This Darkness Light

by Michaelbrent Collings

  ʺThey wonʹt,ʺ answered Dominic. ʺTheyʹre cowering in the middle of the church, probably praying for something to save them.ʺ He sounded thoroughly disgusted.

  Another shadow appeared in front of them. Smaller than a building, small enough that they were right on it before Isaiah realized what it was. A truck. Sturdy, rough around the edges. A workhorse of a vehicle.

  ʺI found it when I came in,ʺ said Dominic. Melville sat on his haunches and stared up at the impeccably-dressed man. He licked his lips, and Isaiah saw that he seemed to have far too many teeth; that many snarled their way not only between his lips but through them, piercing mouth and cheek alike.

  Whatʹs happening? How can this be possible? How can we stop it?

  ʺHow did you get here?ʺ said Isaiah.

  ʺSame as you. I drove,ʺ said Dominic. He gestured into the mist. ʺI ran out of gas a few miles back, then walked toward Mr. Melvilleʹs signal.ʺ He patted Melvilleʹs head absently. ʺI hoped Iʹd find you, as I was in a bit of a bind, to be honest.ʺ A rueful smile. Then he said, ʺRegardless, this truck affords us the opportunity to take them unawares.ʺ

  ʺHow so?ʺ

  ʺIsnʹt it obvious?ʺ said Dominic. ʺYou drive it through the side of the church. Even if you donʹt kill them when you crash through, you come out shooting.ʺ He drew a finger across his neck. ʺThen we get in the truck and take the bodies to the nearest CDC and,ʺ he continued, looking sadly at Melville, ʺwe hope for the best.ʺ

  ʺCDCʹs in Georgia,ʺ said Isaiah.

  Dominic sighed. ʺYes, but Hill Air Force Base and Wendover Air Force Base are less than three hours away. Both have emergency biohazard lab facilities onsite with the capabilities to begin analyses, as well as hardline communications with CDC Atlanta so they can begin testing until a CDC team arrives. Theyʹve already been briefed and are waiting on us, in fact.ʺ He showed his teeth, a too-wide grin that Isaiah thought eerily like Melvilleʹs post-transformation rictus.

  Dominic gestured to the truck. ʺIʹve laid out all the pieces, Isaiah. And this is where you take over, I believe.ʺ

  Isaiah looked at the truck. Then behind him, where the church hid in the darkness. He shook his head. ʺNo,ʺ he said.

  Dominic looked startled. ʺYouʹre refusing to work with us? You know what will happen–?ʺ

  ʺNo, Iʹm just not going to bash through the side of a church for you.ʺ

  Dominic looked at him, his eyes narrowed to thin black lines. ʺYouʹve got religion, eh?ʺ

  Isaiah shrugged. Maybe it was that. Maybe it was that this place looked like Nicholasʹ old church, or that he felt more and more like he was working with truly evil people–even if what they were hoping to do was, in the end result, something good. Maybe it was simply the weight of his own sins finally pulling the wool away from his eyes.

  No matter. He wasnʹt going to destroy a church to find the people inside. People who had definitely caused the spread of death and disease, but who werenʹt going to do any more of that while they were alone in a house of God.

  ʺWeʹll wait for them to come out. Melville waits for them on one side, I wait on the other. We take them down when they come out.ʺ

  ʺI donʹt think Mr. Melville will like that,ʺ said Dominic. ʺIʹm not even sure heʹs capable of that, to be perfectly frank.ʺ

  ʺThen you watch,ʺ said Isaiah.

  Dominicʹs eyes remained slitted. But the rest of his face changed. He no longer looked irritated. He looked dangerous. ʺI donʹt do that kind of thing, Isaiah. Itʹs not what Iʹm here for. Itʹs what youʹre here for.ʺ

  Isaiah knew at this moment he was definitely facing the most dangerous person he had ever met. Forget the drug dealers, the abusers, the killers–even himself. He got the feeling that Dominic could murder him in the next second and even if he knew it was coming he would never be able to stop it.

  His bladder clenched. He nearly wet himself. His legs started to tremble and the words of the Our Father started running through his head–a prayer he hadnʹt thought of in years.

  Dominicʹs face suddenly relaxed. ʺFine. You just wait until they come out.ʺ

  Isaiah nearly collapsed with relief. ʺOkay,ʺ he managed. ʺOkay, good.ʺ

  He turned away, as much so that Dominic wouldnʹt see the naked fear he suspected was still on his face as to return to the church.

  ʺIsaiah?ʺ

  He didnʹt turn back. ʺYeah?ʺ

  ʺYou wonʹt have to wait long, though. Theyʹre going to come out soon. And theyʹll be screaming.ʺ

  Dominic whispered something.

  A form tore past Isaiah. Running on all fours, a transformation complete. No longer human, but not merely an animal, either. Isaiah caught an impression of a wolfish snout, the dark eyes of a shark. Spines along crested ridges that rode the length of a strangely curved back. Muscles that were stringy and powerful.

  He ran after the thing that had once been Melville.

  Saw it spring to the wall of the church. Run straight up the side, clinging like a huge insect. It ran to the nearest boarded window. Dug a clawed hand into the wood. Pulled it apart with a single yank, a movement so powerful that the entire sheet of plywood splintered.

  Then the thing crashed through the window beyond and disappeared inside the church.

  Isaiah watched. The mist surrounded him, and he knew the world was over. It no longer mattered what he did, because no matter what, the things of nightmare were real and madness had been made flesh.

  THE MIGHTY HAVE FALLEN

  From: POTUS

  To: 'X'

  Sent: Friday, May 31 8:22 PM

  Subject: Things of Great Interest

  Iʹve been going over old emails between you and me. They all have one thing in common. Guess what it is! Guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess guess.

  From: X

  To: Dicky

  Sent: Friday, May 31 8:22 PM

  Subject: RE: Things of Great Interest

  No. What are you talking about? Is this more of your gibberish?

  From: POTUS

  To: 'X'

  Sent: Friday, May 31 8:23 PM

  Subject: RE: RE: Things of Great Interest

  Ha! You didnʹt guess, but you DID it.

  Iʹm really starting to wonder about you, you know.Myabe Iʹll take my ball and go home.

  ***

  Serafina had never felt like this in a church. Her mother–

  (ʺOnde está a minha filha?ʺ)

  –had taken her every week, often two or three times a week, until she ran away. Serafina hated it then, resented the standing, the kneeling, the sitting, the standing, the ups, the downs, the confessions, the everything about it. She came to love it, at first in memory of her mother, then for its own sake.

  But through it all she had never felt afraid. Her mother had always insisted she go to church because it was ʺa place of refuge.ʺ A sanctuary. Serafina had never really considered those words before. Now, rushing from side to side with John, looking for another way out, looking for something to use or a way to escape, she did.

  A place of refuge.

  A sanctuary.

  Such kindnesses. Such words of safety.

  But when y
ou really thought about them, they carried implicit horrors. Because when you thought about it, what they really meant was that you were surrounded on all sides by danger, and this was your only place of asylum, your last defense.

  The church might be safe, but all else was a deluge of death and darkness and despair.

  And they couldnʹt stay here forever. Even if they had supplies for a millennium, she suspected that the storm was going to batter its way in very soon.

  There were no doors but the one they had come through and the four in the narthex at the front of the church, going outside. Those four were sealed. Not just the locks, but chains triple-wrapped around the stile crash bars, heavy padlocks securing them together like slaves in a sinking galley.

  The rest of the space–the nave, the chancel, the apse–was empty. Not even the pews remained; all had been removed. There was only blank concrete and a few small strips of carpet along the edges, pinned down under moldings that had once been ornate, lovely, but were now chipped and warped.

  The rounded ceiling bounced the sound of their footsteps back at them, mocking their attempts at escape or defense.

  ʺAnything over there?ʺ said John. He was on the other side of the nave, looking for the same thing she was: anything that would help them, anything at all. Finding the same thing she was: nothing that could help them, nothing at all.

  ʺNo!ʺ She looked at the windows. Most were surprisingly intact. Stained glass scenes from the Old and New Testaments that could barely be made out in the dark void of the church. Men walking through split seas, other men crucified. Terror and triumph, all shadowed by the boards that covered them from behind.

  And no way out.

  The board closest to her separated from the window. The glass showed an angel stopping Abraham from slaying his son Isaac at the command of God, and the darkness of the scene brightened slightly as the wood shattered. Then the window shattered as well as something threw itself into the church.

  Serafinaʹs arms went over her head. Barbs of glass slashed them and she screamed as her blood flowed.

  Another scream came as the thing landed in front of her.

  She didnʹt know what it was. She had no words for what it could be. It was on all fours, like a dog, and like a dog it had legs that seemed to bend backward at the knees–an optical illusion caused by bony growths at the backs of its feet. But it was entirely un-canine in genesis, that was certain. No dog had spines like this thing did, or a waist so thin that chest and hips were barely connected, so thin that lengths of intestine snaked not hidden deep within, but clearly visible barely beneath the surface of the skin.

  Its teeth jabbed through cheek and lip and chin. Its skin sloughed off in ragged sheets to reveal scales that looked rough enough to rasp the skin from anything it embraced.

  The thing growled at her. Took a step toward her. It hunched its back legs, readying to leap. She realized that not all of the ragged stuff falling from it was skin. Some was cloth. The remains of a suit.

  And she knew: this was one of the killers.

  The cloth wasnʹt black. So it wasnʹt the priest, it was the other man. The thin man.

  Where the priest was, she didnʹt know. But the thin man was here. Still thin, but no longer a man. No longer a man, but still hungering for her death.

  The creature jumped at her.

  She fell back with a scream. The pain of glass slivering her arms fled from her awareness. Her head slammed down on bare concrete, her legs curled up to her abdomen, a fetal position that was her last and only refuge.

  The thing fell on her. Teeth grinding together inches in front of her. She had managed to get her knees into the thingʹs gut–one of the only places on its body not covered by spikes–and now pushed it away with all her might. Her right thumb jammed its way into the soft spot at the back of its mouth, in the place where upper and lower jaws came together. Her left went to its right eye and pressed.

  Something popped under her left thumb. The thing writhed and a horrible sound came from inside it. But it didnʹt stop pushing down on her. The teeth came closer. The ones that stuck out at angles were so close she could see the slicks of spittle that coated them.

  Then something slammed the thing to the side. The beast tipped and rolled off her, and Serafina saw that John had plowed into the creature. Heedless of the bony quills that stood along its length, he had used his own body to knock the thing off her.

  Now they stood across from one another, staring at each other. John was bleeding up and down the length of his body. His shirt and pants a bloody wreck.

  Several of the thingʹs quills were shattered. One eye was a black ruin. Serafina had to resist an urge to wipe her hands on her pants.

  John gestured for her to get behind him. Before she could, the thing snarled and jumped at her again. John intercepted it in midair, the two of them crashing to the floor and then tumbling along the ground in a spray of rage and blood. Something cracked along the way, and the thing bellowed.

  The rolling bodies separated, and Serafina saw that John had broken its forearm. It limped back on three legs. Its muzzle wrinkled and it growled, but the growl was half-whimper.

  John didnʹt make a sound. His hands were out, ready to fight and kill. But he looked sad. Serafina tried to remember if he always looked like that when he fought. Had he worn that look of sorrow each time he had to attack someone, to take a life? She thought perhaps he had.

  And even if he hadnʹt, she knew suddenly that it was how he felt. This wasnʹt anything he wanted. All he did want was to continue on his way, to reach his destination. And there….

  What?

  She still didnʹt know. But she trusted. She knew John, and knew that whatever he wanted would have to be a good thing.

  The creature kept retreating. It tripped. John took advantage of the opening. He leaped forward, his own leg sweeping low to knock the thingʹs other limbs out from under it.

  The monster wasnʹt there.

  It jumped back. Going to two legs suddenly, standing as a man once again. And the wound to its front leg didnʹt seem to be as bad as it had made out, either, because then it leaped forward and grabbed John in its arms, a strong grip that John couldnʹt break.

  The thing snarled, a noise that turned into the hysterical cackle of a hyena.

  It leaned down and tore Johnʹs throat out.

  Blood sprayed toward the ceiling of the dead church. Serafina screamed.

  The monster laughed that rat-a-tat laugh, a carrion eater that has lucked into the greatest kill of its life. John gave a series of jerks, danced a shallow dance that grew ever shallower as the blood pumped out of him.

  The monster laughed.

  The dance slowed.

  Ended.

  The monster let go of Johnʹs body.

  As John fell, the thing dropped to all fours again and turned to Serafina.

  She was no longer screaming. She was too shocked and frightened to scream. Sound did not belong here, for fear had chased all but death from this place.

  The monster licked its face with a tongue that was long and black and forked and covered in glinting scales.

  It leaped at her.

  The world fell down.

  A RISEN BEAST

  From: POTUS

  To: 'X'

  Sent: Friday, May 31 8:25 PM

  Subject: My Balls

  I got your last email. I changed the subject line, though, because this one is funn ier. No, Im not REALLY going to take my ball and go home. WHere would I GO? SHeesh. Iʹm still your guy! You know that. You and me, through and through to the end!

  I do think its funny how you havenʹt figured out what all our emails have in common. Kindof an oversight on your part.

  I found all the Secret Service guns, even in the dark. Iʹm playing Jenga with them..

  ***

  Isaiah watched Melville–the thing that Melville had turned into–tear the board off the window, then
watched it crash through stained glass and into the darkness beyond.

  He heard screams. Growls. Some sick noise that was half laugh, half bark. More screams.

  A moment of silence.

  The silence was short in duration, but long in effect. In the eternity of that short second, he wished he could take back his decision not to go into the church. Regardless of the fact that it reminded him of Nicholas, regardless of the idea that it could be hallowed ground–something Isaiah was suddenly unsure whether he believed in or not–anything would be preferable to letting someone fall to a creature like the Melville-thing.

  He stepped forward. No longer intending to stop John and Serafina, no longer intending anything. Just knowing that whatever Melville was doing, it was wrong. It was something that should not be, and so something that had to be stopped.

  Isaiah had devoted his life to penance and to justice. To turning what should not be into what no longer was. But here he was, actively participating in something that his soul knew was an atrocity.

  Should John and Serafina die? Perhaps.

  But not like this. Never like this.

  Another step forward.

  ʺWhatever youʹre thinking, I advise you to think again,ʺ said Dominic.

  Isaiah turned. The man still stood beside him, still looked perfectly-groomed, perfectly-attired. Someone who would be more at home on the cover of GQ than out in an otherworldly mist on a mission of murder. Except for his eyes. Those definitely belonged in places of death.

  ʺThis has to be done, Isaiah,ʺ said the older man.

  ʺNot like this.ʺ

  ʺBy any means necessary.ʺ

  There was another scream. A last, piteous scream.