The Third Wave: Eidolon

by John O'Brien

  When the weather turned bleak, Sam and Erin remained warmly hunkered indoors. Aside from reading, they played some of the board games found on the bookshelves or card games. In the mornings, the kitchen was filled with the smell of eggs frying, sometimes with meat being added to a scramble. At night, there was the sizzle of steaks on the stove, a couple of vegetables from the garden added to their plates. The gloom of night came early, forcing them into their beds where they huddled beneath layers of blankets, the woodstoves in the outlying buildings having been stoked with their flues turned down.

  * * * * * *

  After enduring months of cold, of blizzards sweeping across the land, the times of donning cold weather gear only to be immediately chilled to the bone upon exiting, of braving the blowing snow and below-freezing temperatures to keep the fires stoked in the stables and other buildings, of plowing through thigh-deep drifts with two hands gripping a frozen rope stiff with hanging icicles, heading down against the howling winds, the visibility limited to the next few feet of rope that vanished into a white void, the weather began to warm and the snow turned to rain.

  The white blanket covering the plains thinned, its runoff filling the lake and nearby streams before it disappeared entirely. Sunlight broke through the clouds that streamed east on strong winds, holes torn in them from their rapid movement. The temperature climbed, the land bathed in more and more sunlight. Buds appeared on branches, turning into flowers and leaves. Slowly, the high plains gained rushes of color from the stark grays, blacks, and whites of winter. Birds emerged, winging across the long, narrow lake. Elk climbed into the higher elevations and bears awoke from their long slumbers and trudged out of caves.

  In camp, the lead ropes to the buildings were taken down, dried out, and stored. The chickens took their first steps outside and the small herd of cattle and horses remained in the open air for the entire day instead of only minutes at a time. To Sam and Erin, standing in the warmth of the sun seemed like a rebirth after months of being bound inside the lodge. As Sam lifted his head to the glowing sun and breathed in the clean air, he remembered a conversation with Erin one day that still troubled him.

  “Daddy, what’s going to happen to me when you go?” she had said out of the blue, his finger marking his place in the book he was reading.

  “What do you mean, Erin?”

  “Well, you’re older than me, so…”

  Sam had been thinking of that ever since they arrived, but setting up the resort had kept him busy. Once things had settled into more or less of a routine, it kept surfacing. He knew that Erin would outlast him; that was an inescapable fact, and it scared him more than anything else. That’s why he had spent so much time teaching her. He wanted her to have the skills to survive, but that didn’t alleviate his anxiety. Sam had sat with his finger marking his place and thought about his answer.

  “Well, Erin, that’s true. I won’t lie to you. That will happen. It’s an inevitable part of life. But, that’s not going to happen for many, many years, and you’ll be well prepared to live your life here. And, I’ll still be around to watch over you. So, don’t worry about something that’s not going to happen for a long time,” Sam answered, his heart feeling like it was being squeezed.

  “You’ll still be around? Do you mean like a ghost or something?”

  “No, not like that. I mean more of a presence—I’ll always be with you, looking out for you.”

  Erin’s eyes had focused inward as she thought about his replies, then she smiled and went back to her book without another word on the subject. Sam had berated himself for not being better at things like that, but he really didn’t know how to answer such a question. If the world was as it was previously, she would have been leading whatever life she wanted, been saddened when he passed, but then continued on, perhaps immersing herself in her work to ease her grief. She would have had a network of friends and perhaps a family to help her through it. Now, she’d have to do it alone.

  * * * * * *

  Erin sat on her horse, looking down from a rise in the ground toward where her dad had hopped off his mount and was slowly approaching a ranch house. This was their first scavenging trip and the fourth residence since spring took firm hold over the land. Eventually, they’d clean out the outlying area of canned food, flour, sugar, and other non-perishables, and would have to move further out. So far, they hadn’t found any sign of reapers, only dead bodies thawed out after freezing during the winter. Neither she nor her dad knew whether the corpses were reapers that died from the freezing temperatures or whether they were dead before.

  A steady wind blew her hair across her face, the strands billowing beneath her hat. Below, the grasses and shrubs blew back and forth as gusts swept past, the air carrying the fragrance of juniper and flowering plants. Several clouds sailed across the sky, their shadows rippling across the landscape like fast-moving wraiths, climbing up and over bushes as if absorbing them and their colors, then passing onto others to devour their beauty.

  Erin brushed the hair from her face, wrapping it around her ears as another strong gust blew past. A loud bang from a nearby barn off to the side sounded like a gunshot and made her jump in her saddle. She felt her horse quiver as she sharply turned toward the noise, ready to knee her steed into action. An open barn door swung on its hinges, slapping against the side as another blast of wind swept past.

  Was that open before? she thought, swinging her rifle around to scan the barn and its environment.

  Erin was worried that she didn’t know the answer to her question, and knew that she needed to be more aware of her surroundings. That was one thing her dad had repeatedly told her.

  “Know what’s around you and notice the things that have changed. Everything leaves a sign, some more subtle that others, but they all do it. If you keep situationally aware, then you’ll be ready for whatever is thrown your way.”

  Erin swept the scope left and right, searching the barn with a magnified view, but didn’t see anything moving. The barn door again banged against the side and Erin made a mental note to be more observant in the future.

  From now on, I’ll know every broken branch and every broken door, she thought, bringing the scope of her rifle back to watch her dad inch toward the ranch house.

  She looked into the windows she could see, trying to see if the curtains were moving or if there were any signs of movement from deeper inside. If she saw something, she’d shoot three times, their warning sign. With the strong wind steady in her face, she wondered if the sound of gunshots would reach her dad. If she saw something and gave the signal, but he didn’t react, she’d spur her horse into action, firing into the air along the way to get his attention.

  The wind was a steady howl as it raced past her ears, her clothes flapping as the blasts tugged at them. She heard one of the horses whinny and felt a tug on her saddle from the long lead line. Glancing behind, she saw the pack horse as it pranced the side and tossed its head.

  “Stop it,” she admonished. “You’ll be back in your warm stable before too much longer.”

  Turning back, she quickly scoped the house again, afraid that she might have missed something. Only darkness showed beyond the breaks in the curtains, and there weren’t any opaque blurs from reapers teleporting through the walls. She moved the scope to another barn, sweeping the corral area like she’d done a hundred times already. Yet, she kept at it, concentrating intently as she knew that she might only get a momentary flash of movement. Her horse tossed its head and began shuffling to one side.

  “Dammit, be still. I can’t see clearly if you keep moving,” Erin stated, trying to keep the horse steady with her knees as she attempted to maintain focus.

  The sudden cold took her by surprise, gasping sharply as her body went rigid with an icy cold that seemed to come from within. Dropping the hunting rifle, she was barely aware of the mist in front that blurred everything. The fog vanished and she could feel the arctic air as it swept into her nostrils, into her open mouth, and do
wn her throat. Her entire body felt like ice. Spreading out inside, Erin felt a manifestation that threatened to consume her.

  Erin wrestled with the presence. The bitter cold fought, pushing against her will. Deep within, she felt heat, like a bed of coals, that suddenly rose. The presence tore at the rising fire, grabbing hold of it and trying to rip it from where it was embedded. The turmoil inside was like a furious tempest, a tearing sensation in her entire body. She fought, trying to push the cold away from the fire and build a wall between the two. The agony was that of being ripped, the stubborn push against the tears that felt like muscle being torn from tendons, except it was everywhere. Fire and ice raged, neither winning. There was just overwhelming pain.

  Amid the turbulence and upheaval, Erin mentally screamed “No!” and registered an acceptance. Rather than fight it, she accepted it and focused on the heat rather than on fighting the cold. She mentally built a wall, a barrier that couldn’t be breached. Almost immediately, she felt peace settle inside, surrounded by turmoil. The cold and heat became separate entities. Internally, she looked at the cold and acknowledged the presence…welcomed it…and recognized the sensation of another being. No memories, just an essence.

  Erin opened her eyes, the landscape in front the same as when she had been taken by surprise. Looking down, there was a faint whitish glow emanating from her body. Inside, wrapped inside its own wall, the presence sat, waiting. She opened her arms to the sky.

  “Be free,” she exhaled.

  A mist flowed out of her mouth, the wind having no effect on the emerging apparition, which then evaporated. As it left, Erin felt a peace from the presence, gratefulness. Dropping her head, she felt tired…so very exhausted…the experience had drained her of strength.

  Looking at the ground behind her horse, a body lay crumpled, long red and black plaid sleeves stretched out as if in supplication. Erin realized that she had been so focused, every part of her intent on safeguarding her dad, that she hadn’t been aware of anything else. And right after saying that she was going to be more aware. The horses had given her plenty of warning, but she ignored them.

  She still held the feeling of the presence, both inside her and when it left. She remembered the agony and hunger in the eyes of the reapers and the peace of the soul being set free. It was such gratitude that she felt like crying.

  “Are you okay?” her dad called up from the bottom of the hill.

  Erin had no idea that she had been gone so long.

  “Yeah, Daddy, I’m fine,” Erin answered, not really wanting to share what she had just experienced.

  She wasn’t sure whether it was from embarrassment or to keep it private, deciding that it may be a little of both.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, I was just lost in thought.”

  “Okay. There’s a pantry and food storage in the basement with a lot of food stores. The place looks clear, so bring the pack horses down,” he yelled.

  Erin glanced at the body on the ground and then to the nearby barn, the door swinging in the wind. With a kick of her heels, she headed down the hill, weaving a path for her and her pack horses between the flowering bushes.

  Erin Donaldson—Part 1

  Erin sat in a chair, staring out at the snow falling, the rope leading from the front door to the stable fading into the white. Her dad had passed away the year before, and the deep sadness still lingered. Often, when doing chores around the place or heading out in the better weather to hunt, memories surfaced of doing the same things with him. She remembered his smile, the way his brows furrowed when he was concentrating or perplexed, the way his chuckle filled a room and his laugh echoed across the fields. She missed hearing his ungodly snores at night and the gentle touch of his hand on her shoulder, his voice telling her how proud he was.

  He went quietly enough. She had wakened to find that he had passed away in the night.

  The winters are the worst, she thought, looking to the stitching on her leather shirt that needed repair.

  She remembered their conversations so long ago; her dad had left her with the skills she needed to survive. She wasn’t old, but neither was she a spring chicken.

  Was I really that young?

  The propane had run out long ago, the BBQs brought in and gutted, then turned into woodstoves for cooking. She thought of the coming spring, when she’d have to spend long days cutting down trees for firewood and hauling them back with ropes attached to horses. The herds had grown over the years.

  She never told her dad of the experience on the hill, not really knowing why she kept that to herself. Perhaps she had been worried that he’d become even more protective. For whatever reason, that was a secret she had held close. Along with having released that essence on the hill in the middle of the nowhere, she’d found that she could sense other reapers more clearly, even from a distance. Although she had always had the ability, the experience that day had amplified it. She would inform her dad whether there were any around, without telling him how she knew, and every time, he would nod his head and go check out the area anyway.

  “I miss you so much, Daddy,” she said, staring back out the window, her eyes misting.

  The next spring, while on her way across the field with a fishing pole over her shoulder, Erin heard a whisper on a breeze. She stopped in her tracks, having heard that voice a thousand times before. Putting her ear to the wind, she strained to hear it again, but there was only the soft rush as it flowed through the surrounding bushes and trees. With a sensation of being watched, she looked back over her shoulder to see four wolves standing atop the crest, all staring in her direction.

  Her first thought was to protect the horses, cattle, and chickens, thinking that the wolves were drawn to the smell of smoke wafting from the smoke houses. Then, she remembered the whisper on the wind and the conversation they’d had so long ago.

  “Daddy,” she said, her voice neither loud nor whispered.

  There wasn’t an answering call, just the four wolves standing there. Erin smiled and lifted her hand in greeting. The wolves turned and disappeared down the far side of the ridge. Erin wasn’t disappointed or sad, knowing that they would return.

  The next day, her chores completed, Erin brought out a chair and sat at the edge of the field. In the middle of it, she had placed some of her smoked meat, making sure the horses, cattle, and chickens were in their enclosures. Movement near a stand of trees across the dirt road, from within the bushes growing along its length, revealed the presence of four wolves crouched among the shadows.

  One of the wolves walked forward, slinking under the fence on the opposite side of the large field. Erin sat patiently, watching without moving. He inched closer to the meat, his haunches quivering, muscles clenched, ready to turn and flee at the slightest provocation. Slowly, the other three emerged. A few yards into the field, the wolf halted, crouched.

  “It’s okay. It’s for you,” Erin said.

  The wolf looked from the meat to her and issued a low growl.

  “Oh, you silly. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Slinking forward, his eyes on Erin the whole time, the wolf drew near the slabs of meat. With a lunge, it snatched one and ran to the edge of the field where it sat and tore into the meal. The other three were less hesitant, dashing into the field to take pieces and devour them in the shade of a cabin.

  “It looks like I’ll need to hunt a bit more,” Erin muttered, watching as the wolves vanished back into the growth.

  Doing the same the next day, Erin saw ten wolves emerge from the wood line. After setting the meat down, she resumed her seat from the day prior. Once she sat, the pack leader trotted forward and took one of the pieces, the others dashing under the fence to eat the rest.

  “It looks like I’ll have to do a lot more hunting,” Erin said, watching all ten of them vanish into the hills.

  One night, she was startled awake and stared around her darkened room. She sensed the presence of a reaper nearby. Gathering her clothes,
the presence suddenly vanished from her mind. One minute, it was there, clear and crisp as could be, then it was gone as if it had never existed. Her heart beat wildly in the darkness, only a sliver of the moon’s rays creating a beam of light from an opening in the curtains. She wasn’t so much fearful for herself, but rather scared of the experience she had on the hill so long ago. She had done it once and wasn’t completely sure she could do it again. The fight, the raging torment had nearly destroyed her.

  Erin peered into the dark shadows, to the walls that she knew weren’t a barrier. Although she didn’t sense the presence anymore, that didn’t mean that it wasn’t still around. With a quickening breath, her wide eyes searched the suddenly alien room, looking for the white glow that would precede an entering reaper. Sitting on her bed, she pulled the covers against her chin, her quivering hands tightly gripping the edges.

  A howl erupted from nearby, followed by more, filling the nighttime air of the small enclosed valley. Slowly, Erin began to relax, the adrenaline leaving. Somehow, she knew that the wolves had sent a message.

  “We’ve taken care of the threat, little one,” the howls seemed to convey.

  The next day, she found a body outside of the fence, dried blood sprayed across the body from a torn neck, the leaves beneath the body coated with a sticky goo. The faded jeans were shredded in the back, more blood soaking into the ground from torn hamstrings. Afterward, Erin began leaving the fodder barn door open, leaving meat in there on a nightly basis and finding it gone in the morning.