by Brian Hodge
The color of the jewel Amos Barrow clasped protectively in his hands.
Blood thundered in Copeland’s ears, and all the air in his lungs evaporated. Unable to stop himself, he staggered backward, bumping into the door and pushing it open. He and Debra spilled out into the hall, their horrified eyes locked on the unnatural monstrosity. It slid down another step, freezing them with its hypnotic gaze; then its knobbed mandible dropped open, spread incredibly wide, and issued a weird, warbling shriek, almost like the cry of a whippoorwill.
Debra’s hands had clamped painfully around his bicep. “Oh, Jesus! What the hell is that?”
“That’s a Lumera.”
Their heads swiveled as young Malachi Barrow appeared in his open doorway, black, impassive eyes regarding them from beneath thick, bony brows.
“Great-Granddaddy calls ’em Lumeras. They come from up yonder.” He pointed skyward.
Copeland’s hand went for the tire iron and drew it from his belt. The skull-headed thing thudded to the floor at the bottom of the stairs and began to wriggle slowly toward them.
The door beside Amos’s whipped open and Levi Barrow emerged, a dangerous scowl etched on his craggy face. Joshua followed immediately, and the brothers each took a menacing step forward.
“Wouldn’t have expected to find you here, Miz Harrington,” Levi said, raising an eyebrow. Then he lifted a beckoning hand to her. “You better just step over here by me, so’s that thing don’t do to you what it’s gonna to do to your friend.”
Debra shook her head and took a halting step backward, toward the stairs to the main floor. “Dad!” she called in a tremulous voice. “Dad, where are you?”
Levi gazed at her in disappointment. “Your dad ain’t in no position to help you.”
Copeland raised the tire iron and whispered to her, “Get down the stairs. Move it.”
“But Dad…”
“He’s still alive. That has to be enough for now.”
The creature, only a yard from Copeland’s foot, trilled again, piercingly. With a last look of longing toward the far end of the hall, Debra spun and bolted like a panicked doe down the stairs. Copeland then wound up and flung his weapon—not at the creature but at Levi Barrow. It whirled through the air straight at his head, but the ugly figure deftly sidestepped, and the projectile slammed noisily into the wall behind him. But by then, Copeland was hard on Debra’s heels, and two seconds later, they had burst through the front door into the chilly night.
Where, in spite of their pursuers, they both stopped and stared, eyes bulging incredulously, hearts leaping to their throats.
The sky, the landscape…the world. All had gone insane.
Overhead, hundreds of swirling and zooming globes of light had set fire to the pitch-black night. The Barrow house, which had nestled in a broad, grassy meadow, now stood amid a forest of very tall, hideously gnarled, ash-colored trees, their crooked limbs arcing over its roof like groping fingers. When Copeland looked toward the ridge off to the north, an icy thrill of terror coursed down his spine, for beyond the inexplicable trees, the alien, but now-familiar tower soared to the heavens like a mile-high arm, its fist puncturing the canopy of sky.
The blazing globes appeared to be emerging from the protrusions at its apex, spewing into space like bees from a hive.
A heavy, rapid thumping from inside the house jolted him back to his senses, so he grabbed Debra’s hand and started running at full speed, headed for the road, tugging her behind him as if she weighed no more than a doll.
He wasn’t pulling her for long. Before he knew it, she was right beside him, and then in front of him, her legs pumping like pistons on the tar-black asphalt. The limbs of the new, skeletal trees intertwined above their heads, enclosing them like a tunnel, which pressed tighter upon them the farther they ran. When Copeland glanced up, he could see the brilliant, gigantic fireflies soaring to and fro just above the branches, occasionally close enough for him to hear faint whooshing sounds as they passed. He no longer had any concept of distance, how far away the car was parked—if it was even still there. Endless heartbeats later, though, a fiery glint of metal—a reflection of the airborne horrors on the hood—revealed the Lexus’s location to him.
They fought their way through a barricade of entwined branches, which felt unnaturally warm to Copeland’s touch. He opened Debra’s door first, heaved bodily her inside, and then scrambled over the hood and in through his door, which she had already shoved opened for him.
“Oh, God, oh, God,” she whispered, rocking back and forth in her seat. “This can’t be real! It can’t!”
He shook his head, his mouth too dry to speak. His trembling fingers somehow managed to start the engine, and he jammed the car into gear, praying it could break through the encroaching limbs. When he floored the accelerator, the Lexus leaped obediently forward, but rocked to a halt as the web of branches greedily entrapped it. He threw the gear lever into reverse and the car roared backward, ripping loose some of the groping fingers, stopping just short of smashing into a gigantic black bole. Then, rushing forward again, the vehicle tore through the barricade and leaped onto the road, narrowly missing two running figures that suddenly appeared in the headlights. Smashing the pedal to the floor, Copeland sent the car hurtling back in the direction they had come, toward town.
“What are we going to do, Russ?” Debra asked in an almost-calm voice. “We’ve got to find help.”
“That might be an issue,” he managed to quip, eyeing the rear-view mirror and catching a brief glimpse of their pursuers standing thwarted in the road. However, evading the Barrows offered not an ounce of consolation, for when he glanced up through windshield at the tangled canopy of limbs, the sky swarmed with roving fireballs, and the tower still reached longingly toward outer space. Thankfully, none of the airborne objects appeared to be following the speeding vehicle.
“They’re doing this,” she said softly. “Somehow, they are responsible.”
“There’s got to be more to learn from Levi’s journal,” Copeland said and reached into his shirt—only to hiss in anger when he discovered the book missing. “Damn it! It must have slipped out somewhere back there.”
“I can’t believe Dad was with them.” Debra’s eyes had begun to brim with tears. “He can’t have anything to do with this. I know him, Russ. He would never cooperate with the Barrows. Not in a million years.”
“They must have some kind of hold over him. It’s the only thing that makes any sense.”
“And Mom. God, what have they done to my mom?”
“We’ll get to the bottom of it…somehow,” he said, hoping his words rang less hollow to her than they did to him.
He saw her eyes turn somewhere far away—or into herself—but then his attention reverted to the road, for just ahead it veered sharply to the right, and when the car screamed into the curve, he had to work the brakes expertly to keep it from pitching into a yawning black gulf where the trees suddenly ended. For an endless age, the Lexus seemed to hang suspended in midair; then it was again racing through a long, claustrophobic tunnel of foliage, menacing and seemingly sentient. Except for the path cut by the headlights, the night had turned solidly dark again. When he looked back up at the sky, he now saw only black.
“Are they gone?” Debra asked softly, turning to peer out the rear glass. “I can’t see a thing, not a goddamned thing.”
But a moment later, Copeland noticed a warm, gold tint creeping over her features. Then a brilliant glare suddenly blinded him, and a miniature sun flashed past the windshield, zooming out in front of the car and veering to the right. The fireball entered the trees at stunning speed, a brightly burning ghost unhindered by the thick, crowded trunks. Eerie gold light bathed the depths of the aberrant forest, and for a few moments, Copeland dared hope the thing would just keep going. Then the light again intensified again, and the fireball came rushing back to keep pace with the car, passing through the trees as if they were shadows.
Debra’s e
yes locked on the fireball, only a few feet beyond her window. “I can’t make out any features,” she said slowly, obviously straining to hold her terror in check. “It looks like a solid shape of some sort inside the globe. Jesus, it’s something alive, all right.”
The road ahead appeared straight, so Copeland stood on the accelerator, winding out the engine, but the fiery ghost continued to pace them. At a loss for anything else to try, he hit the brake and sent the car into a screaming skid, throwing out one arm to keep Debra from pitching into the windshield.
The brilliant flare shot past the car, then veered straight up, burst through the cover of tree limbs, and soared high into the sky, finally becoming the sole star in the vast black expanse above. Another curve loomed ahead, and Copeland negotiated it at a crawl, fearing what might be lurking at the other end.
The sight of the small white church, behind which lay Rodney Lawson’s remains, shocked Copeland almost as dramatically as had the onset of the alien landscape. When he looked back, the cavern of trees and the now-distant tower remained visible; but ahead of him, the world seemed to have at least partially regained its senses.
Not that this made him breathe any easier; and a few seconds later, any relief he might have otherwise felt evaporated when Debra turned to look back and the twin beams of distant but rapidly approaching headlights fell upon her face.
With a weak sob, she said, “Jesus. They’re coming after us.”
Copeland hit the accelerator again and the car shoved them back into their seats as it leaped forward. No way could they go back to her house or to Lynette’s. If they drove straight into town, surely there would be people around—somewhere. Would the Barrow brothers be brazen enough to move on them in front of witnesses?
Why not? The whole town was already witness to their handiwork.
“The sheriff’s office,” he said at last. When he saw Debra’s incredulous look, he added, “Damn it, Sheriff Grayson’s not the only officer in town. There’s got to be deputies—someone—we can convince to listen. They can’t very well argue—the evidence is all around us now. We need anyone we can get on our side.”
“You don’t know these people,” she said with a sigh. “When the sheriff says jump, his people say ‘how high?’ and all that. They’re that tight-knit. If Grayson’s in on this and we go to them, we might as well just hand ourselves over to the Barrows.”
“So…the Barrows really do run this town?”
Debra gave him a sad look. “Unfortunately, when you’re not directly affected by what they’re doing—or think you’re not—it’s easier…safer…to look the other way. Like most people do around here. Like I have…until now. Now I don’t know if I could be any deeper into it.”
“No. I don’t suppose you could,” Copeland said, visualizing Levi Barrow’s face and recalling the words he had written into his journal. This was a man devoted heart and soul to fulfilling his desires—one of which was to possess the young woman sitting next to Copeland—and who, as insane as it seemed, literally had the power to change the world at his fingertips.
“They’re getting closer.”
He sped up as much as he dared. Lynette’s and Debra’s houses lay just ahead, but neither offered a hope of sanctuary. He passed them at high speed, but the sight of them filled him with a terrible blend of melancholy and fury, and a new longing to avenge his sister’s death pushed aside concern for his own safety. Only a sense of responsibility for Debra’s well-being stopped him from turning the car to face his pursuers head-on—which would certainly kill them all.
He was not ready to take that step yet. But before all this was over, he thought, he might be.
They passed no other cars on the streets, although here and there a few people had gathered to gaze in obvious awe at the stone monolith towering above the northern ridge, and the magical, fiery sparks that once again danced the onyx sky.
“I can let you out,” he told Debra. “You can mingle here, find a place to hide. They’ll never know we’re not still together.”
“Forget it,” she said softly. “We’ve come this far. I’m not going anywhere.” She reached for his hand, and when she took it, all his rage and grief fled in an instant, and now he doubted he could willingly part with her even if she wished it.
He made a couple of turns, and the headlights of the trailing vehicle vanished behind other buildings, at least for the time being. Here the street was deserted, and when he slammed the car to a stop in front of the small, squat brick building, he saw that every official vehicle was gone and not a single light burned in any windows.
No, he was wrong. From within, a flash of hot gold briefly illuminated the glass-paned front doors.
“Well.” he muttered, “I don’t think we need three guesses to figure out what that means.”
The car suddenly shook as something heavy thudded into it; startled, Copeland spun his head to see a dark shape pressed against his window. After a moment, he realized it was a man, but darkness obscured his features. The figure awkwardly stumbled back from the car and attempted to walk, only to collapse in a heap on the sidewalk, his head thudding audibly on the concrete. Where the man had pressed against the window, thick streaks of blood painted a revolting, abstract composition on the glass.
Without a second thought, Copeland heaved the door open, climbed out, and rushed to the fallen man, who wore the uniform of a sheriff’s deputy. Even in the darkness, there could be no mistaking the hopelessness of his injuries.
“Good God,” he groaned, his stomach lurching at the sight.
Half the deputy’s face was a black, glistening mass of blood and ruined tissue, and both his wrists ended in jagged, charred stumps. A wet hissing sound issued from a gaping hole above his twisted lower jaw, and one bright eye fixed on Copeland in obvious supplication. A luminous, gel-like substance coated his clothing, but as they watched, it gradually dimmed like moonlight vanishing behind a passing cloud.
So this was what had happened to Rodney.
The passenger door slammed and Debra appeared at his side, only to gasp in horror. Within moments, the poor creature breathed his last, his remaining eye gazing pitiably at the black, mocking sky.
“This had to have just happened,” Debra said, glancing at the nearby trees and the low hedge before turning back to the body. “That glowing substance…that’s what seems to be doing the burning.”
“Maybe this fellow didn’t jump high enough to suit the sheriff, eh?”
A sudden screeching of tires and blaze of headlights cut off her response. As they stood frozen in the glare, a thrumming motor grew louder, fell to idle, and then a car door thumped shut. Copeland knew right away that this was not Levi Barrow’s truck.
“Debra!” came a familiar, plaintive voice. “Debra, don’t run, it’s me!”
Chapter 14
“Dad!” she cried, rushing to her father and falling into his embrace. “My God, tell me what’s going on? Where is Mom?”
Major Glenn Martin shook his head and looked at her sadly. “Get in the car. You’re not safe here.” He glanced at Copeland. “You’re not safe anywhere.”
Click-click-clack.
The sound was very close.
“Get in the car—now!” Martin barked. He opened the passenger door for Debra, who slid inside quickly; Copeland hesitated, his mind reeling with uncertainty, his old instinct to preserve his property—his car—briefly asserting itself. Only the intolerable prospect of being separated from Debra finally prompted him to climb into the back seat of the LeSabre.
Martin slammed the car into gear and pulled into the road just as a warm, golden light spilled over the hedge that lined the sidewalk. As the Buick sped away, Copeland saw a hellish, hideous skull-face rise into view and hover above the bushes, grinning wickedly after them.
My God, the thing was huge—twice the size of the one at the Barrow house.
Martin finally said, “Russ, I know you don’t trust me. Can’t say as I blame you. But thank you fo
r helping Debra. It means a lot to me.” Then, after a long pause, the older man nearly lost his composure. “Damn you, going to the Barrows’ was the stupidest thing anyone ever did. Don’t you know what could have happened?”
“Dad,” Debra interjected. “Tell us what’s going on.”
“First—where are we going?” Copeland asked.
“Going? We’re going nowhere, Russ. As fast as we can get there. As I believe you have figured out by now, this town is completely isolated. There’s no road, no trail…not even a deer path…that will lead you back to where you came from. As far as the world is concerned, this little corner of it has split off and gone somewhere else. All we can do now is buy time, wherever we can find it.”
“The Barrows,” Debra said, her eyes begging her father to say she was mistaken. “They’re responsible, aren’t they? How? How is it possible?”
“They are, and they aren’t. The Barrows are a catalyst, I guess you’d say. More specifically, Amos Barrow is the catalyst.” With a sigh, he added, “His sons and his grandson are simply opportunists.”
“Where is Mom?”
Martin’s face appeared corpse-like in the glow of the instrument lights. He shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know if she’s still alive.”
“You must believe she is,” Copeland said. “That’s why you were at the Barrows, isn’t it?”
He nodded, but for a time his voice eluded him. Finally, he managed, “Levi Barrow wants an exchange, of sorts. Debra for Elise. He’s obsessed with you, honey—but you know that too. He told me he would return Elise unharmed if I convinced you to give yourself to him. He’s sworn to treat you like royalty, that no harm will come to you. If you refuse, he will offer Elise to those things, and then, chances are, he’ll just catch up to you anyway.”