This Darkness Light

by Michaelbrent Collings

  They came out in another room. Unlocked the door. Ran.

  John veered to their car. Saw immediately that it would be useless for flight. Saw as well that he would have no way of stealing the assassinsʹ car in the time they had.

  Still, maybe he could slow their hunters down a bit. He stabbed the screwdriver through the tires. He wrapped the duct tape around the exhaust pipe, grimacing at the sound of the adhesive unsticking, hoping no one heard it. He jammed the huge wad of used tissue into the tailpipe before sealing it off. Not that it would add anything concrete, but it felt good to do.

  Then running.

  They were in desert. The heat was heavy, more so when weighed down by the water trapped in the mist. His body dragged, and he knew that Serafina wouldnʹt be able to go on long.

  They stayed on the road for a while, but John knew the others would follow them this way. It was the easiest and most obvious path, so had to be avoided. He drew Serafina off the road and into the desert.

  They kept running. She slowed a bit with every footstep. He slowed with her.

  And when she fell he yanked her to her feet.

  She would not die here. Neither of them would.

  ʺGet up,ʺ he growled. He almost felt angry at her. To come so far….

  ʺNo,ʺ she said, but didnʹt fight him when he stooped to put her arm around his neck. They took a few halting steps, then he knew that wouldnʹt work. Too slow.

  He swept her into his arms and simply ran with her. Faster with a burden than most men were when running alone.

  He hoped it would be fast enough.

  He was stumbling now. Still fast, but the tiny bits of green and brown that passed for plants out here seemed to paw at his feet, to reach out and trip him.

  East….

  East….

  East….

  The rhythm moved him through the fog. Hypnotizing.

  East….

  East….

  East….

  He looked at Serafina. Her eyes were wide. Terrified. Her head pivoted back and forth, trying to take in everything at once.

  John realized that he had fallen into some kind of a trance. No way to know how long he had run, how far. But he had disappeared from the world for a bit. Had found a dream state that was almost pleasant.

  Memory?

  (The man. The man who gave me the mission. Telling us the sacrifice, but the importance. The pain, but the possible end.)

  Then it was gone.

  Gone, and Serafina was terrified.

  John focused on what she was seeing. The fog cloaked all. But it parted a bit here and there. Not enough for vision, but enough for implication and imagination.

  Darkness was out there.

  John kept running, but now he understood Serafinaʹs terror. The mist churned, circles spinning around them like an unfelt wind was racing them through the silver-gray world.

  And when the mist parted…the shapes.

  They were huge, dark things. Two or three of them, far enough that he couldnʹt make out any kind of shape or form, only size and a sense of fearsome grace.

  They were bigger than elephants. Easily twenty feet tall, at least that wide. They circled relentlessly, becoming now a bit darker as they closed in a bit, then lightening as they withdrew.

  Worse, though, was the fact that John thought he saw others. Things beyond the things, shadows beyond the shadows. And though the nearby unknowns were huge, the farther ones…he got the sense they were enormous. The size of buildings, perhaps larger.

  John ran, and the things circled them. Every once in a while darkness fell completely. Not sunset, not an eclipse, but a great shadow. One of the leviathans gliding in front of them, its great mass passing between them and the sun.

  Then slight brightness as the monster continued its circuit, continued orbiting the fleeing couple.

  John ran. He no longer felt the eastern pull. Now he was running because the things were herding them. He didnʹt know where.

  The crunching that had accompanied his footsteps suddenly stopped. John stumbled and nearly fell as his foot hit an uprising, something even harder than the sunbaked hardpack. He managed to right himself, then almost fell again as his other foot landed on the smooth surface.

  He was back on the road.

  The things had led him back to the interstate.

  Whatʹs going on?

  He stopped, too shocked to move. The whole night and morning had been a rush of unreality. This was beyond unreality. This was a headlong pitch into madness, into the chaos beyond madness.

  The shadows drew away. Disappeared.

  A moment later, light lanced through the mist. John whipped around, Serafina still in his arms.

  ʺOh, no,ʺ she whispered.

  Not one light. Two.

  Headlights.

  And John knew what it was. What it had to be.

  The killers. Priest and cadaver. They had found another car.

  What car? I slashed their car, and this oneʹs coming too fast, too fast to be running on flat tires, too fast to run from.

  Then the answer: The managerʹs car.

  He could have hit himself for not thinking of that.

  And in that moment, the car was upon them.

  They were out of time.

  BEARING GIFTS

  From: POTUS

  To: G8 (Group List)

  Sent: Friday, May 31 12:19 PM

  Subject: Check In

  Ladies and Gentlemen,

  Communications in this country are so sporadic as to be useless. Only the internet seems to have any functionality, and even that is limited to basic text functions, i.e., email.

  It is no secret at this point to say that the world is in crisis. Before communications became compromised it was apparent that much of Africa had essentially imploded, and many of your own countries appeared in a state of such high alert as to be indistinguishable from war.

  These are the facts as I understand them. Please understand they only came to my knowledge recently:

  In the past few days the United States provided an experimental vaccine to a number of volunteers. This vaccine was intended to inoculate against most if not all forms of disease. The uses and potentials for this are obvious.

  The results appeared hopeful at first. However, the vaccine apparently either mutated itself or caused mutations within the volunteersʹ bodies. They went insane and escaped.

  The mutations apparently spawned a new disease. This disease is highly communicable. We do not know if transmission is solely via direct contact, or if it is also via indirect contact, droplet contact, airborne transmission, fecal-oral transmission, or vector-borne transmission. Early tests indicated all were likely.

  We had–and still have–hopes of crafting a solution. We need to stop these men, however. Our intent is to terminate and study them intensely and quickly to create a biological counter to this new and deadly disease. Unfortunately, termination is extremely difficult. The same vaccine that was intended to provide their bodies with the tools to reject attack by disease has also provided their bodies with unusual levels of endurance, strength, and abilities to heal. I have been informed that it is likely that only complete destruction of the brain will result in final termination. After study, recommendation is that any remaining biological materials be incinerated.

  Normally this would not be the type of information shared in an unencrypted email to a group of leaders, some of whom are viewed as hostile to one another. But at this point I view it more important that we save the world than that we guard our politics. I would also worry about accusations from others in this group that this administration has caused the current global crisis, but I have also been informed that most of your countries were running similar projects and at this point I honestly donʹt know who was the originator of this ʺvaccineʺ or who was the first nation to steal it.

  To the end of salvaging what can be salvaged, both of our nations and of the world populace,
I will be sending continual updates of progress capturing our subjects and/or any test results that yield beneficial progress in turning back the tide of this disaster. I would request that you consider doing the same.

  I would also request that each of you please return this email, ccʹing to the entire list. Even if you have no intention of participating in the group effort this will at least inform us who is still alive and functioning.

  Good luck, and God bless.

  From: POTUS

  To: G8 (Group List)

  Sent: Friday, May 31 1:20 PM

  Subject: Check In

  Ladies and Gentlemen,

  After an hour my request that you all check in to assure other members of the group of your continued functionality (and, indeed, existence), I have received a total of NO responses.

  I repeat my entreaty. No message is necessary, a blank reply will suffice.

  Yours sincerely,

  Richard Peters

  ***

  Serafina didnʹt know how long they had run. She felt like she could have taken to her feet again after a few minutes, but to be honest this was one of the first times she felt safe. Wrapped up in Johnʹs arms, held close to him. She could hear the beat of his heart, could feel the warmth of his breath on her neck.

  He ran, and she felt better. No one could possibly find them, no one could catch them. There were no cameras here, there was nowhere to use a credit card. Just fog, the ground, the thud-thud-thud of his stride.

  She finally admitted she was as rested as she ever would be. And still didnʹt say anything. Not because of selfishness, not because of some misguided notion of romance. She was guided by simple pragmatism.

  John was still running. Running. Running.

  Running.

  His feet shredded the ground, pushing it away so fast that he left divots behind them, pushing it down so hard that she wondered if the earth was pushing a bit out of orbit with each step.

  John had been holding her for Heaven only knew how long, and still he was running faster than she could sprint.

  He held back for me.

  She resolved to stay with him. And the only way to do that was to let him carry her. Sometimes that was the way of things: the only way to do your best was to put aside your pride and let others do the heavy lifting.

  He carried her. She let him.

  Then the things came. John seemed to have gone someplace far away. Maybe it was that ʺzoneʺ that she understood long-distance runners got into. But she thought it was a farther place. He was almost smiling. She didnʹt want to draw him away from whatever happiness he might have found.

  But the darkness grew. And moved.

  She saw things lumbering about. Some big, some bigger.

  Hit men. Rapists. Death by violence, death by strange sickness that not only killed but changed.

  She had held it together, more or less, through most of it.

  She almost lost it now. The rest was explainable. At least something she could rationalize.

  There was no rationale for shadows big enough to be bulldozers, but silent and slinking like jungle cats on the prowl.

  And less for the bigger ones. The juggernauts that moved without shaking the earth, the massive creatures that cast shadows so long they were their own midnight.

  John came out of it. He saw them. He kept running. What else was there to do?

  Then he tripped, almost fell…and the things were gone.

  Still, any relief she might have felt dissipated so fast it was just the last wisp of a forgotten dream. Lights brightened. An engine revved.

  The killers had come.

  ʺOh, no,ʺ she said. She looked at John and saw he knew it as well. He put her down and his hand darted into his pocket. He came out with the screwdriver he had taken from the managerʹs pocket. A pitiful weapon against what the killers had been packing this far.

  Better than nothing. Better to fight than to give up. Always better.

  (ʺOnde está a minha filha?ʺ)

  ʺSheʹs here, Mom,ʺ said Serafina. ʺYour daughterʹs here. Not running anymore.ʺ

  She fought the urge to move behind John. Held her ground beside him.

  The vehicle that drove up was an SUV. An older model, but surprisingly well-maintained given what she had observed of the manager.

  Yeah, itʹll be nice to have my body tossed in the back of a clean car.

  She shook her head at the strange thoughts that came along with death.

  The driver side door opened. Someone got out. The headlights, beaming straight at them and reflected by the fog, cast weird shadows that kept Serafina from seeing anything but a general outline. It wasnʹt the thin man, she saw that instantly. So it had to be the priest.

  For some reason that comforted her. She didnʹt know why, but sheʹd rather be killed by the priest.

  The man spoke.

  ʺWell, looky here, looky here.ʺ

  Serafinaʹs eyes jerked to John. He looked as surprised as she probably did. The voice was old, scratchy. Not the voice of either of the men who had been chasing them, surely. Nor any of the other agents, all of whom had been young to middle-age men.

  ʺYup,ʺ said the men as he continued toward them, ʺYouʹre just where he said youʹd be.ʺ

  She felt John tense beside her. He dropped back half a step, his body lowering and the screwdriver jutting out like a knife.

  The shadow stopped. Dark hands went up. ʺWait, wait. Donʹt get the wrong idea, Iʹm just here to help.ʺ

  ʺWho are you?ʺ said John. ʺWho sent you?ʺ

  The man stepped forward. Finally close enough they could see him.

  He was old, as she had expected. Dressed simply, in canvas pants and a blue cotton button-up that was clean and comely but unassuming.

  ʺIʹm just good olʹ Jack Jones. Well, Jim Jones, actually, but I donʹt like to go by that. Still, I suppose I should be totally honest with you, given whatʹs going on and all.ʺ He sighed as though what heʹd just said had been an extreme trial. Then his back straightened. ʺBut I donʹt drink Kool-Aid,ʺ he declared. And winked at Serafina.

  Serafina didnʹt know what to do. She turned to John and saw that he was similarly confused.

  ʺWho sent you?ʺ he said again. She got the impression that he was repeating the last thing he said because his brain had shut down. If someone had whispered, ʺMonkey gutsʺ to him right then, he probably would have said that instead.

  Jack/Jim Jones chuckled, but his eyes grew suddenly sad. ʺWell, thatʹs the question. And itʹs one I canʹt rightly answer. But I can say that Iʹm here to help.ʺ

  That caused red flags to rise in Serafinaʹs mind. So far no one they had encountered during their flight had been particularly helpful. Just murderous, lecherous, destructive.

  But the flags went to half-mast almost immediately. Jack Jones (she decided to respect his wish not to be ʺJimʺ) was no assassin. And he couldnʹt be a government agent.

  Could he still mean them harm? Yes. But….

  But it didnʹt feel that way.

  ʺWhat do you mean, you want to help us?ʺ said Serafina.

  Jack gestured at the SUV, its motor still idling. ʺGot some wheels for you.ʺ He winked at Serafina again. Not in a dirty-old-man way, but in fun. In joy. ʺNo payment necessary, no strings attached.ʺ

  John moved toward the SUV. He gave Jack a wide berth, and drew Serafina with him. She didnʹt mind, but she thought it less and less necessary. Jack was still smiling. Looking like he was considering another wink.

  John looked into the SUV. Nothing inside other than a few cans of soda. He looked underneath. For what, she couldnʹt guess. Not tracking devices, certainly: if Jack was with the other team and had found them while they were on foot, they were well and truly screwed with or without GPS. Explosives?

  Regardless, he grunted as though to say, ʺItʹs good.ʺ

  Then he moved to the back. Another SUV was hitched to the back of this one. Same make and model. ʺWhatʹs this for?ʺ he called ou
t.

  Jack came closer. Saw what John was looking at and rolled his eyes. ʺYou donʹt think Iʹm just gonna stand out here and twiddle my thumbs when you zoom off, do you? Thatʹs crazy talk.ʺ He circled a finger around his ear to drive home the point.

  John stared at the two vehicles, lost in thought.

  Serafina looked at John. Then at Jack. The old man winked again. That did it.

  ʺWe can trust him,ʺ she said.

  John stayed motionless for another moment. Then nodded. He moved to the tow hitch and released the trailing SUV, then got into the still-open driver side door of the lead vehicle.

  Jack opened the front passenger door for Serafina. He even offered her his hand, and a little bow as she climbed in. She found the gestures charming. He was a remnant of an age when there were more wife beaters, more men who thought of women as below them. But also some who were mannered, some who were courteous. And some who, like this one, were deeply kind.

  John thumbed the control to open Serafinaʹs window. He looked at Jack. ʺWho said weʹd be here?ʺ he said.

  Jackʹs eyes shut halfway. He shrugged. ʺSomeone you know, but I canʹt tell you who.ʺ

  John licked his lips. ʺThen,ʺ he said, and paused a long time. Jack didnʹt move, waiting patiently as though he knew what was coming. Serafina could guess. ʺThen do you know what my mission is? Who I am?ʺ

  Jack took a breath. Held it as though considering. Let it out.

  He nodded. ʺBut I canʹt tell you. Either of you. Any of it.ʺ

  ʺWhy?ʺ Both Serafina and John asked the question at the same time. Serafina because the answers might explain what had happened to her world–to the world in general. John, she sensed, because the answer was rapidly becoming the difference between existence and oblivion.