Fireworks

by James A. Moore

  Karen reached out to comfort him. He never even noticed her. His hands worried at the cross around his neck, playing with the cross and clutching at it as if desperate to find strength within the symbol.

  "Daddy? Are you all right?"

  Her father gave no answer.

  "Daddy? Come on. It's time to see Momma." Karen watched her father. A hard lump formed in her throat, and all the swallowing in the world didn't seem enough to make that lump move. Karen reached for him with her hands, but couldn't quite bring herself to touch him. He was scaring the life from her. Despite her fear, she needed to comfort him, if only she could find a way.

  It was like a light switch being thrown. One moment her father's face was a twisted, ugly mask of fury. The next instant the tension flowed away, replaced by a sadness that was painful to observe. His right hand held tight to the cross, and then he pulled down on the delicate gold chain that held the symbol of God close to his heart. The chain snapped. Karen had never seen her father without his cross, not in all the years she'd been alive.

  With a single flick of his wrist, William O'Rourke sent the golden cross sailing through the air. The metal gleamed in the light of the sun where it broke from between the clouds, then winked away into darkness again. It sailed past the edge of Lake Oldman and disappeared into the pit where the waters should have been.

  Karen wanted to catch it before it fell, but there was no way. She stared at her father with wide eyes and felt a deep wrenching sensation in the pit of her stomach.

  William O'Rourke turned to his daughter and smiled sickly. "Let's go see to your mother, shall we?"

  "Daddy, what have you done?"

  "It's nothing I feel like talking about just now, Karen. Let's just be on our way, okay?"

  Karen wanted to say more, but her father turned his back to her, walking towards her car in the distance. She started to follow him when the world went mad around her.

  The ground vibrated. That was the first sign of trouble. From the heels of her feet to the middle of her thighs, Karen felt the strange, angry tremors run through her body. She lost her balance, falling to the ground even as the noise began. It started as a deep hum, so low that she was barely aware of it. Then the sound began to grow, increasing in volume as it ran the range of octaves. Her ears hurt and the sound drove spikes of pain into her head. Karen heard herself cry out, and looked at the ground before her as her vision began to waver. The vibrations grew so intense that she could feel her scalp shaking on her skull. Despite her best efforts, she could not control her eyes in their sockets. They seemed intent on looking at everything at once, which made it impossible for her to focus on anything at all.

  The thunder faded from her ears, but her teeth still shook in their sockets and her vision was still as screwy as a TV set with a bad vertical and a messed up horizontal. She heard the sound of dogs in the distance going into a frenzy, and guessed that the sound was no longer audible to humans. The ground actually bucked beneath her, and Karen was thrown down as she tried to stand again.

  Then the heat came. Just a hint of what it had been on the Fourth of July, but still very intense. Karen felt as if she were a bug under a magnifying glass. Somewhere behind her, a giant child with a malicious heart had set the lens just so, pinning her in a beam of focused light. Karen turned around, despite the warnings her own mind was giving her.

  Behind her, the giant silvery mass of the ship was trying to rise from the ground. The scaffolding around the craft bucked and screamed in protest. The men standing on the structure held on to anything they could grab, clinging with desperation. Even from a distance she could hear many of them screaming in primal fear.

  Karen tried to stand, tried to get as far away from the ship as she could. Each effort to rise ended in failure. Finally she scrabbled across the ground, half crawling and half slithering to get away from the rising silver blade. She was finally making decent progress when the great vibration suddenly stopped.

  The abrupt end to the earth dancing beneath her sent Karen face-first into the ground. After hugging the scorched grass for a few more seconds, Karen turned around to face the massive ship. It looked exactly as it had before. Nothing had changed, except that the gantry around the alien monolith was now in disarray. As far as she could tell, all of the workers were still there, though a few held on precariously.

  "What happened?" It took Karen a moment to realize she was the one who'd asked the question. Her heart still thundered in her chest, and her vision, though no longer jumping, seemed thoroughly off kilter. Her mind screamed back in a panicky voice: It's alive! Whatever that thing is, it's alive! She shut the thoughts away, refusing to accept the possibility.

  Her father's voice answered her query, even as he reached down to help her stand. "I asked a question of God. This was his answer." Karen stared into her father's eyes. All signs of serenity and peace were gone. The man before her might as well have been a stranger. He bore her father's face, but the soul she knew and loved so well seemed to have disappeared.

  William O'Rourke ran a callused thumb across her forehead. She felt a stinging pain where his finger had touched. "You're bleeding, Karen. Let's get you to the hospital."

  5

  Karen drove slowly, nervous and still disoriented after the mini-quake that had knocked her to the ground. A constant stinging sensation ran across her forehead, and Karen looked at herself in the rearview mirror, studying the spot where the wound lay beneath thin cotton. It wasn't a very long cut, but it was deep enough to be bothersome. The only thing stopping the blood from running into her eyes was a kerchief from her purse that was now working as a headband and tourniquet.

  Despite her careful pace, Karen and her father reached the hospital in under ten minutes. It would have been faster, but already people were heading towards the dried remains of Lake Oldman, eager to discover the source of the vibrations. Commotion aside, the high school still looked like the same building where she'd gone to school and cheered at the football games. She expected to see old Mr. Tatum standing in the hallway, not another man in black armor and black clothes. Not another entity without a face, staring straight ahead.

  Karen had grown so accustomed to the guards here staring in silence, that she was almost surprised when this one moved. "I'm sorry, Ma'am. No unauthorized personnel beyond this point." That buzzing quality still unsettled Karen. She felt like she should be used to it by now, but she wasn't.

  Before Karen could respond, her father did it for her. "Karen's my daughter. She's injured. Like as not she needs stitches."

  The guard stood unmoving for a few seconds. "One moment, Pastor O'Rourke." The man touched a spot on his helmet and spoke, but the noises Karen heard were muffled and too soft to understand. After a few seconds, the man nodded and stepped to the side. "You're free to pass."

  "Thank you." If the man heard Karen, he gave no indication. She and her father walked on.

  For the first time since the whole mess had started, Karen walked the halls of her old high school. They hadn't changed. But the classrooms were a different story. Beyond each open door was a series of beds packed closely together. Each bed was occupied, but Karen couldn't see the faces of the occupants, or even their bodies. Thin cotton screens separated the beds, a modicum of privacy for the wounded. Looking around, Karen finally realized that more than one helicopter must have been carrying the medical supplies for the field hospital. Beyond each door at least one attendant stood in a white bodysuit as all-encompassing as the ones on the soldiers. These even bore nametags, which was another surprise after the lack of identifying features on the men in black.

  Karen wanted to stop, to examine the people in the rooms and see if she could match them to any of the people she hadn't seen around town. Paul Cullins, a who lived only a few houses down from her, who was as much a part of her neighborhood as the trees running in front of every house, was one such person. Karen hadn't seen him since the Fourth of July. Just as she was passing the fifth door on her right, i
t dawned on her that she didn't even know if her neighbor was dead or alive.

  Her father turned towards the right, heading in the direction of the cafeteria, and Karen followed automatically. Out of habit long forgotten by her conscious mind, her stomach growled. A second later the old habit was crushed by the smell of sickness wafting from one of the rooms. From off to her left, Karen heard a loud scream. She started, but her father seemed unaffected by the sound.

  Once in the cafeteria, Karen's father led her by the hand to where more people in white environment suits were sitting. One of the figures stood, smiling as Karen's father spoke. "Doctor Hendridge? I'm sorry to bother you, but my daughter was injured a few moments ago. I was wondering if you'd be good enough to take a look."

  Up close, Karen realized that the person in the shapeless suit was female. The woman had dark skin and heavy crow's feet. She also wore very thick glasses. Just the same, the woman walked with confidence and extended her gloved hand in welcome. "Hi, Karen. Your father's told me a lot about you. I'm Doctor Hendridge. I'm in charge of patient relations, whatever that's supposed to mean." The woman had a midwestern accent, and her grip was like steel.

  Karen nodded in recognition of the doctor. "I really feel fine. I just don't like the way the blood is flowing. Could you just check and see if I need stitches or anything?"

  Hendridge smiled again, her voice warm and friendly. "Oh, I think we can do a little better than that." She led Karen gently to one of the hard plastic chairs in the cafeteria and pulled one over for herself. With gentle hands, she removed the kerchief from her brow and began probing the wound. "Nasty, but not bad enough for stitches. You wait right here and I'll get that mess cleaned up."

  The woman had a comforting voice, and Karen felt herself starting to like the woman, despite herself. She didn't want to like the invaders in her home town. She didn't want to know them at all. But having a face and a name for this gentle woman with her easy charm made it hard for Karen to feel aloof. Off in the distance, a high, shrill scream echoed through the air.

  Doctor Hendridge returned with a metallic tray loaded down with gauze and medical supplies. Nothing on the tray was more intimidating than a mild antiseptic. Karen sat patiently as the woman began cleaning the wound, wincing a few times but otherwise remaining perfectly still. After a few moments, the doctor looked at her and frowned. "Looks like I was wrong about the stitches, Karen. This is deeper than I thought. Hang on for just a minute longer, while I go get my sewing kit."

  Her father stood nearby, looking around the room without really seeing anything. "Are you okay, Daddy?"

  "I'm fine, sweetheart. I'm just going to check on your mother." Another scream erupted from the area beyond the cafeteria, and Karen looked on as her father headed towards the noise.

  Hendridge returned again, and Karen looked the older woman in the eye. "So, how did you cut yourself, Karen?"

  "That thing in the lake tried lifting itself out of the ground, least that's all I can figure."

  "You were there when it happened?"

  "We were just leaving, heading over here when it started. I thought I was a goner for sure. You don't expect earthquakes in southern Georgia." The woman laughed politely. Karen built her nerve and asked the question that'd been haunting her since she'd entered the makeshift hospital. "Who's screaming?"

  Hendridge looked at her for a moment, her face impassive, then looked away. "I don't know."

  "Doctor Hendridge, I can't help but think you're not telling me the truth." Karen sat perfectly still as the woman brought a syringe towards her forehead and warned her that there would be a sting.

  "I'm not telling you the truth, Karen. I know exactly who's screaming. But I'm really not at liberty to tell you about any of our cases."

  Karen felt a sharp pain in her scalp, followed almost immediately by a cold numbness. "See, the thing is, I know that voice, Doctor. I know it real well, and I want to know if it's who I think it is."

  "I can't tell you. How's your head feel? Can you feel this?" Karen was vaguely aware of a light thump on her forehead, but she felt it from a distance.

  "Barely felt a thing." Karen heard her own pulse thundering through her body, but it never touched the cold void where she knew she was wounded. A wash of light red liquid spilled down her face, and Karen closed her eyes instinctively as she felt the doctor cover her eyes and nose with a cotton cloth.

  "Sorry about that."

  "Is my mother the one who's screaming, Doctor?"

  "I-I'm not at liberty to discuss that, Karen." The woman's voice sounded weak, softer than before.

  "If our situations were reversed, Doctor Hendridge, would you want me to answer the same way?"

  "No. No, I wouldn't. But I'd understand why you were doing it."

  "I do understand; Doctor. I just don't agree. I haven't seen my mother since the early part of Independence Day." Karen paused as the doctor deftly moved competent hands across her scalp. "I know that she's hurt. I know that she's hurt real bad." Karen tried to remain calm, but the more she thought about the situation, the angrier she felt herself grow. "I just don't know how bad. Put yourself in my shoes, Doctor. Would you accept silence when you were closer than ever before to the answer of your mother's condition?"

  The doctor was silent for several seconds. Then she brought scissors forward and snipped at the air above Karen's eyes. She came back with a pair of tweezers and black thread, along with the scissors. Next she lifted some gauze and held it to Karen's head. Moments later Karen felt the gentle pressure as the woman's hands pressed the tape into place.

  "Three stitches total. Could have probably done it with two, but I like to be safe."

  Finally the doctor's dark brown eyes met with her own. "Yes, Karen. That's your mother." Her voice was very soft, scarcely above a whisper. "She's not doing any better and she should be. You didn't hear a thing from me. Do we understand each other?"

  "Very clearly. Thank you, Doctor Hendridge."

  The older woman was about to reply when a new scream added into the sound of her mother's tired shriek. Even as Karen rose from the seat, a third voice joined in the cacophony. Then came the sound of something heavy hitting the ground.

  Karen moved towards the noise as Doctor Hendridge ran in that direction. A wave of vertigo and nausea washed through Karen, sending her veering off course and delaying her. For a panicky moment she thought she'd lost her way as the room began spinning. Whatever the good doctor had pumped into her scalp was not reacting properly with her system.

  It took a great deal of effort, but Karen finally worked her way down the corridor, staggering past numerous open doors and occupied cots. She needn't have worried about finding her way; the gathering of white-suited forms blocking one of the doors saw to that. Karen watched as more and more of the medical staff pushed into the room beyond the doorway. From inside she heard the sound of her father screaming hoarsely. Another voice joined in, and several cries of outrage came to her ears, though they were muffled by the thin plastic hoods that protected the medical staff from any possible foreign bodies.

  Beyond the mass of bodies, she saw her father's face. His skin was red and his eyes seemed to burn with an inner light. In all the years she'd been alive, she'd never seen her father look more terrifying. Twice in one day, he'd become a madman with cold, hate-filled features. She hoped it never happened again. His face was a contorted mask of anger, marred by a line of blood running from his split lower lip.

  Adrenaline spilled into Karen's system and goosed her pulse into overdrive. The confusion and dizziness that had assaulted her vanished as her senses grew more acute. She heard a man sobbing, heard the sound of flesh slamming against flesh, and then heard the sudden silence as the masculine voice stopped spilling its grief. She was distantly aware of the sound of her own breathing, and in the otherwise still air, she heard the continuous faint screech of a heart monitor warning the world that the person it was attached to had stopped having a pulse.

  The s
emi-quiet lasted for three heartbeats, then the chaos began again. A dozen voices talking at once; a voice screaming out louder than the rest, demanding a shock cart. Calls for units of this and cc's of that. The madness lasted longer than she ever would have expected, and all through it, Karen felt the adrenaline roar through her system, forcing her knees to shake and her hands to quiver. When she couldn't stand it anymore, she forced her way into the room.

  Karen's father leaned against the wall, his anger replaced once again by that blank passionless expression he'd so recently adopted. Tears spilled from his eyes and mingled with blood from his right nostril and his lip. On the ground at his feet, Artie Carlson lay prone, unconscious, on the floor. Off to his right, a living wall of flesh encased in hazard suits surrounded a bed.

  And on that bed, her mother's ruined corpse jolted as a medic applied paddles to the burnt flesh of her chest after screaming "Clear!" loud enough to drown out everyone else.

  Karen stared at her mother's face. She'd been a beautiful woman, but whatever beauty she'd possessed was buried beneath a heavy layer of blistered flesh and medicated gauze. Emily O'Rourke's eyes were open, but they saw nothing at all. The light that had always shone in her blue eyes was gone, replaced by a thick caul of medicine and pus.

  Those dead eyes stared at Karen, accusing her silently of betrayal.

  The room spun. Karen stepped forward, trying to reach her mother. The floor leapt forward and knocked her down, keeping her from her task.

  Then there was darkness, and the only thing Karen heard was the sound of her own silent screams mingling with the panicked call of the heart monitor.