Nightstruck - Jenna Black Page 0,71
this almost-contact.
A little while later the sound of approaching sirens pierced the noise from outside, and the heavy metal went silent.
“See you tomorrow!” Piper shouted.
She and her new friends ran away before the police cars arrived.
* * *
My dad is the most awesome police commissioner Philadelphia has ever had, and I don’t think I’m being totally biased when I say that. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the city had turned into some kind of lawless war zone, considering what was happening at night, but my dad—admittedly with a lot of help—was keeping things running. I honestly don’t know how he was managing it when our police department was so overwhelmed, but he was keeping the peace, even though the problems kept mounting.
Despite extensive testing, the CDC had yet to find any evidence of disease in their volunteer subjects, but the federal government had no intention of lifting the quarantine. Every road leading out of the city was blockaded, the train stations were all closed, and the airport, too. Schools were closed indefinitely, as were many businesses. Most stores and restaurants—those that could get supplies, at least—stayed open during the daylight hours, but having to close in time for the four o’clock curfew meant they weren’t making a whole lot of money.
During the daylight hours the city was relatively peaceful, thanks in part to the significant increase in the police presence. There were protests against the quarantine, of course, but they were civilized and orderly, without the rioting and chaos the doomsayers kept predicting. People were frustrated and scared and desperate for answers—who could blame them?—but so far no one seemed to think violence was the answer.
The nights, however, were a different story altogether.
The city changed more and more every time the sun went down, those changes becoming less and less subtle until everyone in the city could see them—and yet still no one could capture anything on camera. Statues rose from their places and roamed the city streets, thirsty for blood and violence. The facades of some buildings appeared to be made up of yellowing bones or reptilian scales, chain-link fences sprouted teeth, parking meters turned into fanged heads on sticks, door knockers turned into grotesque gargoyles …
I didn’t see most of these changes with my own eyes, because I wouldn’t dream of setting foot outside once the sun went down. But I heard about them from my dad and from the news, and some of them I could even see through the windows of my nice, safe home. There was a big metal vent on the roof of the dry cleaner across the street, and I saw it change into something that resembled a sea serpent, then snatch a perching pigeon in its jaws.
The changes were always external. The insides of houses and businesses retained their mundane daytime forms even while their outsides morphed. That was the good news—it seemed that as long as you stayed inside, the magic couldn’t touch you. Its creations might scratch at your door or tap on your windows to terrify you, but they couldn’t seem to get in.
The bad news was that a lot of the people who disappeared over those first couple of nights turned up again, changed like Piper. They took to the streets the moment the sun went down, and they were as deadly as any of the magical constructs. Whatever conscience they had had as ordinary human beings had clearly died. They traveled in packs, and unlike the constructs, they had no problem with going inside. They broke into stores and took what they wanted. They broke into houses and brutalized the inhabitants, invariably leaving them dead. They formed human blockades to stop ambulances and emergency vehicles from getting to where they were needed. The media started referring to them as the Nightstruck, and the name stuck.
Even with all the help the National Guard could give them, the police force was stretched thin as thin can be at night. They mostly left the magical mayhem alone—how do you stop something like a ten-foot-tall bronze statue with fangs from going wherever the hell it wants, whenever it wants?—but they did their best to protect homes and businesses from the packs of Nightstruck.
It was a dangerous job, more like combat in a war zone than ordinary police duty. Despite their best precautions, officers were killed and injured every single night, so that every day the force was just that much thinner. My dad was lucky if he got home four