The Complete Four-Book Box Set

by Brian Spangler

  Janice stayed close to Richard. She noticed that he also seemed to walk a little more freely. The tightness in his eyes and the endless furrow of his brow had relaxed. In the company of the Outsiders, traveling to the machine with a large group was easier. And if not for the one exception, Janice would have likely felt more secure than she had ever felt before.

  The clouds stayed high enough to show her the entire group. She kept her ears tuned to the sound of the ocean, knowing they never traveled more than a few hundred hands from the surf. A circle of men stayed tight around the group, their backs turned and their weapons at the ready to face anything that might lurch out of the fog. At the center of the group, the woman and children walked along in a tidy bubble of safety. The center of the group was for the pack’s most precious treasures—the children. And from time to time, they frolicked in a sudden spout of chaos and fun, only to have their playfulness doused by the stern grunts from their leader. While there was security in numbers, silence was the best safeguard.

  As Richard and Janice followed along, she led them toward the water’s edge. There was safety there too, and there was the bonus of being able to keep her feet cool in the water.

  The sea lapped against the shoreline with a soft clap. The tide was low, telling her they were near the top half of the day; six hours or so had passed since they’d sat and talked about what the machines were.

  Richard held Janice’s hand, helping her step over some of the looser sand. She tightened her grip, hoping he’d hold on a little longer. A brief feeling of disappointment came to her when he let go of her fingers. Somewhere in the recesses of her loneliness, she had hoped he was holding her hand because he wanted to.

  That’s okay, she told herself. We’re not here for that.

  When the group entered into a heavy cloud, the leader of the group grunted twice, sounding a signal to stop. Heavy gray mist folded over the heads and shoulders of the men and woman, and before they disappeared completely, Janice watched the men close in, tightening the circle around them. Janice reached for Richard’s hand, taking it before he disappeared too. The leader grunted twice more, and the shuffling sounds of their feet in the sand told her they were moving again.

  Janice felt her chest tighten in the thickness of the cloud as they blindly picked up the pace and moved forward. She kept her feet at the water’s edge, following it and listening to the occasional grunt from the pack’s leader.

  A hot breath was on her shoulder, startling her. Janice jumped and waved her hand at nothing. It’s impossible that anything was there, she told herself. Wasn’t it?

  “You okay?” Richard asked. “Janice?”

  “I’m fine,” she answered, brushing at her shoulder again just to be sure. “Just my nerves playing with me is all.”

  For the longest time, the men and woman stayed eerily quiet. If not for the grunt from their leader, Janice would have thought they were alone. She welcomed the cool water lapping against her feet and let the repetition ease her worries.

  Another hot breath touched her shoulder. Janice shrieked and gripped Richard’s hand, pulling him closer to her. The leader sounded out a rapid set of grunts, signaling to the group to stop. They were blind in the fog, but Janice felt the approach of the leader. He came within a few hands, just enough for her to see the outline of his tall figure.

  “With silence, we survive,” he instructed. But to Janice, his tone felt like a reprimand, the kind she had used herself when scolding her classroom. Heat from embarrassment flushed the skin on her neck and face, pinching the pits of her arms. “Silence is survival.”

  From behind them, Janice heard a memory—the short and brief sound of Harold Belker’s wheezy sniggering. At once, she was back in their classroom, listening to him taunting with his evil laugh. More than ten years in the classroom, she knew that sound as well as any sound. She imagined nothing. It was Harold, and he was playing games with her.

  “I’m fine,” she said. She hated that her voice shook and sounded weak. “Just a bit startled, but I’ll be quiet.”

  The leader brushed past her, stepping into the water to go around them. A moment later she heard Harold call out that he was sorry, but his apologies were immediately cut off by the sound of a quick and stern beating. The sudden commotion lasted just a few seconds, but it was enough to bring a smile to her lips.

  More commotion came from ahead of them. The call of a wild animal and the thumping of feet against the sands. The leader brushed past her again, and she felt the warmth of his body quickly fade as he passed. He stopped just in front of her, raising his hands to his mouth and sounded out the same wild animal call. When the call was returned, he turned and grunted. The sound of shuffling feet told them to move to the center of the pack’s bubble. Within seconds, the pack had knitted together into a tight bundle. Silence came then as the wild animal call rested on them once more.

  “Scouts,” Richard whispered. “Two, maybe three scouts walk ahead of us to signal if we’re approaching any danger.”

  With the entire pack collected into a tight group, the heat came over her like a heavy blanket. Sweat beaded on her head, and the light-headedness from the evening’s fire returned. She took to one knee and leaned on Richard, hoping he would not mind.

  “What is it?” she heard the leader ask. “What did you find?”

  “The machine,” a winded voice spat, choking to catch some air. “Ahead—a few hundred yards—the machine, and people. Two or three, I think.”

  Yards, Janice thought, having only known the term from Andie’s history lessons. But more important, they were near the machine.

  “Slowly,” the leader told his pack. “And quietly.”

  Janice felt the flush of embarrassment again, knowing that last statement was meant for her. She shook it off, taking to her feet and moving forward.

  “We’re almost there,” Richard said, sounding relieved as he helped her. And for the first time since seeking out the machine, Janice felt the same.

  11

  The fog surrounded them—a relentless blanket of gray that brought with it both the familiar dangers they were brought up to revere and the safety of being hidden. Sammi tied off her end of the tether strap, taking his hand as they began to walk away from the machine. Declan looked back once, noticing that Sammi kept her hand to her middle. She didn’t look back at the machine. Not once. And he considered that maybe there was nothing for her to see. A sense of relief came to him, understanding that Sammi had been truly disconnected from the machine.

  She’s free, he thought and placed his hand on their baby. They’re free.

  Declan stopped when he heard something ahead of them approaching. The quick gate of footsteps shuffled against the sand to his right and left, surrounding them.

  “Did you hear that?” she asked, her expression dire. “Declan—”

  “Shhh,” he interrupted.

  Three sets maybe, but could be more, he guessed.

  The hairs on his neck rose and his eyes grew wide as the feeling of being hunted consumed his senses. Instinct took over, and he dropped to his knees. Sammi followed him, leaning heavily against his body. Declan wrapped his arm around her nervously.

  Out of the fog, nearly a dozen legs appeared, vaulting in every direction around them, fixed upright like prison bars. He pulled Sammi in closer until he felt the moisture of her warm breath on his neck. His mind went to the zombies—had they somehow escaped the machine and followed them outside? But there was something primal about the motion of legs barring them. And there were the smells that had been absent inside the machine. Declan was certain that they were in the presence of hunters.

  Outsiders, Declan feared and braced for an attack, closing his eyes and draping his other arm over Sammi’s head. She began to cry, and he tried to comfort her with whispers of how much he loved her.

  “Declan?” he heard a voice shout from the group. “Declan. Declan!”

  He slowly opened one eye, peering out, afraid to see what wait
ed for them. Ms. Gilly’s round face seemed to swallow the world, staring back at him. His heart filled with shock and disbelief when he saw her wide grin and a fresh tear falling onto her cheek. She leaned in and peppered his face with kisses.

  “Ms. Gilly?”

  “Declan, my boy, are we glad to see you!” his father’s voice called out. Kneeling next to Ms. Gilly, his father looked ten years younger. Declan frowned, confused by the sight. His father patted his shoulder, firm and strong, without any hint of his hands shaking. And the smell? Declan searched for it, but found nothing that reminded him of potato juice. But it was the life in his father’s eyes that convinced him something terrific had happened.

  “Dad?”

  “We came for you,” his father said. “We came to save you.”

  “It’s good to see you,” Declan told him. “And you too, Ms. Gilly.”

  “Oh please. Janice,” she exclaimed. “Call me Janice.”

  There were others with them, and by now Declan felt their presence all around them. He couldn’t tell how many but wondered if his father had brought them from their Commune.

  “Declan?” Ms. Gilly asked, motioning to Sammi. Declan removed his arm, revealing Sammi’s long red hair. A gasp escaped from Ms. Gilly as she covered her mouth. Sammi raised her chin from the safety of Declan’s cover, opening her eyes to greet them. Ms. Gilly shook her head and pushed back until the fog stole the features of her face. “That’s not possible!”

  “Hi, Ms. Gilly,” Sammi said, sounding cautious. “Hi, Mr. Chambers.”

  “Declan,” his father said. “How… how can this be possible?”

  “So it is true,” a voice blurted from the fog. Declan covered Sammi, his instincts raising concern. “What the mortician spoke of. It was the truth.”

  A tall man appeared from the fog, kneeling down to take a look at Declan and Sammi. His long face showed no expression, but his eyes wandered back and forth, consuming every detail.

  “Declan, this is the leader of the group helping us,” his father began to say.

  “You call us the Outsiders,” the tall man said, and at once Declan shrank back with Sammi. “These are my people. You’re safe with us.”

  Declan uncovered Sammi as the fog opened up to reveal the bodies surrounding them. They were in a pocket, and for the first time, Declan could see almost all of the group that traveled with his father and Ms. Gilly. Men and woman and children—families—just like the ones he left in his Commune. They fixed their eyes on the strange couple huddled together at the center. Only they weren’t from his Commune; they were as the leader had said, Outsiders—just not the monsters that he grew up learning to fear. Declan stood, stretching out his back and legs and then leaned over to help Sammi up to her feet.

  “That’s not possible,” he heard a voice call out from the group. The voice sounded familiar but was like a distant memory perched on the edge of being forgotten. “She’s dead. She can’t be here!”

  Before Declan could put a face to the voice, he saw Harold approach through the fog like a slow moving shadow. Sammi’s murderer leaped forward in the way a predator hunts. Only, Harold did not have the eyes of a hunter today. Instead, he had found something that was impossible. And before Declan could say a word, Sammi was gone from his side, her hands raised and balled into fists. And at the sight of Harold, the pent rage that spawned his travels to the machine exploded inside him. But before he could do anything, his father’s arms wrapped around his chest and held him back.

  “But Dad, he’s a murderer!” Declan screamed, watching as Sammi threw her arms at the ghastly expression in Harold’s face. Satisfaction needled into Declan’s heart when Sammi’s hand landed a solid punch. Harold cowered, covering his head as he tucked into a ball falling to the ground. Sammi screamed and violently swung her arms, punching her murderer. When her feet began to move, kicking upward and connecting with Harold’s head, the leader of the group pulled her arms away and held her.

  “You monster!” Sammi screamed, and then began to cry. “I had a life! You stole that from me!”

  “Let me go Dad,” Declan pleaded, wriggling his arms. His father held firm, surprising Declan with his strength. “She’s going to have a baby, let me go to her.” His words carried a far greater strength than anything physical, and his father let go.

  “Declan,” his father answered with the sound of disbelief and surprise.

  “Oh, my,” Ms. Gilly said, standing to take his father’s hand. Declan went to Sammi, and she immediately fell into his arms, sobbing. The earlier rage quickly turned to anguish for her.

  “It seems that much of what your mortician spoke of is the truth,” the leader repeated. “The machine does bring people back.”

  Sammi cried into Declan’s shoulder, and he saw on the faces of his father and Ms. Gilly uncertainty and fear—the same trepidation he had seen when everyone thought he was dying of the flu. Harold did nothing but kept his piggy face fixed on the ghost from his past.

  “Why is he here?” Declan asked, disgusted by Harold’s presence.

  “They’re reforming him,” Ms. Gilly answered. “The Outsiders. Can you believe that?”

  “You can’t reform an evil like that,” Sammi spat sharply. “You shouldn’t let him be here. He doesn’t deserve your help.”

  Harold stood back up and shook off Sammi’s attack, snorting a piggy laugh. Immediately, the leader snuffed out the sound with the back of his hand. Harold’s head whipped back, shutting him up. Declan felt satisfaction when he saw the blood beneath Harold’s nose, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

  “We believe in reform,” the leader added. “We believe in purpose, and that everyone is here to fulfill one.”

  “Sammi’s right,” Ms. Gilly argued. “You can’t reform him.”

  “Enough!” the leader of the group demanded, raising his arms and voice. “Not another word of this.”

  “Declan, tell us about the machine,” his father asked and then motioned to Sammi. “Tell us how any of this is possible.”

  “They used us, Dad,” Declan said. “The machine… the machines, they were never meant to help us. They used us. They’ve used all of us.”

  “You know the truth then?” the leader of the group questioned.

  “We do,” Declan answered. “Dad, Mom… Mom and Hadley, they were there too.”

  His father stabbed a look over his shoulder toward the machine and then slumped his shoulders, shaking his head. “What is it you are saying?”

  Declan briefly saw the man that he had left behind—the one who lived his days in the empty bags of potato juice, too afraid to face the loss of his family. And for a moment, Declan wished that he had said nothing at all.

  “The machines were never meant to end gray skies. They are the cause of it. And our Commune, all of the Communes, we’re just the workforce used to run the machines.”

  “The morticians,” the leader added. “And sometimes, the executives.”

  Declan nodded, agreeing. “That’s right, but how do you know?”

  “Are they with you?” Richard said, darting in and out of the fog, moving closer to the machine, searching. “Sammi, Declan, did they come with you?”

  “No, Mr. Chambers. I’m sorry, but it was too late for them,” Sammi answered. The words seemed to be stuck in her throat. Emotion welled in Declan, and he shuddered with the truth and the fear of Sammi telling it. “When you’re brought back, you’re brought back to work. But it only lasts a year, unless you leave the machine, like I did.”

  “Then they can come back again?” his father asked, his voice lifting with hope.

  “Dad!” Declan nearly shouted, trying to douse his father’s expectations. “I’m going back in. I’m working with two others who are like Sammi, who aren’t driven by the machine. We’re shutting them down. All of them.”

  Richard lifted his hand, words hanging in the air as he tried to find the right ones to say. He crossed the small opening in the fog to take Declan
’s shoulders. Ms. Gilly followed, the uncertainty on her face becoming more concerned, but it wasn’t for Declan or Sammi.

  When his father found the words he wanted, he said, “But they might have come back and you’ll look for them. Right?” His father’s eyes were maniacally wide, stealing any composure he had moments before. “You’ll find them and you’ll bring them out of the machine!”

  “No, Dad—” Declan began to say.

  “We can use this,” Harold interrupted. He had left the group—a danger Declan had overlooked—and returned carrying a package. He circled cautiously around Sammi to stand next to the tall man. “I helped build it.”

  “What is it?” Declan asked, but directed the question to the leader of the group.

  “When we learned the truth from your mortician, we decided to blow up the machine. To end gray skies.” Harold belted a heinous laugh and made an explosion motion with his hands. Declan was intrigued by the idea and immediately thought of how a bomb could help.

  “If you can show me how to work it, then I know exactly where to place it,” Declan told the leader. “The machine has a soul where it feeds and shutting that down will cripple the machine.”

  “But if the machine can bring your mother and sister back…” Declan’s father insisted but was unable to finish. The pain Declan saw hurt him in a way that he had felt the day of his mother and sister’s cleaning. What if he could bring them back?

  “We’ll leave that to you and your Commune,” the leader answered. “But our plans move forward.”

  “And I’m delivering it,” Harold added proudly, pulling the cover away from the package. “I found the pieces to build it, so I get to set it off.”

  Declan’s heart dipped with a sudden ache when he saw what was revealed to them. Harold turned over one of the rusted cylinders, exposing a patch of metal with markings from Andie the android. And below it, Declan saw the large graying button he had pressed so many times during class.