《LITTLE GREEN MEN》


 Prologue

    Garret stared at the night sky and prayed for death. His head felt heavy, almost a burden to lift, the pain in his temples coming in spasmic contractions. His mind was weary and fuzzy; his thoughts formed, then tumbled into oblivion. When he tried to remember what had happened to him, that weird tingling would start behind his eyes. Like something inside his head. Something talking inside his head.


    No need to fuss about that, Garrett. All is well.


    With difficulty, he looked to the right, toward where he had heard the voice only a moment ago. This voice had been a real one, made from someone other than whatever was living inside his head. It was getting dark, the twilight gloom thickening, which made seeing difficult. But someone was near.


    He rolled his head back to its prone position and concentrated once again on the stars, nestled in the fabric of deep blue sky, high above the orange and purple hues near the horizon. It was a perfectly clear evening, the kind where it almost seemed plausible to reach your hand out and pluck one of the twinkling orbs right out of space. It was a childlike vision, but he held fast to it, didn¡¯t want it to drift away like his memories.


    When he attempted to raise his arm, Garret frowned at the strain. He was stiff, as though he had been in the same position for an extended time. Again, he tried but his arm fell back at his side with a soft pat.


    Wait, no¡­that wasn¡¯t right.


    Remember, you don¡¯t have arms any longer.


    Oh, right. No arms, at least not in the traditional sense. It just felt like they were still there, like they used to be. Technically, they were there, just different. Longer, broader. Better, he supposed.


    As his swollen tongue moved across cracked lips, Garret realized the severity of his dehydration. His throat felt as if he had been gargling with sand. When he coughed, tiny, sharp fragments embedded themselves into the walls of his esophagus and the roof of his mouth. Garret winced. Must¡¯ve come from his lungs, but they felt like thorns.


    He pondered over this troubling thought. Are there thorns in my lungs?


    Garrett inspected the fragments with his tongue and the resulting contact produced a grating noise, as though the surface of the malleable muscle was coated with coarse fibers of its own. He tested this assumption by pressing this bizarre, new tongue against his palate and grumbled when the firm bristles dug into flesh.


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    Tasting blood, Garret raised his head, allowing gravity to assist in his swallowing. When he did this, he became aware of a peculiar sensation in the rear of his scalp; he could feel something attached to it. It moved with his head. A part of it. For a moment, he wished his arms and hands were like before, so he could reach up and feel around his scalp. Craning his neck produced tension against the restraint fixed to his skull and for the first time, Garret heard the creaking sound of stress applied to the mysterious tether. From this sound, he discerned that it must be¡­woody in nature. Some sort of tough vine, perhaps? That didn¡¯t seem to make sense, but that¡¯s what it sounded like. He lurched forward and a shockwave of pain erupted from where the thing was secured to his head. He immediately loosened the slack and the discomfort subsided.


    ¡°What is this?¡± Garret mumbled to himself.


    What had happened? Why was he so different than he¡¯d been? Even his voice, with its gruff nature, was altered. Then again, his recollection of what his voice had been like was misty at best. When he attempted to hone in on this memory of his former self, it, like the others, fell away into nothingness.


    Garret again sought the stars for comfort and found them in the night sky. Yet he only now realized the irregular perspective from which he viewed the nocturnal heavens. He became aware of the angle that gravity tugged at him and found that he was not lying on the ground as he had thought. Instead, he was upright, his back against a wall, staring through a massive cavity in what was once the interior of a house, but was now a mangled mess.


    All but a portion of the roof was gone. Broken rafters hung like thick, black splinters. A deformed brick chimney jutted into the sky like the headless spine of some prehistoric beast. There was a small table in the room, just ahead of him. To the left stood a refrigerator and across from that, an oven.


    The kitchen, he thought. My kitchen.


    Behind Garret was a solid wall. If he fidgeted too much, tiny bits of drywall fell to the floor. This concerned him and he figured he had better remain still. Too much movement might cause the entire wall to collapse and then the approaching voice would have no one to visit.


    The voice¡­who did it belong to? It sounded so familiar. He listened again, more intently this time. The lone voice became two, then five¡­then a dozen or more. Focusing, Garrett could almost feel the voices. They were many¡­far off but approaching.


    A multitude.


    The thought was forgotten, and Garrett¡¯s head became heavy again, causing him to drop it, at least as far as the tether would allow. He saw that his legs were restrained by something, but because the vine on his head limited mobility, he was unable to lower his vision enough to see the limbs. When he tried to move them, the legs refused. It was as if they had been rendered completely useless. He tried again and as he thrust his hips forward, trying to force the limbs from their stationary state, more drywall crumbled to the floor.


    The legs would not budge.


    A crippling sense of claustrophobia seized the man and a panicked cry escaped him. Trembling, his heart pounding out powerful beats, Garret realized that he wasn¡¯t merely secured to the wall. He was one with it.

 Chapter 1

    Beyond the airlock, outside the silo, Alex Dash monitored the storm. It was 1:42 a.m. Wearing his bio suit, and his rifle at the ready, he eased away from the protection of the roofed entrance to the bunker and stepped into the gale. It was powerful, nudging him slightly off-balance. Nearby trees rocked and swayed. The wind thrashed the tall grasses surrounding the airfield, once an active military base. That was long ago, before the world turned to shit.


    Debris was tossed into the air and scattered along the abandoned, weed-strewn runways. Alex held his gloved hand out and allowed the storm to pelt him with tiny seeds. They bounced off his clear visor like grains of sand. The air was inundated with them.


    He would not even be out here if the antennae hadn¡¯t come loose. Without it, he would be unable to properly identify possible air pollutants and losing that capability meant never leaving the silo. And to Alex, never leaving the silo meant a slow spiral into insanity.


    After reattaching and reinforcing the antennae to the outside of the bunker, Alex retreated to the airlock, never turning his back to the swirling landscape beyond. There was no way of telling what might be lurking out among the shadows. No way of knowing if he was being watched and scrutinized by some predatory thing just out of sight. Or perhaps worse, being scouted by deranged people who would love to take the shelter as their own, maybe turn Alex into their next meal. He had seen plenty of movies depicting such behavior, and they paled in comparison to the horrors he¡¯d witnessed in real life. He knew the depravity humans were capable of when thrust into extraordinary circumstances.


    Alex punched in 2154 on the numeric keypad and the door unlocked with a mechanical ka-thunk. A buzzer sounded and he stepped inside and closed the exterior door behind him, waiting for the auditory confirmation that the locks had reengaged.


    Ka-thunk.


    He stood motionless while the airlock scanners beamed over him, a starburst of red lights from various sensors mounted to all four walls. They reminded Alex of the tiny decorative lights projected onto the neighborhood houses during Christmas. That thought lingered with him a moment and he realized that he had not properly celebrated the holiday in a very long time. He had not really kept track of the date and therefore, could only estimate the time of year. Alex knew that it was currently sometime in summer. Judging by the humidity during the daytime, he guessed it was probably late July.


    After crawling over him for five seconds and finding no trace of pollutants, the searching red lights went out and the airlock was suddenly bathed in a green glow.


    Green means go, thought Alex.


    He removed the helmet, and scrubbed his close-cropped chestnut hair, making sure none of the seeds had gotten past his protective gear. He knew they hadn¡¯t, since they were immature and therefore, soft. Had they been mature - hard thorn-like objects ¨C they might have penetrated his clothing. Still, he didn¡¯t want any brought inside the silo and so he scrubbed his hair a second time. It was just a habit to double, and sometimes triple check to be sure. A bit obsessive compulsive maybe, but he was okay with that.


    When he had removed the bio suit and was confident he would not track anything inside the bunker, he exited the airlock and stepped through the inner door, into the silo and locked it behind him. The monitor beside the door read: AIR QUALITY: 17%


    *********


    Alex sat in pitch blackness. He could not see the twins, but he could hear them breathing, still in a deep slumber. After draping his blanket across the two of them, he felt his way along the wall and stepped out into the wide, circular hallway; the shaft of the refitted missile silo. It had housed nuclear weapons during the cold war, or so the story went, before being decommissioned during the eighties. Then it had been sold off, gutted, and reimagined as a post-apocalyptic survival bunker. Now, it was home. But how it had come into his possession, he did not know. In a way, it felt as though they had always been here.


    Two landings above, he could make out the square window in the interior door, which led into the airlock. It was a shade lighter than the darkness he stood in and from his perspective seemed ethereal, as if it were a window to another world, floating in the gloom.


    If only that were true, he thought. If it were a world where things were normal, like they used to be, we¡¯d all squeeze through and leave this place.


    His boots made dull clanks as he climbed the metal stairs. When he reached the top landing, he peeked through the window. The silo¡¯s interior door was thick and heavy. Alex supposed it was made of steel, although he did not really know. It opened to the ten-foot long airlock, which, when needed, could purify heavily polluted air, and expel unwanted elements to the outside. At the end of the airlock was another heavy door. This was their buffer to the outside world and the strange things that now populated it.


    Their view was due east and as such, Alex could see that it was dawn, but that the sun had not \yet broken the horizon. Sparse, cottony clouds, a deep violet against the paling gray sky, drifted lazily from the west. As far as he could tell, the air appeared clean. Maybe they could leave the silo today.


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    Alex opened a panel in the wall adjacent to the door. He grabbed a lever and pumped it five times to activate the silo¡¯s generator, then closed the panel. At eye level was a screen that displayed a dim orange digital readout. Alex thumped the screen with his fist and the display brightened. It read, AIR QUALITY: 89%


    Alex turned the screen off to conserve energy. He followed the staircase, affixed to the curved wall of the silo, down one level. The stairs descended for three stories, although Alex and the twins only occupied the first. He did not like going all the way down; didn¡¯t even like looking all the way down. There was no other access to the silo and therefore no reason to believe that something might have gotten in and now lurked in the gloomy depths of the shaft. However, on previous trips to the bottom, the deeper he went, the greater the sense of isolation and the more severe his anxiety became.


    Reaching inside the first door to his right, Alex felt in the darkness and grabbed a small box of matches from a shelf. He struck one against the wall and the pantry burst into view: a fifteen-foot long scaffold of shelves once stacked with goods of the canned and dried variety. Alex scanned the scant selection and sighed. Their supplies had dwindled, and the time had come for them to scavenge.


    An old oil lantern sat on the second shelf. Alex had found it in a basement during one of their outings. He lit it, then noted how little fuel was left. He checked the murky hallway behind him and was relieved to find it empty. Frequently, he imagined something wicked snatching at him from the shadowed areas of the silo. Even though he checked every nook each night before they went to bed, it was a feeling he couldn¡¯t shake¡­that someone or something might find its way in here and wait for them in silence until the time was right. Suddenly remembering the weapons, Alex realized that he had left them in the bedroom. He darted from the pantry, chastising himself for his forgetfulness. It was unlike like him; he never went anywhere without the sidearm, even from room to room.


    The lantern cast dancing shadows against the wall as he entered the bedroom. The twins had not moved, and the rifle was where he had left it. He went to it and immediately felt relieved by its presence. It meant safety¡­protection. He shoved his pillow out of the way, finding the Glock 19 pistol right where it should be.


    Alex reached over and nudged his younger brother. ¡°Henry. Time to get up, buddy.¡± Then to his sister, ¡°Annabelle? Good morning. You awake?¡±


    They issued moans of displeasure. Henry sat up and yawned. ¡°What time is it? It¡¯s still dark out.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s always dark in here, bud.¡± Alex ruffled the boy¡¯s hair. ¡°Ready to start your day?¡±


    Henry nodded. ¡°Mm-hmm.¡±


    Annabelle rolled onto her belly and scooted up onto her knees. ¡°I¡¯m hungry.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± said Alex. ¡°Let¡¯s go see what we have for breakfast.¡±


    They left the bedroom holding hands. In the kitchen, Alex flipped a switch and overhead fluorescent lighting flickered, issued a low, electrical buzz, then sustained a cold, harsh light. After Alex verified once more that the first level was free of ghouls, he walked next door into the pantry.


    Skimming the shelves, Alex produced the only two breakfast offerings available the past few weeks. He brought the items into the kitchen and laid them on the square table where the twins were seated. ¡°Protein bar or applesauce. Which will it be, Annabelle?¡±


    ¡°Why does she go first?¡± asked Henry. He yawned, then corrected himself after thinking it over. ¡°Oh yeah¡­ladies first.¡±


    Alex nodded. ¡°Right, Henry. Good job.¡±


    ¡°Can I have both?¡± asked Annabelle.


    It was clear to Alex that she felt selfish asking for both the protein bar and the applesauce and he adored her for it. He smiled. ¡°Absolutely, sweetheart.¡±


    Henry¡¯s eyes lit up. ¡°Me too?¡±


    ¡°You got it, buddy.¡±


    While the children ate their breakfast, Alex poured them each a glass of water from a large jug.


    ¡°We need to get some supplies today,¡± Alex told them.


    Henry¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°You mean we¡¯re going outside?¡±


    Alex nodded.


    ¡°Yes!¡± the children shouted.


    ¡°But what about the air?¡± asked Annabelle.


    ¡°Very good, Annabelle. I do have to check the air, but it looks pretty nice out there. We always check the air first though, right?¡±


    The twins each nodded.


    ¡°And we always take our¡­?¡±


    ¡°Raincoats,¡± said Henry, crumbs spilling from his mouth.


    ¡°Don¡¯t talk with your mouth full, bud. Close, but not just raincoats.¡±


    Annabelle corrected. ¡°Rain gear.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± mumbled Henry, apparently unimpressed.


    ¡°Correct. But rain gear is only for if we get caught out in the open. If possible, we must take cover somewhere when it rains. Understood?¡± Henry and Annabelle nodded again.


    They had been through the possible scenarios dozens of times, at the least, but Alex believed in constantly reinforcing them. If for some reason he was not around, and that would likely mean he¡¯d be dead, the twins needed to know how to protect themselves.


    Henry raised his hand to ask a question and Alex called on him. ¡°How come we have to get out of the rain again?¡±


    ¡°Because¡­¡± Alex began, then turned to his sister. ¡°Annabelle, do you know why?¡±


    She crinkled her nose and tapped her chin with her index finger. ¡°Um¡­I kinda forget.¡±


    ¡°Okay. Listen to me. The rain is not always just rain, okay? Sometimes it isn¡¯t safe.¡± The children paid the utmost attention to their big brother and Alex could tell by their expressions that the information was sinking in. ¡°And we never ever¡­ever drink the rain. Got it?¡±


    ¡°Cause it could burn going down,¡± added Henry, tracing a line down his esophagus with his finger.


    ¡°Correct! Excellent Henry! It must be tested first.¡±


    ¡°I knew that too,¡± chirped Annabelle.


    Alex patted her head. ¡°I know you did, Annabelle.¡± He rose from his chair. ¡°Finish up and we¡¯ll set out.¡±


    ¡°Already? Where we going?¡±


    ¡°To the ocean,¡± said Alex. The twins looked at one another in surprise and then performed a celebratory seat-dance.


    Alex downed a protein drink, the last of a six pack they had found a while back, and gathered what little food they had to bring. He packed extra clothes, too, just in case. At the interior door, he again consulted the digital readout. The air quality had risen to 90%. He disengaged the security lock and turned the handle, pushing with all his strength. In the airlock, he and the children suited up, Alex assuring that each was completely airtight. He entered the security code into the keypad and the alarm blared its warning that the airlock was being breached.


    Outside, there was a gently breeze and the air was free of debris. Seeds from the overnight storm squished beneath their feet as they walked to the awaiting blue Ford F150. It started on the second try. With the twins buckled in, Alex accelerated, leaving a trail of dust in the pickup¡¯s wake. In the rearview mirror, He glanced at the retreating reflection of their home and wondered if it would still be theirs when they returned.

 Chapter 2

    A knock at the door. Alex sits up in bed. It is late; darkness pressing against the windows. His cell phone displays the time: 2:39 a.m. Had he really heard it? Maybe the sound had come from a dream. He waits in silence, the darkness of his bedroom hovering over him like a stalking predator.


    Alex swings his legs over the side of the bed, pressing the soles of his bare feet into the cool carpet, seeking a familiar sense of reality. He waits¡­then hears the knock again. This is not a dream. Footsteps downstairs in the foyer. The front door opens and his mother cries out. Alex jumps from his bed and rushes to the top of the stairs.


    Standing on the porch, flanked by two uniformed officers is Alex¡¯s father. The boy¡¯s heart thumps with apprehension. He wants desperately to bolt down the stairs and embrace his father but is frozen by fear. Mr. Dash looks different than the last time Alex saw him. He has been missing for two days.


    In his own blue police uniform, Alex¡¯s father seems tired and broken. Hollow, somehow. There is a pause as Mrs. Dash stands in the foyer, staring through the doorway. Emotionally overwhelmed, she drops her cell phone and it crashes to the floor. She rushes into her husband¡¯s arms and weeps.


    As they embrace, Alex watches, rooted to his place atop the staircase. Mr. Dash looks over his wife¡¯s shoulder at the boy and motions for Alex to come down.


    With watery eyes, the boy gingerly descends, as if his father might suddenly disappear again if he rushes his approach. It seems a silly idea, but it holds him hostage, nonetheless.


    Mr. Dash is crying. The sight of his father¡¯s tears encourages Alex to spill his own. The father turns, opening his arms. ¡°Hello, son.¡±


    Alex embraces his father and sobs. He is fifteen years old.


    *********


    "Not too far Annabelle," Alex called to his sister, stirred from his reverie. She skipped along the interstate with Henry running after her, darting in and out of the broken white lines along the asphalt. Alex had stopped the pickup to search some abandoned cars for any supplies. Potential threats loomed around each corner, concealed within the silken depths of every shadow, and still the children somehow found the will to play.


    Alex sometimes allowed them to do so, albeit quietly; they did not want to draw the attention of anyone that happened to be nearby. He placed his index finger against his lips, motioning for them to keep quiet and they both nodded.


    Not just anyone, Alex reminded himself. You do not want to draw the attention of anything, either.


    Any¡­thing.


    The first car, a silver Volkswagen, yielded nothing but an empty medicine bottle. The next vehicle was a dark green Chevy Silverado. Inside the cab, Alex found a small knife, the blade still sharp. No food, though. The pickup¡¯s bed held an old, deflated tire, the remnants of a wet carboard box that had nearly disintegrated and a few empty cans of Mountain Dew.


    Alex recalled his father and how different he was after returning to them. He became preoccupied with ¡°prepping,¡± by stockpiling rations of non-perishable goods. Often, he would spend weekends depositing hidden caches in the region around the family¡¯s house. Sometimes he would take Alex with him and on more than one occasion, they drove hours from home. By the time Alex was sixteen years old, his father had taught him how to deal death. A hunting rifle, equipped with a scope, had been his birthday present. Mr. Dash feverishly taught his son the techniques of a hunter: how to lure prey, track them down and how to kill them, then how to field dress that kill. He explained everything Alex would need to survive on his own and the boy eagerly digested the knowledge. In little time, Alex was targeting deer, stalking them through the forest greenery. And then came time for Alex to pull the trigger. And he did it. His father had been proud.


    His father had said to him, ¡°I¡¯m showing you this Alex, not because this is what it means to be a man¡­but because this will prepare you for the end of the world.¡±


    Clutching the rifle, Alex listened as the echo of his father¡¯s words floated across the dark, still void of his mind until at last, they were gone. What had happened to his father? Had he survived? Was he out there somewhere, searching for his children?


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    Henry chased Annabelle in a tight circle, and she giggled. Alex looked up and discovered that he was smiling and indulged in a bit of optimism. The children¡¯s joy was contagious, and he sometimes wondered if it was the only thing keeping him from giving up. Giving up would be easy, he knew. He wished to just lay down here and take a rest, let the children have their fun. He was tired and weak from improper nutrition.


    His father¡¯s voice came to him again. Easy Alex, don¡¯t let your guard down. Danger is everywhere.


    "Freeze!" Alex yelled, louder than he should have. The twins stopped in their tracks and looked back at their brother. Alex motioned for them to come closer. When they were beside him, he raised the rifle and through the scope scanned the road ahead.


    "What?" asked Annabelle.


    "Overpass."


    "Oh," she said.


    "Let''s race!" said Henry, taking a step.


    "Hey, get over here! Stay put!" Alex scolded as quietly as possible.


    Henry''s posture slumped. "Alex, why do we have to stop at every overpass?"


    "You tell me. Why is it important to be careful around them?"


    Henry shrugged.


    With raised eyebrows, Alex said, "You know why, you''re just being stubborn."


    "What''s stubborn?" asked Henry.


    Alex swept the scope left to right. There were places to take shelter everywhere in the landscape around them, but especially around man-made structures ¨C like overpasses. Places for things to hide. "It means even though you know the answer to the question I asked, you won''t tell me."


    "Oh," he said.


    Annabelle stretched her arm toward the sky and waved it back and forth. "I know why."


    Henry frowned. "Why what?"


    Annabelle sighed. "Why we have to be careful near an overpass."


    "Oh," said Henry. "Me too. But I''m stubborn." He laughed. Annabelle shot him a disapproving look, but he didn''t seem to notice.


    Focusing on the tall grass to the right of the overpass, Alex found nothing unusual besides an abandoned car, half submerged in shadow. There were two cars, one SUV on this side of the overpass, more beyond it. To the left, across the wide grass median, the oncoming lane featured several more vehicles. The road was flanked by a vast field of grass dotted with vivid yellow flowers which gave way to woodlands.


    Vehicles littered the highway. They were everywhere. Unfortunately, very few provided anything of real value.


    Annabelle made a straining sound as she stretched her arm even higher.


    "Go ahead Annabelle," Alex said.


    "We have to be careful near overpasses cause there might be others."


    "Right. And we have to be cautious around others." Turning to Henry, he continued. "Why is that?"


    Removing a finger from his nose, Henry replied, "Um, because they might be bad people?"


    "Correct. Don''t pick your nose. It''s disgusting."


    "And bad people are everywhere," added Annabelle, removing a bottle of hand sanitizer from her coat pocket. Henry chuckled as she squeezed a dollop onto his palm. ¡°Rub it in,¡± she ordered, and Henry obeyed.


    ¡°We¡¯ll have to see if the vehicles are really empty or not. Sometimes people live in them,¡± said Alex.


    ¡°I don¡¯t like that part,¡± replied Annabelle.


    ¡°Mean either,¡± added Henry, waving his arm for emphasis.


    ¡°It¡¯s me neither,¡± corrected Annabelle.


    Alex watched as the children discovered a cluster of dandelion stems and blew the seed heads into the air. As the breeze carried them away, Alex imagined the floating debris to be the essence of their childhood. Annabelle waived goodbye to the departing innocence and Henry followed her lead.


    Returning to the rifle, Alex concentrated on the median, studying the swaying grass. Satisfied that it was only the wind that moved the dry stalks, he aimed the scope toward the shadows beneath the overpass again, scrutinizing every ounce of the darkness. "Who do we trust?"


    "No one," the twins shouted.


    "Shhh! Yes, but too loud guys. We must be quieter." The twins nodded.


    Realizing that they had been stationary for a couple of minutes now, Alex¡¯s adrenaline spiked. If there was anyone hiding in the shadows of the overpass or in one of the vehicles, the three of them would stick out like a sore thumb. They moved to the shoulder of the road.


    While the children sat quietly, Alex rummaged through a sliver Cadillac SUV, finding empty water bottles and discarded fast-food containers. The smell of putrefaction wafted into the cab from the rear compartment, and he gagged. He looked into the dark space and found a crumpled form bound in a tarp, surrounded by a swarm of flies and jumped from the vehicle, gulping fresh air.


    Alex shooed the children away from the SUV. ¡°Keep back. Something¡¯s dead inside.¡± The twins hurried in the opposite direction.


    Keeping to the road provided advantages such as flat ground - which meant quicker progress when compared to following trails through the wooded regions - and it offered farther views. However, it provided those same means to others too. The trick was moving about in the open without advertising yourself.


    Movement beckoned Alex to raise the rifle¡¯s scope toward the overpass once more and this time he saw something: a patch of brown fur moving through the tall grass. The thing was a good fifty yards from them, but Alex moved his finger to the trigger and waited for it to emerge. When a fawn raised its head and glanced around, he sighed with relief.


    He lowered the rife and motioned for the twins to come closer. ¡°You guys want to see a deer?¡±


    Their eyes brightened and they nodded. ¡°Annabelle, look through here,¡± said Alex, pointing to the scope. He then jabbed his finger at the trigger. ¡°But don¡¯t put your finger here.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± chirped Annabelle. She took the rifle and peered at the magnified fawn. ¡°Aw, he¡¯s so cute.¡±


    ¡°Let me see,¡± Henry whined.


    To the right of the road the land rose sharply to a hill. Alex¡¯s gut tightened and fluttered as he realized their current location was not a wise one. Low ground was a disadvantage in a conflict. Alex had a bad feeling, a hunch that he wasn''t the only one searching. He was drawn to the top of the ledge to the right. Something was up there. They were being watched.

 Chapter 3

    Atop the hill and staring at the Dash children was a dog. At least it had once been a dog; now, like most canines, it was something entirely different, a new species. Alex grabbed the rifle from Annabelle and targeted the mammal, getting a decent look at it through the scope. This thing resembled a boxer, but larger, and mutated. Spiked plates that resembled either tree bark or stone, or a combination of both, protruded from its back and hind quarters. The facial features were eerily¡­human-like.


    From near the overpass, the fawn ¨C itself an entirely new species separate from that of natural deer - issued a sound that was both a hiss and a chirp and the dog snapped its head in the direction of the noise. It then looked back upon the three siblings, perhaps deciding which prey was easier for the taking.


    Dazed by the encounter, Alex lowered the rifle, his focusing fading. The sight of the thing had sent chills through him. It seemed ridiculous, but he had the distinct impression that it had gazed into him, anticipating his next move, his next thought. Most of the dogs he had seen travelled in packs. This one, a rogue, was likely far more dangerous, able of surviving without the aid of the group. It might possess superior intelligence and that was troublesome.


    A bolt of adrenaline snapped Alex back to attention. Shit! He had taken his eyes off it. Even a moment¡¯s inattention could prove fatal against these creatures. Alex refocused and brought the rifle back up to the top of the hill, but the dog was no longer there.


    Fuck!


    Another rush of adrenaline nearly induced full-blown hysteria until Alex spotted it scampering along farther down the hill, vanishing and reappearing amongst the overgrown grasses along the ridge. It appeared to have decided that the fawn was far less trouble than Alex and the twins.


    ¡°Alex?¡± whispered Henry.


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°Is it gone?¡±


    ¡°Not yet. It moved away but is still too close.¡±


    ¡°Will it come back?¡± asked Annabelle.


    Alex was still mesmerized by the way the animal had studied him. Its face seemed to be a grotesque assemblage of animal and human elements. A snout that was not wholly a dog¡¯s snout. Eyes seemed especially keen and aware.


    ¡°Alex?¡± insisted his sister.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, Annabelle. Hopefully not.¡±


    ¡°Will it eat the fawn?¡± asked Henry.


    Alex watched the thing as it slinked through the wavy grass along the hillside. It appeared to be in full hunting posture. ¡°Probably,¡± he said.


    ¡°Oh, no,¡± replied Annabelle. ¡°I don¡¯t want the fawn to get eaten.¡±


    ¡°I know, honey. But that¡¯s just the way it is. Let¡¯s go.¡±


    Annabelle was standing on her tippy toes. ¡°Go fawn. Run¡­.¡±


    ¡°Now, guys. Move!¡± Alex urged.


    The children did as they were told and after Alex witnessed the dog-thing pounce upon the fawn through the rifle¡¯s site, he guided the children into the pickup. Referring to the folded map his father had given him, Alex determined that the road crossing over the interstate, the overpass, led north and that they would follow it until they came to their next destination, marked by a star. The next cache. Alex relished the thought of a good meal: some canned baked beans or canned beets, maybe. There would likely be some sort of canned protein, too. Anything would beat protein bars, although he was thankful to have them.


    Their father had denoted several routes which could be taken to reach the caches he had long ago assembled and hidden. The underground stores had been plotted over a year¡¯s time. Alex remembered driving with his father on the weekends to bury them. Inside of each cache were non-perishable food supplies, water, ammunition and spare filters for their respirators. When he took Alex along with him, which was as often as he could, their father would demonstrate exactly how and where the buried goods would be marked. Mr. Dash had inserted five-foot metal rods into the ground, each engraved with the letter ¡°D.¡±


    ¡°Twenty paces from the direction the D is facing, Alex,¡± he would say. ¡°That¡¯s where you¡¯ll start digging. Two feet down.¡±


    Alex turned back and scanned near the overpass with the scope. The dog had been watching them. Blood dripped from its jowls as it chewed on severed flesh. Never deviating its gaze, Alex believed that the thing was trying to intimidate him. For a moment, he considered firing at it. Almost as soon as he had thought this, the dog stopped chewing and lurched its neck forward. Alex entertained the notion that it was aware of his intention and challenging him to take the shot.


    That¡¯s crazy. It¡¯s just an animal.


    But¡­what is it just an animal? He considered this, remembering the human-like facial features. Who¡¯s to say in did not possess human-like intelligence, too?


    After a lengthy pause, he decided that discharging the weapon was an unwise decision. To do so might alert other dogs and that would force them into a treacherous situation. More than he might be able to handle.


    As if sensing that it was no longer in danger, the dog resumed its feast. Alex started the pickup and crossed the grass median to the oncoming lanes, keeping well away from the dog. Just past the overpass, he veered onto the off-ramp, cruising past the sign for Sunset Bay, NJ.


    *********


    As they approached the cache, Alex took his foot off the gas and coasted to a stop. Before exiting the truck, he needed to be sure no other people or animals were in the vicinity. He lowered the driver¡¯s side window and listened. Only the sea breeze whistling through the marsh reeds broke the stark silence.


    Easing off the brake, Alex allowed the truck to amble forward. They were on the two-mile access road leading into Sunset Bay. Here, sparsely plotted houses lined the back channels of the bay. Insects buzzed in the wetlands. Waves gently lapped at the hulls of long-forgotten boats. The derelict homes seemed to silently study them as they passed and Alex felt like a stranger in unwelcome territory. Along with the grayness of the land, the overwhelming stillness fostered the notion that he and the twins were the only living humans left.


    Maybe they were.


    Why resist any longer? Why go on? These thoughts were constantly gnawing parasites, feeding on hope¡­sapping his strength.


    You will have to resist the temptation to give in, Alex. His father¡¯s words again.


    You must fight. You must go on. If not for yourself, then for Henry and Annabelle.


    Alex recognized their surroundings and stopped the pickup. After another scan of the road, they exited the vehicle and set off toward the cache. The onset of dusk had painted the land with a golden-orange hue and with the sun behind them, the three Dash siblings¡¯ shadows became elongated phantoms creeping along the road before them.


    Alex had miscalculated their journey and they had been away from the protection of the silo for far longer than he was comfortable with, so they would need to pick up the pace. Time seemed almost to have accelerated since their departure. This was not the first time Alex had experienced this impression. On more than one occasion he had lost his sense of the passing of the day, with whole chunks of their daily routine missing from memory. He tried to keep the idea that he might be unwell from infiltrating his mind, but the caustic notion breached his mental blockade, nonetheless. If something happened to Alex, the twins would be on their own. Even worse, if Alex began to¡­change¡­it might become dangerous for Henry and Annabelle to be in his company.


    There was a good quarter mile between the last house they had passed and the bay bridge ahead, with dense marshy vegetation between. On the left was a path leading down from the road to what had once been a fishing spot. Here, they would find one of the caches their father had buried for them.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    Alex had brought a shovel and a machete from the pickup¡¯s toolbox, expecting the path to have become overgrown. He suggested the twins play a game of I Spy as he walked over to the path to begin clearing it.


    Henry said, ¡°I¡¯ll go first. I seeeeee...something¡­orange.¡±


    Annabelle tapped her finger to her chin, then replied, ¡°The sun!¡±


    ¡°Yep!¡± Henry said, giddily. ¡°Your turn!¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t look at the sun, though,¡± informed Annabelle. ¡°You can hurt your eyes.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± replied Henry, rolling his eyes.


    Alex chuckled and set off. When he reached the spot, he was surprised to find that the path had already been cleared. There were obvious slice marks through the twisting vines and branches, and they seemed relatively fresh.


    ¡°Okay,¡± said Annabelle, ¡°I see something goldenrod.¡±


    ¡°Huh? What¡¯s goldenrod?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a color,¡± said Annabelle, grinning.


    ¡°Nut-uh! You¡¯re cheating!¡± Henry frowned and balled his fists.


    ¡°No, I¡¯m not,¡± she said, gleefully.


    ¡°Alex! She¡¯s cheating!¡±


    ¡°Guys! Shh! Way too loud,¡± Alex scolded. ¡°Annabelle, stick with normal colors.¡±


    ¡°But it is a normal color.¡±


    ¡°No, it isn¡¯t Annabelle,¡± countered Henry. ¡°I¡¯ve never even heard of it before. Alex, you ever hear of it before?¡±


    Alex felt his gut flutter as he imagined someone else having already found the cache and stolen the supplies within. He tried to massage away the knotted tension in his neck while he descended the path toward the bay.


    Annabelle replied, ¡°It¡¯s a crayon color, so it has to be a real color.¡±


    ¡°Annabelle,¡± uttered Alex, blankly.


    ¡°Fine. Its yellow. I see something yellow.¡±


    Grinning and appearing to bask in his victory, Henry surveyed his surroundings, then pointed. ¡°That street sign!¡±


    ¡°Nope.¡± Annabelle smirked.


    ¡°Darn!¡± Henry swatted the air with his fist.


    ¡°Over there,¡± she quipped, signaling a large, heavily concealed school bus. Only a portion of its dull yellow exterior was visible, the rest of it concealed by vegetation.


    ¡°Whoa!¡± said Henry.


    The bus had not been immediately noticeable, and Alex¡¯s pulse quickened as he recognized the vehicle as a potential shelter. There might be someone inside.


    Alex stepped forward, studying the bus with the rifle in firing position. He quickly shouldered the rifle and withdrew the Glock. The vehicle appeared to have run off the road quite some time ago, the engine completely underwater and the front tires half-submerged in the dark water. Wild growth had climbed up and over the entire vehicle and at first glance, it looked like only a massive tangle of brush. Upon further scrutiny, however, Alex was able to identify a single, massive vine with smaller offshoots running in every direction. After ensnaring the bus, the vine wound down a dilapidated dock and into the bay. The whole mess looked like some strange, beached absurdity from the deep.


    ¡°This is just like the bus we took to school,¡± said Henry, excitedly.


    ¡°No, it isn¡¯t,¡± rebuffed Annabelle. ¡°That one had a flat front. This one has the kind that sticks out.¡±


    Henry tapped his helmet with his index finger, pondering his sister¡¯s assertion that he¡¯d gotten it mixed up. ¡°Oh, that¡¯s right.¡±


    At the left rear taillight, Alex stooped to the ground and peered beneath the bus. The vines interweaved throughout the underside and even up into the engine. Alex could see nothing hiding within the coils and determined that there were so many of the shoots that they seemed more akin to veins than branches.


    With Henry and Annabelle behind him, Alex yanked open the bus door and it yielded with a creak. The massive vine pulsed, then like a colossal snake, constricted and the side mirror was torn free and pulled down into the bay.


    Alex jumped from the bus and moved the twins away. He readied himself to fire his weapon, but after a few harrowing seconds ticked away, was confident that the plant¡¯s movements had subsided. He decided however, that searching the bus was not worth the risk of being crushed to death. He had seen plants move with peculiar swiftness before, but nothing like what this one had just done. This one had reacted to touch, apparently sensing the vibration caused by opening the door. The fact that it possessed this level of awareness was terrifying.


    Henry and Annabelle were startled, but only for a moment; the bizarre and fantastical had become more and more commonplace in their existence and until now, Alex had found it difficult being surprised anymore. He studied the twins and saw their composure had returned. Alex supposed that it was a positive sign that the children were becoming more resilient to these types of encounters, but he worried it could adversely impact their vigilance.


    They¡¯re eight years old, he reminded himself.


    How vigilant could they really be?


    Alex expected too much from the children sometimes, but he knew of no other way to raise them. One miscalculation in this forbidding environment would almost certainly spell certain death for an adult, let alone young ones. Wild, deformed animals were just one of the dangers; now sentient plant life capable of crushing a person to death could be added to that list.


    His stomach growled and as he thought about how hungry he was, the idea of roving bands of starving survivors resurfaced. It was something he had considered before but forced into the dark recesses of his mind. Now, it returned, and it chilled him. He had seen no such beings in their time without his mother and father, but they had to be out there; people so famished that they would resort to cannibalism. He had seen plenty of movies depicting the sort of things people might resort to during societal collapse.


    He flushed the thought from his mind and focused on the cache and located the metal rod his father had long ago driven into the ground, the visible portion standing two feet above the dirt. After he located the "D" that his father had etched into the pole, he then measured twenty paces in the direction the letter faced, ready to dig up the buried treasure. Alex¡¯s heart sank as he saw the ground had been disturbed. Obviously, the cache had been dug up and pillaged. After scouring the area, he saw the metal container in the underbrush. Alex went to it and lifted the lid. It was empty.


    The twins resumed their game. After declaring it was his turn again, Henry said, ¡°I see sumthin¡­shiny!¡±


    ¡°Shiny?¡± asked Annabelle.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Henry. ¡°It¡¯s like, twinkly.¡±


    Alex stood to attention, repeating his brother¡¯s words in his mind. Shiny¡­something shiny¡­ The words chilled him to alertness. His arms were covered in goosebumps. ¡°What did you say, Henry?¡±


    The boy pointed in the direction they had come from. ¡°There¡¯s something shiny over there.¡± His voice sounded far off.


    Alex felt sick and lightheadedness overtook him. His mind grew sluggish.


    Annabelle peered down the road, shielding her eyes from the sun. ¡°I don¡¯t see it.¡±


    ¡°Keep watchin¡¯,¡± Henry advised. ¡°It twinkles, goes away, then comes back.¡±


    The children¡¯s voices were distant, like he and they were not outside, but in separate rooms, at the opposite ends of a large building. He looked toward the twins and with the sinking sun behind them, their silhouettes became fuzzy, out of focus. He then checked the road, his pulse soaring and then¡­witnessed the shiny thing in the distance.


    ¡°Off the road!¡± instructed Alex. ¡°Stay low.¡±


    The twinkling reminded Alex of sunlight reflected off a metal object. He squatted, saw the quick flash again, then spun around and studied the opposite end of the road, expecting a reply to its message.


    And then he saw it, an answering flash of light in the distance.


    Shit.


    People were communicating. People¡­more than one. If it were two adults, they might overpower Alex.


    ¡°Stay close, guys,¡± he whispered to the children. ¡°Keep quiet.¡±


    Another thought froze Alex. What if there were more than two adults? It could be a gang of people. Again, he thought of roving bands of cannibals.


    Then he saw the girl. She was where she always materialized, off to the right, in Alex¡¯s peripheral vision. She had appeared on two other occasions, but Alex, not wanting to scare the children, had not told them about the phenomenon. Alex looked past her, down the road, trying to ignore the otherworldly presence.


    You¡¯re just hallucinating. You¡¯re hungry or dehydrated or something. She¡¯s not really there.


    That could happen, couldn¡¯t it? Could those things cause you to see something that wasn''t really there? The other possibility bloomed in his mind, the one he attempted to ignore on many other occasions.


    Maybe you¡¯re losing your grip, Alex. Maybe you¡¯re going crazy.


    ¡°Move into the bushes, guys,¡± said Alex. He ushered them from the road and into concealment. He then checked for the twinkling lights again but didn¡¯t see them.


    They¡¯re already moving on our position, he thought.


    When the children walked farther into the brush along the road, Alex went to join them in hiding, but discovered he was unable to follow, his head knocking against something hard. Clutching his aching forehead, he could find no obstacle that he might have bumped into. Henry and Annabelle continued moving away from him. Alex walked forward again, this time keeping his arms extended in front of him. He took two steps, then his fingertips made contact. Alex withdrew his hands.


    What the fuck!


    Defying reason, there was a barrier in his way and yet he could not see it. His heartrate climbing, Alex pressed his hands against an immovable, albeit invisible object before him. His fingers probed the thing, and curled around what felt like a metal tube. He let his entire arm slip between partitions in the object, while the rest of him remained constrained. He pulled his arm free and continued exploring what he now realized were vertical shafts, positioned five or six inches apart.


    Bars, he thought. Invisible bars¡­


    It didn¡¯t make sense, but he tried over and over, each time his arms penetrating the open space between the imperceptible barriers. The lightheadedness swelled to dizziness.


    ¡°What is it, Alex?¡± asked Annabelle. ¡°What are the lights?¡± There was an echo to her voice.


    He did not want to frighten them anymore than they already were, but they needed to know.


    ¡°I think it¡¯s people," said Alex, in a dream-like mumble, his own voice sounding distant. He became unsteady and began to swoon. ¡°Maybe two people communicating.¡± He grabbed the thin trunk of a nearby tree to steady himself. The peripheral girl was still there, watching him.


    When he turned toward the children, they were gone. Dread seized him as he frantically searched the area. He returned to the bus, but realized the entrance was submerged.


    The vine! Jesus Christ, the vine!


    Alex darted for the water¡¯s edge but slammed into the same unseen barrier again, smashing his skull against it. He stumbled backward, dazed. He felt something warm trickle from above his left eye, put a hand to the spot and came away with a smear of red across his palm.


    Henry and Annabelle! Find them!


    Blood trickled down his cheek as he attempted to squeeze through the invisible bars, but they were too close together. He felt for and found two parallel, imperceptible rods, and grabbed one with each hand, shaking as hard as he could, but they wouldn¡¯t budge. Alex could not understand what these things were or what the hell was happening, but he understood that in order to find the children, he had to get past the barrier, had to free himself and therefore, refused to quit. Despite the intensifying pain in his head, he jerked and rattled the bars, quickly exhausting himself. He backed away, dizzy, and prepared to shoulder through the translucent obstacle, but instead, in his stupor, crashed to the ground.

 Chapter 4

    Patting the earth smooth with the back of a shovel, Alex looks up at his father. ¡°All buried.¡±


    Mr. Dash, seemingly preoccupied and looking off into the distance through a pair of binoculars, says ¡°Good.¡±


    Alex waits for his father to say more, but he is still surveying the road, southward. He then turns and stares to the north.


    ¡°Dad?¡±


    No response.


    ¡°Um¡­what next, Dad?¡±


    ¡°Wait, Alex.¡±


    ¡°Sorry.¡±


    After a few moments, the father looks at his son. ¡°Had to be sure no one was near, that no one followed us.¡±


    ¡°Who would follow us, Dad?¡±


    The father smiles. ¡°You never know. Always be aware of your surroundings, son.¡±


    The words make Alex uneasy. It does not seem likely that anyone would have followed them. They were just ordinary people, no reason for anyone to be suspicious of them and yet, his father made it seem as if the opposite was true; that someone was always out to get them.


    Mr. Dash nods toward the bare patch of dirt. ¡°Now we have to conceal the cache. The overturned ground is a dead giveaway.¡±


    With his father, Alex drags heavy brush over the spot, concealing their work. Once finished, Mr. Dash once again scans the road, then they hop back into the silver Dodge pickup truck. Mr. Dash allows Alex to drive, despite him only being fifteen years old; he must know how to operate a vehicle should Armageddon come earlier than expected. Through the truck¡¯s speakers, Johnny Cash belts out ¡°Ring of Fire.¡±


    ¡°You sure we should¡¯ve buried those supplies on that farm?¡± asks Alex. ¡°It¡¯s private property.¡±


    ¡°There won¡¯t be any private property in the near future, son. It¡¯ll be every man for himself.¡±


    ¡°Oh, right. Hard to remember that stuff.¡±


    ¡°I know. That is why we do these things, burying food stores and ammunition, driving from spot to spot. You must get into the habit of thinking this way. The world will be much different than it is today and if you can¡¯t adapt to it, you¡¯ll die. Plus, I figure you might be able to harvest any vegetables that might have been left. Just remember, you will have to cook everything you eat, even fruit. You mustn¡¯t eat anything raw.¡±


    ¡°But, how to you cook fruit?¡±


    ¡°Same as vegetables; just boil it in some water.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± says Alex, satisfied with the answer. There are a few moments of silence, the fall foliage passing beyond the windshield in a blur as Alex ponders the future his father has painted for him on so many occasions. He glances at his father. ¡°How do you know when it¡¯ll come, Dad?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve told you before, Alex.¡± He points toward the windshield. ¡°Watch the road.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± says Alex, looking forward again. ¡°I just like to hear it.¡±


    Mr. Dash sighs. A lengthy pause ensues that makes Alex uncomfortable, as though maybe he¡¯s done something to upset his father. He only wants to make him proud.


    The father scratches his short hair, in apparent frustration, then calms and says, ¡°You were young¡­it was when I was still a police officer. I was on patrol in my vehicle when I saw a burst of light coming from that farm back there,¡± he says, thumbing behind him. Alex¡¯s eyes are wide as he occasionally glances at his father. ¡°I get out to investigate and find¡­¡± his father¡¯s eyes drift off, an expression of great concern washing over him.


    *********


    ¡°Alex?¡±


    ¡°Alex?¡±


    A shove on the shoulder prompted Alex, then another. He opened his eyes, panic enveloping him as he realized he had been sleeping. He jumped to his feet and took aim at the empty space before him, his heart pounding. ¡°What! What is it!¡±


    ¡°Nuthin¡¯,¡± said Henry, calmly.


    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°We just wanted to make sure you were okay,¡± added Annabelle.


    Henry nodded. ¡°Yeah, so we woke you up.¡±


    ¡°Where are we?¡± questioned Alex.


    ¡°You said it¡¯s a shed,¡± said Henry. ¡°There¡¯s a bunch of tools and stuff.¡±


    ¡°A garage,¡± corrected Annabelle.


    Alex stood and studied the shadowy corners of the two-car garage. Hanging neatly from pegs on the wall were a shovel, pitchfork and two rakes, one steel, one leaf. There was a pair of pruning shears lying atop a few bags of topsoil, one of them with dark material spilling from a small tear. An old car was the lone vehicle.


    ¡°Did I search it?¡± asked Alex. ¡°I can¡¯t remember.¡±


    Annabelle nodded. ¡°Yep.¡±


    ¡°You sure?¡± questioned Alex.


    ¡°We all did,¡± replied Henry.


    Then Alex remembered the access road along the back-bay inlets. He had been separated from the children by some strange obstruction. It had been invisible. Then, the pain in his head made itself known and he placed a hand to the spot, above his left eye. Dry, crusted blood flaked off when he rubbed it.


    ¡°How did we get here?¡± he asked.


    ¡°We drove,¡± said Annabelle.


    Alex had no recollection of this. How could he have had the wherewithal to operate the pickup truck and yet have no memory of it?


    ¡°We drove here?¡± he asked, double-checking their assertion.


    The twins nodded.


    ¡°Where¡¯s the truck?¡±


    ¡°Out front, by the curb,¡± replied Henry.


    Unable to recall arriving at the residence, Alex again contemplated his mental state. How could he drive a goddamned vehicle without some fragment of remembrance? Moreover, how much longer would he be able to care for Henry and Annabelle in this condition? It might worsen.


    ¡°Alex?¡± It was Henry.


    ¡°Yes, Henry?¡±


    ¡°Um¡­I¡¯m hungry.¡±


    Rubbing his eyes with his finger and thumb, Alex nodded. ¡°Okay, buddy. Give me a moment and we¡¯ll get moving.¡±


    Alex¡¯s attention was drawn to the car, half-covered by a gray tarp, which he removed. It was familiar, somehow. The more he studied it, the more he was sure he had seen the automobile before. It was a Mustang, one of the old ones, from the 60¡¯s. White, with a blue racing stripe down the sides. He moved to the driver¡¯s side door and stooped, wiping away the dust from the window. Inside he found what he had expected to: a pair of fuzzy, orange dice hanging from the rearview mirror.


    This was Mo¡¯s car.


    He walked to the garage door, opened it, and stared at Mo¡¯s house.


    Mo¡­


    Who was Mo?


    Someone from his past, he supposed. Before bits of his memory had grown foggy and distant. He had been at this house before; a hint of familiarity buzzing at the edge of his recollection. Yet, he could not place a face with the name.


    Mo¡­


    ¡°Did I go inside the house?¡± he asked the twins.


    ¡°Nope,¡± said Annabelle.


    ¡°And neither did we,¡± added Henry, beaming with pride. ¡°We know better.¡±


    Alex turned and looked down at his brother and smiled. ¡°Good, Henry. That was smart of you.¡±


    Again, Alex looked upon the house, nostalgia budding inside him, encouraging him to go in and have a look around, remember old times. The urge was strong. He could enter through the back door, where the laundry room was.


    ¡°Mud room,¡± whispered Alex. Mo¡¯s mom had called it that.


    ¡°What, Alex?¡± questioned Annabelle.


    Realizing he had spoken the words aloud, Alex said, ¡°Nothing, Annabelle. Just thinking to myself.¡±


    Alex stared at the house, wondering if any of his memory might be recovered if he went inside. He could stumble upon something, a photograph maybe, that might trigger remembrance. Perhaps Mo, or his family were inside, in need of help.


    Perhaps death awaits you inside, Alex.


    Yes, there was reason, poking him in the chest again, warning him to avoid impulses.


    What happens to Henry and Annabelle if you die, Alex?


    But was it an impulse? Or was it carefully thought out, the potential benefit outweighing the potential threat? He looked at the twins. They were hungry and he had nothing for them to eat.


    That settled it. They were going inside.


    ¡°Guys?¡± Alex said. ¡°We¡¯re going to have a look inside the house, see if we can find any supplies.¡±


    Annabelle shook her head. ¡°No, Alex. I don¡¯t wanna. It¡¯s dangerous.¡±


    Henry nodded in agreement.


    Alex too, nodded. ¡°I know it¡¯s dangerous, but¡­so is everything. The problem is that we have nothing to eat. We¡¯re just going to have a quick look and then leave.¡±


    He convinced the twins ¨C and himself ¨C that it was a decision based on sound judgement and after locking their helmets in place, the three of them made their way to the rear door. It stood open a few inches. Alex shouldered the rifle and withdrew the 9mm pistol, preferring it in a potential close-quarters encounter. Holding the pistol in his right hand, he brandished the flashlight in his left. He nudged the door open and to his relief, it produced no creaking.


    The flashlight revealed that the mudroom was in disarray, perhaps the aftermath of other survivors searching for goods. Shoes and articles of clothing were strewn across the floor. A few coats were still available, draped on hooks secured to the wall. Alex imagined that when the first winter had struck after everything went to shit that some nomads were too far gone to even realize that they needed winter gear. Some had surely frozen to death.


    As they passed into the kitchen, things crunched underfoot and when Alex directed the beam to the floor, he found, to his dismay, that they had been stepping on old, dry seeds. They were everywhere. He saw that the windows of the room were closed, which could mean only one thing: that something had brought the seeds inside.


    Another survivor caught in a storm, maybe. They stuck to their clothing and were carried in here.


    But reason dictated that the spores, reduced to dust when stepped on, had been here for a long time. Therefore, whatever had brought them in from outside had probably come and gone days ago, maybe longer. Then a thought occurred to Alex that chilled his blood: what if something inside the house had produced those seeds?


    As if conjured by this thought, Alex heard a noise in another room. He stopped walking and the twins looked to him for instruction. Alex held a finger to his helmet¡¯s visor, insisting they remain quiet. He aimed the pistol toward the doorway leading out of the kitchen. Frozen in place, the three of them stood in the dim light, waiting. Maybe he had only imagined the sound. He had often found that when anticipating a particular event, such as expecting to hear a sound, his mind could at times, fabricate that sound in his head. Instantly, Alex thought of the girl that had appeared to him on occasion. If the mind could produce a visual hallucination, why not an auditory one?


    Then, somewhere ahead of them, in the gloom, something wheezed.

 Chapter 5

    With his nerves buzzing and adrenaline pulsing through his veins, Alex flexed his fingers and tightened his grip around the 9mm, preparing to deliver death to whatever entered the kitchen doorway. But nothing did.


    His chest heaved, the visor fogging with each exhalation, then clearing, then fogging again, until eventually, the breaths came softer. Alex felt his knees trembling, with each of the twins clutching one of his legs for dear life. He knew, just knew, that the moment they retreated, whatever was hiding in the next room would spring through the dark entrance and attack. But he would not give it a chance. Instead, he shuffled forward and rounded the corner.


    The flashlight speared through the murky interior of a dining room, the beam illuminating floating specks of what appeared to be ash. Alex was sure that to inhale even a tiny particle of this falling debris would spell death and he was grateful for the bio suits.


    He was reminded that soon the respirators would have to be replaced. They were at 50% before they left the silo earlier.


    As he panned the room with the flashlight, dark, foreign forms were revealed to be ordinary furniture: a table with four chairs, a china cabinet in the far corner, a serving table against the wall to their left. A chandelier swung ever so gently from a fractured ceiling. It swung ever so gently in the darkness and Alex could not understand why.


    Had something moved it? The person or thing that had wheezed?


    His heart pulsing, an alert Alex scanned the dim corners with the determination of a predatory bird hunting its prey. Something in here was alive. It might want to harm him and the twins. Might want to kill them. Eat them.


    Then again, it could be someone in trouble. What if it was a child in need? This notion eased Alex¡¯s resolve and that was not good.


    His father¡¯s voice came to him. ¡°Never let your guard down, Alex. Never. You need to be ready to shoot first. Others will be ready to.¡±


    Alex flexed his fingers, getting a better grip on the pistol. The dining room was clear. They moved around the large table and into a family room. Again, bulky forms were discovered to be a couch and loveseat, a large chair and ottoman.


    Oh shit.


    Someone was seated in the chair.


    Alex¡¯s pulse soared. Annabelle whimpered at the site of the figure. Both children again gripped Alex¡¯s legs for comfort. He held the beam as steady as possible in his quaking grip and after a few moments, discovered the person was slumped over, some of his skull missing. Judging by the figure¡¯s size, Alex determined it to be a man. He had apparently shot himself, a handgun lying on the floor amid a pool of time-darkened blood.


    Jesus Christ.


    The wheezing came again, and Alex spun in the direction. To their left stood a glass framed door leading to another room, half open. Easing toward it, Alex listened, heard the sound again, and tip-toed through the entry and onto a closed in porch.


    Here, it was marginally brighter. The porch was furnished with wicker chairs featuring old, filthy cushions. A glass table was set before them with an open book turned facedown, a pair of reading glasses atop it. Everything was layered with the ash-like substance, which fell in greater quantity than inside.


    He heard the noise again and then Alex saw it.


    In the far corner was the seated form of a woman. She, like the man inside, was slouched, leaning against the back of the chair. Alex noted the peculiar dimensions of the woman¡¯s figure; her bottom half rested in the chair, while her torso rose high above the chair, as if her spine had grown additional vertebrae. Unlike the man, the woman¡¯s head was not partially blown away¡­it was missing altogether. The neck, like the spine, had become elongated and risen upward along the wall, disappearing through a hole in the ceiling.


    The torso suddenly expanded and constricted, and Alex heard the wheeze again. He opened the front door and ushered Henry and Annabelle down four steps into the yard. Then he turned back toward the house and spotted the woman¡¯s head protruding through the porch roof, the mouth agape, spewing the ashen material into the air.


    ¡°Mud room,¡± whispered Alex.


    He could not envision Mo, at least not yet, but Alex knew the distorted woman before him was Mo¡¯s mother. Or had once been his mother. Now, she was a monstrosity, releasing God knows what into the air.


    Were they tiny seeds?


    ¡°Dear God¡­¡± Alex said aloud.


    The thought was troubling; that there could be countless former people-turned-seed generators.


    Alex stared up at the hideous head, cocked on the spine at an awkward angle. It gazed back at Alex with dark, recessed eye sockets. She wheezed again and that¡¯s when it dawned on him. This wasn¡¯t a thing before him ¨C it was a human being, at least a part of it.


    Christ¡­she¡¯s fucking alive.


    *********


    Coasting into the parking lot, Alex brought the pickup to a halt and shifted into Park. He checked the area, decided it was safe and leaned back in his seat. Henry and Annabelle studied the setting through the windows as they always did whenever they arrived at their destination. Alex had taught them never to just exit the vehicle without checking their surroundings. As he watched them put their practice into action, he felt a sense of satisfaction. It was reassuring to see them thinking for themselves without any prompt from their older brother and this caused Alex to relax for a moment. A brief and much needed sense of optimism eased his troubled mind.


    And then he remembered Mo¡¯s house.


    They had driven in silence after leaving that dark place. Alex recalled the bizarre encounter with Mo¡¯s mother. Before departing, he had put a bullet in her head and watched as the wheezing, membranous thing that had once been a human torso, release its last breath. Then, using matches from the pickup¡¯s toolbox, he had set fire to the home.


    Fire cleanses, he thought.


    But he wasn¡¯t so sure about that. Maybe this world wasn¡¯t capable of being cleansed.


    Womack¡¯s grocery store was but a shell of its former self. The W and O had long ago fallen from the fa?ade, the windows were boarded up and cracks in the pavement had given way to wild grass and weeds. Old, rusted bits of metal littered the ground and broken glass and trash were everywhere.


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    ¡°Alright,¡± said Alex, disengaging his seatbelt. ¡°We¡¯re going inside to find some food. I know it¡¯s scary, especially after what we just saw in that house, but we have to check. Okay?¡±


    The twins nodded. They unclicked their seatbelts and followed Alex out the driver¡¯s side door. He led them to a patch of high grass beside a fenced-in trash dumpster on the side of the building. Approaching straight on was problematic as it gave anyone that might be inside a full view of himself and the twins. It also gave them ample time to hide¡­or plan an attack. At the same time, Alex always kept the pickup close at hand should they need to flee. This whole existence hinged on the fight or flight principle, with flight being the preferred response.


    When he was confident that they were alone, he led the twins from the fenced-in dumpster to a cluster of pine trees at the corner of the structure and searched again. A space between two of the window boards provided a means to search the interior and Alex did so as best he could. His view was limited but one thing was certain; it was dim in there. Too dim for comfort.


    He sighed, thinking for a moment. And that let the doubts in. Doubts were good, he told himself. They kept him in check, prevented him from making rash decisions.


    He checked the parking lot again. Should he do this? Was it worth the risk?


    Don¡¯t dawdle Alex.


    His father¡¯s voice.


    Be confident in whatever decision you make.


    They were stationary for too long. He peeked through the crack, inspecting the interior once more. He didn¡¯t detect anyone or anything inside and so they moved, rounding the corner, and crossing the wide stretch of glass encasing the storefront, the children following closely behind. The automatic doors were inoperable, so Alex forced them open, which to his dismay created more noise than he would have preferred. Inside it was dim, but what he had not noticed from his limited view outside were the shafts of gold light streaming in through a few windows whose boards had fallen loose. This made a flashlight unnecessary. He looked the store over. Except for being somewhat dusty, the place was surprisingly well-kept; it almost appeared to still be in use.


    Annabelle held Henry¡¯s hand with her right, while her left clung to a fistful of fabric from Alex¡¯s bio suit. Their older brother shouldered the rifle and withdrew the 9mm, strafing along the front of the store, just past the two check-out lanes, peering down each of the eight isles. Once he was sure each of these was clear, he and the twins moved to the rear of the store. Here, they encountered dual glass enclosures that Alex guessed had once stored deli meats on one side, and a butcher¡¯s section on the other.


    The three passed through an old-fashioned waist-high swinging door that separated the deli from the rest of the store. Alex cringed, as the door produced a creak that seemed amplified in the otherwise absolute silence. He paused, believing he had heard shuffling. The sudden halt spooked the children and Annabelle tightened her grip.


    Alex swung the pistol in a circle, rescanning the isles he had already confirmed as clear. But of course, he had left the front door open as a possible exit in the event they had to flee. This also left no obstacle for anyone or anything that wished to follow them into the store.


    After a minute had passed without any sound other than their own breathing, Alex continued the search, passing through the swinging door and into a back storage area, partitioned from the deli by a heavy, plastic curtain. Here, the darkness magnified, necessitating the flashlight. Alex switched it on. Shadows of cardboard boxes and crates were slapped against the wall and Alex flinched at their wavering forms. Annabelle released a whimper and wrapped her arm around Alex¡¯s leg.


    The big brother swept left and right with the beam, then stepped farther into the storage room. It was empty.


    He patted Annabelle¡¯s back. ¡°It¡¯s okay. We¡¯re alone.¡±


    Two cardboard boxes sat on the top of a metal shelving unit. Alex used a nearby step ladder to reach them.


    ¡°Careful, Alex,¡± warned Annabelle.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± said Henry, stepping forward, his bravery on full display. ¡°If he falls, I¡¯ll catch him.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m okay guys,¡± replied Alex. ¡°Just keep a lookout.¡±


    They did and Alex rummaged through the boxes. One yielded the remnants of what looked to be severely moldy bread. The other, however, produced two cans of corned beef hash.


    He checked the expiration dates. They were good.


    ¡°Dinner,¡± he said, stepping down from the step ladder. Inside the children¡¯s helmets, wide smiles beamed.


    After leading the twins back to the main area of the store, Alex dropped to one knee and brought Henry and Annabelle closer. ¡°Okay, you remember what to do: I¡¯ll keep watch while you two look underneath the shelves for any cans that might¡¯ve rolled under. Okay?¡±


    The twins nodded. Alex stood up, pistol at the ready while the Henry and Annabelle conducted their search. The first isle produced no results, but on the second, Henry burst upright holding a can of corn and cried, ¡°I found sumthin!¡±


    Then Annabelle scored. ¡°A can of¡­¡± she rotated the cans until the label faced her. ¡°Ham!¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s more than that.¡±


    Alex heard the voice and spun on his heels, jabbing the 9mm toward the store¡¯s front entrance and almost pulled the trigger as he saw a strange man standing before them. ¡°Stay where you are!¡± commanded Alex.


    The man slowly raised both hands in the air.


    Alex then waived the children toward him. ¡°Guys, get over here!¡±


    Annabelle darted to Alex¡¯s side, but Henry stood still, frozen by fear. The canned corn fell from his hand and rolled forward, bumping to a stop against the checkout lane.


    "Henry!¡± Alex called again.


    The boy still did not move. He stood, trembling. Terror-stricken.


    Alex stepped forward, grabbed Henry¡¯s suit, and pulled him back several feet. The man bent down and grabbed the can and held it at arm¡¯s length. Alex locked eyes with him, his heart thundering. The man¡¯s eyes were deeply set, with dark circles beneath. His skin appeared rough and leathery. He had a wiry gray beard with what looked like blades of yellowed grass jutting out here and there. The more Alex stared, the more he was sure the blades were not just stuck in the beard, but a part of it.


    A hybrid.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± said the man, setting the canned corn on the check-out counter. ¡°This is my store. You can take it.¡±


    Alex hesitated, then grabbed the can and backed away. ¡°Can you spare it?¡±


    The man nodded. ¡°You¡¯ll have to pay for it, though.¡±


    Alex thought about it, his eyes never leaving the man. ¡°I can¡¯t pay you for it, but I can trade something.¡±


    ¡°Alright,¡± said the man. ¡°I¡¯m Ernie.¡± He held out his hand, then retracted it. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, now that I think about it, I shouldn¡¯t shake yours, either. Can¡¯t tell what people are carrying these days.¡± Ernie walked behind the counter and reached low for something.


    ¡°Easy!¡± warned Alex. ¡°If you come up with a weapon, I¡¯ll shoot!¡±


    Ernie shook his head and held his hands up, palms out. ¡°No weapon. Just a camera.¡± He reached below the counter again, much slower this time, and raised a small box, setting it down in front of him. He opened it and removed an old-time polaroid camera. ¡°You may take the food in return for a picture.¡±


    ¡°A picture?¡± asked Alex. The twins glanced at Alex, then at the man, then back at Alex.


    ¡°That¡¯s it,¡± said Ernie. ¡°Just a photograph. I like to keep a record of everyone that visits the store,¡± he added, pointing to the front window. It was covered with dozens of photographs taped to the glass.


    Ernie had taken the photo and while Alex and the twins left the store, they saw him taping it to the front window so that it faced toward the interior, adding it to his arrangement. Alex buckled Henry and Annabelle¡¯s seatbelts and started the pickup. As they pulled away in the late afternoon sun, Ernie waved goodbye.


    *********


    ¡°That was really them.¡±


    The voice was a spectral, electronic sound, filtered through a metallic helmet fitted with a respiration device. It was accompanied by automated breathing, accentuated by occasional wheezing. The man had emerged from the rear of the store and now stood beside Ernie.


    The shopkeeper nodded. ¡°That was them, alright. Just like you remember them?¡±


    There was a hesitation, then the man spoke. ¡°Yes and no.¡±


    ¡°I see. Can¡¯t imagine it¡¯s easy after all this time.¡±


    The man seemed to ignore that last statement and instead asked, ¡°You said they come here every day?¡±


    ¡°Usually,¡± said Ernie. ¡°Sometimes every couple of days. I give them what supplies I¡¯m able to obtain. Mostly food and water.¡±


    ¡°What about fuel?¡± The man coughed inside the helmet. It sounded more like a mechanized groan of distress than anything a human might produce.


    ¡°I provide that too, when he needs it.¡±


    ¡°All of this is so strange¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± said Ernie. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you just tell him now?¡±


    The man gingerly shook his head, as if the action was a great strain. ¡°He isn¡¯t ready to hear it¡­and I¡¯m not ready to tell.¡±


    Nodding, Ernie said, ¡°Just had to see him first?¡±


    A pause, then, ¡°Yes.¡±


    The two of them stood in the dwindling golden light, watching the fading dust trails left by the pickup truck. The man inhaled deeply, followed by another cough, tinged with that mechanical tone.


    Ernie winced and looked at the man. ¡°Are you alright?¡±


    The man continued staring ahead through the dusty window. He appeared deep in thought; not wholly present, as if his mind was revisiting some distant memory. After a moment, he acknowledged Ernie¡¯s inquiry. ¡°No. I¡¯m not.¡±

 Chapter 6

    Massimo Rossini ¨C ¡°Mo¡± - stood shoulder to shoulder with Watley. Mo could not remember Watley¡¯s first name, not after they had messed with his head. He knew the man from before, but damn if he knew his first name. Didn¡¯t matter. Watley probably didn¡¯t know his either. Just the way it was.


    ¡°Talk about d¨¦j¨¤ vu,¡± said Watley.


    Mo wiped the visor of his helmet clean and stared ahead at the expanse of land. They sat atop their idling cycles at a wide intersection. Tall pine trees lined both sides of a two-lane highway, much of it littered with abandoned cars and all of it gray and bleak. Ahead, about a mile or so from where they stood, the trees thinned, then ended. The road rose to a bridge that spanned the bay.


    ¡°Route 78, right?¡± asked Watley.


    Mo nodded and pointed to a sign off to the right that had been partially concealed with overgrown vegetation. ¡°Route 78. Runs East to West. Takes you all the way into town. Into Sunset Bay. Route 50 runs North to South.¡±


    ¡°Damn. I¡¯d give anything to see the ocean. It¡¯s been like, years since I¡¯ve seen it.¡±


    ¡°The ocean¡¯s a hot bed; probably teeming with weird life,¡± Mo said.


    Watley nodded, as if suddenly remembering. ¡°Right.¡±


    ¡°Sure as hell wouldn¡¯t make it to the beach without being obstructed by vegetation.¡±


    ¡°Or attacked by something,¡± added Watley.


    Mo, busy inspecting their surroundings, ignored the comment. ¡°Anyway, we¡¯re going north, to where he was likely headed.¡±


    Behind them was a dense wall of vegetation featuring a tunnel of sorts, their entry point. Hearing movement, Mo turned and watched as the vegetation shivered, then constricted, engulfing the tunnel in greenery, as though it had never existed.


    Mo noted the healthy, vibrant green of the vines. Quite a contrast from the gray, dying land around it. It was getting nourishment from somewhere.


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    It.


    Mo remembered a time when plants moved only when nudged by the wind. When rapid growth had to be observed through time-lapse photography instead of right before your disbelieving eyes. He longed for those days again. But they were long gone.


    ¡°That shit still spooks me,¡± said Watley, staring at the still shuffling vines behind them. ¡°Whenever they move like that¡­¡±


    Feeling no compulsion to add to his partner¡¯s observation, Mo turned the throttle on the cycle and almost departed, but Watley waved him off. He was thumbing toward the Machine, his mouth forming soundless words.


    Shit. Mo had turned off the mic in his helmet, hoping Watley would forget about this next part. He stared off at the seemingly endless roadway before him, wondering about his chances should he just take off.


    Not good, he thought. Mo hesitated, considered it again, then thought better of it. The Machine was watching¡­waiting for them. If he sped off, it would give chase and catch him, probably with little effort, then disable the cycle. He wouldn¡¯t stand a chance. It might kill him. Sighing, he opened the mic with a static click.


    ¡°We have to scan out,¡± Watley reminded.


    Reluctantly, Mo jumped off the bike and with Watley, went and faced the Machine. The thing had been a piece of farming equipment; a replacement for traditional tractors, sprayers, harvesters, and likely anything other machinery Mo could think of. Like a walking Swiss Army Knife, the thing¡¯s arms housed a variety of instruments that could be extended and retracted at a moment¡¯s notice. Things like scythes, grinders, irrigation nozzles. Then, once it had been repurposed as a hunting robot, it had been fitted with an automatic weapon. It stood much taller than a man, around ten feet high. The hulking exterior was an assemblage of metal parts that had been drawn together and merged by some mysterious force. Was it electromagnetic? Mo had no idea, but he assumed that same force was responsible for how the globular head behaved. Suspended in air between its broad shoulders, the globe was a dark, glass-like substance, but much thicker. It looked like an oversized bowling ball, although Mo suspected it was made from a far more durable substance.


    From deep inside of the head, a narrow, precise laser was emitted. The blue light flowed across the curved visor of Mo¡¯s helmet and stopped dead in the center of his right eye. The laser read the encoded information on the chip that had been implanted behind his eye and instantly his photograph, the date and time of departure was visible within the globe.


    The machine spoke in a deep masculine, yet robotic voice. ¡°Proceed.¡±


    When Watley had finished the same process, they mounted their bikes. The vehicles activated with a low hum, not a roar like a street bike. These were tools of stealth. They needed to be¡­Alex Dash was considered armed and dangerous.

 Chapter 7

    Her arms bound in front of her by rope, Eva drug her shoes on the ground behind her. She told the guards that she had injured her ankle, but that was a load of crap. Her reasoning was that if they were going to treat her like a prisoner and tie her up, then they might as well go the whole nine yards and carry her as well.


    ¡°Pick your feet up, bitch!¡± grumbled the guard to her left. He was big ¨C fat, but strong. Thick arms, broad back. A nose like a boxer¡¯s, probably busted a few times. His name was


    Mitchell. Eva wasn¡¯t sure if that was his first name or last. Used to be in the Marines but was dishonorably discharged, or so the story went. A screw-up, someone even the military was unable to reign in. But here, he was given a gun and put into a position of authority.


    ¡°You might not want to get on his bad side,¡± said Wes, to her right. He was more likeable. A decent looking guy, but by no means handsome. His disposition, however, was far more favorable than Mitchell¡¯s.


    ¡°Too late,¡± groaned Eva.


    Mitchell right hand gripped Eva by her left bicep. The meaty appendage fit around her entire upper arm. In his left hand he held her rifle. They had taken it from her at gun point. They did everything at gun point. But you couldn¡¯t blame them; no one was to be trusted. At least that was Eva¡¯s mantra.


    ¡°Grant¡¯s not going to be happy,¡± said Wes. ¡°Why do you do it? You can¡¯t keep going off the grounds.¡±


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t understand,¡± replied Eva.


    ¡°Ah, a woman thing,¡± joked Wes.


    ¡°What-¡± blurted Mitchell, ¡°you¡¯ve got to run off the grounds to care for that cesspool between your legs?¡± He chuckled to himself.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean it that way,¡± whispered Wes.


    ¡°I know,¡± Eva replied.


    ¡°And then we have to run after you,¡± continued Mitchell.


    ¡°I never see you run anywhere,¡± snipped Eva. She heard Wes stifle a laugh.


    ¡°You think you¡¯re so damn smart, don¡¯t you, girl. While you¡¯re sitting in that cold little prison cell, think about where you are, locked behind bars, and how I¡¯m out here on my post, free to do my job.¡±


    Eva raised her eyebrows. ¡°Now that¡¯s something to aspire to.¡±


    ¡°At least I get respect.¡±


    ¡°Ever think that you¡¯re placed on post for a reason, Mitch?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s Mitchell, slut. And what do you mean by that?¡±


    ¡°Let me spell it out for you: Grant thinks you¡¯re an oaf. He puts you out there each night to give you a purpose¡­to keep you busy¡­.¡±


    Mitchell scowled. He seemed to be pondering her dig at his significance.


    Eva hammered him some more. ¡°It¡¯s like you¡¯re babysitting yourself,¡± she laughed.


    Wes leaned toward her. ¡°Might want to ease up a bit. And thanks for the insult, by the way. I¡¯m placed on post, too.¡±


    ¡°Yeah well, you¡¯re probably out there just to keep an eye on big boy, here.¡± she whispered.


    Mitchell¡¯s grip was like a tightening vice and Eva felt pain extending down her arm. ¡°Quite a mouth on you, bitch. He trusts me enough to arm me, doesn¡¯t he?¡± He leaned closer until his reeking breath consumed her. ¡°Just remember that next time you feel like leaving.¡± The corners of chapped lips morphed into a sneer. ¡°I¡¯m a hell of a shot.¡±


    Eva coughed and caught her breath as Mitchell pulled away. He was right. She was aware of his accuracy with a firearm. She had seen it. But then again, she wasn¡¯t so bad herself. Still, the idea of being thrust into a gun fight with Mitchell was unnerving. Sure, he had been discharged, but he still had military training and that meant, even if limited, he possessed knowledge, particularly of weapons, that the rest of them did not.


    After chaining Eva in the bed of the pickup, Wes rode shotgun as Mitchell drove the truck to the perimeter, where another armed guard, Isaac, was waiting. He waved them on and they passed through and onto the grounds of the old military airbase and came to the hub of Community ¨C a circular group of silo bunkers, spaced two hundred feet apart. A hundred and fifty yards away, to the west, were the farms.


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    They entered the first bunker on the left. After passing through decontamination in the airlock, they stepped past the inner door and descended the steps, which framed the cylindrical shaft in the center, to the first level. To the right, in the space other silos used as a family room, was the medical center. Across the circular expanse was an office and next to that, a bathroom.


    As they entered the office, Wes untied Eva. Grant sat behind a mahogany desk, busy with a pen and paper. The room was dim, lit only by a small table lamp.


    Grant was a tall, lean man with a pointy nose and thinning gray hair slicked to the side. At the end of his nose-beak sat thin, wire-framed glasses. He peered over the lenses at Eva when they entered the room. He stood from his chair and rounded the desk. In his hand was the paper he had been writing on.


    ¡°I was just trying to figure out the arrangements for another supply run,¡± he said with a smile. She sensed the gesture was complete bullshit. He was pissed. ¡°Assessing who was competent to go and so forth.¡± He cocked his head as if in deep contemplation. ¡°Now, however, your antics have given me pause.¡±


    His lips parted and Eva waited for the next line in his lecture, but instead Mitchell interrupted.


    ¡°She¡¯s becoming a problem,¡± he said.


    At his statement Grant sighed and glared at Mitchell. He took the girl¡¯s rifle from the guard and with an annoyed expression replied, ¡°Thank you, Mitchell. That¡¯ll be all.¡±


    ¡°Wes?¡± said Grant.


    ¡°Yes, sir?¡±


    ¡°Was she wearing a suit when you found her?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Full gear, helmet and everything.¡±


    Eva sensed that Wes knew better than to speak without being spoken to. He nodded and turned toward the door. If Mitchell had had a tail, it would have been between his legs as he followed. Grant waited until they had closed the door behind them, then his eyes met Eva¡¯s. The man¡¯s icy blue orbs, almost gray, seemed incapable of any emotion but anger.


    And maybe, like everyone else, despair, Eva thought.


    ¡°Do you know why I bother writing and posting these?¡± he asked, holding the schedule next to his face. Eva did not answer because Grant wasn¡¯t expecting her to. ¡°Because they inspire hope. They give people some sense of civilization¡­a sense of purpose¡­what it was like before.¡±


    He walked to the far side of the office and methodically adjusted the candles. More theatrics. He propped her rifle against the wall. Eva looked straight ahead at the table behind the desk. There stood a stature of Jesus with his arms outstretched. Its shadow, projected onto the wall, wavered in the candlelight and Eva took this to be an omen; that perhaps even the Lord Himself was subject to the forces at work in this world.


    It¡¯s just a shadow, Eva, reacting to the light source in the room. That¡¯s all.


    ¡°The people of Community need hope,¡± Grant continued. ¡°They need to be reminded that it still exists. And they build hope by working, by being given duties, jobs to do. Everyone helps and chips in and in return, Community provides a safe, orderly way of life. All that is required to attain a place here is for each person to do their part, be it toiling in the fields or keeping watch, and to follow a simple set of rules. One of which is to remain inside of the fence line.¡± He turned and walked back over to Eva, infiltrating her field of view. Her eyes were forced to focus on his. ¡°You were found outside of the perimeter. You left your fields¡­why?¡±


    Countering Grant¡¯s theatrics by employing some of her own, Eva paused¡­for effect. ¡°I just thought I saw something out there,¡± she lied.


    ¡°Let me guess. A nomad?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Not very original, Eva. The same story both times.¡± He stared at her for a moment. ¡°And did you find one?¡±


    Eva did not avert her eyes but stared right back at him. On the outside he was composed, but she was pretty sure that inside he was raging. Maintaining eye-contact was akin to dumping gasoline on a fire. Just how she liked it.


    ¡°No,¡± she said.


    Grant held his gaze. ¡°When you pull one of these little stunts, it weakens our defenses. We have to pull guards from other posts so that they can stop you before you reenter the perimeter and possibly contaminate everyone.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ll be left for dead?¡± quizzed Eva.


    Without hesitation, or emotion, Grant stated, ¡°Yes. Unless we can help them without sacrificing the lives of everyone in Community. By all rights, you should be placed into quarantine. You place our health in jeopardy when you leave the perimeter.¡±


    ¡°I was only trying to help.¡±


    He turned and walked back behind his desk. ¡°Then notify someone of anything unusual and it will be investigated ¨C do not do so on your own. You¡¯ve been with us for less than a month, Eva. This is the second time you¡¯ve been outside the perimeter.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t realize this was a prison,¡± she said.


    Grant cocked his head to the side, feigning compassion. ¡°Now Eva¡­you know this is no prison. You are free to go at any time.¡± He slinked around the edge of the desk with serpentine movement, scooping up her rifle along the way. Eva half-expected him to begin hissing. His pursed lips curled into a wicked smile and he dropped his voice to a whisper.


    ¡°But we both know there¡¯s a part of you that truly wants to be here¡­¡± He handed the rifle to her and backed away, returning to his chair.


    Eva just stared ahead.


    Looking down at his stack of papers, Grant said matter-of-factly, ¡°Tonight, you will report to Walker House, as before. Tomorrow you will make rounds with the guards. In two days, you will be posted on night watch and if all goes well, you¡¯ll return to the fields. You¡¯ll be expected to give back to Community if you wish to remain here. Good evening¡±


    Eva turned and left his office. As much as she hated to admit it, he was right. There was a small part of her ¨C maybe even more than a small part ¨C that wanted to stay. Yes, she might be able to become comfortable in a place like Community and maybe even grow to like it. But she was here strictly on business.


    Eva pulled her rifle close to her chest and its weight both eased her mind and reminded her of her purpose. Don¡¯t even think about it, Eva. You don¡¯t belong here.

 Chapter 8

    As she nibbled on a cracker, Lacy wrapped herself tightly in a quilt, yet she could not dispel the chill. This was a cold borne of despair, not climate, and it hung heavily about her, like a spirit haunting an old house.


    In the other room, Kay Walker played the role of mother nobly and despite the conditions, instilled a sense of home for her husband and two children ¨C as much as one could in a bunker. This was a silo, not a true house and survival was a daily struggle, a struggle everyone in the house shared. This was a harsh life and defeat was a perpetual beggar at the door, beckoning to be let in.


    But for a mother, Lacy supposed, the challenge was far more difficult. Protecting one''s children not only physically but mentally was a feat requiring great resolve. Lacy wasn''t Kay''s biggest fan but respected her for her ferocity. Kay seemed to possess a never-ending supply of determination and even though this was not the house her children had grown up in, she fought to provide her family comfort. "I will make this home," she had told Lacy once, "and if that''s all I can give them in this life, then that''s what I must do, and I''ll make it the best that I can."


    As she fussed with a loose thread in the quilt, Lacy thought of the girl. Eva. She wondered if she had made it out, if indeed that''s what she had been going for. Lacy glanced through the faux window in the silo''s curved wall. The pretend portals were strategically placed to make the bunker seem like a genuine home. They depicted digital scenes that represented the true time of day, but not necessarily the correct weather. Currently, Lacy stared at a sun setting behind rolling hills in the distance.


    She wondered where Eva would go. The wilderness was infested with danger. The girl was armed but what if she was outnumbered? What if she encountered a pack of dogs?


    Lacy didn''t profess to know everything there was to know about Eva ¨C she hardly knew her at all. What had it been, a couple of weeks at most since she''d been in Community? But in some instances, someone''s makeup could be determined in only a short time. A fraction of a conversation. Maybe even by someone''s stare. Eva was the kind of girl who wouldn''t stand for some of Community''s rules. Lacy had figured that out real quick. But who could blame her? At times it felt more like some inept detention center than a haven.


    But it did have a perimeter fence. It did provide some degree of security.


    "Everything alright, Lacy?" asked Kay, entering from the kitchen, carrying a tray. Tonight, they were dining on crackers with sliced cheese and hard salami. The crackers were Saltines. Lacy was particularly fond of Ritz crackers. She had grazed but left some food on her plate. Her hunger wasn''t the same as it had once been ¨C perhaps she''d just adapted to the feeling somehow.


    Lacy nodded and forced a smile. "Fine, thanks."


    Kay must''ve noticed Lacy''s displeasure. "It''s not filet mignon, but beggars can''t be choosers." She smiled. "And in this existence, everyone''s a beggar."


    Lacy smiled in agreement. "True."


    "Would you like some more?"


    "Thank you," Lacy replied, shaking her head. "But I''m quite full."


    Kay glanced down at Lacy''s plate of crumbs, dotted with a few morsels of uneaten cheddar. "It''s important to finish everything Lacy...it''s all we''ve got. Food is fuel. Please. We don''t need to send you to quarantine, now do we?"


    "Quarantine?" asked Lacy, a bolt of anxiety shooting along her spine. "Why would I be sent to quarantine? I''m not sick."


    "Are you sure? You haven''t eaten much today at all ¨C that could be a sign of sickness coming on, and we cannot risk others contracting anything."


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    Kay''s patronizing tone was evident, and Lacy didn''t appreciate it. She was a favorite of Grant''s however, and to cross those two would not be wise.


    "It''d be a good idea for you to fulfill your nutritional needs as best you can," said Kay.


    Suddenly feeling like another of the Walker children instead of a twenty-three-year-old woman, Lacy found herself nodding in agreement. "Right. I''ll finish up."


    "Good." She turned to leave but stopped. "We have a surprise tonight, Lacy...hot tea. Would you like a cup?"


    Smiling again, Lacy said, "You know, Kay...that sounds delicious. Thank you." She watched Kay make her way across the cylindrical shaft of the silo to the kitchen. Tea did sound good. Hot beverages were the rarest of treats, enjoyed by only the V.I.P.''s (as Lacy referred to them) of Community...of which, Lacy was not a member.


    Lacy''s attention was drawn to a security monitor mounted on the wall to her left that showed the front entrance to the bunker. There were three people approaching. As they got closer, Lacy recognized two guards. The first, Wes, wasn''t so bad. The second one was that bastard, Mitchell. Eva was between them.


    That wasn''t good. They must''ve caught her trying to get back inside the perimeter.


    From the window, Lacy''s gaze shifted to her cell phone resting on the windowsill. It had been rendered useless quite a long time ago. She didn''t know why she kept it around...maybe just in case electronics miraculously became functional again. Then she could contact her husband, Mo, and they could reunite. Lacy knew this was a longshot ¨C probably even more than that. Hopeless, maybe. But there was one thing she would remain uncompromised on: she and Mo would be together again, be it in life or death. No one could prevent that.


    She hadn''t seen him in more than a year.


    Lacy had been on an inbound flight returning from a convention in San Francisco when it all happened. She first noticed the demeanor of the flight attendants. They moved hurriedly through the cabin, toward the front of the plane. Soon it was discovered that one of the pilots had suffered an ailment of some kind. This news spread like wildfire through the passengers, igniting great concern.


    Then someone in first class fell ill. Then someone in coach.


    The plane made an emergency landing on an isolated runway in Philadelphia. When it had taxied to a stop far from the terminal, that''s when Lacy first heard the word quarantine.


    For hours, the passengers were trapped on the plane until emergency responders determined who was sick and who wasn''t. Garbed in hazmat gear, a squad of officials from what Lacy had guessed was the CDC, had arranged checkpoints on the taxiway and each passenger checked for illness.


    She recalled some travelers being led to an area where white vinyl tents had been erected. She supposed they had exhibited symptoms.


    Night fell and large spotlights had been lit. At one point there came shouting and commotion at the front of one of the lines. There had been a frenzy of activity, with several personnel required to subdue an irate passenger.


    Lacy could think of nothing but Mo and if she would survive to see him again. She had never been so terrified. Ever.


    There had been something else about that night...something of terrific significance. But whenever she tried to recall it, Lacy'' memory went hazy.


    In the kitchen the tea kettle issued a soft whine and Gus, lying beside Lacy''s chair, rose to attention. Lacy reached down, patting the chocolate lab''s broad head and his tail thumped twice on the floor. "Shh, it''s okay, Gus," she whispered. She gathered the remnants of cheese from her plate into her hand and gave it to the dog. He looked up at Lacy, as if asking her permission. "Go ahead," she urged. Gus hungrily accepted and then sniffed the ground in search of more. When he found none, the dog stood, paced in a circle, and then plopped back down onto the carpet and sighed.


    Gus had been chubby and happy long ago. His demeanor hadn''t changed much but the dog certainly wasn''t as active as he once was. Despite this, his weight had dwindled. The indentations of his ribs were visible now.


    Lacy turned her attention to the pretend encroaching darkness beyond the pretend window. She was uneasy. "I miss home too, boy." She was unsure of how long Community would tolerate the feeding of a dog with so many mouths to feed. But dogs, the healthy ones, meant protection, safety. Yet some argued that dogs might betray their presence should a nomad wander near and that it was best to remain silent and allow the being to pass undisturbed. Hiding was common practice; confrontation was to be avoided.


    Lacy patted Gus and spoke calmly. "I''m here, big boy." The lifeless cell phone beckoned her. She succumbed and gave it a good, long stare. As strange as it seemed, to her, the phone''s presence was like having a photograph of Mo sitting on the windowsill, staring back at her. She often wondered if her need for its presence was mentally unhealthy and yet, she could never get herself to discard it.


    "Don''t worry honey," she said to Gus. "We''ll be alright."

 Chapter 9

    Wes rapped his knuckles against the exterior door of Walker House. Eva stood to his right, her left arm held gently by his right hand. Quite a difference in grip from Mitchell. The big oaf waited on the walkway, his weapon needlessly at eye level, as though there was an active threat. Eva understood the need for vigilance, but it was pretty obvious no imminent danger was present. For Mitchell to grasp the rifle in such a manner ¨C as though he were part of a special ops team infiltrating an enemy installation ¨C made him appear uneasy, perhaps trigger-happy. Eva could sense that he was eager as hell to shoot something.


    Or someone.


    Walker House was beautiful. Whoever had built these shelters had dumped tons of cash into them. They seemed to have wanted the best in life, even while hunkered down, waiting out Armageddon and this one was the nicest. The window of the silo''s exterior steel door had been fitted with stained glass. The first floor living room looked like a model home, with hardwood floors, posh furniture, and a state-of-the-art entertainment center.


    Laird, Kay''s husband, answered the door. To Eva, he seemed to exhibit an air of superiority, like he was better than everyone. He had probably owned a home three times the size of the bunker before it all went bad and felt like he deserved more, even in the current state of things.


    "Wes."


    "Hi, Laird."


    Laird''s eyes drifted over to Eva. "Eva," he muttered condescendingly.


    Eva nodded ever so slightly and stepped past him into the bunker. She had to squeeze by as he refused to step aside. Judging by his toned arms and sculpted shoulders, it was evident that he must''ve been a work-out fiend. Maybe still was. Eva imagined him admiring himself while he flexed in front of his bathroom mirror.


    "Prick," said Eva, under her breath.


    "Excuse me?" said Laird.


    "You''re excused," said Eva.


    She heard Wes change the subject by asking Laird if he was still able to exercise in the bunker. Laird took the bait and spewed out his latest workout regimen. She would thank Wes later.


    The living room had been painted a warm tone of gray, with white trim. Framed pieces of black and white art adorned the circular wall. The Walkers'' two children, Lance and Audrey, were reading at the far side of the room. They stared disapprovingly as Eva entered.


    Brats.


    Lacy was sitting near the pretend window. She had her cell phone with her, as usual. Eva thought the inoperable device made her seem aloof at times, and she worried it might give Grant and Isaac more cause to rehabilitate her.


    Isaac was Community''s elder, as he was called. He was the only person who Grant reported to. Isaac had final word on all matters.


    Gus, lying by Lacy''s side, raised his head and began to wag as Eva neared. He trotted over to her.


    "Hey, boy. Hey, Gus." Eva stroked the soft fur on the dog''s head.


    Lacy didn''t turn but called from her seat. "Hey, Eva."


    Eva went to the window and leaned against the sill, her back to the digitally-printed twilight. Gus followed. "What''s new?"


    Lacy smiled. "Nothing here...same old thing. I just sit around all day." She looked behind her and then toward the all-season room. She lowered her voice. "Wish they''d trust me enough to let me help out once in a while. But you know how they are..."


    "I know, alright. Just came from Main House."


    "Oh, boy! Bet that was a real treat. Did Grant give you a stern talking to?"


    Gus plopped his haunch down next to Eva''s feet and eased himself to the floor with a long sigh. "Sure did. Didn''t change my mind, though."


    "He loves disciplining people. I think he enjoys having something to hold against someone...or at least against you. And what better than crossing the perimeter. He''s probably hoping you''ll do it again, so he can ceremoniously cast you out."


    Eva stared blankly at the Persian carpet beneath her feet. Her eyes traced the lines in the intricate patterns. "He won''t have anything to hold against me for long."


    Laird strolled into the family room from the stairwell. Even his gait somehow suggested that he held himself above all others. He even walked like a pompous ass. Kay entered from the kitchen and the two engaged in a whispered conversation with occasional glances toward Eva.


    Leaning closer, Lacy''s voice dropped to a near-whisper. "How far did you get?"


    "Less than a quarter mile."


    "I don''t understand. What is it you''re doing out there? Why do you keep coming back?"


    ¡°I have unfinished business here.¡±


    Eva had previously revealed to Lacy her intention to flee Community once the time was right. Ordinarily, Eva made it a habit to trust no one, but Lacy had made it clear that she was leaving as well, and that when Eva was ready, she would go with her. Now, however, for the first time, Eva noted the rounded bump on Lacy''s right temple and wasn''t so sure that trust could be relied upon anymore.


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    The Walkers finished consulting and Laird exited room. Kay approached and handed Lacy a steaming cup of tea on a saucer. "There you go, Lacy. Powdered cream and two sugars. Just how you like it."


    Lacy accepted the saucer. "Yes, it is. Thank you, Kay."


    Then, almost as an afterthought, and likely a deliberate tactic of attempting to appear unconcerned, Kay turned to Eva. "Hello, Eva. It''s nice to have you back. Are you hungry?"


    "Thanks, Kay. And no, I''m fine." Eva had stolen some protein bars before leaving the perimeter but was still a little hungry. Still, she resisted Kay''s half-hearted motherly plea.


    "Eva..." Kay cocked her head. Eva felt like knocking that haughty body language straight out of her. "I realize that you are very independent, but it is unwise to forego eating."


    "I''ve already eaten," snapped Eva.


    "Eva, I make a record of distributed rations at every meal. I know that you haven''t eaten anything yet today."


    Not too good at counting the protein bar supply, huh?


    Lacy quietly sipped her tea, her eyes pinned on Eva, awaiting her response. She probably thought this was better drama than a midday soap opera.


    "I hunted and ate my kill...outside the perimeter," said Eva, matter-of-factly, while she stroked Gus. The dog flopped onto his side.


    Kay stared at Eva, as if to gauge the truthfulness of her answer. After a moment, she closed her eyes in frustration. Hunting was a major violation. Nothing was to be eaten outside of the perimeter. Not canned food or rogue vegetables growing anywhere and especially not game that hadn''t been properly inspected.


    "Eva, I hope that isn''t true. You do realize that such an action would be in violation of Community''s rules...."


    "Yes, Kay. I do," replied Eva, disdain plainly evident in her tone.


    Kay''s eyes attempted to conceal what Eva recognized as a freshly stoked fire. Behind her cool blue orbs, her brain was broiling. "Reverend Grant will have to be notified!" She spun on her heels and practically stomped out of the room. When she reached the all-season room, she and Laird conversed.


    "I assume that was BS?" asked Lacy.


    "Sure was," said Eva.


    "Well, that may have just earned you a day in quarantine."


    Eva smirked. "Perfect."


    *********


    Coinciding with the actual time of day, the digital window displayed a pale moon emerging from behind dark, distant hills. The portal revealed there was still a dusky orange hue near the horizon, but night had almost fallen. A multitude of stars dotted the blackness of space and Eva stared at them; her mind lost in the simulated depths of the cosmos.


    Lacy had fallen asleep in her chair and Gus was passed out at her feet. As Eva shifted on the couch, the dog raised his head, stared and blinked, then laid back down and sighed. Eva¡¯s eyes traced the contours of Gus¡¯s ribs, simultaneously running her fingers along her own. This was no way to live, even in the current state of things. She not only worried about the dog¡¯s survival, but everyone in Community; food supplies had to be dwindling. When Eva had first arrived, there had been a ¡°supply run,¡± where a group had been sent to scavenge outlying homes and towns for any consumables. She had a hunch that one was needed soon, and she intended that day to be the day for her escape.


    But she needed to get her ass moving.


    Kay stepped into the room, accompanied by Wes. ¡°Eva.¡±


    Eva rose from the couch. She couldn¡¯t resist glancing at her rifle, leaning against the wall. It was of no use to her, however, as Grant had taken her ammo. He allowed her to carry the weapon as a reminder that if she got her head right, and obeyed Community¡¯s laws, she¡¯d be given the ammo and therefore, her weapon privilege back.


    ¡°Eva, you need to be taken to quarantine as a precaution.¡±


    ¡°Not to actually be quarantined,¡± interrupted Wes, ¡°but to get a shot¡­in case you came into contact out there. Outside the perimeter.¡±


    Kay seemed displeased that he had spoken. If her looks could kill, Wes would be a goner. Eva guessed the bitch had wanted it to seem that she would actually be quarantined.


    Eva smirked. ¡°Lucky me.¡± She placed her wrists together and offered them to be bound.


    Wes shook his head. ¡°Oh, you don¡¯t need to be tied. It¡¯s okay.¡±


    Kay snapped at him. ¡°You will absolutely tie her wrists! She is to be considered a risk until studied for symptoms.¡±


    ¡°Oh, right,¡± stuttered Wes. ¡°Of course.¡±


    Quarantine was a squat, semicircular building, known as a Quonset Hut. When the airbase had been in use, this place had served as the medical facility and therefore, had been deemed Community¡¯s Med Hut. The equipment and machinery had been rendered obsolete long ago and been replaced. The building was a good staging area for anyone who might become ill, as it sat a good fifty yards or so from the silos. It was also used as a place of quarantine, in the case that a nomad was captured. Here, they could be kept and observed for any signs of infection.


    Eva had been placed here when she first entered Community. She stayed for five days before being released to Walker House.


    ¡°Thanks for the Laird thing earlier,¡± said Eva.


    Wes walked beside her while Mitchell watched from afar. He stood farther south, talking with Laird.


    The two jerkoffs.


    ¡°The Laird thing?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. I muttered something to him, and you changed the subject by asking him about his workout strategy. Good thinking.¡±


    Wes laughed. ¡°Oh yeah¡­he likes himself a little bit.¡±


    ¡°A little bit? He¡¯s always checking himself out, staring at his biceps.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Wes agreed. ¡°His guns are pretty big, though.¡±


    ¡°Not as big as his ego.¡±


    ¡°Oh!¡± Wes nearly doubled over. ¡°True.¡±


    At the Med Hut door, Wes banged his fist against the glass pane. After a few seconds, Charles McGinley answered. He was a stout man, with a dark moustache and hair on the sides and back of his scalp, but bald on top. He was in his mid-thirties, about thirty pounds overweight and the closest thing Community had to a doctor. Eva had learned that he had been an ambulance driver, which somehow qualified him to run the medical operations.


    ¡°Wes. Eva,¡± he said blandly.


    ¡°Hey Charles,¡± replied Wes, ¡°Eva¡¯s here to-¡±


    ¡°I know why she¡¯s here, Wes. Thanks.¡± He stepped aside and waved his arm for Eva to enter.


    Wes waved. ¡°Uh, okay. See you two later.¡±


    ¡°See ya,¡± said Eva.


    Charles closed the door and locked it. He and Eva entered the next room where there were two chairs. On the opposite side of the room was a wall-mounted camera. Before she could take a seat, he halted her by gently grabbing her arm. ¡°Before we¡¯re in view of the camera¡­did you bring me anything?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Left pant leg.¡±


    Charles shoved his large hand up Eva¡¯s pants. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯m not a pervert.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± she replied. ¡°You¡¯ve behaved yourself every other time I brought you something. Besides, if you¡¯d done anything weird, I¡¯d have kneed you in the face.¡±


    Charles removed four protein bars taped to her leg. ¡°Protein bars again?¡±


    ¡°Uh, are you new here? What¡¯re you expecting - filet mignon?¡±


    Charles sighed, then led her to the chairs. ¡°Sit.¡±


    Eva did as he said. Charles went to a desk and flipped a switch beneath it. ¡°There, the camera¡¯s disabled.¡± He looked at his watch. ¡°You have exactly five minutes. Beyond that and-¡±


    ¡°I know, I know¡­then you can¡¯t account for the camera failure.¡±


    Charles opened a bar and took a huge bite. ¡°Well, you know where he is. He¡¯s thinks he¡¯s riding the bike again.¡±


    Eva stepped through a heavy-gauge plastic curtain hanging in the doorway to the next room. The Quarantine Room. There sat a five-by-five cell with steel bars running from floor to ceiling. It had been built to house nomads. Inside, although alone, but gesturing with his hands, as if in deep conversation with some invisible being, was Alex Dash.

 Chapter 10

    Gray cradled his mother¡¯s skull in his arms. Humming softly, he smoothed the few remaining clumps of dark hair, tucking a few strands behind what was left of her right ear. He studied the gnarled digits on his left hand. Such an easy task was complicated by the merging of the middle three fingers into one large and clumsy appendage. His pinkie was nearly absorbed into the stump and he imagined before long, his thumb would be gone, too.


    Dusk was approaching and Gray readied himself to disembark from his camp. He had slept the day away after ending a night of hunting that lasted up until the first signs of the paling dawn sky. Hunting was becoming much more difficult. He could see easily enough at night; his eyes having adjusted quite well. But prey had become scarce. He was hungry.


    With his good hand, the right one, Gray rotated his mother¡¯s skull until she looked him in the eye. ¡°Shh. It¡¯s alright mother,¡± he whispered. ¡°You needn¡¯t worry. I¡¯ll find something for them.¡± He scanned the nearby grounds. Sitting atop a large stone, on the tip of a small hill, Gray had a good view. The earth sloped downward in every direction, allowing him to scan the lengthening shadows. It was just after dusk, when all the dark patches came together into one mass of pitch black stretched across the land that he felt most at home. That was where he was meant to roam, in the gloom. He was the embodiment of a nightmare, after all. It had taken some time to comprehend this, but he understood now.


    While his thoughts sometimes seemed fuzzy, he still knew enough to keep to high ground. A better perspective. Better angle of attack.


    Gray raised his snout into the air. Snout. Funny, that¡¯s how he thought of it now. Wasn¡¯t really much of a nose, at least not like it used to be. It wasn¡¯t much longer than it had been, but broader. He wasn¡¯t sure how he remembered this, as he couldn¡¯t envision the face he had before, nor much of his life. Occasionally, fragments would come to him in flashes, like the way sunlight twinkles off the water¡¯s surface. Then, just as quickly, they would vanish. Regardless, it was better now, his nose. Stronger. Able to pick out things; animals scurrying beneath the lowest boughs of nearby shrubs or among the tall blades of grass in a field. It had taken a while to hone his skills, but his snout had detected many meals and he expected it to discover many more. But animals had grown smarter now. They understood what kinds of things were out there, hiding, waiting.


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    Things like Gray.


    Pulling the skull close, he rolled over onto his knees. His keen sense of smell had picked up on something close by and Gray sniffed the air deeply. After peering in every direction, he inhaled again.


    ¡°Smell that, Mother?¡± he whispered into the void that was her left ear. ¡°Skunk!¡± He snarled and spat. ¡°Goddamned, rotten skunk!¡± He slammed his clubbed left hand against the stone, and it split.


    Gray removed a brush from his blue backpack and ran it through her hair. ¡°Sorry. I didn¡¯t mean to swear. Just hungry, that¡¯s all. And skunks are too foul to eat, even for me. I tried one before. The meat tasted ruined. But I didn¡¯t waste the carcass¡­would never do that. I left it. I knew something would eat it.¡±


    Balancing the skull on his mallet of a left hand, he stroked the fine hairs with the brush over and over, like when she used to allow him to do when he was little. At least, he thought he had done so.


    A child¡­


    Had he really been a child once? Memories had become so foggy lately. Again, he found it difficult to understand if the bits he remembered had truly happened or if it was something that his corroded mind had imagined.


    Cupping her detached head, Gray gazed into the deep, dry sockets where her eyes had once been, wide and full of promise. He had loved those eyes. Deep brown, with specks of amber near the edges. He had never seen any like them. As Gray¡¯s vision jumped from one to the other, he thought he remembered looking into his Mother¡¯s cheery orbs, long ago, when his name had been...something else.


    Sick, he thought. She got sick¡­Like so many others¡­


    Even then, in the face of calamity, she had been able to inspire hope. And the child with a different name had not been afraid. That child had known peace. Comfort. Somehow, he remembered that about her.


    Gray¡¯s eyes were wet, and a drop of saltiness spilled from one of them into the corner of his mouth. He glanced skyward at the distant heavens and screamed. Then he did something he hadn¡¯t done in a long, long, time. He prayed. But when he returned his gaze to his Mother, he found not those shining brown eyes, but sunken contours, with brittle remnants of tissue stretched across the gaps.


    And he wept.

 Chapter 11

    The body tumbled awkwardly down the ravine and came to rest on the bank of a shallow stream. Except for the dilapidated barn the thing had just fled, there was no other structure in proximity. If there were others, they¡¯d be easier to locate.


    Mo descended the slope, weaving through birch and maple trees. He slid the final ten feet, riding a tide of decaying foliage to a smooth plateau of bedrock. Staring down the rifle¡¯s sight, he targeted the maimed form and cautiously approached.


    The unclothed thing was a grotesque blemish here amongst the natural beauty of the forest. Its head lay submerged in the stream, the rushing water gurgling around the base of the neck.


    As he drew closer, Mo noticed the rise and fall of the creature¡¯s chest. It was still alive, breathing¡­but how? Its face was under water. Obviously, he was in the presence of something that possessed amphibious qualities.


    With a gloved hand, Mo grabbed the thing¡¯s right ankle and dragged it out of the water. After a few seconds, it began to convulse and thrash about, turning toward Mo and displaying his misshapen head. A sound that was half-croak, half-hiss came from the gaping mouth. It resembled Alex Dash, but it wasn¡¯t him.


    As it turned back toward the stream, Mo raised the rifle and rested his right index finger on the trigger. He didn¡¯t immediately fire; a perverse awe beckoned him to observe the inhuman mechanics of the creature as it began to drag itself toward the bank. After a few feet, it flopped to the ground with a wet slap. It pressed its torso up and struggled against the uncooperative lower half of the body, which seemed to have become disabled. It croak-hissed again and Mo squeezed off a shot.


    He stood over the body and studied the bullet¡¯s entry site. Blood oozed from the wound a little thicker than Mo believed blood ought to. Beneath the corpse, a gelatinous puddle of ink-dark fluid gathered.


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    ¡°Jesus!¡± yelled Watley, sliding down the same rotting foliage, albeit not as gracefully. He fell to the bottom but then jumped to his feet and rushed toward the corpse, placing a small gasoline can by its side. He had never seen anyone die in person. ¡°You killed him.¡±


    ¡°Freed him, you mean.¡±


    They hadn¡¯t come to commit murder, but to apprehend and contain. However, upon encountering this creature, it had become necessary to eliminate it. It¡¯d be immoral to allow it to live. It might spread its blight. It might find another of its kin and procreate.


    ¡°Is it him? Dash?¡±


    ¡°No¡­I don¡¯t think so.¡±


    After a moment, Watley said, ¡°Shit¡­looks like him.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not him,¡± Mo said.


    ¡°Torch it?¡± asked Watley.


    Mo nodded and Watley doused the body with fuel. With the flick of a lighter, flames erupted and quickly engulfed the corpse.


    In Mo¡¯s mind, it¡¯d become necessary to destroy any biologically distorted specimens they encountered. He didn¡¯t know if it would discourage any spread of inhuman contagions, but it felt like the right thing to do. He imagined a mosquito feeding on the remains of this corpse, then flying off and injecting its infected fluids into a dog, then the dog biting a human, and so on. Or a bat eating the mosquito. The bat might bite a racoon, the racoon attacks a human. It would be impossible to stop. It could already be too late. He envisioned the chain eventually reaching Lacy. Then what would he do?


    From beneath the body, Mo noted a narrow thread of dark fluid that followed the sloping fissures in the bedrock. He walked to the bank and watched the rushing torrent as the ground fell away toward lower elevations. There the stream got quicker, white water tumbling over a waterfall.


    The blood was in the water.


    *********


    As they returned to their cycles, Watley noticed a smear of dark fluid on his suit and recognized it as the thing¡¯s blood. Shit. He should¡¯ve been more careful. Along with Mo, he had been pumped full of antibiotics, vitamins and whatever else were in those shots given to them, so he figured he was fairly well protected. He decided to dismiss his carelessness but promised himself to be more diligent in the future. Just some blood.


    Without Mo noticing, he removed medical tape from a compartment on the cycle and triple-wrapped the area, to prevent contact with the fluid. What he failed to see however, beneath the smear of blood, was the miniscule tear in his suit he had sustained when he descended the slope.

 Chapter 12

    The pickup rambled along the access road leading away from Sunset Bay. Alex glanced down at the twins, squeezed into the passenger seat. He was compelled to check on them every few seconds, after what had nearly been a fatal error. The episode in the store had terrified and shocked him back to his ultra-aware state, which he had allowed to go dormant. He quietly chastised himself for failing to spot the man. Henry could¡¯ve been harmed, or worse, the man could¡¯ve disabled Alex and then did what he wished to both twins. He could¡¯ve killed them. Ernie seemed like a decent person, but if it had been someone else¡­


    Alex kept the pickup steady at fifty miles per hour; slow enough to keep the twins feeling safe, yet fast enough to outrun anything that might try to engage them. Out of the rushing scenery to his right came a voice. Alex jerked his head toward the shoulder of the road but saw only the woods whizzing by in a blur. It had sounded like someone clearing their throat. He snapped his head toward Henry and Annabelle. They were staring straight ahead, their large, round helmets bobbing with every bump in the road.


    Even if the twins had shouted at him, the wind zipping by Alex¡¯s ears would¡¯ve drowned them out. Yet the voice had sounded very near.


    ¡°Alex?¡± A female voice. The girl was at his right-hand side, seated five feet away, her image floating in the air and maintaining pace with the pickup. He ignored the vision.


    ¡°I know you can hear me,¡± she said. This was the first time the hallucination had been accompanied by a voice. A visual hallucination was worrying enough. Now, accompanied by a an auditory one, his concern was compounded. Was he going insane? Is this how it happened?


    Out of frustration, Alex slammed down on the accelerator. The engine groaned and the pickup bucked. Henry and Annabelle cried out.


    ¡°Alex!¡± shouted Annabelle.


    Alex hit the brakes and the truck skidded through gravel and came to an abrupt stop. He shut the engine off and turned to the twins. ¡°Sorry, guys. I¡¯m just not happy with myself.¡±


    ¡°How come?¡± asked Henry.


    ¡°Because I let the man in the store sneak up on us.¡± He sighed and scanned their surroundings.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay, Alex,¡± said the hallucination. ¡°I¡¯m here to help you.¡±


    Henry shrugged. ¡°Yeah, but how could you know?¡±


    Alex glanced at the girl and discovered she wasn¡¯t just floating in the air, but there was a background behind her. She was seated on a chair in a small room. Concrete wall and floor. He looked away.


    ¡°I should¡¯ve been more careful. That was my fault. I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    The twins stared up at their big brother. They both smiled.


    Alex forced a grin, but it quickly faded. ¡°It won¡¯t happen again. I won¡¯t let anyone do anything bad to you two¡­I promise.¡±


    Annabelle grabbed Alex¡¯s hand. ¡°We know.¡± Henry placed his hand atop his sister¡¯s.


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°Good. Let¡¯s get home before the sun¡¯s down, okay?¡±


    The children nodded.


    The hallucinatory girl stared, but Alex didn¡¯t waver. She had dirty blonde hair pulled into a ponytail and hazy green eyes that seemed capable of seeing into him, of scrutinizing his thought. More of the room had become visible. Now, between Alex and her was a series of vertical metal bars. There was a door with a lock. He was unable to tell if the girl appeared to be locked behind the bars, or if he was.


    Her lips parted and she began to speak. ¡°I need you to trust-¡±


    ¡°Alex?¡± asked Annabelle.


    Alex spun toward the child. ¡°What!¡±


    The twins jumped from their brother¡¯s outburst. Annabelle¡¯s eyes teared up. ¡°I¡­never mind.¡±


    With a sigh, Alex pulled his sister toward him, resting his visor against hers. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I didn¡¯t mean to yell. I¡¯m just¡­¡±


    ¡°Not happy with yourself?¡± asked Henry.


    ¡°Yes, Henry.¡± Alex raised the visor on Annabelle¡¯s helmet and then, his own. He wiped her tears away, and pulled a few strands of chestnut hair from the corner of her tiny lips. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± He kissed her forehead. ¡°What did you want to tell me?¡±


    After a hard swallow, Annabelle spoke. ¡°Um¡­I¡­I don¡¯t remember Mom and Dad.¡±


    Nodding, an emotional Henry added, ¡°Me too. I mean, me¡­neither.¡±


    The weight of that statement slammed into Alex like a runaway train. His eyes met his sister¡¯s, then his brother¡¯s and Alex released the breath he realized he was holding. He pulled them close in a vice-like embrace.


    ¡°Believe it or not,¡± he said, ¡°that¡¯s not unusual when you haven¡¯t seen someone in a while.¡± Alex wasn¡¯t sure that was true, but in his attempt to ease their anxiety, that¡¯s what he had blurted out.


    ¡°But they¡¯re our parents,¡± said Annabelle.


    Were our parents, thought Alex reluctantly.


    ¡°Yes. We haven¡¯t seen them in over a year, though,¡± replied Alex. He perked up and did a quick scope of the road and flanking pine forest, then returned his attention to the children.


    Tears again brimmed on Annabelle¡¯s lower eyelids, poised to spill over. ¡°Are they still alive?¡±


    Hesitating, Alex pondered the consequences of his answer. To lie to Henry and Annabelle would only delay this inevitable conversation. Alex wanted to spare them pain, to spare them anguish, but he also needed them to be capable of an inner strength that children their age do not normally possess. Facing sorrow was something they would have to grow accustomed to if they were to survive.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± said Alex, finally.


    The twins¡¯ chubby cheeks became wet with tears, and Alex fought back his own. ¡°As difficult as it might be, it is extremely important to remember¡­if you ever see Mom and Dad, you mustn¡¯t go to them.¡±


    The twins, wiping their tears on their sleeves, nodded.


    Alex continued, ¡°And why is that?¡±


    Henry raised his hand and Alex called on him. ¡°Cause they might not be Mom and Dad anymore?¡±


    Alex nodded. ¡°Yes, because they might not be themselves anymore.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t picture their faces,¡± said Annabelle.


    A few moments of silence ensued. ¡°Hey,¡± Alex said, ¡°do you remember the time we were all sitting on the couch waiting for Henry to finish getting dressed so we could watch a movie?¡±


    Henry¡¯s face brightened. ¡°The Jungle Book!¡±


    Alex pointed toward the boy. ¡°Yes!¡± Annabelle blinked her eyes clear. ¡°And then, all of a sudden, he comes running out of his room with underwear on the outside of his pajama pants!¡±


    The twins burst out laughing. ¡°And Dad was laughing so hard, he spit out popcorn!¡± cried Annabelle.


    ¡°And then Mom started throwing popcorn at all of us!¡± chuckled Henry.


    When the three of them had finished laughing, Alex spoke. ¡°Now can you picture Mom and Dad?¡±


    Annabelle frowned, but then the folds in her brow eased. ¡°Yes, I can!¡±


    ¡°Yeah, me too!¡± added Henry.


    Alex patted each of them on the head. ¡°Good. Next time you think you forget what they look like, just remember something happy we all did together, and their faces will appear in your mind.¡±


    The children smiled. ¡°Okay,¡± they said in unison.


    Alex eased back into the driver¡¯s seat and found the girl still to his right, still watching. He held his gaze while he started the truck¡¯s engine. Slowly, in turn, the metal bars started to fade from his view, until only the door with the lock separated the two. He didn¡¯t look away and neither did she.


    ¡°Hang on, guys.¡± The pickup sped off and the girl vanished.

 Chapter 13

    Tucking the skull into his backpack, Gray left his rocky lookout and descended the grassy slope. He ducked into the shadowy woods and became one with the tall, ashen trunks. He could easily be mistaken for a tree, albeit one with few limbs.


    He had heard the unmistakable discharge of a gun, despite believing it to have had one of those muffling devices attached to it¡­what was it called? After a pause, he whispered to himself, ¡°Suppressor, dummy.¡±


    To Gray, the sound had been piercing, even with the silencer. His ears were very good, much better than they used to be. He detected other auditory clues that something unusual was going on. Two-legged things moving through the underbrush toward the road, muffled voices. He also detected the acrid stench of smoke and charred flesh. He would investigate that next.


    With a wraithlike shamble, and discreet movement despite his mass, Gray arrived at the edge of the tree line, undetected by what he now realized were two men. He leaned away from the coverage of a tree trunk to get a better look and his backpack snagged a low-hanging branch, causing a slight cracking noise. He snapped his head toward the backpack and shushed it.


    The men, wearing domed helmets and heavy-looking gray protection suits, stowed their rifles somewhere on the two riding machines they had brought. ¡°Cycles,¡± Gray whispered. They mounted the cycles, then departed the area.


    When they were out of sight, Gray turned from the road and meandered back into the trees, following the scent of smoke until he came to a decline that led to a large, rocky spot. He made his way down to the rock and walked to the farthest point, where the remains of some wicked thing lie, consumed in flames. Ordinarily, the scent of roasting flesh would torment Gray with hunger pangs, but this meat was foul, which is probably why the men had burnt it. There was something wrong with this thing before him. It didn¡¯t just stink, but it almost seemed to release a strange vapor, as if it resisted the cleansing properties of fire. This likely was just his imagination, but just in case, Gray placed his hand over his mouth. From his left, in the darker regions of the wood, but still plainly visible to him, came a dog. It trotted along with a carefree gait, despite being aware of Gray¡¯s presence. This gave the impression of it possessing intelligence superior to that of its kin. It exhibited confidence and a domineering attitude. Stopping on the opposite side of the flaming black heap, it stared at Gray, then at the heap, then at Gray again.


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want it,¡± said Gray, pointing to the flames.


    The dog sat and seemed to study Gray, as if it didn¡¯t at first believe him. It raised its head and sniffed the air.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t eat it if I were you. It¡¯s a rotten, wicked thing. Can¡¯t you smell it isn¡¯t right?¡±


    Gray didn¡¯t expect the dog to answer, but he believed it understood him. He remembered having seen this one before and knew it to be much smarter than any other dog he¡¯d come across, which also made it more dangerous. It thought things through and problem solved. The way it stared at Gray caused him to wonder if it could read his mind. It had a strange face, looked sort of like a person and a dog, all mixed together.


    Setting the backpack down, Gray sat on a raised ledge of rock. ¡°What am I thinking, then?¡± he asked the dog. It didn¡¯t answer. ¡°Cat got your tongue?¡± Gray burst out laughing. ¡°It¡¯s funny because dogs and cats dislike one another.¡±


    The dog looked away in apparent disgust, then got up and went to the stream beside the burning corpse. Turning its back, the dog began scooping water between its hind legs and onto the flames. It did this for several minutes until all traces of fire had been extinguished, leaving only withering trails of smoke rising into the cool evening air.


    ¡°You¡¯re not going to eat it, are you?¡± asked Gray. Then he heard some things approaching from the direction the dog had come. Bursting from the darkness came a pack of five mangy canines. The first dog stepped aside as three of the pack leaped upon the blackened corpse, tearing chunks of flesh away from the torso. The other two busied themselves with devouring the legs.


    ¡°Stupid things,¡± muttered Gray. He watched as the first dog sat nearby, watching the disgusting feast. Then it dawned on him. ¡°You did that on purpose. You¡¯re hoping they get sick and die¡­less competition. Smart, I guess. But you might¡¯ve spread whatever that thing had wrong with it, too.¡±


    The dog looked at Gray once more with that all-knowing stare. After a moment, it dashed off into the gathering night.


    Gray thought he heard the whir of the cycles somewhere in the distance. Those men were looking for someone. ¡°If they¡¯re anything like this wicked thing, I hope they find them.¡± One of the feasting dogs looked back at him, as if wondering who Gray was speaking to, then resumed eating.


    Hope they find them¡­


    Hope they find them¡­


    Rising from his seat in alarm, Gray tried to understand why these words bothered him so much. ¡°Damn, rotten brain! Remember!¡± He slammed his hammer-hand against the rock ledge, shattering it into tiny fragments. The pack of dogs started, leaping away from the corpse. Two of them issued warning barks, then they all crept back to their meal.


    What had he been doing before hearing the gunshot? He was supposed to be somewhere, but not here¡­supposed to do something. The two men on the cycles had reminded Gray of someone else and his sudden fear had something to do with this person. Same suit. Same cycle. Same rifle.


    Eva.

 Chapter 14

    ¡°Time¡¯s up,¡± said Charles.


    Eva left her chair and the room holding Alex and walked beside the desk Charles was sitting at. ¡°I need a shot?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what they expect me to do, said you ate something outside of the perimeter. Sounds like BS to me.¡±


    Eva sat in one of the two empty folding chairs opposite the desk. She removed her sweatshirt and rolled up the left sleeve of her shirt. ¡°You don¡¯t believe I can hunt and kill my own food? You barely know me to make an assumption like that.¡±


    Charles left his seat and moved to a small tray where a syringe and a glass bottle of clear fluid had been prepared. He motioned for her to settle down. ¡°Take it easy, princess. I meant, you seemed smarter than to go to that trouble when there¡¯s food here. Just doesn¡¯t make sense. Sounds like you said that just to get sent here, so you could try to talk to him,¡± he said, thumbing toward Alex.


    ¡°What do you care? You¡¯re getting extra rations¡­¡±


    Charles turned and looked at her. ¡°I don¡¯t care.¡± He drew closer and wiped a small area on her upper arm with an alcohol-soaked cotton swab. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re trying to achieve though. This one¡¯s rehab material; he doesn¡¯t even know he¡¯s in a cage.¡±


    ¡°I think he¡¯s salvageable,¡± replied Eva. ¡°What¡¯s in the syringe?¡±


    ¡°Antibiotic.¡± He plunged the syringe into her upper arm and administered the medication, then placed a bandage over the insertion site. ¡°Yeah, he¡¯s salvageable. He¡¯ll go straight to the farm to work the fields.¡±


    ¡°They tell you that?¡±


    ¡°No, but he¡¯s going to be rehabbed. After rehab, they go to the farm.¡±


    Eva rolled her sleeve back down and threw her sweatshirt on. ¡°What exactly is rehab?¡±


    Charles discarded the used syringe into a red plastic box marked ¡°Hazard.¡± ¡°No idea. Isaac handles that stuff.¡±


    ¡°They didn¡¯t tell you how they rehab someone?¡±


    Charles shrugged. ¡°They get your mind right, somehow.¡±


    Eva frowned.


    ¡°Look, I have no reason to lie to you. They just have me run this half-assed medical station. That¡¯s it. They don¡¯t tell me squat.¡±


    Eva followed as Charles led her to the door and knocked, notifying Wes that she was finished. The door swung open, only it wasn¡¯t Wes that answered.


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    Crap.


    ¡°Charles, why aren¡¯t you in a suit!¡± demanded Mitchell, in full bio gear and armed.


    ¡°Calm down. She¡¯s not contagious,¡± he replied.


    ¡°Where¡¯s Wes?¡± asked Eva.


    ¡°That right? You¡¯re a doctor, now?¡± blurted the guard, ignoring Eva¡¯s question. He grabbed her arm and yanked her outside. ¡°By the way, don¡¯t ever tell someone holding a firearm to calm down.¡±


    ¡°Is that right? You going to shoot me?¡± taunted Charles.


    Mitchell let go of Eva and got in Charles¡¯s face. ¡°I¡¯ll do whatever is necessary.¡±


    From the small of her back, tucked into her pants, Eva removed a bundle of three protein bars fastened together by a rubber band. She looked to see if anyone farther off was watching and when it was clear, tossed them toward the perimeter fence.


    Still jawing, Mitchell finally warned, ¡°Don¡¯t temp me, medic.¡± He stepped over to Eva, bound her and led her away from the Med Hut.


    ¡°And don¡¯t you start, bitch,¡± he said to Eva.


    ¡°The mouth on you,¡± quipped Eva.


    ¡°If it were up to me, I''d cast you out on your ass.¡±


    Eva smiled. ¡°News flash: nothing¡¯s going to be left up to you.¡±


    ¡°No? Why¡¯s that, smart-mouth?¡±


    ¡°Because you¡¯re an ignoramus.¡±


    Mitchell stopped abruptly and swung Eva around to face him. ¡°There are two things I¡¯d like to do to you. Should I tell you?¡±


    Eva feigned deep concentration. ¡°Hmm¡­I think I can guess.¡±


    He retracted the domed visor back into the helmet, revealing his face. His puffy, chapped lips curled into a hideous smile, then he dragged his tongue across them.


    Eva mimicked the routine, pouring on the sensuality, then batted her eyelashes. At first Mitchell appeared confused as to her intention, but then understanding washed over him and behind his dark eyes flared an inferno of hate. He seemed to lose control of himself and raised a fist over his head.


    ¡°Mitchell!¡±


    Broken free of his momentary insanity, he dropped his arm and snapped his head in the direction of the voice. It was Wes.


    ¡°What¡¯re you doing, man?¡±


    Mitchell¡¯s wild glare harbored something Eva recognized as incoherency. The meek twilight glow accentuated the bulging whites of his eyes, adding to the impression of derangement. In that moment, he seemed capable of anything. He blinked a few times, returning from the mental lapse and back to his normal, despicable self.


    To Eva, Wes asked, ¡°You okay?¡±


    She nodded.


    ¡°Mitchell?¡± said Wes. ¡°You alright, man?¡±


    Mitchell¡¯s eyes darted from Wes to Eva, then back to Wes. His eyebrows lowered into their usual unpleasant posture. ¡°You take her back.¡± He slammed his visor shut and stormed off.


    Wes took Eva to Walker House and saw her to the door. He knocked. ¡°You dodged one there,¡± he said.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± Eva replied.


    Wes nodded. ¡°I know he can be a hot-head, but I¡¯ve never seen him like that.¡±


    ¡°Maybe someone ought to speak to Grant about him,¡± she said, raising her eyebrows.


    ¡°You kidding me? He finds out I said something, he¡¯ll kill me.¡± Eva cocked her head and Wes took the hint. ¡°Okay, maybe I¡¯ll talk to him.¡±


    Laird answered the door and Eva ducked inside.


    *********


    Charles watched the man in the cage, still conversing with some imaginary people. Occasionally he would glance around, but that was it. Food had been left in the enclosure, but he hadn¡¯t stopped to eat.


    Charles exited the Med Hut and locked the door. Before turning to walk back to Main House, he noticed something strange among the cluster of vegetation just outside the perimeter fence. A gnarled tree rose from the tangled brush. Its appearance was unique, yet he couldn¡¯t remember having seen it before. He felt a desire to go examine it but thought better of it. There were plants that had evolved into things that weren¡¯t quite plants anymore. Some of them had become sentient. What if this was one of them? Not so long ago, it would¡¯ve seemed an outrageous notion. He stared at the suddenly sinister tree and retreated toward the safety of the silos.

 Chapter 15

    Gray waited until the fat man with the moustache left the rounded building. He observed him waddle up a slight incline, then pass from view behind the first bunker. To be sure, Gray delayed a bit more, in case he reappeared at the farther end of the structure. The man had studied him a little too long and that made Gray nervous.


    There was only a narrow line of red along the horizon, and the meager light shrouded everything in a heavy murk. Soon Gray could move about without needing to disguise himself. He had approached the airbase from the crop fields, where all the farmers had finished for the day and were settled into their houses. They weren¡¯t like these ugly bunkers. They were nicer places, the houses. Like real homes.


    On occasion, Gray would sneak up to the farmhouses at night and peer inside. The windows glowed with amber light provided by end table lamps and Gray could almost feel their warmth. He watched as the farmers sat on comfy-looking sofas and deep cloth chairs, the kind you could sink into. The people would read books or write with pen and paper. In the kitchens they would clang pots and pans, dishes and shiny things Gray thought were called utensils, yet they would never cook anything. It was as though they were going through a routine ¨C pretending to cook and clean after themselves.


    Instead, around the same time each evening the farmers walked from their farmhouses to one of the bunkers where Gray supposed they all met to dine. It was an eerie sight, like a procession of lost souls and to Gray they seemed broken somehow.


    When they had gone, he would go inside the houses and look at all the wonders they held. Moving from room to room was difficult because he was so big now, but he managed it. Something about these settings stirred Gray¡¯s memories and familiar imagery flashed before him, as though he wasn¡¯t merely imagining them, but had been there, in rooms like these. In a house. With mother and father. As always however, the images vanished and defeated, Gray would slink back into the night.


    To his left, Gray watched one of the guards pacing. When he turned away, Gray relaxed from his tree-like pose, reached through a hole in the fencing and snagged a bundle of protein bars that Eva had left him. A piece of paper was wedged between them and Gray unfolded and read it.


    Tomorrow at dusk.


    Gray squinted as something pelted his face. He looked up and witnessed the guard sprinting toward the bunker. Then another following him. A storm had set in, hurling seeds through the air. Gray withdrew from the perimeter and moved silently among the shadows.


    ****************************************************************************


    The sudden onset of the storm caused Alex to take shelter at the county airport instead of making it back to the silo. He figured it to be the safest place to ride it out. It had only seemed moments ago that Annabelle had mentioned how the orange and raspberry clouds looked like sherbet. The pink light reflected from low clouds, painting the concrete below in a soft pink hue.


    ¡°I could sure go for sherbet!¡± Henry had exclaimed.


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    ¡°If I could only get us some big spoons,¡± said Alex, ¡°Then each one of us would reach up and take a giant scoop of those clouds.¡±


    ¡°Mmm,¡± mumbled Annabelle.


    Henry licked his lips. ¡°Aw, man! Then we wouldn¡¯t be so hungry.¡±


    The sky was so beautiful that it didn¡¯t seem real, especially from the view provided by the control tower. It was as though it could only have been dreamt up, conjured by a child¡¯s imagination. The very air had felt heavy with wonderment and listening to Annabelle and Henry, Alex half expected fairies to materialize and the airport¡¯s concrete and steel structure to magically be replaced by candy canes and cotton candy.


    The only flaw was the tarmac couple, whose presence in the now rust-hued gloom, morphed the otherwise enchanted sunset into the ideal setting for a horror movie. Through the rifle¡¯s scope, Alex Dash watched two figures wander from the terminal across the barren taxiway. One male, one female. The man was dressed in tattered military fatigues and was missing his left boot. Likely unaware, the woman was nearly topless, her tee shirt half gone, her bra hanging off her left shoulder.


    Nomads.


    ¡°There are two,¡± whispered Alex. ¡°Stay where you are. Keep down.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± whispered Annabelle.


    ¡°Me too,¡± added Henry. ¡°Okay.¡±


    Keeping his eye pressed into the scope, Alex snapped his fingers and held his hand out behind him, palm up. The twins knew that this meant to be quiet; no more talking. ¡°Bags,¡± said Alex, and the twins readied themselves by sliding on their tiny backpacks, what had once been their kindergarten school gear, but since converted to toddler-scale ¡°bug-out¡± bags.


    Training the crosshairs on the space between the two, Alex was able to keep them both in the scope¡¯s window. Had their appearance not given it away, their bumbling gait would have exposed them.


    Alex had selected the remote control tower, preferring its distance from the terminal. He also figured the height advantage and unrestricted view would benefit them in a conflict. But to engage was to reveal one¡¯s position and he¡¯d prevent it if able.


    Wondering if the man and woman were alone, Alex swiveled the scope toward the terminal, looking for others. The airport was a general aviation airstrip, primarily used by the public, although Alex noticed a few military aircraft in the distance. All the doors to the terminal remained closed and the windows were all dark. The couple seemed to be the only ones, but it stood to reason there were more somewhere inside.


    When he returned the scope to the couple¡¯s last position, Alex¡¯s pulse spiked when he could no longer find them. He lowered the rifle and scanned the airfield with his own eyes and nearly fell backward when he spotted the man and woman charging toward the tower.


    There were no lights, no electricity, therefore eliminating the risk of being backlit by any source. So, why the hell were they coming this way?


    ¡°Alex?¡± called Annabelle softly.


    Alex¡¯s concern was infectious, and the children shared his anxiety. They rose to their feet, their tiny frames concealed by the worktops and computer stations.


    ¡°Come here,¡± whispered Alex, leading them toward the rear of the room.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± said Henry. ¡°The door¡¯s locked, right?¡±


    Alex nodded. ¡°Yes.¡±


    From the first floor came the sound Alex had been waiting for. There was a loud thump as the couple had reached the tower¡¯s access door. Alex raised the rifle and aimed for the dark stairway, which provided entry to the room they occupied. He moved toward it.


    ¡°Alex!¡± pleaded Annabelle. ¡°Don¡¯t!¡±


    He gave her a stern look. ¡°Stay down. Everything will be fine. Do not come for me, I will come get you.¡±


    At the bottom of the stairs Alex aimed toward the exterior door. The barrage continued and Alex understood that it would never cease, at least not until he put an end to it. As far as he knew, the door featured no sophisticated locking mechanism. Perhaps at one time it had, but with no electricity, any computerized locks were useless. There was only a deadlock, which looked ready to give.


    The tarmac couple released animalistic sounds as they continued their assault. The deadbolt creaked under the pressure. Alex took a deep breath and the door burst inward.

 Chapter 16

    Dinner had been served in Walker House, with those from the silos and those from the farms dining in the same structure for a change. Usually the farmers were served in the farmhouse nearest the airbase, but this was special - the last meal before a supply run. Grant had requested it this way. He knew all too well that not everyone was guaranteed to return from such trips.


    Kay was the most talented cook in Community and therefore prepared the lion¡¯s share of the meals. Grant had asked her to set aside certain rations to ensure tonight would be an exceptional dinner. As a result, tonight¡¯s menu was white rice - a favorite staple, canned sweet potatoes, and beef jerky ¨C the last meat-based protein that remained.


    Grant surveyed the table and was comforted by the eagerness with which the meal was consumed. He was flanked by Laird to his right, and Kay to his left. Beyond her sat Charles, Wes, then the Walker children. Past Laird was Lacy, then Eva. Mitchell had been scheduled to be on guard outside the silo but had come inside due to the storm. He sat on a chair far from the table. Isaac never attended dinner.


    ¡°Wes,¡± said Grant. Wes looked up from his plate and wiped his mouth with a napkin. ¡°I¡¯d like you to accompany us on the supply run tomorrow.¡±


    Nodding, Wes responded, ¡°Absolutely, I¡¯ll gladly go.¡±


    ¡°Eva? How about you? Up for a little scavenging?¡±


    The girl¡¯s eyes never met Grant¡¯s. ¡°No. I¡¯d rather stay here and learn my place in Community.¡±


    ¡°Oh? I thought you would jump at the chance to get outside the perimeter again,¡± said Grant, trying to bait her. There was a chuckle from Mitchell.


    Now, she looked at Grant. ¡°I think I¡¯ve had my share of adventure. Besides, I need to get my mind right. Going beyond the perimeter might only encourage poor decisions on my part.¡±


    Clever girl, thought Grant. He played along. ¡°Good. Glad to see you¡¯re taking things seriously.¡±


    Laird turned to Grant, then motioned toward the far end of the room. ¡°And Mitchell?¡±


    Grant slowly shook his head. ¡°Too much of a wildcard. Too much of a risk.¡±


    ¡°Agreed,¡± replied Laird. ¡°I¡¯m all for aggression when necessary, but he¡¯s too aggressive for his own good.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s his strength and his weakness,¡± said Kay. ¡°I agree that he¡¯s a possible liability, but I¡¯m not exactly pleased that you¡¯re leaving him here. You saw the way he acted toward Eva.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Grant responded. ¡°But she did exacerbate the situation by egging him on.¡±


    Kay raised her eyebrows and nodded. ¡°She¡¯s quite gifted at that.¡±


    There was a pause, then Grant asked, ¡°Have you seen any improvement at all?¡±


    Laird sipped his glass of water, peeked over at Kay, who hadn¡¯t looked up from her plate. ¡°None,¡± he replied.


    Grant looked straight ahead, but he was focused not on what was before him, but on some dilemma in his mind.


    Laird noticed the change in his demeanor and attempted to rationalize Eva¡¯s lack of progress. ¡°She hates me though. Even if she was doing better, I doubt she¡¯d reveal it to me. I think she prefers keeping people from getting too close. I can appreciate that.¡±


    ¡°Kay?¡± Grant appealed to who he considered the head of Walker House. ¡°Any change you¡¯ve noticed? Perhaps something she¡¯s felt more comfortable revealing to a woman?¡±


    Kay met his eyes and, reluctantly it seemed, shook her head. ¡°She has no time for me. She confides in Lacy.¡±


    Appearing uninterested in his food, Grant sat back in his chair and stroked his chin. ¡°I¡¯ll have to have a talk with her then.¡±


    When the meal had ended, everyone chipped in with the clean-up. Grant momentarily relieved Charles from his duties and led him to an empty room. ¡°The nomad¡­any drastic changes?¡±


    ¡°Alex?¡± Charles shook his head. ¡°It¡¯s a no-go. He hasn¡¯t done anything differently. Same old routine?: doesn¡¯t really eat and speaks to invisible people.¡±


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.¡°Except when he speaks to Eva,¡± said Grant.


    ¡°Right. But I don¡¯t know if he¡¯s really even aware of her.¡±


    ¡°He never engages her?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve never heard him address her. He only speaks to a Henry and Annabelle.¡± Charles shrugged. ¡°Whoever they are.¡±


    Grant nodded, then exited the room.


    The infiltration by the tarmac couple had driven Alex and the twins from the control tower and home to the safety of the silo. It had been the first time he had killed anyone.


    He¡¯d had no choice, of course. It was either Alex and the twins or them. One shot was all he¡¯d needed for the man, as he was struck in the head. The woman had taken a bullet to the upper chest, but had still moved after hitting the ground, so Alex had fired into her once more to be sure. Then he had told the children to hide their eyes until he led them outside, where they hurried to the pickup and sped home. Fortunately, the storm had diminished, so he didn¡¯t need to worry about the seeds so much. Rain usually followed seed storms, but they¡¯d made it home before any had fallen.


    Shedding their bio-suits in the air chamber, Henry and Annabelle descended the stairs while Alex closed and locked the exterior door. He quickly followed the twins and advanced ahead of them, moving into the bedroom, rifle at the ready.


    ¡°All clear,¡± he said. ¡°Go ahead and get changed. I¡¯ll get you something to eat.¡±


    After feeding the twins the canned goods they¡¯d gotten from the store, he put them to bed. Henry raised his hand. ¡°Yes, Henry?¡±


    ¡°Prayers?¡±


    Alex nodded and knelt with them. Off to his right was not the phantom-girl, Eva, but an older man with glasses. He sat observing them in what appeared to be the same section of room the girl had been in. It was like a rectangular frame with blurred edges; a window into some other world, that had infiltrated Alex¡¯s field of vision. Partly here, partly there. It had to be a hallucination and therefore, Alex ignored it, but rested his hand on the rifle, just in case the man decided to jump from the hallucination into reality.


    That was a crazy thought. Get a grip.


    Try as he might, Alex was unable to dispel the illusion, however. The man remained in the fuzzy-edged window overlaying this world. After allowing Ernie, the store owner, to sneak up on them, Alex was determined to keep alert.


    Grant watched the nomad, who Eva called Alex. Kneeling in the cell, he appeared to be praying, occasionally glancing around, even making eye contact once. Then he said to someone that evidently, he could see, but Grant could not, ¡°Go to sleep, now. Goodnight. I love you, too.¡±


    Must be the Henry and Annabelle Charles had mentioned.


    He glanced at Grant once more before lying down on the cell floor. ¡°I believe you can see me, Alex.¡± No response, as Grant expected. ¡°I understand if you don¡¯t want to communicate with me just yet. I¡¯m not even sure you¡¯ve conversed with Eva, but I know she¡¯s spoken to you.¡±


    Still nothing.


    ¡°You are in a place called Community. We are survivors who are basically farmers and scavengers. We found you and brought you here. You are being kept in quarantine so we can be sure you aren¡¯t infected with anything that might pose a risk to the rest of us.¡±


    Alex adjusted his position on the floor but remained silent.


    ¡°Eva comes to visit because she believes she¡¯s supposed to help you or rescue you or something. It¡¯s a fallacy¡­just like this Henry and Annabelle you often speak to. They aren¡¯t real, just as Eva¡¯s belief in leaving here with you isn¡¯t real.¡± He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. ¡°I can appreciate that this all might be overwhelming¡­that perhaps Henry and Annabelle were people you once knew, but¡­you were alone when we found you.¡±


    Grant rose from the chair and moved to the door. ¡°I think it¡¯s time you both were rehabilitated and then hopefully moved to the farm.¡± He waited, hoping for some sign of coherence, but Alex was quiet and still.

 Chapter 17

    The cycles glided across the asphalt in their quiet, electric drone. Mo knew from experience that discerning the exact location of the vehicles, especially when taken off-road, in dense tree coverage, could be extremely difficult. It was something about the frequency of the sound; a low thrum when moving slowly, and a higher-pitched whir when accelerating, the latter of which was a pitch not all organisms responded to. Dogs however, always heard them coming and here on the open road, he felt vulnerable.


    A few packs of dogs, three to five in number, had been seen trotting near the road through open fields. Some looked as if they¡¯d been bred with different animals, thereby producing strange hybrids that Mo was thankful had been glimpsed in the quick flash of the headlights and not in the full light of day. They passed one that had been sitting amongst a patch of vegetation and it had been unclear if the dog and the vegetation had been one and the same creature.


    Once Watley thought he saw a humanoid near the edge of a row of pine trees but dismissed it as his imagination. In fact, they hadn¡¯t seen a person since the encounter with the thing by the stream. Finding them was proving to be a struggle. The accuracy of the cycle¡¯s embedded instruments had been compromised due to interference of what appeared to be electrical in nature. Sometimes a ping would illuminate, then abruptly vanish. There was no sign, however, of any storm.


    Mo weaved in and out of a few scattered vehicles, then accelerated down the two-lane road. Dark grayish-green walls of pine trees zipped past on either side. On occasion a gap appeared, revealing a sandy track leading farther into the forested region. These were likely campgrounds, and excellent hideouts, but there was no way Mo was going to investigate those areas in the dead of night. They had also passed what appeared to be an old, overgrown airport which would need to be investigated in the morning. Now, they needed to rendezvous with the Machine and seek shelter.


    Mo glanced in his mirror. Watley had fallen back after zig-zagging through the vehicles but had since caught up. He had grown increasingly fatigued throughout the day, at times appearing exhausted. At one point, Mo had caught him staring off, almost in a trance which he only snapped out of after being called twice. He¡¯d assured Mo however, that he was only daydreaming and was in good health.


    A green dot illuminated on the cycle¡¯s console, indicating they were approaching the Machine. It was about four hundred yards ahead. When Mo returned his attention to the road, he slammed on the brakes as something huge lumbered across the road.


    Momentum brought Mo out of his seat, and he nearly pitched over the handlebars. Watley swerved to avoid Mo and lost control, his cycle slamming into the asphalt. He skidded to a halt on his side, crying out.


    ¡°Christ!¡±


    Mo snagged his weapon from the cycle¡¯s compartment and brought it up to firing position, aiming into the pitch-black spaces between the dark branches behind and to his left. A few of the pines were still gently swaying from the passage of the thing that had nearly hit them. He noted that not only were the lower branches moving, but so too were a few ten feet from the ground. He shuddered.


    ¡°You alright?¡± he asked, without looking at his partner.


    Watley sluggishly rose to his feet. ¡°Yeah¡­I¡¯m good.¡± He brushed himself off. ¡°What the hell was that thing! It was enormous!¡±


    ¡°I have no idea, but it cleared the road in one step. Get back on your cycle, we¡¯re leaving now!¡± Mo didn¡¯t want to turn his back on the forest for a split second, but to stand here frozen was to welcome an attack, if not from that thing, from something else. Once Watley had picked up his cycle and was mounted, Mo stowed the weapon and sped away. The thing had darted from the trees to the right of the road, stepped once onto the asphalt, then barreled into the trees to the left, covering a span of at least thirty feet. How was that possible?


    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.After a minute of driving, a red light penetrated Mo''s visor and he saw the Machine in the headlight. It had assumed an aggressive posture and he knew its weapons had targeted them. The red beam scanned them north to south and when it finished, the Machine stood fully upright and its guns were withdrawn.


    They dismounted and approached, allowing it to read their retinas. Words appeared inside the dark globe.


    ¡°Encounters?¡±


    ¡°One encounter,¡± said Mo.


    ¡°Humanoid?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Alex Dash?¡±


    Mo thought about the thing he had shot earlier in the day by the stream. He remembered burning it. ¡°Unclear.¡±


    There was a pause and then the globe turned slowly toward Watley. Its eyeless gaze remained fixed on him and Watley shot Mo a nervous glance. He swallowed hard when new words appeared.


    ¡°Sustained injury?¡±


    The red light emitted from the Machine once again and Mo followed the narrow beam as it descended from Watley¡¯s face and targeted his left leg. Mo frowned as he saw the duct tape around the lower limb for the first time.


    ¡°Uh,¡± Watley stammered. ¡°I fell off the cycle when something crossed the road a little ways back,¡± he said, pointing behind them.


    The Machine¡¯s gaze remained concentrated on his leg. The head raised, and a new inquiry materialized.


    ¡°Suit breached?¡±


    Mo wondered why the Machine didn¡¯t just speak. It had the capability. He wondered if speech drained more of its energy reserves, but then decided that seemed ridiculous. Then he pondered if it was actually capable of theatrics and deemed visual words more intimidating that speech.


    Watley¡¯s hesitation prompted the words within the globe to vanish, then reappear in a larger font, giving the impression that the Machine was yelling. Mo watched the blinking question mark and likened it to someone tapping their finger on a table, pissed off and demanding an answer.


    ¡°Respond, damnit,¡± said Mo.


    Watley looked at Mo, then the Machine. ¡°Y-Yes. A small tear.¡±


    The Machine held its position, the globe staring relentlessly at Watley. Mo''s eyes darted from the Machine to his partner, back to the Machine and his adrenaline spiked. His gut told him that something bad was about to happen and he braced himself for Watley''s demise. But instead, a voice projected from the black sphere.


    "Medical attention required?"


    Watley was shaken. He shook his head. "N-No. I''m fine."


    The Machine''s deep male, but artificially-tinged voice gave the impression that it was not pleased. But then again, it always sounded that way. Mo silently wished it would resume non-verbal communication.


    The Machine rose to its full height. At eight feet tall, it towered over Mo and Watley. It spoke. "I have sent coordinates to the instruments on the cycles. They will take you to a suitable shelter which I have verified is uninhabited. I will continue searching through the night. You will resume at dawn."


    A small wheel emerged from each of the Machine''s four limbs. It lowered itself to the road and departed, making even less sound than the cycles. Mo and Watley mounted their vehicles and rode toward the highlighted destination on the instrument. In his mirror, Mo witnessed Watley''s arm descend from the handlebars and grip his taped leg.

 Chapter 18

    Stomping through heavy woods, Gray glanced back to the road, where he¡¯d nearly collided with the men on the cycles. They had come to a stop, likely wondering what they had encountered. They¡¯d probably never seen anything like Gray; he¡¯d never seen anything like him either. As he trudged on, the vehicle lights fell from view.


    Gray doubted the men would follow him, since the earlier rain had soaked the ground. It had been a quick, but heavy precipitation, making off-road travel very unlikely. It was of course, possible for them to take the nearest road and try to cut Gray off, but that was a roundabout route ¨C in the dark - and at the rate he was moving, he¡¯d be long gone by the time they reached the nearest intersection.


    When he reached the edge of the woods, he gazed upon a partially-finished development of upscale houses. The nearest plot featured only the poured foundation of a home. The pit could easily be mistaken for a swimming pool, now that it had collected all the rainwater. Gray thought about all the dead animals he¡¯d seen in similarly pooled areas. Rainwater was dangerous to most living things, although it had the opposite effect on Gray, often producing new growth on his rough hide, which he would promptly tear away.


    Low clouds raced before the full moon and as he scampered across the dirt plot, avoiding protruding pipes here and there, Gray imagined he must look like the monster from an old horror movie he had sometimes watched as a child. He halted abruptly, his mind attempting to trap this image from his youth before is dissipated.


    Sitting on a brown sofa, in a dark room. The bright flickering glow of a television before him. A black and white movie. To his left a large man. To his right, a woman. Father and mother?


    He instinctively reached for his backpack, where the skull was. The image vanished. Gray sighed and stared at the man in the moon. He tried to recall the vision and when he decided he had spent enough time unsuccessfully trying to do so, knocked his mallet-hand against his head.


    Move.


    Traversing the adjacent property, Gray stepped through a hole he¡¯d previously torn in an iron fence and came to the next backyard. In all his time alone, he¡¯d done much searching to occupy the time, and had come across this property, which had obviously belonged to a ¡°prepper.¡± Beneath the ground a bunker had been built, with a tiny shed atop. There were some tools hanging on the walls, but Gray suspected its real purpose had been to hide the bunker¡¯s entrance.


    He set the backpack down, then lifted the shed, whose floor he had removed on a prior visit, and set it aside. He opened the door in the ground and peered into the dark recess below. It was a vestibule of sorts; a twelve-foot long concrete corridor that ran parallel to a twenty-foot metal shipping container, all beneath several feet of earth.


    Even with his enhanced night vision, he couldn¡¯t see the dark corners furthest from the opening. So, squeezing himself as thin as he was able, Gray descended the ladder one long limb at a time. This was a person-sized door, not a Gray-sized door, and it took a considerable effort, but he finally wedged into the space, then confirmed that the dark corners were free of intruders.


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.The original doors to the container, which opened outward, had been removed. In their place had been installed a single, heavy steel door that opened inward and locked from the inside. Gray knocked three times, paused, then knocked four times. When he heard nothing, he placed his ear to the door, but could detect no sound. Anxiety shook him and he was about to forcibly breach the container when an answering five knocks sounded. Gray was equally shaken by the overwhelming sense of relief and rested his head against the door, feeling emotionally drained. Despite no indications of assault on the bunker, he had suspected the worst. He would never have forgiven himself.


    There was muffled movement from within and a light above the door flickered, then emitted bright white light. Gray squinted as the sound of releasing locks echoed in the concrete space. The door inched inward.


    ***


    Alex looked up at the square window in the door, trying to shake loose the remnants of a dream where the seeds from a storm had penetrated the silo¡¯s hull. From each tiny tear in the metal, they had begun to sprout, and in moments, long tendrils of woody vines snaked down the stairs and along the floor toward the bedroom. That¡¯s when he woke up.


    The window was dark. Alex climbed the stairs and glanced out into the airlock. It was empty like he suspected, but he had to be sure. Outside, beyond the airlock, the wind thrashed. The air quality monitor was on the fritz, which meant its antennae had likely been torn loose again. Perhaps subconsciously, he had known there was a storm. As silly as it seemed to give validity to a dream, Alex felt compelled to inspect the rounded wall. When he discovered no imperfections in the hull, he concluded that it had indeed been only a dream, and not a premonition.


    Maybe it wasn¡¯t the antennae, just the monitor acting sluggish. He tapped it, hoping this would cause the digital numbers to appear and thereby spare him from having to venture outside to inspect the connections, thereby leaving the twins in the silo alone. But no luck.


    He punched in the lock code and the silo¡¯s door opened. Alex stepped into the airlock and froze when he noticed a narrow beam of red light penetrating the exterior window. He darted to the side to avoid it and crept toward the window in the door. The rifle! Where the hell had he left it! He reached for the exterior lock. Metal groaned as it twisted in the frame and the door was hauled open.


    No! Henry and Annabelle.


    Alex fell backward, as lights flashed across him, searching. He turned and scrambled for the silo. Behind came angry voices, issuing demands that he only half heard. He tumbled through the silo door, got to his feet and jumped to the landing below, falling when he hit the floor. Heavy footfalls pursued. In the bedroom, he snagged the rifle, then stared in disbelief at the empty covers on the floor.


    The twins were gone.

 Chapter 19

    The edges of Watley¡¯s wound featured a crusty, black substance. It wasn¡¯t dried blood, but something far different¡­something far worse. The skin surrounding what had once been a scratch that had morphed into a gash, was swollen and tinged a reddish-purple. Inside, there was more of the black stuff beneath a thick layer of puss, which indicated infection.


    ¡°That¡¯s no goddamned scratch,¡± said Mo. He was still in full bio suit, but still kept his distance. ¡°It¡¯s deep.¡±


    ¡°I swear to Christ, though, it was a scratch at first.¡± Watley cleaned the cut with a sterile wipe from the cycle¡¯s first aid kit. ¡°It happened when I fell down the hill. I didn¡¯t even realize the suit was torn until later.¡±


    ¡°You got the thing¡¯s blood in you,¡± replied Mo, trailing off, trying to contemplate the ramifications. But, how could he? He had no idea what contamination might produce.


    As if Watley had not considered the possibilities, he stared back at Mo with absolute dread. ¡°What does that mean?¡±


    Mo ignored the question while he paced around the motel room. It was on the second floor of a two-story building with intersecting wings. Below was an open parking lot with a few vacant vehicles. Beyond the lot was a highway that ran east to west and featured more abandoned and rotting vehicles.


    At the window, Mo glanced out at the rear of the motel. He surveyed the few parking spaces that gave way to woods and spotted no creeping things in the shadows.


    ¡°What does that mean!¡± demanded Watley.


    Sitting at a small glass table with two chairs, Mo shrugged. ¡°Does it look like I have an answer?¡±


    Gently shaking his head, Watley issued a soft ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°All we can do is wait and see what happens. But if the Machine sees that¡­¡±


    ¡°What!¡± Snapping his head toward Mo, Watley¡¯s breathing quickened. ¡°What if it sees?¡±


    Mo rubbed his eyes not only due to fatigue, but in frustration. ¡°Why in the fuck didn¡¯t you watch what you were doing?¡± Watley lowered his gaze, as if ashamed. ¡°If the Machine sees that wound, it¡¯ll likely take drastic measures.¡±


    ¡°What the fuck does that mean!¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­amputation?¡±


    ¡°Holy shit! I can¡¯t lose my leg, man!¡± Watley began to hyperventilate and stood up, then winced. ¡°Shit! It hurts. My knee¡¯s stiff now.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s because it¡¯s swollen. Calm down.¡± Mo scratched his head. ¡°Let me think. Just keep cleaning it.¡± Watley sat back in his chair.


    Leaning his elbows on the glass table, Mo racked his brain. The more he thought about it though, the more he understood there was nothing he could do to help Watley. Informing the Machine might be the only solution. There¡¯d be no hiding the wound as they were required to be scanned each time they rendezvoused. Besides, before long, the entire leg would be swollen. Watley could possibly die if something wasn¡¯t done soon to stop the spread of infection.


    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.Suddenly a disturbing thought penetrated Mo¡¯s thoughts. What if the infection could be contracted through the air? What if just by sharing this space with Watley, Mo¡¯s lungs were housing miniscule particles that had flaked off the incision and been flung into the air. What if he had inhaled that shit?


    Watley continued to clean the wound, discarding the soiled wipes in a wastebasket he¡¯d gotten from the bathroom. ¡°Jesus Christ!¡± He held aloft a long, glistening thread he pulled from the cut.


    Mo rose from his chair and instinctively covered his mouth with his shirt. He was ten feet or so from Watley but backed farther away. Watley dropped the long piece of tissue into the wastebasket, then continued examining his wound. Mo slid against the wall, keeping his distance, while pinning his eyes on his partner. He threw his helmet on and secured it to his suit with a twist and click, then went to the door that opened into the adjoining room.


    ¡°You stay in here. I¡¯m taking the room next-door.¡±


    Watley looked at him in surprise. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°I have no idea what¡¯s going on with that wound. You could be contagious.¡±


    Watley seemed lost in the dissection of his bizarre injury. To Mo, he seemed to be experiencing a perverse sense of wonder. Only moments ago, he had been terrified.


    Mo turned the knob and the door swung into the adjoining room. After a quick search, he found the room unoccupied and shut the door. Through it, he called, ¡°If you need me, knock. Do not barge in here. Understood?¡±


    There was no answer at first, then Watley replied meekly, ¡°Okay.¡± He sounded preoccupied. Mo imagined him poking around in that festering abscess and removing more of the slimy string-like objects.


    This room was identical to the one Watley now occupied alone. Mo grabbed a chair from the coffee table, drug it over to the connecting door, and wedged the backrest under the knob. He then locked the door which lead to the hallway.


    Again, Mo worried about the air. He imagined it migrating from the adjoining room into his. From the bathroom he took a towel, rolled it up and stuffed it into the crack beneath the door to Watley¡¯s room. In a far corner he lowered himself to the ground, where he planned to sleep propped against the wall. Despite his fatigue, he couldn¡¯t allow himself to lie on the bed. His mind conjured images of microscopic organisms living inside the mattress¡¯s fabric and attaching themselves to his suit, where they would tirelessly search for a way inside.


    Mo¡¯s eyelids grew heavy. He clutched the sidearm in its holster to be sure it was still there. With increasingly long blinks, he squeezed the stock of the rifle, laid across his arms, one more time, before the weight of sleep became too much to bear.

 Chapter 20

    Two tiny hands clutched the bundle of protein bars and drew them inside the bunker. Gray heard the rustling of paper as they were unwrapped, then Henry stepped forth, chewing more than he ought to.


    ¡°I knew you would bring us sumthin¡¯,¡± he mumbled.


    ¡°Don¡¯t talk with your mouth full,¡± advised Gray. ¡°You¡¯ll choke.¡±


    The boy nodded, then gave a thumbs up. Annabelle appeared in the doorway. ¡°Thank you,¡± she said. She had unfolded the note that was bound to the bars.


    ¡°Oh yeah. Thanks,¡± added Henry, still with food in his mouth.


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome,¡± said Gray, lying back with his hands behind his head. His body spanned the entire length of the vestibule.


    ¡°Have you seen our brother?¡± asked Annabelle.


    ¡°No brothers. No sisters. No aunts or uncles,¡± responded Gray in frustration. ¡°Just Eva.¡±


    Annabelle held the note out. ¡°She gave you another?¡±


    Gray nodded. ¡°Put it with the others.¡±


    ¡°How many notes is that, now?¡± asked Henry.


    ¡°A lot,¡± said Annabelle. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with her?¡±


    Gray tapped the side of his head with his finger. ¡°She¡¯s stuck¡­up here.¡±


    Henry frowned. ¡°Her brain¡¯s stuck?¡±


    Gray sat up. ¡°Each time she writes a note, she thinks it¡¯s the first time she¡¯s written it. She¡¯s mixed up.¡±


    Inside the bunker, Annabelle dropped the note onto a stack of others. On each, in Eva¡¯s handwriting, were the identical words: ¡°Tomorrow at dusk.¡± She scooped up a drawing on yellow construction paper and returned to the doorway. ¡°Did you see the man in the wall?¡±


    Gray blinked twice. ¡°Garrett?¡±


    Annabelle nodded.


    ¡°Not today. Tomorrow.¡±


    The girl handed the drawing to their massive visitor. ¡°I made this for him. Maybe it will cheer him up.¡±


    Rotating the paper, Gray studied the crayon markings. They depicted a sunny day, with green grass and a bright blue sky. ¡°I think he¡¯ll like it.¡±


    Henry leaned over Gray¡¯s arm and pointed to a what looked like a large black and white bug on the grass. ¡°I drew the dog. Doesn¡¯t look like one though,¡± he laughed.


    After a moment, Annabelle spoke. ¡°What do we do about Eva then?¡±


    Gray thought for a moment, scratching his chin with his hammer-hand. ¡°I¡¯m grabbing her tomorrow, no matter what.¡±


    ¡°And Alex?¡± asked Annabelle.


    ¡°I think I know what building he¡¯s in. It¡¯s the same one Eva¡¯s been going to. When they¡¯re together in there, I¡¯ll break in and take them.¡±


    Henry sighed. ¡°I miss them.¡±


    ¡°Yes, but are you going to be a baby, or big and strong?¡± Gray looked each of the children in the eyes. ¡°No room for babies in this world.¡±


    ¡°Big and strong!¡± said Henry.


    ¡°Good,¡± replied Gray.


    The lights in both the vestibule and the bunker dimmed, then returned to full brightness. ¡°They¡¯ve been doing that a lot lately,¡± said Annabelle.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± added Henry. ¡°I think the genilator is getting empty.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s generator, with an ¡°r,¡± corrected Annabelle.¡± She looked at Gray. ¡°What do we do if it runs out?¡±


    ¡°You can do nothing if it runs out,¡± replied Gray. ¡°I¡¯ll have to find more fuel¡­if there is any.¡±


    ¡°But you¡¯re not leaving tonight, are you?¡± asked Henry.


    ¡°No. I¡¯ll sleep up there, like always,¡± said Gray, pointing through the ground-level door. ¡°Then leave in the morning to find supplies.¡±


    Henry nodded. ¡°Okay¡­good.¡±


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.¡°Another thing,¡± said Gray. ¡°I saw two men in the area.¡± The twins¡¯ eyes widened, and they stepped closer. ¡°They had guns. It looked like they were searching for something. That means I¡¯ll have to find another¡­¡± Gray stopped and held up his finger, urging silence from the children. He cocked his head. ¡°Hear that?¡±


    Henry and Annabelle shook their heads.


    ¡°Go inside and lock the door. Turn off the lights. And be very quiet.¡± When the children had followed his instructions, he ascended the ladder and emerged out into the open, hoisting the shed and placing it atop the closed door in the floor. He slinked into the dark coverage of the trees bordering the property¡¯s rear yard. There was an approaching sound similar to the cycles the two men had been riding, but also different; this was quieter. Sneakier.


    The sound ceased and Gray sensed that whatever had produced it was close. The front of these unfinished homes opened to a cul-de-sac and from where he stood, Gray could see all the way to the street. After a few moments of silence, he thought that maybe he had miscalculated the proximity of the sound, but then a large figure appeared in the spaces between the dark houses. Gray watched as the thing rose to a stand and its wheels retracted into the limbs. It was nearly as big as Gray.


    A beam of red light erupted from the thing¡¯s head. The thin glow moved across one of the neighboring lawns, then rose to wash a crimson line along the house¡¯s fa?ade. It moved along the contours of the home, sometimes flush against the exterior, sometimes sinking with the alcoves, infiltrating the rooms behind the transparent windows. Gray understood that this light was scanning. He glanced at the shed and wondered if the light might be capable of penetrating objects¡­of scanning through earth. If this was the case, he would have to confront the figure.


    He ducked as the beam turned in his direction, then passed over him to the home to Gray¡¯s left. He got a better look at the thing and it looked like a giant robot. Black, non-shiny metal.


    It moved toward the home on the left and Gray decided to act. He would engage and take it out. Emerging from the trees, he moved along the iron fence with the hole in it. When he was about to pass through it, something scampered into the yard, stopping between Gray and the house where the robot had approached. It was the dog from the stream.


    Gray froze and stared at it. ¡°What do you want?¡± he whispered. The dog stared back. Gray walked toward the house but stopped when the dog bared its teeth. It trotted up to the home¡¯s rear door, turned to snarl at Gray once more, as if to be sure he would remain where he was, then entered the dark interior.


    What was it doing? Inside, the red light flashed in multiple directions and then gunfire erupted. Gray dropped low. The dog bolted into the cul-de-sac and dashed into the darkness across the street. The robot burst through a wall in the home, sending debris in all directions. Wheels locked into place and it lowered to the ground and gave chase.


    Gray frowned. Did the dog just help him?


    He couldn¡¯t be sure, but it sure seemed that way. At any rate, he took the opportunity to run to the shed and toss it aside. As more gun shots discharged in the distance, Gray reached below and knocked his signal on the bunker¡¯s door.

 Chapter 21

    AIR QUALITY: 89%


    Alex stared at the intact airlock and the meager light seeping through the window. The doors hadn¡¯t been torn free. There was no gaping hole revealing the outside. It had all been a nightmare. To be sure though, he walked into the chamber and tested the exterior door ¨C their last line of defense against the world. It was secure.


    He woke the twins and gave them their choice of breakfast: protein bar or applesauce. They devoured both offerings. As they ate, Alex examined the other rooms, not wholly convinced the thing from the nightmare hadn¡¯t migrated from the imaginary world into their real one. He found nothing however, besides dark spaces and dwindling supplies.


    Once in their bio-suits, they had climbed into the pickup and departed. The day had offered little in terms of hope: countless abandoned and rotting vehicles, an empty cache that had been pillaged and an encounter with a strange man with bizarre growths. He had claimed to be the store owner. Ernie was his name. At least he had given them the canned food.


    After riding out a storm in an airport control tower, Alex had killed two nomads in self-defense. This event had prompted a dangerous, yet necessary night travel back to the silo.


    The pickup approached, passing through the military base perimeter fence and coasting to a stop sixty feet from the silo. Alex exited the truck and instructed the twins to remain in the cab. He raised the rifle and crept forward. Something wasn¡¯t right. The airlock¡¯s door was¡­missing.


    How can this be?


    Alex¡¯s adrenaline rose, generating a tingling in his extremities. He felt lightheaded. He spread his feet farther apart for better balance as the sensation swelled to all out dizziness. The sky began to drastically change, as if he was observing time-lapse photography. Purple clouds raced across the heavens, rapidly paling to white, the sky morphed from plum to brilliant blue, and the bold sun etched sharp shadows in the dirt before him.


    Two men materialized ahead of him beside the silo. They were armed with rifles, pointed toward Alex. They told him to stay where he was.


    ¡°You are trespassing! What do you want!¡± yelled Alex. With the rifle, he targeted the bigger of the two men on the left, who he had heard the other man call Mitchell. Suddenly however, Alex realized he was no longing holding the rifle.


    He looked down at his feet to see if he had dropped it, but it wasn¡¯t there. Maybe he¡¯d left it in the truck¡¯s cabin. He spun around to retrieve it and saw that the pickup and the children were gone.


    ¡°Henry! Annabelle!¡± No response came.


    He started to jog back down the entrance road they had driven in on but stopped; there was nothing but a long stretch of pavement before him. No sign of the twins. They had been right here. Where could they possibly have gone in a matter of seconds?


    Alex whirled back toward the men. ¡°Where are they!¡±


    ¡°Calm down, Alex!¡± shouted the man on the right.


    Again, Alex glanced behind him, then right and left, searching frantically for his brother and sister. He called for them again. ¡°Henry! Annabelle!¡±


    Behind the two men, other low buildings emerged out of nowhere, shimmering into existence like heat waves rising from hot asphalt. To Alex¡¯s left, more structures appeared - other silos, with more people streaming through their doors. One of them was the phantom girl, Eva.


    Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!¡°Where are the twins!¡± Alex hollered. ¡°If you¡¯ve done something to them, I¡¯ll kill you!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s alright, Alex,¡± said the man on the right. ¡°I¡¯m Grant¡­remember me? I spoke to you last night¡­¡±


    Alex¡¯s rage overrode his reasoning and the man¡¯s words washed over and past him like a wave. ¡°That¡¯s my home! Get out of my way!¡± He moved toward them. The man on the left, Mitchell, started toward him.


    The dizziness intensified and Alex stumbled, but righted himself. He patted his side, feeling for his sidearm, but it too had vanished. With a trembling index finger, Alex pointed to the man on the right, then to Mitchell. ¡°Where are they! You take them?¡±


    The people drew closer. Eva sprinted toward Alex but was arrested by another man. She waved her hands in the air. ¡°Alex!¡± The others cast surprised and disgusted glares toward her, then toward Alex.


    Someone inquired, ¡°How did he get out of the cell?¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t know,¡± replied Grant. ¡°We just found him out here.¡±


    Motioning to the silo, Alex called, ¡°I¡¯m going in there!¡±


    ¡°Go ahead, Alex,¡± said Grant, lowering his rifle. ¡°No one will try to stop you.¡±


    Mitchell stormed to meet Alex when Grant shouted his name and gestured for him to lower his rifle. Reluctantly, he complied.


    ¡°You know about this?¡± Alex called to Eva. She said something he couldn¡¯t hear as she was led away.


    ¡°The people you¡¯re looking for aren¡¯t here, Alex,¡± said Grant. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    Ignoring the man, Alex rushed past Mitchell, then past Grant, turning in a circle to be sure they didn¡¯t rush him. The notion arose that he would be trapping himself inside the silo if he went it, which might be unwise, but he had cast reason aside. He burst into the silo and down the stairs and saw that everything was different. It was not the place he had called home. The rooms were all in identical locations, but things had been rearranged, the rooms were painted a different color. Regardless, he bound into what had been their bedroom, to find that now it had been used as storage. He returned to the cylindrical hall, calling out the twins¡¯ names.


    ¡°Henry! Annabelle!¡±


    He descended into the bowels of the silo, passing other foreign rooms. In each, he searched dark corners and closets, beneath beds, finding none of them occupied. He continued to call for his siblings as he ascended the stairs, two at a time. The dizziness returned like a slap to the face, and he dropped to one knee. He forced himself upright and clumsily bolted up the stairs.


    When he stepped out into the light to confront the men, something hard struck his forehead and after a flash of white light, Alex slammed backward into the ground. Mitchell stood over him, holding the stock of the rifle with both of his hands. ¡°Stay down!¡± he commanded.


    Alex blinked, confused, and feebly attempted to rise, but Grant laid his hand on Alex¡¯s chest, gently pressing him back down. Everything swirled in a counterclockwise motion. Vomit rose in Alex¡¯s throat as he mumbled, ¡°Please¡­don¡¯t¡­¡± In the distance, he thought he heard Eva scream.

 Chapter 22

    Watley¡¯s leg was discolored and swollen. Even from the doorway, a good ten feet from his partner, Mo could see that the infection had spawned thin, black tributaries in every direction. The wound was wet and glistening, oozing a thick, dark fluid.


    Watley sat in the same chair he¡¯d been in last night. He was leaning back, staring ahead, but not at his leg and not at Mo; the blank gaze indicated that his mind was somewhere far off. He seemed to be unaware that he was no longer alone. When Mo had first entered, he thought the man was dead.


    Soiled sanitary wipes littered the floor around the chair, the empty container still lying in Watley¡¯s lap. A mixture of blood and black liquid had pooled on the chair and spilled down the legs, staining the rug beneath. Mug was glad he had worn his helmet before opening the door to check on Watley. Fearing that an airborne pathogen might find its way into the adjoining room and infect him as well, Mo had slept with the helmet on.


    Watley stirred. ¡°I don¡¯t feel good,¡± he mumbled.


    ¡°You don¡¯t look good,¡± said Mo, matter-of-factly.


    ¡°What¡¯s going to happen to me?¡± For the first time, he looked at Mo. The whites of his eyes had become yellow, the corners red and puffy.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. But you need medical attention, asap.¡±


    Watley¡¯s gaze reverted to its previous bewildered state. ¡°All the hair fell off,¡± he said, rubbing the smooth limb. ¡°I¡¯m going to die, right?¡±


    ¡°Not necessarily. Get up.¡±


    Watley¡¯s eyes darted to meet Mo¡¯s. ¡°For what?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re going to look for something that can help that,¡± said Mo, pointing at the festering gash.


    ¡°Not the Machine¡­¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    Wincing, Watley shifted his weight to his good leg. ¡°Can you give me a hand?¡±


    ¡°No. I¡¯m keeping away from you.¡±


    ¡°Christ, man. I need help.¡±


    ¡°And how would it help you if I contracted whatever the fuck you¡¯ve got? Then we¡¯d both be up shit¡¯s creek.¡±


    Watley stared at Mo, then lowered his eyes to the floor. ¡°You¡¯re right. I understand¡­sorry.¡±


    ¡°Stay here. I¡¯ll be right back.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not ditching me, are you?¡±


    Mo backed out of the room without answering. He went downstairs to the first floor and retrieved gauze from the cycles and returned, instructing his partner to wrap the leg. Watley did so, struggling through the pain, cursing and gritting his teeth.


    After ten minutes, Watley had managed to haul himself downstairs. He mounted the cycle and gripped the handlebars with trembling arms. ¡°Where¡¯re we going?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a hospital a few miles away. With any luck, there could be some antibiotics left behind. Or painkillers, maybe.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ll probably be expired. Shit, we might as well take an axe to my leg right now!¡±


    ¡°If you have a better plan, I¡¯m all ears.¡± Mo removed his sidearm from its holster and casually pointed it at Watley.


    Watley¡¯s gaze shifted from the barrel to Mo¡¯s eyes. He nodded. ¡°Okay¡­I get it.¡±


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.Mo lowered his weapon. ¡°You do realize that at this point, amputation might be the only option.¡±


    Watley shook his head. ¡°No. Something else has to work.¡±


    ¡°It might not.¡±


    ¡°Just don¡¯t alert the Machine yet.¡±


    St. Anthony¡¯s Hospital sat a hundred yards from the highway. It looked as if had last been operational maybe twenty years ago. Parts of the brick edifice appeared to be crumbling and numerous windows had been knocked out.


    Mo and Watley navigated a parking lot littered with emergency and civilian vehicles, each covered with gray ash, making them appear furry. A steady breeze snapped the tattered fabric of makeshift triage centers. There was strange human-shaped flora scattered across the landscape, some releasing tiny, airborne particles.


    Once across the lot, they entered the emergency room entrance, weapons at the ready. Mo scanned first, as his partner was hobbled by his infection. Daylight sifted in here and there, but the interior was murky, which meant plenty of places for something to conceal itself.


    Passing through the waiting room, where bones of unknow origin lay scattered on gurneys and the floor, Mo waded farther into gloom, toward the trauma center. Here, countless humanoid figures were present, displayed just as they were in their final moments of life. Many were simply cradled in corners of the massive room; others were still beneath sheets in their hospital beds. Each of the figures seemed to be an amalgamation of human and plant life. In one of the chairs behind a curtained off section, the woody stems of some indiscernible vegetation wove through the sleeves of a button-down shirt and around the backrest, continuing in a vertical shoot that rose through the tiled ceiling.


    After shaking himself loose of the twisted wonder of the scene, Mo instructed, ¡°Look everywhere. In drawers, cabinets¡­¡±


    Watley nodded. He searched his side of the room but found only empty syringes and bottles. ¡°Nothing.¡±


    Heading to the second floor, they avoided more vine-like structures winding up the stairwell. Something that had once been a man sat slumped on one of the landings with a shotgun across its lap. Mo stepped over a tendril that appeared to have once departed from the main stem and sought out the man, curling around one of the legs and ending inside the flesh.


    ¡°Jesus Christ,¡± moaned Watley. ¡°Is that what¡¯s going to happen to me?¡±


    Mo didn¡¯t respond. On the second floor, he led them to the Operating Room. Here they got lucky and found antibiotics and a few syringes still wrapped in plastic.


    Watley exposed his arm, preparing for the injection. ¡°How do you know how much to give me?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t. And you¡¯re going to inject it yourself.¡±


    Watley withdrew a full syringe worth. He took a deep breath and plunged the needle into his arm. He removed it, blotting a dot of very dark blood with gauze. ¡°Well, it¡¯s in.¡±


    Mo held up his hand and Watley fell silent. Something outside the room moved.

 Chapter 23

    Gus tugged against the leash with the fervor of a dog half his age, as if he had caught the scent of scurrying prey. Then he abruptly stopped at one of the posts along the perimeter fence, raised his leg and relieved himself. He concluded his business, then cleaned his paws by kicking clumps of grass out behind him with his hind legs, prompting a chuckle from Lacy.


    She gazed out beyond the fence line, toward the trees, wondering exactly what route they would take once dusk set in. Eva had explained that today was the day they would depart Community. This news had caught Lacy off guard, imparting a peculiar sense of longing that she hadn¡¯t been prepared to deal with. Had she become too accustomed to life here? What if living somewhere else didn¡¯t pan out? They might be worse off.


    A warm breeze tousled a few strands of her auburn hair and she tucked them behind her ear. She studied the sky for any indication of incoming clouds, and therefore rain, but saw only flawless blue. Perceiving the weather as a good omen, Lacy dismissed her concerns as mere anxiety. Eva had a plan and Lacy trusted her. Maybe it was just that their departure had seemed to come so suddenly.


    Gus sniffed along the path, occasionally glancing at Lacy for approval. He halted and growled as a squirrel darted from some high grass. It was chased by another of its kin, although the pursuer looked vastly different, exhibiting a disproportionate skull with protruding teeth and a much broader tail, as if it had been crossbred with a groundhog. The dog gave one bark, then resumed sniffing his way along the fence, his wiry frame weighing heavily on Lacy¡¯s mind.


    As they neared the front gate, the two stopped at a small hole in the fence, inspiring the same thought it always did. Her pulse rose and with it came a fluttering wave of apprehension. Lacy stopped Gus, leaned over and kissed him on the head. ¡°I love you, boy.¡± The dog wagged and licked her on the chin. She gripped his leash, her thumb poised on the clasp. Taking Gus with them this evening seemed too great a risk. Lacy thought he might be better served living in the wild. She had thought this for some time but hadn¡¯t acted on it. With their departure here, now was the time.


    Gus sat, staring at Lacy with full attention, his ears in an obedient, yet curious position. The tip of his tail wagging, he gave paw and Lacy accepted it. She patted him on the head, her pulse hammering. With trembling fingers, she pressed down on the clasp to remove the leash, but then stopped. She couldn¡¯t do it. How could she? Gus was all she had from her former life. He was like a child to her and the last remaining connection to Mo.


    Lacy withdrew a few morsels of food from a pocket and hand-fed Gus, who nearly inhaled them. She wiped away tears and stood upright, releasing a pent-up sigh.


    ¡°There you are.¡±


    Lacy turned to see Grant approaching, with Mitchell in tow. Idling behind them was the tractor trailer, which was used only for supply runs. Gasoline was a hot commodity, hoarded by anyone who could get their hands on it by siphoning from abandoned vehicles. Once the engine started, you didn¡¯t turn it off unless necessary; you never knew if it might start again. Therefore, Lacy knew this would be a quick conversation.


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.¡°How are things, Lacy?¡±


    ¡°Fine. Thank you.¡± She pulled back on Gus¡¯s leash as the dog lunged toward Grant, seeking affection, but receiving none. The man had demonstrated on more than one occasion that he wasn¡¯t fond of animals.


    ¡°Mitchell?¡± said Grant, motioning toward the dog. Then he turned to Lacy. ¡°Let Mitchell take Gus for a quick stroll so you and I can chat.¡±


    Lacy reluctantly handed the leash to Mitchell, feeling ashamed for giving it to the brute. Gus trotted off, glancing up for attention, but again he was denied.


    Grant folded his arms across his chest and pursed his lips. ¡°Lacy¡­have you noticed any changes in Eva¡¯s behavior lately?¡±


    ¡°Changes? I¡¯m not sure how you mean.¡±


    ¡°Any erratic actions or talk? I know she confides in you most of all.¡±


    Lacy shook her head. ¡°Not that I¡¯ve noticed. Why?¡±


    Rubbing his chin, Grant seemed to be studying Lacy. She imagined him trying to expose subtle facial movements for what he would perceive as lying. She was of course, not going to mention anything that would betray their plans for departure. Lacy turned and looked behind her, half-expecting to find Mitchell breathing down her neck to up the tension; this felt not like a chat, but an interrogation. Gus and the brute, however, were out of earshot.


    ¡°I¡¯m just concerned about her well-being.¡±


    ¡°Where is she now? In there?¡± she pointed toward the tractor trailer.


    ¡°Yes¡­she¡¯s sleeping.¡±


    ¡°You mean, she was sedated.¡±


    He smiled. ¡°Yes, she¡¯s sleeping because she was sedated. She was pretty hysterical earlier.¡±


    Lacy nodded. ¡°I think we all were, after what happened with Alex.¡±


    Grant removed his glasses, rubbed them with a cloth, then held them up to the sky for inspection. ¡°That¡¯s the other thing¡­I know she frequently visited Alex. Did she ever mention what they spoke about?¡±


    ¡°Not to me.¡±


    Returning the glasses to his nose, Grant stared for a few moments too long and Lacy sensed him trying to intimidate her. ¡°Lacy, I hope you¡¯re being forthright. I¡¯m not the bad guy some people might believe me to be. I¡¯m concerned that Eva isn¡¯t¡­well.¡±


    Frowning, Lacy asked, ¡°Why do you say that?¡±


    Grant sighed and removed a piece of rolled up paper from an interior pocket of his suit. He unrolled it and handed it to Lacy. ¡°This morning I caught her writing this.¡±


    Lacy accepted the paper and rotated it. Her heart plummeted when she read the words.


    Tomorrow at dusk.


    Instinctively, Lacy rested her hand on her pants pocket, where an identical note bore those three same words on it. Eva had slipped to her yesterday.


    ¡°It would not be wise to leave Community, Lacy,¡± Grant assured. He pointed beyond the perimeter gate. ¡°It is extremely dangerous out there. There¡¯s no need to risk it.¡± He stood. Mitchell returned with Gus, handing the leash over to Lacy. ¡°I¡¯m hoping you can talk some sense into her when we return from the supply run.¡±


    Lacy swallowed hard, hoping Grant didn¡¯t notice.


    Grant turned to leave, dropping his last line of advice. ¡°There are things beyond our comprehension out there.¡±

 Chapter 24

    Holding up a finger to his visor, Mo urged silence. Watley nodded in agreement. The shuffling noise intensified; whatever was causing it had moved closer to the operating room door. The gloom had become an almost tangible substance, like it could be scooped up with a spoon, so much so, that Mo was tempted to switch on the flashlight mounted to his rifle, but to do so would reveal their presence. In addition, what if the vines could detect the change in light? Mo had witnessed sentience in other vegetation before. In fact, when they first entered the hospital stairwell, he had felt as though the vine knew he was near, waiting for him to let his guard down.


    Mo spread his feet to steady himself against kickback should he need to discharge his weapon. He targeted the doorway, staring down the rifle¡¯s sight. He glanced at Watley, who confirmed that he was ready with a quick nod.


    Absolute silence ensued, as if the gloom had consumed all sound. This onset of noiselessness became disorienting and produced a palpable dread that hovered over Mo, almost erroneously spurring him to action. Then, just before he acted on impulse, fingers curled around the edge of the doorway. It was difficult to discern in the murkiness, but they did not appear to be wholly human; these fingers were much longer than they should be. The adjoining arm came into view, followed by the shoulder. When the thing¡¯s head appeared, Mo¡¯s trigger finger tensed, nearly firing prematurely.


    The thing stepped closer. Its face was wrapped in thin tendrils that looked similar in substance to the vine, with smaller offshoots protruding from the nostrils and mouth. The eyes though, were uncovered and stared toward Mo and Watley. Its head panned left, then right. It sniffed.


    It¡¯s blind.


    This was to their advantage. If they remained silent, maybe it would pass the operating room and move farther down the hall, allowing them to escape. Instead however, it took another step toward them and for the first time, Mo noticed a thicker, woody stem that moved with it. He concluded that it had to be attached to the thing¡¯s back¡­directing its movement. From there, the stem rose out of view, giving the impression that it originated from somewhere higher in the stairwell. Mo imagined some sinister organism up there; the puppet master working the strings of its marionette.


    Mo¡¯s forehead beaded with sweat as the humanoid sampled the air, sniffing right and left. It must have detected them and followed them here. At first Mo thought it was the slumped-over man with the shotgun they had passed, but this was a different one. Unarmed, yet more dangerous. The whole damn building might be crawling with them.


    The vine grew taut and the thing retreated toward the stairwell. It moved backwards not awkwardly, like a person might, but with even, confident strides. Finally, it turned at the doorway, and just as Mo was about to release a pent-up sigh, the thing halted. Slowly, it turned its head back toward the two men. Unable to comprehend what it may have sensed, Mo instinctively spun toward Watley, who was lying on the ground, one leg dangling over an overturned surgery tray. He had tripped over it and spilled the metal instruments onto the tile floor. Although Mo¡¯s hearing had been compromised, the thing had heard the commotion.


    Christ!


    Refocused on the humanoid, Mo stepped backward toward Watley. ¡°Get up!¡± He understood that he had spoken those words yet could not hear them.


    ¡°Just get the fuck up!¡±


    The humanoid suddenly exhibited a speed that Mo hadn¡¯t expected and was upon them in three steps. Mo pulled the trigger and hit it square in the face and it stumbled backward. His hearing returned. Its fingers clumsily examining the hole in its head, the humanoid staggered, then regained its footing. Mo fired again, and it finally fell limp, dangling from the support vine. Blackness oozed from the wound as the vine detached itself and withdrew into the stairwell.


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report itWatley got to his feet. He gripped his limb. ¡°My leg¡­¡±


    Mo turned and saw that the leg of his partner¡¯s suit appeared to be wet. The wound must¡¯ve opened even more. He moved behind Watley and grabbed the back of his suit and lifted. ¡°Get up!¡± With great effort, Watley rose. They moved toward the door when the whole room began trembling. The metal instruments that had spilled onto the floor began rattling against the tile and debris fell from overhead, where fragments of the ceiling gave way.


    Then in the stairwell a dark mass filled the murky space. It had come from above and tumbled down the steps, settling on the descending flight. At the least, their way was blocked. Either something had fallen down the stairwell or something had deliberately positioned itself there. Turning back, Mo, for the first time, noticed another door in the room. Fissures spawned in the ceiling and they hurried through the raining particles. Mo burst into the next room, rifle first. Here it was even darker, and the flashlight was necessary. The beam revealed blue tiled walls with three sinks. Scrubs and other surgical equipment were scattered on metal racks and nearby carts.


    Beyond this room were about ten lockers with a bench. Winding through the darkness, Mo eventually led them to a long hallway, where sunlight allowed him to switch the light off. To the right was the stairwell with the mass. To the left, at the end of the hall, there was an unlit EXIT sign. ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± Mo commanded. Watley winced and limped forward.


    The trembling ceased as they left the hallway and entered a different stairwell, this one not as infested by vine growth. The vegetation was present, but only straggling, thin tendrils, as if this is where it ended. Mo looked below and saw a humanoid lying face-down on the lower landing. It may have been a trick of the light, but he thought it had moved. Rather than pass by it, he choose to ascend.


    The next floor opened to an overhead sign that read: OBSTETRICS. At the nurse¡¯s station, they headed to the right. Light poked through cracks in a window at the far end of the hallway, revealing a cluster of humanoids, though not as many as the ground floor. In addition, none had any vines attached but Mo half-expected one to suddenly appear and reanimate them. None did, however, and the monstrous things remained still.


    Proceeding down the hall, Mo glanced into each room they passed. In a few were what appeared to be incubators. A chill swept through him as his mind conjured images of half human, half plant hybrids lying in each of the units, waiting to mature.


    The last few rooms on either side of the corridor were empty. There was a stairwell to the right and when he heard shuffling, Mo darted into the room on the left and locked the door behind him. He directed Watley to sit inside the shower.


    ¡°Why am I in here? I just want to lay down, man. I¡¯m exhausted.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re going to open that suit up and see what the hell¡¯s going on with that leg. If it¡¯s leaking all over the place, it¡¯ll go down the drain and not onto the floor. We could be in here longer than we expected.¡±


    Watley nodded. ¡°What the fuck was that thing downstairs? I¡¯ve seen strange stuff, but not like that.¡±


    Mo, still busy looking for a way out of the window, shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t know. But we knew to expect some biological freakshow.¡± Trying a door opposite of the bathroom, Mo found it opened to another room, complete with a bed and clothes closet. He cleared the room and returned. ¡°It¡¯s a suite. You¡¯ll stay in here, I¡¯m in this room¡­that¡¯s until I find a way out of here without going down to the ground floor.¡± He closed the door.


    Mo examined himself in the clothes closet mirror, until he was satisfied that no foreign substance had adhered to his suit. His reflection vibrated as trembling continued through the hospital. These, however, were subtle compared to the earlier ones. He imagined those horrific vines traversing every nook in the building, sensing for its newfound prey.

 Chapter 25

    A child¡¯s song¡­soft and sweet¡­almost like a lullaby. It was pure innocence, floating on a gentle breeze. It lingered in the air, a delicate and fragile thing. Then a churning tide of darkness surrounded it. Something approached; the blackness cut by a fine thread of red light.


    Gray bolted upright. The thick haze of sleep receded. The air was humid and heavy with the aroma of damp hay. He blinked and spun around to see large double doors open to the outside. He was in a barn. He heard the child singing.


    Annabelle.


    Two giant strides and he was at the doorway. He turned the corner to his left and saw Henry standing behind his sister, holding a pitchfork. The boy looked up at Gray.


    ¡°I¡¯m just keeping guard,¡± he said, holding up the farming tool.


    Annabelle glanced over and smiled. ¡°You¡¯re awake!¡±


    Gray did not respond at once, scanning the surrounding land to gauge their position¡­to measure their degree of safety. He saw a ramshackle structure about two hundred yards away and his sluggishness lifted. He remembered where they were. ¡°How long have we been here?¡± he asked.


    Henry shrugged. ¡°Since it first got light out.¡± The boy pointed toward the structure. ¡°That¡¯s where the man in the wall lives. You went in there to give him food, remember?¡±


    Gray nodded, finally meeting their eyes. He did remember that. And avoiding the Machine, with help from the dog. It was a pity to lose the protection of the bunker, but he knew of a better place. ¡°How long did I sleep?¡±


    ¡°A bunch!¡± laughed Henry.


    Gray took a deep breath and let it out. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for that. I think I¡¯m growing again. When that happens, I get tired.¡±


    The twins came closer to the giant. He motioned for them to go into the barn and he followed. They sat on the bare floor after Gray swept the hay aside with his foot. ¡°Don¡¯t touch the hay, could be bad stuff growing on it.¡± The children nodded.


    ¡°I could tell you were growing more,¡± said Annabelle.


    ¡°You could?¡± replied Gray.


    She nodded, pointing. ¡°Your thumb is gone.¡±


    Gray held his hammer-hand up and examined it. Indeed, the thumb, the last remaining digit, had finally been absorbed. ¡°How about that.¡± Henry got up and walked over to investigate.


    ¡°And,¡± Annabelle continued, ¡°your words are better.¡±


    Gray nodded. ¡°I feel clearer up here,¡± he added, tapping his skull. ¡°Like thinking is a little easier.¡±


    ¡°Wow¡­¡± said Henry, still examining Gray¡¯s appendage and marveling at the thumb¡¯s departure.


    ¡°That¡¯s why you¡¯re so tired?¡± asked Annabelle.


    ¡°Think so,¡± said Gray.


    ¡°Ooh!¡± shouted Henry. ¡°It¡¯s like you¡¯re¡­molting!¡±


    Annabelle frowned, seemingly contemplating her brother¡¯s statement. ¡°You¡¯re right, Henry! It is like that!¡±


    Henry¡¯s eyes were wide as he turned to Gray, then back to his sister. ¡°Ha!¡±


    Gray laughed. Then the smile on his face fell and his expression became one of great concern and then, dread. He heard a noise outside. Bright sunlight squeezed through the spaces of the barn¡¯s lumber, painting vertical rows on the opposite wall. These rows were broken by a moving mass of shadow. Gray rose and turned toward its source. There was a loud WUMP! and he was launched backward, crashing through the structure and into the adjacent field.


    Annabelle screamed and Henry¡¯s mouth fell agape as he stared up at the black metallic Machine as it stepped into the barn. A red beam came from its faceless head and washed across the boy, then across his sister. It reached for Henry but was halted and raised off the ground. Gray threw the Machine through the wall from which it had come.


    Dropping to one knee, Gray clutched his chest and winced. Dark fluid leaked from a deep gash, trickling between his thick fingers. He pointed to a hole in the wall. ¡°Go!¡± he muttered through heavy breaths.


    Annabelle grabbed Henry¡¯s hand and led him to the rear of the barn. Ducking beneath old, rusted tools hanging from the wall, they wiggled through the aperture and into the grassy area behind the building.


    Gray rose and met the Machine outside. They grappled to a stalemate until the Machine¡¯s left arm separated into two, revealing a sharp weapon which raised and swept downward, lodging in Gray¡¯s right shoulder. His grip failed and the Machine broke free, and slammed its right fist down onto the weapon, driving it further into the giant.


    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.Gray cried out in pain. He swung his hammer into the black globe, but it merely bounced off, without leaving so much as a scuff.


    Again, the Machine shoved the weapon deeper into Gray¡¯s wound, causing a split to snake across his upper torso, where it united with the gash in his chest. He hollered and pummeled the Machine¡¯s right leg with his hammer fist, crushing the knee joint. He uppercut and broke the weapon-wielding appendage, dislodging the blade and sending it flying deep into the field.


    The Machine withered on the smashed leg and dropped to Gray¡¯s level. From its chest came a white, blinking light.


    WUMP!


    Some sort of concussion weapon sent Gray tumbling backward again, further opening the wound in his chest. Now, the dark fluid dripped from his mouth and nostrils. He issued a thick, wet cough which spread shockwaves of pain outward from the injury.


    The Machine rose, hobbled toward Gray and loomed over him. It raised its fist but halted as it was struck by a rock that bounced off its metallic hide with a soft dink!


    Henry had left his place of hiding, armed with a handful of pebbles. He grunted as he hurled another at the enemy, this time missing wide. Annabelle, appearing inspired by her brother, joined the attack.


    The Machine emitted the red beam again, inspecting the twins. With its attention on the children, Gray rolled onto his back and raised his hammer to strike, but the enemy noticed and stepped down on the limb, trapping it against the ground. Gray struggled but was gravely wounded, his strength gone.


    Again, the Machine prepared to strike, when a metal ball rolled across the ground, stopping when it contacted the robot¡¯s foot. The Machine stared down at it, inspecting it with the red light. Gray stared at the object¡¯s dull, gray exterior. It featured a single, tiny dot of blinking, green light. The intermittent flashes became faster and faster until the light went steady.


    Gray closed his eyes, expecting an explosion, but instead came a burst of some invisible wave, experienced as a deep vibration. The object went dead. Stirred by the sound of creaking metal, Gray looked up and witnessed the Machine¡¯s right limb, poised to strike, fall lifeless to its side. The damaged leg joint buckled and the Machine slammed into the ground.


    The twins rushed to Gray¡¯s side. Henry reached him first. ¡°Are you alright!¡±


    Gray shook his head. ¡°No.¡±


    Annabelle began to cry. ¡°You¡¯ll be okay.¡± Henry nodded.


    Searching the area from which the metal sphere had come, Gray saw movement in the shadow of a tall maple tree. A man emerged and walked toward them. Gray struggled, but got to his feet, standing in front of the twins.


    The man was armed. His weapon though, was not in his hands, but slung over his shoulder. He wore a helmet with round, protruding domes for eyes and a rectangular apparatus where the mouth should be, which Gray guessed was a breathing device. His clothing was dusty and frayed in spots. He approached with his hands in a non-threatening gesture. ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± he said in a voice that was eerily electronic. ¡°I mean no harm.¡±


    ¡°Who are you?¡± asked Gray, although he suspected he knew.


    ¡°An ally,¡± replied the man.


    Gray pointed to the sphere. ¡°What was that device?¡±


    The man stopped ten feet from them. ¡°Low-level EMP.¡± He pointed toward the Machine. ¡°It might be back online in twenty minutes or so. Better get moving.¡±


    ¡°You know where I¡¯m going, don¡¯t you?¡± asked Gray.


    The man nodded. ¡°Yes. It¡¯s the only option.¡± He stared not at Gray, but at the children, who hid behind the giant. ¡°Just wanted to look upon them again.¡±


    ¡°You remember,¡± said Gray. He could almost feel the man¡¯s loss.


    ¡°I do¡­so long ago.¡± The man just stared at the twins. The cloudy eyes of the helmet concealed his emotions, but Gray suspected he was burdened by tragedy. He turned to leave. ¡°It¡¯s too much. I have work to do.¡±


    Gray waved. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    The man walked off into the forest.


    ¡°Who was that?¡± asked Annabelle.


    ¡°Someone who saved our lives,¡± replied Gray. His wound continued to bleed profusely. ¡°Come with me,¡± he said, limping away from the barn, toward the fields.


    ¡°Where are we going?¡± asked Henry.


    ¡°I know a place. I know someone who can protect you.¡±

 Chapter 26

    ¡°Dry mouth?¡± asked Grant. ¡°The sedative does that. Here.¡±


    Eva accepted the water bottle and downed it in one shot.


    Laird drove the rig and Wes sat in the cab with him. Eva and Grant sat on the floor inside the enclosed cargo trailer. It was hot and the air musty.


    ¡°We didn¡¯t want to sedate you, but under the circumstances, felt it was necessary.¡±


    She glared at him. ¡°I told you I didn¡¯t want to go on the supply run.¡±


    ¡°Ah, yes. Wanted to get your mind right,¡± he said mockingly. Grant scratched the stubble on his chin. ¡°Well, I wasn¡¯t about to leave you there with Mitchell. Is that what you¡¯d have wanted?¡±


    ¡°I can handle myself.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m aware of that. It¡¯s Mitchell who can¡¯t. And he has a penchant for strong-willed blondes.¡±


    ¡°Yeah well, one of these days, he¡¯s going to bite off more than he can chew.¡±


    Grant nodded. ¡°I think that¡¯s accurate.¡±


    The rig¡¯s engine moaned as they climbed a hill. ¡°Where are we?¡±


    ¡°East of Community.¡±


    ¡°The coast?¡±


    Grant shook his head. ¡°No. The coast is a hot spot; we never go into hot spots, just skirt the borders. But each time we make a run, we must go farther than before. Eventually, it won¡¯t make sense fuel-wise to do that. It¡¯s conceivable that at some point we might need to abandon Community and make a new home.¡±


    ¡°Or just begin hunting and living off the land.¡±


    Grant raised his eyebrows. ¡°Oh? You¡¯re willing to eat infected game? Or can you imagine enduring winter without a generator for heat?¡±


    Eva shrugged. ¡°There¡¯s this thing ¨C I¡¯m not sure you¡¯ve heard of it ¨C fire?¡±


    ¡°And what about when winter arrives? Are you going to live outdoors?¡±


    ¡°Why not a cabin? Or even a cave? Primitive people did it.¡±


    ¡°Nothing can afford protection like a bunker.¡±


    ¡°I guess,¡± said Eva. ¡°I guess it depends on who¡¯s running the bunker.¡±


    Grant stared off. He removed a paper from a pocket and unfolded it. ¡°How about you tell me what this is.¡±


    Eva¡¯s pulse thumped as she glanced at the words she¡¯d written: Tomorrow at dusk. She shrugged. ¡°Just thoughts.¡±


    ¡°Thoughts lead to actions,¡± replied Grant. ¡°Were you planning something, Eva?¡± When she didn¡¯t answer, he pressed. ¡°Who is Alex to you?¡±


    Grant¡¯s tone had transformed from overbearing prick to someone who suddenly seemed capable of true concern. Either it was genuine, or he was one hell of an actor. Eva didn¡¯t want to admit it, and struggled internally against the notion, but maybe she needed someone else besides Lacy to confide in. But Grant?


    ¡°Just a person who seemed to need someone.¡±


    Folding his hands across his chest, Grant nodded. ¡°And you were going to fill that need?¡±


    ¡°Maybe.¡±


    ¡°And what about you? Don¡¯t you have a similar need? I have news for you: we all have that need¡­a sense of community. That¡¯s why we all band together ¨C to be there for one another. There¡¯s no reason why Alex can¡¯t be a part of it, too. There¡¯s no need to run.¡±


    Eva stared at the man, wondering if he was lifting the curtain he so often hid behind ¨C something Eva understood all too well - the tough, hardened disciplinarian. Or was he merely trying to coax answers from her? The horn sounded as the rig slowed and then stopped. Grant stood and went to the rear of the trailer. ¡°Suit up,¡± he said to Eva. He attached the helmet to his bio-suit and after a moment, Wes opened the cargo door, flooding the space with light. When Grant hopped down and walked out of view, Eva followed.


    ¡°What is this place?¡± she asked.


    ¡°St. Anthony¡¯s hospital,¡± responded Wes.


    Eva scanned the area. ¡°Oh yeah, I remember. It was overrun.¡±


    Wes nodded. ¡°Fucking nightmare¡­anyway,¡± he added, pointing towards Grant, ¡°he likes to stop if we¡¯re close enough.¡±


    Eva frowned. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll see.¡±


    Grant had ventured into the hospital¡¯s parking lot, which looked like the set from a blockbuster disaster movie. Decaying automobiles, of both the civilian and emergency variety, lay scattered in ruin. Remnants of tented treatment centers stood in disrepair, some still housing patients ¨C or what remained of them ¨C on what looked to be operating tables. Laird stood near the rig, armed and appearing to take aim at what looked to Eva like humanoid sculptures made of twisted shrubbery and vines. The place was eerily quiet, and Eva felt as though she was trespassing on sacred ground.


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.No one uttered a word for a few moments. Then Laird broke the silence. ¡°Grant.¡±


    Without turning, Grant held up a hand. ¡°Just a minute. Eva? Come here, please. There¡¯s someone I¡¯d like you to meet.¡±


    Like you to meet?


    Eva looked to Wes for assistance, but his eyes left hers and concentrated on the ground. Then begrudgingly, she turned to Laird, who simply nodded, suggesting she advance.


    She did so, walking twenty feet and ducking beneath the flapping shreds of one of the tents. Grant turned toward her and took her arm. Before them on a rusted gurney was the outline of a teenaged girl, cradled in the arms of another, slightly larger female. In a voice thick with emotion, Grant said, ¡°This is my wife and daughter.¡±


    Eva¡¯s heart felt like it plummeted into the depths of her being and she released a soft gasp. A profound grief pressed down on her and her eyes unexpectantly welled.


    ¡°We had been separated,¡± continued Grant. Inside his helmet, a wet trail followed the contours of his cheek. ¡°All communication had been rendered useless. I searched and finally found them here, but it was already too late. I was told that once they were quarantined, they quickly declined.¡±


    Eva gently shook her head. ¡°I¡¯m so¡­so sorry.¡±


    ¡°You might be wondering why I didn¡¯t give them a proper burial¡­¡±


    Eva shook her head. ¡°No. It¡¯s none of my business.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t move them once they¡¯ve become like this. They¡¯re too brittle and frail. They might¡­crumble.¡± He cleared his throat. ¡°And then I¡¯d have nothing.¡± He removed two yellow flowers from a pocket and gently laid them on the gurney next to his family.


    For the first time, Eva noticed numerous keepsakes distributed around the bodies. One that caught her eye was an old, worn Christmas tree ornament depicting Santa in his underpants, his trousers at his ankles while he was bent over removing toys from his bag. Grant must¡¯ve noticed Eva¡¯s curious gaze. ¡°She thought that was a riot, my daughter,¡± he chuckled.


    ¡°What was her name?¡±


    Grant¡¯s eyes met hers. ¡°Samantha,¡± he said, forcing a smile. He took a deep breath and released a heavy sigh. ¡°I¡¯m very hard on you because you remind me so much of my daughter when she was your age. And maybe that¡¯s not fair, but-¡±


    Without thinking, and much to her surprise, Eva threw her arms around Grant. He returned the embrace.


    *********


    Mo had removed the instrument from the cycle and taken it with him when they entered the hospital, but now, the panel was dark. He tapped the screen, then tapped it again, even harder. Finally, he punched it. Twice.


    Nothing.


    ¡°Goddamnit!¡± He¡¯d been attempting to reach the Machine, hoping that if it could be summoned, it might engage the humanoids on the lower floor, thereby freeing them from the hospital. Mo¡¯s hunch was that the windows were shatter-proof, so going through them was out. Even if they weren¡¯t, the crash of breaking glass would be like ringing the dinner bell; the creatures in the building would head straight for the room.


    A superimposed display registered on the interior of Mo¡¯s visor, informing him of the impending failure of his respirator. He retrieved a spare from a pocket on his suit, quickly removed the expired one and screwed in the replacement.


    Watley¡¯s must be ready to go, too.


    Mo knocked on the door dividing the suite. Watley didn¡¯t answer, so Mo turned the knob and looked inside. It seemed murkier than it did before, like some of that fine dust, present when the humanoid attacked them in the OR, had found its way into the room.


    ¡°Watley?¡±


    No answer.


    He checked the bathroom with no luck. ¡°Son of a bitch.¡± Mo turned back into the room and halted as something in his peripheral vision caught his attention. The door to the hallway was open.

 Chapter 27

    Something tapped against his head. Again, and again came the sensation, accompanied by a soft metallic tink! Alex felt slight pressure near his right temple. He tried to open his eyes and found they were unbearably heavy with sleep. At last, he forced them open to narrow slits through which he perceived an overhead source of light. He understood that he was lying down. A figure moved back and forth in front of the light. He could not make out the face.


    When he tried to speak, it came out sounding muffled and confused. He wasn¡¯t even sure he had formed coherent words. He knew what he intended to say, but the transmission from thought to speech had been interrupted by what he guessed was a sedative.


    Alex attempted to raise his head, but found it too, uncooperative. He imagined that to the figure before him, he appeared to be severely intoxicated. Finally, he managed a few words. ¡°Whatsss going on?¡±


    There was no answer. The figure, who he eventually recognized as male, continued tapping the right side of his head with some instrument.


    Once more, he attempted to raise his head, but with no luck. It was bound. ¡°Hulloooo?¡±


    ¡°Shhh,¡± came a response. ¡°Just relax. Almost over.¡±


    Alex relaxed. He blinked several times, trying to clear his vision and at last he saw the face of Isaac leaning over him and attending to some business on the right side of his head. There was more tugging, tapping and then stillness.


    ¡°There,¡± said Isaac.


    Alex felt a tiny vibration arise inside of him, accompanied by a miniscule hum. It rose to a crescendo and then faded to silence. Feeling somewhat more alert, he spoke. ¡°Where am I?¡±


    Behind Isaac¡¯s white beard brimmed a smile. ¡°Now it¡¯s official. Welcome to Community.¡±


    *********


    Mo stepped toward the door, the darkness from the hallway seemed to seep inward and swirl around him. The fine mist, like atoms of pulverized charcoal, hung in the air. He waved his hand in front of him and the gloom parted, then was instantly replaced, as more of it folded inward to collapse the momentary void. It felt as though it might be possible to swim through the substance.


    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.At the room¡¯s threshold, Mo paused. He was aware that his hearing had been taken from him again, which suggested the presence of one of the humanoids. He stepped forward and looked to the right, down the long, dark corridor. Nothing. Spinning left, he stiffened. A figure stood silhouetted by the pale window frame, his back to Mo. It was Watley.


    ¡°There¡¯s someone out there,¡± he said. ¡°In the parking lot.¡±


    It was then that Mo noted his partner was no longer wearing his helmet.


    ¡°What the hell are you doing? Your helmet!¡± Mo couldn¡¯t hear his own words and doubted if Watley could either.


    The brightness of the window created stark contrast, throwing everything surrounding it into deep shadow. When Mo¡¯s eyes adjusted, he noted that to Watley¡¯s right was an open doorway, which lead to the stairwell. It had previously been closed. Something was branched outward from the gloomy space and touching Watley. It suddenly retracted.


    ¡°Jesus Christ!¡±


    Watley turned toward Mo. His mouth was moving, but silent. Then, as if given a temporary hearing permit, the words came to Mo. ¡°I¡¯m going. Don¡¯t worry¡­I¡¯m much better now.¡±


    An almost suffocating silence ensued, and Mo felt the pressure in the air amplify. He stepped backward as Watley turned and entered the stairwell. Mo considered going after him but was confronted by a dark figure that emerged from the doorway.


    Humanoid.


    Mo retreated to their room and slammed the door closed. He darted into the adjoining suite and locked the door. He wedged the chair under the handle, then went to the door leading to the hallway and barricaded that too. He sunk back against the opposite wall and waited for the end.


    *********


    In his haste to usher the children to safety, Gray had left behind his backpack, lying at the opening to the barn. It contained food and water for the twins. It also held the skull. Overhead, the sky had become opaque and dreary.


    It began to rain.


    It began to nourish.


    Close by, the disabled metal hulk lay splayed on the ground. Inside the globe, a dull red pin light sparked to life.

 Chapter 28

    Stanley Reece meandered through the tall, dark figures. Men in black suits, women in black dresses. They were nothing more than blurs in his peripheral vision. They engaged in quiet chatter, but Stanley didn¡¯t pick up on any particulars. Occasionally one of them glanced at him. For the most part though, they averted their eyes. Good. He preferred it that way.


    Before, in the church, he had felt their eyes crawling over him, like he was some sort of exhibit. It was understandable; he had lost his mother less than a week ago.


    Stanley¡¯s loss bore deeply into him, leaving behind a peculiar weightlessness. He had imagined grief would come down hard on his shoulders, like a great invisible boulder he¡¯d be forced to carry. Instead, it had imparted a sense of disconnect. His footsteps seemed to land silently, almost as though he only partially existed in this world. He felt like he was deep inside one of his more vivid dreams, the kind that takes a few minutes to awaken from. The ones where he wasn¡¯t merely a passing guest wandering the long, twisting halls of his subconscious, but a part of it. An integral character with a very specific part to play. Like a superhero that must overcome tragedy to realize his purpose.


    What that part was in real life, however, was presently lost to him. Everything felt lost.


    In his own black suit, Stanley passed the last of the murmuring phantoms lingering in the living room and entered the kitchen. But even that room wasn¡¯t safe. Four ladies in black were busy making coffee and arranging a platter of cold cut and crackers and other food. One of them stopped and stooped to eye level with Stanley.


    ¡°Do you remember me, Stanley?¡± she asked. Stanley nodded. ¡°I¡¯m your Aunt Kelly.¡±


    Aunt Kelly lived in California and had rarely seen Stanley and his parents. The last time they had been together was Christmas, about four years ago. Stanley wondered why she stated her name when he had clearly nodded, confirming that he did indeed know who she was.


    She pursed her lips. ¡°How are you doing?¡± Stanley shrugged. ¡°You know, your mom and I weren¡¯t just sisters, we were best friends.¡± Her eyes were red and watery. ¡°Not having a best friend to talk to when you really feel like talking can be very difficult.¡± She took his hand. ¡°So, if you need a best friend, I¡¯m here for you, okay?¡±


    Stanley felt his own tears begin to surface, but he was able to stifle them. He nodded and Aunt Kelly released his hand, blotted her eyes with a tissue and went back to preparing food. Stanley left the kitchen, walked down a short hallway, and descended the basement stairs. The Reece¡¯s kept a secondary refrigerator near the washer and dryer. Beside it was an old dart board that hadn¡¯t been used in years. Aunt Kelly¡¯s husband, Mark, pulled two beers from it, handing one to a relative Stanley didn¡¯t quite remember. Stanley had heard the two men talking, but they became quiet as he neared. They nodded as Stanley passed and Uncle Mark patted the boy on the shoulder.


    An exterior door opened to a set of ascending concrete steps which led outside to a patio. In the yard Stanley¡¯s cousins were kicking a ball around. He slipped passed them and then scampered along the rear of the tool shed. Across from it, shielded from the cousins by a row of ten-foot-tall arborvitaes, Stanley climbed atop a stack of firewood and glanced out over the fields of corn on the Reece farm. Far out beyond the fields was his mother''s plot. Where she had been buried a mere hour ago, beneath a big oak tree. Stanley¡¯s father was there, alone at the grave.


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.¡°Thought you might be out here, Muskrat.¡±


    Stanley sighed. ¡°How come?¡±


    Gramps sauntered out from inside the tool shed. He still had his black suit on, but he had taken off the tie. Doris, the family dog, trotted beside him. ¡°Because you always come out here. When you feel like contemplatin¡¯, that is.¡±


    Stanley frowned. ¡°What¡¯s...contem-play-tin?¡±


    Gramps stopped beside the boy. His left hand was inside the pants pocket, jingling around change and whatever other junk he always seemed to keep in there, like rubber bands and paperclips. With his right hand he traced a circle in the air. ¡°It means thinkin¡¯ things through. Mullin¡¯ ideas around.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    The sun had begun to fall from its lofty afternoon perch. It was still warm, but there was a nice breeze. Gramps removed his suit jacket and slung it over an old rusted pole protruding from the ground that had once been a clothesline post. ¡°So¡­whatcha contemplatin¡¯?¡±


    Stanley shrugged. ¡°Just thinking about how Mom wasn¡¯t really Mom after she had the¡­what was is called?¡±


    ¡°Stroke.¡±


    The boy nodded. ¡°I remember her just staring at nothing in the hospital before closing her eyes. Before the coma. She was kinda gone long before she¡­¡±


    ¡°I know, boy. That¡¯s what happens sometimes, the body just shuts down.¡± He plopped his hand atop Stanley¡¯s head, ran it down his neck and gripped his tiny shoulder. ¡°But don¡¯t you worry. The good Lord took her weeks ago, so she didn¡¯t have to suffer. She¡¯s with Him now.¡±


    ¡°And Grandma, right?¡±


    Gramps smiled. ¡°You bet.¡±


    ¡°And there¡¯s no pain in Heaven, right Gramps?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right, Muskrat. No pain, only happiness.¡±


    Doris walked in a circle and curled into a ball at Gramps¡¯ feet. Stanley dropped to the ground from the wood stack. ¡°Do you think I should go and be with my Dad or just leave him be?¡±


    ¡°I think he needs some time. He¡¯s out there contemplatin,¡¯ just like you were.¡±


    Stanley leaned in, resting his head against the old man¡¯s arm. Gramps¡¯s clothes smelled like firewood. He was always burning stuff in his yard: sticks, leaves, his own garbage, which Stanley thought was against the law. ¡°So, if I get to Heaven, I¡¯ll see my Mom again, someday?¡±


    Gramps put his arm around his grandson and pulled him close. ¡°You¡¯ll see her again, Muskrat. I guarantee it.¡±


    *********


    When evening came, Stanley fell asleep to the sound of his father and Gramps speaking downstairs in the kitchen. He couldn''t hear what they were talking about, but he thought it was probably about his mother and how her death might affect him. He tried to think of other, happier things, but his mind couldn''t find any.


    The house seemed much emptier now without his mom. Almost like it had become a different place than their house. A slightly, less welcoming place. But, after a while he drifted off, comforted by the muted conversation below, which drifted up through the aged floorboards.


    Stanley dreamed of standing outside near the fields in the dead of night. He saw something twinkle in the distance and became afraid. Rushing back into his house, he closed the door behind him and braced himself against it. On the other side of the door, the darkness pushed back.

 Chapter 29

    A fat, green caterpillar clung to the underside of a delicate leaf. Stanley watched intently to see if it was going to move. The leaf was from a tomato plant and the caterpillar was known as a hornworm. It was capable of great damage to the vegetable, but Stanley wasn''t worried about this one, as it had what appeared to be white grains of rice attached to its back. He had intended to pluck it from the plant but there was no need. The white grains, he had learned in his ten previous summers of farming, were the larvae of a wasp. The larvae would hatch and kill the caterpillar. It no longer posed any threat.


    In addition to tomato plants, the garden consisted of cucumbers, peppers, lettuce, broccoli and zucchini. Corn was the mainstay of the Reece farm, and therefore took up most of their land. It was what sustained them, as Stanley''s father would say. The other crops provided for the family and excess was also sold at the Sunset Bay Farmer''s Market on Saturdays.


    "This is your future, son," Stanley''s father would often tell him. "It''ll all be yours to care for some day." The words had implanted a vision into Stanley''s young mind, a vision that had both excited and frightened the boy. He had seen the toll this life had taken on his father and knew that over the years it would likely beat him down as well. But this was something that Stanley truly loved to do, and he believed that he had a duty to follow in his father''s footsteps.


    "Hard, honest work," Stanley said to himself. It was his father''s favorite farming motto. "And you can be proud of that."


    A swift breeze whipped through the yard, racing past the boy, and tousling his hair. He squinted as dirt pelted his face. Doris let out a sneeze. "Bless you, girl," said Stanley. She wagged her tail. It had been a dry summer so far, but Stanley hoped the breeze signaled the coming of a storm and much needed rain.


    He ran to the big, dusty green tractor parked beside the barn and climbed aboard. When he was standing on top of it, Stanley scanned the sky as far as he could see. Far off, the skies were dark gray.


    "Think there''s rain in those clouds, boy?"


    Stanley turned to see his father emerge from the house. At the bottom of the deck stairs, he yawned and stretched. Probably sleeping again. "Yep. I think so," said Stanley.


    "I hope so!" yelled Mr. Reece, stumbling toward the tractor.


    "There in the east, though," observed Stanley, scrunching his nose as specks of airborne debris pelted his face.


    "Hmm? Oh...you''re right," said Mr. Reece, looking left to right. "Well, maybe the wind''s shifting."


    As if on cue, the wind stirred again, nearly knocking the baseball cap from Mr. Reece''s head, and Stanley laughed. Mr. Reece climbed up the tractor and plopped down onto the seat. "Come on," he said, patting his lap, "Let''s go for a ride and check out the crops."


    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it."Okay, Pop." Stanley jumped onto his father''s lap.


    "Ooof!" Mr. Reece bellowed. "You''re getting too damn big to do that."


    Stanley laughed. "Sorry, Pop."


    "That''s okay, boy. That''s okay."


    As the tractor rumbled down a wide dirt path dividing the fields, his father stared at him through squinted eyes...eyes that to Stanley seemed much older than they were. He could smell beer on his father''s breath, even though it was before lunchtime.


    Stanley stared out across the vast expanse of corn. When the breeze kicked up again, the crops yielded to it, waving back and forth in the current. To Stanley it looked just like the ocean. Sometimes he would just watch it shifting back and forth from the porch.


    The wind pressed into their backs and Stanley smiled. The tractor came to a halt and Mr. Reece stared off into the distance, then frowned. "Something wrong, Pop?" asked Stanley, but his father didn''t answer. The boy followed his father''s gaze but could not locate anything amiss. Mr. Reece scooted Stanley off his lap and stepped up onto the engine housing and surveyed the field.


    "Thought I saw...something...." he mumbled. "Someone...."


    "Who?" asked Stanley. Mr. Reece did not immediately answer and the quiet became unsettling. The boy stared up at his father and suddenly felt alone. It was a strange thing for him to think with his father only a few feet away, atop the tractor, but he felt it, nonetheless.


    Stanley peered to his left, into the vertical lines of greenery. Who would be out there...in the field? "Maybe it''s Gramps."


    "Maybe," said Mr. Reece, his hands cupped at the edge of his baseball cap, extending his protection against the sun. "Could be an animal, too." He turned and looked at the boy, smiled and climbed down to the ground. "You gave me an idea. Why don''t you go check on the old man?"


    Stanley looked to the left of the corn field, down the long dirt road that led to Gramps¡¯ place. It was a tiny house that the old man referred to as a bungalow and you could see part of it from where they stood.


    "Really? You think I should?"


    Mr. Reece grinned wide. "I do. Then you can let me know if he''s there and not in the cornfield. Plus, your Mom would like to know that you look in on him."


    Stanley smiled and accepted his mission. "Yeah, I bet she would. Okay, Pop."


    "Good boy," said his father, moving his hands through his son''s close-cropped hair. "Get on, now."


    "I''ll be back." The boy ran off, leaving puffs of kicked-up dust in his wake. Doris, who had trotted along beside the tractor, broke into a run beside him.


    "Be back before dark, Stanley!"


    "Okay, Pop!" Stanley turned to wave, but his father had already begun walking toward the field. Stanley waved anyway as Mr. Reece was swallowed by the stalks.

 Chapter 30

    Stanley approached the old man''s bungalow with a sense of awe and mystery, as always. The place was like an abandoned structure. The shutters were rusty and loose, and Stanley figured a good storm would likely tear them right off the house. Once yellow with white trim, the home now sported a yolk-like color, with algae festering between the slabs of siding. He heard Gramps once say that the exterior was made of asbestos, which could be dangerous.


    The yard was a wreck, with tall grass that reached up to Stanley''s knees; the lawn looked like it hadn''t been mowed in a month. Stanley always offered to cut it for him, but he insisted on doing the work himself, with a push-mower that looked like it was forty years old.


    Doris ran up the front steps onto the tiny porch. At the door, she lifted her front paw and scratched. Bearing the imprints of many of the dog¡¯s previous visits, the once-white door eased inward and Doris cautiously entered. Stanley followed and was engulfed by the dimness of the living room. When his eyes adjusted, he moved toward the kitchen, where he heard Doris''s nails on the linoleum tile floor. Advancing through the dining room, Stanley felt like the air was heavy, foggy...like years of cooking fumes had been permanently trapped in the house, creating its own little atmosphere.


    The kitchen was markedly brighter. Shards of sunlight parted the stagnant culinary vapors and illuminated the kitchen table, where an old coffee tin lay on its side, having spilled its contents: not ground beans, but rusted nails, nuts, bolts, marbles and a heap of intertwined rubber bands across the surface. Gramps was standing at the window, the one that faced the corn fields. He was so still that Stanley wondered if it was possible for old people to die standing up.


    Doris whined with delight as she pranced around Gramps''s feet, but he paid her no attention. Stanley said nothing but stared at the old man with growing dread. Maybe his heart had just stopped working, right here in the kitchen. There was a cup of coffee on the counter. Gramps always took it black. No cream, no sugar. He said he learned to drink it that way in the army. Stanley supposed this was true, although he had no way of validating it. Gramps said that in the army "...you got what you got and you didn''t complain. When you were lucky enough to get a treat like hot coffee, you accepted it and were thankful." He also said that they rarely ever got cold water; that most of the time it was warm or ¡°Damn well hot!¡± Then again, Gramps was known to embellish a story or two in his time.


    No steam rose from the dark liquid, indicating that Gramps may have been in this position for a while. Stanley moved behind his grandfather, who now seemed like some unknown entity that had crept into the house from the woods. Some kind of space creature, right out of one of his comic books. It was well documented that they could shape-shift, or change forms to look like anything they chose, blend in. Maybe this wasn''t his grandfather at all, but some extraterrestrial that had donned his skin as a disguise. As this idea ripened in the boy''s mind, his pulse quickened.


    At the counter, Stanley noted the spilt sugar bowl on its side. He touched the coffee mug. It was cool. Of course, it was; an alien wouldn''t know what to do with a cup of coffee. Gramps had probably been in the middle of fixing it when the intruder caught him by surprise. Maybe it was the kind that infiltrated the brain. It might take hours or days before it discovered how to manipulate the limbs of its host.


    Doris had stopped winding between Gramps'' legs and curled up into a ball on the floor and sighed. Stanley crept back around the being by the window, toward the splayed blinds. Before peering outside, he looked back at the old man. His lips were slightly parted and appeared dry. His white beard was in need of a trim and it had crumbs embedded in it, just below his mouth. Looked like toast.


    At the window, Stanley saw the dirt road that led to the right ¨C east ¨C up to his home. To the left and west, the road ran downhill, where it became a tiny bridge that spanned a narrow creek before climbing upward again. It eventually led to a small clearing by a fishing pond.


    Stanley followed Gramps'' gaze. He had been looking straight through the blinds, into the corn stalks. To Stanley, it was just a thick maze of green. There might be more creatures out there.


    "Muskrat."


    Stanley spun around and fell backward into the blinds. Doris jumped up and began to wag. "Jesus, Gramps!"


    "Hiya, girl," the old man said to the dog. She began to lick his hands as he bent down to pet her. He looked at Stanley. "Don''t take the Lord''s name, boy."


    "Sorry, but you scared the crap out of me." Gramps allowed Stanley to use such language in his presence, but Mr. Reece would''ve been stricter. His mother never would have tolerated it.


    "What, did you think I was dead?"


    "Yeah, I did."


    "Can''t die standing up, Muskrat."


    Stanley got to his feet and brushed off his bottom, convinced there must be all sorts of dust and grime on the tile floor. He peered through the blinds. "What were you lookin'' at?"


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.Gramps patted Doris'' head and stood back up. "Not sure. Somethin'' movin'' in the field. In the stalks."


    "Probably deer."


    "Too early for deer. They don''t come around till night, when they know none of us humans''ll be around."


    "Nut-uh, I saw em'' in there before, during the day," Stanley rebutted. "Saw them yesterday. They weren''t even scared of me, just turned and walked away."


    Gramps scratched his beard. "Well, you stay away from them. Might be sick. Wonder if they can get rabies...guess so. Anyways, this wasn''t deer. This thing moved strange. Big as hell, too."


    "Maybe it was a space giant."


    "Don''t be a wise-ass, Muskrat."


    Looking surprised, Stanley said, "Hey! You can''t say that!"


    Gramps wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Can too. It''s called freedom of speech."


    Stanley scanned the field across the road from the old man''s house, trying to detect any movement. "Hey Gramps, why do you call me Muskrat?"


    "You know why, Muskrat. Why do you want me to tell you again?"


    The boy remained fixed on the field beyond the window. He shrugged.


    "Well, alright...when you was little ¨C just a tyke, now..."


    "What''s a tyke?"


    "Hmm? It means little, like a toddler."


    "Oh."


    Gramps picked up a piece of uneaten toast lying on the counter beside the coffee cup. "Anyways, your parents named you Stanley, after your dad, but you made sure to tell everybody that you didn''t want to be called Junior."


    "And my middle name, Gary, is after you," interrupted the boy.


    "Right. Except that I''m Garrett. They gave you Gary, just to make it a little different. So, I figured I''d give you a nickname, that way you wouldn''t have to worry about having me or your dad''s names."


    Stanley nodded, knowing the story all too well, but relishing when Gramps told it.


    "As you got a little older, you were goin'' down to the pond to fish so much, and you were sneaky about it, that I thought you seemed just like a muskrat." Stanley chuckled. "Your Ma didn''t like me callin'' you that, so I only did it when it was just you and me. It was like our little secret." He broke the toast in two and tossed a half to Doris, who hungrily accepted. "I''ll always call you that because it reminds me of your Mom."


    "I miss her," said Stanley.


    There was a significant pause in their conversation as the boy''s words seemed to linger in the air like a tangible thing, commanding attention, before finally dissipating. Then Gramps said, "Me too, boy."


    Stanley turned from the window. "Well, I came to check on you. Aaaaand I don''t see anything out there, in the field. Aaaaand you¡¯re alive and all. Have to be going."


    "How''s your Pop?" asked Gramps.


    Raising his eyebrows, Stanley replied, "Good. I mean, he seems good to me."


    The old man licked his lips and his tongue found one of the crumbs in his beard and brought it into his mouth. Stanley wondered how long it had been there. "He still drinkin'' a lot of beer?"


    "Well, he''s still drinkin'' it, but I don''t know if it''s a lot or not. I don''t count them." Stanley didn''t have to...he knew his father consumed quite a few every night. It was evident not only by the accumulated cans in the recycling bin but by his father''s slurred speech, but Stanley didn''t want to get his father in trouble. Gramps was his dad''s dad, but he had genuinely cared for his mom. It occurred to Stanley that maybe Gramps felt like it was his duty to watch over Stanley, like maybe that was a promise he had made to his daughter-in-law.


    Gramps fed Doris the remaining half of toast. "Mm-hmm...well, if he ever acts funny, your dad-¡±


    "Funny?"


    "Don''t interrupt, Muskrat. Yeah, funny ¨C ya know, weird, strange - then you just come and get me, okay?"


    "Okay. Well, I have to be goin'' Gramps," said Stanley, moving toward the dining room.


    "Where you headed?"


    "Me and Doris are gonna check and see if any meteors came down on our property last night."


    "Meteors?"


    "You didn''t see it? Came down just off the farm, I think. In the woods. Pop and I saw it."


    Gramps followed the boy through the house to the front door. He waived his hand through the air in a gesture of disgust. "Hell no. Heard them blabberin'' about it on the news, but I didn''t see no meteor. And neither did you. What you saw, if anything, was a meteorite."


    "Meteorite?"


    "Mm-hmm...a falling star, in other words. Meteors are much bigger. If it had been a meteor, the whole farm would''ve been blowed up. Anyways, they burn up before they hit the ground."


    "Oh, okay. I¡¯ll check, just in case."


    Stanley started off down the road with Doris in tow. He turned and waved. "See ya, Gramps."


    Gramps returned the gesture. "Watch yerself, Muskrat!" he shouted. "You get back home before dark."


    "Okay, I will."


    "And watch them weird deer!" Shoving his hands in his back pockets, the old man stared off into the spaces between the stalks, searching as he did earlier, for the movement.

 Chapter 31

    With the sun directly overhead, the day¡¯s heat, approaching its zenith, lay across the farm like an oppressive, damp haze. The breeze that Stanley hoped would bring rain had ceased and the humidity seemed to have doubled. The boy¡¯s forehead beaded with sweat and a trickle broke free, travelled down to the tip of his nose where it hung momentarily before dropping off. He stuffed his hands beneath his tee shirt and wiped his brow with it.


    ¡°It¡¯s hot, girl,¡± he said. Doris looked up at him and wagged twice. Her long tongue quivered with every pant. ¡°Let¡¯s get in the shade.¡±


    They left the dirt road and headed down an embankment, just beyond the small bridge that crossed Tinney Creek, which ran through the entire expanse of Reece farm, to a narrow stretch of wooded terrain. This wooded area stretched from the bridge and ran along the creek all the way out to the road. On the opposite side of the bridge, it spread as far as Stanley could see. These woods were populated mostly by birch trees and Stanley loved the contrast the white bark provided in the fall, when all the leaves had fallen. There was other vegetation closer to the water, just off the bank, like ferns, cattails, and lily pads, but nothing could compare with the birch trees.


    Doris sprinted ahead of Stanley and stopped at the edge of the creek. She eagerly lapped up the mud-colored water. ¡°Get, girl! You¡¯ll get sick!¡± He shooed her away with his foot. ¡°C¡¯mon, Doris.¡±


    The dog did as she was commanded and trotted beside the boy. They stayed near the water, but not too close as the bank was muddy. Stanley didn¡¯t feel like removing inches of thick, dried mud from his sneakers later. Doris, however, wasn¡¯t as cautious and stepped directly into a mound of the brown sludge. Startled by her paw being briefly immobilized, the dog jumped and spun around to stare at her assailant. She kicked wildly behind her, trying to remove the mud, then sat down to inspect the rear appendage.


    ¡°What¡¯d you do girl, huh?¡± asked Stanley. He walked toward the dog as she tended to herself. ¡°Got yourself all dirty, didn¡¯t you?¡± Stanley patted her on the head. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll squirt you down when we get home, okay?¡± He noted the mark she had made in the wet mud, closer to the bank. But then he saw something else.


    Directly beside Doris¡¯s tracks were another set. But these were much wider than the dog¡¯s paw. As Stanley inched closer, he squatted and studied the markings more intently. They were much larger than a deer¡¯s as well or anything else he¡¯d seen in the woods. They were huge. Stanley placed his palm flat against the bottom of the impression, which was about ten inches deeper than the surrounding ground.


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.Must be heavy.


    A dull, tingling sensation materialized within the boy, causing him to quickly skim the nearby shrubbery with his eyes. He stood back up and turned in a circle, suddenly feeling as though he and the dog were not alone. The tracks appeared to originate from directly behind the boy, in the general direction of the barn and house, in the dense brush and led into the creek. Doris had finished tending to her paw and assumed a posture of alertness, directing her gaze toward something on the opposite bank, farther down the creek. The hairs on Stanley¡¯s arms and the back of his neck stood out and a chill crusted his spine.


    Doris issued a soft growl. The opposite bank was concealed in heavy shadow, slivers of sunshine illuminating a branch here, or a patch of ground there, but it was difficult to make out anything that may have startled the dog. Again, she issued her displeasure, this time baring her teeth.


    Frozen, Stanley listened to every creaking branch above, to every crackle on the ground. He noted the absence of birds, or at least any chirping, in the trees. Nearby, however, a squirrel began an angry warning cry to its kin.


    And then a painfully long moment of stillness ensued. Stanley scanned the varying shades of greenery on the opposite bank. In the shadows were hunter and emerald greens, maybe even black-green, if there was such a color. In the lighted spots were kelly and yellow greens. The varying shades mingled into a natural camouflage, concealing whatever lurked within. Every wave of a wind-strewn leaf or ripple from a leaping insect on the creek¡¯s surface carried a threatening but fascinating allure. It was a purely magical and terror-filled series of moments that were suddenly broken by Doris¡¯s fit of barking.


    Stanley had never seen her so ferocious. As he attempted to console her, something moved in the brush across the creek. It must¡¯ve been perched by the water¡¯s edge, because that¡¯s where the initial leaves were still waving. It climbed the slope up to higher ground, bending branches and crushing saplings in its wake. Stanley saw nothing of substance, only the pitching and tossing of brush. After a few seconds, it was over. Then, farther off on the higher plot of ground and out of Stanley¡¯s view, a flock of crows squawked and were scattered from their trees.


    Stanley, still rooted to his spot, felt moisture penetrate his sneaker as his foot began to sink into the mud. He stirred from his trance and stepped away from the creek, each footfall feeling impossibly light, as though he were not walking, but floating¡­still in awe¡­still in some dream world, only moments ago having shared the ground with something strange and wonderful and dreadful all at once.

 Chapter 32

    His reflection was not what he had expected it to be. It was not the young, vibrant face of a man just shy of twenty-years-old, but a haggard, worn version of himself. As the razor glided across his cheek, Alex stared in wonder at the stranger before him.


    He had not even been aware that he had facial hair at all, let alone a full beard. His hair had been a thick, disheveled mess and his clothes were tattered. As he finished the last swipe along his jaw line, Alex set the razor down and washed the remnants of shaving cream from his face. He stared at the fresh, clean-cut man in the mirror, complete with new clothing and short hair and felt satisfied that he was himself again. They even had deodorant and toothpaste in this place. And more food than he might¡¯ve guessed.


    Still, something did not feel right. Almost, but not quite. He studied himself. Looked himself in the eyes. What was missing?


    ¡°Everything all right, Alex?¡±


    Looking beyond his double in the mirror, he saw that Isaac had stepped into view. Alex didn¡¯t remember leaving the door to his farmhouse unlocked, but he supposed he could have.


    Alex nodded. ¡°Yes¡­¡±


    Isaac brushed his long, white beard. ¡°But¡­¡±


    Alex turned from the mirror. ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­something feels off.¡±


    Nodding, Isaac said, ¡°Mm-hmm. That¡¯s normal. Rehabilitation is complete, but it can take the brain a little time to adjust. Nothing to worry about though,¡± he said, pointing to his right temple. ¡°That¡¯s what this is for.¡±


    Alex took the hint and raised his hand to his own temple. He located a small bump and blindly examined it with his fingertips. ¡°Oh yeah, I remember.¡± He then consulted the mirror and saw a slight protrusion just beneath the skin.


    Isaac nodded and smiled. ¡°It¡¯ll help you along in the event you forget your purpose.¡±


    Isaac¡¯s words had barely departed when Alex felt a dull tingle at his temple. Turning back to the old man, he said, ¡°I¡¯m a farmer.¡±


    ¡°Correct. And?¡±


    Pondering, Alex next recalled, ¡°And I was alone all this time. There were no twins¡­they were only a figment of my imagination.¡±


    ¡°Indeed.¡±


    ¡°There is only Community.¡±


    Nodding, Isaac repeated, ¡°There is only Community.¡± He turned on his heels.


    ¡°But¡­¡±


    Isaac halted, turned back to his newest farmer. ¡°Yes?¡±


    Alex frowned. ¡°Why would I have imagined that I had children?¡±


    Gesturing for Alex to follow him, Isaac replied, ¡°Let¡¯s talk.¡±


    Leaving the bathroom and stepping into the hallway, Alex followed Isaac out into the living room of the two-story house. A single lamp glowed on a small square table beside an armchair, which the old man settled into. Alex took a seat on the adjacent sofa. Isaac leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and Alex did the same.


    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.¡°The twins,¡± began Isaac, ¡°were not your children. They were an idea¡­a notion that your mind created. Sort of a defense mechanism against the insanity of this world.¡±


    Alex listened intently. He repeated, ¡°A defense mechanism¡­¡±


    ¡°The idea of you having younger siblings gave you a sense of responsibility. You had to provide for them; you had to find shelter and food, make sure they were safe.¡±


    ¡°So, by creating these individuals¡­and making sure they were cared for, my mind was tricking me into caring for myself.¡±


    ¡°Precisely.¡±


    Alex sat back and rubbed his stubble-free chin. ¡°Sounds kind of crazy.¡±


    Isaac shook his head. ¡°Not at all. It¡¯s a survival instinct.¡±


    ¡°But, hallucinations?¡±`


    ¡°The initial hallucination of the twins may have been brought on by severe hunger or dehydration. Then, your brain, recognizing that you worried about these hallucinations, said, ¡®Hey, I can use this to keep Alex alive.¡¯¡±


    Alex leaned forward again, looking directly into the old man¡¯s eyes. Isaac didn¡¯t blink.


    ¡°Make sense?¡±


    After consideration, Alex replied, ¡°Yes. It does.¡±


    Isaac rose and patted Alex on the shoulder. ¡°Good.¡± He walked to the front door. ¡°Now, it¡¯s almost sun-up, so get yourself together and get out there.¡±


    Alex left the sofa and grabbed a flannel shirt hanging on a knob beside the door. ¡°I¡¯m ready to go now.¡±


    ¡°Alright.¡± Isaac stepped outside, adding, ¡°Don¡¯t forget to switch off the lamp. Don¡¯t want to burn out the generator.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± Alex returned to the small table and clicked the switch on the lamp. He casually glanced out the window as he did so and caught a twinkle of light out in the field. He walked closer, staring out at the crops, etched black against the paling orange sky. It had only been a bright white flicker and then was gone.


    Isaac took one step across the threshold. ¡°Alex?¡±


    ¡°Coming. Just thought I¡­¡± He paused, contemplating the revelation of having witnessed a flickering light in a place where no light should be. Already feeling that he had tested Isaac¡¯s patience with his questioning of the twins¡¯ hallucination, Alex decided to keep this to himself, but felt that he was unable to hide it. He could sense Isaac¡¯s prying gaze upon him.


    ¡°Just thought?¡± asked the old man.


    Alex stepped toward the window and peered out at the darkness. ¡°Just thought I saw something.¡± Once more, at his right temple, he felt the tingling sensation.


    ¡°What was it?¡± asked Isaac.


    Alex turned away from the window and walked toward the door. ¡°Nothing.¡±

 Chapter 33

    Even though it was afternoon, the hallway was dim, illuminated only by a few shafts of sunlight cutting through the murk from overhead skylights. In their warm beams, fine particles swam and drifted. The floor was hardwood, although its once precise lines appeared furry, coated with layer upon layer of what looked like ash. The wall to the left was lined with family photographs. One was taken during Christmas, in front of a decorated tree, another standing before the ocean and the last showing the mother and father hugging their daughter at her high school graduation. In each, Grant appeared happy.


    Eva stared at the memories and thought of her own family. Her mother and father had been killed in an accident when she was just six years old. Her father had owned a small construction company and her mother worked as its receptionist. They had been killed when she was young and as a result, she had been raised by her grandmother, Alice.


    Eva¡¯s eyes welled at the thought of her grandmother. She¡¯d be eighty-four now, if she was still living. But of course, the worst must be assumed.


    ¡°Eva?¡± Wes¡¯ voice came to her from the mic in her helmet. She turned around as he entered the hallway from the kitchen she had passed through.


    ¡°I¡¯m here,¡± she said.


    ¡°Hey, wait until we¡¯re finished scouring one room before heading off alone. We all move together. Okay?¡±


    ¡°Right. Sorry.¡±


    Wes darted back into the kitchen and Eva started after him. What was wrong with her? She knew better. Just before reaching the kitchen, she heard movement behind her. Spinning around, she thought she caught a glimpse of something that had just departed the far end of the hallway, passing out of view to the left. It was dim however, and the far corner sat in the gloom just beyond the penetrating sunlight. She almost called out but decided that wasn¡¯t wise. It could have been her imagination.


    Ducking into the kitchen, she found Laird and Wes tearing apart the cupboards and pantry, searching for anything, despite Grant assuring them the house had been stripped clean long ago.


    ¡°Where¡¯s Grant?¡± she asked.


    Without looking at her, Laird responded. ¡°In the garage. Don¡¯t bother him.¡±


    Wes explained, ¡°Said he needed to be alone. He takes it hard every time we stop here.¡±


    ¡°Why did we stop here?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s sort of therapeutic for Grant,¡± said Wes. ¡°We don¡¯t stay long, but he treats it as almost a religious experience.¡±


    Eva nodded. ¡°So, he needed to be alone in the garage¡­on the other side of the house?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the only garage,¡± added Wes, returning to his task.


    Eva turned back to the hallway and raised her rifle into firing position. It sure as hell wasn¡¯t Grant that had produced the noise, then. As she cautiously advanced, she racked her brain for all possible explanations. It could be a rodent¡­a raccoon¡­maybe a fox. Who knows? It could be a dog, one of the mutated kinds.


    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.She reached the corner and turned, with the rifle thrust forward. There was nothing except the other half of the hallway, which continued for another fifteen feet, culminating in a door leading to the backyard. Eva searched the last bedroom on the left and after finding it empty, proceeded through the exterior door. She found Grant twenty feet away, standing at the open door of the garage, staring inside.


    Eva¡¯s heart quickened at the bizarre sight. She studied Grant¡¯s body language; his rigid posture indicated something was amiss. Risking a quick look in all other directions, Eva concluded that only the two of them occupied the rear yard. Her weapon ready, Eva walked toward Grant, who indicated no awareness of her presence. She modified her approach, coming at him at a three-quarter angle, to get a better look at his hands. His weapon was still slung over his shoulder, but his hands were not clasping it. Instead, they hung limp at his side.


    ¡°Grant?¡±


    When he didn¡¯t respond, Eva, still maintaining a safe distance, followed his gaze. He was fixated on something inside that she could not perceive. Then, she witnessed something that gripped her just as it had Grant.


    Beyond the narrow swath of sunlight leaking in through the open door was a barely visible figure. Eva squinted, believing her mind had betrayed her and only imagined the form, an illusion cast by the intermingling of shadow and indirect light. But after it moved, she was forced to acknowledge its existence. Apparently oblivious to Eva and Grant, it seemed to be preoccupied by some business that was unclear. Realizing she had been holding her breath, Eva inhaled sharply. The figure seemed not to notice her sudden gasp.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± whispered Grant.


    Almost equally startled by Grant¡¯s return to normalcy, Eva recoiled.


    ¡°Just remain still.¡± He held his hand up, enforcing his suggestion. ¡°I don¡¯t want her to go just yet.¡±


    Eva returned her attention to the otherworldly presence. It flitted about, from one side of the garage to the other. It seemed she was dancing.


    She?


    Concentrating on the transient thing, Eva finally discerned the outline of a female. It wasn¡¯t that of a child, but not quite an adult. And then she understood Grant¡¯s fixation, and his prolonging of the moment. The figure, Eva understood, after careful scrutinization, was that of his daughter.


    Lowering her weapon, Eva stood transfixed, a flood of emotion washing over her. Despite his mic being muted, Grant¡¯s pain sounded through his helmet. The girl appeared to be performing ballet, gliding gracefully from one end of the garage to the other. She danced across the sun-streaked floor once more and then faded from existence.

 Chapter 34

    Respirator 50%


    Mo stared at the orange superimposed numbers floating before him and raised a hand to swat them away. Unable to contact the intangible alert, his fingers passed through and his arm fell to his lap with a thud. His movements were sluggish, as if his limbs had suddenly acquired additional mass and therefore, a greater gravitational influence.


    ¡°Display down,¡± he said, and the warning vanished from the visor¡¯s surface. Even his speech sounded heavy and slurred. He almost felt intoxicated and smiled at the thought.


    With a loud declaration, he said, ¡°I could go for a drink.¡± Mo half-expected a reply from the corpse in the next room. With considerable effort, he rose from the floor where he¡¯d been sitting, stumbled to the suite-connecting door, turned the knob and pressed inward. The body was still there, lying face-down, the carpet beneath its head stained with time-darkened blood.


    The Watley look-a-like had entered his room during the night. Mo had been shocked by the being¡¯s ability to mimic the appearance of his partner; it hadn¡¯t been an exact likeness, but enough of one to fill Mo with a horrific wonder. He guessed it must¡¯ve been the one that had touched Watley earlier in the hallway. Mo had been prepared, however, for possible intrusion and shot it right in the face. It had required a second round to finish it off. Then, after the vine detached from the humanoid and withdrew from the room, Mo had reinforced the barricaded door.


    Swooning and feeling disoriented, Mo leaned against the door frame for support. In a moment, the slight lightheadedness vanished, and he looked upon the cadaver again, noting the deterioration of the creature¡¯s head. The top half of the skull had crumbled away and spilled onto the carpet like a spilt pot of soil. It seemed the creatures lost their substance once the vines departed. He supposed the tendrils not only directed the Humanoids¡¯ movements but also provided the necessary nourishment for the body to maintain function.


    He closed the door and wedged the chair back beneath it. Glancing at his own room, vacant and dusty, Mo felt as if he¡¯d been scooped up and deposited in a barren world, devoid of any natural life besides his own. There was plenty of unnatural life; it was out there, just beyond the door, teeming in the shadows. He could almost feel it unfurling and slinking about in the dark.


    The windows were rattled by a gust of wind, giving Mo the impression that this unnatural lifeforce was incensed by his thoughts. He unholstered his sidearm and aimed at the windows.


    Just the wind, Mo. Relax.


    He moved to the dirty panes of glass, careful not to get too close. Golden light fought through the grime-filmed blinds, illuminating miniscule floating specs in the air, and he feared it might reveal his presence to anyone or anything that potentially watched from the dark recesses of the neighboring parking garage.


    The previous night had brought pitch darkness. There were no ambient light sources. No glow of parking lot lamps spilling through the windows to brighten the space. It had been a wonder that Mo had been able to detect the humanoid that had infiltrated the room. Still, Mo wondered if electricity in the hospital might still be flowing. From time to time he believed he heard a faint buzzing from somewhere in the building. Was it the presence of an electrical current moving through hot wires in the wall? A trace reminder of the former normalcy of life?


    If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.This thought reminded Mo of walking through the city, past the amber-lit windows of sidewalk cafes and shops. Of Christmas shopping during the hustle and bustle of the holiday season. Strolling along the packed streets while holding hands with Lacy.


    Lacy.


    Picturing his wife¡¯s face, Mo received a surge of adrenaline and suddenly felt himself again. Although his room provided safety, it would only be a temporary haven. It had become a prison, but the fear of leaving this room and suffering a fate similar to Watley¡¯s had almost paralyzed him. Mo wondered where his partner had gone, then decided it didn¡¯t matter. He was gone. All that mattered was getting to Lacy.


    Mo readied himself to leave the room. If he could somehow get past the things in the hallway and get to the cycle, he could begin searching for Lacy.


    He reached for the key to the cycle and found it missing from his suit¡¯s leg insert. He must¡¯ve left it in the adjoining room.


    Shit!


    Withdrawing his sidearm, Mo opened the door connecting the rooms and was swallowed by a black haze. He stepped back, waving his hand before him and the mist swirled and billowed. It quickly consumed the room and Mo again felt the disorientation he had earlier experienced. He fought to keep his wits and stepped toward the door once he felt confident nothing was waiting to attack. The mist faded slightly, as the addition of the unaffected room¡¯s air acted to dilute its potency.


    Crossing the threshold, Mo aimed left, then halted. The corpse had undertaken a drastic metamorphosis in the short time since Mo had last seen it. From the thing¡¯s head, which had fallen inward down to the base of the neck, rose a thin, crusted stalk that connected the corpse to the ceiling. Here, it sprawled out like a web of vines grasping the plaster, with more of the stalk rising farther out of site. A sinister thought pervaded Mo¡¯s mind.


    It¡¯s relaying my position to whatever¡¯s controlling it.


    Maybe that was crazy. Maybe not.


    He acted before he lost the ability to think clearly. Swiping the key from the counter, he stepped backward, shutting the door. As he surveyed his surroundings, he noticed the ventilation grate on the opposite wall and wondered how he hadn¡¯t seen it before. It might be large enough to accommodate him. He could follow it to another room, or maybe a stairwell, drop down and make a break for the ground floor.


    A tremor permeated the building and Mo felt it in the floor. Outside in the hallway came a frenzy of activity. Something lumbered close by and slammed into the door, shaking its frame. Mo thought of Lacy and began tearing at the grate.

 Chapter 35

    As Kay was busy preparing a meal for the return of the Supply Run crew, Lacy had been charged with watching the Walker children. Although she didn¡¯t feel the need to babysit children aged fourteen and eleven, Lacy didn¡¯t want to rock the boat. Not with sunset only a couple of hours away. By then Eva would have returned and their plans for departure set in motion.


    The air quality had improved and with no need for bio-suits, Lacy decided on a walk, allowing Audrey to lead Gus on the leash, with Lance at her side, in case she needed assistance. Lacy trailed just far enough to give them a sense of independence. The lab occasionally glanced back to be sure his owner didn¡¯t fall too far back.


    ¡°He¡¯s so skinny,¡± said Audrey.


    ¡°Yes, he¡¯s a little underweight,¡± replied Lacy. ¡°Food¡¯s been tight, just for the people of Community, let alone a dog.¡±


    Lance chimed in. ¡°I bet in most other colonies they¡¯d have eaten the dog by now.¡± He looked at Lacy. Audrey, taking part in her brother¡¯s game, chuckled.


    Determining that his comment was designed to illicit a response, in this case, anger, Lacy countered with agreement. ¡°I think you¡¯re right. That would be the logical thing to do.¡± Lance looked away in defeat.


    Audrey, apparently deciding to give it another try, scrunched her nose. ¡°And he stinks, too. I bet he hasn¡¯t had a bath in a year.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, right,¡± laughed Lacy. ¡°Not even close. Try three years.¡± Audrey looked pissed.


    Take that, you little shit.


    Following the same worn trail around the perimeter of the airfield, Lacy glanced off to the west, toward the farms. She wondered how many were out there. Only on rare occasions did she catch sight of the farmers, who were not permitted to leave their houses except on special occasions. Likewise, she and the others were prohibited from going to the farms. She supposed this was to keep the farmers focused on their demanding work. The more she dwelt on the subject, the more curious it all seemed. In fact, Lacy recalled that she was once discouraged from even looking out at the fields.


    Realizing that she had stopped walking, Lacy searched for the Walker children and Gus, whose lead had doubled. She resumed following, her mind however, unable to resist the imploring questions: Why was everyone in the silos restricted access to the fields? What were they trying to hide? And who was behind these regulations?


    Grant?


    Isaac?


    Again, Lacy had fallen behind, her pace having slowed considerably while she contemplated these ideas. The perimeter fence began to follow a lengthy curve, where it would lead back to the main entrance. She quickened her steps and was relieved when she caught sight of Gus and the children as they rounded an old, decrepit Quonset hut.


    Beyond the fence line, maybe a hundred yards away, Lacy spotted a deer walking through high grass. She noticed the animal¡¯s strange gait; it seemed to waddle instead of stride gracefully, the way normal deer moved. She wondered if it was injured. Then it entered a small clearing and the reason for its hindrance became clear; the thing was not a normal deer. Its rear legs were two times longer than they should have been and appeared not to function at all. The appendages ended not in hooves, but in tapering, rounded tips, reminiscent of tentacles. They dragged along the ground and the thing appeared burdened by their weight.


    Wishing there was something she could do for it, Lacy became aware that she had paused beneath one of the guard towers. She glanced up and met eyes with Charles, whose rifle was aimed at something outside the gates.


    ¡°What do you see, Charles?¡± she called.


    Charles glanced down at her, then returned eye to the rifle¡¯s scope. ¡°You see that thing?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± replied Lacy. ¡°It¡¯s disturbing.¡±


    ¡°You can say that again. Fucking monstrosity.¡±


    ¡°I pity it,¡± said Lacy. She watched the animal amble on, seeming to struggle with every step.


    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.After a pause, Charles asked, ¡°Should I shoot it?¡±


    Lacy sighed with frustration. ¡°We¡¯re not supposed to fire unless it¡¯s for a just cause. Putting an animal out of its misery doesn¡¯t qualify.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but¡­¡± added Charles. ¡°Thing looks like it¡¯s in pain.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d be in favor of it, but it¡¯ll be you that has to justify the ammo use.¡±


    Charles nodded.


    ¡°Besides, you know how many¡­altered animals there are out there? You can¡¯t spare all of them.¡±


    He lowered the rifle. ¡°Suppose you¡¯re right.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d better get the kids and Gus back to the silo.¡± Lacy turned to start after them but stopped after twenty feet. The trail of flattened grass before her was empty. Just as before, she waited for Lance, Audrey and Gus to round another Quonset Hut, which sat fifty yards away, obscuring her view. Ten seconds passed, but the trio did not emerge from behind the structure. Twenty seconds and nothing.


    Take it easy, Lace. Gus probably just stopped to go to relieve himself.


    Thirty seconds.


    Forty.


    Lacy¡¯s nerves were quickly fraying as she bolted from her spot, racing along the trail beside the fence. Before her was an empty stretch, spanning hundreds of yards. Surely it was impossible for the children and the dog to have cleared such a distance in the short amount of time since Lacy had last spotted them.


    Sweat beaded her forehead as she left the trail and sprinted to the nearest Quonset Hut. But inside, there was no trace of the three. She hurried back to the guard tower where Charles was still busy scanning outside the perimeter.


    ¡°Charles!¡±


    He quickly glanced down. ¡°You scared the balls off me.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t find the Walker children! Can you spot them? They¡¯re with my dog!¡±


    Sheltering his eyes from the sun, Charles searched the interior of the airfield. ¡°I saw them earlier. Maybe they¡¯re just hiding from you, they do that kind of shit all the time.¡±


    ¡°Just keep looking! I¡¯m going to check the other buildings.¡±


    Darting down the center of one of the runways, Lacy headed for the next likely structure they may have entered, a small-craft hangar. Entering through a rusted door, her footfalls echoed inside the airy space. It was a dark and unsettling atmosphere. Wading into the murk, her fists balled and ready to strike, Lacy paused when she detected the padded approach of an entity. Then she heard the familiar jingling of a dog¡¯s collar. She released a pent-up sigh as the shadowy figure of a dog emerged from behind a long unused aircraft.


    ¡°Gus.¡±


    She stooped to one knee and the dog trotted over to her, feverishly wagging his tail. She hugged him hard and buried her face in his fur. ¡°You big dope! I was so worried about you!¡± She smelled his soft coat. ¡°You don¡¯t stink at all, you smell great! Don¡¯t let Audrey get to you.¡±


    Lacy rose to her feet. ¡°Where is Audrey? And Lance?¡± She looked down at Gus, who panted and stared back. ¡°Audrey?¡± she called into the darkness. ¡°Lance?¡±


    Anger poked at her. She studied Gus. ¡°Did they abandon you? Toss you into the hangar and take off?¡±


    Little bastards.


    The door to the hangar burst inward, glaring light stabbing the gloom. Charles stepped through. ¡°Hey! Just wanted to tell you I found them.¡±


    Lacy felt her face heat with anger. ¡°Where are they!¡±


    She pushed Charles back outside and followed him into the sunlight. ¡°Way over there,¡± he said, pointing. Gus trailed Lacy and Charles let out a surprised ¡°Oh!¡± at the sight of the dog. ¡°And who¡¯s this?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± she replied, paying more attention to finding the Walker children than to his question. She squinted, shielded her eyes from the sun¡¯s glare and in the distance saw Lance. Just beyond him was Audrey, still holding the leash, secured to the collar around Gus¡¯s neck. Lacy¡¯s eyes widened as the impossible visual information was processed by her mind; trying desperately to decipher the indecipherable.


    The other Gus growled at Charles.

 Chapter 36

    Steam rose from the tomato soup ladled into his bowl and Stanley eagerly bit into the grilled cheese sandwich on his plate. However, it was swiftly swatted away from his mouth.


    ¡°Where¡¯s your manners, boy?¡± scolded Gramps. Stanley¡¯s dad chuckled as the old man served him, then returned the pot to the stove.


    ¡°Whattya talking about, Gramps?¡± asked Stanley.


    ¡°What do you think he¡¯s talking about?¡± asked his father.


    After a moment of deliberation, the boy¡¯s eyebrows raised as he realized his error. ¡°Oh¡­grace.¡±


    Gramps nodded. ¡°There you go.¡± Three Reece generations, seated in the old man¡¯s tiny, dimly lit kitchen, thanked God for their meal and added a prayer for Stanley¡¯s departed mother. ¡°Now you can stuff your face,¡± Gramps added.


    ¡°Oh boy! Soup and sandwiches¡­ ¨C must¡¯ve taken you all day to make it,¡± joked Stanley.


    Spooning soup into his mouth, Gramps drizzled some down into his beard. ¡°Well, since I offered to cook, I decided on my specialty. If it ain¡¯t good enough for you, you don¡¯t have to eat it, Muskrat.¡±


    ¡°Just joking, Gramps.¡±


    Gramps peered at the boy under his bushy gray eyebrows. Then under his breath, muttered, ¡°Wiseass.¡±


    Mr. Reece plopped his baseball cap onto the armrest of his chair and smoothed his hair back. It was dark, with streaks of gray throughout. ¡°Thanks for the meal, Garrett.¡±


    ¡°Ain¡¯t no problem. I¡¯ve got so much soup in the pantry, you¡¯d think we were in the aftermath of a disaster.¡±


    With a mouth full of food, Stanley replied, ¡°They aren¡¯t expired, are they? I don¡¯t feel like getting sick slurping old soup.¡± He tossed a morsel under the table to Doris and the dog nearly inhaled it, then cocked her head in anticipation of more.


    ¡°Hell no, they ain¡¯t expired. You think I¡¯d give you food that ain¡¯t no good?¡±


    Stanley¡¯s father laughed again. ¡°You worry too much, boy.¡±


    ¡°I guess,¡± giggled Stanley.


    Breaking a moment of silence, Stanley¡¯s father said, ¡°I came across the damnedest thing in one of the fields earlier.¡± There was a pause as he bit into his sandwich. Stanley knew his father wasn¡¯t one for theatrics, so what he was about to reveal must¡¯ve been difficult for him; he was not a man known to disclose his inner thoughts. He continued. ¡°What I¡¯m about to say will sound a little crazy¡­¡±


    Stanley grew excited, but his father took a spoonful of soup, yet again delaying the information. Gramps and Stanley looked at one another, then back at Mr. Reece. The mystery settled over them like a thin mist waiting to be parted.


    ¡°Well?¡± asked Gramps.


    Mr. Reece looked at each of them, then spoke. ¡°I thought I had seen something moving in the corn stalks¡­¡±


    ¡°So did Gramps!¡± blurted Stanley, pointing to his grandfather. Mr. Reece glanced at Gramps.


    ¡°Maybe,¡± divulged the old man.


    ¡°So, I walked into the field to check,¡± Mr. Reece said, ¡°and I came to an area of flattened stalks.¡±


    Gramps frowned. ¡°Flattened?¡±


    Mr. Reece nodded. ¡°Two parallel lines¡­like tire tracks.¡±


    Stanley perked up. ¡°Somebody drove into the field!¡± Doris, beneath the table awaiting another scrap from the boy, began nervously wagging at the exclamation.


    ¡°No, son, there was no vehicle. Just tracks¡­and this was far from the road.¡±


    Now Stanley frowned, trying to comprehend. ¡°Then how the heck did tire tracks get there?¡±


    His father took a bite of sandwich. ¡°Not sure. Has to be vandalism. A ¨C a prank.¡±


    Gramps, his beard now featuring a bit of melted cheese in addition to the drop of red soup, replied, ¡°Ain¡¯t never had any vandalism around here before.¡±


    ¡°What else could it be?¡± asked Mr. Reece. ¡°After supper I¡¯ll go out and rig a trail cam by the area, just in case they try it again.¡±


    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.¡°Damn,¡± whispered Gramps. ¡°How many were ruined?¡±


    ¡°Few dozen or so,¡± said Mr. Reece. ¡°Could be some kids from town out drinking.¡±


    ¡°Maybe they were trying to make crop circlesWe should call the cops,¡± said Stanley. ¡°We should call the cops.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll just sit out there in the dark with a flashlight and old Ruby,¡± added Gramps, referring to his shotgun displayed over the small brick fireplace in the living room. He named it after Grandma. ¡°If they come back, I¡¯ll switch the light on, ¨C which¡¯ll scare the crap out of them, - then show them I¡¯m armed, and they won¡¯t never come back.¡±


    Stanley laughed, nearly ejecting soup through his nostrils. He coughed and Mr. Reece patted him on the back, smiling as he did. ¡°Easy, son.¡± To Gramps he said, ¡°I¡¯ve got some motion-sensor floodlights. That¡¯ll do the trick, I think.¡±


    The boy relished his father¡¯s happiness, displayed only sporadically since his mother¡¯s passing. Then, recalling what he had witnessed by the creek, his demeanor sobered. ¡°I saw something too¡­at the creek.¡±


    ¡°Oh yeah? What was it?¡± inquired Gramps..


    Stanley glanced at the old man, then at his father. ¡°No! I don¡¯t know what it was, but it was big and heavy, and it ran up the hill on the other bank and into the upper field.¡±


    ¡°Sure it wasn¡¯t your imagination?¡± asked his father.


    Stanley nodded. ¡°Nope. There were tracks on this side of the creek and then something was hiding in the bushes on the other side. Like it was watching us.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯d it look like?¡± asked Gramps.


    Shrugging, Stanley added, ¡°Don¡¯t know. I didn¡¯t see it.¡±


    ¡°You said you saw it.¡±


    ¡°Well, not really. But I saw the bushes moving as it ran away. Doris saw it, too. She was barking her head off.¡±


    Gramps pointed at him with his spoon. ¡°This is when you were going to find that meteorite. So maybe it was a creature come out of a space rock.¡±


    Mr. Reece grinned as Stanley¡¯s eyes grew wide with fascination.


    ¡°Maybe while in the water it was a snake kind of a thing and once it got on land, growed legs,¡± explained Gramps. Stanley¡¯s wonder seemed to expand and engulf the room as the old man fashioned his tale. ¡°Then it seen you and licked its jaws, thinking you would taste good. It was in the greenery, but it was watching you¡­waiting for the right moment¡­¡±


    Stanley looked at his father, then back at Gramps.


    ¡°BAM!¡± hollered Gramps while stomping his foot on the floor.


    A cry escaped Stanley as he jolted backward into his chair, nearly toppling it. His sandwich was flung from his hand and Doris snatched it up. Gramps and Mr. Reece enjoyed the display of fright. After his initial anger burned off, Stanley too engaged in the laughter.


    After dinner Stanley assisted Gramps with the dishes, as the old house was without a dishwasher. Gramps washed, Stanley dried. Mr. Reece headed to the barn to retrieve the motion lights and headed for the flattened stalks.


    *********


    Gravely injured, Gray clawed across the ground. His progress was painfully slow, and the voice was drawing closer; he mustn¡¯t allow himself to be spotted. Earlier, while drinking from the creek, the boy and his dog had almost seen him before he managed to escape. The flight up the hill had drained the remainder of his waning strength and the end was close.


    At last he came to what appeared to be an old storm shelter protruding from the ground. There was a rusted lock clasped around the door handles and Gray broke it free with great effort. The doors squeaked open with more noise than he had hoped, and he dropped down inside. Dizzy, he reached up to close up the shelter and gazed upon the late afternoon sky once more.

 Chapter 37

    ¡°Let¡¯s go! Get that thing in the cell!¡± ordered Mitchell. His helmet on and rifle thrust out in front of him, he forced Lacy and the other Gus toward the Med Hut. Charles walked by her side and when they reached the door, removed the keys from a pocket and opened it. Once inside, he led her and the dog into the adjoining room and unlocked the cell door, Mitchell and Kay followed.


    Other Gus was locked inside. Panting, he whined once Lacy stepped away from the cell. ¡°It¡¯s okay, boy,¡± she said, instinctually soothing the animal. The discovery of the doppelganger rocked her reality, as well as everyone else¡¯s, she assumed, but that didn¡¯t mean they had to treat it as anything other than a living being. ¡°Can we give him some water?¡± she asked Charles.


    He nodded and retrieved a basin from a nearby cabinet. He twisted off the cap from a bottle of water.


    ¡°Whoa! No way we¡¯re going to waste our water on that thing,¡± shouted Mitchell.


    Charles halted, looking at Lacy, then Kay.


    ¡°I¡¯ll give up my ration,¡± said Lacy.


    Mitchell stared blankly, still with the weapon at the ready. Kay, also donning a bio-suit, looked up, having been staring at the animal. She appeared to be in disbelief. ¡°Sorry, Lacy,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m with Mitchell; we don¡¯t give up rations for something that might be a manifestation of whatever contagion is out there.¡±


    ¡°What if he¡¯s not contagious? What if he¡¯s¡­something else?¡± asked Lacy.


    ¡°Something else?¡± blurted Mitchell. ¡°It¡¯s a goddamned duplicate. You foolish enough to think that¡¯s natural?¡±


    Lacy sighed. ¡°No, but¡­what if there¡¯s some other reason for it being here?¡±


    ¡°Like what?¡± interrupted Charles.


    Searching her mind for something profound to say, something that might convince them to believe her and her gut feeling that the Other Gus was not a twisted form of her Gus, Lacy eventually came up empty. She understood it was ridiculous to risk everyone¡¯s safety and go with a hunch. It was right to quarantine the dog. And his existence was more than just baffling, it was disturbing.


    ¡°You¡¯re not going to kill him, right? You¡¯ll wait and see if he¡¯s sick?¡± she asked Kay.


    Kay responded, ¡°No, we won¡¯t kill it. In fact, I¡¯m sending Mitchell to go get Isaac. He needs to see this.¡± She nodded to the brute and he turned to leave but stopped in front of her.


    ¡°Let¡¯s get one thing straight: you don¡¯t order me around, lady. I report only to Grant and Isaac.¡±


    ¡°Fine, Mitchell,¡± Kay answered. Lacy shot a side glance at Charles and he returned the look of concern.


    After a prolonged stare, Mitchell left the room with Kay on his heels. Lacy glanced at the Other Gus again, then turned to leave but the door had been shut. The lock engaged and she and Charles were confined.


    ¡°What¡¯re you doing!¡± she questioned.


    On the other side of the glass, Mitchell sneered through his helmet¡¯s visor. ¡°You two were idiots to get near that thing. You¡¯ll be quarantined with it to be sure you¡¯re not infected. If it was up to me, I¡¯d banish you from Community for bringing it anywhere near the silos.¡±


    ¡°Kay?¡± insisted Lacy.


    She shrugged. ¡°Put yourself in our shoes, Lacy. It¡¯s the only reasonable thing to do. I¡¯m not risking the lives of my children or anyone else.¡±


    With a defeated posture, Charles took a seat on one of the two chairs. ¡°They¡¯re right, Lacy. We may very well have contracted something from this dog and we just don¡¯t know it yet. This makes sense.¡±


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.Mitchell¡¯s figure receded into the gloom of the adjoining room, then came a burst of sunlight as he opened the exterior door. He and Kay left the building. In the cell, Other Gus paced, then released a sigh as he curled into a ball on the floor.


    *********


    With dusk only an hour or so away, Alex left the smaller garden he¡¯d been tending to and headed for the barn, which sat about fifty yards from the farmhouse. It was time to recall the autonomous tractors, which were designed to patrol the crop fields and detect any abnormalities in the vegetation. They also were capable of spraying pesticides if the need arose and repair, via robotic arms, broken stalks in the fields that Alex was prohibited from entering.


    When he reached the wide wooden door to the barn, Alex stepped inside to his worktable. On it was an array of neatly arranged devices, most of which he hadn¡¯t been taught to use just yet. He opened a laptop computer and the screen brightened. He was about to input instructions into the computer but lost his focus. Again, as he¡¯d done before, he pondered the reasoning for the restrictions regarding access to the fields. Why was he forbidden to venture out there? He didn¡¯t believe he was ever given an explanation.


    Alex grunted as a pain surged in his right temple. He dropped to one knee and cupped the area. His curiousness vanished and his mind returned to ¡°rightness.¡± He picked up the laptop he¡¯d dropped to the ground and set it back on the table. In a blank field on the screen, he typed ¡°Recall¡± and hit enter.


    Outside Alex heard someone approaching. He stepped to the open door and in the golden afternoon light, saw two figures, one of them a large armed man, the other a woman. They were conversing with Isaac. After a few minutes, he sent them off and walked briskly toward the barn. The large man gave Alex a disapproving look. He seemed familiar and Alex instinctively rubbed a bruise on his forehead, which he¡¯d been told he¡¯d sustained from a fall.


    With a concerned expression, Isaac spoke to Alex. ¡°There¡¯s something I have to deal with over at the silos, Alex. You¡¯ll have to close up things yourself, like the other farmers.¡±


    Alex nodded. ¡°Everything alright?¡±


    Presenting a smile that seemed disingenuous, he assured Alex that it was no reason for alarm and then was on his way. When Isaac had gone, Alex¡¯s thoughts returned to his task as heard the approach of the returning tractors. He couldn¡¯t yet see them, but their icons on the screen showed they were only a hundred yards from the barn.


    Frowning, Alex noted that the icon for Tractor Four was missing from the screen. He glanced out over the fields, but a tree line in the distance obscured his view. Rumbling through an opening in a fence came Tractor One. Soon after, Two and Three emerged through the trees. Although he was not permitted to leave the grounds of the immediate farm without authorization, Alex felt that this was an extenuating circumstance.


    Once the tractors were safely in their corrals, Alex locked the barn. In the driveway of the farmhouse was an old pickup truck. Inside the house, he snatched the keys from a hook beside the cabinet. He hopped in behind the wheel, surveyed the area for any sign of Isaac, then started the engine and shifted into Drive.

 Chapter 38

    As he army-crawled through the ventilation shaft, sweat dotted Mo¡¯s forehead, occasionally dripping onto the helmet¡¯s visor, where it had begun to collect in a tiny puddle that sloshed around with every movement. He felt like he was roasting in the aluminum duct and had nearly succumbed to removing the bio-suit. The respirator was failing and if he didn¡¯t reach the spare in the cycle soon, that¡¯s exactly what he¡¯d have to do. And that could spell the end.


    There was no stealth in what he was doing; the two rifles, his and Watley¡¯s, were strapped across his shoulders but had to be towed behind him to allow room for his arms to pull him forward. As a result, no matter how much he tried to avoid it, they repeatedly clanged against the shaft. On more than one occasion, Mo peered through a grate providing a limited view of a corridor beneath him and had seen humanoids turn with sightless eyes toward the clatter he¡¯d caused when passing overhead. The vine-controlled things had then given chase and the sound of their collective shambling conjured the image of an entire horde following his progress through the building.


    Suddenly, all at once, the Humanoids¡¯ movements ceased. Frozen in place, they seemed to be responding to some silent command. As Mo listened, he sensed that something else was in their midst, adding a new thread of terror to this ever-expanding nightmare. He wondered if the thing controlling the humanoids had descended from its upper floor nest to confront him. He felt trapped. If he moved, he might reveal his position, but if he remained where he was, this shaft would become his tomb.


    A red light beamed through the duct¡¯s grate just ahead of him. Mo¡¯s pulse soared as he envisioned the hulking Machine beneath him, poised to pluck him from the shaft. Instead, the grate buckled as the black globe ¨C detached from its body ¨C rose into the ventilation duct and scanned Mo. Through the tear, he saw the Humanoids in the corridor below, their empty eyes directed toward the sphere with what seemed to be either wonder or admiration.


    The red light vanished, and words materialized inside the head. ¡°Where is the specimen?¡±


    Mo frowned. He hesitated, then said, ¡°Specimen?¡±


    The question sank into blackness, then was replaced with another. ¡°Where is Watley?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± The red light washed over him again. Mo suspected the Machine was inspecting him for any physical indication of lying. ¡°He was here but left. I didn¡¯t see where he went. I was trapped by these things,¡± he added, pointing toward the Humanoids.


    Mo stared into the Machine¡¯s glassy visage awaiting its response. After an uncomfortably long pause, he tensed as the entire building suddenly trembled. As if responding to a cue, the light retracted and the Machine rose, smashing through the top of the ventilation shaft. Mo heard its destructive ascent into the hospital¡¯s upper floors, perhaps answering a call from the thing living there.


    The shaft, having been damaged, began to collapse and Mo scrambled past the holes the Machine had caused. He came to the next intersection, where he was forced to go left as the center and right shafts were blocked by a collection of trembling vine growth. He wondered if the tendrils could detect the slightest current of air and then relay the information back to the main stem, or whatever the hell it was that controlled them. He maneuvered past without touching the shoots and followed the shaft as it curved left and sloped downward.


    Mo had reached the ground floor. The checkered view the next grate offered was dim and he could make out only vague, shadowy shapes, but they were sharp, solid angles, stationary objects; nothing moved as far as he could tell. He worked at the shaft exit and it gave way much easier than he¡¯d expected, as though the metal had deteriorated and lost its solidity.


    As his eyes adjusted to the dim interior of the room, Mo recognized large canisters stacked along a wall. He approached and inspected them by flicking on a small light on the bio-suit. The canisters were covered by the strange vegetation that had infested the hospital, preventing Mo from knowing what they held, but maybe they were flammable. A crazy scheme formulated in his mind, one that could very well get himself killed if he didn¡¯t execute it properly.


    Something pounded on the door to his right and the entire frame shook. From the space beneath, a black mist billowed into the room. Mo turned and bolted toward an exit at the opposite end. The motion caused a wave of dizziness however, and he tumbled face-first to the ground, the impact cracking the visor of his helmet.


    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.Shit!


    The door sustained another blow as Mo struggled to his feet. His vision teetered, then steadied and he managed to exit the room. He entered a large empty space and when his sight finally corrected itself, he saw a sunlight space at the far end - the spot he and Watley had stowed the cycles. They were parked two hundred feet ahead and Mo bolted toward them as he heard the door of the other room being penetrated.


    Risking a peek, Mo saw several vine-tethered figures emerge into the space with him. When he reached the cycles, he removed the key from the bio suit, inserted it into the ignition chamber and jumped aboard. The figures had gained on him faster than he¡¯d hoped, forcing him to raise the rifle and squeeze off a shot. He¡¯d hit the closest humanoid in the neck, and it went down. The entire building quake in response to the gunfire and Mo knew that this might be the end. Black mist began to envelope the room, entering from every crack in the walls and ceiling. Again, Mo fired, striking the second humanoid in the left shoulder. It stumbled but continued its pursuit and he finished it off with a bullet to the chest.


    Mo removed his respirator, snared a replacement from Watley¡¯s cycle, fitting it to his helmet. The digital readout on his visor displayed 100%. He removed the key from his cycle¡¯s ignition and inserted it into Watley¡¯s and it started. He then returned it to his. Watley had likely succumbed to his injuries or been killed by one of the humanoids; he¡¯d no longer need his mode of transportation. Mo leaned over and hit a switch on his partner¡¯s bike, revealing a hidden panel of buttons on which be entered a code. More humanoids spilled into the large space, hobbling toward him and the mist grew heavier.


    When the code was complete, the screen on Watley¡¯s bike read: Self Destruct Imminent. A timer counted down from twenty seconds to nineteen, eighteen¡­


    Mo spun his cycle around and hit the accelerator, speeding out of the building. He tore down the long entrance way toward the main road.


    Ten, nine, eight¡­


    Racing past parking lots full of what looked to have once been tented makeshift trauma centers, along with the statuesque remnants of human beings, the cycle hummed along almost soundlessly. Mo checked his mirror and witnessed a thin black vapor pouring from the hospital from almost every opening.


    Four, three, two¡­


    A sharp boom rocked the stillness and was followed by additional blasts as the gas canisters likely exploded. Mo felt the concussive wave and brought the cycle to a halt so he could witness the show. While the land was cast in the reddening light of the setting sun, a bright gold cloud of fire swallowed the hospital. The cycle¡¯s last-ditch weapon was designed to deliver mass damage and combined with the flammable gas, it had done just that, destroying much of the building.


    As he was about to depart, Mo watched in awe as the projected particles of the hospital were suddenly halted in mid-trajectory, suspended, then pulled back toward the origin of the blast. There, replacing the explosion¡¯s glow was a bright white sphere of light. The fire was pulled inward¡­absorbed by the orb. The debris of the destroyed building was drawn inward, consumed until at last, the white light too, collapsed in on itself.


    The hospital had been decimated. Only bits of its fa?ade remained, with twisted steel spires stabbing at the sky. Like an invisible wave travelling outward from where the orb had been, everything in the area crumbled. The tented triage centers, vehicles, parking lot lampposts¡­all standing structures fell to the ground in piles of dust.


    Mo surveyed the inexplicable damage. The explosion itself could not have caused the sudden collapse of everything in the vicinity. Something else had stolen the integrity of the other substances, both organic and artificial. It was the absence of some lifeforce. The absence of the orb.


    Mo¡¯s attention was drawn to an object plummeting from the sky. In the few seconds he was able to observe it, the thing appeared to be a mass of some shapeless, gray material. It fell to the earth with a loud crash, directly where the hospital had stood.


    Resisting the impulse to go and inspect the bizarre substance, Mo turned and sped away, fearing the exposure of some alien contagion. He imagined it penetrating the ground, infecting the land, radiating from the site of impact like a plague.

 Chapter 39

    The rig sat idling, emitting warm exhaust while waiting to depart. Eva¡¯s legs dangled over the ledge of the trailer, the cargo door open and facing the house. The smell of fuel was comforting, calling to mind her family¡¯s SUV refueling at the gas station on their way to the shore for vacation. She imagined it now, watching from the backseat as her father got out of the car to meet the attendant at the pump before heading into the convenience store, her mother calling out and reminding him what to purchase.


    The scene is bright and cheery, glints of sunshine bouncing off the nearby cars, most of them hauling surfboards or bikes fastened to racks. Other curious children peek from the rear windows, people-watching just like Eva. She is young, maybe eight years old.


    In the front passenger seat, her mother reaches toward the console and switches the air onto ¡°High,¡± and turns the temperature selector onto the coldest setting. Eva listens as the vents release a whoosh of current.


    Her mother turns to her. ¡°Eva honey, would you run into the store and tell Daddy to get me some ibuprofen? I think this heat is giving me a headache.¡±


    Eva nods, unfastens her seatbelt and opens the rear door, the heat rushing to envelope her. Her mother rises out of her seat and directs the little girl across the parking lot. ¡°Wait for this car to pass¡­okay, go ahead, the coast is clear,¡± she calls.


    Scooting along the hot pavement, the girl¡¯s attention is captured by storefront displays of sparklers and pinwheels; red, white and blue letters boldly advertising firecrackers. Inside, she mingles with the other shoppers, who all seem in a hurry. Her father isn¡¯t in the first aisle, where the candy and potato chips are shelved. In the second row are jars of peanut butter and jelly, soups and condiments, but not her father. He isn¡¯t in the third or fourth rows either, so she turns and looks over to the refrigerated drinks but sees only strangers.


    When Eva decides to search the checkout counter, she notes more people that are unfamiliar. An old grandpa-like gentleman with his arms full of sandwiches and soda bottles, a woman with two children, who look at Eva with unkind expressions, and a policeman who is paying for a coffee. Then she glances at the glass front door and spots her father exiting and walking back to their vehicle. She calls after him, but he doesn¡¯t hear her and continues moving away.


    Here, the scene lags, every minute detail unfolding in slow motion. Other customers seem to cluster toward the door, hindering Eva¡¯s attempt to run after her father. She dodges them as best she can, only to be barred from the door by other customers.


    At last they part, a clear path to the exit stretches before her, only bold blue skies spanning the glass storefront. Then, entering from the left is a person running along the span of windows outside. People in the parking lot notice and react with alarm to the commotion. The stranger reaches out, flings the door open and steps into the store.


    Eva freezes, startled by the person¡¯s appearance. It seems to be a woman but dressed not in ordinary summer wear. Instead, she is garbed in dusty, tattered clothing and a metal helmet with domed eyes. She seems like a character out of a science fiction movie.


    The stranger stares at Eva, paying no attention to anyone else. Eva retreats a step as the figure approaches. The police officer at the checkout counter drops his coffee and turns toward the stranger, withdrawing his weapon. The stranger moves past the counter and closes in on the girl with outstretched arms. It seems an eternity unfolds, allowing Eva to study the eyes of the helmet. Behind the clouded domes, green eyes stare into her own. The stranger kneels and wraps Eva in her arms. Outside the store, a bright flash consumes the world behind the glass windows.


    *********


    ¡°Hey.¡±


    Eva jolted as she abruptly returned to the present. Wes stood on the ground before her, his rifle in firing position. He looked at her with concern.


    ¡°You okay?¡±


    She nodded. ¡°Just thinking. Zoned out for a few minutes.¡±


    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.¡°Yeah, looked like you were out of it. Do you believe this shit? Christ, it looks like he¡¯s lost it. I¡¯ve never seen him like this.¡±


    Looking up, Eva saw that Grant still had his weapon trained on Laird, who seemed to still be trying to reason with him. They were about two hundred feet from the rig. Laird turned and approached, leaving Grant by the driveway.


    ¡°No luck,¡± said Laird to Wes. He continued past them and Eva heard him enter the cab, closing the door behind him.


    ¡°He¡¯s staying,¡± said Eva.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Wes. ¡°Guess his mind¡¯s gone.¡±


    ¡°You would be too if you had seen it.¡±


    Wes turned to her. ¡°It?¡±


    ¡°Her.¡±


    Frowning, Wes pressed. ¡°Her? Who? You two saw another person out here? A nomad?¡±


    ¡°Not exactly.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t get it.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s sort of a¡­spiritual thing. If Grant didn¡¯t tell you, then it isn¡¯t my place to mention it.¡±


    ¡°Spiritual thing?¡± Wes shrugged. ¡°Okay, whatever. Apparently, he wouldn¡¯t tell Laird, either.¡±


    He lowered the rifle and turned the corner, heading up to the cab while taking cautious glances at Grant. Eva hopped off the tailgate and followed. ¡°Wes? Has he ever done this before?¡±


    ¡°Done what, exactly? Gone crazy?¡±


    ¡°Stayed behind.¡±


    Wes shook his head. ¡°No.¡±


    Eva walked toward Grant.


    ¡°Eva!¡± yelled Wes.


    Grant was staring off toward the garage, where they had seen his daughter¡¯s ghost, or whatever it had been. She had not been a believer before today, but she now understood that there were things beyond this realm of existence, things that defied explanation.


    Grant had lowered his weapon. When Eva neared, he said, ¡°I can¡¯t leave her.¡±


    She nodded. ¡°I know. If it were me, I¡¯d probably stay too.¡±


    He gestured toward the rig. ¡°They can¡¯t possibly understand. And trying to explain what you and I witnessed would only cause them to question the soundness of our minds. And in Community, that would mean a long stay in quarantine.¡± He stepped foward and took her hand. ¡°So be sure that when you return, you don¡¯t mention a word of this to anyone.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re going to ask me about you. What do I tell them?¡±


    Grant smiled. ¡°Tell them I¡¯m home.¡±


    *********


    When they had gone, Grant returned to the garage. He stood there for what seemed like an hour, but the structure remained inactive. Twilight was upon him and he had no knowledge of what dangers might dwell in the vicinity. He had not stayed this late at the house in some time. It was possible that some living thing may have made its home here and could very well be returning from a day of scavenging to retire for the night.


    He decided it was time to move indoors. He would sleep in a corner of the basement, then continue his search for the spirit in the morning.


    Once inside the house, Grant found an ounce of amusement in the fact that the locks were still able to engage. He¡¯d figured by now they¡¯d have lost functionality either by exposure to the elements or by some other influence, be it natural or otherwise. The simple act of locking the doors of his home provided a nostalgic comfort.


    At the bottom of the basement stairs, he clumsily knocked over a column of stacked boxes that once held things he had deemed valuable. But in this world, old books or piles of important documents had been rendered insignificant. Leaving the toppled mess, he retired to an old sofa.


    He heard movement overhead and the floorboards creaked. Something was in the house and he¡¯d probably drawn its attention from his carelessness. Moving from the sofa, Grant positioned himself with a clear view of the stairs and raised his weapon.


    A dim light spilled down the top step. The meager beam washed left to right. He heard the stairs creak as something descended. Then, to Grant¡¯s growing amazement, a translucent figure emerged. It appeared to be holding a light of some kind and to be searching the darkness, however, it did not see him crouching a mere fifteen feet away. After a moment, it switched off the beam and ascended the stairs.


    The hairs on Grant¡¯s neck stood on end as he realized the magnitude of this encounter. It had heard the boxes crash to the floor.

 Chapter 40

    The unmistakable odor of putrefaction stirred Watley from sleep. He¡¯d come to accept the smell as the tissue of his lower leg had rotted beyond repair. It no longer caused him pain, however. In fact, the leg felt good; brand new, even.


    Watley lifted his head and saw that it was nearly night. The sky was overcast and seemed burdened with precipitation. Sitting up, his vision teetered, and he nearly fell back to the ground from the dizzying motion. When his eyesight leveled out, he noted that he had been sleeping by the side of a road. Nearby, just beyond a wooden fence was a ramshackle barn and he wondered why he hadn¡¯t chosen this structure as a place to rest. Maybe he had lacked the strength to reach it and had merely collapsed where he lay. He couldn¡¯t even recall how he¡¯d gotten here; the last thing he remembered was leaving the hospital grounds.


    Studying his bad leg, he saw that the musculature of the lower half of the limb had been¡­replaced by something else. Some other material. He stood and recognized the sturdiness he had previously lacked. No more limping.


    The rancid flesh from his previous leg though, dangled lifelessly. He brushed it off with his hand, causing it drop to the ground and Watley fought the impulse to vomit. He spat the acidic taste and realized for the first time how goddamned thirsty he was. His tongue felt swollen and his lips were cracked from dehydration.


    As if on cue, a light drizzle fell and Watley opened his mouth to the sky. Relief came painstakingly slow, but eventually he began to feel replenished. The rain washed away the grime and sweat from his face and the sensation of feeling clean prompted him to entirely remove the remnants of his bio suit. He had already been without his helmet, so what did it matter now?


    The suit came off without trouble, except at the ¡°new¡± leg; here, the fabric was one with his changed flesh. Watley tried tugging at it, but the organic and artificial materials were fused. He removed a sharp instrument from one of the pockets and cut around the spot, leaving a ragged ring of gray fabric around his thigh, just above the knee. With the suit gone, he saw that the change to his appendage was extensive. His foot was now composed of a dark, glistening substance that seemed both plant and animal like in appearance. This dark matter engulfed the leg to the middle thigh, with threads branching upward toward his waist.


    As jolting as it might seem to someone who happened upon him, the change no longer worried Watley. He had come to accept it and even wonder at the transformation. What would it look like tomorrow? In a week? Would he even be Watley any more or would he become something better? Evolved.


    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.The drizzle intensified to a steady rain and this time, began to sting his flesh. He sought the shelter of the barn and entered the wide, open doors. Although it was dim, he was still able to see debris strewn about on the floor. On the left and right were large holes in the walls through which a moderate breeze whistled. At eye level, hanging in midair was a child¡¯s backpack. This unnatural sight alarmed Watley at first, but then he understood that it was not floating, just suspended by dark vines running through the shoulder straps, thus giving the illusion of levitation.


    When his sight had fully adjusted to the murky interior, Watley observed the plantlike structure more closely. It appeared similar to the things from the hospital¡­the humanoids.


    Humanoids¡­


    Mo had called them that.


    Mo¡­


    ¡°Christ,¡± mumbled Watley. ¡°I left him there.¡± He remembered they had been trapped in the hospital. Pacing, he contemplated his partner¡¯s fate, blaming himself for departing.


    Behind him arose a noise. He was deep in thought however and did not at first notice. Once he stopped pacing, Watley heard the shifting whispers of movement. He turned and witnessed a bundle of leaves unfurling. Wondering how he had failed to notice this characteristic of the vegetation before, Watley stared in amazement at the graceful, sentient stirring. It knew he was there. Now, he noted the edges of the unfolding leaves, outlined by faint white light, as if inside was a lit candle. It reminded him of the flickering glow of a jack-o-lantern.


    Fully opened, the leaves revealed their secret to Watley and he stood face to face with a human skull. Sparse clusters of hair still clung from it, along with the remnants of dry, aged tissue. The center of the face had dissolved into a glowing white sphere, with particles of the disintegrated bone hovering in orbit around the twinkling light.


    Mesmerized, Watley stood in awe of the thing. The pulsating orb seemed to impart an unspoken message that his mind eagerly received. He could not immediately comprehend it, but some other part of his mind did; a part that was foreign to Watley, but that he suspected he¡¯d become intimate with before long.


    He nodded in agreement to the directive and reasoned that what was happening to him was necessary. What he had been was meaningless, it was what he would become that was profound.

 Chapter 41

    Isaac sat on a chair, studying the doppelganger dog for a few minutes through the visor of his helmet, scrutinizing every movement for any unnatural qualities. It appeared normal as it paced inside the Med Hut cage, giving no indication that it was anything other than an ordinary dog. It occasionally sniffed the corners of the space and stared back at its audience, which consisted of Isaac, Charles, Mitchell and Kay, all wearing protective gear. Lacy, Lance and Audrey had been told to wait outside until their discussion was over.


    ¡°Who¡¯s it had contact with?¡± asked Isaac to no one in particular.


    ¡°Lacy and Charles,¡± blurted Mitchell, smirking.


    ¡°It was near me,¡± corrected Charles, ¡°but it didn¡¯t actually touch me.¡±


    ¡°Close enough. I say we quarantine him anyway,¡± Mitchell countered. ¡°Lacy too ¨C she was petting the thing.¡±


    Isaac ignored Mitchell¡¯s bluster and glanced at Kay. She nodded. ¡°Lacy spent the most time with it¡­and she did have contact.¡±


    Turning back toward Other Gus, Isaac leaned forward, elbows on his knees, caressing his trimmed white beard. The dog yawned and then sat. Isaac rose from the chair and turned to the others. ¡°Show me where the dog was found.¡±


    They drove an old Nissan minivan along the unkempt runway until they reached the hangar where Lacy had discovered Other Gus. Armed, they cautiously entered, flashlight beams slicing at the darkness. A thorough search revealed that except for a small, deteriorated private jet, the hanger was empty.


    ¡°Charles, open the plane door,¡± said Isaac, raising his weapon. Kay followed his lead, aiming her firearm as the jet was accessed. Mitchell¡¯s weapon had already been at the ready, as usual. Charles stepped aside as they entered, Mitchell leading the way. Shafts of light poked through the cabin windows as they swept the interior. Suddenly feeling isolated and vulnerable, Charles checked behind him, but was reassured when he discovered no strange beings lurking in the suffocating darkness.


    After a few minutes, they exited the plane. ¡°Nothing unusual,¡± said Isaac. ¡°But I think we should observe this hangar for a couple of days to see if any other anomalies occur.¡±


    ¡°Anomalies?¡± Charles shrugged. ¡°I mean, Jesus Christ ¨C what is the dog? Where¡¯d it come from? Some kind of lifeform duplicating us one by one?¡±


    Mitchell stepped away from Charles, subtly directing the barrel of his rifle toward him. ¡°Maybe you¡¯re a duplicate.¡± To Isaac and Kay, he said, ¡°How do we know? Could be that both him and Lacy are duplicates.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t aim that gun at me,¡± warned Charles. ¡°I¡¯m armed, too.¡±


    ¡°Try it,¡± taunted Mitchell.


    Isaac, aiming at Mitchell with his rifle and Charles with his sidearm, scolded the two men. ¡°That¡¯s enough. Control yourselves. If you cannot, then neither of you are worth keeping in Community.¡± The two men walked away from one another and Isaac continued his scrutiny of the hanger, directing his flashlight to the ceiling and the far corners of the hangar. ¡°As for your concern, Charles, I don¡¯t have an answer for you. Not yet. But we will uncover an explanation.¡±


    Kay spoke. ¡°I¡¯m no scientist, but I think we need to conduct an experiment.¡±


    Isaac turned to her. ¡°What kind of experiment?¡±


    ¡°We release the dog and see where it goes. Maybe it¡¯ll lead us back to wherever it came from.¡±


    Charles nodded. ¡°Good idea. I like it.¡±


    Isaac pondered Kay¡¯s theory. ¡°I concur.¡±


    ¡°Who follows it?¡± asked Charles. ¡°Do we draw straws? Rocks, paper, scissors¡­?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll do it,¡± offered Mitchell.


    Ignoring the suggestion, Isaac thought for a moment, then said, ¡°The silos are not my area to govern. I¡¯m needed at the farms. Kay, when Grant returns from the supply run you and he will decide who will trail the dog.¡±


    As if on cue, the roar of an approaching engine arose, and they all turned toward the sound. ¡°Speak of the devil,¡± said Kay.


    They left the hangar and closed the exterior door. Near Community¡¯s distant front gate came the glare of the tractor trailer¡¯s twin headlights. As they entered the minivan, Isaac instructed, ¡°Not that anyone frequents the hangar, but until further notice, it¡¯s off limits.¡±


    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.*********


    Lacy had been trying to anticipate what Isaac might decide regarding Other Gus. She expected the worst ¨C that the dog would be destroyed. Then she wondered if they¡¯d also decide Gus¡¯ fate and her pulse spiked.


    She turned and glanced at her chocolate lab, who¡¯d been chained to a post. Gus had been lying down, but when he noticed Lacy¡¯s gaze, he raised his head and his tail thumped wildly against the ground. She wanted desperately to go to him, pat his broad head and tell him that everything would be fine. But since she¡¯d come into contact with Other Gus, as a precaution, she¡¯d been prohibited from contact with anyone.


    Lacy decided this measure was a necessary one and understood the concern. She too, had to admit that she was deeply disturbed by the reality of two Gusses. In an effort to debunk the theory of a duplicate, she had thoroughly examined Other Gus and discovered he possessed identical markings with her Gus; even a mole on his rear leg and a scar from a surgery when he had been a puppy. Impossibly, Other Gus was an exact copy.


    The Walker children sat huddled thirty feet away, occasionally casting suspicious glances her way. They¡¯d been tasked with watching Lacy to be sure she didn¡¯t do anything unusual. Lance had been armed with a pistol, Audrey with pepper spray.


    When the others returned from their trip to the airplane hangar, which could be at any moment, Lacy and the two dogs might very well be disposed of. Lacy shook off the notion. Surely, they¡¯d at least consider shooting the dogs, but would they really euthanize a fellow human? Were they capable of such a thing? Mitchell was, without question. Lacy knew little of Isaac, but didn¡¯t believe either Charles or Kay would partake in violence unless their lives were in danger.


    Lacy¡¯s heart thumped as her body, preparing for an emergency, released adrenaline into her bloodstream. She rose and walked over to Gus.


    ¡°Hey!¡± shouted Lance.


    Lacy ignored him and with trembling hands, worked at the latch on the chain.


    ¡°Hey! Get away from the dog!¡± protested the boy. The Walker children approached.


    For months, during her walks with Gus, Lacy had entertained the idea of letting her lab go, to run free in the wilderness and each time had failed to follow through. Now, she wondered if she¡¯d have the strength to do what she must. She couldn¡¯t leave Gus¡¯ destiny in the hands of the others.


    Lance and Audrey neared, each holding their weapon out at arm¡¯s length. When they reached halfway to Lacy, their pace slowed. ¡°Stop! Don¡¯t make us do this!¡± yelled Audrey.


    Lacy maneuvered the latch out of the loop on Gus¡¯ collar and let the chain fall to the ground. She walked toward the Walker kids, who retreated a step.


    ¡°Don¡¯t come any closer!¡± shouted Lance. ¡°I¡¯ll do it, I swear to God!¡±


    Not slowing, Lacy came within fifteen feet of them.


    Audrey jutted the can of mace forward, attempting to intimidate. ¡°Stop, Lacy!¡±


    Ten feet.


    Five.


    Lance raised the pistol with both hands and took a deep breath, but the expression on his face told Lacy all she needed to know. She stepped directly in front of the boy and snatched the gun from him. His eyes brimmed with tears. Audrey¡¯s had spilled over.


    Ducking inside her silo, Lacy grabbed a bugout bag, which was always stocked with supplies. When she stepped back outside, she noted the Walker children running off toward the hangar.


    In the Med Hut, Lacy released Other Gus, disregarding caution and trusting her gut. She grabbed her Gus¡¯ leash, attached it to his collar and the two passed through Community¡¯s gate. When they were in the dark coverage of the trees lining the approach road, she stopped and listened to the engine of the rig and caught the glare of the headlights as it passed.


    ¡°C¡¯mon, boys,¡± she said to the dogs, patting her leg. They turned from the road and walked into the wilderness.

 Chapter 42

    After taking the kitchen trash bag to the can outside, Stanley waved to Gramps and began the two-hundred yard walk back to home along the dirt road that spanned their property. He strolled with his hands in his pockets and Doris trotted beside him while he glanced up at Orion¡¯s Belt, shining dimly in the void of space.


    From his pocket, Stanley removed a balled-up fist and lowered it to Doris, who sniffed eagerly. He opened his hand and gave the dog a bite of sandwich he¡¯d saved for her. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t even give you this since you stole most of my grilled cheese at dinner After nearly inhaling the morsel, Doris sniffed his hand for more. ¡°But you¡¯re a good girl, aren¡¯t you?¡± The pooch gazed at him with hungry eyes and wagged her tail.


    A breeze stirred and the corn stalks to their left swished against one another, breaking the stillness of the night. The noise sounded like mysterious whispering, but Stanley told himself there was nothing to be afraid of; it was only a field of crops. Reaching his backyard, Stanley felt like he was being watched. In the field behind him, the leaves swayed together again, more ferociously this time and the boy perceived a sense of menace in the sound. He couldn¡¯t help but wonder if it were possible for the land to transform after sunset and become a realm for strange creatures to wander until sunrise.


    When they stepped up onto the wraparound porch, Stanley glanced out to the far reaches of their property. There, through a black ocean of cornstalks, he thought he caught a flash of the floodlight his father had set up.


    The boy thought about how far he was from his father. If something were to happen here at the house, his father would never know it. Neither would Gramps. He viewed the fields again and felt concern build to fright.


    Stanley shook off the thought - what had caused him to think something was wrong? Was it just the nighttime darkness playing with his mind? While Doris sniffed the air, Stanley took notice of the sharp shadows etched into the ground by the moon¡¯s cold light. He imagined how they¡¯d creep along the ground during the night and up the side of the house and eventually to his bedroom window. He thought about the dream he¡¯d had of something nearing his home¡­something sinister. The thought prompted an involuntary shiver and Stanley, with Doris, quickly entered the house and locked the door.


    *********


    After driving a post into the ground, Mr. Reece mounted a step ladder he brought from the house. Using a bracket and some nails, he secured a battery-operated motion light to the top and aimed it toward the fence and the area of damaged corn from the suspected vandalism.


    When he switched it on, he descended the ladder and tested the device by stepping out into the targeted area. The floodlight flared bright white, then went out with a POP!


    Mr. Reece sighed, placed his hands on his hips and stared at the ground a moment before turning and heading back to the house.


    *********


    The pickup truck crossed a small bridge spanning the creek and powered up an incline. At the tree line, Alex hit the brakes and searched the fields for any sign of the missing tractor. He saw the usual tire marks the others created when they had navigated back to the barn, but there was no indication of any stray tracks leading off into the crops as he had expected to find.


    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.He drove on, to the field tractor 4 had been programmed to maintain; it was the plot farthest from the farmhouse, situated near an unused county road. The headlights revealed parallel row after row of corn until at last, he came to a wooden fence that signaled the road beyond, and thus, the end of the plot.


    As he stared ahead at the dark road, the temptation to back up, gain speed and plow through the fence became almost overwhelming. He could keep on driving, see what was out there, beyond the farms. Beyond Community. Something tingled in his right temple however, and the temptation was gone.


    Alex performed a K-turn and coasted back toward the house and the barn, looking left and right for any sign of the stray tractor. Then, in the field to the left he became aware of a large, dark mass. The shock caused him to slam on the brake and the pickup jolted to a stop. He instinctively reached for the weapon on the passenger seat but realized there wasn¡¯t one.


    Funny, he could¡¯ve sworn he¡¯d had a rifle with him. Another tingle¡­


    Alex shifted the gear selector into Park and hopped out of the truck. Approaching the mass among the stalks, he got within ten feet and recognized the bulky outline of the missing tractor. He walked up and patted the metal exterior. ¡°There you are, you pain in the ass.¡±


    It had gone astray, leaving the path and trampling the corn. Destroyed crops were the responsibility of the farmer, no matter what. Alex wasn¡¯t sure exactly what that would mean once he informed Isaac of the loss, but he would accept full blame. He was liable for the tractors and as such, would need to repair whatever was wrong with it immediately.


    Behind the tractor, Alex saw that the tracks abruptly ended about ten feet away. There, irrationally, existed a patch of corn stalks. Alex stepped past the machine, to better examine the mystery. The untouched crops continued for about twelve feet where they gave way to more trampled stalks, broken in the direction the tractor was facing. He glanced back at the tractor, then returned his concentration to the crops, trying to rationalize what he was seeing. If he was to believe the evidence before him, the tractor left its path, causing it to trample some stalks, bypassed a twelve-foot grouping of corn, then resumed its destruction.


    Impossible. The tractor would have to have been hoisted by a crane, then placed back down beyond the twelve-foot grouping of corn. Either that, or the tractor had crushed a path through the corn, then¡­vanished¡­then reappeared and crushed more corn.


    With hands on his hips, Alex rotated in a slow circle, seeking further information, as if the field would provide clarity to this nonsensical circumstance. This just didn¡¯t make any sense. Removing his baseball cap and scratching his head, Alex tensed as he was caught in the glow of a bright white light off to his right. Hovering ten feet off the ground, something stepped into its radiance, then the light went out.

 Chapter 43

    ¡°Lacy couldn¡¯t have gotten far,¡± pleaded Eva. No one was doing anything but standing around pondering. ¡°The longer we wait, the harder it will be to find her.¡±


    After learning of Grant¡¯s refusal to return to Community, Isaac directed everyone to unload the supplies from the trailer and then took Eva to the Main House silo. Inside, he pumped the generator and shortly after, the lights flickered to life. They descended the steps and sat in the living room.


    ¡°Eva,¡± began Isaac, ¡°what exactly happened at Grant¡¯s house?¡±


    Ignoring the question, she said, ¡°You¡¯re not going after Lacy?¡±


    ¡°Lacy apparently has decided that she no longer wants to be a part of Community,¡± he replied.


    ¡°She was probably just scared,¡± said Eva.


    ¡°Of what?¡±


    She shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t know ¨C maybe that you were going to kill Gus.¡±


    ¡°Her dog?¡±


    He smoothed the coarse hairs in his beard, which for the first time Eva noticed, appeared to be exceptionally thick¡­different than hair. His gaze had wondered off, but his eyes suddenly darted back to hers, almost as if he had sensed her studying him.


    ¡°You weren¡¯t here to witness Gus¡¯ duplicate. It was quite something to behold. If you had seen it, I think you¡¯d be concerned about the safety of everyone in Community, as I was ¨C and still am.¡±


    He ran his fingers through his silver hair, and Eva saw that it too, possessed the strange quality his facial hair did. She thought that if she were to touch it, it would feel something like a cross between hair and straw.


    ¡°You can¡¯t possibly appreciate the gravity of the situation. The duplicate¡¯s presence suggests some foreign entity has now infiltrated Community.¡±


    Eva frowned. ¡°I still don¡¯t understand. The dog was exactly the same as Lacy¡¯s Gus? It couldn¡¯t have been some other dog that looked similar?¡±


    ¡°A precise copy of her dog.¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t seem possible.¡±


    Isaac raised his eyebrows. ¡°After everything you¡¯ve seen the last few years, do you really think anything is impossible anymore?¡±


    ¡°So, we just leave her with this ¡®foreign entity¡¯?¡±


    ¡°Yes. We leave her.¡±


    Eva rose from her seat. ¡°She might die!¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    Pacing, Eva considered the consequences of going after Lacy. She¡¯d never be able to return here ¨C was that something she could live with? Probably. But what if Lacy was now contaminated somehow? What if she really wasn¡¯t Lacy anymore? She didn¡¯t like it, but she understood the caution being exercised by Isaac. It did seem reasonable.


    Eva sighed. ¡°How can you be so cold about it?¡± she asked.


    Isaac leaned forward in his chair, knees on his elbows, hands folded. ¡°Because I have to be. I cannot allow compassion to cloud my judgement. Just like Grant had to be.¡±


    Eva looked away, toward the digitally simulated windows on the silo wall, displaying a tree-lined street at night. Occasionally, a car even drove down the street, headlights aglow, continuing from one window to the next. ¡°I get it.¡±


    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.Nodding, Isaac said, ¡°I know you do. Grant was right to see promise in you.¡± Inside of his jacket pocket, he depressed a button on a small walkie talkie. Rising from his chair, he walked over to a shelf on the wall and unlocked a wooden box. Out in the stairwell came the clanking of descending footfalls. Isaac placed the metal tip of a syringe into a vial and withdrew liquid tranquilizer.


    ¡°Promise?¡± asked Eva. ¡°For what?¡±


    His back turned, Isaac replied, ¡°For something more important than preparing meals, doing laundry, guard duty¡­¡±


    Mitchell quietly stepped into the living room, just behind Eva. Isaac turned and nodded to him and the brute wrapped his thick arms around her.


    ¡°What are you doing!¡± she shouted.


    Approaching, Isaac calmly replied, ¡°Just relax, no one¡¯s going to hurt you.¡±


    ¡°Oh, no? This is assault!¡± She raised her leg and drove her heel down onto the top of Mitchell¡¯s right foot.


    ¡°Fuck! You bitch!¡± With his left hand, he tugged her ponytail, jerking her head back and she grunted. He slid his right arm up around her throat.


    ¡°Not going to hurt me, huh?¡± she snarled through bared teeth.


    ¡°You initiated that,¡± replied Isaac.


    ¡°It¡¯s called self-defense.¡±


    Mitchell dug his knee into the back of her legs, forcing her down on her knees. He had complete control of her. ¡°Try not to like it too much,¡± he whispered into her ear, his reeking breath causing her to hold her breath.


    Isaac slid her tee shirt sleeve up, exposing her upper arm, then inserted the syringe, emptying the tranquilizer into her muscle. He stepped backward and took a seat in a chair.


    Mitchell¡¯s face was buried in her blonde hair, obstructing Isaac¡¯s view. Eva felt the soft, wet caress of his tongue on her ear. She thrust her head backward, attempting a head butt, but he had too strong a hold on her. He chuckled.


    ¡°That¡¯ll be all, Mitchell,¡± said Isaac.


    The brute let go of her and stood up. ¡°Was it good for you?¡± he laughed.


    ¡°Go,¡± demanded Isaac.


    When he¡¯d gone, Isaac sat there, watching and waiting for the drug to take effect. Eva felt a leaden sluggishness creep over her.


    ¡°I think you need a replacement,¡± said Isaac, tapping the right side of his head.


    She ran her fingers along the tiny bump on her right temple. Oh yeah¡­that goddamned thing in my head.


    Isaac leaned closer, his expression not so pleasant. ¡°Now¡­why don¡¯t you tell me what you and Grant saw at his house?¡±


    Eva¡¯s vision felt off, like she was tilting her head left, then right¡­up, then down and then repeating. Like she had just spun in a circle and was now taking in the swirling scenery. She saw Isaac sitting before her, but then came an image of Alex¡­Henry and Annabelle¡­Gray.


    Nodding to Isaac, she replied, ¡°Why don¡¯t you go to hell.¡±

 Chapter 44

    Alex poured steaming water into his mug. He bobbed the tea bag up and down and let it rest, dropping the attached string over the mug¡¯s rim and let the tea steep.


    Steep¡­


    The word reminded him of his mother and how they would sometimes chat over a cup of tea in the evenings, just the two of them. He longed for those days again; he longed for a sense of normalcy and yearned to see his family whole once more. Alex scooped up the teabag and wrapped the string around it and the teaspoon, squeezing every last bit out of the bag. He added sugar and milk and as he stirred, became transfixed on the action. His mind wandered and he tried to remember when he had last seen his mother and father, but the memory just wasn¡¯t there. Were they safe? Had they survived?


    A tingle in his temple nudged Alex from his reverie and he picked up the mug and walked to the kitchen table. He sat down and sipped his tea, then opened the notepad and glanced at the entry penned there.


    Shadow on porch. Thursday, 7:51 a.m.


    Alex raised the mug to his lips but paused, then set it back down on the table, thinking about those written words.


    Thursday¡­today is Thursday¡­this was written today.


    Alex had no memory of penning those words, but he recognized his own writing. He read further.


    Observed shadow in house, exited through front screen door and vanished in yard. Evidence of convergence.


    Alex looked away from the notepad. Convergence? What the hell does that mean? Convergence of what?


    Alex remembered witnessing a strange shadow in the house before but had dismissed it as just an imagined occurrence. He had no recollection of recording this morning¡¯s observance.


    Taking his tea with him, Alex left the table and moved into the front room and stared out the windows toward the yard. When he raised the mug to his mouth to take a sip, he noticed that it was unfamiliar to him. On the white ceramic were two words printed in bold, blue letters: Reece Farm. He found it odd that he hadn¡¯t noticed this particular mug before and he returned to the kitchen to find his usual one. After searching the cabinet and the dish rack by the sink, however, he came up empty.


    Where the hell could it have gone? It was only him living in these quarters.


    An uneasiness overcame Alex. and he became filled with the notion that he was in a stranger¡¯s house. He shivered. Behind him, floorboards creaked, and he spun to find a shadow five feet away. Alex, his mouth agape, tried to digest what it was he was seeing. His mind tried to solve this otherworldly equation by matching the shape to something in the room. Nothing, however, stood between it and the light fixture over the table. It was the light, the shadow, then the wall¡­no object from which a shadow might be cast.


    Suddenly, the shape left the kitchen and drifted through the living room, as though it had never been affixed to the wall in the first place. Alex¡¯s pulse kicked into overdrive.


    How the hell is that possible? Alex thought.


    Alex followed it and then came to a hard stop as it did something that absolutely floored him¡­it opened the front door and exited. The sight chilled his blood to ice.


    What is this thing? How is this possible?


    Dazed, Alex again glimpsed the shadow beyond the window as it navigated the wraparound porch and only now realized that it was¡­short¡­like it belonged to a child. By the time he stepped through the screen door and onto the wide planked floor, he lost sight of it as it rounded the corner of the house.


    Alex hurried past white chairs lining the wall, the last of them rocking back and forth, as if it had been bumped into. At the corner of the house, he turned and gazed disbelievingly as the shape wandered into the yard. It breezed past a low hedge of boxwoods at the end of the driveway and continued toward the fields.


    This was not a shade affected by any device of flesh and blood obscuring the sun. This was a wraith that moved independently of any material object; a rogue shadow that had somehow become separated from its counterpart and traveled not along the contours of the ground, but upright, through the air.


    Though he had wandered after the sentient vapor, Alex had lost sight of it when it entered the corn field. Despite its childlike form, it hadn¡¯t slipped quietly into the crops but instead produced noise as it pressed its way through the foliage. The stalks yielded to its essence, as if it had been more than a mere silhouette.


    Alex tracked the phantom perhaps a dozen rows deep before halting. He considered investigating further but then resisted the urge. Retreating to the safety of the yard, he stared back into the patchwork of vegetation. A deep, primal fear prevented him from crossing the edge of the lawn and reentering the field.


    Cicadas sang their mid-summer song as the sun descended toward the horizon. Alex studied the lush green ocean of corn. From behind him, the sun cast his own distorted shadow deep into the twisting greenery. The wind forced the tall stalks to sway and as the thousands upon thousands of leaves collided, they forged a hypnotic cadence, which Alex found reminiscent of the ceaseless drone of breaking waves. Mesmerized by the sound and the phenomenon he had just witnessed, he could almost feel the entire plot of land cresting and falling, like undulant surf.


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.He surveyed the rest of the land. Alex stared out past the barn and the silo, toward where he¡¯d seen the light burst. Where the tractor had vanished, appeared to have travelled a short distance, then reappeared. What the hell was going on? Was he losing his mind?


    The cry of a red-tailed hawk caused Alex to gaze skyward. A soft rumble of thunder in the distance warned of an approaching storm and a strengthening wind stirred the corn stalks, causing their whispers to grow angrier. Alex observed the hawk coasting on the rising currents and then back toward the progressing storm, noting the contrast of peace and approaching violence and wondered if it was an omen.


    Alex winced as something stung his back. He reached behind him trying to grab the bramble or whatever it was that had spiked him. Then he cried out in pain as electrical current pulsed through his body, setting his nerves on fire. his nervous system. He dropped to his knees as another current racked him. He fell onto his side and as his vision dimmed, he looked upon the face of his assailant: a man in a metallic helmet , with domed eyes.


    *********


    Younger Gus trotted ahead of Lacy and older Gus, adding distance to the already significant gap between them. She called out to him to wait, but he didn¡¯t listen. ¡°Just like you used to do,¡± she said to older Gus, who raised his eyes toward her.


    The younger dog halted and sniffed the air. He whimpered, then continued trotting. Lacy glanced behind them, toward the Little League complex where they¡¯d taken shelter. They¡¯d slept inside the concession stand. She¡¯d played softball there as a young girl and then later, in high school. Now, it was an overgrown tangle of weeds and other strange-looking plant life that she had been careful not to touch.


    The road behind them was clear as far as the eye could see, but when Lacy turned back toward the stretch of asphalt before them, she saw that it had ended abruptly. A massive network of vines and vegetation had consumed the road and, from all appearances, anything beyond this point.


    Young Gus had stopped ten feet in front of the growth. His head was raised, and his snout tested the air.


    ¡°Stop!¡± shouted Lacy. The dog sat and glanced back toward her. Older Gus stopped in his tracks and mimicked his younger version.


    Lacy approached with extreme caution, weapon ready. She stepped past Older Gus and he stood and took a step. ¡°Stay,¡± Lacy commanded and he sat back down. When she reached the younger dog, she grabbed his collar and began to pull him backward when something stirred.


    The growth shivered and began rearranging itself. Vines moved aside and slowly revealed a large mass that seemed agitated. The leaves of this mass unfurled with exquisite grace, the movements fluid and almost intoxicating. Lacy relaxed her grip on the dog¡¯s collar and stepped toward the thing. Layer upon layer opened, finally revealed: a glowing white orb.


    Lacy released the dog and crept closer and the sphere of light began to twinkle. It was beautiful¡­mesmerizing. She dropped her weapon and moved toward it. She was so entranced that she failed to notice the release of a fine black dust from within the system of vines. She wanted to touch the light¡­needed to touch it. As if sensing her desire, the orb¡¯s pulsing intensified. Lacy raised an outstretched hand and reached for it.


    *********


    What was left of the Machine hovered outside of the barn, sunlight glimmering off its lustrous shell. Its red light scanned a transfixed Watley as he stood just inside the structure, possessed by the orb¡¯s gaze. The black globe processed the event and then felt the white light acknowledge it. It examined the Machine and then executed a command ¨C a signal that reached far beyond the bounds of this existence.


    The globe was alerted to another presence and spun its red light behind it. There, previously unoccupied, stood the hulking mass of another Machine. A newer Machine, stronger than its predecessor.


    The globe hovered for a moment, then eased through the air, stopping in front of its replacement. The new Machine cradled the old one¡¯s globe, emitted a red light into it and instantly retrieved its data. Once the transfer was complete, it dropped the old globe, now devoid of any functionality.


    *********


    From within the concealment of long unused harvester, Mo watched through his scope as the new Machine walked into existence out of thin air. His heart sank as he pondered the ramifications.


    Watley was gone and he couldn¡¯t help but wonder if he might¡¯ve been able to better assist him. He should¡¯ve put him out of his misery. Even now, he contemplated putting a bullet in his head, but that would only seal his fate, with the Machine this close. There was no stopping it. In addition, it would soon realize his location, if it hadn¡¯t already. If it caught him, it would force him to resume the hunt for Alex and the children when all he really cared about was getting to Lacy.


    Slinking away from the harvester, Mo crept through vegetation and emerged into a path between the planted rows. He mounted the cycle and for now, quietly slipped away.

 Chapter 45

    Although it was twilight, Grant took in the surroundings of his home¡¯s kitchen and imagined it was a Sunday morning. He could almost hear the bacon sizzling on the stovetop, almost smell the coffee brewing in the pot on the counter beside the refrigerator. He imagined the warm morning sun illuminating the kitchen just the way it did when things were good. When the world had been uncontaminated. When his wife and daughter had been alive.


    The reality was, however, that the kitchen was dark and empty. Floating ash particles were caught in the late afternoon sun before falling to the ground or settling on countertops and long-dead appliances.


    Grant walked to the sliding glass doors that opened onto the deck overlooking his backyard. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary; no strange presences or mutated animals, so he slid open the door and walked outside. Resting his hands on the deck railing, he observed what was once a pristine and manicured area with neatly trimmed flower beds surrounding an inground swimming pool. Now, he wondered what might be growing inside the dark, murky water.


    All day while he restlessly searched the house and the property looking for signs of his daughter¡¯s presence, Grant thought he had heard sounds elsewhere. When he was in the kitchen, he heard something that seemed to be coming from one of the bedrooms. When he was out in the yard, he¡¯d heard sounds in the house and when in the house, thought he heard someone outside. They were not from animals; these were noises a person might make; floorboards creaking under someone¡¯s weight, doors opening and closing. Each time he investigated, it terrified him, but he needed to understand what the earlier encounter had meant. Grant did not dispel the thought that the noises could¡¯ve been made by a desperate ¨C and therefore, dangerous - person scavenging for food. He had a hunch, however, that there was something special occurring here¡­something spiritual even.


    Grant had given Laird nearly all the supplies left from his own private storage, hidden in a crawlspace in the basement. If was enough to keep Community going for another week at most. What remained would keep Grant going for maybe two days with rationing. After they were gone, he wasn¡¯t sure what he would do. But he couldn¡¯t leave after yesterday¡¯s event. There was a deeper mystery at work here and he needed to know what it all meant.


    Was his daughter¡¯s spirit here, at the house, thinking she still belonged in this world? He had never believed in such things until yesterday¡¯s encounter in the garage. Even then, he might¡¯ve dismissed it as a hallucination. But Eva had seen it, too.


    Leaving the deck, Grant wandered over to the garage, hoping to find her there, dancing among the shadows again. The structure, however, was silent and still. He stepped inside, almost against his will, at first believing the area to be hallowed ground; maybe his occupation of the space might somehow disrupt the residual energy. He wondered if his action could frighten and prevent her from returning. Perhaps he cast his own energy toward her, appearing as a shadow, just as she did to him.


    Emotion welled inside him and Grant lowered onto one knee. Before today, he¡¯d never been much of a believer in God, but if anything had convinced him that there were greater mysteries beyond the physical world, it had been witnessing the existence of his daughter, after death. Closing his eyes, he envisioned his wife¡­envisioned his daughter. He remembered the wonderful times they¡¯d spent together. Thanksgiving dinners, birthday celebrations, his daughter¡¯s eighth grade graduation.


    Grant heard something behind him ¨C someone approached. He was so convinced there was a person there ¨C and so caught up in his memories - that he stood and moved aside, almost saying ¡°Excuse me.¡± When he turned however, he found no one. Something breezed past him however, and he swung back around to the garage and there, just as yesterday, was his phantom dancer.


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.Grant froze and studied the apparition. She was more defined today. Whereas yesterday she had melded with the shadows, now the outline of her form was more distinguishable. He could see her hair set into a bun atop her head as she twirled across the wooden floor. Then, slowly, there arose a familiar composition. It sounded distant, then filled the air about him¡­classical music. The melody engulfed Grant like the embrace of an old friend; it was the piece that Samantha had rehearsed to for months. The music fluctuated in volume, as if it were a material thing in the air, at times wafting toward him on the wind, then receding, only to return again.


    Samantha¡¯s figure leapt, spun in a circle, then pranced across the garage. Enraptured, Grant couldn¡¯t take his eyes off her. It wasn¡¯t until he heard the shattering of glass that he checked behind him. Someone must be in the house.


    *********


    Watley stumbled along a dirt path. He was aware of it only now, despite turning to see the barn he¡¯d been in all night nearly a hundred yards behind them.


    Them?


    It was a funny thought. As far as he could tell, he was alone; just acres and acres of farmland, with some sort of strange crops growing in fields on either side of the path. Didn¡¯t look like corn or anything else familiar.


    Watley remembered being severely hungry when he¡¯d first arrived at the barn. Then, somehow, he¡¯d become full ¨C so full that he didn¡¯t really feel like walking now. Taking a nap was what he wanted to do, but some inner voice compelled him, urged him to keep moving. It was that Goddamned thing in the barn; the face in the plant. It¡¯d kept talking all night, whispering things to him. Watley had no idea what the plant had said to him, just that it wouldn¡¯t shut up.


    Shit. He really didn¡¯t want to be doing this. Where was he even, for Christ¡¯s sake? What was he doing?


    Stopping abruptly, Watley doubled over and vomited. He stared at his upchuck and waited for the next wave. He didn¡¯t wait long and heaved again. The contents were dark and organic looking, like parts of him had come up. Things that shouldn¡¯t have been expelled.


    Wondering if dying might be less miserable than this existence, Watley reached for a sidearm that wasn¡¯t there. He double checked, but it was gone.


    ¡°Keep moving.¡±


    Ordinarily, the sound of the robot¡¯s voice would¡¯ve caused him to jump out of his skin, but in this condition, staring down an oncoming locomotive wouldn¡¯t stir Watley from his fog.


    Locomotive¡­


    The train takes them to the ferry, and the ferry to the craft¡­


    The words came to Watley like a voice inside his skull. He had no idea what they meant or why they suddenly came to him. His gut cramped again, and he bent over, but only dry-heaved.


    ¡°This sickness will pass,¡± the hulking metal thing insisted. The globe stared at him with that indefinable gaze that Watley now remembered and hated. He preferred that it go back to forming the words inside the globe than hear that voice.


    Forcing himself onward, Watley felt a bewildering fullness, despite having just vomited. He was no longer hungry, just nauseous. He thought of how he¡¯d referred to himself as they, but didn¡¯t think that suggested himself and the robot, but someone else¡­something else. Oddly enough, and quite comicaly he thought, Watley entertained the notion that perhaps he was somehow¡­pregnant.

 Chapter 46

    Eva stands in an unknown room. It is dark and cold, the chill penetrating her heavy gear. Her breathing is strange, her exhalations sound¡­enclosed. She realizes she is wearing a mask. Before her is a huge, glowing white sphere of light. An orb.


    The radiance intensifies, dims, then intensifies in an irregular pattern. She stares intently, wary of its deadliness, but lost in its beauty. Beside her, she senses a large being and glances up at his tree-like stature. Behind her, she hears the approach of angry voices, the sounds of a skirmish. There is little time.


    As she steps toward the orb, someone hollers. She turns, backpedaling toward the light and sees him. Though concealed behind the domes in his own mask, Eva imagines the fear in his eyes as he calls to her. She mustn¡¯t stop, however. She cannot stop.


    The light takes her.


    *********


    Eva stirred from her trance when a grasshopper jumped into her field of vision. She blinked, her mind having returned to the present. She studied the insect and realized that it looked more like a praying mantis/grasshopper hybrid.


    When the mutant insect flew away, she looked up from the ground to find herself just outside of the barn she¡¯d been assigned to, holding an instrument. On the screen were the icons representing each of the four tractors that were currently out tending to the crop fields. All was in order, so she laid the instrument on the worktable inside. She raised her hand and ran her fingertips along the small lump by her right temple. It was a little sore, but that was good; the device ¨C and not the insect - had likely been responsible for recalling her from the vision. Its retooling had been a necessary step and she was glad to be back in control of her emotions and thoughts. With its aid, she could forget all her distractions and focus on keeping Community successful.


    ¡°Everything alright?¡±


    Eva turned and found Isaac strolling toward her. ¡°Yes. All is in order,¡± she replied. She forced a smile and wondered why it wasn¡¯t genuine. Something in her wanted to resist speaking to him.


    ¡°Good.¡± He stopped a few feet from her and just stared. ¡°How do you feel?¡±


    She was about to say ¡°Fine,¡± but instead, ¡°Compliant¡± came out.


    Isaac nodded. ¡°That¡¯s good, Eva. You¡¯re making great progress.¡±


    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.She smiled, but again it seemed like she was playing a part.


    ¡°This is all yours,¡± he said, gesturing toward the farmhouse and the fields beyond. ¡°It¡¯s a big responsibility, but I have a feeling you¡¯re going to be happy here. And¡­obedient.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± she replied.


    Isaac paused, looking not at her, but into her and Eva sensed his curiosity at the effectiveness of her implant. She knew that he wanted to be sure it had taken this time. That she no longer posed a threat.


    Threat to what? she wondered.


    The implant thrummed, delivered a painful tingling and nullified Eva¡¯s probing thought. She turned back to the barn and picked up the instrument from the worktable. Apparently satisfied, Isaac walked away.


    *********


    There are too many of them. The outer barricades have fallen, and the last defense would give out any time now. They had been hunted down and cornered.


    The man wipes the domed eyes of his helmet clean and through the slit in the wall, watches the approaching menaces, their red lights scanning every nook and cranny as they draw closer. He turns and runs down the corridor, his legs burning with fatigue. His corroded lungs struggle for breath and he raises the oxygen output from his suit.


    From the armory he grabs a rifle and the last EMP bomb. Continuing along the hallway, he hears the outer wall being breached. He enters the last room of the stronghold where Gray, deep in a trance, is ¡°holding¡± the orb. The man finds Eva backing into the light. They¡¯d agreed not to wait for each other ¨C there was too much at stake. Still, he calls out to her.


    She¡¯s gone.


    *********


    Stirred from sleep by the electronic wheeze of his own labored breathing, the man raised his weapon, expecting an intruder. His adrenaline began to diminish as he realized he was seated at the kitchen table. Alex, tied to the chair across from him, was slumped over. Still out.


    Already on borrowed time, the man knew his end was near. He needed Alex to understand what was happening¡­what was expected of him. If he could prevent¡­


    He coughed hard, expelling something into his helmet. His hands trembling, he tried to adjust the oxygen level on his suit. Little remained however, and his lungs were already struggling. He needed Alex to wake the hell up.


    Summoning a last surge of strength, the man slammed his fist down on the table.

 Chapter 47

    Guiding the cycle along an unused and overgrown bike path, Mo emerged from a wooded area and entered what had once been a little league baseball complex. The fencing around home plate of the first field had become home to a nest of thick vines, whose offshoots trailed out into the aluminum stands and dugouts. The display was so dense, that most of the infield was obstructed from view and Mo wondered what might dwell in the center of the cluster.


    He parked the bike beside what was the concession stand. After quickly scavenging and finding nothing to eat, Mo removed a small medical kit from a compartment on the cycle and taking his weapon, went into the restroom.


    There was no electricity, so he switched his flashlight on and propped it on its end so that the beam was cast upward toward the ceiling. Mo opened a sterile wipe and swabbed his right temple. Then, withdrawing a scalpel and a pair of tweezers, he opened his flesh with the blade and set about the grisly task of removing his implant.


    *********


    Grant stared disbelievingly at the sliding glass doors. Much of the glass was missing, only a long, triangular shaped shard remained attached to the frame. There was a ladder on its side outside of the doors that hadn¡¯t previously been there. D¨¦j¨¤ vu rumbled through him and Grant knew he¡¯d seen this scene before.


    Behind him, someone ran toward him. ¡°Daddy!¡± Grant turned and saw the transparent figure of his daughter running towards him. She zipped past, nearly brushing against his arm and in her wake, the father smelled the perfume Samantha had always worn. He inhaled, taking in her scent and was overcome with emotion.


    Grant followed her and saw her stop on the deck, near the ladder. This too, was familiar, although he recalled having witnessed the event from a different vantage point. As he neared, Samantha stooped down, over another person who had suddenly become visible. Approaching with caution, Grant watched the scenery change, becoming more distinct. What had been shadowy phantoms, now were clearly etched into his existence. There, before him, his daughter attended to another Grant. Another father¡­her father.


    ¡°Are you alright?¡± she asked him, her voice too, shifting from a fuzzy echo to completely comprehensible.


    Grant¡¯s double laughed and along with him, Grant replied, ¡°Yeah, sweetie, I¡¯m fine.¡±


    Suddenly he understood why it was so familiar ¨C because it had happened before. Grant had been the one who¡¯d had fallen off the ladder while working on a light fixture beside the sliding doors. He¡¯d fallen into them and cut himself, requiring twenty-two stiches on his left forearm.


    ¡°You¡¯re bleeding!¡± Samantha yelled.


    Grant rolled up his left sleeve and stared at his scar while he listened to the other him say, ¡°It¡¯s alright, just a little cut.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not little, dad! You¡¯re going to need stiches!¡± cried Samantha, with Grant repeating her lines, word for word.


    Helping the other Grant to his feet, Samantha¡¯s eyes raised toward Grant and for a an instant, their eyes met. Then the two fell into their previous phantom state as they hurried back inside the house. As they made their way through the house to the car in the driveway, their sounds became tiny, distant thuds, like debris softly tossed by the wind.


    ¡°Dear God,¡± mumbled Grant. ¡°I have to tell the others.¡±


    From the garage he took an old bicycle and began the long ride toward Community.


    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.*********


    Applying a butterfly bandage to his incision, Mo glanced down at the implant sitting atop the restroom sink and pondered how such a small thing could cause so much trouble. It hadn¡¯t been able to control him ¨C which caused him to speculate about its functionality - but in the event that it was still working, it would allow the Machine to track him and therefore, had to be removed.


    Mo brought the butt of his rifle down atop the sink hard, smashing the device into pieces, along with half of the sink. An unintended consequence, he chastised himself for causing so much noise. He heard movement outside and listened. It sounded like something slid across the roof of the concession stand. Another similar noise occurred along the outside wall. A gut feeling drove Mo out into the open just as the concession stand was crushed in the twisting coils of two massive vines. He fell to the ground, then scrambled backward up against a tool shed, taking aim at the sentient plant.


    Had they heard him? Felt the vibrations of the sink crashing to the floor, maybe?


    The vines moved sluggishly along the rubble. They seemed to be searching for the cause of the noise. Unsuccessful, they withdrew into the main cluster housed along the backstop.


    Mo quietly exhaled his relief. He immediately became alert, however, when he heard the distant sound of dogs barking. He rose to his feet. Determining the sound wasn¡¯t too far away, he decided to investigate. The cycle had been damaged by the falling debris, but he dragged it out from under the concrete, mounted it, and drove off.


    A quarter of a mile down the road, Mo halted the cycle. There, before a vast wall of tangled vines, stood a woman and two dogs. The dogs were agitated, barking at something before the woman. As Mo dismounted and approached, he recognized the outline of his wife.


    ¡°Lacy!¡±


    Both dogs, eerily similar looking, turned toward him, but she did not respond. The older dog ran toward his master, while the other continued growling and snapping at something. Mo quickened his pace, staring down the rifle¡¯s barrel.


    ¡°Lacy!¡± he tried again, but with no success. Within ten feet, Mo began to circle around her in order to get a better view of what was happening. His heart sank as the orb came into view. Lacy¡¯s outstretched hand was inside of the light.


    ¡°No! Lacy!¡±


    He ran to her and pulled her free. They stumbled as he bore her full weight; she was limp and seemed lifeless. Lacy stared beyond her husband, into nothingness. Mo leaned over and was eternally grateful to feel her breath against his ear. Behind them, the orb was concealed and pulled into the network of vines.


    When Mo lowered Lacy to the ground, dread took hold of him when he saw her left arm. The hand and forearm were speckled with a dark substance, both on the surface of her skin and beneath it. The darkness appeared to be spreading up her arm.


    ¡°Lacy?¡± He caressed her cheek, then shook her. She didn¡¯t respond.


    Gus whined and licked Mo and he thoughtlessly patted him. ¡°It¡¯s okay boy¡­she¡¯ll be okay¡­¡±


    My wife¡­my life¡­


    Mo rose and went to the cycle. He unfastened a machete and pulled it free from the sheath. At Lacy¡¯s side, he removed his helmet, then his bio suit. Tearing a tee shirt in two, he readied the tourniquet. He raised the machete over his head.


    ¡°I love you,¡± he said, then brought the blade down.

 Chapter 48

    ¡°Alex? What happens if someone takes your brother or sister?¡±


    The boy frowns. ¡°Why would someone take them?¡±


    It¡¯s 9 a.m. on a Sunday and they¡¯re seated at the kitchen table. Henry and Annabelle are playing in the next room while Alex¡¯s mother is sleeping, having finished her overnight shift at the hospital only two hours ago. The fifteen -year-old boy notices displeasure register across his father¡¯s face. Mr. Dash sits back at the kitchen table and studies his son. ¡°You can¡¯t afford to be na?ve, Alex. Think, damnit.¡±


    ¡°Because¡­¡± begins Alex. ¡°Because they¡¯re sick deviants. Perverts.¡±


    ¡°That may be ¨C and if that¡¯s the case, you will have to kill them. But there will be others¡­people who are slick, street-smart. It could be someone who¡¯s been watching you without you realizing it. Or it might be someone you¡¯ve been travelling with ¨C which I advise you not to do unless they have supplies you¡¯ve run out of.¡±


    Alex stares into the other room, watching his siblings as they play with action figures. ¡°And they¡¯d take children that little?¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡± says his father. ¡°People will be desperate. They will position themselves to gain the upper hand on their enemies and everyone will be an enemy. The twins will be a commodity, to be traded. The bad people will bargain for your food, weapons, anything. And they¡¯ll know you¡¯ll pay up because you care for your brother and sister. You cannot allow anyone to gain the upper hand because you¡¯ll lose.¡±


    Mr. Dash sips his coffee, then gently sets the mug back down on the table, his movements deliberate and calming. The boy has seen his father employ this method before and yet never feels ready for it.


    ¡°YOUR FOOD OR YOUR SISTER!¡±


    Alex snaps to attention, his eyes darting back and forth to his father¡¯s. His gaze appears crazed as he leans forward, invading his son¡¯s space.


    ¡°Food!¡± yells Alex.


    Mr. Dash bolts up from his chair, knocking it to the ground. ¡°I WANT YOUR RIFLE, TOO!¡± He grabs Alex by the collar and yanks him out of his chair. Henry and Annabelle peer around the corner from the living room, their eyes wide with fear.


    ¡°MAKE A CHOICE!¡± yells his father.


    Alex knocks his father¡¯s arms loose and steps backward, trembling. His mother, bleary-eyed, steps into the room. ¡°What¡¯re you doing! Leave him alone!¡±


    ¡°He has to know how to take care of himself and his brother and sister if we¡¯re not here,¡± says his father. ¡°He must understand what it might take.¡±


    Mrs. Dash, with tears pooling below bloodshot eyes, stands in front of the twins. ¡°Alex, take them outside.¡±


    When Alex leaves the room, he hears her say, ¡°I can¡¯t do this anymore.¡±


    *********


    Alex¡¯s head pulsed with pain; his temple throbbed with each heartbeat. His breathing was restricted, forcing him to inhale and exhale from his nose only. When his vision focused, he recognized the gray and white checkered floor beneath his feet and knew he was in the kitchen. But it was the farmhouse kitchen, not the kitchen from his youth where his father had trained him to become hard.


    He raised his head and saw a man seated across the table from him. The man¡¯s head, enclosed in a rusty metal helmet, was lying back against the chair. Alex wondered if he was staring at the ceiling, but after a few moments, heard the electronic sound of the man¡¯s breathing and decided that he was asleep.


    When he tried to move, Alex found his arms were bound behind him. He glanced down and noted the heavy rope, wound around himself and the chair several times. His mouth was taped shut and he felt his head wrapped in something.


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.A bandage?


    Before him on the table were bloody rags. The blood was dark, almost brown in color¡­he¡¯d been sitting here a while. On one of the rags was a small, metal object, also smeared with old blood.


    Glancing outside, Alex saw that it was still light and then remembered following the shadow into the yard and then a cloth put to his nose and mouth. Then all had gone dark.


    When he turned back to the table, the man was staring at him.


    Alex¡¯s heart skipped at the sight of those lifelessglassy, domed eyes. He couldn¡¯t make out anything beyond them, just the light from the overhead hanging lamp glinting off the surface. There was nothing where the nose should be but a smooth, metallic surface. Serving as a mouth were five vertical slits, with some sort of fine mesh wiring inside. He supposed these must filter the air.


    There was an eerie pause while the two men stared ahead.


    ¡°I¡¯m at my end, so you need to listen,¡± said the man in a voice that seemed more robotic than human.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± asked Alex. Through the tape over his mouth, however, his question was expressed as incoherent mumbling.


    ¡°That¡¯s why your mouth is taped, Alex. Shut up and listen.¡±


    How does he know me?


    The man slumped forward and coughed, looking as if he might pass out, then straightened back up. He set gloved hands against the table in an effort to stabilize himself. ¡°I¡¯ve removed your implant,¡± he said, gesturing to the object on the bloody rag. He pointed to Alex¡¯s head. ¡°But¡­you¡¯ll have to behave as though it¡¯s still in there.¡±


    He rose and rounded the table, bumping into the corner. Withdrawing a knife from inside his coat, he said, ¡°You will be able to think for yourself, now.¡± He paused, coughed, then drew closer to Alex, raising the knife close to his face. ¡°So, think about that once I cut your restraints. If I wanted to kill you, I¡¯d already have done it.¡±


    Alex stared at the light bouncing off the wavering blade as the unsteady man maneuvered the weapon between his flesh and the tape. He winced as the slice was made and the adhesive was torn away. Then the man severed the rope around his wrists and Alex was free.


    The masked man made his way back to his chair and fell into it, the knife clanking to the floor. The man tapped his finger on a book Alex had noticed before; a small, black journal held shut by an elastic strap. It was badly tattered and frayed.


    ¡°This¡­will help¡­¡± the man spoke between labored breaths, ¡°if I passsss¡­ssssuddenly.¡±


    Alex glanced at the journal, then the man. ¡°Help with what?¡±


    The man, struggling, leaned his elbows on the table. His head hung between what appeared to be emaciated shoulders beneath the coat. ¡°With¡­finding¡­¡± His mask lowered and gently thumped against the table.


    Alex went to his side and placed a hand on his shoulder. ¡°With finding what?¡± He shook the man back to consciousness. ¡°With finding what?¡±


    The cadence of the man¡¯s electronic breathing had diminished, occurring every five seconds or so. After a long inhalation, he spoke. ¡°With¡­finding¡­the twins.¡±


    Alex¡¯s heart hammered as his memory rocketed into overdrive. He saw Henry and Annabelle. He saw their struggles, their triumphs, laughing, crying. He saw then in the side car as the three of them sped along on the cycle.


    ¡°Where are they?¡± he asked the man. There was no response, only the dying wheeze escaping the vertical slits in the mask.


    Alex stood by the man¡¯s side for a few minutes. He listened as the breathing finally ceased and the man¡¯s arms fell to his side, dangling just above the floor. Alex caught him as his mask slid from the table and gently laid the body on the floor.


    Alex reached for the journal. He opened it and read the first line:


    Bury me. Do it now. Before Isaac returns.

 Chapter 49

    The airplane hangar was as still as a tomb. Mitchell and Wes had been given the directive to watch for what Isaac had described as ¡°anomalies,¡± such as the doppelganger dog that had apparently appeared here. Those idiots Lacy and Charles had put the Gus lookalike into the Med Hut for observation. What they should¡¯ve done was waste the dog and burn the hangar to the ground. That¡¯s what Mitchell would¡¯ve done had he been in charge. All he knew was, if something that resembled him or Wes came stumbling out of the shadows, he was going to shoot first, ask questions later.


    The private jet sat in the same state of decay that it always had. There was nothing inside of the plane ¨C they¡¯d checked. Nothing in the far corners of the space, waiting to attack. They were babysitting an abandoned structure. Ridiculous. Why not just lock the whole building up? He thought of what Eva had once said to him regarding his guard duty: ¡°It¡¯s like you¡¯re babysitting yourself.¡±


    Fucking bitch.


    But that was when Grant had been giving the orders. Now that he was gone, Isaac had given him more authority. Yes, he was still on guard duty, but Isaac had shown him the great secret of the fields. The Plant. And its keeper. He¡¯d stood before it and gazed into its brilliance on more than one occasion. And it had spoken to him. Not in words so much, but in thoughts and visions. It had a higher use for him. It had understood that he was more than a gun-toting moron. Sure, he was fond of his weapon, and didn¡¯t mind killing if need be ¨C sometimes even looked forward to it ¨C but he was capable of more and the plant knew it.


    Mitchell opened his fist and stretched his thick fingers. He watched them tremble, then closed his fist again. Concentrating, he took a deep breath and uncurled the calloused digits, attempting to settle his nerves. But once again, they trembled.


    Shit! He raised his fist and prepared to slam it down on the chair beside him but stopped himself. Wes was seated twenty feet away to his right. He didn¡¯t need that little shit telling Isaac that he¡¯d been acting strange. But he had been, hadn¡¯t he?


    Yes, Mitchell. You have.


    Jumping out of his seat, the large man raised his rifle, aiming at the darkness behind him, and spun around.


    ¡°You alright, man?¡± called Wes, readying his own weapon. ¡°You hear something?¡±


    Mitchell¡¯s pulse pounded through his ears like the beating of a drum. A death drum. It called to him.


    ¡°Mitch?¡±


    Mitchell convinced himself that the shadows in the room were just that; nothing moved within them as he¡¯d first thought. But he¡¯d heard that voice. It had been a soft hush, that could easily be dismissed as air sifting through a ventilation shaft. Since the hangar hadn¡¯t been equipped with an operational air filtration unit in years, however, he had to confront the notion that maybe the voice had come from somewhere inside of his head.


    ¡°Mitch? You wanna say something, so I know you¡¯re okay?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s Mitchell, asshole. I¡¯ve told you that like a thousand fucking times.¡±


    Wes, apparently relieved, said, ¡°Yep. You¡¯re okay.¡±


    The drumming in his ears began to settle and Mitchell lowered his weapon. He wiped the sweat from his brow and walked toward the door.


    ¡°Where¡¯re you going?¡±


    ¡°Need some air.¡±


    The sky was overcast and there was a moderate breeze. Mitchell inhaled deeply, again removing the perspiration from his forehead with the back of his sleeve. He stared ahead at the overgrown grass swaying beyond the perimeter fence; the blades brushing against one another, emitting a steady whispering. The sound came nearer, and he backed away. He thought of the cornfields and how the rustling leaves produced a similar noise. It had come to him before, when he¡¯d visited the Plant.


    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.Mitchell¡­


    Shaking his head, the former soldier tried to draw upon his military training. He stood tall, forcing the imagery from his mind, forcing the sound to leave his ears. He walked back to the hangar and reached for the door but was stopped before he touched the knob, his hand hovering inches from it. It was right there, all he had to do was grab it¡­yet he couldn¡¯t. Not if his life depended on it. The sound rushed back at him; the whispering blades of grass, the colliding of the cornstalk leaves. They grew louder, the volume rising inside his skull.


    Mitchell. It¡¯s time.


    *********


    Isaac left the farmers to their work, confident that the newest ¨C Eva ¨C was now focused. She wasn¡¯t the newest, really; she¡¯d been a good farmer before. Before her implant been tampered with. They were imperfect, these devices. They were no more than antennae that allowed the Plant¡¯s signal to be received should it feel the need to broadcast. The Plant had been doing less of that lately and Isaac knew that its health was in question. Soon it would need to move ¨C migrate ¨C to a richer environment.


    Past the cornfields, Isaac mounted a slope, singing Frank Sinatra¡¯s ¡°Fly Me To The Moon.¡± The tune triggered a stinging longing in him, and he no longer felt like crooning. Had it been his wedding song, perhaps? Something like that. He felt like maybe he¡¯d once been married. He could no longer remember his wife, though. It didn¡¯t matter now.


    After a hundred yards or so, Isaac stopped at the gate of the small house just off the dirt path. It wasn¡¯t the main farmhouse, but a secondary one. Once it had been yellow but having been bleached by the sun and the rain over the years, it was now just a dingy off-white. He ran his fingers along the top of the old aluminum mailbox and marveled that the post it rested upon still stood erect. The first letter of the name on the box had faded, with only ¡°eece¡± still visible.


    Isaac moved the rusty gate aside and entered the yard, observed by a lone crow atop the crumbling chimney of the house. The vegetation, thick and unpassable along the brick walkway, greeted him. Its leaves inspected him, caressing his arms and face. ¡°It¡¯s just me,¡± he called out. Layer upon layer, the vines unfurled, finally revealing the steps to the tiny porch. Isaac opened the door and stepped inside.


    The odor was arresting, as always. He fought the impulse to gag and continued, vines slithering over vines, the heavier ones thumping to the floor. The tendrils continued gliding over and under one another, revealing more of the interior as he advanced. Some of the ceiling had given way, leaving large gaps between the rafters. Isaac wondered how the entire structure hadn¡¯t collapsed, but then imagined that it was held together by the Plant itself.


    Reaching what had once been the kitchen, Isaac came to the plant¡¯s face, and the cloudy eyes that had been staring at the floor, raised and studied him. ¡°You recognize me, friend?¡±


    Garrett¡¯s pupil-less eyeballs took him in and after a few moments, he gave a slight nod.


    ¡°You summoned me,¡± continued Isaac. ¡°What is it you need me to do?¡±


    The Plant licked its lips with what appeared to be a pulpy tongue coated in mucous and tiny thorns, then said in a creaky and ancient-sounding voice, ¡°It approaches...the time is¡­nigh.¡±


    Isaac swallowed. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    The head lolled, stared skyward, then rolled back to face Isaac. The vines surrounded him, swaying to some unheard melody. ¡°The seed¡­¡±


    Isaac winced as his head was besieged with instructions and a kaleidoscope of intermingling visions. He saw death, then the sun, shimmering rain cascading to earth, giving new life. He saw a man and what he was to become. The man, accompanied by a towering robot, approached Community.

 Chapter 50

    It had been more than twenty-five years since Watley had lost a tooth and yet he¡¯d done just that only a moment ago. He stared at the white enamel in his palm and with his tongue, investigated the void its departure had left in the bottom set of molars. He tasted very little blood but noted that the rest of his gums seemed too soft. Raising a finger, he pressed it into his cheek next to where the tooth had fallen out and felt it give way. He again examined with his tongue and found that the dent remained. He¡¯d expected it to rebound once he removed the finger and thus, the pressure. But no.


    ¡°Son of a bitch,¡± he groaned.


    Watley tossed the tooth into the woods beside the road and continued following the Machine. He stared at the hulking black metal figure and wondered how heavy it was. Seven, eight hundred pounds? More? Its bulky appearance suggested that it was equipped with more armor than its predecessor. He remembered them being large and powerful, but this one was unlike any he¡¯d seen before. A prototype, maybe?


    Thinking of before they¡¯d been sent here, Watley tried to remember his apprehension. Not this recent capture, but long before they arrived here. His memories were fuzzy though. Trying to recall memories had become like peering into still water, then having a cloud of dirt stirred up at the bottom. Everything was murky.


    They¡­he¡¯d just thought of before they had been sent here. Scratching his head, Watley suddenly had something pop up out of the mud cloud and float to the surface. They. Him and¡­Mo.


    ¡°Oh yeah,¡± he mumbled to himself. ¡°I remember him¡­a little.¡±


    His foot caught on a series of roots running across the road and he nearly toppled over. He stumbled but regained his footing. Glancing down at his dark leg, Watley saw the fabric of his under garments fall from his limb and descend to the ground in specks of dust. Disintegrated. He smiled, amazed at how the clothing and his skin had become one and then now, having fallen loose like that. Just like his tooth, he supposed.


    ¡°Like ash.¡± He grinned, then chuckled. ¡°I¡¯m falling apart¡­literally.¡±


    His fit of laughter drew the Machine¡¯s attention and it halted and turned toward him. ¡°Not much farther,¡± it said in its dark, electronic voice. It reminded Watley of the speaking alphabet toy from long ago¡­what the hell was it called? No use, the memories beneath the water had been clouded over again.


    ¡°I¡¯m tired,¡± he murmured. ¡°My legs are fucking heavy as shit.¡± It came out more like, ¡°My legs are fkingheavyasshhht.¡± He understood that he was so bad off that he sounded as if he had been drinking all day and his speech was slurred. ¡°Aw man, I wish. I wish¡­I wish I could have a drink right now. Just tie one on, ya know?¡±


    The Machine just stared at him with that eyeless globe-head, hovering inches from the main chassis. Watley thought that maybe some electro-magnetic force held it in place. ¡°There may indeed be alcohol where we¡¯re headed,¡± said the Machine.


    Watley stopped. ¡°Nooo¡­¡± He raised his arm, which felt like a twenty-pound weight and extended his index finger. ¡°I hope you¡¯re not lying to me, man. That would be some cruel shit.¡± Watley¡¯s focus shifted from the Machine ¨C fifteen yards ahead ¨C to his index finger, right in front him. He frowned. ¡°Holy crap¡­I lost my fingernail.¡± He brought the digit closer, then turned in a circle, searching the ground. ¡°When the hell did that happen?¡±


    ¡°All part of the process,¡± informed the Machine. ¡°You¡¯ll be made comfortable when we arrive. Keep moving.¡±


    Nodding in agreement, Watley repeated, ¡°All part of the process.¡± He pressed forward, scrutinizing the Machine¡¯s words: You¡¯ll be made comfortable.


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.Am I fucking dying?


    ¡°Boy, I hope so!¡± Realizing he had shouted, Watley pressed his finger to his lips and shushed himself. Dying would probably be better than this, though. It had to be. He patted his leg, feeling for his weapon and remembered he no longer had it. More black dust drifted from the limb and this time, it appeared that not the fabric, but his flesh was the material falling away.


    He looked away and kept walking. Wish I had that gun. Could end it right now.


    Watley knew that wasn¡¯t true. The plant had seen to that. It had prohibited him from self-harm. It had instructed him last night in the barn when it wouldn¡¯t stop speaking to him; not verbally, but inside of his head. Like telepathy or something. Given the opportunity to kill himself, he knew he would succumb. No matter how much he wanted to end it, he would obey that instruction.


    Without warning, Watley began coughing. He gagged and doubled over. Coughing harder, he expelled another tooth. It bounced along the pavement and came to rest in the grass along the shoulder. He reached into his mouth and with little effort, pulled free another molar from his gums.


    *********


    At the western most portion of his plot, Alex brought the pickup to a stop. He¡¯d never been this far out. Yesterday he¡¯d taken the truck as far north as the road, where he¡¯d found the tractor and seen that weird flash of light in the field, but never this far west. It was unfamiliar territory. Only the tractors were permitted out here, except in rare circumstances, like a broken-down piece of machinery.


    Exiting the cab, he eased around to the bed and lowered the tailgate. He was trying to do this as quickly as possible, but he needed to give the impression that his movements were casual, should someone spot him. although his heart was thundering, and his thoughts were frantic, frantic movements might seem suspicious to anyone watching. They might inspire notions of dubious acts. These notions would then lead to Isaac being summoned and then Alex suspected he¡¯d be in a heap of shit.


    One quick glance around to be sure he was alone, and he grabbed the ankles of a pair of boots and pulled the body toward him. The man wasn¡¯t all that heavy. It seemed he¡¯d wasted away, and Alex figured he weighed no more than one hundred and forty pounds or so. Once lowered to the ground atop a tarp, Alex grabbed the shovel he¡¯d brought and dragged the man into the underbrush and away from plain sight.


    When he had gone maybe sixty feet, Alex stopped and began digging. He continued, stopping occasionally to survey his surroundings.


    Always be aware of your surroundings, Alex.


    He paused, recalling who had taught him that. His father, of course. He thought of his family, of Henry and Annabelle and resumed shoveling at a rapid pace until he achieved a hole large enough to accommodate the man. Dripping with sweat, Alex slide the body to the edge of the pit. He stared down at the metal mask. He reached for it, resting his gloved hand on its surface. He lifted.


    It had been wise of Alex to wear his bio suit, as the man¡¯s face was marred by signs of some disease. Black, crusty splotches stretched from the left ear to the bridge of the man¡¯s nose, with a few thin threads traversing into the tissue of the right cheek, just under the eye. The man was middle-aged and emaciated; the cheeks sunken, the chin and jawline sharp and chiseled by malnourishment. His identity, however, remained clear. Alex stared down at himself.

 Chapter 51

    She¡¯d watched the pickup rolling along the fields adjacent to hers, the amber sunlight glinting off its windshield. It had crawled along, perhaps because the dirt trail was rough and bumpy, or maybe because the driver didn¡¯t want to draw attention to his renegade act. No one was permitted out that far. Nevertheless, the truck had still kicked up enough dust to be noticed by someone with a careful eye.


    Likewise, Eva knew she shouldn¡¯t be this far from the farmhouse; she was in violation of the rules herself. But this was an extenuating circumstance; someone was up to no good and it was that farmer, Alex.


    As she moved through her own fields, she halted her advance at his name. How did she know it? From before? She supposed it was from before the implant set her mind right. As if in response to her inquiry, Eva could almost hear a voice in her head.


    It¡¯s okay that you know his name, Eva. You know it because you¡¯re both part of Community. You just aren¡¯t allowed to remember much else; nothing about your past, nothing about your family. Community is your family. Community is your past, present and future. Now, just forget about the farmer and go back to work.


    She brushed off the thought and the voice, then moved closer to the pickup truck. Two hundred feet away now. She paid careful attention not to stir the vegetation too much, as it might reveal her position. She¡¯d brought the flare gun from her own pickup truck, which she¡¯d left out on the dirt path, a good eighty yards behind. Should this rise to an emergent level, she would fire a flare into the sky and if all went according to plan, Isaac or the other farmers would come running to her aid. Hopefully, in time. This Alex could be a lunatic, for all she knew. What the hell was he doing all the way out here, anyway?


    As she drew nearer, Eva witnessed Alex lower the tailgate and remove a tarp-covered thing from the bed of the pickup. Then she saw that the thing, bound with rope, had boots protruding from the end of the tarp.


    Dear God, did he kill somebody!


    She gripped the fare gun tighter, wondering if she should fire. She raised it overhead, but hesitated. She needed to uncover this mystery. Whose body was that? It might very well be Isaac, for all she knew. Jesus, what if it was him? Then what? Would the other farmers still heed her call for help, without Isaac to organize them? What if Alex had supplanted Isaac and now the farmers answered to him? What if everyone except Eva was in on it.


    Damnit, Eva, that¡¯s paranoid! Get a grip!


    Sneaking from her spot and making a roundabout approach, in order to keep from sight, Eva eventually emerged from the greenery at the tailgate of Alex¡¯s pickup truck. She figured it had taken her close to ten minutes to do so and in that time, Alex had been digging. Occasionally, he¡¯d stop and look around, and when he did, she stopped and waited for him to resume. Eva looked back from where she¡¯d come and realized that she had crossed over into Alex¡¯s field. Another dereliction of duty. Under no circumstances where farmers allowed to leave their plots without authorization.


    If you¡¯re going to break one rule, might as well get your money¡¯s worth and break a couple.


    She stooped low and rounded the driver¡¯s side rear tire, crab-crawling to the driver¡¯s door. Alex was very close. He was in a full bio suit.


    What the hell¡¯s going on?


    A gust of wind tore through the field, scrambling organic debris across the path. Eva squinted as she was pelted with dirt and strands of broken grass, bits of twigs. She used the auditory cover provided by the howling wind to lift the handle and open the door. She reached inside, intending to take the keys, which would leave Alex stranded out here. She would return to her own pickup, then head back to find Isaac and inform him of Alex¡¯s malicious deed. The keys were not in the ignition.


    ¡°I know you¡¯re there,¡± called Alex, his back still turned away.


    Eva froze. His voice was muffled from the suit¡¯s helmet, but she¡¯d heard it loud enough to be certain of what he said. She emerged from behind the open driver¡¯s side door, the flare gun held at arm¡¯s length.


    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.¡°Who is that?¡± she demanded, pointing with her off hand. ¡°Who did you kill?¡±


    Alex turned to her, drove the shovel¡¯s blade into the ground and leaned on the handle. ¡°I didn¡¯t kill anyone.¡±


    ¡°Liar. Why are you burying them?¡±


    ¡°Because he¡¯s dead. That doesn¡¯t mean I killed him.¡±


    The wind streaked across the field, pressing the crops into a slant. The clouds had moved in. It looked like rain was at hand.


    Eva inched closer, keeping the flare gun aimed at Alex. ¡°Who is it?¡±


    Alex hesitated.


    ¡°Who is it!¡±


    ¡°A stranger.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t believe you.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know him,¡± he insisted. He frowned. ¡°I mean¡­you do, but you don¡¯t. It¡¯s weird.¡±


    ¡°You think you¡¯re buying time, playing games with me?¡± she snarled. ¡°Think you¡¯ll lull me into letting my guard down ¨C then make a move?¡±


    ¡°No, Eva.¡±


    Her eyes narrowed. ¡°How do you know my name?¡±


    Alex stepped closer. ¡°I think we¡¯ve known each other for a while.¡±


    ¡°Stop!¡± She jerked the flare gun out, poking the air before her. ¡°Quit bullshitting and tell me the truth.¡±


    Alex halted. ¡°I know you. You know me. We¡¯ve just forgotten.¡± He tapped his finger against his temple. ¡°And that thing in your head is helping you to forget.¡±


    Unconsciously, Eva had brought her own finger to her right temple. She touched the tiny bump there.


    He extended his hands out to his sides. ¡°This place wants us to forget.¡±


    What was he talking about?


    Alex looked at her. ¡°I¡¯ll show you the man, but¡­¡± he said, pointing behind him. ¡°¡­it¡¯s going to be a shock. It was for me. You won¡¯t believe your eyes at first.¡±


    Eva circled him, keeping about ten feet between them. She walked backward while directing the flare gun at his chest.


    ¡°I¡¯ll move away if it makes you more comfortable,¡± he said.


    ¡°Don¡¯t move! You¡¯re not going anywhere.¡±


    She drew to the edge of the burial hole and looked inside. Her eyes grew wide and her lips parted. She lowered the flare gun. It was impossible. Was she hallucinating? The man was diseased, but even through the infection marring his face, she could see that it was Alex, but older. He was frail. Alex was thin, but sturdy.


    ¡°It¡¯s going to rain,¡± said Alex.


    The site of the man thrust her into a dreamlike state. She knew the world was strange ¨C that it had been for years. But this felt more bizarre than anything she¡¯d seen. It had her shell-shocked.


    ¡°It¡¯s going to rain,¡± he said, again.


    It took a moment for his statement to register. Then, she snapped out of it. ¡°I know.¡±


    ¡°And you know what usually precedes the rain¡­¡±


    Eva realized she¡¯d been turned away from Alex for too long. She snapped her head toward him. He was where he¡¯d been before. He had a chance to attack when she¡¯d lowered her weapon but hadn¡¯t.


    She gestured to the grave. ¡°What is this? How-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll explain. Let¡¯s get in the truck. Seeds are coming.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not getting in the truck with you.¡±


    A powerful gale brought the wail of Community¡¯s siren, warning of an impending storm. ¡°We have to take shelter,¡± insisted Alex. ¡°If we¡¯re impaled by seeds¡­¡±


    Eva stared at Alex, turned to look back over the lip of the grave, then back at Alex. ¡°Who is that man and why does he look just like you? Tell me.¡±


    ¡°I will,¡± said Alex. ¡°But first I need to fill the hole.¡± He motioned toward Community. ¡°That siren means we all have to report to Main House bunker. If we don¡¯t-¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± she cut him off. ¡°We get sent to quarantine.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll finish what I¡¯m doing, then meet you there. But you can¡¯t tell anyone. Okay?¡±


    Eva nodded. Then, she reconsidered, a dull, painful tingling in her head. Why should she do what he wanted? He¡¯d killed someone - this was an emergent situation. She raised the flare gun and pointed it at Alex.


    ¡°Eva?¡± He cocked his head and stared with increasing worry.


    The gun was aimed at Alex and she held it there, enjoying his discomfort. Her finger pressed gently on the trigger. She smiled, then extended her arm upward and fired.

 Chapter 52

    Scooping Lacy up, Mo moved her to a distance he deemed far enough away from the wall of vegetation to be safe. At least for right now. He needed to stop the bleeding, which still drizzled from Lacy¡¯s artery, despite the application of the tourniquet. The wound needed to be cauterized. He needed fire.


    Searching the bag Lacy had with her, Mo discovered a flare gun. After he gathered some dry grass and leaves, he made a small mound of it, and stacked some kindling atop it. He stepped back a few feet, aimed the flare gun at the mound and pulled the trigger. Within seconds, the fiery red round ignited the grass and wood, producing a vibrant flame. Mo hurried and added larger branches to the fire.


    As the fire grew in intensity, Mo went to Lacy¡¯s bag and removed the medical supplies. They were limited. Some gauze, sanitary wipes, a small tube of antibiotic gel, a pair of tweezers. He checked on Lacy, who¡¯d begun moaning. She was likely rousing from the lingering trance due to the pain from the amputation.


    ¡°Lacy?¡±


    She didn¡¯t answer, just shook her head from side to side, her eyes closed. She moaned again.


    Mo removed his knife from a compartment on his suit. He used a small length of the gauze to attach the knife to a twig, then held the twig out over the fire, heating the blade to sanitize it. And to heat it in order to cauterize her wound.


    ¡°Jesus, this is going to hurt,¡± he said.


    Gus and the other dog, who looked like a perfect copy of Gus, were lying nearby. When Mo glanced in their direction, even if he wasn¡¯t paying them attention, they began wagging. He figured they could sense Mo¡¯s anxiety and understood that Lacy¡¯s moaning meant that she was in distress. The wind streaked across the open road, strengthening the fire. The flames thrashed wildly, then settled.


    Christ, I hope I doesn¡¯t rain.


    ¡°Lacy?¡± Mo tried again. ¡°Can you hear me?¡±


    This time she issued a barely audible, ¡°Huh?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s me. Mo. Can you hear me?¡±


    ¡°Wha?¡± A little louder this time. She was coming around. Wincing from the pain, she said, ¡°My arm¡­¡±


    ¡°I know. Listen to me: I have to stop the bleeding.¡±


    ¡°Bleeding?¡±


    Mo sighed. ¡°Yes. This is going to hurt. A lot. Do you understand?¡±


    ¡°Hmpf?¡±


    He didn¡¯t have time for her to come completely out of her haze. She could bleed to death if he didn¡¯t do this now.


    Withdrawing the twig bound to the knife from the fire, Mo studied the blade. A thin trail of smoke rose from it. It was ready. He sighed, wiped the sweat from his brow and lowered the blade to Lacy¡¯s exposed and dripping artery, protruding slightly from the bloody stump. The raw flesh smoked and sizzled. Lacy bolted upright and screamed.


    *********


    Grant engaged the brake on the bicycle handlebar and screeched to a stop. The scream had been that of a woman. It was a tortured wail, one that had come from someone either in a tremendous amount of pain, or from someone who had encountered sudden grief.


    Moving from the pavement to the right shoulder of the road, Grant listened. The scream came again, just as intense as the previous one. This second cry was followed by a succession of others. Words accompanied the wailing.


    ¡°No! No! Please, no more!¡±


    Before him was a massive wall of tangled vines and leaves. It spanned as far as he could see to his right, but to his left, it thinned and ended a short distance away. Grant let the bike fall to the grass and he scanned the road, left then right. He sprinted across the two-lane roadway and climbed a meager hill. Here, the vegetation hadn¡¯t yet risen.


    The woman¡¯s screams continued. Grant searched the road on the opposite side of the twisted wall of greenery and first spotted two dogs meandering about. They were whining, with their ears slicked back in a display of fright. Then he saw a man leaning over a woman. She was crying out for help. He was armed with a knife.


    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.Descending the hill, Grant ran toward the man attacking the woman. The dogs noticed him but seemed too concerned with the cries of pain. Their eyes left him and returned to the woman, both tails wagging nervously.


    ¡°Put the knife down!¡± hollered Grant.


    The man, squatting, turned on his heels. When he met Grant¡¯s eyes, he turned his head toward a rifle, leaning against a cycle. Even in this tense confrontation, it didn¡¯t escape Grant that the cycle was very different looking. It appeared sleek and nimble. Almost futuristic.


    ¡°Step away from the weapon!¡±


    ¡°I need help!¡± yelled the man. ¡°The woman is bleeding!¡±


    The woman was turned on her side in the fetal position, whimpering. The dogs were circling the men, wary. Grant studied the situation. Was the man telling the truth or just buying his time? He could be lying, trying to deceive Grant into befriending him. Draw him closer, then lash out with the knife. Grant wouldn¡¯t get that close.


    *********


    ¡°Did you do this to her?¡±


    Mo hesitated. Shit. Of course, he¡¯d done this to her. He¡¯d had to in order to save her from the plant, but this guy wouldn¡¯t understand that. He¡¯d just see Mo as some deranged lunatic with a knife.


    ¡°Yes¡­I did.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s all I needed to know,¡± said the man, raising his weapon.


    ¡°Wait!¡± cried Mo, holding his non-knife bearing hand out, palm up. ¡°I had to. I¡¯m cauterizing the wound with the heated knife.¡±


    The man approached, keeping the rifle aimed at Mo. A gust fluttered his garments. ¡°Step aside,¡± he said with a steady voice.


    Mo took comfort by the man¡¯s tone. He seemed level-headed. Not prone to rash reactions. That was good.


    The man glanced at Mo, then at Lacy, then back at Mo. ¡°You cut off her arm?¡±


    ¡°I had to,¡± replied Mo. He pointed back toward the wall of vines. ¡°That plant was attached to the arm. Something dark was creepy up toward her shoulder. Something inside her arm. So, I took it off.¡±


    The man seemed to be considering Mo¡¯s explanation. ¡°Show me the limb.¡±


    Mo gestured toward the plant. ¡°It¡¯s right there.¡±


    The man glanced back toward the wall and that¡¯s when Mo struck. He stormed up from a crouch and grabbed the rifle¡¯s stock. The man turned in surprise and Mo delivered a perfect head-butt, sending the man backward to the ground. The force of the blow opened a gash on the man¡¯s brow and cracked one of the lenses of his glasses.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯re a decent guy, but I don¡¯t have time for this shit. She¡¯s going to die.¡± Mo resumed heating the knife while the man held his trickling head in his hands.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t going to shoot,¡± said the man. ¡°I just needed to be sure you were telling the truth.¡±


    ¡°Well, I didn¡¯t want her to bleed out while you decided.¡±


    Lacy appeared to have fainted. She was breathing, but unconscious. Mo, still directing the rifle at the man, turned her onto her back. He withdrew the knife, still attached to the twig, from the fire and pressed the hot metal to Lacy¡¯s stump. Again, she released a chilling shriek.


    Mo realized the man might take advantage of his being distracted and snapped back toward him. Mo was startled to find that he had risen and moved away, toward the wall of vines. He looked to be examining Lacy¡¯s severed limb. After a minute, the man hurried over to Mo.


    ¡°You need to get her medical attention immediately.¡±


    Mo stood up and faced the man. ¡°I know.¡±


    The man wiped his bleeding brow and straightened his glasses. ¡°I¡¯m Grant. I¡¯ll take you to a place where she can be treated.¡±


    Mo nodded. ¡°Community.¡±

 Chapter 53

    The flare soared into the air, it¡¯s flickering red light emitting a trail of pale smoke in its wake. Alex stared at the ascending plea for help and continued watching as it arced, then began to fall back to earth. He hoped everyone was too preoccupied scrambling for cover from the approaching storm to have noticed.


    Something moved in his peripheral vision and when he turned to examine this movement, he found Eva dashing toward the pickup truck. Alex ran after her. She raised the flare gun at him. Had she had enough time to reload it? He supposed it was possible and therefore flinched and brought his arms up to defend his face and head. When he felt no impact, he figured she had bluffed. The move had caused him to slow his pace, thus allowing her to distance herself from him.


    Shit.


    Eva reached the driver¡¯s side door and pulled it open. She slammed the door shut as Alex closed on her. She depressed the lock and Alex heard it engage.


    ¡°What are you doing, Eva?¡± he shouted. ¡°I¡¯m trying to help you!¡±


    She ignored him. Alex hopped up into the truck¡¯s bed and Eva spun around and slammed her hand down on the passenger-side door lock.


    Damn!


    Eva, realizing that the keys were in the ignition, shot a sly grin through the rear window, then started the engine. Alex couldn¡¯t remember ever locking the rear window. Maybe it was open. He tried it and the pane slid to the side. He shoved his arm through, grabbing a handful of Eva¡¯s blonde hair, just as she shifted the truck into Drive.


    ¡°Ow! Let go!¡± she yelled, clawing at Alex¡¯s arm.


    ¡°Turn the engine off! Do it!¡±


    Instead, Eva stood on the accelerator. Alex wondered if that had been intentional or just her body going rigid as a reaction to his hair pulling. The tires spun in the dirt path, kicking up clouds of dust. Then, they achieved traction and the pickup lurched forward, sending Alex tumbling back toward the tailgate ¨C which had been down. He rolled out of the bed and landed hard on the ground; the wind knocked from him. He looked up to see the truck plow through the stalks of corn and then come to an abrupt stop, the rear of the truck bucking up off the ground. It had sounded like it¡¯d hit something hard. Alex got to his feet and saw that Eva had crashed into one of the tractors.


    He ran to the truck as Eva scrambled from the driver¡¯s side door. She headed into the stalks, but Alex had enough momentum going that he caught her easily. He tackled her to the ground.


    ¡°Stop it!¡± He tried to pin her arms to the ground, but she fought with everything she had. ¡°I don¡¯t want to hurt you, Eva!¡± Amidst the struggle, Alex¡¯s fingers became interlaced with hers and they both stopped fighting. Eva glanced at their hands, then up at Alex and he thought he detected a glimmer of recognition. Faint, yet still there. Was it possible, even with the implant, to recall the past? Was it possible for her to feel what he felt as they touched? Did she know him?


    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.¡°Eva?¡±


    She blinked. Her eyes darted from his left eye to his right, back to his left again. ¡°Alex?¡±


    ¡°Do you remember me?¡±


    The question lingered, like a tremendous weight suspended overhead, ready to fall. If she said no, it would crash down upon him. But if she said yes¡­


    Eva¡¯s expression softened; her features relaxed. ¡°I think I do remember you, Alex.¡±


    He was leaning over her, one knee on either side of her hips, a position that would allow him to concentrate his weight to keep her pinned down. It also left him vulnerable and Eva must¡¯ve realized this as she drove a knee into his groin. Alex groaned and doubled over, toppling over onto his side.


    Eva rose to her feet, intending to flee. Alex, despite the excruciating pain, kicked at her shins as she took her first step. She fell headlong into the side of the pickup and lay still. Alex crawled to her and found her breathing. He checked her pulse, too. She was knocked out, but okay he supposed.


    The wind stirred and something pinged off the opposite side of the truck. Then another something, followed by three more impacts. Alex drew himself to a seating position with his back against the truck. He watched small particles driven by the gusts. They were a half-inch or so in length, one end curved into a sharp point.


    Seeds.


    Alex rolled onto his knees and scooped Eva into his arms. He got to his feet and tossed her into the driver¡¯s seat. He lifted her legs into the footwell, then climbed in over her into the passenger¡¯s seat. He reached over and closed the door, locking it. Again, he checked to be sure Eva was breathing alright. He ran his hand along her skull, where she¡¯d fallen into the truck. Weaving his fingers through her golden hair, feeling for lumps, he didn¡¯t want to remove his hand. Likewise, he found it difficult to look away. He studied her long eyelashes and her perfect lips. He traced the charmingly uneven line of her nose, which curved gently to the right. An adorable imperfection overlooked by most.


    But not by Alex. He noticed, and not for the first time.


    Feeling like he was standing at the cliff of a deep chasm, Alex became aware that he was at the cusp of remembering his past. He had only to leap across the chasm ¨C a feat that would require surrendering himself to something. Faith?


    Surrendering himself to someone. Eva?


    He needed help remembering. On the floor of the pickup, his eyes fell on the journal given to him by the other him. The one who laid dead and buried. At least, half buried. Alex would need to finish the job once the storm subsided.


    He opened the journal and began to read.

 Chapter 54

    Frenzied activity whirled in his peripheral vision. The blare of a siren. A storm was at hand. Everyone dropping what they were doing, running toward the silos. But they were mere blurs of color to Mitchell. He was concentrating on the dot of fire falling from the sky.


    A flare.


    It had come from one of the farms. By his calculation, it had been fired from Alex Dash¡¯s fields. Mitchell frowned, wondering what could be happening over there. He didn¡¯t really care if Alex was in trouble. In fact, he enjoyed entertaining the idea that he was. Of course, someone else could¡¯ve set off the flare and be in danger.


    Did it really matter, though? All of this would be over soon, anyway. Wouldn¡¯t it? Mitchell had the impression that something great was going to happen, and soon. He believed that there was a significant end nearing and in turn, a profound beginning would follow. The plant had told him that¡­at least he thought it had. Yet, the details of these events were unclear to Mitchell, but he considered that it wasn¡¯t necessary for him to be given full understanding. He was a tool. A method in the process. A means.


    That¡¯s all.


    Mitchell¡¯s fists balled as he recalled that bitch, Eva¡¯s words. She¡¯d once told him that he was useless, that he was given things to do in order to keep him out of the way or something like that. What had she said? Like he was babysitting himself. The muscles in his jaw clenched.


    ¡°Bullshit,¡± he mumbled. ¡°She doesn¡¯t know anything. You¡¯re important.¡± He gripped the rifle strapped over his shoulder and raised it, looking through the site. He aimed at a tree in the distance, pretending it was her. God, he just wanted to pull the trigger. Sink a bullet into her. Maybe Alex too. Maybe anyone else that stood in his way or tried to stop him.


    Something bounced off the visor of his bio suit. He glanced down at the ground and recognized a seed. Then, a second and third pelted him and fell to the ground. The storm was here. His killing fantasy would have to wait for now. He began to walk back to the silo when he caught sight of the Med Hut. Light seeped from one of the windows. It was dull, but it was evident. As far as he knew, Charles was inside Walker House, assisting with supplies.


    He raised the rifle and marched toward the Med Hut.


    *********


    Kay unpacked the last of the goods from the last supply run. She arranged them on the shelves of Walker House with meticulous attention, categorizing all the selections. There were dried beans and peas, rice, instant potatoes, pasta ¨C with jars of sauce ¨C various flavors of soup on the bottom shelf. The second featured canned meats: ham, beef, tuna. On the top shelf were cans of vegetables and fruit, including her favorite, peaches.


    When she finished, Kay stood back and stared, her eyes wandering over this incredible selection. There were real, whole meals here. For weeks to come. Tears welled and she wiped them away before they could spill. She was simultaneously overwhelmed with joy and suspicion.


    Supply runs in the past were considered successful if meager provisions were discovered. Things like gasoline, oil, matches and scraps of food. They had also been performed in higher frequency and each one farther out from Community. But lately, Laird had returned with what seemed like an endless trove of goods. Where had it all come from? This troubled her.


    If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.Leaving the pantry, Kay checked on her children. Lance and Audrey were playing checkers in the family room. The siren sounded but didn¡¯t disturb their game. ¡°Storm!¡± shouted Lance, sarcastically. They¡¯d become so accustomed to what used to be a phenomenon, that it had little effect on them anymore.


    Laird was at the outer door, staring through the small square window. Next to him, his weapon leaned against the wall. She climbed the stairs and went to his side. He put his arm around her and pulled her close. ¡°Look at this fool,¡± he said, pointing outside.


    Kay saw Mitchell standing with his rifle raised toward something far off, but she couldn¡¯t see any reason for his alertness. ¡°What¡¯s he aiming at?¡±


    ¡°Probably nothing.¡±


    ¡°He worries me.¡±


    Laird nodded. ¡°He won¡¯t bother you. I¡¯ll make sure of it. Isaac needs to do something. If it were me, I¡¯d tranquilize him, disarm him and drive him out to the middle of nowhere and leave.¡±


    Kay smiled. ¡°Has a nice ring to it, but we can¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­there are narcotics in the Med Hut¡­¡±


    As if on cue, Mitchell walked off, then stopped, and headed in the opposite direction.


    ¡°Where¡¯s he going?¡±


    ¡°Looks like to the Med Hut.¡±


    Kay became rigid. ¡°He¡¯s going to get caught in the storm.¡± She looked to Laird, her eyes darting from his left eye to his right.


    ¡°And?¡± he asked.


    ¡°If he gets infected, everyone else will be at risk.¡±


    Lair glanced through the window, then back at his wife. ¡°If I get infected, we will be a risk,¡± he argued, gesturing toward her and the children, a floor below.


    There was silence. Then Kay said, ¡°Where are you getting all of these supplies from?¡±


    Without turning from the window, he replied, ¡°Does it matter?¡±


    Kay touched his arm, slid her hand down to his hand and slipped her fingers around his. ¡°Yes. It does. I¡¯m your wife.¡±


    He turned from the window. ¡°I¡¯ve found a place.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve found a place where we can live like before all this happened.¡±


    Kay shook her head. ¡°What are you talking about?¡±


    He grabbed her other hand in his and squeezed. ¡°When the time is right ¨C and that is soon ¨C we¡¯re leaving here.¡±


    Kay stepped away from him. She hugged herself with her left arm and covered her mouth with her right hand. Was her husband losing it? Had the moment she¡¯d been dreading for so long finally arrived? Her eyes fell upon the gun leaning against the wall. Was he dangerous?


    Lair went to her and dropped to one knee. ¡°I know how it sounds. But believe me, I¡¯m not crazy. I haven¡¯t lost it. I just happened upon a place where things aren¡¯t like they are here. It¡¯s difficult to explain with words; you have to see it to believe in it.¡±


    Her eyes grew full with emotion. ¡°There is no such place left¡­¡± Her voice trailed off. She wanted to believe him, but, how could she?


    ¡°No,¡± he said. ¡°Not here.¡±

 Chapter 55

    The house was a two-story colonial. White siding, with black shutters. The front door was painted burgundy and opened into a small foyer. Hardwood floors gave way to a staircase that divided the first level in two. A narrow hallway ran straight back to the kitchen.


    To the right was the family room, painted deep yellow gold. A couch sat facing the brick fireplace and there was one dark brown armchair that looked worn, but very comfy. A TV stood atop a low entertainment stand. On the opposite side of the hallway was the dining room. There was an oval wood dining table, with a chair set at all four sides, a plain chandelier-looking light fixture suspended from the ceiling above. The room was beige with white trim. It looked seldom used.


    On the far wall was a mirror and Gray caught a glimpse of himself in it. He looked different now. He was different now. Bigger, for sure. He felt stronger than before, too. The wound he¡¯d suffered from the robot had healed and he once again had full use of his arm and shoulder.


    The robot. He shuddered as he recalled how he¡¯d nearly been killed by it. The man ¨C the other Alex - had saved him and the children.


    The twins.


    He envisioned their tiny faces smiling up at him. They were safe for now. Gray couldn¡¯t recall their names; his mind was like a fog. Sometimes it parted and memories were revealed, sometimes not. Maybe his molting had caused theses mental obstacles.


    Inhaling deeply, he heard the creaking of his frame as his lungs filled; like the heavy limbs of an ancient tree swaying in a breeze. He was denser than before his long slumber in the storm shelter. This acquired heft was recognized when he had hauled himself out of the shelter and taken the first few steps, which left deep imprints in the soil. Now, inside the house, the floorboards strained beneath his weight.


    On the refrigerator before him was a calendar, a sticky note with penciled message: out of eggs, bread, milk. There also were multi-colored magnetic letters spelling out the boy¡¯s entire name: Stanley Gary Reece.


    Outside, Gray heard the young boy shouting. He lumbered to the kitchen and peered out of a window over the sink. The view was of the backyard and the crop fields beyond. The boy was calling out to the dog, Doris. The boy, who had been called Stanley by an older man, was holding a garden hose and when the dog came to him, he allowed her to drink from it.


    It all seemed familiar to Gray ¨C the house, the farm. Even the family, consisting of Stanley, his father and his grandfather, Garrett, felt like people Gray once knew. The dog, too, was known to him somehow.


    He thought of the dog he¡¯d seen in the forest, near the stream. The one that featured human qualities. That dog had visited him last night. Yes! It was her that had roused Gray from his sleep!


    This recollection generated great optimism in Gray, and he stood upright with elation, bumping his head into the ceiling. He ducked and turned to see a small crack in the drywall.


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.How had the dog found him? Had it followed him from the other place and if so, how had it know about it? Regardless, he remembered the dog opening the shelter¡¯s door and staring down at him, her robust build silhouetted against the predawn sky.


    She¡¯d spoken to him. Not verbally, but in his thoughts. At least he thought she had. He¡¯d been compelled to get up and get moving. Something of great importance was to take place and Gray was to be a part of it. What this something was had not been disclosed to him, as the farmer had been close by. Rising from the shelter, Gray watched as the dog, accompanied by two other canines ¨C that looked identical ¨C trotted away into the fields. Disguising himself as a small tree, Gray waited until the farmer passed and made his way toward the barn, where he¡¯d hid until now.


    His eyes were drawn to Stanley and Doris and he glanced through the window again. As the boy squirted the dog and she chased the stream from the hose wagging and barking, Gray smiled. The boy laughed as Doris jumped at the stream, biting at it over and over.


    Then Gray stiffened as he was overcome with alarm. Something was wrong, but he didn¡¯t know what. A tingling sensation ran through him and he sensed impending disaster. His heart began to thump harder.


    Still playing, Stanley dropped the hose and ran, and Doris gave chase. They circled around the trunk of a large oak tree, the dog playfully nipping at the boy¡¯s heels.


    Fatigued, Stanley stopped and leaned against the tree, catching his breath. Doris sat at his feet panting, her tongue lolling out the side of her mouth. He patted her on the head. ¡°Good girl, Doris,¡± he said.


    Gray¡¯s heart raced and dread seized him. He placed his large, rough hand against the window and stared in horror as a burst of light erupted near the tree, swallowing both Stanley and Doris. As the boy cried out, Gray whispered, ¡°No!¡±


    When the flash subsided, both lay on the ground. As Gray stared on, his attention was drawn to the nearest field, where cornstalks thrashed and swayed. Mr. Reece yelled ¡°Stanley!¡± as he emerged and ran to his son, scooping him into his arms.


    Another man, older than the father came running from the opposite side of the yard. ¡°What the hell happened?¡±


    ¡°Gramps,¡± mumbled Gray.


    The frightened giant withdrew from the window, shaking his head in disbelief. He bumped into the kitchen table and it screeched across the floor into the wall. Gray knew this ordeal had happened before. He had seen it before¡­had felt it.


    Outside, the commotion grew louder as the men tended to the boy. Gray studied the roughhewn digits of his right hand, then examined the massive club that formed his left. He turned to the refrigerator and his eyes fell upon the magnetic letters. He moved closer and reached out a long, woody finger. In the middle name, Gary, he grabbed the ¡°r¡± and slid it down, out of the way. He nudged the ¡°a¡± to the spot where the ¡°r¡± had been, then placed the ¡°r¡± ahead of the ¡°a.¡± Holding his breath, he stepped back and viewed the new name and exhaled.


    Gray.

 Chapter 56

    Wes had intended to leave the airplane hangar when he heard Community''s siren. He understood the ululation warned that a storm had begun and what it could mean if he were caught in it. With countless holes in the roof and walls, the structure was not a suitable shelter; some of the seeds would surely penetrate the space. And if they were the mature variety of seeds, the kind that penetrated bio suits, Wes could be in a shit heap of trouble.


    And still, he was unable to leave.


    When Mitchell had taken off after suffering his panic attack, or whatever it had been, things began to get interesting. At first, Wes believed it had been a trick of light, the gloom and shadows playing tricks with his mind. Dull, ambient light streaming in through gaps in the roof lent an aura of unease to the already disquieting place and after staring into the ashen grayness for so long, he thought that the darkness had somehow shifted.


    But no, that didn''t make sense. Did it?


    What Wes had experienced was more of an impression than a visual occurrence. A notion that he no longer held the same place in the world as he had a moment ago, that he had slipped ¨C or maybe been moved ¨C from his position...nudged from his spot in the universe.


    Logic dictated that this was ridiculous, crazy even. But what he saw defied reason and solidified the theory that he was now somewhere else. The word transported floated to the surface of Wes'' mind. It lingered there and his mind''s eye stared at it.


    Transported.


    He sat riveted to his chair, staring in disbelief, feeling as though he''d been tossed into the Disney World ride, The Carousel of Progress, where theatre-like seats rotated around a stage featuring a family and the changes they incurred through different decades; each scene different from the previous. He was still in the airplane hangar, yes, but a different hangar. This other hangar was still vacant and still featured a small, decaying aircraft, yet the place was not in such an advanced state of disrepair. Even the lighting had changed; a bold shaft of amber sunlight now beamed through a hole in the wall behind Wes, projecting his shadow along the concrete floor.


    A memory welled to the surface of his consciousness. He thought of Disney World again. Yes, he remembered a trip there...with his mother, father and a...sister. Lisa. He was around twelve years old, which would put him in what ¨C sixth grade? Jesus, had he really been a kid once? It seemed so distant that it hardly felt real.


    And where was his family? What had happened to them? Heartache slapped him in the face as Wes tried to conjure the images of sibling, of his mother and father...and failed. He''d forgotten them. Closing his eyes, he focused on raising their likenesses from the dank pit in his mind. He saw himself standing at the top of a well, hoisting the leaden memories from murky depths, one rope heave at a time. He realized they had existed at one time but if he was incapable of recalling their faces, their memories, even if pulled free from the well, they would dry and fade to ash, scattered by the wind.


    Just like everything in this fucking place, he thought. Ash and grayness. Disease and death. Wes had always thought of himself as the guy who could find the silver lining in any circumstance, but now he felt that power slipping away...being yanked back down to the bottom of the well by something. By this place. By the roots.


    The roots and the vines...


    Everything above the well is dry and dead...


    Everything beneath is wet, glistening with life...


    Wes stirred from his thoughts and opened his eyes. He sat riveted to his metal folding chair, staring in disbelief. The new hangar remained, and he rose from his seat and stepped forward, expecting this different place to fall like a dropped curtain and the old hangar to fill his view once again.


    But it didn''t.


    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.Wes walked past the still and silent airplane, its fuselage appearing newer than it had been. He watched his shadow move with him, heard the echo of his footfalls and understood that he was really here; it was not a hallucination. He looked behind him and saw that the chair he''d just been sitting on was no longer there. Turning 360 degrees, he noted no one else in the hangar who might''ve moved the chair. It would''ve been impossible for someone to move it that fast anyway. It was gone. Just flat out gone. Wes suspected that it still existed in the old hangar, wherever that was now.


    Correction ¨C wherever I am now.


    A blast of wind nearly knocked him of his feet and Wes dropped to a kneeling position. Raising his weapon, he surveyed his surroundings but discovered he was still alone. The hangar however, now stood on fragile walls, the roof was gone. The sunlit day had departed in a blink, replaced by a cold, slate sky. Dark purple clouds raced through the air and every muscle in Wes'' body tensed. He froze, trembling, ready to spring into action ¨C whatever action might be necessary. Ready to kill on sight. His heart pounding, he stood and left the open floor, moving to a half wall for coverage. Inadvertently leaning against the wall, it gave way and crumbled to the ground. Wes fell backwards, avoiding the debris, but he quickly realized an even bigger problem: the collapse of the wall had triggered the rest of the hangar and the entire structure began to quake.


    A wall on the far side caved in, a small portion breaking off and brushing against the wing of the airplane. The wing disintegrated upon impact, drifting to the ground like gray powder.


    Wes stumbled to his feet and darted for the door, rushing through and diving to the ground a moment before the entire building tumbled to the ground. Pausing to digest what had happened, he got up, brushed himself off and stared at the sky, awestruck. In the distance stood something that could only be generated by a dream. A thing that surely could not exist, he told himself. He must be hallucinating, still in shock from almost being crushed to death.


    A towering, mind-bogglingly massive spire that appeared to be...a plant, rising hundreds ¨C maybe thousands ¨C of feet into the sky.


    He had to get a better look at whatever this was. So, in a daze he dropped his weapon and staggered forward, a couple of times stumbling over tangled snares of vines, some of which disintegrated when he stepped on them.


    Just like the airplane and the hangar. Ash. Everything looks dead.


    Wes squinted as two tiny orbs of light burst into view fifty yards away. He halted and stared as the bobbing lights hovered just above the ground, moving toward him at great speed. Shielding his eyes, Wes backpedaled and tripped on his rifle. He landed on his back, knocking the wind out of him. The blinding lights closed in, two tiny suns in a charcoal gray landscape. Wes covered his face with his hands and braced for impact.


    There came a sound of squealing metal and the orbs stopped fifteen feet from Wes. Someone called his name.


    "Wes!"


    Dropping his arms, Wes recognized the headlights of the minivan. The sky was pale gray once more and the towering thing had vanished. He was aware of tiny objects peppering him and realized that he was out in the storm. Rolling over, he saw the old, dilapidated airplane hangar standing erect. Rusty and worn, but still standing. A man ran toward him in slow motion, waving his arms. It was Charles.


    "Wes! Come on, dammit!"


    Charles lifted Wes to his feet and assisted him to the passenger side door of the minivan where he tossed him inside. He got into the driver''s seat and clicked the gearshift into Drive. As they sped toward the silos, the overgrown runways, awash in cold, pallid daylight, rushed by in a blur. Wes glanced down at his upturned palms. He poked his left with his right index finger, half-expecting it to crumble to dust.

 Chapter 57

    The day is sunny and hot, a mild breeze just enough to keep her forehead from dotting with sweat. Lacy swipes her water bottle from the basket on the front of her bicycle ¨C one of the two they retrieved from the shed in the backyard at Eva¡¯s grandmother¡¯s house ¨C and takes a long gulp. She twists the cap back on and returns it to the basket. The beach is sparsely populated at this hour, and as she peers out toward the crashing waves, she watches what must be one of the last biplanes meandering along, towing an advertisement for a happy hour special at Barney¡¯s Bar and Grill. The plane is red, but in the fading evening light, the sun¡¯s glow causes it to appear rusty.


    ¡°Ha!¡± she laughs, pointing to Eva. ¡°It¡¯s not even happy hour anymore. That was like, two hours ago.¡±


    Eva smiles, then frowns. ¡°How do you even know what happy hour is? You¡¯re seventeen!¡±


    ¡°So.¡± The breeze tosses a few strands of hair into Lacy¡¯s face and she tucks them behind her left ear. ¡°I¡¯ve been to a happy hour and even got served.¡±


    Eva frowns again. ¡°Bullshit.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s true. My sister gave me her old ID and it got me in. I even got hit on by some guy who was like, thirty.¡±


    ¡°Some pervert.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Lacy. Both girls break out in laughter.


    They¡¯d been standing on the boardwalk, their bikes parked beside them, for the better half of an hour. People were milling about, buying popcorn, cotton candy, soda, all in preparation for the big show. It¡¯s the fourth of July and Eva and Lacy, at the boardwalk railing, have staked claim to the best seats for the fireworks.


    ¡°He told you he¡¯d be here, right?¡± asks Lacy.


    ¡°That¡¯s what he said,¡± confirms Eva.


    Laughing, Lacy says, ¡°I can¡¯t believe you asked him right there in line at the register. His face was so red. Talk about being on the hot seat!¡±


    ¡°My plan all along. Ask him on the spot, get him into an awkward situation. More liable to say yes.¡±


    ¡°Oh please! He was saying yes, no matter what. He was drooling over you.¡±


    ¡°Stop it,¡± cried Eva, chuckling. ¡°He¡¯s not that kind of guy¡­he¡¯s nice. And cute.¡±


    As if suddenly remembering something she¡¯d forgotten, Eva turns to Lacy. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry, I didn¡¯t ask if he had a friend.¡±


    Lacy waves her off. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it. I¡¯m fine being a third wheel for my friend. I¡¯ll just sneak away, get lost in the crowd,¡± she adds, sarcastically.


    ¡°Stop! You¡¯re making me feel worse than I already do.¡±


    Lacy looks past Eva. ¡°Actually¡­looks like I¡¯ll be a fifth wheel.¡±


    Eva¡¯s forehead wrinkles, then she spins around. ¡°Hey, Alex!¡± she cries.


    The guy she¡¯d met earlier at Womack¡¯s grocery store walks up wearing a goofy grin, his eyebrows raised, as if to say, ¡°Oh, shucks.¡± He¡¯s holding hands with two toddlers.


    ¡°Hey!¡± he says. ¡°I¡¯m really sorry, but I have to watch my brother and sister. My mom got hung up at work and has to stay late.¡± He shrugs. ¡°Maybe we can hang out another time?¡±


    ¡°Hi!¡± Eva says to the children, not seeming to pay Alex any attention. Then then turns to him. ¡°Or¡­¡± says Eva slyly, ¡°¡­maybe I can help you watch them. That way we can still be together.¡±


    Alex beams. ¡°Really? You¡¯re okay with that?¡±


    Scowling, Eva chirps, ¡°Sure ¨C it¡¯s no big deal.¡±


    As Alex introduces his siblings, Henry and Annabelle, Eva takes the girl in her arms and props her up onto the boardwalk railing. The girl giggles.


    Wow, what a way to ruin a first date, thinks Lacy. She smiles, imagining being caught off guard like Eva just was. I wouldn¡¯t be able to handle it as well. I wouldn¡¯t be able to hide my disappointment.


    Then she thinks that Eva probably isn¡¯t disappointed at all. She actually seems to be enjoying the kids being here. She must really like this guy. Weird. She just met him today.


    ¡°Oh,¡± says Eva. ¡°This is my friend, Lacy.¡± Alex waves and says hello.


    ¡°Hi Alex, nice to meet¡­all of you.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, sorry if I ruined your night,¡± he says. Eva shoots her a disapproving glare.


    ¡°No, don¡¯t be silly,¡± replies Lacy. She realizes it doesn¡¯t sound all that sincere but smiles at him anyway. Then Lacy sees Alex¡¯s eyes light up, as if with a wave of relief. They move away from hers. He¡¯s looking at something beyond her. Eva follows his stare.


    ¡°Oh, this is my buddy,¡± says Alex.


    Lacy turns and watches a stocky ¨C well, chubby is more like it ¨C guy walking toward them. He¡¯s wearing a white tee shirt, khaki shorts and sneakers. He has red hair. There¡¯s something about his walk that instantly appeals to Lacy. Something in the way he carries himself. Like he doesn¡¯t take shit from anyone. He stops beside her.


    ¡°Hi,¡± he says, offering his hand. As she reaches to take it, Lacy worries his grip might disappoint; her being a girl possibly causing him to overcompensate and become limp wristed. However, she is pleased to find his grip is firm. He smiles, and Lacy is drawn to its warmth. ¡°I¡¯m Massimo,¡± he adds, ¡°but you can call me Mo.¡±


    *********


    She sits in a dark corridor, starring at her hands, flat on her lap. She looks up and sees others seated near her; maybe less than ten. They seem to be underground, in a tunnel. Lacy senses they are waiting for something to happen.


    Overhead, wires run along the walls and every twenty feet there is a mounted light, providing meager visibility. Everything is charcoal gray; the ceiling, the floor, the walls. There appear to be bits of the grayness floating down, drifting in the air like dark, contaminated snow. She is wearing protective gear: a suit and helmet with a clear visor, although it is filmed with a fine coat of dust.


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.Someone coughs nearby. She glances toward them, then spots a man approaching. Mo. She stands to greet him.


    In protective gear of his own, she notices he¡¯s hurrying. The tunnel rumbles, shaking loose more of the gray debris from the ceiling. The lights flicker, go out, then glow again, dimmer than before. Mo reaches her and takes her arm, swinging her around and they leave the others¡¯ company, heading for the far end of the corridor.


    ¡°It¡¯s time to move,¡± he says.


    ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± askes Lacy, trying to keep her voice from trembling. ¡°Did they-¡±


    Mo cuts her off. ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Oh Christ,¡± she mumbles.


    ¡°And the Sentries are almost here,¡± he adds, grimly.


    The Sentries ¨C towering, killing robots.


    They enter through a heavy steel doorway which is immediately sealed behind them by Watley. The tunnel trembles again, this time much severer than any before. It sounds as though the corridor they just came from has given way and there is shouting. Gun fire.


    ¡°Hurry!¡± yells Mo. They sprint. At the end of this corridor is a large room, with a high ceiling. Gray is there, standing before the broad tangles of a withering vine. Dying leaves are spread wide, a bright sphere of light hovering inside them.


    Mo stands before Lacy and hands her his rifle. His eyes are bright but filled with dread. He swallows hard. ¡°This is it. You have to go, now.¡±


    ¡°Just come with me,¡± says Lacy, fighting the emotion trying to choke her words.


    The sound of rending metal. Crumbling of wood and stone. Heavy pounding against the steel door.


    ¡°Oh, shit!¡± yells Watley, backing away from it, weapon raised.


    ¡°Not much time,¡± says Gray, his voice deep and solemn. He¡¯s not looking at them, but Lacy can see his eyes are ghostly white, almost glowing. ¡°They¡¯re right outside.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how much longer he can hold it open.¡± He¡¯s hollering now; the sounds of imminent death so loud. ¡°You have to go now!¡± cries Mo.


    A bolt rockets free from the door, slamming into Gray¡¯s lower leg and bouncing off. It sounds like a rock thrown against a heavy tree. He seems not to notice. Watley backs up some more.


    ¡°Now,¡± Gray says. The orb¡¯s light grows brighter, larger. It pulses.


    A tear finally spills down Lacy¡¯s cheek. She slings the rifle over her shoulder. ¡°You¡¯ll go through. Meet me there, right?¡±


    Mo nods. ¡°Wherever there happens to be.¡±


    Lacy touches her visor to Mo¡¯s. ¡°I love you.¡±


    The steel door yields and crashes to the floor. Watley engages. Lacy dashes into the light.


    *********


    Taking in harsh light, Lacy¡¯s eyes creaked open. The light was artificial, almost bluish-white and it caused her to squint. There was dull pain at the end of her left arm. She understood that she¡¯d been medicated; otherwise, the fire throbbing in the wound would be intolerable. Raising her head, she saw the stump ending at her left elbow, blood-soaked gauze wrapped around it.


    Mo was seated beside her on a metal folding chair. Lacy wondered if he was real or a figment of her imagination. Then she recalled him pressing the searing hot blade against her wound to cauterize it. That had certainly been real, the pain fresh in her mind.


    Mo was turned away from her. Grant was seated to her left and likewise, was looking elsewhere. She followed their gaze and found a large, armed man who appeared to be holding them at gunpoint.


    Mitchell.


    Standing next to him was Isaac, then Charles and Wes. They were back at Community.


    The men were engaged in conversation, but the flow of their words only trickled into her understanding, her mind still awakening.


    ¡°Hello?¡± she said, although she wasn¡¯t sure her voice had produced any sound. She tried again and Mo snapped his head toward her. He leaned close.


    ¡°Lacy¡­how do you feel?¡±


    It had been so long since she¡¯d seen him that she didn¡¯t at first speak. She just took him in; the red beard, speckled with gray whiskers, the wrinkles of time flaring out from his caring eyes, the gently receding hairline. He was ruggedly handsome. Shed of the youthful fat he¡¯d once owned, he now possessed the streamlined body of someone who fought to survive.


    Lacy licked her dry lips. ¡°Like someone cut off my arm,¡± she replied.


    Mo chuckled. ¡°Your welcome.¡±


    She smiled.


    Then she noticed Grant, who¡¯s expression suggested relief and joy. ¡°Good to see you¡¯re back,¡± he said. Lacy was taken aback by this. She didn¡¯t believe she¡¯d ever seen him smile until now. Isaac spoke and Grant¡¯s grin faded.


    ¡°You¡¯ll all have to remain in quarantine until we understand the implications of her contact,¡± he grumbled. It was then that Lacy first realized that a clear barrier existed between her, Mo and Grant and the others.


    It sounded like it was raining, and Lacy¡¯s head lolled to one side, gazing through the window. Dull, bleary light seeped in; the glass marred by streams of precipitation. Grayness¡­bleak¡­ash¡­


    She thought of her dream ¨C no, not a dream¡­it had happened ¨C and going into the orb. Her eyes grew wide and her heart sped up as she remembered encountering the plant in the road. She bolted upright, wincing at the pain ignited in her stump.


    ¡°Where¡¯s Gus!¡±

 Chapter 58

    My name is Alex Dash. I¡¯m not you, but a different Alex Dash, from a different plane of existence. Yes, it sounds crazy, but it¡¯s true. When I wrote this, I didn¡¯t have much time, but I hope the information helps you to avoid the fate I¡¯ve suffered. There are things that need to be done and done quickly. This journal will guide you through those things. In order to facilitate your belief, I have left notes at locations throughout Community¡¯s grounds. You can¡¯t just go on my word ¨C you must see things with your own eyes. Go and find the notes to continue learning. All I know will be revealed in them.


    Trust few. Where I came from, everyone but Eva Monroe, Massimo Rossini, Wes Watley and Gray were to be distrusted. Maybe that¡¯s different here, but I doubt it.


    To the best of my knowledge, the twins are safe ¨C for the time being. I saw them with Gray (not sure if you know him yet) who took them to yet another plane of existence, somewhere that I¡¯m assuming has not yet been besieged by the organism. But it will be. You must get to them, but only if you are not infected. Deviating from the steps may result in you failing to reunite with Henry and Annabelle.


    My Henry and Annabelle were not so lucky. I don¡¯t know if your parents are alive, but mine perished.


    Alex stared at the names of his siblings. Henry and Annabelle. He jerked away from the journal and dropped it onto his lap. He glanced at Eva, who was still unconscious, but breathing fine, then out the passenger window, half-expecting to see the man he buried standing there, resurrected. But no, the other Alex Dash still lay twenty yards away, beneath dirt.


    Resist the urge to go find the twins! They are safe. You cannot get to them on your own. Besides, you must understand what¡¯s happening and you will need help.


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.First, remove Eva¡¯s implant.


    Again, Alex checked beyond the windshield, then the driver and passenger windows and saw no one, despite the spine-freezing sensation that someone was watching him. A blast of wind rocked the pickup and bent the nearby crops. Every sway of vegetation suddenly became suspect. Was something hiding out there? Alex envisioned another him, a third one, watching from within the cornstalks and somehow penning the journal telepathically, making it up on the spot.


    In his mind that sounded impossible. But so did a duplicate of yourself leaving an instruction booklet on how to navigate to a different¡­plane of existence?


    What the fuck!


    And by the way, what about the corn¡­why hadn¡¯t it been harvested? It was August, wasn¡¯t it? The yield could feed them for weeks, maybe.


    It dawned on Alex that the storm had ended. A dozen or so of the mature seed heads had been left scattered across the pickup¡¯s hood and the ground was carpeted with them. Just then a big, fat drop of rain slammed onto the windshield.


    He¡¯s right, thought Alex. It does always rain right after the seeds.


    Fertilizer¡­he said it was fertilizer. That¡¯s why it burns if it hits your skin.


    Two more drops fell. Then eight or ten. The sky opened and the pickup was peppered, the thrum on the roof thundering like a battalion of marching band drummers.


    He read the line again: Step 1: Remove Eva¡¯s implant.


    His heart began to pump faster. Christ! How do I do that!


    For the first time, Alex noticed a bulge beneath the page. He turned it and found a thin metal object, about four inches long, that resembled a tweezer. There was also what looked to be a tiny, flat scalpel.


    Alex¡¯s eyes fell on Eva. He brushed away her blonde hair and felt the slight lump by her right temple. He sighed.


    Shit.

 Chapter 59

    Walking had become impossible. The Machine had stopped to allow Watley to rest and it felt like the sweetest relief he¡¯d ever experienced in his life. He¡¯d been heavily favoring his left leg, almost hopping on it. Now, he sat in the middle of the road.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± he¡¯d said, but the Machine did not respond. It just kept looking into the distance. That¡¯s what Watley supposed it was doing ¨C it stood as rigid as stone and hadn¡¯t moved in almost five minutes. Then the head, always suspended from the main chassis by some invisible force, levitated twenty feet into the air and hovered there.


    They were at a fork in the road and maybe the Machine was searching for the proper route. Or possibly scanning for other life in the vicinity. The left branch fell downhill toward a forest-lined roadway that curved away into shadow. Watley found the dark there soothing. He imagined sneaking away, into the underbrush, to lie in the coolness and just fade away. That would be the sweetest relief, he thought. Death.


    He could no more sneak away than crawl, however. His right leg was utterly destroyed. Badly decayed, Watley had expected to become ill from the odor, but the rotten flesh odor had evolved into an earthy scent, like freshly turned ground, or maybe compost. He felt with his hand and discovered that the black substance that had been encroaching onto his torso was now just below his neck. The bio suit and he were one now, for the most part. He tugged at what had once been the suit¡¯s fabric and realized it felt as though he was pulling at his skin. Fused. Most of his teeth had fallen out; only two left now. The tip of his nose and ears felt numb, like what he supposed the beginning stages of frostbite felt like. But this was summer.


    Watley chuckled. ¡°Hell of a way to go,¡± he stuttered. ¡°Huh?¡± He looked around, remembering that he was alone. He was with the Machine, sure, but that was really like being alone. The thing hardly spoke to him. He studied its robust build, the heaviness of its limbs.


    ¡°What are you made of, anyway?¡± he called. The strain of elevating his voice caused a wave of dizziness and he closed his eyes, nearly falling backward. Instead, he toppled sideways and caught himself on his right elbow.


    The right of the forked roadway was bordered by a fence, the wooden kind. Watley imagined it had once been light brown, but now the wood was gray and old, splintered here and there. It seemed to go on forever, outlining acre upon acre receding toward the horizon. There were trees scattered about, but most of it appeared to be farmland. Lush green land, too. Not the dull, colorless earth they¡¯d been roaming through. Everything seemed gray and dying. Except there, beyond the fence.


    Close, now.


    That strange voice again. Like the one that had come from the light in the barn. Talking and talking inside his head. Never shutting up.


    Then he shook his head, trying to ward off the voice and concentrated on the green land. He saw rows of corn that dipped into a little valley, then rose back up maybe a hundred yards off. Watley tried to remember eating corn on the cob. When he was a kid. With butter, salt and pepper¡­It had been a while since he¡¯d last eaten, but he wasn¡¯t in the least bit hungry.


    A small structure sat off to the left side of the last row of corn. A shed, maybe. It was then that Watley saw the Machine; it was walking toward this shed. He turned back to where it had been standing a moment ago, thinking that perhaps there were now two of them. But no, it had just moved.


    Seizing the opportunity, Watley lay down, resting his head on his right arm and closed his eyes. Darkness rushed at him. Just a quick nap.


    *********


    Watley watches incredulously as Lacy is swallowed by the white light; here one second, gone the next. In awe, he wakes from his trance when the heavy steel door is blown from its hinges by a deafening explosion. The concussive wave sends him flying backward to the ground.


    There is commotion and movement as two Machines enter the large room. Watley scrambles to his feet, finding that his weapon has been lost. Disoriented, he sees Mo discharging his own gun, the blasts visible as bursts of light, but not audible. Mo is yelling something at him, but he can¡¯t understand. His hearing is gone.


    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.Glancing around the floor, he finally finds the rifle ten feet away. He runs for it, grabs it and swings around to fire, but is hit by another wave that hurls him into a wall. He struggles to open his eyes and when he succeeds, his vision swims in lethargic peaks and valleys. His ears now decipher sound, although it¡¯s only the muted rumblings of the Machines and distant crackling of gunfire, like he¡¯s in a vast cavern and all the action is taking place at the far end.


    Rolling onto his belly, Watley sees Gray. After remaining petrified for so long ¨C as he supposes had been necessary to hold open that portal or whatever it was ¨C the giant moves. Sustaining round after round, some bouncing off, some sinking into his hide, Gray clutches the orb of light with his open hand and begins closing his fist around it. Two more Machines enter the room and begin firing upon Gray. It¡¯s then that Watley hears his name.


    ¡°Watley! Godammit!¡±


    It¡¯s Mo, pleading for him to get off his ass and help. Watley snags his weapon from the debris on the floor and rises, his weapon discharging hapzardly. After gaining control, he aims, squeezes and lands a direct hit on one of the Machine¡¯s globe-like heads. The round ricochets off the impenetrable surface, leaving not so much as a mark. Then, concentrating their firepower, the Machines overwhelm Gray and he hits the ground hard. When the Machines turn to Watley, he drops his weapon. Mo is forced to do the same.


    One of the Machines lumbers to the orb, its light now weak and transparent, and appears to inspect it. As Watley and Mo are escorted out of the room and into the adjoining tunnel, there arises the sound of a scuffle. Watley glances back and finds that Gray has somehow gotten up and is engaging both machines. His left hand ¨C the one like a club ¨C is glowing, gaining intensity by the second.


    The machine behind Mo turns to go back into the room, but suddenly the door, previously shorn from its hinges is flung toward the open doorway. An instant before his vision is obscured, Watley believes he sees Gray¡¯s hand outstretched¡­as though he¡¯s directing the flight of the steel door.


    The room is sealed off once more. There is a brilliant flash beyond the door and a deafening BOOM!


    And then all is silent.


    *********


    Awakened by a baritone, but eerily electronic male voice, Watley squinted and looked up. The Machine was standing over him. The thing grabbed his shoulders and hauled him to his feet, albeit very gently. There was a wheeled cart beside it that must¡¯ve been retrieved from the shed. Watley, shaky even on his good leg, took hold of the cart¡¯s side for support. His head felt weightless, like at any moment it might float away.


    ¡°Whasss going on?¡± Watley mumbled.


    ¡°Almost there,¡± the Machine responded.


    Nodding, Watley felt the fading sun beating on him. Everything seemed amplified: the light, the heat, the humidity. He was woozy.


    He heard himself say, ¡°Good.¡± It sounded like it came from someone else however, so he repeated it. ¡°Good.¡±


    Despite the onset of the heat, he wasn¡¯t sweaty, but, rather dry. No sweat dotted his brow or matted his hair. Watley could feel himself absorbing the heat, though. He should be sweating. His dry fingers began to slip away from the cart and his momentum took him backward. His balance compromised by his condition, he prepared to slam into the ground. Instead, he was floating through the air, light as a feather. The Machine had him. Over his shoulder, Watley saw the ground moving away from him and then the gray, overcast sky. He¡¯d almost forgotten there¡¯d been a seed storm not long ago.


    In the Machine¡¯s arms, Watley was a mass of putty. He was laid into the wagon, and the wagon attached to the Machine¡¯s chassis. Then retractable wheels emerged from the robot¡¯s four limbs and the two of them began to roll over the road.


    It began to rain; the warm precipitation felt soothing. Lulled into an ever-deepening haze by the wagon¡¯s rocking, Watley barely noticed his right leg collapse into a heap on the wagon¡¯s s floor. It was gone, all the way to the hip. It looked like overturned dirt. ¡°Look¡­at that,¡± he murmured. He didn¡¯t feel a thing.

 Chapter 60

    ¡°Take a sip of water, Stanley.¡± Mr. Reece helped his son to a sitting position and raised a glass to his lips. The boy drank. They were in the family room, Stanley on the couch. When half the glass was gone, he leaned back against a stack of pillows.


    ¡°Thanks, Pop.¡±


    The father placed his palm against Stanley¡¯s forehead, held it there for about five seconds, then removed it. ¡°No fever.¡± He then took a flashlight and shined it in the boy¡¯s eyes, then moved the beam away, then back into his eyes. ¡°Pupils are dilating. You feeling any better?¡±


    It¡¯d been a good half hour or so since Stanley had suffered his spell. He nodded. ¡°Uh-huh. Just a little light-headed. I¡¯m hungry.¡±


    Mr. Reece laughed. ¡°Well, that¡¯s a good sign.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll say,¡± added Gramps. He was standing halfway between the living room and the kitchen. He walked over and ran his fingertips along the back of his grandson¡¯s head. ¡°So, you just fell and bumped your noggin, Muskrat?¡±


    ¡°I think so. My head hurts a little back here,¡± he said, rubbing the back of his skull. ¡°I guess it¡¯s cause I was spraying the hose all over. Probably got the tree roots all wet and then slipped.¡±


    ¡°No bumps back there,¡± called Gramps as he went into the kitchen. He retrieved a frozen bag of peas from the freezer, then slammed it down on the table to loosen it up. He handed it to Stanley¡¯s father, who placed it beneath Stanley¡¯s head. Mr. Reece smoothed his graying hair back and threw on his dusty Phillies baseball cap. ¡°Well, you¡¯re going to sit right here and rest for a bit, okay?¡±


    ¡°Uh-huh,¡± mumbled the boy. ¡°Can I read my comics?¡±


    His father chuckled. ¡°Sure. I¡¯ll go get a couple from your room.¡± Mr. Reece started up the stairs.


    ¡°Thanks.¡±


    Stanley¡¯s eyes grew wide with fright. ¡°Doris! She alright?¡± He propped himself up to look around and found the dog curled up on the area rug beneath the coffee table to his left.


    ¡°Hell, yes. She¡¯s right there,¡± said Gramps, pointing. ¡°She¡¯s fine. Now, lie back down.¡±


    Doris had raised her head and thumped her tail once. She looked from Stanley to Gramps and then lowered to the floor again.


    Once his father had climbed the last of the steps, Stanley motioned for Gramps to come closer and he took a seat in the armchair opposite the couch. ¡°What is it, Muskrat?¡±


    ¡°Um¡­¡± The boy hesitated, twiddling his fingers nervously. ¡°Did you¡­¡±


    After this second pause, Gramps frowned. ¡°Well, are you gonna tell me or ain¡¯t ya?¡±


    Stanley licked his lips and began. ¡°Did you see any lightning outside¡­when I fell?¡±


    Gramps looked up, as if into his own head, searching his memory. ¡°Nope. There wasn¡¯t no storm.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Okay.¡±


    ¡°Hell, you¡¯re not going to stop there, Muskrat.¡±


    ¡°Huh? Whattya mean?¡±


    Gramps sighed. ¡°Explain why in the heck you asked such a strange question.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± He looked toward the top of the steps. From the creaking of the floorboards above, Stanley knew his father was still in his room and therefore safe to continue. ¡°Just don¡¯t tell my Pop, Gramps.¡±


    Gramps nodded.


    ¡°I saw a flash of light before I fell.¡±


    ¡°A flash of light, hmm?¡± Gramps scratched his beard below his chin. ¡°It could¡¯ve been that you saw the light after you bumped your head and just thought it had been before. Sometimes that happens.¡±


    Stanley shook his head. ¡°Uh-uh. I saw it before. And the hairs on my arms stood out,¡± he added, holding up his left forearm as if presenting evidence of the phenomenon. But there was none. ¡°Oh yeah, you can¡¯t see it anymore, but¡­¡± he paused again, remembering. ¡°It was like my body knew it was gonna happen just before it did.¡±


    Gramps¡¯ eye had narrowed as he listened. ¡°Like you anticipated it.¡±


    Stanley nodded. Mr. Reece began down the stairs and the boy looked at his grandfather. Gramps nodded, as if to say, Nothing to worry about, Muskrat. I won¡¯t tell.


    Mr. Reece crossed the room, stepped over Doris¡¯ tail, sticking out from beneath the coffee table, and handed three comics to Stanley. ¡°Here you go.¡± He rested his large hand atop the boy¡¯s head. ¡°I¡¯m going back to work. Gramps said he¡¯d stay with you until I¡¯m finished. You need me, just call. I¡¯ll have my phone. Okay?¡±


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.¡°Okay, Pop.¡±


    Gramps rose from the armchair and followed his father out into the kitchen. ¡°Be right back, boy.¡± They both stepped outside.


    Theirs was a family that didn¡¯t rush to the emergency room for every bump or scratch. Both his father and Gramps liked to tell Stanley to ¡°rub some dirt on it,¡± after suffering a minor cut. In the spring when he played township baseball and ended up on the ground, they¡¯d yell: ¡°Get up!¡± And he did. Made him tougher, that¡¯s for sure.


    Stanley could tell though that the mention of seeing a flash of light had concerned Gramps. He was probably telling his father about it right now. But Stanley figured that was okay. Gramps had to tell; it was his duty. After all, he¡¯d told Stanley¡¯s mom that he would look after her son. He just didn¡¯t want his father to worry about him because it might cause him to drink more beer than he ought to. Besides, he didn¡¯t even tell Gramps the whole truth about the light he¡¯d seen. The whole truth was too scary to reveal.


    The light had shown him something. A gigantic tree or something like it. A huge plant, bigger than a skyscraper, rising into the sky. It¡¯d shown him death spreading out from it.


    *********


    Gray withdrew from the family room window where he¡¯d been watching the interaction between Stanley and Gramps. Everything about this exchange generated an overwhelming sense of de ja vou. Then, Gray¡¯s pulse spiked at the name, Muskrat.


    Muskrat¡­he used to call me that.


    He¡¯d been nodding in agreement with the boy as he told the old man about the light and about sensing what was going to happen before it did. Gray, as he¡¯d watched from the kitchen window, had also anticipated it. Yet, he¡¯d been unable to stop it. He wished he could¡¯ve.


    Off some thirty yards to his right, he caught the sound of Mr. Reece and Gramps approaching. Slinking off, Gray watched from the tall cover of nearby evergreens, as Stanley¡¯s father jumped off of the tractor. He seemed upset by something Gramps had said.


    About the light, thought Gray. Gramps is telling him about the light.


    Gray understood that this wasn¡¯t his Gramps. That this Stanley wasn¡¯t him at a younger age, but a different Stanley altogether. Despite the similarities, there was a difference. When Gray had been young ¨C had been Stanley ¨C he hadn¡¯t been squirting Doris with the hose when the light had appeared. He¡¯d been visiting his mother¡¯s grave. And so, maybe this Stanley could be saved. Maybe he could be spared from becoming something like Gray.


    He remembered. Only now did he realize how he came to be¡­what he was. At Mom¡¯s grave up on the hill¡­


    Gray¡¯s heart soared with hope, but then plummeted. He remembered something else.


    Hurrying along through the backyard, he stopped at the spot where the orb had spawned. There, floating two feet from the ground, was a tiny, glowing pinhead of light. Infuriated, Gray seized it, closing his fist around it. He squeezed as hard as he could.


    He expected his hand to pass right through it, but it didn¡¯t. He felt slight pressure, then sort of a¡­Pop!...followed by a tingling sensation that traveled up his arm. When he opened his hand, the orb was gone.


    Gray had¡­absorbed the orb.


    Inspired ¨C and astonished ¨C by this revelation, he quickened his pace, weaving through the cornfield as best he could without drawing attention to his presence. His massive size made this impossible however, and he abandoned his feeble attempt at stealth, the stalks thrashing in his wake. Hopefully, Mr. Reece and Gramps, preoccupied with Stanley¡¯s health, didn¡¯t notice.


    When he arrived at Gramps¡¯ place, Gray strode to the rear yard. He gasped when he rounded the corner of the house and saw the thing growing from the flower bed along the back porch. A blue flower. The blue flower Stanley had given his mother in the hospital. After she died, Gramps had planted it here. Now, however, it was five feet tall and growing. Gray could rip it out, tear it into bits, but its roots had already infected the ground.


    He thought of Garrett¡­his Garrett.

 Chapter 61

    The pickup¡¯s engine kicked over after about the two dozenth try. Alex had driven back to his farmhouse and, risking exposure to the rain, carried Eva inside, trying to shield her as best he could. The implant had been removed and he¡¯d cleaned the wound and applied a bandage. Surprisingly, it hadn¡¯t bled all that much. He put her upstairs in his bed. And then he just left her there. He didn¡¯t want to. In fact, he¡¯d sat behind the wheel of the truck, glancing up at the second-floor bedroom window where she lay, wondering if he should leave. What if one of the others found her? Like Isaac. Or that nut, Mitchell?


    But the journal beckoned him to make haste and Alex believed he could feel the urgency. Not just like a hunch, but an actual sensation, as if the atmosphere itself had changed, become heavier¡­oppressive. Pregnant with doom.


    And so, he reluctantly shifted the truck into Drive. As the ashen sky continued to dump steady rain, the vehicle rumbled down a dirt path between opposing crop fields, heading back to the farthest reaches of his farm, beyond where he buried the other Alex. In the rearview mirror, the farmhouse ¨C and Eva ¨C fell away.


    *********


    ¡°You destroyed one,¡± said Isaac, flatly. His voice and expressionless face were devoid of belief.


    ¡°Yes,¡± replied Mo. ¡°At the hospital.¡±


    ¡°Bullshit,¡± added Mitchell.


    Pulling a sheet snug to Lacy¡¯s chin, Mo was relieved to see she appeared, with the assistance of a sedative, to be sleeping soundly. ¡°If you really want to know, drive out to the hospital grounds. It¡¯s not there anymore. Some of the foundation exists, but that¡¯s all.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s true.¡± Grant had removed his glasses and was wiping them with a cloth. ¡°I rode past there on my way here. There¡¯s nothing left. Even the makeshift trauma units in the parking lot, the scattered automobiles¡­everything reduced to dust.¡±


    Wes, who had been brought to the Med Hut by Charles, was raising a cup of water to take some aspirin for a headache. ¡°What about your wife and daughter?¡± he asked Grant. He figured he already knew the answer to his question but wasn¡¯t sure how to approach the sensitive subject.


    Grant nodded. ¡°Gone.¡±


    ¡°The orb,¡± Mo interjected, ¡°absorbed the building, the debris, the blast. It wanted the released energy.¡±


    Isaac said nothing. He just stared at Mo.


    Frowning, Charles joined in. ¡°Like it needed it.¡±


    Mo nodded. ¡°Wanted¡­needed¡­both.¡±


    ¡°And then what?¡± questioned Grant.


    Mo turned to him. ¡°Then the orb vanished. After maybe a minute, something fell from the sky.¡± The room fell silent and Mo eyed everyone. ¡°A part of it.¡±


    Isaac frowned. ¡°A part of what?¡±


    ¡°The organism,¡± said Mo.


    More silence. Mo couldn¡¯t tell if it was awe or simply disbelief. Wasn¡¯t anyone aware of the thing towering above them, even now? Had none of them gotten a fleeting glance, when maybe its persuasive influence blipped, allowing the observant among them to see the truth? To notice something wasn¡¯t right?


    Isaac looked at Grant, then back to Mo. ¡°What organism are you talking about?¡±


    Wes jumped to his feet. ¡°I¡¯ve seen it!¡±


    *********


    All eyes fell on Wes. Mitchell sighed. ¡°Oh Christ, here we go.¡±


    ¡°When I was in the hangar,¡± said Wes. ¡°It was like I was¡­¡± He hesitated, as though what he was about to say would come off as crazy. His mouth felt dry, a chalky lump of indecision caught in his throat.


    ¡°Go ahead,¡± pushed Mo.


    ¡°Well¡­like I was sent to another place. Like suddenly, the hangar was a different hangar.¡±


    Isaac looked at the ground, visibly perturbed. ¡°Wes,¡±


    Mitchell¡¯s eyes narrowed with anger. ¡°What the hell are you talking about!¡±


    ¡°Let me finish!¡± Wes could hardly believe he had scolded Isaac, and especially Mitchell. But he had. Better make it count, he thought. ¡°The hangar was suddenly newer, no peeling paint, no rust. Then, it changed again. The hangar became old, missing parts of the roof and walls. Outside, everything seemed dead. And in the sky, maybe a couple of miles high, was¡­this gigantic growth.¡±


    *********


    ¡°The organism,¡± Mo said.


    He knows, Mitchell¡­


    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.Soon, they¡¯ll all know¡­


    Mitchell¡¯s grip tightened on the rifle, his knuckles whitening. His eyes darted around the room searching for the source of the voice, trying to dispel the notion that it was inside his head, refusing to believe that some otherworldly thing was speaking to him. He would just overcome it. That¡¯s all. Will it away. ¡°Sounds like you dozed off and were dreaming, asshole,¡± he blurted.


    ¡°Fuck you!¡± countered Wes. ¡°I wasn¡¯t dreaming. I wasn¡¯t hallucinating. I was there. In those places. If you hadn¡¯t left the hangar, you might¡¯ve experienced it, too.¡±


    Grant, nodding, said, ¡°I believe you, Wes. I saw something at my home during the supply run.¡± He took a deep breath. ¡°I saw my daughter ¨C she was just a shadow at first, something I thought I¡¯d imagined. But then, it happened again and this time she was as clear as if she was in front of me.¡± He looked down at his interlaced fingers in apparent grief. ¡°She wasn¡¯t right there, though. She was in some other place¡­another plane of existence.¡± He raised his head and eyed everyone with clear conviction. ¡°But she saw me.¡±


    ¡°What!¡± blurted Wes.


    Grant continued. ¡°And even stranger¡­I saw myself in that other plane. Another me.¡±


    ¡°So, you saw your yourself and your dead daughter?¡± replied Mitchell, sarcastically. ¡°Has everyone lost their fucking minds, here?¡±


    Mo spoke. ¡°Why¡¯d you leave the hangar, Mitchell?¡±


    Now, all eyes focused on Mitchell and his face went red. Rage bubbled in his gut. ¡°Go to hell! Who the hell are you anyway!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve already told you. I¡¯m Lacy¡¯s husband.¡±


    Sweat beading on his forehead, now. ¡°Yeah, but where¡¯d you come from? You just appear out of nowhere? And then we¡¯re all supposed to believe this nonsense you¡¯re talking about?¡±


    ¡°Nonsense, Mitchell?¡± Mo stared, his eyes challenging Mitchell. He seemed to possess a secret knowledge. ¡°You haven¡¯t seen anything?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Mitchell lied.


    ¡°Haven¡¯t¡­heard anything?¡±


    You have, haven¡¯t you, Mitchell?


    Shaking his head, Mitchell took a step toward the door. ¡°Heard anything? What are you talking about?¡±


    He knows, too, Mitchell¡­


    A trail of sweat broke loose from his forehead and spilled down the side of this face. The palms of his hands were moist and slick.


    Soon, they¡¯ll all know¡­


    And then what?


    What happens to us?


    Mo pressed him. ¡°Any voices? Out there in the fields somewhere?¡±


    ¡°You feeling okay?¡± Charles asked. ¡°You don¡¯t look like you are.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± Mitchell grumbled through gritted teeth. ¡°Quit acting like you¡¯re a doctor. You were a fucking ambulance driver.¡±


    Charles shrugged. ¡°Easy, jerkoff. Just asking.¡±


    Mitchell began to tremble. What if they saw? They might quarantine him.


    And then what?


    What happens to us?


    Attempting to conceal the trembling, he clenched the weapon even harder. The rage¡­building. Another line of perspiration released and flowed along his cheek. He could feel it above his lip, at the nape of his neck, running down his back.


    Maybe if he could just fire the goddamned rifle. Sink a round into one of these shit-heels¡­that would make everything better. For the time being. Maybe shoot all of them. That would really be something.


    Not them, Mitchell¡­


    Garrett¡­


    Let us in¡­


    His eyes crazed, moving in spasmic flashes, Mitchell studied everyone in the room, even Isaac. Could they hear his thoughts? No, not his thoughts¡­its thoughts. Did they hear the conversation? Did they hear its plan?


    ¡°Mitchell?¡± Isaac was speaking to him. ¡°What¡¯s the matter with you?¡± He got up and confronted Mitchell. But Mitchell knew it was an act. Isaac had to convince the others that he was on their side. Without speaking, a silent communication ensued between them. A message, or an instruction. No, an understanding. Go, it said. Go and do what you must.


    Garrett¡­


    Let us in¡­


    Give us Community¡­


    Mitchell swiftly stepped to the door, opened it and left the Med Hut. Outside, the gray clouds had begun to recede. He could see the deep, amber sun hanging low in the afternoon sky, the gray storm having been swept to the east. Only a light drizzle, now. It burnt his skin. He didn¡¯t seem to notice.

 Chapter 62

    As the flash consumes the interior of the gas station convenience store, the stranger embraces Eva, lifts the child off her feet and runs. They enter a rear storage room. Blinding white light races after them, its wake delivering death. The exit door slams open and they dash through, hurled through the air by a concussive force.


    Eva lies atop the stranger, who is motionless. ¡°Mommy!¡± the frightened girl calls. The store is mostly intact, but the parking lot is littered with debris.


    ¡°Shh.¡± The stranger, a woman, Eva can tell by the voice. ¡°They¡¯re gone, Eva. Your mother and father.¡±


    The stranger gets to her feet and takes the girl by the hand, leading her off into nearby pine trees.


    CRACK!


    A chunk from the bark of the tree in front of them rips free.


    THWACK!


    A tree to the right shreds, splinters landing in the girl¡¯s hair. Someone shooting at them.


    They arrive at a thicket of scrub-brush, behind it a motorcycle. It is unlike any motorcycle the girl has ever seen; smooth, sleek.


    ¡°Hold on tight, Eva!¡± the stranger yells as she lifts the girl up onto the cycle. The stranger climbs on and presses a button. The vehicle hums to life.


    WHOOMP!


    A shot misses, hitting the sandy soil at their feet. They speed off.


    THWUP!


    The woman cries out and the cycle wobbles. Eva sees the ground rising toward her, but then the cycle steadies and they¡¯re upright again. Before she knows it, they¡¯re far away. The stranger¡¯s tattered clothing features a deep red blotch. It begins to spread.


    *********


    There was a fire set when Eva woke. Shadows flitted about on the trunks of nearby trees, chasing one another through the lowest branches. It was dusk, the last evidence of day a streak of pale amber sky brushed with violet clouds. There was a chill in the air, and she was grateful for the warmth from the lashing flames.


    She was lying on her left side. Beyond the fire there was never-ending forest. She rolled onto her right side and here, far beyond the licking flames but still subtly lit by their glow was Gray, his back to her. He was enormous, even when seated.


    ¡°There is food¡­if you¡¯re hungry,¡± he said.


    Eva said nothing. She remembered him, but she couldn¡¯t help just staring, still taken aback by his existence. From her position, he looked like little more than a large boulder, partially concealed by shadow. But upon further study, he seemed more like the thick, sturdy trunk of an old oak tree. His skin ¨C if that¡¯s what it could be called ¨C had the uncanny resemblance of heavily grooved bark. Eva found herself wondering what it might be like to move about with a hide composed of such matter. It must be terribly restrictive, although Gray gave no indication of such limitations.


    ¡°You should try to eat.¡±


    She was hungry. Starved, in fact. It was then that she noticed the shape propped above the fire. Skewered on a long stick was the roasting flesh of some small animal. ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°Rabbit.¡±


    Eva had never tasted rabbit before, but the aroma of charred meat made her mouth water. Her stomach growled. ¡°How do you know it¡¯s safe to eat?¡±


    ¡°It is.¡±


    ¡°But how do you-¡± she began, turning toward her behemoth guest. Gray loomed over her from a mere five feet away now. She hadn¡¯t even heard him walk over.


    ¡°Your head,¡± he grumbled, tapping his right temple. ¡°Does it hurt?¡±


    ¡°Just a little.¡±


    ¡°Do you¡­remember?¡±


    She sat up. ¡°Remember what?¡±


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.¡°Anything¡­everything. Community? Alex?¡± He cocked his head, as if listening for something.


    Eva caressed the right side of her head, feeling for the bump that no longer existed by her temple. The skin was flat, except for what felt like a few stitches. ¡°Community¡­yes, I remember it. I¡¯m still there ¨C I mean, here. Aren¡¯t I?¡±


    Gray turned his attention to her and blinked. His eyes, reflecting the fire, seemed aglow. ¡°Yes and no.¡±


    Eva frowned. Yes and no¡­what the hell did that mean?


    Gray cocked his head again. The body language reminded Eva of a dog who¡¯d heard a strange noise. Part of him sort of looked doggish, too. A dog-human-tree-rock amalgamation.


    Gazing skyward, off in the distance, he said, ¡°Get up. Time to go.¡±


    Some thundering boom stirred the evening and Eva bolted to her feet. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re coming.¡±


    Her mind combed the recesses of her memory and understanding washed over Eva like a tossed bedsheet settling across a mattress. ¡°Gray?¡±


    Another rumble in the no so distant landscape. Gray gave her his attention.


    ¡°This ¨C right now, you and I, here ¨C hasn¡¯t happened yet, has it?¡±


    The giant shook his head. ¡°No.¡±


    A burst of wonder electrified her. How is this possible?


    ¡°You have to go,¡± he added. ¡°Find Alex.¡±


    Alex!


    This time the deep thrum shook the ground and was accompanied by a dazzling flare of red light that briefly blazed the low clouds. ¡°Where!¡± she cried out over the intensifying vibrations.


    Gray turned away from her. ¡°The small farmhouse. Community¡¯s epicenter. He needs you.¡± He began to walk toward the approaching rumble. Toward violence, Eva knew. Stopping, Gray snapped his head in her direction and this time, she saw that his eyes ¨C too far from the flickering fire to reflect its light ¨C were glowing on their own. ¡°Hurry!¡± He spun and sprinted into the night, brimming with death.


    *********


    Leaping out of the bed, urged by both Gray¡¯s words and a mega rush of adrenaline, Eva almost took a header into a chest of drawers. She caught herself with both hands, rocking the piece of furniture on its legs. It took a moment, but then realized she wasn¡¯t in her farmhouse.


    Alex. He must¡¯ve taken me to his.


    She recalled their fight. In the pickup truck. Thinking that had all been something she¡¯d imagined, she rubbed the side of her head and felt the stitches, just like in her dream.


    No, not a dream. That was a goddamned vision. Gray has spoken to her from¡­well, from somewhere. But that somewhere had not been here. How he discovered to do that, she couldn¡¯t begin to fathom.


    She began to dress, and it hit her like a slap in the face ¨C she was in her underwear. Alex had removed her clothing when he¡¯d put her into bed. A miniscule matter in the grand scheme of things, but it still rattled her slightly.


    Racing downstairs, Eva turned right and shot down the short hall and entered the kitchen. The keys to the pickup truck weren¡¯t on the peg next to the back door.


    It¡¯s not your farmhouse, dummy!


    Shit.


    She patted down her pockets and found the pair belonging to her truck. Thank God Alex hadn¡¯t taken them. The problem, however, was that her truck was back in her fields. Christ, that was maybe a good three-hundred yards or more from here.


    ¡°Hurry!¡± Gray had said. She recalled his glowing eyes.


    Don¡¯t dawdle, Alex. Eva thought she remembered Alex quoting his father with that phrase. Good advice.


    She yanked the kitchen door open. Mitchell stood in the doorway.

 Chapter 63

    Go to the northwest corner of your plot, out as far as you can.


    In the rusty afternoon glow, Alex read the line again. As far as I can, his mind repeated. The pickup bucked and bobbed along the dirt path between the crops. The tires did not kick up any dust, and therefore reveal his position, as the ground was still sodden from the recent downpour. Soon though, he¡¯d have to switch on the headlights. Those would give him away, should anyone be looking for him.


    His thoughts drifted to Eva. Alex was sure she¡¯d recover quickly from the temple-incision he¡¯d made; the implant hadn¡¯t been deep, just below the surface. That¡¯s not what worried him. If she was awake, she was fully capable of handling herself. But if she was still asleep, still sedated¡­then she¡¯d be susceptible to¡­


    He hit the brakes and the truck rocked to a stop. Ahead was the fence line to the property. He¡¯d never been out this far. Alex scanned the area, turning in the driver¡¯s seat a full 360 degrees. From the glove box he retrieved a flashlight, then pulled the handle on the door and exited. He appeared to be alone. Of course, the crops surrounded him, and they provided perfect cover should someone ¨C or something ¨C want to sneak up on him.


    Approaching the fence, Alex glanced behind him. Just his shadow, a long, sprawling phantom, followed him. No one else, as far as he could tell. When he reached the fence, he noted that the land stretched outward into a flat grassland. The bold amber sky in the distance caused the nearby landscape to appear murky. Even still, it seemed to Alex to be¡­gray¡­devoid of color. Like all the vitality of the ground itself had been drained.


    What am I looking for? Is this what I¡¯m supposed to see?


    Raising the journal, Alex read the next excerpt.


    ? From the short time I¡¯ve been here, I¡¯ve observed that circumstances aren¡¯t exactly as they were where I came from, which means that maybe things turn out different here. Maybe you won¡¯t need to alert your counterparts from a different place and time. Maybe you won¡¯t die.


    ? I realize this is all very bizarre, but surely, you¡¯ve seen things that cannot be explained. Have you noticed the shadows in the fields, moving on their own? Lights that shouldn¡¯t be there? You will.


    ? Beyond the fence at the northwest perimeter you will find them. The humanoids.


    When his eyes left the journal and raised to study the dim landscape, the twilight glare was comparatively brighter. As his eyes adjusted to the contrast between sky and shadow, figures sharpened into focus. Standing only a hundred feet from the fence, a row of silhouetted people stared back at him and Alex¡¯s eyes bulged.


    Christ!


    He stumbled back, almost falling. When he¡¯d retreated to the pickup truck, he noted that the figures hadn¡¯t advanced. He waited, his heart throbbing in his throat. Ten seconds¡­twenty¡­thirty¡­


    Not people¡­humanoids, he thought, using the other Alex¡¯s terminology. They were motionless. Like a troupe of demonic mannequins that had escaped their ruined department store and lumbered to this farm. Why?


    Risking a peek at the journal, Alex read again.


    ? They¡¯re immobile. At least they were when I encountered them. They remained that way for the duration of my study.


    Alex¡¯s shrugging shoulders relaxed. His fists, gripping the journal like a vice, softened. Still, he remained vigilant, often lifting his gaze from the journal to the humanoids.


    ? They¡¯re being kept at bay.


    The line seemed to blink in his mind, like the awaiting cursor on a blank computer screen. What next, Alex? it seemed to implore. What will you do?


    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.They¡¯re being kept at bay.


    Good Lord, he thought. That means¡­they could move. They might move¡­if whatever¡¯s holding them back fails¡­


    Again, he surveyed the ashen grassland, with its assemblance of ghouls. Alex moved closer, right at the fence line. He stared longer this time, his sight honing, drinking up the darkness, taking in the sinister imposters. He switched on the flashlight and was captivated. He thought he¡¯d seen all the weird the world had to offer, but these things¡­ They were covered head to toe in what appeared to be woody vines that snaked around their limbs and torsos, into any orifice offered by their host. Appearing petrified, the humanoids glared with sightless cavities where eyes should be. Their mouths slacked open in a silent scream. Some reached out with arms frozen in place.


    Alex swept the beam left, then right, a sour trail of moisture running the length of his spine. He hadn¡¯t noticed their number in the gloom and suddenly wished he hadn¡¯t used the flashlight. Revealed in the ghostly shaft was a legion of the humanoids, running the length of the perimeter.


    Paralyzed by terror, Alex couldn¡¯t move. He dared not move. Staring with macabre awe at the nightmarish congregation, with their deep, sunken sockets and dry gaping mouths permanently poised in a gasp, he felt their presence. He felt their agitation. It was akin to a violent, towering ocean wave about to crash down on an unsuspecting swimmer, momentarily held in place.


    They¡¯re being kept at bay.


    Summoning the will to step away from the fence and his ghoulish audience, Alex backpedaled to the truck. He referenced the journal.


    ? The organism is here, just as in my world. You can¡¯t see it ¨C not yet. It doesn¡¯t want you to. You haven¡¯t woken from the fog it¡¯s been holding over your and everyone else, clouding your thoughts. The implants embedded in your right temple helped to amplify the organism¡¯s signal, its call. With it removed, your memory should gradually be restored.


    Its call, thought Alex. He raised his eyes to the grassy region beyond the fence again, flashing an inspecting light over the humanoids. Still there.


    ? The signs are obvious: seed storms, always followed by rain. The rain is fertilizer. The organism is desperately trying to germinate. It¡¯s doing this because it¡¯s dying. Once it¡¯s absorbed all it can, it will attempt to survive by migrating to another existence. It will do this by sending seeds through the breaches ¨C to respawn itself elsewhere. The others and I never came to completely understand the entirety of the process. Otherwise, we would¡¯ve stopped it by now. But maybe you can. You must try.


    ? Find Gray.


    Alex felt as though he¡¯d been slapped with a brick. But maybe you can.


    Maybe?


    And what if they couldn¡¯t? The organism would keep migrating to different¡­planes of existence? The process repeating on a never-ending loop? Alex envisioned people ¨C families ¨C torn apart over and over and over again.


    His family.


    His mother and father¡­Henry and Annabelle.


    He had to find the twins. Get to them, wherever they were. But how? Alex¡¯s gaze fell on the journal once more. Two words seemed to shimmer on the page, urging his attention.


    Find Gray.


    A noise. Alex snapped to attention. It¡¯d come from the other side of the fence; he was sure of it. Hesitantly, he lifted the flashlight. Probing the assembled humanoids, a lineup of dark specters in the dying twilight, Alex¡¯s heart stopped. One of them had moved.

 Chapter 64

    Garrett winced under the mental strain of trying to contain them. His influence over them had waned drastically and now, he was on the verge of failure. They were there, waiting at the perimeter, trembling with anticipation, eager to invade Community¡¯s grounds. Compelled by the organism, the humanoids were here for one thing: the crops.


    The Organism¡¯s offspring.


    Garrett¡¯s vision, declining much over recent days, had finally ceased. A condition of being one with the Organism, he supposed. In his blind darkness, the humanoids¡¯ terrible faces materialized. Sunken, brittle remnants of tissue, eyes gone. Dead, but not dead somehow. He¡¯d known some of them at one time, when they¡¯d still been human. His heart sank as he thought of what they¡¯d become. Of what had been done to them.


    He tried but failed to summon names for those he¡¯d known; recalling names had been all but lost to Garrett as he struggled to remember much of his former life. A daughter, though¡­he¡¯d had a daughter once. He¡¯d loved her very much. That, he was sure of.


    When he imagined her face, however, it was superimposed by a tiny, blue flower.


    Let us in, Garrett¡­


    Let us in¡­


    The single blossom then became a field of blue flowers, waiting to release their poison on another unsuspecting world.


    He shook his head. ¡°No,¡± he whispered. Even the effort to produce the thin wisp of speech was exhausting. He coughed and bone-dry, splinter-thin shards bit into his throat and the roof of his mouth. It no longer hurt, though; the nerves in his mouth might be dead, for all he knew. His tongue was a shriveled, dehydrated slug, slicked with a meager layer of mucous which still allowed it to move. Before he¡¯d lost his vision, Garrett had witnessed his beard become a tangled mess of slimy whiskers more reminiscent of moss than human hair. It¡¯d hung down to where his knees would¡¯ve been had his legs not been absorbed into the plant. He supposed now it might¡¯ve spread onto the floor.


    Let us in¡­


    You cannot resist much longer¡­


    Garrett hung his head. This, he knew, was true; he couldn¡¯t hold on much longer. And it knew that, too. Try, dammit, he thought. Do it for¡­


    Stanley.


    Raising his head, Garrett felt his heavy eyelids lift. A name! He recognized it.


    The blue flower, Garrett¡­


    Remember that, instead¡­


    He closed his eyes and attempted to bring his hands to his head and massage the stress away, like he¡¯d once been able to. But he¡¯d lost his arms; they hung useless at his sides, now. Limp, emaciated twigs, incapable of movement, hanging like grisly ornaments on a twisted version of a Christmas tree.


    ¡°Leave me be,¡± he grumbled, shaking his head.


    Stanley¡­Stanley¡­Stanley¡­ Remember the name, he told himself.


    There is only us, Garrett¡­


    The blue flower¡­


    Let us in¡­


    ¡°No¡­I mustn¡¯t¡­¡±


    Reaching out, not with his old arms, but with his new ones, the ones that were now vines and roots and leaves, a network of vegetation, Garrett visualized Community¡¯s perimeter. He concentrated, trying to move the appendages. Beginning to tremble, he felt the wall behind him ¨C a part of him ¨C vibrate. The vines ensnaring the house became agitated. They whispered angrily, invisible shockwaves traversing outward, along the network of roots.


    Don¡¯t, Garrett¡­


    Let us in, instead¡­


    He ignored the Organism¡¯s plea and sent out his mental directive. The effort was so difficult, so draining¡­


    ¡°Do it for¡­Stanley,¡± he moaned.


    You mustn¡¯t, Garrett¡­


    You will let us in¡­


    Shaking his head, he tried to picture the boy¡­his grandson¡­


    There is only us, now¡­


    Give us Community¡­


    A sweet, innocent face floated out of the gloom in his mind. A little boy with dark hair.


    Somewhere far off, something moved. A branch. A limb. Garrett¡¯s limb. It thrummed with animation¡­


    Let us in, Garrett¡­


    Community¡­


    The blue flower¡­


    The boy seemed to study Garrett, but Garrett remained still. At his feet was a small, black dog. Doris¡­that was her name. The three of them were standing in this very house, but long ago. It was bright and cheerful, sunlight streaming in through the windows. Stanley cautiously approached the old man, but Garrett didn¡¯t budge¡­pretending to be frozen. He was tricking the boy¡­


    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.The quaking zipped along the ground, under the ground, through it. He felt the Humanoids, poised to advance on the perimeter fence. Their gaze fell upon him. They could sense him just as he could sense them.


    Garrett ¡°saw¡± the one called Alex at the fence line; could feel his presence there. One of the humanoids moved, perhaps in response to Garrett¡¯s waning energy.


    Stanley inched closer to the old man; his eyes filled with concern. The air was thick with suspense, as silent as a church.


    ¡°Muskrat,¡± Garrett announced. Stanley jumped out of his skin, giving his grandfather a good laugh.


    Garrett¡­


    You will let us in¡­


    The man in the wall savored this recollection of the boy, Stanley. God, he¡¯d loved that kid. Still did love him¡­wherever he was. ¡°Muskrat,¡± Garrett whispered. He had called him that. He smiled. God, that felt good; it¡¯d been so long since he¡¯d smiled.


    Overhead, a cocoon of wide leaves unfurled, revealing the orb that shared the house with him. It flickered with life and an oppressive force seemed to compress the air around Garrett. Seized by pain, he grimaced, trying to fight the urge to surrender his will.


    It¡¯s alright, Garrett¡­


    Give it to us¡­


    The orb grew brighter and the pain intensified. Garrett thought his head might collapse inward at any moment. He groaned, shaking his head. ¡°No¡­won¡¯t¡­let you.¡± He concentrated, sending out another signal from within him. This one however, was a sort of bundled up energy that he¡¯d been storing for just the right moment. And now, with the crushing weight of defeat all around him, felt like that moment.


    *********


    Then, he actually saw it move. ¡°Oh shit,¡± mumbled Alex, retreating another step from the fence. The humanoid was looking not a him, but toward a tangle of brush, that for some reason, had started to shiver.


    Alex wondered if more of the creatures would jump from the trembling foliage and attack, but instead¡­something¡­sprung from the brush like a wave, making a beeline for the nearest humanoid. It pulsed toward the line of former humans, turning up the ground as it did so. Even as he watched it, Alex couldn¡¯t be sure of what he was seeing. The ground rumbled as the first of the creatures burst into a spray of dark debris.


    The next humanoid had no time to react before it too, exploded, producing a sound akin to a stack of dry branches snapping all at once. One by one, each of the things was reduced to dust in the same way¡­like they were all connected somehow. The last of them saw what was coming ¨C or sensed it, not possessing any eyes as far as he could tell ¨C and turned to Alex. It stepped forward, stretching its arms toward him. It made it only a couple of feet before being reduced to rubble.


    As the remains settled to the ground, Alex stood perplexed. What had done that to them? He couldn¡¯t begin to imagine what force was behind the humanoids¡¯ destruction; he was just glad it seemed to be on his side.


    Heading back to the pickup, something stirred in the field. Spinning around, Alex squinted into the darkness beyond the fence. He imagined a scenario like in the horror movies he¡¯d watched when he was younger, where a character mistakenly concluded that the monster that was just killed was truly dead. Don¡¯t tell me the fucking things are getting up.


    The twilight had deepened, and the shadows stretched across the field had grown too thick for him to make anything out. He got behind the wheel of the truck and switched on the headlights. And gasped.


    Emerging from the tree line at the far end of the grassy expanse was another row of humanoids. More of them this time. They shambled forward, mouths gaping. Arriving with them appeared to be what Alex believed to be a swarm of flies. But as the things moved closer, the mass of dark particles was revealed as a cloud of black dust. Alex imagined breathing that shit in and being choked into unconsciousness.


    He turned the ignition and the engine revved, then sputtered.


    Oh, fuck you! Start, you bastard!


    It did. On the second try. Shifting into reverse, Alex pulled away from the fence, performed a quick three-point turn and sped back toward the farms.

 Chapter 65

    In the enclosed cab of the pickup truck, Mitchell¡¯s reek was almost suffocating. Eva detected an earthy foulness that seemed to come not from his breath, as was usually the case, but from his entire being, like the wet decay of rotting vegetation. She glanced sideways at him from the passenger seat, not wanting him to notice. Some dark, syrupy ooze had streamed from his broad-lipped mouth and run down his chin. It was gloomy, but she thought she noticed some of the same stuff beginning to trickle from his right ear.


    Eva turned away, resuming her stare out the front windshield. She inspected the tear on the inside of her bottom lip with her tongue, still tasting blood. Mitchell had caught her completely by surprise when she¡¯d opened the kitchen door. He¡¯d struck her with a closed fist. She would¡¯ve fought back had he not been armed. Now, she rode shotgun; her hands on her lap, wrists bound with rope.


    ¡°Where¡¯re we going?¡± she asked. He didn¡¯t answer. He just looked ahead, bobbing with each bump along the dirt path.


    Mitchell had always been strange. From day one, Eva was told to keep her distance, that he was ¡°unbalanced,¡± as Kay had put it. Even Laird, who, despite being around forty years old, was still strong and athletic ¨C and a prick at times himself - didn¡¯t mess with him. Mitchell only ever backed down to Grant. Eva supposed it had something to do with his past military service. Perhaps he needed and responded to an authority figure. Then again, he had been booted from the military, so¡­


    From the corner of her eye, Eva spotted a light flickering through the dark maze of stalks and twisted greenery to her right. A bright white glare, filtering through the crops. She risked a peek at Mitchell and found him focused on the path before them. He didn¡¯t seem to notice the light.


    Turning back to it, Eva saw that it was travelling beside them, in the same direction, a few feet above the ground. But not parallel. She then noted that the round brilliance had a twin. Headlights.


    One of the tractors.


    The tractors were programmed to automatically return to their corrals at sundown. If she figured correctly, the paths of this tractor and the pickup would eventually intersect. An idea bloomed in Eva¡¯s mind and if it were to work, she couldn¡¯t let Mitchell see the tractor. She leaned against the passenger window to obscure his view, should he turn his head in her direction.


    ¡°Your friend,¡± said Mitchell. ¡°Where is he?¡±


    ¡°My¡­friend?¡± asked Eva. She assumed he meant Alex, since he¡¯d showed up at his farmhouse, but she feigned ignorance. When Mitchell didn¡¯t speak, she felt inclined to add to her response. ¡°I don¡¯t know who you¡¯re talking about.¡±


    ¡°Like fuck, you don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Sorry,¡± she said sarcastically, ¡°is swearing supposed to make me understand you better?¡±


    ¡°Bitch,¡± he grumbled. ¡°You know goddamned well who I mean. That skinny little shit, Alex.¡±


    *********


    She knows, Mitchell¡­


    She¡¯s lying¡­


    Steering with his right hand, Mitchell clutched his head with his left, clawed his fingers and dug them into his scalp. He winced and gritted his teeth. The voice. Every time it spoke, his head felt compressed, an abrupt headache squeezing his brain.


    Make her tell¡­


    Make her tell¡­


    Make her tell¡­


    *********


    As Mitchell grimaced with what appeared to be a headache, Eva stole a glance out the passenger window again. The tractor was keeping pace, but it was closer than before. Its headlights faced ahead and at an angle, causing them to appear as thin, oblong disks floating through the shadowy landscape.


    Mitchell seized her left arm, crushing her bicep. Eva yelped with pain. ¡°Tell me where the fuck he is or¡­¡±


    ¡°Or what, asshole!¡± She tore her arm free and the brute grinned with obvious delight.


    ¡°Or maybe,¡± he groaned through black-stained teeth, ¡°or maybe I¡¯ll do more than just hurt you a bit.¡±


    Eva¡¯s face grew hot and her forehead produced tiny dots of perspiration. She had an idea of what the creep meant. She was already at a disadvantage with her hands tied. And with a weapon, it wouldn¡¯t take much for him to overwhelm her.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.He checked the dirt road ahead, then turned back to her. ¡°I¡¯ve been dying ¨C just dying ¨C to lay into you since the first time I saw you.¡±


    Eva stared forward at the road between the crop fields. Instead of the truck moving through the twilight, she imagined the ghostly cast of the headlamps pulling the land toward them from the darkness ahead, then dumping it behind them. That was just how the Organism worked, wasn¡¯t it? Using its orbs to take from the land. To absorb the essence from the very ground, and anything else within reach, and then dispose of it.


    As if suddenly rushing back to her, Eva remembered traversing the gray, colorless wilderness with Gray and the twins¡­Henry and Annabelle. The lifeless, ashen world beyond Community. The Organism had stolen the world they¡¯d known.


    ¡°Maybe I¡¯ll do what I want with you, then rough you up a little. That way you won¡¯t be a bother once I find Alex. And I will find him. And then¡­¡±


    Eva believed that he had hesitated for dramatic effect, then thought better of it. He was too dumb to employ drama in his monologue. She glanced over and caught him staring not at her, but past her, through the passenger window.


    Shit!


    ¡°What in the name of¡­¡± he began, furrowing his heavy brow.


    Damn, he¡¯d seen the tractor. It was now or never. Eva reached across him, grabbed the steering wheel and jerked it to the right. Then, she scooted to the left and forward and drove both feet down on his right foot, pinning the accelerator to the floor. Mitchell¡¯s eyes bulged. It was the first time she¡¯d seen him scared.


    As he fought to regain the wheel, the pickup lurched and the tires spun, then caught ground. It barreled to the right, the headlights¡¯ glare revealing the tractor, a mere ten feet away. In an instant, they crashed into it and were thrown forward. Metal squealed as the hood folded in on itself. The windshield blew inward, spraying the cab with globules of safety glass. Minimally impacted, the tractor plowed the smaller pickup out of the way, rolling it onto the driver¡¯s side then autonomously continued along the path.


    Eva was prevented from falling against Mitchell by her seatbelt. Despite the safety harness, she had still slammed into the dashboard. When she surveyed the damage however, she realized that the dash had been driven back into her. Her ribs were sore, but she figured that was better than a crushed skull or broken neck.


    Mitchell was turned away from her, his face resting in the now deflated airbag. From this angle, the passenger window faced the sky and therefore, little light seeped into the cab. She was unable to see if Mitchell had suffered any trauma. She hoped he had.


    Scrambling for something to grab, she turned and curled her fingers around the open window to her right and braced herself for the release of the seatbelt, which was currently supporting her. He depressed the button, transferring the weight to her arms.


    Movement below her. Mitchell shifted in his seat and moaned. ¡°The fuuuck¡­¡±


    Grunting, Eva pulled with all her strength. Her swinging feet found the headrest of the seat she¡¯d been belted to and kicked off it. She scooted up onto the outside of the skyward-facing passenger side door and swung her legs up and out of the cab. She peered back into the interior and saw Mitchell aiming his rifle at her. Falling backward, the report of gunfire deafening, she hit the ground hard. Frantically, she searched her head and face for a possible wound, wiping and scrutinizing her hands for blood.


    He had missed her. Barely.


    In the cab, Mitchell was rising. She got to her knees as his sausage-like fingers gripped the rim of the passenger door she had climbed from. The barrel of the rifle emerged into the night air and Eva ran for her life.

 Chapter 66

    Gray stood outside the wide double doors of the ramshackle barn. It was almost dark, and the structure appeared long empty, except for the faint trace of abhorrent life hiding within, clinging to its existence. Gray knew this thing and he went to it.


    Pressing his palm against the worn wooden door, he halted and could detect the thing moving just on the other side. He sensed that it too, was aware of his presence. He pulled the doors open and stared at the snarl of vines, which instinctively recoiled, the heavy appendages drawing further into the darkness.


    Devoid of fear, Gray stepped inside, toward the thing. ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± he whispered, trying to soothe it. ¡°I¡¯m here, mother.¡± He moved closer. Gray didn¡¯t want to believe his mother still existed like this, inside of the Organism. He couldn¡¯t help but wonder however, if some part of her had survived and now lingered among the network or orbs. Imprisoned. He¡¯d made a terrible mistake leaving mother¡¯s skull behind. But after his near defeat at the hands of the machine, his mind had been preoccupied with getting the twins to safety and he¡¯d dropped the backpack.


    It made shuffling noises as it moved in the shadows. The sounds were of something injured or sick, dragging itself with great effort. Like an animal cornered and¡­afraid.


    Yes, Gray thought. It was afraid.


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to hide from me,¡± he assured. He was, of course, lying to it. It was right to be afraid of him. He was different, now. A better Gray. An insight had been given to him; insider knowledge of how the Organism and its many vines worked. He had no idea when or how this had happened, but it had, whether by mistake or not. Full comprehension of it had not been achieved, but he had a deeper understanding than he¡¯d previously possessed, and he¡¯d become more in tune to the creature.


    Creature¡­


    He supposed that¡¯s what it really was. It wasn¡¯t merely a plant, but something more monstrous. A ravenous thing that devoured the lifeforce of everything around it. And its many orbs, he had learned from the mysterious knowledge bestowed to him, held different qualities. Some could open paths to other worlds. Gray believed that to be the sort of thing told only in stories and now it was a reality he¡¯d been forced to quantify; the impossible made possible.


    Other orbs could change or rearrange the properties of things¡­but to what purpose he didn¡¯t know. The orb that had materialized next to him and Doris had been one of this variety. Gray looked down at his arms and hands. What was he? Tree? Stone? Animal and/or human? Maybe all of them, combined.


    It was then that he sensed the other presence. When he turned to his right and slightly behind him, he saw the dog. The smart one that had urged him to leave the storm shelter on the Reece farm. The one that had spoken to him in his thoughts. He lowered to one knee, eying the dog and she padded over to him, sitting at his feet. She looked up at him with a quizzical expression. She had a face that even through the merging, had retained something of both dog and human.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.¡°Hello, Doris.¡±


    Doris¡¯ tail thumped twice on the ground.


    He reached out with his hand and pet her, smoothing the coarse fur on her head. He saw the stone-like plates on her back. ¡°I¡¯m sorry it took me so long to understand who you were.¡± Gray smiled and noted that Doris, with a muzzle that was compact, featuring both canine and human characteristics, smiled back. Unconsciously, Gray raised his hand and felt his own snout/nose. ¡°I know now, that you and I are somehow both Stanley and Doris.¡± As fantastical as it sounded, Gray recognized it; he was more Stanley and she more Doris, but with shared traits. She was still Doris, she just looked a little like Stanley now. Had some of his features.


    Doris snorted in apparent agreement, her tail pounding the ground once. She then looked past Gray and growled. The giant swung around to face a strand of vine that had slinked out from the darkness, as if to spy on the two guests. It quickly retreated into the shadows again.


    Gray got to his feet and walked back into the barn, the plank-flooring creaking under his weight. He walked past the hole in the wall ¨C the one he¡¯d thrown the machine through ¨C and advanced into the murky center of the structure. The vines encircled him now. Before him, a great bundle lowered from the rafters; an oblong shape that unfurled one layer at a time. Then, finally, the skull appeared.


    It wasn¡¯t much of a skull any longer. Just bits of what remained, floating around an orb, which to Gray, was akin to a lightbulb about to go dark. It was incomplete, this orb. Part of it was missing¡­part of its substance had been separated.


    Doris snorted again.


    ¡°Yes,¡± responded Gray. ¡°The seed has moved on.¡± He sighed. ¡°I should¡¯ve destroyed it long ago, but it was my mother¡¯s face. I couldn¡¯t bring myself to do it.¡±


    Doris sat beside him and nudged his leg with her head. She sat alert and issued a quick bark.


    Gray glanced down at her. ¡°Yes¡­you¡¯re right. That was the old Gray that made that mistake.¡±


    She barked again.


    Nodding, Gray agreed. ¡°Still time to fix it.¡± He smiled at her. ¡°I missed you, girl.¡±


    Doris wagged, then pawed the air, urging him to hurry.


    ¡°Okay,¡± he said. He turned and walked closer to the orb. Fragments of what had been mother¡¯s face hovered around the softly glowing light, nestled within what was left of the skull. Gray now had the strength do what he¡¯d once been unable to. He hated the Organism. ¡°You took her from me,¡± he whispered. ¡°You took everyone from me.¡± Then, he reached out and crushed the skull and the orb vanished.

 Chapter 67

    Laird flexed his triceps, scrutinizing his musculature in the bedroom mirror. He¡¯d lost some of his bulk but was still toned, still much stronger than the average man. That was in part, because of his ability to consume masses of protein, even under the circumstances. The food he¡¯d been able to procure during Supply Runs had been nothing short of miraculous. But he¡¯d retrieved not just food. He¡¯d returned with gasoline, engine oil, batteries, flashlights, clothing, etc.


    Kay had revealed her concern about how he¡¯d obtained these supplies and he figured she had harbored these feelings for quite a while. It was only natural. For months on end, the runs had yielded very little and then one night, they¡¯d come home with the tractor trailer bearing not just a handful of staples, but boxes of goods. Laird had simply lied, saying he¡¯d gotten lucky and that had been good enough. Other than whether more of it was available, nobody seemed to give a damn how food was acquired. They were just grateful to have it.


    Even Grant had said nothing. But then, in exchange for his silence, Laird had agreed not to reveal Grant¡¯s solemn visits to his old house or to the hospital parking lot, the final resting place of his wife and daughter. Wes was foolish. Well, maybe not completely foolish, but certainly gullible. Charles, who had accompanied them multiple times, was level-headed, but not wise enough to figure something was amiss. Plus, Laird often hid some of the prize findings for himself, storing them away deep within the Walker House silo.


    Because of what he had been able to discover and accomplish, Laird thought that Community¡¯s members sort of owed their survival to him. That wasn¡¯t arrogant of him, it was simply the truth. Someone gave you something, then you were in their debt. Besides, he came to believe that the trips had taken a toll on his health. Sure, he still felt strong, but things about him were¡­changing. His beard, for example, grew in heavier than ever before, the stubble harder and harder to shave. It now sheared off in tiny, hard chips that sometimes ruined two or three razors before the job was done. And his limbs felt less flexible¡­even rusty at times.


    Leaving the mirror, he threw on a tee shirt, then stuffed some extra clothing into a bag. The days were warm, but the night could sometimes bring a chill with it. Therefore, he made sure to pack a couple of sweaters and two varieties of jeans: regular and a heavy, fleece-lined pair, just in case. There was no telling what he, Kay and the kids might run into, but one thing was certain: they were not coming back.


    From the top shelf of the closet ¨C one only he could reach ¨C he pulled down a shoulder holster and slid it on. He moved across the room to the bureau. From the back of the bottom drawer he withdrew one of two Glock 17 pistols. These, he¡¯d also retrieved during one of the runs. He loaded it, tucked it into the holster, then threw on a heavy sweatshirt to conceal it. When he made the attempt to steal the tractor trailer, there could be a problem and Laird was determined not to let anyone get in their way.


    He reached back into the drawer to take the other pistol but couldn¡¯t find it. Tossing aside all of the clothing, he found the drawer empty. No pistol. Maybe Kay had taken hers already.


    He climbed the stairs to the first level and entered the children¡¯s room. Kay was there helping them pack their own bags. ¡°Almost ready?¡± he asked. Kay nodded. ¡°Good. It¡¯s close to go-time. I¡¯ll go pack the food.¡± He turned away and said, ¡°Oh, do you have the other pistol? It wasn¡¯t in the drawer.¡±


    Kay shook her head. ¡°No. Where could it be?¡±


    The hairs on the back of Laird¡¯s neck bristled. Was she telling the truth?


    His wife turned to Lance and Audrey. ¡°Did you guys see Mom and Dad¡¯s pistols?¡± The children shook their heads. She turned to Laird. ¡°We have to find them.¡±


    Again, a wave of uncertainty washed over him. He didn¡¯t misplace things. Ever.


    ¡°Yes,¡± he said. ¡°We¡¯ll find them.¡± He left the bedroom and went into the kitchen. From the cupboards he grabbed some canned goods; meats and vegetables, some fruit packed in syrup; a good sugar source. Then he took the can opener from one of the drawers, along with a decent knife, which he wrapped in a towel before depositing in the bag. There were also crackers, cookies and some protein bars. Lastly, a couple gallons of spring water. That was all he would take as the weight would slow him down. Besides, once they reached their intended destination, there would be an abundance of fresh food.


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.Fresh food¡­It sounded too good to be true and yet, he knew it to be so. He¡¯d seen it with his own eyes; a world where there was plenty for everyone. A world where the horrors of this place didn¡¯t exist. He¡¯d been there. And this time, he would take Kay and the children with him. Getting back to it might prove difficult. Another reason for the Glock. Laird would let the weapon do the talking.


    ¡°Laird?¡±


    He turned to face Kay. ¡°Find the Glock?¡±


    She sighed. ¡°I need to know exactly what your plan is.¡±


    ¡°You just need to trust me, Kay. Everything¡¯s going to work out.¡±


    Kay shook her head. ¡°No. I, as your wife and partner, need to have a clear understanding here. I don¡¯t know what we¡¯re getting into¡­what we¡¯re getting our kids into.¡±


    ¡°Lance and Audrey will be fine. You and I will be fine. Once we get to the tractor trailer, it¡¯ll be smooth sailing.¡±


    ¡°And then what? Where are we going?¡±


    ¡°A place.¡±


    Her brow furrowed. ¡°A place? That¡¯s all you can tell me? Not good enough.¡±


    ¡°Kay, if we don¡¯t hurry, we risk losing our chance. Have I ever led you astray?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not the point! I¡¯ve never just leapt into anything in my life, even here, in this place, I¡¯m sure as hell not about to start. I know that we¡¯re safe here in Community and safety is paramount.¡±


    Laird stepped closer to her and took her hand, which she surrendered hesitantly. ¡°No, Kay. We¡¯re not safe here. Not anymore. Haven¡¯t you noticed people acting strangely? Mitchell¡­you think he¡¯s normal?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s always been a little off. So what, we just keep our distance, as usual.¡±


    Laird shook his head. ¡°No, he¡¯s a lot off. There¡¯s something very wrong with him. And whatever has happened to him, is going to happen to everyone, sooner rather than later.¡±


    ¡°What are you talking about?¡± she asked, stepping away from him. ¡°You¡¯re not making any sense.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s something not right with Community. The whole place. Can¡¯t you sense it? It¡¯s like the land is¡­infected or something.¡±


    Her face contorted with what looked like fear, be it genuine or feigned, Kay said, ¡°Laird, please¡­I¡¯m scared. You¡¯re not thinking clearly.¡±


    ¡°Goddammit, Kay!¡± She shuddered in surprise at the outburst. Lance and Audrey appeared in the bedroom doorway, concern evident on their faces. ¡°I¡¯ve seen it out there,¡± he pointed toward the silo¡¯s exterior door, one flight above. ¡°Everything¡¯s lifeless¡­colorless, for Christ¡¯s sake. Everything¡¯s gray¡­except Community.¡±


    ¡°Which is why we must stay,¡± she replied.


    ¡°Community is unnaturally lush.¡± Laird slammed his fist on the kitchen table. ¡°You ever wonder what the hell is growing out in the fields, Kay? What the farmers are caring for? Ever wonder why it is we never eat any of the vegetables? Why nothing is ever fucking harvested!¡±


    Appearing offended, Kay glowered at her husband. ¡°Nothing has been harvested because nothing is ripe yet.¡±


    ¡°Nothing is ever ripe here, Kay. Ever. As in the entire time we¡¯ve lived here.¡± Laird crossed his arms over his chest. ¡°That¡¯s the other thing ¨C exactly how long have we been here? I¡¯ve noticed that whenever I try to figure that out, I can¡¯t. It¡¯s like my memory is fogged over. Like something doesn¡¯t want me to remember.¡±


    ¡°Who are you, anymore, Laird?¡±


    ¡°Kay,¡± Laird pleaded, reaching for her hand, ¡°come on, we have to leave.¡±


    Shaking her head, she stepped backward, now displaying what Laird thought to be not worry or concern, but a steadfast determination. Her expression changed from that of loving wife to a cunning adversary. From the other room, the children emerged and came to their mother¡¯s side. Lance was holding the other Glock. He raised it toward Laird.

 Chapter 68

    Busy washing dishes in the kitchen sink, Stanley removed his hands from the hot, soapy water and stared at them. Thin curls of steam rose from his fingertips and he imagined it to be smoke, his hands like the barrels of recently discharged pistols. He directed them toward the darkness beyond the window and mouthed the noise for his superpower.


    POOFFFFF!


    ¡°Pretending ya can shoot fire again, Muskrat?¡± called Gramps from his living room. Gramps didn¡¯t have a dishwasher. ¡°Never owned one, neither,¡± he¡¯d proudly say when Stanley sometimes complained about the chore of scrubbing caked-on food remnants from plates or pots and pans.


    ¡°Uh¡­no, Gramps,¡± replied Stanley.


    ¡°Uh-huh.¡±


    Stanley¡¯s dad had called their physician, Dr. Hone, earlier and requested a house call. The way Stanley understood it, the doctor didn¡¯t usually make house calls, but his father was extra generous with certain folks in the county, in return for favors. So, at the farmer¡¯s market on Saturdays, Mr. Reece would throw in an extra box of produce for Dr. Hone, for the police chief, Pete Garrity, the mayor, and others. Stanley couldn¡¯t remember his father ever getting caught speeding or for any other traffic violation. Maybe that was because he was an excellent driver, but Stanley believed otherwise. Once, he even parked illegally when he took Stanley fishing off the jetty in Sunset Bay and had gotten no ticket. There was the fact that Dr. Hone lived nearby, too, in a big house, with like, three cars.


    Anyway, Dr. Hone had cleared Stanley of any head trauma. He hadn¡¯t even suffered a concussion. He also said that seeing a bright light after bumping your head was very common and not to worry unless it begins to happen more often. After that, Stanley had been relieved of his duties on the farm but was given light tasks around Gramps¡¯ place.


    ¡°Not called ¡®shooting fire,¡¯ anyway,¡± Stanley mumbled under his breath. ¡°It¡¯s Pyrokinesis.¡± At least, that¡¯s what it was called in the comics. The ability to create and control fire. One of the cooler superpowers, he thought. He watched the steam fade from his fingertips, then plunged the bright pink digits into the water and went back to washing the dirty dishes. When that was done, he rinsed them and placed them into the dish rack to dry. Or, as his mother used to say, when she¡¯d stop at Gramps¡¯ to help him around the house, ¡°We¡¯ll let God dry them.¡± The memory made him smile, but then he remembered her final days and the smile left him.


    He dried his hands and walked into the living room. Gramps, covered by the fully spread newspaper held in both of his hands, had the radio on. The volume was turned to low, but Stanley still recognized Perry Como singing, ¡°Papa Loves Mambo.¡±


    ¡°Okay, Gramps,¡± he sighed, feigning exhaustion. ¡°Dishes are done. I¡¯ll take out the trash, then head home. Okay?¡±


    From behind the paper, Gramps said, ¡°Okay, Muskrat.¡± Stanley turned to leave, but Gramps reached out and caught him by the arm. ¡°How¡¯s the head?¡±


    Stanley shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s okay. Just like normal.¡±


    Gramps nodded. ¡°Oh, like normal. Empty then, huh?¡±


    Stanley grinned. ¡°Real nice, old man.¡±


    ¡°Hey,¡± snapped Gramps, pointing his finger at his grandson. ¡°Don¡¯t make fun of your elders. Plus, if it weren¡¯t for me ¨C and your gram, God rest her soul - you wouldn¡¯t be here.¡±


    Stanley frowned. ¡°Geez¡­please don¡¯t go into detail.¡±


    Gramps hesitated, raised his eyebrows as if considering the comment, then roared with laughter. He waved Stanley off. When the boy headed outside with garbage bag in hand, the old man was still in hysterics.


    Outside, there was just a smudge of deep orange low in the sky and the air was beginning to chill. Stanley lifted the trash can lid, winced at the lingering smell of waste and tossed the bag inside. He brushed his hands together, as if doing so might eliminate any odor clinging to them. He started up the dirt road to his house, about one hundred and fifty yards away. His father had earlier made him his favorite dinner: spaghetti and meatballs. Now, as he drew closer to home, he was eagerly anticipating the half pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream left in the freezer from last night. Maybe if she didn¡¯t beg too much, he¡¯d give Doris a spoonful in her bowl.


    In the distance came the hooting of a Great Horned Owl and Stanley stopped to listen. Sometimes, on rare occasions, he would spot one in the nearby forest bordering the farm. One had even swooped down on Doris before realizing she might be more than it could handle. Then he heard more commotion, off to his right. It sounded like a car engine. It was approaching. A funny feeling enveloped Stanley. It seemed to warn him of something¡­something bad. He immediately thought of Spiderman and his ¡°Spidey-sense,¡± which could detect imminent danger.


    Appearing within the dark cornfield was a tiny, white light. Then another. The pair of dancing spheres moved frantically, bobbing up and down, side to side. One moment they¡¯d vanish in the shadowy crops, then reappear the next instant, all the while growing larger. Something was crashing through the field. Stanley took a fearful step backward as the roar of an engine overwhelmed his hearing. Then, as if in a dream, a pickup truck plowed through the edge of corn stalks and crossed the road, heading straight for the boy.


    Stanley cried out as the headlights washed over him. The truck¡¯s engine groaned like a great, monstrous thing generated from the darkness shrouding the farm. It careened toward him and as he fell backward to the ground, it swerved to his right, hitting the opposite side of the road with a violent KA-THUNK!


    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.It bounced once, trampling the stalks in its way and then was gone. It didn¡¯t coast to a stop in the crops, it just wasn¡¯t there any longer. It had literally vanished before Stanley¡¯s eyes.


    *********


    As the pickup bounced down the dirt path between the rows of vegetation, Alex, his heart pounding, frequently glanced in the rearview mirror. Likewise, he checked each side mirror and then, as if he couldn¡¯t trust the reflected images of his surroundings, felt the need to look through the windows themselves. So far none of the humanoids had seemed to follow. He didn¡¯t know if they were able to keep pace with the truck or if they¡¯d simply remained back in the field behind the perimeter fence. He hoped it was the latter.


    The headlights glare had revealed a single row of the things near the tree line, but Alex had the gut-clenching notion that there were rows and rows of them back in amongst those trees. Hundreds, perhaps. Maybe more.


    What in the hell were they? Either they had once been people and then changed, or something¡­the Organism¡­had¡­mimicked people. Alex couldn¡¯t decide what was scarier and suddenly remembered the old black and white movie, The Body Snatchers. In the movie, aliens growing in pods, emerged as exact duplicates for the humans they replaced. The things he¡¯d seen in the field were humanoid in appearance but seemed to be some sort of plant-human hybrid. He shivered involuntarily.


    There was something in the road ahead. As he drew closer, the headlights revealed an overturned pickup truck, lying on the driver¡¯s side. Alex depressed the brake pedal and brought his truck to gradual stop, about twenty feet from the vehicle. He checked the road behind him, then got out, switching on the flashlight. He opened his mouth to call out, but hesitated. What if some of the humanoids were close by? They could hear him. Then he¡¯d possibly have to fight them off. Was that even doable? Could they be hurt? Then again, someone might be injured inside the truck; one of the other farmers. Eva.


    Exercising caution Alex rounded the upended pickup, illuminating it with the flashlight¡¯s beam. ¡°Hello?¡± he hollered. ¡°Anyone inside the pickup?¡± No reply.


    He eased around the front grill and found the headlights still on, gazing sightlessly into the gathering night. Alex aimed the beam through the windshield and saw that the cab was empty. Reaching out, he touched the hood. Still warm. This must¡¯ve just happened.


    Somewhere ahead came the sound of shouting. Alex couldn¡¯t grasp what was said, but the voice was male, and it sounded angry.


    He jumped back behind the wheel of his own pickup, rolled down the windows, and set off down the road. Accelerating, he studied the rows of cornstalks on either side, listening for the voice again, looking for something, the flicker of the driver¡¯s flashlight, maybe. Any clue as to where the person might¡¯ve gone.


    Alex¡¯s eyes bulged as a figure emerged from the stalks to his left. A female.


    It was Eva.


    He hit the brakes and jerked the steering wheel to the right and the pickup nearly tipped, swerving off the road and plunging into the opposite field. Frantic, Alex mistakenly hit the gas pedal instead of the brake, blasting through the cornfield and mowing over dozens of crops before exiting onto another dirt road on the other side. His gut fluttered as the figure of a small boy appeared thirty feet ahead. Again, Alex wildly yanked the steering wheel and the truck reared to the left, avoiding the child. The pickup slammed against an embankment as it left the road and was momentarily airborne before crashing to the ground. The airbag deployed, filling Alex¡¯s field of vision. Feeling with his foot, he found the brake pedal and stepped on it, bringing the truck to a stop twenty yards into the stalks.


    He fought his way out of the cab and scrambled back through the tunnel he¡¯d left in the vegetation. When he reached the road, there was no trace of the child. He looked left but saw only more road, concealed by the night. To the right lay a dilapidated house, overgrown with vines. Perplexed by both the appearance of the child and the identity, Alex¡¯s mind was in freefall. Who in the hell was he?


    On the other side of the road, in the dark cornfield, he heard someone approaching. Alex readied himself for another encounter, assuming a defensive posture. He had no weapon and felt helpless. The footfalls grew louder. He heard heavy breathing. Alex¡¯s adrenaline spiked as Eva burst from the shadows into the road.


    ¡°Alex!¡± she called.


    ¡°Eva!¡± he returned. ¡°You alright?¡±


    ¡°We have to¡­¡± she panted. ¡°We need to¡­leave. Now!¡±


    She began to trot toward the broken-down house, motioning for Alex to follow. As he started after her, something else emerged from the cornfield. Alex turned and saw Mitchell. He was armed.


    Oh shit.


    Eva must¡¯ve heard it too, because she turned back and met Alex¡¯s eyes. She ran toward him, shouting something, but to Alex it was muffled. He could only the thumping of his own heart in his ears. Everything slogged on in slow-motion.


    Alex turned back to Mitchell, who had the rifle raised. It was aimed to Alex¡¯s right, toward Eva. Time crawled, decelerated by the dread of the moment. Alex raised his right foot and side-stepped, arranging himself between Mitchell and Eva. Everything was silent and for a an instant, oddly peaceful. Then, Eva screamed. Alex saw the burst from the barrel before he heard the thunder of the shot.

 Chapter 69

    ¡°Lacy?¡±


    She doesn¡¯t even hear her name being called. There is so much going on that the voice is just another noise blending in with nearby chatter and the whispers of worry from the other passengers.


    ¡°Lacy?¡± it calls again, louder.


    Then she turns her attention away from the intoxicating visuals of the trauma tents, floodlights and blue and red emergency beacons and stares up at the tall, black man across from her. They are in parallel lines leading up to a checkpoint on the airport taxiway. There are officials in hazmat gear, assessing passengers for signs of illness. The man looks familiar, but amid the confusion and chaos, she can¡¯t place his name or where she knows him from.


    Then she turns her attention away from the intoxicating visuals of the trauma tents, floodlights and blue and red emergency beacons and stares up at the tall, white man across from her.


    ¡°It¡¯s me,¡± he says. ¡°Reggie.¡±


    Reggie¡­Reggie¡­


    Yes, she knows him from¡­


    ¡°Reginald Tess,¡± he says again, from high school. He smiles.


    Lacy remembers that smile. Instantly, she¡¯s propelled backward in time to a classroom, where Reggie has just flashed the toothy grin after a smart-assed comment, prompting her to roar with laughter. ¡°Oh my God, Reggie¡­¡± She almost leaves her line to go and hug him but thinks better of it. What if she is sick? Maybe Reggie is.


    ¡°Good to see you,¡± he says, and then the smile fades. ¡°Just wish it was under different circumstances.¡±


    ¡°Yes, I know.¡± He hasn¡¯t lost his good looks. Still lean, but well-built. He is dressed in the airline¡¯s uniform. ¡°I can¡¯t believe it¡¯s been so long. You work for the airline?¡±


    Reggie smirks and raises the uniform¡¯s cap, which had been tucked under his arm. ¡°Yep¡­pilot.¡±


    ¡°Jesus, how about that? You were the pilot of my flight!¡± The amazement quickly subsides, replaced by the fear that had been consuming her before he¡¯d spoken. ¡°You have any idea what¡¯s going on?¡±


    ¡°No. Once we landed, we were just directed to this unused runway,¡± he says, pointing back toward the plane. ¡°Then we were told to wait until emergency personnel arrived before unloading. It¡¯s emergency protocol. Highly unusual.¡± He gestures past her. ¡°But it appears that highly unusual is the norm.¡±


    Lacy turns and sees more planes parked on the taxiway. Similar lines of passengers are being herded toward additional checkpoints. Legions of personnel, donned in hazmat gear, roam the grounds and Lacy can find no arriving or departing flights in the evening sky.


    ¡°Where¡¯s Mo? He with you?¡± asks Reggie.


    She¡¯d already been thinking about her husband, wondering if he was here, waiting inside the airport for her flight to arrive. Waiting for her to exit the plane and throw her arms around him. ¡°He was supposed to be here to pick me up. I¡¯m guessing he¡¯s ins-¡±


    Commotion erupts ahead in Reggie¡¯s line. A woman is shouting that her child isn¡¯t sick as personnel separate the two. Then a man ¨C apparently with the woman ¨C strikes one of the officials. Someone tackles him and a scuffle ensues. Reggie runs toward the brawl. Lacy remembered him being someone who didn¡¯t back down from confrontation and he¡¯d obviously maintained that trait. Before he reaches the mound of swinging limbs, he stops. Then retreats a step. The crowd before him recoils in unison and people begin screaming.


    There is a burst of white light and suddenly, all at once, the spotlights die, and the taxiway falls into blinding darkness. Lacy glances toward the terminal, but its windows are cool, black sheets of glass, featuring only glints of reflected moonlight. No power. The screaming and shouting continue, and passengers begin scrambling away from the checkpoint, toward the terminal. Lacy is almost knocked to the ground by a man dashing past her, before someone catches her by the arm. She looks up and locks eyes with Reggie. Despite the gloom, his eyes seem to blaze with worry, a look she¡¯s never seen him display.


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± he yells.


    They lock arms and storm off in a direction opposite of the masses. Reggie takes them to a baggage car and tries to start it, but it¡¯s dead. A gunshot erupts. Then another, further fueling the pandemonium.


    Continuing through the apron, past two mammoth, silent planes, they reach a door and Reggie leads them inside. The interior is pitch black. Distant cries and hollering fill the air. Reggie grips Lacy tighter as they wind through the blackness, feeling their way along a long hallway. The sound of running feet grow closer, accompanied by people coughing. Someone vomits.


    Lacy sees a tiny light ahead as they leave the hallway and enter a large, open space which she guesses is the Baggage Claim area. She realizes that the light is coming from outside and points. ¡°What is that?¡± she asks Reggie.


    Instead of answering, he spins her toward him, grabbing both of her arms in his. ¡°Listen to me.¡± His gaze is intense. Beyond the window, the light grows brighter, generating stark shadows inside. A giant, previously hidden, steps from these shadows and approaches. It is a figure of myth, yet it is here. Mo is with it. Lacy can¡¯t take her eyes off the thing, but then is shaken by Reggie. His eyes wide, he says ¡°Remember this, Lacy. Remember: the train takes them to the ferry and the ferry to the craft.¡±


    Outside, the light intensifies and though it¡¯s some thirty yards away, Lacy can feel something pulling at her. It¡¯s as if the light is calling her. It begins pulsing.


    Reggie is shouting, trying to raise his voice above the hordes of screaming people now scrambling inside the terminal. ¡°Say it, Lacy!¡±


    Behind Reggie, Mo approaches. The giant stands back, waiting. The area surrounding the creature is different than the terminal interior; like another background, superimposed over everything.


    ¡°Say it, Lacy! Now!¡± yells Reggie.


    She does, although she has no idea what it¡¯s supposed to mean. ¡°The train takes them to the ferry and the ferry to the craft.¡±


    Reggie lets go and races toward the automatic doors, which have been manually thrust open by the mob. Lacy takes Mo¡¯s outstretched hands and he pulls her up. ¡°Mo,¡± she says. At once she is confused by his attire. The clothing is strange; nothing she¡¯s aware of him having owned. He appears to be wearing a costume of sorts, like he¡¯s dressed as a character from Blade Runner. She¡¯s aware that he doesn¡¯t smell very good. He turns her toward the giant, who is standing with Reggie.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± says Mo. ¡°They¡¯re one of us. The good guys.¡±


    Terrified and faint, her mind fumbling to process this bizarre data presented to her, Lacy faces the window again, searching the fleeing crowd outside and finds Reggie. He¡¯s running straight for the pulsing sphere of light. She spins and sees Reggie next to the giant ¨C another Reggie.


    Her eyes find Mo, the Mo guiding her to the swelling landscape surrounding the giant. It begins to fill her field of vision, enveloping her, taking her away from the terminal. One last time, she looks back. Reggie is outside, almost at the glowing sphere. Another person, a man, is running toward the terminal. Lacy easily picks him out as he is the only person running toward the terminal. As the light brightens to a crescendo, Lacy is aware that this other man is Mo, who¡¯d come to pick her up from her flight.


    Lacy tries to break free and run to him. But this imposter has her in an iron grip, dragging her away until the terminal begins to fade from sight. Terminal Reggie reaches her Mo in the parking area just as dazzling explosion consumes the airport grounds.


    The scene dissolves, like a dream upon waking. They now stand on a dirt road surrounded by dry, dead vegetation. The day is becoming night and the wind rattles the crisp leaves. Lacy is dizzy. She collapses to the ground and as her vision swoons to blackness, she stares at this new Mo¡­and the other Reggie¡­and the giant.

 Chapter 70

    Shouting. People arguing. Lacy opened her eyes and found herself in a bed. The dream had been so real, that she almost felt like she¡¯d been there. She lifted her left arm, saw the missing lower half, and remembered¡­it was all real. The orbs¡­all the death¡­no fantasy created by her mind. It had happened.


    Reggie¡­


    She glanced up at Mo, who was embroiled in a heated exchange. Not her Mo¡­and yet¡­


    *********


    ¡°Think of a network of roots beneath the ground,¡± said Mo, ¡°like wild grass; here and there, a shoot rises up through the ground. But instead of shoots, there are orbs. Some of them are less significant, like leaves on a stem, but then others are the blossom at the top of the stem.¡±


    ¡°So where is Community¡¯s blossom?¡± asked Grant.


    Mo turned and pointed an index finger at him. ¡°Exactly! That¡¯s what we need to find out.¡±


    ¡°This sounds ludicrous!¡± grumbled Isaac.


    ¡°Does it, Isaac?¡± said Mo. ¡°I don¡¯t think you believe that.¡±


    A hand fell atop his and Mo found Lacy staring up at him. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± she asked.


    Mo placed his other hand top hers. ¡°Trying to formulate a plan. How¡¯re you feeling?¡±


    She nodded. ¡°Better, I think. Does that plan include a train?¡±


    Mo¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°It might.¡±


    Isaac rose from his seat and began pacing. Mo caught Grant eyeing him with what seemed like suspicion. But maybe that¡¯s how Grant eyed everyone; Mo didn¡¯t know him enough to discern his thoughts from a glance. Wasn¡¯t sure he could trust him, either. However, he did lead them to Community to get Lacy medical help¡­at least he¡¯d done that. But still. Mo glanced around the room. Hell, he didn¡¯t know if he could trust anyone in the room, for that matter. He¡¯d gotten this far by distrusting everyone, and he wasn¡¯t about to quit that tactic now.


    Then he glanced over at Wes.


    Wes Watley.


    It was weird as shit seeing duplicates of others he¡¯d known in life. No, duplicates wasn¡¯t the correct word. They were¡­counterparts. Equal in appearance, but each their own distinct person. He thought maybe he could trust Wes, but then again, just because one Wes behaved a certain way in one life, didn¡¯t mean he¡¯d behave the same in another.


    Mo¡¯s mind drifted back to the hospital, when Watley had¡­changed and wandered off on his own. He wondered what had become of him. Wondered if there was something more he could¡¯ve done to help.


    You could¡¯ve shot him, blown his head off and saved him from whatever had stricken him.


    Maybe, he thought. But a gunshot would¡¯ve alerted those things ¨C the humanoid things ¨C to his presence. Then it¡¯d be two people dead instead of one. Then he¡¯d never have reached Lacy, and just in time to pull her free of the orb.


    Fuck it, Mo, he told himself. You¡¯ve made your choices, now live with them. Get your mind right. Focus.


    ¡°Isaac!¡± Charles shouted. ¡°Can you hear me?¡±


    In his introspection, Mo hadn¡¯t paid attention. He saw Isaac leaning against the Med Hut door, his hands pressed flat against it, his head hanging down between his shoulders, like he was attempting to push the door over. Mo hadn¡¯t known an Isaac where he¡¯d come from, so trusting him wasn¡¯t going to happen. Besides, from the moment he¡¯d stepped into the Med Hut, something in his gaze was off. And the way he was conducting himself now was further proof that all was not well with the man.


    ¡°Isaac!¡± Charles called again.


    Grant stood, waving Charles off. He shot a worried glance toward Mo, then pointed past him. Mo turned and saw his rifle, leaning against the chair Isaac had been seated in. Mo leaned forward, about to stand, when Isaac turned and moved to the chair. He picked up Mo¡¯s rifle and taking it with him, returned to the door. He set the weapon in the corner and reassumed his previous position, pressing against the exit.


    Mo returned Grant¡¯s concerned expression.


    ¡°Isaac, what¡¯s going on?¡± Wes¡¯ turn this time. ¡°You¡¯re acting strange.¡±


    Mo shook his head. Just like him to point out the obvious. Maybe this Wes was just like the one Mo had known.


    Isaac¡¯s palms continued to press into the metal door, like a drunk holding himself upright and trying to push off into a standing position. The man¡¯s fingers began twitching, the nails scraping along the door, etching fine grooves.


    Everyone searched one another¡¯s face, probing for some insight as to what was going on. Lacy looked at Mo. ¡°Mo?¡±


    He just shook his head, urging silence. He turned his attention to Isaac, whose fingers scratched with increasing fervor.


    ¡°Grant?¡± asked Isaac in a quivering voice.


    ¡°Yes, Isaac,¡± returned Grant.


    *********


    I have a confession to make. I work for the benefit of the Organism. It promised that if I did what it asked ¨C if I helped it - it would allow me to live. Because you see, the Organism needs my help¡­our help. It needs it. It¡¯s dying and needs assistance to pass on to its next world to conquer. You need to stop it or else the daughter you saw that was just like your daughter, but from another place, will suffer similar consequences. You need to kill it. I¡¯m tired and don¡¯t want to assist it any longer. I just want to be free from its influence. So please, if you wouldn¡¯t mind¡­could you kill me? Now. Quickly, before I do something terrible.


    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.That is what Isaac had intended to say, but instead, all that he could muster was a strange, croaking sound.


    Grant¡¯s draw dropped. He composed himself. ¡°Isaac? What¡¯s wrong?¡±


    Isaac eyes stared, unfocused. His arms began to tremble, then like a current of electricity, the agitation spread through his entire body. A line of drool fell from his mouth and hit the floor.


    *********


    Instinctively, Mo rose, preparing for an encounter. Wes, who had been leaning back in the folding chair, fell backward, hitting the floor. He scrambled to his feet. ¡°What the fuck!¡± Charles backed away, into a corner.


    A trembling moan came from Isaac as his shuddering became more violent. He gasped, drawing in a deep breath. His mouth opened impossibly wide as his head fell lolled back, his eyes cast on the ceiling. A wet, gurgling came from his throat and a venomous swill surged from the gaping mouth, splashing against the metal door.


    ¡°Jesus Christ!¡± cried Charles, retreating even further into the corner.


    ¡°Get back!¡± demanded Grant.


    Wes scrambled back beside Mo, who¡¯d bolted out of his chair and gotten Lacy to her feet.


    As the wet discharge continued to exit Isaac¡¯s body, his form began to alter. His back and shoulders caved inward; the churning tissue funneled through the mouth until there was nothing left of the torso. The arms and legs remained where they¡¯d been, connected by glistening strands of flesh that seemed to barely support the head, hanging backward at a frightening angle. It was a hollowed out stick figure, somehow still standing. Ribbons of meat hung from the gruesome framework, thick strings of fluid falling to the floor with wet, slapping sounds.


    ¡°What the fuck is that!¡± yelled Wes, pointing hysterically. ¡°What the fuck is that!¡±


    Mo didn¡¯t answer.


    ¡°Something not human,¡± said Charles.


    The expelled innards clinging to the door and the wall moved.


    ¡°Fuck!¡± screamed Wes.


    Isaac¡¯s hands, still against the door, were covered with the reddish-black ooze. The skeletal framework collapsed to the floor and the remaining flesh on the limbs scrambled away from the bones, joining the mass on the door. It roiled there for a moment, then began to spread.


    Grant crossed over the bed Lacy had been lying on and joined her, Mo and Wes. They back as far from the thing as was possible. Mo, who¡¯d been caught off guard by the nightmarish exhibition, shook himself free of the hypnotic visuals and reached for the rifle. The movement must¡¯ve prompted the mass, as it swelled with greater enthusiasm. Mo raised the rifle and returned to Lacy¡¯s side. He¡¯d seen some weird shit, but this was the most disturbing so far.


    Uncoiling in the wet smear were what appeared to be structures consisting of tissue-vine unions. They reached out, then pulled more of the mass in the desired direction. This continued until most of the door and the tiny window were concealed.


    ¡°It¡¯s trapping us in,¡± said Lacy.


    Isaac¡¯s head, still attached by some remaining strands of tissue, was pulled along the floor. When it bumped against the base of the door, it was hauled upward, fresh streams of fluid escaping the neck cavity and running toward the floor. It joined the mass and he gazed at them with eyes that had rolled over white. A release of air escaped the yawning mouth.


    ¡°Oh Christ!¡± yelled Wes. ¡°Is he still fucking alive?¡±


    ¡°Killllll¡­¡± whispered Isaac. ¡°Pleeeeease¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh, Christ!¡± cried Wes.


    Mo, wishing he could put an end to the talking head, instead could only watch with horror at the inhuman thing. He thought of moving closer and stabbing it with some instrument, but just then the mass vibrated, then rippled. It began to spread up the wall and across the ceiling, heading toward the group.


    *********


    Charles frantically searched the cabinet beside him, looking for anything that might serve as a weapon. Wish I had a fucking blowtorch! he thought.


    Wait¡­


    Shuffling bottles, he reached and found what he sought: ethyl chloride. A refrigerant used to numb the skin for minor surgical procedures. But he also knew it was flammable.


    *********


    Suddenly, Charles took a step toward the mass and hurled a container, which shattered when it struck the door. Then he watched as the medic doused a rag with something from a bottle, and stuffed it into that same bottle. Next, he used a lighter to ignite the rag. Flames sprang to life and Charles tossed it where the container had struck. Fire erupted, engulfing the mass. It wriggled spasmodically, and began to contract, drawing itself together. It crashed to the floor in a fiery bulk. Then it stood and faced them.

 Chapter 71

    The bullet plunged into his lower right abdomen and Alex gasped. He collapsed to one knee, clutching the wound, deep crimson trickling through his fingers. It felt like someone had inserted a red-hot knife into him. He held the area in a futile attempt to reduce the searing pain and stared in perverse awe at the amount of bleeding. He heard Eva screaming, and although he knew she was close, she sounded far away.


    He glanced up and saw Mitchell advancing. It was dark and difficult to perceive, but Alex had the distinct suspicion that he was smiling. It dawned on Alex that something wasn¡¯t right about the man. There was an unnatural aura about him that could almost be felt. He was growing more sinister with each passing second and the night around him seemed to condense and take shape, like a great mass hovering around him.


    Suddenly, Eva was at his side, looking him in the face. Alex blinked and the act seemed to take forever, like he was stuck in a slow-motion depiction of reality. He felt sort of like he did - before the world had changed to its current state - when donating blood. Afterward, he¡¯d be too dizzy to walk, so the nurses or techs or whatever they were, would have him sit, drink apple juice and eat chocolate chip cookies to return his blood sugar back to normal. He felt himself sitting backward, on his rear end and thought, No juice and cookies this time. Then he was flat on his back, staring at the stars; cold, fading embers in the black sky.


    *********


    Alex glances at his father as Johnny Cash finishes ¡°Burning Ring of Fire.¡± ¡°How do you know when it¡¯ll come, Dad?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve told you before, Alex.¡± He points at the windshield. ¡°Watch the road.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± says Alex, looking forward nervously again, as any fourteen-year-old without a driver¡¯s license might. He handles the Chevy Silverado with veteran grace, however, as he¡¯d been behind the wheel on numerous occasions. These are different times, like his father often told him. You need to be able to take care of your mother and the twins, drive them away from danger if I¡¯m not around.


    ¡°I just like to hear it,¡± Alex continues.


    Mr. Dash sighs and appears upset at the boy¡¯s request. This, in turn, makes Alex uncomfortable for asking.


    Music fills the cab again, this time Waylon Jennings singing, ¡°Good Ol¡¯ Boys.¡± Alex thinks of the old tv show, The Dukes of Hazard and how cool it might be to have a Dodge Charger to race away from danger in. A pickup truck, though, will be more practical, he supposes. Or maybe a spacious SUV.


    His father begins, though with hesitation, it seems. ¡°You were young¡­it was when I was still a police officer. I was on patrol in my vehicle when I saw a burst of light coming from that farm back there,¡± he says, thumbing behind him. Alex¡¯s eyes are wide as he occasionally glances at his father. ¡°I get out to investigate and find¡­¡± his father¡¯s eyes drift off, an expression of great concern washing over him.


    ¡°A large figure,¡± adds Alex.


    ¡°Yes.¡± His father nods. ¡°In the cornfield.¡±


    ¡°And then you stop and get out.¡±


    ¡°There had been reports of¡­¡± His father stares out the passenger window. Sometimes he would look off into the distance when telling Alex things. The boy figured it was his way of believing in what he was saying. As if he needed to concentrate on the memory to convince himself that his words were not make believe.


    ¡°Reports of strange¡­lights. The farmer, Mr. Reece had seen them. And his son, too.¡±


    Alex reached over and turned the music volume down. This was his favorite part of the story. Truth, he corrected himself. It isn¡¯t a story. It¡¯s the truth, dummy.


    ¡°I go into the field, maybe twenty yards or so, and that¡¯s when I see him.¡±


    ¡°The giant,¡± says Alex. ¡°Gray.¡±


    The father nods, still staring out the window. ¡°Yes.¡± His fists ball up, the knuckles white. They begin to tremble.


    *********


    Eva held Alex as he stared skyward. She shouted something, but he couldn¡¯t understand it. She too, had blood on her and for a moment, Alex feared that she had also been shot.


    Only on her hands¡­it¡¯s only on her hands. Got to be mine.


    She reached down to her pants pocket. Alex lifted his head from the ground and watched as she withdrew a flare gun. In his lightheadedness he almost wanted to laugh, recalling how she¡¯d almost shot him earlier in the day. She quickly loaded the gun, then rose and turned toward Mitchell, aimed and fired. The bright round raced toward their assailant and struck him in leg. It bounced off, however, causing no apparent damage.


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.Mitchell shouted something at them and then brought the rifle into firing position. Eva returned her eyes to Alex. They were heavy with emotion, glistening tears on the verge of spilling. ¡°I remember,¡± she said.


    Clumsily, Alex took her blood-soaked hand in his. ¡°You remember¡­us?¡±


    Then, the tears spilled and as they raced down her perfectly sculpted cheekbones, she nodded. ¡°Yes.¡±


    His sight weaved in and out of a heavy gloom, like he was on a train, passing through a series of tunnels. Darkness¡­then light¡­then darkness¡­ Alex felt weightless; if he didn¡¯t hold tight to Eva¡¯s hand, he might drift away into the night sky, out into the atmosphere. Once past Earth¡¯s orbit, he¡¯d drift into space. Gone.


    He struggled, but managed, ¡°Then¡­I don¡¯t have to¡­ tell you¡­¡±


    Eva shook her head, a strand of her golden hair falling from behind her ear. He wanted so badly to reach up and caress her face, but he¡¯d lost his strength. She knew this, so she leaned close to him. ¡°No, you don¡¯t,¡± she whispered. ¡°I love you, too.¡±


    Her voice became a distant echo, a barely audible sound carried away by a gentle breeze. His head became too heavy and Alex lowered it to the ground. He found the sky suddenly peculiar. Something high overhead moved across the night; distant lights at either end of a shapeless thing. One green, one red. An aircraft.


    Can¡¯t be, thought Alex. Hasn¡¯t been an airplane in¡­forever.


    The thing continued across the black, star-sprinkled canvas, shrinking into the distance, merging with the other nocturnal bodies in the sky. Then, impossibly, another one, travelling in the opposite direction. Alex¡¯s eyelids fluttered, struggling to remain open.


    Then came the roar of an engine. It too, was a far-off sound, coming from the other end of a vast, open expanse. But no, Alex knew, it was right here. He¡¯d felt the gust of wind generated by the arrival of a black and white police cruiser. Red and blue emergency beacons flashed across his vision, repelling the dark in dazzling sparks of brilliance. A burst of energy, spawned by this manifestation, compelled Alex to prop onto his elbows. And then he saw him.


    The driver¡¯s door opened; the words, Sunset Bay Police, revealed by the flashing red and blue. A man, medium height, with a stocky build stepped out from behind the wheel and Alex recognized his father.


    GLUNK!


    Something struck the cruiser. Eva covered her head and Alex knew that Mitchell had fired again. The officer ¨C Mr. Dash ¨C swiveled, his pistol already in hand, and fired twice, the sound like a shockwave rattling Alex¡¯s bones. Mitchell dropped the rifle as he was struck once in the chest and once in the right arm, the second shot spinning him around as he hit the dirt.


    Mr. Dash, keeping his aim on Mitchell, directed Eva to get up and get into the cruiser. Once she was in, he scooped Alex up and lifted him from the ground. In the dreamlike movement Alex saw Gray emerge from the cornfield behind the police car; the landscape surrounding him different in some indeterminable way.


    Then, from farther down the road came a heavy, almost mechanized sound. A constant, red light was projected, which streamed across the cruiser with a scrutinized, probing thoroughness. Like it was being¡­scanned. Gray waved, urging Officer Dash to hurry.


    Alex, his eyelids nearly shut, stared longingly at his father, big and strong, just like he remembered him. But how? How was he here? How was this possible? Was he already dead and this was what Heaven was like? Maybe he¡¯d soon see his mother. Where were Henry and Annabelle?


    Alex opened his mouth to speak ¨C or at least thought he had ¨C but what came out was gibberish. Just sounds and exhalations. Placed on the back seat, he felt Eva lay a hand on his chest and then she said something that he couldn¡¯t understand. He felt the cruiser buck into reverse, plunging back into the cornfield it had come from.


    Alex floated over a great chasm. Behind him, on the precipice, the giant and Eva watched, then faded into shadow. For a moment, he was alone, adrift in a gentle current. On the nearing cliff appeared his parents, Henry and Annabelle. They were smiling. A great darkness bloomed from the abyss below and reached for him.

 Chapter 72

    The thing that had been Isaac stared at the group inside the Med Hut for a moment and then, as if just realizing it was on fire, began to thrash. Shrieking, it clawed at its flesh, tearing deep grooves which released a syrupy goo and swung its numerous appendages in wild arcs, swiping at the air. Mo couldn¡¯t tell if it was in pain or pissed; probably both.


    ¡°Get back!¡± hollered Mo, as the thing began to eject the dark fluid in haphazard trajectories. One trail nearly struck Lacy and Mo grabbed her and pulled her into him. He was trembling. He¡¯d almost lost her to infection from the orb; he was not going to lose her to this fucking thing.


    Lacy squeezed him. ¡°I¡¯m okay.¡±


    Moving ahead of her, Mo took aim with the rifle and pulled the trigger. It clicked.


    With a gut-punch of despair, Mo remembered that Mitchell had unloaded the rifle. Shit.


    ¡°Mitchell took your rounds,¡± shouted Grant above the sound of the screaming creature. ¡°He still has them.¡±


    Charles stared with eye wide. ¡°What do we do?¡±


    Mo thought. ¡°You have more of that flammable material?¡±


    Charles glanced toward the cabinet he¡¯d gotten it from and nodded. ¡°Ethyl Chloride. Yes.¡± The substance was in the cabinet, however, which stood ten feet away. ¡°Shit, why didn¡¯t I grab it before!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± assured Mo. ¡°I¡¯ll distract it. You grab it and light it up.¡±


    Charles nodded and took a step toward his right, while Mo moved in the opposite direction. ¡°Hey!¡± he shouted, trying to draw the creature¡¯s attention. It continued to thrash about and didn¡¯t seem to notice him. Mo picked up the metal folding chair he¡¯d been sitting on earlier. He folded it and flung it at the thing, striking it in what he thought was its head. It swung toward him and shrieked.


    Lacy screamed. Mo retreated three steps and bumped into the wall as it advanced. Pieces of it fell to the floor, singed and smoking. It reeked of something rotten and charred and Mo fought the impulse to gag.


    Suddenly, the thing halted and spun toward Charles. With what might¡¯ve still been a leg, it kicked the other folding chair and it zipped through the air like a missile, hitting Charles in the back and he dropped to his knees.


    The creature began to approach Charles when Lacy ran toward him. Mo shouted for her to get away from it, but she didn¡¯t listen. She wiggled past Charles, reached the cabinet and grabbed the substance she heard Charles mention: Ethyl Chloride. She removed the lid, turned back to the creature and, with both Mo and Grant hollering for her to get away from it, threw the container.


    It was a direct hit and bright, new flames coursed hungrily across the thing¡¯s body. It lurched backward, screeching louder than before. Then it turned and charged toward the Med Hut door.


    *********


    Laird, for the first time, noticed the tiny bulges in the temples of his wife and children. ¡°Jesus Christ! You¡¯ve been implanted?¡± When could this have possibly happened? The only time he was ever away from them was guard duty or¡­


    The Supply Runs.


    On one of the extended ones he guessed, when Laird had gone to the place he¡¯d planned to take his family. That¡¯s when that son-of-a-bitch Isaac must¡¯ve done it. Had he known what Laird was doing?


    Reflexively, he reached up and felt his own right temple, but it was flat and smooth. No, he would¡¯ve remembered if he¡¯d had the procedure, wouldn¡¯t he have?


    ¡°We¡¯re more in tune with Community¡¯s rules now, Laird,¡± said Kay, matter-of-factly. ¡°We understand the importance of Community¡¯s survival, the children and I.¡±


    Laird stared disbelievingly. ¡°You don¡¯t understand shit, Kay. You¡¯ve been brainwashed and you let our children be brainwashed!¡±


    ¡°No, Laird. Our eyes have been opened. If only you¡¯d allow Isaac to-¡±


    ¡°Isaac¡¯s not coming within ten feet of me, or you or the children ever again.¡±


    Lance stepped in front of his mother, the pistol extended. ¡°No, father. Without the implant, you¡¯ll never come near us again.¡±


    ¡°Not once we inform Isaac,¡± added Audrey.


    Laird glanced at his children. ¡°You guys aren¡¯t yourselves. You¡¯ll come with me and I¡¯ll take care of you. I¡¯ve found a place where everything is like it used to be. Plenty of food, medicine¡­ We can live in the house we had before. You can have video games again¡­see family and friends¡­¡±


    Kay shook her head. ¡°You¡¯re delusional, Laird. Once implanted, you¡¯ll see. We need Community and Community needs us.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m never getting implanted, Kay!¡± shouted Laird. ¡°It¡¯s never happening!¡±


    Audrey stepped closer. ¡°Then we¡¯ll miss you, daddy.¡±


    Lance pulled the trigger, then blinked in surprise when nothing happened. Just a click.


    Laird drew up to the boy and snagged the pistol from his hand. ¡°I thought something like this was possible. I never expected it to happen, but just in case, I unloaded both pistols.¡± He stepped backward, holstered the pistol and stared at Kay. ¡°I didn¡¯t expect my wife to deceive me.¡±


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.A terrific rumbling broke the tension. Some deep disturbance within the ground. Laird grabbed hold of the stairs railing for balance. The children took leaned against the wall for support. Kay scrambled forward, concern across her face. A noise of rending metal came from a lower floor in the silo.


    ¡°Kay, Community is falling apart,¡± said Laird. ¡°Can¡¯t you feel it¡­sense it? That something is wrong?¡± The rumbling returned and the silo¡¯s walls vibrated, giving off a faint humming noise. ¡°It¡¯s like something is coming for this place. The same something that has consumed everything else is coming for Community.¡± He held his hand out to her. ¡°Let¡¯s go. Let¡¯s take our kids and leave this place.¡±


    Kay took his hand and he pulled her toward him. From the bowels of the silo came a CLANG! Laird stepped toward the opposite railing and stared into the main cylindrical shaft. It was dark, but something down there was moving.


    Climbing.


    ¡°We¡¯re leaving now!¡± said Laird, turning back to Kay. An acute pain pierced his torso and Laird saw a kitchen knife protruding from his left side. Blood seeped into his sweatshirt. He raised his knee into Kay¡¯s stomach, and she screamed, doubling over. The defensive move intensified the pain and Laird bellowed. He reached down, took the knife by the handle and pulled it free. ¡°Christ!¡±


    Kay rose to her feet. Lance and Audrey although apparently stunned from the sight of their parents engaged in battle, flung themselves at Laird with twisted, menacing faces. He side-stepped them easily and moved to the ascending railing.


    The silo shuddered again, and this time was accompanied by a slick, wet, scurrying sound. Kay got up and staggered toward Laird but was halted. She glanced down and saw a black coil around her ankle. The snakelike thing circled up her leg, multiplying into tiny, black branches. She cried out, ¡°Laird!¡±


    Lance and Audrey began bawling, reaching for their mother. Laird seized both of them and wincing through the pain of the stab wound, dragged them up the stairs. ¡°Stay here!¡± He turned to go back to Kay, but the tendrils had spread so quickly that it seemed impossible. Her leg was engulfed by the dark matter and it had entangled her right arm, pinning it to her torso.


    ¡°Kay!¡± Laird shouted. He drew his pistol up and fired into the black tentacles. One of them split and thrashed around. More shot up from the blackness below, grabbing hold of railing and tearing it loose. It fell down the shaft, banging against the walls as it fell.


    Kay mumbled something; her mouth obscured by the glistening substance. Then, all but consumed by the whip-like appendages, was tugged to the floor. As Laird took aim, she was torn from the stairs platform and gone.


    His mouth agape, Laird, torn from his trance by the cries of his children, grabbed one in each arm and marched up the stairs. Behind him, the creature climbed up the railing. He opened the panel on the wall and punched in the security code, unlocking the door. Once through it, he locked it behind them.


    ¡°Mom is gone! You listen to me, now!¡±


    Through streaming tears, the children nodded their heads and Laird was relieved to see that the trauma seemed to have overridden the implants¡¯ influence. He wanted to dress them in bio-suits but there wasn¡¯t time. Instead, he had them each grab one and then he opened the outer airlock.


    Frantically, the children scurried after their father. Behind them, the silo sounded as if it was collapsing.


    Leading with the Glock, Laird led them around to an open area where the rig was parked. He loaded the children into the cab, then hurried around and jumped into the driver¡¯s seat. The engine roared and he shifted into Drive. They had gone only fifty yards when Lance and Audrey shouted, pointing out the front window. Laird hit the brakes. Before them in the road beside the Med Hut was a humanoid shape and it was on fire.


    Holy shit! Who is that!


    Was it one of the others from Community?


    The Med Hut emptied, and Laird saw Wes and Charles. Then, surprisingly, saw Grant, who he¡¯d last seen when they left him at this house. Lacy exited the building, followed by someone Laird didn¡¯t recognize. Then it dawned on him. He concentrated on the burning thing in the road. It in return, appeared to focus on him.


    It began to rearrange itself, limbs flailing and twisting. A head that had been located in the torso, slid upward, into its proper position. Then, when it was almost upon them, Laird saw Isaac¡¯s face.


    He released the brake and stepped on the gas. The rig collided with the burning Isaac creature, trampling it beneath the tires. When he passed over it, Laird braked, shifted into Reverse and drove over it again. A scraping, crushing sound came from below the cab. Laird stopped the truck and stared at the still, smoldering mass.

 Chapter 73

    After pulverizing the creature that had been Isaac, the tractor trailer sped forward, past the group and plowed through Community¡¯s main gate. Mo stared as its lights vanished down the road.


    ¡°Laird, that asshole!¡± yelled Wes. ¡°He could¡¯ve thrown us in the trailer! There was plenty of room for everyone!¡±


    ¡°We still have the minivan!¡± shouted Charles. ¡°It¡¯s behind the Med Hut.¡±


    ¡°How much gasoline¡¯s in the tank?¡± asked Mo.


    ¡°Half tank, I think.¡±


    Half tank, thought Mo. That should do.


    ¡°Lacy and I will take the cycle,¡± he said, pointing to a hedge of tangled brush which concealed the vehicle. ¡°Grant, I have an idea.¡±


    ¡°Like the idea you had for the hospital?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Exactly. But I need to know where Community¡¯s orb is.¡±


    ¡°The farms. I¡¯ll take you there. Follow us.¡±


    Mo and Lacy sprinted to the cycle and they hopped on. In the nearby trees, she thought she heard movement. With a flashlight she¡¯d taken from the Med Hut, she scanned the shadows. She inhaled sharply. ¡°Good God!¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Mo turned and saw the problem. Dozens ¨C maybe more ¨C of humanoid beings were emerging from the dark forest. ¡°Hold on!¡± He started the bike and took off. He gave it more gas and caught up to the minivan.


    In five minutes, they were on a dirt road, heading downhill. On either side were endless oceans of crops, but not the kind for human consumption. This harvest would lead to human extinction. Mo contemplated that thought and imagined extinction not just here in this reality, but possibly every plane of existence there was.


    Good God.


    The minivan came to an abrupt stop and Mo swerved to the right to avoid rear-ending it. Then he saw the reason: before them, illuminated by the headlights¡¯ white light, was a body. Mo took his pistol from a compartment on the cycle and dismounted. He approached, aiming at the head, just in case it moved. D¨¦j¨¤ vu,¡¯ he thought, recalling when Watley and he had shot that mutated body by the stream. That was where it had all gone wrong for Watley; the tiniest tear in his suit had allowed the contagion to enter him. Mo hoped he had died peacefully, although he doubted it. He drew within a few feet and saw who it was.


    ¡°It¡¯s Mitchell!¡± he announced.


    Wes leaped from the minivan¡¯s sliding door and jogged over to Mo. ¡°Jesus. He¡¯s dead?¡±


    ¡°Pretty sure,¡± said Mo. With Wes ¨C Watley¡¯s counterpart in this reality - beside him, the situation became that much weirder. It they had been standing at a stream, Mo thought he might lose his mind.


    ¡°Maybe your ammunition¡¯s still on him,¡± said Wes, reaching for the body. Someone grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back. It was Lacy.


    ¡°Don¡¯t even think about it. You want to end up like this?¡± she asked, holding up her amputated left arm. ¡°Or worse?¡±


    Wes nodded. ¡°Yeah, I guess you¡¯re right. Thanks.¡±


    Grant rolled down the passenger side window. ¡°I think the orb is just ahead. Let¡¯s go!¡±


    They turned to head back to their respective vehicles but stopped when they heard what sounded like gunfire. Not just any gunfire.


    ¡°What the hell was that!¡± asked Wes. ¡°That was no rifle shot.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± said Mo, staring down the road. ¡°Sounded like a¡­chaingun.¡± He couldn¡¯t see where the fire had originated from as the road curved to the right and out of view behind the crop field. But he had an idea what had caused it.


    *********


    Raising his left arm, Gray absorbed the rounds from the Machine¡¯s weapon. Most of the bullets ricocheted, flying off into the darkness, but a few lodged into the limb. He felt no pain, however. His hide had toughened since he¡¯d last seen the big robot. Then again, as he strode toward his enemy, he had an idea that this robot was a different one altogether. It was somewhat bigger than the other. Thicker, too.


    Another burst of fire exploded from the thing¡¯s cannon.


    THWUM-DUDDA-DUM-BOON!


    And again, most of the rounds bounced off, falling harmlessly to the ground. Gray figured this robot must¡¯ve had insider information on him ¨C likely from its predecessor - since it had attacked immediately after its red light had scanned him. He checked behind him to be sure there weren¡¯t two of them attempting an ambush.


    There had been no need to communicate with the robot. Gray knew he was here for the man in the wall. Gramps. But Gray wouldn¡¯t let him touch his Gramps. He would die first.


    When they were within twenty yards of one another, the Machine switched weapons, maybe because it realized the automatic rounds weren¡¯t working. A panel opened on its arm, revealing a sleek, gleaming cylinder.


    FWA-THWUP!


    The blast hit Gray and he was pushed backward a few feet. Some kind of concussive gun. He remembered the other robot possessing this same weapon. It had thrown Gray through a wall in that initial confrontation, but now, he was bigger and heavier, his additional mass reducing the weapon¡¯s effect on him. He lumbered forward, pressing into the invisible force. The Machine ceased firing and marched toward the giant.


    When they met, each threw a swing. Gray¡¯s missed. The Machine landed a solid blow to Gray¡¯s chest, sending him backward a step. Then the Machine produced the weapon that had almost killed Gray: a large, hooked blade. It looked heavy and hard, and it came down exactly where Gray had been cut by it before. It was a glancing shot, however, and deflected with a TING!


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.Gray countered by grabbing the Machine¡¯s head. He¡¯d marveled at its location before: hovering just outside the main chassis by some unseen force. He clawed it and tugged, but only managed to nudge it.


    The Machine broke free and swung the blade again, this time connecting, a direct hit on Gray¡¯s old wound. It must¡¯ve been twice as durable as before though, because when the blade made contact, it shattered. The Machine paused, as if in disbelief, and Gray countered. With his club-appendage, he landed an uppercut, jarring the head loose and staggering the metal behemoth.


    The head flew into the night darkness and landed ten feet away. As Gray went toward it, the chassis, somehow still aware of his position, fired the concussive weapon again, knocking Gray slightly off-balance. The head levitated, then rocketed back, intent on rejoining its body. Gray snagged it from its flight and heaved it to the ground. He stepped on it, trapping it beneath his foot.


    The chassis reached Gray, grabbing him in its metal claws. With a hearty swipe, Gray took its legs out and it crashed to the ground.


    He refocused on the head. The substance was too hard to crush, so he raised his club and brought it down. It bounced off with no apparent damage. The chassis got to its feet and approached. Gray raised the club again, and summoning all his strength, cried out and struck.


    The black globular head split into imperfect halves, each falling away from the other. Inside, a network of microchips and other things Gray knew nothing about, sparked and fizzled. The red light projected, blinked off and on, then went out. For good. Behind Gray, the chassis stood frozen in mid-step.


    Gray turned toward the road when he heard vehicles approaching. A van and a motorcycle. A man and woman got off the cycle and approached. The man held out his hands as if to say, I¡¯m unarmed, don¡¯t hurt me.


    Then the man spoke. ¡°I¡¯m not sure if you know me, but-¡±


    ¡°Mo,¡± said Gray.


    Mo seemed surprised. He glanced at the woman, then back to Gray. ¡°Yes. I knew¡­another Gray, but how do you know me?¡±


    *********


    Gray shrugged. ¡°Not sure. Just do.¡±


    Lacy stepped past Mo, who seemed hesitant for her to do so. She drew close to Gray, who, although scary and magnificently bizarre, also seemed to her like a lost puppy, seeking companionship. ¡°I remember you,¡± she said.


    Gray blinked twice and cocked his head slightly.


    Lacy moved closer. ¡°I see you in my memories. You saved me before. I need your help again.¡± She gestured toward Mo and the minivan. ¡°We need your help.¡±


    Gray looked past her at the other members of the group. Wes, Charles and Grant had stepped out of the minivan. They stared at Gray with what seemed like genuine awe.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure it was the same me,¡± said Gray, glancing back down at Lacy. ¡°But I will help.¡±


    Mo walked over to the Machine¡¯s immobile chassis, then inspected the thing¡¯s ruptured head. ¡°You did this?¡± he asked Gray.


    Gray nodded, seemingly proud of the accomplishment. ¡°Yes.¡± Then, his attention was drawn to the dark crops. Leaving Lacy and Mo, he stepped to the edge of the field and stared. ¡°They¡¯re coming,¡± he said.


    Lacy and Mo looked at one another. ¡°Who?¡± she asked.


    Gray returned to them. ¡°The plant people. Time for you to go.¡±


    The crops and the road began to yield to an encroaching wave of distortion; a colossal theatre curtain sliding open, transforming the world around them. A 360-degree view merging with their current one. Lacy retreated a step, unsure of what was happening. ¡°Mo?¡±


    He came to her side and took her hand. ¡°It¡¯s alright.¡± He pointed to Gray. ¡°I think he¡¯s doing it.¡±


    ¡°Yes, I am,¡± said Gray. ¡°Don¡¯t be scared. I can send you somewhere safe. Alex and Eva are there, too.¡±


    ¡°Thank you!¡± shouted Grant. He seemed unsure of how his gratitude would be received. But then appeared pleased when Gray raised a long, heavy limb and waved to him.


    The ground trembled. Deep, vibrating waves pulsed outward from the crops. An ink- black cloud drifted in from the darkness, miniscule particles infiltrating the road.


    ¡°Go!¡± shouted Gray. ¡°Now!¡±


    The new reality enveloped them, choking the old one into nonexistence. Instantly, fresher, cleaner air flooded their vicinity. Lacy turned to Gray, who was quickly fading. ¡°Come with us!¡± she pleaded.


    Gray smiled. ¡°I have something to do here. I hope I see you again.¡±


    And then, he was gone.


    *********


    Only Gray remained. Now, he could hear the plant people approaching, shuffling through the stalks. They were close. Humanoids, some called them. He thought they did, anyway.


    He tapped his head with his club-hand. He felt cloudy¡­like his mind used to feel before. Drained. Sending Lacy and the group to that other¡­what was it called? Reality? It must¡¯ve worn him out; taken something out of him.


    ¡°Hope you don¡¯t become a dummy again, stupid,¡± he mumbled to himself.


    The dark cloud was all around him now. He stared up at the sky, at the stars. Then, he remembered the tiny house sitting two hundred feet away, just off the road. Gramps¡¯ house. As he began walking toward it, he was unaware that Mitchell¡¯s body was gone.

 Chapter 74

    The tiny house was in shambles. The weight of the interweaving vines had been too much for the structure to bear and thus, a good portion of the roof was missing, and the walls featured large holes through which tentacles of vegetation crawled and slithered.


    Gray came to the picket fence, barely visible through the greenery. It was bent in spots and flattened in others. He almost chuckled when he saw that the mailbox still stood, a defiant symbol of normalcy in a strange, broken world.


    As he stepped over the fence and into the meager front yard, he recalled mowing the grass so long ago. Gramps¡¯ mower was always on the fritz and sometimes Stanley would have to yank on the starter cord a dozen times to get it going. ¡°I used to curse a lot at that damn thing,¡± Gray said to himself. His voice seemed to stir the vines in the yard, and they drew close to him, feathering him with gentle caresses, inspecting him. They parted and allowed him to the front porch.


    They think I¡¯m like them, Gray thought. I guess they¡¯re kind of right.


    The door was ajar, and he stepped into the crooked doorway, needing to angle his large mass through the narrow opening. Inside, it was dark, not just visually, but in spirit. It did not smell like it did when he was little. Years before, there had been a lingering, comforting scent of many delicious meals and happy times around the table, or on the couch in front of the TV, having cookies and milk, or hot cocoa, watching old, black and white episodes of The Three Stooges. Now, it smelled of rot and decay.


    What floorboards were left squealed under Gray¡¯s weight and he half-expected to fall through into the basement at any second. He thought about calling out to the man in the wall - Gramps - but hesitated. He was scared. All this time, when he would bring the man what food he could scavenge, or just to check on him, he had not been sure why he¡¯d done it. Gray figured it was just because he was lonely and he thought maybe the man in the wall was, too. But some deeper part of him had been Stanley all along and had needed to be with his grandfather. The part of him that was still Stanley had recognized Gramps.


    As he passed into the dining room and neared the kitchen, he noted that the vines were becoming more agitated. They slid over and around each other, reminding Gray of a roiling heap of slimy snakes. They were denser than he had remembered. When he approached however, they parted and granted him entry.


    In the kitchen, Doris awaited him. She looked at him, thumped her tail once, then seemed to remember the circumstances; this was a reunion, but not a happy one. The rafters had long collapsed, and the ample room allowed Gray to raise to his full height. Before him, slowly revealed by the separating waves of vines and illuminated by the soft glow of an orb overhead, was Gramps. He must have heard Gray approach because he spoke immediately.


    ¡°Muskrat¡­is that you?¡±


    Gray nodded, a knot of emotion binding in his throat. ¡°It¡¯s me, Gramps.¡±


    The old man was gray-green, his beard more akin to thin, woody stems than hair now. His eyes were opaque; sightless, milky, glaucoma-stricken spheres. But they seemed to brighten, and he produced a hint of a smile, the corner of his charcoal lips lifting. ¡°I¡¯ve been waiting for you to come.¡±


    Gray reached out but did not know where to touch Gramps. His arms hung uselessly, and his legs were gone; he was only a torso and a head, the rest absorbed into the plant supporting the orb. Gray wished to hold his worn, calloused hands once again. Feel the strength in them, despite his age. ¡°I¡¯m here,¡± he finally managed.


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.¡°I¡¯m not well, obviously,¡± continued Gramps. ¡°But just recently, I¡¯ve had an awakening. I can¡­remember things again.¡± He raised his head toward the sky and blinked. ¡°If I was able to cry, I just might right about now.¡±


    Gray trembled. His eyes welled, but he wanted Gramps to know he was tough, so he kept them from falling. Doris lowered to the ground with a sigh.


    ¡°I remember you running around with Doris.¡± He nearly laughed, then went on. ¡°The two of you coming to visit¡­¡±


    Outside, Gray heard the shambling approach of the Humanoids, he felt the dampening arrival of the black mist and was almost overcome by rage. How dare they intrude on his moment with what remained of his family! Doris pawed at him, urging him to resist his impulses and to remain focused.


    ¡°Your mother and father loved you more than maybe you¡¯ll ever know,¡± said Gramps. ¡°And I know you loved them ¨C and still do.¡±


    ¡°I wanted to ask you about my dad,¡± blurted Gray. ¡°I can¡¯t remember what happened to him.¡±


    Gramps interceded, coughing as he did so. ¡°I have little time, boy. So, listen.¡±


    Gray leaned closer. Doris stood and alertly gazed through a part in the vines that provided a glimpse into the front yard. Her snout crinkled and she uttered a soft growl.


    ¡°If you do stop by¡­I mean, if this is you, Muskrat¡­¡±


    ¡°It is, Gramps!¡± cried Gray.


    ¡°I want you to know¡­¡± the old man licked his lips, ¡°¡­that I love you.¡±


    Then Gray could no longer hold back his tears and they streamed down. ¡°I love you too, Gramps.¡±


    Gramps¡¯ head dropped toward the floor and Gray¡¯s heart thundered. A thin line of drool spilled from his mouth and into his beard. But then, he lifted his face and relief washed over Gray.


    ¡°Muskrat¡­is that you?¡±


    Gray frowned. ¡°Yes, it¡¯s me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been waiting for you to come.¡±


    Now, despair seized Gray. Doris turned from the window and whined sorrowfully.


    ¡°I¡¯m not well, obviously,¡± continued Gramps. ¡°But recently, I¡¯ve had an awakening¡­¡±


    Gray¡¯s hope died at that moment. Gramps was no more than a mindless shadow of himself, continually repeating a final message in hope that his grandson would visit him one last time. The giant laid a hand on Doris¡¯s head and sniffed. ¡°He¡¯s gone, Dor.¡±


    They stood there like that for a moment, amid the cacophony of the lumbering horde outside. The mist invaded the home and swarmed around them. Gray stepped toward Gramps. He cradled the old man¡¯s tiny head in his massive hand. Then, with a heavy sigh, he did the hardest thing he had ever done in his life. He twisted his hand and Gramps¡¯ neck snapped. The light in his eyes went dark and he was released from his prison.


    Gray cried out and Doris howled. The main stem supporting the orb collapsed as the vines thrashed and whipped through the air before withering and hitting the floor. The vegetation surrounding the house began to shrivel and squirm, as if in pain. The Humanoids all stopped, some wobbling in a drunken stupor before faltering. Others remained where they were, frozen in mid-stride.


    The orb brightened, then vanished, a shockwave pulsing outward through the crops. The stalks shivered, then went still. The black mist evaporated. Then, one by one, the Humanoids crumbled into heaps of colorless dust.

 Chapter 75

    Charles likened what was happening to the waves on a beach; the world they had just been standing in receded, only to be replaced by another. Or maybe instead of the worlds shifting, it was he and Wes that were the ones dissolving and reconstituting. Either way, he felt like his head might explode.


    ¡°Where are we?¡± asked Wes.


    Charles shrugged. ¡°Not sure. I guess ¨C technically ¨C we¡¯re in the same spot¡­¡±


    ¡°But just a different¡­what? Existence?¡±


    Shaking his head, Charles added, ¡°I dunno. Maybe.¡±


    ¡°This is fucking crazy.¡±


    Wes glanced around. It was evening, just as it was where they had come from. The van was there, parked twenty feet away, tucked in between rows of lush vegetation. They were on the farm, but even in the dim lighting, this farm appeared to possess legitimate rows of corn and not something¡­else. Not something alien to this world.


    ¡°We¡¯re probably on private property,¡± Wes said. ¡°We should get going.¡±


    ¡°To where?¡± asked Charles. ¡°Where in the hell do we go? It¡¯s not like we can go get a hotel room. There was no time to grab any supplies, let alone any cash we had stored away.¡±


    Wes spun around in a circle. ¡°Hey, where are Mo, Lacy and Grant?¡±


    ¡°They were right here only a minute ago,¡± said Charles.


    A spotlight burst to life nearby. Wes ducked. ¡°Was that a motion sensor?¡±


    Charles shook his head. ¡°Don¡¯t know. Let¡¯s get out of here.¡±


    They headed for the van but halted as the engine started and they were caught in the headlight¡¯s glare. ¡°Oh, shit,¡± said Wes.


    The van kicked up dirt and sped toward them. As they jumped out of its path, they each caught a glimpse of Mitchell behind the wheel.


    *********


    The ride happened in a blur. At first, they had exited a cornfield, then sped down a dark country road, all the while Eva keeping pressure on Alex¡¯s wound and the man who looked like Alex¡¯s father yelling for him to hang on.


    In the rear seat, Alex¡¯s head rested on Eva¡¯s lap as she tended to him. There had been a stack of towels on the seat, as if Officer Dash had been prepared for this somehow. Eva had already gone through one towel and tossed it aside. Now, the second was quickly becoming saturated with blood.


    After an eternity, the police cruiser screeched to a halt outside the hospital emergency entrance. Officer Dash slammed the gearshift into Park, got out and lifted Alex into his arms. He hurried inside shouting for help; that he had a gunshot victim.


    Eva sat trembling in the back seat, covered in blood.


    *********


    The rig idled in the parking lot of Womack¡¯s grocery store. Laird did not intend on turning the engine off in fear that it might not start again. With Lance and Audrey standing behind him, he aimed the Glock at Ernie.


    ¡°I¡¯m going through,¡± he said confidently. ¡°The children too.¡±


    Ernie nodded, stroking his wiry, and strangely dry, grass-like facial hair. ¡°Uh-hm.¡± He stood behind the worn-down counter of the store, glancing out over the dark aisles. Everything was dull and gray and felt ready to crumble. ¡°Not coming back, I guess?¡±


    ¡°Not coming back,¡± said Laird.


    Nodding again, Ernie pointed to Laird, then to himself. ¡°Had an agreement, you and I. Remember that?¡±


    Laird stood quietly.


    ¡°I¡¯d let you go through¡­you¡¯d bring me something back.¡± He wrenched his hands and chewed on his lip, pondering the circumstances. ¡°Now, I let you go through¡­and I get nothing.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s just how it has to be this time.¡±


    Ernie began to slowly pace behind the counter. ¡°No¡­I don¡¯t like it.¡±


    ¡°Just go through yourself and get what you want.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t. Not like this,¡± added Ernie, gesturing to his altered self. ¡°Can¡¯t take this into there,¡± he said, pointing to the rear of the store. ¡°Won¡¯t do it.¡±


    ¡°This is no place for children,¡± Laird pressured. ¡°You have to let me take them where it¡¯s safe.¡±


    Chewing on his lip some more, Ernie¡¯s eyes darted from Lance to Audrey, back to Lance. ¡°No, no place for children. But, that place might not be a place for children, either soon.¡±


    ¡°What? What do you mean? It¡¯s untouched.¡±


    His bushy eyebrows raised, Ernie responded, ¡°Isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Laird had lowered the Glock in an attempt to appeal to Ernie¡¯s emotions, but was quickly tiring of this game and raised the weapon again. ¡°Goddammit, just let us through!¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t shoot me or it won¡¯t work.¡±


    Sighing, Laird was forced to give in. ¡°What do you want?¡±


    ¡°Not much. Just a little keepsake, to help me remember.¡±


    ¡°Even if that keepsake isn¡¯t really yours, but belongs to another Ernie?¡±


    ¡°Even still,¡± said Ernie. ¡°Close enough. Just something from a world that was still right.¡±


    ¡°What do you want?¡±


    ¡°See if that Ernie has a 1967 Cadillac Fleetwood. I had one parked in the garage behind my house. I miss it.¡±


    ¡°You want me to steal a car so you can watch it sit and rot here in the parking lot?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    Laird contemplated this extraordinary request. Before it had been only small tokens from the other world; a yo-yo, a Whistler tea pot like he used to have. Now, a fucking car? He looked at the children and sighed. ¡°Fine. A 1967 Cadillac Fleetwood.¡±


    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.Ernie nodded.


    ¡°And what if the other Ernie doesn¡¯t have one?¡±


    ¡°Find one.¡±


    ¡°Christ. Fine.¡±


    Ernie walked to the rear of the store, then turned back to Laird. ¡°Go sit in that truck of yours and in a few moments, you¡¯ll pass through.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± said Lair.


    ¡°And remember,¡± said Ernie. ¡°If you don¡¯t hold up your end of the bargain, I¡¯ll send someone for you.¡±


    Laird paused, considering this threat. Then, he nodded and left the store. In mere moments, just as Ernie had promised, Laird, Lance, Audrey and the tractor trailer were whisked to another reality.


    It was a warm evening, the light of town ablaze and the streets alive with traffic. The children gazed in wonder and all the automobiles and people on bicycles. The world was suddenly bursting with life and activity. Neither spoke while Laird pulled the rig behind the store, now featuring the ¡°W¡± in ¡°Womack¡¯s.¡± He placed it into Park, got out and detached the trailer. He had not intended to take it with him, believing it a hindrance, but in parting Community in such a hurry, there was no time to detach it.


    He hopped back into the driver¡¯s seat, wincing as he did so. The stab wound felt like it had reopened, fresh blood seeping beneath his bandage. He took a deep breath of fresh, ocean-scented air and pulled away from the lot.


    *********


    Lacy clutched tightly to Mo as they sped down the farm¡¯s dirt road. She was confused by what she saw: the rows of crops were decimated. Only a few rogue stalks stood upright, most of them bent to the ground, or collapsed entirely, rotting away on the ground. There was an ominous aura about this place. It was something she couldn¡¯t put her finger on, but it there.


    ¡°What is this place?¡±


    Mo nodded. ¡°I don¡¯t know, but it isn¡¯t what I expected.¡±


    ¡°How so?¡±


    He hesitated, then said, ¡°I just have a bad feeling.¡±


    ¡°Me too.¡±


    Pulling the cycle to the side of the dark, desolate road, Mo turned to her. ¡°First, no Charles and Wes. I mean, nowhere to be found. The crops in ruins. Then, no signs of life besides us.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m worried, Mo.¡±


    Mo nodded in agreement. ¡°I know, but¡­¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll figure it out?¡± Lacy finished his thought.


    He shot her a concerned look. ¡°Yeah, I guess so. We¡¯ll figure it out.¡±


    Lacy smiled. ¡°As long as we¡¯re together, I¡¯m confident that we¡¯ll be alright.¡±


    Mo returned the smile. Then, he turned his attention toward the road, staring into the distance. ¡°Listen.¡±


    She listened. ¡°I hear it. A low, buzzing.¡±


    As if sensing danger, his expression shifted. ¡°Get off the road. Quick!¡±


    He hauled the cycle into the forest bordering the road and laid it on its side. Then he took to the ground with Lacy. A few seconds passed and the buzzing grew louder. Then, something spherical zipped by and continued down the road until it was out of sight.


    Lacy shot a hard glace to Mo. ¡°Christ, Mo.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± he said. ¡°We¡¯re back where we started from.¡±


    They had left a reality in which the Organism had fed on all it could. The machines then sent out drones to find human settlements and new lands for it to devour. They had come to Community to at least try to save someone else¡¯s world after theirs had been lost. Now, in some fantastic error, they been returned.


    ¡°Look!¡± Lacy whispered urgently. The drone had returned, retracing its path and scanning the side of the road with a sinister red light. Her gut tightened.


    Mo reached for his weapon, then realized a pistol would be inadequate against the drone. Out of the night came the distant blare of a horn. Far, but not too far. He turned to Lacy.


    ¡°Was that a train horn?¡± she asked.


    He nodded. ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°The train takes them to the ferry and the ferry to the craft,¡± she whispered.


    Without a word, they hopped onto the cycle, then darted from the trees, knowing the drone would spot them, but risking it anyway. Lacy knew there was an old rail line that ran to the coast, but like everything else, thought it was long abandoned. Mo knew its location as well and in a few harrowing minutes, they intersected with another road, this one a four-lane highway.


    The drone had indeed given chase and was gaining on them, Lacy providing updates on its proximity and urging Mo to go faster. The train horn sounded and was close, but so was the drone and just when she thought they were out of time, Mo veered to the left and into the parking lot of a ramshackle station. There, impossibly, was the magnificent bulk of a diesel engine.


    A man was beckoning them. Suddenly, he raised a weapon and discharged it. A low, thrumming wave shot past Lacy and she instinctively ducked. The drone fell and slammed into the pavement and skidded to a stop.


    ¡°EMP,¡± said Mo.


    The two of them stared at the man, who called them closer. Then, they left the cycle and ran toward the train.

 Chapter 76

    As Eva¡¯s mind frantically catalogued the events of the evening and whether Alex would live and what she would do from here, her trance was broken by the screeching of tires. She jerked her head toward the commotion and saw a minivan ¨C the minivan, from Community.


    She expected to see Wes or Charles or Lacy, not caring to understand how they might have gotten here, simply happy to see them. But her stomach twisted in revulsion as it was Mitchell who emerged from the vehicle. He still had a rifle and was walking toward the hospital entrance.


    Eva exited the rear seat and ducked into the front of the cruiser, hoping to find a weapon and saw a shotgun in a mounted rack. As she searched for the lock, she saw Mitchell stop halfway to the entrance. He swayed back and forth, and she thought that maybe he was dazed or in shock; he¡¯d been shot twice. How the hell was he even alive?


    Abruptly, the bastard did an about face, returned to the van and pulled off into traffic.


    He can¡¯t just get away.


    I can¡¯t let him get away.


    Mitchell was infected, changed into something not quite human. Eva could not allow him to spread the contagion here. If she didn¡¯t stop him, in her mind that would make her a moral accessory. She looked and found the keys, still dangling in the ignition. She inhaled deeply, started the engine and took off.


    Jesus Christ, Eva. You just stole a police car!


    Had to be done, she convinced herself.


    Her heart pounding with the weight of tremendous responsibility, Eva trailed the minivan all the way into Sunset Bay. Her eyes wandered over the shore town. It was peak season; crawling with activity. Neon lighting advertised Mini Golf and ice cream shops. The streets were littered with hordes of people, some walking, some riding bicycles. There were more people than she¡¯d seen in years and a wave of nostalgia clung to her. She recalled amusement rides and cotton candy, water ice and boardwalk fries, with vinegar. She remembered hanging out with Lacy here¡­and meeting Alex. Falling in love.


    Returning from her reverie to the task at hand, Eva momentarily lost sight of the minivan, and her adrenaline spiked. Then, she saw it two vehicles ahead. She silently chastised herself for drifting off and focused. Adhering to the speed limit, Eva wanted to draw as little attention to herself as possible, especially from any other police.


    The van eased through the busy district and wound around to the north end of town. It stopped at a wharf overlooking the ocean and Mitchell exited. A few lights illuminated the long pier, but it appeared to be vacant.


    Eva pulled the cruiser over and parked a good two hundred feet behind the van, although Mitchell didn¡¯t seem aware of her presence. He didn¡¯t seem aware of anything, still stumbling along as if in a stupor. She got out, glanced around to be sure no one was in sight and walked with the shotgun at her side, hopefully not noticeable.


    The wind coming off the ocean twirled loose strands of hair into her face and she tucked them behind her ear. Eva saw that farther down past the wharf, maybe another hundred yards north, was where the fishing vessels docked. There were bright lights and activity there. She would have to act quickly to avoid detection. As she stepped onto the wharf, she caught Mitchell¡¯s scent and nearly gagged. It wasn¡¯t body odor, but a sickening element of decay. Like meat that had been left unrefrigerated and had begun to spoil.


    They were halfway down the pier and Eva glanced over the railing at the waves crashing over jagged rocks below. A fall here would likely spell death.


    With Mitchell¡¯s shambling gait, Eva gained on him quickly. When she was within ten feet, she stopped, took a firm firing position and aimed. He was there, right in her sights and yet she hesitated. To kill another human being was no small chore, as she¡¯d learned in the past. To take the life of another, whether just or not, left a permanent mark on one¡¯s soul. The crushing burden had never left her. It had eased over time, but she knew it would always be there.


    *********


    The child is her counterpart. Eva arrives at the gas station, bright sunlight catching her off guard as it reflects off the pavement. She runs and grabs the rear door of the attached store, but it is locked. She rounds the building, racing to the front door, all the while feeling the electromagnetic sensation that always precedes the appearance of an orb.


    To her left, her mother ¨C no, not her mother, but the girl¡¯s mother - waits in the car as the attendant fills the tank with gasoline. The father is strolling back to the car, a mere fifteen feet away, unaware that eight-year-old Eva has gone into the store looking for him.


    Heartache tears fresh wounds in Eva, but she turns away, ignoring the concerned looks from the crowded parking area, and focuses on the child. She yanks the door open as behind her an audible crackle fills the air, along with a penetrating vibration. There, before her, is the eight-year-old Eva¡­her counterpart.


    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.Eva recalls being in her exact position so many years ago, looking up at the stranger in the unusual attire. She had been frightened then, just as this young girl is frightened of her now. Eva is the stranger this time around and just as before, it is too late to save the parents.


    The girl steps back from Eva. To the left, at the check-out counter, a police officer notices her bewildering behavior and the dome-eyed helmet, drops his coffee and reaches for his holstered weapon. As Eva darts for the girl, she catches sight of his name tag: Dash. She drops to the ground, shielding the young girl as the orb materializes, obliterating everything in the parking lot, then lifts her and sprints to the back door, shouldering through it. The force of the orb¡¯s arrival hurls Eva and the girl ten feet, and they land and tumble. The girl ends up atop of Eva and calls out for her mother.


    With her vision reeling, Eva informs the girl that her parents are gone, then leads her to the cycle, shots erupting. She straps the child in and as she is telling her to hold on, watches two armed men emerge from the parking lot, raising their weapons; Mo and Watley, sent to retrieve her and Alex for illegally jumping realities. Forced to do so by the machines. Once allies, she must now think of them as enemies.


    Shots miss, hitting trees and sending splinters into the air. Then, one plunges into Eva¡¯s side. The cycle wobbles, nearly crashes, but she gains control and races off. In no time, they are out of range. But Mo and Watley likely have cycles, too and will soon be after them.


    When they arrive at a hotel, Eva pulls to the rear to stow the cycle in some shrubbery and is thunderstruck to find the young Eva unresponsive in the seat. She quickly realizes the child has been shot, her tiny top soaked with blood.


    ¡°No! No, no, no!¡±


    Eva lifts the girls top and finds the bullet hole in her lower left abdomen. She tries unsuccessfully to resuscitate the girl. So much blood from such a tiny body.


    She¡¯s failed.


    Her counterpart is dead because of her actions. She slumps to the ground, cradles the child and softly weeps.


    The whir of approaching cycles comes to Eva and generates a surge of hate in her. She lays the child¡¯s body to the ground and takes aim on the road, waiting for Mo and Watley to appear.


    ¡°No, Eva.¡±


    She ignores Gray¡¯s voice. He is standing behind her.


    ¡°You¡¯re needed elsewhere,¡± he groans.


    As she is whisked away, she says, ¡°Promise me you will allow me to return again.¡±


    ¡°I promise,¡± says Gray.


    They arrive at the gate of an abandoned airfield, a few cylindrical structures protruding from the ground. They look like bunkers. Gray tells her it is called Community and that she needs to be here to protect him. Gray departs and she is met by two armed guards, Mitchell and Watley. This Watley is younger and uncorrupted. She is taken inside.


    *********


    Eva raised her shirt and studied the scar left by the gunshot wound that day. The pain of the child¡¯s loss still vivid, still a void inside her.


    She glanced ahead and found Mitchell now staring at her. Where he had been shot now was glossed over by a hardened black crust, the edges still oozing a dark, syrupy fluid. He spoke, but not to her.


    ¡°No, Mitchell,¡± he said, in a dreamy, far-off voice. ¡°We have no business at the hospital. Go to the ocean, see the waves.¡±


    Eva stood poised with the shotgun. Mitchell¡¯s eyes were unfocused, staring somewhere beyond her.


    ¡°Go see the waves, Mitchell. Big plans for you, there. Go.¡±


    He stepped toward her but she held her ground. ¡°Any closer¡­¡±


    Then, in a strained version of his real voice, ¡°Kill me. Pleeeeease.¡±


    Eva¡¯ heart skipped. There must be a part of him that was still in there, now pleading with her to end his life. She didn¡¯t need to hear it again. She squeezed the trigger, punching a hole in the torso, then pumped the shotgun and fired again. The second shot all but obliterated the head and Mitchell rocked backward. He teetered, artificially held upright by whatever else he¡¯d become, and slammed to the ground.


    Eva tossed the gun over the railing into the waves and turned to leave. A wet, slithering noise caused her to look back and horrified, she watched black, glistening coils extend from the cadaver. They wrapped around the railing post, then pulled the body over the side. Eva scanned the crashing surf but there was no sign of the thing.


    She ran off the wharf, past the police cruiser and kept on running back toward town. She wasn¡¯t sure where she would go, but she had to get away from here before police arrived, as the gunshots may have been called in by the fisherman at the inlet.


    Eva thought of Alex and prayed he was alright. She thought of Officer Dash and how he¡¯d be held accountable for his stolen patrol car and the missing shotgun. She thought of Lacy, Mo, Watley, Charles and Grant. Even Laird, Kay and the Walker children, and hope all of them had survived.


    She thought of the thing that had been Mitchell, out there bobbing among the waves.

 Chapter 77

    They stayed until dawn, making sure that there were no more humanoids and that the power that had occupied Community, and its people was truly dead. Overnight, the vines had grown brittle and by daybreak, most had crumpled to the ground. One of the silos, Walker House, had collapsed, leaving a large sinkhole in its wake.


    After a considerable walk, Gray, Doris and Gramps stopped at the ramshackle barn beside the road. The vine there, was dead, too. Gray retrieved the backpack he¡¯d left there and placed Gramps¡¯s skull inside. Then, he collected what remained of mother¡¯s and gently laid it inside. He slung the backpack over his shoulder, and they were on their way.


    The deep purple sky had paled in the east and Gray relished the warmth as the sun breached the horizon. Red-golden light spotlighted the land, casting heavy shadows on the terrain.


    Unbeknownst to him, Gray¡¯s breathing had softened since staring toward the sun. He was at ease. It was incredibly beautiful. This early in the day it did not hurt his eyes to stare directly into the fiery mass.


    ¡°Never look right at the sun, honey.¡±


    He could almost hear his mother speaking those words as if she were standing beside him.


    ¡°But at sunrise it¡¯s okay¡­isn¡¯t it, mother?¡± he whispered.


    He cocked his head and listened to the world around him. Then he removed the backpack from his shoulder. Gray could only carry it upon one because even at their loosest setting, the straps could not accommodate his size. Sliding the zipper down, he looked inside.


    ¡°Oh good, there you are,¡± he said to the skulls. ¡°Just making sure you didn¡¯t tumble out.¡±


    Gray again stared eastward, sighing as he studied the sun once more. ¡°I¡¯ve stopped to watch the sun,¡± he announced. ¡°Just because, you never know when you might see it again.¡±


    Growing from a sliver, the sun inched farther away from the horizon. If he studied it closely, Gray could actually see it rising. Its light penetrated him, providing not a physical warmth, but a spiritual one. ¡°I wish you could see it mother¡­it reminds me of standing on the bulkhead on the bay¡­holding on to the railing. I remember¡­ice cream, I think. Ice cream and watching the sun set.¡± Gray removed the backpack and held it up over his head with his good arm extended. ¡°Can you see?¡±


    Suddenly feeling quite foolish, he whispered, ¡°Of course you can¡¯t.¡± He lowered the backpack and returned it to his shoulder.


    Gray turned his eyes toward the dark westerly sky. He searched but could find no stars dotting its nothingness. Meager clouds, that appeared as pale gray ghosts, drifted by, carried by a lazy breeze. To Gray it seemed as though someone had covered the earth with a thick black quilt. Some evil, intent on snuffing out life.


    He pondered this thought and noted that the sun-blazoned grass seemed the color of blood and he wondered how much the world¡¯s people had spilt in their fight for survival in this strange and treacherous landscape.


    ¡°Much,¡± he said, answering his own internal question. Gray understood that before his journey was over, he could very well shed a good deal of his own.


    *********


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    He remembered the Machine placing him in this dark place. Dark, and cool, it was. It felt nice, after all he¡¯d been through, which was much, although he could no longer remember the details. Just cloudy little puffs of cotton lolling around his mind, softly bumping off one another. But, in his mind¡¯s eye, when he tried to access the puffs and view the memory within, it just dissolved in his hands.


    Watley could no longer feel limbs, really. He wasn¡¯t even sure he had any left. Yet, when he tried to move, he found he was able to, albeit slowly, in a rhythmic sort of squirming. In fact, it helped him to think of¡­what was it called¡­a worm, and how they moved in the dirt. And so, in this manner, he managed to slink to a hole in the¡­trailer¡­yes, the tractor trailer. He tested beyond the hole and determined that there was a drop. He decided to move forward anyway; he didn¡¯t think he¡¯d get injured from a fall, not in this form.


    Watley fell to what felt like pavement, or was it blacktop? One of them. He could no longer see like before; things came in shadowy, phantom-like shapes, others in tiny splashes of light. He did still possess hearing, though and what he heard was the voices of people. Lots of people. Then the sound of laughter came to him, and¡­vehicles.


    An inner calling compelled him to get going and so, he abandoned those noises and squirmed across the pavement. When his path was blocked, he stretched himself along this barrier until he found a way inside, then squeezed in and pulled the rest of him through. More darkness flooded around him now, and beneath him was a cool dampness. Dirt and grass.


    Dirt, yes.


    Good¡­dirt.


    When he found a comfortable spot, he gathered himself into a mound and just lay there in the damp night. He didn¡¯t mind when things crawled over him or dug into him. He felt good, except for the pain in his head, right near the top. It had started a while back, as just a slight, numbing sensation. Over time it progressed to an irritating itchiness and now it sort of felt like something pressing against his skull from the inside.


    The chilled grass felt good, though. And so too, did the damp earth beneath him, all around him¡­inside him. He could finally relax and just lay there¡­and forget.


    At some point, Watley wasn¡¯t sure if he¡¯d closed his eyes or just lost his vision. When he attempted to look around, he concluded that it was the latter. But that was okay, he still had the sounds to keep him company and the damp, dark earth.


    Eventually, the sounds too, left him; just distant recollections echoing in his head. He tried to remember what each had been called but he¡¯d lost their names. He didn¡¯t mind. Simply lying here was so enjoyable.


    Watey felt himself slipping, his mind wandering away from his body, floating off to somewhere distant. Somewhere where he could forget who he was. Forget everything. He could no longer see or hear or taste or feel. He drifted to a place dark¡­and damp¡­and cool.


    Dirt¡­yes.


    Good¡­


    You did good¡­


    And then, when Watley was gone and all that remained was a mound of dark, damp, black earth, a tiny stem emerged in the night. Under the starry heavens, the leaves unraveled and revealed a tiny, blue flower.