Into the flashback, p.10
Into the Flashback, page 10
Time blurred as they ran, retaining no meaning. Roger's heart labored under the weight of too many cigarettes. They were almost there; he could see the ridge without straining now. He heard the rex roar somewhere behind them somewhere close, but not as close as he might have expected.
He couldn't stand it any longer. There had to be some reason why the rex hadn't caught up with them. At last, he dared a quick glance over his shoulder.
And realized the tyrannosaur was on fire.
It wasn't exactly engulfed in flames yet, but parts of its flesh were burning, burning and crisping away.
Somehow, the three of them managed to scramble up the steep incline of the ridge ... where the cashier reached out with his beautiful dark arms and drug them the rest of the way to safety.
The rex collided with the rocks and howled angrily. Its sleek, burning skull was rapidly becoming just that, a skull. They all huddled fearfully as it stared after them over the ridge, its flaming face on an even plane with their own. Its eyes bulged out like accusing, vein-strung orbs, rolling in their sockets, straining against their stalks, revealing their whole whites to become shining, pale balls.
Roger looked to the highway below, his shoes teetering over the crumbling edge. He saw a hay-truck approaching from the west, just seconds away from passing directly beneath them. He turned to the others and motioned toward it. The carnosaur' s snout darted toward them, and together they leapt into the void.
The great rex opened its maw for one final, trumpeting bellow, its presence now reduced to a mere flaming skull, and then crumbled away into shards of blackened bone and smoldering ash, its primordial howl unraveling into a tortured, prolonged squeal, which tapered away with the flames and smoke and stench of burnt flesh and was gone.
The four survivors hit the hay.
And oblivious to their presence, the big truck motored away down the interstate.
XV | New World
Cycad trees rushed by in a blur, mile after mile after mile of them.
“It’s really all over, isn’t it?” Savanna said, gazing out between the crude wooden slats. “The world, I mean, Our world. It’s gone."
Her hair brushed Roger's cheek. “Yeah,” he said. “I think so.”
She nodded, lost in thought.
They sat in silence for a time, the warm wind flapping their collars. A dragonfly the size of a housecat buzzed past, its cellophane wings vibrating like a radio-controlled airplane. A hazy volcano belched lava in the distance.
Clara Bonner had fallen asleep on the floor, and the cashier sat with his back to yellow straw, a few bails of which were stacked high enough against the cab to prevent the driver from seeing his stowawayed passengers. He sat smoking a cigarette, watching the pterodactyls circle high above them.
A velociraptor kept pace with them briefly, bounding over the ground like a cheetah.
Savanna whispered: “‘Throw wide the gates of hell, and let loose the beasts of prey ...’”
Roger looked at her, his expression concerned. “What, honey?”
She stared at the sky. “They've passed their own verdict.”
Roger appeared confused. “They?”
She turned toward him, the wind blowing her long red hair sideways across her face. Her eyes were glassy and distant as she said: “The lights ... the lights we saw in the clouds. They’ve passed judgment on us.”
He lifted an eyebrow. Was this woman's intuition?
She turned to stare through the slats again, and they passed a triceratops grazing at roadside. It looked up at them as they blew past, lazily mulling a mouthful of grass.
“They came here in the age of the dinosaurs,” she began, “and found a world that was balanced ... and beautiful. When they returned millions of years later, they found us ... and we were fighting.”
The rig suddenly swerved, and an instant later a stand of cycad trees blew past close. They'd materialized in the middle of the right lane.
She went on: “I think they missed the world they'd left, but they watched us for a while, hoping we'd change. We didn't, and so they re-imposed natural order as they remembered it, though it had been a long time, even for them. I think they had to try a lot of things to make it work. And it might not have, completely.” She looked at Roger. “When we were on the roof, did you notice the way the wind was ...”
She paused, as though waking from a dream. Roger didn’t say anything. Another dragonfly whizzed past the slats.
Trembling, she said: “Tell me all of that’s insane ... Please?”
He stared at her, thinking about what she’d said. Yeah, it sounded crazy. But what was crazy, anymore?
He put his arm around her and squeezed, thinking of the Harper verdict and the riots—and how everybody had exploited both. The truck’s motor chugged along and its tires droned over the pavement, already being covered over by moss and fern.
He told her he loved her instead.
AND LET LOOSE THE BEASTS OF PREY (2018)
They should be home by now, thought Sheila—even as a pair of headlights flashed across the wall and she rushed to the window, breathing a sigh of relief. But it wasn’t Stephen.
It was a police car.
Erik joined her at the sill. “Are Dad and Tammy home? Whoa, a police car!”
She shooed him away from the window quickly. “Honey, I want you to go to your room, okay?”
“But, Mom—”
“Just do it,” she snapped. “I don’t have time ...” She paused, catching herself—then crouched in front of him and plucked at his hair. “Sweetie, remember how I told you that mommy and daddy would always try to explain things, but that there were times when they couldn’t, at least not right away? And that there were special rewards for little boys who were patient and showed a little faith?”
He nodded slowly.
“This is one of those times, okay?”
“But—”
“No buts,” She ruffled his hair, trying to appear calm even though her guts were doing loopy-loops. “Now shoo. I’ll—we’ll explain everything later, okay?”
“Are they here about the dinosaur?”
She ushered him toward his room. “There was no dinosaur. Your father saw a wild turkey, that’s all. Now in with you, and no listening at the door. Hurry.”
The doorbell rang as she eased his door shut and she hurried toward it. Bald tires. Bald tires and the worst snowstorm in years, maybe ever. Dear God, Stephen. I told you to put on the studs sooner and not later. I told you and I told you but you didn’t listen, you never do, not to me, not to your father, or—
She felt a panic coming on and seized control of herself. No, dammit. Just stay calm. It’s probably nothing. Maybe Stephen had called them. A dinosaur, Stephen? Really? She laughed a little to herself. It’s the countryside just a few miles out of town, babe, not a Jurassic swamp. I know you weren’t fond of moving here, but ...
She unlocked the door and swung it back. The Sheriff was there, along with his deputy, a young, fit man who seemed altogether too intense. She cinched her bathrobe snugly about her. “Hello? May I help you?”
Her heart ran cold as she noted the Sheriff’s expression, which seemed exhausted and strangely forlorn. Just ... Dear God. She saw him glance at her ring finger.
“Good evening, Mrs. ...?”
“Were. Sheila Were.”
He extended a gloved hand. “Sheriff Whitman, Anchor Rock Police.” The glove crackled as they shook. “This is my deputy, Richard Conners.”
Conners shook her hand—altogether too firmly. “Pleased to meet—”
“Has there been an accident?” she asked abruptly. “Is that why you’re here?”
Whitman smiled and shook his head. “None that I am aware of. But we would like to ask you a few questions. That is, if you’re not indisposed.”
Sheila exhaled, relief flooding through her like a wave. She touched her chest. “Oh, thank God. Oh, thank heavens. Yes, yes, of course, please, come in.”
She held the door for them and shut it once they’d entered. “Please, make yourselves comfortable. Can I get you anything, a diet soda, or—”
“No, no,” said Whitman. “We’ll only be a few minutes. Mainly we’re just doing a welfare check. There’s been, ah, a number of reports filed from the surrounding homes in the last 24 hours. It seems ...” He hesitated, as though embarrassed by what he was about to say. “It seems there’s some kind of animal wandering the area. An emu, by the sound of it. Of course, we won’t be sure until we’ve see it for ourselves, but—”
“An emu?” Sheila was amused by the thought. “I knew there were deer and maybe some coyotes here, but ... an emu? Really?”
“You’d be surprised,” said Whitman. “Fella named Bolton used to have some about 10 miles from here—along with some camels, a zebra, some bison ... Anyway, normally we wouldn’t be too concerned, but, ah, some of the reports have indicated that the animal is behaving ...” He glanced at Conners, who glanced right back. Intensely. “Aggressively.”
Sheila looked back and forth between the two, thinking of their amateur—and illegal—grow in the basement, and finally snorted. “A killer emu, huh?” She put her hands on her hips. “Okay, I’ll bite. What really brought you guys out here?”
Whitman looked at her as though weighing his options and finding none of them acceptable. At last he said, “It’s a strange situation, I admit. But I assure you, Mrs. Were, there is an animal wandering the area. At least one, and possibly more. And we just need to know if you’ve seen anything.”
“No,” she said, feeling suddenly distrustful, and just as suddenly remembered Stephen’s dinosaur, the one he’d said he saw looking at him from the edge of the back-forty, the one she’d assumed he’d concocted to entertain the kids (it was impossible to tell with his deadpan sense of humor) ... the one he’d said looked like a velociraptor from Jurassic Park.
“Yes,” she corrected herself. “My husband said he saw a dinosaur today. Out in the back-forty, near the property line. How’s that?”
She grinned as though saying, Two can play this game.
“You don’t say?” said Whitman, again exchanging nervous glances with Conners. “Well, I don’t know about you ... but I might mistake an emu for a dinosaur. Did he say if it behaved aggressively in any way?”
“No.”
“I see,” said Whitman. He nodded at Conners, who excused himself and went outside, briskly, it seemed.
At last Whitman said, “I can see there’s no fooling you, Mrs. Were. So if you’ll be so kind as to sit down, I’m going to tell you why we’re really here.” He hitched his uniform pants and sat on the sofa. “I’ll take that diet soda, by the way.”
“I’ll get it for you ... but remain standing,” she said curtly, and moved to fetch one from the refrigerator.
Conners burst from the front door and ran to the patrol car, plopping down sideways in the driver’s seat, calling in what they had learned from Sheila, which was bad. Very, very bad. It was still snowing; there was now about a foot of the stuff on the ground. Nor did the storm show any signs of relenting. Meanwhile, through a gap in the clouds, the moon shone bright and silvery ... even as the wind rose and fell and swirled about his boots, which were resting outside the car, and a shadow passed over him stealthily.
A moment later a low-pitched growl came from the trees beyond the patio, catching the wind and reaching Conners’ ears instantly. He looked up, cocking his head, and listened intently—but could hear nothing over the howling of the storm. Large, intricate snowflakes blew into the car as he did so, sticking to his face like lint. The snarl came again as he peered into the dark between trees.
Okay, that’s it, he thought, and reached for the shotgun between the seats. He hung up the mic and stood, pumping the weapon. I don’t know what you are or where you’re from, but you’ve got about five seconds to live, my friend. 4 ...
He walked toward the growls slowly, the air crisp and cold against his cheeks, his breath billowing about him, the steel of the trigger icy against his finger. Welcome to the twentieth century, killer. Now you’re going to see what real killing is about. 3 ... 2 ... 1 ...
There was a sudden banging sound and he whipped around, but froze before firing, realizing the reports had all been true, that dinosaurs somehow walked the earth again, and that a velociraptor had leapt atop the patrol car, denting its roof, and was even now glaring at him with its owl-like, forward-facing eyes.
Then it leapt and he managed to squeeze off a round—one, which missed its mark entirely—before it pounced: striking with its sickle-clawed foot so that and he was smashed to the snow-covered patio and split neck to crotch all in an instant.
By the time Sheriff Whitman had thrown open the door and levelled his service revolver, the beast had pinned Conners in the snow and was scooping his guts out like jello. So, too, had it torn his upper garments away so that the young deputy was bare-chested and fully exposed as still more raptors clambered over the top of the squad car—and yet more streamed from between the trees—and descended upon him in a bloody free-for-all—even as Whitman opened fire and Sheila screamed and Erik looked out his bedroom window in abject terror.
Crack! Crack! Crack! went Whitman’s revolver as the raptors began to fall and Conners continued to scream—until a sickled claw raked the length of his face, ending his screaming forever. At last one of the beasts turned its monstrous head toward Whitman, one of Conners’ entrails dangling from its mouth, and barked as if to alert the others. And then they were coming, filing after each other like a coiled rope pulled taut, and Whitman retreated into the house even as Sheila yanked the door shut—which the snarling beasts rammed into with incredible force, all but smashing it off its hinges.
“Hurry up,” snapped Whitman, grabbing one of the dining room chairs and lodging it diagonally beneath the knob. “Let’s get some furniture against this.”
He gripped the sides of the refrigerator and rocked it away from the cupboards, then maneuvered it in front of the door as Sheila drug over the stereo cabinet and Erik, having left his room to be with his mother, began dragging over the coffee table, which Whitman and Sheila grabbed at the same time and heaved atop the stereo cabinet. Within instants there was another impact—several impacts—which knocked the piled furniture back noticeably, causing Whitman to frown.
And yet the barrier held, and a moment later all was silent.
“I think they’re gone,” whispered Sheila at length, and moved to peek between the curtains.
“Don’t do that,” snapped Whitman. “Stay away from the windows. And I wouldn’t count on it.” He glanced at the television, then scanned the cluttered room. “Where’s your remote?”
Sheila just looked at him, confused. “In the kitchen, I think. Why?”
He strode into the kitchen and snatched it from the counter. “Because I want to know how widespread this is.”
She crowded him as he turned on the television. “How widespread what is? What’s going on?”
He cycled through the channels until he came to CNN. “This—the storm. The lights. The dinosaurs. Everything.”
“The lights? What are you talking about?”
She fell silent as the television images spoke precisely to her question, showing the skyline of what appeared to be Chicago, above which a number of strange lights floated and pulsed.
“...know at this hour is that the lights seem to come in two varieties, the corporeal type you see here, which might almost be mistaken for commercial aircraft, and the more amorphous ones observed over Vietnam and other places. We’re going to take you to some footage shot just moments ago on Interstate 90 in Spokane, Washington, which appears to show—and I repeat, this is not joke or a parody—a saber-toothed cat, albeit one larger than any previously known to science, chasing vehicles as if they were prey. You’ll note the many cars and trucks that are stopped or have otherwise ran off the road and stalled—this speaks for the most troubling aspect of what scientists are calling ‘the Flashback’: the sudden disappearance of people all over the world, including entire families. Again, we urge anyone tuning into this broadcast to seek immediate shelter and to stay there until further notice. Joining us now is—”
And the signal was lost to a hail of static even as a velociraptor crashed through the living room window and pounced upon Erik—who had been peeking between the curtains as they watched the TV—and Sheila began screaming as Whitman levelled his revolver, looking for an opening, but could find none.
Erik peered out the window at the corpse, noticing how the falling snow was beginning to cover it, as it had his forgotten toys, and noticing, too, that the monsters, the velociraptors, which bore nothing in common with the plush toys he had in his bedroom, were nowhere to be seen. Nor were the lights of his father’s car—or anything, for that matter; there was just the corpse (one hand of which seemed to reach for the sky like a twisted, dead tree branch) and the snow, which had whited out everything, rendered the world void.
“... this speaks for the most troubling aspect of what scientists are calling ‘the Flashback’: the sudden disappearance of people all over the world, including entire families ...”
He looked at the sky, at the ceiling of snow clouds, amidst which the lights mentioned on the TV pulsed and glowed, bleeding in and out of each other, shifting colors, none of which he recognized, and knew in that instant—the instant before the raptor came crashing through the glass with its splayed feet first—that nothing would ever be the same; that he would never see his father and sister again and would never return to school and would never, ever be a boy, not even for an instant. And then the raptor did come, and he was knocked backward against the floor with a violence he could not have imagined, and after a moment there was a flurry of gunshots which blew the back of the animal’s head apart so that its full weight fell upon him and he was spattered with blood and brains. And the last thing he saw before blacking out completely was the monster’s dying eye, which stared into his own, an eye which contained in it the same colors as the lights in the sky—until they, too, faded and became as the dead.
