Tim Curran

BLACKOUT

1

The story I’m going to tell you is about what happened after the lights went out. I’m going to tell you what happened to our beautiful green world and the people that called it home. Understand, it’s not a happy story and there is no moral. It’s not that kind of story.

2

We had a ranch house on Piccamore Way which was perfectly middle-American, perfectly middle-class, and perfectly dull…something we were all just fine with. Excitement is for people who haven’t seen forty. After that, you want peace, you want contentment, you want sameness. Piccamore satisfied those needs completely. There’s comfort to be had knowing that the paperboy would always toss the Courier in the bushes, missing the porch by a country mile. That Al Peckman would be washing and waxing his candy apple red ’67 Camaro in the driveway every Saturday morning. That Iris Phelan would always have her TV cranked up so loud that you could hear it three streets away. That Billy Kurtz would always come stumbling up the walk at six sharp each day after finishing his shift at the mill (and finishing six or seven Bud longnecks at the Bar None). That the Eblers would plant so many flowers in their front yard—daylilies and black-eyed Susans, baby blue eyes, forget-me-nots, and sweet peas—that the chromatic vibrancy would make your eyes ache. And that Ray Wetmore was even then planning another run at the county board even though he’d barely cracked a hundred votes the last time around.

That’s the sort of neighborhood we had on Piccamore.

Complacent, predictable, but very comfortable.

It was a summer sort of street with lush green oaks and white clapboard houses lined up in tidy rows. There were firecrackers on the Fourth of July and dime-a-drink Kool-Aid stands, SUVs in driveways and rollerblading kids on the sidewalks, friendly neighbors with coolers of cold beer on porches and plenty of good red meat sizzling on barbecues come evening. It was the American dream in just about every way and if now and again something dark sullied the waters of our crystal blue pond—somebody’s son got busted selling dope at the high school or somebody’s wife had an affair with her boss—we just pretended not to notice until the waters ran clear again. Because they would. They always would and we knew it.

At least, that’s what we thought.

The day in question there was some funny heat lightning on the horizon just before sunset and up and down the street people were standing in yards and on porches watching it, prophesying a good summer storm. The humidity had been high for days and this was the relief valve coming that would bleed the moisture from the air.

We had a little get-together in my backyard that I threw together kind of as a celebration on account I hadn’t had a cigarette in three months. And when you’d puffed the coffin nails since you were sixteen and were leaning towards fifty, that was a pretty damn good accomplishment. Kathy was proud of me and so was my daughter Erin, who was spending the summer in Italy on a work-study program. I was pretty proud of myself, too, so proud that I was planning on bragging about it when school started again—I taught physical science and biology at Patrick Henry High.

Things were good.

The barbecue was hot, the porterhouses an inch and a half thick, the cobs of sweet corn roasted over open flame, the jumbo shrimp grilled and liberally brushed with garlic butter, and pitchers of iced gin-and-tonics made the rounds. It was a good time. Sure, Bonnie Kurtz got drunk and too friendly, Ray Wetmore bitched about our ineffectual councilmen, and Al Peckman kept cornering me and trying to talk me into mutual funds while he blew smoke in my face from his ever-present Marlboro—giving me insane cravings and a pleasant nicotine contact buzz all at the same time. But it was all good and everyone went home that night full and drunk and happy.

When we were finally done cleaning up, it was nearly midnight.

“I think Bonnie puked in the flower bed,” I said.

Kathy sighed. “She does that every time. We have two bathrooms and she can never seem to find either one of them.”

“In her condition? Hell, she would never have found the door.”

Kathy sat on the sofa by me. “Al grabbed my ass.”

I giggled. “You have a very fine ass. You can’t blame him. I couldn’t come to your rescue because I was fending off Bonnie. She got a rose tattooed on her tit and she kept trying to show it to me.”

“She kept trying to show it to everyone.”

“She’s very proud of her charms.”

Kathy sighed again. “It’s amazing what a pound of well-placed silicone will do for a woman’s self-esteem.”

We chatted a bit and Kathy went off to bed. I stayed on the sofa and watched a repeat of the Pirates pounding the Braves on ESPN. Somewhere during the process, I drifted off. I slept the deep, oblivious slumber that too much sun and too much good booze and rich food will give you. I’m not sure how long I was out. Maybe two hours, if that.

I woke to strobe lights.

At least, that’s what it looked like. I opened my eyes and shut them right away because the world was chaotic out there as the storm descended on us. Rain was lashing the house and thunder was booming, wind making the trees creak and groan out in the front yard. It was the strobing lightning that forced my eyes shut. It was too much. Especially after all the drinking I had done. I knew I had to get up and shut windows. It was part of being a responsible home owner, but God, I felt like death. My body felt heavy like rocks were piled on top of me, my stomach rolling over, and my head pounding with the obligatory hangover headache.

Finally, I sat up and only felt worse.

The lightning was still flashing out there. It was weird. In most storms you get a flash now and again followed by a booming, but this was nonstop rapid fire. It was like a thousand flashbulbs were going off at the same time with barely a break in between. The timer had shut the TV off and the living room was black…save for the flashing that seemed to come in sporadic patterns: it would flash constantly for two or three minutes, then it was gone for a time before starting up again. There was something funny about that and I knew it, but I was too hungover to contemplate it.

I stumbled around and checked windows and they were all shut. That meant Kathy, ever resourceful, had beaten me to the punch as she usually did. She probably crept around and shut them while I was sleeping. I went upstairs and crawled into bed next to her, waiting for the next barrage.

“You awake?” I said.

No answer.

“Kathy, you awake?”

Still no answer. It was a game we had played for years. She would pretend to be asleep and I would wake her by whispering her name constantly and if that didn’t work, I’d grab her by the leg and she’d yelp. “Kathy?” I said. “You awake? Kathy? Kathy? Kathy? Hey, Kathy, you awake?” I’m not sure what it was, but I felt a strange sort of panic rising up inside me. It was very dark and I couldn’t see her, but some latent sixth sense (I don’t know what else to call it) told me she wasn’t there. We all have it at times. I had it then. She wasn’t in bed and I knew she wasn’t in bed the same way you can walk into a house and know for certain that nobody is home. There’s a certain something in the atmosphere, I guess.

I reached out and her side of the bed was empty.

At that moment, the lightning started flashing again and I saw very clearly that I was alone in the room. The thunder rumbled and the wind blew and the house shook.

And Kathy was gone.

3

I was in panic mode and I really didn’t know why.

There could have been any number of logical explanations. She was in the bathroom. She was in the kitchen or dining room downstairs—I hadn’t checked the windows in either—or when I came upstairs, she was down in the basement closing windows. All perfectly reasonable scenarios. Only, I wasn’t buying any of them. I had the worst sort of warning signals coming up from the pit of my being and I couldn’t deny the message they were sending. I wasn’t a panicky sort, but you wouldn’t have known it at that moment.

I climbed out of bed…no, I jumped out of bed. I went over near the door and bumped into the dresser, fumbling for the light switch. I clicked it on. I don’t know what I expected to see. The room was empty. I could see where Kathy had slept, the covers thrown back, but that was all. There was nothing else…yet, I kept staring as if there was some clue I was missing.

There wasn’t.

I went back downstairs, turning on lights as I went. That bugged the hell out of Kathy. She was very frugal by nature and the idea of me wasting electricity unnecessarily drove her nuts. Why is it you leave a trail of lights in your wake wherever you go? she’d say. The memory made me smile but it didn’t last long. I was turning on lights now not because I was a lazy, irresponsible slob or to bug her, but because I was very uneasy. I’m not going to say I was scared at that point, but it was coming. Oh yes.

When I got to the bottom of the stairs, clicking on the living room and hall lights, I called out, “Kathy? Kathy? Dammit, girl, where the heck are you?”

Although my imagination was more than a little overheated and I was conjuring up images of any number of horrors that might have befallen my wife, my own common sense was overruling these things in favor of much more prosaic but no less horrible possibilities: Kathy had hit her head, she’d had a stroke, a heart attack, an embolism had blown in her head. The latter had happened to my cousin Shelli the day after she turned thirty so it was always in the back of my mind.

I called Kathy’s name a few more times and then I went down the basement steps, turning on more lights. “Kath?” I called out. “You down here?” I got no answer and I knew she wasn’t there, but I wouldn’t rest until I checked every inch of the place just in case she was on the floor. I had no real reason to fear that she had had a stroke or a heart attack or something. She was thin like her whole family, unlike mine, which was prone to fat. She walked like three miles every day and ate healthy. Still…shit happens. My aunt Eileen dropped dead from a heart attack when she was a month shy of her fortieth birthday. She ran two miles every day, hit the gym four times a week, and maintained a very strict low-fat diet. It happens. My uncle Rich had so far outlived her by twenty years, a guy with a round sack of a belly who smoked two packs a day, killed a six-pack every night, and went through more red meat in a day than most did in a week. Guys like him confuse the hell out of the AMA, but sometimes it’s just heredity. You’ll live a long life if you’re supposed to live a long life. If people die young in your family, you probably will, too.

Anyway, that’s the kind of crap that was going through my head as I looked for Kathy. She wasn’t in the basement so I climbed back up the stairs and checked the dining room. And it was as I did so that I heard a banging sound that had nothing to do with the storm.

It was coming from the kitchen.

As soon as I got in there, I smelled the rain. Which wasn’t too surprising because the back door was wide open, the screen door caught in the wind and slamming against the outside wall. The little pneumatic closer was torn free of its bracket. I turned on the light, just standing there trying to make sense of things. I could understand the screen door getting yanked open by the wind, but not the inside door. No, it was open because somebody had left it open. Kathy must have come in here last to shut the windows and then she had gone outside.

I stood in the doorway, rain pelting my face, and called her name.

There was no reply and I can’t say that I would have heard one anyway with the racket of the storm. The lightning flashed and I had to squint against its brilliance as the wind tried to pull me out into the night. I knew I was going to have to go out there. I got a flashlight from the junk drawer and threw on a coat and some work boots.

I had just gotten to the door when I saw something move.

I caught it out of the corner of my eye—something serpentine and glistening. It moved quickly, snaking away into the bushes. I hadn’t seen it very well in the dark, but it sure as hell had looked like a very big snake. I froze there in the doorway. We don’t have big snakes in town. Out in the country, you might see a large rat snake or two from time to time, but not in town. Never anything more than a garter snake in a vacant lot. And what I had seen was no garter snake…I only caught a glimpse of it, but whatever it was, it was bigger around than my arm and black, oily black.

I was sure I had seen it.

But as I stood there, panning about with the flashlight, there was nothing at all. I called out for Kathy a few more times, then went out into the storm, telling myself I had not just seen a huge snake.

Then the lights went out.

4

It was bound to happen sooner or later and with the way the storm was kicking up its heels, I was surprised the power hadn’t gone out long before. The house went dark and so did the neighborhood as the streetlights died. It’s amazing how black the world can be at night without the aid of electric lights. I walked into the yard, shining the light around as the rain sprayed in my face. Then the lightning started flashing again and I had to cover my eyes.

If Kathy had been out there, she was gone now.

I even looked in the side yard, the garden, and poked about in the bushes I’d seen the snakelike form disappear into. That took nerve. But by that point my panic had become fear and I was pretty certain something had happened to her. My guess was she had heard something or seen something and went outside and maybe she was still out there, maybe on the ground somewhere.

I kept calling her name and kept getting no reply.

What were you supposed to do in a situation like that? Wake the neighbors? Call the police? I decided I was going to do both, but first I had to make damn sure she wasn’t in the house. Dripping wet, I went back inside and looked everywhere once again. She wasn’t there. Okay. I went back outside and looked in the garage. Maybe she had hurt herself and crawled in there to get out of the storm. It was thin as hell, but I figured it was worth a try. The door was open and I went in, shining the light around. There wasn’t much to see. Her new Dodge Charger was still parked in there. I played the light over the lawnmower, the tarped snowblower, my workbench and tools, shovels and rakes and hoes that hung from their hooks. That was it. I even looked under the car and felt more than a little foolish doing so.

Nothing.

The wind blew the door closed behind me and I jumped. The darkness pressing up against the window over the bench was immense and depthless. I was suddenly filled with fright and I didn’t know why. I had the strangest sensation of being watched. I moved the light around, investigating every pocket of shadow. The lightning came again, flickering through the window. It was a weird and surreal night.

Time to call the cops, I figured.

Then something thumped against the side of the garage. I told myself it was just a tree limb, but I didn’t believe it for a moment. It thumped again and then I distinctly heard whatever it was drag itself up the outside wall and over the roof. It was no tree branch. It made a rustling sound that was fleshy and thick, almost rubbery. Then it was gone. I had the worst feeling that it was the snakelike shape I spied disappearing into the bushes. That it had just crawled up the wall and slithered over the roof.

My scalp itchy and hot, I waited for it to make another sound but there wasn’t a damn thing. I pressed my face up to the window, but all I saw out there was the wet grass, tree limbs swaying in the wind, and pools of standing water. Nothing else. It was then that my rational mind suggested that maybe there was a power line down or perhaps a telecommunication line. The latter would be no big deal, but the former would be much more dangerous than a giant snake. Right away I imagined scenarios of Kathy being electrocuted.

I threw the door open and jumped out into the night, half expecting some monstrous serpent to drop down on me like a jungle python. There was nothing. I searched more desperately this time, looking everywhere. Still, no Kathy. I even looked around in the Peckmans’ backyard, but it was hopeless. I needed help and I knew it. I dashed back inside and grabbed my cell from the end table. It had a full charge, but I wasn’t getting any bars. When I tried it anyway, all I got was a high whining sound I had never heard before. I tried the cordless. There was no dial tone, just a continuous humming that must have been the empty sound of the lines themselves.

I went back outside and to my amazement, the rain had stopped and the wind had died down. There wasn’t so much as a drizzle out there. It was like somebody had flipped a switch. The lightning was still flashing, but there was no thunder. It was not only weird, it was disturbing. Earlier, I had thought there was something funny about the patterns of the lightning and now, as I stood there, I realized what it was. It was the pattern itself. It was not irregular as you would have thought, but very precise. The lightning would flash on and off three times; then there would be a period of darkness; then it would strobe nearly continuously. I found myself counting. The lightning would flash followed by thirty seconds of darkness, then it would strobe for exactly two and a half minutes. I was almost hypnotized by it. I stood there and timed it through three cycles.

It was completely unnatural.

This was not some accidental atmospheric thing, it was premeditated and intentional, as insane as that sounds. I walked over to the Peckmans’ and paused once again at the hedges, timing it out. It was the same. What would the chances of something like that be? What would the odds be against a storm forming a perfectly timed pattern like that?

I looked up in the sky as it initially flashed again and I thought for one moment I saw an immense dark mass like a fucking aircraft carrier up there. It was just an optical illusion and I told myself so. Regardless, with the strobing lightning there was no way I could keep staring skyward. It was like looking into a flashing searchlight.

I jogged over to the Peckmans’ and as I made to go up the steps, I heard a screaming in the night. It was a hysterical, insane sort of sound that went right up my spine. A scream of pain and terror.

5

“Hell is going on out here?”

I hadn’t been expecting it and I jumped back. It was Al Peckman. He was standing there with the door open. I was listening for the scream again because I had no doubt the voice was female and I was worried it might be Kathy.

“Jon? What’re you doing out here?” Al asked.

“I’m looking for Kathy,” I told him, quickly sketching what had happened. “Did you hear that scream?”

“I thought I heard something.”

Then it came again, shrieking and shrill and drawn-out before fading into the night. I couldn’t say it was Kathy; then again I couldn’t say it wasn’t. I started off after it and Al told me to wait. He threw on some shoes and we both jogged down the block. The scream came from the direction of the Andersens’ at the end. We stood there, Al and I, not speaking, just waiting for something, anything, but there was nothing except the nearly suffocating silence of the night.

“This is fucked up,” Al finally said. “Hell kind of storm was that anyway? I never seen anything like it.”

“Me either.”

We waited, but we didn’t hear anything else. The storm had completely passed now—even the lightning had stopped flashing. There was nothing but a tomblike silence up and down Piccamore Way that seemed to have crawled right under our skin. What bothered me most, among other things, was the darkness itself. It simply wasn’t right. There are dark nights, but this was beyond any of that. Far beyond it. There was no moonlight. The blackness around us was heavy and concealing and claustrophobic. We couldn’t see more than fifteen feet in any direction even with the flashlight. It was unnatural. The darkness was like a black mist that had settled around us in tarps and sheets.

Al lit a cigarette and the flame of his lighter was almost blinding.

“It’s not right,” I said.

“What isn’t?”

“This dark. It’s darker than anything I’ve ever seen. It’s like swimming in oil.”

Al pulled off his cigarette. “It gets real dark when the lights go out. People don’t realize how dark night is until the lights fail.”

“Sure.”

But it was more than that and I think we both knew it. I was worried sick about Kathy and I honestly didn’t know what to do. I played the light around in the night, picking out hedges and the Andersens’ porch but not much else. The inky blackness was weird and scary and I admitted the same to Al, who refused to discuss it. The flashlight beam seemed to fade after fifteen or twenty feet and it was almost like it was swallowed by the night.

I clicked it off.

The pitch darkness pressed in closer. I swear I could almost feel its weight against my skin. It was a palpable thing and that definitely made no sense whatsoever. This was not the gloom of an ordinary night, even a moonless or starless night, this was the absolute absence of light of any kind, the abyssal blackness of an ocean trench or the darkness that fills the void between galaxies.

“Jesus, Jon,” Al said, “turn that fucking thing back on.”

I did and he calmed somewhat.

He felt the same way I did about the dark, only he didn’t want to admit it and that was just fine. I wasn’t going to say any more about it. I figured that was probably best. Whoever had been doing the screaming had stopped and never started again. We searched around the Andersen house but we saw nothing amiss. Al knocked on the door, but there was no answer. And being as late as it was, we didn’t push it. Either they were sleeping or they had decided they weren’t going to answer any fool knocking in the middle of the night.

“What now?” Al said as we moved back out to the street.

“I don’t know.”

But I did know. Since the phones were out and the power was down, I would have to go for help. It was about a ten-minute ride to the police station downtown. It was the only thing I could think of doing. I needed help finding Kathy and I needed it right goddamn now. There was no time to waste.

“Listen,” I told Al. “I’m going to drive downtown and get the cops rolling on this. Can you go rouse some of the neighbors and get them out here with flashlights? Get them searching?”

“I sure as hell can try.”

It was the best we could do. We went down to Al’s house and the night was so unbelievably dark I knew that if my flashlight faded, we’d never find our way back. We’d be left groping like blind men. Al ducked inside to get his own flashlight while I went back to my house to look one last time for my wife. I went room to room, but she wasn’t there. Not in the yard, not in the garage. I couldn’t make sense of it. My scenarios of her having a heart attack or something and falling down were unpleasant, but at least they made some concrete sense. More sense than the idea of an adult woman stepping out the back door and vanishing into the fucking Twilight Zone.

6

I jumped into my Chevy and turned it over. It caught right away. I guess my paranoia was telling me it might not start at all, that whatever had sapped the electricity from the power lines might have done the same thing to my battery. I needn’t have worried. I pulled out into the street, driving as fast as I dared which in that darkness wasn’t very fast at all.

I clicked on the high beams and was absolutely amazed—and mortified—at the quality of the night around me. Again, I was struck by the dark itself, which was perfectly unnatural. It was too thick, too complete, too seamless, if that makes any sense. Usually, the dark of night is inconsistent, in that there are dark shadowy pockets blending into grays. It’s never perfectly dark. Such a thing probably does not even exist on this planet except in a deep mountain cave or ocean abyss. Even when electric lights go out and candles and lanterns are extinguished, there’s still moonlight and starlight. Even if it’s cloudy, light still gets through.

But no light was getting through.

It was like one of those shades they put over bird cages at night had been dropped over the world. It was perfectly black.

I saw the white swords of flashlight beams as people tried to make sense of things. At first, I saw quite a few people, but the closer I got to downtown, the fewer of them I saw. I came wheeling around a corner and I nearly crashed into a car that was parked sideways right in the middle of the road. It was a sedan, a Lexus, a rich-man’s ride. Both doors were open and I could see there was no one inside.

Dammit.

I climbed out and went over to it, the headlights from the pickup casting a huge shadow of myself before me like something from a film noir flick. The Lexus was still running, headlights on. I looked around and saw no one.

“Hey!” I called out. “Move this damn car!”

My voice echoed and died, but there was no reply. Piss on it. I jumped behind the wheel and backed it out of the way, bumping into the curb. I killed the engine and jogged back to my pickup. It was incredibly silent as I got within a block of downtown. I came up the street and a figure jumped out into the road, scaring the shit right out of me. Just some guy waving his arms back and forth.

I pulled to a stop and he came over. He was a young guy, maybe college age, and he was carrying a bag of groceries of all things. A loaf of bread was poking out the top.

“Dude!” he said. “You can’t go any farther! You gotta turn back! Something happened up there and all the people are gone, they’re just…gone! There’s nobody left! Even the cop shop is empty! You gotta go back the other way!”

“What happened?” I asked him, a cold chill settling along my spine. “Where did they go?”

He shook his head. “Don’t fucking ask me! I woke up and I heard them screaming and when I got outside, they were all gone! You hear me? They were all gone, dude!”

He started running off and I called to him, but he didn’t stop. All I heard was his fading voice: “Get out, dude! Get out!” Then he was gone and I was more confused than ever, filled with mounting anxiety. Something had happened and was still happening and I was pretty certain it didn’t have anything to do with a weird electrical storm. I was pretty sure the opposite was true—the electrical storm was a result of it and not the other way around. It made no sense, but nothing did that night.

I tried my cell again, but all I got was that same high-pitched whining sound.

I threw caution to the wind and drove slowly forward.

That’s when I heard screaming. I hit the brakes and the scream came again, louder this time, cycling into a high, hysterical shrilling that ended abruptly. I waited. There was nothing else. I grabbed my flashlight and leaped out of the truck. I knew without a doubt it was the guy I had just spoken to. The caliber of that screaming voice was the same. I shined the light around in arcs. “Hey!” I called out. “Hey! Where are you? Call out to me!” But nobody called out, there was just that familiar dead silence broken only by the idling hum of my pickup. I kept moving farther out into the dark in ever-widening circles, trying to spot the guy.

I never found him.

But I did find his groceries.

They were spilled all over the sidewalk—the loaf of bread, bottles of energy drinks, cans of Chef Boyardee pasta, beef jerky, a few apples, a shattered jar of pizza sauce. I looked and looked, but he was just gone. In my head, I kept hearing his voice: I heard them screaming and when I got outside they were all gone! You hear me? They were all gone, dude! It was enough. I was getting the hell out of there. Whatever was out there, whatever was snatching people off into the night, I knew damn well that I was hardly equipped to handle it.

I went back to the truck.

Then, hand on the door, I paused.

In the distance, I saw what looked like a giant eye.

It wasn’t an eye, of course. At least, I hoped it wasn’t an eye. It was a large, perfectly round orb of pale blue light that was hovering over rooftops not a city block from where I was. It was like the searchlight of a helicopter and for one moment I was sure that’s what it was. The only problem was that helicopters make noise and this thing, whatever it was, was perfectly silent as it drifted over the roofs, moving gradually west.

I stood there, trembling.

Something about it—many things, in fact—scared the hell out of me. It wasn’t right and I knew it. It was part of what was going on and I could not convince myself otherwise. I climbed back into the truck and threw it in reverse, backing well down the street before turning around. I was sweating. I was shaking. That eerie orb had filled me with dread and my survival instinct was amped up. I peeled out of there, heading back towards Piccamore Way as fast as I could safely go. I kept checking the rearview, but the orb was not following me as I feared. I saw it still moving west like a very large and very slow shooting star.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

I pulled over and tried to calm myself. What I needed was a cigarette, but I didn’t have any. That was a good thing because I would have started puffing away right then and there. It was coming and I knew it, the stress of the situation demanded it. In fact, I was half-tempted to break into a store and grab a carton. I got my nerves under control and threw the pickup in drive.

As I did so, I saw a sweeping bluish light coming up the avenue just ahead. I threw the truck in park and killed the engine and lights. The blackness rushed in and I was almost grateful for it the way a mouse is grateful when an owl cannot see him. And owl is applicable because the orb came over the rooftops and it looked very much like the eye of an owl.

As it came moving up the street, I crouched down on the seat.

The night was so black that I couldn’t really see what it was and I had a pretty good feeling I didn’t want to. All I knew is that behind the orb was a dark shape that looked very large. The orb moved closer and closer. Unlike a searchlight, it cast very little illumination. It was like one of those tactical lights special operations forces use. As it passed over the truck, I thought I was going to have a coronary my heart was palpitating so badly. The orb was immense and metallic-looking, very shiny, and had to be about the size of a tractor tire. It filled the cab with a deadly pale phosphorescence.

If it was aware of me, it gave no sign.

It drifted overhead, maybe twenty feet up, and something—actually, many things—scraped over the roof of the cab like fingernails. And then it was gone. I waited there another five minutes until I was sure it wasn’t coming back, then started up the truck and drove back to Piccamore.

7

My mission, as it was, had been a complete failure. My wife was still missing and I hadn’t been able to alert the authorities or get help of any kind. All I brought back with me were new fears.

It calmed me to see Piccamore.

It was alive with flashlight beams and battery-powered lanterns. Candles were burning inside houses. There was activity and I knew Al had really lit a fire under a lot of asses to get people motivated like that, especially in the middle of the night. The best thing was that there was a patrol car parked in front of my house. I felt instantly relieved. I sighed as I pulled to a stop.

Al was there along with Billy and Bonnie Kurtz and Ray Wetmore. I caught sight of half a dozen other neighbors in the glow of a lantern. Paula Renfew was there, so were David and Lisa Ebler and their boys. I passed by them and went over to Al and the cop. He was a big bull of a fellow with a bald head and a neck like a pine stump. He introduced himself as Sergeant Frankovich and began pelting me with questions.

“So, you can’t say that she did go outside,” he said.

“Well, she had to,” I told him, “since she’s not in the house. And the back door was open.”

“Sure,” he said. He entered the pertinent stuff on an iPad and looked around in the darkness. “This is a mess. A real mess.”

“How long do you think it’ll be until the power’s back on?” Bonnie Kurtz asked him.

In the glow of Al’s lantern, he looked at me and I saw something in his eyes that seemed to say, never. He smiled at Bonnie and told her he did not know. She complained that she had a freezer full of meat and there was going to be hell to pay if it all went bad.

“If it goes bad,” Billy said, “we’ll buy some more. Quit your yapping already. We got bigger fish to fry here.”

She came over to me and clutched my arm. “I’m so sorry, Jon,” she said. “We’re all worried sick about Kathy. I know she’ll turn up. She has to.”

The way she said it made me think she didn’t believe it would happen at all. The tone of her voice was reserved for funerals when you told the widow what a good man her husband was and how the world was a worse place for his absence. I didn’t blame Bonnie because I felt very much like a widower. I didn’t honestly think I was going to see Kathy again either and my greatest concern was not for what I had possibly lost but how I was going to tell Erin that her mother was gone. I would call Italy only when I was certain there was no hope.

And then I thought: And who’s to say all this is localized? Maybe it’s national or even fucking global.

But I wasn’t going there. Not just yet. I didn’t really know what was going on and I wasn’t about to charge into any of it with a defeatist attitude, despite the fact that my optimism was bottomed out and dragging its feet.

Iris Phelan was there in her bathrobe demanding to know what was being done about it all and asking Frankovich if he would look for her missing cat.

“Mitzy is always there when I open the door but she wasn’t there tonight,” Iris said. “I don’t like it. It’s not right.”

Billy Kurtz told her not to worry. “Cats are smart, Mrs. Phelan. Don’t worry. Once the hubbub has died down, she’ll come back. Cats are like that.”

“Sure,” Bonnie said.

Ray Wetmore was blaming it all on the ineffectiveness of the town fathers. He told anyone that would listen—and nobody wanted to—that if he was on the board, an outage like this would have been taken care of “lickety-split.” “See,” he lectured, “the problem is accountability. Those bums on the council want to sit on their fat white behinds and rake in the cash from their rich benefactors. They don’t want change. They don’t want to take action. The idea of stirring the waters of the status quo gives them the cold sweats. That’s why they don’t want me involved in the process and have fought tooth-and-nail to keep me out. I’m progressive. I embrace change. I thumb my nose at the rich and their underhanded scheming. I’m for the people. I’m for the majority. I’m a man of action that demands accountability!”

“Here, here,” Billy Kurtz, who was half in the bag, said. Ray was the only one that didn’t catch the sarcasm beneath his words that was so thick you could have sliced it like cheese.

Ray was getting worked up. “The power should be on by now! If I was on the council—and you can bet your sweet fucking bippy that I’m going to be, hell yes—I would demand to know what’s going on! I would demand to know why action hasn’t been taken! I would personally crawl down the throat and up the ass of everyone from the super of the electric company to the guy throwing the switches at the power plant! Every lineman and every desk jockey at city hall would know my name and when they saw me coming, brother, they’d know I meant business!”

“Praise Jesus!” Billy said, toasting him with his beer.

Frankovich looked stunned. It was easy enough to see by his face that he was of the mind they had enough goddamn trouble downtown without Ray Wetmore getting involved.

“Well, I’m sure everyone is doing everything they can,” he said.

“I hope they are,” Ray told him. “God in heaven, I hope they are.”

Billy belched. “You tell him, Ray! You give it to him! Amen, brother!”

“Knock it off,” Bonnie said to him. “Just knock it off, you idiot.”

He saluted her and belched again.

Frankovich said he had to get back to the station, fielding about a dozen questions as he walked to his patrol car. I caught him before he got in and he complained to me how the radio wasn’t working.

“I was just down there,” I told him. “There’s no one. There’s nothing.”

“Mr. Shipman, I want you to relax. We’re going to do everything we can to find your wife. People just don’t disappear into thin air except on TV. I’ll get the wheels rolling on this.”

“You don’t understand. There’s no people downtown. They’re all gone.”

In the light coming from inside the car, I could see his face was pinched and sweaty. “It’s going to work out, Mr. Shipman. One way or another, it’s going to work out.”

“No, you don’t get it. You don’t understand—”

He hopped in the patrol car and pulled away and I knew then it wasn’t that he didn’t understand, he just didn’t want to understand. He was going through the motions because he really didn’t know what else to do. What I sensed in him I sensed in the others. Instinctively, and perhaps psychically, their backs were up. They were feeling something they could not adequately put a name to and it was easier to pretend business as usual than to face the dark truth of what was closing in around them. God knew I felt it, too. It was thrumming inside me like electricity. I could almost feel the noose that encircled us gradually being tightened.

There was a flash of light behind me and I turned quickly, only to discover that Al Peckman had dragged his portable fire pit out into the front yard. Flames were burning bright in it. It threw a lot of light and a lot of warmth. It was very comforting. The Ebler boys had hauled over a nice stack of wood. Everyone pushed closer into the ring of light.

“Hey, might as well turn a bad thing into a good thing,” Al said, dragging out a cooler of beer and pop. “Who’s for roasting marshmallows and burning a couple weenies?”

“I’m already there,” Billy Kurtz said, helping himself to a beer.

A lot of beers made the rounds at that moment. There’s nothing more soothing to the human beast than the protection of fire and the mellow buzz of alcohol. I stood off in the darkness with Bonnie, not knowing what to think. I found myself studying the faces of everyone in the firelight. In the flickering orange glow, they stared into the flames, lips drawn into straight lines. They did not speak and they did not move. These were the faces of savages looking at the only true god they had ever known—the one that lit their world, kept the beasts at bay, and cooked their meat. They were transfixed by it, pulled together by its light and heat. Now that technology had failed, they returned to the old god of fire to keep the shadows away.

“I got an idea,” Billy Kurtz said. “Let’s make a picnic of it. Have ourselves a regular clambake. Let’s get some picnic tables out here and a couple more fire pits. We got a lot of steaks and chops that are going to go bad if the juice don’t come back on soon, so let’s eat our fill.”

Everyone else loved the idea. People were talking and laughing again. They were released from their grip of superstitious terror. They all thawed and got into the spirit of things. All except for me. I was seeing beyond it all and maybe thinking too deeply, but what they were doing seemed like some kind of festival to propitiate the pagan gods of darkness. I was probably reading too much into it, but maybe not.

“Are you in the mood for a party, Jon?” Bonnie asked me.

“No, not in the slightest.”

“Me either.”

I wasn’t in the mood for much at all. I was thinking of Kathy and I was thinking of Erin in Italy. I couldn’t think of anything else. I had to do something. I couldn’t just sit there hoisting beers and gnawing on T-bones and chops while my world crumbled around me. Besides, there was no room for food in my belly. It felt like a great brick of dread had settled in there.

The party never really got going because we saw lights coming in the distance and then there was a horrendous crash and the festivities ground to a halt.

8

We all heard it, of course.

In the dead silence of the town, it was like thunder. I jumped in my pickup with Al and Bonnie. I drove as fast as I could down Piccamore and hung a left onto Maisey Avenue where we had seen the lights coming from. The darkness was just as thick, just as impenetrable as before and maybe even more so. I saw lights ahead and pulled the truck to a stop at the curb.

“It’s the cop!” Bonnie said.

And it was.

His car was flipped right over in the middle of the avenue like it had been picked up by Godzilla and then dropped out of boredom. There was oil and gas leaking from the wreckage, shattered glass, strips of trim, and assorted shards of metal thrown over the pavement. One of the headlights was still on, the other was broken.

“We need to get an ambulance over here,” Al said.

“And how are we supposed to do that?” Bonnie snapped at him. “Light a fucking signal fire?”

I climbed out of the cab with my flashlight and Bonnie followed. Al came, too, but only after he saw that we were both fool enough to go out into the dark. It was obvious he wasn’t real keen on the idea. I didn’t like all that gas. I was picturing one of those conflagrations you see in the movies where cars explode like they have napalm in their trunks. I knew nothing like that would happen, but it was still dangerous. Bonnie at my side, we kneeled down and looked inside the patrol car. Frankovich wasn’t in there. There were spiderwebbed sheets of glass lying about and the seat belt looked like it had been slit in half by a knife, but that was about it.

“He must have crawled free,” Bonnie said.

It was possible. I wasn’t buying it, but it was certainly possible. Some little finger of dread was worming inside me, but I ignored it. What else could have happened? There really was no other explanation. While Ray stood there, looking extremely ineffectual, Bonnie and I circled the car, searching around in ever-widening arcs as I had when I looked for the guy with the grocery bag earlier. We found exactly nothing. Side by side, we stood there in the middle of the road not saying a thing, just staring at the wrecked car.

“He must not have been injured too badly,” Bonnie finally said. “Maybe he was dazed or something.”

“Sure.”

“The only problem is how it happened. I mean, there’s no other cars, there’s nothing in the road. What could he have hit to flip over?”

Which was exactly what I was thinking and maybe secretly hoping no one would mention. It was always possible, I suppose, that he had been going too fast or maybe he turned sharply to avoid something. But there were no skid marks in the road. There wasn’t anything to indicate trouble.

“Well, this is one for the books,” Al said to us. “He’s gotta be somewhere. He couldn’t have vanished.”

“I heard them screaming and when I got outside they were all gone,” I said under my breath, remembering what the grocery bag guy had said.

“What?” Bonnie asked.

I shook my head. “Nothing.”

Al was staying firmly in the headlight beams of my pickup. He did not stray from their protective illumination. I had a feeling that three men could not have dragged him away into the dark. He was rooted to the spot. He had that same look on his face when I turned out the flashlight earlier and then turned it back on again—abject terror.

We examined the car one more time. There were deep indentations in the door that looked like scratches. Either Frankovich hit something or something hit him. Bonnie was down on her knees again. She came out with a riot gun.

“Hey,” Al said. “That’s police property. You’re gonna get your ass in trouble, lady.”

“It might come in handy,” she told him and I figured she was right.

We heard a sound like wire being unreeled and something hit the car. Both Bonnie and I jumped back and Al let out a little cry that was high and childlike. I saw what it was, but I had to put my flashlight beam on it just to be sure.

“Is that…is that a power line?” Al said.

I shook my head slowly. “I don’t think so.”

I didn’t know what the hell it was. It was a black cable that was very shiny like wet rubber, though I was certain it was some type of metal. It had dropped from the sky. About four feet of it was curled up on top…well, on the bottom of the overturned patrol car. It trembled slightly like there was some sort of energy pulsing in it. It was weird, but it didn’t look terribly threatening. I followed its length up into the ebon sky. My light could only make it about fifteen feet or so in that viscous blackness. The cable disappeared up there. It was hanging from something, but whatever that was, I could not see.

“What the hell is that?” Bonnie asked.

“I don’t know. It’s not any kind of line I’ve seen before.”

“Looks kind of like TV cable or something.”

It did, only much larger. A cable that had roughly the same circumference of a man’s wrist. As I played the light over it, I noticed there was a repeating pattern of tiny holes set within it. The more I looked at it, the more confused I got as to what its actual purpose could possibly be. The only thing I knew for sure was that it looked a hell of a lot like the black, snakelike thing I had seen in my backyard. I was getting a really bad feeling about it.

“Hey!” Al suddenly said.

We turned and another cable had dropped not five feet from him. It dangled there, the blunt end of it about six inches off the ground. My guess was that the other one would have been about that long, too, if it wasn’t coiled on the patrol car.

“I don’t like this,” Bonnie said. “It’s too…on purpose.”

She was right. There was nothing remotely accidental about these things. Whatever their purpose was, it was surely not coincidental. I noticed the other one over by Al was trembling slightly as well. What did that mean? What the hell did it mean? Kathy was gone and one of those things had been in my backyard and had dragged over the roof of the garage. Now Frankovich was missing and here were two more of them. I wasn’t so stupid that I didn’t see a correlation here.

“We better get back,” I said, dread rising beneath my words like helium.

The cables scared me and I was not exactly sure why.

Al had picked up a piece of trim and he was prodding the cable nearest him with it. It moved, swaying back and forth, but that was about it. He kept jabbing it.

“Well, it ain’t dangerous or anything,” he said.

“Just leave it alone,” Bonnie told him.

But there’s something about the male of the species, isn’t there? When a woman tells a man not to do something, it seems to be the first thing he does. We do it when we’re boys and it doesn’t always get any better when we’re men. True to form, Al kept prodding it until it was swinging back and forth like a bell rope.

“Al, come on,” I said. “Enough. Leave it be.”

Bonnie and I started back to the truck and he laughed at us as if we were fools to be afraid of a little old cable hanging in the air. To prove how foolish we were and maybe how fearless he was, he poked it with his finger. “See?” he said. “It don’t bite. It don’t bite at all.”

“Al…” Bonnie said, but it was too late.

He grabbed it with his right hand and seized up immediately, his eyes going wide and his mouth hanging open. For a second there, I thought maybe it was a high-power line and he had just gotten zapped. But that wasn’t it at all. I raced over to him and saw that his fingers were locked around the cable, that a prodigious amount of some clear goo had gushed over his hand. I didn’t know what it was. It was transparent and glutinous like Vaseline. Whatever it was, he was stuck to it.

“I…I can’t get my hand free,” he said with a sick little smile, his face gone yellow and waxy. Drops of sweat had popped on his brow. I could almost smell the fear coming off him. It was sharp and unpleasant. “Jon…Jon…I can’t get my fucking hand free.”

I went to grab it myself, to peel him off there, but Bonnie cried, “Don’t touch it!”

She was right. I handed the flashlight off to her as Al became increasingly panicky. His face was covered in sweat by then. His lower lip was trembling and his eyes were shining like wet plastic. I took hold of his free arm and tried to yank him free, but it was no good. He was stuck fast. The line just went with us as if there was no end to it.

Bonnie set down the flashlight and grabbed a section of fender wall that was hanging from the patrol car. She pushed on the cable as Al and I pulled. No dice. I ran over to my pickup with the flashlight. I opened the toolbox in the back and grabbed my hacksaw. We would cut him free. I brought it back over and Al offered me a thin little smile, as if to say, That’s it, now you’re thinking, boy. I gripped the saw in both hands and dragged the teeth over the cable. No good. They skated right over its surface. It was like trying to saw glass. I tried it again and then again. The blade was sharp but it didn’t even scratch the cable’s outer covering.

“Wait,” Bonnie said.

She pushed the section of fender wall against the cable to steady and support it. I tried sawing it again with everything I had, but it was hopeless. I don’t know what it was made of, but it was durable as diamond.

The cable began to vibrate.

I saw it, so did Bonnie.

It vibrated and then it jerked two or three times. I thought I heard a sort of electronic humming from somewhere high above us. Al gasped and suddenly he was three feet off the ground, dangling from his stuck hand. He was thrashing and screaming, shouting at us: “Get it off me! Get it off me! Jesus Christ, I’m hooked to it!”

His eyes were wild and bulging, his mouth drawn into a grimace, his teeth chattering. There were huge sweat stains on his back. Bonnie told him to take it easy, we’d get him free…even though she knew that probably wasn’t going to happen. I had ideas of somehow hooking the cable to the truck and breaking it. Stupid, frantic ideas. Al was out of his head by then. The cable jerked again and he was pulled up another foot. He looked ridiculous, hanging there like a rag doll. Without even thinking, he reached out and grabbed the cable with his other hand to pull himself free.

I saw it happen this time.

As soon as his hand wrapped around it, the cable secreted a copious amount of that clear goo and Al’s other hand was trapped as surely as a bumblebee in amber. He shrieked and kicked, yanking with everything he had, swinging back and forth on the cable like some kind of half-ass Tarzan.

“JON!” Bonnie cried. “DO SOMETHING!”

But there wasn’t anything I could do and I think we were both fully aware of it. The cable vibrated again; then Al was towed away into the blackness far above, screaming the whole time. Within seconds, his screams had faded off into the night. If I had to guess, I would have said he was pulled up hundreds of feet if not a thousand or more.

After that, Bonnie and I just stood there, breathing and staring up into the darkness. It was all bad, of course, and we both knew that whatever this was about, we’d never see Al again. What bothered me was that he had poked the cable with the trim and with his finger, but neither had stuck. The section of fender hadn’t either. Nor had the hacksaw blade. What did that mean exactly? It did not exude that sticky stuff until Al had securely grasped it. Had it been the heat of his palm? A chemical trigger reacting to the salt or oils of his skin? It had to be something like that. It just had to be…because otherwise what happened meant that the cable itself was sentient somehow.

Bonnie let out a little cry and I saw not two but three more cables drop from the darkness above us.

There was only one thing to do and we did it: we got the hell out of there.

9

It took us some time to get back. We cut off Maisey onto Piccamore and we hadn’t gone half a block before we saw more of those cables. They were hanging above the streets and yards, several tangled in the trees or lying on rooftops like dead snakes. I had a mad urge to open up the truck and plow right through them, but I had a nasty feeling Frankovich had tried the exact same thing.

I stopped and turned around.

Bonnie barely spoke the entire way back except for asking, “What’s it all about, Jon? What does it mean?”

And I had absolutely no answer for her.

I wished that I had.

I cut down south to Beecher and Fifteenth, then came at Piccamore the long way. I saw candles or lanterns burning in a few houses and more than one immense bonfire blazing away like a medieval need-fire built to drive witches away. The idea was silly, but not as silly as it should have been. If this wasn’t a localized thing, if it was statewide or national or even global, things would begin to break down and people would stop acting rationally.

When we made it back to our neck of the woods, the fires were still burning and lanterns glowing against the encompassing night. There were more people than ever out there. I figured a combination of curiosity, fear, and helplessness had forced them out from behind locked doors. When things get bad, even loners need the company of other people. All eyes were on us as we pulled to a stop. So many people were asking questions that it made me dizzy.

Finally, Ray Wetmore pulled us aside with Iris Phelan, Billy Kurtz, and the Eblers forming almost what seemed a jury. Everyone else hung back by the fires.

“Where’s Al?” David Ebler asked.

I opened my mouth to answer that question, but Bonnie beat me to the punch. “He’s gone,” she said in a low voice. “Just like that cop and probably most of the people in this town.”

“Gone where, honey?” Iris wanted to know.

“Into the sky,” Bonnie told her.

That didn’t go over real well.

They started pelting Bonnie with questions—even her own husband—and she simply repeated the same thing again and again, so they listened to her, rolled their eyes, shook their heads, and kept looking at me as if I was the sane one and Bonnie was flat-out mad. Finally, she refused to speak and I charged right in and laid out the entire ugly mess at their feet. I got plenty of eye-rolling and shaking heads, but I got it out. Every time someone tried to interrupt, I talked that much louder and that much more forcibly like I was in school, dealing with an especially boisterous and rowdy bunch of freshman. Truth be told, these “adults” weren’t too far removed.

Ray Wetmore took the floor seconds after I finished, as I knew he would. “Now let me get this straight,” he said. “You claim that both Sergeant Frankovich and Al Peckman were yanked up into the sky by cables of some sort. Sticky cables. They got stuck to them and were pulled away and there was nothing you could do.”

“That’s the gist,” I said.

Bonnie nodded. “That’s what we saw.”

“Bullshit,” David Ebler said.

We hadn’t heard much from him thus far. David and his family had only been in the neighborhood less than a year. I had only talked to him a few times. He seemed practical, levelheaded, an accountant used to crunching facts and figures. What I had just told him threw him for a loop. It could not be crunched. It could not be processed. It refused calm, mundane analysis so he rejected it and me.

“I wish it was,” I said.

He shook his head. “No, no, no. That’s…that’s ridiculous.”

Ray sighed. “I’m afraid I have to agree with David. It’s…well, it’s nuts.”

“We’re not making it up,” I told him.

David fired off some smart-ass comment about how I thought I was being funny but I wasn’t funny at all. He glared at me with eyes rimmed with hate. I think he wanted to take a swing at me. I believed he would have if Ray wasn’t there being the voice of reason. I didn’t give a shit what David wanted. I felt just as childish as he did at that moment. I’m not a violent guy, but if he swung at me, I planned on beating his ass right in front of his wife and sons. Then, soon as I’d thought that, I felt unbelievably embarrassed. No, I wasn’t going to lower myself to that level.

“You gotta realize how crazy this sounds, Jon,” Ray said.

“Oh, I do. Believe me, I do.”

“Then why don’t you knock it off before you start scaring people?” David said, stepping closer.

“Why don’t you shut the fuck up, you yuppie faggot?” Bonnie told him, getting her ire up. Her green eyes burned like fire in the lantern glow. The flames from the fire pits were reflected in them.

Even though his wife tried to restrain him, David shrugged her off. “You better watch your mouth, you little bitch.”

Bonnie gritted her teeth and made ready to tell him exactly what she thought of him, but Billy intervened. For a guy who was pretty drunk, he moved fast. He shoved David and David almost went on his ass. “You don’t talk to my wife that way, fuckhead. Keep it civil or things’ll get bad for you.”

David was practically hissing. Anger seemed to be steaming out of him and I thought he was going to do something very stupid like make a try for Billy. Billy might have been loaded, but he was still an awfully big guy. David, on the other hand, was exactly how you might picture him: thin, sparse, and bespectacled with thinning dark hair and a very meek, very mild face. If he went after Billy, Billy would knock his teeth out.

I got in between them. “Come on, guys,” I said. “Let’s just keep cool.”

“Sure thing, Jon,” Billy said, going back to his beer.

David cursed under his breath. Bonnie and Ray launched into an argument that got increasingly vocal and I had no idea what to do. Meanwhile, as we’d been acting like a bunch of kids at recess, Iris Phelan had been talking nonstop, mostly to herself. She was leaning there against her walker, sipping a beer.

“…not that anyone should be surprised by any of it,” she said. “They’ve been coming here a long time, gathering things, studying humans and animals. Alien abductions have only been reported since the 1950s, or possibly the 1940s, but no doubt they’ve been going on since long before that. A conservative estimate places the number of abduction cases at somewhere around seventy thousand, but most are never reported. A realistic estimate is well over five million.” She paused, sipping her beer and smacking her lips. “And although most return from their abduction experiences, many do not. Which begs the question—what do these nonhuman entities want with us? Genetic material? Biological study? Are they simply looking for specimens for experimentation or to put in an alien zoo or is it something much darker? Is the reality of the situation that these creatures are not in fact extraterrestrials but perhaps, as has been suggested, highly evolved humans from the distant future whose DNA is corrupt and can no longer breed so they harvest ours to take back to their time to maintain the human stock so the race will not face extinction?”

Once we tuned into what she was saying, everyone stopped talking. We just stood there with mouths hanging open. This was the Iris Phelan we did not know, the closet UFOlogist, the Fox Mulder of the geriatric set. The Iris we knew cranked her TV so fucking loud it interfered with satellite communications and you could hear exactly what movie was on TCM at one in the morning even if you were a block away. The Iris we knew planted tulips and daffodils, hung her flag out every morning and belonged to three or four old lady church groups. Apparently, we knew nothing about her.

“That’s enough,” David told her. “I mean, really, I’ve had my fill tonight. Cables from the sky and alien abductions. Of all the silly comic book nonsense.”

Iris toasted him with her beer. “Not saying it’s so, son, I’m just speculating as I imagine most are this dark night. So settle down. No need to get your tit caught in the wringer over it.”

Billy Kurtz started laughing. When he stopped, he said, “I don’t think it’s bullshit at all. I know Jon. He teaches science. He’s smart. And Bonnie…well, maybe she ain’t so smart, but she’s no liar.”

“That’s right,” Bonnie said, comfortable with her husband’s appraisal.

There was even more arguing then, Ray and David on the con side, Bonnie and Billy and me on the pro side. Iris quoted facts and figures. Lisa Ebler, apparently disgusted by her husband’s performance, retreated to one of the fire pits to roast marshmallows with her sons and some of the more rational neighbors. Many of the others ringed around us, intrigued.

I heard David out yet again.

He was annoying the hell out of me with his flat-earth science, but I listened even though he kept tossing in digs about me and suggesting—more or less—that Bonnie and I had been playing house in my pickup. I listened. I was on my last nerve, but I listened. My wife was missing and I was worried about that and worried about my daughter across the sea, but I listened. In the end, as much as he tried to espouse rational thinking, realism, and cold hard logic, it all failed him because he simply could not explain what happened to Kathy, to Frankovich, or to Al Peckman. And that was the hole that let in the water that sunk his boat every time.

But I began to understand him and I had more sympathy. He was scared. Hell, he was terrified. He had a young family. He and his wife were just getting going. He had two boys over there and if any of what we said was true, then the future looked not only bleak but downright ugly. He couldn’t face that. When people are scared of something, I’ve noticed, they either joke about it or flatly deny its existence. It’s the only way to keep a grip on their sanity and I think we’ve all done it.

“Listen,” I finally said to him. “This isn’t getting any of us anywhere. So let’s just put it to the acid test. Let’s hop in my truck and I’ll show the damn things to you. Is that reasonable?”

“That would be the basis of the scientific method,” Iris said. “Once a phenomena is witnessed, questions can be asked and a hypothesis put forward.”

I, again, just stared at her. Where had this Iris Phelan been all these years?

“No,” Lisa Ebler said. “No, David, you can’t. It’s too dangerous.”

“I have to. They’re trying to make me look like a fool.”

“You don’t need our help,” Bonnie said.

“The whole idea is a waste of time,” Ray said.

Iris rapped her beer bottle on her walker. “Waste of time? Well, listen to me. I watch the Weather Channel every day. Not much else to do when you’re old and alone and no one ever bothers to stop by,” she said. “And I tell you this: clear weather is predicted straight on through the week. Not so much as a cloud for seventy-two hours at least. Look up above! Go ahead! There isn’t a star to be seen! Now, Mr. Ray Wetmore, if you got all the answers, then where are they? Where are the stars? Who turned out the lights?”

That more than anything shut people up.

She was right, of course, and I had noticed it earlier. Where the hell were the stars?

As this was hashed out, something else happened that pretty much evaporated all the talk. Cars started coming down Piccamore. A whole line of them. They passed right by and did not stop to say hello. They moved away frantically, upwards of two dozen of them, and disappeared into the night. And then came the people. I knew a few of them. They were on foot, carrying what seemed to be everything they owned. They were on the march. Some paused by our fires, but the rest kept going. It was very startling…and disturbing. Entire families were on the move. It was like seeing animals fleeing as millions of army ants pushed forward…or the stampeding populace in a Japanese monster movie.

We kept asking them what the hell was going on and finally what we heard made sense. And what made even more sense is what we saw.

“LOOK!” somebody cried out. “IT’S COMING! LOOK! CAN YOU SEE IT? IT’S COMING NOW!”

10

It came right over the town in that inky blackness where you couldn’t see twenty feet in any direction. But we saw it. It gave off a bluish metallic sheen that glimmered and glowed like it was charged with arcing high voltage. It was immense. Though we could only see portions of it, it had to have been wider than a football field is long. And as to the length of the thing, I couldn’t even guess.

It was gigantic, that’s all I knew and that’s all anyone knew.

Everyone stopped dead at the sight of it. Even the migrant families stopped and stared up at it with eyes wide and mouths hanging open. Even though we couldn’t really see much of it, not even a general shape, just that weird blue-black reflection, it mesmerized us the way, I suppose, a deer is mesmerized by headlights. We were all struck stupid. We stared. Nobody spoke. Nobody did anything but look up into the sky like our god was descending from heaven.

I wondered later if it was just curiosity or something more.

It came over the rooftops and if I had to guess, I would say it was at least 300 feet above us, possibly more like 500, its sheer size making it impossible to know. Then, just as it was completely over us, it disappeared. That weird, eerie electric blue light just ceased and there was nothing up there but the same nebulous blackness as before. That it was still there, I didn’t doubt, it was just that we couldn’t see it and I’m almost certain that wasn’t by accident.

“It’s still there,” I heard Bonnie say in nearly a whisper.

And it was. I think we all felt it up there, hovering, poised above us like a spider preparing to drop. The very size and weight of the thing had disturbed the air somehow and I felt something like an increase in pressure as if it were bearing down, compressing the very atoms of the ether around us, creating a very heavy, almost suffocating aura.

“Fuck is this shit about?” I heard Billy Kurtz say seconds after his beer bottle slipped from his fingers and shattered on the sidewalk.

Yes, what indeed.

The migrant people were muttering nervously, but none of them were moving. It was almost like they were afraid to. Some of them were arguing. I heard a baby crying and then a woman screaming. There was a strange tension in the air and I felt it coming not just from the migrants but from my neighbors on the walks and lawns. Something was building. It was like a current had held us together before, connected us and made us one, part of the same human circuit…but now that circuit was broken and the energy was loose and wild and unpredictable.

A few people ran off. A couple of my neighbors started slowly making their way to their houses. A young guy tossed his backpack and fought madly through the migrant crowd, shouting something incomprehensible to the rest of us. But if we couldn’t understand what he was saying, we sure as hell understood what one of the others said: “Gonna start now…just like downtown, it’s gonna start and we’re all gonna be taken…all of us taken up into the sky…”

It was about then, as panic began to break loose among the crowd, that I began to smell something I thought I had smelled before, though not as strongly. It was an acrid, burnt smell like the seeping acid in an Exide battery. It was coming from above, growing stronger, pungent and sharp and nearly choking. I had smelled it before. It had been in the air downtown and again near Frankovich’s overturned patrol car I had caught a slight whiff of it.

But not like this.

This was gagging.

This was enough to make your eyes water.

And that’s when the cables started coming down. Not one or two or three, but dozens. They dropped from the darkness above, unreeling like firemen’s hoses until there were so goddamn many they looked like trees in the firelight—skinny, limbless trees growing up into the sky. They were all black and shiny and in my mind’s eye they were licorice ropes dropped from heaven above.

“Oh my God,” David Ebler said in breathless voice.

“Do you still think we made it up, hotshot?” Bonnie said to him. “Well, do you?”

But David was beyond speech as he staggered back towards his wife and kids. Ray Wetmore just stood there shaking his head back and forth as if he was trying to toss the image from his head. The rest of us were shocked and fearful, but not all that surprised. I know I wasn’t. I figured it was only a matter of time. Everyone was in a precarious predicament because those things were everywhere. They did not reach out and grab anyone. They didn’t have to. Sooner or later, somebody was going to back right into one.

And somebody did.

It was a guy in working duds with a lunch pail in his hand. He was one of the migrants. He tried to slip away out of sheer panic, elbowing his way through the crowd, and one of the cables got him. He got stuck to it and up he went. It almost looked like the crowd had pushed him into it, but I can’t say for sure. All I know is he went up, screaming all the way.

That was it. Pandemonium ensued.

Maybe that’s what the thing above us was waiting for.

The battery smell got stronger and people started scattering and fighting, knocking each other over and down to get away from the cables and many of them stumbled right into them. The smarter ones came into the yards of Piccamore and begged to be let into our houses, to be taken somewhere they would be safe, and we couldn’t refuse them. Many of them had children. But those were the smarter ones, the calmer ones, the more rational of the lot. The others…well, it was sheer herd instinct and they scrambled. I don’t know how many of them got caught on the cables, but it was a lot. The same scenario played out again and again. Somebody would stumble into one and their family or friends would try to get them loose and they’d all go up.

It was horrible.

And I saw it firsthand. It happened to the Ebler family. About the time the migrants started getting snatched in numbers, more cables started dropping around us in the yards and one of the Ebler boys panicked and ran. His mother cried out and David tried to stop him, but he was too fast. He jumped out of the way of one cable and another got him. His brother tried to get him loose and became glued to it. David and Lisa tried, too. I watched them all go up, the entire family, stuck to the cable like flies on a No-Pest strip. We all heard them screaming and whimpering, crying out for help, but there wasn’t a damn thing we could do.

And that’s when the wind came.

There was a blinding flash like an enormous flashbulb had gone off and we were all blinded by it. It came from above, I think, but I can’t be sure. Milliseconds later, there was a wave of heat that swept through the neighborhood. It wasn’t enough to burn anyone, but its warmth rolling over us made everyone gasp. It was like tropical heat blown from a jungle, but desert-dry, lacking moisture. It sucked the air out of our lungs and dried the spit in our mouths. The only time I’d ever felt anything like it was at a Kiss concert when I was thirteen. Among the usual pyrotechnics, four giant flash pots erupted with fireballs and the heat of them rolled through the crowd. This was much like that.

Bare seconds after that, the wind came.

It funneled down Piccamore Way in a great tumultuous rolling storm of dust and debris that slammed into everyone and knocked them off their feet and threw more than a few into the cables, which had been the point, I suppose. The dust settled quickly and we could see people trapped on the cables like bugs on threads of spider silk.

I saw it as I climbed to my feet, helping Bonnie up.

Before the wind came, I was already reeling from the flash. I was dizzy and my eyes overflowed with tears. My feet got tangled up and down I went, right on top of Bonnie. We all went down. And most of us, save Iris, got back up quickly enough…then the wind hit us.

The image burned into my mind is a woman crawling across the pavement out in the street. Her ankle was attached to one of the cables and I could see the entire thing was trembling, vibrating. She crawled forward, sobbing and squealing, dragging the cable with her but certainly not breaking free of it. The cable jerked and she jerked; then it seemed to whip and she came up off the ground and slammed back down with a fleshy impact, the cable making her dance and kick and twitch. Then it started taking her up. A guy grabbed hold of her, shouting, “Eileen! Eileen! Eileen…for God’s sake…” as he tried to pull her free. Somewhere in the process his hand got caught in the goo and he started to go up, too. But he was a strong guy and he wasn’t about to let that happen, so he yanked back with everything he had, tearing the skin from his palm in the process and hitting the ground. The cable went up with Eileen.

I can’t be sure what happened after that. Not exactly. The rest of us made for the houses and some of us didn’t make it. I led the way to my house with Ray Wetmore, Iris Phelan just behind us being guided by Bonnie and Billy Kurtz. We made it up the steps and inside, but judging from the screaming outside, many people didn’t.

We formed up in the living room like frightened mice in a hole, trying to block the sounds of cries and shrieks coming in at us from the streets. I know I could have guided others in, but I think I lost my nerve after the Eblers went up. I think we all did. We were satisfied to hide there in the darkness, to cower and tremble. Our entire world had changed in a matter of hours and we were trying to make sense of it, trying to get our feet under us, trying to orient ourselves to what was going on.

I would have let anyone in that sought shelter.

But no one came and no one called out.

After a while, there was only silence outside—a nearly leaden wall of quiet that was even worse than listening to the screaming. We all waited, not knowing what to do and not even speaking.

It was Iris who finally broke the stillness. She had moved her walker over to the window and she was studying the street beyond, or what she could see of it. “We should have expected something like this,” she said. “All those years they were abducting us one by one. That was our warning. That was our siren call to action, but we ignored it. We ignored it because we were too scared to do a damn thing about it. It was too easy to call those abductees crackpots and crazies…and now here we are. Here we damn well are, fish in a pond. And just like we harvest the sea, they’re harvesting the planet…”

11

We sat around like that in the dark for some time until I got sick of it. I went down in the basement and looted around in the camping supplies until I found a couple lanterns and a few more flashlights. I was using Bonnie’s lighter to find my way around as I’d lost my flashlight outside somewhere. Maybe it was still in the truck. I didn’t know.

“You got any beer?” I heard her call from the top of the steps.

“It’s in the fridge out in the back hall, not the one in the kitchen,” I called up to her and I heard her relay the message to Billy, no doubt. Then she was coming down the steps, guiding herself along by feel.

“You need help with anything?”

“I’m just throwing some stuff together.”

Bonnie took the lighter and lit a cigarette. I couldn’t take it anymore. I bummed one off her and the nicotine lit fireworks in my brain. The addiction was back, full throttle.

“What are we going to do, Jon?”

“I don’t know. For now we’ll get some lights going and then we’d better take stock of the food. Power’s out, but Kathy…she always has lots of canned stuff and boxed dinners. I have a couple cases of bottled water upstairs. If we have food, light, and water, it should make us feel human anyway.”

“We better start with the fresh stuff.”

I pulled off the cigarette. “Lots of fruit and veggies on stock. Still have steaks and corn left from the party.”

We finished our cigarettes and then butted them out. I handed her one of the lanterns and then she took my hand. I thought she was giving me something, but she pressed my fingers against the globe of her breast. It was very warm, very firm. The nipple was hard under my fingertips. I didn’t pull my hand away as quick as I should have, I guess, but I did pull it away.

“You don’t like me?” Bonnie said, pulling her shirt back down.

“It’s not that. I’m married…I don’t know what’s going on.”

She sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m not really good for anything else.”

“Yes, you are.”

She laughed sarcastically. “No, I’m not. I never have been.” She sighed again and I thought I heard her sobbing. “I’m afraid to die. I know I’m going to. I know that thing up there is going to get me and I’m afraid. Sometimes when I’m afraid, I don’t do the right thing.”

“None of us do.”

We went upstairs and I got fresh batteries for everything. Thank God Kathy was one of those people who stockpile things. We lit one lantern to conserve battery power. Iris was still watching out the window. Billy was sitting in my recliner, drinking my beer. Ray Wetmore was in the corner sitting on Kathy’s rocking chair. He was not saying a thing. I half expected him to bounce back and become our local politician and leader once again, but it wasn’t happening. Bonnie sat on the couch and I sat by her, but not too close. I was thinking about Erin over in Italy and praying this was localized and not global. Every other thought was of Kathy. I knew she was gone. I knew I’d never see her again. The depth of that pain was immense, but I could no longer pretend she was hiding somewhere or just hurt and had crawled into the bushes. The truth was, she would have done neither of those things. Her first thought would have been of me and even if she was half-dead, she would have crawled through hell to get to me.

I sipped a beer and smoked another cigarette. The only thing that was pulling me through was the idea of sunrise. When the world was bright, there might be hope and I was clinging to that.

“Anything out there?” I said to Iris.

“It’s quiet, real quiet.”

I went over to her and looked out into the night. Most of the fires had died down to coals, but a couple were still burning. The light they threw showed me a world of abandonment. Lots of tree limbs down from the wind, beer and pop cans blown out into the street, garbage in yards. Other than that, it looked like some kind of primordial jungle out there with all the cables hanging down like vines. I could see dozens upon dozens of them just waiting to trap the unwary.

“I wonder what comes next?” I said pretty much under my breath, but Iris heard me.

“Either they pack up and go away or they step things up,” she said.

I watched with her for some time, knowing she was right. The tension inside me had not lessened; it was worse, if anything. The waiting, the wondering, it was eating at us but there was nothing to do but let things play out. The lot of us were so juiced up, you could have plugged us into the wall. Just as I was about to leave and go back to the couch, Iris made a funny sound in her throat like a sudden intake of breath.

I didn’t need to ask what caused it, I saw just fine.

That weird blue orb that I had seen downtown was now drifting in our direction. I watched it hover lazily over distant rooftops, seeming to sweep back and forth like the eye of Polyphemus seeking out Odysseus and his men. I didn’t know what it was, but the sight of it filled me with terror because I knew without a doubt it was looking for us. Maybe it wasn’t an eye exactly, but I had a pretty good idea it served roughly the same purpose. It moved off to the east and disappeared and I started breathing again.

“Like a searchlight,” Iris said.

“Yes.”

“What are you two blathering on about over there?” Billy asked us.

Did I tell him the truth? One look at Iris and I knew the answer to that. They were all better off not knowing. No sense in increasing their anxiety, which I figured had to be approaching dangerous levels. I went and sat back on the couch, pulling from my beer, which seemed to have absolutely no flavor. I watched the others, trying to gauge what was going on in their minds.

Over by the window, Iris was grim and determined. Despite her age, she was watching not only the world outside but the world inside. We were her flock and she was mothering over us. It was the only thing she really could do and she did it obsessively.

Ray was coming apart at the seams and I knew it. Gone was the public speaker and politico, the great debater of forgotten causes, the perpetual thorn in the foot of the city council. The last time I’d even seen the old Ray was when he and David Ebler had picked apart the story Bonnie and I told of the cables. He waited over there in the corner, chewing his nails, his eyes wide and glassy. It was unnerving.

Billy was just Billy. He drank his beer and made with the small talk, bitched about the world in general and told stories of a workingman’s life. It was business as usual with him. He was just one of those guys you couldn’t shake. At least outwardly. Inside, I suspected he was just as scared as the rest of us but he was too practical, too blue collar, and too tough to show it.

And Bonnie? What did one say about Bonnie? Nervous? Yes. Scared? Yes. She kept tapping her long nails on the end table. Her eyes were bright and wet in the darkness. She was complex. Around the neighborhood she was known as a flirt, but like all women who acted that way there was a deep inner reason, some trauma or fear that cried out in pain from her depths. She was a very attractive woman and had used her looks to get attention her entire life. My rejection of her in the basement had thrown her for a loop. She had probably never been rejected by a man and she was having trouble handling it. She kept staring at me as if she had no idea what to make of me.

And me? I was just scared and confused. I didn’t know what to think about anything. I had these very unpleasant images in my head of us still hiding like this six months from now. That was the most terrifying prospect of all, that there was no end in sight, that this nightmare would just keep going on and on like the plot of a crappy postapocalyptic novel.

Anyway, that was our group.

Good, bad, or indifferent, it was all we had.

The five of us. It made me think of that terrible old 1950s B-movie, The Last Woman on Earth. Two guys and one woman survive the end of the world and, of course, the men fight over her. I wondered if Ray and I would be fighting over Bonnie in six months. I doubted it. Billy could have easily kicked both our asses. Besides, Ray was no lover boy. He was divorced and had no time in his life for anything but politics. And I would have a hell of a time getting over Kathy.

So there we waited.

12

“This is crazy,” Ray said, startling us all. “What’s the point of us being bottled up like this?”

“I think it has something to do with dying,” Billy told him, smart-assed as always.

Apparently, Ray had snapped out of his fugue. No one was more surprised than I was.

“My point is,” he said, “this is getting us nowhere. We need to come up with some kind of plan. The rest of the world is out there even if we can’t contact them. What we need to be thinking is how we’re going to get word to them about what’s going on here.”

“If they haven’t figured it out by now,” Iris said, “then they’re either blind, stupid, or dead.”

Bonnie nodded. “It’s probably going on everywhere. Even our cells are down and there’s no Internet. I checked. Nobody out there can help us any more than they can help themselves. We need to face that.”

“So we should just give up?” Ray put to her.

“I didn’t say that.”

“But that’s what you implied.”

“Just shut up, Ray. Okay?”

“Frightened little pill bugs that roll up when they’re scared,” he said, meaning all of us. “I expected better. Maybe not from you, Bonnie, but from the rest of you people.”

Bonnie was getting pissed and I could sense it. “Tell you what, Ray,” she said, almost too calmly. “Why don’t you just crawl back into your corner and shut the fuck up?”

Ray shuddered. I could hear him grinding his teeth. “You don’t talk to me like that! Maybe your husband isn’t man enough to slap your little whoring mouth but I sure as hell am and I sure as hell will!”

Billy set his beer down. “Nobody’s going to be slapping anybody’s mouth, Ray. Not even Bonnie’s whoring mouth. I’m going to give you a pass on this because you’re stressed-out and my wife has a way of blurting out the first stupid thing she can think of. But if you threaten her again, I’ll have to knock your teeth down your throat. I won’t enjoy it, but I sure as fuck will do it.”

There was something about Billy’s smooth, easy manner that was frightening. He never lost his temper, never went into theatrics shouting and stomping his feet, but when he said he would hit you, you could be sure he would. It shut Ray up. Bonnie said something else I didn’t catch and Billy told her to quit while she was still ahead.

Christ. If this went on for six months, it was going to be ugly…and bloody. There was no doubt about that. Six days would be pushing it.

After a few moments, Ray said, “We can’t just sit here.”

I heard Billy sigh. “All right, all right. If you’re so unhappy, then feel free to go out there and marshal the troops.”

“Yes,” Iris said. “Go out there. It’s sheer stupidity, but nothing would surprise me with you, Ray Wetmore.”

I decided it was time to intervene. “All right, everybody settle down. Nobody’s going out there.”

But by then Ray had his back up. “I’ll go out there if I please.”

“You heard him, Jon. Don’t try and stop a real man in action,” Bonnie said with a little titter under her words.

Billy laughed. “Sure, I want to see this. Ray’s got balls. He’s a 100% red-blooded American male. Nothing can stand in his way. He’d not afraid of those cables. Show ’em, Ray. Show ’em just what you’re made of.”

Ray ignored them and went to the window, scoping things out. He was really planning on leaving. Maybe the others didn’t see that, but I did. Maybe they thought picking on him would put him in his place and needling him would shut him up, but they should have known better. Ray did not back down. I knew it and the city council knew it. He was nothing if not driven.

“Don’t, Ray,” I said. “It’s too dangerous. Wait for daylight at least.”

“I would, Jon, but having to occupy a house with these idiots is more than I can tolerate.” When Bonnie made a derisive snort, he turned and glared at her, which stopped the words from reaching her lips. Then he looked at all of us. “I’ve busted my ass for years trying to hold our elected officials responsible for the shitstorms they create. I was the first one to lead the charge and I was always on the front line fighting against graft and corruption. Nobody can deny that. I was involved. Goddammit, I was involved! Maybe I didn’t get elected, but I tried and I never gave up. But you know what? I give up now. All those years I did it because I wanted to represent the real people, the working-class people. What a waste of fucking time that was—”

“Ray, c’mon,” I said.

“—you people don’t deserve representation! You’re all goddamn idiots just like the politicians think! Fucking lambs to be led to slaughter! You deserve what you get! Each and every one of you deserve it because you’re all too fucking stupid to question your government! You won’t take the time to get off your cell phones or shut off your stupid reality shows or quit playing with your guns long enough to pay attention to the puppet masters who manipulate you! Fine and fucking dandy! You’re all going to get what you deserve now. And I couldn’t be goddamned happier.”

He started laughing, slowly making his way over to Bonnie, who was shaking now. She was scared and Billy, I think, was scared, too. Ray was on the verge of a breakdown or a psychotic episode. I don’t think even Billy would have wanted a piece of him.

“You people can all go to hell as far as I’m concerned,” he said. “That goes for you, too, Jon. You’re no goddamn better. Now…I’m going to walk out of this fucking house and I really hope one of you will try and stop me. I really do. I’m getting out of here and going back to my house and fuck the lot of you. If God is merciful, none of you fucking idiots will come out of this alive. I only hope you’re the first, Bonnie.”

With that he turned on his heel and went right up to the front door. He unlocked it and stepped out onto the porch. Down the steps he went with nothing but a little penlight in his hand, head held high and shoulders square.

“Well, I guess he told you,” Billy said to his wife.

Bonnie giggled.

“Foolish little man,” Iris said. “He’ll choke on his own hot air.”

I wasn’t really happy with any of them, Iris included. Yes, Ray was a pain in the ass, but everything he said was pretty much true. If everyone was involved in the political process, I suppose the good old U.S. really would have been a country by the people and for the people and not for the entitled and by the entitled. Well, anyway, that was my grand soapbox moment of the day.

Ray had gone about five steps from the porch when he stopped.

He cocked his head as if he were listening. Something out there had him either puzzled…or scared. I pushed in closer to the window so I could see what he was seeing and maybe to call him back. He stood there shining his little penlight around. Against the enclosing blackness, the beam was white as sugar, very bright. It cut through the darkness like a laser. It almost looked like he had a white sword in his hand. I noticed something then I hadn’t noticed before. Maybe it was the angle of the light or the reflection or refraction…but the darkness was not just the absence of illumination, it was something more. I could see it moving around Ray like a mist of coal dust. I saw it thicken and expand until he became a filmy shape.

And then I saw something move out there, something huge.

Ray made a sort of choking sound and maybe I did, too. Before I could so much as call to him to get back inside, that weird blue orb appeared, hovering about ten feet or so above him. It looked like a radiant platter, perfectly circular, a phosphorescent eye of blue-green-white light that was so intense I had to look away.

But Ray didn’t look away.

He stood there, frozen, staring up at it as if he were hypnotized. Maybe he was. That monstrous glowing eye had him and he wasn’t getting away. He didn’t even make an attempt to. The eye, or whatever it might have been, was set in the face of some massive black amorphous shape that moved ever closer to him. Then it took him. It happened very quickly. I saw a multitude of black whipping tendrils like the tentacles of a squid seem to explode out of the darkness. They were made of that same glossy black material as the cables. There were literally dozens of them in motion, undulating and coiling and reaching out with amazing speed. No squid or octopus in existence had that many arms. They took hold of Ray easily, winding him up, seeming to cocoon him.

He screamed.

We all heard him scream.

Iris fell back from her walker and I caught her. I heard her voice saying, “Dear God, dear God, dear God,” again and again. By then, Bonnie and Billy were there, seeing what we were seeing and struck speechless by it.

“Get her out of here,” I told Bonnie and she stumbled away, supporting Iris, taking her through the living room and into the kitchen. She did this blindly, without question.

Ray was a dead man and I knew it, but my mind kept racing in those few precious seconds after the tendrils grabbed him. It was looking for a plan of action, trying to come up with something, but there was nothing. There wasn’t a damn thing I or anyone else could have done. Billy and I stood there helplessly, both trembling, both breathing hard, both filled with a combination of terror, revulsion, and wonder.

We both saw what happened next.

Mere seconds after the thing seized Ray, he let out one last scream and the thing crushed him. There was a sound like a dog crunching through bone and Ray jerked and some fleshy white mass was forced from his mouth. I think it was his stomach. The creature moved off into the darkness and its orb blinked out and there was only that same impenetrable blackness out there pushing up against the window.

I just stood there shaking from head to toe.

Billy kept making a swallowing sound like he couldn’t get any good spit down his throat. “What the fuck?” he finally said and there was a sobbing quality to his voice. “What the fuck just happened?”

But I didn’t know and had I known, I doubted whether I could have unlocked my jaw long enough to tell him. I felt like I was carved from wood. My body was completely inflexible. The tone of Billy’s voice was confused and desperate and god-awful scared. It was the voice of a little boy who’d just seen his puppy get run down in the road. He was looking to me to tell him how such a thing could be, how it could have happened in a sane and ordered universe. He wanted me to make sense of it, to put it into some kind of logical perspective, but I couldn’t and my inability almost hurt me.

I got myself moving and I took Billy by the arm. “We better get the hell away from this window. It knows where we are and I don’t think it’s just going to go away.”

He looked at me. His eyes were wide, his mouth pulled into a crooked line, and his face was beaded with sweat. In the pale lantern light, he looked like one of those characters Johnny Craig used to draw for Vault of Horror: sweaty, staring, broken by fear, on the verge of some shocking truth or dark revelation that would twist his mind completely out of shape. He reached out a hand and touched me as if he was trying to confirm my reality.

“C’mon,” I said.

We had reached the couch when that luminous orb clicked back on just outside the living room window as if someone had flicked on a spotlight. It leered in at us like the eye of a cyclops, filling the room with cool blue light. Billy and I just stopped where we were like frogs captured in a strong flashlight beam. I think it was instinctive. If you freeze up, what’s after you won’t be able to find you. But in that situation, it wasn’t applicable. That thing out there knew where we were and I had a pretty good idea that we could have hid in a closet and it still would have seen us.

Bonnie said something from the kitchen, but I never heard what it was because the picture window blew in. Dozens of tentacles—I’ll call them that—exploded into the room in a shower of glass, looping and twisting and thrashing like downed high-tension lines jumping with deadly electricity. It happened quickly, with lethal speed. If anything, it was like watching a time-lapse of a tree growing roots at hyperspeed—the tentacles seemed to grow into the room until it was filled with them. They were bigger around than my thigh where they fed out of the darkness, tapering to needle-thin points. They were wild and destructive, upending the sofa and tossing the rocking chair through the air. Two of them smashed the coffee table with their weight and others shattered the wide-screen TV and tore ceiling tiles free. The wiry tips of them were like razors. They slit open the sofa and cut deep grooves in the walls.

Billy and I scrambled away and one of them, as if hearing us, came after us like a gigantic python. Its tip slashed at me, missed, and sliced a lampshade cleanly in two. We made it into the kitchen and I kicked the door shut just as the tentacles hit the other side like rustling, writhing vines in a windstorm. They beat against it and I could hear their sharp tips gouging into the wood. Whap! Whap! Whap! Without even having to ask, Billy grabbed one end of the kitchen table and I grabbed the other, wedging it up against the door.

“What’s going on?” Bonnie demanded. “What in the hell is going on?”

“Shut up!” Billy snapped at her, pulling the flashlight from her hand with such force I thought he had yanked her arm out of its socket.

The tentacles were still beating against the door, sliding against it with a smooth slithering sort of sound. I could see the blinding blue light coming under it and seeping around the edges. The doorknob jiggled again and again. Whether that was from the tentacles brushing against it or one of them investigating it, I didn’t know, but I had this crazy image in my head of the creature attempting to turn the knob and let itself in. The jiggling was rather gentle, insistent but gentle…then there was a loud cracking and the knob and its housing was ripped free from the other side.

Bonnie, who was crouched there on the floor by the stove holding Iris, who looked stricken mad, said, “Billy…do something! For godsake, do something!”

Billy looked from his wife to me with utter helplessness. His mouth kept opening and closing like he wanted to say something but nothing came out. He looked like a salmon gasping for air.

Iris crouched there with Bonnie, her eyes bulging from her wrinkled, sallow face like Ping-Pong balls. There was a visible tremor beneath her skin and she kept smacking her lips like she was trying to moisten them. The loose jowls beneath her chin seemed to vibrate. “All of us, one by one, are going to get taken away,” she said. “That’s the way it is and that’s the way they planned it. We can’t hide. They’ll find us. They’ll find us all.”

“Fuck that noise,” Billy said.

He grabbed the only weapon he saw: a broom. He picked it up and held it before him like a lance. The gaping hole in the door where the knob had been suddenly filled with worming motion as one of the tentacles slipped through. About three feet of it entered the room, the tip of it swaying from side to side as if it couldn’t make up its mind what to do. But if it couldn’t, Billy had no such constraints. Before I could stop him, he jumped forward and cracked the tentacle with the broom handle with a solid dull thump. He hit it again and again and it had the same effect as beating a rubber hose with a baseball bat. He knocked it around but it did not retreat.

It just waited there.

We waited with it.

After about five seconds of that and five seconds of Billy smacking it around, I said, “Stop it, Billy. Just leave it alone.”

He hesitated for a second and the tentacle—slick and black and oily—began to pulsate. The tapering sharp tip of it expanded, swelling like a snake that had just swallowed a mouse, becoming bulbous and blunt. Then it opened like a spout and squirted a string of goo at the broom handle. A copious amount of it enveloped the end. Billy still held on to it. The tentacle just waited there, the sticky rope of goo connecting it to the broom end. Then the goo moved. With a slimy, gushing sort of sound it slid down the broom handle towards Billy’s hands. It acted like it was alive and I was reminded of that scene in The Blob where the old man pokes the meteorite with a stick and it cracks open, the alien jelly sliding up the stick and engulfing his hand.

Billy let go of it before something like that happened and the tentacle sucked in the string of goo like a kid with a ribbon of snot, taking the broom with it. Both disappeared out through the hole in the door. For another minute or so we could hear the other tentacles rooting about in the living room and then silence. The blue glow winked out. By that time, Billy and I were huddled with Bonnie and Iris by the stove.

Ten minutes later, the thing was still gone.

“Must have needed a broom real bad,” Iris said and Bonnie broke into hysterical giggling that was about as close to the sound of full mental collapse as anything I’d ever heard.

And the night was still young.

13

About an hour later we heard the horn. It sounded in the night, shrill and insistent. One long beep, followed by two shorter ones. At first, I thought it was the things out there making some kind of weird noise, but it was just a car horn. Five minutes later, it repeated the long beep followed by the two short ones. I don’t think any of us thought it was accidental by that point.

“It’s a signal,” Bonnie said. “Somebody’s trying to signal us.”

“Yes,” I said, because it could be nothing else.

We said no more about it. I had a cigarette with Bonnie, and Billy sorted through the refrigerator until he found a longneck Bud. He sucked it down in one long pull, wiping foam from his mouth.

“Now I feel human,” he said.

The horn sounded again and we all tensed. Somebody obviously needed help and, as silly as it sounds, there was almost a desperate tone to the beeping. The horn kept sounding at five-minute intervals. It put us all on edge. God knew we had enough on our plates about then. We weren’t discussing what was going on and I wasn’t sure whether that was good or bad. We were just waiting, maybe hoping it would all go away and we could put the pieces of our lives back together. The idea of that seemed even more terrifying to me than waiting for the things or the cables to come for us because it meant going back to a normal life without Kathy. It meant accepting her loss. It meant going on, struggling forward without her and I honestly didn’t think I had the heart for it.

The darkness held outside.

I think I was waiting for the moon to come out or for the stars to show. That would have signaled an end to hostilities, I figured. One of my greatest fears was that the darkness would never end. That dawn would come but the sun would never rise. That we would be forced into the existence of moles, of night scavengers who would never know again the light of day. The idea was horrifying. And being a science teacher, I knew that if the sun did not rise day after day after day, there would be no photosynthesis. The plants and trees would no longer process carbon dioxide and release breathable oxygen. I had an image of a dying, dark Earth, shrubs and forests and ferns and flowers all dead and withered, humanity suffocating on its own toxic by-products.

The horn sounded again.

“Why don’t they fucking quit it already?” Bonnie said. “We can’t help ’em any more than we can help ourselves.”

She was right in a way, but Billy and I kept looking at each other and I knew we were both thinking the same thing: whoever was out there needed help and if we didn’t go to them we could hardly call ourselves human. There was death out there. But I feared that less than the idea of living with myself knowing I could have done something to help someone in need. The teeth of guilt are much sharper than any sword.

“I wonder if it’s someone we know,” Billy said, not a question.

“Could be,” I said. “If it was me out there, I’d want someone to help me.”

Bonnie was watching us both by that point. “Don’t even fucking think of it. It’s too dangerous. We need each other. Nobody’s going out there.”

The horn sounded again and I flinched.

“Nothing out there,” Iris said, her mouth stitched in a scowl. “If you tell yourself there’s nothing out there, then there isn’t.”

She was losing it so nobody commented on that. We just sat there. That was the worst part of it all: waiting. I knew the horn was going to sound again and when it did, I was going to scream. I didn’t want to hear it. I couldn’t bear to hear it.

But I heard it. We all heard it.

“Fuck this,” Billy said. “Jon, you got any weapons around here? An ax? Anything useful?”

“I got a few things out in the garage,” I said.

“No,” Bonnie said. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Billy sighed. “What if that was you out there?”

“Then I’d get out of the fucking car and get somewhere safe.”

“What if you were injured and you couldn’t?”

She glared at him, but slowly her face softened. Bonnie was a good person. Despite certain malfunctions of character, she was inherently a good person. She was very kind when it came down to it. “All right,” she finally said. “Go then. Just be careful.”

She kissed Billy before we left and I could see that she really didn’t believe she’d see him again. We took one of the flashlights and went out to the garage. Billy took the riot gun Bonnie had swiped from the patrol car. I took a hatchet and unscrewed the handle of my push broom. I sharpened the end of it until I had a serviceable pike.

Then we walked out into the darkness.

14

There were cables everywhere. They dangled down like creepers in a primeval forest. Just the sight of them in the flashlight beam made the hairs at the back of my neck stand on end. Billy and I moved slowly, but we did move. We heard the horn again and it was coming from down the block. We began the terrible walk in its direction. The cables were inert, dead things. I knew they weren’t alive, not in the earthly sense of the word. They simply reacted when you touched them. Still…when we got too close to them, they trembled slightly as if they could feel us, sense our body heat or the vibrations of our footsteps.

We gave them a wide berth whenever possible.

As we walked, I wondered about it all. Once they had stripped away all the people—and all the native animal life for all I knew—and the world was empty, what then? Did they have a use for the planet? Were they snatching people off for study or was it a means to an end like miners stripping the rainforest to get at the valuable minerals beneath? What did they want exactly? And while I was at that, I wondered about the big one: who exactly they were.

While I was lost in thought, blindly following Billy’s silhouette and the path of light he carved out for us, I nearly stumbled into one of the cables. It was close. I came within a foot of it and it began to shudder at my closeness. I thought it was moving for a moment, but it wasn’t the cable but what was attached to it: bats. Dozens of ordinary, garden-variety brown bats. They were trapped on the cables, webbed in goo, flapping their leathery wings out of fright. I saw what had brought them in—the cables seemed to be covered in bugs of all sorts, mostly moths. Maybe there was something sweet about the secretions that attracted them.

Billy stopped just ahead. “It’s going to get dicey now,” he said.

How right he was. The cables were like a thicket of saplings ahead of us, dozens upon dozens of them waiting to snare the unwary. There was little more than a few feet among many of them. A forest of human flypaper. We moved forward and it was like threading through the spokes of a bike tire. We proceeded slowly, cautiously, both painfully aware of what would happen if that mysterious wind blew up again.

Billy would shine the light about, finding the safest route, and then we would push forward, moving like men tiptoeing through a mine field. Ten minutes into it, I was soaking wet with sweat.

The horn sounded again and we were getting closer to it.

I was worried about what we would find when we got there. Neither Billy nor I had any medical training if it came to that. And the idea of trying to transport injured people through the jungle of cables was simply ridiculous. I didn’t know what we were going to find and I think my greatest fear was that we would discover an empty car and realize we had been baited in.

The horn sounded again.

Billy stopped now and again to wipe the sweat from his eyes, but other than that he kept us moving. When the horn sounded next, we were practically on top of it. The cables had thinned considerably by then and we weren’t in any immediate danger. Billy played the light around and I saw that we were very near the Andersen house at the end of the block where I had been earlier with Al Peckman. In the flashlight beam, I saw hedges, a bike abandoned in a yard, a newspaper on a porch waiting to be read…normal, mundane things that seemed so unbearably threatening now.

“HEY!” Billy called out. “WHERE ARE YOU?”

The horn sounded again and I nearly jumped out of my skin we were so close to it. We moved down the street, examining each parked car we came to. The light found them in the encompassing, crowding blackness and each one was empty. Several times, as Billy moved the spoking beam of the light about, I could have sworn I caught a momentary glimpse of a nebulous black shape pulling away. It had to be my imagination and I told myself so, but as night-black shadows jumped around us, I could not convince myself of it.

“There,” Billy said and his voice sounded dry as dirt.

It came out of the darkness slowly as we approached it like a sunken ship on a seabed—an SUV that had jumped the curb and smashed into a telephone pole. The front end was bashed in. I could smell oil and antifreeze. Cables dangled to either side of it, blocking the doors. Another was coiled on the roof.

“Shit,” Billy said.

Shit was right. There was no way for us to open the doors without getting caught ourselves. We discussed smashing in the rear window, but that was tricky because about two feet of the cable on the roof hung over it. That wasn’t going to work. The side windows were an option, but they were awfully damn close to the cables. We just stood there, thinking it out, knowing we had to do something.

One of the windows unrolled a few inches. I saw a woman’s frantic face peeking out. “Help us,” she said. “We’re trapped. I have children in here. An injured man.”

Getting them out was more imperative than ever.

Billy had her turn on the SUV’s headlights to illuminate the area. It was something. I knew there was only one thing to do. I took the flashlight and jogged down a couple houses and came back with a rake I had seen leaning up against a fence. When Al had gotten stuck on that cable and I tried to pull him loose, the cable had moved with him like a rope hanging from a tree. I was counting on these to do the same.

Billy saw what I was doing. “Watch it,” he said.

I caught hold of the cable with the tines of the rake and slowly pulled it away from the door. “Okay!” I said. “Get out of there now!”

The door opened and Billy helped two pasty-faced kids out, a boy and a girl who were still wearing pajamas. Their mother—or who I assumed was their mother—got out next. The cable was trembling a bit as I held it and the woman got the kids well away in case I lost control of it. Billy went in and helped her husband out. He had banged his head pretty good and there was dried blood all over the left side of his face. It looked like his arm was broken. As Billy got him out of there, he was very groggy. He was also wearing a brown UPS uniform.

When he was clear, I released the cable.

The woman introduced herself as Doris Shifferin and her kids were Kayla and Kevin. The man was not her husband but the guy from next door whose name was Roger. He had gotten them away from their neighborhood, which was a maze of cables, but when that wind kicked up, he lost control of the SUV. And here they were.

“You took a pretty good knock,” Billy told him. “But we can fix you up, I think. First, let’s get the hell out of here.”

We didn’t make it ten steps before something came out of the darkness at us. It was fast. Incredibly fast. A black shape that swooped right over our heads like some immense bird. I knew then that what I had seen pulling away from the light more than once was not my imagination. It came again before we had time to recover from the first encounter.

“Get down!” I told Doris and the kids. “Get your heads down!”

The kids didn’t say a word as she pulled them to the ground and held them tightly to her. I thought they were both in shock. I figured if we could get them back to the house and get some food in them, give them a safe place to rest, they would be okay. But that wasn’t going to be easy. The shape came out of the darkness like a bat and in the illumination of the SUV’s headlights, I saw something like a flying black hood, swollen and elongated. My first impression was that it looked much like a folded-up umbrella, except that it was bulbous and nearly the size of a man.

I ducked when it came again and it swooped within three feet of Roger, who stood there, dazed and confused, half out of it from his head wound. Billy fired at the hood, missed, racked the pump on the riot gun and fired again. He hit it. Just before it disappeared into the darkness, I saw it jerk as the buckshot bit into it.

I told Roger to get his head down and when he didn’t listen, I got up and made to take him down. But I never got to him. The hood beat me to it. It came out of the night with a smooth, sleek velocity and engulfed his head and upper body, closing over him like the trap of an insectivorous plant. The hood opened, looking very much like an umbrella unfolding and then folding back up as it gripped him. I could clearly see the architecture of ten or twelve bony appendages beneath the skin radiating out. They ran from midline of the hood to the very bottom, a slick webbing of black tissuelike material connecting them. The entire creature was shiny black like wet neoprene and had a ring of brilliant red eyes near the apex of the hood itself.

Roger made a grunting sound as it closed over him.

Doris screamed and Billy, with a knee-jerk reaction, brought up the riot gun and made to fire before I knocked the barrel away. For a second there, it looked like he was going to turn it on me, but that was the terror and stress and shock of it all taking hold of him.

I brought up my pike to spear the thing and as I got closer the eyes of it went from bright electric red to the color of fresh blood. They seemed to bulge in their sockets. I jabbed it with the pike again and again but I couldn’t get any purchase. It was much like the cable I tried to cut, made out of some glossy, glassy sort of material the sharpened end of the pike glanced off without causing any damage. But I got a reaction out of it—the skeletal appendages opened like the fingers of a hand and then it turned itself inside out, protecting its eyes with a cloak of its own flesh. I saw its crimson underside quite clearly. The sticklike appendages were set with long, lethal-looking spikes that had impaled Roger and now withdrawn. But he was still held by a suckering orifice that had swallowed his entire head. He was wet with blood from the many spikes and I thought he was dead.

Then the hood covered him again and before I could do much more than gasp, it rose into the air with him in tow.

There wasn’t a damn thing we could do to stop it.

And we didn’t have the time because something gigantic was hovering above us, maybe fifty feet up. We wouldn’t have seen it at all, but like with the cyclops, a single orb of light irised open and flooded the world with dull pink light. It was like some immense pod or shell with what appeared to be hundreds of jointed, narrow limbs sprouting from it. Each was roughly the thickness of a telephone pole and probably three times as long. Whatever it was, I don’t think it was the same as the cyclops. It hovered up there and I expected it to drop down on us, but it didn’t. It just turned its glowing milky eye on us and held us in a beam of pale pink light.

The hood moved up towards it with Roger in tow and then flew up into a central diamond-shaped chasm on its underside. The hood, as I said, was nearly as big as a man, but it was dwarfed by the colossal pod up there. It looked like a pea next to a shoebox.

That’s when I saw that surrounding the chasm were what looked like countless pulsating polyps clinging there like remoras on a shark’s belly. They were hoods. What might have been hundreds of them. Several detached themselves and swooped over our heads. The air was filled with them. Billy fired again and again. Whether he hit them, I don’t know. One of them came at me and it would have had me, too, but I thrust the pike at it with everything I had and felt it sink into something—the suckering orifice beneath, I thought—and the hood made a sort of electronic squealing sound and hit the ground. It couldn’t seem to fly. It skidded along the pavement, jetting around like a squid.

We got the hell out of there.

Billy led the way and we got Doris and the kids between us. I had no idea where we were going, but Billy seemed to know. The hoods dipping down at us, he led us back into the forest of cables where things were too tight for them to follow. It was good thinking and I’m pretty sure it saved all our lives.

Once inside the depths of the cables, we moved slowly and cautiously again, waiting for them to reach out and snare us.

15

Doris and the kids were barely holding it together by that point and I wasn’t much better. The children were not just clinging to her, they were practically welded to her so that they almost moved as a single entity. As Billy guided us forward, the entire time talking in a very soothing voice to them how everything was going to be just fine—bless him—I kept a hand on Doris’s shoulder. I think she needed the physical contact and I know I needed it.

The cables trembled as we passed them, but they did nothing other than that but wait. Time was on their side and they knew it. Eventually, after about ten minutes or so, they thinned out. We didn’t breathe any easier because that put us back in the open where we were prey for the hoods. And, true to form, they made their appearance almost right away.

The four of us clustered together instinctively and kept our heads down. Herd mentality, I guess. I assumed the hoods were like lions looking for a stray gazelle and we weren’t about to give them that opportunity. They kept swooping, sometimes flying right at us as if they hoped to spook and separate us.

Finally, Billy said, “There! There it is!”

He shone the light on a parked minivan. I didn’t get it. I understood the need of shelter, but why a minivan at the curb? That would put us in the same position Doris and the kids had been in when we found them. But then I knew, then I remembered as we piled in. Keys. There were keys in the minivan. Billy had pointed them out to me as we checked the cars on our journey.

When the door was closed, I think I let out a long sigh.

Billy, behind the wheel, turned it over and the engine caught right away. “Let them fucking swoop all they want,” he said. “They won’t get us now.”

He pulled away from the curb, turning in the street and pointing the van back towards our section of Piccamore. The lights picked out dangling cables and dead, deserted houses. I saw a woman’s shoe in the middle of the street and I didn’t want to think about what that meant.

The next ten minutes are burned in my memory.

Billy piloted the minivan slowly down the road. He avoided the panic that gripped him as it gripped all of us. It would have been too easy to stomp down on the accelerator and race up the street. He was too careful for that and I can’t say I would have had that much self-control. As he drove, I could see his face in the glow of the dash lights—grim and set, his teeth locked tightly together like someone was digging a bullet out of him. The cables were everywhere and the minivan met them dead-on, bumping them aside like swinging vines. The sight of them brushing against the windows and the sound of them dragging over the roof was almost too much.

We made it about half a block before the hoods started bumping into us.

At first, it was playful, investigatory, as if they were trying to figure out what the minivan was. Then after a couple minutes of that, one of them came screaming out of the darkness and hit the windshield at full speed. It didn’t get in, but the window shattered, hanging there in a sheet of spiderwebbed cracks. Billy couldn’t see through it, so he knocked out a good section with the stock of the riot gun. Just enough so he could get us where we had to go. I think we all knew that if another hood made a run at us, there would be no stopping it.

Billy drove erratically, avoiding the cables now. If one of them got in through the damaged windshield, it would be disastrous. He drove in the street, up on the sidewalk, through yards, anywhere to avoid them as much as possible. The hoods were still out there swooping and circling like moths around a streetlight, but none of them made any further kamikaze attacks.

“Almost there,” he finally said.

I couldn’t see a damn thing and had no idea where we were. My section of windshield was still attached, feathered out with hundreds of diverging cracks and gently swaying with the motion of the minivan. Within five minutes, Billy popped the curb and pulled right into my front yard within mere feet of the porch. I jumped out first and then Billy was at my side. The door opened and Bonnie was waiting for us. We hustled Doris and the kids inside.

We had made it.

We had really made it.

That’s exactly what I thought as I jogged up the steps to get inside myself. I almost didn’t make it. I remember feeling something like a hot wind and I was hit right between the shoulder blades with enough force to knock me right over the railing into the yard.

One of the hoods had me.

It gripped me by the loose skin between my shoulder blades. I couldn’t see it, of course. I was face down in the grass, but I could feel its terrible weight and the pain where its suckering mouth was attached to me. It felt like a thousand red-hot needles had pierced me. I flopped around, trying to reach behind me but it was no good. It had me and it wasn’t about to let go. It was going to fly up with me to that great and evil pod in the sky…and the insane thing was, after a few brief moments of fighting, I was more than ready to accept my fate. I was beaten and I knew it. My body felt heavy and my limbs were rubbery. I remember asking myself what exactly I was fighting for.

What happened after that I can’t really say.

I was out of it. Completely out of it. I felt like I’d been shot up with Demerol. I was just a slab of meat sinking into myself. There were a lot of confused images after that, most of them overlapping one another until none of it made any sense. I didn’t really come out of it until later. And when I did, I was on the kitchen floor. The first thing I saw was Bonnie and Billy staring down at me. Doris was there, too. In the lantern light, their eyes were wide and unblinking.

“What?” I said. “What…what’re you staring at?”

Bonnie giggled. “Sounds like he’ll be all right.”

“Jesus Christ, that was a tight one,” Billy said, wiping sweat from his brow.

“I want to thank you for what you did,” Doris told me. There were tears in her eyes and I had no idea what the hell she was talking about.

They said later that I came out of it slowly, asking about Kathy and talking to her as if she were actually in the room. I felt slow and drugged and confused. Apparently, when the hood took hold of you, it also injected you with enough sedatives to put you into la-la land, where you would not fight or cause any undue trouble. Bonnie said the hood grabbed me and we both went over the railing. I remembered that much. Billy went over the railing after us. As the hood made to lift off, he put the barrel of the riot gun up to its head—the top of the hood—and fired three times. The hood released me almost immediately and flew off. Billy figured he’d injured it because it did not fly so well after that. It smashed into the house next door and then got trapped in the branches of a tree.

Regardless, it was over.

They disinfected the wounds on my back with hydrogen peroxide and put a sterile dressing over them. That was the best they could do and I figured it would be enough.

Billy had saved my life.

I wasn’t about to forget that.

16

I was not naïve enough to believe we were safe. The idea that those things out there were simply going to give up on us was ludicrous. Things like them did not give up. Whatever they were—and the jury was out on that one—they were the sort of things that would see the job through. Hoping they would forget about us or decide to spare us was like a dust ball hoping a vacuum cleaner would not suck it up. And there’s a good analogy there somewhere.

We moved down to the basement because it had the fewest number of windows and those it did have were fairly small. There was also another door leading up into the garage so that gave us an exit should we need one. We moved all the food down there including all the dry goods and canned stuff. I figured with the bottled water we could hold out for a couple weeks if we had to…even if the very idea was depressing.

When Doris had the kids tucked in the back bedroom and was sleeping with them, probably wide awake and on watch, Bonnie and Billy and I sat there by candlelight to save on the batteries and tried to hash things out.

“It keeps coming back to the same thing,” Billy said. “Just what the hell are those things and what do they want.”

“They want us, of course,” Iris said.

We were trying to ignore her as much as possible because she was only making sense half of the time. I think she had the start of dementia. Sometimes she would carry on perfectly lucid conversations and offer wisdom and common sense, other times she was talking about people long gone and events long forgotten. Now and again, she would panic and babble on like a frightened little girl. It was hard to know what to make of her.

“They’re machines,” Bonnie said. “That much is obvious. They can’t be anything else.”

“Yes,” I said. “Most of them are.”

“Those hoods aren’t machines. They’re flesh and blood,” Billy pointed out. “They don’t like getting blasted with buckshot. If they were machines, they wouldn’t give a damn.”

“At least the sort of machines we’re used to,” Iris said. “Just imagine the kinds of machines they might make out there, out beyond the stars we know. Think about that. Machines that don’t just react but think. Machines that plot and scheme. Machines designed to travel to the farthest depths of space on voyages that might last hundreds if not thousands of years to collect populations and with the artificial intelligence to get the job done and find their way home again.”

“Like living computers,” Billy said.

Iris just shrugged. “Maybe…but as high above our computers as a laptop is above an abacus. Machines programmed to harvest entire worlds. Just think of it.”

But it was frightening and we didn’t want to think about it.

I had no doubt Iris was close to the truth. If anyone seemed to have an inkling of what was going on, it was her. But that didn’t mean I was up to it. I think we were all worn out and the last thing we wanted to do was sit around and speculate. She kept tossing out her theories, but one by one we stopped talking and just let her rattle on endlessly. After what seemed a good hour, she finally shut up.

And it wasn’t because she was out of words, but because things were happening again. It began with a rumbling that sounded distant and nearly subdued. I remember thinking in the back of my mind that it sounded like a truck rolling over railroad tracks. It was that same sort of thumpety-thump you get used to hearing when you live near a train station. It came and went and we all got very tense. You could almost hear the blood draining from our faces. That’s an exaggeration, of course, but the sudden silence was oppressive and unbroken. We knew it was bad, whatever it was, but being human beings, we all hoped it would just go away. At least, that’s what I was thinking.

Then we heard it again.

And again.

And again.

Each time it was closer and the rumbling was more violent. The next time we heard it, it rattled the windows upstairs and made the floor beneath our feet momentarily vibrate. It was the sound of destruction and it was getting closer and closer.

Finally, Billy said, “We better have a look.”

Iris was not saying a thing and Bonnie offered us a very tense shell-shocked sort of look, her eyes huge and glassy, her mouth pulled in a tight line. She said nothing. In fact, at that moment I think she was physically incapable of speech. I followed Billy back upstairs and we crept like thieves in the night. We crossed through the kitchen and Billy pushed open the door into the living room with the barrel of the riot gun. I clicked on my flashlight and panned the light around. The living room was in shambles. The cyclops had destroyed just about everything. We stepped around shattered furniture, broken glass crunching underfoot. We made it over to the missing picture window and heard that rumbling again. Being upstairs, it was much louder now. The house shook and I heard bits of debris falling from the walls.

“Look,” Billy said under his breath.

What I saw was a pod of the sort I had seen earlier. It was moving up the block across the street, a pale pink beam of light scanning the yards and homes and showing me destruction, showing me nothing but wreckage. It was going house to house, tearing each apart. It hovered above the Renfew house, illuminating it with its “eye,” and I could see it was immense. The cyclopses were but smaller, streamlined versions of this monstrosity. Each of them, I figured, was maybe twice the size of your average pickup truck, but the pod was easily a hundred feet across, a gigantic black sphere with literally hundreds of jointed limbs hanging from it.

I saw very clearly how it put them to use.

It studied the Renfew house with its pink orb and then it dropped down on it like some titanic spider. The limbs ended in what looked like threshing hooks. They took hold of the roof and peeled it free in seconds. There was a crashing eruption and the roof—or the rubble it had been reduced to—was torn completely off like the lid from a box. The wreckage was dumped in the yard, a boiling cloud of dust rising up and filling the pod’s beam of light. Several small fires blazed up from the roofless house. The pod moved off slowly to the next house. It had barely left the scene when we saw a dozen cables drop down in the firelight.

We heard screams.

We saw people being pulled up into the sky.

There was no hiding, I knew then. There was no escaping. They could find you anywhere. They had come a long way and they were not going to be denied what they had come for and that was the grim truth of the matter. As the pod moved on, I saw a cyclops come and begin looting the ruins. That was how it worked. The pod tore the houses apart, then the cables came down, and the cyclops searched for stragglers. It was efficient. Very efficient. They could harvest the world that way. A few could hide from them but not any groups or populations. A lone man might have a chance, but how long could you stay by yourself until you starved for company? Human beings are social creatures. We band together. I had no doubt whoever or whatever was behind all this knew that all too well.

We went back downstairs.

There was no point in pretending so we didn’t bother. We told Bonnie and Iris what was going on and how bad things were. Bonnie heard us out, but Iris seemed to have shut down. She just sat there, slumped forward, her head seeming to hang on her skinny neck like a gourd. Bonnie was not easily beaten, but she looked pretty beaten then. She looked from Billy to me, maybe hoping we had a plan, but we didn’t. We both knew we needed to get out of the house. We needed to escape…but escape to where? What place was safe now?

“The only thing I can think of is maybe one of the houses they already went through,” Billy said. “We could sneak into the rubble and wait things out.”

It was an idea and it was the best one I’d heard.

Bonnie nodded. “Okay. It’s our only chance.”

Iris decided to come to life. She lifted up her head, her eyes wide and bright, a grin that looked positively demented opening up her face and making her dentures dangle from her gums. “Come for us,” she said. “Come for us one by one and find us and gobble us up.”

“Stop it,” Bonnie told her.

But she wouldn’t stop. She was like some toy that had been wound by a key and she was bursting with energy, gesticulating with her hands and rolling her shoulders and talking nonstop: “Get us! Get us all! They’ll gobble up me then you and you and you! Gobble, gobble, gobble!” Her eyes were unblinking, glazed with fear. “Nowhere to run! Nowhere to hide! Fish in a bowl plucked out one after the other until there ain’t no fish left!”

“Shut up!” Bonnie snapped.

“Gobble! Gobble! Gobble!” Iris maintained. “And who’s to stop them? Who’s to stand in their way? They’ll take us all and we can’t do a damn thing about it! Gobblegobblegobblegobblegobble—”

“Shut the fuck up!” Bonnie told her.

Iris did. She was wound down again and she slumped back into her chair as if the air had been bled out of her. She looked very old, shrunken, compressed. She made a low sobbing sound in her throat and when Bonnie got control of herself, she tried to comfort her. It was pointless. Iris was gone. Something had given inside her and she was damaged, irreparably damaged. Bonnie tried to hold on to her but it was like trying to comfort a bag of rags. Iris seemed terribly inanimate all of a sudden, an inert mass.

“When do we leave?” Doris said. She was standing in the doorway.

“Soon,” I told her. “We just have to scope out where we’re going.”

We didn’t waste any more time.

We started organizing things: water, food, blankets, first aid, batteries, flashlights and lanterns. We split it all up so no one would have to carry too much. Once we had things ready, we bundled our goods up in blankets and tied them for easy carrying.

“Let’s just go right across the street,” I said to Billy. “The Renfews’ place is burning, but the Petersens’ looks all right. Nice brick house. Pretty solid. Nice furnished basement.”

“Yeah, that’s the one,” Billy agreed.

We told Bonnie to wait with Iris and Doris and the kids while we went up top to scope things out. Billy grabbed the riot gun and I grabbed a little Tekna flashlight. When we got back up to the living room, crouching before the missing picture window among the debris, we saw that the Renfew house was still burning. The fire had grown but I didn’t think it was strong enough to reach over to the Petersens’. The good thing was that the fire threw a lot of light to see by. It was easy to sketch out our route over to the Petersens’. The cables were all gone and I took that as a good sign. Beyond a lot of rubble in the street, an overturned car, and assorted junk in the yard, it looked clear and smooth. We could do it. And we could do it fast. I had no doubt about it.

Billy led the way downstairs. I had just passed through the kitchen when the entire house erupted with a dirty pink light and I knew the end had come.

17

I think Billy said something. I thought I heard him shout but it was lost in the volume of noise that came at me from every quarter. The house shifted, moved, trembled, and I went down on my ass. I heard a metallic screeching as the roof came off my house and then debris—ceiling tiles, lathing, and joists were coming down and the walls were falling in. It felt like the house was folding up like a card table. I can remember screaming and my voice was insignificant against the roaring of the house coming apart around me.

Then the floor gave way and I was sliding down, down, as an avalanche of shattered Sheetrock fell over me. When the house, or the pile of junk it had been reduced to, stopped moving, I saw flames. I saw dust-clogged beams of light playing through the ruins.

Miraculously, I was still gripping the flashlight. I clicked it on and looked around.

I saw cables.

The pod had passed on to its next conquest and the cables had dropped down. One of them was about two feet from me, tangled on a heating duct that was precariously balancing against a section of wall. I was in the furnace room and I didn’t seem to be damaged despite cuts and bruises. I wasn’t pinned down, but I was not daring to move in case that cable worked its way free.

I heard debris shifting, then voices, several voices crying out in sheer terror, and I knew they belonged to the kids because the next voice I heard was clearly Doris’s.

“NO! NO! NO!” she shrieked. “PLEASE PLEASE DEAR GOD NOT MY CHILDREN NOT MY CHILDREN—”

I saw the kids going up on one of the cables. They were screaming and fighting but it was hopeless. I could see their wet, tear-streaked faces. I don’t think I’ll ever stop seeing them if I live another fifty years. Doris, fired by maternal instinct, was caught on the cable about ten feet beneath them, still thrashing, still shrieking. She disappeared up into the darkness and that’s the last I saw of her.

The cable by me was trembling as if it was hungry to latch onto something meaty. I was not going to give it the chance. I figured that sooner or later it would have been pulled back up, but the idea of waiting there for that to happen was unthinkable. I had to get out. Even if it was dangerous and suicidal, I had to get the hell out of my hole one way or another.

There was only one way and I took it.

Shoving the flashlight in my pocket, I carefully crawled up on top of the furnace itself. It was this huge pea-green forced-air monstrosity that I had been planning on getting rid of for years and replacing with an energy-efficient hot-water boiler. I no longer had to fret about that. I got up on it, steadied myself while keeping an eye on the cable. I pulled myself up a section of duct, shimmying slowly, afraid it wouldn’t hold my weight. But it held me. I got up to the main floor that was cracked open, part of it lifted up six inches higher than the rest. Everything had been so thoroughly trashed, I couldn’t even be sure where I was. Then I saw the smashed sarcophagus of the refrigerator in the guttering light and I knew I was in the kitchen. I sidled up to it like it was an old friend, hanging on to it, remembering only too well the windy autumn day fourteen years previously when Kathy and I had picked it out at Sears.

It was then I smelled cigarette smoke.

I was certain of it. Either someone out there had lit up or a stray pack was simply burning. I was hoping beyond hope for the former. I waited, the paranoia in me increased far beyond normal limits. Reality, at least the reality I had known and taken for granted my entire life, had been turned on its head and I trusted nothing. Nothing at all.

Finally, after about ten minutes, I said, “Is somebody there?”

My voice was loud in the silence where there was no sound save for the crackling of fires and the occasional shifting of wreckage.

“Jon?” a voice said and I knew it belonged to Billy. “Jon…is that you?”

The same paranoia I was experiencing underlay his words. He trusted nothing and no one. I told him it was me, hesitantly peeking my head up over the fridge. He came over right away and plopped himself down next to me.

“I can’t find Bonnie,” he said. “She’s either trapped below or they got her.”

There was nothing I could say to that. “Doris and the kids went up,” I said.

He nodded. “I heard her. I saw Iris go up, too. She wasn’t moving. I think she was already dead.”

“Her heart probably gave out.”

I bummed a smoke from him and we sat there in the ruins of my kitchen, backs up against the Kenmore fridge, not speaking at all. We were both exhausted, both worn beyond acceptable limits. I was thinking that six, seven hours before I was sitting on the couch with Kathy joking about the tattoo Bonnie had gotten on her tit. In that short span of time everything had changed. The neighborhood was barely recognizable, our house looked like a deadfall, and Kathy was gone somewhere I couldn’t even guess at. It was this that was going to be hard to wrap my brain around in the days to come, I knew. That change, complete and irrevocable, had happened so quickly.

“You got the time?” I finally said.

Billy offered me his wrist. I could see his watch was smashed. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Gotta be getting near dawn. It has to be.”

Old-world logic. That’s all it was. It could no longer be applied to the nightmare we were trapped in. I knew the smart thing to do, the reasonable and cautious thing, was to get ourselves somewhere safe. Somewhere underground. Somewhere the cables couldn’t get to us if there even could be such a place. But I knew there was no way Billy would leave, not until he was 100% sure Bonnie was beyond help. And I couldn’t imagine leaving until I knew the same.

So we waited.

Some time later Billy said, “Listen.”

It was the last thing I wanted to do and the very thing I knew I had to do. At first, I heard nothing. Then, a sound of debris shifting like something was steadily crawling in our direction. We both sat up and got ready for whatever it might be. The transition from complete apathy and exhaustion to razor-edged terror was almost instantaneous. Billy bunched up next to me like a fist getting ready to strike. Then we heard a sibilant sound that could be nothing but breathing, a ragged sort of breathing.

Billy climbed to his feet, hunched over but rising slowly as if to make a smaller target of himself. “Who…” he began, then: “Bonnie?”

I was up by then.

I saw a shape pulling itself out of the darkness, a human shape moving on its belly like a weary slug. Bands of firelight painted it orange and then it raised its head and it was Bonnie. For a second there, optimism blazed inside me because I thought it was Kathy. I was glad to see Bonnie, but I couldn’t help hoping it was someone a little closer to my heart.

We went over to her and helped her over near the fridge, which had become a sort of rampart for us. She looked like we did: clothes torn, face smudged with dirt, her hair white from plaster dust. She coughed a couple times and then looked at us, seeming to realize for the first time who we were. Her eyes were translucent, the flames reflected in them.

“I heard voices,” she said. “I kept crawling towards them.” She forced a small, hoarse laugh. “I could use a cold drink. It feels like I could spit cotton.”

I barked out a laugh and Billy forced the fridge open. It made a creaking noise like the door to a crypt. Everything was heaped and scattered inside, but we found bottled water, a block of cheddar cheese, and the leftover steaks from the party. We were quite a sight, I bet. Three desperate, filthy creatures gnawing on cheese and meat in the glow of the fire. As I watched them eat, something told me that I was looking at the future of the race. It was back to the caves. At least for a time.

After we finished eating, we all felt a little more human.

“I say we go back to plan A,” Billy said, “and get over to the Petersens’. We can’t just sit around out in the open like this.”

We agreed with him. He told us to wait and he’d scout it out. He grabbed a burning stick and held it up like a torch. He slipped through the rubble very quietly as if he’d been doing it for most of his life. Bonnie and I waited there, tense and expectant; then about ten minutes later we saw his torch coming back to us.

“Piece of cake,” he said.

He told us there were no cables anywhere that he could see. No cyclops lights in the distance. Maybe those things had pushed on and maybe they were gone altogether. He stood there, waiting for us. That’s how I see him in my mind now. A big rugged guy, his boot up on the overturned stove, a friendly and reassuring smile on his face, the remains of my garage burning behind him. That’s how I’ll always see him.

“I heard something,” Bonnie said. She was looking around with quick, jerky motions like a frightened chipmunk.

Billy cocked his head to hear.

I just listened…and, yes, I heard it, too. A buzzing. Not so much like insects but more like that of a streetlight. The way you can hear them on street corners at three in the morning when there are no other sounds to mask them. It was like that. We heard it, and then it was gone. It seemed to fade in the distance like the buzz of a locust—very loud, then fading to nothing. I didn’t like it. I don’t think any of us liked it. We had all lived on Piccamore Way for years and there was nothing that made that sort of sound.

At least, nothing natural.

I helped Bonnie up. Billy had a very concerned look on his face and I’m sure it matched our own. We got to our feet and Bonnie, still a little wobbly, leaned against me. Then the buzzing sound came back and it was all around us. It wasn’t so much loud as continuous and insistent, an electronic noise that went right up my spine and the reason for it became very obvious.

I heard Billy say, “Shit.”

Somehow, he saw it first. It seemed like there was nothing there and then I blinked my eyes and it was mere feet from him. Bonnie gasped and we both froze up, trembling. Hovering about four feet off the ground by Billy was what looked like an immense brown leather sack, wrinkly yet shiny. It was buzzing. My first thought was that it was harmless, my second that it was the most horrible-looking thing I had ever seen. About the only way I can adequately describe it is to say it looked very much like the brown abdomen of a spider, the spherical rear body section. If you’ve ever seen a particularly well-fed house spider with a large, swollen abdomen, then you know what I mean. It looked like that, spider-ish, save it lacked a cephalothorax and legs…and it was easily fifteen feet across.

And it dangled there like a black widow on a thread of web.

Bonnie let out a cry and I saw four appendages spring out of the sphere. They were long, black and shiny, jointed like the legs of a crab, and they ended in something similar to grappling hooks, each with two gleaming claws or flukes. This all happened in seconds. Billy made to move and the hooks lashed out and seized him, the flukes gripping him like fingers. He was lifted off the ground. He cried out not so much in pain but in surprise.

Bonnie screamed.

A split second after he was hoisted into the air, an orifice opened in the center of the sack. It looked like the puckering mouth of an old lady without her teeth in. The orifice irised open and I saw a bloodred orb the size of a softball that looked as juicy as a fresh cherry. It was an evil thing like the eye of a witch or a demon. A wire-thin beam of red light came out of it. I saw it shoot between Billy’s legs and then it was drawn upward quickly. As it struck him, I heard a sizzling and Billy split right open like a hot dog on a grill. He cried out only once. His back was to us and I was grateful for that. The hooks jerked and Billy was peeled like an orange, his skin pulled back from what was beneath.

I remember Bonnie going to her knees, shrieking.

I remember a mist of blood in the air rolling out at us like a patch of fog, seemingly in slow motion, beads of it breaking wetly against my face. More appendages came out of the thing. They were metal and cutting and I smelled a hot, vile stink like blood boiled to steam. They made a noise like the stitching needles of an industrial sewing machine. I heard a wet tearing, a sound like chicken bones plucked from a boiled carcass. It all happened very quickly. Within seconds, the thing seemed to absorb Billy and vanish into the darkness.

It left behind a steaming pile of white bones.

There was not a drop of blood on them. They had been expertly vacuumed clean.

Bonnie was rocking back and forth, sobbing and hysterical. I dropped next to her, all the cheese and steak I had gnawed on coming out in a hot stinking gush of bile. It took me a minute or two to clear my head and accept what I had just seen, which seemed impossible—in a matter of seconds Billy had been filleted, thoroughly de-boned.

Suddenly, Bonnie jumped to her feet.

She was up before I could stop her. I had no idea what was going on in her head. She had seen not only her world turned inside out but her husband as well—literally—and that kind of trauma can do dangerous, scary things to people. I have no doubt she was unbalanced. That when she saw those cables drop down she didn’t really mean to run at them, to get herself tangled in them, to commit suicide. That she was probably fueled by rage and frustration.

That’s what I like to think.

Once the leathery sack took the remains of Billy away, it must have signaled to the great collector above us that there were more humans below. Regardless, the cables dropped, Bonnie lost it…and well you can guess the rest. She screamed and I think I might have, too. She got stuck to two of them. One had glued her arm and the other her leg. They took her up fast. By the time I even got close, she was disappearing into the darkness high above.

I think I kind of lost it myself.

Kathy was gone. My neighbors were gone. The whole town and state and country and world for all I knew. I had watched our little band of survivors get taken one by one. The worst of it was seeing Billy get taken apart and then Bonnie yanked up into the dark. Like I said, I think I kind of lost it.

I ran around through the rubble, calling out for help, needing to hook up with another human being because the idea of being alone, being the last one, was more than I could bear. And whatever was above—I like collector—maybe was listening because cables began to drop around me. If I had been in my right state of mind, I would have run away, found somewhere safe to hide, but I wasn’t and I didn’t.

The cables were everywhere.

I felt used-up and broken. I found that I was edging closer to one of them, staring at it, fixated on it. I don’t honestly think it was the cable’s doing, but some weird self-hypnotic thing that made me reach out and touch it. There’s no good explanation for any of it. None at all. The self-destructive urge we all feel from time to time just became so strong, and I was so weak, that I just went with it.

I touched the cable.

Just with my fingertips, but I did touch it. There was nothing. It felt like cool rubber. I couldn’t imagine anything as harmless as that damn cable. It wanted me to grip it. I know it did. It wasn’t some inert and harmless thing. I knew it wasn’t, but I couldn’t seem to convince myself of it at that moment.

So I gripped it with my hand.

Yes, then I knew why Al had looked like he had been shocked when he touched it. It had gone from being cool to hot as the jelly oozed out and webbed my hand to it. I can’t say that the heat was unpleasant because it felt very nice. There was a certain tactile pleasure to the thickness of the cable in my hand, the heat of it, the engulfing goo.

I was screwed and I knew it.

“All right,” I said. “Let’s get this fucking done with already.”

About two seconds later, the cable vibrated, jerked a couple of times and then it was going up and I was going with it, higher and higher and higher.

18

The farther up I went, the more scared I became. The idiotic suicidal nature of what I had done really took hold and I fought and thrashed like a trout being reeled up out of the depths. I had no idea how high I was taken. But suddenly I felt rather than saw something immense above me. It was then I remembered the little Tekna flashlight in my pocket. I pulled it out and clicked it on.

The collector.

I was being towed up to it. At first, it was just a gigantic dark shape that I again likened to an aircraft carrier. Then as I got closer and closer to it, I could see it in some detail, not the entire thing, of course, because it was just too big. But enough of it to marvel over its alien-ness. Machines on Earth tend to be smooth-shelled things, but this was not smooth. It was knobby and jagged and irregular, looking more like something carved roughly from black-green quartz than anything else. And set in that serrated skin I saw what looked like open manholes that the cables fed into. Dozens and dozens of them. The underside of the collector craft was pitted with them as if it had been worked on by some gigantic drill press. They went on farther than the light could reach. I don’t think the idea of hundreds or even thousands of them is too far off the mark.

The cable pulled me through one of those openings and I felt a sudden pressure as I passed through like I had just breached some invisible membrane. Then I was inside. I couldn’t see much of anything even with the flashlight. It was absolutely cavernous in there. I was still being pulled upwards, to what fate I couldn’t even guess at. I was listening for screams, the sound of all those people that had been captured being horribly used.

But there was nothing.

The silence was ominous.

It seemed I would go up forever, and then there was a sudden hollow sort of thudding sound and it stopped. I was just dangling there. I pointed the flashlight up and I could see the cable fed into a long groove set in a ceiling of that quartz-looking material. There were other cables around me that fed into similar apertures. Then my cable was moving. With dizzying speed it followed the groove above and went on and on. I felt oddly like a garment at a dry cleaner’s, the cable being my hanger and the groove above the sliding track system they use.

There was a sudden low grinding from somewhere in the bowels of the collector and everything shook. I was swinging back and forth on my cable, my stomach in my throat. It came again and I was aware of a trembling seesawing motion. Something was going on, but I didn’t know what. I had the oddest sense that whatever it was, it was not on purpose. Finally, the cable stopped and the goo on my hand became very cold and then it wasn’t there at all as if it had evaporated.

Then I dropped.

It wasn’t far. I fell maybe ten feet into a swirling warm pocket of air that held me aloft but didn’t keep my head from spinning with vertigo. The flashlight showed me I was in a funnel and I was slowly, slowly going down and down and then I was tugged into a tube, still held aloft by the warm air, but now being sucked down the tube whose walls were beaded like the flesh of a lizard. I tried to fight against it, but it was pointless. I could move. I could kick out with my legs and thrash with my arms, but there was no way to stop the forward progress.

Then ahead, the tube opened and I could see some sort of horrible machinery that looked like three spinning wheels with jagged teeth. I panicked and fought, but I was going in there. I was going to be processed like the rest.

And then—

Then I heard that grinding noise again, only it was louder now, echoing through the tube with maximum volume. I was spinning. The collector was moving in fits and jerks and I had the sense that we were falling. Then there was an impact and I bounced around in my column of air, buffeted softly, never hitting anything.

The air stream cut out and I fell to the bottom of the tube.

I felt vibrations and smelled a burning stink that reminded me of blown fuses and melted wiring. It was pungent and sickening. The spinning wheels ahead were not moving. I didn’t know what had happened, but I was certain the collector had seized up.

I wasted no time.

I ran down the tube until I reached the funnel. I could see the opening of it at least thirty or forty feet above. The funnel walls were made of that same beaded material. If it hadn’t been for that, I would never have been able to climb out. It would have been impossible. I climbed up to the lip. It took some time.

Then what?

That was the thing. I didn’t know what to do. I had to find a way out. I could no longer feel a sense of motion and I was pretty sure the collector had either crashed or set down somewhere. How long I had was anyone’s guess. I climbed down from the funnel and found an uneven walkway of sorts, though I’m sure that’s not what it was. I followed it deeper into the collector along a V-shaped trough that was filled with some kind of rancid, slopping waste. I squeezed between high walls and after a time, the passage opened and I was in a room the size of a huge amphitheater. To either side of me were colossal vats or boilers hooked to a maze of pipes that reached above and away.

The room had to have been an easy three stories tall, the ceiling a network of diamond-shaped beams and narrow walkways and overlapping grids. The vats were big enough to boil station wagons in. I walked among them, staring with something like awe at those huge vessels and their snaking tubes and pipes and coiled hoses. I listened to them hissing and bubbling and simmering. They were warm to the touch and looked like gigantic deep-sea squids with all those tubes and conduits twisting above and around and to either side.

That I was in a factory, I didn’t doubt.

And the farther I went, the more obvious things became. It was like being in a human cannery, but instead of fish guts, scales, and sea slime on the floor, there was three inches of accumulated blood, fat, and offal, the by-products of the rendering process. The stench was unimaginable and sickening. The stink of acids and oils, stabilized fats and raw tallow, embalming fluids and preservatives, human grease and hair and bone.

This place was a slaughterhouse.

I stumbled along, my hand covering my nose and mouth as I pushed through an envelope of odors that reminded me a little too much of the smell of a clogged drain—a heavy, meaty odor of blood and tissue and dissolving fat that was moist and nauseating.

As I panned around with my light, I became even more convinced that something had happened, some sort of mechanical failure. Some of the vats looked damaged and the hoses and conduits above were blackened as if from fire. As the smell worsened, I came to a vat that had literally burst open…ribbons of steam were escaping the bubbling witch’s cauldron. They blew in my face in a burning, repulsive wave that almost brought me to my knees. It was the stink of putrefaction, of carrion stewing in its own rancid juices. A rank, foaming stew of something dark and oily and vile had leaked out. There was a great pool of it whose surface was clotted with great islands of creamy-looking fat and gobs of hair.

I couldn’t stand it.

I started running and the vats went on forever. Finally, the air grew chill. Not just drafty, but actually frigid like the wind from an icebox. I pushed on and it got colder. I moved through a high archway and I felt that sense of pressure again as when the cable pulled me through the opening into the collector. Another palpable but invisible membrane or bubble. A blast of arctic air fell over me and made me suck in my breath in quick, short gasps.

I was in a freezer, a cold storage area. Every meat-packaging house has one. Before me were rows upon rows upon rows of what looked like long, heavy plastic bags covered in frost that hung from hooks. I walked among them, looking, looking. When I got up the nerve, I went up to one and brushed away the frost to see what was inside.

I almost went to my knees again.

I knew what I would see, but a dark terror still roiled through me. I was staring at the face of a woman, stretched out, exaggerated, boneless. She had been shaven bald, twined up with wire, and stuck in that heavy transparent bag. Nothing but a package of meat.

I went to the next bag and then the next and the next. Men, women, and, yes, children. I wandered among those sides of human beef, taking it all in, letting the horror fill me like poison until it began to seep out of me. I had no idea how many bodies were in that endless black chamber, but I was certain there were thousands. The entire population of the town at least. Somewhere, I knew, was Kathy and Billy and Bonnie and all the others.

I took out my jackknife and tried to puncture one of the bags. It felt much like polyethylene. I managed to slit it after some sawing and there was a hissing of air either rushing in or out. But the most disturbing thing was that the bag was bleeding. A thin trickle of some pale blue liquid was dribbling from the slit.

I guess I panicked then.

I freaked out.

I backed away from the bag and bumped into another and then flinched, stumbling into yet another. And suddenly it seemed I was lost among them, lost in a forest of icy body bags and they were swinging from their hooks and bumping into me and brushing my back and arms and I fought and pushed my way through, seeing meat locker faces pressed up against the plastic material and feeling their hideous swinging weight. I fell to the ground and crawled on my hands and knees until I was clear of the freezer again.

I made it out of the chamber, gasping and shaking, a raw knot constricting in my belly.

I kept running. I had no idea where I was going. I slipped on the waxy, greasy floor once and plunged into the fetid, stygian depths of some kind of collection pool. A noxious pool of fat and filth and bones breaking the surface like they were clawing their way from quicksand.

The bones were human, of course.

I was pretty much out of my mind by then. My skin felt like it was scummy with human grease. My nostrils were thick with its stink. My flesh was crawling and my belly was filled with tar. I don’t remember much, only running, stumbling, and crawling until I finally fell out of one of the holes that brought me in.

I recall hitting the ground and running from the immense, towering shape of the dead collector.

19

That’s all there is.

That’s really all there is.

I’m sitting on my porch now and looking out at the ruined houses across the street and the gargantuan shell of the crashed and disabled collector beyond. It took out eight square blocks. They were flattened beneath it. In the light of day, it still looks like a gigantic block of quartz, jagged and crystalline, completely lacking any earthly symmetry. It does not even look like a machine. It looks like some kind of crazy crashed asteroid. Even its surface is burnt in places, cracked and broken and punched in with what almost look like meteor impacts. Who sent it and from where it came and how long ago that might have been is anyone’s guess.

Its nature is obvious.

It was an automated factory ship, an extraterrestrial version of a long-liner, a deep-sea trawler. As our fleets go great distances to remote fishing grounds to harvest the depths of the ocean, the collector and its kind go unimaginable distances through the depths of interstellar space to remote worlds to harvest entire populations. The journeys might last a thousand years or ten thousand or ten million for that matter. And like our fleets, now and again a ship doesn’t make it back.

The one I’m looking at will be grounded here forever, I suppose.

As a science teacher, it makes me think. Not just about who might have built it and where it came from and what kind of propulsion might drive it or what sort of software package might do its thinking, but how long this has been going on. Maybe I’m reaching, but I keep thinking about the mass extinctions on our planet. There have been five major extinction events. The K-T extinction—Cretaceous-Tertiary—that everyone hears about was the last one. It took out the dinosaurs and the giant sea reptiles and flying reptiles 66,000,000 years ago, allowing for the mammals to rise and man to evolve. Before that, the Triassic-Jurassic event left dinosaurs as the dominant land animals. And before that, the Permian-Triassic event some 250,000,000 years ago closed the Paleozoic era and wiped out 95% of the species on the planet. Before these were the Devonian and Silurian events.

You get the picture.

Life forms disappear from the fossil record with unsettling regularity in the greater scheme of geologic time and I believe another has followed suit.

This has been going on as long as there has been life on the planet. I have to wonder if the fleets of collectors didn’t have something to do with it. I keep wondering what sort of creatures built these things and if they even exist anymore. They might have died out a long, long time ago. Their star system might not even exist anymore. But the machines exist. They keep doing what they’re programmed to do and will until another singularity like the Big Bang destroys time and space and matter as we know it.

Theoretical as all hell, I know. But I do wonder.

It would answer a lot of questions.

I’ve been broadcasting on a ham radio setup powered by my generator for six weeks now. I haven’t received a reply. I’m pretty sure no one is left to transmit. I think I witnessed what may some day be known as the Holocene extinction event, which closes out the Cenozoic era. I wonder what will fill the vacuum of man as mammals filled the vacuum of the dinosaurs. What evolved ancestors of creatures out there right now will rise up and dominate the world. Some day in the far distant future, they’ll study the rocks and put together the history of man and the extinction event that destroyed him. Maybe they’ll even be wise enough—unlike us—to know their turn is coming.

Regardless, I’ve lived through the Holocene extinction as I suppose some dinosaurs survived the K-T extinction. In their own simple way, they must have wondered what the hell had happened and where everyone had gone just as I’m wondering now.

Forget the Bible and the rest of that, this is the greatest story ever told.

I only wish there was someone left to tell it to.

About the Author

Tim Curran hails from Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. A full-time wage zombie in a factory, he collects vintage punk rock, metal, and rockabilly records in his spare time.

He is the author of the novels Skin Medicine, Hive, Dead Sea, Resurrection, Skull Moon, The Devil Next Door, Hive 2: The Spawning, Graveworm, and Biohazard. His short stories have been collected in Bone Marrow Stew and Zombie Pulp. His novellas include Fear Me, The Underdwelling, The Corpse King, and Puppet Graveyard. His short stories have appeared in such magazines as City Slab, Flesh&Blood, Book of Dark Wisdom, and Inhuman, as well as anthologies such as Flesh Feast, Shivers IV, High Seas Cthulhu, and, Vile Things. His latest book is a new novel from DarkFuse, Long Black Coffin. Upcoming projects include the novels Hag Night and Witch Born, and a second short story collection, Cemetery Wine. Find him on the web at: www.corpseking.com.

About the Publisher

DarkFuse is a leading independent publisher of modern fiction in the horror, suspense and thriller genres. As an independent company, it is focused on bringing to the masses the highest quality dark fiction, published as collectible limited hardcover, paperback and eBook editions.

To discover more titles published by DarkFuse, please visit its official site at www.darkfuse.com.

Other Books by Author

Blood, Bones and Bullets

Deadlock

Long Black Coffin

Nightcrawlers

Sow

Worm

Check out the author’s official page at DarkFuse for a complete list:

http://www.darkfuseshop.com/Tim-Curran/

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Copyright

First Edition

Blackout © 2014 by Tim Curran

All Rights Reserved.

A DarkFuse Release

www.darkfuse.com

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Content

Tim Curran
BLACKOUT

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