The Traveler

by Melissa Delport

  I fled then, racing from the house without even bothering to collect my purse or my jacket. Streaking into the night, tears of terror and confusion spilled from my eyes and coursed down my hot, red cheeks. I didn’t stop running until I got home. As I ran hell-for-leather towards my front door I was grabbed around the waist by two strong hands and a shriek of panic burst from my lips.

  “Shhh!” Dex whirled me around to face him and relief flooded through me, my knees sagging. “What happened?” Dex’s eyes were wild with concern and I slumped against him, my tears saturating his black shirt. As I told him about the boys from the party his expression grew darker and darker, his eyes flashing with fury. I never mentioned the eyes I had seen or thought I had seen. I was too scared he would think I was going crazy. But I never forgot them.

  Chapter 3

  The sound of gunfire jerks me from the memory and I watch as the policemen open fire on the two men. I feel a sense of triumph as the first man drops to the ground in a hail of bullets, the ground around him shuddering to a standstill. Too late, before the officers can even take aim, the second man sends two monstrous fireballs hurtling towards them and both police cars explode in a fury of flames. I spare a brief thought for the brave men who were hiding behind them, but the fire-wielder is still approaching and he steps calmly over his fallen comrade. At least they can be killed, I think hysterically. Pushing my fear aside I lean into the sedan and release the safety-clip of the fastened seatbelt. The unconscious man falls heavily to the ground but thankfully the impact wakes him and he starts to stir. I wrestle my hands under his arms and tug frantically, trying to get him out of the car, but he is too heavy. I can hear the screams behind me and I fight the urge to turn around. The black-clad man must be getting close.

  “Wake up!” I shriek, shoving the semi-conscious man’s shoulder, but as he turns his head to gaze at me the effort is too much and he slumps back to the ground. I try futilely for another few seconds but it’s no use. I can’t shift his weight. I turn back and stare in horror and revulsion at the death around me. The black-clad murderer is close enough now that I can make out his expression, or I would be able to, if he had one. He is emotionless - completely dispassionate about this mass slaughter.

  The snow has stopped, the torrent of rain washing it quickly away, but it is still freezing. I can see the plumes of smoke billowing from my mouth as I exhale slowly, the icy hand of fear trickling down my spine.

  “Rachel!” The yell from across the street shakes me from my horrified trance and I glance back to see Joe waving from the news-van, opening his arms helplessly in question. It’s not hard to figure out what he is asking – what the hell am I still doing here in the path of destruction? Glancing briefly back at the approaching man I scramble around the far side of the sedan out of his eye-line and then I race across the water-filled street, my fear lending my feet wings. I can only hope that he doesn’t notice the injured man in the car and simply passes him by. I launch myself into the passenger seat of the van, my heart hammering in my chest.

  “Get us back to the station, now!” I screech and Joe steps on the gas, the van moving away from the massacre behind us.

  “What happened?” Jason asks from behind me and I shake my head. My stomach heaves and I throw open the door just in time.

  “Are you okay?” Joe asks, the van slowing automatically as he focuses on me.

  “Don’t slow down!” I gasp, wiping my mouth with the sleeve of my jacket, “Just keep going Joe. Do not stop!”

  We haven’t gone far when an unmarked black van streaks towards us, passing so close that it smashes off our wing mirror and then screeches to a stop behind us. Joe brings our own van to a stop, cursing under his breath. Almost immediately, a group of black-clad men emerge from the other vehicle. I stiffen, but then I realize that they are holding military rifles and wearing helmets and relief washes over me. One of the men approaches Joe’s door and raps sharply on the glass and I see that his uniform is actually a dark grey.

  “You all okay?” The team is obviously SWAT.

  “Yeah,” Joe nods his head. He glances up at the rear-view mirror and stiffens just as a shout hails from the SWAT team behind us. I swivel to see the fire-wielding man advancing. He is still quite far away, but as I watch through the large back window, another three men join him, appearing from the alleyways alongside the street, all wearing the same black tunic.

  “Keep your heads down,” the SWAT leader advises, spotting his targets and rushing back to his teammates.

  The SWAT team move with uncanny stealth, some making their way around a nearby building and a few taking up position behind abandoned vehicles, all in perfect unison. From our vantage point we can see the silent signals that the leader is giving his men, and I watch, fascinated by how in sync they all are with one another. They move with purpose and no hesitation. Jason and Kate are crouched on either side of the back window. Jason is watching them too, but Kate is facing me, her head in her hands. We crouch low in our seats as the invaders get closer, praying fervently that they don’t see us. We are too close to the ambush to risk driving away; we would be attacked instantly – probably blown to pieces by a fireball just like the NYPD officers.

  The SWAT leader signals to his men as the enemy reach a distance of about thirty feet away and one of the snipers fires, a single shot that hits its mark right between the fire-wielder's eyes. He drops to the ground and Joe fist-pumps the air next to me. I turn to stare at him and he shrugs.

  “Don’t mess with Uncle Sam,” he whispers, but as I open my mouth to retort, the air around us seems to change, becoming charged with pure energy. I peek back at the scene behind us and my mouth drops open. The three remaining black-clad men are standing still in the center of the street and only a few yards away, between them and the SWAT team, is a tornado, a perfect funnel moving purposefully away from them and towards the building behind which most of the SWAT team are hiding. The gale force wind is so strong that our van starts to slide across the street and Kate gives a shriek of fright in the back before Jason covers her mouth with his hand, unnecessarily. No-one would hear her over the howling cyclone. The remaining two snipers cannot even hold their rifles against the buffeting gale and I curse as another fire-user steps forward and hurls a fire-ball at the sniper nearest us. His rifle clatters to the ground as he disintegrates and I close my eyes in desolation.

  The van is still sliding, turning a full one hundred and eighty degrees and coming to a rest against the opposite kerb. We are now facing the battle and Joe and I peek over the dashboard as Jason scrabbles across the floor of the van, appearing in the space between us. He is crouched low on his haunches, his face set in a grim line. The third man in black has his hands out before him, concentrating intently as the earth begins to shudder below his feet. The fire-user is approaching the second sniper a short distance up the street, his back to us. The last man is intent on controlling the tornado, directing it around the building and hunting the SWAT team as they retreat around the far side.

  “I’m going for it,” Jason suddenly whispers beside me, peering through the windscreen and nodding toward the discarded rifle only a few yards ahead of our van.

  “Don’t be stupid!” I hiss, grabbing his arm as he tries to withdraw back between the two front seats.

  “They’re distracted, it’s our only chance.”

  “They’ll kill you! Do you even know how to use that thing?” I add dubiously.

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I can; I’m a decent shot and the principle should be the same.” I glance back at the trio inflicting so much damage and a surge of blind hatred courses through me.

  “Okay,” I nod, although it’s hardly as if he needs my permission. He’s already easing open the back door.

  The sound of rapid gunfire distracts me, but I cannot find the source of the shooting. The three men are still standing and it's no wonder. There’s no way the SWAT team can legitimately shoot anything against that wind, it would be impossible t
o aim with the force of the tornado upon them. On our side of the invaders, however, although fierce, the wind is already dissipating as the tornado moves away from us. I watch, my heart in my throat, as Jason creeps toward the discarded rifle keeping his head low and his eyes trained on the backs of the three black-clad men. He is completely exposed out in the open. If any of them turn around nothing will save him. My brain is whirring trying to come up with a plan to help him. Between the noise of the tornado, the earth’s quaking and the gunfire, I'm pretty sure that no-one will hear if we start the engine.

  “Joe, start the car,” I whisper, and he slowly turns the key, nodding solemnly, understanding my plan. I can hear Kate’s terrified rapid breathing in the back and I sympathize, but we have to do something.

  Jason reaches the rifle and lifts it, examining it for a moment before peering through the scope and then he swiftly crosses the street, taking cover behind a small hot-dog vendor cart. It won't offer any protection if they pinpoint his location, but with any luck he will be quick enough that they won’t have a chance to find him. Joe puts the van into gear and eases his foot onto the gas pedal. I become aware that I’m holding my breath. I can still hear the sound of muffled gunfire but it is less than before and the three men before us haven’t moved.

  The volley of fire that resonates as Jason finally squeezes the trigger is much louder and I watch as the first man falls to the ground. The tornado dissipates only a second later and in the same instant, the remaining two spin around searching for the new threat. Jason’s next assault tears through the second man, his body convulsing with each impact, and then he too collapses, leaving only the fire-user standing. His face darkens in rage.

  I glance across to see Jason fumbling with the rifle’s automatic mechanism. “Hurry!” I hiss under my breath as the man’s awful cold gaze fixes on Jason’s location. “Dammit!” I don’t give any thought to what we are about to do, all I know is that we have to distract the man who is now holding a burgeoning, red-hot fireball in his hands. “Go!” I scream and Joe rams his foot on the gas, the tires squealing in protest as they battle to find purchase. Smoke billows from below us and then we surge forward, racing right for the enemy who turns to face us, an evil smile playing about his lips.

  I sense we are not going to make it in the same instant that I see three SWAT team members inch around the far side of the building they were using for cover. Joe slams on the brakes and the van screeches to a halt. I watch, mesmerized, as the man starts to wave his hand in the air, the ball of flames circling around and around over his head as though attached to an invisible lasso. As I clap my hands over my eyes blocking out the terrifying sight, I hear a short spurt of gunfire and then Joe whoops beside me. I remove my hands and open my eyes. The fire-user is prostrate on the ground, surrounded by the three SWAT members. I am not sure which of them is responsible for his death, but they all look extremely pleased with themselves. I turn to see Jason jogging back towards us and, as he clambers inside, Joe claps him approvingly on the shoulder.

  “What happened?” I ask, and he shakes his head.

  “I’m not sure,” he holds out the rifle, which he has brought with him, “might be out of ammo, might be jammed.”

  “I thought you knew about guns!” Joe exclaims.

  “I do, a bit,” he answers, “we did that documentary last year, remember? They let us shoot at a target. Those were handguns, though. Military rifles are a bit different, apparently.”

  “You mean the shooting range where you missed every shot?” I ask incredulously, a smile tugging at the corner of my lips. “In that case you should’ve let me do it – I was much better on that range than you were.”

  “I only let you beat me,” he grins. “I was trying to get into your pants.”

  The SWAT leader approaches us barking into his two-way radio and raises his head as the sound of distant gunfire reaches us. He comes to stand at my window.

  “Are you all okay?” he asks and I nod. “Thank you,” he adds, “it’s not often we rely on civilians to save our asses.”

  “What do we do now?” I ask.

  “You better get out of here. The army is shutting down the city; everyone is being ordered to stay indoors. It’s a military siege,” he adds, a grim expression on his stern face.

  “They can be killed,” Jason waves his hand at the bodies on the street, “do you think you can beat them?” The older man shakes his head dejectedly.

  “They took out almost my entire team. Would’ve been all of us if it weren’t for you folks. The information feeding through,” he shakes his two-way radio, “indicates that we’re not having better luck elsewhere. We’ve lost contact with more units than we can count.” Vaguely I become aware that the sound of gunfire has gone quiet.

  “How many more of them are there?”

  “Thousands.” The word hangs in the air. The implications are too ghastly to comprehend. Annihilation. That’s what it boils down to.

  “Guys!” Joe’s furious hiss from beside me draws my attention from the SWAT leader. I follow his gaze to see more black-clad figures emerging from every direction.

  “Fall back!” the SWAT leader yells and his remaining two men dash back around the building. “Get out of here; get indoors!” he bangs the door of the news-van, before he sprints after them. We don’t need to be told twice. Joe slams his foot on the gas, making a tight U-turn and then we are once more hurtling down the street.

  Chapter 4

  We streak toward Times Square and are only a few blocks away when disaster strikes. The lightning and the thunder are continuous. The noise is deafening, making it almost impossible to be heard and the four of us have fallen silent. As we pass an apartment block I hear an almighty roaring, so loud that I feel as though I am standing inside a massive turbine. I crane my neck trying to establish the source of the noise and, as I see it, I scream for Joe to stop and I throw my head down between my legs to protect myself. The van slides over a patch of remaining ice and then comes to a juddering halt. The jetliner smashes into the building ahead of us, cutting right through it as though it were made of paper and not thousands of tons of steel and reinforced concrete. Glass and debris rain down around us and a second later the explosion booms, reverberating through my body and a shock wave of heat whooshes past us. I lift my head, stunned. I can’t believe that this is happening. Aeroplanes don’t just fall out of the sky. I try desperately not to think of all the passengers on board.

  “It’s the end of the world,” Kate is groaning from the back and I swivel around to find her and Jason cowered in the far corner of the van, Jason’s arm flung over her back. His eyes meet mine over his shoulder and I see the fear reflected in the blue depths. A moan to my left shakes me out of my momentary shock and I glance around to see Joe sitting straight back in his seat.

  “Oh my God, Joe!” My hands flutter around him helplessly. A shaft of metal has pierced his chest, pinning him to his seat. Blood is trickling from his mouth.

  “Joe,” I breathe, my voice heavy with despair. Tears prick at my eyelids as I realize that there is absolutely nothing I can do for him.

  “Rachel,” Jason’s low warning comes from the back and I follow his pointing finger. Another man, wearing the same black tunic and holding a fiery ball of flames in his hands is coming down a side street heading straight toward us. Kate is whimpering in the back and Jason is too stunned and intent on the new threat to move, so forcing down my revulsion, I turn and start to pull at the metal that has pierced Joe’s chest. Joe is completely still, his eyes closed.

  “It won’t move!” I yelp, climbing over his prostate body and yanking hard on the metal which is freezing under my fingers. I twist it left and right, trying to ignore the fresh blood seeping from the wound as I maneuver the steel. Eventually, with a stomach-churning sucking noise, the shaft pulls free and I quickly open the driver’s door and throw it outside. I unclip Joe’s safety-belt and push at his body frantically, desperate to get him out of the van as
the fragile grip I have on my self-control begins to unravel. I am panting, gasping for air as my hysteria builds. As Joe’s body finally falls heavily to the tarmac below I slam the door and start the engine, focusing all my attention on these simple actions to keep from breaking down. Risking a final glance at the approaching man, I see comprehension dawning in his eyes and, as we screech off down the street a fireball whooshes past the van, so close that the light burns my eyes.

  Jason clambers awkwardly into the passenger seat and Kate comes to crouch between us in the space between the seats, murmuring under her breath, “We’re going to die.”

  I catch some of what she is saying and I know that she is right. This is Armageddon, the end of the world. Our worst nightmares have come true. I pull my inhaler from my pocket and quickly breathe in the mist – although subconsciously I know that this anxiety attack has nothing to do with my asthma. We are all having the same reaction. Jason is staring at the blood on my hands and shaking his head, trying to deny the truth of what has just happened. We travel in stunned silence for a few minutes before my breathing starts to return to normal.

  “Who are those people?” Jason also seems to have regained some of his composure as we race back towards Time Square.

  “I have no idea,” I answer, looking up at the dark sky, “but they’re not human. They can’t be.” The wind is still howling, pummeling the news-van and making it almost impossible to keep it on course. Most of the snow has melted, but some slick patches of ice remain and I avoid these as best I can. The storm is still raging. I have never seen lightning behave like this. There is too much of it, one crack of light after another; the noise deafening. People are still screaming and racing around the streets. There are no oncoming cars and I wonder briefly why until I see the chasm just in the nick of time, and I slam my foot on the brake. We come to a halt only a few feet from the cavernous edge of an enormous crack in the street. All thoughts of Joe flee from my mind as I survey what can only be described as a canyon before us.