by Sean Platt
It pushed It thoughts harder: Shoot now.
Suddenly, Its connection to Itself in Steven Warner’s body, thousands of miles away, dropped.
Something had happened to Steven. Someone had killed the master organism. It was stunned, weakened, trying to focus on Sullivan, but unable, Its power crippled.
Sullivan was back in control.
He wasn’t sure what had happened to the alien, but he could feel it inside, already trying to reassert control. Sullivan’s mastery of his body was likely short-lived. He leaned toward Ed’s ear, and said, “I’m sorry, Ed. Sorry, I couldn’t stop it. I want you to take the girls and run, run before it gets into you.”
Sullivan put the gun to his head and pulled the trigger.
Fifty-Three
Edward Keenan
Ed jumped at the gunshot, turned back, and saw Sullivan lying on the ground, bleeding out, dead eyes staring up at him.
Upstairs, Becca cried out, surely startled awake by the thunder.
“Dad!” Jade shouted.
Ed turned to his daughter, saw her pointing behind him. Dark strands of alien matter stretched from Sullivan’s open mouth like strings of rope in search of a host.
“Get my bag!” Ed yelled at Jade, keeping his gun on the dark strands as they poured faster, gathering speed and strength.
Jade ran to the back yard and dropped her black bag on the ground. Ed raced to the bag, grabbed an incendiary grenade, then pulled the pin while holding the lever.
Teagan ran downstairs, Becca in hand. Ed turned to the girls, “Grab my bag and go out the back! Both of you.”
They ran as Ed backed away from the alien, gun still on it, looking for the spot where mass was mostly gathered. Ed released the lever, counting backward to three, then tossed the grenade at Sullivan’s body, turned, and flew out the back door.
The explosion was immediate, shattering glass along the home’s back windows.
Ed grabbed the bag from Jade as fire swallowed the house that was home for months. “Are you OK?” He asked Jade, over Becca’s wailing.
“We’re OK,” she said, looking around at the houses behind and to their sides, neighbors peering through windows. “We better get out of here.”
Ed glanced at his watch: 8:58 p.m. “Come on,” he said. “We’re gonna meet a friend of mine, then get out of town.”
Fifty-Four
Mary Olson
The door at her back shook in its frame as Mary’s feet again slipped on the floor.
She wasn’t sure how long she had before the door exploded, and she would have to fight another infected.
The banging stopped, something on the other side of the door dropped.
Mary froze, listening for sounds of someone coming to her rescue.
Did someone shoot the cop?
Suddenly, she saw something she wished she hadn’t — dark smoke pouring under the door.
No, no!
The smoke poured in a thick, undulating fog, crossing the floor as if searching for something.
Her first thought was Paola, in the bed, helpless. Mary’s heart slammed in her chest as she tried to decide between letting go of the door and running to her daughter, and staying put, just in case leaving the door would allow however many zombies out there to rush in.
Even if she reached the bed, she wasn’t sure how to fight something as mercurial as an alien fog.
The dark cloud puffed and swelled in size, taking form, almost bleaker-like, and walked toward Paola’s bed.
“You stay away from her!” Mary screamed, letting go of the door and throwing herself at The Darkness. As she swung her blade, it dissipated, and then reformed behind her.
The Darkness stood there, still in front of her, as if trying to figure out what it should do first — kill Mary or take Paola. Just then, the door burst open, several zombies standing in the hall, moving toward them.
Mary had to ignore the alien fog. She dropped the blade, grabbed the dead cop’s gun from the floor, and fired shots into the closest of them as she raced back toward the door. She slammed it shut, again, but not before seeing the entire hallway filled with walking dead. She threw her back against the door, crying out as it rattled her spine, again.
She stared at the alien fog, standing there, staring at Paola, but not yet trying to go into her.
“Get away from her!” Mary screamed.
On the other side of the door more zombies piled up, banging on the door. The pounding carried to the wall beside her, over and over. THWAP, THWAP, THWAP.
The THWAPS grew louder and closer together, one after another, THWAP … THWAP … THWAP … THWAP. It sounded like dozens.
Mary screamed, “Leave us alone!”
THWAP
THWAP
THWAP
“Stop it!” Mary screamed.
A collective gust, exhaled from many mouths, muffled through the door, just loud enough as it seeped into the room:
“Give us the girl … ”
The door exploded open, throwing Mary to the floor. Two and three at a time, zombies poured through the doorway.
Mary backed up toward her bed, aiming and shooting, taking them down until the gun was empty. The undead circled her, with the dark smoke standing in front of them as if leading their assault.
Once her gun was empty, they raced forward, all at once, clawing and tearing at Mary’s arms as she punched, kicked, and tried to fight them away from her daughter. There were too many. Hands pulled her from Paola, dragging Mary from the bed, helpless as they circled.
“No!” Mary screamed, kicking, biting, clawing a mass of flesh.
Suddenly, the room was awash in an icy-blue light.
The assault stopped. Everyone’s attention went to the shimmering air and light beside Paola’s bed. A seam in the room’s reality split, as if the air was smiling, then parted wide enough for a man to step through.
Then, a man did. A dead man.
Mary’s heart nearly stopped as Desmond stepped into Paola’s room, holding an M-16. He opened fire, taking down the undead in a surprising display of military precision.
Mary scrambled to the ground, grabbing her knife, and stayed down, out of the way of the gunfire.
The room rained in red, almost humid, so suddenly hot, sticky, and wet. The gunfire stopped, and the black alien smoke was gone.
Mary wiped a slick of blood from her face and out of her eyes, staring in disbelief at the living breathing ghost. The only man other than Ryan she had ever loved.
“How?” was all she could finally manage. “You died.”
“Not now,” Desmond said, waving his gun at the blackness oozing from the corpses and slowly fogging towards them. He reached across Paola’s bed, unhooked her from the monitors and IV, and scooped the girl into his arms. “Paola found me and told me to come save you.”
“Paola? She’s OK?”
“Come with me,” he said stepping toward the light.
“Where?”
“Just come,” Desmond stepped into the light and vanished with Paola.
Mary followed.
Fifty-Five
Marina Harmon
Marina woke in the bright room, head splitting and throat on fire. She remembered Steven choking her, dragging her down to the room and locking her inside. She banged for hours, begging at first for him to let her go, then for someone — anyone — to hear her.
But nobody could.
This was no ordinary room. It was a soundproof, steel-reinforced fallout shelter/safe room her father had designed years ago for when “the end” came. He had designed it to serve as either his headquarters to operate from post-resurrection if people were hounding him, or as his crypt, his body entombed in a casket in the room’s center for as long as The Church owned the estate.
The shelter’s problem was that it served its purpose too well. No one could hear Marina. When she tried opening the door, she was unable. The codes had been changed. When she tried making a call or using computers to reach t
he Internet, she quickly reached no one. Steven had planned to use the room as her prison. For what, she had no idea.
The shelter was in the basement, an area few people ever had reason to go. Marina could bang for a week and go unheard. Even if someone did, no one else knew the elevator or door codes.
She sat at a desk, trying not to look at the casket holding her father’s remains. It was steel, fused shut after his death to prevent anyone from tampering with his body. There was a small bed, a second chair (where Marina had sometimes come to sit after his death, praying beside him), and a small closet filled with food, water, and medical supplies. There was also a shelf with books and a scattering of other items that might occupy someone for a few days, but nothing Marina could use to reach the outside world.
Why didn’t you think to stash a cell phone?
Not that it would’ve probably done any good. Considering she got shitty phone reception in certain parts of the house, Marina doubted there was anything close to a decent signal underground.
There was a line of monitors along one wall, all showing static. And Steven had seen to it that the closed circuit television feeds were cut.
He’d thought of everything.
Marina spent much of the first hour after waking cursing herself for being so damned stupid — for not seeing Steven for what he was. Marina wasn’t sure what that meant just yet, but he was clearly making some sort of play — for her money? Fame? For The Church?
Then there was the dream. The dark thing chasing Paola. The dark thing that was Steven. When she woke, he was there, watching her like a creep.
“I really wish you hadn’t seen that,” he said.
Seen what?
Did he see into my dream?
If so, what the hell is he?
Marina thought of The Church’s more arcane teachings, things only taught to those who had reached Level: Enlightened Master. The Church, or rather, her father — who knew how many in The Church truly shared his oddest beliefs — believed that negative energies lived among us. They were called Nebulons, and were made real by things like fear and doubt. One spent thousands of hours learning to meditate and fight them. Nebulons were strongest among addicts and people without faith. Sometimes, it was said, they grew powerful enough to possess a soul.
Marina had never believed those parts of her father’s religion. It seemed like one of those things some people used to personify weakness and fight it. As a self-help tool it worked wonders, so Marina never saw reason to try and change people’s minds when speaking of Nebulons. Once she finally stopped arguing with her father, Marina decided not to battle over beliefs she saw as ridiculous or misinterpretations of her father’s true work.
If it works for people, let it work.
As Marina remembered the dream and seeing Steven’s dark form, she wondered if maybe her father hadn’t been onto something after all.
If she’d just had the dream then woke, she never would’ve given it credence. She would’ve seen the dream as more of her own fears, past relationships twisting her sleep. But when Steven was beside her, saying he wished she’d not seen it … she knew there was something more.
Marina wasn’t sure how long she had been asleep when she was suddenly woken, startled by whispers.
She stood from bed and looked around the room, stopping at various spots, such as under the air ducts, and by the door, ears perked. She heard nothing outside the gentle whir of air conditioning. She assumed the whispering was fragments of a dream she’d yet to swim from.
Marina wondered how long lights would last in the shelter, and whether they were wired to the house’s electricity, or ran on the solar panels installed on the roof.
Whispers grew louder. One of the loudest rasped, “Marina.”
The loudest came from the casket.
Marina stepped closer, unable to believe her ears.
“Marina,” the voice repeated: her father.
Her heart pounded, goose bumps pimpled her skin. It couldn’t be Daddy. He was dead and buried, for nearly two — impossible — years.
“Marina,” the voice repeated.
“This isn’t funny!” she shouted, imagining Steven laughing as he watched. She searched for a camera, and found one on top of the computer monitor, apparently off.
“Marina … ”
She approached the casket, and reached out to touch it, slowly, ready to pull back her hand, half-expecting the coffin to pop open and a skeleton to reach out to grab her.
She touched the casket, and felt a vibration: warmth from within.
What the hell?
The vibration turned into a low and steady hum. With it, whispers grew louder.
“Marina, Marina.”
I must still be dreaming.
She tried telling herself to wake up, she was dreaming. Usually, once Marina realized she was dreaming she’d open her eyes, even when she didn’t want to wake up, like every now and then when she was inside the dreams that kept her wet.
Something clicked inside the casket, a loud clicking, like an opening vault.
Marina stepped back, expecting the casket to swing wide, even though it was fused shut.
Instead of opening, it sank into the ground.
Marina stared in shock.
Whatever was happening wasn’t otherworldly. It was, instead, mechanical, and what seemed like an automated response. Marina wondered if her father had set something in the room to recognize if she were trapped. She didn’t know the casket sank into the floor, so God only knew what other surprises there might be.
The casket stopped, and a light came on, revealing a second room under the shelter.
“Marina,” the voice repeated, louder, wafting up from a speaker below.
She stepped onto the casket, carefully, keeping one hand on the floor above in case she had to pull herself up.
Marina looked around and saw a small hallway with a door at the end. On top of the door was a video camera, and a speaker.
“Marina … Marina,” the voice brayed; no doubt her father through the speaker. The voice was recorded, same thing each time in an automated loop.
Marina had to know what was behind the door.
She let go of the floor, dropped into the hallway, and approached the door. There was no knob. Instead, a keypad that looked like it belonged on a decades old phone.
“What am I supposed to do? Dial a number?”
The door clicked partly open.
Marina stepped toward the door, seeing blue light bleeding from the black.
“Hello?” she called, hesitant to step all the way inside the room.
“Marina, is that you?” a voice said — her father.
She stepped into the room and saw him, lying in a bed, looking as dead as the last time she saw him. His eyes were closed, so was his mouth.
“Marina?” he asked, though she couldn’t see how he was speaking when his lips weren’t moving.
She longed to run.
But where can I go? Back up there? And face Steven?
“Yes, it’s me, Honey. I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Where are you?” she asked, looking around the small 10 by 10 room. The box held nothing besides her father, the bed, and another door on the opposite side. There wasn’t even hospital equipment or anything that looked like it might be keeping him alive.
“I’m here, in front of you.”
“You’re not moving,” she said. “You look dead.”
“I am, Honey. But as long as my body is here, I’m connected enough to reach you. Did you hear me calling?”
She wasn’t sure if he meant now or in her dreams. “I think so,” she said. “What’s happening?”
“Bad things, Marina. This is what I warned you of. What I dreamed. The moment. I need you to do something very important.”
“What’s that?” she asked, stepping toward him and putting a hand on his icy arm. She pushed on him to see if he’d say anything, see if he noticed. Of course, he was dead. That di
dn’t keep him from speaking.
“I need you to go through this door. Inside, you’ll find something very, very important. A box.”
“What’s in the box?” Marina asked, staring at the door as if it might burst open at any moment.
“There are two vials, Marina. You must guard them with your life.”
Behind Marina, a motor churned. She looked outside the door to see the casket rising, locking her down here.
She cried out, “The casket is locking me in.”
“That’s OK, Marina. Because you’re going to go through the door, and take the tunnel until you reach a second door that will open into a monastery cellar two blocks away. There’s a man there I want you to find, Father Thomas Acevedo. Tell him who you are. He will help you.”
“Help me what?”
“Save the world.”
Epilogue
Luca stepped through the portal.
He fell to the floor, inches on the other side, head swimming from the enormity, not just from the largest house he’d never seen, but from reality’s fabric stretched like taffy.
He tensed, anticipating the crazy man following him over, but the portal closed, leaving just the blue sky above him.
Luca shivered as he crawled forward in the grass, trying to reach the house. His entire back was numb, blood soaking his shirt. He felt dizzy, maybe like he was going to run out of blood and die.
He struggled to call out, “Help!”
He fell to the grass, barely able to keep his eyes open.
There were footsteps, someone approaching. He tried raising his chin, wanted to look up, but he may as well have tried to sprout wings.
