by Platt, Sean
Brent, paralyzed by fear, could do nothing but stare into the dark swirling heavens.
Above him, arcs of bright white spilled like spider webs into the darkness, shooting out for what seemed like miles in pulsating strobes of light like a dance club in hell.
Brent sat, transfixed by the beauty of light fighting black and by the seething hues of the battle. Time slowed to nothing as Brent felt wrapped in serenity. Peace, awe, and a weird feeling of enlightenment spread through his body. Even though he had no idea why, Brent felt — for a moment — as though he were staring into the eyes of God. His awe was so deep, he almost felt like dying would be fine.
Ben would be fine.
So would Gina.
They would move on.
And he would simply cease to be.
Just close your eyes.
Before he could close his eyes, however, a dark solid shape filled his vision — a truck being lifted high into the sky, dangling above him, as though taunting him with the inevitable.
Oh God.
Someone suddenly pulled Brent hard, then dragged him under the overpass seconds before the truck plummeted to the ground in an eruption of metal and glass, raining fresh pain all over his body.
Brent closed his eyes and welcomed surrender.
**
When he came to, the darkness had ceded to the light.
It was morning. Or maybe afternoon, and Brent was lying in the back of a van, feeling as if he’d been beaten to hell. Ed lay beside him, eyes closed and face battered. Billy was sitting, leaning against the wall of the van, his face bruised and scratched, clothes covered in dirt and blood. Brent had no idea how much was his and how much was from the birds.
Brent’s head was pounding, his throat was dry, and his tongue was coated in blood and dirt. He craned his neck to see up to the van’s front. Lisa was driving with The Prophet beside her, somehow wearing hardly a scratch, though Brent was certain the old man had been behind him.
How did he survive all that?
Brent noticed that Billy was looking at Brent oddly. Billy looked down at Ed’s hands, and then Brent’s, and then back again and managed a smile.
What’s he trying to tell me?
He looked down, then over at Ed. Both of their handcuffs had been removed. Brent went to return Billy’s smile, but Billy’s eyes were then on the front of the van. Brent followed his gaze just in time to see they were entering a wide dark tunnel.
“We’re here,” Billy whispered. “Black Mountain.”
* * * *
CHAPTER 7 — Luca Bishop
Other Earth
Paddock Island, New York
Sunday July 10, 2011
THREE MONTHS BEFORE THE EVENT…
This wasn’t fair.
Luca’s dad was visiting Boricio, making sure he was safe, while Luca was stuck at home with his sometimes babysitter, Sarah.
Sarah was pretty, in her early 20’s, and had always been nice to him. Even made him two bags of popcorn when she knew Will only wanted her to give him one.
But it still wasn’t fair.
His dad said he had to go see Boricio in the city alone. He also said Luca wasn’t allowed to “travel” while he wasn’t in the house. He even made Luca cross his heart.
Luca crossed it like his dad told him to, but that didn’t make it fair.
His dad said he would be back later tonight, maybe tomorrow. Luca wasn’t supposed to wait up. That wasn’t fair either. He wanted to know if Boricio was okay, and shouldn’t have to wait until morning to find out. His dad said he’d call with news, but sometimes his dad got busy and forgot to call, and Luca worried that this might be one of those times.
“Thanks, Sarah,” Luca said, taking the bowl filled with his second bag of popcorn.
“You’re welcome,” Sarah plopped beside him, hugging her own bowl.
“Do you want to watch TV?” She looked at Luca. “You’re just staring at the screen. It’s okay to watch it, you know. Your dad wouldn’t mind.”
“Okay,” Luca said. “But I don’t care what we watch. Whatever you want is fine with me.”
Sarah picked up the remote and started flipping channels, pausing on some show with people yelling at each other on MTV for a minute before moving to The Cartoon Network.
Luca leaned back on the couch and shoved a handful of popcorn into his mouth, then started to chew. That’s when he heard Sarah say something that wasn’t so nice inside her head.
I dunno what happened, but this kid got weird enough to be the top of a totem pole. Fucking. Creepy. Like a kid from a King book.
“I want to go to bed,” Luca suddenly said, setting his bowl on the end table and pushing it away. He stood from the couch, gathered crumbs from his pajamas, then swept them into a pile on his hand and poured them into the bowl.
“Goodnight,” he said. “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“It’s not even 8:00!”
Good, now I can call Brad, she thought.
“Sometimes I like going to bed early,” he said just wanting to get out of the room before he heard her think something else.
“Um … okay.” Sarah kept her eyes on Luca for another half minute or so, said, “Goodnight!” then picked up the remote and turned it from the Cartoon Network back to MTV.
Luca went to his bedroom and paused at his door, half in and half out, knowing he was probably about to do something he’d crossed his heart not to do.
Luca swallowed, then stepped through the door and shut it behind him. His dad would be mad, but he wouldn’t be too mad since Luca was doing the thing that was smart. Smart meant going to the place that would make him less lonely, while giving his dad more of the answers he was looking for.
Luca still wasn’t sure how he crossed over to the world where everything was how it was supposed to be. He’d been able to do it a few times while awake, but that had been with Will standing by. To do it awake without Will around felt scary for some reason. Better to just go to sleep, where it would just happen on its own — that way Will couldn’t get mad.
So Luca curled on his bed and counted backwards from 100 like he always did when he was trying to fall asleep.
Luca hit 47, then started to think about stuff that didn’t make sense. The more he tried to make the stuff make sense, the less sense it made. He was spinning around and around, the circles swirling faster in his mind, like a merry-go-round of confusion until it finally spun Luca into a clarity where everything made sense.
Luca felt himself coming to color somewhere between the black and white. When he opened his eyes, Luca saw himself standing in the middle of his bedroom, except it wasn’t his bedroom at all. This bedroom belonged to the other Luca. The one who was happy because he lived with his mommy and his daddy, and his sister Anna. The one who never had to see the car when it burned. The one who had new pictures taken in new places with his family still alive.
Luca was sleeping in his bed on the other side of the room, the covers rising and falling along with his breath. On the other side of the door lay the faint echo of a fading memory — the sound of Luca’s father working in his office.
Luca swallowed, filled with a sudden, desperate need to see his father. He took one last look at the other Luca, then left the room and walked down the hallway to his father’s office.
Luca’s first dad was surprised to see his son open the door. “Oh my goodness, Luca,” he said, spinning his chair toward the door. “I thought you were asleep.”
Luca said, “I was.”
His dad laughed. “Okay,” he said, “so you’ve changed your pajamas.” Luca looked down at his Iron Man PJ’s, then back at his dad. His dad said, “So why did you fire Captain America?”
Luca said, “Iron Man is better.”
His father raised his eyebrows. “Since when? I didn’t even know you had Iron Man pajamas. Your life was all about Captain America last week.” He leaned in to Luca and whispered, “You know, you really should do a better job of keeping me
updated on your super hero preferences. There are always birthdays and random trips to the Galleria, and I don’t want to be caught buying a present ill-informed.”
“Okay Dad,” Luca said, not knowing what else to say. He felt almost guilty because the joke was for a him that wasn’t really him.
Luca stared at his father, like he was the ghost that he kinda sorta was. Staring at his dad’s face was weird because Luca had forgotten exactly what his dad looked like. He had memories, lots of them, but there were little things that had faded in the past two years, like the cleft in his dad’s jaw, and a small faded scar over his dad’s left eye that Luca had almost forgotten about.
“Are you okay?” his father stared back, left eyebrow raised. “Luca?”
Luca hated nothing more than crying in front of his real dad, especially now that he wasn’t even really there. His bottom lip started to quiver, but he managed to tuck it in before his dad said, “You okay?”
“I’m just feeling sad spiders.”
“Sad spiders? What are those?”
Luca felt like maybe he shouldn’t say anything. His second dad might get mad.
Luca spent a long time saying nothing, the entire time wanting to leave this world that belonged to the other Luca and return to his home on Black Island. After too long without an answer, his first dad said, “Should I be worried about anything, Luca? Anything at all?” He tugged on his right earlobe like Luca remembered he used to do. Another memory that he’d almost forgotten.
Luca looked up at his father and felt a sudden flare of jealousy toward the other Luca. The Luca who wasn’t adopted, the one who was still living with his first family.
Luca didn’t really hate anybody; he didn’t even hate Tommy Wilcox when he made Luca eat a cricket, but right then as he stood close enough to his dad to smell what he could never have again, hating him was easy. For a moment, Luca did, no different than if the small boy had been the drunk driver who murdered his parents.
Luca turned to his first dad. “I’m tired,” he said. “I’m going to bed now. Will you ask me about the sad spiders in the morning?”
“What do you want me to ask?” his dad said, still puzzled.
“Just ask me about the sad spiders.”
“Okay…”
Something about Luca was scaring something inside his first daddy. Maybe it was because Luca didn’t even know why he was telling his dad about the sad spiders. He thought maybe it might get the other Luca in trouble.
He could hear his dad wanting him to go back to his bedroom so he could finish his work. Luca felt bad for being scared, guilty for his unkind thoughts, and curious why he was suddenly trying to get the other Luca into trouble.
“Goodnight Daddy,” Luca said, giving his father a giant hug. Luca did his best to hold in the cry he wanted to release in that long hug.
It had been so long since he’d hugged his real dad, and he didn’t want to ever forget this feeling — the warmth, the love, and . . . the safety of a his old life.
Luca wanted to stay and never leave.
Never.
His father held the hug, then said, “Goodnight Luca.”
Luca reluctantly went down the hallway, then back into the other Luca’s room, where he stared at the sleeping boy under the covers.
At first Luca thought how easily he could hurt the other him. He was lying there, helpless. Then he realized how dumb that would be. And how mean. He hadn’t done anything, after all.
But then Luca had another idea. One that brought a thin smile to his lips.
Maybe I can bring this Luca back to Black Island and I can stay here?
Then Luca could return to this room and live the rest of his life with his mom, dad, and Anna.
As the idea took root in his mind, Luca wanted to, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
First, he wasn’t even sure if he could bring a person back with him. A person was a lot bigger than a photograph. Second, his new Dad would be too mad. And his real parents would be mad if the other Luca did that to him. He would be mad too.
Though the idea made him happy for a moment, it was wrong no matter how he looked at it.
Luca shook his head. These were wrong thoughts and Luca only wanted to do what he knew was right. So he went home, sad, waking back up to his lonely world.
A world without his family.
A world without his real dad’s hugs.
* * * *
CHAPTER 8 — Charlie Wilkens Part 2
Charlie lay on his mattress, blinking in his cell, draped in the same darkness he had been in most hours since he arrived. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been there. It felt like at least a day, and the lights had only come on once since Callie arrived.
The lights went on as a man in a yellow hazmat suit came down the row and slipped a small black tray of food and two water bottles through a slot in the bottom of each occupied cell’s door. Charlie was starving, and scarfed down his peanut butter sandwich and bag of pretzels in seconds. Callie looked just as dead as when they’d left her on the mattress. He watched her cell as he ate, staring and praying she was only sedated, rather than dead.
Charlie was curled up with his pillow, staring at Callie’s cell even though he saw nothing through the darkness. He wondered if she was infected too. Maybe all the people on the block were infected. If so, why were they being held in cells?
Are they keeping us quarantined? Or something worse?
A few hours later, the lights went bright again. Callie was standing at her window naked, screaming, though Charlie couldn’t hear her anguished cries from his cell.
He ran to the glass wall and put his hands across the cold surface, sobbing with relief. She’s alive! Charlie had considered covering his body, but it felt somewhat wrong to do with her standing there so raw and vulnerable. She wasn’t just naked, she was scratched and bruised, with her hair in a storm. Dark circles ringed beneath her hollow red eyes. She looked as if she’d been through hell since he’d seen her, and Charlie felt sick to his stomach that he could do nothing to help. Sick to his stomach that these fuckers had kept her naked in a cage like an animal.
Charlie vowed to kill every fucker responsible.
Callie put her hands on her glass wall and wept, her red eyes meeting Charlie’s.
“I’m going to get us out,” he mouthed slowly, hoping she could read his lips.
She mouthed something back, but Charlie couldn’t make out the words. He shook his head and shrugged, then mouthed the word, “What?”
She said something again, but to his frustration, he still couldn’t make it out. Then she stopped talking, her attention turned down the hall, where two men in yellow hazmat suits stepped onto the cell block. A Guardsman in black gear, wearing a black mask and respirator and carrying an assault rifle, followed as the pair of men headed toward them.
Callie covered her breasts and crotch, and Charlie covered his flaccid penis. The men stopped in front of a cell, two down from Callie’s, where a heavyset nude redheaded woman stood shaking her head.
The man in black pressed the code on her door, then stepped back and raised the gun as the men in yellow entered.
The woman screamed, her mouth visibly repeating, “No!” as she backed her body against the wall. The men in yellow grabbed her arms and thrust her through the door before marching her down the hallway. She fell to the floor then held her hands together, as if praying.
Or maybe she was begging the men not to take her.
The redhead melted into a puddle, crying and screaming.
The man in black lifted his gun and held it to the top of her skull, promising what would come if she didn’t obey them.
The woman kept shaking her head, violently back and forth, faster and faster.
Where are they trying to take her?
She must have good reason to fear them. Maybe she’s been taken before. Or maybe she’s seen others taken who haven’t returned.
What the fuck are these people doing?
<
br /> The man in black thrust the gun at the redhead again as the men in yellow waved their hands, instructing her to get up and walk. The woman refused, her head down and shaking as her long, tangled hair waved back and forth in a violent swirl.
The man in black thrust his gun at the redhead again, but she was no longer looking at him. He fired his rifle. Charlie flinched and closed his eyes. When he opened them, she was on the ground, face first in a spreading pool of blood.
Charlie backed away from the glass, screaming.
One of the men in yellow looked down at his clipboard, flipped to the following page, then looked up and down the long rows of cells. He pointed at another cell on Charlie’s row and ordered an old naked black man to be pulled from the cell. The man didn’t resist — as if anyone would after seeing the woman shot dead — walking with his shoulders slumped through the door with the three Guardsmen.
They left the redhead on the ground, probably as a warning.
Charlie looked up at Callie, who was staring at the dead woman and crying. The lights dimmed to black again, returning their world to darkness.
I will kill them all.
**
When the lights came back on, two men in yellow hazmat suits were dragging the dead woman from the block, then down the hallway to a door at the end. Then a third man in a yellow came in to mop up the mess.
Charlie took advantage of the light, and turned his eyes to Callie.
She came to the glass, still not hiding her body. Nor did Charlie as he splayed his fingers on the window. For a long while, they simply stared at one another as Charlie felt a confused current of mixed emotions.
He thought he’d never see her again. Though Callie had rejected him before, and though they might never see freedom again, Charlie wanted to tell her that he loved her. He didn’t need her to reciprocate. He just needed her to know because who knew how fleeting life was for them?