Waking Light

by Rob Horner

  The three of us turned to regard one another. Could this be how the news would present a case of a school being overtaken by the demons? Especially if the ones providing the news wanted to avoid spreading any knowledge of their existence?

  "Now, I want to caution everyone here not to be too concerned about this." Lisa's voice took on a lower tone. "While these reports do seem to be increasing, there are patterns in them that law enforcement officials have told us indicate something other than child abductions. They are clustered, for one thing. One school in a city might report thirty missing kids in a day, while every other school has no problems. Of those thirty reports, all but one might be canceled within hours. And while the final report may remain open, it’s because the parents don't know to call back and let law enforcement know their child has returned home safely. The detectives who follow up the next day will find the child safely at school."

  My mind provided a still shot of the demon pressed to the ground, three others gathered around, arresting the person. Crystal said one of them was yellow, working with people who glowed white. Could they have anything to do with the missing people? Were all the missing people demons?

  Or was it more likely that the kids were being converted at school and not immediately going home? Their parents would report them missing, until they were also converted, at which time they'd cancel the report. Or perhaps there never was a canceled report, just a police precinct finally converted and the demon officers essentially saying Move along, nothing to see here.

  "So, while the reports of missing children have increased, most are revoked within hours. Keep that in mind when you watch your local news tonight, ladies and gentlemen. A bunch of kids missing is a headline, while a bunch of kids hanging out with their friends and just forgetting to tell mom and dad where they went after school doesn't make for an exciting story."

  She perked up in her seat, a smile forming on her face, "And with that, we're going to take a commercial break. When we come back, we'll have more from the expanding front lines of our military action in Iraq."

  "I don't want to see any more," Mrs. Fields said, and the television darkened.

  "I saw the yellow people," Tanya said immediately, "mixed in with a bunch of people glowing white outside the Vatican," which brought a smile to Crystal's face.

  "You were right," I added.

  "What does that mean?" Mrs. Fields asked. "And more importantly, does it change anything?"

  "What do you mean, Mom?"

  "What does it mean that there are yellow people? And what does it mean that so many strange things are happening in so many places, and there are yellow people there, too?"

  The two girls looked to me. I cleared my throat and said, "I don't think we're going to able to figure out what the yellow means until we find one, and it shouldn't stop us from trying to do what we can tonight."

  "But what if finding the box and destroying it doesn't fix everything?" she asked.

  "Maybe it won't. But if it stops the spread of those things in this area, then it'll accomplish something," Tanya answered, which was good enough for me.

  By a quarter after five, we were ready to leave. Our patience was frayed to the point where we would soon be snapping at each other if we didn't get on with getting something on, and we needed to avoid that. Despite all the smiles, there was a definite frostiness between Crystal and Tanya, which would probably have been there no matter which one of them had a "claim" on me. I don't think it was actual jealousy over me; it seemed more like Crystal was envious because Tanya had someone she could hold onto, while all she was left with was a hug from Mrs. Fields and a short walk to the car which would lead her into uncertainty and danger.

  My hug from the house mother was slightly longer, and included a fiercely-whispered, "It makes me so happy to see you and Tanya together, finally. Now you bring yourselves back to me."

  No woman has ever hugged me like my mother, and I'm generally a little claustrophobic when it comes to anyone else trying to act like one to me. But this felt genuine and true, a little honest love from a woman who maybe thought of me a little like a son...or like a future son-in-law.

  "I'll do my best," I said. She wanted more, I'm sure. A promise I couldn't give. She squeezed me tighter for a second, maybe wanting to push for that promise. But she let go finally, and in her eyes was understanding.

  Tanya's good-bye took the longest. Mrs. Fields understood the necessity of our actions, probably better than any of us. Even if she couldn't consciously remember being possessed, there had to be some lingering sense of violation, perhaps so private she hadn't wanted to talk about it. But just because she understood it didn't mean she was willing to let her only child go out and fight.

  Their back and forth dance on the porch, as Tanya escaped one embrace only to be pulled back in, was something any family member who's ever sent a loved one off to war would recognize. That fierce love, burning pride, and desperate need to hold on just a moment longer, was plain to see.

  And then we were in Tanya's car, and the Fields' house dwindled in the mirrors.

  It would be almost a year before I entered that home again.

  Chapter 28

  Cue Mission Impossible theme music

  It took almost thirty minutes to navigate the five o'clock rush hour traffic back to the coliseum, then another ten minutes waiting through the stop and go outside the parking lots, as people pulled up to a small ticket booth set up just off Mercury Boulevard. In the spirit of capitalism, the management of the coliseum was charging the low fee of two dollars for the honor of parking in their lots. Though the carnival had now been open for almost two hours, there still appeared to be plenty of spots available. I doubted that would be the case tomorrow night or over the weekend.

  The young man standing in the booth wore a plain green Polo shirt, without any logos tying him to the carnival. And he was a demon.

  As we took our turn stopping next to the booth, the man leaned out, hand extended, and said, "Two dollars, please."

  I handed him the money with both hands, using the Southern Gentleman Press and Clutch, and willed my power to activate.

  The flash of light came, which I still hadn't figured out how to stop, but it was muted by the daylight lingering in the sky, and I drove ahead as he slumped in the booth. As we made the left turn into the lots, the honking started behind us. If Mrs. Fields was any indication, he might be out for hours.

  "What if someone goes to call 9-1-1?" Crystal asked.

  "Someone might," I answered, "but I think most people will just drive by."

  Tanya gave me a light slap on the shoulder, "When did you become so cynical?"

  In answer, I pointed at the rearview, which already showed me a pair of small cars driving past the booth, one on each side. The next cars didn't even pause.

  "What happens when the lot fills up, if he's not there to close the road down?" Crystal asked.

  I didn't answer, though it was easy to picture the traffic bottlenecked in both directions on Mercury Boulevard, since you could turn into the parking lots from either direction. It wouldn't take too long for people to realize the line wasn't moving, and they'd go looking for other parking options. The delay might keep the crowds a little smaller for a bit, which could only be a good thing.

  Then we were turning, heading into the lots, with the looming coliseum on our right, following the identical route we'd taken two days previously when we came out to practice. The closest spots were taken, of course, but it didn't matter to me where we parked. My adrenaline was up; I was ready for action. My thoughts didn't extend beyond completing what we'd set out to do. I had no escape strategy and didn't miss having one.

  If this worked, we'd be able to leave at our leisure, even if that meant waiting while the police sorted out the congestion at the parking attendant's booth.

  If it didn't work, well, getting out of the parking lot seemed like it would be the least of our worries.

  We joined hands as we exited t
he Pontiac, with Crystal in the middle. The steady flow of people starting the long walk across the parking lots and past the Coliseum consisted of individuals and couples, families with numerous children in tow, the old and the young, every race and several different nationalities. Their clothing was just as varied, from the hardcore wearing shorts, t-shirts, and sandals despite the predicted cool temperatures, to the more conservative in jeans and sweaters. No one glowed any color, not white, red, or yellow.

  When we visited two nights before, I hadn't looked for the trailer park, but this time was different. I kept my head turning, neck craning, as we navigated the narrow lanes to the parking area. I still almost missed them, but a flash of something of the corner of my eye caused me to turn and look on the other side of the coliseum just before the building itself blocked my view. It was there, at the back end of the carnival midway. We could try to go around the carnival, but that had many of the same concerns as dropping in from the air. Better to stick with our plan and work our way through. Maybe we could reduce the overall threat by curing people along the way.

  We walked fast, though not much faster than anyone else, so we didn't stand out. As with the approach to any amusement park or fair, carnival or winter festival, the excitement of the moment took over, the childlike impatience to hurry up and get there. Even for us, intent upon something very different than wasting money and having fun, that excitement was there. It was visible in the sparkle in Tanya's eyes and the smile on Crystal's face, in the bounce in our step and the way Tanya jumped off a curb rather than step off it.

  The sudden brilliance of multi-colored lights dazzled as we rounded the coliseum, the glowing, inviting entrance to the midway only a few dozen yards ahead of us. Music reached out to us, unintelligible at this distance, but swiftly growing louder. A stray breeze carried with it the scent of popcorn and cotton candy, hot dogs and funnel cakes. The smells came and went, like the first hesitant tendrils of fog, until we were fully engulfed, and by then it would have felt strange to not smell the different foods.

  Likewise, the lights, running in chasing lines along the arch over the entrance to the midway, cascading along the frames of numerous rides, encircling the giant scale of the weight guesser, invited the throng, for who doesn't want to be surrounded by bright lights when night surrounds them? The lights fought and overpowered the lowering darkness, claiming victory through sheer numbers and variety.

  Even before reaching the arch, the music made normal speech impossible. Information Society blared from one set of speakers, while another pushed Janet Jackson to prominence, and a half-dozen barkers vied for attention, straining vocal cords as they yelled into microphones, advertising foods, giving safety instructions for rides, or taunting people into trying their games.

  The masses of people huddled, forming three semi-orderly lines, waiting to buy All-You-Can-Ride wristbands or individual tickets. The prices seemed reasonable: fifty cents per ticket, or ten dollars for a wristband. I remembered most of the rides taking at least three tickets, while the more-thrilling rides like the Klystron and Musik Express each asked for five. The wristband was a bargain. The food trucks and games were all independent contractors and didn't accept tickets; they operated solely on cash.

  My first inclination was to queue up at the back of the nearest line, a reflex taught to us from our very first days in school. Tanya yanked on Crystal who pulled me away.

  "We aren't intending to ride anything, are we?" she asked.

  Feeling sheepish, I followed the two around the lines and up to the entrance.

  Each line was manned by a demon dressed in Carny skin, wearing carnival blue, while a fourth stood to the side with a small metal click-counter in his hand. He eyed us as we approached.

  "My friend has a heart condition," Tanya said brightly. "So, we're not going to ride anything."

  The look he gave her said he didn't need a reason; if she didn't want to ride anything, that was her business. If she changed her mind later, she'd have to come back out here to buy tickets. It was such a normal look, the kind of thing you'd expect from a guy doing just about the most boring thing he can imagine, counting visitors with a metal clicker, that for a moment, I could almost believe he wasn't a demon. But the red glow didn't lie.

  He nodded us through, and the clicker sounded three times.

  "I thought you were going to save them," Crystal said, but I shook my head.

  "Not with three others there, not unless we don't have a choice," I answered as we crossed under the arch, stepping onto the midway proper.

  The entrance to the carnival led directly into a street of sorts, running right and left and curving away from us, like stepping onto the narrow side of an ellipse, or the curved portion of a capital U. Sandwiching the entrance on the near side were two small food trailers, barbecue on the right and fried dough on the left. The smells were amazing.

  The first thing to catch our attention was directly across from the entrance. It was a Quarter Pitch, one of those games of chance which involved throwing a quarter onto a hardwood platform covered with red circles, each barely larger than the coin being thrown. The rules stated that the quarter needed to land in such a way the red paint could be seen all the way around the circumference, or else it was a losing toss. The odds against winning this kind of game were astronomical, but so were the prizes.

  Well, they used to be.

  There should have been two-hundred-dollar stereos, Nintendo game systems, and twelve-speed bicycles hanging from the upper frame of the square shack. Those kinds of prizes drew the crowds like flies to honey. The only fee to play was the quarter itself, and one lucky throw gave a heck of a return on the investment.

  The usual prizes had been replaced with dozens of large, nearly life-sized, demon stuffed animals. They'd been made up to look glamorous, with gold-flecked scales, silver trim over their heads and down their spines, even some kind of red rock glittering from hollowed eye sockets like rubies, but that didn't change what they were. With my connection to Crystal still secure, the statues glowed just as red as did the barker, a young man with a microphone in one hand and a long, hook-tipped stick in the other, a tool used to place and retrieve prizes from the high rafters. Three other demons moved along behind the low counter, belt and apron festooned with metal coin holders, taking bills from customers and giving them quarters in return.

  The sight of this game sent a shock wave through me, affirming some assumptions and clarifying others. The demons may have reached out to convert some specific people in the media, but for the most part, this first week wasn't a Blitzkrieg attack or invasion.

  It was the start of a siege, a battle of matriculation.

  The demons could stay within the walls of the carnival, literally waiting for converts to come to them in the form of unsuspecting customers out for a night of fun. These demon stuffed animals might not be as cute as last year's gorillas and Mario’s, but they were big. They looked cool. And once the people got their prizes home and took the time to inspect them more closely, it would be game over.

  Something else bothered me, an idea chasing its tail like a puppy in my head.

  I'd seen this game with Crystal just four days before, had even wasted a couple of dollars trying to win something, and these weren't the prizes on offer. The very next day, at my school, there had been enough demon statues for at least two classrooms full of students, and those were just the ones I'd seen. Hours later, it seemed the entire student body, as well as the principal, had been changed.

  My aunt, as well as at least one police officer, and the three men at the park, were also possessed, again less than twenty-four hours after the demons came through the box.

  Just the existence of so many statues, stock-piled and awaiting deployment, meant this wasn't some spur of the moment thing, an attack of opportunity. There was an underlying strategy here, plans made well enough in advance that supplies were already waiting for them when the troops arrived. It brought to mind the news stories we'd s
een, the lights coming down all over the world. Stories of people with strange abilities, like flying over the Black Forest, or breaking all the glass in an area with a single scream, were cropping up everywhere. Equally as prominent were the reports of people having seizures, reports of the presence of demons. The latter was happening so frequently that the heads of churches were calling on the Vatican to legitimize the growing fears of a worldwide populace. There were demons among us; the end was near.

  It all clashed jarringly in my head, a war between the way things were with the way I wanted them to be. This was supposed to be a simple enough matter, for all the fear and danger--a mission which I had chosen to accept. Learn to use my powers, form a team, get back to the box, and destroy it. Once that was done, everything would return to normal. And as a bonus, I got the girl.

  What the news stories and many of my own experiences had failed to do, the sight of this single game of chance, with its horrendous prizes hanging on display, did in seconds. It forced me to accept a frightening truth.

  This wasn't all about me.

  It wasn't just about us.

  We were but a small, maybe even insignificant, part of a greater tapestry of wrongs affecting not just our tiny pocket of civilization, but the entire world. Our fight might be nothing more than one small flame on the burning pyre of life as we knew it.

  "We need to keep moving," Crystal said, tugging at me. "People are starting to stare."

  My face was a frozen mask of despair as I allowed myself to be pulled away.

  "It's a shock, I know," Tanya said, seeing my expression. "But once we get to the box, it'll all be better."

  For a fraction of a second, I almost lashed out. It was there, just under the surface, a need to scream in frustration, shout in fear.

  I wanted to run, take both of them somewhere as far away as we could get, find a hole and jump in, let the adults handle this. That's what they're for, right?