by Greg Ballan
"Do you really want to play host for a bunch of reporters, photo hounds, and political officials, half of them who will try to pawn you for a free meal?" Erik asked.
"No, not really," Jeff answered. "But a little publicity never hurts."
"There's no such thing as a little publicity," Erik responded.
"No," Jeff said softly. "I suppose you're right about that. What will you do if they come looking for you? Are you going to go up there this time?" Jeff asked, pushing the issue.
Erik looked at his friend, his eyes becoming unreadable, blazing with some unknown fiery determination. "I won't go back there with another group of men, but I do have a score to settle, somehow. I don't know how or why I know this, Jeff, but these things won't just go away, armed soldiers are not the answer. If these creatures feel like they're in danger, they'll just disappear like they've done before, and reappear somewhere else. We have to learn more about them before we can decide on the best way of coping with them. They can appear and disappear like a genie in a lamp, like some type of ghost."
Erik thought about all the encounters with the creatures up to now. "All we'll gain from another assault on that mountain will be more dead bodies. I'm going to have to get involved sooner or later. I don't know why, it's just a feeling I've had ever since that day at the park. The way that thing looked at me, I could tell there was something more there, an anger – a hunger and a hate like I've never experienced. It knows something we don't, those creatures seem as though they have a score to settle with us. But, for the life of me, I can't figure out with who or with what or why." He added moodily as he finished his coffee.
"Just be careful," his friend cautioned. "Don't let yourself be 'guilted' into anything," Jeff added as he stood up.
"I won't," Erik assured his friend.
Erik watched Jeff leave and turned back toward the newspaper, skimming through the last few paragraphs of the article. He thought more about the strange creatures. They seemed to be utilizing more than the trees, they seemed to have the ability to pop in and out of areas like people would use a doorway to go through one room to another. He wondered if the intense darkness that accompanied their appearance was related to their ability to jump in and out of spaces. He also pondered the extreme drops in temperature that marked their arrivals.
Erik thought about it for several more minutes before dismissing any wild theories. He was no longer involved in the investigation. With any luck, the military would catch up with these things and scatter their bodies across the hillside with some heavy artillery. That instinct in the back of his mind, the one that usually warned him of danger, whispered that the next military expedition would fare no better against these horrors than he had when he encountered them. Erik casually leafed through the paper, getting himself caught up on current events.
Alissa quietly strolled over and refilled his coffee cup, and then cleared away the half-eaten muffin and unused butter. "You seem to be healing quickly," she commented, studying the scars on the side of his face.
Erik looked up, and then rubbed his right hand across the side of his cheek. "Yeah, I sometimes forget that they're there, until I look at myself in the mirror, that is." He let out a slight chuckle.
Alissa smiled briefly and walked back toward the kitchen, while Erik continued thumbing through the newspaper.
Erik's thoughts turned back toward work. He had made enough money on the events of the past to carry him through the next few months. He decided to call Martin Denton the first thing Monday morning and see if there was any freelance work his firm needed done. Denton was always willing to utilize his capabilities, and he admitted to himself that, at this point in time, he had no other options.
He drank half of his second cup of coffee, gathered the rest of his dishes, and deposited them on the carousel outside the kitchen. He had to be at the elementary school to pick up Brianna by 2:30. He had enough time to catch up on some paper work and start his quarterly tax forms, as well as place the call to Denton before he would have to get his daughter. But first, there was something that he had to do.
* * *
It was nearly ten in the morning when the Chevrolet 4x4 pulled up alongside the curb in front of a blue split-level house. The neighborhood was full of well-kept yards and impeccably trimmed bushes and hedges. Erik stared at the Forrest nameplate on the mailbox. He took a deep breath and made his way toward the front door, his stomach filling with butterflies. He rang the bell and heard activity inside the house. The door opened and an older gentleman answered. Erik saw a distinct similarity between this man and his departed friend. He knew that this was Steve's father.
"Hello, sir," Erik began nervously. "I was wondering if I could speak to Carol for a moment."
"Who are you?" the older man asked, his tone somewhat challenging. "Are you another reporter? If so, we have nothing to say."
"No, sir, my name is Erik Knight. I was…." He paused. "I worked with Steve, I considered him among my friends."
The old man looked him up and down, as if assessing him as a potential threat. Erik knew that Steve's father must also have been a police officer. He detected the manner and demeanor of a law enforcement official.
"How many years?" Erik asked, attempting to break the ice.
"What?"
"How many years were you a cop?" Erik asked quietly.
"I put in 35 years in Boston," the old man answered. "How did you know that?"
"You have the same look and manner that Steve had when he was studying something, the look all good cops have, the awareness, the alertness. I respected that in him," Erik answered softly.
The man studied Erik closely, then stepped aside and gestured him into the house. "Come in, please. I didn't mean to be harsh, but there have been several reporters snooping around here the past few days; damn vultures, anything for a story," he cursed as Erik followed the man into a modest living room.
"Carol," he shouted toward the hallway, "you have a visitor."
Carol Forrest slowly walked down the hallway. Erik wondered if she would recognize him. He'd only been to the house on three occasions, the last such occurrence had been over two years ago. Erik noted the haunted look in her eyes. She was carrying her youngest daughter, whom Erik knew to be only twelve or fourteen months old.
"Erik Knight," she said as she put the baby in a playpen. "It's been a while, almost three years." She sat in a chair next to her child. "I saw you at the funeral, up on that ridge. Why didn't you come down?"
"You were with family, I didn't want to intrude," he answered. "I said my goodbye once everyone else had departed."
"Steve would have been glad that you came. Thank you"
"Mrs. Forrest—"
"Carol, please," she interrupted.
"Carol," Erik corrected himself, "I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am. Steve was a good friend to me, at a time when I didn't have too many. I was fortunate to know him. He always spoke highly of you and the kids, always showing off his 'wallet-sized' whenever he had the chance." Erik adjusted his position on the couch. "I just wanted to come by and see if there was anything that I could do to help out."
The baby started to cry as Carol was about to reply. She bent over, picked the child up, and carefully placed her over her shoulder, gently patting the little girl's back. "Do you really mean that?"
"Yes, I do." Erik answered.
"Talk to Collin, he's having all kinds of problems with this. He worshipped his father. He can't understand how his daddy could be gone. Steve talked to me a little about your past. I know you're an orphan, so you can probably relate to what the boy is feeling. It may help him if he can talk to someone who's been through it. Lord knows I don't know what to say to the boy."
"I will," Erik promised, but not really knowing what he could say to a young boy who had just lost his father.
"And one last thing," she added as her voice began to waiver.
"Yes, anything," Erik replied.
"Kill them. Avenge my husba
nd's death. If he was a friend to you, hunt those cursed things down and kill them. They tore my husband apart, piece by piece, left me with nothing but pieces to put in the ground, and I want them dead for that!" She wept uncontrollably.
Steve's father escorted her back into one of the bedrooms, leaving Erik by himself. After a few minutes, the elder Mr. Forrest returned.
"I'm sorry you had to see that, Mr. Knight," he apologized. "The pain is still too fresh, the hurt too deep." His own eyes became tearful. "He was a good boy, my son. She's a good woman," he added in a wavering voice. "They didn't deserve this."
"No, sir," Erik agreed. "They certainly don't. I'm so sorry for your loss."
The two men exchanged a firm handshake and Erik headed toward the front door. He left the house and made his way back to his apartment. The memories of his friend, and the voice over the radio as he met his untimely end, played over and over in his mind. He'd try and say something to Steve's son, but at this point, what does one say to a young boy who just lost his father.
Erik thought back, trying to remember the scant memories of his parents. He had vague memories of the accident that killed his parents and grandparents. His father had shielded his small body, taking several jagged pieces of glass into his torso and head. He remembered waking up in a hospital room, and the agony when he finally learned that all the adults in his life had been killed in one tragic accident. But they seemed like fragments from another life and another time. Erik had just turned four years old, but he still could recall vivid flashbacks of that fateful day. He was glad that the boy still had a father figure in Steve's father, and a mother.
He arrived back at his office and checked his phone for messages. As usual, there were none. He stared at the pile of waiting paper work with distaste. He walked over to his couch and sat down. A dull pain shot through his hamstring. He hadn’t fully recovered from the ordeals he'd put his body through the past week. He leaned back against a throw pillow and slowly closed his eyes. He didn't want to fall asleep, and he tried to fight the oncoming blackness, but was soon in a deep slumber.
* * *
Friday afternoon, 1:38 p.m.
Richard Pendelton sat at his large Mahogany desk, staring out over the scenic Boston Bay. He enjoyed watching the jet liners departing and arriving at Logan International.
Sitting on his desk were several confidential memos from his most trusted staff, keeping him abreast of the various activities within his large conglomerate. He read the memo from Conrad with great interest. It was simple and to the point. "All the loose ends have been cut." Richard exhaled heavily – one less thing to be concerned about.
The whole Hopedale Mountain dig had been a giant disaster. He assumed the project would go off without any complications. The mountain was desolate, never patrolled by game wardens or any other personage of official status. It seemed the perfect site to conduct a mining operation. He cursed himself for being too greedy.
It was too late in the game for self-pity. He made his choices and decisions. All he could do now was follow them through. The game had to be played out to its conclusion. He planned carefully. Once completed, there would be nothing left to implicate his firm. The tunnel would be filled in, and there would be nothing left of their campsite but smoky ruins and several impact craters. Everything now depended on timing.
They needed to know when the next team was going to storm the mountain. Undoubtedly, the Army would send in helicopters and heavy equipment plus dozens of armed soldiers into the area to flush these things out. When this occurred, their helicopter would mix in with the group, break off to the target site, and obliterate everything with the Typhoon missiles and high explosive rockets. The pilot would then bank away, utilizing the enhanced boosters, and then as before, the helicopter's programming would send it out to sea to self-destruct in the middle of the icy Atlantic, eliminating the final loose ends and hopefully burying Pendelcorp's mistakes forever.
There would be no one left to tell the tale. The military would get the blame for any loss of life, and Pendelcorp would remain untouched by any scandal. There would no doubt be an intense military investigation, and the military would be able to account for all its hardware, but there would be enough witnesses to the destruction to impede any actual progress for years to come. It would be another of many unsolved mysteries to be filed away and forgotten.
* * *
Deep in the tunnel within Hopedale Mountain, the creatures stirred, they expended the last of their energy reserves healing, were extremely hungry – desperately hungry. They had sampled the sweet meats of the small, primitive creatures, and desired more. There would be no more interference, the black entity vowed to itself. They would move in quickly and quietly, and bring their prey here to feed.
It secretly wished to encounter the Simian-Esper hybrid. Its genetic programming commanded it to destroy all Espers, there was something familiar about this one, something it remembered from long ago, before its long sleep. For what little independent thought the creature was capable of, it wanted to kill the Simian-Esper as slowly and painfully as possible, play with this victim like a cat would play with a mouse. When this Esper had finally tired and could offer no more amusement, the creature would snap its neck as easily as it had broken the others. In its own limited way, it wanted vengeance for the prior encounters.
Both creatures left their nest area and headed through the tunnel to the outdoors. They casually passed by the now-abandoned Pendelcorp campsite, taking no notice of the boxes, crates, and scattered materials that had been abandoned. The large catlike creature took two large sniffs of air, tasting and sampling each molecule, looking for the particular scent of their prey. It found none and growled in distress. The other stroked its large flank gently, telepathically sending out calming messages to its large ally.
It climbed upon the creature's broad back, gesturing with its right claw. The massive beast took two steps, and then paused as if waiting for something. The creature emitted a high-pitch tone, and the space in front of it parted into blackness. The darkness spread throughout the woods, blanketing everything in a thick black veil. Both disappeared into the dark that filled the woods as if they'd never been there. The blackness fell in upon itself and sunlight once again filled the forest. The sudden chirp of a sparrow broke the silence, and the woods around the dig site again seemed peaceful and undaunting.
* * *
Erik looked up at the clock in his office. "Crud."
He had been wrestling with paperwork for almost two hours, and was no further along than when he'd started. It was time for him to pick up Brianna from school. This was special time for them, they had Friday and the weekend together this time, instead of just the one evening. He figured that Brianna would have plenty of things to do, and would keep both of them well occupied.
Erik stared down at the tax forms, and decided that some of his money would be well spent on an accountant. Finances were never his strong point.
He stood up from his desk, grabbed his gun, and started for the door. He suddenly stopped himself, remembering that he was entering a school zone. Firearms were forbidden, for any reason. He quickly shed the weapon and deposited it in his wall safe, grabbed his jacket and headed out to his truck.
* * *
The children at Hopedale Middle School played happily at the playground under the watchful eyes of three teachers. They were not aware of the darkness encroaching upon them until it was too late.
The darkness spilled into the middle of their play area, eradicating the sunlight. The two creatures emerged from the heart of the darkness and casually chose their prey. The large felinoid scooped up a child and tossed him into a sack-like fold of skin on its massive underside. The child was too scared to scream or even struggle. Both creatures savored the child's terror as a gourmet appetizer before a fine meal. Wave upon wave of terror emanated from the screaming masses as they were chased and corralled into an ever-tightening mass of bodies, similar to dolphins herding a schoo
l of herring before they fed on the tight mass of food. One of the young teachers tried to escape and get help, her neck was snapped and her lifeless body casually tossed aside as an example for the others.
The waves of fear continued to nourish the creatures until they had at long last reached their full strength. The traces of past bullet holes disappeared from their bodies. The felinoid's skin, which had been peppered with bullet holes and scars, was now almost liquid black in appearance, barely distinguishable from the surrounding darkness. The large creature purred with sadistic satisfaction over its feed.
The children were all shrieking and crying, and both remaining teachers were terrified into inactivity. The smaller of the beings began wading through the mass of tiny bodies, similar to a person bargain-shopping, comparing items for a particular value. It picked up a screaming girl and carefully, almost gently, placed the crying child into the larger creature's skin pouch. The pouch seemed to flow around the child and simply engulf her struggling form.
"Stop it." One of the remaining teachers boldly stepped into the path of the seven-foot monstrosity. "You can't have these children. Let them go."
The creature paused momentarily to regard the apelike female who dared to challenge it. It was about to do something permanent to her when it caught the scent, the feel of something, someone familiar. The large felinoid smelled the air, issuing a great whistling sound as it inhaled and expelled air through its gigantic nostrils. It growled savagely, looking around warily for the source of the disturbance, its roar echoing for over a mile.
