Infinite Day

by Chris Walley

  The next morning, with water vapor rising off the sodden vegetation around them, they hid the bags in a recess in the rock and began to climb the great stone ridge with just some water and the pocket fieldscope.

  It took them longer than they had predicted, mainly because they tried to avoid bare expanses of rock. At the top they looked westward. The great river snaked on ahead for some way through the forest, but they both felt, for the first time, that the line of trees did end ahead of them. In the distance, tiny white specks wheeled in the sky.

  “Gulls,” Merral said. “I smell salt in the air. The sea at last.”

  Vero, peering through the fieldscope, drew Merral’s attention to something. Far away, near where they felt the river flowed, a narrow line rose into the sky like a hair.

  It has to be a construction—perhaps some sort of weather or survey station. It is the first evidence we’ve seen of any human activity.

  Within minutes, Merral realized his hopes had become centered on that tower. There they would find security, food, and who knew what. In a more rational part of his mind he knew that such hopes were baseless. In the past there might have been help and possibly a communications system. But now, with the worlds at war and the Gate closed, there can be no such hope. Still, it gave them a goal.

  They were discussing the significance of the tower and how long it would take them to get there when Merral became aware of a bird, calling wildly, heading westward overhead. It was followed by another, also uttering cries of alarm.

  With a surge of unease, he turned around. Far to the east of them, above the treeline, enormous flocks of birds were rising and circling in panic. With a wordless urgency, Merral leaned down and focused the small fieldscope on the trees, zooming the instrument for maximum enlargement.

  Perhaps ten kilometers away, the foliage of the trees was shaking, as if a great wind were slowly drifting across a wide front of the forest. As it moved toward them, birds were fleeing before it. He heard their distant calls of dread.

  “We have company,” he said. “Better take a look.”

  The Krallen are coming. Not in twelves or twenty-fours but in hundreds—if not thousands—sweeping their way meter by meter through the woods. They will not miss us.

  Vero took the device. “Ah. How long before they get to us?”

  “Three, four hours. They are traveling slowly and thoroughly. Ideas?”

  “None. Another hilltop last stand?”

  Merral felt himself smile at what now seemed a distant memory. “Not yet. And this time, there’s no one to rescue us.”

  A moment later Merral had an idea. “Let’s take the river. We have one last chance to elude them.”

  They raced down as fast as they could to the jagged rock where they had overnighted. Merral gestured to the great fir lying beached on the soft mud at least two meters above the water level.

  “We travel down on that. We may be able to hide in the branches. But it will be a wet journey.”

  They took out the wire saws from the backpacks and, standing deep in the mud, sawed away slowly at the roots that held the trunk fast in the riverbank. Yet for all their efforts, by early afternoon the tree had still refused to move.

  “We’ll have to wait for the water to rise on the next storm,” Merral said, looking eastward to where the clouds, as white as sheets, were slowly bubbling up over the mountains.

  They decided that all they could do was wait. They sealed their backpacks closed, tied them to the tree, and then hid themselves in the branches as the warm sun beat down and flies buzzed around.

  Soon the clouds were thicker and above them came regular flurries of panicky birds flying away overhead. A herd of deer bounded nervously past on the far side of the river.

  Finally, borne on a faint breeze, Merral heard the sound he had feared: that high, wailing howl of doom and hate.

  They are not far away. He shivered.

  The clouds had become darker and denser now, and soon they could hear far-off drumrolls of thunder. Merral saw below him the river begin to rise. The sun was eclipsed by cloud and heavy raindrops began to hiss around.

  The howls and wails were closer now. A kilometer away, perhaps less. Merral caught the urgent gaze of Vero through the branches, but they said nothing.

  A double flash of lightning whipped down nearby and the downpour intensified, its sound becoming a roar. The river waters, scarred by the impact of the rain, began to swell up, moving in a purposeful manner. Amid more lightning and a gathering deep gloom, the wind began buffeting the water and shivering the branches.

  In the near darkness, Merral peered anxiously through the foliage up the river.

  A dazzling flash of lightning split the darkness, and in it he glimpsed a pack of silver-gray figures, heads down low, sniffing at the bank.

  We have just minutes.

  Beneath him the tree suddenly surged. He felt cool water tug at his feet. A bellow of thunder roared as if the world was in agony, and multiple lightning flashes flared about, throwing harsh shadows everywhere.

  He willed the tree to move. The water was lapping around his legs now.

  More flashes came. On top of the rock above where they had sheltered, terrible gray forms with gleaming red eyes crouched, rain running off their smooth bodies.

  The tree lurched again, shuddered as a branch struck the bottom, and then began to float free.

  Now, moving ever more swiftly, it drifted into the center of the river and floated away with a new urgency.

  As he uttered a prayer of thanks, Merral knew that confrontation had not been avoided.

  It has just been postponed.

  28

  How long the storm lasted Merral could not say. By the time it had ended, he was cold, weary, and waterlogged. His arms ached from hanging on to the branches, and he was bruised from being buffeted by the water.

  As the storm abated with fitful spasms of rain and the sun came out low in the sky, it was plain that they had traveled many kilometers. The river was broadening now, and the trees were pulling away from the banks, giving way to wide, reedy expanses of marsh.

  Recognizing that they were getting close to the river’s mouth, Merral moved cautiously along the trunk to talk to Vero.

  “We need to be careful that we are not washed out to sea.”

  “My friend, I agree.”

  In another hour, it was plain they were indeed close to the coast. Merral caught a glimpse of the tower ahead and saw that it lay on a low cliff at the edge of a bay. From its two stone-built stories and the high metal spire, he identified it as the sort of monitoring station often built in the late stages of seeding. He warned himself against too much hope; it might have been abandoned years ago.

  They saw that the river would bring them past it. With the sun setting in golden rags of cloud, they turned a last meander and the tower lay just ahead. Merral and Vero unfastened their backpacks and pushed themselves free of the tree. They swam, then waded, and then finally crawled ashore.

  In the dusk, they made their way across the rough sand of the rock-framed bay to the base of the tower. Black cormorants flew heavily away from the roof. The place had clearly been deserted for many years.

  They clambered up a long flight of steps and reached the door at the foot of the tower. Merral pulled the pair of stiff, levered bolts open, and the door swung outward.

  Weary beyond words, they entered the building. The lights did not work, so they took out flashlights from their backpacks to explore.

  It did not take them long. They found just eight rooms, four on each floor. One upper room opened through bolted doors to a balcony. The rooms were dusty and had nothing in them but a limited amount of inactive scientific equipment. There was no electricity. There was a freshwater supply but no food and, of course, no weapons. Merral checked the door again and, finding that it could be barred from the inside, sealed it closed. Then he and Vero pulled dry clothing out of their bags and put it on. They ate some of their remaining food a
nd then, resigned to their fate, waited for Lezaroth and the Krallen to find them.

  The next morning, after a fitful night’s sleep, they carefully explored the inside of the tower and peered cautiously through the cracks in the steel shutters that covered every window. They were relieved to see no signs of Krallen. The setting of the tower was now plain; it had been built on the crest of a narrow, steep-sided ridge of rock separating two bays. The doorway, on the southern side, faced the river mouth, while on the northern side was a long, sandy expanse. Here the tower was so close to the cliff edge as to almost overhang it.

  Cautiously, Vero opened a window and gazed downward. “A long drop,” he said. “But look: a lightning conductor cable runs down it. Perhaps as a last resort . . .” He shook his head in dismissal and closed the window.

  On the western side, facing out to sea, was a small, narrow balcony with a metal rail. On the eastern side, they glimpsed through the crack in the shutters a flat surface a few hundred meters away that had clearly served as a landing strip.

  An hour later they were still debating what to do when they heard a single, high trembling whistle nearby. It was answered a second later by a succession of howls and wails.

  “That’s Krallen for ‘Found them,’” Merral said.

  They ran to the window above the door and peered through it at the bay they had come ashore in. Flowing across it like molten silver was an immense Krallen horde.

  “L-Lezaroth doesn’t do things by halves, does he?” Vero said quietly. “Any guesses on numbers?”

  “A thousand,” Merral said.

  “Wrong.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s not divisible by twelve.”

  “How true. Incidentally, you know we’ve got the wrong sort of bush knives?”

  “I’m glad you reminded me,” Vero said. “I was thinking of going out and charging them.” He shrugged. “Not really. I can’t get enthusiastic about that.”

  “Me, neither. Any bright ideas?”

  “Pray. Then look for some weapons.”

  Having prayed, they found two metal bars, closed the door from the stairwell, and waited. The Krallen, now a vast, immobile mass in front of the door, fell silent.

  Twenty minutes later, a dark, squat vessel, all sharp-angled surfaces, grilles, and nozzles, descended with a whine onto the landing pad.

  A door slid open, a ladder was extruded, and two men, both in armor, climbed down. The taller man led the way with authority, and Merral had no doubt of his identity.

  “Lezaroth,” he hissed.

  “I don’t suppose he’s come to offer apologies,” Vero observed.

  In their extraordinarily disciplined way, the Krallen shuffled sideways to allow the men to walk between them.

  At the top of the stairway, Lezaroth stopped and looked up at the window.

  “D’Avanos, open the door! Let’s get this over!” The voice bore a cold anger.

  Neither Merral nor Vero replied.

  Lezaroth made a complex gesture to the Krallen and six bounded forward, three taking up position either side of the door. They began a weird and furious hammering with their front claws. Fragments of stone flew away.

  “Clever little beasts, aren’t they?” Merral whispered.

  Vero gestured him back and pointed to the window on the opposite side.

  “We could get out and down the side into the next bay,” he hissed. “The Krallen are all on that side.”

  “And then?”

  Vero grunted. “Oh, we’d think of something.”

  “Nice idea. I don’t see how that will help us.”

  From down below came the sound of anguished metal being pushed and levered.

  Merral hefted the iron bar and put it down on a table. “Well, Vero, at least I’m in this with a friend.”

  “Our friendship has been . . . eventful.”

  They heard the metal yield and a moment later heavy, careful footsteps climbing the stairs.

  Merral and Vero stepped back from the door.

  Two explosive blasts sounded, and with a cloud of dust, the door blew off its hinges and sank noisily to the floor.

  A large man in gray armor emerged from the stairwell and stepped over the door. He bore a weapon with a flaring pair of barrels. Another man, similarly armed, followed him and stood by the door.

  The first man lifted his visor. Merral was unsurprised to see it was Lezaroth.

  Keeping the barrel of his gun pointed at Merral, he glanced swiftly around and then spoke. “D’Avanos, I want you to come with me.”

  “No.”

  “That wasn’t an invitation. It was an order. If you don’t come peacefully, I will put the Krallen on slow-kill mode, throw your friend to them, and make you watch. Do you want me to describe what that means?”

  “It’s not really necessary. I have a fair amount of experience with them by now.”

  “Well, come on.”

  “No.” Merral was somehow relieved at the defiance in his voice. I no longer fear Lezaroth.

  He saw that the other man was tilting his helmet and tapping it by his right ear. Then he leaned forward and, with unmistakable urgency, said something to Lezaroth.

  Lezaroth flexed his left hand. Merral was reminded of Azeras; Lezaroth was trying to communicate. It was evidently unsuccessful, because he uttered a single Saratan expletive, strode past Merral to the balcony door, flung it open, and walked outside.

  Of course; any signals are screened by the tower.

  Lezaroth was shouting. Something is going wrong. Seized by an idea and a faint hope, Merral turned to Vero and mouthed, “Lock him on the balcony.”

  Vero nodded.

  Merral saw that the second man was concentrating on adjusting some mechanism on his wrist. He stepped back to the table and, with his hand behind his back, found the iron bar.

  He nodded at Vero.

  Merral flung himself forward, swinging the bar mercilessly at the man’s helmeted head.

  The man saw the blow just before it struck him. He twisted sharply, swung the gun up to fire, and at the same time, stepped back.

  The blow caught him heavily on the collar and he tumbled back headlong down the stairs. He lay still.

  The balcony doors crashed shut. Merral ran to join Vero in slamming the bolts closed.

  While Lezaroth hammered at the door, they ran across the room and tore open the northern window. As Merral looked out and saw the drop, he gulped. Then he found the thick wire of the lightning conductor—mercifully, loose against the wall—and pulled himself out. Half sliding, half moving hand over hand, he descended as fast as he could with Vero just above his head.

  He glanced down, decided the sand was close enough, and jumped. The landing nearly winded him, but he began running out across the beach.

  Behind him came a crescendo of baying cries and wails from the Krallen.

  Merral ran on, the gently breaking waves catching the sunlight in front of him. I have no idea how this ends.

  He hazarded a glance back and spotted Vero closely following him. Beyond him a thin, urgent, silver line of Krallen were spilling over the crags by the tower.

  He looked ahead, watching gulls fly up in panic.

  Merral’s heart pounded and he was beginning to pant. I can’t keep this up. You don’t outrun Krallen.

  From nowhere, he heard a voice shout, “Run into the sea!”

  It wasn’t Vero, although it sounded familiar.

  “Run into the sea!” the voice said again with an urgent tone. It reminds me . . .

  Merral decided it was a hallucination. Then a moment later he decided that obeying a hallucination wasn’t too crazy an act when the only other option was certain death. He veered to his left and in a few seconds, his feet were splashing in the cold water.

  He glanced back again to see that Vero was still just behind him. But barely fifty meters behind Vero, and closing with effortless ease, was an ordered and relentless line of Krallen. They would be at the water’s edg
e in seconds.

  “Get deeper!” the oddly familiar voice shouted.

  The water was around his knees now. It was slowing him down; every step was hard work.

  A heavy, droning noise came from the air above him. Something blotted out the sun.

  Merral felt the chilly water up to his waist, reducing him to a labored walk.

  “On three, dive and stay down as long as you can!” The voice again.

  Merral turned, looked at Vero, and caught his glance of puzzlement. So we are both going mad. The Krallen were splashing forward, throwing spray about them.

  “One!”

  Merral took a deep breath.

  “Two!”

  “Three!”

  He flung himself forward and down into the water. As he dived, he twisted slightly so that he was partly looking upward.

  The blue sky turned a livid, brilliant orange. It was so brilliant that even under the water Merral found himself blinking. The water shook with a pounding series of deep vibrations as if the surface were being smacked ferociously by a giant hand.

  He saw an orange light—dark edged—that seemed to roll over the surface of the water.

  Merral’s shallow dive had left his feet close to the surface, and he was suddenly conscious that they were getting warm. He tucked them down so that they touched the sandy floor just beneath him.

  Now there came a new, rapid, and higher-pitched series of thuds. All about him the water seemed to be churning with bubbles.

  Above the water he could see that the blue was returning, but in it was something very dark and solid. Like a low thundercloud over the water.

  Merral felt his lungs tighten. I will have to surface. The cacophony of sound, oddly muted and distorted by the water, continued.

  Eventually, he could hold his breath no longer. He shot to the surface, his lungs ready to explode.

  Voraciously gulping air that was strangely warm and metallic, Merral looked up to see a massive disk floating in the sky above him. From it, great bursts of flame were spurting out with a deafening hammering noise.

  Merral spun round and looked back toward the beach.