Sable Book 1 of Chaos Time (Chaos Time Series) (2 page)

She shivered. She’d heard something about that. Maybe Heather wasn’t the brightest woman, but she couldn’t imagine it to be a wise choice by the government.

“
The Thor missile carrying the Starfish Prime warhead reached a maximum height of just over 680 miles. The warhead was detonated on its downward trajectory. It went off 13 minutes and 41 seconds after liftoff from Johnston Island, causing an electromagnetic pulse which was far larger than expected. It drove much of the
instrumentation off the scale and caused great difficulty in getting accurate measurements. It also made those effects known to the public by causing electrical damage in Hawaii, 898 miles away from the detonation point. It is being reported that it’s knocked out 300 streetlights, set off numerous burglar alarms and damaged a telephone company microwave link
.”

She took a deep breath and though her face was calm, professional, there was an unmistakable energy to her reporting. She knew she was breaking a big story and that much like the missile, it would send her career into orbit.

“
The skies are alive with a dancing miasma of colors over the islands, but this reporter must ask
,” she paused for dramatic effect and the fine hairs on the back of Heather’s nape stood up, “
is there a potential for nuclear fallout? And what about the moral and ethical issues? Has the government in their race for space dominance gone too far this time
?” Her thin lips curved into a satisfied smile. “
For the nightly news, I’m Diana Weston. Good night
.”

“Countries going all to hell,” Michael muttered and walked over to the television, clicking it off. Shaking his head, he plopped back onto the bed and grabbed his nightly devotional off his end table.

Heather’s lips twisted. She grabbed her baby powder scented hand lotion and made a show of applying it on her arms, mainly to work up her nerve to broach a subject she knew was a sore topic for him.

"Michael," Heather whispered.

“Hmm?” He looked at her over the top of his glasses.

"Have you noticed anything strange about Aleric lately?”

He licked his front teeth. “Can’t say that I have. Why do you ask?”

“Something is wrong with him." She huddled next to him, needing his warmth. Ridiculous that she felt the need to whisper in her own home. But she couldn't stop the terrible certainty that evil lived here now too.

"Ah, not this again," he grinned broadly and hugged her slim shoulders, "you're a worry wart. He's fine." His words were soft, almost kind, were it not for the barely discernible thread of impatience laced behind them. He shook his head, and she bristled knowing he was dismissing her, just like the doctor had two years ago.

They say hindsight is twenty twenty, and if she’d known then the ripple effect her actions would have, she would never have done it. She would have swallowed the anger, bottled it up, rolled over and gone to bed. But she didn’t know.

She stabbed her finger into his chest. "I'm not crazy. And he's not well. He scares me now, Michael."

He frowned. "You know what, Heather. I've about had it with this conversation. Dr. Scholl told me you were gonna be that type of mom."

She huffed, disbelieving what she was hearing. "Oh so now you're talking to Dr. Scholl about me behind my back?"

"Yeah." He flipped his book shut and slammed it down on his nightstand. "That's right I did. You're driving me crazy. You're driving him crazy. All you do is sit there and worry about nuthin',” he ground out through gnashed teeth, “you hear me? Nuthin'. He ain't sick and you—"

"Me what?" She hissed, her heart rate picking up so hard it hammered in the vein at her neck.

Narrowing steel blue eyes, he shoved his face to within inches of hers. "You don't know how to exist outside of that. Your life was nothing but panic and fear and you can't let it go. That's what Dr. Scholl told me and he's right! You're just looking for a reason. I think you're sick, Heather, and it ain't the boy that needs them doctors now. It's you."

It was like someone had punched her in the gut; she doubled over and grabbed her chest. Fat, angry tears welled out the corners of her eyes unchecked. "So that's what you really think?"

His face was unrepentant, his lip curled back in a snarl. Anger, maybe even a little hatred, glittered back at her.

"You're wrong. And so is he. And if we don't do something soon, we're gonna lose our boy!" she screamed, desperate to make him understand, to see what was so obvious to her.

Couldn’t he understand that? Why was it that she was the only one who could see what was happening? Didn’t he care? She held her breath, hoping against impossible hope that just this once someone would hear her. That he would believe her.

He growled and flung the blanket off. Michael stomped into the closet, grabbed his suitcase and threw it down on the bed. It was like ice water to the face, her spirits sank so low she sat frozen and unthinking for a split second. Then it dawned on her that he had his suitcase. Why did he have his suitcase?

"What are you doing?" she asked, panic crept into her voice.

"Going to a hotel. I can't stand this anymore." He pulled open drawers, shoving clothes into his suitcase without even looking. He tromped into the bathroom grabbed his toiletries and then tromped back and threw those in too.

“You're really leaving?" She couldn't believe this. Couldn't understand what was happening. Sure, she and Michael had been having problems for a while now, but she hadn't thought it was this bad. He'd never said anything.

"Yes."

"Michael, please." She reached for his bag, trying to take the stuff out. He snatched it out of her hand and threw it back in.

"I'm done."

"What? Forever? What about, Aleric?" She crawled out of the bed, walking around to his side and gripped the corner of his nightshirt trying to physically haul him back.

He shoved her off him. She landed hard against the mattress, causing the lamp on his nightstand to rock precariously.

Michael zipped the bag shut with a finality that rang like a gunshot. "Call me when you decide you're better."

"Michael," she pleaded, tears choking her vision. She swiped them away angrily.

He didn't stop. Not even when she wrapped her arms around his legs. He shook her off and continued down the hall. She scrabbled back to her feet and rushed after him, making one final attempt to grab his hand. But he shoved her off.

She knew if he got to the front door, it was over. She wasn’t physically strong enough to stop him.

“Please, Michael,” her voice broke. She let him hear the tears, the panic and fear. “I need you with me. Please.”

His hand was on the knob and for a moment she thought he’d come back. They could work it out. Get counseling. Nothing was impossible. Together, they could be a family again. Her heart fluttered.

He didn’t say anything. Simply pulled open the front door, gave her one last look of disgust and then he walked out.

Heart trapped in her throat, she clutched her hands together, her mouth opened and shut like a fish flopping on land gasping for air. The familiar rev of his Dodge blared loud through the open front door and then quickly faded as he turned down their street with a peal of tires.

To go from shouts and the rumble of a speeding car, to complete silence, was shocking to her. They lived on a cul-de-sac, the sound of an engine would be his. She craned her head, listening with all her heart for that familiar rev but all she heard was the steady tick, tick, tick of the hallway clock.

She waited.

And waited.

For what felt like an eternity, she waited.

But he never came back.

Dragging her feet, feeling a thousand years older and wondering what she’d say to Aleric, she crept to his room. A soft golden glow stole out from under the door. She knocked quietly.

"What?" he asked with antipathy.

She licked her lips and slowly opened it. "Aleric, your father and I—"

He shook his head, but didn’t look up from where he sat at his desk. “Don’t call me Aleric anymore. That’s not my name.”

“Of course it is, don’t be silly.”

“No. My name is Dragden,” he said in a soft little voice.

“Does James call you that?” She clutched the doorframe.

He didn’t answer her. Just continued to sit and stare at the book in front of him. He looked so innocent and young in his robin's blue pajamas with fluffy clouds on them. The red desk lamp was the only light on in the room. She shivered. She hated coming in here, hated the smothering feeling of fear that overcame her and made her feel she couldn't take more than two steps inside without choking on black terror that froze her limbs in place.

And now he was calling himself Dragden. Her back tensed, and for a moment, anger replaced her fear. She would never call him that.

Aleric turned a page in a book. It was a copy of an antique Brother's Grimm storybook she used to read him as a baby. He'd loved the pictures of trolls and wolves and witches and all the other fantastic creatures within.

"Where have all the beasties gone?" he asked quietly.

She frowned. "Aleric, you know they aren't real."

He looked at her, his stare deadpan and the look in his eyes made her think of a picture she'd seen once of a shark. Soulless. Lifeless.

God forgive her, but she should never have let him have that surgery. Aleric should have died two years ago.

He put his book down and picked up a syringe she hadn't seen on his desk—it was filled with a greenish blue fluid, he stared at it with an unblinking gaze. "Where have all the beasties gone, Mother?"

"Aleric, what is that?" Instantly her mouth went dry, like she'd been sucking on cotton for hours.

"An experiment. James showed me how to make it." He finally looked at her. "Would you like to see it?"

She shook her head. "No, Aleric. Mommy's tired." Her eyes were twin saucers as she backpedaled.

He smiled, but it never touched his eyes. "Don't worry, Mother, it won't hurt. James promised."

She turned on her heels. There was a whizz, and then something painful pricked her neck. "Ow." She smacked her flesh, thinking it must have been a bee sting, but instead she felt a tiny glass dart sticking out of her neck. "Aleric?"

“Mother, I’ve told you, call me Dragden.”

Her vision grew blurry and suddenly her limbs felt like cement blocks. She fell to her knees, feebly attempting to pull out the dart.

"Shh." He walked up to her and began stroking her brow as she'd done to him all those years ago.

"
Fee, fi, fo, fum. I smell the blood of an Englishman
," said a soft-pitched tenor voice.

Heather trembled and the last cognizant thought she had was that the voice did
not
belong to Aleric.

Chapter 2: We're not in Kansas anymore...

Today

Hunter Grey glanced both ways, making certain there were no eyes watching, before stepping out of the alleyway. The spiraling blue wormhole winked out behind him. He walked down the street becoming reacquainted to this century.

He took a deep breath and couldn’t help grinning. The world was alive with scents he’d thought never to breathe again—the yeasty whiff of bread from the corner bakery and the sharp tang of lemons from the fruit stand across the street. Even the acrid burn of rubber tires smelled good. Considering his world reeked of the constant rancid odor of sulfur and methane gases, anything was an improvement.

The beacon in his pocket had led him here. The pulsing broadcast so strong there could be no doubt that he was exactly where
she
was. Problem was, he had no idea
when
he was.

This was small town America,
Nowheresville
. It could be one of a thousand different places, each a repetitive blur of the others.

He shoved his hands deep into his pockets. Odd at this time of day not see people milling about. Probably had something to do with the fact that it was gray, dreary, and judging from the rumbling sky—threatening to rain any time now.

There were no posters, or banners hung proclaiming a specific holiday or date in time. He wasn't even certain which month he was in. But there was one thing he knew based off his surroundings, and that was that he’d arrived before the Rift. Which was good, made finding the needle in the haystack doable.

The sudden trickle of rain became an annoyance and he pulled his hoodie over his head. Street lamps flickered. Veins of lightening shot through the sky. It was a crap time to be out. And he bet he knew why.

This had to be
The Calm
—as in calm before the storm. Seemingly overnight the world as everyone knew it would vanish, replaced by a new and terrifying reality of disappearing peoples and lands; weather patterns that shifted as random and constant as trade winds.

He picked up the pace as drops of rain plopped harder and fatter. He jumped into a nearly empty electronics store just as the sky ripped open and let loose with an impressive downpour.

His sneakers squeaked on the cheap linoleum tile. He dried his shoes on a ratted rug covered in stains.

"Sorry, man," an overweight employee wearing a yellow and green nametag walked up to him, "store's getting ready to close in five minutes."

"No worries, Charles," he glanced at the name, "I'm just trying to get out of the rain for a sec. Be gone before you know it."

Charles didn't seem happy to see him not leaving. He sniffed, shoving glasses up his long nose with a stubby finger.

After a second it was Charles, not Hunter, who waddled off muttering under his breath.

"
In other news
," the tinny voice of a news anchor blared over television speakers, "
scientists are scrambling to understand further shifting of Teutonic plates beneath the state of Missouri, while dealing with the aftermath of the latest 6.5 earthquake that hit parts of the Ozark only a week ago
."

Professional, her voice never wavered. But there was real fear in her green eyes. "
Government officials continue to stress not to travel if you don't have to. The counties of Brennan, Paris, and Myrna are off limit to all traffic until further notice
."