by J. Thorn
“I said I would not. That is different than cannot,” Deva said.
“The alpha male?”
“Too unreliable. The pack is not what it used to be. The power of the alpha male is waning and I do not know why. He left Samuel and Mara in the cave instead of pushing them further towards the portal.”
Fearing the power of the portal, the alpha male left Samuel and Mara to deal with Major and what was left of the horde.
Shallna huffed, remembering the convergence of Samuel, Mara, the pack and the horde deep inside the cave. “He fulfilled his duty. The pack pushed him to the location.”
“That is true,” Deva said. “But Major and Kole failed, and that has somehow tainted the alpha male and his pack. They have lost power. I hesitate to call upon the wolves again. And even if I did, I would have no way of knowing whether their spirit still resides here.”
“Elemental forces have not hampered Samuel’s procession.”
Deva thought about Shallna’s observation and winced when he realized his underling was correct. “Bring me the orb,” he said.
Shallna’s robes brushed the stone floor within the silent confines. His grey, bony fingers reached out to grasp the orb sitting in a carved case of ivory. Shallna felt the power surge through his body from just the impersonal act of lifting the orb. He carried it with both hands and lowered it into Deva, as he remained seated on the throne.
“The next device must be one of more substance, a force not so easily dismissed. I will summon one that will keep them fixed in the cabin until the cloud gains ground from the west.”
Shallna leaned his face closer to the orb. A purple string of light danced inside, illuminating Shallna’s face with a ghastly glow. His eyes sank back into his skull, and he brought his hands up to cover his mouth.
Deva looked at Shallna and smiled. “This. I will summon this.”
Shallna looked at Deva’s face and back to the orb. He saw a gathering darkness inside. The wicked smile split Shallna’s face and a ragged laugh came through his teeth.
“Yes. Send them, Master.”
***
“Who is she?”
The two candle stubs on the table cast a sickly, green flame inside the cabin. Jack sat on the edge of the bunk, swinging one leg an inch above the floor while Lindsay crept closer to the portrait. She drew her slender finger down the edge of the canvas hanging on the wall and looked at Samuel.
“Mara,” he said.
Lindsay waited.
“She helped me. I mean, she saved me. She forgave me and that put me through the last reversion before it could swallow us both.”
“But she didn’t come through with you,” Lindsay said.
Samuel shook his head and dropped his chin to his chest.
Lindsay turned back to face the portrait. She examined the surface and the texture, guessing it was created many years ago, possibly decades before they arrived at the cabin. Mara’s dark hair cascaded around her face while a gale swept it over her shoulders. Her piercing blue eyes stared back at Lindsay with an intimidating intensity, yet they held a softness she could feel. Mara’s high cheekbones kept her mouth open slightly, as if she were about to whisper a promise to her best friend. Lindsay reached up and ran her fingers through her hair and used the back of her hand to wipe grime from her face.
“She’s beautiful,” Lindsay said.
“She sacrificed herself for me. And after everything I did—” Samuel let the explanation die in midair.
“Were you two—?”
“No,” Samuel said, cutting the question down before it could fully materialize. “We were not.”
Lindsay nodded, and Jack glanced at her long enough to see the sparkle in her eye. He went back to swinging his leg off the edge of the bunk.
“I think she had been through reversions before. At least one. She understood some of what was happening, but not everything.”
“Kind of like you,” Jack said without lifting his head.
“I guess,” Samuel said before turning back to face Lindsay.
“I think I’ve been through one. I guess there could be more that I don’t remember. Have you two thought about it? Can you remember?”
Jack shook his head, as did Lindsay. Samuel waited for any spark of recollection from either and saw none.
“Why is her picture hanging in this cabin? Why does it look like an antique, oil painting?”
Samuel dropped his shoulders and inhaled. He smiled as the conversation steered away from pockets of pain that remained inside his chest.
“A reflection. It’s something the reversion creates, but it isn’t real. At some point, Mara’s portrait will disappear.”
“Why would the reversion hang pictures in a cabin in the middle of a desert in a dying world?”
Samuel nodded, knowing why Lindsay asked and realizing the fact that they were having the conversation was proof of its effectiveness.
“To slow us down. To take our focus off the task at hand.”
“It’s a distraction,” Jack said. “Like a pretty woman in a red dress.”
Lindsay knew she was not wearing red, but could sense the connection all the same.
“Sort of,” Samuel said.
Lindsay sat in the rickety chair on the opposite wall of the bunk. She closed her eyes and stretched her arms, concluding with a wide yawn.
“The day and night confusion thing is the worst. I don’t know when I’m supposed to be tired or how long to sleep.”
Samuel nodded.
“I just want to see the sun for about five minutes,” Jack said.
“Tell us more about her,” Lindsay said. “There has to be something that could help us now: a conversation, anything.”
Samuel hesitated as he considered Lindsay’s motive for asking about Mara, then decided it didn’t make much of a difference. He told Jack and Lindsay about several of his conversations with Mara and what it could mean for them.
Lindsay sat still while Jack spoke.
“The cycle? Does that mean I have to do this again?” Jack punctuated the question by throwing his hands into the air.
Lindsay bit her bottom lip, eyes scanning the floor.
“Are we here to serve in your cycle, or are you here to serve ours?”
Before Samuel could reply, a cascading wall of noise outside the cabin broke the silent black cloud of the reversion.
***
Samuel stood on the threshold, his hands grasping the doorjamb on each side. He was angry, knowing he had again been taken by surprise in a place that did not abide by his set of known rules. Jack stood next to Lindsay and they both attempted to see past Samuel. Lindsay pushed his arms down, forcing all three of them to take one step outside the cabin.
Although it still basked in the reversion’s suffocating mix of clouds and darkness, the endless sands of the desert took on new qualities that could be seen by the naked eye. At the western horizon, where the cloud licked at the earth, a black line wavered over the grey sand. They watched as it expanded outward to the east and toward their cabin. The blackness swallowed the grey tint of the dunes as it crept forward. Samuel detected a swelling rattle, much like locusts protesting against the long summer days.
“What the fuck is that?” Jack asked. Lindsay’s mouth hung open.
“Looks like the reversion is trying harder to keep us in our place.”
It was not until the ink splotch crawled farther toward the cabin that they could determine what it was. Samuel felt Jack and Lindsay retreat back into the cabin. At first Samuel laughed. The distance and perspective played games with his vision.
“Spiders?” he asked no one. Before he could answer his own question, he realized what an understatement it was.
A scientist would have struggled to classify these creatures. The bulbous body and oblong head resembled that of a spider, but the claws appeared borrowed from a crustacean. Coming off the horizon, Samuel imagined stomping them underneath his boot. But as they came closer, the dim sh
adow they cast revealed they were as tall as grown men.
Black eyes flickered with a meager intelligence, and fangs dangled, hungry for a kill. Some of them scuttled sideways, while others propelled their grotesque bodies forward in a straight line, headed right for the cabin. Samuel’s brain struggled to process the scene as wave after wave of the spider-crabs appeared to float over the sand toward them. Most were black as night, with fine hairs covering their entire bodies, pulsing in a nonexistent wind. Lines of drool swung from the open mouths of pointed teeth and long, black tongues swatted the air. Their legs moved rapidly creating a harsh, brittle sound as they approached. They fanned out, flanking the cabin and encircling it within moments. The sight of them forced Samuel to dry heave. He spun to see Jack and Lindsay inside the cabin, the blood drained from their faces.
“Get inside, Samuel,” Lindsay said.
Samuel turned from her and back to the invasion. He could no longer see the greyscale desert. The spider-crabs undulated as a single mass of organic horror underneath the reversion’s cloud. Samuel looked up and felt as though the cloud itself were gloating.
“They won’t hurt us,” Samuel said.
“Dude has lost his mind,” Jack said.
Samuel turned back to them. “They’re like the horde. They’re here to hold us down so the cloud can reach us.”
A wave of relief swept Jack’s face, along with a satisfied recollection he covered with a cough. It sounded like a laugh one might try to conceal inside of church.
“How do you know?” Lindsay asked.
Samuel turned back to the spider-crabs. The first line of them stood facing the cabin, two feet from the door. Samuel could feel the air being moved by their spiny legs. He caught a faint whiff of the puddles forming below their mouths, reminding him of sulfur. The army of spider-crabs bobbed like an angry ocean, fangs bared like cresting whiteheads. They remained fixed, feet locked securely in the sand. Samuel took a step toward the east and a dozen of the closest spider-crabs launched forward. They swung their shiny black claws at him, brushing inches from his face. He saw the length of their fangs and the fury trapped in their obsidian eyes. Samuel lifted another foot before he was yanked backward by the neck.
“Okay. We get it,” Lindsay said, pulling Samuel back into the doorway of the cabin.
The spider-crabs retreated at the same pace as Samuel, falling back into their assigned regiments, bulbous bodies slowly bouncing with anticipation.
Samuel took another look at the eastern horizon and noticed the edge of the reversion’s cloud pushing toward it. He could not be certain, but it appeared the process was accelerating again, and he wondered how much time remained before the cloud ended his quest for the mountain peak. Samuel stepped inside and shut the door. Jack and Lindsay jumped to the lone window, smearing the grime off the cracked panes in hopes of keeping an eye on their captors.
“I think I’m gonna throw up,” Lindsay said.
Jack and Samuel each took a step backward.
“Spiders,” Lindsay said, the word falling from her mouth.
“They’re more like crabs,” Jack said, smiling and winking at Samuel.
Lindsay closed her eyes and sat back down on the chair. She drew deep breaths while wiping a bead of sweat from her upper lip.
“You going to be okay?” Samuel asked.
“For now,” she whispered.
“What are we going to do?” Jack asked.
Samuel looked at him and then at Lindsay before shrugging his shoulders.
***
Shallna paced back and forth, forging a light shadow on the stone where his robes pushed the dust to the side. He glanced at the orb often, entranced by its changing light and color. Deva remained on the throne, tapping a long, thin finger on the edge of the armrest.
“They are fierce,” Shallna said.
“True,” Deva said. “But not very intelligent.”
“More like the horde than the pack?”
Deva nodded. “Their numbers seem to grow exponentially, whereas the horde had limitations.”
Shallna placed his hands on the orb and gazed inside. He stared across the barren desert until his eyes met the reversion’s cloud. Although Shallna could not see the spider-crabs or the cabin, he imagined them beneath the empty, black sky. “If they fail?”
“The spider-crabs?”
“Yes, Master. What if they fail?”
Deva chuckled and waved a hand in the air, as if entertaining a slightly annoying question from a child. “Their job is not to succeed or fail, but to provide the necessary obstacle for Samuel.”
***
Samuel watched through the window as the cloud crawled eastward on its march across the velvet canopy overhead. At times, he wished for a sliver of a moon or the simple flash of one star to punch a hole in the void. As in his previous experience, light no longer seeped upward from the horizon and even if it could, the cloud would claim it as its own.
Lindsay and Jack spent their time sulking and rotating throughout the cabin. When she would stand and stare endlessly at the empty stove, Jack would face the other direction with his head down or buried in his chest.
Without the sun’s journey to mark time, Samuel lost track of it. He used the cloud now, like his own meteorological doomsday clock. It had swallowed half of the sky since they entered the cabin, and the time was approaching when decisions would have to be made. Samuel knew they would not be easy, based on what he remembered from the last time. He rubbed a hand over his growing beard. Samuel could almost smell the coffee and taste the crackling bacon. For whatever reason, he was not afforded those luxuries this time. Samuel wondered whether the lack of hunger pangs was worse than dying of starvation. As always, one look out of the window toward the desert would put all other concerns in perspective.
The spider-crabs amassed in numbers beyond what Samuel thought were possible. His memory flashed back to the horde standing guard, swaying in the silent wind without emotion or purpose. Samuel laughed as he felt a sliver of fondness for them. Compared to the spider-crabs, the horde felt like a welcoming party after a hero’s return.
Samuel missed the empty expanse of the desert sand. He had cursed it back then, before the filthy, black carpet of legs and claws arrived. Samuel remembered the glow oozing from the horizon as it cast a grey haze across the endless dunes. Although he felt the insanity of it all, Samuel longed for that again. He felt a strange comfort in the vast openness of the empty desert and the solitude it brought. The spider-crabs stole that solitude from him even more than the two people now with him. Beyond a ten-foot radius surrounding the cabin, the creatures filled the vista all the way to the horizon. The black legs scuttled and shifted, while claws randomly sprung up in a joust that would end with a hideous scream, one of the few noises able to penetrate the dead air of the reversion. At times, they wavered like heat hovering over the hot sands, but with a more sinister motion.
The sight of the spider-crabs left an unsettling motion in Samuel’s stomach, as if he needed to expel the evil within but could not muster enough strength to do so. He noticed Lindsay would make regular visits to the window and peer out at them, her nose wrinkled and mouth slightly agape. She would retreat the same way each time, with a long, drawn breath that spoke more eloquently than words. Jack showed no interest in the spider-crabs. He muddled around the cabin, rarely speaking and never making eye contact. Samuel didn’t know what the psychological impacts of their imprisonment were or what it could do to the human psyche. He read stories about prisoners of war and realized he would never have been able to survive that. He did not have that will to live, lasting years through the most heinous torture.
“I can’t stay here anymore,” he said.
Lindsay and Jack looked up. Lindsay’s eyes, in her gaunt face, began to water. Jack shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.
“Like we have a choice,” Jack said.
“He’s right,” Lindsay said. “What the hell are we supposed to do about th
at?”
Samuel followed Lindsay’s arm as she pointed at the window.
“When’s the last time you slept?” Samuel asked them.
Jack sat still while Lindsay simply shook her head.
“I know that time does weird shit to our bodies here, but I feel like we need to take a stand. To do that, we need to rest. I think it’s safe to say the spider-crabs have no interest in attacking us inside the cabin. In fact, they’re pretty happy to keep us here until the cloud arrives.”
Lindsay and Jack dropped their shoulders as Samuel explained what they did not want to believe, but had no good reason to refute.
“Should we take turns? Leave someone up to guard the door?” Jack asked.
“From what? You think anything is getting past those gross fucking spiders?” Lindsay asked.
“From the spiders, you stupid fucking broad,” Jack said.
“Listen,” Samuel said. “Let’s all try to sleep and make a decision after that.”
Lindsay nodded while Jack turned around on the bunk so his face was buried in the wall.
“I’ll take the floor,” Lindsay said, her words dripping with as much venom as she could muster.
Samuel drew a deep breath and looked out the window one more time. He was not sure if an answer would come in the visions, or even if the visions themselves would come through their dreams. Samuel realized even mentioning the possibility could taint whatever might come to them naturally.
***
Jack found himself atop a high stool in the midst of the happy hour crowd. He glanced about the place, brimming with loose ties and martini glasses. He blinked and ran a hand along the polished mahogany bar until his fingers came in contact with the condensation dripping from a beer bottle. A mindless and forlorn song from the 1980s played on the digital jukebox in the corner, where two men hovered over it as if the Rosetta stone were underneath. Jack saw a talking head with a story-at-eleven haircut on the television mounted over the cash register.
“Well, well. Lookie here.”
