The Distance

by Jeremy Robinson

  The Blur run now, moving my body bumping across the lawn, lugging me to their craft. And then what? Will they take Squirt? They would have already killed me if that was what they wanted.

  “Help!” I shout.

  The crushing grind increases, faster, louder, faster, and Luke comes tearing out onto the front yard, barking and snarling, biting at the Blur. One of them flings him aside, the shimmering warping his golden body as they fight him off.

  We’re at the street now. Luke shakes off the hit and runs back, biting and barking. He gets hold of the Blur carrying me, gripping the weird invisible cloak that the dog seems to know is there. I’m dropped. My head hits the street and I see stars. But I’m not free. The creature drags me by my naked ankles, the back of my head ripping along the pavement. I’m going to black out. My fingernails bleed, scratching the road.

  Luke releases the strange fabric and disappears beneath it. A high-pitched alien shriek follows, and then a loud yelp. The grinding reaches fever pitch. The Blur drops me, stumbling a few feet away. Luke emerges from beneath the cloak, laying on the ground, burying his head under his paws. If he’s badly hurt, I can’t see where. Me on the other hand... I’m a bleeding mess, nearly unconscious, my uterus a series of cresting contractions. I crawl on all fours to Luke and rest my head on top of him. I cover my exposed ear with one arm.

  The shape of my captor shimmers fast. It focuses its masked face on me, its intent malicious, despite the lack of expression. The grinding grows unbearably loud.

  I look around. Luke and I are once again surrounded by the Blur. With some understanding of their physiology and the bodies beneath the cloaks, I see pain in their movements. The noise is twisting them.

  The grinding stops, and the visible invisibility all around us crumples to the ground. White powder wafts out into the night air, barely visible in the now distant flood lights.

  I hug Luke close to me, crying into his fur. He whines and twists around, trying to lick my face. I feel around on the back of my head. I’m missing a lot of hair, and pebbles are stuck in my scalp.

  Squirt gives me a rambunctious kick.

  I focus on my belly, searching for the twisting pain of contractions. But nothing happens.

  False labor. Thank God.

  Sitting there bleeding on the road, with Luke, a gentle breeze brings with it the smell of gardens. Basil. Lilacs. Tomato plant leaves.

  And, roses.

  I can’t see anything, but even the darkness can’t hide their invisible light.

  I throw a clump of dirt at them, crying.

  “Took you guys long enough.”

  The shhh-shhh of walking Blur fades along with the natural scents. Whatever these protective Blur want from me, they’re not ready for it.

  Yet.

  48

  AUGUST

  “We’re getting close,” I say, ducking behind a large fallen tree. We rode to within a mile of where Jon encountered the Rashes, hid our bikes and ran the remaining mile, staying in the dark shadows of the Pennsylvania woods. The pain in my shoulder is intense. My whole body aches, but it’s nothing compared to my concern for Poe. So close to our goal, I’ve shut the phone off. In the still quiet of night, even the phone’s vibrate mode could give us away.

  “How do you know?” Jeb asks.

  I’m not sure how to answer this. I can’t tell him that the rash hidden under my shirt has suddenly begun itching. The discussion that revelation would inspire might cost us precious time. With no clues about Brook’s whereabouts at the actual abduction site, we followed what looked like a trail, but lost it ten minutes ago. An answer to Jeb’s question presents itself.

  I tap my nose.

  It’s faint, but the scent of burning wood slips past on the breeze. My mind imagines the microscopic smoke particles making contact with the thick humidity in the air. The air in Pennsylvanian July is a swamp. It clings to my skin, to my clothing, and my nostrils. The scent grows stronger with each breath, and the others smell it, too.

  Jon is the first to move, standing fast and charging forward.

  I catch his shoulder and hold him back.

  “What are you doing?” he snaps.

  “We can’t just run in, guns blazing.” I lift my hand from his arm. “We need to be smart.”

  A sudden pain in my shoulder makes me wince.

  “You okay?” Mark asks.

  I make my face a mask. Wooden. Like the Blur, hiding the truth. “Fine. Now, let’s go. Slow and quiet.”

  We creep through the darkening forest, ducked down like we’re in a cave, closing in on the source of the smoke. We find it a half mile away, at the bottom of a valley. A small road cuts through the woods. There are two large houses, one on either side of the street, both with granite post fences, swimming pools, three car garages and wraparound decks. It’s like two wealthy homeowners set up shop across the street from each other, kicking off a home improvement and upgrade war.

  The Rashes are there, enjoying the fruits of the previous owners’ labors. Generators buzz loudly. The homes glow with electricity. The pools are full of naked people, their ringed, black rashes visible from here. Some swim in awkward circles, like they’re not aware that some of them are missing limbs. Or they just don’t care. It’s a party, after all. A celebration. The sound of drunken people fills the air. I was never part of a fraternity, but the sight below us is how I always pictured them.

  With one exception. Unlike my group of survivors, these people vary in age. There are plenty of young people, but I also see some gray hair in the mix. There’s also a lot of loose skin, like Jon said, but it’s definitely not from age. Like most people, I could only look at photos of Hochman’s victims for a moment before feeling nauseous, but I’ll also never forget them. These people definitely had the disease. And survived. There are no kids, and for that, I am grateful. Evil or not, working with the Blur or not, I don’t think I could kill a child.

  “What’s the plan?” Mark asks.

  “Give me a minute,” I say, taking in every inch of the compound that I can see. The long driveways are full. There’re a variety of vehicles. Cars. Trucks. A few RVs. Not one of them is decked out with spikes or machine guns. But there is a gasoline tanker truck parked on the side of the road. They’re mobile. Unafraid of traveling in loud, easy to spot vehicles. Definitely collaborators. One of the cars, a blue sports car, is parked in the center of the road, twenty feet from what looks like a huge, unlit, bonfire. There’s something odd about the hood.

  I take the binoculars from my cargo pants pocket and take a look. Brook is tied to the hood. Naked. Arms and legs held open by thick ropes that are stretched out tight. “Godamnit.”

  “What?” Jon asks, nearly standing. Mark holds him back.

  I hold out the binoculars, just out of reach. “Do not react.”

  He nods. “I get it.”

  I lean over so he can take the binoculars. “Sports car in the street.”

  Jon puts his eyes to the viewfinder, turns them toward the street and spasms. His body locks up tight. His fingers clutch the binoculars so hard that I think the glass might break. When he turns away from the view, his face is red. His veins stand out, twitching like worms trapped beneath his skin.

  “I’m going to kill them,” he says.

  I shake my head. “We’re here for Brook.”

  “What they did to her—”

  “Is unforgivable,” I say. “But there are only four of us. There are at least forty of them.”

  “They don’t have guns,” Jeb points out. He’s just looked through his own binoculars.

  “Look again,” I say. “Look around Brook. What do you see?”

  Jeb and Jon both look.

  “Nothing,” Jon says.

  “What’s your point,” Jeb says. “No one is...oh.”

  It takes all of my self-control to not run down the hill and open fire on these savages, but I managed to pull it off and even use my brain a little, which is a good thing, since that’s
still my strongest muscle. “They’ve got it set up like some kind of ritual sacrifice. When it gets dark, they’ll light the bonfire, summon the Blur, and let them have her. Maybe they’ll take her. Maybe they’ll make her one of them.”

  “You think they can do that?” Jon asks.

  I scratch my itching shoulder. “Maybe. But when it gets dark and they go to light that fire, she’s not going to be there.”

  Jon is nodding now. The idea of saving Brook outweighs his desire for revenge.

  “So,” Mark says. “We’re going to just go down there, cut her free, and jet?”

  “That’s the plan,” I say, starting down the slope, careful to stay low and behind the thick pines whenever possible.

  Mark, Jon and Jeb follow me down to the road. We haven’t been spotted, and the sound of laughter, debauchery and music rolling out of the two houses conceals any noise we might make.

  I stop at the side of the road, hidden in the tree line. Once we step out into the street, we’ll be exposed. No amount of sneaking will hide us.

  The men line up next to me.

  Poe...

  Her name flits through my thoughts and makes my chest constrict. My hand grips the sat-phone in my pocket, my tenuous connection to her severed, feels like the loss of a limb. She could be calling right now. No, I tell myself. Not yet. Brook needs you now.

  “Everyone have a knife?” I ask. I’ve got two, just in case, but all three of them nod. “Jon, you go first. Take her right arm. Let Brook know we’re here for her, and to stay quiet. Mark, take the left arm. Jeb, you take left leg. I’ll get the right leg. If we run, and cut fast, we can be out of there and back in the woods inside thirty seconds.”

  I have no idea if this is right, but we’re only fifty feet from Brook now. If everyone’s knives are as sharp as mine, and Brook is conscious, we should be pretty quick.

  The first sign of stars shine in the deep purple sky. We don’t have long. Even if we make it in and out without a hitch, we might only have a ten minute head start before night falls and someone goes to light that fire. But maybe we’ll get lucky. Maybe they won’t think to light it until midnight. Maybe they’ll all be too drunk to even remember.

  As the dark purple sky fades a bit more, giving way to more stars, any one of which could be a waiting Blur, I step into the road.

  Nothing happens.

  I wave to the others and run.

  Despite my brief head start, the three younger men sprint past me, knives in hands, confident warriors. By the time I round the pile of stacked wood, Jon has already freed her right hand and is whispering to her. She’s awake, wide eyed and smiling. “Thank God,” I hear her say over and over as I reach her right foot.

  My blade cuts through the rope like it was little more than a hot cooked sausage link.

  Brook’s naked body squeaks over the car’s hood as she slides into Jon’s arms. He quickly peels off his shirt and tugs it on over her head. Then, without a sound, we all turn to retreat.

  And make it three steps.

  An arrow—a friggin arrow, like we’re living in a Robin Hood movie—tipped with something that’s burning, strikes the bonfire. The wood must be doused in some kind of propellant, because the whole thing lights up, flames rocketing into the sky. The heat drives us back.

  “The other way!” Jeb says, and we turn to run, but are stopped by an unholy sight.

  A line of naked people, all with dark black rings encircling their hearts, some missing arms, some with warbling loose skin, stand across the road. A blockade of flesh. Armed with a variety of medieval weaponry. Swords. Axes. Crossbows. Just as Jon described.

  We’re armed with more modern weapons, and will no doubt kill a large number of these people, but we will need to reload at some point, and when we do... The look in these people’s eyes tells me they’re not going to slow down, even while they’re being shot to bits. They might even reach us before we run out of ammo.

  I’m running scenarios and probability equations faster than I ever have before, and I’m not finding a way out of this. I need more time.

  “What do you want?” I ask, stepping in front of the others.

  “Dude,” Mark whispers. “There’s a bunch behind us, too.”

  I don’t look. I just wait.

  A man steps forward. He’s at least fifty. Overweight. Balding. No way he’s their leader. But maybe they don’t have a leader. He squints at me. Cocks his head to the side.

  “Brother,” he says. “You belong with us.” He reaches out with one arm and one stub of an arm. “Come.”

  The rest of the nude psychopaths reach their arms out to me, speaking in unison. “Come, brother.”

  The wound in my shoulder explodes with pain, sending waves of burning blood through my core, blossoming out to my extremities. I fall to my knees. I scream. Dark thoughts fill my head. It would be so easy to turn my gun around on Mark, Jeb, Jon and Brook. I could cut them down. It would delight me.

  No! My inner voice screams.

  “Argh!” I shout. “Get away from me!”

  “August!” Mark’s hand is on my shoulder. I slap it away.

  “Get away!” With the last of my will power, I remove the rifle, intending to slide it away from me, but can’t. I need it. To kill them. To kill Mark.

  “Come, brother,” the people repeat. “Come, brother.”

  I see Mark’s face, dead eyes, blood dripping from his forehead, a bullet hole I put there. The vision feels orgasmic, like nothing else in the world would be better. The desire quivers through my body, extending from my torso. From my shoulder. From the rash. In a flash of clarity, I know that if the Blur had put its finger in my heart, the urge would be all consuming. Clarity fades beneath a tsunami of rage.

  “I’m going to kill you!” I shout. I lift the rifle and pull the trigger.

  The shot rips through the night, silencing everyone and everything, save for the crackling fire at my back.

  I climb back to my feet, sweating and shaking. “I...am not...your brother.”

  I take aim with the rifle again. The naked fat man who spoke to me has a neat hole in his chest. A lone trail of blood runs down his hairy chest. But he is still alive. Still standing.

  I pull the trigger again, sending a second round into the man’s head. This time he drops hard and fast, striking the pavement with a damp thud. I’m not sure if the wetness is from blood or because he just vacated a pool, but it unnerves me, and weakens my resolve. I’ve just killed a man and doomed the others. We can’t win this fight.

  The line of people raise their eyes from the body, to me. The hatred within them is blinding and manic. They will run through our bullets. They will hack us to bits. The closest of them raises his axe toward us, wild eyes, and opens his smeared mouth, no doubt about to unleash a battle cry that will signify the beginning of our horrible end.

  But he’s interrupted by someone else.

  “Attack!”

  The distant voice is full of anger, but fails to fill me with dread. I expect to see the Rashes raise their angry arms up, cry out and charge, but they look just as confused as I am.

  That’s when the voice registers. I know it.

  Tanya.

  The first gunshot makes me flinch. A body drops.

  One of theirs.

  The second gunshot makes me smile, not because I delight in the taking of human lives, but because we might actually survive. Fight, Poe, and we will too.

  Our people. Our tribe. They’re here for us. All of them. They stream out of the woods, armed for battle and willing to use deadly force. This is not something I would have ever wished upon them. The last thing any of us wants to do is kill people. There are so few of us left. But these people are beyond redemption, and like Leila, they need to embrace the fate wrought on the rest of humanity.

  And they do.

  One by one, the men and women who kidnapped Brook and were about to do God knows what to the rest of us, are cut down. Some flee into the night, running down
the street naked. Survivors, still. But I doubt we will see them again.

  And while the carnage is horrible, it’s also inspiring.

  We’re going to make it, I think. The Blur can’t stop us. And neither can these people.

  We’re coming, Poe.

  Like a freight train loose on the tracks, we’re going to charge north and we’re not going to stop until we reach the end of the line. Nothing, and I mean nothing, is going to stop us short of reaching Poe. I lift my rifle and take a single shot, dropping a man about to strike Jon with a mace. As the report from my rifle echoes and fades, the battle ends.

  My eyes flit over the faces of my people, converging on the road. They’re all here. All alive.

  Thank God.

  The fight has ended without Jeb, Mark or Jon firing a single shot. Silence returns as our group is reunited. Silence, except for the fire.

  I turn toward the blaze, the pain and itching in my shoulder gone once more. The flames snap violently, releasing black smoke and bright light into the night. Easily seen from above. I’m about to order everyone back into the woods when Tanya approaches.

  She looks grim. Like she’s just fought a war and killed people. So I think nothing of the face until it turns into a sneer directed at me. “You son-of-a-bitch,” she says, reaching out. “You lied to us!”

  She catches my shirt in her hand and yanks hard, tearing buttons loose and exposing my skin. The rash, lit by the blaze, stands out starkly against my hidden-from-the-sun, gleaming white skin.

  Some of the others gasp.

  “You’re one of them!” she shouts. “You led us here!”

  She hasn’t lifted her weapon yet, but she’s holding it at the ready, index finger over the trigger.

  “I’m not,” I say. It sounds pitiful. A child’s lie.

  Jeb steps up beside Tanya. He looks at the rash, then my eyes. He’s still deciding.

  Mark, on the other hand, needs no convincing. He steps between Tanya and me, pushing her gun further down. “He’s not one of them.”

  “He’s got the rash,” Jeb says. While he lacks the emotional kick Tanya wields, the coldness in his voice is worse.