The Assault: The Revealing, Infestation, Infiltration, The Fog

by Frank Peretti

  Cowboy dropped to his knees, looking under the car. “Mister? Mister, are you okay?”

  Off in the distance, I heard a police siren. “Cowboy,” I shouted. “Get in!”

  “But, he’s—”

  Meanwhile, Bad Guy #2 had reached the driver’s window and was banging on it. “Stay calm. No one need be hurt. Stay calm. No one need be hurt.”

  “Now!” I shouted at Cowboy. “Get in, now!”

  Reluctantly, he rose, headed to the front door, and climbed in.

  “Stay calm. No one need be hurt. Stay calm. No one—”

  The driver stomped on the gas, throwing the attacker to the side while again bouncing the rear wheel over his partner.

  “I take you to defeats,” the driver shouted as he picked up speed. “Defeats in the kitchen!”

  “What are you saying?” the professor demanded. “What defeats?”

  “No,” Andi said. “Not defeats.” She turned to the driver. “Are you saying ‘the feast’?”

  “Yes, yes! De feasts, it is in the kitchen! That is what I am saying!”

  She looked to the professor. “‘The feast is in the kitchen.’ Cardinal Hartmann’s parting words.”

  “Yes, yes! Defeats in the kitchen. Hurry! We must hurry!”

  I looked out the back window. The bad guys were nearly a block away. And the one we’d run over twice? He was getting back to his feet.

  CHAPTER

  6

  For half an hour we’d been playing Q and A with the taxi driver. The problem was, he did most of the questioning.

  “Why do you persist in asking us?” the professor called from the back seat. “You seem to be the one with all the answers.”

  “‘The feet are in the kitchen.’” Cowboy chuckled. “That’s a good one.”

  “I do not know, that is why I am asking. You said the airport, but there is no airport on the beach.”

  “Beach?” I said. “Why are we going to the beach?”

  The professor interrupted. “Cardinal Hartmann instructed you to pick us up, did he not?”

  “I know no Hartmann. I know very little of nothing.”

  “But you knew where we’d be,” Andi said.

  “I know only what I hear.”

  “From whom?” the professor asked.

  “From my head. Words. I hear words. And sometimes, as you may tell, I do not always hear so well.”

  Cowboy chuckled. “The feet are in the kitchen.”

  There was a loud thud on the roof and we gave a start. I looked out the windows. Nothing to see but the thick blanket of fog we’d been driving through for the past few minutes.

  “We’re at a beach?” I said.

  “Yes, yes. But as I have told you, there is no airport at the beach.”

  “Then why are you—”

  There was another thump, and then another. I saw something bounce off the hood.

  “What was that?” the professor demanded.

  More thumping.

  “What is going on?”

  “That is what I keep asking you.”

  I looked out the side window. There were dozens of birds, mostly seagulls, flapping around on the road.

  “Well, will you look at that,” Cowboy said.

  One hit the windshield. Blood and feathers everywhere.

  Andi shuddered. “That’s gross.”

  The driver turned on his wipers. It pushed off most of the feathers but left a smear of blood that took several more swipes to get rid of. Another one hit the roof. And then another. They came faster, like a hail storm—hitting the roof, hood, windshield, the rear window.

  The professor turned to look out back. “Remarkable” was all he said.

  Another hit the windshield, so hard it left a spiderweb crack. Another one followed. Faster and faster. With the smearing blood and feathers, the wipers couldn’t keep up. Unable to see, the driver hit the brakes and we slid.

  “Careful, man!” the professor shouted.

  But the birds were slippery. We veered into the other lane. No problem except for the one and only vehicle we’d seen on the road—a produce truck. It appeared out of nowhere through the fog. The driver blasted his horn. When I looked out the side window I was looking straight at him, straight into his terrified face.

  It was close. We missed each other by only inches. Our car shot up and over a small embankment. We landed hard on the sand, bouncing several times before coming to a stop.

  We sat a moment, catching our breath.

  The birds continued to fall. Nonstop pounding.

  “Everybody is okay?” the driver shouted over the noise.

  We were—if “okay” meant being in the middle of a storm of falling birds. Everywhere we looked, they were falling and flapping.

  “My grandparents’ beach,” Andi said. “It’s like what happened on their beach.”

  The driver dropped the car in reverse and hit the gas. The wheels spun. The windshield cracked into another spider web. More blood and feathers.

  “We can’t stay in here!” the professor shouted.

  “Where do we—”

  “There!” the driver pointed to a bus stop or taxi stand or something. Whatever it was, it had a roof and it was close.

  The back window shattered. I grabbed Daniel and yanked him toward me, away from the raining glass.

  “Hurry!” the driver shouted. “Go!”

  We didn’t need a second invitation. As soon as the professor threw open his door, I pushed him out and spun around for Daniel. “Come on!” I did my best to protect him as the two of us ran for cover. I got hit two, maybe three times, but nothing bad. Daniel, too, but he looked fine. Actually more than fine. Not that he was enjoying himself. But almost.

  We got under the corrugated roof, which made the falling birds even louder. Cowboy followed with Andi tucked under one arm, the professor under the other. The driver stayed behind. Revving his engine, spinning his wheels.

  Cowboy shouted to him over the noise. “Best you get out of there!”

  The driver ignored him. It looked like he was going to go down with the ship.

  Or not.

  Suddenly, the wheels found traction and the taxi took off.

  Cowboy cheered. Andi clapped. Of course they’d be happier if the driver had circled around to join us. But he didn’t.

  “Hey!” Cowboy shouted as the car bounced back onto the road. “Hey!”

  “Return here at once!” the professor yelled. “You are not leaving us stranded!”

  But the driver had other ideas. He swerved hard, sliding into a U-turn. He stomped on the gas, wheels spinning, until they caught and sent him racing back down the road toward the city.

  The others shouted. I didn’t bother.

  In a minute or two the bird storm slowed to a stop. Now they just lay there, flapping and gasping for breath. I knelt down to take a better look.

  Cowboy stooped to join me. “Wow.”

  I nodded.

  “Look, they got no eyes.”

  I nodded. “Just like the fellows back at the hotel.”

  “And the birds and fish back at Andi’s grandparents. Poor things.”

  I grabbed a twig and poked at one. It kept opening and closing its beak like it was trying to talk, but no sounds came.

  “Great,” Andi sighed. I glanced up to see her peering out into the fog. “Now what do we do?”

  Not a bad question, considering the produce truck had been the only car we’d seen on the road. And houses? Forget it. At least none we could see in the fog.

  Andi pulled out her phone and tried to get a signal. I stepped away from the group and lit a cigarette.

  “What’s that over there?” Cowboy said.

  I followed his gaze up the beach. Through the grayness and off to the right you could just make out some pillars of rock rising from the water. And to the left above the beach, a cliff thirty or forty feet high. But it wasn’t the cliff that got my attention. It was the tiny squares of light coming from
it.

  “Are those . . . windows?” I squinted. “Is somebody living there?”

  “Sure looks like it,” Cowboy said. “Like them cliff homes the desert Indians built.”

  “Are you getting any reception?” the professor asked Andi.

  She shook her head. “Nothing.”

  “Looks like someone’s got some real nice beachfront property,” Cowboy said.

  The professor muttered something, then stepped out from under the covering. Without a word, he headed up the beach.

  “Professor,” Andi called, “where are you going?”

  He shouted over his shoulder. “I have seen enough.” He cursed as he tripped over a seagull and nearly fell. He motioned to the cliff. “If that’s light coming from those windows, it has electricity and most likely a telephone. And if it has a telephone, I am calling a real taxi to take us to a real airport.”

  We traded looks. The feeling was unanimous. I butted out my cig, grabbed Daniel’s hand, and followed.

  CHAPTER

  7

  A hundred yards up the beach and we were out of dead birds. The walk was short. But not short enough to stop Andi from chattering away with more fun-filled Spear of Destiny facts. Not that it wasn’t interesting. But it had been a busy morning. A little quiet wouldn’t hurt.

  But, since quiet wasn’t one of her high cards . . .

  “There’s one theory, quite popular, that says that after Hitler made the duplicate of the spear, he shipped the original off, along with other priceless art treasures, to a special bunker in Antarctica.”

  “No kidding,” Cowboy said.

  “Yes. His idea was that should the Third Reich fail, the Spear would be there to empower the Fourth Reich when it resurfaced.”

  “Wow,” Cowboy said.

  “And after the war, a secret German convoy returned the spear to a secret organization called The Knights of the Holy Lance, whose sole purpose was to keep it hidden until the proper time.”

  “That’s really impressive,” Cowboy said.

  Truth is, Andi could be reading the phone book and he’d be really impressed. Too bad. ’Cause the big guy was setting himself up for a massive heartbreak. And you didn’t need someone like me to see that in his future.

  By the time we got to the cliff, the cold dampness had worked its way through my thin SoCal clothes. Not Daniel. He wore the UW sweatshirt Cowboy’s uncle had given him. A little salt in Cowboy’s wounds, since earlier he’d been bounced from the football team for helping us.

  “You okay?” I asked Daniel.

  He nodded, but I’m not sure he heard. He was too awed by the cliff and whatever was carved into it. Those little squares of light really had turned out to be windows. Two stories’ worth. Well, three if you count the dormer that stuck out above the center. It had the vague outline of one of those old Victorian houses. Strange. Stranger still, there was something familiar about it.

  Once we got there the professor headed up the stone steps and knocked on a front door of thick, wooden planks.

  There was no answer. We joined him as he knocked again.

  Nothing.

  He was about to try a third time when the door suddenly opened. And there in front of us stood some old, jolly-faced nun. The moment she saw us she broke into a grin. The professor started to introduce himself, but it didn’t matter. She opened the door wider and motioned us inside like we were old friends.

  It was like stepping into a giant, elaborate cave. Even though it was carved into rock, the entry hall was like a real house. There was an antique bureau with a mirror, a hall tree, and a grandfather clock. To the right was a fancy staircase with polished wood. I couldn’t put my finger on it, and maybe it was just my “gift,” but I definitely felt I’d been there before.

  “So,” the professor was saying, “if you would be so kind as to allow us to make a phone call, we shall be out of your hair in no time.”

  The nun’s smile grew bigger. She still didn’t speak but motioned us toward some double doors. I glanced to Daniel. The kid was a pretty good barometer when it came to danger, and he looked more intrigued than nervous.

  We stepped through the doors and into what could only be a living room. Sofa, end tables, lamps. No feeling of being in a cave. Instead, it was all very Victorian . . . and very familiar.

  “The House,” Andi whispered.

  We all looked to her.

  “It’s like the House in Washington.”

  The double doors behind us shut. I turned, and the nun was gone. There was a quiet click of a lock. We traded looks.

  Andi crossed back to the doors. “Hello?” She tapped on them. “Hello? If you could just tell us where the telephone is? Hello, are you there?”

  The professor brushed past her and tried the handles. They didn’t move. He shook them. “Come on.” He pulled. He pushed. Then he stopped and took a step back. So did Andi. And for good reason.

  The doors were . . . melting. And not just the doors. The wall around them. And the pictures on the wall and the shelves.

  And the floor.

  Starting at the doors, the floor was turning to liquid . . . which flowed toward us.

  “Step away!” The professor motioned. “Everybody step away.”

  It seemed a pretty good idea, so we all took several steps back.

  It kept coming. Daniel gripped my hand. Not a good sign.

  It flowed under a chair against the wall in front of us. The legs dissolved and the chair slumped into itself. Then it sank into the floor. Gone. Completely melted. The same with the nearby sofa.

  “What’s goin’ on?” Cowboy said. “What’s happening?”

  If anyone had an answer, they weren’t telling.

  “To the other side of the room!” the professor ordered. “Quickly.” We crossed the room and reached a single door at the opposite end. It was closed and locked. No problem. Cowboy leaned down and slammed into it with his shoulder. It budged, but not much. He tried again.

  The tide of melting floor kept coming. By now half the place had dissolved—the sofa, end tables, lamps. But only for a second. Because a few yards behind all that melting, the room was getting solid again. Reshaping itself. It was the same room, but instead of rock, the far wall had changed into light-colored oak paneling. Where the furniture had been, desks were appearing. Lots of them.

  “Remarkable,” the professor said.

  “Everything’s morphing,” Andi said.

  I turned to her. “It’s what?”

  “Everything is morphing into another reality.”

  Whatever she called it, it didn’t help. The melting was closing in fast.

  Cowboy finally broke down the door. He stared at the pieces, not happy with the damage he’d caused. The rest of us were just happy to get out of there.

  We stepped into a short hallway—a dining room was just ahead with eight high-back chairs, dishes already set, and a fancy chandelier. Beyond that you could see a little kitchen with an eating area. To our right was a back set of steps.

  “Which way?” Andi said.

  After a quick look, the professor ordered, “The stairs.”

  We started up them. Everyone but Cowboy. He stayed at the broken door figuring how he could fix it.

  “Tank!” Andi called.

  He looked back to the living room. The melting tide had just about reached him. Figuring now was as good a time as any, he decided to join us.

  Safe and out of the way, the professor stopped in the middle of the stairs to watch. We all did. The melting swept through the doorway, dissolving the broken door as it went. Not far behind the melting, the floor kept turning solid as more and more desks appeared. And what looked like, and I know this is crazy, but computer monitors with people beginning to appear in front of them.

  The melting washed in and swirled around the base of the steps. They lurched, then dropped. They were also melting.

  “Up here!” the professor shouted.

  We scrambled up after him
as the steps continued to slip and shift.

  “Miss Brenda!”

  I spun around. The step below Cowboy had given way. I threw out my hand to him. An idiot move. He could have dragged me down with him. But he hung on just long enough to steady himself before letting go and continuing.

  We reached the top of the steps and another hallway.

  The professor tried the first door. It opened easily. But . . . well, things were getting even weirder.

  On the other side of the door, directly in front of us, was the outside of the same cliff house we’d just entered. We were back at beach level looking up at the same cliff house with the same stone steps leading to the same front door.

  Behind us, the last of the stairway gave way and splashed into the liquid. The hallway was next.

  “Come!” the professor shouted. He stepped outside onto the sand.

  More crashing and splashing. The hallway was falling.

  “Quickly!”

  It seemed a pretty good idea.

  CHAPTER

  8

  We stepped through the bedroom door and back onto the beach, leaving the melting hallway behind us.

  It was a useless idea, but I figured I’d slow it down by reaching back and shutting the door. Only problem was there was no door. When I turned, there was nothing but the beach and sea behind me.

  “What the heck’s goin’ on?” Cowboy said. “Am I dreamin’?”

  “If you are, we all are,” I said.

  Andi turned to the professor. “Do you suppose . . . is it possible we are experiencing some sort of multiverse?”

  “A whatee verse?” Cowboy said. Then his face brightened. “Oh, like where you said Littlefoot is from. One of those higher dimensions all around us.”

  Andi shook her head. “Higher dimensions are something entirely different.”

  “Like angels and stuff,” I said.

  The professor scoffed.

  Andi ignored him. “Perhaps. Whereas the theory of the multiverse believes in an infinite number of realities, each branching off and forming another reality whenever a decision is made.”