Chris watched, dumbstruck, as it continued its transformation, growing incredibly large, until it had finished and he could see clearly what it had become.
It was something he recognized.
And it had no business being on Mars.
They all saw it. It was right there in front of them, and they were looking dead at it.
Was it smaller than before? Chris found it hard to say.
He stole a brief moment to look at each of their faces to confirm as he coughed again, trying in vain to clear his lungs. There could be no doubt: all four of them were seeing the same black void that he'd been seeing since the day of the crash.
"This isn't the first time I've seen it," Chris admitted, and everyone looked at him. He told them everything, a full account of all the times he'd looked into the void. "I was starting to think it was my imagination playing tricks on me."
"What is it?" Terry asked. He took a few steps away from the group, trying to get a better look.
"Is it dangerous?" Owen asked.
"Doesn't seem to be, so far," Chris replied.
"What do you think it is?" Terry repeated.
"I have no idea," said Chris, "but it's almost like ... it's following us everywhere we go."
As they watched in silence, the void disappeared. It didn't slowly fade away, and it didn't leave behind any telltale dark wisps. It was simply there, and then it wasn't. In fact, it happened so quickly that it was a moment before anyone realized it had gone and they were staring at nothing in the dark.
Chris looked up at the night sky. Thin high clouds still remained in patches, but for the first time since being home, he could see some bright stars shining beyond the fog.
"We're in hell," Terry said, so softly that the others almost didn't hear him.
"We're not in hell," said Trisha.
Terry turned, his eyes alive with understanding, as if everything suddenly made perfect sense. "That's it. We died. We died when the ship crashed, and we went to hell. And now hell is punishing us by driving us mad."
Chris looked back at the burning hospital. "Come on, this is no time for-"
`Actually, Terry does have a point, Chris," Owen interrupted, speaking in his most logical tone. "Not the hell part," he said of Chris and Trisha's expressions. `But think about it. A building collapsed on us, the cars and the rain blocked the roads, we were trapped by a flood and a hurricane, and now this fire tries to kill us in our sleep. It's been nonstop since we left the Cape. I know it must've occurred to you too; it's too much to be just one accident after another. Something is trying to prevent us from reaching Houston. There's intent at work here. And if this `void' is consistently for lack of a better phrase-watching its at every turn ..
"Then it's all connected," Trisha said, finishing his thought.
Owen said nothing. Chris noted an odd expression on his face.
Chris bypassed the speculations and got to the bottom line. "We've got to get to Houston. Now. The answers to all of this are waiting for us there, I know it. No more delays."
"Not goin'," Mae spoke up for the first time.
Everyone turned. The tears still stained her cheeks, but her expression was lifeless.
"What do you mean?" Terry asked, turning dark.
"This ain't my life. Ain't how it works. Just wanna be done, wanna be alone. Y'all don't need me no ways."
Chris eyed her carefully. She wanted to leave the group? Was she serious?
"If Owen's right and I would point out that he usually is-then something bigger is taking place here. You can't just go off on your own. Not now."
"It's too dangerous!" Terry added.
"Take care of myself," Mae replied.
"I have no doubt of that," said Chris. "But where will you go? Are we supposed to just drop you off somewhere, and wish you well?"
"Here in town. French Quarter. Born there."
Terry closed his eyes and shook his head. "You can't just bail on us! You'll be all alone."
Always been alone," she said quietly, not meeting his eyes.
"Oh right, I forgot," said Terry, sarcasm rising. "Self-reliant Mae was born on the streets and has lived her whole life there. So what? You ready to die on the streets too?"
"Stop it!" She raised her voice for the first time since they'd met her. `Ain't like you! Ain't strong! Ain't brave. Done made up my mind, so stop! Just stop!"
Mae walked away, hugging herself as she went. No one was sure where she was going, but no one moved to stop her.
Terry raised his fists to the sky, arms quivering with anger. "What is happening?!" he shouted as loud as he could, louder than any of them had ever heard him raise his voice.
"Calm down, Terry," Trisha said.
"Don't tell me to calm down! We're the only people in the whole world, and I can scream if I feel like it!" As if to demonstrate his point, he arched back and let out a guttural, unholy howl of rage and despair that was directed at everyone and no one.
After the sound faded, his face was red, his cheeks were puffed out, and he was breathing very fast.
"Terry-" Chris began.
But Terry cut him off by turning away and breaking into a run before anyone could stop him.
"We've still got several hours until dawn," Owen pointed out. "We should find a place to sleep."
"What about Terry?" Chris asked, soliciting their input. He stared at the crumpled, burning building beside them.
He just needs to decompress," Trisha said. "I say we leave him be until morning. Let him sort it out. Why don't we sleep right out here under the stars? We won't have any trouble building a fire," she joked halfheartedly, nodding at the inferno that used to be the Methodist Hospital.
A night out in the open sounded good to Chris. But regarding Terry calming clown and decompressing ... Chris didn't share Trisha's optimism.
JULY 9, 2033 DAY FIVE
Chris awoke to the sound of rapid gunfire.
It was early; the sun was barely above the horizon. And his shoulder ached, still suspended in its immobilizer. It took him a moment to recognize the sound he was hearing.
The gunfire was coming from a few blocks away. Chris sat up and looked in that direction, seeing only empty streets and vacant homes.
He jumped to his feet and ran into the early morning air, Trisha and Owen right behind. Rounding a street corner, he found Mae leaning against a telephone pole. Her arms were crossed and she was staring off into the distance, without a single hint of curiosity.
"What's going on? Where's it coming from?" Chris asked her.
She threw her chin out in a particular direction.
Chris and the others looked. Terry came into view, walking clown the middle of the street. He was hefting a very large machine gun, emptying it unrelentingly into a luxury sedan parked in front of a single-story house as if he was trying to get the car to blow up. But it stubbornly absorbed the bullets without so much as a spark.
Terry was wearing nothing but his boxers and a way-too-big army flak jacket, unzipped. The jacket's many pockets bulged with contents Chris couldn't discern from this distance. The bruise to Terry's sternum from the grocery store collapse was still angry and purple, and could be clearly seen between the flak jacket's opening.
They watched as Terry strolled through the street, his face peaceful as though it were perfectly normal to be walking through suburbia in his underwear firing a gun at inanimate objects. When the big machine gun had run out of ammo, Terry heaved it aside. Next, he pulled an Uzi out of some inner recess of the jacket and began firing it into the windows of an apartment building across the street from the sedan. He kept shooting until he'd punctured or shattered every one of the windows that he could see.
Chris shook off the shock of the scene and ran out to meet Terry in the street.
Terry's gaze flicked his way just for a second. There was no mad gleam. No menacing gait to his stride. The red face and quick breaths he'd shown last night were gone. He was the picture of calm. Casual. Apatheti
c.
Terry was discarding the Uzi in favor of a pair of semiautomatic pistols when Chris approached. Terry shot out the tires of the half dozen empty cars parked on the street.
"What are you doing?!" Chris screamed.
"Does it matter?" Terry replied without looking at him, instead focusing only on his task.
"Have you lost your mind?" Chris asked, watching as Terry shot holes into a mailbox.
"Nah," Terry replied, "but this ought to do it." He dropped the handguns, reached into another pocket and pulled out two grenades. Before Chris could react, he bit the pins off and heaved them through the air over the roof of a corner house. There was a terrible moment of silence and then a sunken boom.
Water spray misted onto Chris' face before he even knew what was happening. The grenades must have landed in someone's pool.
Chris was at a loss. He looked at this man he'd known for years as if seeing someone he'd never met.
"Where did you get these weapons?" he asked.
"Well," Terry said, as if revealing a little-known secret, "I stumbled across one of these things called an armory."
Chris ran his fingers through his hair. He considered pulling some of it out while he was at it.
"You can't just go around doing things like this!" Chris shouted as Terry pulled out yet another pistol and began firing at a nearby house.
"Sure I can. Haven't you been watching?"
"Terry," Owen spoke up, and only then did Chris realize that he and Trisha had joined them, "we are proceeding on the assumption that we may yet find a way to bring everyone back."
Terry stopped shooting and threw the pistol as far as it would go in a sudden rage. "They're not coming back, Beech! They're never coming back! We-the five of us-are it! We are all that's left of the human race! The world is our playground! Who cares what we do?!"
"I care," said Chris.
Terry rolled his eyes. "I've been cooped up with you three for two and a half years. We finally get back home to everybody else, and they're all gone! It's like we're still on Mars, only our one new companion is a crazy person! Nothing makes any sense! If God exists, He's got a twisted sense of humor."
Chris stole a quick glance back at Mae, who still leaned against the house. If she'd heard Terry's comment, she didn't react.
"Going off the deep end isn't going to help anything," Trisha said quietly.
Terry's shoulders slumped, and Chris knew that Trisha had gotten to him. Somehow, she always could.
"I, I just ... I'm just saying .. " Terry said, deflating before their eyes.
Chris wanted to punch the young man standing in his underwear. "Get some clothes on. We're going."
With those words hanging in the air, Chris stalked away.
An hour later, the group was back on the road, caravanning west out onto 39, which would eventually curve around to the south and take them straight into the French Quarter. They'd located two new vehicles-a red minivan and a white pickup-but this time they carried very few supplies.
Mae, having spent the morning off on her own while the others looked for transportation, had surprised everyone by returning with food and clothing she'd found somewhere. Once everyone was settled in their respective vehicles, and Mae was once again out of earshot, sitting alone in the pickup truck's bed, Terry quickly pounced.
"I still don't understand how we can just leave her behind," Terry said into his earpiece as he drove.
"We've been over this, Terry," Chris responded. "Do we really need to again?"
"But ... I mean, Trish and Beech can't stand her, but they'd both tell you she's the last person left on Earth, and that's got to mean something. Right?"
"It's true," said Owen, taking the radio. "We still don't understand her significance in all this. Leaving her behind could be just as dangerous to us as it is to her."
"She's just a kid," Chris replied. `And she's faced some pretty crazy stuff with us. If she wants to be done ... it's understandable."
"What if it falls to us to repopulate the human race?" Owen countered. When Terry snickered, he continued with, "I'm serious. Preposterous-sounding or not, it's a very real possibility."
Terry rolled his eyes. "Whatever, Beech. I say we put it to a vote. Who says she stays?"
"This is not a democracy, Terry," said Trisha into the radio. "Chris is in charge. His word is final."
Terry's expression turned sour. "So I noticed."
Chris glanced in the rearview mirror just in time to see Terry yank out his earpiece and throw it onto the floorboard of the truck.
A few minutes passed in silence as they sped down 39, approaching a vertical lift drawbridge that extended over the industrial canal. It was a gigantic structure of interlocking metal beams, and it was undoubtedly old, though it looked as if it had been well maintained over the years.
"Hey, I have a question for our fearless leader," Terry mused, picking back up his radio. "Why are we driving to Houston when there are other, faster ways available to us? Why not take another chopper? Or better yet, a jet?"
Chris' reply was only one word. "No"
"Why?"
Trisha answered, "Because if anyone else is still out there-like Mae was-we won't find them in the air."
They were halfway across the bridge when a screeching of metal against metal was heard, and impossibly the vertical lift bridge began to rise. Both vehicles slammed on the brakes.
"What's going on?!" Terry shouted.
Slowly, the bridge was being lifted into the air as if it were an elevator. A complex series of x-shaped lattice supports soared over their heads, with two enormous towers on either end of the bridge. The bridge was built to do this, to allow for access to the industrial canal by larger watercraft. But for it to be happening now ... with them on it ... ?
"Is there a boat drifting in?" Chris asked.
Everyone looked left and right, out both sides of the cars, checking the canal. It was clear.
The bridge continued to lift, twenty feet into the air . . . forty ...
Thinking about where the bridge controls would be located, Chris leaned his head out of his side window and looked to the end of the bridge ahead. A squat, rectangular box of a room was perched on one of the many metal supports that held the bridge together. As the bridge rose, they were drawing level with the small control room, and Chris saw that there was a pair of dingy windows on the side of the rusted old structure.
His eyes focused on something and he froze.
The bridge rose higher and higher, but no one said a word. They merely watched in stunned silence. It rose above the control room, continuing to an incredible height over the canal, until finally it came to a stop at its topmost point, more than a hundred feet above the river.
Chris got out of the minivan and walked to the side of the bridge. He looked down to get a better look at how high up they were.
The others appeared behind him-even Mae-very quickly.
"What just happened?" Trisha asked, joining him at the edge and peering clown.
"I'm not sure," said Chris, his thoughts racing. Anybody know how these things work?"
"You mean, could it have been set off automatically?" asked Trisha.
"No," Chris replied, "I mean how does it raise up and clown, mechanically speaking?"
"I would imagine," Owen said, "that it works like most elevators, with cables and pulleys-only on a much larger scale."
Chris turned and looked at one end of the bridge. "Uh-huh," he replied thoughtfully. Without warning, he took off at a jog until he reached the far end of the bridge, and raced to one corner, searching for something. The others followed.
"Hey look, there's a ladder on the other side," Terry offered, pointing to what he saw. "I could climb down and activate the bridge controls."
But just as Terry was about to make for the ladder, Chris grabbed his shoulder and held him back. "Not a good idea," Chris said urgently.
"Why not?"
"I'll tell you later," he said, still l
ooking around in the corner. "There" He pointed to a large, metal coil of cables.
"Yeah," said Owen, "yeah, that looks about right."
Trisha looked from Chris to Owen, wanting to be let in on whatever the two of them were thinking. They'd said nothing to each other, yet they both seemed to have arrived on the same page. "What are we doing?" she demanded.
"You still got any weapons in that jacket?" Chris asked, turning to Terry.
Terry still wore the giant flak jacket he'd had on that morning while shooting up the neighborhood.
"You're not serious... " Terry replied.
"Chris, a simple bullet wouldn't be enough to sever any of these cables," Owen said. "These are industrial-strength steel coils. They're made to withstand a hurricane."
"Not a gun," Chris replied. "I was thinking more of a grenade. Or a bunch of grenades."
Trisha looked at him like he was crazy, but said nothing.
"Don't understand," Mae said, looking from one of them to another. "Can't stay up here, right?"
"That's exactly right," Chris confirmed. "And we're getting down."
"Chris," Owen began, "a free-fall drop with us and all these vehicles-I'm not sure we'll escape unscathed from that."
"Gonna drop?!" Mae said, her eyebrows up high.
"I'm open to other ideas," Chris said to Owen. "The only other thing that occurs to me is diving into the river, but it looks too shallow to sufficiently break our fall."
No one said anything. Looks were exchanged.
"We can't stay here," Chris said, summing up his argument. "Something's very wrong about this whole scenario. We need to move. Now."
When no one disagreed, he said, "Terry, empty your pockets. I want everything you've got."
Terry had only five grenades remaining, so Chris decided how best to make them work. He tied three of them to one cable, and the remaining two to the cable on the opposite side. They found some twine and rope in the back of the pickup, which they threaded through the pins of each grenade, positioning the grenades just so, and bunched the threads together into two cords, the closest of which went to Chris in the minivan and the other to Owen in the pickup next to them.
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