“It’s called the Infinito Dios. Bathala Himself was the one who forged it, in the mountains, a very long time ago. The Council thought it was lost. Nobody had ever seen it. But we were tasked with its safekeeping, until the portents were correct—when you were born, anak.” She smiles proudly at him. “It’s a small machine, and you wear it as you would a pendant. It exudes an impermeable force field around the wearer. Nothing can penetrate it, because it’s tied to your thoughts. As long as your mind is strong and capable, neither physical nor magical means can break the shield.”
“So it’s not a weapon,” says Troy. “At least, not an offensive weapon.”
“No, it’s not. And there are a lot of people and creatures who would want to get hold of that. It’s your birth right,” she says, giving him a mysterious smile. “Or rather, you are the pendant’s birth right.”
“What?”
“Go on,” she says. “Wear it.”
He slips the cord over his neck. The pendant is cool against his chest. He can feel the tendrils of power searching for his core, and he lets it. It’s like finding the perfect key to open a particularly difficult lock. He can feel the difference: he can breathe easier, like a weight he’d didn’t even know existed was finally lifted off his chest. His mother looks at him with patient eyes, and he returns her gaze. “We’re very proud of you, anak.”
He can feel rain lashing his back, and knows that this isn’t real, that this is just a dream, and that soon he’ll feel the suffocating strength of the kulam surround him once more. But he can’t help but ask: “Will I see you again?”
His vision blurs, as though water had been poured over glass. His mother’s form shimmers, moves out of focus. “We’re always here, anak.”
And then he feels the weight of the black cloud crash against his shoulders as the bedroom, the sunlight, his mother disappears and he returns to the reality of the storm.
But the pendant seems to know what to do. He feels a burst of energy from his chest, expanding upwards and around him like a bubble, pushing away the creature that was attempting to smother him. He can feel the cold slowly ebbing away, the rain nothing more than mist as the bubble extends upwards, forcing the creature to back away. He bends down to scrabble for his gun, which had fallen at his feet.
At the corner of his eye, he can see Aubrey running towards him with a slim silver canister in her arms. “Troy!” she yells. “I’ve found it!” The monster lets out a frustrated roar as its appendages attempt to grasp the protective bubble that arcs over his head, attempts to wrap around the dome. He can see the darkness obscuring the sky above him, the rain splattering across the surface of the bubble. Aubrey is coming closer, her fingers already grappling with the canister’s lever. Her eyes are wide as she notices that the monster seems to be unable to touch him.
He knows it before it actually happens: Aubrey’s fingers are cold and tired and it slips from the canister. He can see the fuck-it-all look in her eyes as she slips on a particualrly muddy patch of ground and lets go of the canister. It rolls away from her as she falls to the ground. He is running before he can even think, the bubble following his every movement as he sprints towards the canister.
The kulam follows him, the black cloud grasping hungrily at the bubble. He reaches the canister at his feet, and realizes that, for the first time that night, the surroundings are clear. He turns around, his protective dome repelling the rain. He sees the darkness rushing towards Aubrey, and he sprints after it, fumbling for the canister’s lever. His wrist is hurting again, and he’s trying to hold on to both his gun and the canister. The pendant is white-hot against his chest, and he’s sure he can feel it burning a hole through his shirt.
“Troy!” she screams as the darkness engulfs her. He sees her hand flicker ineffectually, attempting to produce a flame from her gauntlets. Sparks dance on her palm, then fizzle out. The kulam crows in triumph as it covers Aubrey’s body. Troy does not hear himself shout; he does not realize that he has aimed his gun at the shadow and shoots once, twice, trying to distract the creature from Aubrey.
It works. The shadow visibly flinches as silver cuts through its form. I will take you both, it says, slithering over the words as though it had snakes for tongues. I will make you a part of me, where you will scream in agony forever. It twists towards him, but now he’s ready. He fires the nozzle at the kulam. A thick, white gas sprays out of the canister and hits the shadow. It contracts violently, curling over the gas as it tries to contain it. It contorts around the area, the transformation from gas to solid quicker than it realized. The cloud rapidly turns to a ball of solid black that hangs suspended in the air like a solid ball of jet for a moment before crashing to the ground and shattering into a million sharp pieces. The shards shiver, attempting to return to its form. Troy blasts the pieces with the spray until the canister is empty and the shards stop trembling.
There is a weak groan from Aubrey. He shuts down the shield with a thought, and shudders as the rain quickly drenches him to the bone once more. He throws the empty canister aside and kneels beside Aubrey. She has scratches on her face and arms, but her eyes are wide open and she gives him a weak smile. “Did you get him?” she asks as he supports her head on his lap and brushes her bangs away from her forehead.
He nods, not trusting himself to form words yet.
“Weapon?”
“Wasn’t on the monster,” he says. The amulet is warm against his chest, a pleasant weight.
“It’s okay,” she says. “Did I do good?”
“Yes. You did great, partner.” He smiles at her; she’s going to fit in just right. He shifts a bit to take his phone from his pocket and sends a message back to HQ to get them out of there, stat. He receives an affirmative ten seconds later. “They’re coming,” he tells Aubrey. “How are you feeling?”
“Like someone tried sucking the soul out of me,” she says weakly.
He laughs. “You’ll be all right.”
She tries to smile. “Hey, your phone is ringing again.”
Troy glances back at the small machine in his hand. It’s Elsa. She’s probably going to yell at him again for not calling her, for not communicating. He glances at the digital time readout on the phone screen. It’s 4:55. Almost dawn. The rain stops, as abruptly as it began. Above them, the storm clouds concede to the impending sunrise.
He can feel the weight of the Infinito Dios around his neck, can feel the weight of the story that he’s formulating in his head in order to explain the events of the night, to explain why they were unable to retrieve the weapon. He wonders how long he can keep this secret from the agency. Surely the magical scans in place will be able to detect it? The pendant pulses against his chest, as if assuring him that it can protect itself. He thinks about his mother, the scent of sampaguita and roses faint in the rain-washed air, and wonders if she survived. He wonders who sent the kulam in the first place, who orchestrated the whole thing. He wonders if Elsa will ever understand his life.
The weight of Aubrey’s head on his lap is comfortable, and he can feel the steady rise and fall of her breathing as she falls into an exhausted sleep. In the distance, he can hear the steady snap-snap-snap of helicopter blades. “It’s okay,” he says, even though he knows that Aubrey can’t hear him anymore. “I don’t need to answer it.”
Whispers
By Grant J. McMaster
Daniel squinted around the deserted classroom before him, bare desks with moulded chairs tucked under them, vague patterns in the dust where his coat had stirred a wind as he passed.
The walls were equally bare, stripped of the usual term time display of scholarly achievement and endeavour, all packed up now and sent home with average students to be ignored by indifferent parents.
The time for academic excellence had long since passed, along with social mobility, civil liberties and travel.
The building sounded odd, empty and lacking the expectant feel of a school awaiting the return of students. It was merely a shell now, anot
her empty building awaiting dereliction and decay.
His footprints through the dust on the floor provided a stark statement that he was the sole visitor in recent times.
Daniel firmly believed that the decline of the old concept of democracy and free society had begun when the libraries had started closing.
He had stood with other academics, writers, and those who loved the feel of physical books and demonstrated against the closures, but it had been futile.
When electronic readers became capable of holding thousands of books and downloading more at a whim from the net, the decline in library use started and when the recessions and stock market crashes of the first decade of the new century ruined the global economy, the governments started looking for ways to save their budgets; the libraries were on the front line of the cuts.
Daniel walked over to the windows, intact even after years of neglect. Dust coated the interior surfaces and grime the exterior, but even so the sight of the houses at the edge of the overgrown playing fields caused him to pause and move slowly.
Eyes narrowing, he held still, another immobile relic of the education system and surveyed the houses slowly.
Birds alighted on rooftops, squabbled and flew away, the grass and plants swayed in the wind, which also lent the old school a voice with which to groan its dismay at the loss of its children.
Nothing else moved, but Daniel moved carefully and slowly back from the windows.
No one was allowed to walk freely amongst the old estates and towns.
It was neither the recession nor the e-readers alone which ended the libraries and free access to information, and Daniel was ashamed to remember his participation in the fall.
When each child had been offered a lifetime tablet computer, able to carry all their books, produce video presentations for lessons and also facilitate coursework he had embraced the idea, handing them out to the kids with a wide grin.
The ease of marking homework was vastly different from wading through piles of grotty, mostly illegible, handwritten notes.
Those machines were the beginning of the end.
The light from the window changed, slowly muting to a rich bronze.
Daniel’s slate blue eyes squinted at the glare; dusk was approaching.
He scratched at his grey-flecked beard, a cracked fingernail providing a great deal of satisfaction for the itch, but less joy as it caught on the faded green wool of his jumper.
The old school still smelled vaguely of the hordes of children who had inhabited its walls for decades, with the kitchens alone emitting a strong smell of damp and decay.
In the warm light of the dying day, the place seemed comforting and safe, each illusion a dangerous trap for a tired man.
Darkness wasn’t much safer for travel, but the small edge it gave to the wary could make a huge difference.
With a bit of luck he’d make it back home today.
Reflected light illuminated the roof of the classroom. Daniel crouched and slowly made his way out into the darkened corridor.
From outside the building came the high pitched sound of a high-octane turbine engine and the staccato blade sound of an AI controlled micro-copter.
Back pressed to the cold cement of the wall, Daniel waited to see if it would pass. The warmth of the closed classrooms from the last afternoon sun would mask his body heat, so all the AI had left were the cameras it carried.
The choppy whirr of the drone persisted for almost five minutes, crossing from one side of the building to the next and then suddenly disappearing.
‘Five minutes.’ His voice sounded dry and cracked, and he almost jumped at the sudden sound.
He’d not intended to speak; he was too damn tired for this.
The silence in the old school suddenly became oppressive and he headed carefully toward the window by which he had entered.
Outside, all was still; blank empty windows of the houses in the distance like voids of dark in the dying sunlight.
Long shadows lay across the untended grounds, losing their definition as the sun was slowly devoured by the horizon.
Deciding to leave before full dusk, Daniel opened the window, slowly easing it along the corroded metal track he climbed carefully out before closing it with equal care.
Safe places such as this were a resource to be remembered and protected. He jammed a sliver of wood into the window sash to keep it closed and then made his way swiftly to the boundary fence.
The faded green plastic was peeling from the wire of the fence, corroded and rusted edges showing everywhere; apart from that the fence appeared to be sound.
Moving to a section that looked identical to any other Daniel crouched, pulled three metal tent pegs from the ground and then lifted a cut section.
His pack caught on the folded fence as he shuffled through and as he sat down suddenly, he grinned to himself at the irritation that would once have gripped him.
Righting himself, he continued through into a thick bush, then turned and yanked the fence back into position before pushing the tent pegs back into the ground, securing them firmly.
It was dark enough to walk on the roads now.
Anyone still living here would be behind battened doors, and whilst the government had infrared sensors, most terrain surveillance was satellite-based and they couldn’t afford to track all the heat signatures that crossed the countryside.
The tarmac of the road radiated the warmth of the departed sun back at him as he stepped onto the pavement.
Taking his bearings from the bright horizon, he headed north along the road toward the edge of the town and the open fields and empty roads ahead.
‘Wolf moon,’ whispered a voice from his left.
Daniel had just noticed the moon rising and spun toward the speaker, his hand fumbling in shock for the old Smith & Wesson revolver he kept in his coat pocket.
He froze; there was no one visible on the dark street.
Heart beating wildly, he stayed silent and still for seconds that seemed to be hours, controlling his breath so that it didn’t rasp harshly and straining to hear any movement.
A cat emerged from an overgrown garden and peered at him curiously for a moment before disappearing back into the vegetation.
The wind sighed through the bushes, whistling and moaning around the deserted houses before dying away again.
Nothing moved and the whisperer remained cloaked in the rising night.
Against all his training and all the cautions he’d been given against replying to whispers in the dark, Daniel called out softly, ‘Who’s there?’
His voice croaked and rattled over tight, dry vocal chords.
Silence reigned as the sudden wind disappeared, quick as it had arrived.
‘Bad times,’ croaked Daniel, he looked furtively around himself again and then suddenly hurried up the street, eager to be away.
All civilian smugglers and scroungers sent out of the enclaves to stalk the empty lands were taught to ignore any strange occurrences, voices, lights, or worse.
The land had changed, the world itself had changed and become darker. Time away from hearth, light and company was sanity’s worst enemy.
Daniel’s footsteps made little sound upon the tarmac, his rubber-soled hunting boots were designed to keep his feet warm and dry in any weather and the rubber made his movement through most terrain noiseless.
Peering through the darkness, Daniel saw the turning he wanted ahead; a road leading east through larger houses. As he walked around the corner, his breath caught at the sight of three men wearing bulky kevlar body armour walking toward him in a triangle formation.
Throwing himself back, Daniel turned and ran for the cover of a nearby wall.
It was only the electric torches spearing ahead of the three men and the silence of his movement that saved him from notice.
Prone behind the wall, Daniel listened to the three men walk past, their heavy footsteps clunking on the road and the faint hiss of a radio earpiece soundin
g.
Once they had passed, he risked a look at their slowly retreating backs and saw blue body armour stamped with the familiar globe, within a laurel wreath and the letters, ‘UN’.
A Peacekeeper patrol.
Damn.
This was the backup crew come to investigate whatever had triggered the AI drone to search the area earlier, and there could be more of them.
Daniel lay back and looked up at the stars, he breathed out slowly at his narrow escape and forced himself to relax.
The light from the full moon far above was turning the high clouds opaque and the only ‘star’ visible was the planet Venus; the Morning Star, shining high, cold, and to the right of the lunar disk.
He wondered whether far above him in the cold silence of orbit, the thermal eyes of an AI guided satellite were peering down.
He raised a middle finger at the heavens, just in case.
Lying on his pack was far from comfortable, and rolling to his side, Daniel rose into a crouch and again peered after the Peacekeepers.
The torches were off, but the blue of their armour and helmets shone under the full moon, one of the men had a scope of some kind up to his face and was slowly scanning toward where Daniel crouched.
OUTPOURING: Typhoon Yolanda Relief Anthology Page 37
