Run (23 page)

DOM#67A

LOSTON, COLORADO

AD 1999

8:15 PM MONDAY

In the small town of Loston, things were usually quiet.  That was part of the appeal.  Part of what kept people there: it was quiet.  People could keep to themselves, if they liked. 

Secrets could be kept.

Everyone in Loston had secrets.  Some knew what some of theirs were.  But nobody knew them all.

Tonight, though, the characteristic quiet of the town was broken by several unusual noises.  Not everyone heard them, and those that did just nodded to themselves and called the noises a backfiring engine.  They all knew that guns had been fired, and not for hunting, because the shots came from the middle of town.  But for some reason, not a single person who heard the noises felt any inclination to investigate or even to call someone about them.

Instead, all the folks of Loston did one thing: they sat.  They sat on their chairs in darkened living rooms, darkened bedrooms, darkened kitchens.  All the lights in Loston were out, and the people sat in darkness.

And watched.

They looked out their windows, waiting.

***

What am I waiting for? thought Mertyl Breckman.  She didn’t know.  She only knew somehow that she needed to sit quietly, sit tight, and watch hard.  Harder than she watched over tardy students asking for a hall pass.  Harder than she had ever watched before. 

She wondered if she was watching for whoever it was she had been warned of.  Several times in the last days and hours, she had heard the words flit through her mind: "Someone is coming."  She did not know where the words came from, but every fiber of her being told her that the words were real.  A warning.  Had the person - the someone - at last come?

She did not know.  But she would watch, from her spot in front of the large window that faced onto the street.  She would find out what was coming. 

She had forgotten to turn on the heater before taking her place in the chair, but she didn't feel the room grow cold around her.  Nor did she feel the arthritis depart her joints for the first time in fifteen years, as though her body was getting ready for something. 

Changing.

She felt nothing, in fact, and in a few moments thought no more of what she was doing.  She would know what to do when the moment came.  Until then, she would sit, and wait, and watch.

Someone is coming
.

***

The sentiment echoed in the mind of Dallas Howard, who had been glad when Kaylie didn’t show up to school.  That rather surprised him; when Mr. Trent had her sit next to him on her first day at Loston High, he thought he had died and gone straight to heaven.  But still, when she failed to show up after that, he felt a strange sense of relief in the pit of his stomach.  It was as though her very existence was somehow wrong, and a deep-seated part of him knew it.

At the moment, though, Dallas felt neither relief nor adolescent sexual tension.  He felt surprisingly little, in fact.  He sat before his second floor window, looking onto the deserted street in front of their house. 

He knew without being sure how that his parents were in the living room, sitting before the bay window, surveying the same street as he. 

What am I looking for? he thought.  Someone, came the answer.

Someone is coming.  Someone is here
.

***

All of Loston was quiet.

They had all changed.

TWO - RESURRECTION

DOM#67A

LOSTON, COLORADO

AD 1999

8:20 PM MONDAY

John winced as Fran pulled the bandage tighter.  The wound on his back had opened at some point, and blood had stained the bottom of his shirt and soaked his underpants.  Fran got gauze out of a first aid kit, put anti-bacterial cream on it and rewrapped the wound as he recounted the events of the strange evening.  Her movements were sure and precise, and once again John thought what an amazing woman she was.  He had seen grown men swoon while preparing a field bandage for less bloody wounds than his, yet she was iron-willed.  Mere blood seemed neither to deter nor to frighten her in the least.

When he told her what was happening, he felt rather than saw her shock and disbelief.  And he felt something else, too, below the surface of her apparent incredulity.  It was as though she didn’t want to believe, but a part of her that she had locked far away couldn’t help but trust his bizarre tale.

When he got to the part where the crazies had mentioned her name, she jerked slightly.  She put a final piece of tape on the wrap and John replaced what was left of his shirt.

"What would anyone want from me?" she asked.

"I don’t know.  I really hoped you would," John answered.  He swiveled.  He was sitting on the couch, and had turned to allow her to fix up his back.  Now they sat side by side.  He looked at her.  Her brow furrowed in thought and concern, normally not the face a woman would make if she was trying to look her best.  Even so, John felt something in the pit of his stomach, a fierce attraction to her that seemed to belie the doings of this strange and frightening night.

"No," she said at last, "I can’t believe all this."   But something in her eyes spoke different words.  John thought what she really wanted to say was, "Please don’t let this be true.  I can’t handle it."  And, perhaps, even lower and more well-hidden, "Again?"

He chose not to speak of what he felt, however, and instead addressed her verbal opposition.  "Fran, you saw my back.  Do you think I just tripped through a window on my way to bed or something?"

"I know you were hurt, John.  But all this about people attacking you for no reason, dead people standing up and walking around...it just doesn’t fly."

"Fran, I’m telling you –"
She stood and backed away from him.  "John, we had a really nice date the other night.  But that doesn’t mean –"

"Yeah, we did," he said, cutting off the stream of denial that he sensed was about to come from her.  He had to convince her.  Beyond the matter of survival, which he felt sure would rest on both of them knowing as much as possible of what was going on around them, he couldn’t bear the thought of her being afraid of him or believing he was insane.  "We had a great time.  And did I do anything crazy?" 

She shook her head, slowly.  She bit her lower lip, as though she were about to cry, but John knew she wouldn’t.  He sensed a strength in her that was beyond anything even the men in his unit had had.  She was a survivor. 

"No," he continued.  "I didn’t do anything strange at all.  Fran, I’m scared.  Not just for me, but for you.  Whatever is going on, it involves you somehow, and when I heard your name, and that those bastards wanted you, the only thing I could think about was getting over here to protect you."

He stood, slowly, stepping toward her, expecting her to dart away from him like a frightened deer faced by a howling pack of starving timber wolves. 

But she didn’t.  She stayed. 

He swallowed and continued inching closer to her.  "I’ve never told anyone the things I told you the other night.  Not since my wife died.  Do you understand what I’m saying?"  He wanted to say more.  Crazily, he wanted to tell her he loved her.  That surprised him, and so he left the question as it was, cutting himself off before he went too far and perhaps caused her to be even more frightened than she already was.

He could see her struggling with all that he had said.  "John, I don’t know."

"Please, Fran."  He was right in front of her now, standing close enough to touch her, and still he inched forward.  "I’m frightened for you."  Their breath mingled as he leaned down, eye to eye, nose to nose.

Lips to lips. 

"I need more than anything for you to trust me right now," he said.

He kissed her.

For a moment she held still, as though afraid to move.  Then she responded, and he felt her lips, soft and cool against his mouth.  They kissed, and it lasted an eternity and at the same time was over far too quickly.  The feelings John was keeping half-hidden within himself exploded through his being like a life-giving spring, cooling him and buoying him up.  He was happy, as he had not been for the first time since his Annie died.  In spite of the blood and fear, his heart was light, and he suddenly realized how much he wanted to see Fran again, and to hold her forever.  He suddenly felt hope.

Perhaps the night had been worth it after all.

CONTROL HQ - RUSHM

AD 3999/AE 1999

Adam’s guts constricted inside him, a coiled mass of tension tied in a Gordian knot. 

What do you do when the fate of the world sits on your shoulders? he thought, and not for the first time in his tenure as a Controller.  As always, the only answer that presented itself was that he should keep doing his best.  Press forward, he thought.  Press forward and do the best you can, Adam.  Hopefully God will pick up the slack.

He watched the screens on the wall, each showing a different view of the strangely deserted streets of Loston.  Two of the screens held no picture.  Only a word: OFFLINE.

Jason watched the screens with him.  Slightly behind him and to the right stood Sheila, Jason’s wife.  Not many Controllers married, because of the emotional threat involved.  But Jason had elected to marry Sheila, and though Adam disapproved of the decision itself, he certainly approved of Jason’s choice in mates. 

Light brown hair that held itself in tight curls against her pixie’s face served to emphasize her slight frame, but Sheila was a strong-willed woman.  And not just strong, but happy, a characteristic in short supply among the Controllers.  Sheila often had the power to light up an entire room with the brightness she exuded, but was still a damn fine Controller when the time came, methodical and efficient. 

Tonight she didn’t light up the room.  Her expression was dark as a deep midnight sea.

"What are we going to do?" she asked.

That was the very question that had been troubling Adam, and still no answer had emerged from his self-doubt.  "If I send in a recovery squad, the entire town will have to be shut down," he mused aloud.  "But if not, the Fans might get her before she’s safe."

"We can afford to shut down the town," said Jason.  "If it’s a question of her or them, I think you should terminate all of them, go in and wipe out the Fans, then –"

"At least one of the Fans is human, too," said Adam.  "Confirmed."

Both Jason and Sheila paled. 

"Goddammit," whispered Sheila.  Usually the blasphemy would have brought a swift scolding from Adam.  Not tonight.  "Who?"

"Malachi."

"And he’ll know what we’re going to do, too," said Jason.

"If we stick to procedure," said Adam.  He watched the screens intently, along with several dozen other Controllers, awakened in the middle of their sleep-cycles just for this.  No one spied any movement.  All of Loston was waiting, and that should make it easier to find anything that was out and about in the suddenly silent town.  But still there was nothing.

"What else can we do?" asked Jason.

Adam sighed.  "We wait.  As soon as we can pick her up without anyone in the dome detecting it, we’ll go in.  Otherwise we run the risk of a full Activation and a bloodbath.  Not to mention the fact that if Malachi somehow sees us go in, that increases the chances of his tracking us here on the return trip."  Adam did not have to remind his people what such a discovery would mean.  That was one of the ever-present threats that every Controller was aware of.

"I’ll get a crew and a jet ready," said Sheila.  She kissed Jason’s cheek and disappeared from the control room.

"Jason, I want a story put out on John."

"Where?"

"All media.  Tell them he’s a dangerous criminal.  That’ll keep him running with Fran.  And maybe we can protect the programming of any bits he contacts.  If they’re afraid of him maybe they won’t give him a chance to talk."  Adam did not know how much of the truth that John may have figured out in the last few days.  Probably not much, but even his suspicions might prove deadly to the people of Loston, if he was allowed to share them.  So Adam needed a way to keep John isolated; to keep him from talking.  The general media alert, sent through the town, seemed the best way to accomplish this, though it was not without its risks. 

Jason concurred, nodding his head and gesturing to several other Controllers to begin that process.  But he also said, "They might try to kill him, though, if they think he’s crazy."

"Hopefully they won’t succeed."

DOM#67A

LOSTON, COLORADO

AD 1999

8:30 PM MONDAY

Malachi threw the papers down on the sheriff’s desk.  Several of them fluttered down to the floor, where the remains of Tal Johnson and of Todd lay.  "You two are useless!" he screamed.  Spittle flecked his lips, and he felt himself losing control. 

This would never have happened when I was a Controller, he thought.  Such emotional outbursts were coming more frequently though, and he wondered if he was going mad, even as he struggled to get himself back under control; to rein in his murderous rage.  Madness was inevitable, he knew.  The barren wastelands of his home were so irradiated that eventually all went insane.  But that could not happen to him now.  Not now, not with the end so close. 

Jenna cowered visibly at his outburst, and even Deirdre, stolid and immovable as flint, seemed to shrink in upon herself.  Malachi smiled a bit at the sight.  The fear of others had always had a calming effect on him.

"What do you want us to do?" asked Jenna.

Malachi opened his mouth to answer, but suddenly the TV came on.  So did the radio.  He heard another radio playing in the prison. 

"This just in," began the TV reporter. 

Malachi watched the newscast and smiled.  He knew what the newscasts meant; knew that it would be dangerous to go out now, looking for John and Fran.  But he wouldn’t have to go looking.  Someone would bring them to him.  He knew that Adam and the other Controllers had co-opted the town media to send out a primitive alert, telling everyone in the town that there was a dangerous criminal in their midst.  Sooner or later Adam’s plan was sure to bear fruit.  Someone would spot John or Fran.