NIGHT CALL
The Walking Shadows series
Book One: Night Call
The Walking Shadows
NIGHT CALL
Brenden Carlson
Copyright © Brenden Carlson, 2020
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise (except for brief passages for purpose of review) without the prior permission of Dundurn Press. Permission to photocopy should be requested from Access Copyright.
All characters in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Publisher: Scott Fraser | Acquiring editor: Rachel Spence | Editor: Allison Hirst
Cover design and illustration: Sophie Paas-Lang
Printer: Marquis Book Printing Inc.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Title: Night call / Brenden Carlson.
Names: Carlson, Brenden, author.
Description: Series statement: The walking shadows
Identifiers: Canadiana (print) 20190184353 | Canadiana (ebook) 20190184361 | ISBN 9781459745797 (softcover) | ISBN 9781459745803 (PDF) | ISBN 9781459745810 (EPUB)
Classification: LCC PS8605.A7547 N55 2020 | DDC C813/.6—dc23
We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council for our publishing program. We also acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Ontario, through the Ontario Book Publishing Tax Credit and Ontario Creates, and the Government of Canada.
Care has been taken to trace the ownership of copyright material used in this book. The author and the publisher welcome any information enabling them to rectify any references or credits in subsequent editions.
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For my grandparents, who made this all possible.
Technological progress has merely provided us with more efficient means for going backwards.
— Aldous Huxley
CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER 1
A NOTORIOUS WOMAN with whom I am well acquainted once told me, “Always strike a man when he is down. Give him no reason to think that he may stand and reciprocate.”
As I lay on the asphalt, I considered myself lucky that no one was nearby, and luckier still that few people shared that principle.
What should have been a simple drop down a garbage chute had ended badly. I’d been expecting to land in a pile of garbage — I didn’t mind what was in the bags, so long as it was soft — but instead, the curved handle of the trash bin had hit the right side of my spine, colliding with my ribs. Momentum had carried me farther, and I’d rolled to the left and tumbled out of the bin onto the asphalt.
The sight of the Plate to the east, beyond the alleyway, indicated to me that I was still alive. There were worse things in this life, I supposed. The drop into the bin might have killed me, had the garbage chute not curved and subsequently slowed my fall.
Something crashed and banged down the chute after me. My Diamondback revolver bounced off the overturned rubbish bin and landed square on my chest, reminding me to breathe as daggers of pain shot through my body.
“Goddamn …”
A few wheezy breaths later, oxygen filled my lungs once more. I forced my aching body to roll away from the building, away from the shouts of the men rushing down to find me. I wished there was time to relax, to look up at the night sky and the cathartic sight of the stars. That was the only good thing about being in Jersey.
“He’s down there! Fuckin’ get him!”
The screams brought my mind back to the now and my right hand to my revolver. An Automatic landed on the ground a stone’s throw from me, its legs screeching from the impact of the three-storey jump. It was a little over six feet in height, with gangly arms stronger than a man’s, a smooth humanoid body, and glowing red eyes that told me this wasn’t a factory-floor model. It was programmed to search and destroy. The Automatic straightened and ran toward me. Two pulls of my trigger made two fist-sized holes in the machine. Neural-Interface and servos fell out of its seared chassis.
If these boys had one Red-eye, there was no doubt they had plenty more. I needed to get out of there. Fast.
Even with my back in shambles, I found I could still walk. The passing cars didn’t quite drown out the sound of leather soles ringing against iron walkways: the hunters were on the move. I headed away from the sounds, down the alley to a small side street. I hoped it would prove to be a straight shot to the main street, where I’d parked my car. I needed a speedy getaway.
I turned the corner and pressed my back against the wall, inching my way to the corner of the building. I allowed my head to leave the safety of cover for just a moment to scan the street. My senses immediately exploded: a car screeching, men screaming, and a cacophony of gunfire as .45-calibre rounds skipped across the concrete.
“There’s the roach, get him!”
I opened the chamber. Four rounds left and only God knew how many targets. I closed it and readied myself, puffing out my chest to try to crack my back. That fall had really affected my breathing. No using garbage chutes anymore.
“You’re gunna pay for killin’ the boss, roach! Your little lady is next!”
They wouldn’t expect me to start running across the road, I thought. They’d figure I would wait patiently for them to fill me with lead, perhaps.
Switching the gun to my left hand and firing perpendicular to my path, I tried to lay down some covering fire for myself. The heated rounds were designed
