Behind the Fire: A Dark Thriller (13 page)

The thing was still growing. Its red-black sunken eyes and hollowed nose were now the size of a small car. The long, twisting arm-things sprawled across the ceiling moved outward. Good thing Bobby had built so many stacks.

Need. Through. Carbon. Wait. Time. Gone.

A sudden burst of bright blue-white startled Emily, causing her to stagger backward, jolting her heart along with her vision. For one horrible second she imagined the black thing had exploded, but when she opened her eyes and looked, the black arms were still above them, prodding and twisting.

She realized then the flash was Bobby igniting The Dragon. He bent forward, lowering the flame shooting from it to the pallets. The wood and cardboard ignited and then exploded into a blaze. She rushed instinctively forward to grab her husband and pull him away. This was rapidly descending into dangerous chaos—like it had really been so orderly before. Then suddenly she saw the real danger.

The roof could easily collapse with the fire flaring so quickly.

Up until now, she’d convinced herself this was some kind of grand adventure. But grand adventures were camping, and staying up late, and sneaking into the bedroom with Bobby when the kids were still awake. Not this. Not standing in the middle of a mini-tornado, fighting things that crawled through black holes and could get inside your head.

She tried to signal to Bobby, point to the ceiling and the advancing flames.

“Hang on, Em,” Bobby yelled over the wind and the buzzing.

She heard his words as though they were filtered through a thin wall. She tried to pull at him, but he shrugged her hand away and walked The Dragon up the row of pallets, stopping methodically at every stack to set fire to wood. With each touch, flames burst from the dried heaps and leaped upward as though desperate to escape their wooden bonds.

The droning voice in Emma’s brain had grown in increments, an orchestra of words and emotions building to a crescendo. If it didn’t stop soon, a collapsing ceiling wouldn’t matter.

Carbon. Need. Through. Wait. Time. Gone.

The entire row of pallets now burned, leaping, and connecting into a wall of flame. It took only thirty seconds for the heat to become uncomfortable and terrifying. Emma backed away from the blaze, but she did not intend to leave Bobby. If they died, they died together.

Bobby turned, running toward her, whirling back to face the creature when he reached her side.

“See how it likes that little welcome.”

Emma looked at her husband, his face red not only with the exertion of running, but infused with what she realized was the heat of the battle.

He was enjoying this.

Just like on Old River Road, the change in the black thing occurred almost immediately. The dark hole behind the creature began to shrink, as with each writhing movement it dissolved back into the blackness. Very quickly all that remained was a shimmer behind the wall of flame.

The row of crates was completely ablaze. Flames roared and jumped to the beams above, which ignited instantly with the mere touch of the hot white-yellow licks.

To Emily’s relief, the voices receded with the shrinking of the creature, the pressure in her head diminishing with each passing second.

As Bobby put his arm around her and turned them both toward the door, Emily could have sworn she heard the faintest of words echo in her mind before tailing away to silence.

Time … gone …

Then, as they burst through the doorway into the calm freshness of the night, away from the heat and smoke and the exploding and cracking of wood, one last word entered her mind.

Help.

Chapter 17

Bobby gripped the arms of the chair so hard he felt the metal studs in the leather imprinting his skin. If he didn’t hold on for dear life, any minute now he’d lose it and leap out of the chair to rush at the state prosecutor mercilessly harassing Em.

His wife was becoming more distressed, twisting her hands like she was wringing sweat from her palms, the way she always did when she got herself worked up. Who could blame her, with everyone in the courtroom staring at her like she was an amusement arcade freak, while this joker laughed at everything she said?

It was her idea to hide the truth. He didn’t know why she’d suddenly snapped and spilled everything. A mistake.
There is none so blind as those who will not see.
He’d always told her that. Then again, he’d almost done the same thing, so how could he blame her?

Once she’d started talking he’d realized by the reactions of those in the courtroom it was pointless. Nobody would believe them. Everyone wanted to believe up was up, the world was round, and coal seams occasionally collapsed and disappeared of their own accord.

Although according to the Karlgarin Miner, a
world expert
scientist, who’d stayed in the town and studied the accident for weeks, still couldn’t explain what had happened down there. His
exper
t guess was a chemical trapped within the coal and released during the mining process had dissolved it clear away.

Good luck when you send those samples for further testing,
Bobby thought.

“So what do you think these messages meant?” the joker asked Em. “These words
buzzing
inside your head, what did you take from them?
Buzzing,
that was the word you used, if I’m not mistaken.”

Em squared her shoulders against his mocking and met his stare. As distraught as Bobby knew she was, he noted a straightening of her posture, a boldness as she answered.

“Bobby said he didn’t care what the words meant. He said whatever their troubles were, they could take them somewhere else. After what they’d already done to the mine. To Jimmy. The only way we were helping them was to travel back to hell.”

“But what do
you
think, Mrs. Jessup? Didn’t you say you heard the word …
help
?” He paused before saying
help
, so everyone understood he didn’t believe a word she’d said, or would say.

Bobby closed his eyes and imagined what the future would be like for their children if they couldn’t finish what they’d started—if they couldn’t stop the black thing at the final address. One more. He believed that’s all it would take.

That’s what he and Em thought. Somehow—and he could never say how they knew—he and Em understood whatever these things were, these invaders, it was their
time
that was gone.

Maybe they had a spaceship with only enough energy left to get them through these last few black holes. Or there were only thirteen of the things, and each time they stopped them, they didn’t just go back to their world, or their dimension, or hell; they just died. Bobby knew these black things, with no business in their world,
were
running out of time.

They’d figured this out because each time they set fire to houses, mobile homes, and even the supermarket, and stopped them, the buzzing words grew more insistent. They had become screams. What was acutely recognizable was the sound of desperation.

Now they were one fire short of capping the whole thing and finishing the job. There was so little time and their plans were more guesswork than solid preparation. So they were left working with what they’d been dealt.

Bobby glanced at the clock on the wall, one of those analog ones with big numerals clicking down, which fell into place at the change of the minute. The all-important clock, ticking down life as they knew it, seemed to hang there, a larger-than-life version of itself.

Another digit clicked in. In his head, he heard it like the sound of a falling metal board, clanging as it fell into place.

3.25 p.m.

Bobby’s heart filled with pride, as he heard Em answer the joker’s last question with such grace. He even smiled. God, he loved that woman.

“Bobby is the bravest man I’ve ever known,” said Em. “You know, it doesn’t matter if you believe us or not, it won’t stop it from happening.”

“Oh, and what’s going to happen, Mrs. Jessup? I’m sure everyone would like to know.”

The joker then walked back to the table and with a flourish sat himself down in his chair, stretching his legs straight out into the aisle. If anyone wanted to pass they’d need to step over him and pardon themselves to the king.

He spread his arms wide. “Tell us, Mrs. Jessup. We are all ears.”

“You’ll find out,” said Em.

The joker turned toward the Judge and asked, “Your Honor, can you please direct the witness to answer the question … especially since it sounds like we may all be in danger.” He snorted out a chuckle.

Em glanced at the clock just as Bobby had done only a minute ago. He followed her gaze. Now a minute later.
3.26.
When he looked back at her he saw her hands clenched impossibly tight, held before her mouth. At least she’d stopped wringing them together.

Em tore her stare away from the clock, leaned forward, and looked over to Bobby. When their eyes met, the murmurs of the courtroom, the voice of the joker, everything that wasn’t them, became white noise.

Em nodded. Bobby nodded. Simple actions, but both understood in the next seconds their nightmare would end or a new one would begin.

Em’s attorney called, “Objection. Badgering the witness.”

In complete contrast to Em’s attorney, Bobby’s wore a K-Mart suit, unfashionable tie, and too-short pants. He would seem an odd choice for legal representation, losing more cases than he’d won. They’d chosen carefully after following him through several lunch breaks and after work—where he spent many nights at Rooklen’s Bar.

He was perfect.

Bobby smelled the thick, stale tang of cigarettes on the man’s rumpled jacket. The fingers touching Bobby’s sleeve in acknowledgement were tinged nicotine-yellow.

Inside the attorney’s briefcase lay a pack of Marlboros and a lighter. Bobby knew this because he noticed them each time they’d taken a break over the past few days. In fact, at every recess the man would rush from the courtroom to stand on the steps outside. Sometimes he did this before he even spoke to Bobby. Bobby didn’t care.

His performance didn’t matter.

Bobby’s eyes focused again on the clock as the new minute number dropped into its slot.

3.27.

As the moment ticked in, an almost imperceptible movement of air in the front of the courtroom began.

Then it was gone.

A beat later, it came again. This time stronger. A few papers fluttered on the judge’s desk and the attorney’s tables.

A murmur of voices arose around Bobby. He looked over at Em. Her hands were clasped together and pressed against her lips as though she were praying. Then she pushed them forward, blowing him a kiss and a silent
good luck.

Bobby returned his focus to the attorney beside him. In his periphery, he glimpsed and heard people begin to rise from their seats and move. The room filled with the sound of falling bags and other items, which seconds before had been held on laps or perched on benches.

To the right of the judge a dark shimmer had appeared. The shimmer morphed into a dark shadow. In seconds, it grew to the familiar shape Bobby and Em had described, blue and black, and alive around the edges like a terrible blemish of horror. The nose and eyes emerged through the mass. This one had a long, wide, Cheshire cat mouth.

Bobby’s attorney half-turned to him, his stare locked on the black thing, their faces so close it felt intimate. The man’s mouth was open and round, an unasked question hanging there; the words stuck on his tongue. He had the wild look of a man who’d seen a ghost—or maybe a thing become real that only seconds before he imagined was simply a crazy story.

The wind kicked up something crazy. Slips of paper and rubbish, and random items not held down danced around the courtroom, bouncing against walls and alighting on desks before swirling back again into the melee.

A woman screamed. Then a chain reaction began, rolling over those inside the room. People became a shouting, shrieking, hysterical mob as the entire courtroom erupted into a chaotic scene of stampeding people and spinning debris.

Bobby heard the familiar words burrowing into his brain. The sound was shattering. Now there were only two. The words repeated frantically, ran into each other—

Time-gone-time-gone-time-gone—

Bobby turned to his attorney, now madly attempting to rise from his seat but struggling against the wind’s ferocity. The man shouted something to him, but the turbulence whisked away his words.

Placing his hand firmly on the terrified man’s arm, Bobby leaned in close, his lips almost touching the attorney’s neck. He repeatedly jabbed his finger at the battered black briefcase sitting between them and shouted, “Get me your lighter. We have a job to do.”

Sometimes fact is stranger than fiction, or it’s the spark for fiction.

Behind the Fire
first alighted upon me (excuse the pun) via a newspaper article. A local paper ran the story of a Kalgoorlie (Western Australia) husband and wife, Alan Robert Sloane, thirty, and Rebecca Louise Sloane, thirty, who were on trial for serial arson.