The Dead Ones - Nightshift

It’ll be all right. Keep walking. Enjoy the night air. The pain? It’ll pass. And if it doesn’t? Well, there wasn’t a whole lot that could be done. Last thing he remembered was Silas Trench’s knife. As best as he could tell, he was dead.

Up ahead, Silas Trench walked with the look of a man on a mission. He glanced over his shoulder at Will. His purple‑veined face glowed in the dark.

—So, er, what are we doing then, Silas?

—You’ll see.

Will looked around. Whitlock. Still there. Despite being dead. Darkness wrapped around everything, punctured by the sodium glow of streetlights and the brighter rectangles from the few buildings that still had people in them.

Silas headed for the bridge. The one in the middle of town. It crossed the river Whitlock. Old, built of vast stone blocks.

There was one thing Will noticed.

He couldn’t see them. The dead. He’d spent his whole life being bothered by the deceased. Now? Not a spectral being anywhere. He finally asked.

—Silas?

—What?

—Why can’t I see them anymore?

—You haven’t earned the right.

—Er, okay. So, what are—

—You will earn the right again. Tonight.

—Right. How?

—The ceremony.

—Not sure I like the sound of that.

Silas said nothing. Kept walking. Will hurried to catch up.

—Why do you need me to see them again?

—So you can fulfil your role.

—Role? What role?

—The Warden.

—Warden? Of what?

Silas stopped. They’d reached the bridge. The river below looked as black as oil.

—I’m the necromancer, Will. My job is to ensure fair treatment of those passed. And to ensure the future aligns.

—Right. Cool. What does a warden do?

—Removes those that serve no purpose.

—Eh? You’ll have to explain—

—If I decide a soul cannot cross, you will dispose of them.

—Ah, right. And you base that on—

—Their contribution during their lifetime.

—Right. Let’s not forget. You stuck a big fuck‑off knife in my chest—

—You were failing in your role.

—As a what?

—Living Warden. A guide. That’s all you had to do. You failed. You treated them like pests.

—I never got the memo.

Silas didn’t answer. He was watching a group of young people approaching the bridge. Out on the town. Dressed to impress. Happy and laughing.

Silas pointed.

—The woman in the middle? She is your first task.

—Why?

—She has illness. We cannot let her cross.

—Cross?

—The bridge. And into the afterlife.

—Why? What’s she done?

—She has a weak heart. Those with medical conditions do not serve the future of human existence. You will remove her.

—Er, right. How?

Silas produced, from under his coat, a long blade. Like the one he’d stuck into Will’s chest.

—With this.

—Hang on. Let me get this right. You want me to walk over and stab her with this knife.

—Yes. But when she is on the bridge. That is the spectral crossing.

—Why don’t you do it?

Will’s chest warmed. Then burned. Like he was in a raging fire. Pain shot up into his skull. Burning, fiery pain. He gasped and staggered.

—Your ending will be eternal. So you must pass the task of the wardenship. Your damnation will lift at that point.

—Oh. Hang on…

Will focused on the group. The young woman in the middle was Sally from work. TopByte Software Ltd.

—No fucking way, Silas. I know her.

—So?

—I’m not murdering my friend—

—Murder? You think that’s what this is?

—Er, well doh. It’s sounding an awful lot like it—

—It’s the release.

—Mate, you can call it all the fancy names you like. It’s murder.

—NO.

The pain spiked again. Rising.

—Do it. Now.

He had the blade in his hand. The group was on the bridge. Silas stepped forward. Will felt his feet move. No choice.

—I will release more if you are too slow, Will.

Silas had his own blade out. It caught the streetlights.

—What?

—I will take innocents until you act. I have no choice.

The burning got worse. Then Silas struck. A young man. Nearest Sally. Silas’s blade severed his neck. Blood sprayed high into the air.

—DO IT NOW. RELEASE HER.

—Fuck it!

He charged. Lifted the blade. Thrust it forward. At Sally, as she turned to see what was wrong with the young man who was falling.

His stroke was good. More by luck than judgment. As Sally turned, her chest opened up and his blade went in clean. He felt it pass through the thin material of her blouse, puncture her flesh, and bury itself in her heart.

She collapsed.

Silas stood over her. Nodded.

—They have released her. Next time, don’t hesitate.

—Why did you kill the young fella?

—Had to. A scheduled release must occur. Otherwise the timeline is out of kilter.

—This is so fucked up.

—Were you a religious man?

—No.

—Well, then. You know death has no happy ending. For anyone.

—Er, yeah.

—Well, our work is to ensure humanity continues to thrive. By preserving those that pass into the space‑time continuum. Their souls literally help fill the gaps. They hold reality together.

—That’s deep.

—Yes. You will come to develop an understanding.

—And who decides all this? God?

Silas roared with laughter.

—Who? I thought you said you never believed the fairy tales?

—I didn’t.

—Well then. God! Ha!

—Who then?

—I’m not answering that until you have served for longer.

They stood on the bridge. Will watched the oily water of the river. Trying to process that he’d just stuck a blade into the chest of a woman he liked. A lot.

—Why don’t I feel anything?

—The dead don’t have feelings. Especially not those in service.

Will said nothing.

—What now?

—This is the night shift. There will be souls passing over.

—I’ll see them?

—You will now.

Will looked over at the town. Most building lights were off. He looked back at Sally’s body. She looked peaceful. Serene, even.

The young man had a silent scream etched into his death mask.

—Work faster next time. You’ll save the innocents, said Silas.