But the dead bodies were the worst.
Lots of dead bodies, everywhere. Too many to begin to count. All ages, too. No exceptions, from the very old right down to the very young. Mason saw dead kids and even infants and babies for the first time in his young life.
Grim, disgusting, and terrible; there was no describing it. He didn’t want to look. He never wanted to see anything like that ever again, but it was everywhere at random, wherever they turned. Like a slap in the face.
Most of the bodies looked as if they had been hacked or cut up, or had the bones and heads crushed and beat in. Some had been shot with nasty-looking black arrows.
Their guts were torn open, muscles sliced off their bones.
Even worse, many of the bodies had been…eaten. By the looks on some of those twisted faces, some of them had been partially devoured…while they still lived.
Howard was right, of course. People had tried to defend themselves with guns at first. And many of them had perished not far from from their loaded, but useless weapons. Many guns were still clutched in cold, dead hands.
Mason tried several of the weapons, all still fully loaded. Not a single one of them worked. Especially not like his.
He looked around at all of the madness and swallowed hard. “Within a day or so, all of this part of town is going to stink to high heaven–like a hunter’s gut pile left out in the sun.”
Then they came across bodies of the monsters, mixed in among the dead. People had resorted to hand weapons and taken some of the attackers down with them.
Looking at the corpses of those monsters drove Mason’s mind to the edge of his sanity once more. Big ones, little ones, and others in between. There seemed to be several different kinds or variations. But they were all vicious-looking brutes.
It became very tough not to let his fears take hold.
An insane fantasy novel had exploded into real life. But what was real anymore? He was basically staring at dead goblins, hobgoblins, orcs, trolls, and ogres. There was no other way to describe the horrific monsters. They were hairy, furry, scaly, with snouts and wide maws filled with vicious teeth. Their hands and feet ended in claws. They wore medieval-style tunics of hide and rusty pieces of armor, patched together here and there.
They wielded dangerous weapons of rusty, jagged iron. Spears, swords, maces, war clubs, hammers, and knives. A few had short bows with quivers of the lethal black arrows barbed with metal.
Blondie picked among them and found himself a working short bow and three quivers of arrows.
“Do you know how to shoot a bow?” Mason asked his new friend.
Mason had practiced archery with his good buddy Dave, and could still barely shoot one. It took hours of training to shoot a bow effectively.
Blondie grinned. “I think so. How hard can it be?”
“Harder than you might think. Getting good at shooting anything takes lots of practice.”
“Well, at least now I have something to practice with.”
Howard suddenly took a breather and began to rub his chest with a very worried look on his face. “My house burned down. Everything must be gone. What’ll I do? What’ll I do for my medicine?”
“What’s your medicine for, Howard?”
“My heart.”
Mason frowned. Just great. Something else to worry about now. “That’s not good, Howard. There’s a CVS up the street by the Portage Martin’s. Let’s go there and see if they can give you something. Let’s go, just take it easy.”
Big sections of Portage Road were gone, including the part with the turnabout near the bridge over the St. Joe River. The river was there, still, but no bridge. They’d have to go a ways either way to find a way across.
There were bodies leading down to the river and floating in it. They spotted even more bodies as well, in the strange patches of forest punctuating the riverbank and among the remaining houses along the river.
There were dark, forested hills north of town, and even the far distant shadow of mountains–actual mountains–way off to the west.
Indiana never had mountains like that.
Mason spoke out loud, noting all of the changes as they tried to pick their way toward what they hoped would be the drugstore. How could the very land itself change overnight?
Blondie suddenly spoke up. “These creatures and all of this new terrain are clearly something from another world–just like the trees on Allen Street and the lake. There’s no way to deny it. Can’t you see what has happened? Parts of this world have somehow become mixed up with parts of another very different world that does have these trees and these creatures. It is the only logical explanation.”
Mason considered such a possibility.
In a way, it made sense. “So, if parts of both worlds are now mixed up here, what has happened to the other parts of both worlds that we can’t see any longer? Have they simply been destroyed or ceased to be?”
Blondie shrugged. “Who knows? But if both realities have become patched together, then both worlds occupy a space in reality somewhere. Perhaps in the alternate dimension–on the other side–the other world is just as mixed up now as this one. That would make more sense.”
Mason pressed his skull together with his hands as if it might explode. “Mixed-up, alternate worlds and dimensions? How could such a thing happen?”
Blondie hugged his upper arms and rubbed them in the chilly air. “Perhaps it just occurred by chance, by dumb luck–a cosmic mistake. Or else someone or something made all of this happen on purpose, by some dark, insane, or diabolical design.”
“Blondie, you can’t even remember your own name or what boots are, how can you be sure of any of that?”
“I know what boots are; I was just tired and cold. And I may not recall my name yet, but I can still think. Just like I know my name isn’t Blondie. Take a look at the evidence all around us. Do you have a better explanation for what we have seen? Or why your weapons alone seem to work, as if by magic?”
Magic? Yeah, that would explain a great deal.
Blondie clenched one shivering fist and suddenly looked very determined. “I will regain my memory. Somehow I will. And when I do, I have a very strong feeling that I’m going to be proven correct about all of this.”
“Well, let’s keep moving until that happens. I’ve got a good buddy of mine from college named David Pritchard. He lives in one the apartments close to campus near 23. After we get Howard’s medicine, we’ll go look him up.”
“That’ll be good,” Howard piped up. “I need my medicine.”
Another large patch of forest blocked their way right before the Portage Martin’s Supermarket and the CVS drugstore there, along with a few lesser shops.
As they made their way through the trees, they picked up on the growing sounds of a commotion up ahead. They could make out many people screaming, shouting, and crying in a mix of panic, anger, and fear.
When they came out of the trees, they looked down a short slope into the parking lot. But at a glance, the Martin’s was nowhere to be seen, replaced by more forest.
The CVS and a few of the other shops were there, and about a hundred or more people were just starting to break the windows and loot them.
Some had bicycles, many were on foot, and many fought over shopping carts. Gangs and small groups of thugs and looters had formed here and there among individuals. Some of the thugs didn’t bother to go into the stores, but watched like vultures, and took what they wanted from people coming back out with armloads full of stuff.
Many people there had bloody noses or bruises and bleeding wounds from various altercations.
A handful of people lay knocked out or possibly even dead in the parking lot. The bodies were in danger of being trampled by the mob.
Mason led Blondie and Howard down the slope and toward the growing crowd in front of the CVS drugstore. Things looked pretty bad. Should they even go down there?
A South Bend cop in his late thirties lay moaning off to one side.
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Occasionally, a punk or thug would stop and kick him.
Only some of the looters were armed with what appeared to be an assortment of baseball bats, clubs, and kitchen knives. No one seemed to be brandishing guns any longer.
“We’re too late,” Mason said, looking at the mob boiling in and out of the drugstore. “I don’t want to risk going in there with that mob. This is a feeding frenzy; those people down there have lost it. They’re acting like animals, like savages. Let’s try to reach that cop and drag him out of there. Someone’s going to kill him. We have to do something.”
“Why?” Blondie said.
“Hell, I don’t really want to, either. But it’s the right thing to do.”
They made their way toward the cop, chasing off some teens who stopped to taunt and hurl insults at the poor guy.
Mason brandished his cavalry saber, Blondie bent an arrow on his bowstring, and Howard menaced them with his nine iron.
“Get the hell out of here,” Mason snarled at the punks.
They screamed a bunch of filth and ran off, laughing and cursing.
Mason knelt to check the policeman’s injuries, and his name badge.
“Officer…Reinert?”
The cop could barely sit up and nod, gasping for breath.
Mason handed him their last bottle of water after opening it.
Officer Reinert took a long drink, which seemed to help, and handed the bottle back. “Thanks. My name’s Tim.” He stuck out his hand.
Mason shook it quickly. “I’m Mason. My buddies are Blondie and Howard.”
Tim glanced up. “Thanks, guys.”
“These looters beat you up?” Mason asked. Reinert wasn’t bleeding, but he had some nasty knots and bruises on his face and head.
“Yeah, in hindsight, coming here in uniform probably wasn’t the best idea I ever had. At first, I thought somehow that they might listen to reason.”
Mason shook his head, glancing around. “Not this mob. Let’s get you out of here. You’re beaten up, but you don’t seem to have anything broken. Can you stand?”
“I think so.”
Mason and Blondie helped lift Tim up to his feet.
A group of about a dozen thugs focused on them and started to circle over their way.
That was when a crowd of several dozen men in fatigues and hunting garb emerged from the trees from the opposite direction and fanned out across the entire section of parking lot.
The mob drew back in fear.
Mason noted right away how organized and coordinated this group was. Every one of them had a black band or strip of cloth tied around their right upper arm.
Then a large man emerged from their ranks out of the forest as well, astride a large, saddled horse. He held what looked to be a long, makeshift spear or lance in one hand, and an old-fashioned megaphone in the other, which he shouted through.
“Halt. Stop fighting and stand where you are. We are the local militia, and we are here to restore order. South Bend is now under martial law. We are now the authority in this city!”
The crowd resisted, bunching together closer in their numbers, shouting back taunts and curses, clutching their looted supplies.
More militia came out of the trees, and began to flank the looters on either side of the parking lot.
“I am City Councilman Mark Benton,” continued the large man. “The available city leaders have formed an emergency South Bend militia to defend this area, assess the damage, and restore order. Follow our directions and you will not be harmed. We don’t want fight you unless you force us to, but we will use force to restore order, if we must.”
More taunts and curses from the mob. But even they began to notice that the militia unit almost matched their numbers by this time. And all of the militia were armed with bows.
Benton continued to shout the mob down. “I repeat, martial law is now in effect for this area. I say again, the authorities have declared martial law. Stand down and do as you are told. Looting and fighting will not be tolerated. Supplies will be sorted and dispensed to the public on the basis of emergency need–not taken by thieves and thugs.”
A new swell of curses and taunts erupted.
Benton lifted his spear. “Militia…prepare to fire on this crowd, if they do not stand down and comply with our instructions.”
About a hundred and fifty men with hunting bows and arrows bent on the string took aim at the looters from three sides.
“Comply with our orders, or be cut down!” Benton warned.
The mob pulled back, gasped, and got really quiet all of the sudden. Many of them dropped to their knees at the show of such force. Some began to cry and beg not to be shot or killed.
“Militia, lower your weapons, but stand ready,” Benton ordered “Shoot anyone who tries to run. This looting ends here and now. Half of you close in and secure this site.”
The mob became very docile in the face of a such a large, well-organized force.
“We have no wish to harm you,” Benton said. “Cooperate and we won’t have to. Form a line. Militia, screen these people and disperse them one by one from this area. Let each of them keep one or two items if they really need them. But confiscate all shopping carts, bags, and boxes of stolen goods. No exceptions.
“People, once you are searched and ordered to disperse, you must leave this area and return to your homes or to one of the nearby shelter areas being set up at local churches and schools. Further instructions will be given out by the authorities.
“Militia recruitment stations will also be established to help defend the city and this area, if you are able-bodied, and between the ages of sixteen to forty-five–both men and women–report to one of those stations.”
The looters were searched and released one at a time. Each of them walked away with something. While the process continued, Mason and his friends approached the militia, trying to bring Officer Reinert before the city councilman. Finally they got through, and their basic story was presented.
Benton more or less ignored the three of them and focused on Reinert. “Officer, with your training, the South Bend militia could use your skills and knowledge of the city. We’re not completely sure what we are up against or the extent of what has happened. Can we count on your assistance?”
Reinert nodded. “I’m a little beat up right now, sir, but I’d be glad to help, once I’ve secured my family. We live close by.”
Benton nodded. “Good man. Once you have secured your family, report to St. Joseph High School–we’re using it as one of our headquarters for the time being. Half of the downtown and everywhere else appears to be missing, according to all of the reports we’ve had thus far. We’re still trying to determine what is still here, and what is gone.”
The city councilman finally glanced at the three of them. “Are these three fellows with you? My people say they protected you from the looters.”
Reinert nodded and put an arm about them as much as he could. “They probably saved my life after I got beat up.”
“Well…bring them along with you. If those things that attacked the city late this morning return in force, the militia is going to need all the able-bodied help it can get. You fellows want to join up with the militia?”
Howard looked a bit worried and shook his head. “I can’t fight. I’m too old, and I need my medicine. That’s why we came here in the first place.”
“They say this man has a heart condition,” Reinert said. “Can we see if the drugstore can fix him up?”
Benton looked to one of his militia aides standing nearby. “Frank, go with them into the pharmacy and see if they can get that man his meds. Gentlemen, perhaps I will meet with you later at the high school. My people and I must finish securing this area and move on. Good luck to you all.” The militia leader turned his horse away from them and rode off with his guards following him.
Mason turned to his comrades. “I still want to go by the university and find my friend David.”
“I’ll
go with you,” Blondie said.
Howard shook his head, looking exhausted and weak. “I just want to get my medicine, and find a safe place to lie down and rest.”
Reinert took Howard by the arm. Frank was waiting nearby. “We’ll check on his meds and then I’ll take him home with me,” Reinert said. “It’s only a few blocks off Elwood.” He jotted the address down on a piece of paper and handed it to Mason. “You boys do what you need to do and then meet us at my house within about four hours. Then we’ll all walk over to militia HQ at the high school together. That sound okay?”
Mason nodded. “Should give us plenty of time. We’ll meet up at your house like you said. Take care, guys.”
They moved to part company, but the militia lines stood in their way. Frank waved them through at Reinert’s insistence.
Once they were clear of the militia, Blondie grinned and spoke up. “Mace, I noticed that you made no mention of your…new abilities,” he said.
Mason glanced over at him. “There didn’t seem to be a good point to bring it up.”
“That might have been wise on your part. Once that information does come out, I’m sure that there will be a great deal of curiosity and explaining on your part. You don’t know how people are going to react to what you are capable of now. Those in authority might try force you to hang around and do their bidding.”
Blondie was pretty shrewd. “Yeah, I’ve considered that,” Mason said. “Once we figure out what the hell is going on, my main goal is still to reach Elkhart somehow and find my girlfriend, Tori. I won’t rest until I make sure she’s safe.”
They followed the strange trees and patches of normal South Bend back past Leeper Park to 933, where they could at last cross the St. Joe River. By then, survivors were scurrying about in all directions, everyone still in shock and panic. Some were using small boats to ferry people back and forth at other points.
They walked up Angela Blvd and past the university, where Mason and Dave were both sophomores. Just like the rest of the town, half of the campus seemed to be missing also, replaced by more patches of the strange forests and dark, rolling hills.
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