by Sean Platt
Desmond swept the trio of sheets into the trashcan, then turned his notebook to a fresh page. He drew a giant circle, then sketched smaller circles around it to mimic the hive like clusters forming outside.
A hive!
That was it — the bleakers are a hive.
If they were a hive, they had a queen.
And if they had a queen, she had to be somewhere close, or drawing closer.
The bleakers were exploding in numbers. It made sense that something was pulling them in, like ore to magnet.
Desmond groaned, then stood and stretched. He reached down, tore the sheet from his notebook, then crumpled it into a ball and tossed it in the wastebasket.
He left the cubicle, crossed the hotel lobby and pool area, and went into the small gym at the far side of the inn. He hopped on an exercise bike, one of the kind that didn’t need electricity to provide resistance.
Ideas arrived faster in motion.
Desmond rode for three minutes, then dialed the resistance to 4, the highest setting before riding turned to racing, then moved his legs for a few more minutes, skating along the edge of several ideas, but unable to grab a single one, and knowing they were all wrong before he even tried.
He was glossing over something obvious, something that would illuminate truth and steer them clear of danger. Something he already knew had to be useful, something in his memory banks, already discovered then filed away like any of life’s impressions that are irrelevant at the time imprint.
Desmond dialed the bike to 6 and pedaled faster.
Sweat painted his face as the fingers of his mind finally wrapped around the frayed edges of an answer. He hadn’t pushed himself this hard on a bike in months. That old familiar “runner’s high” was kicking into gear. While endorphins stimulated pleasure receptors in the brain, they also had a secondary effect on Desmond, stimulating his creative process. He’d had many of his best business ideas during, or shortly after, a good run or bike ride.
If he could just push himself a little bit harder, a little bit faster, he would find the answers he needed now ... or die trying.
Sixty-Nine
Dog Vader
Earlier that morning ...
Dog Vader paced in a circle.
Where are Luca and Will?
This wasn’t how things were supposed to happen. It wasn’t how it was in his dreams.
It is here. This is bad.
Mary should have been able to understand him, but she couldn’t. He was just a dog to her. But he had to let her know that the soft man was an impostor; the dark one, the thing that made everything black.
“John, it’s time to go.”
Growl … Growl … Growl …
The impostor looked at him with eyes full of hate, then turned to Mary.
A sea of rot hung like a thick fog in the room, putrescence dripped from the impostor. She should have smelled him. But humans didn’t smell things like dogs did.
He had to get Luca to sleep. That was the only time they could talk, or at least it was the only time Dog Vader could say what needed saying and be sure Luca would understand. They had managed alright outside of sleep, at least the first two days, but that was before they found Will.
Of course, they were supposed to meet Will, just not so early. And not like they had.
Jimmy and Desmond joined Mary and the impostor, but Will and Luca were still nowhere. Luca was probably with Paola. Vader wondered if Will was off smoking somewhere.
Jimmy headed toward the stairs, leaving the impostor and Desmond alone.
Growl … BarkBarkBarkBark ... Growl ...
Dog Vader’s barks bounced across the nearly empty hotel. He trotted toward the offices. The problem with humans was answers were usually everywhere and solutions often obvious, yet they rarely opened their minds wide enough to grab them.
Luca came out from the hallway and Dog Vader galloped toward him, nuzzling his knee and rubbing up against his leg.
“I’m happy to see you, too,” Luca said.
Jimmy ran into the room. “You guys are gonna want to look at this!”
He blasted back through the stairwell door. Everyone followed. Luca led Dog Vader by the scruff of the neck, through the door and up to the second floor.
“Christ on a cross,” Desmond said. “When did this happen?”
Dog Vader looked out the window.
The tide was rising. Fast. Too fast. Definitely ahead of schedule.
Dog Vader could feel the impostor soaking in his mounting power.
BARK ... BARK ... BARK ... BARK ...
YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE DOING.
THIS MAN ISN’T THE SOFT ONE, JOHN; HE’S AN IMPOSTOR.
A PLAGUE OF NEVERENDING PESTILENCE.
A STARLESS NIGHT, DROWNING EVERY DROP OF THE PLANET’S LIGHT.
BARK ... BARK. .. BARK ... BARK ...
“Luca,” Will said, “would you mind taking the dog downstairs so we can figure out what to do?”
Luca nodded, then led him by the neck back downstairs.
BARK ... RUFF RUFF ... BARK ... RUFF RUFF
“I’m sorry Lord Vader, but I can’t help you if you don’t stop and tell me what’s wrong.” Luca tried to listen, but had already forgotten how.
BARK ... RUFF ... RUFF ... BARK ... RUFF … RUFF
THE SOFT MAN IS AN IMPOSTOR. THIS WASN’T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN!
BARK ... RUFF ... RUFF ... BARK ... RUFF … RUFF
Luca looked at him with kind eyes, then sat cross-legged on the floor and petted his hair. It was strange, the way the boy’s cheeks had thinned in minutes. Vader had to talk to Luca. If he could only get him to sleep, everything would be okay. But the boy wouldn’t sleep until night. And given how much was going on, he might not shut his eyes until later in the night.
Vader didn’t know if they’d have that long before the bad man did something horrible.
“You’re a good boy, Vader, er, I mean Kick.”
Paola opened the stairwell door.
“Hey,” Luca said.
“Hey,” she said. “Wanna play Blokus?”
“No,” Luca said, shaking his head, “I don’t like playing it with just two people. Besides, Blokus makes me miss home most.”
Dog Vader whined.
“How about Monopoly?”
“I’m not really very good at that game,” Luca said as he looked down. “I’m okay, but sometimes it’s hard when the numbers get big. How about Battleship?”
“Okay,” she agreed, “but only four games. Then we’re playing two games of Sorry and three of Konexi.”
“Why do you get an extra game?”
“It’s called interest,” Paola said, then laughed. “Now come on!”
Dog Vader whined.
“I’ll be back, okay, Vader?”
He whined again.
“You can come, but you won’t have fun,” Luca said. “I can’t pet you when I’m trying to concentrate.”
More whining but Luca wasn’t getting the message.
“Okay, you can sit with us. But don’t expect any attention!”
Vader trotted behind Luca and Paola, then sat beside the boy as they unboxed their game of Battleship.
Dog Vader could feel that he was in grave danger. The impostor would end him the second he had the chance. He wouldn’t be reckless, or do anything in front of anyone else. For the moment, Vader was safe, but that moment would fade and time wasn’t smiling.
If he was going to die, so be it, but he had to go knowing his work was done. If he could warn the boy, at least it would be something. Not many like him were left, breathing bridges between what had happened and what was about to.
He had to get the boy alone and snoring, which usually wasn’t hard in the middle of the afternoon. But too much commotion was present with the other kids.
BARK ... RUFF RUFF ... BARK ... RUFF RUFF
“Stop it, Lord Vader!”
BARK ... RUFF RUFF ... BARK ... RUFF RUFF
“I mean
it! If you don’t stop barking you can’t play with us anymore.”
Growl … Growl … Growl …
Dog Vader trotted toward Desmond, standing at the front of the lobby. The black things were outside, but had moved back a bit, making the people less afraid that the things would storm the hotel. Dog Vader watched the things, then watched Desmond watching the things. He didn’t want to interrupt Desmond. He could tell that the man was figuring out something. Desmond could smell stuff better than the rest of them, even Will, at least in his own way. They both stood there for nearly 10 minutes. He could sense that Desmond was close to discovering what Vader already knew.
He wondered if Desmond could understand him. He was the most intuitive of the group, other than Luca.
If Desmond could understand him, then Dog Vader would be willing to tell him everything he needed to know. He couldn’t wait any longer; he had to get Desmond’s attention.
BARK... RUFF RUFF ... BARK ... RUFF RUFF
“Not now, boy,” Desmond said.
BARK... RUFF RUFF ... BARK ... RUFF RUFF
Desmond moved his gaze from the window to the dog, then dropped to one knee. “What is it?” he said. “What do you know?”
BARK ... RUFF RUFF ... BARK ... RUFF RUFF ... THE SOFT MAN IS AN IMPOSTOR, A PLAGUE THAT WILL RUIN EVERYTHING. HE IS A STARLESS NIGHT THAT WILL SLOWLY FADE UNTIL THE SKY IS AS BLACK AS HIS INSIDES! ... BARK ... RUFF RUFF ... BARK ... RUFF RUFF
“You smell something,” he said, then stood and shook his head. “Me, too.”
“Lunch!” Mary called.
Desmond walked toward the bar and Dog Vader followed. They were halfway there when the impostor and Jimmy entered the lobby.
BARK ... RUFF RUFF ... BARK ... RUFF RUFF RUFF
“Maybe we should put the dog in one of the rooms,” the impostor said.
“No, he’s okay, right, boy?” Luca tried to soothe him.
BARK ... RUFF RUFF ... BARK ... RUFF RUFF ... RUFF
Desmond said, “Maybe John’s right. Just for lunch. Okay, buddy?”
“Okay” The boy looked down, then over at Dog Vader. “Come on,” he said.
The impostor turned to the group, “I’m going to keep watch on the second floor if you don’t mind. I’m a bit worried about what’s happening outside, and not too hungry.”
“Sure thing, John,” Desmond said.
Luca led Vader to the far side of the kitchen, opened the door, gently ushered him inside, patted him on the head and said, “See you soon!” then closed the door behind him.
This couldn't be it.
This couldn't be the end.
Vader barked, hoping Luca would come back.
The impostor would be coming soon. Dog Vader had to stay alive, at least long enough to get to the boy’s dreams, where everything would be okay and he could finally tell him everything; finally finish what he’d been brought along to do.
Vader pawed at the outside door.
Maybe he could get everyone’s attention if he could get outside and circle back to the front of the hotel. He never should have let Luca lock him inside the kitchen. It was only a matter of time before...
The doorknob turned and the door swung wide.
He smelled the air, but nothing was there.
No ... something was there: faded ... tired ... dehydrated ... rotten.
The impostor entered the kitchen and leaped at Dog Vader, before he’d even had a chance to growl.
Dog Vader’s world went dark.
Seventy
Charlie Wilkens
Oct. 19
Morning
Pensacola, Florida
“Who the fuck are you?” Bob said, rising from the floor, buttoning his jeans.
“Boy, you ain’t a good listener; I already told you my name was Boricio. I know class was in session, so that must mean you were staring out the window. I sure hope you don’t get held back, but rules is rules, and your attention span might not leave Mr. Boricio with much of a choice.”
Charlie stared at Callie, on the ground, sobbing. Bob had tried to rape her, which made Charlie wonder if he saw what he’d thought he saw in the pool. Perhaps Callie wasn’t a willing participant, after all. It wasn’t like he hung around long enough to get a good look. He’d been so disgusted by the thought of a girl he liked being with Bob, he ran. Now, as he looked down and saw the look in her eyes, he felt horrible. If Bob was raping her then Charlie could, no should, have done something. Instead, he fled like a pussy.
“What the hell is going on here, Charlie?” Bob said, face red and eyes aflame.
“Why don’t you tell me?” Charlie said, his voice a third as confident as he wanted to sound. He imagined returning to slap Bob into place, armed with the barrel of motivational speeches Boricio delivered over several hundred miles.
“The only way to get power,” Boricio had said on the ride to Florida, “is to step to the fuckin’ plate and swing your bat in its fat fuck of a face. That’s how shit’s done on Team Boricio. Fuckers who don’t like it get squashed.”
Charlie agreed. He’d been scared of bullies his entire life. Now was his chance, to take control of his life, courtesy of Boricio. He felt like he could do it, felt brave all the way to the house, through the front door, and even up the stairs. But now, seeing Bob again, some part of him fell into the familiar role — where Bob was the man of the house, and Charlie, the bitch. A familiar, and Charlie realized with some sickness, comfortable role. After all, if someone else were responsible for keeping you down, you couldn’t blame yourself when life was shit.
“Take your little friends and get the fuck outta here,” Bob said in an annoyed voice, pointing at Charlie, and completely ignoring Boricio.
“I’m not leaving without Callie,” Charlie said.
Bob laughed.
“Ha! You think she likes you? The minute you were out the door, she was on my cock like a dirty whore.”
“That’s not true!” Callie cried, “He drugged me.”
“Drugged you?” Boricio said, mock indignation on his face, “Bob, Bob, Bob, I’m shocked. A big stud like you needs to drug a lady?”
Bob said nothing, probably hoping he could will Boricio from existence.
“Come on, Callie, we’re getting out of here,” Charlie said, holding out his hand.
“She’s staying,” Bob stepped between them.
Callie stepped around him, then rushed toward Charlie. Bob reached out, grabbed her by her hair and yanked her back. She screamed out as she fell to the ground, still in Bob’s grip like a dog on a leash.
“Let go of her,” Charlie said, stepping forward meeting Bob’s enraged eyes. He wished Boricio had let him bring a weapon, but he said he had his reasons, and it wasn’t like Charlie could argue.
“Or what? You’re gonna have your goons beat me up? I’ve got a better idea; why don’t you and your little butt buddies go back to whatever queer, little fuck fest you got going on?”
Boricio laughed, “Goons? Hey, pardner, I resent being called a goon. I’m fucking captain of this team. Besides, I’m pretty sure Charlie can take care of you just fine. Us boys are just here to watch. You know, though if you’re interested in some butt buddy shit, I’m sure we can accommodate you, handsome.”
Boricio winked playfully at Bob.
“Don’t make me tell you again,” Charlie said, trying on a bravery that felt five sizes too big. “Let go of her.”
Bob stared, then glanced at Boricio and Adam, who hadn’t budged. “Fuck you, kid. She’s not going anywhere.”
Callie pulled away, this time successfully, stood up, and ran to Charlie. “Fuck you!” she screamed.
Bob came at Charlie.
Charlie, recognizing Bob’s intent too late, dodged, but not quickly enough.
Bob’s fist slammed into Charlie’s forehead, sending a bolt of thunder between his temples, though Charlie was sure it would have hurt far worse if knuckles had landed on his nose.
Bob fell forward with the momentum of
his swing. He regained his balance then scurried out the door and toward his bedroom. Charlie raced after him, seeing Bob’s target a moment later: a pistol on the dresser.
No!
Panic ignited the fuel in Charlie’s veins. If Bob got the pistol, Charlie was done for. He could hear Boricio and Adam following behind him, but he was the only person who could stop Bob in time.
He reached out, grabbed the collar of Bob’s shirt and yanked back, causing them both to roll to the floor.
Bob cried out as he hit his head on the dresser. His eyes met Charlie’s, full of a fiery hate Charlie had only glimpsed before now. If any doubt had been in his mind that Bob wanted to murder him, it evaporated that second.
Bob kicked out, hitting Charlie in the chest, clearing his lungs of air and sending him reeling back into the bed.
Bob stood quickly, grabbed the gun and took aim at Charlie, who closed his eyes and waited for death. But instead of a gunshot, he heard a thunk followed by a scream.
Charlie opened his eyes.
Bob had dropped the gun.
Boricio’s bat was on the floor beneath him.
Boricio had thrown the bat at the gun. “Okay,” Boricio said, looking down at Bob, “I lied. I helped him just this once. Now you’re on your own, Charlie. Take that fucker out.”
Bob’s eyes narrowed on Charlie as he bent over to grab the gun.
Charlie dove to the floor, grabbed the bat, and without thought, swung at Bob’s knees. Hard.
Bob fell to the ground in agony, but still held the gun in his quivering hand.
Charlie rolled over and swung again. Harder. As the bat connected with Bob’s right wrist, a sickening crunch preceded the gun’s descent to the floor. Bob cried out, left hand now cradling his broken right one.
“You fucker!” he wailed, threads of saliva stretching across his wide-open mouth.
Callie, who had just entered the room, ran past them, then grabbed the gun and aimed it at Bob, who sat, hunched over, crying, “I’m gonna fucking kill you, you little brat.”
