Going Gray

by Brian Spangler

  But before he could say anything, the sound of metal bending, popping and shearing away from its welds spilled down from the second level.

  Her father’s eyes got round. “It’s just a matter of time. But I think I can stop it—even save the mall, maybe.”

  “Stop the rain?” Mr. Halcomb asked, standing next to them, offering a hand. “The fog too?”

  “I don’t know,” her father answered, shaking his head. “But the rain… has to do with the cloud density, which we can control.” Mr. Halcomb straightened himself, peering over to where Jeter and the others had stood. Emily saw that they were gone. He looked to the puddled remains of Tree-trunk and then back to her father.

  “Then what they said was true?” Mr. Halcomb asked, giving him a look of disappointment. “How much of it is true?”

  “Some,” her father said. Peter and Ms. Parks joined them, dismay in their expressions.

  “We defended you!” Peter blurted. “We thought Jeter was just some random old coot who didn’t know what he was talking about.” And while she picked up the tone of disappointment in Peter’s voice, it was the look in his eyes that hurt.

  “Wait,” Emily interrupted. “Just wait and hear what my dad has to say.” But the shame filled her, leaving her to wonder whose side was the right side, or if there should be one side to take at all.

  “It’s true that I worked there… at the machine,” her father answered. “But what I did there isn’t relevant to the current circumstance.”

  “I pulled a gun on them to defend you,” Mr. Halcomb said. His words were soft as though he were speaking more to himself than to her father. “I broke the window, killing that man.” Mr. Halcomb’s eyes emptied, and his face went slack and then his whole body seemed to sag from the weight of what had happened.

  “Nonsense!” Ms. Parks spoke up. “You stop that guilt-feeding right now Charlie Halcomb.” She swung her arm, stinging his cheek with a slap from her open hand. Mr. Halcomb’s eyes came alive, and he shook his head at her.

  “Why’d you do that?” he asked, rubbing his cheek.

  “Wanted to turn your attention… to take you off that path you were headed. It doesn’t matter where Mr. Stark worked. In fact, we should be thankful to have someone here who knows anything about the machine.”

  “That’s right,” Peter added. “If Emily’s father hadn’t said something, we’d have gone outside, gone out into the rain.” One by one, they each peered over to the remains of Tree-trunk as if to confirm what could have happened.

  Relief welled inside her. She’d never considered the perspective Ms. Parks shared.

  “What do you want us to do?” Mr. Halcomb asked.

  “First thing is to get everyone into the service tunnel,” her father started.

  “We can move down there, and even move our supplies too,” Peter added.

  “The scuba suits?” her father asked.

  “Why?” she demanded.

  “I’m sure that the other tunnel reaches the beach,” he answered. “But I can’t be sure how far. I think the machine is a quarter mile north, to the right.”

  “But the scuba suits that I found won’t fit you, Mr. Stark,” Peter exclaimed.

  “Dad, you can’t go unprotected.”

  “What about an umbrella.” Ms. Parks suggested. “We can use the wetsuits we found and fashion an umbrella.” Emily’s father nodded, and she could see him working the numbers in his head.

  “The neoprene won’t hold up to the rain, but it will buy me the time I need.”

  As they continued to make plans, they made their way back to the center of the mall. Emily kept an eye on the darker corners, searching the shadows for Jeter. But the men had gone, and she hoped that it was the last they’d ever see of them.

  Beyond the food court, Emily saw that dozens of people were milling around, still preparing for a meeting that never happened. Mr. Halcomb saw the group too, and waved his hands over his head to get their attention. A few gasped when they saw what had happened to her father and Peter. Mr. Halcomb hushed the questions and did what he did best, deliver and direct. And though a hundred questions sprouted like weeds—creepers and redroot, and even some dandelions that turned into good ideas—Mr. Halcomb and her father hurried the questions along. But nothing motivated the group more than the sounds of the roof beginning to collapse. The Food-Mart was a simple shack by comparison. There was no outrunning the mall if it came down on top of them.

  XVI

  GRAY RAINBOWS

  Shallow daylight crept into the service tunnel, telling Emily that her father was right: that there was something at the end of the tunnel. Anxiety knotted in her gut, and she could only hope that it was the beach they’d find. End of the rainbow, she thought nervously. But unlike the childhood cartoons she’d grown up watching, Emily didn’t expect to find a pot of gold. She didn’t know what they were going to find. She tried to listen for a breaking wave, but didn’t hear anything. Too far? she wondered. Or maybe the tide is out. She felt the knot in her gut tighten.

  They’d helped move everyone into the service tunnel—she listened as they settled in, waiting out the storm while the mall heaved and sighed. The walk in the service tunnel passed in a murmur of voices, and Emily found an odd comfort in listening to their soft chatter. The sound kept her connected to them, connected to Justin.

  But much of the walk was in a dark silence. She stayed in her thoughts and expected that the same was true for her father, and for Peter. Occasionally, her father grunted and yelled a sharp word, yanking her from her thoughts. Still weak, he struggled to keep pace. Peter helped him for much of the walk while she carried some of the supplies he had asked for.

  Emily jumped with the sudden echo of a crash. The sound carried along the tunnel walls, bouncing between her ears like a drum. Screams from the survivors interrupted the noise, racing along the walls just as fast. That is what they are now, Emily thought. Survivors… we all are. And even the screams began to quiet after a while. But the crushing sounds of the mall being consumed by the rain continued. She imagined the mall tumbling in on itself, becoming a grave to those she had helped put in the back: out of sight, and out of mind, so to speak.

  She supposed that they would never find any answers about the man with no burns. Emily suspected her father knew something though. She figured that the man had followed this very same path—from the machine, along the beach, and then back up through the service tunnel.

  Emily flicked a quick look at the concrete in front of her, moisture reflecting the gray daylight, holding onto the secrets of those that had traveled the path before them. And if the man with no burns was from the machine, was he looking for her father?

  The chatter grew louder, and Emily’s chest tightened. At once, she thought of Jeter and the others. They’d become the outsiders, and then had disappeared. At one point, Mr. Halcomb shined his flashlight toward the Food-Mart, searching. Emily expected to see the three men, their figures blackened against the remaining sliver of light. The service tunnel was empty. She could see the Food-Mart hatch, throwing light onto the ladder. The final crash that they’d heard earlier must have shifted enough of the fallen structure. Peter’s scuba gear might come in handy after all, letting a few of them venture outside and collect whatever canned-goods were still available.

  “Are we there yet?” Peter asked. Emily stopped. She was exhausted and before she could stop it, a laugh spilled from her as easily as her breathing. His voice sounded odd, almost childlike, and she knew that he was exhausted too, but still she had to laugh. When she heard her father chuckle and saw a smile on Peter’s face, she laughed some more.

  “He sounds like Justin,” her father said, turning briefly. “And yes, I think we’re nearly there. Tunnel’s getting brighter. Can you see it?” Her father’s words came out clunky, sounding wispy, the air in his voice passing over broken teeth. She watched him flinch, and dart his tongue over his ragged lips.

  “I do. I do see it,” Peter answer
ed. “I thought I was seeing things at first… you know, like my eyes were playing tricks on me.”

  “No tricks. We’re at the opening to the beach.”

  “No rats either,” Emily added, her tone grateful, but running on the end of laughter. “Glad those little buggers are gone.” Her father slowed, and straightened himself, taking his weight off Peter’s arm.

  “But where did they go?” he asked, stealing a glance behind them. “If they’re not here, and they’re not between the Food-Mart and the mall, then they’ve got to be somewhere else.”

  “Dad, you’re the only other person who’s been in the other tunnels. What do you think?”

  Her father picked at a cut beneath his eye while considering her question. Shrugging his shoulders, he answered, “Maybe the office buildings? Tall, big, and most of them probably have some food?”

  “Well, I guess I really don’t care where they went, as long as they’re gone.”

  A gritty sound rose from their footsteps. Emily squished her heel against the ground, sliding it to emphasize that she was stepping on sand that had blown into the tunnel. Ahead of her, she saw emptiness. The world remained hidden from them.

  “We’re at the opening,” her father said. “Just a few more steps, but be careful. I can still hear the rain falling.”

  “What are you talking about?” Peter asked. “There’s nothing here.”

  “Give it a moment,” her father answered, patiently. “Let your eyes adjust, and listen.”

  And after a minute, she could see it. Dark patchy fog covered the service tunnel’s opening like a blanket. It was the same veil she’d seen in their garage. The fog rolled, cycling around and around, but never coming in. Only this fog was too dark, almost indistinguishable from the service tunnel walls.

  “I see it,” Emily said, and reached out to touch the fog. And just as her finger touched the gray, Peter yanked her arm back. She held her hand in front of her, waiting to see what the mist would do. The fog burned but did little more than seed an annoying itch. “It’s different than before, isn’t it?”

  “Fog’s a lot weaker now,” her father said. “But we still have to stop that rain.”

  “But why is it so dark?

  “Is it?”

  Emily looked at her father curiously, more confused than before. He glanced over to the fog, and she saw the brightness reflecting in his eyes. And before she could say another word, she began to see the light brightening up the tunnel. The walls came to life with shining greens and reds and yellows and blue—graffiti art with signatures as tall as she was. The colors glowed in the strange light.

  “What is going on?” Peter asked. His expression had changed to one of amazement. In the light, she saw for the first time just how bad the punch from Tree-trunk had been. One of his eyes had been nearly closed shut, leaving behind a swamp of bruising that covered his entire cheek. “Is the fog lifting?”

  “Not the fog,” her father answered. “It’s the tropical storm.”

  Peter gave him a stout nod, understanding. Emily only shook her head, darting glances back and forth.

  “What is it?” she pleaded, wanting to share in what they knew.

  “Eye of the storm,” Peter exclaimed. “A rest. Break-time. If we’re going to do anything, we have to do it now.”

  “I’ve only got a small window. Probably don’t need the neoprene after all.”

  “But what if you get stuck when the eye of the storm passes?” Emily asked, unsure of how long they really had. Her father ignored her, rummaging through a duffle bag of gathered tools. “Dad, you don’t know how far the machine is. Do you?”

  And when he said nothing again, she realized that he knew exactly how far the machine was. Her chest tightened again, the familiar taste of distrust rising in the back of her throat. But the feeling lasted just a moment.

  An eruption of chatter came from behind them. The mouth of the service tunnel had revealed how far they’d traveled. She squinted, trying to see what was happening at the far end of the service tunnel. A small spark in the black turned on, bouncing up and down. She saw a second small spark, and then a third, and then finally a row of sparks. Flashlights.

  “They must be seeing the same daylight,” she said.

  “You guys have to hold them here,” her father said, and she could hear the urgency in his voice. “Send them back if you can!”

  “But why?”

  The sound of the duffle bag zipped closed in a rush, and her father stood, pecking her once on the cheek, warning her without saying a word. He turned and disappeared into the fog.

  “Holy shit!” Peter shouted. “Why did he do that?”

  Emily reached out and touched the fog again. She rubbed her fingers together and brought them to her lips. Peter slowly leaned back, grimacing and clutching his hands emptily as if she were holding a bomb.

  “Don’t do it,” he warned, but Emily put her fingers to her tongue anyway.

  “It’s different now,” she told him. “I don’t know if it’s the rain—you know, filtering or something—but the fog isn’t the same as before: quieter, if you get my meaning. We can follow him.”

  The chatter of those approaching bounced from the walls, stealing the quiet. They watched as the nightlight sparks turned into individual shapes, and the shapes turned into a group of people. Ten or so had followed the storm’s eerie light, once the eye of the storm was upon them. Mr. Halcomb led the way, but Ms. Parks had stayed behind. Emily was thankful that she wasn’t there with them. Justin shouldn’t be here.

  “Your father?” Mr. Halcomb asked. Emily dipped her fingers into the fog again, causing the crowd to shudder and awe. “Emily, what are you doing?”

  “It’s different now. But we’re not sure why,” she told them. “My father left for the machine. He wants us to stay back, and to keep anyone from going out there.”

  A shimmer traveled up their legs. As if on cue, she watched as everyone spread their arms out.

  “Brace yourselves,” Mr. Halcomb exclaimed, sounding annoyed by the interruption. “Just hope these tunnels are stronger than the—” But he never finished what he was going to say. A terrible sound swept over them like hail in a storm. At once, they all fell to their knees, covering their ears. Emily groaned and then tried to scream, but her voice was lost in the sound. For a moment, she was certain her father had failed and that the machine had exploded. But she’d heard explosions before, and this was unlike any sound she’d ever heard before. The breakfast nook, she remembered, The first quake and that sound. Only this was a hundred times more powerful than the sound they’d first heard.

  Mr. Halcomb dropped onto the ground, sprawled out, stretching every limb, shaking. A seizure? But she was shaking too—they all were. She could feel the tremors rushing through her like sound ripping the air.

  The wave of vibrations suddenly stopped, releasing its hold on them. Emily collapsed next to Peter, gasping for air. She shut her eyes, taking in the blackness, welcoming it, and stayed there until the trembling eased from her muscles.

  “Oh my God!” Emily heard Mr. Halcomb shout. “Do you see that? Do you all see that?”

  Emily rolled onto her side, holding back her insides. The vibrations left her dizzy, and she knew from before that she’d have to wait it out. The sound of someone retching confirmed how she felt.

  “Emily?” Peter asked, and she felt his hand on her arm. “You gotta see this!” The excitement in his voice pulled on her, and she swallowed, trying to stave the nausea. If she was going to vomit then she was just going to have to vomit.

  But before Emily opened her eyes, she felt something cast over her face, warming her. I’m dreaming again, she told herself. I’m dreaming again, and in a moment I’ll be a pile of glass. A tear crept into the corner of her eye when the bright sunlight bled through her eyelids, convincing her of what was the truth and what was not.

  She opened her eyes, finding an image that she’d seen before, but hadn’t expected ever to see agai
n. Emily blinked away the images, convincing herself that it wasn’t real. There was no mistaking the familiar touch of sunlight on her face.

  “Is this real?” she managed to ask. Nobody answered. Instead, they stood shoulder to shoulder, staring out at the ocean as the sun cut through the fog, parting the folds of gray, peeling back the clouds like a rind on some forbidden fruit. “This is real.”

  They were like children again—shoes and shirts cast into a pile—running and dancing, chasing one another, kicking up the water in the surf. It was the laughing that made her heart swell the most, stealing the gloom of the tragedy and stuffing it somewhere far away.

  “It’s over!” Peter yelled, taking hold of her hands and spinning her. “Your father did it!”

  “He really did… didn’t he?” she said, throwing her head back. Around and around she spun, digging her feet into the warm sand, eating up every bit of sunlight. Emily pulled on Peter’s hands until they were face to face. And though surrounded by others, they were alone in the moment. “Not all things have to end,” she told him, letting the moment take her.

  Peter leaned in and kissed her. Her arms melted into his, she held him, pressing her lips onto his.

  “Emily!”

  Peter pulled back, recognizing the authority in the tone. Her father joined them, and it was then that she saw how many more had come outside. The sound. While the sound may have urged them, the sunlight couldn’t be ignored. Nearly everyone from the mall had made their way to the beach.

  “You did it!” she yelled.

  “Thank you,” Peter said. “Thank you.”

  “It’s only temporary,” her father said. His jaw slacked and his eyes emptied. “I stopped the reaction, but I can only hold it long enough for the storm to pass.”

  “What? But what does that mean?”

  “The machine,” he answered motioning behind him. “If I control the reaction, then the rain will pass. Might even pass without any more damage.”