Harmonic: Resonance

by Laeser, Nico

  I shook my head. “I have everything I need waiting for me outside.”

  Gary pulled the front door open, but before I could step outside, he put his arms around me. “Good luck, Emily.”

  Randall joined us at the door. “May God be on our side,” he said.

  “I hope so.” I moved away from Gary and into the preacher’s waiting arms. With my eyes closed, I prayed for Randall’s God to help us and to keep us safe.

  “We’ll send Haley out when it’s time,” Gary said.

  “We’ll be together again when this is all over,” I said and turned to the open door.

  One look outside sent a quiver through my bladder and turned my legs to rubber. I closed my eyes to the writhing sea of death beyond the threshold, took a deep breath, and limped out into the morning sun with my face held upward to bask in its warmth.

  I stopped a few feet from the door, opened my eyes, and let out a shaking breath as I lowered my gaze. They were all around me rushing in a frenzy, a chaotic melee of teeth and claws. The creatures lashed out at one another, pounced, grappled, and bit at one another, and all in absolute silence. For a moment, I stood, shaking, but frozen to the spot. I had stepped into Haley’s world—all but one of my senses described a vacuous hoax of serenity, while my eyes relayed a contradictory scene of erratic violence. For them, the war had already begun. They were fighting amongst themselves, battling for the scraps, for us.

  They no longer seemed deterred by the burn or shock from objects in our world, perhaps they had grown accustomed to it, or accepted it as part of the bargain, the way a bear willingly suffers the sting of bees for the satisfaction of honey.

  The thin path, edged on both sides with barbed wire, led to the generator. In front of the generator sat the makeshift bedding, blankets, food and water, ammunition for the 1911, and the bag containing what supplies I had packed for myself. The provisions were enough to keep my body going until the end, which would be hours, days, or perhaps still even weeks away. In the bag were the provisions needed to keep my heart and mind going. There was a photograph of Dad with his arms around Sam and me, the three of us standing together in front of Dad’s truck. I wondered who had taken the photo. It was long after my mother died, and we rarely had visitors at the house, or at least any that I could recall, although now, it all seemed so long ago. Any time before the first wave seemed like a lifetime ago. Perhaps it was another lifetime.

  I started the generator then leaned on it for support as I lowered myself to the bedding. Standing at each side of the bedding were layers of rubber mat, tied in place to act as insulation against the wire and to prevent accidental contact when the switch was thrown. While lying on my side, the rubber walls provided shade from the sun, and would hopefully shield against the cold breeze at night, but above all, the rubber walls would protect me from the massive electrical surge when the capacitors released their charge.

  The two-stage trigger was a double light switch, wired in series inside a plastic junction box. Both switches would have to be thrown to complete the circuit, eliminating, or at least reducing, the chance of accidentally tripping the switch and wasting the charge. A strip of duct tape covered one edge of the cover plate as a quick reference to which was the On position. Even in the pitch black of night, the tape would function like Braille.

  I leaned forward to peer around the mats. From a low angle, the wire resembled a sagging bedspring, fitted with barbs and razors to prevent monsters from hiding underneath. Around the perimeter of the web were glass jars, filled with a volatile concoction of household chemicals, gasoline, and dissolved Styrofoam, and each jar was tethered to the web by a loop of wire. Randall had said the mixture was a type of homemade napalm, that when ignited by the current, the jars would explode spraying anything within a six-foot radius with a sticky liquid fire with an appetite equal to that of any Hellhound.

  In the dirt below the web, vapor-barrier or cut strips of tarp lined carved moats. Each trough had been filled with gasoline, kindling, and whatever else we could find that would burn. Along the sides and around the back of the house, Randall and Gary had set up homemade claymore mines, wedged into the dirt and rigged up to tripwires or simple battery-powered pressure plates. The shells were made from old food cans, wrapped in duct tape, and inside, lining the bottom third of each can, was a thick putty. The rest of the can was filled with nuts, bolts, screws, and nails, which, according to Randall, would be sent at speeds great enough to rip clean through whatever set it off.

  Within a split second of tripping the second switch, there would be chaos—a Hellish frenzy of fire and flying shrapnel, a deadly fireworks display that would either prolong or terminate our time on this earth. In those few seconds after tripping the second switch, we would send as many of those creatures into our version of Hell as we could.

  43 | Bait and switch

  By the time the sun reached its highest point, the frenzy seemed to have settled. The horde was conserving its strength, resting behind the hypnotizing shimmer of gasoline fumes. The subtle wave of evaporating gasoline and its intoxicating odor worked in tandem to sing a soothing lullaby and to paint over the scene, transforming the creatures into sleeping lions, basking in the afternoon sun with the hot air visible and rising from the dry Serengeti plains. The scene was serene, tranquil, and somehow euphoric despite the heavy ache and pressure behind my eyes and despite the seemingly fading knowledge of what was really behind the veil of distorted air.

  Once the recent dose of painkillers metabolized, the pain moved from behind my eyes to behind my ears, but my eyes still wanted to close. I could no longer smell the fumes, but my lips tingled with the gasoline’s aftertaste, and I was beginning to feel sick and dizzy.

  I turned the pack upside-down, pouring its contents out onto the bedding. In amongst the large pile of batteries and mini-cassettes sat the old tape recorder, my phone and charger, and the two respirators. I sat staring at the pile of batteries, and then allowed my eyes to close for a second.

  I awoke with a start, thinking I’d heard the air horn from inside the house, but everything was as it had been. As I turned my head to check on the sleeping lions, the scene lagged behind my movements, struggling to catch up and blurring in and out of focus. I fumbled for the half-mask, pulled it on, and clipped the fastener behind my neck.

  It took a while to shake off the confusion and to realize how close I had come to missing the end of the world—how easy it would have been to succumb to the fumes and slip away peacefully.

  I plugged the charger into my phone and into the power bar and sat waiting until it had charged enough to turn on. I thumbed through my photographs, each one spurring a short story from memory, slivers of time from when the world made sense. I tried to listen to my voicemail, but the message displayed was one that read no service, and without service, those now precious messages were lost. The only recorded messages I had from my dad and from Sam were on the mini-cassette, taken from the answering machine.

  I removed the battery cover from the back of the recorder, swapped the dead batteries for two from the pile, replaced the cover, inserted the tape from the answering machine, and pushed play.

  “Hi, Dad. Hi, Sis. I guess it’s about noon there. I’ll try your cell phones, but if I can’t get a hold of you, then I’ll call again at about six o’clock your time. I just wanted to call and tell you that we’re shipping out tomorrow. I’m not allowed to say where we are, or where we’re going, but today will be my last chance to call home for a while. Okay, I’ve got to go. There’s a lineup for the phone. I love you and miss you. Bye.”

  When Sam had called back later, he said it was a routine mission and it was nothing to worry about, but something in his tone exposed the lie. It was the same tone my father always listened for when we were kids. It was hard to lie to our father and even harder to get away with it. When he caught us on a lie, he would sit us both down for the talk, about never lying to each other, about being able to trust each other, and about sti
cking together. Now, we couldn’t be farther apart. After hearing that tone in Sam’s voice during the phone call, I couldn’t bring myself to delete his earlier message for fear I would never hear his voice again.

  The second message on the tape was not one I had intended to keep to remember my father by. It was simply the next call to come through.

  “Hey, Em. I just got a call from Sam. He said that he tried the house and your cell, but couldn’t get a hold of you. He’s going to call the house again later. I’ll be home in about an hour. I need to stop and pick up some BX cable for the Johnson place, then I’m on my way. I’ll pick up something for dinner on the way back too. See you soon. Love you.”

  I replayed both messages over and over. “… See you soon. Love you.”

  I pushed the button to rewind the tape. As I watched the tape spool revolve and grow, I caught sight of something in the reflection on the small glass panel of the cassette door. I snapped out of my nostalgic daze in time to see one of the creatures, much clearer than before, lunge toward me. Its massive arm lashed out with the speed of a striking viper. Its long claws passed through my stomach, and my mind rushed to fill in the gaps between sight and sensation. My breathing was fast and amplified inside the muzzle of the respirator, punctuated at the start of every out-breath by the rhythmic pop of the exhalation valve.

  The creature slammed its claws on the ground as it rocked up and down in a silent, but terrifying display, and then it turned and reentered the web. I lifted my shirt with my shaking hand to find no visible wounds, but behind the skin, the muscle burned, spasmed, and cramped. I began to pick holes in the plan, governed by fear and what ifs. What if the stragglers we expected after the initial manifestation came before the rest? We couldn’t waste the capacitors’ charge on just one or two. What if the gasoline fumes ignited prematurely, set off by the static charge as our two worlds began to interact?

  I rose up to peer over the insulated walls, and my heart doubled its rhythm. It was not just one or two that were clear. The web was teaming with them—a swarm of barely translucent beasts, locking horns, lunging, tackling, and clamping their teeth and talons into each other.

  One hung from another’s hindquarters, sinking its long teeth through the meat of its victim’s neck and ripping open its belly with hook-knife claws. Their movements were quick, powerful, and vicious. Any one of their built-in weapons would suffice to shred a man in seconds. Beyond our initial stand, our chances for survival would diminish with every one of them left alive.

  I removed the 1911 from its holster and set it down on the bedding. I hadn’t noticed it before, but on the inside wall of the fabric holster, there was a faded, hand-written paragraph, a barely visible message, scrawled with ink.

  Revelation 19:11.

  “And I saw Heaven opened, and behold a white horse; and he that sat upon him was called Faithful and True, and in righteousness he doth judge and make war.”

  I set the holster down, picked up the recorder, and ejected the tape before replacing it with another from the pile. If we were all to die, I would leave our tale for whomever or whatever came after. I pressed play and record and slipped the recorder into my breast pocket. This relic of my past, my diary, the tool with which I had attempted to communicate with the dead, would now record what could be my last words in the world of the living.

  “The whole world waits for the gates of Hell to open; at least half of them wait on their knees, praying for it to be quick, praying to a god not even the dead can say exists.

  “I have done all I can to prepare. All I can do now is wait with the rest. I don’t know if anyone will make it through, or if anyone will ever listen to this recording. I’m sure everyone’s version of events will be different, but the end will most likely be the same for us all. They are everywhere now, strange variations of the basic demonic form—horns, talons, and teeth. They too are waiting for the transition, the next convergence.

  “My name is Emily. I am twenty-three years old, and I will probably not make it to twenty-four. I don’t know what I’m hoping to achieve with this recording, if anything, but I have no one left to talk to, so you’ll have to do.”

  44 | Present/arm

  Present day

  So, that is our story so far. Where it goes from here no one can say. This is the start of the first side of the sixth tape. Judging by that, I’ve been sitting here for over five hours. I don’t know what time it is, but the air is beginning to cool. I’m hoping they don’t materialize after dark, although I can’t imagine daylight providing us with any greater advantage against them. Maybe it would be better not to see them coming. The air is cool but still and silent. There are no sounds at all, no animals or birds, even the insects have fled. Perhaps they have gone to the muster point for rapture, an event to which the rest of us were not invited. The world, or at least our small part of it, has become mute, catering to the only one among us who remains in God’s grace.

  My mind keeps returning to the cliff, to the others, Sean, Sarah, and Powell. A morbid curiosity nags at me every time I think about Powell, repeatedly asking the unanswered questions of where his body landed and if I had passed him on the cliff. I can’t get the image of his arm out of my mind. It looms over every memory of him, just as the wax copy of my father, dressed in a canvas drop sheet, looms over the memories of my father.

  The door is open, and Haley is coming out. She is wrapped up in her blanket, my old blanket. It was my childhood security blanket, pink, with cartoon princesses on it. Dad had saved all of our sentimental treasures from when we were kids. Maybe that’s where I get it from, the difficulty in letting things go. There are several creatures behind her, following her out from the house and along the path.

  The door is now closed, and Haley is making her way toward me. The creatures that were waiting in line are now fighting the new arrivals. The blanket is pulled up and over her head like a thick hooded cape, shielding her periphery from the terrors in the web. The less she sees of the creatures, the better. I’m terrified enough for us both.

  Her respirator is on and cinched tight, and she is leaning against me, shaking like a bird. I now have company, but still no one to talk to. Her eyes are shut tight.

  The creatures appear solid. It won’t be long now. I have thrown the first switch, and my finger hovers over the second. Hopefully, I will be able to tell you the rest of our story when this is all over, but for now, I have to stop and listen for any movement in the web, or for the sound of the air horn from inside the house.

  45 | Last stand and deliverance

  I heard the air horn first, followed by a collective roar. It took a second for my mind to process the signal and longer for my thumb to obey my command. I tripped the second switch.

  The roar grew loud and rose to a deafening shriek, accompanied by the myriad pop, crack, and bang of exploding glass jars and by the deep whoosh of ignited gasoline.

  In the bright yellow smoke, flailing clawed limbs were trailed by wings of fire. Blue and gold waves rippled over the bodies of bounding demons before they collapsed to the tangle of wire, smoldering and shriveling inside the silk-wrap of flame.

  As the creatures shook, convulsed, and lashed out at the fire, the web contorted with them. Some had manifested with the wire through and inside them. They pulled against the wire, the barbs and razors sliding and slicing through them. Lengths of wire pulled tight, popped, and whipped free from posts, pulled by the creatures trying to escape or merely reacting to the violent and involuntary spasms caused by the electrically charged strings of their deadly puppeteer.

  The scene was blinding, deafening, a Hellish and chaotic frenzy. Shots rang out from the house, blending and overlapping with the crackle of burning flesh. A shape appeared over the mat, a large set of jaws with long irregular teeth. I wrapped my arm around Haley and pulled her close as the rubber mat folded in toward us under the weight of the lifeless monster. The rubber was hot against my back and shoulder. I closed my eyes, gritted my teeth, an
d held on tight to Haley. I could do nothing more but listen to the Hell we had created.

  I strained to distinguish the sound of gunfire. As long as there was gunfire, it meant someone was alive in the house. I couldn’t move. We were trapped inside our rubber fort, insulated against the electric fence, but not from the intense heat. Both of us were drenched with sweat. The pressure against my back turned to a searing pain from what I assumed was the rubber beginning to melt and drip.

  The gunfire came sporadically, cutting through the muted sounds of my own screaming and sobbing inside the muzzle of the respirator. The air inside the mask was hot and hard to breathe. The sounds dulled, as did the pain, and I could not keep my eyes open any longer.

  ***

  “Emily?”

  The sound was deep and muffled but lingered in my mind as a high-pitched whine. The inside of the respirator was wet with sweat, but the inside of my mouth was dry. I tried to speak, but nothing came out.

  “Gary, help me lift.”

  I heard the two men grunt as the weight was lifted, and the pressure against my torso was gone.

  “Emily, come on, wake up.” It was Randall’s voice. He sounded far away, but he was close enough to cradle my head in his hands.

  I felt the release of the clasp at the back of my neck. Cool air rushed under the mask as it was lifted up and over my head. I could taste the smoke and burnt meat. The light stung my eyes as they fluttered open, but it wasn’t daylight. I struggled to focus. Behind my father’s work boots, the ground was glowing red.

  “Dad?” My voice was no more than a slur.

  “It’s Randall. Are you okay, Emily?”

  I let my eyes close again. I could still hear the crackle of the fire. Behind my eyes, there flashed an image of the monster’s face, leaning over the rubber wall. I turned and tried to pull Haley close, but she wasn’t there. I opened my eyes to the ground where she had been. “Where is she? What happened to—”