Dark Urban Rising Box Set

12. Lazy Circles

12Lazy CirclesThe smoke from Tazia’s cigarette cast lazy circles at her fingertips and hung in the air, forming a light haze around her body. Jet lag had kicked in several hours ago, and although she’d promised herself sleep the nicotine was doing a good job keeping her awake for now. So, she remained, puffing on the cigarette and observing her target.

From her place on the rooftop, she surveyed Detroit, now a deserted city, and kept a careful watch on the street that bisected the block below. To her right was an old tenement building a man had entered an hour ago. She’d seen him reconnoiter here the day before, and today she’d been waiting for him.

She’d sensed his approach for three blocks before he strode into view, marking territory with every step. The sluggish air fought her ability to pick up his scent until he was right below her. She finally identified him—Soldier.

He carried a number of weapons, including a stubby shotgun in a sling on his back and a rifle in his hand. The shotgun had a thin vicious-looking spike welded to the barrel which extended its length by about a foot. The scent from it rose as he passed by and exploded in her nose. The reek from the layers of blood, offal, and brain matter cemented to the metal still hung in the air. You never heard of cleaning your weapon, soldier?

At this moment, it wasn’t the shotgun but the tip of the rifle she saw protruding very slightly from a third-floor window. Now and then, the setting sun caught the metal, creating a brief blinding flash. He was keeping watch on the store opposite and obviously didn’t care who saw him.

By the look of the faded posters for vacations to Hawaii and Europe still stuck in the windows, the shop had been a travel agency in the days when there had been enough humans resident to support the business. A freshly painted English flag now adorned the brickwork above the door front and marked a different purpose.

Shortly after he’d arrived, an old army truck pulled up. Three vampires jumped out carrying boxes and chatting loudly.

The first, dressed smartly in a suit, unlocked the solid metal chains that secured the entrance and shouted orders, his shrill voice cutting the silence of the street. The other two, more casual in jeans and tees, carried the boxes inside, sauntering through the doors to take full advantage of the shadow-covered sidewalk. Now, an hour later, the sun had sucked up the shadows as it lowered in the sky and angled toward the large plate-glass window.

Tazia shook her final cigarette from the pack, grunted with annoyance, and lit it with the remains of the last. She balled up the wrapper and threw it on top of the spent butts that littered the ground at her feet. The nicotine didn’t just keep her awake, it calmed her. Without it, she’d have to resort to other things. She squeezed the pocket of her black leather jacket—sometimes just knowing the pills were there was enough.

Far above her, a hawk shrieked, its cry splitting the stillness. It had been circling in as lazy a manner as her smoke, but now it looked more agitated. It swooped slightly on the air currents then hovered over her, wings audibly flapping. Was it watching her? Or him? It’s time you were gone, sweetie.

The world over, bird life was used as a barometer of demon infiltration. Tazia had seen it first hand in multiple cities and knew the stages well.

When a city was first targeted by the Risings, the songbirds would fly away; perhaps anticipating there would soon be nothing left to sing about. They’d find the closest rural areas and stay there, silently observing the oncoming destruction.

Rat-birds like crows, magpies, and pigeons came next. They would stay longer in the cities and, in the early days, would multiply substantially. They’d form massive dark flocks that often plunged the skies into darkness and stripped away the foliage, before turning their attention to the garbage left behind by the fleeing people. Sustained by maggots and insects, they’d hold out until the human dead outnumbered the living monsters, then they too would leave.

Tazia sucked deeply on her cigarette. Unlike Turin, she hadn’t seen one pigeon since arriving in Detroit. They were long gone.

After the loss of the rat-birds, birds of prey followed, swooping in to feast on thousands of rodents attracted to the rotting corpses and the dead pets abandoned by their owners. Once the rodents were all consumed, the birds of prey returned to the fields and mountains.

And the final stage commenced.

When only carrion remained, the vultures would arrive. Those big, black, living gargoyles always came last—and would never leave. They’d feed off the flesh of the dead or the dying without prejudice: human, animal, or demon. They’d circle the skies in thousands, sit heavy on every dead tree branch, and on every rooftop, their beady eyes watching every last movement.

Tazia had run into a Trickster demon in a bar the previous night. He’d told her that vultures had been resident in Detroit for the last five years; it had been the first city to fall.

So why is the hawk still here?

Tazia stood up for a moment to stretch out the cramp that gripped her legs from crouching so long. Even before talking to the guy last night, she’d remembered hearing reports of what was happening in Detroit from demon travelers. They’d told tales of half-dead humans littering the streets, their souls sucked dry, shell-like remnants with not even enough blood left to sustain a vampire.

After that, she'd had no desire to come here. There was no point. No business to be done.

But here she was, chasing down some demon squaddie with a patriotic chip the size of an iceberg on his shoulder, at the behest of her dead father. Fucksakes!

She took another drag, savoring the tang of the tobacco on her tongue as she let out the smoke in little controlled puffs to regulate her breathing.

Now Detroit was just one of many demon infested industrial cities all over the world. The travelers’ tales had become everyone’s truth.

The sun had lowered further. A beam of sunlight lasered through the tall buildings of the cityscape to her right and hit her outstretched arm with focused determination, smoke rose and the skin blistered. She stifled a cry and snatched the arm back before taking shelter in the shade cast by the casing of a long-silent air conditioning fan. It didn’t seem like the sun would ever set.

Despite the heat, the demons kept coming and in recent years they’d become more organized. They cut the city up on a sectarian basis with streets or buildings serving as visible boundaries and actively displaying colors or tags.

With lines established, an uneasy peace had settled over Detroit. Yet life was still violent and hideously oppressive. It had left Tazia with a problem: how do you infiltrate a city that was as tight as a drum?

She had already done some digging about her target. Through a few late nights drinking in questionable establishments, chatting up the locals, and permitting rather more than a few tongue-loosening kisses in darkened alleyways, she’d learned that Conn O’Cuinn was in the vicinity. He was known as “The Irishman” (demons were never creative), and she quickly realized that no one was willing to talk about him.

He had a fierce reputation for protecting the Irish club he ran and the men who worked with him. Thanks to Joshua, Tazia already knew that the bar was just a front. She’d known a couple of Irish activists in her time. Those memories weren’t the fondest.

After some legwork, she’d figured out where the bar was located, but getting in was proving troublesome. The demon ran it along the lines of a private members’ club so that he could retain a good handle on the lives and loyalties of his clientele. With no open-door policy, you waited for an introduction. Tazia didn’t have the time for that.

So, she’d created a few rumors about her presence, letting slip that she had some guns for sale to the right people, then followed a few markers until, finally, she’d located a demon who may just get careless if she pushed hard enough. In the meantime, Billy kept up a search for even a sniff of a gun deal around Detroit. She hoped he would turn up some merchandise soon. Until then, she tracked Conn.

A slight breeze dislodged the shroud-like nicotine cloud that had settled over her head and shoulders. Again the hawk shrieked. Something was building. Was it a warning?

Tazia crouched back down and waited.