Episode 5: Silent Dawn (Part 2)
This is part 2 of 2, read part 1 here.
Wolfram & Hart’s newest intern shuffled her papers looking slightly nervous. Gunn smiled encouragingly at her from across the conference table. He realised that being Spike’s secretary was probably a pretty relaxed position; after all, it seemed to give her free time for boundless research, even with Harmony’s distractions, and attending an actual meeting in an actual - well, okay, trashed - conference room was probably a lot more stressful. The red stains on the carpet and the lingering smell probably weren’t making it any easier. Spike was sitting next to Dawn twirling a pen between his fingers, dropping it regularly, and Illyria beside him sat motionless, blank gaze fixed in the middle distance. Gunn felt slightly unnerved - as common a sight as Illyria was becoming, combining Fred’s familiar looks with her inescapably alien demeanour still gave him the creeps. He looked away, straight into Wesley’s eyes, and in that moment recognised the same feelings. He was glad of an excuse to turn his head when the door slid aside to admit Coral, who slipped into a seat at the far end from the hastily boarded window, followed a few seconds later by Angel wearing his trademark scowl. But it was Coral’s face which caught Gunn’s attention; she clearly hadn’t slept, and there was the faintest trace of a dark smear under her eye - Has she been crying? His train of thought was interrupted by Angel, seating himself at the top of the table and spreading his hands impatiently to its opposite corners.
“What do we have?” he asked.
“I’ve analysed the blood I was able to, erm, take off the sidewalk,” Coral began, her voice sounding tired, “There are traces of a pharmaceutical compound which appears to cause serious neurological effects. It attacks the neurones in the subject’s brain, causing unbelievable pain and the triggering of the most primitive aggressive, destructive impulses even in creatures which were... pretty primitive to begin with.” She tailed off, and Gunn soon realised he was the only one still looking at her - the bloodshot eyes probably signified nothing but overwork to the others - they weren’t exactly unusual around this table, but he couldn’t get the image of Coral’s face after the attack out of his mind, or ignore niggling suspicions; still little more than gut instinct. He tried to dismiss them - Angel was speaking again.
“OK, so he was out of his mind. Why was he out of his mind here?”
“A targeted assault by an enemy,” said Illyria. It wasn’t a question or suggestion, but a conclusion.
“Maybe someone just pointed a loose cannon our way.” Wesley suggested.
“Either way, be good to know if there are any more cannons to point,” Gunn said.
“Might be able to help you there, Charlie Boy” Spike replied, grinning smugly, “My glamorous assistant has been a bit of a bookworm.”
“Dawn?” Angel’s prompt was encouraging. Smiling nervously she pulled out a sheet from her pile of papers.
“I did some checking on incidents that have come in through our 911 tap and the psychics downstairs,” she began, talking quickly even for her, “and I noticed there was a load of reports all centred round the same district, a big warehouse off East Mission Street. I figured it might just be a vamp nest or whatever, but then I heard one of the 911 calls, guy was a total nutjob, blamed it on the CIA, but sounded a lot like the same sort of thing that gutted your demon guy, all crazy and cut up and foaming at the mouth.”
“Score one for my team,” Spike grinned and twirled the pen again.
“And how, exactly, did you contribute?” Angel asked, annoyed.
“We’re gonna need to take this psycho out; figure our standard level of violence might not cut it” Gunn interrupted.
“There’s nothing in the compound that makes the subject physically more resilient,” said Coral from her end of the table, “But they probably don’t feel any pain, or it’s interpreted as positive signals by their brains.”
“Sweet. Any chance this nest is 21 floors up?” Spike asked, glancing at the damaged window.
“Regardless, we’re heading out at sundown,” Angel said decisively, “Can’t let it kill any more people.”
“So we’re hoping to tire it out by letting it kill us?” Spike
“Buffy used a rocket launcher one time,” Dawn suggested brightly. Angel seemed to wince at the memory. “Yeah... I was there,” he said.
“Didn’t she shoot you with a crossbow?” Spike asked, mock innocently, smirking at Angel’s irritated expression.
“Bit of extra hardware might not be a bad plan,” Gunn steered the two vampires back onto topic with a nod of the head to the gaping hole in the back wall of the office. The possibility of facing another of the creatures who had crashed through that glass wall wasn’t an enticing one, but he could imagine the carnage it would be doing to an undefended city. “I’ll see what I can rustle up.”
*
A great cornfield stretched out before him beneath a midnight sky, and Angel span around in panic, looking for a way out, only to discover it went on for miles in every direction, six-foot plants extending as far as he could see. He stood in a clearing not more than a dozen feet across where the Earth was barren and poorly drained. The field was silent except for the continual rustle of the crops in the wind, giving the swaying effect of a rippling sea. This was not a friendly place.
He heard movement to his left only a second before a man burst into view, skidding to a halt as he came upon the clearing and saw Angel. He looked around wildly, clearly petrified, though Angel could barely make out his face in the darkness. The man began to take a cautious step closer, and suddenly burst into flames, screaming.
There came a sharp knocking, and Angel’s eyes snapped open, the dream instantly forgotten. He was sitting in his high-backed desk chair, and must have dozed off for a few minutes. The lights were off, and he looked out at the sunset over Los Angeles, reflected in the mirror-finished office blocks that spread like glass and concrete mountains. It had felt almost nostalgic, brooding in the semi darkness on a problem they and their ever morally suspect corporation had not, for once, contributed to causing.
“Angel?” The voice, soft and friendly came from the door behind him. He turned and saw Nina standing silhouetted against the bright fluorescent lights of the lobby. “Figured I’d find you in the dark someplace,” she said, a slight grin playing around her mouth. She walked over to the light switch and flicked it on. She gasped slightly at the wreckage of the conference room beyond the sliding doors as Angel slipped an arm around her. “What happened?!” she asked, looking up at him.
Angel ignored the question, sliding his hand down her upper arm affectionately. “Not that it isn’t good to see you, but-“ he started
“What am I doing here?” Nina anticipated, and blushed slightly, “Erm, Dawn called me. Seemed to think you might like a visit.”
Angel smiled “She wasn’t wrong.” He saw Nina’s eyes straying to the broadsword propped against the table, the throwing axes scattered on the chair. A faint wisp of worry crossed her face, and she sighed.
“I’m guessing you’re about to rush off on a violent quest for truth, justice, and the American way, that it has something to do with your redecoration,” She said, gesturing to take in the conference room, “That it’s extremely dangerous and that you’ll refuse to take one of your overpaid and underworked tactical units with you.”
“I don’t trust them, they’re an unstable element in a dangerous situation,” Angel replied. What I mean is: I can’t control them, he thought. And they’re a constant reminder of everything that’s wrong with us being here. They had tried to kill a small boy just a year ago, to complete their ‘mission’. At any cost. Justification for the ‘greater good’ was a subject only too close to home of late. After all, aren’t we ‘changing the system from the inside’? Somehow, at this moment, this almost made him laugh out loud.
Nina turned to face him, touching him, close enough that he could have smelt her, even without his keen vampire senses, and she smiled. “Still the champion?” She asked.
“You don’t actually get days off.” He smiled back; somehow her touch, her scent, had calmed him. It was always easier with her, the damsel in distress he’d helped, and ended up getting the girl - a simple story, white knights and princesses, no ethical quagmire to cloud it. Except that ever present necessity to avoid getting too content...
Not much chance of that, in this place.
Angel glanced over his shoulder at the skyline. The last glow was disappearing beneath the far buildings and it was night on the streets. Time to go to work, he thought. He opened his mouth to say something reassuring to Nina, to explain why it was so damned important that he walked away from her again, but she shook her head slightly and winked. She slipped away from him, walked over to the desk, picked up the broadsword and handed it to him by the hilt. Grateful for the unspoken understanding, Angel seized the sword and pushed the axes into his belt. As he strode out of the office he was joined by Spike and Illyria from his right hand side, both similarly armed. They headed for the lifts, to meet Gunn on the parking level. Hopefully he’s managed to get us a real advantage, Angel thought as the doors closed.
“That’s it?!” Spike was incredulous,
“When you said you could rustle up some hardware, Charles, I have to admit I was expecting something a bit more...” Wesley tailed off.
“Hard wearing?” Spike suggested.
“Hey!” Gunn snapped, indignantly.
He jumped down from the cab and surveyed the unimpressed faces before him. Behind him was his old truck, fully kitted out with wooden spears and stake gun, and sporting a new coat of gun metal grey. “Kept me and mine safe for years, got some of my best dustings on this baby.” Gunn continued proudly, running his hand along the doorframe. If he was honest, he’d expected his secret weapon to slightly underwhelm the others, but having the old girl back in action made all the difference to him. He beamed at his audience and jumped back into the driver’s seat. Angel selected a car from his motor pool lined up along the wall of the parking garage and Wesley and Illyria joined him. Spike gave a slight shrug and climbed into the passenger side of the truck cab, jamming a large axe on top of the dashboard. “Let’s go, counsellor,” he said grimly.
The Alhambra streets were dark - spotted only occasionally with feeble streetlamps - and empty. It was never exactly bustling here once the sun went down, and stories of a monster over and above the city’s usual undead tourist trade wouldn’t help. The only noise was the distant drone of the city, and the crunching of tires on grit as two vehicles crawled along, the occupants nervously scanning the buildings and alleys between them for signs of movement. In his mirror, Gunn could see Illyria in the car behind, stock still, her head cocked on one side - listening, he thought.
The buildings here came right to the edge of the road, which was strewn with litter and industrial debris. Gunn’s attention was caught by one of the large doors embedded in the brickwork of an abandoned looking warehouse, its windows broken and its painted sign neglected. The door was slightly ajar and he was sure he’d spotted a fleeting movement behind it. He touched the gas and drew the van alongside the gap, the view inside all but lost in shadows. He squinted into the darkness, where something shifted, when a pair of eyes suddenly lit up in the headlights of Angel’s car.
“There!” Gunn yelled, at the same moment Spike shouted “I see it!”
“Nine o’clock,” Gunn warned, and Spike snorted next to him.
“That’s three o’clock, genius, might have thrown that in with the contract law-“
Spike stopped, and in a moment of mutual realisation, their eyes met, horrified. Both looked out over the other’s shoulder, and Gunn saw a figure crouching beside a dumpster not 10 feet from Spike’s door. Crouching? More like prowling, predatory, ready to strike, he thought.
“Oh... Bugger.” Spike exclaimed.
A second later the surprise left them, and Gunn flung himself out of the driver’s door and deftly clambered into the back of the truck, pulling the tarpaulin from the stake gun with well practiced precision. Spike grabbed his axe from the dashboard as the creature to his right hurried forward, and threw the cab door open violently, flooring the demon on impact. The momentary stalemate broken, the demon in the warehouse door charged out of the darkness, roaring as it came at them.
Angel and Wesley rushed to meet it, weapons at the ready, Illyria heading towards Spike.
“There’s more than one of them!” Wesley shouted.
“Thanks English, got that.” Gunn replied, swinging the mounted gun around and planting two stakes through the demon’s chest, each the size of a fence post. The force of the blow threw it backwards against the warehouse door with a resounding clang, yet not a flicker of pain showed on its torn and blood-spattered face.
Spike was squaring up to his opponent now, gripping the axe tightly as the demon before him snarled, jerking its head manically between its challengers. Gunn tried to get a shot in to take it down but the dumpster and bent door of the cab blocked his firing line.
“Gunn!”
The call brought his attention back to Angel and Wesley, warily facing the demon he had staked which was, slowly but determinedly, clawing its way back to a standing position as they watched, incredulous. “Now that’s just not natural” he said, squeezing the trigger again. With a jolt and a tear of fatigued metal, the mechanism snapped, sending a recoiling steel wire flying over his shoulder and dropping the next stake onto the truck’s roof with a clatter. Damn, should’ve tested that, he thought, grabbing an axe of his own and vaulting the side of the truck.
As he charged towards the demon he caught a glimpse of a blond haired figure crashing to the ground hard to his left, a heavy axe skittering away across the tarmac. He raised his own weapon and swung, sensing Angel striking beside him with a broadsword. The demon grabbed both weapons and flung them high in the air, taking their owners with them before they thudded back to earth. Pain shot through Gunn’s right side, and for a second he lay there, dazed. He saw Wesley hit the tarmac beside him, and glanced up, the enraged animal face glaring down at him, two wooden spears still protruding from his chest. Abruptly, amongst the pain a fragment of an idea formed. Before he’d even realised, he was yelling,
“Angel - pull,” and reached up and grabbed the stake nearest to him. Angel, catching on quickly, wrapped an arm around the other. Seeing him take hold, Gunn pulled sideways with every ounce of his strength, and beside him he could feel Angel doing the same, in the opposite direction. With a sickening, wrenching sound the stakes tore free, leaving hideous gashes behind and torrents of blood, splashing Gunn’s arm with warm scarlet. The shock registered for a second on the demon’s face and then he fell, his eyes glazed before he hit the floor.
Gunn knelt, panting, wincing at the pain in his side and faintly nauseous from the smell of the demon’s broken body. He willed himself to stand, pick up the axe, help the others. He reached for the axe handle on his uninjured side and his fingers closed around it. Pushing on it like a crutch he heaved himself to a standing position, just in time to see the head of the second demon roll to a stop a few paces away. He looked up, surprised, to see the demon’s body still standing beside the truck and, comically superimposed from his perspective, Illyria’s expressionless face where its head should have been. The body crumpled revealing her, standing feet apart, her sword shining in the headlights. Gunn was struck with the absurd notion that she looked very much like a movie poster and he began to laugh, relief washing over him. The others were picking themselves up too, dusting themselves down and nursing injuries.
He hobbled towards the truck and threw his axe into the back, about to reach for the cab door when Wesley shouted a warning. Before Gunn could react, he was hit from behind with the full force of a flying leap. Thrown forwards, arms trapped by the attacker on his back, his head smacked into the side of the truck. His skull seeming to explode with pain, Gunn dropped to the ground as his assailant tore away. The world was spinning, out of focus, and he barely registered the blurred figures all around him, the shouts, the clash of weapons. He felt the truck shake - had something else hit it? A new growl joined the din, deep and rhythmic, and now the truck was moving, its engine roaring as it gripped the road inches from Gunn’s fingers and sped forwards. The world swam back into focus in time for him to hear a screech and a loud thud which seemed to silence the cacophony instantly. Head still throbbing, he propped himself onto an elbow and peered around. Angel and Wesley were hurrying towards him, and Spike was stepping down from the cab, a self-satisfied grin on his face. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his lighter, lit a cigarette, and blew the smoke casually over the corpse of a third demon, impaled on one of the truck’s sharpened beams.
“Not a rocket launcher,” he called to Gunn, “But I see why you like her.”
*
The Humvee rattled through the jungle path, tearing through creepers, trampling smaller plants and sending flocks of birds skyward. It wasn’t yet light, and the brilliant white headlamps pierced the pre-dawn gloom before them, catching the eyes of a dozen small creatures which scuttled away into the trees. Coral sat in the back, gripping tightly onto a metal bar beneath the small window. On the other side sat Bill, who looked very queasy from the white-knuckle ride through dense jungle, and between them, two unloaded rifles clattered in their rack. Coral had always thought it strange that the Army would choose these things to get about in down here - the paths were worn by people, animals, the odd scooter; patently not for anything this wide or heavy.
This time, though, her thoughts were not on the ride. The team which had been sent to the village, carrying large quantities of her serum, had not made contact for nearly three hours. Scenarios flashed through her mind, but none seemed adequate. Even if the serum hadn’t worked, these creatures weren’t that dangerous, not compared to some the teams had faced over the last couple of years. Anyway, she was certain the serum would have worked. Perhaps the team had chased the creatures away from the village and pursued them into the trees, forgetting to radio in their intentions. She pursed her lips as the vehicle jerked over another bump in the dirt road - she couldn’t pretend that that was likely, even to herself. In the front seat, Colonel Jasper, dressed in fatigues in sharp contrast to his pressed and ironed appearance in the briefing room, was staring out of the side window, drumming his fingers on the doorframe. Coral found herself staring at the stylised eagle on his collar, and the way it caught the bouncing light when they went over a pothole, her mind elsewhere.
The journey seemed to go on forever, bumping along endless identical paths between indistinguishable walls of dense green, but eventually the Humvee broke through the tree line into a clearing. Outside the cover of the jungle the first rays of morning sun shone over the canopy, very bright in this part of the world, silhouetting the trees against a cloudless sky. Coral squinted into it as she stepped from the vehicle, shielding her eyes as they adjusted.
Still sure she couldn’t see properly, she rubbed her eyes hard - what she’d seen as the glare diminished was impossible, it was fear, the remnants of the mental images from the ride through the darkness. She smiled, ready to laugh at her own paranoia, and opened her eyes again. The smile died on her lips. Before her the village was laid out in the clearing, and not a soul was moving. Smoke from the embers of a dozen fires wisped around the debris of collapsed roofs, torn shreds of tattered cloth fluttered like forlorn flags over broken fences and caved in walls, and everywhere she looked she could see people, still as in a photograph, their light coloured clothes coloured with deep red.
For what seemed like whole minutes, the four of them stood rooted, the impact of the macabre scene sinking in. For the first time in two years Coral realised there was complete silence all around her - not a bird, nor the call of an animal disturbed the eerie dawn. Even the rustle of the branches seemed muted, impossibly distant.
All of a sudden Jasper was moving, in his element, issuing orders - calling the base for medics to follow their route, sending the driver ahead to scout for the missing team, barking instructions into his radio handset. Coral found herself moving forwards, walking, then running, panic rising inside her. She sprinted into the village, hearing Bill behind her, calling her name. But she didn’t stop, couldn’t stop. The image of Alunya burned in her mind, his tearfully grateful eyes staring into hers as she ran between buildings, stumbling to check the people she passed. Dead, dead, dead. One alive, barely.
She was heading for the largest hut in the centre of the village, set inside a large circle of white stones. Her pre-assignment training course flashed into her mind - unsecured environment, uncleared building, possible hostiles - find cover, wait for a fire team. The drills had seemed so sensible, so proper then; after all, what business did a pharmacologist from Boston on the cusp of middle age have interfering in military matters? She felt a chill go down her spine - the irony wasn’t lost on her, but an illogical impulse had taken hold of her - if she could find this one man, her one connection to these people, perhaps it would be OK, perhaps... he could forgive her.
She pulled aside the drape covering the entrance to Alunya’s home and stepped inside. Sun poured through the damaged roof, creating a puddle of light on the floor. Coral walked into the room slowly, peering into the shadows around its edge. Suddenly, she slipped and fell hard on her knee, catching herself with an outstretched hand. The floor was wet, and as she held out her hand to the light she saw it was dripping with bright scarlet. A few feet from where she had landed she could make out the crumpled form of an old man, dressed in white, and clutching the pale form of a young girl, perfectly still, her hair matted with blood.
“It was him?” Gunn’s voice broke her silence. Coral realised she’d trailed off, and looked up from her hands to meet his eyes. Where she’d expected shock, or an accusatory stare, she saw only compassion on his bruised face.
“It was him, his daughter too.” She continued. “All told, there were twenty-three survivors when we arrived, it dropped to fourteen who actually recovered.”
“Your soldiers?” Gunn asked.
“They were killed at the nest, only a few minutes after they used the serum. It drove the demons crazy, hyped their aggressiveness, their pain resilience, their- well, you know as well as anyone.” Coral saw Gunn’s reaction to the description - he’d seen exactly what her handiwork did the night before. He’d cornered her on her way in this morning, and he knew. She couldn’t explain how, or why the others hadn’t picked up on it, but he knew, and somehow once she’d started telling the story, it had flowed out of her, facts, feelings, the moments that never made it into her reports. The young lawyer was a good listener, and she couldn’t help feeling there was something in her story he understood, perhaps a story of his own beneath the façade - he was the only lawyer she knew who’d be wearing that hoodie.
“After they took out the team, they turned on the village. Before, they’d carried off two, maybe three people when they attacked; always people alone, under cover of night. But with my serum, they were insatiably violent. In a few short hours there just wasn’t anyone left.” She paused, and when she continued her voice was soft, quiet. “It was supposed to all but neutralise the demons, make them lethargic, sluggish, reduce their natural defences almost to nothing. Instead, I made animals into monsters.”
“You made a mistake,” Gunn started.
“That’s what Jasper said.” Coral interrupted. “That’s what all the military types said. Couldn’t have foreseen it, things go wrong, not your fault. Shame it doesn’t really work that way, isn’t it?” She asked. “Someone’s almost always to blame for the worst things that happen, and in this case it was me. I wanted to be something I wasn’t, a great research scientist, respected expert, hell, I had a whole village crowning me their saviour. It’s a lot for a person to turn down, even when they know they should march right up to the boss and say ‘I’m not good enough, I can’t do this, I need more time’. I didn’t do that, and a lot of people died.”
This time it was Gunn who let the silence hang. When she looked up at him again he was staring out of the enormous windows over the city, lit by midday sun.
“Charles?” she ventured. His expression when he turned back to her spoke volumes.
“Got a pretty good idea what that feels like,” he said, and became very engrossed in tearing corners from a memo. Coral understood an unspoken invitation to continue.
“The Army needed to assign blame, of course, and I was an obvious and willing target. Bill was quite happy to stand up and list every failing I’d ever made, and I can’t say I blame him. Long story short,” She started, smiling slightly at the expression; she’d been talking for over an hour, “I was dispatched to the lab of a deep cover civilian sub-contractor where the Army could deny my existence and I could deny... that morning.”
“The Initiative.” Gunn supplied. Coral nodded,
“LA branch. That is, until your in-house undead Billy Idol took the place apart.” She smiled slightly to let him know she was joking. “By the sounds of this place though, I’m not the only one with a sordid tale to tell.”
“Oh, you don’t know the half of it.” Gunn said, flashing her a smile of his own.
“Do I get to hear your half of it?” She asked kindly. Part of her didn’t want to know - Charles seemed nice, friendly - perhaps his secrets were better buried. But in a bizarre way this was what was maddening: he shouldn’t be friendly after that story, after her mistakes followed her to his city. Either he hadn’t been listening, or there was genuine understanding there. Gunn looked her in the eye for a second, and then looked away again, out across the skyscrapers.
“When I know how to tell it,” he replied.
~+~
6.05: Silent Dawn, of Angel: Still Falling, written by Monotone and edited by Out For Bloody Summer, is original work copyright 2009. Please seek permission from the authors before distributing, and only do so on the condition that the original text and this notice are intact and no charge or fee of any description is levied for it. "Angel" and all related properties are trademarks of and copyright 20th Century Fox Television, Mutant Enemy, Kuzui Enterprises, Sandollar Television, and David Greenwalt Productions. The authors are not connected in any way with the copyright owners. No copyright infringement is intended or implied by this non-commercial exercise. All characters and events depicted here are entirely fictitious, which is probably a good thing. Hope you enjoyed the show, all comments welcome, but please see the extended setup blog for our policies on replying. This episode is the last of our initial run of five - the next block will start being posted, well, as soon as it's ready! (which, if you've been paying attention since block 1 was first announced, should coincide with the televised Angel: The 25th Anniversary Special ;-) ) Stay tuned!
