by Tim Curran
And then, just as swiftly as they’d appeared, the Eyes were gone, leaving behind only the pus-colored sky.
Kris drew in a sudden deep breath, as if her lungs had forgotten how to work, and finally remembered. The tingling sensation in her head wasn’t gone entirely, but it had diminished to the point where it was bearable. She looked at Danny. His face was red, as if he too hadn’t been able to take in air, but he seemed to be breathing fine now. He continued gazing at the sky and she had the sense that he saw something there that she couldn’t.
“They’re coming down,” he said. His statement was matter-of-fact, his voice devoid of emotion. Kris found it so disturbing she almost wished he were crying instead. That, at least, would’ve been normal.
Sheri had managed to stand upright once more, but her face edged toward gray, and her eyes were wide with fear. When Kris had been a child, she’d once picked up a small mouse she’d found in her parents’ garage. She’d held it close to her face so she could examine it. Its eyes had looked like Sheri’s did now.
“Who?” Kris asked Danny, her voice shaky. “Who’s coming?”
Danny lowered his gaze until he was looking at her. His features were impassive and Kris feared he was in shock.
“The Masters,” he said.
It was a simple word—Masters—yet the sound of it made Kris want to scream. Sheri did. She screamed at the top of her lungs, her voice raw and cracking, and Kris imagined her vocal cords tearing like overdone spaghetti. As if Sheri’s scream was a cue, dozens of people near them began screaming, shouting, wailing, and moaning. We’re like animals, she thought, sensing danger and reacting without knowing why. Terror moved up and down the highway fast as wildfire, and soon the air was filled with a chorus of fear and despair. The cacophony was so loud that Kris almost didn’t hear Danny say, “They used to live here a long time ago. A long, long time. They left, but they’re back now. And this time, they’re going to stay.”
There was an odd cadence to his words, almost as if he were repeating something that someone else was saying. Like he was a flesh radio broadcasting a signal that he, and only he, was receiving.
The screams intensified then, and people a half mile in front of Kris, Danny, and Sheri began running in all directions, as if fleeing something that had appeared in their midst. Kris heard the sound of metal twisting and bending, and her first thought was that one of more of the stalled vehicles had started working again and had crashed into those that remained immobile. But then she saw movement and realized that cars, vans, and trucks were moving, just not in the way they’d been designed. They were sliding together, compacting against each other, fusing into a single mass. Within moments, a large dome-like structure had formed. It covered all three lanes of the highway and rose twenty feet into the air. And still it kept growing. Lengths of metal—dozens of them—extruded from the central mass, grabbing vehicles as they came toward the dome and lifting them upward so they could be added to the nightmarish structure. Faster than Kris would’ve believed possible, the dome became a small tower, and it continued growing, rising fifty, seventy-five, a hundred feet into the air. It stopped there, and Kris estimated the tower topped off at 125–130 feet, although for all she knew it could have been even larger. It was more difficult to see distances now. Light didn’t seem to travel the same way it used to.
Although there was no way they should work, given the crushed and mangled states of the vehicles, engines roared to life and exhaust began pouring into the air, thick, black, and acrid, drifting upward to coalesce into a cloud that formed a dark halo around the Tower’s top. Headlights began to glow, gleaming far brighter than they should have been capable of, putting out so many lumens that looking at them was like gazing at dozens of miniature suns.
Danny stared at the Tower, eyes wide not with fear, but wonder. Kris felt an impulse to slap his face and demand he turn away from the obscene thing. It didn’t belong here; was a violation in the truest sense of the word.
Most of the screaming had stopped as people’s attention became fixated on the newly made Tower. Even those who had fled when the vehicles first began joining together had stopped where they were and turned back to regard it. The structure radiated a sense of … Kris supposed presence was the best way to describe it. It made you want to look at it, made you want to come closer. Kris found herself taking a step toward the foul object, then another. Danny reached out with both hands, as if eager to get close enough to touch it. Seeing her son yearn for the Tower like that brought her back to her senses, and she stopped walking. Danny continued reaching for the Tower, squirming in her arms, straining to wiggle free. She knew if she released him he’d go running straight toward the Tower, and so she held him even tighter.
She turned to Sheri, but before she could say anything to the other woman, Sheri started walking forward, a dull cast over her eyes, mouth open, lower jaw slack. She stepped into the black muck she’d vomited without seeming to notice.
“Don’t …” was all Kris managed to get out before Sheri started running. She felt an impulse to go after her—not because she wanted to reach the Tower but in order to stop her—but she had her hands quite literally full with trying to stop Danny from wriggling out of her arms. And truth was, she was afraid to move a single inch closer to the Tower. No; more than afraid: terrified.
People passed them, most running as Sheri had, eyes wild, faces expressionless. Kris wondered what they were thinking, or if they were thinking at all. She looked to the northbound side of the highway. The north and southbound lanes of I-675 were separated by a large grassy median, and people—men, women, children, young, old—trampled across it now, rushing to reach the Tower. Not everyone from the other side of the highway was attracted to the Tower, though, just as not everyone on this side was. Some of those who hung back on either side stood around, looking shocked, lost, or bewildered. Others ran for the trees alongside the highway, many of them carrying young children. More people on the northbound side seemed to resist the Tower’s influence, and Kris wondered if that was due to their being farther away from it. It made sense—as much as anything did right now.
She didn’t try to tell herself that this was a dream, or that she was hallucinating, or that she’d been in a wreck and was delirious, maybe even in a coma and experiencing what seemed to be a living nightmare. She liked to think of herself as a serious-minded, no-nonsense person, someone who took life as it was, not as she wished it to be. And maybe that was part of why, frightened as she was, she hadn’t turned away mentally and emotionally from what was happening, regardless of how bat-shit crazy it was. Then again, after learning your child has cancer, dealing with all the doctors’ appointments, the surgery, the chemo, the follow-up appointments, and then learning your poor baby’s body was once again being attacked from within—and this time there was an excellent chance he wouldn’t survive—well, the end of the world didn’t seem like all that big of a deal, really.
“Stop squirming!” she told Danny, but her words only seemed to goad him into increasing his exertions. He might’ve only been four, and his body slowly being taken over by a poison which would eventually kill him, but right now he was still strong, and she didn’t know how much longer she could maintain her hold on him.
She looked to the right. There were trees on this side of the highway as well. Not woods, really, just a strand of trees that had been allowed to remain when the highway was put in to block the sight of traffic from the residents on the other side. She wasn’t sure what lay beyond the trees. An apartment complex, she thought. Whatever it was, it was better than staying here to discover what the Tower was—and worse, what it wanted from them. She gripped Danny as hard as she could and stepped off the highway and into the grass.
“No, no, no!” Danny shouted. He thrashed and kicked, the heels of his sneakers pounding into the outside of her leg like hammer blows. She ignored the pain and kept going.
Others on this side of the highway had come to the same decision a
s Kris, and several of them—those not encumbered with young children or infants—were already halfway to the trees. They ran wildly, arms and legs flailing, driven by unreasoning terror. Kris could feel raw fear roiling just beneath the surface of her consciousness, threatening to burst forth any second and overwhelm her, and it was tempting to give in and let her rational mind be swept away so animal instinct could take over. But she couldn’t let that happen. She had a son to take care of, and she had to retain her grip on sanity for him, if for no other reason.
She walked toward the trees at the best speed she could manage, and as she did, she saw that the grass was losing its green color and slowly turning white, as if the life was being bled out of it. But the grass began moving, swaying back and forth as if in a breeze despite the fact that there was no wind, and Kris knew the grass was still very much alive, maybe more so than ever. The trees began to change as well, trunks and branches lightening, browns and grays giving way to a clear crystalline appearance, the same transformation occurring to their leaves. Kris knew that what was happening was wrong, a corruption of the deepest, most profound kind, and yet she couldn’t help finding the sight of white grass and crystalline trees to be beautiful, like a scene out of a child’s storybook.
When the first of the runners reached the treeline, leaves detached from branches and sliced through the air toward them like shuriken made of glass. Sharp edges cut faces, necks, and hands, sliced through clothing to get to the tender flesh beneath. The wounded screamed and fell where ivory tendrils that were no longer grass extended from the ground, lengthening as they wormed their tips into bleeding wounds. The screams became shrieks of agony as the tendrils began to feed, their white becoming pink and then crimson as they drank deep.
It seemed the sky wasn’t the only thing about the world that had changed.
Kris stopped running. For a moment she didn’t move at all, fearing that the white grass around and beneath her feet would reach up, wrap around her legs, and pull her and Danny to the ground and begin feeding on them. But the grass did nothing, perhaps because neither she nor Danny was bleeding. Whatever the reason, she was relieved.
And then the birds came.
At least, she thought they’d been birds. But whatever the things had been before, they had wings, so they were birds as far as she was concerned. They flew out of the trees, and a number of them fell upon the bodies of those who were being drained by the white grass and began tearing at their flesh with crooked claws and twisted beaks. But others came gliding toward those, like Kris and Danny, who hadn’t gotten close enough to the trees to be cut by the crystalline leaves. It didn’t take much, a claw raked lightly against a cheek, a sharp peck on the back of a hand, but the instant that blood—no matter how little the amount—was exposed to the air, the white grass attacked, grabbing hold of legs and arms, yanking people to the ground where more tendrils could get at them. And when the grass began to feed, so did the birds.
Danny’s struggles had ceased when the first people had been cut by the falling leaves, and now he hung motionless and limp in her arms. She didn’t know if he was fascinated by the sight of these mutated predators in action or repulsed, but either way, she was grateful that he’d stopped fighting her. She was able to turn back to the road and run toward it without being slowed by fighting to hold onto a thrashing four-year-old.
She was within a half dozen feet of the road when something grazed her right shoulder, stitching a fiery line of pain across the muscle. The impact staggered her, made her stumble, but she managed to maintain her footing and keep going. She saw the bird—although the creature was as much lizard as avian, with a dab of mammal added for a good measure—that had struck her circle around for another attack. She also felt small tugs at her feet, ankles, and calves, and she knew the white grass, attracted by the blood oozing from her shoulder wound, sought to bring her down. But the grass was too weak and she was moving too fast, and none of the tendrils were able to catch hold of her.
The bird came diving toward her face just as she reached the highway, and she threw herself toward the asphalt, angling her body to protect Danny. She landed on her left side and she felt more than heard a couple ribs crack. She took in a hissing breath, but otherwise didn’t react to this new pain. Just because she had reached the highway didn’t mean that she and Danny were safe.
She shifted to a crouching position—her injured ribs loudly voicing their protest—and kept her arms around Danny, who was now standing. As mother and son looked out upon the field littered with bodies encircled with white grass and covered with feasting winged monstrosities, they saw that none of the creatures came near the road. Kris turned to look at the northbound side of the highway and saw it was the same over there—crystalline trees, white grass, monstrous birds, and far too many dead bodies—but the asphalt seemed to act as some kind of magic barrier, keeping those who stood upon it safe. Kris knew it wasn’t magic, though. Her guess was that the grass, birds, and trees understood the people on the highway had already been claimed by a far stronger power than they, and they knew to keep their distance.
So escape wasn’t possible. What options did that leave her?
“Mommy?”
Danny’s voice startled her. Not because there was anything wrong with it, but because it sounded so normal, so him.
She gently turned him around to face her.
“Can we go home now?” he asked. “I really want to.”
His gaze was clear and he looked at her—not toward the damned Tower. She wasn’t sure what had happened to return him to his senses. Maybe seeing so many people killed in such a gruesome fashion had shocked him back to full awareness. Or maybe the jolt when they’d hit the asphalt had done the trick. She didn’t care. She was just glad to have her Danny back.
She wanted to lie to him, to tell him that everything was going to be okay, that they’d find a way to get home soon. But she’d never been able to lie to her child. She hadn’t been able to pretend that Santa Claus existed, hadn’t been able to keep the truth about his cancer from him. So how could she lie now, when he needed her to more than he ever had before?
She saw movement out of the corner of her eyes, and she turned toward it. People were moving between the cars, not heading toward the Tower but coming from it. She recognized some of them as people who had run past Danny and her earlier, only now each of them had puffy red marks on their foreheads, a strange squiggly symbol that looked as if it had been branded on them, except that instead of appearing to have been burned there from the outside, the marks appeared to have emerged from the inside. The symbol hurt her eyes to look at, and even though she tried to focus so she could clearly make it out, her eyes refused to cooperate, her vision blurring and becoming watery until she was forced to give up.
Someone came up behind them and stopped. Kris looked up and saw that it was Sheri. She had one of those marks on her forehead, making it difficult for Kris to look her in the eyes. When Sheri spoke, Kris expected her voice to sound guttural, bestial, as if she’d been possessed by some evil force. But she sounded perfectly normal—calm, rational, even caring as she said, “You need to come with me, Kris. Danny, too.”
Kris kept her eyes focused on Sheri’s chin as she said, “What will happen to us if we don’t?”
“That will.”
Sheri pointed toward the grass. Kris had seen too much already and she didn’t know if she could take anymore, but she looked. She knew she had to.
Those who possessed marks were grabbing hold of those who didn’t and forcing them to the edge of the asphalt. No matter how hard they struggled, the Unmarked couldn’t escape the Marked, and they were pushed out onto the white grass. Birds abandoned partially devoured bodies and streaked toward the fresh meat offered to them. They struck, and when blood was let, the white grass attacked. New screams filled the air.
Sheri put a hand on Kris’ shoulder and squeezed slightly. Her grip was like iron.
Kris nodded and Sheri removed her h
and. Kris stood, took hold of Danny’s hand, and the three of them started walking toward the Tower. There were others being guided by the Marked, more than Kris expected. Then again, given a choice between an immediate and grisly death or living a few moments longer, who wouldn’t choose the latter?
“Getting a Thrall mark isn’t so bad,” Sheri said. “Yeah, it hurts. Hurts like blazes. But the pain doesn’t last, and when it’s over you’ll know what you need to do.”
“Do?” Kris asked.
Sheri looked at her, and Kris had to avert her gaze from her mark.
“To survive,” Sheri added.
As they drew closer to the Tower, Kris had to squint because of the intense light blazing from the headlights. She felt pressure building inside her skull too, and from the way Danny whimpered, she knew he felt it as well. The smell of exhaust was thick here, and it stung her nasal passages, seared her throat. The Tower’s engines were putting off a lot of heat too, so much so that she thought maybe she should start thinking of it as the Furnace. The engine noise was near-deafening, the sound buffeting them like a solid force. Most of the vehicles that comprised the Tower had been empty when they’d joined the mass—but not all. Blood ran down the metal in places, and arms, legs, and heads jutted between folded metal and shattered window glass. Although there was no way the people that had been trapped inside their vehicles when the Tower formed could still be alive after the horrible injuries they’d suffered, their body parts moved with jerky, erratic motions. Fingers curled into fists and uncurled, reminding Kris of fast-motion video of flowers drawing in their petals for the night and opening them at dawn’s arrival. Toes wiggled, and eyes and mouths opened and closed randomly. The eyes darted this way and that, occasionally pausing to linger on one object or another. Kris expected those eyes to be utterly devoid of life, but they were not. Their gazes shone with a strange—and she couldn’t avoid thinking this next word, although she really wanted to—alien intelligence.
