by A. P. Fuchs
Gravity took over and they were all leaning forward.
The clouds grew thicker and thicker.
Slick, gray muck from the clouds’ mist coated the windshield, blocking the flashing skulls from view.
KRA-BANG!
SNAP!
BOOM!
August yelped.
Billie screamed.
Joe called out to April for help.
The helicopter jerked backward and Joe's back was slammed against his seat.
"ARRGGGHHH!” August growled, clutching the controls.
The whispers stopped.
So did the static on the headset.
Watery gray gunk coated the glass, making it impossible to see outside.
"August, did we—” Joe began but was cut off by a sudden WHAM as something hard slammed up against the bottom of the helicopter.
Everyone lurched forward as they suddenly came to a stop, the vibration from the impact still reverberating through every bone in Joe's body.
They all sat there, unmoving, their bodies too busy registering that they appeared to be on the ground. What saved them, Joe didn't know.
"Joe?” Billie said, her voice small and far away.
He looked over at her. She sat in a crash position, head pressed tightly to her thighs, hands folded against the back of her head, elbows hugging her knees.
August just sat there, jaw hanging open. Was he—
Joe was about to say his name but the old man jerked in his seat, shut the chopper off and scrambled to open the cockpit door.
When he did, warm sunlight streamed in.
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37: Intangible
August stepped out of the helicopter, half expecting to set foot on the gold streets of heaven. If God didn't hold against him his challenging Him, that was. And if the helicopter being able to fly on empty was any indicator, so far God was being merciful not only to him but to Joe and Billie as well.
But it wasn't heaven August set foot on. It was the gray, cracked pavement of a parking lot, one partly filled with cars off a busy street.
Joe and Billie hopped out of the helicopter, shielding their eyes from the sun's bright glare.
"What...” Billie said.
It didn't make sense. None of it did.
One minute they were in the sky, the next somehow safely on the ground in the parking lot of a ... bank?
Brow furrowed, August scanned the street running alongside the bank. This was Henderson Highway. Henderson Highway as it was before the days of gray clouds. Before it became the Haven.
I got to be dreaming, August thought. I have to be. He'd had dreams like this before. The kind where something deep within told him that, despite the realism, actual reality was waiting for him on the other side of the veil of sleep. Yet right now, that feeling—that knowing—that this was a dream failed him.
This was real.
Joe came up beside him; Billie, too.
"Where are we?” Joe asked quietly.
August swallowed the lump in his dry throat. “I don't know.” He glanced back at the helicopter. The black flying machine sat there in the middle of the parking lot, propeller unmoving, its hull covered in a pasty gray residue, most likely the goopy, leftover mist from the storm clouds. He didn't know what was more odd: the simple sight of a helicopter sitting in a bank's parking lot or that no one seemed to notice it was sitting there.
The cars whipped by on the highway to the left, all seeming oblivious to their presence. One car coming down the street slowed, right blinker flashing, and turned into the parking, heading straight for the chopper.
It wasn't slowing down. Didn't the driver see it?
"Look out!” August said and got behind Joe and Billie and pushed them to the side just as the car collided with the helicopter. Instead of a loud crash and a brilliant display of metal ripping apart metal, the car sailed through the helicopter as if it wasn't there. It pulled into an empty stall and the driver, a young woman with too much makeup, got out and headed toward the bank's doors, her high heels clacking against the pavement. She didn't pay them any mind.
"What's going on?” August breathed.
"Did you see that?” Billie said as Joe walked around the vehicle, his eyes searching it up and down as if for any damage. “It just passed right through it! Just straight on through!"
"I saw it, Billie, but I don't believe it,” August said.
Joe joined with them again. He seemed at a loss for words.
August's mind went blank. He had seen a lot in his lifetime. He had thought that after he witnessed the dead rise and walk around, he'd finally seen the unbelievable. Even that couldn't have prepared him for what just happened.
"Hey! Hey!” Billie screeched as she ran to the edge where the parking lot met the road.
"Billie, get back here!” Joe shouted after her and ran to her side.
She waved frantically at the cars passing by. No one slowed. No one stopped. An older black woman with a flower-patterned kerchief made her way down the sidewalk alongside the bank.
Billie ran up to her.
"Help! We need help!” she yelled, pointing back at August and the helicopter.
The woman continued on her way, eyes fixed forward, seeming completely unaware that Billie was there.
"Hey, I'm talking to you! Aren't you listening to—” She moved to grab the woman by the shoulders and her hands passed through her. Billie shrieked and recoiled. A moment later her legs gave out from under her and she fell to the sidewalk. Her hands passed through the cement as she went to break her fall and she looked as if she would continue toppling forward into the ground had Joe not caught her and hauled her back to her feet.
She fought against him, screaming and crying inconsolably.
August jogged up to them. “Hold her!"
"I am!” Joe snapped.
Billie fought in his arms and wouldn't calm down.
"Billie,” August said. “Billie, listen to me."
She kept screaming. “I'm dead! I'mdeadI'mdeadI'mdead!"
"No, you're not!” August shouted above her voice though he wasn't entirely sure he was telling the truth.
Maybe this was what happened after you died? Maybe you did co-exist with the living on a plane of existence unbeknownst to the rest of the world? If that's true, he thought, then everything I've believed about God and about life has been a lie. He clenched his teeth together. The dead rising, the world ending in a way not foretold—what if I was wrong? He shook his head. No, don't think that. The helicopter flew on empty. It flew on empty. Remember that. Where are You!
Billie kept shrieking, totally breaking down. “Help! I'm dead! Des! Mom! Dad! Audrey!"
August shoved Joe away from her and grabbed her flailing arms. “Billie, look at me. Look at me!"
Her eyes wouldn't meet his. Instead she thrashed about. Without thinking, his aged palm snapped up and swatted her across the cheek.
"Hey!” Joe said and grabbed his hand just as he was about to do it again.
Billie's shocked blue eyes met August's.
Joe moved to grab him; August snapped out his hand and held him back. “One sec.” Still holding one of her hands, he turned to Billie and said as sternly yet as comfortingly as he could muster, “You are not dead. Please, calm down."
Tears dripped from her eyes and fear lit up her gaze.
"Something strange has happened. That's all. Just, please, calm down."
Joe's chest pressed against his palm; August knew he only had Billie's best interest at heart.
"I'm not going to hit her again, Joe,” he said. “I'm sorry for that. Billie, I'm sorry. I just needed to get your attention."
She pulled away from him and turned around and buried her face in her hands. Joe came beside her and attempted to put an arm around her shoulder. She quickly drew away.
Placing his hands on his hips, August turned, squinted against the sun, and stared at the bank. “What's going on?"
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38: The Man in the White Coat
While August stared off at the bank, Joe paced beside Billie, giving her a moment.
Heart racing, legs jittery, his mind raced with a million thoughts, all images: the bright sun, the car driving through the helicopter, Billie's hands passing through that woman's shoulders, August hitting her, the storm clouds, the undead, Des, the X-09, April and her gorgeous black hair and brilliant gray eyes, that woman with too much makeup not seeing them, the cars that continued to drive by without pausing to look at the chopper in the bank's parking lot, the sun, the storm, Billie falling, her hands passing through the pavement, him catching her, April, their cries gone unheard, August flying the helicopter on empty—Over and over they played. The past, the present. His head hurt.
He reached for the X-09 inside his coat and gripped its handle. The power he normally felt from holding it brought little comfort and very little sense of control. Who was he kidding? This was an uncontrollable situation! There was no explanation. This was impossible. This couldn't be happening.
He'd always thought he'd be able to handle anything, that nothing would surprise him anymore. There was nothing left to lose after April. His life, what little left of it there was, counted for nothing. If he died at the hands of the undead, so be it. If the storm had taken him, so be it. If now, if he was dead and was a ghost among the living in a world where the undead didn't exist, so be it.
"They're not here,” he said quietly. Then he shouted at August: “They're not here!"
August turned around to face him. “What?"
Billie kept to herself, some ten feet away on the grass bordering the bank's property.
"The dead,” Joe said. “They're not here."
The old man glanced around, as if reevaluating his surroundings for the first time. “They're gone,” he said, if only to himself.
Joe put a hand above his eyes. “The sky's clear, too. Just a few clouds. White ones."
"It's summer, just like before the rain came,” August said.
"Where are we?” Joe asked. A strange idea popped into his head but he wanted to see if August would say it first before he did.
"Home. At least, what it used to be."
"The way I see it,” Joe said, “we're either dead and the ‘other side’ is just a pleasant carbon copy of real life, or we're—"
August arched an eyebrow.
He couldn't say it. To do so would sound, well, just plain crazy.
Mouth clamped shut, old lips pressed together, August didn't reply but instead seemed to be waiting for him to finish.
"We're in the past, before the rain came.” Joe's heart skipped a beat and he felt his cheeks flush at the absurdity of the notion. “Or in the future after the dead are gone,” he quickly added, as if that would make it better.
It didn't.
"I don't know where or even when we are,” August said.
Another car pulled into the parking lot and passed through the helicopter. Joe couldn't help but stare as the car continued on its way just like the other, as if nothing had happened.
A man with a big belly in a plaid shirt exited the bank, went to his rusting brown pickup, and backed out of his spot. He, too, passed through the chopper and joined the traffic on the road.
"Billie, did you see—"
She wasn't on the lawn beside the building anymore. Instead, she stood by the front door to the bank, poking at it with her hand. The closer Joe got to her, the more he was able to see what she was doing. Slowly, she pressed her fingers against the glass. They passed through the door as if through air. She pulled her hand back and did it again. And again. And again.
"Careful, Joe,” August said from behind him as he approached Billie.
But before he could talk to her to try and figure out what was going on, Billie passed through the door and went in.
* * * *
Head aching, eyes stinging from her outburst, Billie slowly made her way through the bank. People milled about, others sat in the waiting area; while others stood at the tills, speaking with the tellers while fishing in their purses or wallets.
The woman with too much makeup snapped her gum as she walked toward her. The woman's shoulder passed through hers as she walked by, heading for the doors. The woman stopped before the doors, adjusted her purse over her shoulder, then opened the door just as it appeared Joe and August were about to pass through the door like she had.
The two men entered.
The old man and Joe searched the people, obviously looking for her.
She didn't want to talk to them. Not right now. She ducked out of view behind a table with a bunch of brochures on it and a for-customers-only coffee machine.
Wondering if Joe would shout her name, if he truly believed no one could see them or hear them, she waited, just needing some space.
Sure enough, Joe called out: “Billie!"
"Argh. Not now,” she whispered and got in behind the legs of someone who had come to grab themselves a free coffee.
She searched the bank, looking for a place to take a breather. It was all relatively open area, the only hiding places being either behind the tills or in the vault, which had its door open. As if that could stop her even if the door was closed. She could pass through solid objects!
Then the memory came. Her fall. The sidewalk. Her arms passing through the cement. The sensation of gravity taking her and about to suck her to the center of the earth or beyond.
What happened out there?
She peered over the table. Joe and August had split up, each wandering around the bank, eyes searching above the heads of the people. A little boy no more than four ran through August's legs to catch up with his father on the other side of the old man. An elderly lady passed through Joe as she went to inquire about something at the help desk.
Billie eyed the vault, and when she was certain Joe and August weren't looking, she made a break for it and ran, her body passing through the waist-high gate separating the area behind the tills from the bank floor. About to run into the vault, she caught sight of two stalls for those opening safety deposit boxes on the other side of it. She headed for one of those instead.
When she emerged through the fake-marble-covered door, she stopped and took a deep breath.
Finally, she was alone.
* * * *
Joe searched the people, hoping to catch a glimpse of Billie. How hard was it to find a small girl with bright pink hair? Especially one who could pass through solid objects?
He couldn't see her. He knew she probably wanted to be alone after what happened outside, but now was hardly the time to leave him and August.
He scanned the bank for the old man. August stood in the far corner, next to a stairwell, seeming to already be waiting for him to make eye contact. Once Joe did, August signaled that he was going to go downstairs to look for her. Joe nodded and August turned and headed down the steps.
A bank of offices bordered the place's interior so Joe decided to check them out, one by one.
Out of habit, he dodged a middle-aged man with thinning brown hair who was coming toward him. Another shorter fellow with spiked blond hair who he didn't see was right behind the man and Joe hit him straight on. The blond fellow's body met his and Joe merged with him, feeling as if he was slowly sinking into a pool of Jell-O. Then the sensation passed and Joe was on the other side, the blond guy still walking forward, not missing a beat.
Joe gave himself a shake and turned into the office with the open mahogany door on his left. A fifty-some-odd-year-old with male-pattern baldness and a moustache sat behind a desk, one hand tapping the keys of his keyboard, the other supporting his chin as he stared at the monitor.
No Billie.
Just in case this whole “no one seeing him” wasn't real, Joe said, “Excuse me, sir?"
The man didn't look up.
Joe stepped up to the desk and waved a hand in front of the guy's face. No response.
He couldn'
t help but chuckle. Well, how ‘bout that? He recoiled at his own humor. Don't turn back. That's not you anymore.
On the white wall to his right was a black-framed picture of a well-muscled runner hopping over a series of hurdles, and below was the supposed-to-be-motivating slogan that read forward.
"All right,” Joe said and approached the wall.
He put his fingers against it and they passed through and, like before, there was a slight resistance, like slipping your hand into a pool of cool, soft mud. He withdrew his fingers, took a deep breath, walked toward the wall, instinctively bracing himself for the dull thunk of impact as his head met drywall. Instead, coolness and darkness embraced him and it felt as if he were slowly sinking in the deep end of a swimming pool albeit with something under his feet for support. The darkness then melted away and he found himself in the closed-door office of two women, one with short brown hair behind a desk, slouched in her chair with hands folded across her lap, the other across from her leaning against the desk, bright blonde hair hanging in her face.
"I'm not going to judge you either way,” the woman sitting down said.
"I know. I just don't know what to do."
The woman sitting down leaned forward. “You're gonna have to make a decision, though. Frankly, I'm getting tired of hearing about it. Either make your move with the guy or not."
Joe stepped closer. The woman with the blonde hair stepped back from the desk.
"It's been bugging me for weeks,” she said.
"You said that,” the other woman said.
"He asked me out this morning. For tonight. Wants dinner and then, well, you know. He didn't say that, but I can tell."
"What guy doesn't want that?"
"But I really like him."
"You're married."
"Don't remind me. But that's been cold for a few months now. I mean, really cold."
"I'm not going to suggest you break up your marriage."
"Who says I'm breaking it up? Why not a little fun on the side? Doesn't have to last forever."
"These things never end right."
