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The Gift From the Skies
By Jason Bourne
THE GIFT
FROM THE SKIES
A NOVEL BY JASON TEO
CHAPTER ONE
1
Shane McCarthy walked down the aisle towards Mr. Pembroke¡¯s office. Heads turned from inside their cubicles as he walked. Wincing, he was reminded of the first time he had been called to the principal¡¯s office on the first day of school when he had still been a kid for putting a pin on his teacher¡¯s chair.
It felt just like that now.
Fear coiled in his stomach and all the spit in his mouth dried up. He was fully aware of all the things he had done and was trying to think up of excuses for them.
He stood right in front of the large mahogany door with the gold letters on it: B. PEMBROKE, C.E.O. He rapped gently on the door. A deep, booming voice from inside the door said, ¡°Enter.¡±
As Shane opened the door with a shaking and sweaty hand, a horrifying vision came to mind: A large gravestone on a grassy field with the words: R.I.P SHANE JERNIGAN MCCARTHY on it. And under it, carved deeply on the smooth stone, the word: ASSHOLE.
Benjamin Pembroke was the kind of man that, if stripped naked would bear an exact resemblance to a pig with his beefy build, his pink hammy face, the small eyes and large nostrils. When he saw Shane, he smiled evilly and said, ¡°Ah, Shane. I¡¯ve been expecting you.¡±
¡°What is it, sir?¡± Shane squeaked out, even though he already knew the answer.
¡°Sit down first,¡± said Pembroke.
Slowly and cautiously, Shane reached for a chair and rolled it towards Pembroke¡¯s desk. Pembroke smiled again.
¡°This morning,¡± Pembroke said. ¡°Waldo knocked on the door of my office and I invited him in. He told me something rather interesting about you.¡± Pembroke started grinning. Shane was reminded of a shark he had seen on the Discovery Channel a week ago.
¡°According to him, you were sitting in the canteen yesterday during lunch break,¡± Pembroke paused. ¡°Playing blackjack.¡±
Shane¡¯s heart skipped a beat.
Pembroke continued. ¡°Now, this has been the sixth report about your gambling for the week, so of course I had to check up on you. I walked over to your cubicle today at ten a.m. and guess what? You weren¡¯t there.¡±
Pembroke leaned his unpleasant bulk over his desk and scanned Shane with his small, piggy eyes. Shane could smell liquor on his breath.
¡°According to our company regulations, Shane, what is the designated reporting time?¡± Pembroke asked calmly.
Shane swallowed. He choked it out eventually. ¡°Eight a.m., sir.¡±
Pembroke leaned back into his chair, grinning again. ¡°Excellent! So you haven¡¯t forgotten!¡± Shane swallowed again. This conversation had taken a nasty turn.
¡°So you were¡ what? Two hours late? Were you two hours late, Shane?¡± Pembrook asked.
¡°Y-yes, sir.¡±
Pembrook stopped grinning. He stood up, took a ring of keys from his desk, and unlocked his drawer. He opened it and threw several things out of it onto his desk, all of which Shane recognized.
The first thing was a deck of gambling cards. The second was a book titled ¡®Kama Sutra¡¯, with pictures of men and women in obscene positions printed on the front cover. The third thing was a CD-ROM cover with four diskettes inside it, the front one with the words ¡®Half Life 2¡¯ printed on it.
Pembrook shut the drawer and looked back at Shane, who was staring at the things stupidly.
¡°I found these,¡± said Pembrook in a dangerously calm voice. ¡°In your cubicle.¡±
Shane said nothing. After all, there was nothing else to say. He was dimly aware of his co-workers peeking in from outside.
2
Shane found himself, a half hour later, inside a phone booth with a coin in his hand and the cardboard box with all his stuff in it under the other.
He hadn¡¯t actually thought of who to call. He had just gone to the phone booth on a whim without actually thinking. But who to call?
Shane thought for awhile, and then decided he knew what to do. He put the coin into the phone and picked up the receiver. He dialed his best friend¡¯s number. The phone rang once. Twice. Six times. Absently, he rubbed a scar on the left side of his head. A souvenir he had gotten from his National Service. One of his fellow recruits by the name of Jernigan had pulled the pin off a frag grenade during training, and somehow, instead of throwing it, had dropped it. Shane, who had been standing right beside that recruit, had heard the sergeant scream GET DOWN!!! and did, but still got three shards of the grenade in his head. He somehow survived, and even his company sergeant had agreed that it had been a miracle of God.
Finally, there was a click and somebody answered. ¡°Hello?¡±
¡°Rich, it¡¯s Shane.¡±
There was a pause, then, cheerfully: ¡°Got yourself arrested?¡±
¡°Nah. Listen, you free?¡±
¡°Duh.¡±
¡°How ¡®bout if I pop over for a beer or two?¡±
¡°Sounds good to me.¡±
¡°You¡¯d better have something good in that shithole of yours, you retarded son of a bitch.¡±
¡°No worries pal. I¡¯ve got a whole crate of ice cold beer just waiting for us.¡± Richie paused. ¡°Had a bad day?¡±
¡°Sorta. Got fired today.¡±
¡°Ouch. Well, I¡¯ll be waiting for ya.¡±
¡°Get all the beers out.¡±
¡°Sure thing.¡± Richie hung up.
Shane put the phone down and got to his car. He looked at his watch. Twelve noon. It was an hour¡¯s drive to Mainland Greenwater.
He got to Richie¡¯s place in Greenwater at one thirty. He rubbed his head, where a headache was forming. He could really use a stiff drink.
He walked up the front steps of his best friend¡¯s house and rang the doorbell. Footsteps came from within the house and the door opened. Richie Acerman stood at the door, and looked at Shane from his steel rimmed spectacles.
Shane looked at his best friend and thought of how they had met. Quite simple actually. Shane had gone over to a bar to have a drink when he heard somebody behind him talk in a loud, drunken voice about how big the steel plate in his head was. Apparently, he had gotten it in a skiing accident. Shane, who had by then drank six vodka martinis, walked over to the fellow, who was talking to his friends, and said, ¡°Well, you have a plate in your head, but guess what? I have three plates in mine.¡±
The man had stood up. He said, in a soft voice, ¡°You wanna step outside?¡±
¡°For what?¡± Shane had asked. The fellow¡¯s friends had laughed.
The fellow simply grunted and sat down. Then, he raised a hand. ¡°The name¡¯s Rich.¡±
Shane shook Rich¡¯s hand for the first time. ¡°Shane.¡±
And the rest was history.
¡°I¡¯ve got twenty four ice cold drinks on the table now that are begging to be drained.¡± Richie grinned.
¡°I bet I can drown one faster than you can.¡± Shane said.
¡°Wanna bet?¡± Richie grinned again as Shane stepped in.
Shane smiled for the very first time. ¡°Oh, you¡¯re gonna be poor when I¡¯m done with you.¡± He sat on the couch.
Richie got a huge, blue icebox from a mahogany kitchen table and opened it. Inside were, as promised, twenty four cans of beer in ice. Richie sat opposite Shane and took a can. Shane took another. There was a hiss as they popped the tabs of their cans. They looked at each other.
¡°Ready,¡± Shane said.
¡°Get set,¡± Richie said.
¡°Drown ¡®em.¡± Shane said, and they started to drown their beers.
In three seconds, Shane finished and crumpled his beer can. Richie finished immediately after he did, and crushed his own can. Shane smiled triumphantly.
¡°You owe me a dollar.¡±
¡°God damn you, you drunken asshole.¡± Richie grinned. He took another can from the box. Shane did the same.
¡°One more?¡± Shane asked.
¡°No thanks,¡± Richie said, shaking his head. ¡°Getting drunk I could handle, but if I go on I would have to become a gigolo for two years to pay you off.¡±
Shane snorted laughter and popped the tab of his beer. ¡°I¡¯ll drink to that.¡±
¡°Amen,¡± Richie drowned his beer.
They sat in silence for awhile, before Richie broke it. ¡°So, what are you gonna do now?¡±
Shane shrugged. ¡°Dunno. Find a new job, I guess. At least Pigbroke left me a check.¡±
Richie snorted. ¡°Pigbroke.¡±
¡°He does look like one¡¡± Shane got another beer.
¡°Well, I¡¯ll help you find a job, if I can.¡± Richie said.
Shane grunted. ¡°If only I could be like one of those guys with money falling out of all their bodily orifices like you.¡±
¡°Aw¡c¡¯mon Shane. Don¡¯t rub it in.¡± Richie was the third son of a family that had been in the textiles business for roughly three hundred years. The pretty much owned most of North America. All in all, Richie had over five million dollars under his name. As he said once, ¡°I could have bought a three storey luxury villa rather than this shitty brick house. But why choose a difficult life?¡± Of course, in the small garage of the ¡®shitty brick house¡¯ were two cars. One was a flashy red Ferrari. The other was what Richie called ¡®his baby¡¯ it was a red ¡®58 Corvette. A hell of an expensive car.
Richie got up and switched on his stereo. ¡°Westlife?¡±
¡°Sure thing,¡± Shane got another beer.
¡°I thought so.¡±
3
Shane got home after 6.30. He stepped up to the front porch of the house he had inherited from his late uncle, took out a bunch of keys, and put them in the slot. He opened the door and stepped into his house. He sighed and dumped the box onto a couch. He locked the door and crumpled onto the couch.
What a day, he thought, and reached for his remote control. He found it and pointed it to the television. He switched it on. The evening news. Great.
There had been another terrorist attack in the Middle East. A truck had driven through a busy street and exploded. About twenty people had died, thirty others injured. Images of screaming men, women and children came into view. Shane winced. Also, China had made a pill that was supposed to cure bird flu. Shane snorted. Like it would work. It¡¯ll probably give the guy a stroke and kill him.
The reporter was telling Shane about the benefits of this new drug when her report was interrupted by a male voice.
¡°This is an emergency broadcast live from Greenwood Central.¡±
Suddenly, the screen flickered to show another reporter standing in the street of Downtown Greenwood. All around her were crowds of people and cars. They were looking at the sky.
The reporter started to speak.
¡°All around Greenwood today, we have been getting extremely unusual reports about strange lights in the sky. The Police had disbelieved these reports at first, thinking that they are nothing more than natural occurrences. But now, they don¡¯t appear to be so.¡± The camera swiveled upwards. At first, Shane couldn¡¯t see anything. Then, he saw several strange circular lights, not disc-shaped like in the movies, but spherical. They were darting back and forth around the sky. The camera went back to the reporter, who simply said: ¡°More updates to come.¡±, before the scene switched back to the drug report.
In another hour, they¡¯ll probably say that those things are just¡ I don¡¯t know. But it¡¯s nothing. Shane thought. He leaned back into his chair, with a tiny pit of uneasiness coiling up in his stomach.
He decided to have hamburgers for dinner and took two patties out from the freezer and out onto the lawn. He put them on the grill and watched as they sizzled. With a spatula, he flipped both burgers and they sizzled again. He continued to toss and flip the patties until they were a nice looking brown on the outside. He flipped both patties onto their buns topped both off with thick Bermuda onions and cheddar cheese and covered them. He put the burgers on a paper plate and sat down onto a lawn chair to eat. There was Coke Lime on the table beside him. He loved to eat outside.
He took a bite off a burger and sighed with some pleasure. They were wonderful. Richie had even suggested that he opened a restaurant. He swallowed the burger and chased it down with the coke. Absently, he looked up into the empty night sky, wondering what constellations there were tonight.
Instead, he saw three spherical lights in the blank, inky night sky, standing still there and, incoherently, he thought, Eyes, those are eyes and they¡¯re staring at me. He thought about how ridiculous he looked in his white chef¡¯s hat and his KISS THE COOK apron. Take me to your leader, he thought, and laughed crazily.
Suddenly, the lights started to move around, zipping quickly and crazily like flies. Suddenly, Shane felt a horrible fear shoot up from the pit of his stomach all the way to his heart, and he panicked for that one single second-
-he took the plate and the coke, ran toward the door, opened it wide, went into his house and slammed the door shut. A loud click resounded as Shane locked the door.
Back home, he decided that he would go to bed early.
4
Where he couldn¡¯t sleep.
His mind kept going back to the point where the lights had started moving about, at the exact same time where he had thought, Take me to your leader.
Don¡¯t be crazy. What the hell do you think they were, alien spacecraft?
So what if I thought they were? They could-
Aw, go stuff a UFO up your big, round hairy ass. There are no such things and you know it. Now go to sleep.
For awhile, he did.
A low thrumming sound. Shane tried to ignore it, but he couldn¡¯t. Who could when it was so, bloody irritating?
He opened his eyes slowly and swore. A bright light was streaming in through the windows. For a moment, he thought that it was already morning. Then, he realized that everything outside his room was dark. The light was coming from the window. He turned around.
One of the big, spherical things was right outside the window. It was the source of the ghastly, horrible light. His mouth opened wide with horror.
There one second, gone the next.
It simply winked out of existence, like it had never been there. Shane was beginning to wonder if he had somehow imagined it. He sighed and thought, You¡¯re being paranoid, Shane. Go to sleep. He was bout to lean back into his bed when a strong gust of wind blew. It was so strong that his cupboard was blown open by it. For a moment, Shane thought that evil, red glowing eyes would appear in it. Of course they didn¡¯t, and Shane got up to close the cupboard door. He stepped out of bed and took a single step towards the cupboard.
A cold, ghastly thing grabbed his ankle and pulled back hard. Shane yelled and was pulled under his bed. He yelled again as he bumped his head on wood. He turned around and saw that it was Recruit Jernigan, the one who had panicked and dropped the grenade and put three steel plates in his head. His eyes were wide, blank. Then he grinned.
¡°Hello, Shane.¡± Jernigan grinned wider, and Shane tried to jerk back he couldn¡¯t. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out.
¡°You asked for me, didn¡¯t you, Shane?¡± Jernigan croaked. ¡°Remember when you were out on the lawn? You asked for me, Shane.¡±
No, Shane opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
Jernigan grinned again. ¡°Look at what I brought for you, Shane.¡± Instead of a hand, Jernigan drew out a grayish, wet tentacle. It was wrapped around a fragmentation grenade, the pin already pulled. Shane¡¯s terror exploded and he opened his mouth to scream again-
-and this time the scream did come out. He jerked up from bed, his skin slippery and glistening with sweat, and screamed his lungs out.
Panting, he looked around. No spaceship at the window. No open cupboard.
No Monster-Jernigan under his bed.
He clutched his chest. Just a dream. Just a bad dream. Nothing to be worried about.
Five minutes later, he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
5
His alarm clock woke him up at 8.30 a.m. the next day. He groaned and opened his eyes. The clock was still ringing. He swore and banged it off. He got up and shuffled slowly to the bathroom to do his business.
After he had peed, he brushed his teeth and rinsed his mouth. He looked at the mirror and paused.
He was twenty years old with neat black hair and a squarish head. Grayish eyes. He had gone on several dates before, but none of them had worked out pretty well. There was some stubble on his chin. I aim to fix that, he thought and grabbed his shaver.
The Greenwood Luncheon was a busy place that morning. Shane somehow managed to find an empty table and sat down. A fat waiter spotted him and walked towards his seat.
¡°Hiya Shane. The usual?¡±
¡°Sure thing, Al.¡± Shane said, smiling.
Al left, leaving Shane alone with the noise and his thoughts.
Those lights in the sky. What the hell were they?
Just stars.
Do stars move?
They weren¡¯t moving, you dumb shit. You imagined that bit.
Yeah, and so did four hundred or so other people.
Oh, shut up. They¡¯re nothing more than-
Than what?
Oh, what the hell. What else do you think they are? UFOs?
Probably.
You¡¯re becoming a little funny in the head, Shane.
¡°Your breakfast, Shane.¡± Albert said, coming to his table with a large plate and a mug filled with coffee. He settled it down on the table. In the plate was a toast spread thickly with grape jam, a string of sausages, two strips of bacon and a large serving of scrambled eggs.
¡°Thank you, Al.¡± Shane gave Albert three dollars.
Shane settled on his breakfast quickly, starting with the toast. He took a big bite out of it, feeling the rich taste of the jam spread across his mouth, tempered with the crunchy toast. In three minutes, he finished his toast and started on the bacon.
A big man with white hair and glasses wearing overalls walked toward Shane¡¯s seat.
¡°Anyone sittin¡¯ down here?¡± He asked.
¡°Nope.¡± Shane replied. ¡°Go on and take a seat.¡±
¡°Thanks.¡± The old man sat down. He stuck out a hand. ¡°The name¡¯s Dave. David Brown.¡±
Shane shook the old man¡¯s hand. ¡°Shane. Shane McCarthy.¡±
The old man¡¯s eyes showed recognition. ¡°Chris¡¯s boy?¡±
¡°Chris?¡±
¡°Christopher McCarthy.¡±
¡°Oh,¡± Shane said. ¡°I¡¯m his nephew. He left his house to me on his will.¡±
¡°Oh,¡± Dave nodded. Al approached their table.
¡°Anything for you, Dave?¡± Al asked.
¡°Coffee, please.¡±
¡°Of course.¡± Al walked away and came back with a mug of steaming coffee.
They sat in silence for awhile. Shane poured pepper on his scrambled eggs and was shoveling big spoonfuls of it into his mouth.
¡°You seen the news last night, Dave?¡± Shane asked.
¡°Yeah,¡± Dave said, sipping his coffee.
¡°You know about those lights in the sky?¡±
¡°Ayuh, those.¡± Dave said indifferently. ¡®What about ¡®em?¡±
¡°What do you think they are?¡±
Dave put his mug down and looked lazily at Shane. ¡°You wanna know something, Shane?¡±
¡°Yeah?¡±
¡°I saw ¡®em. ¡®Bout twenty years ago.¡± He sipped his coffee again.
¡°What happened?¡±
¡°Nothin¡¯. I was just havin¡¯ a walk one night and I saw ¡®em, zippin¡¯ around in the sky. No big deal.¡±
¡°What do you think they are?¡± Shane found himself repeating.
¡°Damned if I know.¡± Dave continued to slurp at his coffee. ¡°But they¡¯re harmless. Nothing to worry about.¡±
Shane looked at the old man, shrugged mentally, and went back to his eggs.
6
He watched The Bourne Identity and The Bourne Supremacy on his DVD player for the rest of the morning. Watching Jason Bourne kick bad guy¡¯s asses was quite a fun way to spend his morning. He thought that even though both were masterpieces, Identity was better than Supremacy. Well, for one thing, Jason Bourne had only killed one guy in Supremacy, and that was pretty much self defense. Also, Identity was much more fast-paced anyway.
After watching the movies, he played Counter Strike on the Net and got trashed. Such were the ways of Shane McCarthy when he was bored.
Finally, after his brains had nearly exploded with boredom, he decided to take a walk.
For ten minutes, he walked down Main Street, into a shopping center for lunch (a cheeseburger with fries) and spent two hours in the library, picking out several books and reading them. Two were Stephen King books: The Dead Zone and The Tommyknockers. While everyone he knew was always scared out of their pants by King, Shane didn¡¯t find any of his books scary, even the one that was reputed to be the scariest and the most disturbing, Pet Semetary, had failed to give Shane nightmares and the heebie jeebies after reading it in Richie¡¯s house and then staying there for a night, thus making him a dollar richer. Only the last bit, where Dr. Creed¡¯s son came back from the dead and killed Jud, managed to remotely scare him.
Finally, at three p.m., Shane took a walk in the park.
He had sat down near the pond for several hours, watching kids feed the ducks. Most of the kids in the park seemed more than happy to feed the large birds. However, one kid was nipped in the fingers and he ran screaming back to his mother. So loud were the screams, that Shane was soon reminded of the scene in The Lost World where the little girl had been bitten by the little dinosaurs, the compsognathi.
¡°It bit me, Mom!! It bit me!!!¡± The kid¡¯s mother, who looked about twenty six, hugged the small child in her arms and soothed him, with occasional, embarrassed glances at the crowd.
Shane decided that he had enough of the outside world and cut through a large, empty field, a shortcut to his house.
7
For the next few days, Shane decided that he had no intention whatsoever of finding a job. At least, not yet. He spent most of the time pacing restlessly around the house or watching movies, or spending time on the net.
On a rainy Wednesday, Shane found a logical explanation for the lights in the sky. He had found it while surfing the net.
Ball lightning usually occurs right after thunderstorms. However, the website said, they could be created without any detected electrical storm. And the description of ball lightning matched the things Shane had seen in the sky. They are spherical, and float, normally looking like balls of light floating around.
However, only one thing didn¡¯t tally: All reported sightings of ball lightning have been observed near ground level (at most in tens of feet in altitude) and not in the sky.
But then again, no scientific theories so far could explain how ball lightning, so it could be that the things Shane had seen were slight anomalies.
Well, Shane thought. That explains it. As lawyers always say: case closed.
For the next few weeks, there had been no more news about the ¡®mysterious lights in the sky¡¯, and pretty soon, nobody talked about it any more.
Shane spent those next few weeks lazing around the house. He would go out only to buy food or new videos or books. Pigbroke¡¯s check had done him a world of good; he could live on it for at least two months.
Finally, on the third week, Shane got a job as a cook in the Greenwood Lunch. Three hundred dollars a week.
He never thought about the lights again until Tuesday, June 8 2005.
CHAPTER TWO
1
It was eight o¡¯ clock in the morning, and Shane was driving to work in his Pinto. Today was his fifth paycheck and he was thinking how to spend it.
Perhaps I should buy the last Stephen King I have yet to collect. The Stand. Great. Or maybe that new Westlife album, Face to Face. Richie had told him that it sucked, but he wanted to see for himself.
Shane had worked in the Greenwood Luncheon for month. He remembered Al telling him that if he wanted to move on with his career, he would not blame him. After all, he had said, You¡¯re a goddamn M.I.T graduate for Christ¡¯s sake. You¡¯ve got no business working in a small restaurant like mine. You don¡¯t move on, and you¡¯re gonna regret on your deathbed you didn¡¯t.
Shane listened to Albert¡¯s advice and went on to looking for jobs in the papers. There was a job in a small firm he thought he would like. He was currently working on his r¨¦sum¨¦ for that one. But he thought that even when he did finish it, he would hesitate. Every time he typed, Pembroke¡¯s face would conjure in his mind, like a ghost, saying, over and over, You¡¯re fired.
Shane tried to shrug that thought away. He looked out of the window and out into an empty plain beside the road.
That was when he saw it.
At first, he thought nothing of the white streak that came from the sky, thinking it at first as a cloud, then, when he saw it moving slowly downwards, a fighter plane doing a trick. After all, there was an army base that was very near the area.
But when it kept on going, Shane knew something was wrong. He stopped the car and looked on at the bright streak in the distance until it hit the ground.
It came from outer space, he thought randomly. The thought was forgotten almost immediately.
He pulled the door latch and opened the door of the Pinto. He stepped out into the morning and looked into the plain. He couldn¡¯t see anything. Pockets of long grass blocked his view.
It¡¯s a plane. One of those F-15s in the base down the road.
Then, for some stupid reason, a voice in his head said: Stay away, Shane, it¡¯s dangerous.
Christ, the pilot¡¯s probably going to die if nobody helps him and you¡¯re asking me to stay away?!
Stay away.
No.
He rushed to the edge of the road, hightailed down the metal strut on the road, and headed toward the plane, cutting through the field, aware that he was getting a headache.
He felt radiating heat waves in front of him and could smell something. Grass. Burning grass. He thought.
He stepped toward the heat and the smell, brushing past long grass, feeling it brush against his neck and face. He broke out into the open and-
-gasped.
2
The first thing he noticed was the wide circle of flattened grass, the circumference of it perhaps twenty feet wide.
The second thing was his headache getting worse. The pain was slowly spiking, climaxing, getting worse by the minute.
The third thing was so impossible that he thought he had imagined it.
A huge black thing was in the earth, smoke coming from it. The bit of it sticking from the earth was about six feet tall and made up of blackish, smooth metal. From its tail was a net made of metal that had been curved into a cone. Behind the cone were four curved metal fins.
Shane blinked once and saw that the thing was still there. Once again, he thought, It came from outer space.
He stood there for about five minutes. What the hell is it?!
A horrible image came to him: Jernigan with his blank vacant eyes, with his horrible grin, saying: You asked for me, didn¡¯t you, Shane? Look at what I brought you.
Jesus, I¡¯ve gotta tell somebody about this. Hell, I¡¯ll call the goddamned police. He grinned, imagining himself saying, ¡°Hello, Sheriff? Yes, I was driving to work just now and saw a UFO crash into the field.¡±
Stop it, this is serious.
A groan came from within the grass. Shane turned, and saw a man lying there, legs spread. A hand axe lay beside him. He got to the man, who groaned again.
Shane patted the man hard on the back. ¡°Hey, hey mister! You okay?¡±
The man groaned again and turned.
¡°Who-who are you?¡± The man rubbed his head. Shane looked at him and sized him up. Lumberjack. Definitely.
¡°You okay, mister?¡± Shane asked.
¡°Yeah, I¡¯m fi-¡± The man cut off abruptly. His eyes widened and Shane heard Jernigan say again: Look at what I brought you, Shane.
¡°Mister?¡± He looked at the man, who had suddenly gone quiet. A sudden, agonizing pain hit his head like a slap. Jesus, it hurts! he thought. His head felt like it was going to explode.
Then it was gone.
The man stood up, his face twisted in a grimace of-was it hate? Yes, Shane confirmed. His eyes were filled with black, ugly hate.
Shane stood up and a primeval instinct made him back away.
The man bent down and picked up the axe. He walked towards Shane.
¡°Mister?¡±
The man¡¯s lips drew back in a snarl and he raised the axe with one hand. He swiped it at Shane just as he stepped backward.
¡°What in hell¡¯s name?!¡± Shane cried.
The man growled and raised the axe again.
Just as the man brought the axe down, Shane stepped to the side and sucker-punched him. The man¡¯s head simply snapped back. A bruise formed on his cheek. The man roared and swung the axe sideways. Shane jumped backwards.
And stumbled on a stump of wood. The man approached Shane, looking at him and raising the axe.
The man brought the axe down. It made a swiiip! sound as it swung down. Shane rolled to the side quickly and stood up faster. Shane swung his leg out and his foot connected with the man¡¯s ribs. Hard. He flew backwards and hit the ground with a thump.
Quickly, Shane pulled the axe out of the stump, thanking God he still worked out at the gym everyday.
The man walked towards him, pure rage in his eyes. He roared again and charged. Shane swung the axe. Swiiip! the axe hit nothing but air. The man was still coming. He raised his hands out.
Shane could feel pincers grabbing at his neck. Pain shot up his neck, cutting off his air. He raised the axe and swung it again. There was a loud craaack! and Shane felt something warm on his hands. He pulled the axe out, a sound like a clump of clothes hitting the floor. His hands and the blade of the axe were stained with blood.
Abruptly, the hard pincers on his neck loosened, and the man growled for the last time before he fell to the ground with a heavy thump. A heavy, lateral cut was on the man¡¯s back. Shane could see a circle of white on his back. Spine. That was his spine. Dear God, I-I cut his spine in two. At his own revelation, a wave of nausea passed him. He shook it away quickly.
Shane looked at the thing in the earth again. Whatever happened to that guy, that thing did it. Somehow.
He dropped the axe, ran toward his Pinto and started it up with shaky fingers.
3
Shane was nearing the town center, still sweating form his previous encounter.
Jesus, what the hell is it?!
Doesn¡¯t matter. What matters is that you know it¡¯s dangerous. You¡¯ve got to find help.
He passed a huge road sign: GREENWOOD TOWN CENTER, 500 M. It was quiet, and there was no one around to block him, so-
-he could get there faster.
That was when it struck him. The highway should have been busy with cars, people who wanted to get to work; why wasn¡¯t it?
He thought for a while.
Perhaps it¡¯s too early.
You¡¯ve gotten up earlier than this and this goddamned road still had been full of cars.
Too late?
You¡¯re nuts, are you? This is the standard time you¡¯ve gotten up. The road had been full of cars the last time you drove at this time.
I¡¯ve only just moved in here for half a year. Perhaps it¡¯s a holiday of some kind today for them?
Then why aren¡¯t there people rushing here to celebrate? Where are the buses and the taxis? For God¡¯s sake, they work through every holiday, even until Christmas.
He looked up, and there he was. He was in the Greenwood Town Center, where most of the activities in Greenwood did happen. The library, the restaurants, the hospitals, the hotels. They were all here. Normally, the place was a hive of activity even in the wee hours of the morning. But today-
Shane got out of the car and looked around. The place was silent. Not a single soul was around. There weren¡¯t any cars parked here. The town was quiet, eerie.
There¡¯s not even a single bird around singing.
Slowly, he walked toward the car and opened the car door. He opened the glove compartment and took out the handgun inside. It was a 9mm Glock 17 pistol. He supposed that keeping a gun in his glove compartment was illegal, but he had had it there since he bought the gun, about three years ago. There had been no problems. Now, he thanked God he had it with him. The weight of the gun in his hands was firm, reassuring. He ejected the magazine and counted the bullets. There were 16 of them, and one was in the chamber. Seventeen shots in total, a full clip. He pushed the clip back into the gun, hearing a click. He hid the gun in his coat, closed the car door, and walked down the street.
Still no sound. Nothing moved at all. Then, he heard crackling sounds. Fire. He moved quickly to the direction of the sounds and stopped. The Greenwood Luncheon was there, except that there was nothing left of it now. In its place were clumps of debris and another one of the black, metal things, half buried in the earth. He looked around and saw another one, just down the street. Shane looked back at the burning remains of the Greenwood Luncheon. He thought he could see part of the neon sign that had once been on the roof. ¡®G¡¯ was all it said.
That thing just fell right on top of it. Jesus Christ, how many people had been in there?
Creak. Shane spun around. That had been a door. He turned to the left and saw an open door in an alleyway. A middle-aged man with a neat haircut and a green tee shirt and steel rimmed spectacles emerged from it. In his left hand was a crowbar. Shane recognized him at once. It was Justin Creed, the proprietor of the GREENWOOD MEDICAL. He was a man who had once been a doctor, but had been kicked out for drinking too much and then screwing up a major operation. He had gotten along okay with Shane though, and would usually sell him aspirin for the occasional headaches he had.
Now, there was no recognition in the man¡¯s face except for the naked, blind rage in it. Justin roared and raised the crowbar. He rushed at Shane, screaming. Shane reached for his gun with hands that had turned cold as ice. Quickly, he pulled the pistol out and undid the safety. He aimed quickly and fired.
Justin Creed¡¯s head snapped back. When it swung forwards again, Shane could see a small, neat hole in between Justin¡¯s eyes. Blood swam down in rivulets with it, and the front of the man¡¯s face was patterned with wavy, red lines. Droplets of blood dripped from Justin¡¯s head, forming a small pool on the floor.
The man¡¯s head was lowered now, and Shane knew that the man would die instantly. Rest in peace, pal.
Instead, Justin looked up at Shane again. He raised the crowbar and roared.
¡°What the hell?!¡± Shane screamed. He raised the pistol again and pulled the trigger. The bullet put a hole in the wall. Shit.
Justin swung the crowbar and Shane sidestepped. Justin growled and turned around. Shane¡¯s panic exploded. He raised the pistol and squeezed the trigger once. Twice. Six times.
By then, Justin¡¯s head was just about gone. His brains showed through the huge hole that had been his forehead. The rest of his face was smeared with blood. He took two steps forward before he finally realized he was dead. He dropped to his knees and collapsed to the ground with a dull thump. With shaky arms, Shane lowered the pistol, drawing his breath out in harsh, ragged breaths.
Footsteps. Shane could hear running footsteps on gravel. Oh, shit. He thought. He looked around. The door Justin had come from was directly behind him. He tried it. There was only a dull click. ¡°Aw, c¡¯mon!¡± Shane yelled. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. They were getting closer now. Shane grunted in frustration.
Suddenly, the door opened and Shane stared into the face of Bill Marlow, who lived down the street. He was holding a carving knife. Shane shrieked and stepped backwards quickly. Bill growled.
He charged at Shane, who saw the rage, the madness in his eyes. Shane raised the Glock and fired two shots. There were two neat holes in Bill¡¯s head, but still he kept going. Shane fired three more shots and Bill went down. Five more shots, old man. Make ¡®em good.
Shane went into the open door and slammed it shut. A hand touched the back of his neck. He screamed and turned around, looking into the face of a third man, who growled and reached into his pocket, withdrawing a Harpy pocketknife. He swiped it at Shane, who stepped backwards quickly. He was half lucky. The sharp blade of the knife drew a shallow, long cut instead of unzipping his guts. Shane screamed again, an image coming into his head, him falling, his guts spilling out of him with a brownish, clear liquid. Shane screamed again and pulled the trigger rapidly, his screams and the gunshots echoing in the Greenwood medical.
11/27/2005 10:12:46 AM
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