The Fall: The Rift Book I

by Robert J. Duperre

  Sam grinned and pressed the rewind button on the remote control, watching the scene again. The great inventions of the age he’d awoken into were amazing. There were movies, gunpowder, and rocket-propelled grenade launchers. The world had changed so much since the days of the sword and spear. A dizzying impatience came over him. He had to enjoy all of these new wonders before the lights went out and they were lost to him.

  Stop finding joy in this. Joy is not in our nature. You know this.

  “I know,” he muttered, and then clicked off the glowing box. The screen fizzled and faded to black. The resulting emptiness caused a fit of rage to bubble inside of him. He tossed the remote control at the television as hard as he could. The flat screen cracked and tipped over.

  He screamed.

  The outburst helped to calm him, but only a little. Still restless, he stood up and paced around the room. Emotion is not for us, his inner voice reasoned. It would do you well to remember why we are here.

  “It’s only a matter of time,” he replied with a groan.

  His stomach rumbled. He needed sustenance. The thought that this would satisfy his inner frustration drove him onward. He put on a pair of sunglasses and walked out into the hot Georgia sun. It rained down on him like an inquisitor’s torch and forced him to question his motives.

  Why are you here? the sun asked. Why now? Where are you going?

  He couldn’t answer it at first.

  You know why. Do not deny it.

  Still nothing.

  The tiny voice of his body’s previous inhabitant distracted him. It remembered so many things that had helped him—the ability to operate machinery such as cars, which allowed him to traverse nearly a thousand miles in two days and reach his current position; the knowledge of how to use a computer, which gave him the advantage of watching his plan unfold from afar; and finally, the joys of visual entertainment, which he’d just torn himself away from. Yet, in spite of its helpfulness, it also weakened him. He was a prisoner to its human passions and need for distraction, which could at times cause him to forget the reasons he did anything.

  He concentrated and forced these thoughts away. He was himself again, able to answer the sun’s unspoken question.

  I need food.

  With hurried steps he walked down an empty street until he came upon the center piazza of the college campus he now called home. At the heart of the square, a cage had been erected. There were people inside that cage, a pathetic collection of riffraff, huddled together in fear, soiled and stinking of their own filth. He sensed their terror as he approached and absorbed it. To him it was like a drug.

  In a manner that bordered on compassion he wrapped his hand around one of the bars and peered through the gap. The mass of humanity scuttled to the rear of the cage. He scanned them, in search of one who struck his fancy.

  Her.

  She was a tall female with a good amount of meat on her bones, and her skin was the color of ash. She had round cheeks and huge, olive-shaped eyes. He removed his sunglasses and thrust his arm through the bars, beckoning her for to approach him.

  “Come here, Vanessa,” he said.

  Those clustered around the girl grasped at the threadbare sundress hanging off her shoulders when she arose, but could do nothing to stop her. When she was beyond their grasp, the clutching hands retreated. The people those hands belonged to cowered and turned away.

  Sam sensed her struggle against him. He saw the fear in her eyes as she watched her feet step forward against her will. At the bars she stopped, and her hands rose to take hold of the steel cylinders. Her lips quivered and a spasm of desire flooded Sam’s mouth with saliva.

  He stroked her hair and noticed how silky the tight curls were, even though they were caked with mud. He knew it would only be a matter of time before the meat on her bones disintegrated and left behind only skeletal remnants of her beauty. This meant that now would be the perfect time for him to take her. A string of spittle dripped down his chin. Her eyes stayed locked on his. He understood that she could not look anywhere else, and neither could he.

  “Pretty,” he said.

  He grabbed a knot of her hair and yanked her forward. The face of poor Vanessa smacked into the bars. Her flesh rippled and a gash opened up on her right cheek. A tooth flew from between her lips and landed at his feet. Sam grinned. Now that she was stunned he would shove her away, open the gate, and devour her. All of this would happen right in front of her people, and none of them would raise a finger to stop him.

  As he was about to put his plan into motion, he was struck by a lightning bolt of pain. His vision withered into a black void and his strength drained. He plummeted down a bottomless pit lined with spikes made of human skulls. A scream broke free from his lips.

  Then, as quickly as it began, his plunge ceased. He stood in an open field and looked upon the surrounding trees through a multitude of eyes. The perceptions of his sight-givers seemed off somehow, confused—as confused as he.

  Two figures, free of his influence, emerged. They inched away from his view and maneuvered for a distant hill. One of them, the short one, he didn’t recognize. The other, a tall sort with dark hair and a familiar, antediluvian aura, he did.

  Him!

  Sam roared and his subordinates were coerced into action. They chased the boy up the hill, closing in but never quite reaching him. They came upon a muddy incline that the twisted and ungainly forms of his children couldn’t climb without falling all over one another. They were young still, had not yet mastered their new biology. He watched as his quarry slipped out of sight, and panic arose in him

  Slow down, he admonished. Your destiny awaits you whe—

  A wedge was thrown into his vision and again everything went black. He fell, hitting the ground hard. Wind he didn’t need was knocked out of lungs he didn’t have to use, while a giant sledgehammer walloped his brain and barbs of light penetrated his eyes. He threw his hands over his face and squealed.

  Like the last drops of water trickling through a clogged dike, the feeling subsided. Sam rolled over, got up on his knees, and wiped the dirt from his trousers. He looked up to see the compressed head of poor Vanessa now hanging outside of the bars. Her cheeks had been crushed and her huge brown eyes bulged from their sockets. Her left ear dangled below her chin by a gummy thread. A glistening red patch bereft of hair formed a canyon on the top of her head. He lifted his hand and considered the bundle of curly locks, still attached to the bloody strip of scalp he held between his fingers. He frowned. She was spoiled now.

  From the recesses of the cage a multitude of voices screeched in horror. It struck him how none of the others had whetted his fancy quite like Vanessa, and yet his disappointment wasn’t all encompassing. Another emotion surged through him, one he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

  Relief.

  He’d awoken in a world much larger than any he’d entered before. He’d ventured north and then south again, and when his destiny hadn’t made itself apparent he’d been resigned to seek passage to other continents (something that wasn’t easily achieved the last time he had awakened) in order to complete his search.

  Luck had found him, however, and now his journey could end. Not only was he on the correct landmass, but he was on the right coast, as well. For a moment he cursed the quantity of people in the world, for he had been in the northeast corner of the country only a month before and in the past would have found the boy without much effort, but he pushed that frustration away. It didn’t matter, for with the wonder of modern machinery, he would find out where the boy was and meet him halfway. Then, it would all be over. Then, everything he ever wanted would be his. Then, he could finally rest.

  Sam looked skyward and wondered if he should start his trek soon. Clouds had gathered around the sun as they skated across the sky. Prickles tiptoed up and down his spine.

  It is best to stay here, he thought. There is a storm coming.

  He leaned against the cage. His stomach rumbled once more
and a hint of doubt captured him. He wondered what would happen if his children failed, or if the boy escaped. Though time wasn’t of the essence, he had yet to test the limits of his patience. He didn’t know how long he could wait.

  It doesn’t matter, he told the skeptic in his head. The boy has a destiny, just like the rest of us.

  If all else fails, he will come to me, instead.

  CHAPTER 22

  SLEEPWALKING

  DAMP WOODEN PLANKS pressed into Josh’s back as he snuck along the edge of the stable. Kyra was beside him, her hot breath boring down on his neck. He looked up at Colin, who stood in the same manner as he a few feet ahead, peering around the corner of the building. After a while, Colin seemed to build up the courage to step out into the open. He gestured for Josh and Kyra to come forward.

  The coming darkness painted the landscape in a deep shade of navy blue, and Josh felt like he was running blind. He used the stable walls to guide him as he circled and stopped where his friend had, in front of the barn’s huge swinging doors. Colin slipped his hands beneath the two-by-four that held the doors shut and yanked it out of its bracket. The noise it made when it landed on the cold, wet ground seemed much too loud.

  Josh placed his ear against the door. Inside the stable, horses whinnied. He gritted his teeth and yanked on the handle. The door slid open about a foot but wouldn’t move any more than that. He knelt down and traced the dirt beneath the door with his fingers, trying to find the obstruction.

  “Don’t worry about it,” whispered Kyra. “We can squeeze through.”

  They did just that. Once inside, Josh tried to pull the door closed again but it still wouldn’t budge, so he let it stay open. The reek of mold and stale manure reached his nostrils and made him gag. Dried hay crunched under his feet. A dying shaft of moonlight slipped through the shuttered window above the doors, making the place even eerier than outside. The horses continued to whinny, hurting his head.

  “Okay,” said Colin in a cracked and flustered voice. “That’s that, I guess.”

  Josh watched his friend’s outline as Colin sat down on an overturned bucket in front of an empty stall, held his chest, and panted. He obviously wasn’t handling this very well. Josh felt horrible. He couldn’t think of anything to say to his lifelong pal, and it hurt to feel so helpless. To make matters worse, Kyra walked up to Colin and placed a hand on his head, tousling his hair while she said, “We’re okay.” Even in the shadows, he could see Colin smile. Josh grimaced. He knew it should have been him who offered that comfort.

  Some friend I am.

  Kyra looked in his direction. The thin streak of light made her dazzling green eyes glow. She left Colin and approached him. Her fingers, as soft as satin, brushed against his cheek.

  “I’m sorry,” Josh said.

  “For what?”

  “For getting us into this.”

  She glanced in Colin’s direction. “Hey, at least you got your friend back.”

  “That’s something, I guess.”

  “Yeah, I’d say it is.”

  Kyra strolled toward one of the horse-occupied stalls, her hips swaying with each step. Josh’s eyes followed her and a faint rumbling started up in his stomach that made his hairs stand on end. He thought of old movie westerns, where the hero and his leading lady would find shelter and make love in the confines of barns much like this one. Fictional lovemaking was at its best in those fairy-tale moments, yet when he thought of throwing Kyra down and doing the same thing, the reality of it came down on him and he had to laugh. The thought of any sexual act in these conditions seemed potentially hazardous, not to mention itchy.

  A horse poked its head out of the gate where Kyra stood, snorting the way Josh remembered Rick Colden used to when confronting a tardy employee. Where’s Rick now? he wondered. Did he survive? He recalled the look of shock on his boss’s face while the telephone cord dangled between his fingers. Josh shook his head. Probably not.

  Kyra reached her hand out for the horse. It recoiled at first and thrashed its head. “Shush, girl,” said Kyra “It’s okay.”

  The large animal blew a gust of wind between its lips and then stuck out its nose. Kyra stroked its muzzle, running her fingers over the fine hairs atop its snout. With her opposite hand she reached up and tapped with her palm the placard hanging over the stall door.

  “Charity,” she said. “That’s a pretty name.”

  Josh went over to her and wrapped his arm around her waist. “Do you ride?”

  “Not since I was little,” she replied. A hint of sorrow poked through her words. “The family down the street had a horse. His name was Majestic. They’d let me and my sister go to the stables whenever we wanted, to help out. You know, brushing him, washing him, taking him out for a walk.” She leaned her head against Josh’s chest. “He was so good to me. He always followed my lead. I guess he was my first love, babe.”

  “What happened to him?” asked Josh.

  “Life. Old age. Nothing special. And not too long after he died, the family sold the farm and moved out to Brattleboro. I haven’t been on a horse since. Well, there was one other time…” She paused and then said, “But I don’t want to talk about that right now.”

  Josh nodded, sensed her yearning for comfort, and squeezed her tight. It was the least he could give her, just as she’d done for the long-silent Colin. It amazed him how much he could learn from such a simple gesture.

  A loud crack broke the silence. The placard snapped back and rattled on its chain, raining splinters down on them. Charity the horse bucked, and then retreated to the rear of her boxed paddock. Kyra shrieked and Josh shoved her to the ground, covering her body with his own.

  “Don’t move!” a strained voice proclaimed. “Stay where you are!”

  Josh glanced up and saw a shadowy figure lurking in front of the still-open barn doors. Its legs were spread wide, like a cowboy at a gunfight.

  The silhouette inched closer, the thin shafts of moonlight allowing brief moments of clarity. It was an old man with silver hair and skin as wrinkled and creased as old leather. He held a rifle in his hands.

  There was a clinking sound as the old man loaded another bullet into the chamber. He was only a few feet away when he pointed the barrel at Josh’s head.

  “Yo, McKinley, stop!” Josh heard Colin scream.

  The old man spun around. Josh slid off of Kyra, put a hand on her back to signal her to keep still, and peered around their assailant’s legs. Colin stood in the space between the ancient gunslinger and the exit, both of his arms raised.

  “It’s okay, Mr. McKinley,” he said, stepping forward. “It’s Colin Malloy. You remember me, don’t you?”

  “You Bobby O’Connor’s friend?” asked the old man.

  “Yes, sir. We all are.”

  The old man glanced over his shoulder and then turned back to Colin. He leveled his rifle.

  “You guys normal?” he asked.

  “Uh-huh,” replied Colin.

  “How do I know fer sure?”

  Colin laughed. “Well, I’m talking to you, ain’t I?”

  “Them, too?”

  “Yessir.”

  Old Man McKinley dropped the rifle to his side and shook his head. “Goddamn kids,” he said. “You scared the bejesus outta me.”

  Josh stood up and helped Kyra do the same. She staggered for a moment, brushed the hair from her eyes, and then said, “We’re sorry about that, sir. We didn’t know anyone was here.”

  McKinley clicked on a flashlight and shined it in her direction. Josh watched his elderly eyes give her the once-over and a stab of resentment forced him to clench his teeth.

  “It’s okay, miss,” said McKinley with a chuckle. “Been here by myself for a while now. Ain’t been expecting no visitors.”

  “How long?” asked Josh.

  “Don’t know exactly. Maybe a week. Ah hid in the fruit cellar when some psychos started shootin’ at Jim’s farm. Grabbed some Spaghettios and my rifle and went a’runn
in. Haven’t come up since then…well, until the horses started rearing up again, that is.”

  “You’ve been alone this whole time?” asked Colin as he moved around the old man and stood at Josh’s side.

  “Yup. It’s been quiet for a while now. Guess that’s why y’all spooked me.”

  Kyra glanced at Charity, who had reclaimed her position, with her massive head poking over the corral gate. Her partner in the neighboring stall had joined her.

  “You never came up to care for the horses?” asked Kyra.

  McKinley’s voice filled with pride. “Nope. These beauties take care a themselves, for the most. There’s plenty of water in here. It runs on a filtration system Dutch Levens installed last year. And plus, they’re smart buggers. They know how to save their energy.” His tone became more somber. “But hey, that’s enough about the horses. How’s everything in town?”

  “Everyone’s gone,” said Josh. “Well, most of them, anyway. There’s us three and some more folks locked away up at the old Stone Church in Newmarket. Other than that…I couldn’t really tell you.”

  “What happened?”

  “We’ll explain everything,” said Colin, “but I need to ask you a favor first.”

  “What?”

  “You got any beer? I could sure use a drink.”

  * * *

  Frank McKinley didn’t have any beer in the old farmhouse, but his liquor cabinet was a sight to behold. It was a vintage mahogany breakfront filled with at least fifty bottles, ranging from vintage Merlot to Glenlivet to a cut-rate bottle of Mad Dog. Kyra snatched a handle of V.O. off the second shelf while Mr. McKinley placed four snifters on the kitchen table and gestured for everyone to sit down.

  Kyra poured drinks while they took turns telling the story of how they had come to arrive at the farm. They told Frank what happened on the day the first explosions came, how hordes of insane townsfolk descended on the streets and killed anything that moved, how the soldiers that were supposed to protect the people turned on each other. Colin spoke of his foray into the woods, how he’d gone days without sleeping while far-off screams, explosions, and the crack of gunfire penetrated his brain, and how he kept warm with only a sleeping bag and a fire he kept purposefully small so as to not attract attention. Kyra spoke of Justin’s foray into abusiveness, his transformation, and the Army. She explained General Stack’s plan of action and the subsequent departure of the Dover Militia. Also, she made sure to not leave out the fact that they had never returned.