Out of the Shadows (10 page)

“Hold on to me, Mary! Hold on as tight as you can, and don’t let go!”

I ran as hard as my legs would carry us, my arms clutched around the girl, my gun in my hand. When I approached the edge, I leapt toward the escape stairwell, hoping that Mary would be able to hold on if I needed to grasp something. Through the air we flew as I braced for a painful impact. We began to descend, falling below the fifth story escape, but landing sloppily on the floor below, scraping the hell out of my free hand that I had used as a brace.

The rickety metal stairwell groaned in protest at the collision, and I heard a loud metal
clank
below as the ladder on the second floor released and lowered to the ground. I watched in horror as the torrent of creatures began pouring up the fire escape, only two floors below and rapidly closing the distance.

As I regained my footing, I limped frantically up the stairs, having mildly injured my ankle in the foolish leap. Up I scrambled, Mary dying in my arms, the mob giving chase.

Floor five.

Now six.

Seven –
almost there!

I tripped and fell forward at the top of the eighth floor, bracing the fall with my free hand. I quickly jumped back to my feet, the creatures only one floor behind. I glanced below and saw a monsoon of black spiders scurrying up the side of the headquarters building, an ebb and flow of horror racing to reach the shore of the rooftop, hoping to take hold and drag me out with the tides of madness, drowning me in the sea of death.

I was at the ninth floor now, with only one more flight until freedom. A hand grasped my ankle suddenly, and I nearly fell again. By the time I glanced back to see the charred alien leader grasping my foot, her teeth were already clamping down onto my leg, and excruciating pain swept through my calf.

Bang, bang!

I fired two shots into her head, ending her horrid existence.

Bang!

Another shot into the guy behind her.

Bang-bang-bang!

I angrily crippled the people closest on the stairwell, making them fall limply, temporarily blocking the path of the others. I saw the horde of spiders rushing in waves up the side of the building, like a giant body of turbulent black water. They were all after us, and they wouldn’t stop until they got what they wanted. In a grotesque show of gravity-defying acrobatics, the arachnid mass began to morph itself into another giant beast like the one that had terrorized us in the forest outside of Gravediggers.

I didn’t allow myself the time to rationalize everything that had just taken place and what it meant for my immediate future. Ignoring the searing nerves in the bloody leg wound, I charged up the final flight of steps, climbing up onto the police headquarters rooftop.

At the far end was the helipad, the Mi-17 military chopper’s blades spinning forcefully. I saw the wheels of the landing gear rise up as the helicopter began to liftoff.

“No, wait!” I screamed, hobbling painfully toward our fleeing safety net. I knew they could not hear me. I could barely hear myself over the din of the windy torrent from the blades. “Please wait! I have a sick girl! Wait!”

I pushed myself to go harder and faster, knowing that it would likely be the death of me. As I ran, I fired my gun into the air, hoping to attract their attention.

Through the window, I saw a man clothed in Army attire take notice of me. His eyes grew wide as he saw me charging toward the chopper, a bleeding girl in my arms. He tapped the pilot in front of him and pointed out the window toward us. In a flash, the vehicle proceeded to lower once more. But as the wheels touched back down to the helipad, I saw the pilot’s eyes grow in horror.

Behind me, a massive spider leg reached up from the side of the building and pulled its thirty-foot heft up onto the rooftop, hundreds of thousands of tiny spiders skittering gleefully over one another to form the gargantuan arachnid beast that now towered over me. Bathed in the horrific shadow of evil, I saw the rooftop door slam open, and a river of husks rushed toward me. One look at the pilot’s face, and I knew:

He was going to leave us.

“Please!” I begged, my lip quivering. “Please wait!”

Suddenly, the deafening roar of an F-15 Eagle fighter jet soared overhead, and I caught a glimpse of four missiles strapped to its undercarriage. The “neutralization” package.

But the jet didn’t launch its payload; instead, it made a wide berth and circled back around toward HQ, firing bursts from its automatic weapons into the giant spider amalgamation, forcing it to stumble backward. The fighter pilot was trying to give the helicopter more time!

As rescue grew nearer, I could see the soldier seated behind the chopper pilot grow agitated, and I assumed he was arguing with him about waiting for us.

The helicopter began to rise into the air once more.

“No!” I bellowed. “Stop!”

I kept running, willing to jump over the edge of the roof if it meant I might reach out and grab the wheel of the helicopter and take Mary to safety.

The Army man behind the pilot grew angry now, and he flung the side door open, waving his arm frantically for me to move faster. Inside, I spotted about ten other civilians and a few more military members looking on in terror at the mob closing in on them.

“Please save the girl!” I begged of them, my eyes wet with exhaustion.

The chopper gained height, and I was only a few feet away. The soldier in the open doorway reached his hands out as far as he dared, trying desperately to help when the pilot would not. Using every last ounce of remaining strength in my arm muscles, I lifted Mary into the sky, running toward our fleeing rescuers.

And suddenly, she was flying.

She was no longer in my grasp, and I watched as the soldier pulled the little girl into the helicopter. I saw the tears cascading down her face as she looked at me, reaching one weak hand in my direction, mouthing one word over and over again through her weak sobs: “Bear… Bear… Bear…”

Two of the other soldiers quickly opened a first aid kit and started addressing her grievous wounds. As the chopper pulled farther away from my reach, I saw the soldier look at me with such apologetic sorrow, and then he pulled the door shut once more.

I felt intense relief, the immense weight finally lifted from my exhausted shoulders. I did it. I saved the girl. And that was good enough for me.

As the whirlwind of safety glided effortlessly away from me, the wind calmed to a dull breeze that chilled the copious sweat beads on my skin. In my chest, my heart contracted furiously, fighting to push life through my veins, trying foolishly to keep pace with my exertions. I inhaled as deeply as I was able, but my body needed more oxygen than I allowed, so the inevitable exhale forced itself from my lips prematurely.

The ever-rising sun crested farther up the eastern horizon as I experienced a dawning of my own:

I am alone.

I stood on the edge of the roof, staring into the waters of the rushing river ten stories below. From behind, I heard them coming for me, but I didn’t look back. I clutched the grip of my handgun more tightly, ensuring my clammy palm didn’t lose its traction. I didn’t dare holster it in the back of my pants; the scalding muzzle would have seared the skin on my tailbone. How many bullets were left in it? I couldn’t remember. It had all happened too quickly to keep track.

God, I wanted a drink. It had been too long since the delicious burn of whiskey had singed my throat and lit my stomach afire.

I felt the sticky warmth of blood rolling down my muscled leg and into my shoe, and the flayed skin around the wound tingled. I’d been bitten, but was that fact alone the nail in my coffin? I had no idea. I’d been quick to remove the threat, and I couldn’t recall seeing any spiders crawl from her mouth and enter my wound. I’d be sure to save one bullet though, just in case.

Soon – in an hour, a day, a week – I would probably be dead.

Without turning to look back, I knew that they were upon me. I could feel the shadow of the monstrous beast loom over me, its thick legs pounding on the roof with each threatening step. I could hear their manic, disturbed mumbling, yearning for what I had to offer.

And then everything fell silent.

I stood on the ledge, staring out at the beautiful city, illuminated by dawn’s warm, morning light. I knew that the mob was within reach, waiting for me to turn around so they could look me in the eye as they tore me apart. I would not give them the satisfaction.

The F-15 Eagle soared overhead once more, and this time, I heard its four missiles release and head toward their targets.

“Nick Barren,” the aliens called out. “We finally have you. It is finished.”

A slight grin crept up the corners of my lips, and I said, “It’s finished when I say it’s finished.” I closed my eyes, took a deep breath…

And I jumped.

To the north, the first missile hit its target – Angelwood – and a giant napalm cloud exploded into the sky.

As gravity wrapped me in its comforting cocoon, I allowed myself to become suffocated by the wind current. Time seemed to freeze as the faces of everyone I ever loved floated to the surface of my mind, all of them calling my name: Nicholas, Nick, Nicky, Barren, Bear… I waited patiently for the end of Nick Barren.

The second missile hit its target in the distance, the inferno quickly rushing toward downtown Franklin.

I was in Gravediggers, slowly sniffing a shot glass of cheap whiskey, relishing in its pungent aroma. I saw Deb standing behind the bar, lighting up the room with her laugh and snapping her bar towel at me playfully.

The third missile collided with another suburb in the distance.

Sarah stood before me in her flowing summer dress, holding a small bouquet of flowers. She smoothed out a crease in the lapel of my tuxedo jacket as we stood together at the altar of latticework, the setting sun casting a warm glow across the grassy field.

The final missile crashed into downtown, the wall of fire surging closer.

As my beautiful memories filled me with hope, I impacted with the river water.

Searing chills engulfed my body as the collision reverberated in my bones. My breath was taken away, and I felt myself being pulled forcefully downstream, the current strong and angry as the raging, orange, fire cloud stormed across the surface of the water above me.

I didn’t know which way was up, my limbs flailing through thick water, trying to bring balance to my body. My lungs had already been taxed, and now they burned, needing oxygen. As drowning panic set in, a vision appeared floating in the water before me. A transparent figure. A young girl.

Annie.

My beautiful Annie floated in front of my vision, smiling. Peace and warmth rushed over me, and if I had been somewhere dry, tears would have poured from my eyes.

Her voice, soothing and comforting, echoed around me, “I’m proud of you, Daddy.” And then she was gone.

Just when I had decided to relax and succumb to the inevitable, my head splashed above the surface of the water, and I gasped great gulps of air. The sunlight assaulted my eyes and warmed my face. Something about the rushing water felt liberating to me, like I had been cleansed. Perhaps I’d finally earned redemption for the past.

I continued to allow the current to push me toward the rising sun and past the city’s edge, farther away from the flaming ruins behind me. I smiled as the warm rays dried my face, and I took a deep, soothing breath, floating calmly on my back with my limbs outstretched. I couldn’t fight it anymore, so I allowed exhaustion to embrace me.

And my eyes fluttered closed.

The End.

A tiny speck of dirt swirled through the sky above the evening clouds, relishing in the briskness of the breeze that carried it. It danced to and fro, guided by the whistle of the wind, and as it soared through the sky’s vaporous mass, it became enveloped with moisture. Chilled and cocooned, the dirt speck reveled in the safety of the tiny droplet that harbored it.

And then something spectacular happened.

The damp globe began to change, slowly at first but then much more rapidly. What once was moist became crystalline as miniscule frozen needles grew from within the droplet into a stunning hexagonal pattern that refracted light gloriously. The speck was truly beautiful and unique for the first time in its existence, and as its mass grew, the wind’s song was no longer able to keep it afloat. It calmly fluttered down from the clouds toward the ground far below.

A snowflake.

Little Jessica gazed toward the crystal-flecked winter sky from the comfort of her warm bedroom, forearms laid flat on the windowsill, her chin resting on her hands. Still yet a child, she nearly had to stand on the tips of her toes in order to catch the winter wonderment, but in her mind, the discomfort was worth it.

She became entranced as the snow fell gracefully to the ground, a slight smile crossing her lips. Softly to herself, she began humming a music box lullaby. She turned and shuffled quickly in her footed pajamas, headed to her white wooden dresser and bookshelf at the other end of her quaint room, yearning to marvel once more at her magnificent collection.

Lining every shelf and covering the tabletop were dozens of treasured snow globes. Her eyes lit up with glee, taking in the precious tiny worlds locked within the snowy dreamscapes. She reached for one with her tiny hands, wrapping both around its ceramic base to keep it safe. As she hummed, she tilted the globe back and forth, replacing it on the dresser once more.

The tiny snowflakes swirled feverishly inside the glass dome, and then they slowed and fluttered peacefully over the tiny gingerbread house. Smiling, a tear escaped the corner of Jessica’s eye. She longed for a peaceful, beautiful, winter wonderland of her own where she felt safe, not afraid to close her eyes, to leave her room, to realize her potential.

When she heard the heavy footsteps tromp up the stairs outside the door, her body shivered with fear and anticipation of what was to come. Taking only a brief moment of weakness for herself, she immediately regained her composure and continued staring at the many encased wonderlands before her. Even as her bedroom door flung open and her father stormed in, she didn’t take her eyes off of the artificial worlds of which she wished so deeply she could be a part.

“What are you doing?” came the angry boom of his voice.

Jessica didn’t turn around, but she could see the grizzled mess of a man lumbering behind her within the reflections of all of her globes.

“Look at me when I talk to you, girl!”

She felt his strong, calloused hand grab her tiny arm much too tightly, spinning her to face him. This would not be the first time she would have to hide a bruise, but she had decided a long time ago not to give him the satisfaction of seeing the fear in her eyes. She would save her emotion for after he was gone.

She smelled the stench of beer as he regarded her with suspicious eyes. Her father was by no means a drunk; he was, however, an angry man. It had not taken her long to figure out that mixing alcohol with anger always led to violence.

His wild eyes strained to focus on his daughter, his hand still clutched tightly around her arm. “You’re just like your bitch of a mother, you know that?” And he released her, pushing her away from him disgustedly.

He stood, staring at the fragile trinkets that covered much of her shelves. Suddenly, as if the sight of the snow globes rekindled a painful memory within him, he lunged forward angrily and swiped his beefy arms across the desktop of her dresser, sending her dreams crashing to the hardwood floor, shattering into tiny shards of glass and puddles of water.

Eyes filling with tortured tears, a chilling agony exploded within her. “Noooo!” she cried out, running in vain to save her broken worlds. She sobbed as she stared at the irreparable damage on her floor, the feet of her pajamas becoming damp from the growing puddle. “Why did you do that?!” she demanded through blurred vision.

He had no answer. He merely stared at her with contempt before turning to leave the room.

Her pain became intense anger for only a second before it morphed into full-fledged hatred. Jessica’s feverish rage chilled her, fueling her icy lust for vengeance. She charged after him, screaming.

He spun around, easily fending off her childish punches.

She pounded and slapped, feeling that at any second, her body would explode with arctic fury, decimating the world. She reached up and grabbed his arm with every ounce of strength she could muster, pulling him down to his knees. She placed her hands on the sides of his head, needing him to see the pain he had caused. Feeling the frigidness rise within her, the water puddles at her feet crackled and solidified into a sheet of ice. She watched as every ounce of warmth seeped from her father’s body. His eyes grew wide, and she barely caught a flicker of fear pass through them before she realized what had happened.

He remained on his knees, frozen in position, a statue of flesh and ice. She stood back and regarded the awkward position in which he’d ended, arms outstretched, jaw agape, eyes wide, leaning forward on his knees.

Jessica smiled and skipped over to one of the shelves that he hadn’t destroyed, picked up a snow globe, and twirled the water within, mesmerized by the beautiful snowfall. As she grinned, she continued humming her lullaby, feeling comforted as she had a few moments earlier. She wondered briefly if there were anyone else in the world that shared her unique gift, so she decided it was time to start the search. Regarding her father once more, crystalized in ice and forever pleading for mercy, she knew without a doubt what she had done.

He was dead.

*     *     *

Years later…

Through the gray clouds of dawn, the morning sunlight struggled to reach its gaze down onto the small town of Rockport, Maine. The single-digit January temperatures forced a thin layer of sea smoke to hover above the freezing waters of Penobscot Bay, giving the impression of floating sky islands where trees stretched into the air, the deciduous having lost their vibrant leaves a few months before.

Small houses buried within a swath of green conifers lined the rocky coast, and despite the unpleasant winter weather that forced the fishing boats to evacuate the water, the empty harbor looked quite stunning. A few gulls perched on buoys that were frozen in place by the thin layer of ice on the water while other seabirds circled the air, echoing their call down the coast. A light flurry of snowflakes fell from the ashen sky, which was peppered with beams of sunlight where it had been able to break through the cloud coverage.

Christine Brody stood on her back deck pondering the foggy bay. A long set of wooden steps danced down the rocky slope leading to a tiny dock. She brushed her short, auburn hair from her face before taking a final drag of her cigarette, flicking it effortlessly over the edge and down the jagged coastline.

For a brief moment, her mind conjured a steel jungle in the distance, the skyscrapers of her old life stretching into the hazy sky above, but she quickly shook the image from her head. It had been years since she’d been immersed in that life, but she’d managed to escape with no reason to return. She never imagined that a small coastal town such as Rockport might one day serve as a permanent home, but now she relished in the simplicity. She never adopted the vernacular of the region, but the Mainers had accepted her anyway.

Clothed in her tan patrol officer uniform, she took one more moment to let the frigid weather seep into her bones, not because she enjoyed freezing her ass off, but because it helped to wake her up. From the second her alarm had broken her slumber, she had remembered what day it was and had been contemplating her own mortality. Having no spouse or nearby family to whom she was close, she frequently had time to contemplate such things. But today was different…

When she began to feel the numbness in her fingers start to spread up into her arms, she snapped herself out of her thoughts. She knew that this was not the time for self-pity. She had a job to do, and she planned to do it well, just like every other day. With a population of a little over three thousand people covering thirty-five square miles of land, her workdays on the force were not quite as exciting as most cops’, although she did occasionally answer calls of thefts.

She re-entered her quaint house, walked briskly over the creaky wood flooring of the parlor, grabbed her gun and silver badge from the hallway table, and walked out her front door.

*     *     *

Wiping maple syrup from his mouth on the soft, cloth napkin, Jonathan Colter stood from the kitchen table, taking his now-empty breakfast plate to the counter next to the sink where his wife currently stood, scrubbing her own dish.

“Your cookin’
nevah
disappoints,” he smiled, his thick New England accent adding to the charm that his wife felt as he wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, kissing the side of her face.

“Wish I could say the same for yours,” Leslie grinned. Her joyous laugh rang out through the house as he began a retaliatory attack tickling her sides. After barely managing to squeeze out of his grasp, her loving eyes watched him as he took his dirty dish to the sink. She never expected his wonderful compliments, but he always gave them, and they never failed to make her smile.

Running the dish under the warm water stream from the faucet, he scrubbed away the sticky syrup and leftover egg bites. “What does your day look like?”

Drying her hands on a small towel, she pushed her long, sandy brown hair behind her ear and replied, “I’m headin’ up to the market as soon as you leave. I wanna get a few things before the big storm starts up.”

“Storm?”

“Yeah, the weatherman said we got a Nor’easter comin’ this afternoon that’ll last through the night. They’re talkin’ about a curfew to keep people inside ‘cause of the roads.”

Jonathan frowned at the news.

Leslie smoothed the wrinkles from the back of his tan work uniform. “What? Somethin’ big at work today?”

“Not that I know of,” he answered, turning off the water and spinning to face her. She looked radiant, as always. Her skin was smooth, her smile infectious, and her crystalline eyes sparkled from the faint morning light through the window. He smiled at her, thinking of how lucky he was to have connected with such a wonderful woman with whom he could spend the rest of his life.

But then he remembered what day it was, and his grin faltered.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, placing a consoling hand on his chest, looking up into his troubled brown eyes.

“Brody.”

“What about her?”

“Today’s the day when…” but Jonathan knew he didn’t need to finish the thought, nor did he want to.

Leslie placed a hand to her own lips, an expression of sadness wrinkling her smooth face. “Oh, that poor woman. I can’t even imagine what it must a’ been like.”

“Yeah.”

A car horn bleeped twice from outside.

She grinned softly to lighten the mood. She knew that her husband cared deeply for his partner, and that if Christine were hurting, then Jonathan would be hurting too. She had accepted long ago that when two people were asked to put their lives on the line for each other, there was bound to be a meaningful connection formed between them. She wasn’t a jealous woman, nor would she ever be. Work was work, and friendship was friendship. At the end of the day, he always came home.

“Your ride is here. You betta’ book it,” she smiled, running her fingers through the sides of his wavy dark hair.

He wrapped his toned arms tightly around her torso, feeling his heart beating against her own. He held the embrace, and neither of them said a word, because nothing
needed
to be said.

Another honk sounded from outside, forcing the Colters to pull away from one another. Jonathan leaned in and kissed his wife softly, whispering, “I love you.”

She smirked devilishly and retorted, “Yeah, you’re a pretty lucky guy.”

“That’s what people keep tellin’ me,” he admitted. “They say, ‘Man, Colter. Your old lady’s the best. How’d ya get so lucky?’”

Grinning, she waved him away like a pest. “Get outta here!”

He retrieved his gun and badge from a nearby table and headed for the door.

“Oh, wait!” she called out, dashing into another room and returning with a single white daisy, its stem dripping water droplets onto the floor. “Give this to Christine for me.”

Jonathan smiled, taking the flower and kissing his wife once more. “She’ll love it. See ya tonight.” And he walked out the front door.

*     *     *

“Brody!” Jonathan greeted as he sat down in the passenger’s seat of the police cruiser, fastening his seatbelt. “How the hell ah’ ya?”