The Fog

by Alton Gansky

  “A port is a city where ships dock. A portal is a large gateway.”

  “And gateways lead from one place to another.” The professor looked ill.

  We thought on Andi’s comment for a moment, then Brenda asked, “Has anyone seen Waterridge lately?”

  CHAPTER

  9

  Desperate Times Require Desperate Acts

  Brenda’s question was a good one. I hadn’t seen Waterridge since much earlier that evening. Turns out no one had. Of course, we had had other things to think about. Janice Krone slipped away and asked some of the firm’s employees and Ebony Watt if they had seen the third partner. Nothing doing there, either.

  A sick thought came to me. “Do you suppose he was one of those who went down one of the stairwells?”

  Apparently I wasn’t the first to think that. Allen Krone was the most doubtful. “He never seemed the kind of man to panic. If anything, he would try to keep people from panicking.”

  “I don’t like to be disagreeable,” the professor said. Brenda, Andi, and I almost gave ourselves whiplash looking at him. He frowned at us. “I’m a pretty good judge of character, and something seemed off about the man.”

  Brenda started to address the “pretty good judge of character” comment, but I shook my head. No doubt she was thinking of the same instances when the professor’s keen mind missed the boat on character assessment. For once she took a hint from me. Probably because her fortune-telling wall art said I was going to be grub for those fog-swimmers.

  “What makes you say that?” Andi asked.

  “It’s a gut feeling.”

  “Well, that’s logical.” One can keep Brenda quiet for only so long.

  He didn’t snap back, which ended the theologian’s debate about miracles happening in the contemporary world.

  “The brain is always picking up information and details. If we know how to use our brain”—here he paused to make eye contact with Brenda—“we can find clues we first missed.”

  I positioned myself to block Brenda should she decide to go for the professor’s throat.

  “I saw him.”

  The voice made me blink. It was Daniel, and he was looking up at the tall adults (we often think of him as the little adult).

  “When?” I asked.

  He shrugged. Daniel wasn’t good with time. “When you were on the roof.”

  “So that’s where you went, you sneaky little rascal.”

  “Did I do a bad thing?” he asked Brenda.

  The first part of Brenda’s answer was the sadness on her face; the second part was a grin; the third part had words. “Nah, actually, I’m kinda proud.”

  “What was he doing, buddy?” My gut told me this was important. The professor mostly listened to his brain; I tended to eavesdrop on my gut.

  “Standing over there.” Daniel pointed across the room to the westernmost corner. “He was looking at the fog. They were looking at him.”

  Daniel was opening up. He did that sometimes. Usually when we need his help. Otherwise it was one-word answers and video games.

  “They were looking at him?” I had seen that look, and it scared the wits out of me. “How do you know the fog-things were looking at Mr. Waterridge?”

  “I walked over there. I already said I saw him.”

  “Yes, you did, pal. My bad.” I waited a half-second before firing another. “You went over to him?”

  Daniel nodded. “I looked at what he was looking at. The monsters were swimming in a circle looking at him.”

  “Looking at him.” It wasn’t a question. It was me echoing what Daniel said.

  “I think they like him.” Daniel inched closer to Brenda.

  “Yeah, just like I like baloney sandwiches,” Krone said.

  “No. Not like—that. Like a dog.”

  Brenda, who spoke better Daniel than any of us took that one. “Like a dog? You mean like a dog looks at his owner.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “My brain hurts.” I looked at Andi. “Do your thing, girl. Pull it all together. Patternize what we know.”

  “Patternize?” The professor said. “Is that a word?”

  “Not now, Professor. I’ll choose a better word later.” Back to Andi. “You know what I mean. What is the pattern? How does all this connect? I need to hear it.”

  Andi closed her eyes. “Okay. New building. Midrise. Fifty floors, but two are below ground. FAA limits height. Major earthquake. Weird fog rolls in. Aftershocks. Monsters swimming in the fog. Impossible—scratch that. It doesn’t matter if it’s impossible, it’s being done.” She sucked in a lungful of air. “Fog is rising. Fog is inside the building. It will be here soon. No thirteenth floor—no floor labeled thirteen. No common access to the floor. Mechanical space. Waterridge responsible for that part of the design. Building’s name: Portal Bayfront Plaza. Portal, not Port. Portal means gateway—gate. The Gate.”

  Andi’s eyes went wide with shock, and the professor groaned. We had fought The Gate at every turn and come close to death every time. We know so little about them, but they have a plan for this world, and it ain’t good. To make things worse, there are people in this world helping them, maybe even guiding them. We believe some of them are part of a parallel universe, one that is close to ours, but different. The professor says some physicists believe such places exist.

  “I don’t follow,” Krone said.

  “It’s a long story, and a little too weird to believe,” the professor said.

  “I’m a dying man in a building I designed, surrounded by an impossible fog with killer creatures in it. Do you think you can tell me something I can’t believe?”

  “You might be surprised.” The professor looked at us. We nodded.

  As the professor launched into the tale of our adventures, I wandered the floor, trying to sort out what was rattling in my head. Something had to be done, but what? We couldn’t go down the stairs or the elevator. That was certain death, and we had plenty of proof of that.

  I did a few more slow laps around the big room and came to a conclusion. I had an idea. An idea I hated.

  The walk back to my friends seemed like a hike through five feet of snow. I was chilled to the marrow. I had been walking around the perimeter of the room doing my best not to look out the window. My best wasn’t good enough. I checked the rising fog repeatedly, and it was climbing the building faster than I thought possible. It was just two or three floors below us. Pure. White. Soft. Deadly fog. Fog populated by big-headed, big-mouthed creatures with sharp teeth and claws, and a very real appetite for people.

  I returned to my friends. No one had left. Allen Krone looked more stunned than before, but that was understandable, if the professor had let him in on the group we called The Gate. They had tried to do us in before. Worse, they had been trying to do in the world.

  “Feel better after your little walk?” Brenda asked.

  “No.” It took a second or two to work up the courage to make my next statement. “I have an idea. I don’t like it, and you’re not going to like it, either.”

  The moment I finished the sentence I felt something new. It came through the floor, into my feet, and up my legs. This time it wasn’t an earthquake.

  “What’s that?” Andi looked on the verge of panic—and Andi doesn’t panic.

  The vibration increased, and with it a noise that could be felt more than heard. There was no way we could stand this much longer. I’m no architect, but judging by the look on Krone’s face, the building might not make it.

  I put my big hands on Andi’s little shoulders and looked deep in her eyes. I had to raise my voice. “Andi, you left one thing out of your summary. You forgot something.”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t forget, Tank. None of us did. I just couldn’t say it.”

  I hugged her for a long moment. It was the only thing that had felt right all day. Letting her go was the hardest thing I had done in a long time. Perhaps more difficult than what I was about to do.

&
nbsp; “I’m going to do this,” I said. “I don’t want to hear objections or anyone saying, ‘But, Tank.’ We just don’t have time.” I turned my attention to Krone. “Mr. Krone, you know the mayor, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you friends?”

  “Yes. For years.”

  Good. “So he trusts you.”

  “I believe so.”

  Good again. “I need you to ask him for a favor.”

  CHAPTER

  10

  One Giant Step for Humankind

  I had been right. No one liked the plan, and even though I told them I wouldn’t listen to objections, they objected, anyway. Fortunately, I’m big enough to keep anyone from standing in my way.

  There were hugs all around, and then they dispersed to do what I asked. In less than ten minutes we were on the roof—not just my friends, but everyone. No one wanted to stay in a room that was vibrating like the inside of a bass drum.

  I watched as the mayor’s bodyguards managed to open the rooftop storage room I had seen on my last trip to the roof. Several of the men in the group pitched in, too.

  It didn’t take long to set up the window-cleaning equipment. The building’s davit supports were big enough to hold a window-washer’s basket, the kind that hold two men.

  We wouldn’t be needing the basket thing.

  I slipped into the safety harness the workers wore when they cleaned the windows. We had to let out the belts as much as possible, and it was still a tight fit. I would just have to live with the pinching. Or, if we understood Brenda’s drawing, die with the pinching.

  The creatures below noticed us working near the edge of the building and had worked themselves into a frenzy. I kept hoping they’d turn on each other. No such luck. Apparently they liked the flavor of human more.

  “I’ve rechecked my calculations.” Krone stood beside me looking at the davit and the safety line we attached to it. “The length should be right.”

  “Should be?” I needed a little more optimism.

  “Sorry.” It looked like he tried to smile, but his lips misfired. He only managed to look scared out of his wits. I didn’t want to know how I looked. “Speech patterns are difficult to break. Architects learn to speak with caution. Did you know that malpractice insurance for architects is more expensive than that for doctors?”

  “Are you stalling, Mr. Krone?”

  “Yes, yes I am.” This time his smile worked just fine.

  One of the mayor’s bodyguards moved closer. “Are you sure about this?”

  “Not at all,” I said. “I’m doing it anyway.”

  “I spent ten years in the Marine Corps and have seen many acts of bravery,” the bodyguard said. “This one takes the cake.”

  “I don’t feel brave.” It was an honest admission.

  “Bravery is defined by what you do, not what you feel.” He shook my hand then pulled a Glock 9mm handgun from beneath his tux coat. “The mayor said you wanted one of these.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You know how to use it?”

  I pulled the slide, putting a round in the chamber. “I have an uncle who is a sheriff. Any visit to his place would sooner or later end up on the shooting range.” I didn’t tell him I’m not big on guns.

  “You know there are more of those creatures than there are bullets in that piece.”

  “The gun isn’t for them.” I let that hang in the air. There was too much talk, and I was losing my nerve.

  The professor laid a hand on my shoulder. In his other hand he held a fire axe—the kind with a blade on one side and a point on the other. It had been in a cabinet near the stairwell.

  “Tank—” The professor choked, cleared his throat then tried again. “Tank, I’ve been rough on you, but I want you to know—”

  “Stop, Professor. I don’t want the girls to see me get all emotional and stuff.” I took the axe.

  He patted my shoulder and walked away.

  I was done talking. Every minute that passed brought the fog closer. Every minute that passed took a little of my spine with it.

  No more waiting. I closed my eyes and took several deep breaths. I tightened the muscles in my left arm, then my right; I did the same for each leg. More deep breathing. It was the way I got ready for a football game. It was the only thing I knew to do.

  I stepped on the parapet, careful of my balance. I needed to leave the roof in a particular way. Falling wasn’t the way.

  I glanced back at my friends and saw tears in their eyes. I looked down at the pale demons in the fog, then I turned my eyes to heaven. “Father, this is stupid, but it is the only thing I know to do. Help me do it.”

  I crouched, then leaned forward. With all the strength I could muster I sprang into the nothing, screaming all the way. The moment I exchanged the solid roof for the air, I twisted so my back was to the fog.

  The sky overhead disappeared in a blanket of white. That didn’t matter, I was looking for green.

  Something zipped by but missed—almost missed. It scratched my arm. In the few seconds of free fall, I saw dozens of the creatures. They swooped at me, but missed me each time. They would have had better luck catching a falling meteor.

  Green.

  I raised my gun. My trajectory had changed. I was no longer falling. Instead, I was swinging right into the building. I extended the Glock in my left hand and fired, and fired, and fired. The sound was much louder than any gun I had ever heard. The creatures diving at me disappeared as if the noise hurt them. Fine with me.

  I continued to fire. I had been told the weapon had ten rounds. I tested that by firing until the gun went silent. I released it.

  Allen Krone told me the glass skin was made of a type of tempered glass. Very durable. Very strong, but not bulletproof. The glass would shatter into small cubes.

  He was correct.

  My momentum swung me through the spot where one of the green windows had been. The next part was going to be tricky. Somehow I had to stop my swing once I sailed through the window area. That’s what the axe was for.

  The lights on the floor were in full force. All green, but in full force. Outside, the fog, which was now inside, was white. Here it was a moss-green gas.

  When I felt my direction change, my shoes were one or two feet above the floor. I rocked forward and drove the pointed end of the axe into the floor. Krone told me the floors in the building were made of something called lightweight concrete—concrete with air blown in it to make it less dense and heavy. It was a good thing it wasn’t ordinary concrete. I doubt my axe would have made much of an impression. As it was, I could only drive the end of the axe about an inch into the surface.

  It was enough. I stopped my wild swing. I let go of the handle and a swung back a couple more feet, just enough for my feet to set down.

  No sooner than I had touched down, I began to unclip the safety line. I had to try three times before I could unleash myself. The harness swung back through the shattered window and into a swarm of fog-swimmers. They attacked it.

  I yanked the fire axe free and turned to face the things that wanted me for tonight’s dinner. I steeled myself for the onslaught. I had the advantage of speed when I leapt from the building and the sudden change of direction when I reached the end of my safety line. That was then. Now, I was standing flatfooted in dress shoes and a tux—hardly fighting clothes. The floor, the walls, the machinery all buzzed and vibrated, just like the vibration we felt right before I committed to this mission.

  The charging, swirling swarm of creatures didn’t come. They stayed outside the building, swimming past the area of the shattered window. They didn’t come in. They just stared at me like I was the ugly one, a fish in a tank.

  I would like to have sat and pondered what kept them outside, but I didn’t think I had the time. They might change their minds—if they have minds.

  That’s when it occurred to me: I was breathing the fog, and it felt like any other fog I’d been in. I’m not sure what I ex
pected; I was just glad to be breathing. I backed away from the window and tried to make sense of my surroundings. This was supposed to be an equipment floor, and sure enough, there was equipment. There were large metal structures that were a mystery to me. Big cylindrical tanks like giant propane tanks. They were a mystery to me. Overhead were conduits, pipes, ducts and, yep, more things that were a mystery to me.

  What I was looking for had to be different. I didn’t know how. A sudden fear, a new fear gripped me—what if I couldn’t find the . . . whatever it was I was looking for? What if it was disguised to look like a refrigerator or somethin’ else familiar?

  No, it had to be obvious. If we were right, if Andi and I had linked everything together, then somewhere on this floor The Gate had set up a portal to their world. I don’t think you can hide something like that.

  I moved slowly around the floor, not certain what I was looking for, but certain I’d recognize it. Every few steps I looked behind me, fully expecting to see one of the blood-splattered faces of those critters. Brenda’s drawing stuck in my mind.

  I studied the ceiling again and this time I noticed that the green light was not uniform. It was brighter farther back, to the left. I made that my destination.

  My steps were slow, and I peeked around every machine, fearing what I might see, then I saw a movement near the westernmost wall.

  A figure.

  A man.

  A man in a red robe.

  There was something familiar about the robe. I had seen something similar before.

  The figure stood at a console of some kind. To his right was an opening the size of a garage door. The opening was sealed with green glass. As I drew closer, I could see one fog-swimmer after another falling through a green mist. I corrected myself. Not falling. Swimming down to someplace lower. Maybe the underground parking floors.

  The vibration increased. The noise was deafening, which is probably why the man in the robe hadn’t heard the window shatter.

  He spun suddenly, looked at me, and reached for something inside the robe. It was Waterridge, and he had a gun.