A Shrouded World 4

by Mark Tufo

  The lava pit comes alive with more action as the second night runner is swallowed. The cauldron is hungry and likely hasn’t fed in some time. I have a brief image of a black hole destroying entire suns and worlds, coming alive with jets of energy from a renewed source.

  I hear the wet plops of lava slapping onto the surface around me. Visions of the hot, sticky molten rock on my back come to mind, but I don’t have time to move away as I’m confronted by yet another night runner. This one isn’t as accommodating as its brethren; it attacks with its feet attached to the ground.

  Still squatting, I withdraw the knife at my calf. Rising quickly, I push upward with my empty hand. The creature of the night is fast, its hands grasping my neck as I push upward under its chin. I feel its fingers tighten at the same time as I push its head backward. The fucker is strong and my action doesn’t affect its grip in the least. My knife follows the path of my other hand, plunging under its sternum. Warmth gushes over my gloved hand, my blade cutting deeply into its chest cavity.

  I feel the night runner stiffen from the pain, but it’s not ready to give up. The night runner clasps the wrist of my bladed hand, pushing downward. Its strength is amazing as I feel the knife slowly being pushed out. At the same time, it swiftly moves its head to the side, my hand sliding out from under its chin. It then lunges its head forward, blood trickling from its mouth. I’m able to keep my forearm against its neck, though I hear the clack of its teeth closing inches from my face.

  Releasing its grip on my neck, it grabs the back of my neck and pulls me forward like a lover pulling close for a kiss. More blood flows from a mouth inches away. I smell its fetid breath and, in the orange glow, see its teeth coated in red. Snarling, it attempts time and time again to sink its teeth into me, all the while pushing my knife from its body. The only thing I can do is keep my forearm where it is—I’m unable to move my other hand. I’d relax my pressure and give it a head butt, stepping to the side to trip it, but with the constant clacking of its teeth, I’ll get bitten with such a move. Plus, with its hand grasping the back of my sunburned neck, we’d both go down.

  Face to face, each of us staring into the eyes of the other, almost nose to nose, I feel the night runner convulse. The rage in its eyes is beyond description. With the flames reflected across the surface, it looks like I’m fighting a demon that has emerged from hell’s gate. Another convulsion and I feel the grip lessen. With another rage-filled snarl, the night runner lunges, using all of his strength. I move my face to the side, the bite snapping on empty air. I stare into the night runner’s eyes as they dim and life leaves, the creature sliding straight down and then falling to the side.

  I’m immediately thrown to the side, falling hard to the ground from the impact. Shocked, and aware that I’m in trouble, I vaguely hear my knife clatter to the rocks. I hit on my side, air forced from my lungs. A renewed ache from where the staple hit sends waves of pain through my system. I feel my cheek scrape across the warm rock and feel a weight descend on my recumbent body.

  Well, I gave it a good shot.

  Forcing myself into awareness and shoving the shock and pain into the background, I try and roll while pushing with my arm. I’m not able to move much, but I manage a supine position. A night runner is on top of me, silhouetted by the glow of the cauldron. Gouts of lava are still spraying in the air behind the creature. Feeling a wave of pain roll through my body, centering from my side, I shove an arm between me and the creature’s head descending toward me. I’m once again face to face with a night runner snapping at me. However, it’s ideally situated, and uses its weight to force the issue.

  My free hand scrambles for another knife or sidearm at my hip. Whichever I find first will become my weapon of choice. Locking my shoulder and elbow, putting every ounce of remaining strength into it, I attempt to keep the night runner at bay. I can’t move my free hand much while the creature has its knee buried into my elbow. Ignoring the protests from my side, I do all I can to keep those snapping teeth away from my flesh. However, each lunge pushes closer, one of its hands trying to break my arm free from its throat and the other clawing at my face and neck.

  Fuck, come on, where are you? I think, groping for some weapon.

  The glow behind the night runner increases and I hear a plop of lava splash nearby. The weight on top of me starts writhing insanely, the mouth inches away, squealing. Its hands leave my head and arm, attempting to reach behind it as if to scratch at an itch just out of reach. It’s no longer trying to bite at my face, but instead biting at the air as it screams. I push the night runner off me, registering the smell of burning hair and flesh.

  Rolling to the side, I get to my hands and knees to see the writhing creature at my side. The back of its clothing is on fire, the night runner reaching behind in an attempt to swat at the flames. Rolling on the ground, its legs go over the cliff. Its focus suddenly alters to grab at the smooth stone, but then the agony is too much and it reaches behind toward the pain. It vanishes over the edge, further exciting the lava below.

  With my arm free, I grab for my sidearm and stand. Getting my bearings and anticipating another jolt from an attacking night runner, I quickly look around. Two flaming torches are nearby at the edge of the pit, the flames leaping high. Within those blazes, I hear screams of agony. Raising my handgun, I fire into the blazing torches, the shrieks falling silent as they fall to their knees and slide into the cauldron.

  Well, let’s not become one of those, I think, stepping away from the pit of lava.

  Around the pit, I see more night runners either afire or writhing on the ground. I open up and cast a search around for more that might be descending from above. The images that assail my mind are too much, quickly forcing me to shut down. It’s one thing to hear or witness such suffering, but to feel it and see the internal imagery is something I never want to do again. Even though we’re not the best of friends, no one should have to endure such torment. In my quick search, I don’t detect any that aren’t in misery.

  Quickly approaching the pit to retrieve my fallen blade, I shuffle up the hill away from the fountains of lava still splattering molten rock. Far enough away, I sit on an outcropping and enjoy the feel of the cool, light rain that had again started to fall. The fires from the night runners flicker and go out, the writhing coming to an end. It takes a little bit, but the lava eventually calms back to its original state.

  Everything I had pushed aside comes rolling back in an instant. My side and neck throb with each heartbeat, the cuts on my head and cheek burning. A deep ache comes from my shoulder where I held the night runners away, my arms like wet noodles. I’m exhausted and I sit, catching my breath. My throat is dry and my water is somewhere down among the rocks, but I’m just too tired to venture down to get it. Rinsing my knife in the rain, I sheath it and lie back, my mouth open to catch whatever water I can. Lying on a flat rock, I let the rain wash over me. Far below, blaring streetlights cast their pools of light on wet surfaces, traffic lights blink from red to green, and warm yellow light shine out of houses and send beams across lawns. One by one, the house lights wink off as the residents head to bed until not a single one glows, leaving lines of lights that surround darkened squares.

  I wake to the feel of warmth on my face. At first, I panic, thinking the lava caught my clothes on fire like the night runners the night prior. However, there isn’t the searing agony that should accompany that. Opening my eyes, I’m greeted by the sight of a clear blue sky overhead. Sitting up, it feels like my body was subjected to an army of gnomes beating it with meat tenderizers.

  Reaching out for one of the water bottles, I gulp down a few swallows, my throat a little sore from dryness. Near dawn, after becoming soaked and chilly upon the hill, I had crept back toward my former position. Exhaustion consumed me shortly after and I left everything to trust, feeling safe with daylight coming. Below, over the tops of the trees, the small town is bustling with life. Vehicles crawl along avenues, people stroll down the sidewalks. Pulli
ng out my binoculars, I zoom in on the activity. I have to say it’s a relief to see, well, people. Like, humans. With buildings and vehicles that look like those in my world—with all this teleporting around worlds, one never knows.

  “I’m glad there aren’t limbs and faces in the walls and streets,” I mutter, putting the binoculars away.

  Tearing open one of the Food Ready to Eat packages, I sit back and contemplate my situation. Off to one side are the charred remains of night runners, some with skin burned to the bone in places and others almost entirely consumed. So, I know that night runners are a thing here, but it has to be a recent development or I wouldn’t be seeing people carrying shopping bags down below.

  And, I don’t know how long a day here lasts, but I start measuring the travels of the sun with my watch. There’s also the barrier I ran into the day before that prevented me from drawing closer to the town. I’ll have to see if I can find another way in, walking through the woods in a circuitous route and testing it at intervals. I’ll need food before too long, and someone has to warn the citizens of the danger when the sun sets. Now, I don’t know if I brought the night runners to this land, but they’re here and apparently they come through portals. That could be localized or worldwide, but surely there’s some kind of fortified shelter where we could lay up for the evenings. Of course, the night runners, if they again materialize, will have to find lairs too. This could be the start of the apocalypse that my world suffered, and I may have brought it here.

  Maybe I’ll get a statue built, my name emblazoned on a plaque and mentioned in books as the bringer of death.

  “Kind of has a nice ring to it,” I mumble between bites.

  After eating, I check my ammo, placing the emptied mags in my pack. I went through a shit ton of it and will need a resupply before long.

  If they have the same caliber here.

  If not, I’ll have to locate another weapon system like in the past world. But, for now, I have enough for another drawn-out engagement…maybe. That also begs the question of what to do with my current one. Even if I can find a way in, I still won’t be able to stroll through that town armed like the second coming. But I’m not about to leave my weapons lying around somewhere. I’ve had enough experience with interdimensional travel to know that there is zero warning and I’m not going to get caught without a weapon. That means that I’ll have to break it down and hide it in my pack, hoping that whatever authorities there are don’t take an interest in what I have.

  The scariest thing is that I’m going to have to figure this out on my own, which doesn’t evoke a lot of confidence. Trip was central to leaving the last place—yes, that’s right, I said Trip—and knowing that I’ll have to figure this out alone causes me to miss him and Mike. I have no doubt that there is some way out of this place, or Trip wouldn’t have arranged for me to travel here.

  If he even knew where I’d end up.

  The letter that was floating to the ground immediately upon my arrival suggests he did. But, in the last place, Trip had supposedly traveled there previously and set shit in motion to help us through it. Then, things went awry and now here I am, battered and bruised without a clue to what I need to do. As I sit here, waiting for some flashing sign to show me a direction, I wonder if Trip didn’t somehow work it so Mike and I would get transported to that world. There certainly seemed to be a fair amount of prior organization he accomplished, why not that? The more I think about it, the more it makes sense. I am sure that I would have been transported to my world if he could have made that happen, but that doesn’t preclude my being brought into that place to take care of a single event, only for plans to go amiss and prevent my return.

  “That motherfucker!” I exclaim.

  While I’m not entirely sure that’s what happened, I feel a deep-seated anger begin to burn in my heart. I swore that if I figured out who stole me from my world and loved ones without asking, I’d bring a rain of fire upon their head. At the moment, it looks like Trip did it. If not, then he at least played a part.

  Calm yourself, I think, you don’t know that’s what happened, Jack.

  That still doesn’t alleviate my growing anger, which itself stems from the pain at being separated from my kids and Lynn. I seriously doubt I’ll meet up with the strange man again, but if I do, we’re having a chat.

  “All right, enough of that. We have things to do,” I mutter, pushing myself painfully to my feet.

  I feel the sun’s rays on my burned neck and face, my muscles protesting all movement. If I manage to make contact with the town and sort things out, I’m going down to that beach and not moving for an entire week. Forcing one leg in front of the other, I start down toward the tree line, leaving the bodies and ashen remains of night runners behind.

  Jack Walker—Chapter 2

  From within the trees on a small rise above the town, I watch the comings and goings to determine if anything appears out of place. I was a little surprised not to find the same barrier I ran into the previous day; I was able to stroll unimpeded to the edge of the community. I log the information in my head, seeking a pattern of events. So far, I’m not coming up with much. I just hope that things aren’t going to happen at random. I also hope that I’ll be able to find a clue as to how to get the fuck out of this place and back where I belong. When I learned about the quarry in the last world, I felt a certain pull toward it. I have nothing like that so far.

  I break down my carbine, stowing it and my other weapons in my pack. Wadding my vest up, I’m actually able to stuff it in the pack as well, after removing my water bottles. Even without being openly armed, I’m still concerned about my appearance. My black fatigues and unkempt look, complete with abrasions and body odor, will certainly raise eyebrows. Using one of the water bottles, I wash as best as I can, but I’ve been wearing these clothes for long enough that they’re about to get up and walk off by themselves.

  “Okay, let’s do this,” I mumble, shouldering my pack and walking out of the trees.

  With a sigh, I cross over a wooden barrier at the end of a residential street and begin walking toward an intersection. Looking both ways down a tree-lined avenue, it appears to be a normal residential area. Houses sit back from manicured lawns and trimmed bushes. Vehicles are parked in driveways and against curbs. A group of three kids are pedaling bikes in the roadway, chatting with each other as they ride away. A screen door slams and I watch as a woman comes out on a porch and begins to shake a small rug, creating a cloud of dust that drifts across the yard. A soft gust of wind brings a swish through branches. The lady coughs once and returns inside.

  Hoisting my pack into a more comfortable position, feeling the parts of my carbine poke into my back, I start down a sidewalk toward the middle of town. I have to say that the peaceful appearance of the small town makes me nervous. What I experienced on the slopes above town just does not jibe with the calm here. If that was the first appearance of night runners, then things are going to get interesting in a few hours. What will be even more interesting is a stranger emerging into this peaceful town bringing prophecies of death and destruction.

  They’re going to think I’m a raving lunatic.

  If I don’t end up in a padded room by nightfall, I’ll be surprised. I pass yards and houses, eliciting a smile and wave from a couple who are out attending to their landscaping. I return the wave, hoping not to look overly creepy. Several others who are outside watch my progress with curious expressions. However, not one looks belligerent or races into their house to call the authorities. Two kids race around from the side of a house, playing whatever game of chase their imaginations came up with, and come to a halt to watch the stranger walk down the sidewalk.

  Street after street, people occupy their time watching an unkempt stranger stroll through their neighborhood. I would have thought my wounds and clothing would have had mothers sweeping children behind them and herding them through front doors. Several times, a vehicle passes along the adjacent road and continues on withou
t slowing. Ahead, the steady red of a stop light hangs over an intersection, marking the end of the residential area and the start of businesses.

  Turning onto a wider avenue, I stroll down a sidewalk, occasionally passing other pedestrians. A couple of vehicles roll down the boulevard, more are parked along curbs. Many of the stores have large plate-glass windows with business names stenciled in bold letters. Large gold letters form an arch denoting a stationery shop, another a cobbler of all things. A striped barbershop pole hangs outside one establishment, and I pass another with filled tables of patrons holding menus and relishing their late afternoon lunches.

  It’s a quaint town, someplace vacationers might swarm in the summer months. But, there aren’t the usual trappings associated with a community reliant upon the tourism trade. Missing are the T-shirt stores and signs advertising bikes and kites for rent. For shits and giggles, I glance at one of the cars, curious as what might be indicated on the license plate. I’m not sure whether to be shocked or to laugh when I see “Valhalla” below the line of letters and numbers.

  I’m sure the Vikings were not amused to land here instead of some great hall.

  I impress myself with how I’m just taking this in stride. It’s rather alarming just how fast the strange can become normal. I’m not sure how to take it. I’m not really sure where I think I’m heading, perhaps a police station or city hall. I’m hoping some intuition will form and guide my steps. I can’t very well just walk in and scream that night runners are coming; that everyone needs to prepare for the end.