“What do they call you, Brother?” the man in white asked.
His voice was soft and feminine, and in the swirling wind, Larry could barely hear him.
“Larry,” he answered.
“Larry, I’m All Father. Welcome to Rainbowland.”
All Father, he repeated dimly in his mind.
The crowd who had gathered was beaming an ethereal kindness and unconditional love that Larry had never encountered before in his 50 years on this Earth, especially in these last few days, trekking as he had across an unforgivable wasteland populated by the worst that humanity had to offer. A brown-eyed child with chestnut hair and a soft round face took Larry’s hand, and for a moment, the hellish memories of what he’d been through, the horrible acts he’d been forced to commit – all of that pulled away from him, stretching down a long dark tunnel into infinity. Gone, too, was the disappointment he’d felt over the absence of high walls and men with guns guarding them. Larry was in Rainbowland, and it felt an awful lot like heaven.
Alvarez
San Francisco, CA
Alvarez and Harry drove for what felt like an eternity before reaching 3rd Street. From there, they would head south to Quesada Avenue, where Alvarez lived with his family. They had taken a car from just outside the gift shop, a red Mustang, which had only gotten them about a mile before it ran out of gas. They’d swapped that for a Volkswagen Beetle, and now even that was starting to run empty. The state of things was becoming clear enough: If the keys had been left inside, the car was probably running on fumes. Soon, they would be siphoning off the tanks of locked cars, but even then one couldn’t continue that forever. Eventually, after a few months, the gas would go bad and then what?
For now, they were on foot again, trekking down 3rd Street. Several of the store front windows had been smashed, presumably by looters. The barber’s shop Alvarez had visited every two weeks since he was a child had been reduced to cinders. The fire hadn’t spread far beyond the one shop, but the streets were still filled with smoke from the dozens of other fires that had been left to burn themselves out.
There was also another scent in the air. Something Alvarez hadn’t completely expected, but one that didn’t surprise him. It was the odor of rotting bodies, and it lingered in his nostrils longer than most of the other smells wafting about.
Harry drew in a deep breath. He seemed to be relishing it.
“You’re one sick puppy, you know that?”
The old man laughed, and Alvarez noticed his teeth were as white as his hair. “Sure beats Sunnybrook.”
Alvarez paused. “What’s that, a retirement home?”
“Not exactly,” Harry replied with only the hint of a smile.
A car up ahead vied for Alvarez’ attention. A Volvo that was all beat to hell, as though someone, or a group of someones, had really gone to town on it. Hood smashed, windows busted out, and as they approached they saw the woman. She lay in the front seat, curled into a ball, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to tell that she was dead. Not with all that blood. This hadn’t happened during the quake, since none of the other cars were damaged anywhere nearby, not like that at least. Then a strange feeling came over him, like he and Harry were being watched. He glanced over at the old man, who looked like he was on a leisurely Sunday stroll.
“What are you, some kind of sadist or something? That dead woman’s had her head beat in, and you barely even flinched.”
“Why should I? Don’t waste your tears, you’re going to need them.”
“The hell is that supposed to mean? You know I’m getting real tired of all this mystery talk.”
But Harry was staring off in the distance. Alvarez followed his gaze and saw the group of men. Maybe five or six, all wielding makeshift weapons.
He stopped. “Harry, whoa, slow down, shouldn’t we go around, I mean, there’s a group of guys over there with clubs and for all we know, they were the ones who put the beat down on that lady in the car.”
In the time it took for Alvarez to get the words out, another 10 figures appeared, and not all of them were men. A few had long stringy hair, and even from here it looked matted with dirt. They appeared to be homeless, but then who wasn’t now, in one way or another?
They were gathering in the middle of the street. Three of the largest men in the front were smashing the hoods of cars with metal rods, trying to intimidate, trying to warn them off.
“I think they’re telling us to leave.”
Harry kept walking toward them. “Of course they are.”
“Uh, and you’re about to get your head bashed in, you crazy old shit.”
“Ye of so little faith.”
By the time they got to within a dozen yards, the group had swelled by another 30 people, all armed to the teeth with primitive weapons and looking mighty pissed. The thought of turning around and running away had just about solidified in Alvarez’ mind when he noticed the other group behind them.
“They’re boxing us in, Harry.”
“I can see that, Mr. Alvarez. Just don’t show them you’re afraid, and you’ll be fine.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? I already shit myself.”
The group was starting to whoop and holler and stomp their metal poles. Others with shorter weapons waved them in the air. Barbarians, that was what they looked like to Alvarez.
Harry got to within 10 feet and then raised one of his hands and spoke two words. “Move aside.”
At once, weapons lowered, and the whooping died down, and the crowd grew silent as they shuffled out of the way. Harry walked through the opening they made, and Alvarez followed closely behind, terrified of moving out of the old man’s protective aura. Alvarez brushed against one of them as he passed and the man grunted, and he could feel the man’s foul breath against his face. They were staring blankly now, as though the murderous rage they’d been building up to had suddenly disappeared, like dumping the pressure off a boiler.
They were only a few yards away when the group seemed to melt back into the surrounding buildings.
Alvarez’ heart was still thumping madly against his rib cage. “You’re frickin’ Gandalf, Man! Holy Christ. No, you’re Moses, parting the Red Sea.” Alvarez lifted his hands. “Move aside,” and barely got the words out before bursting into a jittery gale of laughter.
“I thought we already went over this.”
“Yeah, but I still don’t know how you did that.”
“This body is getting old,” Harry said. “What you saw back there used to be a whole lot easier. I’m not what I used to be.”
Alvarez noticed the subtle way that Harry was favoring his left leg, the way it seemed to give his walk an extra, almost imperceptible bounce.
“You wanna rest?” Alvarez asked.
“There isn’t time. Get us another car.”
Twenty minutes later they pulled into the driveway of Alvarez’ house, behind the wheel of a Dodge Ram. Alvarez was still buzzing about how they’d casually walked through a mob who seconds before had been prepared to skin them alive. During the drive, Harry had simply stared out the window, looking like a kid visiting Disneyland.
Al’s house was modest, with a red tile roof and a small balcony hanging over a single garage, but the feeling of pride knowing that he’d worked his tail off for it never seemed to fade. Pulling up the drive, his focus quickly shifted back to his family, and he rushed from the car to the front door. Stabbing a hand into his pocket, he fumbled out a set of keys and let himself in.
Harry was coming up the walkway as Alvarez disappeared inside.
“Honey, you here? I came back for you and Javier. Honey?”
The lack of an immediate response was making Alvarez very uneasy. Silence certainly wasn’t the norm in the Alvarez home. Whenever Alvarez walked through the door, his son would bound up to him, shouting excitedly “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!” before Alvarez would scoop him up into his arms.
“How was your day, Little Man?”
“Fine, Little Ma
n,” his son would answer, touching his face with his tiny fingers, both of them smiling at one another.
But none of that happened. The house echoed back at him with a hollow version of his own voice, cold and empty.
“Where are you, Babe?” Alvarez called, with rising anxiety as he jogged from room to room, looking behind doors, under beds, and growing panicked when he heard the strange noise coming from the kitchen. It was the one place he hadn’t looked and it sounded like someone was singing a lullaby.
He entered, finding Anita sitting there with Javier’s limp body in her arms, and suddenly there wasn’t enough air in the room. His knees gave out. He’d always heard people say that happened when they discovered something horrible, but he had never believed it. He knew now it was true. His knees buckled, and he dropped to the floor. Anita was in a daze, cradling Javier’s head and rocking him back and forth. She was singing the song he loved most before bed.
Alvarez crawled on his hands and knees and touched Javier’s face. It was deathly cold. Dried blood was caked at the back of his head.
“Oh, no, Honey, what happened?” She didn’t answer, and Alavarez took her by the shoulders. “Anita, what happened to our son?”
She looked up and through him. “Juan, you’re home.”
“Yes, I’m home. Javier, Anita, what happened to Javier?”
“He fell down the stairs. I heard the thumping and thought he’d thrown one of his toys and then I found him lying there at the bottom, his eyes open and staring. I tried calling you when the house started rattling. Things were falling off the walls. He knew he wasn’t supposed to play near the stairs.”
Alvarez pulled her close to him, oblivious now to Harry Thomson, leaning into the kitchen with a stoic expression.
Releasing her, Alvarez slipped his fingers along the artery in Javier’s neck to feel for a pulse. He had to be sure, and within a few seconds he had his answer. Javier was dead. Great sobs wracked his body. Dark thoughts filled with rage and guilt began swirling around his mind. Maybe if he’d gotten here sooner. Maybe if that bitch, Dana, hadn’t locked him up, Javier would still be alive.
He pulled away and lifted Anita’s face by the chin. “Honey, we need to bury him.”
She shook her head in protest, holding him tight.
“He’s dead, Anita, he’s with the angels now. I’m sorry.”
Alvarez stood, leaving a hand on his wife’s shoulder as she wept. “I gotta bury Javier before we go anywhere,” he told Harry.
The white haired man nodded. “I understand.”
“I’ll get a shovel from the garage, and we’ll do this properly.”
“Go ahead, Mr. Alvarez, I’ll stay right here.”
Alvarez was back with the shovel is less than five minutes. Without a stitch of light, he’d had to feel around the garage until his hand hit upon the familiar wood handle. He ducked his head into the kitchen but didn’t see anyone.
“Where did you all go?” he asked.
“We’re in here,” Harry called from the living room.
Javier’s body was in a single chair, slumped to the side, one of his small arms draped over the edge. Harry was over by the sofa, a statue of the Virgin Mary in his hands, the end splattered with blood. At his feet was Anita. She must have been depositing Javier on the seat when Harry hit her from behind.
Alvarez’ face became an instantaneous mask of rage. “What the fuck have you done?”
Harry replaced the statue on the mantle. “It was all for the best, Mr. Alvarez. The places we’re going, she would only suffer needlessly.”
Al’s fingers cinched tightly around the shovel in his hands. “I don’t give a shit what hocus pocus you think you have, you touch my family, you die; it’s that simple.”
Harry raised a hand, rubbing that strange patch of discolored skin along his cheek.
“Before you kill me, there’s something you should know.”
The shovel was cocked and ready. The old man was going to die, no two ways about it. “You gonna beg for your pathetic life?”
“No,” Harry replied evenly. “I wanted to tell you about Sunnybrook, because once I’m dead, you may never understand.”
“What are you saying? You’re fucking crazy, aren’t you? I should have known.”
“Crazy would depend on whom you ask. Sunnybrook is an asylum in upstate New York. You’re right about that. I was sent there after murdering a woman and a young boy.”
Tears rolled down Alvarez’ cheeks. “I knew it. I fucking knew it.”
“The boy was a subject I studied as part of my work, investigating claims of the paranormal. Let’s just say he had powers at the time that I had no way of comprehending. Told me it was his mission in this life to end the world and before long, he had me convinced he was as real as they came. Imagine that, a young boy talks about growing up and killing every person on Earth. A rather unbelievable situation, I can assure you. And through it all, do you know the question I kept asking myself, Mr. Alvarez? ‘Course you don’t. Well, here it is: If you had the chance to go back in time and kill Hitler, would you do it to save millions of lives? Well, would you?”
Alvarez became very quiet. He’d known there was something off about the old guy from the second he stepped off that bus, and now it wasn’t just a theory. The son of a bitch was more than bonkers. He was dipshit crazy, and the sick smile drawn over his lips seemed to make that clearer now than ever.
“Would you?”
“Sure.” Alvarez answered without a hint of emotion.
“I thought that’s what you’d say. I did, too, and that was exactly why I killed the boy, except killing him didn’t turn out quite the way I expected ... ”
“Yeah, I’ll bet it didn’t, ‘cause you were sent to the loony bin where you belong, and now I’m gonna to send you back to hell.” Alvarez swung the shovel. The sick thud that filled the room as the edge hit Harry’s temple sounded to Alvarez’ ears like a symphony from one of those famous composers. Harry spun a full 360 degrees before crumpling onto the leather couch. Alvarez was on top of him right away, landing blow after blow with his fists, and all he could hear was Harry laughing harder and harder. Soon, the sound of that sick bastard’s voice was too much, and Alvarez closed his fingers around the old man’s throat and squeezed.
Not so funny anymore, is it?
No, Harry wasn’t laughing anymore. He was gasping and clawing at Alvarez’ hands, and it wasn’t until a full minute had passed, when Al felt the taught muscles in his forearms searing with pain, that he finally let go. Harry’s white hair was disheveled and red with blood from where the shovel had connected, but the old son of a bitch was dead. Alvarez hovered over his corpse for a minute, his chest still heaving from the exertion, studying the work of art before him. With little hope, he was about to drop down beside his wife to see if she was still breathing, when he noticed something different about Harry’s face.
Slowly, Alvarez’ head began to tilt, and he leaned over and tore a strip from Harry’s suit and used it to wipe the blood from the dead man’s cheek. The weird scar that had been on his face was gone now. But how was that possible?
Alvarez’ fingers flew to his own face and explored the strange new tingle he felt below his left eye. The pads of his fingers danced over the area as his lips began to mouth the word “No.” Over and over again. The skin there felt long and smooth, like the scar from a bad burn, and now Alvarez knew why the old man had been laughing at the end. A dark feeling crept over him, long shadowy fingers eager to block out the light. And then a voice in his head began to speak. It was Harry’s voice:
Mr. Alvarez, you never did let me finish. Things didn’t turn out as I expected after killing the boy because whatever was inside of him entered into me, and now that same darkness I’ve carried around for all these years is in you. Did I not tell you this body of mine was nearly worn-out? I think you and I will do well together. And now that all the pleasantries have been dispensed with, it’s time we put all of this nas
tiness behind us. We have work to do.
PRIMAL SHIFT 4: Rainbowland
Alvarez
Salt Lake City, UT
The Chevy pickup was running on fumes when Alvarez spotted the top floors of the gleaming Grand America Hotel; a rectangular slab of white brick against a multicolored sky. It was huge. Nearly 30 floors high, with hundreds of rooms and a clear view over Salt Lake City. As his new headquarters, it would do just fine.
After burying his wife and son, the sound of Harry’s voice in his head had become harder and harder to hear. The two men were merging together, their personalities circling one another as more of Alvarez’ identity was slowly subsumed. Of course, there was still a portion of Alvarez that remained. The feeling was rather strange, too, as though he were sharing the real estate of his brain with someone else, and the two of them had to stay out of each other’s way if they were to get anything done. Oh, and the list of things to do was a big one, daunting almost. No, Harry wasn’t speaking as much anymore, but he was showing him things. Pictures. Images of the way things would be once they had accomplished their mission. A new world order.
And one of the things Harry had showed him was the top half of the Grand America Hotel, just as he was seeing it now. It had appeared on the movie screen behind his eyes over and over and over again, until Alvarez had hopped into the truck and started driving. Hold the steering wheel, press the gas, and the rest will take care of itself. That was the sense that had guided him this far already.
The truck died just as Alvarez pulled up to the hotel’s roundabout. He exited his vehicle and was making his way to the front entrance, stepping over rubble fallen from the crumbling overhang, eyeing the shattered windows and the revolving doors fitted with brass platting, when he saw the figures inside. Angry faces stared out at him from one of the broken lobby windows. Then the doors swung open, and out poured men and women, brandishing broken chair legs and carving knives. The largest of the group was carrying a sword, snatched mostly likely from one of those kitschy suits of armor hotel lobbies sometimes have.
Primal Shift: Volume 1 (A Post Apocalyptic Thriller) Page 21