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

by Frank Peretti

  My phone! I reached for it reflexively, but it had already gone silent beneath the murky water. I had to get out. I had to get free. I reached for the seatbelt buckle, my fingers frantically searching for the locking mechanism until I found it. I threw off the belt and tried to work the door handle, but the onrushing water seemed determined to hold the door closed. I could feel pressure squeezing my eardrums. The power window button wouldn’t work, and I didn’t have a hammer. . . .

  Water crept up my chest and tickled my neck. I snatched a deep breath and turned to kick at the window, but the steering wheel cramped my movements, leaving me little room to maneuver. The rising water was at my chin, filling my ears, so I tipped my head back, gulping air near the ceiling light. The car tilted, the driver’s window plunged downward or maybe upward because I could no longer tell which way was up and which down.

  I kicked, hit the fabric of the ceiling, and realized it, too, was soaked and there was no more air. . . .

  Oh, God, please . . .

  As my eyelids fluttered at the bright light, I looked out and saw Tank bending over me with wide blue sky behind him. My gorge rose, and Brenda rolled me over while I vomited water and coughed liquid from my lungs. Then I was lying flat again, mud beneath my palms, wet clothes chilling my skin.

  Four concerned faces peered at me from above—Tank, Brenda, Daniel, and the professor. When I blinked and asked why I was wet, four faces broke into wide smiles and the professor patted Tank on the back.

  “I never thought guys like you could swim,” the professor said. “I thought you’d sink like a stone. But you did it, my boy, you did it.”

  “Couldn’t have done a thing without Brenda,” Tank said, patting his pocket. His smile faded for an instant. “Oh—sorry. Must have dropped it in the pond.”

  Brenda waved his comment away. “Forget it. Aunt Rene will send me another Life Hammer once I tell her that you saved Andi’s life with the first one. Maybe she’ll send two.”

  I listened to them, more confused with each word. “Can I sit up?” I asked as sirens began to wail in the distance. “Is Daniel playing that game?”

  “I think you should lie still,” Tank said, placing a hand on my shoulder. “At least until the EMTs have a chance to look you over.”

  I blinked when I saw Daniel crouching next to Brenda. He wasn’t holding his phone, so the sirens must be real. . . .

  Within a few minutes an ambulance had pulled up and a pair of young men lifted me onto a gurney. When the professor told them that I’d been pulled from a submerged vehicle and revived with CPR, the medics said I had to go to the hospital.

  “Possibility of infection inside the lungs,” one man said, pulling up the gurney’s guardrail. “We won’t release her until we’re sure she’s okay.”

  I would have protested, but at that moment I didn’t feel like the sharpest tack on the bulletin board. Maybe a few hours in the hospital would do me good.

  CHAPTER

  10

  By the next morning, I’d had time to think about a lot of things. Lying in the soft light of a dim hospital lamp, I realized that a few days ago, all I’d wanted was to feel normal again. Because he was smart and handsome and charming, I trusted Hamish Drummond, even allowing him to hypnotize me.

  I should have known better. I should have listened to Tank and Daniel. Because I didn’t, Hamish had full access to my team . . . and now we were all in danger.

  Would they ever forgive me?

  I sat up and propped my elbows on the rolling bedside table. In the car, in that moment before I filled my lungs with water, I had called on God . . . and I was still alive. I wasn’t exactly sure how or if He worked things out, but I was still alive and I didn’t deserve to be.

  I would never again let my heart overrule my head.

  My friends showed up after breakfast. The professor greeted me with a vase of flowers and a printed sheet of paper. “The flowers are gorgeous,” I said, burying my face in the fragrant carnations. “And what’s that other thing?”

  “Our next gig.” The professor handed me an itinerary. “Day after tomorrow we’re leaving for San Diego. So if you can refrain from getting into trouble—”

  “Hush up, you ol’ curmudgeon.” Brenda sat on the edge of the bed, blocking my view of the professor. “Girlfriend, that one was too close for comfort. You gotta be more careful.”

  “I know. And I’m sorry for getting us into this mess.”

  Brenda patted my hand. “We’re all still here, ain’t we?”

  “I’m still not sure what happened. I remember sitting in Dr. Drummond’s office and hearing that I was about to die. Next thing I knew, I was in the car hearing the Megadeath battle cry. I think—I know—that sound snapped me out of my trance. But I couldn’t get out in time.” Even now, the memory of that chilly black water made me shudder. “Can you fill in the gaps for me?”

  Brenda glanced at Tank and the professor, then she draped her arm around Daniel’s shoulders. “Daniel, my man, why don’t you ask Tank to go get you some ice cream? I think there’s a little shop down in the lobby area.”

  Tank stared at her. “Ice cream? In the morning?”

  “Be a prince and take Daniel for a cone, okay?”

  I watched silently as Daniel walked over to Tank, took his hand, and led the big guy through the doorway. When they were safely away, Brenda leaned forward. “I don’t want to embarrass the kid. But we wouldn’t have found you if not for him.”

  “Daniel?”

  “Quite right.” The professor leaned against the end of my hospital bed. “Once again I found myself grateful we had the boy along.”

  Brenda tossed the professor a disdainful look, then patted my hand again. “You’d gone out that morning. I don’t think we even realized it, but suddenly Daniel had one of his episodes.” She gave me a pained smile. “He started screaming about the duchs and how they were all around you. We looked for you, of course, ’cause we wanted to show him that you were fine, then we saw your car was gone. I remembered you sayin’ something about going to see your grandparents, but as soon as I mentioned that, Daniel started screamin’ even worse, hollerin’ and hittin’ us if we got close. Then Tank opened the front door, and suddenly Daniel ran out and jumped in the rental car. Well, what else could we do? We got in, too, and then—” She paused to draw a deep breath. “You know how he has this invisible friend?”

  I nodded.

  “Since we didn’t have a clue where you were, we went wherever Daniel told us to go. When he took us to the interstate I was convinced we were on some kind of wild goose chase, and then suddenly he pulls out his phone and starts playing Battleship Megadeath—the game he’s got goin’ with you. Then we’re at the side of the road, and Daniel points to a pond. We’re staring at it, and we see this huge air bubble come to the surface. Daniel freaks out again, jumpin’ up and down, and Tank is ready to dive in, but before he can kick off his shoes Daniel reaches into my purse, pulls out that silly orange hammer, and hands it to Tank.”

  Brenda paused and drew a deep breath. “About that time, I was putting pieces together, and I didn’t like what I was thinking. I had to take a CPR class to get my state license, and I know how fast a car can sink. Unless you can get your seat belt off and your window down before the power shorts out, you’re done for.”

  “I did get my seatbelt off,” I said, shivering. “Barely.”

  Brenda shook her head. “Man, I get wore out just thinkin’ about it. But I’m sure you can figure out the rest. Out in the pond, Tank sees your car, breaks the window with the hammer, and pulls you out. If the water had been a couple of feet deeper, or if you’d still been stuck in that seat belt, I don’t think Tank could have done it—the guy’s got a lot of heart, but he’s not what you’d call naturally buoyant. Anyway, Daniel stops screamin’ once he sees that Tank has you, and he’s as quiet as a mouse while Tank is givin’ you mouth to mouth.” She grinned. “Personally, I think Tank liked that even more than savin’ your lif
e. So that’s what happened.”

  I leaned against my pillows, exhausted and a little amazed. The story made sense, but if I hadn’t lived it, I wouldn’t believe it.

  “What about Hamish?” I shifted my gaze to the professor. “Has anyone checked out Dr. Drummond?”

  “A couple of detectives went to talk to him,” the professor said, “but he had vacated the premises—not a trace of him at the office, not even a fingerprint. But about an hour later the cops called me with news of a burning convertible on Interstate 275. The car sounded like Drummond’s, so I went to the scene. No body, just a crumpled convertible on its side, resting in the middle of the median. And this.” He pulled his phone from his pocket, tapped the photo icon, and let me see the screen. In a patch of charred grass, I saw Hamish’s Gumby—twisted, melted, and an exact copy of Brenda’s sketch.

  “What does it mean?” I asked, lifting my gaze to meet the professor’s. “Is he dead?”

  The professor released a hollow laugh. “I wouldn’t think so. But that’s okay—neither are we.”

  I leaned back against the pillows and sighed as Tank and Daniel came back in. Tank carried a tray of ice cream cones, and as he passed them out I remembered Drummond telling me that all of us but Daniel were supposed to die, one after the other. But if The Gate couldn’t manage to get rid of a defenseless girl like me, how powerful could they really be?

  Maybe we’d soon find out.

  “Thanks, Tank.” I accepted a cone and tasted the vanilla on my tongue. Delicious.

  Contents

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  I know the people behind me are wondering what I’m doing. I can’t blame them. It’s not everyday you see a man my size standing on the parapet of a high-rise building in the middle of a major city and looking down at a street he can’t see a mere fifty floors below. Did I mention it was night and the only light I have comes from emergency lamps? Probably not. I’m not at my best at the moment.

  I’ve never admitted this to anyone before, but I don’t like heights that much. I don’t let on, of course. A big football player isn’t supposed to have such fears. Well, I ain’t a football player anymore. I’m just a big ex-jock teetering on the edge some five hundred feet above the sidewalk below.

  It’s eerie up here. Not just because most of the lights in the city are out, but because of the silence. About a million-and-a-half people call San Diego home, or so the professor tells me. He has a knack for such things. When we first arrived, I noticed the noise of downtown: traffic, people talking, busses, mass transit trains, and other noisemaking things of humanity. Now all I can hear is the sound of a gentle breeze pushing at my back and zipping by my ears. That and the sobs of my friends.

  If all of that wasn’t enough to raise the hair on a man’s neck, there was the fog—a fog like I’ve never seen before. At first it looked like your garden-variety mist, but it moved differently, and—how do I say this—it was populated. Things lived in it. Bad things. Horrible things. Ugly things.

  When I look down I can’t see the street, just the roof of the fog bank. That and the things swimming in it.

  A face appeared.

  I shuddered.

  It wasn’t alone.

  The things swam in the fog like dolphin swim in the ocean. Except dolphins are cute. These are no dolphins. No siree. These things ain’t from around here. They’re not from anywhere on this earth. I can only guess where they call home, but if it was Hell, I’d believe it with no hesitation.

  “Tank . . .”

  Even with my back to her, I recognized Andi’s voice. I would recognize it anywhere and at anytime. The biggest hurricane couldn’t keep her words from my ears.

  I raised a hand. I didn’t want to hear it. I wanted to hear it more than anything I’ve ever wanted. I know it doesn’t make sense, but I’m a guy standing on the edge of certain death, so my thinking, such as it is, has a few hiccups. Don’t expect me to make a lot of sense at the moment. You stand on the edge of a high-rise an inch from death and see how well the gears in your head work.

  I allowed myself one last glance back. I turned slowly to look at my friends and the scores of people standing behind them. I was real careful. When I go over the edge, I want it to be my decision, not a fool mistake.

  My gaze first fell on Professor McKinney, worldwide lecturer, atheist, and former Catholic priest. Yep, he’s a bit conflicted. He’s the smartest man I’ve ever met, and at times, the biggest pain in the neck. He is retirement age, but hasn’t slowed down. Good thing. The team needs him. He stared at me through his glasses. Even in the dim light provided by a pale ivory moon overhead and the emergency lighting, I saw something I had never seen before: a tear in his eye.

  The professor’s hand rested on Andi Goldstein’s shoulder. I let my gaze linger on her. My gaze always lingered on her. Her usually wild red hair might strike some as a bit strange, but she was fashion-model beautiful to me. There were tears running down her face. The sight of them squeezed my heart like you might squeeze a lemon.

  Next to her stood Brenda Barnick. Her black face seldom showed a smile, and she could put on an expression that would melt steel. I’ve faced a lot of big guys on the football field, but not one of them put any fear in me. When Brenda loses her temper, she plain scares me and anyone else within the sound of her voice. She’s a street-smart tattoo artist, all hard on the outside, but I know she has a great big heart. She looked away, but not before I saw the fear and pain on her face.

  One way I know Brenda has a big heart is the boy standing in front of her. The kid has mental problems. Well, that’s what the doctors say, but we know better. He’s just different. And talented. Brenda, through a lie or two, got herself named his guardian. She makes a good mom.

  The sight of my friends gutted me. I turned from them. It was easier looking at what I feared rather than those I love. I was on this ledge for them and for many others.

  I raised my right foot and inched it over the edge of the parapet. The breeze pushed at me as if encouraging me to jump.

  The things in the fog were agitated, like sharks in bloody water. Their small, lethal heads bobbed up and down in the fog.

  They were waiting.

  Waiting for me to lean forward.

  I did.

  A hundred pairs of clawed hands reached for me.

  But first, I need to tell you how I got here.

  CHAPTER

  1

  All Dressed up with Somewhere to Go

  Of all the things I’ve seen lately, and I’ve seen a lot, today might just take the cake. I’ve seen a house that appears and disappears at will. I’ve seen the inside of the Vatican. I’ve seen flying orbs made of living metal (that’s what Andi calls it). I’ve seen a green fungus that invades living things and takes them over. I’ve been chased by monsters not of this world and protected a little girl who grew younger with time instead of older. But this. Seriously. This is almost too much. I would think I was dreaming if I weren’t standing and lookin’ into a mirror in my hotel room.

  Still, I can’t deny it. The image was right there in the mirror: me—in a tuxedo. I’m a simple kind of guy. I like meat and potatoes, vanilla ice cream, and have been known to watch a little NASCAR racing from time to time. I figured I’d have to wear a tux if I ever got married, but maybe not even then. I skipped the proms at school, so I never had a need to rent one of these monkey suits.

  There was my image: all six-foot-three, 260 pounds of me—in a tux!

  Someone pounded on my door. “Let’s get a move on, Tank. The car and driver are waiting.”

  The professor. Dr. James McKinney is our leader although we never elected him. He makes many of the decisions because at sixty he’s the oldest and because he is smart, educated, and domin
eering. He’s a priest who lost faith and left the church. Now, instead of conducting Mass, he spends his time traveling the country proving that God doesn’t exist, faith is a dream, and believers are fools. His words, not mine. Yep, despite all that stupidity, the guy is the smartest man I know. I like him.

  “Do I have to kick the door in, Tank?”

  I smiled. I’d kinda like to see him try. “Coming.”

  I turned from the mirror, glad to leave my image behind, and opened the door. He had his arms crossed, wore a tux similar to mine, and flashed his well-known frown at me. He was tall, with a full head of gray hair and eyes that seemed to look through people and things.

  He studied me for a moment, relaxed, and lowered his arms to his side. The corners of his mouth ticked up a coupla notches.

  “For a star football player, you clean up nicely.”

  “I was a good college player, but never a star. You know that, Professor.” That was as true as sunshine in the morning. I played well in high school, and my first two years of college weren’t too shabby. When I transferred to the University of Washington on a football scholarship, things changed. I had been playing for a junior college in Southern California and lovin’ it, but playing for a major university with a well-known football team was an eye-opener. I was playing with and against people who made me look small. The hits were harder, the plays more complicated, the competition out of this world. I was a tiny fish in a great big pond.

  Then I got hurt. A three-hundred-pound lineman did a dance step on my foot, and I was out for the season. To make things worse, our little team of do-gooders was traveling more, facing greater unknowns, and risking our lives. Somehow, football just didn’t seem important anymore. I haven’t touched a football since last December. People told me I’d miss it. Maybe I do a little, but I need to be here, with this team doing what, apparently, only we can.