked.

Jimmy looked up and down the dark street and said, “Help me carry him to that alley.”

The two half carried, half dragged the body to the nearest alley and propped him against one wall. Jimmy reached into his pocket, pulled out the cigarette that the man had taken, and sat down next to Sam against the other wall. Sam watched him light up and take a long drag.

“Happy?”

Jimmy breathed out, “As a clam.”

“We really can’t leave him here.”

“I didn’t mean to knock him out. He’s a big guy, I thought worst case I’d break his nose.”

“It doesn’t matter if you meant it or not,” Sam sighed, “it’s…someone’s coming…”

The two listened and heard a soft, padding of footsteps approaching them from further down the alleyway. Jimmy stomped out his cigarette and they ducked around the corner. Two shadowy figures approached the slumped over body and raised it to its feet. The figures dragged the body back where they had originally come from, deeper in the alleyway.

“I guess he’s not our problem anymore,” Jimmy said.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. A man that you knocked unconscious has just been dragged off and you don’t feel responsible?”

“As much of a drunk as he must’ve been, I assume something like this would’ve happened eventually.”

“You’re an a*****e,” Sam said, turning the corner and walking quickly after the figures.

Jimmy let out an exasperated sigh and followed him. The two attempted to silently follow the sounds of the padding of feet and the body being dragged, careful not to wind up too close to their targets. They were led through the labyrinth of the city’s alleys only to wind up at a dead end.

“I hope you realize that, if anything happens to that guy, it’s all on you,” Sam said.

“Quit worrying about it, maybe they were his buddies or something.”

“You really think a guy like that has any buddies?”

“I thought you were on his side,” Jimmy chuckled.

“I still think you screwed up here, but that doesn’t change the fact that that guy was a prick,” Sam said, “Toss me the cigs.”

Jimmy tossed the pack to him and Sam walked out to the cross-section of the alley that had led them to the dead end. Jimmy heard the sound of a lighter being lit immediately followed by the sound of plastic hitting the ground.

“You okay?” Jimmy asked, turning toward the sound.

Sam responded with a bloodcurdling scream.

At the Village Pantry, most of the drunks had vacated the premise and only a small remnant were left deciding bag of chips would complement their cheap booze. Derek pulled his sketchbook out from under the counter and looked outside. Somewhere just beyond the lights’ reach, something shadowy was moving. He put his pen to the paper and began to draw as a smile slowly drew across his face.

Author's Note

Review anything.