The Void (9 page)

“What the hell happened here?” Clifton raged. Smoke and flames licked at the shattered remains of the apartment complex. Bullets hailed from all directions.

Occupants screamed. The air tasted of fear and hot blood, and even Clifton, the man who had seen it all and thought that such feelings were behind him, felt his stomach knot and his muscles tense as he surveyed the carnage.

In response to what looked like an unprovoked attack on the building, the waiting public sat back numbly, wanting to fight back, but dared not. Driven by fear, the forces opened fire, indiscriminately mowing down citizens who came too close to the scene. More helicopter gunships were now on the scene, hovering above the chaos and waiting for the command to open fire.

Although it was impossible to hear amid the screaming and gunfire, the hole thrummed and pulsed as it fed on the symphony of emotions resonating on Maple Street. Only Morgan noticed. His eyes flicked towards the window, and he knew what he had to do.

Clifton, on the other hand, didn’t. He stared bug-eyed as society began to crumble around him. The street was now a thriving mass of activity, as the public rioted and attacked the army, who fought back without mercy.

Bodies littered the street, and although Clifton had shouted himself hoarse trying to call a ceasefire, nobody it seemed was listening to him. He knew well enough when things were out of control, and this was one such situation. He glared at Grimshaw, who for his part looked completely horrified.

“Get me some support in here. I need more men.”

“Is that wise, sir? I—”

“Do it now or so help me I’ll throw you down that damn hole myself.”

“What do you need, sir?”

“Call in and tell them to send everything they have over here right now.”

Grimshaw reluctantly made the call.

II

Embry glared at Morgan, and then shifted his eyes to Tina.

“Nobody is killing anyone, I don’t want to hear talk like that. It’s bad enough out there.”

“It will get worse,” Morgan said again, flicking his eyes towards Tina. “If we give her to them, they said they’ll make it stop.”

Embry strode over and stood in front of Tina, putting a barrier between her and Morgan.

“Look, kid, I know you have some kind of gift or ability, but killing isn’t an option.”

“You don’t understand. This is bigger than she is. You need to do as I say.”

“Look outside, kid, it’s chaos out there.”

Morgan smiled. “It’s not as bad as it will be. It will get worse if we don’t give them something.”

Embry went cold at the way Morgan said it. There was something about the kid; some magnetism and presence that made his words seem completely believable. The chaos outside was deafening, but Embry’s world consisted only of the boy from across the street. Fear surged through him, and Morgan shook his head.

“Don’t be afraid. It makes them strong.”

Embry stared at the child, and something passed between them. Some kind of bond or knowing. The boy nodded.

“Let me show you,” he said, then walked to the front door.

“Hey, wait! You can’t go out there!” Embry said, taking a half-hearted step toward Morgan. The child smiled.

“They can’t hurt me.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not scared,” he said, then opened the door and stepped outside.

“Hey, kid! Wait!” Embry said as he ran to the window. He knew he should follow, but the truth was that he was afraid. War was easy to watch on TV, but when it was right outside the window, it was a different story. Even so, the thing he saw was so unbelievable, so impossible to comprehend that Embry found himself opening the door and watching from the doorstep, Tina beside him. At that moment, the hell on earth that surrounded them was thrown into insignificance, all because of a child named Morgan Brewster.

III

Sheppard clambered to his knees in the ravaged remains of the apartment complex, trying to make sense of the world which had exploded around him. His apartment was somehow still in one piece, and he felt bad for thinking that his god had abandoned him, for his survival truly was a miracle. The air was thick with the taste of smoke, and the intense heat of the fire. His ears were still ringing and, when he wiped a forearm across his brow to rid it of what he thought was sweat, he was surprised to see his sleeve bathed in claret.

Coughing, he crawled to the shattered remains of his window and looked at the chaos below. The hole seemed to have grown even larger, its bottomless depths seeming somehow a haven of peace compared to the hell surrounding it. He saw two things in quick succession that first filled him with hope, then fear that perhaps there was more in this world than humanity gave credence to.

He could see his daughter, Tina. She was across the street in the doorway of a house with a wiry looking American who seemed to be offering her protection. It took a moment for him to realize what was troubling him so, and then it registered in his mind, which was still hazy from the explosion.

They were both gawping open mouthed at the same thing. Sheppard followed their line of sight and locked on to what they were watching. He began to pray then, silently under his breath, and at that particular moment, he didn’t care if it was Allah or any of the other gods who heard him, for he was witnessing a miracle.

Morgan walked through the chaos. He did not rush, nor did he deviate. As he walked, thousands of spiders began to crawl out from under his clothes, and as Sheppard watched in terror, more came from his ears, mouth, and nose. They covered him, completely encasing him in a mass of jittering black bodies and scrambling legs. At first, Sheppard thought they were attacking him, but it dawned on him that their purpose was different.

They were protecting him.

A smattering of gunfire cut down two battling civilians in front of him, and although Sheppard saw clearly enough that at least two bullets hit the arachnid -covered boy, he neither slowed nor deviated from his path. Instead, where the bullets should have torn through his fragile body, shearing away muscle, and shattering bone, they stopped inches from the spiders and fell to the floor, crushed beyond all recognition. A soldier approached the boy, holding out a restraining hand to stop him. The spider covered shape made a simple gesture, a flick of the wrist, and the soldier launched through the air, twisting like a rag doll before slamming into another battling group of civilians. The spiders changed, melting together and transforming into a fine green – blue mist, which enveloped the boy as he walked through the chaos, safely shielded from both gunfire and violence alike.

One of the army transport trucks was parked horizontally across the road, giving Clifton’s command post a little shelter from the battle, but even its fifteen-ton frame couldn’t stop the boy. With another gesture of his hand, the vehicle slid back enough to give him free access.

Sheppard’s lips were dry, and he looked around for the bottle of water that had been on his table before the building fell down around him. It was then that his eyes landed on the hole in the roof, and the things that had fallen into his apartment from the one above.

IV

Clifton shouted to make himself heard over the din of the riot. He had his field telephone nestled in the crook of his shoulder, speaking to the secretary of defense, whilst simultaneously staring at a hastily acquired map of the area in order to try to bring some kind of control back to the situation.

“Yes, sir,” he shouted into the headset. “I need air support now before this situation gets out of hand, sir.”

He pointed to the map then looked at the platoon commander at the opposite side of the table.

“Get men here, here, and here, but do not open fire. I—” he turned his attention back to the telephone. “– No sir, the men I have now cannot handle it, otherwise, I wouldn’t be requesting support. Tell the president that things are going to get real ugly, real quick if I don’t get what I need.”

He looked back to the platoon commander and covered the mouthpiece of the phone with his palm. “Are you waiting for a personal invite? Go, get to those positions,” he growled and then turned his attention back to the phone.

“I’m sorry, sir, if you haven’t been briefed, but we are dealing with a potential terrorist attack on this country which I was assured I had full clearance to deal with.”

Clifton stalked around the tent, rubbing his temples with the thumb and forefinger of his free hand as he listened to what the secretary of defense had to say.

“With all due respect, sir, this situation is much more important than discussing reelection plans. I need that air support, and I need it now. Please, verify with the president and call me back.” Clifton hung up the phone and shook his head as another two officers entered the tent bearing more bad news. Clifton and the men pored over the map, trying to figure out a way to bring the chaos under control. Nobody noticed Morgan walk into the tent. He approached Clifton and came to a halt behind him.

“Sir,” he said timidly, his words snatched away by the surrounding chaos and panicked chatter around the map.

“Sir,” Morgan repeated, a little louder this time.

Still, he went unheard, so he cleared his throat and took a step forward, tapping Clifton on the back. Clifton whirled around, glared at the child, then at Grimshaw.

“How the hell did this kid get in here? This is supposed to be a secured area. Get him out of here.”

“Wait,” Morgan said, as Grimshaw grabbed him by the arm and led him firmly toward the exit of the tent.

“Wait,” he said a little louder.

Still Grimshaw steered him towards the exit.

“STOP!” Morgan screamed.

Instantly, Grimshaw was launched into the air as if Morgan was charged with thousands of volts of electricity. He slammed spine first into the edge of the desk, then crumpled to the floor.

Silence befell the tent, all apart from Grimshaw’s moaning on the floor. Clifton looked down at him, and could see that the palm of his hand where he had been gripping Morgan’s arm was burnt and bleeding, then in a single fluid motion, pulled out his pistol and aimed it at Morgan’s head.

“What the hell are you, kid?”

“I’m here to help you,” Morgan replied.

Clifton barely noticed. He simply stared in morbid fascination as the ghostly blue spiders scurried and clambered all over the child, who for his part seemed oblivious. For the first time since he was a wet-behind-the-ears G.I, fear surged through Clifton, and to his horror, as he watched, the spiders started to split, tearing open like overripe grapes and releasing yet more tiny spiders, which looked for shelter in the folds of Morgan’s clothes and hair.

Morgan smiled. “Fear makes it worse, I—”

Clifton fired.

From a distance of fewer than three feet, Morgan should have been killed, his head exploding in a shower of claret and bone, however, the reality was that he didn’t even flinch. Instead, Clifton saw the most bizarre thing he had ever experienced. He saw the bullet crumple in the air inches from Morgan’s face and fall to the ground. The boy looked at them, and then shook his head.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Why not?” Clifton said.

“Because now you’ve made them mad.”

The boy walked out of the tent, clambered up onto the top of one of the armored trucks which were parked across the street, and looked at the hole. His curiosity replaced by fear, Clifton followed, climbing up to stand beside the boy and look out at the carnage. As they watched, a deep, rumbling groan emitted from the hole, making it grow ever wider. Embry’s mailbox, which had stubbornly clung to the perimeter of the hole for the last few hours, finally succumbed and slid down into the dark. The people started to panic, attacking each other in their attempts to get away from the ever-widening sinkhole.

“Do something!” Grimshaw shouted, glaring at Clifton as he clutched the wrist of his burnt hand, his teeth gritted in pain.

He had no response; he could only watch, his command of the situation now free of the already loose hold which had been retaining.

“Sir!” Grimshaw shouted as the people started to brawl, and others still began to wrestle guns from the soldiers and fire indiscriminately.

Clifton turned to Morgan, staring wide-eyed at the boy, who was watching events unfold with a troubled frown.

Why isn’t he afraid?

Clifton asked himself, then with no other option, knelt on the floor beside Morgan.

“What do we do? How can we stop it?”

Clifton didn’t notice, but Morgan’s eyes flicked towards Embry and Tina, who were still watching from the door of his house.

“They want her.”

“Want who? Who do they want?” Clifton bellowed as the noise built into a deafening roar.

Morgan looked at Clifton, and although his eyes still had the childlike innocence that would be expected, there was something else, a darkness hovering just below the surface, and that alone brought the horror racing back to Clifton.

“I can fix it if you let me,” Morgan said, not breaking eye contact with Clifton.