by Seth Patrick
‘It’s been a bad year all round,’ said Never. She started the car and drove, and Never found himself thinking of the grave, and the name carved on the headstone: Jonah Miller.
He wondered, as he often did, whose body actually lay in the coffin. Because it sure as hell wasn’t Jonah’s.
3
Jonah sat and stared at the television, even though it was switched off. The last year had been difficult, staying inside this goddamn house – or compound, which is what Annabel often called it. The name didn’t matter.
It was a prison, and he’d been the one responsible for locking himself in here.
Annabel had gone to meet Sam and Never on the anniversary of Jonah’s faked funeral. He was miserable at the thought of what this was doing to Sam, but it had seemed like the only way. After Winnerden Flats, Kendrick had asked for his help. Jonah had been the only one who could see the shadows, the parasitic creatures who, somehow, were all part of the same entity.
Jonah had seen that entity in dreams and visions; a vast Beast, dark and corrosive, striding across the lands of the world, reaching down to consume the flesh and souls of whatever it could grasp. Since Winnerden Flats, his dreams had intensified, and grown ever more vivid. Now, he saw the same shadows that he’d seen clinging to the shoulders of those human hosts – saw them scurrying around the feet of the huge Beast that strode over cities, burning everything it touched.
After the victory at Winnerden Flats, the vessel for that dark Beast had been destroyed in the most thorough way Kendrick could devise. There was no coming back, not this time.
Jonah had lost friends, though. Two of the revivers he’d long worked with were among those killed, but there was someone else: an old flame, called Tess Neil. She’d been the key to their victory, but she’d lost her life as a result.
And the last thing she had said to Jonah was this: The Beast is coming. Be ready.
Had he let himself think, even for a second, that their victory had been complete? That it wasn’t just the human vessel who had died, but the Beast as well? Simply, yes: he had. Tess’s words brought an immediate end to such naive hope. The kind of power that the creature seemed to possess wasn’t the kind that could be defeated so easily. After all, whatever ancient battle had led to it being imprisoned in the first place hadn’t ended in its destruction. Instead, it had been contained, in a prison constructed from souls.
Perhaps it couldn’t be destroyed. Like energy itself, maybe it could only be converted from one form to another.
So, Kendrick had asked for his help to see if the shadow creatures and their human hosts still held positions of power. Many of those who’d been suspected had simply vanished after Winnerden Flats; months of careful observation revealed no shadows wherever they looked. Then Jonah had been attacked: run off the road, then a gun had been put to his head. A gun that jammed. His attacker had fled on foot, his vehicle too damaged for him to drive.
After that, Kendrick and Sly had traced the would-be assassin and discovered ominous connections. Whether or not the shadows were still around, there were definitely humans who wanted them to be, and wanted to ensure their rise to power. Those people had identified Jonah as a threat. They weren’t subtle, and they weren’t restrained. The only time they would leave Jonah alone – and by extension his friends, and everyone he loved – was when Jonah Miller was dead.
He’d pleaded with Kendrick to make it happen, and Kendrick had reluctantly obliged. Annabel had bought a new property in the Radio Quiet Zone in Virginia. It had been turned into a low-profile fortress in the eighties, and it ticked all the boxes on Jonah’s list. Remote, secure, self-sufficient, and large enough to stop him going mad.
Kendrick had made it all happen pretty damn quickly. Almost before Jonah knew it, he was dead and buried, and free to focus on answering the most important question of his life.
What had Tess meant by ‘be ready’?
How the hell could anyone be ready to face off with the devil?
*
Jonah was at the door waiting when they arrived.
‘There he is,’ said Never. ‘Here.’ He handed over a bottle of whiskey. ‘For a dead guy, you still drink too much.’
Jonah took the bottle, avoiding looking at Annabel. In truth, he did drink too much these days. He’d kept Tess’s last words to himself, all this time, and it had eaten away at him. The hope that Winnerden Flats had truly been a final victory was still holding on – just about – in Never and Annabel. They seemed to be swayed by the notion that it was people, ordinary and untouched by shadows, who were the only remaining problem. Kendrick and Sly, he knew, didn’t operate that way, but Never and Annabel thought of what they did as ‘playing safe’ and ‘covering all bases’.
Keeping something so important from his best friend and his lover wasn’t easy. Doing so while trapped in the same damn house for a year had almost sent him over the edge. Overconsumption of alcohol wasn’t helping.
Right now, though . . . right now, he was going to get drunk with them both and try his best to put the end of the world out of his thoughts.
He gave Never a hug, and then gave Annabel one too.
‘Should I ask how it went?’ he said.
‘As well as you’d expect,’ said Annabel.
They went down a floor to the upper basement, which Jonah thought of as his lair and had turned into a games room. Chock-full of diversions, from pool table to massive TV, it was entirely free of the things that had truly consumed him while living here – the dark things that haunted his dreams. For that, Jonah had a stack of notebooks hidden away where Annabel wouldn’t find them: notes, supposedly, on how to save humanity from extinction. So far, those notebooks contained essentially nothing of use.
Jonah opened up the refrigerator and passed Never a can of beer. ‘I’m guessing you don’t want to hit the hard stuff right away?’ he said.
‘Best not,’ said Never. ‘What are we eating?’ He looked at Annabel as he said this, and Annabel glared at him.
‘Any reason why you think I’m the one to ask?’ she said.
He went a bit pale, but recovered quickly. ‘Yeah, fair cop,’ he said. ‘But let’s be honest, you actually cook decent food. Jonah can reheat, and that’s about it.’ He shook his head. ‘You’d think you could actually do something useful with your time, mate. There’s a whole world of delicious recipes out there, just begging for you to cook them for me.’
Jonah cracked open a beer and shrugged. ‘We have a ton of pizza,’ he said. ‘But if you want to make some stroganoff or risotto, feel free. I’ll stay here and drink.’
‘Pizza . . .’ said Never. ‘Sounds perfect.’
*
‘One rule,’ said Jonah, as they all flopped onto the couches that faced the massive television. ‘We don’t talk about the things we don’t talk about. Funeral, Winnerden, Andreas. None of that. Deal?’
‘Deal,’ said Annabel. ‘As long as you stick to a rule of my choosing.’
‘Name it,’ said Jonah.
‘Relax and enjoy yourself.’
‘I’ll try,’ he mumbled, ignoring the eyes-to-the-ceiling response from Never and Annabel.
The TV came to life, Never fiddling with the remote. ‘Time for mindless junk,’ he said. ‘It’s been a long day already.’ He noted Annabel’s look of warning. ‘Yeah, yeah, for reasons not to be mentioned. But I want to have a movie, preferably with a ridiculous level of action, and then eat pizza while being trounced at pool by the shark over there.’ He nodded to Annabel, who had honed her pool skills with her dad since she was twelve. ‘So let’s pick something!’
Jonah sat forward. The TV had come on to a rolling news channel, with the sound down. ‘Put the volume up.’ There was footage of a ship, with what looked like a small submarine on the deck. The footage was interspersed with shots of dour heads-of-state looking terribly serious.
‘I heard about this earlier,’ said Never as he complied and raised the television volume. ‘They found a submer
sible drone attached to one of the main transatlantic comms cables. Russia and North Korea are blaming each other, but there’s a theory that some investment company spotted a pattern in share prices the last time there was a big Internet outage in Asia, and wanted to create something similar.’
‘The drone was capable of severing the cable?’ said Annabel.
‘Yeah,’ said Never, but he shrugged. ‘It’s not as big a deal as you’d think. Accidental cuts happen all the time. Anchors get snagged, old debris gets tangled up. There are thirty ships that spend all their time maintaining these things, and they fix cuts every week. One cable going down makes no difference, but now and again, a clusterfuck of accidents sparks panic because it actually slows down network traffic. People can’t watch Netflix in high definition! Riots on the streets! To really knacker the system you’d have to cut every cable in multiple places at the same time, and even then it’d be up and running within days.’
‘So why’s it such a big deal?’ said Jonah.
‘It’s not, really,’ said Never. He glugged his beer down and went to get another. ‘This is all symbolic reaction. When there’s a little spate of accidents that’d normally go unreported, adding one more on purpose – and knowing it’ll happen – lets someone stir up shit. North Korea can embarrass the West, say, or Russia can distract from some dodgy crap they’re pulling. Or a global company can make a killing on stocks. Whichever. Just keep your fingers crossed that the submersible doesn’t have a “made in the USA” stamp on it.’ He grinned, returning with his second can and flopping back down into his seat.
Jonah was watching the news, looking utterly morose.
‘For fuck’s sake, put the frown away!’ said Never. ‘We’re less than a minute in, and you’re already breaking the rules!’
Jonah shook his head. ‘Every time I look, the world feels like it’s turning to shit.’
‘The world always feels like it’s turning to shit,’ said Annabel, smiling. ‘Humans are primed to think they’re living in the worst time ever, because they’re primed to think everyone else has it better than them. Even the people in the past had it better, hence the world must be getting worse.’
‘Meanwhile, they have a crisis if their broadband goes down for more than a minute,’ said Never. He flicked away from the news and brought up the available movie rentals. He highlighted one. ‘I’ve heard good things about that, any objections?’
‘Oh look,’ said Annabel. ‘An action movie featuring a surprisingly tough yet attractive woman!’ She looked to Jonah, and managed to get a smile from him.
‘Are we allowed to mention Sly?’ Jonah said.
‘Yes,’ said Annabel, grinning. ‘Since it makes Never blush.’
‘Quit it,’ said Never. ‘Let’s pick our movie and sink into a relaxed stupor.’
‘Truth or dare!’ barked Annabel.
‘Truth!’ said Jonah. ‘How are you getting on with Sly, Never?’
‘That’s not how the game works,’ said Never. ‘Can’t we just focus on picking?’
‘Shut up and answer,’ said Annabel.
‘OK,’ said Never, sagging somewhat. ‘I like Sly. We get on very well. She’s made it very clear I’m not her type. I’ve met her type, actually. We went out with a few of her friends.’
‘Sly let you meet her friends?’ said Annabel.
‘Oh God yes,’ said Never, almost with a shiver. ‘Let’s just say it wasn’t the most comfortable night of my life. Thank Christ they were interested in the FRS – well, the gruesome parts. If I’d talked about the stuff I spend most of my time doing, they’d probably have beaten me to death out of boredom. It gave me an insight into why I’m not her type, though. She prefers guys who can crush rocks with their eyelids. I suspect she enjoys my company because she finds it quaint.’
‘You are quaint,’ said Annabel.
‘Cheers.’
‘And do you still . . .’ She batted her eyes. ‘Harbour feelings?’
‘It’s the When Harry Met Sally thing, right?’ said Never. ‘A man and woman can’t just be friends, unless the man knows the woman would literally garrotte him if he ever came on to her.’
Annabel narrowed her eyes. ‘I don’t recall that part,’ she said. ‘You must have watched the Director’s Cut.’
‘So,’ said Jonah. ‘When did you two last meet up?’
‘Three weeks back,’ said Never.
Jonah nodded. ‘And did she have anything to . . . you know. To report?’
‘First off,’ said Never, ‘I would’ve already told you if she had. Second, we’re not talking about any of that shit. But no, she didn’t have news. Which is always good. We had lunch, and a laugh, and I had my little heart broken all over again.’ He pouted extravagantly. ‘Now pick a fucking movie.’
*
After the film, Jonah went to put the pizzas in the oven while Never volunteered to get some wine.
‘Just get something red,’ said Annabel. ‘Don’t agonize.’
‘You know me,’ said Never. ‘It’ll be fine.’
He’d volunteered because he loved the house Annabel had bought, and he wanted the excuse to explore the place.
At its core was a building erected in 1893, above the workings of a failed copper mine – the owner had been a man who paid through the nose for mineral rights after locating what he’d thought to be a rich seam of copper ore in a region that supposedly had almost no copper deposits. A year of drilling and a hundred tons of ore later, and the seam had gone. What was left amounted to about three hundred feet of tunnels and two caverns. The core building felt like something Edgar Allan Poe would have written about, bare stone walls that had the feel of a medieval castle to them, and, in 1978, a new survivalist-leaning owner had decided to extend outwards and down using the blandest forms of construction known to humanity – poured concrete and cinder blocks. The result was bizarre. That was why Never liked it so much.
It was situated in the Radio Quiet Zone, a hundred-mile-square area near a major radio astronomy site, which strictly limited radio emissions to avoid interference with the observatory. The region had long been a draw for those with slightly quirky ideas on how badly radio waves could affect people, although as cellphones were essentially banned in the area, people came to live there for the sheer freedom from constant communication. Given the way the new owner had altered the house, Never reckoned he was definitely more of the tinfoil-hat variety.
The house even had its own nuclear shelter, in the lower of the two caverns, and while the shelter was an unsophisticated metal box with basic air filtration, the simple fact of its existence seemed unbearably cool to Never. Sure, it smelled a bit like old socks inside, but the only thing he could think of that might beat it was owning a Second World War submarine.
The wine cellar was part of the old mine tunnels, just inside the tunnel entrance in the lower basement, one level down from the games room. In the wall of a short spur, thirty-two large holes had been drilled. When she bought the house, filling them had been one of Annabel’s first actions. She’d asked Never how much he knew about wine, and Never had laughed.
‘As far as I’m concerned there are two types of wine,’ he’d told her. ‘The stuff I like, and the stuff I’ll drink anyway.’ He hadn’t been kidding.
When she’d told him not to agonize over choosing one to go with the pizza, she had almost certainly been taking the piss.
He went downstairs and through the lower basement, with a home gym in one corner where he knew Jonah spent much of his time now. His friend had bulked up a little, weights and exercise probably the thing that had been keeping him from going under in this last year. Certainly, after Winnerden Flats, he’d seemed to blame himself for not being fitter and stronger, as if an extra few pounds of muscle would have made any difference at all to what they’d been through. And even though he was exercising, Jonah still looked like shit – pale, hair cropped with clippers, and dark rings around his eyes. He claimed he was sleeping well, but Never do
ubted it.
The rest of the lower basement was used for storage, and Never tried to ignore what was there – a shitload of bottled water, canned food, box after box of equipment. Torches, medicines, and Christ knew what else. The previous owner was a survivalist, yes, but none of this stuff had been left here. It was all new, and every time Never came down here he’d noticed more of it.
He opened the door to the tunnels. It was a thick metal door, lockable from the other side, and going through it felt like entering some kind of mountain fortress. Yes, he got a kick from that, but it worried him how Jonah thought of it.
He switched on the tunnel lighting and pulled two bottles at random from the drilled wine holes. Both were Italian reds; he took it as a sign and set them on the ground, then took his chance to explore a little further.
He allowed himself five minutes to head down to the lower of the two caverns. It was mostly a natural water-eroded void, Jonah had told him, but it had long been dry. The nuclear shelter seemed like overkill down here – the rock itself was its own shelter, really. The air filtration was all that the cavern lacked, just too many ventilation sources around that would have funnelled radioactive fallout into the space, if the worst came to the worst.
Well, one form of the worst. There were other kinds of Apocalypse, after all.
He got to the shelter and opened it up, popping inside for a little fix of ten-year-old kid adventure. He wondered, as always, if anyone else would be quite as transparently juvenile as he was, coming into this thing.
He hoped so.
He swung the door shut with a huge grin on his face. He’d been in here a few times before; Jonah had seemed a little reluctant to show him the ropes, maybe because Annabel had grown to hate the thing, but Never had insisted. He flipped up the light switch. The shelter had a stack of old lead-acid batteries to power it, charged by a gasoline-driven generator, but for as long as Jonah had lived here it had run off the mains electricity supply instead. The generator had broken down the first time Jonah tried it out, and had become something of a running jibe that Never teased Jonah with constantly – when Never had suggested that Jonah buy a new one on the grounds that there was no way Jonah would ever have the mechanical ability to fix it, Jonah had bristled and sworn that he would. One day soon, Never knew, Jonah would back down and accept his help.
