Nightworld ac-6

by F. Paul Wilson

  He had to admit, though, it looked like hell. Carol would probably have a fit when she got back.

  Carol!

  He stepped to the window and peered out. The sun was down. Soon the air would be filled with those monstrosities. She should have been home by now. Where was she?

  The phone rang then. Hank ran to answer it.

  "Carol?" he said as he jammed the receiver to his ear. Relief flooded him at the sound of her voice.

  "Oh, Hank!" Carol said. "I'm so glad you're home."

  "Where are you? Don't you know it's almost dark?"

  "That's why I'm calling. I'm at Glaeken's. I'm okay, but I can't get home."

  "I see," he said. Now that he knew she was safe, annoyance seeped though. "Did you get the things on your list?"

  "No."

  "What? You know I was counting on you."

  "I'll get them tomorrow."

  "You can't! It's like a jungle out there. The stores were selling out when I started this morning. They're all empty now. Dammit, Carol! I can't do all this alone!"

  She'd let him down. He tried to hide his hurt.

  "I needed to talk to somebody, Hank. So I stopped by here to see Bill."

  "Talk?" His heart kicked up its rate. "What did you talk to him about?"

  "Us. I wanted to straighten a few things out in my head."

  "Did you tell him about the—about our supplies?"

  "Yes. But I just—"

  "Carol! How could you?" He felt as if he'd been stabbed. "Didn't I tell you not to mention them to anybody? Those are for us!"

  "Okay, Hank. Okay. We'll talk about that when I come home. I'll be there first thing tomorrow morning."

  "Fine!" he said, feeling a cold wind stirring up and blowing through his heart. "Stay the night with your priest friend. Talk your little heart out. Good night!"

  He slammed the receiver down, waited a couple of seconds, then lifted it again and left it off the cradle. Then he stepped to the door and dropped the big four-by-four bar onto its brackets.

  The receiver began to howl. He jammed a cushion over it.

  Carol…how could she do this to him? Why was she blabbing about their supplies all over town? Why was she trying to undermine his plans? It didn't make sense. He'd put all this together for the two of them. He was her husband. It was his duty to look out for her. And that was just what he'd been doing.

  But apparently Carol didn't care. No, it was worse than not caring—she was actively sabotaging him. Her big mouth was going to ruin everything. And there was no way he could stop her.

  Or was there?

  He couldn't make her go around and tell everyone that she'd been lying. Even if he could, it wouldn't work. But he could make her story a lie.

  All he'd have to do was move their supplies.

  And he knew just where to take them: the Jersey Shore. During a long span of his bachelor years he used to rent a bungalow every summer at places like Chadwick Beach or Seaside Heights. Most of them were little more than plywood boxes, but he knew a couple of places that were fairly sturdy, equipped with storm shutters and heat. They'd be empty now, the beaches and boardwalks all but deserted, waiting for the summer renters—renters who wouldn't be coming. A perfect locale.

  He got to work arranging all the cases of food in four-foot stacks by the door—the maximum load he could handle with his hand truck. At first light tomorrow he'd cover each stack with a sheet and hustle it down to his rented van still parked below.

  Hank took a blanket and huddled down behind his walls of food and began counting the hours till dawn.

  As Carol listened to the busy signal for perhaps the dozenth time, she watched Jack and Glaeken in huddled conversation on the far side of the living room. Jack had arrived earlier, jubilant that he'd heard from someone named Gia over the shortwave. Apparently she and her daughter had made it safely to a hideaway in Pennsylvania. Now, as he and Glaeken conversed, they'd occasionally glance her way, but she realized they were really looking at Bill, and that made her uneasy.

  She hung up and dialed her home phone number again. Still busy. She wanted to scream at it to ring. She had to speak to Hank, straighten things out. She didn't like the thought of him spending the night alone in that apartment thinking she'd let him down. She'd tried the operator but her rings were never answered. NYNEX seemed to be running on its computers alone. She wondered how long they'd hold up. She hung up the phone and looked at Bill.

  "Still busy. Do you think anything's wrong?"

  "Sounds like he's in some sort of snit. He'll get over it."

  "I hope so. Snit's a perfect word. I can't believe he's acting like this. Do you think he'll be all right?"

  "I'm sure he'll be fine. I just wish he was as concerned about you as you are about him."

  How true, she thought. Why isn't he calling to see how I'm doing?

  Jack came over and rested his hand on the phone.

  "Mind if I make a call?"

  "Go ahead," she said. "It's not doing me any good."

  She and Bill moved away to make room for him. They gravitated to the picture window overlooking the Sheep Meadow. Carol saw lights and bustling figures below.

  "What's going on?"

  "I'm not sure," Bill said. He lifted a pair of binoculars from a nearby table and peered through them. "They were dropping some sort of depth charges in it earlier today. Looks like they're going to try spraying them with insecticide again." He passed the glasses to her. "Take a look."

  The Sheep Meadow swam into focus through the lenses. Carol remembered watching a similar scene on TV last night, a scene that had ended in bloody horror.

  "I can't believe they're going to try this again," she said. "Those men down there must be either very brave or very crazy."

  "I'd venture they're neither," Bill said. "They're doing their job. Everybody else can go nuts, throw up their hands and say nothing matters anymore, the world's coming to an end so screw everything and let's party, let's go wild, let's do all the things we never allowed ourselves to do when we knew there'd be a price to pay. Let's get drunk, get stoned, rape, pillage, kill, destroy, burn everything to the ground just because we feel like it. But there will always be a certain small percentage out there who'll go on doing their jobs, people with an overriding sense of duty, of responsibility, of obligation to try to keep things running, to ignore the end-of-the-world Zeitgeist and just keep going. People who know that to let yourself go crazy is to say that your day-to-day life has been a sham, that you've been a hypocrite, that your lifestyle has been little more than play-acting for other people; like saying, 'Hey, you know everything I've said and done up till now? It's all been a lie. This is the real me.' No matter what Rasalom throws at that small percentage of humans, they aren't going to back down. Some of them are down there around that goddam hole right now."

  Carol found herself staring at Bill, a lump in her throat, tears in her eyes. And I know you're one of them. The sound of applause made her turn. Behind them, Jack and Glaeken were clapping.

  "I bet you used to give some wicked sermons," Jack said.

  Bill looked sheepish. "Sorry. I got a little carried away."

  "Don't apologize. You've just demonstrated one of the reasons Rasalom hates you so. The type of person you describe is the only threat to his supremacy. Unfortunately, there aren't enough of them. If the percentages were reversed, however—if there were as many people sticking to their posts, holding on and refusing to allow fear to rob them of everything they believe in, everything they've lived for, as there now are people falling victim to their fears—Rasalom wouldn't have a chance. But the opposite is true. The violent anarchy growing outside feeds his power, helps him shorten the days even further, which increases the fear and irrationality, which in turn makes him stronger, and around and around it goes until he is victor."

  A flash of light from below caught Carol's attention. She turned and stared out the window.

  "Oh, look!"

  The others joined h
er at the window as she raised the glasses and watched as the men around the Sheep Meadow hole sprayed fire at the things winging up from the depths.

  "I'll be damned!" Jack said from over her left shoulder. "Flame throwers! King Kong flame throwers!"

  "I think it's working!" Bill said.

  And sure enough, the fire did seem to be working. The things flying out of the hole were caught in the crossfire. Arcs of flame streamed inward from all sides of the hole. Powered by the pumps on the trucks around the rim, they crisscrossed over the opening, waving back and forth, catching the winged things as they tried to escape into the night. Doused with gasoline, or whatever the hoses were spraying, they caught fire and hurtled out of control into the darkness, twisting, turning, tumbling, fluttering up and down and about like windswept embers from a fresh-lit campfire.

  A thrill ran through Carol. The things were dying! They could be contained! Here was the spark of hope they'd all been looking for!

  "Do you know what this means?" she said, lowering the glasses and turning to the others. "If they can set up flamethrowers around all the holes—"

  "Hey, what's going on down there?" Jack said.

  Carol peered through the glasses again. The arcs of flame were wavering, faltering, some dropping, falling, pouring straight down into the hole; others were backing away from the edge, spraying the ground along the rim with liquid fire. And then Carol saw why.

  "Oh, no!"

  The flying things weren't the only creatures leaving the pit tonight. Through the lenses she saw other shapes—bulbous creatures with hard, shiny, black bodies; sinuous, multi-legged crawlers as long as a man and as thick around as a muscular thigh, and more—moving along the rim, crawling over the edge, worming their way onto the grass. They leapt upon the men directing the flame throwers, began tearing them to pieces.

  Carol snatched the glasses from her eyes and held them away from her. Jack took them, watched for a moment in silence, then handed them to Bill.

  "Every night some new horror is added to the others," Bill said after a moment. His voice was dry, quavering.

  "And each night is longer than the last," Glaeken said. "But come away from the window for now. We have something to discuss."

  Carol was glad to retreat to the lighted space of the living room. She sat next to Bill—huddled next to him, actually. It was warm in the apartment but she felt cold. She almost wished he'd put an arm around her and hug her close. She felt so alone tonight.

  Jack sat across from them. Glaeken remained standing.

  "Jack is leaving for the Central Pacific tomorrow. The object of his mission is crucial to our survival. However, even if he's successful in retrieving the necklaces, I fear they won't be enough. We need something else. One more constituent. And to obtain that, someone must travel in the opposite direction. Jack can't do both—there's not enough time. I need a volunteer to go the other way."

  A sick feeling grew in the pit of Carol's stomach as she noticed both men staring at Bill.

  "How…how far in this 'other direction'?"

  "Rumania."

  Carol grabbed Bill's hand and squeezed. No!

  "How can I get there? The airlines—"

  He's already decided! Carol thought. They didn't even ask him and he's already making travel plans.

  "I know some pilots," Jack said. "A couple of brothers. I did some work for them once. They run an executive jet service out on Long Island. They owe me."

  "They're still flying?"

  Jack smiled. "You know the kind of people you were talking about before—the ones who keep on keepin' on, no matter what? Frank and Joe Ashe are two of those. They don't back down—I don't think they know how."

  "Frank and Joe," Bill said. "They sound like the Hardy Boys. They owe you. Will they fly me?"

  Jack nodded. "For a price. I just spoke to them. They're not crazy about flying into Eastern Europe, but for the right price—in gold—they'll do it."

  "Gold?" Bill said. "I don't—"

  "I have plenty," Glaeken said. "Are you willing to make the trip?"

  "Of course," Bill said.

  "Bill!" Carol said, giving his hand a hard squeeze. "Maybe you should think about this."

  "What's to think about?" he said, his blue eyes clear and untroubled as they stared into hers. "Somebody's got to do it. Might as well be me. I want to be useful, Carol. I'm tired of feeling like a fifth wheel. I want to do something. Hell, I'm not needed for anything else around here."

  I need you! she thought. The intensity of the emotion behind that thought startled her.

  "You could be killed."

  "We'll all be dead if we don't do what we can now," he said, then looked at Glaeken. "When do I leave and what am I supposed to get?"

  "You leave tomorrow morning—"

  "Oh, no!" Carol couldn't help it.

  "—and you'll be searching a rocky ravine for scraps of metal, shards from a sword blade that shattered there half a century ago."

  "Do I have to get them all?"

  "Just a few. Just a sampling is all that is needed. You must—"

  An explosion rattled the apartment windows. Carol followed Glaeken, Bill, and Jack to the picture window.

  Below, in the Sheep Meadow, flames billowed high into the night air. One of the tank trucks supplying the gasoline for the flame throwers had exploded. In the flickering light of the flames, even without the binoculars, Carol could see that the entire Sheep Meadow was now acrawl with the new horrors from the hole. They were on the move, spreading out into the city streets in a glistening, worming, undulating carpet.

  Carol glanced up and saw the moon rising huge and orange over the rooftops of the city. But there was something…different about it tonight.

  "What's wrong with the moon?" she asked.

  The others stared along with her. It was Jack who noticed first.

  "The face—the Man in the Moon face is gone. Jeez—even the moon's been changed!"

  "Not changed," said a flat voice by her shoulder.

  A small cry of surprise escaped Carol as she turned and saw Nick standing directly behind her. But he wasn't looking at her. His attention was focused on the moon.

  "It's the same moon," he said. "It's just been turned. You're looking at what used to be the dark side of the moon."

  Carol turned back and stared up at the vaguely threatening orb that had been a symbol of romance for ages.

  Even the Man in the Moon has turned his back on us.

  "Take me with you tomorrow," Nick said to Bill. "You won't find anything without me."

  Carol watched Bill stare at Nick, then look questioningly at Glaeken.

  After a pause, Glaeken nodded. "He's right, I think. He may help shorten your trip. And right now anything that saves time is worth a try."

  Feeling colder than ever, Carol turned back to the window and leaned against Bill. As she stared at the pale, unfamiliar ridges of the moon's new face, she gasped. Something dark, hideous, and mind-numbingly huge was sweeping across the sky, blotting out the light of the rising moon. It passed slowly, like a floating shroud, casting a chill over everything in its enormous shadow, and then it moved on and the moon was visible again.

  She shuddered and felt Bill's arm slip around her shoulders. But even that could not dispel the chill of foreboding that had insinuated its way into her bones.

  The Movie Channel

  Joe Bob Briggs' Drive-In Movie—A Special All-Nite Edition.

  Up From The Depths (1969) New World

  The Fly (1958) Twentieth Century Fox

  Return Of The Fly (1965) Twentieth Century Fox

  Curse Of The Fly (1965) Lippert/Twentieth Century Fox

  Night Creatures (1962) Hammer/Universal

  Not Of This Earth (1956) Allied Artists

  3 • CEREMONIES

  MAUI

  "It's a gift, Bati! A sign from Pele herself!"

  Moki's voice was barely audible over the blast-furnace roar of the volcano. Dressed only in his ma
lo, he stood near the ruins of the visitor center on the crater rim of the newly awakened Haleakala. Perspiration coated his skin, giving it a glossy sheen as red and orange light from the fires below flickered off the planes and curves of his taut, muscular body, making it glow against the inky night sky.

  The two yellow stones in his necklace seemed to glow with internal fires of their own. And why not? The necklace had been working overtime on Moki.

  Only moments ago he had emerged from the crater with second-degree burns blistering most of his body. But the blisters had shriveled and the damaged skin had peeled and sloughed away to reveal fresh, unmarred flesh beneath.

  Kolabati backed away from the heat and worried about Moki. He'd changed so drastically. He was no longer the man she'd loved and lived with for the past few years. He was a stranger, a deranged interloper fashioning his own delusions out of the madness around him.

  Yesterday she had been afraid for him. But now she was afraid of him. The cataclysm that had destroyed the Big Island and reawakened Haleakala seemed to have pushed him over the edge.

  And tingeing Kolabati's fear, coloring it a deep, dull red, was anger. Why? Why now? Why did all of nature choose this time to go mad? Was it coincidence? Or was it fate? Was her enormous karmic burden—and she knew too well the extent to which the deeds of her 150 years had polluted her karma—finally catching up to her?

  "What does it mean, Moki?" she called back, humoring him. "What kind of sign would the fire goddess be sending you?"

  "She didn't want me leaving Maui to gather lava from Kileau, so she destroyed Kileau and brought her fires to my back yard."

  Kolabati shook her head in silent dismay. Didn't Moki's mania admit any limits? How many countless thousands had died on the Big Island when it had exploded? How many more here on Maui in those areas not shielded from the blast by Haleakala? But Haleakala herself had gathered her share of lives. Hana was gone, as were the Seven Sacred Pools, buried under the tons of ash and dirt from Haleakala's explosive awakening and sealed over by the initial gush of lava that had filled the Kipahulu Valley and burst through into the Waihoi Valley, running down to the sea. According to the news, the whole southeast corner of the island, from the Kaupo Gap to Nanualele Point, was a seething bed of molten lava.