This Darkness Light

by Michaelbrent Collings

  A moment later he saw what she was screaming at.

  He wanted to scream, too. But couldnʹt. Something held his tongue fast. Not just mentally, but physically. Some kind of invisible clamp had rammed its way between his lips, cranked open his jaw, and tightened around every noise-making muscle he had.

  Help me, Evie.

  The thing in the alley was low, sleek-looking. The rumble that came from it was dangerous.

  The woman was still screaming.

  Jack took another step. Not sure what he was going to do–not sure what he could do. He wasnʹt a hero. He was just a man, just someone who did the best he could, and God knew that was so often less than was needed in this world.

  The woman had a gun. She started shooting. The sound felt like it ruptured Jackʹs eardrums, and he saw the thing beyond her jerk as the bullets hit it. But….

  No blood. No blood, whereʹs the blood?

  The thing stepped toward her. It glided on feet that seemed somewhere between claws and tendrils, something that was neither plant nor animal but an aberrant half-thing that defied classification. Its legs shifted, and Jack realized that what he had taken for fur was in fact a sort of spiny mass, like porcupine quills, only rougher and with tips that glistened venomously. Then he blinked as the quills writhed and eyes glinted along their lengths. Now the quills looked like snakes.

  Then they shifted again, and were spines. Snakes, spines, snakes, spines. One, then the other, and somehow both at once.

  He fell to his knees.

  The woman was no longer shooting. But she was still screaming.

  The thing stopped moving. There was a long chain around its neck. What passed for its neck. What Jack assumed was its neck, because he had not the strength to look at its face. If he did, he feared he would lose himself utterly in the nightmare he had stumbled into. And what good would it be to come to Evie if he was a shambling wreck of a spirit? Could even a ghost go insane?

  The chain was thick, drooping slightly and disappearing into the mist. Jack couldnʹt see what it was attached to on the other end. He got a vague sense of something. An almost-glimpse in the shifting fog that swallowed this place. But not enough. Or perhaps too much.

  The thing that was plant and animal and everything and nothing but certainly madness, yes, certainly that, looked back. Into the mist at whatever restrained it.

  The chain fell slack.

  The beast turned to the woman.

  She was still screaming.

  And then her screams reached a fevered pitch as the thing leaped on her.

  Jack wanted to run to her. Wanted to save her. To do something. He hadnʹt saved Evie. Hadnʹt saved his daughter or his son. No hero, just a man, and a failure at most things he did.

  He stayed where he was. All he could do was play witness to death, and then follow that death with his own.

  The womanʹs screams grew louder. He wouldnʹt have thought that possible. Would have thought she would have to shred herself to pieces to get that kind of volume from her mouth.

  The beast was savaging her. Moving so fast and so violently that Jack couldnʹt really tell what was happening. He only saw blood, only smelled the sick thickness of voided bladder and bowels.

  Shouldnʹt she be dead? How is she alive?

  The thing snarled and snapped. Jack tried to keep his eyes away from the thingʹs face. He mostly succeeded.

  Finally it moved away. The woman was still screaming.

  How…?

  She was nothing. Just a patch of blood and flesh, the barest bits of a body otherwise consumed by a nightmare. But those bits were shrieking, shrieking. No mouth he could see, no lungs he could find. But sound, sound, sound. Sound that rammed pistons through his brain, that drove him to his knees.

  He tried to remember how to pray.

  The bits of flesh on the blood-spattered asphalt suddenly writhed. Not much of them, but they drew together, pulling into a thick rope of muscle and viscera–

  (that still screamed still screamed still screamed!)

  –that writhed back and forth like a worm cut in half. The beast stepped forward again. It leaned down. Jack felt sudden relief. It would feed. Consume the rest. The woman could die. The screaming could end.

  But the beast did not feed. It stepped one of those claw/vine feet forward, and touched the screaming cord of muscle that should be dead and somehow was not.

  The line of muscle twisted around the beastʹs paw. It climbed up the paw, then the leg, then threaded into the quills and….

  Jack shook his head. He almost slapped himself.

  The woman–what was left of her–disappeared. The ropy knot of bloody gristle writhed and flopped among the quills, then was just gone.

  The thing, the best, shuddered. It hunched over, and then it grew before Jackʹs eyes. As though it had taken what was left of the woman and made her flesh its own. It looked stronger, larger, more frightening.

  And suddenly Jack he saw her–the woman, what was left of her–again. He didnʹt know how he could tell it was her, but he knew. The eye-rimmed quills that rode the beast had increased by one. It might have been his imagination, but he thought one of them actually swiveled to….

  No. Crazy. Itʹs crazy. Youʹve gone insane, old man. Mad as a Jim. Finally drunk the Kool-Aid.

  But it was true. One of the things was looking at him. And it was her. It was the woman in the alley. Changed to a spiny thing, a part of a monster. He knew it in his bones, knew it the same way heʹd always known Evie loved him and he loved her.

  The beast–not the thing that had been a woman, but the thing that had taken her into itself, and was now so massive it barely fit into the alley–looked at him. Jack saw its face for the first time.

  Unlike the woman, Jack did not scream. His breath was stolen away.

  He was already on his knees.

  But he abruptly remembered how to pray.

  three:

  PASSAGE

  OPTIONS EXHAUSTED

  From: POTUS

  To: G Etheridge

  Sent: Friday, May 31 7:18 AM

  Subject: Mrs. Peters

  Gill,

  Iʹve attached a map. Itʹs encrypted, ask Jerry in IT for a Key27 USB and use the decrypt to get the map location. If it seems like Iʹm being paranoid itʹs because I am. Youʹll understand why in a few hours.

  The map is to a remote location, and before you bother responding, yes, I know this is not protocol.

  I need you to fetch my wife. Take her to the location. She is going to resist. Take her anyway.

  Gill, this is important: if you have to knock her over the head and smuggle her nearly dead body out in the trunk of your own personal car, DO IT. This is highest priority to me. The recent Russia problems, the upcoming summit, even the dimwits from the ACLU that Iʹm supposed to have lunch with later today–theyʹre all cancelled as of 0900 hours. The only things on my plate are a single issue the whole worldʹs about to become aware of followed by BURYING YOUR ASS IF YOU DONʹT DO THIS.

 

  From: POTUS

  To: 'X'

  Sent: Friday, May 31 8:22 AM

  Subject: NK

  Getting prepped and I got a call from that Jenna bitch from Fox. Normally I wouldnʹt talk to her if I was drowning in my own feces and she was the only one around I could call for help, but my secretary put her through and said it was urgent.

  Holy hell.

  Jenna has a source in NK. The countryʹs gone dark. Not just avoiding contact with the outside world, nothing new about that, itʹs GONE. As though they all shut the doors, went into the cellar and shot themselves.

  My people get briefed every ten minutes, and the sat flyovers happen every twenty minutes or so. Which means this occurred in a period of ten minutes.

  How? This is related to the carriers, right? But how?

  Please, I need som
e answers.

  Jenna said she hadnʹt shared this with anyone yet–wanted to get a full-on exclusive with me. Sheʹs in some deep hole under the building, gagged and with very loyal people watching her who are under orders not to talk to her, let her eat, let her drink, or allow her bathroom breaks. But if she found this out someone else will. And when that happens we are looking at a cataclysm. A few people can disappear in a country and no one will miss them. An entire country disappears and itʹs a different story.

  PS The meteorological reports are starting to scare people. Do you have any idea about the fog thatʹs apparently starting to roll in everywhere? It was making the intel people nervous because itʹs impeding sat functions, but now itʹs everywhere. Forget the intel groups, itʹs scaring me.

  From: X

  To: Dicky

  Sent: Friday, May 31 8:22 AM

  Subject: RE: NK

  Push up the timetable. Go on your 10 am press con and give the speech I prepped for you to give later tonight. Donʹt worry about NK. Trust me on this, no one will worry about them.

  From: POTUS

  To: 'X'

  Sent: Friday, May 31 8:23 AM

  Subject: RE: RE: NK

  TRUST you? You?

  And what about the fog?

  From: X

  To: Dicky

  Sent: Friday, May 31 8:22 AM

  Subject: RE: RE: RE: NK

  The fog will take care of itself.

  And I know we have an unusual relationship, but have I ever steered you wrong?

  ***

  John couldnʹt remember being this tired.

  That wasnʹt exactly fair, he knew. Considering that he couldnʹt remember any specifics beyond a few hours ago, from a technical standpoint he couldnʹt remember ever being this happy, this sad, this excited, or this bored.

  Everything was new. He had been born only the night before. But a strange birth. Every birth was one of blood and pain, but few involved so much death and none so many bullets.

  He looked at Serafina. She was driving, as she had been since Los Angeles. He had gotten behind the wheel when they first ʺborrowedʺ the Honda a few blocks from where he found himself after being lovingly socked in the face (she had assured him it was, indeed, just a bit of tough love) by Serafina. But she reminded him that they likely had been spotted last time because of a traffic cam. That meant they were better off staying on smaller roads in bad parts of town, and unless his sieve-like memory had managed to catch an up-to-date map of Los Angeles, that meant she was better qualified to drive/navigate.

  He moved out of the way instantly. He didnʹt know much about himself, but knew that it was better to accept a good idea than to insist on sitting in the driver seat.

  She led them easily out of the city, taking them through a series of roads that were mostly potholes held together by crumbling strands of asphalt. Chain link fences separated the houses on either side of them, both from the roads and from each other. Bars on the windows were the norm, and pockmarks from stray drive-by bullets were not unusual, a strange sort of acne that cropped up here and there on the faces of the neighborhoods they passed.

  A fog rolled in as they rolled on. It thickened quickly, strangely, and soon the houses were only dim trolls that lurked on either side of them, the streetlights cyclopean eyes that were friendly or forbidding depending on their color.

  The fog was eerie, frightening. John didnʹt remember ever seeing something like this–of course he didnʹt–but even without memory he could tell it was wrong. Could tell by the absolute silence it brought, by the complete lack of traffic that was unusual if not impossible in a city this size.

  Could tell by the way Serafina drove, body tense and shallow breaths pulsing in and out of her. Afraid.

  The fog helped them in one thing, at least: even without Serafinaʹs driving, after an hour or so the fog was so thick that John doubted any camera could have caught them even if they were standing within six feet of its unblinking aperture.

  Serafina reached for the radio at one point. Her fingers stopped an inch away from the power button. They curled in on themselves, then drew back. John felt himself relax. He didnʹt want to hear whatever was playing.

  Or, perhaps, whatever wasnʹt. The fog made him feel like they were alone in the world. And if she turned on the radio and found only static? What then?

  They pushed east. Not directly east, but northeast.

  ʺYou know where weʹre going?ʺ John asked when they were well out of city limits.

  He didnʹt really worry about Serafinaʹs ability to get them closer to his goal. He just needed to talk. To remind himself that, whatever existed beyond the mixt outside it, life accompanied him within the car.

  ʺI know where Kansas is, more or less,ʺ said Serafina. ʺI think the easiest way to get there is through Nevada, and that means we take the I-15.ʺ

  ʺYou go to Vegas a lot?ʺ

  ʺI strip on weekends.ʺ

  ʺReally?ʺ

  ʺI have to pay off student loans.ʺ

  She delivered her lines with such a straight face that John might have believed her if it werenʹt for the small fact that there was no way he could ever picture someone with as much self-respect as she had dancing for men who would see her only as a physical fantasy and not the much greater reality she represented.

  He smiled. ʺI used to do that,ʺ he said.

  ʺStrip?ʺ

  ʺSure.ʺ

  ʺUgh. You were fired, I assume.ʺ

  ʺFirst night out.ʺ

  ʺI can only imagine.ʺ

  ʺPlease donʹt.ʺ

  She laughed. The first music in a night that had alternated between silence and screams.

  She looked at the dashboard. ʺWeʹre about half full.ʺ

  He nodded. ʺWeʹre in a 1992 Honda Civic. Four cylinders, two point two liters. Feels like itʹs fairly well maintained, so probably gets around twenty-two miles to the gallon. Eleven point nine gallon tank.ʺ He ran a quick calculation in his mind. ʺThat means we can get about one hundred and thirty miles before we have to stop and find new transportation. Maybe a bit more if we drive on fumes.ʺ

  Serafina shook her head. ʺHow do you know all that?ʺ

  John shrugged. ʺI donʹt know.ʺ

  She glanced at him. ʺWhatʹs the average air speed of a Boeing 747?ʺ

  John smiled. He opened his mouth. Closed it again. ʺI…. Huh. Beats me.ʺ

  She laughed again. ʺCanʹt know everything, I guess. Just cars? Whatʹs the tank size on that BMW we stole?ʺ

  Johnʹs eyebrows came together. ʺI donʹt know.ʺ

  Serafina glanced at him again. Longer this time. ʺReally?ʺ He nodded. ʺYou knew enough about it to steal it, you know everything about this car, but you donʹt know….ʺ She was silent.

  The car moved along, the wind hissing past the windows, the tires whispering over the road that was better-paved now that they had left Los Angeles. The eponymous angels of the city apparently couldnʹt be bothered with road maintenance.

  ʺWhatʹs the capital of the United States?ʺ she asked.

  John thought.

  She didnʹt wait long for him to answer–for him to fail. ʺThe capital of California?ʺ

  Still nothing.

  She drew a breath. ʺHow many inches in a foot?ʺ

  John just looked at her.

  She drove. She shook her head again. Not like she didnʹt understand, but like she suddenly did, and couldnʹt bring herself to believe the information. Head and heart at odds, and she couldnʹt decide which side to prefer.

  ʺI know this is weird, but itʹs almost like…like you know anything you need.ʺ

  Johnʹs turn to shake his head. ʺI think we just demonstrated that isnʹt true.ʺ

  ʺNo, you do know it all. But you can only access it when you really need it, or maybe when itʹs something youʹre right next to, or both. You know all abou
t specific cars when it will help you accomplish something, you know all about stealing specific models when that information comes in handy. But if you think about it everything youʹve known has been something right there with you, something helpful in that particular instant. Even your name–ʺ

  ʺWhich I donʹt know.ʺ

  ʺExactly. You donʹt need to know it. What good does it do you in surviving the moment? So itʹs gone. Stripped away somehow. Youʹre like a RAM computer. Everythingʹs there, but not at the surface. The information has to be requested through the right code interface–in this case, by a survival need–before itʹs accessible.ʺ

  John thought about what she had said. About the things he knew, the many things he didnʹt.

  ʺMaybe youʹre right.ʺ His lips curled up, not quite a smile. ʺBut what does it mean?ʺ

  ʺBeats me. I got us this far, you canʹt expect me to do everything.ʺ She smiled, and hers was full and real. ʺBesides, youʹre the genius–sometimes–you figure it out.ʺ

  Then the smile dropped off her face. ʺJohn?ʺ She leaned toward him. Grabbed his shoulder. ʺYou okay?ʺ

  He didnʹt understand what she was talking about. Then realized that he couldnʹt see over the dash. He was leaning forward at an angle so steep he was in danger of falling over. He tried to stop his slide and just managed to convert forward momentum to sideways motion. ʺWhatsh…?ʺ His voice was slurring. He felt drunk. ʺWhatsh going…?ʺ