by Brian Hodge
“Jesus, God,” he whispered in disgust, taking Debra in his arms and helping her to her feet. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
As they struggled up the stairs, he noticed that she seemed to be moving her legs gingerly. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
She shook her head. “I’ll be all right. The bastard beat me pretty good.”
When they reached the top of the stairs, he collapsed on the floor, his energy spent, his eyes burning with tears. Debra knelt next to him and placed a comforting hand on his hammering heart. “Rest, but only for a second. Only for a second.”
The awful, ceaseless sound of Levi’s death throes drilled cruelly into his ears. He tried to block it out by whispering to himself, “It’s only justice. It’s only justice.” It was what Levi had planned for him. It was how Lynette and her young, innocent son had been killed. The McAllisters. And countless others.
He felt no satisfaction when the screams finally dwindled and died. Nor did he feel an ounce of remorse.
“Let’s get out of here,” Debra whispered. “That thing could come after us now.”
Just as they were pulling themselves to their feet, a figure appeared in front of them and blocked their passage, its eyes blazing accusingly at them.
“Where’s my daddy?”
It seemed forever that their eyes remained locked under a pall of expectant silence. At last, Debra said to the boy, “He’s gone, Malachi. That thing down there…it killed him. Just as I told you it would.”
Malachi’s bony jaw dropped and his lower lip began to quiver. His eyes continued to stare blankly at her, and finally a teardrop began to roll down one cheek. “You’re lying,” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly. “You’re lying to me, and you know it.”
“It’s the truth, Malachi. Now, we’re getting out of here. And you’d better come with us because that creature will turn on you, just like on your father.”
“Liar!” he cried and viciously swiped his hand across her cheek. She grimaced but did not sway. As a red patch began to form on her face in the shape of his hand, his own features melted into an expression of pain. “Oh…no…Miz Harrington.”
“Never mind that. Move!” she cried as a harsh, insect-like chattering sound began to creep from below. She pushed past him, but then grabbed his wrist and attempted to tow him behind her. He pulled free with a sob.
“I ain’t going nowhere without my daddy.”
“Malachi,” Copeland said softly. “It’s too late. At least save yourself.”
“Fuck you, mister. This is all your damn fault.”
Copeland gazed thoughtfully at the boy, trying to suppress the anger that came seething up from his gut. Finally, with a shrug, he said, “Have it your way, son,” and took Debra by the arm. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Russ…”
“Let him go.”
Malachi bolted down the stairs, calling, “Daddy! Daddy!” He vanished below, but then he cried, “Oh, no! Oh, GOD!”
Debra turned. “Russ, we can’t leave him.”
Malachi began to scream hysterically, and the Lumera trilled in exultation.
“It’s too late.”
“No…please no,” Debra whispered, but she offered no resistance when Copeland pulled her with him to the back door. He tore it open and tugged her into the cold dawn; then his legs gave way again and they went sprawling onto the brittle grass, where they lay for a long minute, enervated and panting.
The rising sun, just peeping over the ridge to the east, was the color of quicksilver, the sky a uniform, dusky violet. There were no clouds above them, yet huge, amorphous shadows rushed wildly over the gray-tinted ground, as the lofty, metallic-looking trees clacked noisily together in a gusting wind. Above the onyx tower, which loomed dizzyingly over the landscape, numerous, multicolored fireballs wheeled wildly through the air, leaving trails of smoke like nonsensical skywriting. Just beneath the sound of the wind, the distant, eerie music they had earlier heard resonated like a chorus from a distant, unholy church.
“My God, everything’s changed,” Debra said, her awestruck eyes bulging. She jerked a thumb at the house. “In there, out here…it makes no difference, does it? We’re doomed just the same.”
“I’ll take my chances anywhere but there,” he said. But his eyes could not leave the strange shadows, which slid ominously over the land to gather at a point near the base of the eastern ridge. Slowly, he rose to his feet and began to walk, discovering, to his shock, that he felt remarkably light—as if gravity’s pull had decreased by half.
Debra joined him a moment later, gazing at the steadily merging shadows. “What do you make of that?”
“Not sure we really want to know.” He pointed to the road that disappeared into the metallic forest, he said, “Candle’s truck is somewhere up that way—if it’s even still there. But I’m sure he had the keys with him.”
“Even if we could get away…where would we go?”
Copeland shrugged, overwhelmed, lost, helpless. No shelter, no safety. Above the rushing wind and quavering strains of music, he thought he heard a voice calling out. He could not make out any words.
“Hear that?” Debra asked.
“Yeah,” he said, eyes roving. As they fell upon the Barrow house, which no longer appeared menacing but small and vulnerable, he caught sight of a figure framed in an upstairs window. “There. It’s Amos.”
The eldest and last of the Barrows stood in the open window, shouting something incomprehensible. At first, Copeland thought the voice was directed at them, but then he saw Amos lift a fist and shake it at the sky. Gradually, he began to make out the distorted words.
“I AM the master here! I AM the master!”
Debra glanced at him. “You think he’s frustrated?”
“Terminally.”
“I banish you!” came the gruff, furious voice from the window. “You got no place here, and I order you back! Back, I say!”
At first, Copeland thought he was shouting at the airborne Lumeras, but then he realized that Amos’s thrusting fist was aimed at the ridge where the drifting shadows continued to gather. Now, turning to regard the object of the old man’s ire, he felt a new thrill of fear as he saw the dark shape developing along the crest of the ridge.
“Jesus, look at that.”
The shadows had converged and congealed like a massive pool of black blood, which suddenly erupted, hurling hundreds of thin, inky threads across the face of the deep purple canopy. As if alive, the ghostly strands began climbing to all corners of the sky, broadening and darkening as they moved, soon becoming thick, fibrous, and jointed. Miles and miles they must extend, Copeland thought, for some of them had reached a zenith above their heads, while others groped toward the horizon in all directions. The filaments flexed, as if gathering strength, and then, arching like spider’s legs, began to draw the black, globular nucleus high into the sky.
Amos’s voice took on a new, keening pitch as the threadlike arms closed steadily on the tower. From every point of the landscape, the insect trills of Lumeras rose shrilly in defiance, and thousands of fireballs appeared spontaneously in the sky, rocketing like guided projectiles toward the heart of the spreading horror. As they struck the black mass, they exploded like New Year’s fireworks, sending earthward a rain of glittering sparks, which struck the ground and blinked out of existence.
Copeland felt the heavy pulse in the earth quickening like a panicked heartbeat. The tips of the groping arms appeared to clutch the very fabric of the sky and, with a sharp, jerking motion, tore it open, releasing from the crevasses black, hazy beams, like negative images of the sun’s rays. These fell deliberately upon the tower’s onyx surfaces, and everywhere they struck, gray smoke began to ooze from the stone. Simultaneously, the subterranean throbbing became a maddened pounding, and the ethereal chorale rose in volume and fervor.
Debra’s hand closed on his arm. “Something’s coming,” she said, and he turned to gaze after her pointing hand.
From the darkness beneath the metallic trees at the edge of the nearby field, a pinpoint of light appeared, which he took to be the eye of a Lumera. But as it began to draw steadily nearer, he realized it was something else: a small, luminous globe, drifting through the darkness, like yet unlike the glowing, airborne creatures. This one had a pale, jade green hue and was surrounded by smaller, sparkling satellites, which orbited it at dazzling speed. The thing made a beeline straight for them, and Copeland realized then that there could be no escape. No place to run, no weapons to defend themselves. He heard Debra suck in a frightened breath, and his feet automatically began to carry him backward. As the thing drew nearer, it suddenly ballooned to massive size—easily larger than the both of them—and swiftly closed over and around their bodies.
He felt Debra’s hand fiercely gripping his. Then a wave of pure ice mercilessly pummeled his face, stealing his breath, his eyesight, his hearing. With his final exhalation, all sensation took its leave, and he knew his body was dissolving in the jade green sea. Strangely, along with his senses, fear also left. He knew what it felt like to die.
For a brief few moments, he thought he knew the ultimate peace.
Chapter 22
It seemed only an instant later that sight, sound, smell, and touch returned to him.
Except he could see and hear nothing. The world had gone dark and silent. But it was the world of the living, that much he felt certain. The air held an odd mélange of scents: the cool tang of mildew, the harsh bite of mothballs, and the sweet, distinctive touch of cedar.
He could feel Debra’s hand still clamped in his.
“Where the hell are we?” she whispered. “How did we get here?”
As his eyes began to adjust, he found the darkness not quite complete. A few tiny slivers of violet dawn cut through the darkness an indeterminate distance ahead—a window, covered or painted over, he thought. He detected other shapes nearby: stacked boxes and crates, a broken wooden chair, an angled silhouette that resembled a teetering piano.
“Wait,” came Debra’s voice. “I know where we are. It’s the attic of the church. We’re in the church!”
Copeland scanned their dim surroundings and found no sign of the luminous globe, which by all appearances had delivered them here. For a few seconds, he almost dared to believe he had just roused from a vivid, terrible nightmare. Then a faint, slow, shuffling noise crept from a distant corner, followed a soft intake of breath—human, he thought…he hoped. Suddenly, a light flared in the room—an electric, blue-green miniature sun, again familiar, yet different from the Zuso Xhan Mat with which Amos Barrow had changed the world.
Something moved near the blocked window, and the glowing gem rose higher into the air. Its gently pulsing glow revealed a crooked figure, which began shambling slowly toward them, bearing the supernal lamp before him in clasped hands.
“Oh, my God,” Debra whispered. “Dad. Dad!”
She dashed forward and nearly tackled the older man, who protectively cradled the stone as if it were a precious piece of sculpted glass. His face looked haggard, his eyes dim and exhausted, but he offered his daughter a faint smile as her arms fiercely encircled his body.
“Easy,” he said, his voice weak and hoarse. “First things first. We’ve got to stop what’s happening.”
“I thought you were dead,” Debra whispered, tears streaming from her eyes.
“No. I was…protected,” he said, casting his gaze at the glowing stone. To her sudden gape of disbelief, he nodded reassuringly. “I had to keep this a secret from the Barrows at all costs. I didn’t dare reveal it, even to you.”
“Another one?” Copeland asked dubiously, eyeing the gem warily. “Is…that…what brought us here?”
“Yes. I can’t explain the details now. But suffice it to say it’s how I’ve come to know about the things we’re dealing with.” Martin leaned closer to look at his face. “Good God, Russ. The Barrows do that to you?”
“I’ll be all right. I shouldn’t care to shave right away.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shrugged off the older man’s concern. “Tell me. The way we were brought here. That’s how the Barrows have been able to go from place to place after the land changed. Isn’t it?”
“More or less. Amos is far more expert at manipulating these…openings. With you, I must admit, I was…fortunate.”
Copeland blew a long breath. “I’d like to say that’s a relief.”
“Dad, what is that in the sky—the thing the Lumeras are attacking?”
“That,” he said with slow deliberation, “is the product of a new Dream Frontier.”
Her jaw dropped again in consternation, but he held up a placating hand.
“There was only one way to counter what Amos Barrow has done, and that was to open a second doorway. Two such spheres cannot exist in the same space.”
“My God, Dad. How many of those jewels are there?”
“Whether there are others…I have no idea.” His ragged voice was barely audible. “It took me years to find this one. It was in Myanmar—Burma—a few hundred miles from where we found the first.”
“Now I know what Amos was trying to get me to tell him,” Copeland said.
“Which is why I couldn’t possibly reveal it to either of you. He would have gotten it out of you, Russ. Or Debra.”
“Have you been here since last night?” she asked.
He nodded. “I needed someplace where I could fully attune myself to this thing. Figured it was relatively safe here. Had a close call yesterday afternoon, though. When the stone became active, Levi came to investigate. Bastard killed Loretta Gleasman. Ran her down with his truck, just before I came to see you. God, I wanted to tell you everything then…but I just couldn’t.”
“Yesterday afternoon.” Debra stared into space for a moment. “That’s when that music first started, right?”
“Yeah. It comes from the new frontier.”
“You activated this thing yourself, right?” Copeland asked.
“Yes.”
“If what you told us before was true, don’t you have to be asleep and dreaming to control it?”
The older man did not answer right away. Finally, he said, “Yes. It functions more or less like the other.”
“So, right now it’s inactive. But eventually, this one will anchor itself here, just like the other. Am I understanding right?”
“Essentially.”
“Then…even if this thing destroys the Lumeras, won’t it be just as dangerous?”
“Russ, I had no choice. If I hadn’t done this…” Martin’s chiseled granite face looked as if it might shatter. “At least I’ve bought us some time.”
Debra stared at him in shock. “At what cost, Dad?”
Rather than face the rising fire in his daughter’s eyes, he turned his attention back to Copeland. “You were inside the Barrows’ house, I take it?”
“We barely got out,” he said. “There’s at least one Lumera left in there, and God knows what else. But Amos’s the only one of them left alive.”
Martin held up the glowing stone and gazed into it with haunted eyes. “This has to be taken there. If I’m right, when the two active gems are put together, they will cancel each other out. But it’s got to be done before the new frontier completely destroys the first. Else you’re right—we’ll be back where we started.”
“But if you have to be dreaming to keep the doorway open…one of us will have to carry the thing. Am I right?”
Martin looked long and hard at him. Then he took Copeland by the shoulder and pulled him away from Debra. Softly, he said, “You’re partially right. Once the gem becomes active, it maintains a connection between me and the other side, whether I’m asleep or not. Right now, while I’m awake, it’s semi-dormant. Over time, it will start functioning independently. But until then, yes…for it to be fully active, I’ve got to be in dream sleep.”
“I see.”
Another long silence.
Then: “Russ, listen to me. I cannot ask my daughter to undertake this. So I’m going to ask you. Will you bear this for me?”
His eyes searched Martin’s weary, earnest face, then turned to the shining gemstone. Up close, it seemed to burn with a sinister, demonic light, as if its crystalline walls encased something alive and violent, desperately seeking a means to escape. The idea of touching the thing nauseated him. For a moment, hot resentment flooded his veins. He had survived thus far only by the grace of God. His body hurt like hell, and it urgently required rest and rejuvenation. How could anyone expect him to put his life on the line again—this time intentionally?
But Martin was right; no father could ask such a thing of his daughter. And neither would Copeland allow her to walk willingly into what amounted to certain death. If he denied Martin’s request, anyone left alive in Silver Ridge—the three of them included—stood to face yet greater horror.
Finally, banishing any thought of the consequences from his mind, he said, “All right. Yeah.”
“I can’t lie to you, Russ. I don’t know what your chances are. They can’t be good. The forces you’ll be exposed to—they’re unimaginable. But you must believe me. This is truly our last, only hope.”
He swallowed hard, the first twinges of dread beginning deep in his stomach. “I understand.”
Martin stared thoughtfully at him. In a barely audible voice, he said, “It’s been a long time since I’ve sent a man to his death. I never thought I’d have to do it again.”
“You haven’t issued an order.”
“It amounts to the same thing.” He glanced at Debra and then looked deeply into Copeland’s eyes. He whispered, “Russ, don’t tell her this, but…there will be consequences to me, as well. Because of my connection with this thing, I expect…” He swallowed hard. “No…I know…that I won’t survive this.”
