by Ryan Husk
Edward said, “That’s three. Who else?”
“Hell, I guess I’m in,” said Gordon.
“That’s four.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” said Marshall, waving his hands. “Now, we’re not really considerin’…I mean…are we? Are we really just gonna…?” He trailed off.
“We don’t have to do anything. But I’m certainly going to try for it, and anybody who wants to come with me is welcome to it. If not, stay here with your share of the supplies, and I’ll be on my way.”
“This is breakin’ the law. I mean, I’m all for fuck the IRS, an’ to hell with the Patriot Act, but breakin’ through a gubment blockade?”
“Sneaking past a quarantine zone,” Edward said. “There’s a difference.”
Marshall looked at all of them. “It’s breakin’ the law, is what it is. It’s standin’ against the very soldiers that…my father was a veteran! A brother, too! This is breakin’ the law! Wade, you of all people can’t be okay with this.”
“Let’s do it,” said Wade.
Marshall’s jaw dropped. “Wade.”
“Heck with it, Marshall. They fired on us. They fired on U.S. civilians.”
“Maybe they had good reason to.”
At this, even Jeb took offense. “Say what now?”
“What if…I dunno, what if we’re infected with somethin’? They don’t know. They got orders to prevent the disease from spreadin’. They got orders, man! I ain’t shootin’ at no United States soldiers because they’re doin’ the jobs we pay them to do! It ain’t right, Jeb.”
“Yeah, but still, Marsh—”
“It ain’t right!” The big man swelled, his voice booming and frightening Janet, who leapt away from the proceedings. Gordon, perhaps instinctively, moved in front of her, as though a bear might leap out of a cave at her. “None o’ this…none o’ this is right,” Marshall lamented, perhaps talking about more than just the sound of Edward’s plan. Margery reached and touched her man by his arm, pulled him in close.
“In any case,” Edward said, moving right along as though no argument had transpired. “You can stay here if you want to. So, me, Gordon, Janet, Wade, Colt, and Greta: that makes six. Jeb? Margery?”
A long, heavy silence. Margery looked at Marshall, and Jeb looked over at Wade. Finally, Jeb said, “Fuck it, let’s do it.”
“Margery?”
Margery looked up at Marshall, still fuming. He looked down at her. He nodded. Margery sighed and said, “A’ight, Ed, you butthole. Lead the damn way.”
“We leave as soon as we transfer everybody’s stuff onto these trucks. We need to figure out who’s riding in which—”
He stopped. Listened. He heard a distant, scratchy voice. He knew what it was at once. The others watched as he dashed out into the rain, using his shirt as a tarp, running beneath the gaze of the terrible Eye, and slid inside his jeep’s driver’s side. The ham radio had a wavering voice coming through on it. He moved into the back seat, so that the rain coming through the busted window wouldn’t reach him. He huddled around the ham and adjusted the frequency.
“Attention!” the voice said vehemently. It came through much clearer now. It was some country bumpkin’s voice, and it cut right to the chase. “Attention! If you’re a-hearin’ this, then you need to be fully aware! You are alive but you are still fucked! Repeat, you are fucked! This is Rebel Fuckin’ News, and we’re gonna tell you what the gubment spooks on here don’t want you to hear! Now, let me fill you in on what all’s a-goin’ on!”
XI.
The Face was everywhere. It was all over the world, just as Edward had guessed. The unknown voice of Rebel Fuckin’ News informed him of it all. He might not have believed it, since the guy cursed so much, and sounded like a country hick, but then he seemed so knowledgeable. The voice of Rebel Fuckin’ News spoke expertly about NOAA satellites—that was the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration—as well as the Kepler space observatory, and complex satellite telemetry in relation to the Face.
The voice of Rebel Fuckin’ News painted a picture for him, and Edward sat in the back of his jeep, a hand over his face, listening intently to the mysterious voice, and imagining that his terror matched some of those people in 1938 who had listened to The War of the Worlds broadcast and thought it was real.
At approximately 8:45 AM, Eastern Standard Time, an object of unknown origin had been detected orbiting Earth at tremendous speed. Of the U.S.’s seventeen intelligence agencies, ten had confirmed that it was no hoax, and had spotted the large, black mass rocketing around and around the planet, and growing in size. It was deemed an unknown threat, its unprecedented speed and size forcing the government into DEFCON 1. It was tracked by NORAD and NAVSPEC-WARCOM, targeted by multiple nukes, but ultimately came away undamaged. The object, now known colloquially as the Face, expanded, broke apart like a rock crumbling, and continued to grow. It was somewhat translucent, so the sun’s light still penetrated it.
The whole world was dealing with the crisis in different ways. Some of them had very specific problems of their own. Britain, France, Russia and China had all been hit by at least a few nukes, as well. No one seemed to know who fired first, only that retaliation had caused quick escalation, and only recently had the bombings stopped. And now they were all fighting a different problem.
Parts of the United States were now a hellscape. New York, L.A., St. Louis, Houston, and D.C. had all been hit. There was mass panic. The president was confirmed to have retreated to Mount Weather, up in Virginia, and from there had issued a few more statements about the need to control the panic, to come together as a nation, and to pray.
Meanwhile, the XVIII Airborne Corps was already in the air and dropping into the affected regions to begin laying down barriers and assist in evacuations around D.C. Dubbed “America’s Contingency Corps,” they were designed for rapid deployment anywhere in the world, and were meant for catastrophes just like this one. However, according to Rebel Fuckin’ News, the XVIII Airborne were now being used for containment. To keep people in.
The walls being assembled by the Contingency Corps were made of connectable prefab units, the same type that New Orleans and a few other cities had used to build up their levies and buffers against hurricane flooding. The 82nd Airborne Division landed with the 20th Engineer Brigade to begin assembly, while the 18th Field Artillery Brigade laid down suppressive fire against something Rebel Fuckin’ News referred to as the “tentacle threat.” Details were sketchy on that. The prefab units were being flown in and airdropped, or else brought in by tank, and connected like Legos.
The military tried establishing a perimeter thirty miles outside of the blast zones, but had then expanded to sixty miles.
The voice of Rebel Fuckin’ News then reported on a string of sightings being called in from across the country. Sightings of strange, amorphous, tentacled creatures that he called demonspawn, which fell from the sky, and were seen to attack people, tearing off their clothes, peeling off their flesh, and devouring them. No one was safe. The creatures attacked men, women, and children. These attacks were sporadic, happening all across the globe at random. He claimed he had video evidence sent to him from all over the country, and he played some of the audio.
It was mostly screams. It was the most horrific thing Edward had ever listened to, and he hoped to God it was fake.
* * *
Gordon listened along with the others. The voice of Rebel Fuckin’ News kept repeating certain elements, and every once in a while came back with something new. He said that there were these “demonspawn” creatures falling from the sky, tearing through people and eating them. Some sightings said they just skinned people alive, then stood back and watched the fleshless humans run around screaming. The audio…the audio was horrific. The man said that the demonspawn didn’t show up on infrared; said he’d heard that from a private military channel he’d picked up.
“That could explain the low-flying F-16s,” Edward remarked. “Their FLIR and othe
r sensors may not pick these things up, so they have to fly low to the ground, bare eyeballing them.”
Gordon listened, partially believing he was listening to some kind of hoax, only he knew what he’d seen these last couple of hours. The Face was undeniable.
“—been lots o’ reports about those tentacles I was tellin’ you folks about earlier,” the voice of Rebel Fuckin’ News went on. “Like these long tongues coming down from the sky, snatchin’ folks up, pullin’ up into the air, tearin’ ’em to pieces.”
“This is insane,” Margery said.
“No,” Janet said. “I saw them. The tentacles, I mean, not the demonspawn he’s talking about. It was back when we were, like, just driving along. I saw a woman get snatched up.”
“We saw some cattle get snatched up, too,” Edward said. “That part’s true, at least. Looked more like a giant swarm of bees to me, in the shape of a tentacle.”
They listened in silence as the voice came in and out.
Gordon needed some space to breathe. He needed to walk. He retreated to the back of the group, and started pacing around the garage with his hands on his hips. He kept shaking his head, as if that would make it all untrue. This is insane, he thought, again and again. This can’t be happening. This is insane.
As he listened to the voice on the ham, Gordon kept thinking of Molly. He could not believe that she was out there running for her life without him. None of this fit.
He leaned against a windowsill and stared outside, through the rain, which had decreased to a drizzle, and gazed up at the massive Red Eye in the sky. Storm clouds swirled around it, but those were beginning to disperse, he could see aspects of the Face branching out like a spider web, a spider web dipped in ink. In fact, pieces of it appeared to be melting off, disconnecting from it, flaking off, and becoming their own clouds.
Orbital debris, he corrected himself. Not clouds. Clouds don’t go that high up. The Rebel Fuckin’ News guy said it’s up in space. The pictures Janet saw on her phone showed that it’s up in space. Those are not clouds, those are orbital debris. It was difficult putting that into perspective.
Gordon remembered reading about the Kessler effect, in which so much space trash collected around a planet that eventually constant collisions became unavoidable. He imagined satellites smashing into that Face. He imagined that if it was solid and real, it would have a serious gravitational pull, jerking satellites out of orbit, smashing them to pieces. It would also influence Earth’s weather, the intensity of the tides, ocean currents, all that.
“It’s laughing at us,” a voice said beside him. He looked to his right, and found Colt O’Hare standing there. In his hand, he was fiddling with the rifle he’d found, putting the shells in it. “I get that feeling, anyway. That it’s laughing at us.”
A bolt of lightning lanced out from a cloud in the east. The report of thunder came seconds later.
“You got family out there?” asked Colt.
Gordon started to say yes, but then realized the truth. “No,” he said. “I don’t.” Wherever Molly was, wherever she had wound up, he wished her the best. It had only been five hours since the note on the refrigerator, five hours since he’d been a happily married retiree who had no care other than what he was going to do with all his time. He’d been thinking about getting back into fly-fishing tournaments. He’d been good at tying flies. Might even open his own online shop. That would’ve been nice.
Suddenly, the rain stopped. Gordon leaned towards the window, just as a ray of sunshine burst through the spider-webbing in the sky, through the Face, through the clouds. It was dim, but it was something.
He turned away from the window, and away from Colt. He rejoined the others huddled around the ham. The voice of Rebel Fuckin’ News was going on about reports coming in from other sources, people who claimed to have tapped into military radio channels and had heard rumors about allied nations and their fight against the Face and the demonspawn.
“The rain’s stopped,” he told them. “And the sun’s just coming back out. I think now’s as good a time as any to move.”
Edward turned the volume down on the radio, and looked outside. “Yeah. Gordon’s right. We’d best get moving, folks. Let’s get these trucks outside, siphon gas from our other vehicles into them, just in case we need it. Bring anything from the garage you think we’ll need, and toss it in the bed of the trucks.”
“I call dibs on the Porsche,” said Jeb, who had been admiring it since they got here.
Everyone mobilized, scattering like insects. Everyone except Janet, who was abandoned near the ham radio, where she sat huddled on the ground. Atlas was sitting beside her, his eyes looking coolly around at the humans getting busy. Gordon walked over to her, knelt by her side. “You okay, girl?”
Janet nodded.
“Let’s get moving. Yeah?”
She nodded again.
He helped her up, and together they helped Edward and the others take what supplies they had from their own vehicles and toss them into the truck beds. Once they were done siphoning gas into the new vehicles, Gordon, Edward, Janet, and Atlas all piled into a green F-150, with an extended cab. Before they rolled out, Wade stuck his head in the driver’s window, and said to Edward, “I’ll take the lead first, show you to the dirt roads on the far end o’ the farm. After that, you take the lead, since you know the way to the cemetery. Ya sure the cemetery gets us to this Silvid Valley?”
“It’s not meant to,” Edward said. “There’ll be chain-link fences, maybe lots of trees all around it. We’ll have to go off-road, maybe run over a few graves, if you’re cool with that. If the cemetery is unpassable, we may have to abandon our vehicles there.”
Wade shrugged. “Gotta do what we gotta do. Let’s do it.”
They rolled out, and as they did, Gordon looked at the fresh puddles of water all around the farm. They looked no different than any other puddles he’d seen in his life, and yet the Geiger counter said they couldn’t be trusted.
“Look,” Janet said.
She was pointing out the window. They all looked up at the sky. The clouds had parted more. The major structure of the Face had moved on, disappearing into the horizon, while its black web still crisscrossed the sky, partially blocking the sun.
“It’s moving on,” she said.
“Orbiting the planet,” Gordon said.
“If that’s the case,” said Edward, “it’ll be back around eventually.”
“What do you think it is?”
It was the dozenth time someone had asked that question. As before, no one had an answer. They drove in silence for the next hour.
* * *
The journey was peaceful enough. As planned, once they were away from the farm, Edward took the lead. Wade followed in behind, with Marshall and Margery in the truck with him. Behind, the O’Hares followed in their truck. Behind them, Jeb was in the Porsche. The four vehicles made their slow, careful way down one road after another, passing random country homes, many of them with FORECLOSED signs sticking up in their yard. Wade knew this area somewhat. A buddy of his had died in a hunting accident out here ten, eleven years ago. He’d never traveled much farther than Madison Farm, though.
A wind blew through the trees. It was a heaving, soughing wind, pushing leaves up and down the road, swirling them around and around, like children dancing in the street. The world had brightened a little. The Face had moved on, thank God, but its spider web lingered in the sky, moving slowly, slowly above the clouds, sometimes blocking the sun. And even when it did, its translucence allowed a dim, sickly yellow light through.
“You really thinkin’ about spendin’ the rest o’ yer life livin’ underground, Wade?” asked Marshall.
Wade glanced in his rearview, checking on the O’Hares and Jeb. He turned left, following Edward. A sign by the road said OLSON CEMETERY. “Right now, I’m just thinkin’ about survivin’ the day, Marsh. We’ll figure out what happens later later.”
“Doesn’t sound too forward
-thinkin’.”
“Marsh, you didn’t have to come with us. Say the word, brother, an’ I’ll turn this truck around an’ put you back at the farm. You can take the hogs or Ed’s jeep an’ do whatever you want.”
“Splittin’ up’s not the best option right now, I feel,” said Marshall.
The drove on in silence for a bit.
The truck started bouncing up and down. Lots of potholes in the Olson Cemetery driveway. They passed through a wrought-iron gate, half of which was twisted and bent. That was the first thing that got Wade’s attention.
“I don’t know ’bout this Ed character,” Marshall said.
“What don’t you know?” said Wade, looking around.
“Seems…off. Volatile.”
“Yeah, well, you’ve been known to be volatile a time or two yourself, Marsh.”
“Marshall’s right,” Margery said from the back seat. “I don’t like the way he hit that girl.”
Wade sighed. “She was panicked. He was panicked. We’re all panicked.” Truth be told, though, he didn’t like it, either, and had let Edward know it. Wade knew guys like Edward. He’d worked with them on the force, but he’d also put them behind bars. It was a thin line between the psychology of a cop and a criminal. People didn’t like to acknowledge that, but the psychologists would tell you it’s true.
They came to a circular drive, which took them by a building that looked like the greeter’s office, where you would go to discuss the details of burying a loved one. A sign outside said REST HERE, THY WEARY HEART. There was a splash of something on it. Dark red. Looked like blood. Wade only had a second to look at it before they drove past. Unconsciously, he touched the pistol at his hip.
They passed a mausoleum, a tall one made out of marble. There was a hearse parked near it, one door left open. It was on Marshall’s side of the vehicle, so Wade had to crane his neck to get a better look at it. As they drove by, he thought he saw that part of the windshield was cracked.