They Came With the Rain

by Christopher Coleman

  “Two of the Arali will begin the collections, beginning at the town’s entry, and they will continue inward until the reach the highest point in town. In this case, that is the location of the telescope. They will begin at dawn—this we’re almost certain of—and once they begin, the process will go quickly.”

  Winston recalled Zander’s revelation of the process, his description of how the creatures would go from house to house making their collections. The image Winston had conjured at the time was one of swooping black phantoms moving through the streets like dusky shadows, and as he recalled this memory now, so close to the day of their arrival, he shuddered at the picture.

  At each residence, the Arali would attempt to compel confessions, continuing through the district until the small town was entirely canvassed and each resident addressed.

  It was the detail of these confessions that had allowed Winston to sleep at night, rationalizing that since evil existed in all men, his role in the upcoming catastrophe was justified. Still, though, the impending slaughter weighed heavily on his conscience, exacerbating his sickness whenever he explored the future carnage too deeply. He could only imagine the terror his town would face on that morning, how most of the victims—many of whom would be children—would be incapable of processing the monsters in their presence.

  And the pain. He assumed that was inevitable as well; this piece of the image he kept tucked away in the furthest reaches of his mind.

  Winston swallowed and gave a long, shameful blink, unable to keep the casualties from his mind. “Will...everyone be visited? Every home?”

  Zander stared hard at Winston and tilted his head slightly forward. “A town this size, that is our belief. And within each residence, if there is evil in a person’s heart, a collection will be sought.” He leaned back now and lowered his voice. “And there is evil in everyone’s heart.”

  Winston closed his eyes and took a deep breath and then rubbed his forehead, exhausted. He stared back at Zander, his eyes half-mast. “But not everyone dies? Not everyone is...collected? These towns you mentioned before, only a sample of people died in those cases.”

  Zander shrugged and nodded lightly. “Some will survive the collections.” He then added, “At first.”

  “At first?”

  “It will depend on the day. On the people and their habits. There are those who will leave home at the perfect hour and not recognize what is happening until well after the collections are under way. Some may even recognize the danger and retreat to a bunker or safe room beneath their home and remain undetected by the Arali.”

  Winston doubted there were any such bunkers in Garmella, and though he hadn’t one either, his sprawling property had more than a few spaces that could serve his purposes.

  “But most will succumb on the first pass. Once the mind has been set upon, it is very difficult to extricate it from the Arali. They can sense the thoughts of anyone within a radius of many miles. And they will hunt the mind for as long as they can.”

  “As long as they can?”

  “Historically, the collections have ended by solar noon, when the sun reaches its highest point in the sky. We believe that is the reason so many survived previously. The Arali simply ran out of time.” Zander moved forward on the seat now and leaned in, trying to get as close to Winston as possible. “But we...I am hoping that will change this time, Mr. Bell.”

  Winston swallowed nervously as his eyes welled, and something in his heart told him not to explore this wish of Zander’s. Instead he asked, “What can I do to avoid them?”

  Zander looked away for a beat and then quickly back to Winston, as if slightly annoyed by the question. “You cannot avoid them, Mr. Bell. Not if you intend to collect on your end of the deal. There will come a point in the day when you must meet them face to face.”

  Winston had anticipated there would be some risk in the arrangement, some potential for punishment beyond what might come from interfering with the Grieg and its data. But until now, the physical consequences from the Arali hadn’t been discussed, and the potential for his own pain and death. “But what am I to say?”

  “You will have the same opportunity as everyone who confronts them: the chance to confess the evil of your heart. This is the only group who will ultimately survive, that small faction of people who confess their gravest sins.” Zander paused, ensuring Winston understood the magnitude of this instruction. “The way to prepare for their arrival then, Mr. Bell, is to search your heart. To find the cruelty that lives there.”

  Cruelty. There was plenty to choose from on that front, Winston knew, and he digested this new instruction with dread. His life story was littered with a long list of sinful deeds. How would he choose the right trespass? The one which registered highest on the scale of malevolence? It seemed an impossible task to even catalog all of his transgressions, let alone to rank them.

  “In the meantime,” Zander continued, “on the day of their arrival, take whatever precaution necessary. Knowledge of their coming is its own prophylaxis. And perhaps loud noises.”

  “What?”

  Zander shrugged. “It is a possibility. Still, before your time comes to repent, you must make an effort to avoid them. That is a solution you must find on your own. But make no mistake: your payoff can only come in their presence. There is no alternative to that part of this deal. Your extension on this earth will only come once you have professed your sin.”

  The stifling air of the van suddenly felt thick in Winston’s throat and nostrils, and the disease that had ravaged his lungs over the past year now raged in his chest like magma in the mantle of the earth. He stifled a cough and managed to croak, “I understand.” He then tugged at his collar and cleared his throat, “Where will I go to find them? When my time comes?”

  “Before the Arali descend, they will congregate at their arrival point. That is where we will meet them.”

  “Arrival point?”

  “The gorge will form a day early. It is from there that they will emerge, and there that they will descend.”

  “Gorge?”

  Zander nodded. “Keep your ear to the town. You will know.”

  Zander was tiring of the questions, that was obvious, but Winston’s head was swimming with the details of the arrival, facts that he knew would be important and that he was bound to forget over the next sixty days. And this would be the last time he would see Zander and his partners before the arrival, about that he was almost certain.

  “How will we get out? Once it’s...done?”

  “We’ll need to walk to a car we’ve prepared about a mile down from the sinkhole. It’s parked at one of the overlooks along the roadway. When we reach Simonson, you’ll be driven to the state line of your choice. Bring money and a passport, in case that choice is Mexico.”

  “Will I be able to come back? Ever, I mean?”

  Zander shrugged. “That will be up to you, Mr. Bell; a risk you’ll have to assume. If you have a reliable alibi, you might indeed wish to return. I’m sure there are affairs you’ll need to clear, valuables to retrieve. But you will never see us again. The moment we drop you and drive away, that will be the end of our relationship forever.”

  Winston nodded, agreeing to the fairness of the arrangement, and then another question occurred to him, one that had been only partially answered the last time they spoke. “How can this be explained, Zander? To the rest of the world, I mean. This isn’t China or Soviet Russia; this is the United States. How will all these murders be explained? Especially if there are survivors? Witnesses?”

  “I understand your concern, Mr. Bell, but rest assured, we have thought this part through, and it is not your worry. Just remember the dates and your own preparation. And, as we discussed, from this day forward, reduce the interference. Two days per week.”

  Winston took a deep breath and nodded. “I understand.”

  With the message conveyed, Winston rose from the chair and turned back to the van door. As he gripped the handle, he turned b
ack to Zander. “One more thing,” he said.

  Zander looked up and nodded.

  “How will I know when the day is here? How will I know exactly?”

  “Because it will rain, Mr. Bell. The Arali, they always come with the rain.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Allie parked the cruiser in front of Maria Suarez’ home and slammed the gearshift into park. She left the car running and took a deep breath and then looked to the front porch, studying the cluttered containment of patio chairs and decorative pots, all of which combined to make the tiny home appear even smaller.

  She shifted her gaze to the yard now, a rather wide area of dirt and disorganized stone remnants with random patches of grass and shrubbery popping from everywhere, including at every crease in the broken sidewalk. The front gate was open wide, and Allie automatically scanned the other fences on the street, noting the similar open barriers at each of the houses as far down the road as she could see. It was almost systematic, she thought, as if the creatures had gone door to door, entering each home like salesmen before radiating their destruction appropriately.

  Allie turned and faced the backseat once again, deciding to replace her stern demeanor from earlier with one of compassion and teamwork.

  “Listen, I’m going in alone, okay?”

  “But I’m—,” Maria began.

  “Maria?” Allie’s voice was calm, and the deputy simply stared at Maria, ensuring that the girl understood she was to listen now, not speak. “I’m going in alone because I need someone out here to watch the street. Remember how you covered me earlier? I need that again. It’s even more important this time.”

  “Josh can cover you. It’s my house; I know where my brother is.”

  “Maria, it’s a small house. I think you can describe how to get to him.”

  “Why can’t I go with you?”

  “Because it’s dangerous, Maria. That’s why you can’t go with me. I think you know that.”

  Maria looked down, sullen. “I don’t care.”

  “And that’s why you’re with me, because I do care.” She paused. “And, to be honest, I move faster alone. And in there, I might need to move really fast.” Allie smirked. “Hey, did you guys know that I still hold the Grand Forks County girls’ record for the 2000-meter steeplechase?”

  The kids looked at each other and then back to Allie, foreheads furrowed. “What’s that?” Josh asked.

  Allie put her hand to her heart as if she’d just been shot there. “What’s that? The 2000-meter steeplechase?” She raised her hands to shoulder height, palms up, and then quivered her head, bemused, as if the kids had simply forgotten the event and needed to search their brains further.

  Both kids shrugged.

  Allie frowned. “It’s a very prestigious event, as a matter of fact. Ugh. It doesn’t matter, except that my holding that record proves that I’m fast—faster than both of you for sure—and nimble, and if I need to hustle out of there with a baby in one hand and a gun in the other and some tall, smoky bastard on my tail...”

  Josh and Maria giggled at this image.

  “...then I’m not going to want to spend a second searching around in the kitchen or the bathroom or wherever you two might end up.” Allie let her eyes linger on both children for several seconds until both Josh and Maria nodded in agreement. “But keep your sights on the neighborhood, just like you did before with the truck. And honk that horn if you see anything.” Allie hesitated and then disengaged the shotgun. “Either of you know how to use this?”

  Josh nodded instantly. “I do. My dad used to take me hunting all the time. And I’ve gone with Ray a couple of times too.”

  “Good. Take it.” Allie handed the gun to Josh as if he were a professional. “And keep it on safety unless...well, I guess you’ll know when to take it off.” Josh nodded and Allie looked to Maria. “So where am I’m going once I get inside this palace of yours?”

  “My parent’s bedroom is to the left when you walk through the door. Just past the stairs that lead to the basement. Antonio will be in the bed if...if he’s still alive.”

  Allie sighed and gave a nod of her own now. “Okay then.”

  She gave a final wink to the frightened girl and exited the car without another word. She paused and took in the full setting of the house and yard in front once more, and then she strode toward the Suarez house, keeping her mind as clear as possible, not allowing herself even a glance in either direction as she approached the porch, climbing it quickly and then entering through the front door.

  Allie braced herself for the sight of Maria’s parents, black and twisted on the living room sofa perhaps, or crumpled across the kitchen floor like Luke and Randy. But inside was only the stale emptiness of the house, remarkably tidy compared to the porch from where she had just come.

  As directed, Allie turned left, clearing the staircase that led to the basement, and then she made a beeline for the bedroom where she stood and stared at the closed door, feeling an instinct to politely announce her arrival with a knock. Instead, she turned the handle and pushed the door in slowly, and then she snapped her head around briskly, instantly hit by the odor that Maria had been unable to articulate earlier at the station. Allie immediately felt the wrenching of her belly and throat, but she recovered quickly, placing her nose and mouth into the crook of her left arm as she walked into the room.

  Allie’s focus went to the queen bed, and there she saw the movement almost instantly. It was just the lightest swirl of linen in the middle of the mattress where a puddle of thick blankets had been nested together in such a way as to act as a cradle for its contents.

  Allie froze a moment, preparing herself for what she might see, and then she took the four paces between her and the bed and pulled one of the blankets to the side, exposing the deformed face and head of Antonio Suarez.

  Allie’s breath seized in her chest, and she instinctually closed her eyes, trying to process the image of the baby in her mind. After a second, she opened her eyes again and locked them on the baby beneath her.

  “Oh my,” she whispered.

  A combination of shock and shame flowed through Allie now, shock at the sight of the baby’s head—the top of which didn’t exist in any normal way—and shame for feeling that shock.

  But it wasn’t repulsion she felt—not really—she had simply never seen a baby with the condition before. In fact, Allie didn’t truly even know such a condition existed, and at the sight of the infant, it seemed impossible that he could be alive.

  But he was alive, and Antonio’s large eyes stared up from the top of his head like a pleading bird’s, wide and searching, the lightest tint of pain in them, desperation and longing.

  “Okay, kid, just hang tight.”

  Allie left the baby lying in his makeshift crib and immediately scanned the room for supplies, scrambling beside and under the bed, searching for the things that would keep Maria’s brother alive for as long as its natural life would allow, which, based on the look of him, couldn’t be very long. She found a used bottle and a large, nearly full, can of formula on the nightstand, and she quickly shoved them and a handful of clothes and washcloths into a drawstring nylon backpack which she found hanging in the closet.

  Allie went back for the baby now, but as she went to scoop him, she paused, suddenly fearful that any wrong movement, any abrupt shake or jerk, harmless to any other infant, would hurt him permanently. She took a breath and set the backpack down on the floor, and then she leaned in carefully, her hands outstretched, fingers apart as if she were preparing to diffuse a bomb. And as she wedged her fingertips behind the baby’s tiny back, an explosion like dynamite rang from outside.

  Allie bolted upright, staring at the ceiling, trying to decipher the sound, and then a second blast rang, and this time there was no doubt what it was.

  A shotgun.

  Allie scooped the baby quickly now and headed for the door, turning back on a dime to retrieve the bag, and by the time she made it into the hall
way and back to the front door, she heard another sound ring through the air, and she knew there was trouble.

  “I’M GOING IN.”

  Maria grabbed the handle of the cruiser door and unlatched the door, pushing it wide and putting her foot to the street, purposeful and defiant.

  “Wait, what?” Josh asked, perplexed.

  Maria paused and looked in the boy’s eyes. “What I said. I’m going inside.” And with that, less than sixty seconds following Allie’s entry into the Suarez residence, Maria was outside and strolling defiantly toward the open gate that led to her home.

  Josh reacted quickly and was outside just a step behind Maria, on the opposite side of the cruiser, and, unlike Maria who was walking quickly, he broke into a trot toward the house, reaching the gate a half-second ahead of Maria.

  Maria was prepared to go through Josh, but at the last moment she stopped inches away from her friend, her eyes still focused on the house ahead. “Move, Josh. I mean it.” She shifted her gaze down to Josh’s hands. “Are you going to shoot me?”

  Josh followed Maria’s eyes to the shotgun in his hands, and then, realizing the implication, exclaimed, “What? No! Of course not!”

  “Then move.”

  “But...I am going to stop you from going inside. Or at least try.” He rolled his eyes and threw his head back. “Come on, Maria; you heard Ms. Allie. She needs us to watch the street for her. Can we just do that?”

  “You watch. I’m going inside to see my parents.”

  Josh averted his eyes and looked down nervously, and then finally he met Maria’s eyes again, his gaze soft now, sympathetic. “Maria, they’re...your parents...you saw what happen—”