by Pawlik, Tom
Mitch staggered to his feet. “Except that you nearly killed me along with it. Are you nuts?”
Nathan chuckled. “You still don’t get how this all works, do you? I can’t kill you. I couldn’t kill you if I tried…. Not here at least.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m dead already. I know that.”
Nathan dusted him off. “You didn’t listen to anything I told you. You’re not dead. You’re in a coma. This—” he patted Mitch’s shoulders—“is not your body. This is just a pseudo-corporeal construct generated by your spirit. It’s pure energy. You don’t have any bones to break, no blood to lose. No heart to stop. Get it?”
Mitch groaned and rubbed his neck. “Odd that I should feel such vivid pain from a simulation.”
“Ah, but that’s because pain is really just energy.” Nathan helped Mitch hobble back to his motorcycle. “In your physical body, pain was merely a set of electrical signals transmitted through your nerves and interpreted by your brain. And now your spirit remembers what your brain used to tell it. Like Pavlov’s dogs, you’re just responding to perceived stimuli.”
Mitch tried to lift the Road King off its side, but it wouldn’t budge. He glanced up at Nathan. “Little help please?”
“You’re not listening.” Nathan motioned for Mitch to step aside. Then he grabbed the handlebar with one hand and tilted the bike upright.
Mitch blinked and stepped back. “Whoa. Dude. How . . . how did you… ?”
Nathan sighed. “Because it doesn’t actually weigh anything. Or more accurately, it doesn’t have to weigh anything. You keep thinking you’re in the physical world. This ain’t it.”
Mitch stared at Nathan, then back at his bike. He grabbed hold of the handlebars and tried to shake the motorcycle. He could feel its weight. He could feel its substance. “I don’t get it.”
Nathan patted Mitch on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll work on it. But we should get going.” He glanced at his watch and gestured to the smoldering gas station. “Just like I can’t kill you, I can’t kill your friend over there either.”
Mitch stared at the rubble. He thought he saw something moving in the debris. Something that looked like a charred piece of wood shuddered. It rolled and twisted itself through the clutter toward another similar-looking black stick. The two pieces slowly touched and then conjoined into a single piece.
“What is that thing?”
Nathan rubbed his jaw. “Not sure exactly, but I believe it’s called a Keeper. Think of it as kind of a guard dog. It’s one of the ways this place tries to prevent you from leaving.”
“Why haven’t I seen it before?”
“Because you never tried to leave before. As long as you stayed on the farm, numb and tranquil, everything was okay. But now that you tried to leave . . . well, let’s just say it won’t let you go without a fight.”
“So what did you do to it?”
“All I did was temporarily disrupt its unanimity. But we should get going before it coalesces again. C’mon, let’s put some miles between us.”
Nathan turned and headed to a waiting car. Mitch stopped in his tracks when he saw the spotless red Ferrari F430 through the clearing smoke.
“Whoa. Where’d you get that?”
“Same place you got your bike . . . kind of.” He flashed a smile. “Only mine was intentional.”
Mitch frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
His gaze traveled along the F430’s sleek profile. A bright red Spider convertible with a tan leather interior. Beneath the surface lay a 4.3-liter flat crank V-8. It could easily do zero to sixty in under four seconds.
Nathan started it up, gunned the accelerator. “You coming or not?” He slid the car in gear and tore off in a fishtailing spray of gravel and smoke.
Mitch whistled to himself as he watched the Ferrari rocket down the road. Then he shook his head and started up his Road King. A moment later, he took off as well, following the Ferrari west along the highway.
Behind them, amid the smoldering debris, several black shapes were slithering toward one another.
31
A SQUAD CAR TURNED LEFT onto Jefferson and rolled past the gravel parking lot toward Hubbard. Its headlights shone momentarily into the windshield of the Ford Tempo, parked near the railroad overpass. Devon slumped down and held his breath as the car flooded with light. The squad passed without incident. Without even slowing down.
Devon sat up again. He was camouflaged well enough here, off the street, huddled amid a half-dozen other cars. He reclined the seat and cracked open the window. His mother would have reported the car by now. But really, it was just a beat-up old Tempo and wouldn’t be high priority for the cops.
Devon knew he should probably close his eyes and get some rest. But his mind was still buzzing. He needed a plan. What was he going to do for cash? The car would get him only so far. He’d need to dump it eventually. Plus, he’d need to get some more food. The cold remains of a few french fries littered the seat beside him with the crumpled wrapper of the cheeseburgers he’d ordered at a McDonald’s drive-through. It was all he’d had since breakfast. Now he sipped down the last drops of his Coke.
On the other side of the tracks was a six-dollar parking lot with one of those port-a-johns for the attendant. At least he wouldn’t have to go into a gas station or restaurant to use the bathroom. Less chance of being seen.
He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
“That’s right,” a voice said from the backseat. “Try to get some rest.”
Devon glared in the mirror at the pale-skinned figure behind him. “Get outta my face.”
“I’m not going anywhere. Besides, you’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
“Doing what?”
“Well, first you need to visit your boss. You need a gun.”
“He ain’t gonna give me no gun. And I ain’t gonna kill no one.”
Pale Man sighed. “Anybody ever teach you about using double negatives?”
“Double what?”
“Forget it. It’s kind of endearing.”
“Man . . . just leave me alone.”
“Alone?” Pale Man snorted. “If it weren’t for me, you’d still be sitting in your cell.”
“All you’ve done is get me in more trouble than I was already in.”
“Son, you have no idea how much trouble you’re in.”
“And I ain’t your son, either.”
“Quit your bellyaching, chief, or I’ll walk you off a bridge. You should be thankful you’re even alive.”
“Why are you doing this to me?”
“Because I can.” Pale Man leaned forward. “You came into our world and got back out alive. You’re one lucky kid. You should’ve ended up like your buddy Terrell.”
“Shut up!”
“Know what he’s doing right now?” Pale Man started to giggle. “Screaming his fool head off. He’ll be doing that for, like… forever.”
Devon clenched his jaw. His eyes stung.
“Oh . . .” Pale Man’s voice softened. “Oh, I’m sorry. Am I upsetting you? I’ll try to be more sensitive from now on. Really. We’ll be friends. We’re going to be great friends, you and me. Before you know it, you’ll forget all about Tyreek… er, Tyrone. You know… what’s-his-name.”
“I don’t have to listen to you.”
“Of course you don’t, kid.” Pale Man leaned back again, laughing. “You came back to life, all right. You just didn’t come back alone.”
32
THE AFTERNOON DREW OUT toward evening as Mitch followed the Ferrari west. Or at least what he assumed was west. Without reference to the sun, it was impossible to be sure which direction he was headed.
The highway cut a straight path through miles of farmland, past the occasional cluster of drab houses and through several abandoned towns. Before long, everything along the road began to look alike to Mitch, like they were traveling the same section of highway over and over. It was as if Indiana were stretching on for e
ternity. They traveled for more than three hours until at last Nathan pulled to a stop in a secluded wayside.
“Mind telling me exactly where we’re headed?” Mitch said as he pulled up alongside the Ferrari.
“West,” Nathan said, pointing ahead.
“I know west. I mean west where? Where specifically?”
Nathan got out of the car and stretched. Then he stared into the distance for a moment and breathed a sigh. “To the edge of the world. The only place you can get back to your body from here.”
“The edge of the world, huh?” Mitch snorted. “And I thought Howard was a little crazy.”
Nathan flashed a smile. “I know you’re still having some trouble getting your head around this whole thing. That’s why I thought we’d take a slight detour.”
“Nice. Where to?”
“Someplace that should provide you a little perspective.”
“Dude, why can’t you just give me a straight answer? Like ‘Hey, we’re going to Kansas’ or something. ’Cuz all this oooh-I’m-so-mysterious-and-insightful stuff is starting to get a little old.”
“Sorry, Mitch.” Nathan looked as if he was repressing a laugh. “It’s just that some things you really do have to see for yourself in order to understand. Besides, this place I want to show you doesn’t have a name.”
“Whatever.”
Nathan glanced at the sky. “It’s going to be dark in a little while. We should get going.”
“You do know those creatures all come out at night, don’t you?”
“Yep. But they can’t really do anything to you.”
“Oh, really?” Mitch’s eyebrows went up. “Because you obviously haven’t encountered the same ones I have.”
“I mean they can’t drag you away like the others,” Nathan said as he climbed back into the Ferrari. “See, if it’s not your time to go yet, they can’t do anything to you. Not until you reach the final stage.”
“Final stage?”
“That point where you’re beyond any hope of revival. I mean, don’t get me wrong, they can put on a pretty scary act, but they can’t really touch you. Not yet.” Nathan fired up the car, gunned the engine, and grinned. “Until then, it’s all just a show.”
He stomped on the accelerator and tore out of the wayside. Mitch watched him go and rolled his eyes.
“Oooh, I’m so mysterious,” he muttered and swung a leg over his bike.
Mitch pulled onto the highway and accelerated to eighty-five but still wasn’t closing the gap on Nathan. He pushed his speed to ninety and slowly found himself gaining. After several minutes, he was close enough to see Nathan lift his hand and point to the left.
Mitch glanced in that direction, then slowed the bike and peered over his glasses. The horizon was hazy, but he could see a long, jagged mountain range to the south. Dark purple against the gray sky. Most of the peaks looked so tall that they disappeared into the canopy of clouds.
Mitch frowned. Mountains?
In Indiana?
He knew they had come a long way, but they hadn’t traveled that far. And while he was no geography whiz, he did recall that Indiana had no mountains.
Up ahead, the Ferrari’s brake lights flashed. The car skidded through a sharp left turn, kicking up a cloud of dust, and proceeded south along a side road. Mitch pulled to a stop at the intersection and stared down the road. The red Ferrari was now just a cloud of dust headed into the mountains. The terrain that spread out before Mitch was flat and low, peppered by miles and miles of stubby sagebrush.
Mitch’s frown deepened. One thing was clear.
They weren’t in Indiana anymore.
33
CONNER FOUND HIMSELF once more fighting his way through the black forest of his nightmares. Trees loomed like sentries, tall and blackened, their barren branches twisted and gnarled. Ahead of him, the cabin sat amid the shadows, its orange light shining dimly in the woods.
Conner fought his way through the undergrowth and stood at the entrance. Again.
Help me!
He could feel the voice calling out to him, more than he actually heard it. It was like some invisible force drawing him toward the cabin. Always back to the cabin. His heart pounded and his palms felt cold and moist.
He slipped inside and glanced around. “Mitch?”
Nothing moved. All he could hear was his own heart pounding inside his chest. The wind moaned through the trees outside, rattling the windowpanes and the door. But Conner could feel a presence outside. As if someone was watching him.
The cabin’s porch creaked and a dark shape moved past the front window. A second one followed it. Then a third.
“What’s going on? What do you want?” His voice sounded weak and shaky.
He could see them now. Dark shapes huddled outside the window. There must’ve been dozens of them out there. Surrounding the cabin. They just stood there, as if watching him silently.
Conner crouched in the corner. “What do you want?”
Then the voice came again.
He’s coming!
Outside, Conner could hear the snapping of sticks underfoot. A wave of terror descended on him and he pressed further against the wall, away from the door.
The footsteps drew closer. The floorboards of the porch creaked. A shadow moved outside the bottom of the door. The old brass knob turned and the door swung open.
Conner caught his breath. A tall figure loomed in the doorway, a motionless silhouette.
Conner could manage only a hoarse whisper. “Mitch?”
But the figure didn’t move. After a moment, the stranger stepped inside and the glow from the stove fell on his face.
Conner stammered. “H-Howard?”
Howard Bristol stared down at Conner with white, lifeless eyes. His gray hair was disheveled. He looked thinner than Conner remembered. His cheeks were sunken and his mouth drooped in loose folds at the corners. His jeans and red flannel shirt hung loose over his gaunt frame.
A stench filled the tiny room. The odor of rot overwhelmed Conner. “What do you want?”
Howard’s thin lips parted in a demented smirk and a voice whispered, “There’s a hole in the sky.”
At that, the other figures outside began to crowd into the room behind the tall farmer. Howard just stood there grinning as they scurried around him. These weren’t the hideous gray creatures that Conner remembered. They were human. Men and women. More than a dozen of them, moving with lurching, jerky movements. Their eyes too were white and soulless. They were upon him in a moment, clutching his arms and legs. Hands closed around his throat.
Conner tried to scream.…
He sat up in bed, sucking air into his lungs. Heart pounding.
Gray, early morning daylight shone in around the edges of the window blinds.
Marta rolled over. “You okay?”
“Yeah.”
Conner tried to slow his breathing. Another nightmare. Though this one was different. This was something he hadn’t seen before. Howard had never invaded his dreams before. What had he meant about a hole in the sky? And what about all of the other people in the cabin? Conner wondered if these things had any significance or if it was just his subconscious playing tricks on him. Or if there was something he was supposed to figure out from it.
Conner felt completely alone. Like he was in a foreign country, trying to understand a new language. A country where everyone seemed to be talking earnestly—their faces showing urgency but their language remaining incomprehensible to him.
Did this mean something? What was he supposed to do?
He lay back and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He closed his eyes and tried to pray. It was an entirely new experience for him, and after two months, he still didn’t feel comfortable with it. Marta often encouraged him to pray with her. And he had to admit, she was much better at it. More comfortable with talking to an invisible God. It seemed like she was carrying on an actual conversation. Like talking to a friend. But Conner still found it difficult to p
ray out loud. Especially in front of her.
He could speak in front of juries and judges, even improvising as the occasion warranted. But he couldn’t for the life of him get the hang of prayer.
He believed. At least he knew he wanted to believe. But in so many ways, he felt ill-equipped to handle talking to the Creator of the universe. A God who could see right through him. Who knew his thoughts.
Maybe that was the problem. Conner’s career had trained him to be so polished. So rehearsed. Even his improvisation was still for the sake of performance. All just to elicit an emotional response from his audience and direct them to make the decision he wanted. Not that it was all fake, but it was often an act. Trials, after all, were about who could put on the best show.
But with God it was different. Conner knew God didn’t want any of that. No pomp or pretense. Just simple, sincere communication. Just come and talk to Him. Humble and trusting like a child.
Conner had forgotten what that was like.
Marta had fallen back to sleep and Conner could hear her rhythmic breathing. He sighed and tried again to speak with God in the quiet of his thoughts.
Look, I apologize if I sound a little unpolished. I know You know what I’m thinking. I just feel like I’m going crazy. I know You saved me for a reason, but I don’t get why You’re making it so hard to figure out what it is. I feel like I’m at the end of my rope here. I want to be useful. I want to be obedient. Just give me a sign. Give me something. Some kind of direction.
Conner closed his eyes again. He didn’t know what more to ask. Even his talk with Pastor Lewis hadn’t given him any concrete direction.
Then it struck him. What had Lewis said? That God’s plan might not be about Mitch, but maybe it had something to do with Howard?
Conner sat up. Each of his nightmares had been about the cabin. On Howard’s farm. And now he’d dreamed about Howard himself. A sickening realization was starting to gel inside Conner. It was a thought—an idea so completely ludicrous and frightening that up until now he’d managed to keep it well at bay. Locked away deep inside the realm of impossibility. But somehow Lewis had unlocked the door and that idea had crept out. And now it was sitting there. Just sitting there, waiting for him to notice it.
