I looked away from him. “I don’t believe in God. No offense.”
“None taken, Welly.”
“Good. What happened to your ear? I saw you on TV, feeding those bag ladies. That’s how I knew who you were, when I saw your ear.”
“It’s a birth defect. My family didn’t have enough money for plastic surgery.” He shrugged. “I used to keep my hair long to hide it, but it doesn’t bother me anymore. It’s a help in my work, frankly. People bring their scars to church. They bring the wounds they want healed, but they’re ashamed of them, too. If they can see mine, that makes it easier.”
“I’ll just bet,” I said. Nancy Ann had a little scar on the inside of her left thigh, high up. It was a birthmark, too, like Humphreys’ ear. It didn’t take Jebediah very long to see that one, did it?
The second cucumber went sploosh, just then, and Humphreys and I both jumped a little. Humphreys didn’t puke this time; he got back on his knees and made another sign of the cross and muttered some more. When he was done I picked up that gravy bag and put it in the corner with the other one, the one I’d tossed back into the den from the living room, and then Humphreys and I sat back down to wait for the third cucumber to go gravy. Five minutes, now.
“Why do you suppose they come here?” he asked me.
“Damned if I know. Maybe they’re sick and their people send them away so they won’t infect everybody else. Maybe they’re dead already when they get here, and Earth’s their eternal reward. Now that’s scary, isn’t it? Maybe when we die we’re all going to land on some alien’s doorstep, and we just have to hope they’ll have comfortable chairs for us and find out what kind of art we like.” My heaven will have Lay-Z-Boy recliners and Penthouse Pets, but I wasn’t going to tell Humphreys that.
He smiled. “In my father’s house are many mansions.”
“What?” But the last cucumber went sploosh, so I never did find out what Humphreys had been talking about. He did his little praying routine again, and I piled the third cucumber in the corner with the other two.
He looked at the gravy bags, and then at me. “How do you—what do you do with them? Afterwards?”
“I bury them. I’ve got these things all over my property.”
He nodded. “Do you need help?”
“If you’re as good with a shovel as you are with a pail, I could use the help, Reverend. Thank you.”
So we piled the gravy bags into my pickup, and I threw a tarp over them and loaded up a couple of shovels, and then I drove out to the next gravesite. I’ve been keeping track of where the cucumbers are, so I can pick a fresh place each time. I brought the gun with me, but that was in case we ran into snakes or something: I wasn’t worried about Humphreys anymore, not that way.
He was good with a shovel, strong and fast. He hadn’t always been a preacher, you could tell. He’d done manual labor someplace. Watching him dig, I started to get curious. When we stopped to take a break, I said, “So when were you in front of guns before?”
“In Africa.” He wiped the sweat off his face. “In Zaire, back during the eighties. A group of us were rebuilding a church. Mobutu’s thugs had burned it down because the clergy were speaking out against the government. And the soldiers came when we were rebuilding, and they lined us up against a wall and threatened to shoot us all. I still don’t know why they didn’t. They killed plenty of other people, before and after that.” His eyes got far away, then, and he said, “All the people I worked with there—they’re all dead now.”
“That’s not right,” I said.
“No.” He started digging again, and I let him. I know how working with your hands can help, when you’re upset about something. I re-roofed the house all by myself, after Nancy Ann left.
We got the cucumbers neatly buried, one to a grave, and Humphreys said a little prayer over each one, and then we got back into the truck to go back into the house. I was worried. I had to figure out what to do about him, and it would have been easier if he’d been easier to hate. “Reverend,” I said, “you were right before. I’m scared about what will happen if people find out about what’s been going on out here.”
“I’m not going to tell them,” he said. “This is under the seal of clerical confidentiality, Welly. I take that very seriously.”
I didn’t know if I could believe him or not. I wanted to, but that’s not the same thing. “I just hope I can trust you, Reverend.”
“I hope you’ll learn that you can. I can’t expect you to, yet. You’ve only known me a few hours. Earning trust takes longer than that.”
I grunted. That was a better answer than a lot of other people would have given. “Well, listen, you let me know when Sam dies.”
“He may not die, not for a long time. We have to hope the chemo will work. We have to hope he’ll be healed. But if he dies, certainly, I’ll call you.” Humphreys smiled. “He’ll be having a church service, I have to warn you.”
“Call me anyway.” We were back at the house. I stopped the truck and said, “You left that bag inside, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Wait here. I’ll get it for you. I’ll be right back out.”
The paper lunch sack was still sitting in the hallway, next to where Humphreys had gotten sick. It was wet from the soapy water he’d used. I threw the old sack away and got a fresh one, and then for good measure I threw another eighth into the plastic bag. I knew Sam would notice, and that kind of gesture’s good for business, if you don’t do it very often. I guess it was my way of gambling that he’d stay alive. And if he mentioned it to Humphreys, maybe the Reverend would be more likely to keep his mouth shut.
I took the sack back out and handed it to Humphreys. “I have something for you, too,” he said, and gave me his business card. “Call me if you ever want to talk, about anything at all. You can call me any time. Both my home number and the church number are on there.”
“Kind of you,” I said, although I was thinking, when hell freezes over. ”Thank you, Reverend.”
“You’re welcome, Welly.” He held out his hand, and I shook it, and then he got back into his car and drove away. I watched his car until it disappeared, and then I went back into the house. I almost threw the business card away, but something made me toss it into one of my kitchen drawers instead. Don’t ask me what. It wasn’t like I planned on calling him. It was just a superstitious thing, maybe like what he’d said about the emergency baptisms. Having his business card probably wasn’t going to help me, but it couldn’t hurt, either.
I was hot, from all that digging. I opened the fridge and got out a beer and drank it down in one gulp. Then I got my cell phone and took it into the living room, and sat back in my recliner and started dialing the phone company.
BLACK FIRE
Tanith Lee
Witness A (One)
I first see it as I’m driving back that night up the road—you can bet I pulled over. I thought it was a fucking plane coming down. Like a plunge of flames right through the sky, as if the sky was tearing open from the top to the bottom. The car slams to a halt and I jump out—and I’m below the top of the hill, so I run the rest of the way and just as I get there, this . . . thing, whatever it was, it lands in the woods. Well, our house is around there, me and hers. Only a mouse-house—what she said—mid-terrace in the last street winds out the village.
I stand on the hill sort of frozen, sort of turned to stone, and I hold my breath, the way like you do, not knowing you’re not breathing.
So while I watch, all this fire-thing just storms into and through the trees and down and it hits the ground, and I think something’s crazy then, because there should be a God-awful great bang, yeah? And great columns of fire and crap. But there ain’t a sound. Not a bloody whisper.
And then I remember and I take that missing breath. But it’s so quiet. I think that’s what struck me anyhow, even while I run up the hill. There’s always some kind of noise out here; I mean, we’re not that far from the town. And
there’s animals, too, foxes and things snuffling and screeching. And cars.
Only there isn’t a single sound now.
I don’t never drink when I drive. Not no more. I got pulled over a couple years ago, random check, and I was just over the limit: half a glass—well, a pint—of beer. But I won’t take any chance now. So nobody can say I imagined what I seen. Go on, you can test me, if you like. No. I see it. And I see what come after too.
Witness E (One)
He was late. He’s always late.
That’s what they says about dead people, don’t they? Well then he must be dead.
Oh, he’s got some bint where he works. Says he hasn’t. He’s got some—
Anyhow. I was washing my hair, and this blinding like . . . light sort of—I thought it was coming straight in the bleeding window—
I thought it was a bomb. You know—a dirty bomb like they always go on about? Terrorists. Why does everyone hate everyone?
So I runs out in the garden and I look and this big light—it’s like the sky’s falling and it’s all on fire—only the fire is . . . it isn’t red or nothing. It’s—I can’t describe it really.
Right in the wood.
I started to cry. I was really scared. And he weren’t there, the bugger.
But there’s no crash. Nothing. Just—silence. You know that thing someone said—hear a pin drop. Like that.
And my hair’s so wet—but I shakes it back, and I thought: I can go next door, but the other three houses there, as we come like out of the village, no one lives in them now.
And then I sees him. This guy. He’s walking out between the trees, i’nt he. Just walking.
Witness A (One)
Fucking car wouldn’t start, would it, when I goes back to it.
So I beats it up the fucking hill again and belts down the other side toward the house. I mean, I’m thinking of her, aren’t I? Yeah?
I mean you do, don’t you?
Witness E (One)
It wasn’t just he was well fit. I mean he was fit. I can see that like. And like he’s really—he’s beautiful. And I’m standing there in my old jeans and an old bra and no slap on and my hair full of shampoo. But he’s got a sort of like, he’s sort of shining.
It’s like—what’s that stuff? Phosbros—is it?
He gleams.
Only he’s dark too. I don’t mean he’s a black guy. His skin is just kind of like summer tan, sort of like he’s caught the sun but over here. Not a real tan. And his hair is black but it’s so long, all down his back, it’s like silk.
And he has this face.
I don’t think much of them movie celebs, do you? But this guy, he’s like in films my mum used to watch before she went mad and ended up in Loonyville—I can’t think who.
But he comes out the wood and up to the garden, where the dustbin is, and the broken gate, and he looks at me.
I say, “D’you see that flaming thing come down?”
And he smiles at me.
Witness A (Two)
Coming home on that train . . . it’s always late and no trolly service; I dread the damn thing. But when I finally got to the station what do you think? The shit Volvo won’t start, will it?
So I walked.
Perfect ending to a perfect day, etc.
That’s when I saw those fireworks all showering down on everything.
I admit I stopped and stared. I mean, I was recollecting that factory—God, where was it?—that place where all the fireworks blew up. The only difference was, and I eventually figured it out, these fireworks were all in a mass, just dropping in one single area. They merely fell out of the sky. Glittering. The rather peculiar thing was, there were no colors. It was quite a naturally well-lit night—aside from the inevitable street lamp light-pollution—a half moon, and stars. And this fountain of fireworks looked somehow much darker. They were—the nearest I can get is something like black sequins, those kind of gowns sexy women wore in the forties of the last century.
Anyway, I started to walk again because even when the fountain hit the bloody houses on my street, which I could see from up there on the far side of the park, there wasn’t any thudding noise, no detonations.
You get so anxious now. It’s how they want to make you, isn’t it? All these warnings. I’d been thinking, ever since the trouble years ago, I ought to relocate, just work from home.
But it’s difficult. My partner. She likes the high life, frankly, and her own job (she’s a sort of PA) simply doesn’t cover the rent.
It took me an hour to get back on foot. I steeled myself and didn’t stop off at the King’s Arms. I thought she might be worried. Sometimes I can be such a bloody fool.
By the time I reached the house the pyrotechnics were long gone. It was just this incredibly silent night. I noted that, you see. It struck me, how dead quiet it was.
When I unlocked the door, there seemed to be no one about. That was unusual. She’s usually around. Even if she’s asleep in front of the TV with an empty vodka bottle. I called out, I remember . . . I called her name—Honey I’m home sort of rubbish.
But no answer.
I felt fed up. I was tired out and hungry. I admit, I felt unloved. Childish, stupid, but I’m trying to tell you the truth.
Then I thought I heard a noise upstairs. Had she gone up to bed early? (No care for me, get my own fucking meal even though she’d been home all day.) Or was she ill? She gets migraines sometimes—or she says she . . . she said she did.
I went upstairs.
This I can’t really explain. I walked quietly. Maybe only because it really was so quiet. Not a sound. (Even when I’d passed the pub, now I come to think of it. Quiet as—well, is even a grave so quiet?)
Upstairs the dimmer was on, all the lights half doused.
Then I did hear something. Then I heard it again, through the bedroom door. Our bedroom. This cry.
You can’t mistake a cry like that.
Unless, of course, you never ever heard it before.
Witness A (One)
I runs the last bit. I’m getting really scared. Even though there’d been no bang nor nothing. I mean, the house lights were all out.
When I gets there I nearly has a heart attack because the front door is standing wide open.
No light—no, one in the lounge. I say lounge—size of a kitchen table—nowhere else though.
Upstairs, in the tiny little mouse room we called our bedroom, I hear a long wild wailing noise.
And I fucking know that noise.
It’s her, fetching off, like they say.
It’s sex.
I thought, hang on maybe she’s just fixed herself, me not being there.
Then I know.
Then I run upstairs fast as I could. Sounded like an elephant to myself, in all the quiet.
When I pushed the door open, there they are. Her and him.
There they are.
Witness E (Two)
He rang the door bell. I think that was it . . . He must have done.
So I opened the door. It wasn’t that late. Anyway, I was bored.
The utter rubbish on TV. I’d been going to check the washing-machine because suddenly it seemed so silent that presumably it’d packed up, with all my gear in it, oh, and his favorite three shirts—unforgiveable!
I thought I’d seen a kind of flash in the sky earlier. But I’m always seeing things in the sky. Altogether, in the past two years, I’ve seen six unidentified flying objects. Everyone laughs at me. But I did.
Anyway, standing outside the door is this entirely gorgeous man. There is no other way to describe him. He looks like—oh, God knows. Too good to be true. No, I don’t remember what he was wearing.
Yes, I’d been drinking. I always mean to cut down, never do it when I’m at work. But sometimes, well. But not that much. I mean, I could see.
He was so beautiful.
And he said, “Here you are,” and he smiled this wonderful smile.
No, not charismati
c, nothing so clichéd. You looked at him and—
I fell in love with him. On sight. I fell in love with him.
Can I stop now?
I need some water, please.
Witness E (Three)
We’d been going to go up to the ridge. There was supposed to be a meteor shower. He said so. We’re both very interested in that sort of thing—space, you know. He has a wonderful collection of meteor bits—dark fusion crust, really special.
We’d only been together a year. It was awful when he lost his job, but luckily I still have mine. Very luckily, as it turns out. I mean, it’s just boring office work, but I’ll still need a job, won’t I? Or not, for a bit, perhaps.
Anyway, we set off quite early, around sunset. It was lovely, the light sinking over the fields and the birds singing. I know the songs are only territorial, their way of saying Keep Out! to other birds. I never knew that till he explained it to me. I just thought they sang because they could do it so well.
The ridge is the highest open place for miles.
We sat down and looked at the dark coming, and then all the lights coming on all round, the two towns, and the city to the north, and the little villages. You can never go far here without seeing people, or signs of them.
It got dark then. The moon was already quite far over to the west, though still high enough to make the upper sky that deep night blue. Lots of stars.
We didn’t see anything for a long time. Then this thing just erupted out of the zenith.
He jumped up. We both did.
“It’s a fireball—” he shouted. “My God—it’s colossal—”
It seemed to be falling straight on us, but somehow neither of us could move.
Then I remember being aware of turning, as if I were being turned, not doing it myself—and our shadows peeling out jet black behind us and then realizing the meteor was rushing down to the south, in front of us, not directly on to our heads.
He started to run. He was running after it. He didn’t wait for me, or even call to me. I suppose he just thought I’d do exactly what he did, I’d be so desperate to see. But I was scared. You know. I mean, it was so big and blazing bright—and yet so dark. I didn’t know you could have fire like that, black fire—it must be a phenomenon associated with certain types of extra-terrestrial objects.
Lightspeed: Year One Page 47
