by Brian Hodge
When the voice that wasn’t a voice, like a musical tone ringing somewhere in his head, said to him, “Hello, Malachi,” he screamed like a terrified girl.
Chapter 20
Some distance from the cabin, Carolyn said to Copeland, “I have to wonder. How do you suppose the Barrows get around even when the landscape changes?”
“They must have some foreknowledge of the alterations…or something. Who the hell knows?”
“Or they’re able to bypass the changes in some way,” McAllister said. “When we were trying to get to the cabin, we drove for miles and miles, and I’ve got a keen sense of direction. Several times we ended up somewhere that we’d already been, even though there’s no way we could have made a loop. It’s like we were in a piece of Asher artwork or something.”
“I think you mean Escher,” Copeland said.
“Whatever. Anyway, maybe they can somehow go straight from place to place, regardless of the alterations.”
“Like they have a key or something,” Carolyn suggested.
“Or a guide,” Copeland said. “I think that’s it. Those creatures guide them where they want to go.”
“All I know is that, for now, everything looks normal,” McAllister said. “Let’s hope it stays that way.”
Copeland thought for a moment. “I imagine it means Amos is awake. And that tower—their ‘gateway’—hasn’t fully anchored yet. Which means they still don’t have a complete foothold here.”
“That’s good, right?”
“I hope so.”
As they drove down the deserted road, the darkness seemed as tranquil and benign as it would on any cool spring night; but that fact did nothing to assuage the bitter knowledge that Debra remained at Levi’s mercy. If anything, with every passing mile, the ache in Copeland’s gut grew sharper, exceeding the pain of his wounds. Over and over, he saw Levi and Joshua bursting in and taking them down, virtually without a struggle, their vow to fight to the end rendered meaningless. If only he had bothered to rig the cabin’s doors and windows with some sort of alarm—anything that could have given them an additional moment’s notice—then both the Barrow brothers would probably be dead now. He should have applied the same thoroughness seeing to their security that he did with the computer systems for which he was responsible, back in his everyday life.
But if he had succeeded, wouldn’t the Lumeras have killed both him and Debra? Perhaps they were alive now only because he had failed.
That bleak realization hardly dulled the sting of his failure. Or his guilt.
The truck rolled into a seemingly dead town. Not one vehicle moved on the roads, nor did a single living human being appear on the streets.
However, the Lumeras had left behind profuse, ghastly evidence of their recent passage. At the gas station where he and Debra had encountered the large gathering of people, several blackened, smoldering masses of hideously suggestive size and shape littered the parking lot. There were more near at the grocery store, the bank, on the lawn of the Baptist church. If any doubts lingered in Copeland’s mind that the alien creatures were agents of indiscriminate rather than selective destruction, this appalling carnage removed them. He gripped the rifle tighter as the truck made its way to Yew Line Road, his nerves so taut he had to keep his finger outside the trigger guard for fear of accidentally squeezing off a shot.
They were ascending Yew Line and had almost reached the site where Rodney had been killed when the transformation began.
At first, it looked like a searchlight beam climbing slowly into the sky above the dark trees. Gradually, the beam assumed depth and dimension, as if it were solidifying; then, when it resembled a vast spire reaching for the stars, its surface slowly turned black and reflective, as if it were made of onyx. Finally, numerous pinpoints of light ignited at its apex, like flickering candle flames. Almost instantly, the sky exploded with thousands of swirling, spiraling fireballs of many colors, which spread from the tower in every direction, like troops given the order to disperse.
Copeland became aware of a low, almost subliminal vibration—not much more than a subtle change in the atmosphere—which seemed to seep into his body and close around his heart, causing his pulse and respiration to accelerate slightly. Had he not witnessed the night’s transition from ordinary to extraordinary, he might never have sensed the strange physiological effect. But he knew that, over time, the insidious vibration might come to wear upon him, dulling his senses—maybe affecting his thinking.
Another weapon in their supernatural arsenal?
“Good God,” McAllister said, glancing back through the open panel. “I think we’re in for it here.”
The trees, already tall and dense, had become huge, monstrous things, hundreds of feet high, gray and metallic-looking, now obscuring the Dream Frontier’s distant, lofty centerpiece. Hordes of flying Lumeras soared into the monolithic forest and swirled among the rafter-like limbs, some settling into the canopy, presumably to watch the lone, tiny intruder determinedly making its way through their midst. To Copeland, they resembled decorative lights on monumental Christmas trees, winking gaily but mockingly at those who dared to trespass in their domain.
To the right, a single ball of fire came drifting toward them, its blazing body painting the giant boles the color of burnished copper. Copeland raised the rifle to fire, but the thing did not attack them; instead, it remained perhaps a hundred yards away, pacing them as McAllister picked up speed. Ahead, the road extended on and on, its sharp, winding curves completely obliterated: it was now a highway leading straight into a bizarrely beautiful, fatally alluring otherworld.
“Can’t we go back?” Carolyn cried.
“It wouldn’t matter if we could,” Copeland said. “Back, forward, it’s all the same. Where we are, space is completely different than what we know. You’ve been there already. You saw it happen earlier tonight.”
“Not like this,” she said with a shudder. “Not with all those…things…out there!”
“We keep going,” McAllister said, shoving the accelerator to the floor. “One way or the other, we’ve got to finish this.”
Copeland hunkered down behind the cab to keep the wind from buffeting him mercilessly. Another airborne Lumera zoomed above the truck and stationed itself directly overhead, just beyond the range of his fire. And now, far to his left, a third one appeared, passing like a brilliant ghost through the trees, keeping pace with the truck. After a minute, he realized that the creatures seemed intent not on stopping them, but on ensuring that they arrived at their destination.
“I guess we’ve got guides of our own,” McAllister quipped, apparently having reached the same conclusion.
“They seem to enjoy toying with us,” Copeland said. “I almost wish they’d come at us outright.”
“No,” Carolyn said, giving him a reproachful frown. “Every minute they give us, that’s another minute in our favor.”
He nodded to her in acknowledgment; under his breath, he said, “You’ve been married to that man way too long.”
Soon, he saw that the road curved to the left, and the huge trees began to give way to mundane pines. The lay of the land here looked vaguely familiar, and he realized that they were coming out right at the edge of the Barrows’ property. He reached in and tapped McAllister on the shoulder.
“Slow down. You know where we are, right?”
“Holy shit, yeah, I do.”
The truck emerged from the forest at high speed, but McAllister slowed it to a crawl as the nightmarish hulk of the Barrow house appeared around a curve to the left. A single, murky yellow light burned over the front door, but all the windows were dark.
“I suppose our escort left them no doubt as to our coming.”
Copeland shrugged. “Maybe. For all we know, the Lumeras have their own reasons. Maybe they don’t involve the Barrows at all.”
McAllister gave him a doubtful glance. “Well, there’s a hopeful spin for you.” He stopped the truck beside the road, not far f
rom the spot where Copeland had hidden his car on his first trip here. A quick inspection of their surroundings revealed that their attendant Lumeras had vanished; in fact, only a few small, distant fireflies continued to swirl around the onyx tower, which they could again see looming vast and ominous above the landscape.
Copeland had just hopped out of the truck when a low, heavy thrum seemed to creep through the earth, vibrating faintly beneath his feet. It came again a moment later, and again after that, becoming a slow, rhythmic pulse just at the edge of his hearing.
“Almost like a heartbeat,” Carolyn said, gazing thoughtfully at the tower’s apex. “Maybe that thing’s actually alive.”
“Then it needs to die,” McAllister said, his voice a little weaker than usual.
Copeland started across the broad, dark field of tall grass that extended to the Barrow’s front yard, his companions close behind him. Nothing moved anywhere near the house, and they saw no telltale, glowing embers either within or without. Copeland soon made out the shape of Levi’s pickup parked in the driveway—so there was no question where they would find Debra. As they drew nearer to the house, they fanned out, moving slowly, guns at the ready, McAllister making his way toward the backyard, Carolyn pressing herself close to the house near the ground-floor window, and Copeland creeping toward the front. He glanced back toward McAllister, who sent him a thumbs-up, indicating the yard was clear.
But Carolyn held up a hand, and she whispered to him, “I hear something. Music, it sounds like.”
Copeland halted and stood listening; at first, he detected only the low, distant whisper of the wind and the steady thrumming beneath his feet. Gradually, though, he became aware of a delicate chiming sound, which reminded him of the church bells he had heard from his window on his first morning at Lynette’s. The chimes rose and fell with an odd, wandering cadence, now and again joined by other tones ringing in gentle harmony. The music grew steadily louder, and the bell-like sounds gave way to soft, feminine voices; then, like the voice of some great beast, a dark, baritone chorus rose to underscore the sopranos, blending in a kind of dissonant, empyreal fugue. It came not from the house but somewhere beyond it.
The same unearthly music he had heard at Lynette’s house the day before.
No telling what it meant, he thought, and he didn’t have the time or inclination to speculate. They had to get inside, and quickly; doing it quietly, however, seemed unlikely. Still, he didn’t want to betray their presence until the very last second. Where would Levi have taken Debra? Most likely to an upstairs room—perhaps his bedroom. The most direct way was through the front door, so he took a few steps forward, crouching to remain beneath the view of anyone spying from the window. He turned to Carolyn and motioned for her to join him; in turn, she gestured to her husband at the edge of the backyard.
During the brief moment he was facing away from the front door, he realized he felt a presence near him. Turning quickly, raising his rifle as he did, he found a dark silhouette standing directly in front of him—and his heart skipped a beat. Then a solid blow knocked the Remington out of his hands, setting him partially off balance. Though he recovered quickly, as his right hand went to draw the Ruger from his belt, a powerful hand immediately intercepted it, and something hit him in the face like the engine of a freight train. He staggered as new agony exploded through his skull, and an iron hand clutched his throat, dragged him forward, and propelled him through the front door, which now gaped wide like the maw of a ravenous monster. He heard Carolyn cry, “Russ!” but then the door slammed shut behind him, echoing in his brain like a violent thunderclap.
He found himself sprawled on the ratty carpet of the Barrows’ living room, stars reeling madly before his eyes. Painfully drawing himself to a sitting position, he saw Levi standing at the front door, a crooked smile etched on his craggy face, his head cocked in an attitude of listening. Outside, both the McAllisters called his name, and he heard several sharp blows on the wooden door.
Levi glared at Copeland. “Since you’re here and my brother ain’t, I gotta expect he’s dead. And since you weren’t in no position to do it yourself, I gotta conclude it was them what killed him.”
For a second, silence fell beyond the door, and Levi deftly sidestepped just before a portion of the door around the knob exploded inward with a deafening boom. Copeland felt a thrill of hope as the door burst open to reveal McAllister standing on the stoop, pumping his shotgun in preparation to fire again. But in the brief second before Levi kicked the ruined wooden slab shut, Copeland saw a brilliant orange glow rising behind his friend, transforming his body into a featureless, backlit silhouette. Now, from beyond the door, a duet of heart-rending screams rose as the Lumeras fell upon the McAllisters. On and on the screams went, gradually diminishing in volume as the monsters dragged away their prey, apparently still struggling.
A moment later, the screams went abruptly silent, only to be replaced by the excited, insect-like chattering of a horde of Lumeras.
Copeland’s heart nearly burst, and as his watering eyes rolled toward Levi, he felt the last threads holding onto his sanity snapping. A sudden rush of adrenaline propelled him forward, and before he realized what he was doing, he found his body flying through the air, catching Levi unprepared and bulldozing him to the floor, his fists pummeling the other’s face, the dull, gratifying crunch of his knuckles meeting bone all that registered in his ears. He brought one arm down on Levi’s adam’s apple, pinning his head to the floor, his other hand coming down with murderous force, smashing the fallen man’s nose, sending blood spurting from his nostrils. Levi shook his head wildly, choking on his own blood, snorting and huffing as he writhed desperately, trying to dislodge his attacker. One of his hands managed to slither toward Copeland’s face, and with a frantic effort, he ripped the bandage from his wound and backhanded Copeland across the cheek.
The pain that arced through his skull, down his neck, and into his back nearly knocked him senseless. His arm involuntarily drew from Levi’s neck and went to cover his face. With a sudden thrust of his head, Levi’s forehead met Copeland’s chin, snapping his head backward and offering Levi just enough leverage to throw him off. Through his pain, Copeland realized that his adversary was free, and he scrambled backward just in time to avoid the fist that would have shattered his adam’s apple. Righting himself quickly, he lowered his head and, with all his weight behind him, rammed it into Levi’s gut, driving the air out of his lungs with an explosive “gaah!” Levi flew backward and crashed to the floor, shaking the foundations of the house, struggling frantically to draw even a whiff of air into his lungs. Once again, Copeland fell upon him, his hands encircling his throat and squeezing it viciously. Levi’s eyes rolled back in his head as consciousness began to fade, and Copeland knew he had him.
Then he felt a dull thud at the back of his head—barely sufficient to register, or so he thought, until he realized his body was being dragged backward. His hands left Levi’s throat and flailed madly as he went sailing through the air, and then he crashed in an agonized heap at the bottom of the stairs. The room went spinning wildly, and all he could do was try to catch his breath and somehow hold onto consciousness. He vaguely heard a shuffling sound as Levi pulled himself to his feet with assistance from another figure, which seemed to have magically appeared in the room.
“You hurt my daddy, you sumbitch,” a low, quavering voice said. “You gonna die now. You got that, you sumbitch? You gonna die.”
Instead of slowing, the room whirled even faster, and the light grew steadily dimmer. He glimpsed Levi’s hate-filled eyes glaring down at him, and then everything melted into a meaningless chiaroscuro of gray and black. He realized his head was sinking to the floor, and when his cheek hit the foul-smelling carpet, he swore he heard a violent rattling, as if something inside his skull had been jarred loose.
The world began to fade to black, but not before he heard Levi say, “Naw, Malachi, he ain’t gonna die. Not yet. But he’s gonna wish he wa
s dead. Yessir, he’s gonna wish he’d kill him right here and now.”
Chapter 21
“Mr. Copeland?”
The voice was low and masculine, gentle in tone, so unlike the voices he had been hearing in the moments before he lost consciousness. Hearing seemed to be his only functioning sense, for he could see and feel nothing. He was fairly certain he was lying on his back, but he couldn’t tell whether the surface beneath him was a soft bed or a concrete floor. He felt his eyelids creak open, but he perceived only a dull, formless light somewhere nearby; no recognizable objects or shapes. Gradually, he became aware of the pain in his body—primarily in his face. With a supreme effort, he willed one of his fingers to move; he thought he might have succeeded.
“Don’t make any sudden movements, Mr. Copeland. Your body’s suffered a pretty fair trauma. It’s gonna take a little time for you to recover.”
The voice sounded concerned, reassuring. Was the nightmare finally over? Everything that had happened up to the point that he blacked out seemed to be coming back to him, perhaps too vivdly. He remembered Debra’s abduction and the McAllisters coming to his rescue—only to be taken by the alien things in league with the Barrows. He had fought with Levi and nearly killed him, but someone arrived on the scene to save him.
The boy, Malachi.
Copeland opened his mouth and exhaled, testing the air as it passed over his vocal cords. “Where am I?” he managed to whisper.
“Don’t you fret, now. Things’ll be made clear to you directly. In the meantime, just rest, and don’t pain yourself needlessly. Save your strength.”
He shifted slightly, and now he could discern a hard, unyielding surface behind his back. Damn, he thought, his spirit plummeting. So much for being back in a safe, warm bed. He drew a deep breath, and with supreme effort, raised his upper body, propping himself on his elbows. He immediately heard a strange, hollow rustling noise and glimpsed a spontaneous, rapid movement—not in any one place, but seemingly all around him.