Convergence

by Mark Tufo

  The anger I felt at having been sucked away from my loved ones feels a little flat, knowing that the cause was most likely my alternate self. While he may not have directly dragged my ass in to this hell, he certainly created the situation for it. But, with this world slipping away, there’s really nowhere to direct any anger. I don’t feel mad anymore, just resigned and saddened that I won’t be able to tell my kids that I love them one more time, that I won’t feel Lynn’s hand in mine again. Trip said there may be a slim chance, but I honestly don’t see one. I have two marbles and a glowing light at the end of a dark set of steps. There may be another portal, the thought sparking a flicker of hope. But, in all honesty, I’m just tired. My body hurts and I’m mentally exhausted.

  Hoisting my carbine in my arms, I set my boot on the first step. In the background of my thoughts, I hear a crowd screaming, “Don’t go down there, stupid! My God, why do they always go where it’s so obvious they shouldn’t?” I can almost hear the sinister music playing in the background.

  The rocks vibrate with the hum emanating from below, the pulse of light brightening to the same rhythm. The cool, smooth surfaces of the marbles roll in my palm. I’m not certain what they’re for, but have a loose idea based on what occurred in the main facility.

  Well, at least I have an idea for one of them, I think, descending further.

  I hold back on the lower steps, my legs bathed in the glow emanating from the other room. I think of the clouds we encountered and hope the room isn’t full of them and that the larger one won’t manifest. Hell, I’m not even sure that a portal exists beyond the doorway.

  Stay sharp through the end, Jack.

  With that thought, I bring my carbine into a ready position. My heartbeat, the rhythm of the light, and the pulsing throb from my wounds all seem to be in sync. I descend the remaining steps, sliding against the wall. Being in the dark, I can’t see much into the brighter room. At the edge of the entrance, I peek around the corner.

  The room has the feel of a cavern, even though any walls or ceiling are lost in darkness. There’s a portal just like at the other facility; a doorway with sides curved outward. It’s shimmering like a mirror without a reflection, with a flickering stream of energy either pouring from it or feeding into it. It’s kind of difficult to tell. Perhaps, just perhaps, my family is on the other side of that glowing wall of light.

  At the entrance, I gaze at the marbles. The blue marble seems to be pulsing very slightly, but that could just be the play of light on it. However, the light did change to a reddish color shortly after Mike and Trip passed through. So, I’m guessing blue for the light stream and red for, well, something on the other side.

  Perhaps it allows safe passage?

  I step into the room; the hum fills the entire cavern. It feels as if my bones would turn to jelly if I stayed here too long, or weaken and shatter. It’s a weird sensation. Now there’s just the matter of figuring out how to put me on the other side of the portal and the marble into the stream after I’m inside.

  That’s going to be a trick, I think as a hundred different thoughts try to garner attention.

  A shriek erupts from the surrounding darkness, then more join in. I freeze, knowing that sound all too well. Liquid silver points of light become visible from the darkened areas beyond the light of the portal. I raise my weapon, ready to train the barrel on the first night runner that appears. Muscle memory takes over, my hand rising and my head lowering to peer through the sights. The carbine feels light as a feather. I’m concentrating so heavily on the growing number of silver eyes glowing in the darkness that it takes me a moment to recognize that I don’t have a weapon in my hand. It’s gone. The fucking thing is just…it just isn’t there. The first night runner steps into view.

  Without a second thought, I reach for my handgun. I don’t have time to ponder where in the hell my weapon went. Flexibility is being able to thread one’s way around and through obstacles and leave the “what the fucks” for later. React now, wonder why later. More of the pale-skinned creatures emerge into the pulsing light, running across the rocky flooring, their ear-piecing screams echoing off solid walls that are out of sight.

  In a swift movement, I draw the sidearm and aim toward the nearest night runner. Its eyes are glowing and stained mouth open. I fire, the muted shot unheard over the cacophony of shrieks. The leading creature staggers in its tracks, the round slamming through its sternum and tearing through the soft tissue underneath. It sinks to its knees as if in supplication, then falls face forward. Others are streaking toward me.

  With a quick movement of the barrel, I center on the next one. My bullet slams into its upper shoulder, sending it spinning ninety degrees. Rapidly recovering, it turns back and finds a second delivery waiting. The night runner is thrown backward, tumbling into the arms of one behind. More enter into the light, a seemingly unending stream suddenly materializing. I’m already down three rounds with eleven remaining. There’s no way in hell I’ll get a chance to reload. I’m so fucking close, but it’s like pushing against an unrelenting force of waves. I can shoot them in place, taking as many as I can, but the end will be the same.

  I open up my mind to them, as I fire into two more that are quickly closing. Blood mists in the air as one of my rounds forcefully impacts a night runner’s neck, the red spray taking on an enhanced coloration in the silver light. It’s almost like pictures Photoshopped to black and white photos with the eyes the only color, and that enhanced. As I open, pictures of their thoughts, their hunger and anger, flood into me, and it’s all I can do to push them into the background. There are more—many more—than I thought present, most coming from the dark recesses of the room.

  “STOP!” I mentally command, sending images of the sun and painful burning of the skin.

  I give the impression of dawn and that the sun is about to appear, which is a new one for me. I’m still getting used to this whole thing, and it’s only a stall technique from which they have usually immediately recovered. This instance isn’t any different. They stop their headlong flight, pausing for a second to see if there is a sun arriving. Then, they recover, knowing it for the ruse it is. But, I have my second.

  I launch into their midst in a powerful bounding lunge. I don’t care for the ones on the side, only those directly between me and the portal. At the end of my lunge, I lead with my shoulder, shoving one off its feet to the side. In the same moment, I lift my handgun and fire a round at near point blank into the face of another. The skin wobbles where the round enters, the bullet punching through the forehead. The 9mm round mushrooms and is propelled through the tender brain tissue, slamming into to the back of the skull and blowing a huge chunk of bone and hairy skin outward. Bloody chunks of brain fill the space behind the night runner, hitting another just behind it.

  I don’t register much more as I run forward, ducking under a swipe from one, its hand brushing across my scalp. Still lowered, I fire into the night runner’s leg, watching the knee buckle under the impact. The creature screams in pain as it tumbles to the ground. Rising, I brush aside another’s arms and fire into the side of its head, feeling warm wet splashes against my forehead.

  I’m still moving forward as quickly as I can, firing into those I can see. More blood splatters on my face with each shot, their heads vanishing from sight as they fall under the shots from close range. Through it all, I see the silver light from the portal, shining around night runners. My mental count of rounds is down to my last couple. It’s time to break a hole and hope I’m close enough.

  Screams encompass my world. Cuts burn across my cheek and neck from their clawing, and my entire body feels like one big bruise. I charge into one directly ahead, screaming as loud as them. Slamming into it with my shoulder, I barrel forward, pushing it into its brethren behind. This is my last-ditch effort. It’s all or nothing and I’m okay with that. If I don’t make it, it’s not because I didn’t try. I keep pushing, using it as a shield, trying to clear a path. I feel its fingernai
ls claw on my pack, raking my shoulders and the back of my head.

  I feel the others give way, moving around the charge to come at me from behind. I drop the night runner, firing into two that remain in front. The first is launched backward, almost going through the silver glowing wall of light. The second one’s head lolls to the side as my bullet slams into the esophagus and impacts the spinal cord. It falls straight down as its legs collapse, the signals from the brain no longer reaching them.

  The portal is directly ahead, only a couple of yards away. Now, for some guessing. I jam my handgun inside my vest and gauge the stream of bluish light. There’s no time for fancy here. If I had time, I could rig something up with a candle and string to drop the marble into the stream. But, my friends just aren’t going to allow me that luxury. Bleeding and stinging everywhere, I toss the blue marble in the air, watching as it flies upward in a high arc. Without taking the time to measure or ascertain whether it will fall into the stream of energy, I turn and take a leaping jump.

  It will hit or it won’t. If it doesn’t, I suppose I could exit to ask the night runners for a time out in order to find the marble and try again. Who in the fuck knows? If I send the right message, they may just do it.

  “Hey, um, I like know we’re trying to kill each other and everything, but I kind of missed and lost my marble. My bad…my bad. Mind if I look around for it?”

  I seriously doubt that they’d be so obliging. After all, I just killed a few of their number, and judging by the screams, they aren’t overly enthused about it.

  I fly through the portal, hitting whatever serves as the ground in here. It’s just a misty light with no real floor, ceiling, or walls. There isn’t a thing to be seen. Looking back out of the portal, I see night runners moving in slow motion. They aren’t exactly stopped, but their movements certainly aren’t what they were moments ago. I look at the red marble, wondering what in the fuck I do now. I’m sure I have to do something. After all, the light only changed to that reddish color after Mike and Trip went through.

  Sooo…do I eat this thing, now?

  “In the slot, Jack! In the slo…” I hear Trip’s voice in my head, as if from a great distance.

  “What fucking slot?” I yell. “I can’t see any fucking slot.”

  But, the voice is gone.

  “Dammit! What fucking slot? I can’t see anything in here,” I mutter, looking around.

  There’s just a very faint glow that’s only marginally brighter than the rest of the lit fog. I shove the marble into the glow, rolling it around something solid. Suddenly, I feel it slide into a hole and seat itself. The mist turns a reddish color. If this isn’t a horror movie, I don’t know what would be. The fog is pulsing red and the nightmarish creatures with glowing eyes are moving slowly just on the other side of the doorway.

  I wait, knowing that the marble has to hit the energy stream. My only hope is that I wasn’t supposed to be holding it at the time.

  Now, it would really suck to find that out now.

  An arm enters. Dirty fingernails and a pale hand gropes inside. If they enter with me, well, I can’t imagine it could be good.

  Did I miss?

  A bright flash of light and…

  I’m standing on a rocky slope with overcast skies scudding seemingly just over the top of my head. My skin feels like it’s on fire from the numerous scratches. Before I can take measure of where I am, a piece of paper flutters in the air, oscillating back and forth until it settles to the ground. Bending down, feeling my injuries stretch tight, I pick it up.

  “I’m sorry, Jack. It was the only way.”

  # # #

  About the Authors

  MARK TUFO

  Mark Tufo was born in Boston Massachusetts. He attended UMASS Amherst where he obtained a BA (and an advanced degree in partyology) and later joined the US Marine Corps. He was stationed in Parris Island SC, Twenty Nine Palms CA and Kaneohe Bay Hawaii. After his tour he went into the Human Resources field with a worldwide financial institution, after beginning his climb up the corporate ladder he found himself laid off. His wife, Tracy, who was desperate to keep him out of her hair, dared him to write a book, and the Zombie Fallout series was born.

  He wrote the first installment of the Indian Hill trilogy in college, it sat in his garage until July 2009 when he published it on Kindle. Mark is currently working on the continuation of the ZF series and a new book due out in August of 2014. He lives in Maine with his wife, three kids and two English bulldogs, Henry and Riley.

  JOHN O’BRIEN

  John O'Brien is a former Air Force fighter instructor pilot who transitioned to Special Operations for the latter part of his career gathering his campaign ribbon for Desert Storm. Immediately following his military service, John became a firefighter/EMT with a local department. Along with becoming a firefighter, he fell into the Information Technology industry in corporate management. Currently, John is writing full-time on the series, A New World.

  As a former marathon runner, John lives in the beautiful Pacific Northwest and can now be found kayaking out in the waters of Puget Sound, mountain biking in the Capital Forest, hiking in the Olympic Peninsula, or pedaling his road bike along the many scenic roads.